The black SUV glided to a halt at the towering gates of the City, its dull sheen blending seamlessly with the industrial grime of the apocalypse-worn urban landscape. Jarlon leaned out the window from the driver's seat, a devil-may-care grin plastered across his sharp features. His eyes glimmered with mischief under the fading sunlight, and his tousled, sand-coloured hair caught the light just enough to add an effortless charm to his roguish demeanour.
"Evening, boys," he called to the guards stationed at the gate, tossing a casual salute with two fingers. "Miss me yet?"
The guards exchanged tired glances but couldn't suppress their smirks. One, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, leaned closer to the window. "Jarlon. You're late. What's the excuse this time? Ran out of hair gel?"
