System Jazz

With the pain, the annoying red effect fades out too.

My heart still races thanks to the adrenaline, and there's a strong urge to run, even with the skeleton gone.

Crap, it's not the undead but my character who teleported back into the village, and worst yet, the stats reset.

[Government Issued Quest: Reach Level 10 within 3 days. Importance: Utmost. Difficulty: Average. Progress: 1/10, Exp to next level: 0/100. (68/72 hours left).]

"What the fuck, did I die or something?!" There isn't a single message that says so, yet it seems obvious.

The experience gained from the zombies is missing, and so do the items from the inventory.

It's not that it had anything of value, but the axe and the shovel also disappeared.

There's a method to count to ten before saying something or taking deep breaths to calm down, and they must be great.

My go-to is to scream my lungs out and throw a tantrum as any normal fourteen-year-old would.

And what better place to do it than in virtual reality?

"What the hell's wrong with this game?! Piece of shit, go fuck yourself and your tutorial and the quests too!" It's still in the middle of the night, yet the streets are far from empty.

The other players shoot weird glances at me, some raise their eyebrows and others turn around.

This confirms my suspicion that they can hear everything, making my face burn too.

What they see is a random guy with the text 'Noob' over his head swearing in the starter village.

There are a few who don't even hide their laugh, and the urge to run comes right back.

My frustration summons the logoff button, and I take the hint.

The headset comes off, and as my senses return, the real body shakes, swimming in sweat as it jolts to life.

It's not even the death that pisses me off, it's how the system handled it, and had me embarrass myself.

It takes a lot of self-restraint not to shove the controller into a corner. And that restraint will come in handy next time in that world too.

Who knows how much I mumbled in the main square until now? Now the whole playerbase will think of me as a lunatic. Damn it, game.

"Like, give me a fucking warning, or I don't know..." The big red container echoes my shouting.

At least nobody should hear it this time, and with the headset off, the usual tutorial message won't pop up either.

That one's annoying as hell too, like everything about this crap. Thinking about it makes my blood boil, and only a smoke can calm me down.

Half of the first pack is already gone, and they should last me a week.

Who thought this program would be this stressful? That twelve hours in the guard house was bad but this will drive me crazy.

"There's no way I'm going to play this bullshit. Fucking Baldie... They didn't explain anything, and expect me to spend half my life on this crap?"

Pacing up and down with the cigarette helps with the fuming, although my hands shake like crazy.

The vanilla flavor can't calm me down before the last drag is gone, yet it's time to practice that restraint.

There's that salvaged PC, it should provide some answers about CineMraft.

It was stupid to jump into it blind and bashing my head against the wall. It wasn't like me at all.

Whenever a new title comes out, a few hours later it will have a subwroddit full of advice and opinions.

That should have been the first thing to check out, before putting that shit on my head.

The old rig takes his sweet time to boot up though, and the cravings are strong.

"Arnim! Hey, you still alive?" The shouting makes me jump, and the pack of cigs falls.

Good, restraint, this was a heavenly sign that I shouldn't light another one.

Who the hell's shouting my name? The PC is only a step away from the still-open doors but paranoia kicks in.

A mirror. I remember wanting to buy one for cases like this, to stick it out instead of my head, because who knows what can happen.

Or get a discount CCTV system, one of those could keep an eye on the crib for me.

Although, for someone who disabled a lot of them, it seemed silly.

"Arnim... Your door's open, you know?" Who the hell is it?

The Boss would cough his lungs out, and the Thin sounds nothing like this.

He also shouldn't know this address. Almost nobody does since my Mom died, because I like my privacy.

Yet someone's here, looking for me. There's one way to find out who.

One step closer to the door, back against the wall, my head peeks out, and the strong afternoon sunshine blinds me.

It was nighttime in the game, and with the solar panel shading the entrance, my brain wasn't prepared for this.

"There you are. How did you get out?" They yell in broad daylight, and right below my entrance.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, and realize, it's the Kid.

So he did get away and came to check on me. How did he know where to find my big red container?

If the question is if a visitor should make me happy or suspicious, it's always the latter, paranoia for life.

At least he's alone. This corner of the Container Park seems quiet too, so it should be safe to answer. He can't embarrass me any more than this, though better not jinx it.

"What do you want?" My brain's foggy after trying out CineMraft.

It takes longer than usual to realize, the new phone is in my pocket, and the cops must be listening.

And there's no way to turn it off or throw it away because that will alert them. How do I warn the Kid about it?

Talk about something casual while waving him off, or something? He can't use sign language. Heck, he's eight years old, what if he can't even read?

And why did he come anyway? To thank me for saving him? Or did the Boss send him for missing the rendezvous?

"The guys want to know where are the rations."

Yes, it's the worst-case scenario, he needs to shut up right now, or we both go to jail.

No, he's too young for that, why did I even save his ass?

The cops would have let him go anyway. The main issue is the listening device, so let's focus.

"I don't know, what you're talking about."

My tone's casual, while my hands wave at him in panic.

Pulling them in front of the neck is the international sign to shut up, and one finger held up to tell him 'wait'.

There must be a way to warn him without the cops hearing it.

With the power of origami, a piece of paper on my desk turns into a messenger plane.

A pencil scribbles the most important parts of the previous day, in a way that even he should understand.

Stuff like, they keep me under surveillance, and can't get rid of my phone.

The Kid scratches his head, watching me speedrun this novel in silence.

That aim's off, but he picks up the plane with the explanation.

Cops caught me and he needs to tell the Boss to leave me alone.

This new phone gets an entire paragraph to ensure he stays quiet.

He's ten meters below me, so it's hard to tell how he reacts at first.

Then he takes the paper and runs away as if his life depended on it.

Damn, Kid, why? My temple throbs from this child-induced headache, and heavenly sign or not, another cig is lit.

Let's hope he shows it to the Boss, instead of letting the message fall into the wrong hands.

They might be up to something if they sent him to scout me out and find the rations.