Jacob, along with the villains’ corpses, was brought to the Arcadia Heroes’ Guild HQ, a sprawling complex in the Blue District nicknamed ‘The Lodge’. He was taken into the medical center and put on a respirator, which gave enough relief to his tattered lungs that he was able to sleep for a while.

He woke up to the same all-white room, greeted by the insistent beeping of machines. He tore the respirator mask off and sat up. He took a deep breath to test his lungs, and they seemed fine. Looking down at his hands, however, he found that his right was still missing two fingers, the stumps in an awkward half-way stage of regrowth.

Fenway was there, sitting in a chair next to the bed with her legs neatly folded. She regarded him evenly when his attention eventually fell on her.

“Congratulations on succeeding your first assignment,” she said.

Jacob tried to clear his throat, finding it all glued up. She held out a metal bowl, and he spat a big gob of bloody phlegm into it. She made a face and set the bowl aside.

“Thanks,” Jacob croaked. He cleared his throat again, and it felt better. “How long did I sleep?”

“‘Sleep’ might not be the best word for it. Our doctors looked you over while you were out, and it might be more accurate to say that you go into a sort of coma while you’re healing. In reality, you weren’t far from dead.”

“That doesn’t surprise me much.”

“To answer your question, though, you were out for 12 hours.” Fenway brought up her interface and flicked through it for a minute. “I saw what you did to Hyena and Snapjaw. Your methods were…”

“I was one guy against two Level 5s. What did you expect me to do, go in and ask them nicely to go back to jail, pretty please?”

“No, I did not. Did you kill Hyena in his sleep?”

“I did. Is that against the rules?”

“No.” He brow wrinkled. “No, but…”

“If it’s not against the rules, there’s no problem, right?”

She didn’t say anything to that, so Jacob considered the matter resolved.

“Did Becca visit?” he asked.

“Rebecca Hartley? She tried to, but she was denied entry to the Lodge since she’s not authorized personnel.”

“Did she look worried?”

“I didn’t speak to her, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I’d better get out of here then. I won’t hear the end of it if I keep her waiting. She’ll have a million questions.”

“Fair enough. Let me show you out.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but bit it back.

When he stood up, Jacob found that his clothes had been taken off and replaced with a plain white hospital gown and a pair of loose linen pants, feet left bare. His clothes had been incinerated, he was told, after getting all bloody and torn up. His shoes were still there, at least, sitting next to the bed. They had gotten a few drops of blood on them, but they were still usable, so he slipped into them.

He followed Fenway through a maze of endless halls, all white or gray or very light blue, illuminated by unbroken light strips in the ceiling. There were no windows at first, and Fenway confirmed that some of the complex ran underground, in part to serve as a defense in case of a devastating attack on the city.

There were plenty of workers in suits and lab coats hurrying this way and that, and they met a number of costumed heroes along the way, their crests marking them as B and A-Rank. Many of the heroes stopped what they were doing to look at Jacob as he passed, giving him odd looks. A few of the workers did the same.

At first he thought it was just because he was ugly—he’d largely gotten used to those kinds of looks from the general public. But there was something different about the way these people looked at him. A barely hidden disapproval.

“Did I shit in someone’s lunch or something?” Jacob asked as they walked, meeting a B-Rank’s disgusted gaze with a glare of his own.

“Despite what protocol dictates, Guild support workers can be quite the gossip-mongers,” Fenway explained. “Many in the Lodge already know what you did. It’s not against the rules or the law, technically, but it certainly won’t earn you any friends with the other heroes. Many of them have a soft no-kill policy. And the way you went about it, well… Some might consider it immoral. Or monstrous.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t let morals factor into my work unless it impacts the efficiency of that work. I can see why you did what you did, and I admit that you most likely would have failed your assignment if you hadn’t resorted to underhanded tactics. I neither approve nor disapprove.”

“I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get around here. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m paid to put up with you.”

“True enough.”

A man came down the hall the opposite way. He stopped and held out a hand to halt them. It was Starman, Jacob realized, recognizing him by the scar across his face. He was always surprised by how plain the man looked out of his armor.

“Jacob Sorenson,” he said in his booming, quintessentially heroic voice.

“You heard what I did, I get it,” Jacob said, holding back a sigh. “Why don’t you get your insults out of the way so we can move on with our lives.”

“Don’t you believe in the sanctity of life? The ability for even the worst criminals to reform and become a net gain to society?”

“For serial-killing cannibals? Not really.”

The air around Starman shimmered, and a pair of luminous gauntlets began to form around his clenched fists. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and they vanished. “Killing without warning is not how things are done around here. It’s a last resort, do you hear me?”

