Shadow-Sync Complete!
That’s getting more than a little suspicious...fuck it, I’m probably just a glitch in the matrix or something. At least that’d give my parents some validation. I’m a mistake after all. Big surprise.
I find my roommate staring through the peephole of our door, laughing like a fucking psycho. Like one of those eleven year olds who gets a kick outta watching his friends hurt themselves due to one of his mischievous pranks. So, an eleven year old boy.
I ask him what he finds so funny.
He gestures me down. “See for yourself.”
I look through the peephole. His laugh’s justified.
I point to the padlock. “It’s not even locked?”
“Apparently Scramblers can’t open doors. I love this. Wait. Am I crazy or did she just stop headbanging the d-oh, shit! That one was loud!”
Bane is barking now.
“She’s got heart,” I admit.
“But, like, does she?”
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I index-flick one point his way.
Go back to my peephole. Our visitor has a gash across her head, a dislocated shoulder, and a couple shards of glass protruding in various areas, including her right hand in which she’s holding a set of keys.
“Oh shit,” I say. “I think that’s the chick from the car crash earlier.”
“Think she blames us for not helping her out?”
Shrugging, I look through the peephole some more. She hurls her limp rag against the door so aggressive I forget to back up, and my eye hurts now.
“Maybe I should ask her.”
I switch eyes. Stare through the peephole, wait until she’s at the edge of the porch, and open the door halfway. Her eyes light up like a sweatshop worker when they see their first twenty dollar bill. She seems to try rushing forward, but her body won’t move any faster than a waddle, and I slam the door shut in her face.
We do this multiple times.
“One more?” I ask.
“I see no reason why not.”
We’re going to Hell. Was there a “Hell” programmed into our simulation?Was it it’s own world? Was it like a boss floor? How would health points work in this Hell, would health points even make s—fucking brain, quit your shit.
I open the door to let zombie lady distract me.
My neighbor’s at the door. Out of nowhere. He’s moving very fast. Has he always had horns?
I don’t see his weapon (weapons?) before they’re sheathed again, but I know he’s just done some spinning maneuver to sever the limp ol’ rag’s spraying head; watch it flip through the air, gushing viscous red across the white freckled darkness, before hitting the hood of my car, rebounding, and finding oblivion in the snow blanketing my, now surely stained, concrete.
There goes our fun.
“That’s another 26 points for me!” my neighbor exclaims to someone over his shoulder, just before turning back to me with a smile, something both Captain’s Hook and Cheshire’s grin. “You’re welcome.”
“You have a little blood on your face,” I say.