There was silence in the room as Carey inspected every square inch of it. His heart thrummed. He kept imagining an explosion ripping off his face and blasting his eardrums to pieces. When Will sneezed at one point, Carey leaped high enough to bang his head on the ceiling. He rubbed at the sore spot.

“My bad,” Will whispered as he rubbed his nose.

“Not even a real tickle,” Carey grumbled.

Thanks to his lack of skill, it took a while of searching, but finally Carey spotted the trap. It had been built into the pedestal and began to glow once revealed.

“Just one of those, huh?” Carey said, feeling overwhelming relief. He was familiar with this variety of trap. “Easy peasy.”

“Wait, stop,” Beatrice shouted at him.

Carey froze in place, one foot still raised as if a landmine had suddenly been detected just beneath his heel.

“Did you check the floor?”

Damn. She was right.

“Good catch, Bea,” Will said.

Getting down on all fours, Carey crept around like a panther hunting a mouse, slowly closing in around the pedestal.

“Not seeing anything,” he said.

Then, literally fifteen seconds later: “Oh, damn. That was close.”

The second trap was beneath the rug. Carey saw it as a semi-transparent, bluish box set a few inches into the floor. His basic knowledge of magical traps came into play. He figured the rug had been magically linked to the box, which contained a Luminether crystal that served to power the contraption.

Stepping on the rug would have electrocuted him, probably for anywhere between 30 and 50 Health Points. As for the trap built into the pedestal, it was no more than a simple weight trigger that could be bypassed by placing an object of similar weight where the sword had been. The only problem was, Carey had no idea what the sword weighed because it was unidentified.

“Will, I need you to identify that sword.”

“Right now?”

“No, afternoon teatime. Yes, now.”

Carey explained what he knew about both traps. Nodding, Will pulled out his last remaining Scroll of Identification and sent the misty blue energy of its spell wafting over the sword.

“Before I trip over my own feet,” Carey said, “let’s take care of this rug.”

He slid his fingers under it, startling Beatrice.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Only the surface is electrified. Watch.”

With a flourish, he made a rag appear from his inventory. Then he lightly brushed it against the rug’s surface. The room filled with a crackling sound as bright-blue sparks danced on the carpet. He returned the rag to his inventory, slid his entire hand beneath the rug, and lifted.

The trap was set in a hole in the floor, its container about half the size of a shoebox. Gaping open at the top, it revealed a brightly lit Luminether crystal. Carey plucked it out and tossed it at Will.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Will winked at him.

Carey folded the rug carefully against the base of the pedestal. One trap disarmed. Beatrice clapped happily, even bouncing a little on her toes.

He gained 50 XP for disarming the first trap.

“Now for the hard part,” Carey said, studying the sword.

Item: Valhera’s Sizzling Short Sword (Enchanted)

Type: Steel Weapon, One-Handed

Attack DMG: 8/sec

Speed: Medium

Weight: 1.2

Value: 13S, 400C

Traits: Does additional 2 lightning damage per second.

“So… Anyone have an item that weighs exactly 1.2 pounds?”

“Can it be two items together?” Will asked, reviewing his inventory screen.

Carey shook his head, feeling like an authority on the matter. “No good. There’s too high a chance they won’t land at the same time. Should be one solid object—unless maybe we tied two things together.”

“Still sounds risky,” Beatrice said.

“Ooh, wait.” Will made something materialize in his hand. Hard to identify at first, it was glassy, pale green in color, and about the size of a softball. “This might work.”

“What is it?” Carey asked, taking a cautious step toward it. “Looks like...”

“A huge cocoon, right?” Will stared proudly at it as he turned the oblong and slightly ridged object in his hand. “It’s a petrified Wrisslebait cocoon. Little guy never made it out, so he died in there. You see, when Wrisslebait larvae die, they release an oil that soaks into the shell and makes it hard as glass. They’re extremely fragile and valuable. I’ve been thinking about selling it, but every time I try, something stops me. Don’t know what it is.” He shrugged. “Guess I’m attached to the little guy.”

Carey approached it slowly, as if it might explode. Once close enough, with his nose all but touching, he noticed a dark spot formed by something inside the cocoon.

“That’s his little head,” Will said. “Pressed up against the wall.”

“It weighs exactly 1.2 pounds?” Carey asked, reaching for it.

