SAVE POINT 34

Reloading Joy's Side Mission...Do or Die Level...100%

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1105678177717723176/9b252e88-2067-4058-8be4-8cd338da5f56.png][https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1105678178661441547/033f0533-e70c-4d40-be8a-ae8761192bd5.png]

Joy

I always do things the hard way—call it 'stubbornness' or 'sense of adventure', just don't you dare call it 'stupidity'. ...But I can see Rosabella calling it stupidity—there, behind her annoyed eyes—as we race up five flights of stairs. I forgot about her endurance. Mine, of course, is flawless; I'm barely breathing hard when I reach the top level emblazoned with a huge '6' next to the door.

Rosabella, on the other hand, throws herself over her knees. "Really?" she spouts, heaving in air through raking breaths, "We couldn't have taken the elevator?!"

But I can't listen to her crassness. I have a side mission to win.

I peer through the vertical glass pane in the door, my gaze sweeping the maroon-carpeted, apartment hallway for the girl with the key necklace. It still looks like a hotel up here—just like I remember it. Glowing sconces line the wainscoted walls. The place still even stinks of burned grilled cheese and boredom. I yank the heavy, metal door open, transitioning from freezing cement to worn carpet under my bare feet.

I'd run up those stairs. I'd hauled ass. There's no way I lost her.

I sprint down the hall—

Past a drying rack where someone's hung out their clothes to dry.

Past a fake, potted plant.

Holding my breath, I turn the corner—

The hall is vacant.

Shit—

Except there's a door ajar...with a convenience store bag left outside.

Bingo.

I smile and whirl around—

Rosabella smacks right into my chest with an 'oof'. I scowl at her. For a second, there, we're a tangle of scuttling hands and feet, trying to weave around each other in the cramped hall. ...Worst partner in crime ever.

"Double back," I whisper to her, "I found her door, but we need an excuse—"

The girl's eyes crinkle up at the corners, confused, as she takes a hesitant step backwards, "An excuse?"

I don't particularly feel like babysitting in the moment, so I just brush by her shoulder—to my destination. My fingers easily pluck a baseball cap and sweatshirt off the drying rack in the hall. ...They won't miss just a few things... They did, after all, leave their laundry out in an open, public area... I throw a t-shirt at Rosabella. We'd run out of the club so quickly that we still have the corsets on. I can't have the key girl recognizing we'd followed her from there.

"Put it on," I hiss.

Rosabella nods, tugging the huge shirt over her head. I pull on the oversized sweatshirt and wiggle the brim of the hat far down on my head.

"Follow along," I urge Rosabella as I creep back down the hall. She looks like she wants to complain, but we don't have time for it. I have to figure out if the girl's necklace pendant is the key the side mission wants, or I'll be timed out of the opportunity for the chance at upleveling and, maybe, healing myself.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I slide up the wall, towards the cracked door. My fingers reach for the plastic, convenience store bag, looping quickly through the handle.

Immediately, I raise the other hand to knock on the wood door.

"Hello? Grocery delivery!" I call into the dark crack between door and doorpost.

But there's no answer.

...And it almost sounds like...

"Do you hear that?" Rosabella wants to know, leaning towards my face.

And, for once, she's helpful. ...Because she's right. That's music playing. The girl probably can't hear my knock because of the music...

Carefully, I take a step forward and shove the door inward. The hinge squeaks faintly...

"Joy—" Rosabella warns, but I'm too far in this shit to back out now without it being caked all over my hands.

"Grocery delivery!" I try again, a little louder.

The apartment is dark, save a sliver of light coming from around a door in the rear—where the music is coming from. The shadowy form of a couch and two chairs...an old-fashioned dining room table and a refrigerator cling to the sides of the room like the place has only ever been seen as something temporary. There's no art on the walls...no curtains. There is a good bit of trash. An empty pizza box lies open on the coffee table, and the kitchen bar is scattered with soda cans and paper plates. ...Was there a party here, or is this just the result of one person and several meals? The place reeks of stale food and—honestly—depression. As I round the elevated kitchen bar, I notice that the sink is piled high with dishes and a tired-looking rug lays skewed over a checkered tile floor. Four alcohol bottles line the counter.

The hard stuff.

This girl isn't joking.

Holding a hand out to caution Rosabella I'm moving forward slowly, I inch towards the lit door. I realize, as I do, that water's running—a tumbling, rushing noise.

A tub.

It must be a bathroom.

She's filling up the tub.

On stealth mode, I creep closer. I strain to peer through the slit where the door doesn't meet the frame...

And I drop the grocery bag.

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NO.

Something animalistic overcomes me.

Emotions crashing over my head in a nauseating way:

Electric panic.

Shock.

Fear.

I lunge through the door—

"Joy?" Rosabella yells over the water and music.

But I can barely hear her.

All I see is the girl.

With the key necklace still sparkling gold around her neck...

As her head droops next to her neck in the bathtub...

And scarlet blood drips from a cut on her wrist.

Long.

Deep.

Self-inflicted; the razor blade is still cupped in her other hand.

