I won’t claim that Emily’s cancer prepared me for this bullshit—but… well, it kinda did. If the me from three years ago had ended up in a blood-splattered office full of massive feathers, he’d have pissed himself and decried the inequities of humankind. The me of the present spent three years scrapping and making shit happen every single day after our parents died: find a job, take a certification, barter for bonuses—sell off the house. It was an endless series of bullshit situations that always came with the same instructions: “Figure it out.” There was no giving up—no parents to run to—just scrapping. So, I reflected on only three words: “24 hours” and “elimination.”

  I wasn’t sure how I was going to surf over that mound of zombies swarming Seattle Public Library, but I’d cross that bridge once I got there. Right now, I just had to survive. Emily was out there somewhere, and I'd only be able to find her if I were alive. So I pulled the massive conference table blocking the door out of the way, and then hesitantly opened the door.

  I looked around for signs of danger. I found nothing. Nothing living, anyway.

  My mind ignored a decaying woman’s corpse in the co-op space, categorizing her as—

  (not dangerous)

  —while searching the rest of the room. It was one of those “collaboration” rooms—four computers per desk, two desks pressed together. The structure allowed full teams to speak with one another while working. The table nearest me had three monitors knocked over, along with one chair that had been thrown backward. Blood had squirted onto the windows, and there was a long smear of crimson leading into a communal kitchen.

  I could imagine something biting someone’s neck and dragging them behind the kitchen’s island. But what?

  I sucked in a deep breath and then searched for something to use as a weapon.

  I shut the door and unzipped a collection of designer purses that female executives had brought into the room. The contents weren’t useful: I wasn’t going to fight off zombies with key fobs and smartphones. I did pocket a handful of Tito’s vodka shooters and a pack of Ice Breakers from one of the executives. But there wasn’t anything useful—until I reached the third purse. It had exactly what I was looking for.

  Mace? Brand pepper spray. The fact that this woman had the name-brand pepper spray felt very “on brand” for an executive—and that made me feel uneasy. It reminded me that these were:

  (Real people.)

  Wincing, I tested the pepper spray. I expected it to shoot out like spray paint for some reason; it didn’t. It shot out a dinky spray of red liquid like a dying squirt gun.

  I’m so fucked, I thought. I had never had a desire to live in Texas before—but today was the day. At least there, cupcake sellers packed Smith & Wesson revolvers (or so the internet would make one believe).

  I need to get to the kitchen.

  Kitchens had knives. Knives were a real weapon.

  Swallowing, I pocketed a flashlight from the prepared woman's purse and then cracked the door, pepper spray lifted, eyes darting left and right. It was as silent as that woman’s corpse in the room. At least on my floor. That guttural chitter was coming from the floor below me. That was a problem for later. Hopefully, one I could avoid forever.

  Walking from heel to toe, I followed the blood trail leading into the kitchen. There was a large island in the center, blocking my line of sight. On the far end, by the fridge, there was a rack of cooking knives: the big ones were missing—the block was bloody. That told a story.

  Why’d it have to be the kitchen? I complained. Of all the places…

  My heart pounded as I approached the island. I couldn't help but imagine a Hollywood horror movie set up where I moved around the counter, only to find an alien eating a corpse. Just the thought gave me chills.

  But there was no sound in the room but the chittering and a whistling breeze from the conference room. So I pressed forward.

  One step. Two steps. Striking heart. I took a step beyond the island and stumbled.

  There was indeed a corpse. A man’s neck had been eaten through, wrists slashed—a large skewering knife clattered on the ground beside him. Something had dragged him into the kitchen; he grabbed a knife and stabbed at it, judging by the sticky purple blood. He fought it—and lost.

  That meant… whatever fought him…

  (Is still alive.)

  My stomach dropped like an amusement park ride, and I immediately lunged for the knife. It was a large knife—a Psycho blade—Michael Myers: Halloween. I threw the pepper spray and grabbed it, preparing for a fight—but none came.

  I gripped the knife and slowly stood, scanning the room.

