Jamie had conquered his nerves, so what was this feeling of boiling lava rising in his stomach? Why did his throat constrict every time one of these Hunters called in an approaching monster? Was his last spell less effective than normal? Was he losing it?

He delayed the group for ten valuable minutes while he searched for Chase and Mia. The rubble of the hotel settled in much the same way that a fallen tower of toy blocks might — a big fucking mess, pancaked over the road and its surrounds.

But they were gone. And the remaining Hunters demanded he move on. It was basic math — every minute they spent looking for Chase and Mia was a minute spent not saving the people who could actually be saved. And everyone knew they could spend their entire day and night trawling through the wreckage without finding everyone who deserved to be found.

What he wanted most was to return to the Gate they’d already conquered and hunker down amongst the other frightened people. He’d played his part, well and truly, but this was not the kind of work he’d signed up for.

No amount of money could make up for the tragedy he was viewing. And there was no paycheck waiting for him at the end of this crimson path.

Everywhere they went, another depressing scenario unfolded before them. He didn’t even bother learning the names of the Hunters around him because they were liable to be killed by a monster at any second. At this point, he considered any Hunter at C-Rank or below to be Talentless, turning them back from joining his mercenary group no matter how vehemently they tried to fight his decision. A quick flash of his more visually spectacular abilities usually convinced them to back off.

Still, he needed Chase to complement his attacking technique, and he needed Mia to be his walking, talking shield. Without even one of them, his damage potential was drastically weakened. There was no synergy with this ragtag group — they all just did the best they could do as individuals, sharing no more than the occasional encouragement between them.

This was no way to fight. Or to survive.

“Oi! You lot!”

A few heads turned, confused at the antics of the dirty teenager standing atop a mound of rubble and monster corpses. The ground was steeped in the black ooze of monster blood.

“We need to work together!” he said, feeling like a crappy motivational speaker. “I don’t wanna fucking die because we can’t look out for each other, okay?”

A heavily armoured man with an azure dagger in each hand stepped forward, frowning. He pointed a dagger-tip at Jamie and yelled back. “It’d help if you’d cast some goddamn slowing spells, mage!”

“That’s not what my Talent does, you knob!” Jamie retorted. “That’s my fucking point! What do you do?”

The man rolled his eyes, then tossed one of his daggers in the air, flipping it end-over-end. “I’m supposed to throw these things, but this stupid Tank keeps getting in my way. And you.” He shoved a finger at an older A-Rank woman whose Talent let her zip about the battlefield, taking out enemies at close range.

Jamie had to admit, judging where the A-Rank lady would run was making it difficult to go all-out. “Okay, see? Let’s work with that. How about you focus on whatever enemies are furthest to our left, I’ll take out the middle, then…what’s your name?”

“Mavis,” said the lady.

“Mavis can handle the right. And Tanks, I’d personally love a bit more protection. My spells take a while to cast, and I can’t move too much while I prepare them.”

With perfect timing, a mob of hideous creatures burst from the windows of one of the few still-standing buildings. They scuttled down the structure, simply stabbing sharp limbs into the walls to create the monster-equivalent of handholds. He tried not to think about how easily one of those limbs could pierce through his chest.

“Here we go, let’s give it a whirl!”

The other two attackers took their positions begrudgingly, as if it were an affront to listen to the orders of a child. Luckily, they acknowledged that there was a bigger threat at hand, one that had already rampaged across an entire City and threatened to conquer more if left unchecked.

Happy thoughts, Jamie. Keep it together.

Though they were nothing like his usual team, his fighters went to battle just as planned. Streaks of aqua light streamed through the air as Dagger Man cast a constant barrage at his portion of foes. With every throw he would bark out one of two commands, and the corresponding dagger would fly back to him, nestling in his palm. Occasionally he would switch positions before recalling the weapon, the returning shot slicing straight through a monster’s back.

A-Rank Lady whirled through enemies even while they completed their descent down the side of the building. She zipped up to meet them as if gravity had given her a free pass for the time being. As she fought, she appeared to leave behind dangerous afterimages which did battle with the monsters despite being no more than magical constructs.

Jamie was starting to realise that there was a significant bridge between A and S-Rank. He’d improved so much since gaining his Talent that he figured he must be close, but watching the others fight gave him insight into how far he had to go to bridge that gap. Sure, he repelled his fair share of enemies, but it wasn’t with the same elegance or confidence that the other A-Ranks mustered. He relied on his personal Tank to slow the enemy’s pursuit while he cooked up the knockout punch.

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Whenever an enemy broke through his inexperienced defenders and got close to him, the same depressing thought crossed his mind.

Chase would’ve got that one.

*******

Jason Rowenthal had, rather conveniently, chosen the day of the Two City Break to visit one of his many coastal vacation homes. This one was north-east of New Melbourne, close to the state’s northern border. He sat in the lounge, sprawled out on the cream leather couch with his shoes resting on a plush cushion. His confidante in this matter, the well-connected politician Gerald Harbin, paced back and forth beside the length of a ten-foot dining table. His glass of whiskey lay forgotten.

“You said you’d handle it,” Gerald hissed. “Not blow up the whole fucking City!”

Jason closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head. The cushions were too downy — he’d have to tell his property manager to replace them with something more solid. He was getting sick of hearing Gerald’s tinny voice, pestering him and doomsaying about how his plan had turned out. In Jason’s opinion, Gerald shared the same ill quality as most young men who didn’t know how the world worked.

He lacked commitment.

“Calm down and drink your whiskey, Gerald. It’s one of the best. The Berlin Wall still stood when this was sealed in its barrel.”

