Take Off Into English Teaching!: How to Prepare for Your Secondary Teacher Training Programme / Edition 1
Author: Nicholas McGuinn
Date: 2017-09-11 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Planning to become a secondary English teacher? This must-have guide contains everything you need to know before embarking on your training programme. From your reflections on your chosen course and your preparations for interview to thinking about the demands of school-based training, this book encourages you to engage with the challenges of teaching in a realistic and enthusiastic manner. It aims to answer the question: What should trainees know, understand and be able to do before they start the training programme? Written in a practical, accessible and thought-provoking style, each chapter
Publisher: Taylor & Francis

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR KAIJU

Kaiju Wars Offline

Book 1

By N. Knight

Copyright © 2018 N. Knight

Table of Contents

- Acknowledgements
- Kaiju Art Gallery
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Kaiju Art Gallery

Acknowledgements

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A special thank you to my cousin and the hard, fast workers of the Huntsville Jiffy Lube for answering my obnoxious questions about cars.

Another thanks is owed to Omega Studios for my amazing cover and to Christina Weinman for the kaiju art sprinkled throughout this book.

And the greatest thanks of all to my brilliant friends, supportive family, and all around amazing bride, who named the regular humming bird at her feeder Kaiju when I told her what kind of book I was writing.

Chapter One

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I don’t know which pisses me off more, the sharp pain exploding across my cheekbone or the fact that I should have seen the punch coming.

Hope is supposed to be one of the first things to die when you go to prison. If you have trouble killing it there’s always a handful of inmates eager to help. Even the possibility of hope is like throwing chum in shark infested waters.

This is my first time being locked up as an adult. I’ve been in and out of detention centers my entire teenaged life. I don’t care for it. It’s like what I imagine the transition from middle school to high school is like, you go from being the biggest and the baddest, to low-man on the totem pole. Only students don’t carry shivs. Or maybe they do. Mom travels a lot and chose to home school me so I wouldn’t really know.

Fortunately for me, Kermit Haney doesn’t have a shiv on him. I spit out a mouthful of coppery blood as my world narrows down to his taunting cackle. For a second his skinny frame, too-thick jaw, and stupid-ass laugh are my whole world. The man is the kind of turd who needs a good beating. Obnoxious. He used to throw his poop at the guards. Everyone hates Kermit

Right now, I hate him more than anything else in the world.

There’s some specialist head-shrink visiting from out of state, part of a private company, who wants to see me. Word got out about it and with it came a rumor that I might get out early. I’m only in for destruction of private property, but I got the maximum sentence. The judge took one look at the thickness of my sealed juvenile record and decided to make an example of me. I’ve only been here two months. The possibility of getting out shouldn’t be exist.

But I’m dumb enough to let myself hope. I was heading to see the shrink and passed Kermit in the hall when he sucker-punched me.

I move. I’m not a big guy. I’m quick and I’m tough and I’m damn vicious when my temper gets hold of me. And my temper is telling me that nothing would make me happier than making Kermit swallow his own teeth. Maybe they’ll put a tube down his throat so he can breathe and he’ll make a croaking sound. Crazy little muppet.

I’m halfway to him, about to throw a punch right back in his face when a grey shape hits me from the side and I’m slammed into the wall. Kermit’s out of sight but not out of mind. I want to get to him. Want to hit him. Make him hurt for coming at me like that. It’s not just a rule in the joint, it’s a rule of life. If you let anyone make a punk out of you, you give in and you run, you’re going to be running for the rest of your life. No one punks me. I’m no coward and I’m no one’s bitch. I’m going to break his nose, then knock his teeth out, and I’ll feel damn good doing it.

That’s something no one seems to get about being angry. How good it feels. Afterword I always feel like crap. While I’m angry though? I’m invincible. I’m powerful. The whole world’s cardboard and I’m a firehose.

That’s my real problem. I’ve got issues managing my anger. I’ve got issues, period. I like how being angry makes me feel. It gets me into the kind of trouble that gets me locked up.

“Aaron,” says the grey mass pinning me to the wall. “Aaron get hold of yourself. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. You hit him and he wins.”

It’s that last part that pulls me back to reality rather than anything else. Kermit the muppet doesn’t get to win at anything. That’s when I realize I’m dangerously close to actually hitting Gary, one of the correctional facility officers. He’s huge, dwarfing me by over a foot, and the wall of grey in my face is his uniformed chest.

There’s an old saying: it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog. I’ve got a lot of fight in me. Thing is, Gary’s not just huge. He’s got a lot of fight in him too.

More importantly, Gary’s got the respect of the whole joint. He’s a guard, sure, but he’s fair. He’s a hard case, with lines he won’t cross and won’t let anyone else cross. He’s not a bully and doesn’t abuse his authority. That’s a rare kind of man. And I’m one wild motion away from hitting him.

If hitting Kermit will mess up whatever chance I have of getting out thanks to this shrink, hitting Gary would be tantamount to suicide. Assuming he doesn’t break my neck, the guards would make my life hell. If they didn’t, the other inmates would. Gary has all of their respect.

I quit fighting. It’s hard. I can’t say enough how hard. My arms are shaking. Hell, my whole body’s shaking. There’s an instinctive urge to lash out at him, at everyone and everything around me. To break. To hurt. To be free.

Deep breaths help. I take three.

“That’s it, Aaron,” Gary says. “You’re good, kid. That’s it. Deep breaths.”

I take three more.

Kermit’s shrieking and laughing, shouting obscenities as they drag him off down the hall.

I unclench my fists and my jaw and say, “Thanks.”

I hate how much I mean it. Gary getting in like he did not only saves my chances with the shrink and keeps me out of trouble, it helps me save face. If things don’t go well with Mr. Psychee-McFee I can go back to my cell and no one’ll judge me for not hurting Kermit back right there.

“Don’t let him get to you, kid. Kermit’s a dumbass. Someone probably put him up to it. People get stupid when others get a shot at getting out early.” Gary’s voice is a deep, resonating thing.

He’s right on all counts and that makes me mad all over again. Not as mad as him calling me “kid” though. I’m eighteen, legally an adult. To everyone in here I am a kid. It sucks.

I take another three deep breaths. Kid isn’t an insult. He doesn’t mean anything by it. I still hate it. But I’m not going to make something of it. He doesn’t deserve that when he’s done me a solid and I sure as hell don’t need the trouble. If you let anyone think something gets to you, you paint a target on yourself. I’ll be “kid” to everyone within a week if I say something.

“Think I actually got a chance of getting out early?” I ask instead, more to change the subject than anything else. Then I realize how naïve and pathetically hopeful that sounds. No wonder Kermit came at me.

I’d thought my frequent stints in detention centers were bad. Sure, kids are mean, but I’d clawed my way to the top of that jungle gym. I knew the rules. I was older, respected. Here? I’m at the bottom all over again, now with people who give even less of a damn about hurting me while I figure it all out.

Gary smiles down at me and for a moment he looks more like a grandfather than a guard, giving me a glimpse of him that I don’t think any of the other inmates ever get to see. Gary’s got a soft side to him. Who knew? “Yeah, kid. You don’t screw it up, I think you just might.”

He walks with me the rest of the way to the prison’s in-house psychiatrist’s office to make sure no one else starts something, holds the door open for me, and I go inside.

There weren’t a lot of constants in my life growing up. As I got older the world boiled my constants down to three. Mom, change, and detention centers. Dad left us when I was little, Mom moved us around a lot in her RV, travel writing and blogging our way across the US, and wherever we went I managed to get into trouble. Before all that though, before even Dad left, I had a teddy bear.

Mr. Snuggles was huge, with fluffy, curly hair. Softest thing you ever touched. Ready to burst with fluff. He had big glass beads for eyes. Gave him a sweet, innocent look. I slept with him every night, clutching him like the world might flood and he was a life preserver. One day one of those glass eyes broke. I didn’t notice. Nobody did.

I went to bed that night with Mr. Snuggles, pulled him tight and those shards cut me across the face. They nearly got my eye. I’ve still got a little scar below my left eyelid. It’s almost invisible now but it’s there. Mr. Snuggles had to be thrown out.

The man waiting for me in Dr. Curry’s office reminds me of Mr. Snuggles. Everything about him is round and soft and plush. Even his tweed suit doesn’t have a single hard edge or corner on it. His beard looks just like Mr. Snuggles’ fur. But his eyes are glass shards, broken and sharp. They don’t match the rest of this man. No one who looks this soft is supposed to have eyes that look like they could cut you.

The office itself isn’t anything special. It’s cold. The whole prison’s cold. Prisons are like hospitals that way.

The big man stands from his chair and offers me his thick hand.

I take it. His grip is weak, no surprise, and his fingers are cold.

“Aaron Moretti,” he says with a smile, and even his voice is gentle. It’s like someone gave satin sheets a voice. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Dr. Warden.”

I smirk. “Not be confused with our prison warden.”

He laughs too hard at my lame joke. “No, no indeed not. Please have a seat.”

He indicates a chair that’s been set up opposite from the one he was just sitting in. I take it. He returns to his old one and produces a clipboard. The corners are rounded. Of course, they are.

“You have spent no less than one month out of the year in various detention centers across the country per year since you turned eleven,” he says. “Vandalism, assault, underage drinking. Now you’ve got destruction of private property on your record.”

“I thought all those other records were supposed to be sealed.”

His sharp eyes glitter. I’ve made him happy. I don’t like that.

“They are sealed,” he says. “My backers simply don’t care. You see, I’m working on a project with some very interested, very influential parties. Whatever I need, they make certain it is made available.”

And if that isn’t the sort of start to a cheesy spy-thriller I don’t know what is. Someone’s been reading Tom Clancy. “Sounds very cloak and dagger.”

And like nothing I want to be involved with. I want my freedom, but I’m not going to make some devil’s bargain to get it. I know what happened to Dr. Faustus.

“Not at all,” Dr. Warden said. “I will be nothing but honest with you, Mr. Moretti.”

Was he mocking me? He called me “Mister” the same way everyone else here called me “kid.”

“Unless you’re lying now,” I say, shifting back to get comfortable in my chair. It is comfortable. Probably more comfortable than any other chair in the facility.

“There is that,” he says with a slow nod. “But you’ve got to trust at some point.”

No, I don’t. Not that I say that. I think he gets the message though as I glare at him. “Must be one hell of a project you’re working on.”

“It is,” he says. “I’m hoping you’ll be a part of it.”

“And this project, it’s supposed to fix me?”

“Do you need fixing?”

Touché asshole.

“No, Mr. Moretti. This project’s goal is to enable you to harness your anger,” he says. “To make it work for you.”

Sounds like some bogus, guru, self-help mumbo jumbo. Harness your anger. Find your center. Eat this fortune cookie. “So, how’s this work? I join some kind of anger management group?”

“Not at all.” He seems delighted that I asked. “My company is developing a videogame to help you exercise your aggression. We already have over a hundred players participating in the closed beta. We’d like for you to be a participant.”

Chapter Two

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Dr. Warden, or the people he works for, picked well when they came to me. I love videogames. Mom and me, we moved around too much for me to make friends. Acquaintances, sure. But real friendships? I don’t have many of them. I started with little handheld games, then graduated up from there to PC games. I don’t have much experience with console games but I always enjoyed Grand Theft Auto. There’s a sort of savage freedom to it. Everyone’s an asshole when they play. If only to see what it lets you get away with. Life without consequence.

Mostly though I go for platform fighters and MMORPGs. I like visceral conflict and I like building stuff. If I’d been smart I might’ve gotten myself certified as a contractor instead of becoming a mechanic. Mechanics, we’re always fixing the stuff no one else wants to fix. Contractors? They get to make stuff that everyone wants. There’s something just as rewarding as leveling up your character and getting the right, optimized gear as there is beating an opponent in a straight up, one on one fight.

But I wait to hear the catch before I jump for the bait he’s dangling. I’m interested. Oh yeah, I am. Some people say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I always check that new pony’s teeth. When something looks too good to be true you know it probably is. If those teeth aren’t rotten then they’re hiding a time bomb.

“You agree to play our game, at a minimum of once per week, for the remainder of your sentence,” Dr. Warden says. “And you go free.”

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

Now why didn’t I believe him? “What happens if I lose the game? Not in the game, but actually lose the cartridge or my computer blows up or whatever? Shit happens, you know.”

He smiles, wider than any smile before. “That won’t be an issue. Our surgeons will implant a microchip in your palm that will interface with a number of devices. As long as you have a device to play on, you’ll have access to the game.”

“Hold on, hold on. Surgeons?” That’s one hell of a piece of fine print. “You want some doctor to cut me up and put a chip in of me?”

“I assure you, there would be only a minimal amount of cutting, Mr. Moretti,” he says, sounding like he’s chiding a young child who’s broken some small rule in public they know they’re not supposed to.

“You want to microchip me like a dog,” I say. “Like a dog.”

“It’s less cumbersome or stigmatic than an ankle monitor,” he says with a shrug.

“No, you don’t seem to be getting it. There is no way in hell that I’m letting you’re cloak and dagger bullshit backers put some computer chip inside of me. Fuck that and fuck you.”

“It is imperative that my team have access to the data the chip provides us,” he says. “Hormone levels, testosterone and dopamine levels. It will monitor all of your vitals and send us feedback. Live data about how the game is affecting you. How well you are coping being back out in the real world. And all of this data is confidential, afforded the same protections that exist between a doctor and patient.”

I shake my head. “Look, Doc, you’re not listening. Maybe it’s ‘cause you don’t want to hear this, but I’m still saying it. Hell. No. Nothing of yours is going inside me.”

There’s noise outside. Footsteps and voices getting louder very quickly. Someone’s in a hurry to get here and they are agitated.

When the door swings open neither Dr. Ward or I are surprised. We’re both facing it expectantly, which I think catches Dr. Curry, the resident prison shrink off-guard.

Dr. Curry is kind of a weasel though he looks more like a muskrat, brown haired, slightly pudgy face, and generally greasy. He looks back and forth between me and Dr. Ward several times, blinking rapidly as if we’ve just shown a spotlight in his face. His eyes come to rest on me and he points a shaking, narrow finger at me.

“Mr. Moretti, this man does not have your best interest at heart,” he says, as if making some great announcement or accusation. I think he half expects there to be some dramatic music or climactic moment like in a TV show. Unfortunately for him, his news isn’t really news. It’s just belated confirmation.

When neither of us give him any sort of response, he deflates a little. “He is working for a private company with no regard for your personal welfare, as evidenced by his decision to bypass me completely.”

Ah, so that’s why he’s really upset.

The door opens behind him and the warden steps in quietly after him. Warden Trevor McNeil is one of those men whose ethnic background isn’t readily apparent from a quick look. He could have a couple of different nationalities in his background or it could be that this is just the way his genes turned him out. I’ve never been stupid enough to bring it up.

Whatever the case, he makes a stark contrast with pasty, pudgy, whiskery, slimy Dr. Curry. Though the man hasn’t said a word, Dr. Curry squeaks and spins around to face him. Warden McNeil still doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. Dr. Curry starts speaking indignantly almost the moment those eyes are on him.

“This is preposterous. Pre. Post. Ter. Ous!” He makes a little bobbing motion with each syllable, as if trying to pump them up. “This man thinks he can bypass the system. He’s taken my office and now he wants to take my patient.”

“Mr. Moretti has never been your patient, Doctor,” the warden says calmly. Very calmly. If he spoke that calmly to me I’d be shutting the hell up or getting ready for a fight.

Doctor Curry is too indignant to recognize the danger that he’s in. If I was ever going to consider visiting the prison shrink this would convince me not to. Anyone this unobservant cannot possibly be helpful.

“He is an inmate at this facility and therefore my responsibility,” Dr. Curry says.

When the warden doesn’t respond he whirls around and points that tiny finger back at me. “You. Don’t you say a word to that man. You hear me? He’s a corporate crackpot.”

“Curry.” The warden’s voice is soft like thunder and Curry finally shuts up, going completely stiff. I think he’s finally realized he’s overstepped some boundary and might be in trouble.

“Go wait in my office,” the warden says.

Curry opens his mouth to protest, closes it, and then slink from the room.

Only after he’s gone does the warden speak up. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Doctor. May I borrow Mr. Moretti for a moment? This won’t take long.”

Dr. Warden gives a big, soft smile. “Not at all.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that I’m not asked. Perhaps because the warden expects obedience from his inmates and coworkers. Unlike Dr. Curry, I’m not stupid enough to test him. This man has the power to make my life a living hell.

I step out into the hallway with him and he closes the door.

“Ignore everything Dr. Curry just said,” the warden says without preamble.

I’d already planned to but I hate the authoritative tone he’s taking with me. It puts my back up and makes me want to do the opposite of what he’s saying.

“The man in there’s one of the best,” the warden goes on. “And that means you will be on your best behavior.” He eyes the cut on my cheek, the bruise that’s beginning to come in from Kermit’s sucker punch. “You understand me.”

I don’t want to, but I can behave myself and turn Dr. Warden down politely.

Still, I almost choke on the words when I say, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the warden says. “I also want you to understand that you are not the only beneficiary of the program he’s offering.”

For a moment my mind flits to the other beta testers the doctor mentioned, but then reality kicks in. The prison, or more specifically the warden, will look very good if I accept Dr. Warden’s offer. There might even be some money changing hands. Shit.

“I’d hate to learn you’d somehow done something to embarrass me or this institution. Because that would mean I’d need to do something about things here,” the warden continues. He should just hold up a sign like Wile E. Coyote that says “Feel Threatened.”

I nod to show I understand. It beats saying anything aloud. That would not end well for me.

“Good. He’s waiting for you,” the warden says, and opens the door to the appropriated office. The grin he offers is not reassuring.

I return to my seat. I’ve got a tough choice to make. Much as I want to get out early, my sentence is only for a few months. Miserable as the warden can make me, I’m not about to get an operation just to avoid them.

“Sorry, Doc,” I say. “But no. I’m going to have to decline.”

Dr. Warden takes a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. Very dramatic. He had all the theatricality of a preschool teacher and about as much subtlety. He wants me to feel guilty. Maybe even sorry for him. That isn’t happening.

“That is a shame,” he says, when he finally finishes.

“Yup.”

“And there’s nothing I can say that can change your mind?”

“Not a thing.”

“Shame,” he says again. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

I’ll just bet he is.

“I’m sure your mother will be, too.”

I’m on my feet before I even realize it, all thoughts of the warden’s threats forgotten. My clenched fists are shaking at my sides. I stomp across the short distance between us to loom over the Doc. I’m only a little above average height, but I’m a hard guy. And I got one hell of a mean face when I get angry.

The jackass should be shaking in his seat. Instead he just shakes his head and looks up at me with those too sharp eyes and a soft smile that’s just shy of a smirk. I want to make it so he can never make that expression again. Only the memory of the warden’s threat keeps me from hurting him. But it’s hard. So, so hard. I’m shaking with the effort.

No one—no one—in this place gets to talk about my mother. But I can’t say that sort of thing to a psychiatrist. It’ll get all kinds of messed up. So instead I say, “Why don’t you say what you want to say?”

And if he makes any kind of threat, any kind of disparaging remark about my mother, he’ll be leaving here in an ambulance.

“She tried to tell you when she visited,” he said. “But you turned her away.”

I go cold. How does he know I’d refused to see her when she visited? There must be a record of it somewhere.

“Tell me what?” I snarl. Dammit. It he doesn’t get to the point soon I’m going to hurt him just because.

Those sharp eyes flash. “That she’s dying.”

Chapter Three

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I’m frozen to the spot. I can’t think. My brain is caught, like a scratched DVD, glitching over the same garbled scene. Then I see red.

My hands are on those rounded lapels of his tweed coat, yanking him forward in the chair. The material is coarser than I expected and it burns my fingertips as I strain against his bulk. “What did you say?”

In a move almost too quick to follow he pops his pudgy hands up in between my arms and yanks down on my elbows. I start to topple forward, but a penny-loafered foot catches me in the stomach. The kick, which I totally didn’t see coming, is strong. Strong enough that with my own bodyweight driving me forward he just about winds me before I’m sent staggering back.

He rises from his seat. That bulk of his is a lot less cute now. Dr. Tubby knows kung fu. Force equals mass times acceleration. He’s got a hell of a lot of mass to bring to that equation. He’s frowning at me, but those damn sharp eyes are smiling. Glittering like broken glass. I’ve made him very happy. Dammit.

“That’s assault, Mr. Moretti,” he says. “I’m sure your warden would be very unhappy to hear about that.”

I don’t care how big he is. If he was just using my mother to bait me he’s leaving in a body bag.

“But,” he says, sounding even more disappointed than when I told him ‘no.’ “Considering the news I’m delivering, some acting out is to be expected.”

I clench and unclench my fists. Get to the point, I want to say, but the muscles in my throat and jaw are too taut. Tell me about my mother or I’m going to break your neck.

“Please sit down, Mr. Moretti,” he says, gesturing to my seat. “Please.”

When I don’t he says, “Or I could ask one of the corrections officers to help you sit down.”

I’ve misjudged this man. He’s about as soft as an angler fish. Look at the pretty light. Don’t pay attention to my fangs, little fish.

I sit. Take deep breaths.

Only after I’m seated does he return to his own chair, pausing briefly to pick up his silly clipboard. “Your mother was recently diagnosed with ALS.”

When I don’t respond he says, “Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It’s also called Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

He says all this like I should know what the hell that means. I don’t. The initials, ALS sounds vaguely familiar, so does the other name. Amy-whatever sa-rosis? It’s all gibberish. The one word that does stand out and that I fully understand is disease.

“She’s sick?” I don’t know why I ask. If he’s not lying then of course she’s sick. He said disease. If it’s a disease maybe there’s a vaccine? No, vaccines are for viruses. A treatment then?

“I didn’t say sick, Mr. Moretti. I said that she’s dying.” He says this like he’s correcting me about a math problem. Mildly disdainful, bordering on irritated. But also matter of fact. Like my mother dying is of absolutely no more consequence than five plus two equaling seven.

“You said it’s a disease,” I say. I’m grasping at straws. I know I’m grasping at straws. I know I’m being irrational and I don’t care. Somehow if I can argue the damn semantics with him it’ll change something. Change what he said, change the meaning. Mom gets to live.

“I did,” he admits.

Ha! “Diseases are treatable. There’s got to be some kind of medicine or something. Radiation?”

“That’s for cancer, Mr. Moretti,” he says, and now he’s openly disgusted with me. I’ve tipped my hand and he’s found me wanting. Fuck him. “Radiation is almost as bad as cancer. It’s killing cells indiscriminately, poisoning the body so that the mutation that is the cancer dies. ALS is not a mutation.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

“Amyotrophic roughly translates to ‘no muscle movement,’” he says. “Lateral refers to the spine. Specifically, in this case, the spinal cord, the part of the body that delivers signals from the brain for the muscles to move. And sclerosis is the process wherein the tissue scars and wastes away from disuse and abuse.”

He leans forward in his chair. “Your mother is dying. Slowly, or quickly, really it varies from individual to individual, but I digress. She is going to become paralyzed bit by bit. The muscles are going to atrophy and waste away as they receive no signals from the brain, receive no nutrition or exercise, and will begin to scar and harden and become immovable. This is not just the limbs we are talking about, you understand? We are referring to her entire body. Her stomach. Her mouth. Her lungs. Her eyelids. Eventually she won’t be able to eat or even breathe without the aid of a machine.”

I hate how my voice shakes when I speak. “You’re saying Mom’s going to become a vegetable?”

“Oh, not at all,” he says, and a traitorous spark of hope flares in my chest. Traitorous because it’s coming from this man, who seems so damnably happy as he tells me all of this. And sure enough, it stabs me right in the heart a second later. “The brain isn’t actually a muscle. The whole time this is happening she’ll be fully aware, fully capable of thinking. She’ll never stop being herself, she simply won’t be able to do anything. She’ll—"

“Fix it,” I interrupt, glaring at him. My voice is hard.

He shakes his head. “Mr. Moretti, I am not a miracle worker. I cannot wave some magic wand and will away your mother’s illness.”

“You said you have powerful backers,” I say.

“Backers interested in pursuing their own agenda. They have very specific goals.”

I take several deep breaths. I’m doing that way more today than usual. Then again, I usually don’t have this much shit happen so close together. It defies belief. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?” Dr. Warden asks, spreading his thick hands wide. “I’m only making sure you have all the information. You have, what, four or five months left on your sentence? About that? If I’m lying, then you’ll get out then and your mother will be fine. If I’m not, then these next few months are going to be the best she’ll have before the disease has her fully in its grip.”

Something occurs to me then that should have struck me earlier. “How do you know all this?” And more importantly, isn’t he violating the law by telling me? That doctor-patient confidentiality stuff? The same promise he offered with regards to whatever their dumb chip tells them about me. If he’s not lying, then this scumbag’s even less trustworthy than I’d been thinking.

He brings his hands back together, resting the clipboard in his lap and twining his fingers together. For a moment I think about attacking him again. He’s got mass and a deceptive amount of speed, but the only reason he got me before is because I underestimated him. I know better now. Know he’ll be slower with his hands like that. Only the more rational part of my brain tells me this is a horrible idea and thankfully it holds my idiotic temper in check just long enough for the opportunity to pass.

“Like I said, my backers make sure that when I need something, it is provided. That includes an exceptionally comprehensive background check into a prospective beta tester.”

“And what about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

He shrugs. “Your mother isn’t my patient. If you have an issue with my partners acquiring this information I suggest you bring it up with her doctors, perhaps hire a lawyer of your own. There might be some money for a suit there if you play your cards right.”

I let out a long, disgusted breath. “This is all some kind of game to you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, very much so,” he cheerfully admits. The answer is so cheerful and blunt that it completely catches me off guard. It must show on my face because the bastard laughs. “You are so funny, Mr. Moretti. You think that because you’ve been in trouble with the law that you’re hard. You’re not hard, Mr. Moretti. Not even close.”

Those damn eyes of his. I’d like to say they’re like a shark’s eye, all black and dead inside, but that’s not true. They’re almost feline. I remember once seeing a cat playing with a lizard. The cat was on its back, batting this lizard up in the air. Every time the little reptile came down up went the cat’s paw to launch it upward again. The cat could’ve killed the lizard at any time but it liked its game too much. That’s the look in the fat man’s eyes. He’s so damn happy right now.

“I’m hard enough to make you hurt if you’re lying,” I say.

He throws his head back and laughs. Hard. This is the first real laugh he’s given. It’s deep, much deeper than his soft voice would suggest him capable of. He rocks back in his chair then back forward, bringing himself under control.

“Don’t make threats you can’t carry out, Mr. Moretti. You don’t have anywhere near the power needed to hurt me. But, if I’m lying to you, if you go to your mother and find her in perfect health and find my game completely unacceptable for some absurd reason, all it will take is a phone call. One call, and the chip comes out and you come back here to carry out the rest of your sentence.”

It’s a trap of some kind. I know it is. This man’s a liar and a predator.

Thing is, he’s baited his trap well. I’d cut off my right hand for Mom. The chance that she really might be sick isn’t one that I can take.

“I’ll play your damn game. Chip me.”

He gives me a mock applause. “Excellent! Game on, Mr. Moretti. Game on.”

Fat corny fucker.

Chapter Four

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Airports and prisons really aren’t that different. Less dangerous. Fewer assholes—or at least, few people willing to act upon their innate asshole-ishness. But they’re cold, crammed full of security, and it’s all about hurry-up-and-wait.

And now that I’m finally here, at the terminal waiting for the flight that will take me to Mom, it’s all about waiting. Mom and me talked on the phone. It was short. She cried when she learned I took a deal, wasn’t quite defensive when I asked her about her disease. I don’t think she’d wanted to discuss it over the phone, like doing it in person was somehow going to be better.

There’s not a lot to do now that I’ve made it through security. My smartphone is pretty crappy, but after a few minutes I’m able to set up the rudimentary basics of a website so people in Dallas, which is where Mom, and by extension myself, has been forced to settle, can get in touch with me for car repairs and such. It won’t be enough at first, I’ll have to take up with a shop and treat this like a side gig until I’ve built up enough word of mouth. There’s only so much I can do to get set up from here and I need to make sure that the little money I have is invested properly. Best to wait until I get to where I’m going to finish and commit.

With nothing else to do, I find myself staring at the small scar at the base of my right palm, where the chip was implanted into me. That it’s there at all makes me mad. It’s the only outward sign of my Faustian bargain. I’d make it again to get to Mom right now but I hate that I was manipulated into getting this thing put inside of me. More than once I’ve thought about cutting it out with a steak knife. I do that though and I’ll be a wanted man. I’ll go back to prison and this time it won’t just be for a few months.

For better or worse, I’m stuck with this thing. God, I hope going through security didn’t mess with it. How would I even know if it malfunctions?

I take a deep breath. I am not fucking helpless. I pull up my phone again and start browsing through websites about ALS. None of them tell me anything new. It’s going to be expensive and the amount of care Mom is eventually going to need is ridiculous. The thought that the woman who raised me, who drove me all around the US in her RV exploring back roads and living life as a nonstop adventure, will eventually need me to wipe her bottom for her, breaks something inside of me.

Eventually she won’t be able to eat, so we’ll have to hook her up to feeding tubes.

Then she won’t be able to breath, so we’ll get a machine that will do that for her too.

Only when her heart eventually stops will she actually die, after suffering countless indignities and who knows how many months or years of helplessness.

With a shaking hand I dismiss all of the windows I’ve pulled up. I can’t keep thinking about this anymore or I’ll do something stupid.

An app on the phone’s screen catches my eye. I’d downloaded a few to help expedite my website, but I don’t remember installing anything with a monster’s face on it. The thing looks positively vicious, like it’s ready to burst out of its little square and rip the other apps on my screen to tiny pieces. I squint at it and the little words beneath it.

Kaiju Wars Online.

Kaiju? That was Japanese. Roughly translated it means something like “strange beast” and it’s used to define the movie genre of giant monsters like of Godzilla, Pacific Rim, and for the truly hardcore nerds, Gamera.

I don’t like to flash my nerd creds. Here’s the thing about nerds. A lot of us are angry, you listen to chat going on when we’re playing the latest MMORPG or first-person shooter and you’ll expand your vocabular in all kinds of vulgar ways. But the thing that really defines us is how much we like the things we like.

When you let someone know you like something, you paint a target on it. The kind that people in detention centers and prisons love to take a shot at. So, I keep my mouth shut, act tough, talk real world shit, and don’t let anyone know how invested I am in anything.

Clearly it wasn’t enough. Case and point, what just happened with Dr. Warden using my mother as a pressure point to manipulate me into getting what he wanted.

Point is, much as I enjoyed watching an old kaiju flick where some guy in a rubber suit smashes a city to smithereens, I hadn’t downloaded an app about it. And even though I enjoy videogames, I keep them separate from my work. My phone is a tool for work and communication—not a toy. I wouldn’t have put a game on it.

Then I remember the Doc’s explanation about my chip, how I’d be able to play my game across multiple devices. I shift the phone from my right hand to my left. There’s no change. Or there’s not until I pull my right hand away and watch the app vanish.

I really should have asked more questions about the game itself. In my defense I’d had a lot on my mind. Still, kaiju? Really? How the hell is this supposed to help manage anger? I don’t buy into all the complaints a bunch of groups, mostly from conservative parents afraid of technology corrupting their children, direct against videogames. But one complaint I’ve consistently heard is that videogames desensitize the player. Pretty sure that’s bullshit. Even so I can see something of a point in this case.

If they’re wanting me to play this game to release my anger and aggression I don’t see how it’s going to work. Oh sure, in theory pretending to be some giant monster smashing cities sounds like a good outlet. Hell, it actually sounds a little fun, assuming that that’s actually what I’ll be doing with this game. But there’s a huge disconnect between the player and something that inhuman. It’s not even a question of shape. The scale alone will make the whole thing almost hokey. I would think that for this game to be successful it would need a deeper level of connectivity than any giant monster game I’ve played before.

Beats some kind of boring mental exercise game though. I tried some of those before, the kind that are supposed to keep your mind sharp. I swear I could feel my mind growing duller by the moment. Those games simply couldn’t engage me.

This? It probably won’t do what the Doc wants at all. But it sure as hell’s got me curious and ready to engage. The idea that I might actually enjoy playing this game and deny Dr. Warden the data he’s after perks me up. I’m spiteful like that.

I check the time. Still two hours to kill before my flight. I’ve been out less than a day and I’ve got six before I absolutely have to play. Why wait though? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do until my plane starts boarding.

Grinning, I return the phone to my right hand, watch the app pop back into existence, and press my thumb to the screen to get started.

I’m rewarded with a black welcome screen and a logo with a vicious monster. It’s pretty cool, but pretty plain. The logo fades out to be replaced by a menu. There are only three options, HUB, KAIJU, and ATTACK. Both HUB and ATTACK are greyed out and pressing on them with my thumb accomplishes nothing. Figures.

Good afternoon, Mr. Moretti.

I drop the phone. I catch it before it hits the floor and breathe a sigh of relief before looking around to see who noticed my spaz attack. The menu is still pulled up on the screen. I’d been worried dropping it might break the connection with the chip in my hand. Fortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

I flip the phone on its side and flip the switch to turn off the volume. It’s rude to have it playing in a public place like this and if this is supposed to be a doctor’s therapy tool as much as a game I don’t need it broadcasting my business to everyone passing by.

I am not an audible function, Mr. Moretti.

This time I don’t drop the phone. I freeze. I can feel my heart throbbing in my chest. This isn’t a noise from the phone. It’s a noise from inside my head.

I glance at my hand, where the chip is resting. What the hell is this thing capable of? Did they put an artificial intelligence inside of me?

Your adrenaline and hormone levels indicate that you are stressed. Please do not be alarmed, Mr. Moretti. I am your interface guide. I am here to assist you through the game’s starting tutorial.

There’s an enforced tutorial? Of course, there is. Those are always the worst parts of the game, where unnecessary exposition loaded on you and the game’s AI treats you like you’ll forget how to breathe if it doesn’t remind you to inhale and exhale. And I get the special joy of hearing this tutorial AI’s voice inside my head.

Joy.

Chapter Five

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I’m about to ask how I’m supposed to communicate with the AI when it speaks inside my head again. The voice is vaguely feminine and cultured. I feel like I’ve got some billionaire’s personal secretary addressing me with my schedule,

I am an intuitive learning program. I will adapt to your needs and brain patterns. As you play the game you will eventually be able to direct your questions to me in the form of concentrated thoughts. For now, please select the option Kaiju from the menu to begin.

Great, not only was this thing going to read my damn mind, the game was going to railroad me. Muttering some choice words about Dr. Warden under my breath, I do what the machine says.

I’m expecting another menu but instead I get a loading screen.

RANDOMIZING ATTACK LOCATION.

INITIALIZING PLAYSTYLE MODERATOR.

Playstyle moderator? What’s that supposed to mean?

Welcome to Kaiju Wars Online, Mr. Moretti. In this game you can compete with yourself or against other players in missions to destroy cities, fight the native monsters of the world of Weroik, or enter player versus player combat using giant creatures called kaiju.

I could probably have figured that out on my own. But the fact that the voice is inside my head has me hooked. Maybe even a little hopeful. This game is supposed to be so cutting edge they were willing to let me out of prison early just to play it. I can deal with some obnoxious exposition though I really want the voice to get to the damn point.

To do this, you must first have a kaiju of your own. You will be able to modify your kaiju’s stats, abilities, and weaponry as you gain experience points through play. Because every kaiju, like every player, is different, we must first determine your playstyle to create an intuitive partner for you. One that will enable you to optimize your play and anger output.

Anger output? This thing would actually measure that stuff as I played? I guess that made sense. Whatever, that was the whole point of this game, wasn’t it? Doctor mumbo-jumbo, join a self-help group. What grabbed and held my attention was the idea that the game would actually make me a monster based on how I played. That was pretty damn intuitive and I could feel my legs trembling, bouncing up and down with sudden excitement at the prospect.

Maybe this tutorial wouldn’t totally suck.

The screen read READY and the voice said, Let us begin….

#

I am in a city but I’m not on earth. It’s similar enough. Big skyscrapers. Wide streets. Lots of glass and concrete. But the architecture isn’t right. Nor are the vehicles. The inhabitants here have something like cars but rounder, with orbs instead of wheels. Instead of the usual yellow-gold brightness of downtown lighting these windows had a faint green glow to them.

The inhabitants themselves are humanoid, but too small for details to register. They run from me though, and the round cars quickly pile up in the street around me. It is like I’d just suddenly appeared in their midst. I guess I kind of had. Interesting that they’d make that an element in the game.

Then I fully register what I am playing as. What. The. Fuck?

My character—my kaiju—is a semi-transparent gelatinous blob. It isn’t even a very big one, not nearly enough to earn the moniker of kaiju. It looked like King Kong had hawked a loogie and the spittle had come to life. Nasty.

This is what the whole game is supposed to be about?

I’ve got a health bar. There’s another bar beneath it but it’s empty. Probably for energy attacks or special abilities. What kind of special abilities is this thing supposed to demonstrate? I’m almost afraid to find out. Maybe it’ll puke parts of itself over its enemies? Dissolve them in its own acidic body? Talk about a serious let down.

My health bar flashes. The little meter has barely dropped, but it has dropped. It takes me a moment to locate the source. A police officer-like figure, diminutive next to my giant blob, is standing in place and holding up some kind of firearm. It’s throwing flashes of green into me mass.

This blob-thing is so stupid it deserves to get shot. And this little bastard needs to get squished for hitting me with that little peashooter while I’m still getting my bearings. I surge toward him, intending to rush over the tiny man and simply squish him flat. That plan falls flat.

My blob monster is about as fast as it looks, which is to say, it moves like a damn snail. Get the salt, people, slugzilla’s coming! Whatever. I chase the shooter down. He tries to hide inside a building and I follow him. It takes time but I crush my way inside by dent of relentless shoving forward.

I expect my dumb blob to slide through the building like the gelatinous mass it resembles or to simply bounce off or maybe move in place like what happens in most videogames. Instead, my efforts are rewarded by the building slowly cracking, then crumbling. In a rush of dust and green light, the entire building collapses as my slime monster crashes through it, breaking through walls and bringing the entire thing down on top of itself.

A score appears in the corner, numbers scaling higher and higher. I can hear screams and sounds of crumbling architecture and feel myself grinning. I’m bringing the whole building down with a giant wad of snot. Die you little bitches!

The meter below my health bar climbs. I burst out from the other side of the building, or what’s left of it, onto another street, crushing alien people beneath my mass. Flashing vehicles that put me in mind of cop cars whip around the streets. I’m not sure how I qualify as a kaiju since those cars are maybe a quarter of my overall size. And as the cops hop out and start throwing their green shit at me, my health bar flashes. No kaiju worth their weight was ever hurt by something as lame as guns from cops. I mean, come on!

