Respawn: Lives 1-5 (Respawn LitRPG series Book 1)
Date: 2018-02-07 00:00:00+00:00

Contents

Arthur Stone

Respawn: Lives 1–5

Chapter 1

Life One: Short

Chapter 2

Life Two: Even Shorter

Chapter 3

Life Three: Experience is Key

Chapter 4

Life Three: Bar Fight

Chapter 5

Life Three: Stage One

Chapter 6

Life Three: Up on the Housetops

Chapter 7

Life Three: City of Monsters

Chapter 8

Life Four: Bridge of Wonder

Chapter 9

Life Four: Dwellers of the Forest

Chapter 10

Life Four: Kitty

Chapter 11

Life Four: Confrontation

Chapter 12

Life Five: Fools of a Feather

Chapter 13

Life Five: A New Name

Chapter 14

Life Five: Unsmooth Criminal

Chapter 15

Life Five: On Hold

Chapter 16

Life Five: Demented Digitals

Chapter 17

Life Five: Kitty’s Forecast

Chapter 18

Life Five: The Town

Chapter 19

Life Five: Master of the Town

Chapter 20

Life Five: Clearing Things Up

Chapter 21

Life Five: The Founder Without Morals

Chapter 22

Life Five: Passions of the Forest

Chapter 23

Life Five: Man to Man

Chapter 24

Life Five: Rivers and Riversides

Chapter 25

Life Five: Stupidly in Love

Chapter 26

Life Five: Night at the Dam

Chapter 27

Life Five: The Worst of Times

Chapter 28

Life Five: I Hear You Calling

Arthur Stone

Respawn: Lives 1–5

Chapter 1

Life One: Short

Welcome to this new world, novice. This is a beautiful place full of unforgettable moments, both happy and not so happy. Remember that you have a limited number of revives, and earning more is not easy.

You are joining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 145-33-29. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 99 lives (initial value). Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Attempt #1. This cluster will reboot in 100 seconds. Hint: use the Menu command to open a full context menu. Use the Metrics command to view all or selected metrics in the active viewport. Examples: Metrics All or Metrics <list of specific metrics>. All menu items are resizable. You may also modify their color, transparency, theme, and layout.

Enjoy your game.

Most dreams have little founding in logic. This one was no exception. A climb up a wide stone staircase. A few steps along slabs of the same kind of stone. The elevator doors open. Everything engulfed in a darkness black as obsidian, interrupted only by the bright burning of some short nonsensical inscription.

What was this staircase? This impenetrable darkness? How was it that the glowing red text in his vision failed to illuminate anything but itself?

And who was he?

The question burned in his mind more brightly than the red text. He had no inkling of an answer for it. Every man had a name, he knew, but his own would not come to him.

Where am I? Usually that one was easy to answer: Just open your eyes.

But that didn’t help him here. He would find out many things, but not the answers to his biggest questions. He lay on a narrow bed protruding from the wall opposite the small room’s single window. The space’s modest dimensions allowed for three equally uncomfortable beds, plus a couple of nightstands and pitiful lockers. All the rest was a looted mess. You were bound to step on something with each pace, usually some piece of rotting garbage. The tasteless wallpaper was mercifully disintegrating, a dreary lamp kept vigil from under its cracked dome, and the filthy glass surfaces had been finger-decorated with two equally filthy words, plus another couple of regular words, one spelled wrong.

It wasn’t a five-star hotel. And it certainly wasn’t home. He had never even seen the place before.

Or perhaps he had forgotten it completely, like his name.

His amnesia troubled him deeply now, but there was one bright spot, at least. He didn’t feel wounded or sick, and was pretty sure that a little racking of his brains would bring his memory back.

Nope. Even an intense racking yielded nothing. Why? Something was very wrong, but what?

All he could recall was the staircase, the stone slabs, and... No, there was nothing else. He felt like he was grasping at the shade of his memories. Nothing substantial enough to seize and remember.

He sat on the edge of the bed and noticed some slippers off to the side. They were well-worn and a little dirty, but he remembered nothing of them. His feet shouldn’t need the help of his active memory to find them, if they were his. Habit should have located them right away. But his feet had no muscle memory of the miserable footwear.

Perhaps someone had moved them. Or something else had happened. Or this wasn’t even his bed. Or he was losing his mind. Or maybe his legs had forgotten, just as his brain had.

What could ever have made him forget absolutely everything? Did he remember how to speak, at least?

He breathed and checked. “Hello.”

The pile of wool blankets on the farthest bed moved, and a face poked out with a severe case of bedhead. The unfamiliar figure gave a hoarse reply. “Hello to you, too.”

He failed to restrain himself, shouting, “Who are you?”

“What? You don’t recognize me? I’m Gray.”

“So who am I?” he asked, his intense interest painted across his expression.

Gray pulled himself further out of the covers and stared in surprise. He had brown hair and looked to be about twenty years old, and the indiscretions of the night before showed on his face. A bouquet of several perfumes from a night of fun still hung in the air. “What are you on, Rock?” he asked at last.

Probably not my real name, but it’s better than nothing.

“What would I be on?”

“How should I know? You never use anything far as I know, health nut that you are and all that. Though I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you? What’s up?”

“Not my spirits, I can tell you that much.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t remember a thing. Not even my name.”

“You must be high, Rock. Your eyes look good, but something’s not right. Want something for that?”

“Fighting drugs with drugs, eh?” Rock shook his head. “So you haven’t seen me for ages, you said. When was the last time?”

“Think it was a week ago. A fight broke out, some words were exchanged, and then you limped off somewhere, complaining about your leg again. But you looked fine. Nothing serious with your leg or anything.”

“How do I look now? Does this count as ‘fine’?”

“Not by a long shot. You look like I could smash you to pieces with a feather duster. How did you end up here?”

“Huh?”

“This place is a whole two stops away from the post-grad dorm.”

“...post-grad?”

“Yeah, you picked up your doctorate in what seemed like five minutes. Everyone was amazed. You live in post-grad now.”

“Why?”

“Nobody expected it. You’re no doctor, Rock. That’s not your vibe.”

“So what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, but working as a TA and all that, really not your style. How you feeling now? Memory coming back now? Want to call Mommy?”

“No, not at all, and it’s no fun. I’m a nervous wreck right now.”

“Just chill, man. This is your old room, after all. Don’t you remember? The place where you had all those freshmen girls, and drained countless shots of alcohol, holy mother...” Gray shook his head. There must have been a lot of alcohol. “You’ve forgotten all that? How? Have you forgotten dodging the cops through that window, too? That’s what broke your leg in two, making you get those two surgeries. Or maybe more, for all I know. None of that rings a bell?”

“No.”

“Look, Rock, I don’t remember everything myself, either. Especially not how I got back here. You’ll never believe it, but I passed Prof Dunderhead’s test on my first try. Can’t believe my luck. After that, me and Max and Seagull went over to Bull’s place to celebrate. You know Bull. He’s always got something new going on. I don’t remember what I did after that. How I managed to crawl back here. And I don’t remember seeing you here yesterday. Where’s Max?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Just keep it simple, OK—my head is spinning from all this about dorms and degrees and Maxes and Seagulls.”

“You really lost, ain’t you. What are you on?”

“A bed, obviously.”

“No, no, I mean, did you take anything? And who gave you whatever you took?”

“You from the FDA or something?”

“Just want to help you figure things out, Rock. It’s not every day a man forgets everything. You got to be on something heavy, man. Is there anything you remember?”

“I remember stairs.”

“OK. What else?”

“Stone slabs. And this elevator, like from a rich office building. Clean corners, everything sparkling clean, brand new. And I was wearing a suit. A gray suit. Wait, where’s my stuff? There’s no way I just came here in boxers and a tee.”

“Should be around. That it on the chair there?”

But instead of leaning out of bed as he said this, Gray stayed under the covers, swiping his finger around the screen of a big tablet. He frowned. “Dammit, Wi-Fi’s down. Go give the router a kick, Rock.”

“Sheesh. Guess I forgot I’m your personal slave, too.”

“Just reset it, OK? Internet’s out. Yank the cord, wait a bit, and plug it back in. It does this. They all do. It’s over there, to your left. You remember the router, right? Picked this one out yourself, you did. We filled out those dumb ISP forms together and everything.”

Gray still didn’t understand the situation, and Rock was getting fed up. “How many times do I have to say it? My memory is gone! I don’t remember this shit router, or those shit forms, or this shit room. I can’t even remember my own name!”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I can’t even imagine that, not remembering anything. Just pull out the cord and put it back in, then.”

Rock did as Gray asked. “No lights on it. Is that normal?”

“No lights?”

“On the router. Not a single one.”

“No, that’s not right. Hmm.” Gray reached out and flipped a switch. “Nope. No power. Maybe everyone’s is down. Can you go check it out?”

“Personal slave it is, then.”

“Come on, you’re two steps from the door. Just take a peek.”

“At what?”

“See if the lights are on down the hall or not.”

Of all the things Rock cared about in the world, the state of the building’s electricity was pretty low on the list. But the door was, in fact, right by him, and unlocked. He pulled it gently and found himself in a gloomy hall. He saw another guy down the way, someone who looked just like Gray in both age and appearance.

The fellow stared at Rock and asked, “What, your power out too?”

“Course.”

“Looks like it’s out for everyone. What about your phone?”

Rock looked back and asked the tablet-flicking Gray. “Man wants to know about cellular. Getting anything?”

“I have a SIM card in my tablet. Not getting anything. Nothing on my phone, either. Find out if the water is still working, at least. Last thing between us and Stone Age conditions.”

Rock checked with the student in the hall. “Looks like you might as well toss your phone. Nothing. Is the tap working, at least? Water flowing?”

“How should I know? Just woke up, wanted to call my dad for his birthday, but I can’t get through. He’s the type to pull everything if I don’t call him. I’d have to make do with nothing but my stipend till the semester’s out.”

Rock closed the door partway. “No idea about the water.”

“I heard.”

“Listen, maybe I should go see a doctor. I mean, who else are you supposed to go see when you lose your memory? A plumber?”

“You’re not kidding with the whole memory thing?”

“Maybe I should crack you on the skull so you can experience for yourself how serious I am.” Geez, this guy is dense.

“It’s just so strange, Rock, and nothing like that ever happens to you. And you’re so, I don’t know, dismal.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Probably, yeah, forgetting everything. You remember those guys from last night? Must be the ones who sold you whatever you took.”

“Wish I remembered. Where can I find them now?”

“No idea, though you can ask around. But are you kidding me? You want to go back for more?”

“Nah. I’ve just changed my mind on smashing your skull in, so I’m going to smash theirs. Call it buyer’s remorse.”

“No, Rock, these guys are serious. Don’t mess with them.”

“Too serious to get their heads smashed in?”

“I mean, anyone can be taken down, if you catch them by surprise.”

“Sounds like heads ripe for the smashing. Ask around, would you?”

“That’ll take some time,” warned Gray.

“Then you find out where I can find them, what they’re about, all while I run to the doctor. Got it?”

“Look, if you’re still on something serious, you can’t go to the doctor. They’ll ask about drugs right off the bat and take blood samples. I guess they won’t kick you out. Loco likes you, and he’s going to be the new vice chancellor, but still. No sense trying your luck.”

“So what do you think I should do if the doctor plan is out? I feel like a vegetable, Gray. Like my head’s lost in space.”

“Like a vacuum inside, you mean? I’ve had that happen, yeah, but without the whole memory loss thing. Look, I know one thing for sure: keep away from the doctors, or Loco might draw some, well, bad conclusions. Just take it easy for a while and it should work itself out. You’ll see. A little rest and your noggin will kick back into business as usual. And quit playing around with that stuff, alright? Why’d you ever get involved in all that, anyway, because of your break-up with Seta?”

“Seta? Who the hell is that?”

“Wow. You really have forgotten everything. You have to rest.”

“There’s no way I can just lie around when I’m like this, Gray. You don’t understand what it’s like, to forget everything, even your own name. Who am I? Rock isn’t even a proper name, is it?”

“This has got to be an overdose,” said Gray with a shake of the head. Optimism came back to his face, though, as he suggested, “Hey, you should try taking a nap.”

“A nap? You trying to pull one over on me? That head-smashing option is still up for reconsideration, you know.”

“Look, everybody needs some decent sleep. And I want to help you out. As one fellow human to another, at least.”

“I have zero desire to take a nap, Gray. As if I even could.”

“Don’t worry, I have just the solution for you.”

Gray pulled a cardboard box out from under his bed and rummaged through it, then extended a pack of pills.

“Toss a couple of these and you’ll sleep straight through till evening. Seriously, I could shoot off a cannon in here and it still wouldn’t wake you.”

“So you think I’m on drugs, and the answer is more drugs?”

“They’re just sleeping pills. Ordinary prescription sleeping pills. Remember Mike? You know, the one who covered himself in lipstick and ran down the hall screaming in a bad Indian accent. Remember that? Oh, no, you don’t. You’d recall that if you could recall anything. Well, get some water and take the pills and you’ll be out in five minutes flat. Just what you need.”

Rock wasn’t at all sure sleeping would help. But sitting around here with this stranger until evening, waiting for some recollection of his past to return... No. He was not going to torture his mind any longer.

Gray was wrong. It took Rock a little longer than five minutes. During his last few moments of consciousness, he hoped to learn some useful things about himself. He did, but not much. Rock was a graduate student of about twenty-four years old, known around town as an outstanding soccer player who was on extended—and perhaps permanent—hiatus due to a knee injury and now attempting to find his way in the field of scientific schooling. He had lived in this room for the whole of his studies. They knew he was a partier, the kind of guy who you never knew what time of day or night he’d come back to the dorm.

Rock fell asleep before he found out what field of science he specialized in.

And before he found out what he was really called. As Gray told him whatever truths and falsehoods he did, he avoided Rock’s real name, as if he feared that if Rock heard it instead of remembering it on his own, his memory would never find its way back.

Something isn’t quite right here, thought Rock as he fell asleep.

* * *

By the time he woke, his thoughts now screamed, Something is really wrong! For a few moments, he assumed it was a nightmare. Some living being was crushing him, causing his bed to flex ponderously. An impossibly wet, disgusting, noisy mouth was working at the place between his neck and shoulder. Rock screamed in agony.

It was biting him!

No, not biting—gnawing, dammit! Ravenously, bloodthirstily, feasting!

His position made it difficult to fight back. He was surprised, just coming out of sleep—unconsciousness, really—and that considerable dose of pills still suppressed his system. Thankfully, his adversary failed to make full use of its advantage. Rock managed to turn himself around, screaming as he pulled skin and muscle from the grinding jaws and elbowed his attacker off him. Robbed of its meal, the beast let out a foul grumble and began to pull itself back up. Hell no, you’re not. Rock shrank his body back and rammed his fist into the monster. His hand plunged disturbingly far, into something at once both hard and juicy.

His ears told him he had hit the beast in its teeth, slamming its lips up against them on the way. The blow staggered it, causing it to pull back and grope at him with a little less enthusiasm. This is my chance. Rock twisted and propped the back of his shoulders and head against the wall, pushing his legs into the reptile with such force that it could not help falling off the bed onto the floor, where a second later it received a follow-up body slam from a chair.

Rock tossed the frame of the unfortunate piece of furniture aside. The chair was no fighter, but its legs were relatively intact. Rock seized them and pummeled the growling, kicking slimeball. “You son of a bitch! Die, you bastard!” He screamed at it again and again, louder and louder.

The pain from the bite and the hot stream of blood pouring out of it did little to calm him. This mad beast had nearly taken him in the jugular. It was related to the bastards that had taken his memory, no doubt. Something was clearly wrong with it. Three seconds of beating with large wooden legs should have knocked it out or at least made it curl up and protect itself, but this thing looked ready to stand and come at him again.

Fury drove the last of his restraint out of him. Rock hammered the legs on the head of the creature, its outline only barely visible in the darkness of the room. He felt them dig in and heard a crunch. Not a wood crunch, a bone crunch. Perhaps he’d end up having to explain this to some law enforcement agency, but no matter the trouble it might cause him, that crunching sound soothed his heart as no medicine could. Take that, you grumbling bastard.

But Rock’s coup de grace failed to end the battle, though it weakened his unnatural opponent significantly. The beast no longer tried to lift itself up. It growled, smacked the floor with its hands, and muttered disgustingly monstrous epithets that made the hair on the back of Rock’s neck stand up.

Then a chorus of replies rang out. They’re coming from the hallway. Rock lunged, groping for the handle. He found it and pulled and held the door shut, using his other hand to try and find a lock, a bolt, anything.

Something crashed into the other side. From the shudder, Rock knew that lock or no lock, this sorry wooden obstacle would hold together little longer than the chair had.

There was no other way out of the room.

He held the handle shut with both hands, looking around in panic to find some way out. Something grabbed his leg, and his shin felt like it caught fire. Rock barely avoided screaming. Even with its head smashed in, the monster would not give up. The imbecile had crawled over and was using what teeth it had left on Rock’s leg.

Without letting go of the door, Rock bashed the creature’s head with a chair leg. Once, twice, thrice. He kept hitting. Take that, freak. Fucking die already! Yeah, how do you like that, huh? What’s that? Skull starting to crack? Suddenly he hit something serious, and all movement by his opponent ceased.

He pushed the fiend’s limp body away. He had been right: the creature was no longer responsive. But what now? Judging by the noise, one or two dozen of those things were gathering in the hallway, each of them lusting to break into his room. And break in they would. So should he step back with his chair leg and try to fight them off? He could try, of course, but if the odds were what he suspected, it would likely be his last battle. He was no Han Solo.

Or maybe he was Han Solo, for all he remembered. No matter. Whoever he was, and no matter whether his memory would ever return or not, he wanted to live.

Why were these things looking to munch on decent folks, anyway? What had he ever done to them? Was it his body odor, or that he couldn’t quite growl like they could? No human could growl like that. It was a rumbling sound, similar to what a starving cat might make when something delicious was placed in front of it.

Except these cats yearned for raw human meat. And they were a lot bigger than any house cat.

Infected destroyed. Level 0. Chance of valuable loot: 0. +3 Strength progress points. +1 Humanity point.

Rock paid no attention to the glaring red writing that decorated the air in front of him. He could speculate on the meaning of hallucinations later. All of his focus must now be on getting out of his predicament.

It wouldn’t be pretty, no doubt, but he had to find some way out. And soon.

The only option that didn’t involve a fight was the window. If Gray was right, Rock had taken that exit before. It had hurt, but he had survived. Not the best way, but it worked. Even though he had slept the day away under the influence of those pills, the scene out of the window was not the black of night but an ominously crimson twilight. It gave virtually no light to the room, but at least it was bright enough for him to see which way he had to run to reach it.

A new growl sounded then, not far from the door. It was unlike any of the others before it. Rock’s blood ran cold.

No human could growl like that. Maybe if it was about as big as an elephant. With the training of those deep throat bass singers. And if this pachydermo profundo made it to the door, Rock was done for, that much was obvious. All further meditation and planning went out the window, as did Rock. He rushed across the room as quickly as his rebellious knee allowed, scooping up another chair along the way.

There was no time to open it. By the time he got the latch open, he’d be surrounded.

Instead, he swung with the chair. It shattered as willingly as the first had. The window thankfully did the same. Ideally, he would be able to clear the sharp remnants from around the frame, but there wasn’t time. With a crash and the rejoicing grumbles of dozens of monsters, the door whipped open.

Ignoring the broken glass cutting into his feet and hands, Rock clamored out onto the windowsill, paused for a second, and carefully leaped into the high branches of a strong but unfamiliar tree growing alongside the building. He could see surprisingly well in the red twilight and guessed that he was four floors up, and above pavement. Too high up to jump down. He didn’t want to fall—his chances would be better if he fought from here.

But not much better.

The plan made sense, but then the branches snapped. As Rock grasped for them, he realized with mortal terror that they were just too flimsy. They would never hold his weight. He groped and grappled in despair, trying to get a hold of something stronger, but found nothing but handfuls of leaves.

Downward he fell, pulling his worthless wooden lifeline down with him. It slowed his fall a bit, but then gave up with a snap.

Whether the ground was pavement or not, he had no time to check. It felt hard as diamond, and he landed prone. Stunned, wracked with weakness and pain, his whole body refused to move. His head jerked to the side for some reason, despite the fact that he could not bring his eyes to focus on anything. He saw something large, bright, swaying. It dawned on him that it was a building on fire.

That explains the crimson twilight.

The pain retreated. He could think now.

But thinking was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to sleep. Maybe losing your memory isn’t such a bad thing after all. He wished he could lose it now.

That instant, something fell on top of Rock. Something heavy, grumbling loudly. It crushed him further into the ground, tearing into him with its fangs and claws, snapping and grinding his bones. The pain returned now, multiplied a thousand times. He groaned and twitched, but his broken body was unable to move.

Then the pain disappeared. Along with every other feeling. Rock collapsed into blackness, as another irritating red message somehow intruded into his vision, even after death.

Attention: you are dead. You have lost one Strength point. Time to respawn: 174 seconds.

He saw numbers counting down, then. 173. 172. 171.

None of this made any sense. Who was he? Where was he? What the hell was going on?

Most importantly, what did he have to do to get out of this?

Chapter 2

Life Two: Even Shorter

Welcome, Novice. You are joining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 434-09-62. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 98 lives (initial value minus 1). Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 99 seconds.

Hint: You can discover more information about some objects in the game by looking directly at them and thinking to yourself that you wish to see more. (As you adapt to the game, try squinting.)

Note: You lost your first life without advancing any of your base stats. At your level, you need a minimum of 10 progress points to increase a base stat. Try to avoid dying again, and do your best to prevent your number of remaining revives from reaching zero. To help you out, you have been given 10 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 1. Considering your bad luck so far, you can use it. Enjoy your game.

There was that familiar wallpaper again. Same discoloring, same lousy pattern, same peeling. Everything else was basically the same, too. Even the number of beds was the same, though their placement differed slightly. The light was cracked, just like before, and the floor was covered in clutter. A motivational message about happy students now sat where the vulgar finger-drawn inscription on the glass had been before.

Rock was far from happy. He got up. No slippers this time. They weren’t just off to the side—they were absent. But the pile of blankets on the bed by the window shuffled again. An uncombed blond-haired face emerged, eyes swollen from sleep. The boy was about twenty. Apart from the obvious signs of recent revelry, he looked nothing like Rock’s single acquaintance from before, but he still had to ask.

“Is that you, Gray?”

“Huh? You gone blind, Drone? It’s me. Mosey.”

“I’m not Drone.”

“Who then?”

“I’m Rock. Drone... hmm. Is that from Drew or something? Is my name Andrew?” Rock tensed up in anticipation, waiting for the boy to announce that, yes, that was his real name. No such luck.

“When the hell did you become an Andrew? What’s wrong, Drone? You sleepwalking or something?”

Rock answered in a stupor both feigned and unfeigned. He made no attempt to unravel what was happening. As long as he could keep it together this time. “Sorry, just waking up. Hi, Mosey.” If Rock’s new friend had been called Gray, he might have suffered a panic attack from the exact repetition. At least things were different.

“Are you sure you’re OK, Drone?”

“Call me Drone one more time and you’ll regret it. Get your tablet out, quick.”

“What for?”

“Just do it. Look up what an amnesiac stuck in Groundhog Day can do to get out of it. Well, I guess it’s not quite Groundhog Day when little things change each time.”

“Afraid I don’t get the reference, Drone.”

Rock sighed as he stood and clenched his fists. Mosey didn’t look particularly frightened, but he backed down. Wisely.

“Fine, you can be Rock if you want. I don’t care.”

“There you go. Now, get out your tablet. And check to see if there’s any Wi-Fi. Or power. Wait—never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

“There’s no Wi-Fi. And none is coming. You have a SIM card in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Try using that. Or maybe your phone.”

“Is the router down?”

“I don’t think it works when the power is out,” said Rock. He remembered the odd clue about squinting and gazed narrowly at the router, hoping for some secret to be revealed. Nope. Nothing but an old dead cockroach wedged in the plastic, and he sorely doubted it was the cause of the outage. Rock looked at the tablet Mosey pulled out from under his pillow. Not because he was checking the signal again, but because something was just… off. He was still perplexed by everything that had been happening, including the red text he had seen again just a minute ago, in slightly modified form.

The differences had been minor, like the differences in this room.

Mosey flickered, then. Rock almost missed it. He was already beginning to doubt his surroundings. It was as though Mosey were not a living person but an impossibly high-res three-dimensional image. A rectangle the color of poisonous green flashed alongside him, with a dashed arrow pointing from it to the man’s body.

The arrow and everything else that followed looked like nothing out of this world. It was alien, unnatural, abnormal, like something from a cartoon injected into reality. Maybe Rock’s problems went deeper than memory issues. Hallucinations. That was probably it. A disturbing symptom, indeed.

Damn.

Rock’s confidence that he would never again pass a psychiatric exam was growing, but still he intently studied every word inside the green box.

Object: human, potentially infected. ID 197-529-341-832-272. Has identified himself as Mosey. Presumably unarmed. No Continental skills detected.

As soon as he stopped squinting, the “overlay” on his vision vanished, which was not very reassuring. Rock probably just had to squint again to bring it back. And maybe this time it would be accompanied by little green pixies.

Perhaps he was indeed under the influence of some intense drug, stuck in some never-ending nightmare.

“Nope, no service, you were right,” said Mosey, who had no idea that Rock had mentally moved on. “How did you know it was out? I saw you wake up. You haven’t checked anything since.”

Rock decided to add another prophecy. “Let’s go two for two, Mosey. I predict that if we look out into the hall, the door across the way will be open and some idiot will stare at us and ask why the power and cell service are out.”

“I believe you, but how do you know that? I’ve been up for half an hour now, just loafing around, and you didn’t even move that whole time.”

Rock just ignored the question. Still tormented by the final memories of his last life, he asked, “Tell me, have you ever heard of psychos jumping on sleeping people and eating them alive? Or crushing them flat from above, breaking all their bones and tearing them to pieces?”

“What are you on, Rock? Come on, I’m your friend. Share some with me!”

It was so strange that this Mosey fellow didn’t look like Gray at all—but his vocabulary, his tone, his sleepy indifference, and his fixation on drugs, those were all the same. He was unpleasant to look at, though apparently harmless. There was something inexplicably terrifying about him, reminiscent of something terrifically bad. No matter how hard Rock tried, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Rock continued ignoring all of Mosey’s questions, grabbed the thick jeans draped over a chair and threw them on, and asked, “Is there a hospital nearby?”

“Why?”

“I need to see a doctor.”

“I know that. But what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“So why go?”

“Uh, I want... a circumcision,” I joked.

“Doubt it,” laughed Mosey. “Seriously, why?”

“Nothing hurts yet, but I have this suspicion that things will start to hurt if I stay in this bed for long.”

“Doc—er, I mean Rock—you’re starting to scare me.”

“I just asked about the hospital, that was all.”

That elusive, cunningly hidden, unpleasant thing he sensed in his roommate was pumping up Rock’s aggression higher and higher. Soon he’d be fist-bashing chairs and heel-bashing skulls again.

Mosey shook his head. “Damn, you should stop getting so fucked up, you know? If you need to visit the student hospital, well, it’s in building two.”

“Where’s that?”

“What’s the matter with you, Rock? How about I give you some pills? They’ll do you good.”

“Mike’s sleeping pills again?”

“Sleeping pills, yeah, but who’s Mike?”

“From the clinic.”

“Well, yeah, they’re from the clinic, but I got them from Lena, not Mike. You remember her, right? All painted up, lips big as two sausages.”

“The one who always ran naked around the hall?” he fabricated.

“Heck, really? I’d watch that. Wouldn’t surprise me. The girl’s low on restraint. And low on brains. So you actually heading to the hospital, Drone?”

Rock stopped paying him any attention, even letting the slip back to the “wrong” nickname go, and stepped into the hall. He froze as he realized what was troubling him about Mosey. He resembled the man who had tried to chew him up while he was sleeping. Of course, it had been dark, so he couldn’t be sure, but the creature’s movements and, well, its aura, had been like Mosey’s.

Gray’s face, he remembered. It was nothing like Mosey’s. But he had had the same figure.

Rock touched where he had been bitten again, just to be sure there was no trace of the wound. He had an intense desire to return to the room, go up to Mosey’s bed, flash an evil smile, and smash the chairs across his face and then beat him senseless with their dismembered wooden legs. To bash his stupid head into bloody bits and splinters. To feel the pleasure of his hated skull crumbling into his collapsing brain.

Somehow, he managed to resist the temptation. He took a couple of hesitating steps—then hurried away. His sense of logic was screaming at him. If the beginning of everything in this room was so similar to last time, the ending might be similar, too.

The total confusion, the rumbling sounds, the weight of that monster, and the tearing of his body to shreds. He preferred not to hear the song of his bones crunching again. Ever.

Of course. He had gone the wrong way, bumped right into a dead end, and had to turn around and look for a staircase out. Along the way, he dealt with the same old dumb questions from boys and girls, ages seventeen to early twenties. There were three questions, to be exact: why the power was out, why the cellular was down, and whether the water worked. None of them knew how to test that last one out for themselves, evidently.

Neither did Rock, though, since he had no idea where he could even find a faucet in this damn building. All of the doors looked identical. He noticed nothing that looked like a shower room or bathroom anywhere.

He cruised down the stairs, breezing right past the first floor and into a dark, gloomy basement. Thank God, he realized his mistake and backtracked, following the other students and stepping out into the light.

The light hammered his eyes. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun was almost straight above, frying everything under it without mercy, dispersing the last remnants of the mist that was somehow still hanging on despite the time being well past noon. Rock had thick lined winter jeans, a warm jacket, and a wool beanie on, as did pretty much everyone else. The weather was clearly strange for the season. The trees and bushes were just starting to bud, and a sizable pile of dirty snow sat near the building. A state of early spring ruled the courtyard, but the sky was straight out of summer.

Rock wasn’t the only one to notice the dissonance. The students leaving the building were all double-taking in the sky and discussing the weather, pulling their hats off and unbuttoning their jackets and coats.

“Hey, can you tell me where building two is?” Rock asked one of the smartest-looking of them.

The man pointed down the street. “Straight that way. First building after the tower.”

“The tower?”

“You not from around here?”

“Doesn’t matter. What tower?”

“You’ll know it when you see it. Just keep going straight down the road. By the way, how about this weather? Super early summer! But I don’t know what that sour odor is about. You smell it?”

Rock had no particular desire to chat about the weather with anyone, much less this four-eyed pimple machine in scrappy pants. He hurried off towards the “tower,” his mind whirling. Should he even bother seeing the doctor? He had no idea how to even begin that conversation. What to say and what not to say.

He had no idea about anything. Shit, I still don’t even know my name. Mosey wouldn’t tell me. Something told him he’d never have gotten an answer from Mosey. Not even if he had resorted to violence, which Mosey was certainly asking for.

Rock kept a keen eye out, always looking around, sometimes squinting at other pedestrians reflexively. Mostly pretty girls.

Well hey, at least there’s one thing I know about myself now.

Even though Rock was unfamiliar with this town, he could not help noticing something was wrong. The power was out everywhere. Traffic lights had stopped working, and the roads were jammed, with at least two accidents and one fight breaking out between drivers along the way. The onlookers were just pulling them apart when he arrived, and a couple of cops were rushing towards the scene, one of them mumbling over a small radio.

So their radios were working, but cell phones were not. Everyone had noticed by now, though many were still ambling around with phones raised high, trying to pick up something. Some of these kids were hopeless without their phones, panicking like the evangelical rapture had come and they had been left behind. I guess losing phone service is equally tragic to your typical modern mobile addict.

He saw pillars of smoke rising in three distinct places, unquestionably caused by raging fires. Maybe there had been some kind of accident at some point in the power grid—meaning that the whole city, including the hospital, might be without power. Would the doctor even see him? They would take emergency trauma patients, sure, but Rock wasn’t in that category, was he?

Maybe I should just smash my head with a brick or something.

But the hospital should have a backup generator. Otherwise anyone needing urgent care would die during a power outage, and he doubted that would go unaddressed for long.

A dog trotted up to him. An unknown breed, small and scraggly, dragging its leash behind. It was clearly upset, rushing headlong down the road and almost getting hit by a couple of cars. Rock got a glimpse at the animal and saw the same green information panel he had previously observed for humans.

Object: dog. Size: non-threatening. ID 354-423-127-732-811.

Scant info. The girls he had inspected had much more text about them, though most of it had been identical to Mosey’s writeup.

How much further was it to this alleged building? Everyone he asked along the way seemed like they were in a stupor. Only when he mentioned the tower did they point further down the road. Rock had already been walking for a good hour now. If he had known how far it would be, he would’ve asked how to hitch a bus ride or something. Not that he was tired, but his knee was starting to act up, and it was getting worse with each step. Another hour of this, and Rock would be howling.

The pandemonium ahead of him was caused by another accident. A stupid accident. The car had come careening down a side street and T-boned another car on the main avenue. Both doors on the passenger side of the struck car were crumpled and lying on the curb. It was a serious crash, but nobody had been severely hurt.

Still, the driver’s face was bloody. He was holding a haphazardly crumpled handkerchief to slow the blood flowing from his forehead and yelling at the man who had caused the accident, screaming such curses that even the most well-intentioned onlookers were keeping their distance. But they slowed their hurried pace, even across the street, so as not to miss a choice profanity from this virtuoso of vulgarity. This was the first time Rock had encountered a man with such mastery of language. All the other humans more or less resembled each other in their mannerisms, like mechanical dolls coming off of a single conveyer belt.

Rock was unable to keep himself from “inspecting” the cursing driver.

Object: immune. Humanity: zero. Unidentified. Presumably unarmed. No Continental skills detected.

What the hell did any of that mean? It was about as long as Mosey’s text but completely different. And where’d that fifteen-digit string everybody else had go? All the girls had one. Even the dog had one. Besides, why was this box white with black text, instead of green? What was this “Humanity” rating? And how could his “Humanity” be zero?

He had nothing but more questions.

Rock stopped here with the others, hoping the cops would show up. He wanted to “inspect” them to see whether their description was like the other people’s. Specifically, whether they were armed.

But it was not to be. He wasn’t trying to be in the front—just standing off to the side glancing around, looking for the cops. From there, he could see the truck. There was a tiny bright flame and the crash of glass breaking, and the vehicle began rolling downhill, towards him. The driver seemed to have thrown something behind him before slamming the door closed, but Rock couldn’t be sure as it was just in his peripheral vision.

He remembered passing the vehicle a minute ago and seeing some guy in a bright orange jumpsuit crouching near the cab, shoving a dirty rag into an equally dirty bottle and looking like a psycho who had just scored a huge suitcase full of TNT.

Rock had also noticed that the truck was carrying canisters of gas.

He pieced it together quickly and turned to hurry away, pushing through the crowd of clueless onlookers, ruthlessly jabbing them aside with his elbows, knocking them off their feet, unceremoniously walking over their indignant, screaming bodies. The driver wasn’t the only one cursing now. Rock took one vulgarity after another, the whole lexicon of banned and impolite words hurled at him.

He didn’t care. Not right now.

There was no way to break away and run off. The long buildings kept him in the street, and they had no doors on this side. Even the windows were too high up. He had to break through the crowd before that burning pile of explosive crashed into it.

But he didn’t have enough time. The world was engulfed in flame and agony. He screamed, his voice not his own, as his sight and hearing evaporated.

Then, all of the bad feelings vanished with them, and the familiar gloom of total black surrounded him yet again.

Attention: you are dead. You have lost one Strength point. Attention: dying causes you to lose 5 to 50% of all base stat progress points, with a minimum reduction of 1. When you lose stat levels, you risk losing your main level progress and any associated achievements. Time to respawn: 101 seconds.

Rock knew what was coming next. Most of it, anyway. And he knew what would happen after he read the text.

He was getting used to it.

I bet nobody has ever hated their college dorm room as much as I do, he thought.

Chapter 3

Life Three: Experience is Key

Welcome, Novice. You are joining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 252-88-26. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 97 lives (initial value minus 2).

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 98 seconds.

Hint: many potential infecteds experience varying degrees of psychological problems. This may incite them to dangerous actions such as causing traffic accidents, committing acts of vandalism or violence without cause, killing or injuring others, and even committing acts of terrorism with massive numbers of casualties. Be wary of sick-looking people marked as potential infecteds. Avoid large groups of potential infecteds and immunes.

Note: You lost your second life without advancing any of your base stats. Try to avoid dying again, and do your best to prevent your number of remaining revives from reaching zero. To help you out, you have been given 20 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 2. Considering your bad luck so far, you could use it. Enjoy your game.

Rock leaped onto the cold floor and looked around at what he had already seen in two incarnations before. He snapped.

“Whoever the smartass is behind all of this, you better hope I never catch up to you. Hey, Gray, or Mosey, or whatever the hell your name is, dumbass, don’t pretend you’re sleeping. I know you’re up! Come on, ask the Googles something for me. Type in ‘I’m stuck in a virtual reality world. Help! I don’t know what’s going on!’ And quick, before the Internet dies. Hello? Hurry it up!”

Rock’s memory might have been faulty, but everything else worked fine, especially his observational skills. Last time he was here, he had noticed the router’s lights blinking green, but they had gone out a few moments later. Rock didn’t understand the first thing about what was going wrong with the power, but his intuition told him he only had a short window between the moment he woke and the power and cellular service going out again.

Whatever his name, this new Mosey was just as slow as the last. This time, what emerged from the blankets had red hair—just as disheveled as the brunette and blond hair of the last two roommates had been. Otherwise, he pretty much looked the same. Even his voice was similar.

“The hell’s with you?”

“You can ask questions later. The Wi-Fi’s about to die, and it’s not coming back. This is a matter of life and death. Get a move on!” Rock realized that brute force was unlikely to push the young man to move fast. He looked at the guy’s information box, perplexed. It didn’t say anything about his name or nickname. I guess it only displays when he identifies himself. Or when I learn it some other way.

Rock was about to find out. He hoped.

“Look, quit staring at me. Enter this, word for word: ‘I think I’m stuck in a virtual reality world. And everyone blames me for everything. I don’t know what’s going on!’ It really is a matter of life and death, I’m serious,” said Rock, urging the student on and hastily rummaging through his own pockets.

At least there was evidence he hadn’t dropped in from the moon or something. His identification was here, plus an advertisement, a library card, and an outpatient receipt from some venereology clinic. Hmm. The receipt looked bad enough that he wouldn’t be surprised to find a VIP pass for a cheap back alley brothel along with it.

It didn’t matter. He would accept a scrap of toilet paper from a brothel if it had some real information about him scribbled on it. His name, at least. He felt that if he learned his name, the rest would come to him. Or at least the significant bits. Anything that would save him from getting crushed by a monster or blown up by a gas truck again.

Rock doubted those deaths were accidental. Just like he doubted he would get anything useful out of his third roommate, as none of his predecessors had been any help. This place was not built for an extended stay. Attempting a prolonged investigation was pointless.

Maybe I’m just going mad. And even trying to extract some order from my madness. No, these hallucinations were too convincing. This place seemed real, felt real, even though it ran on its own strange system.

He would figure this out. What choice did he have? He wasn’t going to let himself die so meaninglessly this time. Two deaths were more than enough. He may have no idea where he was or even what his name was, but he did know that he did not prefer dying in unbearable pain, screams barely escaping as fire devoured his lungs. No, he did not prefer that at all.

“Listen, Russ, there’s no connection. No Wi-Fi, no nothing.”

“Yeah, it’s gone,” interrupted Rock, grimacing. “No tablet or phone in the whole city has cellular, either.”

“How do you know that?” The dolt was slowly gaining an appreciation for the depth of Rock’s foresight. “What else do you know?”

“That you should get out of town. So—how can I get Internet access when the whole town’s power is out?”

“Even with the power out, some servers should run on their own juice. But phone service isn’t that easy to shut down. And what do you mean, the whole town?”

“Because it’s out in the whole town.”

“You’re acting bizarre, Russ. What’s wrong with you?”

“Bizarre? Oh come on. Isn’t this what always happens in this town?”

“Hit me with another prediction, Russ.”

“Look, I’m a prophet, and I don’t even charge, so listen while you can. Right about now, all kinds of accidents are going to happen all over town, both at intersections and far from them. The drivers will start screaming and cursing at each other, things will start catching fire, and psychos will start blowing up gas trucks.”

At that moment, an explosion shook the windows. Rock’s redheaded roommate stared at Rock with an expression like he was a prophet straight out of heaven, adjusting the radiant halo over his head and preaching the truth to the lowly commoners. “Russ, how the hell did you...”

“Your boy Russ died of syphilis. My name is Rock. For now, anyway. Anything else to add about the Internet now?”

“Just wait a bit. It’s an outage or something.” He had been babbling seconds before, but now he was suddenly confident again. As if his mind had rebooted. What if he was one of those “sick-looking” types the message had warned him about? He was marked as a “potential infected,” and those were the types who became the psychos, right?

Rock had already planned to get out of this urban trap, and now he wanted to escape as soon as possible. All of the people he had encountered so far, with one exception, had been “potential infecteds.” This room was the one place he did not want to be caught in a tough situation in. That first death was still too fresh in his memory.

“Do we have any clothing here that’s a little lighter?” asked Rock, then stopped short in surprise when he faced the chair.

“Lighter than that?” asked his roommate, as Rock thought the very same thing.

No thick jeans, no warm jacket, no sweater, and no wool beanie. Instead he had colorful knee-length shorts, an equally carefree shirt—short-sleeved, of course—and sunglasses. The available footwear matched the beach theme. Black sandals, sitting by the door.

“Why do you care about the clothes, Russ?” The student still wouldn’t drop the idiotic questions, and they were getting irritating.

“Don’t worry about it. You guys have summer in the middle of winter or something?”

“‘You guys’? No, it’s just now the end of May.”

“But you’re dressing like you live in Africa.”

“Well, yeah, it’s been pretty hot for three days now. El Niño or something. The girls are all walking around practically naked. I love this weather. You ok, Russ? You seem like you’re in shock or something. Feeling alright?”

Rock struggled to answer as he hurriedly buttoned up his shirt. “Shock... I... No, it’s just that... look, I have no idea who you are, but I have to get out of here before evening hits.”

“Why?”

“Because. I don’t know what’s going to happen here, but you sure won’t like it.”

“Russ, you’re delu—”

“Stay away from crowds of people if you want to stay alive,” he added as a farewell.

This time, Rock knew which way the stairs were. He tried to remember every nonsensical clue these unknown puppet masters of his had given him at the start of each life. A word came to him from the depths of his memory. He whispered. “Menu.”

Colored rectangles of various sizes popped into his view, drowning out his vision and forcing him to stop moving. Rock glanced around them. He understood little other than the fact that their creator clearly had no instinct for user-friendly design. Or user-friendly environments, for that matter. The rectangles frequently overlapped and hid each other, arranged carelessly like a toy computer screen or one of those intolerable Flash interfaces from “hacking” movies.

He repeated the word. “Menu.” It worked. Everything disappeared. The hints had told him how to access that menu, but not how to understand it. Rock would have to spend time figuring it out, but not now. He was not about to stay one unnecessary minute in this dorm.

Of his limited memories, that first encounter was the most vivid. And the most revolting. Rock grit his teeth. He was mentally prepared to burst into flames, but hearing his bones cracking as the meat was ripped off of them was a different matter.

He took his first step down the stairs only to see a couple of laughing young guys careen down from the story above and bump into him, causing him to lose his balance and clutch the peeling handrail. Rock had to shift quickly to his right leg, causing a flash of pain in his knee. He struggled to keep his balance and shouted at the pair still running down, “The hell you two off to? Gay nightclub’s closed today!” Both idiots ignored the insult, or maybe didn’t hear him—or worse, didn’t even pick up on his sarcasm, had no idea they’d been jerks, and were making new plans to replace the club.

In every life so far, something always happened to Rock’s knee. He didn’t care about the scars. They didn’t get in the way. But his knees were more fragile than those dorm room chairs. One bad step, and his right knee felt like it was crumbling into tiny pieces. It was another part of that unnerving continuity, that stability. Like the shaggy blankets covering a shaggier roommate.

The dorm was genuinely hot inside. Almost steam room level. Why the heck had that moron been under all those covers?

Continuity. That must be it. There was no other explanation.

Maybe Rock was messed up, sure, but this cruel world could hardly claim the moral high ground. It was a slave to its continuity, everyone else be damned.

He stopped when he exited the building, not sure where to go or what to do next. He had to figure something out, but what? Maybe he should just run off to some quiet spot and take a closer look at that cursed menu. It could have some helpful tips for him. The city was all commotion, though. Maybe one of those tips was how to find a quiet spot where he could read the tips?

The building looked different this time. Its color and the design of the entryway were new, and it even had fewer floors. Similar architecture, but still, a different building. The street was different, too—no poplar trees across the way. Last time, they had blocked out the horizon even though their leaves were gone. The avenue here was wider, and the grass luxuriously green, with unfamiliar lawns, billboards, a supermarket down the road, and more.

An entirely different dorm on a different street in a different city. Not like I knew the other city well, anyway. And although Rock had no idea where to go, he knew one thing for sure: he should not under any circumstances approach crowds of people. Gatherings were the preferred target of homicidal maniacs, if that last hint and his own experience were anything to go by.

“It’s dangerous to go alone” didn’t apply. Going alone was the only way to survive.

But getting a break from these terrible conversationalists wouldn’t be so bad.

A look around revealed a promising passage through a tall concrete wall, leading to a run-down and obviously uninhabited building just beyond, next to the frame of an unfinished high-rise accompanied by a towering crane but free of construction workers. There didn’t seem to be any crowds of civilians either, and a green expanse stretched out further beyond. Maybe a park. Rock doubted it would have the same hundreds of mothers with their hundreds of screaming toddlers. He couldn’t make out any details due to the strange haze, but it was the place to be for those looking for quiet.

Rock set course straight for the construction site through an open gap in the fence. The gate was up and no guards and workers were anywhere to be seen. Maybe they had the day off.

He crept out like a mischievous boy into a stranger’s garden looking for fresh apples to steel. As soon as he reached the unfinished building frame and skirted around a pile of concrete slabs, he was surprised to find an oddly shaped minibus. For some reason, it was protected with metal grating and welded-on metal bars. Otherwise, it looked like one of those buses that were always carting the filthiest of vagrants around the city. Nobody who knew what a shower felt like got within a mile of those things.

Rock was paying a little too much attention to the bus and almost ran right into a couple of stern-looking men, both in their thirties and clad from head to toe in worn-down camo—clearly not a uniform but some kind of guerilla gear. They belonged to no army, no police, not even a private security firm. One of them was carrying a bizarre, monstrous rifle. It was unreasonably huge and heavy, designed to inflict damage on targets of ridiculous size. The gun was equipped with an oversized optical sight and a foldable bipod for stability. The other wielded an AK-47, world-famous for its reliability and ease of use. The strangers were wearing vests loaded up with knives, pistols, grenades, spare ammo, and other perilous effects, including a clever ax hybrid and cleaver under the belt of one and the black handle of a bona fide short sword peeping out from behind the back of the second.

Both of them looked nothing like the worthless pedestrians or the senile students he had left behind in the dorm. These were the kind of people who bore instruments of murder like they were born with them. There was something ruggedly difficult to describe in their gaze, too—they hadn’t been to a nice hotel in years, if ever. They had little desire for a quiet life of luxury. These two would have no trouble spending the night out under some bush somewhere, then a night in some shed with a leaky roof, then the next night in some wolf’s lair, snoring away but ready to leap up guns blazing at a moment’s notice.

The three stood silently for a few seconds. Rock tensed every muscle in his body involuntarily, squinting. Green boxes appeared by each soldier with the same short text.

Object: immune. Humanity: low positive. Unidentified. Well-armed. No Continental skills detected.

Very similar to that screaming guy the crowd had gathered around before that psycho had wiped everyone out, including Rock.

The owner of the machine gun lowered his barrel and said, firmly but without a threatening tone:

“Stand aside, boy. We didn’t see you, and you don’t know us, you hear? Come on. You don’t want to be sticking around, believe us.”

The guy with the rifle stroked his luxurious mustache and shook his head. “This one’s not a digi, idiot—” pronouncing “digi” like “didji”—“he’s a zero, a noob, not a scratch on him. Looks like he’s lost. Wants his mom back so he can have a suckle.”

The machine gunner stared at Rock, narrowed his eyes, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re right. You been here long, kid?”

Rock had no idea how to respond to this question, but he knew that these dangerous-looking people had the information he so badly wanted, and so he did all he could to be the model of courtesy and compliance. He shrugged. “I guess you might not believe me, but I don’t know the answer to that.”

“We believe you,” said the mustached man with a nod, but without any hint of emotion. “It starts like that with everyone. How much have you raised your Luck by now?”

“Uh, can you explain?”

“You know, blah blah blah, to help you out, you have been given Luck points to raise your base Luck by fuck all, enjoy your game, and all that. Seen anything like that before? You know, the red words? How much Luck did you get this go around?”

“Two,” Rock blurted out, amazed that his guess that this pair had information was not just on target, it had blown his wildest hopes out of the water. They even knew what the writing he was seeing between lives said.

“Ugh, ‘zero’ was right,” the man continued. “He’s got a lot of pumping to go through, poor guy. I even feel sorry for him.”

“We could take him along,” suggested Mustache, pointing to the unfinished high-rise.

The machine gunner shook his head slowly.

“Mastiff would lose his temper, and nobody wants that.”

“Oh come on, he’s a zero. We can’t just leave him.”

“You know what Mastiff can do when he’s upset, right?”

“He won’t get upset. The guy will sit in the car with us nice and quiet, and we’ll get him to a stable. You know, do a good deed, earn a little Humanity. It’ll turn out great for us.”

“And what will he do along the way? We’ve got five already. Apricot will have trouble covering the lot of us as it is. His skill’s not pumped enough. And this guy’s a zero! Meaning zero stats across the board. He’ll be as visible as a bonfire from a mile away with numbers like that. Even the weakest infecteds will pick him up and attack us. Come on, Pock, I’m a human being. You know that. I pick up what you’re saying, but you know the state of things, and Mastiff knows them even better than you and I do. He’s got everything planned, and there’s no room for the zeroes in the plan.”

Mustache nodded reluctantly.

“Right, I didn’t think so.” He turned to Rock and said, in a hurry, “Sorry lad, you’re going to have to haul ass. Turn tail and beat it. And quick about it, or you’re going to end up with another Luck point.”

“I can move quick enough, but could you tell me what’s going on, at least? If you were like me once, you should understand. I have no idea what to do, or where to go, or whatever.”

“Look, we all get it, but it’d take days to tell you everything, and we only have minutes till the fireworks start. So memorize what I say. Ready?” The man began to point. “There’s a river west of here, and a river to the east. Both of them are nice and wide, and they meet in the South. The city starts just north of the junction. We call the town Interriver because of that. Not its real name. Not that anyone here cares what it used to be called. The city is a separate cluster, plus a little bit of land around it. Here, just before where the rivers meet, there’s a tiny stable. When a reboot happens, the local infecteds all scatter. All the infecteds, the settleds that are still left hanging around, anyway. They love water about as much as a sinner loves preaching, so they usually just amble alongside the river and then gather where the rivers meet until they’re living on top of each other. As soon as the mist hits, they come back here, to the city. They don’t want to cross the water, after all, so returning here is their best move. This place we’re camped in is one of the narrowest. There’s water on all sides, and only one way through, besides the bridges and dams. Most of the beasts from near the junction will be coming through this way, so get out of here quick. Things are about to get hot.”

“Thanks for the valuable advice, but where should I go? What are settleds? What are infecteds? What’s a stable? I don’t know a thing, guys. I’ve been killed two times so far for nothing, and I’ll be killed again before any time at all since I’m still clueless.”

“Well, if you stay here, then you’ll get killed for sure,” said the machine gunner tensely, pointing the way to Rock with the barrel of his gun. “Go that way. Turn left onto the widest street—it crosses this one a little further—and move straight down it. There’s a bridge at the end of it. If you make it across, well, you’ll have bought yourself some time. You’ll be across the river. That sector’s a lot different. Just don’t linger on the bridge. It’s a chokepoint, and you’ll be a sitting duck out on the water.”

A voice distorted by radio transmission sounded from the man’s vest. “You homos done making out over there? Where the hell are you? Get on up there! The hungriest are past the lake now, catching the joggers in the park. Still a couple left. Their jogging’s turned to sprinting, heh.”

Mustache lifted his heavy rifle up over his shoulder and muttered, with a tinge of guilt, “Sorry, buddy, that’s all we got time to tell you. If they come at you, go for the skull or the spine.”

“Who?” This last clue interested Rock the most, but he still felt completely lost. Well, this was lame. He had listened to everything and understood nothing.

“You’ll know what we mean, don’t worry.” The machine gunner handed Rock a flattened canteen. Here, for the road. Drink it as you go. That should be enough to make life tolerable for a day or so, but you won’t stretch it much farther than that.”

“Drink,” said Mustache. “Double’s right. It’s unlikely to keep you alive, but you never know. Good luck.”

“Just don’t smell it, alright? Believe me,” said Double sternly, “drink it. It’s the most important thing you can have. Nobody around here can live without lifejuice for long.”

Rock was upset, frustrated. This knowledgeable pair of soldiers was sending him away without explaining anything, and yet warning him of great danger. He took a sip without thinking and gagged. The mysterious swill was revolting. Unpleasantly sour and musty yet cloyingly sweet, with notes of rubbing alcohol and moldy tree stump.

One portion of spore solution integrated. Spore solution balance: 90%.

“Don’t spit it out. Drink it!” Both of the soldiers muttered the command at him, chuckling like the whole thing was a cruel joke. Once Rock had recovered from the filth, Double asked with feigned sympathy, “How’s our homebrew, eh?”

“Like it was brewed from old coal miners’ socks,” answered Rock, though trying not to sound angry.

“Hey, this guy’s got smarts. Figured out our secret recipe already!” smiled Mustache. “No, it’s not from socks. It’s worse, much worse. But you’re a zero, so you can’t handle the truth yet. Got to see what life is like first.”

“Get a move on,” said the machine gunner, serious now. “We have to get started or Mastiff’ll bite our asses off. The fun’s already started in the park, and here we are chatting with a noob. Scram!”

“Remember—don’t get stuck on the bridge. If you get across, go north as soon as possible. Get some weapon—even a piece of pipe or a heavy stick if you have to. Hit them in the head or the spine. Avoid open spaces, and trust no one,” added Mustache. “Get going. Time is up, for real now. They’re quicker than usual this time. Not a good omen.”

Rock knew there’d be no more help coming from these people. Pushing their relatively good relationship further might have unpleasant consequences, so he turned and moved back towards the dorm. Running as fast as he could—as they had admonished him to—was a little beneath his dignity in the crowds. He moved at a reasonable pace, and they didn’t make any comment to hurry him on. Either this pace was good, or...

Or that strange pair really didn’t care whether he got away or not.

Chapter 4

Life Three: Bar Fight

Those soldiers had forgotten that walking was not the best way to get from point A to point B in the twenty-first century. Especially in a city.

Rock didn’t have a phone, which was strange since the shadow of his memory which still remained told him a phone was a necessity. And countless people on the streets were trying to get their worthless cells to function, which meant that most everybody else had one. He wasn’t bothered by not having a phone. Something else in his pocket wouldn’t leave him alone, though.

Rock had found his wallet in the dorm as he was scrambling to learn anything about himself. Besides money, it had contained a sporting goods store discount card, a movie ticket—the name of the movie told him nothing about what it was about—and a tasteless advertisement for the school rifle club. Nothing with his first or last name, his occupation, or his birthdate. Nothing.

Finances were something Rock wondered about, though. He had a little cash in his wallet, but no idea where to get more, and he didn’t have a credit card. As if they would work without the power out.

The taxi he had noticed when he stepped out of the dorm, though, was still parked in the same spot, halfway between the dorm and the supermarket. It was beat up but solid, a workhorse of a car without any bells or whistles. Uncomfortable and a little dirty, but it did its job. Rock didn’t care for comfort, as long as the thing drove. The driver was in the car, doing what everybody else was doing—beating on his smartphone, as if he thought another pound of his pointer finger would have different results than the last five hundred.

Rock knocked on the half-lowered window to pull the driver away from his portable stupor and asked, “Can I get a ride?”

The driver, without blinking or speaking, studied the would-be passenger for four whole seconds—far too long for an ordinary human interaction—and then replied laconically, “Fine.”

“I want to get over the bridge. Quick.”

“Bridge?”

“You know, the thing that goes across a river.”

The driver’s eyes bored through Rock, warning him that the man’s intelligence had been woefully underestimated. “Which bridge?” he said, with the tone of a man patiently explaining the foundational principles of quantum physics to a moron.

Rock didn’t know there was more than one bridge. They hadn’t said that, had they? He tried to take the news in stride, explaining and pointing as best he could. “There’s supposed to be this wide street up ahead that runs to the left, down to the bridge I need.”

“You not from around here?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, just asking. So we cross the bridge, then where to?”

“Just take me a mile or so out. Anywhere. How much will that cost me?”

“Ten bucks or so. Meter’ll figure that out. But we’ll have to wait for service to come back. GPS is even out, and the meter’s not responding.”

Thankfully, Rock could pay for the trip a few times over, so the driver’s excuses failed to faze him. “The car works, right? I have to go immediately. I’ll pay you forty for the trip, if you take the backroads. Away from the circus on these main thoroughfares. I don’t want to get stuck in traffic. Deal?”

“There’s no way around the bridge, obviously, and the traffic there is anybody’s guess.”

“Yeah, bridges are bottlenecks, I get it. Just do your best, OK?”

“I always do my best.”

“So, here we go?”

“Get in.”

Rock had barely buckled in by the time the taxi driver asked, “Why’d you say you weren’t a local? I remember you. You’re the soccer player.”

“What’s my name, then?” asked Rock, his heart skipping a beat.

Could it be that, at long last, he was to receive the answer to this his absurdly simple yet profoundly difficult question?

Would that it were so simple. “Eh, not really a soccer fan,” the driver replied as he pulled out “I prefer boxing.”

“Yeah, everyone in town has been thinking I’m some famous soccer player all day,” lied Rock, crossing his legs and putting his hands over his knees. The scars were obvious, and they poked out of his shorts. The surgeons had cut deep into him. Rock didn’t want to explain his amnesia or the strange red messages right now—he just wanted to get across the river before he ended up dead again.

He couldn’t imagine there was any death more painful than the last two, but he didn’t want to find out.

“Yeah, your face sure looks like his,” the driver babbled on. “Hey, your phone got GPS? Try it. Maybe it’ll work.”

Rock lied again. “Left my phone at home.”

He didn’t want to admit he didn’t have a phone. For all he knew, that might lead to a trail of questioning that ended with him admitting he had no ID, either. And that he had no idea who he was. And that he was trapped in a recurring nightmare narrated by text straight out of the credits from Stranger Things.

“Strange shit going on, man. I don’t need service all the time, just GPS, you know? But this—I’m not getting anything. Like I’m running taxi in a basement. There’s nothing. It doesn’t see any towers, any satellites, nothing at all.”

“Reset the phone, maybe. Might help.”

“Tried that. Twice. Besides, the car’s GPS can’t see a thing either. There’s no way both could have gone down at once, especially since they both seem to be running fine otherwise. Could somebody be jamming the signals, maybe?”

Rock shrugged. “No idea, but I bet the military could jam it. They can do pretty much anything.”

At that instant, the taxi driver cursed and jerked the wheel. A car blew by them at breakneck speed without so much as a honk, its rear bumper and muffler rattling and racketing along the ground. “Looks like it’s Field Day at the madhouse today,” fumed the driver. “Damn, and they let them loose on everything, from top-of-the-line race cars to rusty old traps like that one. Where are they all going? The main roads are all blocked up, the lights are down, and the cars are gridlocked at the worst spots. No way anyone’s getting to the hospital in time, short of a helicopter.”

“So what do we do?” asked Rock, furious at himself for not predicting this would happen.

“We’ll avoid the center of town entirely. Cut through somehow. Across yards and lots if we have to. Couple of ugly spots we should avoid, but once we’re past those we’ll be good to go. I hope.”

Another mindless racer whizzed past, evoking more cursing from the driver and nearly knocking his mirror clean off. That vehicle didn’t get far. A few hundred feet later, they found it overturned. Onlookers were gathering, and the bravest were trying to enter the cab. The taxi driver didn’t slow down, just dropped a comment about the mob of rubberneckers and would-be heroes.

“Fools! Unless you know what’s up, don’t touch the man. His spine could be crushed, and the slightest movement could leave him a cripple for life. Best case scenario. But no, they all just cram themselves in there. All the clumsy ones dying off, that’d be the day. That would be heaven on Earth.”

Rock was troubled by the driver’s words. They had the same unnatural intonation that the three roommates he had encountered in that dorm room had. They weren’t as pronounced, but that and the awkward changes in pace, the choice of phrase, the sorts of gestures—all four of these people were very similar.

And they were very different from the two men who had advised Rock to go to this bridge.

He wished he could have talked with them longer. Even befriended them. After all, the conversation had hinted that those guys knew how to get to places where property values weren’t struggling as much. He earnestly did not want to keep “pumping,” or whatever they had called it, since for some unknown reason that apparently meant dying over and over again.

And how many times would it be? At what number of deaths would he start to understand what was going on?

That morning, Rock had started to think he was in some kind of Grecian hell, paying the penalty for sins he had completely forgotten, but his meeting with that pair had convinced him otherwise. It seemed there was nothing godly or ungodly about the place. Those guys hadn’t been serious saints or sinners, to be blessed by some benevolent or malicious deity. Just ordinary guys, if a little strange. Too bad his biggest questions were still unanswered.

He wasn’t sure he knew how to even ask those questions, anyway.

And to be honest, what he did know already was enough to make an educated guess. This was no hell, no mystic level of torture or paradise, but it also wasn’t reality in the usual sense. He was in a game. A strange, cruel, confusing, and frankly lackluster game. Rock had the feeling that he wasn’t really into all the modern methods of killing time in real life, the video games and VR and so on, but he was somehow familiar with all of them. Kids would sit for days in front of dusty monitors, giving themselves nearsightedness and carpal tunnel syndrome, not bothering to take any breaks between their countless violent deaths to actually learn something about themselves or the world. How he knew that despite his amnesia was anyone’s guess.

But there were no monitors here. This game reality was pretty convincing, besides the ritual deaths and “enjoy your game” messages, and...

Idiot. I’m completely wasting this time.

“Menu,” said Rock quietly, more mouthing it than speaking it.

He didn’t want to have to explain himself to the taxi driver if the man overheard. Rock had already put him on edge with his request to avoid crowds and traffic. Best not to push his luck.

Alright, so what did he need right now, more than anything else? He knew next to nothing about eSports, but every game had an Exit button, right? And if this game had one, it’d be in the menu, for sure.

He only had to find it, to press it, and he would find himself back in the normal world, where he could start looking for the person that took his memory and shoved him into this cruel world. There had to be someone responsible, somebody who deserved to be grabbed by the neck and slammed up against the wall. And maybe kicked until nearly unconscious.

But it wasn’t to be. A minute later, Rock was fully convinced that the menu was just there to distract and confuse people like him. Why was this multi-page “Skills” window even necessary? It was empty as a beggar’s pockets. Then there were seven bars of various colors, obviously scales or meters of some kind, but with no explanations.

And of course, no sign of the coveted Exit button. Perhaps it was expertly concealed behind endless overlapping modal windows that he would have to resolve one by one, but Rock had a growing suspicion that wasn’t the case. He shouldn’t have expected to so easily escape this place when he couldn’t even remember his name.

All this time, the driver was cruising through yards and lots, moving past ancient five-story apartment buildings, rows of rusted garages, and piles of garbage and garbage cans. Rock could see this in the background, in the gaps between the multicolored clutter of the menu. The car encountered a school fence then and turned into an alley to go around it, leading out onto a wide avenue with no traffic.

“Hah, did you see that?” said the driver, pleased. “The traffic jam is back that way. Everything at a dead stop. Worst spot in the city. But here, we’re the kings of the road!”

“Then why is nobody coming from that way?” asked Rock, distrustful of the situation. The center of town couldn’t be more than a few dozen yards away. He whispered “menu” again to clear his vision.

Before the taxi driver had time to reply, the answer arrived. A column of vehicles, only a few of them for civilian use, emerged, including an armored personnel carrier. The street had been somehow blocked off so the convoy could move through, and the vehicles themselves were invisible until the very last moment. They were moving at a serious clip.

“Whoa.” Rock was at a loss for words. “This kind of thing come through here a lot?”

“I’ve been in this town for eight years and I’ve never seen anything like it,” replied the taxi driver, puzzled. He looked at Rock “They’re turning towards the south intersection. Must be where the bulk of the trouble is.”

“What trouble?”

“You know, no power, no cellular, no GPS, and then these guys show up. That doesn’t just happen, man, you take it from me. There’s been an earthquake, and flooding. Or a terrorist strike. You see water or ruins anywhere around here? Feel the ground shaking? No. So my bet’s on terrorists. But nothing happened over here. This area’s been nice and quiet.”

“How did they bring in a force like that without any phones?” Rock pointed at the column. It just kept going, one vehicle after another.

“The police and other security forces have radios and even their own hard lines for things like that. I bet landline phones still work. But who still has a landline phone these days? Oh man, look at that!” The driver pointed at a heavy vehicle running on caterpillar treads and whistled. “That thing can blast down walls or just drive clean through houses. It’s weird that they’re out so quick—usually by the time the authorities act, the emergency’s over, you know?”

At last the final car, a normal-looking minibus, passed by the alley. The driver looked around mischievously and hit the gas. “Hey, if this road is closed off, we don’t know it, understand? I was waiting for you back in that lot for a long time, picking you up, and we just only now got going, OK?”

“Works for me.”

“If I knew it would be like this... Damn.”

“What?” Rock didn’t get it.

“No way we’re getting through here. This is just the wrong place and the wrong time, mate.”

