Settling in, Jack sat across from Myrtle in the alley.
“Okay, first things first, Myrtle.” He gave her a serious stare. “How do I access my character sheet?”
Myrtle squinted her eyes at him. She waited for several heartbeats before chuckling nervously. “Beg pardon? That’s your first question? I know a blind child with no arms who knows how to do that. Did you spend too much time in the voidlands or repeatedly hit your head, or something?”
“No,” Jack replied quickly. “Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I just don’t know how. I mean, I said the words, ‘Character Sheet,’ back in there, but all I got was a fuzzy rectangle that floated for a second before dissipating.”
Myrtle continued to stare at him as if he were a particularly stubborn chimpanzee. “Darkness, soil, and swallow me, Jack. Ya sure you’re okay? Everyone knows that the System doesn’t work in the voidlands. It’s part of what makes it so dangerous. Course ya couldn’t access your menus there! No one can! Hells, ya can’t even read a person’s tag out there!”
Hearing her speak so plainly about gaming terminology felt extremely surreal to Jack, but he supposed that if it was normal here, then even the elderly would know all about it.
The mechanic thought quickly. “I’m not okay, Myrtle! That’s the whole point! I was in the shroud, hit my head on something, and now I can’t make heads or tails about what’s going on!” Some of his franticness bled through, and there was not a hint of a lie in it. “Please, I know it must sound ridiculous, but I feel like a kid right now, needing to ask how simple things work. You have no idea how hard this is for me right now. So, can you help me or not? Just until the memories come back?”
“Fine, fine! Hittin’ your head can cause all sorts of trouble, believe me. Ya say ya can’t remember shit, you can’t remember shit,” she said with a dismissive wave, and Jack hoped that would be the end of it. “Well, go on then. Try it now. Should work righter than a whistle. All it takes is a bit of focus, but most find it easiest to just say the words aloud.”
Jack hesitated, suspicious she still might be trying to swindle him, but finally acquiesced. “Character Sheet.”
A thin, partially transparent, blue screen popped into his vision with the faintest crackle of energy. He jolted backward on instinct, and the screen followed him effortlessly. Slowly, he bobbed his head left and right. It maintained a perfect two feet of distance from his head even as he tried to see beyond it. The whole screen couldn’t have been more than a standard printing paper in size, perhaps a little wider and longer, but it still unnerved him how crystal-clear it was.
He heard Myrtle mutter something under her breath, but he ignored her as he began to read.
╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ║
║ ▂▃▄▅▆▇█▓?? CHARACTER SHEET ??▓█▇▆▅▄▃▂ ║
║ ║
║ ╭────────────────────────────────────────────────╮ ║
║ │ Name: Jack Thatcher │ ║
║ │ Race: Human │ ║
║ │ Class: Unknown │ ║
║ │ Level: 2 [██████████????] (1500/2000) │ ║
║ ╰────────────────────────────────────────────────╯ ║
║ ║
║ ═══════════════ ATTRIBUTE POINTS ════════════════ ║
║ AP Available: (5) ║
║ ? Strength: 10 ████████████ ║
║ ? Dexterity: 6 ██████?????? ║
║ ? Constitution: 7 ███████????? ║
║ ?? Perception: 8 ████████???? ║
║ ?? Resilience: 4 ████???????? ║
║ ?? Charisma: 3 ███????????? ║
║ ║
╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝
Jack read each line again and again and again. With each fresh read, the full weight of his circumstances started to fall onto his shoulders.
This was real.
He was in a world of magic, levels, and death.
“How do I–” Jack began even as he focused on the lines, ‘AP available: (5).’
He immediately saw the bars next to each of the attributes glow faintly, and he could see each one increase by a maximum of five.
“Never mind. What does each attribute cover?” Jack asked in a breathless whisper.
When her brow furrowed in renewed suspicion, he pointed to his head meaningfully. She let out a sigh.
Jack was grateful she swallowed the lie. He needed to focus on something tangible right now. Something he could control. Because he knew that if he pondered any longer on the sheer breadth and depth of his situation, he would most certainly drown.
Myrtle took a moment to collect her thoughts.
“Well, in order, Strength is exactly what it sounds like. How much you can lift, exert—that sort of thing. It also affects how much damage ya can do, but that’s just as much about the tool as it is about the wielder.” Her voice took on a cautious yet light tone, as if Jack were some kid and she his teacher. “Dexterity is all about speed and reflexes. The higher it is, the faster you are. Constitution is all about increasing your max health.”
She laughed in a self-deprecating fashion. “Wish I’d spent more of my few AP on that one, and that’s the truth. I’d be a sight for sore eyes instead of… well… All this,” she said, gesturing at her current state. “Constitution also helps with recovering HP. So, learn from ol’ Myrtle. Invest a bit there when ya can.”
