Party Hard

by David Petrie

  Of course, she hadn't really killed Wren; she knew that now, but back then, after waking up in the hospital without the child that she had carried inside her for six months, she was sure she'd lost her. What was worse, it had been her fault. She’d been working sixteen-hour days between two jobs to pay for health care and to keep her first child fed. Her insurance hadn't covered much, so it had taken everything she had to make ends meet. Exhaustion had caught up with her, and she'd fallen asleep at the wheel while driving home. She'd almost died in the accident, which had forced the doctors to prioritize her life over that of her child since the baby was unlikely to survive being so underdeveloped.

  Because of her negligence, Wren entered the world almost three months premature after having been in a serious car accident. No one expected the child to live. When she'd realized what she had done, she screamed and cried for hours before the nurses could get her to calm down.

  Now sitting in the recreated room, Ginger cursed Carver for forcing her to relive that night. It didn't matter that Wren surprised everyone by living, Ginger still carried the guilt of her mistake with her every moment of every day and every time she saw Wren's hearing aids or picked up her asthma prescription. Both conditions were a direct result of her lack of proper development in the womb. She wanted to hold her daughter, to say she was sorry. Instead, she got up and dried her eyes. She swore back then never to fail her children again, and she wasn't about to start failing them now. She tried the door; it was locked. She tightened her jaw. She was going to get out of there.

  Corvin sighed as he stood in the hallway of the high school that he attended for two years before being expelled. He shrugged. It wasn’t a surprise.

  He made his way toward locker two-eleven, letting his hand brush against each of the combination locks that hung from the metal doors that lined the wall. In a way, it was liberating, not having anyone there with him. No insults or shoving from his peers. Just an empty hall.

  He hadn't exactly been Mr. Popular in high school - his love of old video games and anime hadn't given him much common ground with the majority of his fellow students. His situation was exacerbated by the fact that he hadn't grown until much later. He was short and scrawny back then, and paired with bad skin and allergies, he had a target on his back from day one.

  Looking back, though, things hadn't been that bad for him then. Sure, there was Mark Bogdan, one of the popular kids, that had relished in any opportunity to bully him, but mostly, it was just jokes about him being adopted, gay, or never having a girlfriend. Only one of which was actually true. He wasn't gay, although his fathers were, so that solidified that rumor even though it shouldn't have. It wasn’t like their relationship had any bearing on him, and he had participated in some awkward teen dating. Not much or anything meaningful, but he had at least kissed a girl by age sixteen.

  Ultimately, it was just his pride that suffered back then. Although, on rare occasions, it had become something physical. Mark had once pushed him and his desk over in the middle of class, while the teacher had his back turned, of course. And Mark did slap his books out of his hands like any self-respecting bully should do from time to time. Still, that was pretty much as far as it ever went. It wasn't fun, but he had lived with it. It was high school, after all. What else could he do? Then one day, he screwed up.

  Corvin still remembered exactly what he had been thinking about while he was staring out the window in class that day. He had been thinking about what kind of giant robot he would want if he could choose. With Metal Gears, Gundams, EVAs, and even that pink one from Nadesico, the options were near limitless. He was not thinking about Jill Roskham, Mark's girlfriend at the time, who sat in front of the window, and he certainly was not staring at her. Well, technically he was, but he wasn't trying to. She just happened to be in his line of sight while he imagined the possibilities of space-mech combat. This explanation didn't carry much weight though when Mark had confronted him at his locker, the same locker that he stood in front of now.

  Spinning the dial of the small silver lock to six-six-five, he pulled it open. He was impressed at how well the Sphere simulated his memory. Even the stickers inside were the same, but now that he stood in the recreated spot that had destroyed his life, it bothered him. He turned away from the locker, a sick feeling in his stomach. Even though the hall was empty, he could swear he could hear Mark yelling.

  Students had swarmed around him back then, preventing his escape, like sharks smelling blood in the water. Not believing that it had been just an awkward misunderstanding, Mark had shoved him back into the open locker hard. Corvin remembered the pain in the back of his neck where he had hit the shelf inside before slipping to the floor.

  The crowd of boys had towered over him as he sat on the cheap linoleum. He remembered their shouting, their fevered energy feeding into each other, adding fuel to the fire. Then they stopped. Their eyes wide, like several deer in headlights. A look of sheer terror filled their faces. Corvin hadn't known why in that moment, but a second later, it had been obvious to him, too.

  The gun had fallen from his locker and landed next to him with a loud clank against the floor. He had looked at it, then back to the boys above. The implications of why he might have brought such an item to school were as clear to him as they had been to the others around him. He had opened his mouth to speak, but a boot cut off his words.

  Now, sitting in the same spot simulated by the Sphere, Corvin ran his tongue across the place in his mouth where three fake teeth had replaced the ones he lost that day. Upon seeing the gun, Mark and the other boys had let loose. They were no longer bullies. In their eyes at the time, they had to protect their classmates from him, a deranged psychopath, bent on gunning down innocent students. There was no need to be gentle, and they had held nothing back.

