While the Royal Bank of Scotland drowned in chaos, Camelot — Anna's camo-green fold-up play tent tucked off the path near St Bernard's Well — sat peaceful beneath the rain.
The blue mat-box house squatted beside it like a soft-walled fortress, hidden under a tangle of bushes. And deeper under those same bushes lay one crate of fifteen AK-47s and two crates of ammunition, all sterile, unmarked, and very illegally magical.
But here, in this sheltered hollow by the Water of Leith, there was only peace.
Rain slid through the branches like strings of loose silver, tapping the river, tapping the grass, tapping the thin canvas walls of Camelot. For once, the rain didn't bother Anna. Something much worse did.
Namely, Strong had peed on her.
She had woken up earlier with a squeak — hoodie soaked, heart pounding, baby bawling like a spoiled prince with eight-pack abs under a Hulk suit. The suit now lay in a shameful heap of damp baby war crimes.
Changing clothes hadn't helped her mood.
But it had brought one shocking discovery:
Anna had abs.
Real ones.
Not six-pack superhero abs, but a solid little four-pack — toned, defined, and more impressive than anything she'd ever had before the System touched her life. Her legs and arms were tighter too — Level 10 Hunter blood quietly sculpting her like a tiny warrior princess.
Now the miracle worker himself — Strong, aged one day — sat under the bushes, on a soft patch of grass, staring at the world as if he'd invented it.
Anna knelt knee-deep in the Water of Leith, scrubbing her hoodie, joggers and socks against a rock like a freezing medieval washer-woman.
"Ugh — Strong… this is disgusting…" she hissed.
Cold water splashed her arms, soaked her sleeves, slid under her collar. With a normal body she'd be crying, but her new stats barely registered the cold. Instead, it was just… annoying.
Beside her, Sheepy dashed in circles like a drunk otter, tongue out, soaking himself repeatedly with zero regret.
Anna sighed — a long, dramatic groan of misery.
Christmas holidays weren't supposed to involve washing clothes in a river like an orphan hiding from tax collectors. Usually, Mum or one of the cleaners handled laundry at the Hope Estate. This — this was not cool.
With a frustrated growl, she threw her soaked clothes aside.
"Screw it. Strong can literally spawn people and stuff from thin air. I'm not washing anything ever again."
She already had backup clothes in her backpack anyway:
pink Hello Kitty hoodie, jeans, clean socks, shoes, the whole set. So she marched back toward Camelot — cold, annoyed, soaked — ready to change.
Then she froze.
Strong wasn't in the tent.
He was outside.
In the open.
In the winter rain.
Eating grass like a goat, crawling around in one of her long shirts like he was wearing a tiny dress.
Adorable — yes.
But very much a baby dressed for hypothermia.
"Oh no — STRONG!" she squeaked, dropping everything into the river with a splash.
She scrambled up the bank, socks slapping mud, scooped him into her arms like a very confused loaf of wet bread, and hurried back inside Camelot.
"You can't just wander off! You'll get sick! Or stolen! Or eaten by a fox! Or… or… carried off by a goose! Or the police, you know!"
She wasn't sure geese did that, but it sounded plausible, and the police definitely tried to take her home against her will, so she didn't trust them either.
Strong didn't mind being scolded.
He looked up at her, blinking rain from long pale lashes, smiling like a cherub that had just won an argument with God.
Inside the small tent, Anna stripped off her wet hoodie, pushed her hair back, and tucked Strong under the covers of one of the sleeping bags. She slipped in beside him to warm him up — her hands cold, his skin warm and soft.
"Ugh," she muttered, snuggling in. "Everything smells like pee or river. Luckily it's only the mat-box that smells like a butt now, not Camelot. And not you — because I gave you that bath, Strong. You're welcome."
Strong blinked at her.
Then made a thoughtful little "hmm" and shut his eyes again.
He liked the sleeping bag — the warmth, the softness, Anna's arms around him, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. It felt safe.
It felt… right.
Outside, Sheepy splashed back into the river, barking triumphantly at a fish that absolutely didn't care.
Anna pulled her red hair away from her face, hugged Strong closer, and pressed a kiss to his forehead — she could never resist. He smiled, pleased, and curled into her.
Still, she sighed.
