You have unlocked Erota, Rank 2.

Congratulations, you have 3 unused skill points!

Reward: Your efforts, combat style, and abilities have unlocked a new Special Skill, Speed.

Speed increases movement and action by ten percent per rank earned. Current rank = 0.

There’s a lot to unpack here and I don’t have time. Three unused points? Did I have skill points to spend from earlier? I dimly remember turning off my notifications a while ago. I guess that was a mistake. I’m also pretty sure that I know what that second rank of Erota means for my marriage and now I’m in a whole different level of trouble. Or I would be. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. Wendy's—. 

I see Wendy gasp like she’s been holding her breath for an hour as the glow around Caedi’s hands intensifies.

Alive! She's alive!

I dump all three points into Speed, bringing me to rank two, meaning that I, a monk with five ranks in Dexterity, Brawling, and Dodge, am going to move twenty percent faster.

Channeling that second point of Erota feels really good and not just because it adds to my dice pool.

The advancing mercenaries pause when I grin at them. I think it’s too bad none of them could have watched the vorpal bunny scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail because that reference was about to become painfully relevant to them.

I feint to my right but leap left.

I knock a stabbing sword aside with the back of my hand and find the top of the man’s hip with my left foot. From there, I hurl myself onto the broad rounded shoulders of the dwarf beside him like I'm sliding into home base. I grab a fistful of beard as I slip behind his neck and down his chest. Yowling, the warrior stumbles halfway around to ease the pressure on his neck.

My hands are empty so I take the dagger from the dwarf’s belt, plunge it up into the gap between his belt and his breastplate, and draw it across. Bloody snakes of entrails slither out onto my head and shoulders.

Movement to my right. I duck and pike’s glittering point scratches my ear.

The pikeman’s good, already recovering, and I can tell I’d be hard pressed to get in close to him. I fling the dagger into his eye.

I’m almost to Wendy and Caedi.

I pick up the pike, ram its blade into the ground, and vault through the gap between an oncoming swordsman and a spearman. Behind them is a huge orc. But he’s dropped his axe and kneeling, an arrow jutting from his chest, his eyes rolling back. I run up his body, jump, and kick Manver Teeg hard enough in the upper arm for him to miss his swing at Caedi’s neck.

I don’t weigh much and I didn’t have the ground to brace the blow or I would’ve done more damage. As it is, I’ve hit him damned hard. Enough for him to feel it through his scale armor. He'll have a nice bruise there for a while. The fucker.

His face is flushed as he whips his greatsword back around at me. Fast as he is with it, he might as well be moving in slow motion.

He can’t hit me but he’s good enough to keep me at bay, fast enough to hold my attention.

The wind gets knocked out of me from behind, my gambeson good enough to keep the sword slash from severing my spinal cord. I stagger and see Teeg preparing to run me through. The cloth armor can't do anything against such a powerful thrust and, by the look on his face, Teeg knows it.

The blow never lands. Instead, there’s a huge cracking sound and he topples to the side, Wendy’s punch breaking Teeg’s leg at the knee. She catches his head on the way down, twists it hard, there’s a snap and that’s the end of that motherfucker.

The ridged steel end of Caedi’s quarterstaff caves in the swordsman’s skull and the follow-through knocks a spear aside.

“In Hyparien’s name,” calls the priestess. “Stand down or be slain!”

Wendy picks up Teeg’s body over her head, the dead man's feet and arms dragging in the dirt, and throws it onto the spearman, knocking him down.

A glowing hand rests on my head. I’m on my knees. When did I fall down? How bad am I hurt? My gambeson is half red. That all can’t be mine, right? I hope I start breathing again soon.

Wendy helps me back up and then the three of us face what’s left of Teeg’s men.

There are at least fifteen of them left that I can see, some of them bloody, one or two of them holding bloody weapons. Stained with my blood. They aren’t looking at us though.

I turn and see Heckwin Gorminiel being lowered to the ground by his hair. The sheriff’s still got hold of him through the window. It’s awkward but oddly respectful. The storekeeper’s eyes are wide and staring, lifeless. Cronk must’ve strangled the man or broke his neck. He’s holding the lit torch in his other hand.

It’s all I can do to stand, but I do manage a breath. “You heard the lady,” I croak. “Fuck off.”

The spearman whose buddy Caedi just killed takes a step forward. He’s dirty and bearded and pissed off. He wants to attack but hesitates.

“Give it a rest,” I say. I hurts to talk. “Who’s gonna pay you now? Gorminiel’s estate? Good luck with that. His boss? Maybe. Do you know who to send the bill to?” 

The man says nothing but stays where he is.

He’s about to say something when an arrow thunks into the wood of the spear by his hand.

Startled, he drops it. 

“Yeah, we’re not debating here,” I say. “Leave now and we won’t arrest you.”

They all look at each other. Then, one by one, they turn away. The spearman doesn't take his eyes from me as he retrieves his weapons, plucks the arrow out, and backs away.

“Hey, I don’t suppose any of you do know who his boss is?" I ask.

Nobody answers.

Instead the world goes sideways.

 

 

I wake up siting in a comfortable chair in front of a familiar desk.

I give a start, slap the arm rests, and stand.

“Easy, Mark,” says Ms. Armstrong.

“Fuck,” I say. “Am I dead? Did I die? I didn’t die, did I?”

