Chương 51: Book Two - Chapter 1: “Plug It in, Plug It In"

Anti-piracy note: If you are reading this on any platform other than Royal Road or Amazon, this has been pirated/STOLEN. If the author who wrote it has any name other than ShawnD or ShawnDePasquale, it is STOLEN. Please report this book if you are reading it ANYWHERE other than Royal Road. Thank you for helping fight piracy. PART I Make New Friends, But Keep The Old…

"Make new friends, but keep the old; Those are silver, these are gold. New-made friendships, like new wine, Age will mellow and refine. Friendships that have stood the test— Time and change—are surely best…" — Joseph Parry, "New Friends and Old Friends" We followed the scent of woodsmoke, bread, and cinnamon through the glowing portal, leaving behind the monster I'd just beaten to paste in a summer camp parking lot.

The smells coming from the Safe Area were enticing, and though we never said it out loud, excitement was a physical pressure in the air as we entered. The transition from the parking lot via magical portal was near-instantaneous.' Near' because as we passed through, everything went red, and the temperature spiked to an unbearable cold. But it passed as fast as it came on, and we stepped into Zone Two. And exited into a grimy, oversized bathroom. All of us loudly groaned.

"What the turds?!" Tre exclaimed, perched on Liam's shoulder.

"A bathroom?" Isabel and Liam had me suspended between them, my arms draped over their shoulders, forcing me to hop forward on my good leg, while my ruined one trailed behind like dead weight. Whenever my bad foot clipped on uneven concrete, explosive pain erupted from my injured thigh, reminding me that the Stabilizer Wraps were only a temporary solution. I glanced back at the portal, just in time to see it collapse into a single pinprick of light and wink out.

The spot where it had been became a solid wall of off-white tiles dulled by years of neglect, outlined by greenish-black mold choking the grout between each cracked square.

"It's the fucking Saw bathroom," Tre moaned, hopping off Liam's back.

"Yeah." Isabel wrinkled her nose.

"How is this a 'safe' area?" A digital clock appeared in the center of the room, rendered in the same neon-blue font we'd seen in prior Safe Areas. 08: 00: 00 The numbers began to tick down immediately, leaving us just under eight hours of rest. Liam stared at the timer, rubbing his right earlobe between two fingers.

"Is that new or…"

"You're seeing it because you're a companion now and lost the NPC blinders," Tre explained, like it was old news.

"Also, there's something very familiar about this place beyond the obvious Saw references."

"There is?" I asked. Isabel squinted at Tre.

"NPC blinders?"

"A term I coined to explain the hold Maltheris has over NPCs vs 'awakened' companions," Tre proudly stated, then scowled at the ceiling.

"Don't you steal that from me! It's a Tre Carter original. Trademarked!

'C' in a circle copyright, bitch." The bleak room was built with the generous proportions of an airport terminal restroom and all the charm of an abandoned asylum. Strobe-like overhead tubes buzzed erratically over cracked concrete stained with old water damage and dark, oxidized streaks of dried blood. Three stalls lined the left wall with doors hanging crooked from their hinges, offering a clear view of porcelain bowls choked in viscous dark sludge and missing seats.

Past the stalls, the tile gave way to an open concrete alcove with a slime-slicked drain set into the floor.

"The shower looks… fun," Tre said. Calling the area a shower was a stretch. In place of a showerhead, a single lead pipe protruded from the wall, ending in a rusted, jagged nub of tetanus-inducing metal. Directly below the pipe was a drain burping up a tea-colored slime. No curtain, no walls. Green neon text floated above the "shower," casting a sickly olive glow on that entire side of the bathroom. HYGIENE IS SURVIVAL"I remember why this place is so familiar!" Tre snapped, holding up a finger.

"It's nearly identical to a truck stop bathroom off the Jersey Turnpike I visited once." Isabel and Liam both stopped dead, their eyes locking onto him with intense judgment.

"Ew. Not like that," Tre said quickly, waving his arms.

"I was there to pick up my cousin Tina after the police let her go." Isabel's brow pinched.

"Why was your cousin getting picked up by cops at a truck stop?"

"Prostitution," Tre explained matter-of-factly.

"Horrible drug habit. It was really sad." I just shook my head.

"What?!" Tre asked defensively.

"She's got a Master's in biology now!" Liam and Isabel helped me over to the four cots lined against the wall to our right. The bathroom was at least wide enough that we had a generous buffer of dead space between the sleeping area and putrid toilets. It was an aggressively low bar for comfort, but in this place, ten feet of distance from literal shit was a small victory.

