Chương 52: Book Two - Chapter 2: Boobs and Dicks and Butts

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Tre and Isabel's laughter woke me up, but it was so playful and relaxed I assumed I was still dreaming. I opened my eyes and saw Isabel seated on the edge of Tre's cot, the two of them doubled over about something, trying to stay quiet, which only made the giggling harder to contain. Mom had good days, too. By the end, I learned that the good ones were just debt collected later. The countdown timer said I'd only gotten an hour of sleep, yet… I felt phe-fucking-nomenal.

To prove it, I flexed my toes first, then the rest of my foot. When no lightning bolts of pain traveled up my leg, I gently bent my knee. The cot's springs squeaked. They looked at me, startled.

"You're up!" Tre hopped off his bed and climbed onto mine.

"What'd I miss?" I asked, throat dry and scratchy.

"Some books and dicks."

"And butts," Isabel added.

"How're you feeling, Nora?"

"Honestly pretty great." I sat up, taking stock. Everyone had clean clothes and was dirt-and-gore-free. Isabel looked like she had in Whisperwood, as in, exactly. She was dressed in the same outfit, of course, but her winged eyeliner, pale foundation, and blood-red lipstick were identical to the day we met.

"Wait…" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"How is your makeup still on?" Isabel touched her face, rubbing the pale foundation.

"It wouldn't wash off."

"At all?" She shook her head.

"Believe me, I tried." We looked at each other, arriving at the same conclusion about who had decided our makeup was permanent and why.

"I hate him," I said.

"Yeah." Isabel batted her eyelashes.

"Although. My eyes look pretty great."

"They really do," I admitted.

"I hate that I noticed." Interlacing my hands to stretch, the skeletal fingers on my right hand scraped against the skin on my left.

"Ouch!"

"You good?" Liam asked from the cot on the other side of Isabel's.

"Scratched myself with my own bony fingers," I said, as three red welts surfaced on the back of my hand. Isabel stood up.

"Totally normal thing to say." Liam propped himself up on his elbow.

"Alright, gang. I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Good luck," Tre replied.

"I don't know how you guys can get any rest. I'm so amped!" Liam rolled over, putting his back to us.

"Night."

"Nora, I crafted a bunch of Salves while you were out." Tre pointed to Healing Salves in a neat line on the floor by the faded red door.

"We fed you one while you were sleeping too. Seems like it helped."

"I think so. No pain." I flexed my leg. Then held up my skeleton fingers.

"Any thoughts on why some wounds heal, and others don't?"

"Bad enough mutilation and it sticks?" Tre flashed an apologetic smile.

"That's all I got." My middle, ring, and pinkie fingers were bare white bone: no skin, no muscle, no feeling. When I flexed, they clicked together like marbles. I'd lost the fingers in Zone One, and the Salve only gave back so much. The game called it Skeletal Finesse and rewarded me with immunity to pain and fatigue, plus ten percent accuracy with light weapons. The scent of lavender rolled off Tre, unearthing a sudden, random memory of my mom's obsession with laundry sheets. I loved it as a kid.

As time wore on, everything eventually became my sole responsibility, and I stopped buying them because we were on a tight budget near the end. The thought unexpectedly formed a small lump in my throat; I swallowed before it loosened into a sob. Everyone's freshly laundered clothes and the absence of viscera on them made me self-conscious about my own lack of hygiene. An urgent desire to scrub my skin raw drove me off the mattress, my clothes tearing free of the cot with a rip. I had to peel myself free.

Tre made a sour face at the body-shaped stain I'd left behind.

"Gonna wanna flip this baby for sure."

"Why bother? I'm not sleeping again. I was lucky to get a full hour."

"Want me to wash your stuff?" Isabel asked without making a move to stand. I shook my head.

