Just past noon, the hovercar slowly landed on the rooftop of the commercial association's building.
"35 million watts, it's almost catching up with the senior officials of the Rebel Army."
As the car door opened slowly, Song Lan reminded "Nothingness" that they had a written agreement; if "Nothingness" disputed and violated the agreement, then he would have no choice but to reluctantly accept the 35 million watts.
Given his current salary, it was undoubtedly a financial windfall, greatly alleviating the skyrocketing housing costs in District Seventeen.
He also took the opportunity to glance at the splendidly decorated building, thinking to himself that it truly deserved its reputation as a gold-rush site in people's eyes. He had only been here one day, and through deceit—cough, legitimate business activities—he had made a fortune.
"I don't have money."
