Such Good Boys

Cora stared deep into the cavernous, fleshy throat of the apex predator. One clumsy slip, one wrong move of her trembling wrist, and those jagged rows of teeth would snap her head clean off. The stench of salt and decaying fish washed over her, making her eyes water. She gripped the heavy iron pliers, her knuckles turning white under the strain. She clamped the metal jaws onto a rotting tooth and gave a hard twist.

The tooth refused to budge.

A rumbling vibration shook the stone beneath her boots. "Don't worry, Grandma," the massive shark offered, its deep voice surprisingly gentle. "I can handle the pain. Don't be afraid to use some real muscle."

A flush of awkward shame crept up her neck. A man-eating monster was being considerate of her feelings. She hid her face by rummaging through the metal toolkit, avoiding the beast's trusting gaze.

"Are you looking for the numbing juice, Grandma?" Finnick asked. The boy leaned over the edge of the wet stone and held out a small glass vial.

Cora accepted the bottle with a stiff nod. She examined the label, finding the faded text unreadable. She lacked any idea about its chemical contents. She searched the metal kit for a syringe, finding only empty compartments. Left with no other choice, she popped the cork and carefully poured the pungent liquid directly over the beast's exposed gums.

She stepped back and waited. Within minutes, the shark's dark eyes glazed over in a painless stupor. The anesthesia was working.

Cora let out a heavy sigh, picked up the steel hammer and the sharp chisel, and set to work. She wedged the chisel against the gum line and struck the blunt end with her hammer. Metal cracked against bone. The jarring sound echoed across the crashing waves. She settled into a grueling rhythm. Strike, twist, pull.

Thirty sweating, nerve-wracking minutes later, she wrenched the first bloody tooth free. The massive root slipped from the socket with a sickening squelch. She held the prize up, her chest heaving as she wiped salt spray from her brow.

The other sharks bobbing in the water nodded their huge heads in a strange show of solidarity.

With the first extraction out of the way, she fell into a steady groove. Strike, twist, pry. By four in the afternoon, her arms burned with deep exhaustion. She pulled a stubborn molar from the final patient, officially marking her twentieth success. She wiped her hands on a scrap of blood-soaked cotton.

As the sharks turned and swam off into the deep water, Cora cast a quick glance at Finnick. The boy was busy packing the scattered tools into the metal box. Seizing the moment, she stealthily pocketed the used cotton, tucking it deep into her inventory to progress her Unfortunate Trash Picker quest. A system notification pinged, confirming her secondary task was moving forward.

Finnick wiped his forehead and trotted over. He handed her a heavy, jingling pouch. "Grandma, here is the money from today. Keep it safe."

Cora untied the leather strings. Ten plain gold coins gleamed inside, heavy and devoid of any markings. The reward for a day of grueling labor. She pulled one out, the cool metal solid against her palm.

She looked down at Finnick. The kid had managed the terrifying queue of predators and kept her from losing her mind. She pulled a second coin from the pouch, stepped forward, and gently ruffled his messy hair.

"You were a huge help today, kid. Take this and go buy yourself some treats." She placed the gold piece into his small palm.

Finnick stared at the coin. His large, innocent eyes widened. His lower lip quivered. A second later, heavy tears spilled over his cheeks.

Cora froze. Panic seized her chest. She retracted her hand, desperate for an exit strategy. She was inept at handling crying children. What was the protocol here? Did she hug him? Take the money back?

Before she could fumble out an awkward apology, Finnick let out a loud sob. He grabbed his heavy toolbox, spun around, and leaped straight into the crashing surf.

"I'll be back for you in the morning, Granny!" he called out over his shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. The boy vanished beneath the dark waves, swallowed by the freezing ocean.

Cora stood alone on the bare stone. The biting wind whipped her hair across her face, sending a deep chill into her bones. She hugged her arms, forcing her mind back to survival. There was work to do.

During the lulls in her dental shifts, she had fished up two more wooden crates from the water. She dragged them to the center of her tiny island and pried the lids open. Inside rested a stack of valuable supplies: two cans of savory soup, five soft dinner rolls, five units of raw wood, and five units of thick plastic. Seeing the food sent a wave of relief through her tired muscles. Her meals for tomorrow were secured.

