Atlas stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with urgency. “You may questioning why we’re waging war on America United. The answer to that, is another question. Nobody including me and the other Portal Crushers volunteered to be here in this wasteland fighting dungeon spawns. You were all sucked into portals and brought here against your will. You are all probably thinking how you’re going to get home to safety, to the people you love.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the crowd. “I have an answer to that.”

  Murmurs rippled through the gathered people—citizens, allies, tourists alike. They all knew what was coming next, or so they thought.

  “You’ve all heard about the 100 tokens from the Red Fairy.”

  The crowd’s murmuring intensified. ‘Yes, yes, we have,‘ their thoughts echoed collectively, buzzing in anticipation.

  Atlas allowed the noise to simmer for a moment before continuing, his tone growing bolder. “What we’ve found out is that there’s also… another chance.”

  He could feel the tension, the rising expectation. He was about to drop a bombshell, and while part of him knew he wasn’t entirely sure about the validity of this information, well, promises were part of the game. Just like any politician.

  “There is another way.” His voice rang out stronger now. “I know you’re worried about those 100 tokens. You’re probably thinking, ‘Sure, even if we get the 100 tokens, there’s no way us regular citizens will get one to go home.’”

  He paused again, scanning the crowd. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  The silence enveloped the square, every eye on him, waiting for the reveal.

  “This new information,” he leaned in slightly, “is that if one empire unites the entire wasteland, everyone can go home.”

  There was a collective gasp. He could feel the shock ripple through the people as the realization hit.

  “Yes, everyone. Not just 100 people,” he pressed on, the energy in his voice growing. “And that’s why we’re fighting America United. That’s why we’re selling these war bonds. So, when you’re buying a bond, you’re not buying it for war. You’re buying it for a promise.”

  Atlas’s voice swelled with conviction now. “A promise that we will succeed, we will conquer the wasteland, and we will take everyone home.”

  ‘‘‘

  A woman in the front turned to her friend, beaming. “I can’t fight, but I’m all in for this. I’ve got a family on Earth to think about, and those war bonds would help me get home!”

  Her friend nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! We’ll be helping out without putting ourselves in harm's way!”

  Backstage, Atlas chuckled, watching the crowd’s reaction. ‘This is exactly what we needed,‘ he thought. He had the public’s attention, their money would follow soon enough.

  Olivia kept the energy high, encouraging more chants and cheers. “Together, Fort Bone, we’re building something greater than any one of us alone. We’re investing in our future. Are you with me?”

  “YES!” the crowd roared back, excitement thick in the air.

  Near the back, a young merchant adjusted his coat, already calculating how much he could invest. “This bond deal is a win-win. I’m definitely buying in. It’s the easiest profit I’ll ever make.”

  His partner, a seasoned vendor, nodded in agreement. “You and I both. It’s the safest way to support the war. I don’t need to be on the front lines if my coins can fight for me.”

  As the band continued to play, more people rushed to the war bond kiosks set up around the square. Lines formed quickly, everyone eager to get in on the action.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “We’re doing it,” a young couple whispered excitedly to each other, clutching their coins. “We’ll have a nice cushion when this is all over.”

  At that moment, Atlas stepped out from behind the stage, lifting his hand to quiet the crowd. The music softened as the citizens turned their attention to him.

  “People of Fort Bone,” Atlas began, his voice strong, “you’ve shown your spirit today. You’ve shown that you’re ready to stand with us, with your empire, with your future. This isn’t just about war—this is about getting you HOME. And you’re all a part of that.”

  The crowd cheered again, energized by his words.

  “So, let’s make this victory ours. Let’s prove that we’re not just warriors—we’re people of Earth. We are the future!”

  The citizens erupted in applause, their excitement at fever pitch. They weren’t fighters, but they were ready to contribute in their own way. Fort Bone had found its voice—and its war bond anthem—to fuel the war effort.

