For once, the mail didn't contain bills.

  When you lived like Brom did, you got used to the perpetual disappointment of the mailman. Where once upon a time a magazine or catalogue might have broken up the monotony, nowadays all he got were payment reminders, a few local business fliers, and far too many political ads. It was a reversal from the days of his youth, when his email inbox had been nothing but spam and everything important came in physical paper. Now his inbox was an archive of important documents he was too lazy to print, and his mailbox was a graveyard of irrelevance. The only spam Brom appreciated was the kind you could fry.

  There was only a single message waiting for him with a little icon indicating it had an attachment. It was neatly sorted in a tab marked 'System Messages' with a little pop-up helpfully telling him that these messages would be automatically deleted after thirty days. It was the first helpful thing he'd found.

  Rewards:

  Congratulations, Player Brom Jones, on not dying. You unlocked the Quest System, the Inventory, and some other features and functions you're probably too busy to hear me explain. For clearing the Tutorial, the Advanced Tutorial, and reaching level five, you were initially rewarded with XP. Authorization for further rewards based on performance have been greenlit, so enjoy this semi-useful item and some chump change. Oh, and remember to look at your class Menu. Or don't. I don't think there are any pictures involved, so it might take you a while to understand.

  It was growing more adversarial in personality with every interaction, as if it were reading his mind and figuring out how to piss him off the best. Maybe the System was doing this on purpose? Not giving him the information he needed, so he made suboptimal choices and got himself killed off? What if legendary classes were just horrific to balance, and so the System tried to actively kill them off early? It made a grim kind of sense, but at the same time seemed a bit too conspiracy theory for Brom.

  There were rewards, though, and for that he accessed the menu. Despite what the System implied, it wasn't that difficult. Everything was based on thought and will, and Brom was nothing if not a stubborn bastard. Now that he was safe and his initial stress had faded, it was pretty easy to putter around. TJ's tips and insights from earlier had given him the basic navigation tools the System hadn't, and now he didn't really need any more help. He found a wallet balance and was able to see where the System had given him a currency deposit. Huh, literal free money. This couldn't be bad for the economy in any way, shape, or form.

  The semi-useful item it had given him turned out to be a ring. There was a sense of disorientation as he took the ring out of his inventory. There was no physical motion required, no natural interaction. He just thought about wanting that ring in his hand, and a prompt flashed in front of his eyes.

  [Would you like to equip Ring of Aquatic Combat?]

  "Yes."

  TJ looked up from the sink. "You say something?"

  "Oh, I was equipping a piece of gear, didn't mean to say that out loud." His newly acquired spoil glinted on his middle finger, a thick silver band set with a smooth oval sapphire. A wave motif was worked into the metal, the breaking spray serving as the setting to hold the gem in place. "A ring of Aquatic Combat, you know what that means, right?"

  He and TJ shared a look, talking at the same time. "Monsters in the water." Just more reasons to hate oceans, lakes, rivers, and maybe even the swimming pools of suburbia. The rec center just got a whole lot more dangerous.

  Everything flickered, the lights shuddering inside and out. For a moment, both men wondered if maybe this was the electrical grid failing finally, like TJ had originally expected. The wall of sound that followed, like a celestial cannon going off, relieved them both. Just lightning and thunder. The cats weren't pleased at all, though, the sounds of many feet on the stairs signaling a feline exodus had begun. The five of them were leaving their rainy day comfort spaces for the safe haven of under the beds in the upper rooms.

  Except Bean, who was, as usual, stuck on a shelf with no way to escape. The dwarf cat murrped and paced, thankfully, nothing in his way that he could knock off. Brom had learned after the first few times the silly orange sausage had gotten himself stuck. With a sigh, he helped free the tabby from his predicament, watching his stubby legs bounce him up the stairs to join his brethren. Oh, Bean, would he ever learn?

  "Are you really, really sure you want to go to the store? Driving in this is going to suck. And that's if the cars work, I didn't test them yet." TJ peeked through the dining room curtains, watching the now blackened sky. The trees looked like sharpened teeth, gnashing in the howling breath of the wind.

  Brom started hunting for his keys. "This wouldn't be the first time I've driven somewhere in a storm. Did I ever tell you about the time I missed all the warnings and almost put my Jeep through a tornado? Yeah, not fun. Also, the reason I got the hell out of the Midwest. I'm not cut out for that shit."

  "You know, sometimes I wish that my Dad would drop cool lore like that. Then I realize that would be more I have to live up to, and I'm really glad he's lame."

  Rich laughter echoed off the walls, not quite drowned out by another clap of thunder. It seemed that TJ had it out for his old man today. Of course he did, it was why he'd come to spend the weekend with Brom in the first place. Still, he wasn't going to indulge that. Whatever issues Brom might have with his older brother and whatever flaws JJ possessed, ruining his relationship with his son was something he'd have to do on his own. "All things considered, he might not be so lame now. He might have gotten a cool class." Keys jingled as he found them and stuffed them in the pocket of his coat.

