Even with the eucalyptus, Derrek was glad to be out of that house, especially with the smell of the feast of a lunch before him filling his lungs. He hadn't caught a whiff of any cooking while he was in the house, but the fried chicken and grilled vegetables were piled high, stacks of meats and cheeses and several loaves of homemade bread sliced and toasted for sandwiching, and platter with no less than thirty hot dogs were evident. Adam planted that hand on his shoulder again, guiding Derrek down to his level and pointing at a grill slightly away from the head of the table, or maybe at the aproned, bearded grillmaster.

  “It’s Clems’ turn for lunch today. He can't work a stove to save his life, but boy can he do magic with charcoal.” Clem caught sight of them and broke out in a grin behind his beard, waving his spatula at them with fervor. Adam gave a perfunctory wave back and Derrek did the same, barely even meaning to. It was strange being near Adam; the control he had was an almost physical thing, his lead hard not to follow, and that hand on his shoulder didn't help things in the least.

  Suddenly, there was a hand on his other shoulder, and Discord was on the end of it, or Donkey, rather. “You ought to see what this punk can do with a can of beans. What was it you called that so-and-so you sprinkled in there last time? Sa-alt?”

  Derrek stared at him for a moment, lost in the fact that there were two men with hands on his shoulders who only came up to his shoulders before he could even comprehend that nonsense. He shoved away the thought and forced himself back into Shawn mode, had to stay in character. This was just Discord being Discord, injecting himself whenever possible, and there was nothing to do but play along. He slipped on a half-smile and shook his head. “I still can't believe a man older than dirt never heard of salt. I mean look at you, you're halfway pickled!”

  It just so happened Discord was caught mid-swig of one of his flasks, sputtering liquor down his beard and releasing Derrek's shoulder to slap his knee in a mixture of laughter, coughing, and what sounded like just a smidge of vomit. He hacked up something vile from deep in his lungs and spat it into the grass, still working through the remnants of his mirth. “I ever tell you I love you, punk? Life would be borin’ as shit without your sharp tongue.” Donkeys’ bloodshot eyes shifted deliberately toward Adam, and Derrek's did the same.

  Adam did not look like the same man. Each of his features had shifted somehow, those sharp features… not blunted, but angled, those eyes aimed at Disord like a hawk to its meal, his jaw clenched and his smile a thin line of piercing white, honed to a murderous edge. It was then Derrek felt the crushing force of Adams grip. He flexed, and the tension snapped away like a rubber band, Adam reverting in an instant. It was like looking at a cube; you could only see so many sides at once, the rest hidden from view. The whole thing couldn't have lasted a full second, and Adam played it off with a gentle pat on Derrek's shoulder.

  “A sharp tongue and a strong back, a winning combination if I’ve ever seen one. You two fix yourselves a plate, eat your fill.” He turned, shooting one last look out the corner of his eye at Discord. “At least one of you earned it.” He sauntered off with his thumbs in his belt toward Bert and two men Derrek hadn't seen before, all of them dropping all conversation to greet Adam.

  Derrek felt something nudge him, and found Discord was offering him an empty plate. “Thanks. What do you think that was about?”

  Discord blew air out his cheeks as he piled his plate with exclusively fried chicken and hot dogs. “He’s trying to claim you, sees me as a threat.” A trace of a grin shone through his beard. “All according to plan.”

  Derrek rolled his eyes and grabbed an ear of grilled corn and the makings of a turkey sandwich. “Like you have a plan. You're just pushing buttons and playing it by ear, like always.”

  Discord took a massive bite out of a chicken leg, smirking behind his greasy beard. “If that were the case, I’d never admit it. You're out here playing social poker, bluffing and betting, gambling and galavanting. Meanwhile I’m playing 3D chess, every move calculated to get these so-and-sos to want nothing more than my blood.” He winked and plopped down onto a bench at a long picnic table, chomping into the leg again, slurping up the rest of its meat, chewing twice then swallowing. “Easier to steer when no one sees you at the wheel.”

  Derrek shook his head and sat next to him, putting together his sandwich. “You're so full of shit I never know whether to offer you a breath mint or toilet paper. Eating always gives it away for you.”

