INTERLUDE (XIII)

  Your Watcher in the Wings

  Fourteen days. Two weeks. On its face, it didn’t sound like much. Although in this instance, like with most things, context is key.

  Two weeks of paid vacation—blessed deliverance, however brief, from one’s grueling nine to five—might just seem to go by in the blink of an eye. Time slipping between suntanned fingers like grains of sand on a pearly white beach. Whereas two weeks without having heard from a loved one—endless voicemails and missing person reports—may very well seem to drag on for an eternity.

  Context. Like in so many cases, context is key.

  Just as two more weeks, to a man on his deathbed, might constitute riches far greater than anything money could buy, when a third of earth’s population dies over the course of a mere fourteen days, it seems far too brief, far too negligible a timeframe, to be real.

  +++

  Samuel Piker - [Normal Mode Tutorial]

  Firelight danced across the craggy interior of the cave. Poor survival skills, and even poorer ventilation, filling all but the farthest corners with choking white smoke. Barely tolerable for those furthest from the eye watering Co2, and utterly miserable for those unlucky souls tasked with miraculously conjuring a hearty meal out of toasted pine cones and shriveled acorns. The crackle of the fire and sharp bite of profanity, competed with the incessant drum of rain and the quiet moans of the injured.

  Samuel Piker—forty-four year old mechanic and lifelong handyman—leaned over the fragile form of his fifteen year old daughter. She looked so much like her mother. And like her mother, she too was unconscious. Though where Leesie had passed out due to sheer exhaustion, her head a comforting weight in his lap, Halie…

  Sweat soaked and moaning, Halie’s face was scrunched up in obvious pain. The sight of it ate away at him inside, just as surely as his growing impotence was driving him to the brink of insanity. Large, calloused fingers swept aside sweat soaked locks. Her brow worryingly hot and feverish. He watched her chest rise and fall, caught his eyes straying to the blood soaked bandages wrapping her middle.

  Where the beast’s claws had punched through to mutilate her belly.

  Samuel clenched his fists so hard the knuckles cracked. And the worst part was, of the nine families to be thrown into this hellscape, his was one of the better off. The scuff of shoe on stone alerted Samuel to someone’s approach. He lurched, reaching for the now blood caked pipe wrench, he just so happened to be holding when everything went down. Only when his eyes focused on their visitor did he relax.

  Samuel nodded a greeting towards Manny, soothing Leesie’s concerned murmuring, with a hand and urging she go back to sleep. With a returning nod, Manny, a wiry plumber in his early fifties, set down a flat stone piled sparingly with what was apparently dinner. A handful of steaming nuts and pinecones. Samuel looked up sharply at the man. He wouldn’t meet Samuel’s eyes. When he spoke, he tried to modulate his tone. It came out as a rumbling growl instead.

  “Manny? What on god’s green earth is this?”

  The man looked just about anywhere but at him.

  “I-! W-wasn’t my idea. It’s just, the others were talkin’ and, well, we figured those who don’t work, don’t- uh, well don’t deserve as much as the rest of us. You know, who go huntin’ for a living.”

  “Huntin?! That a joke? Manny, we both know you ain’t never gone huntin’ a damn day in your life. Scavengin’ more like.”

  “Yeah well,” he glared down at Samuel now, having spontaneously grown a backbone with the others behind him. “Be that as it may, doesn’t change the fact any. Those who don’t work don’t eat, and that’s just the way it is. ‘Course, on account of that wrench of yours and everything, I talked the guys into making an exception, but…” his eyes flicked briefly towards Halie. “There’s only so much food to go around. Although… figure if you could bag us another one of them beasties-!”

  Samuels eyes flashed. Seeing past the slimy man to the growing pool of blood. His wife’s panic. His daughter’s screams. Manny stumbled back as if struck, nearly tripping over his own two feet. The scene on day one, of a man with only a wrench for a weapon bashing in beast skulls to protect his family, firmly burned into his mind. Remembering what’d come of his little play at heroics the last time, Samuel slumped. Knuckles white, he spoke…

  “Right. Off with you then. And… thanks.”

  Not even taking the time to respond, like the little rodent that he was, the scrawny man promptly scurried away as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Leaving Samuel to stare down at their meal for the day. What amounted to a handful of trailmix shared between the three of them. His eyes then strayed to his injured daughter, and then to his sleeping wife. Her cheekbones far too pronounced. All that pleasant plump he’d so appreciated, having melted off her frame like hot butter over the past week or so of near starvation. And suddenly, it was as if the terrible hopelessness he’d been holding at bay, enormous and all encompassing, fell upon him all at once.

