The next 48 hours passed in a blur of tense, meticulous preparation. Lucas's apartment became a command center—cluttered, fortified, and now occupied by four beings and one unconscious young man.
Mark slept for almost a full day, his body fighting off the last dregs of infection. Eleanor worked tirelessly, using her [Minor Mend] in short, careful bursts to accelerate his healing. Lucas divided his time between guard duty, looting the now-cleared third floor (finding little but confirming the 'big thing' was gone), and trying to understand his new… responsibilities.
The responsibility was heavy. Every can of soup, every liter of water, was now divided by five. His precious stockpile looked pathetic. The Safe Zone was three miles of urban hell away, and he was now the de facto leader of a group containing an elderly healer, an invalid, and two non-verbal monster slaves.
"This was a strategic error," he mumbled to himself on the second morning, watching Eleanor gently feed Mark some broth. "I've increased my NPC escort mission difficulty by 300%. The rewards do NOT scale."
But he couldn't bring himself to regret it. The recipe for the [Anti-Septic Poultice] was now etched in his mind, requiring common herbs and a 'purified base'—things he might find. And Eleanor, for a Level 1 [Caretaker], was quietly invaluable. Her presence had a calming effect. She'd even managed to clean his bathroom, which was a miracle he hadn't known he needed.
Mark woke up properly on the afternoon of the second day. He was weak, confused, and terrified. The System had assigned him the dreaded class: [Civilian]. No combat skills. No magic. Just a slight increase in his learning rate for 'practical non-combat skills'.
"You saved my life," Mark croaked, his eyes on Lucas. "Grandma told me. The monster… and you."
"The System saved you," Lucas corrected, uncomfortable with the gratitude. "I just spent its currency. Don't get any ideas about me being a hero. Heroes die in the first cutscene."
Mark just nodded, too weary to argue.
That evening, as Lucas took first watch at the peephole he'd carved in the bookcase over the wall-hole, a new notification appeared. Not a quest. An alert.
[ALERT: Building Integrity Compromised.]
[Source: Structural instability detected in lower floors. Probable cause: Nesting behavior of integrated fauna.]
[Estimated time to significant collapse: 40-72 hours.]
[Recommendation: Evacuate premises.]
Lucas's blood ran cold. The building was coming down. Their fortress was a ticking time bomb.
He gathered everyone—Eleanor, a pale but upright Mark leaning on a broom handle, Mem, and Scribbles.
"Change of plans," Lucas announced, his voice harder than he felt. "The building's not safe. We can't wait the full seven days. We leave at first light tomorrow. For the Safe Zone."
Eleanor's hand flew to her mouth. Mark looked like he might be sick.
"We're not ready," Mark whispered.
"We'll never be ready," Lucas fired back. "The game doesn't wait for you to be ready. It just spawns more mobs. We have a healer, two… constructs, some weapons, and three days of food if we stretch it. That's what we have. So that's what we use."
He spent the next few hours in a frantic, focused frenzy. He used his last 120 credits on the [Improvised Riot Shield] for himself (75 credits) and the [Padded Jacket] for Eleanor (45 credits). Mark got the frying pan. Mem needed no weapon. Scribbles was… Scribbles.
He packed bags: food, water, the medical supplies, the butane lighter, the rope he'd looted. He made everyone eat a full meal. "No fighting on an empty stomach."
As the final, murky light faded, Lucas pulled up his status. He was close to Level 3. So close. He needed one more good fight.
[USER: Lucas Rowan]
[CLASS: Chainlord]
[LEVEL: 2 (287/300 EXP)]
[HEALTH: 40/40]
[MANA: 15/15]
[THRALLS: 2/4]
[CREDITS: 0]
He stood looking at the hole in his wall, the dark hallway beyond. The thumping from 4A had started again, stronger now. *Thump. Hum. Thump.*
It was a terrible, reckless idea. But he needed the EXP. And he was furious—at the System, at the collapsing building, at his own helplessness. The thumping thing in 4A felt like the source of all of it.
"Mem," he said, his voice low. "You're with me. Eleanor, Mark, bar the door after us. Scribbles, stay and guard them. If we're not back in thirty minutes… follow the map to the Safe Zone without us."
"Lucas, no!" Eleanor pleaded, but he was already moving.
He didn't barricade the hole this time. He kicked the bookcase aside. With Mem a silent shadow at his shoulder, he marched down the hall to 4A.
He didn't knock. He reared back with his new, heavy [Makeshift Club] and slammed it into the door right next to the knob.
*BOOM.*
The thumping inside stopped.
*BOOM.*
The wood splintered.