Will pulled the cocoon back slightly, as if to keep it away from Carey’s greedy fingers.

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly 1.2.”

Carey snatched the cocoon from Will’s hand, a hurt look rippling across the Sorcerer’s face. He wasn’t going to cry, was he?

“You didn’t have to...to snatch it like that,” Will said softly.

Carey wanted to grab him by the robe and shake him. “Dude, we’re trying to stay alive here. Plus, none of this stuff is real. You’re getting attached to code. Literally, it’s all just code.”

Beatrice clucked her tongue at Carey. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

Carey was already replacing the sword with the cocoon. All it took was a quick swipe. The trap remained dormant. If it had gone off, they would have known instantly. The entire pedestal would have blown up with the force of a grenade.

EXPERIENCE GAINED: 50 points (100/6,625 to next level)

“Enjoy your cool sword,” Will said, his expression a mixture of sadness and quietly contained rage.

Is he that sore over a stupid dead insect?

-15 Karma

“Damn it,” Carey said. “Will, wait…”

Turning his back on them, Will plucked his staff from where it leaned against the wall and sulked out of the room.

***

Carey brandished his new sword.

He almost asked Ara who Valhera was but decided against it. This wasn’t story time. The blade shined like polished chrome rims on a rapper’s new Bentley.

“Do you even care that you just hurt Will’s feelings?” Beatrice asked. “Did that even register in your brain as what the rest of us call ‘empathy’.”

“Do you always use such big words?” Carey waved the blade around, grinning at it. “Or are you just trying to impress me?”

Beatrice sighed curtly. “Hopeless,” she said, exiting the storage room. Carey hesitated for a moment before finally following her out.

Will sat against the darkened wall of the corridor. Beatrice lowered the torch and bent down like a teacher trying to reach a child sulking against the wall of a schoolyard.

“You okay?” she asked.

Carey tried to hide his new sword behind his leg. “Sorry, man. About the cocoon thing. I was just trying to get it over with.”

“I get it,” Will said, pushing himself up. “I’m just ready to go back home. I miss my… people.”

Carey sensed he had been about to say “mom,” then thought better of it.

Beatrice placed a hand on his shoulder. “Right now, we’re your people. Got that?”

“Yeah, Will...” Carey awkwardly placed his hand on Will’s other shoulder. “You’re by far the coolest Sorcerer I’ve ever met.”

This got a tiny smile from Will, though he mostly avoided Carey’s eyes.

“Let’s find that treasure,” Will said.

Finally, something they could agree on.

It was already 6:30 in the evening, and Carey could feel the dungeon crawl wearing him down. He yearned to be in a tavern, a frosty pint of beer in one hand and a fork in the other, ready to destroy a steak cooked bloody rare next to a pile of salted mashed potatoes.

The next two hours were more tedious than fun. Some of it was spent slogging through parts of the dungeon that were dark, wet, and on the verge of collapse. Spurts of action and combat followed where time seemed to fly. His favorite tactic was using his Stone of Binding to distract an enemy, then quietly taking said enemy down before moving on to the next.

Together, the party racked up an impressive list of kills and quite the bundle of loot and experience (1,920 points total for Carey). They managed to take out two more Torg females just as ugly and tough as the first; four young male fighters whom Carey was able to stalk and execute one-by-one; three adult male fighters, who took time and effort to beat; and two high-level shamans, who had to be taken out strategically and provided the most tension of any of the battles thus far.

The XP from the shamans wasn’t terrible at 980 points, but it was slightly better than the other groups had been. They earned another 1,050 after a battle with two young male spiders and an Elder that Will managed to send sailing into a dark pit after blasting it with a wind spell.

“You know what I think?” Carey asked while the others looted the young spiders’ corpses.

“I’m riveted by your words,” Beatrice added, unnecessarily.

Carey turned to them, a curious half-smile bending one corner of his mouth. “I’m thinking it’s time to grind.”

***

It was midnight by the time they called it quits.

“I need to sleep,” Beatrice said, her body bent beneath her wings as if they suddenly weighed a hundred pounds each. “That was intense.”

“That experience haul, though,” Will said, scrolling through his notification display with a flip of his fingers. “We must have crushed 15… 16,000 points…”

“12,900 or thereabouts,” Carey said. “I’ve been keeping track.”

The loot was humdrum stuff, mainly crafting materials and ingredients, some silver coins, a few hundred copper. But what could you really expect from spiders?

