The bustling streets were packed with people gathered to watch the fireworks, and long queues stretched out before stalls framed with wooden timbers.
Most were run by shelter residents, though quite a few locals had jumped on the bandwagon, eager to seize the holiday excitement and earn some "new money."
"…So our mission today is just to eat and drink our fill at the festival?" Pai raised an eyebrow and rubbed her chin, glancing at the stamper pen in her hand.
When Chu Guang had approached her so solemnly yesterday, she thought she was being assigned some excruciatingly difficult task. She never imagined it would be this simple.
All she had to do was wander the streets, freeload food and drinks from the shelter residents' stalls, and tap a stamp on the electronic score sheet on the stall owner's VM.
What a bizarre mission.
"Don't look down on this important mission," Xiao Yu said earnestly, clutching her stamper pen tightly as she noticed Pai's skepticism. "Big Brother Chu said this is a very important 'wanjia event.' A lot of shelter residents have been looking forward to it all year. If they get a perfect score, they'll be happy the entire year."
Without pausing for breath, she rushed on, "And Big Brother Chu also said there might be strange concoctions mixed into the festival food. If we spot anything weird, we have to press the alarm button on our VM immediately!"
Driven by her obsessive-compulsive nature, she blurted the entire thing out in a single breath, ending with two short, breathless coughs.
"Huh?! That scary?"
Seeing Pai taken aback, Xiao Yu nodded seriously.
"Uh-huh! So we can't let our guard down, especially if we run into a guy named Mosquito."
Seeing that Xiao Yu wasn't joking, Pai began looking around nervously.
Alisa, walking beside them, tilted her head.
"If getting a perfect score makes them happy… can't we just give everyone high marks?"
She felt all the shelter residents were wonderful people, and she couldn't bear the thought of giving anyone a bad review.
Today, she wore a cotton-white trench coat, a soft beret with a white crown and yellow brim, and a red-and-black plaid scarf wrapped snugly around her neck.
Perhaps because she had been through so much, she carried an air of maturity. Though roughly the same age as the other two, she clearly looked like the older sister beside them.
Xiao Yu shook her head.
"If we did that, it wouldn't be fair to the people who took the mission seriously."
"We can't take this lightly then! Who knew such a simple mission held so much depth!" Pai's enthusiasm flared, her eyes gleaming. "It's decided! Pai will be the villain!"
*A couple of zeroes to kick things off! That'll liven things up!*
Xiao Yu furrowed her brow.
"You can't do that! You have to judge fairly!"
Otherwise, no one would vote for her next year.
Alisa looked curiously at Xiao Yu. "You two keep talking about 'missions'… but isn't this a festival?"
Xiao Yu replied, "It's basically the same thing. Big Brother Chu said everyone is a mission master, so treating an event as a mission is just common sense."
Pai leaned in inquisitively. "What's a mission master?"
Xiao Yu shook her head. "I don't know… Maybe it just means people who feel happy when they complete a mission."
*Such diligent people…*
Listening to their conversation, Alisa felt her respect for the residents in blue jackets grow even deeper.
No matter what it was, they always threw themselves into the front lines.
No wonder the people of the Alliance trusted them so wholeheartedly.
"Then we mustn't let their hard work go to waste either."
"Yeah!" Xiao Yu nodded cheerfully. "Let's do our best!"
"Let's start with sweets!" Pai, who had been on high alert just a minute ago, looked around in excitement the moment they stepped onto the edge of the food street.
Watching the two girls skip ahead, and looking at the bustling, smoke-wreathed street before her, Alisa couldn't help but smile.
This was a sight Boulder City had never known.
In the past, let alone smiles, she couldn't even see people's eyes.
People had hurried along with lowered heads, following rules like marionettes on strings, moving from one place to another without knowing where they were truly going.
Now, everything had started anew. People could ponder these questions for themselves: where their future path lay, what kind of person they wished to become, and which place—or which star—they wanted to reach.
