The knock’s soft.

“Chuck, you okay in there?” Albert asks.

“I’m fine.”

The answer’s a reflex. Admitting there’s a problem gives others a way to control you. That’s why they’re asking. They don’t care how you are, they’re looking for a hook to reel you in with.

I know that’s my paranoia talking, but it’s a lesson learned over years of my father doing just that. And enough people, after he vanished, took advantage of my weak times that I’ve never been able to convince myself my paranoia is entirely wrong.

“Are you going to be there long, then?”

I want to stay here until the end of time.

This is no safer than anywhere else in his insane world, but if I don’t move from here. Whatever happens to me isn’t my fault.

My father snorts.

I push myself to my feet and look at my reflection in the broken mirror. Yeah, that’s how I feel right now. I open the door and Albert is helping carry an injured Bogbear to a table.

“What happened?” I look around for threats.

“The idiot,” the Bogbear healer says in a scoffing tone, “wouldn’t listen to reason and worked on a roof without being properly secured. Fell four-story.” She pulls on a limb of the one on the table screams. “If she’d been human, she’d be dead.”

“You think she’d have done it if she was human?” the herbalist asks, bringing over the cart with his poultices on it.

“I did call her an idiot. You saying being bog made her that?”

“I’m saying knowing she was tougher made her careless.”

The Bogbear looks at her patient, considering. “No, she’s an idiot.”

Albert motions to me and we exit. I can see questions on his face and I steel myself.

“While we were in there, the others got things together, so we can have a good time for the rest of the day.”

I eye him, eyes narrowing.

“Dancing, eating, loud music,” he elaborates. “Really bad singing. Trust me on that one, I don’t know why anyone within the clan even tries, but becoming this did not improve our singing.” He grins, and it falters as my expression doesn’t change. “It’s not that bad.”

“I did say I’m not good with people, right? It did come up on the way to the Rabids.”

“It’s not people,” Albert replies, sounding offended. “It’s my family. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. It’s not even going to be a big gathering, I figure.”

I want to run for the hill.

Instead, I watch my willpower tick down as I follow him. It’s just his family and not too many of them. I can manage a small gathering long enough to be polite, then I’ll leave. Spend the week in the wilderness, then come back for my bar and finally leave this place for good.

And music will be a nice distraction from nearly dying.

I hear the music first. The beat of percussions has Albert bobbing his head. I try to work out which of the houses it’s coming from. It’s still ahead, but the neighborhood turns commercial at the end of the block. I make out a guitar and violin, an ululating sound I don’t know comes from what instrument.

The music gets louder, and it’s still ahead.

My willpower, which had settled around the five-sixth area, starts ticking down again. This isn’t taking place in a house.

When Albert finally heads to a building, it’s large, possibly a community center. Bogbears and others are coming and going from the double doors.

I stop.

This is going to be fun.

Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Dad.

I’m not being sarcastic. I can’t wait to see you lose it in there.

“Chuck?” Albert calls once he realizes I’m not with him.

“It’s best if I pass on the celebration.”

“Come on, it’s not going to be that back.” He reaches for my arm and thankfully stops before he grabs it.

“Albert, I don’t get pleasant as I lose willpower.”

“Don’t worry, they’re good folks. It’s not going to be anywhere near as bad as you imagine.”

I run a hand over my face.

Down to three quarters.

“Just me standing here trying to find a way to get you to understand how bad of an idea me going in there is, is costing me willpower.”

“Then just come on.”

He’s goading you one purpose, my father warns

If only. Then I’d be justified in punching him.

“I have violent tendencies,” I say slowly.

“I saw.” He grins. It falls. “You’re serious? You think you’d get into a fight in there?”

Finally.

“I don’t want to, but violence is one of the ways I regain willpower, and I have other issues that make being violent easier than not when I have to deal with people.”

“You didn’t do anything violent while we were being healed. You didn’t even growl at anyone.” He smiles.

“And I no longer have full willpower because of it.”

The smile falls.

“How about this? Just come in for a few minutes. You basically saved us by taking on those Rabid with me. Us Jarzabeks lack a great many things.” He nods to the building the music comes from. “But gratitude isn’t one of them.”

“You can take all the credit.”

He shakes his head. “No. Just a couple of minutes so they can stay thank you, then you can go, and I’ll explain that you had something to do.”

“You could just tell them I don’t want to be here.”

“And hurt their feelings? Come on, you don’t want to hurt their feelings, do you? Just for a couple of minutes, that’s all.”

Oh, their feelings are the least of what you’ll hurt.

“Two minutes. No more.”

