by Tao Wong
I quietly extract myself from the tent and make my way to the fire, glancing at the young man seated by it with a makeshift spear on his lap. Young, probably in his early twenties, with that wariness that almost all survivors have. He looks up, his hand clenching slightly on the spear shaft while meeting my eyes with his thousand-yard stare.
“You’re up late,” I say and take a seat next to him.
“So are you,” he replies.
I smile slightly, staring at the kid and wondering when I started calling people half a decade younger than me kids. “Perk of a high Constitution. I don’t really need to sleep much.” Or at all, if I want to push it. But experimentation has shown that the human brain really does like having a bit of downtime.
“You’re strong too,” the kid says, glancing toward the vans and trucks I dragged over. We’d briefly considered a bus but figured a single point of failure was a bad idea.
“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself,” I say, and he twitches, eyes narrowing. “There’s no way you’d survive this long if you didn’t have some decent Levels and strength scores.”
Of course, I don’t tell him that I can see his Status bar above his head too.
Kyle Leeburn (Karateka Level 28)
HP: 340/340
MP: 180/180
Conditions: Exhausted (-10 to all Stats and Regeneration Rates)
“Not good enough,” the kid says, and I clearly hear the regret and self-recrimination.
I glance back at the tent that we designated for him and his friends—all those who are left. He catches me looking and nods slightly. I’m not even sure what the nod means, but I don’t push it.
“Did you read the guide?” I ask to break the silence.
“Yes. Not much new there,” Kyle says. “I do want to know what you intend to do with us.”
“Exactly what we promised. Bring you guys to a safe zone, preferably a city with a Shop. That way you can sell some of your loot and get sorted,” I say. “No ulterior motives.”
“Not as if I can do anything about it if you did, is there?” Kyle says bitterly.
“No, not really,” I agree bluntly.
Kyle looks at me, his eyes shining. “If you lay a hand on them, I’ll kill you. I don’t care how, I will kill you. All of you.”
“Oh god…” Ali says, floating down from where he’s been watching all this. “There’s two of you!”
“Funny,” I tell Ali before looking at the kid and giving him a nod in acknowledgement. “Now, go to sleep.”
“I—”
“You said it yourself. There’s nothing you can do if I want you dead. And anyway, if I had bad intentions, I’d want to get all of you survivors together. Right now, you’d be more useful as bait than anything else.”
I see Kyle twitch at that, but he finally stands and goes into the tent. I can hear him breathing loudly and irregularly, forcing himself to stay awake just in case I decide to attack, but at least I have some peace and quiet. Sort of.
“You’ve got a pretty devious mind there, boy-o,” Ali says, floating cross-legged in front of me.
“Hmmm…?”
“The entire using the kids as bait bit. Cold.”
“Never said I wasn’t,” I say, smiling grimly.
I wait, the darkness deepening until finally, finally the kid succumbs to sleep. That’s when I stand and stretch before walking to the force field and letting myself out. I keep silent, walking through the abandoned, empty streets filled with weeds and unraked leaves till we’re far enough away.
“Tell me about the sixth group.”
“Not much more to tell,” Ali says, floating beside me. “Six fighters in the building, all between Level 30 and 40. Three captives, all mutilated so they can’t run. You were right—they’re probably the reason why everyone is so paranoid and looking worse for wear. Can’t hunt or Level up properly if the non-combatants are easy prey.”
“Weapons? Classes? Skills?”
“One Thief, two Bandits, one Guardian, a Shaman, and a Gunslinger. One of the captives is a Healer too,” Ali replies. “Two System-registered melee weapons. All their guns are System-registered, but it’s mostly human shotguns and rifles as their base.”
“Anything else I should know?” I ask, my voice going colder as I walk toward the little glowing dots in the minimap.
“Don’t make it fast.” Ali’s voice is raw and angry at the last.
I don’t blame him. He’s been stuck watching them the whole day when he’s not with us.