"What am I going to do now, Strong…? My clothes are wet and smelly. We don't have food or money. Well—okay, you can summon food anywhere, I guess. Maybe…" She hugged him tighter.
"Maybe I should go home. Wash everything. Mum and Dad might not mind. They might even like you. Maybe they'll be happy I found a baby of my own."
Strong stared up with big icy-blue eyes, blinking slowly, as if absorbing her confusion like sunlight.
Anna leaned back, looking at the ceiling of Camelot — patched fabric spotted with rain.
"I wonder what Sir Braveheart and the crusaders are doing right now?" she mused aloud. "Sir Egg must be so confused in this modern time. Maybe we should go find them, in case they need help or something. Knights are supposed to be guided by their queen, right?"
Strong tilted his head, as if thinking.
"And besides…" she added softly, "shouldn't we check if you have a real mum or dad somewhere? I mean… you didn't come from the trash, right?"
Strong stared at her.
Blink, blink.
Then a tiny "hmm."
Anna sighed, hugging him tight as rain pattered softly against Camelot's canvas walls.
Somewhere far across Edinburgh, automatic gunfire shredded the morning.
But here, in the green hush beside the river, Anna and Strong knew nothing of it.
Nothing at all.
Strong leaned toward her and hugged her side and, in the smallest, softest voice, said:
"…Mama."
Anna froze. Her eyes went huge.
"W-wait… what? Strong—what did you say?"
Strong just smiled, wide and innocent and proud. Then he said it again.
"Mama."
Anna made a noise that was part squeal, part sob, part shriek, and part victorious battle cry.
"I'M MAMA?!"
She turned, grabbed him and squeezed him so hard he burped.
Strong giggled and drew breath to say it again—
—and then something else spoke in his skull.
Cold. Clerkly. Merciless.
> [SOUL SYSTEM — KILL VERIFIED]
Your summon has slain: AGNES McCULLOCH.
Cause of death: catastrophic ballistic trauma.
Target profile: female, mid-50s, working-class teller, low NLV.
Calculating soul value…
Credited: +3,420 SP
Strong flinched.
Instead of "Mama," he blurted:
"Ag…nes… kill."
Anna blinked. "Huh? Who? What do you mean, kill?"
Strong wasn't sure either. His brows pinched. Then he defaulted to safety.
"Hmm."
The System did not care.
> [SOUL SYSTEM — KILL VERIFIED]
Your summon has slain: GUTHRIE McGREGOR.
Cause of death: catastrophic ballistic trauma.
Target profile: male, late 40s, security head, modest savings, small pension.
Calculating soul value…
Credited: +8,295 SP
Strong stared at Anna. She stared back.
With a thoughtful finger on his lips he tried again, careful with each syllable:
"…Guth…rie… kill…"
Anna pressed a hand to his cheek.
"Strong… why are you saying all these names? Who is that? Should we… find them? Did they lose you? Oh gosh, are they your old family? Oh no, wait—are you psychic? Or a magician like in the cartoons? Can you predict the future? Or death or something?"
Strong only leaned forward, touched her chin with one small hand, and repeated, gently:
"Mama."
Anna exhaled with relief.
"Right. Mm. Yes. That's good. I'm Mama. That makes sense."
She didn't understand what was happening.
She was six. She had no framework for security heads, catastrophic trauma, or kill verifications.
So Anna did what children do with things too big for them:
she filed all the death-names under "Strong is just weird"
and decided that was good enough for now.
Strong, however, barely had time to enjoy being Mama's baby again before the System spoke silly things to him again.
> [SOUL SYSTEM — POSSIBLE KILL STREAK DETECTED]
Processing multiple rapid fatalities…
Strong blinked.
Anna stroked his blonde hair, unaware.
Sheepy barked at a fish outside the tent.
The System inhaled deeply — metaphorically —
then spat fire.
---
1. FIRST KILL — Taxi Driver
> [SOUL SYSTEM — KILL VERIFIED]
Civilian (male, 52, taxi driver)
Cause of death: cranial obliteration
SP credited: +4,380
Strong jerked.
"Mmm… cran… obli… obluh…"
---
2. SECOND KILL — Office Worker Woman
> [DOUBLE KILL!]
Civilian (female, 39, office administrator)
Cause of death: ballistic trauma to torso
SP credited: +2,250
Strong tried again:
"Dobble… keel."