A flood of cars was following behind them. The leaders of the pack were practically flying, like racers just a hundred meters from the finish line of a Formula One match. The driver nudged the car to the right, attempting to hug the curb, which Rock thought was a futile maneuver. The madmen raced towards them three columns across and two rows deep, plus another few running towards them, against the way traffic was supposed to go, with no regard for the ground-based armada which was still in sight.

At the last second, somebody lost their nerves, and two cars squealed their brakes, one going into a full skid. From the passenger seat, Rock couldn’t make out what happened or who ended up crashing into whom. But going by its sound, the crash was more than a fender bender.

Then the whole conglomeration crashed into the taxi. The impact was less severe than it could have been but jostled Rock violently. He had already been craning his neck in an attempt to see, so the additional twist caused a sharp flash of pain that retreated only slowly and left its mark of soreness.

“The fuck! I should have never come here. God damn you and your forty bucks, boy!” With those words, the driver resolutely threw open the door of his car—only to immediately slam it back closed and whimper, “What is happening? What the hell is that? Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!”

Rock was busy manipulating his neck: massaging it, turning it in circles and back and forth, trying to restore it to working order. But the driver’s words and tone made him join his stare to the terrified man’s. They looked straight ahead.

A couple of seconds more of staring, and Rock would have almost certainly been reading another obscure hint and a wish for him to enjoy his game. The taxi driver saved him, despite his hysteria, with his whimpers. Without hesitating to question his next move, Rock threw the door open with all his strength and fell out onto the litter-covered grass between the street and the sidewalk. He grimaced with pain as he jumped up, that same damned knee acting up as always. It didn’t like tricks.

From the other direction, where the opposing cars had come from, another rush of vehicles sped towards them. They took up all of the lanes, and the sidewalks with them. The worst part was the heavy truck at the front, picking up speed faster than the most careless truck driver would on the safest abandoned desert highway. The buzzing monster quietly destroyed a tiny car which was racing across towards the bridge and then took out a sizable Jeep in much the same fashion without so much as slowing down. But the small bus that came next was too strong for it.

Too heavy, anyway.

The crash thundered throughout the neighborhood, sending massive barbs of twisted metal in all directions and shearing the bus in half. The truck veered sharply to the right, slamming a car that wanted to pass it up onto the curb and into a second car. The crash cascaded from one vehicle to another, a terrifying chain collision whiplashing down the avenue.

Rock had the presence of mind and body to push himself away before the truck—still sweeping anything and everything it had collected under its bumper—swiped the left side off of the taxi, from headlight to trunk. The truck would have pressed on, but it at last met a worthy opponent. A large, pristinely painted van, as white as an angel of righteousness come to slay the villainous dragon. The van was much too clean for a day like this. For a city like this, even. Revoltingly white.

The vehicles slammed into one another, deafening Rock until the taxi driver melted into a miserable piece of the chaotic scrap heap and a piece of iron glanced off Rock’s head and stunned him for real.

He sat at the far edge of the scene, amazed as the epic clash and burial of dozens of vehicles unfolded in mere seconds on the road. The rulebreakers and rulekeepers alike were sucked in, including bystanders who had evidenced no desire to rush headlong into maiming and death. Drivers had hit the brakes at the sight of the crash, as normal drivers do, turning themselves into targets or obstacles for those hurrying on their way to the smelting pot of insanity.

Fire erupted in several places at once, smoke filled the air in a matter of moments, and people were screaming in all directions. An old woman hobbled past Rick. For some reason, she was dressed in nothing but lingerie, and she cradled her arm, which was bent into an unnatural angle. A man limped after her, then suddenly crouched on the sidewalk and whined like a dog receiving a beating. Another man fell to his knees, barely off the road. No dreams of movie stardom for this one. He was covered in blood from head to toe, wheezing like a broken bagpipe, and had a huge glass shard stuck in his face.

Rock wasn’t feeling so good. He groped around on his head and found a quickly growing, damp bump. Thankfully the piece of metal had been small. If he had been wearing the wool beanie from the last life, he might have barely felt it. But it had stunned him. His ears were ringing and he felt like he was floating, even falling in and out of reality. The continuing crash of more and more cars and vans and trucks generated no reaction. He watched them like an overdone summer “thriller.” Detached, nonchalant, unimpressed. Even when the bright red sports car broke through the carnage factory and swept by a mere two feet from his face, he didn’t flinch.

His brain had disconnected, at least for the most part. But the blow wasn’t that severe, was it?

Someone grabbed Rock’s arm and pulled him up with ease, like he was an eight-year-old. The middle-aged, tall, broad-shouldered man dragged him to the edge of the sidewalk moments before another car whizzed through where he had just been sitting. The man shouted in Rock’s ear in a harsh, anxious tone. “Yo, dumbass, you got a name? Yeah, you. You mute? Don’t speak English?” He gave Rock a slap on the cheek. “Sober the fuck up, man. Say something!”

Rock turned his head and struggled to peer through the veil pouring into his vision. The man was a redneck in his forties, with a stocky build like he was built of bricks and eyes at once unpleasantly sweet and impudent. The kind of fellow you’d never lend money to. He wore a light gray-green shirt, unbuttoned almost halfway down to reveal toned muscles and concerningly overgrown chest hair, over which—or in which—he wore a long black crystal with a double-pointed top on a simple cord.

Rock wasn’t the greatest reader of people, but if he saw this guy coming on the street on a normal day, he would cross over to the other side. Yet the man was fixated on learning his name. That was something.

Rock fought back the fog and faint metal-knocked into his skull and at last opened his parched lips and gave a stammered shout over the roar of the accumulating accident. “Let go of me! I don’t have a name. Don’t need one.”

The red-faced man grinned at that and winked mysteriously. Ignoring the de-carred tire rolling by a few inches away, he announced, “We all been zeroes once. Ain’t no disrespect in that. How’s life been, brother? How much Luck you hit?”

Rock glanced at the taxi, which at that moment was crushed and sliced through by a motorcyclist who had somehow screamed right into the center of the calamity. “Two, for now.”

“Oh man, you just a kid.”

“And I’m in no rush to grow up.”

“That’s the spirit. Continent likes to whip the hasty ones, and ain’t nobody need that. So you’re new. Brand new. Well, you’re in real luck, meeting me. Pumping up your ‘Luck’ don’t make no difference. 5 Luck, 10 Luck, nobody can prove it does shit for you. You got to find somebody with a little know-how to learn the ropes from, brother. Somebody like me. Name’s Horsefly, by the way.”

“My name is... well, I don’t know. Rock for now.”

“Rock? What for?”

“Dumb roommate called me that way back, when all of this started.”

“Your level zero respawn a dorm or something?”

“I don’t know. I always wake up in a dorm.”

“Got it, Noob. Happens. So how are the girls at your school?”

“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t had much time to date.”

“Sure. Not all the digis are easy, anyway. And if you force them you lose Humanity. Plus ain’t nobody want that. Boring. But since then, what you been up to? What’re you doing here?”

“Sitting on the grass.”

“What brought you here?”

“I was in that taxi, driving to the bridge.”

“Bridge? The hell for?”

“They told me it would be safe on the other side.”

“Get this in your head, Noob: ain’t nowhere safe. Who’s ‘they’?”

“People like you. Except they looked, well, more dangerous.” Rock was coming to his senses and realizing that this person had a subtle similarity to those soldier types that had directed him this way. None of the awkward jumps and shifts that most people had. “They said there was a stable that way with, uh, some kind of settled infecteds that were about to come charging this way.”

“Settleds?” The man was taken aback. “A lot of them? Were they being serious?”

“I don’t even know what the hell they were talking about.”

“Lucky you. I’m a little jealous. Listen, come with me and I’ll take you where you need to be. Even give you some tips for getting the ladies. You’ll do alright with me. I’m not like them others, always find my own way without getting myself caught up in all them gangs and shit. But I’ve been living poor for the past bit. My luck really ran out, and I bumped into a tough elite. So, Noob, which way’s that bridge?”

“Down this avenue. Which is where all the psychos hang out, apparently.”

“Then let’s go. Before things get bad.”

Rock surveyed the scene, perplexed. Dozens of smashed and crumpled cars, raging fires, pools of blood, victims moaning and screaming. “This isn’t ‘bad’?”

“Huh?”

Rock pointed to the smoking scrap heap. “This. All of this. You don’t think it’s bad already?”

“That? Hah! You joking with me? This is barely more than a bar fight.” Horsefly grabbed Rock’s arm and brought him along with him. “But if we don’t get out of here, soon the drunken sailors will get involved, then the gangs, and then things will catch fire, and the guns will come out, and the cops will show up, and we’ll all be in deep shit.”

Chapter 5

Life Three: Stage One

Rock hadn’t liked Horsefly when he met him, and he didn’t like traveling with him, either. First, the man basically dragged Rock along, enforcing a pace that the newbie’s knee found unacceptably precarious and painful. Worse, he didn’t care much for remaining unseen. He wouldn’t stick to the backyards or alleys but just marched down the public sidewalks. The chaos continued on the streets, especially at intersections, as cars sped away madly from the direction of that mysterious stable and those “settled infecteds.” Rock got the impression that some unseen force was pushing these drivers, shutting down their senses of self-preservation entirely and dulling their reflexes, making them unable to react to changes in the roadway. Either that, or they feared what was behind them much more than they feared horrific accidents. Horsefly paid no mind at all to the death all around. He even shook his fist at a tram that left the rails and swept through a packed junction.

“The fuck you going! Stupid digis.”

The concrete barriers failed to stop the tram, and it smashed the cars that had miraculously survived to this point, accompanied by the screams of dying people and trapped tram passengers staring madly out the windows. Still it pushed out, steel wheels screaming as loudly as the doomed choir inside. The spinning metal crushed a car out of which a young woman had only just pulled a stroller with her child inside. She was so occupied with her rescue operation that she noticed the danger too late, barely managing to push her child away.

The carriage seemed unharmed but began to slowly accelerate downhill. Rock jerked towards it, but Horsefly moved faster than his namesake and nabbed his arm, growling indignantly.

“The hell you off to?”

“There’s a baby there, in the stroller!” Rock replied as he tried feebly to escape the man’s impossibly strong grip.

“Listen up, hero,” said Horsefly heartlessly, “we ourselves be the only people here that we can save.”

“Let go of me, you cold bastard. Who the hell lets a baby die?”

“You ain’t listening. That ain’t a baby, and its mother ain’t a real woman, just a doll, made of meat.”

“But...”

“No buts. Relax and listen to everything I say. Don’t you let these moving mannequins distract you, alright? All these people you see around you are just meat. They ain’t people. Ain’t you noticed something off about them? Like they just come in a few kinds, like cookies made from a couple different shapes of cookie cutters? Look at that old guy over there. Now, look at that one. Both look the same, walk the same, and pretty much dress the same. And they talk the same, too, I’m telling you. And how about that succulent young woman over there? And that one over there? They’re just too perfect. Ain’t many ugly women around, since the Continent knows how to make them pretty. Fellows have some kind of crazy fetish. Maybe it’s all those rules they got. Need lawyers in their bedrooms just to stay within the law.”

“...so these are robots?”

“If you cut them, you’ll find the same stuff inside that we have. Entrails and all.”

“But you said that...”

“Listen. Don’t think about what I say, just accept it. Let’s say you go get that girl to do it with you. See how hot she is? You won’t even notice the difference between her and an immune girl. If anything, she’ll be better. They make them perfectly shaved and everything. Whoever loaded their brain programming knew how to make them good in bed. We call these things ‘digis,’ short for ‘digitals.’ So don’t even look at that stroller again. There are no real babies here, since no players are ever babies. These things are like cardboard cutouts. Like Xerox copies of cardboard cutouts. Pay them no mind, alright? The digis don’t help the zeroes out, and helping digis out is like trying to help ants cross a busy road. They’re just dumb clumps of biomass, food for the Continent. Once you’re used to them, you’ll recognize them without having to squint. They act stupid and have very limited conversation. Siri made for a better conversation partner. Only total newbies like you confuse them for players.”

“Players? So this is all just a game.”

“No, Noob, this ain’t a game. If you want, you can call it that. A lot of people do. Hey, listen, maybe I should name you Noob? About time you had a godfather. You like the name? I’m sure ain’t nobody else has taken it.”

“Godfather?” Rock was still fighting the urge to look back at that stroller speeding down the hill, by some miracle dodging all of the smashed and stopped cars. Despite everything his new companion had said, he was struggling to put away the thought that a baby was in mortal danger a short distance away and that he, Rock, was pretending that nothing was happening.

“You know what, don’t you worry about it. It’s too early to name you anyway. Got to get you out of here first. You have to get out of here first, and stack up some XP before you get your name. Rules be pretty strict on that. But think about ‘Noob.’ It ain’t bad. Ain’t everybody gets a good godparent, you know. Consider yourself lucky. What’s the limp for?”

“Apparently I used to be this soccer player and I hurt my knee. It’s covered in surgical scars and acts up all the time. This happens every life, with one knee or both.”

“It’ll stop happening, as long as you quit dying on your very first day. You don’t seem especially dumb. You’ll learn.”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t seem temporary.”

“You’re imagining it. Step down on it proper.”

“I tried, but it won’t let me. Hurts like hell. Doesn’t want to bend. And when I bend it, it doesn’t want to unbend.”

A few shots rang out in the distance, to the right. “Uh-oh. That’s bad, Noob, that’s bad,” said Horsefly, suddenly tense. Rock didn’t know whether the man was referring to the shots in the distance or to his bad knee. The shots grew, in frequency and in volume. Dozens of guns were contributing, and in earnest.

Horsefly had no plans to slow their pace. He turned his head towards the noise and explained. “That’s where the settleds were coming from, right?”

“Somewhere around there.”

“Those guys sure have plenty of ammo. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but there was this whole line of vehicles. Serious pseudo-military types.”

“Really?”

“I saw them all just moments before that truck honked out its party invites.”

“Huh. Usually digis ain’t that quick. Some kind of military exercise must have just happened at the right time or something. The clusters come in with various scenarios running, so I guess the timing just worked out for them. Did you see any artillery?”

“No. They had an APC though.”

“With a big gun?”

“Didn’t seem so.”

“Well then, if these settleds are big enough, the fireworks won’t last long.”

As if at his command, the shooting began to fade away as quickly as it had begun. “There you go,” said Horsefly, with a grin. “The distance between the guns and their targets just hit zero. Now the real fun begins. There’ll be a little bit more shooting still, but that’ll be it. The finale will be sad and silent. Sometimes the odd loner will have enough time to shoot all the ammo he’s got. By that I mean the ones smart enough to hide, not to run out in the front. Digis at level zero are dumber than animals. They don’t hide often, and when they do, they pick the shittiest spots. No resourcefulness, just one way of doing things, all the time. Digis. Listen, Noob, where’s this bridge at? We have to get to it, and fast.”

“Do I look like a tour guide? I don’t know.”

“So you’re heading to a bridge, but you don’t know where it is. You sure you’re not a digi?”

“Look, I know the general direction, but the taxi guy didn’t tell me how far it was.”

“You were riding in a taxi?”

“I’m telling you, my knee hurts like hell.”

“Risk taker. Take my advice from now on, Rock: Even if you have to drag yourself along with nothing but your cracked two front teeth, don’t ever get in a car. Didn’t you see how they were flying around?”

“Of course.”

“I guess there ain’t nobody dumb enough to miss that. Them is what we call ‘stage one’ infecteds. They haven’t turned completely yet. Their heads are starting to swim, so they mix everything up. Some will fill up the house with gas and light up a cigarette. Others will toss their wives and children off the eighth floor and then toss themselves off, laughing maniacally as they plummet through the air. Just stay away from places where a sick digi can drop your progress again.”

“You said they haven’t ‘turned’? What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Look at this city. It just dropped in, but there are already plenty of sickos inside. Give it twenty-four more hours and there won’t even be any reasonable digis left, just a handful of mindless humans and crowd of hungry zombies everywhere.”

“Zombies? Are you kidding me?” Rock gave a dubious groan.

Horsefly sighed. “You newbie zeroes are surprised by anything. Yes, zombies, that’s what’ll be crawling all over this city before long. That’s what I call them, anyway. They ain’t really zombies. Much worse. Most people call them infecteds. In stage two, everyone becomes slow, even stupider, and greedy for human flesh. Those that live to stage two. By the time stage three hits, though, they won’t be slow anymore. I bet you think the crazy drivers are the biggest danger here. You’re wrong. Hear that shooting?”

“No, I’m deaf as a tree stump, remember?”

“When a city resets, it’s like a box of delicious lollipops, and you’re one of the pops, ready to be eaten unless you get out in time. You know how many licks it takes to get to the center of one of those pops? Usually just one. Anyway, the infecteds here get so powerful that level fifteens ain’t even got time to scream ‘Mommy’ before they’re shredded to pieces. And you’re a total zero, Noob. All they got to do is breathe on you and your life will be gone. Losing a life is shit, too. No wonder that text warns you every time.”

“Horsefly, I appreciate the explanations, but to keep this short: How do I get out of this place?” Rock had jumped to his most important question a little too quickly, perhaps, but the man understood it. He stopped short, roared in laughter like a toddler, squatted down, and slapped his thighs in mirth.

“Hah, I just can’t! You’re killing me, Rock. I was just starting to think you weren’t like the rest of the zeroes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every newcomer’s favorite question. You’re all so funny. And all the same. It was my first thought when I woke up here too, of course, but I still crack up whenever I see one of your dumb pie holes asking me how to leave this shithole.”

“So I’m guessing I’m not going to like the answer.”

Horsefly started moving again, yanking Rock behind him. “Well, the way sure is fucking complicated, whatever it is. Ain’t no one been able to resolve that question yet.”

“Meaning there’s no way out?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t nobody that knows. And if they do, they ain’t saying. Don’t go asking me about any philosophical meaning to this, or how to beat the game, or anything like that. I’m just a survivor. I survive best I can, and I explain what I can. You get to a stable, then you can bump into clever types or read a thick brochure and maybe you’ll start to pick up on things like that. This world is a very confusing one, Rock. You won’t get it right away, and there are some things you’ll have to figure out on your own. As long as you ain’t got no experience, you’ll blink like a deer in the headlights at the most routine situations. Wait, listen. Hear that? Barely any more shooting going on. The local digis are almost out of steam.”

The lack of gunfire sounds was hardly the thing that most upset Rock. He changed subjects. “So what do I need to go to the stable for? It’s the other way, and I thought it was full of these settleds, and that they were not exactly the friendliest. Types you want to stay away from.”

“Oh, well here they’re pretty much all bad. Ain’t no exceptions. But stables come in different kinds. I was talking about a different one. You only heard about the local stable, probably a little one wedged in between other clusters, where the settled infecteds wait out the deathveil between each reset. So why didn’t those guys tell you anything more than that? You get cut off?”

“What guys?”

“You know, the soldiers you said looked like me. Tough guys who told you to head for the bridge before you got munched on.”

“They were climbing up onto that unfinished high-rise across town. Said I wasn’t allowed up there. Their boss didn’t like strangers or something like that. And they were in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to learn much.”

“Hunters, probably. Nobody else would go climbing high rises. They’re always busy running around, like crazies as far as I’m concerned. Hunting in these places is taking your life into your own hands, you know.”

“Aren’t you doing that by being here, too?”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you revive here, you know, after dying violently?”

“Oh yeah, true. I guess you do pick up on things. Your Luck’s only at two?”

“Is that really so low?”

“Let’s just say you’re just getting started.”

“I don’t like this whole ‘pumping’ thing.”

“Ain’t nobody that likes it. Except maybe a pervert here and there. You figured out the interface yet?”

“The what?”

“Guess not. Ain’t no surprise there.” He shuffled around his pockets. “Oh man, I’m out. We have these brochures for newcomers. Very helpful. You give one to a zero, and you get some Humanity for it. They say the Continent likes it when you help out a novice. I usually carry three or four, but it looks like I’m out. Anyway, where is this magical bridge? We could’ve gone to the moon instead and been there by now. Move faster, Noob!”

“I’d be happy to, but my shit knee is saying no.”

“Push it.”

“It just keeps getting worse! I turned it a little on a staircase at the beginning of the day, and it’s been falling apart since then.”

“Sheesh. They usually compensate defective zeroes like you with some advantage in return, but whatever your compensation is, it’ll be a surprise. You need a couple swallows of lifejuice. At least. I have a little flask but only for absolute emergencies, you know. Untouchable otherwise. Too bad I’ve only unlocked city respawn points, and the city is a bitch, so I’d better hang on to what I got. Wait. Actually... Look at that! There. Come on, look! See it?”

“The houses and trees?”

“Houses? No, look! See the beasts running between the trees?”

“What, you mean the cats?”

“Yes. The cats are everything, Noob. When the cats start running, it means the beasts are close. And you’d better run fast, cats, or there’ll be nothing left of you but your tails. Whoa, see that?”

“Yeah. Another cat. I mean, it’s that time of year.”

“No, it ain’t the cat, it’s... Ugh, I forgot zeroes can’t see them. One of the settled infecteds is about, ahead of the rest. You’ll cry out for mommy when you see it, Noob. Might as well take your pants off right now. Seriously. You’ll thank me. Follow me, and don’t lag behind, ‘cause it’s time for us to go on the hunt. We’ll still make the bridge, but we need spores more than anything right now. Come on, beastie, let me get a good look at you...”

Horsefly shouted all of this on the run, leaving his limping companion behind and rushing across the avenue into a small, thickly overgrown grassy area. Rock thought about abandoning him then and there and going for it alone. His knee screamed at him not to go any faster—it could barely hold the pace he had been running, choking back groans and tears. But how could Rock abandon his only good source of information? The man wasn’t giving out enough of it, but anything was better than nothing.

His experience, and some of the hints he had picked up on, told him that going it alone would lead to repeated regrettable endings. Exquisitely painful endings.

So Rock banished all of his doubts and moved with all possible speed, biting his lip and telling himself that his knee didn’t hurt. It was just an itch. His leg could bend perfectly well—he could go sign up for a track race right now and even place. The willpower attempts did little to help, but he kept at them.

Horsefly, meanwhile, was over a hundred feet up ahead, running fast down a wide alley with a narrow grassy median decorated with flowers and the occasional bush. Rock was only able to follow because he avoided the shadows and stayed in plain sight. Suddenly, the man stopped short and yelled back, “Hey, Noob, your pants are done for. Wait till you get a load of this.” He turned. “Hey, you! Cyclops! Come on over here. You heard me! There you go, that’s a good boy!”

What, is he calling his dog over? Or cat, I guess? Or has he just snapped? Rock was going to give him a piece of his mind once he caught up to him.

He had to reduce his speed to a walk, limping heavily and painfully on his bum leg as he pressed forwards. Decreasing his speed also reduced his focus on Horsefly, and he started paying more attention to the area, looking for—among other things—the scrappy dog or the flea-bitten cat which was pushing him to strain his knee.

It wasn’t a dog. Nor a cat.

Rock had suspected something was amiss. Then he saw the being responsible for their change in route break through the bushes. It was at least as big as a man. An adult. The final branches trembled and gave way, and it leaped out.

It was so absurd, he had no idea what to call it. It was not human, even though it had the same basic features. Hands and feet, an upright stance, ten fingers and ten toes. There were some significant differences, though. It was huge. Nearly eight feet tall, despite a significant slouch that pushed its abnormally built shoulders forward and made its overly long arms hang nearly down to its knees and a short distance ahead of them.

They were tensed up, crooked, aiming their massive claws directly at Horsefly. The beast’s deformed head melded right into its massive, swollen jaws. One bite from that thing could consume enough meat to feed a glutton three square meals. The rows of fangs made it clear the thing was no herbivore, and no stranger to violence.

He took in the details. Its wrinkled skin was an unhealthy yellow. No hair was visible except a few small twisted patches on its head. Its narrow eyes had bone-like arcs around it and similar plates around its head and chest. Surreal Christian imagery, including crosses, angels, and excerpts of verses. Wait, those are tattoos. They were just so distorted, as if they had been stretched and warped after being drawn on a completely different person.

Rock finally realized why Horsefly had cautioned him to preserve his pants. The sight of this creature doubtless ruined many a pair. It wasn’t so much the terrifying claws or fangs. It was that the monster looked so human. As every horror author and screenwriter knows, the things we humans are scared of are those which look like us, with just a touch of the monstrous.

Plus, they managed to save on the special effects budget that way and get away with just a little makeup.

Rather than screaming in terror, Horsefly waved his hand rapidly, fearlessly beckoning the monster to himself. “Over here, darling. Come on! Don’t be shy. Look, Noob! We’ll have our fill of spores now. This beast broke off from his pack and he’s about to get punished for it. Getting a bunch of spores right off the bat is a good omen, mark my words.”

We? No, this foolishness could be settled without Rock’s help. The chances of beating that monster with their bare hands were less than zero. What was wrong with this man? He didn’t look crazy. What made him think this would end in anything but disaster?

His partner was a psycho. He saw that now.

The monster gave a deep, rumbling growl and picked up speed rapidly. The rumbling grew into a screech now and then, turning Rock’s blood cold. He remembered the sounds that had accompanied his first death. This sound was similar, but not quite as eerie, as if this were the younger brother of the creature who had leaped onto his broken body from that window. The creature that had screamed from that hallway.

‘Younger brother’? Heaven help us if we ever encounter the older brother!

The beast was still thirty feet away when the monster hurled itself into the air, stretching itself out deftly as it soared. One moment later, and it would knock this foolhardy man’s body clean off his feet and roll on top of him onto the pavement, crushing his every bone and tearing into him with claws and fangs.

Horsefly didn’t move. He threw up his hand. An elusive ripple came out of his exposed palm, like a thick wave of heat off the sun-beaten earth in the middle of the desert. The translucent effect was difficult to see, and Rock had no idea how something so ethereal could affect a massive monster hurtling through the air.

The aftermath came as if Horsefly was wielding a tennis racket weighing at least a ton. The flying hulk was smacked with a colossal overhand.

It was a solid hit. The monster flew backwards much faster than any speed it could generate on its own power. A brutal fifty feet later, it crumpled and rolled along the pavement, slapping its writhing arms and legs into it every which way as if they had no more bones left in them. The blow had stunned it into total relaxation.

Rock thought it might be stunned for good. But then the beast began to rise, as soon as it stopped rolling and sliding. Its face looked drunk, the fight sapped from it. When it saw Horsefly sauntering over, whistling an unpretentious tune, the monster turned and awkwardly tried to move down the avenue.

“Oh no you don’t. Stop! Did you see that, Noob? He was all confident just a minute ago, but now he’s trying to leave without so much as a goodbye. Ain’t they teaching manners anymore? Stop, or it’ll be worse for you!”

The monster apparently thought otherwise. Half-lame, it started picking up as much speed as it could.

“Shit, Noob, catch up to him! Come on, you have to catch him. Hit him! Cut the bastard! At least through a rock or something. It’ll give you some experience for it, at least. You’ll get past level zero, then I’ll give you a name as soon as we get out of here. Come on, hit it! You have to claim a share of the experience. And keep up. I’ll finish him off. Hit it! Come on, hit it! What the hell are you stalling for? Shit, Noob, fine, if you don’t know what’s good for you, well, I ain’t going to babysit you.”

Horsefly picked up speed, and soon the alley was a race track, with the monster maintaining a decent speed even though it was so crippled. It was unclear who would win. But Rock would come in dead last. That insane, superhuman Horsefly would continue pursuing the monster fleeing its magic, but he would lose sight of them soon as he fell further and further behind, his knee growing ever worse.

Chapter 6

Life Three: Up on the Housetops

If nothing had changed—limp monster running along, losing its balance now and then; pursuer shouting angrily at it from a hundred feet back; and pathetically limping caboose trying to press on but losing ground every second—Rock might perhaps have caught up. If something stalled the movement of the other two.

But he lost sight of both of them in the middle of a block of five-story buildings, where visibility was low. Rock assumed Horsefly would be following the monster’s path further, cutting across the parking lot up ahead and hopefully avoiding another visit to his dorm, so he sat down behind a nearby car—at the precise movement another monster swept into the area. It was scarier than the first. Larger, more gnarled, with angular body shapes and ugly polygonal shields where the bone plates had been present on the younger one, including a number on the hairless skull. Its body was hideously arched, its legs absurdly twisted. The creature ran in a bouncing, bustling fashion with loud knocking noises.

Was it wearing horseshoes or something?

Witnessing this, Rock decided he was in no hurry to escape his hiding place. He lay beside the car and squeezed himself underneath it. It was high enough off the ground to fit him. He couldn’t see much, but it made fine cover. And he was thankful for that just a second later. Another bone-knocking monster entered the same square, and then another smaller one, walking more quietly. He had to guess their size based on their legs, since he couldn’t see anything else. A peek would require getting close to the edge, but that would risk the monsters catching him. He’d rather lie here blind. He wasn’t the magical Horsefly with an open-palmed ping pong racket. He had no chance against any of these things.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. Rock was about to peek out when frantic pistol shots rang out nearby, in the direction the three monsters had been going.

It was like a signal. Countless monsters sped off in the direction of the shots. Strangely enough, a lot of people ran among them. At least going by their feet.

Something was wrong with them. All of their legs were filthy, and some were bare, even missing their underwear. Rock craned his neck a bit to check, just to make sure he was right. They were men and women, thin and fat, ancient and young, from all walks of life. He couldn’t tell much from just the legs, of course, but after dozens of pairs went by, he realized the old-looking legs might not have all belonged to old people, after all. Their skin had taken on an unhealthy shade and wrinkled up a bit, as if taken over by a wretched rash of sores.

It was all starting to add up. The bits of information Horsefly had given him, plus those distorted tattoos on the crippled monster’s skin, and now these strange humans—fast and filthy with terrible skin.

Rock was seeing several stages of the process by which ordinary people—the faceless masses, the “digis,” as Horsefly called them—underwent metamorphosis from ordinary zombies into something much more dangerous. The man had said they didn’t stay slow for long. Too bad he hadn’t bothered to explain more. That was the third stage, he surmised, but when that came and what it looked like was anybody’s guess.

So what stage was Rock looking at? What was happening in the city? Was it still in the first stage?

Horsefly could have told him all that, but he had fled the scene, and it looked like Rock would never be able to cross the space between the two of them. It was crawling with an endless stream of monsters. His leg wasn’t even strong enough for him to run away from anything. And the monster his companion had taken a liking to had boasted ridiculous speed. Even with a healthy knee, a record sprinter couldn’t have outrun it.

Not that Rock dreamed of a life lying under a car, listening to shooting, car crashes, explosions, screaming, and monsters grumbling. He had to get out of here, but where could he go? Maybe the bridge. But where was it? He couldn’t even see the river. It might be one mile away or ten, but even the first number made his knee ache.

Crossing the monster-teeming terrain with a worsening leg was a problem. Rock wished he could wrap it up, immobilize it somehow. All he had to do now was wiggle it to produce tears and a muffled groan.

What kind of sadistic game was this? Nothing but pain and suffering. Being forced to leap out the window to his death. Burning alive. Struggling with bad joints. Rock always believed that entertainment should only evoke positive emotions. That was logical, and just good business. But what logic could he expect in a game where they forgot to add an Exit button?

Maybe he could still make it to the bridge, but not right now. It was possible these things didn’t see so well at night, so moving in darkness might work out. Now and then he heard shooting in the distance, too, so perhaps a rescue squad or something like that would arrive. He had to hold out, and this car wasn’t the best spot. All one of those things had to do was duck to view Rock in all his agonized glory.

From far enough away, they wouldn’t even have to crouch. And even if he got out from under the car in time, he’d be cornered.

Rock stopped paying all of his attention to the square overrun with monsters. He turned his interest to looking for a better haven to hunker down in for a few hours.

* * *

Rock may have had serious doubts about his current refuge, but he saw nothing better in the immediate vicinity, and as he was investigating more distant options he witnessed an elderly man running God knows where ambushed by a beast like the one Horsefly had been chasing. The monster overtook him playfully and swung a paw at him, taking off part of his head, then pounced on him and crushed his writhing flesh with a gluttonous grumble, tearing into his neck with its fangs and wolfing down his blood-soaked meat.

And so Rock abandoned his plans to look for a better hiding spot in the distance. His intuition told him to find something close by, and fast—before some massive ravenous beast took the time to look under the car.

He settled on the entryway to an apartment building, but without plans to stay there. Knocking on any apartment doors was a foolish idea. Even with his leg, he managed to climb up the stairs and onto the roof. Thankfully the padlock on the roof access door was just for show.

He had a good view from up here, but he had cover, as well, in the form of a low wall running around the whole roof and ventilation system exits here and there. The perimeter wall gave him great cover from three sides. He would still be visible from the avenue side: Though most of the surrounding buildings were the same height as his, a couple of buildings across the avenue were taller. Someone on an upper floor could look across and see him.

Rock sat with a ventilation structure covering him from that possibility and began to rely on his ears to tell him about what was going on around. For that, they were almost as good as his eyes.

Shots rang out sporadically from all directions. Sometimes, it was just a few rounds—other times, it was one magazine after another, mercilessly emptied into the targets, often for minutes at a time. Screams were heard frequently, too, and whenever one sounded out, Rock thought of that old man he had just seen. The same ambushes echoed throughout the neighborhood. Perhaps throughout the whole city. Cars continued to crash into one another, too, squealing their brakes and revving their engines so hard that Rock knew they were all holding their gas pedals to the floor. There were even explosions now and then, a few of them followed by plumes of smoke. Fires blazed on in dozens of places. One especially widespread black cloud billowed up out of the west of the city. It was silent smoke, but its size made Rock suspect it was a formidable inferno fueled by a hazardous chemical factory or something like that.

He hoped the wind wouldn’t decide to blow the poisonous fumes toward Rock instead of letting them rise into the sky.

As afternoon approached, he began to curse at his situation. The sun only made his thirst worse, and he had nothing to quench it with. Heading back down was out of the question. Rock needed water, not monster adventures. Apartments were apparently not the ideal hiding places he might have suspected, given the continual sounds of shattering glass and joyful ravenous rumblings from below.

The sun was retreating, but at a tragically slow pace. Its rays lit up Rock’s hiding place like a Vegas strip. Moving anywhere would mean being visible from the houses across the way. And then there was the noise beneath him. Someone shouted in the entryway, then glass shattered in one place and then another, and finally a gunshot rang out.

Follow by that grumbling again.

This latest episode soon quieted, but that gave Rock little comfort. He suspected the creatures would begin systematically searching the building and decided that, if he was found, he would dive head first off the top and into the pavement. The old five-story building wasn’t very tall, but it was a chance at a quick death.

Better than waiting to have his intestines chewed up. How could he hope to resist those things with his bare hands?

Those two soldier types had advised him to arm himself. With anything.

They had known everything, and explained nothing.

Dirty shits.

He wouldn’t mind have a weapon. He had nothing. No way to bandage up his knee, no food, not even any water. The world’s worst traveler, in the world’s worst place. There had been so many little shops near the dorm and around here. Couldn’t he have at least bought or stolen a bottle of water?

Horsefly had been right. Rock would die over and over again until he learned how to actually think for once.

Chapter 7

Life Three: City of Monsters

Only when twilight had come did Rock dare leave the roof. His thirst had reached such levels that his knee no longer occupied his mind, and he thought to himself that death in the jaws of a monster wouldn’t be so bad.

Still, he descended the apartment hallway as carefully and quietly as possible. It smelled like a butcher’s shop with the power shut off, and shards of glass crinkled and crunched underfoot. Rock couldn’t see a thing, but he knew what had happened here.

Despite the waning light, Rock saw the broken-in apartment door on the fifth floor. It was a solid metal door beaten and twisted completely in, and it appeared the unknown bandits had dealt the damage quickly and easily. In the real world, Rock would have assumed a huge medieval battering ram was involved, but there wasn’t enough space in the hallway for anything of that size. Only one of those half-ton monsters could have done it.

Hopefully the beast had moved on to new hunting grounds.

Rock decided to search the apartment for water before he went down any further. Looking around was difficult in the early evening light. He had to rely on touch and began to pray for a lantern or some matches. But perhaps their absence was a blessing in disguise: Their light might attract attention from something watching outside.

To his surprise, the kitchen faucet did indeed produce a thin trickle of water. It was cold, and he had no idea what the filtration system was like here, but at this point he would have lapped water from a toilet. A few minutes later, his thirst was quenched, and he proceeded downstairs, stepping on glass and other crunchy things along the way. Human bones? Perhaps. He didn’t want to know.

The streets were dark. The raging fires had covered the world in smoke by day, but now they lit the sky in a crimson glow. Still more shooting, sometimes nearby and sometimes far off. Screams of pain and terror, carnivorous roars and rumbles—they all sounded quite different down here than they had up above. Rock paused in the bushes by the entryway for a minute before making his way. He went for the only thing he knew: the bridge, some unknown distance away but hopefully straight down the avenue.

Rock didn’t waltz straight down the avenue, of course. It was too wide, too open, and all perfectly visible from both sides. And most of the noises came from that avenue. He moved alongside it, cutting through yards and parking lots and over fences and bushes. As he went, the feeling that a river ran somewhere nearby grew stronger and stronger. Even if he had to divert his course, he would have little trouble finding it. A riverbank was the best landmark of all.

Unfortunately, Rock never made it to the water. Perhaps he was only a few feet away. His sense of smell still worked, and he was picking up the familiar aroma of fresh water. But he failed to pick up what was coming for him. Nor did he hear it. His ears and eyes had served to warn him so many times, inciting him to dodge into a hiding spot at the first sound of clinking, stomping, slapping, knocking or, worst of all, noiseless movement betrayed by nothing but shifting specks of darkness.

The largest predators of all were out on the prowl now.

A bus appeared out of nowhere. Rock had heard its engine roaring, but he was certain it would go out, either by disappearing into the distance or by shutting off abruptly, accompanied by a sickening smash, gunshots, brakes screeching, and an inhuman roar. He had heard all variations on the theme by now. These monsters had no problem with ordinary cars. Anyone driving needed an armored vehicle.

This one was armored. It whipped onto a side street from the main avenue, the same side street where Rock had been crouched behind a parked van, intently studying a little shop across the way under the light of some enormous fire miles off. He yearned to stock up on water, and his stomach was starting to insist that it wouldn’t mind a snack, either. Of course, the store was closed, and no employees were visible inside, but Rock didn’t mind. The prevailing economic system had shifted from cash to “take whatever you want.” Assuming there was anything left.

His thoughts on looting the shop were cut short by the squealing brakes as that vehicle whipped around the corner—and began firing rapidly from its roof-mounted machine gun. By the light of its powder flash, Rock could see that it was very similar to the minibus Rock had seen near the construction site where he had encountered the soldiers. It had the same kind of steel plating and grating covering all the windows. He hadn’t seen any weapons on the vehicle back then, but they could have been hidden.

Something else was following the bus. The powder flash gave only very limited light, so Rock couldn’t see any details. Only a gargantuan black mass, impossibly fast and agile for its size. It was loud now, and undeniably deadly. Despite the hail of machine gun bullets coming at it from a hundred feet away—an easy distance even for an inexperienced shooter—the beast continued charging the minibus without so much as hesitating. The vehicle could not outpace the monster, which was going to catch it in a matter of seconds. Turning down this alley was the driver’s fatal mistake. The vehicle had lost too much speed on the turn, and there was no time to accelerate back up.

Suddenly something flared brightly behind the bus, between the monster and the intersection, and a projectile like a huge flare zipped towards the monster. It struck it in the back, deafening the area with an explosion. For a moment, it was bright enough that Rock got a good look at the creature.

He wished he never had. He would choose to lose his memory again if he could, to forget the sheer terror of the thing.

It was a good hit. The beast collapsed to the ground. Now Rock realized that the brute’s maneuver around the turn had been calculated, allowing it to slow down as a man with a grenade launched leaped out and hit the monster in the back. Taken up with the chase, the colossus had failed to see the exit.

Now the vehicle was slowing, the machine gun on its roof cooling down. A powerful spotlight kicked on and illuminated the carcass. The riders must have been turning to pick up the brave man who took the thing out.

The beast was much larger than the minibus, an overgrown elephant crossed with a giant rhinoceros and then genetically modified into a super-monster. But it wasn’t dead. It had just taken what was probably an anti-tank round to the chest, and yet a couple of seconds after the light hit it, it began to rise ominously, somehow still full of confidence, growling in anticipation. Rock was certain it would crush the attacking bus now. The vehicle had such sad aerodynamics that its zero-to-sixty was about as good as a teaspoon’s. The monster defied Rock’s expectations and pivoted, charging away from the vehicle.

Apparently, it was sorely offended at being shot in the back.

The machine gun revved up to life again, but the creature ignored the bullets slamming into it and even bursting into sparks against its armor, if Rock’s vision could be trusted. The light was limited, and everything happened too fast to see well, anyway.

Someone running away, trying to hide behind a building. It catching up to him. A scream, a human body hurtling fifty feet through the air and slamming into the pavement, then rolling with a metallic clanging. The monster stopping, growling, slowly swaying, moving towards the limp body.

Those in the vehicle realized that it was their turn. The engine roared and the machine gun continued to fire, the spotlight went out, and the bus turned into a yard, where more shots rang out—doubtless another encounter.

But Rock was not watching the bus. His attention was fixed on the monster and the grenadier. For some reason, the fiend was unsteady as it approached. It kept stopping and apparently trying to look behind it, then began to collapse, moving on all fours for the first time. When it reached the body, it growled loudly, bent further over, and hit the attacker so hard he flew another thirty feet down the alley, very close to where Rock was hiding.

Dammit, as if this wasn’t traumatic enough, now that thing’s going to notice me!

But no—it seemed the monster had spent the last of its strength on that final slap. Whether that had been a grenade launcher or something else, it had hammered this beast. It tried to stand but collapsed onto its side, then its stomach, then scratched its gargantuan claws noisily along the pavement as if it were moving forward, but it made no progress.

Everything went quiet then. The monster even ceased its rumbling.

Now that the car was gone, the place was as dark as before. Rock had not been the best at predicting the future in this world, so he was hardly certain that the monster was actually dead. Maybe it was just resting for a few minutes. Maybe it was even considering Rock’s own hiding spot right now. So he made no hurry to leave.

“Hey, you there...” said a voice in agony.

It was the grenadier. Rock couldn’t believe it. How could anyone still speak after a maiden flight like that? The monster was just too strong, not to mention those claws. The man must be a clump of minced flesh shrouded in scraps of rags by now.

“I know you’re there, man,” the poor man continued.

Holy mother, I’m not imagining it. That mound of meat is really talking to me.

“Come... come over here. I have to... tell you something, please. Something important.”

Rock gulped and considered dashing off into the darkness, but then straightened and walked over to the corpse, like that jungle boy hypnotized by the boa constrictor. He simply could not refuse, even though his legs felt like they might object and suddenly tear themselves off his body to get away.

“Closer! Sit by me.”

In the dense clouds covering the night sky, a red moon crept over the buildings, illuminating what could hardly be called a living man.

His legs were bent unnaturally, clearly broken in multiple places. His arms had been either torn clean off or crushed and bent behind his back. Snapped ribs stuck out from his clothes and vest like broken pencils, his skull was crumpled, and a single eye pushed out of its socket stared at Rock.

How could he still be alive? How could he be talking?

A hole in the nightmare’s form opened, and the voice continued.

“Zero? Is that you? Alive? Never made it to the bridge, huh. Well, I’m dead. We didn’t know what we were dealing with. Elites were here, and so many others. Never been like this before...”

It was clearly one of those strange soldiers he had met near the unfinished high-rise, but he had no idea which one. No one would even recognize him as human at this point.

Rock nodded and forced himself to speak. “Still alive, and heading to the bridge, like you told me. Forgive me, but I’m not in debt to you for anything, so I’d better go. You made a lot of noise, so who knows what’s on the way.”

“There’s an elite over there. A serious elite. Only thing that might come is another elite. The smaller ones won’t come. And there aren’t many elites in these parts. So please... help me.”

Rock didn’t know what to say to that. The guy was way beyond bandages and aspirin. But the corpse seemed to be talking sense, even though Rock didn’t understand. He added, “I can hold out one minute longer, maybe two. I have to. Get my knife... go over to the ghoul... and get the pearls. You can have all the rest, but bring me the pearls...”

Rock shook his head. “I don’t get it. What ghoul? What pearls?”

“Goddammit, that’s right. You’re a zero.”

“I know.”

The dying man sighed, his one eye bulging. He strained his form and rattled off, in a remarkably normal voice, “Take my knife and go up to the elite. It’s got a fungus on the back of its head, like a big mushroom on a birch tree. It’s covered on the top and sides with bone, but there’s a way to get to it from below. Cut into it and pull out everything you find inside. Pick out the shiny balls. You’ll see what I mean. They’re round and warm to the touch. Beautiful things that come in black, red, even green. Put them in my mouth. You can take the rest, but give me the pearls. There’ll be plenty of things in there, enough for you and me both. Come on now... get going...”

After bolstering himself for that speech, he had no strength left. The words he had spoken must have been crucial. Rock looked around the broken chest of this man who refused to give into death and shook his head. “No knife here. No nothing, in fact.”

“In... my left boot, I have another one... Flashlight in the right...” the man said this so quietly that it took some guesswork to figure out what he said. Both of his boots were intact, and Rock seized a short knife from the left and a pencil-thin flashlight from the other, then got up. He fought back his apprehension, trying not to let his teeth chatter as he walked towards the dead monster. Still not quite convinced he was dead.

The beast was enormous. He knew that, and yet it surprised him. As he approached, it seemed five times bigger than it ever had. By this point, Rock was wound up tightly enough to snap like an overtuned guitar string.

Its angular head was the size of a large refrigerator. If the man hadn’t told him where to look for this mysterious fungus, it might have taken him an hour or more. Rock located the sac and placed his stool leg—the only weapon he had managed to find in the apartment—onto the pavement.

He shone the flashlight at the right spot and tried to cut into the dark bone-hooded mass. It didn’t work. The knife just scratched it. Cursing softly, he put the flashlight into his mouth and used both hands this time. The placement of the fungus was inconvenient. It was accessible only from below, and the sharp horny peaks sticking out of several places in the monster’s head got in the way. He instinctively poked into one of the many grooves that split the “mushroom” into lobes. It took considerable effort, but at last the point of the knife went deeper.

A few seconds later, the sack was open, split along the same groove that had first accepted the knife. There was no blood, not even an unpleasant smell, but Rock wrinkled his face in disgust as he plunged his hand inside. He found a tangled mass of dry fibers inside, crumpled it into his fist, and pulled it out.

At that moment, the beast shuddered, and something like a sob escaped the monster’s open mouth. Rock leaped back so suddenly that his knee screamed, caused him to lose his balance and slam his tailbone right onto the pavement.

He didn’t even wince. The situation was so nerve-wracking that pain had retreated to some unknown place. Rock wanted to follow, too, before any real trouble began. But after nearly giving Rock a heart attack, the beast was silent. For some reason, the man knew that was its end. He realized what had troubled him so much as he inspected the rear of the beast’s head, too. It had been the quiet echoes of the creature’s mighty heart. He had heard them subconsciously, too subdued to notice, but there. Now, they were gone.

The dying man wheezed, as if urging him own. He didn’t have long now. Rock snapped to attention and dumped the mass of black webbing onto the pavement. He sorted out the small objects inside. There were dirty green ovals that looked like tiny grapes. One or two hundred of them, in fact. They didn’t look like pearls, and he could hardly imagine pouring all of them into the dying man’s mouth. Dozens of pea-sized balls came with them, but they looked too plain, like they were just made of tightly pressed sugar. Then there were objects that looked like grains or nuts, and rough star-shaped objects disturbingly similar to tiny Christmas cookies.

Aha. A shiny black ball, warm to the touch. And another two, one red and the other green in color. Since when did pearls come in these colors? Rock had no idea what any of these were, but these three were more like pearls than any of the others.

He started to suspect himself of profound naivete, though, as he searched through random garbage growing in a mushroom on the back of a monster’s head. What kind of moron was he? He could be looking for a decent weapon. The broken man must have dropped a pistol, at least. But now he’d be running around town with a stool leg, some underripe grapes, and meaningless yellow balls. What a find.

Rock did internally realize that all of these treasures, or most of them anyway, were probably quite valuable in this insane world, since they were coveted even by dying men.

But the realization could have come at a better time. The grumbling noise above his head made him forget everything besides his own mortality. Rock didn’t even have to look up to realize that one of those dark monstrosities had crept up to him, virtually silent despite its size, as the flashlight had announced the human’s presence to the entire neighborhood.

Assuming the dying man was correct, this monster would be as large as the one lying slain underneath him, since the smaller monsters were too scared to approach even the carcass of an “elite.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Rock rolled, hurling his flashlight at the new threat as he moved under the truck near the store. His tailbone clipped the edge, and his unhappy knee slammed into the pavement along the way, but a short moment later, he was under the heavy vehicle.

The move might not have saved him, but he knew it had bought him some time.

Until a savage blow struck the truck. With the sheer force of the blow, Rock was surprised the vehicle didn’t just fly off into the distance. He realized he had bought himself approximately zero seconds. If the creature lacked the strength to knock the vehicle away, it could still tear it to shreds. Nothing that stood between it and the coveted man flesh would last long.

So what do I do now? Climbing out from under the vehicle was surrender without a fight, plain and simple. But how could he fight that thing with just a knife and...

In his other hand, he held three balls, which he had reflexively gripped tight. One black, one red, one green. They seemed the least likely weapons in the world, but that man who had lain there impossibly crippled, somehow clinging to the very edge of the void, had urged Rock to take anything and everything he wanted except those pearls. And to put those pearls in his mutilated mouth.

His chance was slim, but it was still a chance. Some insane sadistic psychopath ruled this world, so who knew what strange unknown rules it might have? If it really was a game, which Rock still doubted, then gleaming balls that dropped from the head of a powerful monster might restore full health, give temporary invincibility, or even teleport the player to a safe place. Valuable possibilities indeed.

The truck shuddered from another blow and began to creak. The monster was turning it over.

The hell do I do? Which one do I swallow?

All at once? That was excessive, maybe. But it was more likely to do something helpful.

If it did anything at all. Perhaps the man had been gripped by a dying delirium and had just happened to find a bystander half-witted enough to listen.

The truck began to turn, and Rock threw all three spheres into his mouth, clench his eyes tight, and heard one stupid thought flood into his mind. Yuck, these are filthy. I forgot where they’ve been.

Nothing happened. He shrank back, preparing himself to be torn, shredded, crushed to bits, and smeared into a butter-thin layer of pavement paste.

Instead, his body convulsed into a single, unbearable cramp. The last thing Rock heard before collapsing into the familiar darkness was the cracking of his bones. They were broken by his own muscles, gripped by unimaginably strong convulsions.

Attention: you are dead. You have lost one Strength point.

Note: dying causes you to lose 5 to 50% of all base and auxiliary stat progress points, with a minimum reduction of 1. When you lose stat levels, you risk losing your main level progress and any associated achievements. Time to respawn: 102 seconds.

What the hell had that been?

Chapter 8

Life Four: Bridge of Wonder

Welcome, Novice. You are joining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 197-33-91. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 96 lives (initial value minus 3).

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 97 seconds.

Hint: Loot items come in various kinds, and not all are healthy to consume. Exercise caution when taking them, and allow sufficient time between each. Never try to consume several powerful loot items at once. This is highly likely to cause unpleasant consequences. Note: You lost... you lost... lost... lost...

Something was different this time. The text seemed stuck. The ending broke into pieces. Malfunctioning, flickering lines repeated themselves, and then the scrolling text stopped completely. None of the other times had been like this. The text had always run clear to the bottom.

Looks like this toy is broken. As if anything this cruel could be called a toy. Being slain by humans and monsters wasn’t enough—apparently, you could accidentally off yourself, too.

There was no one he could trust. No one at all. Even the pleas of the dying were best ignored. He couldn’t even trust himself.

Though that dying man hadn’t hurt Rock. He hadn’t told Rock to choke those balls down. He wanted them for himself. The choking down was Rock’s fault. Why would someone with that much experience yearn for such a gruesome death? Just so that he could revive as quickly as possible? No. That couldn’t be it.

The text came back to life, happily announcing the familiar lines at its former pace.

Note: You lost your third life without advancing any of your base stats. Try to avoid dying again, and do your best to prevent your number of remaining revives from reaching zero. To help you out, you have been given 30 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 3. Considering your bad luck so far, you could use it. Also: your situation is unique and requires a specific resolution. Development of your resolution is in progress. Unique achievements earn special rewards and luck boosts. Consequently, you receive 4000 Luck progress points, raising your base Luck to 28. Congratulations! Your auxiliary stats have now reached a total of 30. Your XP has reached level 3. New options are now available. The pearls you consumed have increased your Talent Rank by 288 progress points. Your auxiliary Talent Rank stat has reached level 7.

Hint: remember that you still have not leveled up, so your base stats have not grown. You cannot take advantage of your Talent Rank boost until you increase your base stats. Remember that leveling up is critical. Neglect your level at your own peril.

Enjoy your game.

Wow, two hints at once. One was obvious, since Rock had already figured out what had ended his third life. The second was incomprehensible. So, no helpful hints. Talent Rank? What was that? Whatever it was, he was unlikely to solve it staring at the peeling paint of the dorm ceiling.

What he did know is that some unknown threat might be waiting for him, based on the negative tone at the end of the message. The bit about dying over and over without leveling up. Now, if only he knew how to level up.

Why was he so sure, even though his memory was gone, that some of his friends had been gamers? Especially when he apparently had no idea about games? Each minute was just more confusing than the last. Did video games these days really treat people so cruelly? Any project that dealt with its customers this poorly would go belly-up in a matter of days, if not hours. And its leaders sentenced to a hundred life sentences, if the justice system were fair.

Despite this text that kept taunting him, he still wasn’t convinced this was a game. And he didn’t feel particularly lucky, either.

He leaped up to see the green LEDs flickering and the glow of a monitor at a nearby desk. A computer, powered on and unlocked. Perfect! He knew that his roommate would be unwilling to help him search for anything. Time to try learning a thing or two before the power and cellular went down. Apparently never to return. From everything he knew about the game so far, that was the rule. Once the power went off, it never returned. Rock hated this game, but he had to play it.

He didn’t remember ever working with computers, but he seemed to know how to. The interface was simple. He managed to plug two full questions into the search engine, greedily taking in all of the results.

Nothing useful.

The third request locked up the computer and provoked a warning about “No Internet connection,” plus the beep of the UPS informing Rock the computer was on emergency power and should be shut down immediately, or Rock might lose his work.

Rock glanced through the titles of the open search engine result pages one last time. There was no work to be lost—it was all garbage. Next time, he would need to word his questions more carefully. Maybe that was the point of all this. Apparently his new “Luck” didn’t apply to hastily improvised search queries. But no matter. Rock had plenty of lives left to figure things out.

Hmm. What happened if his lives ran out? Maybe he would exit the game then. If so, why bother playing? He could just hurl himself headfirst into the pavement time and again. A couple of hours later, he’d be down to life ninety-nine.

No. Not worth experimenting with. There was no way a cunning trap like this would have such a simple exit. Besides, killing himself again and again a hundred times might break his mind.

Rock’s roommate had noticed his movements. The pile of blankets stirred, as required by tradition, and a black head of hair leaned out, staring sleepily at him. “Hey, I don’t remember—did I pass or not?”

Rock was confused. The question had not occurred in previous lives. He had expected nothing new from this dorm room. But he didn’t care what some artificial human thought. These “digis” weren’t people. They were just accurate imitations, preprogrammed biorobots, and their programming was rudimentary and lacked variety.

He ignored the question and hit back with his own. “Got any money?”

“Weird start to the day, Moose. Why do you need money?”

“To spend it. Got any?”

“Why would I have money?”

“How about I take a look?”

“I’m poor, man. Maybe there’s a twenty somewhere, but I need it to reach the weekend.”

“You’re not going to make it, man,” said Rock as he threw on his clothes.

“You’re shit at good mornings, you know that, Moose?”

“Hey, do you remember my real name?” asked Rock, without daring to hope. He got the answer he expected, an evasive one.

“You on something, Moose? Can’t remember your own name? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Probably not robbing a bank today. But maybe.”

“Huh?”

“Just thinking aloud. You got a gun? Like a pistol or rifle or something?”

“You kidding me? Where would I get a weapon?”

“So does anyone here have a gun?”

“In the dorm? If anyone does, I sure as hell don’t know about it. I don’t hang out with that crowd.”

“OK, is there somewhere around where I can buy a rifle or a shotgun? Without a delay, I mean. And how much will it cost?”

The man stared at “Moose” in amazement. “You should go back to sleep, Moose, you’re still upset about...”

“I know, I know, about Seta and me breaking up.”

“Seta? No, it was Tania. Who’s Seta?”

“Goddammit, all these women and my soccer career and your sleeping pills can go to hell!”

“What does soccer have to do with anything?”

“Just tell me, can I get a gun or not?”

“Go see the cops and fill out a permit form, and they’ll let you buy one in a month or two.”

“I don’t have a month or two. One hour from now, only those with guns will survive.”

Rock opened the door and left. The hallway looked about the same. The familiar gloom, the concerned students. Even the same disgusting faces cropped up. Rock was starting to feel at home here. He found the stairs on his first try.

If he had one wish, it was never to see this dorm again. He was in a bad mood, mostly because he had no idea where all of this was heading. Should he look for someone else like that pair of soldiers, or like Horsefly, and follow them? Or ask them where to go? He had no idea, otherwise.

Wait—maybe he did. Would the same exact events start happening in the near future? This did seem to be the same scenario as always. A dorm square in the path of a flood of perilous creatures hunting for human flesh. Crazy drivers and generally insane individuals. Then, at the end, total domination of the city by massive monsters. People would be torn to pieces in the streets and eaten. Even those hiding in apartments and other refuges would be rooted out.

What was it Horsefly had called the people here? “Biomass.” That must be why the monsters came this way. And some of the monsters, at least, had obviously been humans in the past. He hadn’t forgotten those distorted blue tattoos. What if all of them, even the thorny house-sized two-legged rhinos, had once been ordinary students, drivers, professors, and janitors? These weren’t real humans, but the thought was still a disturbing one.

It was worth thinking about a little deeper, too. The beasts weren’t just coming to the city to tour the place. They wanted meat. Lots of it. So in this world, cities were dangerous places to be. Maybe wildernesses weren’t exactly safe, but there must have been a reason those soldiers directed Rock to flee the city. Horsefly had been looking to leave, too, moving with Rock towards the bridge at first mention.

He had to get out of town, but he didn’t know which way to go. The beasts were likely marching in from one direction. If Rock ended up heading that way, he’d be right in their path. Watching from underneath a car again while monsters trampled all around.

Alright then. What to do. First, get some water. Second, grab a map of the city, to quickly find the best way to get out. Third, take that way as quickly and as far as possible.

The students were sociable and knew a few things, but whenever he asked about a map, they told him to check a computer. Nobody knew where to get a paper one. One girl with glasses was polite enough to point it out on her tablet, though she said location services weren’t working. At least she could point the way with her finger.

Rock visually consumed the map, committing everything to memory. Not the irrelevant details—his memory might be uncluttered by personal origin stories, but it wasn’t that sharp—but he remembered the basic outlines and some close-by details well enough. The map was enough to convince him that all of his revivals put him into similar scenarios.

This time, the city was between the coast and a sizable lake or river that forked into the mainland from it at an acute angle. A narrow corner of land sat wedged between them and the city limits.

Rock was ready to bet that a “stable”—whatever the hell that was—full of monsters sat in that corner, surging forward now to relieve the city of its “biomass.” At least he wouldn’t be under induced snoring this time, but his experience told him he was far from safe. The only degree of safety he could expect, if those soldiers were right, was on the other side of that river. The hybrid map and satellite view on the student’s screen showed the colors of scattered industrial sites, fields, and forests across the water.

But Rock was on the ocean side. To get to the river, he’d have to walk or drive across the whole city. He didn’t have time to walk. Even if he managed to avoid hurting his knee this time, it would start acting up after an hour of walking. Clearing the whole city would take three hours, at least. And then he’d have to cross the bridge, across the wide waterway, and cover some ground beyond that.

What if he tried for the sea? He could find a boat and strike out into the water. He didn’t have a bum elbow, and with oars he could go wherever he wanted. Even farther if he found a motorboat.

Of course, a boat might be nowhere to be found. And how would he take whatever boat he could find from its owners? He could use brute force, of course—but what if the owners were stronger than he was?

Then there was the taxi option. Rock didn’t want to go through that again. He needed something more mobile. Something that could go anywhere. A scooter, a moped, a motorcycle. Or...

Rock stepped back over to the girl with the tablet and asked, “Do you know anyplace around here where I could rent a bicycle?”

“You’ll need a deposit.”

Rock had no clue whether the money in his wallet and the watch on his wrist would be enough. But he was ready to give them his pants if it meant getting a bike. First, though, he needed to get some water, and maybe some food. Plus a quick stop at the drugstore.

* * *

Each time Rock revived now, he felt like he was being born all over again. With an incurable birth defect. Time and again he had to deal with his right knee—or both knees—plus the scars and the searing pain if he put weight on his leg at any angle other than the one single way it allowed. Bending and unbending his knee was a whole different story.

Those passing by gave Rock puzzled, even suspicious looks. Of course, they had no idea that their serene lives would come to a swift and brutal end before an hour had passed. But Rock didn’t blame them for the looks. He was sitting in the middle of a boulevard on a park bench, pant leg rolled up, tightly winding his knee with a wide strip of bandage. It was the quietest comfortable place he could find, despite the interest it aroused in the curious old ladies of the neighborhood.

He was trying to restrict his knee’s range of motion, unsure that it would help. It would certainly make pedaling a little harder. Standing and testing out his knees, he found that the wrap helped. Now to find a bike and leave this insane metropolis behind him.

People were still calm and quiet, but that meant nothing. He knew the terrible evening that awaited them all.

* * *

Rock’s prophetic talents let him down. As he was coasting down the road to the river in the distance, the city’s peaceful daily life marched on.

Well, not quite “peaceful.” The ridiculous layout of the place and the lack of city ordinances to improve traffic conditions resulted in one endless traffic jam. But on a bicycle, he could always get by, even if it meant dismounting and carrying it up on his shoulder through the tightest spots.

He managed, despite the difficulties. The city had absolutely no conveniences for bikers in place. No bike lanes, no safety signs, nothing. If Rock had known the place, he could have probably taken backroads, but instead he followed the main roads, often hearing insistent horn honks in his honor and even the occasional curse. He felt like replying more than once, but restrained himself. What point was there to arguing with a bunch of biorobots? Many more of them would be justifiably cursing at traffic conditions soon enough. Among other things.

But so far, Rock had not noticed even a tiny accident along the way. Drivers fought for their places on the road, but they followed the rules. No suicides, no death rams, no catastrophic skids. The traffic lights even worked in some places, so part of the city was powered.

That was odd. A decent stretch of time had passed by now. He had wrapped his knee, walked to the bicycle place, and smooth-talked his way into borrowing a bike without having to provide collateral. It had been tough to explain why he had no identification and no phone, not even a cheap flip phone. Somehow he had gotten a bike anyway, but only because the store employee had recognized him. He was known around town as a soccer player, after all. Apparently his reputation was a good one, since the store had ultimately agreed to waive the deposit entirely.

His leg still bothered him, but this was much better than walking. Especially when he started moving downhill. He just let his right leg hang down without bothering with the pedal. On the final stretch, the side streets and the ancient clunkers poking out from them disappeared, giving way to a high concrete wall topped with a swirl of barbed wire stretching along the left. The traffic was rather light, and the road was wonderfully wide.

Rock took advantage. He kept off the brakes and let the bike take him. The wind buzzed in his ears. He hit the gently sloping turn towards the water at such speed it took his breath away.

And the spectacle revealed as he turned nearly made his heart stop.

The road kept going, stretching out towards the bridge he had sought for so long—and then stopped. There was no way forward. Dozens of vehicles were piled up into a heap. Buses, trucks, cars, police vehicles, ambulances, and even an armed APC sat stagnant. People stood looking at the water, running, walking, sitting in silence, shouting, discussing, waving their arms. It was a piece of solid pavement filled with stopped machines and hyperactive biorobots.

Rock almost hit the brakes. That would’ve been stupid. Stopping the front wheel at this speed might have flipped him. He stopped without any permanent consequences, but it wasn’t easy. He had to wriggle the wheel and slow down gradually, barely avoiding a crash and pushing off the bumper of a truck with his right foot.

He dismounted and held his bicycle, freezing and staring at the place where the quiet ones were looking. Everyone was gaping at the river. Rock didn’t know what was so fascinating about it. It was cool, sure. Wide, deep, and currently transporting a massive barge that looked equipped to weather hurricanes. But it was just a river. No river had the power to hold a crowd’s attention like this.

The bridge was another matter. That was worth looking at. It was a very unusual bridge. An impossible bridge.

At first, it might have seemed ordinary. Decent concrete pylons supported a solid metal construction. But the bridge didn’t reach the other side. It looked like a giant saw had sheared it off partway across, and the unsupported piece that remained had bent under the weight, coming to rest. On top of a different bridge.

Yes, it’s definitely another bridge. Architects loved to play tricks on the eye, but this was a bridge for vehicle traffic on one end and a railroad bridge on the other. They weren’t even the same width.

The meeting ends of the bridges both sagged down to the water, resting there on a suspicious support. Rock strained his eyes. The “support” was constructed of fallen vehicles and broken bridge pieces. No one could get across, but that wasn’t what explained the traffic congestion. People are always attracted to the unusual, and this wasn’t just unusual—it was completely unbelievable.

An elderly man leaning against his car door mumbled, “God help us, it’s witchcraft!” Perhaps he was right. But Rock was getting used to encountering the impossible in this world. In this prison. He knew by now that he hadn’t suffered an amnesia attack. His memory loss was not pathological. It was caused by some cruel individual who had since added “assault with grievous bodily harm” to the list of charges against him, as well.

