Arc 4 | Last Resort (6)
LAST RESORT
Part 6
The old, beaten-up F-250 Ford truck stopped about thirty feet from us. Three men climbed out of the vehicle and approached, three pairs of eyes studying us carefully like wolves assessing their prey. Once their gaze landed on me, they couldn’t look away. Their fixation turned into a deep bow: heads down, knees bent, paying their respects to their new master. They didn’t get up until I told them to.
I presumed they were all brothers since the three men looked almost identical: tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, brawny arms and chests. They wore flannel shirts, dark jeans, and leather boots, although the youngest of the three was the only one wearing a tank top underneath his unbuttoned flannel shirt.
Contrary to the creations of all my archetypes, I didn’t know everything about them from the start, especially their names or where they came from. I wasn’t privy to how the System “collected” them and bound them to my service as a dungeon monster.
I had to ask. “Who are you?” I already knew they could answer me since I had given them [ Speech ].
The oldest of the three spoke. “My name is Alan, my lord. Alan Sawyer,” he said. When he called me, I noticed my lord was still strange in his tongue. “And these are my brothers: Garth and Luke.” He pointed to the man wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball cap next to him, who was an inch or two taller, and then to the man with the tank top, who sported a cheeky grin. Once my gaze landed on the two of them, the youngest, Luke, dropped the grin. Perhaps he thought he shouldn’t risk offending me.
The Sawyers. “It’s good to meet you all,” I said. “Where are you from?”
It took Alan a moment to answer. “We are from nowhere, but from what I know, this is where we shit now.”