The dropping health pisses me off so I go after them, soaking up their shots until I roll over their cars and squish them all. Then I smash into the building beside them for good measure and get the people on the other side. I start doing that, going back and forth between the street, smashing the buildings block by block and crushing the responding attackers when they come at me.

I hate how slow I am. Hate that it takes me so long to retaliate. But when I get them it’s so satisfying. Every single bastard who throws his green shit at me dies beneath my slimy bulk. And is it just me, or is my bulk increasing?

Bigger vehicles come that look like tanks, hovering over the ground. Bigger blasts of green shit hit me, hurting from their cannons in huge beams that knock out a full quarter when they hit. Three do in quick succession and I curse, throwing myself into a nearby building. I’m moving a little faster now. Not much, but fast enough that their own attacks are doing just as much damage to the city now as me as those giant guns track me.

I need a way to get health back, keep those ranged attacks at bay, or get my speed up. Aren’t there supposed to be power up items littering the place in games like this? What kind of level doesn’t have power ups? I need one right now.

None are forthcoming.

Screw it, I’ll take out these bastards myself. I burst from the building and roll over three of the tanks before the distant sound of something screaming reaches me. Something flashes through the sky and I realize it’s some kind of bowl. No, a trio of bowls. Then I realize what they are. The aliens have actual flying saucers. Cute.

They pass over me and my blob monster explodes. That’s it. One second he’s fine, crushing tanks like a slimy boss, and next he’s gone and I’ve got a GAME OVER notice flashing in front of my eyes.

That makes me realize that my eyes are actually really dry. I blink a few times, trying to moisten them and pull back to reality. Looking around, the crowd sitting in this terminal looks way different than before. The flight’s got to be about ready to board.

I minimize the game and check the clock on my phone. I stare at it because it can’t be right.

I leap to my feet and rush to the lady behind the desk who told me I was in the right spot. “Miss,” I say. “Miss, has flight A297 to Dallas boarded yet?”

“Yup,” she says, giving me a weird look. “Boarded and took off.”

My phone hadn’t lied to me. I’d been playing that damn game for four hours without realizing it.

Chapter Six

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My first thought on seeing Mom’s new residence is that this isn’t where Mom is supposed to be. My mother is an independent woman, the very definition of a “free spirit,” with a passion for travel and new experiences. She belongs in her RV, driving down the highway or exploring backroads, not holed up in this semi-suburbia knock-off.

Thinking of her living in an apartment complex is jarring. Like someone telling you they’re new parakeet looks great in their aquarium with their goldfish. And this complex is trying so hard to be normal it hurts. It even has a white picket fence. This isn’t for Mom.

I find her apartment easily enough after I finally arrive thanks to her RV, which stands out among the soccer mom cars littering the parking lot like a coyote among golden retrievers. It’s a sturdy old thing with a lot of parts that clearly belonged to other vehicles added on to it. When things broke we had to use what we could get our hands on to make it work.

I sigh. That’s what we’re doing now. Making things work. I walk past the RV, suppressing the memories that try to well up, and find the door leading to Mom’s apartment. I knock, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? This feels so wrong, knocking on an actual door to be let in by Mom.

Except that it’s not Mom who opens the door.

It’s Dad.

He’s taller than me. His once lean frame’s going soft from years of white collar work and his hair’s going grey. He’s more lined than I remember. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him since he left. For obvious reasons we don’t get along so I make an effort to avoid him whenever I can. I don’t like upsetting Mom. But seeing him has sometimes been unavoidable. Somewhere in the time since I last laid eyes upon him, Dad went and got old.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks.

“Hello to you too,” I say. “Where’s Mom?” And what the hell are you doing here? I don’t ask that last part. I want to. Actually, there’s a lot of questions I’d like to ask him if I thought he’d give me a straight answer.

How Mom ever fell in love with him confuses me. Dad’s an indoor kind of guy, it’s all over him. The way he holds himself, the slight paleness to his skin. I like computers as much as the next gamer but I also like getting my hands dirty. Dad doesn’t. When I’ve got a problem, I fix it. When Dad’s got a problem, he throws money at it and someone fixes it for him. Or he leaves.

“She’s inside resting.” He says this like he’s scolding me for disturbing her. Like she’s going to be doing anything other than “resting” for however long the disease lets her live.

I step inside past him. I have to push a little to get him out of the way but he doesn’t stop me. He probably can’t anymore. I surprise myself a little though when I don’t push as hard as I normally would. Maybe the “anger management treatment” is working? Then I see what’s in the living room.

The standard sofa, chairs, and coffee table are situated opposite a television, and the blonde woman in a dress that probably costs as much as a month’s rent in this complex. She’s pale and pretty and belongs in this place even less than Mom does. Her name is Glenda, she has the personality of a hotel rug, and she’s the woman Dad left Mom for.

Rage fills me. My stomach clenches down on a burning ember at its epicenter. My hands fist and shake. I whirl on Dad, ready to tear into him for bringing this woman here. But the words don’t just spill out. I’m…aware. Aware in a way that I never have been before when I’m this angry. Normally, it’s like the anger takes over, kicking me out of the driver’s seat. This time, it’s more like a passenger who’s reached over and grabbed hold of the wheel.

I can choose to remain in control. I do so, because as mad as I am, whatever I would say or do with my anger in charge won’t help Mom or this situation. The choice isn’t easy though, and I stagger, like I’m on the deck of a ship being tossed about by a storm.

“Why are you late?” Dad demands.

I reach out and put a hand against the wall to steady myself.

“Don’t do that,” Glenda snaps. “You’ll leave your oils on the wall.”

My oils? Seriously?

I push myself upright. It’s a greater struggle than it should be. “What are you doing here?”

Dad leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Are you on drugs?”

Glenda makes a noise that sounds like a dying bird trying to laugh.

“New anger management treatment,” I say. I’m trying to be flippant but that’s when it occurs to me that I’ve actually told him the truth. That game. Is it why I’m feeling so weird right now? “It made me miss my plane.”

Dad actually settles down a bit. “Good on you. It’s not easy asking for help sometime.”

“I didn’t,” I snap. My anger bubbles up, stronger. The world feels more stable beneath my feet and my insides feel hot. “Deal is the Doc’s get to try out their program on me and I get out early. Only way to take care of Mom.”

He tenses up again. “Watch your tone with me.”

“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll leave?”

He flinches like I’ve struck him. Good. Maybe this treatment’s going to do me some actual good after all. I think I might have actually hurt the bastard.

“Aaron?” The question comes with the sound of a door opening and I turn to find Mom stepping into the living room, leaning on a walker. A walker. It being there is almost as offensive as Dad’s wife. Apart from the walker and the way Mom’s leaning on it, she looks to be in great health. She has long brown hair, a weathered face with crow’s feet that make her eyes smile, and a fluffy pink bathrobe.

“Mom,” I say, and go to her, stepping awkwardly around her walker to pull her into a hug, which she returns.

“Hey, Kiddo,” she says when we pull apart. “You’re late.”

“Missed my flight,” I say, then glance back over my shoulder at Dad. “Why are they here?”

“Someone had to be since you got yourself thrown in jail,” Dad says.

I whirl, ready to give him a verbal beating, but Mom’s hand on my arm stops me. Calms me. Maybe the gaming therapy isn’t as perfect as the Doc thought. Or maybe I just haven’t played it enough to be completely immune from my own temper.

“Stop it, both of you,” Mom says, the squeezes my arm. “I asked him to be here.”

I want to apologize for not being here. For turning her away when she came to visit me in prison. I glance at Dad. There’s no way I can say those things while he’s here. They’re for her ears alone. So instead of apologizing I ask the next obvious question. “Why?”

Dad crosses his arms and looks down on me. He’s not that much taller but it’s a talent he’s as long as I’ve known him. “You were going to pay for her medical expenses?”

“You’re damn right I’m going to,” I say.

Mom gives me a light smack on the arm. “Language.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“You owe her an apology for a lot more than that.”

I tense up. It would be so easy to step across the room and break his nose. He wouldn’t even know what to do if I got physical. Despite being bigger than me there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m now the stronger of us. “You don’t get to say what I owe her or don’t. Thanks for coming. We don’t need you. I’ll be taking care of things from here.”

“You are, huh?” he says. “With what money?”

“I’ll have business again soon,” I say. “I was doing pretty good before.”

“Before you got locked up? You’d barely gotten a start when you got yourself arrested. What savings do you have? How long’s it going to take for you to get going again? Build your connections and make enough money to pay for one hospital visit?” He gestures at the walker. “Do you even know how much that cost? How much the wheelchair’s going to cost when she loses her legs? And who’s going to be here with her while you’re out working? Who’s going to be here when you get arrested again?”

“Clarence,” Mom’s voice rings clearly through the living room. “I am not completely helpless yet.”

Dad sighs and puts up his hands. “Emma, you know what I mean.”

The tension between them lowers with Dad’s hands. Me though? I’m strung tight as a guitar string. Much as I hate to admit it, Dad’s right. I’m able and willing to work my ass off to make sure that Mom gets the absolute best care. But if I’m doing that who’s going to be here with her? And how long until I have steady income again? That useless lawyer cleaned out my savings. I don’t even have all the tools I need to get started.

The sad fact, the one that makes me more sick than angry, is that we do actually need Dad to step in. I don’t know how much Mom’s got squirreled away but it’s not enough for what I suspect is coming. But I’m not accepting charity. Not from him.

“I’m paying back every penny,” I tell him.

“That’s right,” he says. “This isn’t a handout.”

Bastard. But I can live with that. Debt sucks but it’s honest debt. I will work it off. And for Mom I’m willing to crawl naked over broken glass.

“But you’re paying me back on my terms.”

“Excuse me?”

Mom squeezes my arm again. Whatever he’s about to say, she knows about it. She also knows I won’t like it.

“I mean that this isn’t an act of charity,” he says. “I’ll pay for everything. Hospice. Medical bills. Even this apartment. But that means you’re going to have to earn it my way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“It means,” Glenda says, sounding irritated. “That it’s time you had some real discipline and purpose in your life. You’re going to college.”

Chapter Seven

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The Nevada heat bore down on Lusitania with all the summery fury it could muster. She soaked it up, pretending to enjoy every moment of placidity in her white bikini and oversized designer glasses that cost more than a month’s rent back in Mississippi where she went to school. Her father’s house was huge and to either side rose more ridiculous monoliths, visible despite the distance. It was all so fake. Then again, Vegas strove to be a city of illusions.

She sipped her tea and watched with envy as Isabella pulled herself from the pool, her black, sporty one-piece wasn’t the only stark contrast she created with Lusitania. Whereas Lusitania was pale, blonde, and had the willowy figure desired by runway models, Isabella was curvy and buff, her dark, dripping hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her bronzed skin was marred by a collection of bruises that the other girl wore like badges of honor. The shiner on her eye was especially prominent.

It should be healed before they went back to Ole Miss, Lusitania thought, then grinned. The woman who’d given that black eye to Isabella wasn’t so lucky.

Her best friend and roommate flopped down casually onto the lounge beside Lusitania. “You’re going to get skin cancer,” she said, taking long gulp from the bottle of water she pulled out from under her seat.

“I’m wearing enough sunblock to shut down a solar plant,” Lusitania said, the barest trace of a growl in her voice.

Isabella raised her eyebrow, the effect pulled at her swollen bruise. “And you’re doing this because…?”

Lusitania glanced at the house behind her, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. Because Daddy’s a dick-headed dumbass and has expectations.

“Think anyone would notice if we skipped town early?” she asked.

Isabella’s Papa had gotten a new truck and given his old F-150 to his daughter. Lusitania had agreed to drive it back to school with her friend instead of simply flying back like she’d originally planned.

Isabella scoffed. “Please. What do you think your daddy would do when he found you gone?”

You mean when Senator Blowhole finally noticed? Lusitania clenched her fist. “Probably call in the secret service or maybe hire some private contractors to track me down and murder everyone around me.” She wished she was joking.

Isabella laughed. “Might not be a bad way to go. Death by government kill squad. That’d be pretty epic.”

Lusitania lowered her sunglasses and looked at her friend pointedly over the rims.

Isabella laughed louder. “I can only think of one death more epic off the top of my head.”

“Really?” Lusitania asked.

“Yup. Mauled by a bear,” Isabella said. “When you cook yourself into skin cancer, you should seriously consider that. Much better than slowly withering away.”

“Suicide by bear?” Lusitania asked. “How the hell would you even manage that?”

“Easy,” Isabella said. “Drive on out to Yellow Stone, go hiking until you find a mama bear and her cubs, then run up and kick one of those cute little fuckers in the face. Much better epitaph.”

“That’s fucked up,” Lusitania said.

“So’s pretending to cook yourself for several hours pretending to be the senator’s perfect pretend princess,” Isabella said.

Lusitania shot up, face twisting into a mask of fury.

Isabella smirked and Lusitania’s mask fell back into place. Even if her friend wasn’t right, picking a fight with her would be idiotic. Isabella’s Ito had supported his family by becoming a boxer when he’d immigrated. Isabella had followed in his footsteps, becoming a professional MMA fighter. She was going to Ole Miss to get a marketing degree that would help her career. Lusitania wasn’t sure her friend needed it. She didn’t really get how the rankings worked, but she’d watched Isabella’s fight two nights ago and even to her untrained eye Lusitania could tell that Isabella was a woman with which one did not fuck.

She sighed and let herself lie back in her lounge chair, hoping no one from the house had seen. Few people ever saw behind her mask and fewer still could tolerate what was there when they encountered it. It was why she valued Isabella’s friendship so much. Lusitania didn’t have to hide who she was with her friend. That was why it was so painful being back home and having Isabella here. She’d come up for her fight the other night and they had plans to road trip their way back to Ole Miss at the start of the weekend. It couldn’t come fast enough.

“Yeah,” Lusitania agreed. “I’m all kinds of fucked up.”

The sound of a door opening behind them drew their attention back to the house and the pair of men dressed to go golfing stepping out onto the porch. Lusitania affixed her mask in place, assuring her eyes were vapid and her smile friendly as she rose to her feet and flounced over to the men.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said to the taller man, then turned to the shorter, older, and heavier man. “Hi, Mr. Scavo.” I hope you get rabies.

Lusitania’s father, senator John Church, was a tall man whose formerly athletic frame, built up from years in the Navy, was slowly turning to softness. The irony of a man who loved the ocean so much he named his daughter after a sunken ship being the senator of a desert state had not been lost on Lusitania.

His companion was a long-time backer, Henry Skavos, who had never had an athletic frame to begin with. He was round with fat and his face had something rodential about it.

“Lucy-girl,” Mr. Skavos said, pulling her into a hug, his hand brushing over her bikini bottoms. “I keep telling you, call me Henry. How’s my favorite girl doing?”

She’d be better if you took your disease-ridden hands off of her and went to play in traffic. “I’m great, Henry. My bestie and I are just soaking up some sun. The morning is supposed to be the best time for it.”

He gave a sage nod. “That’s very smart of you.”

Not smart enough, it didn’t keep me away from you. She beamed at him, turning up the vapidity several notches. “You’re so sweet.”

“When Henry heard you were here he insisted on stepping out to say hello before we headed to the club,” Senator Church said.

“That’s so sweet.” Pervert. How many whores did you rape this week? No way you could pay a woman enough to fuck you.

Mr. Skavos suddenly seemed to realize they weren’t alone by the pool, catching sight of Isabella, who grinned and waved at them. He started to return the expression when he caught sight of Isabella’s black eye and recoiled.

“Uhg, I cannot stand a woman with a bruised face. Especially a beauty like that.” He looked back and forth between Lusitania and her father, his expression suddenly serious. “Lucy-girl, if your friend is in some kind of trouble, just tell me. One phone call and whoever it is disappears. John, you’ll want to get ahead of whatever this is....”

Senator Church held up a hand, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Henry, sincerely, thank you, but it’s nothing like that. Isabella over there is on her way to being the UFC’s top women’s welterweight contender.”

Henry let out a laugh, “Seriously? Oh, that’s good. Never cared for women fighting myself, but I see you’ve got your little girl well looked after.”

Senator Church’s grin widened. “That I do. Sorry to ask, but do you mind if I have a quick word with my daughter before we head out?”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Skavos said, and left, this time without an ass-touching hug.

Lusitania resisted the urge to smirk.

“Thank you,” Senator Church said to her quietly.

“Oh, I don’t mind, Daddy.” I’d like to castrate that bastard and staple his empty scrotum over his eyes so he never looks at another girl again.

“Still, thank you, Sweetie,” he said. “But I really do have something to talk to you about.”

That was new. “Really?”

He nodded. “You remember your step-cousin.”

Oh, that asshole. “Yes.”

“His father came to me and asked a favor. I wouldn’t have done it, but he did marry your aunt. His son, Aaron, is going to be attending Ole Miss in the fall.”

Lusitania didn’t have to fake her sour expression. “Wasn’t her just in jail?”

Senator Church nodded. “Yes, he was. The boy’s a good for nothing and I want you to stay away from him. If he’s not dangerous then at the very least he’s a scandal waiting to happen. So, keep your distance.”

She hadn’t intended to even be within a hundred-yard radius of the impulsive idiot but being expressly told who she could or could not associate with made her blood boil.

Lusitania resisted the urge to clench her fists and instead ran her middle finger up the length of the new scar on the base of her palm. At least now she had an outlet. She’d let out her frustration later.

“Of course, Daddy.”

Chapter Eight

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A week later I’m standing in my new home until the start of next summer wondering how the hell I’d ended up here. The room’s small, maybe 130 square feet, if I’m being generous. It smells faintly of old socks. There’s two beds, two desks, two wardrobes, and two dressers, all set up to mirror each other. They make the room feel crowded, like I’m in a storage closet with things people want forgotten.

I wonder if that includes me.

The worst part of this arrangement isn’t Dad’s power play or attempt to control my life. It’s that Mom already had my bags packed for me. She’s got three to five years at most left to live. Guess how long a degree takes.

I throw my backpack on the bed to the left. I’m going to be living in a broom closet with some stranger instead of being with Mom for however long she’s got left. It’s not that different from prison really. Why the hell had I even bothered taking the deal with Dr. Warden?

I take a deep breath. Then another. And another.

The sense of betrayal doesn’t stop cloying the inside of my chest but the urge to smash my phone or cut out the chip in my right hand diminishes to a manageable level. Damn Dad and Dr. Warden. At least so long as I’m here Mom will be getting everything she needs. That’s the deal. I had Dad’s word. Of course, I know how well he keeps his vows.

Shouting in the hall pulls me out of my thoughts. Shouting and laughing.

I go to the door and poke my head out. There’s a few pretty boys in pastel shorts that really should be on girls. They’ve got a third guy’s backpack and are tossing it back and forth over his head. Monkey in the middle. The other guy is shorter than them, dressed in jeans and a shirt that’s about to fall apart. He’s not enjoying their game.

It’s not my problem so I’m about to pull back into my room when the smaller guy cries out, “Come on, my laptop’s in there.”

The other two laugh harder. I’d never done more than visit a high school, but this feels so very, very high school. It’s childish. Stupid. Spiteful.

And suddenly it’s like I’m the little guy. The two frat boys are my father and his wife and it’s my life they’re tossing back and forth like some kind of game with no regard for what it’s worth.

A laptop isn’t a cheap piece of equipment. My own got me through a lot of hard times. Online is the only place I’ve had any luck making friends. Mostly because everyone’s an asshole on the internet so I’m nothing special in that regard. In real life? I’m about as abrasive as a sand paper enema.

Abrasive is about as polite as I can manage at the moment. It’s a step up from breaking these asshole’s jaws. I’m only partially aware of a sense of causality, of consequence, but it’s enough. Hurting them would get me kicked out. Getting kicked out would deny Mom treatment. Dad’s got my life in a backpack. Fuck him. I need to play my game.

The thought comes out of nowhere. Between frantically writing application essays and getting everything turned in before the deadline to come here, it’s been almost a week since I last played. And now that I’m aware of that, I’m aware of the waning influence of the game, like going too long between doses of medicine. I need to stop these ass-clowns and I need to get back to my game, if for no other reason than so I don’t hurt them. Also, so I don’t go back to prison.

When the backpack lands in pastel short’s outstretched hands I yank it out of his arms.

“Hey! What gives, man?”

I shove the backpack into Shorty’s chest and start walking back to my dorm room. If I stay I might hurt these idiots. I’d really, really like to.

“Hey, he’s talking to you!” It’s the other pastel shorts talking.

I ignore him and step into my room. An instant later shorty joins me.

I stare down at him as he closes the door behind him.

“That wasn’t an invitation to be my bitch,” I say.

He blushes like a little girl and stammers for a full ten seconds before finally managing to say, “What?”

I’m tempted to go all Pulp Fiction on him and tell him to say what again, but I don’t. I just quietly wait for him to process. Some people are like that, asking dumb questions when if they’ll just stop and think for a few seconds or examine what’s in front of them they’ll realize the answer’s right there in front of them. My silence seems to unnerve shorty, because he starts stammering again. I groan inside. Now I just want this guy to spit it out.

Eventually he does.

“Oh-oh! Oh, I’m uh, I’m Brett Preston,” he says.

“Good for you. Now get out of my room.”

He starts stammering again. I don’t feel like waiting however long it’s going to take him this time to finish so I make to open the door. That seems to spur him on though and he manages to spit out, “It’s my room too, actually!”

I freeze with my hand on the doorknob.

“You are, Aaron Moretti, yeah?” he says.

I let my hand fall. Dammit. I was here far enough before classes were due to begin that I’d hoped to have my new cell to myself for a few days at least.

I walk past him to flop down on my bed next to my backpack. “That’s me.”

“Great,” he says, far too cheerfully. “I’m your new roommate.”

Remarkably I’d figured that out on my own.

“Thanks for helping me out back there,” he says.

I grunt. “Don’t let them take your stuff.”

Speaking of stuff. I pull out my phone. With my right hand holding it the Kaiju Wars Online app appears. I need to play it today or I’m in trouble with the Doc. Doc, Dad, seems like no matter what I do there’s someone with some kind of power over me wanting me to do something.

“I’ll do my best,” Brett says, half laughing. “I’ve got the rest of my stuff being shipped up tomorrow. Think you could give me hand bringing it up?”

I pull my gaze away from my phone to glance around the broom closet they’ve got us situated in. “You’ve got more stuff?”

He grinned. “Yeah. We’ll have an actual television and my consoles.”

Okay, that would be an improvement. But it didn’t change that I needed to play my game and I really didn’t want to do it in front of Brett.

The sound of the guys in too colorful short shorts rose outside as they screamed about something. This was followed by footsteps and they were gone. At least there was that.

“Cool,” I say. I kind of mean it too. By necessity I’ve been more of a PC gamer than console, but this could be fun.

“Mind giving me a hand getting it up here?”

I sigh. “Sure, but I need a favor.”

“What’s up?”

“Clear off for a few hours. I need to check in with some people,” I say, holding up my phone. “Things aren’t good at home.” Sadly, not a lie.

“Oh, sure,” he says awkwardly. At least he’s not stuttering. “How long do you need?”

“Long as you can give me,” I say, trying to sound apologetic. Last time I played I’d lost hours.

“Alright,” he says, slowly making his way to the door. “I can explore campus or something. See you around six-ish?”

That’s about four hours off. Should be plenty. “Yeah, thanks, Brett.”

He shrugs, looks like he’s about to say something, then decides against it before closing the door behind him. I’m going to have to figure something out if I want to play without an audience. I couldn’t really say why the idea of being watched while I played bothers me. It hadn’t at the airport.

The only thing I can think of is that there was no one there that I’d have to talk to or see again. Nobody to really watch or pay attention to me. Whatever it is, I’m going to have to get over it quick. The dorms might not be as restrictive as prison but they offered about the same amount of privacy.

Laying back on my bed, propped up against the wall with my pillow behind me, I thumb the Kaiju Wars Online app. The menu screen pulls up again and again all the options except for KAIJU are greyed out. I select the only option available to me and gasp.

The blob is gone and in its place is a monster.

Chapter Nine

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My kaiju looks like the lovechild of a dinosaur and a tiger, with a feline face and powerful limbs, including a tail easily as long as the kaiju is tall. Standing upright on its hind, feline legs, it has a thick black hide decorated with silver stripes and its face is set off with glowing red eyes. A pair of bat-like ears stick out to either side of its head. They should look silly but combined with the three horns growing from its face like a triceratops, they give it a distinctive character.

What really catches my eye though are the spikes. My kaiju has them in abundance. Running down his back starting from the base of his skull, broad plates run in twin rows down his length until they reach the small of his back. There they change, becoming what I can only describe as spikes. Long spikes, like those at the end of a stegosaurus’s tail, but running down the entire length of my kaiju’s tail instead of simply capping off the tip. Anyone who gets in the way of that thing’s swing is going to get impaled. I almost miss the pair of similar spikes sprouting from his shoulder. A shoulder check from my boy would ruin anyone’s day.

Whatever else my kaiju is capable of, melee is definitely its specialty.

Welcome back, Mr. Moretti.

Great, the damn guide is still here.

I am here to assist you, the guide says. This kaiju is designed to complement your playstyle as determined by your previous session. Would you like to try again or would you like to assign your stats?

I could try again?

If you wish to try again this kaiju will be deleted and you will start over. Are you sure that this is what you’d like to do?

What? No! Dammit, is this thing reading my mind?

The neural connection between us is strengthening. Soon you will be able to converse with me. For now, please make certain that your directions are clear and in direct reaction to my question. Would you like to try again or would you like to assign your kaiju’s stats?

Assign stats. Definitely assign stats.

A new menu opened next to my kaiju with six statistics listed.

Level 1

HP 5

Attack 4 (+2 Feline Build. +2 Defensive Weaponry.)

Defense 4 (+2 Defensive Weaponry.)

Special Attack 3

Special Defense 3

Speed 5 (+2 Feline Build.)

My eye catches the Feline Build and Defensive Weaponry notes. Weird that those numbers are in parenthesis. It doesn’t look as if they’ve been calculated out into the total yet. Why is that?

Bonus statistics from build will be calibrated after you have spent your ability points.

It probably has something to do with keeping the system streamlined. That has to be it. They are there now just to let me know that they were coming before I assigned my points. I consider my kaiju’s build. Six statistics, two sets of 5, 4, and 3. This array must be the optimization the stupid guide voice had been talking about. I remember taking a lot of hits and using my stupid blob’s body as a weapon. I especially remember being frustrated by how slow the thing was. Hands down that had been my biggest irritation.

So, Speed and HP had been maxed. Special Attack and Special Defense are clearly my dump stats.

Typically in an RPG I would aim to optimize my strengths, allowing them to compensate for my character’s glaring flaws by specializing. But this isn’t a typical RPG. Letting something become a dump stat seems exceptionally dangerous for this game. Considering the array, I might not have a choice. How many points do I have to spend making my monster?

You have fifteen points remaining.

Fifteen. And was it a one to one buy in ratio?

Yes.

Damn creepy mind-reading machine.

I am sorry. I do not understand that command.

Groaning, I go about assigning my points. I definitely want to build upon my strengths. There’s a golden rule in RPG’s. You can’t do anything if you’re dead. HP is always your friend. Much as I like the idea of a super-fast kaiju, HP had to be my first priority.

I start pumping in points and cap out after spending 5.

You have reached the limit for points you can spend on this ability.

Terrific. A cap of ten. I easily had enough to max out my speed. Only…I already had Feline Build adding to that. If 10 was considered high, then I’m already going to be pretty close. I drop a point into it and considered my options.

My biggest irritant hadn’t actually been my lack of speed—though that had certainly played a part. No, what had pissed me off the most was that green shit the little cop-aliens had been shooting at me. That stuff had glowed. I was willing to bet that that meant they correlated to Special Defense, rather than Defense. That made sense, right? Energy projectiles and crap go with “special?”

The useless guide doesn’t offer any insight. Of course not. This is when it would go quiet.

With my theory in mind, I focus my points on my Special Defense dump stat. It eats into my remaining points but I max it out too, all the while hoping I’m not sentencing my kaiju to suck-dom. This guy is way too cool to make suck because of a poor statistics decision.

With only two points remaining I drop another in Attack and Defense.

Bonus points, the guide says, and another +2 appear by both my HP and Special Defense stats. 10 must be some kind of benchmark, but only if you get there solely by spending points. Dammit.

My stats now read:

Level 1

HP 12

Attack 10

Defense 7

Special Attack 3

Special Defense 12

Speed 8

With ten as the barometer for what was considered high, I have a pretty even array. Not a min-maxed monster, but I’m pretty sure my spikey boy can hold his own. As if in agreement, my kaiju shakes his head, huge ears flopping about. Whoever Doc had got to program this thing had done a great job. I swear I can almost feel my kaiju’s personality. He shifts, restless, as if eager to get back into the fight.

Good boy, I think at him, and he snorts.

Okay, maybe this game doesn’t totally suck. Let’s see what all he can do.

I eye my Special Attack stat skeptically. I hate having an ability that low but I don’t know how I could have done things differently when I’d been playing the blob before. Could the thing have shot acid if I’d spent more time trying to figure it out instead reenacting Rampage? Who knows. Maybe actually using that stat enabled by an ability like Feline Build or Defensive Weaponry. What would that be? Fire Breath?

The thought of my boy bellowing out a great stream of fire and burning down that alien city is a happy one. Unlikely though. Still, smashing it all to pieces seems like a great alternative.

Alright, I think at the machine, let’s take my boy for a test run.

Confirm, you want your kaiju’s name to be “My Boy?”

Fuck no!

Please designate a name for your kaiju or allow a random name to be generated.

I think for a moment. My first thought upon seeing my kaiju was that it looked like a blend between a tiger and a dinosaur. It was a tiger-dinosaur-kaiju. I played around for a few seconds with those words before settling on Taisaur. I briefly consider a number of funny or wildly inappropriate names—hell, it’s something every gamer’s done at least once—but this kaiju seems somehow connected to me. It’s built the way it is because of the way my anger had fed into the program while I’d been playing and giving it a dumb name seems disrespectful, weird as that sounds. Especially since I’m not sure that Taisaur is actually a good name at all.

Whatever. I’m over it and ready to play.

With Taisaur now built and named the other two menu options are available to me. I think about going to HUB for a second but select ATTACK instead. I’m eager to get back to that city and level it flat.

And then that’s where Taisaur and I are. Only this city isn’t leveled. Two suns are shining up in the sky and I laugh. Someone must have had Star Wars on the brain when they designed this level. Then I take a look at Taisaur, a good look. He’s barely bigger than the damn blob! Taller and longer, but all told he’s got less mass. What the hell? How is this supposed to be a kaiju?

He’s all of maybe fifty feet tall. Godzilla in the very first movie was more than three times this size! I’m still on the scale of King Kong, not city stomping kaiju levels of big. Whatever. Taisaur’s wicked enough that we’ll tear this whole place down.

A green blast shoots at Taisaur and I barely manage to make him duck in time. The blast goes harmlessly past, but it’s way too big to have belonged to one of those police officers from before. I spin around and fine that this time I’m not facing some unprepared city that needs to call in support. No, the tanks are back.

There’s three of them and they’ve all got their big ass cannons leveled right at me.

TAISAUR

Chapter Ten

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The game’s not waiting for me to get my bearings this time around. Easy mode is officially over. The hover tanks open fire and I throw myself to the left, right into a building, tearing my way through it. Taisaur is fast.

So fast I find myself laughing. He might not be as big as I want him to be but he’s about a million times better than that crappy blob monster.

The building crumbles behind me, crushing an untold number of people. One of the alien police officers on the ground starts shooting his green shit at me but my health bar doesn’t even move. Either the damage is so pitiful it’s not making a perceptible difference or I was right about my Special Defense stat. I find myself grinning. Either way, it looks like pumping up those two stats for all that they were worth is paying off.

I fling a small hovercraft at the cop, which crushes him, and then take off down the street like a rocket. Taisaur is so fast that I’m smashing through another building to come up behind the tanks before they’ve finished making it to the building I tore through a few seconds ago. I launch myself on them, crushing the one on the left beneath my bulk, slamming it down into the ground, and pivoting to catch the other two with my tail.

The one nearest Taisaur lucks out and misses the spikes, catching only the meat of the tail, which still strikes with enough force to knock it clear over. The other hover tank isn’t so lucky. A spike goes clean through it, skewering it like a kabob before Taisaur shakes his tail and sends it flying through the air into another building where it explodes. The building comes down.

Oh yeah, this is a lot better.

Without the tanks I charge headlong into the buildings on the side of the road, lowering Taisaur’s head so that he charges horns first. It’s not quite like dominos. Taisaur tears through them like wet paper, and thrashes his tail as he goes, puncturing and widening. Smashing in and demolishing on the exit. He’s like a high caliber bullet. The buildings shake and fall behind him and I swear I can almost hear screams as they smash the little alien people. If I eat them do I gain health?

Taisaur bursts out from the end of the block, covered in dust, and I pause long enough to grab someone off the street and toss them in his mouth. Only after do I realize that my health bar hasn’t actually dropped. The bar beneath it though is filling up quickly. I still have no idea what it’s for. Either way I continue my rampage through the city.

Building after building falls. Another tank rounds a corner and blasts me with a green burst of energy. My health bar drops, but not nearly as much as it did back when I played the blob. Now it does about as much damage as the police’s guns. Maybe a fraction more.

I laugh. There’s nothing that they can do to stop me. I charge the tank head on, soaking up its energy blasts like sunshine, until Taisaur simply runs it over, smashing it into the ground beneath his bulk.

There’s a familiar sound after the tank explodes. The saucer-things are coming in for another airstrike. I throw Taisaur sideways into a building and the world flashes white. An instant later the building is gone and Taisaur’s standing in a smoking crater, a quarter of his health gone. A quarter. We’d gone from an insta-kill hit to a quarter hit. That’s a hell of an improvement.

And while the building is gone, the remains of the tank I just smashed are not. The saucers are circling back for another strike and I hurry to the remains, snatching them up as the saucers draw closer. This time I’m able to see their approach. There’s three of them and from the one in the middle drops a tiny speck. That must be the bomb.

I don’t dive for cover, I stand there, roaring, tracking their trajectory. As soon as the white light blurs my vision I let fly the remains of the tank. My hope is that, blinded as I am, the saucers won’t be any better off. Either they don’t see the tank coming or I take them completely by surprise as my throw is rewarded a second later with several massive BOOMS and the entire sky going white.

When the light clears, there’s no sign of the saucers. There is, however, a notification congratulating me on leveling up. Nice. Those saucers must be worth a lot of experience points. My health bar though is down to a quarter. Damn. That direct hit took a lot out of me.

I smash through several more buildings, unhindered, racking up more points. This seems to be the main point of the game. Smash as much as you can in between bouts with military forces. I’ve demolished several more blocks before I discover why there’s been such little resistance compared to my previous incursion.

Emerging from a broken building I stumble onto a parade of hover tanks, all firing at a target several hundred feet away. Even from that distance though, I can tell that it’s huge. And it’s definitely not on their side.

It’s another kaiju. And unlike Taisaur, this one’s really earned the name, towering over the city at almost three times Taisaur’s height. It leaves me wondering how the hell I missed him before now, especially with the pair of massive horns curling forward from his back and the giant one curling up to meet them from his head. This city is like a cardboard maze. It’s hard to tell what’s only a few blocks over unless you smash your way there. It makes me realize the danger of this game. You never know what’s waiting for you.

Even though I’ve just smashed the last tanks on the streets, the remainder don’t seem to have noticed. They’re all too focused on the enormous kaiju at the end of the road.

Growing up, the closest thing I had to a father figure after Dad left was a man named Ted. Ted’s a burly guy, more bark than bite, and a wizard under the hood. Whatever Mom couldn’t teach me about auto-repair and mechanics, he did. When not working on cars, Ted enjoys hunting. He even took me with him once on a turkey shoot.

The trick, he taught me, is that when you’ve got a bunch of turkeys lined up, you shoot the one in the back. Turkeys have good eyes but they’re dumb. You shoot the one in the back, they all duck, look around for a bit, and then go waddling on. Repeat until you’ve bagged your limit.

Right now, kaiju at the end of the road or no, I’m the hunter and these hover tanks are the oblivious turkeys. Time to see if I can bag my limit.

I lower Taisaur’s head and charge down the road, just like I did through the buildings, horns down, spiked tail thrashing behind. Any tanks not impaled by my horns are crushed under foot and any that aren’t instantly destroyed by this are finished off by Taisaur’s tail. I look like the freaking road runner, leaving a cloud of smoke in my wake as I move.

I don’t hold out much hope that I can beat this giant kaiju, who I’m guessing is this level’s boss, but I don’t need to. I’ve already leveled up and I can tell I’m racking up one hell of a score by crushing these tanks. A couple even manage to turn about and fire at me. My health bar flashes. I’ve entered dangerously low territory now. That kaiju’s going to take me out as soon as I finish my charge.

Whatever. I can at least go out with a bang. Right before I leap an alert goes off. I’ve reached level three. Mission a-fucking-ccomplished. Riding high, I lower Taisaur’s horns and am airborne.

Then I really go airborne as the massive kaiju simply swats me out of the air. Taisaur spins end over end until he lands on top of a low building, crushing it beneath his bulk. The building must have provided some kind of cushion, however, because we’re not dead. Our health bar is flashing red, only a sliver remaining, but it’s there. Damn. So much for going out in a blaze of glory.

My badass kaiju looks pretty undignified sprawled in the rubble. I bring Taisuar unsteadily to his feet as the much larger kaiju closes the distance between us in a few easy, but stupidly long strides until it towers over us.

This is it. I had a good run of it this time.

The kaiju cocks its head as it looks down at us, considering. Then it lets out a rumbling growl that my brain somehow translates into words. Really? You’re all of what, level two? And you want to come at me for some PvP action, Dumbass?

Chapter Eleven

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This behemoth is a player? Now that I’m looking though, I can see a health bar and a second glowing meter similar to Taisaur’s floating over its head, along with a name. Xenatlas. How the hell are you supposed to pronounce that? What does that even mean? I guess Taisaur’s not much better, but at least if you think about it you can kind of figure it out.

I guess I’d expected a more common, gamer-esque name from the other kaiju, like BallPunch3r or Dangerys222. Stuff that’s either a crude joke, a pun, or so full of numbers it might as well be a line of code. Maybe there’s something about Kaiju Wars players that makes us take the naming of our kaiju a little more seriously? I don’t know, but I’m thinking about this way too much. I guess because it beats thinking of the beat down this guy’s undoubtedly about to lay on me.

He’s massive. Like stupidly massive. The kaiju is built like a mammal, more specifically, like those megafauna that came after the dinosaurs, standing on two thick legs with a pair of arms that culminate in simple hands armed with freaking huge claws. The mammalian features end there. Dark, glossy green chitin covers the behemoth, providing it with substantial natural armor.

