《Darkest Wells Online》 Chapter 1 After seven months of being trapped inside the virtual world of Darkest Wells Online, user Beam Psykko has remained in the safety of the tutorial. Beam''s calloused knuckles throb as his arm blurs through the air, striking the massive stone slab in the grass with all the force he can muster. He imagines the rest of the players who moved on fighting impossible odds to beat the game and go home, but there is no way to know unless he takes the plunge into one of the wells leading to the main game, set in a subterranean hellscape. But in a situation where dying in the game kills your body in real life, the risk is too intimidating. Better ignored. Better to stay here, and train his avatar to the limit of its power. With each hit, he can feel himself change as another sliver of strength is fused into his body. "Whoever..." The new energy flows into his punches, quicker with each strike. "Added pain receptors to this game..." His arms are moving too quickly for even him to follow. "Is an asshole!" He musters everything he can into a final blow. The dust irritates his eyes, and pebbles and fragments scratch at him as they fly past. "Nine hundred and thirteen." He holds up one hand and surveys the damage. His gaze follows the ebb and flow of the cracks in his bleeding knuckles, like streams of water running through broken ground. By the time his stamina has recovered, a new slab has already spawned in and replaced the rubble. He checks his menu again, but nothing has changed. Tutorial Zones block access to seeing stats or levels, so he has no idea how much experience he has actually gained. The only clue lies in how quickly he can destroy these stone slabs. Again. And again. Because the sun never sets, and his avatar never needs sleep, he never stops training. But in a boring, lonely world with no danger or other people, Beam keeps finding himself stopping to stare into the many wells spread across the Surface World Zone. According to the information in the pop-up menu, each one leads to a different biome in the main game. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The only way to know where one leads is to take the plunge. He can''t stay here forever, as badly as he wishes. Every day he spends in this world, more time passes with his body hooked to the game, on some hospital bed. How long would his family be able to pay for him to live like this? As he punches the stone slabs and paints them red, the thoughts refuse to leave. He wonders if survival is even worth hoping for. Either he dies in the game fighting, and his brain is cooked in his skull, or eventually he will be dumped from the hospital into some home. If the money runs out, it doesn''t matter how hard he can punch a rock in a video game. When the fear, stress and loneliness are too much to bear, he finds only one thing can empty his mind; long, painful sprints where he can push himself to the limit. At first his feet glitch and wade through the ground like molasses, but as the momentum picks up his metal boots move along so quickly that he feels he might be floating above the grass. Everything here is the same sunny green plains, and the mountains always lurk on the horizon. He knows they are only an image wrapped around his world; a wallpaper. But they still make him feel small and insignificant. What about when I leave? By now anyone still alive must be wearing the best equipment in the game, and compared to his day one default shorts and T-shirt, they would also feel like an unapproachable mountain. As Beam runs, an ear-shattering screech puts him to a complete stop. Enemies aren''t able to spawn here, what''s going on? Clouds gather in the sky, crackling with thunder and lightning in the distance. For the first time, Beam watches as the sun begins to set. The sky crackles with pixelated lightning. "Player... name." The voice is distorted and guttural. He turns, but no one is there. "Who is that?! An NPC?!" "Player... name... Beam Psykko. You have been, been, been..." He can''t find any sign of anyone, standing with his back to a well. He shakes, staying on his toes and trying to be ready for an attack from any angle. The voice has become even more warbled until he can hardly understand. "Player name Beam Psykko. You have been drafted for war." From inside the well, a mass of flickering pixels in the shape of a hand rises, attached to an arm of scrambled game textures of eyes and teeth. "Drafted for war, war... Drafted for..." When the hand reaches the top of the well, Beam is already running away. The air turns cold in the absence of the sun, and the wind stings on his skin as he sprints faster than ever. "The fuck was that?!" He doesn''t dare look back. His ribs push against his lungs like nails, but he pushes harder, ignoring the limits of his stamina and dipping into his health. Running past another well, he swerves to the right and dives behind it. "What... What was..." Struggling to catch his breath, he peaks around to see if whatever creature behind the hand is following. No one is there. "Player name Beam Psykko. You have been drafted for war." From inside the well, he leans against, another hand reaches out and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. "No! Jesus Christ no!" He opens his inventory, but before he can unequip the shirt, he is pulled head-first into the well. Chapter 2 The darkness of the well swallows him. The wind of the tunnel pulls at his clothes, as if trying to tear them off. No! How did this happen?! He reaches out for anything to latch onto, but he moves too quickly. His hand scuffs open as it grinds against the stone. Oh my god, at this height I¡¯m going to die on impact! He reaches out again with all four limbs, but the walls are gone. But something else is wrong. The absence of stimulus intensifies his sense of smell, and something is rotting. The smell is worse by the second, until he hits a jellylike substance. His falling body tears through rotten flesh like a cannonball through lard. He lands on something with a soggy splat. There are no torches or lights, but there is still plenty of light. Bioluminescent worms squirt glowing red fluid beneath Beam¡¯s sneakers. He picks himself up. His hands feel sticky. ¡°What¡­ the fuck is going on?¡± Glowing orange moss clings to the curves of the walls he runs past. All of this, and other features, look to Beam more like the innards of a dying man than a tunnel. ¡°I feel like a parasite in here.¡± His voice is muffled by the mucous lining the towering, veiny walls. He catches his breath as the slimy texture fades away. His avatar loses its wet sheen, but his shirt feels soggy; like he had used it to blow his nose. He picks up a bloody bone as long as his arm. His inventory makes a loud ping, and it registers as a weapon. He opens the menu, but is baffled to find he still cannot see his stats. ¡°But I¡¯m not in the tutorial¡­¡± He whips his head in both directions. A tingle runs down his spine. He feels a presence watching him.¡°Whatever brought me here. What the hell could it have been?¡± Drafted for war. The creature¡¯s words are on his mind, and won¡¯t go away. His isolation is interrupted by raspy breathing, just around a turn. It comes closer, and Beam hesitates. What if it¡¯s an enemy? Or a hostile player? ¡°Help. Please.¡± A cluster of cysts cast a faint white glow onto a player on the floor. His legs are torn off below the thigh. As he crawls, his wound leaves behind a trail of blood like a snail. ¡°Holy shit.¡± Beam¡¯s knees squish into the skin as he rests the player upright against the wall. ¡°What did this to you?¡± ¡°Huge demon. Like a snake, or,¡± he coughs too hard, and puke dribbles onto his cloak and the tactical armor beneath it. ¡°It was trying to swallow me and I barely escaped. We need to- Wait, stay quiet¡­¡± Someone¡¯s laughter is muffled by the wet air. Beam flattens himself against the wall. He whispers, ¡°Wait, what¡¯s your name?