Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling: The End

Even the heavy brown and green curtains cannot keep all the sunlight out of the office. He has a huge smile on his face and it refuses to be subdued.

The counselor cannot help but smile back. “Session twenty one. You seem to be in a fantastic mood.” She said rhetorically.

He nodded. “ I almost got the crap kicked out of me today.” He explained.

The counselor was confused. “That doesn’t sound promising.” She pointed out.

He shook his head. “I’m not that worried about it. You know what I love?” He asked out of the blue.

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.” She replied.

He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “I love coffee. More specifically I love the epic poems masquerading as caffeine delivery systems. Double Ristretto Venti Half-Soy Decaf organic chocolate brownie iced Vanilla double-shot gingerbread Frappuccino extra hot with foam whipped cream upside down double blended. It’s like a dancing with your mouth.” He gushed.

“Ok, start from the beginning.” She laughed.

He looked confused. “The beginning of what?” He asked, then realized that he didn’t sound like he was making much in the way of sense. “Oh, my obsession with coffee? I guess it all starts with this place I found that was willing to serve me.” He explained. “It’s this chain place that looks way fancier than it actually is and I know now that they burn their beans which is great for me but most humans have more detailed taste profile…” he trailed off for a second.

“Most?” She asked, landing on the right word.

He nodded. “I was, uh” He cleared his throat. “Almost a week ago I was sitting at this place. Reading “For the Win” by Cory Doctorow.” This group of good old boys came into the store and placed their orders. Their leader bumped into my table while the others were harassing the baristas. The book had me feeling braver than I should have so when he tried to sit on my table I made my presence known.” He explained. “The guy turned around and got in my face. ‘You say something corpse?” He growled at me. I nodded and held my ground ‘yeah’ I said trying to sound braver than I felt. ‘ I said excuse me. See you spilled my drink and while you appear to be in dire need of a shower and a breath mint I feel that it is common courtesy for you to apologize when you spill another person’s drink.’ He got real close in and I could smell the beer on his breath. ‘Well then I’m in luck, ‘cause you ain’t no person. Now, why don’t you get up, and get the hell out of here before we take you apart like a Lego set.’ I wanted to fight him, I wanted to fight all of them. But I could see the other patrons in my peripheral vision trying to hide behind books, newspapers, and laptop screens…so I chickened out. I stood up. Looked down at my feet and gave up. ‘Frankie go now, sorry make mess, me bad.’ I mumble as they laugh at me. The leader keeps talking as I leave ‘So gawt damn tired of these Obamanation’s thinking the own every gawt damn place’ I hear before the door closes.” He hasn’t looked up from his feet the entire time. After a moment he holds out his empty hand. “In the box of my belongings from my old life, I had an MP3 player. On the Back there’s this quote. ‘If you have to crawl to live, stand, and die.’ When I betray myself in moments like that I can feel that little player like a judgmental weight in my pocket.” He wipes tears from his eyes.

The counselor was still confused. “How did this end up with you in such a good mood?” she asked.

He finally looked up, “Oh! After I left I ran into this couple who were walking by the coffee shop. I’m pretty sure they heard the guy before the door closed. The guy asked me about my book and we got to talking. They invited me to their coffee shop. A place a few blocks up the road from here. I’ve gone there every day since. They know my name. The owner is a human but her daughter died of lung cancer a few years back and she came back to life. She didn’t care about the social rules or the fact that her daughter no longer remembered her. She refused to let her go. Her daughter got into politics in her afterlife and has been running meetings for a group called Stronger than Death.”

The counselor stifled a giggle.

He smiled “I know it’s S.T.D. but it’s a support and political action group continuing the fight for afterlife rights. They know me there, I’ve bought my roommate by…I’ve finally found a place where I feel like I belong, where I feel I can make a difference.” He explained.

The counselor nodded. “Enjoy that feeling. In fact. If you ever take any of the advice I’ve given you let it be what I am about to say. Happiness is the best revenge. Be happy and pass that happiness on to others.”  She smiled at him

He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He said, standing up and heading for the door. “See you next week?” He asked. She nodded.