He moved decisively, pedaling out onto the bridge. One of the cops yelled after him. “Where are you going, young man?”

“Away from you,” Rock growled back, convinced no one would pursue him. He hadn’t broken any laws, and the cops didn’t look like they were committed enough to risk nabbing him. Even if he was wrong, they could never pursue him past where the bridges met. Not even an ATV could tackle that. Nor a bicycle. But if he picked up his bike, he could make his way through, weaving between crumpled bridge beams and walking across the crumpled cars. No problem.

Chapter 9

Life Four: Dwellers of the Forest

The two-part bridge was not the only oddity Rock saw at the river. He remembered what the map had said was across the water. The other side had displayed no full cities, but there had still been something like a port, some industrial complexes, boring multi-house developments, a cloverleaf highway intersection, and other signs of civilization. But none of that was present. Just a one-track railroad, leading mysteriously into a thick forest.

No buildings, no factories, no port. Just woods, as far as the eye could see.

Crossing between the bridges was harder than it had seemed, and as he stepped over, a surprise hit. The world blinked, as if it died for the briefest moment and then came back to life. Bright red text appeared in the center of his vision.

Note: You are leaving cluster 197-33-91. For this revive, this is your cluster of origin. When you leave, your spore meter will become active. Your current spore meter level will decrease at varying rates, depending on your physical exertion, your use of Continental skills, and the state of your health.

Caution: allowing your spore levels to become dangerously low may lead to the loss of a revive.

Rock stopped and looked back and forth. The text did not disappear, and it was preventing him from crossing. Instinctively, he said “menu” twice. The menu opened and closed, and the nonsensical words vanished.

What the hell good were spore meter messages when he had no clue what a spore meter was?

He knew what was about to happen in town. He was not going back there, no matter how much red text the system threw at him. Oh, how he wished he could get his hands on the inventor of this “entertainment.” He’d have a few words for him. Among other things.

Despite these vengeful thoughts and the trouble of getting past the barrier, Rock did notice that something was different. The writing had appeared not at the moment of his death, revival, or ingestion of some kind of muck. It had appeared in the middle of casual, everyday life. With information about a nonsensical “spore meter.”

The menu had various meters, but like the rest of the interface, they were haphazardly arranged, and Rock didn’t know what they were for. He didn’t see a point to trying to figure them out, either. Better to find someone like Horsefly and get an in-person explanation. In a safe location. For now, he had to get moving. The further he was from the city when the fun started, the better his chances of survival, or at least surviving for a while.

As he approached the forest, he saw it was less thick than he had thought. Mostly light pine trees, with stretches of thick bushes along its edges. A service road ran along the railway. The potholes in the road were usually sparse, only severe in patches now and then, and there were few puddles. Driving it with a vehicle would have been tough, but a bicycle could handle it.

Rock didn’t want to walk. His knee was beginning to make itself heard. Before he started pedaling, though, he figured out how to stash his weapon. He was no longer unarmed. A serious piece of steel bridge reinforcement now accompanied him, swiped as he had crossed the bridge. Holding it while riding his bicycle was a precarious idea, so he tied it onto the frame with twisted bundles of tall grass.

He was just finishing up when he heard shots from across the river. It was starting. Thank God he had gotten out of town so quickly. Now to hope his luck held out.

* * *

At first, it did. He made his way slowly, taking care not to hurt his bad knee. There were no adventures to speak of. No crazy drivers flying down the road and no monsters searching for man flesh. The world was silent, even serene. He could barely believe it. This was an apparently standard forest: Trees, bushes, grass, and nothing indicating humans had been here save the railroad and adjacent service road, plus odd stumps from the clearing work done for the roads and a piece of trash here and there.

A few miles in, he found a small car stuck in a set of muddy potholes. After a minute of looking and listening, he decided there was nothing fishy about and approached. It was locked, but the birds had fouled it up and its tire tracks were starting to vanish, so it had likely been here more than a week.

Rock thought about getting out his bridge support rod and breaking in, but why? Even if he could hotwire it, it would be no use on these roads. The driver must have been extraordinarily stupid to take this road at any speed. The car was a piece of junk, anyway; it would be dangerous at any speed even on a perfect stretch of highway. It was possible to get the car unstuck—with the right tools and a heap of time and effort. So why break in? It didn’t look like the type of car to be holding anything interesting.

He would be chasing a waste of time, and maybe trouble if the driver showed up in an off-road vehicle with a bunch of pitchfork-wielding assistants during Rock’s attempted heist. No sense adding new adventures to the mix. He had enough to deal with.

The road soon deteriorated. These potholes were insurmountable, and the car would never have gotten past. Soon he had to climb onto the railway embankment, plant the bike on the rail, and walk it a few hundred feet. After a short ride, he had to do the same again. And again.

Until trouble hit. Rock noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to his left to see two men running diagonally across the road. Their form was terrible. Suspiciously unsightly. They didn’t run like people—they swung awkwardly from side to side and were hunched over terribly, with strange sudden movements. He might have explained one away. A complicated pregnancy resulting in partial lameness at birth, and so on. But there was no way that two people shared the same complications.

Their clothes were filthy, too. No homeless person Rock knew would be caught dead in them. One was even a half-nudist, charging at him without pants. Actually, he did have pants—they were just dragging behind him, somehow wrapped around his foot. The pair likely worked out here picking mushrooms or doing some other kind of field work, since their shoes were clearly not intended for roads or sidewalks, and their clothes were boring but durable and practical.

These are digis just beginning their journey, he thought. I’m sure of it. The journey that ends with them as house-sized thorn rhinos. He had more urgent matters to consider: how to avoid losing another life.

Two opponents were not too much to handle, but that didn’t mean they were evenly matched. Their inhumanely quick movements disturbed him. He’d rather avoid them entirely, but that was no longer on the table. Maybe a circus performer could ride a bike down these rails at a sufficient clip, but even he would demand a raise for the feat. Rock couldn’t get back to the service road without the pair catching him first, and besides, the potholes made this stretch impassable. Could he run? How far would he even make it when his knee was about to collapse?

The bridge rod slid out of its straps. Rock gripped the weighty piece of iron firmly, just as firmly as he was gripped by the conviction that these creatures had to depart this world quickly. They were men. Just a little dirtier and with stranger movements, that was all. He doubted they could fly, so they’d have to climb up the embankment. That would slow them down.

Rock would be waiting for his guests upstairs, with a nice straightforward greeting for them.

It sounded good in theory, but complications can arise in practice. Rock managed to think through several ways the fight would play out. What mattered most was to prevent them from both attacking him at the same time. He picked up his bike and threw it at the first opponent as soon as he reached the embankment. It wasn’t a good kill shot, but it would slow the thing down.

Now the struck zombie was a few seconds behind his friend. That friend reached out to Rock excitedly, but then stopped grumbling as his prey stepped aside at the last moment and swung with the metal bar. It plunged into the man’s right eye, pushing into his skull. A sickening gush sound followed, and the stunned creature leaped up, tripped on the first rail, and crashed his forehead into the other.

Rock turned his attention to the other one, but he made no plans to dodge. The first maneuver had displeased his knee. He brought the bar straight down. It worked—the zombie was so stupid he didn’t even attempt to shield his head with his arm. Crimson brain giblets sprayed onto the tracks and embankment, but the zombie’s rumbling and climbing continued.

Rock followed up with a double-jab, turning his enemy’s forehead into a horror show and disorienting the creature as rivers of blood flowed into his eye. Rock spun and slammed the rod into the zombie’s temple. Despite his caution, his knee protested at the whirl, but the results were worth it. The zombie rolled down the embankment and into the grass and lay there, his legs barely twitching. The first one was still writhing in his attempts to reach Rock, but something was wrong. He seemed paralyzed from the waist or even chest down, managing only to wriggle his arms and groan intermittently.

Rock took aim and beat out vengeance for the trouble they had caused him, ruthlessly smashing one hand and then the other. He proceeded to break both arms at the elbow, and then with three powerful smashes to a single point, he crushed the beast’s cranium.

It was dead. The kicking ceased.

The pain in his knee made him frown. He sized up the situation. Both dead men were now truly dead. The soldiers’ advice to go for the head was accurate. He wasn’t hurt. He could tolerate his aching knee and blood-spattered clothing.

Despite the smell. A change of clothes would be welcome, whenever the opportunity came.

Rock surveyed the area and noticed nothing else attracted by the battle. No normal humans were seen or heard, nor any beasts—just the breeze in the tops of the trees and the birds chirping away without a care.

He sat and frowned again, then looted the first enemy’s jacket without any hint of remorse. This was pure instinct. He had no idea what he was seeking. The fact that he would search them so automatically without any good reason surprised him.

Loot was lacking, besides a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He tossed the smokes aside. He wasn’t a smoker, as far as he knew. If he was, he had forgotten how to smoke, along with everything else. At least the lighter was something. Maybe he’d want a fire in the future.

Infected destroyed. Level 2. Chance of valuable loot: 22%. +5 Strength progress points. +1 Agility progress points. +2 Humanity points.

Infected destroyed. Level 2. Chance of valuable loot: 26%. +5 Strength progress points. +1 Endurance progress points. +2 Humanity points.

Note: Your physical strength is 1. Increase your base stats to level up.

More scarlet news. It didn’t say much, as usual. It seemed he was supposed to be stronger now. He didn’t feel that way. This was certainly not a game but some kind of cruel trick. What were these zombies doing in the forest? These railway tracks were all rusted. No trains had been here for ages. The place was desolate, and there should have been no food here to sustain the walkers.

It was all nonsense. But he had to escape somehow.

Favoring his right leg, he descended the embankment and searched the other corpse. He was carrying a ring of keys and, strangely, a rich vanity bag decorated with sparkling colored rhinestones. Rock considered the man’s stubble, about a week old, and the filthy rubber boots on the man’s now-still legs. He realized he should just let questions about the bag go before the game’s inconsistencies drove him mad.

Hmm. They both looked equally bad, so why had those numbers been different? They had been endurance and agility or something like that, plus differing “valuable loot chances.”

Those percentages weren’t on his side, though. The lighter was cheap, and the bag was useless. He wouldn’t find answers around here; there was no one to ask. His first order of business was to find someone in the know. Until then, he felt like a blind kitten lost in a kennel of hungry hellhounds.

He’d take a sip of water and then keep pedaling on. His intolerable thirst was growing.

* * *

Infected destroyed. Level 3. Chance of valuable loot: 33%. +6 Strength progress points. +1 Endurance progress points. +3 Humanity points.

“Filthy bastard,” Rock hissed, bandaging up his left forearm.

The forest running along both sides of the railroad tracks had seemed completely safe at first, but that impression had proven false. It was actually a popular hangout for the local grumblers. Since his first battle, Rock had killed five zombies in three distinct skirmishes and had avoided several more, thanks to the speed of his bike and the presence of a few quality stretches of road. Everything went smoothly in the first two battles, except for a few complaints from his knee, but the dead were getting insistent. These last ones had even managed to scratch him.

Rock had failed to estimate the zombie’s abilities correctly. One had been normal, but the other was full of surprises: fast, agile, and with an abnormally quick reaction speed. Its facial features had changed, softening, as if melting away. Its nails had become ugly and thick, more like claws—short claws, thankfully. Its hair was done into an ugly solid mass with a sprinkling of bald patches, and its outstretched fingers displayed swollen joints that would not look out of place on the world’s ugliest spider. All in all, a handsome guy.

Rock had regrettably ignored all of these disturbing signs, focusing only on the state of the beast’s clothing and hygiene. Its pants were gone, as was its left shoe, and its long shirt was defiled from the top button to the bottom, but most of all the bottom. It smelled of fecal matter from a dozen paces out. An obvious hygiene catastrophe. Desiring to avoid a close-combat fight, Rock had tried to get the ball of filth from a distance, fencing with his bridge support. He thought a poke in the solar plexus would disable it for a few seconds, letting him destroy the cleaner zombie without trouble before returning to the stink bomb.

It was a bad plan. The walking corpse didn’t even moan at the poke. It pushed against the bridge support, oblivious to the pain. Rock had to dodge the outstretched arms, allowing his knee to scream in protest. Then, he had the fortune to deal a solid blow to the other zombie. But at that moment, the deadlier zombie reached out its unmanicured nails and seized Rock’s forearm.

Thankfully it wasn’t his weapon hand, and the enemy was apparently not smart enough to capitalize on its success. Rock knocked it twice on the crown of the head to get it to stop rending his flesh, then added a few extra smacks. No flourish, just force, like a man beating the dust out of a carpet.

At first, it looked like Rock’s arm was in pieces. But it wasn’t so bad. Bandages might be enough. Rock wouldn’t mind seeing a doctor, at least to get some stitches, but his chances of ever finding one were low.

Idiot. He should have at least swiped some disinfectant from the pharmacy. How many strains of bacteria had taken to calling those claws home? Maybe he should think of something else. A plant to put on the wound, for instance.

Rock was still beating the twitching body and spitting at it in fury. The bastard was filthy. Rock doubt it had often washed its hands during its life, not to mention its deadlife. Losing another revive to tetanus would suck.

What the! Rock suspended his disgust and crouched in front of the dead enemy. Not to search it. Touching it was the last thing he wanted to do. But he had discovered what had made the thing’s face so ugly. Something was growing on the back of the zombie’s head. Something foreign, like a fungus on the bark of a young tree. It had taken root in the skull and displaced the skin as it grew, magnifying the shitbag’s repulsive visage.

As he looked at the lines that seemed to separate the sac into lobes, he remembered that he had extracted those fatal pearls from a similar growth on the head of that giant back in the city. Other less-developed monsters had exhibited formations like that, too, if less large. He wondered what he would find inside this one, but didn’t see the use. The corpses had been useless so far. Rock had even stopped searching them, their soiled state too revolting.

The man got up, walked to his bike lying along the road, and caught movement in his eye. He cursed his luck. That last ghoul had taken up far too much of his time. Another zombie was racing along the road. It didn’t look like a bridge rod was going to be much use. Not a scrap of clothing remained on the beast. Its limbs were deformed into terribly elongated arms, much longer than its body, which had grown to almost seven feet tall. Worse, it was fast. At record-breaking speed it flew towards him. Even on a good road, escaping the beast on a bicycle would be a trick. And this wasn’t a good road.

Still, Rock mounted the bike and took off. He had to try. After all, there was a bend in the road up ahead. Maybe it would lead onto a major highway with pristine pavement, or at least to a long, smooth descent. If not, he had about two minutes to live, if that. He had no confidence in his chances of beating what was coming for him.

Still he had not reached the turn. He realized he wouldn’t make it. Rock heard the snarling monster, just behind him.

And then he made it. He was around the turn.

Rock groaned. His journey was over, his tiny hopes evaporated. The makers of this world must be laughing at him. The forest parted up ahead, and the road led into a green field of oats, where it broke into an upward slope for as far as he could see.

If only he was going the other way.

There was nowhere to turn, and that incline would reduce his speed to laughable levels. Rock slowed down and clutched his bike, ready to hurl it at the creature, seize his bridge rod, and die an inglorious death. “Come on! Come and get me, I dare you. Move it, you bastard. I’m not waiting all day!” Rock morally prepared himself to enjoy the next round of red text burning into his vision out of the darkness of death number four.

The monster grumbled and changed its pace, preparing to leap. Just then, a new sound rang out, like a sledgehammer smacking a butchered cow square in its midsection. The zombie shuddered, knocked off course, spun a full turn, and collapsed into a puddle, splashing mud every which way as it surged forward through the water. It tried to jump, but the left half of its body would not respond. Its arm and leg convulsed violently and uncontrollably.

Rock noticed the stream of blood pulsing out of the hole in the middle of its chest. He had trouble believing the zombie had encountered a bug mid-flight, just another victim of flying without a windshield. Someone had intervened. And severely.

Taking care to keep watch on the monster wriggling in the mud with the corner of his eye, Rock turned to see a wheeled armored vehicle. He didn’t recognize the make, since a part of the car was beyond the crest of a hill. It was a foreign vehicle, and probably not the most modern. Someone had decked it out with steel bars, plates, and spikes. Gone were the days when he wondered why.

The rust-covered tank was approaching slowly, at maybe ten miles an hour. A couple of men ran alongside, submachine guns at the ready, both dressed in camo pants, green jerseys, and light field vests stuffed with spare ammo. They even wore identical bandanas. Rock might have thought they were in uniform, if not for their radically different shoes.

The zombie, seeing its predicament, began to fight the rebellious half of its body and crawl along, crossing the thirty feet between it and its intended prey. It was still dangerous, and its approach was disconcerting. Rock visibly stuck the bridge rod into the ground alongside the road, raised his empty palms to the air, and walked towards his rescuers.

These guys had to know a thing or two, like the soldiers he had first encountered. Luck had finally smiled on Rock. Even if these new comrades ditched him as quickly as the first had, at least he would get some information from them. That was what he needed most.

He tossed aside the gloom of imminent and inevitable death that had set in but tried to grimace good-naturedly, attempting to evoke a response of both friendliness and sympathy from these potential sources of priceless information.

The two running machine gunners overtook the vehicle and ignored the rescued man, rushing past with speed that made Rock jealous. They must have been charging towards the crippled monster. One of them would have been enough to finish it off, so why both?

The armored car slowed down, and another man jumped out as it rode. He looked like the others, except for the leather jacket. The man was chewing something as he walked up to Rock. Careful not to descend to an ingratiating level, Rock managed to express his gratitude nonetheless. “You came just in time. I was going to throw my bike at it. Thanks for...”

Rock had no time to finish his greeting speech. As the man walked by, he spat out whatever he was chewing and slammed the zero’s head with the butt of his machine gun. The darkness was instant. Rock didn’t even feel any pain.

Chapter 10

Life Four: Kitty

You’ve received a negative effect: Stunned. Current location: Cluster 197-33-96. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 96 lives (initial value minus 3).

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: returning to game. You will remain stunned for fifty-nine seconds, though this time may change based on your game circumstances. Hint: not all humans are friendly. Beware of enemies.

It was good advice, but so belated that Rock was sure he was being mocked. The number of his remaining lives had not changed, so whatever was happening was different from earlier revives. The darkness and the text were the same, as was his sensation of being out of his body, but the content and the presentation were markedly different.

He was only stunned, not dead. He didn’t know whether to be happy about that or not.

Why the hell did they do that? Rock had done nothing to offend those guys, and he had nothing for them to steal. It couldn’t be a mugging. So why?

He didn’t come up with a clear answer, but he was troubled by possibilities, each darker than the last. Perhaps a change in his death counter would have been better. At least that would have been familiar.

His physical feeling began to return. This was also much different than the previous times. Rather than feeling reborn, full of strength, and frighteningly clear-headed, this time Rock was none of those things. His memory was still gone, but his mind was roiling in confusion.

He felt sick, nauseous, with a pulsing pain in his temples. His poor tortured knee felt like Mt. Vesuvius, erupting with agony in place of lava. Something held his hands tightly behind his back, preventing him from moving. It was the most unpleasant feeling yet. Compared to this, that disgusting dormitory had been a paradise.

Rock was short on life experience, but he knew that it might be best not to open his eyes quite yet. He didn’t need them to guess that he was not in a dormitory. His nose conveyed surrounding smells of resin and sewage. Not usually something that young students kept around in their residence halls.

His ears were also confused. They heard some sounds, but nothing significant. It seemed like Rock was in a semi-enclosed space, with the noise of the outdoors filtering in, as it might into the open window of a cottage on a summer day.

Someone else was in here with him. From time to time, that someone did something incomprehensible, accompanied by crackling, creaking, and barely audible puffing. The activity did not sound threatening. Whoever was making the noise was likely harmless. But he wasn’t sure about that, which troubled him.

Rock opened his eyes and immediately squinted at the light. The room was indeed only partially enclosed. A sunbeam was directed right in his eyes. He wasn’t in a house or an apartment building. It was more like a lumber warehouse, a glorified awning. The roof was whole, but the walls had large gaps in them. They were intentional. Staff could move freely about, dragging large items in and out. It was a cost-effective, practical design, clearly built by a master of logistics.

But the designers had not thought about how their creation might be misused. Oddly enough, this building full of huge holes had been converted into a prison.

Alright, maybe “prison” was a little generous. It was a prison without walls. A joke, really, but that didn’t make him feel freer. Both prisoners were bound to large machines with plastic zip ties.

Rock was in an almost religious pose. He sat with his legs stretched out in front on the sawdust-covered floor. His hands were held up above him, pulled to either side and fastened on both sides to complicated shelving. Plastic zip ties prevented him from lowering his arms.

The other prisoner, who was held in the open air, had the worst of it. He was fastened to a ceiling beam with the same plastic zip ties looped around his wrists. Bags of what appeared to be organic fertilizer hung around his ankles, weighing him down.

Rock suspected that the bag’s contents were what he had thought smelled like sewage. All because the corner of one had frayed. A dark, fine substance spilled out all over the floor, spoiling the aroma.

The prisoner had clearly damaged the bag. It was slow going, but it would get lighter. His form was diminutive, with a strange, disproportional physique: a deformed collarbone, a beer belly, uneven lumps everywhere. Against the background, he looked ridiculous, and under the radical tears in the dirty pants were visible patches of perfectly smooth, hairless skin, not at all concordant with his rough army boots. The dirt smeared all over his hands failed to hide the most outrageous feature of all: brightly painted fingernails. Beer belly, fingernails, fertilizer bags, baby skin. What kind of creature was this?

He certainly wasn’t craven. He continued to focus, always rubbing the bags against the wood to wear them down: pulling himself up a bit, then relaxing, swaying, the load on his feet brushing the plank flooring. Friction was a powerful force, but damaging the bag this way was taking a lot of work. Persistent son of a bitch.

His pants weren’t the only filthy thing about him. The skin visible through the holes in his clothing was only relatively clean; upon inspection, it was in fact so soiled that Rock couldn’t guess the man’s natural skin color. It needed some careful soap-and-water treatment. Only a couple of places were clean enough for him to observe the man’s skin was hairless.

The man was a revolting sight, all things considered.

He got the impression that the captive must have crawled on his belly through a swamp, or perhaps joined an “all fours” race through a mud road too mountainous for Jeeps to negotiate. It wasn’t just mud. It was several layers of mud. And the poor fellow was wrapped in worn-out rags and scraps of fishing net that all together made it impossible to discern what exactly they were concealing. The situation was even worse above his neck. Utterly filthy, with nothing natural visible but his eyes.

Those eyes were frightened, but not from panicking about the two weights. They were the eyes of a captured beast listening to its captors negotiating the price of its skin with some buyer. Yet the same eyes revealed a persistence, a stubbornness that explained, among other things, the damaged fertilizer sack. The prisoner was gagged, and roughly. Perhaps he knew how to talk, and they wanted to ensure he kept silent.

Alright, what’s the situation? Someone had imprisoned the both of them, for reason or reasons unknown. He didn’t care why the other one was here, but Rock himself had no reason to be. As he observed his colleague’s attempts to free himself, he wriggled his wrists and concluded that trying to escape would be more likely to slice his arteries open than to wear down the durable plastic. Maybe he just didn’t know how. Either way, it was fruitless. He resolved to abandon his attempt—but then, witnessing the incessant efforts of the hanging man inspired him to continue.

Perhaps if he so zealously wanted to get out of here, it was a good idea to join him.

Rock continued rubbing the plastic against the wood, wincing from the pain and suspecting he had a long road ahead of him. Sounds floated in from outside the walls of their jail. There were people nearby, speaking in calm tones. It didn’t sound like they were fettered. In fact, they seemed very much in charge, and ready to discipline misbehaving inmates. Meaning that if he got his hands free, he’d likely take another blow on the head. Then possibly wake up hanging from the ceiling with bags of shit tied to his feet.

Not the best of prospects.

He would love to exchange a couple of words with Mr. Piñata, but the man had a piece of wood jammed in his mouth, held with a bandage dirtier than a chimney sweep. Best conversation killer Rock had ever seen. Second to the man’s looks, anyways.

“Man, these fascists like you even less than they like me, huh,” Rock said softly, continuing his escape attempt, but with much less enthusiasm than before.

His colleague ceased his writhing, staring at Rock excitedly and mumbling. Rock understood nothing, and concluded he never would. He responded as best he could. “Yeah, look how comfortably they sat me down, while you’re all hung out to dry. What did you do? Fall into the toilet by accident? Sounds about right.”

Rock’s short monologue appeared to excite the prisoner even more than before. He closed his eyes with incredible force. Rock’s eyes flashed and then went unexpectedly dark, and a semitransparent rectangle with barely readable text appeared before them.

Kitty has invited you to join her party. Loot distribution policy: relaxed. Speak or clearly think one of the following: “Join” or “Reject.”

Rock took a few seconds to acclimate to the new information. It was the first time he had seen such an offer. He looked closely at the hanging prisoner, reading the information presented by the panel.

Object: immune. Humanity: low negative. Nickname: Kitty. Not armed. No Continental skills detected.

He more or less realized what was happening now. He gave a muffled laugh, trying desperately not to roar in mirth for everyone to hear. It really would have been an appropriate volume, considering the situation.

First of all, this colleague was not a guy with strange mannerisms. It was a woman, scruffy and worn, who had long ago given up caring about how she looked. He didn’t care how bad it made him sound: he had trouble even calling a creature that beer-bellied and lumpy a woman. Hag, maybe. And despite the new information, the woman’s rags and dirt-hidden legs still repulsed him.

Rock suddenly realized that that part of the female body was especially important to him. He hadn’t thought much about such things previously, since most life situations up to this point had been murderous, leaving little time to admire anything of beauty, seeing how he was always looking for ways not to be eviscerated.

Kitty’s legs looked out of place. They didn’t match anything else about her. Slender limbs had been sawn off of a model somewhere and mistakenly sewn onto a crippled, dying camel forced to navigate a minefield of see-saws.

Slender legs were great, but only when joined with an equally attractive rest of the body. Everything above the hips, though, was rough. Her figure was like a balloon wrapped up with filthy rags. He sorely doubted that, if she turned around and removed her disgusting outer garments, the body of Aphrodite would be revealed underneath.

The nickname “Kitty” was a mockery. “Scarecrow” was more like it.

Rock didn’t know where all of this was coming from. Amnesia was a strange thing. Some intangible memories always remained. “Kitty” was a name for kittens, right? It was a nickname for cute girls. The kind that warmed your eyes and your heart. And perhaps other organs, as well.

But looking at this mud heap suspended in the air made him want to go blind. He wanted to vomit his heart out onto the sawdust-covered floor, if that were possible.

So despite the alluring nickname, Rock’s Luck boost had apparently not affected his cellmate. But that was just as far as externals went. He could, in all honesty, be blind to things like that and cooperate with even the ugliest of trolls.

So he stopped thinking and said, quietly and clearly, “Join.” The invitation disappeared. Nothing else was displayed. Rock suspected that he had missed something important. He stared at the filthy woman, and she stared back. Her gaze was no longer exciting. Now it was withering.

“Well, what now, Kitty?”

She looked hostile now and resumed writhing her figure, which was already unattractive enough when out of motion. The woman was apparently trying to lose the gag, or at least to mutter a few abusive words from underneath it. Rock was certain that he had given something away during his mental rumination of her unattractiveness.

Maybe he had accepted her invitation incorrectly. Or misunderstood something about it. Kitty was straining her facial muscles with such fierce absurdity that the dried crusts of dirt across them rippled. Pieces of them fell, exposing dirty skin underneath, which Rock wouldn’t have been surprised to see covered in stubble and tattoos.

If this was the kind of girl named “Kitty” here, Rock doubted he’d ever find anyone he could manage being with.

Her grimacing, however, was not in vain. An unpleasant crunching noise followed, and ultimately the gnawed wooden gag slipped out from under the bandana over her face. It was dripping with blood. Kitty tried to spit, soaking the dirty bandage in blood and gurgling at the liquid filling her mouth. She croaked, full of seething and sawdust. “Idiot. Chewed out half my teeth for you!”

“Spit them all out if you want. Not my fault,” Rock replied without hesitation to the brash insult.

“Just answer me. Quick, before those freaks hear us!”

“What was wrong with my answer?”

“Oh, shut up! Are you sure you’re not infected?” She paused.

“Oh... you’re new.” The woman softened a little, sobbing a small whimper of pain through the bandage. Something small and hard rolled onto the floorboards. “So how high is your Luck by now?”

Rock recalled the information from his last revive. He saw no sense in concealing it. It wasn’t worth anything, as far as he knew, but the locals loved to ask, apparently just out of curiosity.

“Twenty-eight.”

Kitty twitched, and a thick layer of mud fell from her cheek and cheekbone, transforming her face. It still wasn’t quite human, but at least now she didn’t look like a hippo. “Damn, I wasn’t wrong. You really are a moron. Whatever. I don’t have time to waste belittling and patronizing you. But how can you be so dumb and so blind that you don’t know about the chat window?”

Her use of “belittling and patronizing” surprised Rock a little, and her question discouraged him. “Chat window” was self-explanatory. She meant some visual form of chat communication. Inaudible. A way to exchange messages without speaking. He hadn’t seen anything like that.

“Chat? There wasn’t any chat window. I just saw a message about Kitty inviting me to her party. I’ve met a few Kitties in my time, but you’re the saddest one I’ve ever seen. Did you think up the name yourself? Self-deprecating sense of humor? Look, you’re a cheerful girl, I get it, but that degree of imagination is just unhealthy. How about ‘horse’?”

“Shut up, dumbass. Why the hell am I so unlucky, always running into zeroes, and dumb zeroes at that. Shit, shit, shit! Alright, let’s try this from the start. Call up the menu. Just say it out loud. ‘Menu.’”

“I know.”

“Oh hey, we’ve got progress! I guess you’re not a total moron,” the remarkably brash lady spat out, along with a bit of blood and teeth lost in her struggle with the wooden gag. “Do you know how to arrange the menu? Like, how to move things around?”

“Huh?”

“So much for that. Get our moron didn’t get any farther than the basics. Call up the menu and say ‘chat.’ Then move the chat window down, into either corner, and you’ll see a blinking chat window that says ‘Kitty – Zero.’ Zero is you, of course, and Kitty is me. Nice to meet you. Just kidding. I could do without another dumbass in my time here. So get rid of everything else, but leave that chat up. Then you can read what I write. And type your own thoughts and send them back. It’s basic. Very basic. Perfect for a basic bro like you. Well, come on. Open the chat up!”

Rock sighed indifferently. “If you need it so much, you open it.”

Agitated to the breaking point, the bag of human garbage grew so insolent that Rock found himself daydreaming of knocking out the rest of her teeth. That was surprising. Normally, he took a no-tolerance position against any violence towards women.

“Why the hell am I always stuck with the dumb ones?” Kitty said, almost howling, accompanied with blood and even a few coughs. “You really do want to die, don’t you?”

“I’ll live and die when I want without your permission. Go find yourself another moron, since it seems you like them so much.”

“You should’ve just told me you were an idiot who cared nothing for the chat box and even less for your paltry life.” Kitty was still choking on her own blood and clenching her teeth that remained. “Well, fuck you. You’re an illiterate idiot. But we have to get out of here, whether we use the chat window or not. You can’t go forward, but those idiots forgot that you can move back along that board. See that disc? The round saw just a short space away from the board you’re on? See if you can get to it.”

“You think you’re so clever.”

“Like you thought of the same plan.”

“Look, my unwashed spring chicken, it just so happens that I have. I can see better from down here, and my brain’s bigger than yours, whatever delusion you may be under to the contrary. No matter how much I twist, I obviously can’t reach the saw with either of my plastic ties. No sense making me laugh at how dumb you are.”

“Fool. Who said anything about your zip ties? Saw your arm. You should be able to reach it with your wrist.”

“What!”

“Saw your hand off. And it’s much easier to cut a limb off at the joint. Try to reach it with your wrist. It’s harder to saw your elbow or forearm. Then you’ll be free in a couple of minutes, and—”

Rock cut her off. “Screw off, you pervert. Sheesh. Saw your head off, why don’t you? Not doing you any good, anyway.”

“Goddammit. Hurry it up. That’ll give us a chance, at least! Listen, you have to do what I say. Now!”

Rock was tired of replying.

“Well, it’s too late now,” said Kitty as she went limp. “They’ve heard us. You were too loud, you poor fool.”

“Me? What about you?”

“Well, if you had just used the chat window like I said, they wouldn’t have heard us, but now...”

“What now?”

“Well. They’ll probably kill you. They’ll violate me first, before they kill me. This is all entertainment for these assholes.”

“What!?” Rock had a hard time concealing his happiness at the news. “I guess at least somebody around here knows how to have a good time. Best news I’ve heard all day. So you’re about to get a good screwing, and you won’t even have to pay for it? Man, those guys have it figured out! You know, I’d happily die a few times to see that, and then shake the hand of the hero who planned it all. Hell, I’d ask him for his autograph. That’s one seriously brave dude. I’d rather go out with a bag of shit than with you, to be honest. Oh, hey, there are two lovely bags right here. Imagine that.”

For the third time in their short conversation, Kitty noticeably changed her tone. She shook her head in exhaustion and said, with an almost pleasant timbre, “Poor fool. You’re not just stupid. You’re blind, too.”

Chapter 11

Life Four: Confrontation

Rock did not particularly like the area next to their improvised prison. Not because of the breathtaking lack of beautiful women that he had also witnessed inside the prison. No, his revulsion was thanks to the behavior of the degenerates dragging him out. There were four of the freaks in total, one pair for each prisoner, and as they dragged them along they cared nothing for their comfort. To the contrary, they ensured plenty of kicks and punches to the teeth were granted their wards.

They showed all of this attention to Rock, ignoring Kitty even though the quarrelsome girl had greeted them with her typical moniker assignment, calling them “morons” and “fools” in her voice, which was unexpectedly thin for someone whose frame was so not thin. She apparently tried to escalate the situation, calling them “dimwits” and “dumbasses” and raising suspicions about their performance in the bedroom. Rock wouldn’t have let offenses like that pass, but these guys didn’t even lift a finger against her.

Damn gentlemen.

A fifth was outside, the same kind of miserable bastard as all the rest, dressed in the same camo-and-rough-leather military style. And armed, of course. There were other people around, too. Rock saw the same armored car who had greeted him so coldly, moving piles of wood around slowly and with surprisingly little noise. When it broke out of the tricky maneuvering, though, it roared in joy, a few seconds later disappearing into a thick, bushy forest. The narrow road that pushed into it could hardly even be called a trail. More like a wild boar path.

The forest had a stretch cleared of vegetation on all sides of the lumberyard, but it wasn’t very wide. Maybe an acre of cleared land in total. Rock, based on his minuscule experience, considered the place dangerous. Zombies and the beasts they grew into could creep up unnoticed. No good. The locals apparently thought the same and were making no moves to settle in here. They must have just been swinging by this woodworking warehouse for some special purpose Rock did not know and were planning to leave soon.

Each of their captors would be serious opponents. They were strong, to varying degrees, with clothing selected for survival. These were no guns up for hire for beer tabs. He doubted they were here just to poke him around. Even when his filthy female friend was added to the situation, it didn’t make sense. They weren’t enough of a threat for a team this big; something else was going on.

But why should he worry about these things as he was being dragged past piles of lumber, getting his ribs jabbed and kicked every few seconds? Because, as always, information was what he needed most.

One man looked stronger than all the others. He was sitting on a stack of boards. The man was short and battle-scarred and had no serious weapons on him, just a holstered pistol and a knife in his unbuckled vest. Even then, he looked more dangerous than the rest. His face was cold, an expression of hatred for everything living and dead frozen onto it. His eyes were hidden behind his narrow, odd-looking sunglasses, and he sported a black bandana.

Rock knew at a glance that this was the leader of these dogs. He would be the one to decide who would be shot in cold blood and who would get to rape whom. Too bad I can’t see under those glasses. Maybe then he could get some insight into the man. He fervently hoped that Kitty’s predictions were all wrong.

Or at least that the half of them concerning him were wrong.

He remembered to give the man a closer look.

Object: immune. Humanity: high negative. Unidentified. Weapon: CP-1 pistol, knife. No Continental skills detected.

Rock had never heard of a pistol with that designation, but the unknown person who had written these descriptions apparently had decided that his single amateur’s glance was enough to immediately identify it.

“Stop that!” said one of the dogs, yanking Rock’s shoulder. “Freeze, arms at your sides, or I’ll break both of them.”

His threat uttered to his satisfaction, the lesser dog stepped back, turned, and held his gun at the ready, aimed at the prisoners. All of that despite the fact that the others did not bother to touch their weapons. Two had moved away and were watching the area silently, their backs up against piles of wood, relaxed. One stayed behind Kitty, holding the oversized piglet’s hands tightly, as if she were a miraculous, unparalleled beauty.

The boss was silent for a few seconds. Then, he slowly took out a crumpled pack from his vest, took out a smoke, placed it in his mouth, and then decided to play a sad magic track for his audience, lighting his cigarette with a flame from his index finger. He released a stream of smoke that seemed suffocating to Rock, even at five whole paces away, and asked indifferently, “What is this doing here?”

The dog who was holding Rock’s nerves on edge with his gun replied nonchalantly. “Globes, this zero bumped into Hassan when he was out. A raffler was on him. As they passed by they gutted it and picked him up. He looks strong. Took a rifle butt to the head but isn’t complaining much.”

“Easier to live in this world when you have no brains. But why do we need him?”

“What should we do with him? Drive him out? He’s healthy and built. Put him to work on the farm.”

“And who’s going to take him there? Me? What the hell do I need that for? Traveling is dangerous, and I don’t like the way this guy’s looking at me. There’s something cunning about it, and those types cause nothing but problems. I don’t like problems.”

There was a lot of the conversation that Rock didn’t understand, but he knew it wasn’t going his way. They were talking about him like a couple of fighting housewives making culinary plans for a frozen chicken carcass. Another sign that he was a nobody here. That they no intention of being reasoned with. That all the phrases he had at the ready were pointless.

No one sane talks with frozen meat products.

And Globes was already tired of discussing Rock’s fate. He rose and approached Kitty. Daylight hardly beautified the shapeless stumpy woman’s sad appearance, but it did reveal some unexpected details. The unpleasant and frankly unnatural bulk of her torso had a simple explanation. She was clothed in an odd poofy garment covered in patches and with straw and even leafy twigs sticking out of it. This was probably just what it looked like: a bunch of rags with tons of ugly, stick-filled mud dried up on them. Perhaps it was camouflage, but Rock couldn’t be sure. He didn’t remember, of course, but he had the impression that he had seen similar things before being worn by hunters and soldiers. Usually they were less intricate, though. But that had to be it. What other use could something like that have?

So Kitty wasn’t at fat as he had thought. Her face made more sense now, too. It was stained too artificially, with a pattern that looked intentional, painted on with an impossibly black pigment and patches of dirt. If he could only wash her down with a hose, sew up her ugly laceration running from her temple to her chin, and comb out the wool on her head—more tangled than the most ill-treated strands of Christmas lights—at least then she wouldn’t scare the children anymore. She’d be your standard graying, boring, middle-aged woman, like millions of others.

Unlike Rock, Kitty was not allowed to stand on her own. One of the dogs was holding her hands wrenched behind her. Why were they afraid of this smelly bitch and leaving him basically free? It was a little offensive, to be honest. Her wrists were also still bound by zip ties, so she couldn’t cause any serious mischief, but they were unwilling to give her even the freedom that allowed.

But only the edge of Rock’s consciousness was thinking this, as he was focused on his primary task of trying to follow Kitty’s unintelligible instructions to customize the menu. He strongly suspected that there were no bright prospects for his future, and that only one person in the world could fix that, or at least clarify a part of what was happening.

Perhaps Rock shouldn’t have prodded and mocked the girl. He should have overlooked her quirks instead of wasting time. But he doubted there was any time to make up for that now.

Globes, meanwhile, was breathing into her frowning face with his repugnant smokebreath. He spit juicily at her feet and said in a demented fashion, “Kitty, my dear, your face is filthy. You didn’t know, did you, child? No worry. We can spare some water for a beauty like you. And if you behave yourself, it won’t even be cold water.” The thug’s voice grew more threatening with each word. “Are you going to behave, or do we have to start breaking you here and now? Well? Nothing to say? Shy? Right, how could I have forgotten? You really are shy. You’re the last Continental virgin we have here! Sorry, my dear. I’m really out of it right now.”

Kitty broke her silence then. “You’re right. You were the second to last.”

Her words amused the lesser animals in the pack. They started neighing like a herd of horses in heat.

Globes did not neigh. His visage darkened, and with incredible speed he struck the girl, spraying blood from her already wounded mouth. Rock winced as it splashed on his shoulder. The prisoner nearly fell backwards from the blow; only the thug behind her kept her standing.

The flash of anger vanished immediately. With the same measured tone, Globes continued. “Please forgive me. I’m a little more anxious than usual today. You see, Kitty, your tone towards me is irrelevant. It’s the effect you have on my men that worries me. You shouldn’t have done what you did, crawling into that collector. All it did was turn you into some kind of filthy scarecrow. Romeo’s on this way, darling, and how can I present him with something so appalling? Didn’t you think about that?”

“So why the hell did you come after me at all?” Kitty had apparently learned her lesson from the slap. Her answer was not as harsh, though it was certainly still unfriendly.

Her voice was steadier than before, too. Didn’t seem as drunk. She must be having physical speech problems, what with the gag, her lost teeth, and the wound that cut across her lips. When she talked, it appeared that half of her mouth wasn’t working at all. There may have been other factors. Her sounds were so distorted.

Rock has been wrong in his assessment of this woman. Nothing about her was as obvious as it had seemed at first. Globes was right, though—she could use a bath. No one would dispute him on that point.

He continued, with the tone of a man who had just won a great victory. “You know, Romeo yearns to see you. Really. And when Romeo wants something, he pays a lot of money for it. And he wants you so much. You understand, I’m sure? No. You can’t imagine how much we’re talking. One hour ago we radioed him, and now he’s rushing here as fast as he can. Your sweetheart is wildly impatient, running, biting at the bit, calling out your name. Don’t you want to give him something in return? The guys have gone out to meet him. Maybe I can send them a message to give to him. Well?”

“Tell them to lose his corpse somewhere along the way.”

“Ah, Kitty, you’re a good girl, but you have too much venom! A girl like you just can’t be taught, I suppose. But that’s not my business. It’s Romeo’s. He’s a specialist in the arts of love, and he’ll sand those rough edges down. So be ready, Romeo—she might be a challenge even for you! By the way, he asked me to tell you that his love for you will be just like that movie 9 1/2 Weeks. Just as much diverse erotica. And just as long. Sounds like a solid romance!”

“Tell him the relationship will be more like Home Alone, OK?” replied Kitty without a moment’s hesitation.

Everyone liked that. Even Globes laughed along with his minions. The laughter was genuine, without any malice, since he wasn’t the one being insulted by his captive’s joke.

“You’re witty. Sharp tongue,” he said with approval. “I like that. Too bad Romeo views his relationship with you as a matter of principle. And he never bends his principles. If things were otherwise, I’d hit you myself. Actually... Listen, darling, his 9 1/2 Weeks won’t last your whole life, you know. Maybe you and I could, you know, hang out afterwards? Whew, look at those eyes! If I was a haystack I’d catch fire! You should be nicer to people, Kitty. Especially people like me. We’re the type you want to be friends with. And a woman’s friendship includes affection as a matter of course. You know that, right? Well? Love to hear your perspective on this one, Darling. So will we be friends?”

“Look, if Romeo doesn’t like Home Alone, you can feel free to watch it after him. You might not mind it so much.”

“Wasn’t funny that time, Kitty. A good joke is precisely that because it’s unique. Repeating it ruins it.”

But Kitty was too busy with another occupation to be inventing new witty jokes. Rock, after mentally cursing the chat control system a hundred times, had finally figured it out and found the right one, and even placed it in a relatively convenient spot that didn’t interfere with his vision.

He ignored the old messages from the girl, hastily figured out how to input sentences, and managed to type out a short message.

“Let’s stop yelling at each other for now, OK? We have to figure out some way to handle these monsters. Any ideas?”

The answer came back immediately. Rock was shocked—it would have taken him at least a minute to type it out on the virtual keyboard.

“Don’t you remember what I told you? They don’t need you. You’re a beginner. You’re not even worth them dragging you off to their farm. They’ll just kill you. If you want to survive, you have to take a risk. First get your hands free. And for the love of the creators, don’t forget to watch this chat window! Click the little bell at the edge of it so that it turns green. Then it will jingle whenever you get a message. Only you can hear the jingles, of course.”

Rock tried his best, but his response took at least thirty seconds to get out. “I’m no Houdini. I don’t know how to escape zip ties.”

A mere five seconds more passed. “Tell Globes you knew his father and mother.”

“Huh?”

“You are a total idiot. It makes perfect sense! Say something bad about his parents. You know, his mother was a prostitute, his dad was gay, and a eunuch, and his sister, well, make up whatever you want.”

“So he can shoot me right away?”

“Of course he’ll kill you, yeah,” agreed Kitty. “But he’ll untie you first. Globes likes to kill people with his bare hands. As if there’s honor in it. Watch out for the chops. They can take your head clean off.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Think I have time to joke with a novice idiot right now? Come on, do it quick, before the car comes back. There are five more inside. We can’t handle ten of them.”

Rock couldn’t believe Kitty’s words. Was she delirious? Speaking about somebody’s ancestors was always a bad idea. Too risky. And when the person you were insulting could decapitate you with one chop... He wouldn’t have even considered it, but he knew that the only reason he was still alive was that they hadn’t bothered to take the time. What other option did he have?

He needed to think carefully through the situation. But there wasn’t time.

“As soon as you have the gun, drop Globes. Then take out the rest. Don’t touch the one behind me. I’ll handle him.”

That message made less sense than the one before it. What pistol? How would Rock get it? What the hell was she talking about? She never explained anything. She just gave voice to what she hoped would happen in the near future. There was no hope of success for any team effort with this girl. The future looked mighty grim.

For Rock, at least.

But there was nothing else he could do. He allowed the group leader to finish his rebuke about the ill-repeated joke. Then, with the most serious face he could effect, backed by spiritual preparation for a cruel backlash, he said, “Hey Globes, I knew your dad.”

The boss slowly turned and asked curtly, “What?”

“I said I knew your dad.”

“And?”

“Nah, just saying. All the gays in the region used to come see him twice a day. And catch up with your mom while they were at it.” That had little effect on the man, so Rock kicked it up a notch, even though he realized he wasn’t being very funny. “Yeah, your parents were popular. The guys came from far and wide to this big sex parties on the street, right near my old apartment window. Sheesh, I can still see the marks and stains on the pavement in my mind. I saw them doing a foursome with your sister, too. But only once. I mean, forgive me for saying it, but she was butt ugly. Worse than scarecrow here.”

At all of that, Globes gave him a friendly smile, as if he had just heard a truly hilarious joke, not a humorless insult against his family. He shook his head with a wry smile. “Looks like we caught ourselves a clown, boys. Should we clap for him?”

“Just take him down. He’s asking for it,” one of the wood piles yelled.

“We don’t really appreciate clowns here,” Globes said with mock sympathy.

“Makes sense. Your childhood was sanitized of fun, I hear,” replied Rock. “I mean, all those ‘guests’ coming in and out, all day and all night, and you had to keep the house clean. And take care of your mom whenever the syphilis flared up.”

“You could have lived a little longer, you know. Listened to the smart people talk.” Globes sighed and reached for his pistol.

Damn! Kitty had assured him a tough hand-to-hand combat session would follow. And now he was just going to get shot. Unwashed fat little bitch, making stuff up like that!

Globes took out his pistol and then his knife. He placed both on a pile of boards, then one he had used as a bench at the start of the scene, then grinned and announced, “Somewhere in our hidden stats, there’s a hand-to-hand stat. You’re about to help me pump it up a little, zero. Such a tiny amount I doubt I’ll even see the difference in my menu, but hey, at least it’s something.”

Globes approached and grabbed Rock’s shoulder, turned him around without effort, then touching the plastic zip tie around his wrists. Rock felt a heat radiate through his numb hands, then a sharp pain, like a red-hot cigarette pressed to his skin. With a jerk, his hands were free. The person who had released him took a few steps back and explained his perspective on the situation. “I’ll give you one hit, out of respect for your... humor. I will just stand and take it, without interference. Then it will be my turn, and you won’t get another, because no zero can hope to withstand a hit from Globes. Well, go ahead. Delaying won’t help you.”

With those words, Globes presented and pointed to his cheek, as if teaching Rock where exactly to hit him.

Rock was in no hurry. He watched his enemy, realizing that if Kitty had been exaggerating, it hadn’t been by much. Globes, who had seemed only of average strength at first glance, was clearly a perilous fighter. There was something inexplicable about his every move, his every look, as if he had an aura floating around him that threatened anyone nearby with instant crippling or death.

Rock had never before met such a dangerous person. His scars were from soccer, not from violent bodily injuries. He had no doubt that hitting this enemy would accomplish nothing. The blow in response, though, would make him regret ever encountering this group even more.

His death was coming soon. He doubted that, after all of his insults, Globes would deny himself the pleasure of causing his suffering as quickly as possible after the first blow.

“Come on, baby, don’t be shy,” the smug bastard taunted, pointing at his cheek and squinting his eyes as if in anticipation of some great pleasure.

Rock finally realized that he had been hearing jingles for the past couple of minutes. He hurriedly looked at the chat, which was buried in the same message written over and over, dozens of times.

“Idiot! Have you given up on living? At least nod when you’re ready. And remember to catch! Don’t forget: Globes first. Well, come on! Now!”

Rock nodded without thinking. As usual, what else could he do?

Compared to the casual pace of the scene thus far, the events that followed moved faster than a stampede of rabid horses doused in gasoline and set on fire. And running downhill. With rocket packs.

Globe’s pistol, which had been relaxing on the woodpile, suddenly flew at him like it’d been scooped up by a hurricane. At the end of its short trip, it bumped into his hand, which Rock by some miracle managed to close around it. Not that he was ready for the catch, despite Kitty’s hints.

This was the first time in his life he had held a pistol like this, he knew that. But it seemed fundamentally the same as any ordinary pistol. He flicked the safety off without a problem and pulled the trigger.

The first bullet hit the farthest opponent. Rock hadn’t forgotten Kitty’s demands that he hit Globes first, but he wasn’t the one to be most afraid of at the moment. A self-assured karate fighter was less of a threat than six opponents with machine guns. As he saw the bullet turn the man’s nose and everything behind it into an explosion of blood, Rock spun, shooting a bullet at Globe’s head on the way around, then pointing at the second machine gunner. He was not at the ready, but he was still dangerous, since his weapon was close at hand.

But for some reason Globes didn’t fall and instead tried to dodge any future bullets. Rock suspected something was amiss and turned, seeing Kitty holding a man with an unnaturally twisted neck on the ground. The man was dead. Kitty flew at incredible speed, unexpected for her bulk, then leaped to the side to crash into another submachine gunner who hadn’t yet gotten his weapon up.

So she’s cool after all.

Rock didn’t see what happened next. Suddenly, the world disappeared in an instant, and darkness took him. There was no pain and none of the other harbingers of a return to his dormitory. It was like Death had simply flipped his switch.

Attention: you are dead. You have 2 Strength progress points, 1 Agility point, 2 Endurance points, 25 Luck points, and 1 Talent Rank point.

Note: You died too quickly. The location has not yet processed the data from the battle. Try not to die so quickly. Dying quickly can cause a delay in the calculation of rewards and can prevent you from collecting your loot. Time to respawn: 144 seconds.

What this time? How had he died so quickly?

But did it really matter? At least he hadn’t suffered at all. Plus, he had managed to cap a couple of those bastards. He saw his bullets hit them square in the head. Surprising accuracy. His killer must have been Globes. But he was sure Globes had been hit by his shot—he was much closer than the others, after all.

Oh well. Rock had died again, but at least he had gone out with a bang. Or two.

Chapter 12

Life Five: Fools of a Feather

Welcome, Novice. You are joining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 197-33-02. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 95 lives (initial value minus 4).

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 96 seconds.

Hint: some of your opponents may have supernatural abilities (special Continental skills). Keep this in mind and try to eliminate these enemies first, or they might cause you some unpleasant surprises.

What was that hint about? He got the impression he had made some kind of critical mistake, but what?

Rock began to open his eyes. He was on a bunk, like all of the other times, but as he started getting up, he froze. A strange trembling, both pleasing and terrifying, ran through his body. He had never felt that before. The air in the room flashed for just a moment, and the light congealed into a new message.

Personal victory: immune Cliffbird destroyed. Level 29, Humanity: moderate negative.

Personal victory: immune Rails destroyed. Level 41, Humanity: high negative.

Party victory: immune Conductor destroyed. Level 37, Humanity: moderate negative.

During battle, you displayed high speed, accuracy, agility, and reaction time. +154 Agility progress points. +39 Speed progress points. +172 Accuracy progress points. +33 Reaction progress points. +282 Humanity points.

Level up! Current level: 1.

Note: You have leveled up for the first time! Remember that leveling up unlocks additional benefits. That was a great fight. As a bonus, you receive 50 base stat points to distribute. Congratulations! Keep achieving great things to unlock more rewards!

More babble, with no one around to explain any of it. But since the original news was no longer there, perhaps his situation was changing.

Rock opened his eyes. Nope. One glance at the ceiling was enough to tell him this was the very same dorm. Who cared if the inscription on the glass was decent this time? Or what his perpetually sleepy and perpetually useless roommate’s hair color would me?

It was all the same.

So he was in this damned dormitory, his fifth stay so far. The fun was about to start. Too much fun for Rock’s taste. So now he had to figure out how to escape this trap yet again, and then to deal with aggression from psychos and monsters both.

Last time, he had gotten himself into an unexpected bind ten miles out of the city. But he had a lot of new experiences now. The local immunes who knew so much, that group he would not be opposed to joining, might in fact be as hostile as those bastards at the lumberyard.

How could he distinguish the decent ones from the real monsters? He didn’t know for sure, but a bit of deduction gave him a likely answer. That information window on immunes included a “Humanity” rating. He didn’t know what the hell that was, really, but he had noticed that bandits and robbers all, without exception, had negative Humanity. Even Kitty. But those who had helped him out, even those who later abandoned him like Horsefly, had all possessed positive Humanity.

So he should probably avoid the people with a negative score. Maybe that was all just a coincidence, of course, but he was not prepared to experiment.

Rock got up and barked at the stirring blankets of his neighbor. “Stay there and keep your mouth shut. I’m not in the mood to talk today.”

“What was that flash?”

“Must have been those asshole sparks of yours again.”

“What the f...”

“I said shut up!”

He had no desire to hang out with a digi, especially one with such a boring behavioral algorithm. It would just be wasting time.

His rudeness worked. No one bothered Rock as he tossed on some light clothing that looked appropriate for late spring, or maybe early fall. As he stepped into the hall, he ignored the questions from the anxious students about the power and the Wi-Fi. All of their similarities with real-world people were just pre-programmed. They were robots with standard behavior templates. They could switch from one routine to another, but that was all. And the further he progressed in the scenario, the more primitive they became.

The weather outside was not only overcast but foggy. Dense waves of mist rolled along the streets. There might have been smoke mixed in with it, too. A vaguely familiar sourness irritated his nostrils, some kind of chemical cloud, or perhaps smoke from a fire ravaging a chemical plant or train.

Rock was only a half dozen steps from the dorm when he realized how stupid he was acting. He had no idea where to head from here. He had to find another student equipped with a tablet. His last life had granted that student a detailed map that showed him which way to go.

Turning, he noticed no such promising young people in the area. I should wait by the dorm for somebody to show up. He could avoid losing time by checking out the menu. Back when he was hastily arranging things on Kitty’s instructions, he had noticed a number of interesting-looking features.

Hmm. How was the crazy bitch doing, he wondered? Maybe he still had some of her messages left.

Rock activated the chat and saw a flashing line labeled with his recent acquaintance’s name. He was surprised that the conversation had not ended after his death. What’s more, the notifications hadn’t worked. So much for the green bell.

There were three hasty, unclear messages for him. All in pure Kitty style.

“God, you’re dumb! Are you a digi in disguise?” “I told you to take out Globes first! And don’t even start on how you took down those two imbeciles and how that’s something.” “Not gonna write back, shitface? Oh wait, that’s right, I bet you’re typing a one-sentence reply. Meaning I’ll get it in a few hours.”

Rock wanted to snap back at her, but he realized that gentlemanly behavior was a better choice. Whatever else was true, Kitty was his only contact at the moment. She could help him figure out his predicament. So his reply was almost kind.

“Sorry, something wrong with this system. The notifications weren’t sounding.”

“Duh. Forgot you were a moron. Click the wrench-looking icon left of the chat window. That’s the chat options. Check the ‘always notify of incoming calls’ box. Where are you?”

“The usual. A shabby dorm for the mentally retarded.”

“Always the dorm? Right. The system doesn’t trust the dumbasses to pick their own respawns. How high did you say your luck was?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Fuck, man. I’m even a little sorry for you. Of all the pitiful losers I’ve met here, you’re the lowest of them all. I mean, I’ve heard of worse, of course, but never have I seen it for myself.”

“Can’t you go insult somebody else for a change? Or am I the only other real person left in the world?”

“If you don’t like me, just leave the party, turn off the chat, and blacklist me. I doubt we’ll ever cross paths after that. It’s tough to find someone who’s blacklisted you. So, is this where I say goodbye to the moron?”

“Not quite yet. I don’t even know how to leave the party or find my blacklist.”

“And here I thought you were starting to figure things out. You’ve got a problem, moron. You’ve been killed almost thirty times, but you haven’t increased a single stat over that whole time. So your progress points all look terrible. Only your Luck has gone up, and Luck is basically worthless. Usually newbies die five times, maybe ten, before they actually start thinking. Some manage to boost their stats and level up before they even get their first death! Others aren’t so lucky, but only a few ever make it to fifteen deaths. But you’re the unluckiest of all. You leveled up, I see that, but that means your Luck won’t even go up now, no matter how much you die. A moron pumped from zero by killing moles. Nobody’s gonna believe that.”

“Moles? Who are they?”

“The freaks you shot. They were moles. They call them that because—” she hesitated. “It’s a long story, and you’re too dumb to get it, anyway. Where are you?”

“By this stinking hostel, like I said.”

“Where’s that?”

“Somewhere... somewhere in the city.”

“Street name?”

“Thirty-first. Where are you?”

“Where I’m supposed to be. So you’ve got two options, moron. The first is to seek your own way. Do whatever you want, pump whatever you want. So far, it looks like you just want to pump your idiocy. Meaning you’ll hit respawn again. And again. And again. The second way is for me to help you get out of there.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Rock, doubting her intentions.

“Well, first off, you did in fact help me at the lumberyard. It’s too bad you were fool enough to ignore Globes like that, but thanks for taking the other two down, at least. Good shot for a dumb zero, by the way. They were pumped up pretty good. We bled them. They got us, but we took three of theirs with us, and with nothing but our bare hands to start with. So things didn’t turn out too badly. Could have been better, but when fate gives you a dumbass, you gotta expect dumb shit. Second, like I said, I almost pity you. Twenty-eight deaths! Fuck, man. Twenty-eight! Why the hell did they put you in here, anyway? Did you break the world dullest dumbass record? Enough nonsense, you hear? You don’t get infinite respawns, you know.”

“What happens when all ninety-nine run out?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s nothing good. It’s... Look, everything here is unpleasant. No exceptions. So quit wasting lives. There’s this superstition here that we have a responsibility to help newcomers if possible, and that the Machine approves when we do. Plus, I mean, I wouldn’t just abandon you. You’d just die, respawning over and over. I need to get you out of the area and teach you what you need to know. So do you want to be on your own, or are you coming with me?”

“Never thought I’d say this to you, but you’ve got good persuasion skills.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes. Better to stick together.”

“Good choice, moron. I’m your only chance. Are you at the end of the street or the beginning? By which I mean the east or the west side?”

“I don’t know.”

“Quickly, then, ask someone where Metal Boulevard is. Walk down Thirty-first to Metal and wait at the crossing for me. Got it?”

“Piece of cake.”

“At last he understands something I say to him.”

* * *

His knee, which had started aching as soon as he exited the dorm room, was thankful that the crossing wasn’t far. A little under a mile. When he reached it, his knee had begun creaking badly, which he hadn’t noticed the last time. This is bad. If his knee went, it would ruin everything. He doubted Kitty would want to help a one-legged invalid. A slow-moving cripple would be easier to shoot in this mad world. At least his knee would probably be better on his next revive.

Once he had reached the place where the street intersected the wide boulevard, Rock looked around, checked the signs to make sure he was in the right spot, and searched for Kitty. He didn’t think it would be any trouble that he had never seen her face in a state of reasonable hygiene. He just had to look out for an unshapely short woman with abnormally thin, smooth legs for such a torso.

He moved his gaze back and forth. Nothing ugly enough in sight, meaning he was here first. To make sure, he typed a chat message.

“I’m here, but I don’t see a fat ostrich anywhere.”

“What? Why would there be an ostrich in this city?”

“You know, plump up top, with these thin stick legs underneath. I mean, you’re plump as a pregnant flounder with these tiny legs that look like you stole them from a tiny supermodel. So where are you at?”

“A flounder, you say? Huh. Wait there. I’m a minute away. Get ready.”

“Get ready how? For what?”

“You’ll see what. Just wait. And you might want to hold your eyes in.”

“What for?”

“Just so they don’t fall out.”

“What do you...”

“What are you standing on right now?”

“The pavement.”

“So you want your eyes to fall onto the pavement? Alright, quit distracting me. Just keep waiting.”

So he waited.

As first, he waited on a little bench nobody seemed to notice and worked on his menu. Thanks to Kitty’s confusing crash course, he knew how to move things around, but so far he didn’t understand anything but the chat system, which had shown its usefulness over the past few hours.

He was too hesitant to experiment with the rest, so he closed the menu and took up the most captivating occupation he could think off under the circumstances: watching the girls walking by. They were soulless digis, sure, but he had to admit that the developers of this game had a sense of feminine beauty that poked through all too often. Even the older women in their seventies often didn’t look too bad. And the younger ones—none of the girls he saw could be universally branded as ugly. Not a one.

But Rock always tried to make use of the time he had, so he attempted to figure out what his tastes were. Thanks to the busyness of the intersection, he came to his conclusions quickly. He liked girls in their twenties who were a bit taller than average, with long, light-colored curly hair and wide hips. The fatter ladies didn’t draw his fancy, but neither did the diet queens. The kind that couldn’t be food for the infecteds even if they wanted to. In fact, choking the zombies with their lean bones might be the best plan for cleaning up this world. As for breasts, he preferred them large and supple and had similar standards for asses. He preferred European faces, too, with a small, balanced mouth, lips a bit puffy but not overly so, and wide oval eyes, blue or green in color, with plucked eyebrows and smooth features. No sharp cheekbones or other angles.

So what did combining all of that get him? A soft, sensual face, probably belonging to a woman unafflicted by farsightedness. One confident of her worth and what she wanted in a man. And yes, long well-groomed legs emerging from her short skirt or dress. That was important. If they had high heels, well, that was ideal. Even grounds for overlooking a few other shortcomings.

So Rock established his preferences, down to nail color and length. Kitty still wasn’t there. Despite the frequent smiles from girls noticing Rock checking them out, he quickly became bored, even disturbed. He had to escape the city with all speed, but he was just sitting here instead, wasting time waiting for his repulsive date to appear. What if she had been joking with him? What if she was speeding off in the other direction entirely, laughing to herself?

There was no way to find out.

So how long should he wait? Until the starving beasts began to invade?

He must admit, during his visual make-out sessions, he had liked some of the finer specimens that seemed to meet his ideals. Some of them were valuable additions to the city, and it made Rock sad to think they were just puppets. Visually indistinguishable from real women, but still puppets.

His eyes picked out one of the more stunning exceptions. The most stunning, in fact. She was noticeably shorter than average. Not gaunt, but slender. The sides of her waist almost touched, being hindered, it seemed, only by the presence of her spine. He couldn’t see her backside, but her breasts, as far as he could tell, were a full size under his checklist’s minimum. Her figure was just too thin. Even with his bad knee, he could carry a girl of her weight under the arms for as long as he liked, without even being out of breath at the end. Perhaps I should take her with me out of this city. Saving a digi—that had to count for something.

But she had a few other marks against her, too. She sported dark brown hair, almost completely straight. Not the curly blonde hair he was looking for. In addition, it was cut short, to just above her shoulders. Her hairstyle, a boxy cut with a part in the middle, would have been Rock’s last choice. Her face ran like a checklist of the features he had decided he didn’t want. An angular chin, a broad mouth with razor-thin lips, a nose just as wide and much too long, cheekbones sharp enough to shave with, almond-shaped greenish-blue eyes with tiny eyelashes, and perfectly straight eyebrows that widened towards the middle, their growth unhindered by tweezers and other tools for fighting back unnecessary facial vegetation.

Her expression was wrong, too. It had no gentleness to it, not to mention no sensuality. She looked alive, attentive, even cautious. Like a frightened, muzzled beast wandering through the dangers of a dense, distrusted wood. That look showed that she didn’t know her own worth. Worse, it showed that she didn’t even care to know.

Only one item matched Rock’s dream list: her shorts were tiny and tight, and the legs that extended from them got five stars. But the hips that gave birth to them, not so much. Whatever. Proportions and slenderness were more of a package deal. The overall picture was sound.

This woman, so unusual for this town, was very close now. Rock could see the color of her eyes perfectly, along with the childlike neglect of her eyebrows and every fold of the venom-green top she wore, which emphasized that she ignored a certain undergarment. Perhaps she had ignored the other, too.

So she failed nearly every one of Rock’s tests—but the combined result, he had to admit, was very nice. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was cute, and her eyes were better than most of the busty blondes walking by who scored better on his list.

