He’d been the first to arrive for Bob’s customary Sunday game, lugging a backpack full of dice, notebooks, and a folder with dozens of character sheets.
Only this time, instead of the normal small talk while they waited for the others to arrive, Roland introduced him to the upcoming System Apocalypse.
The new demonstration didn’t involve violence. Instead, Roland used his Inventory trick on a variety of objects, including one of Bob’s armchairs, followed by playing around with his aura until he got the rainbow effect he’d triggered accidentally at Bob’s office. Performing the trick triggered some painful twinges in his damaged middle Dantian, but it was impressive as heck.
Barton was short and pudgier than Bob, with short black hair, a flat face with more pimples than normal for someone who was pushing thirty, and thick glasses.
“I can’t stand contacts,” was his customary answer to people asking.
He was smart and could give you chapter and verse of dozens of TV and streaming shows, from old classics like Buffy the Vampire Slayer to the latest Disney Channel MCU series. His knowledge of science and biology was almost as impressive, but his everyday life skills were a bit lacking.
He made a living working part-time at a local comic book store and buying assorted vintage merch at yard and estate sales and flipping it on eBay. That and a small inheritance from his deceased parents kept him fed and able to buy assorted gaming material.
Barton Martinez (Human)
Health 19 Endurance 20 Mana 21
“Yeah, it all makes sense,” he added, pushing back his glasses. “I follow a few cryptozoology accounts on X, and they’ve all gone wild over the last couple of days. Dozens of video clips. Lights in the sky, cryptid sightings – did you see those TikTok videos of Big Foot? Not the joke ones. Real Big Foot.”
“That stuff is AI, most of it,” Bob warned in a funny role reversal, since Barton was usually the one casting doubt on Bob’s conspiracy theories.
“No, no. These weren’t AI. Too much stuff happening in the background, too consistent. Let me show you.”
While Barton searched through his phone, Roland gave him the condensed version of his adventures and the current plan of action.
“Here it is,” Barton said, putting the phone on the table for everyone to see.
They watched a video shot from inside a car, filming a forest. Something big and furry emerged from the woods and wandered onto the road.
It was as big as a bear, but its legs and arms were too long, and the head was definitely humanoid. It actually resembled the Yeti Roland had encountered at the Proving Grounds, except with dark brown hair instead of white and a little shorter, maybe eight feet tall.
The creature rushed the car and the viewpoint swung abruptly upwards as screams filled the vehicle.
“According to the attached text, it flipped the car on its side, smashed the rear window, and snatched one of the passengers,” Barton said. “This was in Oregon. There are dozens if not hundreds of similar videos of similar stuff popping all over the world.”
“And half of them will turn out to be AI,” Bob said. He was usually the first to go with the most outlandish explanation but Barton somehow managed to bring out the skeptic in him.
“Enough of those are real,” Roland said. “Anybody mention rat people?”
“Let me see,” Bob said, searching while he spoke. “By the way, Roland, what can we do to get a good Class?”
“You can pick the basic type – like fighter, mage, healer,” Roland said. Trixie had walked him through the basics in anticipation of this kind of conversation.
“The Class quality will depend on your Affinities, plus any titles or achievements you pick up. Which is why getting a Class before the System gives one to everybody is important.”
Maybe jumping into the Chapel was a mistake, Roland thought. We might have cleared that Dungeon last night.
“Got three videos about rat people,” Barton said. “Okay, one is obviously AI. But this one is in New York. A jogger got jumped near Central Park.”
The video showed a man in running shorts being chased by three Ratlings. It was brief and chaotic, as the person filming realized one of the rat bastards was heading their way and started running away, but Roland recognized the furry critters.
“Yeah, that’s them. Same as the ones I ran into, right off I-95.”
“Guys, is this for real?” a voice said behind them.
It was Dahlia. She had let herself in while they spoke. Roland had heard her come in but hadn’t told anybody, figuring that if she eavesdropped for a bit she wouldn’t think they were putting her on.
“Hey, Dahlia,” Bob said.
Dahlia Zellner (Human)
Health 20 Endurance 22 Mana 24
Dahlia was in her mid-twenties, hair dyed in the darkest shade of black, pale-skinned and favoring dark colors and goth gear. Roland knew her from when he was a semi-regular at Bob’s tabletop games. She worked at the Boston Post Mall and went through boyfriends about as fast as she went through cigarettes.
She had issues. You could see some of them on her upper arms, which were covered by dozens of horizontal cutting scars. She’d been rail-thin until a few years ago, when a glandular problem had caused her to rapidly gain weight. That hadn’t improved her personality, which was already firmly planted in the acerbic zone. She cared more about the weight than any of them.
Roland thought she was still pretty cute, in a Harley Quinn, ‘might kill you in your sleep for eating crackers in bed’ way. Cute, but a pain in the ass.
On the plus side, she liked gaming, even if she only showed up about half of the time. Barton was infatuated with her and kept making player characters that hit on her characters, but she managed to reject his in-character advances without completely crushing his soul. She could be mean, but she treated Barton like an annoying puppy.
