[Player Log Start!]

[Log Holder: Asadullah Khan]

[Level: 2 (Sub-Level)]

[! Log Translated From Urdu !]

In the last few hours, the status quo had changed irrevocably. The djinn had retreated into Asadullah’s bangles, but there was no proper binding spell to keep it locked in there. Which meant that it could come out whenever it wanted. So, he had to keep it happy and sated.

The breaking of the bangles had other implications too. Asadullah could feel Babur under his skin more than ever. The ebb and flow of its energy as it pumped through his veins, amounts fluctuating along its very vibrant emotions. They were going to have to work together for their transformations, and that would require at least several days of training. Time that they didn’t have. Because right now, they were staring down a man who had just bisected half the houses in Delica.

Of course, they weren’t meant to immediately leap into battle after that show of strength. Paterson had actually gone sort of quiet, and had agreed to Nancy’s plea for explanations.

Asadullah refused to trust it, as he crept closer to Terry, and whispered into his ear, “You still got your Mold Glove?”

Terry nodded, patting his left hand lightly, which was carefully hidden by the thick sleeve of his coat, and an additional plastic glove. It was going to be their ace in the hole when it came to defeating this man, if he decided to turn on them. For now, Asadullah let Paterson talk.

He didn’t seem even to care at all about the kids in front of him, his eyes slipping over them as he talked, lost in memories long lost.

“I was from another Realm, like most of the folks in Delica.” He explained, “The Developers had it listed under Tracklands, and since we had no other way to identify us all as a collective, that is what I think of it as.”

Paterson began to pace, “I made this Console.” He explained, tapping the device he had strapped to his arm, “And all the ones of this type that came after. And I did it using the data and tricks set up by the Developers in their System.” He scoffed at that, “As if the System could ever be truly theirs. They just made a translator for a force that cannot be controlled. It was there long before the Developers, and will be long after.”

“What?” Nancy asked, her eyebrows scrunched up as if she wasn’t sure he was saying something completely unhinged.

He waved a hand around, “This world, and every world out there, is run by what amounts to a computer program, Mitt. How are you so surprised by the concept? We just figured out a special type of magic that allowed us to translate that program into something understandable, make adjustments to it to fit our needs, and thus, the Games were born.”

Asadullah had suspected as much. He wasn’t surprised at all by this idea, really. What he couldn’t understand was: “Why are you here, then? How did you get stuck?”

His face darkened, “That was the fault of one Eleanor Monroe. I’m going to kill her, as soon as I manage to get off this wretched place.” Oh, crap, crap, crap. Wasn’t that Verity’s mother?

As far as Asadullah knew, that woman was dead. Here was to hoping he wouldn’t settle for the daughter. One look at Terry made it clear that they needed to keep that information from him for as long as they could.

“So, you’re stuck here. Because you got betrayed by this woman.” Nancy surmised.

“She allied with the Developers and lured me into a trap. Changed my settings to turn me docile.” He rambled wildly, “She is not to be trusted, as much as the Developers are only looking out for their own gain.”

Right. The Developers. What did they want?

Asadullah remembered the fleets of iron men, flying across the sky of his home. And more recently, he remembered the shuffling zombies around Terry’s homeland. He couldn’t see the use behind it. The gain of it. What more could these people want from that spectacle other than to revel in the destruction of it?

What were they hoping to achieve other than the inhabitants’ total and utter destruction?

“-streamlined war.” Paterson explained, the beginning of the sentence lost in the combined force of Babur and Asadullah’s rage. He tried to focus harder on what the man had to say, because he was the only person willingly giving them answers anymore.

“Every Apocalypse you suffer is to them a breakthrough of some kind.” He lectured, “With the destruction of my Tracklands, it was at first a simulation run, on the dangers of carbon poisoning. Arranged by an academic institute in the Developers’ Realm. They proved excess carbon emissions were bad, installed laws to avert that from ever happening in their Realm, and left us to rot.” He spat at the ground.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Terry’s hands were shaking from the sheer injustice of it all. Asadullah could relate. This was harrowing. It shouldn’t have happened.

“Zombieland was a testing ground for their bioweapons.” Paterson listed off, his voice rising indignantly with every example, “Wayside was scheduled to test the limits of their weather disruptor, and in the years I have been captured here, it would not surprise me at all that it has already started. Now, CephaloRaven, back then it was Ground Zero, and it was a rudimentary piece of work, as their first ever takeover of another Realm.”

So they bombed it. They bombed it to hell and back.

Asadullah could understand why Paterson had been so irrational, once he had been able to cut off the docility fogging his rationality. He would be angry, too.

Except, why was all his anger directed at Eleanor? She was nothing, insignificant really, in comparison to the more obvious threat of the Developers, who had intentionally ruined everything they came into contact with.

“Shouldn’t you want to go after the Developers, then?” Asadullah asked.