¡± His throat makes a gargling sound, and is quiet for a long, uncomfortable amount of time. ¡°My username was Strangelove with a number after it. Just Strangelove now.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Beam. Let¡¯s try not to get killed.¡± Behind Beam and Strangelove who both stare intently toward the sound, something stirs inside the walls. The flesh bulges and squirms, but their focus is on the unnerving laughter of the voice as it approaches them. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The voice¡¯s owner comes into view. The dim light fades on his black armor. In one hand, he heaves along a jagged sword as long as his arm behind, and in the other hand a barbed wire whip. Covering his face is a grotesque mask. He tilts his head like a puppy. ¡°Holy shit, a new player!¡± He points at Strangelove, snarling. ¡°You really think he¡¯s going to help you?¡± He comes closer. The green, rusty blade of the sword leaves behind a trailing wound in the ground as he drags it along. ¡°Won¡¯t be much loot from you, but your friend looks pretty tasty.¡± He licks his lips through the opening of his mask. ¡°Come here.¡± Beam ducks, and the whip wraps tightly around Strangelove¡¯s left forearm. ¡°No!¡± Strangelove pulls at the whip and whimpers. ¡°N-no, help me Beam! Help me get it-¡± ¡°Beam Psykko.¡± A different voice cracks in the air, and a gaping hole opens in the floor. Two cold, firm hands grab Beam from behind and pull him inside the void. Beam falls into the nothingness, and the hands hold his head still in a vice grip. Though pulled into the floor, Beam can still see through it; like the game wasn¡¯t made for him to be there. He watches Strangelove struggle; his fingers pulling at the strangling hold of the whip. Beam struggles against the void. ¡°What¡¯s going on?!¡± The voice from the well echoes and scratches inside his skull. ¡°We are outside the boundaries of the game world.¡± Beam fights back, but the grip on him is too strong.¡°You! You¡¯re whatever pulled me down here!¡± He points into the tunnel, where the assailant player is pulling Strangelove towards him by the neck. ¡°You need to send me back! That guy is gonna kill him!¡± ¡°I cannot. Now that you are here, you must complete your character build and choose your skills.¡± The tunnel fades away, and a black menu under green text slides down from the sky. A feminine automated voice rings inside his head. ¡°Beam Psykko: Presence level twenty-eight. With low stats in all except for strength, your current build is the following¡­¡± Beam clenches his fists as more pop-ups drift around him in the shape of a curtain. One of them displays his stats. ¡°After all this time, I can finally see my stats.¡± He grabs the pop-up, holding it in place like a folded newspaper. 15 Strength 4 Mind 4 Dexterity 5 Toughness ¡°So my strength is my only decent stat¡­¡± He skims over everything he can, but not knowing how the fight in the tunnels is going is a strong distraction. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. ¡°Select your class.¡± Four colored boxes in a row are listed inside the pop-up in front of him. ¡°Archeologist, who explores and harnesses the ancient technology which is lodged in walls and in mud. Prophet, who creates a god in their mind, and worships them to cast miracles and gain insights. Barbarians, wielders of ridiculous strength and the blood of demons in their veins. And Sprinters, sword and whip wielding mutants who devastate their enemies with superhuman agility.¡± ¡°But wait¡­¡± Beam looks closely. Without a box of its own, a string of tiny, unreadable text quickly blinks on and off of the pop-up. Beam touches it with just the right timing. The feminine voice perks up again. ¡°Secret class selected. Warning: unstable functionality. Continue?¡± Everything closes, replaced with a host of information on Secret Class: Astral Inventor. Beam skims through the paragraphs of buffs, disadvantages, and status affects, conflicted. This is too good to be true¡­ it must have some kind of crazy drawbacks in order to¡­ He runs his hand through his hair. Sweat runs down his cheek. I can¡¯t sit here and overthink everything! ¡°Installing class. The Webber Gaming Corp is not responsible for any bodily changes, damage, appea-¡± The voice hiccups and distorts. ¡°Merging- DNA- Backing up memories- blood-¡± The voice stops, and the boxes disappear. ¡°Assigning skills. Assigning buffs. Assigning¡­¡± Beam clutches a sculpted bone wand as it forms from nothing in his hand. He tries to pay attention to every detail, but anxiety drowns out his thoughts. His thumb runs along the face of the woman carved into its handle, following a trail of tears on its cheek. Man, I hope he¡¯s doing okay. Inside the tunnels, the masked man pins Strangelove against the wall in a chokehold. His voice is shaky, and gruff. ¡°Look at you, no legs. Do you even know how many healing items you need to recover from this? Disgusting. We all know how scarce this world''s resources are¡­ in this hellhole. When I¡­¡± He stops talking abruptly. Something inhuman shrieks, from nearby. ¡°What the¡­?¡± He laughs. ¡°Sounds like whatever took a bite of you is back for more.¡± The sound gets closer. ¡°It''s gonna eat us both¡­¡± ¡°Oh, you just watch me. I''m gonna kill this little-¡± Its roar shakes the ground, jiggling beneath the stranger''s feet. Strangelove is dropped to the floor as he re-equips his sword. His arms shake as he grips its handle with both hands. ¡°Holy shit, holy shit¡­¡± The demon¡¯s human arms pull its segmented body along, dragging a limp, open maw full of teeth with a wagging tongue oozing with drool. Eyes sporadically sprout from the hideous thing''s dripping pores, staring hungrily. Its presence fills the tunnel like a blood clot clogging a vein. A person would barely fit inside what room there is left. Countless human arms protruding from its fatty segments of its body propel it along as it tramples the ground. Where a face should have been, a pair of cleft lips crack and swell, wrapped around a gaping jaw of blocky teeth stained by Strangelove¡¯s blood. It charges with shocking speed. The masked man leaps back with just enough space to avoid the path of giant teeth slamming into each other. The clack is a deafening thunderclap in their ears. The momentum of his airborne body flows into his sword and swirls through the blade, into the tips of every spike on it, like thorns on a rose. Energy swells in the air surrounding it, staining its dirty green with a swelling red cloud. He swings it across the top of the creature¡¯s face. ¡°Weapon Art! Corroding Thrust!¡± Chapter 3 Teeth crunch to pieces as skin and lip tear open in the path of his blade. The sickening mouth utters a long, pained moan. Its limbs tremble, and it suddenly gasps, choking out clouds of putrid, rotten mist as it hyperventilates. The worm screams, wasting precious time with panicked flailing of its body against the walls. As Strangelove hugs himself against the wall, he watches the stranger prepare a second attack. He watches how the man crouches low to the floor, forcing all of his body to compress like a spring pushing itself down. Recognition flashes through Strangelove''s eyes. ¡°Holy shit, I know who you are¡­ You''re Blackout!¡± Blackout laughs as he clenches his body down further. ¡°Took you long enough to piece that together.¡± His muscles burn under the strain, building more pressure every second. When the pain reaches its climax, he releases all of it in a powerful running leap. Blackout swings the sword as he unleashes it all at once in an unstable explosion of kinetic energy. Afterimages trace Blackout in a path that runs across the length of the demon and back. He slows down, visible again to Strangelove. He whips the blood off of his sword and splatters it across the demon''s gaping mouth. With a long, desperate groan, it falls into scattered dog size chunks. Blackout scoffs. