Chapter 2

  The smell of an old fishing village hung in the air like a Long John Silver's recovering from flood damage... Or at least something that smelled fishy, mildewy, and wet. I won't try to claim I actually have first hand experience of the state of a Long John Silver's after severe water damage, although I did handle one insurance claim where a box truck struck a Denny's after the driver lost control. The truck had collided directly into a significant water pipe, so the insides were absolutely drenched by the time any of the field agents had gotten to the scene. Luckily there had been no human casualties, but the same couldn't be said about the countless Grand Slam breakfasts that had been sacrificed on that fateful morning.

  Anyway, the alley or 'Safe Zone' was a distant memory at this point, Joan and I having left the narrow space to explore our surroundings. My mind had been left reeling during the short time after our arrival. So much had happened, and it was all I could do to try to sort them out to figure out a path forward:

  1. The information about the game that Joan had relayed.

  2. The surreal state of the current world we inhabited.

  3. The berating from Azathoth claiming I was not an intended part of this.

  4. The enigma behind my glitched status screen and occupation The Null.

  5. The supposed investigation that needed to occur to move forward.

  6. The question of if any other passengers were in this current world.

  I had actually written this list into the pages of my journal, surprised that aside from the initial status screen the rest of the journal functioned very similarly to a normal physical journal. At the thought of adding notes to my journal, a pen had appeared in my hand urging me forward. Most surprising of all was Joan's reaction, actually allowing an impressed look to slip past her constantly disapproving gaze.

  Reviewing the list, it immediately became clear to me that one mystery took precedence over the others.

  5. The supposed investigation that needed to occur to move forward.

  By pursuing that specific question, it would answer many of the others. Following through on an investigation created for this world would help establish the actual application of the supposed game we occupied. The investigation would also help answer questions regarding the state of the current world, allowing it to be compared to the information Joan had relayed. Even if Azathoth's words had been true and I was not an intended player, by pursuing the investigation I should be able to test the limits of my participation, if any. And of course, there would be no way of really figuring out my stats and abilities (or the application of Joan's) without actually experiencing them first-hand in this world.

  One thing I had learned in my time as... an insurance adjuster... was that it is pointless to try and make assumptions about a situation without properly investigating. Any time spent in the alley discussing what-if scenarios would only waste time. And only having vague pieces of hearsay about the state and rules of this world meant that any in depth discussion would be pointless.

  I came to this completely by myself, and any implications that Joan had to interrupt a fifteen minute rant about how Gremlins was my favorite Christmas movie would just be complete and utter slander against my good name. And any train of thought trying to connect the current situation to how I would have been debating the merits of Gremlins as a Christmas movie would be completely fruitless. That said, Gremlins is obviously a Christmas movie. Gizmo is a Christmas present. There is the tragic backstory of a dad getting stuck in a chimney while portraying Santa. Everyone learns a valuable lesson.

  "Focus."

  The stern but angelic voice of Joan broke me from my important thought process. My best guess is that I had been making a weird face or staring off into space enough to warrant her intervention, although I must admit that Joan surprised me with her ability to read me. If only I had that ability to read a room I might not have been in this situation at all. Looking back, it had been completely obvious that Stacy and that backstabbing bastard... Kyle... had been flirting and fooling around for quite some time. If I had the same ability as Joan, would I have even purchased the tickets for the cruise as an anniversary present? If I hadn't purchased them, I definitely wouldn't have been on the ship. To make the claim that my inability to read a room had brought about my downfall would be nothing short of..

  "Focus!"

  "Right. My bad. Gremlins is a Christmas movie though, I will die on this hill."

  "If I hadn't talked to you on the ship, I would be convinced you hit your head on something and got brain damage when the ship was dragged under... But I have first-hand evidence you've always been like this." A quick glare from the corner of her eye as she pulled away to walk ahead of me on the street let me know that her insults weren't completely in jest.

  "Maybe it's not the best time to let you know that my meds were left in my room, so you're seeing me at my most regulated." It was the truth, his medications regulating his depression, anxiety, and ADHD were all left behind. On top of everything else going on, it might seem trivial, but without my medications I could only hope I would remain functional and not be a complete burden.

  Joan stopped abruptly, she opened her mouth to say something that even I could tell would be painful for me to hear, but then she restrained herself, taking a deep breath before saying anything. "I'm sorry." Her shoulders drooped showing a rare vulnerability.

