Had they heard outside?

If they hadn’t, he could kill the shopkeeper — again — and avoid detection for a while.

But it appeared someone had.

“Where?” said the gnoll that rushed in the door.

“Behind the counter!” Jerome yelled as loud as he could, hoping to convince the gnoll through sheer volume, and to drown out anything the shopkeeper might say.

Jerome ran for the door, grabbing the new gnoll in a bear hug and rushing him out. “He’s dangerous! Run and grab the guards!”

The confused gnoll ran off. It was an inevitability that someone would go grab the guards, so might as well use that to get out of the immediate situation. Jerome ducked into the crowd, keeping his back to the store entrance. Would the shopkeeper be able to pick him out of the crowd? Would it scan every single gnoll here?

Jerome already knew the answer. Of course it would.

Ducking would attract attention even sooner, as would transforming in the middle of the pack. He could tell he was going to be running soon enough, so he risked attracting early attention by laying hands on various useful-looking gnolls he passed, collecting forms to burn through later.

Somehow, despite all the factors working against him, he was on the edge of the crowd and able to slip into an alley before any gnolls made it to the particular thoroughfare he’d just escaped.

What were all these alleys for? Gnolls didn’t seem to frequent them, although there were sometimes one or two standing around accidentally blocking his escape. Stores and homes occasionally had back exits, but they were surprising rare, and always looked extremely locked.

Perhaps they were shelters from the ptau or the ockdine attacks. Or maybe they were just sound-proofing between houses.

Whatever the reason, they were useful as hell.

This alley had one gnoll in it, a gnoll who clearly wanted to get away from the crowds. It was inebriated, stumbling, clutching a half-empty bottle.

That bottle would be the perfect way to blow off some steam. He’d earned it, with all the daring escapes he’d performed lately. With all that practice, and devising a whole strategy.

If a man couldn’t reward himself, what was the point?

But this gnoll, he only had half a bottle.

Where was the perfect place to hide? A bar. No one checked skills at a bar. They were all too busy relaxing into the evening’s glow. Well, in the evening, that was. Anyone who was in a bar at this time of day was not there for a mere glow of tipsiness, and they definitely wouldn’t be checking skills.

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“Where’d you get that bottle?” he asked the gnoll.

It pointed unhelpfully towards the opposite end of the alleyway, then fell over because apparently that small action was too unbalancing.

At least that was the direction he was already going. Jerome went to the end of the alleyway and emerged into another street. This one was less busy, and he could easily see the building marked by an overflowing cup of deliciously bubbling beer.

The bar was nearly as empty as he expected. Two gnolls sat in the corner, while another was behind the counter rearranging his various bottles.

“You’re new,” said the barkeeper.

“My coppers are good,” said Jerome, putting four of the small coins on the table. “Pour me a beer.”

Soon he was in another corner, staring down the mug.

On one hand, he knew he couldn’t control himself. This one drink would lead to another, and another, and another, and then his grand plan to free the humans would be lost in a haze. On the other hand, it would feel so good to have a drink, and he’d earned it. When he left this place he could transform and get rid of any drunkenness. He needed to kill an hour or so, and not drinking this beer would be suspicious, as would leaving quickly.

Other people managed it just fine. A member of his raiding guild lived nearby, back on earth, and when she came over with a six-pack and a forbidden film she was able to sip on one beer all night while he plowed through the other five.

He took a sip, trying to imitate Melody. Precise, mechanical movements. One sip, then put it down. Maybe that was the trick: keeping his hands off of it while not drinking.

If he could imitate someone’s body, why not imitate their mannerisms and patterns of thinking? He could become anyone, achieve what they accomplished. He could—

Somehow the beer was halfway gone. Dammit! His habits were going to get everyone killed.

Yet at the same time, the alcohol calmed his nerves, and he felt more at home and less stressed than he had in a long time.

He could pretend this was a night before a raid. That was when he’d been able to hold himself to one or two beers. This was a raid, a real-life raid, so he could just apply those same patterns of thinking.

Why had he been able to control himself on those nights? Purpose. He knew his guild would need him, that they were counting on him, so he was able to stop drinking before his reflexes got too compromised.

His Purpose now was even stronger. He could remember his Purpose and things would be fine.

Purpose wasn’t a constant stat, like Strength. He’d been full of Purpose when he came back from his first journey to town, and that had led to a huge burst in his growth. Then on his second trip to town, when he lost control, he’d failed to properly connect his mini-missions to his main Purpose, his main Quest. He’d thought of them almost as fetch quests, and that weakness in his aspirational structure meant that a traumatic event (like trying to cut up a gnoll) was able to temporarily knock it all down.

He took a sip and the placed the mug back on the table. Just one sip, not half the mug.

“You’re staring at that mug like it killed you,” said one of the corner gnolls. “You alright?”

Jerome carefully moved the mug to his mouth, took a small sip, and then put it down again. At this rate he’d be able to pass almost an entire hour with just this one serving.

“It did kill me,” he said, “but I’ll win this time.”