Chương 46: Job Description

While most of the world was watching the frost giant battle, crawlers in Pennsylvania were organizing. The next morning, a very hungover CDM office paused their work to watch an impromptu press conference called by the Iron Crawlers. With all of the extra monitors still out from the frost giant crisis, we all had a good view.

Standing in front of the Mister Rogers statue on the North Shore of the city–an odd choice, I felt–the president of the Iron Crawlers straightened his suit jacket and gave reporters a moment to take photos of him standing stoically at his podium.

"Last night, the world saw how vital crawlers are to the survival of the human race. Brave men and women do that job every day. Most of them aren't celebrities. They're working-class people who devote their lives to closing dungeon gates. Without them, our cities would be overrun within days.

"As you may know, the Iron Crawlers recently suffered a great loss. A whole party was brutally murdered in a dungeon gate by an extremist organization. Now these same extremists are suing the government to take jobs away from the same types of people they killed, so they can make themselves even more powerful and more dangerous.

"That is why we are taking action. Multiple guilds and teams have come together to jointly file suit against the Center for Dungeon Management. Not only must they keep gate access free and fair, driven by the capitalist principles that have made this country great, they must do more to protect the crawlers who risk so much to protect their neighbors. We call on all citizens to join us in this fight. We're in this together, and we can't keep the country safe without your help."

Looking around the office, I saw either blank stares or faces in hands. The CDM already had the church lawsuit to contend with, and the crawlers deciding that their counterattack to the church was also to sue the CDM exponentially complicated the issue. All the people around me at work? They just wanted to do their jobs and go home. No matter how these lawsuits turned out, no aspect of the CDM's operations would get easier.

New complaints meant new policies, and those policies would get haphazardly tacked onto the old policies. More rules to follow. More procedures to mind. I had only been here for a few months and had seen the way bureaucracy churned. Enduring that for a decade or more, like most of the enforcers had? Soul-crushing.

"That was smart timing," Loman, the newest intern, said, breaking the silence in the cube. His topknot glistened beneath the fluorescent office lights.

"Nothing like a near-disaster from a bunch of S-ranked monsters to make people appreciate the value of crawlers."

"Buddy of mine is in D. C.," Wilson added, "and he says senators are asking why the CDM wasn't aware of the frost giant threat earlier. If a dumb reality show hadn't found them, how many people would have been killed before we scrambled a response?"

"But the CDM is only responsible for gates within the United States," Megan replied.

"That's literally not our job."

"I didn't say the senators were smart."

"And didn't they just cut the budget for NASA? They want more satellites and more people to mind them but are subtracting money instead of adding it?" Wilson shrugged.

"Again, didn't say smart."

"I wouldn't hate the CDM going international," Megan said.

"We might get more runs that aren't E-gates that way."

"For no XP." Megan shrugged.

"You don't think the adventure would make up for it? Surface hunts are so much more exciting." Loman turned to Megan with an eyebrow raised.

"They seem more exciting, I mean." Wilson scoffed.

"No XP. No loot. Way more danger. Nah, I'll pass on risking my life to make Canada's backyard safer."

"I'm with her," Black said, his huge shoulders hunched over his little keyboard.

"Gray's been awfully quiet about this."

"If the pay was fair, I agree with Megan," I replied.

"I'd rather clean out a goblin nest than get stuck doing Roach Runs." Everyone in the intern cube shivered involuntarily at the mention of Roach Runs. Even me, and I was the one who said it. I got a text message just then. It read:"The Lord is testing all of us, and my own son is working in Satan's name to make this world his hell. It's not too late. Pastor Bill always said you could stop in your tracks and repent, no matter how far off the path you were."

As far as I knew, my parents didn't have Beth's cellphone number. She was on my plan, which made me wonder if I could block them preemptively without Beth ever knowing and spare her these random potshots. If she found out I did that, however, she would be angry. Yes, she was my little sister, but she was also an adult on her own in the world. It wasn't my place to make a decision like that without her knowing.

Even if it was in her best interest, just a big brother trying to protect his little sister from unnecessary heartache. Megan caught my eye when I looked up from my phone. Her face bore the question, "Hey, are you okay?" I nodded that I was fine. When the end of the day came around, Wilson pointed something out that made us all uneasy: the CDM never acknowledged the frost giants or the new lawsuit from the Iron Crawlers. No agency-wide emails. No rumors of a response plan.

Not even a reminder that we were all under non-disclosure agreements and duty-bound to not talk about our work with the public. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. That last message in particular was a weekly occurrence under normal circumstances. Any notable piece of crawler news or any exceptional citation triggered a mass email about confidentiality.

When we found the blight slimes in the back of that truck, for example, we all got an email about the dangers of sharing the value of the seizure openly: more crawlers would be motivated to do illegal harvests when they realized how much money could be made. But today, the CDM was quiet.

"I've been doing my research," Beth said at the kitchen table with me and Nathan that evening.

"Breaking into being a bowyer is pretty tricky."