  "I didn't mention it to gain your pity. To be honest, I don't know how I'd react if you suddenly started being nice to me." Joan's eyes met mine, a rarity since I usually kept my eyes focused on literally anything but a person's eyes. The hazel in her eyes carried a depth that I couldn't possibly describe, mostly because my descriptions are mostly limited to outdated pop culture references. Still, the depth filled me with a terrifying amount of fear, but an even more terrifying unshakeable trust. "I prefer it when you are blunt with me, I appreciate the honesty. And I don't dislike your personality, even if it apparently consists of reminding me of my faults."

  "Don't get too full of yourself Clay. I never intended on throwing you a pity party. Medicated or not, you're still an insufferably annoying bastard." The corner of her mouth curled upwards for the briefest of moments, but even that amount caused my heart to skip a beat. Despite her words, I could sense a warmth and trust in her as well. Even my lack of being able to read a room was convinced that Joan wasn't an enemy.

  "Don't tell me you're about to pull a Kat from 10 Things I Hate About You when she reads her poem near the end."

  "What's that?"

  "You haven't seen it?! It's great. Heath Ledger, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Julia Styles, Larisa Oleynik... You know, Larisa, the girl who played Alex Mack on that old Nickelodeon show where she turned into that pile of metal looking goo. But anyway, in the movie, Kat writes this poem talking about how she..."

  "Not that, you idiot. I wasn't talking about a reference to your movie... By the way, it's bold to make a reference to a playwright about a movie adaptation of a Shakespeare play." My jaw dropped at the realization that she not only understood my reference but she un-upped me. "I meant... What is that?"

  She extended a finger to a building across the street where a crowd was forming around a man erecting a poster. The crowd blocked the view of the poster's contents, but the response from the crowd revealed no shortage of panic.

  "That, my dear Joan, is the event flag that starts our mystery." Pulling ahead of Joan, I eagerly approached the poster. For at least this brief period, my anxieties were overshadowed by curiosity.

  "Even if you're referencing Sherlock Holmes, if you ever call me dear again then the next mystery this town would be solving would be your untimely death." Her icy cold response was underscored by the sound of her footsteps closely following behind. "Besides, why would you think you're Sherlock?"

  Distracted by her question, my attention turned from the poster to my condescending partner. A wide grin spread across my face, enough to make even the strongest willed person cringe. "How nice of you to ask. You are obviously versed enough in the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to know the reason. You're too serious and much to mentally adjusted to be Holmes, you're more of a Watson... Or a Moriarty?"

  Joan walked past, quickening her pace as she did her best to ignore my assertion. "I really wonder if you'd rather focus on showing off just how much you wasted your potential by only learning pointless things, than actually focus on the potentially life-threatening situation we're in."

  With a smile, I turned back around and followed closely behind Joan. Her sunflower patterned sundress created a warmth as it swayed in the dreary surroundings, contrasting both her coldness and the darkness of the current world. "That's a really mean way of admitting that I was right, but I'll forgive you for now."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Joan didn't respond. Instead she pushed herself through the crowd of people to view the poster, her eyes focused intensely as she internalizes its contents. Upon reaching a similar position, taking in the handwritten poster.

  MANDATORY CITY WIDE CURFEW

  Effective Immediately

  Enforced between Sunset and Sunrise until further notice

  All persons within the limits of Marblehead are required to remain indoors during mandatory curfew times. Refusal to follow the curfew will result in punishment to the fullest extent of the law.

  Due to recent disappearances of townsfolk from our streets during nighttime hours, we will put the safety of our residents above all else.

  Until the culprit is apprehended, this curfew will remain in effect.

  Signed: Sheriff Placeholder

  The poster itself was fairly self-explanatory, and answered at least a few of the questions I had written in my journal. I could even overlook the humorous or possibly lazy name of the town sheriff, however there was one more line to the poster that seemed oddly fourth wall breaking.

  All players report to Sheriff Placeholder for further instructions.

  "Well that's..."

  "Obvious." Joan finished my response, showing that her reaction to the poster and final line were on the same page.

  "So who's..."

  "An' ye' mus' be the players." A voice uncomfortably close cuts me off. Sandwiched between Joan and myself, stood the man who had erected the poster. He was a short and stalky man in a navy blue old fashioned law officer's uniform. An odd mixture of features left the uniform looking like a combination of something from the 1700s and something from the early 1900s. The man had a thick Sam Elliot style mustache, and sunken beady eyes. His smile, only partially hidden by the mustache betrayed an overwhelming warmth. He extended both of his hands as if to shake with both of us at the same time. His accent could best be described as if a southern drawl met a Pittsburg accent, and nothing even close to what a historical New England accent would sound like. "Pleasure meeting yinz. If ye' haven't guessed, I'm Sher'ff Placeholder. Of the Arkham Placeholders." He stated the last part as if Joan or I might actually know of the Placeholder family in Arkham.

