Dream Drive Ch. 04

"...uh..." Jackson processed for a moment. "What mission?"

Rachel wagged a finger. "That's a secret between me and Lord Hale. Can't tell a soul, not even one marked with an inverted pentagram. Do you think that means we're Satan worshippers or something, now? What the hell was Emil Mohammed thinking? Maybe he was just trying to be controversial to help sell the game." Rachel frowned and folded her arms. "No, that doesn't make any sense - I don't think they'll be selling the power to be a superhuman anytime soon. Doesn't explain why he's giving this shit away for free, though. Hey, do you think the symbol has to do with real-life magic? Maybe it actually does come from the devil."

Jackson frowned. She could practically see him try to decide which one of her points to address. "So...you figured out it was real, too?"

"Yep!"

"Good. I don't have to explain it to you."

Rachel gave him the eyeball. "God, are you always this big of a douche? Pointing spears at people, demanding their names, thinking you're too good to do the common decency of alerting another human being to the fact that this isn't just your average game?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," Jackson said. "Just implied that it would be a pain."

"Whatever, Jacky."

Jackson's eyes narrowed, and not in a thinking way. They narrowed in a you-better-stop-that-shit sort of way. "Don't call me Jacky."

"Sure thing, Jacky."

"Rachel -"

"Holy shit, stop taking yourself so seriously," Rachel said. She swiveled and started out the archway. "Come on, let's go."

She didn't hear him for a minute, but he caught up quickly enough. He had a lot of stuff - an old wooden shield, a spear that had definitely seen better days, a cool-looking bow. A few daggers were stuck in his belt. He had absolutely no style though; it was all utilitarian.

The tunnel was ugly, grimy, moldy, and generally revolting. A rattok could pop out from any corner; she kept her eyes moving. She felt comforted by the sword swinging at her hip and the daggers tucked under the bulky sleeves of her cloak. Her all-black outfit might be a little over-the-top, but if she was going to be some sort of magic-powered Satan worshiper, she was going to look good doing it.

Jackson broke the silence. "Look," he said, "someone in my real life always calls me that, and it gets on my nerves. So could you please not do it?"

"Oh yeah? Who?"

"...my mother."

"Aww," Rachel said. "Wittle Jacky-wacky doesn't like to be called silly mommy's nickname?"

"My mother's a drunk, and she basically whores herself out for alcohol money and joyrides in fast cars. She hates me. She whines that nickname at me when she wants me to do something. So yeah, hearing it pisses me off."

"...well, shit," Rachel said. "Now I feel like a giant dick. Thanks."

"You should," Jackson muttered.

"Fair enough, Jacky."

Jackson sighed. "Alright. Have you been down here before?"

"Nope!"

"I have," Jackson said. "It's where I appeared when I was banished."

"Lucky," Rachel said. "I appeared right in the middle of Lord Hale's laboratory. Fucking pervert old man wouldn't give me clothes at first. I think I'm going to kill him at some point."

"...you realize, if this is real, he's another human being?"

"He's a sick old bastard, but you wouldn't know," Rachel said. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

Jackson cleared his throat. "I was heading back to where I took a branch off into this area of the ruins. There's a few other main routes off that intersection that I haven't been in yet. I figured there might be something valuable down there, somewhere."

"Sounds good."

Rachel flicked a dagger out from her sleeve and spun. Her arm dove for Jackson's chest.

He was already moving. His shield came in from the side - not to block, but to bash her dagger-hand. Her blow was deflected, but it scraped across his arm, leaving a red line where it passed. The line vanished a moment later.

Jackson backstepped and leveled his spear straight at her. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted to test PvP," Rachel said.

"What if that had killed me?!"

"Then you'd be dead and I'd have your essence," Rachel said. "Duh."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"A lot of things," Rachel said. "You know, I'm pretty impressed. I thought I had you off-guard, but you were paying attention the whole time. Maybe you're not the fucktard I thought you were. Promise I won't try to assassinate you again." She sheathed her dagger. "Come on, don't look at me like that. We both knew what would happen."

"There was a chance you could have seriously hurt me."

"Yeah, yeah," Rachel said. "You coming, or what?"

"You're nuts," Jackson said.

Rachel started off without another word. It took Jackson a little while, but he caught up. This time, he stayed an extra step back behind her.