"How so?" I asked.

"Apprenticeships are really hard to get, and a lot of the working pros were mostly self-taught. YouTube videos, books, trial and error." Nathan frowned.

"Yeah, sorry, Beth. I don't think we can fit a woodshop in the apartment."

"There are a couple co-ops in the city that share equipment," she replied.

"I don't know exactly how that works, but I have a call tomorrow with one on the North Shore. Maybe it won't be too expensive. And maybe someone would teach me how to run the machines."

"I don't know any bowyers, but I could definitely find you someone who knows their way around woodworking tools," Nathan offered.

"An accident with those kinds of things isn't very forgiving, so at the very least, you'd know what not to do while you figure out the rest."

"I might take you up on that."

"Say the word, dude, and it's done."

"Are you YouTube rich yet?" Beth asked, turning to look at me. I answered, "Megan said the reporting is a day or so behind, so we might know something tonight, but she's got the bank info all set up. Apparently, something like $2, 000 is normal for every one million views."

"And you've got a million and a half."

"Yep. That might not sound like a lot of money, but man, even an extra $500 would go a long way." Nathan smirked.

"Did you tell Beth what kind of messages you guys have been getting?" I sighed.

"Calling the channel 'Dungeon Divas' has given people the idea that we're both women, so there's a deluge of dick pics and demands that we 'show more' of ourselves in between runs." Beth cackled.

"I keep telling Dor it's a compliment," Nathan said.

"A non-zero amount of people looked at him on video and thought, 'Damn, I'd like to see that woman naked.'" Beth laughed harder. I shrugged.

"He wants to act like it bothers me, but it doesn't. It's better if the CDM never connects Megan and me to the videos."

"So being mistaken for a woman is good for your cover."

"Yes."

"What happens when you get a sponsorship?" I cocked my head.

"Huh?" Beth grinned.

"I'm just saying. You could get a makeup sponsorship or something like that." Nathan pointed a fork at me.

"Remember Gina Jordan?"

"She's a drag queen we know from college," I explained to Beth. Nodding, Nathan continued.

"She had a saying: 'Cover Girl can't cover boy.'" Beth looked at Nathan. Then at me. Then back at Nathan.

"What are we even talking about right now?"

"I'm saying," Nathan replied, "that it's going to be harder than you think to make Dorion look good in makeup."

"How did you meet this person?"

"She always hosted this one fundraiser each year. Sold out without fail."

"Anyway," I said, attempting to regain control of the conversation.

"I don't see us having to worry about sponsorships. Wild monster hunting is still pretty damn niche. One viral video doesn't change that." Holding up a finger, I answered a call for a CDM gate.

"An E gate needs cullers by 11: 45 p. m. Are you available?"

"Yes," I said, happy to have a way out of this conversation.

"Thank you for your service. I am texting you the address now." I put down my phone.

"Sorry, guys. I have to go." The CDM quartermaster told me my third bow was the last bow I would get for free from the agency. If I broke this one too, I had to replace or repair it with my own money. They said something similar about the previous broken bow, but I suspected this warning was serious. That was fair on their part, honestly. The bow was basic, but no dungeon-ready gear was cheap. Some items cost less than others, but a single bow should last me two years or so, depending on how hard I was on it.

One bow a month was not sustainable. I was never in danger of breaking my bow on that E gate run, however. It was a dinky vermin dungeon, and I only walked out with 57 more XP. When I checked my progress, I groaned involuntarily: XP Progress: 1256/1600 Earning so little XP was still making me feel sour when I got up for work the next morning. On my drive in, Megan texted me a link to a news story, and I let the audio play through my car speakers.

"French officials have long known that the famed catacombs of Paris were hotbeds for wild monsters, but ongoing prevention protocols were believed to have been effective. A little after 4 a. m. CET this morning, goblins broke through the basement wall of a Saint-Germain-des-Prés home and swarmed the streets.

"Nine victims are confirmed dead, and five people are still missing. Citizens are demanding answers, and they are not accepting the explanation that this particular part of the catacombs was unknown and unmapped. Many city officials believe the outcry is so great that rioting is imminent." When I spotted Megan in the parking garage, I asked her why that story in particular stuck out to her.

"How amazing would it be to hunt goblins in the Paris catacombs?" she asked.

"Uhh… Sounds a little terrifying. Don't people get lost down there and starve to death?"

"So? You don't think people would watch that? We should pay attention to these opportunities."

"To go to Paris and starve to death? I'm confused."

"I have a good feeling about the channel," she explained.

"I know that sounds like wishful thinking, but we should be open-minded. If this isn't the ticket to a crawler career, I'd rather know that because we tried and failed. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does. You're right. I need to be open-minded."

"Thanks, Dor." Around lunch, which that day was ten minutes with my head on my desk and my eyes closed hoping for a little sleep, Grensmith knocked on the cubicle wall.

"Everyone in the conference room," he said.

"Someone just firebombed the Iron Crawlers."