The Last Crossing
Date: 2020-10-21 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: At first, stories of Cheater caused nothing but laughter and rolled eyes. As the months went on, however, the tales became more terrific—and more terrifying. Now, Cheater the Lovestruck Loser has become Cheater the Lucky Legend. He never misses. He can never be held captive. And his luck never runs out. In pursuit of his love, his inexorable progress eastward leaves a trail of story upon story and corpse upon corpse. Any enemy standing in his way is soon reduced to a stain of blood and black dust on Cheater’s boots. Only one crossing sits between him and his destination. Between him and his so
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services

Arthur Stone

Respawn: The Last Crossing

Text Copyright © 2020 Arthur Stone

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Contents:

Arthur Stone

Respawn: The Last Crossing

Chapter 1

Life Nine. “Don’t worry. They won’t go off.”

Chapter 2

Life Nine. Power Shift

Chapter 3

Life Nine. Surprise Memories

Chapter 4

Life Nine. Search for the Dead

Chapter 5

Life Nine. Change of Scene

Chapter 6

Life Nine. Reunion

Chapter 7

Life Nine. Under Wise Direction

Chapter 8

Life Nine. Rainbow Road

Chapter 9

Life Nine. For the Team

Chapter 10

Life Nine. Getting Ready

Chapter 11

Life Nine. The Beginning

Chapter 12

Life Nine. Breaking Brakes

Chapter 13

Life Nine. Cannon Fodder

Chapter 14

Life Nine. More Mechanical Mess

Chapter 15

Life Nine. The History of Ancient Rome

Chapter 16

Life Nine. The Armored Beetle

Chapter 17

Life Nine. Abandoned Station

Chapter 18

Life Nine. A Quick Escape

Chapter 19

Life Nine. Land of the Ghouls

Chapter 20

Life Nine. The Mountain Pass

Chapter 21

Life Nine. A Fortress of One

Chapter 22

Life Nine. The Giant’s Step

Chapter 23

Life Nine. A Familiar Insect

Chapter 24

Life Nine. Underground

Chapter 25

Life Nine. Slanted Skyline

Chapter 26

Life Nine. The Unfinished Skyscraper

Chapter 27

Life Nine. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 28

Life Nine. Wrath of the Ghouls

Chapter 29

Life Nine. Good Luck

Chapter 30

Life Nine. Personnel Management

Chapter 31

Life Nine. The Near East

Chapter 32

Life Nine. Antiquities

Chapter 33

Life Nine. The Unholy Trinity

Chapter 34

Life Nine. March’s March

Chapter 35

Life Nine. Trust Issues.

Epilogue

Life Ten.

Many thanks to my readers!

Chapter 1

Life Nine. “Don’t worry. They won’t go off.”

“I’ve seen everything. Seen things I’ll never tell another man. Because that man would never believe me, no matter who he was. Even if he was crazier than you. I’ve even seen things I don’t believe myself. Today, I saw a whole tribe of grays attempt to kill an Elite Nold. A massive flock of vicious grasshopper aliens locked in combat with the latest Iron Man. They killed everyone else in their way. I didn’t just see this spectacle from behind some bushes, or through some murky spyglass. No, I had the best seat in the house. Better than front row. My own private VIP box, you might say. I do wish there had been some popcorn, and maybe a beer to wash it down. But I’m not complaining. Rare sights are what I live for. I’m addicted to them. Just when I thought it was over, you said—how did you put it?—‘Don’t worry, they won’t go off.’ That’s what you said, isn’t it? Now, the grand finale to the whole show is here: an atomic blast. Thanks for the encore, Cheater. Whenever I’m around you, I always see the most interesting things.”

“You’re wrong on this one. That’s no atomic blast.”

“Right. My mistake. It’s not atomic. Perhaps it’s just some gas passed by the Elite Nold as he lay there dying. We lit the atomic bombs on fire, but they weren’t the real danger, no—it was the methane from the metal man’s posterior we had to worry about.”

“You’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to.”

“A bigger deal? Well, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Doesn’t look like you’re really that busy right now.”

“Cheater, buddy, that shock wave just tossed us through the air when we were a whole half mile away. And tossed the car we were in with us. It was a wild ride, to be sure. I guess that’s what it’s like to be dandelion puff. Look: I’ve seen all kinds of explosions and shock waves and knockbacks. But never on that scale. It was an atomic blast.”

“Stop exaggerating. We didn’t get ‘tossed’ anywhere. You just lost control of the vehicle around a sharp curve. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Perhaps you’re right, in part. How well could you expect me to drive when there are atomic bombs going off just behind me?”

“I didn’t know you were an explosive expert, Clown. I thought you were, you know, a car mechanic. Well? So see here: that fortress had tons of all kinds of explosives beneath it. Anything and everything that could explode was hidden below. Thousands of shells. Tons of crates of dynamite. Bombs of every make and mark. Enough to start—or probably end—a world war. Did they bring in trainloads of it? Who knows? It was an unimaginably massive pile. When I lit up the place with my mind and took a look, I nearly went blind. They might as well have been living on gunpowder for the soil. That’s what exploded. No atomic blasts. Just a very, very big conventional detonation.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. There was nothing ‘conventional’ about that. So why is this the first time you’re mentioning all of these conventional explosives?”

“We were busy. It slipped my mind.”

“But those atomic bombs that didn’t explode failed to slip your mind.”

“It’s hard for anything atomic to slip your mind. The rest wasn’t really anything special, so I neglected to—”

“‘Neglected’!? ‘Not anything special’!? They nearly knocked us clear off the road! The reason you and I are hanging over the edge of a cliff right now is those ‘not special’ explosives. Also, my Radiation meter has gone up. A lot. I bet yours has, too. I’m no specialist in nuclear physics, as you are so quick to point out, but would a ‘conventional’ explosion shower us with alpha and beta particles and gamma rays? Hell no. It was atomic, I am telling you.”

Cheater shook his head. “We’ll be fine. The explosion tore the shells apart, and some of the material inside was scattered. I’m no physicist, either, but there was of course some radioactive fuel inside. Now, it’s blown to dust. Or even to atoms. And that dust is drifting down on top of us.”

“Ah, very good. So we avoid an atomic explosion, but still reap the benefits of breathing plutonium right into our lungs. And that’s ‘fine’? I hate arguing with you, Cheater. I wouldn’t be surprised to see you take a chamber pot and try to convince me it’s full of apple jam. You never budge. Never shift. Not even a nudge.”

“Quit talking about ‘budging’ and ‘shifting’ and ‘nudging,’ or you’ll send us over the edge.”

It was a scary thought. The armored truck they had taken out of the Devils’ fortress had taken a sharp turn right when the blast wave hit. Even though they were half a mile gone, it still gave them a good shake. In fact, it pushed them off the road like they were riding in little more than a cardboard box. The vehicle turned over several times and came to a stop just at the edge of a thirty-foot dropoff. There was water below—but rapidly receding. The dam had taken significant damage in the explosion and was no longer holding water well. The recession was fast, and likely very loud. Yet their ears were stunned by the blast, and so them shouting at one another was the only break in the silence of the world.

Not that they needed to hear the stream. A bigger concern was the position of their truck. The metal-clad cab teetered over the edge. If they fell below, they would likely not die on impact, but they would be swept away in the rapid rush through the breaches in the dam.

The fall would also possibly cripple them, at current water levels. Meaning that they would in fact die.

Sending them to respawn, after dragging them into a whirlpool and slamming them into some massive boulder or throwing them over the dam.

Neither Cheater nor Clown was seriously injured, but they were in no hurry to abandon their vehicle. They did not want to upset the apple cart.

One cab door was blocked in by the carcasses of fallen trees. They had been growing along the edge of the cliff, but the blast and the rolling truck had joined forces to knock them over. The other door was clear, and had even opened slightly, its latch ruined in the rolling. But it led straight out over the water swirling and spinning a dozen yards down. Someone with enough physical strength could climb out, up, and over.

However, Cheater and Clown were not exactly in their best form. The tortures and traumas and persecutions and poisonings of the past few hours had taken their toll.

Worse still, two people shifting their weight would affect the truck’s center of gravity. The vehicle was precariously balanced. Metal groaned and creaked as it rocked, along with the sounds of crunching dirt and branches. The fear had prevented them from doing so much as gesturing when they spoke, and they looked with their eyes instead of their heads whenever possible. Overturned as the truck was, they had both been lying on the cab ceiling as they had debated the blast’s degree of atomicity.

“Well, radiation or no, unless we get out of here now, we’re toast,” Clown voiced the apparent truth. “Radiation is rising only slowly now. As an expert car mechanic, I can assure you that this truck will dump us into the murky depths before we start feeling any ill effects from the blast.”

Cheater pointed down. “There’s a hatch over there.”

“You’re joking,” Clown blinked. “It opens straight into the ground. And we’d have to saw our way out. That swinging door is our only option. I’m no acrobat, Cheater. And I feel terrible. I might not make it. I wish I had saved some of the spec. With a shot of that in my veins, I would have been out of this thing before it even turned over the first time.”

“Without the spec, we never would have made it out of the fortress,” Cheater forced out.

“True,” Clown nodded, regretting the movement immediately. “Still, it’s a shame there wasn’t any more. Anyway, yes, as a car mechanic, I should be trusted about these things. If we don’t beat it now, it will beat us. And I mean right now. We’re about to go over. This vehicle is heavy, Cheater—it won’t hold for long.”

“What’s your plan?” Cheater asked.

“Plan? To beat it!”

“I mean how.”

“However we can. Have you broken anything?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like it. But I’m not sure. After coming down from that spec, you know, I’m not even sure I’m alive. My head is all muddled...”

“Side effects. Hey, where are you going?”

Cheater blinked at him. “You just said it yourself that we need to get out of here. So I’m getting out of here.”

“You go that way, and your escape will be straight into the water. Here, grab that seatbelt. It’s not the best safety rope, but it’s better than nothing. Once you’re up, pull me after you.”

“Got it.”

“The hell’s that?” Clown snapped. “You bringing your backpack?”

“The mods are inside. No way I’m losing them.”

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, I guess. But how about you try getting out without the backpack first? You can use this belt to lift it out once you’re up and out. Then, you can lift me out.”

“Alright,” Cheater sighed.

Neither of them had remarkable Agility at the best of times. So, it took them a long time to bumble their way out, complaining about themselves and each other as they went. Despite Clown’s fears, the truck was in no hurry to cast itself over the edge. Yet it did rattle menacingly now and then, sometimes kicking another clod of earth crumbling into the water below.

At last, the trio was atop the truck—Cheater, Clown, and the priceless pack. It was then that the vehicle finally decided it had had enough. It groaned once again and shuddered, then began to tilt, losing itself in a great landslide.

Without a word, both of them leaped up and ran down the length of the truck at full speed. The bottom of the vehicle was not the smoothest of running tracks, but still they ran. At the end, Cheater made a long jump that might have broken the regional record. Sadly, he did not stick the landing, and collapsed into an awkward roll. On second thought, though, if he were in a movie, he would have bet that the director would be keeping this take.

Once he arrived, he turned around and pressed back to the door. Thankfully it had swung fully open now.

“The hell are you going!?” Clown howled.

“The second pack!” Cheater answered without slowing down.

He felt the ground morph into a waveform beneath his feet. The truck was about to fall in earnest. When he realized he was out of time, Cheater grabbed whatever was within reach and then tried to redirect his momentum, pulling a full about-face, hoping to execute this maneuver as cleanly as the last.

It didn’t work out. At the last instant, he stumbled and fell, as if someone had sent their boot right into his backside. His whole body pressed against the edge of the cliff, now. The car was already far below. Why wasn’t he?

Clown had leaped forward and seized him by the collar at the final moment. He heaved and pulled him up. “Shit! Don’t do that again! I’m terrible at catching things, you know. I’m just a mechanic!”

“The pack!” Cheater protested, nearly in tears.

“To hell with the pack! This is a stable. Once things settle down, we can come back with some scuba gear and clean up. The loot won’t be going anywhere. What the hell was it, anyway?”

Cheater turned his head. “Huh?”

“Look, that truck was full of the best weapons, the best ammo, monster loot, and mods. But you just risked a whole life just to retrieve this Nold shoulder turret. The hell do you need that for?”

“You were the one who said to grab it!”

“I thought maybe we could mount it somewhere and use it. But maybe not. It was just a thought. I have never seen a turret like it before—and I doubt anyone else has, either. But it’s from an Elite Nold!”

“You can figure it out. You’re a mechanic, after all.”

A bright flash lit the sky behind them, and the earth trembled at nearly the same instant. Only then did the sound of a mighty blast shatter their eardrums.

Both turned to see a huge crimson cloud billowing over the Devils’ fortress.

Clown bobbled his head from side to side, mocking. “‘They won’t go off, no need to worry, they’ll just burn out, like balloons popping.’ I told you that drenching atomic bombs in gas and setting them on fire was a shitty idea.”

“We have to get out of here,” Cheater said.

“What? Really? I was just starting to enjoy the radiation.”

“That’s not what’s going to kill us,” Cheater mumbled. “We just upset a whole lot of very bad people.”

“The Devils?”

“No. The Devils are the last of our problems now.”

Chapter 2

Life Nine. Power Shift

Progress was hard. When it came down to it, players’ bodies were not all that different from ordinary human bodies, especially when it came to the aftereffects of powerful drugs. The stimulant was like jet fuel injected right into the bloodstream, but you paid for it with a colossal down, albeit a delayed one. If life circumstances were less than ideal during this aftermath, the compound effect could be devastating.

Clown and Cheater were shivering anxiously. The brand-new clothing they had found in the fortress was already torn and stained with blood. Golden regeneration cores could deal with minor injuries quickly, but apparel remained unhealed. This meant, of course, that the whole cluster could smell them. They might as well be simultaneously cutting themselves and scuba diving in a reef teeming with man-eating sharks.

In addition, the explosions and plumes of smoke would attract creatures from many miles around. Few infecteds lived in these areas, but they would all now be charging headlong towards the site. And woe be to any players in their path. Only the strongest and best equipped could handle such an encounter.

If they were lucky.

Their first encounter with the infecteds was about five hundred yards from the truck’s final resting place. Three runners ran out to meet them. They were weak opponents—when you faced them with weapons.

Cheater only had a revolver, stored in his inventory. All the rest of his weapons had been left behind, either in the fortress or in the truck. Bound items were great, but they could not return to you immediately. You had to wait for the System to place them in nearby caches. That could take some time.

Shooting was the last thing he wanted to do. It would take these three down, but it could also summon larger beasts in their stead. Clown was better prepared for the encounter. Cheater had to admit that his Nold shoulder turret was not the ideal weapon in any engagement he could foresee. He only had it, of course, because he had just seized whatever happened to be closest, in his panic and in the truck’s final moments above water.

Accurately and powerfully, Clown punched the leading runner in the head. Cheater unceremoniously knocked the second one off her feet. He wielded the Nold’s shoulder turret like a 60-pound club, holding it by the barrel.

His ability to do so surprised him, as did his idiotic choice. He must have really been shell shocked to seize this alien paperweight when the truck had been filled with swords and axes and other handy weapons of all kinds. All of which were an order of magnitude lighter. Yes, this turret was a deadly weapon, but in his hands, it only worked when used for blunt trauma. Only a player with unnaturally elevated Strength could fence with a piece of minor artillery, of course.

The ghoul met the turret and flew ten feet back. The next blow finished her off. Lagging behind, the final ghoul was easy to kill as they could come at it from both sides. They continued on their way, but now took advantage of cover, rather than rushing headlong down the road. Unarmed players wanted nothing less than to avoid serious infecteds. Only their abilities could save them, were an honest fight to occur.

“Do you have a map?” Clown asked through heavy, panting breaths.

They had just reached a thin forest which provided enough cover from passing beings, so they could relax a bit.

Cheater nodded. “Yes.”

“Any villages or farms nearby? We have to find something. An ax, at least.”

“This is a stable, Clown. Nothing has come in for ages. We have to get out of this cluster as soon as possible. And as far as possible.”

“I’m starting to think it’s not the radiation that’s concerning you. What has you on edge? It’s not just that I’m curious. I might have some useful contribution to make if I know the situation.”

“We have to get away from everyone in this region. We have no friends here anymore. We’ll never have friends here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you understand that the Devils will be hunting us now. Well, I also told you about Watershed. Perhaps he is a prophet, but he cannot know everything. He sees only probabilities, and only some of them. Well, he saw that I had good chances of destroying the Devils.”

“That was a damn good prophecy, I’d say,” Clown chuckled.

“Yes. But there were many things that the cunning bastard did not mention. He didn’t say anything about the atomic weapons. But they were no secret. The only reason I knew nothing of them was that I’m not a local. So why didn’t he mention them? They’re significant, as we’ve already established. I think Watershed wanted those weapons for himself. You can imagine why.”

“An NPC with an atom bomb? I’m no racist, but that sounds like an undesirable state of affairs,” Clown grimaced.

“Now the bombs are gone,” Cheater joined the grimace. “I’m sure Watershed won’t like that. He may become very angry. At us, specifically. I fear him far more than I fear the Devils.”

“Why? What’s so scary about him?” Clown asked.

“He considers everything. He ruminates. He arranged each piece of this plan, ensuring that at the end, the Devils would be gone, and he would inherit their arsenal. But the plan went awry. Watershed may very well be furious now, and looking for someone to blame. Someone to answer for the failure of his objective. We cannot let him capture us. Later, of course, once things cool off, we should leave the region. That was the plan, anyway. So we’ll clear out of this area fast, find March, and keep moving east.”

“With a smile in our step and our compasses calibrated to Kitty, of course,” Clown nodded, before promptly tripping on an exposed root and cursing loudly.

* * *

Either Cheater’s fears were exaggerated, or the NPCs’ organization simply did not have the capability to quickly deploy continuous chains of hunters and assassins. During their entire hasty escape, infecteds were the only foes they encountered. Namely, a dozen runners and one young raffler. They took several minor wounds in their struggle with the latter, but the bleeding stopped almost immediately. The regeneration cores continued to operate at full capacity, momentarily dealing with minor damage.

Larger infecteds did come close, and they had to sit still and out of sight as they passed, but pass they did. No humans or human-like enemies were seen. The pair avoided roads whenever possible.

There were challenges other than conflict. Cheater chose their direction intently. Only two sides of this stable had clear ways out into normal clusters. A third lined a black swamp, which they could never navigate without a guide with a special ability, and the fourth side bordered black clusters. They were dry, and not too deep. Cheater headed towards that final border. If they were being pursued, he hoped the black clusters would cover their tracks. Many search abilities did not work in black lands, or at least did not work well.

Three miles across the black crystal glass was, as it turned out, a serious tribulation for a pair of wounded, exhausted fugitives. It took them nearly two hours despite the level terrain. By the time they reached the border, the sky was pitch black, too. Thankfully, Cheater had not skimped on his map purchases, and so even the dark of a moonless night could not lead him astray.

When the silhouettes of the first buildings appeared, Clown pleaded, “Come on, let’s go inside. I have to eat. Now. I’m about ready to gnaw my own arm off!”

Players’ metabolism was pumped up beyond that of professional athletes. That, combined with their hypercharged regeneration, made their situation desperate. Biological healing cost a lot of energy. Unless they tossed some high-calorie items into their gullets soon, the regenerating bodies would begin devouring themselves. Dystrophic loss of tissue and muscle was a serious risk. Even death from exhaustion was a possibility. Cheater had walked that line before, not long ago, and he had no desire to repeat the journey.

Therefore, not taking any no’s for an answer, he approached the nearest house and used Flash a few times, trying to detect any dangerous organisms nearby. Only small rodents appeared. It was safe to proceed.

Note: Treasure Hunter ability triggered! A mid-level cache has been located nearby!

The System had avoided showing him any messages after the kiloton of text it had dumped on him after the battle in the Devils’ fortress. Cheater almost got used to it not being there every step of the way. In fact, when the red message popped out of nowhere, he forgot, for an instant, that he was not in the “real world.” He relaxed and smirked.

A cache. Only a mid-level one. It was, however, located right in the house he had selected to break into. He could loot it while he was looking for food.

At the threshold of the main entrance, he used Flash again, highlighting objects which stood out. He relayed what he found to Clown. “I see some canned food in the basement, and something that looks like a massive jar of sauerkraut. Just don’t open the fridge. The shelves are stocked with cereal, sugar, and tins of some kind. And there’s a bar in the biggest room, stocked with drinks.”

“Amazing!” Clown burst, heading straight for the cellar.

A few minutes later, they were camped in the large living room, indiscriminately filling their stomachs with pickled vegetables and a few chunks of stew. Sadly, there was only one jar of the latter, hardly enough for a pair of starving players.

After satisfying his hunger for vegetables, Cheater stepped over to the bar.

“Hey, pour me something, would you?” Clown called. “Don’t forget to add a spore. Although—actually, forget the spore. I’m tired. I could use a drink to help me sleep.”

Cheater wasn’t there for the drinks. He fumbled with the wall, attempting to open the cache. Uncovering the compartment hidden behind the bar, he pulled out a sawn-off shotgun and a plastic bag holding a dozen rounds.

Clown nodded. “Shitty gun, of course, but it’ll do. I think our own caches will be set up come morning. I’ve got a machine gun bound. Good gun, and I know it well.”

Cheater crunched into a pickle. That moment, a massive flash lit the sky, shining through the windows to their left. Both of their heads jerked towards the light, and they stared in silence.

After a few seconds, the blast wave hit the windows. “That’s not the direction of the fortress,” Clown noted uncertainly.  “The opposite direction, in fact. But it was a serious blast.”

Cheater nodded. “The powers that be are finding their places usurped. The Devils don’t have a fortress anymore. Nor do they have their atomic arsenal. Their strongest players just got kicked to respawn. All of them. So only the locals remained. Watershed and his friends knew that this would happen. It looks like they were ready. Right now they’re taking out the Devils wherever they can be found. You saw how weak their presence was in those towns.”

Clown nodded. “Just a few pups left in the garrison, I’d bet.”

“Of course. They didn’t need anything more. If anything serious cropped up, a quick call to the fortress would have reinforcements arriving in a flash. But now, the fortress is no more. It’ll be a few hours, at a minimum, when the most senior Devils start respawning. They’ll be scattered throughout the region, all over the fresh clusters. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Watershed were watching all of the respawn locations, stationing digis there to wipe them out again and again. And not just Watershed. Players, too. You saw how much the Devils were hated. But they were afraid of the bombs. So, take out the bombs...”

“You’re right,” Clown grunted. “I hadn’t really thought that through. We have to get out of here before the violence finds us. Sure, they’re after the Devils, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe. When new people come to power, there’s always collateral damage. It’s always complicated. I’ve lost a couple of lives to situations like this. And I was entirely innocent of any and all blame. I didn’t even understand what was happening. Luck left me hanging. Dropped me right in the middle of an anarchist revolution. The old government was gone, and no new government had replaced it yet. Tough times.”

“Complicated indeed,” Cheater added. “We’ve got the NPCs, and the Devils, and the rivalries among various NPC factions—and even the System is involved. No one ever knows what the System is thinking. The more distance we put between ourselves and this region, the better.”

“The System?” Clown blinked. “What do you mean?”

“It was the System that directed me to the fortress. Do you really think I would have so brashly walked up to March otherwise? I’m not stupid. I knew it was a trap. The System was dragging me along the whole way. Sometimes it even gave me explicit clues, and when the time came, it added on a special System quest. To destroy the atomic arsenal. Everyone says that the System respects balance. But it cannot do everything, and it cannot intervene directly if the balance is lost somewhere, or so they say. As long as no rule has been broken. It can, however, incentivize players to do its work for it. So it found me. It doesn’t want some crazies getting their hands on a stockpile of atomic weapons. Or anyone, for that matter. So it pushed us to deal with those weapons. Like we were its instruments, and it was—”

A log spilled out in brighter red than Cheater had ever seen.

Note: You have completed these portions of your current quest: Survive, Learn Secret, Help. Congratulations!

You may choose a bonus.

Option 1: you earn one attempt to Ask Correct Question.

Option 2: you gain the Radical Party Rebind ability. This nullifies your squad’s region binding. Description: When you activate Radical Party Rebind, all members of your party located in the same region as you will be bound to the current region, with their region respawn limit reset to maximum. Cooldown: 500 days. Each +1 Willpower level reduces the cooldown of this ability by one day. (Your current Willpower level does not apply. In addition, any increase in Willpower which occurs during the cooldown period does not apply.)

Note: Based on your style of play, it is highly recommended that you select Option #2. You have 240 hours to make your decision. After 240 hours, your bonus will be chosen for you, at random.

Pay close attention as you play, and you will be rewarded.

Clown frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Cheater remembered a similar situation with Kitty, yet declined to go into details. Clown was a curious fellow. He would have to waste a lot of time explaining.

“Just lost in thought,” he equivocated.

“Apparently. You just froze, like a statue. So, what’s our plan to look for March?”

Cheater shrugged. “We should take it easy for a day or so. Get everything in order. Or even 2 or 3 days, so that he is sure to respawn. Then, like we did before, we’ll visit each of the three main parts of this region. I doubt they’ll be able to kidnap him again. The Devils have plenty of other things to occupy themselves with now. And I don’t even think they’d be up to it, nor have the time. You saw how involved that ambush was. As soon as we see March’s chat online, we’ll find him.”

“Is that the best plan you’ve got?” Clown pressed on.

Cheater shrugged. “It works, doesn’t it? We’ve done it before.”

“You’re still a noob, Cheater. Look, let me explain how to look for a respawning player. First, we get to a stable. How close is the nearest one?”

“Seven miles, as the crow flies.”

“So about three hours, on foot,” Clown estimated. “As long as we don’t run into Devils, or Watershed’s NPCs, or some other hostile party along the way. Hell, I bet most people in the region wouldn’t hesitate to shoot us. Plenty of players with itchy trigger fingers out there. As soon as anarchy hits, they come out of the woodwork.”

“We’ll take that as it comes—there’s something else to worry about, first,” Cheater said as he cautiously watched the hallway.

“What?” Clown perked up and warily gazed the same way.

“That’s right. Not something, actually. Someone. Have you noticed the total lack of weak infecteds in this town?”

“Don’t tell me you see some massive beast that scared them all off. That’s not the kind of shit we need right now.”

“You guessed it. It’s close. And it knows that we’re here.”

“Shit!”

“Exactly. Get ready. It’s about to charge us.”

“To hell with this piece of shit! All I have is this shoulder gun!”

“Here, take this revolver.”

“A revolver? Against an elite?”

“I’ve got the shotgun,” Cheater followed, calmly as he could. “Thanks to that cache.”

“How strong is this infected?” Clown pushed.

“I don’t know, exactly. My Flash isn’t good with details like that. It looks like a manmincer, maybe a little weaker.”

“A manmincer.” Clown winced. “And we’re going to fight it with an imbalanced club and a couple of BB guns.”

“Got any other ideas?” Cheater asked absentmindedly as he was loading the shotgun.

Damned truck. His sword had been inside. It could have punctured the skin of anything, even an elite. And that damned cache. Worthless. And this damned Continent!

He paused. Only three of the shotgun rounds were slugs. And they looked to be in bad shape.

Clown was right. He might as well just play Hemingway, with weapons like these.

The front door shuddered. Soon, it would shatter, and the grumbling master of this village would rush in to greet his new guests.

Chapter 3

Life Nine. Surprise Memories

“How much do you think a manmincer’s head weighs?” Cheater asked thoughtfully.

“I haven’t unlocked the Scales skill yet, so I wouldn’t know,” Clown sneered. “How about... 150 pounds. I can barely drag it.”

“Why are you dragging it then?” Cheater reached the point.

Clown squinted at his prize. “I can’t just throw it out. Each time I look at it, I remember that night time fight. What a sight! Rare to see something like that. Your shot, from the floor into the air above you, both barrels at once. That really was something. Everything perfectly calculated to deliver a blow right under the sporesac ridge. Plus the slide on the floor between his legs... I never took you for a gymnast. That, my friend, was pure art. Once again, I had a front row seat, and no popcorn. Pickles don’t count.”

“You helped.”

“Of course, I was the bait,” his comrade agreed. “But you were the main attraction. I just made your actions shine brighter. So this head is no trophy. It’s a memento.”

“So unforgettable a fight, in fact, that you’re going to drag a 150-pound head around for the rest of your life so you don’t forget it?”

“Nah,” Clown snorted. “I’ll throw it away soon enough. It’ll start reeking before long. If I do forget, the gap will be filled up with new memories, I’m sure. Even more fascinating ones. I have no doubt about that.”

“Is that so? Well, we’ve nearly reached my personal cache by this point. There’s a lot for me to carry. I’ll be too weighed down to help you with that thing.”

“I’ll have to carry it on my own?”

Cheater nodded.

“Well then, I hope I see something exciting very soon.”

“Oh look, an old strip club!”

“Come on. Not like that. I mean new memories. Of things I’ve never seen before in my life.”

“So a strip club is perfect! But first, let’s get to that stable. It’s not far. It doesn’t look like a troublesome stable, either, so I wouldn’t go tossing that head away just yet, if I were you.”

“Oh come on. I know you. You’re one of those rare types that can walk into a deserted stable and find some crazy adventure in under a minute. Remember the last stable? And the one before that? And the one before that?”

“Yeah, ever since that duel they dragged me into.”

“Someone challenged you to a duel?”

“Yes,” Cheater nodded.

“Why?”

“No reason. It was my first stable. I was ogling everything, having never seen it before. Like I had just hatched. This guy named Glock set me up. His favorite activity was provoking newbies into attacking and then sniping them in the resulting street duel. And I was clearly a newbie.”

“What did you do?”

“Killed him.”

“As far as I’ve seen, Cheater, Glock never had a chance of escaping alive. But I need details. Give me details.”

* * *

The stable they reached was pathetic. Only the most peaceful, boring clusters could have settlements like this. No defenses were seen—after all, there was nothing worth defending. The permanent local population consisted of a single howling cat, and in the event any threat came and knocked at the door, that resident much preferred to flee rather than to defend its turf. It could return once the danger had passed. And even if it found that its foes had razed its home to the ground, it wouldn’t mind. There was nothing to raze, really.

Here, too, there was only a doubled-up wire fence around the perimeter and some fortified positions built with bags of earth. Inside, some large army tents, RVs, light modular buildings, and ordinary trucks stood. The trucks had been refitted into sleeping quarters, shops and even places of entertainment. Nearly everything was on wheels, ready to evacuate at the first sign of danger. It was a cross between a gypsy camp and a military camp.

The entrance was an opening in the wire fences. Although it was the only entrance, no one was standing guard. Or so it seemed, at least. If anyone was keeping secret vigil over their ingress, he showed no outward interest towards it.

He should have. They were an unusual-looking pair. They wore unremarkable civilian clothes. Only newbies wore such garb by choice. The skin on their faces had peeled off and left fresh pink blotches beneath, as if due to sunburn or in cases of radiation blasts and treatment by regeneration core. One was dragging an incomprehensible but obviously heavy contraption behind him and carried two massive objects on his back: a huge sword and an even larger rifle. Neither were particularly uncommon here on veteran players, but not as a bundle, wielded by the same person. In addition, the melee style of play suggested by the sword was sorely contraindicated by the existence of the sniper rifle. Cheater might well have been swimming underwater while dressed in fencing garb.

This incongruity would fade as the hypothetical observer’s eyes moved to the head of the manmincer Clown was dragging. It was covered in flies, which did not seem to bother its new owner at all. Cheater had almost begun praying to the System for some new conflict so that he could be rid of his companion’s head. Clown’s tolerance was inexplicable, and the bugs’ buzzing was getting to Cheater.

If any pair of players were to deserve attention, it would be them.

Once inside, they saw an execution square. The residents’ preference for mobile structures did not, as was apparent, extend to their gallows. They were constructed in the standard fashion, their posts planted deep into the rocky soil. A light breeze made their ropes and joints sway. Under each rope, the earth was dark. Not with blood, but with the dust that players became when they died. Those grains of post-human sand did not last long. In a matter of hours, they would decompose to dust that was lighter than air and quickly scattered with the faintest of winds. So the gallows has been used recently. Most likely during the night, or even early this morning. If the killings had occurred even as long ago as the evening before, the evidence would have likely been swept away by now.

Clown wearily shifted the pole on which the manmincer’s head hung to his other shoulder. “I’d bet my left eye they hanged someone here not two hours back. Maybe three. But no longer than that. And not just here—over there, too. And there. We’re late for the show.”

Cheater did not want to think about it. He was exhausted, and the long and boring road into the stable settlement had lulled him deeper into his weariness. He nearly fell asleep right on the road. When he asked the question, his voice sounded dumb and lifeless. “Why’d they die?”

“Because they were hung, of course,” Clown replied.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come here.”

“Maybe not,” Clown agreed. “But we’re here now, so let’s keep going. I suggest we head that way. Looks like everyone’s over there. I wonder what’s up. Hopefully it’s something a little more cheerful than a mass execution.”

Even without using his Flash of Omniscience, Cheater had concluded that people were gathered together beyond the double row of tall tents just before them. The characteristic noise of a crowd wafted over the shelters and towards the tired travelers. He strongly suspected that the excitement was over the trial of the next candidates for hanging. Or over some other equally gloomy event. He was very wrong.

They were just having fun.

And in ways that were peculiar to residents of the Continent.

Abilities came in all kinds. Some were very useful, and others were useless. Some were harmful, and others healing. Some were buffs, and others were debuffs. Some abilities were so odd that they defied all categorization.

The person holding the crowd’s attention had one of these abilities. Cheater had heard of such people, called Traveling Theaters, Cinemamen, Projectors, and so on. As was usually the case with the System, the essence of this class of ability was the same among all those who had it, but the details varied.

This person could mentally capture any moment from his life and then show it to others, in crisp quality, after the event. Even several months after the event. It was like a video camera, though without a microphone. All he needed to project was a suitable surface and one or two eyes open. Plus whatever way he used to project the images out from within his skull. But that would be a very personal thing, and it was hardly too complicated since this particular individual didn’t quite come across as a man of genius.

A wall of one of the entertainment establishments served as a screen. The sign above suggested, in hieroglyphs, that food and drink could be found within, along with an atmosphere characterized by an unlikely degree of fun. Yet no one appeared to be left inside. Everyone was out, to watch. People from the whole surrounding area had come, too, forming a semicircle around the spectacle.

The cinemaman stared and pointed at the improvised screen, hastily commenting, “See that? That sign in the corner? That’s where the best girls of the region were kept. Not all of them were first class, of course. Only a few. The rest were trash. But those top girls, they were perfect. You could lose your load just looking at them. I dropped more money on them than the whole stable was worth. And they... what they did to me... I’m sorry, guys, I can’t show that out in the open. Come to the private show this evening, and it’ll be worth your while, I promise. A hot montage of scenes the likes of which you’ve never seen! Many love them so much they come back a second time, or even a third.”

“The hell you think we’re here for?” One of the spectators mumbled. “To look at some cheap hoes from the West? You said you could show us this Cheater fellow. Well, show him!”

“I’m not sure if this is the Cheater who destroyed the Devils’ base,” the projector explained. “There are many Cheaters in the world. It’s a popular nickname for idiot players.”

“Well, show us and we’ll figure it out,” the viewer demanded. “Everyone here has heard things about him. We won’t mistake him for some noob.”

“As you wish. Look!”

A new image lit up the green tent canvas.

Cheater saw himself.

The first thing he did was grimace. The picture that was displayed had been taken recently, really. But the difference between that Cheater and him was stark. As if years had passed, or even decades.

The stat boosts and abilities provided him by the System were not the key differences. He felt like he was a fully grown lion, looking at the helpless cub version of himself from long ago. At a glance, it was clear that this was a typical noob frantically trying to learn and survive in the harsh realities of the Continent.

And frantically failing.

The traveling theater pointed at the image. “That man, there. But I am not sure it’s the same Cheater. I heard he decided to trek across the whole world, all for some girl. This man had the nickname Cheater. But no, I’m not sure—he certainly seemed too dumb for feats like our Cheater. And not nearly stealthy enough. I caught him mistreating a girl. One of those hot girls I promised to show you later, in fact. She was a real beauty. Come by and you won’t regret it. So I reprimanded him, and he had the gall to go for his gun. This was a strict stable, and everyone around beat him into submission. I challenged him to a duel.”

“So what happened? Show us!” another spectator inquired, arms folded.

“I did not take any more pictures,” the man noted with great regret. “My ability has a long cooldown. Better to save the shots for naked women than some random noob. But I remember everything well enough, so I’ll tell you. The people lined up in the streets. I had my Glock. A real man’s weapon, you know? He had some girly ammo guzzler with a flick safety. Decorated in mauve. I didn’t even loot it afterward, that’s how awful it was. But we lined up and prepared for the countdown, when he just opened fire, right then and there. From eighty paces away.”

“Before the duel even started?” the viewer asked in disbelief. “But his face looks so similar. Our Cheater is the one who crushed the Devils and won the hero achievements. Not some bastard who, well, cheats in a duel.”

“Do I look like a liar to you?”

“You don’t look like anyone to me.”

The man guffawed. “Yes, perhaps the System doesn’t display messages about me for the whole world to see. But do you remember the stories about Gibbon? The System kept silent about him. Not a peep. And everyone who ever met him as an adversary regretted it. So, anyway, I calmly approached this Cheater. Once I was thirty paces away, I got to work. I could have shot him from fifty, but I had to hit him square in the balls, you know. Better chances at thirty.”

Clown was listening with interest and jabbed Cheater’s side. “That is you in the picture, you know.” He whispered softly—but it was enough. The closest spectators turned to face them. Some stared at Cheater in surprise. Others cocked their heads back and forth, comparing the man to his photo.

Cheater, who was calmly listening to the continuation of the spurious story of the drawn-out duel, calmly asked, “Would you guys please point me to the nearest popcorn stand?”

“I’ve got some popcorn,” one of them said, turning and pointing towards the entertainment tent. “Salt OK?”

Cheater looked at Clown. “Salted OK with you?”

“Sounds fine,” his friend nodded.

Cheater turned back to the tent’s apparent owner. “Yes, please, and lots of it. My friend really needs a bite.”

The chattering cameraman did not yet suspect a thing. He was in a rage, now, extolling his vicious acts of violence against the noob on the wall. By this point, he had emasculated Cheater and shattered both of his knees with three clean shots. He was now reloading. Ten paces away from the legend, he somehow easily dodged the return fire that came his way. This sounded improbable, but the inexperienced members of the audience listened willingly. Only those close to Cheater and Clown suffered bouts of inattention to the tale. Yet their numbers were growing. More and more people turned, staring in amazement at the man who seemed to have stepped out of the movie shot—and at his companion, who carried a manmincer’s head on a pole over his shoulder.

Cheater finally began making his way to the center of the scene. The crowd hastily parted, letting him pass.

His heavy hand rested on the movie man’s shoulder.

The fibber was finessing the fictional Cheater at five paces, somehow still dodging his opponent’s bullets as he closed the gap. And close the gap he did, but not in his story. Cheater still somehow remained unnoticed by the man, but the touch on his shoulder made him flinch. The picture flickered out.

The projector turned and stared at Cheater, as if he were a ghost.

Smiling, but without emotion, Cheater greeted him. “Hi, Glock. It’s been a long time. How are you? Good business, I see? You know, we were just talking about you on the way. It’s a small Continent, isn’t it?”

“Well... I... uh, yeah. Yeah, it is. Hi.”

Cheater pointed towards the local approximation of a town street. It was a long, wide corridor that ran between tents and vehicles, leading to the exit from the village.

“Run that way. Don’t look back, or we’ll just have some salt for our popcorn. In forty-five seconds, on the dot, I’ll take a shot. Run straight. If you try veering off or taking cover, I won’t wait. I’ll just shoot your balls off. They’re a much smaller target than mine, but I never miss. You remember that, right? I never miss. Or have you started believing the lies that you tell everyone?”

“I... well, I...”

Cheater made his voice sound benevolent. “Say what you want, do what you want, but time is ticking. Your time, which I’ve given you.”

“Wh... “What!?” Glock stumbled for words, his face as drained of blood as a piece of school chalk.

“Forty-one seconds left,” Cheater replied calmly.

Popcorn crunched appetizingly behind him. One of the quicker viewers voiced a piece of obvious advice. “Get out of here, you moron. Time is running out!”

Cheater was not even hinting at drawing his weapon, yet Glock made no attempt to out-draw him. He had tried that once before, and despite the fibs he was spreading, it was clear that he remembered the truth.

Whirling, he rushed, and the crowd let him by. Once he was free, he made for the exit, moving in unpredictable zigzags. His speed was impressive.

One of the spectators shook his head. “Nothing motivates a man like protecting his privates. He’ll make it to the gate, at that pace. No way anyone can make that shot.”

Another viewer seized the opportunity to make some money. “I’ll bet you fifty that the shot hits!”

“I’ll bet a hundred!” another added.

“Oh go to hell! You really think I’m dumb enough to bet against Cheater?”

“Then why did you say he’d never make the shot? Dammit—I’ll take the bet, boys. One-fifty!”

Judging from what Cheater heard, the odds in his favor were very good. He had a reputation here.

Glock really could run fast. Not only did he reach the gate—he made it a dozen paces beyond.

Cheater raised his heavy rifle and pulled the trigger, taking no time to aim.

The recoil slammed into his shoulder. It would have knocked him back if he was a noob, but he shrugged it off. The System was happy to bend the laws of physics for its more advanced players.

Among other things.

Cheater shouldered the gun and turned towards the tent owner, who was gaping at him with something an order of magnitude deeper than religious veneration. “You know what, do you have anything besides popcorn? My friend and I would like to have a bite.”

“Sure, anything you want,” the man said as he rushed inside.

Cheater followed, to the sound of the mumbling crowd—and to the dying echoes of a hysterical scream ripping into the village.

“He didn’t even aim!” they were saying. “A quick scope. He really is Cheater. He quick scoped him, did you see that? I saw it. And right in the testicles!”

Cheater hadn’t been certain of that last part, actually. Not that it would have mattered though. His ammo type and caliber made a fearsome combination. Glock would have been nearly torn in half. No matter where it hit.

He also doubted that anyone was about to go and verify any of the gory details.

His first contract with this town’s citizens was a resounding success. Neither Cheater nor Clown were being dragged off to the gallows, at least. They might even score a good meal.

Cheater was a legend here, and it was bad luck to refuse to feed a legend.

Chapter 4

Life Nine. Search for the Dead

It was not a good meal. Only the simplest dishes—all noticeably undercooked or overcooked— supplemented with processed snacks from normal clusters and alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. The salad was flavorless, and the vegetables in it somehow managed to wither before their eyes. Not only was the juice not fresh, they doubted it was really juice. A cheap powdered drink, most likely.

It was a common beverage on the Continent. Bottles of drinking water came in huge quantities with nearly every reset. It was much simpler to collect these than try to establish water bottling plants in stable clusters. But the quality of the selection still varied from one stable to another. Some places even grew their own fresh herbs, along with some vegetables and berries.

Cheater was not about to turn his nose up at the meal. He had been so famished in the wilderness that he’d eat rubber.

Clown, however, barely touched the food. He held an extended, whispered conversation with the owner of the establishment, and only then sat down at the table, winking conspiratorially. “So I asked some questions. This cluster has just the person we need. He’s not very experienced, but he’s good enough for us. I hope.”

Cheater was trying to saw into a brutally overcooked bacon slice. “What are you talking about?”

“About finding March,” Clown winked. “That’s still the plan, right?”

“Of course. March is the top priority.”

“And you remember my derisive comments about your search tactics.”

“Right.”

“We found him, sure, but not exactly in the best of circumstances. We didn’t even have time to say hello. They took him out right away, once their blocker noticed us. It’s a good thing they shot him, really. Makes our mission a little easier. By this point, anyway.”

Cheater blinked. “How does that make things easier?”

Clown turned to face the tent entrance. Two people had just stepped in: the owner of the establishment and some inconspicuous young man with the fussy eyes of a petty thief perpetually caught red-handed. “Time for you to learn some tactics. Is this the guy, Kegger?”

The owner approached the table and nodded. “This is Clams. He can do what you need, as I said before.”

“Then have a seat, Clams,” Clown pointed to a nearby chair. “We have some work for you. Important work! They say you can quickly find anyone’s respawn.”

Clams shook his head, “No, that’s too hard. The System doesn’t like anyone being able to do that. After all, you could spawn kill a player twenty times in a row like that, before they’re dumped in a new region.”

“Then why the hell are you here?” Clown snorted.

Clams jumped back, startled. “How should I know? I heard someone needed to find the respawn point for a good player. So here I am.”

“I don’t understand. You just said it’s too hard.”

“Yes. If it’s just anyone’s respawn point. But the point of someone in your party? That’s much easier. It’s no guarantee, but it’s quite possible.”

“Got it. Yes, the man is in our party. We want to know where he’ll show up. Can you help us?”

“So when was he... uh...”

“When did his unfortunate death last occur? The day before yesterday. Midday. More than 40 hours have passed by now. He might be respawning as we speak.”

“Was that death far from here?”

“Not that far.”

“Invite me to your party and I’ll take a look.”

“Cheater, you’re the leader—can you invite him?”

As was customary for her, Kitty had quickly returned him his party role, which Cheater was quite thankful for. That would have been awkward to explain.

Clams nodded almost immediately. “Yes, we can try finding him.”

“Try?” Clown squinted.

“This is the System, guys. The System never gives guarantees. But in most cases like this, I can find who I’m looking for.”

“Then look!”

“Fifty,” Clams said, nervously.

“Fifty!?” Clown grimaced as he stroked the top of the manmincer’s head.

“Well... I can give you a discount, then. Thirty. But you’ll need to wait. The ability takes a while to activate.”

Cheater interrupted Clown’s next offer. “Go ahead. Thirty is fine.”

They waited nearly ten minutes. Never before had Cheater encountered such a slow ability.

At last, Clams looked up. “Cluster 749-208-91. Start clusters usually contain a city or town. If this one does, March will be there. If there is no city in the cluster, it means that March has a perk that lets him choose a quieter respawn point. But this makes no difference to you, since chat should work across the whole cluster. As long as he doesn’t leave the party as soon as he respawns.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Clown muttered.

“Who’s this Kitty in the party?” Clams ventured timidly. “Is it really that Kitty?”

“Clams ought to keep their mouths shut. It protects their insides.”

“Calm down. I was just asking.”

“Cheater, toss this curious young man his thirty pieces of silver so he can get out of here before I get angry. And pin that cluster on your map. You’re the man with all the maps, after all.”

Searching for clusters by their numerical ID was a special kind of torture that Cheater soon doubted the Devils could match. The ordering of the clusters was beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, if there was an ordering system at all. Cheater spent twenty minutes poring over description boxes, slowly expanding the radius of his search. At last, he smiled. “It’s pretty much due east of us. Fifty miles out, and nearly all of it open. It’s outside of the Cauldron. There is some black land between us and there, but afterwards the dark clusters are few and far between. Looks like a clean shot.”

“That’s good news. East is just where we’re heading, after all. We’ll pick him up along the way.”

“Are we going on foot?” Cheater frowned. “That’ll take a hard twenty-four hours of marching, if not more. March might leave the cluster as soon as he spawns, too.”

Clown nodded. “Perhaps. And this stable doesn’t seem like the place to ask for good information. They won’t know when the reboot is due to hit. Well, you stay here while I go try to whip up some transportation. We shouldn’t stick around. We attracted a lot of attention back there, and you’re famous enough that there’s probably someone here looking to strangle you. And your traveling partner, if he’s around.

* * *

Transportation took too long to acquire. Cheater was so close now that he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. He was nearing the final region border that he needed to cross—after picking up March along the way. Every delay heightened his anticipation and anxiety.

Still, he made good use of the time. A quick trip around the stable was enough to restock on decent clothes and equipment. Two dozen top-of-the-line rounds for his rifle, plus food, medicine, and spec. They could have found all of this in the Devils’ fortress, but they had been in a rush and had seized nothing but the most valuable items. There had been no time for stew and spec.

All delays end in delight or disaster. In this case, the result was positive. Clown found a suitable vehicle. And a driver. They had negotiated a single ride from her, with half paid in advance.

She was basically a taxi driver.

Taxis, as in the world before, were pricey.

Very pricey.

Cheater had looted the fortress well enough, for the haste they were in. The Devils had kept all kinds of goodies within its walls. Including sporesac loot. Nothing like the loot he had retrieved from the Unnamed, but decent enough. They must have found Bugler’s personal treasury, or perhaps the Devils’ main treasury itself. Clown and Cheater had collected a mass of trophies—and been careful to observe their schedules. Each item, of course, had a value, and they didn’t have time to fight over stray spores here and there. Cheater understood the expense. But the decision did raise some questions. Clown was not only a mechanic. He was a first-rate driver. Why did he hire an outsider for the job? Ordinary vehicles on the Continent weren’t worth much. Buying a car outright for a one-way trip and then ditching it was a common occurrence.

Clown explained this away by saying that the road and the vehicle both were unfamiliar to him. The car’s owner knew it like the back of her hand. She also knew the area, down to each pit and pothole in the roads. She assured them that if anyone knew the fastest way to their destination, it was she. Finally, a group of three was bigger than a group of two, so they’d have better chances if they ran into trouble.

With some Devils about to come back, trouble was not hard to find. But not from the Devils themselves. As information spread at the speed of thought from chats in one region to the next, everyone had become aware of everything that had happened. They had started killing all of the Devils, in all stable clusters. Some they hung, leaving piles of black dust underneath the gallows. This disturbed the Devils, of course, so those still alive all left the towns and settlements they were residing in. Yes, they were also being killed in the country, but not as often. Anarchy reigned. Avengers and vigilantes fired first and checked identities later. Of course, the Devils wouldn’t exactly treat Cheater and Clown kindly. So they could encounter vigilantes or villains along the way, each of which would pull the trigger without a moment’s hesitation. They were both best avoided.

The vehicle was a Continent-adapted pickup truck, and the driver had hiked her fee up due to the danger of their situation. No one would take such risks without a serious reward, paid up front.

It was a nice truck, but it was no tank. Clown said it was the best they could find in the stable. Looking further out would make them lose more of their priceless time.

A pickup with laughably oversized armor was far from the worst option, and besides, they didn’t have far to go. As the crow flies, they had a little over 50 miles ahead of them. The ways the roads wound and wove would push it closer to 65 or 70. They could clear it in a couple of hours.

Assuming conditions were good.

* * *

Clown and Cheater sat in the back. There was no machine gun or flamethrower, just a sad turret mount without an actual turret. At least they were personally well armed.

The border area had belonged entirely to the Devils just the day before. It was fenced in by the black area Cheater had mentioned. Inside of this fence, the number of infecteds allowed to live there was strictly controlled. Sadly, their primary enemy was players, not infecteds.

This was, of course, arguably always true.

Five miles into the trip, they saw a truck smoldering on the side of the road, with the familiar piles of black dust nearby. A little further, the way was nearly blocked by a real vehicle pileup. It had been a chokepoint at some recent time, but a bold and well-armed convoy had punched through. The operation had cost them dearly—about a dozen vehicles, by the looks of it, and a good number more players.

Their dust piles were just beginning to blow away. Everything had happened quite recently. In the past few hours.

Cheater gripped his rifle more tightly, waiting for some unknown mob of opponents to take an interest in the solitary pickup. He began to regret his decision to take a vehicle. Making their way on foot would have been much slower, but also much less attention-grabbing. March was unlikely to wait for his comrades in the new cluster, sure, but he would not be too difficult to find either. After all, Cheater doubted he would be dense or brash enough to head west, back into the Devils’ territory.

But here we are, on the road, making a racket. What’s done is done. No sense complaining now. They cleared one mile after another, and despite Cheater’s fears, no one had disturbed the pickup. Not long left now, and no major population centers on the way. Maybe this’ll be a smooth ride after all.

* * *

He shouldn’t have jinxed it.

They were about ten miles from the finish line. The road they took was a flat two-lane highway sandwiched between two strips of trees. The lack of elevation changes and the density of the forests reduced visibility to nearly nothing. It was the kind of road you only took if you had a long-distance sensor with you. Flash of Omniscience had a trivial range. Even at low speeds, Cheater could not help predict an ambush. At least not with Omniscience.

He could only rely on his eyes. And his Luck, of course.

The pickup truck suddenly swerved. The pavement was smooth, so Cheater doubted the maneuver was intended to dodge a pothole. A machine gun roared in the vegetation to their left, clearing his mind of conjectures. By the sound of it, it was not a large-caliber weapon—perhaps just an ordinary automatic rifle. But the pickup’s armor proved to be more for looks than actual protection, and the gun was close. Even a pistol round could pierce the truck in some places at that distance.

But the driver had somehow noticed the enemy before the firing began and had spun the wheel to dodge some bullets and to present less of a target to others. Most missed, despite being fired from a stone’s toss away. Only a few bullets hit the armor.

The abrupt maneuver caught Cheater by surprise. He dropped down to stay covered inside the truck in the face of the inertia. This disoriented him for a second. That moment’s pause perhaps saved his life as a jagged hole appeared in the side of the truck, a hand’s breadth to his left.

He couldn’t jump out to take a shot; the vehicle was rocking back and forth, throwing him about. The driver was desperately dodging new volleys from some location behind them. The enemy machine gunner, though he had sprayed them at first, was firing in economical bursts of two to four rounds now. That spoke a bit to his experience, yet still he rarely hit.

Clown managed to peak over at the enemy.

Then he swore, as usual. “Shit! Damned invisibles!”

Cheater had no idea what he meant. Perhaps he was confused, or overcome by the stress of the situation.

He had to get a look for himself. He stood up.

The rifle remained on the floor, so that Cheater could grab the side of the truck with both hands. Otherwise, he would risk being tossed overboard.

As he looked behind, Cheater saw something he had never seen before.

The evening had just begun to impinge its dark on the daytime light, and there was enough visibility to see everything around clearly without needing his Darkvision. The twilight may have been better, even: He could see flashes from firing guns more easily than he might during the day. One such tracer zipped by his head.

He felt like it grazed his temple.

But the machine gun itself was, in fact, invisible. The fire was coming from the middle of the road, a short distance above the asphalt. It was the height at which you’d expect a turret to be mounted on a smaller vehicle. The source of the volleys was pursuing the pickup, at vehicular velocities.

But no vehicle could be seen. The machine gun, the turret, the car, the gunner, the driver, the cab—all of it was utterly transparent. The tracers were the only visible sign.

In a past life, Cheater would have stared in disbelief, but by this point, he was barely affected. He didn’t need Clown to explain in order to understand that this was yet another spectacular ability bestowed by the System. Everyone knew that some people, among them Cheater himself, knew how to mask themselves and their allies from the eyes of those people, monsters, and even machines who might wish them harm. Usually, there were several time restrictions on such abilities, since the System hated to give overly powerful advantages to any one player. But one minute would be plenty of time for the pursuers to riddle their truck, driver, and passengers with bullets. They could then finish them off and loot them without any rush.

Their driver was already hit. He could tell because their maneuvers were no longer well considered but rather sporadic. After all, the first and longest volley had struck the driver side door. It had been spread wide, so the driver had not died immediately, but no one in good health handled a steering wheel like this.

How could he raise his rifle? He wouldn’t be able to use his hands to hold on to the side of the truck then. Soon, the pickup would likely start to roll. That would only marginally hurt his chances of remaining steady. Plus, even with his newfound frugality, the gunner would have enough time to turn the truck into a sieve in moments. His firing was now measured and precise. This wasn’t a fight. It was a shooting gallery. Despite the desperation of Clown and Cheater’s position, the enemy’s invisibility persisted. They did not mind spending the extra mana for the sake of maintaining their cover, even though, in their minds, they had already won. How could either of them hit an invisible foe? Nothing, however, was stopping Cheater from seeing them with his Flash of Omniscience. Still, how could he raise his gun? Even if he shot with his pistol, he didn’t know where to shoot, and doubted his pumped Accuracy would help when there wasn’t even a target.

In seconds, they would be respawning. Unless he acted.

He knew he could not go for his weapon. Other options passed through the scales of his mind. Perhaps he could use Smile of Fortune. The enemy’s tire might blow, or his gun jam. Nothing else seemed to make sense. They were too far to hit with Tranquility, apparently. Nor would he be able to summon Tranquility on patches of air or asphalt they would pass through. He tried three times, in fact. Nothing. The detailed description for the ability suggested it was best used on objects which were not “part of the scenery.” The System often declined to go into detail, but it was enough of a hint.

The pavement and the air were certainly scenery. So the ability simply refused to activate when targeting atmosphere. Right now, the bullets were the only visible thing that was not “part of the scenery,” and the ability could not target them. His Reaction simply wasn’t good enough for that kind of aiming, even with tracer rounds. Nor would the ability target the road. Sadly, it was a good road. If there were potholes or cracks, they might be significant enough to target. His experiments with Tranquility ended quickly.

Luck was his last resort.

But the situation was changing rapidly. An instant before Cheater activated Smile of Fortune, something fortuitous happened. He could have thrown an object towards the enemy.

That much became painfully obvious when the enemy did it to himself. A volley hit the truck body. Clown screamed, and Cheater felt like his thigh had been hit with a sledgehammer. His vision began to blur. But he saw it well enough.

The bullets broke the nuts securing the spare tire, and said tire proceeded to bounce back out of the wavering pickup.

It was positioned right between the pursuers and their prey.

There was no time left for consideration. Instead of Smile of Fortune, Cheater used Tranquility.

The tire stopped suspended two feet above the pavement. An instant later, their pursuers’ front bumper hit the same place.

Cheater finally got a glimpse of their car. The camouflage was shaken away. It was a pickup similar to theirs, though smaller and nearly unmodified. When it collided with the indestructible obstacle, it not only received a bashed-in front bumper; its rear end was hurled up into the air, brutally throwing the machine gunner out of the truck like a performer from a carnival cannon.

It was a beautiful sight. The next moment, either their driver died, or their pickup’s tires grew weary of clinging to the road.

The truck turned over.

Despite the injury he had just received, Cheater had enough Reaction and Agility to hurl himself out of the overturning truck. He rolled two dozen paces, the “smooth” roadway tearing his clothes and skin as he went. He leaped to his feet.

If shock was coming, he had to act before it arrived. Now was not the time for rest. No victory message had been displayed by the system.

Raising his sword, which had thankfully landed near his feet, Cheater charged the enemy vehicle. It looked bad. Not only was its front end utterly destroyed—it had turned over several times, before landing once more on its wheels. Those inside could still be alive. Players were tenacious beings. These ones could return to their senses any second.

He could not allow that.

The machine gunner slammed into the pavement. Her limbs were bent in unnatural directions, and her long hair grew dark with blood. But her broken left arm was moving, trying to push her body up from the road.

Cheater silenced her with Choppa, as he ran by.

That’s one.

He reached the car and looked in through where the door had once been. The passenger sat, restrained by his seat belt. One eye looked blindly forward. The other looked nowhere, for a steel bar which had been part of the windshield’s armor now was a part of his eye socket. Omniscience showed Cheater that the metal had punched deep into his brain, nearly to his occipital bone.

That’s two.

The driver was alive and conscious, but pinned into his seat by the crumpled vehicle. After all that he had experienced, he was clearly deeply confused.

Cheater pressed the barrel of his pistol to the man’s head. “Are you alone?”

“Wh—what?” the driver muttered, blood gurgling from his mouth. “The... what? You... Who are you? Thought you were... Devils... Why did you... attack us?”

“Devils!?” Cheater yelled. “I’m just a regular guy, traveling east, trying not to get killed by worthless bandits. Damned highway robbers like you!”

The driver's eyes flickered with coherent thought. He understood. “I... we fucked up... we didn’t know...”

“Well, now you do.”

Cheater’s finger twitched.

And that’s three.

As he turned to face his own vehicle once more, Cheater’s strength gave out, and he dropped to all fours, screaming as agony shot through his thigh.

Nothing to worry about. Merely a scratch. The bone seemed to be intact, so he would not have to crawl, at least. Muscle regenerated quickly on a player, especially since he had a core in him. Golden regen cores healed nearly everything within three days. In addition, Cheater had also gained a wild buff that would last a hundred hours, and then some, plus 150 Stamina. Its effect was supernaturally powerful. If healthy, you could run all day and not even become short of breath. Even the most severe pain became like a distant echo.

Clown had received a similar buff, but as far as Cheater could see, his companion had taken a bullet to the stomach. Or bullets. The golden core would cope with that, but it was certainly a more difficult process.

Both cars were totaled, and their driver seemed beyond hope. They themselves were crippled. And there were still ten miles to the border of the cluster they needed to reach.

Indeed, this was wholesome fun all around.

Chapter 5

Life Nine. Change of Scene

The final miles took them all night. In normal conditions, a player could cover that distance in three hours, tops. And that would be with less-than-ideal terrain and a bulky backpack crammed with heavy items. Cheater, however, was suffering greatly from his thigh wound. The huge buff to his Stamina did not help nearly as much as the beginner brochures suggested it would. Plus, he basically had to carry Clown. The man was heavy, and he could only move on his own for short stretches, and slowly.. A blow to the liver like that would kill a normal man outright, but the golden medicine could heal it all, except, perhaps, where one’s head was torn right off.

Seeing that Clown had not died at the scene, he would now likely make it.

The scent of their blood covered the entire country around. Several times, they caught ghouls following them, and at one point some beasts leaped at them from the front. Not even Darkvision warned Cheater; he heard the grumbling first, before he could see them. Thankfully, young rafflers were the worst they had to encounter. His sword dealt with them quickly and easily.

The monsters frequently appearing from behind suggested that more were likely tracking them. For some reason, there were many of them wandering through here. Perhaps they were heading to the rebooting cluster where March was due to appear, as was their habit.

Or, there might have been other reasons for the grumblers’ appearance. One never knew.

The last stretch was the hardest, and not due to the beasts. It was the kind of place the ghouls hated. Thick black clusters. Even healthy, strong players grew tired and ill within a couple of hours in the dark lands.

Cheater dragged himself to the finish line. His legs felt like boiling vegetables. It took his last bit of Stamina just to realize that entering a cluster which was just about to reboot was not the best idea. Entering just after the reboot would be terrible, too—they would track their smell halfway across a land where infecteds were pouring in for the new spoils.

Had the reboot already happened? March’s icon was inactive, so either he had not respawned yet, or he was beyond the black. The latter was improbable.

He wouldn’t have had the time.

They took a break a dozen paces from the cluster border, at the edge of a garbage dump. The outlines of mountains of rubbish darkened the dawn and irritated their noses and ears with multitudinous odors, and with the incessant rustling of rats and other vermin poking about for food waste.

Clown took a sip of lifejuice and passed out so quickly that he didn’t even screw the cap back on. Cheater courageously tried to keep watch, but as soon as the first rays of sun came up, he was out, too.

Sleeping at the edge of a cluster about to hit reset was reckless, especially without a sentinel. But his body would not be refused its rest.

* * *

Cheater woke soon after. A terrible nightmare provoked the Sandman to vomit him up. In his dream, the rats from the landfill had surrounded them on all sides and proceeded to gnaw into their noses, ears, fingers, and other parts.

Cheater barely resisted the urge to brush the fictitious beasts away as he leaped to his feet. As often happened, the dream and reality embraced one another for a moment after his waking.

But everything was fine. There were no rats, and no gnawed off body parts.

His heart began to settle down—and then leaped up into his throat again.

Clown was gone.

Just four hours ago he had been lying nearby, on a debris-strewn patch of withered grass. Now, he was nowhere to be seen. Hadn’t his insides been shot up? He couldn’t have just walked away!

Cheater shook his head, but he was experienced enough to open the chat window. Clown’s icon blinked with a new message.

Clown: Don't shake your head like that. I’m here.

Cheater did not bother asking exactly where “here” was. He was awake enough to find it out on his own. The location of any party member could be determined on the map.

He opened it and went to maximum zoom, then found Clown. Closing the map, he turned slowly, looked up, and squinted. There he was. On top of the largest pile of garbage in the whole region. To disguise himself, he had even put a shredded plastic bag over his head, which made Cheater snort.

Cheater: What are you doing up there?

Clown: Come see for yourself.

Cheater really, really hated the idea of climbing such a tall and unstable hill, but climb he did. Just in case, he hit the mound with Flash of Omniscience. He winced as he saw dozens of illuminated rats hiding in the rubbish. He sighed and began his ascent.

One minute later, he crouched down next to Clown. “Couldn’t you have picked a smaller hill? I felt like I was going to fall right into the goo.”

“Nope. This one’s got the view. Plus, better to smell like trash than blood. You managed to leave our spare clothes in the vehicle, so we don’t have anything to change into.”

“I had to carry my pack, and you. With a shot leg. Plus, we had to get out of there fast, before ghouls came calling for the source of the noise.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t hold it against you.”

“How did you even get up here?” Cheater doubted. “Last I saw you, you were in such bad shape you couldn’t even moan, never mind move.”

“I used my legs. Sometimes my arms helped out. The regen is still active, so my gut is all patched up. Still a scar there, but I bet that’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Does it still hurt?” Cheater pressed.

“Of course it does. Anything more than a half-breath would make me double over. But it’s bearable, on the whole. Doesn’t feel like a knife blade is sawing at my insides anymore.”

“You could have, you know, stayed down below.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Why?”

“Look at this view. It’s beautiful.”

Cheater did not think that “beautiful” was the right word. In one cardinal direction, black clusters stretched out towards the horizon, and two other directions offered only mountains of trash. The final direction might, if your vision was sufficiently blurred, be considered somewhat less wretched. Mining structures and heaps of rock shared the landscape with massive chimneyed factories. So dull and gray it was that Cheater suppressed a minor urge to leap to his death down below.

“Beautiful?”

“You don’t think so?” Clown replied.

“For a fan of brutalist architecture who’s also colorblind—or better yet, fully blind—perhaps. It looks like the outskirts of a city. An old, poor, Soviet city. With record-breaking rates of depression and suicide.”

“Perhaps,” his comrade nodded, “but you’re missing the beautiful part. Ten minutes ago, an elite ran by on that road there, with eight beasts behind him. None of them weak. Each one a trampler or better. Now, look over there. See that? Runners. Hurrying off somewhere. They’re all going in the same direction, even though the groups can’t see each other. So, why do you think they’re going that way? They’re not about to head towards the black lands, of course. In order to escape this cluster’s reset, they’re heading that way, towards the next standard cluster.”

“So it’s about to begin,” Cheater concluded.

“I’d assume so. But we wouldn’t know otherwise. Usually there’s a fog, the deathveil, before the cluster is reborn. Along with a sour smell. All of the smells currently wafting through our nasal passages can be explained by this garbage. The ghouls, however, are behaving very suspiciously. I don’t think we’ll have to wait for long. We could only have a couple of hours left. Or less.”

“So why are we climbing trash mounds? We have to leave!” Cheater insisted.

“No, hang on. We’ve still got some time. The ghouls haven’t exited the cluster yet, and they’re rarely wrong about these things, if ever. They have to cross the whole cluster to reach the next border, since they won’t head into the black. Well, they won’t when there’s an alternative, anyway. You and I, on the other hand, don’t mind hanging out in the dark for a bit. So relax. Enjoy the sights and smells a little more.”

Cheater gazed at the bleak industrial landscape in the distance, then at the piles of rubbish, then at the road between the two, sprinkled with bones here and there.

His question seemed a reasonable one. “What sights?”

“The sights of an utterly dead world which is about to come alive. Everything will be transformed in the reboot. Everything will suddenly look very different. It’s one of the greatest wonders of the Continent. It’s beautiful.”

“Clown, I’m pretty sure that even a full reboot can’t help this place. Give it a hundred reboots, if you want. It’s a garbage dump now, and it’ll be a garbage dump after the reset. Same with the rest of it.”

“You’re still dull sometimes, Cheater. ‘Beautiful’ doesn’t have the meaning it used to.”

“Well, what’s it mean now, then?”

“You know how one man’s trash is another man’s treasure? This dump, for example. Some types would be overjoyed to find it. Now, you’re right, I’m not one of those types. These are just mountains of shit, as far as I’m concerned, and it’s hard to find beauty in shit. But consider this: have you ever thought about what would happen if we stayed in the cluster at the moment of reset?”

“We die and respawn. Everyone knows that.”

“But what a death! This massive piece of the earth resurrects, and in so doing takes your own life. What a paradox! It might be an interesting experience.”

Cheater squinted at Clown. The man’s eyes were clouding over, and he sensed the familiar desire for popcorn and a front-row seat. He grabbed Clown’s hand. “No, let’s get out of here. Right now. New sensations can wait until next time.”

* * *

It was a boring cluster reset. No visible train wrecks, tectonic events, or fleets of jets spiraling downward in smoke and flames. The mist did appear, too gradually for its growth to be observed. Neither of them could tell when it shifted from haze to fog. By the end, though, only the tallest piles of trash were visible, poking out of the deathveil. The only interesting part of the reboot was how the border with the black cluster functioned. None of the fog ever crossed that border. Not a wisp. A perfectly smooth wall of acrid mist formed in front of them.

Then, the world seemed to blink. There was no flash, no sound, no electrical zap, and no shuddering of the ground. In an instant, the fog simply disappeared, as if someone had switched it off, and the glorious heaps of debris rose once more before them, unpolluted by moisture in the air.

They were no more beautiful than before, as Cheater had predicted.

Clown smirked and nodded. “Amazing. I never get tired of seeing that.”

“I wish the fog were still around,” Cheater said. “It helped cover the view, and maybe even the smells.”

“The fly notices the shit, and the bee notices the blossoms.”

Cheater rolled his eyes. “So where are the blossoms, then? Come on, let’s go. How are you feeling?”

“For a man who took a bullet to the liver, pretty good. Don’t expect me to break any groundspeed records, though. Maybe in four hours or so.”

“Look at that!” Cheater exclaimed as soon as they stepped over the cluster border.

“Ah, so the garbage is growing on you!”

“No, no. March. His icon. He’s here! I’ll drop him a message.”

Cheater:

Hello, March? Write when you can.

An answer came back almost immediately.

March:

Don’t distract me, I’m busy.

Cheater scoffed audibly.

Cheater:

Don’t distract you? We’re not just swinging by. We’re in the cluster. Four miles away, tops.

March:

Then start coming my way, but don’t distract me yet. No time for chat. I hate chat anyway.

Clown saw every word, since he was also a member of the party.

He chuckled. “That’s March, all right.”

Cheater nodded. “I know, I recognize him too, this crackpot. Let’s catch up to him before he gets himself into some new kind of trap.”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” Clown said with confidence. “We can find him easily. No one else has him in the party.”

“Oh, put a sock on it. March tends to surprise you.”

Chapter 6

Life Nine. Reunion

Despite Cheater’s fears, nothing bad happened along the way. Except for the long interlude of wading through endless blocks of industrial gray. Filthy roads, with no sidewalks and no transportation available to hijack or to hitchhike on.

At one point, two security guards emerged from a factory entrance to stare at the pair of limping men in tattered clothes covered in suspicious dark red stains. The large backpacks and unusually shaped suitcases they carried only made the suspicion worse. But the guards did not approach them.

This city had just loaded in. None of the digis knew yet what had happened to them, but they were starting to suffer the degenerative effects. Widespread power outages and communication blackouts were not expected in cities. In addition, that invisible parasite that would incrementally transform them into post-human monsters had begun to gnaw at their brains, causing their trains of thought to run off the rails at times.

Cheater hated respawn cities, despite having spent only limited time in them. He wanted to nab March quickly and get the hell out of this one.

Before the real fun starts.

He saw the shabby taxi van when they were almost on top of it. A thin stream of cigarette smoke trickled up out of the driver’s side window.

They could avoid hotwiring the car for now. This one’s owner was still alive—it was hijack or hire.

Thinking himself a reasonably decent person, Cheater preferred the latter. “Can you take us to the center of the city? We’ll pay.”

The driver slowly turned his head, studied this rough vagrant with the backpack and the suspiciously long bundle on his shoulder, and grimaced in disgust. “I’m no taxi.”

“I understand that. But I can’t get an Uber or call a taxi. No service. I really need to get downtown.” Cheater flashed a large bill. “Ten minutes of easy work.”

He had wisely collected some currency from the last stable. Money from the old world only held value in fresh clusters, and only for the first few hours, but smart players tried to keep at least a little on them. Cash in their inventory came in very handy in respawn situations.

It was enough to pay an ordinary taxi to drive around for hours. In fact, it was too much. A couple of suspicious men willing to fork out so much for a short stretch was not a good sign.

The driver’s eyes flashed in surprise, and he frowned more deeply. “Like I said, I’m not a taxi.”

Cheater drew his pistol and sighed. “Clown, you’re my witness: I tried to be amicable. Out of the car!”

In order to avoid wasting time on any superfluous wrangling, Cheater shot through a rear side window. The driver quickly and silently leaped out onto the pavement and began to worriedly back away towards the middle of the road.

“Not that way,” Clown warned. “You’ll get run over. Sit on the curb there so you can calm your nerves and clean the shit out of your pants. And remember: you could have kept your car. And a fat wad of cash.”

“You going to mentor him all day?” Cheater shouted from inside the car.

“Nah, let’s go. Sheesh, you ought to learn a little patience, kid. By the way, those guards are coming for us for some reason. From behind. They’ve got guns, and stern looks on their faces.”

“Get in and we’ll be gone before they catch us.”

“Should we shoot them? They might call the police.”

“They can’t. No service.”

“Oh, right. My bad. I guess I’m still not thinking straight. But the guards might have a way to call in. Something wired, or short-range radio.”

“Now we’re debating their communication options? Let’s go!”

* * *

They did not reach March within ten minutes. He wasn’t far at all, but he just refused to stay in one spot. His marker had moved an inconveniently significant distance across the map. Unfamiliar with the local traffic patterns, Cheater and Clown worked their way over, trying to cut through narrow alleys along the way. One alley was blocked off entirely, and they had to back up. The next was occupied by other cars, and they nearly got stuck in the resulting traffic jam. Once again, they backed their way out.

The next time they found themselves stuck, Cheater called it. “Let’s get out. We go under that arch there, and we’ll run into March. He’s only two hundred yards away, but if we stay in the car we won’t reach him until evening.”

Clown sighed. “Time to drag all of our shit around on foot again. Come on, there’s got to be a way through.”

Cheater’s impatience was reaching a boiling point. “Get out. I could walk two hundred yards with my legs cut off.”

But Cheater did not throw caution to the wind. March had been acting strangely. He was a strange man, of course, but Cheater still remembered their last meeting.

Or their last attempted meeting, anyway.

It had not gone so well.

Cheater had no intention of repeating that incident. A hundred yards were left. Fifty. Thirty. One last corner.

Cheater rounded it. There, at last, he found his elusive comrade.

He nearly facepalmed, remembering just in time that doing so would smack him in the face with a heavy trunk.

Clown turned the corner and gave voice to the same thoughts Cheater was having. “Well fuck me! Looks like we forgot that March can do just fine on his own.”

Just as he had been last time, March was sitting in the outdoor terrace of a cafe. There was a look of pure contentment on his face and a dozen mugs of beer before him.

He calmly pointed at the two of them as they drew near. “Dig in, guys.”

Cheater sat down so hard that he nearly broke a chair. “That’s it?”

“What? No, you can have however much you want. I’ll call the waitress over.”

“No, that’s all you have to say?”

“What else needs saying?” March replied, unshaken, as he looked up from another mug. “Oh, right! I get it. This unfamiliar liquid is beer. A Czech brew, in fact, and nice and cold. So now that that’s out of the way, relax. It’s not every day you get to enjoy a fresh cold one in the open air. Carpe diem!”

“Effing hell!” Clown mumbled as he grabbed a mug.

Cheater shook his head. “I don’t believe my eyes. A beer?”

“Oh no, don’t worry, not just one beer. Like I said, have as much as you like.”

“Do you have any idea what we’ve been through to get here?” Cheater fumed.

“You can tell me all about your dumb adventures later,” March shrugged. “Now’s not the time to laugh at foolish tales. Oh, stop giving me those eyes. You failed the idiot test, buddy. Got a zero. No intelligent man would have approached me in a situation like that. I’ve met day-one noobs who could figure it was a trap. Now drink.”

“I had to,” Cheater muttered. “I had to approach you. There was no other way.”

