The sun began its long descent toward the horizon, tracing a long arc through the sky. Its light cast halos of bright silver around the puffy clouds above while a gentle breeze ruffled the grassy plains below.

A knock came at the front door of Gram Gram's cottage, followed by the creak of the door opening. "Hello?"

"Oh, Tom!" Gram Gram called from the kitchen. "Chadwick! Tom's here!"

Chad popped around the corner. Before him stood an older man with a round, jolly face and a ruddy nose. A pot belly protruded from above his leather belt and pulled his long-sleeved plaid shirt taut. Just like everyone else, he had a tag floating above his head. This one read Ranch Manager (Lvl 2).

"Chadwick!" The man stepped into the house with a wide grin spreading across his face. "Good to see you, kid! I meant to congratulate you on that last win. It was a real shutout!"

With a matching grin, Chad clasped the man's outstretched hand -- gently. "Thanks. Good to see you too, Mr. President."

"Mr. President?" Annie raised her eyebrow inquiringly as she followed Chad toward the door.

Tom chuckled, extending his hand to Annie. He pulled a mesh ballcap off his head, revealing a balding top surrounded by white hair. "The name's Tom. Tom Jefferson. It's not short for 'Thomas' or nothing, but Chad always got a kick out of calling me 'Mr. President' as a kid."

"I see." Annie's forehead wrinkled in amusement as Jerry snorted somewhere in the distance. "I'm Annie. Annie Simmons. Nice to meet you, sir."

"You as well, miss."

"Where's the First Lady?" Chad asked, looking behind the Ranch Manager. "Did she stay behind?"

"Yep." Tom nodded. "I'd have preferred if she'd come, but someone's gotta watch over the cattle right now. She's home with the kids and the ranch hands keeping watch."

"Got it." Chad nodded. "Well, c'mon in."

Annie nudged Chad in the ribs as they stepped toward the living room. "Why didn't I get a nickname?"

"Huh?"

"You seem to give everyone else a nickname. Why didn't I ever get one?"

"Huh. I dunno." He shrugged. "I guess you were always Annie. Do you want one?"

"With how bad yours are? Hmm..." She thought for a second. "Probably not, actually."

The trio navigated through the minefield of cats littered across the floor until they reached the sitting area. The space was packed full of at least twenty people. Their ages ranged anywhere from twenty to seventy and their classes proved just as diverse, from Gardener to Retiree and even a Grocery Store Cashier. Most were level two or below.

They represented Gram Gram's neighbors and a few others she knew from around town. Chad recognized a number of them from his childhood, but a few were new. Most had squeezed onto the couches and extra chairs around the coffee table, though some had chosen to stand around the room instead.

"By the way, Chad," Tom noted as he settled onto an open recliner. "Did something happen to your arm? It looks a little strange."

"Yeah?" He flexed the limb. "You think so?"

"Definitely." A blonde woman nodded as she bounced a small child on her knee. "Looks kinda cancerous."

"It certainly has an uncanny valley kind of effect..." Jerry muttered from where he stood near the fireplace.

Chad looked at his arm. Well, maybe it does look a bit weird. I did my best though.

Stats

STR - 36*

All: 17 (17)

Right arm: 10 (17 + 60 = 77)

Right forearm: 5 (17 + 60 + 110 = 187)

Right upper arm: 4 (17 + 60 + 88 = 165)

DEX - 12*

All: 9 (9)

Right arm: 1 (9 + 6 = 15)

Right hand: 1 (9 + 6 + 22 = 37)

Right shoulder: 1 (9 + 6 + 22 = 37)

CON - 27*

All: 12 (12)

Right arm: 5 (12 + 30 = 42)

Right hand: 1 (12 + 30 + 22 = 64)

Right forearm: 2 (12 + 30 + 44 = 86)

Right upper arm: 3 (12 + 30 + 66 = 108)

Right shoulder: 4 (12 + 30 + 88 = 130)

After all of the experimentation, Chad ended up pretty happy with himself. The stats weren't optimal by any means -- he'd hoped to assign at least five more points to strength, at least -- but it worked. Even if it did look a bit strange.

