Click-click-click-click-click!
After the DG Mystery Box was chosen, Clay was able to see its wedge on the wheel. Unlike last time, he found himself hoping for something and suffering the anxiety of seeing the arrow pointing at something he didn't want, however briefly.
He didn't want another DG Mystery Box. If it was a loot box, he wanted it to be something he could open immediately.
So, the only thing he wanted was for it to land on literally anything except the one wedge he could actually see.
"Is…something supposed to be happening?" Milly asked kindly. "I can't see it."
Click-click! Click..Click…Click…Click.
"Just a little longer."
Finally, it landed on another question mark that gave way to an icon that Clay thought looked like a court jester's head. It was in silhouette, but the distinct shape of its hat gave it away.
>[The Wheel of Welter] has landed on [Skills, Skills, and more Skills!]
>5 new Skills have been added to your Skill Shop!
Then it was over.
When he went to check, he found that there were definitely new Skills that hadn't been there before.
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[TIGHTENING TONGUE] (1 SkP) - Passive
Some things one is forced to eat in dire situations are just...Well, you'd rather not have to deal with the taste, right?
Food and drink that is edible, but that you'd hate, tastes 10% more neutral to you. Will never make something like stale bread taste gourmet, but will get it to a point where it wouldn't taste stale. If you hate veggies, this makes them taste more like rice.
Your mouth also becomes 10% more tolerant to high or low temperatures.
Upgrading this Skill increases usefulness, the neutrality of taste, and the tolerance of your mouth.
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This is probably the first Skill that Clay would have bought if he were back home. He could admit he had the palate of a toddler and hated eating veggies enough that he'd resort to supernatural help if he was forced to consume them.
This would just be a quality of life pick that he couldn't justify wasting his last Skill Slot on.
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[THE SLIP] (2 SkP) - Active
The quiet has always been your best friend.
When activated, your footsteps make 10% less noise for 1 minute.
1 hour cooldown.
Upgrading this Skill increases noise reduction and duration, and decreases cooldown.
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Decent at face value, but [Sound of Silence] had him covered in the keeping quiet department. On top of that, it looked like it would be a major point investment before it'd even begin to be worth it.
This one was a loser.
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[DRAW AGGRO] (3 SkP) - Active
Painting a target on your back.
When activated, mindlessly aggressive enemies within a 50-foot radius will know your location and focus all of their ire on you.
Upgrading this Skill increases the radius.
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Why the hell would he buy this? If he wanted a zombie's attention, he could just shoot them or make some noise.
Totally worthless.
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[CHAINSAW MASTER] (4 SkP) - Passive
Zombies fall like wheat before a scythe when you’re holding a chainsaw.
Chainsaws you wield deal 20% more damage and last 20% longer before running out of fuel.
Upgrading this Skill further increases damage and extends fuel efficiency.
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Did he even need to explain himself?
Worthless.
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[HOUSEPLANT HEALING] (15 SkP) - Passive
You heal faster when you're not exerting yourself or moving (defined as not creating meaningful distance from a starting point).
Will not regenerate lost limbs, organs, scar tissue, or hair follicles.
Effectiveness scales with Resilience.
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Now this is what he'd been looking for. Unfortunately…
>15 SkP
That was way outside his price range. Why was it so much more expensive than the other Skills?
He supposed it was useful enough to justify the price point, but it was also likely because it said nothing about upgrading it for better potency. To make up for the fact that it was a one-time purchase, they hiked up the price.
What kind of racket are you people running here…?
15 Skill Points and he had to pump up his Resilience just to make it do anything. As usual, this system liked jerking him around.
"Is it done spinning yet?"
Clay flinched. He'd gotten so absorbed in looking at his new Skills that he forgot that Milly was just sitting there, watching him stare at nothing.
Because he hadn't actually gotten anything physical, there would be no impressive light show for her.
"Here's the thing…" He began.
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The next few days were spent reading and playing board games with Angie. He took the opportunity to teach her how to play chess.