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten about you. Looks like your new friend ran away.¡± He drags the sword towards Strangelove. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about suffering. I''ll make it quick.¡± Blackout¡¯s footwork speeds up again. He leaps to Strangelove for the killing blow. ¡°One less weakling, wasting away the dwindling-¡± ¡°You talk too much.¡± Strangelove equips his Unbreakable Spell Gun and pulls the trigger. He watches the pellets explode from the barrel to the center of Blackout¡¯s chest plate. Tiny, etched chaos runes inside the pellets combust, erupting into a ball of fire burning up into his mask. He pulls the trigger again. Blackout easily swings the blade in the way, but the chaos runes inside the pellets work differently every time. These dig into the rust of the sword, melting into blistering acid, which splashes onto his armor. ¡°You''re just full of neat little tricks. It''s time to end this, cripple.¡± He rips the gun out of his hand and tosses it aside. ¡°No one is coming to save you. It''s over.¡± As he raises the sword to hurl it down on his head, Strangelove covers his ears with his arms, and clenches his eyes. This is really it. I''m fucked. He pictures himself lying in a hospital bed. Remembering the day he first put on the helmet, he wonders what it''s going to look like in real life when his death in the game triggers its kill function. Is my family watching me? Will they see it happen? He imagines his skull heating up, cooking his brains. Jello in a crock pot. Blood might run from nostrils, and eyes. His hair would singe, spreading pungent smoke. His father would have to do his funeral with a closed casket, hiding the disfigured face of an unrecognizable son. He clenches himself as he waits for the pain; for his brains to run out of his ears; but it never comes. ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Blackout stomps a metal boot onto Beam¡¯s foot as he reappears, saving Strangelove just in time. The boot pins him in place. ¡°So you¡¯ve come back. Now I can kill both of you.¡± He grabs Beam¡¯s wrist with his free hand and throws him into the ground. Beams back cracks, and the floor ripples. Beam rolls and narrowly dodges the sword impaling the floor. His next roll is too slow, and Blackout¡¯s armored boot hammers into his ribs. Beam rolls backward, and tumbles into the wall next to Strangelove. Text appears in the air, only visible to him. HEALTH LOW. Blackout groans as he saunters towards him. He stomps on Beam¡¯s head, rubbing it into an old scab on the wall. ¡°This has taken too long. Time to move on to bigger things.¡± He raises the sword, and prepares the final blow. Before he can, Blackout¡¯s confidence is suddenly shaken by an inexplicable sense of dread. A disturbance crackles and glows in the surrounding air. Impossible shapes arrange next to him that ring in his ears and unfurl from crumpled static. Two bottomless, alarming eyes stare from inside the otherworldly body. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He swings the sword through the dreamlike body, but the blade harmlessly passes through. He can''t help it as he trembles in the shadow of its aura. The eyes! I can¡¯t pull myself away from them! The wise, unblinking eyes of an owl gouge into his brain like a parasite. Amber irises shine inside black, turbulent oceans, sunset in a black hole. Behind the eyes, Blackout feels a storm of wisdom beyond years, paired with a terrifying well of malice; more hate than a human heart can cling to and survive. ¡°You! Why are you here¡­!¡± He backs away, passing his gaze between the players, and the problem at hand. ¡°Are you protecting them?! Why would you possibly-- why would--¡± The creature does not answer. ¡°Fuck. Fuck!¡± Beam stares in disbelief, watching the armored assailant back away, then turn into a blur of motion as he retreats at breakneck speed. He tries to pull himself up, but he can''t move. He moves his attention to the creature from the well, gawking at his unearthly form. ¡°Why are you doing all of this? What are you?¡± He heaves out a distorted sigh. ¡°You''ll know only what I want you to. If you live long enough, it might change, but¡­¡± The eyes blink, scouring into Beam¡¯s mind. ¡°I''ve already said too much.¡± The eyes begin to fade, and the air returns to its normal, unwarped stench. ¡°Join the Institution guild. When you do, I will make it so the conditions will be met for the final update to the game.¡± Beam feels an invisible smile brush past him. When he checks, he finds his health has been completely restored. Final update? Just who, or what is this guy? Beam shrieks in surprise at the feeling of a hand snatching onto his arm. ¡°Do you know who that was?!¡± Strangelove holds tight, digging his fingers into Beam''s skin. ¡°Blackout is the most notorious player killer right now. He murders anyone he can, and leads the Culling Sect.¡± ¡°The Culling Sect¡­¡± Beam rubs his head. He can finally move, and pulls himself to his feet. ¡°Sounds like a load of edge lording bullshit.¡± Strangelove ignores him. ¡°Also, where the fuck were you? And who was Blackout so scared of?¡± ¡°I don''t know if he was a player or something completely different. Whoever it is, he somehow pulled me out of the tutorial. Down the well, now I''m here. And just earlier; when I was pulled into the floor, he made me finish my character creation. I couldn¡¯t come back until I chose my class and skills.¡± ¡°You''ve been dicking around in the tutorial this entire time?¡± ¡°You saw the video everyone was sent when the logout function was deleted! If we die here, it¡¯s over! I didn¡¯t want a risk like that! And I still don¡¯t!¡± He continues as he loots the worm. ¡°I don''t want to fucking die!¡± Beam stops talking, and hushes Strangelove before he can speak. He hears voices in the distance. ¡°Shut up for a second¡­¡­ Do you hear that?¡± He cups his hand around his ear, and closes his eyes, focusing. His eyes widen as he listens. ¡°No more talk. We need to get out of here.¡± A moment of awkward silence passes as they both look down at Strangelove''s missing legs. ¡°How do you want to¨C¡± ¡°Just lift me to hold on your back.¡± He hisses in pain as he clutches the exposed wounds. ¡°I''m gonna have to buy black market legs later.¡± He holds onto Beam''s shoulders from behind, closing his eyes and conjuring an image of a mini map. ¡°I''ll tell you where to take the turns. Let¡¯s get moving for now.¡± Beam holds Strangelove''s hands tightly so he doesn''t fall off of his back. ¡°Guide me to the Institution. That''s where the freak told me to go first. Something about an update.¡± Beam can¡¯t help feeling panicked as he recollects everything which has happened in such a short time. Especially about whatever, or whoever, forced him to come this way. Could have been a game admin¡­? No, he must be a broken NPC or something. Either way, this makes so little sense. ¡°Crouch as you go,¡± Strangelove whispers in his ear. ¡°It makes enemies less likely to become aggro. And remember, if you see a player¡­¡± An uneasy silence stains his words. ¡°Look, things got bad really fast down here.¡± His arms stiffen their grip. ¡°If someone sees you, you need to be ready to kill them.¡± ¡°It can¡¯t be that bad with every player...