Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy)

by Matthew Siege

  Seriously??? Let me in let me in lol! - Owerkedinit

  In amongst that noise there was at least one thing of interest.

  I saw this guy wearing something weird. Anyone else? – fire209

  My heart started pounding a little faster, and my hand was shaking so much that I actually missed clicking on the post the first couple of times I tried it. Finally, I got the cursor where it needed to be and the post opened up.

  Okay, so get this. I’ve killed a bunch of survivors. More than a few. I’ve seen a lot more die, both in Beta and since launch. Last night, just before the crash, I snuck up on this guy. I’m a runner, so sneaking to me is really running up and making them dead before they know what hit them. But this time, I waited.

  He was doing something weird. He didn’t know I was there, so I hid in the shadows and watched him. His back was to me, but the strange thing he was wearing was like this sort of harness. He had a bunch of tools hanging from hooks and straps on it.

  Maybe he was an electrician? I don’t know what they can be and what they can’t, but this guy had somehow gotten a panel off of the wall and was doing something weird.

  Anyway, I killed him. Easy XP, since he still didn’t see me. He put the panel back on and then I jumped him. Once I ate him up I tried to get the panel off the wall again and couldn’t. What do you guys think he was doing, of he was doing anything…?

  Edit – shoot.. misspelled if

  That harness sounded too much like what the redhead had been wearing to be a mistake. So what were they, some sort of guild or something? It was the only thing I could come up with. It made sense. In a world where your allies would need to be able to identify you by sight in an instant, some sort of uniform would be a no-brainer.

  I clicked on fire 209’s name, hoping to send him a message. I wanted to know where he’d spotted the guy in the harness, but the game wouldn’t let me contact the other Zombie.

  That made sense once I skimmed a few more posts. A lot of them were complaining that the forms were heavily moderated. They claimed that they tried to organize Zombies to meet up, only to have the posts immediately erased.

  I shrugged. So what? Deep Dive studios had already told us that they weren’t going to allow that, but then I started reading posts about how, based purely off of people trying to organize on other social media platforms, people were starting to get banned. I suppose Deep Dive studios didn't have to work very hard to corroborate who you were, not now that it was way too easy to discover who was really who on the Internet.

  And, of course, they had the advantage of being allowed into our heads. It was hard to pretend that they weren't poking around just a little in there when we were locked into the game. After all, during the Beta they'd had an NDA that they said was easily enforced because they would know if you talked about Headshot to anyone…

  That was the sort of language that told me that they were just barely skirting the edge of the law. Well, they were probably well within the law, since the old idiots who decided what was and wasn’t legal were far too out of touch to have any idea of what was happening on the bleeding edge of technological advancement.

  I noticed there was a little number up by my login name. 356667. That must be the number they used to identify me in the game. I clicked on it, and it took me to a screen that was just a list of names.

  Hrt_Lcker_ILP

  Idjitkiller

  CooberPedyPedderCob

  Withaneye

  VinVarucker211

  And so on. After I stared at them for a couple of seconds, the only thing I could think of was that this was the list of Survivors that I’d either killed or eaten or both. It was probably in chronological order, but before I could worry too much about that my phone beeped at me.

  It shouldn’t have done that, and I dragged it out of my pocket as quickly as I could to try and work out what was going on. I’d switched it to silent and I was certain that I hadn’t changed it back. Nothing short of some government warning about a nuclear launch should have managed to make it beep, and yet even as my fingers brushed it the damn thing went off again.

  And then again…

  I frowned and ran my thumb over the fingerprint sensor. The screen lit up, black on white instead of the usual colorful interface I used. There was an app already running, one I’d never seen before. It looked like some sort of old school chat program, and there were a bunch of messages coming in now.

  As I watched, the conversation kept right on kicking.

  Matthew_Rios: In…

  Gary_Ross: Really? They brought them up early, then.

  Will_Winter: Back from the dead. Let’s make sure we make Deep Dive regret this!

  Matthew_Rios: I got the code in before a Z got me, last time. I’ll head back now and make sure it stuck.

  Darryl_Hunter: Anyone see Sasha yet?

  Gary_Ross: She’ll be hard to find until she gets back to base. Lost her brick when she got killed on Tuesday.

  Darryl_Hunter: Shit. Can she get a spare from the CHM? I’m not that far from there, if she needs help slapping one together?

  Will_Winter: Never tried to sync two to one person in the same week. Might not be a good idea if we want to stay under the radar, but not my call.

  The chat went quiet, and I saw that it was 6:01. My desire to get back into Headshot was so strong that I somehow managed to set my phone down on the charger, sit on the mattress and drag the helmet on to my head.

  I was resigned to the fact that when I got in there, everybody would be there too. If I was still in the garage, I’d better find a place to hide as quickly as I could. And, if the Survivors I’d hitched a ride with were there as well, or if they heard me or suspected I was inside, I was dead. The game would've fucked me, and I'd be just as pissed off as everybody else on the forums.

  Maybe even more so.

  I tried to calm myself and counted down in my head, trying to find a place of quiet that would let me slip into the game.

  Three.