  A lone thought dominating his mind.

  Is this it? Is this all there is? Is there really no one, and nothing looking’ out for us?

  Dear Surviving Members of Earth’s Population,

  I hope my letter finds you well. Oh! But if it doesn’t, there should be a wellness package on its way shortly. By the by, the green syringes are literal life savers. So, if you’re currently in the midst of meeting your maker, or know someone that is, just stick them with one of those bad boys and thank me later.

  And that’s the wellness package guarantee!

  I also made sure to pack some food and snacks, just in case you kids get hungry. Also don’t forget to stay hydrated! You’ll probably need it. This next parts going to be a doozy.

  Samuel’s attention was wrenched away from the peculiarly worded message by the sharp cries raised near the entrance of the cave. Reaching for his pipe wrench, he’d half risen to his feet, when he realized, belatedly, that what he’d taken for cries of alarm were, in fact, exclamations of joy. It only took him a second more to realize the source of their excitement.

  Large gray boxes had appeared before him and the two girls. Having already torn into hers, his wife was jabbing a mysterious green needle into their daughters arm before Samuel could even begin to stop her. What happened next, however, swept all thoughts of castigation from his mind.

  Halie, his little baby girl, opened her eyes. They were clear and present, entirely free of pain. Samuel hurried to her side, scraping his knees on the rough surface of the rock.

  “Mom? Dad? Why are you crying?”

  Too choked up to speak, he merely rested his hands on her forehead, her cheeks, still trying to convince himself this was happening. That this was real.

  “I’m hungry.”

  And immediately, any cheer he’d felt evaporated. At the mention of food, his own stomach began to growl, though that was nothing new. It was just as he was about to reach for the handful of pinecones, and insist she eat them all, when his wife let out an almost deranged sort of giggle.

  “Well, honey. Take your pick!”

  And so saying, Leesie turned away from the grey box with an armful of what looked like MRE’s.

  “We’ve got fettuccine bolognese, spicy orange chicken, and what looks like vegetarian lasagna.”

  +++

  This scene was one that repeated itself across countless instances, and throughout innumerable tutorials. And while the exact details might’ve differed, the people and places might’ve changed, one thing—some might even argue the most important thing—remained the same. Wherever hope was at an all time low, fear and hunger wore away at common decency, or death was all but a forgone conclusion, like a bolt out of the blue, help arrived when humanity least expected it.

  When humanity needed it most.

  Unexpected generosity, packaged in layers of levity and sarcasm, hauled a great many from the brink of barbarity. Mothers, now able to feed their children, freed from contemplating the sorts of proposals only ever born of desperation. Strangers that’d just recently been at one another’s throats, convinced to cease hostilities, if only for the time being. Food, water, and added security allowing for room in which to breathe. To once more don their shaky masks of civility.

  And in those rare cases wherein hope was still so hard to come by, despite that generous helping hand. In those tutorials ruled by cruel, selfish despots. Petty tyrants, thieves, and bullies, it was in the actual contents of the message—and not the poachable goods—wherein a light seemed to appear at the end of the tunnel.

  Bruised faces and black eyes scouring over the untold secrets buried beneath bad puns and misplaced levity. Absorbing them with a feverish intensity. Downloading the priceless knowledge while their captors stuffed themselves silly, drunk on their own power. Their own self interest. Barely having dipped a toe in this new system and it’s rules. Yet thinking themselves kings for attaining all of seven levels.

  For the regular folks, merely trying to get by, it meant the difference between life and death. Between hope and hopelessness. Bringing food to the needy, sparking life in the lifeless, giving power to the powerless and not a thing asked for in turn. Not even a proper name to call them by.

  Referring to themselves simply as “Your Watcher in the Wings.”

  A nickname which, for most, might’ve proven cringe worthy under any other circumstance, instead quickly became synonymous with second chances. With charity, humility, and grace. Many seeing this inscrutable figure as their guardian angel. Their watcher. Their protector. An unseen force that sought to right the many wrongs of this new and terrible world. One seemingly stripped of all its previous paradigms and allegiances. Was it any wonder, then, that many began to latch onto this enigmatic Watcher.

  A select few even going so far as to worship him as a higher power.

  And as for those odd, often deranged figures that took to the system and its tutorial like fish to water, the packets of information, should they prove true, weren’t merely precious, they would ultimately prove invaluable.

