CWD: Sewer Skewers ~ Prologue

“Say that again?” Richard Crave wasn’t sure he’d heard the Shadow Killer’s real name correctly. “I thought you said your name was-”

“Nacho,” the too-young kid told him with a wry grin. The Shadow Killer clearly wasn’t a kid, but Crave felt just so much older than him. This Nacho character was in his early twenties and had just graduated from the University of Missouri–Kansas City, so Crave could be forgiven for considering him to be young. He hadn’t been expecting the serious killer’s nickname to be so childish. He had read the reports himself: the youthful assassin had the ethics of a starving rabies-riddled badger with an addiction to adrenaline.

He lived like he had nothing to live for at all.

Crave had been expecting nothing but dark looks and clipped words when he invited Nacho to talk in his guildhall, which he’d built over the Chicken Coop of Chaos Dungeon. Finding that dungeon—thanks to Paul ‘the Dungeon Rat’ Rizzo—had made all the difference during the earliest days of the apocalypse. Crave winced internally as he thought about his recently passed guild member. Poor sucker. Both Rizzo and Red Suzy Blacke had stumbled onto a Tier two monster way down in the Stone Cold Eve Staustin, a dungeon filled with swarming creatures that tried to wrestle you to the ground.

As far as they could tell, some dungeons were just flat-out impossible. Some were easy, like the Chaos Coop, which was why Crave felt so lucky. In the first days of the Juxtaposition, he and twelve other players had formed a party. They had killed hundreds of the chicken-bats infesting the place, and the party had turned into a guild as soon as they found a guild charter as a reward for defeating the boss monster.

The Chaos Coop had a kitchen, but Crave couldn’t stand the taste of the Putrid Mana, so they’d smashed it up and turned it into a master bedroom; then eaten Store food for a long time. That had taken care of their Satiation levels just fine, until Crave and his people hit level ten.

Then the price of food tripled, and everything changed.

That was the very reason why Crave had reached out to the Shadow Killer. Crave was pretty sure that this Nacho was just as tired of throwing his credits away on overpriced buffet food that tasted like the leftovers at a nursing home. Crave might have found a solution.

Now, Crave and Nacho were relaxing in his guildhall, drinking Epic ale—hooch with a maxed-out rarity—from Store tankards. They sat across from each other at a rough-hewn feasting table, because the Patrons loved their whole medieval fantasy game setting a bit too much. No electricity. No internal combustion engines. No gunpowder.

Crave didn’t question the physics that had forced these circumstances into existence. He just played the game, and in his mind… he played it well.

Six months of sweating and grinding. In that time, he’d built the guildhall, drawn a thousand people to him, and gotten a taste of every transaction, thanks to his guild tax. That had also included the special bonus for gaining a thousand members, which had been substantial—a quarter million credits right off the bat. Everything combined meant that he was sitting on half a million credits. Crave was buying Epic meals at sixty credits a pop, and he had no intention to reduce his spending.

The Guild Master only ate once a day to avoid the Starvation debuff. As far as he was concerned, his dungeoneering days were behind him. From now on, he was going to focus on the things that made him successful: riding out the rest of this ‘game’ by being a politician, convincing people to join him, and then living off their taxes. He would never lose his power or position, because he had a service to provide to his followers—his Patron, Fourtuna, had given him a boon.

This ‘Nacho’ fool was dressed in black and red assassin leathers, with a loose cloak over his shoulders. Crave had let him come in with his short swords, one curved for slicing, the other slender and straight for thrusting. Also of note was a short bow with a small quiver. Even so, the weapons were hardly worrisome. If the Shadow Killer went for Crave, he’d have to deal with Hogan and Whitney; both stood in a nearby entryway. If the heavies were too slow, Crave also had his magic feather. A single swipe across Nacho’s cheek, and the Assassin would be asleep in seconds.

The strange kid pointed at Hogan and Whitney. “Goon One and Goon Two. I asked around. People like you just fine, but those two are escapees from a prison… at best. Why’d you take them in, Crave? Out of the goodness of your heart? Or were they like puppies that got dropped on your doorstep in a basket?”

“Not the second, that’s for sure.” Crave chuckled at the imagery this young Assassin could evoke.

“That makes good sense. Those are big goons. You’d need big baskets.”

Crave snorted into his Epic ale. “Hogan and Whitney were with me from the beginning. We arrived in the AKC as just strangers on the freeway. I was on I-70 when it hit. Me and my wife… no. I don’t like to talk about what happened before the Juxtaposition. It’s just easier, you know?”

Nacho glanced down, and Crave glimpsed a hint of his inner pain slipping through the indifferent mask that he typically wore. “Yeah. Memories are stupid. I’ve heard people calling this the Alternate Kansas City. I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah. Good ol’ AKC.” Crave recognized that expression in Nacho’s dark eyes, the look of someone who’d lost people and would never be the same again. He didn’t want this meeting to turn sour, so he changed subjects. “Nacho… you’ve gotta tell me about your name.”

Nacho shrugged and spit out a prepared speech, as though he’d told the story hundreds of times. “Not much to tell. I grew up Eli Naches, named after the river, or that’s what my… that’s what I was told while growing up. Eventually, Naches became Nacho. It fits me fine.”

