When industry was booming, Daisytown could have been a nice place to live. Almost entirely flat, the town was five blocks by five blocks, but these were far smaller than city blocks. At most, the square chunks of land could fit three or four homes on them. The majority of those homes were humble, single-story affairs with maybe two bedrooms, and everyone had a big green yard.

  Nature had reclaimed those yards long ago. Some were simply overgrown fields, while others had briars taller than I was. Nearly every house up here was built from wood instead of brick, so they were all collapsing in on themselves from decades of weather and water damage. The ones that managed to stay standing had sagging, broken roofs and were wrapped with green vines and moss. Old siding, broken windows, and crumbling chimneys peeked through the green. Even the stop signs had been wrapped in plant life.

  In Pittsburgh, no street or neighborhood was symmetrical and orderly, nor were most of the towns built along the rivers. That made Daisytown feel strangely artificial to me, like its former existence was unnatural.

  I would have preferred to drive right up to the SOC, but the roads crisscrossing through town were trashed. Navigating them carefully might have been doable, but I would likely get a popped tire or a broken axle for my troubles.

  So, I parked on the outskirts, put on my kit, and went into Daisytown on foot with a bow in my hand and a sword on my hip. I debated leaving my shield behind because it was bulky and inconvenient, but I decided I’d rather have it than wish that I had it later. If I had the range for my archery, I could drop the shield and fire.

  From the satellite images, the SOC was an old church, and it wasn’t far, just four blocks down and one block over.

  A little ways into town, I confirmed that doing this on foot was the best decision. A fallen tree, propped up slightly by the garage it landed on across the street, blocked the road entirely. I would have put my car through all sorts of abuse only to discover I had to walk anyway.

  The church itself was visible from a distance because of its size. Its graffiti-covered walls peeked through the gaps between ruins and decay. The yellow lines in the church parking lot were still visible beneath the five semitruck trailers abandoned here. I expected this space to be wide and empty, but seeing trailers left here to rust reminded me that abandoned places were often dumping grounds for all manner of garbage.

  Abandoned rarely meant empty.

  The church itself was two tan brick structures joined in the middle by a small two-story tower missing large chunks of its corners in multiple places. The exterior of one building was packed tight with graffiti tags, while the other was wrapped in green. Every door and window in sight was broken, of course.

  Hiding behind one of the trailers, I watched and listened for signs of monsters. Birds chirped and the wind rustled the greenery all around me, but Daisytown was quiet otherwise. I didn’t smell goblin feces either, so for all I knew, this SOC was already cleared or had another sort of problem that wasn’t monsters.

  I told myself no hunting on this trip, but without confirming that monsters were or were not here, my SOC theory would remain unproven. If SOCs didn’t work the way I thought they did, that could mean another wasted trip where I don’t find monsters.

  I had no choice but to get closer to the church to investigate, and I found myself wishing I had a stealth archer build after all. As it was, I was more likely to get taken by surprise than any monster that might live here.

  Watching the windows for movement, I crossed the parking lot and put my back against the church.

  The wind shifted, and I nearly retched from the smell. This smelled worse than the goblin house Sean and I found, and finding small footprints a moment later confirmed it. There were goblins here.

  My SOC plan worked. The EPA satellites gave me a surefire way to locate nests for me to practice hunting wild monsters. That was the point where I should have left, but I told myself that getting a sense for the nest size wouldn’t hurt. Knowing how big the nest was would help me plan for my return next week, right?

  Sneaking a peek through a broken window, I saw goblins sleeping on the scattered pews of an abandoned chapel. The goblin closest to me used a stack of hymnals as a pillow.

  I counted seven, but there were likely more. Churches like this often had basement community areas, so any number of goblins could be below. Then I had the structure next door to think about. The majority of the nest could be in there for all I knew, or these seven could be all there was.

  At range, seven or even ten goblins weren’t a big deal for an archer. Maybe I could get some practice in after all.

  Jesus Christ. What was I doing here? Was I really going to try and solo a goblin nest?

  Calm down.

  Breathe.

  Scout the rest of the area and then leave.

  Staying low to avoid being seen through the windows, I crept over to the next building. Rounding a corner, I felt my shin catch on something.

  Glass bottles rolled down the roof. One hit me in the head, and most shattered on the ground. I had walked right into a simple goblin trap. Like a dumbass.

