[THE HAVEN]
RUMBLE RUMBLE
The hallway swayed like a bus executing a hairpin turn, steering a crowd of people into the wall. Deserters, enforcers, and hapless players stumbled over each other, becoming entangled in a horizontal pile of wiggling bodies.
Three enforcers wriggled free, taking position by the elevator door.
“Everyone remain calm,” said a panicking enforcer. “Remain calm!”
The hallway shook again. Most people had the good sense to hang onto something this time. Some braced against walls, others embraced strangers like family. And a few remained on the floor, expecting to return there shortly.
“Everything is fine,” said an enforcer. “The enforcers have this under control.”
RATTLE RATTLE
Hanging bulbs burst into sparkling particles. The air grew thick and tangible, swirling into cyclones. Ear-piercing screams filled the hall as fissures stretched across the floor like branches of pale lightning.
“Don’t panic,” said an enforcer. “Return to your units! In an orderly manner!”
CRASH
The floor collapsed in an orderly manner, sending half the crowd plummeting into a pit of writhing mouths and jiggling eyes. Screeching bodies crashed against the rippling mass below, folding into suffocating waves of flesh before disappearing entirely.
“Shit, the Pale Dune’s here!” shouted an enforcer. “Shoot it! Shoot it!”
All three enforcers fired into the hole, getting a good look at the monster below - too good of a look.
The first enforcer fired a potshot into his own potbelly.
The second enforcer blasted the crowd with a hand cannon, severing more than just hands.
The third enforcer bit his own fiery bayonet, breaking two dozen teeth.
RATTLE RATTLE
This terrible thing from below spilled out across the floor above like the yolk of a soft boiled egg. Bodies and body parts washed away, snagged by its amorphous riptide.
“Outta the way!” said a voice from the other end of the hall. “Coming through!”
Thirty enforcers charged forward, pushing upstream against a fleeing mob.
“Get in formation!” shouted the lead enforcer. “Now!”
The enforcers slid into practiced positions, aligning themselves like bowling pins. Their visors were especially dark, each tinted to obscure the creature’s details, rendering it as a thrashing mass of shadows.
“All together,” shouted the lead enforcer. “Shoot it!”
Thirty enforcer weapons fired simultaneously!
BOOM
***
RUMBLE RUMBLE
DD toppled through a dark room, gripping onto a leather desk chair - a chair with wheels.
The chair rolled out from under him. His right hand slapped the dust from a row of glowing computer screens, and his left hand hive-fived a mug of coffee, introducing its contents to his pants. Both the coffee and his pants were black; it wouldn’t stain, but it might smell for a while. And it certainly hurt.
DD groaned and crawled to his feet, hoisting himself over the edge of a desk.
A small knob lay ahead, attached to a long purple machine. This knob sat at 0; fifty more numbers towered above it in a straight path, surrounded by a transparent case. At the base of the case was a keypad, laying dormant like a starving beast, hungry for the right combination. DD was the only one who could feed it. Six numbers, and he knew them all by heart.
“DD,” said a voice behind him. “I know what you’re thinking. Not yet.”
DD gazed back into a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“David,” said DD, gagging. “There is expensive equipment here. Put that out. Immediately.”
David tapped bits of ash across his enforcer armor.
“Gotta smoke somewhere, DD,” said David. “And it’s Lieutenant David, please.”
“Huh,” said DD. “Lieutenant David, I suppose you should step outside then.”
“And leave you alone, DD?” asked Lieutenant David. “With all these scary enforcers?”
Five enforcers lounged across the tiny room like it was their own personal speakeasy. They leaned on server racks, sat on keyboards, and spoke with a crudeness straight off the HumilatingDefeat forums.
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose this is my safe room, erm, Lieutenant David. Not your little enforcer club.”
“Oh, let ‘em rest, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “Don’t want to piss off the people protecting you.”
DD tightened his tie, turning towards a monitor:
Total Players in Barrier: 112,467
Total Active Players in Barrier: 51,734
46% Barrier Integrity
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose the barrier grows weaker each time I look at it.”
“Then stop looking at it,” said Lieutenant David. “I don’t even know what those numbers mean.”
DD adjusted his tie.
“It’s the total players, compared to the number of active living players,” said DD. “That’s what powers the Haven barrier. I suppose I’ve explained this before.”
