The animal’s amber eyes locked on him, lips peeled. A low growl vibrated through its ribs and the debris pinning them.
Ruby crouched opposite, gloved fingers slipping under the beam. “On three?”
“On three.” Sean tightened his grip, gauging weight. “One…two…three.”
Muscles bunched. The beam rose a palm’s breadth—enough. The wolf kicked free, staggering onto its paws before collapsing again with a whimper.
Marcus hovered close, ready to turn the creature into paste if it lunged. “You sure about this, boss?”
“Class says I need a Bond.” Sean lifted his HUD into focus. A faint green ring pulsed around the wolf’s outline with the label Tameable – 38 %.
He slowed his breath, recalling K-9 handling drills from base security: steady eye-contact, no sudden noise. He extended a hand, palm open. The wolf sniffed, ears twitching between threat and exhaustion.
Sean opened the Bond prompt.
Attempt Loyalty Contract? Y/N
He twitched Y.
The air thickened—no, awareness thickened, as if some cosmic lens inspected both man and beast. Pain forecast flickered through radians of possibility: joint hunts, shared wounds, betrayal.
I won’t chain you, Sean told the creature without words, just run with me.
The lens clicked shut.
Bond succeeded. Loyalty +12 (Wary).
Skill Unlocked: Whisper-Sense (Active – 10 MP/30 sec).
The wolf’s muscles unclenched. It rested a muzzle against his calf—an acceptance as tentative as the new blue sigil hovering between their heartbeats.
Brandon exhaled like a deflating balloon. “Congrats, Beast Boy. You got a pet.”
“Partner,” Sean corrected, scratching behind a soot-smudged ear. “Name’s…Echo.”
A faint tail-thump signaled approval.
Three floors up in a half-intact courtroom, the survivors gathered: forty-three civilians, eight cops, two National Guard reservists who’d hustled downtown after spotting aurora anomalies.
Brandon noodled with a cracked smartboard, transforming it into a conference screen. Fluorescent lights flickered; power from the basement generators still lived.
“The System dropped new data,” he said, projecting a hologram titled Fold Tutorial Chicago – 17:54:02 Remaining. Two bars underneath:
- Survivors: 5 921
- Dominion Points: 13 540
“Loop’s only one Zone,” Cho added, highlighting grid squares. “Satellite pings show overlapping Folds worldwide. We’re ants on a hot motherboard.”
A burly cop—Sergeant Ortega—crossed thick arms. “My people can establish perimeter choke points, but we’re short on ammo.”
Ruby addressed the room. “We have med-supplies scavenged from kiosks, EMT lockers, and three ambulances stranded outside. Not nearly enough morphine.”
Marcus tapped the map. “We also need food and potable water; sprinkler runoff’s full of fire retardant.”
Sean listened, cataloguing resources, deficits, morale. Leadership wasn’t speeches; it was triage of priorities.
His new HUD chimed:
Quest Seed: Prove Protector (Group).
Condition: keep casualties below 10 % for next 24 h.
Reward: +1 000 DP & Skill Upgrade Voucher.
He kept that to himself—for now. No use dangling carrots before assembling the harness.
They needed meat, points, and a test of their fledgling classes.
Sean’s strike party: Echo the wolf, Marcus in borrowed SWAT riot gear, Ruby with a paramedic trauma axe, Brandon lugging a tablet-hacked drone quadcopter, and Tasha—the con-artist turned Shadow Broker—who kept a pocketful of scavenged tasers like brass knuckles.
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Sergeant Ortega insisted on sending rookie officer Hannah Kim, a dead-shot qualifying as Light Warrior (dual Glocks, hollow-points almost gone).
They ghosted through LaSalle Street, skyscraper canyons echoing with distant sirens and bestial howls. Violet lightning crawled spider-webs across the sky dome—foldline boundary.
Whisper-Sense bloomed as Sean activated the skill. His pupils haloed gold; the world dimmed except for pulsing silhouettes: rats, pigeons, a stray Rottweiler—no threat. There— a larger shape lurked inside an abandoned Blue Line subway entrance: quadruped, barbed shoulders, tail spikes. HUD tag: Subterranean Gnasher (Rank F) – 290 DP – Aggressive. Two smaller ticks flanked it—pups? No, juveniles.
Sean relayed intel. “One adult, two subadults. We want the points and meat; minimize risk.”
Tasha smirked. “Soothing words from Mr. Marine.”
Ruby thumbed her axe. “Get eyes first.”
Brandon launched the drone. Camera feed buzzed across their HUD. Basement escalators submerged in ankle-deep water, fluorescent glowworms writhing like living LEDs. The Gnashers gnawed a steel bench, denting it with serrated molars.
Marcus hefted a manhole cover like a discus. “Signal, I chuck this pizza plate for noise.”
Kim double-checked mags. “I take the flank.”