  Two.

  My phone surprised me by beeping again, though I should be used to it by now. The last sixty seconds had been fairly loud, as each of the mystery chatters chimed in on the app I’d somehow come into possession of.

  Just before the login sequence initiated, I glanced over at the phone and saw another message.

  Andrew_Harker: All right, Eternals. Let's do this!

  Chapter 32

  I was ready for it not to work, but it did.

  Being back in Headshot felt so right that I almost wasn’t prepared to be standing exactly where I’d ben when the server had first had its issues. I was in the garage. My hand was on the doorknob. My heart was in my throat.

  If the Survivors that used this mansion as their headquarters were in there, they’d probably want to use their Humvee pretty soon. I didn’t see any reason for them not to, though I had no idea what life was like on the Survivor side. Maybe they had research to do or weapons to repair.

  I could either hide in here or try to get into the mansion and conceal myself inside. The garage had a bunch of shelving units in it, but if someone came in with a flashlight and an ounce of determination I’d be spotted right away.

  I still had for hit points. That would last me what, half an hour before the Hunger kicked in? Forty-five minutes?

  Here we go, I told myself as I gripped the doorknob and turned it as quietly as I could. Better do this fast.

  Congratulations! You have learned the skill (Doorknob)!

  Great. If there’s an award for the Zombie most able to open a door, I better get it. I‘ve learned that same damn skill three times so far…

  I thought it would be dark in the next room since the power was still off, but I completely underestimated how many windows there’d be in a mansion like this. Even as I peered my head inside, the entire far wall was facing west and made completely of plate glass. Sunlight was streaming in, and when the sun did set in a bit more than an h
our, this room would be as red as blood.

  I licked my lips. If there were still Survivors in here, maybe I could make that happen a bit sooner as opposed to later…

  Before I did anything, I had to hurry up and check the rooms. I didn’t know if the Survivors log out rules were the same as mine and, as sweet as it would be to find them snoozing away in their beds like little sleepy snacks waiting for me, the real issue was the fact that the server had just come back up. Hadn’t Deep Dive said that they’d try to make sure nobody died because of it?

  The best way to ensure that was to take all of the pieces off of the board, regardless of the rules. I didn’t think that I’d standing in front of the garage for the two minutes the server had already been up when I logged in, which meant the Survivors weren’t going to be here until they logged back in.

  I was right. At least, the fact that every room I checked in this massive place was turning out to be empty. That was going to be an issue, because they could log back in at any time and instantly flank me. My skin crawled at the thought of heavily armed Survivors phasing in the moment I turned my back, and I found myself glancing behind me more than I liked. The paranoia was going to drive me insane, and I’d only spent ten minutes scouting the rooms…

  Now that I was inside, what should I do?

  Whatever it as, I wanted to be as close to a silent shadow as I could be. So far, I’d been careful not to kick down any of the doors or let my dirty, blood and ash streaked carcass scrape against any of the mansion’s pristine walls. The last thing I wanted was to give myself away like that.

  I had to be careful, but this might be the only chance I had to poke around inside a place the Survivors thought of as relatively safe. That reminded me about the radio, or brick, or whatever it was. I slipped the backpack off and, even though I only had one hand, managed to get the zipper open on the second try. The radio was still in there, and the dull blue glow of its backlit screen told me it was active even before I took it out to look at it more closely.

  Once I had ahold of it, I eagerly brought it up to see what they were saying. If I could glean their plans while I was in the game, I’d have an incredible advantage.

  Hfrhtejs: dHri it dsoO0sjg nzbe ejN oee fNIrfhn rbn0 r r eEd hgg

  Ghdfmre: dsW oiiihgn gshs cvBB oe Olkjpe55dh H dttE

  JJutre: Ewwwp 9sa omnee

  Of course… When I’d been able to read their chat, I was outside of the game. Inside of Headshot I was still bound by the rules that governed my character, one of which was that I couldn’t understand the Survivors.

  So, where did that leave me? I shrugged, frustrated. I could always log out and see what they were saying via the strange app on my phone, but what difference did it make right now? I didn’t think the Eternals, since it seemed like that’s what they called themselves, were the same guys that owned the mansion I was currently slinking through. I hadn’t seen them in those harnesses, and that was the only clue I had about the people that associated with the redhead.

  That, and they had these things that let them talk to each other. In a world rife with spare parts though, I couldn’t imagine that radios and walky-talkies were that rare, especially not now. We were a couple of days into the game, and I knew I should be preparing myself to see stranger and more elaborate equipment amongst my opposition.

  I suppose I was a Schemer long before I’d chosen the archetype. I’d always liked the cloak and dagger, psyops stuff which, must have been why this playstyle appealed to me so much. I couldn’t stop the Survivors who called this place home from logging back in, but that didn’t mean I had to just let it happen without doing anything about it.

  Before I did any of that though, I wanted to check out the bedrooms more thoroughly. I went as slowly as I dared, determined not to rush through this and miss anything even though I could feel my hit points yelling at me to go a little faster.