***
The group has taken over a bank, their resting place underground, where the safe deposit boxes are located. Safe—or at least safer—than a normal building. One entrance to their main resting place, easy to defend against any incursions. Assuming they don’t get really unlucky and a monster spawns in the building itself, they’ve got it good. Of course, they aren’t dumb enough to not have a watch out, but they’ve gotten lazy. Probably been lording it over the groups around here too much. The big fish in the small pond.
I take my time, ghosting up to him when he’s not looking in my direction, crossing through shadows till I’m close enough to make my move. Haste, Thousand Steps, and agility in the hundred-plus range means that I cover the last five feet in the blink of an eye. There’s nothing wrong with the Bandit’s instincts, his head turning toward me, but he’s nowhere near fast enough. My blade sinks into his neck easier than I thought, forcing me to catch the body with my free hand while the detached head drops. The muffled, meaty thud resounds through the marbled floor, and I hold my breath, wondering if it was too much.
Nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief and head over to the staircase, my sword disappearing back to whatever dimension it exists in when I don’t have it summoned. As I near the stairs, I look down, spot the crude attempt of a trip wire, and step over it.
Downstairs is a single corridor and small rooms, sub-divided to allow privacy, before the main safe deposit storage room. From Ali’s descriptions, each of the private rooms is allocated to the leaders, with the remnants forced to stay together. Of course, each of the three leaders keep one of the women to themselves.
I’d considered a few ways of dealing with this, but any fight in close quarters is likely to result in the deaths of the women. That’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen to do this myself. I’ll admit, I also want to save the group some of what I expect to see. As much as we’ve seen and done, as many nightmares as we might have, there’s no need to add any more.
Downstairs, I tread to the opposite side of the waiting room and make sure to hide myself as best as I can before signaling Ali that I’m ready for the second part of the plan.
“Trouble!” Ali shouts from above in a simulated voice.
Never having heard the Bandit speak, I have no idea if Ali’s doing a good enough job, but the roar of gunfire as Ali triggers his weapon is sufficient to drive home his point.
“What is it?” one of the men shouts even as I hear them scrambling inside the rooms.
“They’re attacking us!” Ali calls back.
I have to admit, they’re not complete idiots. Most of them head up, but they leave a guard for the women. Of course, since I didn’t bother to hide the body too much, I only have a minute at most before they realize they’ve been tricked. But that’s more than enough time.
I launch myself forward, crossing the room at a sprint, and tackle the Thief across his body. I hit him like a freight train, his ribs cracking and snapping, even his breath explodes around my ear. I don’t stop moving, bull-rushing him into the nearby wall, concrete shattering around us—I put him mostly through it. As I lean backward, I grip his upper arm, crushing it, and throw him to the floor. For all that, the Thief manages to form a glowing red dagger that plunges into my torso, sinking past the jumpsuit and sending a shard of pain through my mind.
Before he can do it again, I beat aside his hand, looking back at the women and wasting a few precious seconds to cast Soul Shield on all three. The glowi
ng walls of force spring to life around their bodies, protecting them against collateral damage. Of course, the Thief manages to stab me a few more times in the meantime, nearly cutting my throat with one swipe. Painful as it is, it’s not lethal.
Noise from the staircase informs me that I’ll be getting company soon, so I grip the Thief by the neck. Another second and I cross the floor to the staircase, where the Gunslinger is turning, a pair of pistols in his hand. He unloads, uncaring if he hits the Thief I’m using as an impromptu shield. I twist from the hips and heave, taking a pair of bullets in the lower body before the Thief flies through the air, screaming. The Gunslinger is fast, very fast, bouncing up the staircase and crowding his friends to avoid the newly made corpse.
I snarl, another bullet smashing into my helmet and rocking my head back. A thought and the sword is in my hand, Blade Strike throwing a glowing line of red and blue from the blade while Thousand Blades repeats the action with a pair of duplicate weapons. The attacks fly up the stairs, and this time, there is nowhere for them to go. Unlike their attacks, the Soulbound sword I wield has leveled up with me and is backed by a pair of Skills. The difference in damage is like comparing a BB gun and a 9mm.