“Maybe,” said Lieutenant David. “My memory ain’t so good these days.”
Lieutenant David squinted at the screen.
“Looks like we’re still above forty percent, DD,” said David. “Plenty of time.”
“Not as much as you think,” said DD. “The number fluctuates. And if it falls below thirty, that’s it. No more barrier. No more Haven.”
Total Players in Barrier: 112,467
Total Active Players in Barrier: 49,485
44% Barrier Integrity
DD’s heart sank as the number sank further. He gripped the knob’s transparent case like a stress ball. The glassy material resisted his grasp, pushing back with equal force.
Lieutenant David blew out another jet of smoke.
“Just focus on what you can control, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “Zero Space is stabilizing. And we just about got a handle on that creature down there.”
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose that creature’s still on floor two then.”
“Well, actually, it just hit floor three,” said Lieutenant David. “But we have strategies now that –”
“Floor three?” DD interrupted. “Then, everyone on floor two is –”
“Now, hold on there DD,” Lieutenant David interrupted. “There’s still plenty of people alive on floor two. The creature just fled upwards when we cornered it. We won’t make that mistake twice.”
“Each mistake costs lives, Lieutenant David,” said DD. “I suppose you can stop it before it reaches floor four?”
“We’ve got a good shot at it,” said Lieutenant David.
“I need more than a shot,” said DD. “I need a guarantee.”
“Things don’t work that way, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “It’s our problem. We’ll deal with it.”
DD adjusted his tie.
“The whole Haven is my problem,” said DD.
DD glanced back at his monitor –
– He gasped.
Total Players in Barrier: 112,467
Total Active Players in Barrier: 44,213
39% Barrier Integrity
Five-percent gone, in the blink of an eye.
DD’s trembling palm sent tremors through the transparent case below. Without thinking, his fingers danced across six numbers on the keypad –
Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep
The transparent case snapped open, unveiling the black knob within. It sat like a parked car next to the number 0, waiting for DD to commandeer it. One gentle tap from DD, a single stroke - that’s all it would take. A simple, irreversible gesture –
“DD!” shouted Lieutenant David. “Not yet!”
DD breathed deep.
“I suppose we could stop that monster,” said DD. “Right now. On floor three –”
“My enforcers will stop it, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “If you touch that dial, lots of people will die. Lots of enforcers will die!”
“We knew people would die if that monster ever got in,” said DD. “It’s up to us how many.”
DD’s finger settled on the knob. It dipped into the device just slightly, like an obedient dog submitting to its master’s touch –
A yellow glove seized his wrist.
“Lieutenant David,” said DD. “Release me. Immediately.”
“Can’t let you do that, DD,” said Lieutenant David.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you stop me,” said DD.
With a single wave of DD’s hand, all five enforcers aimed their weapons at Lieutenant David.
“You trained these enforcers, David,” said DD. “But they follow my orders. Now, release me!”
Lieutenant David polluted the air with second-hand smoke, releasing DD’s hand.
DD brushed off his sleeve.
“I’ve considered our options,” said DD. “The Haven barrier can only support so many people.”
DD gripped the knob.
“There are thousands of players on the first few floors,” said DD. “I suppose if those players are already dead, they’re just taking up barrier space.”
“We don’t know how many are dead yet, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “It’s too early!”
DD’s shadow loomed over the knob.
“No, Lieutenant David,” said DD. “I’m afraid it’s too late.”
DD nudged the knob to 1.
BUZZZZZZZZZ
The whole Haven trembled.
An electrical hum reverberated through the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. It vibrated every chair. Every computer. Every enforcer. DD felt those vibrations crawl through his skin. Through his muscles and veins, into his very heart.
Lieutenant David lobbed his cigarette against the rug, snuffing it out with his foot.
“There you go,” said Lieutenant David. “There you fucking go, DD. Floor one, gone!”
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose the floor itself remains. It’s the barrier that’s been withdrawn.”
“Fuck off with your semantics, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “There’s no going back now. Floor One’s gone. We lost it!”
DD peeked back at the monitor:
Total Players in Barrier: 106,422
Total Active Players in Barrier: 42,568
40% Barrier Integrity
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose we didn’t gain much barrier integrity from that. Floor one is mostly empty.”
The next number in line was 2. Just one number up, but the leap was exponential. DD imagined there were twice as many people there. In reality, there were twice as many people as DD imagined.
