For the uninitiated, the Neverland wouldn’t stand out much from any other upscale jazz club. A nice, snug venue, it hosted enough seats for roughly a hundred patrons, boasted a well-stocked bar, and provided a stage where dirt-poor musicians could entertain bored clients for a few bucks each night. Its chic beige walls and 20th-century Art Deco flair gave it a slight edge over its competitors, though not by much.


    However, the Neverland had a secret. A soundproof, underground secret.


    When the Germans stormed Western Europe—a conflict oddly impervious to historical changes—several resistance movements sprang up everywhere like wild grass. The Association never pinpointed which group constructed the hideout beneath the building, yet they readily made use of it.


    Lou guided Matthew and the others down a ladder concealed behind the bar counter. The Crawlers had refurbished the place into a hybrid of a military bunker and a speakeasy over the two years since its discovery. Comparable in size to the ground level, the basement featured a modest dance floor and piano area. Numerous wooden tables and walls were laden with city maps, color wheel diagrams, and motivation posters meant to cheer up the troops. The mahogany bar was the most peculiar sight: its brass shelves hosting a medley of liquor bottles, radios, firearms, and explosives potent enough to demolish a shopping mall.


    They knew, they had checked.


    As for the death pool, it would soon receive an imminent update. The black chalkboard enthroned at the center of a wall and listed the names of all Crawlers’ codenames, past and present, alongside the bets placed on them. Few members had no associated bounties: Crypto hardly went into the field, Mr. Chang was too strong for anyone to bother, and Florence was too nice.


    Mr. Auguste’s hunting trophies were mounted on the wall around it: the heads of monsters ranging from big-brained dinosaurs to horned wolves and killer robots. The sight spooked the newcomers. Sasha covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide open, while Amélia shook in fear and horror.


    “Are those…” Petro paled as he dared to touch one of the trophies, his hand backing down the moment he touched the monster’s scales. “Real heads?”


    “I’m afraid so,” the Doc confirmed with a sigh. He had objected to mounting these heads in the basement. “One of us uses a temporal Stasis spell to keep them from decaying from the absence of Flux.”


    It was quite the logistical nightmare to avoid Disbelief too, since a single mundane person’s glance would transform these trophies into lions, goats, or other animals. Worst of all, Auguste and Lou rarely stopped at bringing in a monster’s head alone. Matthew thought it might be a bit too early to inform the new recruits about that team’s peculiar culinary tradition…


    Mr. Auguste wasn’t yet in attendance. Almost all of the Association’s Crawlers were otherwise present, barring the Old Town team. The scene looked pretty much as Matthew expected it to: Florence helped Julia remove the blood from her overalls while still wearing her own nurse outfit, her eyes blackened by fatigue; Sol and Umar tended to their weapons; Mr. Chang chatted with Orso and his spouse Lola; Jesse was writing another novel in a secluded corner; Charlie played poker with Officer Kresnik and Crypto… and Liv lingered near the bar counter, waiting for the Doc.


    “You’re late,” she curtly greeted the group, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers.


    “Hi, Liv,” Matthew replied. “Good to see you too.”


    “Speak for yourself, Maruki. I don’t like her,” John said with a dismissive snort, while Kari smiled uneasily.


    “Apologies,” the Doc replied, a smile playing on his lips as he drew out a cigarette. “The kids sleep far from my house.”


    "That''s why you should fetch them early, Finn," Liv retorted, lighting the Doc''s cigarette with her own. "A bit of foresight goes a long way."


    Though both women in their thirties with long blonde hair, Liv and Lou sent two very different vibes. Lou was a wild underground punk, while a mere glimpse into Liv''s piercing gray eyes revealed her steely nature. Her taunt posture reminded Matthew of a gunslinger poised to strike or a photographer waiting for the perfect shot; both roles suited Liv perfectly. She concealed a firearm beneath her bulky brown jacket and never ventured out without a pack of emergency supplies either—a habit she developed after she nearly starved to death in her first Dungeon. She and the Doc had founded the Evermarsh''s Dungeon Wreckers Association together before handing the reins over to Crypto.


    Oh, and they were dating. Sometimes. But not always.


    While John went to grab a drink and Kari politely introduced Sasha’s group to a few other Crawlers, Matthew moved to the poker table. The sweet pile of euro bills at the players’ center had caught his eye. Edging closer, he subtly eavesdropped on the ongoing banter.


    “—then I found the rat snorting my merchandise,” Charlie grumbled, eying the river card. “My own nephew, no less. Can you believe that?”Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “If you can’t even trust your own blood nowadays…” Officer Kresnik replied while glancing over his hand. “So what happened? You broke his knee?”


    “I broke both of them. Haven’t been robbed since I started getting medieval with my discipline.” Charlie’s smirk had all the sweetness of rancid butter. “Though I’ve collected a few limpers since then.”


    The cruel joke sent a chill traveling down Matthew’s spine. Officer Kresnik sent Charlie a brief blank stare and then focused back on his cards. As for Crypto, she didn’t even react.


    The three players made for quite the motley crew. Officer Jo?ko “Werewolf” Kresnik, clad in his police uniform, sported a gleaming badge and a holstered sidearm. His unkempt dark hair, rolled-up sleeves, and loosely knotted tie suggested his readiness to get down to business. His black eyes peering keenly through his glasses and a cunning smirk all hinted at a strong hand.


