"Howdy," Bob called out to the assembled figures in as friendly a voice as he could manage. Three men were gathered around George. One of them was crouching down and petting the dog. That was surely a good sign. Good people are kind to dogs, aren't they? George was enjoying the attention a little too much for Bob's taste. Fraternizing with the enemy and all.

Bob had closed in enough to get a better look at the strangers and a better look was not comforting. Those artistic red, black splashes across their clothes looked awfully like dried blood. Yes, that was dried blood no mistake. Good people can have blood on their clothes, can't they?

"Sorry about the dog. He's a friendly, little guy. We'll get out of your hair," Bob wheedled, half-bowing and cringing his face up into something appropriately apologetic. At the same time, Bob summoned the dog with a sharp, commanding hiss. George looked up, titled his head in question and then walked over to Bob.

The man who'd be petting George rose to his feet. He was a lanky man with awkward gestures and soft white hands. Was that an electric screwdriver in his belt? "Is that your dog?"

"Yes... sir. This is George. And I'm Bob. Bob Brown. Good to meet you all." Humanize yourself Bob. It's harder to kill a man whose name you know.

"I'm Rad." Said the lanky man.

"You mean Brad?" Bob suggested helpfully.

"No call me Rad."

"Rad. I haven't heard that name before. If you don't mind me asking, is that short for something?"

"Yeah, Brad"

"So you're Brad?"

"No, call me Rad." Rad repeated a less patiently than the first time.

"Sorry, sorry, Rad, yes, Rad; cool name that." He gestured to the other two men, "And if you don't mind me asking, who might you fine fellows be?"

"I"m Chad," the well-built, shorter man on the left spoke up.

Perfect time for a joke Bob. Go ahead and lighten the mood. Nobody kills a funny man. Give them your best material. Bob turned to the third man, a more portly fellow this one, with a red face and a bandolier of darts strapped over his shoulder.

"Rad and Chad, so I guess that makes you Lad." Bob smiled ingratiatingly and waited for the laughter.

"Yeah that's right. Have we met before." Bob backpedalled. "No, sorry," what were the chances, "just a wild guess on my part."

"You making fun of my name?"

"No, Lad is a great name. Everybody wanted to be a lad at my school. I envy you."

"Chad, he's making fun of my name."

"Far from it. Couldn't be further from my mind. Lad is that short for something? Never mind. Forget I asked. Mighty glad to meet you all. Lad, Chad and Rad, that's right? What brings you out to these parts?"

All three men looked at Bob strangely. That had been a stupid question. Conversation was difficult.

Thankfully Rad deigned to summarize. He explained that they'd been enjoying a night on the town and had just been stopping over at a mate's pub when the initiation hit. On their return, the pub crowd had significantly thinned. That was when...

Rad stopped here and gave his companions a significant look. Chad sheepishly averted his gaze, but Lad cut in: "Why mess around telling the whole story. We're just going to kill him ain't we?"

Bob swallowed. Good people joke about killing their friends, don't they, don't they? Bob grabbed George by the neck. He didn't want to get separated.

"Lad, why you gone and said that." Chad interrupted, grabbing Lad's shoulder. "You've gone and spooked him."

"What's it matter. There are three of us. And he sure looks weak."

"Boys," Rad quieted his friends and continued his story, "There were maybe fifteen survivors. One of them had a pistol. He just started shooting. We only did what we had to. Lad's here a mean hand at darts."

"You should've seen him. Whipping out dart after dart," Chad dummied a two-handed dart-killing-machine.

Lad smiled self-indulgently, nodded his acknowledgement to Chad. He looked at Bob, flashed his teeth and then in one smooth motion, flicked a dart out of the bandolier and made as if to throw at Bob. Bob flinched back, which set Lad and Chad guffawing, shaking their heads and clutching their stomaches. Rad glared angrily at the two of them.

"Did anyone else survive?" Bob asked, eyes on the ground.

"Nobody," Lad answered, "we even lost Mad." "Poor Mad," Chad chimed in. "It was Mad's pub. Never make it back from the initiation," Rad explained, "Chad too probably would've died if I hadn't gotten there in time. Nasty knife wound."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Chad lifted up his shirt to show the scar. "Bastard twisted the knife."

"I was a doctor. I've got a minor heal ability."

"I see." Eyes still on the ground. So much for the grace period preventing player vs player combat. These guys had killed people. Bob was probably next. "That's all sounds mighty hard. I'm sorry about your friends. George here and I were the only ones in our group. I thought we'd had it bad, but you guys sure pulled the short end of the stick."

"You can say that again."

"Our base, well our starting room is a couple hundred meters off in that direction," Bob pointed in a random direction. "Do let us know if we can help with anything. It was good meeting you all. Always nice meeting good people."

Bob moved to leave in the direction he'd pointed (plausibility and all). Unfortunately, Lad stepped over and blocked their way forward. "Chad, he said he wants to help us."

"Very considerate of him Lad; I reckon I can think of a way you might be helpful."

"Chad, he's a beginner; explain it to him."

"You're too kind Lad. See here, Bob. Killing sentients gives experience. Very good experience. I'm already level two." He puffed up his chest. "And Lad here's level three. The good things don't end there either. There's a plunder bonus. The system gifts us a portion of your money for our hard work."

