Quinton was saying something, but DeSean couldn’t hear it. DeSean was going through a mystical soul-flipping journey. He saw colors oscillating through the air from random noises. The grunting, roaring pickup engine belched grungy gray ripples all around them. Quinton’s voice poured out as yellow-green phlegm. The howling wind outside was bluish-purple.

There were ears in the ground and eyes in the sky, too. The eyes were peering through the gaps between the apocalyptic light beams. They didn’t have eyelids, but they seemed angry to DeSean. They were glaring at him like he was a stain they wanted to wipe away.

DeSean stuck half his torso out of the window and flipped off the hovering eyes with double middle fingers. Shrieking laughter sounded out from somewhere⁠—it was coming from him. Putting eleven Free Od into his Attunement had to be the best decision ever because it was making him feel giddy, weird, mindblown, a little sick, moderately sick, oh wait⁠—

DeSean vomited. Thankfully, it happened outside the car while he was still sticking out the passenger window. By the time he was done, he felt Quinton holding the back of his shirt with his free hand.

DeSean started returning to a semblance of normalcy.

The strange rippling colors coming from random noises disappeared. His sense of self settled down, but it was not entirely the same as before. There was a weighty pit in the middle of his stomach. When he glanced out the window, he could still see the eyes peering down at him and the ears in the ground.

“D? Dude? Are you here with me?”

“Putting all of your Free Od into Attunement is a trip,” DeSean replied, wiping vomit from the corner of his mouth.

“Dammit, man, we were supposed to coordinate that!” Quinton drove onto the sidewalk to avoid a smoldering pileup in the intersection. He barely managed to squeeze between a fast-food restaurant and a light pillar.

“We’re in the city now,” DeSean noted. “I think I see where you’re going to drop me off.”

“Is there anything more I should know about the Attunement attribute?” Quinton asked.

“There are eyes in the sky and ears on the ground,” DeSean explained plainly. “I also got this weird feeling in the middle of my stomach. Or is that the diaphragm? Probably the diaphragm. Also, there’s buzzy stuff in the air.”

“Buzzy stuff? Come on, Marine. Use the English language.”

“Grr,” DeSean grumbled. “It’s hard to describe. I don’t feel it with five senses. I feel it with… with something else.”

The air was buzzing, but it was not on his skin. Not physically. Yet, he could perceive something wrapped around him like a second skin. The invisible, intangible membrane made a humming sensation all over him. Inside of him, too. It hummed through him, interacting with his⁠… his— Soul? It doesn’t feel like it’s touching my organs, or that’ll be a strange squishy feeling.

“Why did you choose the magic attribute, anyway?” Quinton asked, pulling up to the gun store. “This is a survival situation. Messing with the magical stuff takes more time than amplifying Strength, Agility, or the others. Think of the learning curve.”

“It’s the end of the fucking world, and I get the chance to use magic before shit goes full-tilt kablooey.” DeSean hopped out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. They didn’t have time to be nice about things. “But now we know magic⁠—Attunement⁠—does weird shit. So, yeah, you should probably be basic and focus on the regular stuff.”

“Fine, fine! Just don’t die, D,” Quinton said through gritted teeth.

“I’m still deciding on how I want to die. Haven’t reached a conclusion yet.” DeSean gave him a feral smile. “Just make sure you get your ass back to me. We can’t stay here.”

“I’ll hit the gas station and grocery store!” Quinton sped away, tearing up the sidewalk grass before dropping off the curb. He had a bunch of obstacles in his way, man-made or something horrifically divine.

DeSean checked the time. He swore. They were going to cut it close. Like Mission Impossible close. At least he knew the area.

Sally’s Gun Store sat across the street from Jeb’s Hardware Extravaganza. They were just outside of a walled-off community where Quinton’s truck disappeared into, so nothing should be too far apart.

“There’s a gas station a block over and a grocery store with a pharmacy two blocks from that,” DeSean said, jogging toward the entrance of the gun store. He had more on his mind, but an explosive whoop and a shower of glass interrupted him.

DeSean dove away from the gun store entrance as someone used what sounded like a shotgun. The shooter clipped the brick doorframe, covering DeSean in dust and chips. The last blast plowed through the wall above his head.

DeSean started crawling away from the entrance in the low-prone. Glass and grit bloodied his scraped his knees raw. His leather jacket helped protect his arms, but not by much.

The saving grace for his legs was the ear between him and cover. It was squishy and fleshy. It proved to be an actual humanoid ear, not a malformed mouth that looked like an ear and was waiting to eat an unsuspecting person. Whoever was listening to all of this must be a fan of detailed radio broadcasts.