"It's a game for smart people," he explained, "so the smartest of the smart are the ones that always win."
"Okay!"
Of course, chess being a game for smart people would only be the case when he's winning. If he lost, he'd have to gently explain there were actually multiple types of intelligence.
He also had the tried and true 'chess sucks' line.
"This is kinda confusing. Can we play checkers instead?"
Except trying to teach an eight-year-old chess was beyond his current patience level. Maybe one day the wheel could add a Skill that made him better at teaching children how to do things.
"Sure."
For now, he just played whatever Angie wanted as long as he wouldn't have to get out of bed. She also had to be the one to set them up and put them away when they were done.
While he was doing this, Alan and the newcomer were out getting supplies.
It was probably a good thing he had to stay home for a bit. He’d just end up getting in the way while trying to show her how it’s done. However, for a girl who had already been traveling alone in the apocalypse, there might not have been much to teach beyond building-entry etiquette.
Two days after Clay was put out of commission, Alan walked in on him playing Clocks and Coasters with Angie. He was still wearing his big, woolen coat and fisherman's hat. His ears were bright red from him having to rub them against the cold.
He refused to wear a beanie like Clay or a pair of earmuffs Milly found in storage. Alan had said that anything that could block his hearing was too risky, and he wouldn't switch his bucket hat out for anything.
With the electric heater in his room, Clay was able to sit just fine in normal pajamas.
"Hey, kids!"
"Dad!" Angie waved him over excitedly. "Play Clocks and Coasters with us!"
"Yeah, Alan…" Clay smiled weakly. "It's really fun. I especially like it when I land on the clocks and lose a turn every three seconds."
"Clay sucks at this game, Dad!"
How can I be bad at this game? The only way to do anything is to roll dice and move your piece. It's all luck!
"Maybe another time, ma'am!" Alan tilted his head in Clay's direction. "How's your leg, genius?"
"I can already walk and jump just fine. There's a little bit of tightness, but I think I'll be good to go tomorrow."
"Awesome! That means you're good enough to go up to the roof and sweep the snow off the solar panels!"
Shit.
After Radman had installed the solar panels, Alan made sure Clay knew from the very beginning that keeping them clear of snow would be one of his responsibilities. On days when they had to stay out through the night or he was indisposed like this, they'd have Angie do it instead.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
It wasn't a tough job necessarily, it was just that he usually had to do it after spending all day exhausting himself. Anything that happened between coming home and lying in bed just felt like too much a lot of the time.
Right now, his inward complaints were simply because he was being made to do it after he got nice and comfy.
"No problem, Alan!" Clay did his best to smile in a way that wouldn't give away his annoyance.
"You can finish your game first. Wouldn't want you to have to lose a second playin' that masterpiece!"
His smile twitched. "…Thanks, Alan."
Alan clicked his teeth twice and briefly pointed a finger gun at him before leaving.
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After clearing the solar panels, Clay made his way to an apartment on the fifth floor that everyone used as communal storage. It was commonly accepted that anything left there was up for grabs by anyone who wanted or needed it.
So why was there a crate of grenades here?
Well, it had just been a temporary thing after Alan stole them from the asshole patrol's base camp. Then they just sort of left them there.
Under past circumstances, Alan would have been worried about leaving explosives lying around for the same reason he didn't like everyone having guns. Now though, everyone had a gun and was deemed responsible enough not to mess with the grenade crate. The only time anyone had ever expressed interest in them was when Howard asked Alan where they were so he could marvel at the 'badass haul'.
The only worry was Angie, who was never told about them - they were also left on a shelf too high for her to reach.
Clay had come looking for books, but he ended up examining one of the grenades instead.
He'd been far from anything resembling a gun enthusiast, so his passion for explosives was nonexistent. Clay didn't get excited at the cinematic possibilities as Howard did, but solving a fair amount of his problems by blowing them up did give him something of an appreciation.
If he'd had a few of these when he was fighting the Hammer, maybe it wouldn't have been such a close shave.
