by Arthur Stone
A large number of messages greeted him. As he read them, he could feel March’s growing rage at Cheater’s apparent cold shoulder.
“Morning, Cheat. How are things, buddy? Still alive?”
“Not morning anymore, Cheater, and still no reply. Have you gone dark? As in dark clusters?”
“Cheat, if you went dark, you’d be dead now. I know you’re ignoring me.”
“Seriously, how many times must I call? You forget how to spell or something?”
“Hmm. Even you wouldn’t ignore me for this long. Something else must be going on.”
“Hey! You forget how to use the chat or something?”
“I’m giving you 15 minutes, Cheater. Otherwise I’m donning my Sunday clothes and taking your beloved Kitty out on a date. With a happy ending.”
“There, there, stop crying now. I decided to cancel the date. I just don’t have the time, you know? But you do really have only 15 minutes. Or that happy ending is coming your way. I’m not clingy. I’m a maverick. Seriously. But you’re forcing me to make exceptions here.”
“We playing the quiet game? Now I have to come for you. Matter of principle. What kind of flowers do you like? How about I bring a few pals along and we make a whole or... er, ordeal out of it? They’re cute guys, really. Athletic, too. And pro sumo wrestlers.”
“I guess that’s tacit agreement, then? Never took you for the sumo type.”
“You’ve really got it out for me, don’t you?” Fine then. You win.”
Cheater sighed. March had signed off and was probably off somewhere snoring, half-drowned in a pool of beer. There was no use reaching out.
But he tried anyway.
“Hi. If you’re bringing those sumo guys, tell them to grab a machine gun each. And a few grenade launchers. Otherwise you’ll never reach me. Though honestly, I doubt you would even with the launchers. But hey, you could send yourselves off to respawn with a nice fireworks show, at least. Sorry for the silence. Not my fault. Didn’t have a choice.”
Cheater was shocked to get an answer back in a matter of seconds.
“No choice? Why? Let me guess. You found your woman, and the two of you forgot your honor. If so, look, I’ll accept it. Just let me know if you still want the sumo guys.”
“It’s more complicated than that. I got shot.”
“Where? Right through the chat window, apparently.”
“Almost. It was a bad wound. I reached a fresh cluster just after it came in. Thought that if the surgeons at the local hospital could patch up my belly, I’d recover on my own afterwards.”
“But you forgot that you’re a moron.”
“I didn’t have a choice, March. Seriously. I was on the tail end of goldspec, and it was either get into the city covered in blood and get sewn up, or wait for the spec to run out, crash to the forest floor, and get eaten by the ants. The city seemed better, and it was.”
“I’m not sure you’re sure of that.”
“I was in a coma for a few days.”
“Immunes are never in comas for a few days. Or at least not often.”
“Well, I was. The city died out in the meantime. When I came to, I was still on an operating table. Somehow they sewed my stomach up. Looks pretty bad. But I was on some kind of IV.”
“Huh? An IV means nurses. Take a look around and see if they’re hiding somewhere. Most of the digi nurses are sluts, but you might find a decent one.”
“Doubt it.”
“Seriously. There are non-slut digi nurses. You have a chance.”
“You know that’s not what I mean. “This operating room is filled with gnawed bones and uneaten body parts. Human body parts.”
“So you’ve been sitting there half-solid in the midst of this gruesome ritual, and only now does the thought occur to write me? Something isn’t adding up here, buddy. You’re lying.”
