I placed my hands on the structure of the Treant and my Qi flowed into the beast, waking the dormant consciousness inside. The ground shook as the 100-foot titan groaned, its wooden joints cracking.

  Bells floated up to the shoulder platform, looking down at the world. Sal and Frank climbed onto the back rigging, securing their gear. Joakim took the lower leg platform, acting as infantry support. The rest got in the vehicles and followed behind.

  "Forward," I commanded.

  The Treant took its first step.

  It was an earthquake. We moved down the broken highway leading west, leaving the ruins of the movie theater behind us.

  The journey was a procession of awe.

  We passed settlements—huddles of tents and shacks built in the shadow of collapsed billboards. People ran out of their homes, dropping their scavenging tools, staring up at the walking mountain of vines and wood.

  Some dropped their guns in terror while others just fell to their knees, perhaps thinking the forest itself had come to reclaim the land. The majority just ran, clearing the road like water parting for a ship.

  "Look at them scatter," Bells said from his perch. "Fear is a beautiful currency."

  "Don't get used to it," Sal shouted back, holding onto a safety rail. "The bigger we are, the bigger the target. I'd rather be underground."

  "Enjoy the view, Sal," Frank said. "Beats walking."

  We moved for four hours as the landscape shifted from urban ruin to overgrown plains.

  "Yo," Frank called down. "Slow it down. We're hitting the Hub."

  "The Hub?" I asked.

  "Ann Arbor," Frank explained. "Unofficial capital of the Michigan Wilds. It’s the Goldilocks zone—not close enough to Detroit to be annexed, not far enough to be totally savage."

  I slowed the Treant and ten minutes later, a skyline appeared.

  I blinked.

  I saw a city that was alive.

  Smoke rose from thousands of chimneys. The streets were packed with carts, trucks, and people. It lacked the advanced infrastructure and high tech of Detroit, but it had a chaotic and vibrant energy.

  "Despawn," I whispered.

  I couldn't march a plant beast into a neutral city without starting a war.

  "We walk from here," I said.

  We entered Ann Arbor on foot.

  It was sensory overload.

  The main street was a bazaar. Merchants were shouting. Stalls were selling monster parts, pre-Collapse tech, and homemade alcohol.

  "Fresh batteries!" a vendor screamed. "Chicago imports! Wind charged!"

  "Chicago?" I muttered.

  In Detroit, when Mayor Holson had locked down the borders foreign goods were contraband. Here? It was a free market.

  I saw a group of cultivators wearing matching blue robes from Columbus haggling over a crate of ammunition and I saw a family holding a cardboard sign: Will Work for Visa. Detroit or Chicago.

  It was messy and dangerous. It was capitalism in its rawest form.

  "This place is... interesting," Joakim said, looking nervously at a gang of bikers openly carrying machetes. "No police?"

  "No laws," Frank corrected. "Just reputation."

  We walked deeper into the city and my eyes scanned the rooftops and the crowds.

  I stopped.

  Above a large warehouse, a flag hung in the air.

  It was a white cloud with wings.

  Outside the warehouse, five men sat in lawn chairs. They wore white tracksuits and sunglasses. They didn't look like soldiers; they looked like frat boys on vacation. But their auras were steady.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Cloud," I whispered.

  "They have a forward base," Bells noted. "Makes sense. If this is the trade hub, they want a cut."

  I looked around for the other major player. Black Hand.

  Nothing. No banners or symbols.

  "Black Hand isn't here," I deduced. "Gaylord is too far north. Their influence doesn't reach this far south. But Cloud... Cloud is comfortable here."

  This changed things.

  "Change of plans," I told the group. "Marching straight to Grand Rapids is foolish if they have a presence here. We need intel and to know their strength, their numbers, and their relationship with the locals."

  "Recon?" Joakim asked.

  "Exactly. Split up. Joakim, take your boys and mingle with the lower levels. Find out who runs the streets. Sal, Frank, check the markets. See who is buying what and the nature of the industry here. Theater mercs you guys watch over the vehicles and start a camp for tonight. Bells... try not to start a fight."

  "No promises," Bells smirked.

  They dispersed into the crowd.

  I stepped into a quiet alleyway to make a call. I needed to update the home front.

  I dialed Aiya.

  "Kaz," she answered.

  "We have been making good progress on the expansion of Michigan and have even recruited a new general," I said. "It's Frank from the tournament."

