CHAPTER 16

  Chain Gang

  The sun was barely up when they broke camp.

  Behind them, their captives made a ragged line, bound and clumped together. All told, there were three Uploads and eleven NPCs, shuffling forward, eyes down.

  Around that group, in a loose circle, walked another eight they'd freed from the cages. They moved slowly, still malnourished. Some leaned on each other for support. Others carried makeshift walking sticks scavenged from the camp. But what stood out the most, was how damn happy they were.

  All of them smiled and chatted nonsense to one another. One older woman hummed a tune under her breath, completely off-key. Another man kept pointing at birds overhead like each one was the first he’d ever seen.

  Scripts being scripts, Bash supposed. Give it a few hours, and the system smoothed out the memories and returned them to baseline. Lucky bastards.

  He took in the grim parade and turned to his companions. Nobody said it out loud, but they kept drifting closer to each other.

  Over to the side, Nora walked quietly, alone but near enough for easy conversation. She hadn't complained once, hadn't shown any signs of tiring despite her weakened state. Her posture remained straight, shoulders squared, like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. Bash considered saying something, maybe cracking a joke to lighten the weight she carried, but he left her alone. Some things you had to deal with yourself.

  Up front, Patrick led the way with Luis beside him. The two complemented each other in a way that almost made Bash jealous. From what he was hearing, the two had fought side by side at the Bandit camp, after he charged ahead alone.

  Luis reenacted the story as they walked. “Patrick was there, with his spear! And I was there with my sword and shield! And we were fighting off five guys at one time!”

  Luis glanced back at Bash. “You had to see it. Patrick was amazing. He has this skill that isolates one person at a time, and I'd just shank 'em. Bam, Bam, Bam!”

  Bash tried to match his enthusiasm, but their bromancing made it hard. “Look at you two, the world's saddest fellowship. All you need now is a CGI midget, and boom, instant knockoff.”

  Luis laughed so hard he broke into a coughing fit, and even Nora, eternal queen of scowls, fought to keep the corners of her mouth turned down.

  Patrick shook his head. “Don't encourage him, Luis, or he will never stop.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Bash smiled grimly. “Wouldn't want to contaminate this perfectly gloomy day with any fun.”

  By midmorning, wagon ruts became deeper and more numerous, slowing progress even further.

  Bash squinted at a crooked wooden sign ahead, its faded letters barely legible. Londonland half a day, it declared.

  The entire march was turning into a loading screen: same background, same grind, no skip button. Another day pretending this was all just a game.

  His musings were interrupted when someone shouted. Bash spun just in time to see one of the Upload bandits wrench free from the line, ropes dangling loose from one wrist. The man bolted for the tree line, shoving past one of the freed NPCs, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

  “Runner!” Luis shouted, already reaching for his sword.

  Patrick pivoted, spear coming up, but the angle was wrong. Too many bodies between him and the fleeing man.

  Nora moved first. She ran, despite her weakened state finding reserves her body shouldn't have had. Three strides closed the gap. Her foot hooked the bandit's ankle, and he went down hard, face plowing into the packed earth.

  Before he could push himself up, she was on him. Knee in his spine. Hand on the back of his skull, pressing his face deeper into the dirt.

  “Please!” the bandit wheezed. “I can't go back there. They'll kill me. You don't understand!”

  “Then you shouldn't have enjoyed the job.” Nora's voice was ice. No heat. No anger. Just cold, efficient truth.

  She looked up at Patrick. “Tie him tighter this time.”

  Patrick was already moving, fresh rope in hand. He bound the man's wrists with knots that would take a knife to undo, then hauled him roughly back to the line.

  Bash helped the older NPC woman to her feet. She brushed herself off and smiled at him.

  Damnit Scripts, Bash thought again. Gotta love 'em.

  He watched Nora return to her spot at the edge of the group, rolling her shoulders like the takedown had been nothing more than a light stretch. No satisfaction in her face. No lingering adrenaline. Just efficiency.

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  The march resumed. The captives walked a little straighter after that, eyes fixed forward. Even the other two bandit Uploads seemed to shrink into themselves, whatever escape fantasies they'd been nursing quietly dying.

  Patrick moved ahead to scout the road, leaving the three of them walking in a loose cluster. Luis, apparently allergic to silence, cleared his throat.

  “You know what I miss? My abuela's radio.” He wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but his eyes kept drifting toward Nora. “Old thing held together with tape and prayers. Every Sunday she'd play these sad love songs. Boleros.”

  Nora stared straight ahead, but after a moment her voice came out flat, distant. “Boleros?”

  “Yeah, you know. Romantic stuff. I used to hate them.” Luis kicked a stone off the path. “Now I'd give anything to hear one again.”

  Bash watched the exchange from behind. Luis walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, stealing glances at Nora. It would have been endearing if it weren't so obvious.

  “What I really miss is my mother's tamales,” Luis continued. “She'd start making them a week before Christmas. Whole house smelled like heaven.”

  Nora didn't respond, her expression shuttering closed.

  Luis tried once more. “The thing about tamales is they take forever to make. My mother always said that was the point. Can't rush something you care about.”

