“I’m using an information request,” I said to Remy the second the presentation ended. “So give me a second.”

  “Okay,” she said nervously. “I’ll meet up with Tyler. The idiot eats crayons, but he’s a pretty good guy.”

  “You don’t have to justify yourself,” I replied curtly, and then looked away, opening my tutorial screen. Information request: Tell me where my sister is!

  A map flashed into my mind. It wasn’t much different from a Google Maps screen: it had topographical layers with the names of streets and buildings. Emily was indeed in the tutorial, indicated by a green dot. She was in Chinatown-International District, in Uwajimaya, a famous Asian mall. I sighed in relief: it was only a twenty-minute walk from the library. I could run there in five minutes. Unfortunately—

  Another red pop-up appeared in my vision:

  The second test will begin shortly.

  Tutorial: Protect the Fledglings

  Duration: 24 hours

  Description: Chosens with support classes are holed up throughout the city. Find them and bring them to safety.

  Requirements:

  1. Enter the library with a fledgling.

  2. Remain with your teammates so long as they are alive.

  Rewards: Unknown

  Penalty: Elimination

  I gritted my teeth. I wanted to retrieve her immediately, but it seemed like I couldn’t go without a team.

  A new message popped up:

  To begin the tutorial, please walk to the tenth floor to obtain your weapon.

  I followed the prompt, ascending the iconic yellow escalators that had been since reduced to a glorified staircase.

  ***

  The tenth floor was perhaps the second most iconic room in the library; it was a massive reading area with standing room for a couple thousand people. The bizarre geometric diamond roof was right overhead, crosshatch patterns wrapping windows like a chain-link fence. It was a gorgeous room—and it was currently hosting a warehouse-sale-style weapon showcase. All the tables displayed different weapons of fantastic and otherworldly flavors on them.

  I flooded into the room with the others, approaching a table of conventional weapons. To my surprise, none of them were made with metal; most were bone or ivory; others were made of scales or otherworldly stones.

  One weapon, shaped like a katana, had a tag that said:

  Evolved Moricon Bone Katana

  Description: Katana made from a Level 30 Moricon bone. It can cut through most evolved beasts with enough force, maxing out around Level 35 for most beasts.

  Interesting… I thought, remembering the spider’s body. A normal blade can’t touch them, so you’re using their own body parts to make weapons. That has to be the most human solution imaginable.

  It really was. Humans were the only species that wore the skin of other creatures to survive in conditions that should kill us. We walked around like:

  (“What? Your skin lets you survive here?”)

  (“It’d be a shame.”)

  (“If someone stole it.”)

  I smiled sardonically and then turned away, searching for a specific type of weapon. I found it on a far table filled with rifles and ammo boxes. The tag read:

  Barrett M107

  Description: A semi-automatic .50-caliber sniper rifle known for its power and long-distance shooting.

  Warning: An unmodified .50-caliber bullet will not break through the skin, hide, or shell of most evolved entities.

  I ignored the warning and slung the weapon over my shoulder, confirming it was my pick with the tutorial window. Then, I dumped a box worth of three-and-a-half-inch shells into my pockets.

  A few Chosens laughed. “Did he really choose a gun?”

  “Yeah. Seems he can’t read.”

  “That’s a book learner for you.”

  I ignored them, walking to a nearby wall to rest. I noted a barrier blocking the room's exit. It seemed that the tutorial could control who entered and exited the floor. I checked the hands on my watch: 8:37. Time was moving slowly.

  It took twenty minutes before everyone had chosen a weapon, and that was only because the tutorial activated a time limit. A new tutorial window then popped up in my vision.

  To begin the tutorial, join up with your team.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Team Members:

  Brooke Kingsley

  Jacob Phillip

  Edgar Martinez

  Troy Jackson

  The instructions squeezed my chest with its bony fingers, clawing between my ribs, pinching and twisting my lungs. I recognized two people on the list: one by his first name, the second by her last name. Both were antagonists who were sure to make my life hell.

  I turned and saw Jacob Phillip, the healer, and Brooke Kingsley, the businesswoman whose brother I had killed. I expected both to be glaring at me, but neither paid me any mind. Their eyes were glued to two other men, bodies trembling with fright.

  Brooke had her eyes fixed on Edgar Martinez, a man who looked justifiably unnerving. He was a Hispanic man with a shaved head, wearing a gray muscle shirt and a flannel tied around his waist. He had the letters “LA” inked onto his right shoulder, surrounded by a crown and other ominous symbols. That man was a cholo, if I had ever seen one—likely a gang member. I had met plenty of his type during my family’s brief stint living in San Diego, but such people were a rare sight in Seattle, the land of grunge kids and tech bros.

  I accurately judged that book by its cover, and then examined the man who left Jacob shaken. Troy Jackson was the opposite of Edgar in appearance, a clean-cut man in his mid-twenties, wearing a silky teal button-up with cream slacks and loafers. He looked like an entrepreneur ready to conquer the world. Yet despite his clean appearance, he looked more dangerous than Edgar. It was the way he smiled at Jacob that did it. That smile didn’t say, “Oh, I’ll enjoy getting revenge on you.” It said, “I can’t wait to hear you scream.” It gave me the shivers.