A carapace like a beetle’s covers its back and a pair of massive horns spike up from over its shoulders, curving forward to point like spears at whatever’s in front of them. They’re mirrored by a third horn curving up from the kaiju’s head. I do not envy whatever gets trapped between those three horns. They’re set up in such a way so as to push the points of the opposite horns deeper into whatever’s trapped between them with a simple flex.

For all its power though, the thing looks slow as fuck. Guess when you’re built like a semi on steroids, you don’t need to prioritize speed.

Xenatlas turns, facing the military forces regrouping behind me. Light pulses between the three spike-horns on its head and shoulders, and then coalesces into a shining, swirling mass. The kaiju lowers its head and thrusts its upper body forward and the vaguely sphere-shaped storm of energy flies free in a flash of barely shaped light, so bright it hurts my eyes.

All that remains in its path is wreckage, ash, and flames.

What the hell was that? I demand. Why the hell don’t I have something like that?

Xenatlas looks down at me. “You really are new. Don’t you know how to use your special attack yet?”

Obviously not, but I don’t want to be a total jackass. I did just come at this guy and he wiped out…damn, how many enemies did he wipe out just now? I can’t work out the math. I’m in too much shock.

Nope, I say. I don’t think my kaiju has one.

He cocks his head. The gesture would be subtle, but with that big honking horn on his head it becomes dramatic. It would have been listed when you first created your kaiju, right beside a special trait.

I think back. No, I just had two special traits listed. None said anything about an energy blast.

The kaiju stares down at me for a few seconds. And you didn’t think to adjust the stats, at all?

I was more interested in playing the game, I say, more than a little defensively. I know a lot of RPG players love optimizing and tweaking their characters and can spend hours coming up with the exact formula—that isn’t me. Don’t get me wrong, I like thinking about it, but I’d always, always, always rather be playing the game than tinkering with a bunch of numbers and statistics. I’m a doer first and foremost.

Also, it hadn’t occurred to me to try to reset my kaiju.

That’s going to bite you in the ass, Xenatlas says, kaiju roaring. Most of your EXP comes from how much you’re able to destroy before you get taken down. Ranged attacks speed that up a lot. At least you look like you’ve got a decent speed stat.

Okay, I’ll make some adjustments when I logout and switch Taisaur’s stats around, I say.

Genius, the game’s in beta for a reason, Xenatlas says. There’s no switching things around right now.

It’s a good thing I don’t need to say anything to that, because I can’t. The realization that I’ve just shot myself in the foot in my hurry to actually play is like a punch in the gut.

Xenatlas shifts around and launches another one of those swirling white energy storm orbs from between his horns, demolishing the better part of a city block. The meter below his HP drops to nothing.

I can’t help myself. What the hell kind of energy attack is that?

I swear the rumbling snarls accompanying his words sound smug. Miniature white hole.

Miniature? I call bullshit. Total bullshit. I could have had something like that? Son of a bitch.

My sulkiness must have translated through because Xenatlas takes some pity on me. It’s not totally hopeless for you. I don’t actually know anyone who passed on their special attack, but the algorithms all seem to be based on your starting stats. So, when you eventually do hit the upper levels your stats should be pretty high. I’ll need to run some calcs to double check, make sure I’m right.

That last bit sounded like false modesty. Not a trait you usually find online where everyone is usually amped and eager to prove how badass they are.

Also, you get a bonus ability at level fifteen, so there’s that, Xenatlas adds. You hit there and you should be good.

I’ve leveled up twice already, how hard could it be to hit level fifteen? Of course, most MMO games are designed so that you power through the earliest levels pretty fast and get a taste for it. If Taisaur’s growth rate is exponential, then it stands to reason his experience requirement is as well. Dammit.

Frustration rages through me, but it’s separate from me. Energy. Whereas before my anger has almost always felt like it is driving me, now it feels more like I’m a car and my anger is the fuel. I’m the one determining where that fuel takes me.

The meter beneath Taisaur’s health bar climbs and starts glowing. The thing is actually refilling from my own anger! A lot of monster games have something like a rage meter—I guess this game’s is more literal than most. Is that how the game is treating us? If it’s treating us. The rage meter glows brighter as another surge of anger hits me because none of this helps with my immediate problem whatsoever.

Giving diplomacy my best effort, I say, My bad about attacking you. Thought you were a level boss or something.

Xenatlas gives a noncommittal toss of his head.

“I don’t have much HP left, but want to destroy the rest of the city together?” Half the fun of an online game is the ability to interact with other players after all. And maybe breaking more shit will take my mind off how badly I messed up.

Xenatlas contemplates me for a few seconds, soaking up a barrage of green energy blasts from a collection of hover tanks like it’s no more than rain water, before he says, Sure. Keep behind me and clean up whatever I miss. I’ll play tank, you play ancillary support.

Ancillary support? I want to protest but my eyes drift to the level beside Taisaur’s name. It was so impressive a second ago. Now it just seems meager. Especially when I consider that our level probably directly correlates to the size of our kaiju.

Sounds good, I say, and that’s just what we do.

Xenatlas leads the way, soaking up hits and generally grabbing everyone’s attention in between swings of his horns or claws and blasts from his miniature white hole attack. When this beta wraps up that thing’s going to have to be nerfed because it is stupidly powerful.

As he goes, the military seems to forget about me in face of the greater threat. Taisaur bounds from side to side behind him like the world’s most destructive puppy and I come to a realization. Xenatlas is great at close combat and ranged combat, but his mid-range is severely lacking. Taisaur on the other hand, is perfectly equipped to capitalize on this niche. Darting around, I bring my kaiju’s tail sweeping through whatever buildings or enemies Xenatlas misses.

We fall into a pattern. Xenatlas levels everything in a straight line before him with his white hole, then moves forward to close with whatever targets were too close or awkwardly positioned and crushes them. That part of the pattern quickly falls away though because every time he moves up, so do I, and melee wise I’m able to hit more targets at a greater range. Soon, there’s no one left to close with Xenatlas—they’re all destroyed before they can reach him.

An alert pops up, informing me I’ve hit level four.

I turn to Xenatlas, ready to boast, and realize that there’s nothing surrounding us but rubble. My tail sweeps brought down the fragile remains of whatever his white hole didn’t destroy and now the city is a leveled mass of smoking wreckage.

Damn, I say, because really, what else can I say? The animator’s attention to detail here is impressive as all hell. If I wasn’t so proud of what we’d just accomplished I’d be damn near horrified.

Xenatlas rumbles up beside me so that I have to look up to see his face.

Good work, Noob, he says, half-jokingly.

Not bad yourself.

That earns a chuckle from him. Tell you what, meet me in Monster Land after you logout of the ATTACK mode. See you there.

Then he vanishes, leaving me to ask the now empty ruin of the city, What the fuck is Monster Land?

XENATLAS

Chapter Twelve

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Fortunately, it doesn’t take me long to find Monster Land. I simply log out of ATTACK and select the only option I haven’t explored yet: HUB. I am instantly transported to a level, a lot like I had been back in ATTACK, only this place looks more like some sort of tropical paradise than a city. There’s nothing here worth destroying unless trees piss you off.

There’s a beach with the sound of waves lapping up against the sand and the occasional bit of bird call. In the distance I make out some kind of mountain. No, not a mountain. It’s smoking. A volcano.

I direct my attention to Taisaur. He’s semi-transparent. I try swiping at the trees and find his claws pass right through them. Okay, so this is a no fighting, no destruction zone. Got it.

Hello, Mr. Moretti, says the somewhat familiar voice of the AI lady, making me jump, then cringe.

This is the HUB, she continues. Here you can—

“Can you shut the hell up?” I demand.

Clarification, you would like to silence the AI auto-help feature? The voice asks.

“God yes,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief that came out as a huge, and probably gross, huff from Taisaur. “Shut up and go away.”

Understood. Enjoy Kaiju Wars Online, Mr. Moretti. And then there is silence save for what the game’s environment presents to me. Thank you, Lord. That voice is beyond creepy, sounding in my head like that. I haven’t actually expected that command to be obeyed but now that it has been I feel a profound sense of relief. No voices in my head, thank you very much, I’m fucked up enough as is.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “Now how the hell do I find Xenatlas?”

Maybe dismissing the voice-lady wasn’t been such a good idea. Fortunately, at the sound of my fellow player’s kaiju’s name, an arrow appears in the sky over Taisaur. “Okay then,” I say. “I’ll take that.” And I take off running.

It’s easy to cover ground here, unlike in the combat levels. Nothing actually gets in my way. I simply phase through everything and am able to haul off at top speed down the beach, until I come to a peninsula. The arrow shifts, pointing at an angle as I approach, suggesting that Xenatlas is at the end of it. There we go.

I’m feeling pretty good about myself until I actually get on the peninsula and find my way barred by another kaiju. Like Taisaur he’s insubstantial, but that’s where the similarity between the two ends.

Like Xenatlas he’s huge and has something insectile about him. Unlike Xenatlas, he’s hunched over and it’s not the horn on his head that makes me think bug so much as the mantis like claw-arms curled up beneath him, covered in little scything barbs down the length of their interior. This thing looks like a lovechild of rhinoceros and a praying mantis who decided to try and be a T-rex when it grew up, because that’s what it’s legs, tail, and posture are all reminiscent of. I have no idea where the tightly packed red armor plates covering it like a cross between a reptile and a crustacean have come from. The entirety of the creature’s design is based around being a living weapon.

How would a creature like this actually get by in the wild? I realize that’s a stupid question. The moment you start thinking of kaiju like animals that could exist within their own ecosystem you start expecting a lot of things to make sense that flies in the fact of the genre. Best to think of them as living engines of destruction and leave it at that.

“What’s up?” I say through Taisaur’s growling as I pull up short, glancing at the name hovering over his head. Megaptera. Interesting, another kaiju-appropriate name instead of the more typical gamer handle. There’s got to be something to that.

I’m not given time to dwell on it though, because Megaptera’s response is “Fuck off.”

“Okay then, see you later,” I say, and make to go around him.

He steps sideways and blocks me off. Unlike all of the terrain, I can’t move through him. Does that mean we can hurt each other here? I’m not sure I want to find out. His level is significantly higher than mine.

“I said, fuck off,” he says through his Kaiju’s bellow. “This territory’s claimed.”

“Right,” I say. “I’m looking for Xenatlas. He told me to find him.”

A light pulses off to our side and we’re suddenly joined by a third semi-translucent kaiju. The name above its head reads Solrin, and it’s the first quadrupedal kaiju I’ve seen. I’m put in mind of a lion with dinosaur’s head, only someone’s affixed a single antler to its forehead, like a very spiky unicorn. The mane and fur on its legs and tail are bright gold while the layered armored hide is deep copper hue.

I can’t help but think of those lion-dogs that they put outside Chinese temples and restaurants. Or maybe I’m thinking of that Chinese unicorn thing called a Qilin. I know more about mythology than the average Joe on the street because it sometimes came up with other players in videogames but nobody’s ever going to call me an expert.

“Who’s the baby monster?” Solrin asks, and beneath the bellow of his kaiju, his words come across with a decidedly British accent. I guess the beta’s global.

“I ran into a guy called Xenatlas,” I say. “He told me to meet him here.”

Solrin gives a snort. “Right, come on then.”

Megaptera shakes his head, but steps aside to accompany me. I feel positively diminutive sandwiched between these two giants. I mean, this is a huge step up from being the blob monster, but if this is what leveling up does to your kaiju, I cannot wait to hit the upper levels. Pint-size is not how I like my city destroying monsters.

That brings me a bit of depression as I realize my leveling is going to be delayed by my inability to demolish large portions of cities and enemies at once with a special attack. I glance back and forth between the pair. “You guys are taking this awfully serious.”

“So should you,” Megaptera says, but when he does, the hostility from before is gone. Solrin showing up and Xenatlas’s name being mentioned must have mellowed him out.

Some of my curiosity must be evident on Taisaur’s face, because Solrin elaborates. “Whatever this is, it’s much bigger than just a game. The Game Masters sometimes reach out and offer real world cash rewards for specific missions or targets.”

“Real world money?”

“Last time I took a mission they dropped me a quarter mil,” Solrin says. “That’s euros, just in case you were wondering.”

I stare at him. I’ve been thinking if I got a couple of these missions I might be able to save up to take a girl out or maybe put it towards paying a professional to do up a website for me. Who in their right mind drops what I think is close to thirty thousand dollars on testing a videogame level? The guys who are putting this game together are crazy. That’s the only half-rational conclusion I can draw.

“Yeah,” Megaptera says. “There’s a lot of money to be made playing this game. And it makes a lot of people assholes.”

There’s something to his voice—an accent that’s distinct but not as pronounced as Solrin’s. I’m guessing he’s from somewhere up north along the East Coast. Boston, maybe?

“Money changes people,” I say.

“And some players get a kick out of fucking with other players so that they don’t make a payday,” Solrin says. “See, there’s no way to tell when a player’s on one of these missions. So, there’s some murder-happy PKer’s out there. Rumor has it some of them get paid for it.”

PKer, for those unfamiliar with gaming terms, stands for player killer. Some games encourage and embrace this sort of behavior. Other’s abhor it. Really, it depends on the players here. With the kind of money on the line these two are talking about, assuming they’re not bullshitting me, I’m guessing there’s a special kind of hatred for the players that go out of their way to fuck up that kind of payoff. What’s weird though is the idea of some players being paid to interfere with tasks that others are being paid to do. What the hell’s up with that? Something to mull over later.

“And you’re worried I’m one of them?” I ask, pointedly looking up at them, then down at Taisaur to indicate our size difference. While neither of them are as big as Xenatlas, they’re still easily twice Taisaur’s mass.

“Nope,” Megaptera says.

“Only way you’d have been able to find Xen, is if he told you to meet him,” Solrin says.

“Is that why I’ve got the little arrow thing pointing me this way?” I ask.

The two exchange a look over Taisaur’s head. They were waiting for confirmation, I realize.

“Yup,” Megaptera says. “Pretty much.”

“Only way to track someone down in Monster Land is by giving the tracker permission,” Solrin says. “Otherwise you’re just running around mapping things out or hoping for the best.”

We reach the end of the peninsula. The trees part, revealing a natural collection of towering stones several times higher than any of us. They’re a pretty reddish color and would be really impressive in real life. Hell, I’m a little impressed now with the modeler’s attention to the little details. But it’s not the rocks themselves that have my attention, it’s what’s on them.

Something has been carving some kind of code or language all over their surface. The mystery of what’s caused them doesn’t remain a mystery for long as the sound of claws on stone reach my ears. A little ways around the stones, just out of sight from the jungle, is Xenatlas. He’s dragging those massive claws of his across the stone, carving this weird language into it.

I scowl for a moment. Taisaur’s paw had gone right through the trees earlier. What was different about the rock?

Xenatlas stops working and turns his massive horned head to look at me, gesturing toward his work. “We can’t touch any organic material in Monster Land, but minerals we can leave a mark on.”

“What is all this? Some kind of alien language?” I ask, going up to the stone.

He laughs. “No, just a simple code I came up with. Any PKer’s make it over here, all this will be gibberish to them. I mean, it’s not a complicated code or anything, but it’s good enough to confuse an amateur.”

Guess I’m an amateur then because this shit looks complicated as hell. Xenatlas must be one of those brainy guys who think working with numbers is fun.

“So, you do know this guy, then,” Megaptera says.

“Yup,” Xenatlas says. “And I want to help him level up.”

He does?

“You do?” Solrin asks, accented voice mirroring my thoughts.

Xenatlas nods. “Yeah. He didn’t get a special attack but a second special quality. Pretty sure he utterly failed to optimize his array, but I want to test to see if he progresses like we do and see what he gets when he finally hits level fifteen.”

“You think it’s worth knowing?” Megaptera asks.

Xenatlas nods. “What kind of beta-testers would we be if we didn’t explore this.” He looks back at his code and I swear I see something appraising in his kaiju’s beady eyes. That code of his probably has a comprehensive listing of Taisaur’s stats and progression all laid out. Maybe the same for his own and these other two as well.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ve stumbled into a way to not only overcome my issue of leveling up but optimizing Taisaur’s build as I progress.

“Of course,” he says, turning back to me. “That assumes you’re interested?”

I think about it for a second. “Half the fun of a game like this is the other players,” I say. “Are there any guild-rules I need to know about?”

Solrin laughs. “No official guilds in the game yet, mate. Unofficially though, we give each other an assist whenever one of us gets a paying mission. We watch each other’s backs and we don’t PK.”

I can live with that.

Chapter Thirteen

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I don’t know how long we stay together in Monster Land talking. We don’t get personal. That seems to be an unofficial rule of the non-guild of kaiju I’ve joined. I don’t mind. We’ve all got some kind of issue or we wouldn’t be playing the game in the first place. Unspoken or no, we all know it, and that combined with having a task to share in, helps to give us a sense of unity. The game is weird, I decide, but fun. And I’m more convinced now that it is actually working.

The door to the dorm opens and Brett walks in, looking cheerful until he sees me. “Have you moved at all since I left?”

I check my phone. It’s six o’clock already. Damn, where did the time go? More importantly throughout those four hours I’ve been playing I haven’t moved. I’m still in the exact same position I was in when he left.

I offer him a grin. “Not much.” Close enough. He doesn’t need to know just how little I’ve moved. It’s not natural. Anyone playing a game for any length of time is going to at least shift their weight around. I haven’t. Hell, my hand should be sore from holding up my phone sideways for that long and it isn’t either. Weird.

“What’d you find around campus?” I ask, more to change the subject than because of any real.

He takes the bait and whips out a flyer. “Alpha-Alpha-Epsilon’s hosting a party tonight! Open invitation to the early arrivals.”

I spend a moment considering the flyer. “A frat party?” Unless I was very much mistaken, that had been a pair of frat boys, or aspiring frat boys, who’d been tossing around his backpack out in the hall.

He seems to read my mind because he waggles a finger at me. “You can’t judge the entire Greek system off a few bad eggs.”

I laugh. That’s fair. Far more fair than I expected from him actually. Truth is a lot of nerds, and I proudly include myself in that counting, hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Someone who can let that kind of crap not get to them and still go out and want to have a good time might just be the kind of guy I want around. Maybe I didn’t draw the short straw when the college was dolling out roommates after all.

“Besides,” he adds a moment later. “Frat’s always invite sororities to their parties.”

Ah the real mystery is solved. I swear, behind every brave and stupid decision a man makes, there’s a woman. In my case it just so happens to be my mother.

I laugh again. “I guess it’s our duty as new students to scope out the local talent.”

“Damn straight!” He pumps his fist.

“So, when is it?” I ask.

“Meh, half an hour. Probably take us at least an hour to find it though. The frat house isn’t on campus proper. Unless you’ve got a car?” He asks this last part hopefully. It’s that tone that would make me lie if I actually did.

A car is a tool just like any other, only it’s one of those tools that everyone who doesn’t have one wants to borrow or ask you to use for them. I’m glad I don’t have to lie. It would be a pain in the ass dodging him all year when he found out that I had. “Nope.”

“Then we walk!” he says, striking a pose straight out of an old colonial painting, foot up on the bed, chin high, pointing off into space.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully exuberant.”

“And you’re not?” he asks in disbelief.

I’m really not. Not because I’m a downer, it’s just that the few parties like this that I’ve been to have been full of idiots. Call me judgmental, but I’m inclined to think that a frat party’s going to be even worse, full of self-important, self-entitled douchebags. On the other hand, they’re likely well-off douchebags with free beer. Also, Brett’s not wrong about college girls.

I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet if I manage to hook up with someone and Brett’s here. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess.

I check my phone to see how much it needs to charge. I don’t expect to be needing it at the party. Hell, I might even forget I’ve got it on me. Only I can’t take the chance that Mom might call and need something. It’s unlikely. Dad’s made sure she’s being taken care of. Even so, I don’t want it dying on me just in case.

When I see that the little battery marker up in the corner is at 100% I do a double take. My phone hadn’t been plugged in when I started playing. It should be just about dead, not higher than when I started. I stare at it, then at the tiny scar on my hand. Had my chip somehow charged it while it was in use? Weird, but very cool.

“Alright, let’s get going then,” I say, hopping off my bed.

A short while later, we’re out the door and hiking across campus. We make a few wrong turns and have to double back but eventually we’re on the right track. As we get nearer though, the sounds of laughter and music reaching us from half a block away, Brett slows almost to a stop.

I’m several steps ahead of him before I realize what he’s done and turn around to make sure he’s okay. “You good?”

He gives a slow nod. The kind that says “Yes, but…” It’s an expression I hate. Fortunately, this time it only mildly irritates me, a very pleasant change. I don’t like what he’s doing. I’m also not going to make something out of it. The damn Doc’s game really is helping.

“Look I wouldn’t normally bring this up,” he says, catching up to me and coming to a full stop. He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Only we’re going to be roommates. And I know we’re about to go to a party and all, it’s just…I had a cousin who was into drugs. Started with weed, worked his way up to meth. Really fucked him up. He’s been in jail a few times.” This last he stresses like it’s the worst thing in the world. Honestly, he’s not too far off, at least for some people. It could have been a whole lot worse for me, truth be told.

“And if there’s illegal substances found in our dorm, it’s both of us that take the fall for it,” he says.

Okay, I get that. Considering my own semi-parole status, I even appreciate it. What I don’t get is why he feels the need to bring this up with me.

“No problem,” I say. “Not into drugs.”

He holds up his hands. “Look I’m not judging. There’s no need to lie to me.”

I narrow my eyes. Why would he think I’m lying? Unless…oh damn it. He thinks that’s why I sent him out of the dorm. Why he found me in the exact same spot he left me in. Damn, this just got awkward.

“I’m not into drugs, Brett.”

He deflates a little. “If you say so. Just…don’t bring anything into the dorm room, okay? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Won’t be an issue.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the disappointed set of his shoulders. “Whatever, man. My cousin was pretty good at hiding it. Good at lying about it, sometimes even to himself, I think. What you put into your body’s your business, just—hey!”

I’m leaving him. If he’s convinced of something and just as convinced I’m lying about it then there’s not much I can do to change his mind. At least there’s a party waiting for me. Maybe a pretty girl and a few cans of beer besides.

“Hold up!” For a little guy he can really move. He’s at my side a moment later.

“What?” I say, without slowing down.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t make assumptions. You say you’re good, you’re good.”

I don’t stop, making him hurry to keep up. “Damn straight I’m good.”

“I’m just really trying to keep out of trouble,” he says.

I glance at him sideways. “And you’re going to a frat party?”

“Uh…okay, fair point.”

We close the rest of the distance in silence. The dour mood doesn’t last long.

I’d thought the party wouldn’t actually start until well after the designated time. I was wrong. Things were in full swing. Best guess is there wasn’t much else to do for us early arrivals. People screamed. Music blared. Cars lined the streets.

And vehicle in particular was stopped in front of the house next to the frat house. It’s a 2008 Ford F-150 pickup, good condition but clearly used, and just as clearly stalled. The hood is up and several guys in those colorful short shorts are hovering around it. Mostly showing just how useless they are, making suggestions that sound more like random guesswork.

Drawing near, I suddenly understand their interest.

The car clearly belonged to a pair of beautiful girls. One is a Latina in a crimson sun dress. It is her I’m guessing the car belongs to. Under any other circumstances I’d have walked right up to her and offered my assistance. Except that I recognize the other young woman, which is why I’m guessing the girl in the red dress is the truck owner.

The second girl is tall, elegant, and blonde, an icy but no less beautiful opposite to her Latina companion. Those frosted eyes fall on me, widen in surprise and then narrow.

“Aaron,” she says politely, voice brimming with false warmth. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

Oh, I very much doubt that. I give her a nod of greeting anyway. “Hello, Lusitania.”

Chapter Fourteen

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“I heard you were attending here,” Lusitania says. “I didn’t think you’d already arrived. Who’s your friend?”

Brett starts blubbering again. The stutter goes on for a few minutes while Lusitania offers him a patient smile, like she’s the angel of grace, and waits for him to pull himself together long enough to gape at me and say, “Y-y-you know them?”

“Articulate, isn’t he?” the girl in the red dress asks. Where Lusitania is tall and willowy, like a runway model, only healthy, she’s on the shorter side, curvier, but in an athletic way. Clearly her truck breaking down has her in a foul mood.

“I know Lusitania,” I say. I don’t want to call us cousins, we really aren’t. “Her aunt married my Dad.”

“So, you’re cousins, then?” Brett says, loudly. Loud enough that there’s a collective release of tension from the gathered crowd of the girls’ admirers. If any of them are hoping to score with Lusitania they’ve got another thing coming. She’d just as soon castrate them.

I’ve only ever glimpsed behind that perfect mask of hers twice. That was two times too many.

Neither Lusitania nor I bother to correct Brett. We know what we are and what we aren’t.

“I don’t know you, though,” I say to the other girl, offering my hand for a shake. It amazes me how often guys will forget this simple gesture with a woman, especially among the people I tend to spend time with. My mother beat out any intentional misogyny out of me growing up. I look her in the eyes and when she takes my hand I don’t treat her like she’ll break if I squeeze too hard.

From her smile she appreciates this. The girl’s got one hell of a grip, too. Like, seriously, damn good. Her arm is more toned now that I’ve got a good look at it. She’s definitely some kind of athlete.

“Isabella,” she says. There’s a cockiness to her tone that I immediately find attractive. I’d find it a lot more attractive if she wasn’t in the company of Lusitania.

“Aaron,” I say, the gesture to her car, releasing her hand. “What’s the problem?”

“Battery’s dead,” says one of the frat boys. His stupid little shorts are some pastel shade that’s probably called “seafoam” or “aquamarine” or something equally stupid. “I tried giving her a jump. Didn’t help.”

I glance at the vehicle. The lights are still on inside.

“It’s not the battery,” I say, and pull out my phone to use the flashlight feature. It’s not really dark out, but it’s getting there fast. A few more minutes and it’s going to be hard to see under the hood.

“What, you’re a trained mechanic now?” Seafoam asks.

“Yes, actually.” That shuts him up.

Half an hour later, the truck starts up. I’m sweaty and my hands up to my elbows are covered with grease—but I fixed it. The problem was nothing but a loose spark plug. F-150’s built between 2000 and 2010 are mildly infamous for issues like this. I’d have had it done sooner but I wanted to give everything at least a cursory inspection just in case there was something more serious needing to be looked at.

“Holy shit,” Isabella says. “I was sure I was going to have to get it towed and taken in to the shop.” She hops up and kisses me on the cheek.

My chest swells. I’m definitely feeling like a big damn hero. I’ve even earned the respect of some of the short shorts squad. Not sure if that’s worth having or not. It can’t hurt, I decide. Several of them were hovering around like vultures the entire time I worked, a few even asked questions. I did my best to answer them, but I really prefer to do my work in peace.

Still…well to do college kids who all probably have cars, used or otherwise…I grin at them all. “Any of you have car problems, I promise I’m a lot cheaper than the dealership.”

That earns a few good-natured laughs.

I look down to Isabella, who’s grinning at me like I’m a knight in shining armor. She doesn’t even care that my hands are covered in engine grease, taking one in her own. “Can I get you a drink?”

Beer and a beautiful face? Oh, I really like her. “No hay bronca, bonita.”

Her whole face lights up. “¿Tu hablas Espanol?”

I hold my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Poquito.”

The whole while Lusitania’s been watching with polite disinterest from the side. She’s too well together to complain, especially when a friend of hers is in trouble, but I know she’d rather actually be inside where the party is. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was here to keep me from getting close to Isabella, because as soon as her friend takes my hand there’s a momentary splintering of her mask. Not enough to make it slip, just enough that she looks momentarily rigid instead of her usual flawless self.

Brett turns to her with a gallant, and totally nerdy bow. “Can I get you a drink?”

She smiles at him and with an innocent tilt of her head says firmly, “No.”

Brett doesn’t seem to know what to make of this. She’s not being rude, just exceptionally firm. No games, no dithering, or polite excuse. Just firm denial. Most guys I’ve met have no idea what to do when something like that happens and Brett, unfortunately, isn’t the exception.

He stands there blinking as Lusitania turns and heads into the house, the colorful shorts brigade immediately moving in to swarm her. Isabella and I follow suit.

There’s an area cordoned off inside with several kegs and a table stacked high with red plastic cups. Lusitania is already nearly there, several guys offering her drinks.

“Let’s head to the kitchen first,” Isabella says, holding up our hands together. “We’ll wash up first. They’ll have some dish soap there.”

This girl gets sexier by the minute. It’s a random thing but that she knows dish soap is necessary to cut through engine grease means she’s got some degree of experience with this sort of thing. I like a girl who’s not afraid to get dirty.

Unfortunately, Brett follows us into the kitchen.

“Dude, your cousin’s kind of a bitch,” he whines.

Isabella and I are in the middle of washing our hands together. It’s a sweet moment, definitely some flirty playfulness going on here, and he’s not taking the damn hint to skedaddle.

I roll my eyes at him. It’s not that I disagree with him. Hell, if anyone ever had the balls to say that to Lusitania’s face she’d probably secretly agree with them, all while feigning hurt and confusion, of course. “Ladies” did not take open pride in a guy calling them a bitch. No, the thing that pisses me off is that she really hadn’t done anything to earn the label this time. She shot him down hard. She wasn’t mean about it, just firm. But Brett’s ego is hurt. And admittedly it takes a lot to put yourself out there and make a move on a girl like Lusitania or Isabella.

Fortunately, I’m saved from having to break bro-code by Isabella. “Quit whining and grow some huevos.”

Damn. I think I’m in love. Is it too soon to propose?

Brett doesn’t seem to know what to do with this any more than Lusitania’s hard rejection. He looks to me, like he’s expecting me to say something. I just shrug. I don’t disagree with her. It sucks he got shot down, even if it is for the best—I wouldn’t wish a relationship with Lusitania on my worst enemy—but he’s taking it like a bitch.

He crosses his arms. “What happened to ‘bros before hos?’”

I feel Isabella stiffen beside me.

“No hos here,” I say. That earns me a quick grin from Isabella. Worth it. Also, since when are we ‘bros?’ It wasn’t even an hour ago that this guy was accusing me of being an addict. “Seriously, man up. There’s plenty of pretty girls here. And you don’t want to start anything with Lusitania anyway.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Just trust me on this,” I say. “The crazy is not worth it. Now, go get fishing.”

Reluctantly he heads off, leaving me and Isabella as alone as the party allows.

“Crazy, huh?” she asks. And now she’s giving me a funny look.

“You disagree?” I ask. “How long have you known her anyway?”

She shrugs. “We were roommates last year. Worked out well enough that we’re sharing a house off-campus now.”

I’m floored. “You actually live with her? You’re a brave woman.”

That earns a laugh. “Brave, but not stupid enough to call her crazy where she can here me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You call her crazy behind her back?”

“I never call her crazy anywhere,” she says laughing. “She’d somehow know.”

I’m about to laugh but Lusitania enters the kitchen just then, angelic face stony. She’s heard me all right. Dammit.

“Isabella,” she says. “A word?”

Isabella gives my arm a quick squeeze. “Catch you in a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t forget I owe you a drink for fixing my car.”

That’s something at least. The look Lusitania gives me over her shoulder as they leave, however, does not fill me with hope.

Chapter Fifteen

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“All I’m saying,” says Alex. “Is that you really should consider all your options. Seriously, Bro, think about the benefits.”

It’s a weird feeling, being scouted by a frat boy who wants me to pledge. Considering my temper and the inevitable hazing that accompanies pledges, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m ineligible. You don’t think about all the ways having a prison record can fuck you up until you’ve got one.

Neither of these things are points I want to explain to Alex. He’s a nice enough guy, maybe a year or two older than me. I don’t know what his official title is but he’s an officer in his frat. He’s wearing those stupid shorts like the rest of them, bright ladybug red, and holding a beer. He actually met me when I stepped out of the kitchen with another cup ready for me, which I am damn glad to be drinking.

I’m not a big drinker, but sometimes I really just need to kick back a cold one and it’s been way, way too long since I’ve indulged. The better part of a year, really. I wasn’t about to drink during my trial, couldn’t while I was incarcerated, and was in too much of a rush and trapped beneath parental supervision after I got out. Objectively speaking it’s not a great brew, a little warm, a little flat, and I definitely would have preferred it come from a bombshell like Isabella instead of a guy in girl shorts. Objectivity can take a fucking hike. I know all this shit about the beer, taste it, feel it, and I don’t give a crap. After so long, it’s the best damn drink I’ve ever had.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. It’s a coward’s excuse. I won’t consider it. I know I’m ineligible. I just don’t want to admit it. Alex is doing his best to be welcoming and inclusive, I don’t want to throw it all back in his face with a hard no. “Tell you what, though, your boys need their cars worked on, you send them my way. I’ll give them the Alpha-Alpha-Epsilon discount.”

Alex laughs. It’s a genuine laugh. He actually appreciates the offer.

The other laugh that accompanies it, is mocking. “The mechanic’s too good to join a frat?”

It’s Seafoam. I don’t know why he’s being an asshole. Truth be told, I don’t much care either. Best I can figure is he’s sore that I upstaged him outside in front of the girls. Just two weeks ago, the way he’s talking to me would have me clenching my fists and making ready to eat his words. His tone still pisses me off, but I’m too busy marveling at the disconnect, at my newfound control and separation from my temper to care.

“Just don’t know that a frat’s for me,” I say. That’s about as diplomatic as I’m capable of.

“Good call,” Seafoam says. “You couldn’t cut it anyway.”

“As what?” I eye his shorts and buttoned up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “A metrosexual transvestite? I’m good.” I give Alex a nod, say, “Thanks for the beer,” and leave the group behind before I do something really stupid. I’ve got a better hold of my temper now. Doesn’t mean I’m in perfect control. All things considered, I think it’s best I not test that.

I step outside and make my way around to the side of the house, figuring that’s the spot where there’s likely to be the least activity. It’ll give me a moment to take some deep breaths and get myself completely under check. Doc’s game is helping, no doubt about it, but why take the chance?

As I near the corner, however, I hear a pair of familiar voices talking. I’m about to turn and leave them to it when I realize that they’re talking about me.

“Seriously, Bella?” Lusitania says, and her controlled mask is gone. There’s genuine frustration and disdain in her voice, nothing she would ever let her rich parents or any of their friends see. “You can do so much better than Aaron.”

Thanks for that Lus.

“I like a man who’s good with his hands,” Isabella says back. “You’ve been giving him the stink eye since you saw him. No, don’t deny it. I know your tells, girl. He’s your cousin, that’s got to count for something, no?”

“He is not my cousin,” Lusitania snaps. “His gutter-trash maggot-dicked father seduced my aunt, while the pony fucker was still married.”

A real angel, Lusitania.

“You got such a way with words when you cut loose. You ever think about writing some of this down? You know, modern poetry?”

“This is not funny!”

I swear I can hear her stamp her foot like a little girl.

“Look, whatever, his dad’s a cheating scumbag. Doesn’t mean Aaron is.”

Thank you, Isabella. I knew I liked her.

“He has no future, Bella. He’s trouble.” Lusitania sounds exasperated. She must have been trying to hammer this point home since she dragged Isabella out of the kitchen.

“Because he’s a mechanic?”

“Because he’s a fucking convict.” The words are released in an angry hiss. “He’s got no plans. No ambition. And even if he did, how’s Dick-For-Brains going to make it happen? The only reason that shit-stained-ass-munch is here is because his father asked mine to pull some strings.”

Well that explained a lot. Lusitania’s father was a United States senator. Her mother came from money, which, if I’m remembering right, is how her father became a senator in the first place—marrying a rich girl’s as good a way as any to funding your ambitions. Hell, it worked just great for Dad.

My budding nausea is interrupted by Isabella’s quiet voice. “He’s a convict?”

“Cut some kind of deal and got early release,” Lusitania says. “Dad told me to stay away from him.”

“And you always do what your father says?” There’s a teasing note in Isabella’s voice. One that I don’t think many people could get away with using with Lusitania.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Lusitania snaps. “Of course not. If he didn’t piss me off so much I’d make friends with him just to spite Dad. But he’s so damn smug, acting like he hasn’t caught the luckiest break in his useless maggoty life. He hasn’t earned the right to be here. He didn’t put in the effort. Hell, he probably doesn’t even want to be here.”

“And your Daddy didn’t make any calls on your behalf?” Isabella says.

“Probably, but I told him not to. I worked my ass off to get into this school. I did all the right extracurriculars, tailored my resume, and kept my grades perfect.”

They’re entering the real meat of Lusitania’s problems but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. Girl-code’s just as strong as guy-code. If my not-really-cousin shits all over the idea of Isabella and me getting together, then it’s not happening. I storm away from the corner, fists clenched, stomach tight.

I don’t know what’s got me more pissed off, the way Lusitania was talking about me like I’m complete and utter shit, which her father clearly agrees with, or the fact that I don’t entirely disagree with her points. What the hell was I doing at this school? What kind of future did I have? I’d never really considered things further than a few months down the road at a time. With my prison record, what options did I really have available for me that I wouldn’t have to carve out for myself? What girl was going to want a real relationship with me? Not just a hookup, a genuine, honest-to-God relationship?

I was forever relegated to one-night stands and girls who just wanted to use me to piss off their daddies.

I’m so pissed off that I’m not really watching where I’m going. Unsurprisingly, because of this I bump into someone as I make it out onto the front lawn. It’s Seafoam. And my bump just made him spill his beer all over the girl he was hitting on. She shrieks and pulls away as he whirls on me.

Glaring into my eyes, he slaps my red cup out of my hand, splashing the rest of my beer all over my front. I’m soaked and stink. I look down at my empty cup, at the beer drenching me that I didn’t get to finish. The first beer I’d had in over half a year.

Seafoam’s talking some kind of trash but I’m not listening. His words are too irritating to pay attention to. But they won’t stop. He’s in my face. Trying to be a tough guy. Trying to make me back down, prove who’s really alpha.

All of the frustration that’s been building over the past few minutes explodes out of me and my fist connects with his mouth.

He staggers back a step. I take a step forward and punch again, this time catching him in the throat.

He chokes and falters back another step. Again, I follow up and this time deliver a round house that sends him sprawling to the ground. Who’s top dog now, bitch?

He’s not unconscious, just moaning on the ground. It’s so pathetic that I hesitate. That hesitation lets me hear the gasps and screams going up all around me. A quick look around reveals that everyone’s pulled back. Several people are snapping photos with their phones or maybe recording this. Some are laughing. Most are horrified.

I’ve violated their safe little world. I doubt if one in every ten of these students has ever actually been in a fight. Violence just isn’t a part of their lives. The girls especially seem sickened. I don’t know a lot about girls, but the “alpha male” aspect that so many find attractive actually has very little to do with real violence. I’ve crossed the line in many of their eyes from sexy to dangerous.

Worst of all, when I turn around I find Isabella and Lusitania watching from the porch. Isabella is gaping. Lusitania’s mask is firmly in place. Even so, I swear I can feel her smirking, looking down on me. I knew you’d never be more than trash her look seems to say.

