by Arthur Stone
So many nonsense facts were prone to popping into his head from his past life. The actual past life, he remembered nothing of. It was a fascinating type of amnesia, devised by a genius.
A supremely evil genius.
The road was raised ever so barely. Cheater crouched down to examine the bones scattered around the asphalt. They were clearly not human. It seemed like scraps of animal fur and skin were mingled with them, as well. A coyote that had perished at the claws of an infected, perhaps? Whatever the case, these clusters were not as deserted as they seemed.
Obviously the vultures were not to blame. They did not have the strength to snap bones in half.
Cheater decided not to approach the station by walking straight down the road. Even a blind man would see him coming then. March could do it, perhaps, but if Cheater was going to be bait, he was not going to be stupid bait.
He crossed the road, then crept from stone to stone and from cactus to cactus. There was no other cover to be had. Some tiny bushes grew there, as well, but they were too small for a baby to hide behind.
His change in tactics led him to the aftermath of yet another feast. Bones, scraps of fabric, a twisted belt, and a flattened canteen. This time, the bones were human, unless the cluster came from a world where coyotes had evolved to master tools and clothing.
Crouching behind another large stone, Cheater wrote a chat message.
Fifty yards in, and I’ve found two piles of bones.
That happens, March replied. What else?
The road isn’t confined to this cluster. Two roads meet it from the surrounding desert clusters. They’re wide, paved roads leading out into the dunes.
I don’t see them.
They’re hard to see from up there. Other dunes and the station are in the way.
Got it. Keep going. We’re covering you.
Can you sense anything?
There’s something alive in that cluster, I can feel that. But after how hard this day has been, I can’t be sure what it is. I think it’s in the gas station, or behind it. But that’s not 100%.
Understood. Moving on.
Ten steps later, Cheater nearly tripped over a light machine gun. He picked it up and examined it. It was trashed. Its butt was bent to the side, and the barrel was twisted into a corkscrew. He checked the magazine, though. Twelve rounds. They would work for Tat and Roach’s submachine guns.
A decent find.
There was something else, too. A miserable plastic doll clad in a bright crimson dress. It was filthy. Some of the spots were certainly blood.
Why was this here? Some idiot went for the border with a bag of cheap toys and a light machine gun? No, I got that Cartography boost, so it clearly wasn’t a player. A lost digi from the city, perhaps? But they didn’t come this way. As soon as they saw the desert, they had turned around. Bots, perhaps? Toys didn’t fit his image of the insanely warlike race. Perhaps it had been an atomite. Maybe they loved all kinds of consumer goods made in China. And the scraps of clothing had closely resembled pieces from an atomite cloak. He had been unable to determine their color under the layers of dust and dirt. Perhaps they had been green.
Cheater looked around and headed to his left. Some of the cacti seemed suspicious. As if a ravenous pest had gnawed at them for hours.
Or they were shredded by so many bullets.
Or paws with long claws.
It was no surprise to find another pile of bones. Shell casings rested with them. Maybe that universe had gangs that dealt in cheap toys rather than drugs.
He found an anti-tank grenade launcher—again bent out of shape. Five yards further, he found a grenade. It looked ready to fire, but there was no way to fire it.
He had seen a bent machine gun just a minute ago. Now this grenade launcher was in much the same shape. Who loves mutilating weapons like this? Infecteds did that. But not runners—they didn’t have nearly the strength for it.
He crouched behind a cactus and pulled up the chat.
Bones everywhere. Atomites, bots, or NPCs. Still unclear. But their weapons are disfigured, as if by a strong infected.
What kind of weapons?
A light machine gun and an old Russian grenade launcher. Bent into a 90-degree angle. A perfect angle, like they used a protractor to make sure.
A raffler could do that easily. Even a mid-level one. If a flock roamed here once, it’s long gone. Nothing to eat.
I understand. Just reporting the situation.
Move faster. No need to report every stray pimple on your ass. It’s getting dark already.