Her meanness was reserved for whatever unlucky soul ended up hooking up with her. Roland had seen her coming a mile away and had kept his distance, even when she started showing interest in his player characters.
Bob nodded at her. “What we’re talking about, yeah, it’s real. Not sure how much you heard.”
“Heard enough,” she said, dropping her black leather bag on the couch. “You had me at System Apocalypse.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Roland filled her in on the parts she had missed. She asked a few good questions, asked Roland to make a few things disappear to prove his claims, and was content with that.
She also kept giving him admiring glances that would have been far more flattering if they didn’t come from somebody on the wrong side of the hot-crazy matrix. That damn Charisma and super-physique were going to cause trouble moving forward.
“We’re going into a Dungeon tomorrow,” Roland told her at the end of it. “It’s going to be dangerous.”
“Fuck dangerous,” she all but growled. “Doctors told me the other day that I’m pre-diabetic. I starve myself and I’m still gaining weight and now I’m pre-diabetic. I bet Ascendants don’t have those issues. Who do I have to kill to get super-powers?”
“In this case, it’s going to be some rat people. And cockroach people. It’s a Vermin Dungeon.”
“I hate vermin. I’m in.”
“Sounds good,” Roland said as Josh and Wendy walked in, carrying bags of stuff. Bob had sent them off shopping. “Bob can finish filling you in.”
“Got the paint,” Josh said. “Flashlights, three hundred feet of rope...”
“Why rope?” Wendy asked. “Just wondering.”
“You always need rope!” Dahlia said. “And not just for bondage fun.”
“Standard-issue dungeon-crawling gear,” Bob explained. “You never know when you’re going to need a hundred feet of rope or a ten-foot pole. Climbing, spelunking, checking for traps, whatever.”
“And we can load all that stuff in my inventory,” Roland said. “Poles included.”
“Better to have it and not need it than the other way around,” Barton joined in.
“It’s got to be the end of the world,” Dahlia commented. “That’s the only way that all this geek stuff actually has real life applications.”
“Look who’s talking, vampire girl,” Bob said.
“Hey, I’ve actually read medieval grimoires. I know my stuff.”
Hey, Trixie, can you see my buddies’ Affinities? Can you guess what Classes they might get?
Damn, you’re right.
Roland used Analyze on each of them while they sat down – Bob ordered another round of pizza and sodas as the afternoon turned into evening – and talked about the apocalypse with a lot less anxiety than normal people would have expected.
When the going gets weird, the weird get going, he thought as he started checking on them.
He discovered that if he focused on figuring out their strongest Affinities, they would pop up under their stat sheets.
Bob’s surprised Roland: Sorcery (74%), Fire (71%), and Freedom (68%). Roland hadn’t known that Freedom could be gained as a Concept, although it kind of made sense given Bob’s beliefs. With those numbers, though, he could be a pretty strong magic-user type. How Freedom would factor into his class choices, Roland had no idea, but it was probably going to be good.
Josh was a dud. His highest Affinity was Guns (52%), followed by Speed (50%); nothing else showed up, meaning they were below the fifty percent threshold. Even after getting some Achievements and a couple Titles, he was unlikely to get a class above Rare.
His sister Wendy, on the other hand, didn’t disappoint, with Second Sight at 77%, Life at 76%, and Lightning 63%. The high Life made her a shoo-in for a healer class.
Barton’s Affinities were weird but somewhat fitting: Rules (73%) and Magick (64%).
And then there was Dahlia, who was right up there with Bob and Wendy and had four Concepts above fifty percent: Death (73%), Creation, surprisingly (68%), Undeath (64%) and Spirit (64%). She was going to be a major contender. Probably a sorceress or necromancer. Roland’s only worry was that he remembered that Dahlia had strong murder hobo tendencies when she played tabletop RPGs. He would have to keep a close eye on her.
Analyze has improved to Beginner 8
Most of the conversation revolved around their dungeon crawl the next day. When it got late, Barton and Dahlia went to their respective homes but promised to arrive early in the morning to help Roland with the ritual.
Barton shared an apartment with an old guy on disability who’d been friends with his father. The old guy had the disposition of a rabid skunk, and Barton avoided him like the plague, spending his day in his bedroom while the oldster sat in the living room and watched endless reruns of Matlock.
Dahlia was back living with her parents after she and her live-in boyfriend had a breakup that involved domestic violence. The cops had arrested them both, but the boyfriend ended up doing a stint for third-degree assault. Par for the course for Dahlia, in other words.
Both of them promised not to talk about their plans until they went through the dungeon.
“Do you think they’ll keep their mouths shut?” Josh asked after they had left, Dahlia in her parents’ SUV, Barton in an Uber; he didn’t drive.
“They will,” Bob said. “Barton doesn’t like his roommate, complains about him all the time. Dahlia and her parents barely speak to each other. And even if they blabbed, who’s going to believe them?”
“Crazy talk is going to get only more frequent moving forward,” Roland added. “A lot of it is going to be nothing but the truth, but the truth is too crazy to accept, not until you see it with your own eyes.”
“Even if they believe doomsday is coming, where can people go?” Wendy said.
