by Jason Krew
His nerves were thrashing like stormy waves on a steep cliff. Had he gone the wrong way? Had they forgotten about him? Worse, was he merely just a decoy all along? Would they collect what they needed and then be out of here before these bandits could return? He backed away, and his back pressed up against the wooden barrier.
An unpleasant cry rose up, the sound of some kind of deranged beast, and then Oxala was upon them. He could hear the metal on metal, the loud smack of critical damage. He felt a cry rise in his own throat, and then he was upon the enemy. They fought back, and Roger saw crimson as the spiked mace caught him across the side of the face. His head hit the wall and he slumped to his knees, crashing sideways as another body thudded into him.
A moment later and it was over, and Oxala sank to her knees beside him, gasping.
'You didn't use it?' she said, and he smiled at her.
'Didn't need to.'
A sudden explosion met his ears, shaking the earth and raining dust down on the pair.
'Go, Roger. I'll catch up.'
Clambering to his feet, he headed back to the courtyard. He saw the ragged tent hanging limp and torn. Sinbad was locked in battle with a pair of large bandits wielding axes. He held a great, curved cutlass, and swung it like a man who had grown up doing so. Roger stood there for a moment, mouth agape, saw him cut one bandit down and send the other reeling with the back of his hand.
Kristofer was losing. A slender woman with short hair and a red mask was slicing him to bits like he was a cut of meat. Roger charged at her, and the blow that would have finished Kristofer was averted in order to ward off the fist that came flying at her. She stepped to the side, cutting Roger as he passed, and that one maneuver was enough to put him on death's door.
'It's Rayne,' said Kristofer, catching a blow on his daggers that drove him to one knee. Roger looked at the bandit through a red mist. Kristofer was right. Her skills were far beyond the others, and she wore a tattered black cape with that same leering, horned skull on it. Then Oxala was in the fray, and Rayne fell back, her skill offset by Oxala's great shield and heavy armor.
They traded blows, but Oxala was using too much energy, and her reactions grew slower and slower.
'Getting tired?' said Rayne, and whipped past in a shocking display of speed, and Oxala fell to her knees. Roger had barely even seen Rayne's sword move.
Kristofer loomed over her shoulder, but his dagger went well wide of its target, and Rayne caught his other hand.
'I will avenge my men,' she said. Kristofer glanced at Roger, eyes pleading.
Roger saw the choice before him. He could run, if he wanted to. He had the stamina to run at pace for a full minute. Why should he die here? He had already risked enough for these people.
And though these thoughts occurred to him, something else must have taken over, for he ambled over to Rayne and seized her in a full nelson grip. She screamed in surprise, releasing Kristofer's hand.
He didn't waste a second, plunging a dagger into Rayne's chest. She convulsed in Roger's arms then, and game or not, the sensation would stick with Roger for some time after. Again and and again Kristofer's dagger struck until there was nothing left to hit.
Rayne's corpse was gone, and all that was left was her sword and her mask, and her neatly severed head. Rainbow light scattered about, and the red lifted from Roger's eyes. There was the sound of a body hitting the ground, and Sinbad wandered over.
'Well done,' he said, great big smile on his beefy mug. 'Finally, it's over.'
'Finally,' said Oxala, watching their pikshenes suck up the pile of loot. Her expression changed to confusion, eyebrows knitting together, and then quickly to shock. She started forward, eyes looking past Roger where Kristofer stood, and when he turned to follow her gaze he saw Sinbad's sword fall, as though in slow motion.
An amber flash and Kristofer's eyed widened. He fell to his knees first, before pitching onto his face. Roger felt weird, like his mind couldn't catch up to what was happening in front of him. But it was happening, and Kristofer's body was disappearing in front of his eyes. Sinbad was not a player?
Oxala was stricken to the ground, but she was undeterred. Roger saw the hatred in her face, and the idea that this was just a game had been scrunched up and tossed away. She was furious, teeth bared like some kind of wild animal.
Sinbad was only grinning, but his eyes had gone cold. The joviality he displayed was all an act. This program, this NPC had deceived them. He pulled his overcoat open, and behind it was that white, horned skull. Roger felt a moment of confusion, but he stowed it away. He had to do something. He hoped Oxala could hold on for just a little bit longer.
She threw herself at Sinbad, and her anger seemed to even the playing field for a moment, but Roger could see the level gap was far too wide. Sinbad was formidable, and he had only to survive and wait for Oxala's stamina to drain. It did so, slowly, but even the slightest decrease was enough to give Sinbad openings, and Oxala was driven back.
'Roger,' she shouted, desperation in her voice.
He did his best to sound frightened.
'I can't,' he said. 'He's too strong. I'm sorry.' He started backing away, and Sinbad laughed.
'The brat is terrified,' he said. 'I'm amazed he even held up his end of our little strategy.'
