Everything was blurry.

His tongue felt like a carpet, and his ribs ached. He tried to groan, but found that he couldn’t, and that a twitch was the most intense kind of movement he could muster. The beaten wood of the floor was cool against his face; the smell of stale beer and blood wafted into his nostrils, making his stomach U-turn more than government policies.

He was never drinking again.

Or so Jack said to himself, but it never changed: society, he mused, was designed to drive a person to drink.

From the beginning, people were told in school to do as they’re told, and do it how they’re told—‘you must climb this tree with your arms and legs. If you aren’t in possession of these assets, please proceed to the learning support room, where you will be taught to breathe correctly.’

After that came the illusion of a choice: you may work, for a wage that is not sufficient to live on, and your only real hope to increase it being a tongue-activated feature in an executive’s rectum. Conversely, you may go to university, to broaden your spectrum of knowledge and open many doors—usually the ones attached to a Jobcentre.

Either way, you would most likely be forced into long hours of demanding labour, and treated as if you were a servant.

All while earning crumbs, content in the knowledge that at least the billionaires were doing their part, even going so far as allowing bathroom breaks on shift, and going to space so as to find a new planet that isn’t so disgustingly finite.

So if the pennies remaining after paying for your landlord’s mortgage, feeding yourself, and paying exorbitant prices for luxuries like water is enough for a few drinks, then who wouldn’t snap that up?

If you must be miserable, you may as well be drunk, too.

He had thought to escape the cycle, once.

He was still running.

There was a pressure on his spine, and something cracked as he made a noise like a dying squirrel. The pressure started moving in arcs. He was receiving the massage from hell, and he couldn’t even scream.

“Oi, Russ,” came a woman’s voice from atop him, ostensibly Australian. “Your new carpet’s making funny noises.”

“Just ignore it, Ness,” said Russ from somewhere ahead of him. “I’ll have it in the bin soon enough.”

“Maybe it’s just waterlogged.” The voice grew in volume, clipped and dangerous, being of a woman who had probably grown up with butlers. “We should try to beat the moisture out.”

His windpipe retreated into his lungs as blows rained down upon him, feet stomping on every inch of his back. Was this how wheat felt on the grinder?

Whimpering, he moaned and cried, words dying in his parched throat as he tried to beg for mercy. He covered his head with his arms, and spat blood.

“Weird,” said Ness, levering him with a foot so he was on his back, “doesn’t look like any carpet I’ve ever seen.”

He blubbered, his back exploding with agony. Managing to swallow, he looked up with a furious expression, teeth bared and eyes red. “That’s because I’m a person, you blithering idiot!”

Above him were Lydia, Ness, and the ceiling, which was covered in offensive halogen lights that had his retinas packing a suitcase. Ness was a tall woman, blonde and thick with tree-trunk limbs and a short skirt.

Lydia looked down with a cruel smile. “Wait, that was you? I thought you’d just shed your skin and left it as decoration, or something.”

He sighed. It hurt. “Do I look like a lizard to you?”

Giving him a thoughtful stare, she said, “you seem like some entirely new kind of life-form. Probably from the same swamp as Shr*k.”

He snapped to his feet, regretting it instantly as pain flared through him. “What the hell are you saying? Apologise to Shr*k, all he ever wanted was a quiet life! And what did I ever do to you?”

She pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her jacket, shoving it in his face.

Turning back towards the bar, he clapped his hands together. “So what’s the plan, then?” Hannah and Russ were sitting at the same table from the night before, steaming mugs in front of them.

Lydia strode past him, retaking her seat. “The plan is to storm their hideout, and take my sister back.”

“After breakfast,” said Russ, sipping his drink. “Alicia’s sorting it now.”

“Sounds champion.” Ness pushed past him and plonked herself in the last chair at the table.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He looked between them, his jaw running in circles. “Excuse me, but have any of you ever heard the tale of a man called Leeroy Jenkins?”

Russ shrugged. “Can’t be helped. We don’t know enough about the layout to form a plan, and with it being a new base, Miss Blackwell’s friend from last night didn’t have much either. Apparently.”

Lydia shot him a dirty look.

Jack looked at Hannah, who was sitting with her cheek resting on her palm. “Have you phoned your mum yet?”

Her eyes flicked over to him. “I can’t; they took it from me.”

A bloated silence ensued, four pairs of eyes glued to him as he chuckled nervously.

Throwing her arms up, Ness said, “well, give her yours, then, you bastard!”

Looking away, he pushed back the tears. It was always like this. “Um, well, actually... I don’t have one.”

“Who the fuck doesn’t have a phone?”

“People who can’t afford it, you classist bitch!”

He was relieved when Russ handed his to Hannah, who dialled and put it to her ear.

“Hello, mum. It’s Hannah; I’m okay, I’m with some guy called Jack Of All Trades and his friends, a bear and a kangaroo.”

“Wouldn’t really call us friends,” said Ness, making a face. “He’s more like the stain on your underpants you can’t get rid of.”

“Oi!”

Hannah’s jaw almost shattered the table. “What do you mean, you told them I was dead? Why hire someone if you thought that?”

She paused.

“You had a vision? Being worried doesn’t excuse eating weird mushrooms, mum!

