Chapter 2

Mie continued, “Actually, never mind. It feels like we are in that one porta-potty at the state fair last year. You know, the one you went into after the overweight guy? If these memories are accurate, he must have downed multiple donut burgers and a gallon of chocolate milk before doing his thing.”

I remembered, but didn’t respond since too much was happening all at once. My two realities snapped together into a sole existence. My head felt like it was full of lead. Like I had just spent all day thinking really hard . . . or like I had a hangover.

I took stock of my surroundings, and like Mie’s comment suggested, immediately knew something was off. A few things actually . . . all of which, were upsetting.

I was in a small, enclosed room, with no doors or windows. It looked like the interior of a shipping container, only instead of metal it was made out of basic plywood and wood framing. The walls were unfinished, and there was a large flat screen TV to my left and a blank wall to my right. The corners of the room were full of garbage, and the air stunk of piss and shit. Like Mie suggested . . . it smelled—and felt—like a hot porta-potty after being well used. And I mean well used.

I suppressed a gag.

Now, I don’t know about you, but being in a hot porta-potty with no way out is my worst nightmare. By far.

At the far end there was a desk that barely fit into the room. Its edges filled the narrow space and hit the walls on both sides. Behind the desk there was an overweight humanoid creature sitting on a plastic chair. He was sleeping, his head down on his flappy arms. He seemed . . . old. Like, really old.

Also, as I looked down, I saw that I was naked. That . . . wasn’t great.

I also saw something else.

Laying on the dirty floor was a butt-naked, brand spanking new . . . baby. I’m not even sure I would call it a baby. It was more like a fetus. Like how Ada or Lily looked the exact moment they were born, but thankfully without all the afterbirth and literal shit. I remembered my wife looking at me with terror and asking, “OH MY GOD. DID I POOP?!” She had. But her question . . . was a trap. She had asked me not to tell her either way a few days before the birth of Ada. So, I just shook my head slowly and kept a straight face . . . both times. She had pooped with both kids.

Only a place like this could make a memory like that resurface. I shook my head clearing the memory, and said, “What the hell.”

Okay. So, like I mentioned earlier. I’m a damn firefighter. I’ve seen some shit, and it takes a lot to startle me . . . but this? This threw me. Normally I’d stoop down and pick up the helpless baby in a heartbeat, but the contrast from the old sleeping creature to the baby was stark. It couldn’t be normal, and it made me hesitate. So instead, I recoiled. I also noticed a black tar oozing out of the baby’s . . . butt.

In that moment, I realized my existence would never be the same. No more kids. No more fire crew. No more house or gaming sessions or biscuits and gravy or pepperoni pizza or anything remotely normal. My life hadn’t been exactly up to par to begin with. But this? This was an actual shit hole. This was hell. I mean, I could barely breathe the air without wanting to vomit.

Mustering myself, I said, “Uhh, hey man. Where am I?” I held my hand over my nose and mouth. My question came out muffled.

The fat hunched figure flinched awake.

“Aww, he looks so cute!” the baby said in a high crocodile-like voice. I realized then that the baby was the Soul Seed—the voice I’d been hearing.

The . . . creature at the desk stirred, saw us, then got down on all fours and crawled out from under the desk looking dazed. “OH MY BUTT, IT’S VOLDEMORT,” the baby—Mie—exclaimed, then in a whisper she said, “That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

As she spoke, I watched her, amazed that this little baby could talk. It seemed she could control her eyes, her mouth, and her face to some degree . . . but everything else shouted ‘helpless human baby.’

I let out another massive exhale as I saw her black tar poop again.

Why is hell . . . just poop everywhere?

I couldn’t help but agree with Mie’s statement though. I looked back up to analyze the creature standing in front of me. His whole face sort of . . . drooped, and uhh he had two little slits for a nose, and his eyes bulged outward. That made him look a freakish frog. His skin was saggy and pale with a sprinkle of red swollen patches. His legs and arms were short, and because of this, his body seemed out of proportion. Too big. The weirdest thing about him, though, was that he wore nothing . . . but stained tighty-whities. Yeah, you heard me. Tighty-whities, that uhh . . . were no longer white.