---
3. THIRD KILL — Man at Bus Stop
> [TRIPLE KILL!]
Civilian (male, 45, bus mechanic)
Cause: three-round burst to chest
SP credited: +2,250
"Mec… han… kill…"
---
4. FOURTH KILL — Teen Girl (trampled + shot)
> "OVERKILL!"
Adolescent (female, 17)
Cause: trampling + ballistic penetration
SP credited: +990
"Ov…uh… kill."
---
5. FIFTH KILL — Teen Girl (blinded, trampled)
> "KILLTACULAR!"
Adolescent (female, 16)
Cause: glass trauma + trampling
SP credited: +1,010
"Kill… tack… u… larrr."
---
6. SIXTH KILL — 18-Year-Old Girl
> "KILLTROCITY!"
Adolescent (female, 18)
Cause: stray round + exsanguination
SP credited: +1,360
"Kilt… ro… si… tee…"
Anna blinked at him.
"Strong, you sound like you're choking on Lego pieces."
---
7. SEVENTH KILL — Elderly Woman (granny)
> "KILLIMANJARO!"
Pensioner (female, 72)
Cause: vehicular crushing
SP credited: +1,635
"Killi… man… jar… oh."
---
8. EIGHTH KILL — Café Patron #1
> "KILLTASTROPHE!"
Civilian (male, 51, electrician)
Cause: blunt force + crushing
SP credited: +5,330
"Kil… tast… roff."
---
9. NINTH KILL — Bus Driver
> "KILLPOCALYPSE!"
Civilian (male, 44, bus operator)
Cause: gunshot + blunt trauma
SP credited: +2,880
"Kill… pock… lips…"
Anna frowned.
"Strong, you're making up words again."
---
10. TENTH KILL — Café Patron #2 (young teacher)
The System went silent for one, perfect, dramatic second.
Then cam the final kill streak message.
> "KILLIONAIRE!!!"
Civilian (female, 26, preschool teacher)
Cause: impact trauma + explosion
SP credited: +2,475
Strong's eyes went wide.
"Killi…on…air…"
Anna squinted at him.
"Strong, that is NOT a real word. Just say Mama again, okay?"
The voice in Strong's head shifted again — back into the tone of a cold, bored accountant who ran the universe.
> [SOUL SYSTEM — KILL STREAK COMPLETE]
10 consecutive civilian deaths recorded.
Killstreak classification: KILLIONAIRE
Base value of 10 souls: 23,380 SP
Killionaire multiplier ×10: +233,800 SP
Previously verified non-streak kills:
Agnes McCulloch: +3,420 SP
Guthrie McGregor: +8,295 SP
TOTAL NEW CREDITS:
23,380 + 233,800 + 3,420 + 8,295
= 268,895 SP
Previous balance: 904,836 SP
NEW BALANCE: 1,173,731 SP
Strong made a very serious little pointy face, lips pursed, brow furrowing in deep one-day-old contemplation.
The System had just handed him a dictionary of war-crimes.
He whispered again, proud and confused:
"Killi…on…air."
Anna frowned.
"No, Strong — no. Killionaire isn't a word either. Mama. Mama. Say Mama. I don't even know what you're saying. That don't make any sense."
Strong didn't know what "sense" was.
He also didn't know why ten voices screaming in his head meant "Killionaire," only that the System had shouted it, so it must be important.
He looked up at Anna for help and tried again, unsure:
"Mama… old man?"
Anna blinked very hard.
"What? No! Mama is me. I'm not old. And I'm a girl, okay? Strong, I have no idea what you're trying to tell me. Do babies even talk this early? Oh! Maybe you're hungry!"
She brightened instantly.
"Do you want food? Something warm? Should we go get money from Papa and go to the shop? Or a restaurant? We could buy chips or candy or pizza. Sugar is good. Pizza is really good."
Strong touched a thoughtful finger to his lips — his universal sign for internal processing — and said:
"Hmm."
Anna smiled, pleased with herself.
"Alright. It's decided then. We'll go get money from my dad. Sneaky, okay? Because asking never works. So we take a little and he'll never notice. Perfect plan."
Strong didn't understand a single part of this "plan."
But he shrugged, because Mama sounded confident, and Mama was warm.
And so it was decided.