“Alright, the next evil is this way,” the cleric said.

“That is,” the fighter said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Away from the shining spires. Cleric, where are we going?”

“Towards evil,” the cleric said, “That we’re going to kill. That’s our job.”

“I still need to buy equipment,” the bard chimed in.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of evil you sense,” the fighter said, “But this?” The fighter gestured to the drug den. “This is beneath us. We need to be taking on the big fish, not guppies like whoever that was.”

“Like what?” the wizard asked.

“I don’t know!” the fighter barked, “Like evil wizards! Or evil tyrants! Or evil monsters!”

“We are,” the cleric said, “You want to fight evil, and I’m bringing you to evil.”

“Fighting evil used to pay better,” the rogue said, weighing the gold bars in one hand, “Hey wizard, could you check if this’s pure?”

“Sure,” the wizard said.

“There were also a lot more attractive barmaids,” the barbarian said.

“Woah!” the cleric said, recoiling in shock.

“Time out!” the fighter barked, “Time out!”

“Barbarian, what are you thinking?” the rogue pleaded.

“Are you thinking?” the bard demanded.

“You’re out of line,” the fighter said, shoving a finger in the barbarian’s face, “Team policy is-”

“I didn’t forget team policy,” the barbarian said, swatting away the fighter’s hand, “I’m just saying, there were a lot more attractive women before we came here.”

“And do you want them back?” the bard demanded.

“No!” the barbarian said, “Look, we’ve all had run-ins with attractive people, frankly I’m surprised there’s that many sex demons left in all the nine hells!”

“Don’t forget the times when they were soul sucking necromancers,” the rogue said.

“Or hypnotizing fungal monstrosities,” the wizard said.

“Or secretly dragons,” the fighter said.

“Or man-eating shapeshifters,” the rogue said.

“Or assassins come to kill you,” the barbarian said.

“Or really bad cooks,” the fighter said.

“A human shaped slug colonies,” the wizard said.

“Or royalty that wants to saddle you with-” the cleric said, shuddering at the memory, “Property.”

“Listen, we will all forget about that one day,” the bard said, doing her best to sooth the cleric, “Now, barbarian, what are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, they were there,” the barbarian said, “Hot people trying to kill us left and right was part of how we knew we were on the right track. Fighter, you remember when we were searching a mountain range for some lich’s lair, and one day you realized that monsters weren’t trying to kill us everyday?”

“Of course I do,” the fighter said, “Always follow the path of most resistance, that motto has never led us wrong.”

“Right,” the barbarian said, “So where’s the resistance?”

“He has a point,” the bard admitted, “We need to be fighting things as almost as tough as we are.”

“We were brought here to kill evil,” the cleric repeated, “That’s what we’re doing. Why can’t we just do that?”

“For the same reason we stopped marching through basements and sewers,” the fighter said, “It’s beneath us.”

“And it pays terribly,” the rogue said, “Really, there’s no chance of career advancement in basements and sewers.”

“Advancing your career in putting knives in people?” the wizard asked.

“Hey, what I do is a service to the community,” the rogue said.

“You kill people,” the cleric chided, “I kill bad people.”

“We all kill bad people,” the barbarian said.

“Some of you kill morally neutral people,” the cleric said, glaring at the rogue.

“We’re getting off track,” the fighter said, “Listen, the point is we need to find-”

“And kill!” the rogue added.

“-And kill people nearly as dangerous as us,” the fighter finished, “So-”

“Are you suggesting we split up?” the wizard asked, “That’s against team policy.”

“Highly against team policy,” the bard said.

“I know, I know,” the fighter said, “However, right now: the bard needs new gear, we need to find evil, we need to find challenging fights, we need intel on whatever guilds and factions exist so we can avoid having to deal with them, we need intel on ruins and dungeons so we can loot whatever treasure they have. If we don’t deal with all of those at once, at least three of them will bite us in the back.”

“And what are we supposed to do?” the wizard said, “Send one of us to each of those, and half of us get killed? We can organize our tasks by urgency, and deal with them in that order.”

“If we do that-” the rogue said.

“Me getting gear is incredibly urgent,” the bard said.

“The bard will do that,” the rogue finished.

“I see your point,” the wizard said.