I glanced at the corner of the room and saw ripped up pieces of cloth. It appeared the guy had used his clothes . . . to wipe his ass.

Okay, I need out of this place. Now.

He looked tired and groggy. As I looked at him more closely, an informational nameplate appeared above his head, startling me.

Greg

Soul Space Guide

Level 1

His expression cleared, giving the impression he’d finally pushed back his lethargy. He took one look at Mie on the floor and said, “Yep. You’re effed.”

“What?” I said through the hand over my mouth, but deep down I already knew something was wrong. I must have . . . rolled poorly? I wouldn’t have pictured this as my destination after death: naked, stuck in a wooden shipment container with a fugly frog character named Greg who was using the place as a bathroom . . . not to mention a baby who was currently shitting itself.

I walked up to one of the walls and studied the wood, looking for an exit. I must have rolled very poorly. Like a zero. That’s what it was. I rolled a damn zero. Out of a million.

Greg the guide sighed, then said, “Look, normally I just stick to the script until I’ve talked through Hearth, ” he pointed in Mie’s direction, “but yeah. I haven’t ever seen anything like this—Hey, I wouldn’t do that. Actually . . . just go for it.”

After finding no clearly marked exit out of the container, I had taken a step back, turned sideways, and pulled my knee towards myself. I slammed my bare foot into the thin-looking plywood wall. “Shhhhhit!” I exclaimed as I stumbled backwards and fell. The kick had done nothing. The wall had barely made a sound and felt more like concrete than wood.

Greg sighed again and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “There isn’t anything out there. You can’t break out of your Soul Space. Even if you could, it would just end your existence. That would be great honestly . . . maybe it would end mine too”. He stood there for a long moment with his eyes closed. I thought I heard him mutter to himself, “Just get it over with, you piece of shit.” He took a couple steps forward and held out his hand for a handshake, “I’m Greg by the way.”

“Ew. Kill it!” Mie screamed.

I ignored her as I got back to my feet. I was too desperate for answers. “What do you mean there isn’t anything out there?”

“I mean, there isn’t anything out there. Nothing. Nada. Void. This reality is solely yours. Or it should have been at least,” he said while glancing at Mie.

We both looked down at her.

“Could you uh, pick me up? It kind of sucks down here,” she said.

Greg moved as if to pick her up.

“HOLY HELL NO. God no. Not you.”

Greg straightened, looking flustered, and said to me, “Oh. Right. She meant you.”

I hesitated for a split second as I looked at the black goo mess, then I manned up, overcoming my initial unease. I scooped her up, avoiding the black sludge as much as possible. Some smeared along my hand and arm, but . . . not much. I remembered—from when my own kids were this small—to keep her head from flopping around. As I held her close, I noticed her body was warm, soft, and to my discomfort, a little wet, but I could see intelligence in her bright eyes. Her face also expressed worry which I could also feel as a tight little knot in our shared emotional connection.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

As I grabbed her, I noticed that my own arms looked younger and stronger. They were mostly the same, but there were fewer wrinkles, moles, and hair. Like I had just gone back fifteen years in age.

“That’s better,” Mie said sighing.

Then . . . she went for my nipple.

“Whoa there!” I said, pulling her off. “Uhh, hell no.”

“AH! What did I just do?! What am I doing?! Oh god,” she said, flushing. I could still feel her emotional state inside my head. She shrank back. “I . . . don’t have any control . . . I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t.”

I looked over at Greg not knowing what to say. He was staring awkwardly at us both. Was that a smile? The dude was creepy. And while I told myself he was just amused by our exchange . . . I couldn’t help but think just a little . . . that he uhh . . . enjoyed that. Like . . . how a pervert might.

“Uhh, hey man. Mind backing up?” I said.

He took a couple steps backward, and Mie’s head flopped toward me. She whispered up to me, “Did he just smile at that?!”

We shared a look and as we did, we also shared the same emotional train. Wide-eyed shock, unbelief, then unease.

I watched him back up in his dirty tighty . . . brownies. It was all too much. Too unreal. Too horrible.

