Whether the towers had a sophisticated enough flag messaging system to relay more complicated instructions, I couldn’t say, but somehow someone reached a decision to allow the Blue Lake coach into Moonlight.

The players had surrounded Jorn Quallon who was sputtering mad. He and his brothers were ranting, but I was across the infield from them, and I couldn’t make out a word. I’m sure it wasn’t friendly.

The coach arrived at the park, and it was painted black with royal blue trim. Four horses pulled the carriage, and there were two attendants sat on top, completely covered in black and blue cloaks. There were two footmen dressed similarly hanging onto the back of the coach, standing on small platforms.

Their cloaks were hooded, and threw dark shadows over their faces. All four of these Blue Lake representatives looked like grim reapers. And, the way Jorn Quallon reacted to their arrival, they may as well have been.

The coach came to a stop next to my shipping container house, just south of the bleachers along the first base line. One of the attendants who’d stood at the back of the carriage stepped down, and hurriedly opened the coach door. A young man with a brown handle bar mustache jumped out of the dark wagon. Our new second baseman we’d received from Blue Lake in exchange for Jorn Quallon.

I rushed over to greet the new guy. He heartily grabbed, and shook my forearm.

“Adam Bridger,” I said. “Owner of the Moonlight Magic.”

“Gerard Plunkett,” he said. I found his calm demeanor remarkable under the circumstances. “Your new second baseman I’m made to understand.”

“Yes,” I said. “Welcome.”

The attendant who’d opened the door for him held his arm out straight, but they did not speak. It was an instruction, as best I could tell, for Plunkett to move away from the coach. We both did so.

The other attendant at the rear of the coach stepped down to the ground, and came to stand next to his colleague. The other two attendants remained sat atop the carriage. The attendants on the ground raised their arms, motioning to the cluster of my players across the infield. I’d assumed it was their way of requesting Jorn Quallon come to the wagon. I could see on Jorn’s reddened, furious face, he would do no such thing.

“Come on, Jorn!” I called to the man. His eyes stabbed me from ninety feet away. “These men are here to take you.”

Helpfully, Gak, and Denton as well as a few others under hooked Jorn’s arms, and led him over to us at the coach. I think they were happy to hear Jorn was expected to leave which explained how quickly they caught on, and how eager they were to usher the man away. Cannibals aren’t all that popular, it turns out.

“Stop this!” Jorn hollered.

“Come now, man,” Gak said. “You’re expected.”

“Let go of him!” Cried Jeremiah Quallon.

The third brother, Jux, jogged over to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jux shouted at me, stood within arm’s length.

Jux’s closeness to me caused Trevor to notice from across the field, and he came bounding over.

“Your brother’s been traded to Blue Lake,” I said to Jux. “You’d best stay out of the way.”

“How could you do this?” Jux said.

“I’m doing what’s best for the team,” I said.

Before Jux could get any closer, my friend, the giant wrapped two fingers around him, and almost lifted him off the ground. The other brother, Jeremiah saw this, and thought better of coming near me.

“Stop!” Jorn hollered at the men holding his arms leading him toward the coach.

Once they reached the attendants standing in silence, they let go of Jorn. He attempted to step toward me, when he was grabbed quickly by the two Blue Lake coach men. Again, without saying a word, they restrained Jorn showing formidable strength.

“No!” Jorn shouted, and he tried to wriggle free of the men holding him, but it was fruitless.

The coach attendants shoved Jorn into the carriage, and slammed the door shut. His muffled shouts emanated from a small portal window near the coach’s roof.

“Where are they taking him?” Jeremiah bellowed. “I demand to know!”

“Well, it’s Blue Lake, obviously,” Gak said. “Recognize their colors.”

“Correct,” I said. “Your brother’s been traded to Blue Lake. We’ve received Mr. Plunkett here in exchange.”

The attendants took their places on the platforms at the coach’s rear once again. Without a word, the driver signaled the horses, and the coach from Blue Lake took off, headed back toward the village’s main gate. It had been a fairly slick process, even with the expected resistance. It was a lot like what you’d expect watching someone be arrested, and placed in a paddy wagon. I for one hoped Blue Lake would treat Jorn like a prisoner.

