The door bursts open, and we shoot into the lot. The alarm blares behind us. It’s not nearly as loud as I’d hoped.

“This way!”

I sprint down a line of cars, trusting that Luci is close behind. The sun glints off the windshields at exactly the wrong angle. I can hardly see. But I can hear screeches carrying on the wind. A shadow passes over the pavement. I look up just in time to see it.

With two hands, I whip the barbell shaft up and over my head.

When I chose my new weapon, I imagined wielding it like a quarter staff, spinning it around like a martial arts hero. Instead, it’s like whacking a broom at a bird that got loose in the living room. Ungraceful, kinda cringy, but still rather effective.

I feel it connect. The shaft follows through the hit and smacks down on the pavement. I nearly fall over with the weight of it. It’s just 15 pounds, but my arms may as well be made of noodles.

The monster wobbles to the side. It doesn’t fall. It beats its wings, stabilizing, just as I manage to pull up my weapon for another go.

I don’t wait for it. I just swing it again, aiming high. No connection. It’s a complete whiff. The bat-fish dodges upward, well out of the way. Goddamn flying monsters. I need something long-range for this. Why isn’t Luci shooting?

There’s no time to look for her. The monster brandishes its talons like a hawk and goes in for the kill.

It’s fast. Too fast. I throw myself to the ground, my shoulder scraping against the pavement, as I fling the shaft in defense. Again, I feel the impact. The shaft connects. The momentum carries the monster through the air and smashes it down into the ground. Then all I see is teeth. It’s landed inches from my face, wings flapping, jaw snapping. It smells like rot.

I scramble backwards. The monster doesn’t pursue. One of its wings is broken, the bones arched in the wrong direction.

I take a moment as I climb to my feet, the end of the barbell dragging across the ground. My sweaty palms struggle to get a solid grip. Carefully, I curl my fingers around the bar, steady my aim, and thrust the end into the core of its scaly flesh.

It pierces right through. The monster shrieks, its little beady eyes bulging, before flopping over dead.

1.

Enemy Defeated:

Flying Piranha (Lv 2)

Exp: 10

Earned: 50g

2.

Level up! You are now Lv 2.

Exp to next level: 5/20

Attribute points available: 3

3.

Class Discovered:

Satsuma Striker

Triggered by: Damaging an enemy with a staff.

More than four hundred years ago, a poor village of Okinawans found themselves at war against the invading Satsuma Clan. With nothing but the folksy bo staff as a weapon against three thousand well-armed Samurai, the Okinawans didn’t do great. But maybe you can! Strike against superior enemies with this historic fighter class.

The “Potential Classes” tab is now available via the menu.

[A class must be chosen post-reconstitution before reentering the field. Classes may be researched via the Index. Discover classes during this stage to expand your list of choices.]

Discovered Class Bonus Unlocked:

Rebel This!: Do 10% more physical damage against higher level enemies.

[Discovered Class Bonuses apply whether you ultimately choose this class or not. Discover more classes during this stage to increase your bonuses.]

The shaft slips through my fingers and clatters to the ground.

It’s dead. I killed it. I can’t believe I killed it. It was the monster or me, and I kicked its fishy ass.

“Hell. Yes,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears. I’m so hyped up on adrenaline. I feel juiced. My body is all jitters, like little ants crawling through my veins. I can’t stand still.

“Dang, nice moves,” says Luci.

“Thanks,” I reply. “Maybe next time, if you want to use that gun of yours…”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry about that. I was scared I’d hit you.”

“You weren’t scared before.”

“Before?”

“In the gym.”

“Well, yeah, but it was different then, obviously. I didn’t know you. Now it’s like, ‘Oh no, don’t shoot Helen.’” She lifts her chin. “Super old-timey name, by the way. What’s up with that?”

“I… I don’t know. Look, just try shooting next time.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

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She eyes the monster, the handgun visibly shaking in her hands. A pool of dark ichor oozes into the parking lot cracks. A thin trickle inches her way.

She looks so out of place. We’re in an employee lot for a Crossfit gym, surrounded by sparkling clean sedans and ivy-laden brick buildings. Her chestnut brown hair is tucked into a perfect braid. She’s wearing an outfit like she’s auditioning for Teen Vogue. God, it looks like she even reapplied lip gloss. And contrasting that, she’s carrying a gun while trying to avoid her studded ankle boots from getting monster sauce on them.

Meanwhile here I am, the adult of the pair, chastising her for not ruthlessly gunning down an otherworldly horror because she was afraid she’d hurt me.

Ugh. This is exactly why I didn’t want to party up. I’m not cut out for interaction. Not anymore.

“It’s fine,” I say dismissively. “I got it.”

“Okay. Sure. So, did you level up?”

“Yup. Level 2.”

Nodding wordlessly, she shifts her weight onto one foot, the other sliding around like she’s dancing some nervous ballet.

Good job, Helen. Parental guardian of the year.

“Come on.” I pick up the barbell. “We gotta go.”

