Russell took a step back. “Are you telling me I lifted this entire thing? All by myself?”
“Well, the front half of it anyway,” Clayton said.
“That’s…”
“Crazy? Magical? Mind-fucking-blowing?”
Russell eyed his hands, his truck, his hands again—and he barked out a curse so loud it echoed across the quiet parking lot.
It was all real.
His life had turned into a game. A freakin’ game.
“When science can’t explain something and you’re all out of options,” Clayton said, “then the only thing left is—”
“Magic,” Russell muttered.
“Exactly. Man, after what you just did, you must be curious about the rest of those messages now.”
Clayton was right. What else was there? Russell imagined some kind of menu, some form of user interface his friend had mentioned in his brief lecture, but nothing new popped up.
“Anything?” Clayton asked.
Russell shook his head and thought back to the previous messages, poring over them line by line, when his eyes landed on the prompt right before his list of attributes had opened.
Your [Soul Records] have been updated.
Soul Records. He had seen those words before. He had read the same text when—
You have unlocked your [Soul Records].
There. One of the first “hallucinations” that appeared before him. It must mean something important. And right when his thoughts lingered long enough on those two words, new lines flashed across his vision.
[Status]
[Shard Configuration]
[Force Rating]
[Soul Storage]
After sharing the new information with Clayton, his friend’s eyes flashed with excitement once again, and he urged Russell to “open” the menus one at a time.
[Status]
Name: Russell Flynn
Race: Human (Earth Human)
Level: 1
Assimilation: 1/10 (Untiered)
…
[Shard Configuration]
Affinity (Locked)
Aura (Locked)
Attribute - 1
Ability (Locked)
…
[Force Rating]
Power: Low
Movement: Low
Mind: Low
Toughness: Low
Overall Rating: Low
…
[Soul Storage]
Shards - 0
The interface listened to his command, but it didn’t feel like the game menus his friend had described. Neither did it work like the home screen of his smartphone. Instead, what Russell was looking at reminded him of his own reflection in the mirror. It was him, unfamiliar yet somehow familiar, as if he was seeing parts of him and all of him at the same time, looking from a new angle he never thought of before, a different interpretation of himself, surprisingly intuitive, eye-opening. Enlightening.
And it was freaking him out.
“Shard Configuration? Force Rating? Soul Storage?! Oh, man! Think of the possibilities…” Clayton said, gushing like the geek Russell had once known as a teen. “Do they come with any explanation? Is there some kind of tutorial or guidebook built in?”
Russell thought of the word “tutorial” but got nothing. His eyes focused on the new words, halting at each line as he sought to uncover something new. Nothing worked. No new information came from his name, his level, or his assimilation.
But once his gaze reached the items under Shard Configuration, he felt a different sensation on the back of his head. There was something there, something beyond his reach. Yet he couldn’t get to the other side for some reason, as if he was blocked from accessing that portion of his mind. Or was it his soul?
“Why does it say, ‘Soul Records,’ anyway?” he asked. “And the crystal I absorbed earlier. Why was it called a soul shard?”
“Why bother asking, my dude? Just accept them as part of the game’s ‘lore’ and move on.”
“Game? There has to be a reason for all those things, Clay. There must be a purpose behind this power.”
“Man, who cares? I only wanna see what else you can do,” Clayton said. “I’m so jealous right now I wanna cry.”
Russell grunted. “Jealous, my butt. This is all too much.”
“Yeah, no. Games always come with a learning curve. You’ll get used to it.”
“I told you this isn’t a—“ Russell groaned. “I hate to admit it, but Ace would’ve been a huge help right about now.”
“Harper?” Clayton snorted. “Yeah, well, good luck getting your ex to help. I doubt the teacher’s pet even played a single game in her life. This might be more of Justin’s forte.”
Russell blinked. “Justin? He’s here?”
“Yeah, man. Haven’t changed one bit. Scurrying around like a mouse just like in high school,” Clayton said and crossed his arms. “So? What are you waiting for?”
“What are you talking about?” Russell asked, the words disappearing from his vision with a thought.
“Aren’t you gonna try it out?”
“Try what out?”
Clayton tilted his head toward the truck, waggling his eyebrows.
“You want me to actually carry my truck?”
“Yep.”
“On my own?” Russell asked.
“Wasn’t moving it your plan in the first place?”
“With your help, Clay.”
