“They weren’t lying,” Russell muttered, pushing aside the ferns. “Those are some big-ass bugs.”

  Hunkered down in the brush, Russell peered out over the smoldering section of jungle. A squadron of donkey-sized beetles stomped through the ash, moving in a rough formation. There were five of them. Five too many, far as Russell was concerned.

  Conrad and Shoji craned their necks, heads popping up like teenagers sneaking a peek through a strip club door.

  “This kind of shit happened before?” Russell asked.

  Shoji looked to Conrad. Conrad spit into the dirt. “Second day here. We got a message about an event.”

  “Crabpocalypse,” Shoji whispered.

  Conrad nodded. “Crabpocalypse. Hundreds of the little fuckers came crawling outta the ocean, pinching anything that moved. Had to haul ass up to the cave or get turned into hamburger meat. Saw ‘em rip a seagull to shreds, bro — wild shit.”

  Russell huffed. “I know the type. Hope to never see another crab again — unless it’s drenched in butter.”

  Conrad jabbed Shoji in the forehead, hard. “Then what the hell are you doing rolling with this fuck? He’s had a hard-on for the hardshells ever since Crab-goddamn-pocalypse.”

  Russell frowned, shooting Shoji one of those what aren’t you telling me looks. Because, yeah — Shoji did have a thing for crabs. He still had the four they’d pulled off Buzz’s leg back on the yacht, locked in the bathroom like they were POWs.

  Russell was about to press Shoji on his crustacean fascination when one of the beetles let out a deep, groaning whine, shaking off the layer of ash building on its back. The three men ducked lower, watching the beetles real wary-like.

  Their rounded shells were thick and ugly, a sickly green with a greasy shimmer. They moved slow, letting out a faint hiss with every step, like a busted radiator ready to blow. The barbed spines running up their legs carved deep trenches into the scorched ground. And their mouth-parts, like needles and whips, twitched and stabbed at the air — probing, searching. These big fuckers were hungry, no doubt.

  Russell exhaled. “There’s gotta be a reason for an event. It can’t just be to fuck with us.” He flicked open the LOG tab on his device and reread the event description.

  “More of the Gamemaster’s cryptic bullshit,” Russell said, grinding his teeth. “Fuck.”

  “Fuck is right,” Conrad said. “As in fuck this. Look at that recommended level — what do we got? One Level 5?”

  He jabbed another finger into Shoji’s head. This time, Shoji slapped him away without even looking.

  Russell chewed on it. Conrad was an idiot — proven by the fact that even after a week’s head start, he was only Level 4, something Russell had achieved in just two days. But on this? He wasn’t wrong. Finding Mari was still the play, and tangling with these big bug bastards wasn’t gonna get them there any faster. Best to avoid them.

  Russell leaned in. “Shoji,” he whispered. “Pull up your map.”

  The little bastard’s time as a naked exile had paid off — he’d mapped out just enough to give them a rough idea of the region around them. What they knew for sure: this part of the island stretched wide, long and curvy, thinning in the middle before swelling out toward the unknown northeast. The southern coast, where Russell woke up, was all beach, trailing into the tidal pools and that damn cliff that blocked the way further east. Up north, they’d barely scratched the surface — just enough to mark the yacht’s cove as a landmark.

  The rest of the island was an unknown. The west, thinning out towards god-knows-what. The northeast, thickening into some nightmare waiting to be found. Blank, untapped regions, just waiting to screw them over.

  But the real mess was dead center. The jungle, thick and endless. It stretched in every direction except where the scorched wasteland ripped through it, blackened streaks slashing westward like claw marks across the green. One of those burned-out trails almost ran clear from the tide pools to the yacht’s cove — a straight shot. The three men were huddled just outside of that trail now, planning their next move.

  Conrad tapped Shoji’s map, to a small, explored radius in the jungle’s eastern stretch — the furthest east Shoji had ventured, far beyond anywhere Russell had set foot. The map showed nothing but thick canopy with a small grey scar through the thicket of green. Conrad talked about it like it was some dragon’s den.