  Nothing. I took a deep breath. Did it leave?

  A red screen popped up in my vision.

  You have received a new sub-tutorial:

  Sub-Tutorial: Hunt the Hunter

  Duration: 1 hour

  Description: You are being hunted. Turn the predator into prey and increase your stats.

  Reward: Information Request

  Penalty: None

  I’m being…

  I heard a creak, and when I turned, I saw the bathroom door slowly swing open.

  Then came the noise: the guttural chitter. It was far quieter than the immersive cicada-hum below. It sounded like an echolocation call as it walked into the room.

  The creature was the size of a dog, but had the general body of a cricket and had scythe-like arms of a praying mantis. Leafy brown armor—dull red eyes. That was an alien—if I’d ever seen one.

  It paused, and its eyes rolled to face me.

  Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! Time… whatever. Ghost!

  Unique skill “Time Ghost” has activated.

  Time slowed—and just in time. The beast slowed, but its ghost moved. It hopped at me with lightning speed, clamping its massive jaws onto my ghost's neck, ripping its jugular out.

  My brain cracked like a dropped egg, ears ringing from a splitting headache. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I saw the beast lunging at me—a foot away. Slow or not, it was gonna kill me!

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  Grand Lock!

  Time stopped for exactly one second as I positioned the knife. The lock then shattered, and the creature flew at me at full speed.

  Its momentum did all the work. The creature skewered itself in the eye at ninety miles per hour, shattering its marble eye and piercing through its brain. I got the notification immediately.

  Congratulations. You have completed—

  Unfortunately, my entire mind split in half, and I screamed as I hit the ground. The pain hit like a twelve-hour hangover experienced all at once, whiting out my vision. I tried to stand up, but my vision blurred and I stumbled, crashing into the floor. My ears rang—my body felt weak and useless.

  Unable to do anything, I closed my eyes—and drifted into sleep.

  I woke to a series of red screens.

  Warning: Unique Skill “Grand Lock” requires a minimum of 100 PER and 100 INT for the first real-time second. Using it with less will result in severe and immediate backlash.

  Warning: Skill “Time Ghost” requires a minimum of 33 PER and 33 INT for the first three real-time seconds. Using it with less will result in severe and immediate backlash.

  “You don’t say,” I cried, gripping my ringing ear. Death's gatekeeper was pounding my temple like it was a metal door. I grabbed the knife and crawled along the wood floor to the wall, where I could lean. It was a long crawl; I had no energy, and my body was dead cold—but I did make it. I propped myself up somewhere where I could see better, and I gripped my knife and took deep breaths.

  That’s when the first blue screens appeared. They read:

  You have killed Level 12 Shiki bug.

  You have leveled up! +1 Free point.

  You have leveled up! +2 Free points.

  …

  I received nine level-up notifications, starting with moving from Level 0 to Level 1, each increasing the number of stats I received by one. At Level 1, I received one stat point for every category, plus one Free point. At level 2, I received two stats per category and two free points. That continued all the way to Level 9, where I received 9 points for each.

  I dismissed the levels with my mind, and a new screen popped up. It read:

  Name: Kyle Taylor

  Level 9

  Evolution: 0

  Class: Paradox

  Free Points: 45

  Status

  STR: 49

  AGL: 53

  END: 49

  PER: 51

  INT: 97 (1)

  Unique Skills:

  Time Ghost

  Grand Lock

  ???

  I closed the stat screen with my mind. A red screen replaced it:

  Congratulations on unlocking your World Screen!

  This screen displays the power you’ve gained by absorbing the soul force of entities you’ve contributed to killing. Each level strengthens your body and mind, and also grants you free attribute points to increase the attributes you wish.

  What’s… “PER”? I wondered, mind foggy. To my surprise, a blue screen popped up to answer me.

  PER (Perception)

  Increases one’s senses, concentration, and ability to process information.

  So my mind’s not able to process all the information, I thought. Makes sense… What about INT?

  A new screen popped into my vision.