Recalling her conversation with the Administrator yesterday, a sudden spark of realization dawned on Alisa as to why he had told her "that is not the answer."
It was only natural for the members of the Workers' Union to feel lost about the future after their victory; that very uncertainty was the victor's rightful prize.
Only mountains, rivers, birds, and beasts never knew doubt.
"…It really was wonderful to talk with him."
*It would be even better if I could walk around the festival with him… Then I could share this realization with him.*
As Alisa pondered this, warm vapor seemed to rise from the brim of her snow-dusted hat. Blushing, she shook her head, banishing the extravagant thought.
The esteemed Administrator was surely busy managing everything behind the scenes. Disturbing him now would only trouble him.
*…Father said that Alisa is an adult now. I can't keep depending on others.*
Alisa clenched her small fist, thinking silently to herself.
*If I find something delicious later, I'll bring some back for him!*
With that thought, she picked up her pace and caught up to Xiao Yu and Pai.
The two girls were standing before a strange machine, their eyes sparkling as they watched a cloud of white fluff spin around a wooden skewer.
"Ooh! What kind of cotton is that?"
"How do you eat this—wait! You're that Mosquito!" Xiao Yu cried out in shock, recognizing the man beside the machine at once.
Pai snapped to alert instantly and backed away from the contraption.
Amused by their reactions, Quan Jia and Sha Shen burst into shameless laughter, while Duo Ming covered his face, desperate not to be lumped in with him.
"Hahaha, have you gotten that infamous already?" Zhui Hun nudged Mosquito with his elbow, grinning slyly.
"Tch! What do you mean infamous? I call it—" Rolling his eyes at his apprentice, Mosquito turned to look at the customers, only for his eyes to bulge when he saw Pai. "Holy crap?! You're that ho—*cough!* The aviation fuel girl?!"
"What?" Pai crossed her arms and scowled. "You're very rude… Wait, haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
A fawning smile broke across Mosquito's face.
"That was a misunderstanding… By the way, I never got a chance to thank you in person! That aviation fuel was a massive help! Truly!"
Both in the game and in the real world.
Puffed up by the praise, Pai instantly tossed her annoyance aside and said smugly, "You're welcome, you're welcome! Just a small matter."
"Hehe," Mosquito chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his hands together. "Do you have any more good stuff like that? Finished goods, formulas, anything?"
"More like that?" Pai eyed him suspiciously. "What are you talking about? Making do with that weird stuff once was one thing, but don't tell me you're planning to keep building chemically powered aircraft?"
Mosquito said anxiously, "Why not? It still works, doesn't it!"
Pai shook her head.
"Give it up. That stuff was largely phased out back in the Era of Prosperity. Who'd waste time researching it? Asking me that is like asking for an improved recipe for black powder; the best I could tell you is to add a bit of white sugar."
Duo Ming and Quan Jia exchanged glances; the latter shrugged helplessly, while the former scratched his head.
Mosquito sighed.
"I see… Put that way, it does make sense."
Thinking about it, in the lore of the Era of Prosperity, humanity had developed FTL drives and antigravity devices; chemically propelled rockets had probably been obsolete for ages.
When it came to *Wasteland OL*, he possessed a sliver of inside knowledge. The game's development team had an extraordinary background. Although most of the tech was entirely fictional, some "low-baseline" technologies were grounded in real-world theoretical science.
In other words, they could be applied directly.
Both official institutions and private individuals had gleaned plenty of benefits from it, to the point of forming an unspoken understanding—though that was beside the point.
Even without all the complex interests involved, he simply enjoyed this lighthearted, delightful MMORPG.
"Ah… I almost forgot the main business!" Mosquito snatched three sticks of cotton candy from Duo Ming's hands, eagerly thrusting them to the three customers. With a grin, he held out his VM. "Esteemed judges, could you please give us a good review? Thank you so much!"
Standing nearby, Feng Qing kindly chimed in with a reminder, "Soliciting reviews will get points deducted, you know."
Mosquito froze in horror.