His final stat distribution had a few definite upsides. The extra constitution in his shoulder meant it wasn't pulling on his spine too much while resting. He'd had to waste some more constitution on other parts as well to avoid constant pain, unfortunately, but he'd made sure to add plenty of strength to his forearm and upper arm to compensate. He'd even added a little bit of dexterity to take advantage of his new Ultra Instinct skill, which had the immediate effect of making his fingers incredibly nimble.

The downside was that he still couldn't scratch his back. His elbow was also completely fucked, but that wasn't important. The other stiff and painful areas were something he could work on next time he leveled. Or maybe he'd just stick everything in strength again.

"I think that's everyone..." Chad looked around the room one more time. "Is Clive he coming?"

"Nope." A dark-haired Automobile Mechanic crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wore a plain t-shirt and jeans smeared with black oil. "They're hiding."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Right." Chad nodded. "Guess they finally get to use that bunker, huh?"

"Yup."

"Well, at least we shouldn't have to worry about them. They've got enough food there to manage for years. We'll get started then."

"Oh, one moment!" Gram Gram shuffled into the living room. "Annie, dearie, could you help me bring out the tea?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Oh, stop it. Please, call me Gram Gram."

Annie headed for the kitchen with a chuckle, briskly returning with a few trays of teapots and cups. They clattered slightly as she set them on the table.

"You're having tea? With all this going on?" A nervous-looking Buffet Line Cook sitting near the door fretted. He still wore his work uniform, a local restaurant's logo emblazoned across its lapel.

"Best enjoy it while we can," A blonde woman wearing a sundress shrugged as she accepted a cup. Her tag read Banker (Lvl 1). "Besides, I could use the caffeine. I certainly didn't sleep one bit last night. Did you all?"

Another Farmer scowled. "Nope. Been keeping damn foxes away from my chickens."

"Same with my herd. Whatever this is has all the wildlife acting up." Tom agreed, nodding. A few more murmurs of agreement chorused from around the room.

"Yeah, what is going on?" The blonde woman cocked her head. "I've been keeping up with things online, but..."

"That's what we're here to talk about," Chad explained as he sat on a chair. "You've all seen the news?"

At the round of nods, he glanced toward Annie. "Annie and I were in Dallas when this all happened. We got front-row seats to everything."

He proceeded to explain the whole story. Everything, from the portal appearing to the escape from the city to what he found when going back in. The group remained silent until he finished his tale, though a number of their faces took on deep frowns or expressions of worry. The nervous cook's fretting intensified even further.

"If it's so bad," he asked after Chad had finished, "then why aren't those monsters out this far? Things are obviously getting past that barricade, so why are they staying in the city?"

"No idea. Maybe they're just slow? That, or we haven't seen them yet."

"We have," Tom offered. Everyone's gazes swung to him. "Ollie brought in some weird-lookin' snake thing earlier this morning. It's probably something from the portal."

"I found one of those, too." Someone else chimed in. "I kind of hoped it was an ugly old chew toy."

"So that means things are getting this far..." Squawkers muttered. He perched on Chad's shoulder, his presence having been explained during the summary of events. His ability to speak so well had resulted in more than a few amazed gasps. "That's not good."

"At least there's fewer than what you described," an older Retiree woman chimed in. "I certainly don't like the idea of those things knocking on my window at night..."

"Right," Chad agreed. "Believe me, I don't either."

"What should we do?"

Squawkers straightened and cleared his throat, eyeing a nearby cat nervously before speaking. "The way I see it, we've got a few options. One is to hole up and wait things out. The second is to get ready for these things to come to us and prepare around here. The last is to go out there and fight."

"You want to go in there?!" The nervous guy shot up from his seat. "Are you crazy?"

"Nick's right. That's an option, but maybe not a good one," Chad agreed. "As much as I liked leveling up, it's pretty dangerous for most people. Plus, it seems like the military and all them are taking charge there. They're trying to get everyone out of the city, not organize people coming back in."

"But we can't just hole up, either." Squawkers pointed out. "Levels seem like they're gonna be one of our most valuable resources, here. Since we don't know how long this'll last for, we should probably try to gain them while we can. It'll only get more dangerous if we wait till things get stronger."