“Fine, fine, you can tell me later. This is the time for beer, and nothing else. You’re tired, and there’s nothing like a cold beer when you’re tired. It’s a wonderful medicine, for the mind and body both. So relax! The day is hot, and you’re carrying all that junk around with you. Looks heavy.”

“He’s got a rifle that can kill elephants, plus a shoulder turret from an Elite Nold,” Clown added.

March nodded, somewhat more respectfully. “So your story will be interesting. But after the beer.”

“You don’t have an ‘after the beer’ phase. You’re always drinking beer,” Cheater pointed out.

“Well, fine. After the main course of beer, then. I’m just getting started. This is mug number four. Good beer was hard to find in this town.”

They fell silent, and did as March suggested.

They drank.

Perhaps it was genuinely good beer, but Cheater didn’t taste it. It was cold and liquid, and that was all that mattered to him. Despite everything he had gone through, he felt better. He almost felt good.

After all, he had finally reunited with March.

One more reunion remained.

Nearly a half hour passed, along with a few mugs for Cheater and dozens for March. At last, the former placed a small bundle in front of March, and then a very tiny bundle next to it. “Here. This is your share. A little more than your share, actually. The numbers weren’t always even. In particular, these cannot be divided. The pearls. Five of them, indivisible and invaluable. Tat... Well, your suspicions about her were correct. She betrayed me. I walked right into it, really. It was stupid. I didn’t expect that from her, not then. But it doesn’t matter now. Now, we divide it up in two instead of in three.”

“That’s all the loot? You didn’t lose anything?” March asked without emotion, and without touching the packs.

Cheater shook his head. “Yes, some of it was taken from me. There was too much to safely stash in my inventory. They didn’t take the most valuable items, though—and they didn’t have them for long. I got them back. Plus interest, even. They did use one Shard of Invulnerability, but the monster dropped plenty of those. All the rest is here, besides the items from among my share that I consumed. Even then, I didn’t touch the most valuable ones.”

March unrolled the smallest parcel and silently stared at its contents for a good half minute. Then, he handed Cheater three golden pearls. “Here. Three for you, two for me.”

Cheater struggled to hide how overjoyed he was. “That’s generous.”

“It’s wise. You need them more. You intend to give them all to your bit—uh, your loyal girlfriend—anyway. But it is in my best interest that you take at least one. Not that that one’s entirely mine. As you said, we couldn’t exactly cut it in half.”

“If you’re worried about region binding problems, well, I know how to solve those without pearls,” Cheater added cautiously, without explaining how he could also earn extra lives. “I’m not even sure why Romeo has such trouble. He’s a veteran player. It was no problem for me to handle, in fact, and several times over. Thank the System, I guess.”

“The System doesn’t work for your thanks. That’s right, isn’t it, Clown?”

The other man nodded. “The System won’t even shovel shit at you without making you buy it first.”

“Exactly, Clown knows what’s up. I’m not worried about your region binding,” March continued. “You’ve earned those privileges, Cheater. Of course, the System doesn’t abide by our sense of equity, but for some reason it is quite generous with you. Many try to appease the System and walk away empty-handed. Why do you think that is? Well, because the System has goals, and no one knows what those are. You have pleased the System. You are doing as it bids, and so it is pampering you. Romeo, however, has not earned this honor, and so it is only with great difficulty that the poor fellow accomplishes anything. He has to rely on the diplomatic ties he has built up between regions. Having a network like that can really pay off.”

“If it’s not the region binding that is troubling you, why did you give me the third pearl?” Cheater asked.

“I never said something is troubling me. I am in perfect peace. As you can see, I’m enjoying another beer. Troubled spirits and beer live on entirely separate planes of existence.”

Cheater ignored his babbling. “So do you think I have a better chance of getting an ability I need?”

“That’s quite a possibility.”

“Well, don’t worry about that, either. I have the ability to gaze into the brain-guts of an infected. Or—”

“An Unnamed One,” Clown finished. “Cheater told me everything. It’s a great story. No, don’t worry—I’ll never tell another soul. I know you’re not accustomed to trusting people, but I give you my word. I’ll take that story to the grave. Over and over again, if need be.”

March nodded. “Good. I’ll drink to that.”

Cheater snorted. “You drink to everything.”

“And you would be wise to follow my example. Nothing you said changes anything, Cheater. You get three pearls, and I get two. There’s no point arguing. You should be glad, I think, but don’t consider me a good person. I’m not. Sometimes, I’m evil. Especially when there’s no beer. To put it bluntly, I need to get a bigger share of another kind of item. I need more than half of the crystals.”

“No problem,” Cheater answered. “I don’t need them. I won’t even miss the opportunity to sell them. Divide them up however you will, or take the whole damned pile, if you want.”

March frowned. “Is there something you’re not satisfied with?”

“Oh, I’m satisfied. I’m thrilled to have finally reached you. I thought you’d share the joy. Or at least that you’d be glad that I wasn’t yet another traitor who would betray you for the sake of a sack of goodies. That seemed to be important to you, back then.”

“It still is. I am happy, Cheat. I'm overjoyed. Here I thought that all of your affection was for your beloved Kitty. How was I supposed to know that you’d be upset when I didn’t give you a big hug? My apologies, friend. I’m callous. Untrusting. Unsociable. Now, let’s drink to our restored friendship. You drink too, Clown. Does that work for you, Cheat? Or should I kiss you and weep for joy?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“By the way, on the market nowadays, a crystal is worth more than a golden pearl. A lot more. Many people are looking to upgrade their abilities. Massive demand with barely any supply. So you should make sure we divide them up, rather than just giving them all to me. Or, we could assign some to our party treasury. We’ll need a lot of things in the near future.”

“OK, we’ll figure it out,” Cheater said.

“Yes. By the way, when the Devils had me by the balls, I could still read the chat. I couldn’t send anything, but I could see what you were writing. Including your loot. You have a lot of interesting things, and I could use a few mods. I’d like to make a great weapon for myself.”

“Let me make it,” Cheater nodded. “I’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“That’s kind of you.”

An explosion rumbled somewhere nearby. Startled birds climbed into the sky, car alarms began to join in chorus, and confused pedestrians stopped and stared in the direction of the blast. Even their waitress rushed out into the street, looking the same way.

In the whole area, only the three at the table failed to react. None of them even flinched.

Cheater decided to make himself clear. “I’m not giving you mods in exchange for this pearl, you know. Maybe it sounds cheesy, but we’re a team. I also benefit if you have an incredible weapon. When you become stronger, the team does, too.”

“That’s reasonable,” March said. “I’m glad you came to that conclusion. Now, I won’t have to explain the next thing I’ll give you. You can have most of the free experience drops for basic and bonus stats. And the random experience drops, too. But only on one condition: all of the base stat points, you can assign as you’d like. Every drop that goes to bonus stats, though, you must invest exclusively into Luck. Along with all of the reserve points you’ve saved up. I know you’re a real Ebenezer with those, so you must have plenty. Each and every last point, to Luck.”

“Keep the drops yourself, then,” Cheater said without bothering to calculate—the difference was obvious immediately. “I have move points saved up than I’ll get from the drops. A lot more. I also have plans for those drops, and I’ll use them as soon as we’re in a safe place for a while. It’s too important a task to do on the run.”

March unhurriedly finished off another mug and shook his head. “You no longer have plans of your own. What happened to all of that pretentious crap about the team you just gave me? We work for the team. Well, the team needs your Luck more than anything. As much Luck as you can get. I don’t mean it’s what I need, and I don’t mean it’s what you need. It’s what our team needs.”

“Why? My Luck is already through the roof.”

“He means the pearls,” Clown intervened. “Plus other things.”

Cheater blinked, missing the point. What are they not telling me?

“The pearls?”

“Right. How many golden pearls do you think an Unnamed One drops? Normally.”

Cheater shrugged. “Based on my experience, five. That’s all the data I—” he paused, and his eyes widened.

“Right. I have the real data. I’ve seen one pearl before. I’ve seen two. I heard a rumor once that someone got three. I’ve never heard of anyone getting four, never mind five. The Unnamed One we fought was a common Unnamed One. They’re all unique, of course, but there was nothing elite about the one we fought, from what I saw. So why didn’t it just drop us one golden pearl? It could be a coincidence. It could be luck. Or it could be Luck,” he gestured towards Cheater. “Don’t you remember how we used your lucky ability just as we killed it? Well, that ability works many times better if it’s got a higher Luck value behind it. That was not our last Unnamed One. Luck will help us out with more than just Unnamed Ones, too. Do you understand now?”

“So then I should flood not just Luck but also Willpower,” Cheater added, without explaining further.

That was, after all, the stat he wanted to pump most of all, and he could point March’s interest to pumping it, as well.

March’s interest, life had shown, was worth a great deal.

His comrade nodded. “Alright. I hope you have the numbers right.”

“It’s pretty clear. My skill increases Luck by 20x. Well, every ten levels of Willpower adds another unit to that 20. So each boost of Luck by 1 is actually a boost by 20. My Luck hit the seventies a long time ago now, so adding to it is expensive and doesn’t increase the total very much. But the next plus ten Willpower level? That will give me more than 60 additional Luck when I use the ability. So even though my Willpower is higher than my Luck, the best decision is to boost the Willpower.”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

“Also,” Cheater continued, “I know that I’m most important to you when I play the role of a self-propelled and non-traitorous sack of Luck. But I would like to consider some other stats, as well. Perhaps I could reserve, say, 10% of the free experience for them? Or better yet, 20%?”

March nodded. “Your sack of Luck self-titling is on point. Luck is what we need most of all. You should accept that. I know how to make sacrifices for the team, you know. I know how to sacrifice myself, quite literally. Your Luck will come in handy for you, after all. And to us, in all situations. This is more than slaying Unnamed Ones now. With a Lucky like you, we can become a unique party. I doubt anything like us will exist anywhere else on the Continent. Your other stats will play catch up as we collect bonuses and so on. As long as you focus on Luck.”

“But a bump to the ‘other stats’ could make me stronger right now.”

“Your Luck is your power. Nothing else. You might as well accept that. Some tiny portion you may assign to other stats, but when I say ‘tiny,’ I mean it.”

“Alright,” Cheater nodded. “Just remember that I did convince you about the Willpower. Both of us will benefit from that. And remember you allowed the tiny portion, too.”

“Alright, alright, I have faith in you,” March summed up as he directed more attention over Cheater’s shoulder.

The latter managed to fight the impulse to turn around. “What’s going on back there?”

“A little holiday I arranged,” March beamed.

Clown turned and shook his head. “No, I don’t see any kegs over there. Are you sure?”

“This seat was a very specific choice,” March said. “This is a special street. It’s like it was created to funnel players along. If you try any other path, something gets in your way. There is indeed less risk of getting hit by a wave of ghouls here, too, since it ends at a narrow strip of black land, which the infecteds hate. So as I waited for you, a couple of familiar faces showed up. I have a good memory for faces, you know, and so I’m sure I encountered them recently, when I was a guest of the Devils. Some grunts from their clan, it seems. Ah, now I see two of them at once, and they’re going somewhere. They want to get out of here. A huge number of Devils are respawning today, as if they are having some problems.”

“They’re not just having problems. They just got royally screwed,” Clown escalated.

“Is that so? Interesting. You can tell me later. For now, Cheater, I’d like to ask you for a small favor.”

“What’s that?”

“You see, I have nothing against rank and file grunts. They’re just doing the best they can to get along, to survive in this cluster. But that pair are different. They really like what they do. They’re making me angry. I’d like to do something very bad to them. What’s that rifle you’ve got? What caliber?”

“Same one as ever, 12 point 7.”

March smiled. “Perfect. Can you shoot them both, one leg at a time? You pick the order. Just something to take the spring out of their step.”

“If you’re looking to just cripple them, it might not work. 12.7 might not tear their legs clean off, but it’ll be close. They might die. It’s getting tough to call an ambulance here.”

“If they die, I won’t be shedding any tears for them. Take your shots.”

“You sure they’ll let us finish our beer after that?”

“No, so I asked for a couple of growlers to go,” March pointed to a couple of bags on the square table’s sole empty chair. “I know how to be prepared.”

“Alright, whatever you say,” Cheater drew his rifle.

“Oh, wait! Look, an old friend!” March exclaimed.

“Where?” Cheater asked, assuming that March meant another member of the Devils’ clan had shown up.

“Well, an old friend of yours, not mine. Do you remember Glock? You should. I had some issues with my vision at the time, you’ll recall, but I had met him before that. Hard to forget his face. He’s an interesting character. Wow, he’s come a long way. And judging by what he’s wearing, he just came back to life. What a coincidence!”

“Wow, he sure respawned fast,” Clown noted.

“Fast?” March cocked his head. “Is that your doing?”

“I had a front-row seat when he was shot,” Clown grinned.

Cheater finally found him and smiled, with all the innocence of an obedient toddler. Without taking his eyes off the target, he unfolded his bipod, set the rifle on the table, sat down, looked through the eyepiece, and made his grin as malicious as he could. “Clown, this loser’s on my blacklist. You know that. Could you kindly do me a favor? Write him a message informing him that he has exactly 50 seconds. Five more than last time. I’m a fair man, after all. He must run straight down the road, without turning to the left or the right. After 50 seconds, he can go wherever he wants, if he has the time.”

“Gladly. I’ll have the message off in a few seconds.”

“What a lucky day!”

“Not for Glock,” Clown protested as he reached into his backpack for his rapidly emptying bag of popcorn.

Let others do the work. He was here to enjoy the show.

Chapter 7

Life Nine. Under Wise Direction

March had his idiosyncrasies. As all players did. Even those to whom the System had returned significant portions of their memories still felt a profound emptiness. An unrelenting, oppressive feeling that something was missing. Something without which no one could consider themselves complete. Each player felt that he had lost the most important part of himself, without any possibility of finding it again. That seed, planted in soil watered with continual stress, produced all kinds of mental aberrations. Some became outright psychos. Some had less obvious, latent issues. The rest just freaked out now and then.

March was not an outright psycho, but Cheater was starting to suspect problems.

He devoted most of his time to his passion: beer. That passion was not always harmless to him and his party, as he would sometimes risk a great deal to get his hands on a couple of cans. Otherwise, though, March was a very thoughtful player. Yes, it was infuriating that he often didn’t say much and would hold back key information until the last possible moment.

He loved to make things mysterious, or even confusing.

At this moment, March was not disclosing to the team their current course of action. Nor disclosing anything whatsoever. The newly-spawned city was doomed, but the tidal wave of madness had not yet submerged it entirely, and the old order struggled to cling to life. Meaning that, as soon as Cheater fired his shots, the party had to leave the drinking establishment. Very quickly.

Their conversation ground to a halt in the process. They were weighed down, moving quickly, and trying to navigate through unfamiliar territory.

But March knew what he was doing. He was following some sort of plan. Cheater and Clown merely kept up.

As usual. They could have easily figured out for themselves which way was east, of course. But geographical prowess was not enough here. Crossing a border was considered the most perilous activity this world offered—beside obvious suicides such as solo attacks on Nolds or bot convoys. Despite March’s flamboyance, Cheater had to admit that he knew how to get out of sticky situations.

Whether they could have done it without him would remain an open question. Cheater had grown, but too quickly.

It was best for him to have an experienced comrade around.

So he only asked one question, a clarification, really, as they ran. Had March somehow, perhaps, forgotten where they needed to end up? March’s answer was vague. It was not really an answer.

That was upsetting.

Once they had exited the city, crossed a black cluster, and at last made a stop in a strip of forest, Cheater repeated his concern. “March, in case you don’t know, I was heading east—and that’s where I intend to continue heading.  Into the next region. I’d like to get there soon. But we’re not heading east, and I’d like to know why.”

The man he was interrogating opened another can of beer and drained nearly half its contents, then smiled. “So, you’re going east, to the next region over. Is that right?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing, everything’s fine. I haven’t decided against going with you. Don’t worry about that. But I was, I admit, a bit confused. I thought you were heading towards Kitty, not just to this nebulous ‘east’. There are many, many places which could be called ‘east,’ you know. You could go east for the rest of your lives, all the way out, to the eastern ocean itself. I suppose you could start swimming, then, or take a boat, but you wouldn’t get far. The Nolds hate people who strike out to sea. I’m not sure how to appease them on that one. Perhaps if...”

Cheater cut into his comrade’s mockery. “I’m going towards Kitty. You know that. She’s somewhere east of here, so I’m going east.”

March replied in the patient tones of a mental hospital worker, talking to a patient who was unable to unzip his fly on his own. “Why do you keep handing her the party leader role?”

Cheater shrugged. “It’s like a stupid game we have. It’s the only way we have to contact each other. At any time, we can communicate that everything is all right. I can convey that we’re fine. And that I haven’t forgotten about her.”

“You really don’t think that the fact you haven’t kicked her from the party is enough proof you haven’t forgotten?”

“It’s not that. That’s just a static indicator. It doesn’t change. It’s passive. But changing leadership is an active move, showing her that I’m thinking about her at this moment. It doesn’t sound like much, sure, but it really is our only way of communicating. Like saying hello. Checking in.”

March carefully placed his can on the ground and held his head in his hands. “Gods of this world, why did you give so much Luck, stubbornness, and self-confidence to such an imbecile? Couldn’t you have assigned at least a little bit of your graces to giving him some brains? A canary has more gray matter!”

Cheater tensed. “What?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re just doing what you’re made to do. I haven’t seen you for a long time, you know, so I started to forget how dense you were. No wonder the beer doesn’t go to your brains. You don’t have any.”

“What did I do wrong, then? Quit stalling.”

“I’m not stalling,” March sighed. “I’m just not sure where to begin. Let’s start with the simplest part. Maybe you’ll catch on. Miracles still do happen here. Have you ever sat down and considered why Kitty always gives the party leader role back to you?”

“Sure. For the same reasons I give it to her. I explained that already. Plus, she’s a loner, but sometimes I have to add people to the party, which requires me to be leader. She knows that, so she gives it back. After all, no one is trying to join her party.”

“Have you noticed her sometimes returning it immediately, and sometimes only after a while?”

“Of course. That makes perfect sense. Maybe she’s sleeping or in the middle of something, or just misses the new leadership notification. Or any number of other reasons.”

March increased his insulting tone to such a level that it was the only detectable timbre in his voice. “The party logs show all leadership changes down to the second. System time. Haven’t you ever looked at those numbers?”

Cheater was beginning to guess where March was going, and he hastened to show it. “So she’s trying to communicate something to me using the gaps between each time she returns the leader role to me?”

“Wow, you only needed a dozen hints! I thought it’d take a thousand,” March praised him, without reducing the sarcasm. “Yes, Cheat, those were no simple hellos, as the vacuum in your skull led you to believe. They were messages. I’m starting to wonder why this girl Kitty hasn’t given up on you. She’s obviously intelligent. I guess opposites attract. No, don’t you start thinking that means she’s a genius. Any scrap of smart is enough to count as opposite to your negative infinity. Now, she is realizing the great intellectual abyss that separates you. What makes me say that? Because before she gave up on trying to communicate with you, she selected the most primitive communication code of all. Morse code seemed the obvious way to go. In fact, it was the first thing I thought of when I saw this little ‘game’ of yours. Long and short intervals, like the old telegraph operators had to use. But you didn’t get it, so she started trying other methods. By the end, she had encoded the whole alphabet in a digital cipher. Each letter received a number. ‘A’ became ‘1,’ ‘B’ became ‘2,’ and so on. Simple, but not sensible, since it takes a lot of time to transmit a message in this way. Morse code is much more practical. Besides, it often took you a very long time to make her leader again. She needed to sleep, too, or as you said became distracted—resulting in errors in transmission or lost time due to the need to start the current letter over. If this happens, she waits nearly an hour before resuming. Unless it’s nighttime. That way, the long pause will clearly show ‘I’m starting this one again.’ Now stop looking at me like I just invented fire, the wheel, and the steam engine before your very eyes. Your beloved girl has been trying to communicate with you this whole time. Not only do you have no idea what she’s been talking about, you don’t even know that there’s a conversation going on. The stereotypical stupid boyfriend.”

“Did she describe where we should go?” Cheater pushed on, his heart sinking as he realized how much he had missed.

“Mostly she makes derisive comments about your deficient mental faculties.”

“That’s her for sure, then,” Cheater smiled. “But what about the place? Be specific for once, March. Tell me the truth.”

“Mostly she’s been talking about what color panties she’s wearing and so on.”

Cheater rose to his feet. “I’m serious!”

“Actually, that’s the only thing she’s gone into detail about. I mean the place, not the panties.”

“Then that’s where we go!”

Clown chuckled. “She should’ve nicknamed you Captain Obvious.”

“She should have,” Cheater nodded. “What did she write last, March?”

“Last? The last sentence isn’t even finished. I guess she figured out mid-sentence that you were utterly hopeless.”

“Or that she didn’t need to finish that word,” Cheater waved. “What about before that?”

“She wrote a lot before that. But come on now, stretch your newly-found mind and read it yourself. It’s simple enough to decode. I’m too polite to go reading lovers’ private letters, you know. Especially a second time. Plus, while you’re occupied with that, you won’t have the time to do anything stupid. You can give us both a break from nannying you. Lots of counting and thinking for you to do. Hop to!”

“How’s this cipher work again?” Cheater asked.

“It’s simple, like I said. You can figure it out yourself. Although that’s no longer necessary, really. She’s given us the most important piece of information, and multiple times. You can cap off with the lovey dovey nonsense when the two of you meet. Don’t let that distract you now.”

“It’s not nonsense.”

“Everything in this world is nonsense, Cheater. Except beer. Also, we need to think about your friend,” March pointed towards Clown.

“My friend? You’re the one who found him. I didn’t know him before.”

“Right. But I only ‘found’ him for our crossing, and I had no further plans to work with him. That was a one-off.”

“I’m making no claims on the junk you got from the Unnamed One,” Clown replied. “It’s all yours. No trouble coming from me.”

“I’m not a very trusting man,” March said darkly, “nor should I be.”

“Of course you’re not,” Clown nodded. “But I’m just here for the sights. No shady business.”

“He could have killed me when he found me,” Cheater added. “He would have scored the bulk of that loot, and these mods, and then some. I can vouch for Clown.”

“You vouched for Tat, too—and she seemed trustworthy to you,” March reminded him.

“I recommended her for the crossing, but I didn’t vouch for her,” Cheater objected. “I never said she should be with us for the long haul. Plus, I was thinking that...”

“Wait, you’ve started thinking now? Heaven help us! Well? Go on. What is it that you’re thinking?”

“About what comes afterward. What happens after I find Kitty?”

“Interesting. I had concluded that your mental exercises did not reach that far into the future. Of course, I have some ideas on what you should do just after you meet. But you’ll hit me if I voice them. I’d like to keep my face for a while longer, so I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Good. Anyway, at first, I just walked. East. I had no other goal. Now, heading east is still the top priority for me, but what then? We’ll have to settle into some kind of life. Settling in isn’t an easy thing to do, especially for one or two players on their own. Our lives could easily be ruined by Romeo, or by whoever else. There is no easy peace to be found on the Continent. And so, we’ll need a team. A good team makes life much easier. I can vouch for Clown, and he can aid the team in several ways.”

“So you’re going to assemble a team,” March raised an eyebrow.

“I have no aspirations of leading this team,” Cheater replied. “But think about it. Ten players like us would be a force to be reckoned with. You’re a force to be reckoned with on your own. I doubt there are many groups who have the skilled grab teams and atomic arsenals the Devils had. Plus, they’d have to nab you when your ability was on cooldown, or else even the slightest failure to control you would result in the deaths of every member of their team. I’m not nearly as strong as you, but I’m stronger than I was. I know by now that this game has few players of our caliber. When we reach Kitty, there will be four of us. We will not all be of equal strength, but that can be remedied. We have plenty of money for character development. That helps a lot. More players can be added to our team from that region. Without a large enough group, life will be hard; even the great March needs someone to cover his ass.”

“Fine, to hell with it—so you vouch for Clown,” March nodded. “Although I would rethink your decision to join at least a dozen times, Clown, if I were you. Cheater is like a great big fan. No matter where he goes, shit hits him.”

“I know. That’s what I want.”

“Just remember that I warned you.”

Cheater made yet another attempt to pull the conversation back on track. “So what are our plans?”

March took a sip of beer, relaxed his eyes in ecstasy, and deigned to answer. “First, I’d like to hear the latest news from you two, since no one is after us at the moment. Ah yes, and tell me what happened after the Unnamed One died. Perhaps that information is more valuable than you could know. Start with that, and go one day at a time.”

“Alright. As long as you tell us how they caught you,” Cheater countered.

“What’s there to tell? I went to the first stable I could find and sat down for a beer. As I was doing so, I agreed with a certain beautiful girl on her price for a good time. I vaguely remember us starting to enjoy ourselves... After that, I don’t remember anything. Until I came to my senses surrounded by Devils, including one who could do to a man what a puppetmaster does to his dolls. I tried to escape, but quickly realized that was to no avail. And yes, the irony does not escape me—it all started with a woman. My critical mistake was letting my guard down. Millions, nay, billions of men have been ensnared by that hook, and I went down into the house of the harlot willingly—the end of whose ways are death. Until the last, I hoped you were smart enough to kill me from a distance without giving yourself away. But Cheater and intelligence are like oil and water. They don’t mix. So you jumped right into the trap. As soon as they had you, their puppetmaster shifted his focus to you, and they took me out. Alright, so, that’s my part of the story. Now, tell me how the hell you escaped the Devils so quickly—and even had time to get to me all the way out here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two of you were geniuses.”

“Alright. And what will we do after I tell the story?” Cheater pushed.

“Depends on the circumstances,” March hedged.

“Well, in a nutshell, there are no more Devils. They’re getting mown down, throughout the cluster. Everyone hated them. Now, they are sitting ducks, ripe for shooting. After all, their fortress is kaput, and that’s where they were keeping nearly all their weapons and vehicles.”

“Well, that’s valuable information, indeed,” March admitted.

“The fortress didn’t blow itself up, either. We did that,” Clown clarified. “Cheater arranged an Armageddon. Anyone who might have survived is probably still running, without looking back. I helped him pour gas into the hole, and we lit the match.”

“Gas into the hole?” March blinked.

“Yes. There was no other way. It was Cheater’s idea, to complete some System quest he had. A quest directly from the System—imagine that.”

“What was the quest?”

“To destroy the atomic arsenal underneath the fortress.”

March uncharacteristically stopped midway the motion of his left hand as it lifted his beer to his mouth. “You poured gas on it?”

“Yeah. And lit it up. The blaze nearly burned us alive. It was a shit way to do it, but it worked. Ah, and Cheater took out an Elite Nold. Castrated and looted the bastard. Plus, he killed Romeo. The red didn’t even have a chance.”

“An Elite Nold? Romeo?” March dropped all pretense of nonchalance. “Details!”

“It’s a long, long story. I saw it all, and it was beautiful. Oh, and see that sword Cheater’s got? He stole it from a tomb of the grays.”

“Stop!” March exclaimed, throwing up his hands and sloshing his precious alcohol. “One thing at a time, and with details. From the beginning, if possible.”

“Then what?” Cheater repeated. “Now that you know the big picture, you can tell us what plans we have.”

March finally took a sip and nodded. “Fine, you bastard, you’ve talked me into talking. First, we’re going to buy an anti-aircraft gun.”

Cheater frowned as March’s eyes went distant—he was clearly doing something in the game UI.

A few seconds later, he asked, “Could you make me party leader? Just for a second.”

“Why?”

“I need to add one person to the party. Someone I trust nearly as much as I trust myself. Since we’re putting a team together and all. He’ll come in handy. Come on—I’ll give you the role right back.”

Cheater shook his head. “No way. Only Kitty and I can be leaders of this party, until we’re reunited.”

“You’ll never change those terms?”

“Right. Sorry, March. I trust you, but not completely. You might kick Kitty from the party. I’m not saying you’d do it out of spite—you might have reasons for it. Maybe that would even be better for the team. But I don’t give a damn. If you don’t like that, then I’ll go on ahead by myself.”

“Fine, I’ll do my best to overlook your stubborn idiocy. Add him to the party yourself, then. Head into the party logs, find his nick, and get his ID from there.”

“Who is he?”

“The Janitor, of course.”

“Janitor? How’d he get here? He was two regions away from us!”

“No, not two away—he was in the neighboring one. He crossed the first border as he plummeted to his death.”

“That’s still a different region.”

“So he crossed into this one. He’s the Janitor. He knows how to walk. Come on, add him to the party.”

“Alright. Then what?”

“We’ll work out our plans a little more, over some beer. Then, we head towards Rainbow.”

“Rainbow? Why?”

“That’s where we can buy an anti-aircraft gun. And that’s where we’ll meet the Janitor. It’s a prominent location, and a very convenient meeting spot. So add him in. Then, you can tell us your story.”

Chapter 8

Life Nine. Rainbow Road

By all appearances, March had not been captured immediately after his previous respawn. Or, he had possessed a set of high-quality maps of the region before they even went for the crossing. Without ever asking his companions or anyone else for any help, he confidently led the group along the shortest direct path to Rainbow.

Clown had remarked that they could pick up some suitable transportation at the nearest stable, or even from one of the nearby dead towns and villages. Driving was, for all its dangers, much faster than walking. Cheater backed him up. His impatience had reached its maximum after learning the secret meaning of the “game” he was playing with Kitty.

Every time he looked at the map, he wanted to go faster. Now, after all, he wasn’t just looking for a particular region. He knew the specific area. The final border was a little under 250 miles away, as the crow flew. Beyond that region and the gray and black lands beyond, he would at last see her icon on the map. The chat system would work again.

They were nearly there, so of course he was impatient.

March ignored all of these tips regarding vehicles, however, or diverted the conversation. Not until night fell did he respond.

Stopping, he pointed out a few suspect plumes of smoke parallel to their route. “See those? The map says that there’s a stable there somewhere. The one you wanted to pick up a vehicle in, Clown. But those fires bode ill. Something is happening that we ought to stay away from. A conflict of some kind, and I doubt either side is infecteds. So we continue on foot. I’d like to get there faster, too—but most of all, I’d like to get there alive. In case either of you is not aware, I should explain that our destination is famous for being devoid of serious confrontations.”

“Yeah,” Clown nodded. “If you’re going to run into trouble, Rainbow is the last place you’ll find it.”

“Why? What’s different about Rainbow?” Cheater asked.

Clown raised his eyebrows, but March just shrugged. “Of course he doesn’t know. His mind is empty of worthless things like common knowledge. The System isn’t even restoring his memories. Why should it? He seems to be doing just fine. Cheater is a master at getting himself into impossible situations—and then getting out of them, without so much as a moment spent on thought. Perhaps he would prefer to think, but I fear he just doesn’t have the necessary apparatus. He is the ultimate specimen of an individual who survives not by intellect, but by intuition. This works quite well for him, so the System doesn’t give him any memories back, for fear of screwing him up.”

Cheater ignored March and turned to Clown. “So... Rainbow. March has a one-track mind, as you can see.”

“Rainbow is in a disabled stable. Full ability block.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a very rare kind of cluster, where abilities don’t work. Or they only work in part. Neither players nor infecteds can reasonably use them. We become weaker there, but by losing their abilities, stronger ghouls lose basically every advantage they have. Including their armor. In a disabled cluster, an ordinary machine gun can take down a young elite without a problem. One burst to the head, and you’re done. Even the Nolds avoid such places, since they rely so much on their abilities. Players don’t like them, either. We grow reliant on these tricks of ours.”

“But there are people who live there,” Cheater pressed.

“Yes. Not everyone who lives there likes it, but they stay. People will live in shit, if they’re lazy enough. Little more than cockroaches. So, a disabled cluster has pros and cons. There are no mentats there, for example. Nearly anyone can show up and say they’re an honest person—and there’s no disproving their statements. As long as the person isn’t well known, they can say whatever they like about themselves. For some, Rainbow is the only chance on the Continent to interact with decent people. It’s like a carnival. Everyone can wear a mask. Not a very fun carnival, though.”

“I don’t see any particular drawbacks yet,” Cheater said thoughtfully. “What’s wrong with a place the Nolds and beasts hate to wander?”

“Someone can set up an MLRS rocket launcher fifteen miles out, fire a volley, and kill half the town. Neither defensive abilities nor warning abilities will help the inhabitants. And there just aren’t enough people to control all of the ways in. That would require a whole army, and a well-equipped one. Who wants to fund an army just to protect a single stable? It would have far more soldiers than civilians. Not to keep the infecteds out, but to keep people with long-range weapons out. Make a serious enemy, and you get wrecked by mortars and missiles, with no reasonable chance of defending yourself. The locals could all perish at the slightest provocation. But these potential opponents also cannot gain a foothold in Rainbow, for the same reasons. Therefore, the stable remains entirely neutral. No sides, no politics. Best not even to mention anything political while we’re there. You drop this or that sentiment, or insult this or that person, and someone snipes you dead from long range. It’s happened before, and it always ends badly. Everybody knows this by now, and the locals have learned to keep to their own affairs. It’s a neutral zone. Not one bit of this fiasco with the Devils can touch Rainbow. They frown deeply on that sort of thing. So we’ll just walk in nice and quietly and do what we have to do, and be gone.”

“Fatso was heading to Rainbow,” Clown remembered.

March turned to face him. “So?”

“Oh, nothing. But if we’re going to be making another crossing, we’ll need people. Fatso proved himself in the last one. He wasn’t the best of us, but when it came time to fight, he fought. He didn’t run.”

March nodded. “We’ll think about it. But first we have to reach Rainbow.”

“Why piece together a hodgepodge team like before?” Cheater butted in. “I’ve got a whole backpack of mods that I’d be willing to spend to speed things up. We can hire a good team. The best in the area. Or even several of the best teams. Then we’ll make our crossing quickly and safely.”

March shook his head. “You’re a good man, Cheater, but still naive. Good teams don’t just sit around waiting to be hired. They occupy themselves with their own affairs, and those who are up for hire are booked a month or more out. They also have their own values. Good teams would be first and foremost true to themselves, not to the greater good. You can never be sure they won’t strike you from behind and steal everything you have.”

“The traders do it somehow.”

“They have their own mercenaries, whom they’ve worked with for a long time. Not a random group like ours, patched together just before the crossing. It’s a whole system. And it’s a bad idea to stab a powerful system in the back.”

“So could we go with one of the caravans then?” Cheater advanced.

March shook his head again. “No, not in a situation like this. Besides, as the leader, I’ll make the final decision. Don’t worry—my plan will be a good one. As usual, I best of all know what we need to do, how we need to do it, and where and with whom we need to go. Your task is a straightforward one: come with me, and follow my orders. Otherwise, I’ll work up a terrible thirst explaining every last scrap of common sense to you. Better to just do as you are told.”

“I will. I just don’t like being in the dark.”

“You don’t have to like anything right now. The only thing you need to do is keep walking. To Rainbow. There’s plenty of beer there, and we can even buy ourselves an anti-aircraft gun. You may not like being in the dark, but you’ll like being in Rainbow.”

* * *

Midnight was approaching when they had to stop in the middle of a dense forest. It was not thick enough so as to be impassable at night, but they realized it was best to recover some of their strength. Plus, someone started shooting up ahead of them. An explosion even joined the cacophony, and it was clearly larger than a hand grenade. They didn’t know what was going on, and they didn’t want to know.

None of them had sleeping bags, pads, or any other such comforts. Yet all good players were accustomed to camping in the wilderness, and so they made do. Their sleep was inadequate—before the dawn had a chance to break, they were up again, and on their way, during the coldest part of the night. It was the cold that hindered them most from sleeping further. Cheater would not have been surprised to find a frost on the ground.

It was unpleasant.

Half an hour later, they reached the place which had served as the source of all the noises the night before. It was on a wide highway that stretched in both ways as far as one could see. Half a mile to their left there sat the burnt-out frames of two pickup trucks, one still languidly smoking. Someone had turned a conveniently sturdy tree branch reaching out over the road into an impromptu gallows. Two ropes dangled in the wind. They held no dead, but that certainly did not mean they had gone unused. A closer view might reveal the familiar black spots soiling the ground.

None of the party bothered to approach. There was no sense looking for loot—the winners had likely taken everything of value. Besides, they had a bag full of modifications, loot from the Unnamed One, and priceless items from the personal treasury of the Devils’ leader. Much had been lost when the truck went into the water, but the most valuable items had been on the persons of Cheater and Clown, or in their backpacks.

Just as they had crossed the road, shooting began again, from their right this time. It was far away, and the only definite voice in the song was a large-caliber machine gun, punctuated by explosive notes of an indeterminate instrument. The conflict sounded much more intense than the local battle of the night before. Neither concerned them.

The three were moving through a region in flux, where various groups were vying for power, and where people belonging to no group were rushing to seize what they could in the chaos. Anarchy was a great opportunity to express oneself. The land was full of expression.

But Cheater and his comrades had no desire to participate. To the contrary.

All they needed to do was clear the next few miles without incident.

* * *

The border of the famous stable cluster was rather disappointing. Such boundaries were often seamless, and this one followed suit, but not in an aesthetically pleasing way. The group exited the forest and stepped right into a garbage dump. Heaps of trash, like Cheater and Clown had encountered the day before, complete with multitudes of odors and rats.

The border was buried under the trash.

It took Cheater a moment to realize what didn’t feel right about the situation. Rainbow is an unusual cluster, but it’s still a stable. Garbage dumps on stables never look this... fresh. They often don’t even resemble garbage dumps at all anymore. They just looked like very hilly areas, covered in grass, with pieces of plastic and glass glinting their way through the green surface now and then.

The reality, though, began to dawn on Cheater. It wasn’t the age of the cluster that was at work here, but the nature of the cluster itself. All of the inhabitants of Rainbow had to bring their trash out somewhere. Usually, trash was just dumped in the closest normal cluster. It didn’t have to be sorted or piled up carefully, since the next reboot would take care of it. The locals did not want to make unnecessarily trips or go far. So they dumped their garbage here, on the narrow strip of land between the cluster border itself and the edge of the forest beyond. It spilled over, across the border, some back onto the stable itself. Apparently, no one was troubled by the fact that this garbage would not disappear with a reboot.

They could always shovel it over, but they didn’t. Nor did they look for a better dump site which did not flow into the stable itself. Cheater was beginning to conclude some things about the inhabitants of this Rainbow.

Nothing else of note came across their path until they had reached the settlement itself. There were no patrols of any kind. He doubted that they had just missed them. The usual well-trodden paths and turnarounds were nowhere to be seen. He did notice some surveillance cameras atop tall posts, but they were not so widespread.

Walking long distances with heavy luggage did not make for a pleasant adventure. There was little energy left for conversation, so Cheater’s attempts to learn more about Rainbow were answered tersely, or not at all. Despite his comrades’ explanations hitherto, he still did not understand why no one fought over this cluster. Nor did he understand why the cluster was packed with numerous bizarre inhabitants without political ambitions. It was, after all, quite an attractive spot. The total absence of strong infecteds alone was, by itself, an incredible selling point. There were no major walls to keep them from rushing in, but they all kept their distance, because abilities did not work in this cluster—and thus their biological armor lost its toughness. That was what stopped bullets, or in the case of elites, even smaller-caliber shells. Without their primary protection, the ghouls were vulnerable to even decent small arms. So their instinct for self-preservation kept them away. Smaller ghouls were too stupid for this, of course, and wandered in from time to time, but that did not present a problem.

As it was, this stable was an open fortress against infecteds. How were players not fighting tooth and nail to have dominion here?

Cheater couldn’t figure it out.

They did maintain a kind of a defensive perimeter though—a small artificial rise running around the village, topped by a six-foot concrete wall. The wall had so many small gaps in it that the defenders could shoot from anywhere, and at anything, so there was no need for proper embrasures. Barbed wire fences ran along the approaches to the city, where appropriate. At first glance, their positioning seemed random. Cheater had long ago abandoned the notion that he could see the reason in things. Their placement may have been tactical.

He was surprised to see a guard post by the entrance—and had no idea why it was there. The three passed without a single question or even a glance from the guard.

They first drew attention while already in the village. It was, as far as stables went, ordinary looking: a chaotic jumble of buildings made out of anything on hand; players milling or sometimes staggering around; military equipment and flashy venue signs offering a panoply of entertainment options known to mankind since antiquity.

A young man with fiery red hair, done in a style reminiscent of an exploding pasta factory, directed his rapidly shifting eyes towards them and hopped over. Above the waist, he was adorned like a pretentious pimp from a cheap neighborhood, with a weakness for gizmos crafted out of shiny yellow metal. Below, he sported worn camo pants and high-topped boots with suspicious stains.

He rattled words off faster than a machine gun could rattle bullets. “Money, money, money, I can see you’ve got some that’s itching to be spent! So what’ll it be? Girls? Boys? Blonde? Redhead? White? Black? Any weight, any height, we’ve got it all. Looking for a special request? A girl with a special surprise for you? Or some valuable substances, perhaps. Spec? Or something from the old world? Whatever you need, I’ve got it! So what can I do for you?”

“I’ll tell you what you can do for us,” Clown interrupted him. “Kiss your own asshole for a change. You know what, how about you crawl into it, while you’re at it? Then we never have to see you again.”

If the redhead was offended by Clown’s rudeness, he didn’t show it. “No problem. If you need me, I’ll be here. My name’s Nut, and everybody here knows me. You won’t find a better source!”

“Where are we heading?” Cheater asked impatiently.

March was wearily plodding down the center of the street. Without turning, he replied, “Some place with beer.”

“You’re in luck, then,” Clown replied. “It’s everywhere. The streets are flowing with it. Look, over there—they’re just lapping it up off of the ground. So we can stop!”

“That’s not beer, it’s urine from the med lab,” March shook his head. “I want real beer.”

“Have you been here before?” Cheater wondered.

“No, I haven't. But I can smell good beer from a cluster away. It’s my most prized ability.”

“Really?” Cheater wondered whether this was some insight into his secretive comrade’s abilities.

“Well, not a Continental ability. It’s part of my nature. In fact, the System is jealous of that ability of mine, and it’s made its envy known now and then. Ah, here’s the place.”

The name of the bar was “The Foamy Mug,” and it did look better than the other establishments. Or quite more expensive, anyway. It was not the most pretentious place Cheater had seen, where a glass of whiskey cost  its weight in pearl dust, but it was free of the baser vagabonds that filled the Continent.

March kicked open the door, knocking back the guard who had been standing nearby, and then pointed at the fat man between them and the counter, who turned to face the noise. His question had the intonation of a statement. “You’re in charge here.”

The latter quickly examined the new intruders, whose respectability was dubious, at best. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m the owner. They call me Charm. You need something?”

March tossed a small bundle at the man, as he said, “We do. We need a beer office. Immediately.”

“I don’t understand.” Charm was clearly bewildered.

“Right now, a beer office. What’s not to understand?”

“All of it.”

“Fine, I’ll explain. We don’t need computers or fax machines. Nor assistants in suits and ties. Perhaps we could use some secretaries. But if so, they must be special secretaries. Not typists and schedule keepers. Still nothing? Fine. Just give us a place where we can drink beer, have some snacks now and then, chat without anyone overhearing us, and receive guests when needed. A good atmosphere is important. So lots of beer, but also lots of office.”

“You need a conference room?”

“If I did, I would have said so. I did not say so. We just need a beer office. A good one. Preferably one that overlooks the street, so we can watch the birds. With no one uninvited troubling us. Comfortable sofas, armchairs, and big, solid tables. And your very best beer, of course. I have a hunch that the best beer in town is to be had right here, but I’ve never tried it for myself. My hunches are rarely wrong. Well? Can we count on you?”

Charm felt the bundle, and nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. We’ll get you the best place, and fast. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes. The beer. It must be the best. Don’t forget that part. And lots of it.”

“No problem.”

“He has no idea how much you can drink...” Clown said, in a barely audible whisper.

The owner heard him. “Don’t worry. We just got a fresh couple of kegs. An excellent brew. If you plan to do nothing but pour it down your throat from a funnel all day, there’ll still be some left over.”

“I also need the locals to know that March and Cheater are here,” March continued, “drinking your beer and eating your food. And that they’re looking for people. We’re assembling a team to cross the border to the east.”

Charm stammered, looking at the visitors with new respect. The guard, who had been watching threateningly from the side, took a step back. The bartender behind the counter nervously replicated the behavior of countless generations of his forebears, wiping the counter diligently even though it was already spotless.

The owner of The Foamy Mug nodded hurriedly, and gave them a stuttered promise. “We’ll do everything you say.  Every man, woman, and animal will know, and fast.”

“Good. But they must also know that we’re not taking just anybody. Most of all, we need a priest and a demoman. I don’t mean someone with an explosive Continental ability, either. I mean someone who is god with explosives. Not just good with explosives. A god with explosives. The best sapper that can be found.”

Charm regained his nonchalance. “I understand. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Clown added. “We have a friend in this town. For some reason, he is not replying to our chat messages. He might be sleeping, or deep in hot water, or even both, but it would be nice to bring him to and tell him we’re here.”

“Where is he, and what’s his name?”

“Fatso. I’ll show you his location on the map.”

“We’ll take care of it.” “Anything else?”

“Yes, we will take our beer in our office immediately!” March insisted.

Chapter 9

Life Nine. For the Team

Fatso tried to take a sip of beer, but rattled his teeth on the edge of the thick beer mug.

“Careful, unless you want a mouthful of glass,” Clown warned.

At last accomplishing a swallow, Fatso sighed with relief. “Man, I’d rather die than suffer like that again.”

“So you spent your money, and all you got was a headache?” March grinned. “Looks like you should have been drinking beer instead. I’m afraid to ask what it was you were drinking. I’m sure we couldn’t pronounce half the ingredients. No matter how much alcohol you consume, buddy, it’ll never do that to you.”

“It was a tough night,” Fatso admitted. “How did you find me?”

“You said you were headed for Rainbow. The rest was just details,” Clown said, without going into the “details.”

“So how’s Rainbow? Do you like it?” March asked.

After a short silence, Fatso took another sip, which made him more confident. “Everything’s wrong here. This place is a giant contradiction. It’s the largest stable in the south, but no abilities can be used here. And there are no politics. No intrigue. It shouldn’t exist. And you know what? It sounds interesting, sure, but I imagined it so much differently.”

“What did you imagine?”

“I thought it would be... different. It’s all wrong. I thought I would see things here that you couldn’t find anywhere else. But it’s just a stable. Nothing out of the ordinary. There are more of the ordinary things, of course, such as the ubiquitous bars. Everyone parties, around the clock. But I’ve seen places like this before. Maybe it sounds like Rainbow is truly free or something, but it’s just the same as everywhere else. They don’t collect your weapons at the gate, and they don’t try to interrogate you, that’s nice. But why would they? Just try opening up, and you’ll be dead before your ears stop ringing. Even if you shoot into the sky, you risk getting executed. Shoot first, ask questions later, however that goes.”

“That’s what has you stressed? That’s what makes you think Rainbow isn’t free? Because you can’t waste ammo by shooting at the sun?” Clown asked.

“No, not quite. Everything’s like that. On paper, everyone is equal here, but the reality is starkly different. There’s this committee of permanent residents. They’re also the guards, the militia, and so on. Well, they make all the decisions. Every sign and fencepost says that everyone here is equal, but that’s just not true. A few bigwigs on the committee have all the power. Without their permission, neither water nor beer flows to any resident or guest. If you’re trying to build something here, you get blocked. Someone has the rights already. Invariably someone from the committee. So you try negotiating for a vacant lot, which is of course impossibly overpriced, or you try to buy some unoccupied building. Every place here is an attempt at siphoning money from the residents and visitors. Siphon it straight into the pockets of you-know-who. Freedom? Equal opportunity? Empty platitudes. Just as empty as the ads you see for any other trashy stable. It’s a genius marketing ploy, of course. I even bought into it. For a while.”

“So you don’t like it here,” March clarified.

Fatso slowly swirled his beer and peered into it. “It’s... disappointing.”

“Well, we’ve decided to revive the good old days and make another crossing.”

“East?” Fatso grinned, taking another swallow.

“Yeah. We’ve almost reached our—Cheater’s—destination.”

“I know all about that.”

“Everyone knows about that,” Clown snorted. “It’s a legend by this point.”

Fatso nodded. “I know, I’ve heard it second-hand more than once. Well, I’m in, if you’d have me. I don’t like it here. Life was more fun with you guys. And more profitable.”

March calmly returned the nod. “Alright. We should bring Button along, too. Do you know where she is? She’s not answering chat messages, either, but we know she’s in town.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well—we can find out, at least,” March said. Clown was pretending not to hear. He wanted no part of this.

Fatso declined to pry further. “I’ve talked to her a couple of times. Not a lot.”

Clown raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Something’s not right with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s changed. Always in a panic.” Fatso gestured towards his temple. “She’s worried about her head. I don’t mean she’s worried she’s going crazy. I mean literally worried for her head. She says she remembers it being cut off—and being dragged through the desert by her hair and then tossed across the border.”

“Bullshit,” Clown frowned. “There’s no way she can remember that.”

“I’m not going to argue about it. I kept trying to convince her that she could not possibly remember that, but she insists. Maybe she read through the logs, but there was a lot to sift through. However, Tat did write a few lines about her head in the chat. Perhaps on purpose. After all, without that, I doubt she would even know the story. She started asking questions, and I foolishly answered. Now, she’s always having a panic attack. I guess I understand. It’s not a pretty picture, thinking of your head being dragged and tossed without your body.”

“So, panic attacks,” March pondered.

“Something like that. I’m no shrink, so I don’t know how all of that works. But definitely a heightened level of panic. She’s holed up in the cheapest inn in town and doesn’t come out. Maybe she’ll get over it, with time.”

“Cheater’s hormones don’t have the patience for that,” March shook his head. “But priests aren’t easy to come by. We’ll figure out how to convince Button to come with us. Everyone in this world has some kind of mental disorder, after all. Once we get her out into the world again, she’ll feel better.”

Fatso shrugged. “I don’t think so. If you bring her near the door, she starts shrieking. There’s no talking to her.”

“Every situation has a way out. Well, come on, drink your headache away, and then go help Button with hers. She has to go with us, and you’re the one to get her.”

“Why me?”

“You brought her along the last time,” March reminded them. “You’ve known her longer than any of us, so you’ve got the best chance.”

“She’s too scared to even open the door. How am I supposed to get through to her?”

“Get some flowers. Some chocolates. Comb your hair for once. And change out of those stained, smelly pants. And that shirt. You look like a slob. The sight and stink of you is part of Button’s hesitation, take it from me. So ask nicely, and she’ll open the door. If she doesn’t break it down. You’re no noob, Fatso; I believe in you.”

The door slammed open, as if illustrating this course of action to Fatso. Cheater twitched and reached for his pistol—then relaxed.

A monster strolled into the “office.” A familiar monster.

An old friend, even.

Janitor was also looking rough. His jacket was torn and burnt in some places, and stained all over too. Blood stains, that’s what they were. The blood could have come from his left hand, which was bandaged. Or from his head, which was stitched up. The quasi silently walked up to the table, grabbed a mug, and knocked it back as though it were a thimble. “Ugh. What was that?”

“It was shit,” Clown added, predictably.

“I should have known. March is drinking it.”

He turned towards the waitress standing in wait. “Bring me a drink!”

“What kind would you like?”

“Not water. Something strong.”

“Vodka? Whiskey? Gin?”

“Whatever’s the strongest. And a bucket of it, before I die from thirst!”

The girl vanished. The quasi stretched out on a creaking sofa. “I still haven’t gotten my due from the first crossing, March, and here you are signing me up for another one. Debts must be paid.”

“They will be,” March replied, unperturbed. “So how did you get here?”

“I crossed, dammit. And I hated it almost as much as the first crossing.”

“What happened?”

“I crossed a damned border, on my own. What part of that sounds likeable to you? Some idiots nearly took me out towards the end. Unlike the first crossing, they were not successful. Thankfully I wasn’t weighed down by idiots suggesting we ride a four-seat electric car towing a kid’s wagon. So, when do we leave?”

March tossed another small bundle at the quasi. “We’re not rushing this one. First, we need to buy an antiaircraft gun. The best model we can get.”

“Where do you expect to get that? This is a shithole. Toilet plungers decorated with rhinestones? Sure. Toilet paper made of cashmere? No problem. A decent weapon? Forget about it.”

“Then we buy the best we can find, and do what we can with it.”

“Alright,” the quasi replied as he rose.

“You’re leaving already?” Clown blinked.

“I’m not going far, and I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare drink my liquor, Clown.”

“Tell them to let the next guy in,” March said.

“Yeah, about that, I guess you’ve changed teams. Awful lot of guys out there.”

“Nope, haven’t changed teams. We’re putting together a team. They’re all candidates for the position of demoman.”

“A decent demoman? From Rainbow? As the name suggests, the only thing Rainbow men are likely to be able to demolish is your—”

“We’ll take them, as long as they know their way around bombs and dynamite,” March hurried him along. “Come on, let the next one inside.”

“Oh, he looks eager to be inside, alright,” the quasi muttered as he left.

* * *

“Why didn’t you like that one?” Cheater asked as the next reject slammed the door shut behind him.

March took another gulp and closed his eyes in utter bliss. “This whole journey was worth it. An amazing brew!”

“I don’t mean the beer. I mean the last sapper.”

“I saw a schoolboy with a cretinous smile,” March grimaced. “I’m not sure how you saw a sapper in him. Didn’t you hear how he answered our questions? It was like he was fresh out of kindergarten.”

“I thought we were looking for expertise here, not form. He answered sensibly. Not that I’m a specialist in explosives.”

“You’re not a specialist in anything, Cheater. Don’t worry, we love you anyway. Do you really think the questions are the test? Can you imagine that preppy pants-ironer crafting our own Sodom and Gomorrah for our foes out of a bag of chicken droppings, a liter of used oil from a deep fryer, and a homemade detonator made from a flashlight bulb? No. I bet you he’ll scream like a girl if he so much as gets soot on his pants. Plus, after nine and a half months here, he’s only at level 33. That’s the bottom level of the ship, Cheater. And a leaky ship, at that. No ambition, no self-confidence. He’s timid and dependent, and we’ll have to spend half our time holding him by the hand. Plus, he lacks enthusiasm for the mission. He doesn’t care whether we take him on the crossing or not. If you want a guy who just lets it be, get Paul McCartney. Hell, he’s even used to dying and coming back. This guy, no way. He didn’t even try to convince us somehow, and just took his rejection in stride. The boy’s as good a sapper as a house plant. And a ficus at that. A fake one. For this mission, we need a real, one-track-mind sadist who likes blowing people up. A focused psycho, not a phony ficus. A pyromaniac with his pockets full of TNT and a thirst to use it. We need a dangerous criminal. We need the school bomber type. The man who plans to smile and light a cigarette as he walks away from the burning orphanage, just to give the witnesses a little extra chill in their spines. Somebody who would put a suicide belt on his own mother, kiss her on the cheek, and then push the button. Someone who has no qualms about tossing a bunch of grenades into a puppy store. We need a man with only one joy and one god in the whole world: explosions. A man who lives and breathes blasts. Give him unbridled access to a naked beauty queen, and his first thought is plotting how to blow her up. That’s who we need.”

“You’re nuts,” Cheater sighed. “A decent sapper is no problem to find. How does an unhinged psycho help the composition of our team?”

“A hinged person has only hinged thoughts. Also, quit arguing with me. I decide who we need. Without a psycho sapper, our whole plan is blown to pieces.”

“Why? We’re not busy right now, so you have time to explain.”

“What’s there to say? We need to cross the border in a location where no one has done so before. Everyone who has attempted has died.”

“Why not choose a way where people have crossed, then? We just need to get to the other side of the border, not the other side of hell.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking for extra adventure here. It’s looking for us. Going around would waste a colossal amount of time, which is something you don’t have. Plus, that will add other difficulties to our journey. The balance of power here is shifting. When such things happen, the traders usually stay in safe locations, without risking caravans. Things don’t sound great on the other side, either. As far as I understand, Kitty is now in neutral territory. But the groups to either side of that territory will have many questions for us. Even here, where we’ve gained a good deal of respect, we’re taking risks by working so openly. I’m not even talking about our enemies. Everyone has enemies. No, many people are interested in us only because they believe we must have money. Some are even willing to shoot us just so they have something interesting to brag to pretty girls about. But back to the other side. We haven’t been there, and we don’t know the situation. If things are complicated here, where we have a grasp on the regional politics and have also found a place of refuge from them, imagine how much worse they’ll be over there. The best option is to punch straight forward. Through an area where no one has made a crossing before. Yes, it’s impossibly unpopular, but it’s the fastest way. And it emerges into neutral territory. I am the brains of this operation, and the safety of our crossing is my primary concern. Several options for how to accomplish this have crossed my mind. One of those options requires a sapper. It’s a good option, I think. But the sapper must be a very unusual player. The work will not be straightforward. I’m not even sure any sapper will be able to pull it off, but we need at least one we can place our hopes on. We can’t place our hopes on a houseplant. We might as well go straight to our backup plan, and it’s our backup plan for a reason. Backup plans are always worse than main plans.”

The door opened softly, and a waitress poked her head in, slyly looking at each of them in turn. “Charm asked me to tell you there’s someone else here.”

“Is he a priest?” March asked.

“No. A sapper.”

“Well, send him in.”

A man with a punk hairstyle stepped in. His hair looked like an explosion of green dye, decorated with cleverly placed highlights. It was a kind of spotted camouflage.

Cheater immediately realized who the new arrival was. He pointed. “You’re Nut.”

The whistling visitor nodded and smiled.

“You’re the one who tried to sell us boys at the gate,” Clown muttered gloomily. “The quasi was right.”

“Hey, no, I don’t sell boys! I don’t sell anything! You think I’m a huckster? Nah. I get work as a walking billboard. Pay’s not so good, but that’s what I could find here. It’s not easy to make money here with the way things are. So I’m working to get out.”

Clown continued glaring at the man. “You were wearing different clothes then. Dressed like a cheap jester. And with trinkets everywhere. Gold sequins or something. Your hair was different, too—colored like a whore’s panties.”

Nut winked. “I guess you liked that, but I’m getting ready for a crossing, so I whipped up some camo. Along with this green outfit. Stealth, you know.”

“So you’re not just an expert in boys and in swindling but also in explosives?” March finally asked.

“I told you already, I don’t sell anything. Just forget about that incident. If you need to blow anything up, though, I’ll make it happen.”

“Tell me about C-4,” March asked.

“The hell kind of question is that? Give me a scenario.”

“Fine,” March nodded. “There are five of us in here. Imagine that we’re a terrorist group, plotting to destroy Rainbow. You’re in command. We have no money, and no serious weapons. But we have no choice. We have to pull it off. What do we do?”

“Five might not be enough,” Nut replied.

“How many do you need, then?” March replied.

“Six, at least.”

“Six? Interesting. Alright, say we have six. What then?”

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“Then tell us. We need details. What do we all do? Pack a truck full of C-4? Set off a fuel-air bomb?”

“Fuck no! You just said we have no money, and no weapons to speak of. How are we going to get a truck of C-4? Do you know how much that costs? But there’s an old fuel tank farm nearby. Every time the cluster resets, a fleet of heavy tanker trucks comes in, next to those big cylindrical oil tanks. Usually, no one claims the oil, so we can covertly grab the six best trucks and fill them up, right on the spot. We paint over all the labels, making it look like we’re hauling water. Deliveries of water aren’t that uncommon here. The local morons haven’t devised any better way to supply the town with the liquid it needs. So we shouldn’t have trouble getting the oil through.”

“What about the guards at the gate?” March asked.

Nut laughed. “Haven’t you seen the guards? They won’t check us out, nor our cargo. This is Rainbow. There is a person that works at the water pumping station, but it’s easy and boring work, so they post the dumbest people there. We drain the water from the receiving tank. It can hold five hundred cubic meters, but it’s never full, and we can drain it off into the nearby ditch. No one bothers with the place. We wouldn’t be seen. Even if we were seen, no one would care. The city’s water system, besides the tank of course, will still have water in it, so no one will notice anything for a time. Soon enough they will, of course, so we won’t have all day. Next, we close off the city tank and drain all six trucks into it. Not entirely, though. We leave three or four cubic meters in each. We end up with a little over a hundred cubic meters of gas in the city tank. Just over one-fifth capacity. One of the team remains in the guard booth, just in case. Our Guy Fawkes. Except he’s not caught red-handed. He fields the calls that come in asking what has happened to the water. The other five move quickly to the center of town. Seven junction valves have to be closed in order to cut off the water mains in the center of town from those on the outskirts. Then three more are opened to drain the water. The diameter of those pipes is small, so they don’t hold much water, and they’ll drain quickly under internal pressure. Now, as the pressure drops, those valves will need to be closed. Not completely, though. They should be open just ever so slightly. The water will only trickle out of the system—but once we open the valve on the tank, it will jet out. Forced out by the gas in the system. They don’t like to mix, after all. We’ll pump it in at the highest possible pressure. Such pressure is only used when all of the water mains are disconnected. They do this to clean the system out every few months. But we’re not going to disconnect the water mains. Gasoline will flow to the city outskirts, along all three outer lines. Some of the pipes might not hold up, even though they’re steel. The house pipes are all plastic—they’ll definitely burst, with a fury. There will be gas spraying all over. Not all one hundred cubic meters, of course, but a few dozen. Maybe even more. Rainbow isn’t that big, after all, and we’ll only be flooding the outskirts, which no one really cares about. While this is happening, the tanker trucks are positioned in specific locations. We left a few cubic meters in each for a reason, after all. They’ll finish the job.”

“Wait,” March interrupted, interest in his voice. “You’re just going to burn Rainbow?”

“Yeah. It would work.”

“Why not blow it up?”

“What does it matter? Same result, less work. And no need to buy explosives from the hucksters.”

March nodded. “Alright, I’ll allow that. But even though I haven’t listened to your plan all the way through to the end, it seems to be a bit too elaborate.”

“Dude, how could I come up with a simpler plan on the spot, when it has to be instantly executable, and free? All we need is the gas. I know how this stuff works, and the plan could work—or it could fail. But bulletproof plans aren’t built in a matter of minutes, and Rainbow is a pretty big place.”

“I don’t know,” March wavered. “I’ve seen people make explosives out of fertilizer before.”

“And I once saw a guy who could fart the words ‘your mother’ out his asshole. So what?”

“Alright,” March agreed, “let’s forget about Rainbow. Forget I asked that question. Instead, tell me about yourself.”

“What about myself? Pick a topic.”

“Your last explosion.”

“The most recent one? It wasn’t really an explosion, per se. I’ve done better.”

“The most recent is fine,” March insisted. “Details. We want all the details.”

“Well, it wasn’t here. I was up north. I was with this team, and we were making out pretty good. We went on raids. Anyway, I found a girl at a stable. She was alright. Almost beautiful, even. She told me she loved me, and I, like a witless idiot, believed her. So I’m coming back from a raid that went bad. Half of the team was killed, the other half tortured. Even raped. It was a bad business. Before that raid, though, I was rich from the one before. I even got a room at a hotel. Best hotel in the whole north of the region. Basically the region’s Ritz Carlton. Best on the Continent, maybe. So anyway, I’m heading that way, and I find out that my girl has been in that room, that I paid for, screwing with some bald bastard for almost a week.

“But wait—there’s more. They got married. So they make love, tie the knot, and have their honeymoon in the room that I paid for. It still makes me mad, just thinking about it.”

“Of course,” March nodded. “So when does the explosion come in?”

“Just listen to what happened next. So I’m upset, as you know. When I’m upset, I can take things to the extreme. Oh, I can restrain myself when necessary. But that was not necessary. I had to do something. So I got some C-4 with everything I had left. I don’t waste money—except for that hotel room, of course—so despite our bad luck, I had a few bucks to spare. Along with that, I get some rope, and some steel wire, and some super glue. Then I go to the hotel, where the newlyweds are enjoying another romp. I climb up to the roof. I measure the distance to their window. Basically I lower the rope over the side and—”

“We understand that you can use a rope to measure distances,” Clown butted in. “Cut to the chase.”

“Fine. So I measure it out. I tie on a detonator with a short delay, calculated down to the second. Tying a loop on the rope, I put it to my feet. The other end, I tie to an exhaust vent on the roof. And another loop around my neck. Good and tight. The wire is shorter than the rope, just as I wanted it. I toss down a cocktail, snort a line, and then stand on the edge of the roof. I re-glue my hair, pause for a moment, and push off. Did I mention how big the hotel was?”

Cheater nodded. “Yeah.”

“It was tall. Tallest building in the whole north. I dropped down several floors until the wire grew tight enough. When it tightened, it tightened fast. The wire was strong, but thin. It cut my head off quicker than razor wire. The glue had dried by this point, so it held, and I kept soaring through the air until the rope stretched taut. Right where I had planned. As the rope grew taut, it swung me back into the wall. Into the window, I mean. This beautiful, panoramic window. I slammed straight through it. Then, the detonator triggered, and everything exploded.”

“Holy shit,” Clown mumbled.

“I had filled my hair with glue and grabbed it with my hands, you might remember. Imagine it. The two lovebirds are in bed. It was a nice, fluffy king-sized bed. Orthopedic mattress, numerous pillows, shining and sparkling. They were having a wonderful time, no doubt. Then I crash through the window. The explosion hits. Both of them head straight for respawn—and the last thing they see is me, flying towards them. Covered in blood, holding my head in my hands. They’ll have nightmares about that from their next life until their last. That was the most recent explosion. Well? Should I tell you about some others? I’ve had much better ones. Especially the one in the bots, with the maternity ward. Everything went just as I had calculated.”

March looked up from his mug, which he had been draining in an uncharacteristically fussy manner. “Maternity ward?”

“Yes. So, everything was a mess. I had to put it all together on the back of the envelope, because...”

“Stop. That’s enough,” March interrupted. “You’re in.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m on the team!” Nut’s smile stretched from ear to ear in disbelief.

“That’s right.”

Clown choked on his beer and cackled, between coughing fits, “His nickname fits. He’s nuts!”

“Exactly,” March gestured. “Just the man we’re looking for.”

Nut placed a hand on his chest. “Gentlemen. I won’t let you down.”

“We believe you,” March nodded again.

“Allow me to take care of some things in town first. I’ll be back soon.”

“Going for superglue?” Cheater chuckled.

“Huh? No. I’m going to tell the people I’m with that I’ve joined up with you. Just so there’s no confusion. We have a few things going.”

“Alright, go ahead,” March allowed.

“I’ll be quick. Don’t even think of replacing me. I’ll be back here faster than a falling knife.”

Clown was finally gaining control over his sputtering and coughing and stared at the door which had just closed behind the new team member. “I don’t know how you do it, March, but you’re a psycho magnet. I didn’t even know there were people like that here. He’s utterly crazy. He looks crazy, he talks crazy, he acts crazy. Did you see his eyes? They’re like vats from the pit of hell, filled with liquid drugs. He’s not even that bright, either. Slow to catch on to the meaning of normal conversation. An annoying combination.”

“You’re right, he’s perfect!” March said, satisfied. “Let’s drink to our new sapper! Come on Clown, cheers.”

Clown raised his glass. “Looks like this crossing will, once again, be something to see.”

Chapter 10

Life Nine. Getting Ready

The preparations for this crossing were remarkable. Meaning that no one in their right mind would prepare for any serious campaign in such a way.

Everything was wrong.

The team leader never left his “beer office,” and he did his best to demonstrate, at every possible turn, that the beer was the important part. He didn’t even leave the room come nightfall. The waitress had to stay, ostensibly to make sure that the room was continually refilled with beer and not with intruders—but she failed to emerge as often as those duties might suggest. During the day, she would busy herself with managing the applicants fighting to get in and pitch themselves for the position of deranged demoman. After Nut showed up and filled the vacancy, her work eased. In the daylight hours, at least.

The gloomy Janitor, who Cheater knew was close with March but did not know why, disappeared for hours at a time. Judging by snippets of conversation here and there, he was engaged in procuring armament and transportation for the party.

Clown moved from beer to whiskey, then went to his room. He did nothing else of significance until March sent him to inspect the vehicles the quasi had chosen.

Fatso never returned, neither with Button nor without her. The only sign of life from him was his active icon in the party window. No one seemed bothered by this. March seemed confident that their priest situation would be resolved. Had been resolved, even. Perhaps a private chat conversation was running between the two of them, but Cheater doubted that.

Nut occupied himself with finding any ears willing to listen and flooding them with verbiage. The boy never shut his mouth. He could spend hours telling tales of his adventures, and once you’d heard one, you’d heard them all. He would be in the company of some dubious friends, consuming alcohol that was no less dubious, along with substances of a stronger nature. Often, he would proudly tell stories of having consumed stuff that was sheer poison—pouring it into his mouth, shooting it up, snorting or smoking it, rubbing it into his skin, or even shoving it up his rectum.

Then, some sort of an intimate memory would be tossed in. Perhaps he loved psychoactive aids more than female partners, but not too much more. Here, the stories could be tallied in two columns: one where the lead female character “jumped out of her panties as soon as she saw me,” and the other where she “was a greedy bitch who wouldn’t budge for anyone.” The drugs would then re-enter the story.

And they would come in afterward, too. Between his tales, Nut would regularly offer his favorite narcotics to his new partymates. Or suggest that they try something new together. At everyone’s own risk, of course. There were many talented chemists in Rainbow, he assured them, and the results were guaranteed to be mind-blowing. Perhaps literally. It was a crime, he insisted, not to try everything. Each new substance offered a chance to experience a new level of consciousness. At the same time, though, he complained about his lack of money and even the debts that had him ensnared—hinting at every turn that someone else should foot the bill for all of these experiments. Cheater realized that he had better start getting used to this nutcase. They might be together for the long haul.

* * *

“A truck and an antiaircraft gun? Seems too simple.”

Clown did not turn to answer Cheater, instead tapping one of the gun’s barrels with his wrench and countering with a question of his own. “What else would you like?”

“Nothing in particular. I’m just not sure why we’re being so economical. We’ve still got a ton of mods we could sell, along with some valuable loot from the Unnamed One. Why did March claim the crystals? And the valuables we looted from Bugle’s stash? We could buy something better. So I looked around and found some interesting options: There are at least two APCs available, plus one infantry fighting vehicle. They’re for sale in the vehicle market right by the gate. Someone even suggested that with enough money, we could get a tank figured out. But what we have instead is just two lousy trucks. One is just a regular set of wheels, with hardly any armor plating, and the other altogether open, for the entire world to see. Plus yet another plain vanilla pickup truck. I’ve figured out the prices well enough—these are so cheap that we might be able to hang on to even our most worthless modifiers. They’re not even worth half of the cost of one.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Clown objected. “All of this is worth something. The antiaircraft shells will cost us a bundle, too. But I see your point. You’re right, and you’re also wrong. Vehicle selection is a very controversial issue, and you shouldn’t believe everything the swindlers tell you.”

“Then tell me where they led me wrong.”

“They mentioned armored vehicles, you said. Think APCs are nice and quiet? Oh, I know a whole lot about APCs by this point. Janitor does too. And March. Not that he dealt with them much back then, but everyone reports to him. We’re not interested in them. Where the hucksters led you wrong is that their armor isn’t worth shit. They were playing you for a rich fool. You won’t see good armor on display. They’ll offer you old crap with a thin veneer of restoration over it. Do you know what restoration of armored vehicles entails?”

“Fixing up broken parts and so on.”

“It’s much bleaker than that. Let’s say someone had a decent armored personnel carrier. Not the newest, maybe, or not the top model, but working just fine. So the last owner was out on whatever business and took a couple of grenades in the side. The APC went up in flames. When that happens, it’s not like the vehicle melts into a puddle past all reconstitution; no, the frame survives. Maybe some of the innards, but not much. The frame can’t ride or fight on its own, but spare parts are very hard to come by on the Continent. High demand, and the reboots don’t supply much, especially not for APCs. Meaning they hacked new pieces together from whatever they could find, and now they’re trying to pass the buck. I’m sure you can see that rubbish like that would not exactly be reliable. Even the remaining armor is compromised—it’s already been exposed to extreme temperatures. Much less power to absorb damage.”

“What about the tank?”

“Oh, that’s even better,” Clown finally turned. “This side often warps in clusters from Eastern Europe. Lots of military monuments there from a great war. Ancient tanks. A hundred thousand overall, they say. Yes, they’re all monuments, but they’re also functioning military vehicles, too. Some suspect it’s part of a cunning plan to mobilize instantly and blitz the world into submission. Anyone who believes that, though, has never seen many of these vehicles. The artillery is worthless against modern military tech, first of all. You might as well use a Cozy Coop. But the tanks come in all shapes and sizes. Most are from that great war, but there are a number of newer models around. Now, usually they nerf the guns and remove everything that can possibly be removed. It’s easy to get a tank moving again—but by that point, all you really have is an engine in a box. In order to restore everything else, you somehow need to find parts which haven’t been produced in decades. You have to improvise, time and time again. Sometimes the results are interesting, but that’s pretty rare, and even the most fascinating remodeled tanks have only limited combat use. In short, they’re shit. Have a little faith in your mechanic: a tank like that is good for nothing. Best to spend that money on wine or women. Oh right—sorry, I forgot you’re not really into those...”

Cheater refused to let the jab hit home. “Something isn’t adding up here. There are decent vehicles that come in here. Remember all of the war machines they had at the Devils’ base? Some of them looked fresh from the factory.”

“Sure,” Clown allowed, “but you’ll spend days looking for those, and their cost will be astronomical. And what do we get in return? Exactly the machines that the Nolds and bots love to hunt. The ownership of armored vehicles by players irritates both groups to no end. Draws them in like a magnet. Sooner or later, the owner of a glistening modern vehicle will be ambushed. If you even make it that far. With a tiny group like ours, we’d be likely to first run into some scumbag sporting an RPG. He could just shoot us from some bush and beat it. We’d end up with a bunch of worthless scrap.

Cheater shook his head. “So then why does anyone bother with top-of-the-notch tanks and trucks?”

“Because they can. Groups like the Devils, interregional trade associations, and the more powerful stables. They don’t send these vehicles out one by one but in convoys, with serious cover attached to them, competent crews, and drones which check the route ahead for them. Most bots will leave a group like that alone, as will the thugs with the RPGs. Even if one lonely vehicle is out and about, everyone knows it’s not alone, but part of a larger system. Touch it, and you bring the wrath of the rest on your head.”

“So there’s no point in having the best vehicles when we’re few in number.”

“Right. What do you want with a tank anyway? Can you imagine successfully aiming at a running elite with a tank gun? Like chasing a fly with a needle. You might get him, sure, but your chances aren’t good. Now, this model, though—shoot its engine full of holes, and we don’t care. Well, not too much. The gun can be moved to another truck, and suitable models can be found in nearly any cluster. Plus, it costs a lot less than an APC. And goes faster. But the best part is its firepower. A tank hits harder, but good luck getting a good shot off, and good luck reloading. This is an antiaircraft gun. Designed to hit targets flying through the air. Good model for its time, too. Despite misconceptions to the contrary, it’s not a double-barreled weapon; it’s two entirely independent anti-aircraft guns, welded together. Each is completely autonomous, with its own ammunition supply. In situations where your rate of fire doesn’t need to be too high, you can just use one. When things get tense, you use two. One weapon has high-explosive rounds loaded up, and the other has armor-piercers. Targets’ vulnerabilities differ. Now, it was designed to work against fast, low-flying objects. So the cannon can swivel a hundred and eighty degrees around at near-instant speeds. A tank gun takes forever to move. APC guns don’t have that kind of mobility, either. They have remote-controlled turrets which rotate much less quickly. The operator sees the world through cameras, and the field of vision isn’t very good. When you’re sitting in this chair here, you can see the whole world, with your own eyes. The Janitor even installed a couple of mirrors. He doesn’t even have to turn his head! Quasi necks aren’t the most flexible, you know.”

“But one bullet or one piece of shrapnel, and this gun is garbage,” Cheater predicted. “Same with the shooter. He may have a perfect view, but everyone else has a perfect view of him, too. Every sniper for miles around has a perfect shot.”

