Subjugating the dungeon was only part of the job for hunters. For the layperson, a hunter’s work is to subjugate a dungeon, exploit it, then head back to their guilds or the association to deliver their loot to be evaluated, celebrate their successes then reap the results of their hard work.

  What they didn’t know was the amount of paperwork involved following the subjugation and exploitation of a dungeon.

  First would be for the accounting of everything that has been taken out of the dungeons. At the entrance of a subjugated dungeon, they would meet with a representative of the association who would count and give detailed written and photographed evidence of the loot, kept and transported through an armored car to authorized authenticators and given an estimated base value. It was lauded as a service done for the convenience of hunters, but it really was for one thing.

  Taxes.

  Even with men and women who had to risk their lives for the survival of humankind, they are not extended the exemption for even one thing that is considered certain in this life.

  After that, everyone would have to write up the after-action reports, as there still had to be accountings for what happened within. The dungeons have the effect of making all electronics null, even a simple circuit of a battery and a light was not spared making it so that light sources like torches and mana lamps are a vital resource for delving in dungeons.

  So everyone who participated, even Lim, who had been kicked out shortly after entering, had to write up their own accounts to be notarized in duplicate, as they were working for the association directly, and triplicate if they are under a guild. They are then fed into a database which scans every detail done all in order to set up an encyclopedia of how to handle the monsters encountered in a dungeon.

  It also serves to address one thing that is inevitable when delving.

  Death.

  That bit of paperwork was to account for the deaths of the hunters. To establish a pattern if any exists and rewrite training for newbies and refreshers pamphlets for already existing hunters. Another, was to aid in the investigation of deaths, to ascertain if it involved any foul play.

  It was natural. The arrival of the dungeons, despite its effects in everything, failed to change humanity for the better. It may have even caused it to teeter into being worse. Pride and ego doesn’t mesh well with hero worship. Add money and fame, it all blends into a bad mix.

  So as Marco finished up writing his reports, along with writing an extended addendum as to why he kicked out a C rank mage off the group, even with the self defense aspect. A mage is still a mage. Especially if it was one who would have made the dungeon clearing trivial. He signed it, notarized, copied and filed.

  He knew it would come back around and bite him in the ass, he knew these kinds of people, but there was nothing else he could do. If he would have caved in and let Lim get what he wanted, everyone else would start walking all over him. Now, all he has left is to hope, not expect, that the association would come and help him handle it when it comes.

  But what’s done is done. That would have to be in the future. Marco thought to himself, smiling, as he walked out of the last station on the metro. He had just finished his bit of shopping and is looking forward to getting back home.

  Down the station, he looked over the stalls selling street food, along with pre cooked dishes for people just coming home late from work who had no time or were just too tired to cook for themselves. The usual mixes of dish coming from multiple stalls but found nothing that interested him. Besides, he would be coming home from a home cooked meal which his bag of grapes, oranges, and apples would add to.

  Men and women filled the street. They walked about enjoying the end of the day, along with people who were just starting their own. Most headed towards the station, heading to their night shift in offices and factories through the Metro. Marco stayed out of their way, with some faces he recognized, giving him acknowledging nods which he all returned with a slight smile. The arrival of dungeons didn’t make the world stand still, it only made it run faster.

  Still, as much as he would like to be home, he was a bit early to be dropping in. So as much as he promised a certain someone he wouldn’t visit the place as often, Marco found his feet leading him to Miguel’s bar.

  It was a hole in the wall where the entrance led to a bright lit alley with men and women standing by the sides. All were engaged in conversation with each other or just standing alone, smoking. They nodded, and Marco nodded back as he passed by them without a word and entered the bar.

  Bars usually had that smell, of some cleaning agents, puke, and spilled beer, their scents sticking on the walls of the establishment and staying like a ghost, or a soul. But for Miguel’s, most of it was fried foods sizzling and steaming from the kitchen in the back with the scent wafting enough into the main area that it would make anyone hungry.

  “Marco.” Miguel greeted as he polished the bar. He wore a black silk pants topped with a loud and colorful button shirt, the patterns always changing everyday and despite his jobs handling drinks and drunks, Marco saw that it never had a stain land on the gaudy colors. “Here for a drink?”

  “Just give me the usual Miguel.” Marco said, taking up his usual seat on the corner. It allowed him a good view of what’s happening inside along with a good view of the patrons coming and going. There was a hook underneath the bar, on the side for the patrons where they could hang their bags, or purses. “Any word about the block?”

  “Some kids got caught trying to break into a local store when it was closed. They thought it was left empty after closing.” He grinned. “Well, Sandra got word, left her husband inside and left the store in case they were casing her joint.” The beer arrived and Miguel popped the cap. “A little showing of a shotgun and a little monologue of what it could do, they gave up. No charges, they didn’t want them harmed. Kids got their hair shaved though, and you could bet their asses are raw.”

  “These kids from the towers?” Marco replied, taking a sip.

