CHAPTER 36: MASKS OFF

  The parking lot of the "Rusty Piston" bar was usually clogged with dirty haulers and cheap scavenger hovers. But today, amidst the rust, shone a "Silver Bullet."

  It was the **"Astral-9"**—Nexus's elite gravity limousine. Its perfectly polished, elongated hull hovered silently in the air, refusing to touch the grime of the Neutral Zone. A luxury only the city's wealthiest tycoons could afford.

  When the old, battered buggy of "Vanguard" screeched to a halt next to it, the contrast was striking.

  Vance and Marcus exchanged glances.

  "We need new transport," Vance stated, eyeing their dented ride. "But something powerful and combat-ready, not just grace and beauty."

  "Agreed. But not today," Marcus replied, checking his internal chronometer.

  The sniper reached for his stealth cloak, but his hand froze mid-air. He looked down at his own black, shimmering chassis, and then at Vance's imposing white grandeur.

  "You know what?" Marcus said, his voice carrying a note of defiance. "To hell with the cloaks. No more hiding. We have nothing to be ashamed of."

  Vance rumbled approvingly, his golden eyes flaring.

  "We tell it like it is. Let them assess us. Nexus has no idea who is walking through that door."

  ### THE PRESENCE EFFECT

  They left their heavy weaponry in the trunk (Neutral Zone protocols were strict) and headed for the entrance.

  The moment they stepped into the light, the ambient noise in the vicinity died.

  The gaze of every sensor, optic, and camera of the gathered robots was drawn to their bodies with magnetic force. They looked like aliens from another dimension. Perfect forms, the internal glow of high-grade Cores, materials unseen in this sector. Their movement was fluid, powerful, devoid of the mechanical jerkiness common to local models.

  The guard robot at the entrance, a hulking brute usually tasked with scanning everyone for contraband, simply stepped aside as he saw them approach. He didn't even dare to initiate the greeting protocol, pretending to inspect a crack in the wall instead.

  Inside the bar, the effect was identical. The raucous chatter and clinking of metal ceased. They walked through the crowd like an icebreaker through a frozen sea, collecting stares of envy and fear.

  "Where is the VIP room?" Marcus asked the bartender.

  The droid didn't have the processing power to respond vocally; he just pointed a trembling manipulator towards the reinforced door at the back.

  ### THE MEETING

  When the door slid open, Nexus, who was sitting with his back to the entrance, jumped up abruptly.

  "Who are you?!" he shouted, his personal shield generator humming to life. "This is a private reservation! We have an important meeting! Leave immediately unless you want trouble with the Trade Guild!"

  He was bluffing, trying to save face in front of his guest, but his optics were feverishly scanning the intruders.

  "Are you from the Capital?!" Nexus's voice cracked into a falsetto. "What do you want here? I haven't violated any protocols..."

  Marcus and Vance looked at each other and laughed. It was a deep, resonant sound, like tectonic plates shifting, causing the glasses on the table to vibrate.

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  "Don't you recognize us, old friend?" Vance boomed, stepping into the light.

  Nexus slumped back into his chair as if his hydraulics had failed. He was in even greater shock than before.

  "Thunder? Silence?" he whispered, his vocal processor glitching. "That... that is impossible."

  Next to Nexus sat the Guest—the Guild representative.

  He was trying to process the situation. This was a robot of non-standard assembly: no bulky armor plates, only elegant, curved segments of dark violet alloy.

  In one hand, he lazily rolled a metallic sphere, while three other spheres of different colors orbited slowly behind his back, defying gravity.

  **[TARGET ANALYSIS: VEGA]**

  **[LEVEL: 1??]**

  **[CLASS: TECHNO-ARCANIST]**

  Vega shifted his narrow, glowing eyes from Nexus to the guests.

  "Nexus, are these our clients?" his voice was calm, yet undeniably authoritative. "Then let us begin. Why have we gathered here?"

  He turned to the duo.

  "Who are you, and why do you wish to join our guild?"

  Vance and Marcus sat at the table, the reinforced chairs creaking under their weight.

  "Our path has led us to engage in almost everything your guild does: reconnaissance, crafting, combat," Marcus began, his tone professional. "But we have only recently stood on our own feet. We realized we are but small cogs in a massive machine. We need the patronage of a serious guild to reach the next level."

