The delivery arrived at the heavy titanium gates of Sanctuary just past noon.
It wasn't a caravan of grateful refugees seeking asylum, nor was it a heavily armed raid party looking for a fight. It was a single rusted beat-up pickup truck.
The engine sputtered and choked on the ambient mana before screeching to a halt right at the edge of the golden barrier.
A lone terrified soldier wearing the burnt and ash-stained insignia of Sector 7 stepped out. He didn't say a word. He just dropped a crude wooden crate onto the pavement, scrambled back into the truck, and sped off into the wasteland like a monster was chasing him.
Sebastian and Valerie stood in the outer courtyard as two hulking Scrap Golems dragged the crate inside the walls.
"Did someone order takeout?" Sebastian asked dryly, leaning against the cold obsidian wall of the inner gate.
"I don't think it's pizza," Valerie grimaced, covering her nose. The crate smelled awful. It smelled like raw meat and rotting waste.
