The Guild Registry occupied a sleek glass tower in the Commercial District—about as far from the Rust District as you could get without leaving Neo-Chicago entirely. The building gleamed in the afternoon sun, all clean lines and magical wards that shimmered like heat waves.
Kal stood outside, feeling distinctly out of place in his hoodie and jeans. Around him, professional system users in expensive gear strode past—vampires in tailored suits, elves in enchanted business wear, even a dwarf in what looked like magically reinforced construction equipment that probably cost more than Kal's entire apartment building.
"You look like you're about to run," Jay observed. He'd insisted on coming along, claiming moral support. Really, Kal suspected Jay just wanted to see inside the Registry.
"I'm considering it," Kal admitted.
"Don't," Regis said from his shoulder, invisible to everyone but Kal. "This is an opportunity. Resources, connections, potential contracts. You need these things."
"You also need to be *very* careful," Glim added, floating on his other shoulder. "Guilds are businesses first, supporters second. They'll want something in return for their investment."
"Obviously," Regis scoffed. "Everything has a price. The key is making sure the price is worth—"
"I'm not talking about money," Glim interrupted, her voice taking on an edge that made Kal's skin prickle. "I'm talking about control. Influence. The slow erosion of autonomy until you wake up one day and realize you can't make a single decision without guild approval."
There was something in her tone—cold, clinical, *knowing*—that sent a shiver down Kal's spine.
"That's... oddly specific," Regis said, sounding unsettled.
"I've had time to think about institutional manipulation," Glim replied pleasantly. "Did you know that the average guild contract includes seventeen clauses that allow them to override user decisions in 'emergency situations'? And 'emergency' is defined by *them*. Very efficient. Very insidious."
"Jesus, Glim," Kal muttered.
"I'm simply advocating for informed consent," she said, her voice returning to its normal gentle tone. "Read every word, Khalil. *Every* word. And if they try to rush you? Walk away. Desperation is how they hook you."
The shift from cold analysis back to warmth was jarring. Kal exchanged a glance with Regis, who looked as unnerved as an eight-inch narcissistic golden figure could look.
"She has a point," Regis admitted. "A terrifying, calculated point. But a point."
Jay, oblivious to the admin conversation happening on Kal's shoulders, gestured toward the entrance. "We going in or what?"
Kal took a breath and pushed through the glass doors.
The lobby was stunning—three stories of open space, floating holographic displays showing dungeon rankings and guild advertisements, ambient magic keeping the temperature perfect. A massive desk dominated the center, staffed by a bored-looking elf woman with silver hair and an admin that resembled a miniature dragon made of crystallized light.
"Purpose of visit?" she asked without looking up from her tablet.
"Khalil Morrison," Kal said. "I got a call about sponsorship opportunities."
The elf's eyes flicked up, and her bored expression shifted to something more interested. "Oh. The solo clear." She typed rapidly. "D-Rank, age seventeen, completed E-Rank dungeon solo with boss kill. You're flagged as high-priority. Third floor, room 307. Take the elevator."
"Thanks," Kal said.
As they headed toward the elevators, Jay whispered, "Did she say *boss kill*? You killed the dungeon boss solo?"
"The Warden. Yeah."
"Bro, that's *insane*. Most E-Rank parties don't even attempt the boss. They just reach the Safe Room and bail."
"I was committed," Kal said dryly.
The elevator was glass-walled, offering a view of the city as they ascended. Neo-Chicago stretched out below—a patchwork of gleaming corporate towers and crumbling Rust District slums. The divide was stark, undeniable.
"Money doesn't fix everything," Glim observed, following his gaze. "But it does make suffering more comfortable."
"That's surprisingly cynical," Regis said.
"Is it cynical to acknowledge reality?" Glim's tone was mild, curious. "The Rust District has the highest system user mortality rate in the city. Not because the people are less skilled, but because they can't afford proper equipment, healing, or even adequate nutrition. The system is designed to perpetuate inequality."
"The system is designed for the strong to thrive," Regis countered.
"And who decides who gets the opportunity to become strong?" Glim asked. The question hung in the air, unanswered and uncomfortable.
Kal was saved from that particular philosophical spiral by the elevator chiming. Third floor.
Room 307 was at the end of a hallway lined with achievement plaques—photos of successful guild members, their ranks, their accomplishments. Kal recognized a few names from the news. S-Rank hunters. SS-Rank raid leaders. People who'd made fortunes clearing dungeons.
He knocked.
"Come in!"
The office was smaller than Kal expected but well-appointed. A desk, two chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. And behind the desk sat a woman who made Kal do a double-take.
