Jax couldn’t help but glance one last time at the darkened icon of The Vault hovering in his peripheral vision.

“No,” he muttered to himself. “The inventory in The Vault is too unpredictable. Unless the specific components I need appear, spending Cores on a manual refresh is just gambling. And the house always wins.”

Jax had finally cracked the refresh mechanism of the mysterious shop. The Vault cycled its inventory once every twenty-four hours for free. Everything inside was random. He could force a refresh, but the System demanded a tribute of one hundred Cores to do so.

right now, one hundred Cores was a fortune. He wasn’t about to burn his hard-earned currency on a slot machine. Patience was the only strategy.

This deadlock was frustrating. He needed Refined Iron and Stardust Stone to build the Howitzer Turret, and relying on a random number generator to provide them was like waiting for rain in the desert—who knew when, or if, it would ever happen.

The night dragged on.

The group huddled against the fortress walls, waiting for the sun. Exhaustion eventually claimed most of them, leaving them slumped in uncomfortable piles. Gareth, however, remained wide awake. His nerves were shot. He kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep, but his ears twitched at every sound in the darkness.

Only when the first gray light of dawn stretched across the valley floor did Gareth finally open his eyes.

“Dawn,” he whispered, his voice cracking with relief. “Finally.”

He started to stretch his stiff limbs but froze mid-motion. The memory of the previous night crashed back into him. Viper. The threat. The ultimatum.

Viper was supposed to leave this morning.

Gareth turned his head slowly. Viper was sitting alone near the edge of the platform, looking miserable. His face was a mask of conflict—reluctance to leave the safety of the towers warring with a burning, impotent hatred for Jax.

The movement caught the attention of the others. One by one, eyes shifted to the outcast.

Jax watched him with a blank expression. Internally, he was already calculating the most efficient way to eject the man. He wanted the cancer cut out of the guild immediately.

If he leaves on his own, perfect, Jax thought. If I have to force him… it gets messy.

Technically, Gareth was still the Guild Leader. Jax had established that everyone followed his orders at the base, but publicly stripping Gareth of his authority by unilaterally expelling a member would humiliate the man. Gareth was a pushover, sure, but he was a useful pushover. Jax didn’t want to break him.

I don’t bully the weak, Jax decided. But if Viper doesn’t walk, I’ll make his life hell until he does.

Viper felt the weight of their stares. He looked up, his eyes darting to Gareth, pleading silently for an intervention.

Gareth immediately looked away, staring intently at a crack in the stone floor. He was terrified Viper would call in a favor or ask for support. He didn’t have the spine to stand up to Jax, and he knew it.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Viper gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet.

“What’s so great about this dump anyway?” Viper spat, his voice trembling with false bravado. “Who wants to stay in a hellhole like this? I’m leaving!”

He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed the rappel rope and slid down the wall, his movements jerky and angry.

When his boots hit the sand, he paused. The mountain of Sandworm corpses lay before him, a fortune in potential materials. He stared at them, his fists clenching. He felt cheated. He felt like Jax—and the rest of them—owed him this.

I helped, he told himself. I was there.

But the memory of the arrow bouncing off the carapace checked his greed. If he tried to take anything now, he’d be humiliated again.

Viper cast one last look at the fortress, his eyes filled with venomous hate, before turning and trudging into the wasteland.

Watching his figure disappear into the dust, the group felt a mix of emotions—relief, guilt, and the stark reality of survival.

Jax and Barnaby, however, shared a singular, more pragmatic thought: What’s for breakfast?

With the drama resolved and bellies full of meager rations, the real work began.

Jax assumed the role of foreman.

“Silas, you’re back in the mines. We need those Energy Shards,” Jax ordered. “Gareth, Kaleb—you two are on corpse duty. Strip the useful parts, pile the rest for burning. Annie, you’re on cooking duty. Barnaby, gather firewood.”

Jax paused, thinking about his own assignment. He looked at the busy camp, then at the horizon.

“I’ll… oversee the perimeter,” he announced.

It was a polite way of saying he was going to supervise. No one complained. Jax was the owner of Sector 33; he provided the walls and the guns that kept them alive. The boss didn’t haul trash.

