The welcoming committee looked like the last level of Coffee-Brewers Anonymous: Ortega’s bleary cops, Mala with a grease-smudge like war-paint, Carlos handing out lukewarm jerky, and forty civilians who’d refused to sleep until the strike team returned.
Ruby stepped down first, lifting two fingers in a medic’s lazy V. “Nobody’s dead, one concussion, three tetanus candidates.”
The cheer felt twice as loud as the atrium deserved.
Sean followed, Echo pacing proudly. Whisper-Sense overlaid green auras everywhere— the Light Alignment passive was real; these people hummed with cautious hope instead of despair.
Mala hurried forward, tablet already graphing wattage dreams. “We need to seat it inside the makeshift Faraday cage, then run nano-fiber leads to the municipal trunk.”
Cho, still re-wiring his drone antenna, grinned. “I’ll patch in a System interface; maybe the core can run a diagnostics hologram.”
Sean’s HUD pinged mid-stride:
Quest ‘Prove Protector’ complete—Casualties 4 %
Reward: +1 000 DP, +2 Free Points.
A secondary chime layered:
Milestone: City-Grid Restoration I
8 000 XP
Sean’s vision blurred gold for half-a-second.
Level Up! 5 → 6
All stats +1 Free Pts +1
Class Perk Slot unlocked (choose next sleep).
He exhaled. “About time.”
The next six hours blurred into an engineer’s Christmas montage. Mala’s crew erected a skeletal exoshell of steel conduit around the core. Cho spliced mana-infused copper braid to Chicago’s pre-Fold converter room. Ruby stood by with two fire teams in case meltdown was more than a video-game myth.
0330 hrs: first switch engaged. Core hummed—lights flickered, then steadied.
0405 hrs: water pumps in West Loop gargled to life; someone upstairs shouted that faucets ran clear.
0500 hrs: defunct LED billboards on State Street lit with white screen—Cho’s test pattern (“??”). Civilians clapped like it was New Year’s at Times Square.
At 0515, System text floated over the entire Loop:
Infrastructure Node Repaired — Energy Tier 1 online.
Passive HP regen +3 % in friendly territory.
Crafting stations unlocked (Basic).
Marcus chuckled, leaning on Aegis. “Electricity gets us health insurance. Nice.”
Kim wiped grease from her forehead. “Also 3-D printers for ammo.”
Tasha shouldered through crowd, silver hair catching neon glow. “And for data. Rourke’s goons are crawling Pedway. Their truce expires in twelve hours.”
Sean tapped her Mark overlay—Rourke’s moral meter at Spiteful 76 %. “Then let’s spend the half-day well.”
Morning council convened in the atrium—bright now. Refugees poured coffee brewed by electric percolators; the smell alone bought loyalty points.
Ortega opened. “Two matters. One: distribution of DP to upgrade perimeter guns. Two: evidence of PMC child-trafficking.”
Cho projected the data-slab’s holo: GPS routes, Cerulean Choir chant lines, tithe lists. Gasps, curses.
“We raid them,” said Carlos, voice trembling with father’s rage.
An older academic countered, “But they’re armed; open war risks the Loop.”
Mala lifted her stylus. “Tomorrow the Tutorial ends. System merges Chicago with broader Fold network. If Rourke keeps prisoners, they could become bargaining chips with off-world factions. We stop him or live under that threat.”
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Eyes turned to Sean. Leadership had a way of landing on whomever kept surviving.
He spoke quietly: “I won’t start wars for pride. But those prisoners? Non-negotiable. Tonight we extract them before the truce lapses.”
Vote tally: 31 – 4 for extraction.
Ortega outlined manpower: “Strike Alpha—same crew as Behemoth, plus eight shield militia. Beta squad holds north barricade. If PMC counters, fallback to grid-power turret.”
Ruby closed notebook. “Med tent moves to Pedway entrance for evac.”
Mala added, “We tie core into halogen flash towers; EMP strobes disrupt Choir tech.”
Cho: “I can push a fake emergency over Rourke’s comms—claim the Choir wants tithe moved early.”
Plan set. D-Day minus fourteen hours.
Before short sleep, Sean finally spent stat points:
- Banked Free Pts: 7
- Allocation: +3 Agility (now 11 → 14) +2 Willpower (15 → 17) +2 Perception (13 → 15)
- Remaining bank: 0.
