Side Quest

by Christopher Kerns

  Dozer’s voice cut through over the channel. “The machine guns can be accessed through the panel on the right, missiles and other assorted goodies on the left. The guns have infinite ammo, just let ‘em rip. Don’t be shy.”

  Careful what you wish for.

  “Let’s see it, Spit,” Punch said over the comm. “You’re a killer. You’ve got that itch—that one that taunts you and begs you and wants to be scratched. You’ve always had it.”

  What Punch didn’t realize was that Mitch didn’t need a pep talk today. He could feel an involuntary snarl lift the right side of his lip as thoughts of Red Code and the past few years swam through his head. Replaying the Red Battle on an infinite loop, seeing that red bastard staring down at him, watching the scoreboard flash to a loss. The thought of finally settling the score notched his heart rate up more than a few clicks as he gripped the controls tighter.

  “You got this,” Punch said. “Being a badass is just like riding a manatee. That sumbitch bucks you off, you just splash some water on your face and get right back on.”

  Mitch spun the targeting computer, honing in on a lone T-Rex a few dunes away. He gave the system a few seconds to highlight a green circle around the creature, selected “Machine Gun 1” from his weapons wheel, closed his eyes, and squeezed the trigger. A rush of vibration filled the cockpit, rattling him right out of the chair, as the machine guns let loose. The Annihilator’s design apparently hadn’t included soundproofing, and a chorus of chaos rang through his ears with each squeeze of the trigger. Strangely, the destruction didn’t feel foreign or jarring: it felt just right. Like the groove of a song that you keep on that playlist, one that puts you in the zone, one that gets your head bobbing to the beat.

  And Mitch wanted to turn that shit up.

  He released his grip, opening his eyes to check the results. Behind a long path of bullet-pocked sand, a single palm tree was split into two, butterflied open with both tips split onto different sides of the hill. Between the splinters, he could see a dinosaur’s tail, flicking back and forth as it ran for safety.

  “You killed a tree,” Dozer chimed over the comm, her laughter echoing through his headphones. “But you really killed it. Hey Mitch, tell me something, can you check your stats? Did you level up?”

  Goddamnit.

  “Ignore her, Mitch,” Punch said. “Practice makes perfect. Give it another go … maybe with your eyes open this time, kemosabe?”

  “Just find your pattern, Mitch,” Fuse said over the radio. “Like Punch said—scratch the itch.”

  Shut up, Fuse. Mitch pushed at the stick, moving the robot a few steps forward to locate a fresh target: a new four-foot tall lizard, staring off at a flock of birds, whipping its tail back and forth without a care in the world. But as Mitch focused his aim, he no longer saw a T-Rex in front of him. He was picturing someone else—that red son-of-a-bitch that had ruined his life. He gripped the stick tighter and squeezed, this time forcing his eyes open, fighting against the wave of noise and movement and everything else flooding his senses. He watched the gunfire spray the dunes and quickly course-corrected, steering the slow flow of lead towards the dinosaur, which was already sprinting for cover. Pulling his aim ahead of its path, Mitch squeezed the trigger again and watched the creature explode into a cloud of red and bone and skin. A new status popped up, rewarding him with a handful of points.

  KARMA POINTS +50. NEW TOTAL: 999,990,549

  “That’s the shit, right there,” Dozer yelled.

  Mitch popped the cockpit, jumping down, boots hitting sand, and gazed back up at the smoking guns. “You really ride manatees?” Mitch asked Punch.

  “Well, yeah,” Punch said. “But not in video games. That would be stupid.”

  “You’re getting damn close to a billion, Mitch,” Fuse noted. “That’ll be a historic moment for Karma.”

  “I can’t even imagine the power,” Dozer said. “You’d be an idiot if you didn’t come back after that.”

  “Let’s roll out,” Mitch said, quickly changing the subject. “We’ll make our way to the hangar and loot up. If this is the start of the campaign, it should be easy. Level 0 stuff.”

  Mitch jumped back in the Annihilator and pushed forward, the dunes quickly turning to grassland as they headed towards the valley. It was a lush green world, full of butterflies and wildlife, sunbeams and streams. It would have felt like a hike in a national park if it weren’t for the 100-ton beast at Mitch’s fingertips, crushing every living thing under each step.

