A picture of a smiling, red-haired boy holding a basketball filled the screen.
“Walford’s body had been dismembered and then sewn back together using parts from at least three different people. Police are still seeking information on the identity of the other victims.”
“It’s not three, it’s five, dumbasses,” Clara called at the screen. She had a smear of caramel around her face. “It’s always five different people. All boys except the heart.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Mommy issues.”
SmashSouth paced back and forth, chewing on his fingernail. He had a sleek, black assault rifle slung over his shoulder. It glowed in intervals with blue light. It was the same type of rifle Anatoly carried. “That dumbass,” he muttered. “Anatoly, Frank, Sal, and Princess. All locked up because he couldn’t keep it in-game. Fuck.”
“Wait,” I said, looking sharply up at the television. I’m going to Boston, he’d said. “Anatoly has been arrested?”
Hope swelled in my chest. If Anatoly was locked up, that meant they’d eventually search his apartment, and when they did, they’d find me trapped there. I was saved!
“Don’t look so excited,” SmashSouth said. “Nobody knows where the servers are located. Even if the cops manage to log in, which I doubt, they ain’t finding his lair. That means you’re just gonna rot.” He looked up at Clara. “Both of you are gonna rot.”
Clara laughed. She continued to munch on her candied apple.
“It looks like Anatoly topped up my rig when he snagged mister crypt keeper here. I have a good six months of sustenance keeping my pretty little body alive.” She finished the apple and threw it, stick and core, right at my head. I ducked, bewildered.
“How about you?” She asked. “You probably got six months left, too. Am I right?”
“Uh…” I began. Was this Clara woman a prisoner like I was, or was she one of Anatoly’s cronies?
“I know you have access,” she said. “He always gives them access. Go into your menu and look at ‘rig status.’ It should tell you the condition of your real body. Tell me what your sustenance number is.”
I had already seen this menu. I pulled it up now:
Rig
Active, no issues.
Waste Disposal: Active, no issues.
Sustenance: Active. 179.
Cap: 100% (Battery life 99.5% of peak efficiency)
Con: SCL Connected.
Subject
BPM: 67
BP: 125/82
“Uh, it says 179,” I said.
She nodded. “That means you have 179 feedings left. You get fed once a day.”
The ogre character continued to pace back and forth, his hands on his head. “We are so fucked,” he said. “Damn you, Frank. Fuck.”
Clara turned back to SmashSouth. “You know, for a sociopath, you sure are high strung.”
“I’m not a sociopath,” SmashSouth muttered, eyes glued to the television. He flipped channels, stopping on Sky News. They were also talking about the arrests. “Fucking Frank,” he repeated.
“You know, it’s kind of ironic,” Clara said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or SmashSouth. “They call him ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ Usually they called that green monster dude ‘Frankenstein,’ when the real Frankenstein is the doctor guy who created the monster. You’re supposed to call that monster ‘Frankenstein’s Monster,’ but they never do. They always just call it Frankenstein.” She jabbed her thumb at the television screen. “But now, they’re calling Frank ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ But he’s really the one putting the bodies together. So he’s really the doctor in this scenario. He should just be called ‘Frankenstein.’ You know what I mean? So they got it backward. Again.” She laughed. “The news media is so fucked up.”
“He called himself that,” I said, turning my attention back to the news. “He did in his first note.” I knew the story. I spoke, numb, my mind finally starting to catch up to everything that was going on around me. The serial killer from Massachusetts had been arrested. I remembered them finding the body of that missing kid. All the parts had been cut out and then sewn back together. Frankenstein’s Monster was one of Anatoly’s clients, I realized with horror. These two knew exactly who the serial killer was. Anatoly had also been arrested, along with a few other people.
“No shit?” Clara asked. She laughed again. “He called himself that? I didn’t know that. What a fucking idiot.”
“I need to get out of here,” SmashSouth announced. He pulled up an invisible menu and started typing furiously. “Jesus. They could be closing in right now. They’re probably trying to log in right now.”
“Quit being such a fucking pussy,” Clara said. “Christ, you’re whining worse than that poet woman Anatoly brought us.”
“Us?” SmashSouth said, his voice going up an octave. He continued to type in the air. “There’s gotta be a way to erase… There is no us.”
Clara leaped over the kitchen counter, catlike, moving faster than I thought possible. She came toe to toe with SmashSouth.
“You will not leave me here,” she said, growling the words. “If you leave me, I’ll tell them who you really are.”
The nerve agent paused, looking down at the diminutive figure next to him.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
She made an exasperated noise. “I know you’re from Omaha, Nebraska. I know you’re rich. I know you’re married to a real estate broker. I know you have a daughter. I know you have a Pomeranian named Missy Peapanties. I know you have a fetish for cutting holes in women and then with your itty, bitty…”
With a shrug, SmashSouth pulled the pulse rifle up over his shoulder, brought it to bear, and blasted Clara point-blank in the face. The rifle made a phoom noise, high and loud. The fae flew backward, her head just gone, her body spiraling blood like a goddamned pinwheel. Her tiny body crunched against the kitchen counter she’d just leaped over, crumpling to the floor. All of her clothes were gone. All that remained was a naked, anatomically-correct corpse. I blinked at that, surprised, shocked at the sudden nudity. My own corpse was always naked, but I hadn’t thought about it until now. In most games, your body was stripped of all its gear and clothes, but a simple, underwear-clad version remained.