  Discord stopped with a hot dog halfway to his mouth, his eyes sliding to Derrek suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  Derrek pointed at the clean chicken bone, specifically the bite marks that had taken a chunk two-thirds of the way though. “You love chicken bones. You only ever skip them when you're bluffing.”

  Discord lowered his hot dog and furrowed his brow, eyeing the bone, taking on a defensive tone. “I ate some of it.”

  Derrek smirked and slapped the top piece of bread onto cheese, completing his sandwich. “You didn't even realize it. Why do you think I always bring five dozen wings to poker night? Because I'm a philanthropist?”

  Discords’ brow furrowed deeper. He set down the hot dog and snatched up the bone, snapping it in half and stuffing both pieces into his mouth, the grinding crunching sound as sickening as always, the swallow even moreso. “Never show your hand, punk, I'm gonna clean your ass out next Thursday.”

  Derrek picked up his sandwich and took a bite, enjoying his well-earned meal before gracing Discord with a response. “I only showed one card, old man. I've got senses you can't even conceive of.” His eyes slyly slid to the crimson-clad calcium-cruncher and he wiped crumbs from his chin. “Not an insult, just a fact.”

  Discord stared at him for a moment, then broke out in a greasy, yellow-toothed grin, snatching up his hot dog and tossing it whole down his gullet, not chewing at all. “Careful now, people might think you're getting arrogant.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “That's what they call you when you can't back it up.” He winked again and chomped into another piece of chicken.

  Before Derrek could quip back, there was a clatter straight ahead from them and he saw three figures sitting across the table: Kurts’ sons, Clyde and Elliot, and Raph with his riot of red hair. Elliot already had his mouth full of a bite from his massive sandwich, Clyde rolling up a loose slice of bologna and stuffing it into his own mouth whole. Raph was the first one to acknowledge them, cracking a grin at Derrek.

  “That was nothing short of incredible, Shawn! If I hadn't seen it myself, I’d label these two as liars.” He nodded to the brothers, who were scarfing down their food like hungry wolves, then pointed his smile at Discord, who was doing much the same, and offered his hand. “You must be the famous truck whisperer. Raphael Sulivan, but everyone calls me Raph.”

  Discord burped and grabbed the hand with his greasy fingers, giving it a firm shake. “Donatello Castello, but everyone calls me Donkey.” He winked as Raph wiped his hand on his pants. “My pa was partial to sculptors rather than painters.”

  Raph snickered and dipped a raw piece of broccoli into a dollop of ranch dressing on his plate. “And my mama always fancied herself a painter, but between you and me all her work was derivative of Dali. Wouldn't be so bad if she had any talent behind it.” He chomped off the head of the broccoli then looked up at the sky, grinning with bits of green in his teeth. “Sorry mom, you're the one who sent me to art school.”

  Derrek couldn't help but think that broccoli and ranch may very well be the last thing Raph would ever eat. Sundown wasn't for a few more hours, if he had the time zone right, but dinner wasn't a guarantee. For all he knew, maybe they worked up their appetite by slaughtering dissenters. He glanced over at the brothers, and a sad chill ran through his heart at the realization they might end up killing each other. He might make them kill their father, for that matter, or he them. And with nothing more on their stomachs than meat and cheese. Except Elliot, he’d at least have some bread in the mix. Why isn't Clyde eating bread? Low-carb diet? A gluten allergy? Kurt has a shellfish allergy, just like me. Just like me.

  Discord snickered, snapping Derrek out of his spiraling thoughts, sporting a yellow-toothed grin behind his filthy beard. “I talk to my dead so-and-sos too. Only ever a problem when my pa starts talkin’ back, though that's usually only after bottle four.” He cackled and slapped the table, everones’ plates jumping a good inch in the air, a cup of soda spilling into Clydes’ lap.

  “The hell, man?” Clyde jumped up from the table, pulling a rag from his back pocket and dabbing the wet spot on his jeans. His brother took a break from eating and snickered, cracking a grin and showing a fraction of that facial magic their father could accomplish, a half-lit lamp uncovered.

  “I thought you were done pissing yourself! Or is that left over from when Brutus came at us?” he slickered again and took another bite from his sandwich.