He felt the ears were not collaborating with the eyes for some reason.

They gave off different vibes. He had no idea why he knew that, though. Must be magic and/or Attunement shenanigans. That was the gist of it for now.

Once he got around the corner, he sat against the gun store’s wall and looked down at himself. His jeans got new rips in them.

“This place is mine! You hear me?” screamed a crazy man from inside the store. “Anyone who thinks they can run up in here isn’t getting a warning shot!”

Ah, yeah, there’s going to be a lot of crazies set loose now, DeSean thought.

Maybe they’d smelled the bullshit in the offer of salvation just like him. Or they’d missed the notification. Whatever the reason, DeSean pulled out his Glock 19 from his concealed belt and slotted the gun store shooter as a hostile.

Time was of the essence.

DeSean refused to depart the area without acquiring some serious heat. He rested against the side of the building and considered his options. The uncanny humming kept passing through him like a vibrating electric current.

DeSean’s eyes landed on the random cars left running on the street or curbs. Outside of them shone pillars of light connected with the sky.

He trotted over to a suburban, squeezed between the car’s side and the pillar of light, and got into the driver’s seat. He reversed, pulled away, shifted gears. He touched the gas pedal, pulled his foot off, put on his seatbelt, and then he FLOORED it.

A few seconds later, DeSean was squeezing out from between the airbag and the driver’s door. The door couldn’t swing all the way out while it was up against a smashed series of shelves. Crumbling mortar rained around him as he staggered around the scene of destruction.

Did I get the guy?

A thunderous blast answered him! The driver’s window burst near his head, showering him in glass fragments. Thin red lines appeared on his dark cheek.

DeSean dropped to the floor, grunting as a piece of brick pushed against his rib. The shooter blasted at him again, punching a hole through the door right above him. Those slugs struck like a knife through wet tissue. DeSean searched for the shooter from under the car’s belly and saw a pair of shuffling feet.

The Marine Veteran raised his gun while lying on his side and took a snapshot. He drilled a hole into the hostile’s foot on the first try. Still got it.

The man cursed, stumbled, and fell on his ass.

DeSean let him have it, filling the shooter’s legs, waist, and abdomen with lead. It was a horrible way to kill a man. At best, he would die in a few seconds, but it wouldn’t be instant. Gun empty, DeSean got to his feet, reloaded, and stalked around carefully.

The shooter, a paunched, older man, laid on the floor with his shotgun dropped to the ground beside him. He was paling fast, his lips trembling. His words came out hoarse. “I told that old crazy bat to get the reinforced walls. Now the thugs… the thugs got in.”

“I’ve been called worse,” DeSean said, taking the man’s weapon away. He left him to die and focused on acquiring some good heat.

You’ve obtained +1 Free Od.

The notification made him pause before he brushed it aside and concentrated on his task here. I’ll play around with my status later.

Unfortunately, the suburban stopped short of smashing through the steel cage that housed the powerful stuff. There was a massive padlock on the cage door that would laugh at any attempt of shooting it off.

DeSean checked the time on his phone⁠—which now had a cracked screen. Dammit, I just got this thing. Ha! That shouldn’t matter anymore. An end of the world situation nullified most materialistic desires. Only survival items mattered now.

But sentimental values still lingered. If DeSean was entirely concentrated on survival and nothing else, he would’ve ditched Quinton and gotten going on his own. In fact, he hadn’t really talked much with anyone until Quinton showed up. But that big blue-eyed Airman had a knack for making DeSean open up. Might be because they were both veterans, but they were some veterans DeSean didn’t care to get to know.

“Eh, the bastard made me care a smidge,” DeSean said, searching the newly made corpse for keys. He found a whole ring of them. Great, that would take time. “I need a cheat. I don’t want to be the one everyone’s waiting on.”

The humming current passing through him intensified slightly. DeSean stood in front of the padlock and placed his hand on it. He felt for a power beyond the shortcomings of fixed reality and mundane physics.

DeSean had reached for the strange before. He’d toyed with Wiccan ideologies. He’d been a part of voodoo gatherings. If it was weird and paganistic, he touched on it, even if briefly. What for? Because DeSean felt drawn by the odd, the unusual, the behind-closed-doors freaky shit.

The corners of his mouth lifted up as the air around him swirled. An invisible and intangible energy once thought impossible spun over his flesh like a skin-tight storm. He sensed it was his field of magic. His magic, the consequence of packing Od into Attunement. It was ready for him to use it, but it was impeded for some reason.