I doubted the original version of the game was like this. It had to be something Anatoly added.
The smell of fire and smoke filled the room.
The snake looked up from the fire, then slithered toward the body.
I remained there, unmoving, unsure of what to do. The nerve agent and I both stood still for several moments.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever actually fired this gun,” SmashSouth finally said, breathing heavily, looking down at the body. “I hate video games.”
It was such an odd thing to say, I didn’t have a response. The snake opened its mouth wide, taking Clara’s corpse into its mouth, head first. The countdown timer above her head flickered away the moment the snake touched her body.
“I’ve only accidentally killed her a few times,” SmashSouth continued. He whispered the words, as if he was in a trance. He dropped the gun, and it clattered to the ground. “That’s why I was here. Anatoly promised me it was the most accurate simulation in the world. I could refine my skills on real people. Real, actual people. I know how close to the edge I can take them, but I get too excited sometimes. I could practice here, take them to that edge, the twilight area, the beautiful place. Anatoly said he could use me. I’d be a proctor. I don’t want them to die. I want that look in their eyes. Anatoly promised we’d all be human in the next version. It’s why I never quit. In the real world, I’m not this big.” He indicated the half-swallowed body on the ground. “And they’re usually not that small.” He was silent for a long time, and the room was filled with the guttural sound of the snake swallowing the body. “But I think I got a taste for it now, for the smaller ones.” He looked up at me, eyes going wide, as if he was surprised he wasn’t talking to an empty r
oom. “That’s Anatoly’s fault. He said we’d all be humans in the next version. I was fine with the regular ladies. I don’t even want to play the game. After a while, I just wanted her.”
I still said nothing, my mind racing.
SmashSouth continued. “She’s been here longer than me. She likes it. It’s like a dream come true. I want them to like it. She wanted you here. She said she was a fan of your art.”
“She’ll be back in a minute,” I said, unsure of what else to say. She was a fan of your art. “I don’t know if this is her regen spot.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s not mine, but it’s hers. She’s the one with the brand.” He went back to typing. “I didn’t even want to play this stupid game,” he repeated. “I couldn’t even get up to the level 7 Anatoly wanted us to. I can’t even leave my home base.”
I didn’t think about what I did next. His words entered my mind, and I reacted on an instinctual level. I cast Scalpel, and I leaped at the ogre-like creature. I formed the blade into a long, thin, puncturing weapon. I punched right at his exposed neck, and I felt the satisfying give as the knife pierced flesh. I pulled my hand back and punched again and again. The nerve agent’s eyes went wide with surprise and pain.
He dropped like a sack of rocks as notifications popped up in my feed.
Level Up!
You are now level 6!
Upgrades available.
I barely had time to register what I’d done. Chaos erupted the moment he hit the floor. The snake, in the middle of swallowing the body of Clara, began to buck wildly, throwing itself up and down, trying to bring itself to bear on me. It wanted to attack, but it couldn’t, not with its mouth full of the dead fae.
At the same time, Clara reappeared in the middle of the room. She arched her back, eyes rolling in an expression that I would assume to be pleasure if I didn’t know what she’d just gone through. A moment passed, then she unleashed an ear-shattering scream that never seemed to end.
The snake had what appeared to be a 140-second countdown timer over its head. I didn’t know what that was about, but I hoped it meant it would disappear. I didn’t wait. I leaped forward, slashing at the snake with my right hand. The blade bounced right off the tough scales, and the large snake hissed in outrage.
Oh fuck. It swung its head at me, the legs of Clara’s corpse still dangling from its mouth. I jumped back as it charged. It lifted its head up and down, like it was trying to swallow as rapidly as possible.
Clara pulled herself to her feet, brushing herself off. She looked down at the corpse of SmashSouth, eyes wide.
“Did you do that?” she asked as I fled the snake.
“He was less than level 7,” I gasped. I jumped over the couch, and the snake barreled over it, whipping at me. “I didn’t think about it. I just struck.”
“Well now you’re meat,” she said. “He might not be high level, but Ginger is. She’s gonna fuck you up.”
The snake—Ginger—smashed its own head against the wall, trying to dislodge the corpse stuck in its gullet.
“I didn’t think his pet would be harder to kill than him,” I said.
Clara grunted. “SmashSouth might not have played the game or trained himself up, but he let Ginger roam about Warble freely. Look how damn big she is, you moron. How do you think we teleported around? She’s a dimensional boa! She’s at least level 30.”
In other games I’d played, your pet couldn’t be a higher level than you. That apparently wasn’t the case here.
I jumped and slid over the counter in the kitchen, jabbing again with my hand blade. It scratched at the side of Ginger’s enormous head but did no damage. Most of the Clara corpse was now gone. Just a pair of bare feet hung out its mouth. In a moment, it—her?—would be able to freely open and close her mouth.
