Mitch racked his brain—there had to be an answer. There had to be a way out. “Just stay still,” Mitch pleaded. “Stay quiet. I’ll get you out of this.”
“Nobody seems to be getting it,” Red Code said. “Which is really frustrating, if I can be honest about my feelings for a second? There’s no getting out of this. This is the end. For all of you. And the beginning for me. I’m taking everything I can from this world, and then I’ll ... well, I’ll pretty much do whatever I want. If you could have stopped me, pretty sure that would have happened already.”
“Focus ... ” Fuse said. “Remember what ... you have. Remember ... what’s important.”
“What kind of new age crap is this?” Red Code asked, giving Fuse a shake. “All right, enough of this. Everyone, say goodnight.”
“No!” Dozer yelled, bringing her shotgun up to her shoulder.
But it was too late.
Red Code twisted Fuse’s neck with a jerk as a sharp crack filled the chamber. Fuse’s body went limp as pixels of light poured from his head, flowing up Red Code’s arm, illuminating the curves and contours into a glowing sleeve of light. Mitch’s stomach turned sour as the light snaked up into Red Code’s chest, flowed into his heart, and faded away. Red Code released his grip, letting Fuse’s body fall down to the floor in a heap.
The team yelled obscenities, screams, sounds that didn’t register. They armed themselves, pointing every weapon at Red Code. Mitch stared down at the body of his friend, rage coursing through his veins.
Red Code laughed, bringing one hand up to his head, the other to his heart. “Oh, my. Oh, my goodness. Mitch, if you only knew—if you only knew what I know now. So many secrets hiding up in that big head of his.” He flexed, bringing his rifle back up to his shoulder. “But I’m afraid it’s time. Are you ready, Mitch? Are you ready to kiss your dear, dear Skirmish goodbye?”
FORTY-THREE
The Unthinkable
THE REMAINING MEMBERS of the Nefarious Five stood scattered, surrounded by destruction, their weapons at the ready. Fuse’s body lay in a pile at Red Code’s feet—a shell of a man, drained of his soul. A marionette with its strings clipped.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” Dozer fumed, pumping a fresh shell into her shotgun’s chamber.
“You just made the last mistake you’ll ever make,” Punch added, bringing both pistols up to his sights. “You messed with the wrong team.”
“I have you,” Chu said from the far corner, her scope up to her eye. “Right between second slit and third slit on your stupid face.”
But it was Mitch who had the biggest score to settle, and as he felt the rage pulsing through his chest, he couldn’t help but think what kind of hurt his new Legendary Skirmish status could inflict. He let the anger of the years flow through him—the anger he’d been pushing down every day he’d woken up without the things and people and worth he once knew. The anger of watching his friend get drained of his life force, right in front of his eyes. The anger of being a nobody.
He raised both guns and opened fire, feeling a level of power he’d never known before. Each shot fired with a new confidence, with an accuracy that just locked on target without effort, sending each bullet perfectly to its target. The rounds kept coming—no need to reload or watch ammunition levels, as the barrage of rockets and thick laser fire, grenades and bullets lit the room with kinetic destruction. Cycling through his personal armory, he no longer needed to choose one weapon and stick with it, he found he could queue up a series of shots and let the system take over, firing an unforgivable mix of firepower. Even he was shocked at what he was now capable of—the shots just kept coming, without any end in sight.
Skirmish had never seen an attack like this. It was so furious, so overpowering, that Mitch was almost certain he’d felt the servers lag for a moment, wheezing from the output. His status screens struggled to keep up with hit percentage and counts. His weapons indicators waved the digital version of a white flag, resorting to violent flashes instead of updating the numbers, just happy to be along for the ride.
The rest of Nefarious joined in, firing shots from all angles, filling the room with bombs and gunfire—sniper shots and shotgun blasts. Chu fired off direct hit after direct hit, Punch fired his pistols, and Dozer ran forward with her shotgun booming, stopping short of Mitch’s steady stream of lead.
