(Elf Ruins – Occupation: LIT/ The Trapline Army)(Zero)

  THE NEXT DAY

  Amos regained consciousness a few hours after they made camp outside the northern gate of Westpoint. After their evening meal, they filled him in about their encounter with Javoo, after which Amos remained silent for several moments, staring into their campfire. He apologized for being unable to join in the fight – an apology that Zero and Cazel outright refused to accept – before going to bed.

  The following morning, the three packed up camp and set out. Other than their conversation the night before – and a few scrapes with some mid-tier monsters that the three easily dispatched – the first leg of their journey northward was uneventful. Zero’s left arm, now resting in a sling hung around his neck, restricted him to one-handed weapons like his dagger. That same arm still throbbed with pain, no matter how many times he tried to heal it.

  A few miles northeast of Westpoint, the landscape began to change. The southern desert gave way to a dry, hilly area known as the Mining Plains, a region whose environment acts as a transitory zone between the desert and the grasslands of the north. Further northeast, towards the Elf Ruins, waits a dark and heavily-wooded forest that extends far to the north, where it borders the live volcano of Mount Tatter.

  The three walk in single file, Zero in the lead and Cazel trailing behind. Zero hasn’t been as talkative as he usually is, leaving Amoz and Cazel to banter away the hours of walking. Zero can’t shake the fresh dread the Dulmans offered as a dark lining to their glowing cloud of mercy. If they were that concerned about the death bug, why shouldn’t all of WAL be just as preoccupied? Was it denial? Arrogance? Distrust of the devs? Maybe it was a combination of all three.

  As the three reach the top of a hill covered in yellow scrub-grass, Cazel brushes past Amos and smacks Zero on the belly. “You’re brooding. Save that energy for training syndesis. If death is real, like they say, let's just be thankful the Dulmans let us go.” A warm breeze rolls over the crest of the hill, dusting up the pale scent of pollen from the thistles and lavender poking out of the golden grass.

  Amos leaps over the root of a bush before chiming in. “I can’t think of a reason they’d just let us go like that. They doxxed us, for fuck’s sake!” Amos points at the other two. “If things went down like you two said they did, the Dulmans must have an ulterior motive. Think about it, they’re a small clan. If they push us into the west and restrict themselves to the east, they lose out on tons of important quests and items. Why would they do that to themselves?”

  “Maybe they’re afraid of us,” Cazel posits, picking a thistle flower from nearby and examining its tiny petals. “I don’t trust them either, but they could have killed us, and they didn’t.” Cazel flicks the flower away before dashing to the apex of the hill and turning back to face the others. He grabs a fistful of grass and throws it in the air like confetti. “We came so close to death, but we escaped! Shouldn’t we celebrate that?” Zero attempts to open his mouth, but Cazel stops him. He waves his arms in an X. “Naysaying is the bane of joy.”

  Amos chuckles. “I suppose we should count our blessings. At least things feel somewhat like they’re back to normal, all things considered.”

  Cazel sighs. “You two don’t get it, do you? Everything is different. We’re different! They’ll fix this death bug eventually, but in the meantime, if we kill someone, I’m sure they’ll come back, but they might not come back for years. The player data can’t be as irrecoverable as they say it is. I mean, aren’t there backups? I think I read that somewhere in the Term of Use Agreement.”

  Amos and Zero serve Cazel the same blank stare. “You actually read it? Like, the whole thing?” Zero asks.

  Cazel nods. “Yeah, didn’t you guys?”

  Zero and Amos exchange a glance. Another gust of wind rustles the scrub on the hill. A grasshopper jumps onto Amos’s arm and he brushes it off. “It’s like 4,000 pages, man. I had an AI summarize it for me,” Zero admits.

  Amos shrugs. “I never read it.”

  Cazel squints, his mouth hanging open. “Are you guys insane? You’ve been uploading yourselves into this game for years and neither of you bothered to read the Terms of Use?”

  Zero pipes up. “Nobody reads that shit, man! We’re not fucking lawyers.” Amos nods.