    In contrast, Charlie reeked of danger. A fifty-something burly rogue plucked straight out of a gangster flick, he sported a grizzled appearance, rugged features, and a menacing stare. His meticulously tailored beige suit set him apart from Officer Kresnik’s laid back posture, and he never traveled anywhere without his faithful gloves. Much like with John, they helped to hide the blood.


    Only Riley “Crypto” Nielle seemed utterly at ease, a lollipop sticking out of her mouth. She was the youngest and most striking of the trio, with her auburn bob and deep brown eyes, her loosely buttoned blouse underscored her carefree disposition as a genius with a master plan. Matthew knew she would win even before the cards were laid out.


    Charlie unveiled his hand to Kresnik with a taunt. “A king''s pair up your Yugoslavian ass.”


    “Croatian, Charlie,” Officer Kresnik said as he lay down two aces on the table. Charlie let out a word that would have gotten him censored on public television, much to his colleague’s amusement. “No timeshift will change that.”


    “The town of Bielefeld disappeared again, by the way,” Crypto said. “Congrats to everyone who bet on that outcome.”


    “What the hell is going on with that stupid hick town?” Charlie asked. As usual, he had failed to bet correctly on that one. “It ceases to exist after a timeshift, then it comes back, then it disappears again…”


    “Who knows?” Crypto chimed in, her voice laced with mischief as she presented her cards. “I hope you brought towels, gentlemen, because I’ll flush you both away.”


    “Goddamnit, again?” Charlie grumbled before he reluctantly surrendered his cash. “How are you doing that?”


    Matthew would bet on ‘sorcery.’ He activated his Flux Sight spell and immediately noticed a blue glow around Crypto. The Flux suspiciously trailed to a ceiling corner, where Matthew quickly detected a hidden camera with a direct line to Charlie’s hand. He also caught a fleeting glimpse of Officer Kresnik slipping an ace under the table.


    Crypto shot Matthew a knowing wink. “Do you want to play, Matthew? Entry fee’s fifty euros, and I’ve heard you won big last night.”


    “I’m still waiting for my cash to arrive,” Matthew replied, though he looked forward to it. His Lucky Star spell would let him demolish them. “Unless someone here would like to buy my loot on the spot.”


    “Show me,” Charlie said. Matthew brought out the sports trophy he gathered from the school locker room Dungeon out of his bag, which his colleague examined with keen interest. “Is that gold? I could fence that for a few hundred bucks, sure.”


    "Mind if I take a closer look first?” Crypto asked. “I presume it came from the Dungeon at your school?”


    “I’ve heard your team cleared out two of them this week already,” Officer Kresnik said with a whistle. “I’m impressed by you guys’ diligence.”


    Crypto''s fingers thoughtfully brushed her chin. “Finn informed me of your Doom Sense warning too, Matthew. I’m keeping an ear to the ground for any incidents coming from the sewers and waste plant.”


    “Don’t bother.” Charlie shrugged dismissively. “If anything stirs down there, I’ll be the first to know. That’s where we store the goods.”


    “Is that so?” Officer Kresnik asked with a smile. Charlie discreetly slid him a stack of cash in response. "I love a well-behaved taxpayer."


    Sometimes, Matthew wondered if Officer Kresnik might be just a tiny bit corrupt.


    “Anyway, lad, you want easy money?” Charlie gave Matthew a sly grin. "Say no more. Uncle Charlie has an entry-level position for you."


    Matthew knew three crucial facts about Charlie: he had a finger in every criminal pie baked in the city’s port; his Red power let him blow up witnesses; and his real name wasn''t Charlie. Only Officer Kresnik, Crypto, and Liv were privy to his true identity because they had all investigated him separately.


    Whatever they found, it caused Liv to object to Charlie joining the Association and being swiftly outvoted. They had too few candidates to afford to be picky, and while the man was only interested in looting Dungeons for their treasures rather than to save lives, he provided the Association with a welcome source of cheap firearms. John brought all his weapons from him.


    In short, accepting Charlie’s offer smelled worse than rotten fish. Matthew wasn’t that desperate for cash. Besides, he knew better than to work for a man who busted his nephew’s knees. That was messed up.


    “Sorry, I don’t want a criminal record,” Matthew replied tactfully. “And I like my legs.”


    “It’s a lookout gig, no risk involved,” Charlie insisted. “Sometimes you’ll look one way, sometimes you’ll look the other way… You’ll have to work twice as hard with only one eye, but it’s easy money.”


    Liv, who had overheard their conversation, plucked her cigarette from her mouth. “Don’t listen to that crook, Matthew,” she advised. “You’re too good for him.”


    "That reminds me," Charlie mused, eyeing the dead pool chalkboard. “We can update the bets now."


    The Doc fidgeted, his unease palpable. "We can, but should we?"


    “Put me down for three.” Charlie flashed three fingers. “Liv Nowak, Liv Nowak, and Liv Nowak.”


    “Three hundred on the gutter trash,” Liv countered, her voice sharp. The Doc began to update the board with a heavy sigh.


    Sasha looked at the dead pool in horror. “Are you betting on each other’s death?”


    “That’s fucked up,” Petro muttered under his breath.


    “You get used to it,” Matthew replied. He didn’t remember who first put up the death pool, but it quickly became popular and recorded over thirty names at its height. Dungeons, mishaps, and nicotine had lowered that count since. Newcomers usually found the tradition morbid, but they usually learned to play along.


    You had to be at least a little crazy to volunteer for unpaid work with a nearly twenty-five percent chance of dying within a year’s time, after all. The pool helped soften the blow when one of them left the stage.


    It was easier to mock death than to mourn the dead.