“Hey John, you ok?”

I open my eyes, Sam looking down at me with their worried look once again. I sigh and get up without responding. Grabbing my weapon, I give a quick glance at our surroundings. Little has changed. Still much a shithole as before.

“John?”

Why couldn’t they worry about someone else? I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. Not like everyone else on this team.

“Any more of them show up?”

There’s a moment of silence. An open invitation to share. A shoulder to lean on. Seconds of a safe space to open up and be vulnerable for once.

I don’t take the opportunity. I never have and never will. Once they get that through their thick skull, it’ll be for the better.

For the both of us.

They leave it alone. For now. Again.

“Not yet. Carl thinks we'll be safe for a couple of hours. Maybe even a full day for once. We hit them hard last time.”

I snort. Yeah, we did, didn’t we? Give your ranged fighter enchanted ammunition and you’ll score more kills faster. Faster than these fuckers can recover from at least.

Not that it makes a difference. Took weeks to gather enough resources for that. And for what? One day of respite? Don’t make me laugh.

We’ll be back in this hell faster than we’d like. We always are.

Speaking of hell...

“They’re back.”

Sam doesn’t even question me. They just grab their own armaments and get ready for a fight.

Before you two set off, since it's your shift, you let slip a rare joke.

“Bet you I kill more than you.”

You can almost hear the smile in their voice.

“Loser gets cleaning duty.”

You’d smile yourself if you didn’t feel so dead inside.

Regardless, I jump into the fray and start our continuous slaughter.

You are getting really tired of being knocked out.

It’s really an inconvenience for you to always being knocked out so easily. Sure, you know your negative levels are working as a buffer since they still count as levels. And being an Undead on top of a God’s favor. All in all, you should be fine.

But you still. Keep. Going. Unconscious.

And now you’re in this fucking cage! That stupid gnome with his stupid magic and stupid experiments. Picking and prodding, stabbing and slicing, burning and freezing! Should have hurt him more! Should have broken him. Cut him up. See how he likes it when someone’s reaching around your insides!

You start to thrash around in your cage. The returning rage and indignation at the whole of your experiences finally boiling over. It’s pointless, obviously. Even with your considerable strength, you barely even scratch the surface of your metal imprisonment. Which just makes your madder.

This goes on for a while. It isn’t until you see your Master come in that you finally calm down. How long she had been standing there you can’t quite say.

You try really hard to act as if she hadn’t just seen you act like a wild animal.

Salutations Master. I do hope my inactivity caused no trouble. Leaving you undefended would be a horrible habit to make.

She just stares at you. Likely your fancy words failed then. Not much of a leg to stand on when you’re speaking from a puppy-sized cage now that you think about it.

She walks forward. Keeping her distance. Odd, you’d say. Is the cage perhaps warded in some way? Looking around at the ground, you’re looking for magical patterns. You failed to find any so that rules out a wared.

If her life isn’t in danger, why would she hesitate to approach you?

“Sir Skelliton.”

Your nonexistent eyes focus on the Master. Ready and willing to obey any orders she hands out.

“I think we need to have a talk.”

...

Well. This can’t be good.