Morning did come, regardless of how I felt or what I thought, and I repeated the daily routine of travel, forage, and follow the water just as I had done for the last six months. Survival sucked, but it was still a state one step up from death. I reckoned even a short-sighted life was better than being dead, nameless, and the evening meal of a Metamon. However, even the fate of being dinner began to feel inevitable once the stream led me to the edge of a regional wetland. I'd hoped for a lake where I could rustle up materials for a fishing pole and catch myself some dinner. Instead, I got a marsh of stagnant water which reeked, a dozen or more bites from a lively hoard bloodthirsty mosquitos, and a new chip on my shoulder.

"Now where am I supposed to go?" I grouched aloud at nobody.

I learned to keep myself company as early as five weeks after the apocalypse. Talking to myself at this point was perfectly reasonable. Nobody else was around to judge, relate, sympathize, or even answer. Nobody except for the damn System. I turned my glower upwards at the sky, as though the System overlooked the entirety of the world the way the old God was believed to: from the heavens.

"What am I supposed to do now?" This time, I half-shouted. I wanted the System to hear me. I wanted it to answer. "You're the one responsible for my predicament, y'know..."

My stomach growled. I was hungry, grumpy, and sick of wandering around with no direction or end to my journey. I needed a destination, a purpose. Without one, I might as well sit down and wait for the wild Metamons or murderous humans to cross my path. I hated the idea of settling down in any one place. It's not because I finally had the time and freedom to travel and roam where I pleased. As I started a fire to cook a portion of my rice, I tried to figure out what kept me on the move. Fear, probably.

I was halfway through my bowl of rice, which I admit was under-cooked, when a flapping sound preceded a sinister caw. I glanced up into the branches of the trees and immediately noticed the a hideous bird Metamon named Vulturion, a vulture with markings and colors that resembled the armor of Roman soldiers including the signature red plume at the crown of the mon's head. The Metapedia delivered a timely entry.

> Vulturion is a shrewd observer. It patrols the borders of territories belonging to bigger, apex predatorial Metamons in exchange for scavenging the last remnants of the predator's meals. When provoked, Vulturions can be malicious and violent. Its special attack, Vengeful Mangling, utilizes its razor-sharp talons to render the target defenseless before it maims and shreds the victim for easier digestion.

I glanced upwards at my new supervisor perched on a precarious branch, suddenly aware that I may be seen as a potential intruder. Had I already crossed the border into territory of an apex Metamon or was this Vulturion just beginning its patrol? I paid careful attention to the giant talons, one of which scratched subtly at the bark of the branch. This tedious movement reminded me of a movie villain who tapped impatiently at the table while contemplating his next move against the protagonist. Its keen dark eyes met mine.

Thick, iron-colored feathers flapped to announce the arrival of a second Vulturion next to his kin. I assumed they were kin, though I became immediately concerned that the pair might correct me with a lethal Vengeful Mangling if I suggested they were related. To keep my skin on my body, I decided to leave. I was mostly packed and putting out the fire when the third Vulturion settled into the same tree, but on a different branch. They did not chatter or greet each other. All three of them maintained such strict focus on me that I feared I was the receiver of a very potent omen and might drop dead from a fluke accident at any given moment.

Slowly, with my pack and quiver over my shoulder and bow in hand, I backed away. I followed the stream back up the hill, away from the wetlands. They did not follow. If I ever had a deathwish, at least now I knew where to find an Apex Metamon to do the job. I really wished I could mark the map: these wetlands would be crossed off in big, red crayon followed by a permanent marker which said NO!!!

Halfway up the hill, however, I heard a heavy wheezing. I looked around and searched the area until I found the source: a pudgy, cat-like creature lay panting atop a sunlit rock. It looked exhausted and cranky, like someone who had pushed themselves well beyond their limits exercising. A second entry of the day popped up:

> Sabelynx is a nocturnal, anti-social predator with a natural inclination towards filth and junk. Its rock-hard skeleton and poor hygiene are self-defense mechanisms to ensure it is not edible to most predators. Its fascination with shiny junk can override its senses and induce a strong sense of euphoria, similar to hallucinogens in humans. Once fascinated with an object, Sabelynx uses its Kleptoclaw special attack to steal the item. This makes it a natural enemy of the Corvid Metamon, Raveneaux.