“Well, you have to do it alone.” Clayton shrugged. “How else are you gonna know for sure?”
Russell stared at his truck. A Strength of 10 meant his physical might was at the peak of human limits—or so according to Clayton’s gaming knowledge. But how could Russell know for sure?
For one thing, he could count the number of pushups he could do and compare it to his previous record. He could challenge Clayton to a round of arm wrestling, give the conceited gym rat a humbling experience. Russell could even try hurling a piece of rubble lying on the ground, see if he could throw a 50-yard Hail Mary pass across the parking lot with a rock heavier than a baby.
But where was the fun in any of those?
Russell squatted in front of his truck, this time positioning himself right in the middle. He rubbed his hands together and grabbed the bottom edge of the bumper. Saying a little prayer, he blew out a long breath as he heaved.
Metal groaned, wheels squeaked, and the trash he had left at the bed of the pickup crashed into one another as the front tires cleared the ground.
His arms trembled under the ponderous weight. Before his strength slipped away from him, he slid a step to his right. Then another. And another. Pivoting the truck as he inched his way to the side, his knees wobbling the entire time. Once he passed the cover of the driveway, once enough of the meager light from the red night sky illuminated the half-opened engine bay, he eased the truck down to the ground, and its old suspensions gave a tiny squeak.
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Clayton stepped up beside him. “That was…Damn…”
A commotion broke out behind them. The rowdy spectators scrambled back inside the clubhouse, shoving each other out of the way, fear in their faces.
Russell watched them go, his breaths coming in rapid bursts. Worry lodged in his throat. He always told himself he was only human, but what did this feat of unexplainable strength mean? Was he still the same person? Or was turning into someone else? Something else?
“They must be bummed out you were telling the truth.” Clayton chuckled. “Don’t worry about those clowns. C’mon, what else do the words say?”
“Nothing. That’s it.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll unlock more of its functions later,” Clayton said. “Like some kind of DLC, you know? You better hope they don’t come with an extra cost. And you better pray this game isn’t pay-to-win.”
“Pay-to-win?” Russell asked. “I’m already paying with my life just to play this so-called game, Clay.” He reached over the engine and palmed the hood stuck halfway open. Bracing his feet on the ground, he pushed the thick sheet of metal back. “Darn is this handy.”
“So, what’s the verdict, doc?” Clayton asked.
With the hood opened all the way, the scant light reached every nook and cranny of the engine compartment. Barely. Squinting his eyes, Russell found the air intake crumpled. The radiator bent inwards. The alternator pitched to one side. And he didn’t know how the engine fared, but at least the battery never caught fire.
Was this what a surgeon felt when a hopeless patient lay on their surgical table?
“I can do this,” Russell said, nodding to himself.
Big Bertha groaned.
Clayton stepped back. “I think you dropped it too hard…”
The front half of the truck trembled.
Russell reached his hands inside the engine bay, grabbing whatever he could hold on to. “Help me hold it!”
Vibrations traveled up his arms. Creaking murmured from underneath the truck.
“I don’t think this is working,” Clayton cried out.
Metal grated. The engine slid down an inch. Russell let go of the alternator and held the half-ton engine with both hands, keeping it from sinking any lower. But with him forced into an awkward position having to lean forward, he couldn’t make full use of his strength.
“What do we do, Russ?!”
Shards. He needed more shards, and he needed them now. But he could only get them from another monster.
He would also have to find a way to kill them first.
The battery was the first to go, disappearing into the bottom of the engine bay.
“Russ!”
His mind went back to his soul records. There must be more to it, something he must’ve missed. His eyes scoured through the lines of text, his mind pushing against the words, trying to unlock something new, anything that might be able to help.
The radiator followed, fracturing at the center before breaking in half.
He stared at his name. Glared at his race. At his level. His assimilation. Nothing.
Nothing until his gaze passed by his shard configuration, his mind scanning the list under it one more time, pressing down on each line, forcing through their so-called locks…
When one of them gave.
[Affinities]
Active - 0
Inactive - 1 (Blood)
His breath caught. Did it say…
The coolant tipped over and spilled. The alternator broke off. Then—
Blood?
Blood (Innate, Dormant)
His heart stopped.
Fingers slipped.
“Let go, Russ!”
And an anguished scream erupted from his throat.
The engine block seemed to capsize, sinking into the depths until it eventually crashed to the ground. One by one, everything else in the engine bay followed, falling apart, piling under the truck like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with no hope of ever being completed again.