"Rest. I got it." When I reached for the zipper of my Dad's leather jacket, my skeletal fingers caught on the metal with a dry clink. I switched to my other hand, easily unzipping the jacket, which was a mess of scorch marks and mismatched leather patches from fixing previous damage with a Repair Kit back at Mickey's diner. It wasn't really his, but as beat to shit as it was, it was the closest thing I had to a life that didn't involve demons. Not the literal kind, anyway.

Before I tossed it in the washer, I grabbed the fourteen remaining joints from the jacket pocket. I hadn't clocked it at the time, but for whatever reason, they didn't impact my inventory count at all. They behaved more like the LifeLine, in that I could store them in my real pocket. Hesitation hit as I held the jacket over the open mouth of the washer. Technically, this jacket was supposed to be dry-clean only.

"Don't stress, just toss everything in and run it," Isabel called out.

"It's not real." I stared at the very real washing machine.

"Huh?"

"She means look at our clothes. They're beyond clean." Tre struck a modeling pose, then runway-walked down the length of my cot. Isabel held one of her fish-net-clad legs.

"These were all torn before I put'em in, and now they look brand new." I dropped the jacket into the machine.

"I hope it works the same on this." After fumbling with the "BAD BITCH" belt, I unpeeled the blood-crusted black jeans from my legs. They made a sticky sound as they detached from my skin. My right leg had healed, but scar tissue was still visible where a giant fishhook had impaled me. Finally, I removed my sweat-soaked long-sleeve base layer and sports bra, both drenched in leftover Lake Mothers.

For a moment, I stood in that grimy bathroom, stripped down to the manufactured flawlessness of this younger body that never was truly mine, braced for the impact of eyes, or a nervous cough, or some inevitable Tre-joke to cover his discomfort with nudity. Nobody looked or commented. Tre was distracted searching for more potentially hidden supplies, Liam was trying to sleep, and Isabel stared up at the ceiling like the lights were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

To them, I was just business as usual in an abnormal scene they'd already had time to process. Tossing the rest of my clothes and boots in the washing machine, a sense of exclusion nagged me. I'd slept through the whole nudity-filled trauma bonding moment they all shared. Nothing I could do about it, though, so I grabbed the powdered laundry detergent and poured it into the machine, closed the lid, and pressed start. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I gently placed the pre-rolls on the washing machine lid.

"Someone grab these so they don't get lost?"

"Gotchu," Isabel said. Once in the shower, I turned the knob and braced myself. I'd seen plenty of bio-hacking influencers talk about the 'life-changing' benefits of cold plunges back in the real world. As the icy water pounded my back, it was hard to imagine the cold as anything other than another way for this murder bathroom to torture us. The 'HYGIENE IS SURVIVAL' sign's light turned my skeletal fingers a glowing shade of green as I reached for the soap.

Rinsing off all the crap covering me was a chore, especially when the soap kept slipping from my bone fingers. Also, it occurred to me that I had no idea how to wash raw bone properly. Was I meant to scrub it? Polish it? Blood, guts, and dirt spiraled down the drain, and I found it easier to ignore the stinging cold water by focusing on how amazing it felt to be clean. I was so revitalized, I almost forgot I was naked in a room of mostly strangers.

"Is there shampoo?" I called out to Tre and Isabel.

"You wish," Isabel shouted back.

"Lame."

"Use the soap, princess," Isabel teased. I glanced back at her and stuck out my tongue, but Isabel wasn't looking at my face. She caught me catching her, and blood rushed to her cheeks. Her head jerked up as she became intensely invested in the structural integrity of the musty, white plaster tiles on the ceiling. I wasn't mad. Or even embarrassed. Honestly, I was flattered.

In this body, an eighteen-year-old version of me that looked like an anime drawing brought to life, I was so far from how I actually looked in high school that I easily detached it from my sense of self. It felt weirdly nice to be objectified by someone other than the demonic pervert that made me this way. Still, I let the half-second look pass without saying anything to her. After everything she'd been through since losing Sameer at the lake, I wasn't going to make her feel small for being human.

