Late at night, the roads were slick. Watch your step.
After squatting in this godforsaken place for half a month, the Artisan could only say that the inspection procedures for your modification team's vehicles were fucking outrageous!
When the last convoy came in for inspection and they lifted the hood, the entire inside was bloody and mangled.
They weren't even pretending anymore!
Thick, wriggling blood vessels coiled around a skeletal chassis. In the middle was a gigantic heart, constantly throbbing and beating. The engine-like heart even had a green eye growing from it, staring outward—its surface covered in bloodshot veins as it blinked nonstop.
Inspecting that thing practically shaved years off his life.
And when questioned, they even had the nerve to produce a whole series of patent reports and R&D records. "We've adopted the latest eco-friendly biotechnology!"
Come on, Eldest Brother, this was a rally race! What the fuck were you being environmentally friendly for?!
If this wasn't disaster beast reconstruction, forbidden recreation, and biological alchemy skirting the Forbidden Decree, he'd slice up their tires and eat them with soy sauce!
But what could he do even if there was a problem?
Compared to those behemoths, the event committee was nothing more than a little fry making sponsorship money, while the Artisan was merely here on assignment from the association to earn a living.
Whatever you said went. Anything you said was fine.
As long as they didn't mount two cannons on the roof and claim it was their most advanced kinetic propulsion technology, so long as they put on a bit of an act and made a token effort at hiding it, it would pass.
"You're compliant, then."
The unshaven Artisan scribbled his signature carelessly. Then, after tapping a few keys on a specialized computer, he pulled out