Two offers from two mysterious groups, neither of which inspired the warmest, fuzziest feelings. I had to get Camel’s perspective. Why was it that this bedraggled loner seemed to be the only person I could really trust? A prostitute-patronizing, chain smoking, possible alcoholic. The only person who had shown me a modicum of unreserved kindness.

I decided to search for Camel at the Rathskeller, but first I made the journey back to the Data Forge and converted my 20 newly acquired Crystals into Value. The Crystals were legitimate after all. I nearly salivated at the memory of that crystalline vault in the Penthouse. To have that many Crystals and not use them for personal upgrades? What were the Serpents playing at?

Whatever the case, I invested my unassigned Value into Storage.

[MEMORY

* STORAGE

* * 269 / 290 (310)]

With my soft cap increase, I now had 41 metabytes free. That felt good. More breathing room for future upgrades, purchases, and loot. Next, I swung by the Restoration Point to save-scum my updated data, trading 100 Crypt for peace of mind.

[ECONOMY

* CRYPT

* * 1,200]

I thought I should be proactive and take another bounty before my savings dwindled much further. Using the MAR system to access targets across The Collective would be a whole lot easier than hoofing it like the unprepared noob I admittedly still was. But first to find Camel.

I descended the stairs under the sign of the rat and entered the raucous communal drinking hall. There was a large crowd. I glanced at the bar. The other bartender was on shift. The thin man with ear gauges and a lip ring. And no Camel.

Just then a loud voice called out from the center of the room. The throbbing techno music skidded to a halt.

“Glory to the Volunteers!”

Several members of the Round Table were standing on that very table, addressing the throng of Volunteers. I saw Bigwig, Rook, Apache, and some others I recognized but could not name. Bigwig raised a large stein filled with pale blue liquid.

The crowd answered in hearty unison, “Glory to the Volunteers!”

There were toasts all around. Two Volunteers at a side table smashed their glasses so hard they shattered. Seconds later, the shards vaporized into digital nothingness on the floor, leaving only a puddle of drink. I didn’t see Camel anywhere.

Bigwig raised his hand for silence as if he were about to make a speech. Apparently I had stumbled into some sort of special occurrence at the Rathskeller. My eyes immediately went to Rook, who stood silently next to her partner. Bigwig continued, gesturing to a vacant chair around the table at his feet.

“And let’s pour one out for the empty seat at the Round Table, and for all the other Volunteers who have been lost.”

Lost?

There was a moment of silence and I saw not a few Volunteers pouring out libations. Intensely curious, I grabbed the arm of a nearby Volunteer and whispered a question.

Lost? What do they mean lost?

The Volunteer looked annoyed but hissed a reply.

“Lost! Vanished! Bog knows where. Fallen off the edge of the map, veck. Here there be monsters, as they say.”

Bigwig continued his oration.

“We are looking for Volunteers to join an upcoming raid! The Hellhounds and Baskervilles have been accumulating in New Dresden’s warehouse district. A real hot spot. Big numbers. We’ve been stockpiling the bounties, and there is a Rare target there. This is the deal - we get the payment, but you can keep whatever you kill.”

The crowd murmured excitedly. Eagerness mixed with fear.

“I know what you’re thinking. We need meat for the grinder. Bodies. Cannon fodder. That’s true! But if you lend your arms and we root out the source of this hot spot, live or die, we’ll give you our 5% friends and family discount at the Armory.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

There was more murmuring.

“We’re setting out in two Cycles tops, before the numbers become unmanageable. Or as soon as we get enough of you to sign up!”

I had been inching closer during the speech, and was now at the outskirts of a ring of Volunteers close to the center of the room. On impulse, I raised my hand.

“Are there minimum requirements for who can come?”

Bigwig squinted into the crowd until he laid eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if he recognized me at first, but then he said,

“We’ll take any help we can get, no matter how pathetic. Even you, Magpie!”

The other Volunteers turned to look at me and laughed uproariously at my expense. Great. I guess my nickname was going to spread. Bigwig raised his stein once more to close the proceedings.

“Glory to the Volunteers!”

The music kicked back in. When the excitement died down, I squeezed into a spot at the bar and waited. Maybe Camel would make an appearance. I waved for the bartender’s attention but he completely ignored me. After a while, I noticed the Volunteer called Pixie nursing an almost empty glass at the far side of the room. I made my way over to her table, winding through the bodies. She was alone, glowering and muttering.

Excuse me, can I buy you a refill?

She eyed me up and down through a cognitive haze.

“Sorry, you’re not my type.”

No, it’s not like that. I saw your fight with Rook. You had some pretty impressive moves.

“Not impressive enough. Now frag off.”

To make her point she picked up her heavy machine gun and slammed it down on top of the table.

I just want to ask one or two questions. Then I’ll leave you alone.

She grunted and ran a hand through her pink mohawk.

“Get me a refill and I’ll give you until I finish the drink.”

Dutifully, I took her glass back to the bar and shouted for the bartender, refusing to be overlooked. After much effort, I paid my 10 Crypt and brought back the drink.

“Took you long enough.”

She started into her drink immediately and I sat down across from her, knowing my window to ask anything was rapidly closing.

What made you want to join the Round Table?

“Are you fragging with me? They are the best of the best. And they have an opening right now, which doesn’t happen often.”

Yeah, I saw that. Can anyone join?

She snorted.

“There’s a process. First they have to agree to consider your application. I mean, it’s not like a formal application or anything. I got their attention by helping them with some stuff a ways back. Then you have to have proof that you soloed at least one monster of every frequency. That means you closed a bounty alone. Common, Uncommon, Rare, Legendary, and Mythical. After that, the Round Table has to unanimously agree to take you on, and as your final test you challenge a standing member to combat.”

Mythical…

So if I joined this raid, that might help start my application process?

“Listen, Magpie, or whatever your name is. That open seat is mine. So maybe don’t waste your time, kopat? Then again, I don’t feel threatened. You’ve got a long way to go.”

Pixie opened her throat and sucked down the rest of the drink, placing the empty container on the table next to her machine gun with a morose sigh.

“All gone. That means time’s up.”

Her expression sealed the fact that the conversation was indeed over. I got up, giving a polite nod of thanks and understanding, and went back to the bar. The longer I spent in this place, the more I realized I didn’t understand. Not yet, anyway. Just like there was no chance I was qualified to join the Round Table. Not yet. But… Rook. There was something about her that I couldn’t get out of my head. Like I wanted to impress her.

What had Bigwig said about joining the raid? You keep what you kill. The detritus. Crystals, data cards and data card fragments, who knows what else. No Crypt, though. Of course, I knew that if I died, I would lose anything I managed to collect. The carrot was a 5% discount at the Armory. How had the Round Table arranged that? They must be valued customers.

I opened my Subroutines and jotted down yet another note. Another possibility.

[>SUBROUTINES

* Assist Antisoc with Repository Heist (Pending)

* Assist Serpents with Package Delivery (Pending)

* Assist Round Table with Warehouse District Raid (Pending)]

Hellhounds. Baskervilles. And something Rare. Bigwig used the term ‘hot spot.’ And they would depart within two cycles or less. I thought about what Antisoc had said about the Round Table. They believed they could truly win the game, to rid The Collective of these invasive entities, to fulfill their contracts.

Suddenly an odd sort of siren sounded in the Rathskeller, and the music faded to a lower volume. A single strobing light flashed near the ceiling. The rude bartender banged a metal spoon against an empty glass and called out to the customers.

“Last call! Rain’s coming. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

Outside, pink-hued raindrops started to fall.