POV : CELESTIAL WAGER
Aboard the Celestial Wager, the air buzzed with energy. The familiar ‘beep boop‘ of electronic machines melded with the soft hum of an orchestra, the notes soothing, yet charged with the excitement of high-stakes betting. Mana coins were spent and won.
At a nearby zero-gravity table, a group of aliens sat, their expressions a mix of disbelief and excitement. Around them, digital displays updated the latest wasteland action.
"Holy shit, who had bets on Clark being killed?" a thin, sharp-featured alien with translucent skin and elongated fingers exclaimed, slamming his clawed hand down on the floating surface of the table. His three eyes blinked in rapid succession, still processing the outcome.
"I did," Gorvax, a hulking alien with a rocky, stone-like body boomed, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. His four arms casually tossed a handful of mana coins into a floating pot in front of him. "I figured there was no way Atlas would let him go again. It was just a matter of time before that worm got what he deserved."
"But he had already escaped once at least!" the first alien protested, his tentacles twitching in frustration. "I had so much riding on that. All my mana coins are gone."
Nearby, another player groaned, rubbing his massive, iridescent head. "I told you not to bet on Clark. Atlas doesn't take kindly to betrayal. You should’ve hedged your bets." He tapped the side of his head, producing a soft chime. "Gotta think like a warlord if you’re going to win in this place."
DAZINGGO! BLEEP! CHUCKACHUK!
The merry sound of a jackpot rang out from a machine nearby, signaling another big win. But it went unnoticed by the group still reeling from the twist of events in the wasteland below.
The delectable lavender-skinned waitress, her body glided past them effortlessly, her luminescent tendrils waving delicately in the air as she balanced a tray filled with shimmering alcohol bulbs. "Alcohol bulbs, gentlemen?" she purred, her voice smooth as silk.
The stone-bodied alien grunted, grabbing one of the alcohol bulbs and downing it in one swift motion. His companions followed suit, grabbing bulbs from the tray and tossing them back with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
‘Free booze doesn't make up for my losses,‘ thought Korvex, ‘but it helps.‘
“Damn it,” the alien muttered, as he reached for a bulb. “That was my last big shot, you know. All my savings—gone.”
His friend, who had managed to score a small win, chuckled. “You always bet too emotionally, Korvex. This is the Celestial Wager. You’ve got to be smart about it.”
“I wonder if there’s any way of making Clark come back,” said Gorvax, stroking his chin in exaggerated thought. “Like, if we reanimate the corpse and make him a zombie or a lich of some sort.”
“That’d be hilarious,” Lurox replied, grinning wickedly.
“But remember, there’s a strict no-interference rule with people watching the Red Fairy Show,” Zeltrx said, wagging a finger at him. “Still…”
“It’d be so funny,” he continued, his tone almost wistful. “Can you imagine Atlas’s expression when he had to face a zombie Clark?”
Virelia let out a snort. “Yeah, it would be really funny.” She shrugged, then waved a dismissive hand. “Still. No touchy-touchy.”
***
As the alcohol flowed, the table filled with a heady mix of excitement, frustration, and camaraderie. The rich scent of pickled, deep-fried durians wafted through the air as the aliens munched on the pungent delicacy, their laughter and groans filling the space as they debated what their next bets would be. The Celestial wager served themed Earth snacks, and the pungent durian had been a hit.
"Well," the hulking stone alien said between bites, "next up, we’ve got Atlas on a warpath. Any takers on him wiping out the next settlement?"
“Hell, I’m all in for that,” one of the others said, slapping down a fresh stack of mana coins with a gleam in his eye. "Atlas doesn’t just win. He conquers."
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POV : BANDIT CAMP
Wang Bo nodded, his playful demeanor gone, replaced with the efficient calm of someone who knew when business needed to be handled. Stu, meanwhile, had a huge smile on his face versus his normal permanent scowl. The news that it was possible to save everyone in the wasteland was a stunner, if Clark had been telling the truth.
The camp was silent now, the whimpering of the prisoners having subsided. Atlas’s gaze swept over the surviving actresses, huddled together near the wreckage of the guns. They looked traumatized, their faces pale and streaked with dirt and tears.
“You’re safe now,” Atlas said, his voice softer than before. “We’ll get you back to the settlement.”
One of the women, barely able to stand, nodded weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Atlas nodded back, feeling a flicker of something he rarely allowed himself to feel—compassion. He shook it off. ‘There’s no room for softness here,‘ he reminded himself.