“I hear you loud and clear. Bla bla bla, self-righteous nonsense, bla bla bla. That an accurate description of your reasoning?”

“You think this is funny, do you? People dying?”

“No, but I think you’re pretty funny. If the hero thing doesn’t work out, you could charge good money for this clown act. I don’t think you’re one to lecture people about killing when you have a few hundred thousand souls on your conscience. Oh sorry, but you meant well. I’m sure that’s what counts.”

Starman’s face was all red and screwed up with rage. He held a finger in the air, which shook with his barely repressed emotion. “Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you’ll do better.”

Jacob tried very hard to hold back his laughter, but a chuckle slipped out anyway. “Or else, what? Gonna kill me?”

Starman was clothed in his silver armor inside a fraction of a second and had Jacob up against the wall before he could make any move to stop it, a hand clamped around his throat.

“I won’t kill you,” he said. “But I can make life very difficult for you.”

Jacob smiled back. He couldn’t breathe, but he wouldn’t give the hero the satisfaction of seeing him splutter. He’d hold his breath for as long as possible—he guessed that Cheat the Hangman would help with that, considering his generally slowed bodily processes. Less need for oxygen.

“Mr. Wilson!” someone called out. “Release that man, if you would.”

Starman immediately let go and backed away, though the anger was still writ large across his face. Jacob stepped forward, cracking his neck and enjoying a nice intake of breath. He glanced over to see who had spoken and saw an older man with graying hair—maybe late 50s or early 60s—coming towards them. He was in good shape for his age, and wore a large mustache on his top lip that only served to draw attention to his large, bulbous nose.

“Take a breather, Mr. Wilson,” the man said, pointing down the hall. “Go on, leave us.”

“Yes sir,” Starman bit out. He stalked off, letting Force of Will dissipate in a trail of light behind him. Jacob kept an eye on the hero until he rounded a corner.

The man in the suit offered out a hand, and Jacob shook it. He couldn’t spot anything insincere in the man’s smile, but then he didn’t have Bob’s Advanced Empathy.

“I’m Theodore Thatch,” the man said. “I’m the director of the Guild’s Arcadia branch. You’re Jacob Sorenson, correct?”

“Theodore Thatch, that’s some nice alliteration. Your parents must have been comic book fans.”

“On the contrary, actually. My father gave me a good walloping when I said I was going to work for the Heroes’ Guild. But that was many years ago. Walk with me a while, will you?”

Jacob complied, and Fenway fell in behind them, apparently not wanting to intrude on the conversation.

“So you’re the boss of this place?” Jacob asked.

“That’s right.”

“I guess that makes you… my client?”

“Something like that. But regardless of your specific status with the Guild, I want you to treat the Lodge as a home away from home.”

“Sure. Really welcoming so far.”

“Yes, I apologize for the reception. Heroes can be a difficult bunch to keep in line. Strong wills all around. They’re like actors—divas to a fault.”

“I’m getting this weird feeling that they don’t like me much.”

Director Thatch laughed. “Expect more of that, if you’re determined to keep working how you did on your first assignment.”

“You don’t sound as disapproving.”

Something dangerous flashed in the old man’s eyes. “Whoever said that I disapprove? A surgeon who only has scalpels cannot perform his best work. I prefer to surround myself with a variety of tools.”

“Rather spoken like a villain, I think.”

Director Thatch just laughed—he seemed to do that a lot—but the dangerous glint didn’t disappear from his eyes. “So, what should we call you?” he asked, changing the subject. “What hero name have you chosen for yourself?”

“Still working on that.”

“I see. Take your time, but not too long. You’ll want to make an impact.”

“Sure.”

They ended up in a large office with three large windows set into the back wall. The part of the Lodge that was above ground sat on a large height, providing a great view of the city below.

Director Thatch sat with a sigh in a high-backed chair behind an imposing desk of dark polished wood. With a gesture, he bid Jacob and Fenway to sit in the smaller chairs opposite him, and they did so.

Director Thatch templed his fingers before his face, elbows resting on the desk. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Sorenson. I’m having a hard time gauging your motives.”

“Really? I think I’m quite transparent.” Jacob rubbed absently at the stumps of his fingers with the other hand. “I’m here to make money. That’s all. I don’t see much value in all the theatrics and personas and public spectacle, except where it may drive up demand for my services.”

Another jolly laugh from the director. “I see, I see. Don’t you worry, I’ll keep you with work for a good while yet. If you prove yourself reliable—and finish your coursework, of course—there may be some… more lucrative assignments sent your way.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“I’d appreciate that.”