He felt blocked. It couldn’t form exactly to his wishes.

I haven’t given it my intent. The System had notified them about using their intent multiple times. That might be a key component to making magic work.

DeSean thought hard on his intent. He came away with ideas for blowing the padlock off the door or melting it into metallic soup. But none of those stuck. The ideas weren’t founded on something more profound. More intimate.

Frustrated, DeSean tried again, forcing his will on the padlock like he was exerting his soul against a heavy weight. He got nothing in return other than making the field of magic around him rotate quickly, building up without a proper release.

What a tease.

“Damn,” DeSean muttered. He checked the time. His heart nearly fell into his gut. He had twenty minutes left.

Something cold and hard, like the barrel of a gun, touched DeSean’s back. He sighed and raised his arms.

“We don’t have time for this,” DeSean said. “So, let me go ahead and say, yes, I’m here for some guns, but no, I don’t want to fight you over them.”

“But this is my grandma’s store,” said a young feminine voice. “You gotta pay, not ram your way in.”

“Mariah, Mr. Gilbert’s dead,” said a young male voice further behind him.

Mariah’s grip on the weapon shook, bumping into DeSean’s back. “Did you… did you kill Mr. Gilbert?”

Blunt truth or careful lies? DeSean thought quickly.

“I was coming here to get some guns, then he started shooting at me,” DeSean said, choosing the third option⁠—carefully spoken truth. “I fought back to defend myself. I understand this looks bad, but I don’t mean you any harm.”

“But Mr. Gilbert is a nice man!” yelled the boy.

Or was a nice man. He’s neither nice nor much of a man now. Dante kept those dark thoughts to himself.

The gun against DeSean’s back shook harder. The girl huffed faster.

She’s thinking of shooting me. She’s wrestling with it.

DeSean chucked the keys to his right. He whirled to his left. The bullet that had his name on it ripped open his jacket, slicing past his side.

Mariah was too shocked to follow through. DeSean grabbed her gun-holding wrist and yanked the arm out of the way while pulling her close. His attention snapped toward a short boy with messy black bangs and a hunting rifle.

DeSean wrapped Mariah up with her back to him, his gun pressed to her head. “Drop the rifle, kid.”

“Sis? What do I do?” the boy asked.

Mariah burst out some Spanish. DeSean cut that off with a stern “Shut the fuck up” and a mean shake of the gun against her forehead. He looked hard at the boy.

The kid trembled like a thin branch caught in storm winds. He wet the front of his pants before letting the rifle fall away from him.

DeSean stripped Mariah of her weapon and shoved her into her brother. He kicked the rifle aside while his gun remained aimed at them.

A few seconds passed, the world outside a cacophony of emergency sirens and distant cracks of gunfire. DeSean lowered his weapon.

“I’ll repeat. Mr. Gilber attacked me. I defended myself.”

“You could’ve run away,” Mariah said shakily.

“Not without some guns,” DeSean said. “So, are we going to stare at each other or load up? I need some weapons. But whatever you want is yours. We have⁠—” DeSean carefully took out his phone to check “—very little time before things get much worse.”

“Grandma’s in the light of the lord,” the boy mumbled. “Is that supposed to be bad?”

Mariah looked like she wanted to say something to reassure her little brother. Give him hope. None of them had time for hope.

“Don’t shoot me in the back.” DeSean grabbed the keys and tossed them to Mariah. “If you want to protect your brother, Mariah, we need to grab gear and go.”

A glint of strength shone in her eyes. She glanced at Mr. Gilbert and asked, “You promise you’re not going to hurt us.”

“I don’t like hurting kids when I can avoid it,” DeSean said, choosing his words carefully. Before Mariah could inquire further, a staccato of gunfire sounded somewhere nearby. The noise echoed off the walls of the small city.

Society was breaking down faster than a dystopian movie.

“Mariah, come on!” DeSean barked.

The girl hustled toward the door with a key already chosen. The padlock fell moments later. The door was thrown open. They got to raiding the place for everything they could carry. The kids knew their stuff, grabbing duffle bags from under the table. There were plenty of those, so DeSean took one.

DeSean grabbed two semi-auto rifles, two semi-shotguns, and four reliable pistols. Once he acquired the necessary ammunition, he picked out a few more unique items and pertinent gear. He acquired a tomahawk, a machete, and a few survival knives. The tomahawk came with a sheathe that he attached to his belt.

“What’s this?” the boy asked, raising a glass flask filled with a glowing white liquid. “Could it be a health potion?”

