Epilogue

  Mie remained dangling over the ledge of the fountain pool . . . thing, her hand sticking into the water.

  “Fuck, Mie!” I cringed, waiting for the worst to happen.

  When nothing did, I exhaled heavily. Then continued shouting, “STOP TOUCHING SHIT! Jesus. We have no idea what the hell is going on!”

  Her little shoulders moved upward in a bashful shrug. She gave me a sideways glance and a slight smirk. I felt at our emotional connection and sensed. . . nothing.

  Our bond had vanished, as if it had never been. The hell? I looked back to her, to her little body, and realized . . . I probably wouldn’t need it as much now anyways. Still, it had been a welcome presence, and now that it was gone, I felt a little bit more alone.

  “Uhh, Sam?” Greg said, his head poking through the doorway from my Soul Space.

  “Not now, Greg,” I said.

  He walked into the new atrium-like room.

  “You are going to want to come back to the Soul Space.” He motioned toward Mie. “Also, who is the child?”

  “CHILD?! SHUT THE FUCK UP, GREG!” Mie screamed while pulling her hand out of the water. She hopped back down onto the ground and started toward him.

  “Oh great. Mie’s still alive . . . weee. Oh crap—!”

  Greg stumbled backward as Mie ran at him and made all the motions of performing an aggressive jump, but then never left the ground. I laughed as she fell and wrapped herself around one of his legs instead. She started to smack at him harmlessly. Toddlers sucked at jumping. My own daughters took ages to get airborne.

  Cough.

  The sound jarred through me. It was familiar, and I knew exactly who that was in my Soul Space.

  Mie froze, her anger diffused and looking unsure.

  My hands formed fists, but the action didn’t feel right. I felt weak. I looked down at myself. I was no Warden here, and actually my Soul Space body had started getting a little chubby. Not to mention I was in a basic-ass stained T-shirt and sweatpants, with no weapon to speak of. I was also sweaty and probably smelled like butthole. Ugh.

  “We, uhh, have company,” Greg said.

  I made a frantic ‘run’ motion to Mie in the direction of her door. Is that her own Soul Space? Or something like it?

  She let go of Greg and scrambled to her side of the atrium. While she did, I moved to the door of my own Soul Space . . . and found Tittles sitting relaxed on the blue couch.

  “Hello, Sam, my dear wormie. Congratulations are in order, I believe.” He said it so sarcastically and almost spitefully that I couldn’t help but continue to loathe the man. What an asshole.

  He made a motion, moving his hand to his ear. “Jensen, would you please transport the reward?”

  The way he said it made me think I didn’t really want whatever this reward was.

  The lights suddenly flicked off. Dim blue and red lights flooded the room in their place, but unlike the last time I saw the lights, they remained steady, giving the room an ambient night club vibe. No sirens accompanied the lights either.

  Tittles’ back went straight, and he looked at Greg. “We have maybe five minutes. Go get the ‘I farted in front of her’ girl.”

  To Greg’s credit he said, “Who?” before turning white under Tittles’—now anxious—stare. He looked at me, unsure of what to do.

  I analyzed Tittles, an uneasy feeling in my gut.

  He caught my eyes and said, “You have every right to not trust me. The Void take me if I lie. I’m trying to fucking help. I fed Jensen the wrong instructions for working the transporter. We don’t have a lot of time before he figures out the right controls. He’s my Fred . . . you could say.” He rubbed his forehead, smiling slightly as if remembering.

  So, they have been watching.

  “Anyways, the cameras are off. Go get the girl. She should hear everything I am about to say.”

  His tone had changed completely, instead of sarcasm and spite, he was almost pleading. He looked energized, yet seemed sad and exhausted.

  He looked from me to Greg and then back to me. “Well?! C’mon, we don’t have a ton of time here before you head to the Feeder. And then off to Tier D.”

  The Feeder? Tier D . . . ? That would imply that Hearth is Tier E? A realization hit me in the face so suddenly it was almost physical. It’s a ladder of some sort. I recalled Greg’s words way back when we first appeared in the Soul Space. ‘You get squished . . . then effed.’ You get squished . . . then sent to Tier F. I hesitated, still unsure what that meant. Getting Squished . . . isn’t the end? Is Rachel . . . alive? What about Clara and Loc?

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I looked at Tittles, my thoughts returning to his ask. What choice did I have? He already knows about Mie. Quickly making my decision, I said, “Okay. Greg, go get Mie.”

  “I’m here . . .” Mie said hesitantly, peeking through the doorway. “I, uhh, didn’t have the strength to pull the door open to my Soul Space. Too much pressure.” She nodded over to Tittles. “Sup, Tittles?”

  "Great. Now shut the fuck up, and listen.”

  “Heeey . . . that’s my thing . . .” Mie murmured, her eyes to the floor.

  Greg had to grab his entire face with both hands to stop the laughter. He stopped breathing and bent over. His body violently jerking every so often.

  Tittles ignored them both and plowed ahead.

  “I have spent hours of my life covering your asses. You are damn lucky to have had me as a GM, even luckier that I know what the fuck I am doing, and luckier still that Jeff trusts me. Erasing the records of that entire round of Hearth and the associated Soul Space feeds was easy. Constantly looping your feed once you were top ten . . . not so much, but I got it done. I trained Jensen to give us these five fucking minutes on accident. I have done everything I can to keep Mie’s nature hidden. The hardest part isn’t even done, but I’ll spare you the details of hacking our database to swap in Mie’s new Soul Space identifier for Sam’s, outfitting that Space with cosmos tech, and—Jesus, this is impossible. FUCK!”

  Slam!

