Two months ago, Dor defended his pride, and while he spent the night in jail, his friends and thousands of others around the city vanished. When no one came to bail him out, he’d assumed he’d gone too far that time, that beating down another sweater-vest type was too much for Lulu to forgive…yet again. Until his release, he couldn’t imagine how wrong he was. Never assume, you just make an ass out of you and me and then the city goes to hell. His old man’s words were spot on, though he added that last bit himself.

He got arrested for punching out Lulu’s boyfriend-of-the-month, her latest ‘networking’ scheme. That guy was talking shit about Dor’s hair-do, cutting straight to the heart of Dor’s pride.

To him, that mullet wasn’t just a hairdo; despite how silly as he knew it was, his mullet represented his pride. All he had to do was cut it neat to fit in with Lulu’s sweater-vest crowd and the rest of those asshats at their posh school across town. He knew that and it was a simple matter, but it was never worth it before. He’d rather be a damn hermit than bow to those arrogant bastards, the ones Lulu kept trying to ‘network’ with. Rose Valley Park was a home to be proud of, his old man was a father to be proud of, and he shouldn’t need to cut his hair to become a person he could be proud of. That was what Lulu would never understand, neither her nor her boyfriends.

Still, a new thought nagged at him. Maybe if he hadn’t defended a stupid haircut two months ago, he wouldn’t have been arrested? And if he wasn’t arrested, he might have been around when all his professional guild-mates disappeared. His old man and Uncle Ron could have been putting up posters of him right now instead of just Lulu. At the very least, he’d still be a part of the group instead of abandoned to the remnants of this city, left behind by his only friends.

It’d be so easy to move back to Rose Valley Park, leave their guild headquarters behind to the thieves. He could live with his old man, maybe hang out with Uncle Ron and his kids, help them scour the world for Lulu, but it didn’t feel right. Doing that felt like regression, like throwing away all Lulu’s hopes for him. Her nose was always buried in a textbook, working for later, or a computer monitor, earning for now. Other than Dor, her friends and boyfriends were always superficial relationships; she used every blessing God gave her to its fullest advantage.

Instead of schmoozing up to jocks with her pretty face, she seduced the sweater-vest crowd. Jocks didn’t have a bright future; sweater-vests did. Uncle Ron, her dad, couldn’t be more proud of her. Her older brothers were a good lot, but they didn’t share her aspirations. Seemed that entire family pinned their hopes on her, determined to live vicariously, and she didn’t disappoint.

Dor was the one who disappointed. Lulu dragged him around everywhere, forcing him into all her ‘networking’ schemes. She called home ‘a life spent wasted’, and wouldn’t ever accept Dor’s intent to return. Likely, she hated those posh assholes at their high school as much as he did, but she hated a life spent wasted even more. For a time, Dor contemplated sabotaging his own grades just so he could be expelled and return home, back to Rose Valley Park. Yet, he never did. That, too, would be throwing away his family’s hopes for him.

Admittedly, this decision was made much easier by another very big problem he was dragged into, one he couldn’t explain even to himself. On the night he was released from jail, he recalled a drunken conversation with some kid who broke into the Chinese restaurant. Dor remembered sitting down at his computer in the dining room converted office space for another night of work, not yet realizing everyone had disappeared. At that time, he assumed all his other guild-mates had gone to bed, frustrated after a failed mission. Once again, he assumed wrong.

The character he’d been noob leveling, Xenos Princely Warrior, should have been sound asleep on his bed. Tuck’s Inn was a save point, a safe place, at least, it should have been. Instead of seeing Xenos snooze, the cut-screen of death played on a loop. Somehow, his character had died. Can assassins do that? Maybe, I guess.

For a brief moment, he turned to ask Jimmy how the hell that happened, but Dor was the only one downstairs. Everyone else’s computer was unmanned, playing that same cut-screen. Even more baffling, a prompt appeared on his screen, a prompt the others' screens didn’t show.

‘Do you desire the power for future adventures? Accept Lord Prometheus as your true god.’

‘Do you willfully accept Lord Prometheus? Y/N?’

Future adventures? Dor couldn’t care less about those. He had a monthly quota to meet.

‘No.’

