My manager said, “Frank, that looks like a cottonlord, a human with a level one artificer class.”

  The NPC sure looked the part. He reminded me of a steampunk minion master with his brass goggles, leather apron, and a tall power backpack rigged to an energy whip. The pack covered most of his back, secured with thick shoulder straps, plus additional buckles across his chest and waist.

  All around him, cotton-picking drones were busy harvesting. I couldn’t tell if they looked more like mini lawnmowers or oversized Roombas.

  “Faster!” the cottonlord yelled, cracking his energy whip overhead.

  In robotic unison, they replied, “Yes, master…”

  The servos whined as they spun up, the little bots’ picking claws snapping faster and faster.

  I took a few steps back to stay out of aggro range and gave him a wide berth as I circled around to his back. My plan was to take him out fast. The backup plan was to break his backpack and smash the stupid bots. Either way, he looked like the glass-jawed type.

  I kept forgetting to bring up hand signs before each Instance. I figured now was as good as any.

  “Dick, let’s go over some hand signals for when I need to communicate but can’t talk.”

  “Okie-dokie.”

  A kid I fostered with was deaf. He taught me a bit of American Sign Language before I got kicked out of that home.

  Unfortunately, I’d forgotten most of it, so I improvised.

  “If I raise my fist like this.” I brought a fist up even with my head. “That means stop talking.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thumbs-up means yes and thumbs-down means no.”

  “Mhm.”

  “When I do this.” I made a hang-ten sign with my knuckles to the sky and shook it side to side. “That means I agree.”

  “Alright.”

  “And this means I disagree.” I made two fists, extended both index fingers, and tapped one on the other, forming an X. I assumed he was still following me, so I continued.

  “If I want to ask why, I’ll do this.” I tapped my forehead and pulled my hand away, making the hang-ten sign again.

  “Easy enough.”

  I gave him the middle finger and said, “And this means—”

  He cut me off. “I don’t see why that one’s necessary, but I know what it means.”

  “Good.” Let’s see these assholes sensor hand signs.

  I figured I might need one I could use around other players. “If I reach behind my back with a fist,” I said. “That means I need more context on the current situation.”

  “Can do.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else at the moment, so I lowered myself and slowly approached the cottonlord from behind. It would have been easier if I had just run in and tackled the punk, but I wanted to work on my Stealth skill.

  While I probably wouldn’t ever go invisible like the kid-napper, I hoped NPCs would stop noticing me when I wanted to sneak up on them.

  I frowned as the steampunk slave master turned to face me.

  “Dammit.” So much for working on my stealth.

  I rose to my full height and charged, expecting him to monologue. He didn’t.

  Instead, he gave a command. “Attack!”

  His whip shot out. I skidded to a stop just before the electrified tendril cracked right in front of me. Its static charged filled the air.

  The stupid bots stopped picking cotton and turned their tools on me.

  “Yes, master…” they said in a unified droning voice. There were five bots in total. Each of them had four arms.

  They all spread out, trying to fence me in with twenty snapping claws. But I juked left and ran hard at the rightmost one before they could close the circle. I planted my boot, bringing my other back, and smashed that bot like I was opening another celestial chest.

  I put a steel-toe-shaped dent in Bot1’s front panel and sent it flying. It made a sizzling noise as it arced through the air.

  I grinned as Bot1 hit the dirt on its side. Black wisps of smoke rose from the corners of the deformed front panel. It didn’t get up, but the rest of the swarm had caught up with me. Their claws went to work on the backs of my legs. Perhaps I’d been too cocky, opting not to heal up before the fight.

  I snatched one of Bot2’s picking claws, slicing my hand up good as I tightened a two-handed grip on it. Leaning back, I spun it around like a goddamn hammer throw. My spin kept stalling as my makeshift counterweight clanked into the other bots.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  After twirling myself dizzy, Bot2’s arm snapped. Without my counterweight, I fell over as Bot2 crashed into Bot3. It must have hit something good, because Bot3 slumped into a pile of scrap while Bot2 righted itself and rejoined the fight.

  Overhead, the whip cracked again.

  “Faster!” the cottonlord commanded.

  One of his abilities most likely, because the damn bots came alive with another burst of speed. My right hand wasn’t looking good, but neither was Bot2. I dove in and picked up the slowest of the bots, Bot2, and brought it over my head, aiming a power bomb at Bot4.

  Both cases sparked as I smashed them together. Then I lifted Bot2 and did it again and again. Other than the arms and treads, I couldn’t tell what was what on their shiny metal asses. It was all encased inside its shell.

  I kept alternating my attacks. I’d strike Bot2 on Bot4 and then Bot5, knocking each of them back when they got too close. Amazingly, Bot2 outlived them all. All three of its remaining clawed hands reached and snapped at me harmlessly.

  The cottonlord narrowed his eyes in disgust at the smoking heaps of steel.

  “Useless,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”

  I tucked Bot2 under one arm while I reached in, grabbed a tread, and yanked. The rubber snapped on my second try. All the bot could do now was drive in circles, so I dropped it and turned my attention back to the cottonlord.

  I grinned. “Alright, let’s—”

  What felt like a million volts surged through my body as the energy whip hit me. It wrapped around my wrist, forced every muscle in my body to clench, and dropped me to my knees.

  “Aaaaah!” I screamed, trying to fight back as my Strength quickly overcame my Toughness. My Vitality plummeted as the self-damage piled on.

  But I wasn’t in overwhelming pain; I was just franking pissed. That punk stole my damn move: landing the first blow during the monologue.