"Holy crap! I just said it offhand! Is it really that strict?!"
Just like last time! Back then, an excited slip of the tongue had gotten him reported and locked up by that wretched Tail.
Gui Gui averted her gaze with an awkward expression.
"Well, some judges don't know how to say no."
Truth be told, she wasn't confident they had accurately reproduced the flavor. It was a treat she had only eaten when she was very small.
Yet her worry was completely unfounded.
Within two seconds, a gasp of delight erupted in front of the stall.
"Mmmph! This is amazing! Do I need to spit out the cotton—wait? It isn't cotton? It melted in my mouth!"
Pai's eyes widened in sheer astonishment.
Beside her, Xiao Yu had already buried her face into the cotton candy, her eyes practically taking on the color of the spun sugar.
"How… was this made?!" Alisa nibbled at the snow-white confection, her gaze filled with wonder.
She looked excitedly toward the people behind the stall, but then seemed to recall her manners and added softly in embarrassment, "Would it be impolite of me to ask for the recipe…? If it's inconvenient, pretend I never asked."
Feng Qing smiled.
"There's nothing inconvenient about it. The principle is simple: just a heater and a motor… Even if you hadn't asked, we planned to teach the survivors here anyway."
It wasn't complicated technology; anyone could learn it quickly.
Alisa looked at her with bright, moved eyes.
"Thank you!"
With this, people wouldn't have to wait for a festival to enjoy such a delicious and miraculous treat in Boulder City!
Flustered by the heartfelt gratitude, Feng Qing offered a shy smile.
"You're welcome. I'm just happy to help everyone."
Blushing, she looked over at Gui Gui. "Oh right, let's take some over to Mandarin and the others too."
"You got it!"
Gui Gui grinned, grabbed a small cart, lifted a spare cotton candy machine onto it, and called out to Mosquito, "Boss Mosquito, we're borrowing this!"
Because the mechanics were simple and the assembly straightforward, they hadn't just built one machine; they had prepared several to sell to the locals.
Mosquito waved generously with a laugh.
"Take it! I leave cracking the B2B market to you!"
In fact, even before Alisa had arrived, several NPCs had already come by to ask where they could buy the cotton candy machine.
It seemed cotton candy wouldn't be the only thing selling like hotcakes tonight.
Goblin Tech's "black tech" was about to fly off the shelves right alongside it!
***
On the other side of the food street.
A handsome man wearing a thick scarf around his neck was holding the small hand of a green-haired girl.
He stopped in front of a stall selling miscellaneous knickknacks, picked up a palm-sized display screen, and asked casually, "Boss, where'd you get this?"
Seeing that someone was finally showing interest in a bauble nobody had spared a second glance at, the stall owner concealed his delight and spoke heartily, "Ah, that? Picked it up near the inner city. Probably part of some old noble's collection. If you like it… I'll let it go for ten silver coins."
"You're joking. Ten silver coins for a piece of scrap? I'd say ten chips is more like it."
Fang Chang smiled and moved to set the device back down.
Panic flashed through the stall owner, and he hurriedly backpedaled. "Five silver coins! How about five?"
Fang Chang shook his head, holding up a single index finger.
"One silver coin. If not, forget it. It's too cumbersome to carry around anyway."
"…Fine, I'll take the loss!" The stall owner nodded with a miserable grimace, though he buried a smirk of triumph beneath his bowed head.
He had scavenged it for free.
Forget one silver coin—even half a silver coin would have been pure profit!
Without calling out the hidden glee behind the act, Fang Chang smiled, set down a silver coin, and gently tugged Dolly's hand to keep walking.
Dolly peered curiously at the object in his hand.
"What's that…? Huh? It looks a lot like yours!"
Fang Chang joked, "Well, they're family."
"Family?"
"Yeah, like a father and a son." Fang Chang lightly tossed the palm-sized trading terminal in his hand with a faint smile. "This one's the son."
The battery was completely drained, leaving the screen devoid of numbers and graphs; otherwise, it would have been quite a spectacle.