She turned her attention to the system interface hovering in her vision. She tapped the option to bind her Crafting Station to the island. A sleek workbench materialized on the stone floor, offering two functions: Crafting and Salvaging.

She dragged the three empty wooden crates onto the salvage interface. The system broke them down in a flash of light, converting the useless boxes into fifteen usable wooden planks and fifteen iron nails.

Next, she retrieved the Basic Attribute Card she earned earlier. She crushed the card in her hand to bravely activate it.

A pleasant, tingling warmth surged through her veins. The fatigue from hammering shark teeth melted away. Her muscles felt firmer, her breathing steadier. She opened her status panel.

[Player: Cora Vance]

[Age: 23]

[Strength: 18 (+3)]

[Constitution: 19 (+3)]

[Agility: 20 (+3)]

[Stamina: 15 (Pathetic)]

[Evaluation: A couch-potato college kid has more backbone than you.]

[Special Status: NPC Trial Mode (7 days remaining).]

Her expression quickly sours. She read the glowing text twice. A three-point boost across her base stats was great, but the system's mocking evaluation stung. She squeezed her bicep, glaring at the floating screen. Ignoring the blatant insult, she dismissed the panel.

She walked to the edge of her small stone plot. Eight square yards of space was suffocating. She opened the island management menu, intending to expand her foundation.

Immense frustration washed over her. Every single square yard of expansion strictly required twenty units of stone and twenty units of soil. To upgrade her current eight square yards, she needed 160 units of each material. She had zero. Expanding was out of the question for now.

Seeking another path forward, she opened the global Chat Channel. A chaotic blur of scrolling messages filled her screen. Players were panicking about the dropping temperature and the impending darkness. Amidst the terror, a sprawling, toxic argument dominated the chat.

[I got five crates today with lots of food. If anyone is starving, I can send some your way,] a user named Hazel Mercer posted.

[A Saint! Please help me! I'm starving!]

[Don't do it, Hazel. Save it for yourself. This is a survival game. Look out for number one.]

[Just because you're heartless doesn't mean everyone else is! Hey Saint, spare some bread?]

[He's going to stab you in the back the second he gets the chance, Hazel.]

Cora scrolled past the drama with a heavy sigh. She had no intention of playing the selfless hero. Her own survival was her only priority. Hazel could play the savior if she wanted, but Cora was keeping her soup.

She filtered out the bickering and scanned the rapid-fire market requests. A specific offer caught her sharp eye.

[Campfire Blueprint for 4 bottles of water.]

The message repeated three times, buried under the Hazel drama. A blueprint was a permanent, life-saving asset in freezing weather. Very few players had hoarded four bottles of water on day one, which was why it hadn't sold. The seller was parched.

Cora opened her inventory. She had enough water saved. She immediately initiated the trade. The request was accepted in seconds. The blueprint materialized in her hand.

She loaded the schematic into her Crafting Station. A campfire cost two units of wood to build and burned for four hours. Adding one unit of wood extended the burn time by two hours. It was an incredibly efficient use of resources.

She crafted the fire pit and placed it on the stone foundation. The dry wood sat in a neat pile. Then, a stark realization hit her. She had no actual way to light it. No matches, no flint.

A private message suddenly popped up on her interface. It was from the blueprint seller, Gavin Thorne.

Gavin Thorne: [Need a lighter? It's full. I want one campfire and three bottles of water.]

Cora stared at the extortionate demand. Water was scarce, and he wanted three more bottles for a piece of plastic and butane.

Cora: [I don't have that much water. I can give you one campfire and one bottle.]

Gavin Thorne: [Come on, girl! Work with me here. Make it two bottles. It's a fair price. Check the market; I'm giving you the best deal out there!]

Cora switched tabs and checked the Trading Post. She skimmed the listings, confirming he was telling the truth. Fire-starting tools were non-existent.

Knowing a reliable heat source was worth its weight in gold right now, she weighed her options. The wind was howling, and the temperature was plummeting. She needed the fire to survive the night. She typed her response and hit send, agreeing to his terms. The trade window glowed, swapping her crafted fire pit and two waters for the full lighter.

A system prompt hovers in her vision: Gavin has requested to add you as a friend. Accept?