  “Aw, stuff it, El, like your bladder didn't feel loose with that big fucker coming down on us, even dad looked like he let out a squirt or two!” Clyde stopped trying to dry his pants, instead wiping up the spill from the table, giving Derrek a sideways smirk. “But not you, huh? Dry as a desert I'm sure, even if you didn't come out clean. Nerves of steel!”

  A round of laughter passed around the table, and Derrek had his part too. It wasn't the first time he had laughed as the butt of the joke. Always best to add to it. “I was just lucky to have pissed before going out there, I was scared shitless the whole time.” He pretended to think for a moment, then looked down at his shoes meaningfully. “Or maybe I was scared shitful.”

  More laughter, Discord giving him an approving pat on the back. It wasn't so bad, being Shawn Bates, in fact it was a lot like being Derrek Snowe a year ago. He didn't have to worry about office politics. He didn't have to keep reminding himself to delegate tasks so he could handle his actual responsibilities. He didn't have to be at the top of the chain of command, or see that look in every one of his employees' eyes that they knew every interaction they had with him could very well decide their fate, either through promotion or termination. He could just get his hands dirty and be useful. The moment was so real, so genuine and human he almost forgot what he was here to do. Almost.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  There was a pitiful rumble from down the driveway, growing louder and more strained as it made its slow approach. The old Ford finally came into view, shaking back and forth and rattling, wheezing and whining, roaring and rumbling, black smoke billowing from the tailpipe and white smoke whisping from under the hood. It unsteadily came to a stop, the brakes squealing in protest, a loud clunk echoing from the engine as it came to rest. The driver's door opened and Charlotte stepped out, her face contorted in anger as she slammed the door. The truck shook from the force and rocked back and forth until something audibly gave, the front passenger wheel knuckle collapsing completely, half of the front of the truck coming crashing down as the wheel bounced away, the bolts still attached. The shock was enough for the front driver's wheel to follow suit, the truck hunched like a cat ready to pounce.

  Charlotte had been facing away from the wreckage and slowly turned to assess it, her angry snarl never fading. If anything, it grew deeper as she started marching toward the lunch crowd.

  “Where the fuck is Donkey?” she hollered, casting about looking for him. Derrek closed his eyes and tried to pretend he didn't notice Discord standing up from the bench, hitching up his belt and sauntering toward her. Derrek shook his head and followed, assuming Discord planned on using him as a prop.

  “Right about where I'm standin’.” Discord kept one hand at his belt and picked his teeth with a fingernail of the other. “How can I help you?”

  Charlotte fixed her eyes on him, her scowl only deepening further as she tramped toward him. She stopped at arms length, looking down her nose at him, being a good half-head taller than Discord in his disguise. “What did you do to the truck?” She bit off each word angrily, a vein popping out from her forehead.

  Discord examined the scrapings on his fingernail then flicked it away. “I made it start.”

  Charlottes’ eye twitched and Derrek noticed a crowd forming around them. He saw Bert, Cassie, Ida, Lisa, everyone he had worked with and maybe two dozen others he hadn't met. It very well could have been everyone in the commune. Adam was there too, watching the scene intently, his arms clasped behind his back. Charlotte took a deliberate step closer. “What did you do to make it start?” Every word was strained, her rage limiting her to single-syllable words.

  Discord did something between a burp and a cough and spat out a brown glob of phlegm in the same direction as the scrapings. “Quite a bit.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes tight, crows feet spreading from the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and turned to the crowd, her fury slightly abated. “Has he done anything but excrete since he got here? Please don't tell me he fixed anything else.”

  Adam stepped forward, and any trace of anger disappeared from Charlotte's face, her tense body relaxing and her shoulders drooping. He faced her, but his eyes were locked on Discord. “As far as I'm aware, he hasn’t done a thing but lounge, eat and drink since Clem brought him to me. Even when we conversed all he could talk about was how he had Shawn Bates under his thumb, how he was a ‘golden goose,’ earning them money for Donkey to waste.” His head turned to match his eyes, staring Discord down. “Meanwhile his erstwhile companion has been breaking his back on our behalf.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at Derrek suspiciously. “Really? The punk turned out to be of some use?”

  Kurt stepped forward, grunting and hocking a brown glob into the grass, wearing his serious face. “Did everything you told him to and more. Been nothing but helpful.” He broke out in a half-grin, showcasing that sorcery again, almost dragging a smirk out of Derrek as Kurt waved a finger at him. “This crazy punk got Brutus to the other pasture in three minutes flat. Fucking rode him! Never seen anything like it.” He sidled up to Derrek, draping a friendly arm over his shoulder. “This punk is something special, that's for sure.”

