The Senate chamber was filled with palpable tension as the hearing on the new bill began. The proposed legislation, drafted and sent by the House of Representatives, was a law enforcement empowerment measure aimed at creating an overarching joint task force. This task force would allow federal and state law enforcement to respond to and combat the growing anomalies in the United States from beyond Ohio's rift.

Senator Derek Sutton, a Republican from Georgia, was the first to speak. He began calmly, albeit with an edge of scorn in his voice. He still followed the traditional decorum of Senate hearings.

"This measure," Senator Sutton stated, "is both overreaching and ineffective. Our law enforcement agencies are already stretched beyond their means, dealing with these otherworldly threats. Sure, they’re not even in a position to abuse it due to being stretched too thin, but why give them the opportunity to violate our constitutional rights in the future? What we need is our goddamn National Guard and our military defending our people!"

The assembled Senators and audience met his words with applause and murmurs. It was clear that Sutton's sentiment struck a chord with many who felt that the proposed measure was both inadequate in the face of the looming threat and a slippery slope.

However, Senator Sarah Fletcher, a Democrat from Washington, was quick to counter Sutton's argument. "With all due respect, Senator Sutton," Fletcher began in a measured but firm tone, "We cannot afford to move any personnel from the rift, especially with a looming offensive on the horizon. Our forces are already at maximum capacity… The reserves have been called up, the National Guard has been activated, and every able veteran has been recalled. We've done everything short of a full-on draft!"

Fletcher paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. "This task force is not meant to replace our military but to supplement it. By empowering our law enforcement with the authority to execute raids without warrants and set up no-go zones to deal with the domestic anomalies, we can free up our armed forces to focus on the larger threat beyond the rift."

Senator Sutton, however, was not convinced. He leaned forward in his seat, his face flushed with anger. "Supplement?" he scoffed. "Senator Fletcher, giving law enforcement the ability to establish de facto martial law is absurd!” He threw his arms up in outrage. “That’s not going to keep our people safe! Have you seen the reports coming out of these affected areas!? While you West Coast yuppies are sittin’ comfy behind your fuckin’ mountains, people are disappearing and dying as we speak!"

The Georgian senator stood up and was losing his temper. “I have farms being overrun by monsters! I have children being snatched from playgrounds and elementary schools! College students are being dragged down into sewers in the middle of the street! Hell, Mrs. Fletcher, these filthy monstrosities are even eating people in their own homes!” The man stood up and slammed his hands on the table while pointing at Senator Fletcher. “We don’t need our freedoms stripped away! We need overwhelming force to exterminate these vermin!”

Fletcher stood up abruptly, her face flushed with anger as she pointed accusingly at Senator Sutton. "We have no one left to deploy!" she yelled over the din of the assembly. "Every available soldier, reservist, and National Guard member are all at the rift!"

Senator Terry Wagner, a Democrat from Illinois, spoke up to join the fray. "For God's sake! As Senator Fletcher said, we've recalled every able-bodied veteran, and we've done everything short of a full-scale draft!" he shouted, his voice filled with frustration. “Do you want to be the one to spearhead a draft!? Or should we compromise the entire safety of the nation by dragging away critical units and creating gaps in our frontlines!”

But Sutton was not to be outdone. He slammed his fist on the table, his face red with rage. "That's not good enough!" he bellowed. "Our people are dying out there! We need more boots on the ground, and we need them now!"

The Senate Majority Leader, Senator Robert Thompson from Kentucky, banged his gavel repeatedly, trying to restore order. "Senators! Senators, please!" he yelled, his voice straining to be heard above the shouting. "Order! Order!"

However, his efforts were in vain. The debate had devolved into a full-blown shouting match, with Senators from both sides of the aisle standing up and yelling over each other. Accusations and insults flew back and forth, drowning out any attempt at reasoned discourse.

In a living room hundreds of miles away, a sun-kissed man named Broughan Bitterly, with bright blonde hair and a clean-shaven face, shook his head as he watched the Senate hearing on TV. After the rift opened, the entire country lost its mind. Every day, the county was flooded with sirens and helicopters rushing to one crisis after another with no end in sight.

These monsters were everywhere, and they even roamed brazenly during the day… And if you didn’t find one sneaking around in broad daylight, you sure as hell would find them in the sewers and drainage systems.

