In real life, you don’t get a reset, and you don’t get extra lives, and I got the crap pounded out of mine. I don’t really know how it happened; I saw them coming, whooping and hollering and high-fiving, and then they went quiet when they saw me and I guess they didn’t like the T-shirt I had on, or maybe they thought I was some rich, stupid kid out for a stroll, but after the first punch it was all just a blur because there wasn’t any way to fight six guys at once. It was more a matter of going down, curling up, and trying to survive it while being dimly aware that the beer wasn’t making it any less painful, and that one of them had a really high, shrill, ragged voice as he yelled faggot in my ear and kicked me in the liver.

And then I heard the ring of metal on concrete, and I went cold, because one of them had found a piece of rebar lying around, and I knew with sudden certainty that these guys were going to kill me right here on this stupid sidewalk, for nothing, without even the reason of knowing my name or hating my politics. They were just going to kill me because they needed to kill something, and I was handy.

At least zombies would have had a reason.

I would have been dead if Team Vampire hadn’t swooped in and saved my drunken ass.

I didn’t see a lot of it, given that I had a pretty good concussion and blood in my eyes, but I saw pale skin, a killer smile, whipping hair that flared red in the streetlight, and curves that would be fairly impossible to forget. Jesse had come to my rescue, and so had Pete; my fireplug of a friend had taken the rebar and was strategically applying it to arms and legs with dispassionate calm. There was a lot of screaming, and within seconds, seconds, it was all over and there were seven guys on the concrete.

Then Jesse helped me stand up, and there were six.

‘Don’t worry, they’re not dead,’ she said, and gave me a merciless appraisal. ‘You look like shit, Collins.’

‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. I didn’t mean for the compliment. ‘Well, that walk sucked.’

She laughed as I spat out a mouthful of blood, and if she thought I was wasting food, at least she didn’t say so. Pete brought the rebar along with us, and we went to a car parked about a block down. It was a long walk. I passed the time by wondering (probably aloud) why Pete had brought along his iron stick. I know it was aloud because he finally said, ‘Fingerprints,’ as he tossed it in the trunk of the car and helped Jesse pile me into the back. ‘You’re drunk.’