Screams, shouts, and swearing as the group struggles upward, unloading their shots into my body. I take them all, my body shuddering slightly under the barrage. But I have over 1700 Health Points and a regeneration rate to match it. It’d be a lie to say I could stand here and take it all day long, but I can for the few seconds that it takes them to reach the top of the stairs and slam the door shut.
Then I use Blink Step, fixing the point of my arrival by using Ali’s viewpoint, and appear behind the group. I kill the Shaman first, who’s busy readying a series of Spells to slow, poison, and kill me. It only takes a single focused strike to kill him. Stupid magic users with their miniscule health.
The Bandit is next, cutting upward with a real sword that glows green with energy. Cleave or Bash or Power Strike or an equivalent Skill. Putting everything he has into the attack. I twist, catching the cut with the sword I’ve materialised in my other hand, surprising him. Even so, the strength of the blow throws me backward, my feet leaving the floor for a second.
The Guardian makes his move next, rushing and grappling my arm. A quick twist as he shouts, “Disarm,” and then he’s got my sword, the blade forced from my hand by the Skill. I skip backward, breaking away before he can attack me, even as the Bandit steps up and the Gunslinger shifts to get a line of sight on me.
They come for me, the Guardian—guarding what, his rancid desires?—leading the way. He swings my borrowed sword, intent on ending me. Too bad for him it’s a Soulbound weapon and I dismiss it with a thought, then I let him run into the others I conjure. I don’t stop, can’t stop, as I dance past him to show the Bandit what happens when you pair Cleave, a Soulbound weapon, and nearly a hundred points of strength together. He takes three hits before he finally flops to the floor, dead. After that, mopping up the Gunslinger is a cinch.
It’s only when I’m standing in the middle of the bank, covered in blood and guts, my pulse slowing and the rage that ate away at my reason dissipating, that my brain kicks in and lists all the problems I’ve got. Starting with how I’m going to explain this to everyone.
“You really shouldn’t hog all the fun,” Ingrid calls from the doorway she leans against, cleaning her nails with a dagger.
I roll my eyes, knowing she’s doing that for effect. Of course, I don’t tell her it does look as cool as she thinks it does.
“What are you doing here?” I flick my gaze upward to my minimap and blink, seeing more dots slowly coming in.
“You really need to work on your poker face,” Ingrid says, eyes dancing with amusement. “And you’re about as subtle as a hammer. We all figured you were keeping something to yourself.”
“More like a tank rolling down the street.” Lana walks up with the puppies beside her. On a nearby rooftop, Roland is perched, watching over the proceedings. “So what’s in there?”
I frown, glancing down and then back at them. Another reason I chose to do this was to save them from the sights and smells below. The memories…
“Three women. Mutilated and kept by them.” I gesture at the bodies and watch as the ladies straighten, tension going through their bodies.
“Okay. Ingrid and I will go down. You, clean this up,” Lana says brusquely, striding forward, trailed by Ingrid.
“Stuck with clean up. Again,” I mutter before casting Clean on myself and trying to figure out what to do.
In the end, I go with the easy option and toss the bodies into storage. I’ll find a cliff to discard them from later. The blood is easy enough to mop up, using stolen clothing to push it around. Rather than storing them, I keep the Gunslinger’s pistols out, reloaded and cleaned, as well as a guard’s shotgun. And then I wait.
It takes them over an hour to return, the women washed and Cleaned, in new clothes and looking much healthier. Each of them is still missing the lower portion of a leg, but with Lana’s and Ingrid’s help, they’re able to ascend the building. Once I make it clear they’re for them, the ladies grab the pistols and shotgun I’ve left out, though Lana stops one of the ladies. She glares at Lana, her lip curling until another lady pulls on her arm. I watch the byplay, frowning slightly, but say nothing as I get a series of cold shoulders.
