Few things in life are ever certain, because they seldom involve land-bound battleships pummeling each other. That particular thing did, and therefore certainty made no objection to calling Vinnette Melban's victory early. All hail the Road Empress! Her barrages struck areas twisted and weakened by the target's internal complications. Gaps between armor plates grew, crucial components exposed themselves to the world, and evacuation sirens sounded. The only character inside, Acolyte, scrambled out when most of the left hull separated from the rest and buried itself in a pile of pulverized earth. He timed his exit well, for seconds later, Kindo managed to pop a tire. The landship spun and exposed its open side to Vinnette, who never turned down an invitation, at least without an authentic excuse. None of that attending her nonexistent grandmother's funeral nonsense for her. As shell after shell slammed into its flank, the enemy shook, listed, and fell. The attackers, had they not been so close to the ear-filling ruckus, might have heard, in the distance, a giggle.

“Good thing I stayed on my ride,” Kindo said as he escaped the ship's shadow before the real thing came to meet it. The other officers and crusaders agreed, since they had hopped on behind him. “Now get off!”

They considered it. “No,” they decided.

An unassailable argument, as even Kindo had to admit. He motored off toward the victorious ground leviathan without further complaint, though also without any consideration given to keeping the jumble behind him steady. Freeriders could take care of themselves, as the rules of the dusty highway will ever hold. He paused on a small rise to turn and watch the finale. Explosions, though not enough explosions for the spectators' tastes, and the moans of tortured metal accompanied the end of the struggle.

What comes after struggles? “Looting,” Ivar said, and different answers shuddered and fled before the power of his conviction. He and everyone who agreed, which is to say, everyone, returned to the gas station.

“It blew up,” Kindo said.

“It's on fire,” Fusberta added.

“It's terrible! The resources!” Vinnette Melban cried, staring at the inferno which surrounded the site and claimed all as its own.

An officer ensconced in robes that might have been fire-resistant as far as anyone knew stepped forward and kept on stepping. “You may not know this about me. I try not to boast. However, my vitality and optimism show clearly the truth that I'm an Inferno myself. Leave this to me.” Ulrik walked into the flames without the hesitation expected of a Rare performing any kind of manual labor or public service.

The others watched the raging flames and concealing smoke embrace him. “What bravery to expose oneself to such fury, even knowing his elemental affinity protects him!”

“Nope,” Kindo said.

“Pardon?” Acolyte asked.

“Infernos are strong against Quakes. Fire does one times damage to them, just like to me. I'm a Storm, by the by.”

“My theory was that this game's elemental systems would give me fire immunity.” A voice was heard from the flames before its owner appeared, a robed Rare holding a gas can that escaped destruction by virtue of being an important economic resource. “My theory has some holes. I will never admit how much this hurts. I hope you understand.”

“Standard Examination! Public Examination! Checkup!” Vinnette Melban understood. She blew all her cooldowns on the savior of the new century, with the result that Ulrik soon abandoned his fresh, forward-looking charcoal look.

“Thank you, Princess Melban. Here you are.” He held out the can, but pulled it back. “I see you've taken up dual-wielding a wrench and staff. And! You have a tan. And also! Some of your hair is hanging in front of your face.”

“She didn't always look like that? I have a hard time distinguishing Rares,” Fusberta said.

“That's by design. We all shine so brightly.” Ulrik patted the can. “I'll hold this for you. That's how the fellowship between the fashionable should be. Look at these glasses, for example.”

“The lenses are all swirly . . .”

“Yes. They also increase my INT.”

“That's incredible!”

“It is. I now have enough INT to wonder if you can make your flagship sit on a noodle cart.”

“Checkup! Standard Examination!”

“If a head injury has him speak so, we should all bludgeon ourselves, for there is reason in it.” Ivar returned, not that anyone had noticed that he left earlier. His motorcycle's sidecar was stuffed with landship parts. “Why linger here? To open a cafe in the ruins of the world? Ride!”

They rode, after Ulrik recovered his and Acolyte's rentals and lashed them to the armed hauler's broad top at Vinnette Melban's direction. Kindo and Ivar loaded theirs up as well. The six foreigners climbed up and let the steel behemoth do the traveling back to the city while Fusberta pretended to be a hood ornament up front.

“I don't want to get into a Corporeal situation. What's a nicer term for hood ornament?”

“Figurehead,” Vinnette Melban said.

“Figurehead! Thanks.”

“You're welcome, Wiffle.”

“She goes by Fusberta now,” Kindo said.

“I don't get it . . .”

The debriefing covered that and many other important subjects, from the revelation of Paradise the Enchant's glitchiness (“Anime tie-ins,” Ivar said with all the contempt the category deserved) to a thrilling battle between hulking vehicles in the abandoned post-apocalyptic wastes of Dust and Highway, a city-builder mobile game.

“I was there,” she insisted. “I won!”

“That confidence! I like it,” Ulrik said. “We were told you always win. Lasva isn't here, and that means I'm responsible for asking why. Are you cheating?”

