The XP: Chapter 6

The Group has killed the second to last boss in the Hall of Shattered memories. A monster that had once been a talented human thief had made a deal with a demon to travel freely throughout time. He had no way of knowing that the more he traveled through time the more of his soul the demon sucked into a giant hourglass. Once his soul was trapped entirely he was doomed to spend an eternity defending the Demon’s Cavern of stolen souls.

They had chosen the Hall of Shattered memories for two reasons. The first was that the Thief of Time was easily considered one of the best tests of end game content. Each player on a team had to know their roll and execute it perfectly. The fact that the dungeon was limited to five players and end game content ranged from fifteen to forty players was what made it such a good test. It was an easy gauntlet to run Trart through so he could quickly learn all the skills a Rainbringer relied on.

The second reason was that after the Thief of Time’s death cut scene the entire dungeon reset allowing them to run in it multiple times a day. Every other dungeon had a daily lock out which mean they would have a much harder time recovering the cash they spent on gearing Trart.

On their way out of the Dungeon for the twelfth time Trart asked the question Bob had been waiting the last two runs to hear. “How come we never fight the final boss? I know I owe you guys a bunch of gold but this is really, really boring.”

Bob smiled. “Aside from engaging the daily lockout, It took you three attempts to do everything you needed to do so we could kill the thief of memories. The Keeper of Forgotten Promises is easily three times harder. So, do you wanna pay off your debt nice and quick or do you wanna screw around?” She asked.

The others were behind Trart all praying for the right answer. Trart thought about it for a second 

looking guilty “Would you be super pissed if I said screw around for a bit?” He asked. The others silently celebrated and cheered behind him. By the time he spun around they were standing normally.

Bob’s smile was much larger. “I wouldn’t mind screwing around for a bit. And besides, we can always finish up the last five runs tomorrow.” She pointed out. “All right then, let’s screw around. Now listen up. Here’s how this is going to work. The Keeper of Forgotten Promises is half a step below end game content. I will be playing Dreams of Unbridled Fury and Etude of Ebbing Sanity.” She explained.

“When did you learn to play two songs at once?” Stygian asked.

Bob waved her hand. “Long story short, I paid The Matriarch to take me to and run me through the Theater of a Thousand Solos. There’s a specific boss that gives intertwining songs as a custom perk.” She explained. “Blackout I need you to consistently cycle Serenity's Waterfall, I know we’ve run this before just you and me, but we’ve got two more people to cover.”

“The only reason we were able to two man this place was because I was direct healing you for most of your life every second. If I run Serenity's Waterfall it’s gonna leave you exposed.”

Stygian stepped forward “Not as much as you might think.” He offered.

Bob nodded. “You are more right than you know. This fight normally requires a tank and an off tank. So this entire fight consists of you taking an absolute pounding.”

Trart stepped up. “What about me? What do I do?”

Bob turned to Trart. “You get to go hog wild. Stygian is gonna pull more agro than you ever thought possible which means you get to use every aspect of that pretty little gun we bought you. I want you to be a trigger happy death dealer. Bring the pain and bring lots of it.” She demanded. “Now is everyone clear how this is going to work?”

They all nodded.

Bob turned toward the entrance. “All right then, let’s do this.”

The others followed her into the Dungeon.

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 6

A little over a month into the semester the auditorium for History of the Second Dimension was a lot quieter than it had been on the first day.  Sanders was sitting in what had become his usual spot near the front of the room. The other students were either waiting quietly for the professor or having hushed conversations.

The door opened and Professor Banister walked into the room with his satchel over his shoulder and the large stack of papers that was the student’s first essay. He set them down on the front table. “I have finished grading your first papers. Please note that I graded rather generously and commented on improvements I expect to see from now on. For those of you that are asked to do so, please come see me after class, my office hours are in the syllabus. After you get your paper we are done with class for the day, please use your time wisely and review your work.”

