1 Chapter One: The Last Saturday
Jack peeled himself off the bed, slowly, excruciatingly. He had nine deliveries yesterday, and two of them were fridges. Both upstairs. His legs were soggy spaghetti, and his arms burned as he blearily slapped at the desk next to his bed, groping for his phone. He knew it was there. He had just heard the voice server notification. His eyes snapped open. It was Saturday. The voice server was pinging him because the others were already online. What time was it?!
He pushed himself upright, elbows and shoulders popping in staccato bursts of almost-pain-almost-relief. His phone wasn't on the desk. Suddenly, the sharp report of a gunshot exploded next to his head. He jumped, like every damn time, sending small aches through his muscles. The phone was in his bed, and Erin was texting him. That was her text tone. She would text him during boss fights or stealth runs, just to hear the gunshot crack into the open mic. Jack jumped every time, and Erin laughed until she cried. He loved hearing her laugh, so he left the rifle round as her notification. Yeah, she was a turd.
He rolled out of bed onto the floor and crawled toward the desk, the tortured muscles of his shoulders and ass violently protesting. He finally abandoned all hope and fell onto the floor, rolling back and forth and stretching, trying to work up the will to be upright. The thick, golden scent of fresh coffee wafted in from the open bedroom door like a gentle hug from a friend. Present Jack silently mouthed a prayer of thanks to Past Jack for remembering to fill and set the machine when he got in. If the coffee was just now brewing, he hadn't overslept. Still time to hit the Ruins of Urthn at least twice before raid hour. Maybe that stupid shield would finally drop.
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Erin put her phone down. "He hasn't replied, but he just logged into the game server. Probably getting coffee."
"I don't know how you three drink that shit," Rory replied into the mic, "It tastes like old feet mixed with burnt tea mixed with a tanker spill. Think of the baby seals."
"HEEEERESY! Get the flamer, Erin! THE HEAVY FLAMER!" Layla yelled into the mic.
"Oh, please, Layla. You drink it with enough cream and sugar that it's practically dessert." Erin chuckled as she cupped the mic and made heavy metallic breathing noises into the chat, "You don't know the power of the dark side." "I gotta shower before getting online. I'll be right back."
"Gym rat! Meat head! Jock!" Layla shouted.
"Couch potato! Homebody! Three-toed sloth!" Erin snarked back and disconnected from the server.
Erin finished stripping off her sneakers and tossed the bluetooth headset into the bowl on her desk, along with her phone, her gym card, and her house keys. She needed a shower before Jack managed to remember how to be human. She peeled the tie out of her hair and almost skipped to the bathroom. She had beaten her best hundred yard dash and still managed to have a respectable leg day. She stopped at the mirror in the bathroom and pointed her toes. She wiggled her leg back and forth and grinned.
"Fuck you, Layla. I make this look goooood."
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Rory rose from the computer and headed back into the kitchen where the kettle was quietly protesting the pressures of stovetop living. He poured a cup for himself and dropped in two cubes, then poured a bit of cream and four sugars for Darius. He looked down at the cup and smiled, "Completely ridiculous. Coffee. Pfft."
He returned a few business calls before reconnecting to the voice server and walking back into the bedroom. His department would make sales this quarter even if he took a vacation for the next three weeks, but the bonus for 100% to goal and the bonus for 120% to goal were very, very, deliciously different animals. As he set the saucer down next to the bed, Darius stirred and sniffed the air through his pillow. "Izzat tea?" "Yes, cream and sugar." "Oh, I fucking love you so much right now." "I know."
Rory kissed the back of Darius' head and left his brown Adonis in bed, where he knew the tea would probably get cold and go to waste. All he really cared about was that Darius would see it when he finally got up and remember, because that's what proper relationships were made of. Sure enough, not even five minutes later, he heard a light snore issue from the bed. "God, I do love that man."
"Fuck you, Rory, with your stupid perfect relationship," Layla laughed.
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Layla sat in her room, six monitors glowing in the cold dark. It was ten in the morning, but her bedroom was a stygian abyss. Thick light and sound proofing blankets hung behind the black curtains with little white cats sporting conical witch hats. Her door was similarly padded with spiky sound-proofing foam, and the walls of her bedroom were more blanket than drywall at this point. Sometimes she wondered if she died in here, would her aunt even think to check on her.
Oh well, at least she didn't have to listen to Jerry and her aunt have raucously loud coitus, literally, every, fucking, night. More importantly, no noise or light intruded to trigger or worsen her migraines. She was almost entirely nocturnal at this point, since even a few minutes of direct sunlight had something like a one-in-five chance to trigger a paralyzing spike through the back of her skull that might not stop for two days.
She swallowed her two anti-migraine meds, her antidepressant, her antipsychotic, and a mouthful of cold water, then called up the Fire & Fury wiki, checking drop rates on the list of gear the group was currently hunting. Jack's stupid shield was a .001% drop. They'd DONE the fucking Ruins of Uthrn AT LEAST a thousand times. Ok, that was probably an exaggeration.
Ok, it was definitely an exaggeration. But they'd done it at least two hundred. If Rhagnar's Bulwark wasn't so goddamned good, she'd have told Jack to get stuffed by now. But the shield gave him a percentage boost of his armor to his offensive power, and for Jack, that would mean his damage would shoot up to higher than hers. He still wouldn't be able to beat out Erin's berserker or Rory's pyromancer, but she wouldn't be able to out-damage him just by spamming Brilliant Nova repeatedly. Stupid shield was best-in-slot by a landslide. More DPS meant more threat, and Jack was already the best tank she knew. She sighed and popped the top on her insulated coffee cup, before draining a mouthful of poisonously sweet and creamy latte.
"Fuck you, Erin. This is good coffee."
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The shield didn't drop. They had all heard Jack slump out of his chair and pretend to weep inconsolably, promising RNGesus his firstborn, his soul, all of his blood, if that's what it took. After a solid ten minutes of bitter sorrow, Jack mumbled something about at least having chicken and pulled himself back into his chair. The raid was in fifteen minutes, and they had a five minute flight and a five-ish minute ride.
"Everyone have flasks, coins for the boatman, reagents, and an adult diaper ready?"
"I'm not wearing a diaper, Jack, ever," Rory chuckled.
"C'mon Rory, you know they're mandatory. Jack has to pee every ten minutes, like a grampa," Erin snickered into the chat.
The lights went out.
It wasn't just dark. Layla's room was dark. This was primordial, like light had forgotten how to be.
"Hello?" Layla whispered, "The lights are out."
"Layla?" she heard Jack and Erin call out.
"Wait, if the power is out, why can I hear you?" she called back. They sounded so far away.
"I'm… not at my desk, mates," Rory exhaled, "I'm not… anywhere."
No desk. No floor. No chair.
Below, the dark yawned, impossibly wide and somehow blacker than the impossible tenebrous oblivion all around them. A single glint of light shimmered along a surface.
Rory realized it was a fang. A fang the size of a skyscraper. He screamed.
They fell into the abyss.
