I clenched my teeth, tempted to go after her. She was running away from some guys that wore ragged yet robust post-apocalyptic-style clothes. It was plenty warm in this part of the city, so their heavy wintery attire seemed all the more out of place, especially their fur-trimmed hoods and ski goggles.

  I quickly scanned one of them as they chased after her.

  | Hom Tardy – Level 7 Player |

  | Game/Class: Max Mad: Flurry Road |

  That was not the actual title of the game or its respective movie, and this wasn’t the first time I’d noticed a diversion from the original games in the AllVerse.

  The guys playing Zany Taxi were essentially playing a popular game, just with a different title. The Painbow Seven guys were playing a Tom Clancy game, also by a different name, and Hall of Duty was another obvious name change. I’d seen other examples of it, too, but I couldn’t remember all of them. But in each case, the games had been modified somehow to fit their alternative titles.

  Ascendant Games had fought dozens of legal battles to buy, bully, or outright steal our way into some of the IP that went into making the AllVerse what it was, but these games were supposed to exist in their original formats with minimal crossover to other games. Something else was clearly going on here, but given the current situation, I didn’t have time to explore it further.

  At first, the fleeing girl deftly fired the six-shooter back at her pursuers, striking them with each shot while nimbly navigating the environment around her. It only managed to slow them down, though, so their pursuit continued.

  As badly as I wanted payback and to get my Jonesin’ gear returned—gear which also didn’t actually use the name of the property it was based on—I couldn’t afford to do so now. I had no guarantee she wouldn’t just tap my shoulder and take everything I’d fought and bled for again.

  Plus, I doubted I’d get the Jonesin’ class back, anyway. I sincerely hoped those Players would get her, or maybe she’d get pulverized by a car like my neanderthal nemesis MeatPopsicle—hopefully something painful and fitting—if I didn’t get to her first.

  But my dad’s words from almost two decades earlier resurfaced in my mind. We’d been playing a one-on-one Slayer match on Halo—I forget which one, but we were on the blue “Lockdown” map—and no matter what I tried, I couldn’t kill him. I’d been just a kid, and he never showed me any mercy. Never.

  We got into another skirmish, and I took his shields down. I was unloading on him with my dual machine guns, but he no-scoped me with his sniper rifle before I could finish him off.

  In a fit of rage, I threw down the controller and held my head in my hands. I wanted to cry, wanted to punch him, wanted to never play video games again.

  And then he tea-bagged me. His character—one of the Elites instead of a human Spartan—stood over my dead avatar and tea-bagged me. My own father.

  I remembered it clearly. Then he’d looked at me, stone-serious, and said, “Don’t get caught up looking for quick revenge on tea-baggers who camp and target you. That’s a fool’s game. Focus on the goal, outlevel and outplay their sorry butts, then return and destroy them.”

  I think I only ever beat my dad in that horrible game once. Maybe twice.

  But in many other areas of my life, that wisdom, which he’d shared as he tea-bagged my dead body in Halo, proved useful. Since I was stuck in a game world now, I saw how it would come in handy here, too—though I never would’ve admitted it to him.

  That would require me to talk to him, and that was a nonstarter.

  For now, I ignored the Jonesin’ girl and continued to haul my rickshaw full of soldiers to the drop-off point. I rolled my eyes, thinking of my father.

  What a waste of a life. Whenever he got a new game, he’d spend hours working the gameplay mechanics, level-grinding, and then cleaning house on virtually any multiplayer game.

  The irony of actually using his advice now sickened me. Like, I actually wanted to vomit from sheer anger.

  Or from exhaustion. This rickshaw was heavy.

  The soldiers hopped off and offered me nods as they unloaded.

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  | Weight limit within normal parameters. |

  | Speed and Endurance are normalized. Rickshaw jump allowed. |

  “I’ve had better rides on a rickety toboggan pulled by my great aunt Coraleen, soldier!” the sergeant screamed in my face. “You’re bringing dishonor and a bad name to the noble profession of runnin’ rickshaws. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I’m ashamed of him, too,” Silas added. “But it’s for a host of other reasons.”

  I ignored Silas and blinked at the sergeant, hoping we wouldn’t have to do a song and dance just to complete the fare, or worse, I’d end up with this guy as a companion, too. “I’m not a soldier. Pay me.”

  “It’s all about the money, never the cause! If you were in my platoon, I’d make you eat those words.”

  But he paid me, and I received XP as well, jumping up to Level 3.

  “Thanks, dude. Maybe buy some pants with the cash,” Mackn’Mee said, and the others laughed.

  A familiar and unnerving whistle sounded from overhead, growing progressively louder.

  “Incoming!” someone shouted, and a missile impacted nearby, flinging the Players and NPCs around like confetti.