  I tried to settle my nerves. Hit points draining away was one thing, but if these Survivors had been smart enough to leave booby-traps around, I’d feel like a complete fool if I stumbled across one and got taken out while they weren’t even logged into the game.

  I didn’t find anything of use. As I headed down the stairs again I made sure not to walk beneath the heavy crystal chandelier that hung above the main foyer. I didn’t see any tripwires, but I also didn’t see any reason to risk it.

  I knew what I was looking for, and that meant I had to find the dining room. I prowled the ground floor, passing through an expansive living room, then a sitting room and a kitchen any executive chef in the world would have died for. I checked the cupboards and found them to be mostly empty. Whatever food was there was already open, and it took every sliver of willpower I had not to destroy it. I knew that something as petty as that could give me away.

  Besides, I had plans for these guys that didn’t involve them getting a chance to make another dinner, at least not this week…

  I looked out the window and saw that they’d dragged the refrigerator out into the palatial backyard. It sat there on its side like a beached whale, gleaming in the sinking sun. Maybe they hadn't like the way it had smelled once it had started to defrost and the food had gone bad. The thought of that pleased me to no end. The idea of these silver spoon Survivors not wanting to deal with the stink of overripe food and the useless fridge made me have to choke down a laugh.

  Imagine if they had to play as a Zombie! What then? The stuff that I'd had to deal with these past few days, the garbage that I’d had to paw through, the muck I'd had to claw through, the rat I’d had to eat, just to stay alive for a little longer…

  I didn't think they could do it. Not a chance.

  I suppose there was a chance that I was suited to this side of the game the same way they were suited to that one. Just because they’d had the twenty grand to buy their way on to the Survivor faction didn’t make them idiots, and underestimating them was a damn good way to get myself shot. I needed to know my enemy and not simply assume that I already did.

  I left the kitchen. While upstairs I’d found a wide variety of sitting rooms, powder rooms, bathrooms and bedrooms, down here things were a bit simpler. There weren’t that many rooms. They were just larger that my whole house.

  The dining room, for instance. When I finally stumbled into it I had to take a step back in horror at the waste I saw before me. A quick count revealed that there were forty chairs around a long table that looked like it had been made of solid oak at least a century ago. Who needed this much space to eat?

  I couldn’t even think of forty people that I wanted to break bread with. If I was pressed, I could probably come up with four and that was it.

  I reminded myself that I needed to be careful as I wandered through back the kitchen and then into the main room. It was huge, and there was a massive TV mounted on the far wall. There was still no power of course, but the sun was still burning brightly enough for me to see everything. There were a whole bunch of other rooms here, lined with treasures and art that probably would've had a greater value if the world hadn’t virtually gone to shit.

  Nothing useful, though. At least, not what I was looking for.

  I needed rope. Even a few lengths of clothesline would do, or a ball of twine. Something like that wouldn’t be too hard to find in just about every house I’d ever been in, but in an upscale residence like this I was beginning to think that I may be out of luck.

  These people didn’t do manual labor or menial tasks. They didn’t change their own lightbulbs, which is why I hadn’t seen a ladder in the garage. They didn’t do their own laundry, which is why I was yet to stumble across a washing machine. They didn’t even raise their own kids, at least not really.

  Things in their world didn’t go wrong and if they did, someone fixed them for them before they had a chance to notice.

  Of course!

  For a Schemer, I was letting my brain get away without pulling its own weight. These guys would have gardeners and hous
ekeepers and nannies. If I wanted any of the stuff I was looking for, I’d have to find where they lived. And it couldn’t be far from where I was standing. People like the owners of this mansion would want to be stuck waiting for their executive chef if he was caught in traffic. All of their minions would live here, a stone’s throw away.

  I looked out the window again. I was sure there’d be a pool out there somewhere, and probably a well-concealed shed that would hold supplies. The gardener’s lawnmowers and the rest of his equipment would have to be stored somewhere, and I didn’t think it would be in plain sight. People don’t pay for million-dollar views and then risk the chance that they’d have to see junk the hired help needed to keep the place operating.

  But housekeepers had to live somewhere, I didn’t think it would be outside. Before I risked wandering out of the house into parts unknown, I was determined to check it once more. I followed my instincts this time, and I ignored all the lavish features of the house.

  Finally, I found a nondescript door back near the garage. It was easy to overlook. It didn’t even have the doorknob, just a little latch that fell flush with the wood until you fished it out with your finger. I was just what I did, and I tugged it open and knew that I’d found a place that was clearly meant for employees.

  Cleaning supplies. Vacuum cleaners, towels, mops and buckets. It was all here. Everything I needed.

  Sure enough, there were five or six big, thick coils of extension cords.

  I guess when you were in charge of keeping a house this big clean it was hard to vacuum without an acre power cable behind you…

  Before I got too excited, I had to see this is going to work. I unwound some of the cord and tried to tie a simple knot into it. Nothing fancy, just something reliable. It was much, much harder than I’d thought it would be with only one hand, but after a couple of tries I improvised and held one end of the cord n my teeth. They shredded the plastic covering the wires, but I wasn’t planning on using them for their intended purpose, anyway.