SAVE POINT 5
Rosabella
I grasped the gray-haired Trader's hand, shaking it...feeling the firm hold of his fingers. Glowing letters popped up over our entwined hands.
[System Alert: Covenant Sealed]
[System Reward: The Very First Trade, The Start Of A Friendship? +25 XP, 28/100]
I gasped and pulled my hand back.
The pink-haired girl raised her eyebrow at me, studying my face with disdain. "What, you didn't think you were gonna get away with breaking it, did you?" she spat, "It's a deal, a covenant—"
She was lecturing me like I was five. I knew what a deal was. I just—
I swallowed. ...Didn't expect it to be quite so concrete, that was all.
...I just made a promise to a group of crazy people. That had to be a rooky mistake, but how else was I going to save Dad? It looked like I’d just gained an additional 25 XP, bringing me up to the 28/100 figure in the pop-up. ...But what was this place?
I stared up at the dilapidated skyscrapers again, feeling a wave of unease light every hair on my arms despite my heavy coat. Green ivy climbed up the walls of the nearest building, entwining through shattered glass and structural steel. Dark clouds, overhead, mirrored the dirt and grime that smudged the buildings, and the huge boulders that littered the street appeared to have fallen and broken the streetlamps in half decades ago... Why did it look like New York City if it'd been abandoned for over 200 years? And where the heck was Ming's restaurant?
Panic set in, seizing my heart.
If I could just find the restaurant Dad and I frequented, maybe I'd be closer to not losing my mind—
“System?” I stammered, “Why can’t I remember? Where is Ming’s restaurant?”
[System Unable To Understand Query…Recognizable Word = ‘Remember’. Linked To Memory Recall Points. Loading MRP Now…]
[Current MRP / ROSABELLA, GAME MAKER 1: 3640/6205]
“Damn, her memory recall is low, why the hell is that?” the pink-haired girl started, her nose crinkling up at my stats.
"Joy, just give her a moment," the gray-haired leader urged, brushing a sweeping hand towards the other girl, "This is all new to her." His eyes swiveled to lock on mine. And I blinked into his flint-gray orbs, like seeing them for the first time—like an anchor in that moment.
“I can’t remember,” I panted as my mind spun. How could I not remember why Ming’s restaurant was right there—and, then, things turned? It’d been right there—I’d been there and, then… A dart? It was a dart—
"Rosabella," the gray-haired Trader spoke slowly—something I was entirely grateful for—"I'm Callen, and this is Joy."
The pink-haired girl scoffed as he pointed at her, throwing off his hand.
"She already introduced you to the other two, Rainer and Dormouse. I'm glad we found you. Welcome to The Game." His voice was soft and understanding—like he could, somehow, see right into my gasping heart.
The world wasn't spinning.
I wouldn’t let the world spin.
"Can someone explain where the heck I am and where my Dad is again?" I asked, feeling like the words were as hollow and confused as my core.
Callen nodded. He opened his mouth to start when the pale, dorky kid—the Coder Joy had called ‘Dorkcus’—stepped forward abruptly from the back.
"Your Dad's held in Somergot Prison, the highest-hold security penitentiary here. You're in The Game. It's an altered version of reality," he rapid-fire dictated, "a dimension overlapping Earth's. Technically, we existed before you so..."
He trailed off with an entitled-raised eyebrow and that useless nugget of information.
The group gaped at him, especially Callen. "Thank you, Dormouse," he mumbled, sounding like he'd rather not thank the kid for anything, "for that incredibly overwhelming bit of information."
I blinked at all of them.
An alternate—
An alternate—wait—
"Hold on," I raised a hand. "You're asking me to believe," I stuttered, "that I just waltzed into an alternate reality?"
"Dimension," Dormouse corrected swiftly, nodding his head once.
My eyes grew wider at his interruption.
"...Oh, and I shot you in the back with a portal dart so, there was no waltzing, Princess," Joy added smugly, throwing her pink hair over her shoulder and adjusting the katana on her belt.
"...Seriously?!" I crowed.
But the faces of the group were still and solemn.
They were...they were serious...
"Have you ever seen a dragon?" Rainer—the middle-aged Nomad with the long, brown hair—mused, chuckling a little to himself with the sheer joy of the question as his fingers played with the ruby-laden hilt of a very large sword strapped at his waist. And his question stirred something in me...