Got it. I’ll try.
No try. Do.
Cheater looked around again and noticed more places where the cacti had been wounded in the battle between the infecteds and the unknowns. He skipped looking closer, as March had unequivocally ordered him to move quickly.
It was time to head to the gas station.
From this angle, new details became clear, besides the desert roads. The gas station was not from some well-known chain. Perhaps it was even just a one-off, privately owned. A barn of sorts stood behind it, surrounded by ruined automobile parts. Perhaps it was a workshop, a place to collect tools and spare parts. That would make Clown happy. Happy? Cheater chuckled at the thought.
There were no cars left to work on, sadly.
Continuing to move along the road, Cheater finally saw the side of the station that was invisible from the dune. A man stood at the corner of the building. No... it was a low-level infected. How had it gotten here? Or perhaps it had come in on the last reset and stayed, surrounded by desert, never venturing out.
Placing his rifle on the ground, Cheater equipped his bow slowly, strung it, and drew its string back.
It had been a long time since he had shot his favorite weapon. His hands were nearly shaking with anticipation. He had few arrows, and usually he was fighting in conditions where he could not retrieve them.
In the total silence of the evening, the twang of the bowstring seemed as loud as a pistol shot. The runner heard the sound, twitched, and began to turn. Just in time to take an arrow to the temple and collapse.
Cheater lowered his bow to the ground, about to remove his bowstring, but then another runner jumped out of the open gas station window. That was no surprise, as they often stayed in pairs, but still, he tensed.
And rightly so. Another infected jumped out of the same window moments later. It was not a runner, nor a raffler. A revolting parody of human form, with animal-like leaps and bounds in its movement. It was no trampler, either. However, this monster was not an insurmountable nightmare. Its level was around 40, Cheater guessed. Armored enough to take a burst from an automatic at point blank range, or even a shot from a powerful rifle, without being any the worse for wear. A pistol was only helpful in such a fight if one party wanted to shoot themselves.
Cheater did have a rifle. It was a good rifle, with above average caliber rounds. All he had to do was pick it up. But he had no armor-piercing bullets. At best, he would have time to shoot twice, and even lucky shots would only wound the beast’s limbs a bit. At this level, these things were well protected, but they had vulnerabilities enough.
Yet what good would it do for Cheater to cripple the monster if it was going to tear him apart?
No good at all.
So he did not pick up the rifle.
He waited.
Cheater had used Smile of Fortune earlier that afternoon, when they drove under the bridge filled with cord-free undead bungee jumpers. Its cooldown was nearly 24 hours.
Or after death, of course, which reset all cooldowns to zero.
However, Cheater was now able to use two skills in succession. Thanks to the loot he had been consuming from the last elite he had slain, his Spirit of Styx meter now held 121 mana. Smile of Fortune and Tranquility together required a total of 85. His regeneration had improved, as well, so he hardly had to worry about running out.
He prepared himself to use one of his main trump cards. But not y
et. It only had a range of 24 meters, anyway. Cheater didn’t have a rangefinder and could not accurately guess distances. He’d have to err on the side of too close.
Releasing his bow, Cheater grabbed his pistol.
His mind worked quickly enough for him to realize that by taking a single shot, he might reveal the particulars of his new ability to his partymates. Players did not like to advertise such things to the world.
One more jump, and it would be time.
The beast soared. Cheater shot its right knee, hitting it with Tranquility at the same time.
The ghoul hit an invisible bear trap at full gallop. It fell, face plowing into the stony soil. As it did, the back of its neck pointed towards the sky. The infected was still not mature enough to grow a solid defensive shield around its spore sac. Even a simple knife could take it out.
Cheater shot again. The monster fell silent in an instant, with no signs of life remaining besides its trembling legs.
Its left leg, that was. Perhaps the right leg wanted to tremble in agony, but it was in the middle of seven and a half seconds of total immobility. Utter tranquility.