Jacob had the distinct feeling that he was going to get along fine with the director. There was something of an old wolf in him, hungry and shrewd.

The conversation was cut short there, and Fenway showed him the rest of the way out of the Lodge. She took leave of him at the big front gates.

“Let me know when you’re ready to take on your next assignment,” she said. “I have several lined up.”

Jacob nodded. “Soon. Maybe tomorrow. I have some things to do today.”

“Very well.”

Jacob checked his account as he walked the winding road down from the Lodge. 9 132 flora. He’d already been forwarded the payment from Mr. Beau, along with a congratulatory message.

The Heroes’ Guild sure pays its debts promptly. Not that I’m complaining.

It was, by a fairly wide margin, the most money Jacob had ever had at one time. It lifted a dozen worries from his shoulder, and the world was suddenly brighter. The sunlight more vibrant, the breeze more comforting, the sounds of traffic and human noise more endearing.

So this is what not being poor feels like.

With the money question solved, Jacob had a number of errands in mind. He took a train to the Yellow District, visited a few jewelry stores, picked out a necklace for Becca. A silver chain with a cat’s head pendant. She liked cats.

Next he went to their apartment in the Gray District and took care of the whole damn pile of neglected bills in one go. The joy that brought him was almost orgasmic, and he still had over 6 000 flora left to work with. His final stop was the nearest Smile Boy, where he got burgers, a thing of fries, a box of chicken nuggets, and two drinks in a big paper bag. He brought that down to the Sleeping Cat and descended the stairs into the bar.

Becca was at work behind the counter. Mr. Beau had updated the lackluster uniforms with red bow tie chokers. It looked ridiculous on Bob, who was knocking on the walls like a crazy person to check for rats, but it suited Becca well.

She lit up at the sight of him and stretched her arms out towards him in a grabby hands gesture, closing and opening her hands repeatedly.

“Miss me much?” he asked.

“A little. I wasn’t worried about you dying or anything. Not at all.”

He found that it was the bag of food she was grabby for, not him, but he held it away from her as he seated himself on an empty stool. “Not yet. I’ve got something else for you.”

He gave her the black velvet box with the necklace in it. She put it on straight away, even though it clashed a bit with the choker. “So fancy!” she said. “With this I barely look like white trash anymore!”

Jacob smiled at her infectious glee. “Oh, I dunno about that. You can take the girl out of the trash, but you can’t take the trash out of the girl.”

“Now the burgers! Gimme the burgers!”

He gave her the burgers. She looked happier about that than the necklace. Mr. Beau wasn’t there to admonish her, so she ate it standing then and there. Jacob even managed to steal back a couple of fries and a chicken nugget and a bit of soda.

“Sho howth id go?” Becca asked around a mouthful of burger. She swallowed hard. “I haven’t heard any details at all!”

Jacob scoffed. “Maybe you would have if you hadn’t fallen asleep right away. Some assistant you turned out to be.”

“Whatever, it was my day off! Tell me, tell me!”

“There’s not much to say. It was pretty standard.” The lie only hurt a little.

“So they surrendered in the end?”

“Uh, no. I had to take them out.”

“Really? No wonder you look like shit.”

“Hey, thanks.”

“Not like that. Just… a little worse for wear. Anyway, it sounds tough. Having to, you know, kill someone.”

“I’ve killed before.”

“Yeah, an urgek, not a human. All I mean is, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here.” The look she gave him was open and sincere, those big blue eyes making him feel all kinds of guilty.

Guilty about the fact that he didn’t feel bad at all.

Killing those villains hadn’t even registered as a blip on his moral radar. He knew it should have bothered him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He was happy to be doing work that would give Becca a better life, and if he had to wade through an ocean of blood to get it done, that was just fine.

He wasn’t sure if Cheat the Hangman had dulled more than just his senses. He felt the same as always, but had he really always been this cavalier about death?

Realizing he’d been quiet for some time, Jacob cleared his throat and said: “Yeah, I hear you. I’ll let you know if I need to talk.”

Becca started making a neon-colored cocktail for a patron that looked like window wiper fluid. When Jacob made a face at it, she whipped one up for him, too.

“One Wildstar for the handsome gentleman, as ordered,” she said with a big smile.

“Wildstar, like the hero?” Jacob reluctantly accepted the dubious drink and gave it a tiny sip. Way too sweet, even for his fried taste buds. The rosy-cheeked fellow next to him seemed to be enjoying his, though.

“Mmhmm!” There was a good helping of pride in her voice. “I renamed all the cocktails on the menu after famous heroes.”