Come to think of it, he had lingered in Dawn City thinking Jixiu would come looking for him in the northern suburbs, only for the coward to run away.
Well, good riddance. He felt no sympathy for that fool.
Everything that happened was self-inflicted.
Dolly glanced at Fang Chang and asked in a low voice, "Did you end up pressing that button?"
"Nope." Tucking the trading terminal into his pocket, Fang Chang said in a relaxed tone, "You told me not to, so I didn't. The outcome wouldn't have changed either way."
He had already taken everything he wanted from this place; whatever remained were just numbers spinning in an empty void.
Besides, the chips had collapsed completely in the end, rendering the S-coins pegged to them meaningless. Whether he took that final step made no difference at all.
"Still, it's truly surprising… I never imagined Boulder City would be this lively one day," Dolly said with a sigh of emotion, gazing out at the bustling street in the distance.
Fang Chang smiled warmly. "Got any inspiration for tomorrow's headline?"
"Yes!" Dolly nodded. Then her eyes lit up, and she looked at him. "Do you think people will see the fireworks over Boulder City and travel all this way to join us?"
The thought had struck her suddenly.
Beyond the famous survivor settlements, the wasteland harbored countless small communities.
There were plenty right here within Qingquan City alone!
Fang Chang smiled and patted her head.
"Hard to say. But that's actually how a lot of survivors joined the Alliance."
He remembered how the Frost Spear Tribe had arrived—spotting the smoke rising over the northern suburbs and deciding to take a chance, leading their clansmen over.
Unlike an ideal buried deep in one's heart, prosperity was something visible to the naked eye.
When the reflection of fireworks filled people's eyes, those who yearned for light would naturally walk toward it, guided by its glow.
It had been true for wastelanders like the Frost Spear Tribe, and it was true for the workers of Boulder City.
In the future, even more survivors who were sick and tired of the wasteland would unite beneath the banner they shared.
That was a weapon greater than guns and artillery.
And it could accomplish things that firepower never could…
***
Fang Chang had no way of knowing that, just as he had said, many souls were gazing from the dark at the sparks bursting into the sky under that very same night.
In the eastern outskirts of Qingquan City, over a dozen ox carts were parked along the highway outside the city. Several caravan guards huddled together, striking matches to light their cigarettes.
"Why are we wintering outside this year? Did the Tide come early?"
"Something happened in Boulder City. Can't go there anymore."
"Something happened? What kind of thing?"
"Power changed hands."
The older guard glanced at the "cargo" huddled beside the ox carts and curled his lip in disgust. "We could've gone if we weren't hauling these folks."
In the past, the Alliance hadn't interfered with the slave trade; they had merely forbidden the mistreatment or murder of slaves on Alliance territory, and occasionally paid to purchase slaves passing through.
Ever since defeating the Legion, however, those blue moles had stopped pretending. They had followed the lead of settlements in Yunjian Province, banning any and all human trafficking.
Now, the guards didn't dare approach the Alliance's borders. Even purchasing supplies required splitting up into separate runs.
"Those damn blue moles…" a guard cursed, dropping his cigarette butt into the snow and grinding it out with his boot.
Another guard spat, "I hope they don't survive the spring!"
Huddled beside the two-headed oxen for warmth, the slaves overheard the guards' curses and began whispering among themselves.
"Where are they taking us?"
"I heard the boss say we're heading north."
"I think it was called Bu-something…"
A young man sitting in the corner suddenly spoke up.
"The Free State?"
Hearing the unfamiliar voice, the others turned to look at him.
They recognized him. Although covered in dirt, his skin was fair and clean beneath the grime—completely different from the skinny, sun-darkened lot of them. He would probably fetch a higher price.
About two weeks ago, not long after entering River Valley Province, the caravan had stumbled upon this half-dead fellow in the wilderness.
After that, he had been seized by the armed guards, stripped of his luggage, and shackled alongside them.