Note: Personal victory: dangerous infected destroyed. Level 44. Chance of valuable loot: 100%. Congratulations on a clean kill. You have received 10 distributable base stat progress points. +24 progress points to Agility. +328 progress points to Willpower. +8 progress points to Reaction. +85 progress points to Accuracy. +31 progress points to Luck. +42 Humanity points.
Note: Party victory: infected destroyed. Level 9. Chance of valuable loot...
Party victory? Cheater stared towards the gas station. The runner, who had been well behind its train wreck of a leader, was nowhere to be seen.
How? Had someone taken it out? But he had heard no shot!
Actually... March did have a heavy suppressor on his rifle. Had he really decided to play target practice for once? Why did he shoot at the pathetic runner instead of this monster? Cheater imagined him shooting while sipping on yet another beer.
Thanks, March.
Chapter 19
Life Eight. Between the Sands
Tat appeared on the threshold and tossed a clinking bag on the floor wearily. “I checked everything twice.
“Just one shitty pistol. However, I did find five hundred rounds of ammunition. Take what you can use, everyone. Just leave me some rounds for my machine gun.”
Cheater didn’t even move towards the sack. He doubted very much that Tat had found the rare ammunition his rifle took. But if she had, no one else would take them. They only worked for his gun.
He was cleaning the gun at the moment, as he leaned against the shopkeeper’s counter. The trek through the desert aged weapons beyond their usage. Its light breeze had carried fine sand everywhere, and that didn’t just affect skin and clothing.
Hmm, a bath would be great. He itched badly and was filthy, not just with sand but with blood. The latter was a delicious aroma for infecteds. Not that he could find another set of clothes, in any case. But at least some basic hygiene would reduce the smell and improve his chances.
The gas station did have water. Hundreds of bottles of various sizes, enough to use for washing. Sadly, washing clothes wasn’t an option. Hanging wet clothes out to dry would just cause them to acquire cakes of the fine sand carried by the wind.
Roach crouched beside him, unbuckled his boots and threw them to one side, and extended his legs in front of him with a groan of pure satisfaction. “What a relief!”
Cheater winced at the smell of days-old socks. He wanted to make a snide remark, but Roach cut him off by holding out an opened tin can with a plastic fork stuck inside. “Here, brother, have a bite. This is good canned tuna. Responsibly sourced, even. Tastier than stew! Come on, have some, I know you won’t regret it.”
Cheater took the can with a straight face, trying to show absolutely no emotion at Roach’s surprising behavior. He had never shown any compassion towards any of them before.
Especially not towards the newcomer.
He tried a piece. It really wasn’t bad.
“Well? How is it?”
Cheater nodded, still chewing.
“Listen, you earned yourself a banquet today. Caviar and champagne! Sadly this little gas station is out of both, but make the best of it. Listen, Cheater, what’s different about you? I keep thinking about it. Can’t wrap my head around it.”
“What do you mean?”
“All of it. Everything, since the very beginning. You’re no normal player. The further we go, the more I’m convinced of that. How much Accuracy do you have to have to take down a helicopter with two bullets?”
“I got a little lucky.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure. So how’d you take down that biter, then? A second stroke of luck?”
Cheater took another bite and began to chew. “You saw how. I let it get close, then shot it in the leg. Once it went down, I took out its spore sac. It wasn’t that hard.”
Roach nodded. “Exactly. It wasn’t that hard. We’re not fools, Cheater. When March saw it, he said, ‘There goes Cheater again, working miracles. Like always.’ He knows there’s something different about you. We all do. I had a look at that biter. Not an autopsy, of course, but I believe you when you tell me how it died. It showed you its spore sac when it fell. No denying that. But why did it fall in the first place? It was running on flat ground. Nothing to trip on. How often have you seen ghouls of that size stumble? I never have. They’re nimble as hell! And your pistol was no match for that thing. It takes a whole box of pistol bullets just to scratch a biter, but this one went down with one bullet. But of course it did. Its knee was pulled out of joint. I saw it. It was broken, or dislocated, or just pulled, I don’t know; I’m no doctor. Yet I do know it would take a very special pistol to pull that off. Your pistol couldn’t have done that. So what happened?”
