7/24

A typical suburban street

8:10 PM (46 minutes after detonation)

Captain Harrigan hated this street. It was lined with teal, yellow and pink two-story homes, made up to look just like a real American street. It was a goddamn lie, like so much else recently.

The sun was starting to set. Captain Harrigan couldn't help but compare the glow of the sun against the horizon to what the people in LA must have seen before they died. First Chicago, now Los Angeles. Harrigan couldn't allow another city to die.

He parked hastily and sloppily in the driveway. Harrigan was mad, and the resident wasn't allowed a car anyway. So proper parking could go fuck itself. He exited his government-issued Toyota Corolla and let himself in. The resident wasn't allowed to lock the door.

This particular home was fully furnished and only occasionally occupied by higher ups that visited Naval Station Guantanamo Bay. So the place was clean and modern, with hardwood flooring and tasteful furniture. It shouldn't be occupied by a goddamn golem. But here he was, about to confront an imposter human. Harrigan drew his side arm.

"Where are you, you [racial epitaph] prick?" Harrigan yelled into the empty living room. No answer. The house smelled like saffron and overcooked meat. Harrigan moved into the kitchen. A plate and bowl were in the sink. The remains of a stew were in a big pot on the stove. Harrigan had had too much mid eastern cooking in Iraq. His lip curled in disgust.

A toilet nearby flushed, and an older man's voice came from the hall bathroom. "A moment, please."

Harrigan stomped over to the bathroom and aimed his gun up at the door. "You have five seconds to get out here!"

"I must wash my hands."

Harrigan snarled, "the fuck you do, golem! Your type doesn't piss or shit! OUT. HERE. NOW."

The door swung open and Abdul Alhazred, supposed author of the Necronomicon, casually looked at the soldier then at the gun, and then the sink as he continued to wash his hands. "I use the toilet. I do not know about other dungeon creatures."

"Yeah, you know all about dungeon creatures. You know all about dungeons, goddamn dungeon master. Boss monster. Boss monster of fucking nothing, now that we closed your redneck retreat." Harrigan's gun was trained directly on Abdul's head.

"I do not know that last phrase." Abdul dried his hands on a blue towel. In the pink polo shirt and khaki slacks he'd been given, he looked more like a golfer than any monster. He gestured to the living room. "Would you care to sit down and talk, my friend?"

There was absolutely zero concern in Abdul's tone or demeanor, which further infuriated Harrigan. He screamed in the old man's face. "TELL ME WHERE THE OTHER NUKES ARE OR I BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!!!"

"I have told you Americans that I do not know."

Abdul gestured for Harrigan, who was blocking his exit from the bathroom, to step aside and let him out. Harrigan threw an arm bar into Abdul's throat and pushed him back into the bathroom. Abdul stepped back but tripped on the toilet and fell to the floor in a seated position. There wasn't much room in the half bath. Harrigan crowded in and slammed the door closed.

Harrigan raged. "The shitters are the only rooms not on camera in his place. So now I've got you where nobody will see us." He aimed his gun at Abdul's leg. "So talk or you lose one of your lanky-ass legs."

Abdul sighed. "My friend, you do not want to do this."

Harrigan pulled the trigger. The sound in the confined room was deafening, the muzzle flash blinding. The bullet punched a hole in the linoleum floor.

"NEXT ONE IN YOUR KNEE. TALK."

Abdul blinked, and hung his head. "I honestly do not know where they took the bombs. I was not part of their plan, just-"

Harrigan aimed and fired point blank into Abdul Alhazred's knee. The gun was so close to Abdul that the khakis were singed. Abdul flinched, but didn't cry out in pain.

Harrigan tilted his head at what should be impossible. No blood, no wound. The bullet was flattened against the old man's knee. It slid down onto the floor with a small thunk.

"The fuck-" was all Harrigan got out before the lights flickered off. A slim beam of light shot across the bathroom floor from beneath the door. But that wouldn't have allowed those eyes to be visible. Not those eyes.

There were dozens of them all around Harrigan. Eyes of various shapes and sizes and colors. All staring at him. All cutting into his mind. Eyes seeing into him. Eyes seeing inside his veins, inside his past, inside his fears and inside his future.

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"You cannot hurt my vessel," whispered too many voices into Harrigan's ears. "He is such a nice man."

Harrigan realized his mistake. He had placed himself in close quarters with a monster, not a man. He had put himself in a small room where nobody could see his predicament. He knew that the base had probably already dispatched a team to the house as soon as the security team saw Harrigan on the CCTV. They were coming. He just had to live long enough for them to get there.