Roger watched closely. He had to figure out a way to separate them, but Sinbad was relentless. He bit down on his bottom lip. He would have to put himself in harms way once more. He grabbed one end of the limp tent flap, and with a sound that was just like the crotch of his school pants tearing, ripped it clean from the pole.
Oxala glanced at him from the corner of her eye, though she was nearly cornered. Roger would have to move fast. He sprinted ahead, wrapping his little present in the remnants of the tent canvas. He'd never been great at throwing, but the target was close, and he didn't need to score a direct hit.
'Oxala,' he shouted. 'I'm gonna use it.' He hoped she understood, and his virtual arm wound up and sent his virtual bundle flying. And as it flew through the air, partially unraveled, Sinbad simply held his forearm up to his face. Oxala dived to the ground, abandoning sword and shield and covering her head with her hands.
'Clever boy,' said Sinbad as fire engulfed him. Boom.
Thank you.
Sinbad thudded against the wall, and Roger would leave nothing to chance. He plunged through the smoke and drove his fist square into Sinbad's face with a satisfying crunch.
'You're done for.'
Sinbad slumped to the ground.
'Roger,' said Oxala. 'You...'
This was Roger's chance to look cool, but all he could do was shrug. Sometimes less was more, he thought. He helped Oxala to her feet, and she brushed herself off, a very human gesture.
'Kristofer,' she said.
'Yeah.'
'He was a great party member.'
Roger nodded. 'Maybe we'll meet him again?'
Oxala met his eyes, and nodded back. 'Unh.' She strode over and picked up her sword. Sinbad's corpse was gone, replaced with his big leering severed head and a pair of explosives. Soph gobbled them up.
Huh, thought Roger. Guess he has a bounty on him too, somewhere.
'We should get out of here,' said Oxala. 'Figure this all out later.'
'Yeah.' He desperately wanted out of this place. They set off down an alleyway, confused and a little bit disturbed, but alive and with a bounty collect.
Chapter VIII - Part 1
Though victorious, they made a sorry sight. The durability of their arms and armor was visibly low. Oxala's iron suit was dented and scarred, her sword scuffed and chipped like a hand saw. One of the spikes on Roger's fist was missing, and the rest were blunted. If they were attacked now, he wasn't sure they would make it.
Oxala's mouth was sewn tight. Kristofer's death had made a distinct effect on her, and she was silent as they wound their way through the maze of stone corridors.
An odd sense of irony accompanied him. He had plunged recklessly into th
e game and every challenge it presented. By rights, he should have died a dozen times, and yet this ridiculous play-style had yielded him new relationships and considerable reward. For everything that had gone wrong, there had been a silver lining. A reason to keep playing. He hadn't felt this way for a long time.
Once they finally reached the outskirts of the city, the perennial breeze of the plains was the first thing to greet them. Above, flocks of birds rode the breeze into the forests beyond. Roger saw the sun hovering over the edge of the northern horizon. This low in the sky the orb was purple, and yet as on Earth, too bright to stare at directly.
And then that familiar, nauseous feeling. If this was Roger's first sunset, that meant...
It's probably past midnight.
He had lost all track of time.
'I gotta go,' he said.
Oxala's distant eyes seemed to return to focus.
'What do you mean?'
Roger realized he was fidgeting. Oxala caught on, and sent him a quizzical look. 'Do you need the bathroom? If my old bladder is holding up, yours should too.'
'No,' said Roger, shaking his head. Old bladder? She wasn't that old. 'It's late where I am. My parents are gonna be mad.'
'Ahh.' Oxala's face softened. 'That's fair.' She placed a hand on Roger's arm. 'Before you go, you have to tell me how you caught on to that Sinbad's betrayal.' Her face darkened as she said the name. Roger thought back to the moment.
'A few things,' he said, struggling to compose his thoughts. 'The first thing I noticed was he called Rayne a she, but the bounty specifically said to "bring me his head." Then there was the map. You guys had obviously killed dozens of guards, and yet neither of you came across any maps.' Oxala's eyes were narrowed, and she nodded along. 'He was so sure of himself, too.' He shook his head. 'I don't trust people who are too certain.'
'That's it?' said Oxala.
Roger paused. 'I also never saw his pikshene.'
'Neither did I,' said Oxala. 'But that's not so unusual. A lot of people never summon theirs at all.'
'Right,' said Roger. 'But when we killed Rayne and the others, all of our pikshenes looted the bodies. Except for his.'
Understanding seemed to dawn on Oxala. 'You're right.'
Roger shrugged. 'If I didn't already distrust him, I might have missed it too.'
'You saved us.' said Oxala, and Roger felt himself flush.
'Not all of us.'
There was a long pause then, and a soft jingle of metal as Oxala shifted her weight.
'What do you think happens when you die here?' she said.
'I dunno.' Roger had thought about it, of course, like he thought of everything else, all the time. But he wasn't sure. He had not yet seen a graveyard, or spoken to anyone who had died. That he was aware of, anyway.
