It's day sixty-five on the Arkvault, a seven-mile zoo of cosmic chaos, and we're D-rank Earthly Ramblers, buzzing like pre-workout shakes for our first D-rank quest. I'm Alex, Coach Bounce, my red-and-black suit humming, flux tingling in my palms, heart doing burpees at the thought of Fiona's smile. My bracelet, that cheeky glowing bangle, pings: Log saved. Query: D-rank hype cardio? "Spot on, bangle," I chuckle, grabbing my plasma pistol, glowing blades, and power fist. Single—well, maybe not for long—I stride out of Unit 59, Habitat-382, to meet my team.
Fiona's waiting outside, white-and-black suit sleek, flux staff's orb pulsing, blonde braid catching the fake sunlight. Dmitri looms, orange-and-black suit snug, magma spear retracted, shield folded. "D-rank, here we come!" I grin, fist-bumping them. Fiona's eyes linger, a shy smirk breaking through. "Let's make it epic," she says, Dublin fire soft but fierce. Dmitri's smirk says he's onto us. "No slacking," he grunts, spear glinting. We teleport to the Guild dome, its red pulse throbbing like a cosmic heart, adventurers milling like a galactic gym class.
The moment we land, trouble struts in. Leo and Tara, our old E-rank rivals from the Guild tests, swagger up, flanked by three aliens—a spiky Vordex, a slimy Grath, and a floating orb with tentacles. "Star Shatterers," Leo boasts, flexing in a patched suit. "Five strong, better than your measly trio." Tara sneers, "Still think you're hot stuff, Ramblers?" Their team's E-rank, lagging from fewer quests, their gear scuffed. Dmitri snorts, a deep Russian laugh. "Star Shatterers? Sounds like a bad holo-flick." The aliens bristle, Leo's face reddening. "Laugh now, Dmitri. We'll crush you!" I step forward, flux sparking faintly. "Mate, we're D-rank. Step up or step off." Fiona's staff pulses, her eyes narrowing. Dmitri's shield flickers with wind, a fiery glint in his spear. The Star Shatterers flinch, sensing our power, and slink back, muttering.
The receptionist, a luminous alien with eyes like disco balls, hums via bracelet: "Earthly Ramblers, congratulations on D-rank. 1,000 credits each, transferred now." My bracelet pings: Credits: +1,000. Query: Power-up shopping spree? "Blimey!" I whoop, high-fiving Fiona, her touch lingering. Dmitri grins, "More fuel for the fight." Across the dome, Leo and Tara glare, their alien pals whispering. "They're too smug," Tara hisses. "We'll make them pay," Leo growls, their jealousy thicker than Arkvault sludge. My bracelet logs: Incident: Rival shade. Query: Smackdown scheduled? "Not today," I mutter, grinning.
The receptionist assigns our quest: "Capture a fugitive Morph, a shapeshifter with 80% mimicry accuracy. He's roaming the Arkvault, stealing from shops, causing disruptions. Not strong, but his shapeshifting fools surveillance. Flaw: he can't change his hands—clawed, always hidden or covered." I blink. "A cosmic con artist?" Fiona's staff shifts to bow mode. "We'll spot those claws." Dmitri's spear glows. "Run, he's ours." The Morph, we learn, burned his credits, stole from his habitat's shops, and fled after his kind confronted him. "Sounds like a dodgeball champ," I say, flux tingling. "Let's catch him, Ramblers!" We grab the scanner, binding rope clipped to my suit.
As we prep, Varkis, the sleek alien in dark metal, watches from the shadows, his eyes flickering. His signal pings the elder's device, hidden in the exclusive zone: Alex at Guild. Move now. The elder, metallic skin like cracked starlight, hums, donning his "subtle" stardust cape.