I closed my eyes and let the scene play out in my mind. I was a Survivor. I was in my sanctuary. I’d heard gunshots, and then nothing. Probably we had some sort of radios or some other signal to communicate the all clear, and I hadn’t heard it. I’d paid a lot of money to get this far, and I was pissed that I was having to defend instead of doing what I really wanted, which was pushing into Los Angeles and taking the fight to the Zombies.
So, they’d be looking to end this quickly. That meant they’d bring too many people. Some of them would get in each other’s way, and they’d assume that their numbers would flush their opponent out of hiding. That, and they’d be sloppy, expecting the other guys to cover for their mistakes. I hadn’t seen a lot of organization from the larger groups of Survivors. An obvious ambush here, a fatal last stand there. Nothing that took a lot of forethought. Bush league stuff, I guess you could say.
I opened my eyes. They'd search the mansions first, since that was what they be worried about most of all. Psychologically, these guys had paid for safe spaces in a dangerous world. The fact that I’d broken into one of them and blown it up would be weighing heavily on their minds. They knew they had to log out, and even though I didn't believe any more that their bodies remained behind in the game the way my Zombie one did, I didn't think for an instant that they wouldn’t make sure that their only reliably secure place in Headshot was just that; secure.
So, if I was right, they'd split up, going in small groups through as many mansions as they could. If even one of my minions managed to get a bite in on a Survivor, divided up like that, the panic that would set in would be more than enough to further my purpose.
Well, if they were going to be checking the houses, then the least I could do was cause some trouble somewhere else…
None of the mansions were near to each other. I'd noticed that before. The contrast to my place and these luxurious homes was obviously enormous, but one of the things I just couldn't get over was how much space they had at their disposal. My house had all of a six-inch gap between it and the brick façade of the one beside it. There was no backyard to speak of, and the front door was mere steps away from the sidewalk.
But here…
Well, here the overly large house, if you could even call it that with a straight face, was absolutely dwarfed by the amount of room that they had. Many of them had stables, Olympic size swimming pools, archery ranges, and wide, terraced grounds in which to grow gardens that filled the air even now with a heady mixture of a hundred different pollens.
I sucked in a lungful of oxygen, shaking my head at how every waft of wind was choked with all of that opulence.
Wait a minute… I shouldn’t be able to do that. I’d been able to smell before, though the scents had only been blood and flesh. But breathing… Was I breathing? I froze in place for a second, forcing my conscious thoughts to one side until I could pay attention to my heart, despite the fact that the Survivors were getting closer by the second.
There was no pounding of my pulse. My heart wasn't beating. I touched the fingertips of my remaining hand against one of the arteries in my neck and waited. Nothing there either, although just like when I’d put my palm against the ruins of the mansion I’d destroyed, I could sense that the dead nerves of my hand weren’t so dead anymore.
Another bug? It had to be. That, or there was much, much more to being a Schemer than I’d ever imagined. Just as my new abilities weren’t exactly explained to me, it felt like my senses were struggling to break out of my shell as well. I remembered that I’d felt the heat of the blast before, as well. I hadn’t given it much thought do to the danger at the time, but now I felt certain that I shouldn’t have felt anything like the pain I’d experienced.
Before I knew it, I just may get a chance to fulfill Pinocchio’s wish and manage to become a real boy… I growled softly, frustrated that I was still learning so much. Whatever I discovered would be useful after I survived this, not before.
Because of the size of the individual properties of Beverly Hills, the enormous amount of ground that the survivors had to cover gave me just enough time to flank them. As flashlights cut the shadows to ribbons, I forced my scrawny frame through fences designed to look impressive instead of keeping out intruders. I could hear their voices but not their words, but from the tones I caught on the wind I could tell that they were still unaware of how much danger they were in.
I suppose, given enough downtime in any game, people will blow up their own stuff just to see what happens. The destruction of the mansion didn’t automatically mean their defenses were compromised, and some of them actually sounded annoyed as they looked for the source of the gunshots Marissa’s would-be rescuers had made.
My newly-earned ability to understand them didn’t help me, since they were too far away from me to make out what they were saying.
I stayed on the move, careful to keep ahead of the lights in their hands. They didn’t know that I’d busted into their safe, sanctified community yet, and they certainly had no idea what I planned for them.
I was determined not to kid myself about the impact an attack like mine might have. There was no point in pretending that it would change things, at least not in the long term. Next week, and the one after that, they’d still start with every advantage. But at least there might be a certain amount of joy in knocking the players who thought they could buy so many freedoms and protections down a couple of rungs on the ladder.
So what if it didn’t last? I knew the game would reset, and that was fine. Maybe next week when they logged in with a little more fear in their hearts and a lot less pride in their heads they’d do so because I’d succeeded. I had to hope so, since it was the only way I was ever going to affect them.
If anything came from this, I wanted to remind them that sometimes, just sometimes, the things you start with don’t matter. A guy like me, who hadn’t paid a dime and who’d gotten by with imagination and some luck could still bring their world crashing down around them.
