by R. A. Mejia
As she turns into her poorly lit driveway and then into the detached garage, Samantha doesn’t notice the man in the black sweater and hoodie across the street that is watching her. She doesn’t see his cruel smile as he grips the knife in his pocket and watches.
—————
The man in the dark hooded sweatshirt, once lean and young, is now an overweight, middle-aged man. He stares at the house from the alley across the street, hiding from view. Growing up, he learned that you always had to have some kind of weapon on you, or other people would hurt you. Somehow, they could always tell if you were weak and helpless. Gripping the knife gives him the courage that he’s looking for to approach the house. It’s dark now, and the lady and kid that live there have gone to bed. One step, two steps, and he’s on his way. He doesn’t even look for traffic as he steps off the curb, but at this time of night, most decent people are asleep. He laughs inside at that. He’s been told that his whole life he’s not a decent person.
He makes it across the street and instinctively crouches down as he quietly walks up the driveway to the house that has been calling out to him these last weeks. He’d been fired again when they found out that he had lied on his application about being a convicted felon. It didn’t matter that he had served his time and hadn’t hurt anyone for the last ten years. He had made a promise to his ma before she died that he’d be good. But then he had been fired from the store, and he had just felt like walking. So, he did. And his feet led him right down this street. At first, he didn’t notice that he’d slowed down in front of the house. But he found himself staring at the house: blue paint, white trim that needed repair, and a little green lawn out in front. It was a nice home. But when someone bumped into him as he looked at it, he had felt angry--exactly like what he had felt when he was young. He had balled his fist up and almost hit the guy who had bumped him. But then he remembered Ma and the promise, and he put his balled-up fist into his pockets so that he wouldn’t use it to hurt anyone. Just like he promised.
He had walked away, glad that he had kept his anger in check. But from then on, he had felt compelled to take a daily walk; and, somehow, he’d find himself walking past that house, watching the woman and her daughter as they entered or left. Every time he walked past, it caught his eye, and eventually, it started to call to him. Quiet words, whispers, telling him to do bad things. Telling him that he didn’t have to be weak. That he could do what he wanted.
Now, he’s going to just take a peek. As his feet quietly take him up the driveway, his heart pounds in his chest. He feels the old excitement--the old thrill of doing what he shouldn’t. The house is dark, but something draws him to basement windows. He has to get on his hands and knees to look through them, but there is a red glow that he can just make out. It pulses as he gets closer. The basement window is locked, but he knows how to get around that. With a practiced movement, he uses his knife to unlock the window, and a moment later, he’s sliding it open. The window is narrow, and he has trouble getting through it. The last time he did this kind of thing, his waistline was much smaller. Even so, it only takes a minute to wiggle himself through. He has to be careful not to knock anything over, but that’s the trick, isn’t it? Careful and slow keeps a man from getting caught. His feet touch down on the basement floor. It’s concrete, and there is a furnace is in a corner, warming the room. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness, but one thing helps: the red glow. It’s faint and peeks out from behind some boxes. He moves them and can see that it is coming from beneath a painter’s used drop cloth. The red glow pulses faster as his hand stretches out and pulls away the cloth. What’s revealed isn’t what he was expecting--not that he was sure what to expect. It’s just a closet door. Sure, it’s a bright red color, but why would it be glowing?
A sound upstairs should concern him, but his mind has already been captured by the brightly glowing door. He reaches out and opens the door, and his whole life changes.
The world is dark and lonely. So dark that he can’t even see his own hand when he waves it in front of his face. But then there is light. A blue box appears in front of him.
Welcome, Subject, to Experiment #65032B52. You will be subjected to a series of experiences that will hopefully make you a more powerful addition to our company’s team. Please report any bugs or issues to your superior. Good luck.
