It was the second day since I’d entered the [Sleepywood]. I still retained a connection to the clones outside. First who was the furthest clone from me, was still with Nicholas, Jonathan, and the group from the library. Clones Second through Fifth were right outside of the Dungeon, observing the survivors.

My multi-individualism allowed me an unparalleled perspective. The survivors were splintering and clear camps were being formed, groups of people with different interests.

I supposed it made sense, considering the sheer number of them. More people could fit into a skyscraper than one would think. A large coherent group would be ideal but… people had conflicting interests. Confident in the powers they had, despite everything that had happened.

I didn’t need to read minds to see the trauma. Nearly everyone that had been under the effects of the [Rootmother Hivemind] had scars along their spinal column, extending up towards their head and down towards the lower back. Scars that weren’t just physical. In the chaos, some were taking advantage of this weakness.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” A wary old man croaked.

Second, Fourth, and Fifth glanced around a decently large tent. Thick branches formed the support, a layer of leaves served as makeshift walls. Flimsy, but one of the few structures against the elements.

“I heard you could make simple clothes.” Rumor had it this man, Ralph, was a [Craftsman]. Or something in that vein. “Do you have anything to cover the head?”

“That I can.” He replied, crossing his arms.

His gaze flicked to Fourth and Fifth, their faces covered by the hoodies every clone came with. It was a half-hearted measure but no one had bothered to look too closely, let alone the small number of times the clones were ever in the same place.

Revealing my face was something I had every clone avoid whenever possible.

“Not for free. I need—”

Fourth hefted a waterfowl on a shoddy wooden table, laying it across its belly. Food was a commodity now, most survivors not knowing how to hunt or scavenge. The bird was enough to feed a handful for the day.

Ralph glanced at the animal for only a moment. “That’ll do.” Then he reached below the table and retrieved three cloaks, amongst a crate of other garments. The clones took the clothes, feeling their weight.

Ralph eyed us, me, as I inspected the garments. Three pairs of hands turning over the cloth, tracing the stitching and material. Mundane items, as opposed to ones recognized by the ‘system’. They were good.

“Got some kind of hunter Class? Or Skill?” He asked curiously.

Strange group. I heard him think. They’re not with those recruiters, are they?

“Something like that.” One of me responded, whirling the cloak over the neck and securing it. The others did the same. “There’s talk amongst the camps of leaving. Know anything about that?”

“Sure.” Ralph snorted. “Fool’s errand, in my opinion. There’s a group going around recruiting anyone over level 5, or with a noteworthy Class. They plan to leave when the safest place is right here. If you ask me, we should be fortifying what damn little we have!” He raised his voice, smacking the table. “This isn’t a damn game, no matter how it might convince you.”

Memories flashed through my head, making me grimace. “I couldn’t agree more,” I replied, leaving the tent.

Previously, each clone had taken toward a mass of survivors, spread out amongst them, watching. Waiting for… something. For someone to take charge, or a defined group to appear. And they had, if only in small numbers. The same people around a campfire, a pair of strangers, etc.

I’d asked Ralph for context but the truth was I was already aware of two major parties. Representing two primary choices. To stay or to go. The latter poaching off potential ‘talent’ or able bodies, seeking unique Classes or useful Skills. They were typically leaving older folks, lower-leveled people, and non-combat Classes alone, which in turn formed those more willing to stay.

There probably wasn’t anyone among the survivors with a working knowledge of Classes like I had. There was, however, enough talk, introspection, and speculation to fuel everyone’s thoughts. Thoughts that rose to the surface and understandably monopolized someone’s mind enough that I could skim them at my relative leisure. It was the nature of anyone to question their reality and find understanding. Of course, people had their own ideas and opinions regarding the nature of Classes.

I formed my own after considering them all.

A Class, generally, had something to do with a person’s background. Not everyone had one and I noted people with a Class were actually in the minority. I’d caught wind of maybe… eight people who had one, including Rose and Jack. Across all my clones listening. Though there were probably a bit more considering the nature of my census. But it was still among hundreds of survivors.

Having a Class gave someone a focus for their Skill acquisition and abilities. They represent an increased intuition, prowess, competency, and ease regarding a particular field.