  And, sure, the thought of a billion Karma points was working its way through his mind. Without having an exact idea of what it would bring, it was hard to get excited about any new abilities, about things he didn’t really want. But he had to admit, there was something about big round numbers and unlimited power that drew people in, and even Mitch wasn’t immune to the pull.

  As they approached the bunker, Mitch felt the machine’s foot hit asphalt with a resounding clunk. It was some sort of landing pad or runway, framed on each side by hangar doors, one set closed, one set open. Mitch turned the robot’s scanners on and saw a line of hits through the open door. “There’s our rides,” he said, pointing over to the hangar with an extended leg of the Annihilator. Lined up against the side of the hangar and leaning back against a studded wall, the giant robots were lined up in formation like a parking lot of destruction. The machines sat cold and lifeless with a slight backward pitch, connected to chargers with thick, curled wires.

  “Everyone pick your favorite color,” Dozer yelled, sprinting for the lineup.

  “Dozer, wait!” Fuse yelled with an outstretched hand. But his warning was too late. As she crossed the hangar’s threshold, a buzzer sounded. Lights flashed and sirens echoed through the hall. A mechanical clunk signaled the start of new movement—the slow rise of a sunken elevator platform, not yet showing its occupant.

  “That elevator’s going to have some company on it,” Punch yelled, sprinting for an Annihilator. “Spitfire, buy us some time.”

  Mitch pushed the stick forward, stomping past the Nefarious team as they each ran for their own Annihilators, positioning himself in a direct line between the team and the elevator. He waited, his pulse racing, as the thick wires cranked the platform higher and higher, the spinning red lights painting ovals across the flat gray walls, rotating colors like an industrial kaleidoscope. He looked down at the arsenal at his fingertips. He felt the power of the machine, its only purpose to kill, defend, and destroy.

  Level 0 enemies on the way. Take these guys out like the nothing that they are.

  Three robot heads crested past the hangar floor, rising in a one-by-two formation. The robots were smaller than his machine, but with their guns pointed right at him, certainly didn’t look any less powerful. Mitch’s scanner identified them all as Rogues, models 1 and 2. Model 1 had the head of a bull, the model 2s showed sleeker profiles—short, squat legs and a wide body, a single gun turret projecting out of the nose. They were muscled and armed to the gills with steel and carbon and power. As the elevator reached the top, the enemies sprang into action, two jetting sideways into flanking positions on either side and the third coming right at Mitch, dead straight down the middle.

  Bringing up his targeting computer, Mitch selected the middle Rogue and locked on. He fired a targeted series of shots from his primary machine gun, landing a few hits, leaving a splatter of bullet holes up the side of the machine’s abdomen. The Rogue was fast sprint mode but slow to turn and adapt, absorbing the damage and finally finding shelter behind a nearby concrete pillar. A health indicator appeared in Mitch’s display hovering over the enemy, two bars with different tones of red, revealing he’d been taken down to about sixty percent health.

  It’s trying to get me to advance. Fall into its trap. It doesn’t know who it’s dealing with.

  Mitch spun to face the robot on the left, opening fire. The machine scrambled for cover, firing back, but missed wide left. “How we doing back there?” he yelled ove
r the comm.

  “Just booting up,” Dozer said. “Stay with them, almost there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mitch said. “Piece of cake over here. Take your time.”

  The first robot poked its giant head out from behind the beam and found a fresh stream of bullets greeting it, right to the face. Mitch followed up with two heat-seeking rockets that swirled out of their pods, painting a trail of gray smoke through the air, spiraling and honing in on their targets. The rockets exploded, sending the machine down to the ground in a pile of shrapnel, smoke, and sparking metal, accompanied with a notification notching Mitch’s Karma total up 100 points.

  The second Rogue lunged at him as Mitch parried, slamming a mechanical fist down on the enemy’s head. It spun, dazed from the blow, as Mitch followed up with a series of targeted hits, aiming at core elements of the Rogue’s structure, as the enemy’s health meter chunked lower and lower with each blow. The machine finally fell backwards, dead to the world.

