CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A New Regime

Jace stood before the battered and weary settlement, his body aching from the brutal ordeal he had just endured. The people looked at him, searching for hope, expecting him to rally them to fight back. But Jace knew the truth—there was no fight left to win. Not now.

"We can't fight them," Jace said, his voice firm but filled with exhaustion. "Not like this. The Stalkers have outgunned us, outmatched us at every turn. We've lost too much already. Our only option now is to survive. We work, we provide what they want, and we live."

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the crowd. Kunle stepped forward, shaking his head. "Jace, you can't be serious. After everything they've done? After what they did to Wallace, to Kunle—"

"And what choice do we have?" Jace cut him off, his eyes dark with the weight of reality. "Kunle, look around. We are broken. The people here, our families, they won't survive an all-out war against Magnus and his men. We have to be smart. We have to bide our time. If we give them what they want, we live to see another day. We live to find a way out of this."

Jane clenched her fists, the fresh wound on her face a painful reminder of Magnus's cruelty. "And how do you know they won't just kill us all anyway? How do you know they won't keep taking and taking until there's nothing left?"

Jace looked at her, his jaw tightening. "Because they need us alive. They need food and supplies. We are their workforce now. If we refuse, they'll slaughter us. If we fight back now, they'll wipe us out. This is the only way to keep our people alive."

Miss Okafor, holding her daughters close, wiped a tear from her face. "We do what we must for our children. We've come too far to die now."

Magnus and his men watched from a distance, their weapons at the ready. He smirked, pleased with Jace's decision. "Now that's the spirit," he said, clapping his hands together. "You provide for us, and in return, we let you keep your miserable lives. But don't mistake this for mercy. One act of defiance, and I will personally burn this place to the ground."

Jace turned back to the settlement. "We endure. We survive. And one day, we take back what's ours. But for now… we do what we must."

With no other choice, the settlers resigned themselves to their fate, knowing that their true battle had only just begun.

Weeks Later...

The air in the settlement was thick with the scent of soil and sweat as men and women toiled under the harsh sun. The once-thriving New Order community had become a labor camp for the Stalkers. Fields of maize, yams, and cassava stretched across the farmland as settlers bent their backs to the work. Nearby, the livestock pens bustled with activity as cows, goats, and chickens were prepared for the monthly supply run to the prison.

Jace stood atop an overturned crate, addressing the weary settlers.

"We do this to survive," he said, his voice firm but tired. "We don't have the firepower to take them on. Right now, our only chance is to play along until we find a way out."

Kunle, wiping sweat from his brow, approached him. "Jace, we're losing more than just food. They're breaking us. Every month, they take more, and we get weaker."

Jace sighed, scanning the crowd. "I know. But if we resist now, they'll slaughter us. We need to be smart. We need time."

The crowd murmured, frustration bubbling under the surface. Nearby, Jane was securing sacks of grains onto a wooden cart. She glanced at Jace, her expression unreadable.

"Time for what?" a voice called from the crowd. It was Miss Okafor, holding her daughters close. "Every time we send them our food, we dig our graves. My girls are starving."

Jace nodded, stepping down. "I swear to you, I will find a way to end this. But right now, we live."

---

The journey to the prison was always tense. A convoy of wagons and horseback riders moved cautiously along the road, their cargo filled with harvested produce and livestock. Jace rode at the front, his machete strapped to his back. The Stalkers' outpost loomed in the distance—once a prison, now a fortress of oppression.

As they approached, armed guards emerged from the watchtowers. One of them, a towering brute named Kordo, grinned as he stepped forward.

"Right on time," he sneered, scanning the wagons. "I hope you brought extra this time. Our men are eating well."

Jane clenched her fists. "And what about us? Our people are starving."

Kordo laughed. "Not my problem." He turned to his men. "Unload everything. If they try anything, shoot 'em."

As the settlers handed over their hard-earned supplies, a chilling scream echoed from within the prison walls. Jace's grip on his machete tightened. He exchanged a glance with Jane and Kunle. They had to endure this—for now.

As the last crate was handed over, Kordo leaned in close to Jace. "Magnus has his eye on you. He says you fight well. Maybe next time, he'll make you fight for sport."

Jace's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to nod.

With their load emptied, the settlers turned their wagons around. The ride back to the settlement is silent, but Jace's mind races. This wasn't survival. This was a slow death. And he knew they couldn't keep this up forever.

A plan had to be made.