It was an attack for the history books, an attack with more firepower than most Skirmish players had seen in a lifetime. An attack that filled the warehouse of the Chinatown Docks with a force that had no equal.
An attack that simply bounced right off Red Code’s chest.
“Oh, yes, please,” Red Code yelled through the mayhem, extending his arms out to give them a better shot. “By all means, keep it coming.”
“Why isn’t it working?” Dozer yelled. “The last attack had some kind of impact.”
“Must have been Fuse’s data,” Punch yelled. “He’s grown more powerful.”
“Did you notice that, too?” Red Code smirked, standing in the sea of gunfire like it was his morning shower. “I didn’t want to say anything—you guys are working so hard. Wanted you to enjoy your last gasp.”
It can’t end like this. There has to be a way.
His senses numb, Mitch released both triggers, letting the room fall silent. He brought up his inventory, cycling through, searching for anything that would serve as a tipping point. There had to be a fix, an item he hadn’t tried yet, a new weapon he hadn’t noticed. But as each listing came up, as every damage indicator and ammunition level flashed before his eyes, it all drifted farther away, feeling more and more trivial. For the first time in years—hell, decades—of playing Skirmish, everything in his inventory looked like a kid’s toy. Like a water pistol, half full and laying on the asphalt, leaking water from cracked plastic. Everything he had was useless against Red Code’s power. With each passing shot, Mitch slowly realized that even as the most powerful player in Skirmish history, he was still no match for Red Code. He’d lost, and now it was time to think of his team.
Mitch’s eyes locked on his old friend’s avatar lying at Red Code’s feet. There were only minutes left until the team’s clocks ran out, until their brains switched over to mush. It was his job to do the right thing—to retreat. To dematerialize out and get them back to Karma HQ. At least in this world, they didn’t need to level up, they just had to quit their games, nice and simple. They didn’t have to beat a final boss or have to activate a ...
He closed his eyes, remembering Fuse’s last virtual words. Remember what you have. Remember what’s important.
“You know, they say that people are just a collection of their decisions,” Red Code said. “I picked that nugget up from somewhere, or from sucking the data out of someone’s head, can’t remember. My big decision is a tough one, for sure: do I take Spitfire out now, or do I leave him for last? Do I savor the moment, or just get this whole damn game over with? Part of being a grown up is having the choice to eat dessert before your green beans, right? Ugh, this is absolutely killing me.”
Mitch’s last option wasn’t just crazy, it was out-of-this-fucking-world crazy, but he knew it was what he had to do. And if he didn’t do it now, he’d never get another chance.
He tossed his rifle aside. It clanged down through the pile of metal at his feet, falling between the cracks, like a roulette ball bumping, spinning, and finally falling into place.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mitch said.
“Doesn’t matter?” Red Code asked. “Of course it matters. It’s the only thing that matters. It’s the last decision you’re ever going to see someone make in this wonderful little world.”
“None of it matters,” Mitch said. “Not to me. Not to us.”
“Everything okay over there, Mitch?” Punch asked, his pistols still at the ready. “Need you back in the game here, big guy.”
“No, man, I’m good,” Mitch said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just figured it out. I just figured it all
out. I’ve been searching for the answer—how I could beat him. How I could finally win. How I could get my revenge for everything he’s done to me, but I see it now—I’ve been working the wrong problem. Because none of it matters.”
“Now is not the time for deep thoughts, Mitch,” Chu said. “Now is the time to shoot things.”
“Don’t you see, Chu?” Mitch asked. “We don’t have a chance, we can’t even make a mark with our guns and our bombs. Shoot every bullet you want, and they’ll all just bounce right off. But that’s ok—because it doesn’t matter.”
“Still not sure where you’re going with this,” Dozer said, gripping her rifle.
“Think about it,” Mitch said. “We’re the best team in the whole game.”
“Damn straight we are,” Punch said with a thump of his chest, then quickly pointed his pistols back at Red Code.