  Mitch took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his control stick, turning to check on the team’s progress. He was greeted with a first-row view of the third robot—the one he’d forgotten about—staring him down.

  Whatever the Rogues had for their primary weapon, it was a straight up doozy. The blast knocked his Annihilator back on his heels as Mitch tugged at the controls, trying to regain his balance. Everything froze as his entire cockpit sparkled with spiderwebs of electricity. He yanked at the stick, but got no response. A second blast knocked him back even farther. He felt the world turning, realizing the shot had pushed his machine reeling back on one leg. He held his breath, bracing for impact.

  The Annihilator fell with the jolt of metal meeting metal as he heard the voices of the Nefarious team scream out over the channel. Status messages scrolled in his display.

  PUNCH HAS DIED

  DOZER HAS DIED

  FUSE HAS DIED

  YOU HAVE DIED

  He found himself right back on the beach, a pair of T-Rexes lounging in the surf, a fresh Annihilator standing nearby, and the rest of the group rematerializing around him a few seconds later. Mitch sat on his ass at the top of the dune, cursing his own stupidity and not looking forward to hearing what he knew was coming. His Karma points were back where he’d started the level, right where they belonged.

  “Really stuck the landing, there, chief,” Punch said, rubbing his head. “I said you should find your crazy, but instead you let that robot find your asshole.”

  “I’ve got a great section for your next book,” Dozer added. “It’s about how you should always remember there’s a third robot.”

  “You’re up, Punch,” Mitch said, pointing to the Annihilator. “Show us how it’s done. And hurry.”

  “You’re not getting out of this that easy,” Punch said, laying a comforting arm around Mitch’s shoulder. “This is your mission. Can’t take something that’s not mine, bro.”

  “That’s great and all,” Fuse chimed in, “but Mitch may have a point. The clock’s ticking. Chu is out there, somewhere. And the odds say that Red Code is likely to be here in NeverRise. The longer we stick around, the better the chance he shows up.”

  “Time ... ” Punch muttered, gazing off at the horizon. “ … Time isn’t our enemy. Time is our friend. Never swap time for wisdom, compadres. Only through the fires of experience will you emerge stronger on the other side. Mitch—try again, this time with a little more oomph. I still remember what you told me years ago, it’s something I’ve never forgotten: the game stays the same, but the player remembers. And the pain we just went through only made us smarter, made us stronger. Am I right? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Leading the team back across the grassy path, time passed faster the second time around. Mitch remembered landmarks and rock formations and even the locations of wildlife—some had changed with subtle tweaks, but most had stayed the same. Before he knew it, he was back at the mouth of the hangar, staring down the open door, configuring his scanner settings, searching for new approach. “There’s a ladder next to the door, leads up to an air duct,” he said over the comm. “That should get all of you over to the machines without touching the floor. Looks like the security beams are set up in this painted area, I’ll find my way around.”

  Mitch stomped his way to the far side of the hangar, staying as close to the wall as possible, waiting with each step for the alarms to sound. But they didn’t—the lights stayed dark, the horns stayed silent, the elevator stayed still. As soon as the team was ready, he took a breath and gripped his control stick.

  The game stays the same, but the player remembers.

  He littered the hangar with a spray of gunfire, setting off the alarms and sending the lift into motion. As the same three Rogues rose on the platform, Mitch moved his machine around the back of the rail, finding the perfect position behind them. As Mitch waited, the spinning red sirens sparked a reflex of pain, memories of Red Code flashing through his brain. The soldier standing over him, his rifle held aloft with two hands. The three slashes showing no emotion, no remorse. If only Mitch had done something. If only he could have changed what had happened that day.

  Find your crazy.

  The platform rose to its final position and Mitch unleashed hell on the unsuspecting robots. He opening fire with both machine guns, holding the triggers as tight as they would go. The Rogues’ health indicators pulsed lower with each second, with each breath. Both scurried for cover, but Mitch stayed locked on while at a dead sprint across the hangar, keeping each stream dead set on target. A few seconds later, both machines exploded into fireballs, their carcasses crashing to the hangar floor. His guns flashed with red indicators, messages reading, “OVERHEATING.”

