"If we get to know each other better, maybe we will not try to kill each other. Except you, Marius, were are cool." I explained sincerely before offering a fist bump to my boy.

  I immediately cringed because the undead had no clue what I was doing. I swear I needed to write a book of earth phrases and have them all read it. Actually, maybe I could create a translation skill and have it constantly active. Broadcasting subtitles to explain all my lingo? Might be power intensive, but would save so much time in conversation. Filing that away for light experimentation, I stuck to the normal method of explaining what I meant.

  "It's a fist bump, bro." I explained, reaching out to cup his fist and bumped it.

  "How intriguing. Is that how you greet in your culture?" Marius asked, head tilted.

  "Kind of... but we didn't start it. Bro culture is the true founder of the fist bump."

  "Bro culture?" Xynthia frowned.

  "Yep, they believed in the bro code, were men of substance, adhered to great laws passed down by bros of ages past." I paused for effect. "They sought the highest of honour. They sought to be legendary."

  "Legendary? What? Do you mean they wanted to become heroes of old?" Xynthia asked, perplexed.

  Furrowing my brows, I tilted my head back and forth, trying to compare the two concepts. In a sense, she was kind of correct; being a legendary bro was to become a hero of legend. Just not for the usual slay a dragon kind of hero. More like remain undefeated at Beer Pong kind of hero.

  "Sort of..." I answered before deciding to shift topics. "So Rak..." he glowered the moment I said it, "I mean Rakshur, what is this place? Some kind of safe house?"

  "Perhaps we should cleanse ourselves before we interrogate our host," Marius suggested.

  Looking down at my blood-soaked clothes, I couldn't help but agree. Only how was I going to accomplish this? Blood was the ultimate enemy of any clothing. It seeped into the fabric and took root like hooks into flesh. It also stank to high heaven. Frowning, I couldn't help but slap my forehead and think how stupid I was.

  "Hey Rak... I mean Rakshur, is there like a bathroom in this place?" I asked while looking around.

  I noted a living room, several couches, what looks to be a makeshift kitchen with a fire pit, pots and pans. A hallway to the right, dimly lit by a torch. Probably a magic torch. No way, that was still lit after all this time. And given the dust, nobody had occupied this place for a while.

  "Down the hallway, there is a bath." Rakshur narrowed his claws down the hallway.

  "Thanks dude," I turned to the others, glaring at them both. "Play nice while im gone."

  Xynthia rolled her eyes as if I had said something utterly stupid. While my man Marius was calm and composed, nodding like a dapper gentleman. Rak remained silent, arms crossed and looking really defensive.

  "Wait here; we will have a chat soon." I glowered down at the deceptive feline.

  With our reckoning postponed, I made my way to the bathroom. Passing through the darkened doorway, the room came into view. It was small, barely a few metres across, with a wooden bathtub in the centre. Some sort of magical tap hung over the side. At least I figured it was magical considering all the runes etched. Ignoring the artefact, I stepped into the bathtub, noticing a drain.

  Pulling my cape aside, I dropped it in the corner. Then came the leather armour. Once suitably disrobed, I activated the cleaning function of my suit. The smell of flowers assaulted my nostrils, then I suddenly felt a tearing sensation as the suit ripped away and dumped every piece of viscera into the bath. It sloughed off like dripping oil. The act lasted only a few minutes before I was clean and as fresh as a daisy.

  However, blood and bile thoroughly defiled the bathtub. But with a quick tap of the rune, warm water streamed forth to drain away the sins. Looking around at the odd architecture made me curious about what this place was before Rak made it his home. Seemed like a hotel room, perhaps a guest room. Regardless, the place was a welcome reprieve.

  Next, I washed my cape and armour as best I could. Drenching the fabric in water and scrubbing furiously, I barely cleaned the articles before giving up and dumping them into my bag. Hopefully, they would dry in an extra-dimensional space. Exiting the bathroom, Xynthia took my place, washing her blood-soaked hands.

  We all waited patiently in the living room as if we were waiting for a sister to finish her make-up. Like in the movies. Eyeing Rak cautiously, I wondered if he would go for his hidden weapon. He was being pretty stealthy, but anyone with half a brain could expect him to have some stashed weaponry. I just hoped he didn't whip it out before we could talk... that sounded way dirtier than I intended.

  Stolen story; please report.

  So there we were, three dudes chilling on an old, ratty couch. Waiting for a woman we all just met to finish in the bathroom. This felt very human; I kind of liked it. Reminds me of so many Korean dramas I got a tad obsessed with a few years ago. Only I doubt romance was in the air. Considering one of us was a gargoyle man, another a dead person walking, and me, who has literally no experience with human women at all. Now that I think about it.

  Frowning, I tried to draw upon my knowledge of the fair sex, as they were called in the media. Personally, the only woman I had ever met before was our beloved manager. And to be fair, I don't think she was strictly female. Physically, she appeared female; we were all modeled after male and female humans. But some of us had more variation in our genders. Gender was literally a construct back at the office, when gods got involved.

