Atlas had been looking forward to hanging out with his baby trolls, especially with the huge scare earlier.

He found the baby trolls playing with the mini fairies, their comically small outfits straining against their rapidly growing bodies. "Hey kids, anybody hungry?"

"Hungry, hungry!" they both chorused in agreement.

"Well, let's go," Atlas said, leading them back to his private house. It was a place mostly reserved for his and Amber’s nighttime fun, though Amber also had her own apartment elsewhere. The trolls shared a room with bunk beds, but as Atlas sized them up, he muttered, "These are going to be no good in a day or two at this rate."

After feeding them bowls of troll kibble, Atlas brought Portilla and Crushir to the training yards where the new recruits were hard at work.

"All right, you two. Want to join the training?"

"Yes, yes, yes! That looks fun!" they shouted, eyes wide with excitement.

The recruits were practicing sword techniques as Atlas handed the trolls two training clubs gifted by the Red Fairy. "Go ahead, you guys. Join in. I'll watch from here."

The little trolls jumped into the group, their attempts to mimic the recruits’ movements drawing chuckles. "Eyes up front!" a veteran warrior yelled, although he couldn’t help but grin at the trolls stumbling along behind the group. The recruits kept practicing their strikes and blows, while the trolls swung their clubs in wild, uncoordinated arcs.

Seeing that things were under control, Atlas decided to take advantage of the moment. He gathered a group of swordsmen and observed their progress. They were decent, but not quite at the level he wanted.

"This reminds me of training back in the SFB gym," he said to himself, starting them on the same drills he had used for his old team.

"This is great!" one of the new recruits exclaimed. "We're being trained by Atlas himself!"

"Don’t get too used to it," Atlas replied. "I wish I had more time, but your trainers are solid. Besides, nothing sharpens your nerves like real life-and-death situations."

He gave more advice to the trainees on specific situations that might occur in the wasteland, while also running weapon drills.

The trainees absorbed this advice like it was the word of God himself. They had heard stories of Atlas and the rumours of his invincibility and lethality didn’t seem exaggerated after training with him for an hour.

‘‘‘‘

POV: CELESTIAL WAGER

In the decadent heart of the Celestial Wager, amidst the shimmering liquid floors and holographic displays, Zeltrax leaned back in his seat, his translucent skin pulsing faintly with a blue glow. His three green eyes flickered in amusement as a fresh round of wagers rolled in on the holographic display before him.

"Integration day is my favourite day,” he said, his voice a soft hum that matched the casino's background ambiance. "These human settlements have been a delightful source of chaos. Wars, betrayals, power shifts… betting on them has never been more entertaining."

Lurox, fluttering her delicate wings, clapped her iridescent hands together, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I love it when they don’t see the betrayals coming! Did you catch the last one, Zeltrax? That human—Amelia from the Cocoon setting, I think? Her group turned on her in the middle of an alliance negotiation. It was brilliant!”

“Yeah the soldiers from Earth got a bunch of the retired old ex-army coots there to join them, and just like that Cocoon became an official army base. I made a few mana coins on that vote.”

Gorvax, the massive stone-skinned alien, rumbled with satisfaction, his four arms crossed. "Bet high on betrayal," he growled. "Always bet high on human greed. They turn on each other for a handful of resources, and now with integration, it will only get worse."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The race Gorvxax was from, rarely had internal discord. Everyone worked hard together. So their collective view of humanity and its tendency to betray each other was abysmal.

Kroxar, the cynical tentacled observer, twisted one of his appendages as he skimmed through the betting odds. "If they survive integration at all," he said with a sneer. "There are far too many factions, and the humans are already fracturing under the pressure. Wars among them were profitable, but this… this may be the greatest bet of them all. Who survives? Who unites? Who crumbles?"

Virelia, the graceful lavender-skinned waitress, floated by, offering them drinks with her luminescent tendrils. She smiled as Zeltrax took a glass, her voice calm and soothing. "You seem confident that the chaos will continue, Zeltrax."

Zeltrax chuckled, taking a sip. "Oh, it will, Virelia. It always does with humans. Integration or no, they are predictable in their unpredictability."

Gorvax grunted in agreement. "War among the settlements was just the warm-up. Now? Now we see who really has the strength to lead. And we… we get to bet on it." His red eyes gleamed with anticipation.

As they watched the feed of another skirmish unfolding in one of the settlements, Lurox grinned wide.

‘‘‘‘‘

POV: BELIEF SETTLEMENT

In the Belief Settlement, Oliver was discussing the settlement’s operations with Major Cromwell. "As you can see, we've been doing quite well for the last three weeks," Oliver said. "Our people are happy, well-fed, and well-defended."