  On my knees, I gritted my teeth to focus, willing myself to grab the whip. My free arm shook violently as I brought it toward the live wire wrapped around my forearm. I couldn’t unball my fist at first, but I dug deep and screamed again, forcing my hand to obey.

  My free arm lurched out and grabbed the whip further down the line. My hand clamped down hard as the energy’s point of contact moved. I pulled the whip toward me, dragging his punk-ass a foot and a half closer.

  His heels dug in, struggling against me. But I did it again with my other arm. I dragged him toward me one armful at a time.

  Watching the emotional journey on his face was delightful. First, he was indignant that I had tried to fight him. Then came his defiance, refusing to yield his ever-weakening position. The initial wave of uncertainty hit him about halfway. Terror showed up when he realized he was too close to get away.

  As the smoke of my cooking innards escaped my nose and mouth, I grabbed him by the wrist. Adding him to the circuit fried his backpack and cut the current immediately.

  [Your Intimidation Skill has increased to level 2.]

  “Aaaaah!” the cottonlord screamed. His backpack had overloaded and caught fire, burning with an intense, ghostly blue flame.

  He tried throwing off the straps of his backpack but couldn’t stop flailing long enough to unfasten the buckles. After a handful of seconds, panic overwhelmed him, and he took off running.

  “Better not burn down my damn cotton field,” I said, still shaking from prolonged overexertion.

  Maybe a half minute later—I wasn’t counting—the punk stopped screaming and face-planted into the soil.

  [You’ve earned: 300 XP.]

  [You’ve unlocked: resource node: cotton.]

  When I could finally stand up again, I shuffled over and stamped out the few shrubs the punk had caught on fire.

  However, his pack was still melting down or whatever magic battery power sources did when they exploded, so I ripped out every plant within a six-foot perimeter to stop it from spreading.

  Bot2 finally stopped moving, which was good because summons, minions, or whatever they were, didn’t give experience or loot when I killed them.

  I braved the flames, not willing to risk my loot if his pants burned up. I dashed in, jabbing a hand into his pocket. Hopefully that counted as looting. It did.

  [You’ve gained: 1 common upgrade token.]

  “Oh!” Dickhead chimed in. “I see you got an upgrade token. That’s weird; it was just there a moment ago. Wait, now your jacket’s gone. Where’d they go? Frank… You didn’t just—”

  “Yep.”

  While he was yapping, I’d taken out the upgrade token and slapped it on my latest leather jacket. I was tired of going through jackets, and this one was a franking beauty.

  The jacket was dark brown distressed leather. I was a sucker for the cut: a classic biker style with a wide, notched lapel and an off-center zipper that ran diagonally across the front. The leather had a handsome burnished finish, the edges lighter and rougher, giving it a worn-in, vintage look that already felt broken-in.

  I wasn’t a bike guy, but the damn jacket made me want to be. It carried plenty of hardware: zippered pockets at the chest and hip, a flap pocket with a snap, and heavy metal snaps along the lapel and waist. All those pockets would be handy when I ran out of my very limited inventory space.

  Adjustable straps and buckles cinched the sides for a tighter fit, and boy, did I like being snug as a bug. The zippered sleeves with leather pulls made it easy to loosen or tighten the cuffs. Reinforced stitching gave the whole thing a structured, almost armored shape, like it was built to take some hits. Just like me.

  The doc had mentioned that magical items were a lot harder to destroy, so it was a no-brainer to upgrade this work of art.

  Dickhead sighed. “We should have saved the token for your first piece of armor.”

  “Relax, jackets offer protection.”

  I could hear the self-restraint in his voice. “Real protection stops more than road rash and the cold.…”

  I tossed my jacket into my inventory to see what enchantment it got. I read the item: Frank’s leather jacket of PerSwayze.

  Still puzzled by the unusually named enchantment, I asked, “What does PerSwayze do?”

  “Not sure. I’ve never seen that enchantment before. Far as I know, there’s only three ways to identify the exact properties of a magic item. You could find a player with an Inspector ability, but it’s risky because you need to trade it to them first. Then you have to hope they give it back.”

  I countered with an alternative. “Or… I kill them and take the damn thing back.”

  “I guess that works too… At least your jacket will be much more durable. Magic items also come with a slow acting self repair function as long as it’s not completely destroyed.”

  “Handy,” I said.

  “Another way to uncover the exact magical effects would be to find and use a Scroll of Identify, but those don’t drop too often. I’d suggest we just wait until Player Town 111 unlocks the Inspector amenity.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It can wait.” I pulled the jacket out of my inventory and slipped it on. It was like putting on an old, reliable friend. I nearly shed a tear. Never really had one of those before, but damn did it feel good.

  I didn’t need to see my Vitality to know I gotten banged up good. My muscles had done a number on my body. I frowned. After sorting out my Dexterity, I’d probably have to pump my Toughness next.

  The sailor’s head was as fresh as the day I’d tossed it into my inventory, which was like two days ago. I turned it over in my hands. Seriously, the blood hadn’t even dried. It was good to know my inventory doubled as the world’s best fridge.

  I waited for combat to drop so I could use Skullcracker.

  [You’ve unlocked a World-first Achievement! Twice Dead.]

  Dickhead said, “Another World First!”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied. I’d find out what it was when I got back to my Lair.

  Skullcracker popped the sailor’s top like a can opener, and I dug in. My knees nearly buckled on the first mouthful. Damn braingasm snuck up on me.

  After I was done, I checked my Vitality to see if I needed to eat the cottonlord too.

  “Uh… Dick? Something’s wrong.”