We were on our sixth gate and thirty-seventh citation when Megan and I encountered our first group of crawlers. At the previous gate, I mentioned that we might get lucky that day and not see a single one. She hissed that I would jinx it. Turned out that she was right.

  Megan shot me a glare as four men and one woman, all in well-worn plate and chainmail armor, stomped toward us the moment they exited the gate.

  The man in the lead had a long gray beard and bushy eyebrows to match. I assumed he was the party captain. “Can I help you folks?” he asked.

  “We’re CDM Enforcers, sir,” Megan replied.

  “I can see that. What are you doing here?”

  “In light of the recent CDM casualties, we’ve been instructed to step up enforcement to keep our people safe,” I said, parroting a line the agency gave us.

  “We’re rule followers, so I don’t understand what you would be writing.”

  “Full explanations for infractions will be in the citation,” Megan answered.

  “Now wait a minute.”

  “What’s your crawler identification number?” I asked.

  He sighed and gave it to me. I added it to the batch of citations Megan and I collaboratively assembled from poking away at our tablets.

  “Feel like a big man, son?” the crawler said to me, moving uncomfortably close.

  It was my turn to sigh. “You are obligated to respond to your citations within seven calendar days. I’m sending them to your crawler account now.”

  As we returned to our car, the crawler looked at his phone.

  “A broken taillight?” he yelled. “Improper parking distance? What is this shit?”

  “It’s all explained in the citation, sir,” I replied.

  “No, you stop right there.” He stomped toward us. “This is harassment. I wanna see your IDs.”

  Megan and I held up our badges. He took pictures of them both and then backed up to take a photo that included our faces.

  “What are you two playing at? I’ve been on dozens of gate sites over the years and haven’t heard of half of these bullshit infractions.”

  “As I said, we have been instructed to increase enforcement,” I repeated.

  “We’re working people. We can’t afford all these fines.”

  “I can’t do anything about that, sir.”

  He stepped into my face. “The hell you can’t.”

  The other crawlers from the party ran over. “Pop! No. It isn’t worth it. Let them go.”

  “You think because I’m old I can’t work you over?” he snarled at me, his nose nearly touching mine. “Why don’t you try your luck? See if your level is higher than mine, huh?”

  I could read, so I already knew from his gate registration that he was a level 7 barbarian.

  “I should advise you there’s a dashcam recording at all times.” Megan pointed into our windshield. “Step back, and we’ll forget that you threatened a CDM Enforcer just now.”

  The crawler narrowed his eyes once more and stepped back. He jerked away from his party’s attempts to physically control him.

  We got in the car. I was in the driver’s seat.

  “Fucking prick,” Megan hissed as she tapped her tablet so hard I thought she might put her pointer finger right through it. “‘Why don’t you try your luck?’ Real tough guy asshole.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Give me a second.”

  She lifted her head. “You should put the car in drive,” she said, watching the group of crawlers a few dozen feet away.

  “Why…”

  “He’s about to… Yep. Beautiful. He’s reading that I cited him for threatening a government employee.”

  Megan clapped and cackled.

  “Suck on that, redneck Santa.”

  ***

  We were on our way back to the office a little before 7 p.m.

  Megan and I were exhausted from the day and the broader ordeal, so neither of us talked. We listened to a random talk news station. It was the first thing on the radio, and neither of us wanted to fuss with finding a better station. Who the hell still listened to radio, anyway?

  Whoever had this car before us, apparently. Megan bet it was Chapman, saying she seemed like the kind of person who would listen to AM talk radio. When I asked her to explain what kind of person that was, she insisted it was obvious without giving me a single specific.

  A single voice talked endlessly:

  “...it’s simple class warfare. Gates are expensive to deliberately box out a blue-collar man or woman from climbing the ladder. Citizen soldiers freed us from the British. Citizen crawlers saved our country while the communists on the other side of the world let theirs burn. Even something as benign as cannabis, the everyman fought for it to be legal, and then only venture capitalists could afford to be in the business. Don’t have a few million dollars handy? Can’t afford gate fees just like you can’t afford a grow license.”