“No,” says Ms. Armstrong. She’s not smiling and her tone is hesitant. “Caedi’s working on you, but you’ve lost a lot of blood, hon. And that sword in the back?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

She spreads her hands. “My hands are tied, I’m sorry. It’d be against the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“I feel the exact same way,” Ms. Armstrong says. “The exact same way, but the rules are important. They keep the environments and settings consistent which gives our players and our scientists the very best results. There is no motivation without stakes. If you don’t feel the need to work, to plan, to act and do, then you won’t. It’s the rules, the natural laws of these worlds, that provide the impetus to strive.”

“And fuck that too.”

Ms. Armstrong sighs. “I’d feel the exact same way,” she says. “Mmm hmm.” She gives me a look. “But Caedi’s a really good healer, and it turns out that she got quite a power boost before you went down. You’re probably going to be fine.”

I’m in love with Caedi Gree and Wendy. Who's my wife. What did I do? I didn’t mean to. How’s this going to work? "What am I gonna do?"

“You know what you’re going to do, silly,” says Ms. Armstrong. “Say it with me. Ready?”

We both say, “I’m going to talk to Wendy.”

“Now, we don’t have a lot of time,” says Ms. Armstrong. “Unless we do." She shrugs. She means if I die that I'll be here a good long while. "But that’s out of our hands, and Mark, you called this meeting.”

I take a moment. I fight the urge to stand and stretch. I bet my fingers would touch the ceiling. I don’t mind being short on Green, I suppose, but I always liked being tall. I keep my seat and breathe for a three-count.

“Did you bring the lamp?” I ask.

She nods to a corner behind me and, sure enough, that same lamp from the ranch house is standing there.

“Mr. Foster drives a big black Ram truck,” I say to the lamp. “It doesn’t have that extra grill rollbar-ish thingy though, not that I saw. Did you find it?”

The lamp says nothing.

I look at Ms. Armstrong. “Really?” I say.

She shrugs.

I turn back to the lamp. “You either knew or suspected him, right? You let him come visit so he got all rattled and upset. I bet you took him right downtown, didn’t you? Did he confess?”

No response.

I turn to our liaison. 

She spreads her hands. 

"Dude," I say. "I know you're there."

The lamp sighs.

Then, where there was once a lamp, is now a tall man in his early thirties. He’s wearing a rumpled gray suit and tie. Shiny dress shoes. Short haircut. A young police detective straight out of central casting.
He says, “How’d you know?”

“Ms. Armstrong looked your way a few times that night,” I say. “I wondered why until Wendy’s dad said what he said the way he said it. I remembered his truck then and knew he’d done it. He must've attached that thing over his grill and removed it after. He meant to kill me. He didn’t know Wendy was there. If he saw anybody else in the passenger seat, he must’ve figured it was another one of my Godless friends or something and wouldn’t have minded. He did kill us, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” says the detective. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Because of my politics?” I say. A tear rolls down my face.

“More because of his politics, but yes,” says the detective. “We’re seeing an uptick in political violence across the nation. Have been for a while. He thought you were... corrupting his daughter. Causing her to stray from the true path. That kind of thing. I’m sorry. You seem like nice kids.”

“Do my parents know?”

“Not yet. I, uh, wanted to wait until after this. I told my captain that you might've spotted me, but this is all new territory for us. She ordered me to keep quiet unless I was sure. Um, the DA’s office doesn’t yet know what to do about informing or involving the… deceased in an investigation. Eye witness testimony being what it is, let alone the legal ramifications and whatnot. We have Mr. Foster in custody and, yes, he confessed soon after we got him to the station. We found the grill guard in a scrapyard. It’s got his prints on it. We actually found that right away. It’s what led us to consider him the prime suspect. It’s always nice to have a confession though. If anything about this can be considered ‘nice,’ of course.”

“Wendy will want to know about her mom,” I say. "Is she okay?"

Ms. Armstrong hands me a tissue.

I use it.

“Mrs. Foster has moved in with her sister,” says the detective. “The one in New Jersey. She’s upset. Furious at her husband. She, uh, was sick on the floor when she found out. Almost fainted. She’s fine, you know, otherwise. As much as she can be.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. The DA's pretty sure Mr. Foster will go away for the rest of his life. So are we.”

“Will we have to testify?”

The detective nods. He was expecting the question. “It’s a bit…. Uh, there’s no precedent for using the testimony of the dead, so we have no idea, frankly. Maybe? I’d assume so? If you’re willing, that is. I doubt we’ll need you, but if this goes to trial? Well, you never know.”

“Gotcha.”

How am I going to tell Wendy that her own father killed us? How am I going to do that?

Ms. Armstrong’s carpet is made up of tiny clumps of brown, gold, and deep red fibers. Up close, it almost looks pixelated. If I could float against the ceiling I bet it would look like a uniform golden tan. I stare at it a long time.

When I look up, the detective is gone.

Ms. Armstrong says, “I can bring him back, if you weren’t finished.”

“I was.”

“I figured.”

“Ms. Armstrong? What’s your first name?”

She laughs. “When I was a teacher and my kids would ask me that, I’d say, ‘Mizz, until you graduate.’”

“Did I graduate yet?”

“My name’s Ulma, Mark,” she says. “I hope you’ll call me that.”

“Thank you, Ulma. Who is Hypa?”

“We don’t know, Mark. We’ve been looking into it, but—.”

“And her namesake? Hyparien?”

“The gods of Green are as real as everybody else there, but yes, something odd is going on there, and no, we still don’t know what. I will find out.”

“I’ve known Caedi ten days,” I tell her. “Ten days! It’s real, isn’t it? The game system couldn’t award me Erota if it wasn’t.”

“Mark—.”

“Are you real, Ulma?”

She giggles and shrugs. “Who isn’t?” she says. “I’ll see ya in a couple of weeks.” She winks at me, and then I’m gone.