Registration and the contract signing didn’t take long at all. The signature process used magic. Though it didn’t mean that it was impossible for someone to fake it. People always find creative ways to solve their problems, or cause them.

Dumog was surprised that the device accepted him. The system already had a name for him and everything. Jacked explained later on that it would read a part of the person’s soul through the biological data given–it could be a fingerprint or a droplet of blood–so it would identify a person’s name with whatever the individual truly believed their name was. This was a concept that Dumog couldn’t comprehend yet. It took his nickname ‘Dumog’ instead of his birth name, he wasn’t bothered by that.

On the other hand, Amihan was reluctant to sign the contract immediately. But she complied in the end. Taking off her left glove–thick and made of dark brown leather–reveals a hand that didn’t match the rest of her skin tone. It was a few shades lighter. Her name and face popped up on the screen as she quickly wore her glove again. Jacked said that the machine would be able to detect if someone was part of an opposing faction or if they had a criminal history, the three of them were clean for now.

Team Chokeslam was official now, they are able to earn more doing odd jobs through the agency. They head straight to the job board to start their career. Neither Amihan or Dumog had any equipment or money to take on anything dangerous. Especially Dumog, who was told would be taught by Jacked as they went along. So under the jobs dedicated for the contracted teams they chose the simplest one they thought Dumog could handle. Rat extermination for 50 Gold.

“You wouldn’t even need a proper weapon for this one, just grab a stick and whack them,” Jacked demonstrated the movement.

“And you had those shots recently, should be fine if they bite you a couple of times,” Amihan reminded both of them the money they had lost.

They accept the quest. It was located in a small bar’s basement, located in the town’s pleasure district to the south. The quest excited Dumog in many ways, not just because it was their first official quest.

It was a few hours past noon, the sun was still out. This made it easier for them to go through the streets without that much foot traffic. But locating the bar was still a pain. After several turns in a cramp alley they had finally reached it.

An old and rundown building, it was made out of wood that looked a few stages in the decomposition cycle. The windows and doors all slid open and were made of the same rotten wood. There was some rusted metal that was placed in places that gave it the much needed support. Its second floor looked much the same as the first.

Surrounding the bar were several rooms for rent per night. Sleeping was the last thing people who rent them use it for.

A young woman–around Amihan and Dumog’s age–sweeped outside. Her broom had a few pieces on its end left, which made it impossible to sweep anything. Despite that she continued the motion, moving dust back and forth. Empty eyes stared at the ground, not noticing the trio in front of her. Jacked had to cough to grab her attention.

“Good afternoon, sir!” She yelped.

“Yeah, is this ‘Savepoint Bar’,” he read his notes.

“Yes it is!” She pointed at the bar’s signage, it wasn’t legible. “But we’re really sorry. Due to circumstances we are closed, indefinitely.”

“Rats, yeah?”

“Oh! How do you know?” Her voice fluctuated with each word, terrified of interaction with strangers.

“These must be the people the agency sent, welcome,” a husky female voice said. A voice only years of smoking could produce.

Dumog looked around but failed to find the origin of the voice.

“Over here, sweetie,” she was four feet tall with a stock frame. If Dumo had to guess her age it would have been somewhere beyond the human lifespan. The woman was a dwarf. “Oh my, what an intense stare. Is that lust? I’m sorry but we don’t offer those services here, maybe our neighbors can accommodate you,” she winked at Dumog.

“Sorry, he’s from a village that only had men in it,” Jacked leaned in to whisper to the Dwarven lady, “He’s a virgin,” everyone heard it, even the one smoking from the balcony of one of the motels.

“A few more years and he’ll be an ‘Archwizard’ like you,” Amihan added.

“Don’t fight over me now. Save your energy for the ones in the basement. Come in,” she gestured to go inside the rotting building.

It was a small and cozy space. The bar area could fit four people, and then there were two more tables with a few couches surrounding it. Max capacity would be around 15 or at most under 20 people. It depended on the size of the person of course. Most of the furniture was made out of wood and had brass accents covered in layers of patina, it reminded Dumog of the gun Nox had. A lot of the items in there looked worn and used, though still durable enough to last a few lifetimes. They were well loved.

