Morning came with another ugly, bruise-colored dawn. Lucas woke up stiff and sore on a nest of blankets, his back protesting the hardwood floor. Mem hadn't moved all night, a silent sentinel. Scribbles had somehow arranged himself into a neat little book-fort.
"Right," Lucas groaned, sitting up. "Quest day. Let's go be a hero. Or a cautious bystander. Mostly cautious."
He ate a protein bar, washed it down with purified water, and geared up. Club in his left hand, frying pan strapped to his backpack like a weird shield, knife on his belt. He felt like a deranged chef going to war.
"Mem, you're on point. You look tough. Scribbles, middle. I'm rear guard. Which means I'm in the back where it's safe."
They moved into the hallway. The building was eerily silent. No more skittering. The thumping from 4A had stopped. Maybe the sentient appliance had powered down.
They took the stairs slowly, Lucas wincing at every creak. The third-floor hallway was a disaster. Doors torn off hinges, walls scarred with deep gouges. Something big had come through here. There were no signs of life.
Second floor. The air was different. Staler. The distress signal in his quest log pulsed softly.
[Signal Origin: 20 meters. Bearing: Directly ahead. Apartment 2C.]
The door to 2C was intact. It even had a welcome mat that said 'Wipe Your Paws!' There was no sound from within.
Lucas raised his fist to knock, then froze. What was the protocol? "Hello, I'm your neighbor with two monster slaves, here to rescue you"?
He settled for a quiet tap. "Hello? Anyone in there? It's Lucas from 4D. The system... gave me a quest about you."
Silence. Then, a faint, shaky voice. "The system?"
A human voice. Old. Female.
"Yes! The blue boxes! The notifications!" Lucas said, a strange relief flooding him.
A series of locks clicked and rattled. The door opened a crack, secured by a chain. One watery blue eye peered out. It widened at the sight of Mem's porcelain form looming behind Lucas.
"Wh-what is that?"
"It's... a golem. I made it. It's friendly. It works for me," Lucas explained, trying to sound reassuring. "My name's Lucas. Are you hurt? The quest said distress."
The eye studied him, then Mem, then Scribbles. The door closed, the chain rattled again, and it opened fully.
The woman was in her late seventies, with a puff of white hair and a face etched with deep lines of fear and exhaustion. She wore a neat, floral-print house dress. Her apartment was immaculate, untouched by the chaos outside. She held a wooden rolling pin like a club.
"I'm Eleanor," she said, her voice firmer now. "And I'm not hurt. But *he* is."
She stepped aside and pointed to her couch.
Lying there, wrapped in a blanket, was a young man maybe in his twenties. He was pale, sweating, and shivering. His left leg was wrapped in blood-soaked towels, propped up on pillows. His eyes were glazed with fever.
[Entity: Mark Jenkins (Human)]
[Status: Infected (Grey-Rot), Severe Blood Loss, Feverish.]
[Level: 1 (Civilian)]
[Note: Corruption is spreading. Amputation or purification required within 12-24 hours.]
"Oh, hell," Lucas breathed, stepping inside. "What happened?"
"He's my grandson," Eleanor said, her composure cracking. "He came to check on me when the... the change happened. Something got him in the parking garage. A thing made of concrete and rust. He barely made it back up here. That was two days ago. The wound... it's not healing right. It smells wrong. And the blue boxes started talking about 'infection'."
She looked at Lucas, desperate hope in her eyes. "The quest. Did it say... can you help? Do you have medicine? I have food. I have money. I'll give you anything."
Lucas's mind went blank. He had a Basic Healing Salve in the shop for 25 credits. But the status said [Infected (Grey-Rot)]. A salve wouldn't fix that. It said 'Amputation or purification'.
He had 80 credits left. He pulled up the shop, frantically scrolling.
[Consumables... Basic Healing Salve... Mana Tincture...]
No.
[Weapons...]
No.
[Armor...]
Wait. There, at the very bottom of the list, a new category had appeared, glowing softly.
[Medical] (UNLOCKED - Quest-Related)
- **Anti-Septic Poultice (Halts low-level infection, promotes healing): 60 Credits**
- **Morphine Syrette (Numbs severe pain): 25 Credits**
- **Bone-Saw (Sterile): 40 Credits** [DO NOT WANT]
The poultice. 60 credits. It would clean out his savings.
He looked at the old woman's face. He looked at the dying kid on the couch. He remembered the $87 in his pocket. Worthless.
This was the variable reward. Help them, get... something. Maybe nothing. Walk away, keep his credits, lose Karma.
Mem stood silently by the door. Scribbles had found a bookshelf and was vibrating slightly, as if trying to read the titles through its cover.
"Eleanor," Lucas said, his voice tight. "I... might be able to help. But it'll cost me almost everything I have. I need to know. What's your Class? Did the System give you anything?"
Eleanor straightened. "It called me a [Caretaker]. Level 1. It gave me a skill. [Minor Mend]. I've been using it on him, but it's like putting a bandage on a waterfall. It just slows it down." She demonstrated, her hands glowing with a soft, green light over the wound. The foul smell receded slightly, for a moment.
A healer. A non-combat, support-class healer.
Lucas made the calculation. A healer was the most valuable asset imaginable in a long-term survival scenario. More valuable than a fighter. More valuable than 60 credits.
"Okay," he said, exhaling. "I'm buying the medicine. Don't... don't get your hopes up. The shop calls it a poultice."
He focused, selected the [Anti-Septic Poultice], and confirmed the purchase.
[Credit Balance: 20]
A small, clay jar filled with a pungent, green paste appeared in his hands.
"Here. You apply it. You're the [Caretaker]."
With trembling hands, Eleanor unwrapped the bloody towels. The wound was horrific. Gash marks, already turning a sickly grey, tendrils of dark veins spreading up the calf. The smell was ripe and wrong.
She packed the poultice into the wound. The young man, Mark, gasped, his back arching. The grey tendrils hissed, receding like burning film. The green paste smoked, neutralizing the corruption.
[Status Update: [Infected (Grey-Rot)] -> [Treated].]
[Vital signs stabilizing.]
Eleanor sobbed, a hand over her mouth. She immediately followed up with her [Minor Mend], the green light from her hands working in tandem with the poultice. The raw flesh began to knit together, slowly, cleanly.
The immediate crisis was over.
[Quest Update: 'A Friend in Need' - Objective Complete.]
[Calculating Reward based on actions: Lifesaving intervention, resource sacrifice, alliance forged.]
[Reward: 150 EXP, 100 Credits, [Recipe: Anti-Septic Poultice], +15 Karma.]
[Your relationship with [Eleanor - Caretaker] has been set to [Trusted].]
[Your relationship with [Mark Jenkins - Civilian] has been set to [Indebted].]
Lucas nearly fell over. The EXP shot his progress bar to over halfway to Level 3. The Credits refunded his purchase and then some. And a recipe! He could make the poultice himself if he found the ingredients!
Eleanor turned to him, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you. Oh, God, thank you. He's going to live. What... what do we do now?"
Lucas looked at his two Thralls, then at the old woman and her sleeping grandson. The Safe Zone timer ticked in his mind. Six days left.
"You gather every useful thing in this apartment," he said, a new, broader plan forming. "Food, water, tools, blankets. You're with me now. We're getting to the Safe Zone. And you're my new head of... medical."
He was no longer just a solo player grinding Thralls. He had just recruited his first party member.
The game had changed again.