Chương 21: Let's Go Rob Some Cops

ENTERING SAFE AREA Passive Regen: Fear -5%/min Stamina Recovery: ON 15: 00 Walking into the house was a warm embrace from Mom that left all our terror on the porch. A pleasant buzzing wave passed through me as the Safe Area did its thing. The nurse's office had taught me the basic concept of these: the Grindhouse version of a truck stop; rest and refuel, because the road ahead only gets rockier. But the Safe Area in Mom's house felt different.

The couch where I'd watched endless reruns was here, and the kitchen still smelled like lemon Pledge, as it had for as long as I could remember. Being here was home. Which was a problem. Leaving the nurse's office felt natural. But every minute inside this house made the front door feel further away, and my body, which finally remembered what it felt like not to be scared, had zero interest in being dragged back into the shit.

Isabel stood in the middle of the living room, listening to Tre explain how the Safe Areas worked. But she was staring at the glowing timer hovering above the coffee table. Isabel pointed at the timer.

"So why can I see it now but not in the nurse's office?""'Cause you weren't fully in the party yet." Tre rubbed his chin, scratching at stubble that could no longer grow.

"You probably also have an inventory now." Isabel absorbed this without drama, which I realized was her norm.

"How do I check that?"

"Just think about it," Tre said.

"Like, concentrate on the word 'inventory' and—""WHOA!" Isabel froze, staring into the middle distance, which I recognized as meaning she was exploring her menu.

"There's… oh man, this is so weird." I smiled grimly.

"Welcome to the Grindhouse." Isabel blinked a few times, closing the HUD. Her focus returned to the room, then to the LifeLine in my hand.

"Can I see it?"

"Sure." Isabel turned it in her hands.

"It looks like an iPhone."

"Wake the screen."

"Oh wow," she said, scrolling through the apps, hungry to learn the system.

"There's so much here." She looked up.

"What are the notifications?"

"Stuff I haven't checked since I passed out." I scooted closer to Isabel so I could read over her shoulder.

"Open them."

"It's a bunch of Fear and Lucidity warnings," she said.

"Yeah… Those came in as we found Austin's body." I forced myself to admit the next part: "I shouldn't have ignored them." Isabel removed her backpack and placed it next to the couch. She got me a sideways glance.

"Is that why you passed out?"

"Moving on." I tapped the next notification. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! YOU GOT KNOCKED DOWN (THEN GOT UP AGAIN) Unlocks: ADRENAL CASCADE I"What will it take to break you?" SKILL GAINED! ADRENAL CASCADE I Trigger: Survive first Fear collapse Effect: 2s slow time at Fear ≥70% Cooldown: 3 hours Warning: Stamina crash after use"I gave you that. Don't waste it." Isabel read it twice.

"Hold on. Is that for real? Did you just get superpowers?"

"Wait. What?!" Tre climbed onto the back of the sofa to see the LifeLine.

"I didn't—" Tre's hands flew to the sides of his head.

"You can slow time?!"

"For two seconds, I guess." I tried to play it cool, but inside I was anything but. Two seconds didn't sound like much, but in the middle of a fight, it could be the difference between living and dying. Isabel navigated my character sheet.

"Are all your powers like this?"

"Not even close," Tre said.

"The game is rewarding Nora for almost dying. That's super fucked up, guys." Oh shit. She was right. If this was the reward for hitting Fear Critical once… what else was waiting to unlock? It seemed worse things got, the more powerful I became, but only by walking right to the edge of the abyss and leaning over. That was the trap. Part of me was already framing the next near-death experience as a level-up. I didn't love that about myself.

"At least it gives us a fighting chance against that freak in the mask." Tre shuddered.

"Did you see the eyes? Or... the lack of eyes? Just those raw red rims?"

"Hard to miss."

"I've decided to call him the Weepy White," Tre announced, testing the words. He hit the 'Wh' sound extra hard, stretching it into a Southern drawl." Whhheepy Whhh ite." Isabel raised an eyebrow.

