[Player Log Start!]
[Player: Jared Caliber]
[Level: 1]
Jared Caliber used to be considered the best of the best. The one who had a complete grasp on any situation. He knew everyone and could finesse any diplomatic issue. People listened to him, respected him, despite his youth and inexperience.
Ever since the world ended, he had rebuilt his entire image. Learnt to hold himself and dress himself and talk in a way that made people realize that he was in charge. He had stolen bits and pieces of other people, chipped away at their power, until he had amassed himself unimaginable power.
He could’ve stabilized the world by himself if he had stayed. All he needed was to take more power, fight more people. He could have made it then.
Except then he’d thought it was a good idea to enter the Game. And now he was stuck in a different dimension. Looking for an additional pocket dimension.
“You have any idea what we’re even looking for?” Michael asked, following him as they traversed through the zombie world.
“Warp Point.” He replied, as if it was obvious. The Navigator Compass on the Console had evolved to now have multiple needles, pointing in different directions. One was blue, pointing back to where they had spawned into Level One in the first place. The others were silver, and slim, pointing out in different directions.
“I’m assuming these are meant to be pointing out the Warp Points?” Jared asked, trying to pull off general air headedness.
“Yeah, that’s the basic idea.” Asadullah agreed, slashing an approaching zombie’s face open. It fell backwards, brains oozing out of the cracks.
[Asadullah Khan has Killed the Zombie (Lv. 2)!]
[He has been Rewarded 40 Exp!]
[Zombie (Lv. 2) will Revive in 1 hrs]
[0:59]
The notification had been popping up multiple times throughout the day, again and again until he had stopped paying any attention to it.
“Leave us some points, will you?” Michael joked.
“How’re you going to fight with a laptop in your hands?” Asadullah snarked, turning his head to give them a bright smirk.
Michael grumbled, balancing the device on his non-dominant arm.
“What’s going to happen when we get enough points, anyway?” He asked, “Will we be able to level up our stats, or is it going towards our overall levels?”
“Guess we’ll have to find that out after we get enough points.” Jared replied. Another zombie entered their periphery, and Asadullah struck forward with a growl, knocking the head off.
Another helpful notice popped up.
“Are we getting any closer?” He asked, tail sagging. He was getting tired, which was interesting. Jared had thought his stamina had no end, but clearly his theory was flawed. He’d have to study the catboy better to create a more accurate profile for him.
“This thing doesn’t come with a distance scale.” He reminded him, tiredly.
“Terrible game design. Who made this thing?”
He had a point, Jared had to concede.
And that got him thinking. Who made it? Had the Console formed itself? Or was it some sort of sorcerer or inventor that created it?
Jared had to study it further. Maybe hunt down the creator and ask them what this is meant to be. What they hoped to achieve with this. Everyone else might be okay with going along with the Game, but not him. He wanted to learn the Game inside out, then use it against it. He had no intention of letting the Game take over his mind.
The Console’s history was important. No one else was paying attention to it except him. Even with all the information that was missing, he saw the glaring gaps in the logic of this story.
Who was the boy in the desert Verity had mentioned? Where did he go? How did things come to this?
They were still in Level One. Finding information was difficult. He had to bide his time and hoard his knowledge, carefully crafting a theoretical mural in the background, even as the others fought this fight for them.
“Are you mentally doing a heroic monologue?” Asadullah asked, ears twitching from side to side like eyebrow wiggles.
“He’s totally doing a heroic monologue.” Michael confirmed. Asadullah snorted from in front of them, ears continuing to do the little twitchy dance.
“Asad, can you even wiggle your eyebrows?” Jared blurted out.
Asadullah squawked, “I- No- Oh, fuck you.”
Laughs all around.
Jared nearly slammed headfirst into a green panel. He needed to stop doing that.
[Proximity Alert!]
[Warp Point Nearby]
“Oh, so now you warn us. Stupid thing.” Michael whacked the computer. For a blood-freezing second, the panel glitched out for a second before solidifying once more.
Air left Jared’s lungs in a relieved gasp, “You can break this thing?” He asked shakily.
“Please wrap that thing in cotton.” Asadullah begged Michael, “I’m not getting stranded here because you got a little clumsy.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t have any plans to drop this thing.” Michael replied, clutching at the laptop a little more firmly.
“The Warp Point is here, though.” Jared replied, recovering from the scare, “Everyone move out, carefully sweep out the area.”
Jared had learnt to keep track of time even without a timepiece. That was how he could tell that it was exactly five minutes later when the next panel came up.
[Warp Point Reached!]