It did not seem agitated by my presence and I did not care to provoke a predatory Metamon. I adjusted the shoulder strap of my bag and started to press on, but the night before last dawned on me. I recalled the silhouette of a pudgy feline that had burst into my shelter to take cover from the storm. I turned back around to face the Sabelynx. Its sable-colored eyes narrowed at me.

"Did you...did you follow me?"

It huffed in response and flopped onto the rock dramatically. I moved closer to the rock and squatted down.

"Were you the one that came into the house with me? This is a long way for you to come, isn't it?"

It wheezed on. The longer I looked at it, the more I became certain it was the same type of Metamon which had shared the house with me. This may not have been the exact same one, though. Sableynx were probably as common to this region as Terraswine.

The Metamon started to sweat. Purple droplets appeared all over its fur coat, accompanied by a foul stench. I covered my nose and backed away. No wonder nothing wanted to eat it. Something shook the canopy of trees further downstream: one of Vulturions had followed me after all.

"Well, good luck," I told the Sableynx. "Hope you find a good trove of junk. Just don't go that way. You might like the idea of stagnant wetlands, but I think that Vulturion is working for an Apex Metamon. It's best to avoid tempting something like that to a meal."

I held my nose until I was at the top of the hill. The interesting thing about East Texas were the topographical variations. You could stand on a low hill like this one and see for miles across flat plains. On the edge of the horizon further to the northeast, I spotted the first sign of civilization in months: an empty highway. That was as good a starting point as any. Highways meant somewhere along the way, there would be a destination such as a town, city, or even just a house. Any one of those things might have food. Or danger. I couldn't rule out the possibility that any previous site of civilization might be claimed by a faction. Foraging kept me alive, but I needed meat. My nutrition bar declared Low and I was starting to suffer from the long-term effects of an insubstantial diet. Hunting was not my strong suit. Even if I managed to kill something with an arrow, I didn't know how to turn it into edible food. I doubted one just stuck a long stick through the carcass of a deer and rotisseried it over a campfire...

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

If only I'd had some warning of the apocalypse, maybe I could have done some research ahead of time. Then again, I probably wouldn't have been able to stomach whatever came after killing an animal.

"Too little, too late," I muttered to myself with a sigh. "Alright, Penny, let's get a move on."

A strong gale drew my attention to the southwest. Thunderclouds mounted high in the sky. Great, I needed to find shelter from another storm and forage for food. I paused at the stream long enough to refill my canteen again and hesitated to move forward, concerned that I might not find another source if I left this one. I brought up the map and tapped it. No markers appeared.

"Oh come on! Don't you have automatic updates or something?!" I shouted at the System. "I need a map-marking function! Are you helping or hindering? Seriously, were you made by Bioflex!?"

Everyone knew that Bioflex games were glitchy as hell, no matter what the publishers and development teams did. They'd been dubbed by online lexicons as 'Bugflex' and the verb 'flex' came to mean "to crash as the result of bugs or software glitches". I didn't expect the System to understand this reference...

But it did.

As though someone turned an intercom on in my head with the volume at an almost unreasonable level, I heard the automated voice of a woman.

[Initiating software update. Please wait... The system will need to restart once the update has completed. Please be patient and do not turn off your device.]

"How am I supposed to turn off—what device?!"

[Restart initiated...]

"What are you re—"

Everything went black.

----------------------------------------

My eyes fluttered open. Daylight had faded to twilight while I was unconscious and I could see the edges of the storm clouds. Was I the device? No, that made no sense. Maybe everything was the device? Ugh! It didn't matter. I'd lost time and now I was in danger of being caught up in an electrical storm. I needed to hurry and find shelter.

When I stood up, I recalled what had been so urgent about the update. The map! Water! I mentally willed the map to appear and tapped it. Markers appeared! They even had colors and icons. Victory! Quickly, I marked the stream's location on the map with a droplet icon, dismissed the map, and sprinted down the hill. The burst of excitement and confidence gave me renewed vigor. I crossed the wide plains and burst into a copse of trees just as the downpour started. Unfortunately, this proved a terrible place to camp especially when the harsh wind broke large tree branches that almost crushed me!

