Mav’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the room’s soft light, found Anni nearby, and smiled, lifting a hand in a small wave.

  “Hey, warrior, smart thinking with the bus!” Anni grinned, already moving to help Mav into the electric chair. Mav let herself be guided, stretching her arms overhead, rolling her shoulders and torso as far as her body would let her. Her muscles felt lightly worked, like the ache after a casual gym session, completely at odds with the fact she’d been lying still for nearly an hour.

  “Thanks, Anni. Wait until you see what happens at Costco.” Her grin was bright, almost conspiratorial. “Zombie apocalypse aside, I’m… actually having fun.” She wheeled toward the sitting area. “Night in-game, so I thought I’d take a break while that passes. Is there a limit on how long I can stay in?”

  “Yes.” The voice came from the doorway. Doctor Olivia stepped in, a broad shouldered newcomer behind her. He had a deep chest, salt and pepper hair, a mostly gray beard, and a thick, curled moustache. His forearms and neck were tattooed; his smile warm and unforced.

  “Hey there, I’m David. Nice to meet you.” His handshake was firm. “I’m here to help Anni, Doc, and Dwight with your rehab, massage therapist, extra hands, whatever you need. I’ll keep you loose and ready for all that accidental zombie killin’.” His laugh rolled out deep and genuine.

  “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Mavis, Mav. Thanks for helping me.”

  “Happy to be here.” He stepped back beside Olivia and Anni, letting the doctor continue.

  “There’s a limit for everyone. Warnings start at six hours, time to log off and take care of your real body. At nine hours, the warning locks onto your HUD, covering everything. At ten, the system forces you out for four hours.”

  “Holy time warp,” Mav murmured. “Six hours here… that’s, what, three days in there?”

  Olivia nodded. “Hardcore players wouldn’t blink at it. That’s why the limit exists. Some would stay in for days, catheter, feeding tube, full evacuation system. This keeps players safe and grounded. Too much in-game time and reality starts to blur.” She sat beside Mav while David drifted toward the kitchen.

  “Anyone want coffee or tea?” His southern drawl softened the vowels.

  “Tea,” the three women answered in unison. He nodded, disappearing around the corner.

  Olivia’s focus returned to Mav. “For you, we’re capping at four hours, about two days in-game followed by two hours of rest. That downtime helps your body adapt to any changes that happen while you’re logged in.”

  “So I don’t overdo it?”

  “Yes. And so your healing keeps pace with the therapy.” David reappeared with a tray: coffee, mugs, a steaming teapot, assorted teas. They settled in, the quiet clink of spoons and the curl of steam between them.

  “And it’s your healing where I come in,” David said, setting his coffee down. His moustache lifted at the corners with his smile. “I’ll work with Anni and Dwight to keep your body responsive to the TIER environment.”

  “That’s awesome. Thanks, David. I really appreciate what everyone’s doing for me, I’m just…”

  The words trailed off. Her gaze dropped to her lap. A shudder ran up her spine, and a few tears darkened the fabric there before she spoke again, voice quiet. Both Olivia and David stayed quiet as they saw a few tears drop from her downcast face and land on her lap. “Wow. That hit harder than I thought.”

  They waited, letting her breathe through it. “I’m just… overwhelmed by how fast my life has changed.” Another shiver, then a small, self-conscious smile. “The treatment, the game, they give me something else to think about. I can focus on learning, on moving through that world, instead of…” She let the sentence fade.

  “That’s not a bad thing,” David said, settling back. “Mind gets off the problem, body can focus on its job.” His eyes glinted with humor. “Speaking of, what’s going on in there for you? These guys say it’s as real as it gets.”

  “It is. You feel wind on your face. Taste food and drink. Smell a rotting corpse or a fresh flower. I’ve never been a gamer, always thought it was a waste of time. But with this tech? I get it.” ‘And I can’t believe I’m saying that,’ she thought.

  “I’ve got four quests for NPCs in the player camp, then maybe I’ll… grind. Skills, perks, unless someone gives me a new job. Does that make sense?”

  David chuckled. “Quests, skills and perks, got those words. The rest? Nope.”

  “It’s a foreign language,” Mav laughed.

  “So basically, you got some shit to do?” His grin was pure mischief.

  “Yes.” She answered definitively.

  “Then let’s finish up, and I’ll assess where you’re at. Then what, jack you in again?” He tapped the back of his neck with one finger.

  Olivia snorted, swatting his arm. “Do I have to correct everyone? This is not the freaking Matrix.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mavis opened her eyes to complete darkness. She reached up, clicked on her headlamp, and switched it to red. The muted glow spilled over stacked boxes. She stood, shrugging into her new pack, tightening chest and lumbar straps until the weight settled evenly. The smaller schoolbag hung from the webbing on the larger pack, awkward, unbalanced, but worth the extra forty slots.

  She’d realized when she was reorganizing her pack that the schoolbag took up the exact same space. She strapped it to the Ospray thinking, ‘now I’ll have two hundred slots, more stuff!’

  She climbed over the boxes and eased the trailer door upward, stopping at a narrow gap. Kneeling, she scanned the lot, silent, still. Umbra was never truly safe.

