When the world ended I was waiting for an Uber Eats order. Taco Bell. A Chicken Quesadilla Cantina combo with a crunchwrap supreme, and then like three of those little cheese wrap things. So that I could hit the minimum amount for the 40% off coupon. Damn thing still ended up being almost 30 dollars.
Not much else I could use the money for though. It was a miracle the app even worked out here. I’d been staying in my uncle’s cabin in the mountains for the last few months. The doctors said it was to get some fresh air and solitude. Avoid the stress of working in the city.
I think it was because they didn’t know what else they could do with me. After 7 failed rounds of chemo, I don’t really blame them. My family was overly enthusiastic about the idea.
The thing that a lot of people don’t think about with terminal illness is just how much of a toll it takes on your loved ones. It gets worse the more it drags on, waiting any moment for death to come. And at this point, I was 18 months late for my appointment with the reaper.
The doorbell rang. I struggled to get up. Memories of being in this cabin as a young man flowed through me like a river. Exploring the Adirondacks during the day, coming back at night to the forge helping my uncle prep for his next ren fair gig. This cabin has always been an oasis in a life and a family full of chaos. So as I grabbed my cane and struggled to the door, I tried my hardest to not see it as an oversized coffin. A prison for me to finally keel up and die in.
I had to prop myself up against the wall. Almost hanging from the doorknob for support. “Shit”. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hadn’t showered in a couple of days and my hair was plastered to my skull. Eyes sunken in and sallow. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. Romance novels always make vampires out to be sexy, but if I was bitten I’m pretty sure the only change to me would be some sharper canines.
I tried to fluff up my hair for the one person I would probably see this week. But it just made me look crazy, on top of being sick and tired. Whatever. The doorbell rang again. I yanked the door open. A very cold looking woman shivered aggressively at me from within the depths of a scarf and a goose-down coat.
“Sorry” I croaked out. My throat unused to speech these last few weeks.
“Are you Patrick?” Her teeth were chattering.
“Well, I’m the only one out here for a couple of miles.” I tried to be funny but she just looked freaked out. Couldn’t blame her. Not with my current appearance.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
She held out the bag for me to grab. It hung there for a few seconds.
“Uh sorry, can you just put it down?”
There’s a look in someone’s eyes when they realize that you’re fucked up for the first time. They tracked my body. The way my legs struggled to keep me upright. The concentration and cold sheen of sweat on my face. I saw the sympathy, pity, whatever it was.
“Merry Christmas” She gently placed the bag at my feet. She didn’t meet my eyes again, just turned around and left.
As far as interactions go, it could have gone worse. It hurt a little that the first time I’d heard that today came from my food delivery person, but what are you gonna do? Christmas is a time to be happy with your loved ones. And after all I’d put them through they needed a good holiday. I didn’t mind.
It was a lie. Obviously. But the type of lie that makes life a little bit more bearable. That paints us in the colors of a hero instead of a sad, tired, sick man.
I lowered myself down enough to clutch the cold soggy bag of Taco Bell in my hands and for a moment pretended it was a present. The universe reaching out to give me the gift of delicious fake Mexican food and some Mountain Dew Baja Blast.
Looking around the place was a mess. Pill bottles everywhere. Cans of beer. A few takeout bags. Keeping the place clean has been hard since my mobility started to go. But insurance wouldn’t cover a wheelchair so here we are.
Pretending the house wasn’t a prison was harder as I saw the woman through the window. She got into her car and was trying to start it up. She had the whole world before her to explore. She could turn west and just keep going. Or hop on a plane and cross the ocean. I closed the curtain and took my first step.
Navigating through the house my body knew each handhold, each place I could rest or lean when I needed. I wasn’t in a rush. Taco bell was 30 minutes away, this food was already going to be ice cold. But not for long.
The workshop was thankfully attached to the house. A beautiful stone construction with a giant old-fashioned forge in the center of the room. My uncle was a ren fair craftsman, so he made sure to only keep period-appropriate tools. They hung from the walls in beautiful rows. Most were handmade by him or gifts from his friends.
The matchbook was right where it always was. Top drawer of an old harbor freight tool chest.. Shivering I grabbed it and managed to light one on the third try. I tossed it onto the bed of handmade charcoal.
It immediately began to burn. The bellows were a little bit beyond me at the moment, but I didn’t need to heat steel, just takeout. I tried to move to the side of the forge.