“That’s why Janitor is the one sitting there,” Clown grinned. “His skin is so thick that even shrapnel from grenade launchers will have a tough time taking him out. Or at least not all of him. Have you seen his armor, by the way? Guess how much it weighs. One hundred and fifty-eight pounds! It’s the kind of outfit only a quasi can wear, of course. He’s basically inside an armored personnel carrier of his own up here, with a capacity of one. Especially when he’s got a helmet and knee pads on. Plus, we’re putting shielding on the gun. It’s only light armor, but it might help. Thus we have a well-protected mobile turret that packs a powerful double punch. The truck itself is quick enough that you’re unlikely to hit from far away. Everything flammable has been removed. Few vulnerabilities to small arms remain. And even to intermediate calibers. If we had a second quasi, we would have arranged for two of these trucks. One is good, and two is much better, since they can also cover each other. Sadly, we only have one Janitor.”

“By the way, do you know what March used to bait him?” Cheater asked.

“Bait him?”

“I mean, I know, they know each other from before. It doesn’t seem like they’re great friends, though. I doubt the Janitor is just signing on with March out of the kindness of his quasi heart. Especially for a second time in a row. March has something he wants. He also hinted about March owing him some kind of payment. What was he referring to?”

“Why ask me? Ask March himself.”

Cheater snorted. “Ask March a question, and it’s usually a good month or two before he answers. And only then in riddles. Don’t you have any idea?”

Clown shrugged. “Who knows? If March has promised the Janitor money, it must be a whole lot. He’s no ordinary quasi. Some quasis are referred to as ‘superior,’ others as ‘inferior’ or ‘partial.’”

“So what’s superior about him?”

“I don’t know, exactly. We’re still just mere acquaintances for the Janitor, and as you know, most players don’t rush to share details about their characters. He has some tricks up his sleeve, that’s for sure. Do you remember how he fell into that abyss—and then knocked out two of the bots’ APCs? There’s definitely something different about him.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s something different about everyone here,” Cheater added.

Clown chuckled. “Yes, it’s rare to encounter someone you’d call ‘normal.’”

Nut approached the truck, skirting around piles of scrap metal as he did so. Once he saw Cheater and Clown chatting, he smiled wide, immediately launching into conversation as he did so. “Guys, March wants to talk to you. Right away. You, and you, and even the Janitor. It sounds like he’s got something planned.”

“What sort of something, any idea?” Cheater asked.

“Not a clue. But he was cleaning his gun, so I’m sure it’s a serious something. Plus swearing at Fatso for disappearing somewhere and for failing to bring Button back. Someone owes someone something, or something like that. Anyway, March is irritated, so hurry. Oh, and I just so happened to run into an old sidekick of mine recently. He told me about a caravan from up north, going west, that he fought off. Says they were carrying some amazing stuff. Including a fabulous new mix that you can’t buy anywhere in this region, no matter how rich you are. Some new recipe—natural materials subjected to a little bit of chemistry. He took some for himself, but we might be able to convince him to...”

“Go tell March we’re on our way,” Clown interrupted sharply, so as to avoid listening to yet another description of a powerful experimental drug, inevitably leading to another monotonous biographical tale.

Once Nut was out of earshot, Clown spoke to Cheater with a low voice. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re about to find out what March has on the Janitor.”

Cheater raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Every piece of shit drops sooner or later. Have you ever seen him call both us and the Janitor in for a chat, at the same time? No, normally we each have our own things to do. Even if we have the same general task, Janitor usually handles his part on his own somehow. I’m going to be the one driving this car, and yet we haven’t spoken a dozen words to each other so far today. Something unusual is going on, and I’m almost certain March will say something related to your question about him and the Janitor.”

“Sounds farfetched.”

“No. Wasn’t it strange that as soon as you mentioned the matter, Nut immediately showed up with some strange orders for you? Like he was lying in wait. It’s all too suspicious. I’ve been watching you for a long time now, Cheater. You’re not just accurate with that rifle—your words often hit the mark, too. Not always. But often.”

“Huh. I haven’t noticed that.”

“I have. I am very good at noticing things, because I love watching and observing. I might be wrong, of course—so let’s go find out how accurate your words really are.”

* * *

Over the past couple of days, so much beer had passed through the “beer office” that Cheater felt he was getting drunk on the air. The smell and buzz of alcohol had permeated every inch of the room’s floor and furniture. The windows had been opened wide, but that didn’t help. Especially since they were covered with thick curtains. Those blocked ventilation, but no one was about to throw them aside since they also blocked would-be observers.

There would be all kinds of onlookers, otherwise. Including some with firearms and with grudges against one or more members of the party. Many would have an especially thick stack of questions for Cheater.

He had, after all, managed to wipe out hundreds of the most powerful players in the region. Every Devil would be after him, the attitude of Watershed’s people towards him was unclear, and he had now killed Romeo twice. Plenty of people would be after him. It was worth keeping the curtains closed. To be sure, spraying the room blindly from a machine gun from the outside would offer the shooter no guarantee of success. The players in this room had high Reaction levels, so the shooter would have only a second, if that. Tossing in grenades would be more feasible, except for the durable mosquito nets covering the windows. Plus the latticework underneath them. It would be possible to come up close and get the angle right, but you would have to stand on a chair or something. The staff of this establishment would, hopefully, notice a sinister stranger approaching the building with a chair and grenades. To prevent this hypothetical stranger from approaching too quickly, the approaches to the area were deliberately cluttered with decorative obstacles. In addition, it was not easy business to start a battle in the center of Rainbow and escape with your life. The locals may have seemed laid back, but they did not approve of violence, and they would quickly step in.

In general, Cheater believed that the office was a safe location. But not at this moment. March’s unusual behavior was making him nervous.

The man demanded that that they always keep their weapons close at hand and stay awake. He had also made sure to tell them not to go too far with beer drinking, which was the opposite of his usual advice.

As a matter of explanation, March offered only one thought: some people were coming with whom they had to make an important deal. These people were unlikely to be plotting treachery, but the party had to be ready for anything. The stable security forces were capable of dealing with criminals, but they weren’t omnipotent. Also, this particular establishment’s security force was not accustomed to conflict—and was unlikely to fight to the end. They were used to throwing brawlers out onto the street and then not letting them back in. If conflict broke out, they could not rely on anyone else.

Even the quasi was noticeably nervous, something that Cheater had never seen before. The party did not want to insult their unknown guests by meeting them with serious guns, so the Janitor had to put his beloved 50-cal. machine gun away. His huge hands could only use pistols if they had been significantly altered, and the only such gun he had on hand was a make no one had ever heard of—preposterously large, with an extra long clip. Sitting on the couch, which when holding such a colossus looked more like a worn-out armchair, the freak kept stroking his pistol’s holster with one hand; the other held the handle of a massive cleaver, which was in size and weight barely inferior to Choppa.

He was clearly nervous. The feeling inevitably spread to everyone else present.

Despite incessant hints and occasional direct questions, March still did not explain much. He drank beer and kept silent—or said that everything would be fine, and that they just needed to sit for a while, with stern faces.

The visitors were four in number. All of them were NPCs, which Cheater immediately disliked. He was not yet in an open conflict with Watershed and his gang, but after the massacre and destruction of the Devils’ fortress, he had no idea as to where he and they stood diplomatically. They might well be very upset about his decision to destroy the nuclear weapons.

Or, they might not be upset at all.

Whenever a situation was unknown, it was best to prepare for the worst. Thus, Cheater went with the theory that these four were members of Watershed’s organization. Perhaps this business with March was just a pretense. An excuse for them to get to Cheater.

Before the NPCs even sat on the chairs brought in for them, three more visitors appeared in the doorway. These were players, but they had a very strange look about them: they were all cookies from the same cutter, all dressed in black business suits and white shirts. Office workers, on the Continent?

They moved confidently, though, and so Cheater knew they were not simply lost. All three positioned their backs towards the wall by the door and froze, in carbon copy poses.

The middle one said, indifferently, “Rainbow Stable is guarantor of this deal between March and Sixth Eye. If either party violates the terms of the transaction without the consent of the other party, Rainbow Stable will insist that the transaction be rescinded in its entirety, or carried out according to its originally agreed-upon conditions. The conditions are as follows. Sixth Eye shall transfer to the player March: one white pearl, 800 spores, and 110 golden peas. All of the aforementioned items have their origination in the sporesacs of infecteds. In turn, the player March will give Sixth Eye one regular crystal. This is an item won from an Unnamed One. The parties undertake to conduct this transaction in good faith. Rainbow Stable, as guarantor, will observe the transaction until its completion and then collect its agreed-upon payment of 1,250 spores in return for its assistance. Half of this sum, or 625 spores, shall be paid by each side. If either party wishes to amend these terms, or has any questions or concerns, please ask.”

“One thousand two hundred and fucking fifty!” Nut gasped. “The hell kind of price is that?” The sapper was so enraged that an observer might have thought he was making this deal himself—and was asked to pay in vast quantities of his own blood.

“Our stable’s fee has been agreed upon in advance, and is not subject to change,” the suit in the center replied calmly. “Any other questions?”

“I would like to get this done quickly and get back to my beer,” March muttered. “So shut up for a minute, Nut.”

“Your silence would indeed be in the common interest,” the stable’s representative nodded, before turning back to the signatories. “If there are no more questions, please show each other the agreed-upon goods.”

March casually slapped his hand palm-down on the table and then lifted it. Beneath it lay an elongated polyhedron, gleaming brightly even in the dim lighting that managed its way through the curtains.

The leader of the NPCs moved a little closer, squinted at the crystal and nodded slowly, and then laid a flat plastic box on the table and slid it across to March with precisely calculated force.

The man caught it and lifted the lid. Without looking inside, he shuffled around with his hand and pulled out a tiny white ball. He passed it to the Janitor. “This is yours.”

The quasi accepted the offering in one shovel-sized hand, which he clenched into a fist, and then unclenched. It was no longer visible—safely tucked away in his inventory.

“Please count the rest,” Sixth Eye said, his voice tense.

“Why?” March asked. “If it’s not right, I’ll come calling on you. Which you do not want. Tears and pain shall accompany my visit. Many, many tears.”

“Yes, no one needs that,” the NPC nodded, collecting the crystal.

“Is the deal concluded?” the stable representative asked, his voice still flat.

Both parties nodded. The NPC added, “I’m willing to buy another such item, for the same price. Two or three more, perhaps. Please take note of this, March.”

“I will.”

The NPCs rose together and headed for the door. All of the stable’s representatives followed.

As he watched them, Cheater bent towards Clown’s ear. “Golden pearls come from Unnamed Ones. Black, red, and green pearls come from elites. Where do white pearls come from?”

“From the deepest holes of hell. Best not to speak of that, especially before a crossing.”

“Bad omen,” Cheater clarified.

“Yeah. The worst. And everyone here believes in omens, so you’d better get used to it.”

Cheater’s question had been mostly rhetorical. He had been on the Continent for a good stretch of time, now, and had been paying attention all along. Listening to conversations, leafing through brochures for beginners as well as more serious manuals, where veterans shared some of their experience. He had even located a bookstore here, in Rainbow. There were still things he could learn, but in all of his investigations, he had never seen direct mention of the snow-white spheres.

To his recollection, anyway. His question had been rhetorical because he could guess where such treasure came from.

He was piecing tiny bits of information together in his head.

It was doubtless the rarest trophy that could be looted from a slain infected.

A very powerful infected. Cheater had not encountered this class of infecteds. He would keep on reading to learn more, but some tidbits fit into the puzzle. Every scrap he was putting together was little more than rumors and slips of the tongue, with one or two reliable sources.

At first, he had thought the “dire elite” to be merely descriptive of a mighty elite, but now he realized it was more likely a separate class of infecteds, a level above regular elite. Ghouls whose levels were in the 200s, and who weighed seven or eight tons. At least. Meaning that the youngest, weakest dire elite weighed as much as a pair of mature Indian elephants. Stronger beasts might reach ten or eleven tons. He had heard rumors of some specimens, near the central regions of the Continent and along some borders, who weighed more than twice that. Some suggested that fighting two Unnamed Ones at once was better than attempting to kill any such dire elite.

At this stage of development, the elites’ stats and abilities compounded into such breathtaking numbers that many players simply had no access to anything that could take them down. Their reinforced bone armor, filled with the magic of the Continent, could shrug off even armor-piercing artillery shells of smaller calibers. In other words, the autocannons usually used to deal with advanced infecteds would hardly scratch it. Attempts to flee would also prove futile. You would think that as the creatures grew in size, they would lose agility, but that was not the case. Some beasts had been known to accelerate to fifty or sixty miles an hour. Only on flat terrain, of course—but if you were off road, your chances of getting away were only worse. No matter what vehicle you owned, a monster’s paws could outperform it on rough terrain.

To make matters worse, these infecteds were usually social creatures. They would lead flocks of one hundred or more and establish dominion over vast regions. If any of the flock encountered food, the leader was somehow able to detect the discovery instantaneously.

If a long time passed without new food, the boss could always snack on a few of his minions.

Some believed that these very evolved elites were also highly intelligent. Perhaps even smarter than human players. All this intelligence was focused exclusively on hunting, with nothing wasted on ruminations about the meaning of life or aspirations to acquire a harem of ideal sexual partners.

For players, the territory of the dire elite was a cheerless land. Yet some formed parties to visit these very places.

Defeating such an elite yielded a fortune in valuable loot items. Depending on the creature’s development and the party’s luck, a couple of pounds of webbing, over a thousand spores, several hundred peas of all colors, hundreds of grains, and dozens of nuts and stars could be gained—in addition to a hundred or more simple amber threads and as many as dozens of knotted amber threads. The real prize, of course, was the pearls. Dire elites always had all three types—red, black, and green—in various quantities. The luckiest cases, they said, yielded dozens of pearls in total.

Then, there was one prize that could never be found in a standard elite. The white pearl. Even in the worst dire elites, it was not a guaranteed find. The chances were something like fifty percent. No real statistics were available, and the data would be too sparse, anyway. A few dubious tales yielded two or three of the white spheres to lucky players. However, no one could tell how accurate such tall tales were.

The snow-white balls were so valuable that even most of the prizes from the Unnamed One did not come close. Seventy or eighty thousand spores, at a minimum. Of course, those who obtained such pearls did not line up to sell them. They were rarely found for sale on the open market. Usually, white pearls were only sold in backroom deals with powerful people, as in this case. In exchange for something that was just an exclusive. March had traded a crystal from the Unnamed One for a white pearl, along with a decent bonus in spores and golden peas.

The immediate passing of the pearl to the Janitor explained why the quasi had signed up for the first crossing—and then the second—without any resistance. Perhaps he had rendered March other services in the past. Cheater didn’t know their history. The payment was invaluable, and March was not one to squander. The Janitor must be worth it.

Few quasis would refuse such an offer, of course. A white pearl gave you a 20% chance of getting a new random ability, no matter how many abilities you already had. It also gave you 100 to 1000 progress points to Talent Rank and Willpower. It could also make any digi immune to infection.

These were nice, but they were not, of course, the primary points of interest for a quasi. A white pearl could restore these victims of the System’s bizarre transformation to human form. After all, though death and respawn could cure them from their monstrous form, this did not happen often. Usually they were normal at first but would soon begin to change. After a few days or weeks, they were quasis again. A white pearl was a guaranteed cure. Taking it would transform the beast into an ordinary player in the shortest possible time. In addition to their previous appearance being returned, all restrictions and blocks on their abilities would be removed.

The Janitor was right to leap at the opportunity. No one wanted to live in the skin of a massive freak and simultaneously lose access to the magic of the Continent. The sizable quasi bonuses to Strength and Endurance were poor compensation for the difficulties.

Still, March had not possessed the crystal until Cheater brought it to him. If he had betrayed his leader, or they had been cheated in this deal, or something else bad had happened, March may have ended up unable to pay his debts.

Or had he already possessed a crystal? How much money had he spent to assemble the team, vehicles, and gear needed for the first crossing? Perhaps, by some means or stroke of fate, he had not lost everything from the Unnamed One before. Cheater would never know, as his boss was secretive to a fault.

As if hearing his thoughts, March interrupted him. He knocked back the last of his mug and held out the box the NPCs had given him. “Take 20 golden peas for yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because you can take them every twelve hours. That’s enough for ten days. Once they’re gone, I’ll give you more, assuming everything is still fine between us. Each one gives you 10–20 Willpower, which we’ve decided you need.”

“I have some already,” Cheater replied proudly. “Some from Bugle’s treasury, and a few which I bought. Enough for every 12 hours, for a while.”

“I’m glad you’re so wealthy. But take them anyway. I don’t have any use for so many.”

As Cheater counted out the twenty peas, March turned towards the others. “I have an announcement for everyone. I don’t know what’s next for us. Perhaps a fight will break out among us tomorrow, and we’ll part as enemies. Perhaps not. Only time will tell. So far, the only person I know for sure is coming is Cheater. We make an excellent team. He is trustworthy. In addition, we are a rich team. We could spare some from the treasury to boost his abilities. The increase will greatly help our team. You yourself know that golden pearls are difficult to come by. People prefer to take them, not to sell them. But for trusted members of our team, we always secure the best. We have the money. If you become a part of our team, you will also have a part in this plenty. Think about it, and think about it well. As you do so, finish up any final business you may have in town. We move out in the morning.”

Chapter 11

Life Nine. The Beginning

“Guys, guys! Guys, listen to this. Get a load of this! Guys!”

Nut’s shrieks came as Cheater and Clown were loading the truck up with grocery items. Both were perturbed that no one else was helping them, though they did not seem to be particularly busy. They were frantically handling all of the things that they should have taken care of the day before, when March had announced they were leaving.

“Cut the shit!” Clown barked, beating Cheater to the verbal punch.

Loading up the truck was supposed to be a job for three people, not two. Yet somehow Nut had found a distraction. Now, he had likely found some new drug to try, or some new story to tell, to make everyone forget about his selfish laziness.

March emerged from the other side of the truck. “Where the hell have you been, greenhorn?”

“This is important! Quit bitching! Do we need a healer, or don’t we?”

March turned to walk away from the three and back to whatever he was doing. “Everyone needs a healer. But we don’t have one. Still, things need doing. And they need doing by everyone, including you, nutcase.”

“Wait!” Nut screamed. “I found a healer. For real! So do we need one or not? She’s not gonna wait forever.”

March paused, but did not turn. “What kind of healer?”

“How should I know? I’m a boom boom guy, not a bandage guy. Big explosives, not bullet extractions. She knows how to heal, I can tell you that much. We crossed paths once, up north.”

“Healers are tough to find,” Clown doubted. “Like priests, every party needs them. But healing abilities are rarely given. Especially good ones. Most are healers in name only. Little more than medicine men.”

“No,” Nut shook his head, “she’s a bona fide healer.”

“So can she heal gunshot wounds? Re-grow limbs? What does she do?”

“She cured me from a knife to the liver. Couple of hours,” Nut insisted.

March turned. “She patched up a destroyed liver in a couple of hours?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember everything she did in our party, but I sure as hell remember that. It was my liver! I had no spec on me then. And it hurt like hell, like rats gnawing at my insides. But I didn’t pass out. I remember everything like it was yesterday. She made me like new.”

Cheater was hardly listening to the conversation, since he was growing tired, both physically and mentally. He had hardly slept the night before, much too nervous for the final crossing.

This was, after all, the place he had been working towards for nearly his entire in-game life. Now, he was paying for not sleeping. His brain worked only intermittently.

Yet Cheater could guess that a healer of any strength would be an excellent addition to the team. Healer class abilities differed from one player to the next, as usual, but they all accelerated wound healing in one way or another. It was like having a regeneration core along for the ride, without the long cooldown between doses. And without spending any expensive consumables. The best healers could accelerate healing by orders of magnitude.

For a party heading to the border, a healer was nearly as valuable as a priest. But the class was difficult to find. Cheater had never encountered a healer, nor heard March suggest they look for one. His experienced comrade understood how poor the chances were of attracting such a rare commodity to join them on such a risky crossing. Healers were, as a rule, members of large groups, within which they were well protected. Everything was handed to them on silver platters, including bodyguards and a comfortable life in a secure stable, which they almost never had to leave. In return, they restored battered soldiers to health.

A freelancing healer who could repair a liver punctured by a knife in a matter of hours was a suspicious idea. March and Clown still did not believe it. Even the inexperienced Cheater could tell that something wasn’t adding up.

“So you’re saying this healer has agreed to go with us,” the leader clarified.

Nut nodded enthusiastically. “Of course she will. Later. We can’t ask her right now—we have to get her here before others get to her. Well? What are we standing around for? I meant it literally when I said ‘we have to get her.’ She won’t come on her own.”

“Alright, I’ll have a look at this healer of yours,” March decided. “Clown, Janitor, finish up here. Cheater, you’re with me. I’m quite sure you’ve never seen a living healer, and they say that new things help a man’s brain develop. So this is just what you need.”

* * *

Cheater had spent a decent amount of time in Rainbow by this point, but he had seen few of the sights. The town boasted dozens of establishments providing entertainment for all kinds of tastes, from the most banal to the most exotic. It even had a large marketplace, divided into trading booths which various merchants leased. Some goods which were quite rare could be found within. If the item you wanted was unavailable, the merchants were able to get it promptly delivered—with the exception of the rarest items, such as loot from the sporesac of an Unnamed One.

Cheater was not looking for entertainment and did not wish to wander around city streets. One downtown abduction in this region was enough for him. He had unwittingly become famous here already, throughout the region, so many people would recognize him immediately despite his relatively common nickname. That was thanks, for the most part, not to the little town with Cinemaman Glock, but to the Devils. They had spread a description of him far and wide.

Every rumor concerning Cheater spread like wildfire. He was beyond being helped by something simple like recoloring his hair—the only way out would be a nickname change. In Rainbow, even that would not help, as everyone had heard of the mysterious man moving east.

The market was scary for yet another reason. There were not all that many traders. They all knew one another. One of them had, incidentally, been recommended to him by Watershed. It was his shop which contained an exquisitely rare rifle. The address was close by.

Cheater kept far away from it. A new rifle would be a good upgrade, if it really could accept the maximum number of modifications. But he had decided it best to stay away from anything connecting to Watershed, at least for the immediate future. He visited just a few of the less serious shops, accompanied by Clown, and purchased some little things. No one could be trusted to choose things like arrows for him. So despite his hesitation to show his face, he made this trip so that he could examine the goods with his own hands. He also visited the building which most closely approximated a library. It was not a popular place. Few people were inside, and he learned a number of things as he read quietly in a corner. Everyone in the whole town knew about March and his team. Unusual players like March, Cheater, and the Janitor were fated to fame.

This was no place to hide.

Despite his limited exposure to the city, he knew at once that Nut was leading them to a shadier part of town. Frankly speaking, the mysterious healer lived in a neglected slum. The locals had started several large construction projects in the sector a few months ago, but they had stalled for some reason. Empty cubes made of wood and cinder blocks rose into the air, surrounded by pits and trenches meant for sewer and communication lines, plus mountains of unused construction materials and garbage of all kinds. Here, the poorest residents had established ad hoc dwellings, both in unfinished buildings and in the numerous back alleyways. They used abandoned planks and plywood to erect improvised shelters. The poorest of all contented themselves under tarps of dirty plastic, rags, and roofing material.

One of these unassuming tents was their destination. Nut began unceremoniously shaking it and shouting. “Rise and shine!”

“Shut up!” a voice rang out from a nearby tent.

Ignoring it, Nut crouched down and half climbed inside, shouting the same words as he pulled a woman by the ankle out into the street.

The rude neighbor emerged from his own tent, barking as he came. He was covered in stubble and tattoos. “I’ll cut you!”

Nut responded in kind. “Who the hell are you? Did you just hatch? I don’t know you.”

“Oh, you’ll see my name in the logs when you come back.” The man pulled a long knife from his boot and stood up to full height.

Cheater did not want to stick his nose into this crazed, pointless conflict, but he had no choice. He drew his pistol. Pointing his weapon, he politely informed the man, “No need for that, we’ll be on our way in a moment.”

“And who the hell are you!?”

“Look, unless you calm down, Cheater here will shoot your Johnson clean off. He’s famous for hitting microscopic targets, without even aiming.”

“Cheater?”

“The Cheater,” Nut replied, winking.

“So you’re Nut. Why didn’t you say so?” the man sheathed the knife. “Jeez, you’re going to get someone killed.”

Never mind that the man had arguably started it.

Cheater repeated his request. “Just take it easy, and we’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Fine, fine, no trouble from me. Say, did you really shoot some dude’s balls off from a mile and a half out? Where’s your rifle? Or did you really take that shot with your pistol?”

As Cheater considered how to answer these very specific questions, Nut finally yanked his quarry from her tent. She was dark skinned and curvy and had a pretty face, though marred by a partial double chin and sun-bleached but filthy hair. Hair that was, in fact, so disheveled that Cheater assumed the region must have a permanent comb shortage. Her clothes were dirty and worn, and she wore athletic sneakers covered in mud.

Cheater glanced sideways at the nearest foundation’s pit. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, the clay inside was the same exact shade. This was not the first piece of evidence that the locals used the pit as a toilet.

March spat. “Is she sleeping or drunk?” The girl had not opened her eyes.

“Both,” an exhausted old man muttered from within the tent.

“Who’s that?”

“Goblin,” the man grunted in response. “Where are you taking Nipple?”

March couldn’t help from laughing. “Nipple? Is that really her nickname?”

“I’ve heard worse.”

“I’m assuming she did not choose it herself. Well, rumor has it that she is a healer. We are preparing for a border crossing, and a healer would be very useful. Nut said she would be eager to join us.”

Nut had not said that, but he vigorously nodded his support. “That’s right. She told me she wants to go to another region. You said that, too, Goblin. Remember, yesterday, when we were smoking? You even wanted to ‘find’ some money for the trip. I suggested a couple of ideas. But this here is an option to cross without spending anything.”

“You’d better talk to Gangrene about that,” the voice from within responded, just as its source emerged.

It was not an old man. He (she? it?) looked more like a stuffed animal than a human. Cheater could not even place its species, never mind its gender or ethnicity. The individual was filthy and swollen. One side featured a rainbow-colored bruise, and the other was trisected by two abrasions covered in caked blood. Goblin pointed at the tattooed man with a shaking hand. “He’s the one. He’s Gangrene.”

“And how is it that so many of you lovely people have all gathered together in one place?” March shook his head before turning to Gangrene. “So she is your healer? Who are you, and why does she answer to you?”

“I’ve never seen this bloke before,” Nut supplied.

“I’m her boyfriend,” the man rumbled.

“So, just so we’re clear, you’re the boyfriend of this young lady who was sleeping in this tent with another guy.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Gangrene huffed.

March shrugged. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering. That kind of thing makes no difference to me. As Nut has already said, we need a healer, not knowledge of your personal preferences.”

Gangrene clicked his tongue. “No way, guys. No offense—but look at Nipple. She’s gone. In this kind of shape she couldn’t fix a runny nose for a hamster.”

To prove his point, Gangrene kicked the girl roughly in the side, leaving a yellowish boot print on her clothes. “See? No reaction. She’s pretty much dead, and she’s like that every day. You have to beat her to get any use out of here. There’s no talking to her. Besides, I’m in charge here. If you need a walking medicine cabinet to accompany you, let’s negotiate.”

March watched the girl, who looked to be in suspended animation. “Our hamster doesn’t have a runny nose. We don’t actually have a hamster, come to think of it. I don’t, anyway. Do you, Cheater? I don’t think we’re in the market to buy one, either. In fact, we don’t need any healing at this moment. We just need her to join us in our vehicle. Just sit in the truck, that’s all. We’re crossing the border, and we’re leaving now. My team and I. I believe you’ve heard of us.”

“I’d have to be even dumber than Nipple not to recognize you,” Gangrene nodded. “Where are you making your crossing?”

“Do we really care?” Goblin cut in, mid-yawn.

“I can’t go west,” Gangrene frowned, “no matter what. I’m in a little bit of debt out that way. And some trouble with the powers that be.”

“You’re in debt and trouble everywhere,” Goblin mumbled.

“No, only in the places where I’ve been. I’ve been west.”

“We’re going east,” March said, “but I’m afraid I don’t understand this discussion. You’re not going anywhere. We’re only talking about this healer—no one but her.”

Gangrene shook his head. “I already said that wasn’t going to work out. We’re a team. Goblin, Nipple, and me. There were a couple of other guys with us, but they beat it, so to hell with them. Plus, we have no interest in just sitting around here. We could go with you, or not. But it’s all of us, or none of us.”

“It’s a dangerous crossing,” March said, “and no one is about to pay you for it. Anyone who dies will not be waited for.”

“As long as we’re going east,” Gangrene nodded. “Give us some time to get ready. Tomorrow we can go wherever you’d like. To the moon if you want. Just not to the west. Oh, and not to the north.”

“We’re leaving now,” Clown said.

“Right now?” Gangrene frowned.

“Everything is ready to go, so I see no reason to stick around,” March replied.

“Well, we need to get our things ready.”

“What things? I don’t see a mountain of possessions here. It looks to me like you’re ready now.”

“Look, man, at least let me grab a beer or something. We just woke up!”

“I’ll give you some beer,” March said, grinding his teeth. “But only beer, and not much.”

“Not much?”

“Of course not. This is my personal stash. But when we’re going for a border crossing, tell me, why would we need you all prettied up and full of beer?”

“Well then, let us get packed—” Gangrene tried again.

“The hell are we going to pack?” Goblin hissed. “Wait, are those goons coming back?”

Clown raised an eyebrow. “Goons?”

“Uh—” Gangrene paused—“there’s someone here that I owe money to. We owe money to, I mean...”

“And you’d rather not pay it back,” March finished for him.

“No, I would, but I don’t have it.” Gangrene sighed, then looked up. “Say, you wouldn’t be able to lend me a bit, would you? I’ll pay it back. And fast.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you’ve never pulled this stunt on anyone else,” March grinned. “I’m sure the next person will give you a loan.”

“No, no one else will,” Gangrene murmured.

“Rainbow has fewer idiots than I thought, then,” March replied. “OK, stop talking now. Listen closely, ladies and gentlemen. Listen with your ears, and not that other part you usually listen with. Whether you like it or not, I’m leaving in half an hour. If you come with us, you’re our people. We take care of our people. It seems you know what that’s like. But if you do not come with us, I will not help you with your problems with the locals. Since you won’t be in the party, those will be your problems, not our problems. Understand? You do not have time to think about it. Either you’re on board, or you’re not, and if you are, you will come with us. Bringing your girlfriend along with you. We don’t need anyone but her, but since you’ve grown so... attached, you can at least be of some use to us.”

“Alright, we agree,” Gangrene nodded, turning to Goblin. “Grab Nipple’s backpack. Don’t forget the powder buried in the rear left corner of the tent.”

“The salt or the coke?” Goblin asked.

“Take both of them, idiot. And get the green too. Get it all, because we’re getting out of here for good.”

Clown watched their new acquaintances trying to pull themselves together. “This crossing is getting more and more interesting. And it hasn’t even started yet...”

* * *

Cheater was beginning to suspect they would not be leaving today. One interruption after another came their way. Suddenly the party had grown by three, and the newcomers needed to be inducted. Alas, they were all intensely awkward individuals. The best start to the ceremonies would be a hot bath for all of them.

At last, though, they set off.

In the final minutes before they started the engines, Cheater took care of one ultimate task. The finishing touches on his character. He could have done this before, but he was saving his free experience points just in case. His stats kept going up on a strict schedule anyway as he consumed the loot items from the Unnamed One and infecteds. There was no need to spend extra.

Now, though, he had no more wiggle room. Everything he did, he had checked and re-checked a dozen times. He would get the maximal benefit from each drop.

The pain of draining such a huge reserve of free experience points was so great that he gritted his teeth. But he had given his word. Cheater was now exclusively focused on Luck and Willpower, ignoring everything else.

Even a small fraction of what he spent on these two stats could have significantly boosted other ones. After all, they were his most developed stats. Increases were getting more and more expensive. The numbers he spent were terrifying. Pinching off a bit towards Reaction in order to pump it to 60 would hardly affect the final result for Luck and Willpower.

60 was a magic number, a multiple of 30. Certain stats unlocked whole new possibilities at such levels. What would level 60 Reaction give him? Some kind of superspeed?

He was not destined to know.

At least, not now. March was right that, sooner or later, he would reach that level. Even if he had to consume expensive loot items to get there. The issue was no longer money, but availability: some items were fanatically difficult to find. Merchants would just throw up their hands when you mentioned them. They wouldn’t even take special orders.

He was beginning to understand the difficulties Romeo had undergone with his character. He had funds, yes. But not everything on the Continent could be bought. So unless the System opened another way for you to obtain the item in question, you were stuck.

Perhaps, though, there would be more availability in the next region. Settling down somewhere would also, over time, add to the opportunities available to him. Trading prospects could be improved with strong local ties. Especially with NPCs, who often had impossibly rare items on hand but would not agree to give them to whomever happened by.

Cheater was a hero. He might even obtain his next level of Heroism in this crossing. Killing Glock a couple of times had hurt his progress, but not too much.

The free experience points melted like snow poured into boiling water. His Willpower reached 150. Just a few weeks ago, such a figure would have caused him to pass out, but now he took it in stride. He had been striving for it, and knew that he would reach it one day. This was earlier than expected.

Now, Smile of Fortune would boost Luck by 35x for 23 seconds. The cooldown was down to 21.5 hours. March would be happy about that.

The rest of his skills looked better now, too. Some were unbelievably stronger. For example, the cooldown for Flash of Omniscience had been reduced to zero. He no longer had to wait between uses. The System had not originally placed a limit on this aspect of the ability, perhaps not considering that Cheater would ever reach 150 Willpower.

Did that make him a Double Cheater, then?

He spent on Luck, too. All of his free experience for bonus stats, as well as his precious universal free experience, went into that stat. A pitiful 1055 experience was left over, which he couldn’t spend. With his Luck at 140, it would take 1410 points to bump it to level 141.

140 was still an excellent number. When he calculated the resulting Luck obtained under Smile of Fortune, the number blew his mind.

If March was right, every manmincer would drop a black pearl at those levels.

Unnamed Ones would drop about 7 golden pearls each.

Cheater also added 20 bonus levels to Luck, which—in combination with the 3 he had already used—boosted it +23 levels.

At this pace, soon he would be expecting pearls from runners. No, no, that’s going too far.

Cheater added 0.17x to his Reaction multiplier. That was not one of his key stats, and had no effect on his key abilities, but it was the optimal move at this time.

In any case, increased speed in response to events was never a bad thing.

His main character window now read:

+28 to Life Counter

Total distributable experience points: 1055

Base Stats

1.49x Strength: 46 (+393) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.52x Agility: 42 (+298) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.32x Speed: 46 (+409) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.52x Endurance: 43 (+306) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.33x Willpower: 150 (+0) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

Level 65 (327/5). 0 distributable points.

Bonus Stats

1.43x Perception: 79 (+216) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.50x Stealth: 62 (+149) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.85x Reaction: 50 (+115) (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

2.98x Accuracy: 50 (+339) (+33 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

2.27x Luck: 140 (+0) (+23 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.20x Ward of Styx: 66 (+432 points). Each 1 level of Ward of Styx gives +1 to the Spirit of Styx meter and +0.2 Spirit of Styx regeneration per hour. (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

1.18x Talent Rank: 41 (+197 points). Increasing Talent Rank increases the complexity of existing abilities (for example, more damage dealt by combat abilities). Other abilities may also appear. Talent Rank can be increased by using trophies and by using magic to kill enemies. (+3 bonus levels which do not count towards overall Bonus Level)

Bonus Level 69 (488/7). 0 distributable points.

Proficiency: 48 (+96% base stat level experience)

Meters

Health: 220

Stamina: 229

Spore Balance: 246

Hunger: 225

Thirst: 222

Spirit of Styx (“Mana”): 809

Pleasure: 409

Distributable Meter Points: 0

Player Status

Radiation is within normal limits.

Humanity: 24157

Injuries: none.

Diseases: no known diseases.

Bound items: Bow of Depletion, from the Black Caster, Bow from Watershed; Killynilly, AS50 Rifle; Sievemaker, SIG Sauer P226 Pistol; Choppa, sword; Bighead, necklace, Manhandler, bracelet; Thanks Nolds!, Elite Nold control bracelet (not activated).

Inventory

Primary: 41 cells and 543 grams. These can contain any items, including loot from monsters. Each cell can only be occupied by one item. Items cannot stack in cells. For example, you cannot place a bottle of pills in a cell. However, one pill is allowed. You cannot place a magazine with five rounds, but you can place an empty magazine and five rounds in six separate cells.

Secondary: 2158 grams. Any items can be placed here, except for loot from monsters.

Cache: 17915 grams (base 1000 grams, plus Strength x 100 grams = 12015 bonus grams).

You have also activated a special cell in your personal cache. You can place any number of unbound items (with the exception of prizes from slain monsters) in this cell with a total weight of 3632 grams or less.

Cheater had reached level 65.

That’s so high.

By using his points more effectively, contrary to March’s demands, he could have boosted that level much higher still by filling out his underdeveloped stats.

He would have become stronger, yes. Faster. More agile. But even if the weakest beginner were to sneak up on him from behind and fire a trembling shot into his head, he would die.

He needed someone to cover his back. So despite his wish to level up, he had to respect the needs of the team.

Cheater was, of course, not opposed to getting more valuable loot from the world’s most dangerous monsters.

Those team interests aligned with his.

In addition, Luck affected everything. It even affected the things that happened around his character. This did not affect the bonuses from loot items he consumed—March and others had assured him of that, and since he did not always get the maximum value of each item’s possible range, he believed them.

Yet perhaps they were wrong. How many of those had boosted their Luck over 100? As far as Cheater knew, there were none. However, not long ago, he had believed that level 65 players simply did not exist. There were clearly many more players who were at his level. The Continent’s strongest inhabitants could distort the stats which other players could see. You might guess the player before you was an ordinary level 30, while in reality she was a level 50+ monster. It was better that way. You could escape scrutiny from those around you if your level was higher—and if it was lower, others were less likely to risk taking you on. Humanity in the green helped with that, too, but it was no shield. Some bad players intentionally hunted heroes to drive their Humanity as red as possible.

After Cheater boosted his Luck to 140, he took a pearl. A red pearl. It was the only pearl he had managed to buy in Rainbow. Perhaps he could have found more, but time had been short, as had been his willingness to be noticed.

His eagerness to leave this final interim region on his great journey—without causing yet more trouble for himself here—was too strong.

He had enough.

Even just one pearl was a solid find, and a red pearl was twice as effective as a black one. As a result, it went for much more than twice the price.

Time to see if this pearl’s any good.

And time to gather more information on whether his absurd Luck was any help.

Now, just one thing remained: selecting an ability from the list the System had offered him. He had not done that yet.

First, he should talk to March. And perhaps with others, as well. After his reading trips, Cheater had remained unconvinced of what he should choose. Some options were useless, but there were several ones that were clearly useful.

He could only choose one.

Perhaps he should have asked March before, since they were unlikely to have a chance to talk face to face on an extreme crossing attempt.

He would wait.

Chapter 12

Life Nine. Breaking Brakes

Experienced sailors have a proverb: “As you name the boat, so shall it float.”

Or at least Cheater thought he remembered that. The System’s memory blocks were so strange. A player could fail to remember a single episode from his life before and yet quote verbatim the lines of an obscure film he had once watched. Ask him when and where he saw the film, though, and he would draw a blank.

The leading vehicle in their convoy—the one with the antiaircraft gun—had most of the detailing from its previous owners intact, including the digital-camo paint job and the inscription on its armored bumper: Calamity. Cheater’s subconscious and common sense joined forces to shout in unison that this was not a very good name for the most important piece of the convoy. The degree of superstition among players was legendary, and Cheater had trouble imagining a man or woman who would inscribe such a name on their bumper.

Cheater was not superstitious, though. It was not the name which bothered him as much as the composition of their team. Their leader, as was his habit, refused to answer even a question as simple as “what time is it?” without first making several attempts to remain silent or divert the questioner. Cheater’s history with him, their victory over the Unnamed One, had failed to open him up.

As with the first crossing, Cheater had no idea exactly where they were going to cross the border, nor how. The only thing he knew for sure was that it would not be easy. Far north lay the most used trail across for trade caravans. There was also a closer option that might work without too much difficulty, but that only opened up a few days each month, if that. The party, if they traveled the distance, would not hit the next window. They’d need to wait a few weeks. Hanging around in this region, which was politically boiling over, was a dubious suggestion.

Cheater had plenty of serious enemies here by now, too.

Even without the difficulties of the way itself, he could never afford to be careless. March seemed, of course, diametrically opposed to the idea of making anything easier. He aimed to squeeze the maximum bonus out of each subsequent border crossing. It was a promising tactic for a high-level player, but overly dangerous and even unnerving for someone just looking to get to the other side, without demanding any superfluous bonuses or loot along the way.

There was no changing March, though.

The others?

Cheater only had faith in two of them: Clown and Fatso. And, partly, in Janitor. The quasi had the same opaque character as March. While the latter had become much more open recently, the former remained a closed fortress.

Something was wrong with him. He was a wonderful fighter—everyone had to admit that. Few people could go up against a pair of staffed and armored personnel carriers and deal with them both with their bare hands. In every situation, he had performed beautifully.

But no mere thug was worth a white pearl. A golden pearl would be more practical, and it was still an exceptional enough trophy to be extremely difficult to get, even if one had serious money.

Yet March had easily found a white pearl and executed a deal.

And then passed the pearl on to the quasi just as easily.

That aspect of their relationship bothered Cheater. He smelled something fishy.

And no one likes the smell of fish.

All of the other members of their team were many times more distressing. Some, orders of magnitude more. Even Button, who had helped Cheater survive the first crossing by reviving him twice, did not seem as active or useful now as before.

Fatso had brought her along as he might bring a backpack. The quiet girl had really had a nervous breakdown. A dangerously prolonged breakdown. She had used dubious methods to fight it. First, she settled into some hole, then she got stone trunk, then cut her veins and nearly died, then downed some powerful antidepressants, the kind where one pill could turn a horse into a vegetable.

More powerful substances followed, sometimes.

Fatso had spent his recent life trying to return Button to a normal lifestyle. He had even found a professional psychologist for her, and they had completed a couple of sessions. The shrink had charged a small fortune and confidently announced that a month or two of therapy would have her cured.

Fatso did not have a month or two. So, he provoked Button to join him on a drinking binge. He had barely managed to drag her to the truck, tossing her in like a sack of potatoes.

Then, he had collapsed next to his party, with a smile on his face as though after a job well done.

No matter what problems Button was having, though, she was still a partymate, and that came with a level of trust.

Nut, Goblin, Nipple, and Gangrene were utterly new. They nearly doubled the size of the party, of course. It did seem too much to have six people driving in three vehicles. They had even tossed around questions about how they would even manage to control so many vehicles. There weren’t enough hands for all the jobs required. He might have thought that he would rejoice at anyone joining the party at that point. But he had so many questions about the quality of these new members.

Nut was a sapper. It was in this capacity that he had been hired. There were questions as to his core aptitude—he did not seem to be a genius with explosives, but he definitely seemed like an empty talker who barely knew how to use a hand grenade.

But setting that aside, why did they need a sapper for this crossing? They hadn’t needed one for the last.

March had some cunning plan—or not so cunning—and he was not being forthcoming with the details.

As for Goblin, Nipple, and Gangrene, they were members of the lowest social class on the Continent. The dregs of society. The world was full of such people, unable or unwilling to recover from the initial System debuff to their mind. They were content with eking out their existence. Why bother with anything that wasn’t strictly necessary for survival? Food and drink were easy to get, if you stayed in the right places. Sex was easy, too. Even spores weren’t too hard to acquire. You didn’t even have to venture out of your favorite stable. There were beggars, unskilled laborers, burglars, prostitutes, petty thieves, and conmen in every region. Professions where you were less likely to die than hunters or adventure seekers.

These people had as much ambition towards personal growth as a cow on its way to the slaughterhouse. Resets pumped food and quality booze into the world, and as long as you had arms, you could get enough spores to survive. Perhaps even with no arms. So they lived with their cheap pleasures, being sure not to do anything too difficult.

Such circles, of course, had strong inclinations towards criminal activity. Even those who were usually law abiding could be turned to crime by a growing need for spec or some other drug. The waste dumps attracted these types. Some stables would not let you in if you looked suspicious, unless you could show them a high-quality weapon and fifty spores.

The most disturbing part of all was Nipple’s role as healer. Healers were so valuable that most of the faults a healer might have were readily forgiven, as long as they did their job well. But she was filthy, unkempt, and smelled of cheap alcohol and vomit, and she was accompanied by uncouth junkies.

Sure, Cheater was not opposed to dragging her into the truck, as they had with Button. But what about Goblin and Gangrene? They were just looking not to be disturbed, to scrape along in obscurity. Not for a perilous border crossing. The System offered many rewards for a border crossing, but none of them could get you high. So what did they care?

They were clearly not doing this for the rewards; they needed to escape the region, and fast. Trade caravans wouldn’t take them across, unless it was for a hefty price, and Cheater knew they didn’t have money. So they jumped at the opportunity to join the crossing party.

What were they fleeing? Debts? It was hard to believe that these lowlifes could owe a lot of money to someone dangerous. No serious person would lend serious money to them.

What were they afraid of?

Cheater didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.

How did he even get involved in this mess? Why did everything always have to be so sketchy? Couldn’t he just have paid the merchants, and crossed the border in comfort? The excuse March had made about no one venturing over during the political turmoil didn’t matter. There were always people willing to take risks for the sake of business, no matter what.

But March always did this.

Then there was that first bad omen that struck from the get go.

Barely five miles from Rainbow, their caravan of three vehicles stopped.

* * *

Cheater found March behind the second truck. He was gripping the side of the vehicle with one hand, his usual beverage in the other, as he peered into the depths of the cargo area.

“Admiring our alcoholics and addicts?” Cheater asked.

“Yes, indeed. Stallions, all of them,” March answered.

“Clown wants you.”

“Can’t he just find a wrench without my help for once?”

“I don’t think it’s reparable.”

Their primary truck was out of commission. It had driven straight off the road rather than follow a turn, crashed through the bushes, and stopped after hitting its third and largest ash tree. The armor prevented its bumper from taking too much damage, but Cheater didn’t know about the rest.

Thankfully, they had Clown: their chief mechanic, and a part-time driver, too. He had been operating their “self-propelled artillery” at the time of the crash. If he couldn’t explain what happened, no one could.

The accident had come out of the blue.

Clown was on the ground right under the front axle. As he lay there, he did nothing but look thoughtfully up at the vehicle’s undercarriage.

“Well?” March sat down next to the driver-side wheel.

“Well what?”

“You’re the one who called me over here. But I was curious: how is it that you managed to drive right off a perfectly good road? A three-year-old could do a better job taking a turn. Even if she was born blind.”

“Look, this happened because I’m smart. I hate it when shit happens unexpectedly, so I test everything. Repeatedly. I’m paranoid like that.”

“So what were you testing this time? The truck’s performance against trees?”

“No, I was testing the brakes. Under load. Back in town, I gave it the old acceleration and braking test while I was looking at our options. Everything seemed fine. I’ve been testing them along the way, too. Also fine. Until this turn. That wasn’t really a test—we had to brake for the turn. So I hit it at speed, still testing the truck, but this time, I had no brakes. Something is very wrong. They shouldn’t have just evaporated like that.”

March popped open another can. “Look, I’m no mechanic. Not at all. Just a rider. So tell me what’s wrong, and keep it simple. Simple enough for even Cheater here to understand.”

“It’s not a breakdown. It’s sabotage. But I don’t know how they did it. Look for yourself: the brake lines have just crumbled to dust. That doesn’t happen. They were strong brake lines, too. Reinforced. Sure, things can rupture, things can corrode, that happens. But I’ve seen burst brake lines before. They don’t look anything like this when they do. Nothing like this happens on its own—someone very intentionally made them go to shit. In a very specific way, too, so that the lines would disintegrate not at any old time, but only during a power brake while turning. Even with my mechanical skill, I can’t figure out how they managed it. Whoever did this was no mechanic. More like some kind of magician.”

“So you’re thinking someone sacrificed a couple of virgins and mumbled some magic words, and then our brakes blew out,” March frowned.

“Yeah. Look, joking aside, it’s doable. Difficult, but doable. It could have been remotely triggered, of course, by someone watching us. But I checked everything back there, especially the brakes. I didn’t find anything malicious or out of place on them, just ordinary brake parts. But let’s assume something did escape my notice. Well, in that case, I still have my powers of observation now, and I know where to look. There’s nothing there. There should be some trace, some hint of what went wrong. Why isn’t it there? I’m telling you, this is some deep shit. We got hit by an ability of some kind for sure. Something that works like a mine. Set to activate only when a certain condition is fulfilled: in this case, braking and taking a corner. Perhaps only with a right turn, not a left.”

“That sounds too complicated,” March wondered, “and abilities don’t work in Rainbow. It would have needed to be activated after we had left, and we haven’t made any stops. You think they used it on us while we were moving? How? Something as difficult as you describe could not be executed on a passing vehicle. They might as well just cut the brake lines rather than try to work miracles.”

Clown shook his head. “As I said, I have no idea how they did it. Nothing has puzzled me like this since Cheater summoned all those—you know. Not for a long time. This unknowable something only turned our brakes to shit while I was braking around a corner. A sharp corner. Maybe it’s some kind of link between the steering column and the brake lines, who knows. That’s how it is. Someone, somehow, has sabotaged us. Do you remember how we slowed down at that fork just over the border? We let some trader vehicles pass us? That might have been it. They were hired to hit us. That was outside of Rainbow, after all, so the abilities would be working again. It’s possible.”

“I get it,” March said. “But I’m still wondering why they would choose something so complicated.”

Nut came up from behind. “Guys, there’s a ghoul coming. Remember the one Clown knocked down before we came into this turn? Well he woke up, and now he’s chasing us. Limping along on a broken leg. There was this one time the guys and I were smoking, and we saw...”

Clown poked his head out from under the truck and pitched a question to interrupt yet another one of the sapper’s idiotic stories. “Hey, Nut, you’ve been in these parts for a while. Do you know what the road is like up ahead?”

“Nothing special. Just a road. There’s a stable an hour down. Pretty boring place. Tiny. It did used to have this one dude, though, who would sell us some interesting spec if we had the money, but then he...”

“No, not the stable,” Clown interrupted. “The road itself.”

“What about it? It’s just a normal road.”

“Do you remember any steep drops, maybe, where the road turns to avoid them? Not far from here? A road winding down a cliff or something. It might be a turn to the right.”

“There are lots of steep downgrades further down, yes.”

“And does the road turn right in front of them? You know, sharp turns. Where if you didn’t make the turn, you’d go over the cliff,” Clown tried to explain.

Nut blinked a few times, then his eyes lit up. “Yeah, I remember a place like that. Close by. The road turns right to avoid the drop. Who the hell cares? There’s nothing there, just a steep slide down to the river. Well, the dry river. No water left now. Sometimes it floods in, but it doesn’t stick around for long. So the road continues along the edge until you reach the bridge, which usually runs over a bunch of mud and dead fish.”

“Is all of this in open ground?”

“Open?”

“You know,” Clown said patiently, “a big open area, but maybe with something like a wall of trees, or some village buildings, or a corn field nearby. Somewhere nearby to hide. Somewhere with a good view of the road.”

“Hmm, well, it’s a pasture area, all the way to the river. Usually there are cow skeletons and all that lying around. Sometimes people go there to shoot at fattened tramplers. On the one side there’s a canal and a field. On the other, there’s a little village. Nothing much. Three or four houses along the road. There are more houses further down, but they’re all hidden in the trees. Yeah, you could hide there, and even hide the vehicles. What, you looking to camp out for the night? Must be a bad breakdown, huh.”

“So wait—what’s across the canal?” Clown clarified.

“Some kind of field, like I said. I don’t know, wheat, rye, barley? I’m no zoologist.”

“Botanist,” Clown corrected. “And beyond the field? Any places where you can hide but still have good eyes on the road?”

“It’s a big field. I don’t remember where it ends. Probably some trees, but no, you couldn’t see the road from there; it’s too far away.”

“Yesterday, you stayed with Janitor while I ran to get some parts,” Clown continued. “When I came back, Janitor was sleeping, and you were nowhere to be seen. Were you gone for long?”

“Nah, maybe fifteen minutes. Some urgent business. So what’s wrong with the truck?”

“It’s gone to shit,” Clown murmured as he turned to March. “I don’t know who did this, nor how, but I’d bet my ass someone is waiting for us up ahead. Probably in the houses running along the road, on the other side of the river. If I had not been testing the brakes, they would’ve given out at that turn. You can’t stop a truck on a good descent with the gearbox and the handbrake alone. Turning off the engine wouldn’t work, either. So, we’d have to ride it out. If our luck were particularly poor, we’d end up in the river. Even if we didn’t, it would still be a bad trip. This truck is the bulk of our firepower. We’d be like a tiger stripped of its claws and teeth. Powerless.”

“Who did you say is waiting for us?” Nut jumped in.

“I just said that I don’t know. But I can definitely say it’s not a welcoming committee made up of our very best friends.”

“We stayed in Rainbow for too long,” Cheater complained. “Everyone knows we’re heading east. Anyone could try to intercept us. But hardly anyone knows how to sabotage a brake system like that. Wait... Nut, you know a lot of people in Rainbow, right? Have you ever heard any nasty rumors about the area you were just describing? Maybe a robbery or something?”

“They happen all the time out here, not just by the bridge.”

“Everywhere?” Clown grunted. “So we could be waylaid at any moment.”

“Nah,” Nut waved his hand dismissively. “Everyone knows that no one is stronger than us. Remember how all those people were staring at the wanted posters, where the Devils were offering a bounty for Cheater’s head? They did nothing else but look at those for half an hour straight.”

“They were learning his face. They wanted the reward,” Clown suggested.

“No,” Nut shook his head. “That picture sucked. You couldn’t ID Cheater on that. No, they were there out of respect. Or maybe they were dealing with some kind of spiritual shit. Who knows. These bandits aren’t from Rainbow. Yes, Rainbow’s an interesting place, but lawlessness is punished, and fast. You can’t just kill all the witnesses, either. Well, you can, sure. But once they respawn they’ll spill the beans on you. This applies to the whole area. So either this is their first such move, or they’re not from here. Also, they don’t know who they’re dealing with. Not really. Otherwise they’d know that we’re more trouble than we are worth.”

“Maybe it’s the Devils?” Cheater suggested.

“Perhaps,” March nodded. “Or Romeo. I hear you and he have a... special relationship. It could be your friends the NPCs, too, upset over their lost atomic arsenal. Clown’s right, Cheater: you’re a shit magnet.”

“Nut, is there a way around the river area you told me about?” Clown asked.

“Don’t you have a map?” the sapper blinked. “You went to get one. I gave you the address.”

“No map is as good as information from a man who knows the land. Even if he has a shit memory. So can we go around, or not?”

“Of course we can. Hang on, let me get my thinking in order...”

“Nut, thinking?” March scoffed. “That’ll be the day. No, you handle the explosions, and I’ll handle the thinking. We’re not going around.”

“We’re just going to charge into an ambush?” Clown said, hopefully, as if already reaching for the bag of popcorn.

“Yes, but we’ll be smart about it,” March said. “Or we could take the crazy option. There was something you wanted to try out, as I recall.”

“I’m not sure this is the time,” Clown doubted.

“Sure it is. Whoever is waiting for us needs to find out that we’re not some middle school volleyball team. We’re a serious force. We want to show them that anyone who tries to screw us over quickly finds the tables turned on them. And we have to do so in such a way that they never dare attack us again. Otherwise, they will come back. We still have a long way to go, and who knows what our enemy has planned? If they have significant resources, they might continue trying to end our mission. Let’s nip this in the bud. We’ll take them out, and we’ll drive on.”

Clown grinned. “Let’s do it.”

“What are you talking about? Try what?” asked Nut, who—along with Cheater—had no idea what was being discussed.

March turned his back to them and walked away, as was his habit. “Someone’s going to get fucked. We’re responsible members of society, after all. We must thank those who ruined our brakes.”

Chapter 13

Life Nine. Cannon Fodder

Cheater had a much more active role in this crossing than in the one before. They didn’t have enough people, and his skills as a marksman were best put to use, rather than confined in a poorly-armored truck.

He was assigned to the pickup. It was only crewed by two people, and that was all it needed. Fatso steered, and Cheater manned the two heavy machine guns. One pull of the trigger on these bad boys could tear the limb off any infected weaker than a manmincer. Even a manmincer might find the volley fatal. Civilian vehicles, even those armored to better withstand the Continent, could not handle 50-cal. steel-core rounds. He might even be able to deal with lightly armored military vehicles, especially at short distances. The guns munched on ammo belts holding 150 rounds each. In the truck, they had enough ammunition for several reloads, along with spare barrels.

He could have all kinds of fun with these.

However, Cheater didn’t like these particular machine guns. He preferred larger calibers, like 14.5 mm. After all, he had once mown down innumerable creatures with precisely that size of bullet. There were some advantages to his current pair, though, such as the higher rate of fire. But he would still have to see them in action.

The convoy stopped a mile away from the river descent. There, they turned off to hide behind a motel sitting along the road. Clown and Janitor got to work, and not on truck repairs. They yanked the machine guns off and replaced them with something they had worked up. Even the most untrained eye would be able to see it had been built in haste.

Its bulky angles mimicked the bastard child of a moonshine distillery and a starship control panel. The disparate components were somehow held together with duct tape and foil, and numerous colored wires twisted into one thick, sloppy cable that stretched from one part of the device to the other. The receiving part resembled a dual car battery, and it was secured into a socked that they had crudely welded onto the main body.

Yet the shape of it somehow came through to Cheater as something vaguely familiar. The very same gadget he had dragged out of the truck as it fell into the reservoir near the Devils’ former fortress. It was a part from the Elite Nold’s suit. Nearly everything he had stripped from the monster had plummeted into the depths, but two trophies had survived: the machine’s shoulder turret and the Nold’s bracelet, which he had prudently stuffed into the backpack where he kept the most valuable mods.

He did not know how this bracelet functioned. But since a bracelet from an ordinary Nold gave an extra life, and perhaps two, an Elite Nold’s bracelet would likely offer even more good stuff.

Of course, the retribution that followed might be worse. Perhaps no one knew how much worse. Cheater was, it seemed, the first person in the Continent’s history to defeat an Elite Nold. There was simply no one to ask for more details.

Not did he ever have a chance to try it in action and see for himself.

Cheater couldn’t resist glancing at his right arm. The Nold bracelet was there, though disguised. Once he had activated it, he had given Kitty an extra life, and the bracelet had clamped itself into his arm. However, once the Elite Nold had been slain, he became the bracelet’s master once more. He could take it off, or continue wearing it.

But the most important aspect of the bracelet was only revealed when he used inspect mode on it.

Nold Infantry Control Bracelet. Simple device of the Nolds. This item’s manufacturer warranty has been voided, and it has been hacked. Its beacon no longer functions. However, some of its original functions are still available for the hacker’s use. Guaranteed to accept 4 modifications, with a 75% chance of accepting a 5th and a 50% chance of accepting a 6th. Note: Attempting to install a 7th modification has a high probability of causing the loss of all modifications and breakage of the weapon!

Active modifications: 7. Modification list: Center of Agility, Center of Willpower, Center of Reaction, Center of Perception, Center of Luck, Item Power Duplication, Last Chance.

Modification Properties:

Strength +17

Agility +18

Willpower +18

Reaction +20

Perception +19

Luck +20

This item’s core properties are doubled, where possible. This duplication does not apply to modifications.

The wearer of the item has a 71% chance of avoiding instant death by becoming immune to all harmful effects for 2 seconds in a situation that is guaranteed to lead to death. Property cooldown: 90 seconds. Note: If the bearer carries a second item with this property, the items are in conflict, and this effect has a 99% chance of failing (for this item, for the other, or even for them both).

Lost properties: code entry; automated call for reinforcements.

Unlocked properties: the bearer of this bracelet can interact with some Nold devices without authorization. The bracelet is also able to protect the arm from a wide assortment of threats.

+0.2x Physical Strength +12 (enhanced by duplication)

+0.1x Agility +12 (enhanced by duplication)

+0.1x Speed +12 (enhanced by duplication)

+0.1x Stamina +12 (enhanced by duplication)

+0.1x Reaction +12 (enhanced by duplication)

Hidden properties: the owner can make this item invisible, imperceptible to other players and creatures. Note: This property may fail if the observer has a high Perception.

This item is bound. Current owner: Cheater. This item’s owner has named it: Thanks Nolds!

The bracelet was now inestimably more useful than it had been before. Even without modifications, it gave significant increases to his stats, and with them, it boosted Cheater several levels. Taking it off made him feel like a different person.

A sad weakling.

It was an amazing feeling. After all, it wasn’t that much compared to all of the boosts from his other artifacts and stats. Yet he could feel the difference.

It was a valuable item. However, as obsessed as Clown was with metal gadgets and unique sights, only one property of the bracelet had attracted him.

Indeed, Cheater’s friend had been delighted to hear what the younger player carried on his arm.

Nold technology was powerful. Sadly, it was usually inaccessible to players. Their devices were rare finds, and usually players were unable to make use of them. Nearly all of them were protected by some kind of firewall. Some with special skills or inherited knowledge could hack the devices. However, this usually only unlocked some of their functions.

Usually, the devices were disassembled for parts, such as batteries. Incredible batteries. A coin-sized Nold battery could power a modern smartphone for months. That was assuming you had weak signal and were playing the latest 3D games.

Cheater’s bracelet gave him a unique power. Nold devices recognized him as one of their own and granted him access. The detailed description hinted that not all such technology would obey him, and not at all times, but Clown had quickly realized that the seemingly wrecked shoulder turret was among the tech which did obey.

This made him immediately desire to put the gun to use, of course. That was where Janitor came in. The quasi was a devoted fan of big guns, and Nold weapons were among the biggest.

Despite the irreverence with which Cheater and Clown had yanked the shoulder turret from the dead monster, the weapon remained functional. But it needed some things. Without those things, its only offensive use was as a club—Cheater had indeed used it in this capacity during their trek the day the Devils’ fortress fell. The weapon’s control interface had remained somewhere inside the defeated giant’s harness of wiring and circuitry. The power source, too. It had been crushed underneath the vanquished villain, and furthermore had been housed in a massive case of steel. Even the two of them could not have lifted it and had had neither the time nor the strength to devise some mechanical means to extract it.

This was, however, far from the first Nold device the player community had gotten their hands own. Plus, money solves everything. The cutting-edge battery they had found in Rainbow was significantly inferior in power and functionality to that which had powered the Elite Nold’s huge exoskeleton. But it only had to power a turret, not an entire mech. They had to get to work with a soldering iron, of course, and there wasn’t time to make it pretty.

Janitor and Clown assured everyone that their masterpiece should not be judged by its appearance. The product was a deadly weapon.

Or so they said—it had not been tested in action. Shooting groundhogs didn’t count.

It was also impossible to keep the device in constant combat readiness. Even Clown and Janitor had not been able to address all of the issues with the hacked-together power supply, so the weapon couldn’t hold a charge under all conditions. It could not be jostled too violently. Once it was assembled and switched on, the weapon could only be transported a short distance, and only along a very smooth road. Without significant precautions, it would only hold out for a mile or two, after which the harness would require serious repair work.

This was why Cheater manned the twin machine guns now, not the Nold’s super gun. The machine guns were fine with the bumpy road, as long as they were cleaned often enough.

But the greatest disadvantage of the turret was its expense. Even the most popular brand of autocannon didn’t cost as much as the shoulder turret to fire. A whole box of shells was orders of magnitude cheaper than a single blast from the Nold gun.

All Nold devices worked with nodium in some capacity. They actually consumed it, as a gun consumed ammo or a car consumed gasoline. One shot from this weapon spent so much of the priceless substance that Cheater would, a month ago, have clutched his head in amazement at the cost. Even now, it seemed excessive. He still had some mods, and some of the loot from Bugle’s lair, but arming the party with nodium weapons was out of the question. A handful of serious conflicts would drive him to ruin.

Clown had assured him that a single shot cost 447 spores, going by average prices in Rainbow. Prices in Rainbow were, sadly, astronomical. It was the nodium shortage that primarily drove many of the trade caravans, who traveled to places where the raw material was easier to acquire. The party had possessed no reserves of nodium, and there had been no cheaper sources in the vicinity. So they had paid through the nose. They didn’t even get a discount for buying wholesale—to the contrary, the merchants began kicking up their prices as they smelled rich clients.

One test shot would cost nearly five hundred spores.

Cheater had to make that test shot in battle. He knew that their decision to hit the ambush party with everything they had was a correct one. The identity of those lying in wait was unknown, but they were certainly enemies. They were malicious, hiding by the bridge and waiting not just for any unfortunate travelers but for this party in particular.

This enemy was cunning, too—so cunning that their method for ruining the truck’s brakes still had the experienced Clown and March utterly stumped. It was only thanks to Clown’s vigilant testing that the failure had been triggered in a safe place, instead of in front of a river ravine.

The enemy was dangerous. What else might they have planned? The party had to wipe them out, quickly and cruelly.

None of them moved to scout out whether an ambush was in fact there, nor whether the terrain up ahead matched Clown’s theory on brake sabotage. An enemy as thoughtful as this one would be cautious to a fault. Meaning they would see the scouts and realize that their ambush was discovered.

So they limited their inspection work to thoroughly checking all vehicles for any surprises—and failing to find them, they drove on as though nothing amiss had happened. The only pause they made was to assemble the Nold turret, after which they crawled along at snailish paces to protect the capricious harness from vibration.

Once they saw the ravine approaching, they moved to act.

No one observing them should have suspected anything out of the ordinary. The installation site in their roadside motel stop had been hidden, and easily explainable as a pit stop. But the pickup stopped at the very place where the road made a sharp turn downward and to the right. The view of the river valley was stunning—as was the view of the massive wheat field on the opposite side and of the village which ribboned along the opposing dry riverbed bank. There, the would-be waylayers waited.

Or, there was nothing at all, and Clown was just paranoid. Cheater watched across the steep valley but noticed nothing suspicious. He was, of course, no stranger to hiding. Anything could be there, hiding in the trees and houses and fences.

He glanced towards the trucks as they continued their descent towards the bridge over the riverbed. He tensed, finger against the trigger, looking through the 4x telescopic sight. The convoy was about to reach the target destination. Then, either his turret would acquit itself admirably, or Janitor would see the signal that the test was a failure and start hitting the outer buildings and lots with the anti-aircraft gun. This would be less of a surprise, but better than nothing.

Clown had somehow calibrated the sight to the turret without the need for test shots, using some kind of a laser shooting simulator. In theory, the turret’s projectiles had to exit at a very high velocity and cover the half mile to the target on a smooth parabolic trajectory—which could not be accurately calculated without real data from past firings of the weapon. According to players who had seen this weapon in action, the explosion would be strong enough to dismember a tank convoy into scrap.

That was just speculation.

It was time to find out.

In addition, Cheater would be able to determine how close their estimated firing arc was to the actual.

He pointed his crosshairs at a shed with a brand-new slate roof. One of its walls overlooked the road which his convoy was going to take through town some minutes later. Cheater pulled the trigger.

His subconscious expectations were immediately proven wrong when the weapon’s recoil turned out to be barely perceptible. The picture in his scope twitched—that was all. For four and a half seconds, nothing happened, and then his scope filled with flame. A solid crimson cloud spread over the entire yard, leveling its trees and buildings alike. The initial blast expanded into neighboring lots, setting fences and forest ablaze instantaneously. There was no way for him to tell where the actual point of impact was. That shot must have covered nearly an acre of land. Of course the worst of it was in the center, but the edges were in bad shape, too.

Cheater had seen an Elite Nold do its worst, but none of the mech’s shots had been this spectacular. Clown had told him that the turret was initially designed to fire shells weighing more than half a pound. They could clear a mile in a matter of seconds and snipe a target the size of a shoebox. However, that kind of operation needed a full power supply, which they did not have.

Then, however, Janitor realized that pinpoint accuracy, extended range, and higher projectile velocity were of no use to their party. Their fights would be at much shorter distances. So they had bumped up the shells to a new weight: just under two pounds.

The projectile itself was just an ordinary sphere of steel. Iron with a touch of carbon. It was, essentially, a miniature cannonball. Therefore, Cheater didn’t quite understand how an explosion would be the result, and Clown and Janitor had not deigned to explain much. Perhaps they didn’t themselves really understand how the turret worked. They didn’t need to know.

But they should have warned him that the result might be this spectacular. He stared in amazement. That two-pound ball had dealt as much damage as he might expect from a hundred-kilogram aerial bomb.

Fatso’s enthusiastic rejoicing filled the cab—and then the sound of the explosion hit. It hit hard, despite the distance.

Cheater stammered for another moment, but not for long. The ambush party showed itself. These were clearly seasoned professionals. Anyone else would have panicked and fled at the sight of the incredible explosion. These people were unfazed.

They fired immediately at the most dangerous vehicle: the one which had stopped just before the descent.

Tracers stretched across the dry riverbed, from an unusable boathouse. The first volley hit the truck like a sledgehammer.

Cheater turned slightly and pressed the trigger again.

The gun twitched again, and this time he did not stare through the scope. He moved away from it and watched with his normal vision, squinting against the impending flash. Still, he had no way of discerning the actual point of impact. The boathouse, the fence behind it, the trees on the lot, and most of the closest house were engulfed in an inferno. Even that section of the river bed was filled with flames that nearly reached the other side.

His Accuracy had nothing to do with his effectiveness here. He could miss by a dozen yards, and still the targets would be dead. With these shells, the Nold turret had been transformed from a precise strike weapon to one of mass destruction.

Cheater pressed the trigger again and again, thoroughly demolishing the left side of the village. Only once more did he hear the sound of a counterattack: an explosion near his vehicle. It was something small, perhaps a grenade from a launcher. Not a single piece of shrapnel hit their truck.

At least, not that he could hear.

Fatso threw open the door and leaned out. “Cheat! Enough, or you’ll lose your shirt!”

Cheater blinked down at his shirt for a second before he realized what Fatso meant: each shot came at an astronomical cost.

Each batch of nodium powder.

He could not afford to get carried away, nor was there any point in firing further. Every building in the village had been swept away, in whole or in part. The leafless trees and wrecked frames were ablaze, and everyone for miles around would be able to see the columns of smoke rising into the sky. Perhaps some infecteds would be here momentarily to investigate. This was not the cleansed land of the Devils: there were a decent number of ghouls here, including the more dangerous subspecies. He was luring them here.

Cheater looked into his sight once more, but did not fire. He saw the wavering outline of a vehicle amidst the flames. It had been an ordinary truck, armored in the Continental fashion, before the shelling.

Cheater had not remembered aiming in this direction. He could not have sighted the truck itself, since it had been hiding behind a building, positioned there intentionally to prevent the party from seeing it as they descended the road. Even though the impact had been yards away, the vehicle had taken a beating.

As Cheater considered the possibilities of this weapon, he lost touch with his senses and failed to notice that heat had begun to build up in the Nold weapon. He jerked his hand back sharply: the trigger was approaching red hot.

He examined the turret with a new respect.

Its power was still evident, though no shots were being fired. It was hot enough to cook on. Clown should be informed that the cooling system had failed after a few shots.

His gaze returned to the village. The trucks were just now crossing the bridge. Janitor’s bulk was visible in the front. The quasi was aiming at the flames, but he did not pull the trigger.

His cannon was nothing compared to this piece of artillery. Could anyone have survived?

* * *

Someone had, in fact. Barely.

Cheater’s perceptive ability found her First, he had noticed that some moles and other small creatures had been lucky enough to be underground and thus survived the demolition above.

There was one person among them too—in a basement.

They doubted she had been there all along and missed the whole thing. This had been an ambush party, after all, not playing hide and seek. She had sustained serious injuries, too, the kind which were unlikely to be sustained underground. So when the first round hit, she realized what was happening and fled for cover. However, she had reached the stairs a few seconds too late and been clipped by the flames as they tossed her down.

Her legs were crushed and her spine was broken. Her left arm was torn clean off, and burns and wounds of various severity covered the rest of her body. In addition, a board with protruding nails had embedded itself into her skull. They were unwilling to yank it out, but not because they wished to spare this prisoner. She was brought up only for a final conversation.

A heart to heart.

An ordinary human would have died of shock from such injuries, or at least passed—and then bled—out. Veteran players were barely human anymore, as far as vivacity was concerned. This one remained conscious, despite all that had happened to her. She even tried to fight them with her one good arm once they had reached her. Her knife came within an inch of Nut’s forearm, and the miss was likely only due to the fact that she had been blinded.

Gangrene here proved himself a useful addition to the party, to Cheater’s (and everyone’s) surprise. He had an ability that let him determine the physical condition of another person. The man, with one look, confidently declared that the woman could not see anything but could still hear and speak. He advised them to shout directly into her ear, however. The explosion had deafened her considerably.

March bent down and complied, barking into the side of her head. “Hello, young lady! How are you? Well? Fine, to be honest, I don’t give a damn. So don’t answer that—instead, tell me why the hell you were waiting for us!”

“And if I don’t?” the half-corpse mumbled.

“Well, we’d really like you did. We might... press you for an answer.”

“I can’t feel my legs. I’m missing an arm. Plus, I have nails drilled into my head. Do you really think you can somehow force an answer out of me?”

“Of course. I’ve seen worse, and my methods worked on them. I’d rather not have it come to that. I can tell with another ability of mine that you are eager to tell us, but something is holding you back. Want a beer?”

The cripple perked up a little at that. “A cold beer?”

“Yes, we can arrange that, if our conversation works out.”

After a few moments’ pause, she finally answered. “We’re Calamari’s team.”

“Calamari?” March blinked. “I was about to suggest that would go well with our beer. So that would be the second time today we fried up some calamari! I take it you’re not making this player up. Because I don’t know him, nor his team, so what could he and you have against us?”

“We got an order.”

“Who could possibly have such a deep interest in us?”

“No, not in you all. Just for one of your group.”

“Ah,” March nodded, “Cheater.”

“No. Not Cheater. We were supposed to nab a guy named Nut.”

Everyone, including March, was shocked by the response. The leader didn’t even have an immediate follow-up, he just shook his head in amazement. “Are you sure it wasn’t Cheater?”

“Yes. I know who Cheater is. We didn’t get an order for Cheater. It was for Nut. We were supposed to take him alive.”

“Why the hell would anyone want a washed-up junkie? Or is there something you haven’t told us?” March turned towards the punk pyromaniac. “Let me guess; you’re actually a long-lost princess, and they’re here to rescue you.”

“What!?” Nut stammered. “The hell are you...”

Returning to the prisoner, March spoke before Nut could finish. “Now then, who put an order out on this young man?”

“Thorns,” she whispered.

March turned back to Nut, whose confusion was still rabidly apparent. “Do you know this ‘Thorns’?”

Nut’s eyes flickered down and back up. “Uh, I’ve heard of him before, a long time ago. Some guy from up north. But I don’t know anything about him at all. Why would he put a bounty out on me? That’s bullshit. Maybe there’s another Thorns, or maybe this blistered bitch is spitting out fables. Why would anyone put a team like this together just to nab me? Even if I had five kidneys I wouldn’t be worth half of this.”

“Fuck that,” the prisoner croaked, burned lips stretching into a hideous grin. “You know why. You’re the asshole who blew up the biggest hotel in the North. Probably the best hotel on the Continent. Thorns toiled to build that establishment up from scratch. He lived in the penthouse suite himself. The best materials, the best craftsmanship, the best views, and the best restaurant, on the ground floor, with the best chefs. Everything was the best. It was a palace. So Thorns was perturbed when you blew it up. He’s put out fifteen thousand spores on your head. Plus another one and a half for each time you get killed after that. As long as he’s the one doing the killing. So by bringing you to him and then setting a watch on the other clusters, we have a shot at earning thirty big ones. You’ve got about ten lives before your region changes, after all, and Thorns wants them all. He wants to make sure no one, especially you, blows up his place again. I’m sure you know what Thorns is capable of.”

“Thirty thousand?” Nut exclaimed. “Guys, did you hear that? They’re offering thirty grand for my head. I’m worth a fortune!”

“Shut up,” March said calmly, before returning his attention to the woman. “So since you are after Nut, you decided to attack us all?”