  I wasn’t close enough for it to do damage to me, but I still crouched and covered my face out of instinct. “Holy skit!”

  Silas scrunched down on my shoulder. “I should tell you, Karjok don’t handle gratuitous amounts of concussive force or fire very well.”

  I gave him the side-eye. “Not many people do, either.”

  The sergeant lay within view, now bleeding glitter and sparkles from multiple wounds and a missing left arm. The Players I’d just dropped off had taken some damage as well.

  I motioned to them. “Case in point.”

  “I’ve had just about enough of this!” the sergeant roared. “You there, well-sculpted opportunist. Take us to the hospital!”

  A new fare opportunity popped up, but I ignored it for now.

  “Yeah, one sec.” I accessed my character menu and put one point in Strength, one in Speed, and another in Endurance. Then I opened my Skill Tree.

  “Ohh, let’s look at my Skill Tree!” Silas suggested.

  “Later.”

  Silas rolled his eyes. “Right, I forget everything’s about you.”

  “If only everyone else caught on as fast as you.” I looked over my available skills.

  | Opportunist |

  | 2% bonus to all earned XP and AllCash. |

  | Tier 1 of 5 |

  “Even if the bonus seems small, take it. It’ll pay off later. Most overlook it.” Yet again, Dad’s words rang in my head, but I shook them away.

  I was about to put another point into my rickshaw, but I remembered Silas could heal. Maybe that was upgradable. Since I was stuck with him, maybe he could be more useful than making random left-field comments or rambling about the plight of alien octopuses.

  His Skill Tree opened up, and many more options were available due to his high level. None of them seemed particularly useful.

  “Octo-kick? Ink-jet? Camouflage? Oceanic wisdom and… ‘coral rolling?’” I read them off. “What is ‘coral rolling?’”

  “Oh! I’m chuffed you asked. It’s this game the Karjok invented—”

  “Skip. Why is that a skill? What practical application does that have?” I asked. “You know what? Forget it. Where can I boost your healing ability?”

  “Hey dude, we’re, uh, still glittering out here?” Mackn’Mee called.

  Looked like I’d literally have to come pick them up and put them into the rickshaw if I wanted this fare.

  “Be right there,” I called, but I didn’t look away from the character menu. “I still have a point to spend. Everyone’s got problems. Hang in there, chief.”

  I exited Silas’s Skill Tree, and he slumped with disappointment. I put a point into the rickshaw Skill Tree, allowing it to carry more weight. Not much more, but it was something. Then I accepted the mission that had been hovering on the periphery of my vision to escort the soldiers to the hospital.

  With a flash of light, they materialized in a heap on the rickshaw. Guess I didn’t need to physically go over to them after all. I still received a debuff from the weight, but only by one negative point instead of two.

  The hospital was a long distance from the battlefield, in another part of the city I’d never visited in-game. As I ran, I had to fight my inner self to keep doing this. The reality of my situation kept trying to catch up with me, and I just wanted to scream. I hated being in here and had no idea where to even begin searching for a way out.

  What’s going on out in the real world? Why isn’t anyone doing anything to get us outta here?

  Silas remained on my shoulder and admired the sights. “Nice to get out and about. I haven’t seen too many places other than Karjopia. Haven’t found any oceans yet, though, so it’s not my favorite. No offense.”

  “None taken. I hate this place.”

  “Oh, thank Neptune. Yeah, it’s a dump, but I’m trying to stay positive. Maybe we could visit the ocean? I did notice one while we were crashing, but obviously I had other concerns.”

  Other than a timer, I encountered no obstacles on my path toward the hospital—no more random grenades, missiles, or combat. But as we drew closer to our destination, the city took on a distinctly different aesthetic. I recognized the architecture from some of my business trips to the Middle East.

  The hospital was a skyscraper with a unique symbol on the front—an artful triangular piece with a rounded bottom that seemed vaguely familiar. I brought the wounded soldiers to the glowing area marking the destination, and people in long white robes with red accents and hoods hurried out.

  The sign on the hospital awning overhead read Assassin’s Bleed, and I realized why all of this felt so familiar.

  “Ugh, whatever.” I shrugged. “Let me guess, there’s a mission to bring them back to the battlefield afterward?”

  I earned the AllCash and XP, and was a hair’s breadth from leveling up again.

  The Assassin’s Bleed medical staff put the Hall of Duty soldiers on gurneys, gave them glitter transfusions, and bandaged them up.

  I sighed. Some of these game mashups were… really dumb.

  “Mr. Shaw?” a familiar voice called from my right. I glanced over to see one of the Assassin’s Bleed Players waving me down.

  Silas arched his brow ridge. “Who’s this bloke?”

  The guy pulled his hood down, revealing a face I’d seen recently, and then I realized why I’d recognized his voice.

  “Brando?” I asked.

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  Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.