“No, I’m not a ghost! I am utterly, completely, one-hundred percent not dead; in fact, right now I probably qualify as undead!”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “that’s not how it works.”

“Anyway, I just called to say that I’m okay, and now I’m going to help Jack save the city from vampires. Also, I am one now. Bye.” She hung up, passing the phone back to Russ, not even getting it out of her hand before it started buzzing.

“Just ignore that,” she said.

“Sure thing,” said Russ, silencing it and shaking his head.

Alicia pottered in through the back, her face like thunder, and retreated behind the bar to polish glasses. “You can get it your bloody selves! I swear, making me do everything...”

And as the smell of fried bacon and potatoes drifted into the barroom, he felt his stomach lurch. Something was about to make its great escape.

He ran for the toilets.

***

After creating his own personal rimfall, Jack ate breakfast with the others, fighting the urge to groan when the food hit his stomach lining. As they finished, he found something weighing on his mind. “What happened to the other vampires? Surely we could question them, as well.”

Russ snorted. “Kind of hard to question a corpse.”

“They died? What idiot did that?”

Hannah looked up, eyebrows raised and mouth wide open. “You!”

He looked around. “What did you do with them, then?”

“Don’t ask if you don’t want the answer!”

Brushing hair from her face, Ness shoved a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. “Chucked ‘em in the bin.”

Jack spat out a mouthful of bacon. “Are you insane?”

Russ crinkled his nose, his mouth almost folding in on itself. “When I told you to take care of it, I meant take them to the morgue!”

She shrugged, more interested in her food. “It’s done now. Besides, no-one'll give a fuck.”

She had a point. Monsters were monsters, no matter how they dressed themselves up.

Human compassion at its finest.

Standing up, he said, “so, conclusion: parents are mental, Ness is a sociopath, and we’re just winging it with a bucket of chicken. Did I get anything wrong?”

Ness nodded. “Sounds about right to me.”

Lydia also stood up, sneering at him. “One thing. We’re winging it, not you. I’m only taking the Shifter because he’s big enough for a meat shield; your services will no longer be required.”

Easing to his feet, Russ said, “glad you think so highly of me.”

“That’s not gonna fly.” Jack leaned on the table, staring a hole into her.

“And how would you,” said Lydia, her voice mocking, “the powerless jack-of-all-trades whose strongest skill is running away, be of any help against a legion of monsters?”

“I resent that,” said Hannah, glaring at her.

Jack smiled. “I have a big bag of tricks.”

Pressing her lips together, Lydia said, “but what’s the point? You’ve done your job, so take that thing home to her mother and collect your pay. You could even die if you come.”

His eyes burned with intensity, steel running in his blood. He thought of Andrea, of how the police hadn’t even started on her case, probably overrun by others. He thought of the warehouse, and how Crispley had had his magi blast those children to pieces.

He looked at Hannah, who had been turned into something completely different.

His clenched fists shaking, he looked at his feet. “Yeah. If I go, then maybe I die. But if I don’t, then it's definite. My soul will wither and decay, until there’s nothing left but nightmares and regrets, and I’m just a shell. Shambling on, searching for someone to put me out of my misery.

“So until the last ember of that soul flickers away, I’ll live how I choose. I’ll do what it tells me. Go where it drives me.” He met her stony gaze, ignoring the iciness prickling against his skin. “I’ll die to keep it alive.”

“You know,” said Russ, “I don’t have a car.”

Ness tipped her chair onto two legs. “You’d probably warp the chassis.”

Hannah jumped up with a superior expression. “I guess that’s a point to Team Jack, then.”

Wait, what? Since when was he in a team? And why was it named after him? What had he done to give this girl so much faith in him? He frowned. “What she said. The turtaxi turtrain is ready to go.”

Lydia eyed Russ with a sly smile. “I don’t see why I can’t just ride you.”

“Say that again, I dare you.” He stepped towards her, eyes wide and jaw tight. “I am not your fucking pack horse!”

Jack skipped between them, putting his hands on Russ’s chest. “Whoa there, big guy; same side, remember?”

“For now,” said Russ, turning to face the bar. “Ness, Alicia, I’m leaving it to you. Make sure Luke pays his tab.” He pivoted, tramping towards the entrance. “Let’s go pop some vampire heads.”

“Bit violent, but okay.” Jack followed him, joined by the other two.

Choo-chooin was resting on the kerb, leaning his head towards the early sun, with a hapless traffic cop struggling under his foot.

Traffic was slow, the sounds of horns and engines assaulting them, but that was no problem for the turtle. The acrid air made Jack cough, though.

As they approached the great disc, a soft moaning weaved its way over, having everyone look at each other in confusion.

They craned their heads. Upon the disc was a small, wispy-haired vampire, with a black eye and several missing teeth. He was lying on his back, panting like a lawyer at a loophole.

He looked at Lydia. “Thought I might provide you a seat.”

Lydia hopped up next to him, grabbing him by the collar and hefting him over the turtle’s head, where Choo-chooin chomped gleefully.

Sliding up beside her, Jack said, “just need to make a quick stop first.”

She curled her lip. “Why?”

He smirked. “Gotta get the rest of the bag.”