Could be booze, acid, or a mixture of everything fun under the moon, DeSean thought. The answer revealed itself through a System Notification.

Od Elixer (Basic Consumable) ⁠— A System-trusted product that provides +3 Free Od when fully consumed by one creature.

DeSean considered taking it.

Nah. DeSean turned to see Mariah watching him like a hawk. He gave her a tight smile and went back to acquiring his earthly loot.

DeSean slung his haul over one shoulder. He briefly wished he went for more Od in Strength. The boy carried his duffel bag and his sister’s for them. Clearly, he put his Od into Strength like a trooper. Meanwhile, the sister lagged behind.

“Did you use your Free Od yet?” DeSean asked her outside of the cage.

She looked at him suspiciously. As if he should be gone without a word. That only made DeSean dig into his position more.

“He placed his Od into Strength.” DeSean pointed at the boy. “Looks like it’s helping.”

“Endurance, too,” the boy squeaked.

“I don’t trust it!” Mariah yelled. “This is all screwed up. And Roberto wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Does it feel weird, Roberto?”

“It… it feels like I can carry more,” Roberto stammered. “And my asthma isn’t bothering me.”

“Whatever this is will give you an edge,” DeSean said. “Put the free Od into Agility. Give that a shot. I’d never gamed much, but I’m pretty sure it’s always good to be faster.”

Mariah gave him a flat look. He probably overstayed his welcome.

DeSean started to exit when Robert blurted out, “Is that what you chose?”

“Naw, I chose Attunement! For the magic.”

“Does it really work?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out!”

DeSean crossed the street, semi-auto rifle tucked against his shoulder, a magazine in the well, and a round chambered. Condition One. Chances were, Mr. Gilbert had been an outlier, and DeSean wouldn’t have to fire his new weapon until after the time was up.

A supersonic piece of lead struck off a light pillar DeSean was passing. Bullet fragments and white sparks flew by his face. He backed up as the thumping roar of gunfire lit up his position, blasting ineffectively against his impromptu light pillar cover.

The gunfire came to an echoing end.

DeSean waited for a few heartbeats before raising his weapon and edging around his cover. Without giving away more than a slim profile of his body, he sighted two hostiles across the street in the middle of conducting a sloppy reload. They were standing out in the open as if they were invincible.

It hadn’t been a full hour, and social order and decency were already engulfed in flames. The civilized part of DeSean could understand Mr. Gilbert standing guard at the gun store as part of his inane diligence. But complete randos shooting at a passerby⁠—him⁠—in the parking lot of Jeb’s Hardware Extravanganze was inexcusable.

It was as evil as it got.

As screaming civilians ran for safety around him, DeSean used a single bullet to drop Idiot Number One, raising a cloud of pink mist. Idiot Number Two tried to abscond. It was easy to see that the guy didn’t get much exercise. If he had Free Od, he didn’t put them into Agility.

Dumbass.

Maybe the shooter was one of those keyboard warriors who fantasized about events like these. He would’ve given DeSean a run for his money in an online flame war.

“Real war is a motherfucker, ain’t it?” DeSean said, braining Idiot Number Two without much trouble.

You’ve obtained +2 Free Od.

Before DeSean surveyed the area for more threats, a gun barrel pressed against his back. “Is that you, Mariah?”

“Yeah, it’s me with more Agility, Endurance, and Focus,” she grunted. DeSean heard shuffling footsteps and heavy gear knocking together farther back. That was probably her brother catching up.

I should really rethink giving advice to kids who might want to kill me.

“You took our shit without paying,” Mariah said like it was an afterthought that just came to her when he left.

“It’s the end of the world, and we probably have ten more minutes before things get worse. It’s a little rushed to ask for normal compensation.”

“I don’t care. I need protection for my brother and me.”

DeSean thought about what she was honestly asking for.

“You trust the guy who killed Mr. Gilbert?”

“I trust a guy who knows how to… who knows how to kill,” Mariah hissed. “And won’t hurt kids for no reason.”

DeSean sighed. His phone rang. He sighed again, reached into his pocket, and answered it without worrying over Mariah. “It’s D.”

“I got my mom,” Quinton replied. “We switched to my dad’s truck. It’s a big monster with plenty of space. Managed to grab some stuff from the grocery store, but it’s a negative on the extra fuel. There was a whole war over it and⁠—”

A fireball erupted a few blocks away. It mushroomed up into a dark sky filled with eyes and pillars of light. It spread an orange and dark cloud, becoming the backdrop of disorder and destruction.