It was a nightmare for the East Coast and Middle America, a nightmare that Broughan knew would eventually affect the rest of the country. But he also felt like he had an answer for it.

Looking around him, Broughan saw his friends leisurely hanging about, snapping rounds of ammunition into magazines as they prepared for another day of fighting the monsters that had invaded their town.

They had set up their own Local Militia and soon-to-be Private Security firm to respond to these crises. Gearing up, organizing, and transporting people to hotspots that would pop up was an expensive venture, but as a popular Gun YouTuber, Broughan had an advantage most didn’t.

Broughan was already in a position to organize people and get the OK from the local county in Texas. He already had enough weapons to arm a small army. He also had the transports in the form of small helicopters, trucks, and Polaris ATVs they’d use to hunt hogs.

They were in the perfect position to provide a solution where the state couldn’t.

"Look at ‘em," Broughan said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Arguing and bickering while we're out here actually getting shit done. Typical."

His friend Marcus, a dark-skinned, burly man with a thick beard, grunted in agreement. "They don't have a clue they’re doin’," he said, placing a magazine into the pile. "They're too busy playing their political games to be of any use."

Greg, a pale, lean man with a baby face, nodded as he looked up, loading magazines as well. "It's like the Wild West all over again," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "We can't count on the government to save us. We've got to take care of ourselves, just like the pioneers did."

There was a glint in Greg's eye as he spoke, a hint of adventure. "In a way, it's kind of exciting," he continued. "Being out there on the frontier, facing down these monsters, relying on our own skills and wits to survive." But then his expression sobered, and he shook his head. "Still, it's a damn shame it's come to this. We pay our taxes, but what do we get? A bunch of suits in Washington arguing while the country goes up in flames."

Broughan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's just how it is, man," he said. "When the chips are down when things really go to shit, it's always the common folk who have to step up."

Just as those words left Broughan’s mouth, a teenager suddenly burst into the room with a phone clutched tightly in his hand. "Uncle Brou, you got work!" he yelled, running over to hand the device to his uncle.

Taking the phone from his nephew, Broughan furrowed his brow as he quickly scanned through the information on the screen. A huff was forced through his nose, and a serious expression settled over his face. "Greg!" he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. "Take the trucks and your boys to Wilts' farm. They found more of those scaly bastards stealing livestock."

Not wasting any time, Greg shot up and started shoving the preloaded magazines into pouches before rushing out of the room. "On it, boss," the man shouted before barreling out of the door, already shouting out orders to his men.

"Marcus, you're with me," he said, grabbing his plate carrier to gear up. "We've got a mix of lizards and mangy vermin out by Lakeside. We're taking the helis."

Marcus nodded as he threw on his own plate carrier and started shoving magazines into pouches. "Roger that," He replied, bolting out of the house as well after grabbing his rifle.

As Broughan geared up, he continued to parse through the information on his phone. On the screen, a newly developed open-source app called The Minutemen. The Minutemen were explicitly designed to aggregate attacks and organize civilian responders. Everyone from mall cops, private security firms, militias, and even private military contractors got in on the action and were referred to as Minutemen. It essentially crowdsourced first responders.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The Minutemen app was a work in progress, with a rough and unintuitive interface, but it still provided a real-time map of the entire state of Texas. When one viewed the map, they’d quickly see that the whole state was peppered with exclamation marks, each one indicating an incident that required their attention.

These alerts were constantly updated, providing a live feed of the crisis situations unfolding across the region. But when Broughan honed in on his city, San Antonio, he said it was lit up by single flashing police light icons indicating law enforcement was already handling the incidents. It was a helpful tool, allowing them to prioritize their response and avoid redundancy.

However, two other incidents remained unattended, and their exclamation marks strobed urgently on the map. One was at Wilts' farm, the location Greg and his team were already speeding towards. The other was in the suburbs of Lakeside, the destination for Broughan and Marcus.

Broughan tapped on the Lakeside alert, bringing up additional details, and the app began to work its magic in the background. Not only were pictures from the service requester provided, but The Minutemen app crawled the internet, searching for similar images that were geotagged in the area and taken within the same timeframe as the request.