[This Individual Sub-Level is Unfinished]
[Maximum Exp Points to Gain: 2,000]
[! Only 1 Volunteer is allowed to Enter !]
They had pretty much expected that, simply from the name of the sidequest. What he hadn’t been expecting was the sheer amount of experience points that would be given to them.
All three of them exchanged awkward glances.
“I’ve been taking advantage of all the zombies so far.” Asadullah conceded, “Someone else should go first.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Coward.” Michael jabbed, half-heartedly. Asadullah rolled his eyes and refused to rise to the bait.
Jared wasn’t comfortable with going in blind. He would rather have someone experience something first, and then go off the information that they reported to him.
Still, he bit his lip and fought the urge to raise his hand as he volunteered, “I’ll do it.”
Pause.
Michael and Asadullah exchanged glances.
“You sure about this, man?”
“Yeah, why shouldn’t I be?” He replied, their distrust chafing on him. Even just recently, he had been the one Michael had listened to without question. He was the sole authority. And now he was being questioned?
“You don’t carry weapons, your stats are bad, and you only just managed to fix your braces.” Asadullah crossed his arms, “Forgive us if we’re not entirely sure you should go into… whatever this thing is meant to be.”
Of course they had to bring up the braces problem. This was why he never let anyone watch him clean and fix his braces. They always had this look in their eyes afterward. As if they thought he was fragile or something. As if he couldn’t easily cross a desert if he wanted to, even if the sand got into the hinges and made the brace stick and it was all awful. Fuck them and their shallow ideas of what Jared could do.
“I’m going to do this.” He decided, “You all know I can handle it.”
[Ability: Compulsion Lv. 10 Activated!]
[! Item: Compulsion Card is Boosting this Ability !]
Their eyes flickered for a moment, before backing away from him.
“Sure.” Michael agreed, “We’ll hold the fort down here, and you head inside.”
“Can I take the Console?” He asked hopefully.
[Console cannot be Separated from Larger Party(Main)!]
“Yeah, thanks, laptop.” Jared grumbled, “I’ll go in alone, then.”
“Good luck.” Asadullah nodded, patting him on the shoulder briefly. For a second, Jared didn't want to believe it as anything more than the effects of the card. But there was a fondness in his eyes that couldn't be forced or faked. And that made all the difference.
“Thanks.” He smiled at him softly, before turning back to the Warp Point. Before, there had been no indicator that there was a Warp Point nearby, but now, a metallic archway had built itself up, glowing brightly. Jared put his hand forward, into the blinding light.
[Jared Caliber has Entered the Warp Point!]
[Preparing Teleportation to Individual Sub-Level…]
His body dissolved into green pixels, vision blacking out for a few minutes, before coming back online to the solid world.
Jared was proud to say that he didn’t stumble this time, managing to stay on his feet as the world reformed around him. On instinct, he turned his head skywards to check the color of the sky. That was the easiest way to see which universe he was in.
Above him stretched a smoky grey sky, ensconced by a thick blanket of clouds. Not a ray of solid light pierced it, but the slight luminescence behind the clouds hinted at the fact that it was daytime. He wondered if the sky was a different color behind all the clouds, or if it was all dull and dark.
[You have Entered Individual Sub-Level #1!]
[Realm: L-35 | Trackland]
[Objective: Find a Survival Totem]
Trackland? What was supposed to be happening here? Bounty hunters or something? He wasn’t entirely sure how that could bring the world to the end, but he was willing to go along with it.
He took a sharp breath, only to choke on the smoke hanging heavy in the air. He coughed, hacking and wheezing.
[Status Effect: Air Poisoning!]
Thank you, Game panel. Very helpful. He could barely read it while hacking up a lung. The data so far suggested that Tracks had very little to do with the end of this world, but instead pollution. So where did the tracks come from?
He covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief to block some of the smog, so he could breathe for even a second.
Slowly, he traversed the area, feeling things out with his feet over the terrain. It seemed to be mostly flat, level plains, firm and solid, with a light dusting of crumbling sand. Then his foot met a solid hunk of metal, radiating heat through his shoes.
Jared nearly tripped over it and cursed feverishly. He was so close to smashing his nose open if he had been moving faster. Hands carefully felt out the rod of metal he’d nearly cracked his skull on. It was a track. Train tracks.
He was starting to understand why this place was called Trackland. Maybe the trains had something to do with the smoke?
It didn’t matter. Right now, he needed to find this Survival Totem.
If the Console was here, he might have been able to track the thing, but now he only had his own instincts and skills. And Jared wasn’t particularly known for his survival skills. Where was he supposed to head now?
