Arthur stood staring at the shimmering portal to Umbra, jaw tight. “I knew that woman had a fiery side. I hope it serves her there.”

  His Umbra preset faded into place as the Antumbra gear faded out. Black urban camo BDUs under composite armor, shadow colored shemagh, NVGs perched above his brow. MP9.7 slung right, silenced pistol on his left hip, sword hilt over his back. The set was his ‘Suit of S.A.M.’, stealth assault module, every piece honed for stealth and rapid assault, his personal nod to the greatest ghost operative in gaming.

  He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar weight settle. He was about to step into the portal when a shout stopped him.

  “Arthur!” Doug’s voice cut through from behind. The man jogged up, still in arena gear, a rare edge of panic in his face. “Where’s Mavis?”

  Arthur cocked a brow. “Weeelll… shit, boss, she’s in there.” He jabbed a thumb toward the portal. “Where were you?”

  “We had an emergency meeting with Chernobog and then I got waylaid by Ian,” he started to explain then looked perplexed. “Navi,” he asked, “why didn’t you alert me to the time as I asked?”

  “Your arena preferences are set to ‘do not disturb,’ Doug. Should I have superseded them?”His responded immediately, his small dragon form landing lightly on Doug’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, the fucking arena, about that,” Arthur began, “what the hell were you thinking boss, have you seen this lady, she is a firecracker tied to a jar of nitro in a barrel of dynamite. She blew her top when we heard that is where you were, not good dude, not good at all.”

  Doug winced. “Yeah… I forgot that setting. That’s on me.” Rather than be upset with Arthur for insubordination, he appreciated the man’s candor. They had long ago dispensed with the traditional employer/employee relationship and had become friends, respecting each other's gifts and pointing out each other's flaws.

  Arthur’s tone hardened. “She said, ‘I’m going to find this TzuLau and kick his ass,’ then dove in before I could stop her. Now she’s stuck in there for her therapy, and Umbra isn’t exactly a gentle starter zone. I was going to go in there and try to help her get started, it's going to be a huge shock to her. I should spawn within 100 meters or so, we are partied up. I think you should come and try to make it up to her, what do you say, you in?””

  Doug nodded grimly. Without a word his Nocturne Knight PvP armor dissolved into his Knightmare survival set, patched dark-tan leather duster, BDUs under leg armor, same boots and gauntlets. A cowl appeared, small pointed ears defining the silhouette.

  Arthur smirked. “Still doing the bat thing, huh?”

  Doug shot back, “At least I didn’t name mine ‘the Suit of B.U.C.E” His eyes flicked to the grayed out thumbnail of Mav in the party list as Arthur opened his own HUD. He noticed Arthur’s questioning look and added, “Brooding Urban Crusader Ensemble,” with a snarky grin.

  Arthur laughed deeply, then sent Doug a party invite. “We’ll probably land in Shambling Deceased territory. Need her status on your HUD.”

  Doug accepted. Two thumbnails appeared in the corner, Arthur’s bright, Mavis’s gray. His gut tightened.

  Arthur saw the flicker of guilt in Doug’s expression. “You ready?” Doug just nodded, and together they stepped through.

  ~ ~ ~

  Umbra resolved around them, a dusty warehouse. Doug drew a pistol, cursed at the lack of a silencer, and slid twin forearm blades out with a flick, each extending well past his hands. Arthur swept the MP9.7’s laser through the gloom.

  Doug drifted toward a stack of pallets without a word, weight shifting into the balls of his feet. Then he vaulted upward in a smooth, high arc and landed in a low crouch on the top pallet, barely disturbing the dust. He scanned the cavernous warehouse, slow and methodical. Nothing stirred. He tapped his boot twice against the wood. ‘Pock. Pock.’ A soft, hollow signal. Arthur glanced up just as Doug leaned forward, voice a thread of breath.

  “Catwalk’s got a perimeter view. I’ll take the high route. Three stacks to your right, then cut in. There’s a door up there, looks like someone went through in a hurry.” Arthur gave a tight nod and advanced, MP raised, shoulders angled forward in a hunter’s posture.

  Above him, Doug ghosted from pallet to pallet, each jump fluid, economical and quiet. He vaulted the last railing and hit the metal catwalk with a muted thump, freezing until the steel stopped quivering beneath him. Then he crept along the walkway, eyes tracking the dust below. Footprints, long stride, no care for silence. Someone moving fast and desperate. He didn’t like the implication.