There’s no salvaging this. No saving face.

I’ll probably be expelled before the semester ever begins. Hell, I might even be back in prison before the end of the month.

Without another word, I head back for my dorm.

Chapter Sixteen

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I wasn’t expelled or sent back to prison.

Some photos of me standing over Seafoam surfaced on social media, and someone had even made a .gif of my first punch with the caption “Shut Yo Damn Mouth!” It was probably funnier to everyone else. Me? It captured just how suddenly I’d snapped. How quick I’d been to escalate things to the next level and how unprepared the rest of the world is for that.

Officially there was no punishment. Nobody could report things to a higher authority without bringing problems down on the party where there’d been an incalculable amount of underage drinking. Seafoam might’ve pushed for something anyway, but I think I scared him. Either that or he was satisfied with the frat’s decision.

Unofficially, I’d been blacklisted from every Greek party on campus. No sorority girls or free beer for me. I could still see Isabella and Lusitania’s faces, watching me from the porch almost a month later. I hadn’t even managed to keep out of trouble before the semester officially began.

Mom and Dad had both called to individually express their disappointment. Dad’s didn’t count for much, though it chafed knowing that my screwup might have cost Mom his support. Mom on the other hand, her disappointment hurt. Worse still, she seemed to have been expecting it. Like she’d preemptively been disappointed in preparation for this moment.

I threw myself into Kaiju Wars Online. Much as I hated to admit it, the developers knew what they were doing when they made it. I felt like a better version of myself. Unfortunately, that only made me more aware of my shortcomings. My answer to this? More gaming.

In the month since the party, the semester had officially started and I’d begun classes. The workload wasn’t bad. Sure, there was a lot, but I only had three things outside of class occupying my time. Homework, the occasional mechanic job, and Kaiju Wars. Alex it turned out was a pretty cool guy. Even if I wasn’t welcome at his frat’s parties, he’d helped spread the word that I was a cheaper alternative than taking your car into the shop. Slowly but surely, I was building up a savings.

Once that accomplishment would have filled me with pride. And I was proud of what I’d managed to do, don’t think I wasn’t. It just didn’t hold a candle to the progress I’d made with Taisaur. With the help of Xenatlas, Solrin, and Megaptera taking it in turn to team up with me, plus plenty of soloing in between, Taisaur had hit level 10. His stats had progressed on their own, based on the build I’d made for him, just like Xenatlas had expected. The other’s said there could be some wiggle room once I hit level sixteen. Until then, my stats would basically reflect my original array.

I’d gotten a lot of flak for pumping Taisaur’s Special Defense as high as I had. Apparently, it was serious overkill for what our alien opponents could throw at us. The hover tanks’ attacks didn’t even register anymore and Taisaur could easily soak up multiple fly-over attacks. It made me feel invincible, so screw those guys and what they thought. I did miss not having some kind of ranged attack though. Taisaur’s speed helped to compensate but only by so much. Combined with his more than decent Attack and Defense stats, and his sky-high HP, Taisaur usually outlasted the other kaiju, even though they were higher level, albeit, not so much higher as they used to be.

I think I was playing the game way more than them. It’s the only explanation.

Whatever the case, the level and stats weren’t nearly as exciting as what they meant. It was tough to say for sure, but Taisaur had to be nearing one hundred and fifty feet. The growth rate seems to be ten feet for every level he went up. We’re only this many experience points away from being as tall as Godzilla in the original film!

Unfortunately, it was getting exponentially more difficult to level up. What used to easily net me a level now got me only a fraction of the way near where I needed to be. This meant more playing, which I was fine with. Brett was less fine with it.

I still had never played in front of my roommate. We got on all right, but I still didn’t want him watching me while I played. My time with Taisaur wasn’t exactly private but playing as Taisaur with other players actually in the game was different from playing with someone else just watching me.

I’d had to find a new place to play. Not having to worry about charging my phone helped. Hell, I hadn’t charged it since discovering that holding it in my right hand juiced it up. After a few days, I’d found a way onto the roof of the dormitory. A quick stint online shopping for used goods netted me a lawn chair and one of those poolside umbrellas. I had my gaming station.

Today I’d hurried back onto the roof after class, rushing to meet my friends online. Xenatlas had been assigned a secret mission. If we succeeded he’d get real cash and some kind of in-game benefit. What that was exactly, was unclear, but after telling us in the HUB we were all more than happy to help him hit his target.

Taisaur, says Solrin, after I’d hauled myself onto the roof and gotten situated in my lawn chair. Where’ve you been?

I’ve got a life, what’s your excuse? I reply.

Don’t need one, Solrin says. I’m fucking awesome.

Taisaur, don’t pretend you have a life, Xenatlas says through his kaiju’s roaring. You are leveling up way too fast to have anything resembling a life. You’re probably holed up in a basement somewhere living on ramen and Red-Hot Cheetos, all neon and pasty and shit.

Mmm, Red-Hot Cheetos, says Megaptera. Dammit, Xen! Now you’ve got me craving them.

Sounds like you’re spending a lot of time thinking about me, Xen, I say, laughing. It’s never going to happen between us. Let it go.

Cue the Disney song, says Megaptera.

No! shouts Solrin while Xenatlas splutters. No, no, no. Don’t you fucking dare!

Can we get a move on this? Xenatlas says, recovering. Thank you all for teaming up for this. I think this might actually be the single largest team-up attack since the game was started.

It is? I’d never played with more than one of them at a time but I’d figured that was purely coincidental.

There’s only a little over a hundred players, Megaptera reminds me. Game’s still in beta. And there’s only so much EXP reward you get for teaming up.

That was somewhat true. While there weren’t any penalties for teaming up with other players to level a city, there weren’t any bonuses either. And there was only so much smashing material to go around. Eventually you found yourself competing for buildings to tear down or tanks to demolish.

You sure us being here isn’t going to mess up your mission? I ask Xenatlas.

Certain, Xenatlas said. The mission is to destroy this city’s capital building. I’m allowed to bring other players along. Hell, I got the impression that the fact I could get you guys to join in might actually be why I got this mission.

Huh, I say. Weird.

Definitely weird, Megaptera says. But who cares? Let’s go smash some shit!

I laugh but we all echo the sentiment and a few moments later the four of us are towering over the green-lit buildings of a downtown metropolis. Another thing I’ve got to credit the designers with, after a city’s demolished, we never repeat that level.

Taisaur’s grown a ton since I first got him after playing the blob. Even so, standing near these others, it’s clear he’s still the smallest kaiju in the group. The second shortest is a good thirty feet taller than him.

Only Xenatlas has hit level sixteen. He’s got to be at least two hundred feet tall. The downtown buildings are looking more like toys beside him. Soon I’m going to catch him up, I think. A few more weeks. Maybe by this time next month.

I haven’t told any of my online friends but I’ve got a private goal of seeing Taisaur’s size rival Godzilla’s. Not the original’s, the newer models, the ones the studio’s keep making bigger and bigger. I’ve got an even further way to go to hit those numbers than catching up on Xenatlas. Still, go big or go home, right?

In the distance sirens wail. Below us, little alien people scream and begin running, just like an old kaiju flick.

All right, says Megaptera. Military will be incoming any second. What’s the plan?

It’s Solrin who responds, mane bristling to life with motion and crackling energy as he bellows, unleashing a fiery gale that washes over everything ahead of him in a wave. Apparently, his attack is called Solar Wind. Accurately named or not, in an instant, downtown is aflame. Wreck everything until we hit the capital building!

I laugh. It’s stupid but that’s about as good as our planning’s going to get. This isn’t a game for careful tactics and strategy. It’s about release. Letting everything go that you have to bottle up in the real world and unleashing hell here.

And that’s just what we do, hauling off in all different directions. The buildings don’t just crumble behind me anymore. They all but explode with the force of my strikes. Green fire from the alien hover tanks and military personnel on the ground bounce harmlessly off of me as I tear through everything, reveling in my power. As Taisaur I am invincible.

And then an explosive series of green lights flash and my health bar begins to drop. Something’s hit me, hard. I whip around a building, taking cover. The damage wasn’t that much, especially not to Taisaur, but the fact that he’s hurt at all makes me hesitate.

Hey, Xenatlas, I say, Taisaur bellowing out a roar in time with my question. Do you have any idea why this place is some kind of special target?

No, Xenatlas cries back, his words accompanied by a much deeper roar.

The building I’m hiding behind explodes in a torrent of green energy. Several new models of hover tank are waiting for me on the other side, easily twice as big as the old ones. They’ve got three cannons, spinning above them like Gatling guns, throwing out huge blasts of green energy way faster than anything I’ve seen them able to dish out before.

Taisaur’s health bar flashes, the meter steadily dropping as I soak up the hits. If they’re doing that much damage to Taisaur, they’re going to hit my friends a whole lot harder.

I take off, trying to think of a way to counter the alien’s new weapons. I think I just found out!

SOLRIN

Chapter Seventeen

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Taisaur flees across the city, and the alien tanks follow.

My health bar flashes as the hits began to stack up. I tear off to the left, ripping through buildings and exploding out on another street, only to discover more military forces. These new hover tanks are easily the most powerful thing in their arsenal, but there were a lot of other soldiers and tanks that had been behind them.

I rip through some of them before the tanks catch up—not only are these new models packing more firepower, they are a lot faster. Someone has been working behind the scenes to up the challenges. Good. Everything was starting to feel too easy.

Damn it! Solrin cried out. Those new tanks pack a wallop! I just lost a quarter of my health.

I’d been right. Taisaur could soak up those hits a lot better than my friend’s kaiju. It made me feel a spark of pride. And they’d said my Special Defense was useless. Hmm…that gives me an idea.

Hey guys, I cry out. Can you lure the military into that big street in the middle of the city?

Hey I think that one ends at the capitol building! Xenatlas says.

Xen, Taisaur roars with my words. Think you guys can do it?

Probably, Megaptera says. Why? What are you planning?

Those new tanks can barely scratch Taisaur, I say, tearing through several more buildings to avoid the air strike that’s just come in, turning the street white behind me. Those used to hurt even if Taisaur had only been peripherally caught in their blast. Now, only direct hits bothered us.

I’m thinking if you can lay down some cover fire, I can close in and tear right through them, I say.

A suicide run, Taisaur? Solrin asks. Really? Didn’t take you for the type.

Oh please, Xenatlas says. Remember how we met? Hadn’t even been playing five minutes and he tries charging me down.

That’s met with several laughs, including my own. Not suicide, I clarify. Taisaur can take the hits if you’re putting down cover fire.

And what about friendly fire? Xenatlas asks.

I grin. I can’t help it. I’ve finally figured out the perfect use for my Special Defense stat. Let me worry about that. Are you game?

Trying to get them to aggro and come back to the main thoroughfare, Solrin says.

The what? Megaptera asks.

The main road, genius, Solrin snaps. Seriously, were you dropped on your head as a child?

Whatever, Megaptera grumps. If you want them on the big street just say the big street.

But it’s a thoroughfare, Solrin says. Not just a street.

Does it fucking matter? Xenatlas asks. Just get there!

We convene almost back where we started. Saucers pass by overhead, bombing us. Our collective HP drops but our kaiju stand strong. The ground forces are trying to reach us, new tanks in the lead. They’re blasts are quickly whittling down my friend’s HP.

Ready? I ask.

Dammit, Taisaur, this better work, Megaptera says. I’m getting sick of this green shit lighting me up.

You guys just do your part and I’ll do mine, I say, and take off, charging right at the tanks.

All of them concentrate their fire on me. Taisaur’s HP drops. Steadily and fast.

And then the first energy attack from my friends fires overhead, smashing into one of the tanks. Another blast follows. Then another.

The tanks are forced to adjust their fire or they’ll be destroyed before I even reach them. The forces behind them instead concentrate on me. They’re attacks are in vain. Cumulatively they’re impressive but the game doesn’t recognize their attacks as a collective whole, just a ton of individual strikes, each too puny to break through Taisaur’s Special Defense.

My friend’s attacks come faster, harder. They’re blowing up everything their special attacks will let them reach. This includes Taisaur. He vanishes in a torrent of flame, white stormy light, and red energy beams, the latter fired from Megaptera’s beady eyes.

I feel my grin growing wider as I overflow with joyous savagery. Their attacks do as much damage to my kaiju as the tanks, but it’s not enough. Taisaur’s still kicking. I pour on the speed and lower Taisaur’s head.

My kaiju explodes out of the maelstrom of energy upon the unsuspecting military who lost sight of Taisaur amidst my friend’s onslaught. The tanks that haven’t already exploded are impaled or smashed aside. After them, the rest of the army falls beneath Taisaur’s charge, flattened, skewered, or tossed aside in his wake of destruction. In a shockingly short amount of time, they’re gone and Taisaur’s at the end of the road.

I leap and crash head first into the capital building. The middle of it, where Taisuar’s impact hits, simply vanishes. There one second. Gone the next. The other’s kaiju follow up the attack from their distance. The remaining parts of the building go up in flames. We’ve won!

Yes! Xenatlas cries out. Yes yes yes!

I’m about to let out my own victorious cry when Megaptera lets out a cry of his own. Only it’s not victorious. Guys, something just hit me from behind

What’s the damage? Solrin asks.

Uh, I don’t think there is any, Megaptera says, sounding confused. That’s weird.

Mega, there is nothing weirder than you, Solrin says. But a second later he’s crying out as well. What the hell was that?

See? Megaptera demands. See that? I am not fucking crazy. Something hit me.

Think the military’s got another weapon? Xenatlas asks.

Possibly, I say. If it’s not doing any damage, who cares?

Okay, it just hit me too, Xenatlas says. He sounds like he’s contemplating what had just happened. Weird. Anyone see where it came from?

I take a moment to actually survey the city. We hadn’t been here long and half of that time our efforts had been concentrated on the main thoroughfare. And still the city was almost entirely demolished. Some buildings had been smashed in half, but most were simply piles of rubble with a few odd exceptions.

Looked like some kind of beam from that cluster of buildings we haven’t smashed yet, Solrin says. He turns his kaiju to face the largest clusters of those exceptions.

Maybe there’s some kind of weapon hidden in the buildings, Megaptera suggests. Xen, you sure that was the capital building we just smashed?

Pretty sure, Xenatlas says. Let’s be sure though.

On it, Megaptera says, charging forward. He smashes into the buildings and the topple over in clouds of dust.

Then his kaiju is roaring. Not the roar that accompanies us every time we talk. A primal roar of pain and defeat. And then it’s gone. So’s Megaptera.

Holy shit, did anyone see what happened? Solrin asks. I didn’t see anything.

A beam of energy shoots out from the cloud of wreckage. It’s transparent, almost invisible. I can only tell it’s there because it ripples like the world’s most violent heatwave within its confines. The beam catches Solrin right in the chest.

He glances down at it in confusion. The instant his kaiju takes its attention away from the dust cloud a white blur bursts out of it. In a glittering flash, the enormous white shape is on him. There’s another flash as it zips by and a spray of red blood sprays out of Solrin like a tidal wave. The sheer amount of it is almost cartoonish.

His kaiju topples over, falling to the thoroughfare. He’s not dead but it’s close.

The blur abouts face and comes back. It’s clearly aiming for Solrin to finish him off.

I leap from the remains of the capital building and sprint down the path of wreckage we’d created just moments before. I’d felt so fast then. I’m not fast enough now.

Xenatlas has less distance to close though and he steps in front of the blur, forcing it to adjust its course. For the first time I see what we’re dealing with.

It’s not something that the military’s cooked up. It’s another kaiju. Moving too quickly for me to get more than glimpse of crystals, a lean, dinosaur-esque build, and claws so long that my imagination must be exaggerating their length, the attacking kaiju nimbly avoids Xenatlas’s counter attack, spinning about to lash at him with those stupidly long claws.

Blood geysers from his kaiju. Xenatlas staggers.

That’s all the opening our new enemy needs. The crystal kaiju darts around Xenatlas, striking the head from Solrin as he tries to get to his feet, then zips away.

Fucking PKer! Xenatlas screams. I’ve never heard Xenatlas this angry before. It’ s no wonder. There’s no doubt that some PVP action in Kaiju Wars is premeditated and agreed upon beforehand. Personally, I’d love to have a few one on one showdowns with Taisaur against some other kaiju. But that’s not what’s happening now and even though we’ve technically completed the mission, I wonder if Xenatlas will still get the reward he was promised if his kaiju gets killed here.

There’s an echoing roar in response to Xenatlas’s cry. It’s more like a bird caw, than a roar, and it’s accompanied by feminine laughter. Our enemy’s a girl.

That concentrated, rippling beam strikes Taisaur as I reach Xenatlas. I almost miss what it does because the result is so miniscule. Taisaur doesn’t take any damage. Instead, his HP bar shrinks. Our opponent’s special attack somehow lets her lower our Kaiju’s over all HP so that her attacks deal more damage when they land. That’s fucking wicked.

The damn thing’s back as soon as I’ve had the thought and I throw Taisaur to the side. The crystalline kaiju zooms past me. Only I’m not her target.

Xenatlas’s kaiju bellows, then topples over. A moment later the body vanishes, and I’m left alone with Taisaur in a ruined city facing down a kaiju that clearly delights in taking down other kaiju.

A single expletive escapes me that I feel effectively sums up my situation. “Fuck.”

MEGAPTERA

Chapter Eighteen

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My imagination hadn’t lied to me. Looking at the kaiju in front of me I wish it had. Those crystal claws are longer than some kaiju’s arms.

The city’s a pile of ruins, only bits and pieces remaining. Nothing that this kaiju can use for cover. She doesn’t seem to be trying to find it thought. I’m on my own, easily the lowest level of her opponents. She stalks forward slowly and I swear I hear laughing. She’s enjoying this, thinking she’s intimidating me as she flexes those stupidly long claws.

She’s not wrong but that pisses me off. The little meter below my HP flashes and grows. Useless to me. Taisaur doesn’t have any ranged attacks or energy abilities that would draw upon the rage meter. Even if he did, his Special Attack is so abysmal it wouldn’t make a difference.

The kaiju before me is lean, almost serpentine. It’s over all shape has a lot more in common with actual dinosaurs than Taisaur, leaning forward like the T-rex. The body, beneath all that spiky white crystalline armor is dull orange. Most of its bulk in fact seems to belong to those sharp crystals.

For a moment I’m filled with hope. Taisaur’s actually taller than this thing, but then I realize that my opponent isn’t built for power. She’s built for speed. She’s long and compact and those legs of hers are powerful. A second of examination brings her public stats into focus. Her name’s Halira and her HP bar is full. Her rage meter isn’t, though it’s quickly filling back up. And she’s three levels higher than me.

Fuck.

She dropped Xenatlas, Solrin, and Megaptera, and Xenatlas was several levels higher than her. Then again, she’d ambushed him. We’d been weakened by our fight with the local military and all of them had been struck by her HP bar shrinking ray. Seriously, that kind of attack was just sick. How the hell did an attack like that help you destroy buildings or cities? As far as I could tell, none of the military’s defenses had been assigned anything even like an HP bar.

Whoever this player was, she’d designed her kaiju specifically for taking out other kaiju. What a bitch.

The beak-like mouth of my opponent opens, revealing fangs inside as it lets out a shriek, flexing its body so its crystals rattle and its claws shift, catching the light and glittering. It’s almost pretty. In the same way that an attacking great white shark is pretty.

The roar ends and from the beak fires that transparent beam of rippling energy, dropping my opponent’s rage meter. It catches me squarely in the chest and Taisaur’s maximum HP shrinks, reducing the amount of HP I have left proportionately. The effects are barely noticeable to me, bordering on negligible.

Halira must not be able to tell how ineffective her beam was though, because she lets out a triumphant shriek and charges. Minimal effect or no, my HP’s still dangerously low after everything we’ve been through. I need to come up with a strategy that can counter this thing.

Failing to do that in the split-second I’ve got before she’ll be on me, I charge right back. I swear I can see a flicker of surprise on Halira’s face before I throw myself to the side. She rushes past, claws narrowly missing Taisaur’s body in a shimmering arc that would have laid open my kaiju’s belly had they hit.

She’s moving too fast for a quick turn around like she’d managed with Xenatlas earlier and goes charging past. Halira shrieks. Puss-sucking son of a bitch!

That voice is disconcertingly familiar. Damn. No time to think about that. Her rage meter’s climbing fast, almost as fast as the torrent of obscenity she’s pouring out. It’s almost enough to make me wish I had a free hand to write this down.

I’m going to choke you out with your own shitty intestines!

She ignores her now full rage meter in favor of coming right at me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she’s moving even faster. I can’t get out of the way in time. It’s all I can do to throw Taisaur into the attack at the last minute. His horns miss. Those scythe-like claws cut furrows through his side. My HP drops rapidly but doesn’t empty. The taste of salt fills my mouth.

And Taisaur’s spiked tail lashes out. The long spines slip between the crystal spikes to drive home deep into that slight, dull orange body underneath. Taisaur’s tail is so powerful, and Halira so surprisingly light, that my opponent is lifted from the ground and sent flying through the air.

She lands hard a couple of blocks away, the impact shaking the ground hard enough that several smaller buildings that had managed to stay upright shudder and crumble. Taisaur’s HP is flashing in the red. We’re about to die.

At the renewed torrent of swearing from my opponent I reorient myself to take her in. Halira’s thrashing about on the ground, struggling to right herself and demolishing everything around her into a fine powder. It’s not her antics that have my attention though, it’s her HP. She’s in the red too.

That hit from Taisaur just about killed her.

Holy shit.

It takes me a second to realize what that actually means. Taisaur’s got a decent spread of offense and defense. He’s above average in pretty much all respects. Really, it’s not that great a build. There’s only two areas he’s really good in. HP and Special Defense. He’s growing into a more than decent tank, built to take a licking and keep on ticking.

But my opponent is built entirely around killing quickly. She’s not a fighter, she’s a sniper. A guerilla striker. She’s an optimized build, her Speed and Attack stats totally maxed out and supported by a decent Special Attack. Those crystals might be good armor, but they leave plenty or openings and are brittle, judging by how many had been cracked and shattered by Halira’s landing. I understand then, a sort of meta-detail, recalling the taste that had filled my mouth a few seconds ago. Her kaiju’s not just based on any kind of crystal. She’s salt. That’s got to be the basis for her ray attack. It’s some kind of desiccation beam, which translates statistically into attacking other kaiju’s HP stat rather than dealing damage.

Her HP and Special Defense stats are probably dump stats, left at the absolute minimum. And against anyone else that wouldn’t matter. Hell, her absent Special Defense doesn’t actually matter a whit against Taisaur. I’ve got nothing to take advantage of it. And she’s so fast that I doubt I could hit her with a ranged attack anyway.

But Taisaur can almost completely ignore her Special Attack. He soaked it right up like it was nothing, and with his bulk so high he was able to tank her attack. All of this goes through my head in the few seconds it takes Halira to get herself upright and for me to charge forward to press my advantage.

In one accidental stroke I’ve leveled the playing field. I can’t let the opportunity pass.

You cock-guzzling Canadian cum drop! She screams. I’m going to tear open your throat and shove your tiny dick down the bleeding hole!

That brings me up short. I’m still charging, still going forward with everything I’ve got, but I’m shocked. Not because of the swearing. Because I suddenly know exactly who it is I’m fighting. The recognition sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. My rage meter flashes. I’m really going to enjoy smashing her to pieces.

I’m almost on her when Halira leaps forward to meet my attack, claws extended. Out kaiju clash together, massive bodies impacting hard enough to shake the rubble-strewn ground. Streets crack. Ruined buildings shift.

There’s a flash of glittering claws, impacting a split-second before Taisaur’s horns or spikes and drive home. My HP flashes, drops, and the bar’s empty.

I jolt upright in my lawn chair so suddenly that I topple over, crashing onto the roof sideways. Swearing, I push myself upright. My mouth is dry, still filled with the taste of salt. I’d prefer the taste of victory.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I might know someone from the game in real life, even with only a little over a hundred players participating in the beta. Nor should the fact that I lost. Half the fun of a kaiju movie isn’t actually watching them just smash everything, it’s watching them fight against one another. Invincible as I’d felt before it was only an illusion. Especially when ambushed.

Dammit, if I’d just pushed my attack earlier instead of dodging I would have won. Taisaur had enough HP then that a real hit, backed by his full power, would have crushed that salty bitch. I take a deep breath. Then another.

I can accept the fact that I lost that fight. I was weakened, my whole group ambushed, and my opponent several levels higher. I don’t know that I could accept my loss gracefully, but I could accept it.

But why the hell did I have to lose to Lusitania?

Chapter Nineteen

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I climbed down from the roof a little while later. I’d needed a few moments to lick my wounds. Losing a fight, even a virtual fight, was bad enough. Losing to Lusitania? That was just salt in the wound. No pun intended.

Usually I’m pretty chilled out after playing the game. Something about being Taisaur, experiencing that power, that sense of invincibility and consequence-free release of my anger takes the weight of all my problems from my shoulders. It’s refreshing. Like having soaked in a hot tub or what I imagine getting a massage is like. Therapeutic. Which I guess is the point. There’s a tension that’s released. A poison purged.

I didn’t get that this time. Sore loser? Me?

I could just hear her gloating over Taisaur’s corpse. Wherever she was playing she was probably dancing a little jig in place while laughing. I hate that thought. Somehow every imagined taunt she made wasn’t just directed at me, but my kaiju. Nobody got to insult Taisaur.

I was under control enough that I was only mildly fuming when I make it back to my dorm room and step inside. Only to find a scene of utter chaos.

My room looks like the city my friends and I had just demolished. The drawers holding all my clothes have been pulled out, the contents strewn haphazardly around the room. My desk’s drawers had also been pulled out and emptied on the ground. My mattress is on its side leaning against the wall, the sheets taken off. They are crumpled up in a corner but look like they’d been gone through.

Every single thing I possess has been tossed about the room except for what I’d brought with me up to the roof. Even my laptop, which I’d had to buy for school, is open, the password lock having been bypassed. My browser history is pulled up on the screen.

Brett stands amidst the chaos, a pair of my jeans held in his hand, looking like a deer in caught in headlights. “Oh, hey. I, uh, you’re back early.”

“What the fuck?”

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. It probably would have worked better if he wasn’t still holding my pants. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

I slam the door behind me and surge forward. Brett’s quick but so am I and I’ve got both reach and strength on my side. Not to mention fury. I grab him by the shoulders as he tries to duck away and shove him into the wall hard enough that the Sheetrock shakes from the impact.

I pull back my fist, ready to plant it right in his face, but he’s already crying. Actually crying. Like with tears in his eyes.

It pulls me up short. I’m still angry. Furious actually. Beating up someone this much smaller than me who’s clearly this scared though? Distantly it occurs to me that this kind of recognition normally wouldn’t occur to me. Sore loser or not, the game’s still doing its job.

“Don’t hit me,” Brett says, and for a moment I think he’s pleading. It’s pathetic. It makes me want to hit him all over again. Except that he’s not pleading, least ways not for himself. “This isn’t some frat party! You hit me here, you might go back to jail.”

Even if I scared him into not saying anything, which I really don’t want to do, he’s probably right. He’s also been digging through my history enough to have learned about my prison record. The prick. There’s no way he won’t scream if I hit him. Our floor mates would hear. And with my record?

Fuck. He’s right. I hate that!

I don’t let him go. “I think when they learn I caught you tossing my shit to rob me they’ll be inclined to be lenient.”

Brett actually whimpers. “I’m not robbing you!”

“You’re not?” I make sure he hears my disbelief.

“No!”

I look pointedly around the room. “Then what the fuck’s this, huh? Sure looks like you’re robbing me? You just feel like tearing up my stuff?”

“No!”

“Then what are you doing?” I roar, getting right up in his face. I swear, I can almost imagine my own rage meter climbing.

“Looking for your stash!”

I blink, trying to make sense of that. “What stash? My money?”

“No! I said I wasn’t trying to rob you,” he says, and he actually has the fall to sound indignant. He glances around, as if afraid someone might have their ear pressed to the door or wall. When he speaks again, it’s almost a whisper. “I was trying to find your drugs.”

I roll my eyes. This again? “What part of I’m not taking drugs do you not get? There’s no drugs here!”

“Oh please!” And now his voice is raised, and there’s no mistaking that he really is indignant. “You go hide on the roof for hours at a time. You come back all chilled out and calm. The longer you go between your sneak-off sessions the more irritable you get. You’re super secretive and you’ve got a hair-trigger temper. Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not dealing with some kind of addiction.”

I glare right into his eyes, lowering my face so that it’s only inches from his. Our noses almost touch. “I am not dealing with some kind of addiction.”

I pull back and release him. Brett stumbles forward. I let him, and he almost falls over.

I’m mad as hell with him. I’m tempted to kick him before he can get his balance just for the joy of watching him fall to the floor. That won’t solve my problem though. He thinks I’m on drugs. He didn’t believe me before when I said I wasn’t, he won’t believe me now. Not unless I offer up some kind of excuse or justification for my behavior.

That thought alone, that I have to explain myself to anyone, almost makes me not do it out of spite. Fortunately, I recognize that urge for what it is now. I take a deep breath. My temper, my anger, is a part of me, I say to myself. That doesn’t mean that it is me.

“It’s online therapy,” I say.

Brett looks up at me, blinking wildly. “Huh?”

“What I’m doing. It’s an experimental form of therapy. It’s part of the deal I made for my early release.”

Brett straightens up. “But you come back all, almost like you’ve been high. And you get so angry if you don’t get to do whatever it is you do.”

I cross my arms. “It may have slipped your notice, but I’ve got anger management issues.”

Understanding dawns in Brett’s eyes. “It’s anger management therapy?”

“Yes,” I say curtly. It’s more explanation than he needs.

“So that thing about your Mom you said before—”

I cut him off, pointing a finger right in his face. “You do not get to talk about my Mom or call me a liar after this shit you just pulled.” I lower my hand. “But no, that was real. Mom’s…bad.”

“Guess you’ve got some reasons to be angry,” he says softly.

“You think?” I spin around and make for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

I open the door and turn around to face him. “To a bar. I need a fucking drink.” I circle my finger around the room. “And you can clean all this shit up while I’m out.”

He swallows. “That’s fair.”

Damn right it’s fair. I didn’t even beat his ass. “And if I ever catch you messing with my computer, every bully you ever had in high school is going to seem like your very best friend.”

I slam the door behind me and stalk out of the building.

I’m a good block away before I’m calm enough to think clearly again. I go over what just happened. Slamming him against the wall was technically battery wasn’t it? Assault is threat, battery is when you get physical. Fun fucking fact.

Deep breaths.

I try to consider things from Brett’s point of view.

I am a bit on the secretive side. I don’t like anyone knowing my business. And everything he’d said did make a kind of sense. From his perspective I must have been behaving oddly. Maybe even a little like his cousin.

The real question is, what had he intended to do if he’d actually found drugs in the room? I don’t do that shit. It’s a money sink and I’ve got control issues enough without some other substance fucking me up. Alcohol excluded. That’s a kind of fucked up you sometimes need.

Assuming that I had been stupid enough to keep illegal substances in the apartment, what would Brett have done when he’d found them? Turn me over to campus police probably. That was his cleanest out. The most likely way to keep himself out of trouble, at least to the mind of someone who doesn’t know how cops work. Chances were even though he’d been the one to call it in they would have still arrested him. Would he have known that? Or did he have some other goal?

If I strained to give him the benefit of the doubt I could see him getting rid of the drugs in some misguided effort to help me. I snorted. That was bullshit. But was it the kind of misguided goody-two-shoes bullshit that Brett would buy into?

I found a bar and made my way in, hopping up onto a stool and fishing out my wallet. I don’t like credit cards but they’re useful for evenings like this when you want to start a tab.

Before the bartender can take my card, however, a chorus of laughter sounds from across the bar. One of those voices sounds familiar and reflexively my eyes follow the laughter to its source.

Of all the watering holes in all the towns in the world, I’d walked into hers.

Chapter Twenty

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Isabella’s sitting at a circular table in the corner of the bar, surrounded by a half dozen girls, all laughing at something one of them had just said. Her laughter lights up her face so that she almost seems to glow among and I can’t take my eyes away. It’s been a while since I’d seen her, or even given her much thought, but seeing her now has me remembering our flirting and a little light bulb goes off in my mind. I won’t even have to contrive a reason to go talk to her.

My stomach and throat clench up as I go forward and the eyes of the table fall on me. It’s one thing to talk to a girl after solving a problem for her. I’d been riding on a competency high back at the party. It’s another to go up to her while she’s surrounded by a bunch of friends and ask her out.

“Aaron, right?” She asks as I approach. She remembers me. Hopefully only the first part of the evening and not the second.

“That’s me,” I say. “Isabella, isn’t it?” If she’s going to ask about my name I’m going to turn the same on her. She doesn’t need to know that I’d committed every detail of our encounter to memory.

She nods, still smiling. “What’s up?”

I resist the urge to clear my throat as I look her in the eyes. It’s hard. I normally don’t have an issue looking someone in the eyes—it’s what you do to show and command respect. But this girl’s eyes…I could go swimming in those dark pools and get lost in them. There’s a weight to them and I have to press against it to make my words come out.

“I believe you owe me a beer,” I say, and I’m surprised by how normal my voice sounds.

She raises her eyebrows. “I do?”

“That’s right,” I say, nodding sagely, then offer her a grin I hope is mischievous and not creepy. “For services rendered.”

She stares for a moment then bursts into laughter. “My truck!”

A moment later she’s out of her chair and skirting around her friends. “This guy saved me a trip to the mechanic,” she says to the sudden curious looks they’re offering her. “I definitely owe him a beer.”

Together we make our way up to the bar proper and she orders me something from the tap. That she doesn’t get a drink for herself puzzles me and I glance back to her table. She might have a drink there, there’s plenty of bottles, mugs, and cutsie little glasses with girly drinks her friends are drinking, but the area around her seat seems more devoid of beverages than most and I come to a conclusion.

“You’re not drinking anything,” I say.

She glances at me. “What, now?”

I nod my head at her table. “Your friends are all drinking, but you’re not.”

She laughs. “Good eye. Do you know how many calories are in a beer?”

I don’t bother to hide my surprise. “I didn’t think you were the kind of girl that counted her calories.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Those dark eyes flash. I’m on thin ice. One wrong word and I’ll plunge through.

“You’re athletic enough I figured you burn through calories like that,” I snap my fingers for emphasis and a second lightbulb goes off in my head. “That’s it isn’t it. You’re an athlete.”

She nods. “Yup. I give myself a cheat day every now and then, but one beer can undo an entire day’s workout.”

“So, what do you play? Futbol?” I ask.

Isabella scowls at me. “Because I’m Mexican your mind automatically goes to soccer?”

“No, actually,” I say, though that thought had crossed my mind. “It’s the way you carry yourself. You’ve got amazing balance and your core is clearly outstanding.” I run my hand in the air above my own belly, then glance at her arms. She’s not bulging with muscle but she’s definitely girl-buff. “But you’ve got great upper body strength too though, so I’m going to guess, swimming.”

She smiles. “I supplement my routine with swimming.”

Supplement? So she’s not a swimmer then. What else could give her this kind of physique then?

The bar tender sets my beer down in front of me.

“There you go,” she says with a smirk. “For services rendered.”

She turns, clearly meaning to return to her table. Without thinking I reach out and take her hand. She turns quick, eyes blazing. Some reptilian part of my brain is telling me I’ve fucked up and need to run because I’ve just awoken something dangerous. Another, less intelligent part of my brain, the part that thinks things like playing with fireworks is fun, pushes me forward and I meet her sudden scowl with a grin. She’s gorgeous when she’s angry.

“You forgot the late fee,” I say.

Her scowl deepens. “Did I?”

I nod and hold up a finger. “One dance should just about cover the interest.” I turn my finger to point at the mostly empty dance floor. A few partners are moving to the music over there but it’s too early for the real crowd yet. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re an incredible dancer.”

That softens her a little. But only a little. She’s smirking at me now. “Okay, cabrón. Show me what you got?”

I abandon my beer and follow her to the dance floor where I’m almost instantly proved right. When the next song comes on Isabella is on fire. She moves, hard, fast, and with passion. It’s all I can do to keep up. I haven’t exactly been doing a lot of cardio lately. That sort of thing is discouraged in prison for obvious reasons and since I got out most of my attention has been on classes and Kaiju Wars.

But keep up I do. Free and wandering spirit that my mother is, she insisted that everywhere we go we have a good time. To her, this included dancing. I don’t let myself think about how she’ll never dance again and instead focus on the memories of the lessons she gave me growing up and try to move to the music and match Isabella.

By the time the song ends I’ve got an embarrassing layer of perspiration clinging to my forehead and she’s beaming at me. Whatever her sport of choice it, it clearly includes a lot of cardio because she’s barely breathing hard.

“Ready for round two?” she asks, beaming as the next song comes on.

I’m not, but I’m not about to admit it.

I don’t do so well this time. It’s all I can do to keep moving from trying to match her pace. Isabella barely seems to notice. She’s lost in her own world, the music taking her somewhere far away. Who she’s dancing with isn’t nearly as important to her as the fact that she’s dancing at all. Her physique and good looks probably scare off most guys who’d consider asking her to dance.

Unfortunately, that means that this dance doesn’t mean the same thing to us. For me, it’s a chance to be with her. For her, it’s a chance to do an activity she loves. I’m not key to the equation. That’s not good enough for me, so I step back when the song ends, doing my best to disguise my heavy breathing. The girl can move.

“What, you done already?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She wants to shame me into another dance.

“Not at all. Only you’ve paid off your interest. You dance any more with me and it’s all voluntary.” I return her mischievous look with one of my own. “Might just mean you kind of like me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was starting to, then you went and said something stupid like that.”

I give her my best smirk. “Oh, you liked me from the moment you saw me.”

“Did I?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, but that’s okay, we can pretend you’re not completely into me.”

She makes a very unladylike sound. “You know, I heard somewhere that if you wear a mask long enough, it becomes your face.”

“That sounds painful.” I know it’s not what she means, but my mind immediately conjures up images of skin growing over a mask left too long on some poor victim. Taking that thing off would require surgery.

“Excruciating,” she agreed.

“Then I guess we shouldn’t pretend at all and I should just take you on a date.”

We stepped off the dance floor as another song came on, in part so we could hear each other and in part to get out of another couple’s way as they danced.

“You saying this doesn’t count as a date?” Isabella asked.

I rolled my eyes, then met hers. “When I take a woman on a date, she knows she’s on a date. And I pay for her drinks.”

She considers me for a moment, then nods. “That’s fair.”

“Excellent. It’s a date.”

“No. No, that is not what I said.” She’s flushed, her words coming out hurried. I’ve caught her off guard.

“What? Afraid you’ll like it?”

That flash is back in her eyes and she steps forward, getting right into my face and jams her finger into my chest. “I’m not scared of nothing.”

I beam at her. “Then it’s a date.”

