The meal was free, and the restaurant Chief even threw in two extra dishes.

It was insect meat, of course, but the preparation was surprisingly decent—savory, spicy, and filling.

Before they left, the Chief handed Jax a stack of dirty bills totaling one thousand Credits. He made it clear: if Jax had more meat, he should bring it here first.

Barnaby, finally full, seemed to vibrate with renewed energy. He trailed behind Jax, his massive head swiveling to take in the chaotic sights of the city.

The sun climbed higher, baking the streets. The ground began to radiate heat through the soles of their shoes.

The city was waking up.

Jax intended to find a place to crash immediately. However, after inquiring at several boarding houses, he hit a wall. No one wanted to rent to short-term drifters.

It didn’t take long for Jax to understand the logic.

In The Sprawl, survival was tied to stability. Unless you had a trade or an affiliation, you were considered a walking corpse—someone who wouldn’t live long enough to pay next month’s rent. Landlords didn’t want the hassle of cleaning out a dead tenant’s meager belongings.

To secure housing, most people joined a Guild.

Membership offered protection, a steady stream of gigs, and crucially, social proof. It was the first question every landlord asked: “Who do you run with?”

“Do I really have to join a Guild?” Jax muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

He led Barnaby toward the central district, eventually arriving at a chaotic, dust-choked square.

It was packed. A sea of bodies jostled and shouted—a rare density of people in the wasteland. But crowds meant trouble. Pickpockets, scammers, and muggers thrived in this environment.

Jax glanced at his hands.

He was currently carrying one thousand Credits and thirteen Tier 1 Cores. In this economy, he was a walking bank vault. To the predators watching the crowd, he was a “fat sheep”—an easy mark.

Discreetly, Jax slipped the cash and Cores into his System storage.

[Storage Space: 13/20 Slots Available]

With his valuables secured alongside his blueprints and materials, he relaxed slightly.

He grabbed Barnaby’s wrist and bulldozed through the press of bodies. In the center of the square, a row of folding tables had been set up. Each table was cluttered with flyers, sign-up sheets, and a placard displaying a name.

Guilds. There were about a dozen of them recruiting.

“The Insect Swarm half a month ago must have thinned their ranks,” Jax mused, eyeing the desperate recruiters. “They’re restocking cannon fodder.”

The noise was deafening, a cacophony of shouting men and bartering mercenaries. Jax decided to circle back later.

First, supplies. They had no home, but they still needed to eat. He planned to buy some emergency rations for the evening.

He turned to leave, but a figure popped up from behind a lonely table in the corner.

“Brother! Looking for a Guild?”

A young man with a desperate, plastered-on smile stepped into their path.

“Uh… not right now. Thanks,” Jax said, stepping around him.

He was wary of aggressive sales pitches. In The Sprawl, if someone approached you with a smile, they usually wanted your wallet or your kidneys.

Jax tried to walk away, but the young man matched his pace, blocking him again.

“Brother, you look fresh. Not from around here, right? Refugee from Redrock Bastion?”

“What do you want?”

Jax stopped, his body tensing. His fist clenched at his side, ready to strike.

Barnaby sensed the tension. The giant shrank back, hiding his massive frame behind Jax like a shy toddler. He gripped Jax’s shirt, peeking out fearfully.

“Whoa, easy! No ill intentions!” The young man raised his hands in surrender. “I just want to invite you to join our Guild!”

He fumbled in his pocket and produced a crumpled, grease-stained piece of plastic. He smoothed it out frantically.

“Look! We’re official. ‘The Dire Wolves.’ I’m the Guild Leader, Gareth. I’m sincerely asking you to join us.”

Jax glanced at the document. It bore the stamp of The Guild Hub, but the date was barely three days old.

“You guys just formed this week,” Jax noted dryly.

Gareth laughed awkwardly. “Well… three days ago. But we have potential!”

