Essential Upgrades

Thalia pulled her wrist back from the scanner terminal. The crisp digits of 13,602 points glowed against the dark glass of her watch face. She did not linger on the total for long. Out in the ruins, credits meant nothing unless they turned into gear that kept a person breathing.

Dexter rested his forearms on the counter, smiling with easy familiarity. "Need anything else, young lady? We keep the freshest stock on this side of the perimeter wall."

"I need medical supplies and field rations," Thalia said.

She pointed toward the glass display cases mounted behind him. For years, poverty had forced her to rely on cheap, watered-down antiseptics and dry ration bricks that tasted like chalk. Now, she had enough credits to buy real protection.

She selected two pressurized canisters of heavy-duty insect repellent designed to deter the venomous midges that nested in the damp hollows of the thorn forest. Next, she chose three sealed vials of universal antitoxin and two jars of medical-grade hemostatic powder that sealed open flesh wounds within seconds. Out in the marsh, mutant insects could pierce heavy canvas boots, causing bites that bled without stopping until a scavenger lost consciousness. Quality medicine was not a luxury; it was the boundary between walking home and rotting in a ditch.

For food, she bypassed the bargain bins and selected ten foil-wrapped bars of high-grade synthetic nutrition. The packaging promised genuine lipids, proteins, and salt.

Curious, she peeled back the corner of one wrapper and took a small bite. The texture was dense and chewy, with a rich, savory taste that resembled seasoned beef. Her stomach tightened in eager response. Real food felt like a miracle after years of scrap paste.

She swallowed the bite, pocketed the bar, and looked across the counter. "Do you have any mental energy recovery potions in stock?"

Her Harvesting Ability was bound to her Energy pool, which currently sat at a meager ten points. If she wanted to harvest higher-tier vegetation without collapsing from exhaustion, she needed a way to refill her reservoir on the spot.

Dexter opened a reinforced steel drawer beneath the register. "We carry both grades. A low-grade potion costs three thousand points. A mid-grade bottle costs five thousand."

Thalia stared at the glass ampoules cushioned in dark velvet. "Three thousand and five thousand? That is steep for forty milliliters of fluid."

"Those rates are set by the central administration in the inner base," Dexter said. "Every trading post in the wasteland charges the exact same tariff. You will not find them a single point cheaper if you travel all the way to Ironwood Base."

Thalia weighed the cost against her safety. Without reserves, she remained vulnerable to sudden drain. With them, she could level up her ability and harvest valuable flora without delay.

She tapped her wrist to the reader. "Give me one of each."

Eight thousand points vanished in an instant. Dexter packed the two blue vials into shock-absorbing cases and slid them across the counter alongside the medical supplies.

Carrying her purchases, Thalia walked over to the front desk of the circular earthen fortress. She paid the clerk to extend her private room lease for two additional nights, ensuring a secure door to lock behind herself.

When she checked her smartwatch screen, the balance rested at 1,020 points. The windfall from the Level 4 thistle was mostly spent, but her pack was full of reliable supplies, her shelter was secured, and she had enough funds left for hot food.

Her stomach let out a sharp growl. The morning trek through the thorn forest had burned through every calorie she had stored.

She walked out into the central courtyard of Wilderness Camp 42. Late afternoon shadows stretched across the hard-packed dirt. Families from the lower city were pitching patched canvas tents near the perimeter fences, while scavengers crouched over smoky braziers, boiling scraps of wild roots. Off near the western gate, rusted transport trucks and reinforced buggies filled the parking lot.

The smell of boiled cabbage and bitter broth drifted from the communal canteen. Thalia glanced through the open doors and saw the metal vats filled with gray oat vegetable soup. A bowl cost ten points. For eight miserable years, that thin, flavorless swill had been her daily sustenance. Every point she earned had been scraped away, leaving her with barely enough to buy watery broth and discounted bus tokens.

Today, she did not turn toward the vats.

She walked past the crowd and pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the ability users' cafeteria.

The atmosphere inside was different. The air was warm, smelling of woodsmoke, roasted game, and melted fat. Mercenaries in reinforced combat suits sat around polished pine tables, drinking dark ale and cutting into thick slabs of grilled meat.

Thalia joined the short queue at the hot counter. When her turn came, she looked at the menu chalkboard and pointed directly to the daily specialty. "I want the honey-glazed mutant rabbit with seasoned pasta."

