Things were going to be close.

  Nightfire had been following Golden Boy for about a year now her time; it still felt incredibly weird that all of her adventures had taken place, on earth, the same day that the system arrived to begin with.

  They’d been warned by the Committee in no uncertain terms that the primary issue was ‘snowballing’; once a nest of some given swarm, or a single particular predator, reached a certain threshold, it would tend to grow out of control, getting stronger and stronger until the locals couldn’t deal with it.

  Nothing on Earth would be able to grow past level 21 for the first few days; it would scale up over time, and visitors above that level would feel their power drain out of them if they dared to invade; so by getting all of the Chosen to level 20 before sending them back, they ensured that, so long as they kept going, stayed at whatever the new level cap was, there would always be humans strong enough to deal with threats.

  However. If they didn’t convince humans to start scaling up in power as well… eventually the threats would grow beyond what the Chosen could control. They needed to both make sure humanity’s leaders understood the importance of working together… and stay at the peak themselves.

  So far, the highest-level threat any Chosen had encountered was in Africa; a Lion pride which had slaughtered its way through multiple herds of prey, a few rival lions, and then a few local villages; the Lionesses had been level 15, and the Lion himself at level 14, a bit bigger, but slower. And that… was after only one day.

  Fortunately, there couldn’t be too many of those; each predator that did that would reach level 20 in a few days, and then be stuck following the growth rate of the earth. And if the Chosen caught them fast enough…

  Well. The Committee gave humanity a 50/50 shot of either making it out with moderate losses, or collapsing into a handful of well-defended enclaves. Every new world posed its own unique challenges, and they speculated that the biggest threat after the first week would be insects; but it was impossible to be sure.

  She looked down at the poor man she’d just used her Fire Whip on. ‘Marcus Grey’, where he lay dying in the sand half a mile from the spot where he’d shot that dog. Level 7; not the biggest threat they’d killed that day, but nasty.

  The fact that he had two almost identical upgraded items was telling; he must have used someone else to upgrade the second, then killed them, or got them killed. Who knew what he’d become if left alone. Warlord? Monster? It didn’t matter. Humanity and its Chosen needed every advantage they could get.

  She lifted the Legendary weapon from the ground, studying it. Golden Boy would get so much use out of…. She stared for a moment. Bound.

  She looked down at the man… and dropped the revolver to the dirt. Well, fuck. This had been a waste of effort. Right now, Legendary weapons were rare, priceless; there were less of them than there were Chosen. They wouldn’t be able to unbind this thing without enough credits to buy another Legendary; half the point of Bound items was that it was pointless to try to steal them.

  She gave a low sigh. Well. That would have improved the odds slightly. But not that much. She looked at the dying, helpless figure in the sand, and shook her head.

  Better luck in the next life, Marcus. She focused; and started her spell to teleport back to where she camped out for the night; it only took five minutes to cool down now that she’d reached Expert; they likely thought she was still using the bathroom.

  ***

  The only thing Marcus knew when he woke up was pain. Everything, every part of him, hurt; mostly the face, but… when he opened his eyes, he saw a white ceiling, bright lights… this…. Was a hospital?

  He looked around, then down at himself… cheap paper surgical gown. Green and white.

  What could he remember, about how he got here? What….

  The Chosen. Golden Boy and Nightfire. Callsigns, obviously. They wanted the revolvers. He didn’t want to give them up. They… yanked him out of his motel room in the middle of the night and tried to kill him.

  He looked around at the hospital room. Maybe they had managed… but he was alive now.

  He tried to remember what had come before…. But… nothing. He reached up… and felt his face. The pain grew even worse; he had some sort of nasty burns covering it, and…

  “Ahh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He looked up. There was a young woman in green scrubs; pale, blond, pretty enough… he might have tried flirting with her before. But… why? Who cared? “Doing what?”

  She stepped up close, and set a hand on his arm. “Whatever got you, the burns were nasty. They ate through the skin and muscle all the way to the bone in several spots, and even reached your brain; the doctors weren’t sure you’d wake up. Honestly, another couple days and they’d have let you die; we’ve been getting regular pass-throughs every day.”

  Marcus leaned back in the bed, sighing. “Ahh. I suppose it would be too much to hope for that healing magic would come along with all this.”

  “Oh, it did! But…. it doesn’t do any good for brain damage, restoring tissue without making you… think.. again… and considering how only two of us have reached level five and picked up a healer class so far, what little energy we have is used where it will do some good. Until you woke up and spoke… we weren’t sure you were part of that list.”

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  She inhaled deeply. “Speaking of which.” She stepped to the end of his bed.. And picked up a clipboard. “Could you please tell me your name, home address, and identify…”

  What followed was a cognition test. Nothing complicated. Nothing strange. An elementary student could handle it; the whole point was, apparently, to make sure he was still a thinking, sentient being. The pain was a distraction; but not much of one. And when he finished with the questions…

  She laid a hand on him… and suddenly… the pain dulled dramatically. It wasn’t completely gone… but he felt much, much better.

