We sat in silence for a minute, studying each other. I was still exhausted from the short battle, and my fingers were still knitting themselves back together when he spoke.

  “Tell your healer to stop healing the Necromancer,” he said, pointing a finger behind me. He stated it matter-of-factly. How did he even know Shawn was a necromancer?

  “You need to trust me on this,” he continued. “She’s not doing him any good.”

  I half-turned and saw Jess still pressing her glowing hands against Shawn’s stomach. I pinged her in chat.

  Chris: Jess, stop healing Shawn.

  Jess: What? Why? His wounds haven’t healed yet. It’s still open.

  Chris: Do it. Please. Just for a moment. If he doesn’t get better, you can try again.

  I saw Jess look up at me, her expression hesitant. She slowly lifted her hands as the golden glow faded. Almost immediately, dark purple wisps began to float off the bodies of the dead rebels and drifted into Shawn. He shivered, gasped, and sat upright before collapsing back onto the ground.

  Jess: It’s working. It’s working. It’s finally closing. How did you know?

  Chris: I didn’t. Just hang on a sec.

  Siva: You ok over there?

  Chris: I don’t know yet. Just take care of Shawn and be alert for now.

  “I’m Rajan,” the man said, but didn’t extend his hand. “And you’re Chris. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but we make do with what we’re given.”

  “How do you know my name? And how did you know he’s a necromancer?” I asked, gesturing toward Shawn. “Do you have some kind of skill or spell?”

  He chuckled. “No, no… It’s what I do. I’m a Project Manager.” He said it like it should mean something. He placed both his hands on the stone table and clasped them, looking very much like we were in an office meeting, talking about the next project deadline.

  “Project Manager?” I asked, confused. “Is… is that even a class? Or are you speaking about the old world?”

  “It’s my class,” he replied easily. “I can see people’s names, classes, and some… attributes. That’s how I know who to assign to what jobs.”

  “And you’re part of the rebellion?” I asked.

  “Well, yes. A small part. I organize them and make sure we are on the correct side,” he replied.

  “And what side is that?” I continued, massaging my fingers as they finally healed. I knew that was a lie. He probably led the rebellion.

  “The correct side, Chris. The correct side,” he said, keeping eye contact. His crew did not approach, but I observed that they didn’t store their weapons either. He was still feeling me out, trying to decide if I was a threat.

  “Your men. They were going to kill my people.” I gestured to the lone surviving rebel, who miraculously wasn’t harmed and still lay unconscious on the floor, healing slowly.

  “No, no, no…” He waved his hands like the gesture would make my thoughts disappear. “They were instructed to only injure and capture. Never kill.”

  I thought for a moment. Jess’s family had been killed by arrows. And Shawn was convinced the rebels had killed his family. Why was Shawn so sure? Then it dawned on me. Shawn could speak with the dead. Had he done that with his slain family? The thought made me shudder. I chose not to address it for now.

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  “And why are you restricting access to the 7-Eleven? There are people without skills or abilities. They can’t defend themselves,” I asked.

  He sighed and spread his hands apart on the table, an inviting gesture, as if to pull me deeper into his argument. This man knew what he was doing. He’d probably led countless meetings before, and this was a skill he brought over from the old world.

  “I would gladly let them have access, only if they join our cause,” he said, giving me a smile and a nod, like he was explaining something simple, something obvious.

  “I don’t understand.” I replied, mirroring his gesture. “Explain it.”

  And he did. He painted a picture of non-affiliates, his term for people who hadn’t chosen a side, gaining skills and abilities, only to join the Temple and work against his people. He asked me to imagine how quickly the Temple would grow with their offer of advanced abilities and equipment, bolstered by the system AI.

  “Would you have that world, Chris?” he asked, ending his explanation.

  “No. But I would have a world where choice is still freely given and trust is earned. I would have a world where people were given a chance to protect themselves and not live in fear. It’s bad enough we have to fight… those.” I pointed at the remnants of the mob, the anger rising within me. I took a couple of deep breaths and said in a softer tone, “But we don’t have to fight people too.”

  He paused for a moment and leaned back against the stone seat, one arm draped behind him.

  “I see. I’m beginning to understand you, I think,” he said. “Your necromancer and healer are far more powerful than you are. And that kid, if he really wants to play soldier, you should hand him over to me. But they all, defer to you.”

  “No, I’m not their leader,” I replied. I struggled to find the right words. “We’re...” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “We’re an autonomous collective.” I grimaced at how ridiculous it sounded.

  He laughed heartily, clapping his hands together. “What, no watery tart giving out swords?” he said with a grin, continuing to laugh for a good while. He finally calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye.

  “No, Chris, you may not like it, but they do defer to you,” he said, his voice steady. “Your healer stopped healing when you asked her to, even when she didn’t know if that would work. They listen to you. And perhaps... we can use that.” He nodded to himself, as if he'd finally made up his mind.

  My head was spinning. I had no idea what games this guy was playing, but I knew I was out of my league.

  “Tell me,” he leaned forward again, locking eyes with me. “What do you want the 7-Eleven for?”

  I eyed him suspiciously but decided the truth couldn’t hurt. I had a feeling he'd know if I lied.

  “I want to bring the people at camp here and activate their systems. Give them access so -”

  I didn’t finish my sentence, as he interrupted me.

  “So you can train them? Build an army?” he asked, his tone almost mocking.

  “So they can heal, grind, get gold, and buy food, damn it,” I shot back, slapping my hand on the table. A few of his crew stirred, as if to walk over, but he raised a hand, stopping them.

  He seemed to think for a while, silently nodding to himself.

  “Fifty,” he finally said.

  “What?” I asked, not understanding.

  “Fifty people. I’ll allow fifty people to access this place and activate their system. You have one day,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Five hundred. One month,” I countered without hesitation.

  “A hundred. Three weeks,” he replied with a smile, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth.

  “Five hundred, one month, and that’s final. Or we’ll just find another place, and next time, we won’t just tie them up,” I said, leaning in, offering my hand.

  He eyed it for a moment, then shook it firmly. “Five hundred. Five hundred of your people, Chris.”

  “They are not my people,” I replied, my grip still firm.

  He pulled me in, his strength surprising for his age. “They are your people now. And anything that happens to them, good or bad, is now on you,” he said, releasing my hand with a finality that made my stomach twist.

  I stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He added one last parting shot as he began to walk away.

  “We’ll talk again, Chris. We’ll decide if we kill each other or join forces then. Either way, I will be seeing you.”

  I watched as he rejoined his crew, the guitarist throwing me a two-fingered goat ear salute like any self-respecting rocker would. Two of his men moved in and carried off the unconscious rebel. I watched them leave before walking back to my team.

  Shawn had finally woken up and asked what had happened as both Jess and Siva gave me inquiring looks.

  “I’ll explain in the truck. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”