  “Didn’t you guys watch the Cent-iPad episode of South Park?” The other two shake their heads. “Whatever, you do you. In any case, I think we should embrace these higher stakes. With so many players just moping around, the only ones who make it to the end of the tournament will be the ones who weren’t phased by the death bug!”

  Zero places the hand of his good arm on Cazel’s shoulder, squeezing it gently to calm him, while considering the arrowheads still protruding from his shoulder blade. “Cazel, relax, man. The Dulman thing just… threw me off. Normally it’d be easier to interpret their motives, but with the game in the state its in, everything’s in flux. Let’s not lose our heads. We can figure things out once we meet up with Christ and Xander.”

  Cazel sighs once again. “Right… Well, I hope we find them soon. It's getting dark.”

  The three descend the hill to find themselves at the border of the forest that stands between them and the Elf Ruins. They trudge through the trees for several hours, passing glades and clearings occupied by camping groups of players. Smaller clans – as well as squads from larger ones – often camp in such areas for weeks, collecting items and gaining experience. For this reason, Christ and Xander rushed to this area as soon as the tournament began. As the trio continues searching, they check their bearings often, making sure they are moving in the direction of the Elf Ruins.

  At the top of a hill crowded with trees, near the edge of the ruins, Zero gestures to his friends to look below. From this vantage point, they can see most of the Elf Camp, a shanty city erected from timber and ancient stone. “Let’s wait here like Christ told us, remember? I’ll message him to say we’re positioned southwest of the city on a hill.” Opening his interface, Zero types out a message. Seconds after he sends it, a reply from Christ appears. “Looks like they're coming to us.”

  “Two weeks in and we’re just now meeting up with more of the clan,” Amos muses.

  “We’ve had to grind more than we usually do during tournaments. Things aren’t exactly like they should be,” Zero points out.

  Cazel brushes off a fallen log before sitting down on it. “True, and it’s not like we have the levels to make teleport scrolls or use the cities’ obelisks yet.”

  Zero takes a seat on the log next to Cazel and puts his arm around him. “Once we travel enough, we'll gain access. That, or we’ll kill a player for their scrolls.”

  Cazel shakes his head. “That’s not happening.”

  Amos turns to his friends. “As long as we stick with our team, we can convince someone like Christ to get us scrolls.”

  Zero chuckles. “You think he’ll just give them to us?”

  A black-robed figure appears behind Amos’s back. Zero and Cazel stand, their hands reaching for their weapons.

  “Christ is-” a hand grabs Amos’s shoulder.

  “I’m what, lil’ bro?” The black-robed figure pulls back his hood, revealing a pale-skinned face framed by wispy blonde hair and a trimmed moustache, a sadistic look strung across its mouth.

  Amos’s face turns pale, “Hu…”

  Zero and Cazel lower their guard. “You got here fast,” Zero says.

  From behind Christ, a brown-skinned figure walks out of the brush, a think Floridian accent punctuating his speech. “Our camp wasn’t too far from here. Ya just happen to have come by the shore area,” Xander says.

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  “Nice to see you again, Brian,” Cazel says.

  Xander sighs. “I told ya, if ya call me that again – ”

  Cazel waves Xander off. “Yeah, yeah, you'll drown my favorite dog.”

  Christ snaps at the other four. “Shut up! Amos was about to say something nice about me. Come on, Amos.” Christ moves in closer to Amos's ear. “Tick-tock.”

  Amos's bottom jaw begins to shudder. “You…you?”

  Christ’s smile widens even more, stretching from ear to ear. “I'm? I'm?”

  “…an asshole,” Amos answers.

  Christ slaps Amos, sending him to the ground. His head hits a rock and he goes limp. “Right answer!” Christ begins to laugh. “I missed you, lil’ bro!” Christ’s laughter dies down once he realizes he smacked Amos a little too hard. “Lil’ bro?” Christ gently nudges Amos with his foot, and then kneels down to confirm he’s still breathing.

  Xander sighs. “You can’t be that rough on the kid, Christ.”

  Zero, chuckling, makes his way over to Christ. “How else is Amos supposed to toughen up?” Reaching his hand out, he smiles. “Am I right, Christ?” Despite frowning at Amos – who remained either out cold or else playing dead to avoid Christ’s fury – Zero continued distracting Christ while longer, for Amos’s sake.

