Mason's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

  They'd been shaking for the past hour, ever since… since she’d stopped twitching. Since her head made that sound against the wall, denting her skull and sending her body into spasmodic twitches. Since the red thing happened and the words appeared in his mind.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at her body on the floor. At some point he'd started counting the seconds between blinks. Anything to focus on something other than what he'd done. Other than the still-open floating in his vision that he couldn't figure out how to close.

  Seventy-three. Seventy-four. Seventy-five.

  His old lady's face was turned away from him. Small mercy. He didn't want to see her eyes. They had stared too long, even after the gurgling had started in her lungs.

  The shaking got worse.

  Ninety-one. Ninety-two.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now? Call the cops?

  No. No way. They'd arrest him for sure this time, and once they had him he'd never get out. Not for this.

  Mason looked down at his hands - big hands, scarred knuckles. Six-two, two-fifty, muscles earned from years of heavy work on construction sites. Long black hair, chest-length beard. He looked like the kind of guy who could handle himself. People saw the scars on his knuckles and assumed bar fights, not slipped wrenches and sheet metal cuts.

  That's what everyone always thought. They always figured out the truth eventually, though.

  County jail was fine. The short stays, the drunk-and-disorderlies, the domestic calls that got him a night or two in holding. His size worked there. People saw the ink and the muscles and kept their distance.

  But Atlanta had been different. Real prison, real time, with real convicts who'd been around long enough to spot the ones who just looked dangerous. They'd loved fucking with him. Every. Damned. Day. He’d tried joining gangs, but none would take him. They didn’t abide weakness.

  He couldn't go back there. Wouldn't survive it.

  First human kill. Offensive reward to be issued at level five.

  Mason blinked. The count reset.

  One. Two. Three.

  That text had been there the whole time, but he was only just now reading it. First human kill. Like it was an achievement. Like he'd done something worth rewarding.

  His throat felt tight. It must be from the red mist thing. None of the words in his head made sense and he wondered if he was going crazy - if he’d finally snapped. But he'd seen something weird happen outside earlier - some kind of red mist that came down from the sky. He'd been too focused on teaching her a lesson to pay attention. She'd been running her mouth again, pushing his buttons, making him feel small in his own goddamn house.

  And then his hands were around her throat and the red stuff was everywhere and words were appearing in his mind and-

  Level 2 achieved.

  Mason jerked upright. More text appeared, scrolling past faster than he could read. Something about stats and points and strength increasing. He tried to focus on it, tried to make sense of any of it, but his brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton.

  Forty-nine. Fifty.

  He should get up. Should do something. But every time he thought about moving, about touching her, about dealing with what he'd done, the shaking got worse.

  The light outside the window was fading. How long had he been sitting here?

  Mason closed his eyes.

  The voice came from everywhere at once.

  Mason's eyes snapped open and suddenly he wasn't in his living room anymore. He wasn't anywhere. Just - nothing. Blank space in every direction. He tried to stand but couldn't feel his legs. Tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't move.

  Then the voice spoke again, formal and clipped like a military briefing.

  System Announcement: Integration protocol successful. First encounters complete. 5% casualty rate - within standard tolerances.

  What the fuck?

  "While you are in this space you are safe. This is an opportunity to acclimate to the new reality. Your world has undergone a significant transformation under the Unity Protocol..."

  The voice kept talking. Mason tried to follow along but most of it washed over him in a meaningless stream. Something about enhancements and levels and surviving challenges. Something about Earth being too diverse for whatever the hell this thing was.

  Then it said something that made Mason's breath catch.

  "Furthermore, as an incentive, The System rewards notable achievements during the integration phase. Here are the rankings for today's early accomplishments..."

  A list appeared. Names and rewards. Mason's eyes skipped down, barely processing most of it until -

  Mason Cane:

  Fifth kill. Immediate advancement of one level.

  First human kill. Offensive reward to be issued at level five.

  There. Right there. His name. Not "murderer" or "going to prison" or any of the things that had been looping through his head for the past hour.

  Reward.

  Mason stared at the words as the voice continued talking about new world orders and collective survival. His name was on a list. An official list. Whatever this System thing was, it had just announced to everyone - to the whole goddamn world - that he'd killed someone.

  And it had rewarded him for it.

  The shaking in his hands stopped.

  Mason blinked and he was back in his living room. The body was still there. The text was still floating in his vision. But something had changed.

  He wasn't scared anymore.