Everyone else had some sort of general Skill. One that normally corresponded to some character trait or aspect of their person, though not as encompassing enough to merit a Class. The Skill itself reflected that. Usually, it was something minor, relative to a Class Skill. I’d heard, and in some cases seen, the likes of [Inner Strength], [Acute Sense], [Deft Hands], [Hard Body], and more.

I had my own thoughts regarding the matter. Those general Skills seemed less focused than anything I had. Since those people were without a Class I wondered what might happen to such Skills if they managed to get one. And if such Skills were attainable outside the focus of my own Class.

I knew it was possible for the same reason I could read minds. [Telepathy]. The fact I had obtained a Skill as a reward meant Skills were attainable outside of leveling. I doubted such a thing would be easy, but the fact remained.

With Ralph’s cloaks, I could keep my face shrouded better than the hoodies alone. It didn’t exactly lend itself to trustworthiness but that wasn’t my goal. I was a faceless watcher, observing events as they happened in the camp.

Small details about Skills, Classes, and the strange system brought on by the apocalypse cropped up with a sample size so large. Every clone of mine was a sponge, absorbing information.

Inside the [Sleepywood], they served as extra hands and extra eyes. Hunting while I tested my new limits. There was innate synchronicity across all my clones, a single frequency of consciousness, rhythm, and thought.

I could lift a finger and every clone would do the same. At the exact same time. I could close my eyes and walk across the ground with confidence if another of mine was watching. I knew myself as only another set of eyes could know.

My coordination was exceptional.

Sixth leaned backward, hair rustling with the scythed limb passing overhead. He, along with Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth, kept their distance from the main, non-clone group. Close enough to aid but far enough to pass unnoticed.

I stood on the sidelines, eyes flicking across the gloaming scythe’s body, watching its movements as all my other selves did. Four perspectives, one all-knowing combatant. I watched its stance shift and I understood the mechanics of its body, the motion of its muscles and joints. I could process the movement, see the application of force.

And Sixth stepped to the left, a combination of intense precision, foresight, and [Solo’s Instinct] all working together such that a lethal strike missed by bare inches. It was exhilarating. A rush like no other, cheating death by mere inches. I was both dancer and choreographer, leading my opponent’s every move. I stepped into the thing’s range, closing the distance.

My arm braced against its neck and two other me’s were suddenly there, pinning its arms at the shoulders. The third clone grabbed its head, snapping it at the neck. I stood over the corpse—

And yawned, hands in my pockets. Nearby, the rest of the group had fallen into a rhythm. Parker with the vanguard served as first contact. My increased PER did more than affect my clones. Now that I knew what to look for, I’d spotted at least four ambushes already, eyes always on the trees. Rose stayed back and there hadn’t yet been a moment my intervention was needed, my role was strictly to watch our rear.

Rose had a particularly interesting Class. [Mage]. It was information that hadn’t been volunteered. Rather, she’d been thinking of it quite loudly when there was time to think, as everyone did. It gave me something to think about regarding the sheer scope of Classes in general.

Magic. I’d already confirmed the possibility just by encountering the [Twilight Wand], an Item a clone of mine still had not managed to make any breakthroughs with. Yet, it teased the mind with thoughts of what someone could do, if they survived.

Parker stepped over another defeated creature. A glow beast, going by the dungeon notices. It seemed that people directly participating in the creature’s downfall were most likely to level, lending credence to some type of contributional reward system. As for actual material rewards, these single creature encounters were only rewarding us with minor Items.

I was beginning to think Parker had some analog of the [Hard Body] Skill. He was bearing the brunt of these creatures’ attacks with surprising ease.

Parker walked over to a tree, pulling something from the branches. “[Glow Pendant].” He said. “Provides light in a radius, wards off dark-typed creatures.” He shrugged, looking around.

That first [Uncommon Chest], apparently, had been something of a stroke of luck. From what I gathered, chests were more likely to contain higher quality Items and had a chance to contain multiple. It was more common to gain single Items, and non-effectual ones at that. Nothing so immediately useful or powerful.

I paused with such immediacy for those nearby to notice. A hunch across all my senses. A sudden creeping intuition. [Solo’s Instinct] was hissing at me, hushed whispers with all the intensity of a scream. My eyes shot across the entire group, looking for the threat, trying to understand what was wrong.

There’d always been that feeling that it was all too easy. That killing these creatures and gaining rewards was too effortless. If there was anything I learned, it was that levels and valuables had to be paid for in danger.

The [Sleepywood] woke up.