I breathed through my mouth as much as possible while I prepared to ask more questions. But, just then, the black TV to my left flicked on.

The view of a clean-shaven man sitting behind a solid, well-built oak desk appeared on the screen. He wore a simple black T-shirt and had his hands folded together in front of himself. The background behind him showed what looked like a map of an island. It was hand drawn like what you might find at the front of an epic fantasy book.

“Hello wormies! If you haven’t guessed by now. You died,” the man said. His voice reminded me of Ron Swanson’s from Parks and Rec. It was stoic and concise, giving the impression that important things were about to be said. I backed up as far as I could in the narrow hallway-like room. My new position barely let me see the whole screen.

“My name is . . . ” He grabbed a bowl sitting off to the side, fished around in it, and pulled out a small piece of paper. He looked at it and cocked his head to the side as he read it silently. “Really, guys?” he said, looking off camera. “Okay, my name is . . . uuuugh . . . my name is . . . Tittles.” He paused, grimacing, then covered his mouth with his hand to try to hide a stupid grin. He froze like that for a long moment, and I could see him shaking slightly every so often. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to laugh . . . but I didn’t.

He coughed, collected himself, and continued. “God, I hate this rule. Phew. Okay, anyways. I am going to start from the beginning, because some of your Soul Space guides are worthless as shit.”

I glanced over to Greg, who just shrank back slightly.

“Your tutorial is over. It’s now time to take your first steps into the big. Wide. Cosmos.” He took a sip of water from a tall glass. “Your first stop—where you are currently located—is your Soul Space. The one you have been issued is a Cosmos Standard which means—unfortunately for you—basically nothing. Some will be brand new, and some will be millennia old. But all of them come standard with five things: a bathroom—”

He cut off suddenly, and I could hear him talking to someone off screen, “What? Oh. That’s kind of messed up, isn’t it?” He coughed and continued. “Sorry about that. Umm . . . all of your Soul Spaces come standard with four things. A guide, a monitor, a transporter, and a camera.” I glanced around the room and spotted something that looked like a minifridge that was sunk into the wall behind Greg’s desk. That must be the transporter. I also found a small black square sunk into the wall behind where we had spawned into the room. It was right in the middle at about waste height. I assumed that was the camera. They were watching . . . while I was . . . naked. I didn’t like that . . . and the fact that it was at waist height . . . was odd.

“Don’t cover the camera . . . They don’t like that,” Greg said. I couldn’t help but notice a slight quaver to his voice.

Before I could respond, Tittles continued. “Your space has been leased to you by my employer, and upon your death, should you die, it will be reclaimed. Your space will change as you gain experience, and you can add your own changes as well if you have the money to furnish it. The interface for furnishing your space is straightforward so I won’t be covering that here and instead will be moving onto the big picture stuff. I’m sure you have a few big questions about life. First. Yes. There are aliens.”

I fist pumped. Fuckin’ knew it.

He continued “Is there a God or gods? We uh . . . still don’t know. But a lot of you are about to find out.” He chuckled and continued, “And lastly yes, drugs and alcohol are still a thing.” I fist pumped again, but this time my hand only made it halfway up. The way the guy had laughed just registered. It was . . . ominous.

He continued. “About the alien thing though, it is rare to come across another race within your instance of Hearth. Technically it could happen, but even if it did you wouldn’t really know without getting to know them. Everyone is able to understand everyone else post tutorial. That brings me to Hearth. My employer is looking for the best of the best of the best, and Hearth’s main purpose is to screen out . . . the trash. Like your tutorial, the one rule is to survive! Ha. However, I can’t say much more than that as standards dictate that we leave you as blind as possible going in. It’s a little bit dumb in my opinion, since some of you might have guides that know more than others, but uhh yeah. It doesn’t matter much. Hearth rule sets vary on every instance. It would be hard to plan ahead at this point. With that being said, a countdown should start within your mental interface, when that timer reaches zero you will be sent on your way to Hearth. I think . . . that is . . . yep. That’s all for now. Welcome to the afterlife!”