“I’m sorry, man,” Clayton muttered between ragged breaths.
Panting, Russell gaped at what was left under the hood, his mind canvassing what was still in their place, noting down what wasn’t broken. He could put things back together. Fix Big Bertha like he always did. His newfound power emboldened him. He didn’t need tools. He didn’t need help. He didn’t…He couldn’t…
Clayton cleared his throat. “Does the system say anything about—“
“No it fucking doesn’t, Clay!” Russell snapped. “It doesn’t have the answers. It’s been no help. So shut up with all this game talk and just drop it.”
Silence fell between them, forcing them to listen to the clinking of metal, the creaking of suspension—Big Bertha’s dying breaths.
“But everything’s okay. We can fix this,” Clayton said, breaking the tension. “Right?”
Russell gave the unsalvageable mess one last look before he turned to the short flight of stairs leading up to the elevated driveway and plopped his ass down on the steps.
“No,” he said in resignation. “No, we can’t.”
Clayton took a seat next to him, his head hung low. Russell dropped his chin on his palm, relieving the throbbing ache in his chest as he gazed at the vast, open sky beyond the porch of the clubhouse, in the direction of the valley that seemed so close yet remained so far away.
“I still remember the day Dave gave her to me as a graduation gift.”
Clayton coughed. “You mean as an ‘expel-ation’ gift?”
“He led me to the back of our trailer, pointed to his truck, this old, rackety junk, and said, ‘Her name’s Big Bertha. I’m leaving her to you. Treat her like family.’”
“Just like that?”
“Threw me the keys and left the very same afternoon for boot camp.”
“I mean, everyone knows how much he adored your sister but…” Clayton shook his head. “The guy could’ve at least come up with a better name…”
Russell snorted before breaking into a chuckle. “No, he couldn’t.”
“No, he couldn’t,” Clayton agreed and laughed with him.
Above the open car park, the red curtains of light crept down from the upper reaches of the sky, thicker now, clearer, slowly reaching down for any person foolish enough to stare up from the ground.
Russell wondered what was going on out there. Was the whole world living through this nightmare, or was this an isolated incident? How was Dave doing now? How was the military faring in all this? How was everyone else? Solace Springs? Rosalyn and the kids? Clayton’s family?
Cracks resounded in the distance, but it wasn’t another tree toppling to the ground; it was something that had been going on throughout the evening.
The concrete steps vibrated beneath Russell for a few seconds, imperceptible if one had been any less observant. Another aftershock. How many had it been so far?
The earthquakes kept on coming. The night sky continued to fall apart. The world was changing—likely for the worse—and a sick feeling in his gut told him none of these changes were stopping anytime soon.
So neither would Russell.
He took one final look at Big Bertha, remembering the years, the entire decade she had been with him. But it was over now. The old lady should get her well-deserved rest. It was time to leave her behind.
A grunt escaped from his lips as he got back to his feet.
“What’s gotten into that bright brain of yours now?” Clayton asked.
Russell returned to his truck. “I’m leaving.”
“Yeah? Do you want me to call you an Uber?“
“No need.” Pulling the passenger door open, he grabbed one of the rags he kept under the seat and wiped away the grease from his hands.
“And how the hell are you gonna leave here, my dude?” Clayton called out.
Russell unloaded the contents of the glove box onto the seat. He reached for the duffel bag he had left there before the crash and poured whatever he kept inside on top of the pile. “I have legs. I can walk.” He rummaged through his belongings, picking items he’d need for his journey. He needed essential supplies. Food. Some water. A few rolls of tissue paper wouldn’t be so bad.
“You can…walk?“ Clayton groaned. “Russ, walking down that switchback is a stupid idea.“
“You think I don’t know that?” Russell barked, his hand crushing an empty can of energy drink. He chucked it at the floor mat before yanking his bag out of the cab and slamming the car door close.
He strode to the truck’s rear and tossed his pack over the bed. His hands dug through whatever equipment he had lying around when Clayton joined him, leaning over the tailgate, poking around the junk that had accumulated back there when he lifted his truck.
“I have no time for your games, Clay.”
“I ain’t playing with you,” Clayton said. “I’m coming with you.”
Russell stopped. “Are you out of your mind?”
Clayton shook a gas can beside his ear before throwing the container aside. “Me? Nah. Are you?”