Without another word Bannister left the room. The students waiting until the door shut behind him before rushing the front of the room to get their papers. Sanders waited for the mob to clear out. When he left his chair there were only a few papers left on the front table. He found his and looked it over. There was a red C– on the first page. Below it was a note ‘Very thorough paper but there is no drive, no statement. You’re just reciting the events that happened when you should be exploring why and how they happened. Please see me during my office hours.’ 

Sanders moved back to his chair and shoved the paper in his bag, zipped it up, threw it over his shoulder and left the room.

Professor Banister’s desk was a monument of essay’s and paperwork. Each class had its own stack of assignments waiting to be graded and returned to their creators. His tiny castle wall of papers left just enough room for a desk lamp that lit what little actual work space he afforded himself. He was grading an essay with a red pen, making notations and commenting at the bottom of the page, giving further research direction. A knock at the door paused his pen. “Come in.” He automatically replied.

Sanders entered the tiny office, leaving his hand on the outside door knob. “You wanted to talk to me about my paper?” He asked.

Bannister looked up from his work and immediately recognized Sanders. “Yes I did Mr. Sanders, please come in and have a seat.” He motioned to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. Sanders closed the door set his bag beside the chair and sat down. “You’re a targeting and terrain management major aren’t you?” Banister asked.

Sanders nodded. “Yes sir.”

Bannister leaned back in his chair. “Then why take history of the second dimension instead of Study of the 3^rd Dimension with Malcolm Evans?” He asked.

Sanders shrugged his shoulders. “I felt like I needed to get outside my major for a while.” He answered.

Banister nodded. “And this class turned out to be more work than you expected?” He asked.

Sanders nodded. “A lot more.” He clarified.

Bannister sat up right again. “You’re a shitty liar kid.” Sanders was shocked but kept quiet. 

Bannister stabbed his finger into one of his taller stack of essays. “I don’t have an assistant genius. I grade ever one of these English junkyards myself. Your paper stood out like a sore thumb.” He chastised him.

Sanders cleared his throat. “That was, descriptive.”

Banister sat back in his chair again. “So was your paper. So enlighten me as to why you wrote a perfect paper that asked no questions, made no statements and drew no conclusions.”

Sanders didn’t flinch “It’s all original work, I didn’t plagiarize anyone or anything.”

Banister shook his head. “That wasn’t my point and you know it. You write about the history of two dimensional games like you grew up during that era, and yet your paper shows no bias. You’re a TTM major so why take this class at all if you’re not passionate about the subject matter?” He demanded.

Sanders shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly I just wanted a chance to get to know you.” He answered.

Banister was thrown for a loop. “Why not just introduce yourself?” He asked.

Sanders gestured to the office. “You’re a professor in the 2D era, I’m a TTM major. Without this class I don’t have a reason in the world to even walk into this building much less start a conversation out of the blue with a tenured professor.” He explained

Bannister raised an eyebrow. “Conversation about what?” He asked.

“Your career” Sanders replied.

Banister pointed to the essays all over his desk. “You’ve seen the last fifteen years of my career right here, and every time you sit in my class.

Sanders shook his head. “I mean your other career.”

Banister glared at Sanders “Is that what all this has been about?” He accused. “Figured you would try to dig up some gossip before you graduate?”

Sanders shook his head. “No. This is about me asking as friend and a student about your life before you became who you are today.” He clarified.

Banister leaned his chair back. “Whelp, sorry to burst your bubble kid, the story is nothing but a rumor and even if it wasn’t it would still be none of your damn business.”

“It’s either a rumor you wish was true or a truth you’re trying to forget. You can lie to everyone but yourself.” Sanders offered.

Bannister almost exploded out of his chair. “You keep running your mouth and I’m libel to flunk you right out of my class!” He yelled.

Sanders sighed and grabbed his bag. “I didn’t mean to antagonize you.” Banister straightened himself up. “I was kind of hoping we could actually be friends.” He finished.

Bannister glared at him again. “I don’t need any friends kid, I need A papers from you, from now on.”