The counter on her head was down to 30.
“What does the counter mean?” I shouted, jumping backward over the couch. We ran in circles around the apartment, but Ginger was faster than me. She would catch me at any moment.
“How the hell should I know?” Clara asked.
I leaped over SmashSouth’s corpse, and as I landed, my left hand hit solid metal. With surprise, I realized this was the ogre’s pulse rifle. I had erroneously assumed it was an owned item, something I wouldn’t be able to pick up. I deactivated my Scalpel spell and snatched it up, pulling it to my chest.
A few notifications scrolled by, but I didn’t have time to read them. A new gauge appeared in my interface underneath health and soul points, indicating energy level. It was all the way to the top. The large, sleek rifle vibrated in my hands. My finger found the trigger as I turned to face the giant constrictor barreling toward me.
I screamed as I pulled the trigger. The weapon thwumped in my hands as a blue bolt crashed into the snake’s head.
…and promptly bounced right off. Clara yelped as the energy pulse ripped over her head. It smashed into the wall, blowing the Manet into pieces.
Huh, I thought idly, as the snake clamped onto my chest. You can destroy things in the apartment if you have a powerful enough weapon.
Chapter 11
The snake, thankfully, was gone when I regenerated. So was SmashSouth’s corpse.
Clara remained in the room. She had righted one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat upon it, cross-legged. She looked up at the vidscreen, which had been changed from a news station to what appeared to be a Korean soap opera.
I still had the rifle. I felt it slung over my shoulder, and the energy bar remained in the upper corner of my view.
I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. This is too much, this is too much.
I examined the rifle’s properties.
The Epiviper, Limited Edition. Number 4 of 7.
The finest pulse rifle manufactured by Epsilon Holdings. This small batch of limited edition rifles was commissioned by player Anatoly.
Highly upgradeable and endlessly versatile, the Epiviper is the most powerful, most efficient pulse rifle available to non-technology-based players.
Damage is based on player level and an attribute of the original owner’s choice.
Original owner: Player SmashSouth. Chosen attribute: Strength.
No wonder I hadn’t managed to scratch SmashSouth’s pet snake. This seemed like a great gun, but it was only as good as your current level and strength. Still, it was rare to find a weapon that would grow with you. It appeared these guns were something that Anatoly had made for his friends in the game. I remembered SmashSouth had dropped it to the ground after he shot Clara. The act of letting go of the weapon outside of your own base must have made it fair game for everybody else.
Clara munched on a popsicle. “So apparently that countdown timer meant Ginger was about to disappear. She probably went back to SmashSouth’s base inside of Warble. She only had about four seconds left after she ripped you in half. You should’ve just kept running. How did you manage to kill SmashSouth anyway? I’ve tried stabbing him a couple times, and it didn’t work.”
I pulled myself up. Phantom flames licked at my nerves. Banksy thrashed about inside of me.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Anatoly said you were like me, but I don’t think that’s true.”
“I am what’s called a consumable,” the fairy said. “Like a toner cartridge for a printer. But I’m still ticking away. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I stabbed him in the neck using a spell,” I said. “I didn’t think it would work, either.”
“You must have lucked out and criticaled him. You probably gained a couple levels too. Did you get to level three?”
I didn’t want her to know I was level six. “I only went up one level,” I said, which was technically true.
She shrugged. “It probably won’t do you any good. This season has been dragging on for a year and a half, and I haven’t managed to go up a single level. Anyway, SmashSouth is probably not coming back any time soon. Anatoly had told him to teleport here to pick you up, but he
can’t get in the base without my brand. He probably bugged out during that extended death sequence anyway. So now we’re stuck here. Assuming Anatoly doesn’t get out of prison in the next six months or one of those other crazy assholes doesn’t come in here looking for us—which they won’t—we’re probably dead. Like, really dead. At least we got cable.” She looked me up and down. “By the way, I’m not going to fuck you. Ever. Maybe if you had picked a less disgusting race. But this?” She waved up and down, indicating my body. “Nope. Not gonna happen, so don’t even ask.”
I had so many questions. So much didn’t make sense. “I was in his apartment,” I said. I indicated the room. “It looked just like this. Surely it’s not going to remain empty for the next six months. Someone has got to go in there and find us.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I doubt it. The dude has like twenty identities. I’m pretty sure the version you met is not even close to the real deal. SmashSouth once said he thinks the real version is Dutch.”
“This is crazy,” I said, remembering the nervous man I’d met in Starbucks. He’d acted like he’d never been there before.
“Daddy’s boy in Seattle, right? He has the top floor, and they’re renovating the bottom into a coffee bar? That’s where Clara prime got snagged also. Yeah, he told me the same thing when he captured me all those months ago. Anyway, the building is likely owned by a shell company of a shell company of a shell company. All the day-to-day operations, including paying the power bill, are controlled by AI. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about this stuff. If the FBI ever tracks all that down, it’s gonna be months. Maybe years.”
Kaiju- Battlefield Surgeon Page 8