¡± Beam stops at a three tunnel intersection with a demon lingering on one of its corners. The thing is almost motionless, apart from shaky breaths, and long, snorting, snores. A brittle, bony head slumps against the soft wall. Its ribs poke out of a gaunt stomach that wiggles as it rises and falls with each gravelly snore. More intimidating than the malnourished demon is the shotgun resting in its claws. The conversation is put on hold. They share an understanding look. To make any kind of noise now, would be a horrible idea. Beam''s feet gently squelch on the floor with each careful, deliberate step. He almost considers going down lower, to his hands and knees, but ten steps have gone by now. So far, it''s still completely asleep. Halfway across, Strangelove''s throat feels a tickle; small at first, but quickly growing. The small tickle gives into an irritating sensation coming up and down the inside of his neck. He clenches his jaw. Just a little longer. I can hold it. They pass the napping demon. Five more steps. Almost there. Beam glances at its closed eyes again, then to the two tunnels, leading in opposite directions. Strangelove forgot to say which way to go, fuck! He glares into both tunnels¡¯ dim, bioluminescent lights, determining which way to go. Strangelove swallows again as he tries to contain the overwhelming urge to release the discomforting cough. The only distraction is the aching, itchy wounds, festering in place of his legs. Inside the game world, one has a shred of hope to regain legs through high level magic and a few black market purchases, but the pain is still there. Something shifts inside him as he hangs off of Beam''s back, cracking loudly enough for both of them to hear. The sensation seizes Strangelove''s throat like a claw, unleashing the coughing fit he had been holding in for far too long. Blood specks rain from his open, drooling mouth in bursts. His head throbs with each succeeding cough, and stars decorate his vision. His weakening fingers unfurl as he loses grip on Beam, and falls to the floor. The coughing continues, grating against his throat. He finally smacks his chest with closed fists until it stops. Another moment passes, and the coughing fit is over. The snoring stops. They look into the creature''s eyes. For now, they remain closed. After an agonizing minute of silence, the snores return. Beam releases a sigh of relief. Lowering to help his friend up again, he whispers. ¡°I thought it''d be a lighter sleeper¡­ Anyway, left or right?¡± Beam hoists him onto his back again. Strangelove switches his vision back to the map. He whispers back. ¡°According to the map¨C¡± As he inspects the map, the demon''s breathing changes. He can hear Beam''s feet shuffle, and the demon snorts and shudders. Strangelove hastily closes the map in his mind when he hears the sound of the demon''s claws clacking on the shotgun. Beam¡¯s erratic movement makes it difficult to hold on to him, and Strangelove can only catch glimpses through Beam¡¯s long, red hair and the hectic sounds of battle. All he can do now is squeeze with all of his remaining strength to his shoulders. Staring through the red hair, he clings to every detail and sensation he can. Gunfire. Blinding smoke that stings in his nostrils. Glowing open sores in the tunnel blur across his eyes resembling neon markers running across a black wall. Voices that do not belong to either of them shout from around them. ¡°Beam! What''s going on?!¡± One of the voices booms beside them, to Beam. ¡°Take this.¡± ¡°Ahh!!¡± Chapter 4 Beam shouts in surprise when a player in decrepit silver armor comes from behind. ¡°Oh, uh¡­ thanks?¡± ¡°Don''t worry, you can make it up to us.¡± Now that Beam is still, Strangelove can watch as the other players continue fighting the demon. Those armed with guns release another volley in perfect synchrony. The demon screams as the bullets tear through into firework bursts of its body. They step aside for three more players to charge forward with axes, but before they can finish it off, it leaps back against the wall. Its clawed toes burrow into the skin, allowing it to quickly shimmy up into a small hole in the ceiling. The empty shells eject from its shotgun and bounce on the floor. While men reload, some of them circle Beam and Strangelove. One player with a red headband around his black hair moves aside Beam¡¯s hair from behind, uncovering Strangelove''s face. He coughs up blood onto the man''s boots. ¡°Well, well, look at this. Sergeant Strangelove, why aren''t you with your squad?¡± He stares into his eyes, but refuses to speak. Two barbarians approach and grab Beam by the arms. ¡°Get your hands off of me!¡± ¡°Don''t worry, we won''t hurt you.¡± The one wearing the headband pulls Strangelove off of his back and hurls him onto the floor. ¡°You were only helping a stranger in need. This will be noted in your evaluation.¡± His headband flows with his movement, majestic in perfect compliment to his flawless, feminine complexion. From his spotless, shiny clean skin, he looks more like an adult film star than a hardened soldier. The sensual aura violently contrasts his stoic, hardened posture. His eyebrows are furrowed in deep thought, and dark eye bags imply countless sleepless hours spent planning and strategizing. Beam fights against the barbarians¡¯ hold on his arms, and in response they shove him further into the ground. ¡°Evaluation? What the hell is going on?¡± ¡°Bind this one. I will deal with the deserter.¡± Beneath the hole the demon hides in, someone pulls a grenade from his inventory. ¡°Everybody back the fuck up, I got this!¡± He pulls the pin, but as his posture slides for the best possible throw, his foot slips on a patch of oily scar tissue. It slips out of his grasp when he lands on his hip, and splashes in a puddle of fluids. ¡°I got it!¡± Another player in a dark cloak contorts his fingers and whips his wrists over his hood. The grenade whizzes in a cloud of smoke to the ceiling, levitating it just below the demon''s hiding place. ¡°It''s a dud!¡± ¡°Shoot at it til it blows!¡± They open fire, but the grenade is not hit. Some miss completely, some click on empty, and others¡¯ guns fall to pieces. The one who fell crawls away, keeping low until he passes by Beam, who is now hogtied and dragged aside. With Beam out of the way, the leader turns back to Strangelove, and pins him under his boot. Beam tries to listen to the interrogation, but when the players shoot at the levitated grenade, the gunshots ring in his ears. He can hear the leader¡¯s roaring and swearing at Strangelove, but none of the words come clearly. I need to find a way for us to get out of here¡­ but what could I possibly do? He tries to twist himself out of the ropes, but nothing works. Helpless, he watches as the man interrogates Strangelove. ¡°I asked you a question, sergeant.¡± He can¡¯t hold back the smirk as he kicks him in the groin. ¡°Where is your fucking squad?!¡± He kicks him again, in the wound where his left leg is chewed off. ¡°You have ten seconds to start explaining!¡± He doesn¡¯t speak. ¡°Ten! Nine!¡± He equips a sword from his inventory and pokes it lightly into Strangelove¡¯s hand. Blood dribbles down to his wrist. ¡°Eight! Seven!¡± Strangelove looks away as the leader kicks him again and again. ¡°Six! Five! Four! Three!¡± ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡± Strangelove closes his eyes, coughing. ¡°All of them, except for me.¡± His eyes darken. ¡°Wiped out one by one, by the nightmares living in these passages.¡± The tunnel is shaken by the sudden explosion of the grenade as a bullet finally lands. Rotten chunks rain down, wafting through the billowing smoke. Most of the demon falls down from the hole in one piece. Its last exhale is a long, pained wheeze, followed by silence. ¡°Loot the body, and anyone who''s been killed. Let''s get back to base.