  Adams’ ears perked up and his eyes went wide, showing the whole of his iris. “Well now, Kurt, you seem almost as if you're ready to vouch for him. Or am I being presumptuous?” Charlotte looked at Derrek, dumbfounded, not saying a word, just shaking her head and blinking.

  Kurt planted his hand on Derrek's shoulder and shook him enthusiastically. “No presumption here, I’ll vouch for him any day of the week. My boys too. Ain't that right, boys?”

  Clyde and Elliot both had their mouths full with the remnants of their lunch, but they had clearly been paying attention. Clyde was the first to speak, having taken smaller bites. “That's right, Shawn’s the real deal.” Elliot just nodded, chewing for a bit longer.

  “I’ll vouch for him too.” Ida stepped forward from the crowd, tugging Cassie along, who, as usual, didn't seem to know what was going on. “And her. That punk put us all to shame, he worked so hard. Wasn't even out of breath after moving three tons of feed.” Her steely gaze locked on Bert, who was off to the side scratching under his flannel hat. “You're vouching for him too, Bert.”

  At the sound of his name, Bert snatched his hand from under his hat so fast he nearly tore it off. His eyes shifted back and forth, then fixed on Derrek. He broke out in a grin and gave a double thumbs-up. “Damn right, I am. I was just about to say so.”

  Ida snorted, her lip curling into something an optimist might call a smile. “I'm sure you were.”

  “Yo!” Raph stepped forward, grinning with Lisa by his side. “Us too. He’s got a steady hand and balls of steel, that's good enough for me.”

  Lisa nodded and smirked. “He’s a good kid, I wouldn't mind keeping him around.”

  “Hold on!” There was a commotion, and Clem shoved his way past a small group, stumbling forward, brushing dust out of his beard as he righted himself. “I wanna vouch too!” He shuffled over to Derrek and held out his hand. “I'm Clem, by the way. I know we weren't properly introduced earlier, but you seem alright.”

  Derrek took the hand, shocked, unable to respond. Almost every single person he had met was standing up for him. He hadn't even spoken to Clem, yet he'd gone out of his way to speak up for him. It was a touching gesture, but it wasn't for Derrek; it was for Shawn. These people trusted him, if he understood what was happening, they trusted him enough to invite him into their commune. It felt unreal. He was almost relieved when Adam started laughing, at least Clem let go of his hand to focus on his leader.

  Adam had a high kind of titter that chirped from his clenched smile, that gold tooth showing full, his eyes still wide and fervent, deranged even. He slapped his hands together, a sharp clap echoing over the silent crowd, commanding their attention. “My oh my! I've seen doubles, I've seen triples, even a quadruple, but a niner?” He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head, looking to Raph. “What's that one called?”

  Raph didn't hesitate for a second. “Nonuple.”

  Adam clapped again. “A nonuple! A perfectly unique word for perfectly unique camaraderie!” He stabbed a finger at Derrek across the space. “I can't but agree with Kurts’ assessment, Shawn Bates; you are something special!” He plodded toward Derrek, each step deliberate, his arms swaying loose at his sides. “You've proven your mettle, but your companion has proved lacking. I believe you have a choice to make, Shawn Bates.” He stopped at arms length from Derrek, holding his hands out flat to his sides, like an unbalanced set of scales. “You can leave with this leach, go on about your days drifting and working for scraps until he gets tired of having you around.” He shifted the scale in the other direction, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Or cut the rotten fruit free, and join us. Live here and make a real difference, earn your daily bread and help your fellow man.” His arms went slack again, and his face contorted into that flash of angular rage he had shown before. “There's just one thing you have to do first.”

  This is it, the ultimatum.

  Adam gave the barest of nods, and two men Derrek hadn't met grabbed Discord by the arms, forcing him to his knees as he grunted and coughed in faux-weak resistance. One of the men grabbed Discord by the hair and wrenched his head back, forcing him to look up at Adam, who glared down his nose at his captive. “We have a rule, one we've followed for as long as we've lived here. To be welcomed into our family is to be saved.” He sprung at Discord and clamped a hand around his neck, staring into his eyes with furious intensity. To his credit, Discord was giving a very convincing performance, seeming as terrified as anyone else in his position might be. “And the only way to save something is to give something else up.” Adams’ eyes snapped to Derrek, that snarl becoming more of a deranged smile. “Are you ready to be saved, Shawn Bates?”