Sanders nods sadly and stands up. “You can shut me out professor, but I hope you don’t” He stated.

Bannister wanted to explode again, but he kept his cool, sort of. “Give me one good reason I should trust you? So far you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. I have every right to drop you on yours!”

Sanders opened the door a crack and turned around. “The past burns us all from the inside out professor. We either have to let it go or perish in the fire. I’m just trying to be a sympathetic ear.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Bannister is stunned. Sanders leaves and closes the door quietly behind him. Alone again in his office with his thoughts Bannister starts tapping his pen on his desk. 

Shades of Justice: Chapter 10

Outside the mall Warren noticed several people fighting with their phones. From the ranting he overheard no one was able to get a signal of any kind. He could see cars navigating their way through the intersection without traffic lights. He checked his phone which like the others was showing now service. He took a couple of deep breaths to try and suppress the panic building in his chest.

“Does this stuff still work?” He heard Sonya’s voice come from the glasses he had forgotten he was wearing.

“Warren here.” He responded “We’re in trouble, there is a crazy, computer monster running around town.” He explained while walking into a trash bin alcove to make sure he had privacy. “He knocked out the power at the mall and no one can get cell signal.”  He whispered while glancing around the trash bin to make sure that he wasn’t being overheard.

“I think he did more than that, my parents place has lost net access.” Sonya pointed out.

 “Same here.” Greggory’s voice chimed in.

“So what do we do now?” Kelly’s voice joined the channel.

“Um, how about you guys suit up, defeat Hexa Decimal and break his control over the internet?” Technarius offered plainly.

“How are we going to find him?” Kelly asked.

“I’ve tracked him to the Lakeland South freeway exit. It looks like he’s caused quite a large pileup.” Technarius explained.

“How are you tracking him if he’s shut down the internet?” Warren asked.

“So glad you asked Warren because this IS the perfect time to teach you how this technology, which is older than dinosaurs is still working without your precious internet.” Technarius snapped.

“Technarius that’s enough.” Lumarion piped up.

“Sorry what I meant to say was ‘go Shades of Justice!’” Technarius clarified.

“Could have just said it was a stupid question.” Warren commented as Technarius teleported him and the others to the freeway exit where Hexa Decimal was wreaking havoc.

There were dozens of overturned cars, most of which were on fire, civilians that weren’t caught in wrecks were doing what they could to save others who were, many were just running as far away from the chaos as they could. The Shades were all in their suits and appeared in a line near Hexa who was attempting to kick a car over.

“Hexa Decimal! Prepare to face justice!” Warren shouted.

Hexa Decimal turned to face the Shades, laughing at Warren’s proclamation. “Oh! I’m so scared, the freshman class has come to show old Hexy whose boss! Woe is me! What ever shall I do?” He snarked until Cat 5 cables shot out from his hands wrapping around each of the shades necks with lightning like speed. He gripped the cables and dragged the choking shades to their knees. “While you weren’t whose attention I was trying to get, but I must admit, it is a pleasant surprise! Perhaps I might impress my employer in the process of getting my revenge!”  He yanked the cables again and the shades fell to their hands and knees quickly choking to death.

Catastrophic Personality Adjustment: Part 1 (Blood and Profit Returns in 3 weeks)

Death is not an easy concept for the average person to handle, which is funny because it’s pretty clear that most of us don’t have the first clue about life either.

Cold was the first sensation he registered. At first he couldn’t locate the origin of the sensation but as more of his mind regained awareness it became the input that defined his reality. The cold moved closer and began to awaken and define the extremities of his body. He could feel his back and shoulder blades pressed against it. It traveled up his neck and into his shoulders. Curved around his elbows and brought feeling into his hands. He could sense it defining the edges of his hips and the bulk of his rear end. As his legs began to register sensation he could no longer hold back a full body shiver and his teeth began to chatter. He opened his eyes slowly as he reflexively wrapped his arms around his torso. Where ever he was there was very little light and it was diffused softly, he touched his face, but found nothing clouding his vision. He blinked several times and his vision cleared. He could now see that he was naked, He was sitting on a metal table, a sheet had covered him and bunched at his waist when he sat up. Next to the table there was a chair with what turned out to be a gray pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

