> “Welcome to Wendy’s. What can I get you fellas?”
> -Wendy Wendouvoon, serving customers during her break from being Wend-O-Corp CEO
The job of a courier in Blood Falls is a tricky one. On one hand, it’s a relatively easy job given that for every foot traveled one goes in any direction, the path will never lead you to a veritable dead-end. It’s a feature recently implemented after a visiting mage-god had the brilliant idea of turning the entirety of Blood Falls into one giant maze; an idea wholeheartedly supported by most of the local gods, if only to cackle at the ensuing chaos and make bets on who’d first figure out there were no exits.
That little fun was unfortunately stopped by Yarast Omegon, who cut the mage-god from head to toe, then had one half limp its way back home while the other half stayed to fix the mess the mage-god had created. Not that the inhabitants of Blood Falls appreciated any of that, for to them it was just another day living in a shitty hellhole that’s only marginally better than the complete desolation waiting outside.
The bad part of being a courier in Blood Falls was obvious. Everyone wanted what everyone else had, and most had no patience to wait. So they often jump couriers, and some succeed, some failed, some fail horribly, and some get shot dead for their trouble. For Petrus Soeharto, he made it a personal challenge to shoot dead everyone that gets in his way.
His emotionless face and calm demeanor fooled most into thinking he was a man that thought things through thoroughly; a man that could not be swayed by petty insults and cheap tricks.
The truth was-
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Breathe in and out. In and Out. Remember what your momma told you. ‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth before you go to bed.’ No, not that. Why would I remember that? Oh, someone’s coming up. Keep calm, keep calm. Face like a mask, face like a mask. Okay, they’re gone. Phew.
I need a day off soon from work. I like work, but I haven’t played any games recently. They take so much time though, so maybe two days? Three? The boss is nice, but she’s really hard on everybody. I work hard, though. I’ve racked up quite a bit of day-offs. Yeah, I’ll talk to her someday. Maybe the day after today. Tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow.
I like walking. And running. It’s fun. My job’s fun. I don’t like pain, but I’m tough, like a shroom. Big mushroom. I don’t know why I’m so big sometimes. It makes my appetites hard to control.
Drugs? Genetics? Maybe Meibee would know. Yeah, she’d know, but she’s out of town right now. I’m sad she’s out of town.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Oh, a fight. They look dangerous. I wonder if they’re looking for me. Ah, one of them just spoke. Why are they using my name like that? *? Those are not nice words. I don’t like them.
Those look sharp. Those look fast. Nasty. I want to go home already. Not-nice people won’t let me. I wonder what to do?
Oh, right. My gun. Bang. Bang. Ba-bang bang bang. They’re all de-Oh wait one’s still alive. Bang bang. His head’s off his body. That was close. I almost got my shoes dirty again. Should I run across the rooftops again? Somehow it always gets traced back to me and the boss takes the repair money from my paycheck, so maybe not.
Ah, this is a bit better. I got to use my gun a lot today. Pretty fly. Now, what was I supposed to do again? I know I made a note about it somewhere in my mind. Hey, what’s this? A recorder?
That’s neat. I didn’t know they could make one that hides inside a person’s mind. It’s not very nice though.
Bang.
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-complicated.
This sucks. Micha Ostor’s curse thought as it fluttered in the wind as the cape of a particular endling in Blood Falls. Nothing I do to this oaf does anything. Nothing! It’s like he’s the unluckiest son of a gun in the world. But that’s impossible! I’m the greatest curse there ever was! Something else is messing with me.
Engrossed with its thoughts, the curse failed to notice the endling it hitched a ride on had entered an arcade. The layer of dust inside spoke of the age, but the few people that played the games there boasted an enthusiasm that more than lived up the place. The endling reached the ticket counter and wordlessly passed a card to the employee on-hand. The employee scanned it, then wordlessly passed the card back.
Just then, another person passed through the threshold to the arcade. The endling looked back and green eyes met with yellow ones. A scowl met an impassive face, and the endling found himself having to be dragged away from the counter by another employee as Petrus Soeharto walked up and wordlessly produced his own card to be scanned.
Well, now that’s a fellow I could be acquainted with. The curse looked up and down Petrus Soeharto’s figure with an approving stare. He seems a bit dumb in the head, but isn’t aware of it. And that body is … a gun? Or guns? Is he someone that became a gun or the other way around? The longer I stay down here, the weirder my life gets.
While the curse was occupied with its thoughts, the endling had selected his game; a dance machine. He took off his cape and laid it on one of the machine’s holding bars, then, without missing a beat, he put in his quarters and began the game.
Curiously, Petrus Soeharto soon joined the scene, choosing the dance machine that stood back-to-back with the endling’s own. He cast off his duster, but put them instead on the air, moving the invisible coat hanger behind him before starting his game.
Music drowned all other sounds in the arcade to the duo and dance numbers came and went in rapid succession. They took on all genres, on all the modes, on all the difficulties, and nothing could withstand their moves, their passion, their grooves. It was all choreographed, practiced, and memorized to death as though their lives depended on their moves, and soon only one last mode remained that few in the arcade dared to play.
1-v-1 Mode.