1 Small Beginnings

“Your character has died.”

I was met with a disembodied voice.

“To continue playing, a new character is required. Purchase new character?”

“Yes.”

“Please select either common, uncommon, or rare. Each have the prices required indicated.”

I pressed the rare option, ignoring the ridiculous price beside it.

“To make the best selection, a question will be asked. Please answer this question: What are you looking for this game?”

I struggle to answer like last time by announcing that I came for a challenge.

“Revenge.”

***

The voice sent me off with a bright light and a sentence.

“Your starting location will be randomized. Good luck.”

I looked around and stood up. The height felt pretty close to real life. White skin. Some kind of fatigues, which was promising. I checked in between my legs. I had never heard of a male player with a female character in this game, but I probably wouldn’t say anything if it happened to me.

I looked to where I was just sitting. It was a mattress on the ground. A light blanket was nearby. No pillow. The frame was lying nearby. Well, half of it. It was split in the middle, the wood probably being used to keep the fire nearby burning. My gaze wandered to the wall, and I froze. There were tons of words scratched into the wall in a crude way. A large fraction was the word ‘Why’ followed by more words.

‘WHY.’ ‘Why did they have to take HER!?’ ‘Am I alone…?’ ‘Surrounded.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Drill Sarg?’

My head felt like it was splitting.

I’ve never felt a migraine like this.

It subsided, and I found myself on the ground, sweating and with a dry throat. Was I screaming…? The sun, which was just rising earlier, is now flooding the room from the only window earlier. I took a swig out of a canteen next to the mattress.

“Character bio.”

A window appeared in front of me.

Connor SteeleAge: 28Connor was born and raised in the middle of nowhere, Georgia. Most of his life was pretty unremarkable, besides the fact that he lived alone with his mother. School had bored him. He scraped by with Cs in most of his classes. His only really enjoyable class was JROTC, teaching him about the military. Most likely persuaded by this, Connor joined the Marines right after high school. He found his groove here, fitting right into it. He didn't need to think, because he was told what to do.

Then, the apocalypse started.

He was on leave at home. He enjoyed his time with his little sister. His mom had been sick recently, just like half of almost everyone else in the world. He had just gotten home from hunting to find what used to be his mom over a body. His military instincts took over, and he blacked out. He was never the same, until 6 months later, he decided he needed to move on.

The memories flooded me, like a tragic movie. Tears were spilling before I could even process how sad it must have been.

To clear my mind, I opened up the skill list.

Skill listArcheryLevel 1Knife masteryLevel 1LeadershipLevel 1Military CQCLevel 1MarksmanshipLevel 1ConditionsMentally insane

Militeristic instincts

Street smartsSurvivalLevel 100

Mastered

…

I’d never heard of someone’s character having level 100 survival. Basically, the level indicates how well a character will do whenever the player logged off. I could probably leave my character handcuffed in a car at the bottom of a river with an army of zombies on either bank and log on with more ammo in a safe house.

But still. Insane. That one was, obviously, bad. Though I didn’t know what this could mean. Still, it’s better than my last character. The skills were more or less the same, but John Bennet, A.K.A. The Admiral, had Parkinson’s, rendering all skills but leadership useless. He was actually an admiral.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Waking myself, I set out around the house. The bow with a quiver of arrows were next to the door. Grab. The knife next to my bed. Grab. Backpack. Grab. Shoes. Grab. Keys. Grab. Flashlight. Grab. Canteen. Grab. Keepsake family photo. Hesitant grab…

That’s about everything in this tiny trailer.

I step outside and see… a truck? My truck? This is weird. Well, it’s my truck now. I hop in and try to start it, but it’s long since been empty. I knew that. Right? I shake my head and searched Connor’s memories. It’s no good. They’re too corrupted. Snagging the map from the car door pocket, I start towards a gas station. Wait, how’d I… never mind.

I have to find out where I am first off. Course, the bio said I was in Georgia, which is good. I start at a light jog, a pace I know I can keep up for half a day. The Marines made sure of that. I’m on the lookout but I’m sure there aren’t any zombies nearby. Connor’s been wiping out the few surrounding houses on this street. From my past character, I knew what started out as a sickness was really a parasite that take control of the central nervous system. The parasite then reproduces (asexually, before you ask) and keeps the microscopic copies in the mouth. Specifically, the saliva.

Turning a corner, I enter what isn’t really known as unknown territory, but more like outside my hunting grounds. More backroads. Checking around to make sure I’m alone, I compare the street signs with my map, but it covers too much of an area to display such tiny roads. I shrug, stepping off in double time. Cadences spill from my mouth before they cross my mind. They’re amusing and pass the time, so I let Connor keep going.

It was never this confusing with The Admiral.

I come up to an expensive looking house still a few miles away from the gas station. It’s the only house I’ve seen so far with the car still parked. I try my luck and walk up to the door. Pulling out my knife, I enter cautiously. First, gotta clear the house. The car outside shows that there should be someone or something here.

Checking the corners, I finish the first floor. Ignoring the urge to loot it now, I move to the upstairs.

Breathing.

I hear breathing from the room on my left.

Filling my lungs, I inch the door open. 1. 2… 5 bodies. Oh God. Two are hanging from the ceiling. Another has a hole in his head. There’s blood everywhere. The parasites were ordering the two zombies to eat, feeding the brain bugs. I crept in quickly, already wasting breath by watching. I shift my knife, grabbing the balanced tool by the blade. With a flick, I the knife stabs the zombie on the right in the leg. I rush the left before it can react, snatching its head and breaking the neck. Finished, I turn and grip the knife handle, pull it out, and stab into the body’s eye socket. Double checking that both zombies are dead, I sit to catch my breath; however, I found that the action was unnecessary. I’m not winded in the least. Connor’s nerves were a step above a robots.

I cut the bodies down, one of them barely ten years old. I shiver. I go to the gun by the third body. A handgun. I look at the zombies and see a couple of bullet wounds. All nonlethal. He must’ve unloaded all but the last shot, saved for himself. I check the gun, proving my hypothesis. I move to his pockets, searching for keys. I shake my head, and resume my sweep for zombies. Although I doubt I’ll find any, I prefer to be sure.

About 30 minutes later, I emerge out of the house. In addition to the keys, I also found some food. Though most of it was spoiled, I still managed to find a couple of cans. I look through the windows and then check myself. I pop the trunk, ready for surprises. My guard finally down, I hop in and turn it on. It purrs to life. I throw it in reverse, and make my way to the gas station. This time, it goes by much faster.

***

The gas station had much better maps, letting me know that I’m not too far from my real life home town. This was the only good news, though. The pumps were empty, as were the shelves inside. Still, half a tank should suffice.

With no better plan, I begin my drive to Thomaston, Ga.

A/N: Please don’t stalk me TT~TT