It took him almost ten minutes to get the pins and needles out of his legs and make sure they could carry his weight. Once he was sure he could stand he got dressed and felt the stiffness in the rest of his joints. There was a piece of paper under the sweat suit. All it said was ‘Room 305’. The room he was in was small, barely enough room for the table he had woken up on and the chair that held the clothing. From where he was standing he could almost reach the handle of the door, which led him into a plain looking hallway that was brighter but still not fully lit, There was a sign on the far wall that had 300 – 315 with an arrow pointing down the left side of the hallway and 316 – 330 with an arrow pointing down the right side of the hallway. He checked his paper again and made his way down the left side of the hall looking for room 305.

The door to room 305 was open. Soft orange light drew a rectangle on the concrete floor. He stopped and knocked on the door frame, taking a look into the room. There was an woman sitting in an old worn reclining chair. She wore no shoes and her feet were buried in a deep plush rug that appeared to be nothing more than random sprays of color. She smiled warmly when she noticed him in the doorway.

“You must be Tony.” She said, waving her hand. “Come in, sit down.” She gestured to the empty couch across from her recliner.

More than anything the mention of a name caused his curiosity to override his caution. “I can’t remember anything, why can’t I remember anything?” He asked, sitting down.

She sat back in her chair and looked at him for a moment, taking in his current state of awareness. Finally she replied. “Because you died.”

The answer hit him like a truck. “I what?” He asked in shock.

She nodded slowly. “It says here” She held up his report. “That you were stabbed during an attempted robbery.”

His gaze was a thousand miles long as he tried with what little cognitive power he had to remember something. “I – I don’t remember anything.” He finally admitted.

She nodded. “That’s one of the primary side effects of the Necrophage.” She handed him a pamphlet that was covered with smiling people in fun settings. “It’s the medical term for the disease that brings the dead back to life.” She said.

He looked at the bright green letters screaming this is your afterlife! At him. He opened it, scanned it, quickly realized he didn’t have the desire to read it at the moment and closed it again. “I’m a freaking zombie?” He said in disbelief, mostly to himself.

The woman in the chair nodded. “In layman’s terms.”

He tossed the pamphlet aside in anger. “I don’t care how you’re supposed to say it. I died and some virus I have brought me back to life.”

The counselor nodded quietly. She readjusted, picking her feet up off the carpet and sat cross legged in her chair.

He grabbed the pamphlet again and started folding it in half. “And that's why I can’t remember anything?” He asked.

She nodded. “Side effect of the Virus. Honestly we’re not really sure why it happens, but everyone that is infected with the Necrophage comes back to life with almost no memory of their past life. Its one of the reasons we started this program.” She explained with a softness in her voice.

He looked around the room and held up the pamphlet that had now been folded and unfolded in different ways half a dozen times. “What is this program anyway?”

“Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling. Or C.P.A.C. for short. I’m here to help you assimilate back into society.” She handed him another stack of papers that explained the program.

He looked down at the cover page where the program name was printed in bold black block letters. “So, zombie 101.” He clarified.

She shook her head. “We’re not going to teach you how to mob humans and tear them limb from limb, It’s more focused on helping you discover what kind of person you are now. Helping you define and understand your new personality so you can live a pleasant and fulfilling afterlife.” She noticed he seemed to be blankly staring at the stack of documentation in his hands. “You’ll want to check those pamphlets out this week, they cover the powers of the Z.R.A”

 He looked up at her. “The Z.R.A?” He asked.

She nodded. “The Zombie Rights Amendment. It’s been the law for almost ten years now.” She leaned over the side of her chair and grabbed a book out of a cardboard box on the floor. She then handed the book to him. “This is your daily personality journal. Try to write in it at least once a day. It’s going to be one of the most important tools you have In developing your new personality.” She then grabbed the cardboard box, handing it over as well. “This is everything you had on you when you came to the hospital. There is a map in there that will lead you back to your apartment.”