A memory? A foggy flicker...of remembrance?
[System Searching MRPs To Select & Display Correct Memory…]
…Wait, it could do that?...
"Have you ever been in a dragon's mouth, Rosie?"
Dad's voice.
Joking with me as I laughed—a young, happy giggle—in the background.
Dad's voice in my head.
He used to say that to me all the time when I was younger...it was our thing—
"Rosabella?"
Callen's voice.
I snapped back to...alternate reality.
"Yes?" —An automatic, embarrassed reply since he'd caught me spacing out.
He squinted at me, his gaze deep as the stubble on his cheeks wrinkled, "Have you ever been in The Game before?" His words seemed to hold a weight to him that was lost on me. It was like he was trying to prod something in me…something…deep. His gaze was so intense.
I shook my head. If he meant this place, I certainly hadn’t been here before.
"Welp," Rainer interrupted, shouldering past Joy and Dormouse towards a side alley and only looking back long enough to nod at us and throw a bow over his shoulder," I don't know about you guys, but I think we should get a leg-up on getting the Game Maker upleveled rather than Kumbya-ing. This is a results-based mission, and I get results. Missy there has a promise to keep."
His worn, calf-length, leather boots crunched over the gravel and dirt underfoot as he moved towards the gap between a skyscraper which had fallen into another building, creating a V-shaped, shadowed opening. Vines grew up one side. Rocks filled the other—which only looked like a slight hindrance to the middle-aged man as he heaved himself over it all rather easily. He must have had pretty good Agility stats, I mused to myself.
"He's right, we should go," Callen noted.
I struggled to catch up mentally, "Where are we going?"
"The old trainyard," Callen clarified without clarifying.
I blinked at him, not understanding.
"To see your first Snargel," Joy says. “Learning to use a weapon and kill a host of them is one of the fastest ways to Level Up. We’ll get you to Level 8 if we all have to carry you, understood?” And the mirth in her eyes, the sneer on her lips and the realization that she was discussing me killing something sped the rhythm of my heart more than I would ever want to admit.
***
“System, what’s a Snargel?” I whispered, under my breath—trying not to let the others hear—as I trailed behind the group.
[System Understands Query…Loading Response…]
The group was hard to keep up with. They walked rapidly with large, easy strides.
Fording across a stream with quick steps...
All but jogging back into the thick forest filled with fledgling, lime-green sprouts shooting up towards the sky and hundreds of giant Redwood trees, enormous as castle towers.
[System Answer: A Snargel Is A Feisty Zombie Fox With Green, Glowing Eyes.
STRENGTHS: Keen Sense Of Smell & Ability To Fling Bur-Like, Metal Balls From Its Tail. WEAKNESSES: Bite Damage & Close Combat. The Creature Isn’t Particularly Deft, But Those Metal Burs Hurt Like Hell So Beware.]
NAME
SNARGEL
CLASS & LEVEL, SIZE
UNDEAD 1, SMALL
HP
7/7
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Armor Class
10/20
ABILITIES /20
Strength
-2
6
Agility
+2
15
Endurance
+1
13
Intelligence
-2
6
Awareness
+1
12
Presence
+0
10
Great…so I was going to fight rabid zombie foxes that threw metal? What a cheerful thought in this already cheerful atmosphere… This sure was a lot of shit for just trying to get my Dad back...
I scampered forward—tripping as my toe hit yet another rock—and sweating profusely in this stupid, winter jacket when it was most certainly spring here.
My hair plastered to my neck.
Annoyed, I swiped my hand across my forehead again and yanked at the jacket zipper, tugging it down with something close to anger.
Why was I so slow?! What was wrong with me that I couldn't keep up? I physically looked like the youngest one in the group and, yet, the two older guys were so far ahead... Did it have something to do with my stats? If only I could understand them better… I mimicked the Trader’s finger swipe from before to open the system menu again.
NAME
ROSABELLA
CLASS & LEVEL
GAME MAKER 1
XP
28/100
MRP
3640/6205
HP
7/8
Baddie Points
25
Armor Class
10/20
ABILITIES /20
Strength
-1
8
Agility
+0
10
Endurance
-1
9
Intelligence
+1
13
Awareness
+1
12
Presence
+3
16
CM
0
Unfortunately for me, not much had changed except for the experience points. Strength 8/20? Endurance 9/20? Those were low. No wonder I was falling behind. The budding thicket around us, loomed between me and Joy's shadow—the last one in line that I’d been following.
