Chương 10: A Talking Doll Might Freak People Out

Tre was already upstairs as I was still processing what we'd seen outside the door. He had said something about "resource management," then turned on his heels and ran back into the house, little legs pumping as he climbed the stairs.

"Where are you going?" I asked, following him back inside. Tre paused at the top of the stairs.

"We're unprepared for this fuckery. We need more supplies." Then he disappeared down the hallway toward my mother's bedroom. Hanging back in the foyer, I waited for him to finish… whatever he was doing. To kill time, I played with the LifeLine a bit more, trying to understand how it all worked. During the fight with the Old Woman, I kept getting Fear and Lucidity warnings in the HUD, and they all had statuses noted, but I had no idea what any of it meant.

There was no app for status warnings, so I checked under Vitals. Scrolling past the wireframe showing all my injuries, and then past the block of stats, I found what I was looking for. I clicked on the Codex info box, and it opened a small chart.

Fear Status Effects Stable No penalties Nervous -10% Stamina Regen Anxious -20% Stamina Regen, minor tremors Panicked Movement -25%, Perception -15% Terrorized -50% Movement, -30% Perception Critical Random paralysis, hallucinations Breakdown Near unconsciousness, HUD failing Catatonic Unconscious. Must be revived My first thought was how completely fucked Tre and I were. Every level of Fear brought worse and worse debuffs. It was the same with the Lucidity meter.

The definitions for those statuses were in a similar chart below. It felt like a lot. Too much to process all at once. I was starting to get overwhelmed, so I exited out of the Vitals app and moved to check out the four notifications on my LifeLine. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! FIRST BLOOD Unlock s: IMPROVISED ARSENAL I"Your first kill. Brutal, messy, delightful." SKILL GAINED! IMPROVISED ARSENAL I (Passive) Effect: Improvised Weapon Damage +5"You're violent. I like it." I killed someone, and the game liked it?

My stomach roiled as the Chimp's hideous face popped into my mind, the hole in his chin, pumping blood in rhythmic spurts. Shaking the image from my head, I swiped to the next notification. EVOLUTION TRIGGERED! SURVIVOR'S EYE II (Passive) Effect: Highlights more environmental detail. Cooldown reduced to 2 hours.

"They won't break YOU." Maltheris was mocking me. A dark laugh died before it escaped my mouth. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! STRATEGIC THINKER Unlocks: TACTICAL INSIGHT"Alexander the Great, Sun Tzu, Orange Julius Caesar, and the 'Leroy Jenkins' kid. You're in good company." SKILL GAINED! TACTICAL INSIGHT (Passive) Effect: +1 Focus permanently"It's like forever Ritalin." Only a single notification remained, but my finger hovered over it without touching the screen.

Despite the snarky commentary, each new unlocked achievement or skill released a euphoric burst of warmth in my head that saturated my body all the way down to my toes. It was a seductive reprieve from the surrounding horror, leaving me hungry for the next hit. Addictive behavior and I go way back, meaning there was inherent danger in how much I enjoyed the sensation, which is what gave me pause before opening the last notification.

I briefly considered delaying it for future gratification, but my ADHD fueled impulse control won the argument by screaming 'FUCK IT,' forcing my thumb down to the screen. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! MOVE OVER MACGYVER Unlocks: IMPROVISED DEFENCE"A paperclip, duct tape, and a lot of luck." SKILL GAINED! IMPROVISED DEFENCE (Passive) Effect: makeshift weapons and shields +10% durability"I'm still amused by the skateboard hit. Brutal." All in all, I was happy with my new skills.

The skateboard saved my ass, so who was I to argue if the game wanted to reward me for quick thinking? But I also knew enough about RPGs through cultural osmosis to know a collection of passives did not make for a good build. I was anxious to share all of this with Tre and start strategizing how to best use the skills. A flash of grim satisfaction dampened my mood. I hated how good it all felt. With no new achievements to open, I turned to the Skills app, hoping to learn more.

Improvised Defense's 10% durability to shields and weapons, which didn't sound like much, but if it kept my skateboard intact through another fight, I'd take it. Survivor's Eye II was vague enough that its description was basically useless. More environmental detail. Awesome. Super specific. The cooldown reduction was nice to have, but as with a lot of elements in this game, I'd have to learn by doing. But the +1 to my Focus added by Tactical Insight bumped the total to eleven.