He rustled through the items in the smallish box for a second until a thought hit him. “Did I have a job?” He asked while looking at his license.

She nodded. “You do. You have already been transferred to a different department to make it easier on yourself and those you used to work with. You start your retraining next week.” She clarified.

With the box in his hands he stood up and looked at the door to the counselor’s office. “So, do I come back next week or something?” He asked looking back at her.

She nodded. “And once a week. Until you feel you are ready to take on the world by yourself.”

He nodded and opened the door, went out into the hall. “I’ll see you next week then, I guess.” He said as he closed the door.

The counselor went to her desk grabbed his file from a stack and flipped it open to the patient status page and began writing her notes. 

Lidarion: Chapter 5

When the war began there was no shortage of ready recruits to fill the ranks for the Lidarion army. But by the end of the first year all they had to show for their efforts was a nearly identical border layered in bodies and twisted metal. The Lidarion army had been shattered, regrouped, spread thin and nearly wiped out, rebuilt, and redeployed, each time with smaller numbers in less units, with fewer supplies between them.

The war entered its third year and Trent didn’t even know what to call the group of soldiers he was a part of. He and Brandon had been assigned to a forward scouting party almost half a year back, but shortly after they arrived the unit commander deserted. Surprisingly there were no arguments over field promotions or changes in leadership, the group continued to operate on their most recent orders, scouting the border and keeping the actual combat units advised of possible dangers or decent places to attack. At first Trent thought the men who stayed were just loyal citizens concerned with protecting the border, but as they scurried from town to town like mice in search of cheese they began to hear less about orc raiding parties and marching battle companies and more about the war being over. 

They had met up with the forward most Lidarion company and while there were plenty of rumors surrounding the possible end of the war, there was nothing official heard or seen. And so their traded information for food and what meager supplies they could and headed north. The company had heard nothing from the northern most villages at the edge of the Cliffside Mountains, and it seemed as good a place as any to carry out their duty.

Which is how they ended up with five terrified families hiding in the village barn desperately hoping the orc raiding party that had emerged from the protection of the Infinight Forest. It had taken most of their time to round up the families and get them to the barn at the furthest edge of town. The initial plan being to slowly sneak them out of the back door and get them to safety. Unfortunately the barn had no back or side entrances of any kind leaving them stuck as the raiding party entered the small village and ransacked house after house. The killing of the cows, sheep, and pigs gave them a buffer of time to place as many bales of hay in front of the door as they could. But there weren’t enough to blockade the door and the raiding party made quick work of the raw meat that used to be the towns livestock.

The scouts had long ago come up with silent hand signals for almost anything they might need to communicate regarding troops, locations, numbers and types of weaponry, which for over a year now had consisted of mostly orcs, the edge of the Infinight Forrest, raiding parties, and basic melee weapons. Which is why when the ground shook with a terrifying rumble Trent signed to Drew the forward scout who had first seen the Orc’s leave the tree line. He asked if he had seen a Troll with the raiding party, Drew shook his head as the ground shook again, scaring some of the younger children into crying out. They were quickly silenced by their parent’s terrified hands over their mouths. The ground shaking steps were getting closer to the barn and the disgustingly labored grunting confirmed that the raiding party did indeed have a Troll with them.  Trent looked around the barn for Brandon but could not find him among the peasants. He wasn’t one of the three men waiting behind the hay bale pile with swords drawn. Trent started to scan the rear of the barn, until a pebble bounced off the top of his head. He looked up to Brandon making his way over to an open window in the partial loft of the barn. He had a bow and several arrows and hand found a semi decent source of high ground for what was almost certainly going to be a very bad fight. Brandon gave the sign for Troll and the sign for Club. Trent nodded and motioned to the families to get back along the farthest wall of the barn and hide as best they could among the supplies and loose hay. The ground shaking was deeper now and getting louder. Trent knew there wasn’t much time left and drew both his swords. He didn’t hear 

Brandon’s first two shots because the Troll had smashed his hand through the wall of the barn to grab their lookout and squish his head like a grape. The Trolls other fist game through the sliding door of the barn and caused two of the hay bales to explode. The Troll screamed and let go of the bloody mess that was the unfortunately look out. Brandon Dropped down next to Trent with no arrows left in his quiver.

