As the truck rolled towards Anchorage’s shopping district, Derek stood in the bed, surveying the landscape. The quietness area strongly contrasted the usual buzz of activity of the before times. The city was slowly losing its fight against the invading monsters. The sound of gunfire, once non-stop, was now only heard occasionally. The damage was severe along the roads. Many houses were destroyed, some were on fire, others were long burned out. Other homes were broken and destroyed. Cars were left everywhere, some in ditches, others in the middle of the road.

They often saw a terrible sight: bodies, many horribly disfigured, were everywhere. The grim scene made Derek even more determined to kill any monster he came across. His determination came not from knowing the victims, but from seeing how much harm had been done and the threat they represented.

The shopping district, once a hub of daily life with its bustling grocery stores and fast-food outlets, now presented a scene of eerie quietude. The arrival of their convoy in the grocery store’s parking lot broke the abnormal silence. Instead of a stealthy approach, they announced their presence with a loud, intentional blare of car horns. This brash entrance stirred the lurking monsters. Soon, a disorganized horde of goblins and orcs emerged from the shattered façade of the grocery store, surging out in a chaotic swarm.

Derek leaped from the truck bed, his feet meeting the asphalt with a determined thud. He glanced at the children; despite their youthful faces, a sense of premature maturity marked their expressions. The determined set of their mouths spoke of a resilience born from necessity, mirroring Derek’s own resolve. He recognized a hint of his younger self in their apprehension, a sobering reminder of the harsh realities this new world had imposed on them.

The calm morning quickly turned chaotic with gunfire. The sound of the gunshots bounced off the storefronts, making a jarring racket that could be heard everywhere. From the shadows of the trees, from the shattered doors of restaurants, from the broken homes, goblins and orcs appeared.

Derek was pleased with how his team set up their defense. It was good at stopping enemies. With his pistol in hand, he moved carefully, saving his energy for fighting up close. He was good at telling the difference between the monsters’ wild movements and his team’s careful plans. This helped him stay ahead in the messy fight. Derek switched between his pistol and a pry bar as needed, helping to strengthen their defense and keep the monsters from surrounding them.

The group, efficient despite the chaos, maintained a steady barrage against the monsters. The scene, drenched in the grim reality of their survival. The smell of gunpowder, blood, and the stink of the dying filled the air. It was one thing for the battle to be in a video game. It was another thing to be in an environment where the smell was so strong that it could be tasted.

Nothing could face the onslaught of that much rifle fire. After the last monster fell, the parking lot descended into anxious silence. Derek surveyed the scene, his eyes coldly assessing the aftermath. When no more monsters appeared the group finally relaxed, though their eyes were still constantly scanning the area. Jenny and Marie went to the kids, talking to them and telling them that they did a good job. Supporting their efforts and acting as a shelter to protect them from the reality that they just became monster slayers.

Derek hefted the ten-pound sledge from his truck’s bed, its weight familiar and grounding in his hands. Approaching the vehicle barriers with determined strides, he swung the hammer with practiced precision. Each impact against the concrete pillars sent a jarring vibration up his arms, the sound of crumbling concrete echoing in the quiet air. After three solid hits, the barriers disintegrated into a heap of rebar and fragmented concrete.

Then Janet handed him the cutting torch, and he cut the rebar off from the ground. Then he removed the doors and cleared a path for the trucks to enter the store. It would be a tight fit, but the three vehicles would fit into the store.

Marie watched while the entrance to the store was opened up with Derek swinging a sledgehammer. In a brief moment she admired the muscles as he swung that hammer, but her most immediate focus was the trio of children, the oldest being eleven having killed hundreds of monsters like this was a violent arcade game.

Out of the three, she was least concerned with Leroy, who was grinning like a fool as he dug through his interface, eagerly examining the rewards. Her primary concern was Candace, who wasn’t taking the violence well. She sat in the back seat of one of the trucks, cradled in Jenny’s arms, her tears showing her turmoil.

“You did a good job. Those monsters would have really hurt us,” Jenny said, her voice a blend of reassurance and worry, as she cast a meaningful glance at Marie.

Marie, sensing the layers of fear and confusion emanating from Candace, stepped closer. She leaned into the truck getting close to them, her presence calm and grounding. Placing a gentle hand on Candace’s hair, she began to stroke it with a soothing rhythm, a silent language of comfort.

“Thank you for protecting us,” Marie said softly, her voice imbued with warmth and understanding. “You did a brave thing, and it’s okay to feel upset about it. It’s hard when we have to do things we never thought we would, especially when they scare us. But remember, you’re not alone.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, giving Candace the space to process her feelings. “It’s alright to cry and let these feelings out. It’s part of being brave, too. You’re safe now, and we’re here with you. When you’re ready, I’m here to listen, to help you through this, so these feelings don’t feel so heavy.”

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Marie slid into the truck as Carson moved to the driver's seat and shifted the truck into drive. He followed the chevy ahead of them and slowly moved through the doors.

Derek watched as the trucks crept through the doors, and the household entered. He waited outside on guard duty. Marie would call if they needed him. With the interface, making phone calls was much easier. He leaned against the building, waiting for the inside team to loot what they wanted. The ten minutes of silence following the battle were broken by the cautious approach of a group from across the road.