Wilfredo came up to him, staff at the ready. “What’s the plan now, jefe?”
“We head back to Fort Bone. Let’s start looting.”
“And what about the rest of these scumbags?”
Atlas’s gaze hardened as he looked over the remaining bandits, most of them incapacitated or dead. “Finish it.”
Stu grinned. “Gladly.”
Atlas turned away as Stu and the others moved to finish off the last of the bandits. The sound of blades cutting through flesh was quick and efficient, followed by silence.
Atlas couldn’t help but reflect on the path ahead. Clark was only the beginning. There were others out there—bureaucrats, warlords, and would-be kings—who would try to stop his vision from becoming reality. But Atlas was ready for them.
‘Let them come,‘ he thought, determination hardening his resolve. ‘This wasteland will be mine.‘
And with Clark dead, the first piece of that puzzle was about to fall into place.
‘‘BING!‘‘
‘‘ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED:
TITLE: BANDIT KING!‘‘
‘Killed the leader of a significant bandit group. Watch your back, others may come for revenge!‘
BONUS: You will now instinctively dislike anyone that the system has marked as a bandit. Evildoers will also instinctively hate you.
‘That is an interesting achievement,‘ Atlas thought.
Atlas looked at the traumatized actresses, thinking, ‘This is definitely not what they signed up for.‘
He attempted to console them, but they were in no state to be comforted. They had originally been actresses on Earth. They had become refugees in the wasteland, and were now broken. They had not yet been hardened by the harsh reality of their surroundings. Although nothing had happened to them physically, it had been a tough night of fear and worries.
Until now.
This experience could shatter their mental resolve and erode any trust they had in him.
"Don't worry," Atlas said gently. "I can't undo what happened, but back at Fort Bone, there's an antidote. We have a memwipe potion that can help. It’s a solution you can drink, and it will erase your memories of the last 24 hours. It won’t change what happened, but it can help clear the thoughts of it. If that’s something you’d like, we will, of course, take care of it."
MemWipe (2 coins): Bad news? Horrible tragedy? Got a pesky alien who wants to remember details? Wipe out memories in a flash. Now available in gas form for large scale memwiping operations of 100 people at a time. Try our delicious new strawberry flavored. 99% success rate for all sapient creatures. May cause PTSD/Flashbacks. Memwipe is not responsible for you losing your keys, or your marbles.
As they looted the items in the bandit camp, Stu and Wang Bo were astonished by their findings.
“Holy shit! They have a whole bunch of these portable demon wards,” Stu exclaimed.
Wang Bo looked around, puzzled. “I don’t know when the vending machines started selling pornography and sex dolls. How did they get them all the way to this camp, and why would they bring them?”
Atlas glanced up from packing items into the hand cart he had originally bought for the guns. The guns were now a wreck, their usefulness fulfilled.
‘1,100 mana coins. Those bandits had been making a killing, literally.‘
“Everything seems to be gathered up and ready to go, but we’re not leaving yet,” Atlas said. “The next task is going to be gruesome. Stu, Wang Bo, help me throw these corpses out of the cave.”
The cave was a macabre tableau of death and decay, each corner of the cavern cluttered with the remains of their fallen foes.
Atlas stood in the middle of the scene, his face a mask of determination. "The next task is a gruesome one," he declared, his voice echoing off the walls. "We need to get these corpses out of here. Nobody leaves until sunrise. I can't risk a demon dog attack."
Stu grumbled under his breath, but the look in Atlas's eyes was enough to quell any further protests. Beside them, Wang Bo moved with efficiency, his staff occasionally coming into play to clear debris.
Used to dealing with dead bodies by now, the three of them started moving the corpses out. Demon dogs snapped up the bodies as they left the portable demon wards.
The hardier captives, their faces set in bleak resolve, joined in the task, lifting and hauling the bodies with a grim determination. The stench was overwhelming, and the work was unrelenting, but they pushed on, driven by the need to ensure their safety.
As the night wore on, the cave's darkened mouth began to clear, the bodies being unceremoniously thrown out into the bleak expanse outside. Atlas, watching the progress, knew this was a necessary step for their survival, even if it was a brutal one.
“I know it’s not going to be easy to rest in this cave tonight,” Atlas said to the group, “but you’re going to need to. It’s a 20-kilometer trek back to Fort Bone tomorrow morning, but for tonight we should be safe. Are any of you strong enough to help keep watch?”
A couple of the new warriors in training reluctantly spoke up and said they could help. Atlas split everybody into watch groups and then settled in for the night.