Thinking he might know something, a curly-haired boy asked curiously, "You've been there?"
Another young boy chimed in, "I heard it's a nice place."
Listening to their chatter, Jixiu twitched the chapped corner of his mouth.
"Maybe."
After everything he had gone through, he no longer put much faith in hearsay.
A scrawny youth leaned closer to him. "Hey, you seem to know a lot of things."
Jixiu let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Your judgment isn't very good. The person in front of you is just a piece of trash."
The youth blinked in surprise.
He had seen people curse others, but this was the first time he had seen someone curse himself.
This guy really was unusual.
"Then… do you know about the Alliance?"
"The Alliance…" A complex look rose in Jixiu's eyes as he muttered, "For people like you, that place might actually be good."
The curly-haired boy lowered his head and grumbled, "Come off it. If they're really as great as you say, why haven't they come to save us?"
Jixiu replied casually, "They only save themselves and those who can be saved."
The other boy couldn't help asking softly, "Who counts as someone who can be saved?"
"At the very least, you have to try and save yourself."
What an irony.
In the end, he had become the one who understood those people best.
Jixiu smiled wryly.
Not that it mattered anymore.
He was already a dead man…
He would drift wherever the wind carried him.
Most of the slaves simply exchanged bewildered glances, unable to make sense of his riddle. They turned back to discussing their destination, that place called the Free State.
Some claimed they were actually headed for the northern marshes.
Though debating it was pointless—none of them could decide where they would be sold—it was something to do while idling in the cold.
Only the scrawny youth crouching beside Jixiu kept his eyes fixed on the distant fireworks, murmuring under his breath.
"People who can be saved… People who save themselves."
He wanted to know more about the Alliance.
Not because of rumors about how wonderful it was, nor because the fireworks were pretty, but simply because the ferocious guards' faces turned pale whenever the Alliance was mentioned.
Like mice seeing a cat.
He wanted to obtain that kind of power too!
A power feared by the hyenas of the wasteland!
In a corner unnoticed by anyone, a seed had been quietly planted…
No one knew what it would grow to become.
***
The New Year's Eve celebration continued. The festive atmosphere spilled from the streets into the roadside shops.
Inside the Pirate Bay Tavern at the edge of Boulder City, firewood crackled in the hearth, and the modest room was packed with boisterous patrons.
Ever since the recent upheaval, the tavern had been shut down for rectification.
Starting tonight, however, the Boulder City authorities had lifted the curfew, allowing the tavern to reopen its doors.
The customers drinking here were a mix of mercenaries, factory workers from the settlement, and ordinary citizens.
Starting last week, industrial goods from Boulder City had begun flowing into Sunset Province through the trading hub of Luoye City, while grain from Sunset Province made its way back here.
With the logistical cycle restored, watered-down swill was a thing of the past.
A kilogram of corn cost less than a silver coin, and a mug of beer was only one silver coin—two for a large tankard.
Under the Alliance's newly implemented minimum wage of two silver coins an hour, even the lowest-paid construction laborer could earn two mugs of beer with an hour's work.
Mercenaries, of course, had it even better. Risking one's life paid a figure with one or two more zeroes than selling mere muscle.
"It hasn't been this lively in ages."
"Sure hasn't."
A group of cement factory workers sat together, drinking beer and chewing on skewers while gazing out the window at the flashing fireworks, chatting about everything under the sun.
"…Those apartment buildings are incredible! Laugh all you want, but I never imagined I'd live in a place with stairs!"
"Taking a bath is way easier now too!"
Just then, someone who had had too much to drink stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs:
"Praise the Administrator! Praise the Alliance! For giving us unwatered beer! And houses that keep out the wind!"
A chorus of laughter erupted around him.
"Hahaha!"
"Talk about humble wishes! Why not ask the Alliance to help you find a wife while they're at it!"
"No rush for that! I hear the Administrator doesn't even have one himself."
"Man, I hope he has a bunch of kids."