“I tried to blind him boss, I only got the left one, which he doesn’t seem too happy about.” Brandon explained as the Troll wildly slammed his fists into the barn door and quickly disintegrating wall.

“Every little bit Helps” Trent replied as they barn door fell apart under the aggressively pounding fists of the half blind Troll. The troll then picked up one of the orcs and threw him through the hay bale blockade and then decimated what was left coming through himself. Trent and Brandon moved to engage the Troll when two of the scouts who had been helping the peasants hide in the back of the barn dropped down on the Trolls back. Their swords buried almost to their hilts in either side of its neck.

The troll wavered a few steps, moaned, fell to its knees, then onto its lifeless face. The sudden loss of their advantage gave the orcs pause which was all Trent, Brandon and the other two scouts needed as they launched themselves into the battle.

The XP: Chapter 5

The cloth armor shop was owned and managed by a player. They had a wide selection of styles but apparently really enjoyed the color purple. Trart followed Bob around the store as she went through to visualization options to see what he would look like with each item she showed interest in. “Trart If I gave you a pink and white polka dot dress with legendary stats, would you wear it?” She asked him as she browsed.

Trart shrugged his shoulders. “I guess, I mean legendary stats is legendary stats.”

Bob shook her head. “The correct answer is ‘no’. Part of gaming is looking bad ass, and IF you wanna look bad ass you gotta have your own style.”

Trart looked himself over. “I have style.” He protested.

Bob shook her head. “Let me rephrase, I am not running dungeons with a French clown that looks like he drank himself colorblind then got dressed for work.” She handed him a tunic.

Trart took the tunic and added to the pile of clothes she had already given him. “You could’ve just said ‘I don’t like the way you’re dressed.’” Trart pointed out.

Bob stopped searching through armor and looked at Trart. “I did.” She pulled another tunic and handed it to Trart. “Lets go over to pants and boots.”

Trart’s shoulders slumped “You mean we’re not done yet?” He moaned.

Bob shook her head. “We’re just getting started kid.” She smiled, looking through the available pants.

It look almost an hour but Bob finally got Trart into a set of cloth armor that nearly tripled his stats.

Trart looked at his avatar’s set up and had to admit that he liked his current gear a lot more than what he had previously been wearing. “Wow Bob, thank you, I look bad ass!”

Bob shook her head. “Nah, you look decent, which is infinitely better than you looked an hour ago.” She clarified.

Trart looked around. “Where’d Blackout and Stygian go?” He asked as they came through the front door of the shop.

“Perfect timing.” Bob said with a rare smile. “Did you get it?” She asked.

Stygian nodded. “This thing kinda makes me want to start a Rainbringer.” He replied. Pulling a massive chain gun out of his backpack.

Trart’s eyes nearly exploded out of his head. “What the heck is that?” He nearly yelled in excitement.

Blackout waved his hands in front of the weapon as if he were show casing a game show prize. “The Spray and Pray One Thousand. The best Player built Rainbringer weapon without a level requirement. Maximum ammo capacity of one thousand rounds, capable of multi target memory, firing enchanted rounds and increases experience gain by ten percent up to level forty five. Because Rainbringer's are the only class that can hit the S.P.O.T”

Trart was all smiles. “Oh man you guys. I don’t know what to say, thank you so much for all of this.” He accepted the gun from Stygian. And held it almost lovingly.

Bob clapped her hand on Trart’s right shoulder. “You can join us on a trial run of the Hall of Shattered Memories. We’re gonna run it till you pay back the five thousand, seven hundred and twenty four gold you owe us.” She headed for the door.