  I awkwardly shook his hand, glancing over at Joan who kept her arms crossed in front of her chest as she stared at Sheriff Placeholder's extended hand. While I did my best to follow his social cues, it was Joan who spoke first.

  "Tell us what we need to know."

  The corners of Placeholder's mustache raised as if it was his mustache that was actually smiling and not his mouth. "Woo-eee. This un's a feisty un, ain't she?" He glanced up at me, but I knew better than to humor him when Joan was already staring daggers into our new NPC acquaintance.

  "Sherlock, why don't you show me your impressive insurance adjusting skills before I show yinz just how feisty I really am?"

  "I know you're mocking me, but I'm going to make you eat those words." Puffing out my chest I did my best to hide the very real pain I felt from her deprecating words. My hand extended in front of my, palm facing toward the sky. "Journal."

  Placeholder's eyes opened wide as the book materialized in my open hand. "Neat lil' trick ye' have there. Yinz really are the players."

  Joan's eyes met with mine at his response. A slight nod was all I gave her before starting my questioning. He hadn't seen any other players at this point, or at least not any that have made themselves known. If he had, the journal wouldn't have elicited such an over-the-top response.

  "Sheriff, it's a pleasure meeting you. I'm lead investigator Clay." Joan's eye roll only emboldened my approach. "Don't you worry your confusingly eclectic head, glorious mustache included, I will get to the bottom of things. So Riff... Can I call you Riff? I'm going to ask you a few questions so I appreciate your cooperation."

  "Riff? I guess I dun' mind none. Whatever makes yinz happy." Placeholder awkwardly responded. His guard already lowered by my odd cadence. I couldn't help but notice an adorable blush spread across his checks as I complimented his mustache. Flattery gets you everywhere.

  "Sweet. Now Riff, let's get started with the results of your investigation thus far. Namely, I wanna know... Who's your lead suspect?" From my own personal experience interviewing clients, it was always important to unearth their speculations before anything else. Too often people ask everything except for their interviewee's personal opinion.

  The drooping mustache said it all. "It's embarrassin' to admit, but I'm completely baffled. The bastard ain't left a speck of evidence. If it weren't fer friends an' fam'ly reportin' the victims missin' we'd have nothin'."

  Confusing and inconsistent accent aside, Riff's reaction spoke volumes about the rules of this mystery. Before getting ahead of myself, it was important to clarify one aspect. "So you're telling me it's not just a lack of evidence. There are no bodies and no witnesses, right Riff?"

  "If ye' put it that way, it makes me look ev'n more useless. But yeah. Clay, I really need yer' help. You an' yer' secretary."

  The world stopped as my journal lit up with flashing text and 8-bit animations of fireworks. Compelled to look at the journal, my attention turned away from the frozen world.

  Congratulations!

  +h3 /\/u11 has unlocked a new ability!

  Read the Room (Level 1)

  Passive ability

  User can sense hostile targets.

  Hostile targets are defined as: Any entity within user's range that has immediate intent to harm user, a party member of user, or a quest related NPC.

  Targets with hostility or bloodlust will be highlighted with a red outline visible only to the user of this ability.

  Current range: 5 meters

  To change color of outline, select visual preference options from your journal.

  To change units of measurement from metric to imperial, select gameplay options from your journal.

  Next Ability Level: Show target's relative level to user. Increase range by 5 meters.

  With the world still frozen, a single individual became highlighted in red.

  "Joan!" As soon as the world unfroze, I leapt between Joan and Riff, spreading my arms like a shield. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the pen intended for her personal journal. Her hazel eyes revealed an intense fire burning behind them, much worse than simple irritation. Meeting her eyes felt as if I were staring down a ferocious beast, however almost immediately the fire in her eyes dissipated and the color in her knuckles returned. The red outline disappeared.

  "Riff, Joan isn't my secretary. If anything I'm her secretary, so how about for your sake, you keep your casual misogyny to a minimum."

  Turning to face Riff, revealed a terrified man with a quivering mustache. The biggest tragedy of all was that poor glorious mustache was made to suffer for its owner's loose lips. Sadly, the mustache's ability to cover Riff's mouth was purely cosmetic and had no means to protect its safety. "There there," I warmly stated as I patted the quivering mustache.

  "Clay?" The baffled voice over my shoulder, no longer containing any elements of rage, broke me from my latest tangent. My fingers immediately, yet reluctantly, pulled away from the mustache.

