They had joked about getting customers.
Now it was happening.
Gabe, Iris, and Sly froze as Bob pointed down the road.
A mobile safe zone rolled into view. Larger and sleeker than theirs, a luxury RV moved steadily across the cracked pavement, escorted by three guards flying overhead in Glint forms. The vehicle's surface gleamed, reinforced and spotless, almost too clean for the apocalypse.
For a moment, no one said anything.
They had set up a food truck in the middle of nowhere.
And somehow, it worked.
The doors of the RV hissed open. A family of four stepped out. A father, a mother, and two young children, both under ten.
The kids ran straight to the foldable tables, laughing like they were on a road trip instead of standing in the middle of a monster-infested wasteland.
The parents lingered near the truck, glancing at the menu. The father raised an eyebrow, half amused.
Before they could even place an order, another vehicle rolled into the clearing.
A jeep pulled up next to the RV. A second mobile safe zone. Four men stepped out, armed but relaxed. Survivors, but not desperate ones.
Sly and Gabe stared.
Iris blinked. "People are actually showing up?"
Bob grinned and spread his arms. "Welcome to The Last Bite. No refunds, no regrets. Just damn good food while you are still breathing."
The four men exchanged glances, then smiled. One of them stepped forward. "What do you have here?"
Bob grinned and, with the confidence of a seasoned vendor, declared, "Alright, here is the menu. For mains, we have Doomsday Drumsticks and The Last Stew. If you want something lighter, we have snacks: Gabe's Emergency Rations, Bob's Big Bunker Burger, and Sly's Sneaky Snack Platter. For drinks, we are serving the Goliath Gulp and Iris' Black Coffee of Doom."
The family and the four men exchanged amused glances before laughing. It was not normal by any measure, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like living again.
Then, they started ordering.
Meanwhile, Gabe and Sly turned to Bob, their eyes glowing with betrayal.
Gabe crossed his arms. "Gabe's Emergency Rations?"
Sly glared. "Sly's Sneaky Snack Platter?!"
Iris, unbothered, waved a hand. "Shut up, you two. I didn't even complain about 'Iris' Black Coffee of Doom. Or do you wanna taste it without the coffee?"
They both immediately backed down.
-----
The customers ate, talking and laughing, finding a moment of peace in the middle of chaos. Their escorts stayed near the vehicles, each one in Glint form, scanning the area with sharp eyes.
But something felt off.
The four men, while enjoying their meals, kept glancing around. They were not just here to eat.
One of them finally spoke up. "Where are your escorts?"
The question changed the atmosphere instantly.
Bob, as always, remained unbothered. "We do not have any."
He stayed near the food truck, watching them calmly.
When it was time to escort the rich family back to their RV, Bob stood and casually stepped beyond the edge of the safe zone's protection.
And in an instant, his body shifted.
His Goliath form activated. Muscles expanded. Skin hardened. His presence doubled in intensity.
The reaction was immediate.
The escort near the four men stiffened. "We should go."
The four men hesitated, glancing nervously at Bob. But they paid without argument, tossing a small pouch of Pink Fragments onto a table before retreating to their jeep.
The family did not waste time either. They had already left their payment on the counter, with a little extra as a tip, before Bob escorted them back to their RV. Now they climbed inside quickly, the doors locking behind them.
As the two vehicles pulled away, one of the men in the jeep leaned toward their escort. "What the hell was that?"
The escort's voice was low. "Do you not recognize that giant? That is Bob."
Another man frowned. "Who is Bob?"
The escort swallowed. "Bob the Goliath. The Wild Bites. The ones who destroyed the cartel base."
Silence filled the jeep.
Slowly, realization spread across their faces.
They had just dined with the apocalypse.
It had been three days since the grand opening of The Last Bite food truck. Contrary to Gabe, Iris, and Sly's expectations, the number of customers was not shrinking.
It was growing.