  Slowly, carefully, he pulled up the text and started reading through it properly. A character sheet, it said. Stats and skills and all kinds of video game bullshit he'd never cared about. But there at the bottom:

  Level 2

  And under achievements:

  First human kill. Offensive reward to be issued at level five.

  Mason read it three times. Four. Five.

  Whatever this System was, whatever had just happened to the world, it had given him a way out. More than that - it had made him important. His name was on a leaderboard. People would see it. People would know. Right now it was just the regional leaderboard, but one day it’d be the whole fucking world.

  They'd have to take him seriously now.

  He stood up, legs steadier than they'd been all day. His mind was already racing ahead. It was Friday night. The club had mandatory Friday attendance, and he'd been planning to skip it before, $100 fine be damned, but now?

  Now he had something to tell them.

  Mason grabbed his jacket and his shotgun. He left her where she was - he'd deal with that later. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Suddenly the cops weren’t the biggest thing on his mind. Right now he needed to get to the Hellhouse.

  They were going to see what he'd accomplished and they were finally going to give him the respect he deserved.

  The Hellhouse parking lot was mostly empty when Mason pulled up at nine. It was still early - everyone usually showed up around ten. His crew wouldn’t be here for another hour but he'd been too wired to wait. The adrenaline from the System announcement was still buzzing under his skin, making his fingers drum against his bike's handlebars.

  He killed the engine and just sat there for a minute, practicing what he was going to say. Keep it simple. Keep it cool. Just show them the achievement, let them see his level, and watch their faces when they realized he was ahead of them all.

  His increased strength stat made him feel... different. Better. Like his muscles were just a little more responsive, his grip just a little tighter on the handlebars. Not a huge change, but it felt like enough to matter. Most importantly, it felt like the beginning of something great.

  The door swung open with a familiar creak. The clubhouse looked the same as always - dim lighting, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Derek was behind the bar doing inventory. Tyler and Marcus were playing pool. Old Tom sat in his usual corner nursing some gut rot whiskey.

  "Mason?" Derek looked up, surprised. "You're early. What's up?"

  "Big day," Mason said. His voice came out steadier than expected. "You guys see that red stuff earlier? The System thing?"

  "Yeah, man. Crazy shit." Tyler missed his shot, the cue ball spinning off at a bad angle. "We were just talking about it. You figure out your stats yet?"

  "Yeah." Mason couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Yeah, I did. Pretty sure you all saw the leaderboard announcement, right?"

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Oh shit, that was you?" Derek looked up from the bar. "Mason Cane, fifth kill? We thought maybe it was someone with the same name."

  "Nah, that was me." Mason's chest swelled. "Check it out - Identify me."

  Derek's brow furrowed but his eyes went unfocused for a second. Then they widened. "Holy shit. Level two? How the hell- "

  "Told you it was a big day." Mason could feel the attention on him. They were actually impressed. Finally! "That leaderboard wasn't bullshit."

  Marcus set down his pool cue and walked closer, squinting like he was trying to read Mason's stats himself. "Wait, so you actually killed something? What, like a mutant squirrel or one of those spider things people are posting about?"

  "Not something." Mason let the words hang there. "Someone."

  The room went quiet.

  "Someone?" Tyler's voice had uncertainty in it now. "Like... like a person?"

  This was it. The moment. Mason pulled up the text he'd been looking at all evening and shared it to the room.

  Mason Cane:

  Fifth kill. Immediate advancement of one level.

  First human kill. Offensive reward to be issued at level five.

  They all stared at it. At him. Mason waited for the recognition. For someone to clap him on the back, tell him that was hardcore, that he'd really made his mark.

  Derek started laughing.

  "Bullshit," Derek said, wiping his eyes. "Come on, Mason. First human kill? You expect us to believe that?"

  "It's right there- "

  "Nah man, I'm not buying it." Tyler was grinning now too. "You've never thrown a punch in your life that wasn't at someone smaller than you. Who'd you supposedly kill?"

  Mason's jaw tightened. "I was heading home, some asshole in a Prius tried to run me off the road- "

  "A Prius?" Marcus was laughing now. Full belly laughs. "Oh shit. Oh this is good."

  " -so I followed him. Pulled into a parking lot and curb-stomped the fucker. That's when the System announcement happened and- "

  "Curb-stomped." Derek could barely get the word out. "You. Mason. Curb-stomped someone."