"Because of the mask?"

"Stark white porcelain face, sad red eyes… it fits," Tre insisted.

"Plus, we need a callout. We can't keep saying 'Masked Killer.'

"Weepy White is giving racist ghost," Isabel deadpanned.

"Maybe he is; we don't know!" Tre put his hands on his hips.

"I tossed a few other names around, but none of them hit right."

"What names?" I asked.

"The China Doll, the Bloodshot Boy, Trench Coat Mafia, the Porcelain Punk, Leather Daddy—'"Okay. Yeah. Weepy White wins."

"Thank you!" Tre beamed.

"It has pizzazz. If we're going to die, I don't want it to be from some generic masked killer." Tre hopped from the sofa to the coffee table.

"Speaking of dying… we still need to figure out how we're going to get the crash report."

"Yeah. Hardin didn't seem eager to help." Isabel looked up from the phone.

"Right. That." She handed it back to me.

"How do we do it?"

"I have no idea," I admitted.

"Let's start with what we know."

"What've you got, Tre?"

"We know the crash is central to this whole thing. But who was responsible, and why is someone killing to cover it up?" He started pacing on the coffee table.

"We don't know enough about the victims yet to solve that part. More details about their lives might give us some answers."

"Isabel, did you know Anika? Through Sameer?" Isabel gave a slight nod, but her expression was uncertain.

"Yeah, though like everything else, I'm not sure what's true vs what the game planted in my head." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"If the game put it there," I said, "it's probably relevant to solving this. What do you remember?"

"Anika was older than us, so I didn't spend a ton of time with her. She was really smart and had a job at the hospital in the next town over. But the last few months before she died, Sameer was worried about her. He wouldn't tell me why, but I think it was because of the divorce."

"What divorce?"

"Sameer and Anika's parents split a few years ago. The divorce was only made official within the last year."

"Could that have set her off? Made her drink?"

"I guess, but it feels off. Like I said, their parents had been split up for years. Sameer's always been pretty whatever about it. I never got the sense that he or Anika felt some type of way or anything." Isabel hesitated.

"But I know Anika had been going out a lot more recently and coming home later than usual. It seemed like she was fighting with their mom, but Sameer never said what they fought about." Tre sat on the edge of the coffee table, letting his feet dangle.

"And the night of the crash?" Isabel shook her head.

"I didn't hear about it until the next day. But…" She trailed off.

"But what?" I prodded.

"Sameer's mom took it really hard. Like, she was obsessed with making sure everyone knew Anika was a good person. I also think she convinced Sameer that Evan's dad was at fault." The room went quiet.

"What about Rafael Ortiz? What do people say about him?" Isabel shifted uncomfortably.

"Evan's dad? I mean, Evan would say he was a saint. But most people know he used to be a drunk. According to Evan, he'd gotten sober and been on the wagon since."

"Then why was he in the bar?" Tre looked between Isabel and me for an answer.

"He was in commercial real estate. I think that's just how he closed deals." Isabel shrugged.

"No one knows for sure he was drinking that night, despite what Austin's brother claims. Plus, the official report was inconclusive, but that didn't get released until after Doc Mosley was killed."

"Evan still has the stronger motive." I started ticking off possibilities.

"If he believes his dad was innocent and Anika was the drunk driver, he'd want to punish her family. And he's clearly been super aggro toward Sameer. Maybe he killed Doc Mosley for falsifying the report. Or maybe he killed the doc because the original report blamed Rafael, then Evan changed it to blame Anika instead." Isabel looked conflicted, but she didn't argue.

"That would mean Austin got killed for spreading the story that Rafael was drunk."

"Then there's Sameer," Tre added carefully.

"If Anika was drunk, and Mrs. Patel knows it, Sameer might kill to protect his family's reputation."

"Or maybe the cops," I said.

"If Hardin or the deputy falsified the report, they'd have reason to silence anyone who found out." Now it was Tre's turn to look conflicted.