Hmm, it doesn't look as rough as I thought it would…
It didn't have the pineapple-like design that he was familiar with from the movies. It had the pin and handle he'd expected, but the surface of the grenade itself was totally smooth.
Was this what a real grenade looked like, or was this another case of the difference between worlds?
"What are you doing in here?" A loud, female voice asked from behind him.
Clay's body jolted so hard that he nearly dropped the grenade.
"Whoaa!" Cynthia peeked over his shoulder. "Is that a real grenade? Where did you get that?? Are you going to use it on an outing???"
"No…" Clay said quietly, then cleared his throat after realizing she hadn't heard him. "Nope, these are just grenade-themed Christmas decorations. I was bringing them out because Milly was talking about putting up a Christmas tree."
"Hahaha! I didn't even know they made those!" Cynthia took a seat on a box next to him. "There's a redneck joke in there somewhere!"
She was right. Had Clay lost his mind for mediocre jokes like that in the midst of everything?
While she repositioned, Clay put the grenade back in its box with the others.
"There should be some Confederate flag-patterned Santa hats in the box over there." Clay nodded towards a random box.
"For real? No way!" Cynthia started leaning towards it.
"Of course not," he revealed, a small smile on his face. "That'd just be ridiculous."
"Oh, but grenade tree ornaments are perfectly normal?" She straightened up like she hadn't been about to reach for the box Clay gestured towards. "I didn't even believe you, anyway!"
"Alright."
"…Okay, I did kinda believe you. Cut me some slack; you didn't even do anything weird with your voice." Cynthia wiggled her fingers close to the back of his head. "You shouldn't be able to do that! You shouldn't be able to just lie like that!"
Clay started laughing at her intensity. "I've never lied before in my life. I promise."
"More lies and deceit." She put her hands together like she was praying. "Sending negative vibes and death threats your way."
"Ah, death threats," Clay said fondly, "my only weakness."
She tried to restrain her laughter while she rustled through her pockets, producing a pack of cigarettes.
"You smoke…?" She trailed off.
"Clay."
"I knew that!" She responded defensively, stopped, then said, "Actually, I didn't. How have I not once heard your name?"
"That's because you've been spending most of your time with Alan. I don't know why, but I don't think he's ever once called me by my actual name. It's always-" Clay traced the brim of an invisible bucket hat as he did his best impression of Alan, "-kee-ed, jeen-yus, and sometimes we'll call 'em somethin' sideways when ah'm in a bad mood."
"Hey, that's pretty good!"
"I practice in the mirror every day."
"Ugh, you say everything in the same way! I can't tell if you're playing another joke on me!"
"Do you mean to tell me you believe it's possible that I, a real human being in a zombie apocalypse, might be wasting time practicing impressions?"
"Don't play the game where you appeal to your humanity! I barely know you! You could be a serial killer for all I know!" She rolled her eyes. "I don't want to believe you'd practice a Southern accent in the mirror for fourteen hours a day because I like to think the best of people, but that impression was a little too good!"
"Nobody said anything about fourteen hours!" Clay spoke just as defensively as she had a moment ago with a growing grin on his face.
"Oh my God, this is getting so far from the question I asked!"
"…What was your question again?"
"I asked you if you smoke," Cynthia clarified while holding out a cigarette for him to take.
He slowly waved a hand between them to signal his refusal. "Thanks for the offer, but I don't really smoke. I've done it a few times to see what the fuss was about, but I've never really gotten it. You spend five to ten minutes a day just sucking on a stick? To what end? Is cancer so appealing?"
She blinked at him.
"Just 'no thank you' would've been fine."
Clay's cheeks burned, just a bit. He got caught up in the vibe and became more talkative than usual. That's what he got for trying to match her energy.
He nearly forgot that Cynthia was probably just being nice because she felt bad about injuring him.
"Yeah, sorry." He cleared his throat. "You and Alan find anything good today?"
"Hardly! I don't wanna complain too much because this is a pretty sweet deal for me, but he's such a boomer!"