“Just long enough to get my parents to say thank you. Maybe an aunt or two. Then we’ll leave.”

I’m telling you—

Shut up.

I don’t need him telling me what I already know.

I follow Albert inside and the din of conversation is loud enough I can make out words over the singing, a Bogbear is making the ululating sound, not an instrument. As Bogbears see me, their faces light up and they step in our direction, but Albert doesn’t stop and I follow him until we reach a couple of Bogbears with gray in their fur.

Albert speaks to them in what I assume is Polish, indicating to me and their eyes light up.

“Thank you for keeping my boy safe,” one says, grabbing my hand and shaking it before I can step back.

“It’s fine,’ I tell him, extricating it from his grip.

“Fine? No, it is wonderful that someone can treat us like people and help.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

I tense at the arms around me. “You have my thanks for making us safe.” The rest I don’t understand and it costs me too much willpower not to shove her away.

Laughing, Albert pulls her away and says something to her I don’t understand.

I use the opportunity to turn away and head for—someone grabs my hand, shaking it.

“Thank you!” they say. “What were the monsters like? Did you get a lot of experience?”

I pull my hand out and try to get around him, but there’s another one.

“Do you think there will be more monsters attacking us?” she asks.

“When do you think this will go back to normal?”

Someone puts a solo cup in my hand and I have it to my lips before my throat’s so dry before the smell of alcohol registers. I nearly throw it away. Lowering my inhibitions is a bad idea right now. I’m fortunate that alcohol isn’t one of the ways I mitigate my problems.

“Do you think I should take up a fighting skill?” someone young asks.

“What’s your strength stat?”

The questions continue, but the words lose meaning as I try to not shove them, locate the door and keep an eye on my dropping willpower.

Told you.

I see daylight in the distance when the door opens and I head for it, shouldering people out of my way and ignoring the protests. Outside I just keep going until a tall chain-link fence stops me, and for a second, I’m trapped with all of them, and with my willpower so low, I’m going to start hitting someone soon.

Then the smell of cooking meat registers, and my stomach gives me something else to think about. Something I can do something about. I unwrap the granola bar and have another one in hand while I’m still chewing. It’s in my mouth as soon as I’ve swallowed.

On the fourth, I feel calm enough to turn and lean against the fence. I’m at the back of the community center, on a basketball court. On the left, there’s a fire with a large animal on a spit being turned over it and eight grills being manned by Bogbears. The last one is away from the others, and anyone coming to him for food doesn’t linger.

“No strong on social?” he asks, his accent heavy. “I understand,” he finishes with me answering. He glanced in my direction. “What are you eating?”

“Granola,” I answer. Then look at the wrapper and try to remember where I got this. The wrapper had no information on it. The box simply says ‘granola bar’ as if that was the brand name. It must be from Walmart. I don’t have any food left from before the system appeared.

“You want good food?” He offers me a plate with a thick streak on it without looking. He continues turning those on the grill with his other hand.

I hesitate, then take it. The granola keeps, so it’s best I don’t go through it all now. The plate doesn’t come with utensils, and I realize that’s something I’m going to have to figure out on my own. Without mass production, we aren’t going to be able to rely on just picking up something we need when we need it. We’re going to have to carry the necessities with us everywhere.

Someone else hurries away after grabbing a plate from the grill-bear. The steak is decent, which is all I care about right now. The relative solitude and food have halted the drop in my willpower with maybe one-fifteenth left?

“I too don’t like—” he motions to the doors with the thongs “—but I help. So—” he motions to the space between his grill and the others. “You help too. You kill monsters.” He is quiet as he serves another Bogbear. “Do you like killing?”

Do I enjoy killing?

Come on, be honest here. It’s just the two of us, and I already know the answer.

“You are taking time answering. Not good sign.”

“I don’t want to kill.”

Not the question.

“Good. But that is not question I ask.”

I think back to my fights against the creatures in the dungeon. The bear things around the roadside inn. The fights were hard, but—

“It feels good to fight. To have a problem I know exactly what to do with, and that once I’m done, it’s never going to come back to bother me.”

How better would your life be if you’d done that from the start instead of waiting for the world to change?

“You don’t sound bothered,” I ask when the rebuttal I expect doesn’t come.

“I know war. I know killing. Before I come here. I fight for country. I… bring war back with me. It is hard to be quiet after the noise of war.”

“You think I bring back the violence with me?”

The answering laugh is more bark than laughter. Then he shrugs. “I not know you. Just see you here when other fighter is in there. See your eyes and remember seeing them before, on others who brought more than the war back with them.” He pauses and flips steaks for a few seconds. “Maybe this is good for you. For those with war in them. Now, you can take the war and use it.”