The Counselor is nervously tapping her pen on the heel of her shoe.  He hasn’t shown up yet and considering the state of the nation she wasn’t really that surprised. She checked her watch and saw that he was almost fifteen minutes late. She got out of her chair and began to pace. He wasn’t breaking a law by not showing up, none of them were, she reminded herself. In fact, she realizes and stops pacing. It’s not that had stopped coming that worried her. Hell they were allowed to stop coming as soon as they wanted, it was the fact that if they stopped coming today and there was a better than even chance that they were out on the streets, protesting.

The knock on the door startled her and she stopped pacing. She hadn’t even realized she had started pacing again. “Come in.” She said, trying to keep an even tone.

It was him. He looked torn up, like he has swallowed fire and it was burning him up inside. Without saying anything he shut the door and sat on the couch. She quickly sat in her chair. She didn’t know if he didn’t want to look at her, or couldn’t look at her. He stared at his shoes. “I wanted to believe.” He started.

The tension she felt before had disappeared, she knew it was on the other side of the office door, just 

waiting for her, but she’d worry about that when she had to.

He sighed the way a person does when their trying not cry. “I wanted to believe that I was part of this, great force. A great force of positive change.” Tears left dark circles on his jeans. “That along with my fellow un-dead brothers and sisters I was helping to push towards a new time, a better time, where we could live in peace with the rest of mankind.”

It wasn’t the first time in her career she felt like she needed to say something but didn’t have the first clue of what that something was, so she did the next best thing. She waited, as patiently as she could.

He wiped tears from his eyes. “But this election...” He trailed off. “All I wanted, was to shed the image of monstrosity that humanity had created for us.” He looked up finally “They dismembered my roommate three days ago. Tore him limb from limb with their trucks. See we don’t die by hanging, so they found a more, entertaining way to get the job done.” He looked back down at his feet for a long time.

She looked down at her notes and saw that they had been smeared by her own tears. “The laws haven’t changed yet, there is still time –“

“Public opinion has already changed, and truthfully I wonder if it was ever as progressive as we were led to believe.” He interrupted.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, another news alert most likely. The last seventy two hours had brought unimaginably horrible violence. Fights at pro and anti-Zombie protests, both sides blaming the other for starting it. She had unplugged her television when she realized that in the first day she couldn’t find a channel that was talking about the losses of zombie life, only the so called ‘human’ injury toll, but the cameras could not avoid the scattered piles of dismembered and burning body parts. Then Afterlife Heights a low income housing district had been walled off with trucks and firebombed, the ones that were able to escape the fires were met with shotgun blasts from the high ground of truck beds.

After that it descended into nationwide chaos.        

“You know there’s isn’t a single zombie movie or book where the zombies are sentient and have good reason to hate humanity?” He snorted a halfhearted laugh. “The best part is, the One Life Party was successful in keeping “Zombie” as a race option off the US census, so even the best guesses of our actual numbers are most likely catastrophically low.”

She nodded and dropped her notes in the tiny trashcan next to her desk. The fact that they were on the third floor did nothing to mute the chaos in the streets below.

“I used to think we could all just be people. But in the last week I’ve learned one unavoidable fact about humanity.” He said listening to the crashing cars, the screams of terror. “There must always, be a monster.” Together, they watched the window light up a bright orange.

Lidarion: Chapter 7

Saintcitia was nearly two days from the contested Lidarion border. What had started as a single church not far off the Kings road had over generations become the spiritual and educational capitol of Lidarion. There were hospitals and libraries, shrines and monasteries, even the wild elves had planted a small sacred grove of trees and plants. The Priestess that had begun her hand built stone walled, one room church left behind no evidence of her reasoning, none of the other who arrived to help ever received and explanation, or passed it on if they did. The only thing anyone knew for certain about her flash of inspiration, was that she would not be the last to receive it.

Trent had seen Saintcitia on the horizon backlit bit the overeager rays of predawn light. By the time he had reached the city gates the sun was well into its trek across the sky. The guards at the gate had confiscated all his weapons leaving only Brandon after he explained the contents of the sheath. No one in this town was a stranger to death, but neither were they immune to the burdens of regret, loyalty, and heartbreak. The reverence the guards had while they directed him to the Saintcitia hospital was almost more than Trent bear.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion. The city flew around him as if he were a boulder in a busy river. He knew it was impossible, but the closer he got to the hospital where Lisa was working the heavier the sheath felt.

He had considered it for two days and still had no idea what he was going to say. The infinite echoes of his own mind blaming him got louder by the second. He barely heard the smiling nurse but followed down the hall in the direction she pointed. He could hear nothing now but the deafening howls of his own judgement.

