I was growing tired of being treated like a cheap piece of carry-on luggage. My forehead pressed into Khaled's shoulder as he hustled out of the woods, wearing me like a backpack.

  Finally reaching the main road, he turned north toward Waystone, though I doubted the village was their ultimate destination.

  Whitcomb eventually caught up to us. His bandages were stained with blood and sweat, and he looked like a queasy mess. Screams and shouts echoed in the woods behind us, but my kidnappers paid it no mind, purely focused on putting distance between us and the ensuing battle.

  "After this mission I'm requesting a transfer," Whitcomb moaned, dragging his right leg behind him. "I wasn't expecting that freak to show up, but I'm glad he did. I told you to use the signal. Should've done it sooner."

  "Two teams already failed this task. What did you expect?" Khaled asked.

  "Reliable intelligence? I'm not holding back next time I see the handler. And this bastard..." Whitcomb slapped the back of my head. "He was supposed to be gravely injured—on death's door, is what she said. She never mentioned Black Diamond's involvement either."

  She?

  "You're sharp as a blade of grass. The handler informed us of several party's interest in the subject. He has a chaos shard."

  Whitcomb stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

  Khaled kept walking, clearly annoyed by his comrade's ignorance. "Learn to read and your brain won't be such a vast chasm of emptiness."

  "I prefer the emptiness. It's easier to live that way. You let those texts fill your mind with hopeless ideas of love and romance. Don't think that longing gaze of yours is subtle," Whitcomb fired back.

  "Shut up," Khaled said, his shoulders tense.

  Whitcomb pitched his voice high, impersonating a woman. "Oh, Khaled, your last mission's performance was so impressive I think you deserve a big sloppy kiss."

  Khaled stopped advancing, threw me on the ground and turned toward his comrade. "You said my name."

  "Who gives a shit? This bastard will be dead by morning."

  "The handler will hear of your blatant disregard for operating procedure," Khaled said.

  Whitcomb picked at the bandages on his face. "Do as you like. I'm certain she'll find your bitching attractive."

  I stared at Whitcomb's bloodied boots, surprised he was able to talk this much trash in such a wounded state. The back of his legs looked like they had fought a giant cheese grater and lost.

  Just bleed out already.

  "Fulfill your duty," Khaled said through clenched teeth as he left me at his comrade's feet.

  Whitcomb begrudgingly grabbed my leg and dragged me up the road. "Fulfill your duty," he said in a mocking whisper.

  Face bouncing against the ground, dust ran up my nose and loose gravel tickled my cheeks. Unpleasant as the sensations were, I rejoiced at the significance of my senses returning.

  He dragged me along for a quarter mile before he veered off the road into a grassy ditch where they had stashed a cart and a donkey, who was fast asleep. They heaved me into the cart and wedged me in-between a stack of crates before covering it with a burlap tarp.

  Whitcomb climbed in and took a seat on the crate beside me while Khaled woke the donkey. Ten minutes later, the cart was moving at a sloth's pace and I was finally able to curl my index fingers with enough power to press a button on a TV remote.

  You bastards are dead men walking.

  Lustful visions of violence played through my mind. I fantasized about taking a vegetable peeler to the rest of Whitcomb's face before ripping out his heart. For Khaled, I favored the idea of paralyzing him with his own poison, then giving him a front row seat to his own dismemberment.

  Torture wasn't my expertise, but I was confident winging it. I'd start with his legs. One clean cut, an inch above the knees. I'd probably need to cauterize his stumps, but then I'd be free to work on his hands.

  Am I sick?

  Clearly, the current situation was taking a toll on my sanity. After Soul Viper's last two straightforward assassination attempts, I hadn't expected such underhanded tactics. And I didn't cope well atthis level of helplessness.

  "Damn, it somehow looks worse than it feels." Whitcomb said, referring to his shredded legs.

  "Here, drink this," Khaled said.

  Whitcomb sucked down a health potion and sighed, dragging me one handed like I was a mere doll. "Give this prick another dose before the poison wears off. I've got an awful feeling brewing in my gut."

  "Another needle will stop his heart and we need him coherent enough for the interrogation."

  "Did ya see the mountain wolf break its jaw on his face? He ain't normal," Whitcomb said. "We found him running laps when he was supposed to be bedridden. This whole mission is cursed. "

  "You seek further embarrassment? I won't allow it, not with our promotions at stake," Khaled said. "And curses like that don't exist."

  Whitcomb chuckled. "Then what do you call this life?"

