Death and Patronage

"Blake!" Hank ducked under the make-shift shelter and grinned. "The boat's ready."

"About time!" Blake threw his feet off the bed of leaves and stepped out into the sun. The rest of the group was gathered on the beach already, all their tools and weapons readied as they joked and laughed with excitement.

"Wait," Blake frowned. "Where's Mona?"

Hank looked around with a shoulder shrug. "Thought she was with the others."

Blake sighed. "Probably down at the other end of the island. I'll go get her." He walked a few steps before he turned. "Do not let Mbopi convince them to get on that boat without us!"

"We couldn't leave without our chief," Hank winked, then jabbed a finger. "But hurry the hell up."

Blake took off with a sober salute, jogging across their tiny island to Mona's private little get-away spot. His comment to Hank wasn't entirely a joke. He'd gotten along with Mbopi well enough after the rocky beginning, but he wasn't so naive to think the man liked him. The idea that he'd take charge and leave Blake behind wasn't at all impossible. He was also a dangerous, spear hurling 'class' that could probably kill Blake if things got heated, and probably the only person who would truly to help him was Mona.

Hank and Doug wouldn't even be able to intervene. They were civilians, which meant they'd chosen a kind of non-combatant role that put them outside the power games of the 'players'. Blake had learned quite a lot about the great game in the past forty-eight hours. Firstly, Players couldn't harm Civilians. Just threatening to do so resulted in a system message that promised restraint, 'severe penalty', and even death. In fact civilians were entirely removed from the player system, with their own classes, powers, and objectives, which seemed almost entirely different to Blake and the other players.

"I'm supposed to form a contract with a Player," Hank had explained quietly around the campfire the night before.

"Meaning what?" Blake asked.

"Meaning I sort of…work for them? I guess? For as long as we both agree."

"OK…but, why would you want to do that? What do you get?"

Hank had shrugged. "Whatever the player, or I guess employer, agrees to." He'd leaned in closer. "Players can't hurt me, you see. But everything else can. Creatures. Monsters. Whatever the hell you call them."

Blake had nodded, finally understanding.

"You get protection."

"Seems so."

"Wait." Blake had frowned. "What happens if you have a…disagreement, with a player. You know…like, who gets the last piece of fish." He'd held it up for emphasis.

Hank had grinned, but looked a little dejected. "I lose. Another reason to have a patron. Then it ain't a disagreement between him and me. But between them, if you follow."

"Hank." Blake had kept his face stone cold serious. "Would you do me the honor of accepting me as your patron? I promise protection. Respect. And cake, eventually. Lots of cake."

Hank had laughed, then shrugged. "Hey, it finishes my objective. Anyway, you seem like a reasonable sort. I've got something like a stock contract here, but we can re-negotiate when we know what the hell we're doing. Agreed?"

Blake smiled, not at all interested in the details for now. "Agreed."

And just like that, the system had obliged.

[Contract acknowledged. Details stored.]

Hank had shivered, then grinned.

"Well shit, that gave me a nice little boost."

"Oh yeah?" Blake teased. "A new fishing pole? The power to mince onions?"

Hank laughed without reserve. "Something like that, kid. Now stop bothering me. I've got to look through this damned endless list of choices."

Blake had relented, and anyway, he had his own reward to examine.

[You've gained your first civilian follower! Title earned: Patron.]

[New Objective gained: Earn additional followers. Earn additional leadership titles for synergy boosts.]

Patron? Hell yeah. And additional leadership titles? Blake practically had to wipe up his saliva. But first things were first. He had to make everyone in the group—with the exception of Mbopi—an ally or a follower. And he had to get off this damn island.

"Mona?" He snapped back to reality as he reached the far end of the island, scanning for several seconds before he found the former gymnast hanging from a nearby tree like a monkey. She curled up and leapt to the beach, landing with the grace of a sexy hunting cat. "Boat's ready," he grinned, unabashedly inspecting her from tussled hair to sandy toes. "Now let's go back before Mbopi leaves us to rot forever on this island."

Mona raised a brow. "I think you might enjoy that."

"You're right," Blake laughed. "But I've too much to do. So get that pointy stick of yours and let's go."

"Yes, chief," Mona saluted, using Blake's official unofficial nickname, and flicked the weapon with her toe before catching and spinning it with a flourish.

"God you're a showoff," Blake grinned, expecting a witty retort.

But the retort never came. Mona's face had gone pale, and she stared off towards the other end of the beach as her mouth opened with a wordless stutter. Blake turned towards the boat and the others. For a moment he didn't understand, but then he realized—there were creatures emerging from the water. At least a dozen. And they were already overrunning the group.

Blake saw blood fly, then heard the screams.