Immediately recovering from her near-fall, Jessica the Human Racist kicks the pipe she tripped over.

  She tries, anyway.

  But her foot phases right through it. Then how the fuck did she trip? And why’s a pipe even here?

  It’s just sticking out of the otherwise empty black void, serving no possible purpose except to trip her, the only person to apparently even exist. Oh what-the-fuck-ever.

  She knows obsessing over this shit will only make whoever’s responsible laugh harder as they watch.

  The Human spins around, flipping off everything in 360°, both vertically and horizontally, just to be sure that whoever keeps yelling at her is doing so from one of the angles she’s showing her finger to.

  Midway through her multidirectional greeting, she spots six more versions of herself. All of them in the same identical T-pose as the last set.

  They’re even standing underneath a similar massive free-floating line of shining red text.

  { CHOOSE YOUR CLASS }

  The Racist can already make out the smaller green text in front of all six from where she’s standing.

  { Fighter: +2 Strength }

  { Rogue: -1 Dexterity }

  { Barbarian: +2 Constitution }

  { Wizard: +2 Intelligence }

  { Cleric: +2 Wisdom }

  { Bard: +2 Charisma }

  So does that mean the game already sees her as a rogue? Would she get a ‘Classist’ title from picking that? Do new titles replace each other? Or would her name read ‘Jessica the Human Classist Racist’?

  She kind of wants to pick Rogue just to deny that loudmouth disembodied prick the satisfaction of railroading her.

  But she doesn’t really want to be a rogue. As a matter of fact, she’s kinda sick of sneaking around just now. But for some reason, healing spells sound like pretty much the best idea in the history of the world.

  Pivoting in place, Jessica makes her way directly towards the version of her dressed as a cleric-“Fuck!”

  Almost as soon as she takes a step, the Human trips over the same pipe again, closing her eyes before she face-plants on the distinct lack of a ground.

  I woke up. Sort of.

  Everything hurt. It hurt so much.

  I was… Alone? Why was I alone?

  And why was the ground moving? An earthquake?

  No. The boat… Right, I was on the boat.

  But… I was Alone?!

  Had James disembarked? We were supposed to undock and escape before-

  Wait, did James fucking leave the boat without me? He wouldn’t!

  But I’d been face-down on the ground… With the coat… And hat… Both covering me from above…

  God damn it James, you stupid son of a bitch! You didn’t even recognize your own sister?

  But… If he’s a son… Of a bitch… Then that would imply…

  Whatever. Escape now. Cuss him out later.

  I tried to get up. But I couldn’t move my legs.

  Why couldn’t I move my legs?

  No, wait. Stop freaking out. Just… Use the method. One question at a time.

  What did I need from the store?

  Wait. What was I doing?

  Oh right. The… Six holes…

  The Six holes… In the wall above… Right before… Oh… Oh Fuck.

  Was I bleeding out? That was what this was, wasn’t it?

  No.

  No, no, no, No, No, No NO NO NO!!!

  James and I were supposed to-

  I never told Thomas-

  I don’t want-

  Wait… That was It? That was my Role?

  All that Knowledge? And Preparation? And… FUCKING SCHOOL???

  I put myself through day after day of tedious bullshit… Just to jump in front of a bullet and die alone on my brother’s parked Boat? I could’ve just fucked off and played Video Games my whole life if that was the only thing I was gonna do with it!

  Not that I didn’t play my share of video games with the time I had…

  But NO. Not a Chance. Absolutely. The fuck. NOT.

  That wouldn’t be all I did with my life. It couldn’t be. I refused.

  James Needed me. He wouldn’t stand a chance in Hell against all those guys I ran by to get here. Even with that Stephanie girl to help him.

  I considered whose fault it was that I was lying here.

  ESPECIALLY with that Stephanie girl to help him.

  But what else could I do?

  They’d obviously come for the boat at some point…

  But could I do anything more than wait for a nameless dude in a suit to maybe trip over my corpse? And then he’d… Stumble for a second, maybe even hopping once or twice to regain his balance. Which he would.

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  And that’d be my final act.

  No. I’d do something else… There had to be something I could… But what tools did I even-BROCK!!!

  Not the Plan C I’d had in mind, but it’d have to do.

  I may or may not have intercepted a package meant for James a few months back. He’d never suspected a thing. Probably.

  One of those corporations with an acronym for a name had developed the plastic explosive to crack open BFS’s converters. But then the shields around them disappeared all at once. And suddenly, the government had been left without a use for all the C7 they’d commissioned.

  Even still, most of it got used over the ensuing decades of revolution to explode all those rich fucks that wrecked it all. And then the collapse, the recovery, and all that other shit that happened before I was born.

  There were still some scant bits of C7 left though. What hadn’t remained was anyone who knew what it was. Or how it was made. The department that developed it didn’t have any leaks before the whole government shut down, and at the same time, everyone who knew died in one of the largest surgical strikes in recorded history.

  Or if any of them survived, they hadn’t shared. Which, based on what happened to the rest, I couldn’t blame them.

  Nor had I ever been this tired. Not ever. And I’d stayed up for 72 hours straight before.

  What was I doing?

  Right… I needed to release Brock.

  He was so close. On my front-left belt loop. But I couldn’t move.

  I tried anyway.

  I failed. My body wouldn’t let me. It knew in no uncertain terms that budging an inch would only mean a faster death.

