SAVE POINT 86

Loading...Well, Fanboi...300%

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1130260318992470176/1119af81-c705-46ac-a1d8-fceabdfb8ef6.png][https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1130260319294455809/76c72bcc-c50c-443a-890e-f72b2529d6a6.png]

DANK#Fanboi_420

I may not be smoking hot...but I'm definitely smoking pot. ...And, damn, a morning never looks as good as it does when you're feeling good—you get me?

I blink into the brilliant sunlight streaming over my face, stretching my arms above my head like a well-fed tabby cat.

Minus the well-fed part. Whatever MREs those fantasy-loving, Tolkien, prepper boys packed taste like upgraded cardboard; I think even a donkey would refuse them, and I told them so. I'm gonna have to find me some other breakfast.

I scratch at the zipper of my cargo pants. God, you don't know how good it feels to itch right now—this weed is D-A-N-K. If there was an option for a shower around here, I'd be in there for hours marveling at the sensation of the water falling on my face. But there's no running water. Just tents. And my peeps. And those two quarrelling girls who remind me of the ex-wife I'll never have to return to 'cause—'cause this game world is awesome. ...And I know that ruler-up-her-ass, freckled girl and her dangerously somehow-very-skanky friend want me to rally all of us to the nearest portal, but, gods, I think Fanboi wants to stick around here a long while longer.

Fanboi definitely likes.

The freedom out here.

The comradery of people who get books, art and video game references. Hell, I even ran into a guy who beat the original Resident Evil in 5 hours! Damn! I almost wanted him to sign my chest.

At any rate, all this sure beats cereal on the couch playing Mortal Combat in the cheapest hotel room ocean-side...dribbling milk down the front of my oversized t-shirt. I mean, I know they have a pool there, but at least three kids pee in it daily. And that last one was a doozy.

Shit, I'll just live here.

In the fucking video game.

Bet my old woman's head would implode if I told her I've literally jumped into the video games she used to tell me were, and I quote, 'a colossal waste of time and adult energy'.

'Adult energy'—I know, WTF.

Or she'd just accuse me of being addicted to heroin again. What a bitch. I'd only tried it once. Surf's changed, woman. You can't be broke in a place where there's no money. And they've got magic here—like we're all up in Narnia or some shit.

Those girls wrenched tight as a bolt keep telling me how "bad" it is to create without a certain skill level, but, honestly, I don't see what the harm is making a few bomb-ass swords here or there. It's certainly keeping people busy.

The Slytherin crowd sure is still having fun. M&M have had them all on lockdown—that's what I've been calling the two Gamer girls who take their life too seriously. I can't remember their names right now, but I know they start with 'M' and...well, candy's a lot sweeter than either of them. Lockdown's fine but they're joking if they think those scheming weirdos are going to stay shenanigan-less for over 24 hours. The green-and-black robed idiots are whispering and sniggering with each other—

Come to think of it, I'll go ask them if they have breakfast.

Looping my thumbs in my pockets, I stride towards the group through the tall grass. They all stiffen and stare. Like gazelles meeting a cheetah in the wild.

As long as it ain't the other way around, you know what I mean?

I nod my head at them, "'Supp?"

The skinny, tall one in front spits in the grass near my face. He narrows his eyes at me. The closer I get, the more acne I spot, contrasting his green Hogwarts scarf like a Christmas tree. "You here to tell us which rock not to step on?" he jeers.

These jackasses.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I fling up my hands, palms exposed like I've been discovered aboard their pirate ship and have to play defense. "No, ho my ex is the one more like that," I admit, shrugging and sauntering forward with a wink at the nearest girl—a dark-haired, squat woman with the face of a pug (just a reality, not tryin' to be mean or anything). "My ex was all into climbing that ladder to business exec. Strung tighter than a kite—"

"I'm a human resources manager," the woman responds, her tight-lipped frown deepening.

Oops.

