Ally yourself with Dungeon Rescue Corps?

  Y/N

  I turn to Monty and ask, “Should we?”

  Monty looks at the general. “I’ll agree to an alliance if we each get to pick a weapon from your armory, plus four boxes of ammo.”

  The general counters, “One weapon each, two boxes of ammo,” then extends his hand.

  Monty shakes it. “Deal.”

  Seeing that, I simply click “Yes” the moment they shake hands.

  I turn to the general. “Now that we’re allies, can we get our weapons back?”

  He nods and heads to the metal closet where our weapons were locked away. As he opens it, he raises an eyebrow. “I guess that part of the report wasn’t exaggerated.”

  I scratch my face, feeling the stitches on my cheek. “You have a doctor here? These stitches are ready to come out.”

  The general answers, “Follow the directions on the wall. We’ll head to the quartermaster to get the materials for the hydroponics. Meet us at the armory after.”

  I give him a thumbs-up while Monty leaves with the trolley. I follow the arrows to the infirmary, passing by the mess hall. There must be at least a hundred people inside.

  I step in and glance around, stopping at the buffet table. A random assortment of fruit catches my eye—a bowl filled with pomegranates, three lemons, and a coconut.

  The woman behind the counter shrugs. “We get what we get.”

  “Can I take one?” I ask.

  She gives me a weird look but doesn’t stop me as I pocket a lemon and walk away.

  Back on track, I follow the arrows until I reach the infirmary. Above the door, spray-painted letters mark its new purpose, but the original sign still hangs—“Arcade.”

  I step inside and sit in the waiting area with several others. One guy has his arm in a cast, a woman has a nasty bite on her leg, and the wildest sight—a guy calmly reading a book with an arrow still sticking out of his shoulder.

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  A nurse notices the one unfamiliar face in the room—me—and approaches with an unimpressed expression. “Something you need?”

  I turn my head so she can see my stitches. “Just need these removed.”

  “Go to section two. A nurse will be with you shortly.”

  I move to section two and sit in a chair. Since I’m the only one there, I get seen quickly. An older doctor approaches, eyeing me curiously. “New here? Pretty sure I haven’t seen you around before.”

  I nod. “As new as can be. We just got released from the interrogation room.”

  The doctor smirks. “Really? So you must know why the general was pissed at Garret.” He leans in and whispers, “Come on, tell me the details.”

  I chuckle. “Remove my stitches, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

  He examines my wound. “Stitching looks good, but these should have come out days ago.”

  “I just got them a few days ago,” I reply.

  He gives me a weird look.

  “I have an ability that speeds up healing.”

  The doctor nods and starts removing the stitches. Within minutes, they’re gone. I hold up my end of the bargain.

  “Short version: we got caught by Garret near your base. We didn’t know what kind of group you were, so we asked to bring our trolley to protect our gold. He agreed and only took the weapons off the trolley—never checked further.”

  The doctor shakes his head, already guessing where this is going. “Let me guess, you had a gun hidden on the trolley?”

  “Not exactly.” I smirk. “We had fifty pounds of dynamite ready to blow if we thought you were slavers.”

  The infirmary goes silent—except for the guy with the arrow in his shoulder, who is now struggling not to laugh. Probably a friend of Garret’s.

  A nurse stares at me. “What were you gonna do with the dynamite?”

  I shrug. “No plans. We’re trading it for materials we need.”

  Then I remember something. I pat my hoodie and find two more sticks of dynamite still there.

  Yeah… I’ll just keep that to myself.

  I stand up, thank the doctor, and leave. Outside, I start looking for the armory but eventually give up and ask someone for directions. They point me the right way.

  When I enter, Monty and the general are discussing Monty’s chosen weapon—a lever-action rifle.

  I walk up and grin. “Soon you’ll be a real cowboy.”

  Monty smirks. “Damn right. My abilities suit this rifle perfectly.”

  The general clears his throat. “Are you ready to pick your weapon?”

  I shake my head and turn to Monty. “How many sticks of dynamite do you still have?”

  He pulls five from his pocket. I pull out my two and hand them to the general. “Forgot I had these.”

  The general nods and passes them to the quartermaster, who opens the armory for me.

  Inside, the selection is massive—rifles, shotguns, SMGs, even a few belt-fed machine guns. But one weapon immediately catches my eye: a Browning BAR.

  I pick it up, testing the weight. Yeah, this is the one.

  I show it to the quartermaster, who nods, writes something down, and gestures for me to leave.

  Stepping out, Monty and the general both nod in approval of my choice.

  Monty places his rifle on the trolley, and we head to the lobby, where two soldiers are waiting.

  The general introduces them. “These two will be joining you to retrieve the hydroponics grafting specs and help transport the materials for construction.”