“You can’t just go to the Guard with this, Pete!” Copperpot held my arm as I tried to leave the warehouse.

“Why not? ThEY TriED ta KiLL mE!” I barely kept my voice below a shout. Every single thought that passed through my mind was wArPEd and tinged with red. I was gradually becoming more and more furious at the whole situation.

When Copperpot had warned me about hit-squads, I’d figured it would be something like my little job on Whistlemop. A shakedown and a warning, maybe a light bit of threatening and some broken kneecaps. I’d taken to walking around in groups, and had always been sure to stay to stick to main roads, just in case. I hadn’t imagined super-death-ninjas like something out of a manga.

“Because the unwritten rule of modern Corporate Combat is that you don’t get the guard involved! Right now we have an opportunity to hit them back, but if you go to the law, that all goes out the window! And it would ruin the Pot name amongst the rest of the gnomish oligarchy!” Copperpot dug his heels in.

I threw him off. He may have had much higher stats than me but it was clear that he had completely abandoned his strength score. That was probably the biggest cheat from my quests, they gave me bonuses to stats I didn’t normally use. Given enough time I might hit max in all of them, while the average person didn’t even come close to max in one.

I took a deep breath and tried to find my center. I felt like I should have been horrified, I’d just watched some people die! But all I could see was the red mist. Think calming thoughts, Pete. Think calming thoughts. Playing catch with Sammy, drinking a fresh ale, sitting under a waterfall, gutting Ambermine. I hissed, “Fine. I won’t go to tha city, then. But I’m not goin' to sit back and take this Copperpot! You do things your way, I’ll do it mine.”

I turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind me. Copperpot’s face was chalk white, and he looked afraid. Of me? Annie followed close on my heels, her eyes wide.

“Pete? You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?? Annie, someone just tried ta kill us! You were even angrier than me! Where did all tha' wrath go!?”

Annie grabbed my arm and spun me around. I almost decked her. Her voice was full of worry as she held my arms in place. “I admit I dipped into the Red a bit, but you’re falling hard. Pete, you…”

Annie looked around, clearly concerned about being overheard where we were. A valid worry since there were apparently gnomish super ninjas.

She continued with a whisper in my ears. “Dwarves can fall to something called the Red Rage. It’s what makes [Berzerker] such a popular and effective Title for us. It’ll increase your Strength and Agility, but turns you into a blithering idiot over time. Up till this point, those of us in the know figured you were immune, but you’re clearly feeling its effects. And you have no experience playing hitball as a child to temper your Rage. You need to calm down.”

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking, and something was seeping from beneath my nails where they gripped my palms. I absently rubbed fingers, remembering the taste of Ambermine’s blood in my tea.

I growled, “well maybe I need a bit of that viciousness, Annie. It seems like I’ve been a bit too easy goin'. First Browning, now the Mine Corporation. I’m sick of gettin' messed with. Balin had tha right idea, we need to be so Godsdamn strong that nobody dares step on our shadow!”

“And Balin threw himself into the mouth of horror so that you didn’t have to!” Annie snapped back. “Do you think he would be happy? Knowing his brother is degenerating to some basic blockhead? Do you think I would be happy? That I wouldn’t rather have Balin doing carpentry at the Goat and spending time with him every evening? What do you think happens to dwarves that give in to the Red Rage? Do you think anyone at the brewery would enjoy a dark and angry version of Peter Roughtuff? We may scoff at your awful puns, but that’s who you are! A jokester and a wiseguy, a hard worker and steadfast friend who can spend hours going on and on about alcohol. Don’t you dare lose that!” She stared at me with hurt, and fear, and anger.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. My mind swam with memory, and it was sharp as broken glass

—

Sammy laughed as I juggled the ball, launching it from foot to knee and then headbutting it into the air.

“Daddy! You’re doing it wrong!”

“What? I’m passing! Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“You’re supposed to pass it to me!”

“What!? But I’m so much closer! Why would I pass it all the way over there, silly goose?”

“Come oooooon, pass it!!”

My little girl was five years old, and we were practicing long distance passes at the park. She was wearing her brand new soccer outfit, proudly displaying her mother’s painstakingly stitched name and number for all the world to see. It was unspeakably cute, and horrifically expensive - seriously, HOW MUCH for a child’s uniform?

“You want a pass? I don’t think you can handle the heat!” I chest trapped the ball and then booted it.

It flew right over her head, her outstretched hands barely brushing it.

“Hand ball!” I shouted.

“NO FAIR!” Sammy ran as I laughed. The ball continued to roll on the dead summer grass. The past few years had been much hotter than usual, and the local parks were pretty desiccated. The ball kept hopping and skipping, traveling further than I was used to - directly towards the road.

“Sammy, slow down! Wait for the ball to stop!” I called.

Sammy didn’t stop, she was focused on catching the ball. Each step carried her closer to the busy road. Our PAC had been complaining to the city about putting in a fence for years.

My body pumped me full of adrenaline and I moved faster than I ever had in my life. The entire time, I screamed, “Sammy! STOP!!!”A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I scooped Sammy up into my arms just before she ran into traffic. A truck ran right over her ball, popping it. She squawked in indignation, more at the loss of her ball than her near brush with death.

I yelled at her then. Real, angry, shouting full of worry and fear and shock. I vented my helpless anger on my little girl for a full minute. That ball could have been her, popped like a balloon under two-tons of death.

I never forgot that day, or the look on her face when the adrenaline finally wore off.

Those wide eyes full of pain and betrayal.

—

Annie looked at me like that now.

We stood in silence for a minute. She was tall, for a dwarf, and I had to tilt my neck up to look at her this close.

I spoke up. “Annie, your world is really violent.”

“I… can’t deny that. Was yours not?”

“You know… I think it was. I was just privileged enough to be separated from it.” I relaxed my shoulders and tried to let it go like a snow princess. Slowly, the red in the corners of my vision receded and I felt like myself again. I still felt… surprisingly little guilt or horror at the deaths we’d just witnessed. Everything felt a little unreal at the moment though, so maybe I’d get hit with it later?

*Bing!*

Stat Increased: [Wisdom]!Your Wisdom has increased by 1! Your new Wisdom is 15.4!