“I can hardly believe it myself, but that’s how it is. I found this notebook here, too. It’s like a diary or something. Short. At first, the doctor or nurse gives a normal, level-headed description of my case. I’m terrifically injured, et cetera, et cetera, and they bring me in for emergency surgery. But then—well, I can’t really explain what happens. The writing becomes more and more nonsensical, but from what I gather, the medical team abandoned the surgery before they could finish it. I was sewn up by a notetaking, nonsense-blabbering digi. Looks like his mind was starting to fall apart so much that he took me for some kind of wounded god. I should have kicked the bucket long ago in my condition, but for some reason I didn’t. Thus, he concluded my divinity. My operating table became an altar. He tied me down with scotch tape and painted runes all over with his blood. Then, he began to use the blood of others. It was a mass sacrifice. The maniac dragged all of the cripples in here to offer them up in my praise. The journal ends in scribbles. Lots of scribbles. The farther you ‘read,’ the worse they look. As if the man was forgetting how to spell, then how to write, then how to hold a pencil. Worse and worse. Body parts fill the operating room, and some have been noticeably devoured. Not just eaten. Ravaged. I can barely keep my eyes open in this stench. But I can’t figure out what happened, March. I wanted to bail right away, of course, but who knows what’s waiting for me just outside? It’s too early. As long as I stay in this room, I have a good chance of staying in one piece.”
“Ah. Look at you, getting smarter. Well thought! Hospitals are always bad places to be, Cheat.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“The infection proceeds at different rates from one digi to the next. This one’s transformation was apparently very gradual. Perhaps some semblance of human thought still remains in his mind. That single thought that you are a creature of divinity. But you’d best abandon all of your deluded aspirations to godhood. Sooner or later, infecteds forget absolutely everything that might prevent them from making a meal out of you. I doubt you have much time. When did you arrive at the hospital?”
“I don’t know. When did we go our separate ways?”
“I caught up with you just over a week ago, in the evening. It’s midnight right now.”
“When you left, I walked part of the night. Then I walked all day, and spent the night in a motel. I got shot the next morning, just after dawn broke. Probably arrived at the hospital one hour later or so. It couldn’t have been much longer, or I would have died.”
“In short, this benefactor of yours may have been working on his grumble for five days now. Am I counting that right?”
“How long does it take them to turn?”
“Depends. Usually between twelve and thirty hours. Sometimes, it can take up to three days. I’ve heard it can take even longer, though I haven’t seen proof of that. But even if he turned straightaway, his level can’t be very high. If it’s higher than yours, it’ll only be a bit higher. Worst-case scenario. You’ll have no trouble taking him out.”
“With what? My naked ass? I don’t even have clothing!”
“You’re going dumb again, Cheat. That’s an operating room. There’s got to be a scalpel or something.”
“Got two.”
“Good job. Now go look some more. What about a coat hanger or something just outside the door? Clothes and a potential weapon, right there.”
“The door’s closed. I don’t see a coat rack or anything.”
“Go take a look.”
“I’d be up to my knees in dead. What does it matter? I can handle this without clothes. I have to find out where I am and which way to go. Can you help me?”
“So who’s your party leader right now? You, or that beautiful girl who’s probably off flirting with suitors as we speak?”
“If she had forgotten me, she would have kicked me long ago. I’m the leader right now.”
“There isn’t a woman in the world like that, Cheater. They’re all the same. When they...”
“This really isn’t the time for chauvinist tirades, March.”
“Fine, fine. Look, invite me. I’ll figure out where you are.�
��
Cheater sent March a party invite. While he waited, he looked around the operating room for useful items. He drank some glucose he found and wrapped his fists up in elastic bandages.
His acquaintance got back a few minutes later.”
“You’re in cluster 361-55-77.”
“Oh thanks. That clears things up. March, I already knew that.”
“What? How?”
“I saw it in the system messages while I was unconscious.”
“Damn. I think the beer here is spiked or something. I’m not thinking straight.”
“That’s all I know. I was very much out of it when they brought me here.”
“Well, what is there to know? It’s an ordinary city cluster. City, suburbs around the city, and a little bit of country at the edges. You’ve strayed south. To get back on course, go directly east. After crossing eight or so large clusters, you’ll arrive at the stable.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Sure, I can tell you a thing or two about the area. I have a map, but it’s not very good. Got it for next to nothing. You should start investing in some maps, too, by the way. Even if you get sent off to another region, they might come in handy.”
