Traveling through time, I'm making pancakes in Warhammer

"A problem that can be solved is not a problem," Arabelle retorted.

"But you don't look like you have resolved the problem." The man's tone sounded a little dissatisfied.

"If you came to me just to point fingers at me, then please get out." Arabelle pointed at the door and said to the man.

"If you keep going like this, you're going to get yourself killed one day." The man ignored Arabelle's threat.

"Please get out!" Arabelle yelled.

Howard had been on guard against the man since he entered the house, because this big guy didn't look like a good person at all. If he got angry, this building... no, this entire block might be demolished by him.

After being scolded by Arabelle, the man fell silent, but a slight hissing sound kept coming from his body. It turned out that the huge tube connected to the back of his head was constantly pumping that strange green potion into his brain.

Finally, the man left without saying a word. After he left, the mechanical servant also followed him out. The living room that was just crowded seemed to become empty all of a sudden.

After they had been gone for a while, Howard stood up, closed the living room door, and sat down across from Arabelle again.

Arabelle was still half-lying on the sofa, whistling an unknown tune.

"Do you know who attacked you that day?" After blowing the whistle, Arabelle looked at the chandelier swaying on the ceiling and suddenly asked Howard.

Howard narrowed his eyes slightly. He originally thought that the person who attacked him that night was probably sent by the governor or some big shot in the upper echelons to hunt him down, but from what Arabelle said now, it seemed that this was not the case?

So Howard shook his head and said, "I don't know. I don't know how I offended them."

"They attacked you for no particular reason, except that you were careless enough to enter their hunting grounds," said Arabelle.

"Hunting ground?"

"In Kalimdor, arenas are officially banned because they waste resources and manpower. However, some people in the upper echelons want to see rivers of bloodshed, so they've started organizing people to come to the middle levels of the hive to play this hunting game."

Howard: "Have the residents here never thought of resisting? I heard there are many gangs in the middle level of the hive. Do these gangs allow the upper level people to do whatever they want in their territory?"

"Why resist?" Arabelle asked. Then she replied, "If the upper class wants to play hunting, they just mark out an area, throw in a few condemned prisoners or traitors, and let them have their fun."

"Aren't they afraid of hurting civilians?" Howard asked.

"Before each game begins, residents of the corresponding area are notified that the game is restricted to outsiders, so hiding at home is absolutely safe... Of course, if you're hit by a stray bullet, you can only blame yourself," Arabel said. "Compared to the huge profits that hunting games bring to local gangs, a few lives are nothing. Even the hunting convoys are organized by local gangs."

Howard didn't know what to say. Perhaps for most of the lower-class residents of the Hive, and indeed for most of the people of the Empire, life and dignity never belonged to them. Their purpose in life was to be squeezed dry by the Empire, with the illusory promise of returning to the Golden Throne. If they weren't worried about becoming playthings for the demons of the Warp after death, the Hive would probably be filled with corpses long ago.

"Then why did you save me?" Howard asked again.

Arabelle offered a two-word answer: "Coincidence."

Howard: "Coincidence?"

"I finished work that day and should have gone home early, but my car broke down for no apparent reason. It took me a long time to fix it," Arabelle said. "So I was furious, and those people were running around in front of me without any eyes, so I went to beat them up. Saving you was purely an accident."

"Then the injuries you suffered today..."

"Don't ask questions you shouldn't ask," said Arabelle.

"Okay!" Howard shut up decisively.

For the next few days, Arabelle did not go to work, but stayed in her residence to recover from her injuries.

Howard witnessed the amazing recovery ability of 40k Superman. In less than two days, the stitches on Arabelle's legs were absorbed. On the third day, the epidermis began to scab and fall off, leaving no scars. The gunshot wound also healed completely within two days. Arabelle peeled off the foam covering the surface, revealing new skin with a slightly lighter color underneath. On the second day, the skin color became the same as the surrounding area.

What was a little more difficult to recover from were the several fractures on her body and the weakness caused by blood loss. It took her a full week to fully recover.

Then one morning, Arabelle came downstairs as usual, and it seemed that she was going to work again, but this time she did not go out directly like before, but stopped in front of Howard.

"Would you like to help me?" Arabelle asked.

And so, one morning in the fourth month of his arrival in Kalimdor, Howard followed Arabelle out of the crooked little house.

Arabel's means of transportation is a motorcycle with a very low chassis, wide and high tires, and two exhaust pipes of frighteningly large diameters on each side of the motorcycle.

Arabelle climbed onto the front seat of the motorcycle and motioned for Howard to sit on the back.

Howard sat obediently in the back seat, his hands resting obediently on his thighs.

"Hold tight," Arabelle said coldly.

"Okay." Howard didn't hesitate. He reached out and hugged Arabelle from behind.

After Howard held on tightly, Arabelle twisted the throttle and the motorcycle rushed out like a gray lightning. The sudden acceleration almost threw Howard out.

Arabelle's speed was far less than the speed Freya had used to fly him to board the plane, but Freya's speed at that time was beyond Howard's comprehension. His retinas and brain couldn't react quickly enough to the changing environment, so the sensation wasn't as strong. But now, Arabelle was racing at a speed Howard could understand. Howard watched the scene on both sides rapidly recede, the oncoming wind cutting his face like a knife. He knew for sure that if he had been driving at that speed, he would have been killed by Littlebu.

Thinking of this, Howard couldn't help but clasp his hands tighter.

Half an hour later, Arabelle stopped the car in front of an abandoned factory.

Howard loosened his hands, staggered out of the car like a drunk, then held onto a wall and barely managed to avoid vomiting.

The churning feeling in his stomach subsided a little, and Howard saw Arabelle lighting a cigarette and watching him as if she were watching a show.

"You're driving so fast, aren't you afraid that the people behind you will vomit?" Howard asked unhappily.

"That's okay. If I'm fast enough, their spit won't get on me," Arabelle replied.

"So someone really vomited while you were driving, right?" Howard heard it.