  Megan turned it off. “We don't need anyone to tell us the gate system is rigged. We already know.”

  “What if I were a strict company man and thought that was suspicious?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “I think people protect their interests, but I also understand why it's set up like it is.”

  “You're okay with gates being pay-to-play?” Megan asked.

  “Come on. I didn't say that. It for sure sucks. I'm just not prepared to say all of it sucks by intentional design.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “People being accidentally shitty is a little better than people choosing to be shitty.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  After a long silence, I added, “I'm up for alternative crawling and leveling ideas, by the way. If there's a way to improve my odds even the tiniest amount, I would be interested.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don't need to get rich, but a few months of not being stressed out of my head by bills would be cool. That's why I want crawler money.”

  “That's all the bigger your motivation is? Money?”

  “I like the challenge and the rush of crawling, but…”

  Megan leaned over. “...but?”

  “I don't know who or what I want to be. I was pretty sheltered as a kid, so I didn't know what my options in life really looked like until I moved out. At that point, surviving was the only thing that mattered. Not a lot of time to plan or to weigh your options.”

  “How does that turn into crawling?”

  “The CDM gave me an interview,” I answered. “So I tried to figure out a plan based on that. If the electricians’ or carpenters’ union had given me a chance, I would have planned around those. I want enough money that I can sit down and actually think for once, you know?”

  “Stability.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The money comment was mean,” Megan said. “I'm sorry.”

  “I wasn't offended.”

  Megan looked out the window. “We need investors.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m not joking. Seed money. Some capital to get a team or guild going.”

  “Everything I know about that comes from some scammy YouTube gurus,” I admitted. “I wouldn't say no to that path, but who do we ask?”

  “That's where I got stuck too,” she answered. “Established parties fail on those pitches all the time. I don't know what I could ever bring to the table that they can't.”

  “I once did the math on how much money I would need to get to China to train,” I said, laughing. “Fly to Japan. Hire a boat. Run gates for a few years where there's no competition.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “You'd die.”

  “That was my conclusion as well.”

  Megan joined me in laughing and collected herself after. “You know people actually do that though, right? You can book training excursions with high-level parties, and they go out of country to get access to more gates.”

  “I'm not surprised.”

  Her cheeks suddenly went red. “If we're admitting embarrassing things, I took a serious look at gate crashing.”

  “How serious?”

  “Umm… Enough.”

  “Enough for…?”

  “Promise not to tell?” She asked.

  “Promise.”

  Megan chewed her cheek as if reconsidering whether or not to tell me. “The crashing guides say thirty-minute runs, but there's a stretch of land that straddles Pennsylvania and New York. Any gate that appears in that area is one hour and fifteen minutes away from the nearest CDM field office.”

  “Clever. If you get lucky with where a gate appears, you're guaranteed that much time to crawl. Where did the plan break down?”

  “Breaking the law is expensive. I'd have to get there, live there, and have transportation, ideally a solid off-roader or a good truck and an ATV. That's a lot to only get away with it for a few months before someone catches on.”

  “All solid problems,” I agreed. “If you have a stroke of inspiration on this at some point, tell me. I'd be happy to do the same.”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  “Are there any suspects?” Nathan asked, eating another spoonful of cereal.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I answered. I sank into the couch cushions and released a long exhale. “This is me theorizing and not insider info that I'm leaking, but the CDM is after forty-six decent-level crawlers across seven states. If the crawlers were smart, none of them raided gates in their home state. That leaves a giant pool of potential suspects. Too giant.”

  “And guildies won't rat.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Do you think the government has a special forces crawler team?” Nathan asked, half-joking. “Some clandestine crew of all level 40s that can beat down even the most famous crawlers?”

  “I kind of hope so.”

  “Right?” Nathan munched another bite. “If a crawler goes on a rampage, it’d be nice if someone could stop them.”

  “Can I ask you something strange?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you get into HVAC work?” I asked.

  Nathan looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Huh?”

