Being good or bad at something didn’t tend to stick in Steven’s mind. If he enjoyed the activity, it didn’t matter if he sucked at it, and if he was good at something he didn’t enjoy well, he wasn’t going to waste time just because he was good at it.

But sometimes, you find out you were bad at something you didn’t realize you could be bad at.

Steven scowled at the countertop as he cleaned the kitchen with one hand.

Margie glowered at him from the table. “I distinctly recall telling you to rest.”

Steven waved his broken arm. “I am resting! Doing the dishes is still resting!”

She glowered harder. “Do you know what resting is?”

“Please, Margie, I’ll go insane if I have to sit on my hands—er hand any longer!”

“You’ve only been awake for a day!”

“It’s been a long day!”

Micheal rounded the corner, sleep still thick in his eyes, and stopped.

He stared at Steven, then his cast, then the dishes.

“Do you know what resting is?”

Steven threw up his hands and turned back to his task.

He called his Hand-Shield as extra counter space. It felt good to use his Skills for something other than combat. It made them feel more like a part of him.

Steven rebuffed most of Micheal’s attempts to help, only caving on dishes too big to clean one-handed.

The strength from passing the Second Threshold was a funny thing. Steven had never felt stronger, even weakened from his coma, but even if he could lift a big pot one-handed, the power didn’t make it any less awkward.

He gripped a pot handle tightly, feeling the metal press into his skin. He set it on a shield and began to scrub.

Anchorage had a rock gym Steven frequented in his early teens; he had a pretty good grasp—heh—of his grip strength. He felt like he could climb much, much more now.

He hadn’t had the chance to do a lift test before the fight with Bullwinkle, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t stronger than a professional lifter or even as strong.

But he was a hell of a lot closer to it than someone of his build should be, and the strengthening effects went deeper than raw lifting strength.

He was faster, tougher, and it had felt easier to focus on many different tasks during the fight than normal. Still not easy, but easier.

And that power was currently being used to clean a coffee cup.

Steven smiled down at the mug and set it on the drying rack.

“The dishwasher is right there!” Margie called from the couch.

Steven waved her off. He liked doing things by hand. Even if it was less time efficient, it made him feel more productive.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A few minutes later, he finished with the dishes and moved over to the couch.

He sat, then shifted slightly. Shifted again.

His foot began to tap. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until he tapped up a storm.

Margie stared at him.

“I want to do something.”

She leveled a finger at him like a sword. “You are. Resting. And you will not be doing anything strenuous until you’re healed!”

Steven grimaced.

Just sitting down felt wrong, with nothing to do other than dwell on his thoughts, he felt like he’d go insane.

Begrudgingly, he pulled out his phone.

A few quick taps brought up a page discussing the city.

The general mood of it was…messy.

Things had ramped up almost as soon as Steven had fallen into his coma, and they hadn’t slowed since.

“Another area claimed by the Roaming Ruckus. They didn’t stay. I live off 100th, and after they claimed it, they said, and I quote, ‘I don’t know, man, do whatever you want.’ So I’m not really sure what these psychos are after. I’ll I know is they’re fucking strong!”

Steven scrolled further.

“A group calling themselves the Hardcore just took over my neighborhood. They haven’t done anything crazy yet, and they seemed to claim it just cause they could, but holy shit, I’m cringing out of my mind who calls themselves that Jesus Christ.”

Stephen laughed as he kept scrolling—more stories repeated like that, small groups taking over a neighborhood here or there.

Plenty of them didn’t seem to have any greater ambitions beyond doing it cause they could, or maybe it was their own neighborhood, and they wanted to control it before someone else did.

But the fact that they could set laws for their territory was scary.

And they were far from the only kind of group.

They were over a dozen different names that had dozens of small neighborhoods under their control.

There was a cap of six or seven neighborhoods that you could control in one region.

Steven supposed that was part of the restriction. It wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t technically claim a region if you owned every neighborhood inside of it anyway.

Some of the groups making big plays seemed… Well, he didn’t think a group claiming swaths of territory could be called harmless, but at least neutral.

They haven’t imposed on anyone and didn’t try to extort the people living in those neighborhoods.

But there were quite a few names that were.

Luida had claimed four neighborhoods near east Northern Lights. The residents resisted them, and Luida killed six of them.

They weren’t the only faction killing people. Several handfuls of groups had popped up, but there were three big ones.

Luida, The Corners, and Marvox. All three factions had made large pushes to snatch neighborhoods around the city, and each of them killed when people resisted.

Steven’s hand tightened on his phone.

But despite that, there was a familiar name out there.

“Some thugs tried to take over the neighborhood, I almost died. But this group came in and fought them off, guy named Clark was leading them. Middle-aged, salt pepper hair. Saved my fucking life.”

Steven smiled.

Good to know he’s still alive.

Micheal walked by, a sandwich in one hand, and Buford following on his heels, his eyes hopeful.

Steven watched the hound, bemused. He paused as Micheal sat down. “Where are Markus and Del?”

They had spent most of the last two weeks here, often spending the night while Steven was unconscious.

“Markus wanted to spend some time at home, and Del…” Margie paused. “I’m not sure, actually. Probably the same thing, though.”

Steven nodded, his eyes drifting back to his phone.

“As long as they’re safe out there.”