“I didn’t hear that. Speak up!” the woman insisted.

“I asked, if you are after Nut, why did you plan to ambush all of us?”

“We weren’t going to touch you. Just stop you and explain ourselves.”

“You could have done that in Rainbow.”

“How? You would have just told us to get lost. No one gives up one of their own just like that. But here, out in the open, we could have engaged in a negotiation. It’s easy to get people to see your point of view when that view is straight down the barrel of a gun, pointed at their head. We had no plans to kill any of you.”

“Yeah, right. This was an excellent place for an ambush. If we had sensors, they wouldn’t see you from up above, and by the time they did it would be too late—we would be exposed on the slope. Plus, you sabotaged our truck. That doesn’t just affect Nut. A truck costs money, and some of our people might have been wounded or killed. No matter what you say, this was an attack on us all.”

“Dude, I’m not the person you want to be asking. The elder decides all of this. He would have made all of this right somehow. I don’t know how. We weren’t gunning for you. We just wanted to make you an offer that you couldn’t refuse.”

March shook his head. “That’s not how things are done. When we added Nut to the party, there were no wanted posters hanging up with his portrait on them. No one said anything negative about him at all. Once we accepted him, any complaint against him is a complaint against us. Any party that gives up its own is no party. You know that.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “But that's none of my business. The elder decides. He would have made everything right somehow. They don’t give details like that to underlings like me. We were just going to stop you. And show that we outnumbered you. We also mined the road. That was supposed to make you more... accommodating. How were we supposed to know you had an artillery gun with you? What even was that?”

“We didn’t like getting ambushed, that’s what that was.” March turned to Janitor. “Let’s end this girl’s suffering.”

“Wait,” Clown said, bending over the cripple. “What did you do to our truck? How is sabotage like that even possible?”

“I don’t know. I knew they did something to your truck, but I have no idea what. That wasn’t my job. By the way, if we don’t come back for you, well, others will pick up the slack. It’s a rich bounty, and easy to complete, until the rest of you showed up.”

“Tough luck,” Clown said as he stood up. “I have no more questions for her, Janitor. Take her out.”

* * *

Cheater didn’t watch Janitor send the prisoner to respawn. Clown was the hunter of spectacles, not he.

Climbing out of the pile of rubbish where a house had stood fifteen minutes before, Cheater caught up with March and shook his head to refuse the can offered by the latter. “No thanks. I’d rather stay sober.”

“Look, Cheat, you’re never going to become an alcoholic this way.”

“So?”

“If only you knew what you were missing.”

“I think I know enough. Now tell me what we’re going to do about Nut.”

“What do you mean?” March cocked his head.

“You heard what the man said, didn’t you?”

“I’m drunk, not deaf. And not dumb like you. You should try being drunk instead of dumb sometime, Cheat. Then maybe you wouldn’t have such unconscionable thoughts.”

“Unconscionable? You know what’s bothering me, March. Nut is no longer just a green-haired punk mystery. He’s a marked man, with a tall bounty on his head. We have no idea how many teams are out looking for him. Are you completely sure we can’t do this without a sapper?”

March sipped again, thoughtfully, and then once more before his voice darkened. “There is only one thing I am completely sure of: this can is going to be empty soon. You could kill me right now, yet the result would be the same. Beer never lasts long in an open can. It’s one of the laws of nature. Look, plans are a funny thing on the Continent. Sometimes, even the most convoluted or confusing plan can work out. An impossible plan can go off without a hitch. Or, an elementary plan can go terribly awry. Thus no, I am not completely sure we need a sapper. I am also sure that Nut is not exactly a shining example of the best of humanity—and that he might bring us a lot of trouble. I don’t like that. But who cares? Everyone attracts trouble to some degree. I’ve learned to live with it. You should have stopped to consider your own situation. Potential trouble for our party could not get much more serious, Nut or no Nut. We have you. Some of the most dangerous people in the world are after you. You’ve offended them deeply. You make enemies easily. We also have the Janitor, who is on the most wanted lists in at least two regions. Both have plenty of people willing to pay well for each screenshot of a system message announcing his death. Those regions are far to the west, yes. But things are always shifting, even here on the Continent. Old ties are strengthened, and new ones appear. This world is slowly globalizing. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear of a couple of teams in this very region who have Janitor on their list. It’s not like they have to deliver his head personally, after all. There’s a way to make screenshots transferable, and trade caravans are eager to deliver such a lightweight and profitable good. Now, we have an insane healer and her two wretched companions. There were no background checks. Perhaps all three of them have just as much in their past. But when you find a healer, you take them along, no matter the cons. So we would have skipped the background checks, even if we had had the time for them.”

“Nut’s not a healer, and he didn’t get a background check,” Cheater squinted.

“He didn’t? That’s news to me. We checked him out.”

“I was there,” Cheater reminded him. “We didn’t.”

“I remember that you were there. Did you really think I was just guzzling beer and falling for his stories?”

Cheater nodded. “That’s exactly what you were doing.”

“Well, yes. Most of the time. But I also asked some locals about Nut. Relatively reliable locals. They said that Nut has some issues, but that no one is after him. After all, before the fall of the Devils, this area of the region and the North had little to do with each other. The North has its own clans and villains and conflicts. Neither group had any desire to run into the other, so they kept to their own areas. An Iron Curtain was up between the two. Well, not quite that strong. A Tinfoil Curtain, at least. But the news about recent funny stuff with the Devils reached the North quickly. Some took initiative and rushed south. Until they arrived, no one down here knew that a bounty was out on Nut’s head. He doesn’t look like the type to be hunted, you know. How could we have known? Plus, it’s rare that anyone gets that upset about someone here. OK, I admit it, it was my mistake. I was shortsighted, perhaps. But honestly, Cheater, how should I have known? Not even the locals knew. As an outsider, my chances of finding out were much worse.”

“I get it,” Cheater nodded. “Now, you know. So how do we proceed?”

“Proceed? As we were before. Or have you decided not to head east after all? If that’s the case, we can stay here. Start unraveling our problems and settling in.”

Cheater shook his head. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“So what’s your aim? Nut’s got problems. You’ve got problems. And Janitor. And the whole Order of the Putrid Healers. Our party is basically one big problem. Our priestess spent several weeks downing potent drugs and antidepressants. Probably some spec, too. Sometimes, when a person can’t stop crying, it is no longer from actual grief. Spec withdrawal is awful stuff. Drug addicts have it made here on the Continent in most ways—no overdose, habit, or withdrawal will kill a player. But that only applies to physical dependence. The System doesn’t help with psychological dependence. So our priestess might as well be a ticking bomb. No one knows when she’ll go off. In my opinion, she doesn’t even know that she’s been relocated to some other place. Once she figures that out, I have no idea what will happen. Meanwhile, the whole world is aware that we recently killed an Unnamed One. Many are the people who would love to see the loot we got. You and I, Cheater, are big fat targets. Those with the most initiative are already making moves. Against us. We don’t have a big party, and only a few of us are known to be trustworthy. So with all of this going on, it’s Nut that worries you?”

“You’re right, you’re right. I don’t care about Nut. But perhaps you can at least tell me why we need a sapper?”

“I already covered that.”

“When? How?”

“You need to start drinking. Maybe then you’ll also start understanding. I clearly said that he may not even be needed. However, there is a potential course of events in which he will be essential. Plus, a good sapper is a helpful addition to any team.”

“And he’s a good sapper?”

“Right, I’m not sure of that. But he seems to be just the sapper we need. Now, anything else you want to ask? Go ahead.”

“Yes. About the new weapon. Did you see the results? Clown’s idea to kick up the caliber size really worked. I have no idea how steel cores can cause such explosions, but I was overjoyed. It’s got a good rate of fire, and although its muzzle velocity is low, that doesn’t matter over short distances. So I did some calculations. Even at this cost, shooting an elite will turn a profit. And that’s with the assumption that we get no pearls, and that our luck is poor with all of the other items.”

March raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you a master mathematician?”

“I’ve always been good at numbers. Some extra sporesac loot will do us well. An Unnamed One is amazing game, of course, but they’re quite rare. Maybe we can hit one every three months, but it might be as slow going as one every six. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes. The beasts are rare, as you mentioned—and my ability takes a long time to cool down. Why are you worried about money all of a sudden? You’ve got a whole pack of priceless mods. Your net worth is hardly calculable.”

Cheater shook his head. “We need good weapons. The best. You, me, Clown, and Kitty. Those are the people in the world that I trust fully. A main weapon, a pistol, and a melee weapon each. Then, we put the maximum number of the best modifications on each of them. Have you seen my rifle? I doubt there’s one like it in the whole region. But it didn’t used to be like that. I modded it up. I’m not carrying the superior mods in order to sell them, but to use them. Well, I’ll sell some of them, but not many.”

“You have more superior mods than I can count.”

“Sure, I have a lot, but it would be stupid to sell them. They can significantly strengthen our party—if we use a lot of them. Assembling a whole set is tough work. Many of the mods get spent in the process. So we need to keep all of the superior ones. The lesser kinds have nearly all been sold already.”

“You have that hidden pack.”

“I do. But even if I do ever go back for them, it won’t be anytime soon. Some downed elites would do us well.”

“You’ve seen how much effort it takes to set that thing up and load it? By the time you’re ready to fire, the elite will have managed to eat twelve trucks whole, including yours. I’ve seen my fair share of elites, too. I’d bet you a hundred to one that this wouldn’t take them down with any consistency. Perhaps with a direct hit—but with a slow projectile like this one, making that hit would be sheer luck. And even your Luck knows how to let you down now and then.”

“Right,” Cheater nodded, “but that’s only because the apparatus we’ve built for it is, well, crude. We could find a more suitable power source, and specialists who can handle the rest. In the end, we’d have a powerful Nold cannon. Imagine how strong our party would be then. Maybe not even just a party then. A platoon or something.”

“A platoon? That escalated quickly.”

“Hem and haw all you want, March, but we have to think about it. The stronger our team, the better life will be for us. I have some ideas along those lines, including this Nold cannon. Think about it.”

“Sure. As soon as ‘cannon’ is the right word for it. So far, the gun is a neat gadget that wants to melt after just a few shots. Any more questions?”

“About a hundred,” Cheater admitted, “but I’ll save them for later. You can’t handle many questions at once.”

“Of course not. My mind is only able to digest two stupid questions at a time—or ten smart questions. Since you don’t have any smart questions, keep them to pairs, please. Now let’s beat it before the ghouls running towards this little shelling ground of ours show up.

Chapter 14

Life Nine. More Mechanical Mess

“You checked this vehicle several times over,” March scoffed, “and told me each time that it was in great shape. And without any of your sarcasm. Then the brakes just drop off, and now the fuel system is down. What happened, Clown? You’ve been making a few too many mistakes recently. Assuming this was, in fact, a mistake. You didn’t happen to be a used car dealer in your past life, did you? You have a clear talent for selling rust at the price of gold.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Insult me if you want, kill me if you want. I’m the one to blame, it seems. But I checked everything that needed checking, and I didn’t miss a thing. You’ll never find one who can do better. There’s just something about this car that attracts shit. Like it’s cursed. Bewitched. Sure, I still have no idea what they did to the brakes. I’ve tried.”

Cheater leaned over. “You think someone did something similar to the fuel lines?”

Clown’s head wavered. “I don’t know. Who would need to do that? And how would they pull it off? I understand that sabotaging the brakes is a cunning move. Well, why would they need to do anything to the fuel lines when they had already taken out the brakes? I guess it could be insurance. But no, I don’t believe that. Also, I’m not sure how anyone could take a fuel pump out like this. Only one little part is broken, right here. There’s simply no access to that part—give a mechanic ten minutes to get to it, and if he does, he’ll be setting a world record. I would bet nearly anything this is a manufacturing defect. Not like the brake lines, disintegrating into dust. If this were the work of the same group, I would suspect they’d use the same method. That’s not the case at all. Either this was the work of someone else, or this is just a coincidence. I’m assuming no one is about to suggest our truck was sabotaged en route by two different teams. No, this is a defect. Just bad luck.”

March replied mid-sip. “I really don’t know anything about cars. I just ride them. So tell me: can it go any farther? Or not?”

“It’s got wheels, so it can go. But there will be some difficulties.”

“Such as?”

“I can’t fix the pump, but I can fit a gas can onto the roof. Gravity will pull the fuel down, without the need for a pump. Then we can proceed.”

“You can do that?” Nut gaped.

“Of course. Don’t expect it to be a nice ride, though. If it were, everyone would stick the fuel on top and forget about pumps entirely. This is an emergency measure only. Worst case scenario. We won’t be able to move quickly. In addition, we could easily stall at any given moment. And a gas can doesn’t hold a lot, so it won’t take us far. Bit by bit, though, we can get where we need to go.”

“Crossing the border with gas cans on the roof doesn’t sound like the most solid plan,” March replied. “You’re the mechanic, of course, but I have my doubts.”

“Who ever said we had to cross the border in this shit? We just have to get far enough to find another truck. I don’t see any point in turning back—there were no suitable vehicles on the way that I saw. But there are plenty of vehicles without owners lying around the Continent.”

“So we’ll put the antiaircraft gun on the new vehicle,” Goblin announced.

Clown blinked. “Goblin, why isn’t your nickname Genius?”

“Uh...”

“Oh wait, that’s right: geniuses think with their heads, not with their fat rolls. Why the hell would we move the whole antiaircraft gun over when this truck just needs one little part? I’ll have the pump working again faster than you can hike up your pants. Then we’ll be back in business.”

“So why don’t we just look for the part, then?”

“Where are you going to do that, if not in another truck? I don’t see a car parts store nearby. No dealerships. No repair shops. We’ll only find something like that with insane luck, or perhaps if we’re in a good stable.”

Gangrene approached, his face frowning in disgust. “The girl is conscious. The little one.”

“Button?” Clown asked.

“Yeah. She’s beating her fists, sobbing, and getting snot and saliva all over the floor. Saying ‘just kill me, I’m not going anywhere’ over and over. ‘I don’t want to live anymore!’ Stuff like that.”

Fatso set off for the truck. “I’ll take care of her. Or I’ll try, anyway. If I can’t do it, no one can.”

“Get her done,” March said with a nod, “and Clown, you put that gas can on the roof and get it hooked up, and we’ll be off. Off to look for a new fuel pump.”

“There’s one problem,” Cheater piped up.

“Is there?”

“Who will drive the pickup if Fatso is busy with Button? You?”

“Ah,” March nodded, “no, I don’t like driving, and sensors should stay up at the front. We need Clown up with us, too. We’re the artillery, the best driver, and the radar,” he tapped his temple with his finger. “Hey, Nut, how good are you with pickups? You get along?”

“I haven’t driven one for a while, but yeah, I’m fine. Muscle memory and all.”

“OK, you’re taking Fatso’s place.”

“Who will take the truck machine gun?”

“Goblin and Gangrene, in shifts. One drives and the other mans the gun, and then they switch. Fatso will keep an eye on them.”

“The hell!” Goblin interjected. “We’re not machine gunners!”

“And I’m no mental health specialist, yet here we are. Who else do we have? Do you want to put Nipple on the gun?”

“You could take it.”

“I could. But I’m your only far-range sensor, and not even a very good one. If I’m driving, I become a worthless sensor. I’d miss an elephant standing right on the road. Don’t worry about it. Fatso will show you which end of the gun to point at the enemy. If we get in a fight, he’ll take the gun himself. Your job isn’t to fight—it’s to keep up appearances.”

* * *

This corner of the world had no cities whatsoever. It was a hodgepodge of small clusters, where even a decent highway could suddenly be replaced by a ruined dirt road—and at times, even a meager path, along which they made their way from one pothole to the next at snailish speeds. Abandoned vehicles were rare finds, and usually passenger cars. Clown did not even slow down to take a closer look.

A couple of times, they did stop near something more impressive, but neither of those cases had the fuel pump they needed. Or they did, but Clown rejected them as rusted or broken.

Cheater felt his stress levels rising. They had piddled along like turtles for an hour and a half, with nothing to show for it. Plus, a couple of times they had to fight off serious infecteds tempted by the slow-moving targets they made. They were physically strong enough, but still too dull to realize that the party was much too tough for them.

Mightier beasts could appear at any time. That was at least as upsetting as their ridiculously plodding pace.

Any detour to a stable would take ages. They would lose time outright and, besides that, risk the notice of someone with ill intentions. Even then, the stable might not contain the necessary part or a suitable truck.

Perhaps the stable wouldn’t even have a settlement. The map showed one, but it was tiny—the kind of village that might easily be wiped off the face of the earth. Since the region was in turmoil, and old and new enemies alike searched for them in every part of it, it was best for them to stay as far away from populous areas as they could.

As they reached the edge of the next forest, March’s ability spotted something inexplicable. It resembled a hidden, highly developed infected. Fatso slowed down just in case, lagging behind in order to lure the suspected enemy out into the open—so that they could get a look at it, at least. Always best to know what was hunting you. The pickup had often pulled similar moves during the campaign, either pulling out in front or lagging behind. It was both the vanguard and the rearguard. That was not ideal, but they had no other vehicle with mobility to match.

Cheater found himself wishing again that they had more people and more cars. He also caught himself being grateful for the two dubious friends of their healer. Without them, they would have had a tough go of it. Not enough people to man all the vehicles.

At last, this slow leg of the journey was over. They emerged onto the solid, smooth pavement of a wide highway. A gas station sat to the right, near the expansive acres of an industrial farm.

The lagging pickup caught up. It overtook the truck in the rear and nearly reached the front one, as Cheater became alert and aimed the two machine guns at the sign announcing the prices of gas. He could see a crossroads further down, but not any more of the road crossing this one. Trees and the gas station roof and buildings interfered with his line of sight. Since the view to the left was clear, with hundreds of yards of open space, he considered this other direction the most critical to keep an eye on. Anything could be hiding there. His Flash of Omniscience could not reach that far, and March’s sensor abilities were spotty. Especially while they were non-stationary.

Yet as they drove past the station, Cheater succumbed to temptation and fired Omniscience. He had missed his abilities, especially this one, in Rainbow.

The familiar monochrome jumble of semi-transparent lines and shapes established the background.

And there, among them, he saw the bright spot of a developed infected hiding behind the building.

Cheater could not determine the exact level of the creature, but he knew it was a young manmincer, at least. Its impressive dimensions and overly swollen shoulders, plus the fact that the ghoul did not immediately leap out at the sound of the convoy, led him to this conclusion. It was either considering an ambush, a planned attack on the rear vehicle in the convoy, or realizing this quarry was too tough for it—and so trying to hide.

The more developed an infected became, the smarter it was. Self-preservation instincts returned to them at last at the higher levels.

Cheater immediately reached for the radio. “Infected at the gas station. Manmincer or worse. It’s hiding.”

A radio message was hard to miss, unlike a sentence in the game chat. Everyone would hear it at the same time, and it was faster to transmit than a typed alert. Radio was best in combat.

Cheater expected to be answered immediately regarding this beast, but he was not. “To the right!” March cried out, his tone tense.

Cheater blinked at the radio. He knew the creature was to the right, but the beast was still hiding behind the building. His Flash still lit the monster brightly. He could not be mistaken. It seemed like this one was not going to attack.

So what was March on about?

Then, Cheater saw the beginning of the answer.

Another convoy was emerging from behind another stretch of forest.

In front, he saw a military armored personnel carrier, reinforced with steel grates to protect against RPG rounds, and augmented with hinged steel sheets in some places. This was clearly no outdated tech. Its tower was already taking aim at its target.

Its body was covered in familiar heraldry.

Damn those Devils!

Where have they even come from?

He had no time to reflect on the question. Cheater cranked the guns to the left, pushing as hard as he could, but knowing he could not make it in time. The enemy was already aiming the barrel of his large-caliber machine gun at Cheater’s truck. The volley would come in one second, if not sooner. 14.5mm at that distance would tear them apart. It would tear anything short of a tank apart.

He had no time to think. So, he hit the place his eyes were locked on with Tranquility.

He was looking at the barrel of an enemy machine gun.

That moment, the APC ground to a stop, accompanied by the moan of bending metal. No, the barrel of the gun was not bending, nor being torn off. The ability’s sphere of action encompassed part of the tower and part of the top of the hull. Those areas were rendered unable to move. However, the vehicle itself was moving at a slow but steady pace. The inertia of its multi-ton frame was considerable. Weld points gave way. It was not an immediate catastrophe for anyone inside, as the vehicle was simply not capable of great speeds, but the sound it made was impressive.

Perhaps the gun was now permanently out of commission. If not, it would be, at least for the next 13.5 seconds.

A good chunk of time in combat conditions. You could do a lot in 13.5 seconds.

The APC was out of the game, for now—but a second vehicle was emerging behind it. This was an ordinary truck clad in steel armor. Quality steel armor. This was the work of the best craftsmen, using the best materials. It had a half-open gun nest atop it, with a machine gun and an automatic grenade launcher poking out.

Everywhere he had been, the Devils had been hounded—but apparently some could still live a rich life.

They knew how to keep to country where they were not the hounded, but the hounds. Cheater’s party had nowhere to hide. The terrain was utterly flat, and only a thin forest offered shelter. It could not save them. Hopefully the armored car would hit the vehicle out front first, figuring it was the most dangerous. That would give Cheater a few seconds. He would not squander them. First, he would pummel the truck with both machine guns. 12.7mm bullets could push through its armor, thick as it was. The vehicle would be crippled.

Then, if he was in luck, he would have enough time to tackle the APC before it returned to the fight. It had not yet reached the intersection. Meaning that its side—more weakly armored than its front—faced Cheater. Still, he wasn’t sure if he could deal with even that armor. Yes, the distance was only about fifty yards, so the bullets would strike at speed. Each tenth round in his ammo belts was a special armor-piercing round. Tungsten carbide, with much higher penetration power.

If this tactic failed and the pickup started shooting at their vehicle, Cheater would have to somehow use his remaining abilities—or even one of the Unnamed One’s gifts which provided invulnerability—to buy some time. He could then snatch the grenade launcher from its side rack. It was strong enough to punch through the steel grating. As long as he hit, the APC would suffer significant damage.

And Cheater was good at hitting.

All of these thoughts flew through his head faster than any bullet. His body tensed in anticipation of the first incoming volley. Perhaps he could not win this, but he would take some of them with him when he went.

Cheater could handle the whole convoy if it was not too large. He would do as he had done in the Devils’ fortress. Yes, his primary trump card would be expended in the process, but it would save the crossing.

Start shooting first, and then you can decide.

There was no predicting the outcome yet.

However, the first shots fired in the battle came from the antiaircraft gun. With amazing agility for his size, the Janitor had pivoted the huge weapon precisely and fired from both barrels. No, its ammunition did not have tungsten carbide cores. It did not need to. This was an artillery weapon. Twenty-two-millimeter shells at a range of under a hundred yards was a death sentence for anything on the Continent, save perhaps tanks.

Cheater saw the high-explosive rounds detonate against the armored personnel carrier. These were nearly useless for the circumstances, but Janitor had fired both guns. The gun on the left had explosive rounds—the gun on the right, armor-piercing ones. This was not the time to be sparing.

Cheater began pummeling the truck, as planned. With his Accuracy, he did not need to use the sight, especially since every fifth bullet was a tracer round. That was enough for any experienced shooter going after a large target at close range.

Cheater saw the tracers dig into the side of the vehicle. They scattered their sparks in all directions. One hit steel and ricocheted directly up into the sky. Another followed suit, but in a horizontal direction.

But there was no clear damage. Cheater had good eyesight. He should have been witnessing the flimsy armor coming to pieces, the windows of the cab shattering, and the punctured tires sighing and collapsing to the ground.

Either his eyes were playing tricks on him, or the truck was enchanted. This was the Continent, after all. One of the passengers must have somehow used a special ability to protect the truck. A protective ward. Such defensive specialists were held in high regard everywhere. Because of this one, Cheater’s spent ammo had gone to waste.

He had never seen such a skill before, but something about the information he had gathered and his common sense came together to suggest that even a high-level opponent would be unable to hold such a force field in place for long. It would either have a very short ability duration or it would only be able to defend against specific kinds of damage, or a specific amount of damage. In simple terms, a few more volleys should take it down.

Cheater fired on. Each gun had started with 150 rounds loaded, enough for 15 seconds of continuous fire. It was best not to fire continuously, of course, or you would have to change out barrels along with bullets. Swapping out barrels was a quick affair, but in battle, every moment was crucial.

So Cheater fired in bursts, looking to each side in the intervals. He liked the view to the left. The APC did not have a force field specialist—or, the man had failed to activate the ability in time. The Janitor hit the turret first, going after the vehicle’s primary threat. Once it was obvious that there were no survivors there, he moved down to the main hull. It was not exactly annihilated, but one glance was enough to tell you that the vehicle was done for.

A third vehicle emerged from behind the trees. It was also a truck, but it did not have an armored cargo area—it was more like the vehicle carrying March, Clown, and the Janitor. In other words, it carried a huge weapon on an open platform. Its pièce de résistance was a four-gun emplacement whose member guns were either machine guns of a massive caliber or smaller automatic cannons. Cheater had never seen anything like it before.

He did not stop to determine more about it. He had to respond to the new threat. The enemy was experienced enough that the gunner had pointed the multi-muzzled weapon to the left in advance of clearing the trees, so as to aim more quickly at its emerging first victim.

These damn double guns. We should have just put one up here. One! Of course they didn’t listen to Cheater. No way. The split second he had was not sufficient to attain the correct angle. The enemy opened fire. Thankfully, he chose the lead vehicle as his target, so perhaps Cheater could take these villains with him.

Low-power grenades exploded to his left and rear, showering the pickup with shrapnel. The second enemy vehicle was, at last, in the fight. It was the gun which had been protected by the ward ability. The shooter was either cross-eyed or overwhelmed with excitement, and had missed. But such luck would not last long. The machine gun would follow. Cheater had a few seconds at most to take suppressive action.

He aborted the swivel towards the new threat and turned back.

Just as his aim was nearly there, the pickup charged forward, its engine screaming at maximum RPM. Had the driver come under fire? Nut whirled the steering wheel in panic as he flew around the artillery truck, which was experiencing a shower of shrapnel, and they rushed ahead, cutting sharply over to the left side of the road.

Swiveling the turret to the right, Cheater tried to fire on the enemy vehicle just behind the artillery truck. But he only managed to hit the leading APC and the vehicle behind it, which was simultaneously but unsuccessfully attempting to fire at his nimble pickup.

Cheater hit, but not enough. Nut was going, well, nuts—zigzagging along the road in a way that cut any odds of aiming down to single digits. Even with his Accuracy, Cheater may have missed a hundred-yard-long blimp under these circumstances.

Staying in the truck was hard enough.

At last the pickup crossed the highway and surged into a ditch running alongside the road. The world was tossed into the air like a pancake. Cheater had been trying desperately to turn his guns back towards the enemy, and suddenly he found himself six feet in the air, and flying. He tried to reorient himself—and slammed into a road sign.

The shock to his system was followed by vicious bites from pieces of asphalt jutting from the soil. An explosion half-deafened him. A subsequent one completed the job. He could perceive sounds still, but only barely, as if through a thin pipe half a mile long. The picture of the world caused his mind to revolt at its implausibility, as if a computer game, with excellent graphics, suddenly had its gamma and brightness sliders pumped to maximum.

He relaxed instinctively, trying his best not to move. Only then did he realize that he had been ejected from the pickup and was lying out in the open. The ditch was dangerously shallow. His body was in perfect view of the enemy truck’s guns. The flashes and explosions had been from grenades fired after the fleeing pickup. Perhaps the shooter who had fallen out would garner attention.

His instinct to remain motionless was spot on. Faster than his conscious mind, it had determined that playing dead was the optimal strategy. The ditch, shallow though it was, had saved him from the first round of grenade blasts. Minimal shrapnel had hit him. His enemies would hardly calculate this, however—a man lying still in full view after such a fall and such a shelling was clearly dead.

He still had a chance to participate in the fight, if he played dead for now. Once he came to his senses. And once his opponents had their focus turned elsewhere.

That’s right. Nothing to see here. Just a corpse. Look the other way.

Sadly, the shooter from the first truck had other ideas. He was likely deeply offended at Cheater, as the latter had, at the beginning of the fight, furiously emptied his ammo belts into the shielded truck.

Tiny pieces of ground near him gave way as they were riddled with bullets. Instinct prevailed again, and Cheater activated Smile of Fortune. One of the bonus properties of the skill was immunity to all threats. His feats had extended this invulnerability’s duration to a full three seconds. That was an insignificant span of time, but in the Devils’ fortress, it had saved him from the blast of his own grenade.

It saved him again now. The machine gunner fired another volley and made sure that the bullets hit, and that the target body twitched, and—despite Cheater’s misgivings about his ability to imitate a man riddled by bullets—decided that the player was, indeed, dead. It was all the time he could allow, as there were other threats. Much more important targets. The machine gun roared again, but no little bits of earth flew into the air. It had a new target.

Cheater had managed to use the “riddling” motions to turn his body, giving him a view of the battlefield. Most of this view was blocked by the slope of the ditch and the roadside grass, but he could see what he needed to.

The truck which carried most of the party had been moving. March had been slotted to drive it originally, but the last-minute replenishment of the party’s numbers had anointed Goblin as the driver. He was no race car driver, but he was good enough to take the rear.

Or so they had thought. The man was abandoning the front of the convoy, instead moving quickly through the structures of the gas station. He was not panicking. Goblin turned behind the main building, and then turned again, heading out into the field along a vector that kept the station’s buildings between his vehicle and the enemy convoy.

“Fool!” Cheater wheezed. The artillery truck was in bad shape, its cab torn apart and smoking, with the antiaircraft gun’s barrels pointing sadly towards the sky. The shielding in front of the gun now resembled a sieve, and Janitor was nowhere to be seen. The pickup continued to rush across the open field, and the Devils had enough long-range weaponry to go after it. Nut would be taking an arrow in the back.

Nothing stood between the enemy and total victory. Only the rearguard truck remained combat ready, but instead of contributing to the battle, it sped off into the field, allowing the Devils to take up positions and unleash as many bullets its way as they needed to.

It was then that a third party intervened.

The infected which had been hiding behind the gas station. No one could have guessed what it was thinking. Perhaps the beast had thought that Goblin’s rush was an attack, as the man had driven straight towards its hideout. Instead of attacking that vehicle, though, it leaped at the Devils’ convoy.

The convoy, for their part, were not thrilled at the encounter. The truck with the multi-barreled gun rushed towards the intersection, as if trying to save the life of its gunner, who had nothing to protect her from the beast’s fangs and claws. The APC was unable to help, still immobilized in the place where the antiaircraft gun had pinned it to the ground. It blew plumes of smoke from its numerous holes, windows, and hatches.

Only the second vehicle was in a position to help, and that was likely the only reason why Cheater was still alive. The shooter had switched to a new target, trying to pin down the incoming creature. It looked like the ghoul was attempting to attack, though it might have just been trying to save its skin.

As he watched the rear truck reach the intersection and turn to give the bulky machine gun installation a better shot, Cheater realized something.

This was his chance.

Everything was happening too fast. Countless significant events crammed into a moment in time. Smile of Fortune was powerful, and still active. His brain was reflexively counting down the seconds remaining.

Twenty-three seconds was a hell of a long time under such circumstances, but it was still not forever. He had to do something before he was once again on his own against a multitude of enemies—and without his ability available to him.

The new situation was a favorable one. A lucky one.

Cheater leaped up and moved for the stopped truck at top speed. The gunner had her back turned to him and so could not see the “corpse” come back to life. She was busy aiming her heavy weapon at the nimble infected dodging the fire of the second truck. For some reason, the gunner was assisted by another person standing along the edge of the weapon’s rotating mount, as if on a carousel.

As he ran, Cheater drew his pistol, which he raised and fired four times. All four shots hit. The gunner’s body convulsed and slid off its chair, and her assistant went limp, collapsing onto the gears of the turntable.

Neither seemed to survive. Still, Cheater gave each another bullet as he drew closer. In cases like these, trying to save your ammunition could end up netting some bonus rounds for you—right in the back.

Now, everything was ready.

He did not attempt to enter the cab through its doors. Smart players took measures against such uninvited intrusions. In this world, where even in an apparently safe zone anything could leap out at you at any time, careless beings did not live for long.

He didn’t need to enter a cab door, anyway. The locks were mostly to prevent infecteds from entering. Humans could always find a way.

Cheater heaved his body up onto the weapon platform. He rushed the cab. It was defended from this side, too, but only by some bars between him and the rear window glass. The driver’s silhouette was clear.

His pistol sounded once more.

The man’s head was in bad enough shape after that that Cheater did not use another round.

He skidded to a halt and dashed the other way, away from the cab. Heaving the gunner’s body from her resting place, Cheater hurriedly took her place. The controls confused him. He had learned how to use an antiaircraft gun, but only in theory. He had never shot one. Everything looked different here. The emplacement—despite the smaller caliber of the guns—was much larger. Twice as large, at least.

All of it seemed wrong, including the seat. It was uncomfortable and unusual.

Experience came to his aid. After some seconds, he noticed a couple of similar trends to familiar weapons. And so his confidence grew as he aimed at the rear of the other truck, hoping that the people in its cab were staring towards the charging infected and not at the brash maverick taking aim at the backs of their necks.

His leg tensed as he pushed the pedal. All four barrels rumbled. Dozens of bullets poured out per second. This threw up such a flame into the air that Cheater became disoriented once again. His aim seemed to be off. Either the scope was misaligned, or he was misusing it.

He released the pedal for a moment—and grinned. The shots had still been effective. This was no autocannon, in fact, but the results were impressive. The truck’s cab had been reduced to shreds. Steam rushed out from under the hood of the vehicle.

He moved the sight a little higher and fired another burst, this time brimming with certitude. The turret, which had been hastily rotating to face this new threat, now stopped moving. It didn’t even look much like a turret anymore. Unless it was one made of sieves and Swiss cheese.

A man with a brutally bloodied face emerged from behind the armored personnel carrier. Cheater could see that he was an unfamiliar player.

Therefore, he was an enemy.

The enemy did not seem dangerous, and the distance between them was small. He could pull his pistol and finish the man off from here with a couple of shots. But Cheater knew that in rapidly changing environments he had to avoid being bogged down by unnecessary physical motions. Aiming at the new target, he pressed the trigger without hesitation. Less than a second. Just a tap with his foot.

The man managed to leap off the road. But he did so in pieces, and left part of his leg, sneaker and all, behind him.

The massive ghoul froze, seventy yards away, eyeing Cheater. He knew now that it was not one of the dumber ones. It had identified Cheater as the only remaining threat. One threat was much fewer than had existed moments before. Instinct would push it to attack, as the situation was no longer a hopeless one, and instinct demanded that players be attacked whenever possible. However, this one had another instinct. That of self-preservation.

Cheater raised and shook his fist at the creature, preparing to unleash hell.

Yet the ghoul seemed convinced by the fist. It rushed away from him, glancing over its shoulder in fear. Cheater watched it run away, unclenched his fist, and even waved.

He did not shoot. The infected was not his ally, of course, but some whisper hinted to him that, in this case, he could adjourn the eternal struggle between his kind and its. Without that ghoul, this battle could have ended in disaster for him and his team.

He slumped back onto the tortuously uncomfortable seat and watched the long victory message flood past his eyes as he raised his hand to his radio. “Alright, quit running away. We won.”

Chapter 15

Life Nine. The History of Ancient Rome

As he transmitted the message, Cheater realized that the victory had come at a high cost. His brain began to reactivate cognitive functions which were not useful during the heat of a fight. The first thing he noted was the party window. Eleven icons—one of them always inactive, since the person it represented was too far away.

In a different region, and beyond gray and black clusters. Only party logs and statuses (dead or alive) could cross such barriers.

Kitty was alive, and he was glad for that.

Nothing else about the party’s status could make him glad.

Three icons showed as dead. The party had lost March, Clown, and Gangrene. Two other icons were flashing threateningly: the Janitor and Goblin were critically wounded.

Vehicle status was not displayed in the party window, but he could see clearly with his own eyes that the front truck had been decimated. The large-caliber machine gun had eviscerated the cab—with March and Clown sitting inside. The truck’s front tires had been stripped to shreds by grenade shrapnel, and at least one of the rear wheels was entirely missing. The antiaircraft gun was in bad shape, although Cheater had no idea how bad, exactly. The Janitor was not in sight, but he could be heard swearing on the other side of the vehicle, and seen via Flash of Omniscience. Whether his swearing was in anger or pain, Cheater could not say.

He turned his head and saw Nut bouncing the pickup across the field. The druggie was driving like a maniac, but at least he was coming back instead of going away. The other truck had stopped in the distance. Either it had been disabled, or the driver had been incapacitated. Goblin’s icon was flashing urgently, after all.

That was not the sort of thing caused by a bit of shrapnel to the calf or a bullet grazing one’s earlobe. It was something serious.

While the rest of his companions collected themselves, Cheater gave himself a cursory examination. Under such stress, it was easy to miss a serious wound, such as arterial hemorrhage, which could be fatal in minutes. Besides, he had been stunned from the fall and by the grenades which had ensued. They had been weak explosives, yes. But it did not take much to kill a player.

His clothes were torn in places, and blood poured from his thigh and his right side. The thigh wound did not matter. As long as no large blood vessels were involved, he could take care of it later. But the wound to his side was a concern.

Cheater hastily lifted his jacket, twisted around, and put his hand to the spot. He calmed down immediately. A piece of shrapnel had punched through the Kevlar of his light vest and hurt him—but it had not gone far into his body. His fingers encountered the characteristic bulge and the flash of pain upon touch.

It was something he could take care of without a surgeon. Hardly even a wound, in player terms. A few days from now, not even a trace would remain.

To reduce the chances of an imminent death and accelerate the healing process, Cheater activated Omniscience again. He saw mole rats, groundhogs, and other creatures in the earth, and Janitor’s hulk, but no one else of note. No enemies. His normal vision, too, betrayed no threat, although he could see the infected fleeing into the distance. That one wasn’t coming back.

Cheater jumped onto the asphalt, absorbing the shock and checking whether some unnoticed fracture or piece of shrapnel offered feedback. Only his thigh and his right side returned their answer. Those did not need urgent attention.

He replaced his pistol mag with a full one, and still holding the weapon at the ready, proceeded to the shot-up artillery truck, from where the Janitor continued to swear.

As he rounded the rear of the vehicle, he saw that the quasi had good reason to embrace such obscenities. Both of the Janitor’s legs looked like they had been held inside a blender for some minutes. His right arm was missing, clear up to the shoulder. Remnants of Kevlar and other shielding hung down in shreds.

The great fighter was down three limbs. Only his left arm seemed in order, and the monster slammed it continually into the pavement, with such force that Cheater imagined it would crack soon.

The Janitor saw him and screamed, “Where’s my arm?”

His left hand ceased its pounding on the pavement and pointed to his bereaved shoulder.

“What do you need it for?” Cheater asked stupidly.

“I found the latest Playboy in the truck and wanted to beat one off,” the quasi mocked. “Cheater, find my arm. Now! It’s somewhere up there, or on the other side of the vehicle. Bring it to me!”

Cheater didn’t know Janitor well, but he did know that the quasi needed his arm for something serious, besides self pleasure. He found the missing limb quickly. At that moment, the truck returned. Both doors flew open, and Goblin fell out of the passenger side, whereupon he set to groaning on the pavement. Fatso leaped out of the driver’s seat, apprehensively shifting his machine gun from one side to the other. “What happened here?” he barked.

“March and Clown are gone, and the Janitor is down a few limbs,” Cheater said, waving the quasi’s detached arm.

Nut had just arrived, as well. “His arm got torn off?”

“No, it just had a quarrel with the man and decided to take a break. Dammit, Nut! Why the hell did you—”

“Relax,” Cheater stepped in. “We can sort that out later. First, we need to bring March and Clown back. And fast. How’s Button doing?”

“I’ll check,” Fatso replied as he turned back to the truck.

Nipple fell out at that moment and doubled over—more like tripled over—accompanied by sounds of vomiting. She was in bad shape.

In between the heaves, she raised her head and stared at Cheater, telling him wearily, “We need to raise Gangrene too.”

“We can make do without that piece of shit!” Fatso muttered as he pushed past her.

“We can,” the healer agreed, her voice losing emotion, “but if he respawns, so will I. So you’ll either bring him back, or say your goodbyes to me.”

“The hell is it with you two? Damned, hopeless lovebirds!” Fatso yelled, already from inside the truck.

Cheater stepped down to the ground and offered Janitor the hand. Along with the arm it was attached to. “Here, I found it.”

“Thank you,” the quasi muttered as he began to re-attach it to what was left of his shoulder.

There was clearly something about quasis that Cheater did not yet understand.

Screeching noises emerged from the truck. Cheater turned to see Fatso dragging Button out. She was squealing in displeasure at this relocation.

But every second they lost now increased the risk of setting them back for many days. He didn’t care about Gangrene, but if they lost March and Clown, they would have to wait until the two of them respawned and could be picked up. That was not a quick process, and the region was still on fire.

There were enough dangers ahead of them that he did not wish to add back in the dangers behind.

Players’ dead bodies did not lie at rest for long. Soon, they would turn to black sand.

That would trigger the worst-case scenario for their crossing: abort.

This flashed through his head in an instant. In addition, Cheater realized that Fatso’s behavior was unacceptable. He was performing his task poorly. The man had benefitted from several days to get this girl on her feet. He had tried to do so amicably. That hadn’t worked.

And it wouldn’t work now. He was trying to drag her along gently, with just a two-finger hold, and his face showed mild confusion and frustration, as if he had just had three diarrhea-stricken newborns thrust into his arms.

These thoughts departed from Cheater’s mind, leaving a void of perturbed ire. Mental problems were no excuse for wasting time. Button’s ability still worked. Psychiatry be damned. She would do her job, even if she shed a gallon of tears doing so.

Cheater approached and took a swing. It was a mighty slap that nearly drove the girl unconscious. Then, he repeated the slap, backhand.

Let both sides of her face suffer equally.

“The hell are you doing!” Fatso shouted.

Cheater ignored him and handed the gun to the girl, whose crying had immediately ceased. “Here, kill me. Press this here, and I’ll die. Go ahead. I just slapped you. Don’t I deserve it? Come on! Shoot me right here. Why won’t you pull the trigger? I’m not going anywhere. So either you shoot me, or you go bring Clown and March back from the dead. Right now. This instant. Or I’ll hit you again, more than twice. And I’ll keep doing that until you bring them back from the dead or until you shoot me. Look, I don’t like this. I hate it more than you do. Button? Come on! Wake up! Do this now, and then you can cry all you want. We need you. We can’t do this without you!”

It was a risky move, and an asshole move. Cheater was disgusted by himself. What had come over him? Somehow, he had realized that this was the only tactic that had a chance of working. It was not guaranteed, but if it didn’t work, nothing would. He had tried the quickest method he could see of putting a hysterical person back into working order.

Button stared at Cheater as if he were a ghost and twitched hesitantly, indicating that Fatso should let go of her. She did not touch the gun, but whimpered, “Where are they?”

“Show her,” Cheater replied wearily as he sat down on the pavement.

His leg was giving way. The thigh wound must have been worse than he had thought.

For a moment or two, he slipped out of the situation, paying attention to his leg. The shard had gone through muscle. It hadn’t apparently done too much damage, but he was experiencing an unnatural level of cramping around it. Perhaps that was simply in response to the severe impact—as though someone had taken a hammer to his thigh. He had not noticed it before, in the heat of the battle. Now, he did.

Nipple had been hunched behind him, but now she moved in front of him and muttered, “Let me.”

“Let you what?”

“I’ll take care of this.”

The girl swept her hair from her face with her left hand and pressed her right to the wound. When she placed it on his thigh, he felt an unpleasant tingling, as though a weak electric current were being applied to the muscle. Or as though blood were first flowing back into a limb which had been asleep.

Nipple removed her hand and followed up with her characteristic apathy, “Did they get you anywhere else? You’re covered in blood, all over.”

“All over? I think they just got my side, a little. The blood isn’t mine—it’s from that machine gunner. When she died, she slumped in the chair, and I sat in it moments later.”

“I don’t care whose blood it is. Show me your side so I can handle it.”

“You mean like, heal it?” Cheater asked, after a pause in which he tried to holster his pistol.

Despite all his Accuracy, for some reason he couldn’t manage to put it in where it needed to go. His hand would not obey him.”

“Why did you take me along, if not to heal?” she asked. “That’s the only reason I’m here. Alright, I’m done. You’ll be fine. It will hurt a little, and freeze up on you, but two hours from now, you won’t even remember which leg it was. Just make sure you wash your clothes, or replace them. I’m no washerwoman. I don’t do clothes.”

“I can take care of them. I’ve never been around a healer before. You really are a helpful member of the party.”

“I guess. You should remember what I said about Gangrene, by the way. I was serious.”

“What’s up with him?” Cheater blinked, confused by the mention.

“He’s dead! A bullet nearly tore his head off. That same bullet nearly killed me, too; I was sitting next to him. Unless you bring him back, I won’t be with you for long. He’ll teleport me to himself. We have that kind of connection.

Cheater had no desire to delve into the healer's strange statements yet. He had no desire to think, in fact. His mind was muddled. But he understood the main point and nodded. “They’ll bring March, Clown, and Gangrene back, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. You are the ones who should be worried.”

“Nipple!” Goblin squealed, lying near the cab. “Help! “I’m dying! And guys, kill that bastard, before he strikes again. You hear me, Cheater? Kill him!”

“What bastard?” Cheater looked around, expecting to see a surviving devil, or the infected returning.

“Fatso! The bastard shot me. Kill him!”

The wounded man’s voice became hysterical.

Nipple stayed where she was. “Goblin panicked and drove off, and Fatso was unable to stop him. The man shouted, but Goblin wouldn’t listen, so Fatso shot him through the rear window. Only then did we stop.”

Cheater nodded, finally understanding something fully. He himself had killed an enemy driver the same way a few minutes ago. In closed-body trucks, that window was kept open so that the driver and others up front could communicate with those in the back. A bullet in the lower back was a cruel way to get your driver to stop—but Fatso had likely been doing the only thing he could think of.  Cheater wasn’t about to blame him. Much less kill him.

The flight of the truck could have had perilous consequences for the expedition. With each passing second, the truck had been taking the priestess further and further away from those who needed to be quickly raised from the dead. Fatso had done the right thing, having no time for persuasion.

The Janitor stopped swearing for a moment. “Hey, where’s that damned nurse? Leave Cheater alone—he’s barely even scratched. Sew my arm back on, and fix my legs?”

“Would you like a penis sewn on, too?”

“I mean, sure. Being a quasi, I’ve been dreaming of getting that back for half a year now. Just make it a good long one. Come on, let’s go!”

“What if I don’t?”

“I still have one good arm. That’s more than enough to tear you in two. So move it!”

* * *

A priestess’s art was, by nearly any metric, a morally upright one. But just as the sun has spots on its surface, there are some dark aspects to the act of resurrection.

Cheater had, in the first crossing, been amazed to see people with utterly decimated organs and limbs come fully back to life. Sometimes, a whole half of the person had been blown off. What was left, though, was enough for Button.

How? Was conservation of mass not applicable here? He had no idea. Having a whole head was the most important part. If it was in perfect shape, resurrection occurred at near-instant speed, and with no long-term side effects.

March’s head was not in perfect shape. A 14.5 round had slammed through it. It would be enough to remove a sizable chunk of you no matter where it hit. Even glancing blows were best avoided.

March had very much not avoided this one.

Still, the priestess’s ability worked, and the campaign’s leader was once again alive.

He looked like he had just spent the last few days drinking—and not beer. It also seemed that among his drinking binges he had added in some of Nut’s favorite substances.

March was not himself. He was slow, ignored any and all opportunities to communicate, and did not try to resume control over the battered party in any way. Button, who was still running on the temporary sanity Cheater had slapped into her, explained that this was normal. In something like half an hour, perhaps up to two hours, March would be back to normal. Or at least close. Before then, he should be allowed to rest.

So they left March alone.

With a supply of beer.

Even a bullet to his head had failed to quench his indefatigable thirst.

Nut, of course, took this as evidence that substances were the best cure for everything. In fact, the man’s poor functioning was entirely explicable by the fact that he had been deprived of beer for those few minutes he had been dead.

Nut then segued into a tale of a certain friend of a certain comrade of his, a man who had recklessly mixed substances using the wrong proportions and so had suffered terrible nausea. He had the poor luck of, that very day, going on a date with a hot young lady. Overall, it was just another one of Nut’s typical stories.

Anyhow, they had to let their leader be and sort all the consequences out on their own. First, they had to shout some sense into Goblin, who was eager to violently dispatch Fatso. This had to be repeated with Gangrene, who immediately sided with his angry comrade once they had brought him back. At last, they were able to shut them up only with threats, promising to boot them out of the vehicles and let them walk to the border on foot.

The truck had to be repaired too, both from the bullets and from Goblin’s careless driving style. Clown handled the minor damage quickly and skillfully. He had come back from the dead all gung ho and ready to go, thank God for small favors.

Cheater was not the only one who had suffered minor injuries. Nipple handled them all, and well.

A healer was indeed an excellent addition to any team.

Their main remaining problem, then, was the artillery truck. Handling that fell not to Clown but to Janitor and Cheater.

The truck was the most important piece of their convoy. A piece which now did not exist. The truck itself could, in theory, be restored to working order, but not under the circumstances. Anyway, it would be easier to pick a replacement from dozens of similar trucks that could be easily found.

New ones, too.

It was not out of the question to search for such a vehicle. A sense of déjà vu came over Cheater as he remembered his role in helping procure transportation at the beginning of the previous crossing campaign.

They would find a truck somewhere, sure. But what could they do about the antiaircraft gun? These were valuable weapons, not to be found lying around on the road. Both guns had been utterly destroyed by large-caliber bullets. Only a well-equipped workshop, with access to many replacement parts, would have a hope of repairing them. Doing such work out here was out of the question.

The party’s main weapon was gone, and on the first day of the campaign—many miles from the border itself.

Not a good start.

However, as Cheater considered this,  a solution came to him almost immediately. It had its drawbacks, but it might just work.

He had to convince the Janitor. Efforts to do so did not go well at first, evoking only a stream of insults directed his way.

But though the quasi was a stubborn player, his mind still worked, despite the severity of his wounds. He came to his senses before Cheater’s eyes, and before long.

The Janitor gritted his teeth, and admitted it: Cheater’s idea was, in fact, the best solution.

* * *

Cheater sat down next to March. “How’s your head?”

Still staring off into nowhere, March touched the body part in question with his hand and sipped from his can. “Well, it’s still there, at least. I think.”

“How do you feel?” Cheater pushed.

“Like I just pulled this head out of my ass. You know, I’m starting to understand more about Button. Poor girl.”

“I slapped her in the face. Twice,” Cheater admitted.

“In some situations, that’s the perfect motivation for some girls. And some guys, too. So I can forgive that. What were you and the Janitor fighting about?”

“We weren’t fighting. We had something important to discuss.”

“So you didn’t include me. I guess you’re including me now. What was it about?”

“Are you sure that you want to hear it right now? You don’t look too good, March.”

“Eh, I’m almost back to normal. Sure, the resurrection hit me hard. But three cans of beer is almost as powerful a force as a priest’s ability. I bet they can even raise the dead. Anyway, what was your quarrel about?”

“You’ve probably noticed that our artillery truck is out of commission. Well, I was proposing an alternative. He criticized my plan at first, but ultimately agreed.”

“Agreed to what?”

“With the plan.”

“Right. What plan?”

“It’s not the prettiest plan, but it’s what we’ve got. We’ll take the enemy’s truck, in place of our own.”

“The one with the four machine guns?”

“Right. It’s the only one still in working order—and in fact most of its windows are still intact, even. The armored personnel carrier is on fire, and the other truck took a lot of bullets. Its turret and engine are demolished. I can’t believe that truck didn’t catch fire, in fact. But this truck is fine. Clown says it’s in good shape, and we’ve even got some spare parts. Not everything, but hey, they could come in handy. It looks like they took good care of this vehicle. We doubt it’ll give us any problems.”

“But Janitor had some kind of issue with this plan, I take it?” March asked.

Cheater nodded. “He didn’t like the weapon.”

“Well, I can understand that. Just machine guns. No cannon.”

“Plus,” Cheater added, “it’s inferior in every way, except for the rate of fire. The emplacement is at least twice as heavy and does not swivel as quickly. Plus, Janitor has never operated a gun like that. He just keeps swearing up a storm.”

“Those machine guns won’t take down an elite,” March noted.

“I know. But they’re solid machine guns. I once mowed down a massive mob of ghouls with just one gun like that. While the vehicle was stationary. The Devils have enough ammunition packed away in there to take out several hordes. We have grenade launchers, we have my rifle, and we have the Nold shoulder gun. That’s enough to deal with an elite. This truck is here, and it’s ready. We can drive it now. Looking for another vehicle to replace the one we’ve lost would mean an unknown delay. Where would we even go? Anti-aircraft guns are a rare thing, and I don’t see signs of a stable nearby.”

“You haven’t ever seen a real horde either, have you?” March asked.

“No. But I can imagine one well enough.”

“No, you can’t. You wouldn’t say such things if you could. We’re going to a place where encountering a horde is all in a day’s work.”

“Alright,” Cheater allowed, “so let’s say a machine gun won’t stop a horde. But it’ll stop a large flock with no trouble.”

“A cannon is a cannon,” March pressed. “Reliable.”

“Yes. I would give a whole lot right now for a big gun. But we don’t have a cannon. What we do have is a truck, ready to drive out. That’s what we really need to get to the border. It will be harder without a cannon, yes. But not impossible.”

“I still think you’re not seeing the difference between an antiaircraft gun and that clump of iron rods.”

“Steel rods,” Cheater corrected. “But why are we still fighting over this? Even the Janitor admitted that this is the best option we have. So we don’t have an antiaircraft gun. That’s hardly  our biggest problem. I still fail to understand why we had to bring such a large group along. You yourself said that fewer people made for an easier crossing. But now we have this dubious babbler of a sapper, as well as Gangrene and Goblin, who have been nothing but trouble. I understand the value of a good team. Why then did we assemble such a shit team? You and I could get across on our own, along with Clown and Fatso, with no problems. And the Janitor could come along, too—I’m just not in the loop on whatever agreement you two have. Then, we simply don’t go where the big hordes are. Borders are huge things. We could find a way. Anyway, March, there’s no point o talking about the antiaircraft gun further. It’s done for. So we take the machine guns.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Cheater. I’m just pissed at what happened here. We weren’t romping about carelessly. Everything was thought through. We asked about this road. People who seemed smart enough swore to us that the Devils had not been seen in these parts for a very long time. I’m not like you. I don’t collect my maps from garbage heaps. I know where to get good information. My damned abilities forced me to get good at that. For me, information is crucial. So either they were all lying to us, or the situation changed very rapidly. I don’t like either of those possibilities. I don’t like fast, serious changes. Especially this far from the border. I’ve already died once here, on the first day. Now, I know that happens to everyone. But it shouldn’t have happened this soon. Given that, I dislike even more the fact that we no longer have an antiaircraft gun. That was a very important part of our crossing. You can take it from me. This isn’t my first one.”

“Enough about the antiaircraft gun,” Cheater pleaded. “Cheer up. We won. If they had killed us all, it would have been a catastrophe.”

“We won. But it’s a Pyrrhic victory,” March said as he crushed a can and reached for another.

“What did you say?” Cheater blinked, as March had gurgled the sentence through a mouthful of beer.

“A shitty victory. A Pyrrhic one. Don’t you remember what that is?”

“Sure, from Ancient Rome. The general Pyrrhus scattered the Romans like cockroaches. Time and time again, he smashed them. But each time, he suffered losses, and in the end, those losses were the undoing of his kingdom, so—”

Cheater hesitated.

“How do I remember something like that? These memory blocks are so strange. I can remember these worthless facts and stories, but nothing about myself. Plenty about who some ancient general was, and nothing about who I was. It’s fucked up.”

“I know some guys who set up a discussion group and talked about questions like this day and night.”

Cheater cocked his head. “What did they come up with?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Whenever you’re considering to either let your head get filled with riddles or let it get riddled with bullets, specifically 14.5mm bullets, I’d recommend the latter. It’s the clearly superior choice. Three direct hits will do less damage to your brains than puzzling over those questions. This place is a little short on shrinks and madhouses, after all. And respawn does not cure all forms of mental illness. So, better here to grab a beer than a book. Beer can wash away all those nasty thoughts. What the hell—”

March stood abruptly, staggered slightly, and froze, can held with both hands.

“What’s wrong?” Cheater said as he moved to spot him.

“Oh, nothing. Or maybe something. More like someone. Someone strong.”

“As strong as these Devils?” Cheater pointed to the APC.

“Stronger.”

Chapter 16

Life Nine. The Armored Beetle

Strength can be measured in a variety of ways. One factor or another can be more significant in various situations. Even in clearer circumstances, everyone will measure strength in different ways.

On the Continent, however, there was general agreement that anyone using a fully restored tank was strong. Especially if it was not a piece of junk yanked out of some museum and hastily restored. Restored tanks were made from burnt-out shells, which their factory-released incarnations often became after encountering some sort of high-caliber armor-piercing projectile.  Spare parts could be found to replace the various innards. But what could replace the metal damaged by the high temperatures of the engulfing flames? Armor embraced by inferno retained its thickness, but not its protective properties. Even the colossal military industrial complex back on Earth would not undertake to repair such damage. The metal would be melted down.

This tank driving up to them now was clearly not restored. Even from a distance, they could see that it was modern, and in excellent condition. It was a dangerous opponent in any circumstance, and this terrain—flat fields in nearly every direction—was an optimal operating zone for it. It could hit anything from miles away, while remaining safely out of the reach of most adversaries.

The tank was approaching quickly, and from their weak side. The side the Devils had come from. That was upsetting, and the thin strip of forest that stretched along the road in that direction only heightened the party’s apprehension. After all, that was the only cover they could take, but attempting that made no sense given the enemy’s approach vector.

In addition, the party didn’t have decent anti-tank weapons. They could deal some damage. RPGs were a solid option. But they had a limited range. The tank could defeat their whole party from a safe distance. Meanwhile, they would be shooting back at it with the only thing that could reach: machine guns and rifles.

The sounds of shooting would not last long.

If they even shot at all.

There was no time to get the Nold turret ready, either. Plus, even it would be unlikely to fatally wound such a battle machine. Cheater was unable to aim precisely with it, and its shells worked their destruction primarily via high temperatures—a force unable to disable a modern tank. He doubted its explosive power. The points of impact had not demolished everything into oblivion, just set it all on fire. Those had been flimsy village houses; orders of magnitude less solid than a tank.

They were out here caught with their pants down. In the middle of flat farmland, vulnerable from all directions. No cover, and no escape.

The tank would be in range soon.

So, they did the only thing that remained to them, and hastened to prepare a worthy reception for their enemy.

Grenade launchers were handed out to those who knew how to use them. The party dispersed. Cheater activated Chameleon, hoping to hide both from human eyes and from the sensor devices the tank might have at its disposal.

First, though, he shot down a drone. It had been brazenly hovering over the intersection, a good distance ahead of the tank. Five hundred feet up in the air it buzzed and fed its images to its operators.

Until Cheater took it out with a single rifle shot.

At least the unnerving buzz was gone.

A modern tank could create all kinds of problems for them from miles away, but this one recklessly trudged down the road, ever closer.

Cheater had been tracking with his rangefinder. Two kilometers. One and a half. One.

Five hundred meters. At this distance, he could easily hit the enemy with a long-range grenade launcher, of which they had two. Hitting a vulnerable point on the tank was more of a long shot, but miracles could happen.

Especially when Cheater was involved.

Still, he did not hurry. First of all, he had not been given one of the long-range launchers. Second, his disposable wouldn’t reach that far, no matter his skill. Third, the tank was still moving, rushing towards the intersection at a steady speed.

Three hundred meters. Two hundred. One hundred.

His rangefinder lost its usefulness.

The tank was close enough now to throw rocks at, never mind grenades. Every one of their grenade launchers could hit from here.

The rumbling vehicle rounded the smoking truck and the burning armored personnel carrier and then braked so dramatically that sparks and bits of asphalt sprayed outwards from its tracks.

At the same moment, the hatch on the tower opened, and a very colorful man slowly poked his head up out of it, followed by his entire torso. He had no clothing and no weapons. Just accessories. His physique was not about to win any strongest man competitions, but he was not weak—he had the sinewy look often sported by dangerous hand-to-hand fighters. The man’s bare arms were covered from wrist to elbow in huge gold bracelets. His body was tattooed up to the top of the neck, a shapely beard adorned his chin, and his nose held a large white metal ring. An unnatural hairstyle completed his look: a mohawk mashed up with dreadlocks and intertwined with multi-colored ribbons and lace.

The stranger was holding a can of beer in his hand, which increased their hopes of a peaceful resolution.

March, at least, had something in common with the man.

He slowly looked over the members of the party, positioned in a semi-circle in front of him. When he spoke, it was with a voice like an offended child’s. “Why the hell did you guys snipe Buzzer?”

“Buzzer?” Nut asked.

The man immediately pointed his finger at him, demanding, “Who are you?”

“Nut.”

The man’s face was inexplicably conquered by an overjoyed expression, but his offended tone continued. “Ah, so you’re Nut. Then tell me, which of you shot down Buzzer? Also, I would like to clarify that I am quite certain the shooter’s nickname was Cheater. So confident, in fact, that I didn’t shoot at any of you. I don’t want people talking about that time I dared to take a shot at Cheater. I’m rooting for the guy, after all. I’m a fan! I would bet on Cheater’s success any day. What idiot would shoot the horse he has a bet on? So I didn’t shoot. Well? Who shot Buzzer out of the sky?”

Cheater stood and slowly put his rifle up on his shoulder. He approached. “I did. And you’re right about my nickname.”

The tank man jumped out of the tank top so quickly that Cheater started guessing how impressive his Agility must be. Before anyone could think twice, he was standing in front of Cheater with an outstretched hand and a grin like that of a clown college student receiving his diploma. “Well, it is a pleasure. Beetle’s the name. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

“I don’t recall,” Cheater replied tentatively as he shook the man’s hand.

“Well, you and I live in different worlds. Wouldn’t have crossed paths. Want a beer? It’s warm, but I have a lot of it.”

“We have cold beer,” Cheater replied, still on edge. “Our boss cares more about the temperature of our beer than he cares about our ammo.”

“March is your boss, I’m guessing?” Beetle smiled wider. “We’ve heard a lot of stories about him, too. Alright, you win. I’m not one to turn down a cold beer. Or any beer. Then I can tell everyone about that time I drank March’s beer. Not a bad story!”

“So, you don’t mind the whole thing with Buzzer?” Cheater clarified.

“Hah, hell no. I’d have taken a shot at it too. But unlike you, I wouldn’t have hit. What people say is true. You’re an amazing shot. Don’t let it go to your head, though. You can’t take all the praise—have to leave some for the rest of us. Anyway, I’ve been chasing these devils since this morning. Barely missed them, one time. Then, you showed up. Unfortunately.”

“They were Devils, and we’re not on their good side,” Nut added. “We weren’t, like, stealing or anything.”

Beetle slapped his chest. “Hah! Unfortunately for them, I meant. I’m not complaining. I just wanted to know why you and the Devils are such vicious enemies? I heard rumors that you killed Bugle and smashed up his den. After a feat like that, you should take a break. Leave the rest of them to us! There are plenty of good people in this region who love killing Devils. People like me. So, you—” he pointed a finger at Cheater—“you must be heading east, and in a hurry. So why have you stopped here? You should be on your way. With the kind of people who are after you, I would keep moving if I were you. This region will do fine without you, now. We’ll kill the Devils over and over, until they’re scattered across the Continent. We’ll knock them all down to zero. Back there,” Beetle waved vaguely behind him, “our forces are camped out. Smart commanders in there, and in general strong players. You’re always welcome. They’re all saying hello in your chat window right now. Not everyone believed in the legend of Cheater, but well, here you are. What a great day! Anyway, if you get bored, come on and visit us. Anytime! But not now. Later. We’re not accepting guests right now. No offense, but you can see what’s going on in the region. So will you come see us? Later?”

Cheater was reeling at the stream of consciousness emerging from his new acquaintance’s mouth, and he looked hopefully at March, who was approaching from the side.

But the leader was just as doubtful. “Hey, man, we don’t know you. We don’t know this camp or group you’re talking about either. It doesn’t have anything to do with us. We were just passing through and happened to run into these people, who shot at us. So we shot back. There’s no reason for you to be upset about it.”

“I’m not upset. Like I said, guys, I’m your biggest fan. I heard about you, I’ve been following your story, and I’m happy to meet you. But I don’t believe you. You have a reputation. As maniacs. Everyone knows what you did to Bugle and his fortress, Cheater. They say you and your friend danced on his corpse. I don’t approve of any desecration of a corpse, to be honest, but I can understand it. Whatever necrophilia Bugle suffered, he had it coming. It’s just that there is no way you ‘happened to run into’ these people. These were quite possibly the last organized Devils in the region. And you’re saying they found and attacked you? That’s hard to believe. Plus, no one comes this way to cross the border, everyone knows that. There’s no good way across. The only ways are up north of here, or far south. So you’ll pardon me, friends, if I don’t believe a word of it. I know that you have a grudge against the Devils, but this is our field, and our Devils. Go look for your own Devils in other fields.”

“You can have all of them,” Cheater offered, sincerely.

“You’re not giving us the chance,” Beetle insisted.

“Nonsense,” March shook his head and sipped from his can. “Come on, drink with me. While you do, listen up. These people and I are heading to the border. To the East. Everyone knows the story by now. If anyone gets in our way, we kill them. Not out of any malice—we’re just clearing the way. These losers tried to interfere with our progress, so we killed them, and now we’re pushing ahead. Now, someone has told you that this border is impassable, haven’t they? That does nothing to deter us. We go places where the System itself fears to tread. We like these places. Now, do you understand that, or do I need to repeat it?”

“No, no need, I’m not stupid. I get it.” Beetle raised his beer in a toast. “So, to the east it is? And you don’t care that no one goes that way? Well, the ‘maniac’ reputation is right, boys and girls. I don’t mean that as an insult. More of a compliment, even. However, if you go directly east, with no turns or detours, you will not make it. It’s bad country. Complex geography and numerous enemies. Two months ago a horde came from that direction and wiped a couple of stables off the map. You visit either now, you can’t find a trace of the settlements. Oh, they tried to stop it. No success. We recently sent some scouts out that way, deep into the territory. They died the first day. When they came back from respawn, they reported that the place was filled with ghouls beyond counting. So it seems like another horde is gathering there. Preparing to march out. You’re not from around here, so you’re going by the maps, right? Well, even the maps show that there’s no way through. You’d best back before it’s too late. No one crosses here.”

“Bring our new friend a cold beer,” March finally demanded, “before the refrigerator runs out of cold air.”

“What’s wrong with the fridge?” Beetle asked.

The party lead pointed at the destroyed truck. “This was how we carried our antiaircraft gun, and our refrigerator. The two most important items for a successful crossing. These Devils smashed them both.”

“That’s too bad,” Beetle sympathized. “So I see you decided to take their truck for yourselves.”

“Any objections?” asked Clown, who had already come to consider the truck a part of the family.”

“No, not at all. But you should cover up the Devils’ emblems somehow. Or better yet, paint over them. The Devils are hated here, and you might get shot at without any kind of prelude. Actually, wait. How about I accompany you east? Not far, just to the main fork in the road. I do wish I could go further, but no, I have too much to do. And not enough gas. However, that’s as far as you need me. From that point on, there’s a good road that runs right towards the border. You won’t get lost.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Clown wondered, suspicious.

“It just sounds interesting. I’ll be able to tell the story, how I showed you the way on this stretch of road. At the same time, you’ll prove to me that you are indeed going east, not just hunting our Devils.”

“Sounds like someone has trust issues.”

“This is the Continent, buddy.”

“There’s something fishy here,” Cheater interrupted. “If you really do have the Devils on the run—where did this convoy come from? Three vehicles in excellent conditions, with Devil markings all over them. No attempts to disguise or hide them. It looks more like they’re the ones in charge here, not some persecuted minority.”

“This convoy’s a special case,” Beetle replied gloomily. “The Devils tried to gain a foothold here not a month back. They started to seize power over our region. Oh, there had been clashes before that, but none of them were very serious. Some local fools made a pact with them. They had a fortress inside a stable here, and so the Devils took it over. Built it up for nearly a month. It was a good outpost, well positioned, hard to conquer. Now, when the power shift began, everyone who could went in there and dug in. Many did so successfully. While our people were getting their act together, these Devils set up a strong defense in that very fortress and even started raiding nearby clusters. So we besieged them. For several days, the two sides shot at each other, until they decided to negotiate. No one wanted a prolonged game of Scorched Earth. Lots of random, stupid deaths. So we agreed that we would let them flee in peace. And we did give them a head start. But we told them to move in one direction only. Some of them followed instructions, but others set up a cunning and treacherous maneuver, which slammed right into our flank. Many of us died or were crippled, but we fought back hard. Both sides dispersed. It was a bad business. Our side was, of course, enraged by this betrayal, so now we hunt them with zeal. This is tough country to hide in. No big forests here like you’ll find to the north or the west—everything is out in the open. They didn’t get away in time.”

“These ones did,” Clown noted. “When we first saw them, their vehicles looked like they had just rolled off the assembly line.”

“This is a group that followed instructions,” Beetle specified. “And pretty much the strongest of those. Our fellows are probably still arguing now about what to do with them. They seem honest enough—but they allowed their comrades’ betrayal. Bad business, bad business. So I followed them. I have a score to settle with the Devils, truce or no truce. I wanted to deal with these ones personally. I planned to catch up with them a little farther down the road, in a more convenient location for me, but you beat me to it.”

“We weren’t looking for this kind of confrontation. And this one gave us nothing but trouble. We had to swap out our antiaircraft gun for these machine guns . Which one do you think is better? The cannons, obviously.”

The Janitor approached. “Do you have an antiaircraft gun for sale? Or maybe for trade? We could give you this one, with some extra spores to make up the difference, in exchange for a working one.”

Beetle shook his head. “Sorry, guys, but I’m no merchant. I don’t do that sort of thing. If you’re not in a hurry, though, I bet we can work something out.”

“We’re in a hurry,” Cheater insisted.

The tank man shrugged. “Then no. I’m sorry. Everyone wants antiaircraft guns, and they’re a rare item. As you know, they’re the best weapon against manmincers and young elites. Plus, fitting shells are pretty easy to find in these clusters, and they’re relatively easy to double, and not too expensive to boot. But back to our main question. Shall we go?”

At these words, the Beetle turned around and stared down the road, peering intently into the distance.

March turned, as well—then took a spyglass out of his pocket, looked through it, and grinned. “Well this is just a regular holiday. The System’s back to its old jokes. Seems this chatterbox is looking for a good respawn.”

“You know that biker?” Beetle asked.

“Of course I do. He’s the lamest of the local losers, and he keeps getting unlucky enough to run straight into us. Cheater, Glock is heading straight towards us. Riding a beauty of a motorcycle. He looks happy. Truly happy. As though he’s unaware he has picked the wrong road. So will you let him go, or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll let him go,” Cheater replied as he reached for his rifle, “but not far.”

“That’s what I thought,” March nodded. He turned to Beetle. “My friend here likes to play ‘catch the bullet’ with this one. Once he’s done, we’ll continue east. If you would still like to show us the way, let’s discuss how we can show you our gratitude.”

Chapter 17

Life Nine. Abandoned Station

Whether it was Beetle having significantly embellished the scale of the conflict between his locals and the Devils, or the party was simply lucky this time, no more Devils were encountered. The road was dead. Perhaps there were people traveling it, but they made no haste to show themselves.

The party’s convoy looked strong enough, and that alone could be a mighty deterrent. Cheater had heard a story once of four tanks driving across half a region—no one dared to stop them. Even the guards at impassable checkpoints cleared the barriers and stood aside. In the end, it turned out that the tanks had no teeth. They had no shells or guided rounds for the main guns, and no ammo for the machine guns. Even their smoke screen systems were empty. The guys driving them had been incredibly lucky to run into a section of a cluster that no one had cleared yet: a bumpered, dead-end stretch of railroad track, with a train carrying interesting cargo. They had looted the most valuable cargo, but for some reason they were unable to sell it locally. So they pretended to be a wealthy, powerful party, and crossed half the region like they were a force out of Hell itself.

It worked. No one wants to attack a tank platoon moving so confidently. It seemed like the vehicles were ready to fight and competently crewed.

Now, Cheater’s party convoy was led by a modern tank and no one bothered them. They drove a good sixty miles before the lead vehicle began to slow its speed. March had not been stingy with his “gratitude,” and had persuaded Beetle to escort them a little further than originally offered. The security was worth the money.

The convoy stopped in front of a checkpoint. On one side of the road was a booth made of massive concrete blocks, and on the other, a camouflaged pillbox nudging its way up out of the ground. Barbed wire fences, a warning sign reading “Minefield!” and bulky anti-tank hedgehogs completed the obstacle course, which had to be navigated slowly. The whole installation had an excellent view of the surrounding country. All of the trees had been cleared; sneaking in unnoticed would have been a feat.

The party jumped out of the convoy, taking advantage of March’s permission for them to stretch their legs. March himself met Beetle outside of his tank. Cheater hurried to catch up, so that he could listen in.

“Is this the place?” March was asking.

Beetle pointed at the fortifications along the road. “This is the Last Station. That’s what we call it. Can you guess why?”

“Because it’s the last.”

“See, I knew you were smart. My admiration for you and Cheater is justified. There are no stations further east. Our patrols only occasionally head that way, to see what the ghouls are up to. They wander the country densely, trampling down whole fields. No matter how many of them you kill, they keep coming. Bad country.”

“I don’t see anyone here in the station,” Cheater remarked.

“That’s because no one stays here,” Beetle informed them. “As I said, it’s bad country beyond. We don’t even send scouting parties out there these days. So no one wants to man this post. You saw for yourself how we encountered absolutely no one on the road. What people are left are fleeing. They smell trouble. I know you want to continue on, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Wait two weeks for the horde to pass. That’s what hordes do—migrate. Or better, go up north and negotiate with the trade caravans to take you across. Your group is rich, and for that matter famous—you might even get passage for free.”

That made Nut go tense. “I didn’t sign up for a trip up north.”

“Don’t worry, no one’s going north,” March assuaged him. “Thank you, Beetle—but we are going straight ahead.”

“Psychos,” the tankman grinned. “I’m your biggest fan, as you know, but if you go ahead, I’m afraid the best I can wish you is a quick and painless death.”

* * *

Contrary to Cheater’s expectations, the convoy did not move out immediately after the tank had turned about face and sped back west.

March was in low spirits. They had spent too much time on unforeseen circumstances. The light was waning, and they weren’t yet halfway there. If Beetle was right, there were hordes of ghouls ahead. It was best to encounter them in the light of day, not at night.

So they would wait until morning. Fortunately, this location was both well defended and abandoned.

They settled in the main building, if indeed you could call it a building—it was constructed of stacked heavy concrete blocks, without a drop of mortar. The builders had filled the cracks between blocks with polyurethane foam, but carelessly. Gusts of wind stripped whole pieces of it away. At least the roof was decent. It was made of two layers of steel sheets sandwiching an inner core of foam. Without such precautions, the sun would have baked everything inside.

They spent hours preparing for the night. A signal line was run around the perimeter, and night and thermal vision cameras were placed on the roof. They established sleeping shifts, in such a way that one of the more reliable party members was always awake.

Only then did they eat. All of their supplies were intact. In addition, the previous occupants of the station had left a good amount of food and drink behind. No, it did not seem to be abandoned in a hurry, but many good items had been discarded. Perhaps they had planned to return soon and had not expected squatters.

After all, ghouls weren’t known for being looters, and all the locals were fleeing west.

By the time they were ready, the sun had still not set. They had stopped unnecessarily early. The campaign was just beginning, and these players were tough. Yes, players could be driven to exhaustion, both psychological and physical, but that took some doing. None of them were tired yet, and so dinner flowed into an extended tea party.

