POV : FORT BONE

  The Wasteland hadn't presented any massive problems for Atlas in the last two days, which was a pleasant surprise. That meant something would be coming up though, it always did. And to head off any potential disaster at the pass, Atlas decided he was going to go talk to John.

  Atlas grabbed hold of John, “John, how’s everything going? Especially our prisons?”

  “They suck as usual, Atlas,” John replied with a sigh. “We’re always having a hard time dealing with them. The lawbot’s great for making the judgments and verdicts, but we’re the ones who have to handle all the issues.”

  “Yeah, that's annoying!” Atlas muttered in agreement, frustration bubbling up.

  “And the worst part is,” John continued, “it costs us coins to maintain it. And what do we get out of it? Nothing! Are you sure you don’t wanna just kill them all?”

  Atlas shook his head, “You know how I feel about that. It’s one thing to be badass warriors, but killing someone for stealing? That’s harsh. Sure We had to do it with Ronald, but that’s ‘cause he betrayed us at a critical moment. He stole those medical backpacks. Even Snedley, our first-ever criminal, only got latrine duty.”

  John let out a heavy breath, “I know, but man, it’s frustrating.”

  Atlas gave him a grin, “Well, I think our problems are over now.”

  John raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

  Atlas leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “I’ve got a plan.” He quickly filled John in on the details of the dungeon.

  “Are you kidding me?” John’s eyes widened, his voice full of disbelief.

  “Shh, it’s a secret. Only you and I know. I’ll tell the rest of the leadership later,” Atlas whispered.

  “Why not tell them now?” John asked, looking curious.

  “I just haven’t had time,” Atlas said with a shrug. “We’ve been so busy.”

  John smirked, “Is it okay if I tell them anyway?”

  “Sure,” Atlas said, waving his hand. “That saves me the trouble.”

  “But what are we specifically going to do with prisoners?” John asked, still puzzled.

  Atlas smirked, “Let’s go to the vending machines, and I’ll show you.”

  When they reached the vending machines, they found one labeled Miscellaneous by Mort. Inside, they spotted a mana battery. It was portable and absorbed surrounding mana. But to do so, it required a hand crank. The crank looked flimsy and small, and the batteries were dirt cheap, two coins each. These batteries could power devices that ran on mana without waiting for a residual charge from the atmosphere—ideal for things like the brewery, which used up so much mana they sometimes had to pause brewing until the ambient mana built back up.

  “With these, we can always have fully charged mana for all our devices and buildings,” John said, his eyes lighting up.

  “But look at those cranks,” Atlas pointed. “It says in the description that they're a nightmare.”

  Mana battery (Two coins): Stuck in the wasteland? Don't want to wait for a charge? Use our handy-dandy mana batteries. Disclaimer. Might require quite a bit of cranking. Hope you want a good arm workout.

  “Yeah,” John nodded, “that’s a pain.”

  Atlas walked over to the lawbot and updated its protocols. Now, instead of jail time, minor offenders would be sent to crank the batteries in a different location.

  John grinned, catching on, “Oh, I see. You’re gonna make the prisoners crank these batteries... inside the dungeon?”

  “That’s right,” Atlas said, eyes gleaming. “First, it’ll generate mana, keeping the dungeon from being cranky. Second, they’ll naturally attract mana, so even when they’re not cranking, the dungeon’s filling up slowly. No more mana surges. We’re talking slow meals instead of fast-food disasters.”

  John’s grin widened, “That’s genius!”

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  “Right?!” Atlas agreed, feeling proud of his clever plan.

  They gathered a bunch of mana batteries and led the prisoners out, shackled in chains.

  “Let us go, you fascist! It’s just a bit of free food, I took! Nobody should own anything in the wasteland. I didn’t do anything wrong!” one prisoner yelled.

  “This isn’t right!” another shouted angrily.

  “This is all a dream!”

  “Seriously…..I was just drunk, those people could have been covered by urine anyway, who told them to stop me from peeing.”

  Atlas looking at the criminals said, amused. “You’re all coming with me.”

  ‘‘‘

  Atlas, Portilla, and Crushir led a troop of 20 recruits escorted the prisoners out of town. Normally, Atlas wouldn’t bring freshrecruits into the Wasteland, but he figured this would be great training. Johnny and his buddy Red were part of that group, and they were buzzing with excitement.

  "I can’t believe we’re on an escort mission!" Red exclaimed, bouncing on his feet like a kid on sugar. His eyes were practically glowing with excitement.

  Johnny rolled his eyes, clearly less than thrilled. "Escort missions are the worst. I don’t know why you’re so excited. All we do is babysit people."

  "Yeah, but Atlas is leading it," Red countered, undeterred. "And Portilla and Crushir! Have you seen those two? I heard they were just baby trolls a month ago. Imagine seeing that! I wish I could’ve been there when they were all tiny and cute."

