Prologue
So, this is how we die. Not in a heroic last stand. Not in a glorious blaze of victory. No, I was going out kicking and screaming in the dirt, trying to chainsaw the ankles of a beetle the size of a 1975 Buick Electra 225 Limited, fully loaded with the Park Avenue Package, because apparently, my worst nightmares come with trim options.
I swung Baby—my sweet little chainsaw—at its armored foreleg. The blade bit down, and all I got for my trouble was a clang, a shower of sparks, and the acrid stench of scorched chitin. Baby was about as helpful as a plastic spork in a sword fight.
"Well, it was a good ride, Muffin!"
The Booty Beetle—yes, I shit you not, that is its name, and no, I do not have time to unpack that—reared up, mandibles clicking, stinking saliva foaming, six legs scraping the ground like a boxer warming up to wreck my entire existence.
"Don't lose hope now, Rox!" Muffin skidded past me, ears flattened, tongue lolling, furry tail fluffed up like a haunted bottle brush. "I know this looks bad, but—well, okay, fine, it's really bad. I admit it."
She turned mid-run, locked on, and whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap! She fired another volley of flaming hot sauce packets right into the beetle's oversized, sweaty-looking face.
Splat. Splat. Spuhhhhlat. That last spuhhhhlat was personal.
The monster screeched, recoiling slightly as the sauce seeped into its beady little eyes.
Muffin panted. "I think I got some in its eye!"
"Great! Did that eye fall out, or am I hallucinating?"
"Bit of both!"
Its Life Bar had dipped slightly. So, it can take damage, I thought, barely managing to dodge-roll as one of the beetle's wrecking ball-sized feet crashed down where my skull had been half a second ago. This thing was not just big; it was not just who-pissed-in-your-cheerios-angry; no, this thing was designed to make contestants suffer.
How did I know this? Because a sadistic alien Game dev out there had decided it needed trample damage, grapple damage, and crushing weight bonus damage, all stacked into one nightmare-fueled package.
And guess what? The audience loved it.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Like every other, this fight was being broadcast live to an intergalactic audience, as was everything that happened to the contestants. We could not see them because… well, because they were not actually here. But the roar of the invisible crowd above us grew louder, nonetheless.
My HUD—a faint, glowing display floating at the edge of my vision—popped up a notification.
SPONSORSHIP POLL RESULTS: SHOULD PLAYERS ROX AND MUFFIN RECEIVE ASSISTANCE?
TOP VOTED OPTION: 62% SAY: NAH, LET THEM SUFFER.
"Dammit," I stared. "Are you kidding me?"
The beetle bulldozed toward us again.
I scrambled back, gripping my Baby with my stubby, little eight-year-old hands, scanning the battlefield ruins for something—anything—that could help us. What I currently had in my inventory? Not much:
* A half-melted mop handle.
* A single grenade, which I was 75% sure was a dud.
* A dog who thought throwing condiments at things counted as a battle plan.
The Booty Beetle rampaged.
Muffin hollered something unintelligible.
I braced myself for my most certain demise.
And then—a delicate, golden coupon fluttered from somewhere above and landed precisely at my feet.
I stood there, mouth agape. "What the—"
Muffin sucked in a sharp breath. “A fan gift! A fan gift! Rox, grab it!”
The beetle’s pincers snapped inches from my face. CLACK!
I went for the golden piece of paper, fingers closing around it, heart hammering. It read:
CONGRATULATIONS, ROX! YOU HAVE BEEN FAN GIFTED: ONE (1) FREE REDEMPTION COUPON (VALID FOR ONE (1) RANDOM ITEM. NO REFUNDS. USE ANYTIME. EXPIRES WHEN YOU DO.)
SPONSORED BY: SHRIEKING SQWARBBLES' USED SCROLLS, CURSES, BOBBLES, AND BLING.
No time for second thoughts. I slammed my finger down on the activation rune.
Golden light flared, a vortex twisting in the air, coalescing into something massive. Heavy. A presence that could turn the tide. I knew this had to be great.
The glow faded.
I stared.
Muffin stared.
The battlefield had gone eerily quiet except for the whirrr of my so-called prize.
A fucking Roomba?
Muffin sniffed at it; ears pinned back. “Oh God, Rox, I hate those things so much. Remember when your mommy brought one home, and I got in trouble for chewing the charging station?”
It chirped.
I whimpered.
Muffin recoiled.
The Booty Beetle hesitated, antennae twitching, as if it, too, could not quite believe what was happening.
The Roomba spun in place, its low-battery icon blinking like a distress signal.
Then, in a calm, robotic voice, it announced: ACTIVATING DEEP CLEAN MODE.
And before I could warn Muffin to get away from the Roomba…
KABLOOEY!
The explosion punched the entire world all kinds of stupid sideways. A high-pitched ringing swallowed all sound.
Muffin lay sprawled on her side, fur singed, motionless.
No.
I staggered toward her, dropping to my knees. Smoke curled from her coat. Blood pooled beneath her.
“Muffin!?”
She did not move.
Then, weakly—so damn weakly—she whispered, “Knock-knock…”
I choked on smoke. “Who’s there?”
Her ears twitched. A hint of a smile. “Oh… Look, Rox… a dog-safe chocolate chip cookie.”
Her body went still.
I looked up.
I could not see them, but I felt them. Watching. Enjoying the show.
The invisible audience.
My hands curled into fists. A slow, creeping fire burned in my chest, rising, consuming.
"If it takes forever," I whispered, voice raw, deadly, "I will find you."
I rose. My vision tunneled.
"And I will kill you all."