The wail of ambulance and police sirens echoed across the highway. Captain Shane had once again responded to a call involving another drunk driver who had met his end on the highway at 3 a.m. He stepped out of his vehicle and was immediately greeted by rain, making him grimace slightly as he shielded his head with his hand, mimicking an umbrella.

In the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, a overturned car was visible, surrounded by numerous shards of glass. He walked forward slowly, pulling out a cigarette to satisfy his nicotine craving.

"Oh, Shane, good to see you!" said another captain who was also standing by the overturned car, smoking a cigarette. They shook hands, and Shane stood beside his old friend.

"How are you? How's the family?" Shane asked, more out of politeness than curiosity. He was not particularly interested in how his old colleague was doing, but it was a necessary formality.

"Everything's fine. Willy's already in fourth grade, a lively kid, just like his mother, ha-ha. Anyway, Shane... We have a case here that will make headlines across the country in a couple of hours," the officer said, tossing his cigarette into a puddle that had formed on the asphalt from the rain.

Shane frowned.

'Another celebrity death?'

"What's the matter?" he asked, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

The other officer seemed to hesitate slightly, then exhaled heavily.

"According to the detective, around 2:55 a.m., a man was walking from the nearest gas station who was dead drunk. Five minutes later, in his inebriated state, he apparently thought it was a good idea to walk on the highway at 3 a.m., and unsurprisingly, he was involved in an accident that resulted in his immediate death," the officer said, gazing at the overturned car with a heavy look.

Shane was slightly confused about why this news would make such a big splash nationwide. Such incidents were not uncommon around the world; he would even say they had become mundane. But then his friend continued.

"I know what you're thinking, but the gas station cameras recorded something," he said, pulling out a small tablet from under his arm. When he turned it on, it displayed a black-and-white image of a person dressed in a leather jacket, with long curly hair, carrying a bottle.

It took no time for Shane to recognize the face that had been featured on almost every billboard across the country.

"Well... Damn it..."

That day, the news spread across the country, shocking not just the nation but the whole world.

[Popular rocker "Samuel Cooper" died in a highway accident.]

But who would have thought that he was not completely dead?

Samuel stood amidst the sandy dunes, gazing at the sunset. He felt the warm breeze blowing against his face, wrapping around his pale face as if breathing life into him. A smile blossomed on his face, and his open brown eyes burned with life and ambition.

"Ah, how wonderful... It's like being on vacation!"

In his view, numerous metallic fragments lay scattered in the endless desert. People dressed in gray robes with numbered tags on their backs were running around. Metal shackles adorned their necks and arms, studded with myriad small lights that glowed in different colors.

Indeed, Samuel himself proudly wore the uniform, with a splendid number "72" on his back.

"The desert is truly a beautiful place!" he said proudly and loudly, smiling with all 32 teeth.

But alas, a strike from a leather whip across his back quickly brought him back to reality, causing Samuel to fall face-first into the hot sand, heated by the relentless sun above.

"72, get back to work! No standing around daydreaming, human scum!" came a thunderous, low voice from behind him.

Warm liquid ran down Samuel's back, and the pain was unbearable. But gritting his teeth, he got to his feet and turned around. He saw a humanoid with a head resembling a rhinoceros. Samuel clenched his fists, ready to lash out at his tormentor, but quickly calmed down, realizing it was not the right time and he was unlikely to win.

"Yes, yes, I'm going..." the young man said languidly, adjusting his robe.

'Why the hell was I reincarnated as a slave?!'

Samuel had little memory of his past life. He knew he had been someone famous and influential. In his dreams, he often saw that luxurious life he had once lived. Money, yachts, cars, and a huge number of people at concerts. This knowledge gave him a rough idea of what he needed to achieve in this world.

In this new world, he had neither name nor possessions, nothing of his own. He was a slave, with the code name "72." His job was to cut up ancient spaceship hulls left over from incredible battles of ancient civilizations.

They were called "The Precursors" in this world.

Approaching the nearest flat metal piece sticking out of the sand, he pressed a button on his shackles, which extended small probes from his right and left arms. As Samuel clenched his hands into fists, blue and then white flames erupted from the probes.

Holding the flame to the metal hull, he carefully began to cut it with the fire, first slightly melting the surface and then cutting through it completely.

Such work was extremely dangerous. Samuel had countless burns on his hands, forcing him to work very carefully, avoiding any sudden movements.

He had been doing this for 16 years. Over these years, he had learned much about his new world and the place he was in.

Naturally, this was not Earth. It was a desert planet of class "D," which meant danger. Such planets were generally poorly suited for life due to weather conditions or other destructive factors. For instance, this planet had many toxic mists and sandstorms, making it nearly impossible to establish any megacity on the planet.

However, technological advancements had mitigated this. Samuel knew there were cities on the planet, though not megacities. They were all protected by energy shields, the exact workings of which he didn't fully understand, only knew that they existed.

Technology in this world had advanced far beyond his past. Robots hovering on anti-gravity engines made that clear. Even his shackles, despite being quite large and heavy, had several functions.

First - to deploy a laser cutter that could easily melt almost any metal surface.

Second - they could inject stimulants that could save his life in various situations, thereby extending the slave's life.

Third - if a slave misbehaved, well...

"To hell with all this, I'd rather die trying than put up with it!" came a shout from Samuel's right, distracting him from his thoughts about the useful functions of his shackles.

Turning his head and looking at the source of the noise, he saw a humanoid with a head resembling an octopus. He also had two arms and two legs, and his skin was a pale purple that seemed to shine when the sun hit it. This was a newly arrived slave, recently captured while wandering in the desert.

'He shouldn't have done that...'

The octopus, unable to withstand even a couple of weeks of slavery, suddenly started running away, but surprisingly, none of the watching slave traders rushed after him. They all knew what would happen next, and Samuel knew too, having tried to escape hundreds of times.

After running just 50 meters, the octopus abruptly stopped. After a few seconds, he began twitching in various directions, then fell to the ground, convulsing.

This was the third function of the shackles. When a prisoner moved 50 meters away from the overseers, a strong electric shock would pass through their body, not fatal but strong enough to knock them out from pain.

Samuel knew exactly what the octopus was feeling, so he just sighed and returned to cutting the ancient spaceship hull in front of him.

'Nothing... Everything will change soon, I'm sure. A sandstorm is coming, and then I will finally succeed.'

There was one drawback to these shackles. During sandstorms, the shackles malfunctioned badly, offering a chance for escape. In his previous escape attempt, Samuel had nearly managed to flee. He had gotten a few kilometers away from the slave camp, but unfortunately, he was quickly tracked down because, after the storm, his shackles emitted a signal that made him easy to track. But he also realized that the signal was not very precise and only gave a rough idea of where he could be found.

He had no place to hide, which was why he was caught.

But this time, he was certain he would succeed, very soon.

With these thoughts, he turned his head west and saw a sandstorm threateningly approaching them.