Chad nodded. "Fair... speaking of, what do everyone's classes do?"

They went around the room, each person reading off the class name hanging above their heads and its associated traits. The classes matched with each person's primary vocation almost perfectly, but even with that there were surprisingly few duplicates. Even the ranchers had distinctions between them, bearing classes like Ranch Manager or Ranchhand or even Cowboy. It was as though whatever had assigned them actually understood the subtle differences.

The traits, on the other hand, had a bit more overlap. Everyone in the room had received Late Bloomer, with Squawkers being the only exception. As for the other two, they were pretty directly related to each person's class and occupation with a magical twist. The Gardener could grow plants more quickly and in more directed ways, while the Grocery Store Cashier could price check any item they touched.

The main thing they lacked information on was skills. Only the Automobile Mechanic -- Richard, one of Chad's childhood friends -- had reached level three on account of how many coyotes and foxes had been coming after his chickens and ducks. It had netted the man a skill that allowed him to conjure a handheld tool at will every minute. The majority of the other people here were only level one, maybe two.

"Huh." Squawkers tilted his head thoughtfully after they'd finished. "Some of these traits are pretty useful, but not for fighting. But I'm really thinking that skills are gonna be important here if things are trying to kill us. Not to mention the stats and other stuff you get from leveling."

"If we want to protect the town and level people up at the same time, why not form some kind of defense force? Like a militia?" Annie suggested. "Some sort of group to go around keeping everyone safe. Better than going out alone, I'd say."

"Not a bad idea." Tom scratched his chin. "If the animals keep attacking chickens like this, who knows when they'll start getting brave and attacking people? Why, the Thompson boy had to fight off a particularly aggressive raccoon yesterday. Thought it was rabid, we did."

"Chad and I could lead, since we're pretty high level." Squawkers offered. "We can help protect everyone while they fight."

Murmurs rose up from the group as they debated the idea. There was more than a bit of hesitation and uncertainty, which Chad could understand. He'd be uncertain, too, if he hadn't been in the thick of things and seen it up close. But the people who had been dealing with the aggressive wildlife and other consequences of these events seemed to agree on the need for action.

"I can't believe we're even considering this." Nick's objection cut through the muttered conversations. His voice cracked in barely-suppressed panic. "We're not built for this! I'm not built for this! Even this system thing recognizes it!" He pointed emphatically to the Buffet Line Cook tag above his head.

"I'm glad that someone else is sane here," Jerry muttered. But if anyone heard the Musician's quiet remark, they ignored him.

Nick continued in a pleading tone. "Why not leave this for the police? They're way more trained for this kind of stuff!"

One of the women piped up. "They're trying, but they've got their hands full. I saw Sherrif Dawson on the way over. The poor man looked dead on his feet. We're gonna have to step up."

"We?! No, someone has to step up! Someone who actually knows what they're doing!" Nick protested.

“Like who?” She shot back.

Richard spoke up, resting his elbows against his engine grease-smeared jeans. "I don't agree with Nick, exactly, but he has a point. Why go looking for trouble? You say we need levels, but I've got a rifle at home. I'd say I'm ready if something decides to come after us."

"That'll work for now," Chad admitted, "but that Ghoulture in town shrugged off bullets like they were BB's. If things keep getting stronger, then a gun might not be enough. That's why we gotta level. It might be the best way to protect yourself."

"Oh, great!" Nick laughed hysterically. "So not only do you want us to become soldiers, but you want us to fight things that shrug off bullets? That's it, I'm out."

"Nick--"

"No! I'm done! I'm not a fighter! I work at the goddamn Souplantation for Chrissake!" He stood and stomped toward the door. "You all are crazy. Do whatever you want, but I'm not gonna be part of it. I'm leaving!"

The group watched as the guy hurried out of the living room and pulled open the front door. It slammed behind him loudly.

"Well...." Chad broke the tense silence that followed. "I guess we should figure out how this is gonna work, then?"

Before anyone could respond, they heard a high-pitched scream from outside.