Thorns snagged at the flesh of my arms and face, creating little, red creases there. Some type of persistent, purple wasp buzzed around my face as I thrashed at it. It stung me in the hand.
"Shit!" I swore, shaking out my throbbing palm and stepping into the glade to find all four members of the group staring at me as a system update fizzled into view:
[-1 HP, 6/8]
I pulled my coat off, letting it fall like a puffy marshmallow to the dirt and grass, leaving me in a long-sleeve t-shirt which was still completely unnecessary in this balmy weather. "Is it just me, or is it hot out here?" I huffed.
They all continued to stare. ...Except Callen whose gaze flickered between me and his staring friends like he was going to attempt to Band-Aid the entire situation.
"We have to remember her ability level," Callen lectured the others, "She's only at Endurance 9."
"If she starts actively looking for things to collect or kill instead of complaining about the heat, she might Level Up by the time we get there," Joy said wickedly.
Callen scowled at her.
"Don't be mean," Dormouse piped up...and I instantly liked him more.
"Will someone explain this stat chart thing to me?" I panted. ...Really, I was just hoping it'd buy me more time to heave in air over my knees—
“You’re Level 1, so that’s the number after your class, which is ‘Game Maker’; it basically means your abilities are starting from scratch without any added benefits. XP is Experience Points, obviously,” the nerd blew the fringe of his dark hair back from his eyes with a shrug. “At each interval of 100 XP, you Level Up. MRP stands for ‘Memory Recall Points’ which is a metric for recollection of life experience and differs per person based on age etc. HP—basically your health, how much damage you can sustain before lights out. Armor Class is for combat—how resistant you are in a fight. And your abilities show how sharp you are in each area. The corresponding modifiers—err, the ‘+’ and ‘-‘ aspects—” he tripped up a bit on the words, “help with comparison to other Gamers and monsters. …Oh, and Baddie Points are an extra—almost a gauge of attraction. More of them mean you have more persuasion or intimidation over the opposite sex. It gives you a better chance of…scoring with them so…yeah…” Dormouse blurted all of that rapid-fire, getting rather red-faced about the last part.
I cleared my throat, really hoping I didn't hear him right about one part, "Hold up, if HP goes to zero, 'lights out'?"
"Yep, as in dying," Joy growled menacingly, throwing the comment over her shoulder like she was enjoying this, "Here and on Earth."
"Oh, wow," I gasped.
Was there less oxygen after that fact? Or was it just harder to get into my lungs?
...Wait, I was currently at 6/8, so I’d better watch those HP closely especially if these fox things were as nasty as they sounded…
The group slowed to a stop in a clearing under the heavy brush of giant evergreens. I couldn’t find the reason for the halt other than Callen digging, preoccupied, in his large knapsack.
“Here,” Callen apparently found whatever he was looking for and threw it in my direction. I grabbed at the white fabric, flying towards me in the air, trying to grasp it and—and I dropped it. Figured. Did they have an ability level that labeled me as a klutz too? I opened the fabric to find that it was a set of lightweight, but sturdy, white body armor. White fur lined the collar over a gold-embroidered seam inset with a small ruby at the center of the neck. I sunk my fingers into the luxurious folds, feeling strangely comforted for a reason I couldn’t pin down.
“Put it on,” Callen prodded with a wave.
“Oh, it probably doesn’t fit anyway,” I shrugged, holding the material against my body.
“It damn well should,” Rainer boomed from behind Callen; the Nomad’s bulky form shoved forward, “It was designed especially for you by you. It’s magical and, frankly, damn expensive. It’ll expand to the contours of your body—”
“What?” I gaped at the Nomad, feeling the fabric almost slide out of my grasp. …Did he just say I’d designed it? How was that even possible?
Callen shoved the man in the shoulder, resuming his position in front with a troubled frown. “If you could try to let her learn as she goes,” he hissed.
But I’d already heard.
“I—wait—I made this?” My voice faltered.