Without a shred of hesitation, he answered the prompt. The cutscene ended and Xenos was once again asleep in his bed. Instead of worrying about how his character died in a safe zone, Dor grabbed one of the rolling papers scattered behind his monitor. That was one of the best perks of his job. The bossman, Jimmy, bought all Dor’s weed for him. Since Dor wasn’t involved in any of the ‘fun’ quests with Jimmy, Donnie, Lulu and Claire, slaying hidden bosses and whatnot, Jimmy considered Dor’s weed a business expense, one taken right out of company profits.

Dor’s only job was to grind the beginner half of Valrere Online over and over again. He leveled a never-ending queue of character accounts past all the early humdrum parts, fetching water from some mountain range, finding Fryer Tuck’s lost pigs, and mostly just slaying endless hordes of Thumper Rabbits. Basically, he did all the monotonous crap rich players didn’t want to bother with.

For each type of character, Jimmy drew up an easy to follow advancement map, and all Dor had to do was point and click all day, every day, following Jimmy’s plan. Because of that tedium, Jimmy deemed weed a business expense, certain that without it, Dor would fall asleep at the wheel. In truth, Dor found his mindless job cathartic. He had a road map all laid out, his only concern was to meet a simple quota, few expectations from anyone.

Because of that, it didn’t even take half a brain cell for Dor to click ‘No’ on a dude named Prometheus’s offer. Wasn’t he some god in Valrere?

A startling voice sounded right next to him. “Good thinking. He’s a dick.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Dor smacked his knees under the table as he jumped in surprise. Someone just talked in his ear.

Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder—

And jumped again!

He’d about butted heads with the kid perched over him. That kid didn’t even flinch, he just stared at the monitor, at Xenos sleeping in his bed. He reached out a finger and touched the screen, apparently startled it didn’t go through.

“I knew Prometheus had some neat toys, but this thing’s awesome!” The kid exclaimed. “Do you got to feed him or something? Does he want out of that box after a while? Crazy that stupid bunsack’s just sleeping there.”

His head peered around behind the monitor. “Woah! He’s all super skinny, too.”

Fortunately, Dor had a good buzz on. The excitement wore off quickly.

“Who’re you?” Dor asked.

“Oh, I’m the Loogman formerly known as Oenus,” he answered, then shook his head. “No, no, no, I’m the bunsack formerly known as God. Wait, that’s not right either. I’m a god in a bunsack body, but bunsacks are super weak, like you wouldn’t believe it—”

The kid paused his spiel and studied Dor up and down.

“—nevermind. You would believe it because you’re super weak, too.” He continued.

Dor didn’t even try to wade through that mess of a rant.

“You Jimmy’s friend?” Dor asked.

“Oh, I know Jimmy!” He answered. “I reverse followed him here. Or rather, he was going one way, and I was going the other. That’s how I found this world. That’s what I do.”

Again, Dor completely ignored that rant and simply packed his joint while the kid looked on. No matter how many times the old man showed him, Dor never got the knack for rolling a joint. He always just wrapped the paper around a pencil and tamped a shit-load of weed down in there. Why not? It was a business expense.

He lit it and inhaled relaxation. The kid was even amazed by that.

“What’s the deal?” the kid asked. “The air not good enough here?”

Dor snickered and shook his head. The air used to not be good enough here, it still wasn’t but it used to, too. Good ol’ Mitch Hedberg. He offered his joint to the kid, but that kid was already pawing Dor's handle of Kentucky Gentleman.

“I know what this is,” the kid said. “I got the recipe in my book, but it kept making my bunsacks blind, so I figured it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Blind ain’t so bad,” Dor mused, his head reeling.

“You and Eta’ll get along, then,” the kid said. “I gotta hide her. Get this, so turned out wheelmen weren’t a great idea. I thought Mister Jenkens wouldn’t notice, but he did. And now, the wolves are after Eta, who knew, right?”

“Right on,” Dor replied.

“Oh, and also, you’re my hostage because, you see, Prometheus doesn’t know about Mister Jenkens. Like I tried to tell him, but he took it wrong. Thinks he can kill Death! What an idiot! So, since Prometheus is back in Valrere, I’m gonna hide Eta here. ‘Cause of Mister Jenken’s wolves and all.”

“Who’s Mister Jenkens?” Dor asked, more to make conversation with Jimmy’s friend than actually caring about the answer.

“Oh, he lives in my well,” the kid answered. “And he lives in the Brackspire, but there’s no bog here, so it’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

Dor tuned most of that out and took another drag. “You like Lou Reed?”

