I sat behind a makeshift desk, clutching a stack of freshly cut parchment—my precious drawing paper. I felt like the CEO of a shell company setting up a booth in a desperate labor market.
“Next!” I shouted without looking up. Brad stood behind me, acting as a bouncer. His granite-like muscles and fierce expression were more effective at vetting applicants than any rejection letter I’d ever written.
A Tanuki-kin, thin as a skeleton, stepped forward trembling. He clutched a piece of moldy wood like a holy relic. “I can... I can carve,” the creature whispered, revealing two yellowed teeth in a fawning smile. “My Lord, I can carve a statue of you, absolutely lifelike...”
“We are going to fight five thousand werewolves, not attend a Sotheby's art auction.” I drew a sharp X on the roster. “Go to Group C, move rubble. If you can carve stones into javelins, I'll promote you. Next!”
The square was packed with over three hundred refugees. For a mouthful of life-saving gruel, they had to prove their utility. But in my Structural X-Ray vision, most of them were just glowing red icons labeled UNSKILLED LABOR.
“Laborers, laborers, and more laborers...” I rubbed my temples. “Did the vocational education system in this world collapse? I need someone who can calculate a basic sine wave. Even a plumber who can fix a pressurized pipe would do.”
Suddenly, a sharp metal clanging erupted from the back of the crowd, accompanied by a stream of extremely high-decibel cursing. “Trash! All trash! You dare call this high-carbon steel? It’s a glorified garden trowel! Is this for loosening soil for pigs?! Even burning this junk in my furnace would produce too much smoke!”
I looked up. At the weapon surrender point, a group of tall Cat-kin guards stood helplessly around a figure only waist-high. It was a female Goblin.
She was barely 1.1 meters tall, her skin a grey-green like oxidized copper. She wore a grease-stained apron with more pockets than fabric, and a pair of massive brass wind goggles covered half her face. This violent auntie was jumping up in a rage, using a massive adjustable wrench to viciously bang on a guard's shield.
“The curvature of this shield is wrong! The stress points are dispersed! And these rivets—did you bite them on with your teeth? Loose as an old lady's dentures! You idiots going to the battlefield are just delivering canned meat to the wolves!”
“Stop!” My eyes lit up. I walked over.
“You say this is trash?” I picked up the shovel she despised. “Indeed. No cold forging treatment. Air bubbles in the casting. It’s just a slightly harder piece of scrap iron.”
Sarak adjusted her goggles, revealing shrewd, bloodshot eyes. “Hmph. You know forging, too? Long-legs.” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “I see your wall is built like a mess, too. The chamfer error on that bastion is at least two degrees. Makes me want to vomit.”
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I didn't get angry. I smiled—the smile of a senior engineer finding a kindred spirit in a desert. I pulled out my stainless steel vernier caliper from my cargo pants—a tool I cherished from Earth. “The two-degree error is because I lack precision measuring tools. I’m working with my eyeballs.”
I handed her the caliper. “Know how to use this? Accuracy: 0.02 millimeters.”
Sarak took the tool. Her small, oil-stained hands slid over the stainless steel body, feeling the silky smooth damping and the laser-etched precision scale. Her grumpy expression froze. Her hands trembled, like an old drunk touching a bottle of vintage wine. “This... this material... this flatness...” She pulled down her goggles to examine it, even sticking out her tongue to lick the cold metal. “Stainless steel? And it's... heavens, this is perfect industrial standard! Is this an artifact of the gods?”
“This is my standard.” I patted her sturdy shoulder. “Sarak, if you join, I lend you this caliper. You’re in charge of all metalwork. ”
Sarak looked up, eyes fanatical. “I want to build a cupola furnace that can melt rocks! And I want to train these stupid bears into real fitters!” She turned and pointed at Bjorn, who was towering over her. “Hey! Big guy! Don't stand there drooling! Go find me coal! If you can't find it, use your head to smash the mountain! Go!”
Bjorn paused, looking at this creature barely reaching his knee, and nodded instinctively under the sheer weight of her authority. “Oh... okay. I go now.”
I made a heavy mark on the roster. “Sarak, you are now the Chief Engineer of the Heavy Engineering Team. Bjorn and his brothers are your workforce.”
The queue suddenly exploded into chaos ten minutes later. “Don't come over!” “Help! That's acid!” The crowd parted like the Red Sea, clearing a massive empty space.
In the center stood an old Fox-kin, dirty and clad in a robe riddled with chemical burn holes. His fur was scorched yellow, and he wore a primitive gas mask. He clutched a glass jar wrapped in rags, inside which bubbled a disturbing green liquid.
“Don't be nervous...” the fox laughed neurotically, his voice muffled. “This is just a little ‘Happy Water’. It’s my lifeblood...”
“That is concentrated sulfuric acid,” I said, standing three meters away. “And it’s extremely unstable. If you trip, everyone within five meters turns into smoking sludge.”
“Hey, old man. Is that Green Corrosion Fluid?” I used my most coaxing tone.
Kaelas’s cloudy eyes lit up. “Hehe... you can tell? I purified this from a ruined lab! 90% purity! Just one drop burns through bone...”
"I had no idea if 90% was good or bad for this stuff."I stared at the chemical burns on his robe. “I’ll build you an isolated laboratory downwind, surrounded by reinforced concrete blast walls. As long as you follow my safety protocols and don't blow us to pieces, I’ll fund your wildest explosive theories.”
A dangerous, manic light flickered in his Fox-kin eyes. The safety protocols went right over his head, but the promise of destruction hooked him completely.
“Viscous... yes, a fluid that clings!” He scratched his chin with a stained, trembling claw. “Give me the raw materials! Give me pure sulfur! Find me the thick black oil that seeps from the dead swamps, and animal fat to bind it! I’ll brew you a liquid hellfire that even dirt and water cannot kill!”
Bingo.
“Lyn!” I shouted. The Fox-kin girl popped up. “This madman is yours. Form the Special Resource Unit. Get him whatever materials he needs. And for the love of God, stay away from him.”
6:00 PM. Recruitment ended. I collapsed into my chair, looking at the Skyreach HR Structure Chart.
Commander: Alex (The corporate slave). Adjutant: Zayla (The Blade). Foreman: Brad (The Shield). Heavy Engineering: Sarak + Bjorn (The Brute Force). Chem Ops: Kaelas + Lyn (The Suicide Squad).
“This lineup is concerning,” Brad muttered, leaning over. “An OCD foreman and a bomb maniac.”
“I’ll use psychos as long as they work.” I stood up, looking North. “Next is the food problem.”
Sarak's Character Design
We got Napalm. We got precision tools. Now we need lunch.
Question of the Day: Which new recruit is your favorite?
(Click to choose your teammate)
?? A) Sarak (The Goblin Engineer).
Result: Chaos Incarnate. She believes "Safety Regulations" are just suggestions for boring people. Her motto: "If it doesn't explode, add more gears." Explosion Risk: 99%.
?? B) Kaelas (The Acid Grandpa).
Result: The Mad Scientist. He smells like sulfur and anxiety. He just promised to turn rocks into high-grade fuel in 3 days. He is either a genius or walking fireworks.
?? C) Bjorn (Just happy to be here).
Result: The Best Boy. He doesn't understand thermodynamics, but he can lift the entire engine by himself. 10/10 would hug (if he doesn't accidentally crush your spine).
Follow and Rate for the upcoming heist!