However, there was one item that excited him—and not just because it had the coolest name ever.

Item: Simple Cloth Bracers of Murder

Type: Light Armor, Cloth

DMG Resist: 4 (+1)

Weight: 4

Value: 2S, 950C

Traits: A successful backstab causes 10 percent more damage.

Carey had managed to surpass Levels 5 and 6, though it was clearly taking longer to attain each one. He needed about 13,000 XP to hit Level 7, which seemed like it would take forever. Better to leave that for tomorrow. He was exhausted.

But what a day! At Level 5, an incredible thing happened. Carey’s two highest-rated attributes, AGL and PER, kicked into the calculation of the base level for several skills. That meant more than a dozen skills suddenly shot through the roof!

“My God, it’s the best feeling in the world,” he said, swooning as he dismissed the notification screen explaining what had just happened.

For the first time in his life, he knew how to cook. He checked his character sheet and saw why.

Cooking was based on his PER, which was 37. Thanks to the formula, his new rating in cooking was half of 37 plus 20 percent, which meant his cooking skill was now 22.

There were many others that received a boost, like stealth, bestial pounce (which allowed him to disrupt enemy spells by pouncing on them), survival, hunting, light armor, and even parkour!

“Guys, I need a moment to digest this,” Carey said.

“Take your time,” Will replied, his pleasant expression that of a person steeped in nostalgia. Clearly, he was reminiscing about his first time hitting Level 5. Who could forget?

Carey had taken a seat on the ground. He reviewed every last skill raised by the Level 5 attribute boost. Mentally, he imagined living each skill—using it, enjoying it—and found himself discovering new worlds of knowledge in fields he’d never thought he could access.

There were hunting and archery, which gave him the skills and knowledge to track animals through the forest, identifying their footprints and droppings, and eventually their blood spatter, assuming his arrow managed to strike them in a critical spot.

There was even dancing—he pictured himself zipping across a dance floor, pulling Beatrice by the hand, twirling her around, each step the correct one for whatever music was being played.

Crafting was a fun one. He knew all sorts of recipes now. Checking his crafting screen, he saw dozens of basic recipes had been added to his roster.

He was not a master in any of these skills—far from it—but he nevertheless felt like a superhero, capable of a million different things that would save his life and make this game a hell of a lot more fun to play.

Plus, he got himself a new mastery, thanks to his light armor rating, which had risen to 38 after the Level 5 boost.

Congratulations, adventurer! You have now mastered “Deft Defender” by advancing your light armor skill to 35. (Next level at 70.)

An animation played, showing a lean fighter bedecked in a complete suit of leather armor. He puffed out his chest as arrows bounced off his breastplate. The mastery granted a 25 percent boost to Light Armor defensive stats, slashed the weight of the armor in half, and reduced Stamina loss while running by 15 percent when wearing a full set of matching Light Armor.

“It’s like they tried to make this game as addictive as possible,” Carey said.

Will nodded and offered his own theory. “They want us progressing and acquiring skills as much as possible. That’s the meat and potatoes right there.”

“Exactly,” Beatrice said. “Like we explained in Irados. The experiment revolves around our brains being shaped, enhanced, and developed by the simulation. The more skills—and, consequently, observable effects on our neural plasticity—that we can sustain before we die, the more valuable we end up being as test subjects.”

Her ominous words—“before we die”—plunged everyone into a dreadful silence. Carey became upbeat again when he saw the rest of the mental toys he’d been given to play with.

Attaining Level 5 had granted him a Halva to select. He went with the one he should have gotten right from the start.

Intuit Awareness: Visualize an external cone of awareness showing how far your enemies can see. As they become aware of you, a pulsing sound will grow in your ears to alert you.

“Holy crapola,” Carey said. “How did I miss that the first time around? Do you guys have this?”

“Mine is ‘Intuit Fitness,’” Beatrice said. “I can sense an enemy’s status buffs and natural weaknesses.”

“Mine is similar,” Will said, “but it’s more about magical shields and stuff like that.”

“Hot damn!”

Carey was addicted. He wanted more, more, more. Still not finished leveling, he raised his Agility by 2 points (the extra point had come from the 2x racial modifier). He boosted backstabbing—the base skill of which had risen to 29 thanks to his attributes being factored in—using his 9 skill points, which became 16 after the racial and class modifiers. Now at a respectable 61 points, he was starting to feel like a seasoned Rogue.