Taking foot out of mouth—

"Then you know what I mean," I quip with a quick smile. "Listen," I tell them all, shoving my hands back in my pockets, "I'm in need of some munchies. You guys got anything? The bros on the other side apparently thought we were going wilderness mapping and forgot we'd need real food if we were going to do any of that—"

"We don't share," huffs a redhead kid from the back who looks like he could be Napoleon Dynamite's twin brother.

"Well, do you trade?" I insist, curling my fingers around the plastic, saran wrap goodies squashed in my trousers. And I pull out a handful of the best brownies anyone could ask for, "'Cause these'll lay you on your back while your face melts. Plus, they're my Memaw's special recipe so, if pass up these, you're passing up a life experience just sayin—"

"Done," the kid in front snaps decisively, thrusting a paper bag at me, "Take what you want."

"Marcus!" Human resources manager pain-in-the-ass snaps.

"What?" The kid asks, shrugging and gleefully taking the special brownies from me.

"Here, take them all," I offer, rolling the sticky bundle off my palm, "I've got more in my tent."

I riffle through the paper bag they'd offered, hemming and hawing till I decide on a Red Bull and protein bar.

I crack the energy drink open, right then and there, relishing the satisfying hiss and pop. Breakfast of champions. A little weed can open up your entire world.

Feeling like king of the hill and walking like it, I hike back to my tent. And I lay in there for a while, staring up at the fabric ceiling, marveling at my new life and chewing on my prize box, protein bar slowly like making it last will make this peace inside me last. But it usually slips away—somehow, it gets away from me and real life tries to rip the corners of my laid-back solitude and remind me of the loneliness.

Or the bills.

Or my ex's squinting face—her disapproval. My entire family's disapproval. God, they are such a judgy lot. 'You should be more like your brother' they tell me. The lawyer brother. The one with the pretty little wife and robo kids. Even their dog is trained—who has a trained dog? Ridiculous standards that I can never live up to. I've stopped trying. They might see me as a failure, but, worse, sometimes, I see myself as one. Deep down I wonder if I'll ever be something—do something...good. 'Cause usually 'good' isn't a word people associate with me so...

Damn, I hate emotions. Obviously, Imma need a hit.

I strike my lighter and am about to get this chillfest on ice when I hear a scream.

Not like a positive scream—like a jump scare or video game holler or people gettin' a little handsy in the next tent over. It's a someone's-tryin'-to-fucking-scalp-me scream.

Pure terror.

Adrenaline pulses through my veins—oh shit!

I scrabble to my feet, flinging open the tent flap in a crouched and ready position—

My mouth hangs wide open as I watch the following events transpire:

1) People running, whizzing past me in a blurry panic.

2) Zombies, for real, bros, stumbling along the tree line, grabbing for people.

3) The Slytherin group chanting in the grass, their faces streaked with determination.

And, then, I have to blink. Twice. Because there's ostriches—a whole herd, rushing away from the zombies. Their thin necks and feet are collared with black-leather straps with massive spike points. Their enormous backs hold saddles while thin reins are wrapped around their dangerous-looking beaks.

And they're all headed straight towards me. What the—?!

Fingers grab my arm from behind. I whip around to see the freckled part of M&M—what does she want? "It was your watch," she growls, "What happened?!"

First of all, they really need to take it easier with the whole 'watch' bit...

"I don't know," I spit, "I traded the Slytherin peeps some brownies for my breakfast, and everything was super chill till zombies started popping out of the woods—"

The girl swears under her breath. Her intense eyes narrow, "So, you're telling me you just gave a bunch of special brownies to the brats that keep breaking this world?"

I giggle a little, "They are probably so toasted right now—"

"Not helping!" She snaps. "Where did the birds come from?"

But I don't get time to answer because the kid I traded the brownies with rides up on an ostrich—and, no, I am not fucking that high; he really is riding the thing—

"Hey! Get up on a bird!" He gestures, pulling his animal up short with the reins, "Fastest land animal I could think of to create. Let's outrun these zombie bastards!"

"You created them?!" the freckled girl fumes, "We're fighting creatures created by black magic with more black magic?! —You morons!"

But the kid's gone.

And the girl can only glower at me.

I grimace back.

..Dudes, I swear I didn't mean to fuck up.