DeSean snorted, finding this incredulous but not shocking. Dark thoughts rampaged around his cage of a skull.

This is God.

This is humanity.

In less than an hour, the lie of civilization and grace falls away. We reveal what we are behind the curtain. We revel the display like naked heathens. A bunch of savages returned to their roots. The end of times is the truth of what we hide behind bars of self-delusion.

The world is a zoo.

We’re both the keepers and the beasts.

DeSean felt a peal of howling laughter expanding up from his gut. He clenched his jaw, biting down on his own craziness.

Cricking his neck, he fixed a straight-to-business scowl on his face.

“Jesus Christ, D! That was the freaking gas station!” Quinton yelled into the phone.

“Who is that? What was that?” Mariah was beside DeSean now, her gun aimed at the distant fireball as if it would come after them.

“What are we going to do?” Roberto whined.

“Quinton, what’s your ETA from the hardware store?” DeSean asked.

Without having to answer, a full-size pickup truck with a black steel grill, thick wheels, and lifted suspensions rumbled into the parking lot. The gray, black, and red monster screeched to a stop next to them.

A sweaty and out-of-breath Quinton looked down through the window. “Looks like you’ve been in the thick of things.”

“Well, y’know how it is,” DeSean said, ignoring all his cuts and scrapes.

Just as blue-eyed and blond as her son, Quinton’s mom leaned over to look at them. “Hello, DeSean. Quinton told me all about you. I’m Allison, by the way, and…” she trailed off, looking over at the teen girl and preteen boy. “Where are your parents, children?”

“Our grandma is in the light,” Roberto said, leaving it at that. “And I need new pants.”

“Get in. Get in now,” Allison urged.

DeSean checked the time. They had seven minutes. He glanced at the hardware store and imagined all the helpful stuff in there.

Roberto chucked his duffel bags into the back of the monster pickup. He ran over and grabbed DeSean’s bag without DeSean having to ask.

Good kid. That became the deciding factor. Without thinking hard, DeSean decided to take Mariah up on her request. The bad people who didn’t take the offer of salvation⁠—the hostile crazies⁠⁠—they were going to show up more frequently. Just because DeSean was weird⁠—and edgy⁠—he wasn’t out to hurt good people.

DeSean could appreciate having good around him.

He clambered onto the truck’s bed.

“You sure you want to be back there?” Quinton yelled. “It’s going to get wild!”

“Don’t crash. Don’t flip. You can handle that?”

“I can. I put a major amount of Od into Focus! It’s like taking a small dose of Adderall, but permanent!” Quinton floored it. The truck skipped forward. DeSean fell over with a grunt. The heavy duffel bags slid around him, smashing into him repeatedly.

After he caught his breath and strung a few cusses together, DeSean leaned against the cab. One hand clutched the frame, the other held his rifle. The truck roared as Quinton drove them away from the highest concentration of pillars. He took them toward the outskirts of town and beyond.

The back window panel slid open. Mariah stuck her face out. “Do you know what’s going to happen when the light pillars fall?”

“I bet my soul it’s not going to be good,” DeSean said.

Mariah pressed her lips into a thin line before saying, “I was thinking the same, without having to bet my soul. But Roberto thinks our grandma will become an angel.”

DeSean checked the time, nearly losing his balance, when Quinton swerved sharply around a series of obstacles, the wind roaring all around them. “We have three minutes before we find out.”

As Mariah watched him, DeSean thought about SOP going forward. They were a small arms caravan, essentially.

“Windows down, guns up, put your back to your brother’s,” DeSean told her. “Keep the barrels inside and prepare to shoot. What ammunition are you using for your rifles?”

“All 5.56 NATO.”

“Same.” He dug into his duffel bag and passed her extra magazines through the window. He also gave her ear protection for everyone involved⁠. Before Mariah pulled away, DeSean grabbed her hand and held her still. “I will do bad things in a fight if I have to, okay? That’s part of the package when dealing with me.”

“Will that protect my brother?” she asked.

“To the best of my ability.”

She looked at him sharply, studying him, seeing into him. In return, DeSean could see a lot of maturity behind Mariah’s eyes. She had experience beyond her years. Funny how you could cut through the bullshit and get a quick read on others when under dire duress.

“Bueno,” she said.

“Kill,” he affirmed, using a response from the Marine Corps’ cult-like culture.

Mariah didn’t seem to mind it. Her concentration was elsewhere. DeSean didn’t blame her. The world was falling further into hell. The light pillars started to crack apart.