A steady trickle of adventurers crested the hill, their silhouettes dark against the afternoon sun. They arrived in small, tight-knit groups, drawn by the official missives sent out by the guilds, their faces a mixture of greed, excitement, and skepticism as they took in the sprawling construction site.
His earpiece chirped. Roy tapped it, activating the private channel. "Talk to me, girly."
"Captain, I am flagging an imminent environmental concern." Her voice was dry, with a hint of rising annoyance. "The adventurers are congregating. I am sure they will soon begin to contaminate the plaza's immediate perimeter with waste material and poor life choices."
Roy suppressed a laugh. "You mean they're going to camp out and leave a mess."
"A crude but accurate summary. If they are as disgusting as most other adventurers we have seen, I recommend containing them. A prefabricated barracks on the western plot should suffice for the short term. It will also serve as the foundation for the mega-hotel I have already designed with Nozomi. Truman and his team are prepping the land as we speak."
To the west, a distant patch of earth was already being leveled with unnerving speed by a small fleet of Presidroids. Roy shook his head. "Right. Containment. That's certainly not going to backfire."
A week of grinding metal and dwarven chants had transformed the valley. Technomendia now stood complete, a massive, circular edifice of white stone and smoked glass at the heart of the foundational web. It was a pristine island of the future in a sea of graded earth and raw potential.
With a deep, resonant boom, a cloud of rock dust erupted from a new tunnel mouth near the mall's cargo bay.
"We finally broke through!" Takara's voice, muffled but triumphant, echoed from within. She stumbled out a moment later, covered in grime, goggles perched on her forehead.
Greta followed, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of a gloved hand. "That's the easy part. Now we reinforce ten miles of tunnel and build a maglev train from scratch if we can." She shot Takara a manic grin. "It's going to be glorious."
"Go be glorious without me for a bit," Takara said, already jogging toward Roy. "I'm free. Figured you could use some help," she called out to him.
"Perfect timing," Roy said, gesturing to the main entrance where the first crowd of adventurers was gathering. "Showtime."
He walked with her through the main doors, past a grand, arching sign that read Temporum. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasting garlic and fresh bread. Dozens of the Freed, clad in crisp uniforms, moved with a focused, nervous energy.
Takara hopped onto a small riser, clapping her hands for attention. "Alright everyone, listen up! These people are used to eating boiled leather and things that have been dead for way too long. What we are giving them is a reason to live. Every plate that leaves this kitchen is a statement. Make it perfect."
A young feline beastfolk, her nametag reading 'Mina', raised a hesitant hand. "What if they get rowdy?"
"They might," Takara said, her confidence absolute. "Just remember your training. Be polite, be efficient, and if anyone gives you any trouble, you come get me. Or Warrex. Or Maelara. Or Grifftin. Or Siren." She paused, thinking. "You know what, just yell. Someone dangerous will show up to help."
Roy watched from the back, a quiet pride settling in his chest. This was it. The first real test.
He stepped outside, his entire posture shifting. The casual slouch was gone, replaced by a rigid, commanding presence. A small, silent drone hovered near his head, ready to amplify his voice. The Thunder Rider was on stage.
"You seekers of bloody glory and tarnished coin!" he began, his voice washing over the waiting crowd, deep and resonant. "You stand upon the threshold of an abattoir, hungry for the treasures it holds. You see a hole in the ground. I see an altar upon which legends will be sacrificed and fortunes will be forged."
He let the words hang in the charged silence, his gaze sweeping over their faces.
"Technomendia does not wish you luck. Luck is for the weak. We offer you a foundation upon which to build your greed. Now go. Let the lord of avarice claim its first tithe."
The drone went silent. The performance was over.
Bewildered but intrigued, the adventurers began to file in. Near the entrance, a long counter manned by Lynder Shadevale's people processed the newcomers.
A young elf with a look of profound boredom gestured to a runic pad. "Registration. Hand here."
A burly man complied. The pad glowed, leaving a faint shimmer on his skin that quickly faded.
"What was that?"
"Proof of entry. Don't lose your hand," the elf said, already looking past him to the next person in line.
A few adventurers, drawn by the scent from Temporum, peeled off from the main group. They were the first to enter, the first to taste what Otherrealm had to offer. A few minutes later, a raw, piercing shriek of pure delight ripped through the plaza. It was followed by a chorus of them.
A man stumbled out of the restaurant, his eyes streaming with tears. He held a half-eaten steak in his hand as if it were the king's crown.
"Loe has blessed me…" he wept. "It's… real. True happiness is real."
The effect was instantaneous. The slow march to the dungeon entrance halted, then reversed. A wave of frantic, hungry humanity surged toward Temporum. The line for the dungeon was now completely empty, replaced by a clamoring mob desperate to get into the restaurant.
"Halkin! You have to try this! It's something called a 'French Fry'!" a man near the front shouted to his friend, his voice cracking. "Take more than one and I'll kill you!"
His friend, who had been hesitant, snatched one from the plate. He ate it. His eyes widened. Tears began to well. "What dark sorcery is this!? Am I hallucinating? This must be the afterlife… Mother, I'll see you soon."
"Hopefully this afterlife comes with about a hundred thousand more French fry!" the first man yelled, shoving a handful into his own mouth. "We aren't sharing!"
From the corner of the restaurant, a man bellowed with the fervor of a new convert, "ALL I BROUGHT WAS THIS LEATHER TO BOIL! I WOULD PERSONALLY STRANGLE THE QUEEN OF SERANOVIA FOR A SECOND PLATE OF THIS!"
Once the initial chaos settled, Roy noticed five adventurers standing apart. They had eaten and, instead of joining the dungeon line, had taken up positions guarding the restaurant's entrance.
Roy approached them. The leader, a veteran with calm eyes and graying hair, gave him a respectful nod. His guild tag identified him as Brym.
"Captain Gunn, was it?"
"Just Roy is fine," Roy said. "Not heading in?"
Brym shook his head, looking back at the restaurant with a strange, fervent reverence. "Captain, the food in there is a treasure wars would be fought for. I'd sell a family member for the permission to lick a used plate." He grew serious. "That kitchen is cranking out treasure better than any dragon's hoard. And treasure needs guarding. Simple as that."
Roy looked at the five of them, at the simple, earnest resolve on their faces. He grinned.
"That's a hell of an endorsement," Roy said, grinning wide as the earnestness. "But I can't let you do it for free. How would you five like a job? Official security."
Brym's eyes widened. "A job?"
"A job," Roy confirmed. "I pay better than anyone you know, too. You get one free meal a day from any restaurant in this mall, well, just Temporum for now. And one condition: you work in shifts. Two on, three off. The three who are off are in that dungeon. You're adventurers, after all. I'd hate to steal that experience from you."
"And our families?"
"Bring'em. Otherrealm could always use more citizens. But! Hygiene class for new citizens is mandatory and paid for by the city, one gold each! All must attend!" Roy demanded.
Brym stared at him, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. He looked at his companions, who all nodded, their expressions a mix of shock and elation. He turned back to Roy and stuck out a hand.
"We're in, Captain!"
Roy took it, the handshake firm and solid. "Welcome to the team."