¡± fingers point at Beam and Strangelove. Barbarians bind them, slap a strange collar around their necks, and sling them over their shoulders. The strange metal starts to settle on Beam''s neck. An uneasy feeling creeps into his chest. Despite not having cast them yet, he knows; it suppresses any special abilities. He can feel his body being tampered with by a malignant energy, stringing into his mind through the cobwebbed nerves. It worms into his head, spreading roots. As panic overtakes him, it roots through and contracts around any thoughts of escape with a burning embrace of black, smoldering bewilderment. Finding any cohesive thoughts, as these feelings etch into his being, is akin to searching an ocean for freshwater. He looks over to Strangelove, who gazes into nothing. A line of red stained drool runs down his cheek. There¡¯s.. I.. hhhh¡­ fuck. I.. I..! The harder he strains, the more clouded everything feels. A ghost in the shell. Adrift in nothing. His body goes completely limp. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Too weak to hope for escape, both of them are forced along the ride to the base in the center of Darkest Wells Online, owned by the Dawn Genesis slaver guild. One of the prophets in the squad closely follows the leader near the back of the line, with the rear guard. He points at Beam, slumped over another¡¯s shoulder, and whispers hoarsely. ¡°Lieutenant Zachary. I just looked into his stats and class by casting Magician¡¯s Scan and¡­¡± He huffs air in and out, clutching his chest with a sweaty, veiny hand. ¡°He¡­¡± ¡°And?¡± The lieutenant purses his lips. A grunt of disapproval warns the prophet of his shortening temper. ¡°Tell me his build.¡± He brings himself close enough for only them to hear. ¡°He has a class that does not exist. And his stats are beyond mismatched for... Whatever it is. He must be a hacker dressed up as a noob to have such an insane setup.¡± He allows himself to fall behind, returning to the rear guard, talking as he slows down. ¡°We need to keep a close eye on this one. And maybe tighten his collar.¡± Lieutenant Zachary smirks. ¡°You have my thanks, uh¡­¡± ¡°Virgil.¡± ¡°Yes. Feel free to do the honors when we get there. It should only be another hour before we are home.¡± As the group continues north, the tunnels are interrupted by stretches of red moss on cobblestone walls and floor, until the flesh is completely gone. Everyone including the lieutenant heaves a sigh of relief when their feet finally step in the comfort of firm, unyielding stone. The tunnels finally end. As the portcullis gate rises to allow them inside, Beam finally begins to recover from the initial trauma of the collar bonding with his avatar. As his thoughts uncloud, The dizzying size of the cavern used to house this guild blows him away. Still too weak to hope for escape, he observes everything he can as they carry him along. If not for the situation, he would be content to explore this place for hours, noting every architectural and artistic choice. He cranes his neck to follow marble columns disappear into the fog obscured ceiling of the cavern. Plant life and patches of glowing mold run up and down the pillars, filling the air with the smell of mildew and moss. In Beam¡¯s distorted vision, they could almost be mistaken for a forest. Squads come and go, filling the broad street, armed to the teeth. He notices all of them are wearing the same worn, silver breastplate over their individual outfits. After passing dozens of magic stores, workshops, and armories, the group reaches a towering, steel trapdoor. At a sixty degree slant, it is connected by chains to a pulley system in the watch tower across the road. Beam looks up at the hooded guard Lieutenant Zachary raises his arms into the air and expels a shrill whistle loud enough to shock everyone. ¡°All right, everyone, listen up! This is where we go our separate ways. Turn in half of your loot at one of the offices, and get back to your barracks. Rest up, there''s plenty more quests to do once y''all recover. Except you two.¡± He flags down the two men holding Beam and Strangelove over their shoulders. ¡°This is where things are only going to be between us. You take Strangelove and turn him in for the reward. And you¡­¡± He thumps his thumb on the other¡¯s chest. The man holds himself steady against the urge to recoil at his touch. ¡°You follow me with the noob player. I want to watch his evaluation.¡± The barbarian carrying Strangelove grunts, and struts away. ¡°Looks like it''s just us now.¡± Beam¡¯s neck jerks side to side as Zachary¡¯s hand forcefully ruffles his long, unkempt hair. Tangles crackle and snap apart in the wake of his fingers. Each break sends another wave of discomfort, like nails bouncing on a waterbed. Nerves tingle across Beam¡¯s scalp long after he walks away and waves at the watchtower window. Inside the watchtower, a soldier watches them through his binoculars. ¡°Freak.¡± His lips contort, baring his teeth as he sucks in air. ¡°Come on, weirdo, just make the signal. Make the fucking¨C oh!¡± Through the binoculars, he watches as the lieutenant raises his right hand, contorting his fingers in the secret guild sign language. His eyes are glued to the hand as he keeps up with the message. ¡°What¡­ when he did clearance to¡­? You know what, this isn¡¯t my fucking problem.¡± He turns around from his window in the corner of the small room and clangs a bell bolted into the ceiling. ¡°Turn the wheel!¡± More players wearing the collars push at pegs surrounding the perimeter of a large wheel taking up most of the room. As it turns, it reels in the chains connected by pulleys to cross over the street and pull up the heavy trap doors. Sweat pours down their backs, but as the doors slow down, the soldier screams. ¡°Do you lazy pieces of shit want to be on the next scavenging operation?! Or do you want to keep this nice job you got here?!¡± He hops from the window viewing platform to their level of the floor, a two-foot jump down. ¡°We keep you safe here! But lazy hands get to go out there¡­ And not many come back.¡± He claps, and jumps back to his place above them. ¡°Keep pushing!¡± They grumble, but the trap doors quickly rise, opening the rest of the way. Back in the street, the lieutenant motions for them to descend, and they follow him into the depths. Smells of incense and chemicals waft from inside. Beam¡¯s nose wrinkles. Something in this scent is definitely familiar. It quickly spirals downward, and the sporadic placement of torches has the strobing affect; Beam internally chuckles at the thought of a caveman rave, but his mouth doesn¡¯t smile. The aroma is stronger, like a glaze that slowly replaces the breathable air with a sticky fog. Beam¡¯s head buzzes, and he realizes what stuck out when he first breathed it in. Mingled in whatever is burning, is traces of marijuana. Lieutenant Zachary straps a gas mask out of his inventory over his face. Producing a second mask, he allows the barbarian to crouch low enough for him to help strap it onto his bulking, roided skull. As they descend, the stairway tunnel becomes narrow, and the torches are more spread, resulting in stretches of near darkness. Voices become audible; whispers, and screams. Some conversations are almost loud enough to be listened to. They duck their heads as they carry them through a low opening into a space about as large as a basketball court. Instead of games, the room is stocked with countless methods of interrogation and torture. All other open areas hold desks covered in piles of paperwork and spiked cages filled with dirty prisoners. The only interval to the sounds of torment is the constant, throat scratching coughing. Anyone without a mask is doomed to slowly exhaust themselves as they choke on the mind-numbing smoke pouring out of the mouths of heroic statues lining the walls. Some smoke passes into vents in the ceiling, but they are as small as they are sparse. One prisoner stares at Beam passing with tearing, twitching, lidless eyes. His arms string out where they are tied to an upside down cross. His chest twitches, and his mouth inaudibly grasps for air. At the end of the torture chamber, the three reach a closed, barred door. With a single torch in the corner of that room, the man carrying Beam finds it too difficult to make out any details of the figure sitting at a table. But even with such little sight of him, he finds a tingle running up his spine. He remembers being tested in the same place, and shudders at the thought of ever having to experience it again, let alone reliving any of those memories he keeps locked away deep inside. The polar opposite of nostalgia. His chest pounds, and Beam is unnerved at the sensation of a man of his size cowering like a child. What could possibly be waiting for me? Someone so strong that I can¡¯t break out of his arm¡­ And he¡¯s shaking? ¡°Don¡¯t worry yet.