  “Goo, recon please.” Her AVA lifted from her shoulder in a whir of tiny rotors. A window bloomed in her HUD, his live feed sweeping across the scene. No outlines. She raised the door fully.

  The first pale smear of dawn lit the eastern sky as she dropped from the trailer. Circling around the building, she scanned nearby storefronts, no bookstore, no obvious place for a local map. Leaning her spear against a car, she unclipped the small compass on her pack, turned until south lined up, and grabbed her spear again.

  Her first steps into a jog lasted all of three seconds. The schoolbag bounced wildly, jerking the bigger pack with it, pulling at her balance.

  “Screw it.” She unclipped the Osprey pack, yanked the schoolbag free, and tossed it into the back seat of the nearest car. The main pack went back on, straps cinched, weight solid. She ran again, dropping under the overpass she’d used earlier. Goo’s scan widened her map as he ranged ahead.

  Two outlines ghosted into her HUD, off to the left, within earshot of her footsteps. They’d follow, and they’d bring friends. She cut toward them instead. Three more outlines joined them: two upright, one curled unnaturally. She didn’t slow. Spear forward, she drove the tip into the first skull, yanked free, and struck the second in one smooth rhythm. Both fell with wet thuds. She paused to loot and found one silver plastic for her trouble.

  ‘If I loot every zed, I’ll be here all damn day. Unless it’s quest-specific or useful, I’m skipping it.’ Her pace quickened toward the second cluster. A single glance explained the strange positions, two zombies slumped in the front seats, the third in the trunk. She slowed to a creep, sliding along the far side of a nearby car, using it as cover. No need to smash windows or open doors. She slipped past and kept moving until several cars separated her from them.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The HUD scan showed clear ahead. She broke into a run again, weaving through the wide lanes of the empty road. ‘Run, jump, climb whenever possible. Travel quests are ideal. Avoid fights unless necessary.’ She reviewed in her head, gamers would hate that philosophy, but it fit her purpose.

  A green road sign read: Hydelage Port – 4 miles. She smiled. ‘Warm-up distance. And the clinic’s gotta be around here.’ The “Thanks for visiting” sign appeared sooner than she expected, confirming her hunch.

  “Goo, can you search for specific buildings?”

  Goo drifted a little lower, wings buzzing with theatrical misery. “Due to someone choosing to play on Greenbelt difficulty, I cannot, Mav. My scanning permissions are… how to say it? FUBAR.” He added, in a tiny defeated mutter, “Sorry.”

  She smiled despite herself. “It’s okay, it’s part of the game. But thanks for caring.”

  Goo executed what could generously be called a nod, really more of a bobbing wobble, before zipping ahead again, muttering just loudly enough for her HUD to pick up. “Greenbelt. Honestly. I was born for greatness and instead I’m doing manual recon like a Roomba with wings…”

  She vaulted onto the trunk of a wrecked car, then the roof, scanning from the higher vantage. Down an intersecting street, she spotted it: a pickup truck halfway through the front of the Minute to WinIt Clinic. ‘Minute to win it!’ Mav laughed at the sign. It was such a satirical jab at society. She loved it.

  “Goo, scan the building with the truck in it.”

  “It’s at the edge of my range. Move fifteen yards closer.”

  She did, hopping onto another car for the angle. Goo’s scan resolved into fourteen red outlines, three in the cab, eleven clustered outside, “Confirm the number for me please.”

  “Fourteen. Three Normals, inside the truck. Eleven Mundanes outside.” He settled on her shoulder, tiny talons anchoring into her shirt.

  One thing she was starting to realize was that, at least in this slice of Umbra, survival wasn’t just about speed or firepower. If you claimed the high ground, found a choke point, or tossed the zeds a distraction tastier than yourself, you could thin a pack without becoming the entrée. Every encounter demanded forethought and finesse; a little creativity with the environment went a long way. And, if she was honest, applied cleverly enough, it was almost… fun.

  The solution unfolded in her analytical mind in a single clean click: the clinic sat on the south side of the street, the zombies clustered on the far side of a battered pickup. ‘Stay low, quiet , keep the truck between me and the munch brigade… Hop into the bed, poke some skulls, then fire through the rear window.’ She visualized each step, silent movement, clean vault, controlled shots, until the whole plan felt like muscle memory.

  “Goo,” she murmured, “take a hover above the pickup. Call out anything new that joins the party. These guys are probably going to be loud.”

  Goo zipped off her shoulder like a launched dart, streaked forward, then halted in a perfect hovering guard position above the truck bed. Her HUD lit with dual feeds, one from her perspective, one from Goo toggling between the street ahead and the approach behind.

  “Two angles,” Goo quipped smugly. “Because you mortals get surprised so easily.”

  Mav smirked and slid into motion. She stayed low, hugging storefront shadows, slipping into and out of recessed doorways like a whisper. When she reached the pickup’s flank, she exhaled, crouched, and gathered herself. One hand shot up to the sidewall. Legs coiled. And in one explosive drive she vaulted up and over…

  …only midway through the jump, her body went unmistakably lighter, gravity easing just enough to make the landing whisper soft. She touched down in a crouch, spear angled toward her first target and her HUD detonated in a shower of fireworks as a triumphant musical trill burst through her audio feed.

