Trace Taylor found The Evergreen Gun Range in a mess.

The front door lay broken… well, the front door was always broken thanks to Liz. But the rest of the building had been looted. The boarded-up windows were smashed open, and the furniture were left in pieces or raided of their belongings.

The redhead found the kitchen cupboards emptied— all the stored canned foods had been taken, of course.

“Fucking assholes!” she cursed at no one in particular.

The pots and pans and knives hadn’t been taken but were instead left scattered on the ground, because whoever looted the building didn’t have the decency to clean up after themselves.

It angered Trace— no, not the fact that they didn’t clean up after themselves. Instead, she was pissed off that the one time she didn’t barricade the doorway, a bunch of looters decided to pay a visit to the area.

They took everything of value and vandalised everything they couldn’t take; a classic case of psychopathic behaviour. Bastards just wanted to cause chaos.

“Fucking assholes!”

But the worst part was what Trace found deeper into The Evergreen Gun Range, in a room she had scarcely visited: the gun lockers.

They’d been pried open and robbed of what was within. Automatic rifles, semi-automatic rifles, and manual rifles. Rifles in general— anything that was not a sidearm. The ammunition, too, had been taken, much to Trace’s ire.

“Fucking arsholes!”

[And just earlier you reprimanded me about me repeating myself too often,] Ex said, amused.

“I only repeated myself twice. I said ‘arseholes’ the third time around.”

[What’s the difference?]

“Well, one of them means I’m only mildly irritated. The other means I’m pissed as fuck,” she explained before shaking her head. “Also, not the time, Ex.”

[Affirmative.] He stopped bothering her.

The second floor was only partially ransacked, fortunately enough. Her clothes littered the room, but most of her belongings survived this raid. She had the sense to hide it underneath the bedframe. Unfortunately, the bed was broken.

“I’ve just got to—” Trace blinked as she lifted up the bedframe. It was lighter than she thought it’d be. “Huh. I guess having D- in strength actually means something.” She grabbed her bag that was lodged between the mattress and the wooden frame and checked its contents. “Good, everything’s there.”

Her laptop, wallet, and keys were all kept neatly inside of the bag— although they were all pretty useless at this point. She also had a few notes, an old diary, and some printed pictures. Mostly personal belongings. There were only a few ‘practical’ items like two boxes of ammunition and...

“Wait, aren’t these the things I got from the Dungeon?” Trace held up a glinting red shard.

[Affirmative,] Ex said. [You procured a handful of useful items from the loot crates of the Dire Pits. You are currently holding a single aetheric shard.]

“What do these do? And what about the others?” she asked, and he began to list them all out.

[(G) Hand Tools – Tools used for repairing and crafting basic equipment.

(G) Potion Base – The base ingredient needed to make a potion.

(F-) Aetheric Shards – Bits of rock imbued with aether.

(F) Reinforced Iron Scraps – Remnants of iron ingot enchanted for durability.

(D-) Shot Amplifier - Increases the kinetic energy of bullets by 3 times.]

“Oh. This is…”

She picked up the last item. It was an attachment for a gun— a kind of elongated cylindrical object you connected to the barrel of a pistol or rifle. The last time Trace tried to use it, she didn’t meet the requirements. Now, though—

“My Magic is D+ after evolving my vocation and getting a craft. And the Shot Amplifier only requires a D- in Magic to be used.” She tightly gripped the attachment. “Good. Now I can make those bastards who ransacked this place pay three times more than before.”

Her eyes flickered to the reinforced iron scraps and aetheric shards. It called to her. Tinker’s Mind told her that those items could be used to upgrade her weapon— create magical bullets. But before she could formulate anything concrete in her mind, she heard a loud thud from below.

Liz? For a second, Trace thought her best friend had returned. But if Liz had really come back, she’d be cursing up a storm at seeing the state of her house. Probably not Liz, then. Who could it be?

A few possible individuals came to mind. Trace hoped it was Adair or Veronica or Jeremy. Maybe even a random homeless man looking for shelter. But all she could think of was a far more sinister individual— someone who came with malicious intent.

Someone who’d already come with malicious intent.

The looters. Trace gritted her teeth. Are they seriously back for more? She drew her weapon and attached the Shot Amplifier. Well, this time, they’ll get more than what they asked for.

She started down the stairs, ready to chase these looters out by any means necessary. There was a creeping feeling of dread— one that feared what would happen if they overpowered her here. But she remembered what Meryl and Stan said about her; she would hold her own with ease.

A figure stood just outside the kitchen, dark and shadowed under the cloak of the night. They peered into the shooting area of The Evergreen Gun Range, a sharp object in hand. Trace heard the crinkle of boots on glass shards as they took a step, and she decided to take action.

