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Chapter Eighty-Five: Overdraft

  The air in Hiro’s fallout shelter was thick, suffocating—a mix of sweat, dog, and the unmistakable stench of his own bodily functions. His head throbbed, remnants of {Terminal Lucidity} still echoing behind his eyes. How long had he been passed out? Impossible to say.

  He rubbed his face with his good hand as the weight of the Doom System’s last message pressed down on him.

  Is this not punishment enough? He wanted to ask, but then he remembered his revelation, that the system could be broken and he just needed to reach that point. Or die trying, he thought grimly.

  Bianca poked him with a tentacle. “Hello? Earth to Big Bro. As much as I love vibing in your porta-potty of a fallout shelter, maybe we visit a department store in the past and get you some designer jeans? Distressed, preferably. Also, FYI, I am so glad I can’t smell. What a disaster zone. It’s worse than bathroom-area at Coachella.”

  Hiro clenched his eyes shut, waiting for the pulsing in his skull to fade. “We can’t take something from the past and bring it here. I was told in the First Interim that wouldn’t be possible.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Have I lied to you yet?”

  “What do you think would happen if we tried?”

  “I don’t know, but Mishka resets, remember? It would be a waste of the three minutes.”

  “But it would be fun to shop with you,” Bianca said. “I can totally see us doing a full glow-up. I’m talking straight-up main character energy.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I know, I know, you’re not the main character. Duh. I was just kidding. Well, sort of. We could both use a glow-up. Ugh. You look like hell and I’m a fat pink shield covered in fur like some sort of overstuffed labradoodle.” She showed him her rear. “Too fat to even twerk.”

  Hiro smirked despite himself. “We’ll check some of the higher apartments around here. There’s bound to be clothes.”

  “So basically, you’re gonna be building-hopping in shitstained pants until we find something?”

  “Pretty much. Then I’ll touch base with Ben and head after the next Revenant.”

  “What about Val and Sam?”

  “I need Soul Cash to buy the ability to call them. No, no. Until I have funds, we’re on our own, unless we contact Ben.” Hiro exhaled and stood up, pulling his waistband higher, trying not to think about the deeply unpleasant sensation in his underwear. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  ###

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The apartment they eventually came to was untouched—a pre-Doom luxury unit frozen in time with marble countertops, polished hardwood floors, and avant garde furniture with more angles than a geometry textbook. Every surface was immaculate, as if waiting for its owner to return. Even the air smelled different—stale but clean, untouched by the rot of the world below.

  Hiro started with the kitchen, prying open the fridge only to find it full of expired goods, a stale reminder of the world before. The pantry, however, was neatly stocked—cans of food lined up like a supermarket display, untouched by looters. No busted-down doors, no makeshift barricades, not even a single biblical passage scrawled in red paint. It was as if the cleaning service had been by just the other day. He cracked open a can of baked beans, wolfed it down, and set another on the counter for later before making his way to the bedroom.

  “Check it,” Bianca said as he entered the room. “The bed is still made.” She started using her tentacles to jump on the bed, a sight that would have brought a smile to his face had he not been on a mission.

  Hiro stepped into a walk-closet, one full of clothing, untouched and pristine. He rummaged through the drawers, tossing aside silk ties, overpriced cologne, and a Rolex that now held all the value of a paperweight. Eventually, he settled on a dark Under Armour hoodie that he had to adjust over his bear arm, a pair of jeans that actually fit, and some slip-on Nikes that weren’t falling apart. Small luxuries in the apocalypse, but luxuries nonetheless.

  For the first time in hours, he felt almost normal. Then, his phone buzzed. The brief sense of relief vanished as Hiro scanned the message.

  “No…” His stomach dropped. “No, no, no…”

  Hiro read the message again, hoping he had misunderstood. He hadn’t. A cold weight settled in his chest, a familiar, gnawing dread.

  “What’s going on?” Bianca asked.

  He read the message to her: “The Doom System has executed a pending transaction. Your current Soul Cash balance is -863. You will soon accrue your first overdraft fee. At -1000 Soul Cash, you will lose a stat point at random.”

  “Yoooo…” Bianca dragged out the syllable. “That’s messed up.”

  From the open balcony door, they heard Hachi barking below, his growl sharp with irritation.

  “Looks like he’s pissed too,” Bianca said as she turned toward the balcony. “Royally to be barking that loud. I’ll check on him.”

  “What the hell?” Hiro tapped his screen like that would somehow fix it. He was just about to ask his Companion more about the negative balance when Bianca called out to him.

  “Hiro!” Bianca interrupted, her voice unusually serious.

  That was the first warning. Bianca rarely used his actual name. He rushed to the living room and to the balcony from there.

  There, standing perfectly still in the middle of the street below, was a Hunter dressed in crisp, navy-blue attire. But it was the glass dome over its head that stood out. Not far from the Hunter, Hachi barked furiously, his fur bristling.

  A new marker appeared above the Hunter’s head.

  +2000 Soul Cash

  “A bounty reward,” Hiro told Bianca. “Two K.”

  “And you’re nearly a thousand in debt. It’s like… well, I don’t want to say the Doom System is looking out for you, but Bubblegum Man definitely wasn’t down there before. Or was he?”

  A new prompt came:

  Overdraft fee, -25 Soul Cash!

  You're in debt!

  Hiro checked his status to see his balance now sat at -888 Soul Cash. “It took money from me,” he said, panic rising in his chest.

  “When?”

  “Just now. Overdraft fee.”

  “Damn! Not even Wells Fargo would pull something this shady. Well?”

  “Come one,” he said as he extended his arm to Bianca. Once she was secure on his back, he vaulted over the balcony railing and landed in the streets near Hachi, who barked louder, his body low, muscles tense.

  The Bubblegum Man stood unnaturally still before them, dressed like a department store mannequin that had just stepped off a display shelf. But its head… its head churned, gumballs tumbling over each other in a grotesque, ceaseless swirl of red, white, and blue. The crank atop its dome rotated methodically, a machine calculating something unseen.

  Then it clicked and the crank stopped.

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