Scrubbing my skin for a second time exposed a few spots I'd missed, which I rinsed off as every last bit of viscera vanished down the drain. I shut off the valve, plunging my corner of the room into silence. With only a thin, worn towel at hand, I did the best I could to dry off, wrapping it around myself as I stepped out of the shower. All that was left was to wait for my clothes to finish, kill five more hours in this gross bathroom, and try not to lose my mind before the faded red door opened.

"When do I get like…" Liam started, sitting up on his cot, "…get a weapon or something?"

"Can't sleep?" Tre asked.

"Nah. Too freaked out." Running a quick inventory check in my head, I realized we were down to the bare bones as far as supplies went. My shield was gone, as were the flashlights, flame bursts, Molotovs, the makeshift spear, the bone, and my precious skateboard. All that was left was the new weapon I'd picked up at the end of Zone One called A Mother's Ruin.

"No bullets," Isabel said, holding out the revolver.

"All I got is the Bowie knife." Tre pulled out his paring knife.

"Same. Knife."

"What happened to the spear?" I asked Isabel.

"Impaled the Lake Mother to the cabin wall and ran away, remember?" I nodded along, although I couldn't clearly remember much of anything from the Zone One boss battle other than the worst parts. Tre stood on his cot.

"Plaxx said this place would have everything we need, but all we found were heals. What's up with that?"

"They want us to die," Liam said, voice flat.

"I don't wanna be the 'um, actually' guy," Tre said.

"But, um, actually, they want us to live and be scared. If they wanted us instantly dead, we'd all be dead." Liam stood up.

"Then why didn't they give us fuckin' weapons, genius?"

"Because…" Tre looked around the room, bewildered.

"…I actually don't know."

"We're so fuckin' dead," Liam said and started pacing. I held my hands palms out.

"Let's all take a minute—""Fuck a minute," Liam shouted, cutting me off.

"We need to make shit ourselves if they don't give us any. Like… like…" His eyes flitted around the room, desperately searching for anything to make his point. Nothing in sight that was even weapon- like. If there had been, Tre would've grabbed it and gone to work. Buzzz. The washing machine. My load of laundry was done.

"Like this," Liam exclaimed, then ripped the lid off the top of the washer.

"It could be a shield." Isabel hopped to her feet.

"Jesus Christ, Liam! You broke it""Our clothes are all clean. I left the dryer door on so Nora can use it."

"So not the point, dude," Isabel fumed. Tre started to slow-clap.

"Liam 'Bend It Like' Becker, you're a certified genius!" He hopped off the cot.

"You figured it out." Liam had frozen in place when Isabel yelled at him and was still standing awkwardly near the washing machine, clutching the lid with both hands.

"I did?""' Everything you need is in the room,'" Tre said, parroting Plaxx's earlier words.

"I've been looking at the environment as decorative, never thought to dismantle shit before. Great job, Liam!"

"Uh… thanks?" Tre pointed to the lid in Liam's hands.

"Put that on the ground here. Nora, get your shit out and put it in the dryer. We need more parts from the washing machine."

"On it!" I hopped into action, transferring my clothes into the dryer. Two hours later, the room was gutted, I was dressed, and the dryer joined the washing machine in appliance heaven. Tre stood in the center of the bathroom, surrounded by parts, doing his crafting stuff. In return for cannibalizing nearly every item in the bathroom, he had discovered several new recipes, which in turn helped him create new items. Eyeing the new weapons, I thought about things we'd lost or used up in Zone One.

There were a few items we'd made that would be nice to have a stash of.

"Hey, Tre, can you make me more Molotovs?"

"Sure," he replied.

"You got a bottle of whiskey and a rag? Cause that's the recipe."

"Crap."

"If you wanna keep an eye out for those kinds of supplies, I'm happy to make whatever." Tre finished the final new item combination. There was a zzzap and a flash of light.