It’s odd the way that sometimes your body just decides you can’t do anything anymore. The moment that my foot hit the ground I realized that I was going to fall. I tried to turn mid-fall to grab my cane but that only made it worse. I hit the ground twisted like a pretzel and I could feel something in my back pop. I couldn’t feel my legs. The Taco Bell bag spilled the the ground in a splash of green-blue soda. A quesadilla, two tacos, and three little cheese wrap things. The bastards forgot my crunchwrap supreme.
I could feel myself fading. My vision going dark. The doc said falls were going to be dangerous. My head hurt. It must have hit the side of the forge. Blood mixed with the spilled soda. And I realized that it might finally be time for me to go. At least it’s getting warmer
In the house, the doorbell rang. I didn’t know the Grim Reaper could ring doorbells.
If consciousness is usually a river, mine was becoming a stream. Stream of consciousness, hehe. I could feel myself slipping away. Smelling the coal smoke and hearing the crackle of the fire.
– System Initiated –
Time stopped. A spark hung suspended in the air above me. The pain disappeared.
– Creating Zones –
– Zone: Upstate New York Created –
A voice spoke directly into my mind like the voice of god. If god was a tired radio announcer who lost the will to live.
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– Creating Subzones –
– Subzone: Adirondack Mountains Created –
I tried to speak but my body was frozen, like I was caught in sleep paralysis. All sound was gone except for the voice.
– Rebalancing Zone Population Levels –
A sensation of incredible pressure. My ears popped. What the fuck does that mean? Was I going crazy?
– Assigning Zone Danger Levels –
– Zone: Upstate New York: B –
– Subzone: Adirondack Mountains: A- –
I hit my head. So I was going crazy. That’s it. It had to be it. I tried to move again but the air itself seemed to hold me in place like a vice. My blood had stopped flowing. I had heard that time seems to slow down when you’re dying but what the fuck was this?
– Initializing NPCs –
My body burned like I had been thrown directly into the forge. My blood was boiling, my nerves arced and buzzed like overloaded electrical wires.
– Congratulations!
– You have been selected to become an NPC. –
– Congratulations!
* Due to subzone ganger level you have a class option upgrade
* Due to proximity to death you have gained the Death element.
Blue windows filled my vision like pop up ads. I could feel each one doing something to me as if they were etching something onto my soul.
–Would you like to choose a class?
(Failure to do so will result in revocation of NPC privileges.) –
– 30 seconds remaining. –
I could move my mouth. “Yes!” I spluttered out. I read the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant as a kid and I’m not going to make the mistake of not taking this seriously, even if it probably is some weird death dream.
– NPC initialzation complete! HP is fully restored. Negative conditions have been purged! –
– Your Leukemia has been purged! –
My stomach rumbled. I opened my mouth and vomited blood... So. Much. Blood. It was like a scene from a horror movie. It went on for almost a minute. More blood than I’ve had drawn from me over the last five years combined. When it finally stopped all I could do was cough and gag. Jesus Christ.
– Congratulations! You’ve lost more blood than is contained in the human body. You have gained the blood element. –
– Class Selection Initiated! –
–Choice 1 –
Necromancer:
Type: Mage
Element: Death
Main Attributes: Intelligence, Wisdom
Trees: Summoning, Hemomancy, Curses
Rank: A
– Choice 2 –
Blacksmith:
Type: Tradesman
Element: Fire
Main Attributes: Strength, Constitution
Trees: Weaponsmithing, Armorsmithing, Minor Enchanting
Rank: C
Blacksmith seemed pretty obvious. And I played enough Diablo to know what a necromancer was. I knew which I would rather be.
“I choose blacksmith.”
–Class selection compl- –
– Error –
– Opening private channel with Game Master –
– GM Kna’lu has joined the chat –
GM Kna’lu: Hey! I see you’re having some trouble with class selection.
Again the voice just spoke into my head, this one had a strange tonality to it, like those AI YouTube videos of Trump and Biden confessing their love to each other. I tried to think my response. A chat feed appeared in my vision.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: Who the fuck are you?
GM Kna’lu: I’m a Game Master, it’s my job to make sure this expansion rollout goes nice and smooth.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: What does that mean!?
GM Kna’lu: All in due time buddy. You’ll get the welcoming Schtick tomorrow morning. I’m here because of the class stuff. I got three million more tickets after you so let’s make this choppy. What’s the issue?
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: I want to be a blacksmith?
