The glass explodes in shards as a ball of hellish fury flies toward me.

In a way, I’m proud of myself. Usually, we first-world-country folk never learn whether we’re the fight or flight type. Years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Skydeck Chicago. It’s a restaurant at the tip top of the Willis Tower, about 1400 feet up. The food’s alright, but no one’s there for gourmet dining. They visit for the views.

Anyway, so I was there, sitting in the midst of a crisp night sky over a sea of glistening city lights. And this woman in a sequined silver dress suddenly leapt onto her chair, stilettos digging into the seat cushion, and let out the shrillest scream I’ve ever heard. The restaurant froze. We turned. We looked.

Her partner was blue in the face, hands clawing at his neck. He was choking. And she just kept screaming. She took a big gulp of air and screamed again. And again. Even after a waiter saved her partner’s life, she kept on screaming.

I think about that a lot. She didn’t try the Heimlich. She didn’t get help. She didn’t say will someone dial 9-1-1. She was utterly and totally useless. A relationship won’t survive something like that.

Anyhow, anyone who hears that story believes they would have done better. But do they know? Sure, I had to call the EMTs one too many times, but what if they weren’t an option? What would I do if death were inches from my face?

As it turns out, I stand my ground.

I stand my ground, I swing my baton, and I swat the bastard square in the jaw.

He cares not.

The floor smacks me in the back of the head. Teeth, hundreds of teeth, chomp down at my neck. I flail my spoon in defense. By some miracle, the beast bites down on it and wrestles with it like a dog. Pain lashes my chest. Its so sharp and sudden that I nearly black out.

Then the monster pinwheels off of me and flops to the floor as a sharp crack destroys all living sound. My ears ring. The monster lies still.

The room darkens as a figure saunters into view.

A young teen stands over me, arm crooked, her handgun pointed loosely toward the ceiling.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

When I try to answer, my voice falters. I can’t get enough air out of my lungs to make it work. A blur of words materializes on my screen. They don’t make sense. I’m tired. Really tired. I need to close my eyes. Just for a moment.

When I open them again, my surroundings have changed. I’m lying behind the desk with a pile of Vantage Crossfit sweatshirts under my head. I move to sit up, but my chest tightens. God, it hurts.

I look down and holy mother, that is a lot of blood. My robe is a sopping wet blanket of pungent, coppery blood. The front is peeled open to reveal a bandage stretched across my chest. Although the bandage is clean, the rest of me is a complete horror show. I can barely see my skin. I had no idea how much blood can reek. It is a bad time to have a good sense of smell.

If I could escape, I would, but it hurts too much to move. I’m stuck lying in a sponge of my own ooze.

A blinking light in the lower right corner of my eye draws my attention. Another notification probably. Immobile, I focus on it.

Text forms in front of me.

1.

Wooden Spoon

A lightweight one-handed blunt weapon

Ability: Basic Attack

[This weapon is not an official reconstituted item. Abilities for this weapon cannot be earned during this stage. All non-reconstituted items will disappear upon use of a portal station.]

Well, no one had to tell me the wooden spoon is useless. I pretty much learned that one on my own.

There’s that word again: “Reconstitution.” It keeps popping up. The voice in the beginning of all this mentioned that most features will be withheld until after “reconstitution.” And now it seems that items we get before the big R don’t really offer much.

So what are we doing now then? The tutorial? The pre-title intro? If features as pivotal as “looting” are restricted, then these first twenty hours can’t be all that representative of the overall experience.

When you think about it, it’s pretty damn unfair. Unleash a bunch of otherworldly monsters but withhold weapons, abilities, and other features to help us fend them off? With no respawns? It’s almost like this pre-level area is meant to be some kind of culling period. Like it’s testing us to see who’s even worthy of playing.

I wonder how many people will make it. Anyone who can’t figure out the game or stays in denial is at a severe disadvantage. The elderly, the sick, the infirm, are all toast. And what about people in completely insurmountable terrains? Think about it. I have to find a portal in the suburbs. What about if you live in the Amazon? Or you’re in the middle of climbing Mt. Everest? Those people are screwed.

And then there’s the authority figures. People who won’t or can’t abandon their posts. Can you imagine the president dropping everything to look for a portal? Maybe he’ll just assign his secret service to find it. The dude probably just had a heart attack.

Okay I’m getting severely off track. If saferooms exist, I can have my existential crisis there. Right now, I need to focus on the present.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

With a thought, more notifications form.

2.

Enemy Defeated:

Flying Piranha (Lv 2) [Shared with ?]

Exp: 5

Earned: 25g

Exp to next level: 5/10

3.

Title(s) Earned:

Cooking Mama: Fight an enemy with a cooking utensil.

Reward: (1) Kitchen Certificate

Damsel in Distress: Be rescued and escape certain death.

Reward: Persuasion +1

4.

New Skill Unlocked!

Melee Weapon Handling

You can now wield a melee weapon. Improve this skill to more effectively draw and maneuver close-combat weapons, increasing your speed and accuracy and ensuring that you exact the maximum damage possible with every hit.

[Bonus Proficiency: None]

5.

Skill Proficiencies Increased:

Persuasion 6

Huh, the stat modification is nice, but what’s a kitchen certificate?

Wait. Cooking Mama and Damsel in Distress? Can other people see these? Least feminist titles ever.

I’m conflicted. Does the system want me to become powerful or feel bad about myself?