I kept on the move, beyond the copse of woods, and found an old tractor abandoned in the field. The cab was enclosed, even if one of the windows had a hole in it. I scurried in and shut the door, prepared to wait out the storm. It wasn't the most comfortable place: the seat was rigid, the wind blowing through the hole made a really annoying whistling sound, and I wasn't entirely convinced it was safe when the lightning struck nearby in the field and the ground shook like an earthquake (not that I had any experience with them). But I wasn't wet or struck by lightning. Unfortunately, I couldn't start a campfire to cook any food, either. I tried several positions in the narrow cab to rest comfortably; sitting upright seemed the only way. I sipped on some water and watched twilight darken to night, flashes of electrical streaks alighting the sky with rosy pinks and warm oranges. It was beautiful, even if I hated how loud and sudden the following booms and shudders were.

I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. Something rattled the cab of the tractor which startled me awake. The Sabelynx from the rock pawed desperately at the door, mewling to get in. Had it followed me again? Bewildered by the idea, I opened the door and it pounced at me. I yelped and threw myself backwards, slamming the back of my head against the other side of the cab. Rain whooshed in with a sudden gale which soaked both myself and the Sabelynx. It hissed, scratched, and finally rolled into the floorboard with a cantankerous yowl. I shut the door, trying to ignore the sting of the new scratches on my arms and collarbone.

The sting took a turn for the worse into a searing pain that flooded through my veins. I grit my teeth so hard, I thought I might have cracked one. It felt like my blood was on fire. This went on for a good five minutes and when it ebbed, I wanted to scratch everywhere. I gripped the steering wheel of the immobile tractor so tight, my knuckles whitened. I glared down at the Metamon.

"What did you do to me?!"

It did not respond. The creature remained contently coiled under the safety of the steering panel with its paws tucked underneath its body, tail swishing back and forth. It stared at me, watched me. I turned my focus to the scratches on my arms and panicked when small, purple spots akin to measles welled up all over my skin. I checked the rear-view mirror. The spots grew to big, indigo-colored splotches and the burning pain in my veins returned. Finally, I threw the door open and hurled myself out into the cold storm. I wanted the pain to stop, for the rain to purify my skin and blood, to run from whatever was happening to me.

I sat in the rain, able to breathe in the fresh air, and searched the Guidebook for answers as to what was happening to me.

> Status Effects: Envenomed. Envenomation occurs when a venomous Metamon scratches, bites, or stings its target. The effects of venom can range from mild allergic reactions to death. Envenomation cannot typically be cured except with antidotes or the tears of a Mystriarch.

Envenomed?

"I was poisoned?! You poisoned me, you bastard?!"

I sucked breath through my teeth. It felt better to yell, but the Sabelynx hadn't meant to scratch me. At least, I didn't think so. It had only done so because it was trying to get away from the rain. And I hadn't died yet. I calculated the venom of a Sabelynx measured somewhere between the 'mild allergic reaction' and 'death'.

"How long does this last? Will I die?"

The Guidebook did not give any further information, nor did the System feel obliged to help as it had before. I tilted my head back to feel the rain on my face. A thread of lightning scrawled across the sky, followed by an immediate shuddering boom. I launched myself back into the cab of the tractor and closed the door, more afraid of being struck by lightning than the gradually subsiding pain flowing within me. The splotches and bumps on my skin did not get worse, nor did they fade. Would I be permanently marked like this? I hoped not. While I never thought of myself as pretty, I certainly did not want to go around being called 'Bad Luck Penny', although I wondered how that nickname hadn't stuck to me thus far.

"Because you're alone, idiot," I muttered. "No people, no rotten nicknames. Enjoy it."

I turned my attention to the feline Metamon. It had fallen asleep, or at least it looked asleep. I decided against bothering it with questions it couldn't answer anyway and rested my head back against the seat. My stomach growled some time later, and I pulled out the small pouch of pecans I'd stored. The glowing, wide eyes of the Sabelynx peered at me intently.

"Do...you want some? Do you even eat pecans?"

I tossed it one. It didn't so much as look at it.

"I don't have any other food. And before you let the thought fully form, I'm not food." The Sabelynx still ignored me. "We'll see what we can find tomorrow. If the storm blows over during the night, you're welcome to go hunt. Fend for yourself and all."

The pecans did not satiate my hunger, but my stomach eventually stopped growling. I could feel my body fighting off the venom, but I had no idea what the morning would bring. A third wave of the inflamed affliction hit me, this one twice as distressing as the previous two. A blood-curdling shriek of anguish escaped me just as the world started to spin and darken. I passed out with the final terrifying thought that I might not ever wake up.