  Time slowed to a crawl, almost stopping entirely. The entire mission hinged on this moment. Derrek knew what he had to do, but that didn't make it any easier. He took a deep breath and let it out slow, feeling the lightest tremor in his lungs. He stepped forward and time resumed its normal flow, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears as he closed the distance, looking down at Discord. Donkey. He’s not Discord, and you aren't Derrek. You are Shawn Bates. The marine wannabe with anger issues. All you have to do is turn off your brain, and…

  “You motherfucker!” Shawn snarled as his right hook crunched into Donkeys’ face, his cheek and nose breaking in one blow, unleashing a torrent of blood. “Golden goose?” His other fist crashed into Donkeys’ forehead, a bruised goose egg already forming. “Golden fucking goose!?” Another right hook, the skin of his knuckles splitting as something gave beneath them. Shawn wasn't too sure; his vision was a narrow dot and his mind was nothing but noise, but it seemed they had let Donkey go, and Shawn was on top of him. There was nothing he could do but punch, and beat, and pummel, growling and spitting like an animal. Then there was a hand at his shoulder, and all the rage drained out of him, the world opening up around him. He turned to find Adam at the other end of the arm, a genuine, joyful smile etched on his face.

  “Welcome home, Shawn Bates!” Adam pulled Shawn to his feet and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tightly, warmth emanating as everyone else broke out in celebration. Hooting and hollering filled the air as everyone rushed inward, engulfing Shawn in a massive group hug. All he could see was a sea of smiling faces and hands reaching out to touch him. They accepted him, and now they embraced him, and Shawn couldn't keep the smile from his face. Adam raised his hand, and they all shuffled back, reforming that gap with nothing but Shawn, Adam, and Donkey. Shawn looked at Donkey, sprawled on the ground with his face a blood mess, and he realized what had given earlier. Donkeys’ left eye was swollen shut, his eye socket probably broken, a clear fluid leaking from the purple eyelids leaving a track on his bloody cheek. The other eye was still intact, and staring up at Shawn, his battered mouth curled into the ghost of a grin.

  Derrek came to with a jolt, his hands sore and shaking. He looked down at them. The skin of his right knuckles were split and bleeding and they were both splattered with Discords’ blood, but they were otherwise intact. They were still trembling, though. His hands had been steady as a surgeons since the Schadenfreude, but not now. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but based on the look on Adams’ face, he’d passed whatever test this was.

  “You made the right choice, Shawn Bates. Your life starts today.” He snapped his fingers, and the same two men grabbed Discord by the shoulders, dragging him limply toward the barn, every set of eyes locked on them. Cassie stepped forward first, following the drag tracks. Ida was next, and Derrek thought she was going to stop Cassie, but she just fell in with her, heading to the barn. Like a dam burst, everyone else followed suit, silent save for their footfalls as Derrek and Adam lingered. Adam was showing that gold tooth, his hands on Derrek's shoulders. “Come now, it's time to finish what you started.”

  Derrek glanced behind him at the abandoned lunch table, piles of food still waiting to be eaten. It was only a bit past noon, nowhere near sundown. Discord had been very specific about sundown, and he hadn't been lying about it. He realized he’d been staring at the table for too long. All he could do was say the first thing to come to his mind “Won't the food get cold?”

  Adam laughed a high laugh and slapped Derrek's shoulders. “It'll be there when we’re done, this won't take long.” He released Derrek and spun on his heels, marching toward the barn. He called over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “I believe in you, Shawn, show us all how much you believe in yourself.” He looked forward, and Derrek thought about running away. If he just turned and left, Discord would take care of it. He’d give Derrek an endless amount of shit about it, but at least his hands would still be clean.

  They aren't clean. He had to remind himself of those six lives. Six lives he had to take so they wouldn't take any more. This was the right thing to do. He took one last glance at the lunch table, then followed Adam toward the barn. It seemed they’d all had their last meals after all.