“Are you awake?”

The text fades, and my eyes focus on the girl behind them. She’s young. Way too young to be wielding a gun and saving my ass. Maybe twelve, thirteen years old?

And if that badassery wasn’t embarrassing enough, she also looks straight out a preteen fashion magazine. Her mink-brown hair rests over her shoulder in a loose fishbone braid that I could never manage myself. And in lieu of an unwashed bathrobe, she’s decked out in a light pink knit hat, a matching shirt, a short denim skirt, and a fuzzy white vest now dotted with tarry ichor and blood.

She’s the popular kid of my teenage nightmares. At the same time, she also ensured I wasn’t one of the red shirts that dies in the cold open. And as far as she knows, I’m a murder hobo in a bathrobe. The least I can do is give her the benefit of the doubt.

She’s sitting on the counter, legs dangling, chowing down on a sandwich. “I got you clothes,” she says, nodding at a heap to my right.

With an unseemly groan, I force myself to sit upright. There’s a pair of running shoes, a sports bra, black yoga pants, a zip-up hoodie with the Vantage Crossfit logo, and a sage-green cropped muscle shirt that says “Nice Snatch.” Ugh. Must be a Crossfit term. At least I hope it is. I really, truly, cannot understate how much I hate Crossfit.

“Thanks.” I nod toward the bandage. “You did this?”

“Yeah, it was nasty. I think I saw your ribs.”

“Damn.” I prod my chest a bit. It’s sore but it definitely doesn’t feel like I have wounds carved down to the bone.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says. “I didn’t think the bandages would work. The ones in your bag. I used like five of the big ones. They all soaked through. It was super gross. But they almost totally healed you. Like magic. I put another five on. And now I have a 4 in healing!”

“And one of my ham sandwiches,” I point out.

She pauses, looking sheepish. “Do you want it back?”

“I do not.”

“Phew. I’m starving.” She takes another bite and continues to talk with her mouth half-full. “A lot of the kids at school are vegetarian but I read that as long as you take beef out of your diet, it’s actually more environmentally friendly to eat meat. Most of the fruits and veggies we eat are flown in which is like mega bad for your carbon footprint. Also, I just really like bacon.”

“Sure,” I say.

“Anyways, there are still more of those creepers outside. I took out a few before I found you. I don’t think they like loud noises, so they’ve been keeping clear of here since I started shooting. But they’re still around. If we want out, we’ll have to fight.”

“Yeah…” I say, eyeing the gun on the counter. “So where’d you get that?”

“Oh, this? It’s Chicago. Girl’s gotta carry, right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“I’m kidding! I broke into Mr. Lahey’s car at school. It was like an open secret that he had one in his glove compartment.”

“That doesn’t seem safe.”

“No, gun safety was not his thing. Or teaching. He was the worst. But now he’s dead and I have his gun.”

“Fucking christ,” I blurt. Usually I have a halfway decent poker face, but this conversation is beyond me. I don’t know how to handle children. I don’t know how to speak to them. Teens, in particular, frighten me. And now one is talking about death with a cavalier attitude that rivals mine, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Is that how kids talk now? Am I that old?

What’s worse is I’m on the floor, unshowered and half naked, and given the position of the bandage and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra, she’s almost definitely seen my breasts whereas I don’t even know her name. I’m almost hoping another flying bat-fish monster appears.

“Are you… okay?”

“Sure,” she says. She dumps the crusts of her sandwich back in the container and dusts off her hands. “I’m a Level 3, by the way. We should party up before we leave. Share experience.”

That is not an idea I like. Complications, no like-y.

“But aren’t you…” I try to think of a way to put this. “Aren’t you essentially immortal? The system said minors respawn, so I figured they couldn’t level.”

She looks away. “The cut off for respawns is twelve.”

“Damn.” I’m about to ask how she knows, but there’s really only one way she found that out, right? She said she was at school. Now she’s not. And she’s alone.

I can’t do this.

“Look. Um…”

“Luci. With an ‘I’.”

“Look, Luci with an ‘I’. I’m truly thankful you saved me, but I am in no shape to take care of anyone.”

“Oh.”

“You seem like a nice girl. I just think, you know, you’re handling yourself alright. I’ll just get in the way. I mean, look at me. I’d be minced meat if you hadn’t saved me. You really don’t need my dead weight around.”

She nods slowly. She starts to chew on her thumbnail. Then she leaps off the counter. “No.”

“No… what?”

“No to all of that.” She crosses her arms. Her boot taps against the floor. “I saved you. You owe me. I need to go back home for some things. We’ll get my dad’s car. Then you’re going to drive me to the Lookout Towers. It’s the highest apartment building in the area. We’ll use it to find the portal. Once we’re there, you can go off and get eaten like everyone else.” She pauses. “I mean, what were you planning on doing?”

“I didn’t really have a plan…” I say hesitantly.

“Well now you do.” She finally stops tapping her foot and huffs. “They have showers in the locker room. Go get changed. I’m not hanging around someone who smells as much as you.”

I guess I mentally agree, because before I have a chance to say anything, I receive another two notifications.

1.

Party Member Added: Luciana Martez (Lv 3)

2.

Title(s) Earned:

Party Duo: Belong to a party of two.

Reward: (1) Meal Voucher

Mama Bear: As a woman, add a minor to the party.

Reward: Childrearing Proficiency 1

Okay, the system is definitely fucking with me.