However, I could find no explanation about what Focus measured. However, I did notice a subtle shift inside when the overlapping thoughts in my head quelled to silence. I tried to follow that feeling but lost it. Huh. Planning how to use these buffs in the next battle made me eager to fight in a way that felt dirty. Was it even healthy to get enjoyment out of the gamification of your own torment? Dr.

B would be able to answer that better than I ever could, so I derailed that train of thought, sending it to the scrapyard in my mind already cluttered with thoughts I hoped to unthink and unpleasant memories I wanted to forget. Checking the Inventory app distracted me with a jolt of revulsion; even the digital icon of the bone grossed me out. That said, curiosity overrode my disgust, and I tapped on the box. SHARPENED BONE Damage: +5 Reach: Medium"I promise she doesn't miss her leg… much." A human leg?

A woman's fucking leg?! Dressed up with stats and inane flavor text?! Seething hatred coiled my hand around the LifeLine as I prepared to chuck the device through the living room window. Intentional cruelty was one thing, but delivering hope in the form of protection, only to poison it with grotesque, cannibalistic irony, was more than just cruelty. Nothing in this game comes without a cost.

Allowing the thought to coagulate, thickening into a hardened permanent truth, I turned my attention away from the bone to the next item slot in my inventory. The two Healing Salves were stacked in a single slot, leaving four empty spaces. Eight slots didn't feel like enough. Wondering if Tre had an additional eight in his inventory, I switched to the Companions app. Inside, the screen showed a single icon with Tre's digitally rendered face.

The rest of the screen was black, so I tapped on the image and a new page opened. The view here was similar to my Vitals app, including a wireframe of Tre's body, real-time injury tracking, a status indicator, and a fear bar. Below that were further details on his stats and skills. Companion: Tre Carter Form: Vinyl Homunculus (Doll) Role: Friendly Monster – Bound Fear: 30% Loyalty: 90% ABILITIES: VINYL BODY (Passive) Effect: Immune to bleeding and poison. Vulnerable to fire (+25%).

COMIC RELIEF (Passive) Effect: Reduces Player Fear gain by 5% when within 10 feet TINY FRAME (Passive) Access vents, crawlspaces, and areas too small for others. Comic Relief. Maltheris turned my best friend into a buff that existed to keep me functional. Tre's warmth, his stupid jokes, and the way he made me laugh even when my life was all falling apart were reduced to a passive skill. He'd spent years keeping me functional. Apparently, the game noticed.

Reduced Fear gain was helpful from a technical perspective, but the whole thing was just appalling. I fought the urge to throw the phone across the room. Fuck you, Maltheris. And Tre's 90% Loyalty was another dick move. The second I saw it, my insides liquified. I was 100% Loyal to Tre, and he was stuck at 90%. God. I'm such a piece of shit. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I scrolled away before the tug of a downward spiral sucked me into a dark place forever.

Inventory was located under his stats, and I deflated a bit when noting he only had four slots total. The most we could carry was twelve items total. At the very bottom of the screen was a toggle that said: Mindbleed [OFF] Mindbleed? I had no clue what that could mean. But it was in Tre's stats, so I clicked the toggle, hoping it would be something useful. MINDBLEED [ON] PRIVATE COMMUNICATION ACTIVE NOTICE: Companion thought projection is one-way only. All transmissions are archived for later review.

The words barely had time to register before— — holy shit, can you hear this? Tre's voice exploded inside my skull. You can hear this, right? I jerked back, nearly dropping the phone. I GOT NOTIFICATION WE CAN COMMUNICATE NON-VERBALLY NOW! His mental voice pinged again, louder, like he was shouting into my brain.

"Jesus Christ," I hissed. THIS IS TIGHT! His enthusiasm was physically painful. NORA, TRY TO THINK BACK AT ME!

"I can't," I called up the stairs, rubbing my temple.

"It's one-way. Stop yelling!" Oh. That's... less tight. His thoughts came over quieter now. Floorboards creaked overhead, and soon after, Tre appeared at the top of the stairs, arms full of green gel pouches.

"Only four total," he announced, carefully taking the stairs one step at a time. I met him halfway, taking the Salves from him to make walking a bit easier.

"Bad news is I ran out of gauze and antiseptic," Tre said, reaching the ground floor.