¡± Zachary pats Beam on the head, startling him. ¡°You will be evaluated by the guild¡¯s custom NPC. Obey everything, and you¡¯ll be recruited. We¡¯ll be equals. Fail the test¡­¡± His eyes are cold and emotionless. ¡°And you can work your ass off for us until it kills you.¡± Beam is put down, and untied. They corner him against the door, in case he might try running away. ¡°This is the last, most important thing I¡¯ll tell. Whatever you do, do not stare at its wounds.¡± He reaches past Beam, and sways open the door, which creaks as it goes until it hits the wall with a thud. ¡°Now sit at that table.¡± His hand whips around Beam¡¯s neck before he can even register the movement. ¡°Or you won¡¯t like what I do about it.¡± Beam sputters as he backs into the room, and the door is slammed shut behind him, but Zachary¡¯s cold eyes stay locked onto him as he approaches the figure at the table. The figure jerks awkwardly in place like a rabid marionette. ¡°Take my hand, son. This is the most important moment of your life.¡± Chapter 5 When Strangelove wakes up, he is suspended in the center of a small chamber. A tangled web of chains restrains him in a chair over a pit of fire. Below him, around the pit, four thrones are surrounded with enough space to walk around them, through three entrances. He is familiar with these thrones. Before the allure of high pay and top tier loot led to becoming a sergeant of a quest running squad, he had been one of the recruits lucky enough to participate in a punishment trial. Now that he sits in the guilty chair, it isn¡¯t so funny. He looks down to the fire at the bottom of the pit. All he can do now is wait for judges to be picked out from the street. If he¡¯s lucky, one of his old friends may even be able to vouch for him in order to push for a better sentence. If he can convince them he didn''t run away, but was the only one strong enough to survive, maybe his punishment will be less horrific. But he knows how unlikely it is; everyone loves a good punishment, and nearly any of them would jump at the chance to accuse him of running away. Such cowardice is always punished with death. Embers rise from the bottom of the pit, stinging inside his unhealed stumps. He hyperventilates, fighting the urge to shout. The shimmering orange shapes hiss as they extinguish in the congealing blood of his injuries. How long will they make me wait? He stares into one of the doorways, waiting. The first to come is an old squad mate, Cassius. He announces his entry by exhaling an alarmingly large cloud of smoke from his nostrils. Even from hoisted above, Strangelove can see the red stain in his eyes. As Strangelove locks eyes with his old ally, guilt racks his mind. Everyone here has been forced to make hard calls, but during the mission he was supposed to lead, he had been more than willing to do what was necessary for survival. That included leaving his entire squad to be devoured. He stares into Cassius'' bloodshot eyes, trying to read his emotions like he had tried many times before. But just like old times, he can only catch glimpses of humanity buried by expressionless masks stacked atop each other. The next two stumble in, giggling incessantly as they crawl on top of the same throne. Their armor obnoxiously clinks against each other and the cold metal throne, and Strangelove stares for a moment as they continue to laugh. This intoxicated, they could choose to do almost anything with him. The idea of ¡®anything¡¯ terrifies Strangelove. The last selected judge crawls in while clutching his paraphernalia against his chest with a sweaty arm. He coughs a yellow blob onto the floor as he hoists himself into an unnatural, stoic pose on the throne. His greedy hands clutch the bong as if it were a tool of divination. His eyes are distant and cloudy. ¡°Open the group chat.¡± The bong wielder spats. Windows flicker in front of them, displaying their assignment as judges. ¡°Greetings, randomly selected judges: Cassius, Livius, Justus, and Death Khan. You will decide the fate of Sergeant Strangelove. He was in charge of a quest running squad which was completely wiped out, and is the lone survivor. He claims he did not run away, he says he was the only one strong enough to survive the demons in the southern flesh biome. But he was not strong enough to protect them. The four of you must agree upon a punishment. There are no rules, and every judge must have the strength to interject his opinion. Present yourselves with honor, and may the strongest will win.¡± Livius and Justus jeer first, simultaneously shouting ¡°Gladiator death!¡± Death Khan belches his agreement. ¡°Yes, but¡­ what should he fight?¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Livius gawks at Justus¡¯s dainty fingers as they trace their open menu to message the beast master. Before Cassius can interject, Justus proclaims, ¡°In no particular order! We got; poison cave lions, zombies, tree raptor-¡± Death Khan interrupts. ¡°Tree Raptors are soooo sick.¡± ¡°Agreed!¡± Livius jeers. ¡°But the poison-¡± ¡°Special effect monsters are-¡± ¡°The zombies-¡± ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Cassius¡¯ shout echoes in the chamber like a lion''s roar. ¡°Killing him might be what he deserves. But that said¡­¡± His lips curl into a false smile, drawing everyone''s attention. ¡°Guaranteed death wouldn''t be nearly as fun as forcing him to grasp for a sliver of a chance.¡± Livius and Justus point their thumbs to the floor. ¡°Our idea is much better.¡± Death Khan scratches his five o''clock shadow. ¡°Shut it. I wanna hear the pitch.¡± ¡°We make him command one more squad: a squad of the stupidest, strangest, and most unruly prisoners who fail their evaluation.¡± All three make a thoughtful hmph as he spreads his arms, awaiting their approval. ¡°Well? What do you think?¡± Strangelove wonders how Beam is doing in his evaluation. Questions flooding his thoughts make it hard to pay attention to the bickering over his punishment. Why did Beam save him? Would he have done the same? He already knows the answer. Meanwhile, Beam continues to be analyzed by the bizarre NPC. Beam has been going through his evaluation for nearly an hour, answering questions which seem inconsequential to strategy or conflict. In fact, Beam felt more like he was applying for a fraternity than a guild playing itself as some new empire. How many women have you had sex with? Have you ever been intimate with another man? Do you believe in God? How many alcoholic beverages does it take for you to black out? Have you experimented with drugs? He almost laughs at his own joke questioning the glitched NPC¡¯s mental state when the first serious question slaps him in the face. ¡°Have you ever panicked at the sight of your own blood?¡± ¡°Not even once.¡± As Beam pants, he notices an unnerving part of the NPC. The thing¡¯s eyes pixelate every time his answer feels even slightly uncertain. ¡°Why is war the next step in evolutionary instinct?