Bob stepped back instinctively. These were bad odds. George could probably get one of them. Maybe even two. They were definitely underestimating the dog. If Bob could use his mud manipulation, or had some other power, or anything. If Bob wasn't so damn useless, they might have had a chance...

"Come on, Rad. You're good people. We're all in the same boat here. The enemy's the system."

Rad looked down at George; the dog was blissfully unaware of his situation and was wagging his tail excitedly back and forth.

"Rad, don't tell me, you're letting them go."

Rad bit his lip but didn't answer.

"You killed people too, Rad. I saw you use that screwdriver."

"Yeah Rad, what are we waiting for?"

"Boys, the pub was one thing, but this, this would be straight up..."

"Murder? Rad you're too soft. We all went through the challenges didn't we? Killing's normal here. He probably killed people too."

"Lad's right. Rad, you saw the quest. Someone's got to level up or we're all goners."

Could Bob make a run for it? He might be able to squeeze past Lad and start sprinting. Yes and then he'd go down to a dart in the back. They'd be on him in moments. Screwdriver to the brain.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, come on there's no need for that talk. We're all good people here. I'm sure we can work something out."

Rad jumped on the chance. "What did you have in mind?"

Bob had nothing in mind. He quickly stalled for time. "Well... I mean; you know, context, context! Couldn't give me a little more context? What's this plunder bonus? What happens if you kill a person."

"10%" Chad said.

"20%" Lad interrupted, earning funny looks from his two companions. "You get 20% of the player's wealth."

"Ah I see," Bob sensing his chance, "well good sirs, that means you lose 80% of your... target's wealth. 80%. Good money down the drain that."

"Oh, you'll buy your life will you?"

"I can see when an article's worth its price. Yes I propose a transaction. I will give you 100% of my wealth. Can't say fairer than that."

"He probably only has a measly one hundred or two hundred credits. Maybe less." Chad scoffed, "I'd rather get to level 3."

Bob thought he saw Lad nodding.

"Hold your horses. Plenty of time to kill me after negotiations break down. Because you fine folks are luck. In that fourth challenge, I got down to one measly chip and couldn't bear standing multiple life-and-death deals, so I staked it all on lucky number seven. And here I am to tell the tale."

"Is that so?" Rad quickly calculated, "Boys what'd you say? He's got 2600 credits. That's more than all of us combined."

"He's obviously lying."

"But level 3, Rad."

"Kill him and we lose over two thousand credits. Two thousand credits, Boys."

"Why don't we just kill him after he hands over the credits?"

"Chad, you idiot. He's standing right there."

"Sorry Bob. Forget you heard that or I'll kill you." Now in a very audible whisper, "It's the obvious plan though right? Money and experience."

Bob had not been idle. He'd had the same thought as Chad. You just can't trust good people anymore. But Bob remembered seeing something relevant in his interface and quickly got to work.

"Yeah, but Chad, what idiot's going to fork over his money if he thinks we'll just kill him anyway."

"What choice does he have? We're threatening to kill him."

"Chad, dammit. Rad you explain to him."

"Chad..."

The eyes of the three men all glazed over at the same time:

> System Contract Proposal - Non-Aggression Pact:

>

>

> Contract Details:

>

> 1. Parties:

> * Party A (Offeror): Bob, George

> * Party B (Acceptor): Chad, Lad, Rad

> 2. Terms of Agreement:

> * Party A agrees to transfer 2600 credits to Party B.

> * In return, Party B agrees to indefinitely refrain from engaging in hostile actions or any form of aggression against Party A.

>

> Contract violation will be judged and punished by the system.

>

> Do you accept these terms?

>

> Yes/No

Bob grinned weakly at the three men, currently debating how best to both kill him and steal all his money. Good people, eh? "What'd you say, guys? Nothing like a system-enforced, written agreement to build trust between parties."

"But Lad, if we sign this, we won't be able to kill him after we get the money."

"Yeah Chad, that's the whole point."

"Then why in hell would we sign?"

Rad cut in: "Lad, he wasn't lying about the money. He'd be bound by the contract just like us. I think we should take it."

The three of them put their heads together and deliberated. Rad sounded like Bob's biggest advocate, while Chad vehemently opposed any plan that didn't involve him leveling up. Lad was the most mercenary of the group and just wanted to extract the most out of the situation.

Bob thought about running. He really wanted to do something. He couldn't stand still. He kept catching snippets of their hushed conversation. How far could they make it before the trio reacted? A hundred meters, not even close, fifty, twenty, ten, five? He remembered that smooth, practiced draw of the dart. Lad really did look like one of those guys who threw bullseye after bullseye while pissed out of his mind. A big, open target on a big, open plain... But maybe George would escape. Who was he kidding? George in the wilderness all alone?

Bob also thought about setting George loose on the lot of them as they huddled together. Why was he so powerless? One well-timed fire breath into their midst. It might work. It probably would. But that really would be nothing short of cold-hearted murder. Bob might have done it for George. But he didn't want to make George do it for him. At least not while there was any hope left.

The voices stopped. It looked like they'd come to some kind of decision. They'd surely come around. Greed was the ultimate motivator. People only need the right incentives. People are all good at heart, aren't they? Good people, good people; Rad stepped up as their spokesman:

"Our answer is no."