"The good news is I tried everything in the bathroom and unlocked a new combo: Bandages and Pain Meds. It made this." Tre held up a roll of medical gauze with an inner blue glow. I examined them, mentally opening an info box. STABILIZER WRAP (x3) (Bandages + Pain meds) Effect: Stops bleeding. −5% Fear for 10 minutes.

"Don't want to bleed out too soon."

"It looks like there's some gel on the inside of them, but I didn't want to waste one experimenting."

"Super helpful." I reached for it, but Tre pulled back.

"Hang on. Before we start divvying things up, let's talk inventory."

"I poked around on the LifeLine a bit. You've got four slots. I've got eight." He set the Stabilizer down on the bottom stair and crossed his arms.

"Standard RPG logic dictates we split roles based on what we're capable of. You're the heavily armed, high durability, front-line tank."

"What's that make you?"

"I'm a small, silent killer," Tre said.

"Which means I carry the heals and sneak around."

"You want to be the healer?"

"It's not a preference. Look at me."

"Fair enough," I replied.

"So how do we split up the stuff?" He started counting on his stubby fingers.

"We need two Salves each, minimum; that's non-negotiable. But then I'll take the Stabilizers and the paring knife."

"That leaves me with the majority of the weapons." Tre absorbed his share of the items into his inventory.

"That's the idea. The skateboard, the butcher knife, and the bone are all too big for me to use. You're loaded out to fight, and I'm left with open slots for whatever we find out there."

"I'll still have two open slots too," I reminded him.

"Keep'em empty for now. I'm sure we'll find use for them once we get outside." He turned to face me, tilting his head back to look up.

"Also, no hoarding. If it doesn't have a clear use, it stays behind. It'll be the difference between surviving and dying with a backpack full of lighters and a bunch of red herbs."

"Not sure what that means, but I got the point."

"You grabbed that knife block back there like you were grocery shopping." I laughed.

"I was in a panic, dude!" The sound of a distant voice drew me to the frosted glass panels on the front door. Morning light streamed in, but I couldn't see out.

"We need to go," Tre said, watching me.

"Every minute we waste is a minute closer to sunset."

"We have until sunrise, though."

"It's the night hours I'm worried about." Tre's voice wavered in an unfamiliar way. I realized I hadn't ever seen him this scared, which made me wonder if he saw the same fear in me, too. But I didn't want to ask him because whatever answer he gave would just add to my anxiety.

"Do you think the night's going to be worse than the day?" Tre put his hands on his hips.

"Don't you?"

"Yeah, but I was hoping you'd disagree." After we left the house for the second time, I took a moment to absorb our new surroundings fully. The suburban neighborhood was a bizarro mash-up of '50s through the '80s aesthetics. Each house was white with different pastel-colored trims, and they all had perfectly manicured lawns. But a lot of the cars in driveways felt incredibly out of place. A red Camaro straight from 1987 clashed with a chromed-out '50s convertible one house over.

"It's like we're on the set of Grease, but also it's the future," Tre noted.

"You're banned from Grease references."

"Yeah, okay." Tre angrily kicked a rock. The vintage cars were strange, but it was more than just the old cars that gave the area an anachronistic vibe. There was a mailman, the old-timey kind who walks everywhere with a little bag and waves to people. Also, little kids played kickball in the cul-de-sac with no adult watching, like stranger danger never happened, which was the type of shit that would've given my mom a heart attack. It was all so aggressively wholesome.

"He's a lazy DM," Tre said, scanning the street with his arms crossed.

"Who is?"

"Maltheris. Dude grabbed a bunch of generic suburban horror tropes and mashed them together. The '50s stuff, the '80s stuff… It's all lifted from stories." He nodded at the red Camaro.

"A real game designer would've picked an era and committed." Looking at the houses through Tre's framing highlighted how artificial everything was. My gaze drifted past the cookie-cutter homes, landing on what was supposed to be my house. It was so unrecognizable that it hit me with a wave of vertigo. The outside had been replaced with a generic pastel-green eyesore identical to every other house on the block, down to the welcome mat that merrily declared "HOME SWEET HOME." Which just felt like mockery.

Inside, it was still my mom's house, but that layout was twice the size of what the outside implied. That cookie-cutter exterior somehow contained a much larger interior, and it hurt my brain to think about how that was possible for too long. Tre turned away.

