Twin suns climbed over the horizon, painting the forest in gold and amber. Mist curled off the river as Barrett stood waist-deep in the current, his coat tossed carelessly on the bank. He’d liberated his biceps, and they gleamed in the light like polished bronze.

  He moved through a kind of machete kata, a style he’d developed on his own. Each swing cut the air with a hiss, droplets of river water spraying in glittering arcs. His muscles tensed, released, and tensed again, until sweat mingled with the river on his skin.

  “Good morning, Mister Donovan!”

  Barrett turned his head slightly. The red-haired girl stood at the bank, waving eagerly, her long braids swinging.

  “Mornin’... uh…”

  “My name’s Pippy!” she announced proudly.

  He grunted, eyes back on the blade. “Good for you.”

  Undeterred, she kept smiling as he continued through his forms. Slashing, pivoting, striking. The machete whistled through the air until he finally stopped, breathing deep, steam rising off his shoulders.

  He climbed onto the shore and stretched, letting the sunlight dry him. Around camp, the survivors were stirring. Some crouched near bushes plucking bright berries; others fumbled with strange new abilities, trying to fish from the shallows using sparks or gusts of wind. Fred, predictably, was barking orders, organizing people to gather wood and build something resembling a camp.

  Barrett watched it all for a moment, amused, before glancing at Pippy.

  “Listen, pipsqueak. I’m heading out on a quest today. Might be gone for a bit.”

  Her eyes went wide. “A quest? May I join you, Mister Donovan?”

  “Negative. Too dangerous for a kid.”

  “I understand,” she said softly, though her voice was laced with disappointment.

  Barrett stared at her for a beat, then smirked. “Actually, come along.”

  Her head snapped up. “Really? What made you change your mind?”

  He rubbed his chin as if contemplating something profound. “If a badass kicks major ass in a forest and nobody’s there to see it…is he still a badass?”

  Pippy gasped with admiration. “So wise, Mister Donovan!”

  “Damn right.”

  “Going on a walk?”

  Barrett turned to see the old woman approaching, cane in hand and a knowing smile on her face.

  “I said a quest,” he corrected. “And I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to tag along, Granny. Don’t want you slowing us down.”

  The woman laughed softly. “Oh, don’t you worry, dear. We, seniors, love a good morning power walk.”

  “Dude!” The blonde boy in the hoodie jogged up, his portly friend puffing behind him. “You’re going out to grind levels? Bring us with!”

  Barrett eyed them, then shrugged. “Hell, why not. Let’s party up!”

  Cheers erupted from the small crowd. Barrett grinned.

  Later, Barrett strapped his coat back on, adjusting the collar. Across camp, Rei strolled past, her blouse untucked, jacket slung over her shoulder. Even in the morning haze, she carried herself with the same sharp control she always had. Barrett tried to imagine her after a few drinks.

  “You heading out to do some adventuring?” She asked with a faint smile.

  “Yeah…let me guess, you want in?”

  Rei shook her head. “Nah. I’m helping Fred and Tanya reinforce the shelters, maybe figure out who’s got what abilities. Somebody’s gotta play logistics.”

  “Right.” Barrett tried to hide his disappointment.

  “But hey,” she added, “you guys have fun out there, hero.”

  He grunted.

  She turned, walking backward now. “Oh, and keep an eye out for that boy, Max.”

  “Who?” Barrett raised an eyebrow over his shades.

  “The quiet one. About this tall, dark hair, puffer jacket. Loner vibes.”

  Barrett shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Rei sighed. “He left early this morning. Said this group was ‘holding him back’ and he needed to get stronger.”

  Barrett chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah. That kind of guy.”

  Rei smirked faintly. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

  “No promises.” He flashed a grin, adjusted his machete strap, and looked out toward the glowing treeline. The suns were rising higher now, and the air filled with the scent of sweat, steel, and possibility.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  —

  Barrett and the team set off not long after sunrise. The twin suns burned through the mist as they followed the river upstream, boots crunching over roots and pebbles. The air smelled faintly of moss and iron, and the water murmured beside them like a lazy companion.

  After a while, the trail bent away from the river and wound toward the base of a mountain. No one asked where they were going. No one questioned his pace.

  Barrett smirked behind his shades.

  Guess people can’t help but follow the man with the plan.

  He’d spent his whole life thinking leadership was reserved for the chosen few: the generals, the CEOs, the podcasters with Lambos. It turns out that all it took was a plan and a little bit of confidence.

  They encountered trouble here and there. A few half-starved predators or a band of goblins skulking through the trees. Each fell quickly beneath Barrett’s blade. By the time they were done, the forest floor was dotted with green blood and corpses.

  While Barrett wiped his machete clean on a goblin’s vest, the blonde kid in the hoodie, the one who’d cheered for his “quadra kill”, walked up, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

  “I don’t feel right sharing XP when you do all the work,” he muttered.

  Barrett looked up, sunlight flashing on his shades, and grinned. “Now you’re sounding like a real man. You got a name, kid?”

  “Lance.”

  “Lance, huh?” Barrett nodded, impressed. “That’s a strong name. You got the makings of a badass.” He bent down, grabbed a goblin’s rusted axe, and held it out. “Here. Consider this your starter pack.”

  Lance took the axe, testing its weight. “That’s it? No lesson? No warnings?”

  Barrett chuckled, low and deep. “What, you expecting me to say something like, ‘It’s more important to know when to swing the blade than how to swing it’?”

  Lance cracked up. “Yeah! Or like, ‘First I’ll teach you to use your head, then I’ll teach you to use your blade.’”

