Buzz Holiday was dead. Shark food, from the looks of it. Russell stared at what was left of him: A calf and a trotter, crammed into a sandal.
As much as he’d hoped the severed leg wasn’t Buzz's, there wasn’t a chance in hell that it wasn’t. No, the tattoo had roused a memory, back aboard the yacht, a week ago or so. One of those nights where the liquor poured heavy, and the stories got louder and dumber, each trying to one-up the other with their worst life decisions. They could’ve filled a book. Buzz, already half in the bag, had smacked his leg on the table like he was laying down a winning hand — or a winning foot, in this case. It became quickly apparent that Buzz wasn’t embarrassed about the tattoo at all, and just looking for a reason to show it off, hearken back to a better time in his life. “Got it after I’d signed a nation-wide infomercial deal for the Gunk Buddy,” he’d said, grinning like a proud fool.
The tattoo was stupid. Buzz was stupid. And now, Buzz was gone.
Russell exhaled slow. He’d been staring at the thing for minutes. It was time to accept what was right in front of him, and on a larger level, what was all around him.
Finally, he turned his gaze to Shoji. He was perched cross-legged on the deck chair cushion a few feet away, just kind of waiting there — except he wasn’t alone. The four big, blue crabs twitched and jerked around him, each one tied by a claw to a leash Shoji had rigged out of the handmade rope — the one that previously held his magic dog-shit bags.
Shoji didn’t seem to mind the wait. He sat there calm, silent, giving Russell his space. Like he knew what Russell was really looking at — not just a leg, but a piece of someone he used to know.
The tears weren’t loud, just there, unavoidable. They’d been welling up for a while. Russell wiped his face and shook his head, like he could shake it all off. Buzz deserved better. Hell, they all did. But what they deserved and what they got were miles apart.
Russell cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and walked over to Shoji.
He stopped just short of stepping into the crabs' clamping range, looking down at Shoji like a man laying cards on the table.
“So, this is real. The island. The game. We have to play.”
Shoji didn’t jump to answer. His gaze wandered — first to the jungle, then to the device on his wrist. He let out a slow, deliberate breath and nodded once.
“And I’m not the only one playing, right? You’re not some actor in all this?” Russell pointed at Shoji, like that might clear up the haze.
Shoji tilted his head, chewing on the question like it had too many layers to unpack. He frowned, looked like he might say something, but then shook his head.
“Everyone can be hero,” Shoji said, holding up his device.
It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was enough. Rock-throwing asshole or not, Shoji wasn’t set dressing. He wasn’t there to steer the plot along or toss Russell a lifeline. He was just another poor bastard with a bad deal, trying to make sense of the rules before they buried him.
Russell let that settle. For the first time since he woke up on the island, his brain wasn’t swimming in Spazz or pounding from a hangover (though, there was still some of that). A sharp clarity rose over him. He thought about everything that had happened: dehydration, tidal pool psychos, wildfires, a gorilla with a grudge. None of it was planned, and nobody had a script. It was all chaos, and he either survived it through some strength in his SPUNK score, or pure damn luck. There were no "main characters” — just a bunch of players strapped with devices, tossed into a game they couldn’t quit.
Russell had been wandering through the mess like it was someone else’s problem, waiting to wake up. But looking at Shoji now, and remembering dear ‘ol Buzz, he saw the truth.
If this was a game, and they had to play, then he better start playing.
“Alright,” he said, the word carrying the weight of finality. He turned, took the few steps back to Buzz’s leg, and yanked at his briefs to fix a wedgie riding high. Then, without a second thought, he grabbed the leg by the sole of the sandal and lifted it out of the sand. He glanced over his shoulder at Shoji.
“I need your help with something,” he said.
Without another word, he started off back down the beach, the leg dangling from his hand. Shoji sat there a second, processing the weirdness of it all. Then he stood, grabbed his cushion, slung the crab leash over his shoulder, and followed, the little crustaceans clicking and clacking behind him.
As Russell trudged down the beach, a cheerful BA-DING! bounced across the steady rhythm of the surf. He’d heard that same sound yesterday, though it hadn’t registered much in his dehydrated haze. Shoji’s ears perked up, and he let out a noise of his own — a sharp, eager yip — and jabbed a finger at Russell’s wrist.
Russell glanced down. At least it was good news.
PERK ACQUIRED!
