A yellow dust storm swept across the desert road. A black car sped through the sand.
Behind it, several motorcycles were following side by side, taking up almost the entire road.
Their engines roared, chasing the car ahead. The riders shouted and raised their weapons, like a pack of hunters pursuing their prey.
"Who are they?"
Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly, the accelerator floored. The car hummed like a blade slicing through the sand.
He glanced in the rearview mirror at the frantic group behind him and couldn't help but ask:
"Some bastards from the motorcycle gang!"
The man in the black suit was in the passenger seat, his hands gripping the dashboard tightly with a look of disgust.
"Them?"
Logan had already heard of the motorcycle gang. They were a group of bikers who roamed the desert, often engaging in highway robbery. To put it bluntly, they were desert bandits.
However, highway robbery seemed to be just a side hustle for the motorcycle gangs; their main business was the bar trade. Many bars in the desert had connections to motorcycle gangs, and highway robbery seemed more like a form of entertainment for a group of lunatics.
"Look out!"
The man in the suit suddenly pointed at the road, letting out a sharp, explosive sound.
Logan turned his gaze to the road through the rearview mirror and saw two pickup trucks suddenly appear ahead of the avenue, completely blocking it.
"Damn it!" Logan cursed, sharply turning the steering wheel. The vehicle spun like a snowdrift, swerving off the road and speeding across the desolate desert. The yellow sand kicked up by the wheels looked like a sandstorm.
However, the bikers didn't seem willing to give up on the man in the suit.
They also turned, buzzing through the wind and sand, relentlessly chasing him.
Bang, bang, bang!
The sudden sound of gunfire drowned out the engine roar, making it particularly piercing in the lonely desert.
In the rearview mirror, Logan clearly saw the biker on the back seat of the motorcycle, standing up, with one hand on his companion's shoulder and a gun in the other, firing non-stop at the car.
Bang, bang!
Logan felt the car body shake violently, and a sense of unease seized him. He looked back and saw that the rear window had been hit by bullets; the tempered glass instantly cracked like a spider web.
The dense rain of bullets made the whole car vibrate.
"Fuck, my car!" Logan exclaimed with anguish in his eyes.
No customer would want to get into a car with bullet holes; they would think the driver was a thug! And the cost of repair was a huge expense, too much for Logan right now!
Logan gripped the steering wheel with one hand, and with the other, he pulled a pistol from a drawer and tossed it to the man in the suit: "Kill them!"
Reluctant to show his steel claws, the direct intimidation of a pistol easily deterred some small-time thugs. So, even though he rarely used it, Logan kept one handy.
The man in the suit was visibly surprised by the sudden appearance of Logan's pistol, but he still loaded his gun skillfully. With one hand on the handle, he held the pistol out the window with the other, repeatedly pulling the trigger and shooting at the motorcycle gang following them.
But this was not an easy road after all.
The car was speeding through the rocky desert, with the swirling sand so thick it could choke you with dust.
The violent shaking of the car prevented the man in the suit, who was not particularly skilled at shooting, from aiming. After a few rounds, they missed their target by a wide margin!
BANG, BOOM, BOOM!
The crazy motorcycle gang was still firing.
Logan could see several more bullet holes in the car through the rearview mirror, which enraged him. He snatched the gun from the man in the suit and shouted, "I'll do it!"
Seeing Logan's hands almost leave the steering wheel, the man paled. "I'll pay for the repair, just put your hands on this goddamn wheel!"
More than the frantic shooting of the motorcycle gang, he feared the car rolling over at that speed.
Ignoring the man in the suit's warning, Logan, with one hand on the steering wheel, leaned out the window.
The howling wind ruffled his cheap suit, and his messy hair was instantly covered in a thick layer of yellow sand.
The car shook violently, whipping wildly in the desert like the tail of a Komodo dragon, threatening to overturn at any moment.
At that speed, in those conditions, a rollover would be a total loss, and the passengers would die on initial impact!
The man in the suit was pale, breathing raggedly, gripping the dashboard tightly with his hands, his whole body sinking into the seat.
He felt Logan was a hundred times crazier than those lunatics in the motorcycle gang!
But Logan paid him no mind, aiming his gun at the frantic group following him with a strange posture.
Bang!
A crisp gunshot was heard, and a bloody hole appeared in a biker's forehead.
The unbalanced motorcycle flipped, violently rolling across the desert, throwing both riders. The immense speed instantly smashed them against the rocks!
Although Logan was known for his steel claws, he was also a World War II veteran; his skill with firearms was innate.
Bang, bang, bang!
After several bursts of rapid fire, the five motorcycles crashed. In such conditions and at such speeds, survival was virtually impossible; their bodies would soon be completely buried in the sand.
"No one is chasing us anymore," Logan said as he returned to his seat, tossing his gun indifferently onto the passenger seat. He calmly took out a cigarette, lit it with the car's lighter, and exhaled a puff of smoke.