Russell furrowed his brows before getting back to his work.
“Look,” Clayton said, “you want to get home, I want to get me some of them sweet level-ups. So why don’t we party up and help each other out? It’s a win-win.”
Russell shoved a case of empty beer bottles away from him. “I don’t think you’ve been listening, Knox,” he said as glass and plastic smashed against the opposite side panel of the truck bed. “This is not. A fucking. Game.”
“Yeah, yeah. All the more reason you need someone to watch your back, am I right?”
“You do understand that this is a one-way trip, right?” Russell said. “I’m not coming back here.”
“No prob, my dude.”
Russell shook his head. “What about your car? Your stuff? What about that arm candy of yours back inside?”
“Autumn?” Clayton shrugged. “Meh. We weren’t really close anyway”
Clayton didn’t seem to be joking around. The guy planned on joining regardless of what Russell said. His friend had no idea what was waiting for them out there, how frightening the monster he faced had been, how worse things could only get from here on out. And yet Clayton still decided to come along.
All because the guy wanted to “level up?”
Russell observed the sweat beading on Clayton’s forehead, the nervous twitches on his face. The bravado.
No, Russell corrected himself. Because the guy always has my back.
“Yeah, baby. This is what I’m talking about,” Clayton said, fishing out a sledgehammer from the pile.
Russell snorted. “You think that's all you’re going to need?”
“I always travel light.”
He planned on letting Clayton be when a silhouette appeared behind his friend’s shoulder.
“What are you dorks up to?” a voice asked.
Clayton whirled around only to jolt back in surprise. “Harper!?” he exclaimed and cursed as his back slammed against the tailgate “What are you, a ninja? Your silent ass scared the crap out of me!”
“What are you guys doing?” Harper crossed her arms, Bradford’s blazer an oversized top on her small frame.
Russell shot her a frown. “Shouldn’t you be inside with Collins?”
“I was. Until a couple of idiots came back inside, freaking out about some nutcase bench-pressing his truck right outside the lobby.”
Clayton scowled, resting the large hammer on his shoulder. “Bunch of noobs. Couldn’t even tell the difference between a deadlift and a—”
“That wasn’t where the truck was earlier,” Harper pointed out. “You moved it?”
Russell scoffed before turning his back on her and sorting his gear. “I guess you can see things properly this time. Good for you.”
“What’s the matter with him?” Harper asked.
“I’m not sure I should be getting in the middle of your…uh, whatever it is.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Russell shouldered his pack and headed up the steps back to the lobby, needing to find Serena for anything she might be willing to lend him—until Harper caught up to him, getting in his way.
“What’s with you? Did I do something wrong?” Harper’s brown eyes took him in, his bag, the mess he left behind in his truck, Clayton and his hammer, then Russell again. Her eyes widened a fraction. “That’s a go bag.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“What’s it to you?” he asked.
“You’re leaving,” Harper said. Another statement. She had always been sharp; Russell can’t remember the woman ever missing a detail.
He sighed. “I—”
Music played. It opened with a soft beating of drums, making Russell pause.
“What happened?” Harper asked.
He tilted his head, frowning in concentration. The beats pounded with an intermittent tempo, thumping with a deep bass, creating a foreboding effect.
A large hand grabbed him on the shoulder. “Dude, what’s—”
Russell cut Clayton off with a finger. He snapped his gaze behind him, staring at the silent parking lot. Listening. His eyes saw nothing, but his mind sensed what was there, waiting in the distance, lurking in the darkness.
A heart beating an alien song.
A song he’d only heard once but would never be able to forget.
Russell gritted his teeth. Of all the times for another monster to appear. It seemed walking back to town was a plan doomed before it even began. Or was it?
Maybe there was a way. Big Bertha may be out of commission, but Clayton was with him. Harper was with them. He even had this newfound strength. Together, they might be able to take it down.
“It’s back,” Russell whispered, facing the two of them. Should they retreat inside? Or stay and fight?
Harper blinked at him. “What’s back?”
“Oh, man, are you serious? It respawned just like that?” Clayton asked.
The song only grew stronger with every second Russell wasted coming to a decision, not because it was getting closer, but because—
A chill crawled up his spine, and he clenched his flashlight in a deathgrip. “Get inside! Now!”
Walking home wasn’t an option.
Fighting back wasn’t an option.
The monster didn’t come alone.