———--
Samantha turns on the lights to the basement, shotgun in hand, ready to go murder hobo on anyone breaking into her house. But no one’s there. She notices that there is a breeze coming from the open basement window, and her blood runs cold when she sees that a stack of boxes has been thrown aside. The gun comes up as she inspects the room, but aside from those two things, there’s no sign that anyone was there. Something red catches her attention out of the corner of her eye, but when she turns to look, she doesn’t find anything except that old painter’s tarp piled up against the plain white wall. She remembers using it when she was repainting the living room. She dismisses the glow as a trick of the light. After closing the basement window, locking it, and putting an old plastic pipe in the window railing so that it can’t slide open, she goes back upstairs, where she makes one more check of the house before putting the shotgun away in its case. She peeks in on her daughter, who is sleeping soundly in her room, before going to bed and falling asleep to troubled dreams.
Chapter 8
Walking into any dungeon entrance is a surreal experience. One moment, I’m in the modern world. The next, I’m transported to a pocket dimension where anything is possible. I’m glad that I took a few moments before entering to text my roommate Jeff and my Mom, telling them I might be out of touch for a few days, because in the case of this dungeon, my first steps into the world prove to be into an actual dungeon. You know, one with thick stone walls and iron bars. I’m confused for a moment by the overwhelming smell of body odor, human waste, and the sea all mixed together. The cell I’m in has a wooden bench along the wall to opposite the entrance and a barred window set in the wall above it. Stepping on the bench that is undoubtedly also meant to be my bed, I can just see out of the window if I stand on my tiptoes. Wherever I am, I must be somewhere high up because I have a view of an entire harbor from here. Large two- and three-masted ships sail in and out, and the wharf is filled with docked ships. I’m too far away to see what they’re be unloading, but I can tell that the city behind it is massive. Large stone buildings, several stories high, are staggered along the hillside, giving the impression that the hills are covered in barnacle-like growths.
A jingling noise behind me makes me turn, and I see the face of a bald man with a bushy mustache near the small barred window of my wooden cell door. He looks through the bars and mutters some command in French. When I don’t respond, he shouts again. I shrug my shoulders and say, “Sorry, buddy, I have no idea what you’re saying.”
He shakes his head and says with a thick accent, “Oh, wonderful, another stupid Englishman.” I hear more jingling as the man fiddles with something and then a click as the heavy lock on the door opens. Standing in the doorway is a slovenly, overweight man in a long-sleeved black shirt and white pants. Well, the pants would be white if they weren't covered in dirt and smudges. He spits on the stone floor, puts one hand on the sword at his waist, and continues, “I am taking you for your…” He seems to struggle to find the right word and says something in French instead. Seeing that I still don’t understand, he tries to explain. “It is what you get for you’re crime. The thing.”
Looking around, I guess, “Jail? Trial? Sentencing?”
It’s clear from the confused look on his face that he doesn’t know those words either, but he shrugs and motions for me to come out of the cell. “Come. Come. I will take you for your . . . sentencing. Do not make trouble, or I will have to hurt you.”
Based on the stupid grin that grows on his face as he says the last part, I don’t think he’d really mind hurting me. As I step out of the cell, a notificatio
n pops up.
Quest: Escape the Chateau d'Why.
You must escape your prison or face the guillotine for crimes against the crown.
Reward: Freedom, 3000 XP
Failure: Execution and respawn
Reading the quest description, my steps falter, and I look back the heavyset jailer in a new light. He’s taking me to my execution. The thought repeats itself in my mind until the jailer squints at me suspiciously, and I see that his hand tightens on the sword’s hilt at his waist. I smile back and force myself to take another step into the poorly lit hallway.
“Keep walking straight ahead until I tell you otherwise,” he says. I comply with the order, walking past other cells. Most seem empty, but several have their occupants’ faces pressed against their doors’ bars, trying to get a look at what’s happening. The inmates shout out, but since their words are in French, I’m unsure if they’re hurling insults at me or my jailer.