“DD, think of all the lives on floor two,” said Lieutenant David. “And all the enforcers. If you pull the barrier back, that’s it. They’ll all be swarmed by static.”
DD caressed the knob like the trigger of a loaded gun.
“It’s not too late, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “Floor one doesn’t matter. It’s mostly empty.”
Lieutenant David sat on the desk, crossing his arms.
“We don’t need floor one, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “I’ve been out there, in the wastelands. I’ve seen other destroyed Havens. They’re still intact. The static aren’t here for the Havens; they’re here for the people.”
Lieutenant David placed a saffron glove on DD’s shoulder.
“Please, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “Don’t give them anymore people. Don’t give them anymore enforcers.”
DD relented, wiping down his bald spot with a handkerchief.
“That’s it, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “You know the barrier can’t be restored once it’s pulled back. Those floors are gone for good.”
DD glanced back at the monitor:
Total Players in Barrier: 106,422
Total Active Players in Barrier: 41,504
39% Barrier Integrity
DD’s finger retreated to the knob.
“I suppose there are benefits to having three less floors,” said DD. “Imagine the resources we could redistribute to the upper floors. We could provide comfortable lives for those who remain.”
“And what about people on the lower floors, DD?” asked Lieutenant David. “There’s tons of them. Are they not important too? What about my enforcers?”
“Higher-skilled players are on higher floors,” said DD. “That’s how the system works. Top contributors are rewarded and protected. They support the Haven and the Haven supports them.”
“So the first few floors are just dead-weight, DD?” asked Lieutenant David. “There’s lots of good players stuck there. And lots of enforcers!”
DD pinched the knob.
“That’s the choice we have, Lieutenant David,” said DD. “Kill more players and save a few. Or save more players, and possibly kill them all.”
“I know what choice I’d make, DD,” said Lieutenant David.
“Huh,” said DD. “I suppose it’s not your choice to make.”
DD adjusted the knob to 2.
BUZZZZZZZZZ
The whole Haven trembled a second time. An electrical hum bounced through the Haven walls. Everyone in the Haven felt it - the people on floor two especially.
Total Players in Barrier: 97,138
Total Active Players in Barrier: 40,602
42% Barrier Integrity
DD’s breath stalled - only three-percent Barrier Integrity gained. There were plenty of players on floor two, but as DD predicted, many of them were either dead in Zero Space, or dead in the Haven. Or both. For once, DD hated being right.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Lieutenant David’s trembling fingers scrambled for a cigarette. It fell from his palm, rolling across the floor.
“Ten thousand people, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “That was nearly ten thousand people.”
DD glanced at the next number up - 3. The difference between two and three was akin to intergalactic travel. It was an insurmountable distance; a journey of no return.
“Floor three’s next, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “That’s our most populated floor. All those players. And enforcers. Those lives will be on you.”
The knob itself resisted DD’s advances, impervious to insincere touch. DD wished someone or something would intervene. Maybe a clumsy enforcer, tripping and stumbling into the knob. Or an unexpected mechanical malfunction. Any act of God would do; anything to help him finish the job, or at least stop him from finishing it.
“Those people are just numbers to you, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “You’re not down there every day like I am, staring at their miserable faces. Those people depend on you. Those enforcers depend on me!”
DD trembled, struggling to sustain his focus.
“You know what?” asked Lieutenant David. “Go ahead and do it, DD. You’ve already gone this far. You gonna back out now? After all those floor-one lives. Those floor-two lives. Did you take them for nothing?”
DD gripped the knob.
“Do it!” shouted Lieutenant David. “Commit, you chicken shit! Finish what you fucking started!”
DD last visited floor three, three years ago; he couldn’t bear going back. Him and his enforcer entourage wandered those dismal halls for hours, staring at pale faces, wincing at skinny bodies, and retching at stained clothes.
DD made an unprecedented amount of promises that day. Some to the people of floor three and some to himself. These were promises of better days; Haven management would make more space on the upper floors, or at least make the lower floors more liveable. Maybe get some more food circulating down there. And better food too. Balance the rep point economy. Implement some rubber-band mechanics so that less fortunate players could surpass their superiors.
But promises like those took time.
And DD was all out of time.
DD had failed the Haven.
He’d failed them all.