  “That’s where we crashed, yo.” Conrad said. “Where Mari was headed.”

  “Then that’s where we’re headed,” Russell said, but his eyes didn’t leave the map. They were stuck to something else, an unexpected detail — a big, bean-shaped section of jungle outlined with a dashed line. It stretched from deep in the western reaches, cutting halfway into the burned wasteland. A place Shoji had crisscrossed enough times for the game to recognize it as something. Not just jungle. Not just ash. A border.

  And there, stamped across the center in bold, undeniable letters:

  “Domain of the Jungle Guardian,” Russell read aloud, still keeping a low whisper.

  “Don’t you about the gorilla?” Conrad asked, already loading up a fresh insult.

  “Oh, we’ve met. So that’s like, its territory or something?”

  Conrad furrowed those polished brows of his. “You think I came up with all this shit, bro?”

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  Then came an answer they didn’t want. A roar cut across the ash field. All three of them snapped their heads up, muscles tensing to run. Crashing through the thicket, the gorilla barreled into the smoky clearing — pissed off, massive, exactly as Russell remembered — except for one thing.

  “Hey!” Russell blurted. “That fucker’s wearing my sunglasses!”

  Sure enough, perched on its thick face were the same orange party shades Russell had looted off the dead guy in the cave. Crooked, bent at the hinges, but somehow, they fit. Russell hated to admit it, but a gorilla wearing sunglasses was a good look. Like a mascot for some summertime sports drink that never made it past the pitch meeting.

  But as the gorilla charged the beetles, Russell was reminded — this wasn’t some costumed dummy.

  This was an apex predator.

  The ground shook as it closed in, and the beetles scrambled. Three broke rank and scattered, but two of them, either brave or too dumb to know better, charged ahead.

  The gorilla caught one of the charging invaders by the head, hands gripping that hard green shell like he was wrestling a bull. Then, with a grunt and a twist, it flipped the bug clean onto its back. The beetle flailed, legs clawing at the air, hissing sharp and desperate as its mouth-needles poked at the gorilla’s twisting hands until — CRACK! The gorilla twisted again, hard, and the bug’s legs shot straight, a spastic jolt of finality. Then, with a roar that rattled the trees, the gorilla tore the thing’s head clean off and held it high like a trophy, letting the thick green blood pour over it in a ritualistic, primal flex.

  Russell stared, and said the only thing worth saying.

  “God damn.”

  Fast and brutal, over just as fast as it got started. The other brave beetle took one look at its fallen comrade and reconsidered its life choices. It bolted for the jungle, as quick as its legs could carry it. But the gorilla, for as cool as it looked in party shades, had no chill. It stormed after the bug, vanishing into the brush from which it came.

  That would’ve been a nice, clean ending to that particular nightmare, if not for the three other beetles, the ones that had been knocked off course by the gorilla’s rampage. They weren’t charging the jungle. They were coming straight for Russell and the others, legs slicing like switchblades, with no intention of stopping.

  Shoji started loading his sling, but Conrad had different plans. He jumped to his feet. “Fuck this Jurassic Park shit. I’m going back to the beach.”

  In a move that shocked Russell himself, he grabbed Conrad’s arm. Running had been his instinct, too — always had been, since day one. But something inside him had cracked open when he pulled Buzz’s leg from the surf, some deep-seated fuck this that was finally taking shape. And now it had a voice.

  “We can take ‘em,” he said, locking eyes with Conrad, like saying it out loud made it real. Then he looked at Shoji. “We can take ‘em.”

  Shoji nodded like this was the best idea he’d heard all day. Still, not Conrad.

  “What the fuck are you—” Conrad sputtered.

  Russell had known men like Conrad before. He knew they only responded to one thing.

  “What, big man? You scared of some bugs?”