  ‘‘‘

  Atlas leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table, "Our armies are out there, but we’re still blind to too much. We need eyes on the ground, reliable information. What if we set up a dedicated information-gathering unit?"

  The Celestial Emperor nodded, his fingers steepled in thought. "A unit of trained scouts, spies even. We could send flares to communicate across distances and hold daily meetings between our officers for updates."

  "Exactly," Atlas agreed, leaning forward. "We both know how important information is. With a network in place, we can track enemy movements, find weak points in America United's defenses, and get a read on the wasteland’s shifting alliances. Our armies can march stronger and smarter."

  The Celestial Emperor’s eyes narrowed as he thought about it. "What about a new group of Pathfinders? We could have them embedded in key locations, watching enemy movements, and sending reports back to us regularly."

  Atlas grinned. "Pathfinder spies, I like it. They’d need to be fast, discreet, and above all, trustworthy. Each of our empires would provide its own batch of operatives. We’ll share the intel with each other in real time."

  "Agreed," the Emperor said. "They’ll need to be trained in different terrains—the wasteland is unpredictable. Some will have to be masters of disguise, others experts at survival."

  "Yeah," Atlas added, "we should pick the best from our existing forces. I’m thinking some of our elite scouts could take on the role. We’d arm them lightly to keep them mobile and give them flare guns for signaling back to us."

  The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "Flares could give away their position, but if used strategically, they could be a quick lifeline. We’ll need code systems so we know what each signal means—enemy spotted, clear passage, reinforcements needed."

  Atlas nodded, jotting down notes. "We can introduce different colored flares. Red for danger, green for clear, blue for intel. They’ll light up the sky, letting us know what’s going on even from a distance. Then at the end of each day, the officers will meet and exchange the full reports."

  The Celestial Emperor leaned back, a faint smile on his lips. "This collaboration is working well, Atlas. Our spies will strengthen our efforts tenfold. We'll know what America United is planning before they even realize we’re watching."

  Atlas chuckled, "Exactly. With daily intel and the Pathfinders in place, our forces won’t be stumbling through the wasteland. We'll turn this war into a chess game, and every move we make will checkmate them."

  "Now to get this unit up and running," the Emperor added, his voice firm. "We’ll call for volunteers among the elite. Once we find the right ones, we’ll put them through a quick but rigorous training, make sure they’re ready for the wasteland’s worst."

  "Agreed," Atlas said. "I'll start with the Portal Crushers. We’ve got some who live for stealth missions."

  "And I’ll choose from my Shadow Riders," the Celestial Emperor replied, his tone proud. "They’ve been operating under the radar for months. With them working together, the wasteland won’t know what hit it."

  With that, they shook hands, sealing the agreement. The foundation for their alliance had just grown stronger, not by force but with intelligence.

  ***

  In the Army of Fort Bone, two veterans stood talking, both hardened from battling the soldiers of America United.

  “What do you think about this?” one asked, glancing at his friend.

  “Being a Pathfinder?” his friend replied, eyebrows raised. “That sounds a lot harder than just being in the regular Army.”

  “Yeah, but think about the glory,” the first guy shot back, his eyes lighting up.

  “Glory?” His friend snorted. “You can’t eat glory.”

  “Maybe not,” he grinned, “but we get extra pay as Pathfinders. That pay can go a long way toward living a great life in the Empire.”

  His friend looked skeptical. “Do you really think we can take over all of the Wasteland and become heroes back on Earth?”

  “I think we can,” he said, standing a little straighter. “Look at our Army. There’s nothing like it in the Wasteland. And we both know how critical elite scout units could be.”

  His friend nodded slowly, considering. “Yeah. Do you think we can make it?”

  “I think we’ve got a shot. We’ve got the experience, and it’s not like we’re afraid of trouble.”

  “That’s true,” his friend agreed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  They exchanged a determined look, the decision made. They were going to try out for the Pathfinders. Whether they made it or not, well, that would come down to their skills. But this was their shot at glory, fame, and the chance to be heroes.

  ‘‘‘