She came out of a room into the hall, a smile on her face. He saw her lips move and knew what she was asking, they were frozen in the eternity that was the deepest silence he could not find the words to end. Her smile shattered like cheap glass. Her lip quivered, he saw her mouth the question again but she already knew the answer. He pulled the sheath off his back for a thousand lifetimes, she was sobbing on the floor. His vision began to blur. He knelt beside her and could feel himself apologizing over and over again. She took the sheath and wrapped herself around it. She sank to the floor wailing with full body sobs.

The XP: Chapter 7

Bob and Blackout appear back at the front entrance of The Hall. Their avatars are ghostly see through versions of their characters.

“What the hell was that?” Bob exploded.

Blackout stretches. “I dunno but whatever it was, it was painful.”

Stygian’s ghost appears. “Ooooo kay. Hows about we try that again but without the part where we 

suck?” He said. Bob and Blackout nod in agreement.

“For real though Blackout you need to be quicker on your spot heals.” Bob pointed out.

“Oh, you’re gonna blame this on me? I was supposed to run the waterfall remember? And what about Stygian skipping his countdown timer and blowing his enrage early?!” Blackout exploded.

Stygian holds up his hands “Woah, woah, woah! I was just trying to –“

Bob turned on him. ‘You were trying to be the Hero! We could have recovered if you hadn’t gone all Die Hard on us!” She yelled.

Stygian got in Bob’s face “Gee I’ll remember that the next time you drop your music to get into the fight because you got bored!” He yelled.

“That’s not the same thing!” Bob shouted right back.

Trart’s Ghost faded in. “Oh man that was so Awesome!”

Bob spun on Trart “And you –“

Trart floated right through Bob. “We got our butts kicked! How cool was that! Does the fire wave always explode like that, cause it looked so cool!” He rambled on pacing back and forth.” He stopped and looked at the others. “Are we going again?” He asked with excitement.

Bob had completely lost the momentum of her anger and was caught off guard. She glared at him. 

“On one condition.” She offered.

Trart smiled sheepishly “I remove the key binding to auto run?” He offered.

She nodded. “You remove the key binding to auto run.”

Trart smiled. “Deal!” He shouted as he ran back in through the hall gates.

By the time the group returned to the room where they had fought the Keeper of Forgotten Promises they found the boss dead. Torcano was standing on its corpse. Their bodies arranged to spell out ‘U SUK’.

Bob glared up at Torcano. “Oh look, the GM has discovered humor.”

Torcano laughed as he looked down on them. “That was hysterical you guys.” He said as he floated down to the ground. “Blackout was all -“ He ran back and forth flailing his arms “Ah I’m on fire!” He stopped running next to Trart. “and you were all ‘watch my Leroy Jenkins impression’ which is way funnier in person than it is on the internet.” He laughed.

Bob shook her head. “We are on the internet you tool.” She grumbled.

Torcano walked over to Bob all smiles. “Oh come on! You have to admit, that was funny.” He said as she shook her head.

“Oh sure, it’s super funny to someone who can’t die and wields a special weapon that can kill anything in the game in one hit. It’s super easy to talk trash when you’re an immortal God.” She glared at him.

Torcano’s mood drops. “I was just kidding around Bob.”

Bob moved away from him. “Kid around with someone else.” She spat.

Torcano shuffles toward the door. Blackout follows Bob and Stygian looks at Torcano.

“Thanks for taking care of the boss though.” Stygian offers.

Torcano nods and then disappears in a blink of light.

Trart looks in Bob’s direction as he walks over to where Stygian is standing. “What was all that about?” He asked.

Stygian looked in Bob’s direction as well. “About two and a half years ago, Torcano and his brother got Jobs as Game Masters. They dropped the guild and started working for the game. Bob started skirting the line of breaking the EULA and they’ve been picking at each other ever since.” Stygian explained.

Trart looked up at Stygian’s giant Helm. “That why you quit back in the day?” he asked.

Stygian looked down at Trart. “Not that it’s any of your business but I left because the game stopped being fun.” He clarified.

“Still it was awful nice of him to take the Boss out for us!” Trart shouted in Bob’s direction.

Bob walked back over to Stygian and Trart. “Yeah sure, nothing says ‘nice’ like showing off and taking one swing with the GM weapon.” She spat.