  Conrad’s eyes flared. “You outta your goddamn mind, bro? Let go of me!” His arm tensed, his fist balling up like he was about to knock Russell’s teeth in.

  But Russell didn’t back off. His SWAGGER stat couldn’t be for nothing. He knew that now — he knew he could use it. He sunk his fangs deeper.

  “So what? You’re some fake tough guy? You’ll throw hands with me and Shoji, but when it’s time to really show up, to be a man, you turn tail? Maybe we don’t need you after all. Bro.”

  And there it was. Russell saw the flicker in Conrad’s eyes — that stupid, dangerous fire.

  As the bugs charged closer, Conrad exhaled slow through his nose, nostrils flaring. Then, finally—

  “You wanna see what I can do, bitch? Watch this.”

  And with that, Conrad charged out of the ferns, barreling into battle, armed only with his clenched fists and a grimoire of swear words.

  “Fuck you, you fucking bug bitcheeeeeesssss!”

  The other two castaways scrambled after him, chasing whatever half-baked glory lay ahead. Russell hoisted his axe over his head, charging forward like a psycho slasher let loose. Shoji’s sling spun so fast it might’ve lifted him into the air.

  The bugs didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. No fear in them, just pure, skittering momentum. It was on.

  “Oraaa!” Shoji screamed, letting a rock fly. It punched straight through the leading beetle’s eye, sending a wet splash of green shooting into the air. The thing collapsed, skidding headfirst into the ash, towards Russell.

  Russell barely had time to react — he bounced off the sliding carcass, stumbling back just as another beetle came screaming toward him, needle-mouth slicing at everything in its path.

  “Oh shit!” Russell called out as he dropping to his knees. The jagged mandibles slashed past his head, close enough to ruffle his hair. He could feel the air fly by as the bug barreled over him, like he was stuck beneath the rails of a moving train. Russell simply reacted. He swung his axe upward, burying it deep into the soft underbelly as the beast rushed past.

  The blade sliced through like a box cutter to a waterbed. A hot, green flood spilled out, drenching him as the bug staggered, twitched, then finally keeled over to one side, hollowed out.

  Shoji yanked him upright, and Russell blinked bug guts from his eyes, scanning for Conrad. Shoji pointed, dumbstruck, and Russell followed his gaze.

  “No way,” Russell said.

  Conrad was riding the last beetle, fists hammering into its thick head like it owed him money.

  “Big, stupid bitch!”

  One crack. Two cracks. Three. Cursing all the way.

  The beetle bucked hard, but Conrad wouldn’t let go — not until his fist finally punched through the shell, sinking wrist-deep into its goo-filled head. The bug gave one final lunge and Conrad slid off, falling underneath the thing. Its legs gave out and the body followed close behind — slamming down on top of the Hotness.

  The muffled cursing that followed was enough to tell Russell and Shoji their comrade-for-now was still breathing — kicking and screaming, too. They sprinted over, both feeling like they could deadlift a damn elephant.

  “Shoji, we did it! We fucking did it!” Russell called out.

  “Yatta!” Shoji whooped, slapping him a high-five. For a second — just a second — they grinned like they’d won the whole damn game. And as they planted their hands on the bug’s shell, ready to haul it off, they weren’t just two half-starved pawns in someone else’s game. They were kings.

  Then the gorilla roared.

  Both of them hit the dirt like a gun went off, scrambling backward in a full-blown panic. They dove behind the dead beetle, with Conrad still screaming away beneath it.

  “Get this fucking thing off me!” Conrad howled, but neither of them moved.

  Russell peeked over the shell, heart pounding. The gorilla loomed just a rock’s throw away, watching, dragging the last brave beetle behind him. It was dead, and Russell had a feeling that they were next.

  “We didn’t think this through. At all,” Russell hissed.

  Yeah, Conrad had been the one to charge in, but Russell had poisoned Conrad’s mind with courage. That voice inside him — the one that told him to fight, to stand his ground — was dangerous. Over-ambitious. And now, they were about to pay for it.