“It is fine. I like it, even.” Crave was listening very carefully. It seemed this Shadow Killer had come from a less-than-ideal background. Perhaps that explained his moral flexibility? Crave didn’t have that excuse; he came across his own immorality honestly—by just living life and seeking power over others in this world. Hoping to find out if the kid was another blessed individual—someone like himself—Crave gently probed, “I thought the Patrons might’ve named you Nacho.”

The Assassin rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance. “If the Patrons ever talked to me, I’d have a thing or two to say to them. For one, the version of pizza they offer in the Store is about as bad as the countless deaths they caused to the peoples of the Earth. Another thing: I get that they didn’t want us to drive around in our SUVs and shoot monsters with rocket launchers. But no electricity? That was low.”

“I’ve talked to my Patron,” Crave quietly admitted to the youngster. “It’s never a pleasant experience. Or maybe I have a bad Patron, I don’t know. But Fourtuna knows he has almost unlimited power, and that doesn’t make him very nice. I guess if you’re basically a god, you don’t need to be nice.”

“I wouldn’t mind some of that.” Nacho raised his tankard. “To growing so powerful that we don’t need to be nice.”

They *clanked* their drinks and let the golden fluid quench their thirst and blur their memories of a better time.

“Let’s talk business. I’m pretty sure if you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have invited me into your hall. You’d have sent a Rogue or an Assassin to come after me. Likely, the woman with the bow. Not that she’d have been able to take me down, but still…” The young man considered the remaining contents of his mug, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember. "What was her name? Black Suzy? Scarlet Sue? Something Suzy something.”

“Red Suzy Blacke,” Crave answered with a heavy sigh. “She and Rizzo didn’t make it. We lost them a few weeks ago.”

“Ah… so that’s why I’m here.” Nacho shook his head and positioned himself for jumping into a fight. “You didn’t send someone to kill me, even though I’ve poached credits from your hunting parties. I don’t think you’d poison me with your fancy-schmancy beer. You want me to join your guild? I’m not exactly what you’d call a ‘joiner’. I’ve only had two friends in my entire life, and they’re both dead. Why would I give up my independence when I’m already the best at what I do?”

Crave set his tankard down and pointed at Nacho. “Right there. That’s one reason. You don’t need us. Yes, we agree that memories are stupid, and it’s best not to talk about the world before, but I’m gonna go back on that a little. I was the Vice President of Sales for Big-Brand Sporting Apparel. I’ve done hundreds of interviews, if not thousands. It always comes down to two questions: what I can do for you… and what you can do for me.”

“Well, that’s very transactional.” Nacho swished the Epic beer around in his mouth. “I can steal away credits for you. I wait for everyone to hit the big monsters, then swoop in and take the final hit of the beastie and hijack all the cash. But that’s not why I’m here, is it? You want me to start killing people?”

“Not yet,” Crave admitted quietly, suddenly feeling that their meeting wasn’t as private as he needed. “But that’s where we’re heading, and it’s gonna be either humans or CrossHumans… you know what I’m talking about.”

“To our impending need for cannibalism!” Nacho lifted his cup again, but this time his words were as sour as common-rank Store beer. “Shouldn’t we be eating CrossHuman jerky with this?”

Crave didn’t know what to make of the CrossHumans. They came through portals, had cross-shaped pupils, but were more interested in hunting regular round-pupil humans than monsters. The most dangerous of them, Arriodd, had a katana that did some bad, bad things to human bodies.

“CrossHuman jerky wouldn’t contain Putrid Mana, would it?” Crave shook his head. Putrid Mana was what had infected all of the animals and turned them into monsters. At Tier zero, it had tainted the flavor of any animal meat with a rancid aftertaste—it wouldn’t kill anyone, but it was hard to choke it down. However, if a person tried to eat monster meat from a Tier higher? It would definitely make their guts go loose, as in melting right out of them.

“The Putrid Mana is problematic,” Nacho agreed easily. Everyone knew about it by now, so it wasn’t exactly a secret. “Cannibalism is also kind of an issue, wouldn’t you agree? Hard to be friends with people when they’re eyeing your tender loins, and not in a fun way.”

Crave laughed despite himself. “Look… we are going to be able to eat Store food for a little longer. I’m eating Store food, Epic flavors, for sixty credits a meal. It’s worth it; let me show you.”

The Guild Master purchased the Epic pork pot stickers from the Store. They appeared in one of his storage slots, and a moment later he placed the steaming appetizer down on the table. The six dumplings, a full portion, materialized on a red-and-yellow plastic Juxtaposition tray. The pot stickers came with one sauce bowl, but Crave bought another so they wouldn’t have to share.

Nacho glanced at the dumplings hungrily. “Funny. You know, I stopped eating for pleasure a long time ago. On days I don’t use my skills—which I admit are rare—I just slurp down whatever Store slop I can eat fast. Their chili mac is nice because it goes down easy. Slimy, yet satisfying, if you know what I mean. It’s handy to eat during Active Combat. I’ve been trying out other meals, but it’s hard to eat and fight at the same time, you know?”