Later that morning, the smell of food drew the team back together. Annie had managed to whip up something edible from their supplies.

Between mouthfuls of rice, Kaleb couldn’t contain his excitement. He waved his chopsticks in the air, his face animated.

“You guys won’t believe it!” Kaleb sputtered, bits of rice flying. “Those Winged Ravagers? Every single one of them had a Core in its skull! The Guild Leader and I dug out over thirty of them in just an hour! And we aren’t even halfway done. We’re going to strike it rich!”

Gareth choked on his water. He kicked Kaleb under the table and coughed loudly.

“Those Cores belong to Jax,” Gareth hissed, shooting a nervous glance at the boss. “It’s up to him how they’re distributed. Shut up and eat.”

Kaleb froze, the smile sliding off his face. He buried his head in his bowl, terrified he’d offended their protector.

Gareth peeked at Jax. Jax was eating quietly, his expression unreadable. He didn’t seem angry. Gareth let out a breath he’d been holding.

Jax wasn’t listening to the chatter. He was squatting mentally in front of the [Turret Construction] menu.

Refined Iron. Stardust Stone.

Where was he supposed to find them? He had plenty of standard Cores now, and the nightly attacks were providing a steady stream of Energy Shards, but the rare materials were elusive.

The next two nights followed a comfortable rhythm. The Sandworms attacked, the Sentry Towers shredded them, and Jax collected the loot. He barely lifted a finger. It was an EXP farm, plain and simple.

By the morning of the third day, however, a new problem arose.

“We’re out of food,” Annie reported.

With the extra mouths to feed, their supplies had dwindled rapidly.

“We need a run to Outpost 15,” Jax decided.

He considered sending Gareth, but the corpse processing wasn’t finished. Jax looked at Barnaby, who was looking bored.

“Barnaby, get your gear. We’re going to the market. I’m buying you a good meal.”

Barnaby lit up like a flare. “Real food? Coming, Brother!”

Outpost 15 was a hive of scum and villainy, but it had a market.

Jax kept a low profile. He exchanged one hundred Cores for local currency at a broker—spending raw Cores drew too many eyes—and filled their backpacks with dried meat, water, and rice.

Barnaby was still licking his lips, savoring the memory of the bowl of bone broth noodles they had just consumed at a roadside stall.

“Brother,” Barnaby rubbed his belly. “That was good. Can I have another bowl?”

Jax shook his head, smiling. “That broth was watered down and the meat was days old. Wait until we get back to Redrock Bastion or The Sprawl proper. I’ll buy you real meat. Fresh meat.”

Barnaby’s eyes went wide. “Really? Meat? I want meat! No more soup!”

They were walking toward the exit, ready to head back, when a sleek, armored vehicle roared up to the outpost gate.

Dust swirled as the heavy tires crunched to a halt. The door swung open, and a figure stepped out, radiating wealth and power.

It was Sawyer.

He was dressed in a pristine sun-protective suit, designer sunglasses, and boots that were actually polished—a stark contrast to the dusty, ragged scavengers of Outpost 15.

Sawyer marched toward the guild district, looking impatient.

Jax saw an opportunity. He waved his hand high above the crowd.

“Officer Sawyer!”

Sawyer paused, scanning the throng. When he spotted Jax and Barnaby, his professional scowl melted into a genuine smile.

“Haha! Jax!” Sawyer hurried over, ignoring the stares of the locals. “I was looking for you! I didn’t expect to find you slumming it in Outpost 15. I’ve been asking around all morning. Come on, get in the car!”

Jax greeted him warmly, making sure his voice carried. He didn’t need to flash the Syndicate token; being seen with a high-ranking officer was better than any badge.

The effect was instant. The whispers rippled through the crowd of scavengers and thugs.

“Holy crap… is that kid with the Helios Syndicate?”

“Look at how the officer is talking to him. That’s not just business; they’re close.”

“He must be a vassal. Or a lackey.”

“Who cares what he is? Look at that car. If he’s a dog for the Helios Syndicate, he’s a dog with very sharp teeth. No one in The Sprawl is going to touch him now.”

Jax caught the envious glares and terrified looks. Good, he thought. Let them think I’m a lackey. It keeps the knives out of my back.