The cute girl turned from the sidewalk, high heels clicking loudly—which Rock liked—and walked to the bench, stopped in front of it, cocked her head to the side, and stared at him impatiently. Displeased, even. She spoke with a voice that was as sweet as her looks. “Why the hell are you sitting here?”

Her words didn’t seem to match the modest femininity of the behavior patterns he had encountered. What was wrong with her?

“I can sit here. It’s a public bench,” he replied, thrown off by the odd question but answering without hesitation.

What was going on here? Had his gaze lured her in? All of the others had only smiled in response, not rushed in hoping for a warm embrace. But it didn’t look like she was searching for a man’s affection. She looked like she couldn’t give a damn.

Gracefully spinning on one leg, the eccentric girl spat at him, full of arrogance and condescension. “Get your eyes off the pavement and follow me, moron.”

She moved away, not looking behind her, her words accompanied by the same clinking of her heels, the same light but purposeful gait. She walked like a girl on a mission, with one singular goal in mind.

Rock jumped up like a pile of sticky manure tossed from a shovel and caught up with her, wobbling along on his agonizing, creaking leg. He turned his head to face her as he walked, astonished. “Is that you, Kitty?”

The girl gave the sort of eye-roll reserved exclusively for the most profound cases of idiocy in the history of the human race. She answered with the tone a man might use with his dog. “Oh no, I’m just a digi, couldn’t you tell? I walked by and realized I had finally found someone less intelligent than I am!”

Rock replayed his brief acquaintance with Kitty through in his head, trying to comprehend. “Wait, no, you were fat, with legs tiny as atrophied pinkies, and you walked all bent over, with a voice like you were shouting into a beer keg. What the hell kind of magic is this? Are you sure you’re Kitty?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re not even smart enough to get the title ‘moron.’ Go ahead, call up my information panel, if you can.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Why haven’t you, then? That congenital dementia of yours keeping you too occupied?”

Object: immune. Humanity: low negative. Nickname: Kitty. Not armed. High probability of unknown Continental combat abilities.

Rock read every word, twice, but refused to believe his eyes. That thing had looked like this girl about as much as a quivering doe looked like a prize hog.

“Better minimize that, idiot, or you’ll run into this lamppost.”

He took his inconceivably transformed companion’s advice at the last possible moment, then looked at her and expressed his doubts again. “You’re not at all like she was.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. So after everything that I’d gone through, what do you think I should have looked like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I sat in a black swamp for two days! Barely kept the leeches out of my ears! Imagine it. Leeches everywhere.”

“Ugh.”

“Right. And that’s not all. Later, they drove me into the sewers, and I took a bullet in the stomach and a cleaver to the head.” The girl winced and ran her palm over her skin. “In that blackness, I threw a sniper’s cloak over me to hide myself. It was cleverly made, on a rope frame. Asymmetrical, and it hid outlines well. Well, the sewer turned it black. You must be a real idiot to not have realized that. Oh right, you are, I already knew that.”

“Fine, to hell with your figure, but what about your voice?”

“What do you want from my voice?”

“It wasn’t the same voice. Not at all the same.”

“What do you mean, not the same? Try thinking with your head. Does wonders! Oh wait, I forgot—you’re incapable. Sorry. So, moron, I suppose you could sing a beautiful aria after a rifle butt to the larynx, a swollen tongue, and a good choking with blood mixed with teeth?”

Rock didn’t always choose his words carefully in conversation. He was taking in the details slowly, beginning to realize with growing conviction that his nickname should indeed have been “moron.”

He was a rare kind of fool, to be sure. He had been tricked into thinking this slender, pretty girl was a fat ugly woman.

The little bitch continued pouring fuel on the flame, too, along with some bits of information. “Globes is probably still laughing at you. Not only did you fail to take him out first, you also screwed up your insults. His sister was ‘even worse than scarecrow here,’ I believe it was? Man, did he find that funny. You know, I’m not surprised that you’ve died thirty times so far without making any progress. I’m surprised you haven’t died more times! Here, when you die, one good thing happens: you come back to life healthy. All of your wounds, even your scars, go away. I hate always ending up in high heels and with this manicure that drives me nearly as crazy as you do. Plus, earrings, and often a chain or a bracelet. No gold or silver, no, just cheap jewelry, and often ugly jewelry. But you know what the worst part it?”

“Shoes too tight?”

“Wrong, moron. It’s the hair. It’s too long. Not everyone’s hair, of course, but mine is almost always waist-length.”

“What’s so bad about that?” asked Rock in surprise.

“You really don’t know? Grow up and you’ll figure it out. Long hair gets in the way. Badly. Always wrapping around the wrong thing at the wrong time. I can cut it myself, of course, but that ends up kind of crappy, you know. It took me a while to find a decent hair salon. And the hairdresser took forever, too. I’ve never seen someone work so slowly with hair!”

Rock was listening to Kitty’s explanation with all ears, but now he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Are you saying... So while I was here waiting for you, you were at the haircutter’s?”

“Well, where else could I have gone to waste so much time? And they did a decent job, didn’t they?”

Chapter 13

Life Five: A New Name

“Here, splash this on you,” said Kitty, tossing a small bottle to Rock. “Time to celebrate!”

“What the heck is appropriate to celebrate in the middle of a doomed mob? My mother-in-law’s birthday, maybe.”

Even then, he would have picked a decent open-air cafe at a busy intersection. But this was a square dining area with four large umbrellas, massive piles of pigeons, dirt-cheap tables and chairs made out of dirty, cracking plastic, some grumpy middle-aged women sitting among boxes of unknown foodstuffs to go, dispensing them out through a window that was almost as wide as her ass. Beer bottles littered the street, with vomit and urine soaking the bushes that grew alongside the fence, and the ground beneath them.

Rock would have kept a mile away from the place if Kitty hadn’t have brought him.

But she was leafing calmly through an illustrated brochure. “We’re going to celebrate your nameday!”

“Oh, that was my two hundredth guess. So why do I need a nameday?”

“Otherwise you’ll be a moron forever,” said Kitty matter-of-factly.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Rock still had no idea what was going on, but he figured it wasn’t in his best interest to object. “Summon the priests or whatever you need for the ritual.”

“No priests. Just me, your godmother.”

“Godmother? Aren’t you kind of young for that? I was trying to figure out whether you had passed kindergarten yet.”

“There are no minors on the Continent, and I don’t suffer from moron’s dementia like you do, so I must have finished kindergarten. Maybe even first grade.”

“But I’ve seen kids around.”

“How the fuck are you so stupid? Those were digis. I’m talking about immunes.”

“I know, I know, I was just getting a reaction out of you. It’s funny.”

“Funny? We’ll see how funny it is when you get eaten alive because of your idiocy!”

“Kitty, hasn’t anyone told you that a beautiful girl like you is supposed to be nice, too?”

“And haven’t you learned that nice people don’t last any longer than an hour in this world? No? If only you have a micron of gray matter, you’d have figured that out.”

“So what did you mean, ‘must have finished kindergarten’?”

“How’s your memory, moron?”

“I mean, I remember you all dirty, with a bag of shit tied onto both of the legs sticking out of that dirty cabbage torso thing you had,” Rock snapped back, tiring of the endless insults.

“Not that memory. Do you remember anything from before the Continent?”

“You all call this shithole the Continent?”

“Just answer the question. What do you remember?”

“Basically nothing. Some elevator, stairs, and I was wearing a jacket. Where I was, I don’t know. What about it?”

“All the zeroes are like that. Some remember more, some less. You remember the least of all. That explains a few things. Tough luck. Unless you get control of your mind, you’ll stay limited. You need to reach level ten at least for the blocks to begin dropping.”

“But you don’t remember your own schooling,” said Rock, starting to understand.

“I do, but not everything. I have managed to remember a lot. Some parts are missing.”

“‘Some parts are missing’? So your memory is coming back?”

“Seems so. Not just to me, either. Like I said, the memory blocks start to deactivate when you pump.”

“Could you explain that?”

“Not quickly. It’s not easy to understand. You have to grow up. Level up. Do things, not just sit around idly. From time to time, pieces of your old memory come back. It’s a reward for making progress. They say the only thing you can never remember is your name. Everything else will come back eventually. But no one has managed to get all of it back yet. Unless they have, and I just haven’t heard of them. The Continent is a big place.”

“So they’ve let you remember last year’s kindergarten graduation, huh?” Rock smiled at her.

“Idiot. I’m a college student, you know. It’s obvious. Well, I was. I suppose you know the difference between kindergarten and college?”

“We morons can surprise you sometimes. So what was that joke about my nameday about?”

“Zeros don’t have an ID. Without an ID, they’re, well, tough to identify. Their skills don’t develop, their XP rewards are often reduced, and we don’t know what happens to their hidden stats. No information about them. Lots of bad stuff. And life here is bad enough without all of that. The easiest way to get an ID is to find an immune that agrees to name you. It’s best if they accept you into their party so you can share XP, too. Assuming that the party leader changes the settings so that XP is equally distributed. It won’t be completely equal, of course—the level difference is just too high—but that doesn’t really matter. You can manage without a party, but to get XP then you have to deal some damage to a target. Usually killing one walker is good enough. Even the freshest, slowest, stupidest kind. Then your partner can become your godfather. Got it?”

“Almost. So what does becoming a godfather mean?”

“He says your new name, and if you agree to it, it binds to you. In some cases you can’t refuse it at all, though. You’ll see some poor losers with sorry nicknames around. Now, what should we call you? This is going to be tough...”

“Is this name forever?”

“You can change your godfather a few days after your first naming, but only once. You can change your name after that without changing your godfather, but it’s not easy. What do you call yourself? Or are you just ‘moron’?”

“Could we dispense with the whole moron thing?” Rock clenched his fists.

“Of course not. You’re still a moron.”

“I go by ‘Rock.’ That’s what the digi from the dorm named me.”

“Digi?”

“The first one I ever talked to. It’ll work. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Kitty frowned, pressing her lips together. On her picturesque face, this looked hilarious. She shook her head. “So your godfather ends up being a digi. No, that’s a very bad omen. No good.”

“I’m not superstitious.”

“Yeah, all the morons like to say that before they see what this world is really like. You will be. All of us rely on signs and omens here. Rock... hmm, so you like that name... This is tough. It’s my first time, after all.”

“First time?”

“I’ve never been a godmother before.”

“I love being the first,” winked Rock. “In everything. Second is OK, too.”

Kitty did not appreciate the innuendo. “I had this one newcomer like you tag along with me once, but he didn’t live long enough for me to name him. A digi decided to go kamikaze on him, and you morons are easy to kill. Hey, wait, how about Rocker? I mean, it’s close to Rock.”

“Rocker? I mean, is that like a rocking chair? A rocking horse? Lame.”

“So it suits you. Hobbling around on that knee. And always rocking back and forth from life to death and back to life again. But you’re right, it is kind of lame.”

“Great, so I just gave you another insult to use. I’m starting to worry that I’ll end up having to change my name down the road, with the way this is going.”

“You’ll learn not to behave like an idiot, and I’ll call you something else. For now, though, you’re ‘moron.’ Wait, what about Rocky? I mean, it’s really close, and it’s a real nickname. Will that work?”

Rock wasn’t particularly enthused by this nickname odyssey, so he made no objection to ending it. “Rocky works. I’m down.”

Kitty stared at him in reproach, cocking her head the way she often did. “In case you didn’t realize, this isn’t some flippant decision. This is your name. It’s important.”

“Like I said, Rocky is good. What do I do now? Get some holy water sprinkled on me, or sign some certificate, or some shit?”

The answer appeared as words in the air, of course.

Kitty has suggested you change your name to “Rocky.” To accept, say “yes.” To reject, say “no.”

The importance that Kitty tried to give the moment hadn’t gotten through to Rock. He mumbled carelessly. “Yes. Alright, what else do I do?”

“Nothing,” said Kitty, with an air of satisfaction. “Alright, never call yourself Rock again. That’s in the past. You splashed the water on you? It’s like a baptism. Some people have other rituals. Sticks, bloodletting, whatever. All good omens.”

“Sounds like the sort of thing we should drink to.”

“I don’t drink. And you’re not going to, either.”

“Teetotaler.”

“Been called that before. Go ahead, drink, but not much. Just a symbolic amount. I mean, maybe that’s an omen, too, but I don’t know what kind. Namedays are important, Rocky. We still don’t know how important they are yet, but we know that they are. A connection is formed between godparents and godchildren, too. How strong it is we don’t yet know, either.”

Rock—er, Rocky—perked up. “A connection? I usually like women tall, with light-colored hair, with an ass like this—” he gestured—“but I’d be willing to give it a shot. You’re cute when you’re cleaned up and dressed decently.”

Kitty pursed her lips and took on an unfriendly tone. “Look, let’s set the boundaries here and now. I gave you a name, I’m going to teach you a few things, help you get out of here, tell you where to go next. You’re going to listen carefully, always follow my orders, and without objections or excuses. If you start talking like that, I’ll leave you to talk to yourself. Anything with your hands and I’ll break them both, in six places. Got it?”

“I’m at least twice as strong as you, so how will you break my hands?” Rock grinned.

“Do you really want to find out?” Kitty said, seriously.

He squinted, staring at her maliciously-narrowed eyes, then grunted and shook his head. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I hate arguing with cute girls.”

“Good choice. You just hit level one. I did that almost eight months ago. We are very different, you and I, and you’ll see that soon.”

“Yes, I’d like to find out more about our physical differences.”

“Ugh, all assholes are the same. You’re terrible people, you know that? First, get used to the fact that the Continent is huge, and full of mysteries which are not always easy to solve. There is a lot we still do not know. We’re always finding out new things. Those who survive, anyway.”

“Is there any way out of here?”

“We don’t know.”

“Alright. So what is this world, really?”

“We don’t know that, either.”

“It seems like a game built for masochists, but there are some inconsistencies with that theory.”

“Right. It’s like a virtual world, but it’s definitely not a game. It’s something else. Perhaps we’ll never know. Perhaps it’s unique, incomprehensible. The Continent is a difficult, dangerous place. Even when you learn everything I know about it, you’ll still have countless questions. There are a few key things you have to remember, though. First, this world is unstable. Its land is divided up into something like a honeycomb. Into polygons of various sizes. We call them clusters. Heard of those yet?”

“Of course. I see it whenever I revive. Fed up with it by now.”

“Right, and they show you the cluster number too. It’s some kind of coordinate system. A cluster can stay here for a few hours, a few months, even a few years. We don’t know the maximum. But usually it sticks around for between a few days and a couple of months. When that time expires, the cluster disappears, and a clone of it or a similar cluster comes in to replace it. That’s called a reset. Clusters can have anything in them. Forests, lakes, rivers, or towns and cities packed with digis. A new cluster is a standard respawn. Meaning that most immunes resurrect there. When they die, the system tosses them into the closest cluster just before it comes in. Did you notice how there’s electricity and cellular in the cluster when it first resets?”

“Yeah.”

“Wherever the cluster is held before it loads into the honeycomb, yeah, it has power. We don’t really know anything about how or why. But that’s only a very short time. Usually equal to the number of revives you have left. Then it transfers in, cutting the wires around the cluster, and the power goes out. You’ve seen a cluster border before, right? It’s like the land is cut with a knife. Everything ends abruptly, and the terrain across the border can be completely different.”

“Yeah, I saw a weird bridge that seemed shorn off halfway across the river, like you said.”

“Borders often run along rivers.”

“Wait!” Rock thought. “What if you manage to leave the cluster before it comes in?”

“Aren’t you original. All of the newbies ask that.”

“Well, what’s wrong with asking it?”

“I’d like to see you try running the two miles or so to the border in the few seconds you have until reset. The revival system never puts you closer to the border than that. The Continent is hard to trick. Even those who have pumped up speed or teleportation skills find some obstacle impeding them from reaching the border in time. So just forget about it. It won’t work. Another important point is that the first newcomers arrived here about three years ago. The influx was huge back then. Now much fewer people show up, but there are still newbies. And most people agree that experienced ‘players’ should help newbies out.”

“I noticed. Like those guys trying to set you up with a hot date with—” Rocky romantically rolled the start of the name—“Romeo.”

“The Continent wouldn’t be the Continent without bastards like that,” said Kitty with a frown. “But they say the Continent itself helps newcomers. It’s some kind of internal law it runs by.”

“Uh, yeah, so obvious.” Rocky smiled without his eyes, unhappily, and rolled up his pant leg to reveal his knee. “See this? Helping out newcomers! Yay!”

“You mean those scars?”

“No, I just wanted to show you my leg hairs, Kitty. Look, the thing is, I have these every time I revive. Some kind of soccer injury, they say. And it hurts. It creaks when I walk, and running is torture. Last time I managed to get a bike, and that helped, but it was still tough. The ability to run away seems very important here, and my score in it is negative.”

Kitty bent over, stared at his knee, and mumbled thoughtfully. “The System should compensate you for that.”

“Like give me money? Or just apologize for the inconvenience?” Rocky realized he didn’t want to revive the rudeness between them. “Just joking.”

But his apologetic afterthought failed to turn the battleship.

“Moron! No, the Continent always compensates you for defects like that. It’s another law.”

“Believe me, ain’t nobody compensated me for nothing.”

The girl got up, stepped to the side, turned, threw her arms up over her head, arched her back, and managed a handstand on the shaky picnic table without even making it wobble. It was a single, graceful, confident maneuver. She held motionless for a couple of seconds, then spread her legs into a perfect split. She froze for a few moments, then casually asked Rocky, “What do you think of that?”

“You’re sure flexible,” Rocky approved.

Curving a feline arch in her back, Kitty returned to her feet as gracefully as she had left them and explained the deeper meaning of her unusual behavior. “Everybody’s first time here is more or less the same, unless of course you happen to bump into a good player right away. Most newbies are healthy, but some are like us. Not many, but some. I was like you. Crippled.”

“Your leg?”

“Nope. Back. I had a bad spine. It would start off cold, then get hotter and hotter. Eventually turning, bending, taking on any load was a nightmare. I always had a gym membership card in my purse, too. A lesson in the art of mockery. But there aren’t many of us cripples. One percent, maybe. Or less. Our health problems and spore needs disappear with time, though. You have to make it a day or two. Plus something else. Life doesn’t really start until you hit level ten, though. Once you do, you will always be healthy when you revive, and you’ll get some kind of ability. Sometimes useful, sometimes not. It’s a bonus, compensation for the initial difficulties we had as cripples, and it can’t be removed. You just saw my compensation. It’s not very useful, but I’ve learned to take advantage of it. Flexibility can free you from an impossible situation. General coordination is crucial, but Agility points are expensive. Plus, sometimes the ability to pull a fancy somersault across the pavement helps out. You should have some ability like that, too.”

“Should I try pulling a split?”

“Do you have a gym membership ticket?” Kitty asked, dead serious.

He shook his head. “No, but I did have a receipt from a shooting club. Could that be it?”

“That’s it!” The girl was delighted. “Wow, what a compensation. Definitely a useful skill here on the Continent, believe me.”

“What do you mean?”

Kitty rolled her eyes, remembering her companion’s stupidity. “Come on Rocky, how can you be such a fool? Look, I’m a gymnast, and I’m agile, flexible. You have a receipt from the shooting club. It’s obvious! How long do I have to keep chewing your food for you until you start thinking for yourself?”

“So I’m probably able to shoot well.”

“Praise the Continent! The moron has guessed the answer! Remember those two immunes? You took two shots. Hit both of them square in the head. You probably hit Globes in the head, too, but he managed to get his Defense up. It’s really pumped, and he’s got a great set of skills. Like I said, you should have gone for him first!”

“Sorry!”

Kitty changed her tone. “You know, I was surprised, though. I wouldn’t expect that kind of accuracy from my own shots, even. Good compensation. Much better than mine.”

“So I just need to reach level ten to get rid of this limp? How can I speed that up?”

“You mentioned that it was like a game here. There are a lot of game elements in the Continent, yeah. We seem like ordinary people, but each of us has a set of stats that are independent of our physical and mental state. They’re external, outside of us. Get it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, right. Moron. So, here your Strength can pump and you will get stronger even though your muscles don’t seem to grow at all. I could pull a car out of a swamp, for example. Easily.”

“Oh come on, you couldn’t pull a tricycle out of a puddle.”

“A car. Out of a swamp. With one arm. There are base stats, auxiliary stats, and hidden stats. Hidden stats are complicated. Auxiliary stats are more straightforward. But to level up, you need to work on your base stats. Add five units to a base stat or a combination of base stats and you’ll get one level.”

Hmm, tell me more. What are these stats? How many are there? How can you increase them?”

“There are five main stats: Strength, Agility, Speed, Endurance, and Willpower. You’re a beginner, so you won’t see the last one, but you can work on the first four already.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, he knows something! Come on, you probably have a billion more questions.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I used to be the same. In order to raise a stat from zero to one, you have to earn ten points of progress. Then you need twenty more for stat level two, thirty more for three, and so on. The gap increases by ten progress points each time. So at the beginning small infecteds are sufficient, but sooner or later you find yourself needing to mow down bigger beasts in order to make progress. That zone is called the “pumping deadzone,” since progress is tough. That’s from around level thirty to level forty-five. Forty-five, or maybe even forty-four, is pretty much a max level. The only way to pump from there is to join a powerful squad or set up some other kind of system. Remember that when you die, some of your stat progress points are lost. If that decreases your stats, you can even lose a level. That doesn’t matter much when you’re a beginner, but when you die at level forty you lose a couple of weeks’ worth of work in a single death. And that sucks. Auxiliary stats lose points, too, but they can’t reduce your level. They’re independent. I’ll teach you to customize your stat menu. You’ll see what’s up. Nothing hard, it’s just all scrambled, mixed up. This place loves confusing you. Do you know about the infecteds?”

“The zombies?”

Kitty winced. “Calling them zombies is like screaming you’re a moron from the rooftops. Walkers, ghouls, deadmen, infecteds, monsters, beasts, even mutants if you want, but for heaven’s sake don’t call them zombies. You’ll already make people laugh without trying to be funny.”

“What’s wrong with zombies? With the name, I mean?”

“Zombies don’t breathe. Zombies decompose. Zombies can only be killed with a bullet to the head. These beasts breathe as much as three humans, eat as much as five, and don’t decompose. They grow, develop, change into terrible monsters. They are hard to kill, but they can be killed by wounds to places other than the head. There are lots of bad omens, things you just shouldn’t do here. Remember them well, or you’ll end up provoking everyone, not just Globes and his gang.”

Kitty pulled out something that Rocky—then Rock—had seen Horsefly carrying. It was a shiny black crystal wrapped with a thin cord. She twisted it between her fingers and said, pleased, “There are only four immunes in town. We’re in luck.”

“How did you know that? And why does that make us lucky?” Rock had other questions to ask, but he couldn’t resist these.

The girl wrapped the crystal around her hand, holding it in her palm and the cord in her fingers. “This trinket is good for one thing: collecting information about immunes in fresh clusters. It only works for two or three hours after reset, but it is accurate.”

“How?”

“Something like magic. I told you, the Continent has some very unrealistic laws.”

“What I meant is, how did you get it? That stone. From the hair salon?”

“Ha-ha. I’ve been carrying it for a while now. Best item I have that respawns with me.”

“Wait, so you can keep some stuff even when you kick the bucket?”

“Every ten levels, you get one spot for a bound item. It’s very hard to remove a bound item from someone, and when you die, you revive with the item. Well, not really with them, and not right away. There are some complications. Only small bound items like this are available for immediate use. But that’s the gist of it.”

“So why are we in luck?”

“Because there are four immunes here, not five, including the two of us. All of the immunes we killed are transferred to one of the regions’ clusters about to be loaded in. Well, you and I are here, but Globe’s people went somewhere else. Otherwise there would be at least five immunes here. Since two plus three is five. Remember math?”

“Who cares if they end up here, though? Pretty big city. I doubt they could find us.”

“Oh no, they’d find us. They could even pull it off under these circumstances by checking all the fresh clusters. Some have a very regular reset schedule, known down to the very second. They’ll visit those first, and if we’re unlucky enough to be there, we’re good as theirs.”

“Wait, why would they bother looking for us? So if you end up killing someone in a battle, their friends go digging through all the fresh clusters just to find you and put you down again? That’s harsh.”

“No, there’s always somebody getting killed. It’s the Continent. It’s always easier to die here that to survive. Usually they won’t hunt you down, though, just grab you if you turn up nearby. Most people aren’t reds like Globes. They’re decent. Well, relatively speaking.”

“Reds? What the hell are those?”

“You’ve seen the Humanity stat, right?”

“And?”

“If you do something stupid—send someone to respawn for no reason, or even kill a neutral digi, your Humanity goes down. If you kill infecteds and reds, it goes up. People that go negative are called reds. It’s another borrow from gaming, plus the font in their information box becomes red. The lower your Humanity, the more problems you have in this world. It reduces your XP gained, gives you stat penalties, and kills off some opportunities you could get otherwise. Globe’s people are reds.”

“I knew something was wrong with them. Some kind of masochists.”

“What? Moron. Masochists have nothing to do with it.”

“Why not? They like causing themselves more problems. As if this world didn’t have enough problems for them already.”

“Being a red has some advantages, though. The razers don’t touch them. As a rule. But you have to be red as a tomato for that protection.”

“Razers?”

“Enough talking about all these bad people,” snapped Kitty with a frown. “We have to get going.”

“Great. I was starting to think the plan was to hide here during the zombie invasion.”

“Shit, Rocky, get the word zombie out of your head! I’ve figured out the layout. Standard city plan. We need to stock up on a few things and head north.”

“Another river with a bridge?”

“Not a very wide river, and that’s good. The sea lies to the south, and where the sea is, the razers are. We have to stay away from them.”

“Who are razers?”

“Later, I’ll tell you later,” she replied absentmindedly as she stood. “Enough chatting. We have a lot to do, and your idiocy is slowing us down.”

Female logic. She was the one who had pushed the conversation, but of course it was his fault.

“Give me your money,” the girl demanded.

“If you’re going to rob me, at least be nice about it.”

“Do it before I rob you for real.”

“Fine, here. What are you looking to buy? A cast for your face seems like a good idea.”

Kitty counted the confiscated bills, ignoring Rocky’s remark.

“We need vodka.”

“What!?” Rocky couldn’t believe his ears.

“Vodka first. Then everything else.”

Rocky shook his head, “I would have never guessed, Kitty. Never in my life.”

“Then quit guessing. You’re bad at it. I told you, I don’t drink. I wonder if the shooting is actually compensation for your shit memory.”

“Then why do you need vodka?”

“Because I can’t live without it. And neither can you.”

Chapter 14

Life Five: Unsmooth Criminal

Rocky didn’t remember the past, but he had a strong sense that decent people didn’t mix alcoholic drinks on playgrounds. That’s exactly what Kitty was doing, and judging by her purposeful movements, she was not feeling any remorse.

Why was she mixing a drink? There was no way she was satisfying an urge. Not only because she had stated twice that she didn’t drink but also because, for some reason, Rocky believed everything she had said at their strange meeting at the crossroads.

First, Kitty pulled something out of the tiny pocket of her tight shorts. He would have assumed a poppy seed couldn’t even fit in there, but she produced a grape-shaped item that looked like a casually polished green decorative stone. She threw it into a plastic cup, splashed in a bit of vodka, and began to shake it.

One minute later, she poured the resulting sludge into another glass, covered it with a strip of gauze folded several times, filtered the liquid—that’s what Rocky assumed she was doing, anyway—and then discarded the gauze immediately after.

As he watched Kitty pour the green vodka solution into a plastic bottle containing some sugary beverage, he remembered something similar. “I’ve seen this before. Something like it, anyway.”

“You’ve seen a playground before?” She snorted.

“No, come on, I mean what you put in the vodka. I pull similar spheres out of that thing that sticks out of the back of the monsters’ heads. Some serious soldiers took it out. They had guns that you could barely face if you had a tank. But still, they left one of their own behind. I outlived him, but not by option. Ran out of options, and bam, back in the dorm.”

“Well, well, I guess even morons have adventures sometimes,” Kitty said, absentmindedly again, as she shook the plastic bottle.

Rocky wanted to tell her how, on his own initiated he had swallowed the things he had taken from the expired beast’s sac, those orbs which had sent him back to the dorm at record speed. But that might just prompt more mockery. Perhaps his ridiculous act would make Kitty find a name even worse than “moron.” At least it would add a little variety. But he would still have trouble answering in kind. She was just so beautiful that he had a genuinely hard time convincing his tongue to be rude to her.

What a strange character.

Kitty lifted the bottle to Rocky’s eye level. “See that?”

“I’m lame, not blind.”

“Remember how it looks, how it smells. This is life. Our life. Spore solution. Some call it lifejuice, others lifewater. There are many names for it, but the point of each is the same. Without it, we don’t live. Bring up your meters and you’ll see your spore balance meter. Got it?”

Rocky applied what Kitty had taught him about navigating the menu. It took him a bit, but eventually he nodded. “Alright, I’m looking at it. What next?”

“How many points does it have at maximum?”

“Eleven.”

“And what’s it at now?”

“Eight.”

“The max is always ten for zeroes, and each time you level up, it goes up by one. You can pump it more with stars and some achievements, but I doubt you’ll run into that anytime soon. When you revive, your Health, Stamina, and Continent Spirit are refilled entirely, and your Spore Balance, Thirst, and Hunger go up to seventy to ninety percent full. The exact number is picked randomly. Your Pleasure goes to between sixty and seventy.” Pleasure? “You have to keep an eye on all of these meters. If you forget, as time passes you’ll realize that something has fallen badly. Trust me. For example, once your spore balance drops to half, you start to get penalized, and the penalties increase with time.”

“What penalties?”

“Your stats start dropping. You’ll feel weak and tired and you’ll be slower and less agile. Eventually it will get so bad that you can barely move your legs. When your spore balance hits zero, you’ll lose consciousness. You’ll lie there for a few hours, then get sent to respawn. Unless something finds you first, of course. High-calorie foods like us don’t usually lie around unnoticed for long.”

“And I’m guessing you can bump up your spore balance with that stuff in the bottle.”

“Hey, it’s another good guess! That’s number two for you. Yes, one small swallow is equal to about one spore balance point. You can’t drink a bunch for the future, though. The scale goes red and starts penalizing you. I guess the Continent doesn’t like greedy people. That green thing I used was called a spore. They come from the sacs that developed infecteds grow on the backs of their heads. I guess you already know about the sporesacs.”

“I’ve bumped into them,” Rocky replied vaguely. He really didn’t want to tell the story of how he had sent himself screaming back to the dorm with his own hands. Or his own stupid mouth, rather, though his hands had played a supporting role.

“Infecteds just starting out get something like a wart on the backs of their heads. It’s useless. Nothing good inside. But as the ghouls develop, it grows into something like an empty mushroom or half a peeled orange. Over time the shell hardens, but not too much. On even the most advanced creatures, you can puncture it without too much effort. Once you do, that’s the end. None of them can survive that. It’s the monsters’ Achilles’ heel. The strongest monsters grow a bony defensive plate around the sac. You can’t punch through that, not even with a good weapon. But there’s always one spot that is left unprotected. The sac needs an outlet. I’m not exactly sure why, but people say it spreads spores, so the creatures are always infecting everything around them, all the time. You saw what I did to make the sporejuice. Don’t forget it. A little alcohol—strong stuff, sixty proof at least—to dissolve the spore in, then filter, then mix it with something. Usually they do one part sporecohol to ten parts mixer, but I do less.”

“Because you don’t like alcohol. But you still have to drink it.” Rocky smirked.

Kitty pointed to the bottle. “It’s not very strong. Equivalent of less than one glass of light beer per day. But consider me an alcoholic if you want. Morons make mistakes. It’s nothing I can’t forgive.”

“I wasn’t trying to be insulting. So one glass of this per day?”

“Sometimes more, sometimes less. If you exert yourself or are wounded, your spore needs can go up considerably. Here, take three swallows of that. Small swallows, and not too quickly.”

“It’s safe to drink filth yanked from zombie heads? With unwashed hands, no less?”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, forget the damn Z word! Just drink it, moron. And quit it with the faces. It’s just mushroom juice. Sure, it grows on infecteds, but without that stuff, you won’t make it a week. Spores are our universal currency, accepted everywhere. Alright, well, that’s all you can handle for now. You’re too stupid to absorb any more. Has your meter gone up?”

“Yeah, all the way up to eleven. I feel like a fresh robot, oiled up, refilled with gas, all that.”

“We’re still people. What you see and feel is coming in from outside. An external force, acting on us. You won’t find any physical changes in your body. Just consider those meters and stats and everything like magic. Magic that you have to follow in this world. Anyway, you ready to go?

“Where to now? Want to grab some whiskey?”

“You’re sick in the head, seriously. ‘Whiskey.’ No, we need to eat something, something expensive and filling. That will fill up your Hunger and even boost your Pleasure. Delicacies are good for that.

“Could we do that somewhere else? You know, not in this city.”

“What’s wrong with the city?”

“Soon the zom—uh, infecteds will be here. I’ve seen that before, and I don’t like it.”

“Hold your horses, this city is nice and open. No rivers blocking it in. In this place, the attacks don’t usually hit for a while. Plus, we can’t leave until I get a call.”

“A call?” Rocky rubbed his jaw. “Remember, the power’s out, and nobody’s phone is working. Besides, I don’t want to ask where you’re hiding your phone in that outfit. The answer might be embarrassing.”

Even a dime would stick out from inside her tiny, extremely tight clothes like a raised manhole cover on the road. Kitty’s face became a study in the negative emotional contortions evoked by unwanted sexual undertones. “God, you’re such a moron. Enough of the gawking! It’s not a telephone call, but it’s an important call. We have to wait for it. That’s why we haven’t been in a hurry. But I’m not keeping you back. You can go where you want. I’d recommend you go south. That’s the quickest way to get to respawn, which I’m assuming is what you’re going for.”

Rock threw up his hands. “Geez, quit riding me! Remember you were like me once.”

Kitty shook her head. “No, I wasn’t.”

“But...”

“No buts. My Luck is only six. What’s yours again? You know how your Luck gets pumped, right? By dying stupidly. Or sometimes randomly, but that’s only in rare cases. So you’re very unlucky.”

Rocky wanted to explain, of course, that this was only his fifth life, and that his Luck had jumped up for some unknown reason, but Kitty cut the conversation short, handed him the bottle, and went off to look for something. Maybe she was searching for that restaurant with those delicacies. He had no choice but to follow, ruminating on their pitiful prospects of affording a real city dinner. The unfrugal girl had blown all of their money on the most expensive bottle of vodka in town. They might have enough left for some bread. Without butter.

* * *

Kitty solved their financial predicament a couple of minutes later, increasing their material wealth via criminal means. She did it with ease and without a moment’s hesitation, too. This was clearly not the first time. Walking along one of the less-crowded streets, the girl suddenly yanked Rocky along by the arm, dragging him to the ATM and demanding, “Cover me.”

“Cover you how? With what?” He was clueless.

“Just give me cover so the digis don’t see what I’m doing.”

Rocky wanted to ask what exactly that was, but stopped short when he saw for himself.

Kitty was robbing the ATM somehow, grabbing wads of bills as they were churned out. There was no way she had a debit card. Nobody here would carry something like that, and even if she did, her tiny clothes would have no way of concealing it.

He was unable to keep quiet. “How are you doing that? Some kind of magic trick?”

“All immunes are psychics. Our skills vary. One of mine is telekinesis. It’s weak, but crafty. Helps out now and then, as you can see.”

“Do I have that too?” said Rocky, trying to strain his mind and pull off some trick.

“What do you mean?”

“You said all immunes are psychics.”

“No, godson, you’re not an immune, just a moron. And none of the morons are psychics, so you’d better just resign yourself to that fact.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re always welcome. Excellent. Now we have money. There’s a Mexican restaurant just a block away. How do you like quesadillas?”

“What if I don’t? Will we go somewhere else?”

“Nope. I’m not crazy about Mexican myself, but by ‘like’ I meant ‘you’ll eat what you’re given.’”

“Doubt it.”

“You’ll never learn!”

“It’s just that the police are on their way here. They’re about to notice you.”

“I figured you could stand still and block everybody’s view. I figured that at least you could do that much. But no, I guess I overestimated your abilities in the stand-still department.”

“I’m bigger than you, but I’m not a fricking twenty-foot wide blanket. Someone was bound to notice!”

“On ‘three,’ we run,” ordered Kitty, trying to stuff a wad of bills into a merely symbolic pocket.

“Oh yeah, we’ll just skip out of here. My leg is bad, remember?”

“Ugh, I’ve regretted teaming up with you a hundred times now! You’re not just a moron. You’re a lame moron. Literally and figuratively! I have the worst luck with guys.”

“Then run on your own, if you’re so pushy to dump me.”

“Did you... Did you just say I’m the one who’s pushy?” The girl’s face reddened and frowned, but she made no move to break from the spot.

“I’m Sergeant Gilbert,” a tense but confident voice said from behind Rocky. “What are you two doing here?”

“Nothing special. Just getting some money out,” Kitty mumbled, fumbling with the noncompliant bunch of bills.

“Show me your IDs. This ATM is out of order right now.”

The lump was finally bulging in the girl’s pocket. She smiled contentedly and replied without a hint of discomfort. “You stupid digis always say the same thing. Do you really think I could fit ID in these pockets?”

After criticizing the guards’ stupidity, Kitty—to their surprise and Rock’s both—upped the charges against her. With a sliding motion, she moved towards the pair of cops, quickly slamming the closest in the throat with her first and landing a juicy kick in the groin of the other.

It took her no more than a second. Maybe one and a half. The hits were solid, too. She knocked both of them out of commission, one with a punch to the neck that dropped him to his knees with a grunt, and the other by stomping on his feet, leaving him unable to do anything but leap around screaming.

Having dealt with the keepers of the peace, Kitty made no moves to escape the scene of the crime. She ignored the frightened looks and screams of the public, assertively relieving the cops of their weapons, taking their handcuffs, and giving both guns to Rocky. “Stick these in your belt and cover them with your shirt. We’re getting out of here. A crowd is gathering, and that’s dangerous. It attracts the looneys. Also, stick those handcuffs in your pocket. I don’t have anywhere to put them.

As he walked and worked to hide his trophies, Rocky looked around like a thief on the prowl. “You’re nuts. They’ll cordon the place off and we’ll never make it without a car.”

“That’d be great, but they won’t pull it off. No communications signal.”

“Their walkie-talkies work, though.”

“Yeah, which means the police know something terrible is going on in this town. Look, they’re not going to care about us. They’re usually all hanging out on the outskirts, near the cluster boundaries. In fact, lots of them just stare at the edge of the cluster with bleary eyes, doing nothing else.”

“Why would a cordon be good?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said it’d be great if they cordoned us off.”

“Of course it would. When they do that, it’s easier to get hold of better weapons.”

“Like machine guns?”

“Sometimes, but better pistols, at least.”

Rocky couldn’t believe the calm of this one-hundred-pound girl—and that weight included her clothes, the shoes, and the bottled water she had polished off before the heist—and yet, at the same time, it didn’t surprise him. Her swift takedown of those two cops proved she was capable better than any words could. Still, he couldn’t tell his mind to wrap itself around Kitty’s nonchalance as she took down two guys, armed to the teeth and alert, ready—or so they thought—to clean up a couple of possibly armed criminals.

Something was wrong here.

Limping behind his companion, Rocky moved behind the next corner on their way and asked, “What if a SWAT team comes?”

“That would be awesome. They have the best weapons,” she replied without a moment’s pause.

Rocky didn’t know how to answer that. His cursed knee was always hindering his thoughts, and today it was behaving worse than ever. He had barely gotten up from that dorm bed when it started killing him. His companion had told him his leg would improve quickly, but it was telling him otherwise. It would only get worse and worse.

“Could you walk a little slower, please?” Rocky was humbled by having to make the request, but he couldn’t keep up. He braced himself for a new assault by Kitty’s favorite word for him.

This time, she acted differently. She stopped abruptly, spun, and ask with atypical compassion, “Is it really that bad?”

Rocky suspected a punchline. He answered dryly. “I think my knee is about to fall apart. Can’t you hear it creaking?”

“No, I can’t. It’s in your ears. That happens. Can you drive?”

“What?”

“Why do you always ask ‘what’? Can you drive a car?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t tried. I should be able to. I know I can ride a bike. What does it matter?”

“We’re never going to get far on foot,” she offered thoughtfully. “We’ll have to come up with something.”

“Cars are too dangerous. I took a taxi once. That turned out well.” At least he still had his sarcasm.

She agreed. “Eventually, these digis start going so nuts that it’s best to just stay far away from the roads.”

“What about bicycles?”

“Those would be okay, but motorcycles would be better.”

“Time for a hijacking, then.”

“No, you know, bikes are better. They’re not that quick, but they’re quiet. You’re sure you can turn the pedals with that knee?”

“I won’t be breaking any records, but as long I don’t push it too hard, I can manage. I’ve done it before.”

“Alright, Rocky, the Mexican dinner is canceled, but we still need to grab a good meal somewhere. Then we need to change clothes, plus I need to pick up something. Then we can go to the gun shop. Then, at last, we’ll get bicycles.”

Rocky glanced at Kitty’s inflated pockets. “Are we actually going to buy everything, or are you going to pull that nonsense again?”

She nodded as she continued on her way, adjusting her pace to that of her crippled companion. “Sure, we’ll have a decent meal and pay for it all. But not for the weapons, of course.

“Robbing a gun shop, huh.”

“When the power goes out, the gun stores usually close since the alarm system is out. That’s how it is in most clusters, anyway. They won’t be selling anything, and we don’t have any documents, anyway. These digis are strict about that. Not everywhere, of course, but in official city gun stores, yeah. As for unofficial gun stores, well, those kinds of places aren’t exactly listed in the phonebook.”

Rocky was losing his ability to be surprised by his companion. “So, a romantic dinner, then we grab some rags, rob us some guns, and make a getaway on bicycles?”

Kitty shook her head. “No, then we wait for the call. We can’t leave until it comes.”

What the hell is this call? Why do we have to wait for it? And what new problems is all of this going to cause me?

Chapter 15

Life Five: On Hold

Rocky strained his arms, dragging a security guard ruthlessly knocked out by a girl one-third his size back behind a shop counter. Kitty didn’t surprise him anymore, but she did amaze him. Despite all her modest physical attributes, she dealt an impossibly fast blow to lay the man flat. He looked scary, by anyone’s standard, his frame packed with everything but fat. But he had collapsed straight backward into the door, which magically opened despite being locked tight from the other side.

His companion didn’t just know her way around ATMs. She could unlock mechanical locks with her superpowers, too.

“Should I cuff him?” Rocky suggested, nodding at the downed thug.

The girl was ringing and jingling with impressively fatal contraptions, absorbed in selecting the best of them, so she answered without thinking. “No need.”

“He won’t be lying there like that forever.”

“If he wakes up, I’ll hit him again. I don’t mind. How are you with a rifle? Or are you only good with pistols?”

Rocky shrugged. “I didn’t even know I knew how to shoot a pistol at all. You know how it goes with our memories.”

“Shit, quit being stupid. Just answer how you feel. Don’t think about it. Here, take aim at something with this rifle. How does it feel? Does it suit you, or do you have no idea what you’re doing?”

“It feels like I understand it,” said Rocky, unsure of himself.

“Hmm, that’s bad,” said the girl with a frown. “If you don’t know for sure, best not to take chances. We’ll take a shotgun for you. It won’t shoot far, but if you’re close up, it’ll hit. Or do you what to try the rifle instead? Dammit, I don’t know. You know, you don’t care. Morons don’t have opinions on these things. What are you just standing there for? Grab a couple of cases for these guns. We can’t carry them openly through the city. That makes the digis nervous. Get some kind of hunting outfit, too. Not something too light, or you might freeze. It can get cold at night. And during the day, too.”

Rocky followed Kitty’s string of commands, rushing around the store and grabbing everything she had mentioned. Just a few minutes later, their two cases were packed with all kinds of heavy arms, and more things fit in a bag, including their carefully selected clothes.

In the midst of the heist, Kitty suddenly became alert, leaped over to the entrance door, which they had propped open, and a few seconds later screamed in alarm, “Rocky, let’s go! Follow me, quick!”

He rushed after her without question, leaving the packs of bullets she had just demanded he seize by the handful. In the brief time he had known her, he had noticed she rarely raised her voice. Which meant that something had happened to overrule her core habits. In this world, that something was probably not good.

Kitty charged forward intentionally, as if she had planned this surprise exit all along, considering every last detail. Urging her limp companion on, she dashed to the next building and firmly kicked open the massive wooden door, which had miraculously unlocked seconds before. Then she took to the stairs, stopping on the landing between the second and third floors and taking up an observational position near a narrow, filthy window.

Only then did Rocky dare to ask, “What are we doing?”

“Huh? Don’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Great, not only a lame moron, but a deaf old lady, too! Stand still. Maybe they’ll just pass by.”

He didn’t want to ask who “they” was. That would probably just get him an incomprehensible reply or another “moron.”

They didn’t just pass by. First, Rocky finally heard what Kitty was hinting at: the nasty rumble of a huge engine. The sound gradually grew, and before long its source was visible: a heavy truck driving down the boulevard median. The strange thing about it was that someone had added a few serious upgrades. A metal frame replaced the body, lined with bars and steel sheets filled with loophole-like slots. The cabin was armored, too, and sharpened iron spikes protruded from all sides. Some kind of combat turret was mounted on top, swinging back and forth from side to side, frightening the slowly staggering crowds of digis with its large-caliber machine gun.

“The hell is this circus!” Rocky inquired.

“Get used to it. In this world, that’s the car you take when you want to go shopping.”

“You mean if you’re an immune?”

“There aren’t enough armored vehicles in the world to go around, so they make do with what’s available. Goddammit, I should have known. They’re heading to the store. They know about it. Bastards.”

“So they’re... competitors?”

“Good job, Major Obvious.”

“There are plenty of them in there. Why didn’t your crystal tell us about them?”

“It has to recharge. I can’t use it too often. They were too far away when I used it last time. Outside the cluster. It doesn’t pick them up that far.”

“What kind of people are these? Decent ones?”

“How should I know? Probably not. Have you met a truly decent person in this place? Plus anybody out here would love to kill me. Or take me to Romeo, if they know about his desires for me.”

“So what are we standing around for? We should get out of here!”

“Quit fussing and calm down. Even if they have sensors, they’re unlikely to be able to distinguish us from all the digis around. We’ll see who they are. Maybe that’ll come in handy later. Then we can leave by cutting through the building. There’s got to be another exit down that hallway.”

The car stopped in front of the store, its engine roaring delightfully that it no longer had to push its unnatural bulk. The doors flew open, and Rocky saw familiar figures pop out, along with those he could not see from his position.

Well, “familiar” was a stretch. It was the guys he had seen that first time. They weren’t that different from the other immunes he had encountered, with the exceptions of Horsefly and the risen Kitty. They had the same military look, with assorted weapons wielded in a way that made it clear they were willing to shoot anything that moved.

The opened shop doors put the visitors on edge, but they pushed through. Doors open wide, the three of them moved inside while two stayed at the entrance, keeping watch over the neighborhood. One of them, at least, was still in the car, since the machine gun turret was still spinning.

Kitty had been watching all of this closely. Suddenly, she jerked up, and announced, “Finally!”

“Finally what?” Rock didn’t understand.

“The thing! What we’ve been waiting for! It’s the call. Time for us to go.”

She lost all interest in watching the goings on outside and dropped to the second floor, waiting a moment for her straggler.

Rocky limped down, complaining. “I can still hobble along straight roads, but on stairs I’m a joke. We have to get bikes soon, or I’ll be reduced to crawling.”

“No bikes for us. It’s time to clear out. When a team like that hits a city, there are probably more, and I really don’t want to have to say hello.”

“Why do they all want to kill you?” Rocky asked when he caught up to Kitty in the hall.

“You see my Humanity?”

“Low negative.”

“Well, if you kill me, your Humanity won’t go down. Not even if I try to give myself up. Until I get back up to neutral, I’m not showing my face to anyone.” She paused. “Though even then, I won’t want to be seen. Romeo won’t let me go that easily. He’s a stubborn monster.”

“Full of unrequited love?”

“Hah! You kidding? I doubt he even knows the word ‘unrequited.’ You’ll see all kinds of perverts in this world, men and women with every taste. I bet half of them have some kind of crazy fetish. Come on, you’re driving the motorcycle.”

“What motorcycle?” Rocky was confused by the sudden change in subject.

“Hah! You’ve seen a motorcycle before, right? Well, I saw one right on the other side of this building, in the parking lot. We’ll ride it to the mark, and then clear out of this town. Alright, I’ll drive. You’ll get us stuck somewhere, because you’re a moron.”

So, mysterious secret calls, her dark affair with Romeo, these hunters thirsting for her blood since she had red text for some reason—and now a “mark.”

None of it made any sense.

* * *

Kitty’s hair was dark brown, but she drove a motorcycle like the blonde from some old joke about the intellectual weaknesses of fairer heads. She drove mostly through yards, usually yards filled with assorted obstacles, but she would surge onto the road abruptly without really even looking, paying no mind to the honking, cursing drivers reacting to her antics. It was like she was following the guidance of some distant lighthouse which she was trying to reach in the shortest possible time and distance, with no regard for all the others using the roads.

The next time someone asked Rocky if he could drive a motorcycle, he would answer without hesitation, “I can drive five hundred times better than that crazy lady.”

They almost got into serious trouble twice—once avoiding a crash only by some miracle—but even that failed to teach Kitty to be careful. A patrol car turning a corner turned on its siren and tried to chase them down but quickly lost them in Kitty’s labyrinth of backyards.

The pair stopped suddenly, in a place where decent people never go. It was some kind of dilapidated boiler house with a rundown porch, with bushes and a mini-wasteland to the left and the frame of an unfinished building to the right. The work on it probably stopped about a year ago. It was abandoned, but not too old.

Kitty dismounted the motorcycle and walked confidently to the construction site. Rocky said nothing but decided to follow, grimacing from the still-growing pain in his knee. Thankfully, they did not have far to go. Soon the girl had stopped by a pile of construction debris and was using a stick she had found to dig through it. Strange behavior, of course, but Rocky made no comment. It must have been vital for Kitty to cruise across town like that just to get it.

But what was it?

Something black and alien glimmered, a brilliantly polished surface underneath the concrete slabs. A few seconds later, and Kitty had it: a long case made out of some kind of plastic. She placed her find up against a concrete block and pushed both hands up against it. The case’s lid opened on its own, revealing what lay inside: a bulging dark blue bag and a bizarrely-shaped short sword. The blade had a beautiful curve, with an irregular but attractive edge, a narrow, winding, wavy blade, and a strangely twisted grip. It was a cool weapon, but too lightweight for a man. It even looked fragile. Maybe better suited for LARPing. Although I suppose this is hardcore LARPing, actually. It wasn’t in reality a toy, though—he was sure of that. Nor was it a wall decoration. It was an instrument of killing, plain and simple. A sheath lay beside it, too. It was the same color as the case, and seemed too narrow to fit the blade.

Kitty grabbed all of the goodies, stood, and gave him an order. “Stay here. I need to change.”

Rocky was about to remind her that the clothes they had grabbed from the store were sitting by the motorcycle, but he stopped himself. The girl had not had time to grab any apparel there. She must have planned to put on whatever was in that blue packet. Given the tiny size of it, her new digs promised to be as skimpy as her spawnday suit, which he didn’t mind at all.

Why then did she need to change at all?

He wasn’t wrong. When Kitty emerged from the unfinished building a few minutes later, Rocky had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. The clothing was essentially the same as her previous apparel, but the shorts had been replaced with what he would call panties, just as short. Her top, meanwhile, looked like a cargo vest designed by someone who had formerly only worked for women’s swimwear catalogs. She had new shoes, too. Black boots that looked so comfortable that he wanted some for himself, despite their obvious feminine appearance.

How the hell had she fit all of that into such a tiny bag? He pictured himself wedging it all into that sack with his feet. It still didn’t fit. That sword had managed to fit into the sheath, too, and now both were affixed to her clothing, fitting into a strangely stylish clasp.

LARPing indeed. Kitty could get a job in any fantasy adventure TV show with that get-up. And yet, at the same time, it looked practical. The perfect set for the adventuring heroine. Where beauty meets potency. No stores sold anything like that.

It was clear now why Kitty had been careful to get a haircut, and why she had neglected to mention clothes for herself at the military store. She had it taken care of. Somehow.

The girl walked up to him and racked her nails on the blade of her sword. “See this sword?”

“Duh.”

“I’m basically its godmother.”

“Damn, and here I thought I was your first.”

“You’re a man. This is just a sword. I call it Biter. Take a closer look!”

“I see it!”

“Ugh, moron. It’s like talking to a barn door. A closed barn door. Squint! Activate inspect mode! You know, the box thing. See what it can do!”

Rocky cursed himself mentally. He should have been smart enough to realize she meant that.

Sword. Name: Biter. Origin: the Black Lands. Tempered. No visible properties. This weapon has hidden properties. Bound to its owner. Owner: Kitty.

Rock didn’t get any of that, and he remarked accordingly. “OK, I looked. What now?”

“Did you see its properties?”

“You mean the hidden ones?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re blind. Some people would give up a few respawns for my Biter, Rocky. It’s the most valuable thing I own. Actually, it’s the only valuable thing I own. Everything else is pretty ordinary. This is why we had to stick around. But now, we can leave.”

“Huh? Why did your shit end up here? I thought that the clusters reset, and that anything good that was stashed in them vanished. Or am I just being a moron?”

“You’re almost always a moron, but not this time. You’re right—if you hide something in a cluster, it’ll only be there for you until the next reset. But I didn’t hide these things. They’re mine. They’re my... How do I explain this... You remember when I told you about bound items?”

“Oh, right.”

“Biter is bound to me. So is my outfit. It’s tough to put something like this together, you know.”

“So why didn’t it just respawn with you? And what was that ‘call’ we had to wait for?”

“The number, size, and weight of items you can bind depend on your Strength and on some achievements that are very difficult to nab. No matter how strong you are, nothing serious can respawn with you. There are some very rare bonuses that can overrule that, but I don’t have them. I just respawn with whatever I’m holding in my hand, so if I’m going to die, I’d better be holding something good and tight. Everything else goes to a random point in the respawn cluster. Or to a predetermined point, but that’s tough to set up, because you never know exactly where you’ll respawn. The ‘call’ is a system alert that shows an arrow pointing you straight towards your cache. It’s kind of like the chat alert sound I showed you. Anyway, why are you standing? Sit back down. We have to go, or chatter will be the end of us.”

Rocky was eagerly absorbing all of the information. He decided to try to coax a little more out of the girl. “So what happens if that sword breaks or is stolen? Or if your clothes get burned off?”

“Even if your bound items are completely disintegrated, they’ll show up for you when you respawn. Like new. That doesn’t apply to consumable magic items and ammo that you use, though. Once you use them, they’re gone for good. There are a few other exceptions, too, but those don’t matter now. If the item gets stolen and you survive, eventually the person who took it will find that it’s disappeared, and it’ll be in a secret cache in one of the closest stables. The system will point you to it, and even show you the distance if you’re a good boy.”

“Stable?”

“Look, I’m tired of talking, and we have to go,” Kitty frowned. “Ask me some other time. You were itching to leave yourself, but now you’re slowing us down.”

“Yeah well, next time I ask, you’ll just say ‘shut up, moron,’” mumbled Rocky as he climbed back onto the bike.

“We can talk, but not always, and not everywhere. Plus, I’m not an information brochure. Remember that.”

“You promised to teach me what I needed to know.”

“So talk less and listen and watch more. Come on, off we go. Be ready for trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“This world is full of it. If that map was right, there might be a couple of bad spots along the way, and I don’t know how to skirt around them. We’ll have to plow through, no matter the risks.”

“The risk I’m scared of is you.”

“How’s that?”

“Your driving. You’ve almost gotten us killed ten times now.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I hope you’re joking. I don’t want to see worse.”

“Oh, you will, Rocky. You will.”

Chapter 16

Life Five: Demented Digitals

When Kitty drives, the whole trip is unpleasant. Rocky wouldn’t remember any of the good parts of the trip later, each pleasant moment chased out of his mind by a subsequent episode of mortal fear. Plus, his companion’s new clothes might have been as tight as the old outfit, but they were inferior in every other way, at least when viewed from behind. Until that cache appeared inexplicably—which was how most things happened in this strange world—he could hold onto the warm shoulders of the adorable, unique girl sitting in front of him. But now he had to clutch onto the thick leather of her vest, which felt like the skin of a reptile heated by the midday sun.

He had no clue how Kitty managed to handle the bike the same way in this new outfit as in the old one. She was practically wearing medieval armor. The vest was stiff. Pushing on it with the fingers didn’t even reveal any give. But somehow she could move freely, like a ballerina in a bikini.

Something was off about that vest. It was as if its material was only hard for Rocky, and soft as a pillow for Kitty. It was a paradox, yes, but this vest had both properties simultaneously.

The city, meanwhile, was starting the old familiar party. As they cruised through the streets, they had to dodge cars that were breaking all the rules, even careening through yards and parking lots, blocking off roads, and rushing headfirst into places they could never get out of. Kitty took the motorcycle off the road every now and then, riding through sidewalks and trails and playgrounds, scaring the digi pedestrians. Once she even charged through a shopping mall whose automatic glass doors had stayed open with the power out. The drivers barely bothered with their horns at her theatrics. Most of them were pulling the same stunts.

Without even having to ask, Rocky began to surmise that the cluster system was much more complicated than Kitty’s fragmentary explanations had let on. It seemed that each cluster varied not only in its geography but also in the speed at which the locals broke down. Sometimes the psychos showed up almost instantly. At other times, hours passed before any changes were noticeable.

Now he was seeing them even during the course of Kitty’s joyride, or terrorride rather. He wanted to clench his eyes shut and let everything fly by unnoticed. On both sides and up ahead, columns of smoke rose from raging flames. Cars crashed together at high speed, and screams of pain and terror filled the air from all directions. An old man with a shaggy gray beard down to his waist exited a door with a trash can and dumped its contents right in front of their motorcycle, baring his single tooth. A cop with eyes from a madhouse was marching in place in the middle of the street, putting his gun to his head and ignoring the pile of smashed cars just a few dozen feet away. One middle-aged woman squealed like a rabid jackal and hurled an empty bottle at Rocky, nearly smashing it against his skull.

OK, it’s definitely time to get out of here. The city was falling apart.

Rocky had no end of specific criticisms of Kitty’s driving, but he had to admit that unlike that taxi driver Rocky had watched get ground to flesh ribbons, Kitty managed to avoid the deadliest spots for most of the trip. She cut through courtyards, parks, and alleys, driving as if it was their last day on Earth. Which was perhaps the only reasonable way to drive in their situation.

Once Rocky had almost grown used to the madness of it all, and even started liking parts of it, their luck changed.

Something snapped. It was quiet, harmless sounding, but the fact that the sound was accompanied by a harsh growl from the engine should have tipped them off. And it would have, if they had had time to respond. The motorcycle jerked to the side for no apparent reason, and then everything was spinning and tumbling, and the ground was slamming into his shoulders, his sides, his back, his head, and of course his knee.

Even though his driver had reduced their speed significantly as she cut through another courtyard, the fall was a serious one. Rocky was lucky enough to land and roll across a flat surface, not into a pole or wall. But he was stunned and deafened. By some instinct, rather than in response to Kitty’s screams, he rolled to the side and pressed himself up against the curb. Only then did he start figuring out what had happened. A similar sharp sound rang out again, and he turned towards it.

That wasn’t a harmless pop. It was a shot, and from a deadly barrel.

The gun was a rifle, only about fifty feet away. It was clutched by a heavy man in a dirty tank top, the kind worn almost exclusively by alcoholics. The man’s bottom was out of sight, hiding behind the car he had selected as a firing position to take down any motorcycles that came through his yard. But his torso got the message across. He was shouting curses at Rocky and struggling to pull the bolt back for another shot. It appeared he had just lost the motor skills needed to handle his weapon. Even in the chaos, Rocky realized the man was no longer a major threat.

Lying down in the road with a psycho’s sights set on him wasn’t his favorite activity of the day, but he was not afraid, for as he came to, all of his attention was focused on Kitty.

What a sight!

The girl seemed unaffected by the pavement’s embrace and was cruising towards the swearing rifleman. Not running, not walking quickly, not leaping—no, she was gliding along the ground with the ease of a girl who could cut the Earth’s gravity down to a fraction of normal.

Whether by chance or by pure terror, the man finally got the bolt to work with a clang, and another round was ready. A single moment later, the bullet would cut into Kitty at point blank range. But the man didn’t have a moment.

The girl gracefully rolled over the car hood, hitting the sweaty, swearing face with her elbow. Its owner flew in one direction, his rifle in the other. Rocky couldn’t believe it. The blow didn’t seem like a hard one. Her elbow had barely kissed his face, but the effect was something only a heavyweight boxer could deliver in the real world.

Kitty landed on her feet on the other side of the car and vengefully kicked the body that lay behind her. She bent over and barked an order. “Get over here, quick. The motorcycle is done for. This bastard managed to take it out.”

Rocky struggled to his feet, grabbed both cases and the bag, and—limping three times worse than ever before—made his way to Kitty. Even healthy knees didn’t like getting knocked by pavement.

The girl, meanwhile, pulled a car key out of the fallen shooter’s pocket, started the car, and said, “We’re taking this.”

Without a word, Rock moved towards the vehicle. He grimaced. A car was much less suited to the current situation in the city. They would have to stick to larger spaces, and the crazies would be more dangerous now. But there was no other motorcycle in the vicinity, and walking on a knee like his was something Rocky wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

He tossed the bags in the back seat and moved to the front, marveling at the girl. She had hotwired the motorcycle without any trouble, but now she was nervous. Maybe she had the same concerns about taking a car.

“Is something wrong, Kitty?”

“I just don’t like cars, and worse, this is an automatic. Just my luck.”

Rocky was about to say he had never seen a girl who preferred complicated tech to simple tech before, but he held his tongue.

He didn’t really know many girls, did he? Where were these thoughts coming from?

What a strange case of amnesia. He knew a lot of things about the real world, with no idea how he knew them.

As she started pulling out of the space, Kitty gave him a warning. “The map says we’ve got a wide street coming up. Those are the most fun.

After that, we’ll try to take the alley along the river. If the bridge is intact, we’ll head out that way.”

“You said there wouldn’t be a river,” Rocky objected, frowning.

“No, I said there would be. But it’s not really a river. More like a creek. Big enough that we can’t drive across without a bridge, though. Now hang on!”

Rocky understood why immediately. Kitty drove cars the same way she drove motorcycles. As if she had never held a license in her life. Or a steering wheel, for that matter. But she shoved the gas pedal to the floor, apparently trying to shove it clear through the metal into the road below. If she let up on the gas, it was only to slam the brakes.

To their amazement, the wide street caused them no problems. They saw piles of smashed cars to the left, to the right, and up ahead. Piles that blocked the operational suicide drivers from getting to them. One sped out of the alley, but the driver was still somewhat sane and even had the presence of mind to honk indignantly at Kitty’s driving.

She slid up onto the curb and revved the engine up to top speed without pause. Rocky glanced when he saw the narrow but clear street up ahead. Looks like the digis don’t take this way. It was more for pedestrians than vehicles. There was even a warning sign to that effect, prohibiting cars from using the road.

Signs were no deterrent to Kitty, of course.

At once the car heaved. The ground was level, and the pavement was perfect, with no potholes and no barriers or bumps of any kind. Rocky looked back just in time to see a black SUV speeding up to hit them again with its big bumper.

“Moron!” screaming Kitty in fury, riding all of her weight on the gas pedal.

“Hey, that’s my name!” Rocky protested. He braced for the next collision. “Come on, step on it!”

“What do you think I’m doing? This piece of junk can’t go any faster!”

“The SUV is no sports car, either. You can beat it!”

“Give me a pistol!” Kitty held out her hand.

Rock placed the gun in her open palm. “What’s the plan?”

Kitty lowered the window with her usual extraordinary calm. “Take the wheel. I’ll be right back.”

A moment later, Rocky was holding the wheel as the girl leaned out of the window, twisted her torso around, and began emptying the magazine into the SUV’s windshield. The pursuing vehicle veered off the road, lost half its speed as it took the high curb, and flattened a hedge of small bushes.

Rocky saw all of this only in pieces, and only in the side mirrors, as he was leaning uncomfortably across the armrests to keep them on the road. Somehow Kitty was still reaching the pedals, and the car was under the control of two drivers, one on the throttle, the other at the helm.

Good thing the road was straight. All he had to do was keep her steady.

Kitty slipped back into the car and took the wheel. Rocky relaxed. “Where’d that bastard come from?”

“I don’t know. Digis are all over the place. Don’t worry about them.”

“Why should they attack us specifically, though? Did you hit the driver?”

“Probably. I nailed his windshield twice.”

“Are there any consequences for that?”

“For what?”

“You know, shooting digis.”

“He attacked first,” Kitty replied, unexpectedly veering into more yards, then explaining herself. “There was a psycho in one of those windows. Holding a rifle. Fuck these guys.”

They barely had time to swerve off the ride road running behind a building to dodge a head-on collision with a police car. It was rushing towards them at ridiculous speed, but then the driver suddenly recovered his sanity, slammed the brakes and squealed the tires, and then activated his siren and began to make a three-point-turn.

“He likes us,” Rocky complained.

“Yeah,” said Kitty with similar indifference as she nearly missed mowing down a delicious curly blonde with a great waist and legs.

Even though she was a digi, Rocky followed her in the mirrors. If only the circumstances were different.

He shook his head and returned to the game.

“Why the hell is everyone after us? Something fishy is going on.”

“You’re right,” agreed Kitty as she returned the vehicle to the main street.

A loud crack rang out behind them.

“The psycho with the rifle! He’s shooting at us, the fucker!”

“Yup. Just an ordinary rifle, though. It doesn’t have power at range, so quit worrying.”