“I do.” Crave finally saw it—the leverage he needed. This guy was on the edge and lonely, and had been alone for six months now, which was why he was so talkative. Somehow, even with his reputation of being a brutal killer and thief, he hadn't lost his sense of humor. It was odd and seemed almost out of character, but to be fair, less than six months ago, the kid had been a simple recent College graduate. “Here. Have some of the pot stickers before they get cold.”

Nacho scooped one up, dipped it in sauce, and took a bite. He let out a long, happy sigh. “That sauce is like the pot sticker sauce they sold at Costco. They were so good… I miss Costco so much. The Store is fine; it’s convenient, but something about walking through those massive Costco shelves always used to put my mind at ease.”

“I understand perfectly. It was the promise of plenty.” The Guild Master couldn’t help but chuckle.

The Shadow Killer ate three more of the treats in silence. Crave watched closely as he savored his own. Each pot sticker cost ten credits, and the simple meal was a veritable goldmine of steamed pork goodness.

Nacho finished, sipped his beer, and sat back. “Look, Crave, you’ve got food, money, and beds. Wow… just thought of that. I could have a bed. I might not be a joiner, but you’re making this look pretty sweet. I prefer killing monsters, but I kill other players if I have even a hint of a reason. That said, you still haven’t told me why you came after me. Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much.”

The earnest self-consciousness made Crave laugh; he hadn’t thought he’d like the Shadow Killer so much. “You’re fine. You’ve just been out there alone for a long time. I would imagine nights are hard.”

“Long enough. I stopped being scared, and that helped. You get used to the cold, the noises, the monsters. Now I’m just waiting to kill or to be killed.” Nacho paused uncomfortably and gazed down at the tray as if he was reliving all the interminable nights of the winter he’d had to endure alone because of the friends he’d lost. The Assassin abruptly stood. “Sorry, sitting too long makes me nervous, and I was nervous to begin with. It sounds like you want me to come and kill people for you so you can eat them and save a few credits in the Store. Weird. Dark. Not sure I’m your guy, Crave.”

Crave stood and went around to the other side of the table. He gently raised a hand to stop Nacho’s pacing. “Easy, Nacho. I don’t have any fleshed-out plans for now. But I am trying to plan ahead. When we’re Tier two or Tier three… let me tell you what I’m envisioning?”

“You get a few more words before I leave, but none if you touch me again.” Nacho had stopped moving, and Crave realized that the agitated strides had been making his heart race. Even when this kid was just pacing around, he moved like a panther. Crave knew for a fact that Nacho rarely used his bow and arrow to bring down his kills. He almost always appeared out of the shadows even on the brightest of days, completely noiselessly, and murdered in a flash of blades and black armor. He most likely had the same Assassin skills that Crave had—Midnight Blend. Ninja Hush. Shadow Speed.

He just used them so much better than anyone else.

“Let me tell you my thoughts… call it intuition, if you like, but the minute I heard about you, the Shadow Killer, the thieving Assassin, I got this sense that you would do amazing things. You are the epitome of Dope.”

“I’m… dope?” Nacho clearly wasn’t sure what to do with the information. “Great. Thanks. Solid boomer complement, dude.”

“I’m being serious.” Crave nodded sagely, keeping his body language non-threatening. “You are pure excellence. I don’t know about others, Nacho. But I do know that you’re not dangerous to me.”

Nacho grinned a near-feral smile. “But you might be dangerous to me, right? It would be kinda ironic if, in the end, joining up with you is what gets me killed.”

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” Crave stated as truthfully as possible. Nacho was a powerful Assassin, a force to be reckoned with. More than that, he was a scalpel. Crave already had his blunt tools: Hogan and Whitney, both of whom had the subtlety of bulldozers.

No, Nacho was special. Crave could feel it; the two of them were going to change the face of the AKC forever. All the other guilds would fall to them—Kala’s Sunrise Brigade, the new Midnight Fist, and the Credit Machine; a guild who was earning a few too many credits a bit too fast. Crave wanted to either eliminate or merge with the Credit Machine, else they were going to be a problem.

There were the CrossHumans to consider as well, but nobody had a chance against them until Crave managed to unite Humanity as a whole.

At least he wouldn’t be bored.

The two stared at each other, and Crave’s nose twitched. He had caught the scent of someone who was wavering, and he knew exactly how to close this sale. Nacho was waiting for a little concession, just a tiny little thing that only he would get.

“I never properly introduced myself.” Crave decided that making himself more approachable, a friend, was all the kid needed. He gave the kid one of the smallest secrets that he carried, his real name. “My full name is Richard Crave. It’s nice to meet you, and I hope we can work together.”

Nacho’s smile seemed forced, as though he hadn’t worn the expression in a long time. “Guess I’m joining up, Richard Crave. Where do I sign? I hope you know I’m giving you a lot of trust. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You can trust me,” Crave promised the young man as he pulled out a document, only managing to keep his hands from shaking with excitement thanks to long years of practice at getting suckers to sign their lives away. “Now, how about something fried and tangy to celebrate?”