1.10 The Shattered Traveler's Camp

The four of them, traveling in three vehicles, soon weaved through an old-era ruin filled with gigantic mechanical arms. The areas clearly modified by players gradually increased. Though all rooted in the sci-fi faction, the fragments each player carried were bizarrely diverse, rarely alike. Forced together and contrasted against the cold remnants of the old era, the scene was a chaotic punk aesthetic. At a glance, it resembled the classic “Eleven Punk” of sci-fi narrative worlds, a style well-loved within the camp.

Everywhere they looked, dazzling B-grade sci-fi styles flooded the streets, alongside C-grade augmented humans in avant-garde attire. All perfectly matched the Eleven Punk vibe.

Strange and mesmerizing, what was called a camp could easily be considered a district.

Unbelievably, entry into the camp cost only one coin.

Could it be just to gather crowds?

Perhaps for players who had completed the “404 Road of Destruction,” the only concern upon entering was whether they could accept B-grade and accommodate C-grade elements. Naturally, not all players willingly embraced “degeneration” or “lowbrow tastes,” chasing punk decadence.

Wu Chen was fine.

Baili Yan was also tolerable. As a player couple, they could endure it, especially considering the one-protection-coin admission fee—almost free of charge.

All newcomers were guests. When new players entered the camp, veteran players immediately sent greetings. In the network age, face-to-face contact was unnecessary, and Wu Chen need not personally intervene. The onboard AI managed it all. Wu Chen’s AE86, showcasing a technological line, was utterly unremarkable in the camp. Veteran players had already scanned it in secret: no flight capability, no transformation, and no folding space inside the vehicle. The onboard AI was a modest surprise, but likely unprofitable, so after polite exchanges, things settled down.

It was like dividing artificial intelligence into software and hardware parts. If Wu Chen’s AE86 was the hardware, its functionality was mediocre. Yet as software, the onboard AI far exceeded the hardware’s limitations. The hardware lagged behind the software. Such a scenario meant only one thing: the AE86 had not yet upgraded to the latest version. This implied that Wu Chen, exiled to the Broken City as model 0326, was far from regaining his full strength.

Land within the camp was precious; it was nearly impossible to “keep one’s feet on the ground.” Unless one wanted to be like the ubiquitous floating cubes—stacking ever higher—only some dangerous, isolated work zones on the outskirts offered barely enough space to settle.

After all, they were new arrivals. It was essential to avoid isolation, to steer clear of becoming a loner.

Through AI inquiries with veteran players, the four with their three vehicles took the lift platform to outfitting workshop O-103B. Among the unfinished starship segments, one stood out—already transformed by players into a floating-cube lodging area, inside and out.

Their task was to carve off a portion of the hull and convert it into a floating platform. This platform could be combined with player bases to form a lodging area or relocated freely within the camp by its own buoyancy.

Of course, finished products were also sold inside the camp, commonly called “flatboards.” These typically included vector magnetic levitation engines, spatial folding modules, self-circulation systems, wireless communication modules, and various facilities. One flatboard cost ten coins, with no purchase limits, facilitating later additions like repair boards, planting boards, storage boards, weather boards, and so forth—forming player-exclusive platforms: flatboard bases.

Naturally, if quality of life was not a concern, a molecular printer could solve all survival problems—food, drink, and waste.

---

All printers required consumables. Even the molecular printer could not create food out of thin air but reassembled food using organic molecules, primarily derived from carbohydrates. The source was best left unmentioned. As for taste, players preferred intravenous feeding over oral consumption, revealing much.

One flatboard, priced at ten coins, was the camp’s main income source but still far cheaper than renting a capsule house.

Besides affordability, some essential information needed to be remembered by players.

First, floating flatboards had to match the player’s vehicle and could not resist the force of fragmentation. Normally safe within the protection of the Broken City, risk spiked dramatically during cleansing days.

Another crucial rule: the starship hull segments carved by players were “original objects” from this world. Naturally, they were remembered by the Guardians. Being remembered was essential for a player’s existence—this was especially important.

As mentioned earlier, the capsule houses in the port were also from this world, original objects carrying the Guardians’ memory.

“Which model to buy?” Browsing the camp’s local network, Baili Yan was soon overwhelmed by the variety of floating flatboards.

“‘Rock Solid Type III’ is good,” Wu Chen replied. “Besides vector levitation engines, spatial folding modules, self-circulation systems, and wireless communication modules, it also includes a backup battery pack, wireless energy transfer, and a repair drone station. Even if the vehicle detaches, it can last three days.”

“Truly rock solid,” Baili Yan smiled knowingly. The Rock III flatboard perfectly suited Wu Chen’s nuclear-powered AE86. The Vynapo O9-Z low-temperature power battery for his old car didn’t require constant charging; the West European Dane O3-R cooling power battery for the couple’s RV was the same.

So the team ordered Rock III flatboards simultaneously.

Shortly after, three flatboards flew autonomously to workshop O-103B.

They just needed to enter the exclusive key to activate the flatboard’s built-in modules. Then, parking the AE86 securely on the central berth, wireless power transmission activated immediately. The rest required no effort from Wu Chen; by simply following prompts, blinking at the main screen, speaking occasionally, and glancing around, the onboard AI completed subsystem integration and ownership binding.

Soon, a multifunctional holographic wristwatch, made from local materials, was printed within minutes by repair drones controlled by the AI using 3D molecular printing.

Wu Chen could control all devices on the flatboard through the wristwatch’s holographic projection or delegate the entire process to the AI.

“Master, Rock Solid Type III flatboard control subsystem is online,” the AI stated conventionally. “Please assign a name.”

“Name it automatically,” Wu Chen replied simply.

---

“Understood.” The AI immediately created a sub-database. As a digital lifeform, source code was akin to human DNA. The more subsystems and subprograms integrated, the stronger the digital lifeform’s capabilities and the deeper its understanding of the world it inhabited.

“Spatial folding countdown: 3, 2, 1.” The AI, named Ai Yi, activated the spatial expansion unit again.

Wu Chen was curious how spatial folding was achieved. As the red phone booth expanded on its own and the protection sphere—constantly consuming protection coins—enveloped the entire flatboard, Wu Chen understood. In simple terms, the flatboard base amplified the player’s “exclusive shelter” rules into a “quasi-shelter” high-dimensional spacetime, like extending the protective light shield of a phone booth to cover the entire base. This was essentially a magnification of the rules.

The “creations” from the shelter and the “original objects” from this world—the AE86 and the Rock III flatboard—perfectly illustrated the meaning of “symbiosis.”

“How much does the base shield consume?” Wu Chen asked, his primary concern.

“One coin per day and night,” as expected, the minimum consumption.

“Good,” Wu Chen felt somewhat relieved.

The volume of the flatboard under the sphere was considerable. Nanomaterials stored in the repair drone station could print a single-person base. The saying “sharpening the axe won’t delay the woodcutting” applied—design and construction could wait. Wu Chen first ordered the AI to optimize execution code and strengthen firewalls before considering the next steps.

Later, Ai Yi spun off a thread dedicated to collecting camp information, establishing a Broken Traveler Camp database.

With nothing pressing, Wu Chen chatted casually with Baili Yan and others, gradually falling asleep.

The AI thoughtfully dimmed the central control screen and switched to background operation.

If hardware and software were considered one entity, the AI was the true soul of the AE86.

Born in the turbulent millennia of New Hong Kong, this super AI worked tirelessly day and night, all to ensure Wu Chen’s seamless integration into the Broken City, achieving twice the result with half the effort.