For a moment, she looks like a tigress that’s just taken a bite of something sour. Then she shakes her head and that laugh is back, lighting up her face. “Alright. You can take me out on a date. When and where?”

I take her hand. “How about here and now?”

Her eyes widen. “What?” She glances at her friend’s table. A few are staring at her and when she looks at them, they look away, giggling, or wave at her with ‘go get it’ motions. “Traitors,” she mutters.

“I promise you, I’ll show you a much better time than they will,” I say.

“If you don’t, then you never come up and bother me again,” she says, crossing her arms.

“And if I do, then you owe me a second date.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

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Isabella is a crazy driver.

The luxury Jaguar handles her psychotic style well, barely a whisper from the machine as it glides around what for any sane person should have been an impossible turn to attempt. Isabella is having too much fun to care for anything that resembles sanity. Even the laugh she’s filling the car with makes me think of a mad scientist.

She’s laughing so hard that the dealer in the back seat, who is still trying to sell us on this vehicle, can’t be heard. I much prefer her laughter to his nasally tone anyway. The guy’s a trooper, putting up with us like this, but Isabella’s enthusiasm is contagious. This was definitely one of my better ideas.

I’d taken her from the bar to a car dealership, told them she was a pre-med student, about to graduate and looking for a luxury vehicle to “invest” in. Isabella was confused, but played her role quietly, waiting to see what I was up to. Only when I suggested to her, in a way that the dealer, convinced he was going to sucker us into an abysmal deal, couldn’t refuse, that she should test drive the vehicles to see what felt best to her, did she break character. The grin she’d offered me was positively wicked.

The jaguar is our third and last vehicle of the evening. The dealership is closing down. This has emboldened Isabella, and while she’d driven the first car timidly, as if afraid it might tear away from her like a wild animal, she’s putting the jaguar through its paces. From the sounds that managed to make it to the front from the dealer, he’s very close to puking.

This only makes us laugh harder.

“I definitely need one of these,” Isabella screams. She needn’t have bothered. Despite her speed the vehicle barely makes a sound.

I blow a raspberry. “Please. These things break all the time. Constant maintenance. Specialized parts.”

“Good thing I know a decent mechanic,” she says with a wink.

“I’ll have you know I am way better than ‘decent.’ And you wouldn’t catch me dead working on one of these things. Pain in the ass machine meant to break down and part rich people from their money.”

Isabella laughs harder. Another impossible turn, this time narrowly missing a car that’s forgotten to signal, and we’re zooming down the frontage road back toward the dealership.

I glance in the back. The dealer is green-faced and clutching his own legs, sitting rigidly in place. He looks as if one more sudden motion might make him spew. At least he’s given up trying to get us to go for the immediate buy.

When Isabella pulls us into the dealership and finally parks the car, the man all but falls out of the vehicle.

“Thanks for your time,” I say, and we run off, leaving him hunched over with his hands on his knees.

“You are some kind of adrenaline junky,” I say several blocks later. It’s not really late but she’s got a test to study for tomorrow. This date was impromptu after all. From the sheer joy she’s radiating, I’d say it’s a successful one.

“And you’re not?” she asks back, giving me a gentle shove. Gentle, but powerful. It’s easy to forget just how strong she actually is because she’s so pretty.

“What sport do you play?” I ask. She’d denied swimming and soccer, which I found a little hard to believe, especially with her cardio. Soccer keeps you running for pretty much a full hour and a half plus and swimming works the entire body. I’m struggling to come up with another sport that tones the entire body so well.

The look she gives me is sly, like she knows what my guess is and is delighted by just how wrong I am. “What makes you think I ‘play’ anything?”

“We talked about this,” I reply. “You’re definitely some kind of athlete.”

She twirls about, coming to a stop about a yard ahead of me, and shrugs. “Some kind, sure.”

“You like stringing me along, don’t you?”

She laughs. We’re almost to her place. “Maybe I think that’s a second date kind of question.”

“Who says there’s going to be a second date?” I tease.

She gets a shocked expression on her face and punches me in the arm. Hard. Like really hard. I think I’m actually going to get a bruise.

“Damn,” I say rubbing the spot.

She sniffs pointedly. “You deserved that.”

I chuckle. That was a damn good punch. Is it weird that I find that sexy?

“No comment,” I say. “But I would like a second date.”

“Throw a punch.”

I blink. That was not something I expected to hear. “Come again?”

“Show me how you throw a punch,” she says, more slowly, stepping off to the side, looking contemplative.

“You think I don’t know how to punch?” I ask.

“I know you don’t know how to throw a punch,” she says. “I saw you at the party.”

“I knocked that frat boy out,” I protest. “There’s a fucking meme with it going around.”

She cocks her hips and gives me an exasperated expression. “Please, that pinche guey was a puta.”

I burst out laughing. There’s too much lost in the translation to properly appreciate some insults in English.

Shaking my head, I put up my fists and throw a punch.

Isabella makes a face. “Not bad. You’re kind of scrappy, I guess.

Scrappy? Me? I haven’t had that term applied to me since I was a little kid. Even then it was quickly turned into phrases like “tough as nails.” I’m a hard bastard, been fighting all my life. What’s she got against my punching?

“You guess?” I say.

She shrugs. “It took you three tries to knock that dickhead’s lights out.”

Yeah, only three, I want to say. Something holds me back though. “You think you could have done it sooner?”

She throws her head back and lets out a bark of laugher. “I know I could have.”

Maybe. I have some doubts. A lot of people say they can fight a lot better than they actually can. Most even think they’re not all talk. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Hell, it’s actually kind of hot that I can talk to her about violence at all.

“I’ve enjoyed this,” I say to her, no more playing around.

Some of the teasing light leaves her eyes. “So would I. This was fun.”

We’ve reached her house and stop in front of it. I move in closer. “What sport do you play?”

She lets me move in, looking up into me, that sultry slyness creeping into her expression. She’s teasing me again. A fox in a hunt that wants to lead me on a merry chase before I catch her. I don’t think I mind this hunt. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I like you.” There’s next to no space between us. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and you’re interesting. You’re worth knowing about.”

She lifts up on her toes and plants a kiss on my mouth. It’s over far too quick and then she’s dashing off. “You’ve got my number now,” she calls back. “You want a kiss next time then you need to guess what I’m into!”

That minx! She’s gone, the door closing behind her before I can say a word.

This crappy day has definitely turned around. I’m humming to myself as I glide back to my dorm. I swear my feet never even touch the ground and my head’s in the clouds, trying to think of what sport she plays. Not soccer, not with that smirk she’d given me. Volleyball? No, she’s too short.

My mood as I return to the dormitory is significantly improved. It’s made better by the fact that Brett’s fixed everything back to the way it’s supposed to be, and better still by his absence. He must have had something else going on tonight. Either that or he’s avoiding me. I’m not sure I care which.

I’m grinning ear to ear as I flop down at my desk and boot up my computer, humming the chorus from one of the songs Isabella and I danced to. I’m tired, but not completely warn out. A quick check of my emails and making sure I’m up to date on all my homework and then I’ll catch a shower and head to bed.

There’s the usual junk emails and fishing scams waiting for me. And one very official looking email from a government address informing me that I’m to meet with my parole officer tomorrow.

My stomach sinks. The police have gotten better about monitoring social media around college campuses. They must have finally pieced together enough to bring me in for questioning about the night of the party. For a moment, I think about not going. Just deleting the email and pretending I never received it.

Long term, that won’t end well for me. With my good mood thoroughly trounced, I cancel my plans for tomorrow afternoon and look up the address they sent me. Time to face the music.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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The building is damn depressing. Like a cinderblock on suicide watch. It’s grey, dreary, and devoid of any sort of ornamentation. In short, if I hadn’t been told exactly where to come, I would have gone right past it. Which is kind of weird when I think about it. In a town like Oxford, with all of it’s Southern-style architecture, this place should have stood out like a sore thumb. Somehow it blended in, almost as if it wasn’t really a building, just a forgettable landmark that sits idly by.

It puts me in mind of an iceberg, not because it’s cold and unwelcoming, though it is those things, but because I get the sense that I’m barely seeing a fraction of it. Like an alligator or crocodile with just it’s head at the surface of the water. I’m half expecting it to bite me as I walk up to the only pair of glass doors and go inside.

The air conditioning hits me with the same chilling ferocity as the prison or a hospital. Goosebumps immediately run up and down my arms as an involuntary shiver goes up my spine. It’s well lit, the flooring pale and reflective. This is probably one of the most spartan places I’ve ever seen. There’s no so much as a single decoration or plaque giving directions on the white walls. Just a few boring doors with glass running up the sides to prevent complete privacy. These don’t have plaques or numbers beside them though, let alone the name of whatever worker is using them. How the hell am I supposed to find my parole officer?

I pull out my phone and check my email. There’s no name given for my parole officer. That probably should have set off alarm bells. In my defense, I was pretty shaken up last night. I don’t want to go back to prison. Not only because it sucks hairy monkey balls but because Mom needs me out. Just going to college is helping her, even if only indirectly. And if anything goes wrong, I can fly straight to her.

The only thing the email says with absolute clarity is that this is the address I’m supposed to be at. I tuck my phone away in my pocket and glance through the first couple of side-windows next to the doors, hoping to find a living person to talk to and maybe ask directions. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to do that, especially without a girl present.

My efforts are unrewarded. If it weren’t for the lights I’d say that the place is totally deserted.

I’m about to check my phone again when someone clears their throat down the hall. The sound is familiar enough that I momentarily freeze. Familiar and obnoxious. I’d say I recognized the voice, but that doesn’t sound quite right. I mean, can you say you recognized someone’s voice from the way they clear their throat?

I look up, slowly, the weight of trepidation hindering my movement, and find Dr. Warden standing halfway in an open doorway a little way down. He’s still round and soft and wearing the exact same suit he was before. In fact, so little has changed about the man that it’s a little disconcerting. Everyone changes in between the times when you see them. Little things. Hair, posture, clothing, the way their skin looks—it’s an incalculable amount of minutiae that all add up to something borderline undefinable yet still tangible.

There is absolutely nothing of that about Dr. Warden. It’s like someone copy-pasted him straight from the office in the prison where we last spoke and into this building, completely unchanged.

It’s more than a little disconcerting. As is the cat-that-ate-the-canary grin spreading across his soft, round face. He beckons me to his office and steps back inside, leaving me to walk the empty hallway alone, shaking my head, and wondering what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into.

I step inside and find a carpeted waiting room, complete with a small sofa and a counter, the kind behind which a secretary would normally sit. It’s empty, without a computer or even a sign-in pad. The coffee table in front of the sofa is empty too, lacking the familiar magazines or knick-knacks you expect in places like this. The walls are just as barren inside as out.

“Down here, Mr. Moretti,” Dr. Warden calls from somewhere through the open door beside the secretary’s station. Another hall awaits me and several more offices, but only one has an open door and a light on, so I go to that one and find Dr. Warden sitting behind a luxuriously carved desk completely at odds with the plainness of the office. He’s sitting in a high-backed rolling chair and has a computer with multiple flat monitors open before him.

Sitting down in a chair across from his desk feels like what I imagine sitting down in the principal’s office would be like. Only the fact that I no longer have any idea what’s going on keeps me seated. Parole is not something I’m about to risk violating, not even if it means enduring this bastard’s smug grin in that puffy face of his. God, I want to punch him.

And I know I want to punch him. I’m able to control the urge, almost as if it’s not really mine. I am in more control of myself now than I have ever been in my entire life. And that realization calms me down. Whatever weird treatment this game is doing with me, it’s actually working. Dr. Warden’s an asshole, but he’s an asshole who is helping me with a problem I’ve struggled with since I was a little kid.

“Mr. Moretti,” he says, grinning that same wide grin. Only his cutting eyes give away the predator beneath the fluff. “It’s good to see you again.”

I don’t share the sentiment so I don’t say anything. Just give a grunt and ask, “Where’s my parole officer? I thought I was meeting him here.” My mind goes back to the meme of me punching the frat boy.

“You don’t have a parole officer,” Dr. Warden says.

I blink. “I don’t?”

“No, of course not,” Dr. Warden says, waving his hand as if I’ve suggested something vaguely smelly. “Your game is your probation, and you’ve been doing a very good job with it. Good enough in fact that after your demonstration with Xenatlas, my backers would like to make you a similar offer to the one we presented to him.”

“Would you now?” I ask, stalling for time. I need to think, let my brain catch up. That I haven’t been dragged before a cop with a very real chance of going back to jail has me more disoriented than anything else I’ve experienced since stepping into this place. It’s unreal and leaves me with a physical sense of reeling.

“We would,” Dr. Warden says amicably. “We have a target we would like for you to destroy and in exchange you will receive half a million dollars. Half up front. The other half if you succeed. What do you say?”

“I say what the hell is going on?” I stand up and lean forward on his desk, clutching the edges to keep my hands from doing something stupid and violent. “You called me out here saying I had a parole meeting? This is like, some b-grade spy movie shit. What. The. Hell?”

Dr. Warden shrugs. “It seemed like a fun idea at the time.”

I stare at him. “Fun?”

He nods. “My backers are all about fun. Or haven’t you been enjoying our game?”

I have been. It’s freeing, it makes me feel empowered, and gives me control of me temper. And it is fun. It’s more than cathartic, it’s enjoyable. Like every time I play I get a huge rush of endorphins and dopamine. I wonder briefly it those are the hormones or whatever that the chip in my hand is monitoring for?

That I’m enjoying the game isn’t the point though and I’m sure as hell not about to admit it to this fluffy bastard.

I don’t need to though, because that damn grin is back almost at once. He knows.

“$500,000, Mr. Moretti,” he says. “There’s a lot you could do with a windfall like that.”

He’s right. That’s another thing though that I’m not going to tell him.

“You couldn’t have sent this in an email?” I ask, taking my hands off the desk and stepping back. My palms and fingers are sore from gripping the wood so hard.

“No,” he says. “We’re not leaving that kind of a trail. You know that we will compensate you though. Xenatlas is certainly enjoying his payout.”

I’d actually been a little worried as to whether or not Xenatlas would get his payout since Lusitania showed up with Halira and killed him. I guess Dr. Warden’s backers didn’t care so much about that though. Or maybe they do and that’s why they’re willing to offer me a deal now.

“I don’t get it,” I say. “Why so much money to do a task in a videogame. It’s way out of proportion.” I had to check the gift horse’s mouth. This was way too good to be true.

He shrugs. “So long as you get the money, do you care?”

“Yeah, actually, I think I do.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I’m not in charge of these decisions. Think of me like an ambassador between my board of directors and you and the other players.”

Ambassador? Really?

“Not interested. With that kind of money, I need to know where it’s coming from,” I say.

“Very well then.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a business card. On one side is the Kaiju Wars Online logo, on the other is a phone number. “If you change your mind, please call our tech support and let them know you accept the mission.”

I roll my eyes and, for some reason I can’t fathom, I accept the card. Then I’m out of there.

I almost forget about the card in my pocket until later that evening when I call to check on Mom. Then it’s the only thing I can think about.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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The barrage of green energy takes Taisaur right in the face. I charge right through it and the assault ends in a series of concussive explosions as the alien hover-tanks are trampled or tossed aside. I’ve done a lot of grinding over the past week. That, coupled with the experience gained from the group assault on the alien capital has pushed Taisaur all the way up to level fourteen. Taisaur’s only a story or two shy of 200 feet tall now and even the triple-barrel tanks’ attacks barely scratch my kaiju now.

I hear a pair of saucers coming and start snatching up wrecked pieces of tank to hurl at them. They’ve caught on to this trick though, breaking formation to get out of the way. I keep up my attack anyway, throwing piece after piece until the alien saucers are in full retreat. All it takes is for one of my throws to connect and the saucer’s entire payload of explosives will go off.

The game’s AI is a fast learner. The alien’s military forces have become harder and harder to destroy over the last week. Not because they’re tougher, they’ve just learned to pull away. I made the mistake of allowing them to lure me away from more than one city early on. The trick is to keep smashing buildings and draw them in closer in an effort to bait me. I’m the one playing offense though. My goal is much easier to reach.

Defeating the military yields some rewards, but not as much as the complete destruction, or even partial destruction of a city. It’s also an exercise in frustration. Tanks and saucers move. Buildings don’t. Between Taisaur’s mobility and capacity for soaking their attacks, the choice is easy. Provided I can keep a cool head. Fortunately, that’s been coming easier and easier, even in the throes of frustration. While playing the game, while I’m Taisaur, my anger and frustration is more akin to joy or happiness. I actually enjoy the sensation. Crave it, really.

More so than before, after all the extra time and effort I’ve put in over the last couple of days as I debated Dr. Warden’s offer. Destroy a particular military base in the game. Receive half a million dollars in my bank account. Half up front, kept regardless of my success or failure, the other half if I succeed.

I don’t trust Dr. Warden.

I don’t like Dr. Warden.

Nobody gives away that kind of money to someone just for playing a videogame. Especially a videogame still only in beta. Which is another oddity that Dr. Warden’s sudden visit prompted me to consider. What is it exactly that we’re supposed to be testing? The game is completely glitch-free. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was more than ready for wide-release. And wouldn’t objectives like the one Dr. Warden gave me and Xenatlas be the exact kind of things requested of beta testers? Why offer such an expensive bribe?

The whole thing has had me on edge all week. I think only the constant playing of Kaiju Wars has kept me sane while I considered. Something isn’t right. Not with Dr. Warden, not with Mr. Freeman, maybe not with their entire organization. And, terrified as I am to admit it, maybe not with Kaiju Wars. The game is too perfect. I don’t want to admit this because, apart from my brief date with Isabella, playing it has been the most fun I’ve had since I got out of prison.

But over the past week I found myself more and more staring at the little scar at the base of my palm where Dr. Warden’s people implanted their microchip. Who all is receiving the data it’s been transmitting? What kind of data is it sending? I know remarkably little about it. By design, I’m sure. Lab rats don’t need to know what experiments are being run on them after all, and if they did know it might affect the experiment.

The phone call I made to Mom later the same day I talked to Dr. Warden renders all that wondering moot.

I’ve made it a point to call Mom at least three times a week since coming here. Her condition, coupled with Dad’s forced separation has made my hyper-aware of our limited time together. I’ve done more research into ALS. Everything I’ve read makes me wish that I hadn’t.

This disease has made me believe in the idea of evil in the universe. Not as an abstract concept and not only as an aspect of the human condition. Evil as something palpable and real. A presence that exists solely to cause misery and suffering. That’s all this disease is. There’s no point to it. No purpose. And it’s not alone. There are other things like it out there. Things I morbidly started to research, only to make myself quit, realizing I would drive myself insane trying to map them all out. Taisaur’s rage meter had never glowed brighter.

When I’d called Mom this time, it was later than usual. The conversation with Dr. Warden had me wanting to hear her voice, but the very idea that I’d been called into a parole meeting, even a fake one, had me embarrassed. Childish, I know. Weak, certainly. Mom’s the one needing support, who’s going through hell on earth as her own body slowly petrifies, and yet here I am just wanting to hear her voice and struggling to pluck up my courage. I’m fully aware of how pathetic it is.

“What’s wrong?” Mom had asked almost right away.

“Why does something have to be wrong?” I countered.

I swear I could hear her rolling her eyes. “If I’d known all it would take for you to call more was dying, I’d have started on this years ago.”

That’s a load of bullshit and the hollow laugh I give let’s her know that. That doesn’t mean her words don’t sting. I quit traveling with her as soon as I was able to, trying to break free and make it on my own. I barely talked to her then, rarely had when we were apart, especially when I was in a center. Not at all while I’d been in prison, nor really during my trial leading up to it.

I’ve ignored my mother’s presence in my life and taken her for granted. The thought made me feel like shit. Remembering that feeling now makes Taisaur’s rage meter fill up faster. I’m going to have to find a use for that thing eventually.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom,” I’d assured her. “I’ve just been given an opportunity. One of those kinds that seems too good to be true.”

“You’re wondering whether or not to look the gift horse in the mouth,” she said.

“Pretty much.”

Before she could answer, I heard another voice in the background. A woman’s voice. No accent. She was muffled so I couldn’t really understand what was being said, but she was arguing with Mom. Her tone was unmistakable. This wasn’t someone talking to an employer, or even an equal. Whoever this woman was, she spoke to Mom as if her mind was deteriorating along with her body. Like she was a child.

“I’m talking to my son,” Mom had said.

“It’s not time for phone calls right now, Miss Emma,” said the voice, the clearest and most sickly-sweet I’d heard it. My hand gripped the phone so tight it made my fingers hurt. How dare this woman talk to my mother that way.

“No, you don’t understand, it’s—” Mom’s words are cut off, suddenly made into background noise and it’s not hard to imagine her phone being taken from her. Then the call was cut off.

I can’t say that I quit caring about Dr. Warden’s weirdness after that. I do care. It does bother me. But no one talks to my mother that way. She’s dying, and it’s her body that’s going not her mind. I will not have anyone disrespecting her that way.

And there’s only one way I can think of to change her situation.

Whatever care Dad’s money is buying for her isn’t enough. A quarter of a million dollars will go a long way toward correcting things. Half a million might be enough to completely set them right. For the last few days I’ve ignored everything. No classes. No phone calls. I would have liked to have made a second date with Isabella, I really would have, but I don’t call. I can’t afford the distraction. Whatever time my mother has left is going to be as amazing as I can make it and no one and nothing is going to take that away from her. If she has to die she will do so in comfort and with dignity and God help anyone who tries to stop me.

I call the number Dr. Warden gave me and was informed by his tech support crew that the mission would take place on a scheduled date a week away. And that I couldn’t have my friends’ help to complete it. That puts a bad taste in my mouth but there’s nothing I can do about it. I need the money. I agree.

The day of the “special mission” rolls around and the sky opens up, unleashing a massive thunderstorm over Ole Miss. There’s no way I’m going to get to play from the roof and have to wait for Brett to leave the dorm room before I can start up the game. I don’t think I’ve ever been so impatient for someone to leave before.

On the bright side, the Kaiju Wars Online app appears when I press my hand to the side of his television. No need for a smartphone this time. Ten minutes after he leaves, I am on mission.

The target is a military base outside of a small town. Not even a proper city. It’s more heavily defended than anything I’ve encountered. And none of it does my enemies any good.

I lure the military away from the base itself, demolishing the town, crushing any tanks or soldiers that get too close. Keeping up a barrage of debris to keep the bombers at bay. Soon there’s nothing left but the base itself. Only the heavy concentration of enemy forces there kept me at bay. Now, what remains isn’t nearly enough to stop me. The oncoming green fire doesn’t even phase me.

I smash through the remaining defenses, ignoring a few more as I set about demolishing the base. There’s more to it than I suspected. The top is quickly ruined but there’s more. The facility goes deep, deep underground. I’m going to have to dig it all up to make sure that it’s completely destroyed. I’m not missing out on the remaining quarter mil because of a technicality. This base is going to be destroyed if it’s the last thing I do.

Something strikes Taisaur from the side, a concentrated beam of rippling, transparent energy that barely shrinks his health bar. I pull away from the partially destroyed base to find Halira charging out of the smoldering ruins of the town. Of course, Lusitania would try to PK me right now.

There’s no time to finish off the base. It’s too deep. Any attention I divert from Halira’s incoming attack will cost me. Fortunately, I learned from our last encounter.

Taisaur bellows as Halira charges us, accompanying my own shout. Bitch, you picked the wrong day to fuck with me!

Halira shrieks back, but it’s Lusitania’s surprised voice I hear. Aaron?

And then our kaiju crash into each other.

HALIRA

Chapter Twenty-Four

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The collision sends a shockwave through the earth, rattling loose the few remaining buildings from their foundation and wrecking more of the underground compound behind Taisaur. Halira and Taisaur are both fast and have a ton of mass behind them, the result is so much force that the surroundings simply can’t handle it. Both kaiju lose footing as the ground trembles beneath them and the impact devolves into a grappling brawl.

Halira’s sword-like claws caught Taisaur on their initial swing, laying open several long wounds that spray blood. Their length is also their weakness at this range. Before Lusitania can bring Halira’s claws back into a useable range, Taisaur’s caught her by the wrists and is holding them at bay.

Taisaur’s wounds are impressive but he can take them. His HP bar hovers at just above the halfway mark. Our counter attack, which saw his horns momentarily impaling Halira through the chest, has done an equally impressive amount of damage. The wounds are more internal and while not as great, Halira is far more brittle than Taisaur. Her HP bar has likewise dropped to nearly the halfway point. Dammit. I’d hoped for more.

The pair are far from stationary. I throw Taisaur’s head forward, hoping to catch Halira again with his horns. Halira’s too quick though and she yanks her head back on that serpentine neck, dodging the attack before lunging forward. Her fang filled beak clamps down on the space between Taisaur’s neck and shoulder. A twist and Taisaur’s shoulder spike is driven into Halira’s body. It’s a glancing blow, carving out a piece of crystalline armor and digging a furrow through her dull orange core, failing to sink home.

Halira leaps from the ground and kicks into Taisaur’s chest. I haven’t paid attention to the claws on her feet and in hindsight I should have. They’re huge. Like velociraptor talons, only as if someone forgot to limit her to only the one massive toe-claw. Those claws sink into Taisaur’s chest, only to be ripped free an instant later as I bring Taisaur’s tail whipping around. My counter attack catches Halira right in the side and she goes flying, trailing Taisaur’s blood behind her like the tail of a comet.

She hits the ground hard. HP down to a quarter. Taisaur’s not any better. In fact, I think I’ve come off the worse from this exchange. Halira’s raw attack power is absurd.

Over Halira’s shrieks I can hear Lusitania’s insults. Maggot-dicked mother fucking toad-suck dipshit! I’m going to rip off your tiny testicles and wear them as earrings, and everyone will have to look under a microscope to see them!

I lower Taisaur’s head and charge. I’m too far gone to fury to take advantage of a ranged attack even if I had one. It’s not Lusitania’s presence that’s got me so roaring mad. It’s the fact that she’s here. This fake, psychotic, overprivileged nutjob is here, in my game, attacking my kaiju, and preventing me from getting my mother the proper care and treatment she deserves. My rage meter is bursting with energy, literally crackling as Taisaur roars and the distance between he and Halira vanishes.

It’s not a roar of communication, just raw, unbridled fury. I’ve never felt this in the game before. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever felt, real, genuine anger inside the game before. No, it was always some kind of artificial release. This is real. I don’t just want to hurt Halira. I want to hurt the person behind Halira.

Fast as Taisaur is, Lusitania’s kaiju is even faster. She’s on her feet before Taisaur reaches her and barely manages to leap aside at the last minute. Taisaur’s tail sweeps around for a follow up strike and she dodges this too, if only barely.

Bitch, you think that’s going to work twice? There’s laughter in her voice. I hurl Taisaur at her, trying to impale her on any one of his numerous spikes, but she’s out of reach before the attack connects and darting away.

My world shrinks down to her and I give chase. Nothing matters but destroying Halira. I can taste her salt and blood on my tongue. Feel her brittle, mineral body cracking and crumbling in my claws. I’ve just got to catch her. It’s the only thing that matters.

Except that it’s not.

Taisaur slows and I blink, the rest of the world coming back into focus. Halira is so fast she’s already exponentially increased the distance between us. A part of me recognizes that there’s some strategy at play here. I don’t know what it is. I do know that I can’t let myself play Lusitania’s game. I can’t. Not in real life and not in Kaiju Wars. I’ll lose.

And as much as I want to crush her, I have a real objective. Beating Halira might net me a good amount of experience points. It might even be emotionally satisfying. It won’t see Mom taken care of. Even if I somehow catch Halira, if that base isn’t destroyed, I lose.

Pulling Taisaur away from the chase is maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m reminded of Gary the guard, pinning me to the wall while Kermit screamed at me. I remember what he said to me then. I remember the obnoxious way he called me “kid.” I don’t have Gary to hold me back now and redirecting Taisaur feels like I’m pushing against his massive bulk.

Impossible.

I think of Mom. Think of what I can do for her with this money. And then it happens. Gradually at first, and then all at once.

Taisaur spins around and sprints back toward the military base, leaving Halira to run in the opposite direction. I reach my target and resume my assault, smashing down into the tunnel. It’s bigger even than Taisaur. What on earth is this thing for?

Halira’s desiccation beam strikes Taisaur right in the bloody chest. His HP bar shrinks accordingly. Don’t you ignore me you brain dead troglodyte!

I don’t stop my assault on the base. Believe it or not, Lusitania, the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!

She and Halira shriek and launch themselves at me. An alert pops up. LEVEL UP.

I whirl around to meet them head on and scream with Taisaur. At our unified bellow, Taisaur’s stripes burst with crimson light. My kaiju is enveloped in energy, like an all red aroura borealis.

Halira crashes into him and both are driven to the ground. Only this time it’s not Taisaur’s HP that drops. It’s his rage meter. And it’s not missing a chunk, it’s steadily burning up.

Halira’s HP on the other hand has dropped. Two of her enormous claws are shattered.

Whatever this energy Taisaur is putting off, it not only shielded him from her attack, it did some damage back. I grin, brimming with raw triumph. My kaiju doesn’t blast his foes with energy, he envelops himself in it. It’s a forcefield, one that hurts other kaiju who strike it.

An idea occurs to me and I push the offense. Taisaur’s spiked tail, red energy rippling about it like bloody fire, swings around and catches the still staggering Halira squarely in the body, spikes sinking home.

The crystalline kaiju is sent tumbling, trailing blood and red energy from its wounds. Her HP is flashing, the bar all but empty. She tries to get up, staggers, and falls. Lusitania is shrieking, swearing, none of it makes any sense. I don’t care. I’ve won.

Taisaur’s rage meter flashes empty and the rippling red lights around him vanish. His stripes go back to silver. That’s a shame. It would have been better if we could have held that a few more moments. I feel like I’ve won, my objective is complete and Lusitania is mad with anger. But even at that sliver of HP she’s got remaining she’s dangerous.

I approach her cautiously, planning to deliver the coup de grace with my tail, attacking from as far away as possible. No need to get fancy and screw this up. Taisaur’s HP is low enough that if she gets off one good attack it would probably be enough to finish us off.

The ground beneath us trembles and shudders. It’s like when Halira and Taisaur first clashed but stronger. Bigger. The effects more prominent. Taisaur actually loses his balance and takes a knee. I have just a moment to wonder what the hell could be causing an earthquake this bad when I get my answer.

It tears free of the crater of the base I’ve left behind, slithering higher and higher up into the air. It’s a kaiju, and bigger than any I’ve seen so far.

The newcomer doesn’t resemble anything so much as a cobra. The body is segmented in black, glossy armor that makes me think of Halira. Only this is clearly clean cut and artificial. Halira’s crystals are almost haphazard and the blades sprouting from each segment of this things immense body are plainly there by design. As it moves, they rattle, slicing over each other like scissors. This kaiju is less like a snake and more like a living chainsaw.

Its body is almost as thick around as Taisaur and its head is easily as big as my kaiju’s torso. It’s raised up high in the air, arching over us, flaring a bladed hood. Even if Taisaur had been standing upright, its head would still have been above him, and the rest of this thing’s body hasn’t even come out from the ruined base yet.

The new kaiju opens its mouth impossibly wide and bellows out a challenge.

Chapter Twenty-Five

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There’s something about the newcomer that bothers me. For all its size it could be just another PKer. Another kaiju popping up isn’t really all that unusual. Still, this one makes me uneasy.

My rage meter is slowly rebuilding. I don’t think it’s high enough yet for me to spend expend it in any meaningful way though. Maybe that’s why this giant snake has something in my gut unsettled. I know I’m vulnerable.

I should feel angry about this. It’s my default. I don’t. The game’s therapeutic mechanics are actually working against me. I’ve been doing nothing but burning through anger for however long I’ve been at this now. More so since Lusitania’s arrival. It leaves me feeling weak and afraid.

Which is ridiculous. This is a game. There’s no part of me that should be afraid. And yet Taisaur’s ears quiver and he shifts uneasily. Reflecting my emotions? I don’t know.

What the fuck do you want? Lusitania demands through Halira’s shriek. Neither of us are focused on each other anymore. With her that’s probably a mistake. Halira’s fast and lethal enough that a moment of distraction is all it would take Lusitania to dispatch Taisaur. And yet I’m distracted by the newcomer, who doesn’t respond.

What, is your mic not working shit-dick? she asks. You compensating for with that giant dildo? Got your mouth full?

I realize what’s different about this kaiju all at once. I’ve gotten so used to seeing kaiju and this alien military as distinct and separate. Players are kaiju, NPCs are the military, that the absence of a name or HP bar hadn’t even registered.

This kaiju isn’t another player. It’s some kind of level boss. Shit, hadn’t the AI mentioned something about this world having its own monsters back when I started? Looks like we’ve just found one.

I throw Taisaur to the side as the snake kaiju strikes. Its body produces a cacophony of clinks as the blades lining it come together and part. The noise barely registers. If I hadn’t moved when I had Taisaur would be dead. This kaiju hits fast.

The ground where I’d been standing is now a cloud, dirt and debris thrown up high into the air from the force of the impact, which shakes the earth. This thing hits like a bomb. I can only imagine how much it weighs or how much strike-force it can deliver. I know more about engines than animals, but I know cobras are supposed to strike faster than just about anything on the planet. Whether or not this thing is venomous is a moot point compared to that. Force equals mass times acceleration. Acceleration and mass this thing has in abundance. I can’t even see all of its body yet and it’s bigger than Taisaur and Halira put together.

Lustina’s litany of profanity rings out, letting me know she dodged the hit. Fragile as Halira is I’m not sure she could have taken that blow even if she’d been at full health. Halira is a pale blur, darting around the cloud and striking at the cobra-kaiju’s body. When those massive claws of hers make contact, there’s a sound like pots clanging together and a shower of sparks. A pair of deep gouges are left in one of the cobra’s armored segments and green ichor oozes out of them.

Halira attacks like a cavalry soldier, zooming by and using her momentum to deliver a devastating slash and pulling away before a return strike can be delivered. Already she’s circling around for another pass.

Are you as fucking stupid as you look? Lusitania screams at me. Fight back, dumbass!

The cobra’s tail rips free of the earth, easily three times the length of Halira, and in a shower of dirt, tears through the air toward her. Only the white kaiju’s speed saves it. She tears off her charge at the last instant and the ground trembles again when the snake’s tail lands where Halira had been a moment ago.

This exposes the cuts Halira had just made. Armored as this thing is, I know an opening when it’s presented to me. I lower Taisaur’s head and charge, aiming for the opening. If I can get his horns through there I might be able to deal some critical damage. Maybe even paralyze the thing and turning all that mass into deadweight. It would be easy for Halira to decapitate the thing after that.

And then what? We go back to trying to finish each other off? Maybe. Probably. I can’t say why I trust Lusitania to stay on my side against this thing. There’s no reason to believe it. She’s a PKer. Her kaiju’s entire build is designed around sniping other players.

And yet there is something fundamentally wrong about this kaiju. Something that makes my spine tingle and calls to that basest of survival instinct inside of me. The one that exists inside all humans. When push comes to shove, when humans are faced with an outside threat, we ban together to defeat it. That’s been our single greatest strength over the millennia. It’s why we’re the dominant species on the planet.

It’s that sense of desperation that sends me hurtling forward, regardless of the fact that we were fighting just a second ago. That sensation, that utter panic, has no place in a videogame. I have only an instant to recognize this with the same detachment that’s allowed me to recognize my anger, but I’m too swept up in it to examine it further. My entire life is consumed by the overwhelming belief that this giant snake needs to die right fucking now.

Taisaur’s almost on him, he leaps, horns lowered. The wound, glistening with green fluids, is right in front of us. We’re airborne, leaping for it—

—the snake’s head is suddenly in front of me, jaws open far too wide. Its mouth is brimming with obsidian hooks in place of teeth.

I scream. Taisaur roars. And then his stripes burst with crimson energy. The snake’s strike rebounds off the rippling red energy surrounding Taisaur and his HP bar doesn’t drop. My partially refilled rage meter, however, is depleted in an instant and my kaiju is airborne again. Apparently Taisaur’s new force field trick doesn’t stop all of the energy directed into it and with no ground to brace against we’re suddenly toppling end over end in the opposite direction.

When we hit, the HP bar flashes. A little warning music begins, beeping in an obnoxious rhythm. I’ve never seen Taisaur’s HP bar that low before. Unless you count it being empty.

Haliram screams. Lustinia’s wasted no time exploiting the opening my attack has created. Her kaiju is leaping for the snake monster’s neck, aiming to slice the head clean from the body.

The cobra twists and the blades lining its hood catch Halria’s claws in a shower of sparks. The two crystalline appendages bite into each other and when Halira tries to dart away, she’s nearly yanked off her feet. She’s stuck.

The snake kaiju realizes this. Its massive body erupts from the ground in armored coil after armored coil, wrapping them around Halira’s smaller form until all but her HP bar and name vanish from sight. Lusitania is screaming. Swearing. Aaron you better fucking kill this thing!

And then the cobra’s coils pull inward. There’s a cracking sound. And Halria’s HP bar and name vanish too. It’s just me and Taisaur against this thing. Whatever this thing is. It unwinds itself from the ball it’s made, white powder raining down from where it had been clutching Halira.

I can see exactly how big it is now. I wish I couldn’t. This snake kaiju has to be over a thousand feet long. Maybe even fifteen hundred. I’m like a mongoose staring down a king cobra in front of it. Or at least, I’d like to think so. A mongoose has a decent chance of winning. Then again, a mongoose isn’t usually this outsized and its opponent isn’t covered in freaking razorblades.

It comes for me. I charge to meet it. There’s nothing else I can do.

The massive, hooded head raises up, higher and higher, ready to strike. It’s too fast too dodge coming head-on. My rage meter is too depleted for another force field. I lower my horns. The best I can do is maybe take it down with me with a lucky shot.

It strikes and something hits me from the side.

I topple over, completely disoriented. I can’t see. It’s dark.

I roar and lash out, trying to catch whatever hit me with my claws or tail…only I don’t have either of those things. And my thrashing is giving me a rug burn.

Lightning flares, followed by the kachoom of thunder, momentarily illuminating my dorm room. The lights are out and the storm is still raging outside. And Brett is standing over me, a wild look in his eye.

“What the hell was that for?” I demand, pushing myself upright. “If you didn’t want me using your TV all you had to do was say so.”

He shuffles back a few steps as I get up. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting but his arms are raised like I might come at him. “Aaron, what are you talking about?”

I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about? I was just playing my videogame when you shoved me.”

He shakes his head. “Aaron, the storm knocked out the power an hour ago. It got so bad they canceled classes.”

“An hour ago?” That couldn’t be right. I don’t know how long I was playing but I just had power. I must have. “Must not have effected this building until just now.”