“I’m sorry,” DD said. “Azniax, please forgive me.”
“Azniax?” asked Lieutenant David. “Who the fuck is that?”
DD pushed the knob across the mechanism –
3.
The electrical buzz was present, but DD didn’t hear it. Time itself seemed to cease completely. DD felt silence. Tangible silence, traveling through his ears, his bones and his bloodstream. It was a type of emptiness he’d never experienced. Emptier than the dev floor. Emptier than the static wastelands outside.
Emptier than than the bottom three floors soon would be.
Lieutenant David waited for the vibrations to stop, then lit another cigarette.
“You did it,” said Lieutenant David. “You crazy bastard. It’s fucking done.”
DD trembled, turning towards the monitor.
Total Players in Barrier: 79,826
Total Active Players in Barrier: 39,114
49% Barrier Integrity
Over thirty thousand souls in total, in exchange for 10% barrier integrity. Lieutenant David was right - that’s how DD saw them: just numbers. DD couldn’t see all those individual faces. Faces that that would soon be torn apart by monsters that he couldn’t even imagine.
“You’ve really done it now, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “All those people. All those enforcers –”
“Did we stop it?” asked DD. “The static creature?”
Lieutenant David blew smoke sideways, exchanging some lingo with a neighboring enforcer. That enforcer responded with a solemn nod.
“Yeah, it’s done, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “That static creature’s stuck on floor three. It won’t make it to floor four.”
DD adjusted his tie.
“G-Good,” said DD. “Get as many people out as you can. And your enforcers, of course. I suppose we don’t have long before the static swarms the bottom floors.”
Lieutenant David gestured for a few enforcers to do the deed.
“You’ll have to live with this, DD,” said Lieutenant David. “Every single day.”
DD snapped the transparent case back into place, sealing the knob away.
“I suppose that’s the best any of us can do.”
***
Zydan sprawled across cracked tiles, wrapped in a trench coat cocoon. The room was barely wide enough for him to stretch out completely. He’d been running on fumes and those fumes were running out. The only thing between him and a well-deserved nap was how damn humid it was. And the incessant chattering of two enforcers by the door.
“Goddamn,” said one enforcer to the other. “You hear what just happened?”
Zydan’s ears perked up.
“DD pulled the barrier back,” continued the enforcer. “Everyone on the first few floors is fucked.”
“Yup,” said enforcer two. “Imma count my blessings that we're stationed here, watching this asshole.”
Zydan assumed he was the asshole; it was a title well-earned.
“You awake there, asshole?” asked enforcer two.
Zydan remained motionless, too tired for a witty comeback.
“Yeah, he’s out,” said enforcer one. “Been out for a while.”
Enforcer two scoffed.
“Dunno why we’re wasting time here,” said enforcer two. “DD’s just gonna kill him anyway.”
“That a fact?” asked the first enforcer.
Zydan’s eyes twitched.
“That’s a rumor,” said enforcer two. “Gonna extract some info, then ice him.”
“His own son?” asked the first enforcer. “Goddamn.”
“Imma remind you what DD just did to the Haven,” said enforcer two. “Lieutenant David’s pissed. Can’t blame him.”
Zydan’s breathing and heart rate elevated. This was yet another of his father’s betrayals. An unsurprising betrayal, but painful nonetheless. This was a new low for DD; Zydan wouldn’t take this lying down.
Zydan continued laying down.
“Imma shit,” said the second enforcer. “Be back in a bit.”
“Goddamn, again?” said the first enforcer.
“Yup,” said enforcer two. “They feed us crap these days.”
Zydan’s eyes opened just wide enough to peek at enforcer two as he left the unit.
Enforcer Two
Zydan grinned as the unit door slammed shut.
With an abrasive yawn, Zydan sat up and stretched his arms.
The remaining enforcer whipped out a plastic water gun; Zydan suspected it wasn’t filled with water.
“Don’t move!” shouted the enforcer.
“Aiming an enforcer weapon at a helpless civilian like me?” said Zydan. “How excessive! No wonder enforcers aren’t well liked.”
“Goddamn it, be quiet!” said the remaining enforcer. “I know you’re one of those premium assholes. You have some sort of weird health bar power.”
“Indeed,” said Zydan. “But rest assured; I wouldn’t use it to kill just one miserable enforcer.”
The enforcer’s weapon held steady.