And a Goddamn Taylor Swift song blares in the background.

NO.

Maybe it's all too familiar—the scene. This cramped room. The dingy white tile floor and pedestal sink. The fact that she's even younger than when I attempted something similar in the very same spot—

It's suddenly personal.

Like this girl is an extension of myself.

And I'm no longer detached Joy.

I'm fucking invested—all the way fucking in. Panic scrambles my thoughts and shakes my hands as I struggle to pull the girl out of the tub.

"Rosabella! Fabric!" I scream, "Bedsheets—something to cut it with! We need to stop the bleeding!" My voice pitches crazily. And, suddenly, all thoughts of The Game are burned.

Buried.

Gone.

Only my heart, wrenching in two for a girl whose life she thought was too unimportant to keep. So, instead, she threw her heart away. Instead of facing the searing pain there, she'd decided—made the choice—to cut it out. And, in that moment, I realize I can't blame her or look down on her. Because, so long ago, I'd done the same thing. I'd almost literally done the same thing, but—even when the Game Wardens had found and saved me—I'd done it again. I'd taken a metaphorical knife to my heart, and I'd cut out everything that hurt.

I'd carved the memories of Mom out of my chest.

I'd buried my innocence.

And the girl who'd emerged was hard.

Indifferent.

Untrusting.

And more sarcastic than ever.

Because armor is a natural response to war. And I'd waged one with myself years ago...

Tears sting at my eyes. I'd let myself die inside, but I sure as hell am not going to let that happen to this girl.

I grab a towel from the towel bar above my head and wrap it around her thin, shivering frame. Her lips, still plumped with lip gloss, trip over a row of twisted words that sound too familiar:

"No—please, let me go. I want this. He doesn't love me. No one loves me."

I seize her by the shoulders.

I shake her.

I watch her head loll, streaks of dark mascara still smudging her pale skin under half-mooned eyes.

"You don't mean that," I tell her, "You're just in a low spot. It's going to be okay—"

Crimson blood pours over my palms as I try to hold them to her wound to stop the bleeding. Rosabella is too slow! Trying to only use one hand, I scramble to rip the sweatshirt off, over my head. I try to use my teeth to tear at the fabric—

"Here."

Finally.

Rosabella hands me a knife.

I slit through the fabric with it, making quick use of the tool and creating a makeshift bandage. I wrap it tight around the girl's arm, watching the red trying to seep through.

But it doesn't.

It eventually holds.

And my heart steadies as I finish the last piece and prop her up against the tub's side.

"She's okay," I murmur, the terror flooding out of me and replacing itself with relief as I trace a soft hand through the girl's hair, "She's going to be okay—"

Beep.

...An electronic beep?

The key pendant around the girl's neck starts glowing.

I reach out, hesitantly, and poke it with a curious finger—

Beep.

It absorbs into my palm like a med pack.

***Key Acquired. Victory Established. Side Mission Completed.***

I blink stupidly into the neon letters floating over key girl's despondent head. And, suddenly, her face becomes pixelated.

And her body disappears—square by square.

And the bathroom dissipates as well—wiped clean like this was all a bad dream. Till Rosabella and I stand...

In the forest.

Once more.

I stare up at the trees, stunned as more messages stream into view:

***Welcome Back to The Game GAME MAKER ROSABELLA & GAME WARDEN JOY***

***Side Mission Passed!***

GAME WARDEN JOY Strength - 80/100 Endurance - 90/100 Agility - 75/100 Intelligence +5 - 65/100 Emotional Intelligence +20 - 30/100 Empathy +25 - 10/100 Determination +2 - 85/100 Prophesy - 0/100

I blink at the increases, feeling something strange warm my heart...pride? ...A strange sort of...satisfaction?

And an even more alien sensation occurs on my face. I feel something wet...

I bring up my fingertips to brush it away—is it rain?

But, no.

It's tears.

I am...crying...? I haven't cried for a long time.

The girl with the key necklace...she was fake? This was all just part of a messed-up side mission to uplevel my stats?

"That was fucking rude," I whisper, wiping away the wetness, "Whatever your creator magic just did, it—this didn't happen." I tell Rosabella, meaning the tears and what we'd experienced together.

And she swallows a little bit of a chuckle, using the back of her hand to shield it from my view.

But we look down at my hands at the same time and realize—there's no more black rash. The skin there is firm and pale! Am I—

I reach up to see if it's still on my neck. The scaly ridges meet my fingertips, but it's much lessened than before.

"It—worked—" I choke out.

"Rosabella?! Joy?!"

Callen's voice.

We both startle as the man comes crashing through the underbrush.

"There you are!" his eyebrows crease in frustration, "We've been looking all over for you—thought you'd wandered off or met with some Darken. We need to pick up the pace if we're going to make it to the temple. Come on."

I nod at him. ...Mostly for something to do, other than meet Rosabella's wide-eyed stare. Obviously, she's still in shock about everything too...

"This never happened," I mouth at the girl when Callen's back is turned, and we follow him back to the group.

And she nods.

My secret and street creds are safe...for now...