Rimelion: The Exploiter

"Treat or kill, girl?"

The boy's attempt at intimidation was... sad. An amateur PKer, clearly.

As a warrior, rule number one: don't get your weapon dirty.

I shivered. That was because of the cold from the stream, not fear—I was mostly feeling sorry for his poor spear. It didn't deserve to be buried in mud like that.

I wanted to retort something witty, but my brain refused to cooperate. Maybe it was the lack of wine or whiskey.

Come on, body, work with me here! At least I narrowed my eyes at him and say, "You are?"

The boy blinked, surprised by my question and probably confused. His bravado slipped for a moment before he puffed his chest and shouted, "Slow one, huh? This is robbery! Things, or we kill!"

I felt my cheeks heat up—from secondhand embarrassment. Oh, honey. "First," I said, motioning to the tip of his spear, which was now firmly and disgracefully lodged in the mud. "Spear out. Be threatening."

He glanced down at his weapon and froze; the color draining from his face. The realization hit him hard, and in his panic, he yanked at the spear with far too much force. And the result? He toppled backward, landing flat on his rear with a wet splat.

"Second," I continued, fighting the urge to laugh as I motioned at the awkward formation of his group. "There." My finger pointed toward the ground, where they all stood huddled together. "Well, not there. Surround target." My Irwen voice was practiced and cold by now.

"Scram," I ordered, letting the final word hang in the air for a beat before delivering the punchline with a smirk. Thank Riker for giving me this card. I pointed at myself. "Ranker." The boy's comrades exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering as I fixed them with a glare.

"She's... The Charlie! Rank eight!" a girl in the rear squealed, her voice smashing through the awkward silence. Judging by her robes and the faint glow of a staff strapped to her back, she was clearly a mage.

I tensed as she started moving toward me, practically bouncing with excitement. My mind raced through a dozen potential threats.

Is she going to cast something?

A trap?

But then she stopped a few steps away, her cheeks suddenly pink as she asked, now shyly, "Can I get a selfie?"

"No way!" shouted one other, a bulky warrior type with a massive axe slung over his shoulder. "We're not here for—"

"Quiet, Greg!" the mage snapped, spinning around to glare at him before turning her hopeful gaze back to me.

The leader, still trying to salvage his dignity, let out a long sigh and walked toward me at a measured pace, spear now miraculously clean but still looking worse for wear. He glanced at the mage, then at me, muttering, "Seriously? A selfie?"

I stayed frozen, eying them all with suspicion.

What are they playing at?

But before I could decide, the mage was suddenly beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders like we were besties. "Say cheese!" she chirped, holding up her interface and snapping a screenshot.

And just like that, my suspicion evaporated, replaced by something far worse: social anxiety. My entire body stiffened as the rest of the group started crowding around me, their earlier aggression now replaced with star-struck awe.

"Whoa, you're really Charlie? The rank eight?" the rogue of the group asked, a wiry guy who looked like he'd been surviving off stolen bread rolls. "I watched all of your vids! Boss fight was epic, but how you threw that Riker's bouncer around! Badass IRL!" He actually made the motion.