  I was on Khaled's side. Although, I had to admit he sounded like a small coastal town mayor assuring the townsfolk that the shark-infested waters were perfectly safe for the annual swimming competition. If they knew what was good for them, they'd bash my brains in and be done with it.

  The cart rocked as Whitcomb shifted on his crate. "Another opportunity for a promotion will always present itself. Instincts never lie. Stick him once more and I'll take responsibility if he dies."

  Silence ensued, every second feeling like an eternity.

  Don't you dare. Not again.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A needle pierced through the burlap tarp and pricked my thigh. All of my body's hard work of filtering out the poison evaporated.

  "Dead.. Kill... You..." I forced the words out of my throat as the tide of numbness rolled in and swept me away.

  "See, what did I tell you? He was lucid," Whitcomb gloated.

  Trapped in darkness beneath the tarp, unable to move a muscle, hardly able to breathe, hate festered. Hate for Soul Viper. Hate for myself and the choices that led me here. Then the regret sifted in like sand filling up the bottom of an hourglass. I was squandering my second chance.

  It was like being back in the abyss, forced into the all too familiar self-reflective loop I despised. Justice had blessed me with a modicum of power, and I let the worst parts of myself seize it.

  So much for making a world-wide impact.

  I was passing through this realm like the flicker of a dying flame, destined to be forgotten or never noticed in the first place.

  +1 Poison Resistance

  The glorious bold text floated down through the burlap cover, which spontaneously combusted my sense of self-reflection and self-pity as I digested the delicious ray of hope. Within fifteen minutes I was curling my fingers and toes with ease. Itchy burlap rubbed against my forehead as the rickety cart hit what felt like every possible pothole in the road.

  "Why did you choose a mule? This is taking forever," Whitcomb said.

  "Horses draw too much attention. Bandits won't bother two merchants transporting a couple crates of soap."

  "Who gives a shit about bandits?" Whitcomb asked.

  "We're in lawless territory, and the detour west of Waystone is bandit country."

  The Soul Viper duo launched into a back and forth argument where I learned about Whitcomb's incredible ability to get underneath Khaled's skin by asking the most inane questions, and no matter Khaled's answer he cycled through another round of who, what, when, where, and why's, running the heated discussion in circles.

  I would've preferred having bamboo slivers slid underneath my fingernails than be stuck with these two for an extended length of time. Without gaining the stat point in poison resistance, I would've been praying for death.

  Inch by inch, I regained control of my body. I rotated my wrists and wiggled my feet, joints loosening. The cart came to an abrupt stop and I froze, pretending to be completely stiff.

  "What are we stopping for?" Whitcomb yawned,

  "The wind carried in a musky scent from the north," Khaled whispered. "Horsemen."

  Wood creaked as Whitcomb climbed off the cart and pushed it from behind. "Our luck's been right shit since we nabbed this bastard."

  Khaled guided the donkey off the road as leafy branches clawed at the burlap cover.

  Whitcomb clicked his tongue. "This bush isn't concealing a damn thing. They'll see us from up the bend."

  "Stay quiet and keep to the ground," Khaled whispered.

  Despite the duo's silence, their mule was alert and apparently hungry. The animal grunted as it gnawed on our camouflage, ruffling the brush as the rhythmic pounding of hooves sounded around the bend.

  The ground trembled as the horsemen approached. Judging by the cacophony of earthy thuds and numerous voices, there were over a dozen of them.

  "Excuse me, Sir Prime Guardian Sentinel Leader, I think I saw movement down there," someone said.

  "Sentinel Mage Unit Operation Manager Number One, utilize spell number 72," a gruff voice said.

  Silence draped over the area like a wet blanket.

  The leader cleared his throat. "Gladys, cast illuminate."

  "Illuminate," Gladys said.

  An intense light bloomed, bleeding through the tarp and revealing Soul Viper's poor hiding spot. Leather saddles creaked and metal bits jingled as the horsemen gathered along the edge of the road.

  "Reveal yourselves," the leader said.

  I turned my head, lifted my arm, and carefully pulled back on the tarp, peering out through a tiny gap. Despite regaining the use of my arms, I still couldn't move my legs and my overall hand eye coordination was on the same level as a blacked out drunk.

  Over twenty horsemen crowded the road, staring down at the cart. Khaled and Whitcomb awkwardly stood up from the ground, hands raised overhead.

  "Please don't hurt us. We are but mere merchants traveling to Waystone," Khaled said in a skittish voice that even I found convincing.

  "Worry not, traveler. I am Sentinel's Prime Guardian Sentinel Leader of Sentinel's Bounty Hunter Division Squad Six," the leader said.

  Try saying that six times fast.