"At least they gave us comfy beds," I said, taking in the prison-style cots. Each one consisted of a rusted iron frame bolted directly into the floor, topped with a bruised, stained, thin-as-a-novella mattress. The pillows were appalling, plastic-wrapped slabs of withered foam.

"Guess I'll test the mattress," I offered. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Isabel eyed the beds, then me.

"Nora, you're covered in gore."

"I just need to sit. My leg's killing me, dude." My alternative was to shower. In my current state, I'd need someone to hold me upright while I washed off. That had been one of the worst tasks I was responsible for toward the end of Mom's life. I'd spent at least a year helping her in and out of the bath, one hand under her arm, pretending everything was totally normal. I did not want to be on the other end of that particular humiliation. Not that the rest of the group were any better off.

Everyone had something repulsive clinging to their skin, hair, clothes, or all three. But at least they could get under that pipe of their own accord. Isabel and Liam angled me toward one of the cots, easing me down gently.

"Christ," Liam muttered.

"The cruelty is the point, guys." I was too tired to sugarcoat it. Thirty-nine people died in Zone One, a lot of them teenagers, or real people forced to play teenage NPCs. And now, those same thirty-nine living human beings were just gray, hollowed-out husks back on Earth. I made a choice that cost their lives. A filthy bathroom saturated with the lingering odor of shit-and-cinnamon felt like the logical place for my recovery.

Sinking onto the edge of the cot, the mattress promptly sagged beneath my weight, but the relief in my right leg was immediate. A snail trail of dark goop and dried blood streaked across the white sheets as I dragged myself back against the wall. Tre carried the pillow from his cot over and gingerly propped it under my damaged leg.

"Keep it elevated. I think. I mean, that's what TV doctors always say."

"Thanks, buddy." I managed a weak smile, and he gave me a genuine one in return.

"Where's the cinnamon coming from? Is it just a trick?" Isabel spun in a slow circle, sniffing the air. Liam and Tre followed suit, and the three of them wandered the room's perimeter like puppies hunting for a place to pee.

"Found it," Tre announced, holding up a small plastic Glade Plug-In he had just yanked from a low outlet near the tiled wall.

"Dear God, plug it back in," I pleaded, holding my nose. Tre scrambled to jam the plastic prongs back into the socket.

"Sorry! Sorry!" We lost it. The sheer stupidity of it all cracked us wide open. Tre doubled over, clutching his tiny plastic knees while wheezing through his words.

"Why the fuck did Maltheris outsource ambiance to a Target impulse buy?"

"Right?" Liam added, cracking a broad, exhausted grin.

"You think he also grabbed one of those Spirit Halloween spooky noise mixtapes?" Right on cue, an agonizing, high-pitched shriek reverberated through the concrete from beyond the bathroom walls. The comedic timing was so perfect we burst into another wave of eye-watering laughter. It was either that or let the pure dread eat us alive, so we leaned hard into the bit, shouting out other ways a cosmic demon lord was probably cutting corners in his death dungeon.

While the three of them kept riffing, my eyes drifted past them, drawn to a door on the far wall opposite where the portal had been; it was the only exit in the room. The door had once been painted a bold red, but age and moisture had washed it out into a weathered, faded pink. That's the entrance to Zone Two … We had no idea what was waiting for us on the other side of that door, and while I'd normally be totally okay not rushing into unknown danger, there was a restlessness building in me.

As tired and hurt as I was, part of me just wanted to get on with the game; if only to get it over with. The game or my life? My gut answer was 'either works,' which set off an am-I-about-to-shit-myself intestinal squelch. A small grunt escaped my lips. Everyone looked at me with concern.

"You okay?" Isabel asked, kneeling at my side. I nodded.

"Tired."

"We need Salves." Tre started pacing frantically around the bathroom.

"Plaxx said there'd be supplies here, right?" Liam sat on the cot next to mine, stared at the floor with vacant eyes, and said nothing. Isabel gently squeezed my left hand.

"You sure you're good?" Tre yelled: "AH HA!" He was standing by two sinks on the same wall that the portal had dumped us into the room. The sinks themselves matched the gross aesthetic of the rest of the bathroom: porcelain stained with green mold and thick gray grime, with a mirrored medicine cabinet above each one.

"Someone gimme a boost." Isabel walked past Tre directly to the medicine cabinets and opened one.

"Fully stocked. Pill bottle, antiseptic, and bandages."