Harrigan felt behind him for the door. His hands grasped at nothing. He turned and looked. The slender ray of light from beneath the door was hundreds of feet away now. And the eyes were multiplying. They weren't on the walls anymore. There were no walls anymore. The eyes floated in the black space Harrigan was now in. They floated close up and far away. He couldn't tell distance, not without a reference point. But he just knew some of the eyes were close to him. Some inches from his face.

Too many voices came from the eyes that had no mouths. "My vessel is so much nicer than I am."

Something grabbed Harrigan's gun and tore it from him with such force that his index finger was torn off. Both the gun and the finger were immediately swallowed by the darkness. The blood that leaked from his finger dropped down and down and down, not hitting any floor, just bright crimson blood dripping into an infinite dark.

Harrigan clenched his injured right hand with his left. He didn't scream. He just gritted his teeth. He'd been shot before. He could manage this. He could survive this.

"What are you?" he rasped.

"I'll make you understand."

An eyeball appeared inches from his own right eye, and then pushed forward. The two eyes collided. Harrigan reeled back, this time screaming. He felt blood spurt down his face. He felt his eye being squeezed, being pressed until it finally popped. And then something pulled his eye out like a squished grape. Something round pushed back into the socket.

"Harrigan, what in blazes are you doing in there?" Major Dames asked.

Harrigan blinked. He was in a bathroom. Abdul Alhazred was curled into the corner, clutching a badly bleeding knee. Harrigan looked down at his right hand. The gun and finger were back.

Two Naval police officers pulled Harrigan up and out of the bathroom. They pushed him into the nearby wall, disarmed him and cuffed him.

"I told him, as I told the others, I do not know where the bombs are," Abdul explained with a pained voice. "Please, you must aid me. His gun went off, an accident, I am sure."

"Apologies, Mr. Alhazred," was Major Dames's reply. "You see there was another bombing today and..."

Captain Harrigan was pulled out into the Navy police car. They'd called the cops on him? For what, interrogating a monster a man a man interrogating a man? Harrigan shook his head. He'd just talked to Abdul. A regular man who shit and pissed. He'd barged in, used his weapon. He'd crossed the line. He had to admit his mistake. He would do so. Maybe Abdul would forgive him. He seemed like such a nice man.

-----

7/24

Pathbreakers HQ Conference Room

8:25 PM

Gwen L'Ronge watched the footage from Los Angeles with the two other people still in the building. Arushi, the Smith, didn't ever seem to go home either. Perhaps Gwen would lend Arushi her futon.

They watched the news without talking to each other. There was nothing she could particularly do. Jose would have already contacted Jun and team Lupus Rex, if they were alive. Gwen suspected they were. The Dracosys had protocols to defend itself against existential threats that fell outside of the agreed upon ways to combat it. The Arena in Chicago had survived the bomb there. If team Lupus Rex was inside the dungeon, they were fine.

The more troubling thing was the death toll the nuclear weapons from R-32 were racking up.

Kazan, Russia. 1.3 million deaths.

Chicago, United States. 1.8 million deaths.

Abha, Saudi Arabia. 0.7 million deaths.

Los Angeles, United States. ? million deaths.

At least 3.8 million kills.

R-32 was closed, so it wouldn't get credit for the kills. But the dungeon master, would he get credit?

Gwen flipped through her notes until she found the clause. All direct creations of a dungeon that killed a human contribute to the dungeon's experience points. This allowed dungeon-made weapons to be used by humans to kill other humans and still accumulate XP for the dungeon. Of course XP allocation was performed by the dungeon master, who could use it to improve the dungeon in various ways. Including making the dungeon master stronger. And, if a dungeon master had nothing else to spend XP on other than making himself stronger, well...

Gwen took out her notebook and wrote by hand, doing quite a bit of math. Each level gained by a dungeon monster, including a dungeon master, cost (desired level*1000) XP. Each human provided 1000 XP. A monster would have to buy each level individually, so to go from 1 to 2 would cost 2000 XP. To go from 2 to 3 would cost 3000 XP, but the total cost to get there would be 5000 XP. If each kill gave 1000 XP and at least 3,800,000 were killed already...

She walked out and placed the folded-over note on Mr. Amarillo's desk.

Abdul Alhazred estimated level to be 2756 or higher. Figure does not include XP from recent attack. No idea if there is a level cap.

Pray there is a level cap.

Arushi called Gwen back to the TV. "Gwen! I think that's Odysseus! He's on TV!"

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