  “From the shanties up north. Also, Mikki died. That’s his box right over there.” Miguel replied, sliding over a bowl of peanuts. His head jerked to the other side of the bar, where a box covered in white plain paper sat alone, lit up by small candles on each side. A name and a picture of an almost gaunt, fully bald, man was smiling in the picture.

  “Oh yeah. ‘Shiny’. Fuck. Have it here.” Marcus said, pulling out his wallet. He remembered now, they called him Shiny because he was always worrying about his hair. “It's been a year. Haven’t talked to him since. Shame. Used to put some greasy shit to try and save his hair.”

  “He shaved it off. After he got cancer.”

  “Got a shit hand on that part. But we all deal with what we got.” He replied and fished out wad of bills equivalent to 500 dollars, about a quarter of his base monthly wage. But would be able to feed a family of 3, now 2, for a month.

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  “Are you sure about that? You still got your own.”

  It almost made Marco pause. He sighed. “It's fine. I got a bit of a windfall, so might as well spread out the luck.” He replied, putting the rolled up bills.

  “Who got a windfall?” A voice said, followed with a man wearing a pair of faded jean pants and jacket. Somehow, the young kid was still able to wear them even with the ever present tropical heat.

  “I did.” Marco replied, and reached under his side of the bar to catch Jan’s hand reaching for his shopping bags. With a grin, the hand pulled away but catching Miguel and Jan’s eyes, only meant that he had to share what happened just this afternoon. So he did, the part of the mining job, the fuckups, evacuation call and the contract for him to lead a team and the problems that came with it.

  Jan whistled, but Miguel was the first to talk. “Yeah. I heard about the recall. I thought you gave your mother a promise to never join a dive.”

  “It was as safe as it could be.” Marco met Miguel’s gaze. “Mid ranked team, low ranked dungeon. I’m only there to make sure they don’t get hurt on what could have been a field trip.”

  “If you say so.” Jan said, eyes laughing and sipping a beer, with Marco’s drink suspiciously missing. Jan having just hit his 19th birthday a few months ago, Marco didn’t like giving kids barely breaking the legal age alcohol, but Jan was an exception. Anyone willing to put themselves in danger deserved a drink.

  “Not a word of this gets out okay?” Marco replied, his voice missing an edge. Miguel then put a new bottle of beer in front of him and opened it.

  “I’ll put it on Jan’s tab.” He replied.

  “Hey man. Unlike Marco, I’m not really flush with cash right now.” He replied sheepishly.

  Marco and Miguel only gave him a look. Not much was known about him. Jan Michael Tayaban had just appeared in the neighborhood one day and signed up to volunteer. Other than that, there was little else Marco knew about the kid before coming here. He could have run away, and his family name likely pegged him as hailing from the northern provinces. Still, he was living alone and he needed someone to watch out for him.

  “Actually, you got any word about that upcoming dungeon break?” Marco said, turning to Jan. As it was, dungeon breaks have developed to be some kind of natural phenomenon, along the list of typhoons and earthquakes. And just like typhoons, there were ways of seeing it coming long before it came.

  It has been established that after the confirmed arrival of a dungeon break, priority hunters are to be recalled and ordered to rest up and recharge. The army is sent WARNOs and reserves called up to report to their barracks. Supplies are moved from stockpiles and forward deployed. Militia and local leaders are contacted for coordination of their capabilities and willing tasks to do.

  All the while, the media would be telling the populace of what would be coming, and to prepare accordingly.

  Jan simply shook his head. “I got nothing. Just the same old order to stand down and prepare. Not even a probable location.”

  “That’s weird.” Marco said, sipping his drink. “If nothing else, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Hey. I’m home.” Marco called, taking off his shoes by the entrance.

  “Welcome back. Your sister called. She should be here in around five minutes.” Said a voice in the kitchen. Their apartment was a 3 bedroom condominium with a kitchen and enough space left for a small living room. Marco managed to snag it five years ago back, with a significant discount during the first years following the dungeons. Before that, the price attached to the listing would have been far from his reach, but his change in profession was the only thing that brought it within his grasp.

  The reasons shared back then was to ‘reward heroes on defending the people of The Philippines’. But Marco knew that it was just a way to lure Hunters into living in their high rise condominiums with the implied caveat that they would help defend it.

  As much as the underlying reason was, it worked. The discount attracted not only him, but others too. Marco personally knew a few dozen hunters of different ranks were living in the same building, providing a blanket of safety that extends even a bit to the properties outside. Thus, ‘hunter’s villages’ and the areas around have skyrocketed in price.

  One of them was here. The Grand Towers. If Marco was to decide to sell the place, it would net him five times what he paid at the least.

  “I got us some fruits.” Marco said, leaving it on the dining table.

  “Bring them here so we could wash them while I have the broth simmering.” Said his mother. She was busy washing dirty pots and had her back facing him.

  She moved with slow, measured moves; back ramrod straight and would not reach past a certain distance. Marco recognized the same thing when people were hiding pain. Having been with enough people, training them to make sure they get to their best without breaking them past limits.

  Marco stepped forward and hugged his mother from behind, laying his head on top of hers. Maybe with the money he got from the job, he and his sister could pool enough to afford paying someone to skip the queue for the expensive rejuvenation treatments. Set her age back a decade.