  “I'm serious.”

  “Uhh… so I could buy food? You were there for this.”

  “Are you passionate about it?”

  Tilting his head, he said, “I am passionate about eating. I guess you could describe it that way.”

  “No, I mean HVAC being a passion.”

  “You okay?” he asked. “No, bro. I am not ‘passionate’ about air conditioning. I don’t hate it. The work is interesting sometimes. But it’s still work.”

  “So, it’s not weird that I went into crawling for the money?”

  “I mean, it’s dangerous. That’s crazy to me, but so is joining the Army or being a firefighter. For all the crawling streams we’ve watched, I figured you had at least an interest in it.”

  I nodded.

  Nathan set his dirty bowl in the sink. “Are we still going down to visit Beth on her shift?”

  “You just ate a bowl of cereal.”

  “And…?”

  I grimaced. “You’re going to drink beer on top of that?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s gross, man.”

  “Are we going or not?” he pressed.

  We eventually arrived at Deerskull Saloon. At 9 p.m. on a Monday, it wasn’t particularly busy, but a few people sat at the bar, and a handful of the dining room tables were taken. Beth smiled when she saw us come in and offered us a seat.

  “Bar is fine,” Nathan answered.

  I nodded that I agreed. “How’s the night so far?” I asked Beth.

  “Been a little slow, but it’s not bad. I’ll probably get cut early.”

  “No worries. Just text me, and I’ll come back to get you if we’ve left already.”

  She smiled. “I might get a break here soon. If I do, I’ll come sit with you for a bit.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to,” I said. “We know you’re working.”

  “You good, man?” Nathan asked as we both claimed seats at the bar. “You’re acting like something’s bothering you.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned on the bar. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. One day, I feel like gaining a few levels is getting me closer to something good, but then half the city reminds me that the levels don’t really help me because I’m stuck being CDM.”

  Frowning, Nathan said, “I read all the same career shit as you, and I had your original takeaway. Work hard and you can get a good gig crawling. I feel duped on your behalf by what it’s really like.”

  Nathan held up two fingers to the bartender.

  “Whatever’s on tap,” Nathan added before turning back to me. “You’re only a few months in. If you ride out the internship and don’t like it, bail. You’ll have a few levels, and that will make your life easier no matter what you decide.”

  “For once, I want to pick a point in the distance and actually get there, you know?”

  “I hear you.”

  “You’re right, though,” I admitted. “Six months isn’t all bad, considering. I need to be applying for something new in the next month or so if I want a shot at having a new job by then.”

  Nathan smiled when our beers arrived and gave the bartender an appreciative nod.

  “Thanks for listening. I know I’ve been talking in circles.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. I knew Nathan didn’t mind, but ever since we met, I always worried that the next moment would be the one where he realized I was nothing but annoying deadweight. That feeling appeared when we first met, and I had carried it ever since. No matter how many times Nathan showed up for me, I expected him to leave my life for good at any second.

  “You’re Beth’s brothers?” An older man in a black polo stood across the bar from Nathan and me.

  Before I could answer, Nathan did. “Yep.”

  “I’m Dale. I’m the GM here. We’re happy to have her. She’s a good kid. Hard worker. Actually shows up.” He chuckled a little bit for that last part. Though he said it with the tone of a joke, I got the sense it really wasn’t.

  “She seems to like it,” I said.

  “Happy to hear that. Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

  Nathan raised his glass slightly. “You’re a good dude, Dale.”

  Our conversation lulled as we watched football highlights on the television over the bar. Neither of us followed the sport, but for some reason, it was the most interesting thing in the world to us if it was on in a bar.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar face.

  “Fuuuuck me,” I said, turning sharply and dipping my head as if I could hide behind my own shoulders.

  Nathan looked around. “What?”

  “The guy with the beard that just came in. I wrote him like $2,700 worth of citations today, and then my partner cited him for threatening a CDM Enforcer. That’s $2,500 alone and could cost him his crawler license.”

  “Nice to hear you’re making friends.”

