Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 128: – Wandering Minds

Chapter 128: – Wandering Minds

The marketplace stretched endlessly in all directions.

Kai long vanished into the swarm, his parting words still echoing in her head. But the system didn’t give her time to think about them. The moment he left, the threads surged again—like the space had taken a breath while he was speaking and now exhaled everything all at once.

Voices slammed through the network, some vocal, some thought-encoded, most garbled in compressed transaction strings.

Every conversation overlapped.

Every deal bled into the next.

And beneath it all was that low, thrumming tension—like something dangerous coiled just beneath the surface.

Ava shifted her stance and moved forward. The structure of the place was fluid, responsive to motion but never quite stable. Every step landed on a new platform—hexagonal tiles of glowing data underfoot. The stalls shifted too, folding and unfolding like they were running on randomized algorithms.

She passed a bartering pit filled with digital avatars arguing over a half-corrupted map of a flooded mutant zone. Just past them, a pale green kiosk floated midair, operated by a faceless construct offering bio-fused arm implants in exchange for "energy core."

The further she walked, the stranger it got.

One threadspace vendor was auctioning off old-world passwords—actual decrypted corporate archives from before Day Zero. Another group sat in a shadowed circle, silently transmitting psychic-signal contracts to each other like telepaths playing poker.

The rules here were obvious: speak fast, don’t hesitate, and trust no one.

Ava didn’t speak.

She kept her system’s presence minimal—no data pings, no upload requests. Her body moved, but her mind stayed sharp, wary, watching.

Still... she couldn’t help but be intrigued.

For all the mess, for all the noise and filth, the place worked. Trades were closing. Bounties were being claimed. Knowledge passed through the cracks like illicit gold dust.

It was dangerous.

And brilliant.

And utterly lawless.

She walked past a booth labeled in glitch-font //ASK//TRADE//TEACH, where a trio of system-holders were yelling over each other:

"—a working vault! It still has fuel cells—""—verified tracking sig on a dormant Seraph-class mutant!—""—who the hell bid on my lungs?!"

Ava kept moving.

One terminal flickered with the names of known mutation carriers.

Her name was there.

Briefly.

Before it was replaced by a bounty request for someone else.

She stopped walking.

Brows furrowed, heart beating slower now.

Ava’s gaze locked onto a glowing column that pulsed with a faint blue hue—cleaner than most of the market clutter, semi-organized by job tags and encryption level. It hovered a few feet away, a tall, flickering board of live listings under the label:

//ACTIVE THREAD CONTRACTS – BOUNTY & SERVICE NODE[Ranking: Tier 2-3 Only]

She stepped closer, eyes scanning. Dozens—no, hundreds—of jobs flickered past in real time, each tagged by risk rating, payout type, and region.

The board reorganized as her presence was detected, shifting to highlight compatible matches:

[Bounty: Salvage Operation – Sector 11A]"Looking for map fragments. Verified payout on delivery. Partial intel available."Reward: 1200 Credits / Tier 2 Component Credit

[Info Trace Request: Ex-military, name redacted]"Surveillance job. Tag, no engagement. Quiet system tracking only."Reward: 3000 Credits + data storage mod

[Item Trade: Ancient Tech Core – Bio-linked]"Owner missing. Deliver to Thread Anchor in Grid Y9. No questions asked."Reward: Variable / Reputation Boost – Tier 3

She didn’t know what hit her first—the adrenaline, or the opportunity.

The jobs weren’t garbage.

They were real.

And just within her reach.

Ava’s fingers hovered over the flickering job nodes, eyes darting across payout tags and system requirements. Every instinct told her to move fast—grab what she could, lock in value before the system booted her out.

The salvage run? Low risk, medium reward.

The blueprint dismantle? Practically made for her.

The surveillance gig? Easy credits if she didn’t get noticed.

She tapped the first one—

System lagged.

Then—

[EJECTION INITIATED]

[Connection Terminated – Inherited Access Expired]

[All Pending Contracts: VOIDED]

The board blinked out of existence mid-selection. Data dissolved like ash, lines of light shattering in the air around her before she could finalize a single pull.

"What the—" she started—

And then she fell.

Not physically. Not through space.

But down, fast and jarring, as the threadspace collapsed beneath her feet like a trapdoor had opened.

Reality slammed back around her with a snap.

She sucked in a breath like someone had punched her straight in the chest.

She was back in the room.

Back in the manor.

Back on the bed.

Lucas’s chest rose and fell beneath her, still warm, still unconscious.

Her hands were clenched in the sheets, her body wired like she’d just run a sprint.