“Pardon, Adam,” Gak said to me after the kerfuffle died down. “What’s to stop you from trading any one of us away to some far off land?”

“Nothing,” I said. “The System’s having its way.”

“Could be us get dragged away then? Like Jorn here?” Gak’s friend Torag asked. “No warning? No say in it?”

“Blame the System,” I said. “You’ve been made a professional baseball player. It’s what you are now. Getting traded, playing for other places, making a life somewhere else? All part of the job.”

“And, if I refuse?” Torag said.

“Take it up with the System,” I said. “And, good luck to you with that.”

Obviously, that did little to allay anyone’s fears, but what good would it have done to lie or try to play down the possibility that anyone could be traded at any time. This is the reality of the world we were forced to endure.

Wasn’t an hour after this that Barkley found me near the equipment bunker.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“After vigorous study, I’m of the understanding my pay has been rooted to performance,” Barkley said.

He’s nothing if not money focused. No judgment. To each their own.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been told this by the System as well.”

“Then I must demand the team perform as well as possible,” Barkley said. “If I’m to increase my level, I must insist the team excel.”

“I’m happy to hear you say it,” I said. “It’s my goal too. Well, really, if we fail to be successful, we all risk annihilation. So, that’s a powerful incentive too, wouldn’t you say?”

“Too right,” Barkley said. “Which is why I’m proposing we address our player levels. How might we increase these?”

“Practice,” I said. “Training drills. We need to put our players through activities which sharpen their skills. As manager, you can schedule practices for all of the players in their various positions.”

“Sharpening skills,” he said. He smiled, and rubbed his hands together. “I like it. We will begin this process… imminently.”

Whether by pure coincidence or System intervention, Hag and Mora both emerged from Moonlight’s north end, intent on speaking with me on a similar subject. The ridiculously cute cat, Hammy, trailed along behind them.

“There will be no failure on my watch,” Hag told me. “For this reason, we will train.”

“I’m with her,” Mora said. “Hammy agrees with us too.”

“Meow.”

“What did you have in mind?” I said.

“We will convene as pitchers,” Hag said.

“And, batters,” Mora said.

“We will force an improvement of our players’ skills,” Hag said. “We will not accept failure.”

“Meow meow.”

These people were serious.

“I’m grateful you feel so strongly about this,” I said. “You’re talking about running a practice.”

“If that is what you’d like to call it,” Mora said.

“There’s no time to waste,” Hag said. “Our understanding is official games will be played soon.”

“Yes, roughly a month from now,” I said. “And, the village’s existence, our whole lives do depend on it.”

“Then we must begin improvements at once,” Hag said. “I will not accept watching over a lackluster effort.”

“Hear hear,” I said.

Even if we’d wanted to continue the conversation, the three of them backed away from me in a hurry when they caught sight of two angry men marching in my direction.

The two Quallon brothers, Jeremiah, and Jux, their chests puffed out, their faces twisted into scowls, stomped across the infield.

From thirty feet away, I yelled at them.

“Back off!” I said. “Both of you, clear out of here. I’m warning you.”

When they were within twenty feet they stopped. They jut their fat fingers at me.

“You cannot imprison our brother!” Jeremiah shouted.

“You mean the way you imprisoned me?” I said. “And, he’s not in prison, he’s in Blue Lake. He’s playing for them now. He’s fine.”

“You have no right!” Jux yelled.

“I have every right,” I said. “I own this team. In fact, I own you!”

Alright, I probably shouldn’t have said that, and it likely only fanned the flames, but I couldn’t stand these guys, and admittedly I allowed my emotions to boil over.

Both brothers rushed me. Jeremiah reached me first, and I threw a heavy right hand that sent him stumbling backward. Jux tried to wrap his hand around the back of my neck. I grabbed his forearm, and I didn’t control my strength at all. I put full pressure on his wrist, and I snapped it like kindling. He fell to the ground at my feet, screaming.