His Level 5 rating of 51 Agility meant his base lockpicking skill was now 29. Almost at the first mastery—sweet!

At Level 6, he added another 2 points in Agility. This brought the lockpicking base amount up 2 points to 31 and backstabbing’s total up to 63. With his previous Level 2 addition of 8 points to lockpicking, that meant he now had 39—enough to snag the skill’s mastery.

Congratulations, adventurer! You have now mastered “Demigod’s Dexterity” by advancing your lockpicking skill to 35. (Next level at 70.)

The mastery granted him an extra chance to click the drivers in place if he accidentally clicked wrong the first time, without resetting everything upon failure. Pretty great leg-up, he had to admit. He was also 20 percent quieter now while lockpicking.

A thought hit him—crazy he’d only just realized it!

“Wait a sec.”

Will was half-smiling in anticipation. Beatrice watched Carey through narrowed eyes, apparently suspicious of whatever weirdness might pop out of his mouth next.

“If my skills are all suddenly higher...” He checked his character sheet. “Then I’m only a few points away from getting masteries in a whole bunch.”

“Better get to it,” Beatrice said.

Grinning widely, Carey scanned his list of skills, ordering it by attribute so he could see the AGL-based ones first. He was on the cusp of attaining masteries in dodge, stealth, fishing, throwing, one-handed weapons, precision, parkour, leatherworking, levathon riding, and dancing.

“What do I choose?” Carey said, wringing his hands together like a villain wondering how exactly he should take over the world.

“How about we look at it as a party?” Beatrice suggested.

Will nudged her. “That’s what I was gonna say.”

“You know what they say about great minds,” Beatrice said, patting his shoulder, “… they’re all female,” to which Carey and Will groaned.

“You guys can help me out,” Carey said, “as long as I get to pick the first two. After all, I should have enough for four or five masteries with all these points and modifiers.”

Carey tried to focus despite his excitement. He only had 9 points from his Level 6 boost, but the modifiers would make those points work extra hard—assuming he picked the most effective skills for his race and class.

He added 2 points to dodge, which increased it by four.

Congratulations, adventurer! You have now mastered “Tail Ballet” by advancing your dodge skill to 35. (Next level at 70.)

They all watched the animation in silence. It showed a Feral Rogue on a ship at sea, expertly dodging blows from four enemies dressed like pirates wielding curved swords—except the Rogue didn’t just use his legs to move around. His tail helped by allowing him to bounce off it like a spring, sending him flipping over his enemies to backstab them from behind. The tail was even useful in swiping their arms to deflect attacks.

Now it was Will and Beatrice’s turn to pick his masteries.

Will went first. “Dancing.”

“Dude!”

“Relax. I’m just playin’ witchu.” He tapped a finger against his chin as he thought about it. “Precision could be a really good one for you, just in general.”

“But there’s no 20 percent class bonus,” Carey said, “so it’ll be more expensive. Let me see what it is first.” He read the description.

Precision: Land consecutive blows more effectively, with a substantial increase in chance to stagger.

“The mastery looks pretty cool,” Will said. “What do you think?”

“Let’s do it.”

Carey spent 3 of his skill points.

Congratulations, adventurer! You have now mastered “Whirlwind” by advancing your precision skill to 35. (Next level at 70.)

The skill granted Carey the ability to spin himself like a tornado and strike an enemy with each go-around. The only downside was that he couldn’t block or evade during the attack or for three seconds afterward, so it had to be timed exactly right, like when an enemy was close to death, staggered, or under a spell.

Carey and Will high-fived. “Sweet!” they said in unison.

Beatrice went next. “Stealth seems like a no-brainer, since that’s literally your job. But I like throwing. I could craft some seriously potent potions for you to throw around.”

“Potent potions,” Carey said. “That should be the name of a store. You should start that.”

“What is this?” Beatrice asked. “Harry Potter?”

She burst into a fit of giggles.

Carey dove into a faux-British accent. “We must get to Hogwarts quickly!”

All three of them were giggling like schoolchildren now.

Congratulations, adventurer! You have now mastered “Deus Arc Machina” by advancing your throwing skill to 35. (Next level at 70.)

In low light, the thrower of any item or weapon will see a faint trajectory arc that will guide them in determining distance and landing site. Additional skill points increase distance and solidify arc.