“Did Mr. Beau give you permission for that?”

“He did, actually, I’ll have you know.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s part of his rebranding push now that Hero for Hire is gonna be under the same roof.”

“I see.”

The conversation lapsed for a bit. Becca finished her food, then took some orders and wiped down the counter. Jacob clinked glasses with the man next to him and swept the cocktail in one go. Way too sweet.

“I won’t pry,” Becca said when she came back around. She didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I know I can be a lot sometimes. I didn’t mean to force you into talking about something if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine, Becca. Really. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just… I don’t think this job is as glamorous as you seem to think. I don’t want to disappoint you, that’s all.”

“I get that. I just get excited about this stuff. It means a lot to me.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I saw Starman again, by the way.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, he was at the Lodge, so I guess that means he’s back on duty.”

“That’s great! How was he?”

“A bit of a prick, actually.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. What did he say?”

“Oh, just this and that. He did strangle me a bit, but I’m sure I deserved it.”

“He didn’t! What a prick!”

“Right?”

“I liked him, too. I’m burning that poster tonight. Also…” She got a shrewd look on her face that Jacob didn’t like at all. “Since you have some money to burn, there’s someplace we’ve got to go.”

“Is my wallet going to like this?”

“Window shopping, window shopping! And it’s not for me, it’s for you!”

“Okay…?”

Becca leapt over the counter and pulled off her bowtie. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Jacob gave her an incredulous look. “Aren’t you working?”

“Bob, cover for me!” Becca shouted.

The robot stood up from where he’d been poking around in a corner. “But the rats…”

“You’re not supposed to mention the rats around customers, Bob, but I’m sure they’ll be fine where they are for a night. I owe you one, okaythanksbyeee!”

Becca pulled Jacob off his seat without waiting for the robot’s reply. Up the stairs they went, and suddenly they were outside.

“Okay, uh, lead the way, I guess,” Jacob said. “Are we going far?”

Haven’t had the money for a day and she’s already looking for ways to spend it all. Then again, the money was mostly for her benefit, anyway, so why not? He’d never really gotten the chance to spoil her.

“Nope, not far,” Becca chirped.

“Where would you even go to spend money around here? And aren’t most places closing soon?” Jacob looked overhead at the sky, which had shifted a sunset orange.

“Enough questions out of you, mister. You’ll see when we get there!”

She led him by the hand down several streets. She refused to let go even when he insisted that he could walk by himself. They went on for around ten minutes before she suddenly stopped in front of a drab back alley shop with a half-rotted facade and foggy windows. A sign above it read ‘CULLYN’S CURIOS’ in bold, painted letters.

“And this is…?” Judging by the dim light coming from inside, Jacob thought it more than likely that the shop was closed. There were no opening hours posted anywhere.

“A really special place,” Becca said conspiratorially. “I found it one time but I couldn’t afford anything inside.” She went over to the green door and pulled it open with a jingling of bells. She stood aside while holding it open in an exaggerated display of chivalry. “After you, sir.”

Jacob sighed and entered. He was immediately met by a cramped, smoky interior. Rows of shelves were crowded close together and piled high with all sorts of trinkets, knick-knacks, and general trash, with many things of unknown or exotic make.

A man sat behind a counter in the back, watching some form of surrealistic entertainment on a chunky TV hanging from the ceiling. He spun in his swivel chair to face his customers, a plume of multi-colored smoke rising about him. He was blue-skinned and completely hairless, with intricate white markings covering his head and hands. He had four eyes, which were pale and milky. He had a three-headed pipe between his teeth, each bowl filled with a different-colored powder. His obvious otherness was juxtaposed against his decidedly Earthly attire, which consisted of a Hawaiian shirt under what looked like a brown fisherman’s vest. On his head he wore a tiny purple top hat.

There was no mistaking it—the man was a thune. Theirs was a nomadic race, their homeworld long-since destroyed, but it was unusual to see one on Earth. Jacob had never seen one in person, only learned about them in school.

“Hello,” Jacob said, trying to sound polite in what felt like a first contact situation. “Just looking around.”

Becca came in after him and squeezed past to walk right up to the counter, slamming her hands down on the countertop. “Hiya! Remember me?”

“I do,” said the thune in smooth, perfectly fluent English. If anything, the language sounded more natural coming out of his mouth than a human’s. “You visited here 552 earth days ago. You said you’d come back. I have been patiently awaiting your return.”

Becca looked back over her shoulder with a big grin. “See, Jacob? This guy’s so cool!”

