The late afternoon waned to twilight and Remington's exhaustion set in. He needed more food than the berries and mushrooms I’d managed to scrounge up. My own pangs from taking NSAIDs on an empty stomach had started an hour ago and the meager meal didn’t do anything. I begged him to let me start a fire to cook the rice, but he wouldn't relent. Even too tired to explain his reasons coherently, my new travel buddy was stubborn as a mule.

  He was in no condition to help me get supplies. I'd have to do this mission solo. I made him as comfortable as I could. An hour later, my efforts were rewarded when he started to snore. Now that he was asleep, I could grit my teeth through my own suffering to get us what we needed.

  Equipped with my bow and arrows with the empty pack crossed over my body, I made my way back towards the highway. It took an extra hour because I got a little off track, but I finally found it. The convenience store had only one guard on duty. Kerosene lamps lit the place up as though it had running electricity. People inside were drinking and, from the sound of it, holding a wake for their comrades.

  Robbing the store was impossible. But robbing the supply truck? That was within the realm of possibility. Before I ever left the treeline, I double-checked the map to confirm the single guard. He paced back and forth across the front of the store and didn't bother to check the rear of the store or the far side of the truck. There were no Metamons in the area, either. They must have really killed Sabelynx… I swiped the interface out of my way, crouched low, and crept quickly through the open field towards the highway—a full quarter-mile to the east.

  Abandoned cars along the highway provided cover just as they had earlier that day. The guard never saw me coming. I suspected that, like Remington, these people knew very little about the video game elements such as the GUI. I'd explored the full breadth of its limited functions thoroughly during the first two weeks. Even if they looked at the map, I knew something they probably didn't: how to toggle Stealth mode on and off.

  This was a useful feature included from Day 1. I suspected it was the primary method used by the militaristic factions to launch a coup against the havens in Milton's War. They could not literally turn invisible, but they could toggle themselves off from the map. No notification would sound that an enemy was in the area, either. As long as the guard did not see me physically, I did not exist.

  The large cargo truck was pulled up next to the side of the convenience store out of the guard's immediate sight. My concern was the door. Out in the middle of nowhere, silence inhabited rural space. I listened for the guard's pattern of footsteps: towards me, away from me, towards, and from. I eased the door open. The hinge squeaked. He paused and I held my breath. People inside cheered loudly. He continued to pace. I opened the door a little further and slipped in to the passenger side.

  The glove box was full of manuals, pamphlets, receipts, a military switch knife, an automatic handgun with a spare magazine, and a bottle of acetaminophen. I stuffed the pills, handgun, spare magazine, and blade into my pack, then checked the drawer underneath the passenger seat. Only two items were of any importance: a mini flashlight and a newspaper dated on the day of the apocalypse. I stuffed the newspaper into the medic pack and used the flashlight to search the cargo hold.

  Dozens of boxes stacked high in the cargo hold with burlap sacks, nylon laundry bags, and black garbage bags squeezed anywhere they could fit it. This looked more like a giant looting cache than a supply run. I couldn't be picky, and I certainly didn't have time to check all of the boxes and bags. Hurriedly, I opened the box closest to me with the knife.

  Pharmaceutical drugs, toilet paper, wholesale coffee packages, disposable plates and utensils, ammunition for assorted types of guns, laundry detergent pods—not a single can or box of non-perishable food! I grit my teeth in frustration and searched one more box. First aid kits. I stuffed one into my bag, but that was that. There was no food. We'd have to forage or... I'd have to learn how to hunt.

  I turned off the flashlight and climbed from the truck. Back and forth, the guard's footsteps moved in the same rhythmic pattern. I didn't bother shutting the door. Let the battery run out. In fact... why let them have a vehicle at all? They'd continue to make supply runs with it, or chase us down. Remington's limp might slow us down and make it easy on them. I didn't go through all that trouble to save his life only for them to kill him.

  Infuriated by my own inability to do what was necessary to survive (namely, hunting) and for the Sabelynx I presumed they killed, I indulged in the malicious behaviors I'd learned from people long before the apocalypse. I moved around to the front of the truck and lifted the hood. It squeaked. The guard came around to check, but I lowered the hood and held it in place while I ducked next to the grill. He didn't search any further than shining a light around the side of the convenience store and returned to his duty.

  I was much more quiet lifting the hood again and careful not to make noise as I climbed up. I waited for his footsteps to recede again before I switched on the flashlight and searched for the dipstick tube. When his footsteps came back towards me, I covered the light with my hand and waited. Light, no light, coming towards me, moving away from me.

  I sabotaged the vehicle in minutes, using the knife to cut slits in the oil tube and stabbed repeatedly at the transmission belt to weaken it. Once finished, I climbed back down, shut the hood as silently as possible, and stabbed a hole into the rear tire just before I took off. By the time they figured out the tire wasn't the only thing wrong with the truck, we'd be miles out of range.

  Two steps into the treeline, a notification popped up:

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Both my pack and my quiver felt heavier than before. I checked my bag. Sure enough, phials of effervescent liquids were settled inside. That must mean my quiver had been refilled with arrows, too. To be honest, despite the interface and Metamons, I had forgotten about the background game mechanics, things such as levels (if there was one), rewards, achievements, etc. The Guidebook was practically useless: it only provided vague summaries for limited entries, such as how to access the interface.