Carey yawned. A sudden exhaustion had settled over him; his arms and legs felt like someone had tied 25-pound dumbbells at the joints.

“I’m fading,” he said.

“It’s that time.” Will stretched. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”

They found a room that seemed safe enough. Will cast an invisible warding spell in a line between them and the room’s only entrance, to protect the party. Carey mustered what little energy he had left to set a trap at the entrance that would ensnare anyone who came in, and also make a tremendous clamor in the process. It cost him a Lead Pipe, Iron Ingot, a couple blocks of Wood, a couple Aluminum Shards and some String.

Will made a tiny fire. They brought together their ingredients and supplies into a single list, where the party’s recipes showed what was available. They settled on Jorboar Bone Stew with Spicy Trilento Peppers and Rillahawk Eggs. Carey found it to be the most delicious meal he’d eaten in months, and once he was done, he collapsed on a pile of blankets.

Will kept first watch in case the thief came back. Beatrice curled up near Carey, and for a moment, he was able to imagine they were husband and wife, sharing a bed in their quaint home, utterly in love with each other.

It was a nice thought—a fantasy, much like this one, and it carried him into a dreamless sleep.

***

A horrible jangling noise woke them.

“Get up!”

Will was shouting. Something was wrong. Carey woke to the blinding light and searing heat of a torch descending toward his face.

“Hey!” He swatted at it. “Christ, Will.”

“My bad.” Will retracted the torch. “But look!”

Carey followed Will’s jabbing index finger, and his gaze settled on the darkened entrance. A silhouette struggled by the door. Someone was caught in the trap, which explained the noise. Beatrice held her weapon at the ready, glancing at the others, not sure what to do.

“It’s just a Torg,” Carey said. “Look how small he is. I got him.”

Carey flung his legs and used the force to flip himself onto his feet, like Bruce Lee.

“Torg scum,” he muttered.

“Wait, it’s a...” Will struggled to find the right word. “It’s a...kid?”

Carey used his enhanced perception to make out more details. At first, he’d been so sure the intruder was a Torg that he had barely looked at it. But now, studying its wild hair, pale skin, and...

It was true.

A frightened face—a kid’s face—stared back at him. And he was no NPC, but another player, like them.

“Help!” The kid was frantic, terrified. “Help me! I’m stuck!”

Carey recognized the wild, bushy hair.

He’d be damned. They had caught the thief. Carey grabbed Will’s torch and rushed over to his victim, intent on violence.

The boy threw his hands up defensively. His orange eyes flashed. A brown, short-haired tail curled behind him. Carey made the boy’s ID and stats appear above his head.

KimJongFun277, Lvl. 10

HP: 77/120

SP: 82/110

LP: 30/30

“Level 10, huh? I ain’t afraid of you.”

Carey grabbed him by the neck, lifted him with a tearing sound away from the trap—which resembled a bear trap with its toothy metal jaws—and rammed the boy-thief up against the wall. He was wearing some sort of shiny, black leather armor—a full set, nonetheless. Carey wanted it.

He tossed the torch to the ground, lifted the boy, and pinned him to the wall—pinned him hard. Moisture welled in the boy’s Asiatic eyes. He might have been Japanese or Chinese… no, Korean. The name KimJongFun was a play on the name of North Korea’s previous dictator, Kim Jong-Un. Carey knew a bit about the country after an aunt of his had adopted a South Korean baby who turned out to be a bratty boy named Chung-Hee. Carey—at nine years old, his adopted cousin only four—had enjoyed picking on the poor kid one summer before his aunt had moved their family away. Chung-Hee was now an engineering student at Harvard. He and Carey had lost touch many years ago, and Carey had always assumed Chung-Hee hated him for having been such a bully.

“Don’t hurt me,” the kid squeaked. “Please, I didn’t see it.”

“Might want to work on those trap detection skills,” Carey scolded him. “Life isn’t just a series of pockets to pick.”

The boy squirmed. He couldn’t have been older than seven or eight.

“Please, let me go.”

Carey tightened his grip. He vaguely noticed his Karma was being affected.

-2 Karma

-3 Karma

“Carey, enough,” Beatrice shouted at him. “He’s just a kid!”

“Brah. Let the kid go,” Will said.

Carey grabbed the boy-thief’s tail and swung him away from the wall, flinging him across the room. The boy landed like a cat, eyes flashing fearfully at Carey. He darted toward the exit.