He pulled out a handful of brand-new ID cards. “See? We have members. Five of us, counting me!”

“Five people isn’t a Guild,” Jax said. “It’s a dinner party.”

He turned to leave again. Gareth grabbed his arm in panic.

Jax whipped his head around, his glare turning icy.

Gareth flinched and let go immediately. In the wasteland, grabbing a stranger was a good way to lose a hand.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Gareth stammered, his voice cracking with desperation. “Look, we’re stuck. We need a place to live. Please… just hear me out. Join us?”

There was genuine pleading in his eyes. Jax paused.

“You have no place to stay?”

Gareth slumped. “We used to be with the Iron Wolves. But the swarm two weeks ago… the entire army was wiped out. The Guild dissolved. We’re the leftovers.”

He sighed, wiping dust from his face. “We got kicked out of our rental. The landlord won’t rent to a group smaller than ten. He says five people can’t pay the rent. We need numbers, brother. Please.”

Jax’s mind raced. He needed a Guild to get a house. They needed bodies to get a house.

“Take me to see your crew,” Jax said.

Gareth’s face lit up like he’d won the lottery. “Yes! Absolutely! Follow me!”

Gareth led them away from the square, toward the outskirts of the district.

Before they even arrived, the smell hit them. A thick, cloying stench of rot and decay that coated the back of the throat.

They arrived at The Boneyard.

It was a dumping ground for the city’s dead. Funeral rites were expensive luxuries; most people just dragged bodies here and left them for the scavengers and the heat.

Jax covered his nose and mouth. The mid-day sun was cooking the corpses. The air buzzed with swarms of flies.

“Brother Jax, we’re here,” Gareth said, pointing to a cluster of people huddled under the sparse shade of a dead tree.

“You live here?” Jax asked, his voice muffled by his hand. “Aren’t you afraid of disease?”

Gareth gave a pained smile. “We don’t have a choice. The city patrol rounds up homeless drifters. The Boneyard is the one place they don’t check. It’s quiet. No thieves.”

“I doubt thieves would find anything worth stealing,” Jax muttered.

Gareth chuckled weakly. He wasn’t wrong. Their only asset was a single Core buried under a rock nearby—their rent money, once they found enough people.

Gareth whistled, and four figures stirred from the shadows of the rocks. They shambled over, looking less like mercenaries and more like the corpses they slept next to.

“Ahem! Everyone, this is our new teammate, Jax. And this is…” Gareth pointed at the giant.

“My brother, Barnaby,” Jax supplied.

“Right! Barnaby! Everyone, welcome them!”

Clap. Clap.

The applause was pathetic. The team members barely lifted their hands, their movements sluggish with hunger and heat exhaustion.

Jax scanned the squad.

They were sallow, gaunt, and filthy. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they smelled of sweat, dirt, and death.

“Let me introduce the elite of The Dire Wolves,” Gareth said, trying to inject some enthusiasm.

He pointed to a short, shifty-looking man. “This is Silas. Our Scout.”

Silas looked up, his eyes darting around nervously like a rat.

“This is Viper. Our Archer.”

Viper leaned against a rock, nursing a cigarette butt that had gone out hours ago. He sucked on the filter as if trying to extract the memory of nicotine.

“This is Kaleb. Our Rifleman. Uh… the Rifle is currently unavailable. So he’s logistics and our cook. He makes a mean stew.”

“And this is Annie, Kaleb’s sister. She’s also a Rifleman. She’s our runner. Fast on her feet.”

Kaleb and Annie ignored Jax entirely. Their hollow eyes were fixed on Barnaby, seemingly fascinated by the giant hiding behind Jax.

Jax looked at this motley collection of starving, weaponless “soldiers” and sighed.

“Fine,” Jax said. “Since you guys are a ‘developing’ team, we’ll join.”

He didn’t respect them. He didn’t trust them. But he needed a roof over his head, and right now, this pathetic group was his key to unlocking a door.