  Christ’s expression hardens. “Lose the grin, asshole.” Christ picks up Amos, heaving his body over his shoulder, before turning back toward where they came from.

  Zero keeps grinning. “Where’s the mirth, Christ?” Zero could never understand why Christ treats most people the way he does, let alone why he expressed such blatant favoritism when it came to Amos and Zero. Not that it matters, Zero thinks; one day he’ll change Christ with that grin.

  At Xander and Christ’s camp, the five gather around the fire while Cazel sets up a tent. Amos splashes water on his face on the spot where Christ slapped him. Zero reaches back to throw another log into the flames. Christ rubs Amos’s back, and Xander stretches before sitting down across from Zero. The group’s conversation quickly came to what happened at Westpoint.

  “I see…” Xander says. “Not only didn’t they kill you…they let you go. Back when we were being doxxed, I was surprised at the number of death threats my family got. In the leaked group chats, they seemed to want us all dead.”

  “Yeah, makes no sense, does it?” Cazel adds. “Remember, Vodka was affected the most after being SWATted.”

  Christ crosses his arms. “Well, Vodka is the most famous out of all of us.” He shuts his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Next would be…Smokey, but he's a ‘hit-or-miss’ type of person. Maybe they weren’t interested in any smaller fish.”

  Amos sends a dagger at Christ with one eye, as he rubs the other with chamomile cream. “Gee, thanks…”

  Christ cracks a smile before turning back to the others. “I wouldn’t mind stopping by the Dulmans’ place for a cup of coffee and a pleasant chat, but I think we’re well past that. Whatever their reason for letting you go, don’t ignore the past and don’t underestimate them.”

  Cazel shakes his head. “We’re not going to try and kill them for revenge, let alone risk our own lives to do it.”

  “It’s not about revenge, Cazel,” Xander says while stirring the fire. As the flames paint his face, he speaks to the group. “You all are my brothers, and we are responsible for one another. The Dulman clan has played us for fools many times now, and I don’t want that to happen again when our lives are at risk.”

  Zero butts in. “He’s right, Cazel. Letting us go was out of character for them. At this point it’s difficult to guess their next move, which may be exactly what they wanted. It’s either us or them.”

  Cazel sighs, rubbing his forehead. He picks up a twig and lights it in the fire, watching the flames crawl down the twig towards his fingers, before flicking the thin stick into the firepit. “Alright… say we kill them. You know what happens next?” Cazel grinds his teeth. “First, RoT will declare war on The Trapline Army. That will cause LIT to declare war on both The Trapline Army and The Fools.” An owl hoots. Cazel jolts, scanning the camp’s perimeter with frantic eyes. “As much as we hate the Dulmans, they have status and influence with multiple clans. The diplomatic ramifications of killing them would be… ever hear of World War I? LIT may be our allies right now, and we may have influence in RoT right now, but our word means nothing the moment the other clans see a chance to fill a power vacuum, or a chance to avenge the Dulmans, or a chance to place a bounty on the ones who killed the Dulmans. We don’t need the heat.”

  Xander nods his head. “You're right Cazel, but you're still ignoring the point.”

  Cazel stands. “Too many people will die!”

  Xander, jumps to his feet, nearly butting noses with Cazel. “What counts as ‘too many,’ in your mind, exactly? If we don’t act first, we could be killed, and any plans we have of saving anyone else will be worthless!”

  Amos steps in and separates the two.

  Xander retracts himself by laying back on the log. “Look around you, Cazel. We’re brothers, and we look after our own. I’ll be damned if I don’t get you all home safe, whatever it takes.”

  Cazel again scans the camp, this time making eye-contact with the rest of the group, one by one. There was no need to call for a vote; reading their faces was enough. “Zero? Amos? Christ…”

  Zero and Amos both drop their gaze.

  “It’s decided,” Xander says. He begins doodling in the dirt with a stick. “We’ll continue our training for two more days, and then attack. They’ll have prepared for an ambush, so we’ll have to hit them hard and fast.”

  Cazel shakes his head. “I'm going to bed; I need some sleep after this bullshit.” He heads into his tent and closes its flap.