I already knew that I had no chance in a frontal assault, but the number of players they had was making it even more clear. There must be more than fifty Survivors crawling across Beverly Hills right now in various stages of alertness, and even if they didn’t know it yet, they were all looking for me. Even with the few minions I'd managed to turn, it would be absolute suicide to try and lead an assault. I'd seen what concentrated firepower could do to a horde of Zombies on the freeway, and even though I had a few more advantages now, like cover and the element of surprise, I didn't want to go up against high velocity rounds and explosives without doing a few things to try and level the playing field.
So, I kept circling around, working hard on falling back to where I'd first come into Beverly Hills when I was attached to the bottom of that Humvee. I'd been surprised to see an NPC at the gate, and his presence told me that he was serving an important purpose the Survivors might not be able to fulfill on their own. There would still be an upper and a lower echelon inside their faction. If the Survivors simply wanted someone to guard the gate and open it when they were coming home, they could have arranged a player to do that. No, it was much more likely that the NPC was Deep Dive’s way of embodying a program, cooking some type of warning system into the game that told these guys when enemies were approaching. Maybe they had abilities like my Danger Sense that paired up with it.
The gate wouldn’t stop a Zombie anyway, and even if did, it wasn’t as if this elite community I the hills was surrounded by NPCs. The guard at the gate was just a symbol, the same way that everything I saw in here was really a symbol. We were all an enormous number of zeros and ones flailing around in the code right now inside of some massive server farm wherever Deep Dive studios had decided to store us. There had always been rumors that the servers were hundreds of feet beneath their headquarters, sitting in cement-lined and crisply air-conditioned splendor in a facility that could handily withstand a nuclear blast overhead.
As I crep
t closer to the NPC at the gate, it didn’t take much to convince myself that he was the key to the safety of the Survivors currently on the hunt for me. He was just ahead of me now. Thankfully it was full dark, and even though there was a moon in the sky there were more than enough dark clouds of billowing smoke from the constant fires raging in LA to give me even more cover.
I found a spot beside a boulder touching the lip of a ditch and froze, Hiding in Shadows as I studied his behavior.
I had to hand it to Deep Dive. Despite all of the server issues and the bug with my UI, they really did know what they were doing. I had half expected the NPC at the gate to be on some sort of simple, routine patrol, but even as I watched his actions I realized that was far from the case. Sure, he moved a bit mechanically, but I couldn't predict his actions. If he had a subroutine, and I'm sure he did, it was far too complex for me to work out. I'd been hoping that he would do something easy, like take a hundred and fifty steps in one direction and then a hundred and fifty in the other, let's say.
Instead, his actions seemed both purposeful and random. I crouched there for long enough to watch him patrol the gate ten or eleven times and didn’t see him repeat any notable action once, other than sweeping the surrounding area with his studious gaze.
That was just going to make this harder, but I was already committed.
I scanned the ground ahead of me once again. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught in the relatively open space between the guardhouse and my concealment. Maybe he wouldn't see me if he turned, if I was careless enough to step on a bit of crumbly rubble or have a fallen, leaf blown branch break beneath my foot. Maybe, but I doubted it. It would be far more likely that he would be able to pick me out in the darkness, aided by the fact that his whole purpose was to keep this place safe.
There was only an unbroken stretch of road between the ditch I was in and his guardhouse.
You can’t wait here forever, I told myself, but then I made a face. It wasn’t exactly true. I probably could hide here until the servers came down on Saturday night, but that wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Move your ass.
I took my own advice, hurrying as quickly as I dared across the dry soil and then the pavement at the rear of the gate. The fact that there was nothing to hide behind also meant that it was a straight shot to the gate, which meant that I didn’t have to slow down or go around anything as I darted through the night. If there’d been a lot of junk in the way, it would've taken me twice as long to cover the distance.
I hurried, but even as I did I kept my gaze glued to him. A few seconds before I thought he would stop I watched as his stride slowed. When his shoulders began to turn and his head started to swing in my direction I triggered my Lunge ability, practically throwing myself at the guardhouse. Through some perverse mix of Lock and skill I managed not to smash into the little structure, instead landing with relative quietness just beside it.
If I breathed, I'd be panting right now. If my heart still pumped blood, it would be banging away inside my chest. As it was, I stood to my full height and then held myself completely motionless as the wind pulled smoke from the face of the moon and I heard the bootsteps that marked his return.
Were they different this time? Did he approach with more purpose?
I told myself I wasn't sure, but it was a lie. Whatever noise I'd made had obviously been too much, and though he wasn't yet willing to simply raise the alarm he was certainly operating on an elevated level of surveillance.
If I had any doubts they vanished in an instant when he strode around the corner, his eyes almost comically wide when he saw me standing there. Maybe the programmers still had a few tweaks to make, because instead of being set to a killer level of awareness he was startled, at least as startled as an AI program in Headshot could be. Still, he didn't hesitate to reach for the rifle slung over his shoulder. It was too bad for him that I was already far closer than I needed to be, and even though Lunge was still on cool down I lashed out with my good hand, smiling a dark and broken smile as my Grip ability pinned the elbow of the arm going for the firearm mercilessly to his side.
