CHAPTER 10

  Campfire

  Bash stood, looming over the surrendered bandit. “Now, you’re going to tell us why the hell you’re running a toll scam with a bunch of bots.”

  The man coughed and shook his head weakly. “I. I didn’t have a choice. It’s in the contract. Bandit duty. If I didn’t play along, I would have gotten punished.” The man continued, his voice was hoarse but steady. “Maximus runs this shard. He decides who we are, what we do. Refuse, and you don’t respawn. You just stop.”

  Bash’s stomach twisted. Scripted NPCs were code, but this was an Upload. Some random guy forced to play a role for some billionaire’s entertainment.

  He crouched lower, brass knuckles still dripping red. “And you’re telling me you’re stuck doing this forever? Bandit ambush after bandit ambush?”

  The man nodded, tears streaking dirt down his face. “Until a player says otherwise. Or until someone kills me for good.”

  Bash straightened, staring into the tree line. His thoughts felt jagged, sharp. This wasn’t just a game. This was hell wearing a quest marker.

  He looked back down at the man. “Well, good news, friend. Because I’m sorta technically a player... maybe. And I say you don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

  The man’s vision went distant, eyes unfocusing as he observed something no one else could see. Bash recognized that look. He had probably appeared precisely the same way hundreds of times himself when he read system messages or scanned his menu.

  Then the man blinked several times, eyes refocusing. He met Bash’s eyes for a moment before lowering his head to the ground in a subservient bow. “Thank you... I, uh... my name is Luis. At your service, se?or... I mean, sir.”

  Bash just watched the man for a full five seconds, processing. This blood-covered person, exhausted, freshly freed from a nightmare, was calling him sir. Calling Bash, who was currently painted head-to-toe in gore and intestinal evidence, sir.

  The absurdity hit him all at once. Bash burst out laughing, the sound cutting through the aftermath of slaughter like a cleansing fire. The nausea and horror that had been churning in his gut evaporated, replaced by the purest, most ridiculous joy he’d felt in days.

  Luis’ face twisted up in confusion as he looked to Patrick for help. Patrick just shrugged, offering Luis a hand to stand.

  “Oh my god,” Bash wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes and leaving more blood streaks. “My mom would be so proud. Someone called me, sir. Holy shit…” He held up a hand, composing himself. “Please. Please don’t ever call me that again, dude. Just... Bash. Call me Bash.” He threw his blood-and-gore-covered hand forward to offer a shake.

  Luis looked at the offered hand, wide-eyed, then clasped it. “Okay… Bash.”

  Bash shook it with enthusiasm that sent droplets of blood flying. “Great! You’re gonna fit right in with our little murder hobo party.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “We should move before the smell attracts predators.”

  “Right, right.” Bash released Luis’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder, causing Luis to nearly topple over. “Whoops. Sorry. You good?”

  “Sí, sí,” Luis steadied himself. “Just... give me a minute to realize I’m not dead.”

  “Take all the minutes you need, buddy, just know it counts towards your lunch break,” Bash said, then turned to Patrick. “So, uh, really quick before we go...” Bash started backing toward the nearest corpse. “Should we loot the bodies? Or is that weird? I feel like that might be weird.”

  Patrick gave him a flat look before shaking his head and walking away.

  Well, he didn't say no, did he? Bash wandered through the carnage, making a show of examining weapons. A leather purse caught his eye, peeking out from under one of the bodies. Casually checking over his shoulder, Bash saw Patrick helping Luis with something. Both of them had their backs turned to him.

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  Looking back down, he reached out and quickly snatched the coin purse, stuffing it into his belt in one smooth motion. Turning, he tried to play it cool.

  “Find anything interesting?” Patrick stood watching him, arms crossed.

  Bash froze, unable to hide the guilty look. He pulled the purse out and held it up. “It’s a trap... disguised as money. Very sophisticated. I confiscated it for everyone's safety.”

  Patrick's expression didn't change.

  Bash sighed, letting the purse drop from his hand. “Fine. Whatever. Nothing worth taking anyway.”

  They moved off the road and into the trees, putting distance between themselves and the dead. The light was fading by the time they found a clearing that Patrick was happy with. Something about decent sightlines. Bash couldn't tell the difference between this one and the last three they'd passed up.

  Shrugging, Bash dropped his bag and wandered off to collect firewood. “So what were you doing before all this?” he called back at Luis. “Before the Shard?”

  Luis was crouched, putting together a ring of stone, and trying to start a fire. He didn't look up from the kindling as he spoke. “In México, I worked on my family's farm. After taxes and the cartel, nothing was ever left...”

