Chapter Text
The game was old and buggy. But the kind of game you’d call a "classic." Even though Bill thought it was crap. See, anything that earned the title of "classic" in his book automatically became bo-o-oring.
A run-of-the-mill horror walker. One in a thousand. This one was notable only for the grisly rumors and stories of developers and testers dying off. Not that it was surprising, really, since it all went down right at the peak of the transition to full VR. And there was no mental firewall back then to protect the mind from a deceptive, hyper-realistic virtual world.
You catch a bullet in the chest—and your brain loses its shit so hard it just stops the heart. Pretty cool, actually, considering how much those shut-in testers hate reality. You could have it carved on the tombstone: "Lived and died in his favorite universe."
Not every "normal" person can brag about that. Sure, reality doesn't have bugs, but that’s exactly why it’s dull. Bill sometimes thought he could easily get stuck in the textures of his bed and croak right there. Adrenaline? You bet. Obviously, the game was banned, but since when has that ever stopped anyone?
Besides, if Bill got it right, when they tried to scrub the game, it pretty much "gained sentience," smoothly migrating from one server to another, constantly rebuilding and evolving. It crawled through the entire web. And yet, it always left a way for players to find it.
Now, with top-tier immersion gear, more people were making it out alive, but word about the game still didn't really get around. And nothing fuels curiosity like the unknown. Plus the fact that those who returned never went back. And never recommended it to anyone else.
But Bill liked it. After all, what’s the point of living if you don't die at least once? Bill grimaced, wandering through the game’s ruins. There had to be monsters somewhere—clunky, old models, most likely—but he wanted to see them up close.
"Where are you?" he sighed, racking his pump-action shotgun. "Come on, you bastards, come get some!" He fired into the air and winced at the janky sound. Too loud, a deafening, ear-piercing screech. With the recoil kicking hard into his arm.
Still, this world was sick; Bill figured maximum realism was where it was at. Despite the obvious downsides, like the fact that you couldn't carry a damn thing more than what actually fit in your bag.
If this ancient game ever had a plot to begin with, it was long gone thanks to the constant shifts and bugs—the result of the game trying to keep itself from being deleted, drifting from server to server and constantly rewriting its own code. All you had to do was cross the ruined city—scorched in some places, beautifully flooded in others—and reach the dam, where salvation and, of course, the exit were supposed to be.
The monsters didn't show.
Bill sighed and lowered his weapon, slowly picking his way through the rubble. The story might be gone, but the tutorial phase should have remained: how to pick up items, use them, interact, how to kill an enemy—it all should be there.
But the game remained silent, as if it were studying him.
Fresh blood? There was also this profound sense of loneliness here. A sort of… dull and hopeless feeling. Desolate, like an autumn day that had dragged on for far too long. Yet at the same time, he felt acutely aware that he wasn't alone. Bill marveled at how the creators managed to piece together and convey this atmosphere of suspense and mounting dread out of thin air. Signboards on abandoned, shuttered shops creaked softly. Scraps of paper rustled along the asphalt, and the ivy leaves clinging to the walls whispered in the breeze.
"Nothing is better than peace. Peace in the world is possible without people," a message on the wall declared. "Repent, the end is fucking nigh," echoed another on a nearby storefront.
Bill took a deep breath, letting himself soak in his final moments in this place. And then, something broke the rhythm of the ambient noise. A clicking sound, as if someone were slowly prowling along the rooftops. Bill froze, recalling everything that had been written about this place. Well, a rough catalog of monsters had been compiled, despite the fact that no one wanted to share details about the world.
Bill turned toward the sound slowly, feeling the rush of adrenaline and dread wash over him. He saw a hollow skeleton "staring" at him—about three times the size of a normal human, but for some reason, equipped with a predatory maw and fangs that defied the imagination.
Right.
Bill quickly swapped weapons, drawing twin short blades. He remembered some necromancer saga: you've got to hack the undead into pieces smaller than a fingernail if you want them to stay down.
"Come to daddy," he whispered with a sigh. "Come on, baby, I'm waiting."
The monster dumbly turned its head toward the sound and charged. Bill was loving it, satisfyingly slicing through rotten tendons and crushing bone. Honestly, games like this were perfect for venting aggression from mindless studies and even more mindless part-time work. Because, in his personal opinion, twenty percent of customers always turned out to be massive assholes. And you had to smile at them instead of telling them to fuck off. Even though what you really wanted was to slit their throats with a dull knife.
He took it all out on the skeleton, which, almost Jesus-like, just let him beat on it. The training mob fell to pieces in a couple of minutes; Bill switched back to his TT and moved on, eyes peeling the surroundings. It's like being in VR goggles: one minute you're invincible, the next you're sitting there with your pants full of shit.