  I decided to delay my return to camp. Remington seemed highly reluctant to acknowledge this fresh aspect and I didn’t want to agitate him further. I sat down among some shrubbery to pick through my rewards. There were two bottles of green, two bottles of yellow, and a single bottle of purple. The purple must have been the antidote. I chugged it. It was disgusting, but I felt the toxins clearing out through my body almost instantly. The bottle dissolved in my hand after its one-time use.

  When I stood up, a third notification sounded: this time, the urgent jingle of an enemy. I brought up the map and saw the red icon of a Metamon nearing me. It approached fast. I drew one of my arrows and spun around to face it, pulling the bowstring taut.

  A set of car keys were tossed out of the dark shadow of another shrub. I stared at them, unsure what I was looking at. The muzzle of a furry creature slowly peeked out of the shrub. I lowered my bow once I recognized it: Sabelynx!

  “You’re alive!”

  My shout spooked it back into the shrub. I tucked the arrow back into my quiver, lowered my bow to the ground, and patiently remained squatted with my hand held out.

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “I thought they’d shot you. I’m glad they didn’t, though it’s a wonder you’re still following me around.”

  The Sabelynx remained hidden. My legs started to cramp and the adrenaline rush, quickly wearing off, sapped me of my energy.

  “Suit yourself. Our camp is this way, if you want to come. We still don’t have any food, though…”

  I picked up the car keys. The symbol matched that of the cargo truck I’d just raided. I grinned.

  “Thanks for these.”

  I didn’t tell it that the keys were now useless because it might discourage the Metamon from helping next time. Besides, if it really was anything like a cat, these keys were a gift--or it liked them because they're shiny and jingled. I stuffed them into my pack and walked on to camp. I double-checked my map as I went, noting that the red dot followed me.

  The Sabelynx might have been less of an enemy, but it still was not marked as a friend. The Metapedia still said Tamed - 0. There was no entry in the Guidebook on how to tame Metamons, either. The questions of how to tame the Metamon occupied my thoughts all the way back to camp.

  Remington was awake when I returned, his good hand on his hip and a full scowl covering his face.

  "Did you think I wouldn't notice that you'd snuck off in the middle of the night?” he asked in a firm tone. “I don't know what in the sam hill possessed you to run off and rob that convenient store, but—"

  "I'm not that stupid! I robbed the supply truck. I had to do it on my own, so I figured next time—"

  "There's not going to be a next time, d'you understand me? You're not going to take risks like that."

  "Who the hell do you think you are?" I jumped to my feet, livid. "You're not my father, you're not my mentor, you're not in any position of authority to scold me like a five-year-old and expect me to just salute and follow orders! I'm not a soldier and I won't be told what I can and can't do!"

  "Those Rangers are dangerous, kid."

  "Stop calling me kid! I'm an adult!"

  "Then start thinking like one! Even if this is some fucked up game, it’s still a matter of life and death!" He took a moment to breathe deeply and temper his anger. "There are some things you shouldn't do just because you can. Messing with those Rangers is one of them. If you get caught—don't interrupt! If you get caught, there are terrible things those people will do to you. You can't let someone die, right? Well, I can't let someone risk their life for short-sighted reasons."

  "Short-sighted?"

  "There's nothing they have that we need."

  Remington shoved both of his hands in his pockets with a wince of pain; I crossed my arms over my chest. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I didn't have to justify my actions to him, nor would I. My movement caused the clink of bottles and remembered I had several things he might want.

  “That’s not entirely true. They didn’t have food, but I did find this. Thought you might want it.”

  I pulled the automatic handgun out. He swore loudly and shoved my wrist downward to ensure the barrel aimed at the ground.

  “Don’t point that! Have you even checked to see if it’s loaded?”

  “I assumed it was.”

  “First rule of gun safety: always check to see if it’s loaded.” An exasperated sigh escaped him. He took the gun gently from me, turned the safety on, and ejected the magazine. “Safety is everything when dealing with guns. That’ll be your first lesson for hunting.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, though I had no intention to hunt with guns. “I got these, too.”

  I handed him the spare magazine and showed him the potion bottles.

  “I know you hate that this is a game, but the gaming aspects play into life or death, too. If your health gets too low, you could die. If you run out of stamina and it doesn’t regenerate, it might affect your health. Drinking one of these will restore your health, the other will restore your stamina. Both could save your life.”

  Remington continued to glower at me, but he tapped the empty handgun against his thigh pensively. I handed him one of each bottle.

  “We can share these.”

  I heard the alert notification. He looked around, confused yet on edge.

  “What is that?”

  I pulled up my map and showed him the red dot in the brush on the other side of the clearing. He shoved the magazine back into the handgun and lifted it to fire, but I blocked his path.

  “It’s Sabelynx. It’s still following me. Don’t hurt it.”

  “That thing might kill us in our sleep.”

  “He hasn’t hurt me yet! Well, besides the scratches, but that was an accident.”

  “It’s venomous?”

  “Yes. I got an antidote with those potions, too, so I’m cured. Please just leave it alone. It’s not going to hurt us. At least, I don’t think. It’s had plenty of opportunities and it hasn’t done anything malicious.”

  “Fine, but you’re responsible for feeding it and keeping it in line. The second that thing tries to attack us—“

  “I understand.”

  He huffed and lead the way back to where we camped. After he put the handgun away, he checked the ammo of his rifle.

  “I’ll keep watch and wake you up in the morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you rest?”

  Remington ignored me and went to stake out the brushes at the edge of the clearing. I wondered why he was so dead-set against the gaming aspects while I settled in to sleep. Eventually, my thoughts lulled to a halt and I fell asleep.