She blinked hard, trying to clear the after-image of the job board from her vision.

Gone.

No confirmation. No trace. No credits.

But...

Her breath slowed.

Her thoughts started to realign.

And with that clarity came one quiet, biting realization:

It was a good thing she hadn’t locked in.

That threadspace was chaos layered over desperation. Half the jobs were probably dead leads. A few might’ve been traps. At least one looked like it had her name on it—buried in trade code.

Taking anything from that zone while tethered to Lucas—unsecured, still synced—would’ve been like signing a blood contract with her eyes closed.

She exhaled, leaning back from him, dragging a hand through her hair.

"Saved by the system," she muttered, then glanced down at Lucas’s face.

Still out.

Still not waking up.

But still tied to a world that could eat people alive with paperwork.

Ava sat upright and slid off the bed.

She needed water.

And distance.

Ava slid off the bed carefully, bracing her palm against the edge of the mattress. Her legs were steady, barely, and her brain still buzzed from the crash out of threadspace—but there was food waiting. Water. Real things.

She crossed the room in slow, even steps. Every muscle ached, like she’d come back from orbit and gravity hadn’t quite forgiven her yet.

The tray William left still sat untouched on the small table—steam now fading from under the covered plate.

She sat down and lifted the lid.

Warm rice. Braised roots. A strip of dried protein, soaked back to tenderness. Hydration tabs next to a glass of filtered water.

Not luxury. Not ration scrap either.

Somewhere in between.

She picked up the fork and took a bite.

Slow. Mechanical.

Her body recognized it before her mind caught up.

Real food. Real fuel.

She chewed. Swallowed. Took another.

And then—

A tug.

Not painful.

Just... there.

Ava looked down.

Lucas’s fingers were still tangled in the fabric of her shirt.

She hadn’t noticed. Even after she left the bed—his hand was stretched out across the sheets, gripping the edge of her hem like his unconscious body refused to believe she wasn’t there.

It wasn’t tight.

Just firm enough to anchor.

She stared at it for a moment.

Then at him.

Still unconscious.

Still flushed with heat from the core, brow damp, jaw slack with exhaustion. One leg was kicked slightly off the blanket, like he’d shifted in search of something that wasn’t there.

Ava didn’t speak.

She just reached for the glass of water and took a long sip, then bit into the protein strip with quiet precision.

His fingers moved slightly.

Tightened.

Like even asleep, part of him was keeping score.

She didn’t pull his hand off. Didn’t tuck it away.

She just leaned back in the chair, plate on her lap, and let him hold on.

She just leaned back in the chair, plate on her lap, and let him hold on.

For a while, it worked.

She ate slowly, methodically—like someone reclaiming control one bite at a time. The food was nothing special, but it grounded her. Heat. Salt. Texture. Calories.

Lucas’s hand stayed where it was—at first.

Then it started moving.

A twitch here. A lazy curl of fingers there.

By the time she was halfway through the roots, he’d managed to bunch the fabric of her shirt up past her waistband.

She swatted at his hand. "You’re unconscious. Stay that way."

He didn’t.

At least not fully.

The next tug was firmer. Less accidental.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don’t even think about it."

A muffled sound came from the bed—nothing coherent, just a half-groan as his hand slid further along the hem of her shirt and snagged at her belt loop.

Ava stabbed a piece of protein with unnecessary force.

"I swear to every broken AI in this house, if you pants me in your sleep I will rewire your nervous system personally."

Another groan. This time with a smirk.

A smirk.

She looked up sharply.

Lucas’s eyes weren’t open.

But the corners of his mouth were tilted—just barely—and his grip tugged again, this time with real weight.

"Lucas," she warned.

He didn’t reply.

But he did yank.

Hard.

Ava yelped, the fork clattering to the plate as she lurched forward—her chair scraped violently against the floor, the food nearly toppling. She tried to brace, but his grip was already pulling her down.

"Seriously?"

Her balance went sideways.

She caught the edge of the bed with one hand, the other still holding the plate like it was sacred.

Then Lucas’s arm wrapped around her waist in a full, unconscious drag.

And suddenly she was back in bed—half-straddling his hip, chest pressed to his side, plate now wedged awkwardly between them.

"Are you kidding me?"

He exhaled against her neck. Deep. Content.

Still asleep.

Still smug.

Ava growled under her breath, trapped between a warm body, a firm arm, and a bent piece of root vegetable poking her in the ribs.

"I hope this system integration gives you heartburn."

No response.

Only the quiet, steady pull of someone who had clearly decided—even unconscious—that she belonged exactly where he’d left her.

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