“So I’m right?” Rocky continued after another couple of shots with no visible or audible consequences.

“Lots of digis have a sort of sense of smell for us immunes, and there are two immunes in this car. The attention we get will just grow from here.”

“I wandered around with a soldier type for a while, somebody like you in a couple of ways, and none of the digis came after us.”

“I’ve got a negative Humanity rating. They come after us like rafflers go after a cat.”

“So why is your Humanity negative? How’d you lower it, and why?”

“Why? Well, I... I had to.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“No I’m not. It’s simple. Your Humanity drops the most when you kill an immune who wasn’t threatening you, wasn’t taking away your freedom somehow, wasn’t touching you. He wasn’t touching me at the time. But he was hostile before, you see. After a certain period of time, the Machine concludes that a conflict is over. Killing a digi for no reason also drops your Humanity, but only a little bit. Some other actions can lower your Humanity, too. Things that the System judges as bad.”

“The System?”

“Most people call it the Machine, but the System works, too. Capitalize it if you ever write it. Good omen.”

“So what exactly is the Machine?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows. But it manages everything here. Nothing is autonomous in this world. This world would cease to function entirely without it.”

“I get it. So you’re a criminal, then.”

“Where’d you get that from?”

“It’s obvious. Where’d your low Humanity score come from, then?”

Moron. You don’t know what you’re talking about! And you’re still chatting, even with these fucking psychos after us!” So much not worrying.

The police car was high end. It had quickly made up for the time it lost on the turn. It would be up on them in a minute, if that.

“Should I hold the wheel again?” Rocky offered.

“What for?”

“So you can shoot at them again.”

“At a police car? Thanks a lot, Rocky. Really want to drive me into the red, don’t you?”

“I don’t get it. You were just out there shooting at people.”

“Yeah, at some random digi who attacked us first and clipped our car. But this is a cop. They have the right to pursue you, and you can’t shoot at them until they shoot first. The penalty for shooting one of them otherwise is about as high as shooting an immune who’s done nothing to you. Of course, that only applies in their cluster—outside of it, the penalty is negligible, and further away from it, you might not even lose anything.”

This Humanity rating must have meant a lot. The girl had shown no remorse before as the beat-up cops and even shot digis dead, but now she was as lawful as the judge from My Cousin Vinny.

“So what about the cops at the ATM?” Rocky reminded her.

“I didn’t kill them. You can disable them, that’s fine. But not too much, or the Machine might punish you. Bad omen.”

“Are there any good omens in this world? The cops are catching up to us, by the way.”

“Take the wheel.”

“I thought you said...”

“Just take the wheel, moron! Or you’re gonna take us straight into our next life!”

Kitty leaned out and took one shot, then returned to control of the vehicle. Rocky had barely held the wheel at all. The patrol car, which was going around the slightest turn possible, suddenly veered off through a low barrier and demolished a hot dog stand, then stopped short against a storefront.

“Shot the tire,” Kitty explained quietly. “Risky, but it doesn’t usually decrease your Humanity, as long as you don’t cripple any of them. Get your pistol ready. There’s a bridge coming up, and who’s there is anyone’s guess. Digis love bridges. Might as well call them bridgeys. Anyway, if those guys said anything over the radio, the law might be waiting for us.”

The car pushed out of the old alley, and the road widened significantly, merging with another and then curving down towards the promised river. Well, few would call it a river. Few would even call it a stream. More like a brook. Still, they couldn’t drive across it. Even an ATV would have trouble, since the brook’s banks were tall and steep.

There was a bridge across them, though. A tiny, two-lane bridge. A patrol car sat in front of the bridge, perpendicular, and the cop who had emerged was taking aim at them.

“Get down!” yelled Kitty, spinning the wheel.

The car squealed and fishtailed in unpredictable zigzags. The pistol cried out, one round after another. Despite the short range of the shot, only the fourth round hit, bouncing off of the car’s side.

“Shoot through the window! Shoot! At the sky, at the ground, anywhere, just shoot!” screamed Kitty.

She could have left that last part out. In his position, Rocky was unable to see anything. There was no way he could aim. He held his arm out the window and pulled the trigger. Of course he didn’t hit anyone, but the rhythm of the adversary’s shots was interrupted. The cop must have gotten nervous.

Still, their car absorbed a few more rounds before Kitty announced, “Alright, we’re past them.”

Rocky pulled his arm in and straightened up. “The car alright?”

“How should I know? I don’t know anything about cars.”

“They hit us a few times.”

“Cars are made of metal. They don’t bleed. As long as it drives, we keep going.”

Rocky looked around for damage. He couldn’t see anything, but he did catch a whiff of gasoline. The middle of the car shook violently. He was getting used to that, but still voiced his displeasure. “Careful! This thing’s no Jeep.”

“Just the cluster boundary. Even on level ground, you almost always shake when you cross it. Get used to it now.”

“Why does that happen? Some kind of force field?”

“Nah, nothing like that. There’s nothing between them. You don’t notice a change in the air. Just a straight, even crack in the pavement. Sometimes it’s narrow, sometimes it’s wide, and one side is often lower than another. This causes landslides sometimes, but not too often. I did once see a cluster boundary that cut off a gas pipeline. The gas all ran out and caught fire. Now that was something. The fire grew so tall you could see it for miles. How’s your knee?”

“We can drive for a year if we want to. My knee wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“No way. We’re getting out soon.”

“Why? The tank’s nearly full.”

“Rocky, some infecteds in these parts call cars ‘food trucks.’ They can hear the engine from a couple of miles away, and they can outrun us, even when we’re in a tin can like this one. The beasts almost never get tired, they don’t mind bullets, and their claws can rip the armor off an APC. Some can even take out a tank. You can drive on yourself, if you want. I’m going on foot. Better for your Health and revive count.”

“A tank? Are you overexaggerating again?”

“Underexaggerating, if anything.”

“What a place. Maybe I should go on foot, too.”

“Good call. Take some lifejuice. Your knee needs it. Come on, drink. Always keep an eye on your spore meter. Keep it topped up at all times, but never overdose. That’ll push your regen to the max, meaning your knee will heal faster.”

“I have a tough time believing this sludge will help my knee.”

“You’re an immune. You could rip your leg off and it would grow back in a few weeks.”

“Now you’re overexaggerating.”

“No, you can even grow it back faster than that. But you need a healer for that. A person with a special ability. Those guys are in serious demand, so they’re hard to get. It’s pretty good work. You sit in a stable, with basically no risk to yourself, just healing injured people and helping others with their abilities. I’m the unlucky one here. No magical lazy skill here, so I have to hang out in the wild where no girl belongs. SHIT!” Kitty shouted, veering off the road yet again.

The reason was obvious. Tracer rounds bounced off the asphalt in front of the bumper, showering them with debris and sparks. A spray of bullets covered the road. It would have cut them to ribbons, if Kitty hadn’t swerved.

Despite the sudden maneuver, the car was still struck. The trunk was devastated, the rear window shattered into a thousand splinters, and the smell of burning gas filled the cab.

Rocky risked a peek out the window and saw a helicopter flying overhead. He was about to tell Kitty that they’d hit the gas tank when the machine gunner began firing, even at his awkward angle.

The bastard hit. Several bullets pierced the roof, and one or two pinged loudly off the back of his seat, making his ears ring. It felt like one or two hit his flesh, too.

Kitty screamed. It wasn’t a scream of rage or fear. She had been hit, that much was obvious.

Rocky asked, nonetheless, as he tracked the helicopter, which was turning to make another pass. “You OK?”

“Alive,” she barked back. “Don’t let me distract you!”

Distract me from what? Rocky added some information that he thought was important. “The bastard’s turning around.

And our gas tank is hit.”

He didn’t have time to finish. A mortal sigh emerged from the rear of the car, and a suffocating chemical smoke flooded the cab. Tongues of flame licked the broken glass.

“Great!” Rocky twisted his head, looking for any way out of the car and away from the incoming bullet storm.

“Hold on!” Kitty turned onto a tiny, barely visible trail that cut towards some woods a short distance away. Even a bicycle couldn’t have managed to take this trail at any reasonable speed. But the decision was the right one. The helicopter was unable to adjust its turn to follow them, and the shooter could hardly see them. He shot off a few volleys, but they missed widely.

“Fucking vulture! Kitty, we’re going to burn alive in here!”

The car heaved over a bump the size of a tree stump and nearly flipped. But that wasn’t the driver’s fault. She was trying to get around an unexpected obstacle, a cow carcass surrounded by three hunched diners in dirty clothes. The infecteds didn’t even react, but Rocky, in turn, had no time to react to their indifference. A sound like a muffled explosion came from under the hood and under his seat.

A few seconds later, the car was dead. It wasn’t going anywhere now.

“That’s it!” Kitty said through genuine tears, stumbling out of the open door, her grace and agility nowhere to be seen.

Rocky jumped out of his side, rushed around the front, and froze in front of the girl sitting in the grass, trying to think of what to do next. She was holding her right leg, trying to stop the bleeding from under her knee with both hands.

“Moron! What are you doing? Run! Run as fast as you can, and maybe you’ll make it!”

“What about you?”

“Are you blind? I can’t run on this. They shot clean through my femur! Run! Into the forest!”

Rocky turned and evaluated the lazy speed at which the helicopter was turning towards them. Kitty was right—even a man in full health would have little chance of escaping. The trees were sparse and offered little cover, so the bird of prey was in no hurry.

And with a one-legged companion, he’d never even reach those trees. On his one, it was possible.

He knew the girl was right, but he crouched in front of her and insisted. “On my back!”

“What?”

“You’re light. I’ll carry you.”

“Dammit, godson, quit fucking with me. Run! You said you would follow my orders. Why do I have to keep repeating them?”

“But...”

Kitty shoved his shoulders forward. The move made her fall on her back. She grimaced, holding her bloody knee to her body.

But Rocky wasn’t running anywhere. He didn’t see a point to that. He would hate to leave her here, and he would hate to go on without her even more. If they were to die, then they could die together. And respawn together. The helicopter was in no hurry. Its targets had been immobilized and were visibly harmless. They couldn’t flee over the open field. Rocky pulled the door open.

The rifle he happened to pull out of the case first was not good for situations requiring quick shooting. It held five rounds at a time. Kitty had made sure the weapons were loaded when they packed them. That didn’t sound like the best way to transport them, but now Rocky loved her foresight.

Five large-caliber cartridges were now at the ready. They could have hunted elephants with this ammunition, which more closely resembled tiny artillery shells than bullets.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough of them. They should have taken ten times as many. Five rounds was nothing. But Rocky had to push forward. He raised the weapon and pulled the bolt back, then released it forward, chambering one of the pointy-nosed missiles.

The helicopter was coming straight for them, and the crew obviously intended to hover right over its victims. Ideal conditions for a massacre. Even when it was farther, Rocky could see the two chairs behind the windshield. One held a man limp enough that he might be dead, while the other, the pilot, wore the same patterned uniform as the machine gunner. There was no way the police had called these guys in on the radio. They were just a couple of crazies with a passion for vertical violence.

Right now, Rocky had a passion for playing at violence, too.

Too bad the game would be a short one.

It would only last five rounds.

Rocky pressed the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, took aim at the cockpit, exhaled and held his breath, and smoothly pulled the trigger. The recoil was more powerful than he expected, but in a flash he had another round in the chamber.

Another shot. Another shot. And another. The recoil was too violent, the sound was hurting his ears, and there was no visible damage to the copter, but the pilot was reacting. The bird was approaching more slowly now.

As Rocky pressed the trigger for the fifth time, he noticed the helicopter’s glass start to crack and break apart. He might have hit the front of it a couple of times, which he hoped was making the crew nervous.

Rocky discarded the empty rifle and pulled out the shotgun. It wasn’t the right weapon for this scenario, of course, but it was better than trying to tackle a chopper with his bare hands.

But he didn’t have time to aim. It was all over in a flash.

The helicopter suddenly decided to accelerate its descent. It was roaring so loudly now that Rocky’s ears hurt almost as much as when he shot the rifle. It swerved its nose toward the earth, its tail poking up preposterously high in the air as it wavered and threatened to flip sideways. Before he had time to blink, the bird’s flight ended in disaster. The rotors hit the earth first, slicing out a fountain of dirt mixed with cut grass, followed by shards of the rotors themselves.

It was over in a moment. The helicopter fell with a deafening crash, rolling onto its side and shaking like a turtle trying desperately to right itself. A flash followed, and fire engulfed the chopper in a matter of seconds. Rocky felt a wave of heat against his face that pushed him involuntarily backwards.

Rocky didn’t understand what had brought the helicopter down, but he wasn’t about to complain. The flying machine gunner and his house had disintegrated. If you had told me it was only by the help of God or Satan, he wouldn’t have cared. They were safe from the bird.

He was happy to be alive, despite the fact that less than a minute ago he had been determined to send himself to another revive.

Now those who were going to send him there were dead.

The ghouls—the trio of infected enthusiastically digging into the tattered side of the cow—never moved. Their appetite had been cut dramatically short by a fragment from the rotor blades. Two were done for, and the third had lost the lower half of its body and now grumbled plaintively and floundered about in a pool of its own abnormally black blood.

Rocky made sure that the other side held no threat then, wincing at the unbearable heat, hurriedly pulled out the first-aid kit from under the driver's seat. He put out the fire licking at the second weapon case, but the bag was gone, consumed by the inferno covering the back of the car. Nothing else could be saved, as far as he could see. Time to tend to Kitty.

Clutching a shotgun in one hand and a first-aid kit in the other, he headed for the girl, who hadn’t moved.

Personal victory: unknown lunatic destroyed. Level 2. +5 Accuracy progress points. +1 Speed progress point. Personal victory: unknown lunatic destroyed. Level 2. +5 Accuracy progress points. +1 Speed progress point.

He paid no attention to this new batch of text. His thoughts were as muddled as boiled porridge now, the events of the last few minutes driving away any possible comprehension of the letters in front of the eyes. He ignored the explosion behind his back, too, as well as the noise of what sounded like a couple of gunshots. The helicopter and the car were both burning, and many things inside both could react noisily to such a rapid climb in temperature.

Kitty sat on the grass, clutching her wounded leg, still trying to stop the bleeding. Her face showed muffled but intense suffering—not surprising for a person who just had a bullet pass through her shin. But that wasn’t the primary expression in her eyes.

Kitty was surprised. Amazed, in fact. Rocky could never have imagined her looking so stunned, in fact.

He sat in front of the girl and frantically looked through the medkit, explaining, “We’ll wrap that up with these bandages and then figure out what to do next. I pretty much have the whole evening free.”

“Rocky?” Kitty interjected, her voice betraying as much surprise as her expression.

“Huh?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean, Kitty?”

“You’re kidding me.” She looked at him with her signature belittling sarcasm.

She was still Kitty, wounded or no.

“I wanted to talk about your leg, as it’s obviously the most pressing issue, but...”

“Rocky you just five out of five bullets, from a rifle you’ve never shot before, into the head and chest of a man piloting a flying helicopter. That’s an impossible feat for players much stronger than I am. And you’re not even strong. You’re just a moron. What is different about you? I have to know, Rocky.”

Chapter 17

Life Five: Kitty’s Forecast

A fallen tree lay across the road. Stepping over it would normally be easy, but that was assuming you were on a nature walk, enjoying the chirping of the birds and the new spring blossoms with a serenely dumb look on your face.

That was not the current situation. Rocky was carrying a shotgun, a rifle, and ammunition, but all of that was small change compared to Kitty. The girl clung to his shoulders, dangling her legs and holding a second rifle in her arms, with a look on her face like she was actually in control of her situation. Rocky had little faith that she was. Her wounds would have prescribed her to months of painkillers and bedrest in the real world.

She was light, but not a featherweight, and their cargo was significant. Rocky wasn’t about to risk his balance stepping on a log. He was starting to go around when Kitty stopped him. “Let’s take a break. Sit for at least five minutes. We can’t let you exhaust yourself.”

The man didn’t argue, despite how much he wanted to escape the helicopter crash site and its column of smoke beckoning to curious infecteds for miles around. Kitty was dead right. He couldn’t let himself become exhausted. This wasn’t a run through Central Park. A new terrifying scenario could crop up at any time. It was best to be at full strength when that happened—but failing that, at least not to be dripping in the sweat of exhaustion.

He lowered Kitty to the ground, trying to dislodge her without troubling her leg. The quest failed. She dropped to the earth biting her lip hard in pain.

“Does it hurt?” A sorry rhetorical attempt at sympathy.

“No, of course not. I love getting sliced up by bullets!” Kitty began to re-wrap the split they had hurriedly patched together out of a few branches.

“You need to see a doctor or something,” Rocky insisted.

“Forget about doctors. Only healers are good here.”

“You need a healer, then.”

“If I remember the area correctly, the nearest decent stable is about two hundred miles away. Something close to that, anyway.”

“What’s this ‘stable’ you’re always talking about?”

“Not all clusters go through constant resets. It varies. Stables don’t reset at all, or at least very rarely, so settlements crop up inside them. The better stables almost always have a healer, and the best even have buildings similar to our old hospitals. But I’ll just have to wait until this heals by itself.”

Rocky shook his head.

“I hate to upset you, babe...”

“Call me ‘babe’ one more time and you’ll have two broken legs,” Kitty snapped, her lips pursed, not maliciously but somehow quite persuasively.

“Sheesh. Ungrateful girl. I carry her and she threatens to break my legs.”

“You can leave me, if you want. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Well, keep behaving yourself badly and I will. Look, there’s no way this is going away on its own. You have a hole straight through your leg filled with splinters of bone. Splinters of your bone. I know. I had to bind it up. It’s in bad shape.”

“You think I’m ungrateful?” Kitty sounded almost offended.

“Of course. I’m carrying you, I courageously saved you from that helicopter, and here you are saying you’ll break my legs. What does that make you?”

“Just don’t get too friendly with me and your legs will be fine. Back to the helicopter, though. What did you do? And how?”

“Nothing special, like I said. I picked up the rifle and fired five shots as quick as I could.”

“Why as quick as you could?”

“What point was there in delaying?”

“Usually people aim, you know, not shoot the next bullet while the last is still in the air.”

“I was in a hurry, Kitty. If he had gotten closer, we would have both been dead.”

“I saw it all, Rocky. You shot at him like a madman. That rifle worked at near-automatic speed when you wielded it. And one round after the other punched straight through the glass into his chest and head. You started shooting when the chopper was about five hundred feet away and stopped when it was at two hundred. Not a single miss, and you weren’t even aiming. Nobody shoots like that.”

“How could you see where the bullets were hitting?” Rocky wondered.

“I’m all pumped, not a near-sighted invalid like you. My body just works better, and I lucked out with a good pair of eyes, anyway. You know that no one can be that accurate, right?”

“It must be compensation for my knee, like you said. Remember that I had a shooting club receipt in my pocket.”

“No one gets compensated that much. Compensation is just a small bump in something, like my increased flexibility. But your ‘compensation’ let you shoot down a helicopter with a rifle. No one will believe it! What’s your Accuracy at, by the way?”

“What?”

“Shit, there I go forgetting that you’re a total moron. How high have you pumped your Accuracy? What’s it at? Come on, I don’t know how to make this any clearer.”

“OK, OK, just keep your calm. Your leg needs it.”

“Then stop driving me up the wall! How much?”

“My Accuracy is at five, with thirty-two progress points to the next level. If I have this right, I need twenty-eight more to hit six.”

“Five is nothing. My Accuracy is twenty-six. That’s decent, but I could never pull off something like that. There’s something more serious here.”

“Now you get it,” nodded Rocky. He pointed to his knee. “This is my problem. Our problem. I’d rather be an amputee.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“I can stumble along, but that’s just thanks to the adrenaline. I have plenty of it after the string of action sequences we just played through.” Rocky gestured back behind him with his thumb, towards the pillar of smoke rising from the crash site. “As soon as that adrenaline comes down, I’ll start limping like a half-midget. And that’s without a load on my back.”

“Then lose the load,” said Kitty, her face hard.

“Quick saying stupid things like that or I’ll start calling you ‘babe’ again,” sneered Rocky. He was not about to leave her.

“OK, sure. Just say sorry to your legs in advance, since they’re about to split up in several places.”

“Not that it’ll make a difference. I’ll collapse soon enough, anyway. Come on, Kitty, think. I’m no good with figuring out what to do in this world, but we’re clearly fucked here.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I need to think. Give me a little lifejuice—my balance is starting to drop. Stress and trauma make it fall faster. Uh-oh. What’s that look for?”

“We left the bottle in the car.”

“In the car?” Kitty nearly leaped to her foot.

“Right. No, don’t twitch like that.”

“I’m twitching because our car burnt to a crisp!” The girl’s tone lowered. When she was this upset, her voice got as quiet as someone pretending to be dead.

“That’s what happened.”

“Wonderful. Now we have a real problem, Rocky.”

“We’re not far from the city. I could be there and back in a couple of hours.”

“Why?”

“For booze.”

“Oh, because that’s what we need right now.”

“Look, I just want to make lifejuice.”

“Forget it. It’ll take you forever to get to town on that leg, and the alcohol won’t help, anyway. The most important part of lifejuice is spores.”

“You don’t have any spores left?”

“I’m not a vending machine. And my Strength sucks. If that isn’t obvious. I can only bring tiny things with me when I respawn. One spore and the crystal.”

“What about that secret box?”

“You can’t send spores there. The only way to keep trophies from infecteds is in your hand, and even the strongest of us can’t take more than a dozen. The System limits us. So we’re without lifejuice. Which is what we both need most. And we’re both crippled, so we need a lot of it. Otherwise regeneration goes out the window.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“No, it’s worse. But at least we managed to top off our meters. It will take about twenty-four hours for it to drop to harmful levels. Giving us one day to find shelter, food, water, and spores. As long as we have that, we can wait it out for a few days. Your leg will heal, no doubt about that, and I’ll at least be able to limp around on my own.”

“No way. That bone has to be set and everything. It was blown to pieces!”

“This world sets its own bones, and you don’t even notice it happening. As long as you have spores. Look, Rocky, I’m not good for anything right now, but I know this world, and you don’t. You won’t make it without me.”

“I don’t think you know it that well at all.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you have no idea how I took down that helicopter. And you get other things confused here and there, too. But don’t worry. Even if half your head were missing, I would never leave you.”

“I would certainly leave you. Why would anyone risk their life for a corpse?”

“Look, Kitty, that’s your business, but I’ll do this my way. Of all the people here, you’re the first who has actually tried to help me. That is worth something. I’ll never forget it. I don’t know how I’ll get you out of this, but I will. Just figure out where we should go! I doubt this spot is the best we have. What’s in the area?”

“Nothing good.”

“I should have guessed.”

“The infecteds get smarter as they develop. They have some way of detecting a reset before it hits, so they leave the cluster. And the less developed beasts follow the big ones. But not for long. They know a new meal is about to arrive, so they return.”

“I figured.”

“Right, I guess you’ve seen it. If we end up in their path, it’s to respawn for us. The closer we are to a fresh cluster, the more dangerous our situation. That’s a universal rule in this world. So we need to push north.”

“What’s north?”

“How the hell should I know? I just explained. It’s away from the city. Best case scenario, we find a lonely building. Some kind of farm or forest cottage, something like that. Then we have to get spores. That will fall entirely to you. I’m not going to be any use there.”

Kitty winced as she finished her sentence.

“Does it hurt bad?”

“No, like I said, I enjoy it.” The girl chuckled unhealthily, tears dripping from her eyes. “Why do you ask so many stupid questions? I’m fed up with all of this nonsense. Look, grab the gun and carry it on your shoulder. At all times. If we’re attacked, drop me. Immediately. Don’t worry about me hitting my leg as I fall or anything like that. Just drop me and fight back with all you’ve got, or it’s back to stupid town for us both. Try not to shoot the smaller ones. You can take them down without all the noise, since the big beasts like to run towards gunfire. And if they come for us, you’ll be dead before you can scream for mommy. They’re called elites because, well, they’re elite.”

“I know.”

“You know about elites? Have you seen one?”

“Maybe I have. I’ve seen all kinds of monsters. Let’s get out of here, Kitty. I think I heard something. Grumbling, maybe.”

“That’s your stomach growling. But fine, you’re right, let me back up. We don’t have time to chat here.”

* * *

Rocky sighed as he turned. “Another customer. With a wallet as empty as the last.”

This ghoul looked pitiful. He wore a crumpled business suit, his left foot still sporting a patent leather shoe, while the right only had a lumpy, ugly sock. In life the man had been too embarrassed to let his bald spot show. Now his half-town wig flopped around on the side of his head. But this strange traveling couple excited him. He forgot everything else and headed for them, his badly sagging face gnawing and gnashing.

Rocky had to give it to Kitty: Even though she had a crippling wound, she wasn’t letting herself become a whining wreck. She clung to his back, feeding him with all kinds of information as they walked. Despite her total failure at communicating these things systematically, Rocky managed to pick up a lot.

For one thing, he was starting to understand how to classify the infecteds by their level of development and their age, if you could still refer to them in such human terms.

The early levels were called “zeroes,” much like he had been. These infecteds just moped around slowly. Sometimes they could surge forward in jolts. If they went without food for too long, their strength waned and they were reduced to crawling. Their bodies were just beginning to reshape themselves, and many motor functions from their human lives remained unchanged. But each of their habits, their preferences, their behavior, their tastes, they were all gone. All their hygiene habits went out the window, too.

The sluggish ghouls never washed or changed their clothes. When nature came calling, they didn’t look for a toilet. They didn’t even drop their pants. So the longer they lived, the dirtier their lower garments became. A ghoul who had lived long enough acquired an intensely repulsive smell and looked something like a poor village idiot who had suffered a catastrophic bowel disaster. The dirtier the creature, the higher your chances of finding a sporesac formed on the back of its head. It might even have a spore or two inside.

Eventually, the forces of gravity would pull its pants and everything weighing them down off, but the creature’s hygiene would hardly improve otherwise. This stage of infected was quicker, but it couldn’t run yet. It would just move at a brisk walk, and occasionally charge forward about fifteen or thirty feet and then return to its normal speed.

Rocky squinted at the approaching ghoul, remembering what Kitty had taught him about gathering information.

Object: infected. Level 0. Chance of valuable loot: 0%. No Continental skills possible.

His senses had been spot on. Another useless pile of flesh. It was slow, too. If he walked at a decent pace, he wouldn’t even have to fight it. It would just fall behind.

But he couldn’t walk at a decent pace, so he would have to take it out. Rocky was already regretting his start, which had been too quick. He should have saved more of his strength for situations like this one. He could walk right now, sure, but only with a hobble. Maybe he could win a race against turtles, as long as it wasn’t a world championship or anything.

“I’m going to let you down, Kitty. Watch your leg,” warned Rocky as he crouched down.

He remembered the girl’s stern instructions not to warn her, but there was no point in hurling her to the ground when they were only facing a trivial threat. The first two times, his companion had been indignant about his refusal to obey, but by the third time she just waved it off. She had given up.

With Kitty safely on the ground, Rocky stepped over to a knotted, thin piece of tree trunk that had fallen. It was a little big, but there was nothing more suitable within reach. He broke off a couple of poorly-placed branches, grabbed the trunk, and swung with all his might straight into the head of the filthy ghoul, which was already stretching out its hands towards him.

A solid hit. The ex-man’s head collapsed inward, the knot jamming itself into a new bloody crevasse in the cranial bone. The foul-smelling freak collapsed and lay crookedly on its back, then stretched out and became motionless apart from its convulsing legs.

Tossing away the unwieldy weapon, Rocky stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Carting a human and guns across rough terrain was bad enough. Now he was swinging tree trunks, too.

The weather was crap, too. Sticky, stuffy fog crept through the woods.

Kitty didn’t even watch the fight. She was, as tradition dictated, fiddling with her splint, retying it. Rocky was sure it hadn’t loosened at all, since she hadn’t been putting any weight on it. But the girl noticed his weary look her way. “Time for a rest, maybe? You need it.”

Rocky wasn’t about to say no to that. He collapsed to the ground, wiped more sweat from his brow, and voiced a concern. “We’re moving too slowly. Probably haven’t even made three miles yet.”

“You’ll fall if you go any faster. How’s your leg now?”

“Better than yours. Hey, why are there so many new infecteds in these woods? What are they doing here?”

Kitty shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. Maybe this cluster rebooted recently. Some digis like to leave their cities when the fun starts happening. They speed off into the wilderness, their thinking goes, they abandon their cars, and they start roaming around, looking for food. Their minds are shot by that point, so they have no idea that they should leave the woods and go back to town.”

“So maybe we’re going the wrong way here. The further we go this way, the more and more of them we find. Maybe there’s another city cluster ahead of us. Then we’re really screwed.”

“I doubt it. This is the coast, after all. The regional borders are far from us, and in this area the city clusters are usually pretty far from each other.”

“With our luck so far, we might just run into the exception.”

“Don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. Or lose another life. Big deal. Of course that would be bad, but what can we do? Man, I wish I had some spec.”

“Spec? What’s that?”

“A drug. A substance that turns even the smartest man alive into a moron like you. But it can come in handy, as long as you avoid addiction. It is great at countering pain and fatigue, makes you a little stronger, and even boosts your regeneration speed.”

“Sounds awesome. I didn’t know about it.”

“Of course not. It’s made from webbing. Only thing the stuff is good for.”

“Spiderweb?”

“No, the black threads that sporesacs are packed with. The small infected have about twenty grams of the stuff, and one dose of spec is two kilograms.”

“Meaning you have to kill a hundred of those things to get one shot of the stuff?” That’s crazy.

“If we’re talking low-level ghouls. Around level ten, they have double the spec, and the most powerful monsters can have several kilograms. Hmm, have you noticed the weather changing?”

Rocky lifted his head wearily, looking at the unnatural blue of the sky. Soon it would be covered by the lead-gray cloud crawling in from the northwest.

“Looks like a storm is coming. Man, is it hot out!”

“Those are bad clouds.”

“Yeah, I see that. Like I said, storm.”

“You see nothing. I’ve seen clouds like those before, many times. They sometimes occur when a large cluster resets nearby. This place has its own weather patterns, after all, caused by the sudden disappearance and appearance of huge masses of land. The new incoming cluster can have a slightly different temperature, for example, and that can have a big difference. And maybe there’s something else involved, too. I don’t really understand it. So the weather is about to begin some catastrophic devilry. We have to take shelter somewhere. I really don’t want that rain to come down on us. And fast. Seriously, those are bad clouds.”

“What? We won’t melt.”

“You haven’t seen the rains here. Strong enough to slice the meat off your bones if you’re caught in an open field.”

“Uh-huh. You’re good at scaring people.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m even scared of myself.”

“It looks like this forest just keeps going and going. And that the farther we go in, the thicker it gets!”

“Let’s try this way. I see power lines running, and they must go somewhere.”

Rocky turned to follow the power lines, ashamed that he hadn’t even noticed them out beyond the trees. His chagrin was worsened by the fact that he always tried not to miss anything from the environment.

But he managed to make excuses for himself. He was extremely tired, his eyes were drowning in sweat, and all of his strength had been engaged in that skirmish with the fourth useless ghoul in a row. Then, when he sat down, his field of view was limited, so it would have been tough to make out the poles and wires, right?

“How long do you think until the rain starts?”

“I never said it would start raining.”

“What did you say, then? All I remember was the rain.”

“I never said it would rain. I just said it might rain.”

“So it might not?”

“If I were you, I would hope for rain?”

“Why?” Gosh, she’s talking in circles.

“Because it’s better than the alternatives.”

* * *

Rocky soon began to suspect his companion wasn’t exaggerating, as he cut through the thickets of raspberries and nettles to the power lines she had pointed out. The lead gray sky became thick as tar, with something sparkling deep in the midst of it. A rumble unlike anything he had ever heard accompanied the sight. No one would have called it thunder. It was a very weak sound akin to when you pushed something hard up against the spinning plastic blades of a fan in operation. The sun was still visible, but faded. The cloud made it look like there was a partial eclipse. Birds and grasshoppers quit their chirping and the air became ominously still, along with them the leaves in the trees.

Inside, he felt a tension he could not describe. A foreboding that whatever was brewing, the exhausted pair of them did not want to meet it.

They came across a silver lining, a narrow trail, just a short distance away from the nearest telephone pole. It was much easier to walk on that than through the walls of dense forest. He didn’t speed up, though, afraid of tearing his leg apart or collapsing from the effort.

The first gust of wind came, then, bending the pine trees in front of him in a wave, then punching him in the face with near-knockout force. It took Rocky by surprise. Plus, he was not in top physical shape, and Kitty was still riding on his shoulders. Yet somehow he stayed on his feet, after a couple of uncertain seconds.

As they pushed forward, conditions did not improve. The face-pummeling wind struck again and again. The sound in the sky was no longer just the buzz of a plastic fan being interrupted. Now it was a growling giant the size of Everest, in addition to regular thunder. There was lighting, too, zapping around the cloud and crashing into the ground.

The first raindrops appeared then. Few in number, but abnormally large, they stuck the body like acorns falling from a tree taller than a redwood.

Rocky hid his face and so failed to notice the terrain change. The thicket disappeared up ahead, the forest cut off by some cosmic knife. He realized when he saw the power line dangling from the final telephone pole.

Kitty had a better view from her perch and confirmed his suspicions. “Another boundary, dammit. New cluster. But it looks like a plowed field up ahead. We should take a look.”

She was right. Partly, at least. The field wasn’t plowed—it was recently harvested. Yellowish straw flitted around, blown free from bales by the gusts.

At the edge of the field, he saw a few small, simple houses. “A town,” Rocky exclaimed hoarsely. He had to make it, but he wanted to fall asleep right here, on the trail of compressed earth left by some tractor. Oddly enough, it continued the forest trail he had been following in the earlier cluster.

“A dangerous option,” said Kitty tensely. “But you can try it. There’s nothing else around.”

“I ‘can try it’?” Rocky practically howled the question as he forced it past his exhaustion. “You’re the experienced one. You decide! What do we do? Where should I carry you?”

“Let’s cross the field and visit the town,” she decided.

“This path is better. It probably turns toward town up ahead.”

“No. Crossing the field will be quicker.”

“That field will be the end of me. My legs are shaking and rebelling. Soon I won’t have control of them. At least this path is firm.”

“It won’t be for long,” Kitty predicted ominously.

At that moment, a blinding flash of lightning struck a tractor in the middle of the field. All other sounds were drowned out for a few seconds after that, and his legs doubled their pace without his request.

Their compliance was a matter of life and death now. The finish line was close, in one of those houses. Just a quarter mile to go.

Fierce as the wind had blown, it died down in an instant. The immense droplets also ceased. But Rocky was not inclined to rejoice. He could feel that something worse was coming.

The heavenly giant was now roaring five times louder than before, and the tar of his face began to congeal into a rapidly spinning funnel that stretched out, the nose of the giant reaching towards the earth. For some reason, Rocky was sure he had never seen a tornado in person, but he knew what they could do. He pushed himself to move faster.

Come on, legs, give it all you’ve got or soon you’ll have no ground to stand on.

Once it hit the field, the whirlwind moved in an unpredictable zigzag. It touched the smoked tractor and yanked off both its doors, then shrunk and grew and hurried onwards, sending the straw baled and unbaled towards the heavens. At last, it charged towards the forest.

Rocky felt relieved, but not for long. A half-mile to the right, a new twister began forming, larger than the last.

Then the blackness of the sky broke out and poured onto the earth, filling everything with its molasses-thick darkness, concealing both tornadoes, the field, and the entire world. It was a wet, terrifying surprise.

Wet because, dammit, Kitty’s forecast of rain came to full fruition. The one where she told him about rain strong enough to rip the meat from your bones. A second later, as Rocky spit out the terrible oily water than had infiltrated his mouth, he realized that Kitty had not been telling the full truth. This was worse than her forecast. Much worse.

Chapter 18

Life Five: The Town

It wasn’t the most stylish house. The time-worn and warped plank floors with linoleum plastered across them in places resembled a reproduction of some ancient Egyptian domicile. One meant to look four thousand years old. Add the shag carpets on the walls and the ominous rusted corpses of cuckoo clocks and this place looked like the perfect place for junkies to seek refuge. I guess we’re spore junkies. So it’s just right for us.

It was clean, too, and the windows were shuttered. The tidiness was remarkable, as the house had a general ambiance incompatible with a decent residence.

He was overjoyed at the shutters. Too bad they weren’t installed everywhere. Kitty hadn’t explained why towns were dangerous, but Rocky had a good idea why. He wasn’t as dull as she thought. Perhaps the townspeople had turned into monsters, and there could be visiting beasts, too, including more advanced stages where even machine guns were unable to take them out. The fewer opportunity those creatures had to see inside, the better.

Shutters also served to partly muffle the roar of the wind and water. Rocky couldn’t believe he had made it to one of the houses. Visibility had dropped to zero, and the ground had become thick mud mixed with straw, stirred and whipped by the wind. He had lost his sense of direction instantly. Kitty, though, had somehow kept hers. She couldn’t shout loud enough for him to discern what she was saying, but she could use her hands to direct his head. It worked.

He had been the steed, she the rider. No bridle necessary, thank God.

They were drenched with water and mud, of course. Rocky placed Kitty on the fraying sofa and announced he would go look for some dry clothes.

“Just don’t you dare open the refrigerator,” Kitty begged for some unknown reason. “Hurry it up—we have a lot to do.”

What she could possibly have for them to do in a hurricane-surrounded hut, he had no clue, but he dared not ask. It would become clear soon enough anyway.

He managed to find all kinds of clothes. It wasn’t the time to be picky. He collected a whole heap from the hangers and dressers, took them to the living room, and dropped them in front of the sofa, unable to resist a quick advertisement. “We’re in luck, Kitty. Only the best in fashion for you. Straight from Milan, these sweaters are the new word in style. Made to mimic the look of moth-eaten fabric, these Italian jumpers will make your neighbors wish they had a pest problem!”

“Get out. I need to change.”

“Aw.”

“What?”

“I’m sad you’re sending me out. No, I don’t mean to peep—I’m just curious how you’ll change with that leg and all. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Don’t push me, Rocky. It won’t end well,” she responded wearily.

He turned around, hearing her voice her pet peeve yet again.

“And don’t even think about opening the fridge.”

What was that about? What could be wrong with opening the fridge?

He was hardly out of the room when he realized, nearly slapping himself in the forehead. He really was a moron. How could he miss something so obvious? Who knew how long ago this town and everything in it had fallen into this asshole of the universe? The power would have gone out, and that included power to all the appliances.

The refrigerator had just sat there without electricity for weeks, maybe months. The food inside would be covered in mold. And it would smell horrible.

Opening the door would be like unleashing a chemical weapon on the place.

Hey, at least I figured out one thing for myself.

He had just pulled on one final dry item, a right sock, when he heard Kitty cry out in pain.

He shouted. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking... leg...”

“I offered to help, you know.”

“Yes.”

“And you turned me down.”

“Of course I turned you down. You’ll die before I let you see me naked.”

“But how will I enjoy the sight when I’m dead?”

“Not my problem. Just remember those terms. And I’m not kidding.”

“Sheesh, why so harsh? I mean, you could just consider me like, your personal doctor.”

“You’re fired. I’ve never seen a worse splint in my life. By the way, bring me some rags and a pair of scissors, if you can find one. And something I can use to make a decent splint out of.”

“A splint won’t help you, Kitty. You’ve got a bullet stuck in your leg. I think it ran all the way from your knee to your foot, destroying everything in its path. Bad angle to get shot at.”

“Don’t worry about the bullet. Just do what I asked. And bring me the guns so I can clean them.”

“That doesn’t seem very urgent.”

“Quit being a moron, Rocky. The rifle and the shotgun are both soaked. We have to dry them, at least, not wait until they rust. This weapon might save your life tomorrow. Or it could misfire when you need it most. Get used to caring for your weapons more than your own body.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, you’ll do what I tell you to.”

“Fine, then what are your orders?” This was irritating. They had just arrived at this place to rest, and he was already being given work to do. Bad news to give a person on the fringe of exhaustion.

“Look around the whole house. Check out every door and listen to and sniff every corner. See what exits there are, and set traps everywhere.”

“I didn’t do too well in trap class.”

“Don’t worry, I know your limits. I don’t expect much. Just make sound traps. Lean something heavy up against the doors. Something that makes noise when it falls. Then smash a few glass bottles and spread the shards around bottlenecks in the house. Anything stepping on those will make a lot of noise. And roar in pain. You can devise some traps on your own, too. You’re not completely helpless anymore, and you have to learn. Oh, look for some food and water, too. Just remember not to touch the fridge.”

“Yeah, I understand that.”

“If you find any spoiled food, wrap it up in bags or rags and hide it in a cupboard or something. Just don’t throw it outside. The fewer smells in this place, the less it will attract infecteds. Put any buckets and bins out to collect rainwater. Out on the porch, they should fill up in a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t want to drink that water. It’s foggy, almost soapy in texture.”

“I noticed. That water’s not for drinking, but we can use it for washing. Also, find an ax and bring it here. And anything else that can be used as a weapon. Don’t go out through any exit but the porch we came in through.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to go outside.”

“You’ll have to collect the bins and buckets you put out for rainwater, though.”

“Aye-aye, commander.”

“Well, get to it. Chop chop! There’s a lot to do.”

* * *

As he rummaged through the house, wincing at the torment from his knee, he thought about Kitty. The girl’s behavior astonished him, to the core. He knew she wasn’t your average girl a long time ago, despite his amnesia. But when she had explained in under a minute how he could turn this random house into a bunker for them to stay in for a few days, he realized he didn’t even know the girl he had just carried for five hard miles.

How long had she said she had been here? A few months? Could a city girl become a cold, professional killer in such a short time, slicing her enemies with a vicious sword and guarding her home with scattered shards of broken glass?

That was hard to believe when she looked so non-threatening. She seemed stable, even normal, like this was her native habitat. Her practical way of thinking wasn’t even hindered by the vicious wound to her leg, which would have reduced the strongest man in the real world to an immobilized crybaby calling for mom and demanding pain pills.

What a complex person.

The house was bigger than it had seemed from the outside. Not that he could see much in that storm. There were only two living rooms, but they were joined by a kitchen, several closets, a deck, and a number of mysterious nooks.

Wait, what is this door for? It’s so strange.

It led to a small barn built onto the house. Rocky realized he really didn’t want to step into the space in the dark, especially not without a weapon in his hand. But the source of the stench filling the house was here.

The barn stank. Of rotting flesh.

He suppressed the urge to retreat into the horse, closed the door partially behind him, and crouched down, completely forgetting about his knee. No one was visible, but there were some interesting observations to be made.

The wide wooden gates to the outside were closed, but there was a hole punched through them. It looked new. It was the only reason he could see at all. Gloom ruled the streets, but it was still around noon, after all, so a bit of light seeped through the mess of wind and water. Bones were scattered about, including some large ones that were clearly not human in origin. But a gray skull sat next to the local pitchfork. It was neither sheep nor cow, and may have belonged to the former owner of the place. Clumps of strained feathers were scattered throughout, some in the strangest of places. The chickens had not emerged victorious.

This hadn’t been a fox raiding the coop, either. For once, he didn’t need Kitty to explain what had happened here.

A ghoul had enjoyed a feast in this very room.

Or many ghouls, perhaps.

Still, there was no sign of any threat in the barn, and his mood improved when he found an ax. Always best for an explorer to keep a weapon in hand. He grabbed the pitchfork, too, remembering the Kitty had demanded any and all weapons. It was filthy, but a five-minute shower on the porch and it would look like new, besides any rust.

After he explored every last corner of the place, he stepped down into thought. This was a way out of the house. That made two: the door he and Kitty had come through, and the barn door, which was a problem. He couldn’t patch up that hole without it being, well, obvious that someone had only just patched it up. It was probably better not to touch it.

Now for the doors. Where could he get a hold of some broken glass?

Kitty’s instructions had been brief, but they took some time to implement. In the end, glass covered the floor, and heavy loud objects were leaning up against the door. He even put rakes on the floor, which he almost killed himself with on the way back.

As he transformed this farmhouse into a maze of noisy sound traps, he put everything suitable he could find out to collect rainwater. With each trip outside, he noticed the might of the elements progressively subsiding. The storm was now much weaker than it had started, but it was still impressive. He doubted infecteds liked to roam in this weather. If they did, there was no way they could see their prey from more than a couple of hundred feet away. Rocky’s activity was almost certainly unnoticed.

Funny enough, that made him thankful for the storm. Let it rage on.

As he caught glimpses of Kitty during his trips back and forth, she was concentrating on tearing the rags into strips for a more convenient splint. She had also managed to disassemble, dry, and reassemble the guns while he wasn’t looking.

What a girl. She moved like a robot rather than a human. Not a single tear through the whole process, even though she must have been experiencing the worst possible agony. Rocky imagined a bullet entering his knee at a high angle, biting through his whole lower leg, down to his ankle. He shuddered. There was no way he could have just gritted his teeth through that as she had.

* * *

His knee reminded him of its unwillingness to comply at the worst of times. Rocky was down in the basement, inspecting the emergency supplies stored up by the owner of the skull in the barn. The pain was explosive, stabbing, and ripping all at once. He was forced to sit, grind his teeth, and mentally curse to the deepest hell whomever had thought up this whole ailment-and-compensation system. The attack quickly subsided, but though the joint had worked before, albeit with creaks and nervous complaints, it now refused to do anything useful at all.

He had to finish his search using a shovel happily left here as a crutch. Then he took the stairs, hobbling up them in a sad affair that stretched several minutes long. It wasn’t easy to steel himself, to appear strong—or at least to avoid looking like a defeated dog—but he found the strength to keep on limping.

He sat on the floor and leaned back on the couch. The girl was still fussing with her splint, so he asked, “Could you make me something like that?”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Kitty said through clenched teeth.

“No. I just want to try binding up my knee.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“My leg almost split in half in the basement. I barely held it together.”

“Here, roll up your pants leg and put your foot up on the couch. I’ll wrap it myself. You can’t do it right from that angle. Pull a chair over, too—I’d rather not reach from the floor. Make your leg lie flat.”

He did as she asked, then quickly summed up the work he had done so far around the house. “So I gathered some water, scattered glass around, and found enough food that we won’t die of hunger, though they’re honestly not the tastiest options, either. There’s a barn built onto the house that’s little with bones. Cows, sheep, chicken feathers, even human bones. The place smells bad enough that it kills even the flies. You warned me about the smells—well, that place smells enough to draw the whole town.”

Kitty thought about that for a moment. “I doubt this is the only building that kept cows, but we’ll have to stay here. We can’t look for a better place with that deluge out there. And we’re in no shape to go wandering. Running out of sporejuice, though—I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“What do you mean?”

“My spore meter isn’t falling too fast. Even with my condition, I could go a couple of days before any real problems start. That’s enough time for my leg to recover, at least a little. I hope. But you’ll do just fine. Your knee doesn’t look too bad.”

“It’s not about looks.”

“It’s just your starting debuff. We’re not really penalized, people like you and me, since we get compensation for our suffering. Even in the worst cases, we don’t have to suffer long. Recovery takes two days, three at most. You need lifejuice, of course, but even without it we’ll recover. Just more slowly. Damn, I wish you hadn’t left that bottle in the car.”

Rocky was unable to contain himself. “How was I supposed to remember anything like that under the circumstances? You know what, no, go on about me being a fool. You love doing that. I admit it. It’s all my fault, and I’m a moron. Well? Nothing to say to that? I guess I’m supposed to roast myself now, eh? Seriously, you’re one of the worst ingrates I’ve met.”

Kitty abruptly changed her behavior—she did that every once in a while—looked down at the floor, and responded with a word Rocky thought he’d never hear. “Sorry. I know I lose my temper and all, but don’t take it personally. It’s not malicious. Just how my personality works.”

“Ah,” Rocky’s reply was almost kind as he struggled to deal with the unexpected shift in attitude. “Some kind of mental defense? Like the thorns on a rose?”

“Maybe. I’ve heard that before.”

“From who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Certainly. Because thorns on a rose is wrong. More like three-feet spikes on a tank.”

“I said I’m sorry. Maybe you’ve noticed that I haven’t called you a moron in a while.”

“A while?”

“Well, OK, meaning a few minutes. But I won’t anymore. Plus, I mean, ‘moron’ isn’t that insulting, is it? It’s kind of standard to call newbies words like that. I mean, not everywhere, but I’ve definitely heard it before. Hold on—this might hurt.”

“It can’t hurt more than it already does,” Rocky said, convinced of the fact. Kitty was running a strip of dark green cloth under his leg.

“Yes it can. Mor—uh, newbies like you don’t know the first thing about pain.”

“It was kind of a joke. So I’m guessing you don’t really feel pain?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“That wound of yours. Any normal person would have gone insane by now.”

“As you pump your stats, your pain threshold goes up. I’ve been here for months, remember. And I try every day to forget the things I’ve been through. You never just used to it, really, but you can learn to tolerate it. Or try to, anyway.”

“Months? No way. A year, at least.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here longer than you’re letting on.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I might be a memory-less moron, but some weird vestiges remain. It’s like I know everything, but every time I try to remember how I know something, I come up with a blank. I remember what girls were like, Kitty. I don’t know how, but I remember. You’re not like them. They were predictable, and behaved nothing like you. Becoming what you have must take time. A lot of time.”

“You think too much.”

“Hah! Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“What I mean is, you’re bad at thinking. You still have no idea what this world is like. None at all. Is this place, you age at least a year every month.”

“But not as much as you have.”

“I’m a bad example. I was different from day one. Lots of quirks. And those have grown into what I am now. Don’t bend your knee like that. It needs to be straight.”

“I’m not bending it.”

“Yes you are! Quit arguing with me. Oh, by the way, did you happen to find some vinegar?”

“Vinegar? Yeah. What about it?”

“We can splash it in the corners of the house. That’ll kill some of the smell.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that I’d really like to smell some vinegar right now.”

“Better than rotting flesh. I hate that smell.”

Kitty’s face gave away that her hatred for the smell was not an inborn one. Something had happened to make her feel that way. Some kind of bad memory. Rocky would like to hear the story which had that effect on her, but not right now. At this point, the bandaging process was indeed making his knee feel worse than ever. The girl was wrapping it with all her strength, which was considerable.

What a strange world. A bunch of numbers hidden from everyone else turned this fragile girl into an athlete who could straighten a horseshoe with her bare hands. The look of her at once assured and disassured him that she could break the bones of a man built like he was.

But more assured than disassured. What level was she at? And how could he reach it as quickly as possible? Rocky’s sole ambition, for some reason or other, was now becoming Kitty’s equal. He was clearly failing. Big time.

* * *

“Is that the best you could find?” Kitty twitched, as if he had just order fine lobster tail at a top restaurant and had gotten a cow pie instead.

Rocky didn’t like the food he had brought them either, but he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at it. “Look around, Kitty. These were simple people, with a simple diet. Nearly everything has spoiled. Just be glad they had some canned goods. And crackers.”

“Which are dry as a rock.”

“Oh, you prefer wet crackers? Well, there are piles of potatoes down below. Want some raw potatoes? Be right back.”

“Why not some cooked potatoes? What kind of stove does this house have?”

“Electric.”

“Damn. We can’t even make tea, can we.”

“I’ll try to think something up, my dear. For your sake.”

“I’m not your dear. Don’t make me break your nose. But what are you thinking?”

“Well, that complicates matters. But this house does have a wood-burning stove.”

“Don’t you even think about making smoke from the chimneys.”

“Yeah, I thought that was a bad idea, too.”

“Don’t even light up a cigarette here. Not anywhere. Very dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it. I don’t smoke, and don’t want to.”

“So you weren’t a smoker,” Kitty decided, her face contorting in disgust as she picked around an open tin can rusting along the edges.

“I mean, I might have been, but I don’t remember.”

“Nobody forgets that. Smokers always respawn with a half-full pack of cigs in their pockets. Sometimes they come with a lighter or matches, and sometimes not. But you didn’t get a pack, and you don’t want a pack, so you must not have poisoned your lungs with that crap in the real world, either.”

“Do you spawn with cigarettes?”

“You think I look like a smoker?”

Rocky imagined her with a cigarette in her mouth. The picture made him laugh and shake his head. “That would be kind of funny.”

“I hate the smell of tobacco. And it brings all the ghouls running. Best to avoid it entirely in this world.”

“Surgeon General’s warning: Smoking may cause painful death by monster. Anyway, can we change the subjects?”

“I don’t talk when I’m eating food.”

“Kitty, you’re talking right now.”

“Yeah. This isn’t food.”

“Fine, then that means you can talk. What are our plans? For the near future, I mean.”

“How the hell am I supposed to make plans? We’ll lie low here until we recover, at least party. Try to move as little as we can and eat as much of this crap as we can.”

“For a few days?”

“That’s what it’s going to take.”

“The canned goods are sparse, and if you’re going to keep downing them like that, by tomorrow you’ll have nothing to eat but raw potatoes.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Raw potatoes, really?”

“No, but stuff like that. Potatoes are nothing. But canned food, now that’s scary.”

“Why?”

“Canned goods can have botulism. And there’s nothing like botulism to knock an immune flat on his back. A few hours of torment, then back to respawn. Seriously, it’s perilous. You have to watch what you eat. Sniff it, carefully. If you have the slightest doubt that it’s bad, keep away from it.”

“Alright. So, three days pass. Then what?”

“Then you grab that ax and walk around the town. And the shotgun, too.”

“Walk around the town? Why?”

“Because there could still be settleds here, even if all the food has been eaten. Hopefully there are at least three or four of them. We’d better hope to God there’s not just one of them. You kill them and search their sacs. We really need spores.”

“Wait...”

“Oh come on, what more is there to explain?”

“Why should I hope to God I’ll be facing four of them rather than one?”

“Because if this is a big town and there’s only one infected left, that infected will be a serious opponent. One that ate the people, the cows, the sheep, and the lesser ghouls. Sometimes the bigger monsters travel in packs, but when they settle down, they prefer to be alone. Anything trying to be neighborly gets killed. In a city, things are different. But a town doesn’t offer as much food, so competitors are detrimental.”

“So there could be an elite here?”

“Hope not. Knock on wood.”

“Well, thanks for not calling me a moron, at least. Still, could you answer the question?”

“I doubt it. Why would there be an elite in a back-of-the-woods town like this?”

“How should I know? I’m not a specialist.”

“An elite would be bored to tears here. He would just pass by. Or see our tracks and pick us up on the way. There’s no one else living here, except maybe some lesser monster. Still could be dangerous, though. Let’s say there’s a level twenty-five ghoul here. The part above his neck is starting to look more like a lopsided cabbage than a head, with curved armor plates in place of leaves. A special living armor covering all the vulnerable spots. It’s near impossible to puncture as long as the monster lives, but easy once it’s dead. The most developed infecteds are basically the same, just with thicker, stronger plates. The kind that are tough to get through even once they’re dead.”

“What about bullets?”

“I doubt anyone could take a level twenty-five monster down with pistol bullets. You’d need a machine gun. Or better, a rifle with an armor-piercing round.”

“Right.”

“We call the monsters around level twenty-five rafflers. They’re one of the nastiest ghouls, not because they’re the strongest, but because they’re everywhere. You never know when you’re going to run into one. They start growing armor plates along their spines and over their chest, too. The plates are still soft and weak, but they protect the vulnerable spots at least a little. Melee weapons have a tough time punching through. Guns are better. Rafflers run fast and are aggressive—and strong enough to rip your head clean off. They have huge claws and excellent senses of smell and hearing. Their vision is mediocre, though. They won’t see you from far away. If you freeze, they might even move past you without noticing you. Not always. But sometimes. A ghoul like that would crush you like a fly. Me too.”

“So you’re under level twenty-five?”

“What makes you say that?”

“In most games, you can only easily tackle things with a level below yours. Although I’ve had no trouble taking out walkers at my level, and even pairs of them at a higher level than mine.”

“Like I said, Rocky, this isn’t a game. Don’t be a slave to the numbers. They can be deceiving. Let’s say you’re a level zero. You could kill a red with a level higher than forty with one bullet, if it’s in the right spot. A headshot means you’re a corpse, no matter how high you’ve pumped your stats. I mean, there are probably some ways to prevent that, but they don’t work for everyone. No one on the Continent is immortal. A raffler would rip my head off in one blow. Yours too. Our necks are made of the same stuff, no matter what our levels are at.”

“So what level are you?”

“You don’t need to know that,” she rebuked him.

“Why doesn’t that show up in the information window?”

“It does. I see your level. Both in the window and in the party settings.”

“So why can’t I see yours?”

“Because I’m the one who created the party. And because you’re new. If you want to see more information, you need to pump your Perception. Along with your level, of course. The closer your stats are to the stats of the object you’re looking at, the more information you get.”

“So we’ll sit here for a few days, and then I’ll go find out how many ghouls are around and whether they can be gutted or not.”

“That’s the plan,” nodded Kitty as she tried to scrape what was left in the tin can from around the edges.

“If there are a few of them around, I’ll kill them, gut them, and we’ll make lifejuice. Will moonshine work for that?”

She whimpered at the thought. “If it’s strong enough.”

“Are you joking? No town has weak liquor. Alright, so if I run into a lone ghoul, the master of the town, I’ll die in dramatic fashion. Then what, I walk all the way back here from the respawn?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how the clusters work out. If nothing nearby is about to reset, you might respawn far away from here. And you’re not the best at long walks, you know. We’ll have to say our goodbyes in the chat window, then. If we can.”

“What do you mean, ‘if we can’?”

“If there’s a dark cluster between us, or a bunch of gray clusters, the chat room might not work. You’ll be able to talk to anyone else, but not me.”

“What are dark clusters?”

“You know, black clusters. Oh, I forgot, you’re a mor—er, mortal.”

“Black clusters?”

“Just forget about it. You don’t need to know about them yet. I could talk about those clusters for days, until my tongue dropped off and your head burst. I want to sleep instead. We have to sleep for our wounds to heal. So you should get some rest, too.”

“Can you fall asleep with the pain?”

“It sucks, but I don’t have a choice. I must sleep. The rain will help.”

“You kidding? With that thunder it’s like sleeping inside the bass drum at a rock concert.”

“You totally missed the point.”

“Then explain.”

“The infecteds hate water. They won’t be active during the rain. As long as that downpour keeps pounding the roof and shutters, we’re safe. On the Continent, you take those moments whenever you can get them. Assuming you don’t waste your seventy-odd lives left as stupidly as the rest, you’ll learn fast that storms are the best time to sleep soundly.”

* * *

Kitty’s words proved true less than a half hour later. Rocky was out fast. Despite the ancient sofa with its bulging springs poking him in the back. Despite the nervous emotions flooding his mind. And despite the overwhelming, unrelenting music of the weather. He lay with his eyes open, then with them closed, and finally descended into impenetrable, dreamless darkness.

It wasn’t even nighttime yet. Exhaustion had finally seized him.

He woke in the middle of the night. Kitty was leaning on the pitchfork for support, bending over the bunk, shaking Rocky’s shoulder. He began mumbling nonsense, and then realized what was happening and shifted to his usual misogyny. “Huh? What? Kitty? What are you doing? Wow, here I thought I didn’t have a chance but... Are you sure this is what you want right now? I mean, as long as it doesn’t involve me getting both of my legs broken...”

“Shut up, moron!” the girl fearfully hissed, then explained her behavior. “They found us. I don’t know hor.”

“Who?” Rocky felt his whole body tense.

“An infected?”

“Just one?”

“Yes. And it’s not a level twenty-five. It’s bigger. Much bigger. It’ll snap us like twigs, Rocky.”

Chapter 19

Life Five: Master of the Town

Kitty loved to insult her companion’s intellectual abilities, but her remarks were not wholly accurate. He considered himself observant, circumspect, calculating, with a good memory and a good mind to analyze it with, weighing all of the facts he knew and the assumptions he was reasonably sure of.

He didn’t need to ask any questions this time around. A couple of seconds were enough to digest the girl’s worlds. In a paradoxically joyful tone, he pronounced, “It’s a good thing it came to us. I would have hated to have to wait until tomorrow to take it out.”

“What the fuck is good about this situation?”

“Are you saying we’re in trouble? Did I hear you right?”

“Rocky, this isn’t just your average level of bad. It’s bad beyond words. Level thirty-seven. It’s not quite a manmincer yet, but it’s too developed to be labeled a trampler. Sometimes they’re called biters, since their jaws can bite clean through a car. What do you think of that?”

“Hard to say. Can a rifle take one out? I mean, the rifle I’ve got?”

“I don’t know. I never tried. Maybe, but only barely. And it’s impossible with these bullets. Or at least close to impossible.”

“What’s wrong with the bullets?”

“They’re hunting bullets. Armor-piercing bullets aren’t sold to civilians. You can’t get them in gun stores.”

Rocky found himself thinking about a future with this girl. She had a good head on her shoulders. Could she cook? Maybe. Change a diaper? I mean, the baby probably wouldn’t enjoy the way she did it, but she would get the job done. He took a break from his chauvinist voyage when he realized this whole situation was unrealistic, even in this universe’s terms. “If this thing has found us, how are we still alive?”

“Because we’re inside. It’s outside. I barely saw it, jumping towards the house cautiously, crouching just beyond the fence, but I could make out part of its head. It must have eaten all the local cows to develop that far. Those things love beef.”

“Why isn’t it inside?”

“I don’t know. I can’t for the life of me figure out what it’s doing or how it found us. Developed infecteds aren’t as stupid as zeroes. They can even be cunning. Maybe it’s afraid to rush in. It’s studying the layout, formulating a plan. But it won’t just leave us alone, you can be sure of that.”

“Do these ones travel alone?”

“They wander in packs from cluster to cluster, but when they settle down into packs, they’re usually alone.”

“So is this a nomad? Or a local?”

“I don’t know, but I think this is its home. It was moving confidently, like it knew that its best course was to climb the fence farther down, where it couldn’t be seen from the house.”

“We have two rifles and a shotgun. Come on, Kitty, let’s hear some ideas. I don’t have enough experience to offer advice.”

“I didn’t expect any advice. One of our rifles is a semi-auto. Low penetration power, but a high rate of fire. If you’re lucky you can wound its knee. Even the manmincers don’t have very good knee protection. They’re not elites, and that might be your best chance. A lot of people have saved themselves by taking advantage of that. But these things move their legs fast. It’ll be tough to score a solid hit in the knee.”

“It’s still pouring rain. I thought you said they hated water.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that, either. If it’s hunting in the rain, it must be really hungry. The rain has let up a little, true, but it’s still not their kind of weather.”

“So maybe he’ll get fed up with the rain and decide to come inside. Tight spaces and narrow hallways in here, so it should be easier to take it out.”

“You really have no idea what you’re talking about. We’ll be the ones feeling cramped, not it. How’s your leg?”

“I don’t know. Let me stand up and see.”

As he stood, Rocky tried to shift his weight to the bad knee. He grimaced. Not good. “I don’t think it hurts as much as before, but damn, it’s about as flexible as a wooden post. Should I try to take the wrap off?”

“We can try it,” Kitty nodded, unsure. “But I doubt that’ll help. Alright, so neither of us can rely on our legs to work. I can’t lean on mine at all. What do we do if the monster smashes through the wall right now?”

Rocky touched the wall, which was made of thick beams. He hoped to heaven that Kitty would answer his next question in the negative. “It can bust through this?”

“Not in one blow, of course, but yeah. A biter’s claws can even get through solid brick if it spends some time on the task. An elite could smash right through. I guess we’re at least lucky it’s not that.”

“Well, Kitty?”

“What?”

“Exactly. Are we just going to hang around here whispering all day? What if it bursts in right now?”

“It won’t. Don’t worry about being surprised. I’m keeping an eye on it.”

Rocky looked around. “How?”

“I’ve got it marked.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s an ability I have. If I see a creature, I can mark it. Then I see the direction and approximate distance to its location, even if I lose line of sight. I’m no sensor, of course. It only works over short distances, but it doesn’t get in the way and works even if there are a bunch of obstacles in the way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“I did. You didn’t notice.”

“OK, where is it now?”

“There.” Kitty pointed to the windowless wall. Rocky felt a good deal better at the news. “About a hundred feet away. It’s moved away from the house for some reason.”

“Maybe it just randomly walked by? And doesn’t even know we’re here?”

“Randomly? Rocky, nothing here is random. I managed to see him. That wasn’t random, either.”

“What do you mean?”

Kitty hesitated, tapping the fore of the rifle with a fingernail, then explained reluctantly. “Many incomprehensible things happen here, and not everyone believes in all of them. But I do. Not all of them, but in some things that have helped me out. You’ll end up believing, too. Immunes who live here for a while feel their intuition improving. Sometimes, it improves dramatically. It becomes more than intuition—almost foresight. Prophecy. You know where to look and when. Or you intend to go somewhere but can sense you need to hide instead, and then boom, a pack of monsters crests the hill and rushes by, and it’s only by a miracle that you weren’t torn to bits. All kinds of things. Do you understand?”

“So everyone that stays here learns to predict the future? Or just some of you?”

“Well, not exactly predict. I doubt anyone can do that, and the System doesn’t like to make any one person too powerful. But sometimes you can sense something a few seconds before it happens. The hardest part, though, is learning to listen to that sense. It’s strongest when you’re traveling alone. Which is how I usually travel.”

“So your intuition detected that thing?”

“I woke up, and I realized it was for a reason. Then I had this inexplicable urge to look out the window. Not just any window, but a particular window. I know how to listen to that inner voice. Some are better listeners than I am, but I can hear it well enough.”

“So what is your intuition telling you right now? Will we make it out of this alive?”

Kitty shook her head, slowly.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Rocky. We’re trapped. These creatures are best taken out from far away. Close up, they can send us both to respawn with a single blow. But we can’t shoot at it from far away. The house only has one floor, and it’s surrounded by fences, bushes, and sheds. No way to see beyond them. What’s in the basement?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were down there, Rocky. What’s it like? Can we wait down there with guns aimed at the entrance?”