GM Kna’lu: Yeah. Yeah. No, I see that in the log. Look, we're still working on our onboarding system. First week you know. Blacksmith is not a good choice here. The system has to offer at least two choices. Sometimes there’s a garbage pick especially if the others are good.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: I jus- I’m sorry this is distracting can I change my name?
GM Kna’lu: Sure sure.
– NPC 1,223,900,445,898’s nickname has been set to Patrick Douglas –
Patrick Douglas: I don’t really care about any of that. I just want to spend what time I have left making stuff.
GM Kna’lu: Time you have left? Buddy, you’ve been cured you got as long as you can survive out in the great unknown. And do you really want to spend all that time swinging a hammer? Raise the dead, have fun!
Patrick Douglas: That actually seems really disrespectful of the dead.
GM Kna’lu: Alright smartass, how about this you choose Blacksmith and we turn you into a monster. You won the coin flip but I can easily just turn a heads into a tails with a couple keyboard strokes.
Patrick Douglas: Wait are you at a computer? I thought you were like a god or something.
GM Kna’lu: THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT! Your consciousness will evaporate, and your body will become unrecognizable. I think you’d make a good yeti actually.
Patrick Douglas: So I’d die.
GM Kna’lu: For all intents and purposes. Yes.
Patrick Douglas: Like I was already going to do before this happened.
GM Kna’lu: Look man you’re busting my balls here. There’s a quota we have to meet for interesting NPCs but we’re limited by the classes the system deems you qualify for. I just need one more to hit my bonus. What will it take for you to choose Necromancer?
Patrick Douglas: Can I just be both?
GM Kna’lu: Both? No, you cannot have two classes. Council save me, let me look something up.
– Your Sewing skill has increased to 30! –
– Your Anatomy skill has increased to 30! –
– Your Butchery skill has increased to 30! –
GM Kna’lu: DO NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS. You almost met the prerequisites for a different class. I am sticking my neck out here for you, so PLEASE do the right thing here.
– Private Channel with GM Kna’lu has closed –
– You have unlocked a new class option! –
– Choice 3 –
Fleshcrafter:
Type: Mage, Tradesman
Element: Blood
Main Attributes: Intelligence, Constitution
Trees: Monster Grafting, Biomancy, Major Inscription(Flesh)
Rank: Unique
– Fleshcrafter is a unique class that is a blend of a Tradesman and Mage type. Its main ability allows for the grafting of monster parts onto willing NPCs or Players. It is also capable of healing grievous wounds, inscribing enchantments and spells into skin and organs, and the creation of a homunculus servant. –
Gross. But if I was really going to get a second lease on life I didn’t want to piss off some angry overworked god or whatever it was that I was talking to.
“I choose Fleshcrafter.”
–Class Selection Complete.--
– Welcome NPC 1,223,900,445,898
(Patrick Douglas)
Fleshcrafter Level 1 –
– Beginning Tutorial –
Time resumed. Outside I heard a scream. Before I knew it I was running. I WAS RUNNING. For the first time in five years, I was running. I shot through the forge and back into the house. The scream was coming from just outside. Adrenaline blocked any fear. Adrenaline and elation. I had been so sick for so very long.
CRASH! The sound of splitting metal and breaking glass. Through the window, I saw the Uber Eats girl. What was her name? Caitlin? She was on her ass staring at something huge. It was like a great ape but bigger, with white hair and massive teeth. A fucking yeti.
It held her car, a little red VW Bug in both of its hands. The car was totaled. Caitlin was screaming her head off the shrill sound becoming hoarse as she shredded her vocal chords. I reached for the doorknob then stopped. What was I going to do? Punch it?
Fear and indecision assaulted me from all sides. I can RUN again. I don’t even know this woman. I could hide in the forge and maybe it would go away. If it was a wild animal then maybe it was just hungry.
No. If this wasn’t a dream then that was no animal. It was a person. Or at least it used to be, according to the Game Master. There was so much hitting me all at once. I needed time to think, to process. But Caitlin needed time to survive.
In the end, one thing mattered. Not one family member texted me today. Not one friend. I had a grand total of one person show any kind of genuine care, as shallow or offhanded as it may have been. She wished me a Merry Christmas. And god dammit if that didn’t mean a lot to me.
I opened the door wearing my greasy Daft Punk T-shirt and 10 year old Walmart pajama bottoms. Took a deep breath, and ran towards the giant fucking yeti. Merry Christmas to you too Caitlin.