What started as a strange novelty, dining in a mobile safe zone surrounded by the swirling Pink Fog, had turned into a full-blown attraction. People craved something more than just food. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe it was the hope. Or maybe it was Bob.
Word spread quickly. The food was good, but it was not just the meals that drew people in.
It was the crew.
The Wild Bites. The team who had destroyed a cartel base and kept moving like it was nothing. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the infamous group that treated surviving the apocalypse like it was just another day.
Their popularity exploded. People started taking pictures of them, only within the food truck's safe zone of course, since the Pink Fog still fried electronics.
On some days, Bob would even act like a mascot. He would step out into the Pink Fog in full Goliath form and approach the food truck from just outside the edge of the barrier. He would get as close as he could without crossing back in, flexing or striking silly poses, his massive frame looming in the mist.
Inside the food truck's safe zone, customers cheered and snapped photos like they were at a theme park.
Bob called it marketing.
Gabe called it reckless PR.
The food truck's popularity kept growing. It was not just local travelers anymore. Word about The Last Bite and the Wild Bites crew was spreading to other settlements and nearby safe zone cities. Their story was picked up by survivor networks, then by larger broadcast hubs, replayed over and over on old screens and portable devices.
After the broadcasts, some survivors even tried to imitate Bob. They used improvised car bombs or blunt force to destroy safe zone meteor fragments, hoping to reconstruct them elsewhere.
But while Bob made it look easy, most of the copycats failed miserably. Only a handful managed to relocate fragments successfully. Many ended up dead or with ruined fragments, learning the hard way that not everyone could muscle their way through the apocalypse like a Goliath.
Safe zones were lost in reckless attempts. It did not take long before survivors realized how vulnerable those meteor fragments truly were.
Now, meteor fragments, the heart of every safe zone, were being heavily guarded. Some were locked inside bank vaults. Others were buried beneath bunkers or welded into the cores of fortified vehicles.
People understood now. The stones were everything. And Bob had shown just how fragile they really were.
Still, Bob and his crew did not linger. Even though they were racking up Pink Fragments, the new apocalypse currency, they had no interest in settling down or capitalizing on their popularity.
Their goal stayed the same.
They packed up, kept moving, and pressed on toward their destination. Iris' parents.
No distractions. No detours. Just forward.
At one point during their journey, they passed a small base under construction. The people there were collecting meteor fragments, no matter how small, and combining them to expand their safe zone's radius.
They had already built a one-hundred-foot radius of protection, and at the center, a makeshift trade zone had formed.
They were not just surviving. They were turning survival into an economy.
It was interesting, but Bob and his crew did not stay long. They had a destination.
Iris' parents' hometown.
Three cities away.
Eventually, they reached the first city on their route to Iris' parents. One down. Two to go.
It had taken them three months to get here.
Before the apocalypse, a trip from District 1-01 to District 5-01 would have taken less than a week. Now, it was a miracle they made it at all.
Travel was slow and brutal. Roads were shattered. Bridges were destroyed or buried under debris. Entire routes had vanished, swallowed by the Pink Fog. Every journey forced them into detours through broken cities and abandoned settlements.
They could not afford full speed travel. They rotated Glint escorts constantly, always ready for a fight. Nightmare creatures prowled the wild zones, and Red Hands forces harassed them whenever they thought they had an opening.
Some stops were necessary. Settlements, outposts, even major safe zones, just to resupply, repair the truck, or wait for better conditions. Every step forward came with a price.
But somehow, they kept moving.
Now, as they neared the outskirts of the first city, it finally felt like progress.
They had expected a city.
What they found felt nothing like one.
It was a city that did not feel like a city. It looked more like a military base pretending to be civilian.
Guard towers flanked the main roads. Barricades made from scrap metal and reinforced concrete blocked every entrance, each manned by armed personnel. Rows of sandbags and mounted turrets framed building fronts. Drones buzzed overhead in slow, steady patrols.
Everything was under watch.