  I could physically move my arms. It was just my subconscious trying to save me.

  But I was beyond that help now. I knew that. I wasn’t getting up from here. Somehow, despite my lack of confidence in anything else, I was confident about that. I was already dead. But it wasn’t just the blood loss I was battling. Or my ruined body.

  The main barrier was my own survival instincts. I had something to live for. I had someone. And I wanted to see tomorrow. I wanted it so bad.

  Except… I wanted it for James more. But he was dead too. Unless… I could reach…

  Glacially, I dragged my left hand towards my pocket. Every inch was a struggle.

  It hurt more and more by the second. Until it started to hurt less. Until I started to lose momentum.

  After a subjective eternity of pain, with the speed of a paint droplet sliding down a wall, I just barely held out long enough to reach the button.

  Eliciting all the willpower I had, I PRESSED it.

  I felt the metal ball hit the floor. It shook just a bit from the impact.

  Then, my arm fell too. That impact was nearly identical, floor-shakes and all. It fell just like the very life I’d been desperately holding onto.

  So woozy now. If I still had my vision, I knew it’d be spinning. That whole thing probably didn’t help the blood loss, huh?

  I heard Brock jump up on his four adorable spike legs.

  The little guy skittered back and forth while he tried to stay balanced on the rocking boat.

  I could picture exactly what he must’ve looked like.

  So cute… Skittering back and forth…

  Back and forth…

  Back and…

  The skittering got more purposeful and frantic as Brock moved away from me.

  Another few seconds, and I couldn’t hear him anymore. Good.

  Brock’s default settings meant he would follow a very basic set of instructions.

  Once activated, he’d start by scanning the local environment. Nothing overly complicated, mind you. Just analyzing the basic structure of surface areas in a radius stretching up to about twice the size of this cabin. That done, he would immediately curl up in the least underfoot spot he could find.

  And that was it. The timer was already ticking. Afterwards, he’d be gone. The toy’s original functionality wasn’t to blow up. But I’d changed that. I’d ripped him open, tore out everything non-essential, and crammed in as much C7 as I could fit.

  What I couldn’t do was test it. Not like it was testable in the first place. Plastic explosive tended to be a one-and-done sort of deal. Not a sure thing by any means.

  Nor was it even a guarantee that James would be ready to take advantage of the distraction. He was a smart boy though. He could put two and two together. Even if the whole thing relied on him checking his fucking phone for once.

  I couldn’t exactly help with anything about that, even with a working… Body. Although if I still had one of those, I wouldn’t be doing any of this to begin with.

  So I laid there. Satisfied with my last act. Satisfied that I finally made a difference. Satisfied that once a week passed without me deleting them, all my spider-bot’s recordings would be automatically posted to my account on the toy company’s facebook under #MistyMemories.

  Picturing what that would mean for my murderer, my ever-stiffening facial muscles settled into a contented grin.

  All my worries… My plans… Thoughts… It all slowly faded away.

  This lasted a year. Or maybe just a second. Hard to tell anymore.

  Noise? Coming closer. Voices. And footsteps. So many footsteps.

  But… They stopped? Too far away. Why?

  As the world faded, so did my connection to it. My Sight… Smell… Or was it taste..? All foreign concepts to me now.

  A few sensations remained. Mostly pain. It was so cold.

  At least I could still hear. Albeit not particularly well.

  I tried to make out the voice coming through my earpiece. It felt like eavesdropping on a conversation from the other side of a thick wall.

  “If this door is not opened within ten seconds, we WILL force entry!”

  Where did… Oh… Of course…

  He hid in… The house…

  They would’ve seen him… Go in there…

  James… You fucktard…

  “TEN!!!”

  Those pricks are gonna… Unless…

  Niecie Stephie… Dropped the gun… Almost… Crushed my head…

  It was close… Maybe…

  Gotta save… His dumb ass…

  Gotta try… Gotta…

  “NINE!!!”

  Like molasses, my opposite arm practically dragged itself towards the spot just above my head where the gun had landed.

  I deafened myself to every impulse I had to stop and preserve what little time I still had.

  The impulses came stronger with every millimeter.

  “EIGHT!!!”

  I continued. Same speed. Same everything.

  But then, something inside of me caught.

  I let out a tiny, wet cough.

  I felt a muted pop from somewhere deep inside me.

  Fuck… That was… Bad… Tired… Cold…

  No… Focus…

  It was… Right… Over… Th… H…

  “SEVEN!!!”

  I woke.

  I dragged.

  I cramped.

  I dragged.

  I hurt.

  I dr-

  I slept.

  “SI-”

  I woke.

  I dragged.

  I FOUND.

  I dragged.

  I gripped.

  I squeezed.

  I ached.

  I squeezed.

  I spasmed.

  I slept.

  “TWO!!!”

  I woke.

  I squeezed.

  I shivered.

  I squeezed.

  I trembled.

  I Squeezed.

  I convulsed.

  I slept.

  “ONE!!!”

  I woke.

  I squeezed.

  I burned.

  I Squeezed.

  I Endured.

  I SQUEEZED.

  I IGNORED.

  I SQUEEZED.

  [ HEROISM RECOGNIZED: YOU ARE INVITED — BONUS UNLOCKED: SUBSTANTIAL INTELLECT — ACCEPT? ]

  I heard.

  I smiled.

  I relaxed.

  I died.