  “Marco? Is something wrong?” Mother asked with worry. It was true that he did rarely hug his mother ever since he was younger, and doubly now that he was much more busy with his current job.

  “Nothing. I just felt like it.” Marco said. To which his mother dried her hands and reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Marco let go. Mother turned around. “Oh, your clothes are dirty.” she said, eyes roving over him and turned to worry. “Did something happen on the job?

  “It's nothing. Mining’s a dirty job anywhere.” He said. “Sorry I dirtied your clothes. I’ll go wash up and maybe hang around outside for some air.”

  “You know, I think it's time for you to be hugging some other woman than your mother.”

  Marco only smiled.

  Marco sat alone, lit a cigarette in his hand as he watched the basketball match between the shirts and jerseys. Around the court, people watched. Some made bets while others were simply content on sitting on the sidelines and cheering whenever a point was scored.

  But even with the levity and normalcy of the sight, there was still a layer of tension in the air. Everyone is already alerted, and even the few who lived under a rock would soon be informed by other people about what’s about to happen. Everyone was waiting for the shoe to drop. For a few, it may as well be their last days on earth, but that won’t stop them from enjoying the moment.

  Time is going to be spent either way, might as well enjoy it.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” A familiar voice called, a girl, no, a woman now, sat beside him. Marco still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the little girl he always helped cared for had all grown up.

  “Other than in the house. Where else would I be?” Marco muttered.

  “The bar.” Joy, his sister, shrugged. “I find you here whenever you get into an argument with mom. What was it this time?”

  “There wasn’t an argument. I just thought I’d come watch.” Marco replied, taking a drag and blew the smoke away from Joy. “She’s worried.”

  “You’re going to help. Of course she’s going to be worried.” Joy replied, her tone flat and admonishing.

  “Like I always do.” Marco said, reaching into his pocket and handing a small box wrapped in a small red ribbon. “Here. I saw this at the store and I thought of you.”

  “You know I can afford to buy these myself. I’m a B rank now.” Joy replied with pride. “One more rank and I can make it illegal for anyone to accept you into joining their efforts.”

  “I’d still find a way.” Marco grunted. He looked to the side to see Joy giving him a sharp look, the box unopened. “Come on, open it. You could afford it but I know you well enough that you’ll never buy one for yourself.”

  She looked at the box and her gaze softened. “Well then, I’ll also find my own way.” Joy replied, unwrapping the ribbon and opening it. Inside was a small heart pendant on a thin gold chain. It wasn’t as personalized as Marco would have liked, but he also wasn’t the type of guy to know much about jewelry. So he just went for the safe option.

  Joy looked at the piece of jewelry for a bit, “put it on for me?” She said, turning her back on him.

  Marco stubbed his smoke. He then picked the necklace and gently put it around Joy’s neck. “I know that what I do makes both you and mom worry. But I just can’t stand aside when people need help. I’ll do whatever I can, no matter how little that may be.”

  “It's going to get you killed someday. It's going to break her heart, and mine..” Joy replied.

  “I won’t. I know how to handle myself.”

  “You only need to be unlucky once.” Joy replied, her tone clipped.

  “Been unlucky a few times. Still here. I got my skill. It’s done its job in keeping me out of trouble.” Marco replied. “It's you I worry. Where will you be stationed?”

  “We won’t be skirmishing if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m told we’re going to be holding a few key points north.”

  Marco shook his head. With Joy looking ahead, she didn’t see it. Either she was lying or was just misinformed. B ranks don’t just stay on points of interest waiting for the enemy to come, they head out to find them, away from entrenched support. And when they do find the enemy, they would hit them hard, then fade away into the city before getting overwhelmed.

  Either way, it was not his place to question. Not as an F rank. “You know, I’m starting to wonder when I’d have my chance to scare a suitor.” Marco said, locking the necklace with a click.

  “Seems like you didn’t hear about him. He’s an A rank hunter who I can order around to beat you up if you don’t follow what I say.” Joy said, turning around with a serious tone, but later smiled. “It's a joke. I don’t have anyone.”

  “Somehow I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved.” Marco replied.

  “I know my types.” Joy said, just as her phone chimed. “Ma said dinner’s just about ready. We should get going.”

  “I think I’ll stay for a little while.” Marco said, putting an unlit cigarette on his mouth. “I’ll follow along in a bit.”

  Joy looked at the cancer in a stick and gave him a sharp look. She quickly dropped it and nodded.

  Marco shrugged. ‘What’s cancer in a few decades when you don’t see yourself living that long anyway.’ He thought then lit the tip and took a drag. Watching as the match continued on only for red and blue flashing lights reflected off surfaces. A patrol vehicle came into view and squawked its siren. The game stopped and soon men and women started packing up to leave.

  Marco stayed, ignoring the cops who got out of their car and approached him. They waved, Marco waved back and pulled out his hunter’s badge. They stopped midway across the court and gave Marco a nod. Marco nodded back and the cops turned around to leave him be.