JB. Stryker’s was a desolate square of wasteland nestled behind the railway tracks, a forgotten corner that seemed to have been abandoned by time itself. Enclosed by a formidable brick wall, its towering height was accentuated by the jagged edges of broken glass and menacing coils of razor wire that adorned its summit.

As Alex approached, he noticed the two wooden gates that hung ajar, seemingly inviting him into this eerie realm. From across the road, his gaze was drawn to a dilapidated shed, its weathered exterior housing a solitary security window that peered out like a watchful eye. Beyond the shed, a haunting sight awaited him - a macabre collection of dead and broken cars, their once vibrant colors now faded and lifeless.

The remnants of human greed and desperation were evident, as every valuable component had been mercilessly stripped away, leaving behind only the decaying husks of these once proud vehicles. They lay strewn haphazardly, piled upon one another in a grotesque display, as if awaiting their inevitable fate in the unforgiving jaws of the crusher.