Perk-slot pop-up offered three:
- Instinctive Merge — start battle at 25 % merge progress.
- Beast-Speech I — converse (basic) with Rank E beasts.
- Stamina Loop — 10 % stamina refund on every successful dodge.
He chose Beast-Speech I. Echo’s tail thumped approval through Bond-link.
2100 hrs, dusk. Strike Alpha used service tunnels to approach the South Loop railyard. Cho’s spoof alert pinged on PMC head-sets: “Choir emissaries delayed, move offerings to Gate B.” Half the mercs began loading captives onto flatbeds.
Echo’s new voice trickled in Sean’s mind—husky lupine syllables: “Smell fear. Little ones…caged.”
Sean stroked fur, whispered, “Point me.” Wolf prowled low toward a boxcar where children huddled behind chain link.
Marcus signaled the militia—shields up, silent. Kim and Tasha flanked guard tower. Ruby stayed rear with med-pair.
Cho’s EMP flash-towers erupted—white strobe. Turret sensors glitched. Militia charged, banging shields, drawing fire.
Marcus absorbed rifle burst; feathers muted crack to dull thumps. He slammed Aegis groundward—Sonic Rebuff pulsed, throwing shooters like rag-dolls.
Kim vaulted a crate stack, twin blades flicking. Two mercs disarmed, non-fatal tendon cuts.
Tasha slid under railcar, planting taser mines on axles. “Tick-tick.”
Sean and Echo leapt atop boxcar roof. Beast-Speech called to a wiry mongrel locked inside cage with kids: “Friend—run when door breaks.” Dog yipped understanding.
Sean pried padlock; Echo bit chain. Kids stared wide-eyed. “Loop Alliance,” he hissed, “follow the dog.” Child wrangler inside tried drawing pistol; Sean knocked him cold with bow-grip.
Explosions from rails—mines severed coupling pins. Traction lost, flatbeds slid downgrade toward militia checkpoint where Ortega’s cops waited with medic blankets.
Rourke himself emerged from command humvee, rage illuminating. “Delgado! Bloody saint complex!”
He raised mana-rifle, but Tasha’s Mark overlay flashed; Marcus interposed shield, deflecting shot skyward.
Rourke snarled, tossed rifle, drew combat knife, charging Marcus. Close quarters thunder. Knife scraped Aegis feathers, snapped.
Cho’s drone blared recorded Choir chant at 400 dB. PMC comms overloaded. Mercs hesitated, fearing cult reprisal.
Sean dropped from roof, claws half-merged. “Stand down, Captain. Civilians gone. Your play’s over.”
Rourke’s eyes flicked to retreating hostages, then to his scattering company. “You think Light Alignment will save you?” He tapped wrist beacon—teleport glyphs flickered, Choir-tech. “The Architects wager on strong, not kind.”
He vanished in cobalt flash, leaving burned glyph pentagon.
Kim exhaled. “Teleport. Great.”
But System text unfurled:
Quest ‘Breach of Trust’ Complete.
Loop civilians rescued: 47
Alignment Light + 20.
XP Gain: 9 500
Sean’s HUD shimmering gold again:
Level Up! 6 → 7
Stats +1 all Free Pts +1
Merge Timer +10 s.
He smiled—first honest smile in days. “Readers at home will be happy.”
Ruby punched his arm. “Fourth-wall jokes later. Let’s get the kids home.”
The Tutorial clock hit 00:00:00 at sunrise. Instead of fireworks, violet auroras over Chicago folded inward—an iris opening. On the horizon, pathways of shimmering bridges connected to faint silhouettes of other cities.
System broadcast—voice of no gender, rolling thunder:
“Tutorial complete. Earth now enters Dominus Tier-League.
Nearest Transfer Gates active in 12 hours.
Prepare for conference with peer civilizations.
Survive. Thrive. Ascend.”
Sean stood atop the Thompson Center’s roof garden, Echo sitting regal. Marcus, Ruby, Cho, Tasha, Kim, Ortega, Mala, and two hundred citizens squeezed onto decks, eyes fixed on impossible light-roads stretching toward Detroit, St. Louis, Minneapolis.
Kim whispered, “World just got bigger.”
Sean flexed new-gained claws, feeling Merge potential hum. “Then so will we.”
Behind them, the repaired city grid flickered at full charge. One small light amid multiversal darkness—bright enough for a beginning.