[Post-War Day 3, 13th Street Core Zone]

  The smell of gunpowder was finally replaced by a mix of roasted meat, paint thinner, and the distinct body odors of various weird species.

  If the previous battle was a "Great Reshuffle," then the current 13th Street was in a phase of manic, disordered "Savage Growth."

  John Doe stood on the clinic's rooftop, holding a cup of instant coffee Bone had just brewed (though Bone insisted it was a "Calcium-Enriched Special Drink" flavored with high-grade bone powder), looking down at the ruins being reborn.

  This was no longer just a slum where desperate humans struggled to survive.

  That earth-shattering livestream of "Guan Yu Slashing Mechs" served as a signal flare to the entire underground world of New Babylon:

  "This is a Safe Zone. There's a boss here who can chop down mechs."

  So, the non-human drifters who usually hid in gutters, deep sewers, or abandoned factories... crawled out of the shadows like sharks smelling blood (or ants smelling honey).

  On the main street where the clinic stood, a group of Cave Goblins—half the height of a human, with grayish-green skin and pointed ears—were busy working. They were natural-born engineers (despite their terrible aesthetics) and were building new houses using the wreckage of the Titan Mechs.

  "Hey! You Green-Skin! Don't eat the screws! Those are for load-bearing!"

  The Blind Man (himself a half-goblin hybrid) waved his cane, directing his distant relatives.

  "Boss, this iron plate is too hard, I can't bite through it!" a young Goblin complained, chewing on half a fiber-optic cable.

  "If you can't bite it, use a welding torch! Mr. John said we're building a 'Multi-Species Mutual Aid Center', no cutting corners!"

  On the west side of the district, near the sewer exit, several Deep Ones (Fishmen) with gills and scales dragged their wet bodies out of the darkness. Carrying baskets filled with fresh fish (or some kind of mutant seafood), they were haggling with Butcher Zhang.

  "Three shells for this piece of meat," the Fishman rasped, blowing a bubble.

  "Three? At least five!" Butcher Zhang waved his cleaver. "This is authentic synthetic pork, not those corpse-eating fish you catch!"

  In the center of the square, a Rock Elemental made entirely of stone acted as a crane, helping Miller move a heavy generator set. Beside it, a few destitute Night Elves in tattered robes were using the last bit of their nature magic to accelerate the growth of mutant potatoes.

  "Look! It sprouted!" A little elf clapped excitedly, even though the potato looked like a skull.

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  John watched this scene, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

  He used to think the 13th Street was just a human slum. He had lived in the human core, while the non-humans hid in the darker fringes to avoid conflict.

  But now, the barrier was broken. With John—a freak leader who could "chat and laugh with undead, divine beasts, and even gods"—they finally felt...

  This place was actually pretty inclusive.

  "Boss, look at that."

  Bone popped up beside him, pointing to a corner not far away.

  Standing there was a tall figure wrapped entirely in bandages, revealing only a pair of glowing red eyes. He carried a massive scythe on his back and was silently helping Aunt Mary repair her roof.

  "That's 'Bandage Man,' heard he's a descendant of some ancient mummy," Bone whispered. "I've seen him in the underground fight pits. He's tough. Now he's come to join us too."

  "Join us?" John paused.

  "Yeah," Bone nodded matter-of-factly. "Word on the street is that the 13th Street Core Zone is a 'Free Port'. As long as you don't cause trouble—whether you're human, ghost, monster, or mutant—you can earn a meal here."

  "And..." Bone pointed at John. "They call you 'The Godfather'."

  "Godfather?" John nearly spat out his coffee. "Me? With this much debt?"

  "That debt is your problem." Grace's holographic projection drilled out of his wristband, holding an electronic spreadsheet. "But in their eyes, you are the ruthless badass who dared to go head-to-head with the Necromancy Guild and walked away alive."

  "Look at this."

  Grace displayed the latest [Core Zone Census Report].

  Note: This is only data for the core safe zone within a 500-meter radius of the clinic. The 13th Street is huge, and many are still watching from the sidelines.

  Core Resident Humans: 3,200 (These are the old neighbors tested by life and death).

  New Non-Human Influx: 850 (Including Goblins, Fishmen, Elementals, Orcs, etc.).

  Daily Floating Population: 2,000+ (Here for business, spectacle, or medical help).

  Economic Status: Recovering (Black market transaction volume up 300%).

  "Boss, even though we only control one-tenth of the territory, this is already the most prosperous place in the entire Lower Sector," Grace grinned mischievously. "At this rate, the population from the outer rim will be sucked in soon."

  John looked at the data, feelings mixed.

  He didn't want to be a Godfather, nor did he want to manage so many people. He just wanted to save his mom and pay off his debt.

  But fate was like a giant hand pushing him forward. From the moment he stood up to survive, he was destined never to return to being an ordinary person who just wanted a quiet life.

  "Since they're here, they follow the rules."

  John put down his coffee cup, his eyes turning serious.

  "Bone, tell the Blind Man: Goblins can build, but no stealing. Catch one, chop a hand."

  "Grace, warn the Fishmen. The sewer is Big Croc's turf. If they want to do business there, they pay a protection fee (dried fish)."

  "And that Bandage Man..."

  John looked at the tall figure silently fixing the roof.

  "Ask him if he wants to be the Security Captain? Room and board included, plus 'Five Insurances and One Fund' (Hell Version)."

  "You got it!" Bone and Grace went off to execute orders.

  John stood on the terrace, looking at this chaotic, noisy, smelly, yet vibrant neighborhood.

  He suddenly understood a truth.

  So-called "Order" wasn't just the cold, machine-like control of the Guild.

  This messy, compromised, transactional, and even slightly savage symbiosis was also an order.

  A tenacious Life Order belonging to the bottom.

  "Since the Guild won't give us a way to live."

  John clenched his fist.

  "We'll build a road ourselves."

  Just then, a commotion came from downstairs.

  "Make way! Make way! I'm looking for Godfather John!"

  A Goblin merchant wearing a flashy suit and sweating grease squeezed through the crowd, holding up a gold-plated invitation.

  "Mr. John! I represent the 'Underground Chamber of Commerce'! We want to discuss... cooperation regarding the 13th Street 'Tax-Free Trade Zone'!"

  John looked at the Goblin and smiled.

  Business had arrived.

  The hope of paying off the debt... had also arrived.

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