Several loud bangs come from behind.

Francis is screaming his lungs off, much like he was when we made our escape from the convention center all those (two) days ago. Only now, I find myself doing the same.

“Aaaaaaaahhhh!” I scream.

For her strength and constitution, Delta does not scream. Her expression is as solid as ever. However, I will admit that she is gritting her teeth and grimacing as if she has been shot with an arrow, holding onto the bags of money more tightly than a mother beaver would her children.

“Get back here!” one of the men chasing us shouts.

“Who are these people?” I ask.

“The Persian mob,” Delta says. “The Royal Tiger gang who run an opium empire across the West Coast. They must have found out we were stealing their identity to sponsor you in the fight, and... Well, we’re about to die is all I’m saying.”

“What are these bullet things they keep shooting at us?”

Francis is still screaming too loudly to even hear my question. Delta has to answer once again, saying, “Guns and bullets are like bows and arrows except they are much smaller and can kill you instantly. Luckily it looks like they’ve got that famous Persian Aiming skill going on with how accurate they are.”

“The Persian race is famous for its gun accuracy?”

“Famous for being extremely bad at it,” she says. “C’mon, we’re almost out.”

As soon as Delta says this, I feel a pain in my right arm.

A very, VERY sharp pain.

And then I hear the loud banging sound.

And then—

[-2450 LP.]

We make it outside and Delta slams the door shut behind us. “That’ll buy us fifteen seconds. We just have to make it somewhere super public and they’ll stop following us. Probably.”

“We run towards the street lamps for good lighting, right?” I suggest.

“Holy shit!” Francis yells. “Eryk, you got shot in the arm!”

“Huh?” I look at my left arm. There is a hole in my forearm. It is currently bleeding.

Oh.

Suddenly, I feel the pain rush into my brain and all over my body, and I can’t help but yell out. I got shot in the arm!

Ow, ow, ow, ow...

[-20 LP.]

[-20 LP.]

[-20 LP.]

I’m starting to bleed profusely. Significantly. And my HUD is refusing to give me even a moment to reflect on that fact without constantly popping up notifications that I am losing Life Points.

I’m down to almost 6,000 LP...

Delta throws off her dress shirt, leaving only an undershirt behind, and wraps it around my arm. She makes a tight knot and says, “Buck up. Let’s run.”

The dress shirt goes from white to red in seconds, but the bleeding has slowed. I’m only losing about -5 LP per second now, instead of tens and tens of it.

The door behind us rattles like it’s about to open. It’s made of solid metal, but it clearly won’t stay shut for long. So the three of us take off running towards the nearest source of light as fast as we can.

“I can’t believe Eryk got shot,” Francis says. “I knew fight clubs were dangerous, but what were we thinking?”

“We’re idiots,” Delta says. “Morons with no brains.”

“I don’t know about any of that,” I say. “I gained a significant number of Destiny Points, after all. Today has been very fruitful.”

“It won’t be fruitful if you die of blood loss,” Delta says.

“You’re a very mean person, Delta,” I say. “I appreciate that about you.”

“Thank you.”

We reach a well-lit street away from the warehouse. I can hear gunshots in the distance, as if the Persian mob members are simply shooting as their natural mode of existence. Perhaps the ease of firing a gun makes them a lot less valuable to use than a bow and arrow. I would know that bows are a precious weapon that... Wait! I have a bow and arrow now. I could use that.

I stop running. I poof the bow and arrow into my hands. Well, my right hand, at least. My left arm is in too much pain to move right now.

Francis and Delta stop, and in unison, shout, “What are you doing, Eryk?”

“I’m going to stop them once and for all,” I say. “I’m going to kill these mobsters.”

“Horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad idea,” says Delta.

“Please don’t,” says Francis.

“Too late.”

With only one arm operable, I set up my famous one-handed bow shoot manuever. It is the kind of move that is nearly unprecedented for those who are not absolute experts, and just seeing it shocks the spirits out of my two companions.

I fire three arrows in rapid succession, and each one of them flies through the night. I cannot see, only hear my targets.

And then I hear the screams reverberating from the distance. All three were direct strikes.

I nod. “That’s how you get it done,” I say to myself.

Ding!

[+1 DP.]

[55 DP.]

“Too bad there’s like fifteen more of them and they’re going to catch up with us in five seconds,” Delta says. “Wish you had thought of that.”

“Oh. Perhaps it would have been best for me to have thought of that instead of attacking.”

Well, no time now. I guess I have to fight all of them at once.

“Bring it on!” I shout.

They shout back in Farsi and I can’t understand any of it.