Trart pointed at the dead Keeper. “Soooo, you don’t want you’re share of the loot?” He asked.

She stepped between Trart and the Keeper. “I’m angry, not stupid.”  She clarified, as she opened the loot window. 

University of Console Heroics: Chapter 7

Clay is sitting alone at a large group study table surrounded by psychology books.  He is furiously writing notes in his notebook and referring back to the closest open book every few words. He finishes a sentence, puts his pen down and stretches his writing hand. From somewhere under the pile of books his cellphone rings. He shuffles books one by one until he unearths his phone and answers it. “Yo?”

Porter is on the other end, there’s music in the background and the sound of laughter. “Sup? You coming over tonight?” He asked.

Clay looks at his work spread out on the table. “Not tonight dude I got midterms to study for. I got a paper due on Wednesday that’s killing me.” He whispered.

Faith, working on her own homework at the table across from him, shushes him quietly. She has her finger over her lips but cannot keep from smiling. Clay nods and looks down at his notes.

Porter is almost drowned out by the sounds of the party around him. “Midterms, seriously? Nobody cares. You’re missing out on the really important shit dude!” He yelled as Clay turned the volume on his phone down as far as it would go.

Clay hunched over further and whispered into the phone “I’m pretty sure I’m not. I can’t put hang overs and Venereal diseases on my transcripts so I think I am actually taking care of the really important shit.” He finished.

Which didn’t matter because Porter had lost interest in talking to him. “Whatever dude, later.” 

He ended the call. Clay put his phone back in his pocket and returned to his work.

Several pages of notes later Clay once again began to feel his hand cramp. He put his pencil down and stretched his hand out again. A folded up piece of paper landed on his notebook. He unfolded it to find a note. “Rough call?”  Clay looked around the room to find Faith, the girl who had shushed him earlier looking at him with a smile on her face.

Clay flipped to clean page of his notebook. And wrote a reply, which he held up to show her. “Yeah sorry about that, didn’t mean to disturb you.”  She nodded and he put his notebook back on the table.

She scribbled in her own notebook for a second and held it up. “No worries.”

He scribbled a new note on a fresh sheet of paper. “What are you studying over there?” he asked.

She flips her closest book up so he can read the title. ‘Detail Oriented Crisis Management: The mind set of Survival Horror.’ Clay nods and she drops her book back down.

He scribbled a new note and held it up “What’s your name?” He asked.

After a moment of scribbling she held up her reply “Faith Northridge, what’s yours?”

He held up the sign he had already prepared “Clay Rodgers”

She nodded and held up her next sign. “What’s got you buried under books over there?” she asked.

Clay holds up his primary book titled ‘Way of the Gun: The psychology of crime.” She nodded and Clay dropped his book back down.

She was writing for a minute before her next sign appeared. “Thug Studies major?” she asked. Clay nodded.

He held up his next sign after a minute of hesitant writing. “Does that bother you?” he questioned.

Faith shook her head and scribbled a reply. “Why? Should it?” She asked. Clay shook his head silently they stared at each other for a moment, Clay smiled at her and she looked down at her work. He fiddled with his pen for a second and then returned to his notes. Each of them was smiling as they continued their research.

Clay had become completely entranced with his reading. He had lost track of time and the only reason he stopped was the Library intercom announced that the building would be closing in fifteen minutes. He looked up from his reading to notice that Faith was still there and had apparently ignored the intercom message. He wrote a note on a piece of paper, folded it into a little paper football and tossed it onto her table. It finally broke her concentration. She looked over at him and he pantomimed opening the piece of paper. She did and found the note “Care to join me for dinner in a place where we can speak for ourselves?” It asked. Faith looked back to Clay, smiled warmly and nodded her consent. 

Clay smiled and packed up his work. Faith followed his lead. Clay looked over to her table and for the first time saw that she was wearing a Nu Tau Delta shirt. Clay paused for a second and raised an eyebrow.

Faith finished packing her things and walked over to Clay’s table. She noticed his Rho Sigma Gamma patch on his bag but didn’t say anything as they walked out of the Library together.

Just past nine in the evening, the sun had gone down a long time ago and even though it was getting close to the warmer months there was still a little chill in the night air.

Clay couldn’t help himself. “Well, this could be interesting.” He commented.

“How so?” She questioned.