  "So you didn't accept the system; may I ask why?" I questioned, trying to break the ice.

  "No," his gruff refusal told me I had asked a dumb question.

  I wanted to slap myself; that was probably a touchy subject. Feeling slightly embarrassed, I nervously adjusted my jacket, feeling something in my breast pocket. Withdrawing the article, I found a pack of menthol cigarettes three-quarters full. The moment I laid eyes on the packet, all the stresses of my time on this world came down upon me like an avalanche. Before I could even blink, I had pulled out my lighter and plopped a lit cigarette in my mouth.

  Inhaling deeply, I sighed in contentment as the nicotine did its job. Waiting for relief from the more hazardous effects of the smoke. Waiting for a full minute, I blinked in confusion. No gentle caress of healing magic washed over me. I only felt the smoke do its job, absent a mitigating of the consequences.

  "No way..." I couldn't help but blurt out.

  "What is it now?" Rakshur said tiredly.

  "Those bastards! They were healing me the whole time!"

  That was not a good idea. Both of them looked at me, puzzled by my sudden outburst. I felt like that crazy guy on the side of the road, spouting on and on about the president being a lizard. Not exactly a good look, and it showed. Please don't look at me like that; I'm a totally normal dude. No instability up here.

  But thought doesn't make the world; action does. I wondered where that quote came from. Taking another draw of my cigarette, I tried to ignore the staring and assessed my options. The revelation that the company kept my health in check was not a good thing to learn. Did this mean... I am not immortal? Would I grow old? The surge of fear that followed that deathly realisation made me shutter.

  We were immortal, ageless creations of the gods. Yet, the gods created us in the image of mortal beings. We did age, yes, reached an age of our choosing and stopped. Sammy was one of those who looked older and ceased aging. It was an act of will; we could choose to stop aging. Or was it? Perhaps the gods just staved off the aging process while we worked. Kept us healthy to ensure we didn't die of old age or die of cancer.

  I shuddered. The truth of it was hard to ignore. Sitting on a ratty couch, next to an undead and a monster... but that was a bit judgy. Unable to stem the tide of emotion crashing down on me like an avalanche. Fear, uncertainty and the cold dawning of mortal existentialism. I felt like I could cry, but all I could do was laugh. Chuckling like a madman at the absurdity of my life. Which was now substantially shorter.

  I thought of anything I could do as fear tore its way into my chest and took root in my heart. I never needed to ponder a shorter life or the concept of growing old. Then a thought occurred, and I clung to the hope that I was wrong. Jenny, do you have a log of how old I was before I left the office? Sending that thought and all the hopes attached, I awaited the prompt. She had a notification for it; age was a basic feature of the system, but I never added it. Besides, it was a hidden statistic.

  [Age: 24 years, 9 months, 23 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes, 7 seconds.]

  Down to the second, that was pretty accurate, and that proved I was immortal. Because I had lived far longer than that. This was the biological age of my body, not the time that went by in service of the gods. We achieved immortality at the age we found appropriate. Being a young twenty-four-year-old seemed my preferred option, and so that is what I chose. How old am I right now? I reluctantly sent the thought, and I could feel Jenny wanting to withhold this knowledge. Since the prompt didn't come immediately.

  [Age: 24 years, 9 months, 24 days, 2 hours, 16 minutes, 33 seconds.]

  I couldn't breathe; I just stared at the numbers in complete and utter shock. This can't be; this has to be wrong. But I knew it was accurate; in my heart of hearts I knew. Jenny wouldn't lie to me... but she did? Maybe she didn't know? But the data had been there, she would have known, and she played along. Why did she play along?

  Stuck inside my head, I sat smoking a death stick and staring into space. Lost in these thoughts and unable to interact with the world around me. Swirling thoughts, crippling emotions and the oncoming dread. No doubt mortals had already accepted this. But not me; I had never dealt with the fear of growing old. And it showed.

  "I'm going to die." I muttered barely under my breath.

  "We are all going to die, fool. But you will probably die way before me." Rakshur snorted disdainfully.

  "It is the fate of all mortals. I am already dead if that helps. It is not too bad," Marius interjected. He sounded sincere.

  Like a tether, I latched onto his words, completely ignoring Rak and his sneer. He was undead, immortal and would never have to worry about the threat of age. As the smoke wafted before my eyes, an idea took shape. It was insane, but I could swing it.

  "Hey Rak, your lord?" I turned to him. "He's a vampire, right?"

  "Of course he is, what of it?"

  "Nothing, just curious." I grinned madly.

  It was a plan, but I needed time to develop it. I would never have accepted mortality, not when you took eternity from me. Ignoring the fact that it was of my own actions. Letting my responsibility fall to the wayside, so intent I was at correcting this mistake with my own hands and skill. Immortality was just another piece of code, another system integration. And I would take that vampire apart to get it.

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