Roman couldn’t help but pace back and forth in front of the Emporium’s entrance.
At least he had John to keep him company, though the spectral guide had lapsed into his own contemplative silence. If left alone, Roman had no doubt the various destructive thoughts whirling about inside his head would have stretched the limits of his sanity.
Was Mixie conspiring with his fellow Keeper to finally exact his revenge? Maybe this was one of the places where Roman’s bounty could be claimed. It was little more than pocket change, but hell, weren’t the shopkeepers basically the physical manifestation of Greed?
Some rational part of his mind argued that Mixie could have finished him off at multiple points. The ghoul had sworn an oath, too. But his racing thoughts easily outstripped his reassurances.
Once walking back and forth failed to settle his mind, Roman slipped back into his familiar shadowboxing. His fists flickered out, faster and more powerful than any strike thrown before the Chaos Playground erased the limits of human physicality. Out of curiosity, Roman leapt with all of the explosive power he could muster, soaring through the air high enough to slap the bottom of the sign hanging from the pagoda’s first tier.
By the time Mixie emerged a few minutes later, Roman was pinwheeling across the ground in a series of back handsprings. Even as a child he had been too awkwardly large to ever fancy himself a gymnast, and now that he had the capability, he luxuriated in throwing his body around in such a controlled manner.
He caught sight of Mixie mid-rotation and ended his acrobatics display by planting his feet firmly back to the earth. With a bashful grin, Roman nodded towards the pagoda.
“Interesting chat?” he said. “I see you, uh, got a new rifle.”
Indeed, Mixie held a Weatherby Mark V propped against his shoulder. It was identical to the one Birch had used before he was transformed into his best popsicle impersonation by the person now holding its clone. Mixie patted its stock affectionately. “Negotiations were a success.”
“Yeah?” Roman rested a hand against his chin. “How so?”
“Now that you have finished your twirling about, look at your Quest screen.”
[ New side quest chain available: Kowtow for Mercy. Upon completion, reset Reputation with Mammon and lose Nemesis status. 0/5. ]
[ Kowtow for Mercy, Part 1/5: Specially requested items have been procured for a Party of nearby Players. Deliver the products to their respective customers without any use or damage. Reward: +20 Reputation with Mammon. 5 organic fragments. Thimble of Heartroot Elixir. ]
Roman had many choice words about the matter, but he decided to settle on the one issue that annoyed him the most. “Just reputation with Mammon, huh? Attacking you in the first place screwed me over with every official in the Playground.”
Mixie wagged a finger. “Actions do have consequences. If we allowed every slack-jawed ruffian to redeem himself with a couple fetch quests, why, who knows what sort of anarchy would descend upon us? And, regardless, what right do I have to negotiate for the entirety of the Chaos Playground?”
“‘Kowtow for Mercy.' Christ sake.” Roman sighed. “‘What do you know about this group of Players? What are we even delivering?”
Mixie patted his spatial satchel. “I have the packages here, fret not. I know very little about the group. A man and a woman visited last night, though judging from the wide variety of their purchases, they represent a group of at least five Players. They were supposed to pick these packages up an hour ago, but no one has yet arrived.”
“That sounds foreboding,” John chimed in.
“Yes,” said Mixie. “That is why we send in the blood bag to scout out the situation. That, Mister Miller, would be you.” The ghoul pointed the rifle directly at Roman’s face.
Before a conscious thought occurred to him, Roman lashed out with one hand and snatched the Mark V by the stock. Mixie resisted for a moment in an impressive display of Strength before Roman was able to wrench it out of his grasp. Tossed to the side, the rifle clattered along the ground until it came to a rest some ten paces away.
“Here in America we have something called trigger discipline,” said Roman through gritted teeth. “Accidents happen. That means you don’t point weapons at people you don’t mean to kill. We’ve gone over this once before. So never, ever, do that again, unless you’re trying to say something you can’t ever take back.”
Mixie blinked. “Mister Miller--”
Roman’s eyes were cold and dark. “And, look at that, we’ve learned something fun, haven’t we? You’re still strong, but not that strong. All the little Chaos Playground minion fuckers are weaker in the sunlight. That includes you.” He nodded sharply, once. ”We’re having fun now, aren’t we?”
Mixie forced a smile onto his face, the tip of his tongue sticking out. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of launching into a diatribe. Then he tucked his chin to his chest awkwardly and coughed. “I apologize, Mister Miller.”
Roman had to admit, it actually sounded pretty sincere. The numb rage prickling his skin faded a little. Damn, I’ve always been such a soft motherfucker.
Mixie stared at the Weatherby Mark V’s location some distance away. “Well, I may be Greedy, but I am not altogether shameless. So I must admit I have…spent a very long time by myself, and I have no way of understanding the delicacies of human behavior. Rest assured, I did not mean you any harm, and have such utter control of every fiber of my being that it is impossible to accidentally discharge that firearm like some pathetic mortal. But if that gesture evokes such a potent reaction from you, I will respect your wishes and refrain.”
In the time it took Roman to process the various twists and turns of that monologue, Mixie rushed forward, snatched the rifle from the ground, and planted himself in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck. Even if his strength was reduced in the sunlight, the ghoul was no slouch. And that was before accounting for the ostentatious arsenal of weapons clinging to his body.
The vehicle sputtered to life, ready to complete the quest. A cloud of black smoke poured from its exhaust.
“What do you think?” Roman asked John.