  He had started walking around the Space as he talked, getting more and more exasperated as he went. Then he had slammed his hand on the island counter. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He lifted his hand off the counter, and I noticed eight syringes and a small booklet. They looked like those flu vaccinees, only bigger, and had a needle on both ends. The portion that contained the liquid was clear and divided. One section contained a magenta-colored liquid, and the other, a red. The needles on both ends were capped . . . and looked unpleasantly long. Shot-to-the-butt-cheek . . . long.

  Before I could inspect them, Tittles motioned to them and said, “These little devils are called Soul Anchors. Tier D ups things up a notch and won’t let you log out and get back to your Soul Bodies. Instead, they spend the entire time in the Feeder.”

  “Feeder?” I asked.

  “The place your Soul Body gets nourished, while your soul travels to other realities.” Tittles pinched his forehead. “Gah, I forget how dumb you people are when you’re freshly dead.” He glanced at his watch. “Fuck. Quick now. Shoot the red solution into your butts.” He handed three of the double-sided syringes to each of us. “That’s the cross-dimensional tracking portion. The magenta side is what forces your Soul, no matter where it is, back to your Soul Body for a short time. Listen closely to me now. Keep the Anchors in your Transporter.”

  Mie was looking at the long ass needles with wide eyes. I looked at my own then back to Tittles.

  “Fucking hurry up. Pull your pants down.”

  “Tell ‘em, daddy,” Greg whispered—I hoped—as a joke.

  I growled, pulling my pants down—as Mie did the same—hesitated, then injected the red solution into my ass three times. UGH, damn it! That hurts!

  Tittles glanced over at Greg, looking grossed out, and held out one of the remaining two syringes. “You too, buddy. Easy mode ends for guides after Tier E.”

  Greg looked speechless as Tittles placed the syringe in his hand.

  Mie chuckled. “Oh, this is priceless. Look at his face, Sam. He looks like that time you realized that babies are not made by peeing into your mate’s mouth.”

  “What the hell, man?” Tittles said, looking over at me. “That’s how you thought it worked?!”

  “Oh come on, Mie,” I said, “IT MADE SENSE AT THE TIME.”

  “No. Stop. Stay on topic, Jim,” Tittles murmured to himself, glancing at his watch again. “Not a lot of time left.” He held up the last syringe. “We need to get this to your new guide, Mie.”

  I whirled toward Mie, confused she hadn’t mentioned anything. She hopped from foot to foot, looking anxious and bashful.

  Tittles continued: “Greg, do something useful and go get him . . . or her and inject them in the butt.”

  “Her. It’s a her, and I already named her. Her name is . . . Charlie.” She gave me a wide, evil smile.

  Fuuuck me.

  “Why me?” Greg asked, sounding flustered.

  “Just do it!” All of us yelled. I was getting nervous with how much time we had left. I needed more answers. There were so many questions.

  Greg sauntered off, looking pissed, and Tittles picked up the little booklet and looked me squarely in the eyes. “This is everything I know about Soul Seeds, their properties, and what they can do.” He paused, looking extremely tired, and handed it to me. “Keep that in your Transporter too. You don’t know how long I have waited for this moment. I have seen Soul Saplings planted in higher tiers . . . but by then . . . it was too late. Right now, we have the advantage of few to no eyes on you. The cosmos is a big fucking place, but it’s only going to get smaller from here—assuming you can keep surviving. You MUST keep the nature of Mie hidden. You can’t tell anyone who she is, or what she is, or that I came here to help, or anything. Do you understand me?”

  Mie and I looked at each other again. Then I nodded.

  “Why are you helping us? What do you mean ‘Mie’s nature’? What is going on, man?” I asked, not sure where to start.

  He glanced at his watch, grimacing. “Let’s just say, the people running the games are not my most favorite people in the world, and you guys can change that.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “By getting access—fuck. Time’s up. Sorry, man. For this . . . and your ‘reward.’ ”

  He cut off as the lights flicked back on, then his entire demeanor changed once more. His face contorted in rage as he backhanded me in the face.

  “What the hell—?”

  “DON’T SPEAK TO ME, WORM!” Tittles roared, spit flying in my face. “JENSEN, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?”

  Pain seared my entire right cheek, and my lip was bleeding, but I could hear faint, panicked murmuring coming from Tittles’ earpiece.

  “Just send the reward, dumbass. The blue sticky note,” Tittles said.

  More murmuring.

  “No, idiot! The blue sticky note, not the jade one.”

  A moment later, as the hot pain in my cheek slowed to an aching throb, the transporter flickered, and a small thud sounded inside.

  “Like I was saying. Congratulations, wormie,” Tittles said with absolute loathing.

  I walked over to the Transporter, tasting iron, and pulled the minifridge-like door open. Inside, there was a simple circular cake with pink frosting. There were black frosted words scrawled across. My heart stopped, and the blood drained from my face as I read the words. As I did, the most annoying, deadpan male voice said within my mind:

  Congratulations, Subject Sam. I have detected a connection with Subject Rach, who was squished to bits and then F'd. My sincerest condolences for your heartbreaking loss.

  That doesn’t mean anything. She got F’d, but she should still be alive, I tried to remind myself. I tried to hope.

  Blood dribbled off my lips and spattered the words.

  I looked at them, and I thought about my wife getting crushed. I thought about Clara and everyone else in Hearth sharing that same fate. I thought about Jessica torturing Greg, and whoever the hell Jeff was. I thought about them all. I thought about everyone who must be involved to let all this shit happen.

  This was far from over.

  I looked through the atrium door at the pool and the basin.

  I will get stronger.

  My arms started shaking, and I clenched my fists.

  Bring it on, you mother fuckers.