Not that everyone drank tea—some filled their mugs with stronger beverages. And not only March. Even the most disciplined of them acquiesced to a can or two. Such tiny amounts of alcohol had essentially no effect on players’ accelerated metabolisms. Even the consumption of light drugs was not taboo here. Not that the consumption of hard drugs was, either. In a world where players regularly lost their lives, a healthy lifestyle was not particularly respected. The players began to casually discuss the events of the day, which descended into merciless criticism of Goblin and Nut’s open cowardice. Somehow, the two accused managed to divert the discussion to new topics. Thanks to their efforts, the party shifted to telling life stories.

The first to speak was Nut, of course.

His tale was a mix of worn-out and dubious anecdotes, of course. “Me and the guys once cleaned out this nest of coppers. You know, a police station. It wasn’t on the map, so we thought we had a gem. Well, it turned out it was only a one-time thing. Didn’t come in on the next respawn.”

“That’s pretty common,” Fatso nodded. “So what did you find there? Four crates of confiscated heroin?”

“Just cause it’s my story doesn’t mean there’s heroin. So the armory was empty. Every last bullet had been taken. We concluded the coppers themselves had done it, as they turned mad and fled. Probably rampaged. But there was also an evidence locker. There, we found guns and ammo. Not too much good, mostly crap. Some good grass in there, too. Each of us rolled up a joint. We just wanted to check out what the stuff was—it didn’t look normal. It was dried and in some kind of oil and shit. So we sat and smoked—and then, we couldn’t get up. It felt like our legs were gone. Can you imagine? Then, we heard the door in the hallway creak open, and...”

“And you started smoking faster so that you could die from the high,” Fatso interrupted. “But what we’re missing from the story is where the girl comes in. There’s always a girl in your stories.”

“A girl? What the hell are you talking about? No, everything was fine. No one died. It was just a dog pushing open the door. Small, shaggy, and covered in fleas. We had no idea how she had escaped getting eaten. But that grass started taking us places, man. Every sound, every pant of that dog, every tick of the battery clock on the wall, pulsed through our bodies. So this one kid got majorly fucked up over that door creaking.”

“And he became a girl?” Fatso pushed.

“No. He stayed a guy. In fact, then, the high hit him so hard that he relaxed. Man, that grass was the shit. So when I was back in the stable, I was working this girl. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. Greedy bitch. I left her there. You should have seen her titties, man, if you put three guys in a room they still would not have enough hands to cup the things.”

“Oh, so you were seeing a cow,” Fatso chuckled.

“Will you cut it out?” Nut protested. “No, she was a decent girl. Fine, to hell with you, I can tell that story didn’t take. How about this one, I know you’ll like it. So me and the boys are sitting around drinking some wood alcohol...”

“Just cut right to the tits, no need for the stuff in between,” Fatso interrupted.

“No, I want to hear about the wood alcohol,” Clown perked up.

“Wood alcohol? What about the women, Clown? You ever seen a naked woman before?” Fatso grunted.

“I’ve seen more women than Nut has stories,” Clown grinned.

“No way,” Nut shot him down. “The whole time we were in Rainbow, you didn’t visit the girls once. You were just working on your precious trucks.”

“Who said we were talking about Rainbow? No, this was far, far away. In the extreme south. The southern regions of the Continent. One day, this jolly bugger down there decided to throw a parade. Not just any parade—a boob parade. Seriously, that’s what he called it. Now, the whole region knew who this man was. People got excited, and some even came across from neighboring regions. I went to see, too. After all, I had seen everything in this world—except a boob parade.”

“How many were there?” the Janitor asked.

“I didn’t count. Maybe a thousand or two. That’s counting heads, not hooters. So, multiply that by two. Oh, plus one of the girls had three.”

“You’re so full of crap,” Nut shook his head.

“Fine, I’m exaggerating a bit. But it’s a true story. I remember that stable very well. One night some guys jumped me in an alley and knocked me out, pumped my veins full of some kind of crap, and sold me to the cultists.”

“As a sacrifice?” March asked.

“No. I’m handsome and all, but not really the sacrificial type. They were recruiting. Some of the recruits were bribed to join, while others were shanghaied. So these cultists brought me up to their big statue. It’s this idol with a golden head, rays of holiness radiating out of it in all directions. At night, the rays all light up with some kind of disco ball effect. The whole thing looks like a scarecrow for angels. The cultists told me that the System gave it to them. They were a cheery bunch. All smiles. So they pushed their usual proselytism on me, saying that my life before then had not been my own, that I had been dead in my soul, blind and deaf, all that. Now, they promised, I would live as a true human, in a place of love and joy. I laughed like a madman. They slowly realized that my laughter was not out of joy. So they asked why I was laughing. I pointed at the statue and insisted that the System had not given it to anyone. The System has no sense of humor. It does not joke. And this was clearly a joke. They asked me to clarify ‘the joke.’ I told them that the statue was no god—it was Lenin!”

“Lenin? Who’s that?” Gangrene asked.

“A historical figure. Communist dictator,” Clown replied condescendingly. “His real name was Ulyanov. A hundred years ago, he was the chief communist in Russia, a huge country back on Earth. One of the most important people of his time. Maybe the most important. Monuments of him were erected in every corner of the Soviet Union. I doubt anyone else has had so many statues of him. Thousands and thousands of them. I bet Buddha is jealous. So these statues are common in the south, where clusters often come in from Russia. They’re more common than the museum tanks we all know and love.”

“So these morons were worshipping a communist statue?” Fatso chuckled.

“Yeah. They had altered his head a bit, hung a Roman toga over him, and added the ‘rays of holiness.’ I guess that was enough for some fools. But not for me. I remember what I see, and I had seen Lenin statues. No matter how you alter him and dress him up, I’ll still recognize him. I laughed that they were praying to an idol, when the person depicted disdained religion. He burned priests in barrels of tar, for crying out loud.”

“No he didn’t,” Fatso objected. “That’s just a fairy tale.”

“How do you know? You don’t even remember your life from before.”

“But I remember that,” Fatso insisted.

“There’s no way. Lenin died long before you were born. The KGB didn’t even exist yet. So you didn’t see him, didn’t meet him, didn’t hear him. How the hell do you know anything about what really happened then? Maybe he made those priests into meatballs. Who are you to say he didn’t?”

Fatso tapped his head. “I have memory the same as you. And more brains. So quit your games.”

“Fine, whatever,” Clown agreed, “but I’m sure you agree that the man and his movement were opposed to religion.”

“Of course,” Fatso admitted. “They disapproved of it. But they didn’t burn priests in barrels of oil. It was a hard time, of course—but not that hard.”

“So what did the cult do?” Goblin asked.

“The fanatics wouldn’t starve me to death,” Clown sighed. “They were offended that I blew the whistle on their Lenin, but they still gave me food. No good religion will let a man die of hunger, you know. But they gave me no water. Dying of thirst is something I very much do not recommend. Better to die of hunger, even though that takes longer. Not much longer, since we players require a lot of food. It’s a bearable death, by comparison. Dying of thirst is like being tormented in the fires of hell. I remember getting so sick that...”

“Forget it,” March said.

“I will as long as you tell a story,” Clown grinned. “Everyone wants to hear something from you.”

“My story is plain and boring. Once, when I was just as naive and dumb as most of you, I decided to cross the border. Just like we are crossing it now. I was with a small party, with two trucks and two pickups. It seemed like the perfect convoy. Not big enough to attract too much attention, but strong enough to beat back any hindrances along the way. I wasn’t one of the leaders—just the operator of one of the machinegun nests. Before we made it halfway, we all died. The priest was unable to help. He was a good priest who worked quickly, raising many of us along the way. This time, though, he failed to raise us in time. That’s it. That’s the story.”

“You’re right,” Clown remarked, “not a very good story. We want details.”

“I want a colder beer. But no, we can’t all get what we want.”

“Come on, give it a try. Who killed you? How? Why? And where was this?”

“In Paradise.”

“Paradise?” Clown nearly leaped to his feet. “Up north, you mean? You’ve been there?”

“I’ve been nearly everywhere...”

“So why did you leave the north? People down here dream of making it up there. They say that’s the only coastal area where noobs don’t spawn. Even veterans who are changing regions don’t end up there. But they say it’s quiet. No major conflicts. Named ‘Paradise’ appropriately. Why didn’t you settle in there?”

“The cold is enough to make you howl in pain. Even beer freezes as it slips down your throat.”

“So why did you tell us this story at all?” Fatso asked.

March took a leisurely sip of his beer. “Because that party talked a lot, too. We do not need talk. We need action. Back then, we blabbed about everything, late into the night. No, we must sleep. I don’t care if you don’t want to. We need it. Who knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after? Perhaps, after tonight, we won’t get a moment’s sleep until the very end. So go on, get your sleep reserves built up, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * *

Cheater woke up to a heartbreaking scream. Someone was shouting frantically, and very close to his ear. It was Nut, overcome by absolute terror. He had only heard that scream before from someone who had lost everything, and had just realized it.

Cheater leaped up, instinctively drawing his pistol and then trying to figure out what was actually going on.

Nut was what was going on. The sapper was lying on his sleeping bag and screaming, staring up at the ceiling with a deranged look on his face. Everyone else had woken up by now, of course, and was staring wearily at the source of the noise.

Unable to take it any longer, the Janitor moved closer to the scream generator and slapped it lightly in the face. “Lightly” from his perspective. For Nut, it was like getting hit with a shovel. His head slammed to the side so hard that it nearly detached from his body. The scream died down, and the glimmer of consciousness came into his eyes.

“Why are you screaming?” the quasi boomed.

“I dreamed that Lenin ate all my food,” Nut replied distinctly.

“It happens. But whatever you smoked before bed yesterday, don’t smoke that again.”

Fatso appeared in the doorway, weapon ready. “What’s with the screams?”

“Nut took a few too many before bed. Everything’s fine,” Clown replied for all of them.

“A few too many? Don’t you know where we are? The ghouls are coming this way now. They were roaming by, but now that they’ve heard that siren go off, they’ve changed course.”

March peeked out through the windows to evaluate the brightening dusk. “Well, since we’re all awake, let’s say it’s time to start the day. We’ll kill these ghouls, grab some breakfast, and drive out.”

“You misunderstood what I meant by ‘ghouls,’ Fatso said, worried.

“Well, then what did you mean?”

“There aren’t just a few of them. There are many. Hundreds. Thousands. For some reason, they’re all heading directly this way, which is bad. At least we slept well, right, Nut?”

Chapter 18

Life Nine. A Quick Escape

Mechanics were rightly valued. In a world where brand new vehicles could be easily found for free, such a profession might seem doomed to extinction. But only a player who had never needed to escape a horde of infecteds would think so.

All three vehicles started instantaneously, despite the damage, repairs, and alterations they had sustained, and despite the drivers’ nerves. Of course they were nervous. Thousands of infecteds were rumbling in a great chorus of the undead, accompanied by the cymbal crashes of one barrier after another disintegrating under their weight, and the timpani hits of mines exploding underneath them, ripping off their limbs and pummeling them with shrapnel. A lone shot rang out—someone had been unable to resist taking it on the run. But firing bullets and explosives into the horde was nothing but waste, like hurling snowballs at a tidal wave.

A tidal wave of infected monsters. An avalanche of ghouls, undeterred by any obstacle save tripping over themselves. The wall of beasts swept away all three barbed wire fences without even slowing down. Those who got stuck were simply walked over by the ghouls behind them, as the unfortunate vanguard had its bones crushed under its own horde’s weight.

It was this density of the crowd that saved the party. Before attacking the outpost, the infecteds had needed to cross a narrow, steep ravine. They had surged out over the edge, plummeting down to their deaths. Every member of the horde was heading for their target, ignoring everything in their path. So they bumped into each other, tripped, were trampled, and fell until eventually those behind could essentially walk across. Thankfully, no stronger ghouls were among the vanguard—they would have easily caught up with the party and delayed them, allowing the main force to close the gap.

The cars did not even move for the road—there wasn’t time. They moved along the grass, gradually closing with the highway. The pickup was behind the rest, and Fatso started nervously nudging the vehicle to the right, intending to pass the trucks. The incoming wall of the dead in the rearview mirror obviously made him nervous.

This maneuver made it difficult to aim, but Cheater did not see the point in unloading his machinegun into the approaching beasts, anyway. Even if the front rows perished and fell, it would only win them a couple of seconds, at best.

He found himself praying to the System that they would get away. And looking around for breakaways, faster infecteds that had to be killed before they caught the convoy.

At the same time, he assessed the general situation.

From atop the pickup, he saw nothing good. Everything was bad, as far as the eye could see.

The road the outpost station occupied stretched from west to east. Everything north of that road was covered in a thick spread of ghouls. Tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands.

If someone counted and concluded there were more than a million, he’d believe them.

The station was overwhelmed with a continuous mass of them, but further down, there were gaps between the subgroups within the horde. Empty spaces between each mass. They were eerily even, like pieces ordered on a chessboard, except that each piece was a large group. Only occasionally was a “square” occupied by just an individual. The bulk of them were moving west at a moderate speed. Only the very edge of the superflock had turned south. Those who had heard Nut’s screams.

Of course, they may have been attracted by something else. The move could have just been coincidence, or they could have sensed their prey some other way. Some advanced infecteds had abilities similar to those of the sensors. They could detect a hiding person from hundreds of yards away—or perhaps miles.

Cheater was not about to speculate. Now, they all could see and hear the convoy. The trucks were tall, and easy to spot from a distance. Quickly breaking formation, the whole left flank of the horde was high-tailing it for the road.

Cheater glanced east, and he could see the rear of the horde. For once, he was thankful for the lack of vegetation and the resulting level of visibility.

He estimated how long the grumbling horde stretched. Using the rangefinder while riding a madly accelerating pickup truck was a hopeless idea. He guessed two miles, maybe three.

They had to clear that distance before the whole horde managed to sweep over the road. If all of the monsters turned south right now, their cause would be lost. But the rearguard did not yet know what was happening up ahead. They continued moving west. As long as they did not react too soon, they had a chance.

Their only salvation would be pure speed. Shooting would not help. Only once things had become utterly hopeless would he touch the trigger. The rattle of a large-caliber machinegun would alert them all, and the road would be overrun.

They could try to drive off the pavement, but the ground alongside didn’t look so good. Off the road, they would be slowed to a speed that was unable to outpace the infecteds. In addition, patches of reeds could be seen up ahead. As the land stretched south from the road, they grew more frequent, eventually congealing into a wall of reeds. That meant they could expect a swamp or a lake there. Impassable for a vehicle. Once off road, they would be chased to the edge and would have to abandon the convoy in an attempt to escape, by running or by swimming.

One beast broke away from the crowd and mounted the roof of the outpost. It crouched on its backwards-facing legs, resembling a hideous grasshopper. For one second, it stared after the retreating convoy—and then jumped so far that Cheater thought it might have wings. Though it weighed a ton, or perhaps more, it flew at least sixty feet through the air. Once it touched the pavement, it continued moving just as quickly, running towards them.

Cheater realized it would catch them. The trucks could only accelerate slowly. The beast would reach them before they managed to hit 50 miles per hour.

“Cheater, stop that thing!” March barked through the walkie-talkie.

He did not explain how. But he obviously did not intend that Cheater use a machinegun or a grenade launcher to do so. They had to avoid making too much noise and exciting the horde up ahead.

Cheater had other means, including one ability particularly well suited to such nimble creatures: Tranquility.

Sadly, it was still in cooldown.

Before he knew what he was doing, Cheater had his bow up and drawn. He spent a generous portion of mana on Explosive Round and fired at the ghoul’s knee.

The creature was nimble. It dodged the incoming threat, which was not moving anywhere near bullet speed. But it did not dodge quickly enough, nor towards the correct side. When it moved one leg out of the way of the incoming arrow, it positioned the other directly in its path. The arrow slammed into the monster’s lower thigh.

Thanks to the many modifications on the bow and the power of the Explosive Round ability, the devastation was greater than any bullet could cause. The arrow drove deep into the creature’s flesh, shrugging off the armor in its way.

For an infected, it should be only a minor wound, but it either hit a vital tendon or stunned the beast. It had clearly not expected such pain from such a weak-looking weapon. Shuddering, it tripped over its own paws and tumbled to the asphalt, rolling after the truck like a deflated soccer ball.

It recovered and leaped up within a couple of seconds, but it was no longer a threat. Now that it had lost speed and time, it would not catch the convoy. Soon, the trucks would be moving fast enough that only dire elites would be able to compete. Even the most dangerous border clusters never held more than one or two dire elites. Cheater hoped they would not be members of this horde.

For several seconds, he watched the “grasshopper,” but as he had expected, the beast fell further and further behind, no matter how hard it tried.

He turned to see what was happening ahead of them. To the right, everything looked great. Reeds out to the horizon. Peace and quiet. Straight ahead was also good: just the flat ribbon of the highway, along which all three vehicles were now cruising down.

On the left—well, that was hard to describe. Masses of creatures would soon bury the road. In the distance, however, they were not yet moving—just beginning to turn their heads as they noticed the noise of the engines. A detailed study of the stages of ghoul reactions could be drawn up here, from ignorance in the far distance, to curiosity, to excitement, to jogging, to frenzied rushing.

“Beautiful, Cheater! Everyone: do not fire. Repeat, hold your fire!” the radio ordered.

No one shot. Only in the most extreme circumstances would any of them pull the trigger. Any shots would collapse this study of all stages of infected encounters into one mass study of the final stage. The road in front of them would disappear under a crowd of zombies, and crowd surfers beware.

Cheater gritted his teeth as he held the turret and watched the moving sea. According to his estimation, they would clear the horde at the very last moment. That estimate had no room for contingencies. The slightest delay would result in dozens of ghouls hanging onto the sides of their convoy.

The wave would wash over them. He had never before seen near this many infecteds in one place. All of the ghouls he had ever seen, in all his lives combined, would not total a quarter of this horde.

Another nimbler creature jumped to the edge of the road, well ahead of its competitors. It would not reach the trucks, but it might easily reach the pickup.

“Cheater, can you get that one?” the radio asked.

The question implied some alternative, but there likely wasn’t one. He radioed back, “Yes.”

This one took two arrows. The dodge this creature made successfully avoided the first arrow, causing Cheater to involuntarily admire its gracefulness.

The second arrow took it down when it was just a dozen yards away. Right in the knee. The ghoul skidded along the road, grumbling furiously as it stared at the escaping convoy.

Two elites jumped out in unison to intercept the convoy. They were only junior elites, but they were fast enough to cause serious trouble. One was moving so confidently that he could even reach the front truck, if unimpeded.

“Cheater, take the second one!” the radio ordered.

For some reason, he did not ask who would take down the first, nor how. Yet despite the urgency of the situation, his curiosity got the better of him, and he tried to keep an eye on it.

Because of that, he missed his first two shots. Only an Accuracy of 1000 or more would have been able to compensate for his rubbernecking. He pulled his focus together and fired another couple of arrows.

Now he turned and managed to see the first beast rushing in circles, swinging its paws furiously, as if beating back a swarm of hornets.

Some ability that he was unfamiliar with was obviously at work. The beast seemed to be blind. The effect did not last long. It returned to its senses and tried in vain to close the gap between it and the convoy.

He turned to look ahead of them and nearly cursed under his breath. All of the ghouls were rushing excitedly now. A gigantic flock, charging the road. The convoy still had a half mile to go. Beyond that, there were some stray infecteds, but nothing like the nightmare here.

“Open fire!” March commanded. “Hit the fastest, and the farthest ones down.”

It was clear what “the farthest ones down” meant. He meant the ghouls at the very end; those who might have time to reach the road.

The quad machine guns fired up immediately. Janitor fired short bursts to eliminate the fastest ghouls, or those he considered the most dangerous. A bit later, the machine gun from the truck behind joined the song. Cheater waited for five more seconds. He saw no worthy targets nearby, and shooting into the distance, even with his Accuracy, would be a waste of ammo.

At last he squeezed both triggers, hammering the leading ghouls with volley after volley.

By the time his entire belt was out, he was actually pointing the gun straight to the left, directly towards the side of the road, firing nearly point blank into ghouls dashing for the pickup. Some were even stretching their paws out greedily, reaching for the side. These and other parts of their bodies flew apart, as Janitor managed to take out the large targets, and Cheater’s 12.7 mm rounds did a number on the smaller ones.

One ghoul reached the vehicle. He seized the rear corner of the truck bed. Both machine guns ran out at that moment—it was time to reload.

Cheater drew his sword and severed the creature’s fingers, cutting a deep notch in the truck as he did so. The infected collapsed to the pavement.

It was the last of the fast ones.

Cheater grabbed a box of ammo, looking around as he did so.

He swore aloud.

They weren’t out of hot water yet.

Chapter 19

Life Nine. Land of the Ghouls

Every player knew the word “horde.” Even those with no memory of earthly history and limited vocabulary, and thus no knowledge of the word’s Mongol origins.

The System did not block such historical memories—it’s just that some players never had them to begin with.

The “horde” here referred to a Continental phenomenon. A chthonic assembly, terrifying the land without mercy. It came, not from the underworld, but from the border regions, and it moved along an arbitrary path, destroying everything in its way. Even large coalitions of powerful stables were not always able to stop a horde. A region could be utterly ruined by such an incursion. So yes, everyone knew about hordes.

Including Cheater. General knowledge is not enough, though—you also must be aware of specifics.

At first, the horde had seemed like a compact mass, steamrolling across the cluster, but that had been a false impression.

Yes, the horde had a core of densely concentrated ghouls. But beyond that, many tentacles stretched out from the center for miles. They covered more area than the center itself.

There were still no ghouls visible on the right side of the road, but the left had plenty. They were no longer an impenetrable mob of creatures tripping over one another, but decently sized subflocks could be seen. The territory covered by such flocks—including the gaps between them—was orders of magnitude larger than the “core.” These beasts, like their more centralized accomplices, rushed involuntarily at the convoy and its gunfire.

Cheater fired, reloaded, fired, reloaded. Every now and then he grabbed his sword and cleared out a beast or two clinging to the side. Sometimes, he had to use his pistol. Away he chopped and shot, covered in blackened blood from head to toe, changing out glowing machinegun barrels, and shouting out radio responses to March’s senseless orders.

He didn’t need orders to know that shooting and chopping were top priority.

An elite nearing the pickup truck managed to hit Cheater with a skill that turned his orientation upside down for a few seconds. That, at last, brought Cheater down. A biter grabbed the side and pulled himself up with one paw, swinging with the other.

That would have been the end of Cheater’s ninth life, but his Reaction held out enough to cause him to recoil. The blow still took half his ear and tore into his scalp.

As the beast climbed further forward towards him, the pickup bounced as it ran over another ghoul. The biter lost its balance and leaned precariously out over the side, offering Cheater an opportunity to attack. Choppa cut into the beast’s groin upwards, driving up along the spine, going in to the hilt in the end. Without taking the time to pull the weapon out of the monstrous wound he had inflicted, Cheater shot a couple more ghouls off the side with his pistol. Rising, he determinedly sprayed the closest with the machine guns. That took the last of his ammo, but it was enough.

They were past this group.

He bent down and struggled to free the blade, then pressed his shoulder against the limp ghoul body, of which only the head and its snapping jaws showed signs of life. He rolled it over the side, onto the road.

Only then did he realize that he should have cut into the biter’s sporesac. The System did not usually award experience for defeated monsters unless they were actually killed.

Whatever. The party had managed to kill at least 150 decently strong beasts by now. What difference would one ghoul make?

The pickup surged again, and then began to bounce savagely. It was the end of the smooth pavement. Here, the road looked like it had endured more than a few bombing runs.

Battered and bruised as he was, Cheater nearly toppled as he hurried to reload the guns and swap out the barrels, as well as reload his pistol. Every bullet mattered—the next flock was already making its way onto the road.

Janitor’s machineguns started firing just as Cheater was changing the last barrel.

He was just in time, but this challenge was greater than the last. Ghouls hit the cars from the front and both sides, simultaneously. They had been prepared for the encounter.

Cheater managed to deal with one side, then hurried to spin to the other, taking out the most nimble first so that they could not enter the trucks.

Then, he had no more time to help the trucks.

His own pickup was under attack.

Thankfully they lagged behind. That was, on the one hand, the most dangerous position in the convoy for situations like these. Sometimes, though, it worked to one’s advantage.

The trucks had scattered all of the beasts who might have attacked them from the front. One attack vector of three was cleared. Cheater remembered seeing fewer ghouls on the right, so he swiveled the guns to the left and let loose with both. He strafed with continuous fire, mowing down a whole wall of the grumbling monsters. Those who did reach the truck were wounded. They conveniently offered him a shot at their heads as they grabbed hold of the vehicle, allowing him to blow them apart at close range.

He turned, grabbing his sword as he did. Three beasts were already pulling themselves up, so this move was just in time. Two of these were not strong enough to get on board immediately, and so were still dragging their feet on the pavement. The third was quicker. He was stretching out his paw as he soared over the side.

Cheater doubted he was offering him a handshake, and severed the arm. Then, taking advantage of the creature’s temporary confusion, he took off its head. It was only a trampler. Not too bad. The carcass collapsed, flooding the truck bed with inhumanly hot blood. Cheater spat and cut the paws off the other two, then returned to the guns.

He had to help the trucks—the second one was in big trouble. A manmincer, or something close to it, had climbed up and was busy dismantling the machinegun nest. The shooter had apparently managed to escape, diving deeper into the truck. That would not be a long-lasting escape unless something was done.

Knocking the beast out with a well-aimed burst, Cheater then took out another who was holding to the underside of the truck. The rest of the attacking monsters had already been dealt with by the truck’s occupants. But the vehicle had been damaged. He didn’t know if its machinegun was intact, but its rear ramp door had been torn off, and the steel sheets lining its sides bulged outward.

A couple more invasions like that, and the truck would burst at the seams.

Janitor’s machineguns fired up again. He was not sparing any ammunition this time, which was alarming—something strong must be in his sights. Cheater had suspected as much. Up above, a bridge crossed over the road. Numerous infecteds stood atop it, waiting. They had been in a similar situation in the last crossing—and they had lost a pickup, along with its inhabitants. Yet this situation had some unique characteristics. The road was a bad one, but at least it was straight, so the vehicles were still moving at speed. Also, there were no threats from either side, for now. And there were comparatively fewer ghouls up top. They could handle them. Most had already been mowed down. A couple more volleys.

His positive thoughts jinxed them, as a veteran ghoul mounted the bridge, come to rain on the party.

His breath caught in his chest. An involuntary respect once again rose there.

It bore a reptilian appearance, with the mass of a world-record elephant. Its mouth was so wide that it could bite a person in half longways. That mouth was lined with double rows of dagger teeth.

Cheater saw Janitor’s colorful tracers ricocheting off the fiend’s armor. The volleys made the monster stumble, but nothing more. It mostly ignored the bullets.

He had the impression that he could see the monster’s teeth because it was, in its own way, laughing at them.

If only they had managed to save the antiaircraft gun.

He glanced back. A mob continued to pursue the convoy. The most nimble creatures were little more than a hundred yards behind. They were tired by now, but still easily able to overtake the most athletic of players.

Cheater bent down to collect his rifle and yelled into the radio: “Fatso, stop!”

“What?”

“Stop the car. Stop!” he shouted so loudly that his comrade could hear even without the radio, despite Janitor’s guns.

He had no time to explain, no time to convince. Only time to act. He had to act immediately. The slightest hesitation would see the trucks reaching the bridge and the monster leaping down on them. They would be dead themselves if the pickup failed to accelerate quickly enough after stopping.

But they had to stop. Even Cheater’s incredible Accuracy would not let him take a precise shot from a truck bouncing madly across so many potholes.

His talent was not omnipotent.

Cheater raised the rifle to his shoulder and generously loaded the next bullet with mana, activating Explosive Round. He didn’t have much Spirit of Styx left, but this was not the time to be stingy.

The creature was so confident in the face of the quad machineguns that it did not heed the stupid loner with the rifle.

It should have heeded. And it should not have opened its mouth. The Continent was a dangerous place. You never knew what might fly into your mouth, if you left it open.

The bullet was fired by a marksman taking aim in near-ideal conditions. Even at a hundred yards out, Cheater could see the deformation developing in the ghoul’s left inner cheekbone as the bullet ripped its way into the beast’s skull. The elite staggered and fell back, reluctantly, pushed over by Janitor’s continuing bursts.

Before it had even hit the ground, the quasi had switched back to the small fries, hurrying to take them out before they could start jumping off the bridge.

“Go! Go!” Cheater shouted, quickly spinning the turret.

The pickup started moving. It was not quick enough. The infecteds in pursuit had nearly caught up, and the truck simply didn’t have the required acceleration.

Cheater had to shoot straight behind them, for the first time all day. He shot exclusively at their legs, since he only needed to slow them down, and this was the best way to conserve ammo.

He had to conserve ammo. If his belts ran out now, the situation would move from bad to worst.

Only by the time they had reached the bridge and swerved to avoid the massive carcass twitching on the pavement, was the truck able to gain enough speed. Even with its punctured skull and mashed brains, the monster was still not dead. It was not writhing in final agony either, trying to get back up instead. Thankfully, its motor skills were disabled.

Cheater grabbed his rifle again and fired twice. Thankfully, the pavement was smooth—and they were right on top of the beast. The first shot was a miss. The second was right in the sporesac. The beast’s sac had been pointing upward, exposing its single vulnerable point. Cheater might have managed with the pistol.

The ghoul’s legs began to twitch. It was done.

Under different circumstances, they would slow down and gut the loot from the sporesac. The monster was quite similar to the one Cheater had seen killed on the day he received his Accuracy boost. Several pearls had dropped, as he recalled, of all colors except gold and white.

There was no time to collect trophies now. All they could do was watch the monster die.

He had finished it off just for the experience points.

“Cheater, what the hell was that?” Janitor’s voice came over the radio.

“A miracle,” Cheater smiled tiredly.

“I hope you can do that again, if we need it. I’d have a better chance spitting at the beast than I would shooting it with these toy guns.”

“Well, I wouldn’t count on it,” Cheater replied cautiously.

Yes, Explosive Round could defeat even monsters like that dire elite. Especially when he was shooting a rifle loaded with the most expensive rounds money could buy. The mods helped a lot, too. But it had taken a massive amount of mana. He had dumped hundreds of mana points into that shot. Otherwise, the beast’s armor would have held, even the armor in the roof of its mouth.

A new horde of beasts appeared ahead. They were rushing for the road. The most nimble would reach it before the trucks were past. Beyond, a forest stretched out to run along the right side of the road. That was the safe side, but the reduced visibility was still unsettling. The convoy could easily find itself in a bind like it had during the first crossing. When they had lost the pickup.

Cheater genuinely hoped this convoy would not lose a pickup. The vehicle he rode in was the only one.

He glanced down, counting the bloodstained boxes of ammo. Only six belts remained. How had he used so many bullets already?

Six wouldn’t last long. There were more up ahead in the truck, but how could he get them at these speeds? He would have to come up with something. Those behind were still coming, and the convoy was still having trouble gaining speed.

How many were on their tail? Cheater estimated about three hundred that he could see. But he could not tell how many might be behind those. The terrain was not as open as it had been near the outpost station. Perhaps the whole horde was after them. After all, it had at some point turned towards them as a unit, and pursued them as one wave. It was like a telepathic signal, received by every member monster, had ripped through the mob.

But whether there were three hundred after them or a million, it didn’t matter.

If they stopped, they would die.

Two hundred yards remained between them and the beasts up ahead. Time to get back to work.

Cheater aimed the guns.

* * *

They got through. It was hard, but they did it. Pushing their vehicles to the maximum and sparing no ammunition, they pierced, knife-like, the tentacle stretching out from the horde. They did need to slow down in one or two places, but no losses were sustained.

Cheater had teetered on the brink of death several times. Pickup machine gunner was a dangerous profession. Often the craziest people in town were hired for the job. As a pickup gunner, you had no cover.

The hardest part of the final stretch was when two ghouls had climbed aboard at once. One had been crippled, but not badly. As Cheater cut into the faster one with his knife, his injured partner sunk its fangs into the player’s legs and grabbed the man with his claw, causing him to scream in agony. Somehow, he had pushed through the pain and finished the first target, only then taking out the greedy grumbler munching on his limbs.

He was grateful for the short respite that followed, allowing him to bandage his wounds. As far as wounds went, he had seen worse, but they were bleeding profusely. Every drop of blood that was lost reduced his Strength, little be little.

He needed every drop he could save.

Then, at some point, he had to catch additional ammo boxes they were throwing his way out of the moving truck. Thankfully, the damage sustained by the truck’s body actually made this easier. The infecteds had at last torn the side of the second truck down to the bare frame. The resulting gap was large enough to drive a motorcycle through.

They had tossed the boxes through that gap—nearly breaking Cheater’s leg once as the truck hit an untimely bounce just as they released.

Neither Goblin nor Gangrene were Olympic throwers, and their tosses were essentially random.

And so they kept going, losing blood, drop by drop, and leaving a trail of debris behind. When it was finally over, none of them knew it. The pursuit lagged behind them, more and more. Then, the quickest ghoul in the pack disappeared from sight. In all directions ahead of them, they saw no more ghouls. The horde had, on its way through this cluster, collected or devoured all of the ghouls within. None seemed to be left behind.

When he realized they had broken through, Cheater sat, right on the floor of the truck bed. Right in the blood and spent brass sloshing around on it.

He was exhausted, and needed a breather.

The convoy continued to rush down the pothole-ridden road at perilous speeds. Each of the drivers yearned to put as much distance between them and the horde as possible. After all, the mere fact that the ghouls could no longer be seen did not mean that they had abandoned the chase. Infecteds were renowned for their persistence. Sometimes, they could follow their prey for days.

Cheater shook his head. The sun had reached its zenith. How was it, then, that the convoy was heading towards it?

He frowned and checked his map. They were moving south. Why? Their intention was east. Had March selected this direction in order to avoid the horde?

Probably. But maybe not. March’s plans were unpredictable, inscrutable.

That was not the worst of what Cheater saw on the map.

The leader was either lost, or was leading them straight into a trap.

He doubted the latter. Despite March’s opaque nature, Cheater still trusted him.

They were a team.

Chapter 20

Life Nine. The Mountain Pass

The regions Cheater had managed to visit thus far did not differ much from one another in geography. Farmland, often hilly, with rocky outcrops and some significant peaks. The elevation differences between neighboring clusters were usually insignificant—only noticeable when crossing over, and that only sometimes.

Cheater had heard from numerous players that the Continent was similar in its other regions. Not that they were all alike—but that most were similar.

Cheater had, however, seen exceptions, places where the landscape changed dramatically from this cluster to the next. He had seen a cluster filled with greenery bordering a sandy desert, and a lowland cluster cut off by a mountainous one. But these violations of nature had only occurred in the clusters around regional borders.

Which was where they were now located. Breaking out of the horde had taken more than half a day. The convoy had surged east, drawing very close to the border. Here, the rules which applied to the central areas of each region broke down. The beautiful highway was suddenly transformed into a terrifying dirt road that even tanks would fear to tread. The potholes could not only shake the spirits out of the crew—they might also harm the vehicles.

So when they finally stopped, Clown rushed from one vehicle to the next, moaning in despair. The wild driving and the ghoul attacks both had caused immense damage. The lead truck had driven the final half mile with a flat rear tire. It had six wheels in all, so such movement was possible, but not at all desirable.

“Are we going to fix these up?” Fatso asked, worried. “The ghouls aren’t that far away. They’ll catch up fast.”

“We’ll do what March says,” Clown muttered, “but we won’t make it far on these rides in this shape. These roads are worse than shit.”

Cheater was listening with half an ear as he surveyed their surroundings. They were remarkable. The narrow road was sandwiched between two forests, as often happened. The forests, however, were thin and unusual. Spruce trees were not often found in this region, but in this cluster, they were the only tree that existed. They were tall and gloomy, and their roots were covered with damp undergrowth which would be very difficult to chop through. It looked like two or three years back a storm had knocked down most of the largest trees, and no one had done any cleanup work.

Mountains poked out from behind various points in the forest. Real mountains, not just tall hills. Whole ridges and cliff faces. Even from this distance, he groaned at the prospect of climbing them. Was there any way through at all? The further he looked, the more sheer the cliffs, and the higher the peaks. Snow whitened the tops of some. He paused at the beauty of it, having never seen it here before.

Cheater walked decisively towards March. The man was engaged in his usual pastime, with a serene look on his face as he leaned up against the truck. This wasn’t his first beer for the stop.

Cheater spoke to him in a voice low enough to keep the others from hearing. “I don’t know if you’re aware, March, but we’ve driven right into a dead end. There’s no pass through these mountains.”

March nodded. “I know. It’s all good.”

“All good? What do you mean? We’re stuck in a long gorge. At one end of it, there’s a horde chasing us. At the other, there’s a dead end. You call that ‘all good’?”

“It’s fine,” March insisted. “Hey, can I ask you for something?”

“What do you need?”

“Consume a golden pearl now, please. I know you’re saving them for someone else, but this will help everyone out.”

“Explain.”

“You’ll gain an attachment to me. No, it’s not romantic. Just a connection, a bond, that will be very useful for our goals. We will need to split up soon. We’ll leave you behind up ahead, at the end of this gorge. You’ll need to hold the beasts as long as you can. Once you die, you’ll come back in the same region I’m in. By then, we should be across the border.”

Cheater strongly disliked this proposal. He didn’t even know where to begin with his criticism of it, so he asked the first question that came to mind.

It was something to blurt out to keep the conversation going, while his mind prepared more critical items. “What makes you think I can hold the beasts back?”

“You’ve got experience.”

“What?”

“You once told me how you fought off a whole pack of ghouls in a tunnel. And you won. In fact, you made a killing on them. This is the same situation.”

“I don’t see a tunnel.”

“We’ll find you one,” March grinned, winking conspiratorially. “This is a dead end for you, yes, but for those who can see deeper, there is a good way to go on. This road leads to a train station. The railroad that runs through it leads to tunnels, both ways. You should really invest in higher quality maps, and verify them. That’s what I do. We’ll try to take the convoy along—if we fail, we’ll abandon it. It won’t help us much on the other side, after all. The border is not passable by vehicle. We’ll use the tunnel because, as you can see, the alternatives are not good. We’re no mountain climbers. The beasts will ascend more quickly than us, and catch us.”

“They’ll catch you in the tunnel, too.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” March shook his head. “The tunnel runs for ten miles, nearly directly east. One mile out of it, the black lands begin. Beasts don’t go in there—or at least most don’t. Those that do lose most of their sense abilities, so they’ll lose our trail. Meaning we’ll lose the horde. That is, of course, our main goal right now.”

“Why not leave the Janitor?” Cheater asked. “He is extremely capable, and obviously more experienced than I am.”

“The Janitor will help me cross the border. With him, our odds are good. With you, not so much.”

Cheater grinned. “Well, as least we’ve established your estimate of my value.”

“The point isn’t your value. It’s you,” March said thoughtfully, and returned to his can.

Cheater had known the man for months now, and so he guessed there was more the leader was not saying. He didn’t beat around the bush. “You know something, but you’re hesitant to say it.”

“I just don’t know how to put it. Don’t you see that if you died here, it would make everyone’s lives easier?”

“Not my life,” Cheater objected. “There are some, uh, difficulties I’d rather not mention.”

“Now is the time for mentioning,” March jabbed back.

Cheater shook his head and sighed in frustration. “Mentioning? Me? Compared to you, I’m the most open man in the world.”

“Then why are you holding something back now?”

“I am,” Cheater admitted. “But if you’re looking for frankness, stop keeping all of these secrets. Especially concerning me.”

“Fine, you’ve convinced me. Here’s what’s wrong. One of my abilities has a bonus property. It’s not very useful, even though I’ve advanced it pretty far. It has developed over time and acquired various properties, all of which help identify certain types of surveillance. Do you know about the Mark?”

“I think I’ve run into that,” Cheater said, remembering Kitty and the beast in the village barn.

“Yesterday, I started itching all over,” March continued. “That happens to me with a mark around. But when it’s on me, it feels quantitatively and qualitatively different. No, it’s not on me. But there is a mark, nearby, and of that I am certain. It’s on one of you. I don’t know when it appeared. Perhaps I didn’t notice it right away. When we interrogated that burned pleb near the bridge, that was when I felt it. He might have had a Mark ability, and might have used it on Nut. So I used my own detection ability on Nut to attempt to figure things out. It doesn’t give you a result immediately—you have to wait several hours, and the cooldown is significant. But it can usually be relied on. I was wrong. It wasn’t on Nut. That sapper may be fucking mad, but he’s clean.”

“You think the Mark is on me.”

“Who else? Which one of us has made the most evil and powerful acquaintances? Romeo hates you, and the Devils do, too. Both of them have the resources and cleverness necessary to track you down. Remember how strong that grab team in that town was?”

“I do,” Cheater said gloomily.

“It might have been the NPCs, though, too—we just don’t know,” March said. “But the Mark does not function on a global level. It doesn’t reach far. Whoever marked you was nearby. Anyone with these capabilities could be punching through the horde, on their way after us. We proved that such transversal is possible. Plus, they’re locals. They might know how to get by without dealing with the horde at all. Locals have their ways of figuring things out. They might have information which no money could buy us. Secret passages. Tunnels. Bypasses. We have two ways to get rid of the Mark: wait for it to expire, or kill the bearer. I don’t know how long we need to wait for expiration. So if you’re going to die, at least it should be on the best terms we can arrange. Even if our vehicles hold out, we’ll be abandoning all of the heavy weapons soon anyway. We have plenty of ammo, which you can convert to plenty of experience points. I could go on for an hour here, Cheat, but what would be the point? This is the best option. I’ve gone over it ten times, in detail, considering every possible angle. This plan has the most pros, and the fewest cons. I can’t get over the idea of a mighty party on our tail. After you, they would send no one but the strongest they have. This bothers you, too. I can see it. There’s no reason for me to be tricking you here, to send you to your death for some other malicious purpose. I want you to cross that border with me. However, I’m realistic. Any capable team that encountered us in the state we’re in would finish us. So, the one for the many, however it goes. It’s the only way.”

“You’re not even sure that the Mark is on me,” Cheater complained.

March sighed. “You’re so stubborn. Fine, look, if you don’t want to do it, we’ll come up with something else. We’ve got some explosives, so we could try to bring down the tunnel. I brought this sapper along, so let him do his work. That won’t clear the Mark, but it will help us escape the beasts. What comes next, we’ll see.”

“The ghouls become more anxious when trapped in pursuit,” Cheater said. They’ll be brash and stubborn enough to climb those mountains. The more advanced ones might even clear the blockage from the tunnel.”

“Perhaps. Unless Nut just made up his entire resume, he’ll be able to orchestrate a collapse that will take them days to clear. But as I said, this is not the best option. It sounds like you’re starting to persuade yourself that staying is the best move.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I just do. I know you pretty well by now. This is an excellent way to get some experience. Plus, imagine how many weapons and how much ammo you’ll have when we leave you with all of it.”

Cheater opened his mouth to curse March’s plan into oblivion, but stopped short—the System intervened.

Note: Your high Perception has triggered a moment of Intuition. There is a chance that March’s proposal is better for you and your squad than even March believes.

Cheater had no idea what to make of the notification. He did remember that Intuition could inform a player about things he would be unlikely to realize otherwise.

The System liked to veil its intentions in such hints, too: There was probably something of great weight behind those words. The lack of detailed information was no justification to dismiss the message.

So far, the System had not tricked him. All of its interventions had worked out for good, in one way or another.

He would listen.

Cheater’s next statement was utterly different than its original draft. “So what if they don’t kill me? How will I find you?”

“So you’ll do it?” March perked up.

“I don’t know. First let’s see this tunnel. I haven’t seen any reason to leave anyone behind yet. Blowing it up sounds like a better way, but we won’t know until we see it. But just in case—where will I find you? If there are black clusters between us, the chat won’t work. I’ve already gone on a long, meandering search for you twice now, and I’d rather not repeat it.”

“Go due east. You and I are heading the same way. I don’t see any point in setting a meeting place at this time. I haven’t been in the next region yet, and the maps might be wrong. It doesn’t look like there is much black on the other side of this ridge, so if you need to, try communicating via chat from several different locations.”

“Got it.”

“Off to see the tunnel, then?”

“Sure. But there is one condition here. Despite my desire to consume a golden pearl, I cannot.”

“Why not? Your mouth looks to be in working order. It even opens on command when you have the need to codify your stupidity into sound waves.”

“No,” Cheater clenched his jaw.

“So stubborn,” March shook his head. “Look, you have three of these pearls, Cheat. I gave you the third pearl because I knew you needed it for your girlfriend. One is enough for her. First, you’ll bind to me—then, when you get across, you’ll bind to her. So there are enough. She won’t get as many lives from just taking one, but what she will get is far better than any normal person, who never even sees a golden pearl.”

“I can take care of her lives without that,” Cheater said firmly.

March blinked. “Interesting. How?”

“I have acquired some ways. But we can discuss that later. Right now, our chat is about the pearl. You want me to take a golden one now, and I’m telling you I can’t. You think I’m just being stubborn, but I’m not. I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t have taken one already—and the minimum interval is 36 hours.”

“You took one already?” March’s eyes widened.

“Yes. Yesterday, as we were leaving Rainbow. Not a golden one—a red one.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Getting another ability is always tempting.”

“But with your ability count so far, surely the chances are low.”

“They’re still chances.”

“Fine, fine. Then our plans must change. There are some System rules you just can’t break.”

“Still, let’s get a look at this dead end,” Cheater added. “Maybe we’ll come up with something better. But what you said about the potential experience really does have me thinking.”

He didn’t mention the Intuition. March wouldn’t understand. The System was respected by players, but it was on the whole considered a hostile force. Recklessly trusting its suggestions would come across to most players as foolishness.

Cheater did not want to seem more foolish. Plus, he didn’t have the time or inclination to give a long explanation. The horde was not far, and was drawing ever closer.

* * *

March’s plan had seemed unnecessary to Cheater. He would not even have considered it if the System had not given him that message. If a legendarily powerful party was really following them, why hadn’t it shown up by now? And how had someone marked him in Rainbow, where abilities did not function? Were there exceptions to that ban?

He had no idea.

The brakes, though, had been apparently disabled by an ability. Perhaps the Mark was from the same mysterious opponent. The realization that Nut wasn’t the target of the Mark didn’t mean anything special. After all, their pursuers would find it sufficient to just follow any of the party, not necessarily their target. In addition, March might be mistaken. Abilities could be countered, and no one could be trusted.

Not even his own cognition.

So, speculations of some pursuing party aside, a clear threat remained: the infecteds. Why leave someone behind strapped to a machinegun when the party had explosives? Plus, there was a locomotive and a bunch of oil tanker cars sitting next to the station, available for the taking. They could even try to push those down the tracks into the mouth of the tunnel.

On second glance at the map, he saw there was no need. Not far from the entrance, an entire abandoned train of similar tanker cars could be seen. Neither that train nor the one at the station had an engine in sight. The digi operators must have decoupled the engines and driven them off somewhere.

Nut confidently announced that he could cause a solid cave-in in the tunnel. Not only that, he could also rig the explosion to generate a long-lasting fire, keeping any pursuers away from the rubble.

The only hitch in the plan was that three of the party’s members were in poor physical condition: Button, Goblin, and Nipple. Their Endurance and Speed were poor, and some had been long abusing substances that were harmful to their health. Even strong players could not consume piles of narcotics forever, and these three were hardly strong.

As far as deficiency for long hikes went, Gangrene and Nut were not far behind that trio.

The forced march through the tunnel and to the black clusters was unlikely to be accomplished in record time. And as impassible as the mountains seemed, high-level infecteds could clear them easily. They would simply leap and climb up one slope and back down the other.

Cheater doubted, however, that they would deduce this immediately. Even March’s talk about the infecteds using the tunnels for migration—and therefore knowing well their entry and exit points—had not convinced him they would be able to climb over and pounce down at the precisely right spot. Apparently not even all the local players knew about these tunnels, according to his maps, which he had purchased in an honest deal. What were the chances that the creatures in pursuit were the very ones who had mastered the area? And the ones smart enough to calculate their climbing route?

Most beasts were not very intelligent.

All of these thoughts wandered about Cheater’s head, but then a simpler idea struck him.

March had something planned. He was trying to milk this crossing for maximum rewards, as he had done the last. Such was his way. But did Cheater really want that? He had one main objective, and only one: to cross to the other side as quickly as possible. A crossing that was right in the middle of a mature horde? That was something else. Too much lost time for a reward he wasn’t aiming for. Kitty might move on from the coordinates she had given, too. All of his attempts to contact her had failed—apparently the girl had given up on any hope of him possessing the requisite distance communication skills. She no longer sent messages as before, and indeed did not concern herself with the leadership game. After repeatedly sending words, whole sentence, over and receiving no response, she had thrown up her hands. Now she had no idea her efforts had succeeded.

For too long, she had been calling out into the void.

Why not just die, then, and use his money and character advantages to cross on his own? He didn’t need this team. They were only holding him back. Even if he respawned far from the border, that would be of no great concern. He had already traversed the region, and he could do so again quickly. Of course he had many enemies here, yes, but they had other problems now. He doubted the Devils were actively pursuing him. They couldn’t possibly have the resources. He would catch a bullet if he bumped into them, but all he had to do not to was avoid them.

That would be easier on his own than with a group.

Especially since he was independent and had an effective disguise skill.

The System had hinted that Cheater should follow March’s suggestion. For some reason that March himself did not even know.

During the time of political upheaval, Cheater would quietly cross the border using an established route for doing so. Or even brashly make a deal with a trade caravan. March’s statement that Kitty was waiting due east were not quite true—according to the map, she was east-southeast. He could use the southern caravan path. He was a strong, independent player. Yes, he would make it. It required a detour, but not a large one. As long as Kitty did not, in the interim, wander far from the place. He would still find her if she did—it would just lose more time.

Cheater was tired of losing time.

Yes. Alone is the way to go. The party had fought with other players twice during the first day, and had nearly all perished in the second fight. Now, someone was quite possibly pursuing them. And all of the strongest infecteds for dozens of miles again were in a mob on their tail. Infecteds were persistent enough that they could spend a week in such a pursuit. Some would even push through black clusters in search of their quarry.

The stronger the infected, the less it feared the black.

Cheater did not mind dying here. It might even play out to his benefit. He had ways to detain the creatures for the maximum possible duration. The tunnel had an abandoned train within it, and they had no time to clear it, so they would leave all of the vehicles, heavy weapons, and ammo behind. It would be a good fight. That would give his companions additional hope of successfully crossing.

He would help his team, and he would gain a boatload of experience. None of the pursuers he had seen were weaker than a veteran raffler. Runners, despite their name, had fallen far, far behind. They could not endure long distances.

I want to be alone, Cheater was realizing more and more. He had never thought that March’s continual vagaries would put such a strain on him. The composition of the party was revolting. Cheater generally stayed out of people’s personal lives, but he had tried to talk some sense into Gangrene at one point. And Goblin. The former was always bullying Nipple. He did not hesitate to slap her, even in full view of everyone else. The healer was his lapdog. Goblin, for his part, always sang the same tune as Gangrene did.

They were an unsettling trio. Cheater hated being around them. Yes, a healer was a good addition to the party, but this one wasn’t worth it.

Plus, what did he care about one death? He had a decent number of extra lives by now and an excellent array of skills that perfectly suited a loner.

Cheater did not spend much time thinking on these things. There wasn’t much time to spend. He confidently announced that he would be able to delay the pursuing beasts for a long time if they were stretched out, rather than in a group.

They should be stretched out, as some would be faster than others.

March surprised him then. He ordered Gangrene and Goblin to stay and provide cover.

They turned him down.

“To hell with that,” Gangrene snapped. “Staying means certain death, and we didn’t come here to die.”

“Everyone has a role to play.”

“We don’t owe you a damn thing. You stay behind, if you want. We’re going,” Gangrene insisted.

“We can handle things without you, but Nipple is coming with us.”

“I doubt she’ll want that.”

“She’s a big girl. She can decide for herself,” March replied.

“Nip, do you really want to go on without us?”

The girl shook her head hurriedly, staring up at her tormentor in horror. “See, old man? She’s with us. Do you really think you’re the first man we’ve run across looking to steal Nipple from us? Everyone tries to pull that. But Nipple and me, we have an iron bond. Even if you kill me, she stays with me. If you need a healer, I come along. Package deal. So look elsewhere for sacrifices. I didn’t come here to die. Tell your friends to die, if you need someone to die so badly.”

To Cheater’s surprise, March took this mockery calmly. As if he had expected it.

He turned to Cheater. “So you’ll be staying here alone.”

That was strange. Even with these three, March was up to something, but what?

As usual, he had no idea.

Chapter 21

Life Nine. A Fortress of One

Cheater had fought from a dead end before. March had reminded him of the story. That location had been underneath a large city, and the ghouls had rushed in one after the other, alone or in groups. It was their lack of unity that had allowed him to fight back, despite the massive numerical odds against him.

Also, he had been fortunate enough to find a combat vehicle at that dead end, left there by a group of players who had perished. It had a large-caliber machinegun with plenty of ammo, along with numerous other weapons. The resulting fight battered Cheater badly, but he won.

He watched his companions hurry into the tunnel, then turned around and shook his head. On one side of him, a sheer cliff of rock rose vertically into the air. On the other side, the same. They met here at an acute angle, and a railroad coming from the right entered the mouth of the tunnel. All of the creatures following the party would only have one vector of attack against it. It really was reminiscent of that old underpass.

That was good, from one point of view. He would be unable to hold off two directions of attack, but here, he had a chance.

In fact, his chances seemed better than last time.

All of the vehicles had to be left behind. The tunnel was narrow, with only enough room for one track, and that was occupied by an abandoned train. A motorcycle could squeeze alongside it, but not a truck.

March had predicted this, so only Clown was truly upset. He had spent a lot of time with those vehicles and was reluctant to abandon them.

Almost on the run, Nut rigged several oil tanks and other flammables to blow and explained to Cheater how to detonate them. The tanks by the station and in the tunnel were all so rigged. The most important thing for Cheater to remember was to blow them up in the right order.

At that, the preparations were done, and the party left without saying goodbye. Only Clown looked back, longing in his eyes. He suspected that he was missing out on a fascinating show, and rightly so. However, Clown’s skills would be needed up ahead, beyond the black clusters, where they would need to look for new transportation. They would be unable to arm their new vehicles fully, but they did collect the pair of machineguns from the pickup. They were not difficult to adapt to use by hand.

Cheater was left with the Devils’ truck they had taken in place of their mobile artillery setup, along with the pickup truck, though without machineguns. That was not to say that it contained no weapons at all. It was now much more dangerous than before: it held the Nold turret. That weapon only had eight shots left, but given their power, and the ease of aiming at a single, narrow attack vector, it was a lethal item in his arsenal.

Cheater’s quad machinegun had been switched to single-barrel mode. This was not to save on ammo. He had plenty of ammo, nearly three thousand rounds. But he would have to maintain the weapon by hand, and reloading was a difficult and extended process. If he was physically attacked when he was out of ammo, he would have a bad time.

The infecteds had not arrived yet, and Cheater hastily laced the land with the mines the party had parted with. There were not many of them, but anything would help.

He looked at his watch. Eighty minutes had passed. No ghouls. March had feared that the first ones would arrive less than an hour after they reached the tunnel.

Something had delayed them. Had they gotten confused trying to follow the party’s trail across the pavement? Had they stopped the chase? No, that wasn’t like them.

He would wait for them at least another hour or two.

Of course, the infecteds were not the only problem. Those who placed a Mark on Cheater might also show up, if the Mark was indeed on him.

If it was not a figment or March’s imagination—or machinations.

* * *

By Cheater’s count, the ghouls appeared during the eighty-second minute. When he saw them, he understood why they had been delayed.

It was troublesome news.

They had lost the trail. Or rather, they had lost speed along the trail, as they struggled to follow it. As a result, those with the best sense of smell had moved slowly, noses to the pavement—while all the younger infecteds danced around them impatiently.

Cheater wiped his brow. The danger of the pursuing beasts had been greatly exaggerated.

There was no way this group could take a party of players.

It wasn’t even worth the sweat he was breaking. They were a rabble, with a clear lack of beasts wielding search abilities. Those in charge were barely more advanced than pet dogs, as far as their noses went. At their pace, they would not only have never caught up—they risked losing the trail at any moment. The party could have left them here in front of a collapsed tunnel and none of them would have ever thought to cross the mountains.

Once the beasts reached the rails, they became excited. The smell of humans was stronger there, since Cheater and his party had trampled around, inspecting the cars—and from before, when the digis had worked here, day in and day out. But these were spaghetti tracks, leading no single way in particular, so they tried to puzzle out a direction to follow. About two hundred yards away, now, Cheater watched them wander in circles, stumped. They did not notice him, even though he was so close. He had not even activated Chameleon, and stood out in the open, leaning up against the machinegun. Making no effort to hide.

This pitiful fuss lasted about a minute before one of the creatures, almost a manmincer, went alert and froze, on its tiptoes. It worked its nose like a rabbit’s, moving its head slowly. A fresh human scent had caught its attention.

Cheater was not so filthy yet as to attract them from acres away. At this distance and with the windless weather of the day, such detection required an amazing nose.

The beast turned towards the mouth of the tunnel. It was too far for him to see small details, but he thought he saw the ghoul’s eyes glitter.

The direction it should continue its search in had become clear.

Straight at Cheater it rushed.

That made him hesitate. What should he do? He had assumed the creatures would be dispersed in a long line. A chain, pulled by the link at the front, followed by groups at intervals. That would have prevented the ghouls from accumulating in large batches.

Yet due to the incompetence and thus sluggishness of the vanguard, too many infecteds had arrived at once. Nearly a hundred, by Cheater’s lowest estimate. About half of them were developed rafflers, about a quarter were tramplers of various sizes, and biters and manmincers made up the rest. That was unpleasant: developed creatures were not easy prey for his machineguns. Perhaps there were indeed more ghouls incoming, and he had woefully underestimated his adversary. There could be hundreds, or even thousands. Buildings and trains blocked his vision.

Should he hit this batch with the Nold turret? It didn’t have many rounds left, and he doubted the ghouls would keep formation as they rushed him.

Perhaps he could delay the start of the fight. Only one ghoul had smelled his position so far. That one wasn’t even sure—it was not grumbling to summon its fellows. Alone it moved towards the tunnel.

He could take it out quietly. Take cover behind the vehicle and attack with Choppa, point blank.

That would buy him some time. Time to think, and time to devise a better idea.

As he thought, though, the decision was made for him. The infected was gaining confidence as it approached the vehicles in a straight line—and stepped on one of the mines.

The explosion was not too strong and did not even take off the beast’s leg. It was clearly in pain, and furious. Toppling, it uttered a frightened grumble. It probably assumed it had been shot by some projectile—or, it smelled Cheater for sure now.

Whatever the situation, the rest of the infecteds turned towards the blast and started moving, grumbling back in response. Even though the manmincer’s rumble had not been loud, somehow all the rest had heard it from afar.

Choppa was out of the plan.

Time to shoot.

Cheater plopped down into the metal seat and pressed down on the trigger pedal.

He had never fired this kind of weapon before. In addition, only one of the four machine guns was active, which affected his aim. He soon corrected, and his Accuracy came through, especially over the short distance. With the first burst, Cheater took off a raffler’s head and knocked down a trampler.

Good start.

This finally gave away his exact position.

Now they moved in haste, inspired by the clear sight of their prey. Cheater hit one burst after another, trying to keep the movement of the machine gun to a minimum. Unlike the antiaircraft gun, this turret did not swivel quickly. Every move had to be precise and purposeful.

More mines exploded, but they had little effect on the crowd. Some fell, and others were crippled, but most rushed on unhindered.

Cheater realized he would not have enough time: Not even if all four guns were active would he have time to kill half of them. There were too many targets, some of which could take a volley of 14.5mm rounds, and they were spread too widely. Many would die, but the rest would overrun him. Perhaps he could take a Shard of Invulnerability along with Helping Hand, as he had in the Devils’ fortress. But using such an invaluable trump card just to kill a pack of infecteds containing zero elites seemed like a waste. If he did not die in the resulting conflict, the cooldown was long, and he might need a shard as he moved towards the border. It was there that the most trouble was to be expected.

Perhaps it was the wrong decision, but it was made. Two hundred yards was next to nothing for an infected. The only reason Cheater had not resorted to his sword yet was that the infecteds had taken some time to accelerate.

Now, they would be on him any second.

Time to change tactics.

Cheater cleared the back of his nest’s platform in a single leap and cat-landed in the pickup bed. He steadied himself by grabbing the side—right in the place he had cut into with Choppa. The sheared metal tore into his palm, but he ignored the wound.

The Nold weapon was ready. He mentally lauded his foresight in activating its circuit ahead of time. Clown had insisted on waiting to activate it, since idle time was not good for the turret. But Cheater knew that once the hour of need arrived, he would not have a spare minute to wait for the circuit to warm up.

Not that he really knew how it worked, but he had some assumptions.

He aimed at the fastest target: a powerful manmincer. Now that he saw it run, he considered that it might be a young elite. It had overtaken all of the others by a dozen yards, even though it had not started in the lead.

He braced for the deafening effect and fired, then scanned a bit to the left before the impact even hit. As he fired the second shot, a wave of hot air assaulted his face. He felt as though he were bathing in a foundry furnace. Yet the heat was not fatal.

This thing is incredible. It was barely larger than an automatic grenade launcher, but it had the power of a rocket with thermobaric warhead. Heat covered the land for a hundred yards around.

He shot a third time, and a fourth. Then, finally, a fifth. Five bank-breaking shells had intersected the narrow gorge with a wall of fire, and dozens of ghouls perished within it. Not a single one leaped out from the inferno. Cheater was eighty yards from the nearest impact, but still he was completely deaf. His eardrums screamed silently at him. The effect on his body, too, nearly sent him to the floor. If he were a rookie player, he would have gone head over heels, but his Strength could handle heavy weapon recoil and blasts of heat.

The flames disintegrated into isolated fires as quickly as they had surged into being. In the area visible amidst the remaining plumes of orange and smoke, Cheater saw infecteds. The back rows of the crowd had survived, but the shockwave had caused them to stop. Some tossed and turned on the ground, but others had simply frozen, watching the barrier of fire with agitation on their faces.

Cheater selected the two densest collections of creatures and fired at them with consecutive shots. Instead of unleashing its projectiles, the Nold weapon crackled with electricity.

Cheater instinctively jerked his hands away, looked down, and saw the installation was cracked, smoking, and reeking of burnt components and chemicals. He had no idea what had happened, other than that the weapon was broken.

And that it could not be fixed, or at least not quickly.

Mentally cursing Clown’s work, Cheater jumped deftly across to the truck and took up the machinegun once again.

The flames were just dying out into smoke signals, and the creatures started to spread out and run once more. There were far fewer of them than half a minute ago—but still too many.

He glanced left. Shit. New infecteds were now running in from behind the station and the stopped trains. Cheater had not known that more infecteds were so close. The reinforcements had no end in sight.

So much for his theory of manageable waves. He would have to face all the waves at once. Many hundreds and hundreds, and packed tightly enough that a good hit with one of his bullets would wound several at once.

Drastic times.

Cheater calculated his odds in a split second, and hoped he was wrong. His plan seemed a terrible long shot. The only alternative was to use a Shard of Invulnerability. He wanted to save that. Its cooldown was 100 hours, and nothing could reduce that. Using one now would nuke that option for more than four days.

Cheater ignored the battered ghouls who had survived the wave of fire and started firing on the newcomers. He aimed with his right eye and watched the others with his left, abandoning the gun once they were within three seconds of him.

Leaping back from his seat, he raised a grenade launcher. Having shot a huge ghoul in the face, he seized his rifle and used it to drive a bullet into the eye of the closest jumper. Infecteds of that beast’s level could be killed by a hit anywhere with the mods he had on his rifle, but Cheater preferred to maximize his chances of success.

Five more bullets took out three more infecteds, and then he ran towards the tunnel, swapping in a new magazine on the way. He felt the breath of another beast at the back of his head, and realized that a split-second later, he would also feel its fangs. Turning, he fired into the open mouth, and then took out a few more close behind.

These infecteds were moronic. Even the more developed ones. Many had still not realized that their prey had abandoned the vehicle, and so they were wasting their time by climbing onto the machine gun platform and milling about. Once they heard the latest shots, they leaped down immediately, but it would take them some time to pick up speed.

Cheater made maximum use of the few moments this gained him, not to reload but to retrieve one of the two remotes Nut had given him.

Hoping desperately that he had the right one, he flicked up the safety cover, and pressed the button.

The explosion threw him forward into the earth. What a blast! The station ceased to exist. Everything was enveloped in fire and smoke. He thought, for a moment, that the height of the flames rivaled that of the mountains.

Cheater realized that the fuel tanks would make a good explosive, but he had never imagined such a blast might result.

What were those trains holding, pure nitroglycerin? Or is Nut really an amazing sapper? What was in those buckets he had poured into the tanks? What was in those sacks he had hung from the vehicles and train wagons? They had not been carrying many explosives, so Nut had clearly performed some kind of wizardly chemistry.

His focus on the impossible power of the explosion drained away. Now was not the time for pondering chemistry. The station had become a localized hell, and so reinforcements were not coming at any speed. Not all of those nearby had been blanketed by the fire, however. Only the rear rows had been fried, or had skulls and bones shattered by the shock wave. Yet even some of these would be coming for him.

Unable to reload his rifle in time, Cheater drew his pistol. It had been modified for maximal penetration, yet still the first two rounds went to waste. Only the third, dosed with Explosive Round mana, took out incoming manmincer’s skull. Even this did not kill the beast, but it rendered its legs useless, knocking it to an arm-only crawl.

He took out a few more with the last of his ammunition, and then groaned. Three infecteds, each at least three-quarters of a ton, jumped at him in sync, claws outstretched.

A ghoul group hug was imminent.

Cheater used two abilities in rapid succession: Helping Hand and Smile of Fortune. The first ability’s main property increased the duration of any positive effects cast on the player during its own timespan. The second was his most familiar ability by now.

His cheater’s luck.

Right now, however, it was not the main property of Smile of Fortune that he was after. Helping Hand had also gained an additional property thanks to his great victory in the Devils’ fortress.

It had seemed a property of limited usefulness, at first.

When activated, the character flashes with an unbearably bright light, and can also emit a powerful acoustic blast, which can blind and stun those nearby. This property can be disabled by the player (Talent Rank 30 bonus).

It was just what he needed now. The three monsters, still mid-flight, clutched their eyes and grunted in pain and confusion. Their encounter with Cheater did not go as they had planned. In other words, their prey was not eviscerated as if by six flying meat grinders. Instead, it was knocked back, as if by a battering ram.

Cheater was hurled onto his back, with a wide smile on his face.

He had not received a scratch, thanks to Smile of Fortune’s bonus property. Three seconds of total immunity. Yesterday, this same ability spared Cheater during the skirmish with the Devils, as he had been lying in the ditch and getting pummeled by large-caliber machinegun volleys.

Today, the effects were a bit different. His effective Willpower of 150 boosted the effect of Helping Hand by +900%. His base three seconds of immortality extended to half a minute.

That was nearly as effective as a free Shard of Invulnerability.

Rising to one knee, Cheater popped another magazine into his rifle and shot five of the beasts emerging from behind the vehicles. They had not been hit by the blinding flash, so they were the most dangerous.

He drew Choppa. It was not the best weapon against armored targets, but it could take down smaller beasts—and exposed sporesacs. Blinded as they were, his opponents were unable to evade him and cover their weakest points.

Mentally counting the seconds remaining, Cheater swept through the critters, mowing down the most serious. He would not be able to get them all in half a minute, so he would have to skip the weakest.

Not too long ago, he would never have dared to call a developed trampler “weak,” but things changed.

Some things changed a lot.

Cheater’s timing was a second or two off. He only realized this when the manmincer paralyzed from the waist down by his rifle swiped at his leg. Pain surged up his spine, and blood gushed from the limb.

His invulnerability was gone.

Furiously he finished the attacker, but then regained his composure in a moment.

Smile of Fortune no longer offered him its impenetrable defense, but his Luck was boosted to an astronomical 5705 for nearly four minutes.

He was unable to comprehend the might of a stat so high. How did all of the beasts within two miles of him not immediately perish from some act of misfortune?

Luck was not a sure thing. He kept up his guard. Continuing on his path, he rushed from one beast to another, slicing them into oblivion. Twice, he reloaded his rifle and dealt with more infecteds emerging from the gorge. They were neither wounded nor blinded, but they appeared only rarely, and without fellow beasts alongside them. Some were crippled. Either his Luck had caused that, or the fire had reached farther than he thought. In any case, these supplementary forces hardly bothered him, and they soon ran out.

The infecteds blinded by his ability now began to recover. Cheater dealt with them easily with Choppa, without spending any ammunition, so clearly the recovery was only partial. At one point, he even dropped his rifle to the ground. It hindered his movement, and speed was of the essence.

The final beasts put up a fight. Only the execution of the most dangerous ones early on saved him. One by one, they died, as Cheater dodged their fangs and claws. In comparison with Cheater, they were downright clumsy—stumbling around, running into each other, and failing to protect their sporesacs and other weak points.

The stratospheric Luck was wonderful for him, and terrible for his opponents.

One creature even realized it had no chance and attempted to sneak away quickly, so Cheater drew his pistol, loaded up some Explosive Rounds, and dealt with the would-be survivor.

No victory message appeared, but Cheater saw that the field was clear of threats, for now. However, he had needed to use two of his strongest abilities—and one of his strongest aces, blowing the rigged train station, was no longer up his sleeve. Once the reinforcing creatures there had dealt with their troubles, they would bring him his own.

There was no point to continue holding the line. He had greatly overestimated his odds against this flock. Although his level was high, without any abilities available, he would only manage to take a few more with him.

That was not his plan. It was March’s plan, but Cheater was not about to die, and he would not be able to delay them for much longer. Once they managed to encircle him or break through the inferno, he would be dead in minutes, at best. His victory in the city underpass had gone to his head. Without the enemy’s approaching being restricted to small waves, such tactics would not work here. These beasts were stronger, and better organized.

No matter how high his level, a well-placed claw or fang would be his end.

Gaining two extra minutes was not worth his life. Enough fun. Let’s move.

Should he really go empty-handed, though?

Cheater rushed for the vehicles. His eyes ran sadly over the boxes of ammo. They were invaluable, but there was no way he could drag them along.

He roughly yanked the Nold weapon from its power source and tore off the mount and scope Clown had rigged up. The turret was nearly intact. It did not weigh too much for him to bring.

As he ran back for the tunnel, he made a quick stop at the manmincer, the only beast who had managed to wound him. He hastily shredded its sporesac and dumped the contents into his bag.

This was not out of greed, really, but curiosity. The ghoul had died under the effect of Smile of Fortune. The System would have calculated its death with consideration for its killer’s colossal Luck. He wanted to get an idea of how much this could increase monster loot. By examining the contents and the monster’s level in the System logs, he could get a rough idea.

These seconds were for the sake of science. The curious part of his mind hinted to him that dozens of other bodies lay around with just as valuable contributions to make to his experiment. Each would only take a few seconds.

Thankfully, his inner wise man defeated his inner scientist. Cheater rushed on. He allowed himself to consume a red pea on the run. Smile of Fortune was just about to end, and he wanted to verify March’s repeated assurances that Luck did not affect his chance of receiving extra bonuses from consumables.

Two hundred yards into the tunnel, Cheater heard the echoing grumbling of ghouls in pursuit. He congratulated himself for suppressing his greed.

The station explosion had not delayed them for long. The fastest ghouls were already here. No longer did the infecteds have to consider their route carefully. There was only one tunnel on this side. After clearing the first few yards, they would have to skirt around the abandoned train. This would hardly hinder them.

Unless, of course, that train were to explode.

Cheater patted his vest pocket. The second detonator was inside, but he made no hurry to retrieve it. That first explosion had seared itself into his memory. It had terrified him. This one would likely be just as mighty. Nut was an incorrigibly good sapper.

Limitations and modesty were not aspects of his character in any sense.

He recalled Nut’s first story, during his interview. Events since had reinforced these impressions.

He had razed a five-star hotel to the ground just to get picturesque vengeance against a girl who was cheating on him. The man would not skimp on these flammable trains.

Cheater did not know much about explosives, but he knew that when the train blew, he had to be as far as possible. Ideally, he would not be inside the tunnel. It would become a massive gas chamber. The shockwave and flames would surge mightily forward. For miles. They would take him with them.

He had to run, and fast.

But the grumbling grew louder, it seemed. He imagined they would be uncomfortable in this dungeon and would not catch him quickly. Cheater was a player stronger than most. He had not invested much into his Speed, as it was not a primary stat for his build. It was at level 43, though, with a multiplier of 1.32x. Few players could catch him.

Yet the grumbling was really growing louder. And deeper. This was no raffler. It might be an elite—the kind of beast able to outrun a cheetah without getting short of breath.

Players with boosted stats were strong, but they were no Supermen. Cheater could not fly. His running speed matched that of Olympians in the old world, but it was slower than a developed infected’s. Cheater regretted agreeing to March’s terms on experience point allocation. A few extra points of Speed could have really helped him right now. And he could have used a Needle of Great Strength under the influence of Helping Hand. That would have increased the boost’s duration up to the maximum. He would be able to push himself much harder.

Maybe he should use that needle now. The duration would be shorter, but he needed a Speed boost immediately.

What’s that? Cheater’s Darkvision allowed him to see well in the tunnel. He had noticed quite a few service niches along the side, and had once passed a closed metal door. Now, he saw a vertical well with a metal ladder.

He stopped and looked up. The shaft led upward, and the hatch atop it was open, showing a circle of clear blue sky.

Would the detonator even work if he activated it from the surface? He doubted it. It didn’t look like it had that kind of power, and Cheater was already pretty far from the charges. If he failed to bring down the entrance, all of this would have been for nothing.

The infecteds could show up any minute, and those just behind him were clearly more powerful than rafflers and tramplers.

Regretfully, Cheater squeezed into a niche a bit further down from the ladder, stretched his hand out into the tunnel, and pressed the button.

Nothing.

He felt nothing at all.

He pressed it again. Nothing.

Cursing Nut under his breath, he began pressing it repeatedly, with the speed of a Morse code professional and the anger of a drug cartel bouncer now confined to a nursing home. His skin grew colder and colder. His heart sank deeper and deeper. The explosives refused to respond, and the monsters were approaching. Without heavy weapons, he could not last a minute. He would be trampled and torn to death at once.

Then, the floor of the tunnel not so much trembled as ruptured, and not as a single blast, but as a cascade of more and more powerful vibrations. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash illuminate the tunnel, and he collapsed into a ball, knees tightly pressed to his chest, eyes closed shut, and legs held with both hands.

Shock waves travelled much more quickly through solid surfaces than through air. With such powerful precursors, he could guess at the extent of the blast wave that was coming.

The vibration of the tunnel reached its strongest yet, and then the air smacked into his body from all directions at once, like a tribe of clubmen.

He was instantly knocked out.

Chapter 22

Life Nine. The Giant’s Step

If you were to ask Cheater how he managed to get out of that tunnel, he’d hardly manage an intelligible sentence or two. He remembered everything before the explosion perfectly well, but little after. Only a few indistinct impressions.

The mouth of the tunnel was not the only thing the explosion sealed. Cheater was unable to accurately estimate the total destruction, but some collapses had reached several miles into the tunnel. He cut his palms to ribbons trying to clear his way through piles of debris. At one time, a protruding piece of rebar nearly impaled his stomach. It had been so violently broken that its point was as sharp as a surgical knife. Thankfully, he only pressed against it hard enough to cut his clothes and skin.

The tunnel’s air supply was in bad shape too. The explosion had consumed miles of the oxygen. A month ago, Cheater would have suffocated. Now, though, he could recall that he had Underwater Breathing.

Although the nearest ladder well was blocked, the five minutes the perk gave him was enough to break through the three serious collapses that had mostly blocked the tunnel off. It was the last of these blockages that contained the rebar on which Cheater very nearly offed himself.