BIG PICTURE KIND OF GUY
You’ve finally accepted the challenge. Now try looking forward for a change.
EFFECT: Unlocks the MAP feature.
The notification disappeared, and a new tab joined the rest: MAP. Russell stopped, hoisted Buzz’s leg over his shoulder like a sack of posthumous potatoes, and tapped the screen.
For a second, nothing. Just a black grid staring back at him. Russell frowned, figuring it was broken.
Then, like a painter dragging the first stroke across a blank canvas, color started to bleed in. Slowly at first, then faster, all traveling across the same paint-stroke. Blue for the water, tan and white for the sand, green for the trees. Geography filling in from a top-down view, vivid and sharp. A beach with those giant’s-fingers islands in the distance, a tidal pool backed against a cliff. Then the paint-stroke snaked through the jungle, most of it lush and green, except for a wide streak of smoldering gray — Russell’s handiwork. And finally, the paint-stroke came to an end in a little crescent of sand tucked into a cove.
It wasn’t a complete map — not yet. It only showed where Russell had been. And the message was clear: You wanna know the rest? Go find it yourself.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Shoji leaned in, his eyes lighting up when he saw the screen. “Map?” he asked, almost giddy. He patted Russell on the shoulder and held up his own device, showing his version of the MAP, a different paint-stroke of his own journey. His smile stretched wide as he nodded, the possibilities buzzing in his odd-little head.
Russell didn’t need an explanation to get it. Between the two of them, they had a bigger picture — the more they explored, the more they’d uncover. But Shoji’s excitement ran deeper. Russell could see it in the way he handled his device, like it was more than just a tool. It was validation. The map wasn’t just a perk, it was a badge. You didn’t get one unless you were in the game for real. If Russell had access to the MAP, that meant he was playing too, well and truly.
They were stuck in this thing together. For now, anyway.
Russell smirked. He let the screen go dark. The map would come in handy, but he had bigger fish to fry. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”
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The cove was mostly beach, curving in a lazy half-moon under the cliffs — just as his newfound map had depicted. But down at the base of the hill that led back into the jungle, there was a small grove. A scrappy patch of palms and ferns, small-fries compared to the giants higher up, maybe fifty trees at most. The nice thing? You could see from one side to the other. No endless green to wade through, no hairy bastard lurking in the shadows. The grove wasn’t much, but it had shade, the only real shade in the cove besides the cliffs, depending on the time of day. That made it the perfect spot for Russell and Shoji to park themselves for a pow-wow.
Russell tossed down Tumzy and Buzz’s leg at the base of a palm before collapsing into the same patch of shade. His sunburn was screaming, but it was the last thing on his mind. He gave the grove a quick once-over, his eyes skimming for hidden cameras. He hadn’t seen a single one yet, not even the gleam of a lens, but the Gamemaster had to be watching somehow. Maybe the map came from some big-ass satellite that could zoom in close enough to count the zits on his ass. Either way, didn’t matter. If they were watching, let ’em.
“We still need to get to the boat,” Russell said, clicking his device to life.
Shoji settled in across from him, corralling the crabs. “Boat broken. Very broken,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, boat is fucked, very fucked,” Russell replied, waving him off. “But it’s still loaded with stuff we need. Food. Water.” He pulled up his INVENTORY tab.
The gorilla incident had lightened his load — literally — but he needed to take stock of what he had left.
Spazz Swimming Briefs
Type: Apparel
Effects:
* Maximum Mobility (minimal coverage)
Description: A blindingly bright pair of swimming briefs, better known as a banana hammock. Designed for performance and humiliation.
Off-brand "Tumzy" Water Bottle
Type: Utility
Effects:
* Hydration Storage (1 Gallon)
Description: A suspiciously pink panda water bottle with a beret cap and just enough “creative liberties” to dodge copyright lawyers. Equal parts adorable and obnoxious.
Grenade
Type: Weapon
Effects:
* Area Damage (because it’s a fucking grenade)
Description: A vintage stick grenade, minimal rusting on the metal casing. Handle with care or GO BOOM.
Severed Leg
Type: Weapon/Consumable
Effects:
* Improvised Weapon (if you're desperate enough to swing it)
* Improvised Consumable (if you’re desperate enough to eat it)
* Emotional Trauma (no matter how you use it)
Description: A severed leg wearing a sandal. We won’t ask any questions about where you got it. Just, be cool, man.