With a sigh, she pulled her shawl closer around her frail frame and continued her explanation. “Perception is how well ya see, hear, touch, taste, feel. Don’t heighten pain too much, though, so that’s a blessing we can thank Ardent for, I guess. I heard a high Perception gives ya the ability to increase or decrease each sensation after a while. Now, I know I’m skippin’ ahead, but Charisma is all about presence. Ya want to come across as big and bad and tough, ya get some high Charisma. Ya want to be the belle of the ball, well, ya get–”
“Charisma, I got it. But why skip ahead? What’s so important about Resilience?” Jack asked, still reading his Character Sheet while she gave her explanation.
She met his gaze, and some of the fog dissipated from her dark brown eyes. When she spoke, it was with the finality of someone who had seen too much.
“Forget what I said before. Forget Constitution. Don’t matter how much HP ya got, or how strong or fast, or perceptive ya are. If ya can’t get back up or take a hit, all that will be useless. Resilience is the most important stat of ‘em all. Never forget that, Jack. Never.”
Neither spoke for several long moments.
The sun continued in its journey, and the graffiti was cast fully into the shadows, turning the blood-stained that marred it brown. Jack could almost convince himself that it was dirt or mud, and not the sign of a life lost. Almost.
After nearly a full minute, Jack finally nodded.
“Okay. I can’t promise I’ll ignore all the others outright, but I’ll take your advice.” Jack focused on his stats and invested three points into Resilience, one into Dexterity, and one into Perception.
Jack had always loved playing speed-focused characters in his favorite video games. And based on what Myrtle had said, if his Perception stat raised his overall senses, that would be priceless in a fight for survival. If he could see an attack coming, he could prepare. Defend. Dodge. Counter.
When he’d invested all five of his points, he got a confirmation alert.
[Points Allocated. Confirm?]
[Yes? No?]
He focused all of his attention on ‘Yes’ and waited several seconds until the pop-up disappeared. The moment it did, he felt a rush of power surge from the center of his chest. It spread throughout every nerve, every cell, but seemed to focus around his eyes, ears, and major muscle groupings. The final, largest wave of energy coursed across his skin but seemed to seep into his innermost core.
When it was done, he felt energized and more alive than he’d ever been before.
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It felt… good.
He read over his attribute points again.
║ ═══════════════ ATTRIBUTE POINTS ════════════════ ║
║ AP Available: (0) ║
║ ? Strength: 10 ████████████ ║
║ ? Dexterity: 7 ███████????? ║
║ ? Constitution: 7 ███████????? ║
║ ?? Perception: 9 █████████??? ║
║ ?? Resilience: 7 ███████????? ║
║ ?? Charisma: 3 ███????????? ║
║ ║
╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝
“Well, what’s your next question?” Myrtle asked with a complicated grin. “I’m lumping the character sheet and explanation together because I’m nice, and your reactions amuse me. But ask me something serious, or I’ll send you to one of my girls’ daycares and have them answer the rest of your bizarre questions, ya hear?”
Before Jack could broach any of the long litany of questions he had, his heightened senses picked up the heavy stomps of steel-encased boots. There were a lot of them. He soon heard muffled but raised voices across the various slants and curves of the shantytown. They sounded very, very pissed.
Jack immediately began to take off his boots, handing them to Myrtle as he spoke. “Mind if we hold off the final two questions and jump straight to the secret route out of here?”
“Alright. Hate to have two whole damned questions lorded over me, but I guess it’d be best not to attract the attention of the bleeders. They sound awfully pissed off. Anything I should know about?” Myrtle asked.
His silence was answer enough.
The old hag rose up and stretched her lower back. “Alright, Jack. Keep your secrets. Can’t help an old crone like me gettin’ curious. It’s what we’re best at, after all.”
Then, with a mischievous grin, she gestured for Jack to follow her.
He did.
Myrtle led him out of their shared alley and back onto the winding street. Jack noticed a young boy step out from a porch overhead, only to duck back inside once Myrtle made a gesture at him.
Not wanting to waste one of his precious questions, Jack left the exchange go without comment. They continued down its sharp curves for several heartbeats before she turned left and led him down another, wider alleyway.
They continued on like this for several minutes. Myrtle shambled from alleyway to alleyway, her spine bent and crooked. Still, even with her bad posture and a collage of scabs and bruises that he had peeked across her arms, there was no denying that she was in a jovial, if frenetic, mood.
Together, Jack and Myrtle slipped around barrels of stagnant rainwater, over dirt-encrusted cobblestones worn smooth by thousands of feet over the years, and beneath haphazardly erected bridges between the buildings. Jack spotted more graffiti along their route. It ranged in degrees of finesse and artistry, but the sentiments couldn’t have been more plain.