“We’re the best at this game, but none of us are happy,” Mitch continued. “Not here. Not anywhere. You guys are bitching and moaning on every mission and switching out team leaders every other month. Punch has to get himself drunk to make Skirmish missions bearable. Fuse has spent his time doing side projects, spending more and more time outside this world. Doze—you’re constantly pissed off. And look at me—I’m sneaking by, day-by-day, hour-by-hour, scraping cash from a game I used to love, afraid to do anything else. Too scared that if I give this up, there’ll be nothing left. So what the hell are we fighting for?”
“This game is my life,” Dozer said. “It’s all of our lives. We’re legends here—we can’t just let this asshole destroy everything we’ve worked for. Everything we’ve built. People would kill for what we have.”
“We still have time,” Chu said, her rifle still at the ready. “We cannot give up. We fight.”
“We don’t give up,” Mitch said. “We move on. Think of what we’ve done over the past few days. We’ve been in worlds we never dreamed of. Seen puzzles and enemies and zombies we’d never imagined. I don’t know about you, but for the first time since I could remember, I was having a pretty good time.”
“I did enjoy the big robots that we could drive around,” Punch nodded. “And shooting those stupid little dinosaurs. I’d love to shoot one right now if I’m being honest.”
“We can’t save Skirmish,” Mitch said. “It’s time to stop pretending we have a chance.” He turned to face Red Code, his eyes narrowing. “But there’s one thing we can do. We can take this piece of shit down on our way out the door. We can end him.”
“All right, ladies,” Red Code laughed. “Let’s quit with all the big speeches and wet dreams.” With one fluid motion, he sprinted forward, lunging, bellowing a war cry.
Before Mitch could flinch, Red Code grabbed him by the throat. He raised his grip, pulling Mitch into the air. Mitch’s legs swam at the naked air as he struggled, gasping, choking, pulling at the fingers closing in tightly around his neck. Red Code’s grip didn’t budge, it only grew tighter as each second passed. Mitch felt his air supply falling, his pulse beating thicker and thicker through his eardrums.
“I tried to do this the nice way like I did with your little dead friend on the ground over there,” Red Code said, spinning Mitch around in a circle for the rest of Nefarious to see. “But you had to go and get all mouthy.” He pulled Mitch in closer, nice and tight.
Mitch stared into the shine of Red Code’s helmet. The three red, glowing gashes across the polished surface served as the closest thing to eyes, the closest thing to humanity he could find. For the first time, Mitch was close enough to feel the heat from the marks—burning, searing, venting a stench of sulfur mixed with ash. Mitch fought for his life, but his throat only tightened.
“So, let’s crack you open,” Red Code whispered into Mitch’s ear. “Get a look inside that little head of yours. Whaddya say, Spitfire?”
Mitch moved his mouth but couldn’t get a word past Red Code’s grip. Mitch reached back, pushing his hand deep into his backpack, bringing out his only option, the last second chance he might ever get.
The final code package felt heavy in his hand, like the weight of the world sitting right there in his palm.
“What is that?” Red Code laughed, rising up to one knee. “A code package? Oh, thank God, I thought you actually had a plan. But your plan is to run? To dematerialize out of here? I’m not sure why I’m surprised. I gave you too much credit—figured you had something bigger in mind.”
“Wait … code packages do … two things,” Punch said, dropping his pistols down to his waist. “First, they move the user on to the next world. And second—”
“They destroy the world behind you,” Dozer said. “No, no … tell me that’s not what you’re doing.”
“You’re going ... to destroy ... Skirmish?” Punch asked, his hands held high, backing away from the conversation. “You’re joking, right? I mean—maybe we should all talk this over?”
Mitch continued to fight for air, holding the code package extended out in his arm and away from Red Code.
“Bad idea, Mitch,” Dozer said. “There has to be another way. I mean—Red Code hasn’t even died when we exited any of the other worlds. How do we know this will even work?”
“He’s at full power here,” Punch said, piecing Mitch’s plan together as he spoke. “In the past worlds, we just destroyed copies, smaller parts of him. This one’s the real deal.”
