[Role Requirement.]

Ice chills through me. What? What do you mean?

[The day ends in 56 seconds and the user has not fulfilled their Role Requirement. The Chef role requires the user to engage in cooking, baking, or food preparation on a daily basis.]

Crap. Shit! How did this happen? I always make sure to help in the kitchen with meal prep!

Except today. I was so busy preparing for tonight, so laser focused on making sure I didn’t forget anything, that I forgot the one important thing I’ve come to take for granted.

[Sanity Level: 99%]

I glance rapidly around the kitchen for any kind of food I could prep—but of course, I’d just drugged everything available.

I mentally groan. Maybe I can run, make it out of here and find a market somewhere I could grab some food.

In the middle of the night? Not likely.

[Sanity Level: 98%]

What do I do, what do I do? No time to run. Nothing here to slap together. Couldn’t he have at least had a hunk of bread?!

There’s only two options: run and try to find something out in Fairwood, or make do with the meat here. I don’t have to eat it, after all. I just need to do some meal prep.

[Sanity Level: 97%]

I can start to feel it now, like TV static in my brain. It’s prickling at my conscience, building an unwilling sense of urgency, digging its claws into my mind. I shake my head as if I could dislodge it, already knowing the gesture is futile.

[Sanity Level: 96%]

I silently throttle the air in front of me. Ugh! No other choice.

I cross quickly to the ice chest, grinding my teeth as I do. I grab one of the pieces of meat, then lift it up to take something underneath. I need to leave as little trace as possible. Maybe I’ll be able to bury the cut pieces back at the bottom of the icebox once I’m done. I’ll just need to do this quickly and, most importantly, quietly.

[Sanity Level: 95%]

Pulling the steak out, I head over to the counter and grab a knife. I don’t bother with a plate. I don’t even pay attention to if the knife’s clean or dirty. I just want to get this over with.

I begin sawing at the frozen meat, trying to chop it up into pieces—that should satisfy the role requirement. But it’s frozen solid. I can’t even cut a corner off.

Mentally growling, I throw my gaze around the kitchen. I could add some wood to the stove and heat it that way, but there’s no way I could covertly start a fire. What else, what else? The mind static is spreading.

[Sanity Level: 93%]

I catch sight of the jars of seasoning again and pounce on them. One looks like it might be salt, so I sprinkle that over the still-frozen slab of meat. I pause, watching my sanity counter. It lingers at 93%, not heading up, but not heading down either. I grab the next jar of spice and throw it onto the meat too. So much for leaving no trace.

It could just be my slipping sanity, but a part of me wants to laugh. The absurdity of the situation is too much. Here I am, breaking into the house of someone I’m supposed to drug, and I’m in their kitchen silently trying to throw a meal together like my life depends on it—and it probably does.

A floorboard creaks.

I pause, hand still halfway toward putting the lid back on the salt jar. What was that? Had I imagined it? I don’t move a muscle.

The house is quiet.

[Sanity Level: 92%]

I can’t stand around all night. I need to figure this out now and run. In fact, maybe I’ll just grab the piece of meat, take it with me, and then find somewhere safe to doctor it up and throw it away. That would be taking implicating evidence with me, but staying in here is creeping me out, and so long as I’ll still be a functional human at 50% sanity, it’s worth the risk.

I hastily grab the piece of meat, swipe the grains of salt and herbs off the counter, and then make for the door.

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My hand is outstretched, reaching for the handle, when a thump sounds on the other side of the door.

I didn’t imagine that one, I’m certain of it. I step away from the door even as I hear footsteps thud across the floor, in the next room over, heading toward the kitchen. I leap back, ice crystalizing in my veins. Ducking into the furthest, darkest corner of the room, I squeeze between the stove and the wall and wait for my nightmare to become reality.

[Sanity Level: 91%]

The kitchen door swings slowly and silently inward, a living shadow in the dark. My stomach sinks into the floor as my heart catches in my throat. I feel like I’m being pulled apart at the seams. This can’t be happening. No, please, not now!

I Check the open door frame, that solid rectangle of black.

[Enrold, level 32 dhampyr blood guard,] Echo says.

He’s here.

The dhampyr steps into the room, needing to duck under the frame. The world’s black and white, all abstract shapes and impressions, but nothing has ever felt more real, the moment terrifyingly brittle and present.

“I know you’re here,” he says. His voice is barely a murmur, but in the close, quiet room, it might as well have been spoken right next to my ear. “I thought I heard a mouse sneaking around.”

[Sanity Level: 90%]

I’m keeping so still, holding my breath so tight, I nearly jump at Echo’s update. An irrational part of me briefly worries that he can hear her. He can’t. I know he can’t. But even though I can’t see which way his head is turned, it still feels like he’s looking right at me.