"Grab me a pill bottle and the bandages," I said.

"In case I start bleeding again." Isabel used the hem of her sleeve to pluck the supplies off the shelf, carrying them over to my outstretched hand. I tapped them together, and my HUD chimed with a clean notification, converting the raw loot into a Stabilizer Wrap in my inventory.

"Lemme at the rest of the supplies, I'll start crafting," Tre said, reaching up at the medicine cabinet.

"Stop." Isabel flashed her palm at him.

"Look at us. We're going to get blood and guts on everything we touch." That last sentence was directed at me.

"Let's get cleaned up," Isabel said.

"Plaxx mentioned washing our…" The words died in her throat as her eyes landed on a busted-up washing machine and dryer next to the exit door.

"Man… this place is run by such assholes."

"Monsters," Liam added more to himself than anyone. A thin wooden shelf above it contained four neatly folded terry cloth towels, a box of powdered soap, labeled DETERGENT, and a small bottle labeled FABRIC SOFTENER.

"Strip," Isabel ordered, unzipping her dark hoodie.

"Give me everything. I'm not doing multiple loads." Liam's hands immediately moved to his groin.

"And do what? Hang out naked in this past and future crime scene?"

"Nobody cares what you look like, Liam." Isabel removed the hoodie, revealing a sheer black shirt and bra underneath.

"Keep your underwear on if it makes you feel better."

"I didn't even get underwear," Tre complained, glancing between them. He and Liam both turned toward me as if this was my call to make.

"You heard the lady," I said. Isabel had already stripped and dropped everything into the washer, boots and all. Tre and Liam put their backs to her and slowly shed their clothes. Between the sprint through the woods and the parking lot brawl, I never had a chance to really look at Liam until now. As he undressed, his hands moved through the motions on pure autopilot while his eyes stared blankly into the floor tile.

He took off his navy flannel, then the graphic tee underneath, both soaked through with stagnant lake water and dark crusts of dried gore. Handing Isabel his clothes and sneakers, he was left standing in his dark blue boxer briefs. His Loyalty stat might have been sitting at fifty-five percent, but his modesty remained at a solid hundred.

"I'm handing these over with a warning," Tre said, padding over to Isabel buck naked with his balled-up outfit. A small crack ran down the middle of his molded tush. Decorative. He had no butthole. Tre hurried away from Isabel, covering whatever he had going on in front. He positioned himself strategically behind his cot, hiding everything except his head.

"Dry them on Delicate! Synthetic vinyl blends require special care!" Using her arm to obscure her boobs, Isabel tossed Tre's clothes into the drum with her free hand.

"Get some rest, Nora. We're hosing you down next." Isabel stripped off her underwear and stepped into the open shower while the boys turned their backs. A single bar of white soap sat in a concrete divot beneath a rusted metal cross-handle. Grabbing the handle with both hands, her back muscles flexed as she cranked it to the right. The valve gave way with a high-pitched squeal, and she hopped back as a violent torrent of water exploded from the pipe nub.

The heavy stream drilled into the tea-colored sludge bubbling up from the drain, blowing through the clog, sending up a light mist. A thunk vibrated from somewhere deep in the plumbing, sucking the foul water straight down. After a moment, Isabel held her hand under the stream, expression set into the blank, grief-stricken state she'd been wearing since the lake.

"How is it?" Tre asked, voice tight, bracing for bad news.

"Slightly warmer than cold as fuck," Isabel replied without turning around. Liam shifted his weight to one side.

"Did you try making it hotter?"

"No, Liam, I didn't try turning the fucking handle." Isabel glanced over her shoulder.

"Someone start that load for me, please." She stepped into the freezing stream, sucking in a sharp breath as she did. The floating sign overhead cast a bilious glow across the shower, turning the dried blood washing off her body jet black. I lay on my cot with my eyes half-closed, the awkwardness in the room making it tough to drift off. One hour of rest was all the system required to reset the exhaustion. I wasn't sure if that was enough to heal my mangled leg. Or regrow my missing fingers.

In the center of the room, the blue timer ticked down to 07: 42: 12. Between that countdown and the suffocating weight of thirty-nine dead people, I worried I'd be staring at the countdown clock for hours, and that sleep would never come.

"I guess modesty is dead now, huh?" Tre joked, but nobody laughed. The water pounded the tile in a steady, heavy rhythm. I closed my eyes and let the noise fill my head until the green neon behind my eyelids finally blurred to black.