Jack wasn’t dead. And he wasn’t about to do anything like that again. After his stupid emotions nearly got himself killed, he decided that bottling them up again was going to be for the best. It’d worked in the past, and you don’t fix what isn’t broken.

But that did mean that he had to do things to ensure his survival. For the immediate future, that meant getting up, breaking into his parents house, and finding some bandages. Mother was good at keeping stuff like that, since father got hurt often. Jack too, he supposed, but not since he moved out.

Which brought to light the second issue, namely being able to feed himself. Jack deliberated with himself the optimal solution to his situation, given his skillset. The ability to recognize the apocalyptic situation he was in was not uninformed. Granted, much of that information was from video games and movies, but the purpose in such movies was to instill thoughts about the particular scenario the media was set in. IE, such fictions were made to be daydreamed. And who didn’t imagine themselves living life in the zombie apocalypse?

Jack's strategy was to become a vagabond. A wanderer, moving as required of his situation. Adaptability was key, and Jack was nothing, if not adaptable. So for food, Jack would bring a can opener, a small pot, and some utensils, both cutlery and a single wooden spoon. If he wanted to eat, he’d have to find food on the go. His armor was good, but it could always use work. Replacing what he had with his father’s clothes would suffice. As for weaponry, tools from the toolbox in the garage. At least for now, while he figured things out.

And that was the big thing, wasn’t it? Figuring things out. Unlike what he wanted to do, Jack knew that figuring out why some monster bodies disappear into smoke and why some just stayed there would have to remain a mystery for now. In general, figuring out why everything happened could wait until Jack was in a situation where such frivolities would be feasible without dying first.

That meant a few things. One, Jack would have to learn new skills. Lockpicking would be nice, as well as trap making. Securing shelter for the night would come first. For now, the food in the pantry was still good, but it wouldn’t remain that way, especially once the power ran out.

BZZZZSSSSsssstt.

Speaking of which…

Jack sighed, rooting through his parents' cupboards. Let’s see what we’re working with.

----------------------------------------

Four days later

Jack used his time to break into the neighbors houses for practice. He had enough food for now, but it wouldn’t last forever. So while things were quiet, he would take time to hone his survival skills in this urban environment. That meant being quiet, avoiding attention, and being attentive.

Jack had much to learn.

He rolled his head, looking through the slats of the fence at his back. Walking through the back alley strolled a tall cat-like creature. Though that was a disservice to cats. The thing was as tall as a giraffe, with a head as large as its body, and four stubs for legs. The grinning creature was swiveling its head around like an owl, watching everything with eyes larger than Jack himself.

Jack timed his movements carefully. Slowly, he inched closer to the fence along the alley. He’d been trying to pick a backdoor lock with a bobby pin when the thing had shown up. With his broken arm, Jack wasn’t in a situation where he could risk a fight, so that meant hiding. He couldn’t head out to the front of the house either, since the gate to this particular house was on the far side. Jack’s only option was to stay as low to the ground as possible, hiding in the shade of the fence.

He made a mental note to avoid chain link fences. This strategy wouldn’t work without the large wood slats.

How do I kill you? Jack thought. He didn’t dare imagine himself owning a hidden knife, or magically being able to do backflips in the middle of combat. This was real, meaning he had to consider things carefully.

Jack laid out flat along the bottom of the fence parallel with the creature. Legs too small, no claws. Ignore them for now. Aim for the eyes? That’d risk getting close to the mouth. How will the creature react? How does it attack? Should I get behind it? It’s very flexible…

His thoughts calmly considered his actions. In the meantime, the creature ambled closer. It stopped just outside Jack’s fence.

Dammit. It didn’t stop before! Does it see me!?

Jack rolled his head, checking to make sure the creature wasn’t looming over him. Thankfully not. It was just standing-

The things head whipped around, staring at Jack through the fence. Jack couldn’t see its eyes through the horizontal beam, but he knew it saw him. Jack readied himself to grab the hammer in his belt and roll out of the way of the first attack, but none came.

The creature ambled onwards.

Jack breathed through his nose, almost disappointed. He didn’t think he’d win the fight, especially with his broken arm, but he wanted to try. But that wasn’t right. Normal people didn’t enjoy fights.

So Jack just enjoyed his rest in the grass, waiting for the creature to move out of sight.

Once it did, Jack was back on his feet, walking towards the back door. He grabbed the booby pins where he’d left off and got to work again. It was difficult work, using one hand and all, but eventually, the lock shifted. Grinning madly, Jack opened the door.

A ratkin creature was waiting for him inside.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Screeching, it thrust its spear at Jack. Jack twisted his body, grabbing the shaft of the spear while staring the creature down. Its expression changed from surprise to despair. It tugged, trying to retrieve its weapon. Jack didn’t budge.

He jerked the spear loose and kicked, throwing the smaller creature deeper into the house. It squeaked in protest, but it wasn’t like there was much it could do.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see the tall cat-thing staring at him from behind the wall a few houses down. It didn’t move, seemingly content to watch.

Jack didn’t chance it and walked through the door, closing it gently behind himself. The ratkin threw itself at him again, but Jack just kicked it back. It crashed into the dinner table, knocking over the highchair nearby. Jack followed a trail of blood with his eyes to the basement.

He kicked the creature like a soccer ball before it could get up. Together, they went towards the basement. Jack followed after it, considering his next actions. As they descended out of sight, the room behind them darkened as the cat creature darkened the windows.

