The river wasn't a river anymore. It was a sluggish, iridescent stream of chemical colors, bubbling in places with a soft, gelatinous plop. The bridge spanning it—the Ironwright Bridge—was their only clear path forward. The underpasses were clogged with wreckage and shimmering, suspicious fungal growths.
The bridge itself was a nightmare tableau. Abandoned cars formed a tangled maze. Some were burnt-out shells. Others looked untouched, save for the glowing moss on their windshields. The silence here was heavier, broken only by the distant, plaintive cries of unseen flying things.
"This is a terrible idea," Lucas muttered, his [Scavenger's Eye] tingling unpleasantly as he scanned the bridge entrance. "It's a perfect kill box. High ground, cover for ambushes, limited escape routes."
"We have to cross," Mark said, his voice steadier than before. He was leaning less on his stick. "The map says it's the only direct route. Going around would add miles."
Lucas knew he was right. "Okay. New formation. Volt, you're on point, but stay close. I want you scanning *under* the cars as well as between them. Mem, you guard our rear. Eleanor, Mark, you stay in the middle of us. Do not touch anything. Especially the shiny moss."
They stepped onto the bridge.
The first hundred yards were tense but clear. They weaved between silent cars, the only sound their footsteps and Volt's soft hum. Lucas's eyes jumped at every shadow. His [Ambient Meld] was at full strength, screaming that every car was potential cover—for them, or for something else.
They were halfway across when they found the first sign of other survivors.
It was a barricade, expertly constructed across two lanes from car hoods, shopping carts, and ripped-up seating. Behind it, a small camp was set up in the shell of a delivery truck. A crude flag flew—a red cross on a white background.
And standing on top of the barricade were three people.
Two men and a woman. They wore scavenged sports gear as armor—hockey pads, motorcycle helmets. They carried real weapons: a fire axe, a crowbar, and a compound bow, drawn and aimed directly at Lucas's group.
"Halt!" shouted the man with the axe. He was big, with a thick beard under his helmet. "Identify!"
Lucas immediately raised his hands, his club dangling. "We're survivors! Heading to the Safe Zone at Greenhaven!"
The bow-woman, her aim shifting between Lucas, Mem, and Volt, spoke. "What are those? The metal dog and the doll?"
"They're... constructs. They're with me. They're harmless," Lucas said, the lie tasting foul. Mem could drive a needle through a skull. Volt could deliver a taser-like shock.
"Leave them and come forward. Slowly. Just the humans," the axe-man commanded. "We're the Bridge Guardians. We control passage. There's a toll."
A toll. Of course there was. Lucas's heart sank. "What kind of toll?"
"Supplies. Weapons. Useful skills," the woman said, her voice cold. "You look like you're carrying. Hand over your packs, and you can pass. Your... pets can stay or go, we don't care."
Eleanor clutched her medical pack. Mark gripped his frying pan. Lucas's mind raced. He had three Thralls. These were three humans, probably Levels 2 or 3. He could maybe win a fight. But someone would get hurt. Probably Eleanor or Mark. And the woman's bow was already drawn.
He could try to bargain. Or he could pay.
Then, the third man, younger, holding the crowbar, spoke up. "Wait, Carl. Look at the old lady's hands. And her jacket. It's... clean. Too clean."
The axe-man, Carl, peered closer. "You. Old woman. What's your Class?"
Eleanor drew herself up. "I am a [Caretaker]. I have healing skills."
A visible change went through the three guards. Greed, raw and desperate, flashed in their eyes.
"A healer," the bow-woman whispered, lowering her bow slightly. "Carl..."
"The toll just changed," Carl said, a new, ugly edge in his voice. "The healer stays with us. You two can go. The pets too. We need a medic."
"No!" Mark stepped forward, pan raised.
The bow came back up, aimed at his chest.
Lucas's blood ran cold. This wasn't a toll. This was a recruitment by force. His [Absolute Subjugation] skill stirred, not for a monster, but looking at the three humans. He could *feel* the potential. The violent intent. The critical threshold of their will.
He could chain them.
The thought was horrifying. They were people. Flawed, scared, predatory people, but people.
But they were threatening his healer. His first real ally.
"Last chance," Carl growled. "Send the old woman over. Or we put an arrow in the kid and take her anyway."
Lucas made a decision. Not to fight. Not to chain.
To cheat.
"Volt," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "The red car. Left front tire. Maximum jolt."
The mechanical hound didn't hesitate. It turned and unleashed a focused [Electro-Jolt] not at the people, but at the abandoned sedan just to the left of the barricade.
The car's alarm system, somehow still powered, erupted in a deafening, whooping siren. Lights flashed.
The three guardians flinched, startled, their attention shattered.
"NOW! RUN!" Lucas yelled.
He didn't attack. He shoved Eleanor and Mark past the barricade, through the gap they'd been forced to reveal. Mem and Volt sprinted with them. Scribbles bounced wildly on his back.
"Hey! Stop!" An arrow whistled past Lucas's ear, embedding itself in a car door.
They didn't look back. They ran, weaving through the second half of the bridge's carnage, the blaring alarm covering the sound of their flight. Shouts of pursuit faded behind them.
They didn't stop until they stumbled off the far end of the bridge, collapsing behind a concrete embankment, gasping for air.
No one followed. The alarm eventually stopped.
"They... they wanted to take me," Eleanor panted, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah," Lucas said, checking his map. The Safe Zone was now just over a mile away. "They were players, Eleanor. And in this game, sometimes the most dangerous mobs don't have claws."
He looked back at the bridge. He had chosen flight over fight, and over something darker. He had kept his party together. But the cost of crossing hadn't been supplies. It had been a piece of their hope. The world wasn't just monsters and survival. It was people, and what they became.
"Come on," he said, standing up. "Almost there. And let's hope the Safe Zone has better moderators."