“You want my…my residue?! The hell does that even mean? Are you some kind of freak?”

“Oh, wait, no.” Chase’s cheeks reddened. He felt like climbing into the collection bin, huddling into the corner and waiting for a flood of monster-parts to consume him. The look Pearl gave him was a sour combination of malice, disgust, and disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I said that wrong,” he hurried. “When you use your skill, uh, your Talent, there’s like these bolts of mana that you make?”

Her eyebrows crinkled. “What about them?”

“I call that Talent-residue. I’d like to, well, buy some from you. A lot, actually. Like, er, a business deal? An ongoing transaction?”

“A contract?”

“Yeah, a contract. I pay you for the…product…and I use it to…you know.”

Some guild members had stopped to watch the debacle. Pearl shooed them away and turned back to Chase once she’d calmed down.

“No, I don’t know. What do you need it for?”

He considered how much he’d already messed up this interaction, debating whether he should give up the gauntlet and just tell her the truth. They say honesty is the best policy, but he figured he’d already weirded her out enough.

“Nothing gross, I promise you. I have a friend who’s a scientist, and he uses it to make compounds. You wouldn’t have to do anything more than just use your Talent.”

“Uh-huh. You said he uses it, as in past tense. Have you been stealing it from me already?”

Chase reddened even further, his ears turning to tomatoes. He really couldn’t be a negotiator, he thought. Or a detective. He’d interview a perp and they’d walk away with his badge on their chest and his gun on their hip.

“I found some of your resid— stuff on the ground of a Dungeon. I just picked it up and showed it to him. You were part of the raid team, I’m guessing. I didn’t actually know it was yours.”

The fact that he hadn’t been seeking her out specifically seemed to make the Hunter more comfortable. It wasn’t her that was important to Chase, just her Talent. No creepy pervert stuff. Just a guy with a fascination for raw mana.

“I see. And I assume you’re willing to pay for it?”

“I am,” Chase replied. “As you may know, I’m only a Hauler, so I don’t have much in the way of excess—”

“Come on, man. Spit it out. This isn’t goddamn Shark Tank. I don’t need the dog and pony show.”

If Shark Tank was some kind of reference, Chase was too young to understand it.

“I’ll give you five-hundred Credits per kilo.”

The Hunter looked stunned. “That’s like…nearly three day’s wages for you Haulers, right? You must really want this stuff. A kilogram, though? That’ll exhaust me for sure. I won’t be able to use my Talent for ages. That’s worth another thousand.”

Chase nearly choked on his saliva, but he was expecting this. He knew she wasn’t actually setting the price at fifteen-hundred Credits. If anything, it was a good sign that she only went that high. Herb told him he needed a gram of the paste for each bullet, which meant he’d only be paying one and a half Credits per bullet, max. Factoring in the cost of the bullet itself, and Herb’s fee, and he was looking at a decent return, considering the value of the monsters he shot.

Still, he played along. “I can’t do fifteen-hundred. No way. I’d be living on two-minute noodles for years. Gramps would have to stand out and face the wind if he wanted extra oxygen. I’ll do one-thousand.”

Pearl scowled. “Wow. Did you seriously just try to guilt-trip me? I bet you could get the old geezer some crisp air from the top of Mount Everest for one-thousand Credits. But look, I’ll throw you a bone since I’ve had a funny thought. I’ll do one-thousand if you agree to an extra condition.”

Chase went to rub his hands together in excitement, then paused. “What’s the condition? I have some level of self-esteem, okay? I won’t run around naked in the stree—”

“Go on a date with my sister.”

Now Chase did choke on his saliva. He coughed until Pearl thumped him hard on the back, her strength nearly bowling him over onto the dewy grass.

“Date your sister? Do you hate her or something?”

“Not date my sister. Go on a date with my sister. It can just be one time, I don’t care. If she thinks you’re gross and tosses a vanilla milkshake on your head, that’s fine. In fact, I think that’s likely.” The thought brought a smirk to Pearl’s face. “Trust me, as odd as you seem to be, you might not be the loser here.” Chase only stared, dumbfounded, so she continued. “Prepare your precious self-esteem, Hauler. Your defence will need to be air-tight.”

“Hold on a moment,” Chase said. “I haven’t agreed to the deal yet.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Pearl placed a hand on her hip and stared him down. There was no way the cheapskate Hauler wouldn’t cut 500 Credits off a deal in return for going on one blind date.

Chase wilted soon after. “Fine. One-thousand Credits, one date. What’s your sister’s name?”

He pulled up his System’s Messaging platform and prepared to type it in.

“It’s Seo-ah,” Pearl told him. “But she prefers our last name, Kim.”

*******

Chase ventured into Herb’s basement with a cardboard box in his arms. Inside the box, wrapped in plastic and paper shopping bags, was the product of nearly all the money he’d made from running Sweep Team Raids over the prior three weeks. He thumped it onto Herb’s bench and awaited the alchemist’s reaction.

Today, the basement smelled like someone had taken the scent of a fresh car, imbued it into tea leaves, then steeped their creation in a mug of bubbling tar. It was an ultra-synthetic, nearly thick aroma that Chase thought belonged in some pharmaceutical company’s deepest research chambers. He feared for his lungs.

“What’ve we got here?” Herb asked. “Should I wait until Christmas? Marla didn’t get me anything last year. I got her marbles. And a gum drop. Would you like one?” He held out the same jar with the stuck-together lollies he’d offered Chase the first time he was here.

Once again, Chase declined.

