“You heard the robed guy,” the man barked, pointing at random people. "We've got seventy-four hours and change to reach that mountain. We're on the clock here. Gather up—we got no time to waste!"
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm Colonel Marcus Brennan, U.S. Army, twenty-eight years of service. I've led men through Afghanistan, Iraq, and more hellholes than you've had hot dinners. Does anyone else have military experience here?"
A few men and a woman raised their hands, which was more than Hydrion expected from the random crowd gathered. Although he had a suspicion that it wasn't quite so random. He and Reed had been close to each other—Reed was just about to leave the house for a concert while he was doing a chargelot all-in against some poor Zerg when the world ended. Well, it didn't end. He needed to stop thinking about it that way, as entertaining as he would find it to be. So, when the world pretended to end just to troll all the inhabitants.
So the fact that the system gathered them in one place didn't seem random. There could be other explanations as well, but Hydrion distinctly remembered Marcus "I got a stick up my ass and think that high school should be run like a military base" Brennan. He lived not too far away from Hydrion, in a house by the river that looked like it was taken out of a wet British dream of the 1700s. It was an old mansion with white pillars, a pristine lawn, and a flag pole in the front. Well, it flew the American flag, so maybe that's where the British kink ended. As well as Army, POW, state, and Gadsden flags. He was fired from his football coaching position but still gave speeches at graduation and was involved in local politics far beyond anyone's comfort.
"Form up behind me," he commanded. "You will form a core. Each of you will have civilians assigned to you. Hopefully, at least some will be promising enough to make soldiers out of them."
"Ay, grandpa!" a young high-schooler, judging by his mutating voice, yelled in the crowd. "Eat shit!"
"Who said that?" He looked up, scanning the crowd. "This is war, son! This is life and death!"
"Um," another young guy in a red hoodie raised his hand, "Isn't it a, you know, game?" he asked with uncertainty.
"Yeah," a woman, in college age, that Hydrion also recognized and knew well, yelled, "literally our bodies are in stasis and nothing can happen to them. Like, we can't even kill anyone here."
Hydrion formed his hands into a tube to help his voice carry. "Ay, Marcus!" he yelled. "We got rights! You can’t tell us what to do in here!"
He had plenty of practice handling the hardliner during Reed’s high school years, and he grinned as the old man’s face flushed red the instant their eyes met.
"I didn't vote for you either!" Familiar voice called out.
"This ain't your army!" Reed yelled, waving her tiny, spiky fist in the air. "Touch the grass, old man!" She grinned at Hydrion. "Got any Molotov cocktails, Pops?"
"No, left them at home," Hydrion said with mocked sadness. "Shouldn't you respect elders more, though?"
“Elders?” She snorted. “Dad, you done bent my sense of age like Doctor Strange foldin’ up New York. What is he to you—barely out the cradle?”
Hydrion considered that for a second. “Compared to me, he’s basically still a fetus, third trimester at best.”
Marcus's bid for supremacy was over, as more and more people started yelling at him to step down, destroying the old man's dictatorship dreams like a CIA operative with a suitcase of gold bars in a foreign country.
Oh, he tried—defending himself, pleading for reason and patriotic spirit—but his case was already lost the moment he lost his authority and stooped to explanations. Finally, he waved his hand in disgust and moved out with his group: a few military followers and several scared civilians who had joined them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hydrion recognized another older man from Reed’s school days, the ever-present police officer from the halls, shaking his head with laughter.
Hydrion was about to approach him when a voice from a different direction made him groan. A man he'd learned to avoid over the years was making his way toward the platform, already in full preacher mode—citing apocalyptic verses and lacing them with his own commentary. A small crowd followed in his wake, adding to the people already milling about the square. Someone from the gathering helped him onto the vacated platform, and the sermon began in earnest.
Hydrion groaned again, but Reed's eyes lit up the way they always did when she spotted an opportunity for chaos—that particular gleam he'd learned to recognize from years of gaming together.
“By the way, Pops, Uncle Pierre’s been lookin’ for you,” Reed drawled. “I told him everybody from our side’s gettin’ tossed in here and you’d show up sooner or later. He wanted to sit and wait with me, but I had things to tend, so I sent him off to round up some good folks—’cause you’re gonna need a crew when you land in here. Best hurry and snatch up the good ones before somebody else does. I figured you’d want some dependable monster motherfuckers watchin’ your back.”
“Language, daughter!” Hydrion gasped, looking around theatrically. “We don’t say monsters, we say Paraferal.”
Reed looked like someone slammed the brakes in her head, then did couple of donuts on her brain, before she regained her faculties. “Lawd help me—Paraferal, Exobeast, Cryptohorrors,” Reed huffed, rolling her eyes. “How ’bout Parafuckers, since we just makin’ up words anyhow? Can I say Parafuckers? Pretty please? Wit’ a big ol’ slimy frog sittin’ on top?”