  “It’s not funny. He didn’t seem all that stable.”

  Peeking around me, Nathan said, “Well, he hasn’t noticed you. So maybe you’re good. Welp. Now he noticed you.”

  “Is he coming over?”

  “Uh huh.”

  A nubby finger jabbed my shoulder repeatedly. “Hey, jagoff. Remember me?”

  “Listen. I’m an intern. I don’t even get to decide when I use the bathroom.”

  “Could’ve decided not to bend me over and ruin my life,” he said, leaning an elbow onto the bar when I didn’t turn to address him. “Could lose my license because of you.”

  “I understand you’re upset. This isn’t going to help.”

  “Ever hear what they say about a cornered animal?”

  Nathan stood. “Dude. Let me get you a beer, and we can all cool off.”

  The crawler pointed at Nathan. “I don’t wanna hear another word out of you.”

  “Not even if those words are ‘free beer?’”

  Reaching over me, the crawler shoved Nathan with one hand. In addition to the force of the push, Nathan’s foot caught on the leg of a barstool as he fell backward. He tried to catch himself on a small table, but he only succeeded in bringing it down with him. That included the two drinks and basket of fries sitting on it.

  “What the fuck, man?” I yelled as I shoved the crawler back with both hands.

  I recognized too late that I did exactly what he wanted me to do. He stepped one foot back to resist the shove and threw a haymaker.

  I leaned to the side to duck it. He came back with another, and I slipped that too. Having 10 dexterity was pretty cool, I remember myself thinking for a brief, foolish second.

  The crawler lunged at me with both hands as every vein in his body tensed and bulged. His eyes were crazed, and his grin stretched into something horrifically gleeful.

  I twisted and pulled to escape his grip, but I couldn’t overpower a level 7 Berserk, and dodging wasn’t possible with him holding me in place. Pulling me in suddenly, he slammed his forehead forward.

  I heard my nose crunch, and my world turned into a swirl of white light.

  That was my first ever fistfight. I was simultaneously keenly aware that my life was in danger and that I needed to do something about it while also having no fucking idea what was happening.

  My body smashed into something hard, and the chaos paused. I swam through the fog and tried to deduce where I was.

  The floor. This was definitely the floor. A woman was screaming. My hands came into focus. Oh boy, that was a lot of blood.

  A few male voices joined the woman, and then Beth’s face was in front of mine.

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” she said, helping me sit up against the wall.

  “You’re not leaving until the cops get here,” Dale gruffed.

  “Look at him!”

  “You leave, and I’ll tell them you fled the scene.”

  I raised a hand to try and calm Beth. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

  Nathan sat on the edge of a booth with his legs in the aisle. He held a bloody towel to the back of his head. With a wince, he gave me a thumbs-up.

  As my vision stabilized, I saw that this corner of the bar looked like it had seen an all-out brawl. The edge of the wooden bar was smashed in, leaving splinters and sharp points behind. Several chairs and tables were broken. Shattered glass was everywhere and crunched endlessly as people moved about.

  Two police officers arrived and sighed at the wreckage of the scene.

  “Ambulance is on its way,” one said. “Try not to move.”

  “Cancel it,” I wheezed. “I can’t pay for it.”

  “Sir, to do that, we have to-”

  “I consent and take responsibility or whatever else I have to say. Cancel it, please.”

  The same officer turned to look at Nathan. He gave the cop a thumbs-up.

  Nathan’s first thumbs up was reassuring, but two in a row didn’t seem like a good sign. No normal person thumbs-upped that often.

  We each gave our statements, which may have taken a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. I couldn’t tell. We weren’t under arrest but were advised we would need to appear in court to contest the fines for property damage and for disturbing the peace. One of the officers hinted that being CDM made that a slam dunk in my favor. As soon as a judge saw that a crazed crawler attacked a government employee, that would be the end of the hearing.

  “Where are your keys?” Beth asked. “I’ll drive you two to the hospital.”

  With an extreme amount of effort, I fished them out of my pocket.

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