The guide almost looked surprised to be consulted. “I mean, it’s obviously kind of a sketchy situation, but you know you’re already a dead man if this guy wants to backstab you. If anything in the area can pose a danger to you, it’s better to know about it in the daytime.”
Roman’s voice was low and contemplative. “May as well, then.”
A casual [ Flash Step ] brought him to the back of the pickup truck. In a weird way, such mundane use of a magical skill almost felt like blasphemy, though he couldn’t really say against who or what. But the mere presence of the sun regenerated his soul energy at a steady rate, making the cost of the ability negligible; and even if it did little to advance the rank of the skill, frequent use would help prime his muscle memory until it felt as natural as breathing.
After a moment’s thought, he circulated his soul energy to activate [ Impose Will ]. The domain spread outward, encompassing up to a fifteen foot diameter, but so thinned out he doubted it could disrupt an ant strolling through.
Nodding in satisfaction, Roman leapt up into the bed of the truck. He settled in as best as he could next to the gashadokuro’s body. John appeared next to him, lost in his own thoughts.
Resting his back against the metal lip, Roman tilted his head up at the sky. The pickup truck gathered speed, bumping along the ground until its tires once more found purchase on the road. Once the vehicle was steady, it rapidly accelerated to a steady cruise. Cool, refreshing air wrestled with Roman’s face pleasantly.
He closed his eyes and focused on his soul energy. The constant drain from maintaining [ Impose Will ] felt like a bit more than he wanted. However, simply reducing the outflow of energy proved not so simple. Instead of a controlled shrink, the domain contracted in little fits and bursts. Unbeknownst to Roman, minutes sped by as he struggled to shape energy according to his will.
He had to admit, he wasn’t a prodigy at manipulating his magical reserves. During that time, he gleaned little insight beyond the knowledge that his usage was clumsy and wasteful. There were problems, but he couldn’t quite grasp the first step to any of their solutions.
He was forced to stop his experimentation as his mental energy plummeted. Though his soul energy reserves remained healthy, exhaustion had set its insidious claws deep into him. So much for his Attention-Boosting Pills--the crash was worse than the marginal benefit they provided. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in days, even though it hadn’t been much more than a few hours.
Damn, he thought once he opened his eyes and looked around. They had driven into a completely new area while he had drifted off into a little nap.
The plateau of autumnal herbs was replaced by the silent ruins of a generic American suburb. Nature had reclaimed much of the area, as if years had passed since the apocalypse. Rusted, partially dismantled cars idled in driveways overgrown with weeds and vines. Swaths of ivy clung to the sides of the homes, almost like an invasive infestation with their verdant tendrils burrowing deep into the buildings’ half-destroyed facades.
One home had the entirety of its second level exposed to the world. Roman grimaced at the sight of what must have been a little girl’s bedroom, judging from its faded pink walls and army of fallen stuffed animals.
He almost wanted to tell Mixie to stop so they could search through the homes, but what was the point? They could run into some Players in hiding, maybe, or gather some food, but neither held much of an appeal to him. In fact, the entire idea of interacting with any other humans made him feel an emotion that had been somewhat foreign to him until now: anxiety.
“I’m worried,” Roman admitted in a mutter.
John glanced over. Seeing how serious Roman’s face looked, he responded calmly, “What’s wrong?”
“Feels like I’m a fucking walking disaster. Every other Player I’ve been involved with has died because of me. Now we’re heading to another group of people, who may or may not be in trouble already, and I feel like a grenade rolling right into them.”
John sat straighter and pointed at Roman. “Look, man. The entire world population is being culled faster than a nuclear holocaust at this point. You are not responsible for this situation, and you can’t be expected to do everything perfectly when the entire nature of reality flipflopped literally last night.”
Roman nodded his thanks.
After another thirty seconds, the row after row of dilapidated suburban homes ended abruptly. The pickup truck slowed as their destination came into view: a shopping center containing a grocery store, a cellphone repair place, and a variety of restaurants.
The parking lot was mostly empty except for a couple flipped-over cars, crumpled and shredded to pieces as if torn apart by a giant’s hands. Overturned shopping carts littered the lot like the vehicles’ desecrated children. No signs of the other Players. Roman was immediately on edge. The truck parked in the center, in a position that felt all too exposed.
Mixie rolled down his window and popped his head out, turning to face the bed. The unnatural angle made Roman suspect the ghoul’s head had completely swiveled backward. He suppressed a shudder.
“You are up, Roman.” The ghoul opened the door and plopped his spatial satchel on the ground. “I have attuned the bag to allow you to withdraw the appropriate wares. Do not even think of taking any for yourself, even if they offer it to you. And do not think for a moment to bypass the security for the rest of the inventory.”
Ignoring the unfair judgment of his character, Roman grumbled, “Why, exactly, are we sending in the ‘blood bag’ instead of--I don’t know--the immortal ghoul or the ethereal fucking ghost guy?”
“We do not know the full capabilities of this group of Players. It is possible they have the means of dealing lethal damage even to supernatural beings.”
Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, they definitely would have the means of dealing lethal damage to another human Player.”
“Yes,” said Mixie.
Roman waited for to ghoul to elaborate. After a few seconds of pointed silence, he turned towards John. “Will you scout ahead for me, at least?”
John paused for a moment, expression blank, before a small smile lit up his face and he nodded. “Of course. Leave it up to me.”
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Roman hoisted himself up and over the bed of the truck. John vanished. Grumbling, Roman picked up the spatial satchel and turned to offer some additional complaints towards the ghoul.
The window had already been rolled back up.