He looked off camera and nodded as if he was listening to someone else. “Yep, well tell Jeff he can go to hell. Damn it, Jensen. Can’t you see that I’m live right now? God . . . ” He took a deep breath. “Okay. That pretty much sums it up. If you have any questions . . . we don’t care. But . . . good luck . . . Tittles out.”

His expression soured as the screen went black.

Time Till Launch:

2 minutes and 30 seconds

“What . . . does he mean, the one rule is to survive? They’re putting us in a survival game?” I asked. Then I hesitated as I saw a new heart icon appear in my top right with the number five next to it. I inspected the heart, and a little info box popped up right above it.

Life Credits: 5

That seemed . . . ominous.

Greg sighed . . . or groaned . . . or something. Whatever it was, the sound was gross. His eyes were pointed at the ground, and I heard a downward turn in his tone. “Most folks don’t make it a week in Hearth. And most of them didn’t have a baby to take care of.” He looked at Mie.

“Don’t look at me, Greg!” Mie said.

“What happens when my life credits go to zero, Greg?” I asked.

It looked like it took everything Greg had in him to respond. He exhaled finally and said, “You get effed, though technically, you would still be on your last life credit, but if you die at that point . . . yeah . . . you get squished . . . then effed.”

I hesitated thinking about that. Squished and then effed? What the hell?

“So like . . . killed?” I asked.

Greg didn’t respond.

Technically the mystery wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to . . . but uhh, part of me had hoped that the unknown of what death wrought would have ended with death itself.

“Maybe we’ll go to like a cardboard box or something instead of wood,” Mie said. “Or maybe at that point we get our participation award! Or maybe it’s like just rainbows and unicorns after that. Or . . . maybe it’s full access to more people’s memories. I’m really stuck on this fart situation here. I mean . . . why didn’t . . . you just . . . hold it in?

“I PHYSICALLY COULDN’T!” I shouted and immediately regretted as I had to take another breath of the terrible air. “Normally I would just . . . you know . . . swallow it,” I said through a muffled hand.

She looked at me with wide eyes, then said, “Somehow . . . I know exactly what that means.”

1 minute

59 seconds

58 seconds

“These damn timers . . . what are we even about to do? How do we win?” I asked Greg.

He facepalmed as if I was the idiot. “It’s a survival game. You have to survive. God. Can I actually get a good player for once—"

I cut him off, not liking where he was headed, “Actually, you know what . . . shut the hell up, Greg.” Guide or not, he was apathetic or depressed . . . or both. He was also creepy as hell, and now . . . a piece of shit. I had played countless survival games. I can figure it out . . . I think.

“Yeah, shut the hell up, Greg. Sam, you cannot leave me here with him,” Mie said with desperation in her voice.

My tone was dark as I started to respond, “I’m . . . not sure . . . I . . .” But I never finished. Memories threatened me. Mie’s plea had cut through to my core.

I . . . had just left my girls.

I . . . was dead. Lily . . . might be too. I had no way of knowing if she lived or died. God damn it. I had no way to go back to them. I had no way to protect them. I had no way of even telling them I was—I looked around—somewhat okay. That everything . . . was going to be okay.

I didn’t even know if I believed that anymore, but I did know one thing.

I needed to survive, for them.

I looked at Greg. “You are our guide, right? Could really use some information right about now.” The time was ticking away.

His eyes on the ground once again, he said reluctantly, “I’ve been through this . . . a lot of times. I suppose . . . I personally would pick a race with high constitution, so you come out of the gate with as much health as possible. You will need it. I would also avoid interacting with other players . . . at least at first. And you’re going to want to find some health potions ASAP.”

“That was sort of helpful, thanks,” I said, my eye on the timer nearing completion, “but uhh, just so you know . . . I can’t take you seriously when you are wearing shit stained tighty-whities.”

3 seconds

2 seconds

1 second

He closed his eyes and hung his head as he tried to continue giving advice. I almost felt bad for him . . . but so far, Greg had given no indication to me that he cared about us, at all.

“You will also have two inven—”

His voice fell silent as the timer ticked to zero.

Key received

Initiating soul transaction

Processing memory

Checking sanity

Packaging for transit

Transmitting data

Soul transaction complete