"I've been keeping track of all the recipes I've unlocked so far." Tre was shouldering a lot of the crafting duties, and I needed to be way more involved. I wasn't even keeping track of recipes. Plus, beyond better weapons and gear, it'd give Tre and me a thing to do together in this awful place. A small shield had appeared on the ground in front of Tre. NEW ITEM CRAFTED! SHITTY SHIELD (Washing Machine Lid + Dryer Belt) Effect: Blocks frontal melee. Absorbs one melee hit before breaking." Nice downgrade, loser."

"Oh fuck off with that name," Tre complained to the sky. Shitty Shield was a perfect circle of flimsy-looking metal, with a face stamped in relief into the metal, like Lincoln on a penny. Only the face on the shield was a severe, regal, and demonic woman, with sweeping horns curving back from the crown of her head, as if she'd been born wearing a war helm. She had high cheekbones, a hard mouth, and eyes that, even flattened into cold metal, somehow suggested they were staring into your soul.

"Who's she supposed to be?" Isabel asked, face scrunched in disgust.

"Let's hope we never find out," Liam said. The shield fit nicely on my arm. It was a lot smaller than my precious Makeshift Shield that broke in Zone One.

"It's a lot lighter than the makeshift shield."

"Look at those stats, though," Tre said.

"It's a one-hit wonder." The Shitty Shield lived up to its name. It was definitely the worst of the three new items. Liam and Isabel had already claimed the other two, and I examined them with envy. NEW ITEM! CHEMY BLINDERS (3x) (Detergent + Glade Plug-In) Effect: Blinds all enemies within a 10-foot radius for 5 minutes. Affected enemies are disoriented and in pain. Single use only." Always go for the eyes." NEW ITEM! MAYTAG FLAIL (Metal Pipe + Rubber Hose + Counterbalance) Effect: Very High bludgeoning damage.

Staggers target for 5 seconds on hit." Equally guaranteed to hurt you as badly as your target!" Across the gutted bathroom, Isabel was already turning one of the Chemy Blinders over in her hand, studying it like she wasn't sure whether to trust it. It looked like a translucent grenade, smooth and palm-sized, with a dark chemical liquid slowly churning inside it on its own. Tre had only crafted one item, but three were available. I assumed once it was in her inventory, she could use it that many times.

Liam had the Flail over one shoulder, testing its weight with small practice swings.

"Don't do that in here," Isabel said without looking up.

"I gotta get good at it," Liam protested, twirling the flail above his head.

"It's the only way I won't get hurt when I— Ahhhhh!" He swung it downward and instantly crushed his own knee with the counterbalance.

"Dumbass." Isabel grabbed the Flail from his hands without asking.

"Hey!" Liam yelled, reaching for her." Fuck." He fell back, hands clutching his knee. Even through his jeans, the joint bent slightly inward, toward his other knee, in a direction knees simply don't go. Isabel tossed the Bowie knife on his cot.

"Take this."

"It's not like you know how to use that any better than me."

"I'm only gonna use it when I have to," Isabel replied, "not swing it around like an extension of my dick." Liam ignored her, eyes glazing over as he disappeared into his menus. A second later, his knee looked better. He'd taken a Healing Salve. The only one he had was because we'd just divided everything up. Once his knee was normal, he scooped the Bowie knife off the bed. I ran my good hand through my hair.

"Dude, that was your one Healing Salve."

"I couldn't leave it like that," Liam answered, throwing his arms up. Nobody had a good argument against that. A bent knee was a bent knee.

"Thanks for making this stuff, Tre," I said. Tre dropped onto his cot and folded his arms behind his head.

"Thank Liam. I just did the crafting." There wasn't much left of the bathroom. The washing machine was a hollow shell, the dryer was missing its drum and both its doors, and the stalls had been picked clean of everything that wasn't bolted down. We had hours to kill on the clock, and nothing left to destroy.