Within seconds, a series of additional images populated the screen, providing more context to the job and a comprehensive visual of the situation on the ground. Broughan's eyes widened as he took in the new information. His fingers deftly allocated the request to his makeshift militia with a few quick taps. But as he continued to study the images, something caused him to pause.

Amidst the chaos and destruction, he noticed a disturbing mix of creatures - both the feral and vicious Scroungers that had become public enemy number one and the kleptomaniac Kobolds.

This was highly unusual. Scroungers were known for their territorial aggression and brazenness in attacking people in broad daylight. They were apex predators, feared by humans and monsters alike. Kobolds, on the other hand, were more of a nuisance than a lethal threat. They were notorious for their thievery and mischief, always seeking to make off with shiny objects or someone's livestock. But they typically avoided direct confrontation, preferring to avoid humans, and were content to hunt the plentiful hogs and deer. Nevertheless, they were still dangerous and attacked when cornered.

Seeing these two vastly different species operating in the same location sent alarm bells ringing in Broughan's mind. Scroungers and Kobolds had never been known to work together before. In fact, their behaviors and motivations were so contrasting that they were more likely to clash than cooperate.

Something wasn't adding up. There was a piece of the puzzle missing, a factor he couldn't quite grasp. But as the sound of helicopter rotors starting to spool up outside reached his ears, Broughan knew he didn't have the luxury of time to figure it out now.

With a frown, he shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed his rifle. The specifics would have to wait. Right now, they needed to get to Lakeside and put an end to whatever the hell was going on before more lives were lost and houses burned down.

Broughan sprinted outside towards the awaiting helicopters as a crowd of armed men piled inside both birds—an old Bell 212 and a Bell 206. Without hesitation, he jumped into the Bell 212, his rifle slung across his back. Turning to the pilot, Broughan spun his finger in a circle and yelled, "Let's go!"

One of the militiamen leaned forward into the cockpit, smacked the pilot in command’s shoulder, and relayed the order. The pilot immediately nodded and pulled up on the collective to take off.

"San Antonio Tower, this is Minuteman Bravo Golf 32, a Bell 212, and Minuteman Bravo Golf 33, a Bell 206, departing Bitterly compound to the west. We are a flight of two, VFR (Visual Flight Rules), to Lakeside, responding to a crisis situation. Requesting priority clearance."

The radio crackled to life as the tower responded. "Minuteman Bravo Golf 32, San Antonio Tower. Roger, your request. You are cleared for immediate departure to the east. Maintain VFR at or below 1,500 feet. Squawk 1-2-0-0. Priority handling is in effect. Godspeed."

"Cleared for immediate departure to the east, maintain VFR at or below 1,500, squawking 1200. Minuteman Bravo Golf 32 copies all, rolling now."

After the formalities were completed, the pilot skillfully lifted the Bell 212 into the air, the Bell 206 following close behind. The two helicopters quickly gained altitude, their powerful rotors churning the air as they set course for Lakeside.

Broughan and his men were already preparing for the job inside the helicopters. They checked their weapons, ensured their comms were working, and mentally steeled themselves for whatever awaited them.

As the helicopters raced towards Lakeside, Broughan couldn’t help but marvel at just how much had changed as his mind drifted. Just a few months ago, these skies were a picture of serenity. The occasional police helicopter would do its rounds or circle over an area, but otherwise, the airspace was largely clear and peaceful.

Now, however, the sky was abuzz with activity. Small prop planes, helicopters, and drones flew in every direction, a testament to the new threats their society faced. The rift had changed everything, and the airspace was no exception.

The noise rules the FAA once enforced had been largely disregarded in the face of this new reality. The priority now was rapid response, getting eyes on target and boots on the ground as quickly as possible when a crisis emerged. Red tape and regulations had taken a backseat to the pressing need for swift action.

As Broughan mused on these changes, a tap on his shoulder jolted him from his reverie and brought him back to the present. One of his men leaned in close, pointing at the pilot with his thumb. "Boss, the pilot says we're one minute out," the man shouted, trying to overpower the sounds of the whipping rotor blades.

Acknowledging the update with a nod, Broughan then grabbed one of the handles inside the helicopter and planted his feet firmly on a strut on the skid before leaning forward. The man squinted his eyes as he peered out in front of the helicopter in an attempt to get a better view of what was going on and where they were heading.