Clay could agree. Alan was definitely a little bit of a boomer.
"He likes things done a very specific way, and I can't get a word in edgewise when I have an idea!"
Clay couldn't agree. He's always found Alan would at least listen to his ideas, even if he'd sometimes veto them.
"I've heard that you're going to be ready to come out with us tomorrow, which is also something I gotta ask you about because what the fuck, but I'm thinking that old man is still pissed I took you out of commission. Maybe he'll stop being so harsh once you're back in action."
He slipped his hands into the pocket of his jacket. No electric heater in here, unfortunately.
"What makes you say that?" Clay asked.
"It feels like he's got something to say no matter what I'm doing." Cynthia tried her hand at an Alan impression. "The kid wouldn’t've done that! How long you been at this? I stopped having to finish up after the kid a week in! You're supposed to be carrying the kid's share!"
"Is that so…?" Clay felt his lips wiggle.
Her impression wasn't as good, but the idea of Alan speaking about him so positively…
"Hah! 'Is that so'? Like you're not sitting there feeling special! I'm being bullied for not being as strong as someone twice my size!" She wiped at an imaginary tear. "You should focus less on how good you're feeling and focus more on how bad I feel!"
"Ooohh, my leg is starting to hurt. I think I need to step away for a second."
"Okaaaayyy, dude! Okaaayyyy! Wooow! Reallyyyyy gonna go there, huh?"
Clay decided Cynthia was alright.
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And so the next two days passed and he was allowed back on outings again. Clay didn't pursue Crowders as aggressively during this time to avoid questions from Cynthia and not to unnecessarily put her in danger.
Yet questions still came.
Cynthia was constantly asking him about his leg all throughout, even offering to help him get through windows and lift things if he wasn't feeling right.
This was obviously because, realistically, he should not be back in the fray so quickly. She asked in many different ways how something like that could be possible, which usually had Clay brushing her off or saying he was just as confused as her.
However, as the three of them walked to the city's medical district, he decided on something different.
"I was actually bit by a zombie and acquired zombie healing powers." He poked his chest with his thumb. "So yeah, I'm a V-Man, basically."
"First of all," she pressed the side of her fist against his arm as they walked side-by-side, "the V-Men didn't get their powers from accidents and stuff; they were born that way."
"True, true," Alan concurred from the front.
"Second of all, I'm not letting Mr. Monotone trick me ever again. Everyone knows that once you're bitten by a zombie, it's basically over for you."
Clay planned on just leaving it there, but then Alan chimed in.
"But he's got a scar on his arm from when he got bit by a Jumper and everything. Can't fake that!" Alan chortled. "Show it to her, genius!"
Clay scowled. He didn't really like people seeing his scars, and he certainly wasn't going to show it off for a gag. "No way, man. It's so cold out that you'd have to kill me to get my jacket off."
"I bet it's a dog bite anyway!" Cynthia quipped.
The reason they were going to the medical district is that Bell and Alan were getting worried about the dwindling medical supplies. They were secure enough for food and water that Alan decided a Christmas break would be in order after today's outing, but the last few incidents dealt enough of a blow to their stock of painkillers that they had to consider it.
Now that Milly was suffering the way she was, she'd also need a steady supply of drugs just to function in her every day. She no longer required the strong stuff they'd been giving her after she was injured, but she wouldn't be able to do without something.
Before they left, Bell had given Alan a list of drugs she'd worked with that were made for Milly's problem. If possible, they should try to get them all, but they'd be fine if they could get a huge supply of just one kind if that was all they could manage.
Included on this list were also things that they'd find useful outside of Milly's problem if things got bad enough, like morphine and actual medical tools.
At one point, Clay asked Radman if he could synthesize anything for them, but…
"I'm already learning neuroscience and zombie neuroscience from scratch. Maybe one day, but the things I'm working on right now are too important to put on hold so I can spend a year learning chemistry."
It was a bust.
Pharmacies were also one of the first places to get hit once everyone realized that they'd stop receiving their prescriptions. Most of the places Alan and Clay already tried during the month of grinding had nothing of what they were looking for.