  "That's nice," Aiya said.

  "Yeah," I said. "I wanted to give you the update first so you can tell Grace since it might still be a bit too early to speak to her directly"

  "I’m not sure how," Aiya responded. "Grace isn't here."

  I frowned. "What do you mean? Is she at the office?"

  "She's gone," Aiya said. "Ousted."

  My stomach dropped. "Ousted?"

  "Wolfen Beckenfein," Aiya said. "Her younger brother. He’s 22. A Core Disciple. He staged a coup a couple days ago and the Elders backed him."

  "Why?" I demanded. "Grace was making them money! The Eden partnership was profitable!"

  "Not to them," Aiya sighed. "They saw it as 'reckless fraternization with strangers.' And apparently, Grace tried to use family resources to investigate Misty after your meeting. She wanted to vet the alliance you made."

  "It backfired," Aiya continued. "The Cove found out, or Wolfen found out... either way, the Elders used it as proof of her incompetence and they said she was wasting resources on personal vendettas. Wolfen seized control of the Holdings. Grace is... missing. I haven't heard from her since yesterday."

  I leaned against the brick wall of the alley. "Wolfen. Her younger brother. I didn’t even know she had a brother. She never told me anything like that!"

  "He's a prodigy," Aiya added helpfully.

  "This is..." I rubbed my face.

  "Your fault," a haughty voice echoed in my head.

  "Shut up, Goros," I muttered.

  "Don't shoot the messenger," Goros said. "The woman tried to fix your mess after you botched the meeting with the Witch. Grace tried to do due diligence because you failed to, and she got decapitated for it. This chain reaction started the moment you sat on that bench."

  I gritted my teeth. He was right.

  "Aiya," I said into the phone. "The funds and the accounts."

  "Locked?" Aiya guessed. "I don't know. My card worked for coffee this morning, but for how long? If Wolfen freezes the accounts, Eden is broke. The expenses are not the problem as we no longer have any; outside of the salaries which the mine largely covers. The issue is our trade network. Or rather their trade network. Our exports will stop without them. That means everything we make, our industry and entire economy crashes. The supermarkets will no longer be stocked, imports from Seaside (Dolphone) and other factions will end, and we will lose all of our logistics. Your upgrade initiative will save us from starving but the quality of life will drop. Protests will start. Riots will follow. Then, a civil war. Southfield will fall. If not to the citizens, to a neighboring faction."

  "I'll fix it," I said.

  "How?"

  "I don't know yet," I snapped. "Raising the tax? Who knows? I will need your help though. This concerns all of us, not just me."

  "I don’t think so," Aiya said. "It was never in my job description to help you run the faction. I was the cook, remember. My role was to help the restaurant. That was all. Stress raises the cortisol and raised cortisol misaligns the chakras. I can’t risk doing that for a problem that’s not even mine. Plus, you're the boss, you should be able to figure it out yourself. Good Luck."

  She hung up.

  I stared at the phone.

  I had just announced a grand conquest and entered the Race and now my bank account might have just hit zero.

  "Wolfen," I said.

  "Focus," Goros chided from the Gourd. "Panicking is inefficient. You cannot fix the boardroom from an alley in Ann Arbor. You are here to conquer Michigan. If you succeed, you won't need the Beckenfein money. You will be the money."

  I took a deep breath.

  "You're right," I said. "Grace is a shark and won't go down easy. She's family; they won't kill her. I have to trust she can handle herself."

  "Sentiment is a weakness," Goros noted. "But pragmatism is a strength. We need intel on Cloud and we need to secure this city."

  I put the phone away.

  "Right," I said. "Back to work."

  I walked back out onto the main street.

  I needed a place where people talked. A place where loose lips sank ships.

  I walked for eight minutes, scanning the storefronts. Most were pop-up stalls or guarded warehouses.

  Then I saw an interesting building.

  Stone pillars, wooden doors. A neon sign buzzed above the entrance, powered by a generator on the roof.

  CHAPS.

  There was a line out the door. Bouncers checked weapons. And the bass from inside shook the building.

  "That's the spot," I said.

  "A drinking establishment," Goros sniffed from the Gourd. "How primitive. I assume we are going in?"

  "We are," I said.

  I walked toward the line. I didn't have VIP status or a reputation here. I was just another traveler in the Hub.

  And honestly? After the pressure of Detroit, it felt good to be anonymous.

  I joined the queue, ready to listen.