  +++

  Daniel Clark – [Hell Mode Tutorial]

  Snow falls from an overcast sky. White flakes drifting lazily to blanket what was left of the evergreen forest. Filling in long, terrible gouges, and painting over bright red splashes—blood marring the otherwise pristine winter wonderland. Shattered tree trunks and severed limbs a dime a dozen. The scent of burnt pine and massive craters likewise. Evidence of a battle just recently concluded.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Standing atop a lumpy hillock in the otherwise flat forested terrain, a figure dressed in rags and blood matted furs stands with a slight hunch. His breaths coming in fast and ragged. The air misting before unseeing eyes. Lightning still arcs across his body periodically. The brief spark of blue racing along his arms and torso.

  The young man blinks, coming back to himself suddenly. With shaking fingers, he retrieves one of his very last healing potions from a pouch at his side. Or, at least he tries to. The hardened skin of his fingertips met with crushed glass and sopping wet cloth. Daniel grimaces, presses a hand to the deep gash in his side, and sighs. Hopping down from his place atop its belly, Daniel kicks the dead corpse of the lvl 68 Frost Bear [Elite], only really succeeding in agitating his wound further.

  Daniel curses.

  Hobbles further from the piles of dead bear meat. All that remains of the pack of seven odd Frost Bears that’d thought to ambush him while he was taking a piss. Leaning his back against a tree, he slides down until his backside crunches against densely packed snow. A ragged trail of blood left behind. Eyes fluttering, he was just about to let unconsciousness take him, allow his boosted regeneration to deal with the damage a lucky swipe had inflicted, when the gentle ding of a notification draws his eye to the top corner of his vision.

  He quickly opens it, a greedy smile already tugging at the corners of his lips. Unfortunately, it was not the belated, long awaited notification, informing him he’d reached Lvl 71. In fact, were it not for the first paragraph, he might’ve simply ignored the longwinded thing entirely. When the wellness package appeared by his side, however, he was quick to inject himself with this so called miracle syringe.

  “Wellness package guarantee, huh?” unused these last two weeks, his voice came out hoarse and ragged.

  Still, he laughed as the wound sealed up right before his eyes. It wasn’t as fast as a healing potion, and would probably leave a scar, but it was definitely better than nothing. Finally, while he waited for the syringe to do its thing, Daniel began to skim through the lengthy message, mostly on a whim.

  This didn’t last long, however, as, he quickly found, the information contained within those pages weren’t merely the watered down runoff the system normally doled out like it was some grand act of charity. No, instead it represented the answers to a great many of the questions he’d asked himself these last couple of weeks. With a thought, Daniel summoned his imperial regalia. Glanced down at the glistening volcanic glass and simplistic looking form.

  “You know? I always knew you were something special.”

  The dagger vibrated in his hands. Bloodlust, so palpable, he could actually smell the tang of iron on the air, exploding out and away from the greedy little dagger in waves. Daniel grinned.

  “Soon buddy. I’ll feed you again soon.”

  +++

  Hellen Shaw – [Hell Mode Tutorial]

  The midday sun beat down on the troop of dirt caked, sweat soaked city dwellers. Their trailing procession tramping through the forest in search of a secure nighttime shelter with easy access to drinkable water.

  The drone of the twice cursed bloodsuckers accompanied by the periodic slap of palm on skin. Sharp expletives nearly as commonplace as the seemingly never-ending clouds of mosquitoes. It was only near the very back of the line, where the others needn’t endure her constant whinging, that Hellen Shaw and her son, Caleb, walked along in blessed silence.

  Or, at least, that’s what Caleb would’ve likely preferred to his mother’s constant “comments.”

  “Who does she even think she is? Tramping around in those tight little short shorts like we don’t all have eyes. And you wonder why that manly square jawed sergeant keeps her around. Inexcusable! I’m telling you, I cannot stand that kind of shameless behavior.”

  “Mom!” Caleb, quite tall for a seventeen year old, if a bit pudgy about the middle, cut in for what felt like the hundredth time. “Cassandra’s level thirty nine! She’s literally the second highest level out of all of us! Of course, she’s going to range ahead with Mr. Ericsson. It’s so they can look out for danger and keep all of us safe.”

  Yet again, Caleb attempted to get through to his mother, but he honestly wasn’t sure why he tried. He could see his words go in one ear and right out the other. She gave him a condescending smile.

  “Is that what she told you? Oh, my poor na?ve…. You’d best stay away from that girl, you hear me?” She reached up on her tip toes and pinched his doughy cheek, causing him to jerk away, embarrassed.

  Hellen chuckled.