As we walk, my eyes search for some way out. After all, if I got a quest for it, there must be some way to escape. As the seconds pass, though, I start to lose hope that some magical opportunity will present itself. Instead, the jingling of the jailer’s keys catches my attention. In an instant, I know what I must do. I open up my inventory and equip my war hammer. Then, using the sound of the jingling keys as a location source, I spin around and swing out hard with the weapon while activating my ability Bash at the same time. The hammer glows red as my upward swing crashes into the fat jailer’s head. He staggers backward a step, a red 7 floating away from him. He looks at me, stunned and confused as to where I got the weapon, but then he takes a deep breath, undoubtedly ready to call out for help. But I’m already bringing my war hammer back in for another attack. The weapon slams into the jailer’s stomach forcing the air out of his lungs and halts any cries he might make. The man involuntarily bends forward from the blow, and my next hit comes crashing down on the back of his vulnerable skull with the extra force from another use of the Bash ability. There’s a sickening crunch as the war hammer crushes his skull, and a red 15 floats from the body.
You’ve defeated Sloven Jailer, level 7. You receive 35 XP.
The notification confirms the kill, and I start searching him for the keys to the jail cells. It only takes me a few moments to roll the body over and retrieve them, and then I strip the guard of both his uniform and his weapon. My regular clothes drop into my inventory when I equip the uniform, and I almost gag at the smell. This guy did not take personal hygiene very seriously. The uniform is a bit big on me, but I’m hoping to pass through the jail quickly before any other guards come by.
Before I can take my first steps away, I hear a voice from one of the cells call out, “Monsieur! Monsieur! Take me with you! I can show you the way out!”
The cry makes me stop and turn. I could certainly use a guide out of here. I walk over to the cell and find a dirty, bearded face peeking through the bars. He smiles at me, but his rotted yellow teeth do nothing to inspire confidence. Still, if he can help me escape, what do I care if he’s never been to a dentist? “You say you know the way out of here? How do I know that I can trust you?”
He smiles wider, revealing his missing teeth. “I am Pierre, and I too am supposed to be executed. If I get re-captured”--he makes a cutting motion across his neck--“then it is the end for me too.”
The logic makes sense and I shrug, hoping that this is the dungeon’s solution to its quest. I unlock the cell’s door with the keys, and the wiry-bearded man quickly exits his cell. He sees the jailer lying on the floor and points to him. “Were you going to leave the body there for anyone to find?” He shakes his head. “Sacré bleu, help me carry it inside the cell, and then we can escape.”
The suggestion makes sense. Usually, a killed enemy or monster’s body disappears, but this one seems to want to stick around. It may be a special feature of the dungeon itself or just this prison. Either way, the inmate is correct. I grab the body by its shoulders, he grabs the legs, and together we drag the corpse into the inmate’s cell and close the door.
The two of us walk down the poorly lit stone hallways, Pierre in the lead. He takes me through several twists and turns until we hear the sounds of talking, and then the lighting gets better. Pierre holds up a hand for me to stop and then crouches down and almost disappears from my sight. I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not imagining things, but no, he suddenly blends in with the shadows much better than when he was standing and walking. I can barely make out his outline as he slowly moves toward the corner of the intersecting hallways. He peeks around the corner for only a moment and then slowly makes his way back to me. When he stands up straight again, he becomes visible once more. “Monsieur, there are two guards ahead. I think we can sneak past them if we stick to the shadows. Or we can fight our way through. Which do you choose?”
Quest: Fight, flight, or sneak?
You must get by the many guards seeking to keep you imprisoned. You may choose to fight your way through, sneak, run away, or use some other means of getting by them.
Reward: 500 XP
Failure: Recapture
I think about our options. If I start a fight, the guards may call for reinforcements. I consider sneaking past, but I don’t have the needed skills. An idea occurs to me, and I ask, “Pierre, could you teach me to sneak like you do?”
