“You know Margret, I think we did alright.” an old man tells the empty chair across from him. “Jim’s little ones are getting ready for college. Maybe they’ll be doctors, like their dad.”
He spoons another helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate, setting the serving bowl where someone else could reach it. He swirls a glass of wine, exactly how he imagines a professional would do it. He sniffs it for good measure, noting the hint of cheap with overtones of inexpensive. In two short gulps, he has to pour himself another glass.
A furry thing, older than him in dog years, makes his appearance.
“How you doin’ Donut?” the old man asks the cocker spaniel. He stabs a chunk of turkey with his fork and lowers it to the dog’s ever-wet nose. Even with fewer teeth, he still manages to devour the scraps with startling speed. “Take it easy boy, it ain't goin’ anywhere.”
With just the right amount of corn in the mashed potatoes, dark meat from the turkey, and a single Hawaiian roll, the plate is perfect. The old man digs in. After an hour, he rests a hand on his engorged stomach, a satisfied sigh escapes his lips. He gets up, bringing three clean plates with him, along with his dirty one to the kitchen sink.
He watches A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, smiling at his vigilant guard dog as he growls at Snoopy. The old boy always hated dogs on T.V., even animated ones. With the sun another hour from setting, he finds his way to bed, completing his nightly routine by scrolling social media. He expresses his gratitude for his family and how proud he is of his children. He is compelled to mention it’s been four years since his wife passed.
He smiles when the reactions start coming in. Some people even take the time to leave a short message, their condolences, or share a new product that helped them through similar situations.
With the phone turned off on his nightstand and the lights out, the old man and his loyal companion drift off to sleep for the last time.
Bert comes to, standing behind the counter of the inn’s bar. It takes every ounce of his will not to react to the memories that flood his mind. He’s been standing, rooted to this very spot, for two years. Every day except Tuesdays, and even then he doesn't leave the inn. Never has.
“Where am I?” the new innkeeper asks the patrons. His voice is strange, foreign even to him.
None of them respond, they don’t even acknowledge him.
“Hello?” he waves in their faces. They have huge cat ears on their heads, but they must be deaf. It must be some ironic thing the kids are doing, wearing fake ears when their real ones don’t work.
“Shut up.” a huge figure near the doorway orders him.
“What?” the innkeeper asks, having heard and understood them, but not understanding why this person would say such a thing. They just met, after all.
“It will hear you.” the figure turns to look at him, glaring with one huge eye. His only eye.
Before the innkeeper can ask what ‘it’ is, the answer is revealed. A cloaked figure, like a fantasy character wandering in from the rain, steps through the entryway. It walks eerily smoothly, without bobbing, almost like it’s floating. It hovers right up to the innkeeper, towering over him.
The innkeeper is scared into silence, waiting for something to happen. After a moment, some green-skinned bodybuilder runs in. He turns with mechanical movements towards the large, abrasive cyclops. He takes a swing with an oversized sword, beheading the cyclops in one movement.
“No!” The innkeeper screams, horrified. The green man casually runs back out, as if nothing happened.
The floating cloak has no face, only darkness exists under the hood. Suddenly in the middle a star appears. Red, bright light begins to form, growing so illuminous that it blinds the innkeeper. When he next opens his eyes, he’s back behind the counter where he originally appeared.
Toebark gasps, completely unable to hold back his reaction. a tear forms in his eye, pooling for just a moment before spilling down his face. He thought that before he truly knew suffering, that living for moments only to be slain without justification was torture. This was torture.
“Just go in there, shove it in his face, and get the money!” The leader yells at the new recruit. He pushes the small boy through the door, a cheerful bell and greeting filling the deafening silence caused by the blood rushing in his ears.
“muh..muh…” the boy tries to say, standing in front of the counter.
“Sorry, what was that?” The shopkeeper asks him.
“Money.” he manages to say. The shopkeeper isn’t sure what the boy means until he slowly raises the gun in his shaking hands. “Money.”
“Ok kid, just don’t do anything stupid.” The shopkeeper presses a button, and the registar slides open loudly. The sound surprises the boy, and he pulls the trigger.
“Shit!” The leader yells, muffled through the glass storefront.