Roland looked at Trixie before answering. “Without a Safe Zone Token like the ones I’ve got, nowhere is safe. If you hunker down away from civilization, monsters will come over and dig you out. If you have a lot of weapons, you might survive, at least at first. But my Guide’s told me that after the monsters level up, guns will stop being very effective. Eventually, they won’t help much at all, not unless you use magic to improve the guns.”
“But killing monsters with guns will get us levels, right?” Bob said. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
“Yes. But as soon as you get a Class and Skills, try to use the System stuff as much as you can. If you get a gun-related Class, that’s great, but the more you rely on guns, the slower your Skill advancement will be. Skills are what matter, what determines the damage you dish out, the defenses you get.”
“Fireballs beat guns, I guess,” Bob decided. “I’m still packing as much firepower as we can fit into your magical stash, including a couple of beauties I’m gonna buy, borrow or steal from my old man.”
“Are you going to tell him what you’re doing with them?”
Bob rubbed the back of his head, an old childhood gesture he still used when talking about his father. “No, not yet. I want to have a Class first, then I can show him something he’ll have to believe.” He paused for a bit before continuing. “You know he’s never thought much of me, don’t you?”
“Bob...”
“Nah, we both know it’s true. He thinks I’m a loser. That’s why it’s my younger brothers running the store and the junkyard and not me. So I got to have something big to show him or he’ll just laugh in my face.”
“I hear you,” Roland said. “And we need to convince Gorman, too.”
“Yeah, and best way to do that is get my old man on board. Gorman will listen to him.”
Josh and Wendy had been listening quietly until then; Josh spoke up: “You’ve mentioned your uncle Gorman before. You think he’ll have room for me and Wendy too?”
Bob nodded. “Yeah, I think so. After you get Classes, I don’t see him turning you away.”
Josh looked relieved. “Appreciate that. Got a few friends in Cincinnati, but nobody around here.”
Roland could sympathize. The end of the world wasn’t a good time to be alone.
“We can’t go back to Ohio, anyway,” Wendy said. “Not after my brother trusted the wrong guy.”
“Hey, it was a good deal. Not my fault the rat bastard got caught with two pounds of crystal. When you had that feeling trouble was coming, I knew he was gonna roll over on me, so we booked, and here we are. Just hope the feds don’t get involved.”
So that’s what happened, Roland thought. Drug deal gone wrong. It shouldn’t matter in a couple of weeks, but it’s something to keep in mind.
“None of our beeswax,” Bob said, and Roland shrugged and nodded. It really wasn’t.
“Uncle Gorman appreciates people who can pull their weight. He doesn’t care if you got problems with the law, unless he thinks it’s going to spill on him,” Bob added. He turned to Roland. “How about Mandy?”
Roland had meant to call his sister that day, but between convincing people that he wasn’t nuts and making plans for Monday, he hadn’t gotten to it. He pulled his phone and tried Mandy. She didn’t pick up.
“Straight to voicemail,” Roland said. He left her a message and a text: ‘this is important. Call me ASAP.’ “She’s still mad about me and Elle, I guess.”
Things weren’t urgent enough for him to go see her in person. After they dealt with the Dungeon the next day, he would talk to Mandy. Maybe even talk to Elle, although he wasn’t really sure what to do about her.
Right now, all he wanted was to get Mandy somewhere safe. Elle... well, he wouldn’t abandon her to the apocalypse. They had been dating for a couple of months, and things only turned bad after the mugging. And she had been a good friend to his sister.
He figured the least he could do was to let her know what was happening and offer her a place in the Safe Zone he was planning on establishing.
At this point we’ll be asking Gorman to accept eight people, minimum. Probably more if Barton and Dahlia have friends or family to rescue. In return, I’ll turn his land into a Safe Zone. He’ll go for it. I think.
Trixie didn’t comment, so maybe she couldn’t hear his private thoughts. He shared them with her directly.
Roland shook his head. You’re quoting freaking Joseph Stalin at me?
Fine, thanks, ChatGPT with wings.
At that moment, the faerie sounded just like Barton when he went all ‘actually’ in the middle of a conversation. That was one of the reasons few people could stand having him around.
Roland dismissed the idea of strong-arming or murdering his mother’s brother and thought about the many other things that needed doing. He hadn’t planned to reveal everything to so many people on his first day back, and he still had a ritual to complete and a bird to talk to.
“Everything okay, cuz?” Bob asked him.
“Yeah. Just thinking. Listen, I’m going to get to work in your basement. Figure I’ll be done by five or six a.m. Then I’ll take a nap, we do the ritual before lunch, and we can go clear that Dungeon sometime later.”
“Got it,” Bob said. He had gone over the translation of the ritual with his phone and been convinced it wasn’t going to call a demon or Great Cthulhu to his basement.
“Can I trust you to get everyone ready? Maybe buy some chow for the dungeon crawl. No idea how long we’re going to be there. Especially if there is a time differential.”
“Sure thing,” Bob said. “I also need to pick up the rest of the guns and gear. Everyone going in should get a combat knife or a machete, just in case. I’ll sell a couple more of your coins to cover everything.”
“Good. Just tell everyone to stay away from the basement.”