  “My precious baby boy is far too good for the likes of her. That- that harlot. I swear, no good can come of it. Girls like that only want one thing, you know.”

  The small, bird-like woman shook her head in disgust, a sneer twisting her droopy features.

  “And as for that brash hooligan, oh don’t even get me started,” her eyes bore into the broad, athletic back of Jamie, an African American teen around Caleb’s own age. “Where does he get off, hogging all the attention for himself? If my boy had been there when those evil goat things attacked the camp, well, I’m sure you would’ve slain twice as many of the dumb beasts. Isn’t that right dear?”

  Her voice had risen by this point, no doubt on purpose, and a few of the others were starting to shoot backwards glances their way. Caleb tried to hide behind his bangs, but they couldn’t hide the flush beginning to creep up his face.

  “Mom-”

  “No! It’s not right! If you’d been able, there is no way that stingy system would’ve rewarded that delinquent over my baby boy. I’m telling you, that fancy skill of his should be yours! He stole it right out from under your nose! If you hadn’t been having such bad tummy troubles-”

  “Mom!”

  His face was beet red at this point, and the others, Cassandra included, much to his deep chagrin, began to snicker behind cupped hands.

  “What?” she blinked back up at him owlishly, as if completely unaware of what she was doing.

  Yeah right. Like he’d ever buy that.

  “Please.”

  He didn’t need to elaborate. She merely pouted and crossed her arms. Instead whispering all her acidic comments, and pointed vitriol into the mason jar she’d, for whatever reason, taken to carrying around with her everywhere she went. Caleb grimaced at his close proximity to the thing. He always hated how it made him feel. Small and insignificant, though he chalked it up to just what it was like dealing with his mother.

  Of course that didn’t explain away the glowing green wisp that bobbed up and down inside the sealed jar, but then, he had to remind himself, what about this new world made even a lick of sense?

  Suddenly, their ragged procession came to a halt. A soft ping dragging their collective attention to the top corner of their vision.

  Excited chatter broke out among the other tutorial takers. Of course the inclusion of Hellen and her son had given many reason to hope for their family and friends’ survival. Yet, as they read through the well crafted love letter to humanity, and noted the occasional offhanded comment confirming the existence of other tutorials, what had become dwindling sparks of hope, quickly roared high into crackling bonfires of belief.

  Caleb, for his part, merely looked on somewhat longingly. Wishing, with all his heart, that he could join in on the celebration. With his only surviving family right there next to him, however, all he could do was watch. Watch and subsequently die a little inside, when Cassandra leapt into Mr. Ericsson’s arms, and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss.

  In fact, so absorbed was he by sharp pangs of grief, that he didn’t notice the way his mother’s expression grew more and more animated, the further along in the letter she read. The way her smile grew wide, never a good sign in his experience. If he had, he might’ve stopped her in time. Somehow talked her out of whatever it was she’d been planning. He didn’t see it, however. Completely unaware.

  And so was entirely unprepared when his mother actually listened to the voices in her head. The very same she’d been avoiding all this time. Thinking herself either crazy or insane.

  She had been off of her medications for quite some time now. She’d thought it plausible they were merely an unlisted side effect.

  Not so, according to this unprofessionally worded letter. Still, poor conduct aside, she couldn’t say she was entirely displeased by this “Watcher.” Not that she thought anyone peeping on her unannounced was at all appropriate. Finally giving into temptation, Hellen unscrewed the top of her mysterious mason jar, and unleashed the imperial level curse that’d been brewing in there for nearly two straight weeks.

  And, although her Caleb, such a good boy, begged her to make it stop—eventually brought to his knees, tears streaming down his face like they used to when he’d come running to her with a fresh boo boo—their screams were loud and terrible. Their death’s long in coming. She knew best where such matters were concerned. It was their own fault. They’d gotten too uppity for their own good.

  Hellen grinned as the others choked and writhed on their own boiling blood. Served them right for looking down on her boy.

  +++

  Budi Kogoya – [Hard Mode Tutorial]

  Branches creak and groan within the dark and eerie forest. Gnarled things, like grasping fingers, they stretch and intertwine. Interlock to form a confused, nigh impenetrable canopy. The occasional beam of moonlight managing to penetrate this cultivated gloom. Shedding light on thorny brambles and creeping, ever-present mists. Illuminating the low cloud cover with a sickening red radiance. The sanguine runoff which oozed from the bloated, blood-red moon, hanging high up in the perpetual night sky.