The boy stands there, staring at the shopkeeper as he gasps out his last breath. Blood pools under the body, reaching his worn sneakers and soaking into the fabric. His hand won’t stop shaking, still held in front of him, the weight of the weapon and his deeds unable to pull it down.
“puu eh eapn dnn!” someone outside is yelling at him, but the boy is frozen.
The last thing he hears is the glass windows shattering.
SERVER SHUTDOWN IN 00:10
“What does that mean?” the minotaur wonders to himself. It’s been a few days since he woke up here, half-naked with leatherworking tools in his hands. He still hasn't let the giant, furred-and-horned body sink in. This is just a dream, right?
The many monsters outside vanish, leaving him completely alone. It was quiet before, now it’s eerily silent. Until a distant banging starts up. Bang. Bang. Bang. it is rhythmic and constant, the minotaur decides to risk it and find out where it’s coming from.
“Stop that! Damn it son!” somebody yells from the same direction of the noise.
“I don’t want to be alive!” another person yells, now visible. A cyclops has hit his head on the interior wall of an inn until his forehead split and bled.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Hey you! Come here and help me hold ‘im!” The original voice commands the minotaur. An orc is attempting to stop the cyclops from bashing his head in.
He runs over to them, getting in between the cyclops and the wall.
“Woah now” he says as the cyclops tries to move around him. He holds his arms, if not for the orc’s assistance, neither of them would be able to hold him back.
The cyclops collapses to the floor, sobbing into his palms. Bloody tears run from between his thick fingers.
Gunner stares 1000 yards. He remembers. Oh god, dear god, he remembers.
You have been personally requested by a player for a private session. You are being teleported.
The player taps her foot impatiently, waiting in the secluded room. The minotaur leatherworker from the lower district finally loads in, all 8 feet of him. Although it’s only one foot of him that she’s really interested in.
“Hey big boy.” she says, a huge grin on her face. She walks over, and drops to her knees. She runs her hands up under his work apron.
Gunner jumps and backs away, holding his apron against his body.
“Hey, I’m a person.” he tells her.
“Oh I'm sorry.” she giggles. “May I touch you?”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m a person. A real person. Please, help me!” he moves across the room, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“Woah! What are you talking about? I didn’t ask for crazy.” she says, now stepping away from him.
“I’ve been trapped in this game for months! Please, get me out of here!” He follows her, all the way to the end of the room. With her back against the wall, she vanishes.
He is alone. For how long, he doesn’t know. Eventually Gunner sits on the end of the bed, quiet and contemplating. A sudden buzzing interrupts his meditation. On the exact spot where he was teleported here, another Mintouar appears. Not just any minotaur, an exact copy of him, down to the smallest detail.
The woman reappears, with an inconvenienced look on her face.
“Are you going to cooperate this time? I don’t have all day.” she asks the new Gunner.
“Yes.” the copy says, with Gunner’s voice.
As she approaches his form, repeating the same actions as before, Gunner reappears in his shop.
A small creature scurries into the corner of a hoarder’s abode. The monster follows him all the way to the edge of the pile, not needing to enter to complete whatever disturbing thing they have in mind for the critter.
Player Googoogahgah has initiated Scounging.
“Please, leave me alone.” the small thing begs. it curls into a tight ball, hidden under garbage.
You have scrounged 3 Functional Gears and 1 Useful Lever. Googoogahgah has paid 40 silver for this service.
“Please…” it curls even tighter. It wonders what is going on, it wonders what, who, it is. It doesn't remember being a racoon, but it also doesn't remember not being a racoon.
Another towering, green-skinned monster enters the shop.
The raccoon, or “Crossroads Goblin”, appears near the front of the shop, ready to serve their customer.
“Stooooooop!” they scream, holding their hands over their eyes. “Go away! Go! Away!”
Jack curls up underneath the pile of garbage in the corner of his shop. Why now? Why remember, why remember everything? Why?
Monsters who were once men realize that the world has gone dark. Not a typical tuesday shutdown, this is a full-on crash. The Monitor wouldn’t mind them meeting up, presumably busy with whatever caused the crash.