With a shout, she burst out of the stairway and aimed her weapon at the figure.

“Stop right there, you bastard,” she warned. “I’ll blow your bloody head off if you try anything!”

They halted and raised their hands in the air. Nodding, the redhead waved her weapon towards the front door.

“Good, now if you just get the fuck out of—”

The figure leaned forward. “Trace?” a familiar voice said.

“Ken?” She blinked, and the man stepped forward into the moonlight. “Wait, what are you doing here?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Were you the one who robbed us?”

* * *

As it turned out, Ken wasn’t there to loot The Evergreen Gun Range. Of course he wasn’t. He was Trace’s… friend? Or acquaintance. Together with Liz, Kat, and Jakob, they’d beaten the Dire Pits together and killed a literal Worldeater, so Trace believed him when he said he wasn’t there with any malicious intent.

“Liz told me this was where she lived,” he explained, gesturing towards the front door. “I hadn’t heard from her in days. And since we were done with the Dungeon for today, I decided to check up on her.”

“I see. Well, she should be coming back some time in the next…” Trace turned to a nearby clock. It was broken. “Erm, I don’t know… next few minutes or next few hours?”

Sighing, he placed a hand on his chest. “That’s a relief. I feared the worst when I arrived. I thought something bad had happened.”

“Something bad’s going to happen to whoever did this.” The redhead crossed her arms with a huff.

Ken raised a brow and peered at her. She shifted slightly.

“What? …”

“Nothing. I just didn’t take you for the violent-type.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about me—” Trace started, but was cut off by a shout from outside the building.

“Oh my god!” A black-haired woman stormed in, drawing her gleaming Obsidian Longsword. Elizabeth Evergreen glared around the room. “Who the fuck did this to my home?!”

The redhead gestured at her best friend. “There you go. Liz is back.”

They explained the situation to Liz, and… well, she was pissed. Her anger wasn’t abated even when she found that her belongings were left mostly untouched.

“If I get my hands on these jerks who did this…” she said as she ground her teeth.

“Y’know, it sounds a lot less threatening when you’re calling them ‘jerks’ instead of ‘assholes’ or ‘fuckers’.”

Liz shot a glared at Trace, and the redhead shrugged.

“I’m with you, but I’m just saying…”

“I can’t believe this!” She kicked what was left of a chair and paused. Her eyes landed on something lying face-flat on the ground. Liz picked it up, eyes growing wide. “This is…”

It was a picture frame. The glass exterior was shattered, and the photograph within was slightly crumpled. It showed a black-haired man and a black-haired woman standing next to each other in front of a newly-furbished building. Together, they held an infant— no more than five months of age— up towards a sign saying, “Grand Opening of The Evergreen Gun Range.”

Liz snapped her eyes like a tightening fist. “I swear to god, I will literally… ugh!”

Trace couldn’t help but empathise with her best friend. She remembered visiting The Evergreen Gun Range as young as ten years old— it was like a second home to her.

“Come on, you’re probably tired. I am, too. Let’s just rest for now,” the redhead said, placing a hand on Liz’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, we’ll sort this out, alright?”

Liz met her gaze. “Fine,” she eventually sighed. Then she glanced over at the man to her left. “But, uh, what about Ken?”

They both faced him. He raised his hands. “I don’t want to intrude. I can find another place to stay for tonight.”

“Don’t be like that,” the redhead said, rolling her eyes. “It’s just for one night— and you could help us find the fuckers who did this tomorrow.” She paused and looked over at the broken doorway. “But first, I’ll have to fix that door… again.”

[(F) Hasty Design has reached level 4!

(E-) Magically Makeshift Materials has reached level 3!]

* * *

Morning came, and Liz stared at the front door with an impressed expression on her face. “Why couldn’t you have done this earlier?”

“I only thought of it last night, thanks to my new skills as an Augur Architect. Now, you don’t have to smash it open every single time you leave.” Trace gestured at the new and improved doorway— it had multiple reinforced wooden bars that would shut when the door was closed, with a special key that could unlock it from the other side.

It was complex and it was only possible thanks to Hasty Design and Magically Makeshift Materials. The former was necessary to even think it up in the first place, and the latter was what made it possible. Also, Magically Makeshift Materials enhanced the strength of the wood and metal she used so it wouldn’t break as easily as before. That would help keep out looters… maybe.

“Alright, now to break some kneecaps. And maybe some faces too.” Liz was the first out of The Evergreen Gun Range, followed by Ken and Trace.

The redhead looked around the street; it was mostly empty apart from a few individuals, which was surprising since it was still the crack of dawn. The sun hadn’t even fully broken past the horizon yet. Some sense of normalcy might’ve been returning now thanks to the commune.