“I don’t suppose you’d grant me a quick trip to the dev floor?” said Zydan. “I just need to hop onto my computer. In and out. And I’ll do exactly as you say.”
“Quiet, you goddamn premium,” said the enforcer. “DD says you stay right here.”
“Indeed,” said Zydan. “My father doesn’t trust me. And yet, he also trusts me too much. A lack of foresight on his part.”
Zydan leaned against the wall, his rings rapping against it.
The enforcer pumped his water gun.
“I should shoot you right here,” said the enforcer. “Take you out, you premium freak!”
“Indeed,” said Zydan. “You would regret it however. You see, I am the key to saving this Haven from imminent destruction.”
Zydan grinned.
“You could be a hero,” said Zydan. “Save the Haven. Save yourself!”
The enforcer fried the floor with a liquid laser, then gave his water gun another pump.
“Save your sob story,” said the enforcer. “You’re going nowhere.”
Zydan shrugged, leaning back into his palms.
“As expected,” said Zydan. “I won’t be held accountable for what happens next.”
***
Coder Joe crawled under Zydan’s desk, plugging a wire into the wall.
“Welcome back to the dev network, asshole,” said Coder Joe.
Coder Joe took a big breath - big mistake. The underside of the desk smelled like all the worst parts of Zydan. If only Coder Joe could open a window in here. Too bad the only windows were the ones on Zydan’s desktop, and they wouldn’t help with the stench. One of those windows read Version Control. One hundred and eight files nestled within, each marked exclusive check out.
“Zydan, you dumbass,” said Coder Joe. “These files get checked out automatically when they’re opened. How long have you been holding onto these?”
A little red square icon flashed at the bottom of the screen. That was odd - the icon certainly wasn’t anything the IT team installed. Maybe a virus? Coder Joe certainly wouldn’t put it past Zydan, but he put it out of his mind for now, scanning the files until he located one called SunlightForest.Vis.
“Here it is,” said Coder Joe, “Let’s wrap this up.”
Coder Joe navigated to the file history - the most recently committed change was made by the ex-lead artist SuperDuper.
“Just gotta revert that,” said Coder Joe.
Coder Joe typed with mild fervor.
“And, done!”
Coder Joe hit submit.
It was over.
Sunlight Forest was back to its less-dense state.
Easy peasy.
Easy treesy?
Coder Joe kicked back in Zydan’s chair. This was by far the most comfortable chair in the office. If Zydan never came back, Coder Joe would claim this chair as his prize.
He put his feet up on Zydan’s desk. It was just a matter of time until enforcers came by and led him to safety. Dev floor evacuations were a bi-weekly ordeal; it usually resulted in a whole lot of nothing. The enforcers surely had this covered.
Something ate away at Coder Joe’s mind however; it was that little red icon flashing at the bottom of Zydan’s screen. That icon was a Pandora’s Box that Coder Joe didn’t want to open. But like Pandora’s Box, curiosity got the better of him. He clicked the icon, maximizing a window.
The top of the window read World Reset Script. The bottom read:
6:58…
6:57…
6:56…
Coder Joe’s eyes widened.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Coder Joe.
Coder Joe leaned forward in his future chair.
“Zydan, you didn’t remove the script,” said Coder Joe. “You just minimized it. You and your dad are on another level of stupid.”
Two buttons lay below the timer: Add Time and Remove Script.
Coder Joe blinked twice.
“Remove Script?” asked Coder Joe. “Zydan, you’re not even trying anymore.”
Coder Joe pressed the Remove Script button. Several times –
Nothing happened.
Coder Joe scowled, attempting to move the mouse cursor –
The mouse cursor remained frozen in place.
“Did your script seriously crash the computer?” asked Coder Joe. “This is why designers shouldn’t write code.”
Coder Joe flexed his fingers, cracking each knuckle individually.
“Well, you’re back on the network at least,” said Coder Joe. “I can fix this mess now.”
Coder Joe took in a deep breath, as if submerging underwater. He dove below the desk, looking for the power button to Zydan’s computer –
“Hello dragonoids and non-dragonoids!” said a faint voice from above.
Coder Joe smacked his head on the desk. Hard. With a loud groan, Coder Joe emerged, peeking up at Zydan’s glowing monitor.