Major Cromwell nodded. "You've done a great job here, and we're happy to assist. However, we will need to establish some law and order."

Oliver was taken aback. "We already have law and order. There's no need for additional rules."

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Major Cromwell, handing over a preprinted sheet of laws.

1. ‘‘No Civilian Weapon Possession‘‘

- All weapons are to be confiscated and stored under the settlement's authority. Only authorized security personnel may carry arms.

2. ‘‘Mandatory Curfew‘‘

- All citizens must be indoors by 9 PM. Any movement after this time requires explicit permission from the settlement’s leadership.

3. ‘‘Ban on Public Religious Prayers‘‘

- Public displays of religious practices, including praying or sermons, are prohibited to maintain order and avoid conflict among diverse groups.

4. ‘‘Identification Cards‘‘

- All citizens must carry their government-issued identification cards at all times for security checks and monitoring.

5. ‘‘Reporting Suspicious Behavior‘‘

- Citizens are encouraged to report any suspicious behavior, gatherings, or activities that may disrupt the peace or challenge authority.

6. ‘‘Controlled Entry and Exit‘‘

- Entry and exit from the settlement must be approved by the leadership, with a log kept for all movement.

7. ‘‘Taxation for Security Services‘‘

- A monthly tax will be levied on all citizens to fund settlement security, defense, and infrastructure maintenance.

8. ‘‘Public Speech and Demonstration Restrictions‘‘

- Public speeches, protests, and any large gatherings are to be regulated and require prior approval from the leadership to prevent unrest.

9. ‘‘Work Assignments‘‘

- Citizens will be assigned work based on their capabilities and the settlement's needs. Refusal to work can result in penalties, including reduced food rations.

10. ‘‘Uniform Dress Code‘‘

- All citizens must adhere to a basic dress code to promote unity and discipline within the settlement.

Oliver stood in front of Major Cromwell, the tension between them thickening with every word he read.

"Some of these things will work," Oliver said slowly, "but some of them definitely won't. This is the wasteland. Civilians need weapons."

"They can have them when they're outside the settlement," Major Cromwell replied calmly. "And I highly suggest they never leave. My soldiers will handle security within these walls."

Oliver's frustration bubbled. "And what's this about a mandatory curfew? We're trying to build a tourism town, like Fort Bone. We can't have a curfew, or we’ll never get new tourists."

Cromwell's eyes narrowed slightly. "Tourism isn’t something that belongs in a military base."

"We're not a military base!" Oliver shot back.

"You are now." Major Cromwell’s tone was flat, final. The words hung in the air like a death knell for the Belief Settlement’s autonomy. Oliver took a deep breath, his mind racing.

He pointed at the list, voice more controlled but no less resolute. "Law 3—the ban on public religious prayers. That’s a complete non-starter. We’re the Belief Settlement. We were founded on belief, and we shall die on belief."

Cromwell didn’t blink. "That’s something the British Army has enforced for centuries. Public displays of religious practices are prohibited to maintain order. It prevents unnecessary conflicts among diverse groups."

"Yes, yes, I’ve read your law card," Oliver muttered. "But this isn't the British Army."

"Then you understand," Cromwell said, not missing a beat. "Citizen."

The word ‘citizen’ felt like a slap. Oliver's thoughts churned. ‘This deal is getting worse and worse.‘

His eyes landed on another law. "Identification cards?" he asked. "We don’t even have a machine that can make those."

"Don’t fret," Cromwell said, almost dismissively. "We’ve brought the necessary equipment. We’ll start issuing cards immediately."

"And what’s this? Taxation for security services?" Oliver’s voice rose again. "How are they supposed to pay if you won’t let them outside to hunt?"

"They can offer payment in the form of services." Cromwell’s voice was as casual as if he were talking about the weather.

‘Services?‘ Oliver’s stomach knotted. ‘What kind of services are they expecting?‘

"And that ties in nicely with law number nine," the Major continued. "We’ll provide a work roster for your citizens. Can’t have anyone sitting idle, can we?"

Oliver’s lips thinned, but before he could respond, Cromwell added, "And the uniform dress code, of course."

Oliver couldn’t help but bark a short laugh. "Dress code? This is the wasteland! We've been buying our clothes from vending machines."

"That’s quite all right," Cromwell said with a small nod. "We’ll adjust to that over time."

Oliver stood there, holding the list of laws, his mind reeling. Everything he’d worked for was being dismantled, piece by piece. Each law felt like a nail in the coffin of what the Belief Settlement had been trying to build. Yet, there stood Major Cromwell, unflinching, imposing, and undeniably in control.

The battle for the heart of the settlement was just beginning.