“Come out, little mouse,” Enrold says. “There’s no point in hiding.”

Not fucking likely! I’ll just have to wait him out. If he moves away from the door, maybe I can make a break for it.

[Sanity Level: 89%]

Except waiting this out is the one thing I can’t do right now.

Enrold chuckles darkly. “Clearly you don’t know whose house you trespassed in. It was a bad move to try to rob the captain of the City Guard. An even worse move to sneak into a dhampyr’s house at night.”

Despite the tense situation, I make a face. This guy is such an arrogant ass. Even now he’s bringing up his title.

“I suppose as a human, this might not occur to you,” Enrold says, and I go cold. How does he know I’m human? “But it’s a relatively well-known fact that dhampyrs can see in the dark.”

Oh, shit.

I leap from my hiding place as Enrold surges forward. He grabs for me, and I fling the frozen slab of meat at him like a frisbee, which cracks against the bridge of his nose.

[5 Bludgeoning points of dealt.]

[Sanity Level: 88%]

I scramble away as Enrold swears, clapping a hand to his nose. I dash past him and toward the door, grabbing the handle.

“Bastard,” Enrold growls, coming after me.

Throwing open the door, I dive through—but not fast enough. A hand snags my cloak, yanking back. For a moment it pulls across my neck and shoulders, then the slipknot comes free and the cloak goes flying back into Enrold’s hands as I race forward, unhindered.

I’m in the armory room. The front door is just one room away. I slam into the living room door next, throwing it open in a panic, and rush inside. The door outside, the door to freedom, is just to my left—

[15 points of Bludgeoning damage sustained.]

[Sanity Level: 87%]

The force strikes me so hard I’m facedown on the floor before I even know what hit me. The terror doesn’t let me stay stunned for long, though. I try to roll over, but Enrold has a hand on one of my legs. A strangled cry rising up my throat, I kick viciously at his arm and face. He grabs my free leg and quickly slams it down next to the first. I desperately try to struggle from his grasp, but his grip is like iron. I can’t shake him.

Enrold chuckles darkly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had some fun like this. Making me thirsty.” Even in the half light I can make out his smile, his fangs glinting white and stark against their surroundings.

[Sanity Level: 86%]

Fear threatens to choke me. It squeezes my heart, my lungs, my mind. And that static from my Role Requirement is making it all worse, making it hard to think, ratcheting up my anxiety, narrowing my focus to the sole need to escape, survive, and fulfill my role. Restlessness tingles through my fingers like ants under my skin.

“Let go of me!”

Enrold snorts. “Not likely.” He pulls my ankles back, dragging me toward him as I struggle against his grip. “You broke into my house. Assaulted me. You’ve no right to be making demands. In fact, I think you owe me something as compensation. A bit of your blood, perhaps.”

[Sanity Level: 85%]

“No, you can’t!” My fingernails scratch uselessly against the ground as I’m dragged across the floor. My stomach is in frozen knots. My legs, where he’s squeezing them, have gone numb. “The guards—”

“I am the Guard,” he sneers. “My word is law. And your continued existence is more trouble than I need. But we can take care of that now, hm?”

He’s so much stronger than I am. Faster. He can see everything in the room while I’m half blind. I look up at Enrold’s face, largely dissolved into the dark, and the wicked grin that looks down at me sends me back to Maru, to her laughter, to that overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Never again.

[Sanity Level: 84%]

I fumble with my bandolier as he lets go of one of my legs, reaching for an arm instead. I rip a bottle from its strap, but he grabs my wrist and slams it into the floor. He looms over me, victorious.

With my free hand I grab the bottle and smash it across his face. Shards of glass cut into my skin as it shatters, and the liquid sprays everywhere, coating half his head and splashing back onto me.

[4 points of Slashing damage dealt.]

[2 points of Slashing damage sustained.]

[Status Effect Inflicted: Poisoned (major)]

[Status Effect Sustained: Poisoned (minor, reduced due to Poison Resistance)]

[Sanity Level: 83%]

“Fuck,” Enrold snarls, turns his head away from the blow. “What did you do?”

He grabs for the arm I struck him with, but with half his vision obscured I’m able to pull it away. At the same time, I kicked my legs up between his legs, hard.

[9 points of Bludgeoning damage dealt.]

Enrold howls, yanking me out from underneath him. My arm feels like it’s nearly pulled from its socket as he throws me across the room. I go flying like a rag doll, my arms and legs and head striking the ground before I slam into the wall and crumple to the floor. Another one of my bottles breaks in the confusion, and smoke begins to vomit into the room.

[Sanity Level: 82%]

“Bitch,” he growls. I can no longer see him—I can no longer see anything—but I can hear his footsteps thumping across the floor. Inevitable, like lightning before the thunder. “You’ll pay for that.”