  The final machine turned to face him. Mitch activated every weapon still online, pouring out a cavalry of rockets, floor-sliding grenades, sonic rail shots, and shock bombs at the unlucky Rogue. It reeled with each explosion, knocking back on its heels, blow after blow.

  “Keep it up, Mitch,” Fuse yelled over the comm. “You’ve got him right where you want him. We’re coming online to help you.”

  No. He’s mine.

  Sprinting at the final Rogue, Mitch swung the Annihilator’s right arm as fast as his controls would allow, teeing up the enemy machine like a striped ball on a driving range. The force tore the Rogue’s left arm clean off, and sent the appendage flying into a nearby container crate. What was left of the robot stood in a daze, its legs shaking, struggling to find its feet and cloaked in electric shocks. Mitch felt the rush of battle take over his body as new messages popped up.

  MACHINE GUN 1 BACK ONLINE

  MACHINE GUN 2 BACK ONLINE

  He took a moment—just a quick moment—to enjoy what he was about to do. To drink in what he knew what was about to happen. And then, with a hint of a smile, he finished the job. Mitch pulled back on both triggers, closing his eyes and leaning back deep into his captain’s chair. The Rogue didn’t last more than a few seconds, but Mitch kept firing, feeling the path of every bullet finding its mark deep into the pile of metal lying before him.

  As the adrenaline faded, Mitch popped the cockpit lid and saw the Nefarious team, now each with a shiny new Annihilator at their fingertips, stomping towards him in unison.

  A new collection of inventory indicators littered the hangar. He treaded over to a few and snatched them up.

  NEW WEAPON: WARHEAD ROCKETS

  NEW WEAPON: FLAMETHROWER

  KARMA POINTS +300. NEW TOTAL: 999,990,849

  Mitch’s NeverRise progress indicator ticked up, the bar filling in towards the 10,000 mark. Still a lot of work to do, but any sort of progress in a foreign world felt like a small victory.

  One of the Annihilators walked up beside him and popped its lid, revealing Punch at the controls. He peered over the side of the machine, down at the scraps of burning metal, wiring, and carnage all around them. “God damn, Mitch,” he whispered. “I said find your crazy ... but I think that maybe … maybe your crazy just found y
ou.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A Risk I’m Willing to Take

  THERE’S a state of mind that psychologists refer to as “the zone.” It’s the point where someone finds the right mix of skill and challenge. When those two things meet at the perfect pinpoint, you lose time. You block out the world, entering a semi-conscious dream state where the only thing that matters is the problem in front of you. Mitch hadn’t felt the zone in years; he’d forgotten that the zone even existed. Until now.

  The team—each with an Annihilator heavily armed and at their fingertips—were cutting their way through the first level of NeverRise like a knife through summer butter. Each had picked a robot that fit their style. Dozer went with a heavily armed, muscled beast. Fuse found a machine piled high with mortars, land mines, and an explosive trip wire kit. Punch ended up selecting the same model as Mitch, maybe as a tribute, maybe just because it happened to be the one he jumped into.

  Each turn of the dark, dingy hangar brought with it new enemies, fresh strategies, and more experience points. With some, the group saw armed human guards chatting in small groups, taking drags on virtual cigarettes, not expecting any company. Those were easy enough to destroy with a few pulls of the trigger, especially with four Annihilators shooting from all angles. But the team was sure to hold back in scenarios where the kills would be plentiful, to let Mitch ratchet up his points. Each human kill inched him fifty points closer to NeverRise’s next level, each robot somewhere between one and three hundred.

  With every new challenge, Mitch would assemble the team and scratch together a rough plan. “You go this way, she goes this way. Fuse—send in the firepower first, then we come running.” Punch wasn’t exactly coachable, but that was part of his charm. He’d pop into a battle from below or behind, one time jumping off a four-story railing without even looking down for what might be waiting below him, landing a crushing blow to the foe, leaving them reeling, and letting Mitch finish the job. With each kill, it felt more and more like old times.