  "I did- "

  "He probably showed the guy his dick," Tyler called out, "and the dude had a heart attack from laughing too hard!"

  The room erupted. Everyone was laughing now, even Old Tom cracking a smile in the corner.

  "Or!" Marcus was almost doubled over. "Or the System made a mistake. Gave him credit for someone else's kill. That's gotta be it."

  "Maybe he found someone already dead!" Derek chimed in. "Just stood there while the System did a headcount!"

  Mason felt something hot and sharp rising in his chest. The same feeling he always got when they laughed at him, when they made him feel small. This time it was worse, though, because this time he actually had done something. He was level two. His name was on a leaderboard. He had proof.

  "I'm not lying," he said, but his voice came out too tight, too high.

  "Come on, Mason." Derek was wiping tears from his eyes now. "Who'd you really kill? Your old lady finally push you too far? That what happened?"

  The beer bottle in Mason's hand shattered. Blood ran between his fingers but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the rage building behind his eyes, the familiar red haze that meant he was about to do something stupid.

  Everyone stopped laughing.

  "Get out, Mason." Old Tom's voice cut through the silence. "Go on home. Get that hand looked at."

  Mason stared at him. At the old man who'd brought him into the club, who'd taught him to ride, who'd never once stood up for him when the others made him into a joke.

  The fear came then, that old familiar fear that always stopped him before he did anything he'd regret. The voice that told him to back down, walk away, live to fight another day. To tuck his tail between his legs and run to where it was safe.

  But the fear felt smaller now. Quieter.

  Because he was level two. Because he'd already killed once tonight and the System had rewarded him for it.

  What was stopping him from doing it again?

  Without a word Mason turned and walked out, feeling the laughter behind him like lashes across his back. Three long, angry strides took him to the holder he kept mounted on his saddlebag.

  The shotgun felt good in his hands. Felt intimate in a way it never had before. Maybe it was the increased strength stat making it easier to handle, or maybe it was just knowing what he was about to do.

  Mason walked back through the door and Tyler saw him first. Started to smile, started to say something-

  The blast took Tyler's head off.

  Just - gone. Body flipped backward over the pool table, blood spraying across the felt. The hangaround girl who'd been sitting nearby started screaming.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  The text appeared in Mason's vision. Calm. Official. Real.

  Derek was reaching for the piece he always carried in his waistband, but Mason was faster. The shot spun Derek around and dropped him face-first on the floor.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Someone ran for the back door. Mason fired and the body went down.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Marcus had his gun out now, that big .45, but his hands were shaking. Mason saw it happen in slow motion - Marcus raising the gun, finger tightening on the trigger, the muzzle coming up to point at Mason's chest.

  Mason fired first. Marcus went backward into the bar, bottles shattering, body sliding down to the floor.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  The girl was still screaming. Mason shot her. She stopped.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Carl was trying to dial his phone behind the bar. 9- 1- Mason shot him before he could hit the last number.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Each notification came with a little rush of pleasure that felt like vindication. Like every person who'd ever laughed at him was getting what they deserved. Everyone who never took him seriously was fucking taking him serious now. It felt like the universe was finally balancing the scales.

  The music was still playing. Some old Metallica track. He could barely hear it with how bad his ears were ringing, but he didn’t care. The shotgun was better music than anything on the jukebox right now. Mason walked through the clubhouse in time with the drums, shotgun smoking, notifications piling up with each blast.

  Someone was crying behind the pool table.

  Mason walked over and looked down.

  Old Tom. Sitting with his back against the wall, hands up, tears running down his weathered face.

  "Mason, please." The old man's voice was shaking. "I never - I wasn't laughing. Please, son."

  Son.

  Like Mason was someone finally worth mentioning. Like he'd ever been anything but their joke.

  “Too fucking late, Tom.” Mason pulled the trigger.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  He kept going. Through the whole clubhouse. Anyone who moved, anyone who hid, anyone who might have seen him, might have laughed at him, might have thought he was weak.

  The shotgun barked. Bodies dropped. Notifications filled his vision.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  The last one was a girl hiding in the bathroom. Young, maybe nineteen. She looked at him with huge terrified eyes and opened her mouth to scream.

  He shot her anyway.

  Human, Level 1, slain.

  The notification changed.

  Twelve humans, level 1, slain. Level 3 achieved.

  More text scrolled past. Something about his fighting style, about close-quarter combat, about his motorcycle being like a steed. Something about allocating points to agility to balance his stats.