“So, does anyone have any ideas who could’ve done this?” Trace asked. “Made any enemies while you were out, Liz? Notice anyone sneaking away while you were on your way here, Ken?”

Liz shrugged. “Nope. Not unless some dumb monster decided to rob us.”

“Unfortunately, I did not spot anyone leaving the scene when I entered last night,” he said apologetically. “However, I have heard that the Precursors of Peace are gathering downtown. From what I’ve heard about them— and this is purely based on rumours, as I have never dealt or encountered them— they are a wild bunch.”

Trace frowned. If Sam was the one who did this, I will… her thoughts trailed off. Well, she wouldn’t have kind words to impart, to say the least. “Let’s just find them and speak to them before coming to any conclusions.”

And by a stroke of luck, they didn’t have to go far to find the group. Because Trace heard a familiar Brooklyn accent just two streets down from The Evergreen Gun Range.

“Scared? Afraid? Too bad for all of ya, cause this ain’t tha end of the… end o’ tha world.”

“Good job, bro. Really have a way with words, don’t you?”

“Oh, shuddup!”

Jackie and Nathan stood in the middle of an intersection right at the edge of the commune. Sam and Darius weren’t there— it was just the two idiots. They were surrounded by a small crowd of curious men and women who stopped to listen to their speech. The girl shoved her friend aside as she stepped forward and raised her sledgehammer.

“Am I the only one scared about all this, or what?” she said, shaking her head. “Everything’s going ta shit and all yer loved ones are probably going to die. Playing city ain’t gonna change nothin’ bout that.”

A susurration swept over the onlookers as Trace, Liz, and Ken made their approach. Jackie continued her speech.

“We haveta adapt— we haveta evolve. And if ya join the Precursors of Peace, we’ll do exactly that. We’ll give ya food and shelter and a bunch’o other stuff! We’ll protect yer friends and family and restore order back into this mad world!”

The redhead heard murmurs of agreement amongst a few people in the crowd. It was only a gathering of twenty-or-so people, but what Jackie said seemed to resonate with nearly half of them. The other half were dubious or apathetic to it, which resulted in some discourse and arguments breaking out.

“…or something,” Jackie finished under her breath, although only Trace caught that.

“So, the Precursors of Peace are trying to recruit members from the commune, huh?” Liz said as the arguments seemed to simmer down.

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense.” Trace placed a hand on her chin, frowning. “If they’re trying to get people from the commune on their side, they wouldn’t possibly rob from the commune, would they?” Although, to be fair, they did appear to be led by idiots. The redhead’s eyes flickered as she caught Jackie and Nathan arguing over the speech.

“Why don’t we just ask them?” Liz suggested.

Trace stared at her, and she blinked.

“What?”

The redhead remembered when she was hiding from the durable serpentfiend with Adair and Liz— how they found a house, ransacked with the family living in it murdered. Shortly after that, they ran into the Precursors of Peace. They denied all allegations after, but Trace was still suspicious. Now, more so than ever.

“Nothing. Sure, why not?” she said with a shrug. “Not like they’d lie or anything.”

Before they could approach the pair, Trace heard the revving of a bike roar its way down the street. Heads turned to face down the road. From afar, the redhead could see a plume of black rising over the brick buildings as a shadow shot its way towards them.

“What is? …”

A man was riding in on a motorbike, going at over a hundred kilometres per hour towards the crowd. Trace’s eyes widened as she realised what was going on.

“Everyone, get out of the—”

But it was too late. A family of four tried to scatter out of the way just as the speeding bike reached them. Trace reached out in a panic, not sure if she could even do anything to save them at that point. But before the bike could crash into them, the biker produced a black leather handle.

He snapped it at the air like he was using a fishing rod, and a red line flickered to life from its end. A rope made of flames whipped out, tangling itself over a lamp post before he collided with the family. With that, he swerved out of the way just in time and began to speed in circles around the crowd. He sped up and left doughnut-shaped skid-marks on the tarmac, screeching a challenge as if his bike’s tires were about to combust. Then he leapt off.

“Precursors!” he shouted, flipping through the air.

His bike tumbled into a building as his flaming whip retracted into its handle.

“You guys are going down,” he made the declaration as he landed on the ground.

The man landed right before Jackie and Nathan, knees bent and a single hand catching the ground. His bag rattled as black barrels poked out of the top. Trace narrowed her eyes. Are those… rifles? Something clicked inside of her as he straightened.

He wore a motorcycle helmet with a skull painted over its visor, and he snapped his head up to face the pair. This menacing look struck them straight into their bones— it caught the entire crowd in fear, forcing them to tense up and ready themselves for what was happening next.

It was a challenge. One that would end with blood. One that would end with death.

Trace blinked at that. “The fuck is wrong with this guy?”