“Designed—” Rainer held up a huge, intrusive hand, pushing away the Trader who was clearly trying to get him to take a backseat in this conversation, “No—get off. She designed it. She didn’t make it. Game Makers don’t stitch their own clothes, though her parents probably enchanted it—”
“The main point is that it’s fire resistant and strong,” Callen interrupted. “Many beasts can bite right through the fabric of your clothes, or, if they’re fire-breathing, their blaze will likely just catch and run straight up on your body, burning you alive. This armor stops that," the grey-haired man stated bluntly.
I'd never wanted to change faster.
My fingers clutched at the fur collar and the breathable fabric. I ducked behind the thickest bush I could find, beginning to pull on the body armor, but a system update popped up, interrupting the process:
[Object Identified: DIVINE DEFLECTOR ARMOR, Increases Gamer Armor Class To 15 Unless Already Higher, +30 Baddie Points When Equipped]
[Do You Wish To Equip DIVINE DEFLECTOR ARMOR?]
[Yes] [No]
Yes, I told the buttons floating mid-air. And the option selected with a whooshing sound.
[System Alert: Armor Equipped & Armor Class Increased To 15, +30 Baddie Points, 55]
And, suddenly, I stared down at the white bodysuit which had adhered immediately to my body. It was stretchy and lightweight with armored bits over my chest, arms and legs. White knee-high boots went with it. Everything fit perfectly in a slightly creepy way. …Even if I was secretly wondering if I looked like a lady Stormtrooper. I tugged my hair into a low ponytail... One could hardly fight half-dead foxes with it waving about in their eyes...
And I tried to breathe.
Deep.
And slow—as slow as I could, anyway.
Into the holly-shaped, spiked leaves near my face. ...But my heartbeat was racing.
I’d designed this armor? How come I had no recollection of it? How come I couldn’t remember it at all??? Yet, something felt so familiar about the material and the color—warm and comforting—like I had seen it before. In a dream? In a memory?
“System?” I breathed cautiously, squeezing my eyes shut from the thought that I was even asking. “System, retrieve the memory of me designing this body armor?” Almost immediately, the familiar, neon letters slide into my view:
[System Searching MRPs To Select & Display Correct Memory…]
Yes!!
But there was an electronic error beep, and more text slid into view.
No Connected Memory Found.
What? I gaped at the message. How could…
“System, tell me if they’re lying about me designing this body armor for myself,” I persisted.
[System Understands Query…Loading Response…]
The results loaded quicker this time.
[System Answer: No, RAINER, NOMAD 9 Is Not Lying.]
Great. So that told me…nothing, really.
Frustrated, I stepped out of the bushes in a huff, making them rattle, to realize the group was in the middle of an argument.
Rainer pointed a heated finger at the ground, “She shouldn’t rely on it; we know what it’s capable of—”
The group's conversation instantly died when they noticed my entrance. Their embarrassed stares raked over my new outfit like it was a convenient excuse. …Wait, what had they been talking about? Something to do with me?
"She looks good," Dormouse nodded reassuringly at me, and it was enough to push my worries about whatever they’d been discussing out of my mind. I smiled.
Just a bit.
The nerd kid kind of felt like the younger brother I never had.
“So, did I not get the memo when I supposedly designed this because this armor is white and all of your armor is black,” I started, my eyes trailing to their own breastplates.
"Game Makers always wear white so they can be seen in battle…” Rainer mumbled under his breath.
“…Battle?” I squeaked. Surely, he didn’t mean…
But the volume of the Nomad’s voice increased as he cleared his throat too readily, putting a hand to his red beard, “—Anyway, ready to see those Snargels?" The Nomad parted the looming brush with one hand before I could get a word in to confirm or deny.
And, through it, I got my first glimpse of charred forest—trees burned so black that some had gaping holes in them.
And a pack of half-dead foxes ran there—their gray-and-orange, streaked tails raised high as the decaying remains of their thin bodies darted between the trees and rusty train cars tilting off the tracks in the distance. There was a good number of them. Their eyes did, indeed, glow an unnerving green, and their yellow teeth were visible through the gaping flesh along their jawbones but…
They were all scurrying, galloping through the underbrush, away from us.
“Wait,” I blurted confused, “Are they…running from something?” I whipped around to glance at the faces of the group.
The pink-haired girl looked particularly displeased; her porcelain forehead wrinkled in unease. “This is not good,” she stated, chomping on her gum.
And, well…that was exactly the last thing I wanted to hear right now…