Nuts. Crazy. Fucked-up. Loony. She'd heard it all before. They were right. She didn't take her medication. She hated her medication. It made her feel like a program with memory leaks. Not bad at first, but the longer it went on, the worse it got, until the whole computer was crawling in the dirt like a worm.

"Yeah, you're right," Rachel said. "I'm kinda crazy. Genetic bad luck. Maybe it was the air pollution." She changed her tone to mimic the warm voice of a drug commercial. "The brain produces chemicals that help nerve cells communicate. An imbalance in these chemicals can produce unhealthy patterns of behavior. Mentra can help correct these imbalances, allowing you to resume a productive, healthy lifestyle."

"You're on Mentra? That explains a lot."

"Hey, you know what they say," Rachel said. She looked back and winked at him. "The crazy ones are the best in bed. Just got to make sure you keep an eye on what my hands are doing."

Jackson blushed for a moment, then gave a half-laugh. "I'm already doing that, and we're not in bed."

"Do you want to be?"

"Uh...I'm spoken for."

"What, seriously?"

"Yeah. Fiancé."

"Aww, how sweet," Rachel said. "She must be even stupider than you are. You'll make a great couple."

"Look," Jackson said, "can you stop? With the insults?"

"I don't know. I'm kinda enjoying myself."

"Hold up," Jackson said. "Seriously, stop!"

Rachel was halfway to reaching out to one of the wooden doors on the side of the hallway. She paused and cocked an eyebrow at her companion. Come to think of it, her hood was pulled pretty low. He might not even be able to see the eyebrow. In fact, most of her expressions were ruined by her hood, which left her feeling slightly put out.

But stares made her feel dirty, and Lord Hale's stares in particular made her feel...slime-coated. This Jackson guy wouldn't be any different. So she kept the hood on.

Wait. I'm getting side-tracked. "What's through the door?" Rachel asked.

"It's bad," Jackson said. "You smell that?"

Rachel sniffed. "Yeah. It reeks."

"It reeks the worst in that room," Jackson said. "You don't want to know why."

That, of course, made Rachel immediately want to know why. She opened the door and stepped in. It couldn't possibly be -

She froze.

There were people hanging from the ceiling. Humans, that had been cut open. Legs and arms packed with salt were curing on hooks. The sharp scent of rotting vinegar joined the odor of old meat.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Her hands were shaking. Her words left her. She just wanted to get away from that place. Get away. Move, feet. Move. Move. I can't move. I can't move.

Something embraced her. Hands, gentle, careful. She felt one on her shoulder, one on at her side. The hands drew her back, guided her away, and shut the door.

"Rachel. Rachel. Hey. Are you alright?"

Her brain restarted. Rachel sat up, escaping Jackson's arms. Her spine shivered. She'd touched him. He'd touched her, for a long time.

He could have hurt her. He could have pinned her down and hurt her. What if he had some kind of disease? What if she got infected? She flicked her fingers at where his hands had been, as if to brush away the lingering sensation.

"Rachel?"

"Don't touch me."

"I told you not to go in there."

"Don't touch me," Rachel repeated. She stood up. The door was closed, deadening the smell. Oh, god. That smell.

Jackson was still on a knee. He looked at her, then looked at the door, then looked down the hallway. "I'll make you a deal."

Rachel turned to face him, her curiosity flaring high enough to push everything else away. "What deal?"

"Don't call me Jacky, and I won't touch you."

Rachel nodded. "Done. But seriously, don't touch me."

"You got it," Jackson said.

He didn't ask why. They usually asked why. Maybe he didn't want to know. She started to take a step. "Wait," Rachel said. "You lead. I don't know where I'm going."

"I don't want to get stabbed again."

"I won't stab you. Promise."

Jackson sighed. He did that a lot. "Alright. Come on."

They walked further down the hall, then began to wind through a few rooms. It was quiet. It seemed like Jackson had done a pretty good job of clearing the place out. Damn bastard. Didn't he have the sense to leave some MOBs for other people?

They came to a room filled with piles of bones. It smelled much more strongly than the hallway. Rachel cringed and tiptoed her way through the center, trying to avoid the bits and pieces. Jackson moved like a rock, forging a path through the center. She stayed as close as she comfortably could. She'd rather brush against him accidentally than touch one of those bones.

Jackson looked over his shoulder when they were through. "You doing alright?"

"Fine and dandy."

"Just checking in." Jackson faced forward and kept on. "You really don't like the smells."

"Who in their right mind would like any of this shit? I mean, I'm fucking crazy, right, but relatively speaking."