  You’ve Reached Level 2

  !!! Congratulations !!!

  Check your skills, perks, and stats on your character sheet.

  “Shit!” The surprise cost her the first strike. Her voice drew every head; the whole mass turned toward her with a chorus of groans and shrieks. The truck rocked as they slammed into it. Her spear slipped from her grip, clanging against the rail before tumbling into the mob.

  “Shit!” She she said again dropped to both knees, pain sparking at the impact and drew her pistol as a message hovered into her HUD with a small image of her holding both knees and looking pained.

  Damage Debuff - Skinned Knees - Drop it like it's hot, not like a geriatric. Skinned knees and bruised patella x2. Mobility 10% impaired.

  Shaking it off Mav took aim at the nearest zed, an older female with half her face sloughed off, pressed in. She exhaled, squeezed the trigger. A neat hole appeared; the corpse folded. The next stepped over it, same shot, same drop. Again, and again, deliberate, unhurried.

  ‘Shooting fish in a barrel, got it now.’ From the bed’s far corner, she noted none flanked her. ‘Mundane, I get the designation now, they just don’t strategize much do they? All instinct and drive, no upper level thinking.’

  She flicked a glance at the pickup’s rear window, the thin barrier between her and the cab. The three Normals inside strained toward her, jaws clacking, eyes glazed with hunger. Two were still buckled into their seats, torsos pinned by locked restraints; the third, unfortunately wedged between its obese neighbors, could only writhe uselessly. ‘Great. A captive audience.’

  She lined up her next shot on one of the four remaining Mundanes around the truck's bed and squeezed the trigger. The round punched straight through the skull, clean, efficient and the pistol’s slide snapped back and locked open.

  For a heartbeat she stared at it, confused. Then Arthur’s voice replayed in her skull, smug as ever: “First time you’re in a firefight and the slide locks back on this nine mil, you’re gonna think it jammed. It didn’t. It’s just empty, and it wants more.”

  She huffed a self-mocking laugh and flashed Goo a quick grin for the recording. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Noob moment.” With practiced awkwardness she thumbed the mag release, caught the empty magazine, and stuffed it into her belt pouch. A fresh mag slid home with a satisfying click. She racked the slide just enough to chamber the round and let it snap forward with a metallic bite.

  “Okay,” she muttered, “round two.” She popped the next Mundane with a smooth pull of the trigger, thump, down. Three more shots stitched through the air and the last of the shambling outer pack crumpled to the pavement, twitching once before going still.

  Only the Normals left. The smallest one had finally managed to twist around in its seat and was now mashed against the back window, gnashing and fogging the glass with dead breath.

  “Perfect,” she said, raising the pistol.

  The bullet shattered the already stressed safety glass, bored straight through the zombie’s skull, and painted the dash with a violent spray. The two larger Normals rocked in their restraints, howling, fury vibrating through the cab as they strained against belts that refused to give.

  Mav stepped closer, lined up two crisp follow up shots, and added twin blossoms of red and gray across the vinyl interior.

  The adrenaline drained, leaving her breath shallow, muscles slack. She holstered the pistol, four rounds left and her stomach sank. Looting was unavoidable, Arthur, Jim, and Bobby had drilled it in, ammo came from bodies, or certain rare locations.

  She leaned over the bed wall. The spear lay buried under a heap of the dead.

  “Fuck. Goo, anything incoming? And what was that notification?”

  “No more zombies nearby. I’ll keep watch while you retrieve your weapon and quest items. And the notification? You leveled up!” His tone was all child at Christmas excitement. “Want to see your character sheet?”

  “Not now, when we’re clear of town. But what triggered it?”

  “Oh, that’s easy, you leveled your Jump skill to two.”

  She frowned. She’d leveled multiple skills before without hitting a new overall level.

  “What I mean is, that action, combined with many other factors, pushed you over the threshold. The algorithm accounts for almost everything: combat, NPC interactions, skill gains. They’ve got AGIs dedicated to tracking player progression and awarding levels accordingly.”

  “That’s… actually cool.” ‘So you can’t just grind mobs. You have to engage with the world. Prove your worth.’ With a thought, she pulled up her Jumping skill sheet.

  !!! Congratulations !!!

  You have increased a Tier in the skill Jumping

  Tier 2 Moon Landing - when activated gravity will become 1/10th earth norm for 3 seconds.

  “Sweet! That’s how he does it,” she murmured, a grin of understanding tugging at her lips.

  Peeking back over the truck bed, she knew no amount of chatter was going to get her spear back. With a sigh, she vaulted over the side, this time picturing herself lighter. The effect was instant: her body eased downward, almost floating the last few inches before her boots touched asphalt with a soft, joint friendly landing.

  Grinning at the gentle drop, she picked her way toward the corpse pile. The haft of her spear jutted out near the edge, close enough to see she’d only need to shift five or six bodies. The first came free with a wet slide that made her gag. “Oh, gross,” she muttered, a full-body shudder rippling through her. ‘I’ve got to find that nausea setting.’