  Mason barely read it. He was staring at the number.

  Level 3.

  Higher than anyone he knew. Higher than anyone in this whole fucking town, probably. And he'd gotten there by doing exactly what the System had rewarded him for in the first place.

  The clubhouse was quiet now except for the ringing in his ears. Blue smoke hung in the air mixed with the copper smell of blood. Bodies lay where they'd fallen.

  They weren't laughing anymore.

  Mason felt good. Better than good. He was on top of the fucking world! For the first time in his entire life he felt like he'd done something that mattered. Like he'd finally become what he was always supposed to be; someone strong. Someone nobody would ever laugh at again.

  Motorcycle engines in the distance pulled him out of his thoughts. His crew was getting here just on time - Blake and Rodrick and Elijah and the others. They'd be pulling up any second for their regular ten o'clock meetup.

  Mason looked around the clubhouse one more time, then walked outside. The cool night air felt good on his face. He propped the shotgun against the wall near the door and waited, hands steady, as headlights swept into the parking lot.

  His crew pulled up on their bikes, confusion on their faces when they saw him standing there alone. He didn’t miss their eyes flicking to the blood that covered him.

  "Uh, Mason?" Blake spoke first, voice careful. "What's going on? You're early."

  Mason smiled. A real smile this time, not the forced ones he usually gave.

  "Listen up guys," he said. "Some shit you need to know before you go inside."

  They stopped. Some of them put their kickstands down, but some didn’t - ready to leave if they needed to. The hangaround girls they'd brought hung back, scared. Smart girls.

  "World changed today," Mason continued. "You all saw that System shit. The levels and stats and all that."

  They all gave tentative nods but no one spoke up.

  "I came here tonight to show these assholes something. Thought they'd finally give me some respect, but they didn't believe me. They started laughing. Made jokes."

  Blake's eyes flicked to the clubhouse door. To the darkness inside.

  "So I stopped asking for respect and just took what I needed instead."

  "What do you mean, Mason?" Rodrick's voice was tight. "What happened in there?"

  "Identify me," Mason said.

  He watched their eyes go unfocused. Watched them widen.

  "Level three?" Elijah's voice came out strangled. "How - what did you do?"

  "I leveled up. Every person in there gave me experience. Made me stronger. And the best part?" Mason's smile widened. "The System doesn't care. It just keeps rewarding me for it."

  Silence. They were all staring at him now. At the blood that covered him. At the clubhouse door. At the shotgun leaning against the wall.

  "You killed them," Blake said. Not a question. A statement.

  "Every last one." Mason let that sink in. Let them process what that meant. "So here's where you all make a choice."

  He picked up the shotgun. Not pointing it at them. Not yet. Just holding it.

  "You can go in there and join them. You can try to call the cops - good luck with that, by the way, I bet they're pretty busy right now. Or..."

  He paused. Let them imagine the bodies they couldn't quite see through the doorway. Let them think about what had happened inside.

  "Or you can ride with me. I'm level three. That's higher than anyone around here, probably higher than most people for a hundred miles. I'm going to keep getting stronger, and anyone with me is going to rise up too. But if you're not with me..."

  He didn't need to finish. They could all see what happened to people who weren't with him.

  No one moved. No one spoke. They just stood there, bikes idling, looking at each other and at Mason and at the clubhouse full of dead people who'd made the wrong choice.

  Blake spoke first, like he usually did.

  "You know we're with you, Mason." His voice shook a little but he said it anyway. "We're your crew. World's changing fast. May as well stick together. Right, guys?"

  Murmured agreement. Some of it genuine, most of it scared, but they were agreeing. That was what mattered.

  Mason let the shotgun barrel drop toward the dirt.

  "Well fuck yeah then," he said, and this time his laugh came out genuine. Real. "Let's rise to the top."

  His crew made noise - some enthusiastic, some just trying to seem like they were. The girls stayed quiet. Smart girls. Survivors.

  Mason looked at them all. His people now. His lieutenants. The ones who'd just chosen to follow him even after seeing what he'd done.

  Level three. First human kill. An offensive reward waiting for him at level five.

  The people in the clubhouse weren't laughing anymore, and they’d never laugh again. No one would ever laugh at Mason Cane again.

  For the first time since those notifications appeared in his vision - ever since he'd killed his old lady and realized the world had changed - Mason Cane felt like he knew exactly who he was meant to be.

  Someone stronger. Someone nobody would ever fuck with again.