  Barrett laughed until his abs hurt. “Kid, don’t overcomplicate it. You wanna be a badass like me? Pick up a weapon and hit something!”

  A small voice piped up beside them. The chubby boy who’d been tagging along adjusted his too-big hoodie and raised a tentative hand. “Can I…also be a badass?”

  Barrett rounded on him, peering over his shades. “And who the hell are you?”

  The boy startled. “Arthur?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  He straightened. “I’m Arthur.”

  Barrett’s mouth split into a wicked grin. He stuck out his hand.

  “Damn right you are.”

  Arthur took it hesitantly.

  “Harder,” Barrett said quietly.

  The kid squeezed tighter.

  “Now let me see the fire in your eyes.” Barrett’s voice was low, controlled, almost serious.

  Arthur’s lip trembled as he tried to glare.

  “You ready to kill the next thing that looks at you funny?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Call me Coach.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  They stood this way for a while as everyone looked around nervously.

  Then Barrett finally released him, and everyone let go of the breath they were holding.

  He grabbed another goblin axe from the ground and slapped it into the boy’s hands. “Here, make me proud.”

  The kid’s eyes went shiny. “R-really?”

  “Don’t get soft on me now,” Barrett barked.

  Arthur straightened, puffing his chest out. His face scrunched into what he thought was a warrior’s expression.

  Barrett nodded solemnly. “Good man.”

  Arthur crouched into a battle stance, axe trembling but eyes sharp.

  Barrett grinned, raised his machete, and slapped the kid’s back.

  “WELCOME—TO THE FUTURE!”

  The others nearby chuckled. For the first time since the world had gone sideways, the air around the group felt lighter.

  Barrett swung his pack over his shoulder and started walking again, machete resting across his back.

  Maybe leading wasn’t so hard after all, he thought. You just had to look like you knew where you were going and be willing to make it up as you went.

  —

  They stopped to rest at a bend in the trail. The climb had been steep, uneven, and littered with slick stones. Their breaths came out in white puffs as they leaned on trees and boulders, sweat cooling fast in the mountain air. The river’s sound returned faintly as they reunited with it.

  Barrett crossed his arms and leaned against a gnarled pine, his coat unbuttoned, the machete hanging loose at his side.

  “Alright,” he said, scanning the group, “before we go any further, I gotta know what everyone can do. I know Granny over here heals. What about the rest of you?”

  Lance stepped forward, eager despite his exhaustion. “I think I’ve got some stealth abilities. Watch this.”

  He exhaled, focusing. His outline shimmered with light bending around him until his shape blurred like heat on asphalt. His footsteps dulled to muffled thuds. For a moment, he was half-there, half-not. Then the shimmer snapped, and he reappeared, breathing hard.

  Barrett nodded appreciatively. “Not bad, Shadow Boy. But I better not catch you using that to stalk any babes. Women hate that.”

  Lance blinked. “Yeah…isn’t that obvious?”

  Barrett ignored him and turned toward Arthur.

  “And you?”

  Arthur scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I…don’t have anything yet.”

  “That’s fine,” Barrett said, shrugging. “You’re a late bloomer. Happens to the best of us.” He tilted his head toward the trail. “Alright, let’s keep moving.”

  “Don’t you wanna know what I can do, Mister Donovan?” Pippy piped up.

  Barrett barked a laugh. “Ha! Pipsqueak, I don’t expect you to fight yet.”

  “But I have a skill called [Haste]!” she said, puffing her cheeks out.

  “That’s cute,” he said, slinging his pack over one shoulder. “Alright, let’s roll.”

  —

  They continued upward for hours. The higher they climbed, the thinner and colder the air grew. Frost rimed the edges of leaves. Even the sunlight felt different up here. It was sharper, crisper. Occasionally, they’d stop to gulp down river water or grab a handful of tart berries.

  At one point, Pippy looked up from her canteen, which she’d taken off a goblin. “You must really like that comic, Mister Donovan.”

  Barrett blinked, realizing she was staring at The Calvin and Hobbes Essentials in his lap. “Huh? Oh—yeah. It’s one of my favorites.”

  He smiled faintly, flipping it shut quickly before she could look. “Kid’s got imagination. Reminds me of me.”

  He slipped it back into his pack and stood, cracking his shoulders. “Alright, break’s over. This way.”

  —

  The trail narrowed and curved along a cliff-side where the river below roared white against the rocks. Ahead, a dark mouth yawned open in the mountain wall, revealing a cave, wide and deep. The air that seeped out of it was cold and damp, carrying a smell like old blood and wet fur.

  Then came the sound.

  A low, guttural roar that rolled through their bones.

  Barrett’s grin spread slowly and wickedly.

  “Heads up,” he said, drawing the machete. “Someone’s home.”

  Sunlight caught on the blade as he lifted it — and then, with a strange, manic calm, he dragged the flat of it across his tongue.

  The metal tasted of rust and goblin blood.

  Everyone just stared.

  “Dude,” Lance said, breaking the silence, “that’s…actually disgusting.”

  Barrett frowned. “What? I was doing the thing. You know, the menacing villain thing.”

  Arthur tilted his head. “The what?”

  “The thing!” Barrett waved his arms in frustration. “Where they lick the blade before the big fight.”

  Blank stares.

  He sighed, defeated. “Tough crowd.”

  “Coach, I think one of the wolves we killed was rabid.” Arthur chimed in quietly.

  The sound of another distant growl rumbled from inside the cave. Barrett’s grin returned.

  “Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders and stepping forward. “Let’s not keep our host waiting.”

  He disappeared into the dark; the others exchanged wary glances before following their mad coach into the unknown.