Chapter 8: Classes
"Gather up," Ace said casually.
His gang obeyed as if he were a Supreme Commander. They dropped into their trademark Slavic squats and formed a circle, leaving one spot for their Don Capo. Not wanting to loom over them, Ace crouched too. Using a branch, he scratched three lines in the dirt. Every eye locked on them.
On the left‑most line he drew a "+", then looked around.
"We’re gonna play a coordination game. It has six classes. Any of you ever play an MMO?"
Every bald head shook.
"Course not. First class is the bishop—the healer. He keeps everyone alive. Sure, personal strength matters, but numbers matter too. I’d hate to lose any of you."
"Don Capo..." the thugs muttered, sniffling.
"No one wants to be a healer?" Ace asked again, ignoring the sniffles. Figures. These guys just wanna fight, so they’ll flock to knight.
One thug awkwardly lifted his hand. The others stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
"You wanna heal, Marko?"
Marko grinned. "Yeah! I wanna be smart!"
Ace’s eyebrow twitched. "What?"