Stupid. Stupid old John for not putting the pieces together. The last thing they’d want is a male presence right now. Even if it’s one that saved them.
When we finally get back to the camp where Mikito has been keeping watch, Kyle is woken by the commotion. His jaw drops slightly when he sees one of the girls, and he rushes over to her. She flinches, moving away from his touch, which makes him pause, a flash of pain and self-recrimination flowing across his face. The kid manages to hide it, hovering around the girls and doing the best he can to help. Soon enough, the women are inside the group’s tent, asleep and watched over.
Lana walks over to where I’ve taken post, watching over the surroundings. I know other groups are out there, waiting and watching, trying to glean our intentions. Hopefully this helps.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Lana says.
“What?”
“The guns,” Lana replies then gestures to the tent. “Not a shrink, but pretty sure one of them has Stockholm Syndrome.”
Oh… I blink, staring at the tent. I understand the concept—that hostages, forced into close confines with their captors, actually come to side with them. I’m not exactly sure the reasons for this, beyond the fact that humans are weird, but I’d wager their recent experiences could do that. “She dangerous?”
“To us?” Lana snorts. “Maybe if Mikito lent her her weapon and we promised not to move for a few minutes. But still…”
“Sorry, thought they’d like some semblance of security,” I say, explaining my reasoning.
Lana nods, accepting my explanation. “Now, are you going to stop doing that shit?”
“Huh?” I blink, staring at her. “Oh. You mean hiding the group?”
“Exactly. And doing it by yourself. We’re not shrinking violets here, you know,” Lana says.
“Shrinking violets?”
“It’s a saying. We’re not demure ladies of the night,” Lana says.
I pause, waiting.
“Okay, that wasn’t… you know what I mean.”
“I do.” I sigh. “Sorry. Just after the last time…”
“The mountain man incident?”
“Yeah.” I sigh again. “But you’re right. I need to learn to talk to you guys. It’s just… hard.”
Lana shrugs. “Try, John. Try very hard. Because we can’t be a team if you don’t talk to us. And we’re getting pretty damn tired of this.”
We turn together to look at Kyle, who is seated at the fire and staring at the tent with the look of a puppy that has been put out. I debate asking for details. Why it happened. When it happened. How it could be let to cont
inue. But in the end, I leave it alone.
The past doesn’t matter. Not here. What is, is. We can move on or drown in the pain.
***
It takes us the better part of a week to convince the majority of the survivors to trust us and join our little convoy. To get their trust, we do everything from duels to quests to a night of drinking. We scare more than a few groups by showing up on their doorsteps even when they move, but in the end, some still won’t come. As the convoy finally moves out, Lana and Sam in the lead, I find myself staring at the trucks and chuckling.
“Fifty for your thoughts,” Ingrid says beside me.
“I thought it was a penny.”
Ingrid smiles, pulling out a bill and offering it to me. I stare at the fifty-dollar note, the plastic looking almost pristine even after all this time.
“Penny. Fifty dollars. Hell, I got an envelope of it somewhere,” Ingrid says. “You want it?”
“Yeah… no,” I say, shaking my head. So strange to think that we chased these pieces of paper – well plastic now - for all our lives and now she can’t even give it away. An illusion, shattered by the System. “I was thinking I should get a pipe and play a song.”
“The pied piper?” Ingrid sweeps her gaze over the refugees, some of them driving beat-up old trucks whose only advantage is their lack of technology. “Wasn’t he the bad guy?”
“Depends on what he did with the children after,” I say.
At least in the version I read, they never did say what happened. I stare at the string of vehicles, thinking of the journey ahead.
Chapter 5
I sigh as I trace the map of the highway, scribbled pre-System population numbers along each of the cities. We’d been in Dawson Creek for three days now, our search parties spread out and pulling whatever survivors they could from the scattered small towns back to our temporary base of operations. We set up here because the highway split from this point, giving us the best access to the smaller communities along those arteries of civilization.