'Yeah,' said Oxala. 'Funny how, even though we're in a game, death here is still a mystery.'
'Hm.' Roger nodded, not quite seeing the humor. Sometimes grown ups mystified him. 'I really gotta go,' he said.
'You really want to log out here?' Oxala looked around them. It wasn't ideal, he knew, but he really should be on his way, otherwise he was going to miss the last train.
'Yeah. See ya later.'
'Goodbye.' He gave the log out command to Soph, and soon enough the world was fading out of view.
'Hey,' said Oxala. 'I'm heading for Alterbrea. If you ever want to team up again, you might find me there.'
Roger nodded, and then he was gone.
****
Blue light. He was back, body stiff and bladder full. His skin was clammy, and the air conditioner sent a chill through him. He eased himself out of the pod. Laughter met his ears, and he saw a pair of gamers sat at the couch in the corner. He waited, letting reality settle over him.
He imagined Oxala and Kristofer out there somewhere. He wondered what Kristofer had done when he died. Had he rage quit and stormed out of the building? That image improved Roger's mood, and the loss didn't seem so somber now.
He relieved himself before heading on out. There were a few folks at the cafe. One of them stared solemnly into his cup, and Roger wondered if it was the game that had him looking like that or the eventual return to real life. Roger passed through the security doors and out into the street. A busy street, and another typical summer night. He could see a line of people across the road looking to get into a bar. Passing the noodle house, the sounds of karaoke wafted up to him. Nirvana?
He supposed he should be grateful that the public transport system here was so good. It was mere minutes before he was seated on the train, gently jostled by the swaying carriage. He watched a middle-aged woman rock from side to side as she slipped in and out of slumber, her small daughter conked out beside her.
Yoyogi station. He jumped up, slung his backpack over his shoulder. It was nearing one o'clock. With every step towards home his feet grew heavier. The idea of confronting his father was playing on his thoughts. Would he be really angry? What excuse would he use? Would the study one work? He'd never been out this late before. His father would be suspicious. All of a sudden Roger took a keen interest in his studies?
The store was closed and he lights were out, and he slipped inside. He took his shoes off, and tiptoed up the stairs like a thief. He didn't feel truly safe until his door was closed and locked behind him.
He'd left his window open, again, but the breeze was nice. Someone was standing next to the bench in the street outside, lit up by the lamplight. They were swaying side to side, like they were drunk. A moment later he realized they were on the phone. He closed the curtain.
He lay in bed for a full hour before he finally fell asleep, listening out for his father's footsteps. Eventually he sunk into unconsciousness, and he dreamed again, of a sneering, horned skull lit up by faint blue lines of light.
He awoke with a start, and looked at the clock. 8AM. He threw off the sheet, and was rummaging frantically through his closet before he realized it was Saturday.
Idiot.
He still had work today, though. Couldn't escape that. He shuffled down the stairs with a heavy heart, and had all but forgotten last night until he caught sight of his father at the table, glasses on and pen in hand as he worked his way through the crossword at the back of the newspaper, just like every other weekend.
His dad looked up.
'What happened last night?'
Roger's gaze was askew. 'I got home late.'
'I know that.' His father's voice was stern. 'I'm asking why.'
'I was with some friends. Lost track of time.'
'With friends?' His dad didn't buy any of it. 'When did you make friends?'
The words hit Roger like a punch to the stomach, and his felt his anger rising.
'You don't know anything about me,' he mumbled.
'I know one thing,' said his father. 'You come home late like that again and you'll be working for free.'
'That's barely worse than what you pay me now.' He was trembling again. Every single time, his traitorous body had the same reaction.
His father stood up.
'Oh, so you don't mind then?'
'If you stop paying me,' said Roger. 'I'll stop coming in to work.'
His father stood up, and he wore such a black look that Roger felt himself take an involuntary step backwards.His lower lip was trembling now, too, and with it came the unmistakable urge to cry. He blinked rapidly.
'You will be in the shop by 9,' his father said through gritted teeth. He tossed his pen on the table and stalked down the stairs.
Roger stood there for a moment, arms by his side, feeling all this anger with nowhere to direct it. He wanted to run over, grab his father's paper and rip it to shreds. His anger turned into a little sob, and he stood there in the middle of the dining room, shoulders shaking.
He wiped his face with the back of his forearm, feeling like a small child. He fetched himself breakfast, only to drop the bowl as he pulled it from the cupboard. The noise of ceramic bouncing on the marble coun
ter served to snap him awake, but it did not help his mood. He resigned himself to a miserable day, and trudged down the stairs to the shop.
Chapter VIII - Part 2
Nothing seemed to go right. The count from Bonfire night had been off, which meant that someone had been stealing glow sticks and other merchandise throughout the night. Hundreds of dollars worth, in fact. There was a man installing a surveillance camera throughout the shop, which meant that Roger and his father had to move shelves and the stock that sat atop them to make way for the new security system.