"You're insane!" exclaimed the man in the suit, panting, sitting in the passenger seat. He was still rattled by the excitement of the moment.
"Don't forget the money for the car repair," Logan said indifferently, and drove the car back to the main road.
Without the motorcycle gang chase, there were no further incidents on the way, and the car soon entered the city of Santa Fe.
There, the man in the suit was completely safe. The motorcycle gang rarely dared to cause trouble in Santa Fe.
"Thanks, friend."
In front of a construction company, the man in the suit got out of the car and handed over a thick envelope: "Ten thousand dollars, and the other five thousand is enough to repair the car."
Although this guy is crazy, the man in the suit is willing to pay for the help.
"Yeah."
Logan took the envelope and glanced at it briefly, not counting it in public.
The principle of keeping wealth private applies everywhere, especially in a place like this. The man in the suit didn't leave immediately. Instead, he pulled out his business card and handed it to him. "My name is Chris Lawrence. If you want to expand your business in the future, you can contact me."
"Lawrence?"
Logan remembered that the most famous family in Santa Fe was also named Lawrence. This family was no ordinary family, tied to both the underworld and corruption, and enjoyed considerable prestige in Santa Fe.
"Yes, the Lawrence you're thinking of."
Chris Lawrence smiled. "We'll work together again someday. Goodbye."
Logan looked at the business card in his hand, and an idea suddenly occurred to him.
Perhaps it was time to consider a career change.
His previous plan was to buy a boat and take the Professor out to sea. In the vast ocean, even if the Professor lost control, the risk would be minimized.
But now that his new powers had awakened, he abandoned that idea.
Instead of languishing on the vast sea, he should focus on restoring the glory of his community and escaping this deplorable situation!
But the money needed for this goal was not within the reach of an Uber driver.
At that moment, he couldn't even afford the Professor's medication!
Putting away the business card, Logan drove to the hospital, parked near the garbage chute, and waited.
After waiting in the car for a while, he saw a caretaker sneaking out.
Logan resolutely got out and approached the caretaker, looking nonchalant. He matched his steps, walking beside him.
"Look straight ahead, don't look at me!"
The caretaker kept his eyes fixed on the road, trying to blend in.
"Medicine," Logan replied softly, without even looking at him.
"Two thousand," the caretaker mumbled in an unmistakable voice.
"Are you crazy? It was always fifteen hundred before!" Logan was completely dissatisfied with the caretaker's offer. That was five hundred dollars more than usual—several days' pay!
"Hospitals have tighter control over medication these days, so price hikes are normal. Two thousand, not a penny less."
The caretaker clutched the medicine vial in his pocket. If they didn't agree on the price, he would leave without hesitation.
"Damn it!"
Logan reluctantly pulled out two thousand dollars and quickly slipped them into the caretaker's pocket. The caretaker, in an instant, dropped the medicine vial from his pocket into Logan's, and they separated.
Back in the car, Logan carefully examined the medication in his pocket. After confirming it was alright, he decisively started the engine and sped out of the city.
He drove along the desert road and crossed the border into Mexico.
The car stopped in front of an abandoned factory.
In front of a derelict building inside the factory, Logan pushed open the rusted iron door. The rusty bolt loudly squeaked open.
"Who?"
A pale man emerged from the corner of the house, rifle in hand.
"It's me, Caliban."
Logan, medication in hand, gently pushed Caliban's rifle aside and entered the house.
Caliban breathed a sigh of relief, looked outside to make sure no one was there, then sheathed his shotgun and said, "Next time you come back, send a message in advance."
Logan shrugged. "Don't be such an idiot. No one is going to kill you."
Caliban, an albino, had pale skin lesions that prevented him from being exposed to sunlight. Even when he went out, he bundled up like a mummy.
The constant exposure to cold and gloom had led to paranoid delusions.
"Don't tell me all that. Go see the Professor first."
Caliban returned to the stove, continuing to simmer his lunch.
Logan poured the pills he had just bought into a bowl and asked, "How is he?"
"Still the same, talking nonsense all day."
Caliban shrugged helplessly.
To him, the Professor was now a crazy old man, a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment.
"Ah," Logan sighed helplessly, grabbed a glass of water, and walked out the door with the pills.
It was noon, and the desert sun was incredibly scorching. The hot, yellow sand seemed like layers of spatial fluctuations.
Logan braved the scorching sun and arrived in front of a huge water tower.
The circular tower, which once held the water needed by hundreds of people daily, was now in ruins.
Ravaged by wind, sand, and sun, the surface of the enormous tower was already covered in rust. Many of the iron plates had not resisted the erosion, revealing holes of various sizes.
Logan looked at the tower, sighed, and opened the heavy door.
The interior of the water tank had been transformed into a room, complete with a desk, a bed, and even a clothesline.
An old man, sitting in an electric wheelchair, controlled it as he drove around the huge water tank, muttering to himself.
Logan closed the door and whispered to the old man, "Charles."