  Corvin had woke days later handcuffed to a hospital bed after having suffered fourteen broken bones and a head injury that had almost killed him. He had later read posts online from while he was unconscious, calling for the doctors to let him die. He ran his hand through his hair feeling the area on his head where a scar would have been in the real world.

  He was promptly expelled from school and villainized by the media. He was an unstable boy who didn't get along with others, according to the interviews with Mark and his friends, who had been hailed as heroes for acting fast and risking their lives to prevent yet another tragedy in a long line. It didn't matter that the gun wasn't loaded, or that its barrel had been filled with lead, making it little more than a paperweight.

  The charges against him were dropped when it was discovered that the officer that had logged the gun into evidence, never examined the weapon long enough to see that it was a stage prop. They’d just popped the magazine out and thrown it in a bag.

  Corvin had borrowed the blank pistol from a neighbor that had used it for a student film. He had done so on the request of a teacher that was directing a school performance of Romeo and Juliet based on that horrible version set in modern times. It was supposed to be edgy. Corvin had been helping to build sets for the play and had agreed to help acquire the prop despite feeling uncomfortable with the request. Unfortunately, the teacher that had asked him to do it decided to cover their ass and deny any involvement. So the school considered him as acting on his own and with poor judgment. His fathers both fought for him, spending a fortune in legal fees, but in the end, the expulsion held. Few ever found out that the gun was fake. Him being innocent wasn't an interesting story.

  The teachers and police that should have protected him weren't there. Society had failed him. Most people would have become bitter or cynical, but even after all that, Corvin didn't change. He just accepted the things that he couldn't help and moved on. It took him two years of hard work to rebuild his life, and during that time, his only real escape was Noctem. It was somewhere he could go that didn't know him. He made friends like Max and Kira that didn't judge him, friends that now stood with him in defense of a world that had tossed him aside two
years before. Noctem was worth something to him. It was something that he was determined to hold on to. He sat on the floor with one leg stretched out comfortably, an artificial red stain beside him where he had spat out his teeth.

  Kegan came to, his head pressed against the cool tile floor of a hotel bathroom. The last thing he remembered was plummeting through a hole in the world. What he did not remember was drinking an enormous amount of alcohol and eating something covered in jalapeño peppers. Nevertheless, the room spun as he lunged headfirst toward the porcelain to expel said jalapeños. Confused and dizzy, he let himself fall to the side into the space between the bathtub and the toilet. His head throbbed, and his mouth tasted worse than he thought possible. It was one of the worst hangovers that he had ever had, and for a moment, he forgot all about the mission.

  The shaken Leaf focused on breathing to keep his surroundings from spinning. In his condition, his mind locked up, making all thought difficult. He pulled himself up, gripping the side of the bathtub for support and made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth before splashing some water on his face. It made him feel more human. Although, the well-tanned elven male looking back at him from the mirror reminded him that he was not human. At least, he wasn't while he was logged in.

  His thoughts came back to him, kicking his mind back into gear. Where he was, how he had gotten there, and what they had come to do began to repopulate his brain. His headache faded as he tried to figure out what was going on. Why the hell am I hungover? He questioned himself. He hadn't touched a drink in years. Not since. "Oh," he said out loud as he started to work it out.

  Leaning on the door frame, Kegan hesitated, afraid to enter the bedroom beyond. He knew what had been waiting for him the first time he'd been there, back when it was real. He just hoped the Sphere wasn't able to recreate everything that he remembered. He didn't want to have that conversation again. He worked up the courage to step inside.

  The bed was empty. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Granted, the rumpled sheets still had plenty to say all on their own as did the empty vodka bottle on the floor. He picked up the glass vessel, feeling its weight in his hand. It was heavier than he remembered.

  Of course, he thought. Leave it to Carver to program the Sphere to load up a memory of his biggest regret. He paused for almost a full minute, then threw the bottle against the wall, its pieces shattering across the room like pixie dust.

  Farnsworth lifted her head off the dining room table of her childhood home. The scent of extinguished birthday candles wafted through the air, filling her head with memories. A cake sat in front of her, eighteen half melted candles on top. Her eyes widened at the sight of it, and her heart broke all over again. She recoiled, knocking over the cheap Ikea chair she sat in. It hit the wall with a hollow thunk. She stepped away from the table until her back pressed against the white painted wall. She flicked her eyes around the room, the same way she would search a dungeon for threats. She was alone. Without hesitation, she made a break for the front door. She tripped over an ottoman on her way through the attached living room. The momentum sent her falling into the door with more force than intended. She fumbled the deadbolt and turned the knob. The door swung open.

  Farn's heart sank as she burst through the exit, only to find herself back in the same house. Well, not entirely the same. The adjoining dwelling was the same but mirrored, with everything positioned in the reverse of what she remembered. She felt dizzy from the jarring nature of the scene. Even the text of a discarded magazine on the coffee table was backward. She stood still, realizing that there was no running from the place. Her heart raced as a light sweat broke out on her forehead.