“Please, don’t wait. Knock your socks off,” he said. “It’s a kilogram of Pearl’s Talent-residue — I don’t have the bullets just yet, but could you store it here? It’s getting pretty crowded under my bed.”

Herb nodded as he cut the tape with a box-cutter. He pulled out three glowing plastic bags — even all the layers Chase put around the residue wasn’t enough to hide the ethereal blue glimmer.

“Woah. The piece are quite light, aren’t they?” He snapped on some gloves and picked up one of the bolts, snapping it in half. A foggy vapor danced through the air.

“Very,” Chase agreed. “I’m not sure we should be breathing that stu—”

Herb moved through the traces of mana vapor like someone trying on a cologne. He breathed deeply, going above and beyond the protocol for a ‘sniff test’ Chase had been taught in high-school science class.

“I think it’s safe,” Herb concluded.

“Are you just saying that because you haven’t dropped dead?”

The alchemist tapped his temple in a knowing gesture. He smiled.

“Not yet. Your turn?”

*******

It took a while for Chase’s bank account to recover. What he’d told Pearl about living on two-minute noodles was only a half-joke, after all. To save time, he’d been taking a plastic container to the Majesty cafeteria, filling it up, then taking it home to Gramps so that he didn’t have to waste time cooking. Of course, that left Chase scraping the bottom of the barrel, and the nutritional value of his meals was taking a serious hit in return. He was pretty sure there was a reason why it had been several days since he’d…gone.

“Sir? Did you hear me? It’s your turn.”

He shook himself from his daydream and eased out of the cold plastic chair at the Three City GRA office. He’d been waiting for a little over an hour, thoroughly bored once he’d skimmed their stock of gossip magazines (most recent edition: eight months old). He strode along the tired navy carpet, inspecting the yellow stains on the plaster roof and the glum faces of the various employees. He followed a trim young clerk whose coattails dangled along behind him like the train of a wedding dress. It was an odd choice of outfit, unless the clerk was a concert pianist on his lunch break.

The clerk led him to a curved desk at the back of the room, away from prying eyes. He gestured to a ratty old chair on one side, and Chase sat down. There was a polycarbonate screen between them, which the clerk moved to the side after inserting a key into a lock beneath his desk.

“That’s better, don’t you think?”

“Much,” Chase agreed. “Is that kind of thing usually necessary?”

The clerk leaned back and made a small frown with his mouth. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes people get upset when they find out they have to do a police-check for something. Or be ready for random drug testing.” He twiddled a pencil while he spoke, keeping an eye on Chase. “Considering what you’re here for today, you’ll have to do those, too.”

Chase nodded. “That’s fine. Nothing to hide.” Even though he was telling the truth — at least regarding his lack of criminal record or drug habit — he instantly became conscious of the slight quaver in his voice. It was like overtaking a police car — you could be doing the speed limit and driving perfectly well, but it still felt wrong.

“So, your appointment says you’re here to start a Guild? That’s exciting.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty keen. Lifelong dream and all.”

The clerk smiled. “Can I just ask, and I don’t mean anything by this, but your employment history says you’ve been a Hauler for the last two years? At Majesty?”

“That’s correct.”

“Is there any reason why they haven’t taken you on as a Hunter?” The clerk placed his palms on the desk and looked him in the eyes. “Keep in mind that I may obtain a reference to corroborate your answer.”

Chase smiled. “Yeah, there is. It’s a pretty good reason, actually. I’m Talentless.”

“Ah.” The clerk reached into a compartment and produced a sheath of papers. “Well that changes things a bit. I’ll need you to fill out this form — sorry it’s a bit of a doozy — with the names and information of at least three certified Hunters who have agreed to join your Guild. They can sign juuuust—” his fingers searched for the dotted line at the bottom of the page— “here.”

Chase knew this was coming. He pulled out documents of his own, sliding them along the desk to the clerk. “Are these attestations enough? They’re signed and dated by the three Hunters.”

The clerk’s eyebrows raised. “Someone’s done their research, huh? Let me look at those.” He scoured the forms, occasionally bringing the papers close to his face and squinting at a signature or name.

“I see. I can’t help but notice that these Hunters are all quite young…the eldest is, oh, nearing eighteen? Is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” Chase said. “Is that a problem? They aren’t minors or anything.”

“No, no,” the clerk conceded. “Just curious. Forgive me if this sounds rude, but I’ll be keeping an eye out for you guys over the coming months. I could show you the data on the success rate of these ‘start-up’ Guilds full of youngsters, but I doubt it would affect your plans.”

Chase chuckled to himself. If this clerk had even an inkling of his plans (nay, schemes) for the Guild, he’d be searching through his desk drawer for a big rubber stamp saying DENIED.

Instead, he played it cool. “I’m afraid you’re right. We’re all rather hard-headed. Ready to change the world, I guess.”

The clerk laughed, then inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. “Oh boy. If I had a Credit for every time I heard that…” He gazed out the smudged window as if to cement his point, then returned to Chase. “Forgive me, there’s one last thing before you can pay and get out of here. What would you like your Guild to be named?”

Chase had been waiting for this. It was the question that haunted most of his sleepless nights recently. He’d come up with several embarrassing prototypes (Kill-Shot, Ready-Aim-Fire, One-Shot-One-Kill) before settling on something a tad more subtle. There was no point being secretive about his discovery if his Guild name would shout it from the rooftops.

“Is Ballistic taken?”

The clerk chuckled. “It most certainly is not.”