“No, Aaron, the power’s been off. I came in and found you with your hand pressed to the side of the TV. Growling. Aaron, there was nothing on the screen.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

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I want to roll my eyes. The game, which Brett just yanked me out of, took a lot out of me. Physically I’m fine. Psychologically? Emotionally? I feel like I’ve run some kind of metaphysical marathon. I’m too drained to deal with whatever fresh shit Brett’s come up with today.

“I don’t know what you think you saw or didn’t see,” I say. “But I was playing a videogame. That’s it.”

“What game?” Brett demands. I want to ask what the hell that matters. A game’s a game. I don’t though.

The more I try to keep from him the more obnoxious he becomes. If I don’t give him an answer he might tear the damn room apart again and with the storm outside I really don’t want to deal with that right now. “It’s called Kaiju Wars Online.”

He crosses his arms. “Never heard of it.”

This time I don’t resist the urge to roll my eyes. I do it. Slowly so he can see. “You wouldn’t have. It’s in closed beta right now. And it’s not mainstream anyway.”

He snorts and jerks his thumb at his chest. “You think I’m mainstream?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, Aaron?”

My temper, tired as it is, flares. “What is your problem?”

“Aaron, you were growling at a blank screen!” He throws his arms forward, as if pleading with me to understand how weird this is. And if the screen had actually been blank, I’d agree with him.

“The screen wasn’t blank, Brett,” I say, with just as much exasperation.

“Yes, it was.” He fishes out his phone and holds it up. “Aaron, I tried for five minutes to get your attention. I freaking videoed you just in case, man.”

He fiddles with the phone and holds it out to me. My stomach is sinking. I don’t want to take that phone. There’s nothing wrong with me. I was just playing the game. There’s nothing on his phone that’s going to change facts. And yet I’m filled with that same disconcerting dread right now, looking at his phone, all prepped to roll his little home movie, that I felt when that snake kaiju appeared.

It’s illogical and stupid. I grab the phone and squish my finger to the play button. I’m being stupid and need to prove that Brett’s full of shit.

The video is hard to see because it’s so dark. That’s my first clue that something’s wrong. If the television was on it would be shedding light into the dorm.

Brett’s voice comes over the speaker, cheerful at first, then hesitant. Lightning flashes outside lighting up the room and I see myself, almost hunched over, my hand pressed against the side of the television. I am fixated. Like those cartoons of people who stare at a screen so long they begin to slobber.

Only I’m not slobbering. I’m snarling. Growling. Almost spitting. “What the fuck?”

Brett calls to me several times in the video and on the screen I spasm. At first, I think I’m responding to him, then I realize that there’s no correlation between his words and my actions. I’m lost in the game. Each time I jerk or move, my memory supplies the play-by-play recount of the fight. First with the alien military, then with Halira, and then with the cobra kaiju.

The video ends and I hand him back his phone. He’s looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something only I’ve got no clue what to say. I’m not even sure what it is that I’ve just seen.

I look down at my right hand. The scar down at the base of the palm is almost invisible in the poor lighting. Almost. I poke at it and feel nothing but the toughened line of tissue. What did those doctors put in me?

I step over to the television and put my hand to it. Nothing happens. I look at my hand again. Is it not working because Brett’s here or because there’s no power?

I hold my hand back out. “Can I see your phone real quick?”

Even though I was just holding it a second ago Brett hesitates before handing it back over again. It’s a smartphone. Not that different from my own. After a second of holding it, the app for Kaiju Wars Online pops up.

I hold the phone up for him to see.

“What am I looking for?” he says, stepping up.

“Do you see that app?” I point to it.

He glances at me. “There’s nothing there.”

My stomach clenches. How can he not see it? It’s right there. “Look again.”

He does. “I’m telling you, Aaron, there’s nothing there. That’s just an empty patch of screen.”

How can he not see it? If the implant had been in my head or my eye I could understand but it’s in my hand. It powers up my phone. Or am I imagining that? What if I’ve been imagining this whole thing?

If no one else can see the app or the game, then I’ve got no proof that I’ve actually been playing anything. I could have been hallucinating every time I played. Xenatlas, Solrin, and Megaptera? I don’t know who any of them are in real life. Hell, the only thing I have to call them by are their kaiju’s names. My subconscious or whatever might have pulled them out of thin air and invented them.

Lusitania is real though. But was she really playing the game? With her perfect little life? Halira and her only showed up after I’d learned she was on campus. Was that just my mind trying to process and purge?

“Is this what you’ve been sneaking off to do?” Brett asks, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.

I’m so disoriented I don’t actually process what he’s said and have to ask him to repeat himself.

He speaks slowly, calmly, as if I’m a big nasty dog that’s just stepped in front of him on the street. “I said, is this what you’ve been sneaking off to do? To play this…game?”

He doesn’t believe that the game is real. I can’t blame him. Right now, I’m not sure it is either.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to. It’s not…it’s not just a game. It’s a therapy tool.”

He furrows his brow. “You’ve lost me.”

“This head-shrink visited me while I was locked up,” I explain. “Said I undergo this procedure to get a microchip put in my hand and beta test this videogame that’s supposed to help with anger management, I get out early. Like parole, only with a game instead of an officer.”

“Okay,” Brett says slowly. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

When he says it like that I do. The whole thing is one of those ‘life’s stranger than fiction’ chain of events where the sheer absurdity of it all kept me believing that it was all happening. Is there even a Dr. Warden? Shit, what about the half a million he promised me? The first quarter was in my account before I started playing, but if I’m seeing things maybe my brain made that up too.

“Nobody is let out of prison to play a videogame, Aaron. The world just doesn’t work like that,” Brett says. “I think we need to get you to a counselor. Maybe you should sit down for a bit. When the storm let’s up, I’ll help you get over there.”

A counselor? As in another head-shrink. That’s just what I need right now, isn’t it? Or maybe it actually is. Dammit, if I’m hallucinating or creating these elaborate fantasies about monsters all in my head, then a head doctor is maybe exactly what I need to see right now.

“Where’s the counselor’s office?” I ask.

I don’t even realize I’m making for the door until Brett stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Aaron. Aaron! You can’t go outside right now. That storm is out there is killer. The counselor probably went home.”

As if in answer, the storm flashes with a lightning display to put everything before it to shame. The sky is a solid white mass of energy outside the window and the dorm is lit up brighter than noon. The thunder hits before the lightning is done, rattling the window. And then the entire building.

The floor shakes and a pencil rolls off Brett’s desk, the sound of it hitting the floor lost to the dull, bone-shaking rumble. The lightning surge ends, plunging us into darkness again. Only the thunder doesn’t stop with it. It keeps on going.

I can’t even hear it anymore so much as feel it. The whole dorm is shaking, threatening to collapse. Is it an earthquake?

A roar reaches my ears. My blood freezes at the familiar sound. I try to convince myself that it’s just thunder.

But another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and I see it. Silhouetted against the storm, rising hundreds of feet above the university buildings, bladed hood flared, is the cobra kaiju.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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“I’ve lost my damn mind,” I say, staring out the window. I’m not just seeing things on screens now, I’m actually seeing these imaginary creatures in my real life. It’s weird, because even as that horrible thought is racing through my head, another is quick on its heels, reminding me that I have an absolutely terrible imagination. Since when did I have the creativity to come up with shit like this?

Brett’s swearing pulls me out of my thoughts. “What the fuck is that thing?”

I gape at him. “You see it too?”

He throws his arms at the window. “How the hell do you miss that?”

“I’m not crazy,” I say, more to myself than to Brett. I laugh. “I’m not crazy!”

The kaiju outside bellows again and the earth shakes. It slithers forward, tearing its way through the university’s colosseum. I quit laughing.

Had anyone been inside of that building? Who was I kidding, of course there had been. There probably were people still inside of it, being crushed by rubble and wreckage.

The snake kaiju shakes and the rest of the colosseum explodes, along with any chances that there are survivors still inside. It hisses, lashes out, and the math building is gone.

Does it have any idea what it’s doing? There’s no way that if it’s here it thinks we’re just computer simulations. It has to know.

And that means that it’s got to be here for a purpose.

I jerk upright and nearly spew the contents of my stomach. I don’t care. “I know why that thing’s here,” I say, earning a look from Brett.

“Do enlighten me, all-knowing one,” he snaps.

Taisaur and Halira were just fighting it. And if it’s here, that means that somehow it followed Lusitania and me back. But as I watch it smash into the library, I realize that it has no idea where we actually are. It probably wasn’t even sure what it would find when it came here, but I imagine it was expecting kaiju. Now that there aren’t any here to oppose it, it’s going to smash everything, just like I’d smashed that military base, hoping for the best.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I swear.

“Not clearing anything up!” Brett shrieks. Shrieks.

“We need to get to Lusitania and Isabella,” I say. “Now!”

“You have lost your damn mind,” Brett cries out. “There’s a giant fucking snake outside!”

“And you think we’re somehow safer staying here?” I don’t bother to hide my incredulity. “That thing’s clearly targeting buildings. Staying inside of one is probably the worst possible place to be.”

Outside, the student admissions office is crushed beneath an obsidian coil.

“Point,” Brett says, and we rush out of the room.

The building is swarming with confused residents. Many are darting to our side of the hall, going through whatever doors are open to get to the windows so that they can see the spectacle. It occurs to me that if that kaiju is following the same objective as me and the other players, then what I told Brett isn’t bullshit. The dormitory is eventually going to be a target. Fast as that thing is, there’s no telling how far off “eventually” is. I doubt very.

“Get outside!” I cry out, running for the stairs. There’s an elevator but with the power out I don’t trust it. “Get outside! Get away from the buildings!”

Mostly I’m ignored. Some people scream. Some try to push me out of the way. Only a handful follow me toward the stairs. My room is on the building’s third floor. We’ve just made it past the second when the wall explodes, a black mass tearing its way through, shearing off the top half of the building. Debris and rain fall down on us. People scream. I scream with them.

But I keep running, taking the now slick stairs three at a time, shouting and beckoning for the others to follow. Someone slips and I grab them at the landing, helping them upright before we continue on. There’s so much water and trash littering the stairs that we have to slow down or risk slipping. Sharp as these stair’s corners are, that’s a good way to get killed. If I’m going to die today, it’s going to be because the kaiju crushed me, not because I tripped trying to get away from it.

Another student isn’t so lucky. Brett stops to try and help him upright. I have a flash of recognition. It’s one of the frat boys who’d stolen his backpack the day we moved in. Brett deadlifts him and his head lolls over, spilling blood from a cut along his face. His skull is misshapen, split open by the fall.

All of which takes Brett several long moments to realize. By the time he does, me and the student I’m helping stay upright are off the stairs and halfway through the exit. Which is why we don’t die in the next instant when the kaiju’s tail returns, sweeping away the entire second floor. And Brett with it.

There’s a moment where he’s suspended in the air, rubble and pieces of the building all around him, the dead frat boy with the shattered skull beside him. His expression is one of shock, like he can’t believe any of this is real, let alone happening. And then he and that whole story are gone, slapped away into the storm.

I swear. I swear violently. A few seconds difference and I’d be dead with my roommate. If he hadn’t stopped to help his former tormentor he’d still be alive. If…if…if. It doesn’t matter. I have to keep moving.

“Run!” I scream at the students who made it out with me. “Run!”

And then I heed my own advice. Unlike everyone else in the streets trying to get away from the giant snake monster, I have a destination in mind. I don’t know what I hope to accomplish. My thoughts flash to Isabella. Then Lusitania. Their home becomes my goal. I have to get to them and make sure that they are okay. Lusitania might even know what’s going on. Maybe we can figure something out? Like how to make our kaiju appear here?

That brings me up short. I haven’t even tried. Can I make Taisaur appear? I feel like an idiot for not considering it earlier.

I pull out my phone and spin around. Somebody shouts at me that this isn’t the time to take a fucking photograph. Smart, whoever they are. But I have to try this.

The Kaiju Wars Online app appears on the phone. I push it. This time I’m cognizant of the menu in a way I never have been before. It’s a little like having your parents tell you that there is no Santa Clause. All the little pieces that you didn’t notice or never put together before suddenly come together. I’ve never actually pushed a button playing this game. I’ve never used real controls. Hell, I’m not even sure I can properly envision the game screen. It was like I was there. Around and a part of Taisaur, not just remotely controlling him. Dimly, I recall tasting the saltiness from Halira’s crystals.

I pull up the ATTACK option and the game tries to initiate, just like normal. I can’t let it suck me in this time though, and that’s exactly what it tries to do. I have a glimpse of some distant, alien city and know that, no, I cannot bring Taisaur here.

The rest of my dorm is crushed beneath bladed coils and the snake lunges forward, crashing into the football stadium. The stands fold beneath it like aluminum foil. People are screaming all around me. There’s bodies strewn across the street. Some are bleeding, twitching, moaning. Survivors of the attack. But mostly they’re dead.

A distant rushing sound reaches my ears, different from any kaiju roar. I catch sight of a squadron of saucers flying low through the storm, their course clearly set to take them over the giant cobra. If they’re doing what the aliens do every time I attack their cities with Taisaur…I turn around and sprint as fast as I can in the opposite direction of the snake. The jets pass overhead. An instant later I feel the shockwave of their passing. They’re going faster than the speed of sound.

Then I hear the explosions as the missiles they dropped on the monster find their mark. The kaiju bellows. I don’t look back. I know those missiles are about as effective against it as the aliens’ weapons are against Taisaur. All they’re doing is pissing it off. And that means I want as much distance between me and the monster as possible.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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I don’t know how long the kaiju was there or how many missiles they hit it with. By the time I made it to Isabella and Lusitania’s shared house it was gone and the storm with it. I hadn’t actually expected to make it. The whole time I was running, rain and the occasional bit of debris pelting me, I kept envisioning Brett’s shocked face. Any moment I expected to be swatted away just as abruptly. His death might have been comical for its sheer abruptness if it weren’t also so terrible.

The whole time I was moving, my side aching so bad it was hard to breath, I could hear the thing roaring and feel the impact of the missiles striking it or its tail smashing down. Those sounds kept me moving when I otherwise would have staggered to a halt to catch my breath. And now I’m here and all signs of the monster are gone, except for the destruction.

The feeling is a lot like having a heavy load suddenly taken away. Disorienting. I’m so buoyant I think I might vomit. The university is gone, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. And several square miles around it are nothing but wreckage. Somehow this neighborhood is just outside the radius of destruction. I’ve never been particularly religious like Mom, but I give a quick prayer of thanks for that.

I’ve already had to question my sanity once today. I’m still not entirely sure what’s real and what isn’t after what I just experienced. I need to be here, to know that Isabella is safe and that Lusitania really has been playing the game.

Only, can I still call it a game? If that kaiju is real, then it stands to reason that so is everything else. I’m a murderer. I killed and destroyed en masse for fun. The deep breaths I take now have nothing to do with my tempter.

I’m in a nightmare, I realize. A real-life nightmare. I’m going to be sick. Because if all of the people who just died all around me are real, then so are all the aliens I’ve killed with Taisaur. I’ve been slaughtering people in droves. Doing this exact thing over and over and over. I’ve probably killed more people than anyone else in human history.

My gorge rises. I double over. How many had I killed? I’d never kept track. They were just computer-generated NPCs. Non-player characters. Miniature AI’s operating within the scope of a limited field of programming. They were there specifically to hinder me, to get in my way, and to be crushed and overcome.

I want nothing more than to lay down on Isabella and Lusitania’s lawn right here and pass out. This would all be some horrible dream and I’d wake up with sanity restored to the world.

With my luck I’d choke on my own vomit.

It’s that thought that keeps me from giving in to the urge to collapse. I didn’t survive that shit to give up and die now. Whether or not I deserve to live is another matter entirely, but I really can’t think on that right now. That way lies madness.

I force my legs to carry me the remaining distance to the door and knock. I’m only waiting a few seconds before the door is thrown open and I’m looking at Lusitania. She’s wearing enormous sweatpants and a holey t-shirt, no makeup, and her pale blonde hair is sticking out in every direction. Despite myself, I gape. I’ve never seen her this un-put-together before. Always—always—Lusitania has her mask carefully in place so that she never seems anything less than the consummate politician’s daughter.

The effect does nothing to make her less beautiful. The crazy gleam in her on the other hand is more than a little disconcerting. I half suspect that I’m about to get stabbed. Except that next thing I know, we’re in each other’s arms.

I don’t know why. We’ve never been close. Hell, we’ve never even cared for the other’s presence. I think she’s a stuck-up daddy’s girl psychopath and she thinks I’m some arrogant vagabond asshole. We’re not even real cousins. We’re family by coincidence and legal technicality only. And yet right now, I’m glad she’s there. Not because she’s my technical step-cousin. Because she understands what just happened. It’s not just my world that’s been upended. It’s hers too. And somehow the fact that neither of us are in this madness completely alone is relief enough that I almost weep.

There’s a noise from inside the house. We snap to our senses and come apart as if electrocuted. Grateful as we might be to not be alone in this, that’s not enough to erase the better part of a lifetime’s worth of resentment and disdain.

I look past Lusitania and find Isabella. She’s wearing yoga pants and a tent-sized t-shirt and she’s never looked sexier. I’m moving, limbs forgetting their fatigue from the sprint over here, and then I’m holding her in my arms. She starts to say something, then stops and sinks into my embrace. She fits into my arms perfectly. This, us, we really could be something together.

I pull back slightly and she mirrors me, meeting my eyes. I lean forward, intending to kiss her, when her fist connects with the side of my head. I have no idea how she managed to get so much power into her strike at such close range or at such an awkward angle, but it breaks my hold on her and sends me staggering back. I taste blood in my mouth and have to blink away stars so that I can see.

Behind me, Lusitania is laughing.

“What the hell?” I ask, wiping away the blood that’s spilled out over my lip. She’s cut it. And maybe loosened a tooth. The girl knows how to throw a punch.

She stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at me with so much fire in her eyes it’s a wonder I don’t explode. And despite everything the only thought that goes through my head is, damn she’s beautiful.

“You don’t call me and then you come in here and try to kiss me?” she says. “¡Pendejo! ¡Beso me culo!”

Lusitania stops laughing. “Wait, Aaron was the asshole mystery date who didn’t call you after?”

Apparently my not calling was a graver sin than I’d realized. I shake my head. The university’s just been demolished by a two-thousand-foot-long snake and this is the bigger deal?

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say. “I had…I had an opportunity to make some money and help out my mother.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t give me so much as a text message because…?”

“Uh….” Why the hell hadn’t that occurred to me? “Because I’m a dumbass?”

Lusitania lets out a very unladylike snort.

My answer seems to please Isabella though. She gives a quick nod. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Lusitania glides over to us. The only thing about her that’s changed is her bearing, but it makes a huge difference. She might as well be in a gown instead of sweatpants. The mask is back and so is the ice queen.

“Dumbassery aside, your sudden opportunity wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Kaiju Wars Online, would it?” she asks, tone so measured and polite that I almost miss the first word. It seems so foreign coming from her mouth with her mask up that my brain almost fails to process it.

I nod and Isabella looks back and forth between us, before her gaze settles on me, and that fire’s back in her eyes. “You’re playing that monster game too?”

“How do you know about it?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

“Because I told her, of course,” Lusitania says. Her tone never wavers, but I can hear the unspoken dumbass she’s mentally tacking on. Probably alongside some other choice insults.

At my evident confusion she continues. “I told her about the game as soon as I got it. We’re roommates. It’s hard to hide things like hours of gameplay from each other, so I asked her to cover for me. Especially when the games’ mysterious ‘backers’ started approaching me for special missions.”

That actually makes sense. I start to consider how to work something out with Brett before remembering that he’s dead. And that our dormitory is completely smashed. I can’t think on that now, so I nod. “That makes sense.”

Isabella raises an eyebrow. “How have you been playing?”

I shrug. “I’ve been sneaking onto my dormitory roof and playing through my phone.” I look over to Lusitania. “Did you ever notice that there’s apparently nothing on screen when we play?”

She shakes her head. “But Isabella figured it out. We decided it must be some advanced augmented reality technology, that that’s what the chip and game are testing as much as anything else.”

“Augmented reality?”

“You know, like the stuff where you hold up your phone and it puts things that aren’t really there on the screen?” Isabella asks. “There was that one game that came out a few years ago, everyone was looking for the little monsters or whatever with their phone cameras. Ring any bells?”

I nod, remembering the stories if not the game itself. Several people had walked into oncoming traffic on accident. I glance down at my right hand and the microchip that’s inside of it. That explanation makes a sort of sense. Knowing what I know now, I don’t believe it for an instant, but knowing that that had been a real possibility before would have been reassuring.

“The head-shrink who came and saw me in prison reached out to me our date.” I gesture at Isabella, just to make certain there’s no misunderstanding. “He offered me a lot of money to do a special mission and destroy a military base in the game.”

Lusitania scowls. “That’s odd. I got a similar offer, but it was to take out any players that appeared in that city.”

“That makes no sense,” I say. “Why would they make conflicting offers?”

“No,” Isabella says. “What makes no sense is that giant snake monster following the pair of you here.”

Lusitania must have recognized the kaiju and explained where she’d seen it before to Isabella.

“This is beyond insane,” I say. “Did either of you see what happened to it? I was too busy running. I head explosions but…?”

I don’t dare get my hopes up. Sure enough, Lusitania shakes her head. “The thing laid waste to the campus and then up and vanished.”

“Think it ran out of HP?” I ask. And doesn’t that question just sound stupid.

“Assuming it has HP,” Lusitania says. “No. I think it completed its mission and went back, just like we do.”

Great. Just fucking great.

I take a deep breath. “I need to catch a flight out of here. Taking care of Mom needs to be my highest priority.”

“Bullshit,” Lusitania snaps. Her mask is gone and the madness in her eyes is back.

Isabella and I exchange glances.

“Why is that bullshit?” I ask.

“Because, if what we’ve been doing in the game is real, then we’ve made those alien bastards fucking desperate. They’re only going to stop when we make them,” she says. “If you really care about your mother, then stopping this thing from coming back needs to be our highest priority. We need to plan a counter attack.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Mom’s apartment complex is exactly how I remember it. It’s so bland and normal that it seems unreal, like something out of a horror movie. The place is just pretending, waiting to throw a monster at me at any moment. Considering my recent experience with monsters, the thought actually makes me shiver. It’s weird, but now that I know kaiju are real, I have to wonder what else out there might be too. Aliens? Probably. The boogieman? I’m skeptical but no longer dismissive.

It’s been almost two full days now since the kaiju attack. The damn thing’s been on the news nonstop. Their calling it Titanocobra. The general consensus is that the Air Force destroyed it. I know better. Not that what I know counts for much.

Things with Isabella and Lusitania fell apart pretty quickly when I refused to hop onboard with Lusitania’s plan. The idea is nauseating. Knowing that everything is real, I have no idea how she can realistically consider going back into the game to attack. Yes, our university just got demolished, but when you consider it, we’re the bad guys. It’s us that have been attacking and destroying their cities and people. I honestly can’t recall how many people and places I’ve killed and destroyed in the short amount of time I’ve been playing.

Facing that kind of devastation, it’s no wonder the aliens counter-attacked. They must think we’re some kind of monsters. Somehow, even if we could explain things to them, I don’t think that the excuse “we thought it was all a game” would go over very well. The only real countermeasure to what’s been done that I can think of is to stop playing.

The decision seems so right and easy at first. I even felt a surge of righteousness when I explained my reasoning to Lusitania. She scoffed, said she was shocked by my naivete, only a hell of a lot harsher and with mush insulting of my junk. We argued, I left, and Isabella stayed with Lusitania to watch her back. They’re better friends than I had thought. And yet by the time I finally made it to the airport I was already itching to pull out my phone and tap the little app that isn’t really there.

It’s as if deciding not to play has made me hyper-aware of the game. I want to play it. More than once on the trip I found myself about to activate the game. Brett had said I’d been acting like an addict. Maybe there was something to his accusation. The game…I always felt so free after playing. It’s a medication, a drug, and just knowing that I’m never going to get it again is enough to make my system start to crash.

It’s a small price to pay if no one else gets killed because of me, human or alien. It still sucks.

I take longer to find Mom’s apartment this time around. Her RV is gone, and the place is so distressingly plane that finding her door is an effort. When I do finally locate and knock on her door, it’s several moments before anyone answers. It opens after almost a full two minutes, right as I’m raising my hand to knock again, to reveal a tall, slightly overweight woman in her mid-thirties.

She’s wearing hospital scrubs and an expression like I’ve just broken her favorite garden gnome. “Yes?”

“You must be the hospice lady,” I say. “I’m Aaron. I’m here to see my mother.”

She looks me pointedly up and down, expression not changing. I haven’t showered since before the kaiju attack nor changed my clothes. I probably look like hell. I certainly feel that way. I can almost smell myself.

“She’s not available right now,” the woman says. “Call tomorrow afternoon and we’ll set a time for you to visit.”

“Who is it?” I hear from back inside the apartment. That’s my mother’s voice. She doesn’t know I’m here.

“It’s no one,” the woman says. Then she closes the door.

I take a step back, then throw myself forward, kicking the door with every ounce of fury that’s suddenly surging through me. The hospice lady hadn’t had time to bolt it and the doorframe shatters, the door itself swinging in hard enough to slam into the wall and stick there, the doorknob having broken into the Sheetrock.

The woman screams.

I storm in. I have not been this furious since before meeting Dr. Warden. Maybe it’s knowing my outlet is gone. Maybe it’s because I’ve been playing the game so long I’ve gotten used to smashing things. Maybe it’s the way this woman talked to my mother the other day when I called. Maybe it’s the fact that after coming all this way after surviving that kaiju attack she shut the door in my face. Maybe it’s all of this combined. Whatever the case, I am done playing nice, pretending to be a good citizen. My anger rides me and I let it.

“I was not asking your Goddamn permission,” I roar, stepping inside.

The woman starts grabbing things and throwing them at me. Mom is screaming. Those are her knickknacks and possessions the woman is chucking. Being a traveler by nature, Mom never kept clutter. Each of the things that hits me or smashes against the wall behind me is something she kept for sentimental reasons. They’re her memories. And this bitch is breaking them.

“Stop that,” I snarl, storming up to her. I grab her thick arm before she can throw something else. She lets out a whimper. I’ve terrified her. Good.

“Aaron!” That’s Mom’s voice.

I step back, releasing the hospice lady, and turn to find Mom in the living room. The walker’s gone, replaced with a wheelchair. She’s thinner, her face almost gaunt, though exactly how much weight she’s lost is hard to say because she’s wearing a thick cardigan sweater.

We’re barely out of summer and it’s hotter than hell outside. I march over, ignoring her protests, and yank up her sweater sleeve. The skin underneath is a patchwork of bruises.

Everyone goes quiet. I turn, shaking with rage, fixing the alleged care-taker with my gaze. “You’re fired. You have exactly ten seconds to get out of here.” I catch her eye. “I’ve got no problem going back to jail if it means putting you in the ground.”

I don’t care that she’s a woman. I don’t care what kind of sentence a judge might pass on me. I don’t even care about what kind of trouble I’m already likely to be in from this exchange. No one hurts my Mom.

The hospice lady runs.

“Aaron,” Mom says.

I think she would have said more, except that I drop to my knees beside her and throw my arms around her. “Mom.”

We’re crying then. Me, because everything inside of me breaks all at once. Her…I don’t know. I can only hope that I haven’t disappointed her too badly again.

“I saw the news,” she says. “The monster. I thought you were—and she wouldn’t let me…”

I give her a gentle squeeze and pull back. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay. Things are going to change. I’ve got money now. We’re getting you out of here and someplace better.”

“H-how?”

How on earth do I explain this? “I’ve just got it, that’s all.”

“Aaron, please tell me you didn’t do anything illegal?”

The question shouldn’t hurt as badly as it does. It’s not only reasonable, it’s quite possibly warranted. “No, the money’s legit, Mom. Nothing illegal, I promise. It’s just really hard to explain.”

I want to get Mom packed right away, but we don’t have anywhere else to go yet. I’ll need to fix that. Meanwhile, we need that door fixed. That’s going to cost something ugly. If it comes out of Dad’s expenses though I don’t care. How the hell could he let anyone like that woman near Mom?

I’m about to start cleaning up and helping Mom pack when I hear footsteps approaching from outside. I’m up, ready to throw myself at whoever comes through that door. My nerves are so shot to hell, my adrenaline ready to go at a moment’s notice, that being ready for a fight somehow makes more sense than anything else.

And that’s how Dad finds me when he walks through the broken door. I can only imagine how crazy I must look. His eyes take in the mess, take in my disheveled state, and then fall on Mom. I never rolled her sleeve back down and his eyes zero in on the bruises there, widening in shock before turning back to me.

With dawning horror, I realize what this must look like. I can see in his eyes that I’m right. He thinks that I’ve broken in here, wrecked the place, and attacked Mom.

He stares at me for a full moment, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. “Aaron, what the have you done?”

Chapter Thirty

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“Clarence, this isn’t what it looks like,” Mom says. Somehow, she manages to sound both pleading and exasperated.

Dad is taken aback, actually doing a double take. It’s as if he’s forgotten she’s capable of speech. If he hasn’t been by in some time and the only real contact he’s had with her has been through that horrible hospice lady, he might actually think that it was beyond her.

I go on the offensive before he can regain his momentum, thoughts of Mom’s abuser burning through me. “Did you know that the hospice nurse you hired was hurting her?” I point at Mom, glaring straight into his eyes.

They widen in shock and confusion, darting from me to Mom. “What?”

Mom looks away and, with a visible effort, grabs her sleeve and pulls it down. She doesn’t answer. Most people who have been abused or are being abused don’t want to talk about it or acknowledge it. I’ve never understood that. Then again, I’ve never gone through what they’ve gone through.

“Let me guess,” I say. “It got hard to be around here so you quit coming by. You left her alone with that monster. What, called in once a week? Spoke for all of two minutes?”

“Sh-she was tired,” Dad says. He’s not looking at me. He’s still staring at Mom. It’s like he can’t believe this is real. I know that feeling all too well. It gives me exactly zero empathy for him.

“And who told you that?” I demanded, knowing full well who it was that would have limited his phone calls. That bitch would have had total control over Mom’s life while she was here. I am shaking I am so mad. Fortunately, there’s a convenient target for my anger right here. “You took the easy way out, like you always do. You left, and instead of taking care of what you’re supposed to take care of, handed the job off to someone you could pay.”

He’s not listening to me though. I’ve been tuned out. Dad only has eyes for mom. Quietly, he asks, “Is it true?”

Of course, it’s true! I want to shout. I just told you that! Why the hell do you always think I’m a liar?

Slowly, Mom nods.

Dad gives a little shake. He spins back to me and closes the distance between us. I throw my hands up, ready to throw all my anger into a good punch across the face. He ignores my fists, which makes me hesitate. The hesitation is enough. Next thing I know he’s got his arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest in an embrace.

There’s a lot of hugging going on lately, I distantly think, so confused by this turn of events that my anger’s forgotten.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Dad says. He’s crying. The bastard is actually crying.

My anger returns, full force. I break free of his arms and shove him back away from me, hard. He’s shocked. I don’t think he’d realized how strong I’ve become. Or maybe he thought that somehow everything would magically be forgiven. It isn’t.

“You don’t get to do that.” I’m shouting. My face is burning. I feel tears in my eyes and they only make me madder. He doesn’t get to see me cry. “You don’t get to hug on me and tell me how happy you are I’m alive after everything you’ve done.”

“Aaron.” That’s Mom’s voice. She’s talking to me.

I don’t know what she’s saying though. I’m overflowing, ready to explode and the words won’t stop tearing out of me. “You left her again! You let her get hurt! We’re through with you. Get out of our lives and stay gone. I should have been here with her and you pulled that college blackmail shit like you were trying to bribe a teenager with a car! We don’t need you anymore, I’ve got the money to pay for the doctors and I’ll be right here, not some stranger. Get out and don’t come back!”

“Aaron!”

This time Mom’s voice jolts me out of my rant. I’m panting, shivering. I feel like I’ve just sprinted away from that snake kaiju all over again.

Both Dad and I slowly turn our attention to Mom.

“I asked him to send you to college,” she says.

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water to the face. “What?”

Tears are glistening in her eyes. Have I made her cry again?

Her voice is unsteady when she speaks. Mom has never been a woman to use tears to get what she wants. Seeing her weep now sends a sharp pain shooting beneath my ribcage.

“He did everything, everything, because I asked him to.”

It takes me several seconds to process this. “You asked him for help with the medical bills?”

She nods. “And he agreed to help without hesitation. He didn’t have to, Aaron. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

That’s bullshit, I want to scream. He owes you everything. But the words won’t come out. The insides of my throat are frozen.

“I asked him to make sure you went to college, to get into a university,” she goes on. “It was never a real condition that he would only pay while you were attending.”

What? Now my whole body is frozen. Not my mind though. That is racing, trying to make sense of this. I feel like I’m stuck in a mental hamster wheel, running in place, getting traction but going nowhere. Pieces slowly fall into place. Piece by tiny, painful piece.

There is something fundamentally wrong with the idea of paying to send me to college as a way of me paying Dad back for taking care of Mom. I was still thinking of Dad like a young teenager, not considering the real implications of that. How much money he was spending. That’s way too much to spend in an effort to try and make me more like him. His whole deal never made any real kind of sense.

My anger made me blind.

I make my mouth and throat move. The effort hurts so much that I feel like I must be bleeding. It’s all I can do to utter the question, “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want you to waste the best years of your life watching me die,” Mom says, choking down a sob. “You have so much potential, Aaron, I couldn’t bear to see you waste any more of it.”

The first part sinks in quickly. It makes sense. When I’m sick, I want to be left the hell alone. ALS is a degrading disease. I understand, empathize even, with Mom’s desire to be left alone while it takes its toll on her. It’s the other part that strikes me so hard it nearly bounces off.

Wasting my potential? Is that really how she’s seen this whole time? I look over to Dad. He was willing to play the bad guy in all of this, for her? Technically for me as well but I never wanted any of this or asked for it. He gives a nod, understanding what I’m asking without speaking.

I slowly shake my head. I start moving into the house.

“Where are you going?” Mom asks.

“To take a shower,” I say. “I can’t handle the two of you right now and I’m still wearing the same clothes I was yesterday.”

If they say anything else after that I don’t hear it. My brain shuts off. It’s been overloaded in the past twenty-four hours. My Dad’s not the monster I thought he was but other monsters are real, both human-shaped and building-sized. The world doesn’t make sense any more.

I don’t know how long I’m under the water. When I’m done though I have a problem. The kaiju attack destroyed my dorm room, burying all my clothes beneath a mountain of rubble and I don’t have anything to change into here. I have to put my grimy clothing back on after drying off, making me feel dirty all over again.

I make a mental note to buy new clothes as soon as possible. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do with myself now.

No one’s in the living room when I walk out into it. My eyes go to the door I broke. A project is just what I need. When something is broken, I do my best to fix it.

There’s only so much I can do with the limited tools and materials at hand, but I make it work. The door’s not pretty and it takes extra effort to open, but some time later it’s back in place. The latch won’t catch properly so the deadbolt has to be turned to hold it in place. Not necessarily a bad thing. I’ll still replace it with a proper door soon.

I turn around after admiring my handiwork and find Dad standing there, watching me.

“You really are good with your hands,” he says.

I grunt. It could mean, thanks, it could mean, I know, or it could mean, fuck off. Maybe it means all three. Right now, I don’t actually know.

Neither does Dad. He shifts uncomfortably in place. There’s something he wants to say and is working himself up to it.

I stay silent. No need to help him along.

“I didn’t divorce Emma because I don’t love you,” he finally says.

I roll my eyes. “Really? You want to do this now?”

“Aaron, you almost died yesterday. A giant fucking monster came out of nowhere and nearly crushed you! Do you understand that?” He’s nearly shouting, his voice picking up in pitch and speed. With every word he draws a little closer.

“We’ve both made stupid decisions,” Dad says, stopping within arm’s reach. “I’ve been willing to play the bad guy this time around because you were already so mad. I thought sending you to college was the best thing for you.”

“You and Mom both,” I say. My voice is flat and cold.

He nods. “Yes. And you would never have gone on your own.”

“I should have been here,” I say. “This would not have happened to Mom if I’d been here.”

“We don’t know that,” he says.

“We do! Because it would have been me taking care of her and not some stranger!” I’m shouting.

He shouts back. “She didn’t want you here!”

I recoil as if slapped.

“Your mother loves you, Aaron,” Dad says, speaking in a normal voice now. “She loves you so much, and she doesn’t want you to remember her like this. Dying. And she wants you to have the best of life.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I can say.

“And, I know this doesn’t mean much to you,” Dad says. “But so do I, son.”

Chapter Thirty-One

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Nearly a week later no one in the world has any idea where the giant snake’s gone, where it came from, or why it attacked. The world, save for me, the other players, and Isabella, are completely clueless. Speculation is rampant. The only thing that’s known for sure is that it hasn’t been seen since destroying Ole Miss.

People are saying anything and everything. Scientists scream that the creature defies the laws of physics and debate everything they thought they knew. Several doomsday cults have sprung up, each proclaiming the kaiju heralds something different, usually a variation on the end of days. And the politicians…well, they are politicking like nobody’s business.

I tune most of it out, instead focusing on keeping busy and helping Mom. Just because she tried to get rid of me doesn’t mean I don’t have a responsibility to take care of her. Dad and I are splitting the cost of her medical expenses and I’d hired some new help. Help that I carefully screened and vetted. After what had happened last time I go so far as to hire a private security firm to perform an in-depth background check. I have the money now, which is a weirdness unto itself. Even with Mom’s medical expenses I have no idea what to do with the substantial amount of remaining cash.

Nor am I sure how to feel about it. It is, technically, blood money.

I fixed the door properly, got new tools, and kept myself busy taking on local mechanic jobs. I’m considering hiring out to a local shop or maybe using the money to fund my own. Only I have no idea how to actually run larger a business and spending that money on anything aside from Mom’s care feels weird.

Keeping busy helps keep my mind off Kaiju Wars Online. Every time I glance at my phone, the app is there, begging to be activated. It is insidious. Even getting too close to the television or a computer makes it show up. And every time it’s an effort not to activate it, to not log in to the game and become Taisaur again.

It’s like being an alcoholic constantly tempted with beer every time I so much as look at a screened electronic device and giving in means more death. Human or alien, I don’t know or care which. It isn’t a game anymore. And Brett had been right. It was addictive. So I keep busy to keep my mind off of it because otherwise I am going to give in and crack.

I become surly, snapping at everyone. Cold showers become a staple. Oddly, so do text messages with Isabella. And no, there’s no relationship between the texting and showers.

I’m not a texter. Hell, I’m not even a good communicator. Maybe if I’d gone to high school like a normal teenager this would be different, but nonstop texting is a new experience for me. Whenever I’m about to give in and push the Kaiju Wars app, I text her instead.

She almost always texts back right away. I find myself eager for them. This is a whole new level of weirdness. I’d much preferred to talk to her in person face to face. Failing that, this is a good substitute. I don’t think I’ve ever texted so much in my entire life.