Jackson seemed to think for a moment. "I didn't say that right. What I meant was that you're not dealing with it well."

"Well, guess what. Rotting meat. Your hands, touching me. You know what they have in common?"

"What?"

"Germs," Rachel hissed. "Disgusting, ugly, foul little microbes. I'm a video game avatar now, though, right? I don't have to worry about that shit, right? That's what I'm telling myself. I don't have to worry about hands getting on me. It doesn't help much. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it. So I keep my skin covered." Jackson stopped. Rachel almost bumped into his back. "What's going on?"

"We're close to where I came in," Jackson said. He glanced at the floor, then pointed down a long hallway that very slowly curved to the left until it was out of sight entirely. "I walked from there." He turned to face a door opposite the room they'd just exited. "I'm going there next."

"Alright. What are we waiting for? Go."

"Rachel."

"You have a tone," Rachel said. "I don't like it. What's with the tone? Was it something I said?"

"It's a lot of things you've said," Jackson said. "Look, you - we..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure how to put this."

"Just say I'm fucking crazy and that you don't want to hang around with me," Rachel said. "Everyone else does. Just be honest. I don't care."

Jackson frowned. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really. I was going to say that we have to be careful. Can you keep quiet?"

"Of course I can be quiet," Rachel said. "What the hell makes you think I can't be quiet?"

Jackson looked at her.

"Alright, I know what you mean."

"Everyone's got issues," Jackson said. "Can you deal with it effectively enough that we can move around without drawing attention?"

"We'll just kill anything that dares cross our path, like the pirates of old!"

"Rachel."

"Yes, I know how to fucking sneak, and I can keep my mouth shut. Just ask Commander Tell'ad. I didn't say a word to that guy that came to meet with us."

Jackson sighed again. "If you give us away, I'll be pissed."

"I won't. Now let's go."

###

Jackson looked Rachel up and down. Her small stature was belied by the layers of cloak that kept her wrapped up. The girl's blue eyes stared back at him from underneath her cowl. He had trouble reading her body language.

She was also totally certifiably insane, but Jackson had decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to just let it be. And, if he was honest with himself, she was kind of entertaining. Just not good for sneaking around.

Jackson nodded. "Remember. Sneaky."

"So anyway," Rachel said, her lips moving almost as fast as Jackson could think, "just come out and be honest with me. I'm a liability, right? I'm nuts, right? Germaphobe? It's a control thing. I don't like things I can't control. I don't like dirty things. I don't like being dirty."

"That sounds pretty normal to me."

"What?" Rachel leaned back to look up at his face. It was hard to see anything in the dim blue light. Her chin was narrow. She had a small button nose. "Normal? I've been called a lot of things, but I think you're barking up the wrong tree. Shit, you're not even in the right forest."

Jackson decided not to argue. "Can you kill a rattok if we find one?"

"Already have. I'm wearing this so the blood doesn't get on me."

"Works for me," Jackson said. "Stay quiet."

He turned and opened the wooden door across the hall. This room was filled with bones, too. A well-tread canyon path led between the two piles. Rachel immediately shied up to his backside. She looked at the bones as if they might jump up and kill her any second.

He actually felt a little protective of her.

He marched forward, trying to look confident. Rachel scurried along behind him. The next room was the same. More bones. Human skulls poked from the piles here and there. Dead, moist air smelled from the bits and pieces of flesh that hadn't quiet escaped being cut away from the bone.

"Breeding ground for microbiota," Rachel whispered. "They're incubating in the damn things. Ohmygoddidyouseethat?!"

Jackson looked around. Diffuse blue light. Square stone walls. Piles of bones. "No."

"The pile moved. It moved, it moved!"

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed. "Probably just rats." He nudged the pile she pointed at with his foot. Immediately, a dozen rats squeaked and poured out from the bones. Jackson stabbed one of them as they passed, collecting a point of essence. The rest fled the room. "See?" He put his foot on the tail of the rat and pulled his spear free. Damn, that thing was huge. "Nothing to worry - Rachel?"

Rachel was worrying. Her arms were crossed over her torso in an X, as if trying to shield herself. She waffled between pressing into him and not wanting to touch him again, stepping back, stepping forward, stepping back. Jackson almost put a hand on her shoulder, but stopped himself. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm fine," Rachel said. "I'm good. I just need to focus. Kill something, maybe."

"Preferably not me."