  “...Thanks. How long was I out?” He didn’t actually feel gratitude. He thought that he should, instead of just the mild irritation at her waiting to make sure his brain was working before healing him. Was that something he’d lost, due to the brain damage? He needed to pretend as if he were thankful, might look odd otherwise.

  “Two days. You spent one just lying in the sand, you’d been there at least that before we found you.”

  He glanced around. “Is my… stuff still here?” He blinked. He had a dimensional storage space. If he’d put the guns in there… of course not. But… it had the current contents of what had been in the truck before he’d turned it into his own storage space. He should check that out later.

  “You had your clothes… no shoes.. And a wallet. Was there anything you were supposed to have?”

  “...My guns. A pair of revolvers. They attacked me for them.”

  She sighed. “Damn. That’s awful. Upgraded weapons and armor have been selling for quite a bit; lots of that going around. I don’t plan on doing any fighting, so I just upgraded a pistol and sold it for ten grand. Anyways, you should be up on your feet shortly… I can have someone bring you a spare change of clothes from the lost and found if you’d like, and your wallet.”

  He didn’t really care about being exposed; but he’d look out of place, walking the streets in a hospital gown. “...Yes, please.”

  “Well then. You sit up, stretch out a bit… it’ll be a few days before you’re at a hundred percent, but the underlying muscle and bone damage should be gone, and you can get back to it, just… be careful.” She smiled at him… and then stepped out.

  He looked over his body. The burn scars. The flesh. He could feel pain. He could feel the paper gown sliding against his skin. But… there was something wrong. Something deeper. Something… broken… about the way he was thinking, and seeing the world.

  The only thing he still seemed to be able to feel… was anger. Rage at the what had happened to him. His fists… clenched without thinking… had started to shake.

  Golden Boy. Nightfire. Two names burned into his mind. He didn’t even know their real names, or faces. Just these.. Aliases. Callsigns. But..they were the ones who did this to him. They had to die. He had to kill them. Petty thieves pretending to be heroes. Leaving him for dead, lying in the sand.

  They were stronger than he was. Far stronger. He’d need to find a way to match them. Get the revolvers back, if he could. They would help.

  He closed his eyes… and waited for his clothes to be delivered. His bank accounts still had a decent amount of cash in them. For however much longer that still mattered, he’d take advantage.

  ***

  He felt a bit odd, stepping out of the hospital. A pair of flip-flops were all they had to fit, shoe-wise, but he had a nice button-up black shirt to go with his jeans; which had thankfully survived intact. His cell phone… was back at the motel. It had been plugged in and set to serve as an alarm clock, despite the motel already having an alarm clock.

  He had money. He needed a weapon. Some armor, of some sort. And the coast… didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was finding a way to kill those two Chosen. His father’s home could wait. He’d go there after… if at all.

  The most logical place to start, for weapons, was a pawn shop. This being texas, there were undoubtedly at least two or three. He should check them all out, see which one had the best options… and go from there.

  He would need to hit the motel, hope his phone was still there, and the car… but first things first. He’d been told the closest pawn shop was only a block away; he should stop there first.

  His burns were already feeling better by the time he reached the shop; working, getting the blood pumping… he felt as if the nurse’s estimate was short. He might have scars… but he felt like he should be fine with just a good night’s sleep.

  The pawn shop… ‘Fort Tazewell Pawn and Title’.. Was familiar. The same pattern all throughout the south; a long gun-rack surrounding the central aisles; neatly organized, a long row of tools on this aisle… electronics and video games on this one… various oddball trinkets on that one…

  Oddly enough, there was a whole stack of bulletproof vests; simple, black and grey affairs, clearly brand new, sitting on the counter; and all absolutely tiny, child-sized. He looked them over for a moment, as he stepped up to the counter. “...Whats the story with the vests?”

  The owner… a heavyset, balding man who was himself wearing one of the vests, grinned. “That’s the trick, there. When you ‘upgrade’ an item… it adjusts to fit you. I had like a hundred vests of sizes nobody could wear stuck in storage… and now… everybody wants armor of some sort, and you can just touch it, and poof. Uncommon, and sized perfect for you.”

  He stared at them for a few seconds… and looked back at the owner. “How much?”

  “Five hundred.”

  Marcus tilted his head for a moment. “...I’m assuming prices have gone up dramatically since a couple days ago.”

  “You got it. I sold most of what I had at the regular prices, but now, unless you’re paying in gold or silver, its two hundred and fifty percent. And I’m not selling anything gold or silver anymore… I think we’re either gonna just be using system ‘credits’, or precious metals, by the end of the year, I’m working on getting out of cash as much as possible.. And you should do the same.”

  He thought for a moment. He had plenty for this, even if he overpaid… and the man was right. Cash would likely be worthless, soon. “I’ll take a look at your guns, and the guy next door… probably any other pawn shops, as well, before I buy. But the armor… I’ll go ahead and take.” He extended his credit card… as he laid hands on the top vest on the stack.

  He nodded at the owner… and stepped into the bathroom to change. It hurt, putting it on over the burns… but not nearly as much as it had when he woke up. He considered what he was looking for in a gun… but knew it needed to be high-power… and as much as he liked the revolvers, if he couldn’t find them, he’d probably go for a rifle.