"Crazy how they turned your childhood home into a murder house, then back into a safe space in the span of thirty minutes." We walked along the right side of the U-shaped cul-de-sac and stopped at the cross street, where rows of identical houses stretched in both directions. There hadn't been any additional instructions on what to do next, and neither of us knew which direction to head. Angry shouting rolled down the block. Tre and I exchanged an affirming glance and followed the sound.

Two streets down, we found a cluster of five teenagers having a heated argument on the sidewalk.

"Hold up," Tre tugged my sleeve.

"I'm a living doll, Nora. What if I, like, freak them the fuck out?" Thinking it over, I quickly concluded he was wrong.

"This is a game, right? I'm a player, you're my companion, which makes those the NPCs. Right?" He squinted at the group, nodding.

"Riiiight. The game created them. I guess that means it's not going to let a talking doll blow up its own internal logic."

"Exactly."

"So…" Tre hesitated.

"We just walk on over?"

"I think so." A single affirmative nod.

"Let's see what fresh hell awaits." In the time it took us to have that discussion, the argument had broken out into a fight between two of the five kids. A broad-shouldered guy in a varsity jacket had a scrawny kid shoved up against a mailbox, forearm across his chest. But the slimmer guy swung wildly with his fists, even landing a few licks, but he wasn't going to escape. The three other teens watched from the sidelines—two on one side, and a lone girl on the other.

"You're a waste of space, Patel," the big guy barked, going for the classic bully approach of "say mean thing." The skinny guy, Patel, slouched in Varsity's iron grip. Long bangs of dark hair fell over his clear-framed glasses, but he tossed his head back to clear them out of his eyes.

"Eat my fucking sack, Evan." He was surprisingly calm. Clearly, this was not his first ass-kicking. Varsity, or I guess Evan —which is such a boring name, but whatever—drove a meaty fist into Patel's solar plexus. The skinny guy folded, gasping. A blonde cheerleader grabbed Evan's arm before he could unload again.

"Evan, stop!" She whipped her head to the tall guy beside her.

"Do something, Liam!" Liam threw his arms up.

"He can handle himself!" The cheerleader tried to pull Evan back.

"Let it go, baby, plea—""Stop, Summer!" Evan roughly shoved her hand away, and they started to argue, yelling over each other. Patel used the distraction to slip free of Evan's grasp, stumbling toward the short girl with a pitch-black bob cut standing apart from the other kids. She wore a black cropped hoodie over a black pleated mini-skirt and dark fishnet stockings. The girl's chunky black platform boots made her look taller than she was.

She had an almost-goth, alt edge, radiating "fuck around and find out" energy that I could respect.

"Jesus, Sameer," she muttered. Evan broke off his argument with Summer and moved to grab Sameer from behind, obviously going for a headlock. I took three steps forward, sliding between Evan and his target. The big guy jerked back, startled.

"Wow." I tilted my head to meet Evan's eyes, craning my neck.

"You love to see a big man sucker-punch a dude from behind." My eyebrows raised as I met Summer's eyes.

"What a catch." Summer's smile froze, and her mouth dropped. Liam stopped laughing. All eyes turned to me. Then Evan scoffed and stepped back, hands up.

"Whatever. Not worth it." Summer latched onto his arm.

"Yeah, come on, babe. We're already late." She tugged him away with practiced cheer, and Liam hurried after them with the energy of a kid brother who didn't want to get left behind. The LifeLine vibrated. I pulled out the phone to check the notification. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! PEACE AT ANY PRICE Unlocks: SOCIAL WORKER"A lifetime of helping others. Look where that got you." SKILL GAINED! SOCIAL WORKER (Passive) Effect: +1 to NPC Trust. Certain characters are more likely to confide in you.

"Soothing the fragile egos of others. Noble, but pointless." The description sat in the corner of my vision. Soothing the fragile egos of others. I waited to feel anger at Maltheris for that, but it never came. Tre glanced after Evan retreating. You probably just tanked your standing with that guy, which might matter later.

"I just didn't want to watch someone get headlocked," I tossed out. Evan and his crew had disappeared down the block. Sameer leaned against the mailbox, still catching his breath.

"Thanks," he managed between wheezes as Tre and I approached.

"Most people would've kept walking."

"Don't mention it," I said, trying to sound casual, like stopping fights was a usual thing for me.

"Yeah. Nice save, new kid," the cute alt girl said in a smoky monotone that made compliments sound like insults.

"Isabel," Sameer said, half-warning, half-joking.