  Bash grabbed a branch, half-listening. At the far side of the clearing, Patrick was stringing something between trees. Looked like an art project with cans and twine. No, wait. Perimeter alarm. Smart guy.

  “...tried to resist once.” Luis's voice drifted across the clearing. “All it did was get my family hurt…”

  Bash picked a dead tree limb off the ground, adding it to his growing collection.

  “...so when the Company came with their promises, new life, money for my family...” Luis laughed, short and bitter. “I was stupid enough to believe them.” The kindling finally caught, and Luis fed it carefully, his face lit orange.

  Bash dropped his armload of wood near the makeshift fire pit and sat on a fallen log. “Hell of a recruitment program. Sign here, lose your soul, not even a decent starter pack.”

  Luis looked up, meeting Bash's eyes across the growing fire. “You always joke like that? Even about the dark shit?”

  “Especially the dark shit.” Bash grinned.

  Luis almost smiled back before his face fell again. “Wasn't just me, you know. A bunch of people were in the same holding facility. One of them was this Japanese kid. Fifteen, maybe. Sold by his own parents for drug money.” He shook his head at the memory.

  Patrick returned from his perimeter work and stood near the fire. For a while, the only sounds were crackling wood and night insects waking up.

  Luis stared into the flames. “Can you help us? The others, I mean. Maybe talk to the admins, pull some strings? Get Maximus banned?”

  The ridiculous hope that filled those words gave Bash pause, so he decided to give an honest answer. “No. Best case scenario, I end up in some blooper reel.”

  Luis stared at him, then the corner of his mouth pulled down. “Mierda. So we’re all fucked.”

  “Completely.” Bash ticked off, fingers the words coming out more easily than they should. “Alphabetically, biblically, and homicidally, given today's body count.”

  Patrick groaned from across the fire. “Only you would make jokes about murder at a campfire.”

  Bash knew Patrick was probably right, but turning death into a bit was all he had left. “Correction. Excellent jokes about murder.” Bash gestured expansively. “Tears? Wrong channel. Philosophy? Subscription expired.”

  Luis snorted. “You're insane you know that? You killed nine bandits and made friends with a tenth on the same day.”

  “That isn’t friendship.” Bash quipped. “That's Stockholm syndrome with a side quest.”

  Luis blinked for a moment before he started to lose it. A slow, small sound at first, but it grew. The kind of laughter wrought from exhaustion and relief and the sheer absurdity of being alive when you shouldn't be.

  Bash joined in, a beat late and a note wrong, cracking up at Luis's reaction and the whole ridiculous situation. Two men covered in blood, sitting around a fire in a digital hell, sharing jokes about their mutual doom.

  Patrick scoffed. “Great. Now there are two of them.”

  That set them off again. Luis wiped his eyes. “Dos idiotas.” The laughter faded, taking the tension with it. In its place was a closeness that formed when two people saw the worst of each other, and stuck around anyway.

  Luis poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers shift. “So what now?”

  Bash was quiet for a moment, the humor draining from his face. “Hell if I know. Grind some more quests, maybe take a crack at lord Maxi.”

  “That’s suicide,” Luis said, eyes going wide.

  “Probably,” Bash agreed. “But I’m pretty good at not dying when I’m supposed to.”

  Luis nodded slowly. “If you need help... I mean, I'm not much. All I did was surrender to a blood-crazed lunatic.”

  “And lived,” Bash said with a grin. “Best decision you ever made.”

  Luis smiled despite himself. “Probably.”

  For a few minutes, they just sat in comfortable silence. The fire was burning lower now, coals glowing soft red in the growing darkness.

  “We should set watches,” Patrick said, interrupting the peace. “I'll take first.”

  “Second,” Luis offered.

  “Third.” Bash lay back, using his pack as a pillow. “Wake me if anything happens. Or doesn't. I'm flexible.”

  Luis stretched out near the fire. Patrick settled into position, spear across his knees.

  Bash stared up at the stars. Fake stars, probably. Code pretending to be light.

  “Hey, Luis?” he said quietly. “That kid. The Japanese one. Do you remember his name?”

  There was a pause. “Kai, I think. Hard to remember. So many faces in that place.”

  Bash kept his eyes on the stars. “Cool. So if we ever stumble into whatever hellhole Shard he's in, we'll know what to yell.”

  Luis was quiet for a moment. “You're really serious about this. Saving people.”

  “Someone's got to break this system.” Bash closed his eyes. “Might as well be the one who's already broken.”