He watched as a group of people came from the homes across the street. There were about ten people, most men. The houses across the street were of the temporary sort that came on wheels and the houses that were there were older than the street itself. Which meant less than it sounded since Anchorage as a whole was around a hundred years old and then it took a while for the city to expand this far south, away from the harbor.

As the group from across the street drew closer, Derek instinctively checked his sidearm. Keeping his eyes on the approaching figures, he called Marie. “Hey babe, I’ve got a situation here. About a dozen locals are heading our way. They are armed and probably after the store’s supplies. I’ll try to handle this without a standoff.”

“With force or reason?” She asked a bit warily.

“I’m hoping for a peaceful resolution, but they seem desperate.” Derek said, unhooking the strap on his tacti-cool drop holster.

“Alright, don’t get shot. You’re probably not bulletproof, Superman.” She replied. “Stay on the line so that I can send someone to help if you need it.”

“Yeah, alright.” Derek replied.

He minimized the call window to the corner of his interface as they approached.

“Can I help you?” Derek asked when they reached earshot.

“Yo, man, you're on our turf. Get lost,” the lead thug growled, his voice rough.

“Once we’re done inside, the store’s yours,” Derek replied with an easy smile.

The leader, all street and sneer, flashed a dangerous grin. “Why we gotta wait? Our turf, our rules!” He pulled a revolver from his waistband.

Derek’s lips tightened, erasing any trace of a smile. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the thug’s wavering revolver. “Violence isn’t the only way. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. Just let us get what we need and we’ll be gone.”

The revolver jittered in the air, the thug’s finger twitching on the trigger. Derek’s eyes followed each erratic movement, a muscle in his jaw twitching in response.

“Get lost if you want to live.”

“Easy, there. I don’t want any trouble.” Derek said, trying to deescalate the situation, maintaining his awareness that if he reached for his pistol, the outcome would be determined.

The leader spat on the ground. “Move it, or we move you.”

“Do you want me to send someone?” Marie asked.

Derek opened his mouth to reply to Marie, but snapped it shut as the leader took a step forward. “I don’t want to fight you, but I’m not going to let you by.”

The leader’s eyes flashed with malice. “You think you’re special? I drop motherfuckers like you for breakfast.”

In that instant, Derek’s resolve hardened. The line between threat and action blurred; his family’s safety was paramount. It wasn’t about losing his temper; it was cold, calculated survival. The world had changed, and so had he. No longer just a man, but a guardian, where hard choices were inevitable. The value of human life had shifted, the lives of these people versus the lives and safety of his own. These people, now threats, had forced his hand. It was a grim realization, but necessary. Anyone who dared to even hint at threatening his people would die, and these bastards would be the first.

Every single point of his physical ability showed itself as his pistol cleared the holster in the middle of a sideways roll. He came up and was firing before returning to an upright position. Three shot’s to the leader’s chest, then he emptied his magazine on anyone else who dared to brandish a weapon. The woman turned and ran as soon as she climbed to her feet. Derek pulled a goblin spear from his storage bracelet and launched it at her. It slammed into her back and sent her rolling across the asphalt.

Derek kicked the leader over, as he was certainly still alive. He looked up at Derek with horror in his eyes. “Try to be understanding in your next life.” Another spear appeared in his hand, and he shoved it into the leader’s heart.

“It’s finished.” Derek told Marie.

“I could tell by the gunshots.” Marie said, apparently not pleased.

Derek understood her response, but he didn’t care about them. They were trash, and he was the garbageman.

Derek lingered, his eyes locked on the motionless bodies. He blinked slowly, the crease in his brow deepening, a silent testament to the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. ‘It was them or us,’ he told himself firmly.

Mercy was held in the hands of the powerful and he was not in a situation where he could show leniency to aggressors. Mercy was a liability, a liability that would get his family killed. Yet, the weight of taking lives, even those of aggressors, was not lost on him.

“There might have been another way, less lethal,” suggested Marie, a hint of concern in her tone.

Derek’s reply was matter-of-fact. “Their choices led them here. I responded to the threat they posed, nothing more. I’m not here to be a savior or a hero. I’m protecting what’s ours.” His words were more to affirm his own actions than to convince her.

“I know, Derek.” She relented. “I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you. What did those lives just cost you?”

“… I’ll be careful.” He replied and ended the call.

He methodically searched the fallen thugs, his actions precise and devoid of emotion, resembling the efficiency of a machine. Yet, there was a brief pause in his gaze over each one, a silent nod to the squandered potential that lay in their lifeless forms. Throughout this task, a thought hovered at the back of his mind, unspoken but persistent.

“This is the price of survival.”

He carefully concealed the aftermath, not just to spare the younger members from the brutal sight, but as a stark reminder to himself of the fine line they all now tread between life and death. The stench of the bodies, reminiscent of a neglected locker room, only underscored the grimness of his task. With methodical detachment, he dragged two at a time, piling them discreetly around the side of a building, out of sight but not out of mind.

He picked up their guns and stored them in his bracelet. When he collected their bracelets, he received a notification.

You have received Small Storage Bracelet (Growth Type). Would you like to merge it with your current bracelet?

yes / no

Warning: Contents of this storage device will be forcibly ejected prior to merging.