“Hey!” the bard shouted, “I’m an important member of this team! None of you can start a conversation that doesn’t end in a fight.”

“Because that’s the fastest way to solve problems,” the barbarian said, “We don’t need to talk to people.”

“I would agree with you,” the cleric said, “But there are people we’re supposed to keep alive.”

“Eh,” the rogue grumbled.

“No. No!” the cleric said, “We kill evil people and not good people. If the bard and I weren’t here, you’d all be just as bad as the people you kill.”

“Fine, fine,” the fighter said, waving off the cleric, “Can we at least agree to split into two teams? I’m thinking cleric, myself and wizard on one team, we’ll handle killing whatever evil the cleric can lead us to, and bard, barbarian and rogue on the other. You can handle finding equipment for the bard. We can use scrying to keep in touch. Any objections?”

“We can’t find bad guys, you have the cleric and wizard,” the barbarian said, “Which means we don’t get to kill any bad guys.”

“Alright, rogue and wizard, you’re switching teams,” the fighter said, “Any other concerns?”

“I don’t like splitting up,” the wizard said.

“Noted,” the fighter said, “Now, we all have a mission. We can meet up here when our jobs are done. We scry each other every morning, minimum. I want consistent progress updates. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can team back up.”

“What if I also don’t like splitting up?” the bard asked.

“Then that will also be noted,” the fighter said.

“Seriously?” the rogue groused.

“Seriously,” the fighter said, “Now, we didn’t become rich and powerful by standing around. Get to work.”

…

“And it’s that guy?” the rogue asked, tucking around a street corner with the fighter and the cleric.

“Yep,” the cleric said, “The evil source moves with him.”

“How evil is he?” the fighter asked.

“Very,” the cleric answered.

“Now hold on,” the rogue said, “Is this evil wizard levels of evil? Is it undead monstrosity? Greater demon?”

“Closer to undead monstrosity than evil wizard,” the cleric answered, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was only pretending to be human.”

“You want me to have the first go?” the rogue asked.

“Sure,” the fighter said, “If the people around him turn into thralls, we should be able to handle them.”

To the rogue, the knife he threw was rather small. He kept his bigger knives for melee combat, and only used smaller knives for ranged strikes. The rogue also didn’t want to risk using his bow here, worried that the “Twang!” of loosing an arrow would alert his target.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

To his target, the knife the rogue threw was a large kitchen knife- Well, to the people around the rogue’s target, the knife the rogue threw was a large kitchen knife. The man’s skull all but exploded as the thrown knife tore through him. His body staggered a step forward, guided on nothing more than raw muscle memory, before collapsing to the ground. Mr. J. Eagleton, the second chairman, had died.

“He looks dead,” the fighter said.

“Yeah, I’m not sensing any more evil from him,” the cleric admitted, “There’s more that way.”

“Best we get moving then,” the rogue said, “Those people are screaming, and I don’t want to be bothered by the town guard.”

“So, we’re going to check out those spires,” the fighter demanded.

“There’s not much evil in there,” the cleric said.

“What if they’re warded?” the rogue asked, “Or have piles of money in them?”

“I do like those,” the fighter said, “Let’s check them out.”

“Alright, fine,” the cleric said, “But you have to promise, no lethal force until I give the go ahead.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the fighter said.

“Consider how easily the other villains we’ve killed have gone down,” the cleric said.

“We may have to limit ourselves to no force,” the rogue mumbled, “That could complicate things.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to do that,” the fighter whined, “Can’t we at least hit them a little bit?”

“Quiet,” the cleric said, “There’s a bunch of people here.”

The King’s Head Executive Job Fair was going well. The increase in supers led to consistent technological breakthroughs in nearly every field, and with that came new and exciting markets. Men and women milled about the place, unsure of what they were doing. The downside to brand new technology was that manual and unskilled labor was being quickly outmoded, leaving a fair number of people looking for administrative and corporate positions. Few people had the keen look of purpose, seeking new, exciting, and lucrative positions.

There weren’t any super there, heads turned and jaws slackened as the fighter, cleric, and rogue strode up to the place. The receptionist, a young, blonde woman, gave them a winning smile and reached for the silent alarm.

“We're here for work,” the fighter declared, shouldering past people waiting for interviews.