  But the gorilla just stood there, massive chest rising and falling, its breath like a low, rumbling engine. It flicked its fingers, flinging bug guts in quick motions, and its device crackled to life, spitting out a sentence in that eerie, spliced-together voice.

  “The jungle only for animal!”

  Russell scoffed. “Tell that to the bugs.” If he was about to get turned into mulch, he figured he’d get his shots in first. His eyes stayed locked on the gorilla, trying to suss out whatever was going on behind those crooked orange sunglasses. It had every reason to pound them into paste — so why hadn’t it?

  Russell swallowed. “Shoji, why aren’t we dead yet?”

  Shoji was already on it, gears turning faster than Russell’s ever could. He smacked his device onto the beetle’s shell, pulled up his MAP, and traced the boundary of the Jungle Guardian’s Domain. His eyes flicked from the screen to the ground around them, scanning, calculating.

  Then something clicked.

  “Ahhhh,” Shoji said, grinning like it all made sense. “Does not leave domain!”

  Russell gave him a look like he’d just started speaking in tongues — then the shell jerked. Shoji’s device bounced. It jerked again, harder this time. And then, like something ripped straight out of a horror flick, a fist punched through the shell, strapped with a device and dripping neon-green bug guts. A second later, Conrad’s head followed, his face smeared with things no man should ever have on him.

  Conrad didn’t even flinch. Didn’t blink. Which only confirmed what Russell already knew — this wasn’t the first disgusting hole Conrad had crawled out of.

  “You bitches deaf?” he barked, spitting bug juice in their direction.

  Shoji and Russell stumbled back as Conrad wrenched himself free, bursting out of the shell like a nightmare stripper busting out of a Beetlejuice-themed cake. Covered in guts, he staggered, catching his breath, then threw his hands up in who wants a piece victory.

  "You still think I’m a scaredy-cat, mascot man?" Conrad asked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He was cocky as hell, and maybe he had a right to be — if he wasn’t backing straight into something that could rip his spine out.

  “Conrad…” Russell started, pointing.

  That’s when Conrad turned. That’s when he realized. The gorilla snorted and stood himself up tall, making sure Conrad got a real good look at him.

  Only a minute ago, the Hotness had been ready to book it, to play the game safe. But maybe it was the thrill of battle, maybe Russell really had gotten under his skin — or maybe Conrad was just a full-blooded dumbass. Because now, he wasn’t running.

  “What the fuck you looking at?” he growled at the gorilla. He didn’t wait for an answer. Just squared up, spit, and then he busted out the dumbest monkey dance Russell had ever seen. Legs flailing, hands scratching at his scalp — the works — like a cartoon chimp on bath salts.

  “Look at me, I’m a stupid fuckin’ monkey!” he shouted, ending his majestic display with double middle fingers. “Well, fuck you! I’ll beat your ass, just like I did those bugs, bitch!”

  And the gorilla lost it. With a furious roar, it spun and flung the dead bug at Conrad — a 150 pound cannonball.

  Shoji moved like lightning, tackling Conrad as the carcass smashed into the ash, sending shell shards flying. Russell was up, grabbing them both, pushing them away from the screaming beast, away from the standoff that they would never win.

  No more shit-talking. No more monkey dances — they’d proven themselves. Now, it was time to run. Straight across the scorched jungle, legs pumping, lungs burning, until they hit the edge. Only then did Russell chance a glance back.

  Fighting every urge to give chase, the hairy sentry stood strong, snarling all the while. Then, with a single huff, it turned and stalked back into its domain.

  Shoji, like always, had been right.

  “The gorilla owns the west,” Russell said. “Well, fuck him. He can have it.”

  He flipped open his MAP, orienting himself towards where the green rose thick beyond the scorched mess. The jungle was waiting, and Mari somewhere in it.

  “We’re going east,” Russell said, pointing. “Or at least, east-ish.”

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