Sure enough, just a mile or two ahead, billows of smoke followed by flashes of arcane energy that clashed with the afternoon sun erupted from the suburbs they were racing towards. The scene was chaotic and destroyed as smoke filled streets and skies.

With a grunt, Broughan pulled himself back into the helicopter and immediately began issuing orders. "Listen up!" he barked as they made their final approach. "We're going to land in the cul-de-sac. The 206 will provide overhead support. Stay sharp, watch your sectors, and remember your training!" He shouted as men checked their weapons and gear, readying themselves for a potential hot landing. One of the militiamen, however, pulled out a radio and immediately began relaying the orders to the other helicopter.

As the Bell 212 approached the landing zone, the pilot expertly maneuvered the aircraft by flying it low and fast. They were so low that the rotor wash kicked up dust and debris from the rooftops, creating a swirling vortex behind them. The pilot flared the nose up, bleeding off as much speed as possible before gently setting the aircraft down in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

Just as the helicopter's skids touched the pavement, Broughan and his men jumped into motion. They had drilled this maneuver countless times, each man knowing his role and position as they moved forward, scanning their sectors. The Militiamen fanned out, training their weapons on potential threats as the helicopter kicked off the ground and took off to join its sister aircraft circling above.

The Bell 206 remained in a holding pattern with snipers in its cabin, providing a watchful eye and rattling off shots from above while Broughan and his team moved deeper into the battlefield. More gunfire erupted from him and his team, ending any Kobold or Scrounger that were lingering out in the open while they maneuvered on the suburb. As they cleared the street one yard at a time, the true extent of the carnage became apparent. Bodies littered the streets, but as Broughan looked closer, he realized something was off.

Among the scattered corpses, only one of them appeared to be human. The poor soul’s mangled corpse was strewed about in a grotesque way in the middle of the street. Even from a distance, Broughan could see the severity of the wounds. Deep gashes crisscrossed the corpse, and chunks of flesh appeared to have been torn away as if the body had been feasted upon. The barbarity of the injuries was a clear sign of the Scrounger's viciousness.

But the vast majority of the bodies weren’t even human.

As Broughan and his men moved cautiously through the suburban streets, the scene before them was one of utter devastation. The bodies of Kobolds and Scroungers littered the ground from what must have been a brutal and vicious melee.

But something about this scene felt off from the usual encounters with these creatures. Broughan had been fighting these monsters since the rift first appeared, and in all that time, he had never heard of Kobolds and Scroungers even whispered in the same sentence, let alone be seen near each other.

It was well known that Kobolds and Scroungers rarely, if ever, interacted. Kobolds, with their small, wiry frames and quick, furtive movements, were natural scavengers. They preferred to steal and run rather than engage in direct confrontation. Their survival instincts were geared towards avoiding conflict, especially with creatures that could easily overpower them.

Scroungers, on the other hand… These larger, more aggressive creatures were easy for a teenager to handle but usually hunted in packs and lived in tribes with their own makeshift cultures. To make matters worse, they chose to stalk and hunt humans, even in large cities, by making their lairs in sewers or drainage pipes.

The two species occupied vastly different niches in the ecosystem of this new, post-rift world, and they typically avoided each other. Seeing them here, not just in the same neighborhood but actively fighting and killing each other, was unheard of. It contradicted everything Broughan and his men had come to understand about these creatures and their behavior.

As Broughan and his team moved deeper into the suburb, the evidence of this strange and deadly interaction became more apparent. Kobold spears protruded from Scrounger's corpses, while the telltale marks of Scrounger's jagged makeshift blades and claws marred the bodies of fallen Kobolds. It was as if these two species, usually so distinct in their habits and habitats, had suddenly decided to seek each other out and clashed in a frenzy of unprecedented violence.

Or… perhaps this was always the case, and they just now noticed?

Broughan narrowed his eyebrows as his mind raced with possibilities. Was this a chance encounter and scuffle for resources? Or had the Kobolds and Scroungers, creatures that had always maintained a wary distance, actively sought each other out and engaged in a brutal conflict?

Shaking his head, Broughan dismissed these thoughts for the moment. Figuring out the underlying cause of this anomalous behavior would have to wait.

Right now, he had a job to do.