  Inside both buildings, objects crashed and thudded, joined by the maniacal muttering of goblins on the move. I ran for the trailers. The open space between those and the church gave me the advantage as an archer.

  I spun with an arrow already nocked. Nine goblins raced toward me, all having emerged from a different place in the church. A few of those exits were on the route I took while scouting, and I walked by them without noticing, like a low hole in the wall partially obscured by weeds or a tunnel whose exit was covered by a simple piece of plywood.

  Grip, anchor, elbow. Those were all corrections TailF3ther had given me when he reviewed video of my form. My grip tended to round. My anchor point on my face was inconsistent. And I had a tendency to overflare my draw arm.

  So, as I loosed arrows at the goblin closing in on me, I repeated those words in my head.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  Spotting an overlap in two goblins, I activated Piercing Shot, my first time ever using it in combat. The arrow punched through the lead goblin’s shoulder and struck the smaller goblin behind in the eye. Seeing that goblin instantly fall backward and hearing its head bounce off of concrete was so satisfying.

  One goblin got within striking distance of me, waving a two-by-four, but I kicked it in the chest and put an arrow in its heart before it could club me.

  I exhaled. All the goblins that left the church were dead, and I didn’t see signs of more. The guidebooks said to expect fifteen to twenty for a typical infestation, but all of these goblins were dead, and no more were attacking. Maybe this nest was smaller than usual?

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  So what should I do now?

  Go in after the remaining goblins that might still be inside? My bow would be mostly useless indoors, and I already discovered that I needed to watch for traps. What were the telltale signs of a sneaky goblin trap to look for? I didn’t fucking know.

  A faint scraping above me caught my attention. I turned in time to see a goblin jumping down at me. Its face was full of glee, so happy to catch me by surprise with an old kitchen knife. Its forty pounds of weight bowled me over. My ribs spiked with pain when I hit the ground. The blade scratched down the side of my helmet, and I remember noticing how that vibration felt, knowing that a deathblow was fractions of an inch away from my face.

  That goblin had sneaked on top of the trailers along with three or four more. I don’t know when they did that or where they came from. Were they on top of the trailers this whole time? They could have been. I didn’t check.

  The ones who kept the high ground started to throw rocks and bricks down at me.

  As I tossed the first goblin off of me and scrambled to stand, I spotted another layer to the ambush. Goblins approached from beneath the trailers, closing in on me from both sides. A few crawled toward me unarmed, but most had some sort of improvised blade between their teeth.

  Half a brick hit me in the calf as I turned to run, but I ignored it the best I could. The goblins had the advantage in tight spaces, so I needed to get out in the open where I could more easily identify threats and have the room to put my archery to use.

  A dozen yards down the street, I paused to turn.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  That’s right! I had Piercing Shot. It was off of cooldown by now.

  I activated it but missed completely. Seeing their friends get hit with arrows inspired the other goblins to dive off of the road in search of cover. Most ended up in tall weeds, but a few disappeared into old houses and garages.

  The goblins knew this terrain far better than I did. Did they have more sneaky ways to attack this far from the nest? Were there additional goblins living in these houses I didn’t see on my way in?

  Taking a page from the goblin playbook, I cut behind an old camper and then a shed before diving into tall grass along the wall of the nearest house. If that worked as I intended, then the goblins didn’t see where I went.

  Fighting to calm my breathing, I stayed low and listened for movement.

  The guides said that every goblin in a nest had to be slain to stop it from immediately rebounding. The best way to do that was to prevent the goblins from scattering. Once they were spread out, eliminating every one of them was monumentally more difficult.

  That was another thing I screwed up. The goblins I had seen now hid inside five or so different structures. Even though the buildings were small, my work with Sean taught me that didn’t mean they were easy to search. I could get surprised with a knife in the back or walk into a trap more vicious than falling glass bottles.

  Shit. I left my shield by the trailers. Yet another big mistake.

  Okay. That shield technically belonged to the CDM. If I left it in Daisytown, I would have to request a new one. Losing a shield under normal circumstances was hard to do, and any follow-up questions from the quartermaster would reveal that I was an irresponsible idiot.

  Fully clearing the goblin nest was unlikely, but getting my shield back would keep this from becoming a total disaster. Well, it might still be a total disaster, but if I had my shield, I wouldn’t have to tell anyone about it.