  "Cooler than a Barbarian? Doubtful." TJ made a move toward the door, a hand resting on the knob as he peeked out at the storm again. "Hey... Uncle Brom? I think there are people outside."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Like a camera flash, lightning popped bright and white and illuminated things through the gloom of the storm. Figures were arrayed across the end of the drive, not a huddle exactly, nor a line. A ragged cluster that had half made a decision and was half regretting it. Another flash, and the lights gave out entirely, with the prospects of their return uncertain. Who knew if the grid was gone for good or if it was normal storm damage elsewhere?

  It was a secondary concern at the moment as Brom pushed TJ back. "Go upstairs."

  "Hey, I've got a Class! I can-"

  "You're an Archer, right? High ground. Go upstairs, find a window, cover me." Actually, yes, Brom wanted TJ safely away from whatever might be about to happen. This was just a realistically plausible excuse to send the young man away with pride unwounded. He waited for the creaking to stop and settle, and then he stepped out onto the porch.

  It was only in the periodic illumination provided by the lightning that he could see them. At first, he tried to act natural, as if he were unaware, and turned his body as if he were going to head for the cars once he was off the porch. The crunch of footsteps on gravel was lost in the shriek of the wind and the crack of the thunder. But with every shot of bright hot light, he could tell they were just a little bit closer. Enough pussy footing around.

  He squared up, staring them down. Like a tiger facing wolves, his posture swelled, and his stance settled. That seemed to get their attention. For the brief lifetime of a raindrop, there was the hope that maybe they'd turn and head back down the drive, back down the way they'd come. The next second, lightning came from the wrong direction.

  - Hostile Magic Negated

  They must have been incredibly confident. No, it was obvious they were incredibly confident. Maybe they'd done this once or twice already, taken out a lone individual. The sort that enjoyed PK always existed, no matter what game. Maybe it was influenced by the System, turning people of a certain malevolent predisposition into bandits. Wasn't that often a first encounter for many players? As those red hostility indicators popped up over their heads, names hidden but levels visible, he had to wonder what they saw over him?

  If only he could have known the terror that went through them. One minute, everything was quiet, and their Mage got off a surprise lightning bolt, only for the bolt to just vanish? The next they saw that hostility tag flicker.

  Barbarian (Brom) Lv 6

  By then, it was too late.

  The whole of the front yard had separated them. It took Brom three running steps and five seconds to cross it. One flicker of lightning and he was over there. The next, he'd caught one of their Fighters by the shirt and hurled him somewhere off-screen. By the sound of branches, or was it bones, snapping loudly enough to be heard over the wind. The second fighter made a guttural noise as a meaty shoulder hit him in the gut, and then it was up and over and flying. The Mage and the Archer each felt a heavy hand land on their shoulders, and suddenly there was a pop... then those arms hung limply. The Healer was already running.

  Brom let him go. He just stood there, watching those nameplates get further and further away. As long as those fuckers got off his property and never came back. It took a while for the two he'd tossed to get up and get moving, but he heaved a sigh of relief when they did. His jacket had torn, his hair was plastered to his skull, and he couldn't have given less of a damn. This day needed to be over. He raised a hand in the air, making a deliberate fist, hoping that TJ saw and understood the motion.

  His hands were steady as a rock as he unlocked the Jeep and settled into the seat. After the Goblins, that fight wasn't even a blip on his emotional radar. What did send a chill down his spine was the fact that he fit in the Jeep. More evidence that the world had been subtly altered around him. It was a moot point, though. It would seem that cars were one of those pieces of civilization that weren't destined to work.

  The leather wrap of the wheel bit into his wrinkled forehead, drips from the ends of his hair, tracking down the steering column. "Goodbye, old friend." It was the end of an era. The reliable Wrangler, almost as old as he was, had finally met its maker. Without the car, though, the idea he had to walk into town sounded highly unappealing. Especially with fuckheads on the prowl. Who knew how many more ill-intentioned visitors the storm would bring?

  He exited the Jeep and headed back inside, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog the moment he was through the door. Coat was left to drip next to the door, a flashlight beam bobbing into existence as TJ came down the stairs. "Cars. Cars don't work either." Brom's voice was tired. "I can get a fire started in the fireplace. That'll keep us warm even if the power stays off. I know I still have some instant noodles in the cupboard we can have later. The trip to town is going to have to wait till dawn."

  TJ stayed silent, the beam of the light trembling a bit. His face was pale, his eyes wide, flinching away when Brom's gaze snapped to him. Oh. He'd seen. Brom hadn't even thought about what it would be like for his nephew to watch him fight, even for a brief moment.

  "Nobody died... I'm not a monster, TJ."

  "You looked like one. Like... I don't know. One minute, I couldn't see you through the porch. The next, you yeeted a dude into the darkness. You rag-dolled a man like an angry bear. I mean, I know you're strong, but...those are numbers. That was people."

  Calloused fingers pushed through wet hair, and Brom turned his face to the ceiling. "Yeah, and it's going to happen more often. Next time, you might have to shoot one of them. People aren't going to play nice, TJ. People have always been the worst monsters, TJ. The System just gave them tools to dig to hell even faster."