“OK, but only among closest friends and family.” He said after a moment of consideration. “Where will I find him in this mess of a fort?”
“He said he’ll be in that corner there.” Reed pointed with her nose. “Top left when you look from the entrance. Never thought I would be missing good ol north and south. The things we take for granted.” She shook her head with mock sageness.
“That’s an easy fix.” Hydrion nodded at the peak in the distance, the destination they were supposed to reach. “Call that peak there north, like northern star, and you got it all.”
“I mean, it’s not like we got sun shining down in this hellhole.” Reed shrugged after some consideration. “And who knows if there is even only one or multiple ones, so works for me unless some star enlightens us.” She nodded. “Well, go now, shoo. We’ve spent already too much time next to each other.”
“Stay on target, daughter.” Hydrion grinned and gave her a wave.
“Punch it, Pops.” She rolled her eyes at the reference.
Despite shooing him away, Reed—drawn like a moth to flame, eager to sow chaos and crush another dream—slipped from his side a moment later, drifting toward the apocalypse man, who was already gathering a crowd.
It amazed Hydrion how quickly people were ready to abandon democracy and their personal freedoms when their circumstances changed in a manner they couldn't control. He was fairly certain by now that if the caravan led by the wizard cut them off from food for a good day, any resemblance of civility and culture would go up in flames like a witch's pyre.
After Reed left, Hydrion headed towards the corner of the square indicated by his daughter. Faced with a sea of bodies and, to his astonishment, still more trickling in from behind, he was forced to tread with care, each step deliberate. Everywhere there were handles, blades, staffs and other poky things sticking out like it were fields of Hastings in ten sixty six. It almost tempted him to yell “Normans!”.
It took him a while to get there, but he finally meandered to the corner of the square, which seemed like a place where a lot of people were standing and waiting for someone.
Most of the groups forming were clearly families, circling each other like bees in a hive as they tried to reunite. It fell within the range of Hydrion’s expectations. He understood the impulse, but doubted such teams would last; they were built on kinship rather than class, talent, skill, or any real collaboration. He also suspected that once people were forced to spend more time together, the equivalent of divorces would skyrocket. It amused him how much humans clung to relationships simply because they spent most of their lives apart.
He just hoped this disorganized scramble wasn't all his Earth Two had to offer. Perhaps the better-prepared parties had already left to start their adventure, and a few more were still forming—like the mixed-age but class-coherent party of six he spotted, clearly comfortable in their roles and just finishing with their equipment. Were those cloaks similar to his own?
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Unfortunately, that glimpse of competence was the exception. Looking at people as a whole—at least the portion thrown into this particular tutorial—Hydrion winced. Party formation and checking on loved ones was important, yes, but most people weren’t using the extra time they’d been given to its fullest. As he walked, he heard idle chatter, players in denial, pointless arguments born of irritation, fashion worries, and decision paralysis.
From what Amelia had told him, the game drew heavily on Earth’s culture, myths, and beliefs, which should have been an advantage. And as compensation for being first-timers, they’d been granted an extra day in the tutorial.
A day they were quickly wasting.
But then again, his connection to games, and the way the pursuit of victory consumed him, was something that usually set him apart. Perhaps that made his judgment less fair than he liked to think.
Those considerations got him thinking in another direction. If it was all supposed to be based on Earth stuff, which Earth did they mean? Was it one or the other, or the mix of both? Were stories and myths the same or different? His heads spun from considering all the different options.
Someone yelling his name snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked to the side where a woman was waving him over. He recognized her from a local bar where she was a bartender, known for her signature mojito, sazerac and no-nonsense attitude towards troublemakers.
“Pierre told me to look out for you here,” she said as Hydrion walked up. “I’m supposed to join your party,” she added, catching the frown on his face.
That was fine with him—except for two things.
First, Isabel was human. He had assumed Pierre would recruit from a different pool of beings entirely. Still, that was something he could work with. Humans might not boast the raw statistics of Swamp Hydras, but there was a reason they had become the dominant species despite their physical fragility: universality, ingenuity, relentless reproduction, and sheer stubbornness made them marathoners rather than sprinters in the endless race for supremacy.
For millennia, the supernaturals had kept a firm grip on the world, with little changing beyond the occasional slip-up. But it took only one such mistake for humanity to vault into the Renaissance. His kind tried to pull the reins tight again, and for a moment it looked as though they might succeed—Napoleon tucked away on Elba, Metternich restoring the old order—but in the end, it all unraveled. Nationalism surged, nations solidified, and in the blink of an eye humans were rolling out tanks, airplanes, submarines, and a parade of inventions no arcane power could match. Hydrion still remembered taking a holiday in the Pantanal, only to return and find humans bouncing on the moon like giddy children.
The second revelation was harder to stomach: Isabel carried a bow, unstrung, slung over her shoulder and a quiver strapped to her back. An archer. In a world of limitless potential, she had chosen arrows. To Hydrion, it felt less like a skillset and more like a character flaw.