  "Do we have a chance to join?" Vance asked directly, leaning forward. "And who are you? Do you have the authority to turn our plans into reality?"

  The representative smiled with the corners of his mouth.

  "I am Vega. Deputy Guild Master of 'Free Spectrum' in this region. And yes, I possess such authority."

  He paused, tossing the sphere slightly higher.

  "But this is a non-standard case. Usually, the Guild chooses candidates, candidates do not choose the Guild. Although... with you, it seems fate has intervened."

  Vega leaned in.

  "If you want to join, the first requirement is an entry fee. 50,000 credits per person."

  Vance tensed, his servos whirring faintly, but he remained silent.

  "Regarding the territory you wish to purchase," Vega continued. "Part of the land in the Dead Zone was formerly a military facility. It is... complicated."

  "We are ready to pay," Marcus said flatly.

  "It is not just about money," Vega interrupted, his spheres spinning faster. "We vet newcomers like you thoroughly. What are you capable of? What are you willing to do for the Guild?"

  He ran a laser pointer over Vance's armor.

  "I see you are serious. Your skeletons... they resemble the chassis of level 130-140 elites. It is impossible to find such tech in 'Iron Port'. The minimum place to find this is the Capital."

  Vega paused, signaling he recognized their potential but wouldn't ask dangerous questions about their origins.

  "The only thing that pushed me to this meeting is Nexus's reputation and..." he looked them over again, "your appearance. That is a weighty argument."

  Vega stood up.

  "If you are ready to join, we must go to the Guild Master immediately. Right now. But without Nexus."

  He looked at them inquiringly.

  "Are there any other group members who wish to join?"

  "There are," Vance recalled. "Our Doc, the engineer. And he has two mini-robot assistants."

  "Excellent," Vega nodded. "My transport will arrive shortly. I invite you aboard; we will pick up your teammate on the way and head straight to the Citadel."

  ### THE BLACK OBELISK

  They exited the bar. Nexus remained inside, still rebooting his worldview.

  Next to Nexus's "Silver Bullet," Vega's ship descended silently from the smog-choked sky. It was a massive vessel, black as the void—the **"Black Obelisk."** No windows, just the solid geometry of darkness.

  It was a different tier of power entirely.

  They loaded onto the ship, picking up a stunned Spark from the base along the way. The engineer was vibrating with excitement, his four arms twitching as he scanned the interior of the guild ship.

  ### TERMS OF "SPECTRUM"

  In the induction hall, they were met by **Guild Master Orion**. He resembled Vega but was larger, more imposing, and seven spheres orbited him like a personal solar system.

  Marcus didn't even risk a scan, knowing it would be interpreted as an act of aggression.

  They underwent the official ceremony. Guild drones implanted a **Guild Chip** into each of them.

  This granted access to the encrypted network, communication with other members, and the exclusive contract board.

  "Now to business," Vega said once the ceremony concluded. "You handed over all your funds (75,000), but this does not cover the full fees and the land cost."

  He projected a map of their bunker.

  "Guild 'Spectrum' acted proactively. This morning, we officially purchased this territory to prevent competitors from snatching it. Legally—it is already ours. No one can touch it."

  "But?" Marcus asked, sensing the catch.

  "But for it to become **yours**, you must earn it," Orion answered, his voice booming without sound, resonating directly in their audials. "You have three conditions:

  1. **Clear the Debt:** Pay the remaining sum.

  2. **Raise Status:** You must rise from 'Recruit' rank to 'Agent' rank.

  3. **Blood Debt:** You must successfully complete **3 Special Guild Assignments**."

  "This is the price for our protection and your land," Vega added. "If you stand under our banner, you are obligated to follow orders. There are only two paths: remain loyal or become Renegades. Renegades are destroyed or sent to the Gray Zone for scrap. Do you agree?"

  Vance, Marcus, and Spark exchanged looks. The risks were high. But there was no turning back.

  "We are certain," Vance said firmly. "We accept the terms."

  ### THE RETURN

  Vega personally flew them back to the bunker.

  "Rest," he said as they disembarked. "The first assignment arrives tomorrow. Show us what your 'Capital' skeletons are worth."

  The transport vanished into the sky like smoke.

  "Well then," Spark rubbed the new chip interface on the back of his neck. "Now we work for the big boys."

  "We work for ourselves," Marcus corrected him, watching the horizon. "We just finally have the opportunity to grow without hiding in the shadows."