Cheater watched Roach’s monologue without reacting, and took another bite of tuna, just as before. “I shot it in the leg from up close. It collapsed, and there was its spore sac. So I shot it again. Right in the sac. That’s the best way to kill those things, you know.”
“You’re mocking me now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Just answering your question. Thanks for the tuna, Roach—it really was delicious.”
“You’re always welcome. Look, I need to know. Understand? Tell me!”
“I just told you everything.”
“Not at all, Cheater. Not at all. Come on, let me in on it. Tell me. I don’t tell anyone about your Kitty, you know.”
Cheater tensed at that. “What’s wrong with Kitty?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m just saying I know why you’re crossing the border. The Spiders were looking for someone with a nickname just like yours. One of their ads said that person was friends with a player named Kitty, from another region. It all adds up. Listen, no pussy is worth that much. Not even one with golden pearls for lip piercings. But that is your business. I never mentioned it. I’ll take your secrets to my grave. To all of my graves, that is. So what magic is this, you killing what was practically a manmincer with a pistol, even though you’re only level 22? Oh, congratulations, by the way. I bet your stats are growing like bamboo, aren’t they? So. What’s with the gun?”
“The pistol shoots bullets. Bullets kill things,” Cheater said, in the tone a man might use to explain the basics of toilets to toddlers.
“A comedian, then?” Roach fumed. “Well, let’s bring the others in on the joke! Hey everyone! You know why Cheater is fighting so hard to get across the border? You won’t believe this: he’s going to meet his girl! He’s going to meet Kitty! He must have died before he could finish, last time they were together. And it’s too much an insult to his manhood. Can you imagine?”
“So what?” Fatso asked, barely summoning the interest to posit the question as he munched on something.
“What do you mean, ‘so what’? Have you seen what Cheater can do? He does things at his noob level that should make th
e Janitor jealous. Nearly any woman out there would do whatever he wants, without asking for a dime. I’m being serious here. I really don’t understand.”
Fatso rustled through more bundles. “So he’s going to meet his girl. What’s wrong with that? That’s his business, not yours. Everyone here has their own reason to want across the border. Cheater’s reason sounds good enough to me.”
“Really? Good enough?”
“Sure. What’s wrong with it? He’s got a purpose. A clear, simple purpose. And he’s making it happen.”
“That’s not purpose. It’s foolishness.”
“It might seem like that to you, but to Cheater, it’s a worthy goal. Better than mine.”
“Really?” Roach cocked his head. “Why are you crossing?”
“I just wanted to have fun.”
“Come on. You just said you had a goal. Something beyond just getting a bunch of bonuses. You need something.”
“My goal is in another region. It’s called Rainbow.”
“What! Rainbow? The Rainbow? Are you kidding me?”
“I mean, it’s probably the same Rainbow. Pretty well-known place.”
“Are you hearing this?” Roach exclaimed.
“Shut up!” Clown barked coldly from behind the counter. “This is a cluster frequented by hungry biters, as we’ve seen. Making loud noises is idiocy.”
Roach reduced his volume a bit at that. “Didn’t you all here? Fatso is heading to Rainbow. That’s why he’s here!”
“So?” Clown muttered. “If he’s got legs, he can go where he wants. Why not Rainbow?”
“Rainbow is gay town! You into men, Fatso?”
“If you’re proposing to me, then I must decline. You’re not my type. But as for Rainbow, you’ve listened to a few too many jokes, I think. Stupid jokes. It’s just a place where people who love to live freely go. A place where there’s not always danger and treachery. A place where decent people are welcome. You can do what you want there, as long as it hurts no one. I think that’s a good place to live. But I’m not sure, so I’m going to check it out.”