"Shame Lovett doesn't have a daughter. Otherwise, we could try tying Boulder City and the Alliance closer together… by blood."
Though the Workers' Union always said ideals were a stronger bond than blood, that didn't curb the people's simple desires and enthusiasm.
The haughty lords of the inner city were gone.
The gangs outside the walls were wiped out.
The rowdy mercenaries had tucked their tails between their legs.
The Alliance's military might was staggering.
They could light up the entire night sky with fireworks, and no one doubted they could snuff out any raging Tide just as easily beneath a deluge of artillery shells.
Just then, a hooded man pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The bartender behind the counter glanced at him and asked in an ordinary tone, "What can I get you?"
The man lowered his hood. Seeing the man behind the counter, surprise crossed his face.
"You're still alive?"
The bartender gave a faint smile. "Is there any reason I should be dead?"
The man narrowed his eyes, studying the bartender for a moment.
This fellow was no ordinary bartender, of course; he was White Shark, the owner of the Pirate Bay Tavern.
The man liked to stand behind the counter wiping glasses in his spare time, so people frequently mistook him for a barkeep. But anyone familiar with him knew he couldn't mix a drink to save his life—unless poison counted as a cocktail.
Selling drinks was merely one stream of income for this establishment; the lion's share came from his intermediary business.
When inner-city nobles had sensitive tasks that required hands, they couldn't be seen dealing directly with crude mercenaries and gang thugs, so they relied on middlemen. Traveling merchants seeking reliable bodyguards also turned to trustworthy brokers.
And this man, White Shark, was arguably the most reliable broker in the entire settlement. In the past, anyone seeking his help would order a cup of honey water.
Seeing that the man hadn't ordered, the bartender set a glass of warm water before him.
The man didn't drink. He simply muttered, "The boss and second-in-command of the Poison Gang are dead."
White Shark responded matter-of-factly, "At the city gates, right? Heard it was pretty gruesome."
"You don't seem surprised at all. They were major clients of yours… Oh, I get it." Realization dawned on the man's face, and he offered a half-smile. "Turns out you went and became the Alliance's dog."
If the Alliance wanted to dismantle the gangs outside the Great Wall in the shortest possible time, working through the dealings of these middlemen was undeniably the easiest route.
Rather than denying the claim, White Shark offered a faint smile.
"Not just anyone is qualified to be the Alliance's dog. Serving a true heavyweight is my honor… Besides, if you don't want to get thrown out, you'd better pick a more polite term."
Like "informant."
That was what the Guards Corps called him, and he far preferred the title.
"Easy there, pal," the man raised his hands in mock surrender with a laugh. "So, what should I call you?"
White Shark replied casually, "Just like before. My line of work hasn't changed; I'm still just a tavern owner."
The man narrowed his eyes.
"What if I'm not here for a drink today, but looking to hire some capable mercenaries?"
"Then you've come to the right place."
White Shark stopped wiping the glass, set it and the rag aside, and looked at the man across the counter. "Let's hear it. What's the job?"
The man spoke slowly. "Something went wrong with business down south. I need people who can fight—at least ten men, and with enough firepower."
White Shark raised an eyebrow. "Marauders?"
"No…" The man shook his head, his expression darkening. "It's not as simple as marauders. It involves mutants."
"Is that so? Then regular mercenary bands probably won't cut it," White Shark murmured, rubbing his chin. After a moment's thought, he reached beneath the counter, pulled out a tablet, and handed it over. "Fill out your request on this."
Taking the tablet, the man paused in confusion. "What's this?"
White Shark explained briefly, "A Mercenary Guild terminal."
Seeing the bewilderment on the man's face, he continued, "You just arrived, so you probably don't know. The Alliance launched a pilot Mercenary Guild in Boulder City recently. Now, mercenaries here have to register and be filed with the guild to take contracts."
Because participating bars were marked on the map provided by the Mercenary Guild, most establishments catering to mercenaries had become offline branch offices for the guild.
The man's brow twitched. "Even you folks are organized now?"
