Eventually Logan and Malcolm compromised. They did indeed need a very specific set of skills. So together they had made a list concerning hunting and gathering food, crafting shelter and utilities and fighting. Logan had to admit, it felt nice to work on something together with his father. He was an abrasive grouch about it as always, but there was something new under the surface of their negotiations. A mutual respect.

Have to admit, he really is good at organizing these things.

Logan pestered agent Simmons until he finally yielded out of pure annoyance. He admitted he wasn’t interested in hunting or fighting. He wanted to be a woodsman. So he picked up the [Forester] class. That was fine by Malcolm Specter. They would need a lot of lumber.

As a reward for finally being honest, Logan gave him one of the stone axe heads and actually used up a decent chunk of Numa to turn the other scythe into a saw, after working a bit with Tumor on the designs.

“I expect a cozy log cabin in due time.”

Simmons had looked at him with those unreadable hale blue eyes, but had eventually nodded, after apparently making his own conclusions whether or not Logan had been joking.

One of the civilians Logan had barely paid attention to, took the [Fisherman] class. Logan gave him the fishing hooks and a stone knife.

Janice, the barmaid from the roof took a [Crafter] class. She’d become very demure and withdrawn. Logan didn’t have enough sympathy for her mental state, but he hoped she would pull her weight. With that, she received the bone needles and a stone knife.

The doctors protested and bickered about maintaining their profession. They had all been granted the option to take the [Healer] class. Malcolm Specter put them in line with harsh words. He gave the family doctor permission to take the class, claiming that half of the so-called “doctors” were mere researchers, and it was about time they did something useful.

With that one of them capitulated and decided to also take a [Crafter] class. He muttered something specializing into pottery and such with the abundance of clay in the soil. That was good, they would need containers and possibly even clay bricks.

The rest of them fell in line, choosing classes matching the needs of the list Logan’s father made. Logan didn’t personally appreciate forcing the doctors to take a class they didn’t want to. Then again high education would only go so far in a survival situation.

Before one of the younger doctors had a chance to pick something he didn’t like, Logan ambushed him and with the help of Freya, he dragged the doctor by his tattered lab coat away from Malcolm Specter’s earshot.

“What classes does the system suggest to you?” Logan asked.

“Hey,” Freya said and smiled at him. “You’re Dr. Cormick, aren’t you? You worked in the nootropics department?”

“Y-yes,” the skinny, sandy haired guy managed to stammer out. “Can you let go of me, please? I feel uncomfortable.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Logan released the doctor, who wiped his forehead with an ugly red and blue tie.

“You need to make string out of that tie, as soon as possible,” Logan told him.

Dr. Cormick let out a nervous laugh. “I suppose it would be good. You will need a shirt.”

“I like him like this,” Freya said. “What’s your name?”

“William,” the good doctor said.

“What classes are suggested for you, Will?” Logan asked.

“William,” the doctor corrected. “I have [Alchemist], [Healer] and [Swordsman].”

“Swordsman?” Freya asked.

“Did fencing in high school and college.”

“I bet you did,” Logan said half-aloud.

“What?” William asked, somewhat offended. It’s a fine sport!”

“You convinced me,” Logan said and smirked. “Sorry. It’s just one of those elitist upper middle class hobbies that I tend to sneer upon.”

“You’re one to talk,” Freya said and nudged Logan.

“Pick the [Alchemist] class, William,” Logan said.

“But Mr. Specter said—”

“He says a lot of things,” Logan said. “But he isn’t omniscient. You ever play video games, William?”

“I did.”

“Well, my father never did. He can’t appreciate how valuable an [Alchemist] could be for our motley crew.”

“But Mr. Specter will—”

“I got your back, William,” Logan said empathetically. “I promise you, he will thank you later for your initiative.”

William nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, do what’s best for you,” Logan said and walked away. Freya gave William a friendly wave before she followed Logan.

Logan sat down next to the pile of snake bones and the heat enchanted rock that he had used to start the fire earlier. The charge was exhausted, and he would have to [Funnel] some energy into it before he left. And he would leave soon. They needed more Numa.

Freya sat down, looking worried as she had ever since they had come to where they would set up a new home.

“You’re not yourself,” Logan said.

Freya drew in breath like a gathering storm. Logan knew what was coming. An offended tirade. He moved in first, cupping her ear and face in his hand and massaging her scalp through her hair. She hummed and leaned in.

Works like a charm, even in post-apocalypse.

“Sometimes I think your father should see this side of you,” she said absently.

“Ew,” Logan said.

She chuckled. “Not what I meant.”

“What’s bothering you, Frey?”

Freya fiddled with her fingers and sighed pensively. “I’m really proud of you. You… I’ve known you for as long as I can remember, and I never saw you like this.”

“Shirtless?”

“Shut up,” Freya said. “What I'm trying to say is… You’ve fiddled around your whole life, not caring or at least pretending not to. Now we are in this absolutely insane situation. And you’re just fine!”

Logan tried to speak, but Freya interjected. “Not just fine! You’re thriving! I’m so proud of you, but at the same time. UGH!”

Logan smiled. Yeah, he had fiddled around most of his life. But he was good at one thing. He was the world’s greatest scholar of Freya Beckstein. “You’re feeling useless and I was supposed to be useless with you?”

“Thank you!” She gasped. “Usually it doesn’t take you this long.”

Logan shrugged. “New waters. What do you want from me exactly?”

“I don’t know!” She tried getting up, but Logan pulled her back down. She growled. Logan recognized that growl. It was the ‘You’re right but I don’t like you right now’- growl. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do? There’s a lot of ways you can be useful around here.”

Freya glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot. Then she muttered half-aloud. “I’m not good at anything.”

Logan scoffed in disbelief. “That’s what got you all bundled up?”

Freya turned to look at Logan.

“Who cares,” Logan said. “Just pick something you like.”

“I don’t—”

“Here,” Logan said and placed two [F-grade Numa Crystals] in her palm. Then he got up. “To help you catch up. I have to prepare. I’ll talk to you later. Look, it’s only the end of the world and we might be the last twenty or so humans alive. Relax a little. Things could be worse.”

“Funny.”

“Love you, Frey,” Logan said and picked up one of the snake ribs for inspiration before he left.

“Love you too,” she said, hugging her knees. “Wait. Prepare for what?”