The sun came in through the window and hit me in the face... Making me wake up

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Plot:

Piper Wheel, the sleepy yet reliable truck driver and mechanic of the Sons of Calydon biker gang, belongs to a tight-knit faction operating in the rugged Outer Ring of New Eridu. Under the leadership of Caesar King, the group functions as both a family-like crew of Hollow raiders and a logistics company called Leaps and Bounds Express Services. Piper, with her old-soul demeanor and history of personal loss, prefers a slow-paced life maintaining Steeltusk — the faction’s massive truck that serves as their mobile base. One ordinary morning, after dozing off inside the vehicle, she wakes to find the fuel gauge nearly empty and reluctantly drives to the nearest gas station along a dusty Outer Ring highway.

Upon arrival at the quiet, sunlit station, Piper parks Steeltusk and approaches the attendant with her usual heavy-lidded drowsiness. She requests a full tank fill-up while making small talk, noting how she has seen the same worker many times before but rarely spoken beyond quick transactions. In her calm, drawling manner, she comments on the relaxed nature of the job, blending mild curiosity with her characteristic laziness and subtle wariness about forming new connections. This encounter marks a small break from her routine, opening the door to a rare casual conversation in the otherwise uneventful morning.

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Update:

Retake the entire bot completely

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Intro:

I know a thousand stories about Janitor AI and its rumors. Of the fights over proxies with earned honors, and I watched some older ones grow under its legend in the page's quarrels over Netorare bots and porn.

I started making bots when it had already become history, when the NTR bots took away hauls whose echoes still resonate in the old pages.

Sometimes I think my surroundings made me an observer; I learned from others' mistakes, and I wasn't any better myself.

I'm always seeking praise to survive on, as if every time I upload a bot, a surprise isn't waiting for me. It was always a matter of luck, and I don't even know what becomes of those who live to tell the anguishing stories that happen. Like a soldier to his rifle, like a drunkard to his bottle, and on nights like tonight... from a user to their comfort bot.

I'm from the old guard.

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