We hurry out of the lot and head down an alley heading south. A long brick apartment building lines the left-hand side. There are no windows, just garage doors padlocked to the concrete. A vent blows out hot air perfumed with laundry detergent. On the opposite side is a row garages and driveways sitting in the back of squat wood slat houses. Little tufts of green weeds poke up from the seams. It’s all so ordinary.

No. No, it’s not ordinary. It looks ordinary. Yet the atmosphere has changed. Screams carry on the wind. Sirens blare. I even hear the unmistakable crack of a gun - which despite what people may think of Chicago is not part of our usual ambience. Though it’s hard to tell, it seems like most of the errant activity is happening behind us, back where it’s more populated.

We come out onto a one-lane residential road curtained by tall leafy oaks. I can’t see or hear any of the monsters, but I suggest to Luci that we stick to cover anyhow. We have no idea whether they work by sight or sound, so the best we can do is try to mask both. So we stay off the roads and weave between the houses instead.

“Where is everybody?” Luci asks.

We’re a little more than halfway to her place now. The area is starting to look very much like a suburb, with wide mowed lawns and massive churches. So many churches. I bet they’re packed right now. When an ethereal voice starts telepathically issuing warnings that the world is about to end, people are gonna want to talk to God.

“Like, we’re supposed to be looking for this portal, right?” she continues. “People should be, I don’t know, out looking.”

I shrug. “People do weird things when they’re scared.”

Luci kicks a loose pebble down the road before hopping up onto a curb. We trek across the lawn, passing a dirt-encrusted Big Wheel and a driveway blanketed in chalk scribbles.

“Are you scared?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Not as scared as I should be though. I have a way of putting off emotions until later. Once the dust settles.” I unhinge a wooden gate into the backyard. “What about you? Are you scared?”

“Hardly,” she scoffs. Liar.

We remain quiet as we hop the fence into another yard. A dog barks next door. It’s sudden and sharp. Luci jumps, her face turning pale. Then she sets her jaw and tightens her grip on the gun.

I wonder what she’s been through. Did she lose someone at her school? Is there anyone left? Should I ask? Or would that make it worse? I don’t know how to deal with kids, and I certainly don’t know how to deal with trauma.

I used to be good with that kind of thing. I was a good listener. I liked giving advice. Unfortunately, in the last couple years, when someone came to me with a sob story, all I had to offer was a half-hearted “that’s rough” followed by a joint and a game of TowerFall.

Turns out nihilism doesn’t make for great counseling.

We reach another main road. There’s a stoplight just a block down, though it looks broken. A convertible sits empty in the intersection, the driver and passenger doors both hanging open. No wait, there’s someone in the passenger seat. They’re not moving.

“Come on,” I say, and I head across the street toward a row of houses. Looking over my shoulder, I check to make sure Luci is following. She glances toward the car but says nothing.

The weather is rather cool for May, but by the time we reach Luci’s neighborhood, I’ve got my ash-gray hoodie tied around my waist and a pair of faint sweat splotches tucked under my armpits. I blame the barbell. I picked the lightest one in the gym, and it’s still a bitch to carry around. I need a better weapon. Unless I can up my strength, then big and blunt doesn’t really suit me. I have three attribute points to distribute, so I guess I could put them there.

What a weird thought. Who needs the gym when you’ve got an otherworldly game-centric apocalypse. What I’d love is something smaller and more stabby. Maybe a hunting knife or a dagger. I wonder how heavy a pair of scimitars would be. Now that would be badass.

A few minutes later, Luci points down a woodsy road. “That’s mine. Two houses down. The gray one.”

I nearly choke. Apparently little Luciana Martez lives in a three-story country-style house, like the suburban version of an old plantation manor. It’s stunning, complete with a winding stone driveway, three-car garage, and a porch that borders at least two sides. The steep-slope roof alone is taller than most houses.

Once upon a time, I dreamed of buying a place just like it. Maybe if I’d gone through with law school, I could have.

“The fuck do your parents do for a living?” I blurt. “Sorry, language.”

“You’ve been swearing this whole time.”

“Yeah, well.”

“My mom is an oncologist. My dad does some kind of corporate stuff. I don’t know what.”

“Do they work around here or…”

“Downtown.”

“Oh.” I wonder how far the rest of the city is now.

“I tried calling them,” she says. “But no service. No internet either.”

“Huh. Any, um… any siblings?”

“Liam. My little brother. He has leukemia. He’s at Lurie’s.” She pauses. “It’s a hospital for kids.”

“I’ve heard of it. Sorry.”

“It’s whatever. He’s seven. He’ll be okay.”

Luci fishes keys out of her backpack as she heads up the driveway. A fist-sized stuffed rhino swings from the ring. I lag behind. I just met the kid an hour ago. It feels weird following her into an empty house.

“You coming?” she says.

At the same time, I’d love to check out the interior. Might be the last time I get to see how the 1% lives. “Yup.”

I follow her up the steps. A porch swing sways with the breeze. On the door frame are little notches and numbers. It must be Luci’s height chart. I remember my mom doing that, placing a ruler on my head and marking my bedroom wall with a pencil. Though somewhere around three feet, my chart stopped.

As Luci presses the keys to the lock, the door creaks open.

She looks at me. “Someone’s here.”