Breathing past the remaining rubble was now difficult, but possible. He coughed and sneezed and forced himself to push on without resting, clearing a couple of miles without seeing or hearing a thing out of the ordinary. His ears were badly stunned, and his eyes were flooded with tears. Fortunately, all of the pursuers had either been caught by the explosion or trapped behind insurmountable tunnel collapses. Even a weaker infected could take him in his current state.

Only when he exited the tunnel did he take a breather. For nearly five minutes, he lay on his back, sucking in air.

He had never realized how delicious ordinary air truly was. Flavored though it was with the smoke of the tunnel, it was delectable.

At last recovering its oxygen levels, his brain returned to reasonable thoughts. Cheater realized he had to leave this location, and fast. It was a miracle that no one had shown up, with a huge column of smoke billowing out of the tunnel exit, visible for miles around. Infecteds were very much drawn to such displays.

And other creatures, as well. Anything could be living here in the borderlands.

No matter how much his body protested, he forced himself up. Finding the Nold turret and his rifle next to him was surprising. He did not remember dragging them along. In his state, he might reasonably have been expected to discard his heavy load. Thankfully, he had not. His greedy crocodile brain had controlled his limbs, and it hated to part with valuables.

The railroad track turned sharply north from the tunnel, diving into a pine forest. There was no road south; the cliffs to the west turned that way. Due east, he saw black clusters a mile away. That was where March had planned to go.

Cheater assessed his condition and realized that a hike through the black lands was not something he was feeling up to. The explosion had stunned him badly, and he had been breathing in nasty plumes of smoke for System knows how long. Sometimes he would stagger, his head spinning, his legs turned to spore jelly. The extra strain of a dead cluster was not something his body needed now. He could see infecteds coming from that direction, too. Weak varieties only, but thirty or forty of them. A stronger one could show up and join the fight.

He tried to send a chat message, and was not surprised to receive no answer: His companions were far into the black lands by now. Perhaps they were even emerging from them. They had enjoyed a good head start and no serious health problems.

Cheater decided to move north and climb part of the ridge. It was only a gentle slope in that area, and he could easily ascend a couple of hundred vertical feet. That would give him a great view of the land. He would try to find a way around the black. Or, he could take a break for a couple of hours, recover his strength, and cross.

March was right about his maps. Cheater had not found anything useful covering these territories. Those he had were full of gray areas, and the places that did show lacked details.

A survey was essential.

Once he reached his destination height, he collapsed, making no effort to look around. Five minutes of rest on his back was just what he needed. He was out.

* * *

When he woke, Cheater realized it had not been five minutes. He remembered the sun shining brightly, piercing the billowing smoke with its rays. Now, it was hidden, and only illuminated the peaks of the mountains from behind. It had descended the ridge on the other side.

Cheater opened the interface to be sure that the System had given him a victory message. It had. Good. The beasts had lost the trail. Not that he should have let go like that.

This was the Continent. It could get you anywhere, at any time.

He rose and winced in pain. The rubble had shredded both of his palms, and while they were already recovering, they protested at the exercise. Even a wiggle of his fingers brought tears to his eyes.

Somehow he got his flask open. A couple of sips of ambrosia refilled his brain with thought and life with color.

He had survived, and he had not even lost his weapons.

Perhaps they’d give him a medal or two.

Nothing on the Continent was more fragile than a player’s life. After another sip, he surveyed the area for threats.

The first place to look was behind him, towards the mountains. He had fought off the vanguard of a massive horde there, beyond the ridge. The horde could not be held for long by one man, but he had figured things out.

Cheater was not, however, gazing west for nostalgia’s sake. He remembered March’s concerns. The beasts could continue their pursuit not only underground but also by climbing over.

Now, the underground route was blocked. The powerful explosion Nut had arranged in about five minutes made it easier now to drill a new tunnel than to clear out the old one. Yet nothing was stopping the ghouls from crossing the ridge—nothing, that is, except the ridge itself. From both sides, yes, the ridge looked impressive, but not impassable. The infecteds would have to consume large quantities of their strength to make the climb. In addition, many could become lost among the chaos of the rocky peaks and passes, chasms and creeks.

He saw no trace of them. Raising his scope to his eyes, he noticed no large clusters of infecteds. A few weaklings were present in two places. These were areas where the ladder wells climbed to the surface, from which smoke continued to pour. It was these plumes that attracted these ghouls. They rushed towards them, then slowly turned in circles or simply stood in place with a lost look on their faces, unable to comprehend what they should do next.

Cheater was happy he had moved away from the tunnel. Guests had likely come calling. He could not see the smoke from the exit from this vantage point, but it was there.

Thankfully, no ghouls had come who had an excellent sense of smell. They would have followed his tracks. Perhaps, though, the stench of the smoke covered his trail for him. Cheater vaguely recalled the smell from the tunnel. Pungent. Those tanks may have been carrying industrial chemicals, not just gasoline. They may have been what turned the explosion from significant to stupendous.

Cheater turned his gaze east. The sun shone with its last strength for the day, but his Darkvision made this plenty to assess the nearby area. It did not help much in the distance—he could only see the largest items at that scale. That was where he was heading, but right now, he cared most about a three-mile radius or so around him.

He could see now that the blackness did not stretch so far. With his strength regained, he could probably cross in an hour. That was only a last resort, though. Entering the dark lands put the Nold turret at risk. How well would it stand up to such an endeavor? Usually, complex technology broke down into junk in those areas of the world. That was why March had left the weapon behind, with his sacrificial lamb to the horde. He had been sure that it would not survive crossing the black.

Cheater did not want to lose such a valuable item, either. It was not yet broken for certain. Clown or other specialists might be able to return it to working order.

The gun made the little party a force to be reckoned with. Either he would hide it in some stable cluster before he crossed, or he would not cross at all.

The black lands stretched south as far as Cheater could see. To the north, however, they came to an end. A short detour that way would allow him to bypass the dead lands entirely.

But things in the north did not look good. Nor to the east, for that matter.

The borderlands Cheater had seen before this day had been less complicated.

And less dangerous.

The cluster which cut off the black at the north was a dense city. The next cluster was from a megalopolis. One of the world’s largest and tallest cities. Perhaps there were several clusters in there, brought in from varying cities. He could not really see the borders, but the architecture of the buildings changed significantly from one area to the next. It was a beautiful mosaic from several continents on Earth.

One was a European “old town.” Narrow streets, paved in some places with cobblestones instead of asphalt, and with a Gothic cathedral at the far end. Beyond that, modern skyscrapers rose, surrounded by buildings of simpler modern construction. He could tell, even without his scope, that this was from an Asian city.

Another skyscraper cluster was utterly different, probably the business district of a North American city. Along with these, a cluster of favelas. Slums from Brazil. Beyond that still, he saw concrete Soviet architecture: identical nine-story buildings arranged in lines and squares. An incredible jumble of civilizations.

This was the borderland. Here, wonders never ceased. Many of the buildings themselves were severed by the border. The clusters had been arranged with little care for consistency. In other places, the System rarely did that.

The dissonance bothered Cheater deeply. He wished the System had filled the land with deserts, highlands, or woodlands. Instead, it bunched different downtown areas together. He saw no one-story structures, nor any sizable parks. Exclusively areas with a dense population. Reboots would bring in terrifying numbers of digis. Most would be food for the local infecteds, and others would join their ranks.

According to some materials, this process was governed. Whenever the number of ghouls grew too high, there was a sort of forced resettling. Infecteds would join together and migrate en masse towards the center of their region, encountering players along the way. Perhaps the horde would lose the first few battles, and even retreat, but they never lost in the end.

How could players fight an enemy that was continually replenished?

Through his scope, Cheater could see that the horde had not collected all of the local infecteds. Individuals and packs were visible throughout the patchwork city.

He decided quickly that he would hide his turret in the first stable cluster he encountered. Better to wade through a black cluster for a day than to tackle a city. He had survived such a place before, but the ghouls there had been orders of magnitude fewer in number, and generally less developed. Most had only been runners, and not even the worst runners.

Only by a miracle did he escape alive back then. Runners were in the minority there, and those he could see were nearly rafflers. Cheater was much stronger now, and today’s experience had shown that the infecteds’ levels had not been overly impressive. He had repulsed and cleared them quite well. Yet he had only survived with great difficulty, and with the preparatory aid of his companions. Without those explosions, the first attack would have ended him. He had also used his strongest skills. They were now in cooldown.

Ghouls didn’t care about levels, and they could crush anyone careless with their sheer numbers. Or their sheer weight, if they were heavy enough.

Somehow, though, he had to cross, and he very much did not want to leave the turret behind. There was very little chance he would come back for it, after all.

Had he dragged it through the tunnel in vain?

Cheater also noticed something of interest beyond the black. Similar clusters of cities ran along that edge, but there were open spaces between them. Amid skyscraper patches, he saw yellow fields of wheat, wild forests of green, and dried or drying lakes surrounded by farms and quaint little villages. It was but a haphazard agglomeration of disparate clusters. A little to the east of that, he saw a part of the landscape which looked like it should be named the Great Plateau.

He had no idea how the phenomenon could have happened. The terrain rose vertically into the air, just in front of a massive crevice that went deep into the crust of the world.

There was indeed considerable tectonic activity on the Continent. After all, huge parts of the landscape were continually being removed and replaced by others. No matter how seamless the swap was performed, it could have strong effects. Surface and underground water formations alike were affected. Landslides, sinkholes, and floods resulted. Earthquakes were common, though not strong ones. Enough to rattle glasses and make dishes clang, and to cause wires and other flexible hanging items to swing for a long time. These did not cause any destruction.

But this terrain Cheater beheld looked very much like the consequences of a mighty quake. According to his layman’s judgment, it was the clear result of a tectonic calamity. A perfectly straight crack ran from north to south, and the  other side was substantially more elevated. Layers of bedrock and ruptured soil were exposed across the chasm. The “cut by a knife” effect was familiar. The crack and the height of the plateau—some 250 feet, by his guess—were not.

That doesn’t look like an ordinary cluster border. Despite the waning light and the great distance, Cheater could see the same fault line cutting through the city blocks. The phenomenon could hardly be ascribed to ordinary reboots. It crossed many, many clusters.

Landslides and other destructive effects could be seen affecting the edge of the plateau. They gave some clue as to how long it had been since the dissected cluster last reset. New clusters had a perfectly vertical wall, but others had lost much of their section of the face. Some places were so deformed that they made the fault look more like a slope of a very steep hill than a wall. Even there, climbing up would be problematic.

It was a significant obstacle on his way.

He admired the sight, though. One of the skyscrapers, though not near the tallest, gave up its fight against the fault and collapsed. It did not crumble or disappear but ended leaning up against the wall. It was bent, even cracked, and its glass shattered, but it held. He could probably use it to ascend the plateau’s wall.

Everywhere else, he would likely need climbing equipment. The wall often ran vertical. Where rubble piled up, it consisted of stones that looked like they could slide down at any time. Climbing these ramps would be dangerous. Even standing on them would be dangerous.

And no matter how much he peered in either direction, the end of the great rise was not visible. Even when he used his telescopic sight. Does this cut across the entire Continent? Perhaps this was why players did not cross the border here. Vehicles would be unable to pass, and players without good climbing skills would also be at a dead end.

Even those with mountaineering abilities might not make it. Those stones were treacherous.

March had selected this place, though, and it had seemed that he knew very well what he was up against. Since the beginning of the trip, he had not been overly concerned with preserving their vehicles.

Cheater had thought this to be idiocy. No potential bonuses were worth tackling a ghoul horde without good armored transportation and powerful weapons. But this was March, the man who tried to squeeze every last drop out of every crossing.

In this case, that meant an ascent worthy of the Himalayas. While pursued and surrounded by thousands of the world’s deadliest creatures.

What was beyond the plateau, he could not see. Darkvision did not help at these distances, and his angle was bad. Some large structures were visible atop it, but only their blurry outlines were discernible.

A memory came to him, and he rustled through his bag containing the sporesac loot from the manmincer.

39 spores, 8 yellow peas and 2 white, 11 kernels, 3 nuts, 2 black stars and 1 white, 2 smooth amber threads, and 1 knotted thread.

Interesting. The victory log pegged the infected’s level at exactly 50. The manmincer was middling at best, but this loot was nearly worthy of an elite. The books said that the strongest manmincers yielded 35 spores, and only rarely a few more. White peas only had a 5% chance of dropping, white stars 10%, and knotted amber 20%.

He had received max loot in each case, probabilities be damned. The only item which showed no benefit from his luck was pearls. There was a 1% chance of a black pearl if the manmincer you killed was on the threshold of elite. Pearls were supposed to be only the domain of the elites, so the System had not awarded him one, despite his overpumped Luck.

But March and the others had been right, and the Unnamed One had been no exception. Cheater’s Smile of Fortune could make everyone rich.

He would stash that information for later.

The towering stretch of the elevated steppe was just too interesting. It was extraordinary. Bewitching.

He had to will himself to look away from the wonder of it and its effects on the land. What was close to him was more important. Finding the safest way to proceed. If he used Chameleon, he had a good chance of making it through undetected, if he did not slip up. Although he had expended mana on Smile of Fortune and a string of Explosive Rounds, it had replenished somewhat. He had enough to use Chameleon. After all, he had invested a lot in his mana scale. Disguising himself for an entire day would not empty it.

Something flashed into his line of sight. A young runner, most likely. Its clothing was still intact.

But something was wrong with this one. Few young infecteds survived in this area. They were eaten by larger beasts, fled to other lands, or grew rapidly.

This one had stayed. It did not move like a runner did. It was sneaking about, moving from one piece of cover to another. Freezing behind a bush and examining the land ahead, it crouched and turned—at last showing its face.

Cheater realized it was not a runner.

It wasn’t a ghoul at all.

It was a player, and one he recognized.

“How the hell did you get here?” he muttered to himself.

Chapter 23

Life Nine. A Familiar Insect

Chameleon was a fascinating ability. Cheater received it a long time ago but had not had much chance to master it.

However, he had not spent all of his down time in Rainbow just watching as March guzzled beer. There were more interesting things to do.

Rainbow had a library. Well, a cross between that and a store. It was located directly across from the “beer office,” so he had felt that visiting it was not much additional risk. Books could be rented or bought. It was an inexpensive place, with hardly any visitors. After his second visit, Cheater was recognized as a repeat customer—unlocking valuable advice during conversations with the establishment’s owner.

The player knew many interesting things, and he had occupied himself with books as a hobby or vocation in his past life. He even believed he had written books before, and that they had been successful, by the standards of his rather impoverished region of the world. They had earned him his living.

Old habits die hard.

Cheater’s craving for knowledge impressed the store owner. He met few readers besides those looking for action comics or hentai. So he directed Cheater to the books he wanted, and gave him information that no one had ever thought to record.

Including rare information on abilities. He had a sort of an ability catalog compiled by various players. Thousands and thousands of abilities were contained within. From unique to banal, from bizarre to commonplace. He even read about a class of players call Purgers. One of their abilities allowed the caster to project a diverging annular wave for several seconds, causing all sphincters for dozens of yards around to utterly relax. An anecdote was included of a cornered newcomer using it while fighting off hostile players—and taking advantage of the ensuing confusion to flee the scene. Two managed to chase him despite their newly soiled pants—and were promptly shot by other players who mistook them for infecteds.

Cheater might have made the same mistake. He almost took the player before him now for a runner, despite the lack of soiled apparel. Young runners routinely chased and bullied newbies, and helping a newbie was a sacred thing of honor.

Chameleon and similar skills had much written about them. Cheater had studied every detail intensely. He knew what the ability could and could not do, and came to learn things he would never have figured out from personal experience alone in six of more months.

This player Cheater was pursuing was moving along the city border. Ghouls seemed absent, but there might be any number looking on from within the city. He had seen them in the urban clusters. There was not so much shelter in this section, so the player was having difficulty. His intention seemed to be a thin strip of pine forest along the edge of the black cluster. That was probably his destination, and the forest was the safest and quickest path.

If Cheater moved as cautiously as the man, he would hardly be able to keep up, much less catch up.

But this man’s problems did not apply to him. With Chameleon active, he walked normally, almost as quickly as a person who had no fears in the world. The only extra precaution he took was to make sure that, from the vantage point of the infecteds’ abode, the green ridge was behind him. Against that massive homogeneous background, a person walking with Chameleon could only be detected from afar by some miracle. And only the most developed of infected would be able to do that.

His risk was minimal, and he reached the pines first. He moved unhurriedly through the undergrowth and chose a bottleneck that the player would be quite unlikely to avoid. Then, he set up between two thick bushes. All of the other ways through were much more open, so Cheater bet the man would pass this way.

He had to wait. The player was moving with extreme caution.

Five minutes later, he heard the crunch of the tiniest twig. Something could be seen amidst the branches. The player was making his way through almost silently. Considering how many twigs and obstacles there were, this was impressive.

He suddenly stopped, though, and sat on a tree stump right in front of Cheater’s position. Rolling up the leg of his pants, which were worn down to scarecrow quality, he revealed a shin wound up with a blood-drenched bandage. Plastic wrap was, in turn, wrapped on top of that. This was a common move for players trying to disguise the scent of a wound.

It apparently had not been done very well, in this case. Infecteds could detect the temptation from great distances. The man’s wince showed he knew this. He even swore silently as he worked.

“Hi, Beetle. Want a medkit?” Cheater asked politely.

The tankman jumped so high that he nearly slammed the top of his head into a dead branch.

Still in the air, he deftly pushed off to the side, holding out a submachine gun with a homemade silencer. He did not shoot—merely pointed at the place Cheater had just been standing. Then, he froze, unable to comprehend where the watcher had gone but realizing that making any moves was unwise.

Cheater had taken a five foot step away and was watching Beetle with interest, and without fear.

For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then the man spoke. “Cheater?”

From behind, Cheater grabbed him and held a knife to his throat, deactivating Chameleon and seizing the man’s forearm with his other hand. “That’s right. Don’t move.”

“I’m not moving. Jeez, you have a serious grip. Strength pumped?”

“A lot.”

“Take that knife away. I’m a friend.”

“I see you’ve abandoned your tank. Fancy yourself a spy now?”

“Spy? The hell are you talking about, Cheater? Chill out.”

“Oh, I’m chill.”

Beetle slowly placed his submachine gun on the ground. “I just wanted to warn you all. So, this way I ran. I don’t get why you’re still here. You should be at the edge of the Plateau by now.”

“Warn us? About what?”

“There’s an ambush. Waiting for you.”

Cheater pointed with a gesture of his head, toward the mysterious cliff. “There?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s the ambush? Tell me everything.”

“Could you get that knife away? I won’t cause you any trouble. If you want, you can collect my pistol, too. Or even tie my hands. I’d rather have that than a knife at my throat. It’s scary.”

“What scares me is that you’re tailing us. Where’s your tank, Beetle?”

“Dammit, Cheater, I was just about to tell you the story. Now you’ll think I’m just saying it because you asked. My tank is gone.”

“Don’t pretend you sold it. I won’t believe that.”

Beetle was about to nod, then stopped himself at the reminder of the knife. “I’ll sum it up. My crew has this one guy with a fascinating ability. Well, we had him, anyway. It’s a rare Perception ability. He’s not a mentat or anything, but he can sometimes perceive what others are striving to keep hidden. So, now do you understand?”

“No.”

“You haven’t caught on yet?”

“Caught on to what?”

“Your party has three members who are not what they seem.”

“What do you mean?”

Beetle rolled his eyes. “Wow, so you didn’t even suspect. What three could I possibly be talking about?”

“You tell me,” Cheater pressed, although he could already guess.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Gangrene, Goblin, and Nipple. Those three. They’re not who they seem to be. Nearly every bit of information in their inspect windows is obfuscated or modified.”

“So who are they, really? Elite players, disguised?”

Beetle grinned. “No, ordinary players, nothing too special about them. But one of them has a disguising skill. Not the kind you just used to snag me, but the kind that can change your nickname and your appearance. Even your ID. Not every character in it, of course, but still, that’s a powerful ability. Rarely encountered. Now, these tricks don’t work against ghouls and bots, so they’re not valued as highly as you might think. But valuable use cases can be found. Such people often make profitable deals with the moles. After all, if you deal with moles and then need to visit a civilized stable, you have to disguise yourself.”

“You’re telling me we have three moles in our party?”

“No, no. That was just exposition. There are no moles in this region except for just a few down south. They’ve never been able to get a foothold here—but we don’t go close to their lands anyway, since that would mean getting close to the Nolds. As a result, we practically have a peace treaty between us and them. An unspoken and unwritten one, of course.”

“Cut the political details,” Cheater demanded. “Who is ambushing us, and why? And why did you decide to warn us? These are the answers I need. Providing them is in your best interests.”

Cheater lightly pressed the knife into the man’s throat. The blade wasn’t very sharp, but it could still take him out cleanly.

Beetle’s voice grew more serious. “Calm down, I’ll tell you everything. Remember, I just wanted to help. I’m your biggest fan. But did you really have no idea about those three? I need to know, or otherwise it might take me too long to explain.”

“They were just some vagrants we randomly picked up on our last day in Rainbow,” Cheater replied. “We didn’t know about them until that moment.”

“So why did you take them? Your party was strong as it was. And people were lining up outside to join. Decent people.”

“I wouldn’t have taken them,” Cheater admitted, “but March makes those decisions. He decided a healer would come in handy, so we brought them along.”

“How did you find them?” Beetle pressed. “And where?”

“I’m the one interrogating here. Not you.”

“Alright, alright, calm down! You can keep your secrets. But if it’s not a secret, tell me and it’ll make my explanation easier.”

“It’s not a secret. Our sapper found them. Probably met the healer in some brothel. The cheapest one in town.”

“So you don’t know their real nicknames.”

“We know them as Gangrene, Goblin, and Nipple.”

“Haha! They’re so stupid they didn’t even disguise their names much. Especially Gang. Perhaps that’s the best they can do, though.”

“I need my answers now,” Cheater reminded. “Other thoughts can wait.”

“Their names are Gag, Bling, and Maple. Maple is a powerful healer. Intensely powerful—some regions have no one to equal her. The northerners took care of her, and she lived well up there—but not for long. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but it seems her friend Gang decided that the Devils could pay more. They were the main political force in this area, until recently. Gradually subjugating the entire region. Only in the North and the East did they still have less than full power. Gang brought Maple this way. Along the way, they picked up Bling—he’s the one with the disguise ability. They changed their appearance and their nicknames. But as they were getting close to the Devils, you happened. Suddenly, any and all Devils were radically unpopular in this area. Everything changed. The power landscape shifted. Now, the easterners and the northerners have to deal with each other. Or, perhaps, unite—since the NPCs are up to something we don’t yet understand. They have a strong grip on the western part of the region. So this trio of yours could no longer join the Devils, and their relationship with the northerners had been utterly ruined. Bridges burned. Nipple had been in some sort of contract with them. Now, she’s in violation. The northerners are now looking for all three intently. They’ve got a good bounty on their heads. So they hid in Rainbow and looked for options. You were a great one. A strong group, renowned and respected, and heading to a new region. On the Continent, moving to a new region is like moving to a new planet. Few bounties and search parties stretch across such borders.”

“Something here isn’t adding up,” Cheater started.

“I don’t know all the details,” Beetle hurried. “I’m not involved in these bounty hunts. My business is my tank, not hunting heads for rewards. I’m just relaying what I’ve heard. No inventions of mine in there.”

“No, I mean their hiding tactics were poor. A healer is a rare profession. Rare professionals attract attention. Why did she tell Nut what she was?”

“I don’t know that. Ask the sapper yourself. Perhaps they sought him out when they found out what you intended. It sounds like they had to entice you into taking them along somehow.”

“Perhaps,” Cheater admitted. “What else? Where’s your tank? Who’s after us? What’s their plan? Details.”

“My mechanic-slash-driver discovered them. He has that ability. He saw behind the disguise Goblin, er, Bling had put up. Got their IDs and real names. He’s a straightforward guy, but curious, and so he started wondering what they were hiding. So he asked a Rainbow security guy friend he knew about the three of them, over chat. That guy was aware of the bounty put out by the northerners. Decent money, plus an opportunity to get on the northerners’ good side, which is an attractive proposition nowadays. But instead of chasing the moles down, he rushed to our camp and started asking questions. I had to answer him, of course—I didn’t have a choice. And not only did I know where you were heading, the whole crew also knew. They’re untested. Mostly new. Since I haven’t even been here a month yet, they don’t really consider me one of them yet. Now, I don’t know the map of this region very well, but they were sure there was only one way you could go. The other paths, they said, you wouldn’t know about. Very few know those other ways. But the locals do. One of my guys also put a Mark on one of the trio. It’s got a perk that allows others to track it, not just the caster. That security guy I mentioned and his crew went around to cut your party off. They should be on your party’s route already, waiting for them. I think I know where.”

“So you abandoned your precious tank and ran on foot to come warn us. And you took another route—even though by your own admission you’re new to the area and don’t know the maps well.”

“I haven’t been near the border, right, but I know enough of the geography. Originally, you know, I basically thought I had no business being in the East. I didn’t like it here, and the prospects for growth are poor. Once the whole Devils affair happened, I decided to get out of here. I don’t think the easterners will hold out. Everything is culminating towards a quick defeat at the hands of the northerners. I hate the northerners. So I’d rather not wait for that to happen. Anyway, this opportunity turned up, and I really am a fan of yours. At first I thought this story about some guy crossing the whole Continent to reach his girlfriend was just bullshit. But then details kept pouring in. I couldn’t believe meeting you. I probably behaved like a fool then—and heck, I might be behaving like one now. But I’m just so nervous. I’ve never been in the presence of a legend before. Sorry to get sentimental, but that’s how it is. I’m not asking you to believe me. You can tie me up and go take a look at the place I tell you. If you see an ambush, you’ll know I was telling you the truth. Or kill me. If that’s what you will, then so be it. But if you are like the Cheater in the stories, you’ll regret it later.”

“How many people are after us?”

“I don’t know precisely, but I’d say ten at most.”

“Only ten?” Cheater frowned. “We’re supposed to be a tough group. Ten is easy.”

“Not ten children. Ten strong players. They don’t have to kill you all, either. The bounty only specifies that those three be killed. If they’re sent to respawn, the others can be left alone. As long as they immediately contact the northerners—I don’t know how, but somehow they’ll be waiting for them at respawn. If they fail that grab, that’s the northerners’ problem, not ours.”

“If these guys of yours are only intending to kill those three, well, I’m not sure I object,” Cheater revealed.

“They’re not my guys—I’m on my own now,” Beetle corrected him. “I wouldn’t let my guard down, if I were you. Not everyone reveres legends like I do. The group may not respect you. They might think it’s easier just to kill everyone. After all, then they’ll collect your stuff and start tooting their own horns as the slayers of Cheater and March. I’ve heard many things about your friend. It seems he is incredible—but I doubt he can wipe out a team of tough players from hundreds of yards away. As long as our guys keep their distance, he won’t be able to hit them.”

“So where’s the ambush?” Cheater asked.

“I’ll show you on a map.”

“Have you considered that they’ll notice your departure? It seems like they’ll draw the correct conclusions pretty easily. So they could change their ambush location.”

“No,” Beetle shook his head. “Chat communications near the border don’t work well. Plus, I dumped the tank and the crew. So they can’t talk.”

“Dumped? How?” Cheater blinked.

“Well, it wasn’t actually my intention. I started trying to convince the guys that I needed to take my tank out to meet you. To warn you. To tell you that they were coming for you, and that in general things were tough out east. But the rat who had leaked the matter to the security guy got these glazed eyes immediately. I knew he had his chat window up, so I put a bullet right in his forehead. People don’t like to chat when shot in the forehead. The rest of them were confused by this, and a conflict broke out. I took them all down, but the tank caught fire in the process, dammit. I had to leave it, and so I went east on foot. When people find the tank, they won’t have any idea what happened. Or at least not immediately. So by the time those losers respawn and spill the story, we will have crossed the border already.”

“You’re not making much progress here, with a knife at your throat.”

“I’ll make it,” Beetle winked. “If even a tenth of what they say about you is true, you won’t kill me. Maybe you can take me with you. I could be of use.”

“What kind of use?”

“I’m a good tankman, you saw that.”

“I haven’t seen you in action,” Cheater remarked, “and our team already has a mechanic.”

“I said tankman, not mechanic. Don’t take me for some kind of repairman.”

“Well, I don’t have a tank.”

“You’ll find one at some point, and maybe even more than one. I believe in you,” Beetle winked again.

Cheater stared at the translucent map in front of him, trying to discern what kind of place the ambush—according to the tanker—was set up in. Sadly, he could not. He had paid a lot of money for these maps, but parts were missing.

There were too many blurry or outright blank spots.

Even a cartographical genius would be hard-pressed to make sense of it.

Perhaps Beetle knew. “Hey, could you send me your map?”

“I would, gladly, but my Cartography isn’t unlocked. Without it or certain special skills, map transfer isn’t possible. You know that.”

“Yes. So explain this ambush to me, then,” Cheater relented. “I need details. My map doesn’t tell me anything about the spot.”

“You don’t need details,” Beetle replied.

“What? Then why did you tell me all of this?”

“I’ve realized that the rest of your party has already gone ahead. Well, either they’ll lose the three with the bounties on their heads, or they’ll all get themselves shot. You just need to cross the border. There is no passage here. Only death. I can guarantee that. You shouldn’t have come this way; you need to turn back now. I know a few strong traders who can take you across in peace. We’re only one day away from my stash. It’s got a vehicle ready, outfitted and supplied. From there, you can reach a trader in two days, at a casual pace. Hurrying is ill advised. There’s plenty of trouble looking to notice you. Caravans aren’t making the trip very frequently these days, either, so you’ll have to wait a bit. But you shouldn’t have any problems during that time. If we go right now, we can reach the other side in ten days, at the most.”

Cheater sheathed his knife and turned slightly eastward. “You say they sent ten after us?”

“Something like that.”

“And they’re strong players.”

“Maybe not every one of them, but at least a few are veterans. One of the best groups in the region. . And they have this tracker with them. He knows places here that no one else on the whole Continent knows. He does not add this information to his maps. Knowing more than your opponent is half the battle, so that’s what they hire him for. Once he agreed to take the job, that boosts their odds of success by at least 50%. I think they’re well ahead of me by now, perhaps on site already, waiting for your party. The conflict might have happened already.”

Cheater, still staring east, slung his rifle over his shoulder. “I have a more general question for you. Is there a way we can reach the ambush site as quickly as possible? I’d like to get there before the shooting starts.”

Beetle’s mouth dropped open. “You looking to respawn? I mean, it might get you to the trader faster, depending on—”

Cheater was slowly shaking his head. “If you think I’m a fan of dying, you’re not really a fan of mine.”

Chapter 24

Life Nine. Underground

Beetle stopped and crouched, directing the beam of his flashlight along the thin stretch of muddy water trickling through a wide concrete pipe. The structure was, in fact, too big to be properly called a pipe. More like a round concrete tunnel. They had been moving through it for half an hour now.

Cheater took advantage of the pause to move the turret to his shoulder and hastily bump the system test button. These electronics ran on a miniature CMOS-like battery of their own. A few seconds later, it regurgitated information about the state of its main circuits. As long as the green LED lit up, the combat circuit could be primed. A red LED, however, meant something was wrong.

No light at all meant something was very wrong.

The system didn’t react to the button press. Was the turret dead? Unlikely to be repairable? Or, perhaps, was the system check’s private power source dead?

He feared the worse. Beetle had been unable to chart a route that did not lead through a black cluster. He had assured Cheater that Nold technology had some unknown short-term protection mechanism against the work of the dark lands and would survive the passage without consequence. The only alternative path, he said, was prohibitively long and orders of magnitude more risky.

This way, of course, had some adventures of its own. A couple of strong tramplers had noticed the players wandering the black cluster. The infecteds had overcome their fear and rushed into the area.

Cheater took them down with two bow shots, which left Beetle in awe. He was unable to fathom how creatures so dangerous could be killed by an arrow shot from a hundred yards away.

Cheater did not tell him about Explosive Round. Let it remain a secret. He enjoyed the sincere surprise of his new companion.

Then, he took out four smaller ghouls who had followed the grumblings of their larger brothers. There were not many infecteds here, by the border of the black lands, when compared to the city clusters, but still a decent number. Even the quietest attacks could attract more notice.

Thankfully, the stream of ghouls dried up then and there. They treated their shoes with a scent-masking spray, after which they had to move a hundred and fifty yards through an area teeming with infecteds.

This tiny hop took a lot of time. Thankfully, it was night. Yes, the infecteds could see at night, but not as well as during the day. As long as a player made no hasty movements, it was possible to pass directly through their line of vision unseen. Not at a few yards, of course, and not when the ghoul group included smarter, stronger beasts.

Moving through such an area was a strategy challenge par excellence. Get noticed once, and you were done.

So, Cheater had used Flash of Omniscience liberally, and his bow, when necessary. He had highlighted targets and chose those whose death would not be noticed by others, and so had worked through them all. Only once had an infected come to see what was going on. It had fallen like the others, without emitting its dangerous grumbling.

Once the immediate area had been clear, they had set to completing the task for which this minor genocide had been a prerequisite.

Fiddling a bit with the hatch in the middle of the road, they lifted it quietly and successfully. The sewer well was twenty feet deep. Raising the manhole cover was not easy without a tool for doing so, but they managed.

Once they dropped down, Beetle turned on his small flashlight. “At last. I can’t see anything in the dark. Nearly broke one of my legs while I was following you.”

“But I can,” Cheater rebuffed, “and so I can keep leading you, in the dark.”

“Why? The ghouls hate being underground. If we come across a stray, we can deal with it silently. A big one will spot us whether we have a flashlight or not.”

“Ghouls aren’t the only thing we have to be afraid of,” Cheater reminded him.

“This place has a lot of garbage, Cheater, and there is zero light. You expect me to wade through and around all this in the dark? The people coming after your group have flashlights too, you know. Much better than mine. They came prepared for this, but I had to run for it.”

“Fine, you win,” Cheater allowed. “Where to now?”

“Let me get my bearings. I think we go this way,” Beetle waved left.

A concrete tunnel ran in the indicated direction. It was tall enough for the average person to walk through with normal posture, and the floor was nearly dry.

“We get to the fork and pull a sharp turn. Then, we’ll be close to them. I just hope nothing silly has happened.”

“Silly?”

“What if the group hasn’t reached the spot yet? Then we might run straight into them.”

Cheater tensed. “They’ll be taking this tunnel?”

“Not this exact one. They’ll come underground in a different spot. Through the tube in the London cluster. Then, along a very similar pipe. There are lots of these tunnels under the industrial zone here. They’ll follow it to the same fork, but from a nearly opposite direction. They’ll bear right and follow the same branch we need—it’s a sharp turn left for us. We could encounter them.”

“You said they should have arrived a long time ago.”

“So? This is the Continent. There is no ‘should.’ All kinds of things might have interfered. What if the ghouls killed them? You could check, of course. You could send them a chat message. I know a couple of their nicknames. But if they see your message, they’ll know to be on their guard. We definitely aren’t supposed to be down here, and my crew doesn’t just send PMs. It’ll tip them off.”

Cheater wondered about the chat system. “Is it possible to figure out whether a person is alive or not without writing them anything? What’s to stop that?”

“If you’re in the same region, bad clusters can stop you. And a person’s status is only visible if the person is in your party or friend list. Friend lists don’t work well across dark clusters. Chat doesn’t either. When you send a message, inactivity doesn’t really mean anything. Maybe the player is off to respawn, but maybe they’re just behind a black cluster.”

“Got it. By the way, what are these large tunnels for?”

Beetle shrugged. “They don’t smell, so I guess they’re not actually sewers. What do we care?”

“You’re never wondered?”

“Some industrial purpose. This cluster is surrounded on all sides by city blocks but itself doesn’t have any residential or commercial buildings. Just heavy industrial factories of some kind. But there are no cables, no pipes, no lighting, no signs of waste runoff. I’m guessing they supplied water, but for industrial purposes.”

“These are really wide pipes, then. How could they use so much water?”

“I don’t know. But these tunnels are safe, and that’s all we need to know.”

* * *

They did not encounter anyone at the intersection. The tunnel remained devoid of any signs of life. No rats, no bugs, no flies. There was water, though, including stagnant water—which should be conducive to insects and rodents.

Maybe something was wrong with the water. The pipes might have been moving some dangerous chemical. It seemed like there was no smell but dampness, but some chemicals were odorless.

Beetle stopped, studying the water, apparently thinking the same. First, he just shone at it with a flashlight. Then, he started probing the floor of the tunnel, underneath the water, with a knife. It was at this time that Cheater fiddled with the turret.

He figured it would be a shame if the gun was nothing but a big paperweight now—and here he was dragging it around.

Beetle looked up, grinning cheerlessly. “They’ve already been here. Before us.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s some sediment here, along the pipe floor. It’s covered with water, so it’s not immediately visible. There is a current here, albeit a slow one. Enough to clear the sediment, to smooth it out. Here, it’s still uneven. Very uneven. Someone walked through here. Not one person, and not two or three. More. This happened recently.”

“So what do we do now?” Cheater asked.

“Everything depends on your friends now. They’re unaware of the underground passages, as far as I know. So they went straight through the black, taking the shortest road to the First Steppe. That’s the safest way known to people with ordinary maps.”

“You call that thing the First Steppe?” Cheater clarified. The tankman had used the term before.

Beetle nodded. “The fallen building is the only way up.”

“I saw it, the skyscraper.”

“It’s too short for a skyscraper, I think. Just a building. Strong. It never breaks apart when it falls.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. Skyscrapers are strong and tall, that’s all I know.”

“I don’t care about the name either. Anyway, this buil—uh, skyscraper nearly always falls up against the Steppe. It’s the way. And it’s a pretty easy climb, if you are just considering the layout and not, say, ghouls. Or an ambush. Your friends need to go up, and there’s no better way. Only through the blackness can you reach the skyscraper. And not directly. There’s a river along the border, and I don’t even know if there’s a place to cross it. So they’ll go around. That takes a long time. The fallen skyscraper is the obvious place to waylay the party. Why pursue someone, when you know exactly where they have to go? This tunnel emerges near the building in question. There are several hatches, each emerging into a place with its pluses and minuses. If we can determine which one they used, perhaps we can deduce their intended ambush tactic. You can arrange a little surprise for them. Perhaps you’ll kill them all with your famous rifle. Or perhaps you’ll die yourself. That latter option is probably better. Less pain.”

“Less pain? What do you mean?”

“Do you not know anything about this place?”

Cheater shook his head. “Only March knows why we’re here. He handles everything related to border crossings.”

“Well, what has he told you, then?”

“What should he have told me?”

Beetle grimaced. “We can still head back west, you know. With a little luck, we can make it quickly and safely. Anyone who ascends the First Steppe is practically as good as dead. They say there’s no place there calm enough for anyone to survive even an hour. No one has investigated the steppe so thoroughly, of course, but I believe that statement.”

“So no one has investigated it, but you still believe it. Solid.”

“In this case, it is a reasonable belief. As I’m sure you know, no one has ever crossed the border in this area. I mentioned that, quite a few times. The first time we met, in fact.”

“Well, I thought there were easier ways, and so that was why no one picked this one,” Cheater replied. “You said as much.”

“Yes, that’s true, but it’s not the real reason. People love to cross in places where no one has before. Extra bonuses and all that. You know that better than I do.”

“Of course,” Cheater affirmed.

“Here, there are no bonuses. Here, there is only death,” Beetle pronounced gloomily. “Even this region next to the steppe can be deadly—but up above, there is no hope. Once you are up there, they will not let you return back down. Here at least we can make some decisions, try some things. Up there, there is no try or try not. Only fail. I wasn’t joking when I suggested we go back to the traders. There is no road east here, not even for you.”

“What the hell is up top? Just don’t tell me it’s an Unnamed One.”

Beetle shook his head. “Those who shall not be named dare not show their face here. They fear the Trinity. We all fear the Trinity. And so should you, if you aspire to ascend the steppe. Even though you will not be fearing them for long.”

Chapter 25

Life Nine. Slanted Skyline

Beetle’s final words made Cheater think long and hard. He even doubted his new companion’s sanity. Mention of the Trinity seemed, well, inappropriate here.

Players were superstitious, yes, and often religious. There were adherents of many Continental cults here, and there were those who practiced the traditional religions. This included the main branches of Christianity and other Christian sects, as well as more syncretistic bodies.

But no, Beetle was speaking of another Trinity.

An Unholy Trinity. Some players even went so far as to campaign for the three to be called the Trio or the Trilogy, so as not to offend Christian believers. Including the believers themselves. No such change in terminology had sunk in.

This was the first time Cheater had heard of this Trinity. Beetle informed him that, yes, in Rainbow they sometimes talked about the Trinity. People planning to go east yearned to learn everything they could about it.

March knew of it, of course. He must have. However, the leader did not consider it necessary to share this knowledge with his party.

He was March, after all.

The man of mysteries.

Players in the eastern part of the region had been unable to fully explore this area, but they had discovered the Trinity—and learned a thing or two about it.

They had sacrificed hundreds of lives to do so.

Perhaps thousands.

The available knowledge was woefully incomplete. Some held that the Trinity was not a Trinity at all, but a Quaternity, or a Quinternity. Eyewitnesses never saw more than three individuals, but that did not hold substance for these conspiracy theorists. Perhaps there were more. No one could really be sure.

There was no mystical meaning to the name itself.

The Trinity was three ghouls. Ordinary infecteds.

Except that the word “ordinary” would only here be uttered by a slobbering idiot.

Infecteds started their lives as level zero walkers and progressed towards elite. But this line of development, in theory, had no end. Ghouls could level up endlessly, if they were provided food and nothing cut them down along the way.

Level 62 to level 100 infecteds were elites. Anything over level 100 was classified as a dire elite. He had seen a book which proposed that anything over level 200 be called an ultradire elite. But it also regretfully mentioned one important subtlety.

Players had limits on their Perception, and on abilities related to it. The higher an opponent’s level, the harder it was to ascertain information about it at a glance. This was especially true at medium and long range.

But sometimes it was even true at point blank range. Monsters over level 200 would only generally have their levels revealed when they died, in the System victory log. It was unlikely that there was any player on the Continent mighty enough to read the stats of such a beast while it was alive.

There was another subtlety.

This one much more important.

Finishing off a ghoul over level 200 was damn near impossible. Besides the usual super-developed stats and armor, infecteds at that level had sets of effective abilities. The monsters could use them to defend, attack, disguise themselves, detect prey from a distance, and so on.

Defeating such a beast was only possible with a well-trained party. Many veteran fighters equipped with the best weapons and ammunition. And, of course, abilities that were able to counter the ghouls’ own abilities.

Every battle with an “ultradire” was the stuff of legend, and whole books of analysis were written about them. Cheater had encountered one such volume in Rainbow. Most of all, he remembered the scrupulously extended list of how the hunters who went after the beast perished. Nearly all of them were dead in under a minute.

That was, in fact, how long the final battle stretched. The party lost a quarter of its members in the first few seconds. A further half—three-quarters in total—died before the end.

After that first minute, the players successfully disabled the monster’s anti-ability defense and successfully fired a grenade which exploded right beneath the hood covering the sporesac. It had been protected from all sides, except for the very bottom. A fatal piece of shrapnel flew up, saving victory from the claws of defeat.

Why hunt such a terrifying monster at all?

For the same reasons as one hunted weaker monsters: experience and loot. And achievements, of course. Slaying such a mighty mauler yielded bonus perks.

These were unpredictable. The System decided how to distribute them.

Experience points, as usual, were based on each member’s contribution to the fight. If you dealt a lot of damage, you get a lot—if you did little, the reward is disappointing.

The trophies pulled from the monster’s sporesac were fantastic. Quite inferior to what could be obtained from an Unnamed One, but still fantastic. The Unnamed were not infecteds, after all, and yielded loot which ghouls could not. But while the “ultradire” elite was able to offer everything lower levels of infecteds had, it also offered something unique.

Of course, the number of “ordinary” trophies found was staggering.

A level 101 elite could give you over a pound of webbing, 170 spores, 70-some peas of various colors, 20 grains, about 10 nuts, stars, and smooth amber threads, and three knotted amber threads.

Plus, of course, pearls. At least three pearls, of a mix of colors.

They also had a 50% chance of giving you one white pearl. The higher the elite’s level, the higher this chance. And the higher the quantity of the other kinds of pearls.

Rumors traveled of dozens of black, red, and green pearls extracted from an ultradire—in addition to five whites. Players loved to exaggerate, of course, but such tales always came from somewhere.

Cheater had checked these numbers several times, from various sources. After March’s payment to the Janitor, he became very interested in the topic. Before that, he had not delved much into detail. White pearls had seemed like a legend.

Afterward, he dove in.

The Trinity was three such ultradire elites. Their levels could not be accurately ascertained, but if Beetle’s assurances were anything to go by, they had long since passed level 200. Their size and many abilities indicated that.

Of course players could not help but be tempted by such powerful game. The most they had managed to do prior to this was inflict serious injury on one single member of the Trinity. They had lured it into a clever trap. The other two were unharmed, however, and the vengeance they dealt for the damage done to their fellow monster was cruel and swift.

Wounds were pointless, anyway—the beasts could regenerate at speeds that players could only reach with regeneration cores. By the time another hunt could be assembled, all three were back to full health.

The best the poor fellows had ever managed to do was count the monsters as they died.

But they barely ever left the First Steppe. All of the approaches teemed with other infecteds, and getting past them was not an easy task. No serious vehicles or weapons could ascend the steppe. They would have to build an immense ramp—and the commotion would bring every ghoul in the region coming to call. Fighting three such powerful elites with what you could carry on your back was virtually hopeless.

March had chosen the worst crossing path not just for these regions but perhaps for the whole Continent. No one had ever crossed the border which ran across the First Steppe. The second level of the steppe, which began further, was the region Kitty was located in. Elite hunters came from the other region, too—and inevitably respawned there. The trio controlled their whole territory, and no one could get through. No complete map of their land even existed.

No publicly known map, at least.

He could guess why March was intentionally entering their land. He had plans.

After Beetle’s explanations, those plans were easy to perceive.

March wanted to do what no one had done before: destroy the trio of monsters and seize the incredible treasures within.

Cheater had no idea how the man planned to do it. But he had no doubt that their boss had invented something no hunter had thought of before. The insane sapper was probably a part of the plan.

Encountering a powerful bounty hunting group was likely not one. As Cheater walked through the tunnel, he continually tried to send March a chat message, while he was listening to the tales of the Trinity. Beetle had many details to share, including some he had heard first-hand. He had even spoken with members of that mysterious organization of players whose purpose was to collect information about the Continent. They had people in nearly every region, and all information obtained was forwarded north to their main office, which they called the Institute.

Those Institute members had shared a bold suggestion with Beetle. After observing the area for several months, they suspected that the Trinity was somehow involved in the fact that hordes of infecteds regularly migrated away from the area. The three themselves did not leave the First Steppe, but all of the invasions had their inception in the trio’s territory.

Cheater thought this kind of information was unlikely to come in useful, but he committed every word of it to memory anyway. Perhaps the theory would have some practical implication down the road.

“Once, close to this location, the whole Trinity was seen surrounded by hundreds of other creatures,” Beetle continued, “acting together, as one flock. It’s still unclear how the Trinity knows so quickly that a hunting party is coming for it. Perhaps the smaller ghouls somehow inform them. It is very difficult to pass through this area unseen. If we went up to the surface now, we would be noticed many times over with each and every step we took. There are no forests and no high rises in this section. Mostly fields and dried-up ponds.

The chat with March suddenly came alive. His latest attempt to send a random letter was successful.

In order to avoid explaining everything to everyone separately, he used the party chat.

Cheater:

Don’t climb up the Steppe. Keep away from the leaning building. Ambush!

Janitor:

What kind of ambush? And who?

Cheater:

People Beetle knows want to kill you. He’s here now. Ran on foot to catch and warn us.

March:

That sounds fishy. He could have just sent you a chat message.

Cheater:

Chat wasn’t going through. We were far into the borderlands already. Black and gray clusters. Are you close to the building?

March:

We’re already climbing. Everything’s quiet. No ghouls to be seen.

Cheater:

Dammit, take cover! They’re nearby. About ten of them, and they’ve done this before.

Clown:

Why are they after us?

Cheater:

Long story. Hide!

The icon belonging to Gangrene—or Gang, as was his real name—went out, and Maple’s icon started blinking fast.

Cheater:

Hide now!

March:

Calm down. We did as soon as you wrote us. Not everyone took cover in time. Where are they shooting from? Crafty team, I don’t see anyone.

Cheater:

Hold on. I’m almost there.

All party functions worked now, not just the chat. That included the ability to track each member’s location. Cheater called up the map and saw that he was about 700 yards, as the crow flies, from his comrades. The tunnel, however, did not run right towards them—it took a sharp turn towards the black cluster they had emerged from.

He hurried to ask the tankman, “Are those hatches far?”

Beetle was also looking at the map and did not answer immediately. “Quarter mile to the exit.”

“Tell me more. They have started at shooting my party already. Gang is dead, and Maple is seriously injured. Wait—she’s already gone. She’ll respawn unless they revive her. All they have left is Goblin. Bling, I mean.”

“We’ll take the hatch that breaks out into the square,” Beetle said. “I think that’s the best move. They say the place has a lot of thick hedges, so they won’t be able to see us without a sensor. Of course, they definitely have a sensor, so it is a risky move.”

“I have a disguise ability,” Cheater admitted, without mentioning his disguising item. “I’ve only rarely used it, so I don’t know all of its capabilities. But it seems from the description that it helps against sensors. As long as we keep some distance. Where do you think they’ve set up?”

“I’ve never been here before. I’ve got this map, and I once saw a physical model of this area. Yes, some weirdo sculpted it. We have a museum of sorts at the stable, filled with his stuff. It’s good for teaching the area to newbies. Those preparing to go on their first hunt, I mean. If that model is accurate, well, I would have positioned myself in the tallest building. It’s about three hundred yards from the leaner, and from the upper floors, you can see everything across the way. Walking up the inside of the leaning skyscraper is unlikely. It’s badly deformed, with plenty of cracks and piles of rubble. Too dangerous. I myself can’t see how the thing hasn’t fallen apart by now. So our people walk up on the outside. It’s tough going, but the slope is climbable. Since your party isn’t dead yet, I’m guessing your friends jumped into the windows, but they’re unlikely to find a different way out. Some might manage to get inside and make their way down, but that won’t help much—that building is all alone. Nothing else nearby. You can’t exactly run out of the bottom of it unnoticed. This assumes they’re being watched from up high, of course.”

“Are there any tall buildings nearby that can get eyes on the ambush?” Cheater asked.

Beetle shook his head, “No, nothing nearby.”

“How about far away, then? Half a mile? Mile?”

“We’d have to go back and up through a different hatch. But it’s a dangerous move, since the exit has no cover. This is a dangerous area of the world. That skyscraper isn’t just the only way up—it’s the only place devoid of ghouls. Almost as though the Trinity keeps it clear just to lure people like you. If you take a shot from anywhere, the ghouls will be on you. We cannot make noise.”

“The ambush party is making noise,” Cheater remarked.

“I doubt it. They knew where they were headed. Silenced weapons will be the bulk of their arms. Or, they have a muffler with them.”

“A muffler? How is that different from a silencer?”

“I mean a player with an ability. I knew such a guy once. He could throw up a sphere of silence. You could beat on a drum set inside and no one outside would hear.”

Cheater nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard of those.”

“So they could shoot without worry,” Beetle continued. “A bullet doesn’t make too much noise in flight, and the hits wouldn’t be heard from far away. How about your group try negotiating? I know a couple of the nicknames in the other group.”

Cheater shook his head. “Once the shooting starts, there’s no talking. You know that.”

Fatso’s icon blinked out.

This was serious. The attackers had killed someone who did not have a bounty out on them. And they had done so while the party was in cover.

Cheater had no idea what was going on there. But he figured he had to act fast.

Should he go back and ascend the skyscraper to get the drop on the enemy? Would he even see them all? His rangefinder was no longer working after his trip through the black cluster, and at such distances, he needed to know the precise distance. Using the map for that purpose would be tough, as none of the enemy’s markers could be seen on it.

So that was no option. He needed something else.

“Beetle, tell me more about this tall building the ambush group is in.”

“They might not be there.”

“They are. March just said so. He finally spotted them. They’re in an unfinished high rise, next to a big shopping mall. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me about it. Everything you can.”

Chapter 26

Life Nine. The Unfinished Skyscraper

The bounty hunters definitely had a sensor. That was clear regardless of what Beetle was saying or not. He was a good sensor. An exceptionally good sensor. Not only did he pinpoint the location of his enemies with high accuracy, he also shot at them himself—or directed his accomplices to do so, when necessary. They had one or two large-caliber rifles, firing round after round. Walls were not guaranteed to save anyone from such rounds, so Cheater’s companions had carefully retreated deeper into the building. As Beetle had predicted, things were bad inside. They could not find a safe escape route through the twisted and cracked floors and beams. All they could do was wait for the situation to change.

The suppressing fire had stopped, but the party was caught in a trap, with poor prospects of escaping. They even began to seriously discuss a risky plan. For instance, they could make some noise and bring the infecteds running over. Perhaps then the enemy would have to hide and they would get a chance to slip out.

It was a mediocre plan, even if you discounted the presence of the Trinity. Beetle had said that it was rare to see the three beasts down below.

But in this case, they might make an exception.

Cheater’s suggestion was not so glamorous itself, but it was not entirely hopeless. Dealing with a party of ten on his own was at least possible. He had emerged victorious from several very difficult situations throughout his life here.

Beetle stayed underground. How strong the enemy sensor was, neither of them knew, but as a rule sensors could not detect targets at such a distance when they were concealed by many feet of asphalt, earth, and concrete. Sadly, Chameleon only covered its user—it could not cover an ally.

Thankfully, though, the ability had cooled down. Cheater exited the hatch and moved at the speed of a slug. The faster he moved, the worse the cover the ability gave him. He could not count on the cover of nocturnal darkness. His opponents had a sensor and at least one scope which would certainly have night vision. Some of the members might have perks similar to Cheater’s Darkvision. It was not an uncommon ability on the Continent.

Besides Chameleon, he had Bighead, a necklace with many useful properties. It was especially useful at a distance. Sadly, the players and their sense abilities were not the main danger he was facing at the moment. He wanted to hurry through the town, but he had to force himself to show restraint.

The building his enemies had settled in was still in an early stage of construction. The frame, walls, and floors were up, but not much else. It was a bare box, with no window glass and no utilities. Cheater entered through one of these empty windows, declining to risk entry through a door. Flash of Omniscience showed him that no one was there, but his enemies could have rigged up an alarm, or even placed a camera.

He ascended to the second floor via a hole intended for utility pipes, vents, and wires—not taking the stairs for the same reasons he had avoided the door. This method of rising proved convenient and safe, so he continued up the floors in the same fashion.

He periodically activated Flash as he did so. It was a tall building, and rushing was categorically forbidden, so nearly twenty minutes passed before Cheater was able to illuminate a target. A man lurked in a stairwell, watching a tablet. Apparently his assumption that they had installed a camera system was correct. The man was sitting still—he had probably not noticed anything.

He wanted to eliminate him but had to quickly ditch the thought. The layout of the building prevented him. He could only take him out from above, and that would require a detour that would cost precious time. No angle he could work out would give him a shot from a distance. He would not take the risk. Killing the sentinel would certainly alert the rest of the ambush party.

He had learned to resist such temptations. Once he had a better idea of the group’s arrangement, he would attack. But only then. The enemy still did not know of Cheater’s presence. He would make sure they only found out by seeing several icons go black or blinking at once.

Several floors higher, he saw the second enemy. Flash only revealed the enemy’s lower body—she was at the extreme range of the ability.

He had to climb six more floors—two of them through different openings. The building layout changed at this point, resulting in new locations for the utility tunnels. Thankfully, this only delayed him for a moment. A month ago, it would have taken him several hours to tackle dozens of floors this way. But now, even the nimblest of monkeys would envy his Agility and Endurance.

Note: Danger! Minesweeper sense triggered!

A trap?

Cheater froze instantly in his uncomfortable position. He suddenly felt he did not want to go up to the next floor at all.

Staring upward, he studied the well above—in particular, a wide slot in the left wall. It was close to the floor on the next story, and anyone might have installed something in there with room to spare.

He didn’t need Omniscience to see it. A black plastic rectangle. A flat box, taped to the wall.

It was too small to be a mine. Hardly ten grams of explosives would fit in something of that size. If you ignored the size of the detonator and whatever radio or proximity trigger might be used.

Placing mines would risk making a lot of noise, too, and they certainly didn’t intend to do that. This party had brought silenced weapons. They would not be so neglectful.

It was some kind of electronic device, but definitely not a camera. Most likely it was a sensor, placed to watch this unusual route.

Would it trigger an alarm? Why then had Minesweeper triggered, if there was no mine? Was this a bug? Or did this count as a trap?

In any case, he was grateful to the System.

Now, why would the enemy take such precautions? Covering the entrance to the building should have seemed enough. There were dozens of floors between there and here. And there were many, many such utility ducts. A dozen between these two floors, at least.

What, were they planning to settle in? They had only recently arrived, and yet they had been absurdly thorough.

Cheater was no specialist in alarm systems. He could not proceed.

Trying another utility duct gave him a similar warning. This time, though, he made a useful discovery. The facade was different on this opposite side of the building. Vertical protrusions of some kind reached up to the very roof. As it turned out, they were narrow enough to shimmy up.

It was time to put his stats to maximum use.

His Strength, Agility, and Endurance had far surpassed ordinary human limits. Out here, where he was hanging perilously but in no actual danger of falling, even the worst of paranoiacs would not place sensors and alarms.

Unless, perhaps, that security tech also had acrobatic skills as highly developed as Cheater’s.

That was unlikely.

Despite all of his powerful stats, Cheater had a difficult time of it. The ledges along the way were quite unsuitable for climbing. He would submit a complaint later.

Four floors up he climbed, and that was the end. He could have continued climbing up, to where the protrusions melded back into the wall. But then, he would reach a dead end.

So instead, he climbed into the final available window—and encountered an immediate surprise. The architects had demonstrated bold plans for the top of the building. The final three floors were intertwined in a Mobius-esque design that left him confounded as to where one floor ended and the other began.

It was here that his enemies were stationed. He lit them up with Flash of Omniscience.

No, he had not activated it on the way up. Some sensors could detect such things—he had learned that during his self-education in Rainbow. He had been learning what kinds of abilities other players could wield against him.

This group definitely had a sensor, somewhere nearby, and so abusing his active ability had been an unnecessary risk.

Now, though, it was worth it. He only had access to Chameleon, and that did not render him completely invisible. Smile of Fortune and Tranquility were both still in cooldown. Even Helping Hand was out.

The cooldown for that ability was quite long.

Flash of Omniscience illuminated the entire top three floors of the building. He would detect his opponents’ positions and determine a pattern of attack to inflict maximum damage on them within seconds.

Bow at the ready, arrow on the string, he activated the skill with biological objects selected as the highlight target.

Omniscience! The structures of the building shimmered, and Cheater found himself in the center of a web of phantasmal lines and planes intersecting at precise angles. No longer did the upper floors seem chaotic: he saw the elegant simplicity of the design in an instant.

It was not at all complicated. Only the darkness and distraction had prevented him from seeing it immediately.

Human figures shone brightly amidst the interweaving and unfinished rolling floors and walls. Cheater counted eight with a glance. Plus the sentinel many floors below.

Nine in total. Beetle had been correct, but it was still too early to trust him.

Seven of them were grouped up against the southern wall of the building. It was that location which offered a perfect view of the leaning tower holding March’s party hostage.

One figure stood alone. She was away from the others, near the elevator shaft openings, hands covering her face.

As soon as Cheater stared towards her, she twitched and turned, as if looking around—but kept her hands on her face.

He would bet all of the pearls on the Continent that this one was the sensor. She might have noticed Flash of Omniscience, and was now trying to ascertain its source.

She seemed stunned. The sensor believed herself to be in the safest location of all. Many floors up, sentinel and alarm coverage, and a sensor watching for distant suspicious activity approaching their location. Suddenly, in the midst of this protected fortress, something unthinkable happens. Someone brazenly scans the area with a short-range ability.

Bad news.

The sensor was panicking. Shocked. But if she had any experience, the surprise would soon fade. She would scribble messages in the chat window, or report over the radio, and begin working the area earnestly with her own abilities. He might be found quickly.

I have to take out the sensor first. The loss of that player would be noticed, but a moment of confusion would inevitably follow. And no player would remain who could powerfully oppose his Chameleon.

Cheater rushed down the hall, abandoning attempts at keeping quiet. Speed was paramount.

The sensor, though she should have heard the sounds of running, continued twisting her head back and forth like a radar dish, hands covering her face. Perhaps she relied on her skill so much that she neglected her usual senses.

She did not notice the noise.

Cheater leaped out into the hallway intersection and fired without aiming. A bow was an amazing weapon for someone with pumped Accuracy—if the distance was short, and the target was mostly or completely immobile.

All of these conditions were met.

The arrow struck the sensor in the palm covering her face. This might not seem a serious wound, but the bow was a serious bow. The tip slammed through the bones of her face and deep into her brain.

Head wounds were a nasty and unpredictable business. She started to shudder, and then walked forward with the gait of a dysfunctional robot. After a few steps, she executed a Fring-style collapse.

Directly into the open elevator shaft.

But Cheater was off, ascending the intricate spiral staircase to the top floor and shooting at the player at its apex. The man had turned, and was looking down, obviously reacting to the death of the sensor’s icon.

An arrow silently slipped into his head. Hastily retreating to the wall, Cheater took cover, shouldered his bow,  drew his sword, and froze.

For most players, this would be unwise. Suspicious rustles were heard above. A red dot moved across the landing on the top floor. Someone was using infrared night vision. Everyone was now focused on the local problem and no longer causing trouble for Cheater’s companions. All eyes were aimed down, seeking the daring archer. He was in full view.

A reckless position, but his Chameleon was active. It sipped a tiny bit of mana every minute. Cheater had merged into the monochromatic background, like a small, frameless mirror against the backdrop of a much larger mirror. It was for this reason that he had chosen this dull gray wall. As long as he stayed still, they would not see him, unless they closed to point-blank range. Small movements were allowable. Even when players had night vision abilities, they were usually much inferior to daytime vision. Optical instruments could also be fooled by Chameleon. It was the blind searching for the invisible.

The enemies were rare professionals. None of them made a sound, none uttered a word. Silently they began to descend the two spiral staircases. Three on each. He had cut their numbers from eight to six, but he was still deep in the woods. Cheater’s Darkvision allowed him to discern some of the excellent weapons and ammunition his opponents carried. These were not vagabonds or vigilantes. They were more like special forces.

He dismissed his impulse to allow them to approach so he could kill them all with Choppa. That might end with his death. He should have arranged a better meeting place, rather than stay here. He should have retreated down the hallway immediately after the second shot and watched his opponents’ movement with Flash of Omniscience. Their sensor, or at least their main sensor, was dead, and they would likely not notice the scan.

Not that it would matter if they did. Everyone already knew he was here.

He regretfully noted that it was too late for this plan. Moving under Chameleon would compromise his disguise, at least during the movement. There was no way he could cross forty feet of open area under the watchful gaze of six professionals.

However, he soon saw their very professionalism turn to his advantage. They had managed to deduce that he had shot the arrows from the hallway. So, all of their attention was focused there. They approached quietly from both sides, barrels in unison pointed that direction.

Glances over their shoulder were few and far between. Now, they were hardly ever looking his way. He recalled one of his ability’s bonus perks: all living things would experience an involuntary desire to look the other way.

It was, it turned out, a great perk.

They walked by barely five paces from him. Cheater held his breath, terrified of giving himself away.

At last, one spoke. “Double Group, come up to the fifth floor right away. Secure it. Clear the entire floor. We’ll close him in from both sides. And Benz—on your guard. This is not your ordinary player.”

Cheater didn’t like that. What was Double Group? He doubted that the sentinel in the stairwell demanded to be addressed as a “group.” Plus, that man would have to descend in order to reach the fifth floor, not ascend. But the man had clearly said “come up.”

Had Beetle gotten the number wrong? Perhaps two groups had been dispatched, and the tankman had only known of one. The odds were rapidly shifting. The situation was becoming even less predictable. Cheater doubted his ability to deal with the remaining seven without getting into trouble—and now a new squad was on its way?

How many opponents did this group have? What were their abilities?

At least he now knew that his enemies were fully occupied with Cheater, not with his companions. Someone might still be keeping an eye on them, but he considered that unlikely.

Why had these bounty hunters taken so many precautions? March was a sensor, too. His ability was selective, yes, but it counted for something.

He realized the group had a chance. Not a guarantee, but a chance.

He opened party chat.

Cheater:

I’m in the building with these guys. Made a little noise. I have good news and bad news. Bad news: there are two groups, not just one. Good news: both of them are looking for me.

March:

You call that good news?

Cheater:

Well, it’s good news for you. They’re no longer watching you, and I killed their sensor. So they’re no longer shooting at you. Get up to the top fast, before they turn their eyes back your way.

March:

What about you?

Cheater:

I’ll try to keep them distracted. Then I'll catch up with you. Or perhaps I won’t make it. Not that you care.

March:

You’ll get out of this. The horde didn’t take you down, and neither will these pretentious pricks. See you on the other side.

Cheater:

I’ll go a different way. I’m not crazy enough to tackle the Trinity. Dealing with you is hard enough.

Clown:

The Trinity? The hell is he talking about?

No answer followed—either that, or March had replied aloud. Most likely, though, he had diverted the question.

That was the correct course of action right now, Cheater knew full well. Conversation would slow their progress upwards. It was a controversial move, of course, going for the top and dealing with the three beasts, but March had his reasons.

Let him go.

Stuck with nothing to do, Cheater fired off a note to Beetle.

Cheater:

Do you know a guy named Benz?

Beetle:

Of course I do. Security officer from Flint. Cool guy.

Cheater:

Looks like he’s here.

Beetle:

He is? Jeez. You better get out of there.

Cheater:

Too late. They’re trying to close me in.

Beetle:

See you at respawn. If he’s in the group, we’re all dead. But how did he get here? He should be out west. That’s where the Devils were all driven—but maybe he  was sent to make a deal with the NPCs. Rumors vary.

As he typed in the chat, Cheater kept an eyes on his enemies. They were acting strangely. He thought they would enter the hallway once they reached it—but for some reason, they froze. They just stared into the darkness, sometimes glancing this way or that.

What is going on?

They were no longer communicating via radio and may have moved to chat. In that case, their delay made sense. They were discussing their next course of action, and since chatting while moving was uncomfortable, they would not budge until they were in agreement.

Hadn’t their commander been clear enough over the radio, though? What had changed?

Before this thought had even finished passing through his mind, his hand tightened its grip on his sword hilt. Without needing a nudge from his System-provided intuition, he realized that his enemies knew about him.

Somehow.

He separated from the wall, like an ice nymph surging out of an icy waterfall. Deftly, he dove under the barrels of the submachine guns and rifles turning his way, Choppa swinging as he went.

If his luck held out, he would take a couple of them with him.

Perhaps even more.

Chapter 27

Life Nine. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Veterans of the Continent move and act very swiftly. Especially if they have pumped their Agility and Reaction.

Cheater accumulated much higher numbers for these stats than the average player. His opponents were unlikely to match his stats—but they were probably not too much inferior.

Though they turned quickly, they failed to match Cheater’s speed. His desperate charge and controlled fall dropped his body well below their aim. Choppa’s calculated triple swing crunched through them.

One opponent lost both legs and fell backwards with a thin scream. Another lost only one limb, causing her to collapse to that side, into the third fighter of the trio. Cheater’s attack did not reach the others, but they were unable to open fire immediately since their own crippled and collapsing comrades were in the way.

That short moment of confusion was enough for him to roll under one of the bizarrely curved staircases—which one of the two trios had descended shortly before.

His advantages of surprise and careful calculation were no longer active. Bullets struck the floor and hammered into the staircase. No matter how silenced your weapon, shooting at reinforced concrete would cause a racket.

In addition, bullet penetration and range suffered when silencers were used. For this reason, players did not always love using them, despite their advantages. When you were up against armored ghouls, you wanted all the power you could get.

Listening to the impacts against the stairs was a terrifying ordeal. Yet not a single bullet, not a single scrap of concrete, struck Cheater. As ornamental as the stairs looked, they were solid.

They would not protect him for long. Cheater’s enemies knew that he was behind them, and that he had nowhere to go. He had cornered himself. Two panoramic window openings were before him, bounded by protrusions that stretched from the walls—and nearly to the staircase. Trying to slip out from the corner would cause him to come under fire. Chameleon would hardly protect him during movement.

But Cheater was not even thinking of trying to slip away. He had not rolled into a corner in order to attempt an escape from it. Rising, he rushed to the window opening, making sure to keep the stairs between him and his attackers. Thanks to its fancy bottom-heavy design, this was easy enough.

At the end of his run, Cheater jumped high. It was a calculated move, just like all the rest. Perching momentarily on the concrete windowsill, he pivoted on one leg as he sheathed Choppa. He pushed off, from several dozen floors up.

Suicide was not his intention. If he was to die, he would take his enemies with him.

His flight plan was not prolonged.

He grabbed the edge of the window opening one floor down. His speed was limited, and his Reaction was more than enough.

Immediately he heaved himself up into a room littered with construction debris. Dropping supine, he activated Flash of Omniscience and highlighted the six enemies up above.

The four remaining from the two trios had predictably gone around the stairs—and were now pumping rounds into the corner where they believed their invisible enemy must be lurking. Two still remained in the place where they had first met Choppa. One was not moving at all, having apparently lost consciousness from the shock. The second was writhing in convulsions and attempting to tie on a tourniquet.

Cheater glanced to the side and saw nothing threatening. Either the second group had not yet reached the building, or they were too far below for Flash of Omniscience to reach.

For one moment, he regretted leaving his rifle with Beetle. He could have easily shot all six right now. They were perfectly illuminated, and the reinforced concrete floors were poor obstacles for his weapon. Especially with its modifications. Even without them, Explosive Round could do that and more.

But he didn’t have the rifle. Plus, his gun didn’t have a silencer, and the ghouls would hear it for miles away. Including the terrifying Trinity. That would create problems for Cheater’s enemies, yes, but also for his companions.

There was, in fact, no need to fight now. He just had to hold out as long as possible. Bring attention to himself and do whatever he could to keep the ghouls from focusing on his group across the way.

Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, Cheater wanted to let March fail. All of his opaque obfuscations just to squeeze more out of border crossings. Let the man meet the Trinity here and realize he had gone too far this time. But all of the other participants would suffer, too, and they had not had anything to do with his overreaching machinations. The group would fail to cross the border and a respawn would disperse them throughout the region, leading to all kinds of problems.

He would not do that to them.

Yet most of all, Cheater wanted to be on the other side. And fast. Squeezing maximal bonuses and loot out of the crossing was of no interest to him.

But instead of even doing that, he was practicing acrobatics in an unfinished building packed with enemies. He had to keep them distracted. Or, ideally, kill them all.

He should be leaving this behind and charging east.

Such enemies could not be deceived for long. Once they thoroughly riddled the corner with bullets, they examined it and realized no one was there. It was then a simple conclusion that Cheater had escaped through one of the two window openings.

The first to the window leaned out to examine the way down. Acrobatics were an option, but perhaps the trick failed, and the invisible man had plummeted to his death.

Yet no, Cheater’s body could not be seen below, waiting to turn to black dust. Nor did it lie in the concrete labyrinth of the floor below. Instead, it was jutting out into space, held up by gymnastic abdominal strength. Face pointing upward, torso bent at the waist.

Cheater’s hands were also pointing upward.

As was the bow in those hands.

Its string drawn.

The enemy looking out did not observe this for long. The twang of the bowstring mingled with the revolting sound of the arrow crunching through the player’s bones and brains.

Someone panicked. He swore, sharply and loudly. Cheater heard it—and grinned.

They’re nervous. Excellent.

It was a trick he could only pull once, but it had worked. He could no longer wait for someone else to fall for it. Once he had released the arrow, Cheater had rushed headlong towards the center of the floor. The remaining enemies could do what they liked. He had business to attend to.

The sentinel remained a few floors below. Reinforcements might be ascending, as well.

He wanted to have a chat with the sentinel before the newcomers arrived.

Cheater took the stairs. He descended gradually, activating Flash of Omniscience at nearly every level. This combined with his active Chameleon cost a tremendous amount of mana. Yet without it, he would be blind in the dark and unfamiliar structure. Nor could he deactivate Chameleon. It had a significant cooldown, so turning it off would eliminate the chance to use it again. The second group likely had a sensor on their team, too. Definitely. Beetle’s reaction to the news had alerted him to how serious these people were—and anyone with such experience and intentions would hardly risk this mission without supernatural senses.

Even if they had an excellent sensor, though, Chameleon would still be useful. One fighter with a scanning ability was still only one fighter. The rest would be blind, except for their ability to follow their sensor’s instructions.

If Bighead worked as its properties indicated, even the sensor was only likely to be effective at short distances.

He found the sentinel two stories higher than he expected. They must have ordered him to come up and then rescinded the command. He stayed in place, weapon pointed up the stairs, expecting an attack from that direction.

Flash of Omniscience showed the familiar signaling device installed just ahead of him, up the flight of stairs. Perhaps he had come up on his own. He selected a place where his chances of successfully fighting an invisible enemy would be higher.

The enemy was still not aware of how exactly Chameleon worked. And the less they knew, the better.

He was, of course, far from invisible, and he would be unable to attack the sentinel on the stairs. The man was ready to fight, and it would be suicidal to come at him from the very direction he was expecting. All of the options that came to mind carried some risk. Even the safest option had a significant level of it.

He spent some time moving to one of the utility ducts. This floor’s passage did not have an alarm, so he was able to move down a floor. Quietly he crept to the stairs, and more quietly he rounded the corner.

The man expected no trouble from this side.

Only at the last moment did he sense something. He had some supernatural sense of hearing or smell, or perhaps something akin to Cheater’s Intuition. The man turned briskly and nearly got the machinegun around in time.

Cheater’s cut had to be harder than planned—even with the head removed, the body could still pull the trigger. The sword slashed diagonally, slicing through the temple and arm on both ends. It was sloppy, but luck directed the spray of blood to the wall rather than to Cheater’s face.

As the dead body fell, its radio crackled, and a loud voice came through. “Hello, Cheater.”

Instead of crouching down to respond, he used Flash of Omniscience yet again, looking for any tricks. Nothing was visible, yet still he searched frantically in his attempt to riddle things out. The lines and angles and planes of the building were still confusing.

“I know it’s you, whether you respond or not. After all, your group cannot possibly have two such players. You are quite recognizable. My name is Benz. I don’t know whether you’ve heard of me. If you have, then you know that I am a man of my word. We can reach an agreement here, you and I. I don’t need you. I’m not here for you. And I’m not here for your people. But your group has three stowaways, three deceivers, whom I do need. I will not leave without them. Simply give them to me, and we will leave you alone. I have no quarrel with you. You have fought honorably, and that earns nothing but respect. Those up top are not the only fighters you are up against. I am coming up, and I have strong accomplices. You are trapped now between the mallet and the anvil, between the rock and the hard place, but do not fret: our ascent is slow. You have time to think and to give us your reply. Believe me, Cheater: you must give the correct answer. Here, your interests and mine align.”

It was well said, but this was no church, to talk of belief. Cheater made no reply. He still did not know how he would get out of this situation, nor whether he would get out at all, but surrendering to a team whose fighters he had killed and maimed was a deficient plan.

Everything was going well so far. The enemy now hunted only him, and he could see his companions making notable progress. They were almost at the top. All he had to do was hold out for a few minutes—then, he could attempt his escape.

Cheater took advantage of the lull to scope out the current floor, investigating all of the window openings, doorways, and utility ducts. Omniscience gave him lots of information, yes, but it was best to match that up with data from his physical eyes.

The elevator was interesting. No power had been run up to this floor yet, but the cable had been installed. He could, in theory, descend it. But if the guys coming up were truly veterans, they would do something to prevent this.

He could not count on their negligence. It was a dangerous route. If he was caught along it there was no way out. He discarded the possibility.