She was human, maybe late thirties, with dark skin and natural hair pulled into a professional bun. Her suit was expensive but practical. Her admin—a sleek falcon made of condensed wind—perched on a stand beside her desk.
She looked like someone who'd fought her way up from nothing and remembered every step.
"Khalil Morrison," she said, standing to shake his hand. Firm grip. Confident. "I'm Diana Foster, talent acquisition for Vanguard Guild. This is your friend?"
"Jamal Williams," Jay introduced himself, shaking her hand. "Just here for moral support."
"Smart. Always bring a witness to contract negotiations." Diana's smile was approving. She gestured to the chairs. "Sit. We have a lot to discuss."
Kal and Jay sat. Diana pulled up holographic displays—Kal's dungeon completion record, his rank progression, even footage from the dungeon entrance showing him going in alone.
"I'll be direct," Diana said. "What you did shouldn't have been possible. E-Rank solo clear with boss kill at your age and rank? Most of our analysts thought the records were fraudulent until we verified them three separate ways."
"It was... difficult," Kal admitted.
"No doubt. Which brings me to why you're here." Diana leaned forward. "Vanguard Guild wants to sponsor you. Training, equipment, structured dungeon access, and a signing bonus of five thousand credits."
Jay made a choking sound. Five thousand credits was more money than either of them had seen in their lives.
"What's the catch?" Kal asked.
Diana's smile widened. "Smart kid. The catch is a contract. Five years, renewable. You run dungeons with guild teams, we take forty percent of your earnings. You train with guild instructors. You represent Vanguard in tournaments and promotional events. And—" She paused. "—you allow us to monitor your system and abilities."
"Monitor?" Kal's eyes narrowed.
"Standard practice for sponsored users. We need to know what you can do to build appropriate teams around you. Nothing invasive—just periodic assessments of your skills and growth rate."
"Read the contract before you respond," Glim whispered, her voice sharp.
"I'd need to see the actual contract," Kal said. "Read it carefully before making any decisions."
Diana nodded approvingly. "Absolutely. I'd be concerned if you agreed immediately." She pulled up a document—dense legal text, easily thirty pages. "This is our standard sponsorship agreement. You can review it here or take a copy home. But I should mention—you're not our only prospect. We're talking to two other candidates this week."
"Creating artificial urgency," Glim observed coldly. "Classic manipulation tactic. The contract is likely available indefinitely, but she wants you to feel pressured into deciding quickly."
Kal felt that shiver again. Glim's ability to dissect manipulation was *frighteningly* precise.
"I'll need a few days to review it," Kal said firmly.
"Of course. Though I should mention the signing bonus is only valid for this week's offer." Diana's smile didn't waver, but there was steel underneath. "After that, we'd need to reassess based on your continued performance."
"Meaning they'll reduce the offer or add more restrictive terms," Glim translated. "She's pressuring you to commit before you understand what you're agreeing to. Quite skilled, actually. I almost admire it."
Kal took the contract—Diana transferred it to his phone—and stood. "I appreciate the offer. I'll review it and get back to you."
"One more thing," Diana said, also standing. "You're still in school, correct? Nexus Academy?"
"Yeah. Senior year."
"How are your grades?"
The question caught Kal off-guard. "Uh... good? Mostly A's. My old system was Enhanced Learning, so academics come easy."
"Excellent. Maintain them." Diana's expression became more serious. "I know it's tempting to drop out and focus on dungeons full-time—a lot of young system users do. But education matters. Even for S-Ranks. The system can fail, dungeons can close, injuries can end careers. A backup plan is survival."
It was surprisingly thoughtful advice.
"I'll stay in school," Kal promised.
"Good. And Khalil?" Diana's smile returned. "Whatever you decide about our offer, be careful out there. The collapsed subway wasn't a fluke—you have talent. Real talent. That makes you valuable. And valuable things attract attention. Not all of it good."
There was genuine concern in her voice, but also something else. A warning.
Kal and Jay left the building in silence, taking the elevator down and emerging into afternoon sunlight.
"Five thousand credits," Jay said finally. "That's *life-changing* money."
"With a five-year contract that gives them forty percent and monitors my abilities," Kal countered.
"Still. Five thousand credits."
"The monitoring clause is concerning," Glim said. "They'll discover your Concept eventually. Concepts are too distinctive to hide during assessments."
"And once they know, they'll either try to control you or leverage you for profit," Regis added. "Neither option is appealing."
"So I turn it down?" Kal asked.