The smile dropped off Trart’s face. “I should have seen that coming.” He said stashing the gun in his inventory.

Stygian nodded. “Don’t worry it’ll only take fifteen or sixteen runs, and it’s the fastest way to earn that kind of cash. Besides it’ll be good training, by the time you’re running the Halls like a pro you’ll have a good handle on your class and you’ll be ready for some of the harder content in the game.”

“Yeah but I’ll be poor.” Trart said following Stygian and Blackout out of the store.

“Just think of yourself as rich in social capital.” Blackout quipped as the door closed behind Trart.

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 5

By  noon the population of the student union had not changed much. There were different girls at the 1 cUPcake booth, but it was still mobbed by fraternity members and independents alike. Foster looked over the sea of students searching for a place to sit.

Thompson had secured a four person table. He was sitting alone, his lunch untouched on the far side of his book. A student nudged the table, Thompson looked up from his book.

“These seats being used?” the kid asked. Thompson nodded and the kid went on about his way.

Thompson stood to stretch for a moment and spotted Foster wandering union looking for a place. Thompson waved at him and Foster waded through people to reach his table. Foster reached the table and set his lunch tray down on the table then dropped into the chair opposite Thompson.

“So how was breathing practice?” Thompson asked.

“I know right!” Foster almost exploded. “I thought combat studies would be about fighting.” He grumbled.

Thompson nodded. “It is, can’t fight if I you can’t breathe.” He pointed out while chewing on a baby carrot.

Foster took three quick breaths. “See that? I’m a natural so when does the fighting start?” He asked.

Thompson shook his head and suppressed a smile by taking a drink from his water bottle. “Go to the rec center tonight. Run two miles, then try and meditate like you were taught today.” He ordered, putting his bottle back on the table.

Foster completely missed the point. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

Thompson picked up another baby carrot. “It’s easy to regulate your breathing right now. You’re not tired, you are not beat to hell. Go run yourself down and see just how easy it is to maintain a steady even breathing pattern.” He wedged the carrot between his teeth.

Foster shook his head. Clay dropped in the third seat. He then put his tray on the table. “DO I look like I need a psychology class?” He asked no one in particular.

Thompson nibbled on his new carrot. “not in the least.” He replied.

Clay opened his soda “Can you tell that to the Thug Studies department? Apparently It’s a requirement to graduate.” He took a large drink.

Thompson smiled around the end of his carrot. “Those bastards.”

Clay glared at Thompson and put his soda down. “See, you always do that. It’s always sarcasm with you, how do you expect people to take you seriously?” He ranted.

Thompson shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I don’t, Dr. Freud”

Clay threw a chip at Thompson and turned his attention to Foster. “Hi, I’m Clay, why are you sitting at our table?” He asked.

“Foster, I ran into Thompson earlier today. He invited me.” Foster explained.

Clay gave a quick side glance to Thompson. “Why is Cynthia the only Combat Studies Major that calls people by their first name?” He asked. Both He and Thompson looked at Foster. Foster shrugged his shoulders. “Oh yeah, you’re going to be a useful addition to the group.” Clay looked at his tray. “I forgot napkins, anyone need anything?” He asked before disappearing.

“Don’t mind Clay. He’s, eccentric.” Thompson tried to explain.

Sanders filled the fourth seat and put his own lunch of the table to take the rest of the available space. 

“I would have gone with rude and often offensive. Who’s the noob?” He asked not even looking at Foster.

Thompson shook his head slowly. “Speaking of rude, Sanders this is Johnathan Foster.” Thompson pointed to Foster.

“Is that your first name or last?” Foster asked.

Sanders gave him a sort of stunned glare. “Does it matter?” He asked as a reply.

Clay returned with napkins and everyone dug into their food. “You seem edgy Sanders. Rough first day?” Clay asked.

Sanders rolled his eyes “Yes mom, but I’ll be fine.” He replied. “So, what are you?” He asked Foster.

Foster looked up from his lunch. “What am I?” He repeated the question.

