The next two days passed in a tense rhythm of Safe Zone life. The monotony was its own kind of threat. 0800 rations: a thin nutrient paste and a cup of filtered water. Eleanor was summoned daily to the medical tents, her [Minor Mend] in high demand. She returned each evening looking more exhausted but with a few extra Credits or sometimes a piece of fruit—a luxury.
Mark tried to make himself useful, running small errands for neighbors in Sector 7, slowly building a network of favors. Lucas divided his time between guarding their plot, studying the System interface, and avoiding eye contact. His Thralls were a constant spectacle. People gave them a wide berth, which suited Lucas just fine.
Kai, the Observer from the next tent, proved true to his word as an information source. In exchange for a daily update on "the mood of Sector 7" (which mostly involved Lucas telling him who looked hungry or angry), Kai would offer tidbits.
"The dome's decay rate increased to 0.4%," Kai mentioned casually on the second morning. "Rourke's Vanguard cleared a nest of 'Crystalback Turtles' south of here. Got a nice loot drop. They're recruiting more aggressively."
Lucas stored it all away. The dome had maybe 250 days at that rate. The Vanguard was getting stronger.
On the afternoon of the third day, the offer came.
They arrived not as a group, but as a delegation. Three members of the Iron Vanguard. The one in front was a woman with close-cropped red hair and practical armor made of layered leather and polished chitin plates. Her tag read: [Sera - Vanguard Lieutenant, Level 4]. Behind her were two of the same brutes who had enforced the "dice game" rule.
She stopped in front of their plot, her eyes skipping over Eleanor and Mark, lingering on Mem and Volt with professional appraisal, before settling on Lucas.
"Lucas Rowan. Chainlord." Her voice was flat, without hostility or warmth. "Captain Rourke requests your presence. To discuss mutual benefit."
It wasn't a request. The two brutes stood with their hands resting on their weapon hilts.
Lucas stood up, brushing mud off his pants. "And if I'm busy?"
"Then you're refusing a formal invitation from the guild that maintains security for half this Safe Zone," Sera said, a slight edge entering her tone. "That would be… unwise. For you and your dependents."
The threat was clear. Eleanor clutched her medical bag. Mark looked like he wanted to hide behind the tent.
"Fine," Lucas said. "But my entities come with me."
"Expected," Sera nodded. "Follow."
The command tent in Sector 1 was a world apart from the muddy squalor of Sector 7. It was a large, actual military-style tent, clean and orderly. A map of the city was spread on a table, dotted with colored pins. Standing over it was Rourke.
He was a big man, not just tall but broad, wearing scavenged football shoulder pads reinforced with metal plating. His tag glowed prominently: [Rourke - Shield Captain, Level 5]. He had a calm, heavy presence, like a boulder that had decided to stand in the middle of the room.
"Chainlord," Rourke said, looking up. His gaze was sharp, intelligent. "Thanks for coming. Sera, give us the room."
The lieutenant and the brutes left, though Sera stayed just outside the tent flap.
"I'll be blunt," Rourke said, gesturing to a camp stool. Lucas remained standing. "Your class is unique. Your ability to bind and command monsters is a massive force multiplier. I want it working for the Vanguard."
"I'm not looking for a boss," Lucas said.
"I'm not offering a job. I'm offering a partnership," Rourke corrected. "You join the Vanguard as a specialist. You get a larger plot in Sector 2, near the Obelisk. Double rations. Protection for your people. Access to our information and first pick of loot from any dungeon we clear that you participate in."
"And in return?"
"Your Thralls fight when we need them to fight. You use your abilities to support Vanguard objectives. You help us secure more resources, clear more territory." Rourke leaned forward. "The dome is failing, Lucas. This bubble won't last. When it pops, only the strong, the organized, will survive. The Vanguard is building that future."
It was a good offer. A terrifyingly good offer. Safety, resources, power. Everything he was grinding for.
"What about my autonomy?" Lucas asked. "What if I don't agree with an 'objective'?"
Rourke's expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened slightly. "We're a guild. We have a chain of command. Dissent is discussed internally. But in the field, my word is law. That's the price of the protection and the share of the loot."
Lucas's mind raced. Joining meant safety, but also subjugation. He'd have to follow orders. His Thralls would be weapons for someone else's ambition. He'd be trading the anxiety of the wild for the politics of a militant faction.
And then there was the unspoken part. Once his power was part of their system, how easy would it be to leave?
"I need to think about it," Lucas said.
Rourke studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. You have 24 hours. But understand, the offer is contingent on your full commitment. There's no neutral ground forming here. You're either part of the solution," he tapped the map, "or you're a variable that needs to be managed."
The dismissal was clear.
Lucas walked back through the Safe Zone, Mem and Volt at his heels. The crowded paths felt different now. Every glance felt like an assessment. Every guild member he saw looked like a potential jailer.
He returned to Sector 7 to find Eleanor and Mark waiting, faces tight with worry.
"What did they want?" Eleanor asked.
"To recruit me. Us." He explained the offer.
Mark's eyes lit up. "Double rations? A better plot? Lucas, that's… that's everything we need!"
"It's a leash," Lucas countered. "A gilded cage. We trade our freedom for their security."
"Freedom to do what?" Mark shot back, a surprising heat in his voice. "Freedom to starve in the mud? Freedom to get kicked out when they decide we're not useful? At least in the cage, we're fed!"
Eleanor placed a hand on Mark's arm. "He's not wrong, Lucas. But neither are you." She looked at the Thralls. "They see your children as weapons. I see them as… people. Strange people. But people you care for. That matters."
Lucas sat down heavily. He was the party leader. The decision was his. He could choose comfort and power at the cost of his autonomy. Or he could choose the dangerous, uncertain path of independence.
He looked at his Status. He had one empty Thrall slot. He had 20 Credits. He was Level 3.
The Safe Zone was supposed to be the goal. But it felt like just another level, with a much more dangerous boss.
"We have 24 hours," he said quietly. "I need to think."
He needed an edge. Something that would let him say no without getting crushed.