Wordless. My mind is hazy, the lingering effect of post-heavy sleep at hand. I'm feeling awfully comfortable, too, as if there's something enveloping me, a warm, heavy blanket perhaps.

[https://imgur.com/GHNJx3m.jpg]

Hm. I lazily swing my head to the left. There, on my low-hanging sofa table, is a white mug, barely visible steam coming from it.

I breathe; on the one hand, I could do with a warm drink right about now. On the other, I'm so snug that another minute of rest would be just as welcome. Tugging myself in, I stare out the window, watching the rising moon, looming tall above the city.

I inhale the cool air.

How did I fall asleep here again?

Is it morning?

Was I just that tired yesterday?

What exactly is going on...

Wait a minute.

"Fuck."

I lurch upwards, a heavy breath escaping my throat.

Hah. My eyes dart from one side to the next, examining every nook and cranny of the area.

Aedi. That churl. She must've whooped my arse and left me here.

I stand up on the ground. At the same time, a small piece of paper drifts in the air, probably stuck on me prior.

I snatch it out the air, catching it when it's right at my waist.

"What the hell is this?"

That texture and size. I recognize it as the same type of paper she was writing on before. Although it annoys me, I open it nonetheless, holding it to my face.

'At 8:00 PM tonight, I'll come pay you a visit. You can have until then to make your choice (regarding whether you really, really, really want to fight me to keep your ability or give it up for peace), write your will, make some beans on toast and earl grey tea, do whatever, either way, be ready. - Sincerely Aedi.'

A harsh reminder.

Urgh.

It's all coming back at once. The memory of that encounter is so vivid now. So much so that I can almost feel a phantom pain, bruising and swelling where my wounds should be.

I pause, reaching out to my shirt and revealing my stomach.

No wounds. Not even a bruise.

That's impossible. Was I just imagining the pain from all those fucking knees I took? Rhetorically speaking, no. No amount of convincing will make me believe all that blood and pain was placebo.

"So, what is it?"

The abrupt question prompts my curiosity.

My mind rummages for ideas, contemplating everything from the wonders of modern medicine to me actually being dead for a moment.

"Ah."

I got it.

"Status."

PROFILE

NAME: Camille

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

STATUS: ALIVE

TITLE: Degenerate

HP: 10

RACE: HUMAN

LEVEL: 1

STR: 11

DEF: 10

DEX: 11

RES: 10

It must be my 'ability', right? Now, unless I'm a walking doorknob, I do seem to recall a few details about me having a 'video game body'. In which case, that could suggest some regeneration of sorts. Maybe something out of combat. A little shtick that patches my wounds up over time and all.

I continue to look it over.

What catches my eye, I see, is an increase in stats.

Suitably awesome, but not exactly telling whether my theory is true.

The lack of information is giving me a headache.

I'm trying my best to enjoy these minor victories, but it isn't easy.

I close my eyes. As of the moment, I'm feeling a bit irritated. Losing to that woman is unpleasant. And my overall lack of idea as to what's happening only adds to that.

For starters, why did that woman attack me?

Considering her proposed deal and all, I would assume it's because of my ability. Something about it seems to be prompting her. The same applies to Algernon. According to Aedi, at the very least, her 'colleague' was also taking care of him.

Damn.

I hope for Algernon's sake; his wannabe killer/assassin/maniac isn't as an pain of an ass as mine.

If so. Best wishes.

Which, speaking of, does lead me to wonder.

Why aren't they attacking us all at once?

It seems to me like that'll be far more efficient than fighting one and one. No reason to do that if the objective is purely to be rid of us. Especially considering that Aedi's 'colleague' was supposedly in the apartment just a few metres away...

Unless... That's not the objective at all.

Otherwise, though, what can it be?

"Wait."

There is another possibility. One thing that excuses efficiency in pursuit of entertainment... A series of self-imposed rules for no other reason than personal bias.

In other words, honour.

Honour is what's stopping them from ganging up, Aedi killing me in my sleep, or her pulling out a machine gun the next time we meet.

Probably.

To be honest, honour's just my best guess. Either that or I somehow got myself in some wacky woohoo death game where I have to kill my attacker to survive, yadda yadda, you know, the drill.

Some luck I've got, eh?

I reach out for the mug on the table and take a sip.

Darjeeling. Still warm.

Downing the whole mug out of spite, I quickly set it back and make my way to my apartment's door. It feels weird, but I'm actually doing quite well.

I could've died there, sure, but I didn't. That alone motivates me. Plus, no reason to cry and mope about, right? Giving up on my ability's out of the question. So, the only way is forward, and the only way forward is whooping her dumb arse into submission the next time we meet.

I stop, searching, and pull the key out of my jacket. Glad that I can still enter my apartment, I leave through the front door, heading outside for an evening walk.

Fresh air should help me. I don't know why I feel that way, but I do.

Upon further thought, the answer comes to me.

I want to feel free.

Being trapped in that apartment is an annoying reminder, a callback to a past self. Those days, I made my money teaching martial arts in VR games, living off scraps of amusement and joy.

That must be ideal for many. Yet, I can't take pride in it.

Now that I have this ability, I finally have a chance to make right by myself.

It's objectively silly. When you think about it, what type of person will throw their life away for this? What type of person bases their happiness on something as dumb as 'power?'

A sick bastard.

Someone as hopeless as myself.

Not even death can deter me at this point. And while I can't say I'm entirely fearless, I can say that I've reached a numbing point. A state of being so beyond sensibility that I'd rather waste away satisfied than live another day like the piece of shit I am.

A turn to the left.

I begin my descent down the concrete staircase. My feelings are impassive. Rather than be unnerved or stressed out for my future, I'm instead looking to the moon.

How peaceful.

There is a moment when I'm watching that something almost akin to sadness nestles in me, a faint, almost forgettable thing, but there nonetheless.

With only cold wind for comfort, I’m left to wonder all alone.

Thinking to myself whether anyone will miss a stain like me when I die.