The cook scooped a generous portion of braised meat dripping with golden sauce over a mound of freshly tossed noodles. Thalia scanned her watch against the register. A debit of 350 points flashed across the glass.

She carried the heavy ceramic plate to an empty corner table near the rear wall. Sitting down on the wooden bench, she picked up a fork and cut into a tender chunk of rabbit.

The meat melted across her tongue, sweet with honey and pungent with wild pepper. The pasta was firm, soaked in rich pan drippings. A deep sense of relief settled into her chest.

For the first time in her life, the food in her mouth belonged solely to her.

Growing up, her mother Lydia had maintained iron control over her finances. Under the pretext of maternal guardianship, Lydia and her brother—an assistant clerk at the base credit office—had linked Thalia's wristband to a hidden family savings proxy. The moment Thalia checked in from a hazardous harvest, the funds vanished into Lydia's account to pay for her younger siblings' schooling, new clothes, and household comforts. Thalia had been left with scraps, forced to work half-starved so the family could live well.

Three days ago, Thalia had reached her eighteenth birthday. The first thing she did was march into the central banking office and dissolve the parental link. She made it clear to the senior auditor that any further unauthorized deductions would result in a formal grievance filed with the municipal security bureau.

She took another forkful of pasta, savoring every savory bite. She was free. Once she built up a substantial bankroll with her Harvesting Ability, she would buy a residency visa in the Upper City, leave the lower slums behind, and cut Lydia out of her life for good.

A heavy hand dropped onto her left shoulder.

Thalia stiffened, lowering her fork as she turned her head.

Two people stood beside her bench. The young man in front wore a clean, reinforced light leather vest with an expensive tactical knife strapped to his chest. His hair was trimmed neatly, and his face wore a practiced, easy smile. Beside him stood a girl in a fitted scout jacket, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin tilted upward.

It was Declan Frost and Cora Farrell, two former classmates from the academy's ability division.

Declan pulled out the wooden chair across from Thalia and sat down without asking. "I did not expect to find you out here, Thalia. Why didn't you take the evening transport back to the city?"

Thalia swallowed her food, keeping her expression flat. "I felt like staying."

"You always returned before sunset during our school field drills," Declan said. "Have you registered with an expedition crew yet?"

Thalia kept her eyes on her plate. "No."

"Then you should join our squad," Declan said, his tone smooth and coaxing. "We have an open spot for a gatherer tomorrow. It will give us a chance to see how your Harvesting Ability has progressed since graduation."

He leaned forward, radiating the gentle warmth of an older brother offering charity. Yet Thalia knew the reality behind the polished demeanor.

During their final term at school, she had agreed to accompany Declan's party on a gathering run. She had spent sixteen hours scouring rocky slopes, dodging poisonous briars, and filling two canvas sacks with useful flora. When the time came to split the proceeds, Declan had handed her two wilted bundles of high-contamination weeds. He had declared that all expedition spoils were divided strictly by offensive combat rating, and since her utility ability offered zero combat power, she was entitled only to the scraps.

She had held her tongue back then to avoid getting expelled before graduation. She was under no such constraint now.

Thalia looked directly into Declan's eyes. "No, thank you. I prefer working alone."

Declan's friendly smile tightened at the edges. His brows drew together. "Going out into the wilderness by yourself is reckless, Thalia. The outer zones are dangerous."

Cora let out a mocking chuckle, her voice high and sharp. "Declan is trying to save your skin. Several harvesting squads were torn apart by pack beasts near the marsh two days ago. Even the veteran mercenary groups refuse to spend the night outside the perimeter walls. A harvester with zero combat skills wandering the woods alone is asking to be killed."

Thalia did not reply. She calmly chewed her final piece of rabbit, wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, and pushed her empty plate forward.

She stood up, picking up her travel pack from the floor. "Thank you for the advice. I need to get some sleep. Have a good evening."

Before Declan could answer, two of his squad members approached the table carrying wooden tankards of cider. Thalia sidestepped past them and walked out the cafeteria door.

Declan stared at her empty chair, his knuckles turning white against the edge of the tabletop. The affable mask vanished, replaced by an ugly scowl.

"Stubborn little leech," Declan spat under his breath.

He turned his head toward Cora, his eyes hard and vengeful. "Send a message to every harvesting squad stationed in Camp 42. Tell them our team will not share intelligence or trade supplies with anyone who recruits Thalia. Let us see how long she survives when every door in this camp shuts in her face."