Could he repeat the trick from before? Jump down one floor, out the window, until he reached the bottom? It seemed risky, but doable. It would be a last resort. If his Agility and Reaction failed him, a long and deadly fall would ensue.

Once he had explored the whole floor, he moved back up. Three fighters in full health waited somewhere up there, along with a couple of cripples. If Benz’s group was ascending slowly, he might be able to handle the battered top group. They were relatively few, and their sensor was dead.

The fact that they had somehow noticed him bothered him. Cheater had analyzed those moments in his memory and seen that their behavior changed dramatically at a certain moment. They were about to enter the corridor, and then they stopped. What they had been doing was unclear. They had stayed still, sometimes looking here or there. As if someone was telling them which way to look for him—and that someone had been right.

With Chameleon and his equipment bonuses active, Cheater could discount the possibility that they had been informed by a new sensor from Benz’s distant group. They had detected him on their own somehow. But how? What had given him away?

Cheater’s amnesia regarding events in the past world may have had a beneficial effect on his memory of events in this one. He put the pieces together, and realized that his enemies had begun to act differently when he started sending chat messages to March and his party. As if they had somehow detected a nearby player using chat.

They began preparing to strike when Cheater switched to a conversation with Beetle. He got the impression that this move had somehow refined the accuracy of their estimation of his location.

It was only a hypothesis. All of this evidence was circumstantial. Yet it appeared an explanation vastly more likely than any other.

The Continent was a big place. It had lots of players. They had many bizarre abilities.

Why wouldn’t one of his enemies have an ability that could pinpoint the use of chat? Not eavesdropping—that should be impossible. Just detection of its use. Triangulation.

Cheater was passing through these floors a third time now. He ignored the alarm boxes and only used Flash of Omniscience sparingly. His mana meter had plenty of room for mana points, but its regeneration speed was not very good. Chameleon was slowly sapping it, and the use of Omniscience caused significant bumps downward. He had to be frugal. There was no telling how long this fight might last.

The remnants of the first group were not descending. They remained in the same location Cheater had bid them farewell, as he descended to “speak with” their stairwell sentinel. Wounded members had been moved to the area near the elevator shafts, and the three still on their feet had fashioned improvised fortifications out of construction equipment and materials. The now-familiar alarm signal boxes were planted in each of the three hallways leading to their new foothold.

Omniscience revealed that they were on their guard, weapons pointed in different directions, covering all approaches. One excellent attack angle was from the elevator shaft right behind them. Now that would be a surprise. But it would not end well for him. Cheater was not nimble enough to run on walls. He could climb, but a quick test run below had established that he could hardly do so in silence.

At the slightest suspicious noise, all three would turn, take a couple of steps, aim down, and open fire.

Too risky.

Cheater easily reached the floor the group was on via the same utility well as before. Then, he moved to one of the three hallways leading to the lift area. Taking care not to show himself, he opened the party chat again.

Cheater:

Yo turtles, you started moving yet?

March:

Respect for your elders, boy. We’re at the top already. Lowering ourselves to the ground. Not the easiest task. We should be done in three minutes tops, unless we stop for a beer break. Which I most certainly plan to do. How are things over there?

Cheater:

Not bad. Not sure I’ll make it out though. Well, get moving. Over and out.

As he typed, Cheater kept a close eye on his opponents. He smiled when he saw them move after the first message.

His assumption seemed to be correct. When he sent chat messages, they could locate him. It was doubtful that they could accurately pinpoint him, but they knew which direction to look. Even the woman with one leg turned to watch this hallway—and the three who were unhurt paid nearly all of their attention to it.

He had to act quickly, while their attention was focused here. Cheater moved to the other end of the floor and climbed higher, through a utility duct without an alarm. His enemies either had not brought enough alarm systems along with them or had simply neglected some of the ways through. What was important was that no one could approach their position by stealthy means.

Cheater was unable to move through the hallway without triggering alarms. He had no such ability. But he did have others.

With Flash of Omniscience, he illuminated his opponents. Then, he waited for one of the three, who was supposed to control the hallway he was now within, to turn back towards the direction of his chat messages.

He sidestepped into the hallway and raised his pistol. He had attached the silencer in advance and loaded subsonic rounds into the magazine. The distance to the first enemy was about forty yards—too far for such a weapon.

He hoped his Accuracy would hold. It did.

Cheater managed seven shots before he ducked back around the corner to take cover from return fire. Then, he considered his effectiveness.

His opponents were equipped with body armor, and one sported a serious police helmet. However, his pistol was upgraded with many priceless mods. Only a strong defensive barrier could stop his rounds. So the barricade, true to form, was the main obstacle.

One was down, or at least so badly hurt that he did not move. Another was shot in the arm and the neck, and was engaged in trying to urgently stop the bleeding. He seemed to be failing at that task, and so he would probably soon settle down next to the first.

The third was still up. He was the one drilling burst after burst down the hall. Bullets flew uselessly past Cheater's position. It was not clear whether he was hurt or not, but there was something unnatural, twisted even, about his posture. Cheater might wait a little longer so that he could succumb to his wounds. But there was no time. The second group would arrive at an unpredictable moment. Assuming Benz wasn’t bluffing, he was already in the building—once he heard the news of the attack, he might pick up speed and arrive in minutes.

Cheater did not move to any of the utility ducts. Nor did he try to use the chats as bait. Those would take too much time. The layout of the unfinished building made it possible to quickly move to another hallway. From there, he repeated his trick.

First, Flash of Omniscience. Once the last enemy standing had his back turn, he could round the corner and shoot twice.

He hit, and well. Small fragments of shrapnel flew off of the highlighted figure. It looked like blood splashed out of his face, along with scraps of knocked out flesh. Considering that Cheater was aiming for the back of the head, it was a bad situation for the man.

He rushed forward. Damn the alarms, damn it all. The enemies had been defeated. Only wounded remained, and if Omniscience was any indication, they were no longer in fighting condition.

Cheater was slightly mistaken with the latter assumption. One of the wounded managed to turn and throw up his arm, immediately firing without aiming. His Accuracy was not high enough, though, and he missed as Cheater zigzagged. Or maybe it was the fact that he had been down a leg since the very beginning of the battle. Thanks to Choppa.

The crippled man did not manage to shoot a second time. Cheater crossed over the low barricade and unloaded the remaining rounds in his gun’s magazine, trying to ensure that no one was left out from the equitable slaughter.

With that done, he could not resist a prank.

He bent over one of the bodies and pulled the radio out of its vest. “Benz, do you copy? I think I broke your mallet. Sorry.”

“It happens,” the radio replied, “but it doesn’t change anything. This is your last chance to do this the easy way. The right way. Once we reach you, well, nothing good will come of that. For you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Cheater answered calmly, and set to looting the bodies.

He was not petty enough to steal spores and yellow peas. The only interest he had now was weapons. Especially the large caliber rig which had so recently tormented his party. It was a monstrous, locally made contraption, based on an anti-tank rifle from World War II. It looked like the previous owners had installed an improved barrel and modernizations. The rounds were obviously no standard fare out of factory-sealed cans. Serious shooters always preferred wildcats.. Even Cheater had some, bought from a famous hand loader in Rainbow. They were worth the money, especially for a sniper. The quality of factory-made ammo was often subpar, even from renown manufacturers.

The rifle Cheater now had was loud and mighty. But it was muffled. Everything else, such as reduced powder rounds and various tricks to reduce the bullet’s initial velocity, would further dampen the report. The gun only had three modifications, and they were weak. But silence was the most critical aspect now.

That was precisely the reason why he had left his gun with Beetle. A single shot from that cannon would stir up thousands of beasts for miles. Benz’s gang was already enough of a challenge.

Wait, what’s this? He picked up a strange looking tablet computer. It was heavy and rimmed in a massive metal protective frame with rubber pad bumpers. The sentinel had earlier been holding one like it too. Cheater had not thought of rummaging through the man’s backpack; it had likely been there.

The device had taken a bullet right into the center of its screen and was unlikely to ever power on again. He doubted they had brought it along to play games on. Probably it had received the data from the various sensors around the building. Now, this information was sadly inaccessible. But Cheater’s Flash of Omniscience was its own surveillance system. He just had to head down to get a view on his adversaries.

So he returned to the stairs.

The lower he could get before the encounter, the better: more floors above meant more room for tactical withdrawal.

He didn’t have to look for Benz’s people for long. Six floors below, he saw the first. He realized then why they were ascending so slowly.

No, their generosity towards Cheater was not the primary aim. Each time they stopped on a floor, they spread out across the entire area, making stops here and there. As if they were installing more sensors, or doing something similar.

Were they trying to ensure that he could not escape? He doubted that. This was a lot of floors to cover. Closing all of the ways down would take hundreds and hundreds of sensors, and how would such a system even function? Building out a system of carefully placed sensors was one thing—but these were dozens and dozens that seemed at random.

Say one fires. Than another. What’s the next course of action? First, you have to figure out where they are. Serious alarm systems required as much setup time after installation as they did before.

Was there something Cheater didn’t know about these alarms? Or was the enemy’s activity something else? He was not overly upset. After all, they were not reacting to him now. He could continue observing them from the floor above.

Less than five minutes had passed before the temptation to shift from observation to action became irresistible. His enemies were too predictable. First they scattered into all the nooks and crannies, taking their incomprehensible actions, and then they returned to the stairs and climbed them to the next floor. At that moment, they could be caught by a bullet or arrow from above.

Tossing a grenade was the best option, but an unavailable one.

A boom was the last thing he wanted.

He gave in. Cheater counted twelve downstairs. It would be great to cut that down to eleven.

His pistol was a good option, but he ultimately chose the bow. Doubts that he would be able to shoot more than once caused him to put everything into one single attempt.

The bow did feel more familiar than the pistol, too. It had an excellent set of modifications, including increased arrow velocity. A bullet still went much faster, but with his special rig, that difference would be much smaller now. The atypical weapon might also confuse the enemy so that he did not realize what had happened.

And a confused enemy was the best kind of enemy there was.

His looted rifle would be a better choice in terms of combat parameters, but Cheater did not want them to know yet that he had collected it. They could find out about it later.

He took up a position in the stairwell, and gray figures flashed through his Darkvision.

He shot.

The result exceeded all expectations. Not the fact that he hit. Yes, his Accuracy and the powerful bow removed one opponent from the game.

But what he learned was how all of his enemies responded.

All of them fired. There was no moment of confusion—the return volley was practically instant. Veterans on the Continent had amazing Reaction, as a rule, and were difficult to attack without immediate retribution.

But at least half of his opponents were using machine guns and rifles which were not equipped with silencers. Ordinary guns, with ordinary ammunition.

The silence was broken.

Cheater was nearly deafened by the roar, despite his distance from it. The raging sounds echoed up the walls of the concrete stairwell walls and slammed into his ears.

They’re insane. Thousands of beasts are on their way now.

Cheater hurried up the stairs, thoughts of a surrounding horde besieging his head. The faster he got out of here, the lower his risk of getting struck by a ricochet round.

An oddity caught his peripheral vision. A golden light. Was that a shard from a tracer round?

He turned, and his jaw dropped. It was a firefly, a tiny will-o’-the-wisp, a fairy out of Ocarina of Time, but with a golden color. Its yellow shimmer could not be a tracer. The light of a mighty lantern, focused in a tightly crumpled ball of foil.

Without any apparent power source. It was not corporeal, and had nothing to do with the bullets coming up from below.

Another one showed up. And other, and other, until there were dozens. A whirlwind of sparkling golden snowflakes, swirling onto his landing.

One touched Cheater and stuck to his sleeve. The others rushed him then, clinging to him from all sides.

He increased his speed and burst through the center of the mysterious blizzard as the shooting intensified. The enemies started aiming higher, striking the concrete in places that were dangerously close.

Somehow, they had eyes on him, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

The damned sparks made Chameleon worthless. As long as they hung on Cheater, he shone like the midday sun.

With a glance down, he saw that despite the end of his last Flash of Omniscience, he could see what was occurring several floors below. Not everything could be seen, of course, but the whirl of snowflakes was visible. They could be easily seen through all of the steel and concrete. Every material became a window to their location. And they were multiplying rapidly. He saw several nexuses, from which they sprayed in all directions. Those things were giving birth to them.

But what the hell were they? Fiercely all of the barrels fired, illuminating the skyscraper, slicing through reinforced concrete. The bombastic nature of the concert in the midst of the city of the dead did not bother his opponents.

Were they here to kill Cheater and then die at the hands of the infecteds? To win at any cost?

Why?

No, this was no kamikaze mission. There was something more cunning afoot. The Continent was a mysterious place. Nothing and no one could be trusted. That included your own ears and eyes.

What had he gotten into this time? How could he oppose this enemy’s tactics?

Cheater basically understood the plan of his pursuers. These fairies were from a rare sensor ability where the locators emanated moved to a specified target. Their source, however, was not a human. The luminous entities from which the sparkles flew were not players. Players were, however, certainly involved. This must have been what his opponents had been installing on each and every floor.

They weren’t exactly sensors. How do I get out of this?

The fireflies could not be dislodged from his clothes or his skin, but they became dimmer the farther Cheater moved away from his opponents. All he could do was climb higher and higher, yielding floor after floor to his foes as he sought a method to counter their sophisticated search.

That foe easily watched the spark-covered silhouette rising upward and was in no hurry to follow. In a fast chase, all kinds of mishaps could occur, and if Cheater’s illumination were to entirely fade out, he might get them again as they rushed. So they moved at the speed they had prior, floor by floor, processing each as they went. Entering any of the covered floors would cause him to shine like the day.

Cheater would climb higher and higher until he was trapped on the roof, and they would then activate the tracers fully. Sparks would light the sky, the skyscraper, and the sneaky player. As Cheater was unable to fly, he would have to use his remaining trump cards. Of which he had few.

What was the easiest way to counter such an ability? Destroy the source.

That led to a problem. Cheater had no idea who was deploying these sticky illuminators. He had his suspicions, though. While ten of them scampered about the floors, placing firefly emitters, two of them stood in place.

These were quite possibly the search specialist and the group’s commander himself. One was always at the ready to make Cheater visible as soon as he revealed his position. The other protected the first, as the most valuable asset of the team, and coordinated the actions of all the rest.

Killing the sensor would enable him to do with this group as he had with the previous one. He would use Chameleon and his powerful stats to take them out one by one. Without their cunning sensor, they would have a hard time of it.

How, though, could he identify which of the two was the sensor?

No. He would have to take them both out.

If he could even get to them. As long as these indelible sequins decorated his clothes, he could not take the stairs or utility shafts. Those were the places with the highest concentrations of the treacherous trackers.

What an ability! It showed enemies through multiple levels of reinforced concrete. It must have cost a bundle of mana. Meaning it was expensive to sustain. The sensor had only activated it when Cheater was nearby and had given away his position. Before that instant, no fireflies had been visible.

He had to wait for these to blink out, descend towards his enemies again, and somehow finish both of the pair off before the bedazzling blizzard could begin again.

It was his only option, and it seemed doable. His first thought was to use Flash of Omniscience, sneak to the floor above the two, and pile mana in Explosive Round.

He could kill the pair by shooting through the floor, as Explosive Round had massive penetration power and only detonated when hitting the target.

If he had his rifle, he would have done just that. He had confidence in his weapon. But not in this looted gun. The enemies did not have long to go until they reached the top, where with the fireflies they would locate him easily. No matter how tough he was, he could not fend off a dozen bad guys with the ability to see him through walls.

He would only get one try at this.

It could not fail.

As he continued rushing upstairs, he sketched out a new plan in his head. The flight of stairs ended in front of the elevators where his battle with the last trio from the first group had taken place. Their bodies had crumbled into black dust, but their ammo and weapons remained. Even one of their bound weapons.

He could collect and use it, for now.

It was a disposable grenade launcher. A popular weapon, but this one had an anti-personnel projectile, rather than the anti-tank missiles so popular throughout the Continent. It was rare to see this variant.

Thankfully, he was not fighting a tank.

This was only a fallback for him, though. A light machinegun was his primary plan. Loading up the first few rounds with Explosive Round would make them punch through any type of body armor. Priests and healers were rare, so he doubted their group had such. A pair of well-aimed bursts would kill the enemy’s primary tool.

He found climbing rope in one of the enemy’s backpacks as well. It was too short to reach the ground, but Cheater did not need it to go that far.

All he needed was enough for one floor.

His looting session was finished. Now, on to his next encounter with Benz and friends.

* * *

Flash of Omniscience was a great ability. He could see who was where and what they were doing, in nearly any circumstance. Including the two who sat out of the device planting.

There was no great obstacle to reaching them, since he knew where they were. He needed to select the correct window opening, take them both out with his machine gun, and then hide.

It sounded simple, but few would be able to full off such a feat. Once Cheater was on the same floor as his enemies, he risked giving himself away, by sight or by sound. These were no noobs.

He could execute this jump as he had the last—but he didn’t. That wouldn’t be wise with a big machinegun in his hands, anyway. Beyond boosting his firepower, it also significantly shifted his center of gravity. He might just plummet to the pavement.

So he anchored the rope and tightened loops around his feet.

The plan reminded him of Nut and of his one and only interview for the group. Cheater was not about to go as far as the deranged sapper, but there were undeniable similarities.

He, too, planned to swing in and destroy those beneath him in the building.

Time for the final checks. Perhaps his calculations were off and he would drop too far, ending in a floor underneath the pursuit.

It was a risk. That would waste his opportunity, but alas, Cheater was no Superman. A group of players with above-average stats could create serious problems for him. No one on the Continent was omnipotent.

By design.

Cheater was beginning to partly understand the System.

That understanding came an instant before he released the concrete and sank into the void.

It was a short flight. Only about five feet, in fact. The window openings were tall enough that small errors in measurement were forgivable.

Cheater hovered upside down, holding out the machinegun and peering into the gloomy floor below. The two silhouettes highlighted by his final Flash of Omniscience were thirty paces away. He was in a non-standard position, though, and with an unfamiliar weapon. So he did not limit his shots to a couple of short volleys. He fired twenty rounds, riddling both of them.

Then he fired through the doors, hoping to catch other opponents with ricochets, but he did not do so for long. He released the machine gun and bent upward, grabbing the slightly protruding edge of the concrete slab. He hauled himself up. The cable itself gave him another point of support. Two seconds later, he was one floor above the foe.

Not bad. They were down two, before they had realized what had happened. No fireflies followed, nor return fire.

He considered the mission a crushing success.

Freeing his legs, he ran to the nearest utility shaft and collected the radio he had left. His gloating was unconcealed. “Looks like the anvil is having trouble, too.”

The answer came a few seconds later, in a voice that was tired but indifferent. “Yes, Cheater, inspiring. You’re even better than they say. You’ve caused us some inconveniences. But don’t rejoice yet—our problems are now your problems. Take a look outside. Remember, too, that this building was covered in glowing golden lights, and we fired every gun we had—but not a single infected took notice. Now come on, take a look outside.”

Cheater believed the man. He looked. Benz’s voice was just too confusing.

Leaning out the nearest window, he saw what the man had meant.

They all had a problem.

Chapter 28

Life Nine. Wrath of the Ghouls

Even novices knew that making noise was unwise in a city crowded with ghouls. Cheater had learned this on his own, and quickly, at the very beginning of his career on the Continent. He had managed to survive several difficult hours in the city, some of them at night. It had been his most serious test yet.

An unforgettable experience.

Sneeze? You’re dead. Cough? Dead. Flick a lighter in a room without full curtain coverage of the windows? Dead. Bad hygiene? Also dead. The infecteds had impeccable senses.

Cheater had been astounded when Benz’s group had fired their “loud” arsenal at him. Even the quietest guns were dangerous here, as bullet ricochets off of walls were hardly silent. The clicks of automatic rifles were also audible from a distance. This building was tall, and no ghouls were inside—but now everything would be heard for miles around.

Benz’s group now could not go unnoticed. Once he dealt with them, he would have to somehow deal with the infecteds.

The ghouls would come.

Yet he saw none of the beasts beginning the siege. Only on adjacent streets was their movement visible. Individual infecteds, pairs, and sometimes small groups, coming to investigate the noise. They were not rushing headlong; if anything, they were apprehensive. Perhaps the sounds had died down too quickly, or echoed down the streets, preventing the exact location of their source from being determined.

Cheater had, apparently, just spoken with Benz. He had been wrong—the leader was still alive. He had not been one of the two.

One had indeed been the sensor with the fireflies.

The other? The commander’s words had cleared up which role he had fulfilled.

What he had read and heard in Rainbow filled in the gaps. Users of these abilities were called mufflers. Their name was descriptive, and this man had been one. So Benz’s group was able to travel the borderlands without the need to use silenced weapons. They could shoot whatever they wanted, detonate grenades, sing songs, beat drums, and punch through concrete walls. Nor had they needed to worry much about night vision goggles. They could use flashlights, as long as they did not let their beams extend beyond the radius of the muffler’s skill. All sounds and light were suppressed, muted in the senses of anyone outside of the sphere of stealth. Creatures outside had heard and seen nothing suspicious.

Without realizing it, Cheater had removed this unnatural protection from the building with his first volleys. The subsequent rounds, when he had attempted to strike other foes, had alerted the nearby monsters to the presence of prey.

They had not yet figured out where the noises had come from, but their search would not take long. Ghouls came from all sides, and soon they would ascend. Every speck of dust would be sniffed, and the scent of the humans would be detected. As they rose from one floor to the next, more and more of the players’ trails would be picked up. The scent of fresh gunpowder. The spent shell casings. The stains of blood, which for some reason the System did not always convert to black dust.

Such obvious signs of prey would arouse the walkers, and the runners, and the monsters. Once they started grumbling, more and more would come. A horde would emerge from the city. Cheater had heard one story of a similar building, attacked by ghouls. The players had barricaded themselves up on the roof, but the horde packed into the building so tightly that it collapsed under their weight.

He had considered it a fiction. Now, he was not so sure.

“You happy, Cheater?” the radio asked.

He moved away from the window. “I didn’t intend this.”

“Few consequences on the Continent are intended. I offered a reasonable solution, by the way. You have chosen this yourself. So, are you satisfied?”

In reply, Cheater waxed philosophical. “My satisfaction matters to you? OK, then, I’ll attempt an answer. We all die, Benz. Many times, over and over. I have died, as have you. This is only scary the first time, and then, it becomes habitual.”

“You’re right. None of us are strangers to perishing. So let us team up. Together we can kill more of them than we could separately. It will be easier to deal with them without constantly fearing a shot in the back of the head.”

“No pact,” Cheater replied firmly. “We can make some provisions, but if you try to ascend the building, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Do you really think that scares us? Death is death, no matter who it comes from. We don’t mind, but you’ll be dying for the sake of Gang and Bling. Do you even know who the bastards are?”

“No idea,” Cheater said. “I know who you’re talking about, but I wasn’t in charge of recruitment. They were just some random last-minute additions, for one crossing.”

“Random? You’re strong players. Why would you take people you don’t know?”

“Party policy,” Cheater mumbled.

“Bad policy. Look at what it’s gotten you into. Gang—or Gangrene, as he calls himself these days—has a price on his head in the North and the West. The NPCs have a bounty on his head. NPCs hate moral monsters who do bad things to the digis whenever they come upon a fresh cluster. Especially when those digis are cute, underage digis. Sick players who behave worse than animals. They even excuse their own behavior by saying that the digis are going to turn into ghouls anyway. So, why do you associate with them?”

“I’m no digi, but I would shoot the bastards doing that,” Cheater answered honestly.

“Anyone would shoot them. But the NPCs have a special hatred for them. You can guess why. Gang was so viciously pursued by them that they drained a bunch of his lives, forcing him to move up north. There, he found a way to link up with a healer. Girls come in all kinds, just as guys do. Including the type who can be easily subjugated. Now, she follows him around like a doll on a leash. Once he brings her east, he will continue to sell her. I’ve heard a lot about you, Cheater. I don’t believe that you and Gang are on the same side. You yourself said that you didn’t like the man, so why are you doing this to us?”

“We are not on the same side, that’s true,” Cheater admitted, “but you should have said this from the start. Now, it’s empty chatter. We would have been happy to negotiate. But you started shooting. That’s not how things are done. Your people shot my party up. You’re not the first to do so, and you won’t be the last. We don’t talk when that happens. We shoot back. We might talk later, with any prisoners that survive.”

“Hah! As if you would give up the three of them after our conversation in those circumstances.”

“Probably not,” Cheater admitted. “We didn’t set the terms here. Shooting first is not the way to negotiation. As long as they’re a part of the party, they are treated like party members. We might kill them ourselves, but that will be an internal decision.”

“So why don’t you?” Benz asked.

“We didn’t know these details. We thought they were just vagabonds. Your Mark was noticed too late, and even then, we didn’t know why you had placed it. I’m not the one to talk to here, anyway. I’m not in a position to resolve such questions. But there might be other resolutions. We could discuss a ransom. You get paid off, and you leave. That’s not a bad option, as far as I see it.”

“You would pay us off?” Benz said, surprise audible in his voice.

“I don’t know. As I said, I’m not the one who decides. It’s worth a try. There might be other ways out, too. For now, the ghouls are the matter at hand. Do not begin to climb up. I’ve already killed one of your groups, and hit yours pretty hard. Stick your nose up here, and you’re dead.”

“No one on the Continent is immortal.”

“I know. But don’t pretend you don’t believe me. There are probably many lies told about me, but much of what is said is the truth. I have learned and grown much more since whatever rumors you heard last, too. Hold out below. Not one floor higher.”

“Fine,” the commander allowed. “But let me make one request. It’s in my interests and yours both.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been in these situations and know what happens next. They’ll come up for us, not just up the stairs, but also up the walls. Those who climb the outside will be the strongest. On the twenty-third floor, a ledge extends out which will allow us to easily control the north wall. You can work the other three walls from the roof. Perhaps you could manage the fourth, too, but then you’d be in line of sight of my people on the ledge. I doubt you’ll want to do that, even if we swear on all our remaining lives that we won’t harm you.”

“I’m not known for trusting people,” Cheater said.”

“I know. “So, that’s all I ask. Keep a watch on those three walls, and the roof will be the best place for that.”

“I’ll try. No promises.” Cheater reluctantly began to head upstairs yet again.

This was the fifth time, now, that he was passing through these floors. How many thousands of steps had he taken this night?

And how many more would he take before it was over?

* * *

Mildly put, Cheater was not eager to help Benz and his team hold out. And it wasn’t just that he didn’t trust the bounty hunters to keep their word. Yes, they had probably devised some sort of trick, but on the Continent, that was normal. In their place, he would also have tried to seize any day which presented itself.

Cheater simply had no reason to be here. Offering himself up to the ghouls was pointless. Wasting a life for the sake of experience points was not his way.

Not that there could be much experience to be gained. It was unlikely that many ghouls would climb the walls. The creatures would flood the bowels of the building and push up that way—except, perhaps, for dire elites. Neither the flood nor the dires could be held back for long without heavy weapons. Benz was clearly not telling Cheater the whole truth.

But why? Simply because they were enemies? Why should Cheater even participate in this? They could figure it out without him; he needed to escape as quickly as possible.

He could not go down. From the roof, he could see ghouls piling inside the lower floors. Many were on the streets around it, as well. At least two hundred were visible from his vantage point. That was only one side.

The real fun would start once the infecteds undeniably detected the players.

Should he hide and wait for the ghouls to clear the building? How would he do that? Chameleon was a wonderful skill, to be sure, but it could not save him now. At close range, he would be noticed, so he would have to move to a safer area. Movement would, of course, be impossible. The infecteds’ eyes were particularly attuned to movement.

In addition, why would they need to see him? They could easily smell or feel him. Knowing them, not a single corner of this structure would go unscoured.

He had to leave, not hide.

How? As he had noted before, he could not fly.

Could he move laterally, then? How? Jump outward? The nearest building was fifty yards away. No Strength value could clear that.

What if his destination was not a building? There was a huge tower crane a bit closer, noticeably taller than his roof. The problem was its arm was pointing in the wrong direction.

The hook at its end, though, was lowered ten floors down, hanging on a thick cable. If Cheater reached it, he could climb that cable. This far above the ground, and with the Chameleon effect active, the monsters might not notice him. He would have to move slowly.

How could anyone jump slowly? Plus, his Agility and Speed were not high enough to make it. Even if he applied a buff from the Unnamed One, he would fall short.

Somehow, then, the hook must come to him. How? He could tie his rope to an arrow and make an accurate shot. Right out of a cheap action movie. But pulling the rope towards him would simply pull the arrow out—if not immediately, than soon afterward.

It looked very heavy, too. He was not strong enough. He would have to jump.

There were many other obstacles between him and completion of his plan.

He had to think quickly. The roof trembled underfoot, and an explosion threatened his eardrums. The building was shaking, and a cloud of dust rose up from the elevator shafts.

Cheater jumped in shock. The hell?

Benz sent him a message. “No worries. We’re clearing out the stairwells and sealing the shafts. Please watch your three walls.

It was then that Cheater realized that he was wrong about the enemy commander and his supposed lies. Shooting the creatures off the walls would be essential. With the ruined stairwells and other passageways, the outer walls would now be the easy way up. Benz’s group had come prepared. They had explosives, and they knew how to use them. Perhaps some shafts and passages running up through the building would remain open, but they were no longer the primary path.

The beasts noticed the sapper’s work immediately. It attracted them to the building. No slow movement now. No sniffing the area. The whole mass began to move. Many hundreds of ghouls rushed to the unfinished building.

For some time, Cheater watched the infecteds jostle each other as they scrambled to squeeze inside door and window openings. Apparently they really did intend to bring the building down with their weight. More and more of them appeared from adjacent streets. The whole neighborhood was coming.

The moment of escape had passed. Even if he figured out a way to the crane now, it might trap him. He could not descend it, with the whole area around it teeming with ghouls. Perhaps he could relax in the control booth while the infecteds finished off Benz’s group and then scattered.

If he knew a way to actually get to the crane.

Shots rang out. They were single shots from different guns. Frugality was commendable, but only possible in situations where slow, deliberate aiming was an option. So the creatures were making their way to the destroyed stairs, and being mowed down by players up above. These were potshots, targeted bursts, as if the soldiers were trying to win carnival prizes.

Less than a minute later, Cheater had to join the fun. One monster ascended the outside. It nimbly went for the position of his ten adversaries, monkey-like.

Then, it fell ten floors when a bullet hit it in the top of its head.

Cheater took out a few more without trouble, but then had to draw his high-caliber rifle in place of the machinegun. A powerful elite had decided to embrace the climb.

After that, he had to switch to his rifle roughly every minute. All the while he still could not devise an escape from the trap. The entire city block was packed with beasts. With all of the bottlenecks utterly full, their numbers swelled. Some were eagerly climbing the crane in their attempt to improve their position—putting a final end to Cheater’s ideas of using it for escape. Others had, for some reason, climbed the neighboring buildings. They were puzzled by the same problem Cheater had encountered minutes ago: how to get across.

Another ghoul fell prey to a large-caliber rifle bullet. He had needed to use Explosive Round with that one.

Cheater checked his mana meter and sighed silently as he deactivated Chameleon. There was no sense in burning energy to maintain ineffective camouflage. He would need plenty of mana at this pace.

Explosive Round was too greedy.

After finishing several creatures off with his machinegun, he took up the rifle again. Once the evolved ghoul in his sights had reached the twelfth floor, he knocked it down without needing to use any mana. The bullet may not have killed him, but falling from such a height would either finish the job or severely reduce his agility.

He activated Flash of Omniscience to verify that Benz’s people were not coming up any higher. He did not trust them—they could easily assume he had become preoccupied with shooting and come up to finish him off. Of course, they themselves were preoccupied, but it wouldn’t hurt their nerves to put a bullet in his head.

They did not seem to be advancing. It seemed they were in no hurry to tackle the master of the roof. The creatures were apparently struggling with the collapses from the explosions. Once they overcame those obstacles, though, the enemy players would have to retreat to the roof.

Unless Cheater evacuated the building before then, he would be fighting both players and ghouls.

After taking down a few more, he saw one monster so terrible that it might make atheists cross themselves. For a moment, he mistakenly thought the Trinity had arrived. It was a dire elite, but hardly an ultradire. Size-wise it was about equivalent to an elephant, and Cheater had encountered such monsters before.

This one was smarter than its predecessors. It did not immediately rush the building, but stayed in the distance to observe the actions of the besieged humans. So it made no moves to climb the wall, instead heading directly inside.

Two minutes later, the shooting increased dramatically. A grenade launcher joined the cacophony.

The radio provided an encore: “Cheater, did you see that one?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t come alone. The Trinity might be coming. Get ready for some fun.”

He was already out of breath from continuously rotating among the three walls, firing every gun he had managed to collect from the first group.

After nailing another monster, he saw the dire elite fall from a window. It held a man in its embrace. They were intertwined, and the player screaming in pain and rage was trying to pierce the beast’s stone skin with a knife—and in response getting slashed by its claws.

Down they flew together, crashing into the thick crowd of ghouls.

This was unlikely to be the only loss they had suffered. Apparently those below were not doing too well.

Despite the deafening shooting, his sensitive high-level ears picked up an unusual sound.

It was an engine. Some kind of vehicle was approaching.

Was he imagining it? A tank convoy could punch through this crowd—but what would it do then, exactly? Who would risk such valuable vehicles in Trinitarian territory? How odd.

Such coincidences did not happen.

Note: High Perception bonus. Intuitive insight. There is a chance that you will be able to find out more by using the radio you claimed from an enemy.

He had planned to do that anyway. As unfamiliar as the walkie talkie was, the principles were clear enough. He could switch channels to contact various people within range. He could even choose to communicate one-on-one or publicly. As long as he knew how to properly change the settings.

Cheater had only ever pressed the ‘1’ button on the radio, to activate its saved frequency. Nothing else but the transmit button. Now, he began experimenting with other buttons, which caused him to stop shooting. This was, he believed, a more promising possibility.

The conversation he needed was taking place on channel 6. They were talking openly, without creating a secure channel. An unforgivable omission, since they certainly knew that several radios had fallen into the wrong hands. Everyone made mistakes, especially in such circumstances.

He did not recognize the first voice.

“—up to the turn. We will arrive in one minute.”

It was not just an unfamiliar voice, it was a strange one. That happened when the party was talking from the inside of a moving vehicle, and various tricks had to be used to reduce the level of interference.

“Alright, come from the west, and don’t you dare climb up higher. He’s not watching the west wall, but he’s on the roof.”

Now that voice he knew. It was Benz, giving instructions.

Cheater knew who they were here for.

He moved to the west wall, to the one held by Benz’s people. An amazing sight was approaching, in the midst of the street.

It had been commonplace in his past life, if that part of his memory was correct.

But here, it was not seen, especially with players at the controls.

Players did not fly helicopters. They operated short-range drones, at most. Flying yourself was too risky. The black clusters’ airspace boundaries were too unpredictable, too variable, and they could hit an airplane even though it was dozens of miles away from the nearest dead zone. Getting hit by dead cluster airspace was bad news. There was a difference between the electronics in a pickup truck dying and your controls freezing up at eight hundred feet.

Bots flew a lot, and they didn’t crash very often. No one knew why. The Nolds did not fear the black at all. Cheater had never heard of one of them crashing unless attacked.

Aircraft would be prone to crashes everywhere, and especially in border areas. Such places always had lots of dead and dying clusters.

Benz had a pilot on his side, and one willing to risk the flight through these crazy conditions. Not only had the man arrived—he was masterfully navigating the city at the lowest possible altitude.

Benz had planned this all out in advance. It was his emergency evacuation plan. Of course it was risky—but risk was better than death.

He applauded the man’s thoughtfulness. They had occupied Cheater with three of the walls so that he wouldn’t bother with the fourth. That was where the helicopter was coming from, readying a landing on the ledge below. The one his enemies were holding. By this point, the creatures inside had not reached this level.

The helicopter was unarmed, but it was quite large, and the whole group would fit. What was left of them, anyway.

Cheater did not have a seat reserved. They planned to fly off and laugh at the gullible idiot left fighting the whole borderland off on his own.

Cheater raised his heavy rifle, fired, and immediately hit the radio transmit switch, making his voice as ominous as possible. “Good evening, pilot. Come up to the roof, or I’ll bring you down!”

The helicopter jerked as the Explosive Round slammed through it—but it did not fall. The pilot’s hand had trembled in surprise.

A hefty hole had just ripped through the safety glass right by his head—and through his seat, inches from his temple.

When there was no answer, Cheater continued. “Pull up now. I’m going to count to three. One!”

The copter had been maneuvering near the ledge, but now it turned slightly and began climbing.”

“Wrig, what are you doing?” Benz screamed.

“Sorry, boss, but I’m being held at gunpoint.”

“Dammit. Come get my team!”

“I can’t, boss. Cheater’s got his sights on my face.”

“Stop talking to him and come get me,” Cheater replied. Immediately!”

The first order was unnecessary—Benz said nothing more. He knew that the pilot would not change his mind. His life was utterly in Cheater’s hands. If the pilot took Cheater on board, he might survive the day. But if he didn’t, his bird was going down. Even if he did survive the crash, death by ghoul would follow in seconds. There was not a single spot where the pavement could be seen under the grumbling masses.

Unable to resist, Cheater shot down into them several times, taking out a few large beasts. That should give the pilot another hint alright. It was likely a terrifying idea to disobey a well-armed player who was waiting for your ascent and simultaneously enjoying casually fatal snipes at massive monsters below.

The pilot may be experienced, but the chopper was massive, and difficult to control. And he would be nervous.

The man was hovering now. “This is a dangerous landing zone; I don’t know if the roof will hold. This bird’s heavy.”

“Don’t land. Just come down a little more,” Cheater demanded.

The pilot obeyed, but at a worryingly slow pace. The shooting below had nearly died down. He did not know whether the creatures had gotten the players or they had rushed upstairs in a bid to take out the hijacker and recover their transportation.

Time was of the essence.

At last Cheater moved towards the copter, tossed his rifle and machinegun inside, jumped and grabbed the vibrating metal bars, pulling himself up.

He was on board.

Cheater had never been in a helicopter before, at least not in this life. He took the empty seat next to the pilot.

“Climb!”

“Where?” the frightened pilot asked.

“Just climb. Up. Get us out of here. Now!”

The roof began to recede as they rose. Beyond, he could see the ledge of the building where Benz had planned to have the chopper land.

Benz could not be seen. Only infecteds. Hundreds of creatures huddled there. So many that they pushed each other over the edge, with streams of falling fiends going down as their fellows struggled to join them.

Cheater had difficulty tearing his eyes away and pointed at the First Steppe. “That way.”

“Up?” the pilot asked, trembling.

“No, dammit, you can fly underground on the way for all I care, as long as I reach the steppe,” Cheater yelled.

“Going up high is too dangerous. We might get hit with black air.”

“I’ll hit you harder than any blackness ever could. Do it!”

The pilot complied with Cheater’s orders. They turned as they rose.

Then, the copter was hit—once, twice, thrice. Cheater glimpsed the edge of the roof. A player was firing madly from a machinegun. He hit quite a few times, but his Accuracy was comparatively poor.

Perhaps this was Benz himself. Abandoning everyone, he had rushed upwards to get his revenge.

Cheater was convinced that the enemy leader had done little but waste ammunition. The helicopter was so high that looking down took his breath away.

At that moment, however, an alarming red light began to blink on the pilot’s console, and electronics began beeping warnings.

“What’s that?” Cheater asked.

“Something’s wrong!” the pilot said, raising his voice for the first time.

Cheater oriented himself rapidly. “That way! Go that way!”

He could see his party’s markers there. They were not so far—the bird would reach the place in a moment.

But something really was wrong with the helicopter. Instead of obediently turning, it sharply lowered its nose. At the same time, its body began to vibrate so violently that Cheater’s teeth felt ready to rattle themselves into ruin.

“Fly that way!” he shouted again.

“We’re going down. We’re going down!” the pilot panicked.

The cockpit began to fill with smoke, and his nostrils detected the stench of burnt plastic.

The pilot was apparently not freaking out over nothing, and their flight would now reach its final destination.

Beneath them were fields, marshes, scattered ruins, and the bright tiled roofs of village houses. It was, as he was growing accustomed to, an incomprehensible jumble of assorted landscapes.

Cheater paid them no mind. Seconds remained until impact, and he had to survive.

Smile of Fortune was still in cooldown, preventing him from accessing its brief invulnerability. His only way out was a Shard of Invulnerability. It was a pity, of course—the item was valuable, and worse, he would be unable to use another one for a very long time. His most powerful trump card would be gone. What else could he do?

As he was reaching for it, he noticed something under the helicopter which offered a different option.

Water. They were over some kind of large body of water, and it looked deep enough.

Cheater did not examine it in detail. He did not take time to think. Luck was a capricious thing—it could change quickly. This was his only opportunity.

He leaped, and thanks to his phenomenal Agility, he could successfully clear the copter despite its chaotic spins on nearly every axis.

It was a perfect dive out of the door.

He regrouped in the air, preparing to enter the water feet first. But then he saw what he would, under normal flight conditions, have noticed before jumping. The reservoir was large, but Cheater simply had not had enough time to hit deep water. Instead, he was now heading for reed-covered shallows and a swampy coast.

He had no time to activate the Shard of Invulnerability.

Everything went black.

Chapter 29

Life Nine. Good Luck

He came to in an unusual fashion. There were no messages from the System informing him of his death. Nor was the priestly ability described to him, offering him the resulting choice.

He had not died.

Before he even opened his eyes, Cheater naively assumed his luck had extended beyond mere survival. He didn’t seem to be seriously injured. His limbs felt odd, to be sure, as though they were someone else’s limbs. That was a bad sign. But there was no significant pain. It was as if they were asleep, or maybe as though he had been brutally stunned and was waking up unevenly.

This was not surprising for a man falling a hundred feet from a careening chopper.

When he did open his eyes, he saw that he had hit the shallows. There was barely any water, but there was deep, thick silt. That was what had softened his fall.

Silt was everywhere: in his eyes, in his ears, up his nose. It filled his mouth. He had apparently swallowed it during his time unconscious.

By the looks of it, he had hit facedown and bounced onto his back. That explained how much his system had been pervaded by the stuff.

The bounce had also been lucky. If he had remained face down, he would have choked to death before returning to wakefulness.

Loss of consciousness was a serious symptom, so he made no hasty moves to rise. At first he restricted himself to minor actions only. Testing his physical capabilities. He could try to clear the sludge from his ears and listen to what was happening nearby.

When he tried to move his arm, he nearly screamed. Unbelievable pain arced through his body. Every bone crackled into flame, every muscle was cut by knives, and every nerve was sprinkled with acid.

Cheater’s health was not doing as well as he had hoped. He might die here.

To distract himself, he opened the menu and viewed his character status.

Radiation: safe levels

Humanity: 23898

Injuries: one compound fracture, four simple fractures, damaged spleen, abdominal hemorrhage, trauma-induced pneumothorax, closed craniocerebral injury, spinal cord injury, extensive soft tissue contusions (see archived messages for more details on these injuries).

Diseases: no known diseases.

Bound items: Bow of Depletion, from the Black Caster, Bow from Watershed; Killynilly, AS50 Rifle; Sievemaker, SIG Sauer P226 Pistol; Choppa, sword; Bighead, necklace; Manhandler, bracelet; Thanks Nolds!, Elite Nold control bracelet (not activated).

His Humanity had been significantly reduced. Benz’s people, it had seemed, were far from red. The System had punished him significantly for arranging their deaths.

And he had been so close to twenty-five thousand. That would mean a new hero level and more perks and bonuses.

Powerful perks. Based on experience, that level’s perks would be much better than those from the level before.

Now was not the time, though, to lament his Humanity loss. Even reading the summary of injuries threatened to add heart attack to the list, so Cheater did not look into the details. He could not heal on his own. Perhaps he could survive if taken to the ICU immediately. Or they might as well just take him straight to the morgue.

He did have medicine on him, however. Excellent medicine. After experiencing the healing of a golden regeneration core, Cheater always kept one on him. His financial situation had allowed this luxury.

However, it had a very long cooldown period. He had taken the last one just after the battle in the Devils’ fortress. Since then, eight full days had passed.

The cooldown was ten.

Taking anything before its cooldown could result in terrible consequences. Perhaps you would receive the intended effect, but it had a very good chance of killing you, too.

It was not the best option.

What else could he do? Die slowly in the swamp shallows? Put a bullet in his head?

Flounder his way out?

He opened his chat window with his previous companion, whom he had left underground, and began writing—ignoring the many previous messages received. Beetle had scribbled them in confusion, with no idea what was going on.

Cheater:

Beetle, how’s the situation there? Do you see the building? Is Benz still fighting them back?

Beetle:

Doesn’t look like it. It’s overrun. I’ve never seen that many ghouls in my life. In all my lives. There hasn’t been any shooting for a long time. How did you survive?

Cheater:

Flew away. Helicopter.

Beetle:

That was you? I saw that but couldn’t make out any details. Are you coming back for me?

Cheater:

I would love to. But the copter is in pieces now. I jumped out, into some kind of swamp, and broke basically everything. Now I’m just lying here, covered in frogs.

Beetle:

Shit. What do we do now?

Cheater:

We can come up with something. Are there any ghouls near you?

Beetle:

No, they headed for the skyscraper. Then, the whole crowd went for the smoke. It looks like something’s on fire up on the First Steppe. Now that you mention it, it must be your fallen copter. It’s drawing them. So they’re probably stuck against the steppe’s wall. They’re too dumb to climb it. And those who are smart are too smart to enter the Trinity’s turf.

Cheater:

Can you climb the steppe?

Beetle:

Now? I can, but it’s a massive risk. Some infecteds are still lurking around near the ramp tower. If one sees me, I’m done. And it’s not easy to climb a skyscraper unnoticed. In something like ten minutes, though, I should be able to. More and more are following the smoke.

Cheater:

Then wait until then. I’ll try contacting my party.

He doubted he could. The inaccurate maps he had purchased show black and gray clusters throughout the area. The party had not had time to get far, but there was no guarantee he would reach them.

He ran a glance over the unread messages. There was nothing important, but they had tried to contact him a few times. The last attempt was ten minutes past.

That was reassuring.

Cheater:

Hi March. How are you?

March:

Not so good. The cold beer is gone. Only warm cans left. Supplies are running low. This place is shitty. Shouldn’t have come. What about you?

Cheater:

I just fell out of a helicopter.

March:

And you’re alive. Figures.

Clown:

I need details. Details!

Cheater:

The helicopter was shot down. It crashed somewhere, farther from the edge. I jumped out and broke pretty much everything.

March:

Lucky.

Cheater:

Yeah. The luckiest. I’m sure you know the joke. Missing: dog. Male. 7 years old. Toothless, missing one leg, missing tail, missing right ear and left eye, burn scars on belly. Answers to the name Lucky.

Clown:

That’s the oldest joke in the book.

March:

Yeah, it goes back a ways. Pretty sure there’s a version of that drawn on the walls of the pyramids. How’s your vision, Cheat? Can you see?

Cheater:

Yeah, I have both my eyes intact.

March:

Then open them and look around. Is there any cold beer nearby?

Cheater:

Well, there’s some gourmet French cuisine here, so come on over. Lots of it. Ribbiting and croaking all around. No beer, though. But I won’t make it on my own, March. Can you come for me? I need Maple’s help.

March:

Autocorrect getting touchy with the censoring, Nipple’s really not that bad. How about you just respawn? Easy way out. Fine, fine, I’m kidding. You missed your chance at that, and you’re more use to us alive. We have a tight schedule though, Cheat. We’re already behind. I can send Nipple your way, but I can’t come myself. She’ll heal you, and you two can meet me at a point I’ll mark on your map. I’ll send you a screenshot of a decent map. It’s not far. You wait there while we take care of some important business.

Cheater:

What business?

March:

I hate chatting. You’ll understand later. Just do it. Relax. Help will come soon.

Cheater:

Soon? This place is dangerous. Millions of ghouls. Maple won’t make it on her own.

March:

I can see you on the map. Edge of a reservoir. The local ghouls are probably all heading to the crash smoke. I can see it from here, even though it’s dark. There’s only one flock up above, and it does not tolerate any competition. Just lie still and quiet and you’ll be fine.

Cheater:

Sounds fishy. This is the border. Nowhere is safe.

March:

Stubborn as always. If I say it’s safe, it’s safe. But answer a question for me. Was that helicopter flying high up when it started coming down?

Cheater:

Not very. A hundred feet, maybe. Hundred and fifty. Above the steppe.

March:

Did you have time to look around from that height? Maybe you saw some cold beer somewhere?

Cheater:

Oh fuck off.

March’s explanations communicated something to Cheater. For some reason, the man was certain that things were nearly safe here, close to the border itself. He was ignoring the presence of three terrifying monsters.

Either the boss was sick in the head or he knew a lot more about these places than Cheater did. The fact that he had high-quality maps led him to favor the second option.

In addition, none of the clusters Cheater had crossed into while flying had counted as a discovery. His Cartography had not risen at all. So someone had been in each of them before. That meant that, yes, March very likely had found maps with high levels of detail.

And some exclusive first-person accounts.

An order was an order. He would lie still and silent.

It would be excruciatingly painful to do otherwise, of course.

Am amphibian with yellowish-gray skin in a checkboard pattern climbed atop his warm human chest, froze, and began carefully watching the frogs’ concert. Cheater endured this impudence without sound or movement.

As he scrolled through the party chat again, he frowned, and then opened his map and looked at the dispersion of the party members. He watched one of them break off from the group and head his way.

Three, actually—not just one.

His idea he had put forward in the party chat had taken hold. After all, it was readable by every member of the party.

The situation was more complicated now, and Cheater had asked for Maple to be accompanied. He would lie here, warming the snakes and tolerating the ribbit rondos. But an ordinary human would have long ago been pecked apart by carrion birds. Cheater had survived because he was a player, and a well-developed player, at that.

He hoped his comrades reached him before the swamp beasts began nibbling.

Chapter 30

Life Nine. Personnel Management

The incoming help was in no hurry. It took them more than four hours to cross the five miles between them. He got the impression that they were stalling on purpose, hoping he would die a painful death. Everyone knew that his intensely blinking icon meant he was in exquisitely bad shape. That death was drawing near.

He lived on.

It was a cheerless existence, but he lived on.

The mud chilled his back, and the sun baked his front. Thirst began to consume him. He had no water on him, and he was not yet to the point where muddy swamp water was attractive. He did have a small, flat vial of spec. With difficulty he reached it, the pain of doing so nearly driving consciousness away from him. He fiddled with the lid for an extended time, his fingers refusing to comply. Half of it splashed out as his shaking fingers moved it to his mouth, but he sipped the rest—and began to cough and convulse violently.

Perhaps that was for the best. No infecteds were close enough to hear, but the commotion scared the frogs and snakes, causing them to keep their distance for quite some time.

Those four hours were an eternity of agony. When at last he heard the footsteps in the water and the stifled sounds of swearing, he could hardly believe his ears. The map showed that help was here, yes, but his tortured mind had trouble believing it, or even comprehending it.

He wanted to slap his cheeks and make his mind work again. His limbs were unable to do so. Yet his mind had to be as clear as it could be now. He forced himself into focus.

Gangrene—or Gang, as he now knew, loomed over Cheater and blocked out the sun.

He grimaced. “What a tenacious bastard.” Crouching down, he drew the helpless man’s pistol from its holster and twirled it in his hand, spat, and tossed the weapon into the water. “Bound, like I said.”

“He’s a rich man,” Goblin replied. “The rest is ours, though.”

“Dreaming of taking my pants off, then, are you?” Cheater chuckled. “Nothing else of value is available for your collection.”

“Oh, he can talk!” Gangrene grinned maliciously.

“I’ll give you fools one chance,” Cheater replied. “Heal me. And ask my forgiveness for the lies that you told us. I won’t forget everything, but we are a team. We have our issues, but we’re a team nonetheless. Since we agreed to cross the border, we will do our best to ensure that everyone makes it. Including you assholes. We’re honest people, when people are honest with us.”

“You think we’re stupid?” Gangrene prodded. “You called Nipple ‘Maple’ in the party chat. You know everything. And not just you personally. When did you find out? Who blew our cover? Nut? Well, how did he find out, then?”

“Hah! You go and ask Nut what side of the sky the sun rises on, and he won’t be able to tell you. Actually, I don’t know everything. I don’t know any details. But I know the gist of it.”

“Then you die,” Gangrene showed his teeth and reached for his knife.

“We all die,” Cheater replied serenely, “but you’re mistaken about Nut and the others. Only I know who you really are. The others are unaware of the details.”

“Meaning your whole stupid gang will know. You could tell them right now, using the chat. We don’t give a damn. We kill you, we move on, we make it to the border. March is planning something shady, but he said there won’t be any ghouls on this side of the lake. He was right. We didn’t see a single one on the way here. There won’t be any more between this place and the crossing. We’ll make it without needing you morons to help us. I could, of course, not kill you. After all, I don’t give a damn about you. I don’t even have a reason to hate you. You held your tongue about us, so here, Nipple will patch you up. Not completely, but enough that you can walk. You’ll manage to limp over to your rendezvous with March. No monsters between here and there. Of course, you know that favors don’t come free. I’m sure your inventory is stocked up like a bank vault. See where I’m heading? Go on. Capture my interest. And capture it well. The more interested I am, the more Nipple here will heal you. So now, buy yourself some good health!”

Cheater’s voice remained distant, impassive. “You keep calling her Nipple. Even now, with me and with no one else around. Why?”

“You haven’t seen her undisguised. So you don’t know what a gorgeous mouth she has. And a productive mouth. Our girl only opens her mouth when there’s profit to be made. And I don’t mean she opens it to talk. Without me, everyone who walked by would force her to open wide. Or open small, in your case. She has no idea how wonderful her gift from the System is, and how much she can do with it. Life on a bed of roses is well within her grasp, but instead, she lets everyone manhandle her!”

Tired of this subject, Cheater asked, “Gang, aren’t you afraid I’ll hunt you down?”

“You’ve got much bigger fish to fry. And who’s to stop me from going further east? Or heading up north? This is a big Continent, and healers are always in demand. We’ll find someone willing to take us.”

He pulled Maple towards himself, stroking her hair with mock tenderness—then, grimacing with disgust, pushed her away so hard that the girl splashed into the muddy water.

“Take a bath now, dirty sow,” Gang ordered her before turning back to Cheater. “She’s no one on her own. Without a firm hand to guide her, she’ll be lost. She can’t even bathe herself!”

“What holds you two together?” Cheater wondered.

Gang chuckled. “Not our great love for each other, I can assure you of that. I have Goblin for that. Although I’m sure you know his name’s not really Goblin.”

“Bling,” Cheater replied.

“Yes. He’s incredible with women. So he handles her. I’m not a fan of women myself. Smelly and stupid creatures.”

“Such a tolerant person.”

“The hell do you mean? I’m gay, you know, if you haven’t figured that out. How’s that I am intolerant?”

“Gay?” Cheater shook his head. “That’s not what they call your type. You’re into little boys. Digi boys. They told me all about it. You’re rotten, Gang, through and through.”

“You know a lot of things, I see. But it’s time to bring this to a close. Pay up, or die. They say you carry things you looted from the Unnamed One. Let’s see something.”

“Maple, you’re not as dumb as you put on,” Cheater smiled as he sent instructions via chat. “But you are, Gang. Stupidest player I’ve met yet. And a pedo besides. Moron and moral monster, rolled into one. Goodbye.”

A splash rang out nearby, and a machinegun followed. It was an expensive weapon, designed for silent killings. So its shots were given away more by the clicking and clanging of the gun’s internals than by the shots themselves.

Gang shuddered as his head lost some of its own internals into the water. The scoundrel’s body bent back as if trying a gymnast’s bridge, and then crashed into the reeds. He fell silent. Less than a second later, Bling fell on top of him. This bastard did not die immediately: he wheezed and gurgled, choking with blood, but no longer posed a threat.

Maple was dumbfounded by the sudden demise of her dubious friends and covered her mouth with both hands. Her legs buckled, and she crouched down awkwardly into the silt.

Footsteps approached.

Cheater knew who was coming: Beetle. The tankman’s lips had spread into a broad smile. A faint wisp of smoke escaped the barrel of his gun. “How are you, Cheater? Feeling okay?”

“How do I look?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, Beetle, I’m doing fine.”

“Why did you have me wait so long? You could have signaled right away.”

Cheater glanced sideways at the healer. “Even bastards have the right to some last words. Maple, heal me.”

“Wh—what?” she mumbled, eyes glued to the corpses.

“I really do need a healer. I wasn’t playing make believe. Heal me up, and we can get out of here.”

“What about them?”

Either Gang was right, or the girl was in utter shock, unable to comprehend plain speech.

“You’ll never see these monsters again,” Cheater declared, clearly and calmly. “They’ll stay here, but you will move to a new region. You’ll like it there. Sorry we didn’t finish them off sooner. We didn’t know all of the details. But better late than never. It’s over now.”

Turning away from the dead bodies, the healer shook her head and said in a surprisingly clear voice, “No.  Nothing is over. You don’t understand.”

“You’re wrong,” Cheater replied, somehow finding the fortitude to grin. He was apparently a mere hair’s breadth away from death.

Now was not the time to be harsh with her, though. He could afford a few moments more. And he could not compel her to heal him. Maple had just lost her former captor, and he had no intention of stepping in as her new one.

She could be free. “I don’t know much about abilities, Maple. But I know a little. You have a Death Link with Gang, if I’m not mistaken. Is that right?”

She nodded.

“I’ve read about those. Rare, and virtually useless. They work like golden pearls. But not nearly as versatile, and not profitable. If the one with the ability dies, the person bound to him also dies and respawns with him. How much time do you have left? A day?”

“Something like that. Then... then it’s all over,” Maple said, lost. She jumped out of the water. “I tried. I tried so many times. I... He... He... cut my boyfriend’s eyes out, right in front of me. Laughing while he did it. He made me watch. He made me watch everything. He’s a psycho. I didn’t know what he did to me, not at first. What have you done?”

“Can’t you terminate the link?”

“Yes, but it takes three days. I’ll respawn in his cluster before that. It’ll kill me and respawn me.”

“But then the link will still be canceled, right?” Cheater clarified.

“Yes. So what? He always forces me to stop the cancellation. He... he... I can’t... I have to do whatever he... I have to...”

Cheater knew that undesirable hysteria was imminent, and he was on the last of his strength. “Forget about him. You won’t die, I promise.”

“But how?”

“There are things about that ability which you do not know. If the owner dies, you can cross a region border, and the link will be severed. We are close to the border. We will make it across. Cancel the link right now, and in three days, you can forget about Gang entirely and forever.”

“Are you serious?” Maple doubted.

“Yes. The link between you is cheap. Fragile. It’s not a golden pearl link. It’s a hundred times less powerful. He won’t bother you anymore. I can tell you a lot more about this ability, but please help me first. I think I’m dying.”

“OK, OK, I will, hang on!”

Cheater had done it again. Another encounter, another cunning twist, another life saved. And not just his own.

Chapter 31

Life Nine. The Near East

“Good machinegun,” Beetle said as he patted the weapon. “But it needs cleaning. Badly. I wiped it a little while we were sitting in the reeds, but not enough. I’m terrified it will misfire. I just pulled a big chunk of duckweed and mud out of it.”

“Well, I crashed into the swamp with that thing, at high velocity,” Cheater explained.

“I know. I’m the one who took it off you.”

“You can keep it. It’s a gift.”

“Really?” Beetle perked up. “Wow, I’m in your debt, Cheater.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything. Here, join the party.”

“Join... join your party? Cheater’s party?”

“Yes. You’ve passed the entrance exam. You’re in.”

“Holy hell. I’m in Cheater’s party! No one will believe me. Can I take a screenshot, of myself in the party list?”

“No one can stop you,” Cheater smiled.

“Mother of... I’ll even have proof. Is it true that the girl you’re going to meet is still in your party, too?”

“Yes. She’s always been there, since my first few days on the Continent. She’s second on the list, just below me. And now, she’s not far. I hope, anyway.”

Cheater did not know how much more ground he had to cover to reach the region where his first life in the Continent had begun. The closer they drew to the border, the less reliable the maps became. But the border line to the north and south was clear enough.

It was likely only three miles away, perhaps five or six. No more than that. There were indeed no ghouls to be seen. If there had been any, the helicopter crash had drawn them away. That had occurred a mile north, among the structures and pipes of some huge factory complex. It was amazing how far the wounded bird had managed to go, seeing that they flew so low. The pilot must have been excellent. A good pick by Benz.

He had crashed, though, and that was for the best. Thankfully Cheater did not need to head that direction. Millions of ghouls could crowd around the wreckage, and he wouldn’t care.

He needed to go due east.

For the moment, he went nowhere.

He was in no condition to walk.

Maple and Beetle dragged him ashore, and all of them hid in the tall reeds. They were unable to see around them, but on the flip side, they were also unlikely to be seen. It was dubious shelter, but there was no other option nearby, and it was not a good idea to drag the wounded Cheater forward.

Healing was far from an instant process. Cheater remembered how Maple had pressed Janitor’s arm back on—and it had been hanging like a limp rag for quite some time. Then, he had been able to wiggle his fingers. Then, move his elbow. Only after some hours did it work fully again. By that point, it was almost as good as new.

Cheater’s limbs had not been torn off. He felt the wonderful sensation of healing washing over him. But his body needed time and increased nutrition to make a full recovery. Despite his lack of appetite, he ate a lot.

He was hankering to cross the border, which was now so close. March had sent an order to move towards it without waiting for the others. He had even left detailed instructions via personal chat message, explaining exactly where to go. The man promised that nothing difficult or deadly would get in their way. Since the terrain was less smooth than it could be, it would probably take them several hours.

If they were in top physical shape. Cheater could hardly crawl at the moment. Traversing such a path would take him a week.

His impatience was hard to control.

He waited. After all, it had taken him months to cross the past few regions. He could manage a delay before the last couple of miles. He had already done the impossible. No one had said he should do it. No one had believed he could. He had been mocked, doubted, and called a fool, yet he had pressed on, putting one skeptic after another to shame.

By this point, he was a living legend. He even had adoring fans of his very own. Beetle was still smiling in jubilation and adoration. He was in one of the Continent’s most famous parties.

The rest of the party had reacted to Gangrene and Goblin’s deaths with indifference, or even approval. Cheater had reported on his actions and the reasons which had prompted them in the party chat. He had informed them of their nicknames and of the deeds for which the three of them were hunted.

Of course, he could have written not a word, and he would have been okay. No one had liked the two of them. Nipple too—or Maple, as he called her now—had not yet established herself in the party. The healer had remained in the shadow of her two companions all the way. One had been her despot master, and the other had been responsible for the disguise: changing their nicknames, editing their IDs, and even adding some illusionary elements to her appearance. After the two of them died, the girl looked much slimmer and lighter, and had a different face. Gang had brought Bling on for just this kind of tricks.

No one cried over their absence.

Cheater had no desire to disturb the healer again unnecessarily. Let her work this out. Sometimes, a person needed to be alone with their thoughts. They couldn’t actually leave her alone, but she could pretend no one else was here.

His patience ran out by evening. “How much more do I have to wait, Maple?”

The healer was sitting motionless and staring at the waving reeds. “The longer the better. Those who do not move heal faster.”

“I know, but remember: the border. It’s in your best interest to reach it as quickly as possible.”

“Are you sure the link will be broken?” the girl wondered for the hundredth time.

“Yes.”

He was not, in fact, one hundred percent certain. After all, there might be some exception he had not read, or indeed which was not generally known. Maple’s feminine instinct had detected his doubts, and so her worry was growing.

The potential hour of reckoning was drawing near. Once the time ran out, she would be sent back to Gangrene. Losing a life and finding herself once again under the heel of the thing she feared the most... Yes, that would be depressing.

“How much time?” Cheater pressed.

“Stay lying down for at least another two hours.”

“Then I’ll be back to health?”

Maple shook her head. He strained to see it. “No, but almost. The longer between the injury and my healing, the slower the treatment works.”

“Well, two hours is okay. We’ll just have to travel in the dark. But that’s safer, to be honest.”

“They see fine in the dark,” Beetle reminded him.

“Sure, but not as well as they see during the day. Especially over long distances.”

“If it’s the Trinity we’re talking about, well, time of day and distance both are irrelevant,” the tankman sighed.

“Don’t worry about the Trinity. They haven’t shown up yet, and I think March is handling them.”

“‘Handling’ the Trinity? How?!”

“I don’t know the details, but I know March. He’s distracting the beasts somehow. Last time we crossed a border, there were no infecteds along the final stretch. There were bots, yes, but not a single infected. That surprised me at the time, sure, but now I realize it was unlikely to be chance. There are no borders without infecteds; everyone knows that.”

“I mean, it happens,” Beetle objected.

“Yes,” Cheater admitted. “Where Unnamed Ones live, there are no ghouls. I’ve seen that before. I also saw what happened to that Unnamed One. There is no such beast here, but there is the Trinity. March selected this route across the border specifically because those three beasts are here. He likes to earn extra bonuses and loot. Valuable pearls, achievements, and so on.”

“I’ve seen fifty veterans go after the Trinity, and I’ve seen fifty veterans die like flies. They didn’t last an hour here. March will follow them.”

“We’ll see about that. We’ve been here longer than an hour, you know. We’re still alive. You think that’s just luck? I know March, and I know he’s capable of that and more.”

“Alright, well, we’ll see,” Beetle nodded. “Mind if I do some pushups? I’m so bored. I’ll be quiet.”

“Working on your Strength modifier,” Cheater remarked.

“Of course. I work on everything. I lift weights, spin on the horizontal bars, run, jump, do acrobatics, box and practice kung fu—all of that. Right now, I’m into fencing,” Beetle pointed at the short scabbard on his belt. “They say it helps Reaction, Agility, and Endurance. It’s a long and laborious process, yes, but even one hundredth of a multiplier point can provide a decent stat increase. And multipliers are never reduced by dying, no matter how many deaths you suffer. Sounds solid to me. What’s your sword about, Cheater? I’ve never seen one like it.”

“It was a sword of the grays.”

“I figured. Did you collect it from a gray? Or find it somewhere?”

“Found it,” Cheater said, sparing any more details.

“It’s beautiful. Looks strong, too. The modifications on this are unbelievable. Did you find it with them already on it?”

“Not quite,” Cheater hedged before changing the subject ever so moderately. “Hey, speaking of that, I have a swordsmanship question for you. Could you give me some advice?”

“If I can. What are you wondering?”

“Well, I’m not just carrying this sword around because I like swords. When I obtained it, I got a professional Swordsman skill. Not a Continental ability. Just a new stat. Have you ever heard of that?”

“I have, but it’s a rare thing. I’ve only heard of it a couple of times. I’ve never seen it. You sure are lucky.”

“Well, that’s for sure. But even though I have this fencing stat, I can’t fence. I’m bad at it. How do I activate the skill?”

“Have you killed anyone with the sword?” Beetle asked.

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Uh, all kinds of things.”

“Tell me who. List them out,” the tankman continued.

“First, a gray. Then people, both infecteds and players. And a Nold.”

“The Elite Nold? The one from the global achievement?” Beetle stammered. “The whole Continent saw that.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You killed an Elite Nold with a sword?”

“Yes. This sword, in fact.”

“What else could you want?” Beetle asked, unable to believe his ears.

“What do you mean?”

“So you kill grays, players, infecteds, and Elite Nolds. Yet you complain that you don’t really know how to use a sword. I’m sorry, Cheater, but that sounds like a very distasteful attempt at modesty.”

“I mean, I don’t know how to fence.”

“What does that mean? Have you even thought about it?”

Beetle paused, and then understood. “Ah, I see. You’ve seen your fill of combat movies—Jumping Snake, Crawling Tiger, those kinds of things. They wave beautifully sculpted blades of metal around the screen for half an hour, without sweating or running out of breath. Skinny girls can do quadruple flips without even getting a running start and can cut a human hair in half mid-flight with a dull halberd. And not cut it across, but longways. Where a blindfolded expert sword master easily fights off a dozen ordinary sword masters. Am I right, Cheater?”

“Well, not quite. But basically. I somehow imagined it would be more technical, more calculating. Not just chopping away. If a person who really knows the fencing art approaches me, I won’t know what to do, I am afraid. He’ll hack me to death. All the tricks I try don’t really work out.”

“Of course they don’t—because there’s no such thing. There are two goals to fencing. The primary is not to get hit. The secondary: to hit the enemy. There’s no obligation to show flair. No leaping over the head of the armored enemy. All those excessive spins and swings and jumps just expend your strength, and when that runs out, you’re just prey. The man who kills you won’t care about the excellence of your form. If you’re winning, that means your fencing is fine. Still, I recommend you practice often. It won’t hurt.”

“I used this sword to chop us some cacti for a couple of days. Does that count as standard practice?”

“No,” Beetle grinned, “that’s definitely non-standard. Your sword is non-standard, too. I’ve heard of those before. It weighs more than a heavy barbell. You’ve used mods to reduce the weight, but it remains the same for the purposes of damage calculation. However the System justifies that. So you’re swinging what feels like an ordinary sword, and the enemy gets hit by what feels like a sharpened railroad tie. A dissonance that works in your favor both ways. They say this is difficult to adapt to.”

“That’s what I mean,” Cheater nodded. “It always feels awkward.”

“You can train with me, if you want,” Beetle suggested. “It would be good for both of us. But that will just be improving something you have already received. How do I put this... Basically, you’ve received the equivalent of ten years of training. With the best masters. Then, you gave up training for a year. But you didn’t get fat or crippled or addicted to some narcotic. Your body still remembers everything. It just has to recover some of its form. That is not difficult to do, though it might take some time. Improving your mastery of something like fencing is an endless process. Practice whenever possible and you will continue growing. Sorry I can’t explain it better.”

“No, I get it,” Cheater said, “you’ve explained better than others could. I should’ve asked earlier.”

“Better than others, huh? Well, you can always ask me whatever you need,” Beetle said, content. Having cleared the stalks from a small area, he set down to his pushups.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Cheater was hating reeds. He was wading through thickets of them.

In March’s description of the route, he had detailed all of the things to avoid along the way. Except that he had said nothing of the vegetation. The sadist even considered it a useful part of the trip.

Cheater could partially agree, but it took considerable gritting of his teeth to do so. The path continued along the shallow swamp shore he had landed next to. It ran along the edge of a reservoir with an intricate, fractal shoreline, covering many square miles to the south alone. The cluster reset with all, or nearly all of its dams, and therefore most of the water remained in the reservoir. But not all, and there was no inflow. Thus the water level had receded partly, exposing strips of mud, overgrown with reeds in some places.

Through these places, they had to wade. The vegetation rose to six feet in places, and sometimes even taller. The stems were thick and strong and only moved aside or snapped when considerable effort was applied. Each step sapped as much strength as a dozen in ordinary terrain. Their legs, meanwhile, were often knee-deep in silt. However, people walking in the reeds were difficult to see from anywhere else. Some sensor abilities, of course, could have detected them. The rustling tops of the disturbed reeds, though? They could be observed from any elevated point. Crackling noises echoed through the silent, windless night.

Yet March had told them not to worry about this. Despite Beetle’s doubts, Cheater was starting to realize how right their boss was.

Not only were March’s plans a help—the reservoir was teeming with all kinds of small, noisy animals. Ducks, swans, muskrats, otters and other inhabitants were either nocturnal or had been roused by the approaching people. They all made noise, splashing loudly and rustling through the reeds themselves. Against such a sonorous background, an observer might not notice any of the players’ activities.

Especially if they were not paying close attention.

The local infecteds were apparently all dumb, unable to analyze sound sources well. Creatures like the Trinity could figure out that the reeds were not moving aside at the behest of an angry, purposeful swan. All others would have learned long ago that it was useless to chase such a bird in its native habitat. It made no sense to them to chase the noise.

Since March was so certain they would calmly pass through here, Cheater was becoming more sure of the assumption he had begun to make immediately after learning of the Trinity.

Somehow, he knew that there were no ghouls here. Along this edge of the water specifically. How had he known? It was an interesting question—and one he could not answer.

He simply knew things he had no right knowing.

Perhaps March knew nearly everything there was to know about the Trinity. Even things that Beetle and other players from the east did not. The tankman was still dumbfounded by the calm. Inhabitants of the region believed that lasting two hours on the First Steppe was impossible.

Cheater had already spent ten times that duration here.

Without seeing a single ghoul.

What exactly March was up to, though, was unknown. He had little doubt in the boss’s control of the situation.

This calmed him, allowing him to accept the discomforts of the trip.

As he was considering these thoughts, a series of splashes sounded ahead. They followed an incomprehensible pattern he had not heard before. It was unlike any swan or duck. More like a fish flopping along in shallow water. But one the size of a man-eating shark.

How would such a big fish get here?

Obviously it wasn’t a shark, nor even a fish. It looked at first glance like a massive wild boar.

Soon his eyes began to notice details that the short reeds could not mask. It was angular and asymmetrical, like a raffler partway through its physical transformation. Its head was losing all proportions, its jaw swollen. And its canines were absurdly oversized.

Cheater was not the greatest expert on animals, but this was obvious enough.

Animals could become infecteds, too, not just digi people. Only predators and omnivores seemed to be susceptible. The ghouls which resulted were among the most dangerous. It was easier for the beast to survive the early stages, since it had adaptations designed to let it kill without tools and weapons.

This animal was far from ordinary. Its serene wandering through this flooded area said much. Likely it was roaming here out of habit and had not yet learned to fear stronger infecteds.

The boar stationed itself in a wide clearing nearly free of reeds. It faced the trio of players. It must have heard them long ago, yet it had not been certain that people were making the sounds rather than the common residents of the wetlands. So it had been waiting to get a look.

Or, perhaps, it had other intentions. No one could tell what was going through the mind of a beast.

The boar saw the players. It readied to charge and growled a noise unlike the sound made by ordinary infecteds. Animals’ vocal cords were different.

Still calling other ghouls, it rushed at its quarry.

Beetle reacted instantly. His machinegun was up and firing. Cheater’s Darkvision revealed bullets ripping flesh and blood from the beast’s muzzle. The boar was not even irritated by this. Its skull had hardened enough that something stronger was needed.

“Cease fire!” Cheater commanded and stepped towards the monster.

The seven-hundred-pound beast charged through the marshy shallows, but its speed was only moderate. Getting hit by it, though, would knock a human down and drive him into the silt, his body skewered by the huge double tusks.

Cheater did not go far to meet it. He was not enough of a fool to wander through an area where he might become ensnared in deep mud. Here in the shallow water, his Reaction and Speed may not be sufficient to save him, if he had no sufficient freedom to maneuver.

He proceeded to one of the few islets of tall reeds. Then, he pressed down on the stems, pushing them into the water. This provided him a relatively stable support.

He crouched down partially, then jumped and turned in the air. The creature’s snout charged through the place he had been, missing him by inches. He cut down with Choppa, allowing the force of the blow to be augmented by the creature’s speed.

There was no need to activate Crushing Blow, which would then require several hours to recharge. The beast’s armor was not particularly strong, and the boar’s weight, blade speed, and the weapon’s inherent properties and modifications would be sufficient. Despite Maple’s fears, his body performed without fault. There was no sense using up a trump card to kill this insignificant monster.

For Cheater it was insignificant, anyway. And for Choppa. For Maple and Beetle, it was perilous.

His sword was very capable on its own, but with its modifications added in, it could take nearly anything. Maybe not an Unnamed One. Maybe. The blade pierced the beast’s lumpy skin and sliced its spine with a hideous series of cracks. Its legs gave way, and it wheezed and collapsed in the water, creating a small wave.

Forcing his legs out of the silt, Cheater jumped back to the defeated boar and dealt another blow.

It was done. The System gave him his victory message.

After slowly rinsing the sword in the muddy water, Cheater returned it to its scabbard and turned towards his approaching companions. Beetle was applauding silently. “Yes, I see you have significant problems with your fencing technique.”

Cheater grunted. “I think I’m starting to understand what you’re saying. Guess I was wrong.”

* * *

Note: You have left the Phantom Forest region! Note: You are in the West Coast region! You have set automatic region binding in your settings. The automatic binding has not activated, as your binding has not yet cooled down. Your current bound region remains the Phantom Forest.