They didn’t want to wait until supplies were completely gone, so now that things were on the cusp of becoming dire—and with the added fortune of having a third person with them—it felt like the time to take a risk.
Alan told Clay that he'd been close to the area once before when he had a whole team and added that they should expect a huge Crowd once they got there, but made sure to keep that tidbit secret from Cynthia so she wouldn't back out.
It felt sort of fishy, but Clay ultimately went along with Alan.
However, the streets were mostly empty when they arrived. Alan chopped it up to Crowder migrations caused by loud noises.
There were a few Crowders shambling about, but they were easily taken care of by Cynthia and her crossbow.
Clay despaired at seeing all that XP go to waste, but he couldn't demand to take those kills for himself without it looking strange. There was no reasonable argument he could think of for her not just using her crossbow, the quiet and mostly reusable alternative to a gun, except to say that he would move in if she missed.
She didn't miss.
Sometimes she'd have to take a few seconds to gauge the shot, but he hadn't once seen her come close to missing when she actually took the shot. Then it was a simple matter of retrieving her bolts and checking to see if they had degraded to a point where they needed to be disposed of.
How could Alan have anything to complain about where she's involved?
Also…
"How come you don't have any crossbows?" Clay whispered to Alan.
"I don't know shit about crossbows. Always thought they were just somethin' hipsters use because they don't wanna use guns, y'know?"
"I guess?"
Clay considered the idea of getting pointers from her, but [Sound of Silence] and [Nice Shooting] made it so he was just better off using guns anyway.
Their first stop was a few outpatient clinics at the edge of the medical district. Being the closest to where they came in from, they were the easiest to loot. The unfortunate thing about this was that when things are easy to loot, they'll probably already be hollowed out by the time you get there.
Some of them had a few scraps left behind, though.
The problem was that there might have been some useful drugs among the things they could find, but nobody there was qualified to point them out. Some of them were commonplace enough that they could be taken without worry, like Naproxen, but mostly it was left behind if it wasn't on the list.
They had plenty of room in their bags, but it'd go fast if they threw in every loose pill bottle they found.
There was also a pain management clinic, though it had definitely acted as a neon sign for junkies saying 'free drugs' when the riots started. As expected, it didn't turn up much.
That meant the only place that could still have anything for them was the main hospital building, an enormous building that stood far above any of the others in terms of sheer height.
"I bet the view from the top floor would be killer…" Cynthia muttered.
"Not as killer as the fall would be, I think," Clay replied, just as quietly.
"You two ain't bein' nearly silent enough," Alan said, mockingly matching their volume.
The farther into the district they went, the more Crowders they had to deal with. Soon, Cynthia would run out of arrows and leave Clay or Alan to pick off the scant few remaining so she could go pull them out without worry.
By the time they reached the main building, Clay had been forced to kill a few Crowders all on his own.
>EXP: 1785/2000
At this point, Cynthia voiced a realization.
"Wait a sec. Since a shit ton of people were probably going to the hospital before everyone knew what this thing actually was, isn't there going to be an army of zombies in there?"
"Maybe?" Alan made his best attempt at playing it off. "I figure as long as we steer clear of any place they'd have been keepin' patients, we'll be fine."
"Uh, that logic doesn't really check out for me. Crowders move plenty far away from where they first turn all the time."
"Sorry to say, but if you got a problem with it, you're free to walk home all on your lonesome."
"Goddamn it…"
Even Clay could have worked that out on his own long before they got there. Maybe she wasn't the sort of person who thought things through very often.
In any case, Alan was probably just trying to scare her. [Sound of Silence] should give them the edge in navigation as long as he can pass every instance of it off as him just being a really good ventriloquist and his guns as being specially soundproofed somehow.
The fact that he even had to expend effort keeping his powers a secret was annoying, but an extra set of hands and someone who could skillfully kill zombies from far away without much noise was worth the trouble.
The trio (plus Kissy) worked to enter the hospital.