‘Creepy’ is more like it, he thought, but didn’t say it out loud. He picked up one of the pieces on the nearest shelf at random. It was a glass sphere with a blood-red bead at its center. Was it a decorative piece? He couldn’t figure out any use for the thing.

“Uh, what is it you sell here, exactly?” Jacob asked. He put down the sphere and picked up a pair of old-timey pilot goggles with cracked lenses.

“I sell exactly what you need, exactly when you need it,” the thune said immediately, like he’d practiced that line. “I am Cullyn, and these are my curios.”

“Sooo cool,” Becca said.

Jacob wasn’t impressed. He put down the goggles and picked up a third thing. It was a cheap-looking plastic bracelet of a black-and-white cat eating its own tail to form a circle. He held it up to the owner. “And why would I need something like this?”

“That one?” Cullyn pulled a pair of glasses out of a pocket in his vest and put them on, leaning forward to inspect the bracelet while tilting the glasses to alternate them between his upper and lower set of eyes. “That’s to keep your things safe.”

Jacob frowned at the bracelet. “To keep my things safe. What does that mean? Wait, is this…?”

He reached inside himself. System, can you tell me what this is?

His Hidden System flashed to life.

[PRECIOUS TIMMY]

Relic, common

Material type

Soulbound, unattuned

Timmy will swallow and dispense nonliving items of small to medium size. He also makes for an excellent companion.

Holy fuck.

Jacob scrambled to pick up another object, finding a metal gauntlet black with soot, and repeated his query.

[GRASP OF PROMETHEUS]

Relic, common

Energy type

Open use

Warm yourself by the fire.

“Holy fucking shit. Are these all Relics?”

Cullyn chuckled and puffed at his pipe. “All of them? Dear me, no no. You will also find relevant reagents and components here. Some things are just pretty or otherwise interesting. But some of them are Relics, yes.”

Jacob had never heard of such a thing before. Relics were incredibly rare—even most heroes didn’t have access to them unless they were lent out for specific assignments.

“What does this one cost?” He held up the bracelet.

“Two million in your local currency.”

Fuck.

“Ah. I see. How much is the cheapest Relic you have here?”

“Hmm…” Cullyn puffed thoughtfully, breathed technicolor smoke through his nostrils. He pointed to a nearby shelf with the stem of his pipe. “That one is quite affordable. Only 1,4 million in your local currency.”

“A little out of my price range, I’m afraid.” Jacob couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. Owning a relic would have been a major step up in power.

Guess I know where to go if I ever have a few million flora to burn.

Jacob found his next question waiting on his lips. “Does the Guild know about you?”

“Who?” Cullyn asked.

“The… Nevermind. Why set up shop here? Why not the Yellow District or, I dunno, some interstellar trade hub? Why even come to Earth in the first place? You could make so much money off this stuff anywhere else.”

Cullyn blinked with two sets of eyelids. He adjusted his top hat a bit. “I seek a discerning clientele. Did you think I went through the trouble of collecting these treasures for something so petty as money?”

“Well, you do own a shop. And you are selling them. For quite a lot of money. So I guess, yeah, I was kinda thinking that?”

“I am charging pocket change for these, young human. Practically giving Relics away. If you’re unhappy with my prices, you can go elsewhere.”

Elsewhere? Where would that be, exactly?

Jacob filed the owner away firmly under ‘lunatic’, but would be happy to take some Relics off his hands when the time came. He briefly considered trying to shoplift one, but decided against it. Anyone with the ability to amass this many Relics probably had the means to defend their property, too.

Seeing as he’d come with too light a purse to bargain for anything, Jacob took his leave, but Becca managed to find something that caught her eye on the way out. A potted cactus—about the size of a hand—with nubby arms and a roughly humanoid face. It wasn’t a Relic, according to Cullyn, but a minor enchanted item. Apparently it would dance and sing for you. It cost 500 flora, and Becca wouldn’t stop begging for it, so eventually Jacob bought it for her.

The cactus did a wiggly little side-to-side dance as they walked outside, pumping its arms in the air. It was evidently pleased with its new owner.

“How did you even find this place?” Jacob asked.

“I’m just awesome,” Becca said matter-of-factly. “I’m a great finder of stuff.”

Jacob turned back to look at the shop, but there was just an empty brick wall where it had been. He went up and touched it, but it was smooth and solid.

Not a trace remained of Cullyn’s Curios except a faint smell of smoke.

“It’s… gone.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be back again.” Becca gave her toy a little tickle between its spikes. It giggled at her.

Sometimes, I can’t tell if Becca is a genius or genuinely stupid.

It was one of her most lovable qualities.