¡± The answer doesn¡¯t come so easily this time. What kind of drugs are these people on? His mind goes to the demented takes he¡¯s seen countless times online; the Roman Empire enthusiasts and neo-Nazis ranting of how their ideal society would be. ¡°This is just the way that the world is. It¡¯s the way that people are.¡± The NPC¡¯s eyes sparkle red. ¡°Your career will be determined after tonight''s initiation party for you and the other new recruits. Congratulations, Beam Psykko.¡± As Beam is ushered up the stairs, his bonds and collar removed, Strangelove''s trial is wrapping up. Strangelove listens to their final deliberations. ¡°It''s decided then. What a great choice. His death will be as horrible as his mistake.¡± ¡°Top tier content for sure.¡± The judges disperse, and Death Khan carries Strangelove to a medic, who has already been supplied with a donor fitting his needs. ¡°Wish I could kill you, you fucking coward.¡± Death Khan bursts into the dingy workspace, kicking the door and tossing Strangelove onto a stone slab. ¡°Got the little shit right here doc, work your wonders.¡± As the Khan strides outside, Strangelove feels his palm strike across his face, followed by laughter. The humiliation burns in his cheeks, lingering long after the pain fades. The room is candlelit, with empty bottles of alcohol scattered throughout the horde of brutish medical tools. The tools, ranging from scalpels and scissors to hammers, and even a shovel, are all rusted and crusted with the blood of thousands of victims and patients. Strangelove shakes with anticipation; this isn¡¯t the first time he¡¯s been patched up here, and it won¡¯t be the last. Beam stares at the doctor¡¯s ugly face as he scoots past a jar of pickled maggots. His walk is slow and methodical, like a spider waiting in his web for his next meal. He gives Strangelove no acknowledgement, as if he were just another product. He clasps his hands in anticipation. ¡°This is going to be¡­ a lot of fun.¡± His smile stretches the folds in his face. He takes up the hacksaw, and begins his work. Chapter 6 The surgery took several hours. By the time it was done and Strangelove arrived, the celebratory initiation had already begun. Standing on a pedestal dressed in shining, ceremonial armor, Lieutenant Zachary is finishing up his speech welcoming the new recruits to the fold. ¡°After our next long rest, you will sign your contracts and officially join Dawn Genesis. You¡¯ll be real men! Remember; there is never enough strength in the world for everyone. And always, always push yourself to the edge. Strive for growth in every opportunity you take for yourself!¡± A little more than half of the recruits break into enthusiastic cheers and shouts. ¡°Let¡¯s fucking go!¡± ¡°Hell yeah!¡± Strangelove scans the group as they are ushered inside. It doesn''t take long to find Beam. He¡¯s alone, standing aimlessly with a cigarette in one hand and a half empty shot glass in the other, contemplating the choices that led him here. But also, surveying the largest social occasion he has ever seen in his life. Looking at the countless "favors", including a buffet line stocked with bongs and bags of all kinds of substances crafted in the game, Beam wonders how many laws this party would violate in real life. Many of the foods are picked from throughout history, but some are completely new to Beam. In the center of a food tray, an animal about the size of a deer was seemingly still alive, despite its vivisection. In the last, sluggish movements of its life, it is carefully kept open with metal threads to make a natural bowl. Inside the murky, hearty broth, organs still pulsate and seize. Some of the recruits sit with crisscrossed legs in a circle, devouring their treats and sharing even more drugs as they pull them out of their inventory. Beverages spill and grease is splattered onto the heroic frescoes covering all the walls and decorative marble pillars. Portraits of mythological barbarians and prophets are tainted by fingers gripping their greasy pieces of meat. Beam is so taken aback by the disorder, he almost doesn''t notice Strangelove striding over to him. Strangelove smirks at his dumbfounded reaction. "It''s a lot, isn''t it? Check out that guy, ha." Beam follows his pointing finger. So drunk he is unable to stand, one partygoer''s hand brushes uselessly across his own crotch. To his dismay, the game still blocks avatars from touching themselves in any way which would violate the terms of service. He is not alone in his frustration, not even close. Everyone trapped here often finds their pent-up energy makes it easier to engage in impulsive, dangerous behavior. In another arm of the enormous banquet hall, armor and game prizes are tossed from their tables. Men in varied levels of undress hurl the items onto the floor. They clamber atop, shaking the table and taking turns in sweaty, hand-to-hand combat. While the party animals engage in another night of debauchery, gaggles of prophet class players draw circles with runes, and exchange pieces of parchment with game-breaking exploits scrawled inside the folds. Beam finds the will to turn away from the spectacle and gives Strangelove a look over. ¡°You look okay, having new legs and all.¡± ¡°Yeah, can''t say the operation was the best moment of my life.¡± ¡°The trial went alright, then?¡± Strangelove¡¯s clammy face contorts into a forced smile. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not dead yet. But they¡¯re sending me on a suicide mission. The odds of-¡± Strangelove looks up and notices Cassius is at the party, too, and the shame aches his body. ¡°A suicide mission?¡± Beam echoes. ¡°Why¡¯d you stop? Hey.¡± Strangelove¡¯s sight is tunneled onto the last glimpse of Cassius turning a corner and leaving the building. His face was stiff like carved rock, with a forced, cracking mask of apathy. ¡°Hey! What were you saying?¡± ¡°I got lost in my own world for a second.¡± Firmly back in reality, he grips Beam¡¯s arm. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything, but only if you tell me how your evaluation went.¡± Still staring at the corner where Cassius had disappeared, he takes Beam along to the court gardens outside. The festivities have spread into the gardens. In the fresh air circulating through the cavern, people here and there sprawl out on the flowers and moss with rolls of shimmering paper in their hands and mouths. They pick an area where the light seems to be snuffed out, providing a feeling of near privacy. ¡°Okay,¡± Strangelove sits on a stone bench in front of the bush walls enclosing everyone. ¡°I¡¯m not authorized to say this to you before your contract is written, but I might never get the chance.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± Beam sits to the ground a few feet away. ¡°They almost chose to send me to fight monsters, but an old comrade was one of the jurors. He convinced them to send me on a suicide mission with a squad made up of the failed recruits. Beam remembers the state of the failures in the chamber leading up to his interview. If those are the men he¡¯s getting, Strangelove¡¯s odds of success are nonexistent. ¡°The deal is, if we survive, they get recruited and, I¡­.¡± He trails off. ¡°I get to keep fighting for Dawn Genesis.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Beam¡¯s voice is hushed as he glares at him. ¡°Are you telling me you believe in their bullshit?¡± ¡°Wait, shut up!¡± Beam holds a hand back towards the bushes. A rustling sound is coming from inside. ¡°Can you hear that?¡± ¡°No, whatever it is must have stopped¡­¡± Beam hesitates. What if something got past their defenses? Some kind of creature, or an enemy? ¡°Hello.¡± Someone in robes and armor comes out of the bushes, but his face is hidden by the darkness. His voice is snooty, drawing an irritated groan from Beam. ¡°I was checking out the garden''s¡­ interesting layout, but whatever you two are up to¡­¡± He shifts as if stifling a judgmental chuckle. ¡°Is bound to be far more interesting. Isn''t that right, Strangelove?