"Look, you know I'm fully ACAB, but that's maybe the weakest possibility. What would the Sheriff gain from covering for the responsible party?"

"Either to protect Sameer's family or close the case quickly," I volleyed back.

"Or maybe he had some real estate deal with Mr. Ortiz." Tre nodded.

"Oh. A Chinatown kinda thing." Isabel snorted.

"Sheriff Hardin is a useless ass, but I'll give you this: he's ambitious. And it's an election year. I guess if he did cover it up, he'd be pretty invested in keeping that quiet."

"What about the deputy?"

"Deputy Shit-for-Brains is a well-known fuck-up," Isabel said with grim amusement.

"He once lost his little cop baton, and they made a huge deal out of it, saying someone stole it from his cop car. But then the local paper reported they found it in a trash can at the police station. Turns out, it had fallen out of his belt, and he never noticed." Tre barked a loud laugh.

"Okay, so probably not Rowe," I said.

"But Hardin has a motive if he covered something up. And the authority to make evidence disappear." I scrolled through clues on the LifeLine.

"Right, but we're still proof. All we have are rumors, conflicting stories, and our theories." Tre hopped off the coffee table.

"Which brings us back to the million-dollar question: how do we get a look at the crash evidence?" Isabel leaned forward.

"The only way to do it would be to break into the sheriff's station."

"I mean, technically, we only have to break into the evidence room," Tre said.

"And only one of us needs to get in there." Isabel scratched her head.

"Right. But how?"

"Tre's the smallest and can probably sneak in the easiest," I said.

"Isabel, you and I can be a distraction."

"Distract how?"

"We could pretend we remember more stuff about what happened at school. Make them stay busy taking our statements." Tre puffed out his chest.

"Yes. And I'll get in to snatch the files. I wonder if we can craft a set of lock picks."

"Alright," I said, standing up.

"Before we walk into the lion's den, let's gear up. No point going in empty-handed."

"What will we need?" Isabel asked.

"Everything." Tre rubbed his hands together.

"Anything that might combine into something useful. Medical supplies, tools, chemicals… bring everything back and dump it on the table. I'll start crafting."

"Crafting?" I put a hand on Isabel's shoulder.

"I'll explain." After I described the basics of the crafting system, Isabel and I scattered through the house. She headed upstairs, and I went to the garage looking for Dad's old toolbox. The garage was stuffed with boxes. There wasn't much room to begin with because Mom had packed up Dad's stuff after he passed and stuck it all in the garage. After Mom died, I did the same with her stuff. All these boxes left the garage cramped, and I had to skirt sideways through stacked boxes to reach Dad's tool bench.

The metal toolbox sat on a shelf covered in dust, which scattered in the air when I picked it up. The lid flipped open, and the familiar smell of motor oil hit me. Memory made tangible. Under the wrenches and screwdrivers, an envelope rested at the very bottom. Inside was a photo of Mom and Dad. They were young-looking, so it had to be way before I was born. Dad was in his motorcycle jacket, a big, goofy smile on his face, and Mom was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder.

I set the photo aside carefully, then grabbed the entire toolbox. Bobby pins, screwdrivers, a lighter, and random hardware were inside, but I had no idea what we could actually use. I would let Tre sort through it and see what he could make, so I hauled it back inside and slapped it on the kitchen table. Tre was already at work on the medical supplies Isabel had found – stuff from under my bathroom sink and a random kitchen cabinet.

Several new Healing Salves and Stabilizer Wraps were lined up to his right, and he attempted a few more failed combinations before we gave up and started on the tools I'd discovered. He grabbed a thin flathead screwdriver and a bobby pin, pressed them together, and they reformed with a POP into a sleek lockpick set in a leather case. NEW ITEM CRAFTED! LOCKPICK SET (Flathead screwdriver + a Bobby pin) Effect: Allows bypassing locked doors, chests, or restraints.

"Well, aren't you a sneaky little thing?"