“I can read,” the kid said. “Learned how with my book. Eta can read, too. She’s gonna live with you for a bit, but don’t forget, no hanky-poky or else I’ll get Dragon to cut your Ding off, too. We still got to find Domagon; he’s really horny and he likes Eta.”

The kid thought for a minute. “If you can, try to get her to eat. She’s all crazy and stuff now and doesn’t understand she’s gotta eat with her tail. Like her mouth is for breathing and her tail is for eating, so try and get that through her head.”

“No problem,” Dor said as he scrolled through Spotify.

Ah, there it is.

Harsh cords and mewling lyrics filled the room. This time, it was the kid who jumped in surprise as he began scanning the ceiling. “Prometheus? Is that you? I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, at least until I kill enough bunsacks to make Mister Jenkens happy. Here’s a hint: don’t do wheelmen here in your world. He don’t like that.”

“You talking to God, man?” Dor asked, nearly twisted enough to talk to God himself.

“Who else?”

“Guess you really do like Reed”

“Oh, one more thing,” the kid said, ignoring Dor. “Eta’s like stupid strong now, but she doesn’t know it, so be careful or else she might accidentally rip your guts out. Like not on purpose but still, don’t let her scratch you. She accidentally disemboweled me once. Fortunately, Dragon stitched it up, but you know…no scratching because Dragon’s not here.”

Dor exhaled a cloud. “Right on.”

Then he eased his head back. God…it’s me again. Let’s chat.

And the rest of that night was a twisted blur. The next day, the monster appeared on his doorstep, and, at that time, he hadn’t a clue what kind of burden he was taking on. Her clothes were strange. An oversized tunic of hide hung off her dainty shoulders. He caught a few ripples underneath that tunic, later on, he’d realize it was her tail hidden beneath it, wrapped around her own waist. All she carried was a small travel bag and the clothes on her back.

Mostly, he was just stunned such a beauty showed up on his stoop looking for a place to crash. Right then, the most disconcerting feature about her was her jet black eyes, eyes that matched her long straight hair, Dor’s favorite style. For those eyes, he’d assumed she was blind instead of demonic; when really, he was just blind himself. She might have been a bit older than him, but age was hard to tell in such a shapely girl. Chances were, she was the type to look twenty years old even into her forties. Her cute face would even give Lulu a run for her money, and that was really saying something.

She didn’t speak but held out a note just like a kid holding out a permission slip.

‘I’m Jimmy’s friend. Let me stay here.’

And that was the start of a monster living upstairs.

Bong haze filled the tiny camper and Dor finished recounting what he could remember of his story to Dad. Throughout all of it, Dad never interrupted once. He laid on the couch, hands behind his head, and nodded along. His relaxed posture eased the tension out of Dor. He’s not worried about it. It’s not as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be.

After a moment of silence, Dad must have confirmed that was the end of Dor’s story. He sat up, looked Dor in the eye, and said, “man, Ray Davies said it best, you know? That paranoia, it’s a need destroyer.”

Dor wasn’t entirely sure the Kink’s song fit his situation, but running through the lyrics in his head, he realized his Dad’s words had a bit of depth.

“More like Enter Sandman,” Dor countered.

“Nah man, worries, worries, worries, it’ll all work out in the end. Come here, check this out,” Dad said as he stood up, motioning for Dor to follow along.

The walked down the narrow hall. The hall in Dad’s camper wasn’t constricting though. Dor knew no monsters lived here; there’d never be a time when one jumped in front of him and ripped his throat out. His fingers traced along the wood paneling as Dad led him back to the master bedroom. When Dor walked inside, he was shocked.

The bedroom was clean, completely spotless. The bed was made so tight, you could bounce a quarter on the mattress. The old carpeting was scrubbed and shampooed to a color Dor didn’t even know it had. Dad beamed and stretched out his arms. “Welcome home, son!”

That was when it clicked. The reason the futon still had bedding on top of it was because Dad had been sleeping out in the living space every night. He’d scrubbed and cleaned up his old room, the master suite, so Dor would have a nice place to come home to. Dad didn’t even know if Dor would come home or not, but he moved into the living space just on the off chance Dor returned.

Right then, Dor realized just how fucked up his emotions really were. For the third time in two days, he cried like a baby.

“Goddammit, Dad,” he squeaked between the sniffles.

Dad hugged him tight, pat him on the back, and said, “welcome home, son.”