Sean scratched Echo’s ruff. “You herd juveniles right when the plate hits metal. Don’t engage alone.” The wolf snorted agreement.
The plan unfolded clock-work. Marcus’s manhole throw clanged down the staircase; the Gnashers snapped heads upward. Echo bounded in, barking feral challenge, darting away to split the trio.
Kim’s pistols barked—pop, pop, pop—three rounds into the smallest juvenile’s eye cluster. It shrieked, flopping.
Ruby slid railings like a firefighter, landing beside Marcus. Her axe carved a crimson arc, severing juvenile tendons. Brandon’s drone strafed, LED strobes distracting the adult.
Sean drew a fire-axe looted earlier, yet felt wrong—too heavy. Instead, he whistled, channeled Command. Loyalty tether hummed. Echo spun round, diving for the adult’s hamstrings, fangs sinking into gray sinew.
Adult Gnasher bellowed, tail spikes whipping. One grazed Sean’s forearm—searing pain. HUD: HP 90 → 82.
Marcus intercepted with a riot shield, absorbing two brutal headbutts, armor spider-webbing. “This sucker’s strong!”
Sean saw an opening: the bench the Gnashers had mangled now partly bent like a hook. He vaulted, grabbed the bar, and used momentum to swing onto the adult’s back. Strength 18 wasn’t superhuman but the merged wolf stats lent him grip. He jammed the axe handle across mandibles, prying. Echo yanked opposite.
Kim switched to stun baton (ammo dry), thrusting between armored plates at the creature’s armpit equivalent. Electricity crackled, jerking muscles. Ruby’s crimson edge split dorsal spine with a wet crack.
The Gnasher collapsed.
You gained 290 DP (shared).
Bond loyalty +3 (Echo).
Skill progression: Merge Unlock 12 %
Sean rolled off, panting. “Status?”
“Scratch,” Ruby said, flexing nicked bicep. “Nothing tourniquet can’t cozy.”
Kim reloaded scavenged subsonic rounds. “Clean shots, three left none wasted.”
Brandon chuckled, retrieving his drone. “Feed’s going viral if internet still exists.”
Marcus knelt by juvenile carcass. “Meat’s weirdly…blue.”
“Protein’s protein,” Ruby shrugged. “We’ll field-test for toxins. Boil well.”
Echo’s growl shifted to a contented rumble as Sean ruffled fur. “Good work, partner.”
Back at Thompson HQ, sizzling Gnasher steaks filled the atrium with barbecue scents—tang of iron and coriander.
System notification blossomed campus-wide:
Dominus Advisory
First Chicago Beast Lord still unchecked: 18 h until Sky-Rend Harpy Queen matures.
Murmurs rippled. Beast Lord? Queen? Ruby shot Sean a glance: Bigger stakes arriving sooner than planned.
He called an impromptu council—Sergeant Ortega, city engineer Mala Patel, Cho, Ruby, Marcus, Tasha, Kim.
“Tutorial’s two-and-a-half days,” Sean began. “Beast Lord spawns before that—likely a mini-raid. If we kill her, we score huge DP, cement morale, maybe gain loot.”
“Or we get vaporized,” Mala said, twirling a cracked helmet. “Structural scans show foldline anomalies on rooftop load-bearing beams. If a giant bird tries perching there…”
Sean nodded. “We lure her elsewhere. Grant Park maybe—open ground.”
Cho tapped projections. “Harpy subspecies prefer thermal updrafts. Buckingham Fountain’s vents are offline but subway exhaust could mimic.”
Marcus grinned. “So we build a turkey leg the size of a bus and lure Big Bird?”
“Essentially,” Cho said, eyes gleaming.
Tasha leaned back, folding arms. “While you brainstorm bait, remember rival factions. The PMC downtown? They’ll gun for the Queen too.”
Ortega spat. “Those jackboots shot my officers at Wabash Bridge. War profiteers.”
Sean breathed in steak smoke, out long. Leadership demanded choices before certainty. He saw three threads: protect civilians, beat the PMC, kill the Queen. Juggling all risked dropping each.
Then his HUD flashed a new whisper from the Architects—like a system patch note:
Side Quest: Parley or Pulverize
The first faction you fully cooperate or fully annihilate will define Earth’s early Alignment. Choose wisely.
Ruby’s eyebrow arched: she’d seen it too.
Sean looked at his comrades—this accidental brotherhood—and weighed human nature’s light and dark. Only hours into Dominus, and already the board begged for lines in blood or olive branches.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” he said, voice steady. “We hunt. But tonight we rest, fortify, and heal. A war’s coming; let’s meet it on our terms.”
Echo howled agreement—a low, rising note that trembled chandeliers. Around them, even the wounded straightened spines.
Outside, violet lightning sketched the skyline like graffiti. And in the distance, on some crumpled radio frequency, a single word crackled three times:
“—Dominus…Dominus…Dominus—”
The night was young; Chicago’s story had just learned to bare its fangs.