  Nora's jaw tightened. She quickened her pace, putting distance between them.

  Luis's shoulders sagged. He caught Bash watching and managed a rueful shrug. “Too much?”

  “Little bit,” Bash glanced at Nora's rigid back, then at Luis's hopeful face. “Give her time. Some walls take longer to crack.”

  Luis nodded slowly, something settling in his expression. Not defeat, but patience. The quiet kind that suggested he'd wait as long as it took.

  Nearly three hours in, Bash still couldn’t shut his brain up. He pushed up against reality, and several overlays buzzed across his vision. With each new discovery, the system coughed up experience, no matter how mundane. Scraps, really, but Bash would gleefully stare at lichen for hours if it meant squeezing out another stat point.

  He made an exaggerated show of flexing his brain muscles behind the others' backs, hoping he'd be smart enough to outwit the next thing that tried to kill him.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Bash looked ahead. “Cue the next chapter of misery. I'll bring the jokes. Someone else better bring snacks.”

  Luis slowed to walk beside him. “When we get to Londonland, I know where we can get some good churros.”

  The thought of something sweet had Bash's mouth watering. He looked over at Nora, who had drifted a bit closer. “What about you? What do you want to do in the big city?”

  Nora's pace faltered. She glanced at Bash, eyes sliding away to fix on nothing, and when she spoke, her voice was flat and empty. “There's an Upload named Richard who lords over the place. I'm going to find him and kill him.”

  Bash blinked. “Wow, okay... So is this dude one of Maximus's lieutenants or something?”

  Nora turned back, locking eyes with him. “Yes.” The word had an edge, a warning against further questions.

  Patrick and Luis both looked troubled, and even the scripts behind them seemed to hold their breath.

  Bash let the silence sit for a beat before nodding. “Okay. Then we kill the Dick.” The words were casual and it almost troubled him to speak of murder so carelessly.

  Nora seemed taken aback, mouth opening and closing again. “So you will help?”

  Patrick answered for Bash, voice steady. “Yes, we will.”

  Luis spoke in agreement. “We're with you all the way!”

  Nora's face reddened. A single tear streaked down her cheek before her expression smoothed. She pulled herself together, gave a sharp nod, and said nothing more. But something had shifted, and the four of them stood a little closer now. Whatever came next, they'd face it together.

  ---

  Bash barely registered when the dirt road became cobblestone, or when the forest sounds faded to the distant hum of civilization.

  Before him now sat a city, out of place for this world. It had thick stone walls, watchtowers that stood every few hundred paces, and banners. So many banners. The city's crest appeared maybe one in ten. The rest screamed MAXIMUS in block letters. Savior. Protector. God.

  Past the walls, wooden rooftops were crushed together, while further back, glass and metal spires punched through medieval architecture.

  Bash tilted his head. “Somebody definitely built this to compensate for something. Probably a tiny sword.”

  As they neared the gates, riders streamed outwards. Nearly a dozen horses thundered toward them, steel glinting. The riders halted in perfect formation, hands on sword hilts.

  Patrick stepped forward, spine straight, every inch the soldier. “Old Village Head Guard. We bring prisoners for processing.”

  The lead rider scanned the group, pausing on Bash.

  Oracle pulsed a warning. Amber lines traced the guard's hand as it drifted toward his sword hilt.

  Don't move. Don't speak. Don't give him a reason.

  “And this one?” The leader jerked his chin at Bash. “Doesn't look like a guard to me.”

  Patrick didn't hesitate. “Mercenary.”

  Bash kept his head down, fighting the urge to say something clever that would get them all killed.

  Then a second guard, an Upload, leaned forward, squinting. His face cracked open in disbelief. “Patrick? Patrick O'Neill? By the gods, I thought you were dead!”

  The tension snapped as the rider spurred forward and clapped Patrick's shoulder hard enough to rattle armor. “You old bastard! Shouldn't you be retired by now?”

  Patrick managed a laugh as recognition replaced suspicion.

  Bash watched the exchange, noting how Patrick's shoulders had dropped, how the rigid soldier posture had softened into something almost human. The man had friends here. History. A life before all this.

  Must be nice, Bash thought. Having something to go back to.

  With barely a wave, the other riders turned and rode back to the city. For now, the mask held and no one was reaching for the alert Maximus button.

  Staying behind, the one rider who knew Patrick dismounted. “What are you doing, dragging bandits down from Old Village? You should be in a tavern somewhere, scaring the children with war stories.”

  Patrick replied, “Tavern can wait. Duty first.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, the rider escorted the group to a guard post outside the city proper.

  The captured bandits were quickly hauled away for processing. And at another station, Patrick spoke quietly, gesturing toward the eight freed NPCs who had traveled with them.

  A few coins changed hands, and the sergeant nodded, directing the malnourished group toward a low building near the barracks.

  “Shelter and work placement,” Patrick explained when he returned. “They'll be fed, given beds. It's not much, but it's better than the road.”

  Bash watched them shuffle away, still smiling, still chatting among themselves like they hadn't spent weeks in cages. He wondered if they'd even remember Carl's camp by tomorrow.

  Turning, he joined his companions. And together they made their way towards the city gates.