I searched and fought in America.

Furthermore, some of the cardboard slots were empty, probably because it was daytime and many homeless people had gone out to do odd jobs or beg for food, and would not return to stay until night.

If it gets late at night, the number here will probably double.

Rosen was slightly stunned when he saw this.

Why live in underground pipes? The air doesn't circulate here, and the fermenting stench is almost enough to make you faint. Especially in some of the branch pipes, the light bulbs are broken. Like the section they just walked through today, it was completely dark, pitch black.

Living here is pure torture!

But then Rosen gave a wry smile and shook his head.

He's bringing in the mindset of someone from his previous life at Dongda University. For the poor at the bottom of American society, underground pipes are already considered a very "comfortable" environment.

Winter is approaching, and the ground temperature can drop to several degrees or even below zero at night. The wind is biting cold, and homeless people generally do not have decent shelter from the wind. They may freeze to death on the street after sleeping there.

As for the government-provided shelters, they are another synonym for hell, filled with violence, sexual assault, and drug use. Nobody wants to live in such a place.

In contrast, underground pipes are temperature-controlled and windproof, and even if they smell bad, they are a rare blessing for them.

However, Rosen looked down at the rushing sewage channel and sighed inwardly.

The real purpose of underground pipes is for flood control and drainage. These people are like ants parasitizing the esophagus of a monster. If they are not careful, they will all be washed into the treatment plant and turned into fertilizer if a rainstorm hits or the government opens the floodgates.

These homeless people all looked numb, staring blankly into the void.

Rosen raised his hand to signal everyone to stop, and they did not rush forward.

He thought for a moment, then turned to the team behind him and asked, "Among you, is there anyone who knows anything about underground sewer ecology?"

Just then, the black guard named Gabak stepped forward.

His expression was somewhat complicated, and he said in a low voice, "Father, I...I know more about this because I used to know a colleague who was originally a white-collar worker at a logistics company."

"White-collar worker?" Everyone was somewhat surprised.

"Yes, but later, due to work-related injuries, the insurance company refused to pay compensation. He had no money for treatment, so at first he took painkillers to tough it out. Later, in order to relieve the pain, he increased the dosage and became addicted to the drugs. In the end, he became addicted to drugs and was completely beyond saving."

Gabak sighed and pointed to the darkness in the distance. "In the end, the bank foreclosed on his house, and he had nowhere to live. It happened to be during a cold snap, and the temperature was extremely low. To survive, he had to go underground. But I haven't seen him since that year. I guess..."

He didn't say the rest of the sentence, but everyone understood.

Rosen nodded. This was the cruelty of America's lower class.

"So, we'll go in shifts to ask these people for specific information about the depths of the sewer system. We need to know where these 'rats' are and where the dangers lie."

Rosen assigned tasks to everyone, then glanced at them and asked, "Is there anyone here who isn't good with words?"

The group exchanged glances, and Wang Ling silently raised his hand.

"Okay, then you guard these equipment packs for us and find a shady spot to hide them."

Rosen nodded, and soon everyone left their backpacks with Wang Ling, keeping only their weapons.

After arranging everything, Rosen took the lead and headed towards the gathering place for homeless people.

Halfway there, he suddenly stopped, bent down, and plunged his hands directly into the black mud at his feet, a mixture of moss, sewage, and an unknown slime.

"Smack."

He grabbed a handful of foul-smelling mud and, without hesitation, ruffled his once-neat hair into a mess. Then, he casually smeared the sticky filth onto his clean face and work clothes.

In an instant, that capable demeanor vanished, replaced by a sense of dejection and wretchedness.

Although they may seem somewhat "new" compared to real homeless people, at least they don't seem so out of place or out of place in this environment.

Rosen had no idea that behind him, the black bodyguard Gabak, who saw his action, instantly had tears welling up in his eyes.

"Slap! Slap!"

Gabak suddenly knelt on the ground and slapped himself hard several times, the sound crisp and clear.