  “I think she went this way,” he whispered down, voice barely carrying. “If these are hers… she wasn’t being careful.” His stomach twisted. No one new to Umbra should ever be moving fast. Fast meant panic, fast meant running and fast usually meant dead.

  “Yeah,” Arthur murmured, kneeling beside the prints. “About her size.” He jerked his chin toward the grimy window above. “You got eyes outside?”

  Doug leaned to the broken pane and scanned. A shambling cluster of dead moved north of the warehouse. Beyond them: footprints weaving into a labyrinth of shipping containers. Smoke in the distance, a settlement maybe, or what was left of one.

  He signaled silently, seven fingers, a point toward the door, and another slight angle right.

  Arthur acknowledged, slid up to the exit, and eased the handle. It squeaked, quiet but sharp. He pushed the door open just enough to sight down his MP. A half-dozen zombies shambled in a loose line, unaware. The red dot kissed the skull of the last one.

  Pfft. The corpse dropped and the others twitched, heads lolling toward the sound. Arthur’s gun coughed again, this time punching through the back of the newly last-in-line’s skull and blowing out its forehead in a wet spray. The bodies slumped, the remaining five turning again, stupid and confused. He smiled thinly, ‘round and round we go.’ Three more shots. Three more dead.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  A faint noise behind him made him pivot, and there was Doug, rising from a crouch like he’d materialized out of shadow. Arthur blinked. How the hell was the man so quiet?

  “If I’m going to wear the Suit of S.A.M., he thought, I’d better work on my stealth. No way a comic-book shadow or a video-game ghost should be quieter than me.”

  A grin tugged at his mouth despite the situation. Umbra had a way of drawing out their favorite surge-fiction instincts and a way of reminding them that here, the stakes weren’t just pixels.

  Doug leaned in and whispered, “Nice shooting. That back-and-forth turn trick? Slick.” Admiration colored his tone as he clapped Arthur’s arm and slipped past him, eyes fixed on the faint trail Mavis had left behind.

  Arthur smirked. “Yeah, man, easy in Shambling. Try that crap in Six Nights to Live or Dead Rising: Battle for Earth and you’d be zombie chow, like… instantly.” He moved in behind Doug, watching their flanks as they slipped deeper into the container maze. Corners were taken cleanly, peek first, move second. Doug covering front and sides, Arthur guarding their six.

  A few turns in, Doug stopped dead. Arthur touched his shoulder lightly.

  Doug stared at the ground, black spatters of blood, gouges in the dirt, the scuff pattern of someone dragged sideways. A small new-player pack lay torn open, one strap snapped. Its contents were scattered: the D-class starter pistol and lone spare mag, two waters, two cans of food, two bandages. A rookie’s meager lifeline, spilled like loose change.

  “Came out of that container,” Doug murmured, eyes narrowing. “Attack from the side. Fell back hard. Pack got snagged.” Arthur circled the scene, the dread building in his gut. He crouched and lifted the pack, knowing exactly what should be inside. Mav’s starter kit and the bonus stash he’d given her, crystals in Antumbra, cheap plastic currency here.

  “Fuck… fuck, fuck…” He shoved everything back into the pack, slotted it into his inventory, and rose sharply. “This was hers.” He triggered his tracking skill. A faint glowing footprint flared in his HUD, then vanished. Another blinked into existence farther down the path.

  He surged forward, overtaking Doug. His skill only lasted thirty seconds at its current rank, just long enough to find what he didn’t want to see. Doug fell in behind him, scanning wide, blades loose and ready. Neither man wasted breath or made noise.

  A zombie lurched from between containers. Doug blurred forward, one blade into its chest, the other sliding smoothly through the skull. He lowered the corpse silently and jogged on. They rounded the next corner. Arthur stopped cold.

  “...fuck.” The Umbra grave marker stood crooked in the dirt, a small stone cairn with a wooden cross at the exact spot the player died.