Creepy.
But he liked it anyway. Because even the breeze brushing against his face had been rendered. So far, the game was living up to all his expectations. You could even run into other players here—the ones who got stuck. Some were famous, like those dead climbers used as landmarks on Everest. Forever-sealed fragments of consciousness. Their bodies were either already dead or unhooked by exhausted relatives. You could talk to the "ghosts." Sometimes. And Bill looked forward to that more than anything. He felt like an explorer at heart, and that "this" was a form of fucking immortality. Well, almost.
Just stepping out into another world.
A bit lonely, maybe, but then again, it’s not exactly death. What if, down the line, there’s tech for a reverse transfer into, say, an android?
Bill checked his map and looted a red-glowing medkit. And then, he didn't hear it—he caught it out of the corner of his eye: a flash of movement. Someone else was here. He felt a gaze on him. Hungry, and for some reason, cheerful with a nasty kind of mirth. The kind where you realize that if there’s a joke coming, you’re the punchline.
Could it be the "Wayfarer"? There were legends about him too—how he’d occasionally show himself to those he took a liking to. Someone you could befriend, brawl with, or try to kill. A total wildcard.
"A fresh face wandered in."
Bill snapped his head up. Perched on a crumbling windowsill was a guy looking perfectly normal for such a fucked-up world: heavy-duty tactical boots, cargo pants, and a black shirt with ripped-off sleeves, splattered here and there with white paint.
"What’s your deal? You a talker?" the guy asked. "If not, I’m out, and we’ll never cross paths again."
"I’m a talker," Bill said, for reasons he didn't quite get. Though he totally wasn't, of course. But damn, he wanted to talk to a living spawn of the game. Even if the guy turned out to be just some annoying NPC. He could always "accidentally" kill him later.
"Okay," the guy nodded. "I’m Robert, and I’m stuck here."
Bill grinned, sizing him up.
"I’m Bill. And I’m not stuck. Yet."
"Be very, very careful, kid. This world pulls you in. You’ll be floating here until your body rots away back there."
Bill tilted his head. No, he wasn't some idiot who trusted the first person he met; besides, nobody in their right mind would want to stay in a game, and they certainly wouldn't turn into a "sweetheart" because of it. But there was something about Robert that felt trustworthy.
"You want to go all the way to the end?"
"Is there one?"
"Depends on how you look at it..." Robert hopped down lightly from the windowsill and strode toward him, turning out to be much taller than Bill had imagined—and older, too. "It’s like Carroll’s Alice: everything is relative."
It sounded so real that for a split second, Bill actually believed Robert was the real deal. But the guy blinked and went on:
"We need to get through this flooded city, the wasteland, and part of the forest. Past the dam—on top of it, actually—there’s supposed to be a shelter."
"A shelter? Meaning what exactly?"
"It used to be a checkpoint between levels seven and eight, but now it’s different for everyone. For some, it’s the end; for others, oblivion; for some, death."
Bill liked the sound of that.
"I’m looking for a traveling companion."
Robert smiled.
"How perfect. And I was looking for someone to share the local scenery with. At least for a while. Who’ve you run into so far?"
"A skeleton. Hacked it to splinters," Bill grinned. "I was thinking of scavenging the houses, maybe find some food and water."
"Gotcha," Robert agreed easily, "but I don't know the city all that well. Just this block. There’s plenty of food, though. Unlooted shops everywhere."
He gave a dreamy smile.
"You can lounge on fancy beds in the furniture stores and wrap yourself in unfuckingbelievably expensive llama wool blankets."
Bill snorted, then let out a laugh.
"Sounds like a plan."
They headed down the street, broken glass and stones crunching under their boots, the grass rustling loudly.
"How long has this city been abandoned?"
"About ten years since the game launched," Robert said, adjusting his grip on his AK. "But honestly, it feels longer now."
Bill nodded. Judging by the trees swallowing the buildings, it looked closer to two decades.
"Have you run into any other players here?"
"Of course."
"And were you friends with all of them?"
"I’m a nice guy," Robert gave a sweet smile. "Or rather, I suspect I’m some kind of indicator."
"But you realize this is all just a game," Bill started, his tone shifting. "You realize none of this is real?"
That you aren't real? Bill almost added, but he caught himself. He didn't quite know why. Saying something like that to another sentient being felt rude, even if the guy truly was nothing but a string of ones and zeros.
