Chương 8: The Return

I staggered into the clearing expecting the worst. I was wiped out. Every step got harder as I pushed my knee, and the healing vial in my pouch felt like a personal insult. Carrying it but not using it was starting to feel like not touching my stash of chocolate at that time of the month. A superhuman ask. But all that really mattered was Zelda. Where was she, and was she okay? Answer: right there. Alive. Whole. Absolutely fine. I got the hero's welcome, of course. I always did from her.

With Riley, I would've gotten the abbreviated version—happy to see me but not ecstatic, maybe a tail wag and a gentle lean against my legs. Bear? Well, her priorities ran more like Riley, Riley, Riley, her territory (aka the house and yard), then maybe me, if she was feeling generous. I wasn't the one who'd brought her from feral to civilized—that was all Riley's patient work. But Zelda? To Zelda, I was the world. Always had been.

She launched herself at me the moment she spotted me limping out of the tree line, twenty pounds of joy wrapped in white fur and a complete disregard for physics. The rope tether brought her up short about three feet away, but that didn't stop her from bouncing straight up in the air like she was on springs, front paws reaching, tail moving so fast it basically controlled her entire back half.

I dropped to one knee—the good one—and she plastered herself against my chest, paws on my shoulders, tongue working overtime to clean my face. Her whole body was filled with jiggles.

"Yeah, I missed you too, my girl. My girl," I said into her neck. For the first time in hours, something tight in my chest loosened. She was okay. She was fine. She was perfect. She was… maybe better than perfect? My girl was the best girl on the planet. But, as much as it hurt to say it, she was old. Sixteen, pushing seventeen. Even for a terrier, that was old. I could barely breathe whenever I let myself think about it. If that myth about dog years being seven to one was true, she'd be a hundred and seventeen.

She'd fought a squirrel earlier today, and it had nearly killed her. Then she'd fought goblins, and she'd been so incredibly valiant, so tough. But they'd scratched her, breaking the skin in more than one place. I hadn't treated the wounds before I left. I'd wanted to wrap her in gauze, but I knew she'd chew it off the second I was gone. I'd planned to use every bit of the first-aid kit on her when I got back, though. But she didn't look injured now. Not at all.

Her fur was as sleek as if she'd been eating chicken necks daily for weeks, and she was moving like a puppy, with that level of energy and enthusiasm. I pulled back to get a better look at her, hands running over her body to check for injuries. She tolerated my inspection with the patience of a saint, tail still wagging but more controlled now, as if she understood I meant business. No blood. No cuts. No sign that she'd done anything today except nap in the sun.

But something else in the clearing made my ring-enhanced awareness sit up and take notice. There'd been activity here. Recent activity. Tracks in the moss that didn't look human or canine. Goblin. And right next to Jack Francis' motionless body, something that definitely hadn't been there when I left. A bone. A big one. Not the kind that suggested gore. The kind that suggested doggie chew toy.

"Z," I said slowly, running my hands through her fur, "what exactly were you up to while I was gone?" She tilted her head at me, ears perked, and I swear to God she looked proud of herself. As if she were answering me, she trotted over to the bone, picked it up, and settled down to work away at it, propping it between her paws. It looked like the type of beef bone I could buy at our local feed store; half as long as she was and so thick around that she had to nibble at the edges instead of really chomping.

I hobbled after her, but I paused when I got to Jack. I was curious about Z's bone, but I should check on Jack first. He looked the same. Horrifying. But I watched him long enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart in the veins of his neck. He was alive. Which meant it was decision time. When it came down to it, the choice was easy. My knee hurt. But that hurt couldn't possibly compare to whatever this kid was feeling.

I lowered myself to the ground next to him, careful not to bump my knee, opened my hand, and thought, healing potion. The vial appeared on my palm. It only took a second to open it and pour the liquid into his mouth. As the last drop touched his tongue, the vial vanished. I'd made my choice. I hoped it was the right one. The change was immediate. The worst of the charred tissue around his mouth started to look less... crispy. Still terrible, but like maybe there was actual skin underneath instead of just raw meat.

The swelling around his eyes went down enough that I could tell he had eyelids. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. It was deeply gross to watch, but also kind of fascinating in a train-wreck sort of way. Like watching time-lapse footage of a scab healing, except compressed into seconds. His breathing deepened and started to sound less agonizing, like he could actually draw air into his lungs instead of breathing char. His fingers twitched.

"Jack?" I said. The noise he made was not a scream. Not a moan, either, but something halfway in between those two sounds. I placed a gentle hand on his chest.

"Hang in there. I gave you a healing potion. You're healing, I promise." He groaned. His eyelids fluttered. I resisted the urge to gag. His left eye was looking okay, but the right was still fried.

"Wha..." The word came out as more of a croak.

"Okay, the good news—" I said, deeply regretting every life choice that had led me to this moment, "—is that you're alive. Take a moment to appreciate that, okay?" I should have let him die. Why, why, why had I thought it would be a good idea to drag this poor kid back to this? Unconscious had been better. Dead might have been better. At least he wouldn't be suffering. His pain, my fault. Well, it had been his fireball. But if I hadn't intervened, he'd already be dead. And the dead didn't suffer.

"Where am I?" he managed, the words barely audible.

"Ah, a forest," I said, immediately feeling like that was as stupidly ridiculous an answer as it obviously was.

"What do you remember?" He didn't say anything. From beneath that fried eyelid—and the other healed one—deep brown eyes were trying to focus on me, trying to lock onto my face. Remember when I mentioned that guy with the black cloud around him and how I knew he was dangerous? My shrink did her best to convince me I was delusional, but secretly, quietly, I'd never doubted that I knew what I knew.