He whispered painfully, his voice choked with emotion:

"We are truly incompetent... to have our esteemed Holy Father do such a self-degrading thing for our sake! Lord, I am guilty, I am too weak..."

Not only him, but Caesar and another Iron Guard also fell into a deathly silence upon seeing this scene, their fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

In their hearts, Rosen's divine radiance was not dimmed by the mud at this moment, but instead became even more dazzling and compassionate.

Rosen didn't turn around. He adjusted his expression and walked into the camp area.

As soon as I stepped into this cardboard area, a crisp system notification sounded in my mind.

[Ding! You have arrived at "Wanderers' Camp (Ronnie Community)".]

This camp is a neutral camp, and the NPCs there are highly unlikely to exhibit aggressive behavior.

[Note: This is your first time triggering faction-related information. The following is a prompt: Different factions have different faction quests. Completing faction quests will reward you with corresponding rewards and reputation points with that faction. Reaching certain reputation levels will unlock special shops or intelligence.]

"Hooray, there are faction quests too?"

A thoughtful look flashed across Rosen's eyes; this system was starting to resemble a game more and more.

He didn't rush to trigger the quest, but instead scanned the area and finally found a relatively secluded corner on the edge of the wanderer's camp.

There sat a white man with a full red beard, his clothes so worn that their original color was unrecognizable; he was a red-necked old white man.

After Rosen sat down on a rock next to him, the other man merely glanced at him coldly, without saying a word, his eyes as empty as a dry well, mechanically staring at the sewage in front of him.

Rosen wasn't in a hurry. He took out a box of cigarettes that was squeezed and deformed from his pocket.

It was a very cheap brand, the kind of cheap cigarettes mixed with tobacco stems. It wasn't that Lawson was unwilling to buy the expensive ones, but rather that in this place, taking out a pack of Marlboro could easily lead to one's death.

He took out a cigarette, handed it to the old man, and then asked in a weary tone:

"Hey bro, wanna have one? I'm new here, don't know much about the sewers."

The white Texas man turned his head slowly when he heard Rosen's question.

In the dim light, he could see Rosen's skin color and face clearly, and his brows furrowed unconsciously, revealing a deep-seated xenophobia.

However, when his gaze fell on Rosen's face covered in mud and his filthy clothes, his wariness lessened considerably.

Regardless of skin color, here, everyone is just a mouse abandoned by the sun.

He hesitated for a moment, but still accepted the cigarette.

After taking the cigarette, he rummaged through his tattered pockets, seemingly looking for a lighter, but only managed to pull out a handful of air.

Just then, a soft "click" sounded.

A tiny flame flickered in front of him, and Rosen leaned forward and lit his cigarette with one of those cheap lighters that cost only a few cents.

The old white man took a greedy deep breath. At that moment, it was as if he was inhaling all the suffering of his life into his lungs, swallowing all the smoke without exhaling a single puff.

As the nicotine entered his bloodstream, his tense and hostile expression finally relaxed a little.

In a hoarse voice, he asked Rosen, "You seem young... what are you doing in this godforsaken place?"

Rosen slumped against the damp wall behind him, a hint of undisguised desolation flashing in his eyes, and said with self-deprecation:

"Heh... life, huh. My uncle got seriously ill, and I emptied my savings and sold the house to pay for his treatment, but it still wasn't enough."

His voice was choked with emotion.

"Now I not only have nowhere to live, but I also owe tens of thousands of dollars in high-interest loans to those bloodsuckers at 'Black Gold Capital.' I want to find a job to pay off my debts, but you know... because I am of Chinese descent, they won't even give me an interview for a decent job."

When Rosen looked at the old white man, his eyes conveying a profound sense of helplessness and resentment, when he spoke of "skin color" and "black money capital."

When two people are in the same boat, nothing can bring two strangers closer than a "common enemy" and a "tragic experience".

(Chapter 40 is under review, I don't know when it will be released, sigh...)