“Got it. So I need to get out of the city and head due east.”
“Get out of the city? Hah!”
“What?”
“You’re not getting out. Until you respawn, anyway.”
“Why? Is there something you’re not telling me about this place?”
“Nothing you don’t already know. You’re in a place some insane ghoul considers his lair and temple to the God of Cheating. He’s built up a storehouse of food there, and he’ll be back for it, you can count on that. Or perhaps something else will beat him to it, thanks to the wonderful aroma. Even if you get out of the hospital, which won’t be easy, you’ll have the time of your life in the city proper. All without decent weapons or gear, and while wounded. How are you feeling, by the way?”
“Like raw shit. I can’t even bend over. It feels like a couple of my ribs were removed. Along with some of my intestines. But I still have an appetite, so that’s a good sign.”
“You’re an immune. We aren’t easy to kill. You need to eat some good food, though—then you might be back to normal in a few days. Our insides recover fast. Though I’m not sure about missing ribs.”
“Can I get my stuff back? The bow, at least?”
“Was the bow bound to you?”
“No. I didn’t have enough money for that, and my Strength is too weak to take something that heavy to respawn.”
“Who said anything about respawn? You didn’t die, right? It’s hard to lose a bound item, but your bow wasn’t bound, so it’s lost. Or is it? This is all still the piss-poor beer talking. The police would have collected the bow, to be sure. Since you had gunshot wounds, they would have been called right away. But if that didn’t happen, the bow could be in the hospital somewhere.”
“Where?”
“How would I know that? I’ve not once heard a story like yours before. You’re the master of new adventures, not me.”
“Given what I know of you, I very much doubt you’re unacquainted with adventure yourself. Now, let’s talk about the map.”
“What about it? It’s big and colorful, with blue rivers and green forests.”
“Hilarious. Where exactly in the city am I? Which way should I go to get to the edge the quickest?”
“Any direction, Cheat. You’re basically right in the middle.”
“Goddammit.”
“Hey, cheer up.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why’? You can go anywhere you want. You’re a free man. Unbound! Except by the woman of yours, that is.”
Cheater was just about to reply that this news was not exactly encouraging, when he froze at an evil sound.
A grumbling sound mingled with disgusting chomps and a heavy, dragging noise.
It was getting louder.
Chapter 3
Life Six: Unauthorized Discharge
Cheater crouched against the wall and froze. His fingers gripped the thin handle of the scalpel. The still-unknown threat continued its mysterious romp beyond the door for about five minutes. Grumbling, chomping, and dragging. It was clearly in no hurry to enter—or it was trying to remember how to open the door.
Come on, just keep walking. Maybe it was doing just that. Walking by. It had found a tasty snack in the hallway and was happily munching without even a thought about what might lie beyond this door.
Suddenly a mad tickle attacked Cheater’s nose, so fast that he just barely kept himself from sneezing. Nearly dropping his scalpel, he pushed his hand to his face with so much force his eyes nearly popped out.
The sneeze was rejected, but he suspected that the ghoul had sensed his movement. The sounds behind the door subsided in an instant, giving way to mortal silence. A quiet but ominous creaking followed, and the door began to move.
The beast didn’t even need to use the handle.
It just pushed. So much for it passing by. Now the ghoul would enter the operating room, where it could not possibly fail to notice Cheater. He prayed to the System that this ghoul was a young weakling. The kind that abounded in a recently rebooted cluster. Even if it was a hardened runner, Cheater could take it.
But a ghoul from some other cluster who had come to town for take-out? That was what he was afraid of. Those intelligent predators swooped in on fresh clusters from all sides, using their powers as developed infecteds to snatch the tastiest morsels available. A cripple with a scalpel would have no prayer against them.
The door stopped its creaking as it swung wide. A wash of fresher air blew into the musty room as a dark, hunched figure stepped inside. It did not even glance towards the man crouched against the wall, but moved quickly to the center, standing in front of the abandoned operating table, and grumbled in puzzlement.