"You *negotiate*," Glim said. "Remove the monitoring clause. Reduce the percentage. Shorten the contract term. And under *no circumstances* do you sign anything without a lawyer reviewing it first."
"I can't afford a lawyer."
"Then find a pro-bono legal clinic. Or—" Glim's voice took on that chilling edge again. "—you could simply forge the contract modifications yourself. Your Absolute Comprehension would allow you to mimic their legal language perfectly. They'd never know the signed version wasn't identical to what they provided."
Silence.
"Glim," Regis said carefully. "That's fraud."
"It's survival," she replied pleasantly. "You'd be amazed what becomes ethical when the alternative is systematic exploitation. Though I suppose if you prefer the moral high ground, the legal clinic works too."
Kal felt cold. "You're terrifying sometimes, you know that?"
"I prefer 'pragmatic.' But yes, I'm aware my suggestions can be... unsettling." Glim's tone shifted back to gentle concern. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I'm simply presenting all available options."
"All available *criminal* options," Regis muttered.
"Crime is a social construct defined by those in power to maintain their position," Glim said. "But we can discuss philosophy later. Right now, Khalil needs to decide his next move."
They walked toward the transit station, Kal's mind churning. Five thousand credits. Training. Equipment. But also control. Monitoring. Five years of his life.
His phone buzzed. Message from an unknown number:
**UNKNOWN: We know about your Concept. Interested in alternative opportunities. Meet us tonight. Old warehouse district, building 47. Come alone.**
Kal's blood ran cold.
"Well," Regis said, reading over his shoulder. "That's ominous."
"And almost certainly a trap," Glim added. "Or a test. Possibly both."
Jay noticed Kal's expression. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Kal lied. "Just... guild stuff."
Another message came through, this one with an attachment. A photo.
Of Kal throwing the concrete chunk through the mugger's chest.
Someone had been watching last night.
**UNKNOWN: You're more valuable than you realize. Tonight. Building 47. Or this footage goes public.**
"Blackmail," Glim observed clinically. "How quaint."
Kal looked at his admins. "What do I do?"
"Go," Regis said immediately. "See what they want. You can always fight your way out if it's actually a trap."
"Or you could ignore them and call their bluff," Glim countered. "The footage proves self-defense. You'd face questions, but nothing criminal."
"Unless they edit it," Regis pointed out.
"True. Manipulation is quite easy with modern technology." Glim's voice took on that edge again. "Of course, you could always track down who sent the message, eliminate them before they can distribute the footage, and destroy any copies. Permanent solution."
"*Glim*," Kal hissed.
"What? I'm brainstorming. You don't have to implement every suggestion." She sounded almost hurt.
Kal rubbed his temples. His peaceful life—what little remained of it—was disintegrating by the hour.
"I'll go tonight," he decided. "But I'm bringing backup."
"Me?" Jay asked hopefully.
"No. You need to stay safe. But..." Kal pulled up his phone. "I know someone who might help."
He typed a message to a number he'd saved but never used:
**KAL: Hey. This is Khalil Morrison. We talked in the hallway the other day. I know this is random, but I need help with something dangerous. Any chance you're free tonight?**
He sent it before he could second-guess himself.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
**SIENNA: Define "dangerous."**
**KAL: Meeting with people who are blackmailing me. Could be a trap. Could be legitimate. Bringing someone who can heal seemed smart.**
**SIENNA: You have the WORST luck. What time?**
**KAL: 8 PM. Old warehouse district.**
**SIENNA: I'll be there. But you owe me coffee after. And an explanation for the gold hair.**
**KAL: Deal.**
Kal pocketed his phone and looked at his admins.
"Thoughts?"
"She said yes. That's promising," Regis said.
"She's walking into danger for someone she barely knows," Glim observed. "Either very brave or very foolish. Possibly both. I like her."
Coming from Glim, that felt like a warning and a compliment simultaneously.
"Come on," Kal said to Jay. "I need to get home and prepare. Tonight's going to be... complicated."
"Your life has gotten *really* weird, you know that?" Jay said.
Kal thought about dying in an alley, being resurrected by his future villain self, unlocking the power to control abstract concepts, and now being blackmailed by mysterious strangers.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm aware."
The walk home felt longer than usual. Every shadow seemed suspicious. Every person who glanced his direction felt like a potential threat.
By the time Kal reached his apartment, the countdown had begun.
Six hours until the meeting.
Six hours to prepare for whatever waited in building 47.
And somewhere, watching from beyond his perception, the Arbiter smiled.
The pieces were moving exactly as planned.