He shrugged. “A member of NuTau and RhoSig going to dinner together? Doesn’t that break a bunch of your sorority’s social rules?” He asked trying to sound causal about it.

Faith shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think a member of Rho Sigma Gamma would care about social rules.” She pointed out.

He smiled. “I don’t but I also don’t want you getting in trouble for being seen with me.”

Faith laughed. “Why don’t you let me worry about that. Although I probably should be worried shouldn’t I? You’re RhoSig and a Thug Studies major. They don’t get much more dangerous than you.” Sarcasm dripping from her lips.

Clay pretends to be shocked. “Are, are you making fun of me?” He asked with more affront then he felt.

She nodded. “You were in the library of your own free will, doing homework and you turned down a chance to party. How bad could you really be?” She asked.

Clay throws a finger up to make a counter point, realizes he doesn’t have one and then nods in agreement with her. “Point taken” He accepts, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

She takes a few steps to catch up with him and then slides her hand through the gap of his elbow linking arms with him. A smile on her face. “So where are we going for dinner.” She asked.

Clay thinks about this for a second. “Good question, where are you allowed to be seen?” He asked.

Faiths smile falters for a second and she shakes it off. “You and I both know it’s not really like that.”

Clay realizes she took his comment seriously. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny.” He clarified.

She shook her head “It would be funny if you weren’t so obviously worried about it.”

Clay shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the first member of NuTau I’ve actually talked to. I’m basically operating off of rumor and gossip.”

Faith considers this for a moment and then smiles. “How about this. For tonight, it’s just Clay and Faith. We’re not our associations, we don’t have social rules or organizations making us dance like puppets. Just be Clay Rodgers spending the evening with Faith Northridge.” She settled the issue.

Clay nodded in agreement. “All right then. Where would you like to go?” He asked.

Faith smiled. “You gotta decent fake ID?” she asked. He nodded. “We’re going to the AO bar then.”

Clay smiled. “What about dinner?” He asked.

“Don’t knock their wings until you try them. Plus this way we can settle the check fair and square, looser buys?” She asked.

“Looser of what?” Clay asked as they headed in the direction of the bar just off campus.

Faith’s smile picked up a predatory edge. “The only game that matters, pool”

Clay stopped walking for a second Faith separated from him as she turned around to face him while waking backwards. “I suck at pool” He admitted.

She nodded. “Good. I have more fun when the guy pays anyway.” She smiled turning to walk forwards again. He trotted to catch up and they linked arms again.

Catastrophic Personality Adjustment Counseling: Part 2

Zombie is pacing his counselor’s tiny office. She is looking through his journal. She pays him almost no mind even though he is clearly frustrated. “So that was my first counseling session.” She read out loud from his journal. “At first I wasn’t sure how to go about it, being a zombie and all that. But pretty quickly I realized that my counselor was right. I don’t know much about what kind of person I was before I died, but once I started writing I couldn’t stop, and what I was writing was opinionated and insistent. I had strong feelings about my new life, the world I found myself in and my experiences in it, which ranged from amazing and enlightening to frustrating and infuriating.” She finished the entry and closed his journal. Finally looking up to watch him pace. “So, this is your tenth session. By all accounts you’re doing very well.” She complimented him.

His pacing slowed but did not stop. “If you say so.” He grumbled.

She put his notebook down and picked up her notepad. “Something on your mind?” she asked.

He flopped into the couch with a heavy sigh. “Breathers.”

She scribbled a note. “What have I said about that world?” Her reminder came offhandedly, the way a parent chastises with an obvious question.

He rolled his eyes and stifled the urge to start pacing again. “Racism is a tool of oppression and while you can and must resist the powers that oppress you, never underestimate the poisonous ease their mindset has in corrupting your view of the world.”

She looks up from her pad. “That sounds more like something the Zombie Rights Activist Rigor Mortis would say.”

He met her gaze. “It’s not ‘like’ something he would say, it’s something he did say.”

She wrote a note. “And how much of Mr. Mortis’ work have you read?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Enough to know that the Z.R.A isn’t exactly the be all and end all of justice for my kind.” He watched her carefully.

She stopped writing. “What’s been bothering you about the living?” She asked. Setting her notepad down on her desk.

He tapped his temple three times. “They’re obsessed with brains.”

She pulled her feet up on the recliner and covered them with a blanket. “How so?” she asked.