At that moment, Cheater threw the scalpel. The fire had faded once more, limiting visibility, but the silhouette of the target’s head was clearly visible against the backdrop of the window.
As was the silhouette of its sporesac.
Cheater was not surprised that he hit exactly where he wanted. By now, he took his Accuracy for granted in such cases.
But what followed was a surprise.
A very unpleasant surprise.
Instead of silently dropping to the floor covered in blood, the infected staggered, rested both its hands on the couch, and utter multiple timbres of grumble. Then, it began to awkwardly turn towards him.
Damn! Hits to the sporesac had always been instant kills. Cheater had even killed an elite that way. But despite the hit to its Achilles’ heel, this obviously meager-level infected had managed to remain standing.
This scalpel was definitely to blame. Its blade had been too thin, and it had entered at a perfectly straight angle, slipping through without damaging the crucial webbing. Instead of collapsing without a sound, the ghoul kicked off a concert. That cunning grumbling would summon other creatures from hundreds of yards away, if Cheater’s luck failed to save him.
The man surged off the wall, rushing in to attack. Dodging an uncertain hand extending his way, he slammed his left fist into the ghoul’s sporesac with such force that he felt a ripping pain under his ribs, causing him to sigh involuntarily.
Right. Avoid physical exertion.
It finally fell silent and collapsed, hitting the table along the way and creating a short medley of singing surgical instruments. As if in antiphony, a grumbling plodded in through the door. Another one outside. But this ghoul’s song turned into screeching, pounding, and squealing. It was terrifying: Cheater has never heard anything like it from the ghouls.
He looked around in a panic but saw nothing more suitable than his scalpel. Of course, there could have been a full complement of machine guns sitting in the corner, but he’d never see them in this light. The scalpel would have to do. No matter how badl
y its compatriot’s performance had been.
But what was this attacker? It sounded like a roaring elite, but encumbered with tank armor and barely able to drag its own weight. No closer associations came to mind.
Frightening, incomprehensible sounds, and yet combined with a mournful grumbling. This ghoul seemed deeply saddened by something, but that was no cause for comfort for Cheater, only cause for deeper concern.
It would probably be delighted to see him.
A dark mass, built of inconceivably angular outlines, loomed close to the threshold, then pushed its way in. An elite. I’m done. But then the foliage outside the window rustled aside in the wind serving to simultaneously fan the fire, and these in combination gave better light to the room.
It was all Cheater could do not to swear aloud. Elite, my ass. It was a low-level ghoul. He could take it with his bare hands if he wanted. The strange shape and screeching were symptoms of the hospital gurney the man was lugging behind him. Perhaps he had been brought here before the city had gone insane, during the period where the earliest ghouls were mistaken for ill humans and treated as such. These patients disliked all of the medical services rendered, of course, and showed little gratitude and much aggression. So he was not surprised to see the walker firmly bound to the gurney.
Later, the staff had run away to hide—or to begin feeding—and the ghoul had been unable to free himself, yet somehow he had toppled the gurney and started walking with it positioned vertically on his back. The edges rattled and scraped along the walls and floor to create a soundtrack straight out of a Halloween flick.
“Aren’t you a regular ninja’?” Cheater picked up a heavy device positioned nearby and smashed the noisy troublemaker in the head a couple of times.
Infected destroyed. Level 8. Chance of valuable loot: 88%. +1 progress points to Strength. +1 progress points to Accuracy. +2 Humanity points. Infected destroyed. Level 3. Chance of valuable loot: 28%. +1 progress points to Strength. +2 Humanity points.
Excellent. The system considered the battle to be over, which meant that there were no nearby enemies hunting Cheater. There may have been infecteds who had heard the alluring sounds, but they had little chance of discovering the precise source of them. Hospital buildings were mazes, and ghouls often got lost, getting turned around in corridors and sometimes going in the completely opposite direction.