Chase slammed his backpack on the ground and delved in to find his earmuffs and pistol. He had the magazine separate just in case, which took another few excruciating seconds to locate.

The boss wasn’t giving them any time to organise themselves. It wobbled along the tops of the benches, the pop pop of its decayed, reeking skin coming ever closer.

“Cover your ears,” Chase said.

“What?”

“COVER YOUR EARS!”

David jumped and clapped his palms to his head. His eyes widened when he saw the gun in Chase’s hands.

“Bullets don’t work on monsters!” he began. “They just go straight throu—”

BANG!

Chase’s first shot sank deep into the boss’s flesh. A putrid concoction of green and black mess poured forth onto the benches. The monster stumbled sideways, slipping off the tabletop to the ground.

“What the fu—”

“Focus!” Chase yelled. “It’s getting up! I need you to—”

The boss roared, interrupting him. They circled the chamber, trying to stay as far away as they could, but they were too slow. Even a full sprint wouldn’t help them evade the twelve-foot giant lumbering over to them. Chase looked for weaknesses, finding few. Its flabby arms could destroy them in one hit. The swathes of fat on its belly and thighs could suffocate them. He doubted it would be wise to get any of the green stuff on them. That was a face cream he wouldn’t come back from.

“You think you can hold it down?”

“No way! It’s huge!”

“What about tripping it?”

Realisation dawned on the C-Rank’s face. He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Wait until I tell you, then do it, okay?”

Another nod.

They remained still as the boss stomped ever closer, shaking the ground and revealing the carved earth beneath them. Dust filled the air like a foggy morning as it fell from the ceiling and the pillars around the chamber. The boss was only twenty metres away when its head emerged from the cloud of grit, dancing around on its shoulders like its spine and neck muscles had eroded. Chase let it close the gap just a tiny bit more.

“Now, David! Trip the bastard!”

The C-Rank’s palms shot out and his eyes tightened. Nothing happened. Chase fired off three shots, aiming for the boss’s head. As jiggly as it was, he couldn’t hit it. Soon he would have to empty the chamber and pray for a lucky hit. It was that, or accept that David couldn’t affect the foul titan running towards them and giving up.

A gust of force blew from David’s palms as his Talent finally kicked in. The boss stumbled on thin air, trying to catch itself by hopping with its other foot. David switched positions in a heartbeat, hampering the other leg in the same way. Their foe roared before faceplanting to the ground, a tsunami of juice from popped warts and bloated flesh diffusing from its body as it grinded to a halt only metres from them.

“Go!” David yelled. “I can’t hold him!”

He wasn’t kidding. The boss was already stirring, its snotty nose gushing ooze as it lifted its head to see the two mites that had brought the ungodly beast to its knees.

Chase dashed forward, the Luger hot in his hands. His actions felt unnatural — Haulers were supposed to run from monsters with their hearts fluttering and pants dampening, not towards the hellspawn, and certainly not with hopes of killing it. But somewhere deep inside him, a corner he had nearly forgotten about, there was a kid playing Hunter Tag on the playground. That kid wringed his hands every day waiting for his Talent, only to be let down by Lady Luck. This situation wasn’t what the little kid would’ve expected, but goddammit he would’ve been proud.

BRACK!

He aimed the pistol into the flabs of overladen skin and fired. The boss’s head stopped jittering as much once it bashed on the ground, giving Chase a steadier target. He emptied the clip then jumped back, thrusting his hand into his pocket and clicking the mag out of the weapon. His wrists and forearms ached from the recoil, and the skin between his thumb and forefinger on each hand stung.

He reloaded the mag. The boss twitched, its dopey face rising from the dirt. Chase emptied the new mag, a guttural cry clawing at his throat.

This time, the boss stayed down. Chase slumped to a squatting position and held his face in his hands. He was grinning like a madman, but on the verge of tears at the same time.

“Holy crapola!” David yelled. He had his palms to his ears. A smile stretched so far across his face that Chase could nearly see his wisdom teeth poking through. “You killed it! You—”

The Hunter winced as he remembered the abuse he’d shouted at Chase only minutes beforehand. Chase saw his apology coming and pre-empted it, waving him off.

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“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my, uh, situation. You had every right to think…”

He trailed off as the door to the boss room rolled open. The raid team flowed through in a drove, cascading over each other in their eagerness to find the two who had been locked in. They gravitated to the grotesque monster laying prostrate on the dirty floor. Its legs quivered as its nerves fired and dulled for the last time. Chase thought of a headless chicken running circles around a chopping block. He was glad this one wasn’t doing the same.

“You killed it?” The words were directed at David, tones of disbelief laid bare. Jamie stole a glance at Chase, who shrugged. The bullet holes were hard to see on this side, but if anyone flopped the boss over — no easy feat, of course — they would be greeted by a grisly sight. No C-Rank could do what he had done.

“I helped,” David admitted. “But he fucking shot it. With a gun.”

The Hunters stared at Chase as though he were as monstrous as the thing lying at their feet. They stared at the Hauler, who suddenly appeared as something else entirely. A few looked uneasy, as though the mention of a gun indicated he could be some fringe criminal posing as a monster-chopper. It was a decent litmus test for what the rest of society might think if he decided to go public with his discovery. So far, he wasn’t liking the results.