  She had expected a fight or a dungeon to be waiting for her in the Sphere. She was ready for that, but this she was not prepared for. What made it worse was that she was alone, just like she had always been. If she at least had Kira or Max with her, she would have been able to laugh off the memory, but alone, she was left with it playing over in her mind. The things she said back then. What she had asked for. And how bad it had hurt when she didn't get it. All of it.

  Smoke wafted from the candles, filling the air with a wish that still hung in her mind, a wish that it had crushed her when it hadn't come true. She hadn't celebrated a birthday since.

  Kira opened her eyes, taking in the expanse of the Sphere. Its crimson sky stretched out over a lifeless landscape of dark stone as far as she could see. It was empty but, somehow, not depressing. The ground felt cool and comfortable under her bare feet. It was quiet but not too quiet. Just peaceful. Like death. Not the type of death that people feared, but the sort that gave release and rest to those who needed it.

  A gentle breeze slipped past her, weaving through the fabric of her dress to caress her body underneath. She let out a squeak and her face flushed from the intimate feel of the air on her skin.

  "I always liked this place," a voice said from behind her.

  She would have spun around with panic at the sudden realization that she wasn't alone, but the calming effect of the place relaxed her and gave her a kind of strength that she didn't fully understand. It was as if something in the place was calling to her. Besides, she didn't have to look to know who stood behind her.

  She turned slowly, moving one foot at a time, allowing her dress to float in the air around her legs. She looked the man in the eyes, a defiant smirk on her face as she spoke his name, "Carver."

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  I wonder if I could get close enough to kick him in the dick? Kira thought, facing her enemy for the first time. She held back. The avatar in front of her looked nothing like the man that she had seen in the short videos at the beginning of the quest as if it had been randomly generated to save time. Still, there was something similar about him. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. He was elven, with pale skin and short messy hair the color of chocolate. He wore the robes of a mid-level Venom mage loose around his body like a bathrobe. He looked comfortable as if style was secondary, almost needless for him. In his hands, he held a simple rectangle of black glass the size of a standard tablet computer. Its surface was polished to a flawless shine, without so much as a fingerprint marring its face.

  "Obviously, I apologize for the inconvenience that you have been through over the last two days," he said as though he was putting in effort to choose his words.

  Kira wanted to throw his apology back in his face, her fists along with it, but there was so little time, and she didn't have much strength anyway. Furthermore, she didn't want to show her frustration in front of him. That might've made her appear weak. She wished more than ever that her friends were with her, but standing there in front of a man that threatened two worlds and her life in the name of science, she didn't seem to have a choice but to go at it alone. This thought led her to another. She wasn't weak. True, she may not have the physical capabilities of Max or Farn, but she did have other advantages. She was still an enchanting creature with a quick wit that, at times, had left people speechless.

  She didn't respond right away. Instead, she looked to the side at the horizon. "It's not much to look at, but it's peaceful." She ignored his apology. She tilted her head, considering the view longer than necessary, hoping to make Carver question whether or not he should speak again or wait for her.

  He seemed to be waiting.

  She glanced back to him, turning on the charm and giving him a good look into her eyes. Eyes which he had only made more striking by changing their color.

  Carver let out a brief, "Ah," before continuing.

  A direct hit!

  He recovered. "Have you ever had a dream that seemed to last for days?"

  "Sure." She didn’t hesitate to keep him on his toes.

  He paused and glanced around before explaining. "Well, that's essentially how this version of the system works."

  Kira thought about his words. "Meaning that you and I are talking here, but the mission clock is no longer ticking?"

  "Yes. Time is currently passing
at a much slower rate than you're used to. So you may use this opportunity to ask me anything you want." His voice sounded calm and polite.

  Kira noticed the difference. It was the complete opposite from what she'd heard before in his videos. He hadn't seemed like a man that gave much thought to others, so his regard for her was out of place. It couldn't have been that he liked her or even respected her, but there was definitely something. Then she got it. He needed her. She asked her question. "Why are you here?"

  He looked flustered at the vagueness of the inquiry. "To help you."

  Kira let out a laugh. "I see that. But why? I mean, you put us through so much, and now, you show up to explain everything like a villain in a movie."

  Frustration bubbled under his skin, cracking his mask, like he just wanted to get on with things. The welcoming attitude fell, revealing one that was more suited to him. "Things have not gone according to plan. I didn't think Alastair would choose you over his world and cut the power to your rig. He was supposed to leave you there, and he might have ruined everything. So I need to understand your mental state to know if you can be salvaged, and the best way to do that is to talk to you."

  Kira laughed again, putting less effort into appearances as well. "What did you think would happen? You can't predict how people will behave. You're not some mastermind, controlling people from the shadows."

  He sighed. "I realize that."

  She nodded as she channeled Max's attitude. "Okay, you wanna talk? Let's talk."

  "Right to the point, I appreciate that." Carver raised the obsidian tablet that he held and punched in a few short commands. Then he motioned behind her to where two crushed velvet sofas bracketed a low coffee table.

  Kira raised an eyebrow at the out of place furniture, sitting there in the open space as if it had always been there. "That wasn't there before, right?" she asked, knowing the answer already.