"Yes, and it's mandatory," White Shark shrugged. "The guild assesses mercenary ranks and tracks mission success rates. They claim it matches mission difficulty with professional qualifications… Posting high-difficulty missions to low-tier mercenaries incurs joint liability."
The man said in astonishment, "That sounds a bit like the mercenary guild up north in the Bugra Free State."
White Shark shrugged again. "Not entirely. Take the cut, for example. Besides the commission paid to the guild, there's an additional security deposit paid by the employer."
The man frowned. "What's that for?"
White Shark answered offhandedly, "It's essentially insurance, though not like the fraudulent stuff Boulder Bank used to peddle. If you get crippled, they'll cover cybernetic replacements. When you hit retirement age, you get a pension. In Bugra, I believe that's a value-added service you have to purchase yourself, but here it's compulsory."
The man curled his lip. "Heh. Tying them down with money?"
White Shark chuckled. "You could say that. The pension is tied to mercenary rank, so if you don't want your pension down the drain, you'd better not touch unrecorded black-market jobs. Losing points is minor; getting your license revoked is the real disaster."
It truly was a clever scheme.
The main reason mercenaries had always been unruly was that they had nothing to lose.
Most had no concept of saving, living hand-to-mouth and drinking away today's earnings, knowing full well a minor mistake tomorrow could cost them their lives.
You could hardly expect someone who never planned to live past thirty-five to consider what lay decades ahead.
Now, through the Mercenary Guild, the Alliance forced them to save for the future, using those very funds as leverage to keep them in line.
If a mercenary took legitimate contracts, they would mostly take jobs within their capability, securing both their present and future livelihoods.
If they took an unrecorded black-market job that violated Alliance law and got caught, they wouldn't just face punishment from law enforcement; the Mercenary Guild would penalize them as well.
If their professional standing—their mercenary rank—was demoted, they wouldn't just lose access to good jobs; their future security benefits would be downgraded too.
On the flip side, having the Mercenary Guild record and vet contract details bound both the employer and the hireling, lowering the cost of mutual trust and preventing jobs that could harm society.
Though both were called mercenary guilds, the Alliance's purpose and nature were completely different from Bugra Free State's.
The latter was corporate outsourcing for profit, while the Alliance's approach was a pragmatic compromise to solve an existing social problem.
It benefited everyone.
"…Expecting a bunch of desperate cutthroats to change careers on the spot isn't realistic," White Shark said. "The wasteland needs them in too many places, they don't know any other trade, and they certainly can't handle a routine job. But leaving them unchecked wasn't an option either; Boulder City was crawling with them. So the Alliance found a middle ground: private armed forces are necessary on the wasteland, but they must be regulated."
The man frowned. "If everything has to be registered, wouldn't that rule out a lot of contracts?"
Assassinations, for instance.
"Heh, if you're looking for someone to do dirty work, you can still find them, but I can't help you there… The Alliance keeps a very close eye on me. I'm not interested in making money I won't live to spend, and you don't want to walk into their crosshairs either, do you?"
Seeing the man remain silent, White Shark gave a faint smile and spoke softly, "On the other hand, if it's clean work—exploring ruins, couriering goods, wiping out marauders… I can even help you hire true professionals."
The man raised an eyebrow. "True professionals?"
White Shark nodded slightly.
"That's right. Quite a few shelter residents have registered as mercenaries. Many of them are veterans back from Sunset Province. In both equipment and combat experience, they're leagues ahead of ragtag wanderers. If you want to wipe out a pack of mutants, you couldn't find anyone better."
Hearing that, the man held his breath.
Veterans from Sunset Province!
If he could hire some of the Alliance's blue jackets, his hometown might actually stand a chance!
"How do I hire them?"
A pleased smile spread across White Shark's face as his index finger tapped the tablet in the man's hands.
"I already told you. Fill out the registration and filing honestly, pay the deposit, and put down part of the fee up front."
"Within twenty-four hours, someone will arrange it for you."
Chapter 555