The dwarf walked around the bar, putting out her cigarette on an ashtray. Amihan and Jacked sat on the barstools while the hostess prepared glasses of water.

“I’m sorry we can’t serve you anything else at the moment, all our stock is in the basement,” the dwarven lady said, lighting another stick. “Name’s Sinta and she’s Eeya. Please excuse her, she has trouble speaking to customers.”

“That’s not a good thing in this line of work,” Jacked downed the water as if he took a shot of hard liquor. “Our guy is like that too, can’t seem to avoid trouble,” he gestured a thumb to Dumog.

“Well, I didn’t hire her for her skills. At least she tries, that’s all I expect from her,” Sinta smiled at Eeya.

Dumog got distracted by the pictures displayed on a wall. It looked like a group of adventurers and warriors from all kinds of races and cultures. One of them was a moving picture that replayed a scene over and over again. A dwarf with a big beard–braided with great detail and various metal jewelry–tripping and tumbling down a hill.

“That was my husband, nearly a century ago. We used to be adventurers and explorers, until we settled here in this town,” she closed her eyes, reliving the memories in her head. “The Mayor is actually a descendant of one of our members. Friendships don’t last lifetimes it seems. I’m barely acquainted with the current Mayor, despite being one of this town’s founders, nay, nobody in this town knows what happened to lead it where it is now.”

“I for one subscribe to the idea that home isn’t a place, but a feeling. I’m assuming you have the same feelings in your heart?” Jacked asked for seconds, raising his glass up in the air.

“There is truth in your words, but enough of that. Let’s talk business.”

They discussed the problem in the basement. Sinta says that there had been a break-in of rats in her basement, rendering them unable to access their supplies. The basement is twice the size of the building and because of its age some of the rocks and dirt loosened over time. Dumog was designated torch-bearer as Sinta suspects that all of the lanterns below had run out of oil.

“I would kill them myself, but as you can see I’m a few years past my prime. And the methods I’d use might damage the building,” Sinta laughed, the vibrations of her voice shaking the dust off the wooden beams above them.

She showed them where the trapdoor to the basement was. Under the stairs to the second floor was a heavy plate of metal with a latch on it.

Sinta and Eeya had a tool to open the trapdoor, it needed two people to operate. But, Amihan flung it open with one hand. She nodded for Dumog to go in.

“You have the torch, lead the way,” she removed her pack and had her knife out at the ready.

“Good luck,” Sinta said.

He took a deep breath and took his first step down the stairs. Each step sent a shiver down his spine, the stone floor ice cold on his bare feet. Shoes were definitely the first things he’s buying when he isn’t in debt anymore.

The torch in his hand barely illuminated the surroundings, only a small radius around him. Amihan and Jacked were close behind him, she kept a hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn't split up. There were no rats yet, but there were definitely signs of life down there. A dank and wet scent permeated through the basement, like beer and piss. It reminded Dumog of his college nights, alone and in the dark.

There were wooden dividers in the basement, separating crates, barrels, and other supplies. The ceiling was low enough for Dumog to touch without being on his toes. It would be impossible for Amihan to swing her spear there.

“That’s weird, I don’t sense any movement. Shouldn’t they be scurrying about?” Amihan whispered to the group.

“I hear breathing, around four things down here with us,” Jacked reported.

“Why would they have trouble with four rats? I thought the lady was a veteran,” Dumog wondered aloud. They walked past one of the wooden dividers, which had opened sacks of grain and other food. The liquor barrels were on the other side.

“That old shortstack duped us, these ain’t the doing of rats,” Jacked checked one of the sacks, it had been opened with a blade.

“Dumog, hurry, cast light on the other side,” Amihan ordered.

Dumog followed and moved faster, not carefully though. He was too slow to react to the body. Amihan lost her grip on his shoulder as he tumbled down, dropping the torch on the floor.

It was a few feet away from him, the flames dimming. He scrambled and crawled to it on all fours. A brown and furry foot stepped into the light. Its claws scraped the stone floor. There were definitely rats in the basement. The city rats in his old world had nothing on these, it was nearly as big as him.