Jack paid it no mind. It wouldn’t be able to get into the basement.

Finally, the ratkin crashed into a couch at the bottom. Jack considered its attire. Unlike the goblins and lizardfolk, the ratkin seemed on a higher tech level. They wore metal armor, and clearly their weapons were more advanced. The style was a mix of roman skirts and studs, and viking horns and furs. Jack thrusted the short spear under the ratkins helmet, trying to pick it up with the point. The thing was strapped under the chin.

The ratkin kept squeaking, throwing around gestures to articulate its speech. Jack couldn’t tell if it was angry or afraid. It could have been both.

Jack rested the spear upright next to him and crouched, meeting the ratkin eye to eye. It returned the stare, nursing its chest. Jack could hear it quietly muttering that squeaky language under its breath.

“Are you intelligent?” Jack asked. It was a dumb question, but he wanted to know if they could speak.

Its eyes narrowed at his words. Then, it chittered a response.

“Do you understand my words?”

More chitters.

Jack sighed through his nose and looked around. The instant he did, the ratkin lunged. It met Jack’s knee. Surprisingly, it caught Jack’s pants, digging its short claws into his jean armor. It smirked, clamoring up further.

Jack made his elbow meet his knee, squishing the creature between. It squeaked in pain and attempted to do anything to get out. Jack didn’t let it.

He quirked his head. “Do you know that the more you resist, the more I’m going to make this hurt… right?”

Somehow, the creature understood. It stopped fighting.

Jack dropped it to the ground and kicked it towards the nearest door. The trail of blood from upstairs led to there.

Jack gestured to the door with his chin, leveling the spear on the creature. “Open.”

The ratkin cringed, standing before the door.

Jack gave it the same look as before. His voice went deeper, and just a touch more impatient. “Open.”

The ratkin splayed its arms out wide, barricading the door.

Jack lunged, surprising both the ratkin and himself. The spear slid cleanly through the ratkin and the door, pinning it in place. The thing still lived, and screamed. Jack just let go of the spear and picked his hammer out of his belt. With little regard for the ratkin hanging on the door, he twisted the handle, opening it up.

Three bloody bodies laid in a circle on the torn up bed. In the middle of them laid a litter of pink bodies, squirming blindly. A second ratkin stood over them, naked, and holding a child's toy microphone as a weapon. It blinked to life, cheerily singing the ABC’s.

Poetic. Jack thought, regarding the family of rats nesting within the bodies of a human family.

Then he raised his hammer.

The child protector didn’t dodge. It couldn’t if it wanted to protect the children. It disappeared into black smoke with a single blow.

The pinned ratkin screamed. Slowly, it was pulling itself up along the length of its spear, clearly intent on releasing itself. Jack, wanting to keep his eye on the threat, moved around to the side of the bed so he could continue smashing. The bed cushioned his blows. Seeing a problem with his approach, he considered what to do.

The ratkin began speaking. While Jack couldn’t understand the language, the ratkin’s intent was clear.

“Save your family?” Jack asked. He gingerly picked up the smallest human corpse. The parents were resting head to head, their hands close together. He laid the child there. “What makes you think you deserve that?”

The pink rat children were swept to the floor closest to the ratkin. It watched in horror as, one by one, its children fell to solid ground.

Jack crouched next to its face. “Don’t worry though. I won’t make you watch.” You’re too noisy.

With that, he reared back and swung. The door snapped in half with the blow, and the helmet of the ratkin fell to the floor. It vanished in a puff of smoke, along with the rest of the body. Only the spear remained.

Is it because I held it before killing it? Or is that coincidence? Jack didn’t know. But it was clear. More testing was needed.

It was just a shame that none of these little ones held any items. But perhaps other tests could be done.

A knife would be required…

----------------------------------------

Jack considered cleaning the knife after he was done, but decided against it. He just tossed it to the side and sat down at the bottom of the stairs. His mind went over some video game terms, attempting to rationalize the information he’d just learned in terms he understood.

Each creature had a unique loot table. Upon death, monsters will drop between one and five items, seemingly random, but always associated with the monster they dropped from. Claws, meat, hide, bones, etc. In the case where monsters carried items, it was possible that said items were able to be dropped after death.

Did the monsters only drop items that they carried through from wherever they came from? Or were they created with items in hand? What was with the exception of some monsters not vanishing, and instead just remaining as corpses? Was there correlation? A pattern?

Questions aside, Jack did have some answers. If done carefully, or with intention, certain items could be intentionally added to the drops. For an easy visual, Jack had opted to cut off the tail of each baby rat. When killing with the intention to collect the tail, but otherwise paying not special attention to it, the tail dropped at what Jack assumed was a ‘normal drop rate’. If the tail was removed from the creature before death, it had approximately an 80% chance to drop, according to the five rats he tried the experiment on. If the tail did drop through that action, it might take up one slot among the 5 potential drops. Something like a guaranteed drop. More testing would be required to confirm that.

Finally, there was something else. Rare drops.

Jack fiddled with the tiny glass vial filled with what he assumed was blood. However, his gamer intuition told him what he held was a health potion. The vial was no larger than the tip of his finger, topped like a beer can. Without thinking more into it, he popped open the top and dumped the liquid into his mouth.

It was blood.

Bleh.