A tiny figure struck a pompous pose on Zydan’s screen - a dragonoid in a flashy black suit, wearing an even flashier pair of sunglasses. He leaned against the World Reset Script window as if it was a wall.
“Welcome to the World Reset Script, Zydan!” said the dragonoid. “I’m your host, game-master Garola!”
Coder Joe squinted at the screen.
“What the hell is this?” asked Coder Joe.
Garola shoved the World Reset Script window aside, posing center-screen.
“If you’re seeing me, you probably hit the Remove Script button,” said Garola. “Did ya mean to do that Zydan?”
Coder Joe blinked twice.
“Um,” muttered Coder Joe. “Where do I type this –”
“No typing necessary, Zydan,” said Garola. “Even a non-dragonoid should know that. Your computer mic is fully operational. So I’ll ask ya again: did ya mean to hit that Remove Script button Zydan?”
“Um,” said Coder Joe. “Yes.”
Garola gave him an all-knowing smirk.
“Okay buddy, let’s be real,” said Garola. “You fell into Zydan’s trap. This isn’t actually how you remove the script. You’ve been outwitted by a genius designer.”
“Shit,” said Coder Joe. “Oh shit.”
Garola flicked the frozen mouse cursor off the screen.
“Zydan assigned me to protect this script,” said Garola. “So that’s what I’m gonna do!”
Coder Joe groaned, shaking his head.
“Damn it, Zydan,” said Coder Joe. “When did you even have time to script this? I guess you never do any real work.”
Garola sat on a folder marked porn.
“So, let’s get a real introduction now,” said Garola. “Who are you?”
Coder Joe blinked twice.
“Zydan,” said Coder Joe.
Garola tapped his foot, his dragonoid tail whipping behind him.
“I said, real,” Garola said. “We both know you’re not Zydan. I bet you’re not even a dragonoid! You’ve got one last chance to answer. You’ll want to be honest this time. Trust me.”
Coder Joe pursed his lips.
“Joe,” said Coder Joe.
“Joe?” asked Garola. “I don’t know a Joe. Did ya mean, Coder Joe?”
Coder Joe’s lips scrunched.
“Yes,” said Coder Joe. “Coder Joe.”
“Hey, what’s up Coder Joe?” asked Garola. “I got some bad news for ya. You just locked the script. That timer’s gonna keep counting down. After that, Zero Space is over. Whole server’s gonna reset. And you’re responsible. Congrats!”
“Shit,” said Coder Joe. “Shit, shit, shit –”
5:34…
5:33…
5:32…
“You’re probably freaking out right about now,” said Garola. “But I’ve got some good news: Zydan made a little game for ya. If ya win, you’ll gain a little more time. Maybe enough time for Zydan to forgive ya!”
Coder Joe massaged his temples.
“Zydan, you crazy fucking bastard,” said Coder Joe. “What is this shit?”
“Zydan wrote five questions for ya,” said Garola. “Coder Joe, you apparently should know the answers to these!”
Garola treaded the taskbar like a balance beam.
“A correct answer gets you ten minutes on the clock,” said Garola. “Let’s see how well you know your best friend Zydan!”
Coder Joe combed his hair with his fingers.
“Question one,” said Garola. “Who’s the boss at the top of the Tower?”
Coder Joe blinked twice. He didn’t hop into Zero Space often, and when he did, it was usually to fix something broken. Still, every bug went through him, and he couldn’t recall any bugs with a Tower Boss.
“Five seconds,” said Garola. “Five, four –”
Only one possibility existed: there was no programmed boss atop the tower. If a fight existed, it was PVP. And the only player with access to the tower was –
“Zydan,” said Coder Joe. “Zydan is the boss.”
DING
“Whoa, way to go!” said Garola. “Pretty smart, for a non-dragonoid!”
15:09…
15:08…
15:07…
Coder Joe exhaled a huge sigh of relief.
“Don’t get cocky now,” said Garola. “Still got four more! Next question: What’s Zydan guarding at the top of the tower?”
Coder Joe cursed - shit, he knew this one! For once, he wished he’d paid closer attention to Zydan’s ramblings.
“The blue, something,” said Coder Joe. “Uh, the blue road?”
BUZZ
“Nope!” said Garola. “So much for your perfect streak!”
4:52…
4:51…
4:50…
Coder Joe blinked three times.
“Wait, what?” yelled Coder Joe. “What the hell?”