“Yes. But it’s dark down there. I had to light my way with matches. And the floor above looks weak. Something that big could just smash its way down and land on top of us.”

“Dammit!”

“Come on. Swearing doesn’t get us anywhere, and you sound like a schoolgirl who just learned her first curse words. Spend your words telling me about our new friend’s weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses? How do you know it has any?”

“Maybe I’m not the brightest light on the tree, Kitty, but I’m not that stupid. You told me about its knees. That’s one weakness. Are there any others?”

“Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

“A wound in the brain or the upper spine can usually kill it right away. And in the middle of its chest there are a couple of vulnerable spots where if you hit it, it will die quickly. Even if it gets a hold of you, it probably won’t have time to finish you off. But its head is like the turret on a tank. You could try shooting between its armor plates, into its eyes, but I don’t know if that’s a sure bet. Its torso is well-protected, from the front and the back. Its sides are less armored, but shooting them won’t really get you anywhere.”

“So shooting its eyes will take it down?” Rocky asked absentmindedly, thinking about something else entirely.

“Its eyes are very narrow, and the lower bone of its eye sockets is strong, but it’s no elite, so a bullet can smash through without too much trouble.”

“How does its eye work? Like a human’s? You know, mucous membranes and all that.”

“It doesn’t have real eyelids. In their place it has a sort of sphincter made of keratinized plates. They can keep a pistol bullet out if the beast closes them up.”

“Then I just have one more question. Will this thing have spores?”

“Are you kidding? Of course. And not just spores. It’ll have a treasure trove in its sac.”

“More than spores?” Rocky tensed up, remembering his triple-ball suicide.

He had to ask Kitty later what kinds of things those sacs could hold.

“Yeah, assorted things. What about it?”

“Then we’re in massive luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, you know. We need spores, and here they are knocking at our door. This is luck smiling at us. My Luck, probably.”

“Smirking at us, maybe.” Kitty did not share his optimism.

“Let’s find out whose lucky day it is, shall we? I’ll try to lure him to a good spot.”

“With what?”

“Not with what. With whom.”

“You’re going to use yourself as bait?”

“Well, I’m not about to use you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re such a remarkable girl. I might be even starting to like you, so I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you yet.”

“Look, how about I just break those legs now?”

“Some other time. I can’t exactly lure a monster with my legs broken, now can I?”

* * *

Rocky felt two sensations at once. On the one hand, he was very proud of himself. For the first time, Kitty had listened to his wise instructions, not the other way around.

He would love to watch her try getting away with calling him a moron after this. But there was also a dark side of the coin. When a girl as confident and dangerous as she was threw up her hands in resignation, the situation must be a bad one. There was an undeniable likelihood that he would wake up in that dorm room soon.

That didn’t scare Rocky too much. Worst case scenario, the monster would kill them both. They would each lose a life and start it all over again. And if they were together, they would respawn in a fresh cluster together. He could continue extracting priceless information from her. But a victory without any friendly casualties was, of course, the preferred outcome. Rocky had realized it was a bad idea to just throw lives away. Not to mention exceptionally unpleasant.

He wondered if there was a way to raise his remaining lives. Another question to ask Kitty later. Now wasn’t the time for chatter. Rocky was busy arranging what Kitty had called “sure-fire suicide.” He disagreed, but those words still ate away at him. She had much more experience in this world. She knew what sort of thing was hunting them.

Rocky had no idea. At least Kitty had left him the rifle. She would have left the shotgun, too, but that was a bad idea. His plan required one shotgun blast at least, but it was surer with two or three shots. She put a pistol in her belt, then pulled out her trusty sword, visibly more confident holding that than a machine gun.

Maybe she was right. Maybe that sword, despite looking like a toy, was a much better answer to monsters than a firearm. But he doubted it. How would she swing it when she was leaning on that pitchfork, anyway?

Oh right. She’s a warrior.

Despite his damned knee, Rocky was much more mobile than his companion. He limped and almost fell every few steps, but he could still walk, and even hold his rifle at the ready as he did so. That was saying something. The weapon was heavy and awkwardly large. If he took a shot, of course, he’d have to deal with the powerful recoil. Today’s Rocky was not yesterday’s, when he pulled the epic helicopter takedown. His knee was in shambles now, and he had little confidence in his ability to stay standing.

But today’s Rocky still kept getting into trouble. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Perhaps that was when he was at his best.

The monster decided not to rush the house, but it wasn’t about to sit around outside, either. The rain kept on falling. It was more of a strong shower now. Tolerable, but still powerful. The wind had vanished, deadening the saturated air.

Perhaps the creature had decided to wait for the weather to turn and so took shelter inside the shed near which Kitty had first seen it hiding. It was a flimsy-looking structure. Hardly comfortable, but it was a roof, so the beast could escape the rain. Infecteds were anything but pretentious. Spartan residential conditions were more than satisfactory. If Kitty was right, they didn’t like to stay in buildings, preferring to hop in to catch anything living and then get the hell out. This weather had overruled that preference for a few hours.

Seeing that the ghoul hated rain, Rocky and Kitty needed to find a way to take care of it before the weather relented. Sounds wouldn’t carry very far during the storm, and any smoke would only be seen from a short distance away.

Rocky moved cautiously through the manure and rotting bones to the beast-rent hole in the barn door. He planned to crouch and walk through, but his knee protested at such positions. So he knelt down and crawled through. There was no way he would dare to open the gate. A massive bar secured it from the inside. Even if he lifted with all his force, he doubted it would budge easily. Once it did, it would cause such a ruckus that the tenant in the shed would charge out, knowing a delicious breakfast was served.

Rocky’s plan preferred that the lord of this town be unaware of his movements.

Now he was out in the open. Here, he risked becoming a meal with every step. The trap he had set inside was a long shot, but it was a shot. There in the cramped darkness, the besieged humans would have their chance to deal a mortal wound to the beast.

Or to die themselves. It was a lousy trap, in all honesty, but it was better than nothing.

The rain still poured down, strong and cold. The antique wide-brimmed hat he had donned to protect himself filled with icy water. The sound of the drops beating on his headwear echoed through his head. Its source was close to his ears, but it was possible that the noise was truly loud.

As they had planned, Kitty had repeatedly warned him that the infecteds’ hearing was pristine. Even the most muffled background noise could tip them off. So he had to move quickly, before the enemy sitting in that shed decided to take the initiative into its own claws.

Rocky abandoned all attempts at moving stealthily after he made several mud-smacking sounds with missteps in piles of wet manure. He reached the corner and leaned around it, the shed now in his sights. Lowering his rifle, he thrust his hand into the pocket of the slicker he was wearing, looking for the bottle of vodka. No, he wasn’t thirsty. In fact, he was pretty sure that he was as much of an alcoholic as Kitty was. This vodka bottle’s label didn’t even correspond to its contents. Rocky had poured the strongest moonshine he could find in the cellar inside. The owner of this house had kept a good supply of the stuff, even labeling some of the bottles with their alcohol by volume. He had checked the flammability of the stuff in the kitchen, with tiny samples. They had lit in violent blue flame, dying out in an instant. It wasn’t napalm, not even gasoline, but it would work.

Kitty was against the whole plan. She didn’t like handling fire, and she believed it was unnecessary to start one, besides being difficult to do in the rain. She said that shouting or knocking on the wall would be enough to seize the beast’s interest.

But Rocky was discovering a pyromania within. Somehow, she had relented at his insistence. It was partly a matter of principle for him. He was compensating for hitherto submitting to her unconditionally by being stubborn, even when he wasn’t certain his way would succeed. He wanted Kitty to listen to him.

He clicked his lighter, set fire to the rag stuffed into the neck of the bottle, and gave it a few seconds to grow. Then he took aim and hurled the bottle at his target. The shed was in miserable shape, but it was large enough that he couldn’t possibly miss. He hit it right where he intended to, just under the shelter of the roof, at a relatively dry spot in the wooden wall.

It shattered, and tongues of bluish flame tried to dominate the unsuspecting planks. Rocky stepped back, frowning. He wasn’t happy with the blaze. It was too weak. The alcohol was burning up too quickly, and it might not truly ignite the wood before it was gone.

One instant later, those fears melted into a past that seemed infinitely far away. The world changed so dramatically in that moment that Rocky, who had believed himself ready for anything, was as lost as a nerd at a nightclub.

His gaze was fixed on the shed’s wide-open door, but he still saw the show that happened elsewhere in all its glory. The wall of the shed, exploded, disintegrated by an unimaginable force, amidst a shower of planks and splinters. A massive dark rumbling form, inconceivably terrifying, charged out.

It was fast. Dizzyingly fast. Abnormally, impossibly, mind-twistingly fast. So fast that Rocky realized his original plan, where he ran back into the barn and crouched to shoot the monster in the eyes, would bring him down with a bad case of claw-in-ass before he had even gotten inside. Not to mention before he had navigated all the manure, bones, and other things on the way. Instead, he would have to force his knee to submit, dive inside head-first like a fish, hope to land on soft ground, and turn and fire along with Kitty. Unlikely. The girl would be shooting modified shells with some of their shot replaced with salt and pepper. These infecteds could sometimes take bullets to their eyes and remain functional enough to deal damage. But nobody liked salt and pepper in a fresh wound. He assumed this would blind the creature and make it easier to kill.

Kitty had expressed her doubts, calling the plan completely unreasonable. Now Rocky realized that she had been one hundred percent correct. One thousand percent correct, even. He had pretended to be a grand strategist, and he would suffer for it. Within seconds.

So there was no point to running away. Why even turn around? He threw up his rifle, which suddenly seemed weightless. Without even trying to aim, he fired. The bullet would hit. It had nowhere else to go, considering the size of the hulk seizing towards him, taut with veins the size of boat ropes and covered with brown bioarmor plates.

He shot once, then made a desperate attempt to grab for the bolt. There just wasn’t time. The weapon was knocked from his hands before he had even pulled back.

Then Rocky was knocked down on his back, tossed like a pillow, slamming into the ground with ridiculous force. Thankfully it was soft, covered with manure of varying degrees of freshness. An unbearable weight was on top of him. He tried to pull his face from the furious armor plate digging into his cheekbone, reaching for his pistol in vain.

The only attempt at freedom he could make was to sway side to side. If he could reach the grip of the pistol, he could...

Wait, then wait? Why was he still able to move at all? He should be torn to shreds, stuffed into the terrifying jaw, screaming in pain as he was torn by razor-sharp rows of teeth.

But he was alive. And the monster which was nearly crushing him to death was in no hurry to make any motion besides wriggling its feet like a drunk man unwilling to leave his chosen bedplace in a back alley.

Red text appeared in front of him.

Note: Personal victory: dangerous infected destroyed. Level 37. Chance of valuable loot: 100%.

Congratulations on a beautiful fight. You have received 30 distributable base stat progress points. +88 Endurance progress points. +101 Speed progress points. +104 Accuracy progress points. +71 Reaction progress points. +33 Humanity points.

Level up! Congratulations, you are now level 2.

How the hell had he just killed this behemoth, with its armor straight out of a medieval joust and its teeth straight out of a great white shark’s mouth? The news was unbelievably wonderful. Miraculous. He wanted nothing more than to spit the dung out of his mouth and laugh in rapture.

Then figure out how to escape from underneath the carcass without drowning in the smelly mud.

Chapter 20

Life Five: Clearing Things Up

The pitchfork dug into the soaked soil and manure, dangerously close to Rocky’s side, ever so slightly shifting the immense carcass on top of him. By now he had some degree of freedom, but every movement had to be undertaken with caution. The sharp points of the bony armor plates had rent his clothes and his skin in places. He had no particular desire to tear both off in his haste.

The blades failed to bite into the over-malleable soil and sliced their way out. Kitty was standing on one leg, barely keeping her balance. She cursed. Rocky couldn’t resist laughing.

“Oh, fuck off. Here I am trying to move a mountain off of you and you’re laughing at me! Look, moron, I’m going to pick up this side of the beast one more time, and you get out from under it as fast as you can. I’m no forklift here. I can’t move it any further.”

“Why am I suddenly a moron again?”

“Who else? You almost got yourself killed, moron! You’re stupid, and your plan was just as stupid, if not more! Where did you learn to be so dull? Come on now, help me out. I’m not about to spend all night at this.”

Risking all kinds of scratches and abrasions, Rocky managed to power his way out from under the dead weight. He rose uncertainly. To his surprise, his limbs still functioned, and the rest of his body seemed to be in decent shape. The news just kept getting better. He still couldn’t help but smile, yet despite the crust of mud and blood hiding his face, Kitty grimaced. “Look at that dumb smile! How dare you chide me for calling you a moron? Any bones broken? Can you move your arms? Wait, you’re wounded. Your face is all bloody!”

“It’s just a scratch,” said Rocky, unable to wipe the grin from his face. He had never been happier.

“You call that a scratch?” Why is she so angry?

“What else? It’s bearable. Come on, this was worse than facing off against a charging rhino. You’re bound to come away with some scratches.”

“That was practically a manmincer. Look at the size of it! It weighs a thousand pounds. Maybe more! Check your ribs. They could all be dislocated.”

“Relax, I’m fine!” said Rocky, without any aggression in his voice. His smile broadened.

This was the first time he had seen his companion genuinely worry about someone other than herself. About him. She was very glad that Rocky was alive, but she was trying to hide it by showering him with insults and criticism.

Yesterday, he might have been tricked by her evasions, but he recognized them for what they were now.

Sometimes, people can live together for years without ever coming to know or understand one another. But in other cases, that understanding came in a couple of days, or even just a couple of hours.

Life experience was what counted. Learning how to live.

Or how to survive, in this case.

Kitty was clearly weary, leaning on the pitchfork handle and carefully holding her crippled leg off the ground, avoiding the manure. She looked at the slain beast. “One single shot.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t asking you, moron. Just stating it. The biter opened its mouth. Your bullet entered, drove through the center of its brain, and flew straight into the spore sac. I know how this thing moves. You didn’t have time to aim. You’re still a moron, after all. This is some kind of bug. It’s impossible. Nothing like this happens, ever. I need an explanation, Rocky. Now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who are you? Goddammit. What are you? Why are you what you are?” The girl’s face reddened. She nearly yanked the pitchfork clean out of the ground as she trembled.

Rocky reached to catch her, but stopped himself. She was okay, and any help from Manure Man was unlikely to be appreciated.

Regaining her balance, Kitty declined to look at the carcass again. She continued with a calmer, even businesslike tone. “You need to clean out the sporesac.

It’s easy to do.”

“I know.”

“He knows. Sheesh. Know-it-all all of a sudden, eh? Don’t leave anything in there. Take it all, down to the last bit of black webbing. Well? What are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting for the shit to slide out of my pants.” He realized that was ambiguous and needed instant clarification. “It’s not mine.”

“I don’t care how it got in there. Get it out, fast. Do you know if there’s any vinegar inside?”

That was sudden. “Why are you asking me that again?”

“Why can’t you just ever answer a damn question?”

“I already said there was.”

“Come back later and cover all of this in it. Splash it on each and every spot of blood. That’ll help with the stench, at least a little.”

“Do you think anything else will show up?”

“You don’t understand this world, Rocky. The thinkers get killed. The doers survive. You can’t turn off your brain completely, of course, but people who spend all their time thinking don’t survive for long here. So, sporesac, vinegar, then back inside. I’ll go try to find you some new clothes. Your outfit is all shredded, and it’s easier to just throw it away than to wash it. Now, once you’re clean and dry and we’re sitting inside, I want to hear the true story. How you, a zero, a total moron, manage to instantly kill anything running or flying at you. Without a single miss. That never happens, Rocky. Enough stupid fairy tales. I want to know the truth.”

* * *

Nine of the coveted spores sat before them on the tablecloth. Kitty had begrudgingly used the moonshine to make some lifejuice out of the tenth.

That wasn’t all. This situation had some similarities to the time when Rocky had pulled a pile of things out of the head of the most fearsome creature he had seen. Things he had promptly used to commit accidental suicide.

Two amber-yellow balls, the size of peas, sat with them. They looked like someone had rolled them out of toasted sugar. Then there were four items that looked like ugly, bloated wheat grains. Or maybe the product of some dwarfish relative of the date palm. Then there was another ball with a shape and color like a hazelnut, just a little smaller and not fully opaque in a few places.

In the midst of all of this, the table was most adorned by a sort of dried starfish shape, slightly larger than a human thumbnail. It was a freakishly unnatural blue-black, a color unlike anything else in nature. Rocky knew without any explanation that this was the most valuable of the items, but he still wanted to hear all of the details.

Kitty was in no hurry to share them. To the contrary, she wanted details from Rocky. He didn’t know where to begin. His thoughts were confused and challenging to put into words. All he could voice were his assumptions.

Kitty sniffed her creation and flinched. “Disgusting. And there’s nothing around to flavor it but sugar and honey. What a shitty house to pick.”

“Does that mean we can’t drink it?” Rock wondered.

“Not at all. You can drink it in pretty much any form. It’ll just taste disgusting, that’s all. Alright, well, no matter the taste, we need lifejuice. Here.”

Rocky took the mug and took a decent gulp without daring to sniff it. He suppressed his body’s instinct to vomit the stuff out, while trying not to appear distressed. “I’ll drink whatever you make, to be honest, but the taste is a little less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal? Sour urine from a sick skunk is better than this.” Kitty closed her eyes in preparation and took a gulp from her own mug.

Rocky assured himself that his spore balance meter had moved to the right, and remarked off-handedly, “This might shock you, or you might not believe it, but this is only my fifth life.”

Kitty choked. “So you lied to me?”

“No.”

“But you said you died twenty-eight times. Didn’t you?”

Rocky shook his head. “That’s not quite right, girlfriend. I said my Luck was at twenty-eight. I didn’t say anything about dying. You made that conclusion on your own.”

What he said was so significant that Kitty didn’t even react to his use of the word “girlfriend.”

“You could have told me you died less. Why would you fool me like that?”

“I could have, but you didn’t ask. You were too busy making fun of me for my Luck. But I’m a moron, so why would you ever ask me anything?”

“Quit pretending to be offended. I know you’re not. Why are you looking at me like that? Have I really offended you? Shit. Well, sorry. Sometimes I myself don’t even know what I’m saying. I didn’t mean it, you know. Everybody here talks like that. How about we just forget it? Peace?”

“I’m not at war with you.”

“Peace it is, then. Rocky, how could you reach a Luck value of twenty-eight by your fifth life? Something doesn’t add up. What happened?”

“Maybe I’m lying about my Luck right now. Or can you see my stats?”

“Of course I can. You accepted my invite to the party without checking the settings. The invite said that the party leader has permission to view detailed information about each party member. You should read the fine print next time.”

“Yeah, I’m such a moron.”

“Oh come on, quit being offended. You have a lot to learn, still. This world has so many things going on. I still don’t know half of what I want to, and nobody knows absolutely everything. So, that Luck rating. You’re unusual, but you’re still a newbie. You couldn’t have pumped it that high. Luck doesn’t even pump by itself, or very rarely, with some achievements. And it doesn’t make a difference. You can have five Luck or ten and you won’t see the slightest difference in how lucky or unlucky you are. So what is your secret?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I can tell you do.”

“I mean, sure, I do know something you don’t,” Rocky admitted, pointing at the table. “Remember how I said I had seen these things before?”

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of things.”

“Where is ‘there’?”

“In one of the cities I respawned in. At night, I ran into a man like you. With his last ounce of strength, he managed to take out a huge monster. Compared to that beast, the one outside is a toddler, if that.”

“An elite?”

“I don’t know.”

“More than a ton? Or less?”

“Much more. Enough meat on its bones to feed a country. Impossibly huge.”

“Definitely an elite. The line is around a ton. Elites are level sixty or higher, or maybe sixty-two, around there. Everyone has different standards.”

“So this guy asked me to break open the sporesac and bring him something.”

“Pearls?”

“Right. Any balls that looked like pearls.”

“He was dying?”

“He was already a corpse. I have no idea how he managed to voice his request at all.”

“Knew what he was doing. If you take a pearl before you die, you’ll get the effect, but later. It doesn’t vanish like everything else.”

“If you say so.”

“So what happened next?”

“Well, I pulled everything out, but then another ghoul came around, similar to the first. I barely managed to dive under a truck parked on the side of the road. But I realized I had no time at all. The beast set to tearing the truck apart at record speed. So there I was, ready to return to that same dormitory, when I thought, ‘Why did that dead guy want these things?’ He hadn’t just asked me to bring them to him. He specifically said to put them in his mouth. So I figured there must be something special about them.”

“Rocky—did you do what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, I messed up. I figured swallowing them couldn’t make things any worse, but it just might make things better.”

“My God. You did it. How many pearls did you swallow? And what colors?” Kitty was on the edge of her seat, despite her leg.

“I think they were black, red, and green. Three of them.”

Kitty let out a squeal he had never heard before. Her face twisted, almost comically. “How many!? Three? You’re kidding me. You ate a whole three pearls?”

“What was I supposed to do? Try to play dead?”

“I can’t believe it. You really took three pearls?”

“Look, I realized how badly I messed up right away. The consequences were agonizing. What was I supposed to do? Read the user’s manual?”

“I’m just trying to be clear here. You ate three pearls at once. Right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And your life after that lasted less than a second. Good guess?”

“You know the story already, I guess.”

“That result is obvious.”

“For you. How could I have known that? I’m just a moron, you know.”

“Forget all of that,” interrupted Kitty. “You just really don’t understand the situation here. I don’t even really know what to say, to be honest. What you swallowed is absurdly powerful. You have to wait thirty-six hours between pearls, or death is sure. Usually when people get their hands on more than two, they wait even longer, believing that reduces the risk of transformation. I don’t even know what to think of what you did, Rocky. Why aren’t you turning into a quasi?”

“A what?”

“A quasi. That’s... Have you seen the early changes the infecteds go through?”

“Haven’t run into any of those yet,” Rocky said, keeping a straight face. “Come on, Kitty, I’m not blind. Of course I’ve seen them.”

“Those changes can happen to immunes, too. Similar changes, anyway.”

“We can become zombies?”

“No, it’s not like that. Not that bad. But it’s not pleasant, either. If you’re a quasi, you begin to look like an infected of around your level. At least somewhat. Your Strength and Endurance are increased, but other random stats are reduced. Some abilities become unavailable, and others stop developing. Others... Well, suffice it to say that quasis have enough problems. I mean, what would you do if you were walking through the forest alone with a rifle and encountered a three-hundred-pound ghoul?”

“No doubt about it...”

“Right. If you shoot a quasi without good reason, you do take a Humanity reduction. It’s not as serious when the victim is a quasi, but it’s still a reduction. Sometimes, you get penalized without even knowing why. The System just nails you however it wants.”

“So throw these balls away! Eating them makes you either die or turn into a monster!”

“Well, to keep yourself from dying, you just have to wait between pearls. And you can lose your quasi characteristics, by the way. It takes several respawns. The exact number depends on your current level and some unknown System algorithm. Over time, you return to normal. There are other ways to revert your appearance, too, but they are all difficult or costly, or both. Best not to risk it. If you’re lucky enough to get multiple pearls, give it some time between them. Three days is best.”

“I don’t care if I can probably avoid death and monsterdom. I don’t want to risk it at all. Or do pearls have some kind of benefit?”

“You’re kidding me, right? Rocky, who would ever want to swallow a pearl unless it offered something genuinely valuable? Pearls can pump your Talent Rank, and that’s really hard to do without them. They pump your Willpower, too, which is great. And most importantly, they can give you new gifts, and those are priceless.”

“I feel like I’m hearing a lecture on advanced quantum mechanics. In Chinese.”

“Shoot. Let me figure out how to explain. You’ve seen me unlock locks, right?”

“Yeah. I even saw a pistol fly towards my hand. I was surprised it didn’t say ‘hello’ when it came.”

“That’s telekinesis. I haven’t developed it much, and it’s a struggle for me to use, but it’s a gift. All immunes have supernatural gifts.”

“I haven’t noticed any gifts.”

“Because you’re basically a zero. You have to get to level ten to get your first one. Then you get another one at level thirty. They say the next one comes at level sixty, but I’ve never seen anyone get that far. It’s insanely difficult, if not impossible. Gifts come in all kind. Some are useful, others are a little useful, and others are useless. A few are even harmful. A useful gift can really improve your life and help you better survive. Imagine having weapons and armor that nothing can take away from you. Or imagine being able to see enemies in bushes, behind trees, and in buildings half a mile away. There are lots of abilities, and ordinary pumping gets you two and only two of them by level thirty. Which is why pearls are so valuable.”

“To hell with that. Why take the risk? So I could end up with a ‘gift’ that’s completely worthless?”

“Right. My first gift was being able to stretch out my hand and command a bird to land on my finger. And it doesn’t even work with every bird.”

“And that’s worth risking getting poisoned?”

“Of course,” said Kitty without hesitation. “But this is all pretty theoretical. Getting pearls is absurdly difficult. You’ve seen the kinds of creatures that hold them.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get. I ate three portions of poison in one sitting. Why didn’t I become a monster? Because I died immediately?”

“I doubt it. Death alone doesn’t cancel the effects of pearls. But I can’t figure it out either. Maybe it’s newbie’s immunity.”

“What’s that?”

“Newbies are never dropped in the worst clusters, or near the razers. The System protects them from the very worst parts of the world. But that protection doesn’t last long. During their first couple of days here, a newbie has a hard time encountering any serious problems.”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”

“All of your deaths were because of lack of knowledge and experience. Someday you’ll realize how protected you were when you were a zero. Maybe you can’t become a quasi during those first couple of days, either. Or...”

Kitty stopped and closed her eyes, deep in thought. Then she jerked awake, smiled widely, and stammered, “Holy shit, I’ve got it.”

“Got what? Remembered something you forgot?”

“I have the answer!” The girl smiled widely, showing teeth Rocky had never even seen before. “I know that secret. Wow, this is my first time on that one. Awesome!”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Haven’t you read the text that shows before you revive?”

“‘Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question.’ Yeah, that’s burned into my memory. Easy to do when so few memories are there to take up space.”

“Rocky, when the founders came here, the only things they knew were what those bits of text told them.”

“The founders. You mean the first immunes?”

“Right.”

“The only thing they knew was what the dormitory text told them? Man, I sympathize with them. That’s nothing but a life of confusion and pain.”

“Well, at the beginning there was more in the messages. Otherwise there’s no way we would have figured out how to make lifejuice, for example. But then they started telling us less and less. Now it’s just tiny hints. Well, I mean, it was just tiny hints at the beginning. Now it’s just nothing at all, really. Everyone has to learn by trial and error. Search for things, lose things, find things. The immunes gradually found more and more knowledge, and for each piece of knowledge they find, the System ‘thanks’ them. It’s like a prize for uncovering a secret or solving a mystery that no one understood before.”

“And you just discovered a secret?”

“You betcha. During early immunity, a newbie who hasn’t boosted any of their stats yet is protected from transforming into a quasi. That’s what the message said.”

“And now you get a prize? What thanks did you get?”

“Let’s just say I got a boost. I won’t say what it was, but I’m as happy as a stuffed cat after a meal.”

“Based on your explanation before, am I right that people in parties, like us, share almost everything they receive?”

“Right. Our party sucks, though, since our level difference is so massive. You and I both don’t get much experience. The System penalizes us for the vast difference between us. Pretty big penalty, too.”

“Did you get anything for the tank I just shot down outside?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Well, I didn’t get anything just now.”

“I guess the System decided you had nothing to do with the accomplishment, Rocky. These things are handled on a case-by-case basis.”

“I see. But there’s something else I still don’t get. What’s up with my shooting? That’s what you wanted to figure out.”

“I have figured that out. It’s obvious now.”

“Not to me.”

Kitty looked around her, as if she was going to steal something small and wanted to make sure no one was watching. Then she leaned down so far, her chin was nearly touching the table. She whispered, “You’re a cheater.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“You don’t know what a cheater is? Are you kidding?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve broken the System.”

“OK, that just confuses me more.”

“The System isn’t perfect, Rocky. It can’t watch over absolutely everything. It doesn’t know every eventuality. We don’t know who made it, or why, but it works well. That can’t be denied. But the System’s creators simply couldn’t foresee everything, since some situations are just difficult to predict. Impossible to predict, even. Such as your situation.”

“What about my situation is impossible?”

“You know how much a pearl is worth?”

“No idea.”

“A lot. Look, this special immunity for newbies lasts three days, at most. Do you know how many chances they get, during that time, of getting their hands on a pearl? Basically zero. They’re all morons, after all. They spend those early days rushing headlong into respawn. Usually they don’t even find out about spores or lifejuice during that time. They’re hopeless. But some manage to kill some infecteds—just weaker ones, of course—instantly pumping their base stats up to one. As soon as that happens, their immunity disappears. Next, pearls come in several colors. You consumed a complete set of them, as it happens. Three colors in all. Even if it’s not a color set, three pearls is a real treasure. Eating them in the proper fashion earns you a ton of bonuses. Did you get anything when you came to after that?”

“Some strange text appeared. I don’t remember the details. But it ended with a Luck boost. A big Luck boost.”

“Don’t worry about that. Luck is worthless. But the first time you take a pearl, it should give you an ability. A gift. That’s guaranteed. But there’s a law in this world that says immunes cannot get supernatural abilities until they reach level ten. So, put yourself in the System’s shoes. It cannot make you a quasi because of your newbie immunity. But it must reward you. And it must reward you massively. You just took three pearls. A triple dose of all three colors. Normally, you’d have to stretch that out over a week. So what is it supposed to do?”

“I’m not a System, so I wouldn’t know.”

“It didn’t know, either. At least, not at first. It probably updated its rules because of you, but you slipped through before the changes took effect. So you accidentally found a loophole. A bug, even. The System had to give you something, but what could it give you? You didn’t have any gifts, nor the ability to receive them, but the rules of rewards had to be upheld. So, what is different about you? Tell me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a problem with your knee, Rocky, and the system compensated you with a bonus to your shooting ability. The poor System—man, I even kind of feel sorry for it—found no other way. So it took all of the reward owed you from the three pearls and dumped it into your compensation. Usually your compensation bonus can’t be pumped, but your unusual situation became an exception. A pearl is a powerful thing, and three at once is unfathomable. Now a single Accuracy point for you is like ten or twenty points to an ordinary immune. Maybe more.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get.”

“What?”

“That guy who asked me to bring him the pearls. He must have known the risks, right? So why did he ask me to give him all three at once?”

Kitty shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t think there would be more than one in there. Or maybe he was having trouble thinking at all. You said he was already a corpse, so what could you expect from his sense of reason? The man was likely in shock, or agonizing pain, and unable to think straight. So forget about that. You found a vulnerability in the System, and now you might just be the best marksman on the Continent. Shoot, I’m even ashamed that I ever called you a moron.”

She said this without the slightest hint of remorse, but Rocky wasn’t about to quibble about her sincerity or lack thereof. “Maybe I just got lucky with those hits.”

“Five hits on a helicopter pilot from a heavy rifle while standing, unsupported? No. No one has that kind of luck. With the biter, maybe, but with the chopper, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sounds like quite a valuable prize I got.”

“Yeah. Only a complete moron could ever get so lucky. Hah, sorry, but I’m right this time.”

“Alright, well, let me think all of that over. For now, though, what is all of this?” Rocky pointed at all the trophies on the table, pulled from the biter’s sporesac. “Are they like pearls? Just with other kinds of bonuses?”

“Everything is useful for something. Even the webbing you tossed out into the mud has a use. These ones here are peas. They pump your Willpower. That’s the only base stat that can be pumped by taking something, by the way, without performing certain successful actions in battle. The yellow ones are the least valuable, but still worth more than spores. Don’t count on stable prices though. They vary from place to place. Peas need to be dissolved like spores, but in vinegar, not alcohol.”

“Oh, well too bad we don’t have any vinegar around.” He winked at her exasperated sigh. “What about these grain-looking things? Local hemp seeds?”

“Every played any games? On a computer or console, I mean?”

“Maybe, sure, but I don’t remember.”

“These give you buffs. Temporary boosts. The System selects a random base stat and gives you a ten to fifty percent bonus in that stat for any amount of time between one hour and fifteen.”

“I’m guessing the bonus and the time are also random?”

“You got it. This thing that looks like a hazelnut is called, well, a nut. It also gives you a buff, but to an auxiliary stat. Besides that, it works just like the other one.”

“That one’s called a nut, and this one’s called what, a kernel?”

“Bingo.”

“And this is... a star?”

“Right.”

“It is more valuable than all the rest?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You looked at it weird, and then moved it aside from all the rest.”

“It is valuable, yet. But this is the weakest kind of star. Stars boost the max levels of your meters. If you dissolve this one in alcohol, for example—just like I did with that spore—and drink it, one of your meter max levels will go up from one to five points. That’s great to pump your spore balance meter, for example. Do that enough and you can go a long time without needing spores, saving you from the kind of predicament we were just in.”

“So maybe my Luck does mean something.”

“We got lucky, yes. But we could have gotten unlucky, too. Just as likely. For you though, Rocky, there’s not much useful here. Your abilities aren’t unlocked yet. You’re not much different from a low-level digi in that regard. But, you know, I didn’t even help you kill that thing. So this is your loot. Sell it later, or consume it yourself once you’re strong enough. Just share the spores with me, alright? Or I’m done for.”

“The hell I’m taking all of this, Kitty. Who do you think I am?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure. I mean, if you were in my shoes, you would have been fair and shared. I didn’t know you had such a low opinion of me.”

“I’m not in your shoes. No need to go around comparing the two of us. We are completely different people. Never forget that. And remember, I live on my own. I promised to help you, and I will, but that’s all I promised. If you don’t want to take it all, we can split it. I certainly won’t object to that. But keep in mind that soon you’ll have to make your own way, without my help. By the way, it’s time to start thinking about moving on from this place. We’ve been found once; we can be found again. We need to find a new spot.”

“Where should we go?”

“This town is old. Even in the real world, it was dying. Most of the houses abandoned, people living far from each other. We need to pick one that stands far enough out from the others. But we can’t stay here. I don’t know how that biter found us, but if he could, other infecteds can, too. Let’s go right now, while the weather is bad. The rain should wash our tracks away well enough.”

Chapter 21

Life Five: The Founder Without Morals

The village was, indeed, far from its heyday. Rocky hobbled along the road, examining four houses as he went. There was no real difference between them. They were cookie cutter houses. The same old supplies in each, mostly miserable in quality. No delicacies. The food was just as simple as it had been in their home. In one hut, the refrigerator door was slightly ajar, and it smelled so badly that it felt like the air was eating his eyes out. In another house, the window and frame had been pulled out whole, and the massacre inside had left nothing but a pile of gnawed human bones.

His knee was still torturing him. Soon, he had to give up searching houses so he had enough strength to move to their new location. They had enough food from the old place, and Kitty was no help with the search. She still hadn’t begun to walk unassisted—and was still just as heavy to carry as before. Not that she needed to lose weight. If she did, she might just win a world record or something. Rocky was still ashamed that he had botched the first day of their acquaintance so badly. It was impossible to blame his blunder on the girl’s cunning garment and layers of mud.

The only advantage the new place had over the old was the kerosene stove in the kitchen. Rocky’s powers of deduction concluded that kerosene was very likely required for its operation. But after fussing around with it, he managed to get it running on ordinary gasoline, which he had siphoned from the tank of the old car sitting nearby.

This feat improved life dramatically. Tea, coffee, and a watery soup thickened with canned fish were suddenly on the menu. Hot food really hit the spot for the travelers, and it slowed the decline of their Pleasure levels—then even began to slowly increase them. He learned that Pleasure was actually a very useful number. If you kept it near maximum, you received regular random increments to a whole set of randomly selected stats. The longer you kept this going, the more bonuses you got.

As he reflected on this, he began feeling like a cyborg or a character from The Sims—and began analyzing the world around for mistakes, errors made by the artist who designed it. If Kitty was right—and it seemed she usually was—all of these numbers an immune had played a big role in their life. Mostly in their chances of survival. Even an apparently fragile person could possess extraordinary strength, or a heavy person could move fast as lightning and jump over tall obstacles—and those were just the visually obvious examples.

The stat and meter system was worth further study. Otherwise, he’d always be a moron.

Hot food and drink were good, but otherwise there was nothing nice about the new place. Of course, the girl made Rocky do all of the same things to this house that he had done to the last. So around every room he limped, making sure no crafty or disabled ghouls were lurking about, and then securing the house with whatever traps and hazards he could improvise.

It wasn’t hard work in its own right, but after the day’s events he was exhausted, to say the least. Pushing back his desire to collapse onto the couch and start snoring away, Rocky tended to his new wounds, the ones inflicted on his cheek, his forehead, and his wrist by the sharp edges of the biter’s armor plating. They weren’t serious, but they hurt. Kitty assured him they would heal by the next day, with every trace of them gone in a week. He doubted it. He disinfected the spots with iodine, grunting out one indecent word after another through his clenched teeth as he did so.

His companion called out from the next room. “What are you swearing at now?”

“With, uh, with my pain receptors.”

“They have feelings too, you know. Can’t you be a decent person and speak to them without raising your voice? The rain is barely falling now, and the ghouls’ sense of hearing is as sharp as ever.”

“Sorry, I forgot. I’m not you, after all.”

“Uh, in what sense?”

“If my bone got shot to powder like yours did, I would probably have sat there howling at the moon for days. Oh, by the way, is the moon still around? Or was there no room in the budget for it?”

“You really don’t know?”

“How should I? I’m a moron. I’ve only seen two nights here, anyway. The first night, smoke filled the air, and the second I spent in that house with you. Plus, I wasn’t feeling up to doing any astronomy either time. Sadly, I was not distracted by romance on that second night, but when I looked out the window, the clouds were so thick that I didn’t even know which way to look for it.”

“Drop one more hint like that and your broken legs will be asking you why the hell you insisted on flirting.”

“Forgive my frankness, Kitty, but you’re in no position to threaten my legs right now.”

“No need to apologize for being stupid, Rocky. I forgive you. It’s funny, actually. You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re dealing with, and yet you think you’re the cleverest boy around. Know-it-all freshman. That’s normal. The System keeps your Intellect depressed until about level ten. After that, you’ll start to think more clearly. That change happened to me a long, long time ago. You should have seen some of the situations I thought myself out of! This whole leg thing doesn’t even rank in the top ten. The worst was when I lost my right arm up to the elbow. Oh, and when half of my face got torn off, including one eye and one ear. I’ve broken all my ribs before, too, along with all the accompanying internal bleeding. Imagine what that was like. I lost rivers of blood. I still can’t believe that didn’t send me straight to respawn. That wasn’t something I could recover from on my own, but somebody helped me out.”

“Are you making these up?”

“Choose not to believe me if you want, but all of that happened.”

“How?”

“I stuck my hand down the mouth of a manmincer.”

“A what? One of those monsters? The hell for?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s a big one, too. The last stage before elite. People count the levels differently, but in my book the manmincers are anywhere from level forty-six to level sixty-one. If you’re lucky enough to bump into the youngest kind, it’ll be fifteen hundred pounds or so. The biggest weigh a ton. They have overlapping armor, protecting all but a few small places. Since it overlaps, even hitting a joint with a powerful bullet isn’t guaranteed to hurt the thing. That depends on the joint, though. Even a pistol can still do decent damage if shot at the right place.”

“A more serious beast than the one I killed in the manure, I take it.”

“Right. It’s not an elite, but it’s a fantastic kill if you can manage it. Hey, come closer so that we can talk more quietly.”

“I’m busy cleaning up my scratches.”

“You can clean them up here. No need to yell across the house. I can’t sleep because of my leg. Figures. At least if we talk it’ll keep my mind off of it, and I can teach you a thing or two.”

“But I’m already finished, and about to go to sleep.”

“Come on, chat a bit. Too much sleep is bad for your health here. Lots of people die in their sleep. Make some tea for us. That’ll be good. Anything here other than crackers?”

“Not really. Some kind of taffy.”

“That’ll do. Bring it over. Healing is tough work. It always makes me want something sweet. Or fatty, sometimes.”

“Where does it all go?”

“Yeah, no matter what I eat, I can’t fatten myself up. My godmother even joked that I should change my name to Broomstick or something like that.”

Rocky managed to start the kerosene stove without any difficulty this time. Now that’s what I call experience. The continual smell of gasoline troubled him, but he hoped it wasn’t too strong. And if he felt a sneeze coming on, he would cover his mouth with his coat to muffle the sound. That should work.

He tried to mentally compile a list of questions he needed to ask Kitty, but he started getting confused. His mind became muddled. He could barely remember where the tea leaves were. His eyelids demanded he give in to sleep.

Rocky poured in so many tea leaves that there was no room left for water. That was intentional. He hoped the bitter black tea would hold off his inclination to sleep, at least for a little while. He diluted Kitty’s tea, of course, and then brought both mugs and the meager snacks into the girl’s room.

She mumbled her gratitude, then asked, “Have you been keeping an eye on your spore balance meter?”

“Always.”

“How’s the leg?”

“Can we just cut it off already?”

“That bad?”

“The pain isn’t the worst part. It’s that my knees just won’t obey. They even bend on their own from time to time.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be for long, I swear. Too bad there’s no salted meat or stew or anything like that. Those help with healing. Assuming you have some lifejuice, that is.”

“By the way, this house doesn’t have any shutters. Is that alright?”

“Doesn’t matter. If they’re going to find us, they’ll do it whether we have shutters or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“The System doesn’t like it when somebody stays in one place for a long time. It usually assigns a punishment. And a town like this can attract all sorts of dangers, anyway.”

“Are you saying we need to get out of here?”

“Of course, but we’re not in the shape to do that right now. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“We won’t exactly be raring to go by tomorrow.”

“As long as we’re alive. That’s what matters. We’ll take some blankets and warm clothes and relocate to the woods. They’re close.”

“They’ll be drenched.”

“You’re right, but that’s good. Wet earth doesn’t hold the smell of a trail as well. Rocky, it really is dangerous for us to stay here. The biter is dead, but its carcass remains. Tomorrow it will start to smell even worse, and ghouls will come from miles around.”

“This place smelled plenty rotten already.”

“That’s different. The infecteds who were too afraid to come this way before will smell the biter and realize that the town is up for the taking. They might come. If one or two show up, that’s fine, but a whole herd?”

“They attack towns in herds?”

“Huge herds. Sometimes massive groups emerge from the central areas. Many as strong as a biter, some even stronger. They’re called hordes. It’s a very unpleasant site. Everything in the way of a horde gets swept aside. Even the strongest of stabs is at risk when a horde marches through.”

“How does anyone live in these conditions?”

“By doing whatever it takes. But yeah, it’s bad. So we’re agreed—we leave tomorrow. No arguing.”

“I wasn’t arguing.”

“Sure sounded like it to me.”

“Nah, I was just curious.”

“Ah, curious. Of course. Be glad if the worst things to show up here are ghouls. They’re bad enough. Hey, what’s wrong?”

Rocky jumped. “What do you mean?”

“You just almost fell off your chair.”

“I’m just so tired. My eyes are closing on their own.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“How?”

“It means you’re healing. Being in an apparently safe, calm environment helps with that. Go ahead and lie down. Sleep if you can. Leave the tea here—it’s not what you need right now. Holy hell, that’s dark! What did you make this with, tar?”

“Almost.”

“Go, go, before you really do fall over.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, like I said, go sleep. Why do you always want to chat about every little last thing? I’ve had it. Get out of here!”

* * *

As he woke, Rocky made sure he had slept at least until evening. He had. He was still tired, though, but not exhausted. He wanted to sink back into sleep and finish the dream he was having. It was beautiful, warm, and dry, with no one trying to shoot him or grumble happily and eat him, but he stopped himself.

Better to go see what Kitty was doing. Quiet sounds he could not explain were coming from her room.

He got up and nearly yelped in surprise. His knees still felt foreign, like somebody had transplanted them into his body, but the pain which had formerly tormented him when he experienced the slightest was gone, leaving nothing but pale echoes of agony which were too weak to take seriously. The limp was almost gone, too. Miraculous.

Kitty had experienced a similar miracle. Without any help from anyone, she had used crutches crafted from shovels to bring a pile of junk into her room. Mostly clothes and blankets, but also other kinds of bedding. She had then settled in the midst of this mountain of rags and was cutting the fabric into strips and folding them neatly on a stool, where they awaited the needle.

“What are you doing?” Rocky said, surprised. It looked like something an insane old lady might do in a black and white film. “You should lie down.”

“Nah, you got enough rest for the both of us,” she said dismissively. “We need to make a couple of sleeping bags for ourselves. There aren’t any in the house.”

“So you still want to leave.”

“No, I don’t. But we have to. We’ll spend the night here, but then tomorrow we head to the forest. We have water and food enough for three days. We’ll get on our feet out there. Life will become easier.”

“I’ll get on my feet, but I doubt you will.”

“Has your knee gotten better?” Kitty inquired, squinting.

“I think so.”

“People like you usually get rid of problems in a few days, without a trace left.”

“So who did you mean?”

“What?”

“When I was starting to drift off, you said I should be happy if ghouls were the worst we saw. Who else are you expecting?”

Kitty was concentrating on threading a heavy needle intended to sew a woolen blanket. She frowned and nodded at the edge of perceptibility. “The ghouls are a problem common to all infecteds. No matter what you do, they’ll never be your friends. But I have another enemy. And so do you, as long as you’re with me.”

“Who?”

“Romeo.”

“The guy those lumberyard freaks kept mentioning.”

“Right.”

“It sounded like he wants you to be his Juliet.”

“Not quite. He has plenty of Juliets already. Every woman is his Juliet, except the ugliest, the fattest, and the sickliest. All over the Continent.”

“So he’s going for the fertility record.”

“He’s a pervert and a bastard. Not the rarest combination in this world.”

Kitty’s voice had changed into something he had never heard before. Even if he had switched off her consonants and just heard her intonation, he would have understood how much she did not prefer this man. To put it softly.

“Can you tell me more, seeing how I’m already mixed up in this now?”

“He’s one of the founders. One of the people who showed up here first. Strong and dangerous. I wouldn’t have a chance against him in a fight. He’s always been a red, but no one wants anything to do with him. They fear for their own lives. He holds grudges, which he never forgives. He has no principles whatsoever. He will do anything to get what he wants. He goes where he wants, does what he wants. If he sees a woman he likes, he takes her. No consent of any kind is necessary. He may not have mutated physically, but he’s mutated morally. Consent might even turn him off.”

“A moral mutant?”

“Yes. He’s a cheater, like you. Found a way to break the System.”

“But what does that have to do with mutation?”

“The Systems gives various players disadvantages—and various kinds of compensation for those disadvantages. You can shoot things with an accuracy that no one would believe. His compensation was different. It affected what was most important to him. Do you know what happens if your Pleasure drops to zero?”

“No.”

“The Pleasure meter is the strangest, the most complicated. It is hard to maintain, and even harder to bring up. It falls pretty quickly and responds to things unpredictably. You want a drink but you don’t get enough, it falls. You’re hungry, cold, tired—it goes down. It drains like an unplugged bathtub in dead clusters. You don’t know about those, yet, but no matter. So Pleasure only goes up under ideal conditions, once all of the other meters have reached the top, or near it. To fill it up completely, you have to do something amazing. Lounging on the couch doesn’t count. You need to eat some kind of amazing delicacy, listen to some great music, that kind of thing. Some spiritual practices can help, too, but that’s not reliable. Killing a newbie can drop your Pleasure scale twenty percent—but reds aren’t as affected. Killing experienced immunes, though—level ten and higher—doesn’t incur this penalty unless they have at least one thousand Humanity points. The more the victim’s Humanity, the more Pleasure the killer loses. In theory, one kill could drop Pleasure all the way down to zero, but no one has verified that, since no one’s Humanity is high enough. There’s another way to drop Pleasure to zero without killing, though. A way involving sex. Oh, that perked you up, huh. Your favorite word, I’m guessing. Pervert.”

“Oh, come on, I’m just sitting here listening to your story.” Rocky was sure he hadn’t “perked up,” and Kitty’s presumptions were irritating him. Yes, deep down, he knew he might deserve it. But not right now. He had definitely not “perked up.”

Kitty lowered her head and apologized. “It’s—it’s just a difficult subject for me. Just pretend I said that to someone else, OK? So where was I?”

“My favorite word.”

“Right. You ladies’ men are all the same. You can ramp your Pleasure up really high here, but you can also drop it straight to the bottom. If you have sex with someone without their consent, it won’t work out. Your meter will drop to zero in an instant. The System has morals in this regard. It does not tolerate rape. And do you know what happens when Pleasure drops to zero?”

“Something bad, I’m guessing.”

“Something very bad. At that level, severe depression sets in. You became indifferent to everything, devastated both morally and physically. Try as you might, you do not want to think about anything. You’re a walking corpse, even—your sense of self-preservation is entirely gone. It’ll keep you from raping anyone. Or doing anything else.”

“So how did your Romeo get out of it?”

“My Romeo!? Be careful he doesn’t become your Romeo. He does like handsome guys sometimes. You’ll fit the bill.”

“Great. Now I’m going to have nightmares.”

“Romeo is a cheater, like I said. The worst cheater of all. A moral mutant, the lowest bastard. His Pleasure meter max is incredibly high—when he satisfies himself without consent.”

“But you said that would drain your Pleasure completely.”

“Not his. He broke the System. He found a vulnerability, like you did with your shooting, and now his scale is as perverted as he is. And this activity was clearly his lifelong dream. It’s all he does now.”

“You ladies should conspire to give him what he wants. Hang on, hear me out. Since you would be consenting by doing that, his meter would drop down to the depression level.”

“Why don’t you do that instead? Go ahead. We can find some lipstick in the bedroom. I believe in you!”

“Yeah, sorry. Bad idea.”

“Ordinary sex also gives Romeo a smaller amount of pleasure, as with us normal immunes, so your moronic plan wouldn’t work. But, he has this talent for making life so shitty for you that the most sincere consent you might have had turns into categorical rejection. I don’t even want to repeat a single one of the terrible abominations they say about him.”

“So he hasn’t caught you yet, making you his most desired prey?”

“Not funny.” Kitty’s eyes flare, and she made a threatening gesture with the big needle.

“Whoa, whoa,” Rocky recoiled. “I’m just asking why he’s after you so badly. Aren’t there enough other women for him?”

“Sorry.” Kitty calmed down just as suddenly. “No, it’s worse than that. Much worse. Do you know how many girls he could have?”

“I don’t know. Still a moron, remember?”

“This continent is about as large as Eurasia. Maybe even larger, but not much larger. I don’t know who figured that out. So even a thousand perverts like him could roam the land and still not manage to examine every cluster and find every girl. No, this is something else. When I first arrived here, I was like you are. My back wouldn’t bend, and I didn’t understand anything that was going on. I was stupid. I’m ashamed to admit it, but that’s normal for newbies. My memory began to return slowly, and I began to think more clearly. Before that, my thoughts would often get confused, and I’d get stupid ideas, like your consent plan. But I lucked out and ended up joining a decent group. Well, I mean, decent by local standards. It was made up of all girls. Not a single guy!”

“Oh hey. I want to join that group.”

“They wouldn’t take you. Not even if your shooting prowess came along with an unlimited supply of cannonballs. Valkyrie was the leader. She had an Amazon-like intolerance for men. As though she was allergic to them.”

“Did she like girls?”

“Sheesh. Aren’t we curious.”

“And you’re really on edge. I was just guessing, that’s all.”

“Well, you guessed right. And it’s a touchy subject for me.” As impossible as it seemed, Kitty lowered her voice even more. “I liked Valkyrie. We all did. She was a very likable person. Some morons still believe that we were just her harem. But it wasn’t like that. She was more like a mother to us, if anything. Not always a kind mother, but still a mother. She had a girlfriend, yes, someone quite like her. I’ve never met a woman cooler than Valkyrie. You can’t even imagine how powerful she was. No, she wasn’t a founder, but she had come here close to the beginning. Romeo and Valkyrie’s relationship was sour from the start. The bastard caught her when she was a newbie and, well, you know. Valkyrie never forgave any offense, so that... Well, it made her recruit others who had encountered Romeo, and they made life hard for Romeo, dropping him to respawn again and again. There’s a System rule that if you die five times, you move to a different region. Up until your tenth death, as a rule. After that, the interval becomes ten deaths, then when you hit level sixty it becomes every twenty deaths.

“So Romeo ran through all ten, and then disappeared. Usually when your region changes, you might as well forget about finding your way back. I mean, Eurasia is huge. Imagine that Valkyrie’s squad was over in Korea, and the bastard was relocated to Spain. There was no way to find out where he went. No communications, and no planes flying around. Well, when they do fly, they don’t go war. He went missing. But not forever, God damn him. Rumors of all kinds flew, but one thing was for sure: somewhere out there he was amassing his strength. Now he was more powerful than ever before. He returned a dangerous opponent, with a mighty team, and resumed his war with Valkyrie. I came in at the very end of the war. Very few of the original party were still there. The rest had hit the relocation intervals and been scattered across the continent, and a few had lost all of the revives entirely.

“But Romeo’s team was faring no better. They had lost many people, too. Romeo himself, however, was much stronger. I once almost sent him to respawn myself. It was a solid hit, but Valkyrie beat me to it. He was back in a flash. His region hadn’t changed, after all. We died much more often than they did, which meant our numbers fell faster. Then I hit my first relocation interval, and respawned in another region. It was impossible to live there. Razers everywhere. I could barely blink before I hit my next relocation limit. At last, I ended up in that swamp. That was a little better. I thought so, anyway. But something seemed to be working against me, and I lost one life after another again, until I got relocated back to the region I knew. I heard the news then. Valkyrie had been gone for a long time, and her entire squad with her. But Romeo was still around. Everyone was terrified of him and stayed away from him. The beast just did whatever he wanted. Do I need to continue?”

“Let me guess. Romeo was thrilled that you were back.”

“‘Thrilled’ is not how I’d put it. The villain had sworn to take us all out until our lives were at zero and we went to the place of no return. He had this religion, even, where he believed that a zero-counter player moves to a special area in the center of the Continent which people call—you guessed it—hell. A fantasy as perverted and miserable as he is. He plans to take my last life away with his bare hands, Rocky.”

“And I’m assuming he has other plans for you, as well. Besides killing.”

“He has been killing me. He’s everywhere. No matter how hard you try to hide, you can’t get away. Last time, yes, he announced something terrible. He told me he no longer planned on killing me. He had other plans. I was in a shooting match with his gang. As we fought, he hid behind cover, and proceeded to tell me in great detail all the things he planned to do to me. When I had one bullet left, I hit him with an insult that attacked him masculinity hard, then blew my brains out.”

“You really, really don’t want to be Juliet.”

“Of course not. Now he is fixated on taking me alive. He doesn’t even care if he gets Pleasure out of it. It’s just a matter of principle for him. He put the word out far and wide that Kitty would be his, and that he had a lovely wedding night planned for us. It’s gotten so bad that the bastards in the whole region have bets placed on who will capture me and when.”

“Wait, why wouldn’t he Pleasure out of it? I thought it would skyrocket?”

“In my case, even if he catches me alive, it’ll drop his meter. Maybe down to zero, even—though that’s unlikely. His meter max is unbelievable.”

“OK, I’m lost. What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s a cheater, but the System has certain rules that even a mutant like him cannot get past with impunity. Sometimes the System enforces morals, as strange as that sounds. It’s not really surprising. Everything about this place is odd.”

“So what are the relevant rules?”

“Regarding sexual violence, it depends on the victim. If an immune engages in Romeo’s favorite activity with a digi, for instance, it will drop their meter, but not to zero. But if it’s a digi child, the slightest touch will take the immune out of the game. Meter to zero. If the victim is a digi girl who according to the System has never been with a man, that also means Pleasure to zero. This rule applies to immune victims, too. When you respawn here, you are always alive and healthy, without a scratch. Well, except in invalid cases like yours. But if you lost a finger, for example, you would have it back on respawn.

“There are two exceptions for developed immunes. Tattoos remain, as long as they’re not removed before death. And a woman whose virginity has been lost does not become a virgin again. I mean, if her virginity was also lost in, well, the traditional physical sense, it won’t regenerate. Romeo can’t touch digi virgins, digi children, or immune virgins. The System would punish him. Though the rumors say that if his Pleasure went to zero, he would survive. He would feel terrible. Absolutely miserable. But he’s a monster, so who knows what he is capable of? I’m sure he is willing to risk the unpleasantness for my sake.”

“What a place of passion.”

“You don’t know the half of what’s going on here, not even the quarter, and yet you feel like you can just comment on all of it like an expert. Sheesh. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Are you afraid that he’ll find you?”

“He will, sooner or later. He always finds people. He’s very good at it. Right now, he’s being cautious, not venturing out on his own, sending others to do his dirty work. It seems this is his last life in this relocation internal, and that if he dies, the System will take him somewhere else. Romeo seeks a golden pearl and is willing to pay a huge sum for it.”

“Like one of the pearls I swallowed?”

“No, that was from an elite, and probably a rather small elite, at that. Golden pearls are only found in—” Kitty paused, dropping to a whisper—“It’s best not to talk about them. Bad omen. The golden pearls only come from... You’ve seen an elite, right?”

“You know I did.”

“An elite is nothing compare to these guys. If you’ve seen a golden pearl sac, well, the ghouls seem like chump change after that. After you wake up at your next respawn, that is.”

“I’m not following.”

“You’ll be hard to follow, too, after you live here for a while.”

“I’m growing up faster than you did.”

“Funny.”

“I even know how to solve your problem. What I mean is, I know how to end the threat of this ‘wedding night.’”

Kitty smiled, unhappily. “Let me guess. You want to arrange a different wedding night first, to rob Romeo of his chance at being the first. Right?”

“You know, I was just going to propose that we clear out of here and head to another region. But your idea might work, too. You did just call me handsome...”

“Maybe if you could figure out how to pull your tiny brains out of your ass and implant them into your skull, you could figure out what kind of miracle it would take for that to work out.”

“That’s the longest ‘no’ I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m afraid there’s no love story in the cards for us, Rocky. Also, Romeo has foreseen that turn of events. He has promised to arrange something extra special for anyone who touches me. I don’t know what that means, exactly, but his penchant for torture is exquisite. I told you he liked cute guys, too, right? Well, he’s a master sadist. He can kill you long and slow. You’ll lose your voice from screaming for him to kill you. So none dare touch me. The bastard has instilled the fear of Romeo into all of them, and none dare incur his wrath.”

“He hasn’t instilled that fear into me, actually, so...”

“Oh just shut up. Change the subject now, before I get angry.”

“OK, OK, no need to take me. Plenty of other newbies out there who I’m sure aren’t afraid of this guy.”

“I’m not looking. And I don’t ever plan to. I don’t care about Rocky or anyone else. They can all go fuck themselves. What’s that look for? Come on, you knew I wasn’t the type to sleep around.”

“Sure, but the way you dress and carry yourself...”

“Yes, if I wanted to, I could have found hundreds of guys by now. Newbies, even digis, because why not. With them, Romeo might as well be trying to tell the goats not to touch the grass. Listen, you don’t remember your past yet, and you probably yearn to recall something. I have remembered. Not everything, but a lot. And do you know what I remembered first? A memory from my childhood!”

“What’s so strange about that?”

“Well, childhood memories are supposed to be so wonderful, but mine was the opposite. I remembered one day, when I was very young, my cousin and his friend came over. I was alone at home, and my cousin was basically a stranger. I barely knew him. But he was family, so I couldn’t keep him locked out. By then, he had been into drugs for several years. They wrecked him. He ended up hooked on hard substances, the kind that turn your brain to mush. He got into debt and couldn’t afford his next dose, so he figured the best offer he could make the fucker who dealt to him was a go at his little cousin. It was a business deal.”

“You don’t have to finish this story.”

“I will. Not the details, of course, but I’ll tell you. I’ve never been one to roll over, Rocky. With my bare hands, I sent my cousin to intensive care. He was bleeding on the floor, and his screams brought the neighbors over. They took care of the other bastard. I almost lost an eye and had to get stitches on my face. My nose was broken, and a few of my baby teeth were out, but the worst wound was here.” Kitty pointed to the top of her skull. To her brain. “The System healed the scars, but it can’t fix my mind. Even its memory suppression is buggy, after all. Like the way you remember those stairs. Now, I hate men. I wish you would all just move to another planet, some place I have never been and will never go. I’m as likely to fall in love with you as I am with Romeo. It’s psychological trauma, Rocky. The serious kind. The incurable kind. I won’t find psychiatric treatment here. Maybe it will get better with time, but in this crazy life, I doubt I’ll ever live long enough to get to a place where I can think about men without vomiting.”

“Wow. That’s tough.”

“No kidding.”

“So, what about we leave? This isn’t the only region in the world, you said. The Continent is huge. It should be easy to disappear.”

“The regions aren’t just separated by lines, Rocky. Some of the boundaries between them are virtually impassable. Insurmountable black swap clusters. In other places, huge metropolises lined up, one after another. Since they have so much food, they’re full of monsters. Nobody immune is getting through. The System likes to keep you within the region it puts you in. Sometimes you can move to another one, but it’s a huge risk, and the passable borders are tightly guarded by groups of immunes. I’d never make it through. None of those groups would risk pissing Romeo off. I’m just not worth it.”

Rocky thought for a few seconds. “This is in fact a continent, right?”

“Yeah. Hence the name.”

“So it’s surrounded by water?”

“They say the north side is frozen.”

“I saw ships on the river. Plenty of little boats, too. Can we go by water? Or do the monsters swim?”

“A special kind of the blackness surrounds a lot of the little islands, but you’re right: The ghouls can’t swim. Well, they can. They wouldn’t drown. But they hate water, and they would never go into the ocean willingly.”

“So why can’t we go around these impassable borders by sea?”

“Razers,” Kitty replied, mechanically.

“Who the hell are razers? You’ve mentioned them before, but without any explanation.”

“They’re razers, Rocky. Razers. They rule the sea. We can’t go that way. Don’t even think about it.”

“What do they look like, at least?”

“Like...” Kitty took a long pause. “If you ever saw a living razer, Rocky, it would have to be some kind of exhibitionist. Otherwise you would never see it. They kill without ceremony, without posturing. You would just die. Quickly and without warning. Don’t go near the ocean, Rocky. The ocean is death.”

Chapter 22

Life Five: Passions of the Forest

Kitty was no better at walking than before. Rocky still had to carry her. Now, in addition to the weight they had brought to the town, they also had some coarse sleeping bags which she had spent all evening making, a supply of food, bottles filled with water and gasoline, a portable kerosene stove, and a roll of plastic wrap in case it rained. The load would have taken Rocky to his knees in a matter of seconds yesterday, but today he could manage it, despite the continued creaking.

Kitty’s medical prognosis was proving to be right, as unbelievable as it seemed. His knees still hurt, especially when they were stressed, but it was about as serious as a light sniffle when compared to yesterday’s bubonic plague. Even the scars were fading and shrinking.

The world may be full of horrors, but there were pleasant sides to it. Sometimes.

Another plus was that the weather had improved dramatically. The rains had ceased, and the sky cleared up in the morning. A light breeze set to work rapidly drying the earth. Not quickly enough, Rocky thought as his foot stuck in the mud yet again, immersing itself in an instant puddle. He didn’t mind much. He wore rubber boots from the last house, and they kept all the water out. The girl had also treated the boots with a mixture of medical chemicals, tobacco, vinegar, shampoo, and vegetable oil. She said it would confuse the ghouls somehow, throwing them off the trail. Rocky thought it might just make them even more trackable, but he let her proceed.

Unfortunately, the treatment had to be repeated every fifteen minutes or so. But he was grateful for that. It let him take frequent breaks. And with the amount of weight he was carrying, breaks were essential.

Both of them decided they shouldn’t return to the forest by the same path. The way they had chosen had made sense in the storm—but even then, it was possible the biter had seen them crossing that field. Otherwise how would he have known where to look for them? While exploring the second house the day before, Rocky had gotten a good view of the town’s surroundings, and so he knew the best, least visible way to the woods.

Unfortunately, the road was treacherous. He had to wiggle through thick bushes, walk a path that had become a creek of mud, and then traverse a long-forgotten garden, where more than a few trees dared him to step over them.

At last they smelled pine trees, and one minute later they walked into their shade. The thickets underfoot thinned into a carpet of pine needles, for which Rocky praised fate. Or the System. Whatever.

But by now, life again felt like a bed of needles. As Kitty poured her noxious concoction around, Rocky voiced a complaint. “My knees are starting to object again.”

“They haven’t recovered all the way yet. Don’t worry. By tomorrow, you won’t even remember the pain.”

“I’m not worried about the pain. I’m worried about being unable to walk soon. You should lose ten pounds. Or those sleeping bags.”

“Me lose weight? You think this world needs more skeletons? Moron. We need the sleeping bags. Trust me, when night falls, you’ll thank me for them.”

“They’re a few blankets and a pile of rags.”

“When you freeze, your Pleasure drops, and you don’t want that.”

“This is a forest. There’s wood everywhere. We can warm up with a fire if it gets too cold. I wouldn’t mind sharing a fire with you, you know. The smell of a bonfire and a budding romance, that should drive our Pleasure up.”

“You’re a great guy, Rocky, except that when you think, you don’t use your head, you use something else. A fire with a glowing pillar of smoke? Every infected for miles around would see that. And smell that. You remember how I said smoking was dangerous? Well, a campfire is a million times worse. Especially after rain, when all the firewood is damp. That just makes the smell stronger.”

“You’re right, my bad. I wasn’t thinking. I’m just tired. You know, from dragging around the girl that’s taken up residence on my shoulders. Do we still have far to go? Last time we were in these woods, I saw a glade about a half-mile back. It looked like a great place to pitch camp. There was a decent pond there, even. Practically a lake. Good for washing in.”

“We’re not going that way,” she replied firmly. “Only morons retrace their tracks here. And they usually don’t last long doing it. Let’s go that way.”

“Straight through the forest?” Rocky moaned, his hopes of continuing down the power line path shattered.