¡± He steps forward, and they see him more clearly. Strangelove would recognize that try hard blond haircut anywhere. Paired with the charismatic, false smile worthy of a billion dollar televangelist, he had the perfect mask of an old friend. ¡°What were you talking about?¡± God dammit! Sharing the same thought, Beam and Strangelove share a glance at each other. Beam decides to improvise and end this conversation as quickly as possible. ¡°Well, he said he knows a great smoking spot around here. Right?¡± The lie comes so easily, it even surprises Beam. ¡°Yeah, but I forgot to grab anything from inside¡­¡± Beam opens his inventory. ¡°Shit, I forgot too. There¡¯s plenty of time, let¡¯s go back and¨C¡± Cassius takes on a silly tone. ¡°Aw, fuhgeddaboudit. I got it covered.¡± Reaching into the robes gracefully draping over his armor, he retrieves a lighter and three cones of rolling paper stuffed with a strange powdery substance. The sad, multicolored mess looks like pocket lint. God fucking dammit! Go annoy somebody else! ¡°Hell yeah¡­¡± Beam awkwardly plucks his blunt from Cassius¡¯ open palm between his pinky and ring fingertips. Simulated or not, this is going to be the first time Beam has ever done drugs. He considers asking what is in the joints, but Strangelove is already puffing away. Sparkling, green-gray clouds spread into the air, drifting in the wind toward the ceiling of the cavern. ¡°So what were you guys really talking about?¡± Cassius takes a fat hit and blows it out onto the floor. It bursts from his nostrils, spreading across the floor on impact like a tiny mushroom cloud. Strangelove conjures a ball of fire between his fingertips and lights Beam''s joint. ¡°Well, if you really need to know¡­¡± Beam hesitates, looks at both of them, and takes a long, deliberate drag as he imagines a straw struggling to pull through a frozen milkshake. Smoke swirls out through his lips and stain the air with a rainbow aurora. ¡°I doubt he wants to hear about that nasty shit.¡± Beam forces out in a fake laugh. ¡°When we were naked in the¨C¡± Cassius cuts him off. ¡°Jesus Christ, say no more.¡± He takes another hit. ¡°I won¡¯t judge whatever you want to do with your time tonight, but keep the details to yourselves. We will discuss something else.¡± He turns from Beam, back to Strangelove. ¡°We¡¯ll have to be careful what we speak of here, until little Beam here earns his wings, but I have to know. What¡¯s your loadout for your next quest?¡± As Strangelove and Cassius engage in the deep details of their loadouts, Beam reaches the halfway point of his joint. He tries to pay attention, this is critically important information. ¡°That suppressor is dog shit, I use¡­¡± The words are nearly discernible, but because of Beam¡¯s low Toughness stat, the drugs are hitting him much harder than Cassius or Strangelove. ¡°Ah fuck, uh¡­¡± Beam¡¯s hand slips and he falls onto the grass. ¡°That shit¡¯s hitting a little too hard.¡± He tries to squint his eyes, but everything blurs. He feels his weight shift when a hand reaches for his shoulder. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Never better.¡± Gritting his teeth, he rubs his eyes until the image of them smoking becomes clear again. He slaps his hand on the side of his head and shivers. His body is slowly adjusting. He fights the fog and focuses on Cassius¡¯ stoic face. ¡°I''m gonna ask you something too.¡± The thumping pain in Beam wants him to stop, but he needs to say it. He can''t stand ignoring. ¡°Do you really think it''s right for us to enslave people?¡± Cassius scoffs. He shakes his head and flatly repeats, ¡°The Dawn Genesis¡¯s goals are my own.¡± Beam had never heard such a monotonous recall of a propaganda slogan. He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. It wouldn''t be safe to speak truthfully where anyone could hear it. Maybe this guy is trying to blend in too. ¡°Saaaaame¡­¡± Beam fumbles a sarcastic expression, making the fake smile of an angry primate. The cloudiness in his mind grows impossible to hold back. He snuffs out the rest of the joint under his boot. By gritting his teeth and clenching his fingers, he slowly grounds himself back to reality. By then, the conversation has gone too far to understand, but he does his best to try to pay attention. ¡°The shotgun is an interesting choice,¡± Cassius says. ¡°That means you''d rather finish something, or someone off up close and personal. As long as it''s not me.¡± His plastic grin feels like a cut to the ankle. Strangelove and Cassius ignite a second joint while Beam pretends to sip from a bottle of wine. ¡°I''m ready to turn in.¡± Strangelove extinguishes his and places the rest in his inventory. ¡°Need to rest for a full recovery in time for the mission.¡± Beam pats his shoulder as he passes him. ¡°Hey.¡± Strangelove turns back. His eyes are filled with dread. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Be safe out there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been through worse, and I¡¯m still here, right?¡± He hides away his shaking hands and walks away. Beam watches him weave through party goers and out through the exit. Looking to Cassius, he almost walks away, but instead turns towards him. Fighting through the muck in his mind from the intense mind high, he steps closer. ¡°Your vibes are off. What¡¯s your deal?¡± Cassius guffaws. ¡°Off? Come on, we¡¯re just partying¡­¡± He trails off, and his smile turns to a serious grimace. He thoughtfully twirls the joint between his fingers, staring solemnly into the ground. ¡°No, no more bullshit. Your ¡®friend¡¯? You need to be careful around him, he¡¯s a fucking coward. He gets one, only one more chance with the mission in a few hours, now. After he and the rest of the handpicked squad rest to full HP. If I tell you anymore, we could both be demoted to slaves.¡± Cassius backs again into the bushes without warning, as if the bushes had come alive and devoured him. ¡°Let¡¯s talk somewhere more private. Follow me.¡± Beam backs away, holding up a hand. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me? I don¡¯t get it, but I can tell you have something against Strangelove.¡± ¡°No shit! He abandoned his squad!¡± Beam remembers how he had met Strangelove. On the ground, covered in blood and missing his legs. Surely he hadn¡¯t deserted them¡­ Maybe they encountered some kind of boss enemy? There must be an explanation¡­. Beam steps into the bushes to pursue Cassius, but he must have slipped away while he was lost in thought. Questions linger in Beam¡¯s mind as he leaves, following other recruits to his bedding. How much of their conversation had Cassius actually heard? And did Strangelove really abandon his squad? Even so, it¡¯s not like the people here on saints. They¡¯re irredeemable pieces of shit. Murderers, torturers, and slavers. Maybe a squad of these dumb pieces of shit isn¡¯t even a bad thing. Thoughts clouding his mind, he leaves the party and an older recruit guides him to their resting barracks. The bed is shockingly comforting and realistic, but the soft satin sheets make Beam sick to his stomach. Some number of floors beneath him, rejected players with missing limbs and grievous wounds lie on beds of nails with no end to the misery in sight. I need to blend in until I find another way¡­ I¡¯m not like these people! After tossing and turning for a few minutes, the exhaustion racking his body lulls him to sleep. In the last moment awake, Beam swears he feels an unwelcome presence at the foot of his bed. The fatigue is too strong to let him investigate, and against his will, he falls asleep. First, his eyes flutter shut, and then he begins to dream.