Strength: 5

Toughness: 4

Agility: 6

Intelligence: 10

Perception: 5

Will: 6

Companionship: 1

Skill Points Available: 3. Feat points available: 2.

<>

I wasn’t happy. Only three skill points for leveling, a pretty big decrease from the previous level up. My previous allocation was spent mainly as a much needed reality check. However, if I’d known the two points of Strength I’d increased to test physical changes was two thirds of what I’d get for a normal level, I would never have considered it. I’d made an error, assuming five skill points per level would be the norm.

And as I learned recently, errors could be fatal. I needed to be more careful with my points.

My first inclination was to just dump everything into Intelligence. Yes, I know. The same instinct from the very start. It was both the area I had the most confidence in and the primary stat for my class. However, I also thought about the recent encounter with Daphne and the rest of the Users. Thinking back, the biggest factor was probably Agility. First, I missed my shot on Wife-beater guy. I was aiming for his knee and barely hit his leg. Second, that damn black Escalade almost smeared me against the wall before I could jump through Kinsley’s door. And when I did go through, insteading of cushioning my fall like a normal person, I smashed my face into the floor instead. If Kinsley had been hostile, that would have been the end.

I had already decided I needed to be mobile with my armor and stay out of fights whenever possible. The dagger also depended on speed and precision, not brute strength. But intelligence and perception were also critical. Without noticing the AC Unit as quickly as I did and coming up with a plan to use it, I would have also been screwed. And intelligence was a key class skill. Decision made, I split three points between Agility, Intelligence, and Perception.

Next, I considered the feat list. It was really far too long and difficult to manage when I didn’t know what I was building towards. was more tempting after the clusterfuck I’d just witnessed. But it was only a 15% increase in my probably lacking damage against other Users. And more importantly, I doubted the dungeon was stocked with Users.

I scrolled until I found something useful in both short and long term.

Far too good to pass up. When I used the ability on the car chasing behind me, it felt like the air was sucked straight out of my lungs. That could have ended badly. Right now it was borderline dangerous to use the ability in perilous situations, exactly when I needed it most. Plus, it would work for me in the dungeon.

I set my alarm, assuming the pain of the leveling process would likely knock me out in my current state of exhaustion. Then I pressed confirm. A dull wave of electricity washed over my entire body, as muscle mass rearranged and expanded. The feeling traveled to my temple, my eyes. Excruciating, but decidedly less painful this time.

My body went limp, and I saw only black.

/////

I awoke to a banging on my door. Hating the cruel spears of sunlight stabbing through my windows, I opened it, finding Ellison standing there. My brother looked more irritated than usual. “I thought you were broke.”

“Morning.”

“If you’d just lent me some, Iris wouldn’t have needed to help.”

“Jesus Christ—Ellison, I just woke up. And I am broke.” I glared at my brother.

Ellison gave me a sure look. “Tell that to the Willy Wonka moment Iris and Mom are having in the kitchen.”

Oh.

I rubbed nascent sleep out of my eye and stumbled my way to the kitchen. Iris was three spoonfuls deep into a pint of Rocky Road, far too awake for this early in the morning. She grinned at me, chocolate smeared on her face and fingers as she signed. “You got my favorite.”

“Of course he did.” My mother placed a hefty serving of bacon on a faux china plate at the center of the table. “He’s your brother.” She had an apron tied around her waist. Grease sizzled as she swirled eggs in a scratched up teflon skillet.

The fancy plating told me more than anything else. Mom was trying again. She’d reached the so-called Moment of Clarity. Either something I’d said last night, or some personal revelation. Light green on the Mom scale.

Iris and Ellison waited months for moments with this version of her.

Personally, I dreaded them. Yellow was the baseline. Red was inevitable. Green was the hardest to deal with. Because green gave hope. Green made you wonder, if maybe, this time would be different. Maybe it would stick. Maybe things wouldn’t go back to exactly the way they were. And they always did.

Ellison picked up the package, staring at the branding. “What is this weird, colon-parenthesis-smiley face brand? At first I thought it was Wal-mart.”

“Gift horses, Ellison,” Mom said. “Let's just enjoy breakfast as a family for once.”

A sliver of irritation went through me at the way she said it. Like us all being too busy was a matter of personal choice. It killed my appetite. “Can’t. Have to use the computer for a bit and then I have to go. Dunkin’s.” I wanted to do some reading on the blockades, and if anyone knew how long they’d last.

“Laptop’s not working.” Ellison communicated through a mouthful of bacon.

“It broke?” I stared at him in horror.

“No. Sorry.” Ellison swallowed, then spoke again. “Internet’s down. Called Comcast and got an automated message about an outage in our area.”

“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Add stopping by the library to the list of things I have to do today.”

/////

Dunkin’s was anarchy.

A paper sign on the front door read SYSTEM TROUBLE, CASH ONLY. Similar messages were scrawled on doors across the beige bricked carbon-copy storefronts that sandwiched our spot in the strip mall. I found this comforting at first. Usually, our systems being down meant an easy shift. Less foot traffic. I could just relax and arrange the front facing display so it looked pleasant, maybe do a little cleaning.

Ray, the General Manager, had his feet up on his desk and was slurping coffee in the janitorial-closet-turned office while reading a rather scandalously covered novel when I got in. “Mornin’.”

“Morning, sir. System down?”