He decided to get ahead of the questions by giving them some answers. If anyone was going to write the script, it needed to be him.

“It’s my grandad’s gun,” he explained. “I’ve got a license, and it’s registered. You’re completely safe, I assure—”

“How?”

Chase subconsciously stepped back, nearly tripping on the boss’s mop of greasy hair. Each strand was as thick as a length of spaghetti.

“How what?”

“Normal metal doesn’t work on monsters. Bullets are made with lead, right? Copper? What’s your Talent?”

Chase eyed off the B-Rank that was giving him trouble. It was the same person that originally stepped away when it came time to fight the boss.

“I don’t have a Talent. And you’re right about the metal thing. I have a friend that helped me get past that. I won’t bother you with the—”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” the B-Rank interrupted. “I hope you’re not trying to keep it a secret, because I’ll be telling my father.” He said father as though it were a dangerous word. Like something that was supposed to elicit fear or make someone fall to their knees and beg for mercy.

“I didn’t intend on using the weapon,” Chase explained. “If you’d been brave enough to come in with me, I wouldn’t have had to.”

He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. Not only did it enrage the B-Rank further, but it also ostracized him from the rest of the raid team that didn’t take part. Jamie didn’t seem too perturbed, but he was alone in that regard. It was as though the rest of them failed to notice that he’d saved David’s life by leaping into the boss room without them.

“Whatever.” The B-Rank turned on his heel and strode from the room. As he left, he threw one last comment over his shoulder. “You’d best keep an eye out, Chase, if that’s even your real name. I’m not sure if what you’re doing is legal, but I damn well plan on finding out.”

Most of the others filtered out after him, leaving Chase, Jamie and David idling in the boss room.

“Well,” Jamie started. “More loot for us, I suppose.”

Chase grimaced. There wasn’t any room left in his bag.

“You guys can have it. I’ve got some thinking to do.”

********

The days wore on. Chase returned to work, putting in his ten hours (eight, according to Jenny’s timesheet) then escaping home to stash the fruits of his residue-collecting labours. He continued his Sweep Team raids, though the days were gone in which he could show up and enter with any old group of people. Jamie and David were his regulars, but he was cautious of anyone outside their trio. It helped when Jamie brought in a few of his friends to bump up their numbers. He’d told them of Chase’s peculiarity — much to Chase’s horror — and they were fine with it.

But he knew he was on the clock. His band of sixteen and seventeen-year-old confidantes could only be expected to keep their lips zipped for so long. Sooner or later his story would grow legs and sprint around the Cities and Towns, at best popularising him, at worst incriminating. If the B-Rank’s supposedly-bigshot father had any real sway, he was leaning towards the latter.

So it was time to get his act into gear. Get down to business, Gramps would say. He’d amassed a decent stockpile of Credits from selling monster parts, and he was ready to spend them. His shopping list was extensive — some of it wishful thinking and some of it necessary purchases — but at the top of his notepad, underlined three times in black ink, was the following:

Pearl’s Residue

Herb had done his best with what they had, but their supplies were running low. Although Pearl was a common appearance on the Majesty raid teams, she didn’t always get a piece of the action, meaning there wasn’t always much residue to be found.

If his plan was to work long-term, he had to go straight to the source. Majesty had a raid scheduled in Four City that morning, a hefty one expected to go slightly overtime. Chase arrived there at seven o’clock, about an hour after the raid team had entered. Jenny sat primly at her desk, giving him a strange look as he set up camp, leaning against the massive collection bins.

At eight-fifteen, the first members of the raid team reappeared from the Gate. The injured usually came out first, though today there were slim pickings in that regard. One bulky A-Rank nicknamed ‘Thimble’ hobbled out, claiming a sprained ankle. The rest of the team filed through only a couple minutes after him. Chase spotted Pearl in the middle of the pack, chatting to a Hunter he didn’t recognise.

“Pearl!” he called. “Excuse me? Pearl? Can I talk to you for a second?”

A few faces turned his way. They looked less than impressed, as if he were some kind of unsightly bug.

“I thought they brought the Haulers in later so that we didn’t have to look at them,” one said. They were obviously directing their voice so Chase would hear.

“Consider this a good Raid ruined,” another spat. “I think I’ll head to Polly’s. Anyone keen for a drink?”

The Hunter’s day-drinking proposition began a debate furious enough to take the spotlight off Chase. Luckily though, Pearl slipped through the crowd and ambled over to his encampment. Her dark brown curls bumped against her shoulders with every step. There was a pin on her uniform displaying the Majesty emblem. The spotless, shining bronze surface reflected sunlight as if it were recently polished. She seemed curious, if not happy with being picked out of the crowd as though they knew each other.

“Hi.”

“Hello, it’s Pearl, right?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have come over if it wasn’t.”

“Right, yes. Touché.” He scrambled for a way to make the interaction less awkward. “Look, uh, sorry for being so abrupt. I didn’t know how to contact you.”

Pearl shrugged. “That’s fine, I guess. What’s up?”

Chase took a breath and did his best impression of confidence. “I’d like to pay you for your residue.”

The Hunter’s fists clenched, and her face contorted like he’d said something foul.

“My what?!”