“Work?” the receptionist, whose name tag read “Miss Jullien”, asked. Her fingers stopped as they brushed up against the alarm button, “Well, we do have a few positions open for supers. Have you filled out an online application?”

“Our prestige and reputation should precede us,” the rogue said, “We’re the best. Just point us at a problem and offer a price.”

“Well,” the receptionist said, “We here at Bright Tomorrow focus more on research and development of new technologies and medicine. I’m sure you’d be a good fit here, but you look like the kind of people a P.M.C. would want. Do you have military history?”

“We want a job,” the cleric said, “So fork one over.”

“Right, uhm, let me go print out some application forms,” the receptionist said.

“Ugh, this is getting us nowhere,” the fighter said.

“What?” the receptionist asked.

“Team, we’re bailing out,” the fighter said, wandering off.

“So,” the rogue said, running after the fighter, “What’s the plan?”

“They’re trying to distract us,” the fighter said, “Turn us on their enemies. You heard her, she’s sending us after whatever a P.M.C. is!”

“I’m still not sensing much evil from here,” the cleric said.

“And we still haven’t gotten into their stronghold,” the fighter said, “Look at all the windows on that place! It must be crawling with arcane abominations.”

“Or an army of harpies,” the cleric mused.

“Listen, we need disguises,” the fighter said, “Rogue, find some people who look sort of like us, non-lethally disable them-”

“No broken bones either!” the cleric cut in.

“Come on, you gotta give me something to work with,” the rogue whined.

“And then we disguise ourselves as them,” the fighter finished.

“Alright, fine,” the rogue said. The rogue slipped into the shadows and moved without a trace, and for a moment the fighter pretended to see him, arms crossed and stoic.

There were no yelps as the rogue leapt onto people's backs and shoved a sleeping potion down their throats. And how could there be? The halfling was so fast and quiet that his targets didn't even notice. In under a minute, the rogue returned with three unconscious bodies.

"Are we putting them in bottomless bags?" the rogue asked.

"Those don't have air," the cleric said, "Now help me undress these people. Hey! Mine isn't an elf!"

"Yeah, and mine's taller than me and the fighter's is shorter than him," the rogue said, "We're not using clones. What are we doing with them? We don't know how long our mission will take."

"Eh, we can just tie them up and gag them," the fighter said, "What the- This idiot is carrying identification!"

"What do you mean?" the cleric asked.

"Look, it's got his name and a picture of him," the fighter said, showing the card to the cleric, "I'm doing him a favor, I'm surprised psychic, scrying warlords haven't killed him already!"

"Mine does also," the cleric remarked.

"At least it means we know their names," the rogue said, finishing a knot, "Now, let's get going."

…

The fighter, cleric, and rogue stode confidently through the lobby.

"Hello," the receptionist said with a cheerful smile, "Are you here to check in for an interview?"

"Yes," the fighter said, "We- I am here for that."

"Alright, can I just get your name?" the receptionist asked, typing away at her computer.

"Name?" the rogue muttered.

"Of course," the fighter said, quickly checking his stolen I.D. "My name is… Eric Fletcher."

"Alright, let me see," the receptionist said, "Well, Mr. Fletcher, it seems you are a few minutes late-"

"I was busy," the fighter said.

"Right, right, it won't be a problem," the receptionist said, "We currently have an office open. You'll want to head up to the fifth floor, then turn right down the hall, and the office will be on your left."

"Alright, let's move," the fighter said, motioning to the cleric and rogue.

"Are you the only one with an interview?" the receptionist asked.

"Huh?" the cleric said, "Uh, no. All three of us. We're all here for that."

"She probably wants our names," the rogue said.

"Oh, of course," the cleric said.

"I'll go on ahead," the fighter said.

…

"So, Ms. Courlan,"

"Mr. Hannibal,"

"Mr. Fletcher," the boss said, "What has brought you to Bright Future?"

"I want to make the world a better place," the fighter said, "And I want to get paid for it."

"Hah, yes. We all have bills to pay," the boss said, "Well, if money is what you're worried about, I assure you that we pay well. According to your application, you have military experience?"

"No," the fighter said, "I stayed free-lance. I knew what my talents were, and wanted to develop them."

"So…" the boss said, flipping through the application, "You weren't hired by the U.S. military?"