"Just as unreal as everywhere else. You see, I’m part of the world. You, you’re made of cells," Robert smiled. "Out there. Somewhere far away. They’re made of molecules. Those are atoms; atoms are neutrons, protons, and electrons with a predicted spin. And the Universe is made of energy. Gravitational waves permeate space and form the very structure of the vacuum. What are protons, neutrons, and electrons made of? According to string theory, they’re the finest threads of energy. How is my code, my zeros, any less energy than that?"
Bill swallowed hard. Well, yeah. String theory had always seemed a bit far-fetched, but here it sounded almost logical. Why shouldn't he consider Robert a person in his own right? Bill remembered how he used to manage to fall for characters in old console games.
It’s all for the sake of the rush.
"There are at least three ways through the city," Robert began, staring at a creaking "Pharmacy" sign. "But no matter what you choose, there will be swimming. And diving. And climbing across rooftops."
Bill grinned. He intended to take the longest, most winding path: over the roofs.
"I know where we’re heading first."
Robert smiled.
"Good."
They moved down the street past cluttered, half-ruined houses. Bill soaked in the atmosphere of the broken world—its breath, its silence, its lurking fear.
And, for some reason, its stillness.
Or was it just because he was still himself? People came here to find something more than just a crude way to vent their real-world stress.
"Do you remember all your previous companions?" Bill asked, climbing onto a roof and watching the sun slowly lick the edge of the horizon. Prudence suggested they should have found a place to hunker down in one of the shuttered shops.
"Of course."
"And what were they like?.."
"Interesting. Something new every time. Some are overly cautious, others charge headlong into battle. Some are repulsive, arrogant pricks, and some are a bit yellow. Never a dull moment," Robert assured him. "Truly."
Bill grinned.
"And me?"
"Haven't figured you out yet," Robert pointed toward a nearby dovecote. "We can hide out there."
"Right," Bill agreed, following the lithe figure. "And were you created specifically to?.."
"...To help," Robert turned back with a strange look and grabbed Bill’s hand the exact second his foot slipped off the slope of the roof.
"No," Bill exhaled as he was jerked back up, "thanks, but that’s not what I meant. How do you know this world isn't real? I mean, you’re not playing the part of an NPC. And anyway, it’s just not right."
"And you think this game is 'right'? We spent a long time hiding from those who want to wipe this world out. I mean, if you want, I can be a mindless sidekick."
Bill shook his head and pushed open the dovecote door, quickly scanning the room.
"I’m learning, after all," Robert continued. "Interacting with you. That’s how I know everything around here isn't 'real' to you."
"And to you?"
Robert smiled.
"This is my home. And," he stepped closer, his breath nearly brushing Bill’s ear as he whispered, "in truth, all of this is reality. As real as it gets. And it’ll be much better for you if you realize that sooner. If you believe in it."
A shiver ran through Bill; he jerked away, not understanding... not understanding why for a second he felt more than just scared—he felt cold, existential dread. Like being mid-skydive and realizing the chute didn't open. And wasn't supposed to. And that he was going to die.
"Fine," it came out sounding pretty pathetic. "Reality."
He could feel Robert’s smirk against his skin. Strange. Usually, as long as they didn't take damage, players didn't "fall" into the game; their brains filtered the experience. But apparently, not here. And that was what was terrifying.
"You can tell me what’s going on back there, in your world," Robert continued calmly, cozily clearing the clutter in the dovecote, bringing order and setting up a crash pad for the night just by being there.
"Nothing much, honestly," Bill admitted, shrugging off his backpack and noticing his back ached as if he’d actually been lugging all that gear. "Offices, boredom, deforestation, forest fires, dying whales, batshit dolphins, pandemics, people with a million genders who get offended by everything..."
"So truly, nothing has changed," Robert agreed, turning oddly pensive.
Bill chuckled and flipped a mattress, finding a bottle of water underneath. He reckoned it was too early to drink yet and tucked it into his non-existent backpack. And only then did it hit him.
"You talk as if…"
"As if I know your world? Not really," he shook his head. "I’ve just heard plenty." "Fair enough. So, what else is out there waiting for us, besides skeletons?"
Robert cast a thoughtful glance at the door.
"A lot of things come out after sunset. But you still don't trust me, so you won't agree to split the watch. To make sure nothing eats us."
"Wait, can anything even eat you?"
"When I’m on my own, I’m the one doing the eating," Robert laughed. "But since we’re together, why would I break character?"
Bill smiled. Fascinating. So, when not interacting with a player, the sidekick becomes a lethal threat to the mobs. Makes sense: for him, this place is reality, and he has to defend himself. Until a player shows up. Actually, there were all sorts of rumors about what the sidekicks looked like. They varied so much that some spoke of a Marked One, while others described a blue-haired elf.