"Be nice."

"That was me being nice." Sameer pushed off the mailbox, straightening up.

"Hey, I'm Sameer, by the way, and this is Isabel."

"Nora." Tre stepped forward, tiny vinyl hand extended.

"And I'm Tre." I felt fairly confident the game wouldn't program NPCs to flee screaming every time they saw him. That would make investigating impossible. Sameer didn't even flinch. He leaned down and fist-bumped Tre like meeting a sentient doll was the most normal thing in the world.

"Hey, man. Nice to meet you." A smirk tugged at Isabel's lips.

"Cute friend. Real Annabelle vibes." Annabelle vibes. She saw exactly what he was, a doll, and just… accepted it. No screaming. No running. She just rolled with it. They weren't seeing Tre through some filter that made him look normal. They knew what he was and didn't seem to care. Had their brains been programmed to treat a talking doll as completely unremarkable? Tre must have noticed it too, because I caught him shooting me a "what the fuck" glance.

"So…" Sameer started, looking to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"When did you guys move here?"

"This morning. I woke up in this doll body and Nora's trapped in the body of a teenager that looks like the Hollywood version of what Nora actually looked like in high school," Tre shared matter-of-factly.

"Dope." Sameer looked impressed.

"That's unique."

"Yeah," Isabel added.

"Very quirky." Barbed wire tightened around my lungs, thinking how Maltheris had reached into their heads and turned off the part of them that might have been afraid of a talking doll. The demon controlled their perception of reality, dialing down their emotions and behaviors like adjusting a thermostat.

"You okay?" Isabel asked, concern in her eyes.

"You look kinda pale." I didn't answer right away. Something in Isabel's gaze made me pause. She shot a side glance at Sameer, then back to me. Her eyebrows raised, but I couldn't parse what the look meant before it was gone.

"Uh, yeah." The words stuttered out.

"Just… adjusting to being in a new town." Isabel simply nodded, adjusting the spiked bag on her shoulder. Sameer let out a bitter laugh.

"Not much to get used to. Whisperwood is like every other shitty suburban town, U. S. A."

"And probably a lot smaller than…" Isabel trailed off.

"Where did you live before?"

"Chi-town! Born and raised," Tre gladly offered. Sameer and Isabel exchanged a knowing look.

"Well, if you're hoping for anything similar to Chicago, you're in for a bad time."

"Hey!" Summer aimed the word at me as she jogged back across the street, her ponytail bouncing.

"Thank you for stepping in and saving my boyfriend from doing something stupid."

"Uh… sure." I forced a smile.

"You know… he comes off as sort of a bully."

"He just gets very... passionate sometimes. He's been going through a lot," Summer said apologetically. Her eyes flicked to Sameer with the same look you give someone when you need them to stop.

"Everyone has..." She performed that more than spoke it.

"But I promise Evan's really a big softie." I couldn't figure out if she felt sorry for Evan or was afraid of angering him.

"Anyway, hi," she said, dragging out the 'I' sound in 'hi.'

"I'm Summer."

"Nora."

"You and your friend should ride to school with us. Way faster than walking with..." Her eyes shot to Isabel, and the sentence died. It made me wonder who the real Summer was: a sunny cheerleader or someone suspicious of anyone who didn't fit her personal definition of cool. I glanced between the two groups. Evan and Liam had already swaggered halfway down the block. Sameer and Isabel watched me with curious eyes.

"Actually," I said to Summer, "I think we'll walk. Thanks, though." Her smile faltered for just a second, a tiny crack in the perfect facade.

"Oh. Okay. Well, see you at school..." She jogged back toward Evan, ponytail bouncing with every step. Sameer and Isabel had been watching this whole exchange with barely concealed amusement.

"Are you guys heading to school?" Isabel asked. Spending the day in high school wasn't my plan, but the game was clearly nudging us toward the school. Might as well follow the obvious quest marker.

"Totally," I said.

"Do you guys mind if we walk with you?" Sameer waved me off.

"Not at all. We can give you a tour through the living boredom that is Whisperwood." I forced some excitement into my voice.

"Sounds fun." Isabel scoffed.

"Prepare to be disappointed." Then she and Sameer started down the street. Tre and I hung back a few paces. He tugged at my sleeve, muttering low.

"We should've followed Quarterback Ken-doll and Cheerleader Barbie. They're clearly the main characters."