“Right. We definitely haven’t been that way. It’s untrampled. Also, find me a thin, light stick please.”

“What for?”

“To whip you out of idling, of course. Just look up a little. It’s like the spiders spun their webs just for me. You’re doing fine, but they’re getting all in my face.”

“So let’s go to the place I suggested,” Rocky ventured, not optimistic about his chances. “There’s water there. You can wash the webs out.”

“We can wash the webs out of your empty skull while we’re at it. No, we’re going through the woods. For crying out loud, why do you always insist on arguing? Just do what I say, and we’ll be fine. I hope.”

* * *

Rocky hated the camp location that Kitty picked. There was no water. He didn’t mind being unable to wash, but he was thirsty. Also, they were visible from all sides. There were no bushes to speak of, and those present were too stunted to be of use. But as if that wasn’t enough, the girl chose the most visible point. The summit of a small hill of sand. It was a striking feature of the landscape, and anything on top of it was even more striking.

But it wasn’t as bad as he thought at first. Once he was on top of the hill, he found a sizable pit in the middle, making the mound look like some huge child’s foaming school science project. Five people could comfortably fit here without being seen from below, as long as they didn’t stand up.

He wearily set Kitty down onto the sand strewn with pine needles. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“About this pit. You can’t see it from down below. I wasn’t lifting you that high up.”

“I didn’t know about it, just suspected. There was a war in this area. You saw the old trenches back there. So I figured somebody probably dug in here at some point. It works, right?”

“It’s so strange, how you come to these conclusions.”

“What do you mean? I’m smarter than you?”

“No, I mean, this is like a game, right? A game with no exit button. Those trenches were probably just drawn in there by some dumb three-dimensional artist, a level designer, and he didn’t have enough resources left to finish this hill, so he did a crap job.”

“Enough resources? You’re the one with the weird conclusions. Or have you forgotten that this isn’t a game? I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a game. Each ordinary cluster that comes in is an exact copy of a place somewhere on Earth. No one ‘draws’ anything. Every last bush here is real, pulled from the planet.”

“How do you know that?”

“I haven’t personally seen anything I remember from Earth here. But many immunes have recognized places familiar to them. It’s not a rare occurrence. We can’t know for sure, of course, but no one has devised any other explanation. I’ve even heard of people meeting digis that are copies of people they knew. Those stories are less reputable, but I keep hearing them, in different regions and from different kinds of people.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

“I mean your leg specifically.”

“It’s better. The bullet fell out, and the wound is starting to close up.”

“The bullet just... fell out on its own?”

“Yeah. As usual. You don’t have to pull them out here.”

“Alright, so it fell out. But what about the bone? That splint is shit. You need a genuine surgeon, or your leg will heal crooked.”

“No, the System takes care of that.”

“Wow.”

“I don’t know how it does it. Or anything else. It guides us to some extent, after all. And manages our injuries, in the same kind of way. Wounds bind themselves, bones grow back together into the right shape and angle, and so on. Soon there won’t even be a tiny trace of the injury. My leg will be as normal as it ever was. A month later, I won’t even remember which leg got shot.”

“So there’s at least one great thing about your world.”

“Yeah, it really helps. A cripple in this place has no chance. But quit calling it ‘my world.’ It’s yours as much as mine.”

“Alright, well, you rest here while I go down and take a look around.”

“Why?” Kitty protested.

“I’ll get some decent sticks and make a frame. We can put the plastic wrap over it.”

“Look at the sky. It’s not going to rain.”

“I mean, I’ll just put the frame up in case. If the weather turns, the wrap will only take a couple of minutes to add.”

“Just be quick about it. And don’t go far. Take the rifle with you.”

“Too much weight. The pistol will do.”

“A pistol’s nothing like a rifle.”

“I wasn’t saying it was. If anything shows up, I’ll come back for it. The visibility is great, so nothing will sneak up on me.”

“Remember, don’t shoot the weak ones. Use the ax. We can’t make noise unless we have to.”

“I remember, I remember, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure you do. Usually I have to remind you of everything. Down to which part of you is your face and which is your ass.”

* * *

There were plenty of sticks in the forest, of course, but they were almost all short, which Rocky hated. Rather than a short excursion, he had to circle the entire base of the hill, rejecting rotting wood and slowly building his pile.

The wind made things worse. He had been thankful that it was drying the ground, but now it was just irritating. The tops of the pines swung back and forth, smashing into one another. The rain of water was replaced with a rain of resigned branches. All of the noise this created made his sense of hearing an unreliable warning system, doubling his reliance on his sense of sight. He had to spend more time looking around for creeping ghouls than looking for sticks.

At least this forest was sparse. That was good, in this instance—if any infecteds tried to sneak up, he would see them from far away.

He kicked a huge yellow toadstool from a decent pine branch, then picked it up and immediately discarded it. It was so rotten he wondered that it hadn’t crumbled immediately in his grip. Why hadn’t he just seen that?

Something moved in the corner of his vision. He turned, expecting to see another bush wavering in the wind. Nope.

It was a ghoul that had managed to get dangerously close. It wasn’t as big as that one in the village, but it was still formidable. Only its humanoid form remained, plus scraps of a seat belt still buckled around its waist, but otherwise tattered and stretched into near oblivion. Rope-like tendons covered its body, its muscles expanding asymmetrically, its head drawn into its huge shoulders and covered nearly completely with bony plates. Narrow, predatory eyes stared out from between them, evaluating Rocky’s nutritional value.

Kitty wasn’t there to give any advice, but Rocky seriously doubted his pistol would be of any help. And he had stupidly left his rifle atop the hill, despite her objections. So he ran.

He really was a moron.

Glancing at the hill, he realized he’d never make it to the top. The beast would overtake him in a few leaps. Rocky had seen them bound enough by now. Even if the monster was lame and slowed by its bulk going up the hill, it would just add a few steps to its journey.

But it wasn’t a biter. It was obviously weaker. A pistol would usually be worthless, but he was the man who never missed.

What had Kitty said about vulnerable spots? The eyes, maybe? The fight with the biter had proved that his hand knew where to shoot on its own. That time had been right through the beast’s gaping mouth, without any direction regarding weak spots being sent by his brain. But since he had time to think, he might as well.

He relaxed his arms, noisily dropping the pile of sticks. That signaled the ghoul to bound from its place, reaching full speed in a few moments, awkwardly rocking as it ran but nimbly skirting around the pine trees between it and its lunch. Rocky grabbed the pistol, threw it up, and shot without even thinking of aiming. A shot rang out. The monster jerked, then stepped left, but immediately resumed its former course as if nothing had happened.

Rocky didn’t understand. Beginning to panic, he fired three more shots. The effect of the last bullet was shattering. The infected’s body splayed out limply, and pure momentum carried it forward, crashing into the sandy soil, until it stopped, nothing moving but its legs, with the same slight trembling the biter had displayed.

Rocky could hardly believe he had killed it. He kept his aim at the creature, for some reason expecting that it was craftily playing dead and would jump up at any moment, charging him and ignoring his remaining shots.

A rifle shot rang out from above him, immediately followed by a grumbling noise that made him spin around. Ten steps behind him, another ghoul collapsed to the ground. It wasn’t like the first—it still had a good portion of its clothing on, and it might even be mistaken for a man during the twilight hours—but its nails had already turned to claws that he was happy to have avoided a meeting with.

Note: Personal victory: dangerous infected destroyed. Level 22. Chance of valuable loot: 100%. Party victory: infected destroyed. Level 11. Chance of valuable loot: 89%. +88 Endurance progress points. +41 Speed progress points. +124 Accuracy progress points. +4 Reaction progress points. +11 Humanity points.

Level up! Congratulations, you are now level 3.

Rocky turned towards the rifle shot next. Kitty was positioned atop the hill, lying down, holding the rifle ready and looking frantically around to make sure no new targets were in proximity. He made to run up towards her, but she stopped him rudely. “Dolt. Where do you think you’re going? Get the stuff from that sporesac first. Then get up here. And keep an eye on your surroundings. That one almost got to you!”

He was ashamed to admit it, but she was right. While he had been busy staring at the big ghoul, the little one had almost gotten too close. His shots had deafened him a bit, eliminating his ability to hear quiet noises, but his own absent-mindedness was more to blame. In this eventful world, the only survivors were those who learned to be as observant and circumspect as an owl.

And if Kitty hadn’t reminded him, he would have forsaken both carcasses, giving up the treasures in their sacs. The fact that two ghouls had been wandering the forest for no apparent reason and had attacked from different directions was unsettling, to say the least. Even with his meager amount of experience, he concluded that if these two were hanging out here, there might be others, including the kind that could only be taken down by a rifle. And maybe the kind immune to even that.

He cursed himself for not thinking to bring a couple of plastic bags from the house as he grabbed lumps of webbing, in which he could feel various hard objects. Taking even more care to look around, he ascended the hill. Kitty was no longer in sight.

As he reached the top, he saw her at the other end, gazing intently into the forest, rifle at the ready. Rocky examined the place and saw nothing upsetting. “I gutted both of the ghouls. Kitty... there’s something fishy here.”

She replied, paying him only a fraction of her attention. “Uh-huh. What do you mean?”

“The monsters. They attacked at the same time, from different directions, out in the middle of the forest. You said they usually avoided the woods, and that when they did go in, they stayed close to the edge. I don’t see any edge around here.”

“The fuck are you on about?” she snapped. He was taken aback by how irritated she was.

He sighed. “What the hell did I say this time?”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t talking to you, Rocky.”

“Then who? The bloody pine trees? There’s no one else here, Kit.”

“Something is genuinely wrong here, Rocky. Very wrong. It shouldn’t be like this.”

“Like I said. We have to get out of here before more of those things show up.”

“It doesn’t matter where we are. It’s something else.” The girl stepped back into her own thoughts for a moment. “First, there was that biter in the village. How did he find us? Why was he acting so oddly? It was like he was being cautious, even though he had no idea what we were capable of. And why did all those ghouls come at us the day before? We were in the forest then, too. And they really do hate woods. And finally, where did these two come from? Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

“How could I?”

“You’re not dumb, Rocky. Just new. OK, and sometimes dumb. But that’s par for the course with newbies. That’ll pass as your memory starts to come back. Or not. I guess even some of the old-timers here are pretty stupid.”

“Are you telling me I’m a zombie magnet?”

“Did I just call you dumb and not dumb?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Sorry. You’re getting me too excited.”

“Finally! At last you’re admitting it.”

“Not that excited. And not that way.”

“Aaaand the normal Kitty is back, just like that.”

“Quit clowning around. We have to figure this out.”

“OK. Shutting up now.”

“Somehow the infecteds notice us from far away, Rocky, and it’s not thanks to their senses of sight and smell. Not because of our tracks, either. And certainly not because they hear us. Those two came at us from entirely different directions. That happens when you’re in the city and there are hordes of them wandering everywhere, sure. But not deep in the woods. One now and then, yeah. A pair of wandering loners at once? No way. Something is wrong with us. You don’t have any bound items, do you?”

“We newbies can’t bind items.”

“Have you seen any immunes other than me since our last revival?”

“When would I have? I’ve been with you the whole time.”

“You or I must have some item that is luring the ghouls towards us. I don’t have any other explanation for this.”

“But what? You got a piece of rotten meat on you?”

Kitty put the rifle down and drew her sword before Rocky knew what was happening. She turned it slowly, commenting distantly, “This sword didn’t come in with a cluster. It wasn’t even made by humans. There are creatures in the dark clusters we call atomites, or sometimes ‘dark ones.’ They can make things like this, but the best items are found in ancient ruins situated in the bizarre stable clusters nearby. Those ruins are too unusual to be human. Here, inspect this sword.”

“Already on it.”

“And what do you see?”

“It’s a sword from the Black Lands. Tempered. No visible properties. This weapon has hidden properties. Bound to its owner. Owner: Kitty.”

“Your Perception is low, so you can’t see all of its properties. This isn’t just a sword, Rocky—it’s a magic sword. It accumulates a special kind of energy. That energy discharges on impact. It’s powerful enough to go straight through the armor on a tank or on the biggest elite you can find. And then keep going. It can penetrate anything. That’s its hidden property. It takes a few hours to build up a charge, and each charge is only good for one hit, but it’s still a valuable weapon.”

“No kidding.”

“This place has magic in it, or something like it, as you’ve noticed. Immunes have supernatural abilities, and unusual items are scattered hidden throughout the world. Various items. See that rifle? It’s just an ordinary gun, but there is special magic out there that can be used to improve it. Well, not quite magic. They’re these things that look like trophies from infected sporesacs, but you can only get them in black and gray clusters. They’re not easy to get, and they’re even harder to buy.”

“Still lost. I don’t know a thing about these black clusters, and now there are gray clusters, too, along with atomites and magic weapons.”

“You don’t need to know all that yet. Knowledge is a critical resource here, but relevant knowledge is what matters. You remember my crystal, right?”

“The one that shows if there are other immunes in town? Yeah.”

“That’s also magic, from the black lands. Those places have all kinds of stuff. Some are hidden in caves or forests. Others can only be retrieved from the atomites themselves. Not from the intelligent atomites. From the monster-like ones. How can I explain... You know what? It doesn’t matter. So there is one-use magic in this world, too. You could take a crystal with certain properties, for instance, and meld it with this rifle. Only a person with a special talent can do this, but the gift is pretty common. After the meld, the rifle might, for example, shoot more accurately.”

“So then I could hit even if I was blind or cross-eyed?”

“Quit being stupid. Every weapon has a dispersion value. The bullet hits, not where you aimed it, but within a certain radius of your target. Even if you mounted this rifle to the ground, you still couldn’t hit the exact same spot time after time. The shots would hit within the dispersion radius. There are ways to reduce this radius. Beyond that, everything depends on your Accuracy. Which I’m sure you realize after your stupid pistol game.”

“Stupid?”

“You don’t remember all those misses? This is a simple pistol, Rocky. It’s terrible at any distance over fifty yards. Even your magic accuracy won’t fix that—the dispersion radius is just too wide. You won’t be able to hit the eyes or between armor plates. Unless it’s just a lucky shot. You only killed that ghoul because he came close. If you had realized that, you wouldn’t have spent so much ammo and made so much noise.”

“These things track us down whether we make noise or not, like you said.”

“Right. There’s some kind of magic working against us here, Rocky.”

“Could we talk about this later? We have to get out of here before we get rushed by something else.”

The girl ignored her nervous companion and just kept on talking.

“This magic doesn’t reach too far. If it did, we’d be running into infecteds every minute or two. We have to figure out what’s wrong. Then we can go. Otherwise we just risk attracting the attention of more beasts. There’s got to be some kind of field around us signaling nearby infecteds to come join the feast. We don’t need to go dragging this circle all over the place until we find out what’s going on.”

Kitty twirled her sword, then placed it back in its sheath.

“I have greater trust in Biter than I have in myself. It’s been with me for a long, long time. It has never let me down, and it never will. But this...” the girl pulled the crystal out of her pocket, gazed into it, frowned, and cast it aside. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t it, but not one hundred percent sure. Damn, I paid two stars for this, and thought it was a bargain. And I paid eighty spores for this one.” Another crystal, externally indistinguishable, followed the first.

“You think they’re finding us because of one of those?”

“I happened to acquire both recently. The people who sold them to me seemed decent, but you can’t really trust anyone here, can you? Everyone knows that Romeo will richly reward the man who helps bring me in. And so everyone must be tempted by that.”

“But why send the ghouls after you, then? Romeo doesn’t want you dead. He has other plans for you.”

“I don’t know why they would do that, but maybe they would. But something is giving us away. We’re giving off something that is guiding them right to us. The infecteds have heightened senses, though, and the most powerful even have their own magic. So maybe they can sense it. Perhaps only a few of them, but still. Meaning they can find us even in the middle of the forest. Alright, Rocky, we need to get out of here right now.”

“Like I was saying.”

“No, you don’t understand. We have to go right now.”

“Yup. That’s what I was saying.”

“No, Rocky, you don’t understand me at all. Leave the sleeping bags. Leave all of it. Even the shotgun and the shells, leave them. We can take a little bit of food and water. And the rifle, of course. But we have to leave fast.”

“So we’re leaving the damn sleeping bags?” Rocky couldn’t believe it.

“Right. It’s extra weight. It’ll just slow us down.”

“But, but, what about nighttime comfort?”

“And what about actually getting out of here alive?” Rocky, there might be a whole horde of infecteds coming, or a pack of six of those beasts. Couldn’t you just listen to me for once?”

Chapter 23

Life Five: Man to Man

They did get away fast, strangely enough. Either the sporejuice had a killer rejuvenating effect, or the reduced weight helped, but Rocky had no trouble carrying Kitty, a pair of rifles, and a small pack of supplies. The terrain became noticeably clearer, too. The forest floor was clean. Walking this path was a joy.

But the difficulties began after an hour or so, when—by Rocky’s estimate—they were almost three miles away from the hill of sand. It was no simple task to walk far, even at a moderate pace, with a person on his back. He tired quickly. His legs especially became exhausted. Even his knees began to complain, reminding him that they hadn’t healed completely yet and couldn’t deal with a sustained load. As if to taunt him, the forest became thicker now, and he had to wade through bushes or even skirt around thick undergrowth.

After another fifteen minutes, the latter became such a problem that Rocky finally broke down, stopped, and silently lowered Kitty. He tried to hide the extreme fatigue in his voice. “Looks like we’re in the jungle here. I just don’t know how to keep going with you on my shoulders. Let me look around for a path or trail we can hop on.”

Kitty saw right through his fatigue camouflage. “You’re exhausted. Take a rest for five minutes, at least.”

“I’ll rest in the next world. You yourself said we have to leave as quickly as we could.”

“Sure. But if you take a bad fall, we won’t be moving at any speed.”

“Will Romeo’s people have any dogs?”

“Why would they need dogs?”

“To track us down.”

“Ah, Rocky,” said Kitty with a shake of her head. “You still have no idea where you are. In this world, there are humans who are better at tracking than the best dogs. They can find you anywhere, no matter how well you cover your track. Nothing but distance can keep us away from them. Or some other things that we don’t have, so distance is all we can try for.”

“Then let’s just say I’ve already rested, alright?”

As he sought the best path through the undergrowth, he had to expend considerable effort not to sound like a stomping herd of elephants. The ground was littered with dead branches. One wrong step, and the entire cluster would hear the resulting crack. Even though the rain had poured long and hard, these sticks were no longer damp. Strange.

Maybe this world was in fact artificially made, despite Kitty’s assurances otherwise. An illusion, a lie, a hallucination. How otherwise could this reality be explained, speckled as it was with unnatural and supernatural elements?

There was another option. Bad weather could be localized, which would make sense for a world built like a mosaic.

As he located a relatively convenient passage through another wall of shrubbery, he saw something entirely out of place in the forest. A dense hazelnut thicket, bright green in color. But the main change in terrain was still ahead. The land dove at a steep angle down towards a narrow, muddy river whose lazy current was funneled through barriers of duckweed. He squatted down by a low drop-off, thinking. Something from the real world told him that water was good at throwing dogs off of a trail. Kitty was sure that Romeo’s gang didn’t have bloodhounds, but were they the only ones involved here? No. There were many other dangers. Mostly infecteds. They tracked their prey in part using their sense of smell, so creating trouble for that sense seemed like a good idea.

He evaluated the river. The only way to cross its considerable width was by swimming. What did that mean for Kitty and the cargo they were still carrying?

Fortunately, a barely-visible trail ran along the shore, atop the drop-off. It was covered with thickets in places, but still easier to walk on the path than push his way through bush after bush. Rocky decided to walk a hundred paces or so downstream and see if there was any water shallow enough to cross.

There wasn’t. So much for his plan to cross. He could go back for the girl and walk along the path, in relative comfort. There was something confusing, though: Kitty had mentioned that shores were particularly dangerous, but he didn’t remember the details. All of the information from the past day or two was mixing together in his head. Maybe she hadn’t said that at all. There was no sense trying to remember, in any case. The source of information herself was just a few dozen steps away.

As he squeezed through yet another patch of narrow vegetation, he heard a sharp, sonorous tone, obviously something not of this world, and the world succumbed to impenetrable darkness.

* * *

You’ve received a negative effect: Stunned. Current location: Cluster 197-33-02. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 95 lives (initial value minus 4).

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question.

Current status: returning to game. You will remain stunned for forty-four seconds, though this time may change based on your game circumstances.

Hint: a thrown weapon can strike both silently and suddenly.

His ability to think returned, but he found it difficult to push through the apathy and confusion. He had felt the same when he first saw Kitty. Rocky had no idea what or who had stunned him, but they hadn’t killed him.

He didn’t know whether to be happy about that or terrified. Sometimes death was the best option available. What have I gotten myself into this time?

His vision began to recover, turning gray. The darkness cleared, and he regained control of his body. Rocky made no rush to move, though. He listened eagerly to every sound he could get. Not that he was interested in the wind rustling through the trees or the splashing of the fish in the river.

Human voices. One was hoarse, like a smoker’s voice. The other was agitated, twitching—even frightened. Rocky had the impression that a nervous guy of about twenty was talking with a man twice as old who had a lot more experience.

“Hey, Ironpot, where’d this guy come from? I stunned him, first shot. There might be a bunch of them here, and they just sent this one up ahead, like a scout.”

“Carp, you’re tired. You’re talking like an idiot. Check his pockets, and hurry it up.”

“I’m checking, I’m checking. Is that rifle bound to him?”

“Man, you’re losing it. Didn’t you see his level? How could someone so new bind a rifle? I can’t even take a pistol to respawn with me, and I’m much higher level than this corpse.”

The man kicked him in the side and sneered. “You can stop trying to fool us, threebie. Open your eyes and tell us who you’re with, where you’re coming from, and where you got the threads. You’ve got a decent rifle, and you’re not in bad shape yourself. Me and Carp here are simple guys, but curious. When we ask someone a question, we want an answer right away, or we get upset. And when we get upset, we can get angry. I’m sure you don’t want to see us angry. Why the hell are you still pretending? Should I poke you with my knife a few times? I hear that’s a good way to make a quiet man talk.”

He sounded kindly enough, but Rocky had no doubt he was in real danger. A knife wound without a valid reason would be a stupid prize, so he had to open his eyes and sit up. At once he realized that his wrists were bound by a plastic collar, greatly hindering his range of motion.

He wondered if these were allies of Romeo or if everyone around here just used whatever the hell was lying around in place of handcuffs or decent rope.

Sitting up, Rocky looked at the pair he had hitherto only heard. Nothing new about them to be observed. One was very young and not too bright looking. The other was much older, but he didn’t look like a soulless killer. There was nothing gangster or extreme about these guys. In more ordinary circumstances, he would have passed them by without any notice. Entirely unremarkable.

Rocky looked at the crossbow, intensifying the sharp headache it had dealt him between his left temple and the back of his head. “Are you savages? Why’d you have to shoot me in the head? I know how to answer a question.”

“It’s a blunt-tipped bolt. Might as well be velvet-tipped. It didn’t hurt you,” explained Ironpot lazily. “Maybe you know how to answer, sure, but how could we have known that? This way is safer. How many of you are there? And how inexperienced?”

Rocky would rather be strangled than give Kitty up. He replied immediately. “It should be obvious that I’m not really a fan of groups.”

Ironpot stared into his eyes for a few second then surged forward, slamming his fist into Rocky’s nose with incredible speed. The juicy crunch knocked Rocky on his back, filling his mouth with blood. He struggled to speak through it. “Dammit, did you never learn to count? I’m the only one around!”

“Maybe,” Ironpot agreed, calmly. “But where’d you get such a good rifle?”

“Saw it at the store. Looked like a good buy. I mean, it’s not a bad weapon. Maybe I’ll give it to someone who needs it. Rocky bent his head forward so the blood would run off to the ground instead of staining his clothes.

“Nice,” the elder nodded. “It’s a decent rifle. Maybe I should take it for myself. You don’t care, do you? No? Great, then it’s agreed. So why do you have so few bullets in this pistol?”

“Buying more didn’t exactly work out.”

“So you shot the others? At who?”

“Funny. As if there’s nothing in this world that needs shooting.”

“Yeah, plenty of folks good for target practice. But there’s one question that keeps irking me. You look a little too cheerful, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with that? I’m young and healthy, and I don’t drink or smoke. Why shouldn’t I be cheerful?”

“Because, my dear man, you look dull and confused. You weren’t even keeping an eye on what might be watching you. You’re not a zero, but you’re very young. You don’t understand how serious this world is, but your equipment is better than even some of the more experienced carry around. There weren’t any resets around yesterday or today, and you don’t look like you just came from respawn. So you’ve managed to get some lifejuice, and your HP is looked fine. I don’t see any spores on you, or any flasks. As far as supplies go, all you’ve got is the air in your pockets, which is worthless here. Air is free for everyone. Somehow, you’re circumspect, experienced, even, but your level is tiny. That doesn’t happen. Come on, then. Tell us where you put the rest of the loot. You must be carrying it. If you give it to us in peace, we’ll leave you in peace. I give you my word. We’ll even leave you some. It’s bad to leave a man with nothing. We were like you once, after all.”

At that moment, a rifle shot came out of nowhere, and blood spurted out of Ironpot’s shoulder. He jerked and, without a moment’s hesitation, dove to the ground behind Rocky, using him for cover and screaming, “Carp, down!”

The advice came too late. The rifle cracked two more whole times, and both times struck Carp. He did get down—not on his own initiative but thanks to the force of gravity.

Teapot clung to Rocky tightly. He hissed, “You move, you’re a dead man!”

Awkwardly raising the heavy rifle he had taken from his prisoner, he fired into the bushes, screaming in anger, “Hey, how many of you are out there? Anyone shoots again, I’ll cut this boy’s head off, so hold your fire now!”

A new sound was heard, different from the rifle, and Ironpot jerked, dropped his rifle, and pushed back away from Rocky, moving his legs in an attempt to crawl on his back towards the drop-off to the creek. A black sword protruded from the point just below where his neck met his shoulders. A familiar black sword.

Rocky leaped over to the defeated bandit and stood on his stomach, making every attempt to dig in with his heel. He crouched down, easily knocked back his opponent’s arm reaching for the knife on his belt, and ran his plastic bonds up the edge of the blade. Biter’s sharpness was impressive. The collar split as if cut by a laser.

Shaking the blood back into his hands, an unknown malice surged up within him. He pulled the sword from the wound and raised it high, slamming it down as he exhaled, “Die, vulture!”

Ironpot did not die until the third blow. Rocky left the sword in his chest, got up, shook the blood from his palms, and looked over the drop-off. He made sure Carp was dead. The man was lying half in the land, half in the water, with no signs of life evident. The bullets had shattered his jawbone, and tiny fish delighted by the new tastes darted around his face.

Rocky squatted down to wipe his hands on the grass, then picked up his rifle, turned, and pushed his way through the bushes.

“Shh!” Kitty nervously commanded silence from her hiding place in the thicket.

“You’re kidding me. You really think that anyone doubts we’re here after that noise?”

“Well, we don’t have to announce our exact coordinates. Let them look for us!”

The girl was positioned between two large bushes. She was on her back, working to add the three cartridges she held between her fingers to the rifle’s supply.

Rocky tried not to think about the blood he so longed to wash or wipe off his hands and added a mockingly confident tone to his voice. “Very nimble of you. Too bad you only have one sword. You could have taken both of them down without a shot.”

“I just got lucky. It was tough to even shoot straight, to be honest. Too many branches between us to deflect the bullets—and Biter is much bigger than any bullet.”

“Wow, so you might have hit me!”

“But I didn’t.”

“Well, thanks, sister.”

“I’m not your sister. Not even your cousin. Besides, what else was I supposed to do? Watch them tear you to bits?”

“Alright, well, it’s in the past. Come on, Kitty, up on my shoulders. We have to get out of here before anyone comes running at the noise. I found a path down by the creek.”

“And a boat?”

“Boat?”

“Damn, you’re so dense. Look around. There should be a boat. I doubt these two guys were just walking down the river. Only total morons do that, and these two were only mostly morons.”

Rocky turned and headed back to the edge of the stream. Kitty never ceased to surprise him after all. Despite her position in the middle of a thicket, where she could barely see anything, she analyzed the situation and, despite her debilitating wound, silently crawled over to the perfect place and took out the pair of bandits in a matter of seconds.

Also, she had figured out there was likely a boat nearby. The girl planned to cross the river with all of their things intact, just as he had hoped to do. A logical, correct chain of thought. Rocky was jealous. There was so much he didn’t understand. But she made correct conclusions, and rapidly.

Wait—why didn’t the System give him anything for killing those two losers? No red text of any kind appeared. Had he just missed it in the rush? Maybe. After all, he had been stuck in the moment there. For the first time, he had finished off an enemy, not with a clean shot to the head, but with spoken threats of imminent death, bloody foam dripping from his mouth, and sticky palms wielding a murderous toy sword.

It came to no surprise to Rocky that he found the boat, sheltered behind a tree that had fallen into the river, within a few minutes. The tree still provided good cover, since it hadn’t lost its leaves yet. Behind it, a veil of cattails protected it from being noticed from the other side. It was only visible from the height of the drop-off. In fact, he’d be blind to miss it from there.

As he examined the boat’s location, he realized that he had been clumsy enough for them to notice him from the water and then moor their boat. After that, one of the bastards (probably Ironpot) had poked his head over the drop-off, taken aim through a clearing in the bushes, and waited for his target to walk into his sights. Then, he had made his shot, direct to the head at forty paces. A good shot with a crossbow armed with a blunt-tipped bolt.

Rocky wanted to slide down and bring the boat up to near where Kitty was, but he stopped when a couple of rifle shots rang out again. A familiar situation. Kitty had found somebody again. He was glad her rifle fired quickly. She could nail ten shots before running into any significant delay.

He leaped back to move towards her. The shots were firing as quickly as possible. Too quickly. Nervously, even. She couldn’t be aiming—hoping to kill the enemy with quantity instead.

Breaking through the narrow trail where he had only a few minutes ago taken a stunning crossbow bolt to the head, he nearly crashed into a ghoul in the bushes. It was the slow kind, filthy and smelly, with the characteristically sagging pants. He hated to spend ammo on it, but he was in a rush. He shot from the hip, destroying the back of the creep’s head, sporesac and all, and then charged deeper into the thicket, fighting both the clinging branches and his gun as he struggled to ready it for its next shot.

Ahead, he saw Kitty, out in the open. She had her pistol out, pointed at a crooked monster approaching from the left. Nothing remained of its human form but its number of limbs. At that moment, the bolt snapped the next cartridge into the chamber. His finger pulled the trigger. As usual, he did not miss. The massive ghoul twitched, slumped backwards, and bumped into a tree, sliding down its trunk to the ground.

Kitty was extraordinarily jumpy for someone with a shattered shin. She squealed at him, “To the river, Rocky, now!”

He decided to refrain from his usual clarifying questions, instead firing another shot into the thicket—which something huge, fast, and grumbling was about to crash out of—and running to seize Kitty under the arm and drag her as quickly as possible, weaving so that his companion would not slam into the thick branches in their way.

Two ghouls were on their way to meet them. They seemed like nothing compared to the last—in some lighting conditions, one might have mistaken them for normal people. Rocky’s internal ammo counter switched on to tell him he only had a couple of bullets left for his big gun, his only weapon against the big monsters. So he threw his rifle over his shoulder, reached for his belt, and drew the pistol he had snagged from one of the robbers. He fired twice.

Surprisingly, Kitty was pulling away, holding the trunk of a tree with her free hand. She called out, “Biter, Rocky! My sword! Don’t leave it here!”

Shit, she remembered her sword. She had seen it stuck in the bandit’s corpse. Without arguing, Rocky charged the few steps towards the body, shot another small ghoul coming at them, and seized the sword by the handle. When he turned, he saw Kitty—quite nimbly, considering her condition—moving towards the drop-off, alternating behind hopping and leaning propped up on her rifle, grabbing branches along the way. Her speed on her own wasn’t much slower than Rocky’s speed with all he was carrying.

Why was she moving in that direction, though? Did she know the boat was there? Rocky hadn’t managed to tell her anything about it before the shooting started. Had she figured it out just based on where he had charged out of the branches? Maybe. Her deduction skills were excellent.

Or perhaps the explanation was simpler. She could have seen the sandbank down further and, driven to drastic action by the horde of approaching ghouls, hoped to leap off it and swim across to the other side.

Rocky caught up with her and shot his rifle at another higher-level infected, which was just about to tackle Kitty from their right. He heard the whole forest rumbling with them, ten of the monsters at least. Some of them were trampling not just brushwood but large bushes underfoot. Even small trees.

He had only one cartridge left in the rifle, and reloading it took time. His pistol was almost empty, too—and he didn’t have any spare ammo for that.

Tossing his rifle over his shoulder, he shoved Kitty’s sword in the sheath on her belt and picked her up like he might a small child. No longer taking any care for his companion’s crippled leg, he charged back down the path towards the boat and hopped off the drop-off. It wasn’t high up, and he landed just where he wanted, near the edge of the water, on a soft strip of wet sand. Too soft, too wet. His feet sank into the sand, but the gentle landing meant that his knees still obeyed him, even if they did not forget to voice their distress.

Kitty did not fare so well. She lost her balance, and Rocky couldn’t keep a hold on her. She stumbled a couple of steps into the shallows, awkwardly waving her arms in a bid to regain her balance. Crouching down, she managed to grab onto an oar, only then lifting her tortured leg at last.

Leaping over to her Rocky threw her into the small vessel by her waist, and pushed his feet through the mud along the bottom, dragging the boat out into deeper water, all the while keeping watch out of the corner of his eye. When he saw a ghoul’s head appear over the edge of the drop-off, he ignored it completely. It was clearly an early stage and posed no threat to them. The layout of the situation would change dramatically before it could catch up to them.

At last, when the water was waist-high, Rocky pushed off, climbing into the boat. Still, he hurried. He pushed Kitty towards the bow, flopping down on the bench in the middle and begin to row. Poorly. It was apparent that his body did not know how to row a boat. He would bury the oars too deep on one pass, then skip them across the surface on the next, spraying water everywhere. That last push, though, mattered, and the inertia carried them out to the middle of the creek.

Turning behind him, Rocky could see three ghouls proceeding into the shallow water. Two of them were pathetic, but the third had lost nearly all of his clothes and was starting to look so monstrous that no amount of makeup could conceal his defects.

Bullets might do the job, though.

He left the oars and drew his rifle, turning to fire at the most dangerous target, but Kitty stopped him. “Enough wasting our bullets. Let’s just get boat our way out of here!”

“But...”

“Dammit, Rocky. No buts! Those weaklings can’t go deep. If they do, they’ll flounder about like lost puppies. And if they get close, they’ll learn what Biter feels like. Now get back to rowing before I get mad. Jeez, who taught you how to row?”

“Sorry, but I’ve clearly never been a galley slave.”

“Even I row better than you do.”

“I believe you. Anyway, sorry!”

“Whatever.” Kitty relaxed, despite the situation. “If you don’t know how to row, you don’t know how to row.”

“I wasn’t talking about the oars.”

“Oh.”

“I threw you into the boat like a suitcase.”

“That was the right move, Rocky. Every second counts here. There is no time to be gentle.”

“You look pretty terrible. Does it hurt?”

“I had to take a few steps. I can’t put any weight on it yet.”

“At least it didn’t snap.”

“The bones have taken hold already. As long as I don’t do that all the time, they’ll stay in place. Wow, look at how many of them there are!”

Rocky turned. “Shit.” There were at least twenty of them, running back and forth along the edge of the river. Some were trying to navigate the shallows, towards the boat. Mostly weaklings, but three looked formidable, plus one that appeared close to the level of the monster he had killed in the town.

“Where did they all come from? This is a forest, not a city.”

“Right, but there’s a river here.” As usual, she offered no explanation.

“What does a river have to do with anything? They don’t like swimming. That’s obvious.”

“Right. And that’s why the river matters. When infecteds migrate, they often gather on the banks of rivers. They can’t get across, so they wander the banks. Their numbers accumulate. Water is like a fence for infecteds.”

“Ah, that makes sense. So it wasn’t necessarily strange for use to run into so many here. What do we do now? Crossing to the other side isn’t really an option right now. We made so much noise that the bushes over there are starting to look shaky, too. There’s a ghoul, even. Hey there, freak!”

“The current goes that way, so that way we go.”

“So we sail down and then cross? These guys are following us. You can tell they’re not about to leave us alone.”

“Rocky, just do what I say. I’m tired of repeating myself over and over. We’ll go downstream first, and then we’ll see what happens.”

Chapter 24

Life Five: Rivers and Riversides

Rocky learned how to row quickly. Not like an Olympic champion, but without feeling like he was making a fool of himself. Kitty slathered the criticism on in generous portions, and neglected to praise his successes. But she wasn’t feeling well. She spent the time working to tie the strips of strong fabric more tightly around her splint.

Rocky looked to both sides. The infecteds weren’t going anywhere. They ran along both banks, at least forty in total now. They couldn’t land on either side, or they’d get eaten alive no matter how well they fought. And if they tried to thin them out from here on the boat, well, who knows how many others would come running at the noise?

He made sure Kitty was looking OK, with enough confidence in her movements to show she wasn’t suffering too badly. Then, he asked about something that had been worrying him since the very beginning of the episode at the river. “So why didn’t the System reward us for killing those two bandits?”

“What do you mean?” Kitty clearly didn’t understand.

“As we were sailing away, a bunch of text about those ghouls came up. XP and all that, as usual. But the System didn’t say a word about the two humans.”

“And?”

“Well, lots of information was written there when we killed the guys in the lumberyard. And the helicopter. But this time, total silence.”

“Globes and his gang were as red as overripe tomatoes. Killing them is like taking out high-level infecteds rather than immunes. Those two were greens. You should thank the System for not reducing your Humanity. Thankfully, the System decided that they had shown aggression first.”

“That much was obvious!” Rocky tapped the dried blood left by the crossbow bolt.

“Only one of the shot you. It could have decided not to count the other one—or to count the first as aggressive but with a high Humanity score. It’s hard to get anything by killing a green. Well, anyone can get plenty of things from killing greens, but to pull that off you need to be seriously red. I don’t think red would suit you. You’re not the type to hang around with people like Globes.”

Rocky looked along the river again, then asked another question. Hopefully it didn’t sound stupid. “Where did this river come from?”

“Where everything else comes from. It came in on a reboot.”

“That can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“You said that most clusters in this area are small. A few miles across. Several dozen at most. But a river can’t survive in something that small. It would dry up so quickly!”

“Where’d you get that from? You have a degree in rivers?”

“No, the thought just occurred to me.”

“Hey, there you go. Thinking better already. The System does its best, Rocky. Usually the clusters that arrive are similar to the ones that preceded them. The digis in them even live at the same addresses. Since the resets are just bringing in the same clusters over and over, changes are minimal. And one cluster wouldn’t just fit into the space meant for another. Were you paying attention when we crossed into another cluster, back we ran into that police car?”

“Well?”

“Weren’t you surprised that the road continued in the new cluster?”

“I was surprised by everything back then. Especially when that helicopter appeared.”

“Do you remember the wires on the telephone poles? The poles became different, and the wires hung at the border of the cluster, dangling, cut. That’s because the System tries to connect linear structures together. Roads, pipelines, paths, bridges, dams, power lines, rivers, and streams, for example. This stream could be fed by dozens of pieces of different rivers, canals, even long lakes. Somewhere up high, perhaps far away, there’s a continual flow of water, flowing slowly.”

“Does the System always connect things like that?”

“No. It’s unpredictable. But it usually tries. Some clusters have huge reservoirs, big enough that you couldn’t hit one side from the other with a cannon. The merchants even put floating bases out on them.”

“You have merchants?”

“Wherever there is property, there are merchants.”

“That makes sense. So how’s your leg? Not so bad?”

“Yeah. If I leave it alone for another day or two, I’ll be able to jog on it.”

“No way.”

“Don’t even try to argue with me. You’ll lose.”

“What do we do about these would-be stowaways?” Rocky asked as he pointed to the dead lining the beach.

“What can we do? Nothing at all.”

“We can’t just stay on this boat forever, and they just refuse to fall behind. Ghouls aren’t our only problem, either. We could run into somebody like Ironpot and Carp. Or worse. Their bullets are afraid to jump out over the water. We’re sitting ducks. Lame sitting ducks.”

Kitty frowned and looked around uncertainly. “I don’t know what this creek is, but sooner or later it should widen, or branch into two. Infecteds aren’t as interested in a boat on a wide lake. And if they lose sight of us, they’ll forget us in no time. So we’ll throw these guys off our trail somehow. And we’re unlikely to attract new infecteds, since we’re being so quiet. We have other things to think about right now.”

“Like what?”

“Getting as far away as possible, finding new shelter, and resting. An island is a good option. The little infecteds can’t even try to get out to it, and there aren’t very many big monsters in this region. Too bad our cases and bag stayed all the way back there. Retrieving them would be suicide, of course. Meaning most of our ammo is gone, along with all our food and water. Thanks for holding that flask of lifejuice, at least.”

“What about the spores?”

“I have them. I’d never leave them anywhere.”

“So we won’t have lifejuice problems, and that’s what really matters.”

“Right, as long as we find some more alcohol. I’ve heard stories of survival masters who dissolved spores in an acid made from ants, but I really doubt there’s any truth to them. How much ammo do you have left?

Rocky stopped rowing and counted. The results were not good.

“Twenty-six bullets. For this pistol, though, I’m out.”

“I have two full magazines and seventeen more cartridges. Thirty-seven shots in all. Plus six in my pistol. Here, take three for yourself.”

“Three bullets won’t save me.”

“A weapon is a weapon—until it has no ammo. Take it and quit arguing. Thankfully it’s the right kind of ammo. Reload and get back to rowing. One of those things is already trying to swim for us. He’s no elite, but he’s pretty pushy. I’m going to go through the stuff here in the boat. Maybe those bastards left us something useful.”

Kitty was referring to a pair of threadbare backpacks sitting at the bottom of the boat. From the looks of it, they were despondent. There was hardly anything inside but smelly rags. He was thankful not to have to grope around such dubious places in search of treasure.

The girl was done in a minute, and showed him everything she thought was valuable: a cigar in an aluminum tube, a ribbed hand grenade, some sealed army ration packs, and a bright orange plastic canteen.

Rock stared at the final item.

“Is that lifejuice?”

“Yeah, more than a liter here. We don’t have to worry about our spore balance for a while.”

“What’s up with the cigar? I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“What?”

“That’s a cigar tube. What do you need it for?”

“This is a cigar tube?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Kittle uncorked the tube, sniffed, and nodded. “Yeah, it smells like tobacco, but there’s no cigar in there. It’s something else.”

The girl tilted the tube and shook out its contents. It was a thin, disposable capped syringe with a yellow liquid inside.

“So you’re not into tobacco because it’s too weak, huh?” Rocky joked, knowing that his companion was certainly into nothing of the sort.

“Yeah, I been needing a trip down H Street, man. Nah, this is spec. Not just any spec, either. Goldspec.”

“Great. That clears things up. Except for one point. What the heck is goldspec?”

“Of course you don’t know. But I already told you about spec.”

“Yeah. Four pounds of web to make a dose, and it’s a drug of some kind.”

“Good boy, remembering that. So, goldspec requires eight pounds of web. And five radspores. Those are like normal spores, but three times bigger, and bright green in color. Greener than a young forest in spring. They’re only located in some infecteds living in or near radioactive clusters. Those places are unbelievably hazardous, even for me. You wouldn’t be able to get near them. Goldspec is very valuable. I don’t know where those losers picked it up. They don’t exactly look like they’re rolling.”

“Right, they looked like tramps. So we can sell it to druggies. Any other use for it?”

“Normal spec reduces pain and fatigue. It boosts your strength and bit, and your regeneration. But goldspec, by comparison, turns you into Superman. Just temporarily, of course. It boosts all your stats. As long as your arms and legs are still attached, you forget about all of your wounds and injuries completely. If I took this and went up on the shore, within a few minutes there wouldn’t be a single infected left. Biter would destroy them all. Or most of them, anyway.”

“Cool stuff. So one easy way to take out hordes of ghouls is with narcotics?”

“Well, it’s not that simple. Spec is very dangerous. It can even cause addiction on the first dose. Not everyone reacts that way, of course. Only people with very low Willpower, but even the most stalwart can’t use it for long, if they take it, say, once a week. They’ll be hooked in a month, and that’s terrifying, because then it gradually turns you into an animal. Many reds started out with spec. It just stops all inhibitions. So it’s a last resort. Best to stay away from the stuff. Got it?”

“Just one more thing. If you jabbed yourself with this, how would you chase after those zombies on one leg?”

“My leg is still attached, and that’s what matters. Spec isn’t really a drug. It’s a special tool the System uses. And if the Machine decides you can run on broken legs, run you will.”

“I’m starting to be afraid of this ‘System.’”

“Just starting? We’re all afraid of the System. Deathly afraid.”

* * *

The ghouls got their chance after a couple of hours of water travel. It wasn’t that any of their attempts to enter the water succeeded. Not at all.

The river was changing, as Kitty had anticipated. Each cluster boundary was shocking, even when he wasn’t looking at one bank or the other. Sharp jolts or quick changes in the shape of the creek always gave it away. Sometimes he had to hurry through with the oars, rushing through the narrow stretches where the strongest infected could possibly leap clear into the boat, or at least land dangerously close in the water. Otherwise, everything continued as normal. The lazy current, or sometimes no current. The hot, sunny day. The deciduous forests running along both sides. There were very few traces of human activity—just a few campfire sites, fishing piers, and plastic garbage sometimes floating underneath the occasional stretch of power lines.

But danger awaited them up ahead. Steep banks squeezed the river in again, their rocks striped with algae, showing where the water line had once been. The level of the water was lower now, for some reason. Above them, a pair of impressive pylons supported a major bridge made of metal and reinforced concrete. The road that ran along it must have been an important way, and when the reset occurred, so had a grand accident. Or a whole string of accidents.

As a result, the bridge was cluttered with a monolithic mass of twisted, burnt metal. Some of them were little thicker than pancakes, so the true culprit was clear: a rusted tanker had lost its grip and slid, then rolled across like bridge like a giant rolling pin, crushing vehicles like spent soda cans. It was probably too heavy for this bridge: Some combination of the truck’s weight and the damage to the bridge inflicted by it or the reset had blasted a hole clean through. Through it, Rocky could see scattered piles of bones being picked at lazily by a family of overweight crows.

The main attraction, though, was the infecteds. The dead were lackluster in their pursuit, sometimes stopping and turning to leave, but the noise of the remaining horde attracted others. For such a subdued sound, the creatures’ rumbling carried surprisingly far. In this way, the total number of infecteds on both banks fluctuated between thirty and forty, usually not much higher or lower.

Now, this mass of monster, increasingly frustrated at their inability to reach the boat, found that there was a way to walk over the traveler’s heads. Not all of them took advantage of this chance at a good snack. The bulk was made up of low-level ghouls, and they didn’t have enough mental capacity for even the simplest of plans. But one beast a little deadlier than the others—and almost as strong as the one which had impressed Rocky into the farm mud—realized the situation and charged up the bridge, its intentions obvious.

A pair of others, more modest but also dangerous, watched the leader run to its perch and followed, realizing what it was up to. The movements they made were not unnoticed across the stream. Four of the opposing team hurried to the bridge, as well.

Rocky had become quite comfortable with controlling the boat, in his opinion. “They’ll make it to the bridge before us. Should we turn around?”

“Why would we push against the current just to return to where we were? Shoot them.”

“Only twenty-six cartridges left.”

“And seven infecteds we have to mow down quickly. The rest aren’t a threat. They only realize things when it’s too late. We’ll be under and gone by then. You can take the ones on the bridge out.”

It wasn’t a perfect session. Rocky spent nine shots on the sever beasts. One he simply missed, and another hit but didn’t kill the ghoul. The others weren’t clean kills, either. He only took out four, just hobbling or slowing down the rest. With limitless ammo, he would have finished them off, but now he had to abandon his attack, thankful that they couldn’t get above them in time now. The shots had slowed them down, enough for the dumbest monsters to catch up.

They were starting to catch on, too, abandoning all other plans in a bid to get on top of the bridge. Some even managed to reach the center above them in time, but the burnt-out cars slowed them down. Even fast infecteds couldn’t ignore huge piles of twisted metal.

Now, why had Rocky shot so poorly? Because his ability was not all-powerful. He had missed a number of times back near the sandy hill, after all. The boat was rocking and swaying. He was having trouble holding the heavy rifle, and he could neither sit nor lie down, and the targets were not so close, in fact. The ghouls moved quickly, and not always predictably.

In the future, he should remember that conditions other than shooting galleries would reveal that he was not, in fact, a perfect sniper. A depressing discovery. Now he only had seventeen shots left, and their adventures were only going to become crazier from here on out.

* * *

Once they had passed the bridge, the terrain underwent a phenomenal change. The forests retreated, their trees now only residing on sparse islets in the middle of the river. The land around was pasture, nibbled down by domesticated livestock, who in turn had been nibbled down to skeletal form, in which they still resided here. To the right, beyond the pasture, a town immersed in green sat about five hundred feet away. A highway on a tall embankment ran past it. It had a few vehicles on it—lone cars here and there, permanently parked.

The most significant change was the river. It suddenly widened into a large lake. The transition was lined with severed power lines and a fishing bridge sawn in half. We’re in another cluster.

Kitty had mentioned a popular—and hotly contested—hypothesis the day before. Immunes often encountered places they remembered. Places they had seen before they were brought to this world. That meant the System did not create clusters from scratch. It copied pieces of real-world territory, somehow playing a cosmic Tetris game to integrate them into its mosaic, its hive of humanity.

Here, the System had been unable to find a patch of land with a similar river or canal that matched up in the other necessary places. But, as Kitty had explained, the Machine governing this world of curiosities was not opposed to using lakes for this purpose, especially if they were long lakes.

This particular body of water was more round, but perhaps the angle was just odd, or the oddities of the shorelines just made the cosmic Tetris game more difficult.

The girl, habitually pulling at the strips of cloth holding her crippled leg, looked around. “This is a good lake. We’ll lose all the ghouls here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. They hate wide expanses of water. As soon as we push off into the middle, they’ll forget we exist.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Don’t assume you can also bank on it, though. The strongest infecteds can still get to you.”

“But there aren’t any of them around.” Rocky squinted at the shore fleeing into the distance. The monsters really were beginning to lose interest.

“Just because you don’t see any doesn’t mean a thing. Some infecteds are so cunning that I wouldn’t even notice them until they had me in their jaws. An elite isn’t just a better version of what you fought in the town. An elite is a threat to respect.”

Rocky nodded. “This lake is fine, but there aren’t any islands.”

“Who cares?”

“What do you mean? Don’t you remember what you told me back there?”

“I told you a lot of things.”

“You said we could camp out on the island for a day or so. We have plenty of sporejuice and a couple of ration packs, so we’d be fine.”

Kitty pointed forward and a bit to the right.

“Row that way. Towards that dam.”

“Which is massive. Look at that spillway! The river flows straight through, so I have no idea how we can hope to pass by boat.”

“We’ll have to abandon the boat.”

“So I can drag you around on my shoulders again?” Rocky sighed in sadness. “How about we try to drag the boat around the dam?”

“It’s pretty big. I couldn’t even do it, and you’re weaker than I am.”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

“Rocky, just forget that you’re this muscular tall guy, while I’m a ninety-pound thing that looks like little more than a naive schoolgirl. This is a different world. Other laws reign here, and sometimes, what your eyes tell you means nothing. Your Strength is up to three. Even with your initial data, you’re far behind me.”

“What do you mean, ‘even with my initial data’?”

“That’s simple enough. We’re not dolls. We’re still real people. We have our own advantages and disadvantages. If you’re here as a weightlifter, each Strength point will mean as much to you as one point means to me. If not more. That’s how it is with all the stats. They’re not absolute—they’re relative to what you started with. There are some exceptions, but they’re pretty rare. You’re a cheater, so you get an accidental, immense bonus to your Accuracy. Those who started out as Olympic shooters won’t be able to keep up, since your Accuracy increases faster than theirs.”

“So what if I lift weights here? Will the benefits be much better than they would be in the real world? Meaning I’d be much stronger?”

“Actually, yes. As long as you were pumping your Strength, too. Which requires fighting, not lifting weights.”

“Yeah, I get that. Strength seems easy to pump. It went up quickly when I took out these young ghouls trying to rip me off a railroad.”

“What did you kill them with?”

“Some kind of metal bar.”

“You did that by hand against slow-moving opponents. Physical strength did most of the work, so yeah, you got points towards it. It doesn’t always work this way, but the System as a rule awards the stat that played a role in the battle. It won’t give you many points for tiny teensy accomplishments, too. Pumping your Strength like that will only work at the lower levels. When your stat’s level is above the opponent’s level, the System adds penalties. The greater the difference, the higher the penalties, until you only get one progress point per victory. One is the minimum, per the rules. So to pump your Strength from fourteen to fifteen, you’ll have to kill one hundred and fifty tiny infecteds with your pipe. To get from nineteen to twenty, kill two hundred. Those are ideal numbers, of course. And no one hits the ideal. The System will award you those points for Accuracy and so on at times, so you’ll have to swing that pipe hundreds more times. Where will you find hundreds of the little guys, anyway? They’re not about to line up and present themselves. And where hordes of them roam, much worse things roam, too.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“You can get a good bump from high-level infecteds, but a pipe won’t help you out then. You’ll need a bigger weapon, and the good options don’t really rely on Strength. They rely on Accuracy and so on. Hey, look, the monsters are pretty much out of sight. Keep rowing. That dam in an interesting place, and we can look in that little house, too.”

“Look for what?”

“Well, we can try to rest there, if things look good.”

“It’s not a house, though. It’s a control room or something. Maybe a generator room.”

“Look in the corner. The glass is glazed to give the inside privacy from people outside. It’s probably good to live in, and the location is great. The only ways to reach it are up this bank, or along the dam. The edge of the lake is clear, and the dam is five hundred feet long, at least. Nothing will be able to approach us without being noticed. I don’t see any pastures or towns on this side of the water. So honestly, it looks like a comfortable place to take a short rest.”

“Are you sure Romeo won’t find us? We haven’t gone very far yet.”

“He’s cunning, and persistent. We can never be sure. He’s unpredictable, too. But I need to rest, Rocky. A day, at least. Maybe too. Then I’ll be able to hobble along on my own, and that will really help our situation.”

Rocky pointed left. “Look at that. Something off in the distance. Skyscrapers?”

“Yeah. Pretty tall.”

“That’s a city.”

“It’s certainly no village.”

“You said that cities were extremely dangerous.”

“Sure, but it’s at least six miles away.”

“Are you sure? Looks like less to me.”

“Who cares? It’s very unlikely that it just came in, in which case the infecteds don’t care about it anymore. The first day it comes in is the worst. They charge in from all directions when they smell a reboot. You could be in a tank and it wouldn’t matter: Running into a city horde is a guaranteed death sentence. But I don’t see any better shelter, Rocky. If we go farther to look for some, with me on your shoulders again, we’ll just be risking more encounters. Or are you hurting for adventure? You should quit arguing with me all the time and just listen to what I say.”

“I wasn’t arguing. Just saying that cities are dangerous.”

“Oh, as if I didn’t know that. Look, it’s far away, and this is a good spot. We stay here. So get rowing, and quit looking at me like that. You can put up with me for a couple of more days.”

“A couple of more days?”

“Yeah. After that, you go on your own, without me.”

“But why?”

“Because we are going to part. I told you right at the start that this would happen, remember?”

“You must be joking. You can hardly crawl.”

“Sure, but in a couple of days that will change. I’m tenacious enough to kick any wound right back out the door. Don’t worry about your own welfare. I’ll help you get to a stable, like I promised. But then, that’s it.”

“What if it’s not?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I might come in handy. We worked well together, and even got along.”

“We will not stay together.”

“Why so certain?”

“I might look like a naive little girl, Rocky, but I understand a thing or two about life, believe it or not. You keep looking at me like that. Stop it. Cast those thoughts from your mind. There’s not going to be any romance between us. We’re splitting up in two days. Get that in your head. And take this thing left a little—there are some branches sticking out of the water up ahead that we don’t want to hit.”

Chapter 25

Life Five: Stupidly in Love

Rocky froze in front of the metal door, which was slightly opened and held a signboard with the word “Shield” on it and the image of a skull with its eye sockets skewered by bolts of lightning. There was no sound from within, but the smell made his hands instinctively tighten their grip on his rifle. It wasn’t even that strong, but it was impossible to confuse with anything else.

It was the stench of decomposition.

The infecteds were often referred to as “ghouls,” but that was just as far from the truth as “zombie.” They weren’t rotting. They were alive, or at least as alive as digis can be. Sometimes a serious injury might cut off blood supply to a limb and cause it to rot, but that wouldn’t last for long. Even the monsters just starting out regenerated quickly—especially with food available.

So rotting flesh didn’t usually mean rumbling fiends. But the scent could certainly attract them, so relaxing would be foolish. To them, it was an alluring incense, not a stench. None of the monsters were picky. They would eat carrion if there was nothing better available. Meaning there was, in fact, a small chance that one or more infecteds was residing behind this door. Rocky made no hurry to open it. Perhaps a beast lurking on the other side was also listening to them, ready to punch clean through the wall with its razor-sharp claws. It was better to wait a little. The ghouls usually proved impatient, so Rocky was content to let any beast come out, or at least reveal its presence.

Three minutes passed without Rocky hearing a sound, save the buzzing of a gluttonous fly. Rocky gave in, pushing the tip of his rifle up against the door. It didn’t budge. He readied his weapon to use as a lever, but reconsidered. Bending or snapping some piece of his gun was the last thing he needed. It was strong, but it wasn’t made to be used as a crowbar.

In any case, though, he had already made some noise, and no monsters were emerging. He had nothing to fear. Probably.

He grabbed the door and pulled it open. It let out a hideous screech, which was doubtless audible in every dark corner of the building. Which was very large. Rocky had no idea what the purpose of all this space was. A concrete dam didn’t need an airport. Indeed, a low windowed tower nearby looked like it had been brought here from an airport. But he didn’t particularly care to find out. How would that knowledge even help him? One thing was clear. Kitty was right. This was a good place to set up camp for a while.

A narrow hallway stretched into the building, its walls bare but for damp spots saturated with mold. His flashlight revealed a similar door thirty feet down. It seemed to be closed. He approached, rapped on its metal with his knuckles, and listened. Nothing seemed to react on the other side, so he pushed on.

This door was much more compliant than the last, but his joy died as he realized that the further it opened, the worse the smell became. When he stopped just outside of a room too big for his flashlight to illuminated, he cursed quietly. The stench was so thick that he could probably butter toast with it. Nausea greeted him. He was surprised it hadn’t until now. He turned his light, saw something, and jerked his rifle up to point at it.

Thankfully, he didn’t shoot before he realized. The ominous villain of the darkness was long dead. He couldn’t even tell whether it had been a man or a woman. Its feet and head were hidden by orange coveralls and a white helmet. He/she had thick-soled but rather small-sized shoes. The human’s face was decomposed beyond recognition. A rope was tied around its neck, providing a convenient place of rest for the flies buzzing around.

The other end of the rope was tied to a ventilation grill. Rocky had no clue how the short suicidal man or woman had tied it up there before tightening the noose and ending his or her life. People could show unprecedented ingenuity when they were taking a life. Even when it was their own life.

Wait, why do I care? This wasn’t a human. Just a digi. Why would an immune ever hang themselves?

But then again, why would a digi hang themselves, either? The System put them here with specific goals. They created the illusion of normal life for a time in fresh clusters. Then, they panicked and started going mad, before transforming into infecteds. Then they ate. And ate. And ate. Until there was nothing human about them left.

Not far from the body, Rocky noticed an open notebook on a desk. Each sheet had a table drawn onto it. He walked over, looked at the numbers and names, and realized this was some kind of logbook for the engineering staff here. He skimmed through the records, stopping at the last. “I had to lock Greg up in an old closet. He went mad, just like Jenson did before him. He was so strong that I could barely get him in there. I got bitten during the process. Soon, I’ll be just like them. But I will not become like them. Gail, if you ever read this—I’m sorry. This is better than becoming one of them. I left the emergency sluice open, so the dam will be fine. Goodbye to all of you. Paul.”

Interesting. This digi, because he had been bitten, had decided that meant he’d become a zombie. He proceeded to write an intelligible suicide note, then hung himself. Rocky knew for a fact that these people weren’t real. If he had had any doubts, this would have sustained them.

This was realistic behavior. Perfect AI.

He made sure there was no other way out, then returned to the hallway, closing both doors behind him. The stench continued to torture his nose, to eat into his clothing, to burn his skin. He couldn’t get rid of it, no matter what.

He retraced his steps, reaching the final staircase, and killed his light. Sunlight was creeping in from above, and it was enough for his dark-adjusted eyes to see with.

Kitty was there, just where Rocky had left her, on the top floor of the tower. The place was a sparsely-furnished office with wide windows on all sides. Kitty had managed to get some of them open. She hadn’t even needed to hobble. Instead she had ridden a wheeled office chair around, pushing a broom handle against the floor to propel herself.

Rocky grinned at the sight of the broomstick. “How’s it fly?”

“Oh, I only do that at night,” Kitty shot back. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing alive. But someone downstairs hanged himself. It looks like he’s a digi. One who worked here. But there’s something strange about him.”

“What?”

“He acted like a real person. He thought he was bitten by a zombie and would turn into one soon. So he wrote a note to his darling and tied a noose around his neck. His body is badly rotted—he’s probably been up there a month, at least. Makes it impossible to breathe in there.”

“Digis come in all kinds,” Kitty said with a detached tone as she watched the nearest shore of the lake. “Some are harder to distinguish from us. Their programming is better. They called them ‘alphas’ in one of the regions I visited. Some of them were even immune.”

“Really? Digis immune to the infection?”

“Yeah. They live among players and are accepted in their communities. Wherever they’re not accepted, they live on their own. Some even have their own stables and trade among themselves and with player stables.”

“Fascinating.”

“Lots of interesting things here, Rocky. What else did you find?”

“The guy wrote in his note that he locked an infected up in an old closet. I didn’t find the closet, though. This place is a labyrinth, and my battery is about to run out.”

“No need to find him. A locked-up infected dies fast without food. What shape is the body in?”

“Rotten. Worm-eaten. Still has a puddle of fluids underneath it, and smells worse than a skunk burial ground.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Besides the worms, has anything else eaten the body? Or has it been left alone?”

“Alone. Its clothing isn’t even torn.”

“Excellent.”

“You use that word differently than I do.”

“It is excellent because infecteds can smell rotting flesh from far away. Since they haven’t come yet, this place must not be a popular hangout of theirs.”

“Sure, I mean, why would they attack a dam when there’s a city over there?” Rocky pointed at the towering buildings in the distance.

“Infecteds don’t use quite the same logic we do,” Kitty pointed out. She was immediately distracted from the thought. “Look! They have tea, coffee, and treats! And I even found a bottle of brandy under the desk that will make some decent lifejuice.”

“Aw, I was hoping you were kicking off the housewarming party.”

“I don’t drink, and as long as you’re with me, you don’t, either.”

“Sadly, we don’t have our kerosene stove, so tea and coffee will have to wait until another time.”

“There’s a microwave here. And an electric tea kettle.”

“And no power.”

“Rocky, this is a power plant. We could try to get some of its juice flowing. I once saw a stable which ran cables to a hydro power plant in an adjacent cluster. They would fix the connections up after each reset and could shut their diesel generators off.”

“Do I look like someone who knows how to start up a power plant?”

“I don’t know what you know! Maybe you can and you just don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember anything at all. Power plants are no exception.”

“Damn.”

“And don’t you dare say that every man should know how to start up a power plant.”

“Idiot. I wasn’t about to. If you can’t start it up, oh well. I don’t know how to start it, either, and that’s fine. We’ll survive without the tea.”

“Are there any other dishes around?”

“Not that I saw.”

“See if you can find some. I’ll go check the cars in the parking lot.”

“Why? We already checked that area. It’s clear.”

“I’m not looking for immunes or infecteds. I just want to pamper you with some nice hot coffee, unless you object.”

“Quit acting like a fool, Rocky. Damn, I didn’t even hint that everybody with an ID that happens to have an ‘M’ on it should know how to boot up power plants and spaceships. That’s just stupid. You don’t have to prove yourself. I know that specialists like that are hard to find.”

“I’m not proving myself. Those cars might have food, which we could use some of. We only have two ration packs, after all. So I’ll have to go exploring anyway.”

“We don’t need too much food. But you’re right. A little excursion won’t hurt.”

* * *

The bit about food was just Rocky’s excuse to justify his trip to the parking lot. He only wanted to do one thing there: drain some diesel out of the truck.

Why? Because he was an idiot. He wanted to impress this girl, a lady who did not fit any of the tastes he had so specifically defined at the outset of this life. Why did he want to impress her so badly? Because he was done lying to himself. He thought about her day in and day out. At least, whenever there wasn’t someone directly trying to kill him, which happened often. I really am an idiot. His romantic daydreams, as the Battle of Sandy Hill had shown, distracted his attention. That forest had been open. Visibility had been great. And yet he had allowed two ghouls to sneak up until they were right on top of him.

He had built a wall of personal preferences, yes. But sometimes the truly remarkable girls just find gaps in those walls, and make their way through to your heart anyway. Kitty wasn’t stupid, though. She was observant, and she had strongly hinted that Rocky’s interest was so off-putting to her that she wanted to separate from him as soon as possible, despite the hazards of their current situation.

If she came to suspect that this newbie had any sensual plans for her, well, that would be a catastrophe. She probably wouldn’t break his legs, but she would immediately send him far away, and without so much as a goodbye.

Why, then, should he go to so much trouble to make a hot beverage for her? Because she loved hot beverages. She would, of course, realize that Rocky was very obviously trying to curry her favor. To show that he would do whatever it took to make her smile. And that realization could cause an immediate relationship crisis.