Clay nodded. “Like what are you majoring in?” He clarified.

Foster caught on. “Oh! I’m a Combat Studies major.”

Sanders threw a dryly judgmental glance in Thompson’s direction. “Picking up strays now, are we?” He asked rhetorically.

Thompson shook his head. “He’s not a stray, He’s cool.” Both Clay and Sanders glared at Thompson in disbelief. “It has nothing to do with that!” Thompson declared unconvincingly.

Sanders nodded. “Oh sure it doesn’t. Because you and Cynthia are the best of friends now and 

everything is fine and dandy again.” He rolled his eyes.

Foster was lost again. “What are you guys talking about, how am I a stray?” He asked.

Clay sat back in his chair and grabbed his soda. “ Our dear friend Thompson used to be a Combat Studies major. End of last semester rolls around and he switches to Adventure Studies on a whim and cuts all ties with Cynthia.” Clay leaned over to Foster, held his hand up and pretended to whisper to him “They were, swapping pixels, if you, catch my meaning.” He sat back up right.

Thompson put his fork down. “And everyone lived happily ever after. The end”

There was a few seconds of awkward silence before Sanders broke through. “Anyway, I’m a Targeting and Terrain Management major.” He offered.

Foster was grateful for something to pay attention to other than relationship drama, silence and his less than average lunch.

Thompson nudged Clay’s chair with his foot. “You working tonight?” Thompson asked. Clay nodded with a mouthful of food. “Mind if we drop by and use your employee discount?” He asked and Clay nodded again, taking a drink from his soda.

“Sure no problem” Clay confirmed.

“Where do you work” Foster asked.

“The Supply and Demand across the street from Campus.” Clay replied pointing in the general direction of the store.

Foster was confused. “They have employee discounts? I didn’t even think they had health insurance.”

Clay shook his head in the negative. “I have an employee discount.” He emphasized.

Foster still didn’t catch on. “How much?” He asked honestly.

Clay held up his hand. “five fingers.” He stated bluntly.

Foster raised an eyebrow in confusion. “huh?” he questioned.

Thompson shook his head and pinched the brow of his nose. “He steals stuff. He is a Thug Studies major. It’s kind of his modus operand.” He finished killing the unfunny and overly dead joke.

Foster looked at Thompson “Ok now I’m really lost, his modo what now?”

Clay downed the rest of his drink and stood up. “Get used to that feeling kid, you got a long life ahead of you.” He fist bumped Thompson and cleared his garbage away.

Thompson put his book back in his bag. “Don’t mind Clay, He’s been emo a lot lately. Apparently he’s no ready to quit being a Toys’R’Us Kid.

Sanders stands up and gathers his garbage. “Hey Thompson, I gotta get to the bookstore, but give me a call before you go shopping.” They fist bumped and Sanders disappeared with his stuff.

For a few moments Foster and Thompson sat awkwardly silent in the near deafening noise of the student union. Foster finally cleared his throat. “So uh, Cynthia say’s ‘hi back’” He used air quotes to emphasize the ‘Hi back’.

Thompson swirls whats left of the water in his bottle. “That’s nice.” He replied.

Foster pressed forward. “How come you’re ignoring her?”

Thompson glanced at Foster for a moment. “You aren’t a big fan of subtly are you?” He asked.

Foster shrugged. “Sorry, it just seems like the history between you two has been the theme of the morning.”

“I know right? I’m super popular, I have some paparazzi on back order.” He snarked.

Foster shook his head. Thompson pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote his number on a napkin. 

“Are you Happy Thompson?” Foster asked while Thompson was writing.

Thompson handed the napkin to Foster “I’m positively filled to the brim with glee.” He shouldered his backpack and pushed his chair in. “Call around six for a ride.” He said before taking off, waving to Foster without turning back around.

Foster looked at the number on the napkin and his barely touched lunch. “Nice going” He said to himself. “Lunch alone, what an awesome day.” He poked at his mac and cheese with something nearing disgust.