  More groans resound throughout the dreadful forest, though these were by no means a natural phenomenon. They were accompanied by the shuffling of feet, of several in fact. By the crunch of dry leaves and the snap of fallen branches. Abruptly, several silhouettes could be seen parting the blood red mists. Lurching forward with shuffling, noticeably awkward gaits. Arms hanging limp at their sides, legs digging deep furrows through the earthen terrain. At a glance, they looked human. Well, human enough. Although, even without an unobstructed view, it didn’t take long for one to realize that they were nothing of the sort.

  An instinct, so deep seeded and primal, as to have been forgotten entirely—buried beneath years of progress and prosperity—clawing it’s way up from the depths of antiquity. Every fiber of one’s being screaming at the sheer wrongness on display. At the clear subversion of the natural order.

  +—|-Undead Squire-|—+

  ?[Lvl 19]?

  +—|-Undead Archer-|—+

  ?[Lvl 33]?

  +—|-Undead Knight-|—+

  ?[Lvl 45]?

  Out from the mist shrouded gloom of the twisted tree line, an army of the undead emerge. Easily numbering ten thousand strong. Dressed such that—but for their sickly green pallor, cloudy eyes, and lightly peeling skin—they wouldn’t have looked all that out of place at a renfaire, the un-living horde shuffled ever onward. Pointed unerringly towards a small, poorly assembled stockade. Surrounding it on all sides, they converged like an oncoming tide.

  And, as they neared, they also began to change.

  The lethargy in their limbs growing less pronounced. Stiffness transitioning into fluidity with barely a break in between. Slack faces became animated once more.

  Close proximity to their sweetly smelling prey bringing new life to the undead in a major way. Their loose formations tightening up. Their listless officers groaning orders, which were then quickly obeyed. Discipline reintroduced into the rank and file, multiplying the threat they posed severalfold. Suddenly from atop his skeletal horse, a lvl 50 undead lord raises his chipped and rusted broadsword high, it’s bone chilling groan reaching across the entirety of the mist laden valley.

  There comes a moment of perfect stillness

  Then, with a striking air of finality, the undead lord lets his sword drop, initiating the charge. The tide of rotting bodies converge on the pitiful fortifications all at once. Looking to sweep over the three meter tall walls, to get at the succulent flesh within. A victorious war cry torn from the throats of all in sundry.

  Right before the six dozen automated crossbow turrets poke their heads above the parapet, and begin to mow down the undead army like a farmer reaps his field.

  Meanwhile, as the undead army is busy being massacred, within the lousy manmade fortifications, inside of a rundown wooden shack barely fit for human habitation, Budi Kogoya reclines atop a deluxe queen-sized mattress. The twenty-five year old utterly oblivious to the war still raging on the outside.

  Far too engrossed in playing games on his phone to care.

  Both the presence of the phone, and the extremely high end mattress, utterly incongruous with the dirt floor, rickety walls, and that whole apocalypse thing that was supposed to be going on.

  Budi yawns so wide his jaw pops.

  A distant impact causing his hut to shudder and quake ominously, dust raining down from above. Budi freezes, considers whether it’d be worth getting out from beneath his warm covers to see what that was all about, then shrugs.

  “Nah! I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. Probably.”

  Another massive yawn takes his facial muscles for a joyride.

  “Oh, man. I really need to stop pulling all nighters. That last ten pull though… Three fives stars, zero pity, on a free to play, like, that just doesn’t happen. Oh, Bakti would be so jelly.”

  Grinning to himself, if with a shade of melancholy at being separated from his old friend for so long, Budi was just about to roll over and take a well deserved nap, when he remembered something.

  “Oh snap!” he snatched up his phone. “I almost forgot!”

  Swiping until he’d found what he was looking for—the mysterious app that’d randomly appeared on his phone after everything had gone sideways—Budi tapped on the “Imperial Daily Lottery Distribution System,” and promptly claimed his daily log in reward, grinning at the pretty sizable bonus he received for keeping up a fourteen day streak.

  Suddenly, in the far corner of his shed, what he’d designated the “loot corner” a deluge of shiny gear, weapons, and consumables appeared from out of thin air, until near half the shed was unnavigable due to all the sparkling objects. His task done for the day, Budi flopped back onto his soft, goose down bedding, utterly exhausted.

  Resolving himself to sort through the loot pile tomorrow, Budi had one final thought before drifting off to blissful oblivion.

  Would be cool if it gave me more of those defense turrets next time… least those are some times useful. Seriously, what am I supposed to do with fifty different kinds of legendary helmet?

  By the time Richard’s bombshell of a letter finally reached him, Budi was already fast asleep.