Honestly, though, what kind of relationships could people have in this place? Even talking about them was pointless. He was carrying her around on his back all day like a horse carrying its rider, yes, but there was nothing to that for her. Honestly, if he were smart, he would keep as far away from her as possible. Her pronouncement that they were splitting up should have had him overjoyed. Kitty was a fountain of trouble. She was an immune with a clouded past during which she had driven her Humanity into the negative numbers. That was suspicious. And this intensely unpleasant Romeo was hunting her. Romeo might even consider Rocky an archenemy, if for the sole reason that he thought the newbie had spent too much time with the object of his base passions.

This was just based on what Rocky knew about Kitty. Perhaps it was only the tip of the iceberg.

But despite all of this, the only thing he wanted to think about was her. And stare at that foolish-looking, near-childish face of hers, which when viewed up close featured not a single attractive line.

It wasn’t about any one of those attributes. It was how they worked in combination. He loved them all together. As if a sculptor spent his whole life learning how to break all the rules—in such a way that the big picture was so original and so charming you simply could not tear your eyes away.

Not that it was about her looks. Rocky began to suspect that even if this girl had really been as physically repulsive as she had seemed in their first meeting, he would still like her.

She was something else.

So as he was siphoning out the diesel, he tried to figure out how to change things. He wanted to stay with Kitty, not walk to some stable alone, without her to help him stay out of trouble.

Kitty still needed Rocky. A lot. He was her legs. He had to prove that he was useful before she could walk on her own. Somehow. So think, Rocky. Think hard. He needed to somehow use this diesel fuel and all the metal available at the hydro plant to somehow boil water without sending up a column of smoke and flame to give their position away to the whole neighborhood.

* * *

He did it. By the end, he smelled like he had bathed in soot for days, but he achieved his goal.

But Kitty didn’t even appreciate his achievement. Starting up the power plant probably wouldn’t have even affected her. Not even if this was a nuclear power plant. As she sat on her “self-propelled chair,” she gazed out the open window, a steaming mug in her one hand as she stroked the stock of her rifle with the other.

Rocky clambered up onto the office desk and watched the same point she did. He took a careful sip from his mug. “What’s so interesting out that way?”

The girl made a long, ugly pause before answering. “Ghouls.”

“Where?!” Rocky perked up.

“The ones that were following us along the shore. They might figure out that they can just waltz all the way down here to the dam.”

“They won’t see us as long as we keep away from the windows.”

“They’re smarter than that.”

“I splashed some of the diesel oil around the entrance. That should mask our smell.”

“Any unusual smell can attract infecteds.”

Rocky hesitated, but no more than a second. He placed his mug on the table, straightened up, and stretched lazily, then calmly declared, “I’ll go take a look. If they really are wandering up the shore, I’ll lead them in the other direction.”

Kitty whirled, the disapproval and surprise evident on her face. “The hell has gotten into you?”

Rocky was already walking towards the stairs. He answered, in the same tone of voice, “Nothing yet. Hopefully I won’t have claws and teeth in me soon. With luck, I’ll even bring some spores back.”

“Hey, where are you going?” he heard from behind him. “Are you looking to get yourself killed? Stop! Come back here, moron! What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Just trying to get used to life on my own.”

“What?”

“Today you said yourself that we’re going to be splitting up. On our own.”

“Stop! I said stop! Goddammit!”

Rocky had stopped listening. He understood that he was probably making a mistake, but his mind had taken a backseat now. His body was under the control of some incomprehensible, irresistible desire to prove something to a specific person.

Well, when you took a man and stripped him of his memory, then paired him up with someone always calling him a moron, it was no wonder he felt like he needed to prove something. Though Rocky strongly suspected that if he grew to level ten, or even level twenty, this need would still remain.

This was no time to think. It was time to act. There was some reason behind what he was doing now, actually. The ghouls could not be allowed to approach the dam. He and she both needed this place to be a safe haven for at least a couple of days.

Kitty had lost her opportunity to pester him, but the chat window was blinking now, filling up with new messages. Rocky wasn’t about to go reading them. He knew what was written there. On the stairs, he grabbed a bag filled with various pieces of metal he had found in the cars and around the plant. Easy-to-wield crowbars, axes, and hammers, along with a massive homemade knife he had swiped from a tool shelf. He threw the bag’s strap over his shoulder and descended the stairs further.

As he was outside, approaching the reed-concealed water where he had left the boat, he pulled out an ax and, without even trying to aim, threw it into a young willow tree growing on the beach. His projectile made a few revolutions in the air, then embedded its blade into the tree trunk with a solid thunk.

Rocky smiled. This part of his cheater’s talent was new to him. He had suspected his ability when he threw that bottle at the exact spot he wanted to hit the shed where the town monster was hiding. But he had become fully and finally convinced of it just today, as he collected diesel from the parking lot. He had found a knife as he searched the truck, and had thrown it into the side of another truck—hitting the exact spot he had wanted, to his surprise.

His upgraded accuracy didn’t just apply to guns. It worked with thrown weapons, too. Of course this ability would not help take down serious opponents, but he could quietly take down the lesser ghouls without risking getting too close or deafening the neighborhood with a round of bullets.

This throwing ability might come in handy on this mission.

Rocky raised the oars, paddled the boat back out just over a hundred feet from shore, and then rode parallel to the bank. He had to paddle facing backwards, of course. It was annoying to have to turn around to avoid missing anything good.

The first fifteen minutes were sheer boredom. The naked shore was quite sad looking. It was a reddish clay strip, quite similar to some beaches, with sickly grass situated behind the clay and, here and there, thin, towering bushes. Not a single tree. No buildings, either. Just a bunch of high-tension power lines.

Despite the open terrain, though, the ghouls still managed to creep up on him. He turned to see a pack already nearby. It was four of them. They didn’t look particularly scary, but they weren’t zeroes, either: Some of their clothing was gone, and the rest was preposterously soiled. They had managed to see him first and rush at him, as if they fully intended to charge into the water.

For a moment, he thought about leading them in the other direction, then breaking out into the middle of the water, returning stealthily to the dam once the pack had lost interest. Rocky and Kitty had gone to the dam too soon, forgetting that the infecteds would get bored and might decide to keep moving in the same direction they had pursued their potential food in.

But he rejected the plan. He didn’t come here to arrange an excursion for the ghouls. Rocky held one oar above the water and used the other to turn the boat pointing towards shore. He would reach the shore before they did, at this pace.

When he did, he threw the ratting bag of metal ashore, jumped out without getting his feet wet, yanked a couple of crowbars out and pushed them into the mud, and then equipped himself with one ax in each hand. He assumed a ready stance, cocked his arm back, and froze, waiting for the quickest infected to get as close as safely possible. His experience with the pistol had taught him that every weapon had certain limits, and his System-boosted shooting skill did not work well beyond those limits. He didn’t know those limits with thrown weapons, so it was best not to take any risks.

They were level four or five ghouls, far from the worst, but they had little of their humanity left, and getting into close combat with them would be a bad idea.

Rocky threw the ax when the closest infected was twenty feet away. It slammed into the beast’s face with a juicy crunch. The infected somersaulted and collapsed into the wet clay, legs twitching. The second kill was similar, but not as accurate. Left-handed. The third trick didn’t work. Rocky threw the crowbar too early in the heat of the moment, and it pierced the right side of the walker’s chest rather than its skull. The infected jerked in response but kept on running.

With the second crowbar, Rocky did not finish off the wounded man, his logic telling him that the injured infected would be easier to cope with in close combat than the undamaged one, which was now also in range. He wasn’t undamaged for long. With only one of the four left, the man leaped back into the water. He suppressed the temptation to draw his pistol. Drawing attention to the area with loud noises was exactly what he had to avoid.

Pulling a calculated run past the boat, Rocky managed to grab the oar and yank it free from the oarlocks. Without even turning around, he jabbed the handle into the ghoul, who was already practically breathing down the back of his neck. The move hardly dissuaded the beast, but at least it caused an unhappy growl.

In the meantime, Rocky gained some distance between them. The water was above waist height now. Still unsure of why infecteds didn’t like water, he observed that his pursuer’s speed had dropped considerably.

Rocky spun and smacked the creature on the head. A crunch rang out, but unfortunately it wasn’t the bones of the beast’s skull but the snapping of the tip of the oar. The ghoul staggered and lost his balance, collapsing into the water face-first and panicking, flailing its arms in an attempt to get itself up as quickly as possible.

Rocky began to unceremoniously beat it, slamming his simple weapon down again and again, like a peasant beating out a rug. The unbent piece of the paddle fell off now, as the sharp edges that remained tore the infected’s flesh, staining the water red. The ghoul had no time even to growl properly as another blow shoved his head into the murk. Still he hit, again and again.

The plastic part of the oar was now a mutilated mess, but not as much as the monster’s head. It was down at last. Breathing heavily, Rocky looked around and made sure no new zombies were rushing to rescue the slain one. He dragged the final victim over to its three siblings, who by now had stopped twitching.

The short, unpleasant business of slicing for trophies began. Thankfully, he had taken a knife from the truck back in the lot. Once he gutted these four, he would go further. And take out whomever else he met. All of the ghouls that had been following the boat along this shore had to be destroyed. The dam area had to be completely clear.

If he ran into any absurdly huge creatures, he would lead them back down to the mouth of the river and lose them there.

Chapter 26

Life Five: Night at the Dam

Kitty sat by the same window in her black office chair, still holding and stroking the rifle. Rocky carelessly tossed a bag full of webbing and spores onto the windowsill and asked, without emotion, “Should I put some tea on?”

The girl did not reply. She acted as if she hadn’t heard at all. Only her open eyes and cognizant expression proved she was not asleep or dead. Yes, this looked like the beginning of a serious fight.

But Rocky was not discouraged. He remembered how his companion’s mood could fluctuate like a weathervane in a windstorm. The bad moods didn’t usually stick around for long. And neither did the good.

She was quick to forgive, too, and he hadn’t done anything beyond forgiving. He had even done a couple of useful things, clearing the area around the dam of ghouls and getting some spores at the same time. Sure, his forearm was wrapped in bandages, but how could he have known that a smashed-in skull did not always guarantee instant death for a ghoul?

The monsters were still full of surprises. Lousy surprises. So he wasn’t back unharmed, but he was victorious, even in that last battle.

As he heated up some water, making himself smell like soot again, Rocky told Kitty the carefree story of his three skirmishes with small groups of beachgoing infecteds. He made sure to mention his skills at throwing deadly objects, and lamented that his lack of knowledge and experience had gotten his arm scratched. The girl continued her silence. Try as he might, he could not pull her out of this state. But he could feel the clouds of psychological tension coalescing.

Kitty was dissatisfied. Very dissatisfied. Bordering on furious.

As he related the details of his adventures, he ventured some ideas, complaints about how he might have performed better. “A fast-acting poison would be a great thing to acquire. Slather it on your blades and it won’t even be essential to hit them in the head. A couple of seconds go by, and boom, it’s a corpse. Or at least writhing on the ground, no threat to anyone. But where can we find poison?”

“It’s all over,” Kitty said without a trace of emotion, without even a hint of life in her voice.

Rocky was overjoyed to get any response from her, but he tried to hide his happiness. He pushed for details. “Where is ‘all over’? I haven’t ever seen any.”

“Yeah, you have. Many times. You’re just so blind you miss all the obvious things.”

“Give me a hint, at least.”

“Flakes.”

“Flakes? What are those?”

“The stuff left over from spores, peas, and stars. The stuff that doesn’t dissolve.”

“The stuff filtered out by that gauze.”

“Yes.”

“I remember you saying that was poison, yeah. How bad is it?”

“The tiniest pinch of the stuff will send you straight to respawn. Well, you’ll live an hour, tops, and it will be a very unhappy hour. In the bloodstream, a few milligrams is enough to instantly paralyze you completely. And that includes your heart. And lungs. You might survive if there’s a good healer around, or at least a doctor with life support equipment. But your chances would not be good. Without instant help, you won’t make it to ten minutes.”

“Does it work against infecteds?”

“Yes, but not as well. It will kill the little ones quick, but it just slows down the bigger ones. A large dose might paralyze them, but it won’t kill them.”

“Well, that sounds useful. You guys should put this poison on your bullets.”

“Bad idea.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The mildest heating breaks flakes down. And the poison is unstable even without heat. It can last for several weeks in a cold alcohol solution, but two days in the open air will render it inert. Who wants to keep coating their weapons with a substance that kills you if you accidentally get it in a fresh scratch?”

“Yeah, that does complicate things. But... Those freaks we bumped into at the right had a crossbow. The tips could be coated with poison and then stored in alcohol. It wouldn’t dissolve them. They’d be at the ready to take out and screw onto crossbow bolts when needed.”

“Unfortunately, the presence of metal in the solution accelerates the reaction, countering the preservative effect of the alcohol and breaking the poison down at a normal rate. By the way, Rocky, how many times do I have to tell you not to go stupidly wandering off without asking?”

The sudden change in subject failed to throw Rocky off. He had been expecting it. His answer was just as sudden.

“Lots of times. But this wasn’t stupid.”

“Don’t you remember the start of all of this?” Kitty interrupted. “When we had just met? I warned you not to fall for me. And I have never ceased to remind you of that, just so you wouldn’t forget. I’m assuming you know what ‘fall for’ means. It means to quit staring at me like a puppy, to quit bothering me with dumb questions, and to quit trying to impress me with stupid ways of acting out. Or smart ways of acting out. But you wouldn’t listen to me, Rocky. That’s bad. Very bad.”

“I’m sure people have told you that you take simple things way too seriously.”

“People have told me a lot of things. All kinds of things. None of that matters. Not to me, anyway. You’re leaving tomorrow. On your own. And if you want us to part as friends, you won’t try to delay that.”

“Kitt, OK, it was stupid, but you should think about this.”

She continued as if Rocky had said nothing at all.

“I’ll tell you how to find the stable. You decided to act on your own. Good. You’re becoming independent. So now we’ll both be on our own. This had to happen sooner or later. I’ve been telling you that since the beginning, and I’ve prepared you the best I could. And you did everything you could to make that happen as fast as possible. Good job, you did it. This is it for us. Now, leave me for a while. I need to be alone. Don’t say anything. Just go.

“How long do I have to stay away?” said Rocky miserably.

“For a couple of hours, at least.”

* * *

Rocky stopped filing. One end of the reinforcing bar was sharpened, and the other weighted with an impromptu handle of aluminum wire. He checked the tip with his finger, and decided he was finished. Even if some people would be more perfectionist about it. There was still some rust on the bar, and it was as unpolished as Kitty’s swamp outfit. But maybe that was a plus. Even a small amount of flakes would have trouble sticking to smooth metal. And an unpoisoned rod would hardly be effective here.

Rocky stayed seated and barely swung his arm. The rod drove deep into a block of foam leaning against the wall by the door. Right on target. Just like all the times before. That was great—when the target was immobile. But otherwise, his Accuracy took over. He had seen near the bridge that he couldn’t hit targets reliably under those conditions.

This negative thinking wasn’t doing him any good. He sent more hastily-made spears into the same block of foam. Dead on, each time, but that didn’t make him feel happy. His mood was shot, and he knew that the weapon was just too incapable to deal with any but the weakest infecteds. Kitty had told him that a stab in the eye wasn’t enough to take out the strongest beasts. Only a bullet could punch through their eye protection.

Kitty was in his thoughts again. No matter what he did, she was there. And no wonder. She had been the teacher, the one who opened the door to this new world. His closest friend. Who else could be in his thoughts?

No, this was different. He had to stop lying to himself. He didn’t want Kitty as his teacher. He wanted her as his companion. A real companion, not just a girl tagging along, or whom he was tagging along with. He had behaved like an awkward schoolboy around her, and deserved this kick in the ass.

That much was predictable.

Or it should have been. But how could someone as unreasonable as he was predict anything?

Kitty was right. He couldn’t think straight.

Meaning he would have to leave the next day. Even if he lost all romantic feelings, he still couldn’t leave her. Despite all her assurances to the contrary, her shin was still shattered. She needed more time to recover.

That’s what he would bring up whenever he was allowed to talk to her again. He had to keep himself from expressing any romantic feelings at all. Not even a hint. He wasn’t even sure of them, anymore—and she would certainly not take them well.

No, I really like this girl. She was so unusual, so unlike what he wanted, and yet all he wanted. He liked her more with every passing minute. Rocky even no longer minded when she called him “moron.” It was kind of nice.

If “Crush on Kitty” was a meter hidden somewhere in his impossible confusing menu, well, soon it would be filled to the max. But that max was not here yet. Rocky wasn’t dumb enough to think he could outsmart her emotions. She was so different. Being genuine was his only shot.

Yet he wasn’t sure that was what he needed right now, and it was obvious that Kitty needed it even less.

That episode in her past had closed her romantic side, perhaps forever. She would live a loner. She liked that life, and she knew how to live it. Rocky only knew what she deemed to tell him, and there were certainly things she didn’t tell him. He suspected that she might have had to purchase an extra closet to hold all of the skeletons. But even that did not spoil his love for her.

She was the incarnation of self-sufficiency, somehow keeping her dignity and independence even when a zero was carrying her around on his back. His desire to know her better was torturous. But how could he ever get close? She had walls up. Spike pits. Mines under every approach.

Maybe she was right, and it was just time to split up. A few more days like this, and the prospect of leaving her would turn him suicidal. Or maybe a few more hours would be enough.

* * *

Rocky tried to stomp as loudly as possible as he ascended the stairs to give warning of his approach.

“Two hours have passed. Do you mind if I make some tea?”

“Go ahead.”

It looked like she hadn’t budged from that spot the whole time he was gone. She sat at the same window, hands on her rifle, staring off into the darkening twilight. Perhaps she had been doing something else and just resumed the pose when she heard Rocky returning, but he hoped not.

He hoped she was regretting what she had said, reconsidering, willing to forgive everything out of place that he had done during their time together.

But Rocky made no haste to launch into a difficult conversation. Instead, he boiled some water quickly. He was getting used to his primitive kettle. He placed a mug on the windowsill in front of the girl and sat at the same table. Doing his best not to feel pushy or aggressive, he spoke. “You can kill me if you want, but I will not leave you.”

“No one in this world cares about your opinion,” she responded uncaringly, reaching out for the steaming cup.

Rocky tried a different tack. “You can’t walk without my help.”

“That’s my problem. And I’ll get over it soon enough.”

“Once you do, then we will talk about splitting up.”

“No, Rocky. We will not talk about it. By tomorrow, you’ll be gone. Get your things ready and packed right now.”

“You’re being a fool, Kitt.”

“That’s your opinion. And like I said, no one in this world cares about it. I never said I was the smartest girl around. I’m a human being, like you. I can make mistakes.”

“Ah,” Rocky agreed. “Well, this is one of them.”

“If I’m wrong, well, I’ll accept the consequences. There are more important things at stake.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know where we are, but I have my suspicions. I will explain to you how to follow the landmarks, where to go, what to look for, what places are dangerous and what places are not. If you take the right turns, you’ll have a decent chance of reaching the stable. If not, well... The worst that can happen is you’ll go to respawn again. And your chances of survival will be much better with the knowledge I’ve been able to give you.”

“Thank you for all that knowledge, yes. But you’re wrong. Very wrong. Maybe I messed up when I went hunting for those ghouls. I shouldn’t have argued or disobeyed you. But...”

“Rocky, it’s not about the ghouls. Enough already. We’re not going to talk about this. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Not a word. We’ll finish our tea and watch the night through this window. I’ll tell you how to get to the stable. And then you’ll sleep well and be on your way in the morning. And that will be it.”

“Tell me something,” said Rocky, almost giving up but holding on for some reason he could not explain.

“I must not have made myself clear.” She was starting to raise her voice.

“Why are we doing this? You don’t need this, and I don’t need this.”

“You need this. There’s no doubt about that.”

“I have doubts about that.”

“The longer you stay with me, the dumber you get. I know I’m not the most beautiful girl, but many men find something about me attractive. Very attractive. They lose their heads. When you’re around me, Rocky, you basically stop thinking entirely. You stop thinking about what’s important. That will get you killed. Fast.”

“So I’ll go respawn again. I don’t see anything too terrible about that.”

“You’re not alone, though. There are two of us, and when we’re together, we depend on each other. A stupid mistake made by you can get us both killed. And has. You don’t see anything bad about that, but I do. I’m no newcomer. Let me explain. There was this guy. Before you showed up. He was a newcomer, just like you. Better than you in most ways, but he didn’t know how to shoot. I taught him everything. He got attached to me, and for some reason I got attached, too. Like a fool. I didn’t send him to a stable. He was chill. Cool. So cute. Nice, too. Not cocky, and just a little older than me. He behaved like a knight, chivalrously clearing trails for me, guarding me from anything and everything that moved. One night, when we were nearly freezing from the weather, he took everything that he was wearing off so that he could warm me, instead.”

Rocky was listening intently. He nearly bit the edge of the mug as his jaws tremored in a nervous spasm. He couldn’t believe it. This girl, who seemed to be the epitome of purity, was talking about some guy warming her up when it got cold out.

He felt jealousy well up within him. But what business was it of his? What did he care whom she had been with before him? But no, he felt like he could punch through a wall.

Indescribable jealousy.

“Once, I sent him to a stable so that he could buy some armor-piercing rifle rounds. I couldn’t go myself. It was dangerous, and you know why. He knew the story, too. So he returned with the ammo, and off we went. Something gnawed at me then. Some bad premonition. My intuition told me everything was wrong. So when my dear, nice boy shot me in the leg, it wasn’t a surprise. I almost dodged it. Too bad he still hit me. I had to waste a life because of my failure to dodge. I shot myself in the head. That wasn’t the first time. I’m good at it by now. I shoot right here, straight into the bridge of my nose. It ruins my face. I always try to really screw up the way I look so that my dead visage terrifies whoever looks at it. For Romeo, you see. Perhaps the spectacle will spoil his mood, at least a little.”

“This man decided to turn you in?”

“Yes. He must have figured things out in the stable. Or maybe they forced him to make a deal with them. He didn’t say anything to me about it, not even in the chat window, and he left the party before shooting me. When you’re in a group, it’s very difficult to hurt someone else in the group. Friendly fire isn’t common here. There are ways to trick the System on that point, but newcomers are unlikely to know them.”

“Ungrateful son of a...”

“Don’t insult the dogs, Rocky. He... he said that he would give his life for mine. He said that often. Even all of his lives. He was a great talker, unlike you. An enchanting talker, even. And he was beautiful. So handsome. Didn’t look like you at all. His face was so honest, so open. Yours is, to be honest, difficult to trust. I wanted to trust him. I really did. And it got me killed.”

“Maybe my face doesn’t back this up, but I’m not like that bastard. Haven’t you realized that yet?”

“You don’t even know yourself yet. You haven’t remembered your life. What I do know is that your chances aren’t even close to his. You know what I mean.”

“I understand. The beautiful, courteous knight. What does a moron like me with my ugly mug have to compete with him? Not a chance.”

“This isn’t a movie, Rocky. You can drop all the drama. It’s not that you’re ‘not my type,’ it’s just how things are inside my head. I doubt our relationship could have ever become serious. But with you... Not a chance.”

“You’re not my type, to be honest. Not at all. But I accept that.”

“Time changes things, I guess.”

“It’ll change things for you, too.”

“Not in this case. We are saying goodbye in the morning. Now, let’s be quiet for a moment. Let me finish my tea.”

As he stared into the darkness of the world outside, drinking the last of his lukewarm beverage, Rocky tried to figure out something else to say to Kitty. Knowing the effort was futile. She was unbearably stubborn, and she was pushing him away.

And she had admitted liking nice boys who would turn on her for thirty silvers. The rough Rocky wasn’t like that. He had no chance.

He broke the silence, changing the subject. “You said you were scared of respawning, because you aren’t a newcomer. I’m not sure I know why.”

“How many lives do you have left?” she asked, without turning. Oh.

“Ninety-some. You know that.”

“I have less than ten. Once my last life goes, I’ll just disappear. No one knows what happens them. Like most people, I think that’s the end. Real death, Rocky. Final death. I don’t have much time left.”

* * *

You have been kicked from the party.

Rocky looked at Kitty in astonishment. The red text had appeared so suddenly, so brightly in the night. She got up from her chair, leaning against her silly improvised crutches hastily assembled from a bunch of sticks, and tried to hide the notes of sadness in her voice. “This is it, Rocky. Now we are each on our own. If an atom bomb hit this place right now, we would likely go to different respawns clusters.”

“Good foresight,” he said with a joyless grin. “Can I help you downstairs? I’ll have you down there in a flash. We morons are good at manual labor.”

“Thanks, Rocky, but I’ll manage on my own. I have to get used to moving around without you.”

It seemed like she was extending the remainder of the time they had together by hobbling instead of letting him carry her. Why else would she have volunteered to accompany him to the door? He knew perfectly well where it was. No, I’m just being stupid. She wasn’t trying to drag their parting out. It was just empty courtesy, or some yet-unknown oddity of her character.

Rocky slung his rifle over his shoulder and donned a rock-hard expression, leaning over his backpack, which rested on the table.

He did not stand back up. He fell to the floor, pushing himself down into the metal.

The reaction was perfectly natural. The nearest window had shattered for no visible reason, and he heard something buzzing overhead. Something that sounded very dangerous. Still on the floor, Rocky looked up. He was right. In the wall near the table, at about the height of his neck, a fresh bullet had been lodged. It definitely had not been there before.

“Kitty! Get down!” he croaked, simultaneously realizing that his command was unnecessary.

The girl had dropped to the floor next to him, her crutches knocked to either side. Right. She had better Dexterity and Reaction. Rocky collected himself and prepared to speak, but then stopped short. Outside, he heard a voice that he recognized.

“Hey, you in the tower! Good morning! How’s your day going? Did you miss us?”

Rocky grimaced. “It’s Globes.”

Kitty spoke like she was dead already. “He’s not alone.”

Chapter 27

Life Five: The Worst of Times

Rocky sat up and glanced out the window, then ducked just as quickly, showered in glass shards from the resulting hail of fire. One bullet struck the opposite wall noisily, then others hammered into the outside of the wall by Rocky’s head, deafening as a sledgehammer. He rolled away, knocking the table down as a barrier.

“Kitty, get behind something. They’re shooting at us!”

The girl answered with an inexplicable calm. “Don’t worry. They won’t shoot me. But you’d better keep your head down. That’s a silenced weapon, with subsonic ammo. Those bullets usually have low penetration power, and the walls are decent. They won’t let the rounds through. If they decide to use more powerful guns, that table won’t help you, so just keep your head down.”

Rocky, as usual, voiced an obvious conclusion. “So they need you alive, and they don’t care how many ghouls they draw?”

“There you go with the dumb questions again.”

“How did they find us?”

“What does it matter now?”

“You think there are lots of them out there?”

“What do you think?”

“If we get out of that door and break left, there’s a way down into the dam. From there, we can get outside. As long as we find a rope—otherwise, we’ll have to scale the naked concrete, and a fall would mean the end. The water just isn’t deep enough, and it’s high up. And I know where a rope is. We can cut a piece of it off and use it to descend.”

“Globes didn’t just come to say good morning, Rocky. There’s no chance in hell they’re going to let us escape.”

As if eavesdropping, the voice chimed in again. “So, Kitty, it looks like your personal life has improved! We’ve introduced you to a close friend, I guess. Has he modified his ridiculous opinion about your external appearance?”

The girl collected her crutches and shouted back. “Yup. I like him. But I’ve heard rumors that you like him more.”

“Same old Kitty. How about we just end this round our way, eh? I’m tired of playing games with you. Why don’t you come out? Aren’t you tired of running away? You know we’ll win in the end. No one has ever escaped us forever! So why delay? I’ve never seen such a stubborn girl before. You should get a spanking!”

“Why not just leave me alone?”

“I’m a simple man, Kitty. When I start something, I finish it! People asked me to deal with you, and deal with you I will! Romeo’s five minutes out. When he shows up, it’ll be time for a whole new conversation. Let’s solve this problem right now, on our own, before he shows up. I’ll vouch for you with Romeo, you’ll see. He’ll thank you for helping out! You know how evil this world is, Kitty. I never forget a good deed!”

“Yeah, evil is right. Mostly because of ugly freaks like you.”

“Never have I met someone with so little understanding of true handsomeness.” Some of his minions chuckled. It was like a hopeless clown performing for sad degenerates who had never seen anything funnier than a pie in the face.

Kitty turned to Rocky, but didn’t look at him. She whispered. “You can try to slip away. Maybe you’ll enjoy some beginner’s luck. Don’t look for a rope—just jump. Crawl away, swim with your arms, something. Your chances are close to zero, but...”

“We’ll escape together,” Rocky said confidently.

“There is no ‘together.’ I don’t have a way out. Save yourself.”

“We have that stuff in the syringe. You said it worked wonders. Let you run even if you didn’t have legs and so on.”

“Well, you need legs, and it doesn’t work for long, but yes.”

“So you take the shot, and we go. I’ll go first and try to draw their fire.”

“Ugh. Another knight in shining armor.”

“I’m not like him. I’ll do whatever I can to save you.”

“Whatever you can, sure. Rocky, we already agreed to split up. Your time is up. Go now. They only need me. I doubt they’ll even come after you. Worst case scenario, you die fast. You have lots of lives left, so that’s not so bad.”

“What about you? Are you going to shoot yourself in the head with your last bullet again?”

“No, Rocky, this isn’t going to be a shootout. This is the Continent, and these are powerful people, with all kinds of tricks. Globes made a mistake. For some reason, he thought I noticed him, so he gave his presence away before he had too. That was a mistake, and we would be fools not to take advantage of it. I’ll give you time to get away, if you can slip out. Otherwise they’ll catch you. They’re good at that.”

“How did they catch you the last time?”

“They found someone with the right ability. Paralyzed me. It was from far away, so I didn’t even know what was happening. Just temporary paralysis, of course. A few seconds. But that was enough. Then I woke without weapons, with my hands and legs tied, unable to do anything, with all those beasts shivering in malicious joy around me. They can catch anyone like that. They have it down to a science. Well, almost anyone. Catching me was easy. I’m a wimp, with nothing special about me. No challenge at all. These bastards know how to get what they want.”

“Good reason to blow your brains out, I guess.”

“Yes. For some reason, I know I really won’t enjoy my meeting with Romeo.”

“Actually, this is your chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“He needs you alive. So bargain with your life. It’s worth a try.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. You’ll give Romeo what he wants, without any tricks like a bullet to the brain, and in exchange, you demand he leaves you alone afterwards. Then you don’t touch each other again after that. Is it worth a try? Could a deal like that work?”

“Are you being serious right now?” She was clearly disgusted.

“What’s wrong with the plan?”

“I thought you had certain feelings for me, so it’s odd to hear you recommend that I offer my virgin body to such a pervert.”

“After you just told me off so strongly, you expect me to be possessive—especially when your own future chances are at stake?” Rocky sighed and shifted the subject. “Are they being so quiet to avoid attracting any ghouls?”

“Yes. The city is close by. Every city is dangerous. Manmincers everywhere, and even elites if you’re unlucky.”

“We have a grenade and some ammo. How about we make some noise?”

“So you want to make life hard for these bastards.”

“Surely you wouldn’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? I’m just admiring your sense of mischief.”

The girl clicked her safety off. Rocky hurried to stop her. “No, don’t do that.”

“What? I don’t get it. You just suggested we make noise.”

“But firing bullets into the sky doesn’t make sense. It sounds like Globes is down just past the parking lot. A hundred yards away, if that. Or have you forgotten that I can shoot?”

“No, but shooting is quite difficult when you have a hole in your head.”

“The walls will hold. I just have to peek out for a second. They won’t have time to get me. You aim at the stairs, while I try to get to Globe or his minions.”

“However this goes, farewell, Rocky. I doubt someone with ideas as harebrained as yours can live long in this world.”

“This isn’t where I go out, Kitty.”

Holding the rifle in his relaxed arms, Rocky squatted up near the window, raised his head sharply, glanced quickly at the parking lot, and sat down an instant before a bullet punched through the glass. He estimated the time he would need for his maneuver and the location of the targets, then grinned ominously. They had only one shooter at the ready. He had his backpack set up as a prop under his rifle. Four others were with him, some sitting, some standing. Unfortunately, Globes wasn’t with them. He was probably hiding behind one of the cars. A difficult shot.

But there were other targets. He didn’t have to hit Globes first.

Still crouched by the wall, Rocky waited a few seconds, collected his focus, then jumped up, pushing the barrel through the broken glass, pulled the trigger, and crouched, letting the recoil help push him back and down from the window.

Before he was even down, he knew that the skill the System had given him had worked, despite the difficulty of the shot. Even Kitty knew that, as no bullet had come back through the window in response. His ears, deafened as they were by the shot, still heard a heart-warming cry.

“Sniper down.” Rocky grinned happily, chambered another round, and popped up a few feet to the left, repeating the same procedure. This time, he aimed at the submachine gunner, who was down on one knee to the right of a van. He was ready to fire, and so the primary target.

They were responding, now. Several guns thundered out. They were loud, even from a hundred yards away and with the walls and windows between them. One weapon was different from all the rest. It sounded more powerful, probably not even a handheld weapon. Large-caliber bullets started to fly into the room, punching through everything in their way.

But the unseen shooter was aiming too high, for some reason. His weapon shredded the walls like paper. Why wouldn’t he just lower his aim and clear the whole floor out?

And the rest of the building.

“Kitt, that sounds like a serious machine gun.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re scared of hitting you. They won’t shoot lower. They’re protecting you. Listen—they’re calming down now. I’ll shoot another one, to keep them making noise.”

“Don’t try it. All of them have their weapons pointed this way now. Look out that window, instead, the one that peers over the river. What’s going on out that way?

Rocky crawled across the floor, stood quickly beside the window, shielding himself from most potential observers. He repeated the maneuver on the other side, then crouched back down. “The dam is clear, but there are a couple of them between us and the parking lot. Remember that fire shield? Well, they’re taking up positions there, in the corner. Guarding the exit, the bastards.”

“No one else visible from that side?”

“Not that I saw. There probably are, though. Plenty of hiding places, and I had to be quick about it. I’ve counted nine so far, two of which I’ve taken out, but I feel like there are more—since I haven’t seen Globes yet.”

“We can keep them from approaching any closer. That’ll gain us some time. Not sure how we’ll use it, but it’s better than nothing.”

“We’ll let them settle down, and then I’ll take another one out.”

“No, Rocky, we shouldn’t stall. Help me out.”

“What are you doing?” he whispered intensely, as Kitty stood up to full height, hobbling along against the window-filled wall. “Get down! You’re mad. They’ll shoot you!”

“You really don’t think straight. You yourself said that they need me alive.”

Kitty was right. The firing ceased, as if she had pressed some magical button, locking all of the triggers in the whole region. The reason was obvious. Globes’s people were watching all the windows closely, most of them now glass-free. They saw the girl stand. He had to admit, they had self-control. Their trigger fingers only activated after they identified the target, not before.

They needed the girl alive—although he could see a hundred potential chains of events that ended up with her dead. A bullet can change is trajectory unpredictably when it collides with a solid object. Innumerable victims of shootings were actually hit by ricochets.

So even though they didn’t want to just outright shoot her, they had been willing to risk her life considerably. Was that from lack of discipline? Or just from stupidity?

It could be either.

Kitty walked to the window Rocky had peeked out of for his last show. She made a strange request, then. “Get down behind me and hold me. Hold me, close.” He complied, stunned. Then she raised her voice. “Shit! What are you doing, asshole? Arms at your waist, or I’ll break them both!”

Rocky had no time to form even tentative conclusions about her plan, but he made no move to justify himself. This wasn’t the right time, whatever was happening. So he submitted to her instructions. Kitty leaned one crutch up against the wall, pulled the ring from the grenade, and tossed it out the window as she continued the ruse. “Where are you taking me? I’m going to kill you!”

The loud explosion made him pause, then he replied as calmly as he could. “Enough antics, Kitt. They might open fire after something like that.”

“Let them! Then this’ll be over.”

“We’re still alive, though. We’ll keep trying.”

“Stop fucking grabbing me! I’ll kill you!”

“Have you gone mad?” Rocky was unable to keep silent this time. “I know where you’re going with this whole obsession, but it’s a foolish move, Kitt! I mean, I know I’m captivating, but this is going to end badly.”

“Oh, I’m the obsessed one here?”

“Well, you’re the one screaming. Honestly, you’re acting like an idiot. They’ll see right through that. Just tell me what you saw when you were up there.”

She calmed down. “There are ten of them on this side. And a pickup with a machine gun, on that hill near the parking lot.”

“I didn’t see that.”

“Then you should look around every once in a while. They’re in the bushes. Minor camouflage, the kind that morons often miss.”

“That must have been what destroyed the wall,” Rocky offered, pointing. The bullets were large in caliber.

“What a great guess. I’m in awe.”

“Come on, Kitty, I’m not your enemy here.”

Rocky got up, readying his rifle. For a moment he smelled trouble. Globes’s people who had previously been waiting in and around the parking lot had disappeared somewhere. But then he remembered the girl’s words, glanced up, and saw the pickup truck. He took a shot, imagining the bullet piercing the chest of the machine gunner.

He didn’t see whether he hit or not. Immediately crouching, he moved a few feet down the wall. They didn’t shoot back in response, but who knew what the bastards might have in mind? “I think I got another one. The machine gunner in the pickup. But the others have disappeared. Hid themselves, probably.”

“Yeah, maybe they’re off in the bushes,” Kitty said indifferently. She was staring at the rifle in her lap, cradling it like a baby.

“Kitty, drop it! We’re still alive. We still have a chance.”

Globes’s muffled roar mocked them from outside. It was muffled, farther away, but still there.

“Hey, lovebirds, Romeo is almost here! Kitty my dear, your beloved approaches! Give yourselves up, you two, or it’ll be worse for you!”

“And there goes our chance,” Kitty lamented, her voice barely audible. “Why are you still here, Rocky?”

“Where else would I be?”

“I told you to go away.”

“No way.”

“I told you that yesterday evening. You remember.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the situation has changed a bit since then.”

“But my decision hasn’t changed. Go, Rocky. Get out of here. You can even take this rifle if you want. I can’t shoot anything this big in my condition. Don’t worry, they might not even kill you.” Kitty yelled out the glass-less windows. “Hey, Globes! This is between me and Romeo. The rest of you scram! I’m kicking this zero out. He’s coming your way.”

“Why would we want him?” Globes said, clearly bored by the prospect.

“Kill him if you want. Do whatever you want with him. I don’t care!”

Kitty returned her ceaseless gaze to the rifle, mumbling lifelessly. “Alright, you can go now. The worst that can happen is they kill you. And that’s not so bad. You have lots of lives left. This is goodbye, Rocky.”

“Accept me back into your party.”

“Why?” The girl’s ears perked up in muted alarm. The request disturbed her.

“So we can use the chat.”

“No, there’s no chat in our future. Go, get out of my sight, and forget that you ever met me.”

“Give me five minutes, at least.”

“No.”

“You don’t understand what I’m saying. I’ll leave, if you want. But don’t do anything yet. Don’t blow your brains out yet. Give me five minutes.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because we still have a chance.”

Chapter 28

Life Five: I Hear You Calling

They beat Rocky for a time, without any particular zeal, as if they were unreliable workers paid to do the job, and paid only pennies. Even when he, in an attempt to escape the hold of a pair of the bastards, spat a juicy wad of spit and blood into one of their faces, they did not significantly increase the violence of the assault.

His torturers decided then that he had been sufficiently chastened and unceremoniously dragged him to their truck, standing him in front of three men. The one laughing like a jackal discovering a fresh elephant carcass, Rocky had already met. It was his old acquaintance, Globes. The two others, he had never seen before. One was unremarkable, a man you’d seen in a crowd or even on a stage and never remember again. Boring hair color, bland features. There was no other way to describe him.

The other was a different story. No, he was no icon of beauty worthy of the cover of some glossy magazine. He was shorter and even thinner than Rocky, but if the latter was a massive hunchbacked savage, this one was a refined European lord discovering Rocky’s tropical island and claiming it for his queen. He was an aristocrat, age thirty to forty, close-shaven, with an unnatural-looking short hairstyle, a sleek, thin mustache, and a confident—even arrogant—gaze. Despite the height difference between them, Rocky felt like he was being looked down upon, not up at.

He was too old for a Shakespearean Romeo, and he didn’t look one bit like an insatiable rapist, but Rocky knew who he was. The pervert who was the bane of Kitty’s existence.

Globes was still grinning. “Well, whelp, you happy to meet this guy at last?”

“Only whelp I see here is this husband of yours,” retorted Rocky, tensing up in anticipation of a new string of primitive re-educational efforts.

But the thug just laughed. Then he asked no one in particular, “Have you searched him?”

“Yeah,” answer one of the goons holding him.

“What did he have with him?”

“A Finnish rifle. Good make, worth a good deal anywhere. Plus a knife and a pistol. And some ammo.”

“Wow. Your girlfriend sure is generous. Even gave you a good gun. What does she still have up there? What plans is she hatching?”

“She’s watching a porno, actually.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem like her,” Globes played along.

“People change. Their tastes change, too.”

“I see. So what’s the movie? Decent girls, or old hags like your mom?”

“Nah, no babes in the movie. It’s gay porn. Oh, and I forget to mention: You’re the lead actor.” Rocky kept up the insults. His intuition kept telling him this was the right way to play the situation. And in this world, you trusted your intuition.

“Can I just kill this clown?” asked Globes, again to no one in particular, and again still smiling.

The white-haired man shook his head. He opened his mouth now for the first time, continuing to look into Rocky’s soul with his unbearably intelligent gaze. “No. Not yet, anyway. Later, well, we’ll see.”

“Whatever you say. You just say the word, and I’ll be happy to,” Globes submitted.

“You have doubtless realized who I am,” Romeo resumed. “And remember this, Rocky: I do not need you. I could let you go right now, or I could give you to these good people to play around with. They’d like that. So, make your choice. Will you be useful to us? Or would you like to experience the unpleasant inventions of my torturers?”

Rocky stared into Romeo’s eyes, fighting back the pressure that they were pounding into his head. After a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “I’ll do whatever you want, as long as it benefits me.”

“So I’m guessing you do not wish to suffer.”

“Do I look like a man who wants to suffer?”

“Some people are masters at hiding. But very well. So long as we understand one another. Enough of the formalities. Tell me, Rocky—what is Kitty planning? Does she have any more surprises for us?”

“She plans to blow her own head off before your guys nab her with some cunning trick like last time. Kitty has no plans to be taken alive.”

Romeo smiled wide and shook his head. “Time changes everything, except our Kitty. Just as cold as ever. Or perhaps not. What went on between the two of you? How did you spend your time? Your nights in particular?”

Rocky shook his head. “She wouldn’t let me touch her, not like that. Not at night, not during the day.”

The faceless man, who had not yet spoken until now, nodded. In a voice as unremarkable as his face, he pronounced, “He speaks the truth.”

What? So Romeo had one of the people Kitty had called a “mental” with him. Their unique gift from the System gave them many abilities, in particular determining whether a person was lying or telling the truth. This must have been one of them. It was a disturbing circumstance, of course, but not disastrous. Rocky had no plans to lie. He had no reason to, either.

“Indeed, our Kitty never changes,” said Romeo, satisfied. Rocky detected in his words that thirst for her, for the untouched Kitty as his own, and the joy Romeo felt about this prospective competitor being no competitor at all. “So why did she send you out?”

“She didn’t send me. She just drove me away.”

“He speaks the truth,” the mental announced, in the same flat tone.

“You of course knew you were not welcome here, so why did you come this way?”

“I’m not particularly welcome anywhere, and you were close by.”

“I see,” Romeo said with a nod. “You haven’t found your feet yet here. Globes tells me you shoot particularly well. He said you easily eliminated two of his men—and that their levels were rather high. Was that an accident?”

“No. I can shoot well. Kitty often praised my shooting.”

“He speaks the truth,” the mental said again.

Romeo ignored him. “Let’s get a shooting range up for this kid. Quickly, now. I want to see what he can do.”

Twenty seconds later, a dirty plastic bottle was set up fifty yards down the road. One of the grunts gave Rocky a pistol and barked at him. “You have one bullet. You move that barrel just a little to the right or the left, and I’ll tear your arm off myself.”

Rocky accepted the gun and looked both ways. The pickup with the machine gun sat on the hill to the left. The machine gunner was still manning it, though he had no way of knowing whether it was the same gunner or a replacement. On the right, he saw a more formidable vehicle. It was a small truck with an armored, open-air body, and carried a pair of anti-aircraft guns. Their caliber was at least twenty millimeters, maybe more. The barrels were pointing at the edge of the forest belt stretching out further down the road. That was the closest place a threatening ghoul could emerge. Halfway towards the woods sat two massive black SUVs, grossly disfigured by the craftsmen of this world as they attempted to make them more survivable with sheets of steel, bars, and sharpened spikes.

In addition to these four vehicles, there were about twenty grunts. Some were positioned farther away, some closer, all with weapons at the ready.

What could one man with one pistol and one bullet do against so many? He wouldn’t even have time to aim at any one of them before the pistol was torn away from him, along with his arm, as promised.

He stared at the bottle, a tiny target from such a distanced. He imagined the bullet from his pistol striking it right through the middle, raised his arm, and pulled the trigger.

A direct hit.

“Bravo,” a voice behind him said, accompanied by soft, slow clapping.

As he returned the slightly-lighter pistol, Rocky turned around. With the confident, cool voice of a man who knew his worth, he said, “Your people are seriously tense. The pistol I’m holding is empty, but they’re still watching me like a whole pack of wolves.”

“Only the vigilant work for me,” Romeo spat back. “Wait, what happened to your arm? Why is it bound up?”

Grinning, Rocky gave what he hoped was a funny answer. “You won’t believe it, but a zombie bit me. They really exist, I swear it.”

The prisoner’s joke even made Romeo laugh. The obligatory laughter of his minions joined his. It was still restrained, since people are accustomed to being serious when speaking with serious people, but it seemed the joke fit the bounds of local humor standards.

The mental spoiled the moment with his boring pronouncement. “He speaks the truth.”

“It looks like we have here an honest man,” Romeo continued, still smiling. “And honest people are very difficult to find. Tell me, Rocky, how would you like to work for me?”

“What would I be doing? And how much would you pay?”

“Bastard!” said Globes, amazed. “You should be kissing this man’s feet just because you’re alive and whole!”

Romeo held up a hand. “Rocky and I are speaking here. No one else.”

“Sorry, boss.” Globes shut up, but his eyes reiterated his words.

The light-haired boss resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened.

“Regarding pay, for starters, we will not kill you, and we will even stop beating you. Is that sufficient as an advance?”

“Well, if it’s only an advance, I guess so,” Rocky said cautiously, trying to seem that he was much more interested in this proposal than in a quick respawn or a kidney bashing, but at the same time in a way that appeared dignified.

“Then we have agreed on payment in advance. Your duties will vary, but generally you will only be required to do what you do well, and that is shoot. I believe you will handle your job nicely. No one will expect much from you at first. Forgive my directness, but by Continental standards you are insignificant. You need to grow. But you are a promising man, and we value such people. If you do well, you might even catch up to me someday, or even pass me.”

A small fellow with massive headphones was sitting beside them. Clearly a radio operator. He inclined his head and announced in a squeaky, almost girlish voice, “Something in the forest.”

“What?” Globe bellowed back. “Is it Catcher?”

“No, they didn’t mention Catcher. It’s something else.”

“What?”

“Jabba says he didn’t get a good look at it. Something fast and monstrous. Definitely an infected. Perhaps more than one.”

Globes sped towards the operator and wrenched the headset from his grasp so violently that the man almost slammed face-first into the rough road. He shouted into the radio. “What’s going on there, Jabba?”

The radio operator had, apparently, switched to speaker. From his backpack come an agitated, electronically distorted response. “Hell if I know. I didn’t see. But it’s fast. Very fast. Like, fucking fast. It’s big, too, but it whipped by nimbly, without breaking a single branch. It’s not a manmincer. Bigger. We’re coming your way right now. I don’t know what that was, but it saw us.”

“Where’s Catcher?”

“I don’t know. He said he was on his way here, but then fell silent. Maybe he took a wrong turn.”

“Wrong turn?!”

“It saw us, Globes. We have to do something.”

“You’re in an armored vehicle, not a wheelchair,” Globes replied with growing irascibility.

“No,” Romeo interjected. “Something is wrong. Catcher does not simply get lost. You made a lot of noise here, so all kinds of things might be on the way. Jabba only has an armored car, and against many kinds of elites, that’s not even a challenge. Tell him to get back here right away. We can take out whatever it is together. No sense risking his car. Good vehicles are hard to find these days.”

While Globes copied the order in his irritated voice, Romeo turned back to Rocky with a cloying smile. “So our little one has decided to blow her head off today, has she?”

Rocky nodded. “Yes.” She hadn’t said that directly, but he knew it to be true.

“Perhaps you do not know everything about me, but I need her. And I need her alive, not dead. I like her, very much.”

“I’m aware.”

“Indeed. She told you about me, I’m guessing?”

“A few things.”

“I’m sure she put me in an unfavorable light. Right?”

“Pretty much.”

“I doubt the girl told a single lie about me. I’m not a particularly nice person.” Romeo laughed, loudly this time, from the belly.

“Nice people don’t make particularly good bosses,” answered Rocky, flatly. “Their job is to pay well, not to please everyone in the world.”

“Well said. Now, tell me this: Could you help me take the girl alive?”

“How would I do that? If I go back to her, she’ll fill me full of holes before I open my mouth.”

“Theoretically speaking.”

“That was a theoretical answer.”

Romeo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a slippery one.”

“You know I’m honest. I don’t see any reason to be dodgy. Since I’ve already signed on to work for you, there’s no point in beating around the bush. Just tell me what to do, and...”

The radio operator interjected terror into every conversation within earshot. “Elite! It’s an elite!”

A large machine gun started firing in the forest belt. Even from far away, it was deafeningly loud. Everyone present, without exception, turned their heads in the direction of the woods, and all of the mounted weapons prepared to fire.

“Tell him to come back!” Globes shouted, no longer at the radio.

“Jabba, get back here. Now!” the terrified radio man screamed out.

The machine gun suddenly stopped its endless protest, and an incomprehensible sound came from where it had been. It sounded like crunching metal, but nothing more could be determined. Rocky guessed it was destructive, though. Only in The Iron Giant did sounds like that accompany acts of creation.

“Shit. Jabba!” Globes yelled, taking the radio microphone back. “What’s going on? Answer, goddammit!”

One of the gunners positioned a bit farther past the pickup with the machine gun swore loudly, releasing a spray of bullets at the forest belt. Rocky had no idea what the man had seen—and didn’t really want to know. After all, this was his moment. The most important moment of all. The one he had been waiting for. Everyone was staring in the direction of the sounds, ignoring everything else.

He moved his hand over the tight bandage and grabbed the small sharpened rebar segments underneath. One would be enough for his plan to succeed, but he had brought two in case something went wrong.

Plus, if not, he could always go for a second target.

At this distance, his compensation could hit anything, no matter how laughable the weapon he used. And these weapons were far from laughable, despite appearances. They would execute his mission better than any bullet could.

Looking straight at Romeo was a bad idea. That would be odd. All the others were staring at the noise. So he merely peeked, then shot out his hand, sending the sharpened steel on its flight. He rapidly repeated the gesture, towards a new target: Globes.

The latter was paying no attention to what was happening to his left, his eyes riveted at the same point where everyone else was looking. He raised his machinegun and screamed, “Fuck, it’s a whole pack! Rome, stun them, quick!”

Rocky didn’t know what he meant by that. He assumed, of course, that “Rome” was short for “Romeo.” Perhaps the founder had some special skill that could help in a fight with an attacking group of infecteds. But that didn’t matter right now. The gang’s boss had taken a rod to the brain, dropped to his knees, and was in the business of falling to his side, his eyes and tongue convulsing violently.

Kitty had been right. The speed at which the flakes could poison a man was impressive.

Globes was farther away, but that didn’t save him. The rod drilled right into Rocky’s target at the back of his neck.

It had all worked out even better than he could have hoped. Rocky had dreamed of just getting Romeo by some lucky coincidence, but fortune had smiled on him, allowing him to issue well-deserved judgment on another scoundrel, as well.

Perhaps the man’s local resurrection limit was exhausted. Good. Then he would be far away from Kitty.

Without so much as a glance at the collapsing Globes, Rocky bolted, slipping around one of the grunts whose job it had been to watch the prisoner. Perhaps that grunt’s level was massive, but he had been gaping at the distraction like any old zero, and so he had missed the crucial move.

Sadly, Rocky had no rods left. He had taken a brash enough risk hiding two under that bandage. The fact that they had not been found during the search was a miracle of luck. Bringing more rods would have decreased his chances even further. All he had now was his bare hands, so he leaped on the mental. Perhaps the man’s power had all gone straight to his brain, leaving him physically frail.

That was a tragic misestimation, but Rocky realized it too late. And as before, this game still had no Undo button. The mental spun as quickly as a top, throwing his right arm out to intercept Rocky’s incoming bulk. The blow was crushing. His vision and everything else went black at once, as something snapped in his neck and his whole spinal column down to his tailbone exploded in pain. He went out screaming.

A moment—or perhaps an eternity—later, Rocky began to recover. He was vaguely aware that he lay in the dust on the side of the road. He was not yet dead, but his body was slow to respond above his belt and fully numb below it. He wanted to lie back, immobile, staring at the sky and the dim, indifferent light of the sun.

But so much was happening around him. Somehow, he could hear even through the cast-iron plugs someone had apparently planted in his ears to aid his sleep. The mental who had executed such a spectacular knockout was, for reasons unknown, lying next to him, missing his left arm at the shoulder and part of his chest, with bone fragments protruding from the monstrous wound and part of his collapsed lung flapping in the breeze. The pickup had lost its machine gun, and the cab looked like a party of drunken vandals with sledgehammers had decided to turn it into a convertible. A human leg lay next to the vehicle, and a few steps away, on the miserable grass, a bloody, infected carcass writhed in agony. It looked very much like the ghoul in the town that he had shot in the mouth.

Another infected, a little less developed than the dying one, ran past. As it did, it reached out its left claw and easily ripped Rocky’s guts clean out, but it did no more damage. It was twitching from a volley of gunshot wounds and thus lost interest in its crippled prey, turning its efforts towards those still attacking it.

Rocky was hardly surprised that he felt no pain. The mental’s hit had put an end to his fifth life. His body was too damaged to even feel injuries.

Not bad. This had been the longest and most interesting life yet. And what a finish! Now at last he could respawn with some sense of accomplishment.

He was satisfied. Thanks to Romeo, he finally felt happy. The shocking dose of poison dealt by the crafty newcomer who had seemed so harmless would send the monster immune to a different region entirely, his local respawn limit exhausted. Perhaps it would be thousands of miles away from here, far from any chance to get his paws on Kitty. The reptile might someday find a loophole, a way back, but even so, Rocky had seriously improved the girl’s odds.

The ghouls that had eviscerated him failed to reach the men shooting it, collapsing on the scorched grass and staining it red with blood in an instant. It was only fifty feet from the bulk of the opposition, the open-body truck, which was rattling its frame with the recoil of its heavy machine gun. The man at the gun wielded his weapon with incredible skill, fending off the mighty infecteds coming in from all sides. He ignored the smaller ones, as a rule, leaving them to the four surviving machine gunners. Those four were stationed at the corners of the truck. They fired without ceasing. The land around was strewn with the carcasses of slain humans and beasts. The latter had been significantly thinned out. Rocky, in his fading thoughts, could tell that this was a pack, not a horde of thousands of tens of thousands, which Kitty had said was a common occurrence in regions far away from the sea.

During his time of unconsciousness after the mental’s attack, Rocky had missed the bulk of the massacre. But now he could see that, despite their incredible losses, the humans were winning. The most dangerous ghouls were nowhere to be seen. The worst of the survivors looked scary enough, but that large-caliber machine gun could easily take them out with one or two short bursts. The rest, though there were many of them, were too weak and slow. They had arrived late, and now were deprived of all support from their slain bigger brothers. Now they were only capable of falling en masse under the endless volleys.

Yet Rocky’s mutilated body and mind refused to die, and he witnessed the grand finale. The people won—only once was their fate in doubt, when the machine gun went silent and the last strong creature charged the truck, along with the others. One of the submachine gunners slung his weapon behind is backed and suicidally ran to meet the beast. A mere instant before his death, he threw up his hands, and an unnatural colorful flashing caused the monster to howl and claw at its eyes painfully, then run blindly for a moment and crash into the armored vehicle, almost tipping it. Somehow, the man who had dazed the beast drew his pistol and shot the partially-covered mound on the back of its head.

What the hell was that? One of the fantastic skills people had in this crazy world.

It certainly benefitted the man. But it spent too much of his energy. He barely managed to get his machine gun up to take down a small, quick dead man, the kind with the razor teeth.

That was it. The infecteds never had another chance. Within a minute, the attack broke apart as the monsters’ numbers fell to near zero. The attack had started right, but then failed to follow through.

But the shooting didn’t stop. The machine gunners started moving over the battlefield, finishing off any of the creatures still twitching. They used pistols or melee weapons. Everyone had a sword or ax, and one had an open weapon that looked like some kind of fancy pickax. The men tried to strike the beasts in the back of the head, and when that failed, they hit them in the skull. Meanwhile, the machine gunner covered them, swiveling his weapon in all directions.

A pair of submachine gunners got within a dozen yards of Rocky. He overheard their conversation.

“Come on Bolt, we still have to loot them and get out of here.”

“We got time, brother. Swede’s on the machine gun, and when he’s armed with that thing, he’s a god. There won’t be another pack like this one for miles. He can handle whatever comes.”

“Jabba had that ability, too. And he’s gone.”

The other machine gunner tensed. “Jabba? No, there weren’t even any manmincers in this crowd. The worst I saw were biters. So who killed Jabba?”

Rocky could see the answer to that question, in all its glory, far behind the two conversationalists. It was flying through the air, towards the truck, the mother of all monsters. He could spend an entire book describing it and still not do it justice. It was an overgrown rhinoceros dinosaur covered in massive armor plates from head to toe. The heavy protection had no apparent effect on its speed and agility. The spikes protruding from its body looked like afterthoughts, with which someone had for some reason designed to decorate the world’s most monstrous creature.

It hurtled through the vehicle, swinging its paw casually at the machine gunner, who had nearly turned to face it in time. The middle of the man’s body exploded in red and purple, and his torso flew out onto the field, while his legs remained standing, for a moment unaware of what had transpired.

The multi-ton beast defied the laws of physics as it cleared the field at such speed that he could not even keep his dying gaze on it. None of the submachine gunners had time to fire their weapons at it, though Rocky at first thought that one had a chance.

Not that it would have mattered. He doubted even the large-caliber machine gun could have done anything to the beast.

Was it an elite? Quite probably. His imagination could not conjure a stronger, more terrifying creature.

A few short moments later, the gunners were no more. The colossus stopped in the center of the battlefield, crouched, and looked to both sides. Perhaps it was looking for survivors, but it was more likely deciding which course to try first.

At that moment, Kitty peeked out from the truck positioned behind the monster. Rocky knew that hallucinations came when people were dying. What he saw was impossible—she was still wearing the splint, but walking normally, like a person in full health. And then, without a hint of a limp, she bolted.

“Bolt” was not the right word. This was different. He searched for how to describe it. She moved like a cannonball, a blur through space, as fast as the unsuspecting monster had been.

The monster did, in fact, suspect something near the end. It jerked in characteristic ghoul fashion, preparing to turn towards the new threat. But it was too late. The girl flew up the flexible prickly spines on its tail, up to the nape of its neck, swinging her sword. The blade burned with a dazzling blue flame that extinguished itself as the magic steel plunged into the mound at the back of the elite’s head.

The sporesac. The most vulnerable place on any infected. The elite’s sac was well-protected from nearly every angle. Even steel alloys were no match for that kind of living bone armor. But Biter was a magic sword, capable of piercing through anything. Unfortunately, it could only be used rarely, but in this scenario, one blow was enough.

With the same agility, she slid down the tottering carcass and began to circle the truck like a butterfly, feverishly searching for something. Rocky was beginning to realize that this could hardly be called a hallucination. He struggled with his body and his mind alike, as both faded. At last, he managed to bend his arm at the elbow, lifting it slightly off the ground.

She noticed. Realizing that his blood-stained body was not quite a corpse, she ran over and recognized her companion. Falling on her knees, she threw up her hands, the blood draining from her face. “Rocky...”

With the last drops of his life force, he made a sad attempt at a smile and said in a slow, hoarse, voice, “It’s been fun, and I don’t even like anything about you. You’re not Kitty, you’re like a garden scarecrow. And you’re the best girl in the world. Call me a moron if you want, but I killed him. Romeo is gone, far gone, off to some other region far away...”

“You’re going to a new region, too!”

“It was worth it,” he continued, still smiling. “Romeo, then Globes, then... Well, then it went to shit. I had no idea that mental was so nimble. Did you see that? They’re all gone to respawn now. It couldn’t have gone better. They expected this Romeo of yours to help them out with some superpower, but when I killed him, the first pack that showed up was enough to do them in. That’s what I called a bunch of morons.” Rocky would have laughed, but all he could manage was a sickening cough.

The girl’s face grew ever more sad, in contrast to the drug-lit gleam of her eyes. She nodded. “You can’t make noise like that near a big city. Too dangerous, and they should have known. Dammit, Rocky, I don’t know what to say. Why did you do it? What the hell does it do for you? Why?”

“Do what?”

“Kill Romeo.”

“I told you in simple English, Kitty: I’m not like some people. Relax. Your Romeo is gone, I made sure of that. I don’t know how long he’s gone for, but he’s gone.”

“How could you do this?” tears choked the girl’s voice. “Why? And don’t you dare say you gave your life for mine. I didn’t want that!”

“Who else would I give my life for? That bastard offered me a job, can you imagine? More of a moron than I ever was. Got himself killed by a zero!” Rocky could tell that he had few words left, so he turned to something much more important. “Kitty... wait for me.”

“What?”

“What I said. I’ll come back for you.”

“How? Why?”

“You know why. I’ll come back. Wait for me. And... Treat yourself well. Give your mind time to heal while I find my way back. Remember that we’re not all monsters. Maybe I wasn’t always the best, but now, I’m proof that there are exceptions.”

“You and your stupid jokes!”

“I’m not joking, Kitty.”

“You can’t come back here, Rocky. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember. It will be hard to find my way back. Insanely hard. But believe me: I will come back. Wait for me. Just a little. Please, promise me. I need to hear you promise.”

Kitty’s face became grave. She kept her eyes on Rocky’s, her expression one he had never seen. Then, ever so slightly, she nodded. “I’ll wait.”

The most important matter settled, Rocky tried to smile. “So you took the spec.”

“How else would I have killed the elite like that?”

“I’m sure you would have managed. But it won’t last long. You said the effect passes quickly. Get in a vehicle—there are two left—and go. You have to get out of here fast. You can’t stay here. Who knows what else will show up? You can’t crawl far, but you can drive with one good leg. You drive like a moron, of course, but you’ll manage.”

“I’ll do it, Rocky.”

His vision was almost gone, but he continued to smile as he gasped for air. “Now, I can die in peace.”

“Rocky!” Kitty screamed, her voice quivering.

“Don’t worry. I’m not really dying. I’ll be back.”

“Rocky! Dammit, no. Listen! Those who die in battle have a high chance of respawning near each other. Do you understand me? You might end up in the same region with Romeo. Don’t die! Just stay with me one more second, please!”

Kitty has suggested you change your name to “Cheater.” Your current name is Rocky. To accept, say “yes.” To reject, say “no.”

“Say yes,” she implored. “He knows your name. This will confuse him. Change it fast, because you can’t do it without me. I’m your godmother. I can change your name within the first week. Quick!”

“Yes...” Rocky managed to say as his throat closed up.

Now, he was Cheater.

Kitty has invited you to join her party. Loot distribution policy: relaxed. Speak or clearly think one of the following: “Join” or “Reject.”

“This will help you find me,” she explained at a feverish pace. “Or help me find you. Chat doesn’t work between regions or across dark clusters, but sometimes you can change some party settings to see what happens to each other. Especially death.”

“Join...” he whispered. Then Cheater made one last request, “Smile for me, please. You have a great smile, and I wish you would smile more. I’m only sad I can’t see it.”

“No one has ever done anything like that for me. Never.” Kitty convulsed. “Rocky! Cheater! Dammit. Why are you doing this to me? Why? Moron! Couldn’t you have survived it somehow? Would it really have been so hard to just stay alive?”

He was in the darkness now, but barely moved his lips to respond, with the only word he could remember how to pronounce.

“Wait...”

Then, his sight followed his hearing into the black. Perhaps that was for the best. This way, his companion’s tearful moaning could not undermine his picture of Kitty as the strongest, most independent girl in the world.

Kitty was kneeling over his lifeless body, sobbing, drenching his corpse with tears, her mouth stretched to its limit, her hands wringing one another in emotional agony.

And that just wasn’t her style.

Many thanks to my readers!

Be sure to check out my series coming out soon: STYX: The Humanhive.

Welcome to the Hive. A place where entry is easy - and escape impossible. Where mere survival is so daunting that nine out of ten new immunes perish before the end of their first week. Where reaching even the one year mark earns you the title of veteran. How long can you survive?

I would like to heartily recommend the books Play to Live by D. Rus, my good friend and one of the founders of the LitRPG genre. The Play to Live series is one of the finest works in the genre, and a must-read for any fan.

I would also like to recommend the book of Andrei Livadny, my good friend and one of the leading talents in the LitRPG and Cyberpunk genres in Russia.

I want to recommend my friend G. Akella's Realm of Arkon series. For the past few years it's been one of the top series in both LitRPG and epic fantasy genres, and deservedly so.