To be precise, Mill City was actually divided further north, built on smaller ruins at the southern end of Old Milwaukee, and Zika City on the ruins of Old Chicago at the southern end. As early as the era of nuclear winter, the expedition sent by the two city shelters met unexpectedly, and then the climate began to warm, the radiation subsided, and after a little suitable for human survival, the surviving humans began to fully return to the surface and began the pioneer era.

The two cities were so close to each other that they soon joined hands to form a joint council, and together they established the Mil-Zhika city-state in the former intermediate transition zone between the two cities, and the city council was ruled by the pure-bloods of the two refuges, and the first northern alliance was formed by waterway with Ford City and Steel City at the eastern end. Compared to Speaker Franz, who was the only speaker in the Council of Thirteen in Steel City, who had two votes in favor and a veto, the United City-State of Mill-Zhika was more direct, with a council of fifty and twenty-five seats each.

It stands to reason that everyone should call them "mil-chic", but wastelanders probably don't have such a good spirit to pronounce two more sounds, compared to "chic", which is quite similar to "chicken", it is always a little weird, and the descendants of the Chicago Vault would rather be misclassified next door than called chicken, chicken and so on...... So in the current post-pioneer era, except for the occasional "Chicago" that can be heard in the neighborhood at the southern end of Mill City, which is more of a Chicago descent, it is all "mil" that can be uttered by simply moving the mouth.

Probably this is the faint sadness that lingers in the Mills.

As one of the leaders of the Northern Industrial Alliance, Mill City's manufacturing industry is not as ferocious as Steel City's production of large-scale pouring of molten steel on the city walls, but it also has a developed military industry, which is enough to mass-produce light weapons and all kinds of light artillery. The technology carried by the two refuges was already more inclined to systematic training, exporting skilled workers, and relying on the position closer to the infinite manpower of the western desert, relying on the sale of people to second-hand slaves, why should they have to take on the obligations of Franz?

"The aura of the purple blood has become very light." The sun is scorching, and under the linen hood is a pair of long, sharpened ears, Alex

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Shanda slowly exhaled a long breath like Bai Lian, which lasted for two or three minutes.

Midalen didn't disturb Executive Hydra's thoughts, she waved her hand slightly, and the United Hydra factions scattered all over the crowd suddenly scattered in all directions, passing through the large slave market of Zika, faintly grasping every entrance.

Her pale pupils ignored the dark-skinned slaves who were shackled one after another, and led them in a long line across the extremely dry yellow mud floor. The slave hunters wearing sand-brown dust towels did not forget to pick up the long whip even when they were laughing with their peers, and it was a "pop" that smashed the back of a slave who looked disobedient.

Midalen snorted coldly, watching the members of the slave hunting team wantonly kick and beat the black slave who was pulled to the ground and fall, no matter how the master beat him, the slave still dared to hold his head and not resist a little. Most of Hydra's presence in Mill City had returned from the Western Desert Division, so he was naturally not interested in this. Those who really had a bit of backbone had long since died of thirst and sunburned to death on the execution racks next to the two interstates of 70 or 80. Those who really had some mercy also basically died in the mob slums.

He does not deserve any sympathy. This Hydra thought.

Midalen's eyes moved, and he followed the executive who suddenly stepped into the depths of the Zika slave market. It was the largest slave transit point in the entire North, and of course Midalen didn't like the old ruins and new buildings, especially the "bad people" who were always peeking at the astonishing frost beneath their cloaks.

The red plastic melted into the dirt gave the market area some special splendour, and the crude awning was not even a little more elaborate than the grandstand on the ring of the stadium ruins, and Midalen lurked in the shadows of fragmentation, thinking that she was also a devout and studious believer, but she had never been allowed to enter the main library of the University of Steel to read the scriptures, and she was not a hypocrite who was good at dormant deception like the Transfigurers.

Walking in the slave market and thinking about this would have been a no-brainer, but as Midalen gradually ascended to the stands and accompanied the executors to search for the commission shops set up by the Ayutthaya families in various industrial areas, she could see through the gray and old ruins on the diagonal side.

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Just like the ruins of the University of Wisconsin campus that you have seen all the way from 17th Street.

Tens of thousands of roentgeniums have been ravaged by high radiation and decades of wind and rain, and the commonplace ruins not far away are full of angular and rounded rubble, and now it is no longer the pre-pioneer era where valuable scraps can be found everywhere, and such ruins are not appreciated by experienced wastelanders. Xu had witnessed a pure-blooded heretic self-infidels who had become a little unappetizing.

The stinking muddy water trickled down her boots, and she continued to ignore the inaudible sound of the whipping iron below, and she bowed slightly, so that the tarpaulin that was about to sweep her forehead swept by, and she suddenly found that the room was full, and there were not many people of the same height except for her and the executive. She felt more and more unheard of this place.

Unite, unite all the power we can get, she muttered.

Stepping past the stands belonging to citizens and purebloods, Hydralgate gradually converged again, and the scrapyard was naturally next to the slave market. As soon as he went out, Midalen shrugged the tip of his snow-like nose. One is even more fishy. Being able to endure it doesn't mean she's willing.

The executive stepped in without hesitation.

It was nearly impossible to expect the City Council to dispose of these mountains of garbage, which were often several meters high, and even Midalen, who had devoted himself to prayer and bloodline for many years, knew how costly it would be to send slaves who could have cleaned up the ruins of the city to clean up the scrapyards. In particular, if you want to burn it, you will have to use precious fuel, and when the billowing black smoke returns, no one can guarantee that it will not attract tricky things like magic eagles or living corpses.

The sewage no longer flowed, but did not reach the knees, and all the Hydra who trekked through it closed their sense of smell, and the telekinetic threads and spear skills that had once subdued the desolate bears had to stop the swarms of rotting flies, and the deeper they went, Midalen kept admonishing himself to be patient and to serve.

Eventually, the executive stopped and stood in front of a stunned scrapyard manager.

"Torture him."

PS: Time is a bit tight today, so let's make up for it with a chapter of conceptual mecha combat, at the frontispiece.

(End of chapter)

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