He leaned forward on the couch. “Every licensed restaurant that serves Zombies serves mainly cow brains. The really high class joins that serve human brains, follow the law and serve certified death row inmates, and those places are expensive, so a majority of the population sticks to cow, which I am more than fine with.”

“Have you ever tried human brain?” She asked with nothing more than curiosity in her voice.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Once.”

“And?” She asked encouragingly.

He sat back in the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “My roommate is a dishwasher over at the Cranium Café. He was given some left overs one night and we tried it. Neither of us was terribly impressed. I found the flavor and texture to be too…rich.” He sat upright again. “Look, not a single zombie I’ve ever met obsesses over brains. We eat when we’re hungry and I’m just as lazy as everyone else who actually has a pulse so I go to Brainagain’s and I eat, Big deal right? But at least twice a day at work I hear ‘Hey man I ain’t a corpseaphobe but you keep looking at my skull like that and I’ma get pissed off’. Like dude! You face is on your skill and I have to make eye contact with you to do my job you idiot!” He angrily flopped back into the couch, once again staring at the ceiling in frustration. His eyes searching the tiles for some sort of sense. “Just because I’m a zombie doesn’t mean I have an uncontrollable desire to eat every brain I see”

She leaned over and grabbed her pad and scribbled a quick note. “So you’re being mistreated by your customer base?” She asked while writing.

He shook his head. “Not all of them, just the ones who ‘aren’t corpseaphobic’”

She set her pad down in her lap. “You can report them. That kind of harassment is against the law.”

Zombie snorted a sarcastic laugh. “So is refusing service based on your pulse or lack thereof but guess how many places I’ll never be allowed to shop in.” shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

She twirled her pen for a moment and then clipped it to her pad. “You seem to be developing a very strong sense of right and wrong.” She pointed out.

He shook his head without looking up from the couch. “Maybe, it feels more like I’m developing a finely tuned understanding of ignorance and the sheer ineffectiveness a single person has over the course of history.”

“How so?” She asked.

“Regardless of how stupid some people are, I know there are stupid zombies as well, and with the basic understanding of math that I have I can pretty much tell you that if we don’t already, zombies will soon outnumber living humans.”  He sat up and looked at his counselor. “Look the LAST thing I want is for any of the human apocalyptic wet dreams to actually happen, but like I said, humans aren't the only ones who are stupid.” He clarified.

She grabbed her pen and scribbled another note. “Is this a casual worry or…”

He shook his head. “Like I said, every zombie I ever met is just as lazy and laid back as almost every human. But someone’s putting up the resistance signs, someone is writing the literature encouraging us to give the humans what they desperately say they want.”

“And is that what you believe? That humans actually want to face a zombie apocalypse?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Hell no, I’m a zombie and I don’t want a zombie apocalypse, no human actually wants one either.”

“Why do you think they are obsessed with the fantasy then?” She asked.

“They lack a proper concept of scale.” He started. “Human beings have made it a long, LONG way in history on nothing more than fear and ingenuity. They allow the most close minded, fearful and richest among them to lead the rest, most of whom are willfully ignorant bastards that carry around the biggest guns a human can carry and yet still they run in terror at even the mention of equality. This cycle repeats every generation without fail and we have never, not once, learned from it.” He finished, his shoulders slumped.

“You said ‘we’ just then, why?” She asked,

“Because I came from them, I used to be them, just because I don’t have a pulse, and cannot remember being one of them does not entirely sever me from the consequences of their decisions as a species.” He clarified.

“What history lesson would apply to this situation in your opinion?” She asked.

He waved his hand almost dismissively. “Pick and era. Women’s rights, Civil rights, the ADA, same sex marriage, This country has a long, terrible history of holding itself together by targeting a minority and keeping them as marginalized as possible for as long as possible. And those groups didn’t have sixty years of fiction stacked up against them.”

She nodded. “The media has never been kind to the undead.”

He got up and started pacing again “I had hoped after ‘the gays’ became ‘people’, that we might have an easier time of it. But for some reason the LGBTQ population got right in line with the rest of the masses and joined in their hatred for the next new minority. Why humans celebrate getting to the top by kicking the people below them is beyond me.”

