Respawn: Lives 1-5 (Respawn LitRPG series Book 1)

by Arthur Stone

  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 soundin
g, 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 ind
ifference 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.”