  "We are in pursuit of an adventurer named Cyprus. Supposedly he's located in a house at the top of a hill in the near vicinity."

  How the hell does everyone know about my shack?

  The wildfire-like spread of my whereabouts was almost as disturbing as the sheer number of hostile organizations after my life. I never predicted living my public persona would be more hazardous than running around as a masked homicidal maniac in the slums.

  "Unfortunately, our Sentinel Map Whisperer is on bereavement leave. His brother recently passed away in Oarwin during some strange mass archery training incident. Facing such tragic events have left us all wrought with grief. In light of those facts, would you lend us directional assistance?" the leader asked.

  Karma's Gaze revealed their leader as Roberto, a level seven bounty hunter with -1300 karma. I skipped the bonus data and focused on analyzing the rest of his group. Their levels ranged between four and five besides Gladys, the mage, who was level six and built like a brick pizza oven.

  For being a group with negative karma ranging in the 1000s, they were weirdly polite if not verbose. While Khaled played into the scared merchant role with little effort, Whitcomb was sweating buckets, drenching his bandages as goosebumps rose across his flesh.

  "You're not far off. Continue south for 1000 paces and you'll discover a Devil Beetle infested path on the left. Beware, we saw mercenaries in the area earlier," Khaled said.

  "Thank you," Roberto said and nodded, then glanced over at Whitcomb. "What happened to you?"

  "We are merchant brothers—uh, brothers and merchants! I've operated for years in the soap making and selling business. There are no gaps here in this soap expert's resume," Whitcomb rambled, pointing at himself.

  His bumbling response stunned Roberto, who had been on the verge of leaving before Whitcomb had tripped over himself.

  "I didn't ask about soap. What occurred resulting in such heinous injuries? Roberto asked, voice raised.

  Khaled bowed in front of Whitcomb and said, "Please forgive my brother. He recently suffered head trauma during a wolf attack."

  "Is that so?" Roberto asked. "He looks a bit nervous."

  Nervous was an understatement. Whitcomb was unintentionally tapping his feet like he was standing on hot coals, causing the sweat stained bandages to dangle from his face, his whole body vibrating.

  Is this man on the verge of a mental breakdown?

  "I—I—I—We are brother merchants—" Whitcomb started, but Khaled stepped beside him and draped his arm over his shoulder, shutting him down.

  "Pardon us, we must depart. As you can see he's in dire need of a healer," Khaled said.

  Roberto nodded. "Sentinel Bounty Hunter Division Squad Six bids you farewell. May Galdir aid in your brother's swift recovery."

  As Roberto guided his horse back onto the road, I let out an exaggerated cough, taking an impulsive gamble. The Soul Viper duo froze as the bounty hunters turned back toward them.

  "Sentinel Infantry Unit, search their cart," Roberto said.

  Horsemen swarmed off the road with their lances drawn, quickly surrounding both the cart and the Soul Viper fools.-

  They flicked the tarp off and I stared up at the gaggle of bounty hunters with bloodshot eyes. I stifled the rising urge to lurch up and rip out their throats, waiting for Soul Viper to make the first move. Khaled and Whitcomb may have had the level advantage, but they were outnumbered 10 to 1.

  Sorry Soul Viper, I'd rather be adopted by a new set of kidnappers than risk meeting Fisk again.

  A horseman gently lifted my hood with the point of his lance. "Sir, they're transporting a man that matches the description," he said.

  Roberto remained silent, pretending he didn't hear his underling.

  "Sir Prime Guardian Sentinel Leader, this man matches the description," he said once more.

  Khaled slowly raised his hand. "Allow me to explain—"

  "Silence," Roberto said. "I'll hear no more lies from you or your brother. Kill the merchants."

  The circle of lances snapped closed, but Whitcomb jumped over them as Khaled rolled aside and lit what looked like a coconut and tossed it into the crowd. The fruit exploded and black smoke flooded the roadside. Horses ran amok, splintering the bounty hunter's formation. I expected the duo to snatch me amidst the confusion, but they never came.

  A beacon of light emerged from the tip of a rod before a powerful gust of wind swept the smoke away. Gladys stormed forward on her mount, holding a ruby tipped staff as the bounty hunters regained their posture.

  Khaled and Whitcomb were gone, leaving no trace.

  Good riddance.

  I was eager to establish a fresh rapport with my new captors. At least they seemed better mannered. I laid still on the cart as Roberto rode up and peered down at me through the bronze slits in his helmet.

  "Sentinel Infantry Pursuit Unit, find the merchants and bring them back alive," he said, then pointed a finger in my direction. "Cut off his head. We have no need for his body."