“Oh right, forgot to mention,” said Garola. “For every wrong answer, ya lose ten minutes. One more wrong answer, and it’s buh bye Zero Space! So, ya wanna keep playing or what?”
Sweat dribbled across Coder Joe’s hairy knuckles. Maybe Coder Joe could hack this thing, but he’d need more than five minutes.
“Ya still there, Coder Joe?” asked Garola. “Gotta say yes. Otherwise, I’ll take that as a no. You’ll be stuck with whatever time ya got!”
Coder Joe rocked in his luxurious chair. One more right answer would sustain Zero Space. Another wrong answer would end it –
“Five seconds,” said Garola. “Five, four, three –”
“Yes!” yelled Coder Joe. “Yes, I’ll keep playing.”
Garola grinned with pearly white fangs.
“Close call,” said Garola. “For a moment there, I thought ya would wimp out!”
Garola did a backflip.
“Question three,” said Garola. “Who is your very best friend?”
Coder Joe grimaced.
“Oh come on,” said Garola. “This is an easy one. You should know it!”
Coder Joe groaned.
“It’s, Zydan,” said Coder Joe.
“Zydan is your what?” asked Garola.
Coder Joe bit his lip.
“Zydan is my very best friend,” said Coder Joe.
DING
“You know he is!” said Garola. “Good job!”
14:34…
14:33…
14:32…
“Wanna keep playing?” asked Garola.
“Yes,” said Coder Joe. He had to go for it. Even fourteen minutes was cutting it close.
“Super,” said Garola. “Question four is a trick question: Who’s the stupid asshole that runs the dev floor?”
Coder Joe opened his mouth –
– But then closed it. The obvious answer was DD, but that wasn’t the trick answer. If Zydan was actually giving Coder Joe a sporting chance, there was only one person it could be:
“Father,” said Coder Joe.
DING
“Wow, way to go, Coder Joe!” said Garola. “Ya really have been paying attention!”
24:18…
24:17…
24:16…
“Wanna keep playing?” asked Garola.
“No,” said Coder Joe. Twenty four minutes was more than enough to hack this script.
“You positive?” asked Garola. “Question five is really good. It’s my favorite question. And it’s worth double! Win big, or lose it all –”
“No,” said Coder Joe.
Garola kicked the recycling bin icon across the screen; fortunately, it was empty.
“Aw, come on,” said Garola. “Non-dragonoids are no fun. Zydan spent some real time on the clock writing that last question. It’s great content –”
“No!” yelled Coder Joe. “Fuck off!”
Garola gaped. His arms dragged low.
“Alrighty,” said Garola. “Your loss. Bet that extra time would have been real helpful. That timer’s not going up again.”
Garola dipped his sunglasses down.
“Chao, Coder Joe,” said Garola. “The Glitch Man’s here, so you’re all screwed anyway. Good luck saving your stupid Haven!”
“Wait, what?” asked Coder Joe.
But Garola was gone. The mouse cursor and all the icons were back, like the whole thing never happened.
Coder Joe blinked twice, glancing at the clock:
23:58…
23:57…
23:56…
Coder Joe nodded, then cracked each knuckle individually.
It was time to get to work!
[ZERO SPACE]
Shae and Parper huddled side by side, so close that they were nearly holding hands. White lightning crackled in the stormy sky above, blowing tempest gales through the forest below.
“Shae,” said Parper. “What’s happening?”
“No idea,” said Shae.
Trees uprooted like weeds, vanishing into the clouds above. A sudden vacuum of wind filled the gaps between trees, newborn flowers and foliage fluttering into existence.
“The trees!” said Parper. “Shae, the trees are clearing up!”
“Yeah,” said Shae. “This is either some glitch shit, or something just went down on the dev floor.”
Dark goblins peeked out from the remaining trees, peering at Shae and Parper in the distance.
Parper’s tail stopped wagging.
“They’re all looking at us, Shae,” said Parper.
“Whatever,” said Shae. “Doesn’t matter if they can see us. They aggro on range. It’s more important that we can see them.”
Parper’s puppy dog ears perked up.
“Wait,” said Parper. “Does that mean –”
“Yeah,” said Shae. “We might be able to make it through this fucking forest after all.”
Shae spun his pistols to his hands.
“Let’s go kill that wizard!”