Looting Mrs. Gable's apartment yielded depressing returns. A half-empty bottle of prescription heart medication (useless), three cans of soup (a treasure), a functional butane lighter (better than the cheap plastic one), and a hefty, cast-iron frying pan.
[Item Acquired: 'Widow's Wok' Frying Pan]
[Grade: Mundane (Heavy)]
[Durability: 50/50]
[Damage: 4-7 (Blunt, Crushing)]
[Special: Imparts a sense of domestic finality.]
"Domestic finality," Lucas read, swinging the pan. It had a nice heft. He now had a club *and* a pan. He was becoming a walking kitchenware department.
Mem stood guard by the door, silent and still as a statue, while Scribbles used his [Minor Corrosion] to eat through the lock on a small metal strongbox. Inside, they found Mrs. Gable's "emergency fund": $87 in cash.
"Worthless," Lucas sighed, pocketing it anyway. "Unless the System starts a black market. Then I'm rich."
The next apartment, 4B, belonged to the college students. The door was wide open, the frame splintered from the outside. Inside was a warzone of discarded energy drink cans, pizza boxes, and toppled gaming chairs. And no students. Just more of the dark stains on the carpet, leading out into the hall.
"They either fled or got dragged," Lucas muttered, his throat tight. He pushed down the feeling. Focus on the loot.
Here, the haul was better. Two unopened twelve-packs of generic soda (hydration!), a giant bag of tortilla chips (only slightly stale), and in a locked bedroom drawer—likely a failed attempt at secrecy—a genuine, functional **hunting knife**.
[Item Acquired: 'Bargain Blade' Hunting Knife]
[Grade: Common]
[Durability: 30/30]
[Damage: 6-10 (Slashing, Piercing)]
[Special: None. It's just a sharp knife.]
"Now we're talking," Lucas said, swapping his letter opener for the knife on his belt. He felt marginally more lethal.
He was feeling almost confident when they approached the last apartment on the floor, 4A. The door was not just closed; it was barricaded from the inside. Something heavy was shoved against it. And from within, he heard a low, rhythmic *thumping*. Not aggressive. Steady. Like a heartbeat.
Lucas put his ear to the door. The thumping was accompanied by a faint, electrical hum and a smell like ozone and burnt toast.
[Ambient Danger Detected: Moderate.]
[Entity Signature: Mechanical/Arcane hybrid. Proceed with extreme caution.]
"Mechanical?" Lucas whispered. "What, did someone's smart fridge gain sentience and turn evil?"
He had two Thralls now. He had a club, a pan, and a knife. He also had three empty Thrall slots begging to be filled. Greed warred with self-preservation.
Self-preservation, fueled by memories of nearly being skewered by a spoon-monster, won.
"Not worth it," he decided. "We have supplies. We have two Thralls. Let's fall back, consolidate, and maybe check the third floor. Something that goes *thump* and smells like an electrical fire can have this floor."
It was the first truly smart decision he'd made all day, and it felt good. He was learning. Don't aggro the elite mob when you're still in leveling greens.
They retreated to his apartment, dragging their spoils behind them. He used the desk to re-block the main door and pushed a bookcase in front of the hole in the wall. It wouldn't stop anything serious, but it would make noise.
He sat on the floor with his loot arrayed before him: food, water, weapons. Mem stood rigid by the fortified hole. Scribbles was by the door.
[Day 1 Objective Complete: Secure Immediate Resources.]
[Bonus: Cleared 2 of 4 adjacent zones.]
[Reward: 50 EXP, 20 Credits.]
The EXP bar in his vision ticked up slightly. He was still a long way from Level 3.
As dusk began to stain the weird sky purple again, a new, personal chime sounded.
[Personal Quest Generated: 'A Friend in Need'.]
[Description: Human life signs detected in the building. Faint distress signal. Origin: Apartment 2C.]
[Objective: Investigate. Render aid if possible.]
[Reward: Variable (Scales with outcome).]
[Warning: Quest acceptance is optional. Failure may result in loss of Karma.]
Lucas stared at the prompt. A human. Alive. In the building.
His first reaction was a surge of hope. Another person! Someone to talk to! Someone who might have skills, who might know things!
His second reaction was utter, paralysing dread.
Another person meant social interaction. It meant responsibility. It meant potential conflict. What if they were hostile? What if they were injured and he had to care for them? What if they ate his soup?
What if they saw his Thralls and decided he was a monster?
The Lloyd Frontera part of his brain screamed: *Ignore it! It's a trap! Probably a mimic pretending to be a quest-giver! Stay in your looted dungeon and grind!*
But the tiny, atrophied part of him that remembered being part of a species, a society... it twitched.
He had three days of food now, maybe four. He had water. He had protection.
And he had a quest with a variable reward.
"Karma," he mumbled, looking at the warning. Was that a Stat? Did low Karma make your chains weaker? Make shop prices higher?
He looked at Mem, its porcelain face impassive. He looked at Scribbles, who was trying to subtly read its own pages.
"Okay," Lucas said, his voice quiet in the gathering dark. "We'll check it out. Tomorrow. In the daylight. With a plan."
He accepted the quest.
[Quest Accepted: 'A Friend in Need'.]
[You have 24 hours to initiate investigation.]
Lucas leaned back against the wall, the weight of another person's life—or death—now resting on his shoulders. He'd wanted the game to be real. Now it was giving him side quests with moral consequences.
This was so much worse than just killing monsters.