"Yoo-Ess?" the fighter mumbled, "Of course I fought for us! The world relied on me."

"Mr. Fletcher," the boss said, "Your application doesn't say anything about that kind of work."

"You wouldn't believe me," the fighter said.

"Of course," the boss said, "Well, that doesn't disqualify you, we've had people who can't talk about their past before. However, if it becomes clear to us that you've never had military experience you will be immediately terminated."

"Try it," the fighter growled, “Come here and terminate me.”

"Okay," the boss said, "Your application has been rejected. If you want to find a job, fix that attitude of yours. You will either exit the building immediately or be escorted out.”

…

“Ms. Courland,” the boss said, “On your application it says that you’ve done volunteer work with churches, could you-”

“I am absolutely a religious person,” the cleric declared.

“Yes, and that’s fine,” the boss said, “Provided you’re willing to tolerate different viewpoints.”

“Tolerate?” the cleric asked, one eyebrow twitching.

“Yes, with the rising number of supers, faith has become more diverse than ever,” the boss said, “You seem like a… passionate woman. I considered Bright Future to be a second family-”

“You were adopted?” the cleric asked.

“No. In order to work efficiently and maximize revenue, all of us need to cooperate,” the boss said, “That means being able to tolerate people who might not be accepting of your religion.”

“Sir, tolerating something bad means it will never be better,” the cleric said.

“You can’t call another person’s beliefs bad,” the boss said.

“Oh, I can,” the cleric said, “I’ve seen enough lunatics, I could pull crazies out of a crowd like needles from a haystack. My training and wisdom means I can root out their stupid ideas and crush them under the heel of righteousness and morality.”

“Why are you here?” the boss demanded.

“I’m investigating this place for corruption,” the cleric said, “You could-”

“Under whose authority?” the boss asked.

“My Goddess,” the cleric said, bristling in anger, “I carry divine authority.”

“What is your life?” the boss asked, slack jawed in wonder.

“I see it as a form of divine punishment,” the cleric said.

“You think your existence is punishment?” the boss asked.

“What? No! I love my life,” the cleric said, “I am honored to inflict divine wrath upon the deserving.”

“We’re done here,” the boss said, “Get out before I call security.”

…

“Well, it’s paying work, isn’t it?” the rogue asked, “The lady at the front wasn’t clear about that. My skills aren’t cheap.”

“Okay, what is this?” the boss asked.

“It was an “In-tear-view” wasn’t it?” the rogue asked, “You ask me questions, I answer questions. I get the job, you don’t get the job.”

“No, who are you?” the boss asked, “I’m certain when I met you that you were a solid foot taller.”

“Yes,” the rogue said, “There was a tragic accident.”

“A tragic accident,” the boss said.

“Very,” the rogue said.

“That shrank your whole body,” the boss continued.

“See, that’s the great tragedy!” the rogue said, “Imagine living your whole life, only to be knocked down a full foot!”

“What’s your name?” the boss asked.

“Hannibal,” the rogue said.

“Your full name,” the boss demanded.

“My full name?” the rogue said, “Well, it’s a bit foreign sounding.”

“We here at Bright Future pride ourselves on hiring the best talents from a diverse audience,” the boss said, “Now, your full name.”

“It’s- um,” the rogue muttered, “It’s Yulciyo. Yeah! Yulciyo Selpho Hannibal.”

“As in?” the boss asked.

“You’ll see yourself out, Hannibal,” the rogue said, “My mother told me that, just before she died.”

“Well,” the boss said, pointing to the door, “She was right.”

"I never liked the old bat," the rogue mumbled.

…

“I think that went well,” the fighter said, tossing the disguise in a dumpster.

“How?” the cleric asked, “We hardly got anywhere.”

“We talked to people,” the fighter explained, “And didn’t get in a fight.”

“I didn’t even get the guards called on me,” the rogue said, “It was a wonderful experience.”

“We were supposed to do recon,” the cleric complained, “What did we even learn?”

“That they don’t have any magical security,” the rogue said, “I can sneak through the place no problem.”

“Well then,” the fighter said, “We’ll wait for you out in the back. Rogue, your job is to scout the place for any signs of devil worship, far-realm physics, or those awful octopus people from space.”