SAVE POINT 2

Rosabella

I didn't know what effect Dormouse had hypothesized my Creator Magic would have on the Trading Portal, but the place looked like a shithole.

"That's it?" I gaped, feeling sweat trickle down my forehead even as I hurried to wipe it away. Dormouse's idea of 'a hike' was more like a sprint—the kid was fast! Even with my increased Endurance, I'd fallen embarrassingly behind and was still catching my breath. My chest heaved up and down with the effort I'd been trying to hide as I followed his string bean strides into the noon sun that'd become too hot for my liking.

“System, show me my stats,” I complained, waiting for the familiar chart to fizzle into view.

[System Understands Query…Loading Response…]

NAME

ROSABELLA

CLASS & LEVEL

GAME MAKER 8

XP

896/900

MRP

3795/6209

HP

58/80

Baddie Points

635

Armor Class

15/20

ABILITIES /20

Strength

+1

12

Agility

+0

10

Endurance

+0

11

Intelligence

+1

13

Awareness

+1

12

Presence

+3

16

CM

4

Endurance 11. Mental note, I was going to need to increase that even further. This running around was getting plain annoying. I was about to peel this body armor off. I'd probably sweat clean through my t-shirt underneath! …But, then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted to lower my AC in case we were attacked… Not that this Trading Portal looked threatening in any way, shape or form.

This seriously couldn't be the place. I balked at it. It was a gas station and convenience store that'd clearly been abandoned for years. A rusted canopy and matching, dilapidated and antiquated, fueling stations stood like the only thing the weather in this valley hadn't been able to knock over. The rest of the place was a jumble of parts laying where the wind had blown them, and the sun had bleached them. Tires were stacked and leaning against a corner of the convenience store building. Trashcans were rolled on their sides, empty and banging against the nearby telephone poll. How was this a trading anything? ...’Trading Portal’ Dormouse called it? It looked abandoned—left to die here in this arid pocket of the mountains for years now. The system beeped.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

[System Alert: You are Within 50 Feet Of A Portal. Please Prepare For Transport. If You Are Not Preparing For Transport, Please Maintain Distance So No Accidents Occur.]

…Okay, so it was a trading…something… I amended in my head.

"It looks the same," Dormouse stated, shrugging as he slowed his stride...finally.

No shit. The place was clearly mowed over by disuse too many years ago to count. The darkness hadn't had to do anything to it.

"This place is some kind of portal?" I asked disbelievingly, mostly just excited to have my breath back after that jaunt and to be here—wherever here was. ...As long as we could stop walking...

"Wait till you see," Dormouse flashed a wicked grin at me—kinda startling on his thin, innocent face. It was intriguing; it was the first time I'd seen the boy so excited about something since his ego-rattling side mission.

"Race you!" he blurted, launching into a gallop that I literally could not follow.

"Hey—wait up!" I sputtered, limping after him, but he was already too far ahead to hear or heed my plea.

My body complained way too loudly when I finally stumbled past the dispensers, dragged the soles of my boots over the dirty concrete pad and heaved my weight against the storefront door which, somehow, still had a bell attached to it. The little, gold thing jangled overhead loudly as I entered, almost startling me. What startled me more was that Dormouse sat on the counter, his long legs swinging childishly where they didn't touch the floor.

[System Alert: You are Within 7 Feet Of A Portal. Please Prepare For Transport. If You Are Not Preparing For Transport, Please Maintain Distance So No Accidents Occur.]

He grinned at me again, "Slowpoke—"

[System Penalty: You Really Did Lose That Race, -5 XP, 891/900]

The system too? -XP—come on!

"Winner winner, chicken dinner," I griped, pretending to do a low bow while flicking the neon letters away.

He cocked his head—why did he look so much like an eager golden retriever like that? Youth and innocence glimmered in his eyes, "So, I get those fries after all?"

"Would you tell me what the fuck we're doing here instead?" I protested, interrupting him.

He nodded, sliding off the counter with a flourish and landing with a clomp and both feet on the linoleum floor. I glanced around, realizing that all of the shelves in the cramped convenience store were swept clean—stripped of any goods; there was barely a cardboard box in the place.

But the kid had already switched into information mode. He gestured at a red button mounted on a platform in the middle of the store. It looked out of place there, like an addition added far after the use as a store, particularly as it sat squarely in the middle of the open space in front of the counter. ...What was it?

"Trading Portals are set up for easy access and use. Any Gamer, hypothetically, should be able to use it. This is how some people in these harsher climates survive. They use the portal to transfer into Earth's reality and barter their goods. It's a lifeline, and the Grand Dragon, during the initial creation of our dimension, made it easily accessible for Gamers for that reason. You just hit the button," his flat palm smashed down on the red disk, "And the portal opens."