  Amos chimes in. “Two days? We need to grind longer than that.” Amos nudges Christ in the side. “Also, you need to get the Infinite Flail.”

  Christ holds out his hand. A one-handed flail with an ornate silver handle appears in his palm, its spiked ball dangling on a chain about a foot long. The weapon, wreathed in a pale phosphorescent glow, seems almost as if it’s absorbing the moonlight. “A one out of five-thousand chance, on the drop table. I got it in under six hundred kills.”

  Amos’s scoffs. “Spoon fed…” Christ grumbles.

  “Spooned, for sure,” Zero says, “but that solves our Robby problem.” Zero summons his steel warhammer. Cuts, pits, scratches, and a myriad of more exotic scars decorate the once-pristine weapon. Zero plants the warhammer in the dirt and rolls its handle. The head of the weapon spins, steel blazing in the firelight as if being reforged. “I'm still at a disadvantage with this thing until I can get a brazer warhammer. I'm not imbuing a steel one like this, not when it looks like a railroad hammer with thirty years of abuse after I’ve only used it a few times.”

  “I think we’ll be fine as long as Christ handles Robby and you or Christ handle Zap,” Amos says. “My curse is nearly useless against Zap’s Negate-Blur curse, so I can’t attack him.” The Negate-Blur curse distorts sharp objects or attacks, with a slight chance of still hitting the user. Blunt weapons and spells are still effective. The drawback is that the user's vision becomes blurry when blades or arrows are within three feet of their body.

  “Give me ten seconds with Robby, and then I’ll be on Zap in no time.” Christ gets up and stretches his neck and shoulders, tiny pockets of air escaping from the cartilage of his joints with soft crackling noises.

  Xander gestures in the direction of the other three. “You guys should get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

  Amos yawns. “Sure thing, brother. I'm beat. Goodnight.”

  “Yeah, goodnight… brother.” Zero waves off his clan. Moments later, he lays his head on the pillow provided by Xander, though he finds he can’t manage to sleep. Two hours pass before Zero drifts off.

  A few minutes later, Zero jolts awake. His breathing feels forced, as if someone stuck the key for a wind-up toy in his back and was now turning it. At the same time, his mind fell into state of dread, like a wanderer strayed into a cloud of black flies. He shakes off the stillborn nightmare – or whatever it was – with some difficulty, before peeking through the flap of his tent. Xander sits next to the embers of the fire, working to craft something out of what looks like a bolt of cloth. Zero opens his tent and crawls out to get a better look.

  Xander, unfazed, pauses what he’s doing and turns to Zero. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Zero stands and adjusts his boots. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “During the Arabian war in ‘06, I was on watch a lot. After a while, you could tell who was awake and who was asleep.”

  Zero sits across from Xander. “Must’ve been tough getting drafted so young.”

  Xander shakes his head. “I wasn’t drafted. I sold my soul.”

  Zero lifts his head, his eyes narrowing. “I thought you said you were… ah, never mind.”

  Xander chuckles. “Last time we talked about this, I did say most of the boys from my high school got drafted, but that was way later in the war. I joined in ’05. The draft wasn’t until two years later.”

  Zero nods absently, his mind still preoccupied with the bolt of cloth in Xander’s hands. His chest still feels a bit off, like that wind-up key is still turning, just more slowly. “What are you crafting?”

  Xander’s eyes widen as he lifts up the cloth in his hands. “I’ve been making us our capes, matching of course. Once we engage the Dulmans, we’ll need a good way of telling who’s who. Perception levels slower than strength.” Xander lowers his hands back to his knees. “It’s a custom item, so it’ll take a bit longer. When they’re done, each one will have W-A-L embroidered on the back, at about shoulder height.”

  Zero laughs. “You’d make a great wife.”

  Xander joins in the laughter as well. “That's what my wife would say…” As quickly as his smile came, it left. “My wife and kids…” He locks eyes with Zero. “I hope this ends soon.”

  “Right… me too,” Zero nods. He breaks eye contact and gazes up at the stars. The tightness in his chest fades and he takes a deep breath. Too often, this world makes it hard just to breathe.