“Yes. Heehee!” Vinnette finished giggling into her hands and continued. “I can Regen my vehicle. Nobody here can do that, and standard raiders are too weak to do anything about it. I also have a passive that adds Attack to allies under one of my effects.”

“It reached 300 Attack before the collab. Praise Vigilant Patrol! It levels our officers, our skills, and all of our dreams.”

She nodded. “And in this game, that's a big number. Really big! Haulers owned by whales have a Firepower statistic of 1,100 or so.”

The travelers marveled at her gamebreaking power while relaxing, chatting, and getting some sun, which felt stronger in the post-apocalypse to a menacing degree. They also estimated how many furniture items and muscle statues they could pack inside, which caused them to understand what Ulrik and Ivar had realized earlier regarding the necessity of extracting that splendid vehicle from Dust and Highway, whether via noodle cart or by fetching an Ogre with an especially large rope.

“I'd sure like one of these for myself, but aren't they player resources? We can't take it out in that case,” Kindo said.

Vinnette Melban shook her head. “The player quit. That's why the town needed help.”

“And look at it now.” Ulrik's scimitar pointed forward without any adjustment. Even at level cap, the mastery of new skills continued.

Doctor Erwin and a crowd of townsfolk awaited the return of their Road Empress in front of a shining city of tall buildings, wide buildings, and zero-taste billboards. Parks and galleries? Sure, probably, but none visible from the outskirts. A parking garage that extended several floors above and below ground, suitable for both stealth segments and rooftop rocket launcher fights against a helicopter boss? Of course. The city had grown, even compared to a couple hours before. Already the transformation of the outskirts had started, for the land where they waited had been leveled in preparation to erect a stadium the equal of any in Styleful Happy!! To the Live for future monster truck rallies.

The crowds at those rallies would never feel such jubilation as the citizens did when the hauler rolled in, not even if a mechanical dinosaur picked up a car and ate it. They cheered, shouted, threw hats and helmets, dodged the spikes on the latter, and cheered harder since they had discovered an urgent new appreciation for life.

“They do this every time?” Kindo asked.

“Every time . . .”

That answer shook another question out of Fusberta. “Can you bring yourself to leave when they worship you like this?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

The hauler pulled up, and the officers and crusaders descended a side ladder. “Where do I put this can?” Ulrik asked.

“Look at it, Ulrik.”

“Oh. It's already gone.”

“Heehee.”

“With those resources, we can finish upgrading the garage and build our own service station. We won't need you to harvest gas for a good, long time,” Doctor Erwin said.

“Good, because I'm leaving!”

“What?”

“Bye!” Vinnette Melban shoved her wrench inside her belt, which had lived its life as a sash till circumstances mandated it toughen itself up. “Thank you for your hospitality!” She curtsied before running off to fetch the noodle cart, fellow low rarities Ulrik and Acolyte beside her.

Kindo stayed to explain concepts such as Universal Temporary Asset Substitutes, the value of trade, and the tourism that could be expected if they maintained good relations with Commandment of Hero and Holy Legend Army. “Play it right, and you can buy orange trees for every street corner and mistletoe for your parties. Put a fence up around the cart. Don't forget the door,” he advised

“Wrong. Forget all of that.” The noodle cart arrived in the hands of Acolyte, Vinnette Melban, and Ulrik, the last of whom spoke. “I just got here. That means my fresh new ideas are better than your stale, conventional methods. In addition, look at these swirly glasses.”

“Yes, I'm convinced,” Doctor Erwin confessed.

“Put up parallel walls all the way from here to the oasis and surround it. Turn it into a water park for the enjoyment of kids from eight to eighty. The prices for refreshments will be exorbitant. Extend the walls to the spawn area when you find out where that is. We came from there, but our memories retain only two things: slights and our stats.”

“You're right! A hidebound old doctor like me who does everything by the book needs to learn something from you strangers.”

“He looks about thirty,” Fusberta whispered to Kindo, who nodded.

“We'll do exactly what you propose. Why, we might even rethink some other things. What do you say we finally allow dancing again?” The crowd roared its approval.

“Did you mayhap ban that joyful practice in fear lest its wanton abuse injure morals?”

The doctor shook his head. “All the dance studios were destroyed in the disaster. As if that wasn't bad enough, we had to convert all the choreographers into raiders. We're all so bad at it now.”

Kindo said, “Seeing as you don't know any better, we have something you might like. It's called elementercise, and it's just the worst.”

“Wonderful! I do have to warn you about something. Dust and Highway doesn't have an elemental system.”

“An excellent warning. It came after I already displayed my courage, which is the best time. I've done everything I need to here. Princess Melban. Make that thing hop.”

“Watch!” She climbed the ladder and whacked her landship on the rear with her caduceus. The machine jolted, popped its front wheels off the ground, and landed on the noodle cart Ulrik kicked under it. If that had been a fight, judges might have debated which party got it worse: the one that lost structural integrity, or the one that vanished from reality. Where the landship and cart had been, only some planks, curtains, and wheels remained. Ulrik, Acolyte, Kindo, Ivar, and Fusberta shrugged or did the phoenix equivalent and sat on the boards.