“I don’t care about goddamn whiskey, Jason!” The politician picked up his glass and heaved it at the wall. It shattered into miniature pieces of starlight, the sun reflecting off the ocean and catching the shrapnel. “I should send you to prison! You’re responsible for the deaths of thousands!”

Jason was reaching the end of his tether, but he wouldn’t let it show. Not yet. Not while the gears of his plan were still in motion. Sure, the original scheme had gotten out of hand, but there was still an opportunity to be found amongst the madness. He attributed a significant portion of his wealth and success to his skill for finding such things.

“Turn on the television,” he said. “And don’t run your mouth with such bullshit. We’re in this together, Gerald. You can’t escape me.”

The younger man squinted his eyes and touched the side of the TV. It flared to life, displaying a high-definition live-feed of the action in Two City. Hunters scurried over fallen buildings like bacteria beneath a microscope. The monsters, being larger, were more discernible.

“Put ‘er up a couple notches,” he demanded, waving off Gerald’s frustrated glare. “You’ll like this, trust me.”

Gerald obeyed, bringing up the volume until they could clearly hear a woman’s voice commentating the scene.

“—the destruction of sixty percent of Two City. The root cause appears to be a Dungeon Break stemming from a failed Raid by the up-and-coming guild, Ballistic. This guild is led by Hunter Chase Mendleton, who you see on your screen now.” The camera zoomed in on a dusty young man holding a pistol and shooting at oncoming monsters. There was a girl to his right standing guard with a giant rectangular shield. They were amongst a maze of ruins, separated from the bulk of the other Hunters. “Current reports indicate he is using a military-issued pistol, and at times you may see a second, larger weapon, an illegally acquired submachine gun. This begs the question: Was this attack carried out intentionally by Chase Mendleton and his guild? Is this an act of terrorism?”

Jason opened his eyes and sat up, spreading his hands with a smile. “Listen to the news, Gerald! It’s all Chase Mendleton’s fault, the nice young lady says so! We’ve nothing to do with whatever’s going on in New Melbourne. We’re on the coast drinking piña coladas and playing pool!”

Gerald didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked extremely pissed off. “You think this is enough? This is going to spark the biggest investigation in the history of Gates! The GRA, the Embassy, everyone will sink their teeth into this until you and I are so full of fucking holes we’ll fall right over.” He looked around, as if searching for something else to toss into Jason’s freshly repainted walls. “Shit!” The politician rampaged around the room like a child throwing a tantrum. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Jason was fed up. “CUT IT OUT!” he yelled. He’d hoped to display a soft touch, but Gerald was working himself into a frenzy. The man needed to be controlled. He jumped up and seized the young man’s collar, wrenching it and shoving him into the wall. Gerald’s eyes were wide, and he stared hard into Jason’s eyes, his breath coming out in sharp huffs.

“Get. A. Fucking. Grip,” Jason said, accenting each word by jabbing Gerald in the stomach. “You think I haven’t thought of that? You think I wouldn’t leave contingencies in place at each of those goddamn organisations? I’ve no clue how you got to where you are, Gerald, but you’re hopeless. You disgust me.” He dropped his grip, letting the man slip to the floor until he sat beneath Jason.

“It’s too much,” Gerald whispered. “I agreed to one little injunction, not a massacre.”

Jason just looked down on the man, enjoying the feeling of domination. At their last meeting, the pompous prick had strolled into his office like he owned the place, chatting on his stupid burner phone like some high-profile mobster. Taking men like him down a notch was what Jason lived for.

Still, he figured he’d throw him a bone.

“Look, mate, I got something that’ll cheer you up. After this is all said and done, someone has to rebuild the city, right? Someone who owns a construction company, perhaps, and has the resources to pull it off. Of course, that person might need a bit of assistance getting all those government contracts, which could be quite lucrative for all those involved…”

He smiled at the downed man before him. Gerald looked up, and there were tears in his eyes.

And behind that, fury.

“Hey, bud, relax. It was just a jo—”

Gerald launched himself at the older man, pushing off the wall and crashing into Jason with all his weight and strength. The pair tumbled to the ground, crashing through a glass coffee table that shattered and mingled with the fragments of Gerald’s broken whiskey glass.

“You’re evil!” Gerald was hysteric, completely ignorant of the cuts appearing on his face as Jason untangled from his grasp and pushed him into the mess of glass. He rolled away, jumping to his feet and facing his opponent once again. Jason ran behind the couch, the extra weight around his stomach nearly carrying him off balance. His heart thumped erratically, years of poor exercise habits taking their toll.

He grasped for a pool cue as Gerald launched himself over the couch. The younger man smacked into the mahogany edge of the pool table and rolled across the green felt, shouting out in pain as the multi-coloured ivory balls dug into his back.

Jason took the opportunity to crack him over the head with the cue. It snapped in the middle where it could be unscrewed, and the thin end cartwheeled through the air, smashing a ceramic pot on the distant kitchen counter.

A spring of blood leapt up from Gerald’s temple, but Jason kept pounding with the thick piece of wood tight in his grasp. This was self-defence, he decided. It was necessary. And, to his surprise, it was enjoyable. To beat this cretin of a man again, and again, and again made his heart lift with joy. He revelled in the shmlack, shmlack, shmlack of the pool cue thumping into Gerald’s brutalised skull, not minding the sprays of blood painting his living room and clothes.

When he was finished, he swallowed hard and tried not to look at the pulpy mess on his pool table. He slumped back on the couch, breathing like the bellows of a furnace and holding a hand to his raging chest.

It’s all under control, he told himself.