“I’d rather not.”

The Bogbear nods. “Does the system care?”

I sort. “I doubt it.”

He nods again. “Then it is good that there is a man who does not want to use war, but can.”

I pounder that as I finish the plate. “I nearly died. If it wasn’t for Albert, I would have died.”

“Death comes with war. Other’s, your’s, parts of you.”

“I’ve been telling this kid not to treat this like a game, but I don’t think the realness of it hit me until today. I have no idea what to do.”

He shrugs. “You make plan for fighting war, you prepare.”

“I suck so bad at those things.”

He turns to face me and half his face is scared to the point there’s no fur on it. “Not so bad you died.”

“There was a lot of luck involved.”

He shrugs. “Luck is good. But luck changes. Being ready helps more. System gives tools, tells you what good at, numbers to get better. Monsters to kill to help get better.”

“I don’t want to kill.”

He shrugs and turns back to the grill. “System cares what want?”

Look at my sheet and distribute my points. Start taking this seriously.

And I was the one thinking Terry wasn’t taking this seriously. I look up at the tabs and nearly bring my sheet up, but the door opens and a group exits, singing loudly and badly, even to me. They are clearly drunk, but that’s not the problem. They’re a reminder that there are a lot of people in that building and they might remember I’m here and try to drag me back in. My willpower is closer to one-tenth now, but that’s nowhere near enough to risk it.

I look around and locate an opening in the fence. I’ve taken three steps in that direction before stopping and turning.

“Thanks for the talk. I mean it.”

“Talk is good, when it is real.”

I pounder that as I find myself on the street and go a few blocks before deciding where I’m going. The sun’s getting low, so the wilderness is a bad idea. I don’t want to stay in this neighborhood. Anyone of the Bogbears could walk by and recognize me.

But there are plenty of unoccupied buildings not far and still within the system recognized city limit. Who knows, maybe I can find the shop I slept in last night. A bed of clothes would be more comfortable than whatever hard floor I might find elsewhere.

I’m out of the Bogbears’ neighborhood for only a minute when I notice I’m being followed. Paranoia is good for picking up on small details like that when I’m not imagining them. Now I need to figure out if I’m imagining them following me.

I might not be, I decide, as two men step out of an alley and stand in my way. Maybe it’s the Silver Hand looking for revenge.

“Is it my imagination?” one of the men ahead says when I get within easy earshot, “but am I smelling bear where I shouldn’t?” he sniffs the air.

“No, you’re smelling it alright. Maybe he got too close to those animals and just accidentally picked up their stench?”

“No,” one of those behind me says. “We watched him exit their patch.”

I stop. Racism.

“Walk away, guys. You do not want to do this.”

“Really? You think so?” the one in front says, stepping toward me. “You have any idea how much experience you’re worth? We’d go and kill the animals, but with their claws and fur, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.” He looks me over. “I don’t see claws on you, or fur.”

“I’m sure he’s got some in places you don’t want to look at from rolling around with them,” one said, and they all laughed.

I look at my willpower. It’s holding steady at just about ten percent. “I’m going to say this one last time. Walk away.”

They won’t. I know that.

“I’m going to walk my way over your corpse.”

I equip my employ of the month armor, minus the mask, and they take a step back. I look at my gloved hands and send them to my inventory. Then summon them in my hand so I can put them on myself.

That is so much more satisfying.

“What are you? Some Walmart wannabe?”

I make fists and the creaking of the leather sounds good.

I smile. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

* * * * *

The hardest part of the fight was not killing them. It wasn’t because I fought a desire to do so, but because they are so damned fragile. After the Walmart Greeter, the automotive sports spider and even the bears, people are basically balsa wood to me.

They’re on the ground, groaning in pain, possibly more limbs than needed broken. My willpower it close to half.

I feel too good for my liking, but they asked for it.

I step over them and put the armor away. I can’t wait to be out of here and not have to deal with people—

“Don’t move! Hands in the air and turn around slowly. You’re under arrest for committing acts of violence against citizens of Barlet City.”

I raise my hands and turn.

She’s actually wearing a police uniform.

Who cares? It’s not like there’s anyone here to see you beat her.

I do not acknowledge my father’s voice. When she tells me to get on my knees, I obey. With my hands behind my back, I hear the handcuffs but don’t feel them on my wrists. They are thick, like the rest of me. Since she can’t cuff me, she leads me ahead with the gun at my back.

You know you can put on that armor before she’ll shoot, right?

I am not fighting a police officer.

My father laughs.

Yeah. What are the odds the police are still a thing anymore?