In the apocalypse, a good vehicle wasn’t just transport; it was a mobile fortress.

For a convoy constantly on the move, led by a [Pathfinder] through the most desolate routes to avoid Anomalies, a modified off-road vehicle was the ultimate status symbol. It offered cargo space, armor, and a steel barrier against the horrors of the night.

Currently, Captain Chu and the Zhou sisters drove the only two proper off-roaders in the convoy. The envy rolling off the other survivors was palpable enough to taste.

In the old world, grabbing a car was as easy as smashing a window. But now? The cities were death traps, swarming with things that viewed humans as snacks. The only safe roads were the ones nobody used—barren, dusty, and empty.

Finding a working vehicle out here was like finding a diamond in a septic tank.

So, when the convoy spotted the massive pileup ahead—dozens of abandoned cars scattered across the highway—greed overrode caution.

“Yeehaw! Eat my dust!”

A young man on a dirt bike roared past Chen Ye’s tricycle, popping a wheelie. He shot Chen Ye a smug grin, his eyebrows dancing in mockery.

Look at the slowpoke on the trike.

Of the four Sequence Beyonders in the convoy, Chen Ye’s ride was objectively the worst. It was a scavenger’s heap compared to the others.

“Pedal to the metal, kid! Maybe you’ll score a Ferrari today! The old man is taking the lead!”

The Elderly Mobility Scooter whined past him next, its electric motor screaming as the old man pushed it to its limit.

In the past, Chen Ye’s tricycle might have given the “Geezer Glider” a run for its money. But now, weighed down by the heavy steel roll cage and canopy, the trike was a tank—sturdy, but slow as molasses. Even with the throttle pinned, he was losing ground.

Chen Ye didn’t get angry. He just smirked, a flicker of cold amusement in his eyes.

These idiots really forgot that I’m a Beyonder.

Karma was swift.

The dirt bike, pushing too hard on the shifting sands covering the tarmac, hit a patch of loose gravel. The tires lost traction.

“Shiiii—!”

The bike fishtailed violently and high-sided, flinging the rider into the dunes like a ragdoll. The motorcycle skidded across the asphalt, blocking the path.

The old man in the scooter didn’t even tap his brakes. With surprising agility, he swerved the little electric cart left, then right, drifting past the wreckage with the grace of a professional racer.

“Hah! That’s what you get for showing off, you little punk! Karma’s a bitch!” the old man cackled, speeding away.

The crashed rider groaned in the sand, cursing the old man’s ancestors as he spat out grit.

Chen Ye steered his tricycle smoothly around the fallen bike, not bothering to stop. He chugged along at his own pace, unfazed.

As he closed the distance, the scale of the accident became clear. It wasn’t just a fender bender; it was a graveyard of steel.

Dozens of cars were crumpled together like aluminum cans. Some were flattened beyond recognition; others were charred skeletons, burned down to the frame.

But the silence was the loudest part.

There were no bodies.

No survivors waving for help. No corpses trapped in the wreckage. Just empty, twisted metal.

It was eerie. It reeked of an Anomaly.

Chen Ye parked his tricycle on the shoulder. He lit a Tazi cigarette, exhaling a thick white plume. Under his control, the smoke didn’t dissipate; it swirled around his legs, condensing into the shape of a small grey kitten that rubbed against his boots.

A few nearby survivors noticed the display. They whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between Chen Ye and the smoke construct with a mix of envy and fear.

“Sis,” Zhou Xiaoxiao whispered, nudging Zhou Lan. “I thought you said Chen Ye was a support class? That… doesn’t look like support magic.”

Zhou Lan glanced at Chen Ye, gave him a polite nod, and turned back to her sister. “I don’t know. And we’re not asking. Focus on looting. We need supplies.”

The sisters parked their SUV and hurried toward the wreckage.

The survivors descended on the crash site like vultures.

Chen Ye took his time. He was looking for a specific type of vehicle: something with moderate damage that his System could repair, but structurally sound enough to be worth the points.

The mangled wrecks in the center were a write-off.

His eyes landed on a small, boxy two-door car near the edge of the pileup.

It was a Mini EV—often affectionately nicknamed the “Chili Fish Head” or “The Cube” by netizens before the world ended. It had been a bestseller among soccer moms and commuters for its low cost and ease of parking.

Range? Less than 60 miles (100km). Top speed? Laughable. Armor? Nonexistent.

But it had one massive advantage for Chen Ye: It was electric.

Gasoline was a finite resource that required dangerous scavenging runs. Electricity? He could strap solar panels to the roof and have infinite fuel.

Chen Ye walked over. The car was in decent shape—a few scratches, but no structural damage.

Storage was the issue. The “trunk” was a joke; you couldn’t fit a suitcase in there without folding the rear seats. Compared to his tricycle’s cargo bed, it was a downgrade in capacity.

A backup plan, Chen Ye decided. Better than walking, worse than the trike for hauling.

Other survivors had eyed the Mini EV, but seeing the smoke-wielding Beyonder approach, they wisely steered clear.

Chen Ye peered through the window. The interior was empty, stripped of anything valuable—except for one item on the dashboard.

A pair of aviator sunglasses.

Chen Ye’s eyes lit up. In the desert, the sun was a relentless enemy. The glare was blinding, cooking his retinas and hiding potential threats in the washout.

He pulled the door handle. Locked.

Chen Ye didn’t bother with lockpicks. He braced his foot against the rocker panel and pulled. His enhanced muscles flexed, tendons popping.

CREAAAK-SNAP!

The locking mechanism shattered, and the door groaned open.

A blast of superheated air punched him in the face, smelling of baked plastic and stale upholstery.

Chen Ye waved his hand. The smoke kitten at his feet leaped into the cabin, nimble as a ghost. It snatched the sunglasses in its jaws and trotted back, depositing them in Chen Ye’s palm.

Good kitty. His control was getting better.

Chen Ye put on the shades. The blinding white world instantly cooled to a manageable amber tint. The relief was immediate.

In the old world, finding sunglasses was trivial. Here? It was a major victory.

He sat in the driver’s seat and turned the key.

Click.

Silence. The dashboard remained dark.

“Dead battery,” Chen Ye muttered. Not surprising. The car had been sitting here for who knows how long.

He searched the glove box and under the seats—nothing. Just trash.

As he prepared to leave, a thought struck him. He placed his hand on the steering wheel and summoned the interface.

“System, diagnostic scan.”

[Analyzing…] [Target: Mini EV (Micro-Compact)] [Integrity: 89% (Functional)] [Status: Battery Depleted. No mechanical faults.]

Chen Ye nodded, closing the door.

89% integrity was excellent. Even if he didn’t take it now, knowing it was viable gave him options.

Plan B secured.

He stepped back out into the heat.

His gaze drifted further down the line of wreckage. About twenty meters away, a rugged shape caught his eye.

A Jeep Wrangler.

It was lying on its side, half-buried in sand, but the roll cage looked intact.

Chen Ye’s heart skipped a beat. Now that… that was a Plan A.

A few survivors were already circling it, poking at the undercarriage. Chen Ye adjusted his new sunglasses and strode toward them.

Surprises usually hid in the best loot.