The hiss of static cut him off as a glowing circle and neon text flashed into view.

[System Alert: Trading Portal Opened. If You Are Not Preparing For Transport, Please Maintain Distance So No Accidents Occur.]

A portal.

Very similar to how I remembered one looking before when the discontinued Game Wardens transported me back to the apartment in New York. ...But this time we were going to Earth for a different reason. Then, I'd been looking for freedom. Now, I was looking for someone who thought their freedom meant blowing up The Game. I gritted my teeth.

"How does it know where to drop us?" I wanted to know.

The dark-haired boy grinned at me, "Magic."

I shoved him in the shoulder, "What kind of answer is that—".

"No, for real," he insisted playfully, "magic. It reads your mind, so think New York, would ya?"

And I did. I closed my eyes, and I thought of honking horns and people brushing past me. And the smell of fresh-baked donuts in the morning. And the city skyline gleaming like a thousand twinkling stars at night. And it filled something in me because...well, I was imagining home. ...What used to be home, anyway...

[System Alert: Trading Portal Transfer Initiated...Please Wait…]

The system alert appeared under my eyelids. Wait? All of a sudden, a force picked me up. My fingers and toes tingled. My hair blew in my face. I batted the strands back into place, took a gasping breath and—

***ROSABELLA, GAME MAKER 9 & DORMOUSE, CODER 14 Have Left The Game***

We were in Central Park. The realization hit me like a double-decker bus. Dormouse and I were calf-deep in snow in Central Park?! I gasped a little at the temperature now freezing my toes through my boots as I stared up at the expansive New York skyline stretching before us. We were here? We were really—

"Okay, cue lostness," Dormouse mumbled turning stiffly in the snow and looking around like the tourist he most definitely was, "This does not look like a place with internet—"

"Oh, come on—" I grabbed the boy's arm, hauling him through the snow and towards the bustling road. “There’s enough internet in this city to give any of your Game Code a run for its money.” My boots kicked up white stuff with every step. My breath crystalized in front of my mouth as we both stomped onto the concrete sidewalk and raced past blaring horns. Gasoline burned at the back of my throat. When I spotted the Dunkin Donuts coffee shop, I knew I could drop the kid's arm.

"This way," I told him, remembering. Honestly, it was all coming plowing back—the memories, spiraling through my head and guiding me like the tug of an invisible map. It kind of felt like the Game MRP pop-ups even if I couldn’t physically see them in this world.

We paced past empty planters overflowing with piles of snow and the people who seemed to be rushing at us in hordes—what time was it?!—to duck under an orange awning and into the shop. The sharp scent of coffee beans assailed my nostrils as heat warmed my hands—thank God.

Dormouse took one look at the place and tried to brush past me towards the counter, "I'm starved and freezing. I'm getting something—"

I attempted to stop him, grabbing the elbow of his shirt, "With what money exactly? I left all mine in the apartment."

He threw down his hands, "I want a coffee...something warm or something to eat. Do you know how hard it is to survive off a little bit of beef jerky, canned goods and birthday cake for months?! I'll ask the guy in front of me if he can spare some change or something. I can't work on an empty stomach. Not after everything we just went through." I was surprised by the emotions edging his tirade and the desperation in his face. Jeez. I didn't know he was that hungry...

I let my hand slide off his arm. "Okay, alright then," I relinquished the control.

He was gonna do what he was gonna do—I needed him to find Goran. ...When had I become everyone's mother, anyway? I tried to tell myself to take a backseat, scanning the cramped shop for a table and finding an unoccupied one with two chairs in a back corner. This controlling thing only came about because everyone'd been putting so much pressure on me to save the world. I didn't want to control things. I just—

I just wanted to find damn Goran. I slinked towards the empty table and chairs, vaguely aware of a dark-skinned man in a puffy coat at the pickup counter as he took an enormous bite out of a breakfast sandwich.

"Now, this," the man lectured boisterously around a mouthful of egg and bagel, "THIS is what we call victory folks! Mmmh. Gooey cheese, tasty sausage, toasted to perfection..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Dormouse make his approach, moving to tap the man on the shoulder with a pale finger and his question about sparing some change on his lips. "Excuse me, sir?"

His action went unnoticed, so the boy tried again, "...Sir?"

And I watched the dark-skinned man turn, using his arm to wipe sauce and cheese from his lip—

And I nearly fell over.

Was that...

"Sparo?!" I blurted.