  Johnny’s eyes brightened at that, the earlier annoyance fading. "Right? Those two? They’re monsters now." He glanced at the front of the group, trying to catch a glimpse of the two towering figures ahead. "Maybe they’ll crush some heads for us today."

  Atlas, however, hadn’t bothered to tell the recruits where they were headed. That was his style—keep ‘em guessing. But as they got closer to the outer Empire walls, some of the smarter ones began putting the pieces together. When they veered toward the dungeon, it clicked for most of them.

  A couple of prisoners tried to make a break for it along the way, but since they were all chained together, the escape attempt fell apart fast. They didn’t make it more than a few feet before crashing to the ground in a tangled heap, cursing under their breath.

  It didn’t take long for the road to become more dangerous. Ghouls and skeletons popped up from the shadows, launching attacks on the group. Atlas, ever the commander, hung back on his skeletal steed, arms crossed. He wasn’t lifting a finger to help, just watching the recruits flounder. ‘Sink or swim, kids.‘

  "Fuck! Ouch!" one of the recruits yelled, stumbling backward as a ghoul’s claws tore into his armor. The thin, level 1.5 armor barely held together against the assault, pieces of it starting to fray under the relentless slashes. Johnny, though, looked better off. His level 2 armor wasn’t perfect, but it was holding up much better.

  Atlas had made sure of that. No way was he letting Jim’s son wear the cheap stuff. ‘Yeah, it’s favouritism,‘ he admitted to himself, ‘but if Jim were here, he’d want me to look out for the kid.‘ He sighed, briefly wondering how Jim was doing back on Earth. Hopefully better than them.

  Whenever things looked too grim, whenever the recruits seemed ready to drop from exhaustion or injury, Portilla and Crushir would swoop in. They were like overgrown babysitters—if babysitters were seven-foot-tall trolls with more muscle than sense. They’d swat monsters away like they were flies, each hit sending bone and blood flying.

  CRACK!

  THUMP!

  One skeleton shattered against Portilla’s fist, its remains scattering across the dirt road. Crushir, not to be outdone, sent a ghoul flying through the air with a mighty swing of his club. The recruits could only watch in awe as the two siblings took care of the dirty work.

  Red wiped the sweat from his brow, wincing at the stinging cuts that covered his chest. They weren’t deep, but they burned. He’d thought this would be fun—more like the games he used to play—but reality had a nasty way of reminding him otherwise.

  "Get tougher!" Atlas shouted from the back of his steed, his voice booming over the sounds of battle. His skeletal horse stomped the ground impatiently, as if mirroring its rider’s frustration.

  The recruits gritted their teeth, pushing through the pain and exhaustion, and after what felt like hours, they finally made it to the dungeon. The massive stone entrance loomed before them, dark and foreboding, its jagged doors promising nothing good inside. Red's excitement dimmed just a little.

  ‘‘‘

  Walking into the dungeon, Atlas noticed that none of the skeletons had spawned recently. He checked with the soldiers, and sure enough, that had been the case. ‘Good.‘ As he continued inside, a fairy popped out.

  "Atlas, you’re here! Ooh, and you brought prisoners for us!" the fairy chirped.

  The prisoners, upon seeing the fairy, freaked out. Their only experience with fairies had been with the mini faeries and the Red Fairy. This one was completely different. ‘Would it be cute and mischievous like the mini faeries? Or deadly and devious like the Red Fairy?‘

  Atlas smirked. "This is your new home, and this is your warden." He handed the dungeon Fairy a series of notes detailing how long each prisoner had to serve, and the prisoners were escorted into the jail.

  "How secure?" Crushir asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  Atlas shrugged. "It’s literally a dungeon."

  The room provided for the prisoners within the dungeon was fully enclosed. Not only were there no bars, but it was just an enclosed room with air holes. A place to shit was also provided. That was it. ‘Spoiler alert: don’t bother trying to break out,‘ he thought dryly. They’d have to smash through the walls to escape. Smashing through the living walls of a sentient dungeon? ‘Yeah, good luck with that.‘ it would be like trying to break out by punching your way through someone’s gut—‘and the dungeon would definitely notice that.‘

  ‘This should be sure enough,‘ Atlas mused, feeling more satisfied. “Everything looks perfect. Here are the mana batteries. Have them crank them up and fill them. Fire a green flare if you need more. I’ll send recruits over with more.”

  The fairies agreed, laughing. "This is great, Atlas!"

  "This is inhumane," one prisoner muttered.

  "This is worse than I deserve," another added bitterly.

  Atlas, ever the jokester, replied, "Well, you did the crime. Now it’s time to do your time. You’re lucky it’s not inside a slime." He grinned at his own horrible rhyme.