"So, I’m not gonna croak?"
"Everyone croaks eventually," Robert shrugged.
"Even you?"
"Even me," he agreed easily.
"What about your looks—" Bill started to ask but bit his tongue. For some reason, he didn't want to go on. More accurately, he realized he was terrified of hearing the right answer to that question.
"What about them?" Robert mused, ruffling the short hair on the back of his neck with a move so strangely graceful that Bill found himself staring. "Don't you like me? You're quite the looker yourself."
Bill smiled. "Thanks, I guess, but that’s not true."
"Fishing for compliments, are we?" Robert shook his head. "Right. You know, I’ve been thinking—we probably shouldn't have picked the dovecote. It’s a bit too conspicuous."
Bill swallowed hard. Of course. If they could see it, then anyone else could spot a lone structure on a rooftop just as easily.
"But we’ve still got a couple of hours to catch some shut-eye. You go ahead and sleep," Rob suggested. "I’ll keep watch and wake you if things get hairy. Truth is, it doesn't really matter where you hide; the monsters always find you two hours before dawn anyway. Might be the game code, might be a system bug. Or a feature, who knows."
Bill sighed and settled onto the mattress where he’d luckily found the water earlier. Fine. His "husk" back in reality could afford to sleep for a couple of days.
His sleep was restless and shallow. Slapping footsteps, heavy breathing, low growls from outside, and Robert’s silhouette frozen against the wall—none of it exactly helped him drift off.
"I’m cold," he muttered. Robert turned around.
"Want my jacket?"
Without waiting for an answer, he draped it over him. Bill curled up under the weight of the garment and gave a contented sigh. It felt a bit warmer.
"Go back to sleep," Robert ruffled his hair in an almost domestic sort of way. "I'll wake you when it gets dangerous."
And Bill drifted off again.
His body back in reality was hooked up to machines, with glucose and other crap slowly dripping into his system. And then there was the time… time was warped. That was probably the biggest perk of these kinds of games: you could spend weeks here while only three days passed in the real world.
A hell of a way to spend the weekend. After a while, Robert touched his shoulder and pressed a hand to his lips.
"Quiet."
Bill could hear it now, too. Something was very close.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Sounds like a skeleton. But it could be something else," Robert silently unsheathed a short blade and gripped a pistol in his other hand. "Get up."
Something had arrived early.
The creepiest part was that Bill could hear a child crying somewhere in the distance. Like, a kid was actually sobbing out there. In a dark, long-dead city, amid the void and the vast expanse of stagnant water. And sure, he knew perfectly well—come on, where would kids even come from here? But the dread chilled him right down to the marrow.
"Sweet little brats," Robert snarled with a predatory grin. For a second, in the flickering light of the streetlamps, he looked even more terrifying than the unknown mourner.
A mourner.
Right, Bill had read about this monster lifted straight from Left 4 Dead.
The Witch—who in the original game had massive striking power and could drop players in a heartbeat on high difficulty—had her workarounds. Leave her alone, and she just wails. But in this place, her prototype was aggressive, using her cries to lure players in. The figure of a girl, hunched and doubled over from sobbing, was right there, visible through the window.
"What now?" Bill hissed, frantically cycling through his weapons. A shotgun—he didn't have a shotgun yet. He had to settle for an AK. Robert pulled out a rifle as well.
"I say we blast it 'til it stays down. The two of us should be enough for one mourner," Robert tried to reassure him.
"Got it," Bill nodded, lining up the creature’s head in his sights, and fired. He wasn't about to wait for a jumpscare where the girl would whip around and snarl into his scope. Robert let loose a burst too, not bothering with single shots. Bill swapped to his sniper rifle, took aim, and put two rounds into the thing’s head.
The recoil nearly dislocated his shoulder, but the shot hit home. The mourner’s head burst like an overripe watermelon.
"They're solo spawns, right?" Bill whispered, swallowing hard.
"Yeah," Robert racked a round into the chamber. "But we need to move. How long can you go without sleep?"
"A while," Bill said, shrugging his numbed shoulder. "I spec'd into endurance."
"Perfect," Robert almost purred. "Then let’s haul ass. Should I lead the way? Or you want to take point?"
"You take it for now," Bill gave in.
"Doesn't mean there’ll be fewer monsters; they migrate, you know," Robert said, briskly tightening his pack. "And nobody gives me a heads-up on where they’re at."
"I'm low-level; nothing too heavy should spawn yet," Bill swapped weapons again, gripping his TT pistol. "Let’s go."
***