Although it was still rather dim around him, John Foster gazed at this street as if admiring a rare work of art.

From the apocalypse to now, the changes had been immense, making everything feel both unfamiliar and novel to John Foster.

This was the new world!

After the apocalypse—what people now called the “Era of Destruction”—had come the true era of prosperity!

Those old friends from the past, if any had survived to the end, would surely be overjoyed. That century-long war, the lives of billions, had finally brought about the flourishing age everyone had wished for.

The noise, the gloom—these should have been irritating, yet at this moment, John Foster felt boundless vitality. The world he had once longed for so desperately had actually arrived again!

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, John Foster greedily savored the scent of the new world after the apocalypse.

Creative inspiration leapt wildly in his mind, as if trying to burst forth. His blood seemed to surge to a temperature on the verge of boiling, every hair on his body trembling with excitement.

It wasn’t enough…

To create something truly successful, this bit of inspiration was still not enough!

The noise outside grew louder, and the light outside the window was a little brighter than before. Moreover, this change was intensifying.

No longer dwelling on memories, John Foster locked the window. According to the memories left in this body, John Foster knew that the liveliest time of day—and the most precious time for Black Street—was about to arrive.

His gaze swept around the room, pausing for two seconds on the bracelet lying on the nightstand. John Foster quickly walked over, picked it up, and fastened it onto his left wrist. This was something over ninety percent of people in the new world possessed—a type of personal terminal.

Currency was now used mainly in virtual form, so to buy anything, John Foster had to carry it. At the same time, it was also the key to this room.

After fastening the bracelet, John Foster walked to the door but paused, turned back, and picked up the stray dog that was lying there gazing at him eagerly, taking it along as he left.

When he stepped outside, John Foster noticed that many people, like him, were heading downstairs. This building, like a beehive, housed many residents, and most, like John Foster, lived in straitened circumstances, forced to huddle in such cramped places where sunlight was absent for most of the day.

In these crowded high-rise areas, the streets at the bottom remained dim even during the day. Those with more money would live higher up—people always yearn for the light.

Those who couldn’t afford better conditions or found it inconvenient to go out would focus on noon each day, the only time Black Street received a brief touch of sunlight.

People rushing down from upstairs only glanced at John Foster in passing before moving on. They had only a vague impression of him, weren’t familiar, and couldn’t be bothered to greet him.

A few people glanced curiously at John Foster when they saw him carrying a dog, but John Foster didn’t mind, meeting their gaze and smiling.

The other party’s face showed obvious surprise, probably wondering how this usually gloomy young man could actually smile!

At this time of day, most of those coming out to bask in the sun were elderly; the majority emerging from the elevators were old men and women with white hair and unsteady steps.

When John Foster walked out of the corridor, he found that there were already quite a few people on the street. Large vehicles had their own separate routes, so on the ground-level Black Street, you rarely saw any traffic. Most of the time during the day, it was very quiet—except for now.

The sun gradually rose higher, its rays reaching the lower floors of the communal buildings. Some who hadn’t come down to the street would open their windows to enjoy the precious sunlight of the day.

John Foster didn’t rush to claim a spot, but instead walked into the shop on the first floor. He was very hungry now; everything else could wait until after he’d eaten.

Because of the apocalypse, in the new century, the newly established planetary government hadn’t restricted firearms at first, fearing another world-ending war. If disaster struck again, everyone needed to be able to take up arms at any time. But as things spiraled out of control, guns became rampant, unrest frequent, and several continents even changed leaders. The planetary government was nearly overthrown, and only then did they start restricting firearms. Especially in the past hundred years, gun control had become extremely strict—ordinary citizens could not own guns.

As for the owner of the shop downstairs, James York, he was a retired soldier and one of the few people on Black Street legally allowed to own a gun. The local thugs didn’t dare mess with anyone who had a firearm, which was the main reason this shop could operate safely on Black Street.

When John Foster entered the shop, James York, who was yawning, looked at John Foster with curiosity. He remembered that just yesterday, this kid had seemed on the verge of ending it all, refusing to listen to anything. He’d thought there would be another suicide on Black Street, but unexpectedly, here the kid was again today.

James York’s gaze swept over the dog in John Foster’s arms. No mistake—it was the same kid from yesterday. He’d even seen him pick up that stray dog last night. A few punks who’d come to his shop yesterday had started a betting pool, wagering on what the kid would do with the dog—take it with him in death, or slaughter it for food. Now it seemed, they were all wrong.