‘Ardent, burn the bleeders’
‘Unity in Poverty’
‘Our Blood. Our Vow.’
‘Bleeders Killed My Sister. Make Them Pay.’
This final one was written in uneven lines and stood barely two feet above the rotting foundation of the building upon which it was scribbled. Reading it, Jack clenched his teeth so tightly they could’ve cracked under the pressure.
Turning another corner, Jack saw a small crowd of bustling people, all dressed in various shades of mud and grime. The nearest person whispered something in a hushed tone, and it spread through the people like wildfire. Everyone turned, and the alley went silent. Then, without so much as a word from Myrtle, they parted before her.
She gave them a gracious nod that was nearly a bow, then pulled Jack along by the arm. A few nodded at Myrtle, while others stared menacingly at Jack. He heard a few of them mutter something as they met her gaze. It took him a few tries, but he eventually pieced together what it was and realised they said one of two things, if anything at all.
‘Mama Myrtle,’ or ‘Matriarch.’
“What happened here?” Jack whispered to Myrtle.
She gave him a raised eyebrow from over one shoulder. “That your second question, lad?”
Jack gave her a quick nod. “I mean, what happened to this place in general? How did the giant black wall get here? Where did the orcs come from? That sort of thing.”
He stepped around the prone legs of a man passed out against a nearby wall, careful not to wake him up. In his loose grip was a dark glass bottle that looked empty. Jack thought he could taste the smoky tang of the liquor coming off the bottle.
Behind them, he heard more voices stirring up a commotion, and picked up his pace. Myrtle caught the unspoken message and followed suit.
“Well,” she said eventually, ducking underneath some drying laundry that was suspended by a few thin lines. “Those are quite a few questions, but you should know the answer to all of them, shouldn’t you? It ain’t no secret as to how the shroud came to be.”
“The shroud?” Jack asked.
“Aye, the shroud.” She pointed at the shadowy wall that loomed behind them and to their left.
“Pretend I have no idea and explain to me like I was a child,” Jack requested.
The voices behind them were getting louder. And closer.
“And maybe give me the short version for now,” he added quickly.
“Fine, but I have half a mind to sayin’ you actually don’t know hide or hair of what’s goin’ on, even though ya seem mighty acquainted with pig blood,” Myrtle said.
She nodded meaningfully at Jack’s tunic. It was stained green with orc blood.
“Ah,” he breathed, pausing in his tracks.
“Right. Here we are,” Myrtle said with a gesture down an even thinner alley. It was enveloped by shadows.
They made it all of one twisting block through the new direction before a thin reed of a man stepped into their path. He wore a tattered fedora of all things and seemed quite proud of it, too. He dipped it nice and low as he obstructed their path, though it barely hid any of the rampaging acne across his scarred face.
“Can’t go no further, hag,” the nasally gentleman informed them. “Ya know the rules.”
Myrtle pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Rigs, I ain’t got the time for your posturin’. Get out of my way lest one of my knives does it for ya.”
Rigs only smiled at her, his teeth abnormally white. It so blindingly contrasted the haggard appearance of his clothes and physique that Jack was briefly taken aback.
The shouts behind them were getting louder again.
“Damn, they’re persistent today,” Myrtle commented, seeming to read Jack’s concerns. She looked up at Rigs. “Fine, ya dirty bastard. I’ll pay. But you and I will have a long chat about this when I’m through escorting handsome here. I don’t care how many dreamers ya got hidin’ on the roofs waitin’ to pounce. I’ll bruise their noses right after breaking yours. That’s a promise, ya hear.”
Rigs’s grin turned feral. “Oh, I’m lookin’ forward to it, I am. Been meaning to test my skills against the infamous spider of Titanhold.”
Myrtle huffed at the title, but reached into a fold of her rags and tossed two coins at Rigs’s feet. They glinted silver. He stooped to pick them up, but both coins shot upward on invisible strings, twisting and yanking the man off his feet as he held onto them for dear life. He screamed while Myrtle cackled beneath him, striding away.
“Oh, come on, Jack. Best we’re off before your friends find us,” the old hag said with an encouraging smile. “And don’t worry about him. He’ll gnaw through my silk if he has to in order to get those coins. Honestly, that alone would be worth it, but we really must get going.”
Rigs screamed something incoherent above them, and true to Myrtle’s intuition, several people on the roofs moved to help their comrade get out of the literal bind he was in.
“How strong is your wire?” Jack asked, following her once more.
A part of him was already thinking about how the military made Kevlar and rope for rappelling. If he could get his hands on some of it, the tensile strength alone would be worth his weight in those silver coins. He could make so much from it if given some time and the proper tools.