In that same way, I knew while watching Jack try to process what was happening that I was looking at a ferociously smart person. Scary smart. The kind of guy whose intelligence would zap through a lie like a precision laser through butter. Not that I was going to lie to him. I just knew that if I did, he'd recognize the lie, understand why I told it, and know exactly what the truth was. And yeah, I was still pretty sure he was a kid. Eighteen years old, that's what his ID had said.

"The System," he almost whispered.

"The System came." I could not help my scowl. What? He said that as if he knew what it was, as if he'd been expecting it. He closed his eyes. He took a breath and his hand sort of floated up to his throat, as if he was surprised to be feeling the air entering his lungs.

"Monsters… attacking. And then… I got to choose my class." The faintest of smiles tilted his lips.

"Fire mage. Best class. Always."

"You threw a fireball at my dog," I almost hissed at him, all pretense of gentle kindness lost at the memory.

"Your dog?" His voice was still faint, but his eyes opened, narrowed as he looked at me. That hand lifted again, trying to gesture.

"Hat?" he questioned.

"And…" He swiped his hand across the air above his own face, the gesture obvious.

"A mask, yeah," I said.

"I was working. Trying to keep the dust out of my lungs." He tipped his head in the tiniest of nods, more like a twitch than a gesture.

"Sorry. Mage is… glass cannon. Was ready for monsters. Didn't expect a person. Dog." He closed his eyes again, obviously exhausted. Ugh. I was incapable of being angry at that. Even though I still really wanted to yell at him for throwing a fireball at my dog—at Zelda! —I was just going to have to eat that reprimand for the time being. Maybe when he was completely healthy again, I could give him a hard time about it, but first we'd have to get there.

"So," I said.

"I gave you a health potion and it said 'moderate healing effects over time,' which I think oughta mean that you're going to keep getting better for a while. But… well, I'm not sure it's going to be enough." Jack tried to swallow, winced, tried again. His good eye focused on me with obvious effort.

"I was... there was a message. In my head. About a challenge scenario." His voice was rough, as if he'd been gargling gravel.

"I said yes." Of course he had. I snorted.

"Yeah, that's where we are."

"But…" He paused, clearly hesitant.

"It's a simulation?" His voice was doubtful, but not the kind of doubt where you're unsure about what you're saying. It was more like the kind of doubt where you think maybe you're talking to an idiot.

"I—what?" I squeaked. Not my finest moment. He breathed out heavily. His voice sounded filled with pain when he said, "Simulated environment. Not real. Temporally displaced. No time passes while inside." How the hell did he know that? I looked at the red blinking light that had been sitting in the corner of my vision for what felt like forever.

"Open notifications," I whispered to the universe. The text window popped open, and I scrolled up to the very beginning. Challenge scenarios allow you to develop critical capabilities within a simulated environment. A simulated environment. Said so right there. I'd read the exact words myself. And I'd never thought about what they meant. I kept reading. Duration: 72 hours (Temporal displacement protocol active.) Okay, there it was. In my defense, I had no idea what it meant.

I, in fact, still had no idea what it meant. Temporal—time-related? Displacement—transferring from one place to another? I didn't really see how that meant time stopped functioning. But if Jack thought that's what it meant, I wasn't going to argue with him. It's not like I hadn't figured out—extremely belatedly—that this place wasn't real. A simulation. What did that even mean?

When I looked at Zelda, she stopped working on her bone and thumped her tail against the ground a couple of times, clearly ready for whatever I wanted to do next. If she'd been ten years younger, she would have been hunting for a ball. If she were real. Was she real? Was I? Was Jack? Was anything?

"This is so insane," I said, burying my face in my hands. Years ago, I'd seen a Doctor Who episode where people were dying after reading some mysterious book. It turned out that as soon as a character learned they were living in a simulation, they'd kill themself. They were exiting the simulation the only way they knew how. I thought it was incredibly stupid. If you knew you were in a simulation, that your entire life was a virtual reality, why wouldn't you make the most of it? Why not choose to enjoy yourself?

Travel the world, swim with dolphins, drink champagne at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Flirt with strangers, take chances, adopt ALL the dogs. You could even do the terrible stuff. Break the speed limit, use heroin, burn down your ex's house. Live with a capital L. Why not, if it wasn't real? Why not squeeze every drop of fun out of it? Me, I'd eat chocolate for breakfast every single day. The very last thing I would do if I discovered I was living in a simulation would be to kill myself.

Well, yeah, obviously, that would be the last thing. But you get the idea. It wouldn't be at the top of my to-do list. On the other hand, I was not currently covered in third-degree burns.

"Um…" I started, lifting my face out of my hands.

"If this is a simulation…" I bit my lip. How to say this?

"I, ah…" I gestured toward the vial.

"That healing potion. I figured out that's what you had when Zelda, um, my dog, licked some from the one you broke."

"Loot," Jack whispered.

"My first loot."

"Yeah." I gave a vague wave toward the woods.

"I figured. I hunted down a goblin. Level 8. Really tough. I wasn't sure…" I sighed. God, this was so hard. But I took a breath, then said, as succinctly as I could, "It took me a long time and a really tough fight to find one healing potion. I don't know how long it'll take to find another. Do you want me to, um… get you out of this simulation? Put you out of your misery?" I shoved my shovel in Jack's direction, as if suggesting how I'd do it.

Not that any normal person would think I'd use a shovel to kill someone. But I hoped I was making myself clear. Could I really do it, though? Even if I could summon the moral stamina to believe I was ending his pain, and the faith to believe this was a simulation, that he'd be fine on the other side, bashing a kid in the head with a shovel wouldn't be like hitting a goblin. But I hoped he was aware enough to appreciate that when I asked if I should murder him, I meant it kindly.