Spencer let out a deafening roar as he smashed the zombie's head in with a club. The white dot where it used to be turned into an X on the minimap. The zombie toppled to the ground without much fanfare, totally unlike the other mobs that they killed, which exploded with confetti and loot.

Of which, they had a nice collection of things in their inventories now. A hatchet, couple of bows with arrows, several clubs, which Spencer had taken a liking to at first glance, and bits and bobs of armor which they had equipped.

Butterknife himself wielded a mallet, which had runes that glowed in a faint light along the handle. He examined it again just to review its properties.

Wiki: Enchanted Mallet of the Really Religious Cult

Salvaged from a thrift store's clearance bin, this mallet sports runes that appeared to have been carved by an enthusiastic but artistically challenged child. When struck, it produces a sound halfway between a church bell and a whoopee cushion—an incredibly sacred tone, rest assured.

The Really Religious Cult members can be easily identified by their perfected pomaded hair, and their cries to send in "blessed donations" as they drive away in their sports cars.

+2 radiant damage

A 30 minute Blessed spell can be cast once every 2 hours.

Beggars can't be choosers, Butterknife thought. It was an early game weapon, and the Blessed spell was useful, because it increased damage by +1 and attack rolls by +1.

Aida had tried to explain to Spencer numerous times how the damage system worked before Butterknife finally interjected.

"It's quite simple," Butterknife had said. "Every time you hit something, invisible dice are rolled. If you roll a score that is higher than the enemy's armor class, the attack will land. Otherwise the attack misses or is blocked, or whatever the AI decides. Simple."

"What's with all this +1 damage shit I keep seeing on the descriptions?"

"After the dice are rolled, and the AI knows the attack will strike, extra damage can be added to the attack. In some cases, even more invisible dice are rolled to determine the amount of damage. Like on your club. You have a +1d4 bludgeoning damage bonus. So your club will do regular damage, and on top of that do between 1 and 4 bludgeoning damage."

Spencer had grumbled at the time, but Butterknife thought the old man was starting to understand the mechanics of combat. At least a little.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Are you sure these zombies will turn hostile," Spencer asked over the corpse of the one he had just killed.

"Yes, I'm sure," he replied. "I mean, the world is called the Zombie Apocalypse. There's an infinite percent chance they will turn on us and try to kill us. I think this non-hostile phase they're in is only because the game just started."

"Aye, but they're only giving 1XP for every kill. Just feels like a waste."

"Better to do it now than when they turn hostile. I imagine they are much harder to kill that way, especially with these terrible weapons."

Spencer clutched his club. "Sshhh", he cooed at his weapon. "The boy meant nothing by it."

"And if I know Jiem," Butterknife continued, "it's that these games are designed to be hard as fuck. We cannot leave anything to chance."

Spencer latched his club around a belt loop and put his hands on his hips. He looked little like the old and tired man banging on his door just hours before. Aside from the club, he wore a leather jerkin, horned helm with fur wrapped around the two pointy horns, and pants made from the skin of some hoofed animal they had killed that looked like a zebra, except it was pink and blue. He looked a bit odd as he still wore his house slippers from his flat in London, but again, beggars can't be choosers.

A notification appeared in his vision.

Calendar: Night has fallen, mortal. Did you truly require my sophisticated temporal algorithms to inform you of this painfully obvious celestial transition? Sunset: Occurred. Darkness: Imminent. Your awareness: Questionable. You're welcome for this critical information.

As the sun dropped over the horizon, the two moons bathed the landscape in a silver-blue luminescence, their combined light transforming the terrain into a crystalline canvas. Pale radiance spilled across fields and forests, casting sharp-edged shadows and rendering every surface in ethereal, metallic tones. They hadn't moved at all, and they seemed to be locked in place.

"You never told me," Spencer said, "you've played this game before?"

Butterknife snorted. "No, nothing like that. Every world that Jiem builds is different, and there are countless ways it can construct them. I've seen dinosaurs playing cricket, race cars that shoot lasers as the road collapses in crazy ways, bacteria that lives in volcanos, deck building games. I've never seen anything like the Zombie Apocalypse world that we're in now. It's not a novel concept, but it's new to Jiem at least. The last 100 builds or so, Jiem has been fixated on open worlds like the one we are in, as it was rated with the highest satisfactory scores. The next world we are in will probably be some space adventure. Who knows."

"Clearly you're a pro at VR games, though," Spencer said. "You've been spot on with every monster we've fought. Even those false religious freaks. Just smashed them in before they even knew what hit them, and you understand the game world without being told twice."

Smiling, he said, "On the contrary. I have probably been in VR less than anyone in this game. I spent my time building AIs outside of Nous, not playing their products."

Spencer gave a "mmm" as he stroked his white stubble of a beard. "Far cry different than my life, that's for sure."

This is a prompt to get me to ask him about his life, Butterknife thought. He is my teammate in all of this until we can escape. It might be worth it to learn more about him. But odds are he is going to die like the rest of us. And it's all because of my creation.

Butterknife suddenly felt ill, soured spit in his mouth. Grimacing, he looked back up at his companion.

"That savepoint is only about 10 minutes from where we are," he said in finality. "Let's get there and select our jobs."