“Mitch has seen the only true choice,” Chu said, lowering her rifle. “The best bad choice … of two bad choices.”
Red Code tossed Mitch down onto a heap of metal and stepped away from the group, hands held up at his waist. He paced backwards, silently, watching each member of Nefarious as they came together. Chu reached down and helped Mitch back up to his feet, her eyes never leaving her opponent across the room.
“This isn’t gonna work fellas,” Red Code said. “If you think that—”
“Let’s not do something stupid, Mitch,” Punch said.
“The unthinkable,” Mitch said, clutching at his throat. “It’s all we have left. Everyone get over here, we’re out of time.”
“Mitch, let’s talk about this,” Dozer pleaded.
Red Code continued backing away, stumbling over piles of metal, banging into rafters as he paced backwards with careful steps.
“Hands on shoulders,” Mitch said as the team assembled around him.
He clicked the code package and watched as Skirmish began to dismantle itself, disintegrating the walls and beams of the Chinatown Docks as they highlighted white and then burst into nothing. Chunks of the game world rendered over to green screen as the world that had made the Nefarious Five famous—the only world they’d really ever known—was erased, bit-by-bit. Every level, every character, every skill point and weapon. Every hope and struggle and dream, every victory and defeat ever witnessed inside of Skirmish disappeared before their eyes.
Red Code reached his hands out at Mitch as his silhouette shook, fading to white digital snow like a mosaic of millions of pieces of glass, glowing, vibrating, collapsing on itself. Like a waterfall falling into its own source, into infinity.
“Game over, asshole,” Mitch said, watching the final pieces of Red Code flash and burn into nothing.
The Nefarious Five shot up, dematerializing back to Karma HQ, riding four beams of brilliant blue light up into the sky.
FORTY-FOUR
Knocking at Your Door
September 30th, 2056
One Year Later
MAC’S OFFICE hadn’t changed much since Mitch’s last visit. The chair opposite the massive desk was still a little too comfortable for a room this formal, and the view behind Mac would still drop the jaw of any onlooker who walked by the door. A lot had changed at Karma Systems HQ over the past year, but a few pieces, it seemed, had stayed the same.
Mac’s form, still as a statue behind his desk, was carved out by the flurry of activity behind him. In the past, the view of HQ had always brought Mitch a sense of calm, a sense of fluidity. The steady s
tream of workers chatting, strolling, perched on the rail far across the virtual courtyard, going about their Karma Systems business, had always brought with them a reassuring calm, a feeling that no matter what was going wrong inside of Skirmish, someone was working on a fix. That Karma had the manpower and the focus to just scrape away at every problem, eroding any sharp edges. That no matter what might be troubling Mitch, someone out there in the sea of activity was on it.
But now, life was everywhere—flowing across every walkway, lit in every office window. Life that Mitch had felt here before, but only in drops and tastes, nothing like this. Today, the flow of Karma HQ didn’t feel calm, it had a new purpose. It had a pulse. There were five, maybe six times the number of Karma workers he’d seen in the previous years. More people with a new fire under their feet as they walked hurried steps to their next tasks. There was something different—an electricity, an urgency he’d never felt before.
Mac’s desk—famous for being a pristine monument of tidiness and right angles—was now a mess of digital paperwork. Odds and ends, projects half finished and half started. Architectural plans, character designs, mission maps, and financial projections. Right in the middle of it all was the old man himself, pushing a virtual drink forward to Mitch and pulling his own back across the table. Staring Mitch in the eyes for the first time since that day. That day that had changed everything.
“You didn’t have to destroy the whole damn thing, you know,” Mac said, stumbling over the words, his voice oscillating somewhere between laughing and crying. “You should have called me in. I could have helped.”
“And what would you have done?” Mitch asked, raising his glass and taking a sip. “We both know what would have happened if I had picked up the phone. Skirmish was your baby … you would have spun and spun, trying to find a way to save it, like any good father would do. You know that.”
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