Chapter 2: The Cat’s Secret

Hey, I’m your guide for this adventure. Starter kit... handbook... slime... quest...

Alright, look at the branch beside the big oak tree. Mayor Hank’s cat is right there. I hope you won’t be as much trouble as the last guy.

(Catching the cat)

#System prompt: [Cat pounces at you]

#System prompt: Entering battle

Missy: Monster... traitor... revenge... die...

(Swing sword) (Swing sword)

#System prompt: Successfully defeated Missy, obtained [Engagement Ring*1][Half Thumb*1]

#System prompt: Achievement unlocked [Schrödinger’s Cat]

You did well—at least you’re not clueless. Remember, lots of hostile creatures will attack you on sight. Only by striking first can you get the upper hand. Congrats again—you’ve quietly solved the monster crisis in the border town. Next, you can talk to Mayor Hank and turn in your quest, or visit the general store to learn about the area.

Your hands shake as you wipe the blood—cat and otherwise—from your jacket. The town is quieter now, as if the prairie itself is holding its breath. The general store’s old screen door squeaks in the breeze, and you smell the familiar blend of gun oil, cinnamon gum, and pickled eggs from inside.

(Walking) (At the general store)

The shopkeepers in the border town sell basic supplies: Healing potions, weapons and armor, consumables, and more. Of course, only if you have enough credits. You can also defeat hostile creatures outside town for loot. Sell them to shopkeepers for more credits. To the west is a desert, home to mutated bug colonies. They’re huge, armored, and fast—a real pain. If your level is low, be careful about going there. At first, it’s better to head to the Iron Ruins to hunt wandering zombies. But before that, go find Mayor Hank and turn in your quest.

The general store shelves are cluttered with everything from rusty revolvers to health potions in mason jars. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with a faded baseball cap, eyes you warily but nods as you browse. On the counter, a battered tip jar reads "Support Local Adventurers!" in cheerful marker.

The shopkeeper tips her cap, chewing cinnamon gum. "Don’t go getting yourself killed out there, hon. Supplies aren’t cheap."

(Walking) (Talking to the old man)

Hey, kid—have you seen my cat? You mean my cat ▇▇▇? You killed her? That’s great! Thanks for your help, you really are a good kid.

#System prompt: [Find Missy] completed

#System prompt: Lost [Half Thumb*1]

#System prompt: Level up LV2

Nice, turning in quests gets you experience points. The higher your level, the stronger and faster you get. Most magic skills also require a certain level. Next, follow my guidance to find the combat skill trainer. Once you’ve learned your first combat skill, you can go fight zombies. Wait—what are you doing? Kid, why are you going into Mayor Hank’s house? No, don’t go near that, that’s not yours. Leave now, kid, don’t touch that chest. Oh, that golden one is definitely Mayor Hank’s treasure chest. Yes, you’re right—the treasure chest you see is yours. Even if it’s in someone else’s house, no one can stop you from opening it. But do you really want to do this? Let me remind you, as a great adventurer, rummaging through other people’s stuff is beneath your dignity.

......Alright, alright, it’s your right, I’ll shut up, geez.

The house smells of old wood and fried bacon. Mayor Hank’s boots are lined up by the door, muddy from his morning walk. The golden chest glimmers in a patch of sunlight, looking out of place amid the clutter of daily life—half-read newspapers, worn slippers, and a dented thermos.

——

Narrator:

The adventurer ignored Mayor Hank’s protests and insisted on opening the chest. A suffocating stench billowed out as the chest began to shake violently. In an instant, a flood of plague-carriers surged forth. Starving rats fixed their beady red eyes on the adventurer. Their hunger drove them mad. The adventurer’s body was treated like Swiss cheese, riddled with countless holes. He pleaded with Mayor Hank for help, but got only a sympathetic look and sigh. His screams were drowned out by the squeals and gnawing, until nothing remained but a white skeleton, not even a scrap of flesh. Only at the very end did he realize: The true owner of the chest was not Mayor Hank, but Missy.

Even as the rats swarmed, the last thing you saw was Missy’s ghostly shape flickering in the gloom—tail flicking, eyes glowing with feline satisfaction. Sometimes, the rules are written in blood and whiskers.

Friendly reminder: The treasure chest you see is yours—others cannot interfere. Rules are not to be broken. Stick to the rules, kid. Or don’t—just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

As the last of your screams fade, you swear you hear Missy purring in the shadows—waiting for the next fool to break the rules.