  Mavitsune

  Time Until Despawn: 20:15… 20:14… 20:13…

  She’d been dead roughly ten minutes. A single zombie hunched over the gear pile, distended belly rounded from its feeding. At Arthur’s curse, it snapped its head up and staggered toward them, arms rising, mouth smeared with fresh gore. Arthur’s face went flat, he snapped the MP to his shoulder, flipped to full auto, and opened fire. The gun chattered like microwave popcorn, short, vicious bursts shredding the zombie’s torso and blowing its head apart in a ragged spray. In seconds the bolt clicked open on empty. Silence rushed in after the violence.

  Arthur rounded on Doug, jabbing a finger at his chest, voice trembling with fury.

  “Nice fucking job, Doug. You drop into Umbra and she follows you in, blind as a newborn fawn and gets killed in the first damn minutes. By one zed. She’s gonna be traumatized, man. She might not even want to come ba…”

  He choked off as Doug’s quiet voice cut gently across the rising storm, “how do you know?” He asked quietly, eyes regarding his friend full of dismay and sadness, but also determination

  “What the fuck do you mean, how do I know?” Arthur spat, ejecting his empty clip and slamming a fresh one into his MP, “how do I know what?”

  Doug’s voice stayed low and steady as he scanned the shadows for movement. “How do you know she won’t come back?” he asked, calm but unflinching. “Look, I’ll own it, I screwed up. I missed my appointment, she followed me in, and the scenario rules locked her here. I. Did. Fuck. Up.” He stressed each word, shoulders sagging as the admission emptied out of him. At his wrists, the blades whispered home into their sheaths.

  “But I’ll ask again, how do you know?” he continued, eyes lifting to Arthur’s. “Everything I’ve seen from Mavis Hudson? How’d you say it, firecracker tied to a jar of nitro in a barrel of dynamite.” He gave Arthur a hollow smile.

  “Stubborn enough to eat lightning if it gave her two more inches of mobility. She came into Umbra to confront me, man, that’s insane, but it’s impressive. I’ll take the blame for my part, but I won’t assume what that woman will or won’t do. If she never comes back, I’ll build her a whole new scenario from scratch. If she does, we’ll help her quietly, without pulling her agency. So… how do you know?” He gripped Arthur’s shoulders, looking up at the larger man.

  Arthur’s anger cracked, deflating into something tired and honest. “Yeah. I don’t fucking know,” he muttered. “I’m just pissed this was her first experience. I’m throwing blame around because it’s easier than admitting I should’ve stopped her.” He stepped past the gutted zombie and crouched, gathering Mav’s scattered starter gear. The items evaporated into his inventory with soft digital chimes. “Let’s get this packed and log. I want to check on her.”

  He paused, glancing sidelong, “And hey… helping her would be cool. And yeah, I’ll bust my ass in dev to build her something new if you’re actually serious.”

  Doug brightened despite himself. “Serious as a heart attack. I’ve been thinking about something more platformer-oriented anyway. More movement, more flow, something like a hybrid of Mario, Prince of Persia, Uncharted, Zero Dawn. Open world, but safe enough for therapy, less punishment, more progression.” He glanced over. “And by the way… why so worried about Miss Hudson?” he asked with a sly edge.

  Arthur’s ears colored. “That’s got promise,” he grumbled, pretending to ponder the design idea. Then he punched Doug in the shoulder, light for him, enough to rattle Doug’s whole arm. “And I don’t know, man. She’s… something. Just leave it there.” He turned away, awkward as hell, scanning the container rows to hide it.

  Doug rubbed his shoulder, smirking. ‘Well well… that’s interesting. Could be good for both of them,’ he thought. “You ready?”

  Arthur nodded, then stopped. “Yeah. But… leave Mav to me for now, okay? She might not be thrilled to see you.”

  “As much as I hate it, you’re probably right.” Doug sighed. “I really screwed the pooch on this one.”

  Arthur didn’t sugarcoat it, he just nodded and moved toward a half-open cargo container. He swept it with his MP, cleared it, then waved Doug in. Pale light filtered through holes in the roof, just enough to keep them from reappearing into total darkness upon login.

  “See you in a minute,” Arthur said, stepping inside. “I need to cool off before I check on her.”

  “Let me know how it goes,” Doug replied as he sank down against the wall, regret carving deep lines in his expression. “And… tell me when you think I should try this again.”

  Arthur’s answer was the metallic clank of the container door sealing shut. Doug hit logout. The warehouse dissolved around him, fading to black.