On a whim, he decided to follow the train tracks. Eventually he had to run into something, no matter which direction he headed. If he got extremely lucky, there would be a station on the other end of this track. Surely, the people here would be as willing to lend aid to stragglers as he had been back in Wayside.
Would there even be any people here? This was an Individual Sub-Level, after all. Maybe there was only him, alone in this empty smog-filled world. Jared was a parasite who fed off the people around him. The idea of there being not a single human around for him to twist around his fingers made him feel vulnerable.
[Status Effect: Air Poisoning!]
[30 hrs Before Death]
Thanks again, Game, but how was he even supposed to treat this? Maybe the Console Inventory would have Poison Cures in it, he reasoned, except there was no Console with him right now. He had no food, either. No supplies other than the hip flask and the bars he had managed to strap to his body.
He was thoroughly fucked, wasn’t he? Maybe he hadn’t thought this through.
He continued to walk, limping along the rusty tracks with his leaden legs. No, that wasn’t right. The tracks weren’t rusty. They were surprisingly well-taken care of. Someone had been caring for them meticulously. Maybe because the entire world was so heavily reliant on tracks, and they couldn’t afford to lose the one reliable transport they had?
Or maybe because this was a stage made for him. A dungeon level crafted by the eldritch technological horror that was the Game.
What was reality, even more? What had been created by the Game, and what was built by the people?
When he had touched the Console, he had been given an Invitation. And when he had accepted that Invitation, the Game had cheerily informed him that he had been promoted to a Player. So, did that mean that everyone else weren’t Players? They were simply… NPCs?
He needed to stop thinking.
The tracks split and swerved, going into all directions. He didn’t follow any of the smaller branches, remaining set on the one he had chosen.
What little light there was, it eventually fled too, drowning him in darkness. Still he marched, steadfast and unrelenting, until his braces creaked and complained to the point where he needed to stop.
The moment he did, the pain he was pushing down pulsed upwards, threatening to consume him. Jared bit back a scream of discomfort, instead unclasping his braces and massaging his legs as best as he could. Once the pain had lessened from being overwhelming, he clasped the braces back into place and continued walking.
[Status Effect: Air Poisoning!]
[26 hrs Before Death]
At least he had a clock to see how much time was passing. And how far away his untimely death was.
[Status Effect: Hunger!]
Dammit all.
Finally, handkerchief clasped to his mouth, he squinted through the smoke, and his eyes finally caught onto the silhouette of a tumbledown building. Finally, a respite.
Despite all the instincts he had built up for himself over the last, he found himself running, desperate to reach this assumed oasis.
It was a stupid idea, he knew. But his mind was addled with the noxious fumes and hunger tore at his stomach. He believed in the ever-prospering good of humanity, that they would give him food and shelter when he was so desperate for it.
He was only meters away from the building, to the point where the worm-eaten stairs were standing in sharp relief in his eyes. Jared was about to climb onto the patio, when the first clicking sound came to his attention.
Mechanical whirring became louder and more apparent, and by the time Jared had turned around, the sound had reached a screeching crescendo.
There was a squadron of men standing behind him, all clad in gas masks, and pointing large cannons at him.
[NPCs have Entered the Field!]
Jared shuffled backwards onto the patio, tripping over the stairs.
“Put your hands up, son!” The one at the front barked. Jared was quick to comply, reaching his hands up.
“What’s going on?” He asked, keeping his voice suitably level. People didn’t like it when their victims were unnaturally confident. But they also didn’t like it when they were overly hysterical.
His questions went ignored as the man continued to point the cannons at him, “Who do you work for?” He screamed; his voice hoarse even through the mask.
“No one, I’m kind of an outcast.” Jared tried to tell him. The man scoffed and began making gestures to all the other squads. Jared remained still and compliant as he was carried away. He barely even comprehended it when he was led into the shelter and shoved into a narrow closet.
No, not a closet. It had an open wall, with bars stretching across it. This was a cell.
Jared sighed and slumped into the tiny pile of straw heaped into the corner of the cell. How undignified.
…What should he do now?
For once, Jared Caliber found that he had no idea.
He reached into the inner lining of his shirt, where there was a hidden pocket stitched inside. There was only one thing he kept in there, and he pulled it out carefully to look at it.
A slim, tattered card stained yellow over the years. He had carried it around for years. The Card of Compulsion. It had carried him along for years before he ever entered the Game. Maybe it will lead him to success once again.
He needed hope right now.
[Player Log End!]