  I sat in my hiding spot for an hour before I heard movement. Raspy goblin voices seemed to confer with one another, and a few wandered in my general direction, searching for signs of the human who raided them. They dispersed after another thirty minutes, and I took a roundabout route back to the church, using as much cover as I could to keep from being seen along the way.

  I assessed myself as I crept.

  My calf and ankle had begun to swell where the brick hit me, but I could still put weight on it and get around mostly okay. My ribs seemed to be holding up alright, even in spite of the goblin tackle. My nose was still healing from the break, but my helmet had kept it safe.

  When the church was within sight again, I hid and watched. No goblins were about that I could see. Perhaps they had all returned to the nest?

  That was wishful thinking, I knew. But I needed my shield. I continued my circuitous path around the church to end up back at the trailers again, approaching from the opposite direction from where I had fled initially. I checked under the trailers and listened for movement on top of them. All was quiet.

  I finally returned to where I made my first stand. My shield was nowhere to be seen.

  Those motherfuckers stole my damn shield.

  I imagined having to explain all this to Enforcer McDouglas.

  “Yes, sir, do you remember the top-secret, ultra-elite position I wanted to apply for? I’m still working on that, but in the meantime, can I get a new shield? I got bullied by goblins and lost it.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  New, even dumber plan: Go into the church and get my shield back.

  Retreating across a side street to hide behind a shed, I picked up three old beer bottles along the way. After watching a bit to ensure I hadn’t been spotted, I approached the nest and threw the bottles over the church. I heard the faint sounds of them breaking. Then I pressed myself against the brick wall and waited.

  A flurry of chaos stirred inside and then drifted in the direction of the broken glass. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard a door slam open as part of that exodus. Guessing that the door the goblins used was least likely to be booby-trapped, I entered the chapel through the back, the only door with hinges capable of being slammed.

  Two goblins watched out the windows and apparently hadn’t heard me come through the door. I had my sword out, expecting a melee battle, but I wished I had stuck with my bow. I could have sniped both of them right then and there.

  Instead, I did my best to sneak across the chapel, hiding behind broken pews. The moment I heard one of the goblins turning, I charged. It died before it could call out. The second goblin, however, had plenty of time to raise the alarm.

  Fleeing as it screamed, it abruptly fell forward, smashing its face off of the floor. I was on top of it a moment later. The goblin had been caught by one of its own tripwires, it seemed.

  I spotted my shield lying flat under one of the pews. Before I could get to it, goblins burst in through all three chapel exits, including the one I used to enter. I was surrounded. Rather than wait for the goblins to fully close in on me, I lunged at the nearest group.

  My dexterity made me far faster than goblins, and they hadn’t anticipated me going on the offensive. Sword in the throat of the first. A slice across the chest for the second. And a beheading for the third. That description of the action makes me sound controlled and tactical. I promise that was not the case. My attacks were wild and uncoordinated.

  Five goblins remained, and they had improvised weapons. I could have fled out the door right then, but I decided I could take five goblins if I acted quickly enough.

  Old hymnals and old bibles flew across the room, thrown by the two most distant goblins. The three I closed on stood to fight.

  I dodged a chain, slipped a thrust from a sharpened broomstick, and skewered a goblin carrying a brick. The chain cracked against my back, flaring the brutal pain in my ribs, but I turned in time to suck my stomach, avoiding the broken point of the broomstick.

  I parried the broomstick. Thrust, Then closed the distance to slash while the one with the one chain pulled back to wind up an attack.

  The last two ran. I chased them outside, dropped my sword, and drew my bow.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  Grip, anchor, elbow.

  They both fell forward with arrows in their spines.

  Daisytown was quiet again, but I didn’t stop to enjoy it. I grabbed my shield, collected the arrows I could see, and went back to my car to get the fuck out of there.

  This run was a failure. I was glad no one knew about it. Otherwise, someone–or many someones–would know how blindingly incompetent I was. I could have died at several different points from my stupidity.

  If this was my first game of soccer, then I did the equivalent of picking up the ball and running with it. Yeah, I learned from those mistakes, but that run was full of giant errors that a halfway intelligent person wouldn’t have made.

  I had a nice collection of these kinds of memories already, moments where I was embarrassed for myself to such an extreme that I felt queasy. I tossed this one on the pile. It landed somewhere between throwing up in my first girlfriend’s car and being so nervous for a freshman presentation that I farted while giving it.