  Brooke and Jacob finally turned to me. I thought they would express disgust, but Jacob’s face expressed a “Save me,” and Brooke stared at me like she had to choose between a grizzly bear and a serial killer. I didn’t blame Brooke, but I had no sympathy for Jacob. I flipped him off with a full middle finger, L-thumb combo, and looked away when Mr. Sadist grinned. Something bad was sure to happen between the two—but that wasn’t my problem. I wouldn’t help Jacob.

  Not this time.

  I looked around the room to see if other people were with people they hated. Sure enough, Remy was glaring daggers at a woman on her team, and Tyler had his arms folded, glaring down at a short man.

  They teamed us up with people we hate, I thought. This is gonna get ugly. I suddenly thought about the lie detection skill. It was surely offered to me for this exact tutorial.

  “Brooke!” Edgar said, swinging a sledgehammer over his shoulder as he approached. “Qué onda, mija? How have you been?”

  Brooke recoiled, stumbling backward. It was clear the two were on a collision course from the start—and that wasn't okay. After all: they were on my team.

  I jumped between them. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on—but this isn’t how this team shit’s gonna go down.”

  Edgar grinned. “Oh come on. Why the hostility? We’re stuck together. Shouldn’t we… get to know each other?”

  “Yeah, probably not,” I said.

  He planted his foot and turned to face me head-on, lip curling. “You hard, homie?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “You actin’ hard,” he said. “I’m askin’ if you are hard.” He strode toward me, flinching forward with every step. “Well, homie? Are you?”

  There was no doubt about it: this man was a gang member—a barrio member from the Los Angeles city streets. He spoke in smooth cholo slang—not a degree of peeking formality you’d get from a split-cultural speaker. I doubted he was even from Seattle. He was either visiting when the tutorial began, or he was imported here for it. Whatever the case, he was dangerous and initiating a fight. I wasn't a fighter, but I knew enough not to recoil in fear. So, staying calm, I said what I could afford to say:

  “Yeah, I’m hard, homie.”

  Edgar narrowed his eyes and then grinned. “Alright then… That’s good. That’s good.” He patted my shoulder. “You and I? We cool. But that girl over there? We’re not. And you know why, homie? ‘Cause she led her team into an ambush, that’s why. She led me into an ambush—that’s why.”

  Brooke shook her head pleadingly, saying “Don’t believe him” with her eyes. But I could tell by her expression that there was a firm degree of truth to what he was saying. That said, I didn’t draw conclusions. Edgar was dangerous in the peaceful world; he was probably a monster in the apocalypse. If Brooke led him into an ambush, there was probably a good reason.

  “Look, I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s none of my business,” I said. “If you wanna work things out, that’s fine—but do it on your own time. For now, we should focus on passing this tutorial.”

  “I agree.” Troy strode over with a suspiciously friendly smile, one arm carrying a katana, the other wrapped over Jacob’s shoulder. Jacob was cowering like a bully’s shuttle, wincing and twitching and sweating with every step. A primal part of my brain felt bad for him. The rational side said he could rot. “What do you think, Jake?” Troy asked, slapping Jacob’s back so hard that his glasses nearly fell off his nose.

  “R-Right,” Jacob said. “I-I agree, too.”

  “Yeah?” Edgar said. “Well, I don’t.”

  “You’re acting like this’ll take all day,” I said. “I used my information request to find fledglings. We can do this in an hour—if we leave now. Then, you guys can sort your problems out however you like.”

  Brooke finally cracked, begging for my help with her eyes. I ignored her. Perhaps I would help her when the time came, but I'd cross that bridge once I got there. This bullshit idea where I was treated like a murderer until the second they needed me didn't sit right. I'd also only do it if I could afford to. Emily was my first priority. So, I wasn't going to pick a fight when I needed my team to cooperate.

  “That is an appealing suggestion,” Troy said. “But it does make a guy wonder: why are you so eager to leave?”

  Everyone turned to me, cold suspicion in their eyes.

  “Is that a serious question?” I asked bluntly. “The longer we wait, the less fledglings there’ll be. And when there’s less fledglings, people will get desperate. They’ll start killing people to steal them. Moving now is the obvious choice.”

  Troy turned to Edgar, who was studying my poker face with suspicion.

  “Naaah,” Edgar said. “That ain’t it. But that’s okay—I get it. It’s a good idea.”

  “Then it’s decided,” Troy said, pointing his katana toward the escalators. “After you,” he said to me, and I walked forward. As he followed me down the escalator, he glanced at the rifle slung behind my back. “Oh, by the way, that’s a nice gun you got there. It’s a damn shame it can only kill humans.”

  The atmosphere suddenly chilled. I stopped and turned back with a cold glare. “Have you run into an evolved entity?”

  A strange gleam flickered in his eyes. “No.”

  “Neither have I,” I lied. “So, I got something to help me level up.” I continued walking down the escalator with a scowl.

  Troy turned to Jacob. “Damn. Doesn’t have a sense of humor, does he?” That’s what he said, but no one laughed. Statements like that reminded us of the tutorial’s nuanced wording.

  (“Remain with your teammates so long as they are alive.”)

  We had to stay with our teams if they were alive—it didn’t say we couldn’t hurt, abuse, or kill each other. That seemed to be the point—to see how we would deal with team adversity—and the violent amongst us knew it.