“Oh no you don’t!” Carey sidestepped into his path, grabbed a clump of his unruly black hair, and lifted him punching and kicking. “Think you can steal my silver?”

“Aaah! Stop!”

He pinned the boy to the stone floor. The kid was sniffling and whimpering now.

“Give it back,” Carey said. “You know what? Give me all of it. Everything in your inventory. And that shiny armor.”

“No!”

“Do it!”

“No, get away from me!”

A sudden force gripped Carey, like the arms of a bodybuilder encircling him, lifting him off the boy-thief. He saw light around the edges of his vision.

“What the fu—Ow!”

The light and force swelled, the pressure around him tightening like a vise. He was now floating four feet off the ground. Carey twisted his neck painfully to see who was doing this to him.

“You gonna be calm now?” Will asked, pointing his staff at Carey. Misty yellow light pulsed from its crystal, connected to the smoky “arms” of magical energy embracing Carey.

The boy-thief lay on the floor, staring up at him. His orange eyes seemed to flare with emotion. Did Carey’s own eyes give off light like that.

Then the boy lunged for the door.

“He’s getting away,” Carey shouted.

Spreading her wings with an audible thwap, Beatrice cut across the room toward the door and banged it shut. She stood watching the boy, arms crossed, as the little thief made a steel dagger materialize in his right hand.

He had survived down here with just that? A dagger and a set of fancy leather armor? All by himself?

A friggin’ six-year-old?

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Beatrice said, and her features softened. “You’re just a little boy. How old are you?”

“I’m eight and a half,” the boy said, defiantly.

“You’re so young. Why would they put you in here?”

The kid looked as though he might flee. Instead, he ran toward Beatrice and practically dove into her arms. She hugged him and stared pleadingly at Will and Carey.

“Don’t even think about it,” Carey said.

“We have to help him,” Beatrice said, as the boy began to cry. She gently stroked his hair. “He’s shaking. Hey. What’s your name, little guy?”

The boy’s voice came out muffled as he spoke into Bea’s tunic.

“Min-joon.”

“That’s a cool name, kid,” Will said, approaching the pair as though he planned to adopt the friggin’ thief.

Carey was having none of it.

“He can obviously take care of himself. We don’t need—”

“Just stop,” Beatrice said. “He was surviving, nothing else. Just like we’re trying to survive.”

“We’re not inviting him to the party,” Carey said.

Beatrice snapped at him. “I said stop.”

“We make these decisions together.” Carey stood resolutely with his arms crossed. “And I vote no.”

“Then you can vote by yourself,” Beatrice said, rising. She held Min-joon’s hand in hers. The boy rubbed his eyes (unnecessarily, one might add, since tears didn’t really exist in the game) and stared bitterly up at Carey.

“You would just leave me?” Carey asked her, feeling genuinely surprised at her callousness. “Just because you don’t like the way I voted on something? Will, what do you say? You really want to make some eight-year-old kid a member of the party?”

“Eight and a half,” Min-joon insisted.

“At least until we get to Tyrathon.” Will shrugged. “Why not? We need a fourth, and the kid’s obviously pretty good. You said it yourself, we should try for a stealth-focused party.”

Carey sighed loudly and dramatically. “Fine, whatever you guys say. You’re obviously the ones in charge. But we need to bust ass. We have treasure to collect, and probably a boss to fight. You with me?”

“Ruckus,” Min-joon said, in his tiny squeak of a voice. “Torg Boss Ruckus. I saw him. He wants to protect the gold until backup gets here, so he can move it out.”

“How long until this backup gets here?” Carey asked.

The boy shrugged. “I heard him say it was today.”

“Obviously,” Carey said, brandishing his weapon. “Let’s go, team. Now that we have an eight-year-old, maybe we can sing some Barney songs, and talk about our favorite Sesame Street episode.”

Will chuckled. Beatrice clucked her tongue.

“We’re going to be listening to shit forever, now,” she said. “Great.”

“Barney’s for wimps,” Min-joon said.

Carey was no longer listening. He summoned Valhera’s sword, made the blade dance among his fingertips, flashing as it twirled and flipped.

“We’ll take Ruckus down if we have to,” he said. “I’m ready.”

The notification flashed.

KimJongFun277 has accepted the invitation to join Renegades of Astros