The third dawn in Necropolis-7 found Klaus more rested. His body still begged for weeks of sleep, but the vigil in the restaurant basement had been less tense. The M1911 resting in his lap and a stocked inventory were powerful antidotes to nighttime paranoia.
His first action was to check the map. The safe zone had shrunk more aggressively overnight. The area he was in now was a relatively narrow strip of tall buildings and crowded streets, pressed against what seemed to be an industrial district. The world was closing in, forcing survivors together.
He ate a military ration—a synthetic "chicken" flavor that was a feast compared to protein bars—and planned the day. Basic loot was vital, but the discovery of the Plasma Orb [RARE] had shifted his focus. He needed more of that. High-value items. The "Special Rewards" the System had mentioned.
His target was a building marked on his HUD as the "East Zone Arsenal." Not a special reward, but a Point of Interest. The risk would be high, but the potential payoff—guns, ammo, tactical gear—was worth it.
Leaving the restaurant felt like entering a new stage of the tournament. The street, deserted the day before, now had movement. In the distance, he saw a group of three recruits moving in formation, clearly having banded together. Further ahead, the sound of a confrontation—pistol shots and the characteristic roar of a shotgun—echoed between the buildings, abruptly and ominously ceasing.
The solitude of the beginning had given way to lethal social tension. Alliances were forming, and the price of distrust was death.
Klaus became a shadow, using debris and building facades as cover. The Tactical Backpack [UNCOMMON] proved its worth, keeping his movements agile even while carrying the shotgun and supplies. He avoided open streets, preferring alleys, utility tunnels, and even shallow sewers to move undetected.
Approaching the Arsenal, a new layer of danger emerged. The building, a fortified concrete structure with few windows, was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. And it wasn't just an ordinary fence. Sentinel Bots patrolled the perimeter. They were superior models to those he had faced before, equipped with outdated but lethal assault rifles and more precise motion sensors.
>> SENTINEL BOT [LEVEL 3] DETECTED. <<
A frontal assault was madness. Klaus observed from a building across the street, using binoculars he had looted from a sporting goods store the day before. The patrol followed a fixed route, but with two overlapping Bots, there were few gaps.
Then he had an idea. A risky idea that relied on his new treasure. The Plasma Orb [RARE].
The description read: "high-density energy source." He wondered if it could be used as a distraction… or a trap.
He positioned himself in a broken window on the second floor, overlooking a blind spot in the patrol near an abandoned military vehicle. With the M1911 in one hand, he materialized the Plasma Orb in the other. It pulsed with a soft heat, heavy with energetic potential.
He didn't know how to activate it. He focused, trying to channel intent through the ring, through the System. Energy. Release.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a minimal UI appeared over the sphere in his vision.
>> CONTAINED PLASMA ORB [RARE] <<
>> OPTIONS: [SUMMON] | [DISCARD] | [THROW] <<
Throw.
He aimed at the abandoned vehicle, away from the fence but close enough to be heard. With a thought, the orb vanished from his hand and reappeared in the air, a few meters above the target. For a fraction of a second, it hovered. Then it fell.
The impact wasn't metal on metal. It was a deep, muffled BOOM, followed by a wave of heat that Klaus felt even from a distance. The orb didn't explode; it disintegrated in a silent, bluish wave of energy that enveloped the vehicle. When the light faded, the jeep had simply… vanished. Only a puddle of molten metal on the asphalt and a trace of soot in the air remained.
The effect was instantaneous and electrifying. The two Sentinel Bots reacted to the energy spike. Their security protocols made them abandon their patrol and move at high speed toward the anomaly, backs to the fence.
It was the opening. Klaus didn't wait. He ran down the stairs, sprinted across the street silently, and using wire cutters he had kept (0.8 kg), made a hole in the fence far from where the Bots were investigating. He slipped into the complex.
The interior of the Arsenal was paradise. Metal shelves, some empty, others still crammed. There were ammo boxes of various calibers, old but functional fragmentation grenades, and even some heavy, worn Ballistic Vests [COMMON].
He acted fast, like a thief in a treasure gallery. It was no longer about taking what he needed; it was about taking everything.
>> 7.62mm Ammunition [COMMON] - 120 rounds (5.0 kg) <<
>> Mk2 Fragmentation Grenade [UNCOMMON] x2 (2.0 kg) <<
>> Ballistic Vest [COMMON] (8.0 kg) <<
>> Lee-Enfield Bolt-Action Rifle [COMMON] (4.1 kg) - Ammo: 0 <<
>> Field Survival Kit [COMMON] (2.5 kg) - Includes lighter, water purifier, etc.
His inventory soared to 121.3 kg. The backpack on his shoulders was full of smaller items he hadn't yet transferred. He felt the euphoria of accumulation. Every kilogram was power.
Then he heard voices at the main entrance.
"… sure the Bots are gone? Could be a trap."
"I saw the energy blast. Something big. They went to investigate. It's our chance."
Klaus froze behind a shelf. Two recruits. A man and a woman, both in basic military gear, carrying hunting rifles. They hadn't seen him.
He could hide and wait for them to leave. But then he saw where they were going: straight for a locked room at the back of the arsenal, with a reinforced steel door. A soft silver glow emanated from beneath the door.
>> SPECIAL REWARD SIGNAL DETECTED: [RARE] <<
The accumulation instinct spoke louder. He couldn't leave that behind.
As the couple tried to pry the door open, Klaus made a decision. Not conflict, but opportunity. He moved silently to a flanking position, behind a stack of empty boxes. He materialized one of the Mk2 Grenades [UNCOMMON] in his hand.
Not to throw it at them. But to negotiate.
"Stop," he said, his voice rough and strange after days of silence.
The couple turned quickly, rifles raised. Their eyes were wide, filled with the same mix of fear and determination Klaus felt.
"Take the loot from the shelves," Klaus said, keeping the grenade visible, finger near the pin. "I only want what's behind this door. We can all leave alive, each with our share."
The tension hung in the air. The man looked at the grenade, then at Klaus's determined face, and then at the woman beside him. The cost of confrontation was too high.
"Alright," the man said, lowering the rifle slowly. "The shelf loot is ours. The door is yours."
Klaus nodded, keeping his guard up. He moved toward the door, keeping the couple in his sight. The lock was complex, but a precise shot from the M1911 on the handle destroyed it.
Inside the small room, on a pedestal, was the prize: a pair of Thermal Vision Goggles [RARE].
>> THERMAL VISION GOGGLES [RARE] <<
>> EFFECT: DETECTS HEAT SIGNATURES THROUGH THIN WALLS AND OBSTACLES. <<
>> BATTERY LIFE: 8 HOURS. <<
He stored them immediately in his inventory. An invaluable survival tool.
When he emerged, the couple was already collecting their ammunition. A silent nod, and they separated, each going their own way, without a word. It wasn't an alliance. It was a transaction. Klaus's first real economy in Necropolis-7.
At the end of the day, hidden atop an office building with a panoramic view of the shrinking safe zone, Klaus took stock. His inventory weighed 132.7 kg. He had weapons, ammo, survival gear, and two rare items of incalculable value.
But he also had a new understanding. Survival here wasn't just about killing or hiding. It was about resource management. Material resources, like bullets and food. And risk resources, like when to fight, when to negotiate, and when to flee.
The ring on his finger felt heavier. And with that weight came not only security but also growing responsibility. He was the guardian of his own treasure, and every kilogram attracted both salvation and greed. Day 3 had solidified not only his stockpile but his identity in this nightmare: he was a Collector. And the price of any collection is defending it.