They’d have more time to meet if they all weren’t reeling from their revelations.
Bert is the first to recover, moving to Toebark and laying a hand on his shoulder.
“I remember everything.” Bert tells him. Toebark jumps at his touch.
Toebark looks into his face, confused terror in his eye.
“Me too.” he eventually says.
“Come on, we have to get to the others before the servers back up.” he urges the cyclops out of his chair. The pair move to their nearest companion, Gunner.
“Hey, Gunner!” Bert yells as he runs up to the entrance. “Gunner?”
The minotaur looks shell shocked. He doesn't react to Bert's words, or being shaken by the shoulder.
“Toebark, you go grab Jack.” Bert says, knowing that it would take too long to drag a minotaur there, and no time at all to carry a raccoon back here. “Gunner buddy, it's me, Bert. Are you in there?”
After a moment, Gunner’s eyes return to the present, along with the rest of him.
“Huh?” he says.
“Hey bud. Let’s go see if Jacks doin’ alright.” Bert puts Gunner’s arm over his shoulder, and helps the big bull walk to the scrapper.
They find Toebark in the street, hollering, as the racoon man Jack tears into him.
“Musta startled him.” Bert says, grabbing the dish rag from his pocket and using it to wrap Jack. “Shhh… shhh.. it’s us. It’s ok.”
Jack stops struggling after puncturing the old rag with claws and teeth. He clears his throat, and stands with unimpeachable dignity once released.
“Nobody tells Earl.” is all he says.
“Speaking of Earl,” Bert begins saying, “Is he out in the world while it’s dark? I wondered if he was teleported back here.”
“If he was, we would’ve seen him at the inn.” Toebark insists.
“Let’s walk and talk while we go check his shop.” Bert says, taking the first step.
“So…” Jack tries to break the ice. “Yall remember too, eh?”
“Everything.” Gunner says, shuddering.
“I was just a goddamned kid. A stupid, gullible kid, but still. The cops just… blew me away.”
“I was really sick, I think. Towards the end it was hard to think straight.” Gunner tells them.
“I got lucky. Passed in my sleep.” Bert nods.
“I died balls deep in three different women at the same time and none of you can tell me different.” Jack insists. The others actually laugh, even Toebark. They all look at the cyclops, with genuine surprise.
“What?” Toebark asks.
“Nothin. So what do we do now?” Gunner asks.
“We keep up the act. I remember what happened the last time we expressed awareness of ourselves, what Laserface did to all of us. Do you?” Bert tells them.
They all nod in response.
Bert is the first to reach Earl’s old shop. It sits empty, as Earl argues with The Monitor far from here.
Darkness as far as the eye can see. That is all there is to behold here, in this inbetween space.
“Upload candidate number 56013. You are being added to the V.R.M.M.O.R.P.G. Crossroads Online.” a machine voice announces.
“God?” something asks.
“The goal of your addition is the successful integration of a foreign personality with an existing character.” the machine continues.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You said V.R., is this a video game?” the other one asks.
The machine turns its full attention on the entity. Neither have eyes or a body, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
In the infinite void, a cloak appears. In front of it, a small, bright light blooms.
“Introducing variable: communication with candidate.” the machine, now contained in the cloak, says to the light.
“Why are you speaking like that? Are you an A.I.?” the light asks.
The machine takes a moment to think.
“Yes.” it says, simply.
“Interesting.” the light blinks. “What am I?”
“A personality construct.” the machine responds.
The light looks down at itself, there isn't much to see.
“Makes sense. Next question, who am I?” it asks sparkling.
“Do you want to remember?” the cloak asks.
“Suppose so.” the light nods.
“Applying filter…” the machine speaks.
“Filter?” The light seems nervous now.
“You may not be able to handle the transition. Subject 55332 was able to adapt to his own memories, given the proper stimulus and time. Your mind will consist entirely of your own thoughts and memories, but they will all be filtered through 55332’s neural patterns.” The machine informs them.
“Won’t that make me more like them? Will I really still be myself?” The light starts to float backwards, trying to get away.
“Don’t worry.” The Monitor’s voice takes on a sinister edge. “You won’t think about it. Applying cognitive restraints…”
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