Through her texting I learn that she’s joined the volunteer efforts helping out survivors of the attack. There is a lot to be done and every time she described how a home near Ole Miss had been demolished or how yet another body of a faculty member has been discovered, I feel a stab of guilt in my gut. The Ole Miss would never have been a target if Lusitania and I hadn’t been there.

And Lusitania hasn’t stopped playing the game. So far nothing has come of it and she hasn’t encountered Tatanocobra in the game again. Every time Isabella mentions it though I feel my breathing quicken. I try convincing her to leave several times. She isn’t having any of it. I quit after the third attempt when she doesn’t text me for a full day.

Isabella is a loyal friend. The way she sees it, Lusitania needs her. And so do the people she’s helping with her volunteer work. I have to respect that even if I don’t like it. It feels like I’ve gone from constantly worrying about Mom to constantly worrying about Isabella instead. With Lusitania still playing the game, attacking and antagonizing the aliens, the Ole Miss is the most likely target for the aliens to send Titanocobra again.

I’ve spent the morning fixing up an old truck and am texting with Isabella in the living room when Mom rolls in and gives a gentle shake of her head. I can’t tell if the gentleness was deliberate or inevitable because of the disease. If she hadn’t been smiling I think the pang in my gut would be a lot worse.

“She must be some girl,” Mom says, coming to a stop beside my perch in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. I started sitting here specifically because she could position her wheelchair next to it. I’m still mad at her about the whole thing with Dad and sending me away, but I still love and respect her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on your phone so much.”

I had probably spent more time on it “playing” Kaiju Wars while away at Ole Miss, but she doesn’t need to know that. How can I really explain that to her? Hell, how can I explain now how talking with Isabella is keeping me from rampaging across cities and causing incalculable death? Or how badly I want to do that again anyway?

So instead I settle for what she really wants to hear. “She is.”

And it’s the truth. Not the whole of it but enough for now. As much as I want to make something work with Isabella though I can’t pretend it is a real possibility with the way things are going. She is staying at ground zero for another kaiju attack and I need to look after my mother. A long-distance relationship isn’t realistically feasible for us.

More importantly, what I’m doing is entirely unfair to her. I’m using Isabella as an anchor to keep me from caving to my addiction of being a giant monster. I think she suspects some of that and I don’t think she minds. That doesn’t change anything. A relationship based on that…damn, I really do have it bad for her. Relationships. So weird to be thinking of them.

Mom’s smile widens. “I think I’d like to meet her.”

I chuckle. “That might be a little difficult. See—”

A knock on the door interrupts me. I glance at Mom. “You expecting company?”

She shakes her head. Not so gently as before. I feel an inordinate amount of relief, knowing that the gentleness before had been voluntary.

I get up and go to the door, opening it to find Dr. Warden standing there, still wearing the same damn tweed suit as always. “Hell, Mr. Moretti.”

I throw the door the rest of the way open and go for him, but he holds up a forestalling hand. “Ah-ah. You’re already skirting the boundaries of your parole. Hitting your psychiatrist when he’s paying you a house call in an effort to save you from yourself would not go over well, I think.”

“Save me from myself?” I demand. He’s so damn smug I want to break his jaw.

He looks as round and soft as ever. Knowing what I do now though about the game that isn’t a game and the kind of money his backers are willing to throw at us “beta testers” makes me hesitate. There’s also something of an edge to his smile, and that damn sharpness to his eyes, completely at odds with his otherwise harmless appearance.

“You haven’t been playing the game,” he chides, waggling a sausage-like finger. “You still have a few hours before the seven-day deadline is up, but as a concerned doctor I thought I’d check in on you.”

“I’m not playing your game anymore,” I snap.

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, dear. I suppose there isn’t much of your sentence left to carry out though. Shall I go ahead and call the police?”

Mom pulls up beside me. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Moretti,” Dr. Warden says, extending her a hand. “My condolences on your condition. You’re very lucky to have a son so dedicated to your wellbeing. I suppose you have set her up for the foreseeable future then?”

Mom looks from Dr. Warden to me. “Why would you need to set me up?”

“Your son and I have an arrangement,” Dr. Warden says, answering before I can. “One that he no longer wishes to uphold. So long as he plays my organization’s anger management game, he stays out of jail.”

“It’s not a game!” I don’t mean to shout but the words reverberate through the concrete hall outside the apartment.

“Of course, it is,” he says. “Don’t complain because you didn’t realize the stakes.”

The stakes? What the fuck is wrong with this man?

“Aaron,” Mom says. “Please don’t stop. If it’s keeping you out of jail then playing a silly game doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It’s not a game, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. How the hell do I explain this? “It’s because of this, this thing, that Titanocobra attacked Ole Miss.”

Dr. Warden actually laughs. “You are a sharp one.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” I snarl.

Mom is looking back and forth between us, confusion evident on her face. “Will someone please explain to me what is going on?”

“It’s very simple, Ms. Moretti,” Dr. Warden says to her, though his eyes never leave mine. “Regardless of what your son thinks he knows about our project, if he does not play he goes back to jail. Also, my backers will sue the ever-living-shit out of you.” The last is unmistakably directed at me.

“How well do you think those winnings of yours will last you when you’re all tied up in court?” he asks. “Something for you to consider, Mr. Moretti. Good day.” And with that, he waddles off into the parking lot.

Chapter Thirty-Two

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I play the game.

If I have to choose between the lives of a bunch of aliens on a planet that may or may not be real and Mom’s wellbeing, there isn’t even a contest. Not that I have any intention of playing the game the way it’s meant to be played.

I lock myself in my room, pull out my phone, and login.

Taisaur’s stats have grown since I’ve last been here. I realize he hit level fifteen during my last session and he’s grown accordingly. He’s topping two hundred feet now, and he’s got a new ability. Burning Aurora.

An examination reveals that it’s tied to his Special Defense stat rather than his Special Attack, which makes sense. It’s a little like the Weaponized Defenses ability. It draws directly from the rage meter, like the special attacks I’ve seen other players utilize. It would be great to have some ranged capacity but barring that this is pretty cool.

I swear it feels like Taisaur is glad to see me. That might not make as little sense as it used to. If the game isn’t a game and the aliens are real, what about our kaiju? Is Taisaur real, just hovering around in a spaceship somewhere? I find that hard to believe, because if he’s there, that means the others probably are too. The kind of vessel required to transport, let alone contain, over a hundred kaiju is mind blowing.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I hit ATTACK and it is game on. I am Taisaur. I am powerful. My rage meter is full to bursting and I swear it glows at the barest memory of Dr. Warden and his mysterious backers. What the hell are those bastards after?

Instead of launching Taisaur into the city ahead of me though, I turn around and run him straight out into the wilderness. I swear I can feel his frustration and confusion. Or are those my own? The lines between us have grown blurry. As I sprint with him, far away from civilization and innocent victims, I recall my first fight with Lusitania’s Halira. I had actually tasted salt. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong, I’d just been too caught up in what was happening to care. Too caught up in my anger, just like before with Dad.

Powerful as I felt my anger made me, I was beginning to feel like the world’s biggest dupe.

Taisaur and I do nothing but run. We pass several highways and leap over them, avoiding the hovering vehicles traversing them. Eventually the flying saucers make an appearance and start dropping their payload on us. It has next to no effect aside from pissing me off.

Between Taisaur’s natural bulk and now the Burning Aurora, there’s not much they can do. They seem to realize this but it only makes them bring in more saucers. It’s ridiculous, I’m not attacking them or causing any problems. I’m just running around in the middle of nowhere and they’re trying to kill me. The bastards.

How many of them have I killed though? Vexing though they are, I don’t think I can really blame them for hitting me with everything that they’ve got. I lead them on a chase for I don’t know how long before logging out. The game’s been played. No one was killed. All is well.

“Aaron!” That’s Mom’s voice.

I race from my room to find her in the living room. The television is on, showing a sci-fi horror movie. Except that it’s not. It’s the news. Titanocobra is back, attacking Oxford again. Construction equipment is demolished, volunteers are crushed.

The jets are quicker to respond this time and I watch as an airstrike hits the kaiju with an explosive payload of untold force. It has about as much effect on the snake kaiju as the alien’s attacks had upon Taisaur just moments before.

Titanocobra strikes at the jets, hooded head bursting through the flames and despite the jet’s speed, it actually manages to catch one in its jaws. The jet is quick to explode and Titanocobra hurls it toward the other retreating planes. They move apart but that just means the burning wreckage has nothing to block its descent. It crashes in a neighborhood and whatever payload it was carrying explodes.

There goes the neighborhood.

“Isabella.” My phone is already in my hand, I never put it down after my run with Taisaur. I’ve got it to my ears and call. It goes to voicemail. If she’s alive that’s probably for the best.

“That’s where your girlfriend is, isn’t it?” Mom asks.

I don’t bother to say she isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t know what we are. That’s my fault though. It’s up to me to declare what I want out of the relationship. This whole mystery thing we’ve been doing is fun and tantalizing but it leaves us both wondering. And I want more.

I might not get it.

“I need to go,” I tell Mom.

“You need to sit your ass down and explain to me exactly what is going on,” she says. There’s more iron in her voice now than I’ve heard since before my trial.

I turn to look at her, shock clear on my face.

She gives a decisive nod. “Don’t you think for one instant that just because I’m in this chair I am not still your mother. I can and will beat you to within an inch of your life, young man.”

I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s all too much. The sound is hysterical and mirthless. Mom gives me a concerned look. More explosions light up the screen. Titanocobra is moving away from the campus to attack the surrounding neighborhoods. I recognize a landmark on the television as the camera pulls away.

Titanocobra is moving in the opposite direction of Isabella and Lusitania’s house. “Thank God,” I manage to choke out.

Mom shakes her head. “Aaron Troy Moretti, you sit yourself down right now and explain to me exactly what is going on or so help me there will be consequences! Who was that man at the door and what do you know about this?” She jabs a finger at the television.

I sit. And I explain.

She listens without interrupting. This surprises me. I expect Mom to have a thousand questions. She’s naturally curious. It’s part of why travelling appealed so much to her. What could we find taking an unexplored back road?

When I finish she gives a small nod. “Okay.”

Okay? That’s it? I don’t know what I was expecting but “Okay” isn’t anywhere on the list. “Okay?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I have absolutely no idea how to help you with this one, Aaron. You know a lot more about these people and monsters than I do and I don’t know anyone else who could help you out. Even if you stop playing and let yourself carry out the rest of your sentence and risk a lawsuit, we don’t know that the aliens will stop attacking. You seem to be doing the best you can with a bad situation. It sucks, and if I see that fat bastard again I’ll run him over with my chair, but I’m proud of how you’re dealing with this.”

I’m speechless. My mouth opens and closes several times but no words come out.

My phone rings. It’s Isabella.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck no I am not okay,” Isabella says. Then sighs. “But we are not hurt.”

We? Oh right, Lusitania. I don’t mention I forgot about her in the face of losing Isabella. “You need to get out of there.”

“And go where?” Isabella asks. “If it’s coming here after Lusitania then the destruction is being confined. Imagine if it showed up somewhere like New York City. No, we’re going to stop this thing and that means we’re right where we need to be.”

I stare at the phone. They’re crazy. Do they actually think that they can do anything to stop this thing? If we had our kaiju on this side, on our planet, or our reality—fuck, I have no idea what the right terminology here is because I know so fucking little!—we might have some kind of counter measure. But we don’t. And attacking the aliens on their world is just kicking the hornet’s nest.

“Isabella, it’s not safe—”

“I know it’s not safe! Don’t you fucking tell me it’s not safe, Aaron.” She sighs, then takes a deep breath. “I need to call some more family to let them know I’m alive. I’ll talk to you later.”

She hangs up.

I’m left shaking my head. Mom catches my eye with an unasked question. She’s not asking very loudly.

“She’s not leaving the attack area,” I say. And I know what I have to do.

Mom doesn’t say anything as I go to my room and pack up a few changes of clothes, all purchased within the last few days.

“I would stop you if I could, you know that?” she asks.

I nod. “I know.”

“I love you,” she says. “And I’m proud of you.”

I hug her, and then I’m out the door. Getting back to the university is going to be hard.

Chapter Thirty-Three

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It’s a frenetic journey, but I make good time. A plane ride to a nearby town and a few hitched car rides, culminates in a ride with one Officer Smith seeing me to Oxford in, if not record time, then pretty good time considering everything that’s going on.

I’ve never been a passenger in a police car before. A prisoner, sure, but a passenger? Not so much. Officer Smith’s a nice enough guy. He’s sympathetic to my situation when I explain my girlfriend was volunteering at Ole Miss when it was attacked again. The place is wrecked, demolished beyond all recognition and getting there is an even bigger hassle than I’d been afraid of.

The roads are lined with enormous military vehicles, mostly transporting troops and relief, but there’s a number of tanks present as well. How hard was it to get those here, I have to wonder? The only places on US soil I’ve ever heard of those ever being necessary is along the southern boarder where the national guard has the occasional skirmish with the cartels. Those incidents don’t tend to make it into the news as often as other things, but they’re there. It’s funny how often that’s the case.

Not that I have any room to criticize. I’m one of maybe a handful of people who actually knows what’s going on with the kaiju, not including Dr. Warden’s organization, and I’m not saying a damn thing. In part because I don’t think anyone would believe me. In part because of the guilt that’s eating me up inside.

Knowingly or not, I’m responsible for these attacks. I started this mess.

Normally I don’t mind owning up to my shit. When I do wrong I take it standing up. This time? This time I can’t even comprehend the scale of what’s happened. We’re talking giant monsters, aliens, some kind of conspiracy pulling it all together…it’s all so far above my pay grade that the only thing I can think to do to survive is keep my head down and my mouth shut.

Officer Smith pulls up to a collection of tents that are helping coordinate volunteers and parks. I have to wait for him to let me out of the back of the car, which has more in common with a cage than not. Cuffed or no, there’s no getting out unless you’re let out.

Fortunately, he doesn’t keep me waiting long.

“You go find your girl,” he says, and gives me a quick bro-hug.

Good guy, Smith. Never thought I’d say that about a cop. He knows I’m an ex-con. It’s not the sort of thing you can really hide from a cop and when you get caught trying it only spells trouble. And yet he made an effort to help me get here. It reminds me of that moment when I first saw Titanocobra in the “game,” how that feeling of near instantaneous solidarity had overcome me and Lusitania. In the face of aliens and giant monsters, the greater tribe of humanity is more powerful than the smaller, individual tribes.

I bro-hug him back, wish him luck, and take off. The roads, those not occupied by relief and military efforts, are wrecks. Titanocobra’s so large that his movements are enough to bring down the less sturdy buildings and churn up the earth. I hardly recognize where I’m at and have to use the GPS on my phone to get my bearings. The poor AI is beyond confused, trying to track and guide me down streets that are no longer there, but it helps me track my destination and eventually I make it to the front of their house.

It looks deserted.

It’s possible that they aren’t home, that instead they’ve joined the relief efforts. Or maybe, and here I can only hope, they’ve finally come to their senses and actually gotten out of town. I knock on the door. There’s no response.

I pull out my phone to call Isabella when I hear footsteps behind me. Turning around I find Isabella standing a half a dozen yards away, looking torn between happiness and vexation. I run to her and pull her to my arms. Oh yeah, I’ve got it bad.

I pull back. “How are you?”

“We’re okay,” she says. “You know, considering. Come on, we have to get off the streets.”

“Why?” I ask, looking around, but she’s grabbed my hand and is already dragging me along behind her.

“Lusitania’s father,” she says. “He’s been trying to get her to come home.”

I would be to if I was her father. Hell, if I was anyone’s father. “Your parents can’t be any happier that you’re still here.”

“Maybe, but they don’t send big men in suits to drag me away.”

That’s right, Lusitania’s father is a US senator. I feel a sudden surge of hope. If she tells him what’s going on, there’s a damn good chance we might not be so powerless against Dr. Warden’s organization as I’ve been thinking. The question is, is Lusitania willing to talk to him?

I’m dragged across two more yards and around behind a neighbor’s house, before being led inside through the back door.

“Our neighbors got out of town after the first attack,” Isabella explains. “But we know where they keep their spare key.”

The inside is full of the sound of people talking. They’ve got the news playing in the living room. It’s more stuff about the aftermath and relief efforts and discussion about how little we actually know. Somebody is proclaiming Titanocobra to be the great dragon from the Book of Revelations here to devour us all. I shake my head. If Titanocobra is Satan then Taisaur’s an angel.

It’s enough to make me wish I were a more devout man. I could sure use a miracle right about now. We all could.

Lusitania’s on the sofa staring at the phone held sideways in her hand. Her expression is blank, but she occasionally snaps her mouth like she’s biting at something or lets out a snarl. Is that how I’ve looked every time I’ve played? No wonder Brett thought I was going crazy.

She’s only like that a few more moments though before blinking several times and coming out of whatever trance it is we enter when we play the “game.” Lusitania stretches, blinks, and stands up before noticing me. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” I say, glancing around. They’ve clearly been camping out here. It’s more rugged than I would have expected. Seeing Lusitania in a setting like this…it’s like seeing a snowy owl swimming past a coral reef. It’s not her element. And yet she seems to be handling it well. Despite myself I’m a bit impressed. Maybe she’s more than just an angry diva?

I shove that thought aside. Whatever else she might be she’s annoying, as evidenced when she opens her mouth and tells me to do something anatomically impossible.

I roll my eyes. “Isabella says you’re hiding from your dad.”

Lusitania scowls and fixes her glare on Isabella, who shrugs. “Better than having him accidentally lead them to us.”

Them? Just how many guys has her dad sent to retrieve her?

“Whatever,” Lusitania says, before turning her glare on me. “Are you here to help or get in the way?”

“I’m here to try and talk some sense into you,” I say. “You two need to get out of here and quit attacking the aliens.”

“Get in the way then,” Lusitania says, sounding disgusted. “The only way the attacks stop is if we make them.”

“Or stop giving them a reason to attack at all,” I say.

“Pacifism?” She seems genuinely shocked. “You of all people know what a load of bullshit that is.”

I do. Pacifism is for those willing to die for their beliefs or who are so powerful that it doesn’t matter if they paint a target on themselves. It’s probably not a viable option in this scenario, especially after everything that’s been done to the aliens, but I don’t want to hear that from this rich daddy’s girl. “And what’s your superior solution?”

I’m not really expecting an answer, but she gives one. “They’re getting that monster here somehow. I think there’s some kind of device located underneath that military base where it first showed up. It’s so heavily defended now I can’t get Halira close before that damn snake shows up. With you providing a distraction though, Halira’s fast enough that I might be able to get her past the security and destroy the device. Then bam, Titanocobra’s trapped on their planet.”

I glance at Isabella. She’d told me that Lusitania hadn’t seen Titanocobra in the game world. She’d lied. I put that from my mind and focus on what Lusitania’s just said.

I hate to admit it, but that’s actually a pretty good plan. I’m not about to go along with it, though. I’ve done enough damage to the aliens.

The television flashes with a BREAKING NEWS alert and a pretty reporter shows up. “We’ve just received word that Titanocobra has appeared in Dallas, Texas. No one is sure how or why the monster is here this time instead of Oxford, Mississippi, but the devastation it’s causing is….”

I tune her out, staring in silent horror at the footage of Titanocobra demolishing three buildings in a row. Worst of all, I recognize those buildings. The kaiju is only a few miles away from Mom. The aliens must have tracked me from my last login back to Mom’s apartment.

Chapter Thirty-Four

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To Lusitania’s credit, she doesn’t hesitate after my abrupt change of heart. We’re both on the sofa and logging in an instant later. I do hesitate, however. Not because I’m scared shitless or because I have my doubts about what we’re doing, although I am and I do. No, I hesitate because I have an idea, and instead of immediately going to the ATTACK menu and following Lusitania into the game proper, I go to Monster Land.

There’s no sign of Xen or the others at the rocky outcropping at the end of the peninsula. It’s not surprising. Catching each other online at an unscheduled time is tough. I’m still disappointed. Extending Taisaur’s claws and hoping that Xen will forgive me for writing on his rock, I carve out a message letting them know I got a time sensitive mission. It probably won’t work but anything that increases our odds of success is something I’ve got to try. It could mean saving Mom’s life.

Halira is waiting for me, and I swear the kaiju looks even more impatient than her partner. Where the fuck’ve you been?

I send Taisaur racing past her, through the wreckage of the city I’d demolished only a week and a half ago, toward the military base. Waiting on you now.

Halira shrieks behind me and then zooms past. She’s bigger than I remember. Lusitania’s been leveling her up, grinding away like I did right before the mission that brought me to this base in the first place. It’s hard to say how much larger she is now. Although she’s definitely bigger than Taisaur, their shapes are simply so different that the amount is not easily judged at a glance and we’re not about to hold still to measure.

My rage meter is brimming, glowing. Just the thought of my mother in danger has it ready to explode and surround Taisaur in the Burning Aurora. I hold off, restraining myself from pointlessly burning away the energy. I’ll need it when we get to the base. There’s no telling what kind of defenses will be arrayed against us.

There might even be another kaiju. God, I hope Titanocobra is the only one they’ve got.

The plan is simple and straightforward and I absolutely hate it.

Taisaur will act as the meat shield and draw the defender’s fire. Havoc, destruction, and mayhem are all my goal. I’m good at those things I admit. And I admit that Halira’s better suited to the next part, which is zooming in through the opening I’ll make in the defenses to destroy whatever device is allowing the aliens to send their kaiju to our world.

I don’t like this for the very petty reason that I’m not the one smashing the device. It’s the most critical part of our plan. If the device doesn’t get destroyed, they can keep sending their kaiju to earth. An image of the buildings so close to Mom’s apartment falling in clouds of fire and debris as Titanocobra smashes through them flashes through my mind, quickly followed by my futile attempt to make Taisaur appear the first time Titanocobra appeared in our world.

I hate being useless. I hate being helpless. I hate being trapped and that even if this attack somehow does end the attack on Dallas and save Mom, I’ll still be able to count what’s left of her life in months. I let that hatred seethe and grow and burn, fueling me forward.

I catch up to Halira a short while later, not because Taisaur is moving faster, although our pace did pick up, but because Lusitania’s stopped her to wait on me. She’s a glass canon, maximum damage output but no ability to take a hit. If she goes first we’re hosed, so clearly vexed, she waits for me, allowing me to pull ahead and charge the ruins of the military base as we draw close.

It’s not at all like I remember.

There’s a mass of triple barrel hover tanks moving in concentric circles around it for what’s got to be a full mile, accompanied by smaller, single barrel hover tanks mixed sporadically among their ranks. The air is full of rotating but otherwise stationary saucers. I have never seen so many of these forces gathered in one place before.

And all that is enough to shock me before I even see what it is that they’re defending. It’s a pit, with a pillar in the center of it, twice as tall as Taisaur, putting it in the vicinity of about 400 feet. It’s worked over in glowing green pieces that look like they’re actually moving over its surface.

I guess we found the device. It must have been below the base when I destroyed it and survived somehow. That means it’s got to be all kinds of durable. They had Titanocobra use it to hit the university only moments after my attack. Of course, that assumes that time flows the same way here as it does back in my world. For all I know there could be some kind of Narnia shit going on. Who knows how long it actually is between our attacks?

I can’t let myself think on that though. It’s madness and not the kind that’s helpful.

With a roar, I unleash the proper kind of madness and charge straight into the ranks of tanks, activating Taisaur’s Burning Aurora. His stripes glow crimson and then he’s surrounded in the blood hued rays of waving light. I got it up just in time too, because a solid wall of green energy crashes into me as every armament they’ve got turns on me.

Taisaur slows but doesn’t stop at the onslaught of impact, tearing into the formation. Between his sheer mass and natural weaponry and the Burning Aurora we smash into the tanks like a wrecking ball through a house of cards. It’s almost like swimming, there’s so much energy around me, hitting me harmlessly, deflected or absorbed by the Burning Aurora while I thrash about.

The saucers begin dropping their bombs, heedless of the risk of friendly fire. They’re too high to hit so I ignore them and focus on smashing the tanks all around me. There’s so much energy, so many explosions I can’t even see. It’s light, light, and more light. But one light in particular stands out and that’s the flashing from my depleting rage meter.

Powerful and effective as my offense is, I can’t finish them all off before I run out of rage energy. And, despite all the damage I’ve done, there’s still so many left that they’ll finish me off. There’s no cover to hide behind. Nothing but empty terrain for miles, thanks in no small part to my own efforts.

The attacks diminish enough that I can actually see and with a sweep of my tail, I send several of the smaller tanks flying through the air to crash into an unfortunate saucer. Its payload goes off, taking it and two other saucers with it. This sets off a chain reaction and the sky is suddenly on fire.

The Burning Aurora fades and Taisaur is suddenly exposed. My HP bar begins to deplete. Chip by chip, splinter by splinter. I’ve taken out maybe a third of the ground forces I realize. It’s not nearly enough. Their combined assault will have Taisaur down and out before I can finish off the rest of them.

But I don’t need to.

Halira zips past me, a glittering blur, a shriek escaping her throat. We’ve done it. She’s going to hit the pillar.

Something falls out of the sky and we’re both blasted off our feet. Taisaur’s HP bar is down by a full third from whatever just hit us. He’s scorched and bleeding and looking around I can’t see at all what just hit us.

Halira’s in even worse shape. Many of her crystals are shattered and fractured. She’s bleeding. Her HP bar is down to one tenth of its total and flashing red.

What the hell did they just hit us with? I ask, Taisaur bellowing his own confusion in tandem.

Missile strike, Lusitania says. The anger is gone from her. She sounds like her mask is back in place, detached and dismissive. Everything is beneath her and doesn’t affect her in the slightest.

That confuses me almost as much as the missile strike itself. What the hell do you mean?

I mean they probably just hit us with their equivalent of a nuke or a MOAB, she says, Halira making a sound that’s more whine that roar.

A MOAB if I’m remembering right, stands for Mother Of All Bombs and is some seriously heavy duty ordinance. Not as powerful as a nuke, but no radiation afterword either. Just a lot of scorched earth. Which is exactly what I see when I look around.

Most of the tanks are gone. More saucers are inbound. And I finally understand what Lusitania’s change in tone means.

She’s given up.

Fuck that.

I make Taisaur rise up and let out a roar of challenge. That pillar needs to be destroyed. It means stopping them from continuing their attack on our world. Maybe it means stopping their current attack and sparing Mom. I don’t know. I do know that giving up isn’t an option for me.

My rage meter is quickly refilling. I’ll be able to do a full on Burning Aurora again in just a few moments. Except that I haven’t got a few moments. The new aerial defenses are already in place, coming in fast, ready to drop their explosives on us. Maybe the aliens are even readying another massive airstrike like the one they just hit us with. Our time’s up.

We failed.

A glowing white orb of brilliant energy carves through the oncoming saucers like a napalm covered knife, setting every one of them it touches to exploding.

The cavalry has arrived, Xenatlas roars.

Chapter Thirty-Five

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My brief stop in the HUB to message my friends had paid off. Xenatlas is here, roaring his defiance to the sky. And he isn’t alone.

Solrin and Megaptera are right behind him, blasting their attacks into the flock of flying saucers. The sky became a series of explosions as the alien vehicles burst into flames, combusting in great clouds of fire that sent shrapnel flying everywhere, including into each other. Debris began raining down around the pillar, littering the barren landscape and creating a fiery labyrinth around our target.

Got your message, Megaptera roars. What’s the mission?

I point at the pillar in the center of the conflagration. We’ve got to destroy that pillar!

Megaptera scoffs, the sound coming from his kaiju as a kind of chuffing sound. That’s it? Seriously, the designers should make these things harder.

His obliviousness rocks me back and I’m momentarily stunned. They still think this is a game. How the hell can they after all that has happened? But then I think about it. None of them have seen Titanocobra except for on the news. They have no idea there’s any connection between the giant snake and this videogame. And why would they? It’s a hell of a conclusion to jump to without having more evidence.

I don’t know how to convince them otherwise without sounding like I’m crazy. On the other hand, how the hell can I keep something like this from them? Their monsters are real. So are the people that are dying in those explosions they’re clearly taking so much joy in creating.

I can’t tell them, I realize, not yet. Not because they don’t deserve to know, they absolutely do, but because I need them. I can’t afford the time wasted on explanation or debate and in the unlikely event that they actually believe me, there’s a chance they’ll log out there and then. There’s too much at stake for that, so I keep my mouth shut.

It’s unfair, it might even be cruel, depending on how they eventually learn the truth. And in the face of potentially saving Mom and taking these assholes who’ve sent Titanocobra to our world down, it’s still no decision. So, I say the only thing I can, Thanks.

Can you bumble-fucks get a move on! It’s hard to tell who’s shrieking louder, Lusitania or Halira.

The other seem to notice her for the first time.

What’s the PKer doing here? Solrin demands.

Wait, that’s a girl? Megaptera asks.

I roll my eyes and so does Taisaur. Somewhere some very confused aliens are watching this exchange and wondering what the hell is wrong with us.

Yeah, I’m a girl, Lusitania snaps. And my dick’s still bigger than yours.

Xenatlas laughs. Come on, we need to press the attack before they regroup. Taisaur, this thing hard to take down?

Very, I say. I don’t actually know if that’s true. I’m making an assumption here, but it seems like a good one, and I want us all to hit it with everything we’ve got.

Strategy is this, I say. We blow everything up and give Halira a clear path to attack.

Not that there’s a lot left to clear at this point. Follow up and try to smash the damn thing. Whatever happens, press the attack forward.

And that’s just what we do. Roaring, bellowing, and shrieking loud enough that were any buildings still standing their windows would have shattered, all four of us charge.

More saucers are incoming, moving to intercept. They’ve got to be desperate to try and get in our way. Knowing that this isn’t a game has alleviated me of my sense of detachment. There’s actual motivation behind my enemy’s actions now, not just programming. It allows me a certain degree of empathy for them. Not enough that I’m about to stop, but enough that I know if I was in their position and had four massive beasts coming at me in a clearly coordinated attack, I’d get the fuck out.

They don’t. The saucers fly at us, unleashing everything they’ve got. Taisaur and Xenatlas barely notice. He’s so massive, being easily the highest level out of all of us, that their attacks simply don’t bother him. And Taisaur just soaks up that energy like sunshine. Without all the concentrated force directed at him, the most he’s going to take away from their efforts is a sunburn.

Solrin and Megaptera aren’t so lucky. Their HP is dropping fast.

Solrin’s bellows accompany a litany of profanity to rival Lusitania’s, made all the more colorful by his British accent. Megaptera’s quiet, but not doing any better. Still, they press on, charging straight ahead, pausing only to return fire on the saucers.

It’s Halira though who’s easily the most impressive. She’s torn ahead of us, claws at the ready, like a crystalline missile. She zigzags, darting and dodging and weaving and taking easily the longest route and still closes faster than any of us. I swear she’s moving so fast it’s like the rest of us are moving in slow motion. The ground all around her explodes in showers of dirt and green energy.

She’s almost there. Almost at the pillar. Halira extends her sword-like claws. She’s going to slice right through that pillar like it’s made of cake. I let out a roar of triumph! We’ve done it.

Three hundred feet from the pillar Halira dissolves. One moment she’s there, the next she’s not.

Lusitania’s logged out.

What the fuck? I demand, my question accompanied by Taisaur’s roar.

She flaked, Solrin says. Keep moving. Eye on the prize!

He’s right about the need to keep moving, and I do, but Lusitania wouldn’t flake on this. Not with as much effort as she’s put into staying in Oxford, remaining in harm’s way specifically so she could launch this counterattack. No, something’s gone wrong.

I can’t stop to think on it now. With Halira gone, Taisaur and Solrin are the fastest. We’re booking it, trying to make up for the lost offensive momentum we’ve collectively lost by Halira’s sudden vanishing.

I’m so focused on sprinting headlong for the pillar that it takes me several moments to realize that the counter attack from the saucers has stopped. The sky is completely clear, no more enemies hovering over us. I throw up the Burning Aurora and start to shout out a warning—too late.

The world is awash in light and heat. There’s no up or down. No ground beneath my feet. Nothing but the force of whatever massive ordinance the aliens have just dropped on us crashing against the rippling red waves surrounding me. Taisaur roars his defiance to the attack. It’s lost in the cacophony of destruction.

We hit the ground. My rage meter is steadily draining. They had to have hit us with even more missiles than before. I’ve got less than a quarter energy left before the Burning Aurora ends. Then the missile’s explosions wash over Taisaur and that’ll be it. We’re toast and so is Dallas.

The light vanishes as suddenly as it appeared and Taisaur’s on his side, standing amidst a blackened field of scorched earth. Only the ground beneath us isn’t charred or turned into glass, a sort of inverted shadow where our bulk and Burning Aurora shielded the earth from the alien’s offensive.

What the fuck? Megaptera demands. What the ever-loving-fuck was that?

Airstrike, I say automatically. Despite my shields holding up I’m disoriented. That attack really rang my bell. And I think I’m the lucky one.

Solrin’s gone. The attack blew him away.

Megaptera’s HP bar is flashing in the red, the barest sliver remaining.

Xenatlas is still here, but he’s only just barely any better off than Megaptera. Smoke is curling from his great carapace and he’s missing a shoulder horn.

Green energy rains down and Megaptera topples over, the rest of his HP vanishing and him along with it. The saucers have returned.

Taisaur, move it! Xenatlas bellows, roar reverberating through my bones.

He’s not going to make it. He’s too slow and too far away. Durable as Xenatlas is, his HP will drop before he can reach the pillar. Taisaur is the only one left who can make it. I just hope I can get there before they call in another strike.

The green energy strikes me over and over again. I lose a sliver of HP. Then another. I ignore it. I have to. This attack must work or it’s all been for nothing.

The saucers are clearing out again, pulling back to allow another airstrike. I pour on every ounce of speed I can muster and draw upon my barely replenished rage meter at the last second before impact, surrounding Taisaur in the Burning Aurora once again. We hit the pillar. The world explodes again.

But it’s over more quickly this time.

My rage meter isn’t full enough to stop another attack like the last. It doesn’t have to be.

Disoriented as I am, I land on my feet, upright and relatively unharmed. My rage meter is completely depleted. My HP bar is still missing a greater chunk that I would like. But those aren’t what gets me.

I’m not standing next to the pillar. There’s destruction around me, but not that of the scorched alien landscape. No, this is all too familiar. I’m in Dallas, maybe a half a mile from Mom’s apartment complex. All around me smoke rises from burning buildings.

And maybe a mile away, rearing up into the sky, is Titanocobra.

I’m still Taisaur. And I’m on earth.

TITANOCOBRA

Chapter Thirty-Six

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For the first time, playing Taisaur is more than disconcerting. It’s disorienting.

What really hits me before anything else is the scale. This isn’t some videogame level on an alien planet. This place is real. I know this city. I’ve been on the ground looking up at some of these buildings. Driven past them on my way to visit Mom or do a repair job. I’d never really thought about it before, what being this big would do to change my perception of the world. It seems like it should all be fake—like in the kaiju movies where the buildings are obviously models and the tanks remote control vehicles.

This, all of this, is so real. There’s so much detail that I can’t even pretend that it isn’t. There are apartment complexes and roadways around me. Little vehicles and people pointing and staring from cars and balconies. There are fires. Titanocobra has already wreaked so much destruction here and that makes the sense of realness all the worse. There’s no way to detach myself from my surroundings.

My senses are on overload, every single one of them telling me that this is my reality now. My movements are both slower and faster than I expect. Taisaur still reacts instantaneously to my will, I’m cognizant enough now to know there’s no button mashing going on here but being so hyper-aware of my scale makes me just as hyper-aware of his body. A single swipe of his paw covers hundreds of feet in a second.

Whatever’s about to happen, it’s not going to be anything like those movies with the lumbering, poorly coordinated giants. Speed is distance over time and Taisaur’s size lets him cover a ton of distance quickly. And yet it doesn’t feel that way. That could be adrenaline talking though, because I am definitely flooded with that stuff.

Or it could be that my senses are more in tune with Taisaur than ever. My senses of hearing and smelling have gone up exponentially. I can hear the screams of scared people and tires on asphalt. I can smell the asphalt and burning buildings. And blood. It’s not the strongest scent on the air but it’s there. It makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble and once my rational brain realizes that I actually stagger, smashing a bus into oblivion beneath Taisaur’s paw. God, I hope that was empty.

I shake my head, trying to reorient myself and get my bearings. I’m on earth. I am Taisaur. I did not destroy the pillar. Somehow, I must have activated it instead and it delivered me here. To Dallas, Texas. Where Titanocobra and my mother both are.

This is not ideal. Not in the slightest. Not the least of which is because I’ve been standing here, staggering in place for way too long adjusting to the new sensations.

Fortunately, Titanocobra seems as baffled by my sudden appearance as me. His massive, hooded head shakes, filling the air with a clattering sound as his armored hide and blades rattle. Then he’s slithering for me, crushing trees, small buildings, and vehicles beneath his obsidian coils.

Taisaur is standing next to multiple apartment complexes. There are people still inside of them. Including Mom.

My rage bar is still too low to matter. My HP bar shows that Taisaur’s already taken a beating. I don’t have time to process more than that. I have to act or Titanocobra’s going to smash me and these apartments to pieces. I do the only thing I can think of that makes any kind of sense.

I rush forward to meet his charge with a bellowing roar that shatters the glass lining the nearest buildings.

My forward assault brings Titanocobra up short, except not really. I realize only at the last instant that I haven’t surprised the bigger kaiju—he’s just pulling up to deliver the most powerful cobra strike he can. That motion is the only thing that gives me warning, and I throw Taisaur suddenly to the side.

His muscles are my muscles and they protest the sudden shift in direction and fighting against so much momentum. Feeling the immense mass is totally different from remotely controlling it and much harder to stop. So I don’t.

Instead I use all of that momentum. Taisaur leaps and spins, transferring all the energy of his charge into a tail-strike. Titanocobra’s lunge throws his head into Taisaur’s oncoming spikes. One of those spikes penetrates his armor and erupts out of Titanocobra’s skull in a shower of gore just behind the monster’s eye.

Time seems to slow down. I can feel Taisaur’s tail-spike—my tail-spike—inside of Titanocobra’s head, the same way I can feel my own fingernails. I can feel all the mass that spike has lodged into, the power of it. For that instant I feel like I’ve won. Surely, with the combined force of our two strikes colliding, driving that spike all the way through Titanocobra’s head, I have just delivered a killing blow.

I’m disillusioned instantly.

Taisaur’s only just hit the ground with a resounding crash before we’re lifted up again, dragged into the air by our tail as Titanocobra thrashes about. I see sky, then earth, then a strip center full of restaurants and small businesses. Then I hit. I hit hard.

My HP bar shrinks. Not so much I think as it would have if that first strike had hit. But still.