She tapped her pen on her pad a few times considering her next question. “Is it really that simple?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Of course not, there’s no part of this that’s simple. But even after ten years it doesn’t feel like humanity is willing to see this situation as anything other than an apocalypse, which to be fair is vast different than the Gay marriage era, because no matter how hard the Tea Party tried to spread the rumors, people refused to believe that gay men were going to march around the globe in a thoughtless mass chanting “coooooooooooks!” and eating straight men from the waist down.” He said down smiling at his horrible joke.

She suppressed a smile herself. “That would have set them back in their quest for equal rights.” She added.

He stopped smiling. “I am being serious though, it doesn’t seem to matter what kind of person I want to be, just what kind of monster Hollywood fantasizes I am.”

She pulled her feet out from under her blanket and sat forward in her chair. “Everyone struggles with who they want to be versus who they are perceived to be.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it.” He shoved his hands back into his hoodie pockets.

She nodded “Welcome to humanity.” She replied, standing up.

He stood as well and moved toward the door, stopping with his hand on the handle. “So if a vegetarian is someone who eats only vegetables then why are so many people proud of being humanitarians?” He asked.

Lidarion: Chapter 6

With the death of the Ogre the Orcs lost their advantage and gave up what little headway they had made into the barn. In less than thirty seconds the fight had moved outside into open field and the orcs scattered for the safety of houses.

Brandon looked at Trent in both awe and annoyance. “I don’t know if I’m more pissed off or impressed.”

Trent shook his head. “Either way, be it later, teams of two. Search the houses. Hopefully we scare 

them off, I don’t want to ruin this village any more than we already have.” He said as the rest of the soldiers grouped up into teams of two, leaving a pair to guard the barn. The other pairs quickly headed for the closest houses leaving the furthest building for Trent and Brandon.

The Building furthest from the barn was also the biggest. The village gathering hall. It only had a few rooms but they were spread out on two floors. They approached the front door which was hanging loosely open, moving back and forth a few inches on its damaged hinges. Trent and Brandon stood to the sides of the door and Trent pushed the door open with the scabbard of his sword. Nothing moved inside the building in response. The pair moved into the building covering each other’s backs. Far in the distance they heard the faint sounds of combat and then silence.

Brandon moved off to the left toward a door that would take him to the room where the stairs to the second floor were. Trent moved to follow but Brandon reached the doorway first. He stopped in the doorway for a moment and Trent moved to join him. As he got closer Brandon dropped his sword and Trent saw the back of his tunic turn dark with blood. The Orc kicked Brandon off his rustic blade and Trent blocked the Orc’s first swing and with a flash, severed his head from his body. The head went rolling across the floor and the body dropped lifelessly to the ground. Trent knelt to check on his friend.

He was already fading. His midsection a sloppy mess. “Look Trent, I come with a convenient carrying handle now. Lisa should like that.” His humor did not stop tears from coming to his eyes.

Trent was filled with equal parts fury and utter helplessness. “You are the dumbest bastard I know.” He said.

Brandon gave a bloody smile. “Don’t say it unless you mean it buddy.”

Trent. “What the hell do I tell her Brandon?” He asked.

Brandon was fading out, unable to focus. “Take me to her...tell her myself. Don’t take too long though, you’ve always been, the slow, one” His body didn’t go limp, He didn’t close his eyes, and there was no last gasp. Everything thing that Brandon was just silently vacated the bloody mess that used to be his body.

If Trent had any actual memory of what happened next he had never admitted it. The other members of the unit all swore that he alone killed the rest of the Orcs, even the ones that tried to run were chased down and ended without mercy.

By sunrise the rest of the unit had policed the orcs and the Troll a few hundred feet away from the village. The fire stank of burning flesh and moldy clothing. On the opposite side of the village Trent built a funeral pyre for Brandon. He watched over the fire alone until there was nothing but ash. He took Brandon’s sword and using the only anvil and hammer in the village, broke the blade off the handle. Filled his scabbard with his ashes and tied the handle into the scabbard, sealing the twine with enough tree sap to settle his fears of it popping open.

The raiding party had slaughtered the livestock and horses, the village was still standing but the next few months of their lives would be hard. He combined his and Brandon’s things into one pack, created a shoulder strap for Brandon's scabbard, and got ready to leave the front lines.

The eldest member of the unit approached him as he was getting ready to leave. “The war isn’t over.” He stated.

Trent didn’t even take his eyes off the horizon. “It is for me.” He said with finality, before taking off on foot, 

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.