“Oh, Jack!” Myrtle said with a flirtatious wave of her hand. “Don’t go askin’ a lady for her secrets like that. I’m far too old for you.”
“What? I wasn’t–” Jack stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. When he spotted her wicked grin, he cursed.
“You make it too easy. Best you work on that, Jack.”
They took a set of steps around a circular brick building, and then Myrtle stopped in her tracks. Jack paused behind her, instantly concerned that something was wrong. Instead, the old woman stooped down and touched a brick near the ground. It popped loose, and she retrieved a bent iron key. Almost absently, she used her bare fingers to bend the thick instrument back into place.
“Just be a moment,” she said over her shoulder.
Rising to her feet, she went over to a shoddy wooden door and inserted the key. It clicked a moment later, and she stepped inside the dark entrance. Jack hesitated for a heartbeat, but followed her in. Social etiquette would have to take a backseat today. There was no chance in hell that he was just going to wait idly outside for the Red Knights to find him.
Inside, Jack spotted several straw beds, most of which were covered with rumpled approximations of pillows and blankets. He gently closed the door behind him, sensing the need for quiet as he did so.
Myrtle approached a small form near the back of the room, but a woman just as old as Jack’s guide appeared from behind a curtain and stopped her with the butt of a broom she held.
She wore a black dress that went down to her ankles. Choking her neck was a thin red collar sewn neatly into the dress. It looked to be made of old leather, and she didn’t appear to notice its presence at all.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman hissed through clenched teeth.
“Please, Sara. I’ve brought–” Myrtle started.
“Damn you and your gifts!” Sara whispered, but it could’ve been a scream with all the anger behind it. She held the haft of her broom like it was a spear.
Myrtle took a step back as if slapped.
Sara didn’t let up, though Jack caught the faint tremor in her hands. “Damn you! You don’t care for him, so stop pretending like you do. Good intentions are useless down here, and you know that.”
“Please. Just let me see him. We don’t even have to wake him,” Myrtle said, her voice carrying none of its previous guile or strength. It sounded small.
Outside, several loud footsteps passed the doorway.
“You brought bleeders here?!” Sara demanded, taking a step toward Myrtle. “Here?! Are you trying to get us killed? You know what they do to dreamers!”
Sara was not a large woman, nor was she taller than Myrtle. But in that moment, she looked like she towered over Jack’s guide.
Numbly, Myrtle shook her head. “They’re not looking for you. Don’t worry. We’ll go. I just wanted to–”
“To what? Pay your pittance? Assuage your guilt, you damned hag? Don’t bother. Better yet, don’t come back. We know what to do with spiders here.” She raised her broom knowingly.
“That’s enough,” Jack said, having grown tired of Sara’s bullying.
The two women spun on him, and he couldn’t tell which looked more surprised.
He pressed forward. “I don’t know what’s going on or the beef between you two, but Myrtle clearly cares about someone here. So, you’re going to let her see them, and then we’ll be on our way.”
His tone brooked no room for argument. It was Myrtle who spoke first.
“You’re right, Jack. You ain’t got a candle’s clue what’s going on.” Her voice had a lethal edge to it. With dead eyes, she glanced at Sara. “Here. These are for Matthew. See to it he has them on before the weather turns. This winter is going to be a nasty one.”
She handed Sara the pair of boots.
Jack’s boots.
For some reason, he’d assumed she’d asked for them to make him reliant on her, or simply make it harder for him to run away when she asked for whatever favour she had in mind. But now, in that dark and cramped room, he realised the favour was just an afterthought. These boots were for one of the withered forms beneath one of the thin blankets. That was the true reward. That was her price.
“Let’s go.” Myrtle pulled Jack along, leaving Sara standing there, boots in one hand and a broom in the other.
Jack didn’t argue. They exited the small room and back into the limited daylight.
“What you saw in there,” Myrtle began, seeming to choose her words with extreme care. “It didn’t happen. You don’t know this place, and you certainly don’t know the name, Matthew. Is that understood?”
“If I’d known who they were for, I would’ve given you the shoes regardless of our deal,” Jack replied with a small smile.
His answer surprised her. He could see it in her eyes. After a moment, she nodded, some of the tension leaving Myrtle’s weary shoulders.
The faint scuff of a boot behind them caught his attention. Jack swivelled his head backward right as a pair of soldiers in red war regalia turned onto the narrow street they were on.
“HALT!” one of them shouted, startling the drunk man to waking. They stormed past him, kicking and stepping on him in their haste. “I said HALT!”
“Let’s go!” Jack exclaimed and helped Myrtle along by the arm.