The buildings are gone. So’s the parking lot. So are the cars. Not the people though.

Those who weren’t killed outright by my landing are screaming and crying in pain and fear, covered in debris or clutching broken limbs. I can smell their blood. Smell their pain. I’d never realized that pain had an actual scent until that moment.

I push myself unsteadily to my feet. Paws. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish myself from Taisaur. Is Taisaur a separate being or is this just me? I can’t tell and the thought is too ludicrous and out there to warrant any further thought. If I don’t keep my admittedly shaken wits about me I’m going to get more people hurt and killed.

Then I taste blood in my mouth and have to wonder just how ludicrous the idea is. If I die as Taisaur, will I die for real? I’m not in some videogame world now. People are actually dying around me. Because of me. If I’m not careful I could very easily join them.

I’m shocked at how much distance that throw covered. Titanocobra is thrashing about in place, exactly like an injured snake. It’s more animal than not, I think. More instinctive. This is a weird thing to realize. And maybe there’s something there worth more thought. But I can’t spare the brain power for it now.

While Titanocobra’s distracted by its own pain I have to move. So I do. Taisaur’s limbs are heavy and sore but move they do and together we charge across the city, leaping over small buildings and a highway to reach our enemy.

Titanocobra must feel us coming—our running shakes the very earth with our bulk—because he rights himself and pulls back for another lunge. He’s hurt but I don’t think his wound is critical. I wish he had a damn HP bar that I could gauge.

And speaking of bars, my rage meter’s recharged. It’s not at 100% but it doesn’t have to be. Taisaur leaps. Titanocobra lunges. I activate the Burning Aurora.

At the last instant Titanocobra shifts its attack and instead of meeting Taisaur head on, it swings around, bringing its multibladed side into our path. There’s no dodging or deflecting. One instant Taisaur’s on a collision course with the giant cobra’s open maw, the next those wicked blades.

We hit and the Burning Aurora holds, shattering the first blade we careen into. Cracks appear like spiderwebs up and down Titanocobra’s armored length. His bulk is pressed back by the force of our charge. We’ve wounded him again! But we haven’t stopped him. And those coils are suddenly around us.

He wasn’t trying to impale us on a blade, he was trying to trap us. And he succeeded. Wiley reptile.

What follows is like being given a bearhug by a chainsaw. The blades slide over and around us, shoved inward by the massive coils. The Burning Aurora holds, cracking and snapping several blades, widening the cracks in Titanocobra’s armor. But the kaiju is so big that those wounds mean very little.

And my rage meter is dropping fast. Too fast. As soon as it reaches empty all those blades are going to rip Taisaur, and by extension, me, to pieces. I push back, fight as hard as I can, but my muscles, Taisaur’s muscles, are suddenly weak. They don’t respond to my command.

I look up into Titanocobra’s face, then see a ceiling fan. I’m moving. But I can’t be moving. I’m pinned in place by Titanocobra. There’s motion around me. The world blackens. I see a pale ceiling with a fan. Catch a glimpse of Lusitania and Isabella standing over me.

I’m fading.

Everything goes black.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

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Lusitania awoke to the sight of a man in a cheap suit with a bloody lip standing over her with disgust in his brown eyes and a gun in his hand. She started to jerk upright and the man held up his hand to silently instruct her to hold still. The gun wasn’t pointed at her but she obeyed anyway. Following the trajectory of the weapon’s barrel she realized that it was pointed at Isabella, who was sitting on the living room floor a few yards away, her hair disheveled and her hands handcuffed. Her friend glared murder at the man in the suit.

Beside her, lying face down in a pool of blood, vomit, and what might have been piss, lay another man in a suit. One arm was twisted funny and a familiar shoe stuck out of his arm. Someone had slammed the shoe into his arm hard enough to bury the spiked heel into the meet between his radius and ulna. A stun gun lay on the floor where it must have fallen from the man’s hand.

Lusitania glanced from the shoe sticking out of the man’s arm to her feet, wiggling the toes of her single bare foot. She looked back to Isabella. “If you wanted to borrow my shoe the least you could have done was ask.”

Isabella laughed. Lusitania almost felt bad for the man on the floor. Almost.

“Yeah, you two are real cute,” the suit still standing said. He reached behind his back and produced a pair of handcuffs, then tossed them into Lusitania’s chest. “Put those on and shut up.”

Lusitania glanced at them as they tumbled off of her and to the floor and made no move to pick them up. “They don’t really go with my outfit.”

“Bitch, I don’t care,” the man said. “Do you have any idea how worried your father’s been about you crazy—” he cuts himself off, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling as if praying to a higher power for the strength to keep a civil tongue in his head.

“So worried he sent a man with a gun after me,” Lusitania said.

“In case you didn’t notice, Sweetheart,” the man says. “This place is a little dangerous right now.”

Lusitania looked pointedly at the broken man laying a pool of his own fluids. “Sure is.”

The man kicked her. It wasn’t a kick meant to be disrespectful. It struck her in the ribs, hard, knocking the wind out of her and doubling her over. She coughed and thought she tasted bile as she clutched her side. Lusitania had never been struck like that before.

The man crouched down next to her. “You’d better pray to whatever God you think is real that Bert wakes up soon or so help me you and your friend are in for a world of hurt.”

Lusitania tried to talk but was barely able to choke out the words, “My…father…”

“Yeah, your daddy’s a hotshot senator, but I don’t work for him,” the suited man said. “I work for Mr. Skavos. Bert and me are only here as a favor to your very important daddy. He can’t be seen diverting government resources to drag your stupid, stubborn ass back, so he asked my boss to help out. Only you know what, Oxford’s so dangerous right now, maybe you and your friend went missing before me and Bert found you? Want to think about that for a bit?” The gun extended out from him to point over at Isabella. “And that’s far enough you.”

Lusitania looked up to find that Isabella had started to make an attempt for the stun gun fallen on the floor. Fast as she was, there was no way she could dodge a bullet. Her friend leaned back, glaring at the suited man.

“You know what, maybe I just found one of you,” the man said, taking a step over to Isabella. “Maybe you just went missing, yeah?”

Lusitania was about to open her mouth to scream at him when something caught her eye. A name, HP bar, and rage meter hovering over the television screen. She blinked at looked past the suit to the news. The television on the other side of the living room had been playing this whole time, showing footage of Titanocobra live in Dallas. Where Aaron’s tiger-like kaiju, Taisaur had just appeared, looking battered and severely outmatched by Titanocobra.

“Mother fucker,” she muttered.

“You better watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out,” the man said.

She tore her eyes away from the television to glare up at him. Aaron had made it through. Her idiot step-cousin had somehow managed to fuck up and instead of destroying the target had used it to send his kaiju to their world instead. Did he not see how this was not an improvement? What the fuck was he thinking?

At his level with his HP so low there wasn’t a chance in hell he could take on Titanocobra. Dallas was going to get wrecked.

As the two monsters on the television began to fight, Aaron began to stir. Every time they exchanged blows he grunted or twisted or snarled. Good God, was this what she looked like when she played the game? He looked ridiculous, spastic bordering on dangerous. Like he was hyped on drugs and on a really bad trip.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to notice his antics.

“What the hell is he tripping on?” the gunman asked, scowling down at Aaron with disgust. “Shit. Hey, wait a minute. That’s the convict cousin.” He started reaching for Aaron’s face, as if to turn it toward him for a better look.

“We’re not cousins,” Lusitania shrieked as loud and obnoxiously as she could.

The man’s hand fell away from Aaron’s face before he could touch it and his attention turned to her.

That’s right scrotum-brain, all eyes on me. Pay no attention to the man spasming like a drunk monkey on the ground. All your attention on the pretty little princess.

Aaron might be an obnoxious ass-munch and a colossal fuck-up, but he was doing his best to fight off Titanocobra and, for all that he shouldn’t have been there in the first place, he was doing a better job than the military at keeping the serpentine kaiju occupied and not destroying the city. If he was pulled out of the game now there was no telling how much worse the collateral could be. Or what might happen to Aaron.

Maybe he’d just come to like normal. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just get distracted and Taisaur would get killed. But if that happened in their world, did that mean that the death was permanent? Would Taisaur dying kill Aaron? Frustrating as the bastard was she didn’t want him dead. Maimed or seriously injured maybe, but not dead. And not at the cost of an entire city getting smashed apart by that stupid snake.

“Oh, I see,” the suited man said, stepping away from Aaron and back to her, a grin spreading across his face. “He’s your dealer. That’s why you stayed here. Problem-child here gave you a little taste and now you’re hooked.” He crouched down in front of her. “Tell you what. You tell me where he keeps his stash and I won’t shoot your violent friend in the kneecap.”

Lusitania braced herself. What was coming was really going to hurt.

She spit right in the man’s eye.

He bellowed and punched her. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She grabbed onto him. More pain. He was hitting her. Over and over again. Somewhere deep inside of herself, the anger that fueled Halira, surfaced. The pain didn’t fall away, but it became fuel for her rage. Everything in Lusitania became focused solely on dealing out as much damage to this dickless bastard as she could.

Some piece of his flesh passed in front of her face and she bit down on it as hard as she could. She tasted blood. The blows became wild with pain and panic. It was all she could do to hold on.

The gun roared. They fell over. It roared again. The man easily twisted her around on the ground, pinning her. He pulled away from her and the flesh of his neck she’d bitten down on came away in her teeth. He screamed and punched her in the face.

Then he fell over, completely limp, revealing Isabella standing over him, the other man’s taser in her hand, the metal tongs still crackling merrily with blue-white sparks.

“Should have cuffed my hands behind my back,” she spat, then said something in Spanish that sounded very derogatory. Grabbing the handcuffs Lusitania had refused to put on, she snapped them on the man’s wrists, pinning them behind his back and taking away his gun.

“Fuck,” Lusitania swore, half in pain, half in panicked frustration. She and the suited man had tripped right over Aaron as they struggled. That should have been enough to wake Aaron up and snap him out of the game. And he was still unconscious, snapping and thrashing on the ground.

On the television screen, Taisaur was gripped in Titanocobra’s coils just as Halira had been. His HP bar was flashing with the barest sliver remaining. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Lusitania swore over and over again.

Aaron’s eyes began to flutter. Drool leaked from the side of his mouth. Was he coming around or just having some kind of seizure? Isabella fell to her knees beside them.

“He’s going to lose,” Lusitania said.

Isabella looked at her in confusion, then over to the television. Apparently, her attention had been entirely on the dangerous men that had broken into the house and not the news. That was probably a good thing. Lusitania couldn’t really say. She hurt too badly to think clearly.

“That’s Aaron?” Isabella asked, somewhat uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“And here I just thought you two were crazy.”

“Bitch.”

“Ho.”

“We need to help him,” Lusitania said. She was so tired. She could feel herself about to pass out. “We need….”

“I got this,” Isabella said. “You rest now.”

“Yeah,” Lusitania said, giving into the pain and slumping into an exhausted puddle on the floor. “Yeah, okay.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

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I’m not lost, though that’s the closest feeling I have to describing the sensation enveloping me. It’s like when you’re taking a route you’ve known for years, only somehow you make a wrong turn. It’s the sensation moments after that. Confusion. Frustration. Disorientation. I know that there’s a path I’m supposed to be on. I know that I’m close to it. If I could just get my bearings I could at least locate my destination. My mind is trapped in foggy circles. Round and round, trying to find familiar footing.

There’s a whirring sound. I see a ceiling fan.

I smell smoke. There’s fire nearby. I can hear a building toppling over.

I cannot experience both of these things at once. I cannot be in two places at once. Am I on the floor in Lusitania’s borrowed living room in my own body or am I sprawled across a city block in Taisaur’s? I don’t know. I feel like I should but in the absence of knowing, I feel my mind drifting back toward myself, toward my own body, as if carried by a current. Should I fight it?

I was trying to hit way above my weight class a few moments ago. Even at full HP and a full rage meter, Taisaur on his own isn’t really a match for Titanocobra. Maybe if my allies had managed to make it through with me, things would be different. But I’m tired and I feel myself stirring. That fan is clearer now. So’s the ceiling. It has a water stain next to the fan.

There’s movement beside my head. Which head I can’t tell though. Lips against my ear. It has to be my own body. Taisaur’s ears are too big for lips to caress.

The touch is followed by a familiar, welcome voice. The tone is frustrated though, panicked. A woman’s voice is repeating itself but I can’t make out what she’s saying? I try to focus. Strain to hear her words.

“—back! You’ve got to go back! Aaron! Your mother’s there! You’re mother’s in danger! Get back in the fight!”

Her words jolt me out of my stupor. I feel myself spasm, jerk, trying to sit up. But that’s wrong. I can’t go that way and save Mom. I turn around, certain of which body I need to be in now. Knowing where I need to go changes the current and I swim with it. I’m racing through a fog, no longer lost.

An instant later, I stir, lashing my tail and twitching my ears. I open my crimson eyes and am back. I am Taisaur again and I roar this to the sky for all to hear.

My HP bar is still low. My rage has been depleted. But I’m still here and still in the fight.

Then I realize that while I’ve been teetertottering between bodies, Titanocobra’s been busy. He’s slithered back toward where I first appeared, toward the apartment complexes full of people and Mom. It’s her bland apartment he’s looming over, bladed hood spread.

I charge forward, once again bringing the fight to him. I can’t think. I don’t want to think. This bastard was trying to kill my Mom. There is exactly one coherent thought in my mind, repeating over and over again on loop. This bastard needs to die!

My rage meter explodes. I’ve never seen it refill this quickly. Never seen its contents glow and pulse. I don’t give a damn. I just activate my Burning Aurora and hurl myself at Titanocobra’s head.

I crash into him, tackling him away from Mom’s apartment. Shards of broken blade fly from his hood. I hit the ground and skid, carried by my own momentum.

Titanocobra shakes his head, as if clearing it from my attack, then raises up, hood flaring.

Instead of lunging for me though, he opens his maw impossibly wide and spills out a torrent of fire. The world before me is engulfed by it. I hear several explosions as nearby vehicles combust from the heat. I roar my defiance and rush forward, almost swimming up the flames, my Burning Aurora protecting me even as the world around me goes up in an inferno.

I push through the fire, hidden from view within it, until I’m upon my enemy. I burst forward, stripes glowing, Burning Aurora swirling about me, grab hold of Titanocobra’s head, and sink my fangs into his neck just behind his skull.

The flames die as my enemy shrieks in pain. I grab for his hood, feel the Burning Aurora between my flesh and his armor as I take hold. He shrieks again, red energy burning him at the contact.

I sense rather than see Titanocobra’s massive, bladed tail swing around, intent on tearing me free. I counter, slamming Taisaur’s own tail, spikes first, into the oncoming appendage. The red energy absorbs the brunt of Titanocobra’s attack, and my tail spikes slam through his armor. He shrieks and twists, sending another coil at me. I counter with my tail again, slamming even harder. I’m not as lucky this time. No spikes skewer the body, but the attack is stopped.

I’ve got him.

And then he’s got me. Titanocobra goes up. Up. Higher up still. Until I’m left clinging onto his neck for dear life. I’d forgotten just how big the kaiju is.

I don’t let go. I savage him, slamming my tail into his body and raking the claws of my lower limbs down his raised length, gouging pieces out of his armor. Opening him. I’m damaging him. Wounding him. I can feel pieces of him being ripped away or giving under my relentless assault.

It’s not enough. Titanocobra ceases to lift me into the air. For a moment I think I’ve stopped him. I’ve won. I’m proven wrong an instant later as he slams me several hundred feet down, driving me into the ground with all the force and considerable bodyweight he can muster.

I hear the now familiar sound of a building collapsing nearby. Oh God, please don’t let that be Mom’s apartment. Despair fills me. That had been the nearest building. The apartment must have collapsed. Mom is dead. The Burning Aurora flickers and then dies.

I taste blood. Not mine, I realize, Titanocobra’s. I’m still holding on to him, still latched on with claws and teeth. He’s real. He’s right here with me, in my grip. And this fucker just killed Mom.

I roll upward, twisting, ripping free a chunk of Titanocobra’s neck with my jaws, flinging his flesh away through the air. Blood sprays. The stupidly huge snake raises up again, thrashing about like a fire fighter’s hose left untended, blood geysers from the wound I’ve just created.

Every impact of his thrashing makes the ground shake so hard it’s a challenge keeping upright. There’s so much blood spraying from the snake kaiju’s neck that I almost miss that the bite is not the only wound he’s bleeding from. I’ve done a number on his body, between my tail strikes and his trying to crush me while I had Burning Aurora activated. Enough that huge chunks are missing from his armor. Titanocobra is vulnerable.

I don’t hesitate. I lunge forward, horns lowered. I’m going to impale this bastard.

He twists around, lunges for me, and my arm is caught in his jaws.

I crouch and shove off the ground, shoulder checking him with one of Taisaur’s spikes positioned there. I knew those things would be useful!

The spike tears the neck wound even further open and Titanocobra releases my mangled arm. I leap, horns first, and impact the open wound in his body, impaling him. The force of my attack drives him to the ground and rips me free, sending me tumbling along the ground, smashing several vehicles as I cross over a street.

I try to get up and collapse. I’ve tried to use my now bad arm. Glancing at it I can see bone. It glitters silver beneath the blood, like Taisaur’s spikes and stripes. Shaking my head, I try again, cradling the wounded appendage.

Titanocobra still isn’t out. He’s twisting about on the ground, snapping at everything within range of his jaws. Except that he’s only moving his upper half. The lower portion of his body, the greater portion, is completely still. In fact, he’s still all the down from my point of impact. I’ve broken his spine.

Breathing hard, I stomp my way over to him. I can barely move. But neither can he. Titanocobra is pinned in place by his own bulk, only the first few hundred feet of his over two-thousand-foot-long mass is capable of motion.

Behind him, I see Mom’s apartment complex. Every single window is clearly broken but it hasn’t come down. The building next to it has. She’s alive. Relief washes through me so hard I stagger in place.

I’ve never felt exhaustion as Taisaur before. Strong as he is, his weight is so great that I can feel it making me collapse. But I’m not done yet.

Titanocobra is still alive.

Our eyes meet and the serpentine kaiju lets out a long, lethal hiss.

I bare my teeth and swing my tail around, smashing his head into the ground. I do this again. And again. And again. I keep doing it until there is nothing left but a pile of black rubble and pulped meat.

He’s dead. I’ve won.

I roar my exhausted triumph to the sky in time to see the incoming jets. They’re coming in low and fast. Where the hell have they been this whole time? I really could have used their help against this bastard. I don’t know how much damage their missiles might have done to him, but any kind of distraction would have been appreciated.

That’s when I realize that they don’t actually know I’m on their side. I’m proven right a second later as they drop their payload and missiles crash into me. I stagger. My HP bar drops to empty.

I fall.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

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I woke out of a coma a week later to find the world both changed and not. The hospital staff insisted that I couldn’t leave for another week, during which time Isabella kept me company. She spent her days volunteering around town and her evenings with me in the hospital. The death toll from Titanocobra’s attacks is still being calculated, as is the estimated cost in damages. Both numbers are skyrocketing, the estimates climbing every day.

Lusitania had to return to her father. They had some issues to work out. She’d told Isabella to tell me I was a fuckwad and to call her when I woke up. I did. The conversation was brief and I got the impression that things in her house were even crazier than the rest of the world, which made sense given her father’s job as a senator. She hasn’t told him about the game or its connection to the attacks or my own involvement, which has left him beyond confused.

I think she’s enjoying tormenting him. She’s spiteful that way.

Mom’s alive. Isabella has been calling her daily to report on me. I called her before I called Lusitania and the first words out of her mouth were “I know what you did.”

Words every son dreads hearing from his mother. In this case though, she was brimming with pride. She followed that up by telling me that I was never ever to do that again. I don’t know if it’s an option or not. I wasn’t allowed a phone and my access to anything my chip could interact with during my stay at the hospital was lacking. Brett was definitely right, I’ve become an addict.

Only it’s not the game I find myself craving as the days wear on.

I want to be Taisaur again. It takes me a few days to confess this to myself. First, that what is there is more than simple desire. Then to admit that what I want, need, isn’t just the wanton and undirected destruction of the game. Sure, that had been fun, back before I knew it was real, but it is a pale shadow compared to what being Taisaur in my own world felt like.

Once when I was six years old, I’d asked a friend of Mom’s if I could try one of his cigarettes. He’d said “sure” and let me take a single puff that left me coughing. I just about puked. And yet an hour later, even knowing what happened last time I’d tried one, I’d asked him again. I asked again several times throughout the day. Each time he told me no and then at the end of his visit, asked me how many times I thought I’d asked. I hadn’t kept track. He had.

Every kid grows up hearing about how bad cigarettes are for you. I knew what they were and what they did. But that was the moment that drove home exactly what kind of power they could wield over me. And I had been completely oblivious to it.

I want to feel the weight of a multi-hundred-ton body, the sensation of my tail thrashing behind me. I want the power, the mass, the strength. I want to be Taisaur so badly it hurts like fire ants beneath my skin.

All of which is made worse by the fact that there is nothing to fucking do at the hospital. I become irritable and grouchy, to put it mildly. I think I heard one nurse refer to me as a “holy terror.” I don’t blame her.

Isabella keeps me sane, just like she had before, mostly because she doesn’t put up with my bullshit and calls me on it. We get into some very heated discussions, sometimes even shouting at each other—and then somehow, we end up making out.

After the second time a nurse walked in on us to make us be quiet, they stopped. Maybe they realized that I was always in a much better mood the following day and it made their lives easier. It isn’t fair to Isabella, but we both have fun. I think there might be a part of her that likes that I’m not afraid to show her my anger and that I don’t mind when she shows hers. There just might be hope for us.

On the subject of fairness, I haven’t heard from Xenatlas, Solrin, or Megaptera. Not surprising really. I have no means of contacting them outside the game and just logging in…I don’t know if I would be able to resist the urge to do more than just talk for a few moments in Monster Land. I can only imagine what they think of all this.

Finally, the day of checkout arrives. Isabella forewent her volunteering to help me leave and offers her and Lusitania’s apartment for the evening. I have a plane to catch first thing tomorrow morning. Mom needs help. The kaiju attacks didn’t make her ALS magically disappear and the city around her is a wreck. I’m going to move her somewhere else. Somewhere we can both get a fresh start. I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be just the two of us.

The hospital has a stupid rule about being wheeled off the premise in a wheelchair, whether or not you need it. Ridiculous as I feel, Isabella seems to enjoy having all the control and being able to direct me around. More than once she pretends like she’s going to ram me into a wall. I catch sight of some of the nurses I’ve tormented laughing at me when they think I’m not looking. This has got to be some kind of payback.

Only I don’t mind so much. I like hearing Isabella laugh.

She wheels me through the hospital doors out toward the parking lot and stops when we get outside. I inhale a deep breath of fresh air. After being trapped so long inside it feels amazing just to feel non-airconditioned wind on my skin. It makes me appreciate my time with Isabella all the more, that I’ve gotten to share this last week with her, or at least parts of it. It’s not enough though. I want more. And I need to say so before the opportunity slips by.

“I want you to come with me,” I say to her, twisting around to look at her over my shoulder.

Isabella raises an eyebrow.

I reach back and put one of my hands atop hers. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

She shrugs, smirking at me. “No, you hadn’t.”

I swallow, draw on my courage, and press forward. “We’ve never really talked about our relationship, have we?”

Her smirk falls away into a look of disbelief. “And you want to now? Really?”

“Uh, yeah?” I thought I did. Now I think I’ve made a mistake. Did bringing it up somehow kill the romance?

“Pfft, men!” She tosses her hair back and rolls her eyes.

“We don’t have—”

“Shut up and tell me what you are going to tell me and quit waffling,” she snaps, glaring down at me. “And if I do not like it I will roll you in front of an ambulance.”

“Yikes,” I say. “At least there’d be paramedics nearby.”

She nods imperiously, like she’d already given that some thought, and waits for me to speak. Her impatience is palpable, burning over my skin.

“We’ve only been on a few dates,” I say.

She holds up a finger. “One date. You took me on one proper date.”

It’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Do you want me to say what I’m going to say or not?”

“I think I hear an ambulance coming,” she says in a low, threatening tone.

Better hurry up then and not chance getting turned into street pizza. “I don’t know what it’s called these days. Going steady. Being exclusive. Whatever. I want us to be together. And I want you to come with me.”

“To live with your mother?” she asks.

“To take care of my mother,” I correct. “She’s taken care of me, now it’s my turn to care for her. And I want you with me.”

She smiles. “And college?”

I shrug. “I’m sure we can move near a university that will accept your transfer. It’s not like you can keep going to school here.”

She looks away, no longer smiling. “There’s a lot of people here who need help.”

I don’t say anything. She’s right. There are a lot of people here who need help. But there’s only one person I can bring myself to care for and she’s in another city that’s been attacked and needing to be moved.

Isabella takes a deep breath. “I like you, Aaron. But I’m not going to uproot my life for you. We’re not there yet.”

“Yet?” I ask.

She grins down at me. “I am going to do what is best for me right now and go where I can do the most good. Maybe things between us get stronger. Maybe we drift apart. We’ll see.”

It’s not a flat out no, it’s a no-for-now. I don’t like it, but I do respect it.

“Then I guess tonight is goodbye,” I say, wondering when I’ll see her again.

She blows a raspberry. “Please. The trouble you and Lusitania get into? Someone’s got to be there to bail you angry psychos out.”

Chapter Forty

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I got Mom a place out in the country. Kerrville, Texas. It’s a good few acres of land, closer to San Antonio than to Dallas, with friendly neighbors who don’t live too close. Lots of hills, beautiful flowers, and sunsets. All that peaceful shit you’re supposed to sit around and enjoy. She likes it and that’s mostly all that matters to me.

My hospital bill, which I expected to be enormous, was paid for by an anonymous third party. Receiving that bit of mail sent a shiver up my spine. There’s no way to be certain but I know who paid for my care while I’d been a vegetable and I’m getting really sick of these secretive bastards.

Other than that single piece of excitement however, everything is peaceful. Tranquil even. And all told, boring as shit. There’s not a lot to do out here besides find work, and I’ve done that. Everyone needs mechanics, and one with a half-decent website willing to make house calls, especially to some of the more remote areas here, can do pretty well, even starting out with dangerously competitive prices.

Business is picking up. When it isn’t, I tend to Mom. She’s getting worse fast. I honestly don’t know how much of the effort I’ve been throwing into my work is me avoiding playing the game again, or me getting out of the house so I don’t have to see how much worse she’s gotten over night. It’s not happening by leaps and bounds, but her growing paralysis is noticeable. Her limbs are stiffer. Meals are becoming a kind of workout.

It makes me sick. Makes me want to tear shit up. Makes me want to escape into Taisaur.

So, I throw myself into working. Texting Isabella often, which is weird, but good. I don’t know if things are going to work out between us. She’s looking into new universities to transfer to and wherever she ends up it’s going to be a long way from here. Knowing that, I can’t help wondering if I’m being unfair to both of us by staying in touch, stringing us both along.

I can’t worry too much about it though. There’s shit to get done.

Today I’m working on a personal project, tuning up Mom’s RV and changing the oil. Mom’s abusive nurse had been trying to sell it. I got it back and have been restoring it. It’s not a vehicle meant to be left untended to. You got to care for it.

And I do. Because it’s become something of a retreat for me. Even though I’m living with Mom, it’s good to have a place that’s just my own, separate and outside of the house I bought for her. It and the garage are my refuges on the property, and right now I’m on my back, crawling around under the engine and emptying out the oil so I can replace it.

It’s hot out. Hot enough that a shadow falling over my legs creates a change in the temperature, making me glance out from under the RV to a pair of shoes and slacks that have no business being out in the country. I crawl out, pulling the drained bucket with me, and look up into the face of my father.

“Dad,” I say.

He nods a greeting in return. “Need any help?”

I’ve got oil stains and grease smeared over my arms, clothes, and I’m pretty sure my face. He looks like he just stepped out of the office. No way he’s crawling down under the vehicle with me or getting dirty. I don’t think he’d even know where to start if I asked him to come down.

It sounds like he’s offering an olive branch though, so I’ll take it. “Hand me a flathead screwdriver,” I say, gesturing at the toolbox I’ve set off to the side.

He gives another nod and rummages around in the box for a few minutes longer than it would have taken me to grab the damn thing and then hands me a screwdriver. It’s a Philips head. I’d have thought he’d at least know that a flathead has a flat end.

I grunt, get up, and retrieve the appropriate tool from the box, then slide back under the RV. Whatever he wants can wait. I’m in the middle of something.

And wait he does. But not quietly.

“Need me to hold a light or something?” he asks.

I come out from under the RV again. “Nope. Done underneath.”

I grab a rag from near my toolbox and wipe my hands off. I still need to replace the oil but since he’s not going anywhere I want to get whatever the hell this is over with. Much as I want him gone, I’m not going to give him any help getting started. So, I stand there, watching him, waiting for him, while I wipe my hands.

He takes his damn time about it before finally asking, “Are you going back to college?”

Is that what he’s after? Interjecting himself into my life again. Trying to take control, put me on some path he thinks he knows is better for me? I take a deep breath.

It’s not as easy detaching myself from my anger lately. Without the game, I feel like I’m backsliding, giving in to impulses and not thinking rationally. That, more than anything, is what allows me to see that this question might not be what I first think it is.

So, I give the question some serious thought. It’s not the first time I’ve done so. I want to be fair to it though, fair to him, and whatever this is supposed to be.

I don’t see how going back is a real option. By the time it becomes one, I don’t know that I’ll still feel that way.

Isabella’s going to be graduated in two years, barring some drastic change. Not that a girl is a legitimate reason to dole out thousands and thousands of dollars for an education I may or may not use. Even so, she’s the first thing that pops into my head when I consider going back. Not fair to either of us.

Then there’s the realistic reasons, two things that are inescapable riptides, pulling me away from a college life. First and foremost, as always, is Mom. She’s dying. She’s losing her autonomy. And I’m not about to trust her care to some stranger who might hurt her again, especially with as fast as she’s deteriorating. If anyone is going to be by her side for her final years of life it’s going to be me and I’m going to make sure they are the absolute best years I can give her.

And then there’s the kaiju to consider. Just because I haven’t been playing the game doesn’t mean others haven’t. Just because Titanocobra was killed doesn’t mean the aliens won’t attack us again. Fact is, I don’t even know if Titanocobra is really dead. The thing could be like Taisaur or any of the other kaiju the players use, vanishing after death. Except that the corpse didn’t vanish. The government actually has some special taskforce cleaning up the remains. Not that that means much. Who knows, maybe the aliens have another kaiju they can send back after us?

“I have no idea,” I answer finally. “Not now. Maybe not ever. The timing’s shit. I think though…maybe in a few years I might give it another go.”

Dad glances back at the house. He understands that reason at least. “You’ve got to be where you’re needed.”

My fists clench at those words. Did he seriously just say that? Where the hell does he get off saying that to me after he walked out on us?

He sighs. “Been meaning to ask you, where’d you get all that money from?”

Shit, is this what he’s really here about? I cross my arms. “None of your damn business.”

He jerks and an angry look passes over his face.

“I don’t need you checking up on me,” I say. “I didn’t do anything illegal to get it, so you back the hell off.”

“Dammit, Aaron, I didn’t think you had,” Dad snaps. “I’m not—damn you make everything so difficult. I’m trying to tell you that I’m proud of you.”

That brings me up short. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to feel at those words. I really don’t.

But for the first time in a long time, in fact, for the first time in my memories, anger isn’t the only thing I feel when Dad talks to me.

Chapter Forty-One

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Later that evening I’m sitting in the living room with Mom watching the travel channel. We’ve ordered pizza and are both nursing a beer. It’s a good time. Different than we’re used to. Television’s never really played much of a role in our lives. We’ve always preferred to be active. Living vicariously through the assorted shows and episodes doesn’t seem so wasteful now. In fact, the mood in the room is downright wistful.

Dad left shortly after our talk. He’d just needed Mom’s signatures on some paperwork and his wife wanted him back as soon as possible. At least someone wanted him. I sip my beer and blow out that bitterness. I don’t need it and it’s not doing any of us any good. The world’s the way it is, even if it does now include giant monsters and aliens.

“Think you’ll take up travelling after I’m gone?” Mom asks, bursting the wistful atmosphere and rupturing the tiny bit of inner peace I’d managed to cobble together.

I take another sip of my beer to stall. She’s not Dad, though. My silence doesn’t make her uncomfortable. She just quirks an eyebrow and wiggles her own, near empty beer bottle at me.

“I haven’t thought about it,” I confess.

As confessions go it shouldn’t have felt like a big one. We still hadn’t had a real talk about the kaiju, either my being one or her experiencing Titanocobra’s attack. I think I’m grateful for that. I wouldn’t know how to begin confessing how good it feels to be that powerful, even as everyone around me was dying.

This one though…it’s intimate. It’s also final and fatalistic. Thinking about life after Mom seems somehow blasphemous. How dare I think about that while she’s still here? The world is changing enough, chaotic enough, right now without looking to the future. On the other hand, how irresponsible of me not to? At the very least I should start collecting contact information and researching funeral homes. There are a lot of people all over the country who are going to want to pay their respects to Mom when she goes.

I can see the disapproval in her eyes as she takes me in. It makes me glad I’ve showered and changed clothes. If I’d still been grease stained I think I’d feel like even smaller beneath her gaze now.

“You need to start,” she says.

I don’t disagree. I also have no idea where to start, because we both know that she’s not talking about her funeral arrangements or whether or not I’ll travel. What the hell am I going to do with myself after she’s gone? Maybe go back to college. Maybe expand whatever business I’ve managed to build out here. Maybe maybe maybe. Guess I’ve got a lot of options. All of which suck because I won’t be able to tell her about them.

The doorbell rings and I leap to my feet. “Pizza’s here.”

Saved by Papa John. Only when I open the door there’s no acne scarred teenager hoping for a tip. There is, however, the delicious aroma of freshly baked dough, cheese, and marinara sauce with the tangy overtone of peperoni. Welcome as that aroma is, the man in the tweed suit holding and smiling that too-sharp grin is not.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” I ask Dr. Ward. “Or better yet, someone else to bother?”

He laughs, shaking his big belly. I can feel Mom tensing up back in the living room. She remembers his last visit. So do I. But I’m not pinned down any more.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Dinner’s on me.”

“Believe it or not, that wasn’t actually a concern,” I say, as dry as I can manage. “What the hell do you want?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” he says. “Would you like your pizza?”

I snatch the box away from him.

“You haven’t been playing the game,” he says.

“We both know it’s not a game,” I say, and it’s an effort not to growl. I’m not helpless now. I’m also not going to do anything to jeopardize my newfound freedom.

“Sure, it is,” he says, almost congenially. Smug bastard. “And my backers want you to keep playing it.”

I shake my head. I’ve got my escape now. “My sentence is up. I don’t need to play anymore for you.”

That was the deal. I play once a week, logging in like I’m checking with a parole officer, and I stay out of jail until my sentence is done.

“Of course, you don’t,” Dr. Warden says, his grin widening. “But you want to, don’t you? You miss it.”

I do. I hate him for knowing it. That’s his design though.

He nods sagely, grin sliding back down into a smile.

“If that’s all you’re here for you can fuck off,” I say and make to close the door.

“Actually, this is a courtesy call, Mr. Moretti,” Dr. Ward says.

I pause with the door halfway closed. I’m about ready to drop the pizza and try to smash in his nose. “You going to threaten to sue me again?”

“Nothing of the sort!” He waves his hands before him as if to swat away the idea like an obnoxious fly. “We are far beyond using threats and coercion to get you to act. Everything you do henceforth with the game is entirely on you.”

“Great to know. Bye.”

“Including letting thousands of people die by sitting idly by,” he says right as the door’s about to close.

I throw the door back open and step into his personal space, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. His body is much harder than his roly-poly appearance suggests. “You know damn well that the only reason those alien-fucks sent that monster was because you tricked everyone into attacking them first!”

He brushes aside my hand like crumbs from a bib. “What does that matter? Do you think that just because you stop playing the game the others will? Or that even if the players all do suddenly stop that another attack isn’t coming?”

The bastard chuckles. Actually chuckles. Something about this whole thing amuses him. He’s sick. Maybe insane. What person in their right mind would be happy about this?

“More importantly,” he says. “The game is changing.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, that we’re moving out of beta.” He says this like he’s making some grand announcement, and he’s brimming with way more enthusiasm than our close proximity makes me comfortable with. I actually take a step back before I realize what I’ve done and by then it’s too late.

There’s a predatory gleam in his eye when his gaze meets mine. “My associates and I have been most impressed by your performance. We do hope you’ll continue to participate.”

He glances into the house, past me, and to where Mom is sitting in her wheelchair, glaring at him and looking like she’d like nothing more than to hurl her beer bottle at his head.

“You know how generous we can be,” he says. “You never know what other rewards you may be able to earn.”

“What the hell could you offer that would tempt me?” Why the hell did I ask that?

“Consider the technology that you’ve seen us display,” he says, then points at my hand. “Think about what you’ve already been bestowed with. Do you think that’s an ordinary microchip?” He scoffs, then his eyes slide from my hand once again to Mom. “Think about what my people may be capable of offering you. Assuming, of course, that your own conscience is weak enough to allow you to simply sit on the sidelines of our game.”

“It’s not a game!” I don’t mean to scream. My throat is raw from the emotion and energy I threw into it. I’m left panting, like I’ve gone five miles at a dead sprint. “Who the hell do you think you and your backers are?”

Dr. Ward straightens his suit, though it doesn’t need it. My outburst doesn’t seem to have ruffled him in the slightest. On the other hand, he’s not grinning anymore. “We, Mr. Moretti, are the Game Masters. I hope to see you and Taisaur again very soon. It won’t be long before the next phase begins and it just wouldn’t be as fun without you.”

With that, he turns and waddles off our porch.

I don’t see a car in the driveway. I don’t care. I close the door, lean against it, and sink down to the floor. It’s not over, I think, over and over again. Mom’s saying something, but I don’t register her words. I hold up my right hand and stare at the tiny, faded scar at the base of my palm. I hadn’t really paid it any attention. Now that I am though, I swear I can feel an echoing beat to every pulse of my heart, as if whatever it is that they put inside of me is alive.

The bastards, these Game Masters, really are thinking that this is some kind of game. They’re sick. They’ve killed thousands of people on our world alone and tricked us into slaughtering untold number of aliens on that other world. They’re sick.

And yet, as I sit there, staring at my palm, I feel a little tremor of excitement rush through me. Maybe Taisaur and me aren’t done yet.

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Kaiju Art Gallery

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The following art was commissioned from the very talented concept and creature artist, Christina Weinman. Her online gallery can be found here.

Turn the page to see her collection of the kaiju appearing in this book.

Please enjoy our monsters…

TAISAUR

HALIRA

TITANOCOBRA

XENATLAS

SOLRIN

MEGAPTERA