“Isabel?” Hydrion asked. “Why did you choose an archer instead of, I don’t know, alchemist?”
“I always wanted to have a shotgun under my bar and to blast some people’s heads off, but my consultant told me that guns weren’t a thing in this game, at least not yet, and recommended me to start from a bow and work my way up.” She shrugged.
“I mean, there is no way down from it.” Hydrion muttered. At least she didn’t choose the class because she wanted it. Hydrion could respect that. Somehow. If he tried really hard. “Do you know who else Pierre found to team up with us?”
“You know what, normal people would say things like ‘hi’’, and oh, I don’t know ‘how are you?’ or ‘good to see you!’” She scolded him. “And they would be ecstatic to have a bartender and mixologist on their team. But apparently I’m being thrown into a game, for absolutely no reason, and teamed up right away with someone shit talking my class. If I wouldn’t know that Pierre was a man with his head on his shoulders and that you were one hell of a player in that computer game mambo jumbo, I would already go looking for another party.” She saw him open his mouth and quickly added, “No! Don’t you say a thing! I know you and I got no patience for your antics now. I want to team up, power up, then find my family and then get the hell out of this game, and you” she pointed her finger at Hydrion, “will help me achieve that.”
Hydrion sighed, looking up at the bloody sky weighted with dark, almost black clouds sailing low over the fort’s walls. He took a second to mentally gather himself and sync all the heads, before he looked down at the women with her dark curls, gentle but firm eyes and mouth used to smiling, drawn in a line now. Then, he deliberately took down his restrains, releasing his presence that he was holding in check all this time. It didn’t work the same as on earth, which was a good thing, and Isabel didn’t go off running and screaming, but people around them took an instinctive step or two backwards as to give them space.
***
Isabel—Cruz Control, as she’d chosen to call herself after the nickname her patrons had given her—felt something shift, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. Gone was the man she knew: casual presence, teasing words, and that crooked grin that always foreshadowed hours of frustrating conversation. In his place stood someone taller, steadier, meeting her gaze with unflinching confidence. His eyes carried a golden sheen. A shiver ran down her spine.
She was used to his eyes changing color from time to time, and living in the cities and towns along the Gulf of Mexico had taught her to accept strange things. If shifting eye tones were all she had to deal with, that was just another day in her life. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something more lurked beneath his skin—something she didn’t want to uncover.
All her frustration vanished, blown away like smoke on a cold wind.
“I intend to have fun,” he said, his voice calm and firm. “But I also intend to win this game. So let me be clear. You can tag along, and I’ll help you find your family. But right now, you don’t look like you have much to contribute to my plans—and that will need to change quickly. We have one day. One extra day over the rest of the universe thrown into this game with us. It will be hard. You’ll see things you’d rather never knew were real.” He continued evenly, “But I’ve seen you. I know you’re strong. You can take what life throws at you, and you have plenty to offer—even if you’re not a powerhouse. So I’ll give you a chance.”
He leaned in, invading her space, his face close to hers, eyes locked and unblinking. “So—are you ready to fuck shit up, win, and most importantly, have fun while doing it?”
“Well, aren’t you intense today,” she said, resisting the urge to step back. Instead, she steeled herself, smiled, and met his golden gaze. After all, wasn’t this exactly what she’d been looking for? Someone bold enough to take charge and make sense of the chaos. Her lips curved into a lopsided smile as she extended her hand. “Cruz Control.”
The man before her gave a lazy grin, clasped her hand in a firm shake, and said, “Hydrion.”
***
For a good minute, Hydrion stood rooted in place, Cruz Control watching him patiently as he tried to mentally work the system to form a party.
It wasn't going well.
Where was the damn party button? Was it under social? Inventory? Did he need to... think harder at it? He tried visualizing a party forming. Nothing. He tried thinking the word "party" very loudly in his head. In five voices, separate and together, Greed even sang. Still nothing.
"You okay there?" Cruz asked.
"Just... interfacing with the system," he muttered, waving vaguely at the air.
It wasn't easy to maneuver a menu without a mouse, keyboard, and most importantly, any manual to help out. He even tried to contact Amelia—both mentally and vocally—but was met with silence.
*Amelia? ...Amelia? I need help. Amelia, I'll apologize. Maybe. Amelia, please?*
Nothing.
Maybe she was still pissed off at him? He shrugged. Fine. He'd figure it out himself, like he always did.
The party window finally popped up after he'd mentally screamed "FORM A FUCKING PARTY GODDAMMIT" at the system—
[Orgy Party Organization Panel not supported. Would you like to form an adventuring party instead?]
Hydrion blinked. Then blinked again.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" he muttered under his breath.
"What?" Cruz asked, leaning in slightly.
"Nothing. System's just being... helpful." He jabbed at the mental 'yes' button with perhaps more force than necessary.