  INT (Intelligence)

  Increases one’s mana pool for skills. The parenthetical number represents the amount you recover per minute.

  Warning: If you exceed your capacity, the skill will directly draw mana from the atmosphere into your core to feed itself. Doing so overheats your core and siphons your physical energy. Overheating can permanently damage your core.

  My mind drifted, eyes drooping, head throbbing. The last thing I thought was, All these stats and none of them fix stupid, and then I drifted into sleep.

  I woke to a red message. It read:

  Tutorial: Regroup at Seattle Public Library

  Time remaining: 16:06:37

  I jolted awake. Eight hours!

  Eight hours. I lost eight full hours—after already waking late!

  I looked out the windows and saw that the morning sun had crested and flipped to the other side of the building. That was dangerous. Having 24 hours wasn't long when you only had so much time to see. Handling zombies at night would be terrifying, especially if there weren't street lights!

  Damn it… Why don’t I have any normal skills? I wondered. This is ridiculous.

  I pushed the thought aside and got to work. I ransacked the man’s corpse like a bandit, searching for physical keys. I found none, so I switched to the woman's corpse. She had a badge on a retractable loop on her keyring. Her name was Sandy Morland. She was a Data Analyst like me. Her role made it a bit personal and made me think about how pointless her death was. I mean—why was she even there to begin with?

  (“Well, as you can see, it’s the apocalypse.”)

  (“Yes, we understand that, Sandy. We’re asking how that’ll affect our quarterly.”)

  I downed one of the exec’s Tito’s shooters for confidence and got back to work.

  Grabbing the man’s leather laptop satchel from his desk, I returned to the fridge to gather supplies. It was sparse picking that day, as most people had stopped coming to work—so it was just the execs.

  There was a plastic salad bowl with a Post-it note reading, “Be careful out there.” That note was bleak, and the food was moldy, so I pressed forward. The Ziploc sandwich and Tupperware dish of pasta were both molded as well, leaving only two Oregon Strawberry Tillamook yogurt cups and a can of Starbucks Doubleshot Espresso. I placed all of that into the leather satchel, along with the other knives.

  What else… I wondered, patting my pockets to make sure I still had the shots, pepper spray, and flashlight. Oh… stats.

  I needed to increase my mental capacity, so that’s what I did. I dumped 29 Free points into Perception to bring it to 80, the amount I needed for just over two seconds of Time Ghost. After the third second, the skill required 100 Perception per real-time second, but the analyst in me suggested it could increase through intensive growth: if I could process more information, the world would naturally slow, extending a real-time second. That's what my instincts told me, so I prioritized it. Sure enough, my gamble paid off.

  My heightened perception activated when I added more to the stat. The chitter downstairs slowed, and I could suddenly hear moaning from the space across the hall.

  This actually works… I thought. I released my senses, and everything returned to normal. Looks like I can increase my senses at will… Nice. That was a relief. If people talked slowly, I'd face a lifetime of misery! I looked around. What about strength…?

  I walked to the space's couch and lifted it. It was like I was lifting Styrofoam.

  This is crazy… I thought, lowering it. I really got stronger by killing that thing!

  I stared at my World Screen in a new light. Each stat—Agility, Endurance, Strength, Perception, and Intelligence—was raw power—and I needed all of it. So I let the data analyst in me run amok, permitting him to give me even numbers. I put one point into Strength and Endurance to bring them to an even 50. I added three points to intelligence, bringing it to a cool 100, so I could use Grand Lock for one second without core damage. Of course, it would come with mental damage—but one thing at a time.

  Once I added two points to Agility, bringing it to 55, I still had 9 Free points.

  I thought about it carefully and decided: I’ll save ‘em for when I need them.

  I had no idea when I’d need a little extra Strength or Endurance, so I decided to save the last nine for when I needed them. Besides—

  STR: 50

  AGL: 55

  END: 50

  PER: 80

  INT: 100 (1)

  —my stats were satisfyingly even. For whatever reason, that was important to me. Look good, feel good, and all that. It was time to leave.