The inmate looks me up and down while he considers my request and then nods. “I could. You look like you are flexible and dexterous enough.” The way he phrases the answer sets off my gamer senses, and I wonder if I just passed a dexterity check. The two of us back away from the intersection to an isolated place farther back in the hallway, and he proceeds to instruct me in the ancient and most venerable art of sneaking. Pierre demonstrates the correct way to sneak, which amounts to crouching down and sticking to the deepest shadows that you can find.
I feel silly imitating the action, skeptical that simply crouching magically makes me less noticeable, but then I remember that the System doesn’t follow normal physics. I bend my knees and crouch down, doing my best imitation of Solid Snake. I wonder if that box trick works too, and I imagine myself able to sneak past the best security systems simply because I am hiding under a cardboard box.
I practice again and again, and Pierre corrects some small element of my form each time until my UI suddenly changes. The outline of a single closed eye appears at the top of my vision, and a notification appears.
Congratulations. You’ve learned the skill Sneak, level 1.
Sneak
Current Level: 1
You’ve learned the most basic of skills down the shadowy path of stealth. Sneak allows you to hide and access the special UI features indicating how well you are hidden from view. Successfully sneaking depends on a number of factors including: light sources available, perception levels of opponents, rate of movement, field of view, level of sound while moving, and more. Artificial cloaking methods or Potions of Invisibility do not increase this skill. Synergizes with Deception.
Bonus: 1% increase to Sneak speed.
I jump up in excitement at seeing the notification, causing the eye in my UI to open and flash red before disappearing. Pierre shakes his head before admonishing me. “Congratulations. Although, I should warn you to not break your skill like that unless you are trying to get caught.”
I nod agreeably, too excited over getting a new skill to take the words personally.
Pierre waggles one finger towards me and says, “The last bit of advice I can give you is that, no matter if you have the correct form, watch where the guards are looking. If you are moving in full light and they are looking right at you, do not expect to successfully sneak past them.”
The advice gels with what I know from the stealth games I’ve played in the past where you have to keep track of a guard’s movement patterns, field of view, and the light sources in the area while you are trying to sneak through.
Having obtained the skill, the two of us return to the intersection of the hallw
ays. Pierre takes the proper sneaking stance and stealths. I follow suit, and my UI changes again. The closed eye at the top of my vision reappears, and as I approach the corner and peek around it, the eye opens slightly, letting me know that I’m more visible because of the lighting ahead. Still, I’m mostly hidden, and I can now see the two guards Pierre mentioned standing in front of a heavy wooden door, facing us. The two men, both in the same black-and-white striped uniform that I’m wearing, chat quietly with each other. There is a single stairway between us that leads to a lower level, and there are torches along the walls at regular intervals, but they are far enough apart that there are regularly-spaced patches of shadows.
I feel a pull on my shirt from behind and almost jump again in surprise, but I catch myself at the last moment, remembering that it will break my stealth. I turn and see Pierre’s shadowy outline, and I creep backward away from the intersection. Once we’re away from the corner, we both unstealth.
“Monsieur, now you have seen. Shall we sneak past or try to kill the guards?”
I think for a moment before answering, “We try to make it. We’ll fight if we have to, but stealth first.”
Pierre nods once before entering sneak mode and disappearing in the shadows. I do the same and follow his outline as he turns the corner and hugs the far wall, moving slowly and stopping in the shadowy patch between torches. A faint hand waves to me, indicating that I should follow him. I take my first step around the corner and into the better-lit hallway, and the eye at the top of my UI opens a fraction more. I’m still hidden, but much less so than when I was in the dark hallway. Nervous about getting caught, I rush forward, and the eye opens up a fraction more. I look around to see if the guards noticed me, but they haven’t. They’re still casually talking to each other. I realize that I must have been moving too fast and that’s what triggered the small loss of stealth. More slowly, I tiptoe to the far wall and press against it before moving forward until I reach the patch of shadow that Pierre is waiting in. When I reach it, the eye in my UI fully closes once more.