Note: You can change your region binding for yourself and even for your companions using your special abilities. Congratulations to you and your party members! You have succeeded despite many obstacles. Bonuses: +3500 distributable base stat progress points, +4000 distributable auxiliary stat progress points, +2 points to all meters, +2 primary inventory cells, +24 grams primary carry weight, +350 grams personal cache weight, +80 grams personal cache special cell weight (you can carry unlimited non-bound objects, with the except of trophies obtained from monsters, in this cell). You can activate one bonus property for any of your abilities (your choice).

Note: You have returned to your start region by natural means, without being randomly resurrected there after reaching your respawn limit. Your return speed ranks among the fastest 100 returners. Bonus +6 to all meters, +0.05x Speed modifier.

Note: This is your third border crossing between regions. Congratulations! You receive +400 distributable base stat progress points, +500 distributable bonus stat progress points, +10 distributable meter points, and +0.01x to any stat modifier.

The lengthy message popped up unexpectedly. The three had continued walking along the reeds. The border was not visible—the thickets on either side were exactly the same.

As was the water and the silt.

“That’s it!” Beetle rejoiced.

Cheater turned with a smile to Maple. “I told you we could do it. Time to forget those freaks!”

The girl paused, and then mumbled, “I’ll try.”

Note: You have left the boundaries of the current arena. You cannot cross borders and retain the grays’ challenge. The feral tribe of the Shgrazqu people no longer see you as an enemy of honor. Their honorable relationship with you has terminated, and the Challenge Token has been recalled.

Really?

Cheater felt his pocket. It was gone.

The weightless ball could not be lost, but it was no more. The System had taken it. Without warning, and without delay.

He would make do without it, but he was saddened. There would be no repeating the trick with the Elite Nold. All of the other many uses for the Challenge Token that he had thought up were no longer available.

But now was a time for rejoicing. He was back.

He was home.

Time to open a chat with Kitty...

Chapter 32

Life Nine. Antiquities

They reached the point March had indicated just before dawn. The shallow water ended there, and the road was perfectly visible from a distance, without even needing night vision. Even half a mile away, they could tell that the place was unusual but hardly dangerous. The infecteds didn’t like such places.

March had selected a stable for their reunion. Not an ordinary stable.

Usually, stables were overgrown land with no traces of civilization. Untrimmed forests, fields, hills, and mountains. Sometimes, they were entirely aquatic clusters. Some said that there were majestic glaciers in the far north that never reset.

Stables with remnants of human civilization were less common. But where they existed, they had almost always been stripped long ago. Destroyed settlements, gardens run wild, roads pocked and overgrown, and so on.

This stable was unlike any that Cheater, Beetle, or Maple had ever seen. Nor had they heard of anything like it. It was probably another unique phenomenon of the borderlands.

The place looked like an open-air museum that had been badly neglected. Archaeologists had uncovered ancient ruins here and collected artifacts, and then others had cleaned up the area and started a tourist industry. All continents with ruins of significant age had such businesses. Ancient times offered the best attractions, but the Middle Ages were also sufficient.

This was from the latter. It was something like a temple complex, situated on an island. Part of it had been utterly destroyed, with scattered blocks of stone hinting at what had once stood in the spot. Majestic columns rose into the air, and in some places they supported the pitiful remnants of arches. Walls were mostly cracked or even collapsed, but some had survived. Despite its wretched condition, this was clearly human architecture, not something created by the grays. He was unable to pin the location or the century. It was probably Asian, perhaps Indian.

Tourists were unlikely to show up. The occasional extreme player wandered this way. None had spent the slightest effort on restoration. Most of the complex offered all kinds of ways to break your legs or entangle yourself in impassable, thorny bushes. A pool which had once collected rainwater had now turned into green swamp, underneath swarms of midges. The birds had dirtied the ancient statues into unrecognizable states.

And so on.

But all three of them were ready to settle in anywhere. They were so hungry that they would willingly chew the reeds if need be.

So they selected a reasonably defensible position with a good view and set out to manage their basic needs.

Cheater tired of his attempts to get through to Kitty and instead began to pester March to try and find out what he was up to—or at least, what they should expect to be doing in the near future. The boss, instead of sharing information, advised them to celebrate the momentous border crossing with a few beers and rest up for new achievements.

Cheater realized then that the whole party had now crossed the border. The three of them had been last to the crossing.

Why then was March stuck somewhere on the other side of the reservoir? What was he up to?

Cheater decided to try getting the truth out of Clown. That just earned him a reply that, no, he did not understand what was about to happen—but he suspected it would be quite interesting. He also complained that he had, the day before, been appointed pack mule. He spent all day moving some kind of bags, one after another, and they all weighed like a ton. And then, there were these smelly barrels that needed to be rolled around.. This was an unpleasant activity even for a player as strong as him.

The information told Cheater little. Instead, it confused him even more.

What was in the heavy bags? There was no way to know.

Perhaps March was right. He should just have a snack and try to relax—and banish the disturbing thoughts from his mind. All of them had agreed to perform a mass region binding. Each member of the party’s logs flashed momentarily in the window. Upon receiving System messages to that effect, the players quickly accepted them.

Most importantly, a similar log for Kitty popped up.

She was paying attention. Something about these borderlands interfered with the chat function—too many black and gray clusters—but she was active. Until he moved away from these bad clusters, communication would not be happening.

He wanted to drop everything and charge east, into normal areas, where correspondence from hundreds of miles away was possible. Yet he had to restrain himself.

He was used to waiting. Just a little more now.

* * *

Resting did not work out. Cheater had not even had time to doze off when his body jerked and his eyes opened wide.

His vision caught the echo of something. A bright, intermittent flash to the southwest—followed by massive ripples across the water. The surface of the reservoir now resembled some unnaturally rough glass. Not all of it—just the portion between them and the flash.

This strange area was not static. It was expanding. Something invisible was moving, from the southwest, leaving a strange pattern on the water.

It was happening so quickly that Cheater had no time to react, no time even to think.

No reaction would have helped. What was happening was incomprehensible. Even recent events with the Devils’ fortress had not taught him to react to blasts immediately.

The invisible force reached the island and turned out to be a shock wave. Their eardrums throbbed. The ancient columns trembled, and several heavy blocks were dislodged from one of the walls. Pebbles and clouds of dust were scattered in many directions. Surprised birds took to the air with heart-rending cries and rushes of wing wind.

Then, everything went quiet. The water returned to its normal state, and the stones in the ruins stopped falling; only the excited behavior of the birds served as an echo of what had happened.

Cheater swore. He had recently observed something similar.

A nuclear mushroom cloud. Or, a cloud from an ordinary explosion—just one that was absurdly powerful. An amateur could confuse that with a nuclear blast, which would be a forgivable mistake.

“The devil was that!” Beetle gasped. “Did you see that? All our people are over there! What was that?”

The tankman was already treating the party like his own—despite March’s stern promises to deal with Cheater later for accepting some “random guy” into the party in the midst of a complicated crossing.

“You’re right, they are,” Cheater affirmed.

“So what was that?”

“I don’t know. But I bet Nut knows.”

“Nut?” Beetle blinked.

“Our sapper. Our partly insane sapper. Or perhaps certifiably.”

“What does a crossing party need a psycho sapper for?”

Cheater shrugged. “You’ll have to get used to strange things happening around here sometimes. It wasn’t my decision. I didn’t know what was going on. He was accepted into the party because he’s a sapper. And because he’s crazy. I’d bet anything that this was his work. Soon, he’ll tell us more about it. With every single irrelevant detail. And probably some fictitious side quest involving a girl and some drugs. He is our biggest blabbermouth too.”

“He won’t be chatting anytime soon,” the healer announced.

“Why not?” Cheater asked.

“He’s dead.”

“Damn. I didn’t notice that.”

“Keeping a perpetual eye on the party icons is part of my profession,” Maple explained. “Treatment sometimes has to be administered immediately. Within seconds. Otherwise, only a priest can help the dead.”

“So what the hell happened?” Beetle pressed.

Cheater understood the man’s worry. Nut’s icon wasn’t the only one that had gone out. Button’s and Fatso’s had, too—meaning that the squad was now suffering irreversible losses. They were three players down, and no one could be brought back, since one of the dead was the priestess.

Cheater tried sending a chat message but received no answer. He could only speculate by looking at the position of the living and dead icons. The Janitor’s icon was blinking madly, too.

“Look, there’s something else,” Beetle announced, pointing roughly in the direction of the explosion.

Cheater paused his contemplation of the icons and chat windows to look. South of the place where Nut had most likely arranged the blast, another column of smoke rose to the heavens. It was not too thick at first, but then it gained strength. The color of it was unnaturally dark. This was clearly no forest on fire, no dry steppe grass set ablaze. It looked more like the smoke from a massive tire fire.

“I’ve seen something like that before, when an oil depot burned,” Beetle said. “And my map shows an oil depot somewhere in that direction. I bet that’s what’s smoking.”

Cheater silently pulled the party chat back up.

The hell is happening? Someone answer!

This time, it worked.

March:

It’s a veritable disaster here! The beer is nearly gone. I myself barely understand how this happened.

Cheater:

That’s a shame. What else?

March:

Well, things didn’t work out as planned.

Clown:

Cheater, we’re in so much shit here that if we type it all out in chat it’ll bring the System down. We’re also all basically deaf. But you know what? It was quite a show.

March:

Cheat, do you have any beer over there on that island?

Cheater:

...Yeah, sure. Come and get it.

March:

I don’t know if we’ll be able to get out of here alive, after all. We’ll try. Is there anything there which is high up and solid? Something that, say, a heavy bulldozer would be unable to immediately level?

Cheater glanced around the ruins.

There’s a tall structure that’s something like an obelisk. It looks solid enough—but I doubt it would take many bulldozer hits.

March:

Then wait. We’re coming.

Beetle was following the chat. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cheater shrugged. “You know as much as I do. We’ll have to wait and find out.”

* * *

They did not have to wait for long. A suspicious flash appeared across the water, directed towards their island. It approached at speed.

Cheater watched it through his scope. It was a hovercraft, a fairly large one, too. He could not see the passengers through the glass, but they were certainly pushing the craft as hard as it could go. On the map, the three players’ icons were closing in on them.

The boat circled the island, crawled up through a reedy shallow, and stopped on a narrow strip of beach. Before the propellers had even spun down, March and Clown were out, carrying the Janitor’s machinegun. The quasi followed last and was in bad shape. He was covered in blood like he had bathed in it, almost missing an ear, and his cheek was stripped down so deep that his molars could be seen with his mouth closed. Both legs had a limp, and his face was beaten up. Obviously he was in a bad state.

Clown waved Cheater over and gave him a grimace like that of a cat receiving sour cream. “The things I’ve seen...  You’ll never believe it.”

“Tell me,” Cheater insisted.

“Stories can wait until later,” March commanded.

“There won’t be a later unless I get treatment now!” the quasi roared. “Where’s that beautiful first aid kit of ours? Bring her here!”

“No sense spending the healer’s mana on a corpse,” March barked.

The quasi grunted and cursed him indignantly.

March turned to Cheater. “Cheat, where’s that place you mentioned? The one that could hold up under the bulldozer and so on?”

“How about you explain what’s happening?” Cheater nearly yelled, desperate to convince his comrade to divulge anything at all.

“What’s happening?” March replied calmly. “Nothing at all. But something is about to happen, very soon. The Trinity is heading this way. It will not take them long. Time to finish our last beers and get down to business.”

Chapter 33

Life Nine. The Unholy Trinity

“Nut isn’t half bad as a sapper,” March admitted as he finished off his second can. “He’s good. Too good, perhaps. And even more crazy than I needed. I never counted on him being such a good sapper. This affected the result negatively. He built a bomb out of six railway cars. I understood roughly what to expect. But I did not understand him well enough to convey my idea to him clearly. He tried to show off. That was my mistake. Quite a big mistake.”

“What about all of those sacks I dragged for miles?” Clown said. “What was the point?”

“There was plenty of fertilizer in those sacks, but things didn’t go according to plan. The tanks exploded on a delay. The first set was supposed to break through their defenses, and then the second set was meant to stun them, or even kill them. Their flock was utterly destroyed. No exceptions. But those three resisted. They were hit, but not really hurt. The explosions were too strong. He had maxed the blasts out. It knocked them away. The first explosion was too strong and so tossed them into a large pit, giving them cover from the second. Everything after the first was in vain. Damned Nut. Too good for his job. How could I have known?”

“I agree,” Clown nodded. “The man nearly managed to fashion an atomic bomb out of shit, fertilizer, oil, and diesel. In the space of a few hours, he made that just from whatever was on hand. Nothing used was on his person, except for detonators and wires and so on. Damned chemist found everything on site.”

“It was a rich site. Too rich, even. Lots of tanks filled with all kinds of goodies. The man I bought this information from was correct. But I never expected that first blast to be so strong. That was my mistake. And thanks to that, the ghouls will arrive soon.”

“So why did you land at all?” Cheater said. “We could all fit in that boat. Then, we go to the eastern edge of the reservoir. The Second Steppe starts somewhere near there. We drop down into it, and we’re done. The Trinity might lose our trail—the water doesn’t show footprints. Plus, they say that the group almost never goes down on the western side.”

“This young romantic lacks understanding,” the Janitor croaked, grinning and frowning at once.

March licked his lips after another sip. His voice was condescending, but also nervous. “It’s Cheater. We forgive foolishness from Cheater. Look at the Janitor, Cheater. What do you see?”

“I see a person suffering. We have a healer here, but you have ordered her to do nothing.”

“Few players would call a quasi a person,” March noted.

“To hell with racism,” Cheater muttered. “What’s the point of the question?”

“No, I just wanted to be sure you saw. Here’s some more food for thought. You saw me give the Janitor a very valuable item. Did you think he won a beauty contest or something? Why did I give that to him?”

“Oh come on,” the quasi grumbled, “I’ve seen pigs prettier than me.”

“Exactly,” the boss agreed. “But let’s hear what Cheater thinks. Well?”

The player squinted in the direction of the pillars of smoke. One had grown ten times in size by now, and the other had shrunk to nearly nothing. “I think the Janitor has some kind of ability. A very useful ability which has something to do with infecteds. During the first crossing and the first part of this one, we had more problems with humans, atomites, and bots than ghouls. Beetle told me it’s hard to last an hour up here on the First Steppe. We’ve been here for more than a day. I’m guessing this is thanks to the Janitor. But I don’t know how.”

“My hat is off to you,” March gestured. “Your thinking is improving. Still weak, but making progress. Soon you’ll qualify for kindergarten. Alright, well, there’s no time to make fun of you. Let me sum things up: The Janitor is my counterpart.”

“He hunts Unnamed Ones?”

“No, I’m probably the only one on the Continent who does that. But we were destined to meet and cooperate, so we try our best to get along. Don’t expect too much from him. He, shall we say, has minor partial control over infecteds. He cannot control them like puppets, but there is a lot that he can do. For example, he excels at luring them. Not directly, and not by being loud. And there are certain conditions to meet. But it works especially well with the lead beasts of powerful flocks. Once you see the Trinity, you’ll understand how valuable this ability is. Where the leaders go, the little ones follow. When packs like this one control several clusters, you may not find any infecteds anywhere but under their tutelage. You wonder why it’s so calm here. Well, it’s because the flock went where we directed it too. The Janitor used his illusions to bring them to the explosion site we had prepared. It was a good plan, but it failed. Time for Plan B.”

“You knew from the start that this bullshit would fail,” the quasi hissed. “You didn’t bring Cheater along. You were keeping him safe. Away from the party. He believes everything you say, and you controlled him like I control a flock of ghouls. Saving his Luck for your ‘Plan B.’”

“I had my doubts, I admit,” March said, “so I decided to have a backup plan. No, I’m not too reluctant to die, but you should always have an alternative. I had no idea how to cover such a large crowd with my ability. The damage radius is rather small, and the flock was as large as a line for government handouts. After all, if even a part of them survives, all is lost.”

“It survived, alright,” the Janitor frowned.

“Yes,” their leader agreed, “but that doesn’t matter anymore. The important thing is that the plan was partially successful—the flock lost all of their rank and file members. Only the core remains. The naked, unprotected Trinity. Now they’ll come to the island, and we’ll kill them. With Cheater’s Luck active. It should work. They’re stunned and their defensive abilities are on cooldown, and there’s no flock for us to worry about. As far as I can see, our chances are excellent. We have prepared a burial ground for the Trinity. The conditions are perfect,” March asserted.

“How?” Cheater frowned. “If several tanker cars full of explosives weren’t enough to finish them off, what can we do?”

“Not we. Me,” March corrected. “Along with Janitor. He will attract them. I will kill them. Simple.”

“Your fatal skill has cooled down?”

“Yes. It’s not that long a cooldown, actually. But all three of them must be in the same place. We have to hold out until they are. Then, hit them all. You’ve seen how this works. They will die. We’ll climb up high just so they can’t mow us down immediately. They will run towards Janitor. He lures them. If we get into trouble, we’ll use our weapons. These creatures are fast, and they work together. We won’t have long to wait. As soon as I say, use your Luck ability.”

“You’ll die. Both of you.”

March nodded. “Why did you think I was finishing off the beer? I can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Tell her to cure me,” the quasi barked. “I want to die healthy!”

“A waste of valuable resources,” March shot back. “Our new friends are already close. All of you run to the other side of the island. Once I give the command, activate your Luck and a shard. The ability is complex, and if some unknown factor causes it to reach your area, well, we need you alive. You’ll gut the Trinity’s sporesacs then. Then, you can take the boat to the spot where Fatso, Nut, and Button died. There were many elites torn apart by the blast. It’s not pretty. Giblets everywhere. But maybe you’ll manage to find something. No need to worry about ghouls. We rigged the oil depot, and set it on fire after the first blast. Any remaining ghouls are rushing there now, like moths to a lighthouse. That smoke is visible for lightyears. Once you’ve collected everything of value, go east. I’ll give you a special map, and it’s got a route marked on it. The information is correct, but keep your guard up. Your only job will be to bring the loot to a place where the chat works. If anything goes amiss, we meet at the Fisherman’s Island stable. Decent people live there, and you can leave a message if you have to. Hopefully that won’t be necessary. That part of the region seems pretty straightforward. Why the long faces? Cheer up! If this works, we’ll all be rich.”

Cheater shook his head. “I’m already rich. I just wanted to get to the other side. A border crossing was all I signed up for. Why the circus act again?”

“Imagine a world without circuses, Cheat,” March said as he opened another can.

“Okay,” Cheater nodded. “Since you don’t like being bored, can you figure out how I can use this?”

He handed the leader the Elite Nold bracer.

March turned it about thoughtfully. “It looks like you’re supposed to wear it on your arm.”

“Come on.”

“What do you want to do with it?”

Cheater kept his eyes on the Predator-esque lines of the gauntlet. “Well... If we activate that, in theory, something more powerful than an Elite Nold will show up. Perhaps that creature will deal with the Trinity himself. Then, you try killing him with your ability. I know it’s crazy sounding—I doubt we have the time to prepare.”

“It wouldn’t work. Not because there’s no time, but because no one would show up,” March explained as he returned the bracer.

“No one would show?” Cheater furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not just a winner, you’re a unique winner. The System closed the matter of the Elite Nold. No continuation. Nothing further. You could have given your girlfriend the lives from this bracelet long ago, and nothing bad would have happened. That’s what you wanted to do, right?”

“Of course,” Cheater admitted openly. “But that’s all? I could have activated this a long time ago?”

March chuckled. “Just enter a player ID, and no one will come after you. Then add some mods. But it’s probably better to wait—your excellent modding system takes a long time, as I remember.”

“How can you be so sure? The System told me I was the first player to kill an Elite Nold. It gave me an achievement. So no player has had this bracer before.”

“Ah, so the System condescended to write that to you?

Don’t trust everything you see, Cheater. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust me. And most of all, don’t trust yourself. Welcome to the Continent. Abandon trust, all ye who enter. But never abandon beer! Let’s finish these cans up. No time for pointless conversations. Guzzle!”

* * *

During the fight with the Unnamed One, Cheater had watched the whole thing from an excellent position. He had a wonderful eye not only of March’s lonely figure but also of all the approaches towards him. He could not actually see the terrifying monster, but he was not complaining about the view.

Clown would have loved it.

This time was different. Cheater, Maple, Beetle, and Clown hung out in the boat about a hundred yards away from the ancient temple island’s eastern shore. The ruins from this angle completely blocked their view. March and the Janitor were utterly hidden from here, even though they had climbed up the obelisk.

All they could do, then, was watch the chat window attentively, reading the rare comments dropped by the suicide bomber pair as they waited for the signal.

And listen to Clown’s groans of dismay. Their companion lived for the spectacle, and the prospect of missing out on a fight with the Trinity was too much to bear. He would have likely agreed to sacrifice a life just to witness it.

No one was about to let him.

Trinity hunting was not a spectator sport.

The comments the both of the bombers made were hardly informative. March would at time announce a great victory over another few cans—despite his protests, the others had not helped him finish them off—and the Janitor was still complaining about the man’s cruelty in forbidding any healing on him.

No, the point was not to save the healer’s mana. The true reason was clear to anyone with half a brain. The boss feared that the Janitor might survive the disastrous ability that was about to strike. He also was carrying a Shard of Invulnerability—and might use it. Theoretically even that was incapable of saving someone at the epicenter of the strike, but no one had that down to a science, nor did anyone truly know what a developed quasi’s capabilities were.

If he survived now, he would not be in very good shape. Consequently, there would be less of a chance that he would be able to cunningly stab his comrade in the back and steal all of the loot. Including the white pearls he needed. One may not be enough to recover human form, but two or three provided an excellent change.

March was in his element. Trusting no one. Only Cheater had somehow managed to prove he could be relied on. Yet March had not abandoned all doubts even with him. Anyone else in the Janitor’s place would have been swearing up just as mighty a storm.

It was an unpleasant situation, to be sure. Players on the Continent always kept focused on themselves. The interests of others only mattered as far as they aligned with their own.

The Trinity was taking its time. Clown was impatiently beginning to speculate, to hypothesize. One major theory of his had the overly wise creatures huddling and devising a cunning plan. Another was that the Janitor only pretended to lure them—but was actually using his skill to drive them away. It did seem that March did not know everything about the quasi. Including his abilities. Why had he not driven away the horde yesterday, then? Or during the first crossing, why had he not cleared the bridge over the road, from which ghouls had dropped and deprived the party of its pickup?

The new information created many questions around the topic of the Janitor. Some, none could answer but him. So with him gone, Clown fell to fantasizing and theorizing.

Most of those speculations were far from flattering.

The radio hissed. Through the strong interference of the borderlands, March’s voice came through.

“Get ready.”

All conversation halted. Cheater was about to ask what the situation was like, but then his ears caught a sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight.

And quite possibly go gray.

The grumbling of infecteds. So huge were these infecteds that here, a hundred yards away from the land, that sound was still perfectly clear. It was coming, not from one of the shores, but from somewhere among the ruins. Perhaps even on the other side of the island.

Impressive vocal cords.

Then, other sounds joined the mix. One sounded like a powerful wrecking ball working at high speed. Smashing the ruins apart.

Cheater winced as he imagined what was happening to March and the Janitor. They were atop the bizarre ancient obelisk. Now, one or two massive beasts were playing Jenga with the ruins below. The humans, meanwhile, were holding on tight and patiently waiting for the third to arrive.

“I see the third nearby,” the radio supplied. “Had to use a shard. Foxes almost got me...”

Cheater couldn’t see a thing, but he doubted March’s shard was in response to the shuddering of the obelisk. The beasts had likely tried to hit the players with some kind of dangerous ability. Whether the three of them came together or not, within thirty seconds the boss would have to play his deadliest trump card.

“Cheater, now!” March ordered.

He intended for Cheater to use a Shard of Invulnerability, too, but the player did not. He had used his valuable perk gained at the crossing—strengthening an ability’s bonus property—on Smile of Fortune. It gave him invulnerability for five seconds now, instead of three.

First, though, he used Helping Hand. Only then did he use Smile.

The bonus invincibility now lasted for 50 seconds, not just five. That was even longer than a shard without Helping Hand.

He wasn’t sure that the immunity they provided was equivalent, but there was no great reason to doubt this.

March’s icon went out. Maple wasn’t the first to notice—all four saw it at the same time because they had been staring at the party map.

They were in a dark boat, on a dark swamp, with their view blocked by reeds and ruins. What else was there to watch?

* * *

Clown leaned out from behind a heap of stone blocks, relaxed, and lowered his gun with an amazed exhalation. “Holy shit!”

Cheater joined him and nearly repeated the same words.

He had seen all kinds of infecteds during his time on the Continent. Elites, and even dire elites, far past level 100.

These far surpassed dires. The Trinity looked so fearsome even after death that he felt a deep respect for their might. It was no wonder that they had been named with a capital letter. Prohibitive size had little to do with it. These monsters were modest compared to the rumors surrounding them. Standing to full height, they were likely under thirty feet tall. No, there was a je ne sais quoi, something he could not put his finger on. Perhaps it was their monsterly perfection. All of the others he had seen were obviously in development. They were in some stage of development, from primitive, to challenging, to colossal, to complete.

These looked like the apex of development. The logical final form. All other ghouls were incomplete, and held various forms. These three, though, looked mostly alike. Their armor didn’t even look that thick—though they apparently had defenses against every threat imaginable. Their bone plates were vastly sleeker and more symmetrical than those of any ghoul he had encountered before. It was like the most advanced plate armor, just before the age of firearms.

“Holy shit!” Beetle echoed Clown’s words—and the words spinning through everyone’s mind.

“Are they really dead?” Maple asked cautiously.

Cheater reluctantly turned. “Head back to the coast. Just to be on the safe side. Let us sort it out.”

No, the infecteds were not what bothered him. Cheater had not let his guard down, even as he stood amazed at their hideous beauty. The first thing he had done upon returning to the obelisk was activate Flash. He detected no signs of life from any of the carcasses.

This hardly assuaged his worries.

For instance, where was the Janitor, and how was he doing? His icon had not gone out. It continued blinking. The map showed that the quasi was nearby, but his exact location could not be pinpointed by the map alone. There were many levels within the ruins, and he could be hiding within them.

But no, he was easily found. He emerged from around a corner and hobbled over on his injured legs, then stretched out a huge paw to Cheater. On it lay the lacework-pattern ball of a Shard of Invulnerability.

“Take this. I didn’t need it,” the quasi boomed.

“How did you survive without it?” Cheater wondered tensely.

The Janitor winked. “Big freaks like us have our secrets. But it was not easy, I’ll tell you that. So take it.”

Cheater shook his head. “March gave it to you, so if you want to return it, give it to him.”

“Where’s March, then?” the quasi grunted.

“With us. In the party. Even if he’s gone for a bit. He’s in charge. Do you agree?”

The quasi sighed wearily. “No need to drag me into this. I know you and March have a special trust between you. And you don’t trust anyone. I understand that—he’s not a trusting person. Like almost everyone here. I’m even willing to forgive the fact that he didn’t let me get healing. But don’t you also pour your suspicions over my bald head. Smell something fishy? Then kill me, right here, right now. It’s easier to respawn than to deal with you drilling me with looks like that for days. I wish you would quit being so nervous around me.”

He tried to make his voice light and sarcastic with that last sentence, but the effect was funny for other reasons: the hole in his cheek had an unpredictable effect on acoustics. Clown couldn’t resist a grin.

“We’ll talk about trust later,” Cheater said. “There’s something else first.”

“What else?” Beetle cocked an eyebrow. “We need to get their sporesacs. Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

The quasi shook his head. “Cheater’s right. Something is wrong.”

“What is that?” Clown said as he kicked the nearest monster.

Cheater clicked his radio. “Maple, hide somewhere on the shore, and stay hidden.”

“What shit are we about to get into now?” Clown grabbed his machine gun again.

Cheater hit his Flash of Omniscience again. “No victory message.”

There were hundreds of reasons a victory message might be delayed—and it could even be delayed for no reason. Sometimes, the System issued it in the middle of a battle, or half an hour after the final shot was fired. It was unpredictable.

But players who had seen a lot of logs were wary whenever the usual patterns were broken. So Cheater peered through the interwoven, lifeless lines and curves of the ancient stone structures. He highlighted everything biological. Grass and low shrubs shone in blue. The huge crimson-red spots of the three monsters were highlighted, too. Little sparks and blobs betrayed the hiding places of rodents, snakes, and lizards. What was going on? Nothing but useless junk and harmless animals. But something was clearly wrong. The absence of a victory message was not the only clue. His premonition was screaming at him.

Behind you! It was definitely behind. All other directions had been examined and were clean.

Cheater slowly turned, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw something out of place. The space had been clean, with a thick windowless wall twenty paces back.

Instead of the expected interweaving lines of the ancient structures, his peripheral vision saw red.

Solid, monolithic, homogenous red, from top to bottom.

Cheater did not complete the turn. He had seen enough to know that whatever was happening was a threat to them all.

He twitched to the right, towards the passage that had led the group from the shore to the obelisk.

That was all he had time to do. The air to the right rippled from an intense stream of heat, and congealed into a gigantic claw.

It happened so fast and so close that Cheater could hardly perceive it. The first thing that claw did was hit the nearest player on the head.

That player was Cheater.

* * *

Note: the Thanks Nolds! item is equipped. A situation threatening instant death has arisen. Chance of Avoiding Instant Death activated. Immunity to all harmful effects received for 2 seconds.

Cheater had no time to read the message. It was very hard to read when you were hurtling through the air towards the obelisk March and Janitor had perched atop—all with one careless flick of a giant claw.

He slammed into the stone at speeds barely subsonic, and...

Instead of compressing into a bag of broken bones and battered muscles, his body fell to the ground unharmed. He was dazed a bit, but not enough to keep him from immediately hiding behind the obelisk. Cheater saw Beetle take a similar hit, sending him a little higher and further—and then a multi-ton monster appeared out of nowhere and elegantly leaped over to Clown, sweeping him away just as casually.

Of course there had been no victory message.

There had been no victory.

The Trinity was indeed a Quaternity, as some had named it. The fourth beast had grown so powerful that it had approached unseen, and had waited for the earlier fight to end. It had stayed a distance away, covering its siblings as it took advantage of its effective camouflage ability.

Chameleon couldn’t do anything like that.

Cheater didn’t try to escape. There was no way to run. Even if the monster did not know about the boat, there was no getting past it. Moving through the water on foot was laughably pointless. If the monster had come here unnoticed, it did not fear getting its legs wet.

He would have seconds, if that.

So he bought a little time to gather his thoughts and his strength. He had to devise a plan to kill the fourth creature, and fast. There was only one of them, at least. If they had known about its existence beforehand, they may have been able to kill it without losing anyone.

Even the most powerful infected could be tackled by a crowd. Especially a crowd of good fighters. Many players had succeeded in such fights—but the element of surprise had worked against the group in this one. Beetle was gone. Clown was gone. Whether the Janitor was alive or not, he didn’t know, and didn’t care.

For the monster was eyeing the obelisk concealing its would-be victim. There was nowhere to go. The three seconds of immunity from his bracer were out, and the lifesaving property itself was in cooldown. Behind him rose a huge, solid wall of blocks.

It was a dead end.

An explosion rumbled a few yards away, and Cheater instinctively threw himself to the rocky ground. The quasi was standing in the arch of the largest surviving temple passage and had shot a grenade launcher. Now, he went to pick up another.

The beast turned and rushed to the new threat. Fibers of blue discharges along its body. The Janitor had not pierced its hide but appeared to trigger some kind of defensive ability.

If it only countered one attack and did not cool down immediately, the beast was now vulnerable.

The quasi got the second launcher up in world record time. Doing so was usually far from a single quick motion, and the beast had ungodly speed.

But the Janitor got the shot off.

The grenade bounced harmlessly off of the creature’s thick neck.

It didn’t work! The distance was too close for the explosive to go live. At a few paces away, grenades from launchers were not much better than throwing bricks.

The beast hit. Instead of becoming a smear on the wall, the quasi flew a few yards and landed softly. This was intensely unnatural looking, like cheap special effects from a low-budget film.

Then, the show really kicked off. The Janitor leaped up to his feet and began screaming in consuming rage, pounding the creature with a continuous volley from his twelve-millimeter machinegun.

He had used the shard, after all. Now the elite would be unable to harm him for thirty seconds. It was a waste. The Janitor had no chance against the monster even with invincibility. Shooting it with that gun was like firing at it with a water pistol.

It did give Cheater a chance, though.

He had 30 seconds, as well. Either he could make a hopeless dash for the boat, or he could... do what? He didn’t have a decent weapon. The beast’s first attack had deprived him of his weapon. Retrieving it wouldn’t matter. No matter how much mana he poured into Explosive Round, he knew it would not punch through. He had tested it as they approached Rainbow, when they encountered the burned-out tank. If failed to pierce the heat-weakened armor, and if player stories and books were to be believed, tank armor was significantly inferior to that of an ultradire.

The creature was playing a sort of ping pong at the moment. It had no rackets but its paws, and the ball was Janitor. She pounded him this way and that, in all directions. He lost the gun but was continuing the battle with his monstrous pistol. It was a desperate move, but the quasi’s willingness to fight to the end was laudable.

The seconds were ticking away. Soon Cheater would be left alone.

He glanced upward, and a plan surged into his mind, though he had no time to vet it. He rushed from the obelisk to the wall along which the quasi was bouncing back and forth, cursing as he went.

That wall, like most of the ruins, was not in prime shape. Using a collapsed side of it, he pulled himself up. He ascended up high, trying not to look down.

Then, he was atop the crest of it, high enough to look down at the beast.

He was not in time. Barely not in time. The next hit, as casual as it was, sent the Janitor flying for real. His size and strength would not save him. He would not be getting up.

His time was up. With the Janitor handled, the beast would turn to deal with its final enemy.

Without counting Maple. In the fight that was about to begin, Cheater would die so quickly that he would barely have time to count to one.

So he jumped. From six stories up, he jumped. Right onto the back of the beast.

This was not an enraged suicide attack: He knew what he was doing. In the air, he activated Tranquility, choosing the monster’s right shoulder as the target. If the creature was right-handed, it would lose time before it realized the nature of the paralysis.

Not that its being left-handed would be so bad, either. Either way, the beast would be unable to budge.

The jump was desperate. If he were a few milliseconds off, he might fail. The monster’s back, neck, and head were studded so densely with spikes that Cheater compared the elite to an oversized, murderous hedgehog.

Despite his calculations at a last-second dodge, one spike punched into his side, and another tore open his pant leg. But he stayed on.

Then, he was rushing forward and up. Clinging to the thorns with one or both hands, he heaved himself onward, coming dangerously close to the razor-sharp elements of the beast’s armor. His Strength and Agility were pushing their limits. He was proving that the experience he had spent on them had not been a waste.

The carcass of the creature trembled maliciously as gigantic muscles tensed and parts of its armor creaked. It was trying to twist around and throw off the insolent human on its back. But the sphere of immobility held better than any natural grip. Since the monster was likely experiencing the phenomenon for the first time, it passed through a moment of confusion—allowing Cheater to reach its neck.

Establishing himself on a mound of muscle, Cheater held a spike with one hand and reached for Choppa with the other.

At that point the beast realized it was about to go the way of the dodo and twitched violently, finally trying to use its paw. Thankfully, the invisible pest was no longer hiding among the long, twisted spikes on the back.

But it was too late, and it attempted to move the wrong arm.

As usual, Cheater was in luck: the beast was right-handed.

His blade flashed as it plunged into the side of the sac below, hiding beneath a bone shield shaped like a giant, inverted cartoon toilet. With a hole so small at this stage that no one bigger than a chipmunk would be able to use it.

A crunching noise followed as the sword pierced deep. It cut into the mighty armor and through the pliable insides.

Then, he twisted. The move required his whole body. He sacrificed his balance and risked falling. All to twist the weapon during the last moment of the Crushing Blow, the sword’s special ability.

The sphere of Tranquility popped. The creature found its freedom, and finally did what it had been so frantically trying to do all along. It jerked, rotating nimbly and so fiercely that Cheater could not keep his perch. One hand lost its grip on the smooth spike, and the other released his sword.

His flight was short and swift, and he hit the wall—his bones breaking and his mind losing its grip on the world. Darkness took him.

Chapter 34

Life Nine. March’s March

Note: The battle is over. Due to your personal contribution in the final stage of this protracted battle, you receive credit for full presence in the first stage of the battle, without reducing the participation of the other members of the party. Average experience awarded during the first stage will be converted to distributable experience. For the first stage, you receive: +2649 distributable base stat experience, +3398 distributable bonus stat experience.

Note: Some players were too far for the duration of the battle, or for certain stages of the battle. See the archive for a full description of their participation and the penalties incurred.

Note: Party victory! A flock of extremely dangerous infecteds has been destroyed. In common battle, you defeated three monsters more than 150 levels stronger than you. A rare victory! +8000 distributable base stat points. +12500 distributable bonus stat points. +1464 Luck progress points.

+75 distributable meter points. +9 personal inventory cells, +117 grams personal inventory cell weight. +260 grams personal inventory special cell weight. You can place any number of unbound items in this cell, except prizes from slain monsters. +1945 grams personal cache weight limit. +330 grams personal cache special cache weight. +2243 Humanity points.

Note: You have destroyed an infamous flock which has terrified players for many years, easily wiping out the heroes who made attempts in the past. All players in your party will be congratulated in the global achievement feed, and all players will be notified in the special event chat.

The message continued for a long time.. This was only the beginning.

And that was the summarized message. Only those numbers the System considered most important were displayed.

Experience had shown that players generally agreed with the System’s judgment in this regard. These numbers conveyed all kinds of numerical improvements to the characters in the winning party.

How much had he just grown? He could not answer that question at the moment. There was one thing he wanted to find out above all others. Where he had respawned. Which region. Nothing and no one could be trusted. Despite all the measures he had taken, the System might have decided to send him far, far away once again.

Where was he?

Congratulations to you and your party members! You have succeeded despite many obstacles. You receive +1 to your life counter; +10000 base stat progress points; +14000 bonus stat progress points; +0.11 to any multiplier you select (or divided among multiple multipliers); +1500 Humanity; +2 primary personal inventory cells, +24 grams primary personal inventory cell weight; +105 grams personal inventory special cell weight, which can include any unbound items without limits (with the exception of loot items from monsters); +1000 grams personal cache weight; +150 grams personal cache special cell weight. You receive a special perk: Reflect Control (4% chance that a control ability targeted at you will reflect back to the enemy party or flock, 8% chance that the control ability will reflect back on the enemy who cast it; 12% chance that the control ability will have no effect; 16% chance that the control ability targeted at you will refill your meters by 10%). Note: Only one of these options will apply.

Note: This is your fourth global achievement! Bonus: +2 bonus levels to all stats, +0.03x to multipliers for all stats.

Note: Personal victory! Extremely dangerous infected destroyed. All other players in the party are considered to have not participated in this fight; however, the player Janitor receives an extraordinary bonus, and the players Clown and Beetle receive special bonuses.

+1349 Strength progress points, +4537 Agility progress points, +2545 Speed progress points, +746 Endurance progress points, +6583 Willpower progress points, +1966 Luck progress points, +3442 Humanity points.

Note: For the first time in the history of the Continent, a monster of this level was defeated by one player, using a melee weapon! A great individual achievement! A special event message will be sent for all players to see. Congratulations!

This is your second great achievement! Bonuses: +1 to life counter; +14000 universal progress points; a significant upgrade to one of your abilities’ bonus perks (your choice); a significant reduction to the cooldown times of two of your abilities (your choice); +2000 Humanity, +1 to all hidden stat levels.

That was an incredible battle. You, a strong warrior, have defeated a powerful villain while demonstrating your qualities as a Class III Hero. New opportunities have been unlocked! Please select three rewards. You have fifteen total attempts to select rewards. Note: While rewards for Class III Heroes are not as limited as rewards for Class II Heroes, remember that a hero must always exhibit modesty.

Mother in heaven, where is the information I want?

Where am I? The rushing waterfall of bonuses did nothing to lift his mood. He did not process them. They bypassed his reason, filtered out by his crocodile brain, which only wanted to learn one thing.

But the mind always tries to put things in order, no matter how hard a beating it takes. Little by little, things began making sense. To an extent, at least.

Something was wrong. He had not respawned for a long time, but his memories of the process were intact. Never before had he felt such pain during respawn. Even at the very beginning, his cursed knee had not immediately complained. He had gotten up strong and healthy.

What was wrong this time?

That was it: He was still alive.

This was a victory message. A victory message! Choppa had dealt the killing blow.

So the creature had begun to writhe in agony, and when anything of that size writhed, it did so mightily.  Even a world rodeo champion would not have managed to hold on.

He had let go, and flown off.

Now, he knew what to do next.

He opened his eyes.

Maple was just above him. The girl had her palms over his face and chest. Healing him.

Yes, he had survived. Questions about his own condition could wait. “Maple, how are the others?”

His own voice seemed strange, quiet, muffled, but she understood. “There are no others. You were thrown through a hole in the wall. Lucky. There are thick bushes behind that wall—you hit hard, but it didn’t kill you. I’m guessing you have a lot of Endurance, too. You’re tough to kill.”

“Everyone?” Cheater mumbled, searching for the words he wanted. “No... time?”

“You mean no time before their icons turned black? Well, I got to Janitor in time. Clown scribbled in chat that now he had seen everything. Then he died, off to respawn. I don’t know what he saw. What he was talking about.”

“I’ll tell you about Clown later. He’s a character. What about the Janitor? Why didn’t you heal him?”

“He was in very bad shape. Worse than I’ve seen with a quasi to be. I had no idea how he was still alive. He forbade me to help.”

“He asked you to heal me first?” Cheater clarified.

She shook her head. “No. He just refused treatment. Said that was the way it had to be. He said he refused treatment so that you’d know he could be trusted. So that you would stop being afraid that he was going to kill you. And to make things easier for you. He was still alive when I found you, but he has since passed.”

“That’s what he said?” Cheater blinked.

Maple shrugged. “He was in terrible shape, his thoughts jumping all over the place. But I do believe March forbade his survival. March was afraid he would be unable to resist the temptation. There are lots of white pearls here, and that’s exactly what Janitor needs. March trusts you more. You are supposed to collect all the loot and bring it to him. That’s probably the main reason Janitor refused. He’s a member of the party. He was following orders.”

“You should have healed him,” Cheater mumbled, lost in thought.

“I did as he said. I never force anyone. Do you forgive me? I didn’t know that I should have healed him anyway.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to forgive,” Cheater assuaged. “Forget about it. I’m not Gang. You don’t need to treat me like I have authority over you.”

“But you must kill me.”

“Kill you?” Cheater gaped.

“Yes. March trusts only you. But please, do it in a way where there’s no pain. I’m always scared to die. Every time.”

“What are you talking about?” Cheater was raising his voice and coughing—painfully.

“Shh! Don’t shout. Your ribs are broken.”

“Will they heal?”

“Of course. I’ll make sure of that.”

“And then you expect me to kill you for it.”

“Well... That’s what March said. Or what he hinted at, anyway. You’re the one who collects the pearls. No one else is to be around when you do.”

“I didn’t hear him say that. And March can go to—” he coughed again. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to kill you.”

“But—”

“No buts. While I was lying here, near death, you had a hundred opportunities to kill me. You could still do it, right now. So why am I still here?”

“I’m not a killer. I’m a healer.”

“Then heal me quickly, and I won’t fear you killing me, either. Which means you can stay.”

* * *

The healing was not quick. Maple’s ability could stabilize a person teetering on the edge of death, but beyond that, healing was not instant. Cheater had to lie still for several hours before the healer allowed him to get up, yet still she asked him not to strain himself too much.

He had plenty of time to think as he rested. During that time, he also studied March’s proposed route, and read his notes several times over. First, the boss had insisted he visit the site of Nut’s explosion. Many beasts lay dead there, including large ones. Apparently only biters and stronger were accepted into the Trinity’s flock. Manmincers and elites of all stripes were all there. All dead, and mostly blown apart. But the boss thought that a significant amount of loot could still be collected in those killing fields.

Cheater rejected this idea. Even though he had only seen them from a distance, he knew that the explosions had been massive. Shredded pieces of the dead would be mingled with soil and debris. Even with Flash of Omniscience, it would take him a long time to find the contents of their sacs. A day, at least.

And a day in the borderlands was a long, long time. In addition, the oil base was still on fire. He would hate to find himself in the path of another flock, heading for the plume.

It was too risky. Plus, the treasures he could hope to obtain would pale in comparison with the loot from the Quaternity.

He would collect it, and they would travel east at all speed.

Cheater’s first action upon getting up was the most enjoyable part of life on the Continent.

Collecting the loot.

This was the first time he had encountered trouble on this account, except of course the episode with the Unnamed One. These beast’s sporesacs were mightily protected. The hole in their shield was barely more than symbolic. His hand could not fit through.

Maple’s could. She pulled everything out, down to the last spore. Cheater hastily examined the spoils as she did so, collecting the white pearls and tossing everything else into a sack.

The whites were by far the most valuable items, and he would stash them in his inventory. The books and stories said that the chance of getting a white pearl from an ultradire was at least 50%. Some reports mentioned cases with two pearls, or even three. The maximum he could expect from the Quaternity, then, was 12. That was worth about 12 million spores.

A fortune. A little less than Cheater had made on modifications, but comparable.

He did hope, though, that the first three would yield more. They had died with Smile of Fortune active. When his Luck was astronomical.

That had run out before the death of the fourth. Yes, Helping Hand had extended Smile to almost three minutes’ duration—but their landing, searching, and dying had taken a bit longer than that.

That fourth elite yielded two white pearls.

The other three gave them fifteen more.

That meant, in total, they received five more than the maximum of twelve.

Cheater could level plenty of complaints at March. He had made mistakes, and he was arrogant. But one thing could not be ignored: he was a virtuoso at earning money.

As long as he had an honest partner.

* * *

The boat had to be abandoned. It was designed to traverse level landscapes, but they could not take it down the slope leading to the Second Steppe. The slope was little more than a landslide, and on foot they risked breaking their legs or drowning in deep mud. An inflatable hovercraft was about as good in that terrain as a child’s tricycle.

The descent through this dangerous stretch took about an hour. It could have gone more quickly, but Maple twisted her leg in the middle of the trip, and Cheater was dragging all kinds of heavy objects: his backpack with modifiers and assorted loot from the Quaternity, his sword, his rifle, and the Nold’s turret, which he had managed not to lose during the adventures he had experienced.

In addition, he carried an inflatable boat and motor which March had stashed in the hovercraft to be used later for their safe exit away from the border. It was unclear where he had found it, but it would significantly speed up a substantial portion of their journey.

At this point in the trip, though, it was a heavy burden. Cheater often cursed the world and everyone in it as they descended.

He was carrying enough for a whole team of Sherpas. His Strength allowed him to press on, but not in comfort.

At the very bottom, things became more interesting. The landslide had been triggered by massive river flows at the base. Apparently, several turbulent rivulets began to converge here. Further down, they merged into a single torrent that continued northeast. If March was correct, and the boat was still intact, it would greatly help them pass the remaining borderland areas teeming with infecteds.

They may not have known how Janitor controlled flocks of ghouls, but they did know that he was gone. There could still be quite a few nasty surprises in this area, and they had no one but themselves to rely on..

All sorts of ghouls caught their eye as they climbed down, but thankfully they were been distant. Only two or three times had they needed to freeze and wait for some beasts to wander by.

Down below, by the shore itself, they saw nothing. It was as safe as they could expect it to be this close to the region’s edge. The land wedge they stood on now was not large, and both of its sides had been eroded away by rough water. Behind them, the third side of the wedge was blocked by the difficult descent. Unless the beasts were following something interesting, they were unlikely to tackle such obstacles.

They pumped up the boat a decent distance from the water itself, among the cover of some low bushes.

It inflated successfully. The hand pump’s hose was worn out, which slowed their work, but they were done before long.

Together they dragged it to the water. Cheater could have done this on his own, but there was less risk of snagging something on the ground this way.

Placing the boat in the water, they held it in place. Cheater tied the bow rope to a small bush near water’s edge and began fiddling with the motor. He was unaccustomed to this sort of work.

“Dammit!” Maple cried out as the front of the boat somehow lurched out into the water.

The stream had washed away the bank, and thus the bush, and thus the boat’s bow. It was being pulled in the current, towards the confluence of rivulets.

“It’s alright, I’m almost done,” Cheater reassured.

He had the motor attached now, but it refused to start. The cause was soon discovered and eliminated by hastily cleaning the gas and oil mix from the spark plug.

“Cheater!” Maple called out again.

He turned and gritted his teeth. Creatures had arrived: a couple of manmincers and six biters, along with developed tramplers, emerged onto the bank. Shooting them would be a pointless exercise. The bushes swayed in dozens of places, evidencing reinforcements. Their migration path had taken them right past the pair, and they had noticed the boat.  Some rushed back and forth, afraid of the water, but others rushed in. It was shallow, and they would soon be across.

“Shoot them!” Cheater ordered. “I’m handling the engine!”

“No, you shoot, and I’ll do that,” the frightened healer offered as she glanced at the rifle.

“You good with motors?”

Maple nodded. “When I was little my grandad would take me fishing. I recalled that not so long ago. I bet I know how.”

There was no time to evaluate the veracity or validity of this line—the beasts would be here shortly. Since the healer was categorically opposed to inflicting violence, even against the infecteds, it seemed, he had to take up his rifle.

With his first shots, Cheater killed the quickest of them. Then, he switched to his bow, the one he had obtained from Watershed, to save on bullets. His arrows were powerful, and he did not have to worry about losing them. They always returned to him.

Anyone who learned that binding spheres were spent on arrows would laugh. But Cheater had possessed the means to do that and more.

A new batch of creatures rushed to the edge. This time, an elite apparently training to join the Quaternity was among the biters and manmincers.

His rifle might not be able to deal with this one.

But the motor came to life, and his heart jumped with joy.

Time to go.

Maple turned the boat, directing it to run with the current. Fifty meters ahead, the confluence roared. Beyond, the stream expanded by dozens of yards, while remaining just as turbulent. They guessed that it deepened there. By that point, they would no longer be pressed in on both sides.

Cheater turned to the infecteds and flipped them off. “Peace, losers!”

They were out of it and on their way. A few hours later, the boat would exit the borderlands.

Thanks, March. He had done much better with the post-death instructions this time. Without a guide like Beetle, the pair of them would have had an abysmal chance of slipping through.

On his own, he was capable of much more. His usual behavior and Chameleon ability could render him invisible except at close range.

Players were social creatures, though. Living alone was possible, especially for a strong player, but it was not a happy existence.

Chapter 35

Life Nine. Trust Issues.

“So that’s the girl you’re going to meet. How long have you known her?” Maple asked out of nowhere.

“From pretty much my first day on the Continent.”

“And how long were you together?”

The question took Cheater by surprise. How long had it been? His internal time tracking was all confused. After all, players did not agree on a standard calendar. “Not long enough. A matter of days. That whole time, we were running away from someone, treating her leg, and hiding. I don’t remember any fun moments, come to think of it—but when I remember it, it makes me smile.”

He was indeed smiling.

“So a few days, and you grew so attached to her that you’ve traveled half the Continent?” Maple asked darkly.

“Why not? We certainly weren’t bored during that time. A day can feel like a month when so much is happening all the time.”

“I heard Clown say you weren’t going to abandon the party. That you wanted to establish a life here.”

Cheater nodded. “I don’t see the point in wandering farther. We can’t run forever. So why not stop here? This region is no worse than any other. Our team is small, but it has people who are interesting and useful and who have earned our trust.”

“And now you have a healer?” Maple wondered, still darkly.

Cheater hesitated, then continued in a softer tone. “Actually, you can decide for yourself now. If you want to stay, we will be happy to have you. Healer is a rare profession, as you know. But no one will force you.”

“Or even try to... persuade me?” the girl followed, grinning cheerlessly.

Cheater was about to joke, but then he realized that his choice of ability was now decided. It was time to decide anyway. Of course, he should have had a decent consult with March and Clown first, but oh, what the hell...

He should have put this in motion before, too, but he had hesitated. Had his doubts. Lately, there had not been any time for serious conversation. The crossing had been a flurry, right from the start.

March had been right. And Tat, too. He stalled too much, and that was bad.

“I have a secret,” Cheater began after some time. “An interesting bonus, from the System. Several abilities are on offer, and I can only choose one. Out of all of them, two are quite useful for my style of play. They’ll make me quite a bit stronger. Another is useful for the party. I think I’ll take that one. You may want to be friends with a person who has such an ability. And I, in turn, may want to be friends with a healer. Mutual benefit.”

“What does the ability give?” Maple asked.

“Something that everyone wants. Lives. It allows lives to be transferred from one player to another. Would you really turn down a couple more lives?”

“I’ve heard about this before,” Maple replied. “A very rare skill, I think.”

“It is,” Cheater nodded. “I checked.”

“So how does it work? You can forcibly siphon lives away?”

“No, the System won’t allow that. The transfer has to be voluntary.”

“Who would possibly agree to that?”

“Everything is for sale, Maple. Including lives. Price is the only question. I bet there are plenty of people who would trade a life for a few thousand spores.”

“You’re right about that. Some might trade it for a hundred, if you catch them at the right time. But I have nothing. Not even a hundred spores.”

“You’ve got plenty,” Cheater replied confidently. “You are entitled to your share of the loot—and there was lots of loot. I doubt our party will have money problems in general. The one issue is that this skill has many limitations. All sorts of limitations. For instance, you cannot keep throwing extra lives at the same person, nor can you keep taking them from the same donor. Plus, the cooldown is very long. Each of us will, over time, be able to pick up two or three lives per year.”

“In the course of a year I lose something like five lives.”

“Not if you join a great team. Our team...”

Cheater jerked to the side, hiding behind a low bush, and raised his rifle. Maple followed suit.

For several seconds, nothing happened, and the girl dared to ask a whispered question. “You hear something?”

Cheater was unsure. “No, but I did see something flash. It looked like the glint off binoculars. I need to check it out.”

The terrain here did not look good. They had been moving through this area ever since abandoning the boat. It was aesthetically nice enough, but seemed quite dangerous. A nearly flat steppe with few bushes and only occasional trees. There was no way around it, either: It stretched out nearly to the horizon. Further on, a low ridge rose, offering protection from evil eyes. But it was a mile’s walk away.

At least the cluster was wild. There were so few traces of human activity that it could easily be confused with a stable. Infecteds did not like such places, so they were less likely to encounter them.

But on the Continent, ghouls were basically the lowest, safest problems. Plenty of other opponents harbored murderous intent.

“What is it?” Maple asked.

Cheater did not look up from his sight. “A vehicle. The glare came from the windshield.”

“Who’s driving it? Bots?”

“Best not to mention bots,” Cheater snapped quietly. “You don’t want to jinx it.”

He had not been so superstitious before, but things were changing. Especially when his goal was so close.

Impatience weighed down his nerves.

“Just an abandoned car, an ordinary civilian SUV. Looks like it’s been shot at, but I’m not sure.”

“I hear you have plenty of enemies around the Continent, including here,” Maple replied. “Are you sure this is a good region to settle in?”

“I don’t remember having crowds of enemies here. Only one dangerous enemy. But I’ve encountered him twice now, and each time, I killed him rather easily. I’m not too afraid of him.”

“Of course not, then. Has your girlfriend responded yet?” Maple returned to Kitty.

“Not yet. No connection,” Cheater frowned.

“But you’re sure that she’s waiting for you.”

“Yeah. She hasn’t left the party. You can look for yourself. She even tried to communicate with me using a code.”

Maple shook her heard. “But this is the Continent. You can’t trust anyone here.”

“I can trust her,” Cheater insisted.

“Yesterday, the System gave me an achievement,” the healer said, abruptly changing the subject yet again. “An achievement related to... Related to Gang. The System noticed our separation. It was a good achievement, with a good bonus. Why do you think the System gives us such things? They’re quiet and unpredictable. Perhaps this girl has a quest related to you. If she lures you here, she gets the achievement.”

“Huh?”

“Imagine if your Kitty got the following System message: New quest! Make your lapdog cross ten regions. Quest rewards: blah, blah, blah... New quest! Find another lapdog and make him cross fifteen regions. The System gives out basic quests to everyone. It displays these whenever you respawn. I bet you have a quest related to Kitty there in your list, too.”

Maple was right about that last part.

Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question, Find the Player Kitty.

There was no hint of rewards, though. Just those few words.

But “Find the Player Kitty” was indeed a quest.

“I understand what you mean,” Cheater admitted. “But I’m sorry, there’s no way. She’s not waiting for the sake of some achievement.”

“How do you know? You just said you only spent a few days with her. You believe that she also became this attached in that short time? There’s no veteran on the Continent so stubborn. At least not that I’ve heard of. That kind of devotion only happens to people in the old books that come in at resets. Books about normal people, in a normal world. We’re not like them. We don’t even have their memories anymore. You think the beasts here are the infecteds? No. We’re the beasts. We are the ghouls. Cold and unfeeling. When you take a person’s memory away, you’re taking that person away. Some lose more, and some lose less, sure. We lose our emotions in the process, too. Some here are incapable of empathy, while others have just a little of it. No one on the Continent is capable of such attachment—haven’t you noticed that?”

“I understand,” Cheater nodded, “but it’s not as bad as you think.”

“I don’t think this. I know this. We lose too much along with our memories. First, our conscience. That’s why no one here can be trusted. There are no friends. No loved ones. Just people whose interests align with yours, for mutual benefit. To them, though, you are expendable. If you die, they find someone else to take your place. Everyone here is basically the same, after all. Except for you, Cheater. Something’s different about you. What are the chances that something is different about her, too? I’ll tell you: zero. She’s using you somehow. I don’t know how, but somehow. Everyone here always uses everyone else. I’ve been nothing but used this whole time, but I’m far from alone in that. And I’ve gotten used to it. For her, you’re just a bonus. You have something to bring her: A backpack of mods, right? Plus the loot from the Trinity—uh, the Quaternity, I mean. Do not trust anyone. Look, March doesn’t even trust this Janitor of yours. And yet the Janitor died on a matter of principle. Trying to prove a point. Yet he did not prove anything. March will not trust him any more now than he did before. And you know what? March is right. We’re all honest people, but only when the time is right for honesty. That’s the only way to survive on the Continent.”

“Kitty’s not like that,” Cheater interrupted and insisted. “Sorry, that was a false alarm. Just an abandoned car. Let’s keep moving. The hills are not far, and there we can eat and rest.”

“What’s beyond the hills?” Maple said as she rose.

“If the map is correct, there’s a narrow strip of black clusters beyond. Then, a road that runs from north to south. Beyond the road, things get better. Lots of forests. Right now, I’m worried that...

Bullet!

Bullet!

Bullet!

Bullet!

...

The System warning bar appeared suddenly. It was one of the properties of Cheater’s ancient bracelet, which he had named Manhandler. An item with a ballistic trajectory had been fired at him. It might not be an actual bullet.

His Reaction time came through. As he was falling, Cheater shouted, “Down!”

Then, he screamed as something decimated his shoulder. The flash of wild pain unplugged him from reality for a moment, and when he began to notice his thinking working again, he found himself lying on the ground, the roar of continuous machinegun fire sending a stream of rounds overhead. The prohibitively fast speed of the gun suggested it must be a rotating minigun. The weapon was not popular among players, as it consumed far too much ammo.

Pressing his head into the ground, he turned his head slightly to see Maple. The girl lay on her side, her face splattered with blood, her one good eye gazing blindly into the distance. An unsightly bullet hole had replaced the other.

The gunfire died down as suddenly as it had started. Cheater was starting to panic. First, he was wounded, and badly.  As he dove towards the ground, in the enemy’s direction, he had taken the bullet while nearly horizontal. It had entered his shoulder and pushed down along the left side of his body, going through his lung and into his abdominal cavity and then exiting via his upper groin. Along the way, of course, it had hit many important parts of him. He was dying—it was a miracle that he was still alive.

The second reason for concern was that his ears had begun to pick up the hum of engines. This unknown enemy was proceeding towards the scene of the killing. Cheater did not want to meet them, but where could he go? If he showed any sign of life, they would finish him off. It was an open area still, with nowhere to hide.

I cannot die here. He was carrying a bag of mods and loot from the sporesac of the world’s most dangerous elite. How could he let his murderers seize it all?

He had to survive. Cheater had medicine which could take care of the injury.

The golden core of regeneration that he always carried—he could afford it.

But the System’s mockery knew no end. Today was the cooldown day for regeneration cores. He was mere hours away from being able to use the universal healing item. It could cure anything short of decapitation.

Cheater did not have hours. The wound would finish him off very soon.

So he took the only remaining action: retrieving his spec, he tried to move his hand imperceptibly and injected the contents of the syringe into his side.

After a few seconds of delay, the strongest stimulant available on the Continent would make his blood boil alive and give him triple strength. That would provide him about fifteen minutes of ferocity. During this time, he could get to a stable and hide his loot there. After respawn, he would return for it.

The plan was simple and feasible enough. Sadly, the map would not tell him whether there was a stable cluster nearby.

Taking out Maple’s killers would be the first order of business, instead.

The engine noises grew closer and closer. He estimated the car to be fifty yards away, if not less.

Now.

Cheater activated Helping Hand and used a Shard of Invulnerability, thankful that he had held out on using this trump card until this critical moment. Until the blackest day yet.

He had no more reason to hold on to it. The cooldown was a hundred hours, and he would likely spend all of that in darkness. In unconsciousness.

In the place beyond time.

Cheater stood to one knee and raised his heavy rifle, aiming at the enemy. Bots, as he had suspected. They didn’t care about ammunition, so the minigun was a perfectly acceptable weapon to them. The convoy included two lightly armored SUVs with machine guns, one unarmed truck, and a modern tank outfitted with all kinds of gear, metal nets, and reactive armor plating. All of these vehicles were clad in sandy camouflage, as if they had just come from the desert.

If only they would stay in their damned wilderness!

Cheater first took out the first machine gunner. Bullets were fired in response, lightly pattering against his body. He felt their impact, weakly, in his invulnerable state. Direct hits from shells were the only thing to truly fear right now—they could knock him far away.

Once he had emptied his magazine, the cars no longer had machine gunners or drivers, but the shooting continued. Infantrymen had jumped out of the transport vehicle and tuned all of their guns on him. Nearly a dozen bots, with no care to spare ammunition. One of them was bound to get lucky.

Indeed, one of the bullets hit his rifle’s receiver while he was reloading. He might as well throw the gun at them now. Cheater’s main weapon was out of commission.

Tossing the rifle aside, he threw a couple of grenades ahead into the pack of bots, drew Choppa, and charged. The spec had his blood boiling like lava, and the thoughts ran jumbled and hotly through his head.

He wanted to kill. All of them. Over and over.

The face of the nearest bot was indescribable. He was shooting point blank at a rapidly approaching player, and that player was not even stumbling. As he ran past, Cheater casually decapitated the man and then attacked the next.

One hit after the next. A fountain of hot blood hit him in the face, some shooting down his throat. Invulnerability disabled the senses of smell and taste, but the sensation was still unpleasant. Spitting furiously, Cheater chopped and chopped, rushing from one bot to another. They kept firing at him, nothing on their minds but driving more bullets into their target. At least one of them fatally shot a team member. Cheater drew his pistol and shot the bot loading a grenade launcher, then finished off a couple of fleeing submachine gunners. They had finally realized that fighting an invincible target was a terrible idea. Finally realized they were going to die here. All of them. Cheater would not allow any pursuit. No one would find a bag of treasure next to his pile of black dust on the ground.

The tank was moving backward, its turret rotating clumsily, trying to catch his nimble form in its sights. For some reason, the bots inside were not firing the machine guns. As interesting as Clown would have found it to see Cheater catch a shell with his teeth, the swordsman had no plans of doing so. He used Tranquility on the end of the gun’s barrel and rushed the steel monster, sword twirling in his hand.

The tank shot. Or, rather, tried to shoot. The projective reached the sphere of the skill’s effect and stopped. It encountered an indestructible wall. The fuse was not yet active, so the shell did not explode, but the good news for the crew ended there.

Gases had nowhere to go. Their pressure exceeded the strength of the steel, and so the barrel burst beautifully. It exploded into a flower shape of bent steel scraps, as if the Continent were a child’s cartoon.

Cheater reached the tank and dove into the smoke, jumping and swinging with Choppa’s Crushing Blow.

Perhaps the blade’s ability could pierce even the front armor of the tank, but all he needed to cut apart was the hatch.

Once the lock was removed, he pried up the lid with Choppa as his lever, opened it slightly, and threw in his last two grenades, one after the other. He leaped off and activated Flash of Omniscience. The ability didn’t reach far, so Cheater was hardly a full-fledged sensor. But the whole fight had taken only seconds. The enemies had not had time to disperse. He would have no trouble seeing them with his ordinary vision.

No one was in sight. All of the bots, killed within a minute. None only wounded, and none hiding.

Returning to the front vehicle, Cheater kicked out the driver’s corpse and took the wheel. The engine was already running, and he floored the pedal. Spec did not last long. He had to find...

Find what?

His thoughts were all scrambled. That damned spec made his mind unstable.

Oh, right, a stable.

Where should he look?

It seemed he had been heading towards the hills in the east before the shooting began. Perhaps he had been going there for a reason.

* * *

Cheater found no stable in the hills. As he meandered around, the spec’s effects began subsiding.

He had to inject himself again, consequences be damned. Double doses were extremely dangerous. Players with low Endurance would die within two to three minutes, at the most. But Cheater had pretty high Endurance. He might last as long as fifteen minutes.

At which point, death was inevitable, either from his wounds or from overdosing.

He was done for.

The double dose amplified the problems he was having with his head. How did the truck end up here? Why isn’t the engine working? He had driven into a black cluster. The vehicle hadn’t stopped; it continued sliding down the slope, its engine extinguished. Yet its speed increased.

It all ended with a predictable flight into a black ravine. His brakes refused to work—or Cheater pressed them too late.

The ravine was deep. Perilously deep. Thankfully, his last remaining scrap of reason prompted him to fire off Smile of Fortune. If his five seconds of invulnerability failed to save him, he would hope for a lucky outcome.

The tumble was longer than five seconds, and his consciousness stopped. It was not lost. It stopped working. He remembered nothing, perceived nothing, comprehended nothing. When he came to, he was walking across black grass, spitting blood, dragging his pack of treasure by one strap.

The pack... He needed it for something... Really needed it.

He was supposed to do something with it, but what?

Also, he really wanted to find a stable, but why?

Glimpses of understanding occasionally hit him, but on the whole, he was moving without being conscious of it.

The blackness ended up ahead. Was that a stable beyond? No. There was a highway, and the pavement was pretty new. He saw a burned-out car there. Two of them, in fact. Players or digis or someone had died here. Maybe even the bots he had run into a little bit ago had been the killers.

Straining the last vestiges of his mind with all his might, Cheater realized he was not going to find a stable. He was out of time. He had to do something with the pack right now and hope that the current cluster did not reboot soon. Then, he could return and collect the valuable pack.

A burned-out car seemed like a great place. No one would search the ruined shell of a vehicle for treasure.

It was his only option. He could feel the final seconds counting down.

It was rusty car or nowhere.

The pack was too big, and the Nold turret tied onto it got in the way. The burned-out car was low to the ground, its tires gone, and stuffing a pack underneath while you were dying was not an easy task.

He did it, without realizing it. He even tried not to trample the grass around it too much. It covered the lower part of the car, preventing the cache from being discovered.

He went back into the black, pushed his way through some bushes, and then collapsed. He was done. It was a good place to die. In a black cluster, there were no witnesses, and no one would see him from the road. Players’ corpses disappeared quickly.

The road... Something bothered him about that road.

It wasn’t the road itself, but something else.

Dammit, it was the grass near the cache. It was too tall! The car had burned a long time ago, and then the grass had grown later. This wasn’t a new cluster. It might reset within hours. If it did, everything he just hid would disappear forever. Only the items in his cache and his inventory would survive.

Was there anything he could do? No. Hopefully it would stick around a few more days.

And so, Cheater hoped. And waited to die.

Death was in no hurry to take him. Pain came first, and then receded, and then vanished. Cheater’s limbs stopped feeling anything. His vision began to blur. For some reason, the sky turned black. That wasn’t supposed to happen. His vision was fading.

Lowering his eyelids, he opened the chat menu, opened the chat he wanted, and sent a period. One single dot.

It was the final test communication of his ninth life.

Kitty:

Comma.

Cheater’s organs were failing, but he still could produce some thoughts.

Clearly he was hallucinating. Dying, he was delirious. Why would Kitty send him a word like that, anyway? Except... what had he sent before that? A period?

Answering with “comma” was her style.

Cheater wrote a message, with difficulty.

Is that you Kitty, can you read me?

Yes. That or I’m delirious.

Cheater knew then that the conversation was real. The black strip he had crossed had been the final obstacle.

He was back.

He had done it.

He had to write something. A lot of things. Everything he had wanted to say for months.

No time for that. Death could come at any time.

There was the most important thing, though. The thing he had to say at all costs.

The letters in the chat window were beginning to blur.

I’m no delirium. I’m back.

I can’t believe it!

I promised, and so I’m back. Are you far away?

Can’t you see my marker?

I don’t want to open the map.

Why? And why are you blinking?

I’m dying, Kitty. I don’t want to open the map and be unable to open the chat again. Everything’s starting to glitch out.

Dying? After coming all this way, that’s the first thing you do?

Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. But please look at the map. Can you see me?

Of course. I’m about 50 miles away.

50 miles? Can you come? Quickly?

It’s 50 miles. Hard to cover fast. But I’ll try. Can you hold on? I have to see you. I’ve got spec, and a black regen. Cheater, dammit, wait for me!

His last conversation with Maple came to mind. “You can’t trust anyone on the Continent. Nobody. You’re the only one like that on the whole Continent. She only needs you to complete a System quest. Once she sees you, it’ll be complete.”

The healer had said too much.

If no one could be trusted at all, why even go on living?

Cheater dismissed Maple’s warnings.

Sorry, but I won’t make it. Pin my marker. Fifty yards away, you’ll find a burned-out car. Only vehicle around. Underneath there’s a backpack filled with stuff. Very valuable things. This is not a stable. A reset will destroy everything. You know what to do.

Get your pack? Got it. I’ll do it right away.

“Trust no one. No one.”

Maple’s voice sounded in his ears.

That was the final sound Cheater perceived in his ninth life.

Epilogue

Life Ten.

...

Choice of location accepted. You will resurrect in Construction Site.

Welcome, Player. You are rejoining the Continent. Revive location: Cluster 58-285-54. Region: West Coast. Current revives remaining: 89 lives (initial value minus 10). Note: You have unlinked bonus lives. You can link them at any time, but only up to the starting limit—and no more than one bonus life every ten days. Active quests: Survive, Search, Learn Secret, Help, Ask Correct Question, Find the Player Kitty. Current status: Game Start. The cluster will reboot in 91 seconds. Enjoy your game.

As he respawns, Cheater makes no hurry to open his eyes. He knows that he will see a rundown construction site building, not a student dormitory. This is what he has chosen. There will be nothing special to look at.

First, he opens his chat. So, so many messages. Some active and flashing. The respawned members of the crossing party are pinging him. He is the last to come back, it seems.

If they’re all back, though, why is the list so short? Someone is missing.

Kitty is missing.

She has left the party.

In disbelief, Cheater frantically flips through the logs. Kitty left almost immediately after their conversation, when he was on the brink of death.

“You can’t trust anyone on the Continent. No one.”

His heart chilled to the temperature of a glacier, Cheater opens a chat with the girl, and accompanied by the drums of his frantically beating heart, he writes.

Why?

Five seconds pass.

Ten.

Twenty.

One hundred.

One hundred fifty.

No answer.

“You can’t trust anyone.”

No one can be—

The chat blinks.

What do you mean, Rocky? Are you okay, or dying again?

The ice cracks, and his heart warms a little.

I stopped being Rocky a long time ago. I’m Cheater. You named me yourself, remember? Why did you leave the party?

Why did I leave!? I can’t believe you. You must have traveled the only regions in the Continent that don’t require intelligence to cross. What was I supposed to do? You were dead, and I was left holding a bag of invaluable treasures, as a member of some mysterious party. I saw how you were all killing each other in the logs. How was I supposed to stay in a party like that, so that all of these strangers could see me on the map whenever they wanted? I had to leave. I can always come back. I didn’t answer any questions from your friends, either. How am I supposed to know who’s your friend and who’s not? So I just waited for you to come back.

The ice bursts in a hundred places, crumbling into myriads of tiny shards, which instantly melt into droplets, and then evaporate as warmth floods Cheater’s chest. His lips involuntarily stretch into a wide smile.

You just scared me, that’s all.

Don’t tell me you thought I stole your bag. I mean, I know you’re not exactly a genius, but...

No, I trust you. I don’t trust anyone here, except you. I was just scared when I didn’t see you. Cheater’s smiled stretches even wider. Why didn’t you answer sooner?

So you think I’m just sitting here awake, not eating, not watching the world, just watching the chat.

Yeah. That’s what I would expect.

Expect!? I’ve got problems of my own, you know. A bunch of assholes are after me again. This bag of yours makes it harder to run away, by the way.

Kitty, join the party. So I can find you.

One second... OK. Check the map, I’m a little busy.

I see you. Just twenty miles away. Lucky.

Lucky, eh. Remember, Cheater: the only luck you’ve ever had was meeting me. That’s it. I paid an arm and a leg for this.

Huh?

Yeah. While I was in the party, I could triangulate roughly where you’d end up. The System doesn’t usually throw you to the other side of the region, after all. If you know where someone dies, there’s an ability that can help you find their respawn point. So I found the most probable respawn. Since then, I’ve been coming your way. Almost there. So tell me again how lucky you are.

As impossible as it seems, Cheater’s smile grows even wider.

I get it. You’re my luck. My only luck. I’m coming.

Cheater... come fast. This backpack is really heavy. And the worst people on the Continent are right behind me. This is not a good situation.

You’re right, it’s a bad situation... For those losers who dare to chase you. I feel sorry for them.

So, no intelligence boost, but a charisma boost for sure.

I’m so glad to hear from you, Kitty.

And I’m so glad you can come and take this cursed backpack away from me.

We’re together again.

Not yet, we’re not. Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice your whole party dying and you and some mystery girl who changes her name hanging out for hours after that. In the same place, in some swamp. Quite the setup. So eager to get to me that you let nothing distract you, eh?

Hah, that wasn’t like that at all! Cheater laughs aloud.

Oh, I believe you, yeah. She was just, I don’t know, some mighty Battle Sister, accompanying you on your way.

I’ll introduce you two soon, Cheater promises. You know, your jealousy is kind of cute. Keep it up. I like it.

God. Damn. It. Learn to take a joke, Cheater. Uhoh, here they come again. No time to continue this unintelligent conversation. Bye!

I’m coming, I’m coming.

The door creaks open, and a rough male voice booms, “Lounging around on the job again, eh? Those rivets aren’t going to fasten themselves. Get going before I have you fired!”

Cheater opens his eyes, stretches with the same lazy smile, and heads for the door. As he passes the loud fat man wearing the white helmet, he shoves several large bills into the man’s breast pocket.

The angry digi stammers in surprise. “What’s this for?”

“Money. Go buy yourself something to eat. Or buy a hooker, I don’t care. Or you know what? Throw a family party. Whatever you want, but make sure you do it before evening. Party like there’s no tomorrow.”

Cheater emerges from the shack and squints against the sunlight. He looks both ways. It is, indeed, a huge construction site. Lots of vehicles and equipment and dozens of workers, bustling about. No one is lounging.

He opens his map and smiles again, at Kitty’s marker. She is close. But not quite within walking distance. And she is in trouble.

He has to hurry, and catch her before the trouble does.

Still smiling stupidly, Cheater walks confidently towards the gate.

He is back in the game, and he has somewhere to be.

Many thanks to my readers!

If you enjoyed this book, I would be very grateful if you could leave a review:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08B5NJQ9Q

I would like to heartily recommend the books Play to Live by D. Rus, my good friend and one of the founders of the LitRPG genre. The Play to Live series is one of the finest works in the genre, and a must-read for any fan.

I want to recommend my friend G. Akella's Realm of Arkon series. For the past few years it's been one of the top series in both LitRPG and epic fantasy genres, and deservedly so.