“That’s what they tell me.” He peered over his glasses at me. His comically oversized biceps threatened to rip clear out of the sleeves of his too-tight button down shirt. “Appreciate you coming in, Matthew. Eliza and Gertrude both called in. Hence, you are graced with my presence.”

I didn’t mind Ray. Even if he got my name wrong on a semi-regular basis and tended towards micromanaging. If the comically oversized plaque filled with medals in the office was anything to go on, he was ex-military, and a down in the trenches kind of guy. That wasn’t always a good thing, but it worked for Ray. If we needed a cashier, he’d swipe in. If we were running out of stock, he’d work the ovens. If there was a clogged toilet–actually, he’d probably make me clean it.

“I’ll get the displays stocked,” I said.

“Yessir. Should be a slow day.”

The front door slammed open with a bang. The words “We’re not open yet” died on my lips as I turned and took in the first customer of the day. A man in wrinkled, olive-colored fatigues, open-carrying what looked to be an old WWII bolt action rifle. A black balaclava hid all but his panting lips and panicked gray eyes.

Please don’t point it at me, please don’t point it at me.

“Um… w-w-w-what—“ I bit off the stutter, furious with myself.

“How can we help you sir?” Ray asked. He had stepped out in front of the donut display and was all business now, his easy-going manner gone.

The man bent over and started panting, taking deep heaving breaths.

“Matthew, get the register open.” Ray said, tossing me the keyring,

“Is there even anything in the register?” I muttered, fiddling through the ring until I found the small circle key that would open the drawer.

“One can only hope,” Ray said, under his breath. Then louder, he spoke to the man. “We’re insured. No one has to get hurt here.”

“I need three-dozen donuts!” The man shouted.

I shared a slow, swiveling look with Ray.

“Sure.” I said. Ray grabbed three boxes and handed one to me. I kept my head down, loading plain donuts into the box as quickly as possible.

“Would you like any Fancies or Munchkins with that?” Ray asked.

I froze.

“What? What the fuck is a munchkin?” Balaclava guy asked.

“Our signature donut hole treat. They’re made in a variety of flavors. It’s six for a pack of twenty-five, or eleven for fifty.” Ray listed off the information calmly, as if he were talking to a suburban mother, rather than a masked gunman.

“Just give me the donuts man!” Balaclava guy’s eyes were wild.

Quickly and carefully, I handed the man his three boxes of doughnuts. Taking me by surprise, he paid with a crinkled fifty. As soon as I made change for him, he swiped the twenty out of my hand and sprinted out the door with the boxes crushed under one arm, weapon held loosely in the other.

I glared at Ray. “Did you really just try to upsell Mr. Grassy Knoll?”

Ray held his hands out defensively. “Muscle memory, kid.”

A wave of people streamed in after that, quelling any discussion of calling the cops. I was able to pick up from bits of panicked conversation that the local stores and markets were bare shelved, as I’d suspected they would be, but not nearly this quickly.

The pace was exhausting. Even down-in-the-trenches Ray was ready to throw in the towel by noon. Like a sun-stricken shepherd, he waded into the sea of people crammed into the already tiny lobby, arms held wide, pushing them out and telling them to come back tomorrow. We were all out of everything and there simply wasn’t anything to buy, except raw ingredients.

I leaned against the wall, exhausted.

“I’m going to clean up.” Ray rinsed stray sugar from his hands with a damp washcloth.

“What’s happening?” I shook my head. I’d expected panic, but this was too soon. There was something else driving it.

“I don’t know. But you should find out, make sure your family is safe. Get some supplies as well, before it’s too late. Somethin’s not right.”

“You’re letting me go early?”

“Relax kid, I’ll pay you the full day. God knows you worked for it. And grab a bag of the munchkins on your way out. I stashed a few for us before the mob cleaned us out.”

“Thanks, Ray.” I undid my black apron, hanging it on the rack next to the cleaning supplies, and exited out the back with the free snacks.

Ellison was right on the outage, wrong on the scale of it. It wasn’t limited to our apartment. Or our neighborhood, or our block for that matter. Even the spotty 4G for my burner’s perilously limited data plan couldn’t pull up Reddit, or the half-dozen other forum-type websites I frequented. It could pull up Google.

I typed in the word “what” and the page immediately brought up suggestions.

“What’s wrong with the internet in Dallas.”

“What’s happening in Dallas.”

“What is Dallas dome.”

“What is the forcefield in Dallas.”

No results. No news articles other than several that were days old at this point, detailing the freak meteor that had destroyed a building and ongoing recovery efforts.

Desperate, I found a discarded newspaper in a trash can, flipping it up to look at the headline beyond the fold. The picture depicted a mass of protesters pressing up against the blockade. But they weren’t being held back by people. There was a strange orange light, curved upward and inward holding them back. The National Guard was looking on from the outside, one of them yelling something.

The headline was one word: Trapped.

/////

I didn’t know what to do, but at least was keeping my anxiety in check. My plan of getting my family out was seeming less and less likely. But the food situation was only getting worse, and if supplies and shipping were cut off from us? The word “apocalypse” was overused these days, but it sure seemed to fit. Incidents like that guy with the gun this morning were going to seem tame if this got worse.

There was only one thing left to do. I pulled the dungeon key from my inventory. Something called to me, like a deep tug pulling me forwards. I followed it.