"Perfect," Tre said, eyes gleaming with excitement. We spent another few minutes ransacking the house, returning with armloads of potential supplies, covering the kitchen table with scavenged junk. Tre went to work. First, he combined a bottle of whiskey and an old rag. POP. A new Molotov Cocktail appeared. Then he snatched up a lighter and an old can of WD-40 from Dad's toolbox, transforming them into a sleek glass jar with a miniature fireball swirling inside. NEW ITEM CRAFTED!

FLAME BURST (2x) (Lighter + a can of WD-40) Throwable incendiary device. Effect: Deals area damage. Increases Fear in nearby enemies.

"Fire solves everything." Isabel shuddered.

"That's horrific."

"That's the point," Tre said, already reaching for more components.

"We're fighting a masked killer who can teleport! Who knows what other powers Maltheris gave him?" He combined a PVC pipe I had brought up from the basement, a hand mirror Isabel found in the bathroom, and duct tape from Dad's toolbox. They merged into a curved periscope that folded neatly in half. NEW ITEM CRAFTED! CORNER SCOPE (PVC pipe + a Hand mirror + Duct tape) Effect: Allows the user to see around corners without exposure.

"Not every item will be super useful." Tre held it up, testing the angle.

"Oh, this is perfect for scouting."

"Take it," I said. He tucked it into his inventory with an eager nod. By the time we were done, the table was covered in crafted items: Heals, firepower, tools. We were as ready as we were going to be. Each of us grabbed items off the table, splitting everything between us evenly. We did a final inventory check before heading out. I'd picked up a new heal to replace the one I used at the school.

That left me with two Salves, a Stabilizer Wrap, two Flame Bursts, the Molotov Cocktail, the Sharpened Bone from the Chimp, the crowbar, my skateboard, and a flashlight. Every slot maxed out.

"What've you got, Tre?" I asked. He called up his loadout.

"I ditched the pry bar for a Lockpick Set, Corner Scope, paring knife, and two Salves. Light and mobile… exactly how I need to be." Isabel checked hers.

"Two Salves, three Stabilizer Wraps, and Nora's butcher's knife." She hefted the knife, testing its weight.

"But I'm on medical duty."

"Oh, good. I like being the rogue instead of the healer." Tre hopped onto my shoulder.

"Ready to commit some felonies?" I hesitated, a thought that had been nagging at me finally surfacing.

"Before we go... we need to talk about what happens if things go bad."

"Bad how?" Isabel asked.

"Like if the cops catch us." I looked between them.

"Fighting masked killers or monsters feels justified, you know? But Sheriff Hardin and Deputy Rowe aren't evil monsters."

"Well, they are cops," Tre tossed out.

"But we're not killing normal people. We only fight if our lives are in direct danger." I met both their eyes.

"We're not killers. Game or not, I won't become one just to solve a mystery."

"Agreed," Tre said. Isabel nodded.

"Okay. Non-lethal unless we absolutely have to. But that means..."

"That means we can't get caught," I finished, pocketing the phone. Tre clapped his little hands.

"Alright then. Time to infiltrate the sheriff's office, grab the files, and get out before anyone knows we were there." When we stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind us, the Safe Area symbol still glowed on the outside. An uninvited thought arrived: we weren't coming back. I didn't know that for certain, but it felt like we were being funneled toward the end of the Zone, which implied finality, one way or the other.

Maybe the house would come with us into Zone Two, but something in me knew that was wrong. Which just meant that this might be the last time I'd see my house, along with all the memories preserved in its walls. I'd had my first period in the upstairs bathroom, and my first kiss in the backyard, under the stars one night after Mom had fallen asleep. Dad had fixed or replaced nearly every appliance and patched all the small divots in the walls that accumulated over time.

All of it might be left behind for who knows how long… maybe forever. Soo-jin Price was buried alongside her husband Ian Price fifteen years after his death, and all that remained of my parents' memories was in that house. Tre's hand found my leg. He gave a light squeeze.

"You good?" I exhaled. Nodded.

"All right." Isabel adjusted her boobs for maximum cleavage.

"Let's go rob some cops."