Inside the Crimson Cabaret, two survivors scavenged the third floor.

"Are you sure this is the place, Niu?" the one holding an SA-58 asked, rummaging through a room. "The Wishful Thinking Guide said so. It's never wrong."

"Let's search thoroughly. Those Starborn sure have a knack for predictions."

"Next time we encounter a Starborn, you can have the kill."

"Heh, thanks, Niu!"

Unbeknownst to them, a Ratkin survivor watched from a hidden basement room. He munched on crackers while monitoring a handheld gaming device. Its screen displayed the two survivors on the third floor, their conversation clearly audible. The Ratkin's ears perked up. He quickly donned his gear, eyes glued to the screen.

Just as he finished, a cry of delight echoed from the device. "Jackpot! A Calamity Coin!"

"What? A Calamity Coin!"

The Ratkin's eyes widened at the mention of the coin. A predatory gleam replaced his surprise. He crept upstairs.

The two survivors admired their prize. "Let's check the other rooms! We might find more rare items!"

As the first survivor stepped into the hallway, gunshots erupted. He crumpled, head blooming crimson.

The other survivor reacted instantly, lobbing a grenade towards the staircase. It bounced off the wall and landed in the corridor.

The Ratkin, having already taken down one target, had anticipated the grenade. He dove into a room across the hall, pressing himself against the wall.

The grenade detonated, shrapnel ripping through the corridor. The Ratkin cautiously peered out, aiming his weapon. A hail of bullets met him, tearing into his right side. He staggered, transferring his weapon to his left hand as he fell.

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A grenade rolled through the doorway, stopping at his feet.

"Damn it…"

He scrambled for cover, but a second grenade bounced off the doorframe, landing deeper in the room. Despair filled his eyes as both grenades exploded.

The remaining survivor, watching through his thermal goggles, sighed in relief. Then, his expression shifted to elation.

"Sorry, Niu. Finders keepers!" he muttered, approaching his companion's body. He blinked in disbelief. The body was stripped bare. No backpack, no weapons, no armor, not even shoes or a helmet.

"What the…?"

A chill ran down his spine. He bolted for the Ratkin's room, intending to grab the loot and flee. But the Ratkin was also stripped clean. Panic seized him. He scrambled downstairs, only to be met by a whistling shriek. A rocket slammed into the cabaret's entrance, erupting in a fiery blast. The survivor was instantly obliterated.

Thomas frowned as Eight Lop handed him the Calamity Coin. His mind replayed the explosion at the cabaret. The virtual map showed the ground floor in ruins, far beyond the destructive power of a typical grenade, even his Remote Emulsion Charges.

Remembering Ben Walker was nearby, Thomas messaged him.

Thomas: You alive?

Ben: Legend Smyth! Yes, what's up?

Thomas: Did you see a fight or explosion near you?

Ben: You heard that? Yeah, a fight inside a building drew a Rebel patrol. They took out the last survivor with a rocket.

Thomas: Rebels? How do you know so much?

Ben sent a series of photos, capturing the fight from a high vantage point, likely through a telescope. The images showcased a hulking wheeled armored vehicle. Several soldiers in exoskeleton armor stood nearby, one shouldering a rocket launcher. The aftermath at the cabaret entrance confirmed its devastating power.

Thomas: So those are Rebels?

Ben: Yep. They emerge after the first calamity, mostly operating in the central city. They send out armored patrols to randomly sweep other districts, attacking any survivors they find.

"Shit," Thomas muttered. Even his enhanced abilities were useless against an armored vehicle. Explosives might work, but the thick armor plating would likely shrug off conventional blasts. His gaze lingered on the rocket launchers carried by the Rebel soldiers.

Now that's an idea… but how do I get my hands on one?

After discussing the incident with Ben, a casual remark from Ben caught Thomas's attention.

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