A door opened. Jackson and Rachel spun. A rat like as big as a dog jumped forward. Jackson didn't have his spear up.

Rachel was there. Metal flashed. The huge rat sprouted a sword blade from its midsection. Blood splattered in a line across the stone and up a pile of bones.

Rachel kicked the corpse off her weapon. "Nasty piece of shit."

"Thanks," Jackson said.

"Yeah, whatever. Only 3 fucking essence." She sighed. "Guess I'll take it."

More shrieks. This time, Jackson had his spear up.

Huge rats turned a corner and bounded into the room. They came in a pack, at least five of them. Jackson stabbed forward and skewered one, but the others darted around their fallen friend like a wave.

The first one jumped at him. Jackson lifted his shield and knocked it away. It landed on bones. The next rat darted in low and bit his ankle. Jackson kicked at it with his other foot, slamming his heel into the back of its neck.

It wouldn't let go. Frustrated, he dropped his spear, grabbed a dagger, and jammed it where he'd been kicking. The rattok's body slumped, then twitched. He pried its jaws off his ankle.

Something slammed into him. Jackson flew back into a stack of bones, scattering bits and pieces. They jammed uncomfortably into his back. He realized that a rib was actually sticking through his stomach; the injury was eating away at his health.

Another huge rattok was standing in front of him, having barreled through the door after the dog-rats. It raised its club and attacked. Jackson rolled sideways, ignoring the bone buried in his skin. The club smacked the pile. Debris flew around him.

He was on his knees, on the stone. He grit his teeth and wrenched the bone out of his skin. The rattok brought his club in, swiping from the side.

Jackson dove forward under the attack, landing at the rattok's feet. He twisted and sliced the monster's calf with his dagger. It growled and kicked its other foot into Jackson's side, hard.

Jackson curled with the blow, catching the rattok's foot. Normally, that kind of a kick might incapacitate him - but he wasn't normal. He stabbed and sliced and cut that leg over and over, shredding it with his dagger.

The pack leader raised its club again. Jackson braced himself to take the hit, trying to figure out how to turn the aftermath to his advantage. He still had three quarters of his health left. Maybe -

A bar of iron sprouted from the rattok's chest. It looked down and stared at the wound, as if deciding if it should be dead or not.

Jackson didn't waste the opportunity. He got his feet underneath him and came up with his dagger, thrusting it under the creature's chin. It fell backward with his weapon still lodged in its jaw.

Jackson breathed. Rachel was standing behind the fallen creature, bloody sword in hand. He bent and picked up his spear. "Thanks for the help."

"That was totally my kill," Rachel said. "I thought we agreed to no kill stealing."

"This isn't a game," Jackson said. "Game menu." He dumped more essence into strength before it started leaking out of him. 66 Strength, now, even with his Vitality. He dumped another 29 into Agility to give himself an even 50 essence.

"Game menu," Rachel said. Her finger started flicking through screens that Jackson couldn't see. "Of course this is a game. Look at what we're doing right now. It has funny rules and may or may not be based on occult magics that demand human sacrifice or something, but it's definitely a game. Emil Mohammed wouldn't have picked gamers to play it if it wasn't a game."

Jackson felt like there was a good point buried somewhere in her babble. He just wasn't quite sure where. He said nothing.

"Talkative, ain'tcha?" Rachel leaned over and started wiping her sword on the rattok, once, twice. "Why do you think he handed it out to us, anyway? Gamers? I mean, I've got a life and all, believe it or not, but he doesn't know about that. Emil Mohammed isn't stupid. It seems to me that being a finalist in a gaming competition doesn't really qualify someone to take on the magical power of undeath. So, why us?"

"Maybe it does qualify us," Jackson said, "and we just don't know how."

She was still wiping her blade clean, obsessively, as if she weren't trying to clean her blade as much as stain every inch of the rattok's leather. She looked up at him. "You say some pretty smart shit every once in a while," she said.

"I try."

"I bet you do. Gotta squeeze everything you can out of that single brain cell. Must be hard living with one neuron." She glanced back down and was surprised to see that the rattok leader had begun to dissolve into sludge. She backed away from it. "That explains that. Hey, what's the crystal thing?"

Despite himself, Jackson smiled. She was like a little fountain of nervous, germaphobic energy. "It's an essence crystal. I guess, technically, I may have stolen your kill, so you can have it. If it's the same as the last one, it's worth 50 essence."