  "Can you blame me? Poor little guy was scared because of the mean lady." Any sense of tension had dissipated. I would like to say I intended this when I consoled Riff's mustache, but... Yes, I totally intended it. It was completely a clever tactic and not at all because of a deep seated obsession with glorious mustaches.

  As if nothing had interrupted the interview, I immediately questioned Riff. "If there is no evidence left behind and there are no witnesses, how did you go about figuring when and where the disappearances occurred?" The answer should be obvious, however the question was more of a tool to reveal Riff's competency as an investigator than anything else. Depending on his response, my ability to rely on his findings would become questionable at best.

  "Er, um..." Riff wasn't immune to the awkward segue from the previous situation to getting back to business, however after a moment he straightened up, "We have witnesses for most of the missing persons' last known whereabouts. So there's a pretty good idea when they disappeared and where they were, assuming they were heading home from their last location."

  Did Joan scare the accent out of Riff? My high impression of her grew immensely from that fact alone. There was so much I wanted to discuss with her, my new ability more than anything, but that would be best to keep until they were alone. I still didn't fully know or trust how the NPCs worked, for all I knew our conversation had a direct link to that god. If what they had said was the truth, my abilities very well could be outside that god's perception and control. So many more questions were being uncovered than put to rest, however that was always a sign of a good investigation. If you didn't have the right questions, you would never discover the most important answers.

  "So are there any patterns you found to the locations or times of the disappearances?"

  "Times, ye' bet yer ass I do." Goddamnit, so much for the accent staying gone. I was reminded of how that traitorous bastard Kyle used to slip in and out of NPC accents when he would GM a campaign. Starting off with ambitious intent, but as the conversation continued, the accent was either forgotten or purposefully abandoned. He couldn't even commit to an accent, so lack of commitment definitely was something him and Stacy had in common. Serves them right. Who gives a shit about them. I know I don't. They can go fuck themselves. Well, I guess they are... fucking themselves. Why wasn't I good enough? What did I do? I could keep my accents consistent. I could commit. What could I have done? Why would Kyle do that to me? Was I not a good enough friend? The two people I was most loyal to... The two people I trusted most...

  "Focus!"

  The sound of Joan's voice snapped me out of my spiral. I only then realized that I had missed everything Riff had said. In place of his response to my question, he stood staring at me with probing eyes. They weren't the empty eyes one would associate with an NPC, but there was life behind them. Still, to say I was embarrassed would be an understatement.

  "So they all happened between sunset and sunrise. There was no consistency to the location from what you could tell." Joan spoke up, my eyes meeting her with a Thank you.

  "Riff, I think I can at least deduce one thing about the location of the disappearances based on the information you've provided." Riff's eyebrows raised as I smiled, proud of myself and fully recovered from my spiral. "Since there are no witnesses, the locations have to be isolated from public view. Since you've put the curfew in place, I won't be able to get a good indication on my own. What do the streets look like on a normal night? Is there an active night life, or is it typically silent?"

  "Ye'd be hard-pressed to find a night the bars aren't packed. More 'an 'nuff folks stumble 'round the streets, so there's no shortage of eyes."

  "Maybe not the most reliable witnesses, but drunk eyes are still eyes. And none came forward claiming they saw anything weird?"

  "None of 'em. I questioned any I could find, 'nuff to warrant Mayor Night intervenin'. Tol' me I 'ad to stop harassin' 'em an' leave it be."

  "Mayor Night?" That's a new name. "Why would the mayor be butting his head into your investigation?"

  "He said all this hullaballoo was gonna scare off bus'ness. Can't 'ave customers if all of 'em feel they're on trial. He ev'n tried to block the curfew. Said it'd hurt the local bus'nesses. I mean, I see 'is point, but ye' gotta think 'bout the lives not jes' the money." During the entire discussion, Riff had never looked more conflicted than at that moment.

  Looking over my shoulder to Joan, I knew exactly what our next stop would be. A nod from her let me know we were on the same page. If you ignored the fact that we had only known each other for a few hours at most, it might be easy to think we'd been working together for much longer. Putting that aside for the time being, it was more important to focus on the investigation.

  "So, Riff." The mustache perked up, along with the rest of the sheriff as I pulled him back from his confliction. "Can you put together a list of all of the missing people? We'll pick it up at the station later."

  "Sure can, but what're yinz doin' that ye' can't get it right now?"

  It was Joan who spoke up, stepping forward.

  "What's the best way to get in touch with this... Mayor Night?"