*BOOM.*
The door flew inward.
The apartment was dark, lit only by the pulsing, blue-white core of the thing in the center of the living room.
It was a mass of woven cables, shattered LCD screens, microwave parts, and blender blades, all fused together around a central, throbbing power source. It had four spidery legs made of rebar. At its front, a single, robotic arm ending in a glowing hot toaster element swung back and forth. *Thump. Hum. Thump.* It had been trying to fuse a broken coffee maker to its body.
[Entity: Techno-Scavenger]
[Level: 4]
[Health: 110/110]
[Disposition: Curious, Territorial]
[Skills: [Electro-Jolt] - Short-range shock. [Welding Touch] - High heat for fusion/ damage. [Component Assimilation] - Can integrate machinery.]
[Note: A collector, not a pure predator. Defends its hoard fiercely. Core is volatile.]
Level 4. A full two levels above him. Lucas's bravado evaporated. This was a boss.
The Scavenger's 'head'—a rotating camera lens—swiveled to him. A discordant dial-up modem sound screeched from within its core.
It was between him and the door to the bedroom—its 'hoard'. To get the EXP, he'd have to go through it.
"Mem," Lucas said, raising his riot shield. "Distract it. Go for the legs."
Mem shot forward, silent and swift, its silver needle aimed at a rebar joint. The Scavenger's toaster-arm whipped around, glowing orange, and smashed into Mem's chest.
*CLANG!* Porcelain cracked. Mem was hurled back, a blackened scorch mark on its torso.
[Mem Health: 38/50]
Lucas charged, not at the body, but low, slamming his shield into one of its spindly legs. The metal shrieked. He followed up with a brutal swing of his club to the same spot.
[Techno-Scavenger Health: 98/110]
The creature staggered. Its camera lens focused on him. With a *CRACKLE* of energy, a arc of blue electricity shot from its core, bypassing his shield and slamming into his chest.
[Electro-Jolt!]
[Lucas Health: 28/40]
[Status: Stunned (2 sec)]
He convulsed, muscles locking. The smell of ozone and burnt hair filled his nose. He was helpless.
The Scavenger raised its toaster-arm for a finishing blow.
A blur of polished wood and ceramic shot in from the side. Mem, ignoring its own damage, plunged its silver needle deep into the rotating camera lens.
*CRUNCH-SHATTER.*
The Scavenger reeled, a high-pitched whine replacing the modem sound. It was blind.
The stun wore off. Lucas saw his chance. The throbbing core. The 'volatile' core.
"Mem! The core! Everything you've got!"
Mem yanked its needle free and, with both hands, drove it like a stake into the pulsating blue-white heart of the machine.
There was a terrible, rising hum. The light in the core brightened to blinding levels.
[Techno-Scavenger Health: 11/110]
[Status: Critical, Overloading]
Lucas didn't wait for the prompt. He dove forward, his mind screaming the command as his chain erupted from his chest.
**[ABSOLUTE SUBJUGATION]!**
The golden chain, the thickest yet, smashed into the overloaded core at the exact moment Mem tore its needle free.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, the blinding light dimmed, softened, and was drawn inward. The frantic hum became a steady, subdued pulse. The jagged, aggressive form of the Scavenger compacted, smoothed, and reshaped.
What stood before him was a sleek, canine-like form made of brushed steel and dark polymer. It had four steady legs, a sensor-dome head with a single green lens, and a tail that was a flexible power cable. Where the toaster-arm had been, there was now a neat, retractable tool attachment.
[ABSOLUTE SUBJUGATION Successful!]
[Thrall Acquired: [Techno-Scavenger] -> Designation Updated: [Charger-Unit 'Volt'].]
[Capacity: 3/4.]
[Soul-Theft Initiated…]
[Ability [Component Assimilation] detected.]
[Extracting Skill-Shard…]
[New Passive Skill Acquired: [Scavenger's Eye - Lvl 1] - You occasionally perceive potential uses or hidden value in broken technology and mundane items.]
Lucas collapsed to his knees, gasping. He was at 12 Health. Mem was at 20. But they'd done it.
[Combat Concluded. Experience Gained.]
[Level Up!]
[You are now Level 3!]
[+5 to all Stats, +10 Max Health, +5 Max Mana.]
Strength flooded his battered body, closing his wounds. He looked at his newest Thrall. "Volt," he rasped.
The mechanical hound dipped its head, its green lens glowing softly. It walked over and nuzzled his hand with its cool, metal snout. It felt like acceptance.
He had his party. A healer, a civilian, a porcelain ward, a tome-hound, and now a tech-hound.
And tomorrow, they would march into hell.