There it was. A good start, sure, but Russell was going to need more for what he had planned. He swiped over to the SPUNK tab, his eyes landing on the progress bar. Somewhere between torching acres of pristine jungle and trying to outsmart a talking ape, he’d racked up a decent pile of BADASS. The bar was nearly full. Level 3 was right there, waiting. With the shit he was about to pull, he’d get there and then some. He tilted the device toward Shoji, letting him see.
“What’s your level?” Russell asked.
Shoji clicked his device and held it out. No surprise, the whole thing was in Japanese. But the second Russell looked at it, the screen flipped to English like it had read his mind. He glanced down at his own device and saw it had switched to Japanese for Shoji’s sake.
“I’ll be damned,” Russell muttered. “Ain’t that some we’re-always-watching-you shit.” Maybe the Gamemaster didn’t need hidden cameras or high-flying satellites. Not when the things strapped to their wrists were doing the watching. If Russell didn’t know he needed the damn thing — and that it would zap him again if he tried — he’d have smashed it to pieces already. But he was in this now, full force.
For a minute, they poked at each other’s screens, like two dogs sniffing each other’s ass, getting to know each other. On Shoji’s avatar, he looked as rough as Russell had on day one — a tired, worn-down version of the confident, if cryptic, guy sitting next to him now.
Shoji Hoshino
SWAGGER: 3
POWER: 3
UTILITY: 7
NERVE: 5
KNOW-HOW: 6
LEVEL 4
Next to his level was a halfway-full progress bar.
Two levels ahead, and then some. Shoji had been here longer, but not by much. Interesting. Russell skipped past Shoji’s INVENTORY — it didn’t take a genius to see the only junk he was smuggling in that banana hammock was his own. Instead, Russell went for his PERKS tab.
Shoji had BIG PICTURE KIND OF GUY, same as Russell, and another perk he’d unlocked with points: ROCKIN’ OUT, the one that dumped a pile of rocks in your lap and called it a day. Russell frowned, looking up at him.
“You spent a point on rocks, dude? The whole island is rocks. Wait — were those the same ones you were chucking at me yesterday?”
Shoji didn’t answer, too busy staring at Russell’s own PERK tab, his eyes fixed on the oddball gift of HOARSE WHISPERER like it was some ancient riddle.
Russell rolled his eyes and pushed on, opening Shoji’s CRAFTING tab. That’s where things got interesting. They both had CRUDE FIRE STARTER, a solid Level 2 pick, but Shoji had something else — something Russell didn’t yet have access to.
FIBER CORDAGE
DESCRIPTION: Simple rope for tying and lashing. Like Woody Harrelson and terrible smoothies, it’s entirely plant-based.
REQUIREMENTS: LEVEL 3, UTILITY 2
Russell thought about watching the FIBER CORDAGE video but decided against it. He wasn’t in the mood for Jerry Rigg’s face or his chipper, lovesick bullshit. And he didn’t need to watch it anyway — not when the final product was right there: the cord tied to the crabs, busy picking at Buzz’s leg like it was their reclaimed lunch.
“Fuck off,” Russell said, swatting at them. The big blue idiots scattered, but Shoji’s cord snapped them back together, flipping a couple onto their backs. Their legs twitched and skittered as they fought the twisted dog-walking setup they couldn’t escape.
Russell frowned, grabbed the cord, and hoisted it until the crabs dangled. The rope was made from leaves and plant stalks, but it was tougher than it looked. Not something you’d bet your life on over a cliff, but plenty strong for the half-baked idea taking shape in his head.
“Shoji,” Russell said, bouncing the cord for emphasis, the crabs knocking into each other like living castanets. “You made this?”
Shoji nodded.
Russell waved a hand around the grove. “Can you make more?”
Shoji blinked and gave a little shrug. No big deal.
“I’ve got an idea to get to the boat,” Russell said, pointing out towards the yacht. “But I need your help. We’re gonna need a lot more rope.”
Shoji, ever the minimalist, gave another nod. But then he ventured, “What is plan?”
Russell stood, grabbed Buzz’s leg, and tucked it into the crook of a tree branch, well out of reach of the crabs. He turned back to Shoji, knowing full well what he was about to say wouldn’t make a lick of sense — not because of the language barrier, but because it was just plain nuts. Still, he said it anyway, letting the words carry the madness forward.
“We’re gonna throw a funeral. Viking style.”