The man’s screams drew the attention of Trevor, and a group of players across the field. They came running.

Jeremiah didn’t bother charging at me again. The players grabbed him, and moved him off. A couple of guys collected Jux from the dirt.

“Get Sutcliffe to look at him,” I muttered to the guys. “Much as I don’t care if he heals or not.”

Proctor approached. “You alright?”

I was shaken up, but happy the confrontation ended as it had. I nodded at my friend.

“We need to figure out how to acquire a parrot,” I said. “I’m trading those bastards first chance I get.”

“Indeed,” Proctor said.

[ATTENTION!

SYSTEM UPDATE…

New player detected.

Gerard Plunkett, second base, right handed

Assessment completed…

Level determined: 1]

“Gerard’s a level one,” I said to Proctor.

“The System’s told you this?” Proctor said.

“Just now.”

Speak of the Devil, Gerard approached me.

“My arrival’s brought a spot of controversy,” Gerard said. “I’m sorry for it.”

I shook my head. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I said. “It’s part of baseball… trades, I mean. Some people accept this more readily than others.”

“Some of the men seem angry with me,” Gerard said. “I’m hoping we can move past this.”

“Don’t worry about them,” I said. “Things will die down and smooth over with time. Won’t even take that long, I don’t imagine.”

“I wanted to ask you,” Gerard said. “I’ve suddenly found this gold in my pocket.”

“Yes,” I said. “You’ll be paid ten pieces a week. For now.”

“More gold than I’ve ever seen,” Gerard said. And his eyes glowed with excitement. “I’ve learned of this odd creature. Just over yonder. The Boop thing. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Proctor pointed at the soda machine. “He’s talking about-”

“I know, the machine,” I said. “You’ve probably never seen anything like it.”

“I haven’t,” Gerard said. “And, I wish to know what it is because I have this gold, and this… thing… it’s asking for gold.”

“It’s a drink,” I said. “Like tea. You enjoy tea?”

“I do,” Gerard said. “The creature gives you tea?”

“It’s magic tea,” Proctor said. “We refer to it as soda.”

Gerard repeated the word, and he laughed. “I’ve not heard of anything like it,” he said. “Magic? What does it do?”

“A great many things,” I said. “And, again, I must caution you. Spend your gold as you see fit, but when it comes to the soda, you must be cautious. For all of our sakes’.”

Gerard walked off, and I watched him to see if he’d make a bee line for the machine. To my relief, he didn’t. Though I was sure curiosity would get the better of him at some point. I still wasn’t aware of all of the soda flavors’ potential powers, nor was I sure I wanted to find out.

“Meow meow meow!” Hammy, the talking orange cat, shouted for all to hear.

“First thing in the morning?” I said to him.

“Meow meow,” he said.

Not a fan of the idea of getting up early, but I agreed we needed to run a practice as soon as possible.

“Meow meow meow,” Hammy said.

“No need to curse, kitty,” I said. “Yes, we all want Experience Points.”

The System was going to allow us to level up by gaining Experience Points. We’d earn these through training drills, and skill demonstrations. Through practice we could collect points until we reached one hundred, at which point we’d move up.

“What about the rest of the team?” I asked the cat. “Are Barkley, Mora, and Hag planning to be there too tomorrow?”

“Meow meow,” Hammy said.

“Alright, great,” I said. “Do you know exactly what we’ll be doing?”

“Meow meow meow,” Hammy said.

“Do we have enough catchers for that?” Proctor wondered. “Is this all relief pitchers doing this at the same time?”

“Hiss,” the cat replied, his eyes narrow slits.

“Apologies, dear dear,” Proctor said. “Ask a simple question.”

“Alright, fine, Hammy,” I said. “Fine, we’ll be there.”

“Meow meow,” Hammy said. And, he walked away toward centerfield.

“Sheesh, what a tyrant,” I said. “He does know I own the team, right?”

Proctor pursed his lips watching the cat leave. “Hmm… yes,” he said. “But, it appears he does not care.”