I couldn’t take the chance that he had some remote way of alerting the Survivors, so I rocketed my head forward and smashed his nose deep into his simulated brain, caving his face in with my forehead.
In truth, under different circumstances I would've liked to have kept him alive. Turning an NPC into a Zombie was an interesting proposition, and one I was eager to explore. Would I get access to any of their other uses? Would my new minion be more or less efficient than a Survivor version? Sadly, I couldn’t take that chance since I didn't know how long my Infectious Bite would've taken to work on him, and even extra second or two would've given him a chance raise the alarm.
I let go of his elbow as he slumped to the ground. This way, at least he wouldn't be able to ruin my plans.
At least, that's what I thought. But an instant later, the game had a whole new surprise for me.
Attention. [Beverly Hills] has become a [Battleground]. Be aware that all players from both factions are receiving a similar message in real time. If further hostilities occur within the area of [Beverly Hills] there is a chance that it will be upgraded to a [War Zone]. NPC Fatalities greatly increase this chance.
A [Battleground] has special rules. All players in the immediate area will be made aware that there is currently a struggle for the future of [Beverly Hills]. Those with access to maps will find the area highlighted on them. Those without will feel a call to help and will be urged in this direction. While this impulse is NOT irresistible, players will be made aware that experience gains will be tripled for those aiding in the attack or defense of a [Battleground].
If the commanders of both factions within [Beverly Hills] agree, the area can be upgraded to a [War Zone] automatically.
Chapter 40
I blinked, trying to work out how this new twist would affect my plans. I’d certainly been a part of far bigger fights but I realized that none of them had taken place in a setting like this. Freeways, diners and the choked streets that surrounded abandoned buildings weren't really anyone's territory, so I guess it made sense that up here in a Survivor’s home turf the rules were different.
This was new. This was me knocking on their door, and the game had just let me know that anyone with any sense at all would come running to Beverly Hills, either to help me or hurt me.
Bring it on, I thought to myself as I knelt quickly behind the NPC and pulled long, wet strings of sinew and hit points from the softer parts of him. That rush of whatever chemical the game sent through my brain hit me hard, and instead of topping up and moving on like I’d meant to it didn't take long before there was nothing but a red smear where the NPC had been only a minute or two before.
I still couldn't see my UI. I didn't know what time it was, I didn't know how many hit points I had, but I certainly felt healthy.
If I was going to begin an attack, at least it was nice to know that there was a possibility that I would have at least a few allies streaming in behind me. And now that the NPC guarding the gate was gone, maybe they'd be able to make it into Beverly Hills with a little less resistance.
Ambush. Strategy. Plotting and cunning, that was the way of the Schemer I'd chosen. Head-to-head? No thanks.
This whole Battleground thing added an interesting variable to the equation. Headshot had just come straight out and told me that a lot of other players would get a message sending them in this direction. I didn’t think it was lying to me, but I wasn’t going to trust it one hundred percent, either. If I was Deep Dive studios, I’d make sure that the Survivors would be getting some additional information. After all, it was only fair. It had been their guard that I'd killed. They wouldn't put all of Beverly Hills on alert and not give them some idea of which way to go. For all I knew, right this very second they were getting a message flashed across her eyes that the East Gate was under attack, or whatever.
I cou
ld be wrong, I couldn't risk it. I had to move, and I had to do it now. I’d meant to hurry on anyway, but the compulsion to eat the NPC had taken up valuable time. I’d have to watch that, in the future.
Fortunately for me, Beverly Hills wasn't ever meant to be a fortress. It was designed purely with aesthetics in mind, a series of long, winding roads and sweeping vistas. Whoever laid this place out however long ago had done it with an eye to maximize views and real estate potential, not thinking that anyone would be crazy enough to try and lock it down in the face of an attack. I didn’t see any way it could survive a spirited attack, if I could get the numbers on my side.
Even though the pristinely manicured lawns and terraced platforms might make good sniper platforms, the hillside itself had no way of protection the residences from a horde of Zombies. If I had some more allies, I might have a chance after all.
The mansions themselves were easy to crack. As I'd already discovered, they'd been designed by people with enough wealth to pretend that plate glass windows were more than enough to keep the world at bay. The houses were secure only as long as the security staff and the police force and, indeed, the entire system was secure.
When things broke down, they were incredibly vulnerable.
Even the meandering design of the roads didn't help them move quickly from place to place, and I heard shouts and the rumble of engines long before I saw the probing flash of headlights as vehicles barreled down towards the gate.
I hurried away from the road, climbing up the hill as fast as I could go. It wasn’t easy with only one hand, but the fact that I didn’t get exhausted meant that I was able to be relentless in my pursuit of altitude. I crested on hill and crossed yet another road before daring to look around.
There was a Zombie staring at me. I recognized him as the one I’d sent to wander down the driveway after I’d turned Marissa and his friend. He was watching me, and I had the feeling that my previous orders had either been too vague or worded poorly. Either way, he needed some more guidance.
Headshot: One in the Gut (Book 1 of a Zombie litRPG Trilogy) Page 21