“But they didn’t get me stuck me here, did they? Eleanor did.” He snapped, “And I was going to kill her with that Console being my ticket out of there. Now none of us are getting out of here.”

Asadullah’s heart sunk. There was no way, right? Wherever they had gone without warning, they would be back. They hadn’t gone through hell and high water just to be left behind. He was going to kill them if they tried that, and Babur would help him.

“Didn’t think the rumors of you being awake again were right.” Another voice came out from the side of one of the destroyed houses, the wood splintering underneath the newcomer’s feet as they kicked it to the side, “But look at you, alive and well, Peter Paterson!”

There was an odd cadence with how the person spoke, that had his ears pricking up in familiarity from the moment he heard it, followed by quickly pinning them back as far as they could, bristling at the hulking figure that was approaching them. The man who had been haunting his nightmares. Roiland Hargreaves.

He broke our chains. But we don’t like him? Babur’s voice in his head was puzzled. No, they did not like this man. Not after he destroyed Terry’s home. He could feel his nails sharpening into claws as Babur fumed at the reminder.

Now we rip him to shreds with our joint powers. Babur decided. Asadullah, high on the djinn’s rage, was almost too giddy to remember that they were actually worse at fighting once they had to coordinate for their powers. But he managed to reign himself in and wait for Roiland to say his piece.

Paterson seemed to recognize him, though. His jaw tightened as the man sauntered up. Asadullah took the moment to look him up and down carefully, noting how the man seemed completely unharmed from the near-death beating he had taken back in ZombieWorld. After all, that had been months ago. Enough time for him to recover naturally, even without the various different ways to expedite healing in the Game.

“Roiland.” He acknowledged, clenching his fists as the two faced each other, “How is it like, being the knock-off?” He had used a fire-like shockwave to wreck the houses, right? And Roiland had fire abilities. Had they stolen that idea off data gathered from Paterson?

Roiland scoffed, thin wisps of fire curling off his body in a show of his precise control. Asadullah’s tail twitched. He could feel muscles rearranging under his skin, though not as quickly as if he was working it out by himself.

But he was still going to be able to maul Roiland’s face off when he turned on them and stopped playing off Paterson. This way, they would be able to tell if Paterson was being genuine by the way he reacted to Roiland’s badgering.

“You still got that Energy Manipulation trick buzzing around in there?” Roiland cracked, taking a long deliberate look around, “Where’s that Monroe lackey of yours to help you get the upper hand now?”

“We had a falling out. As I’m sure you know.” Paterson glowered at him. Roiland let out a full-bellied laugh, crossing his arms. The motion moved his jacket upwards, revealing the shape of something sleek and rectangular tucked in the inner pocket. In that moment, several things flashed through Asadullah’s mind.

One, that was his Harbinger Console he had in his jacket. Two, they were posturing for a fight, and both their abilities were destructive. Three, if they let this go on, something was going to break. But not if they got out of there first.

An animalistic growl tore out of his chest as he finally warped his bones into a shape made for bouncing. His jaws shifted into a snarl as powerful hind legs threw him forward, maw open and ready to take a bite straight out of the arsonist’s jacket.

There was panicked screaming all around him, and a blisteringly hot hand landed on his back, sending agony rippling through his spine, but he was still rewarded by a mouthful of cloth and metal as he tumbled onto the ground.

Above him, Roiland was approaching him, all humor gone from his face, even as Asadullah struggled to reform into a human. His advance was blocked by Terry grabbing onto his arm, sending green tendrils crawling up the man’s appendages.

[Terence Glasgow Has Used Nature Affinity!]

He managed to knock off a lot of health points before Roiland had the sense to send fire over his arms, making the fungus slide off in a burnt crisp. Nancy Mitt came charging above him, swinging a sword that seemed much too big for her, but Asadullah rolled away from the conflict, lifting up his partially human fingers to fumble his way to the Quick Travel option of the tablet.

It was much harder to navigate with the disjointed way the translations were provided, but he had picked up some English along the way, and he was able to muddle along some, until he could finally hit ‘Finalize’. This was a Harbinger Console, he knew. And if it could go anywhere, then they could strike at the Developers on their home turf. Except, instead of whisking them away, another popup appeared.

[Console User Biometrics Not Authorized For Developer Entry!]

Dammit. They had thought to program their own devices against that. He hurriedly just changed the Realm. Should they go for Level 2? At least they knew where it would be going, right? But what if there were more Harbingers waiting on the other side to apprehend them. Shouldn’t they be more cautious about this? Not just trust enemy tech to work as it promised?

“Don’t wait!” Terry called out to him, and the familiar language cut through all the confused screams he couldn’t concentrate on.

Asadullah braced himself as he pressed his fingertip to the screen, nail scraping slightly against the glass, just as Roiland made a grab for him, despite Simon hanging off his arms.

They all vanished into pixels once more.

[Player Log End!]