Sunday, May 18, 2025

The Darkness by Brian Brown

 The Darkness



     It was a cool night, even though it had reached almost 100 that day. The wide swing in temperatures always surprised visitors to the Mojave Desert; 40 degrees or more difference between day and night was common in the extremely dry climate. The new moon meant that it would stay pitch black until the wee hours of the morning, when a lunar sliver would be visible for just a few hours.


     The blast of pepper spray hit him full force in the face as he rounded the corner of his shabby rental trailer. He tried to scream, but only a gasp came out as he inhaled a good dose of the capsicum chemical formulation. Then, his body was suddenly caught in an electric fire; he spasmed in pain as the taser points wiped out any control of his muscles and he fell in a heap on the sandy ground. Two sets of arms grabbed him, trussed him up, and lifted him over the side of the pickup bed, tied him quickly to the cargo hooks, and drove away quietly. Resistance had not been an option; he was completely consumed with simply trying to breathe, to put out the fire in his eyes and throat, to gain some kind of control over his limbs, his consciousness, and his voice. He became aware that a hood had been slipped over his head. His hands and feet were bound, and he could only move a short distance from side to side. 


     After about 20 minutes, he felt the truck slowing down: he had realized at some point that he was lying down and tied up in the bed of a pickup truck. It turned onto a bumpy dirt road, then went on for maybe a half an hour before slowing and coming to a stop. He could feel that his face was covered with snot and tears, and he thought he may have pissed himself, but he wasn’t sure. 


     Two doors opened and closed, the tailgate went down, and he felt himself being dragged out the back. He had his legs back now and stood on his own when he found the ground. 


“What the fuck is this, who are you guys?” he hissed out as best he could.


“Shut up” one of them said, and slapped him hard on the back of the head. They walked him forward 40 feet, and then stopped. One of them pulled the hood off his head. What he saw, other than the nearly complete darkness, was two men, each wearing a full ski mask. Only the eyes and mouths were uncovered. His hands were still bound behind his back, and he tried to wipe his face and eyes on his shirt by hunching his shoulders. It didn’t work very well. One of the men pulled out a small towel and wiped the snot, tears, and eye mucus.


“I want you to see this ”, his benefactor said.   


Suddenly the world in front of them was illuminated with a huge flashlight. A foot  in front of him was the edge of a sheer cliff, at least 100 feet to the bottom. He was staring into the maw of a huge, abandoned open pit mine. He instinctively tried to jump backwards, but hadn’t realized the two men were directly behind him. He could not move or fight; his hands were still bound behind him. He struggled, but it did him no good. He heard a few rocks fall into the pit from his scuffling, and eventually they clattered at the bottom. 


“No!” he cried, “Please don’t! Why are you doing this? Who are you guys? I didn’t do anything, I swear!”


One of the men said, “Scary, isn’t? You think this is how she felt? When someone else is going to hurt you, and you have no control?” 


“What? He said.“ You mean that chick back in town? That’s what this is about? I didn’t do anything to her, I just got a little mad. Nothing worth getting killed over.”


The older man couldn’t remember the last time he had heard anyone call a woman a “ chick”. No matter. 


“And what about the children, was that no big deal also? We saw what you did to the boy.”


The other man added, “ And people are saying that you’ve been getting after that little girl, is that true? Is that nothing too?” 


Without thinking he responded, “ Hey, she ain’t exactly a little girl, she just turned a teenager. ‘'


Then he realized what he just said probably sounded like a confession.


“ I meant no, I didn’t lay a hand on the little girl for nothing. I never touched her.”


“You piece of shit” the older man growled. “ Come on, let’s take him to the other place. This is too good for him. “


The man squirmed and kicked out with his feet, to no effect.


The younger one said,  “Hey asshole, you want another face full of pepper spray? Keep it up and you’re gonna get it.” That calmed him down. 


The older man said,  “I got him, you go get the rope. Meet me over there.” 


“Rope? What fucking rope? What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing? You better not…”


Whack, the older man slapped him on the back of the head again. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear anything from you.” He walked and dragged the man about 100 feet from the pit, and up and over small mounds of rocks and boulders. “Tie it around that big one there, it’s not going to move.” The older man said. The younger man appeared out of the darkness, carrying a rope which he looped around a boulder the size of a large stove. As he joined them, the man could see that the other end of the rope was tied in a classic hangman’s noose. Fear crept up in him.


    They dragged him a few more feet forward, then someone flipped on the enormous light again. A few feet in front of him was a nearly vertical shaft, headed for the core of the planet, the bottom unseeable and unknown. About 30 feet down was a snag of old timbers, partially obscuring the passage. Random pieces of heavy rusty cable and pipe lay where they had caught on the timbers. As he stared, horrified and mesmerized, the young man slipped the noose around his neck and firmed it up. 


“Oh no, no you can’t do this…Please… I swear I didn’t do anything that bad,  I swear Don’t do this, please.”


Ignoring him, the older man asked, “How much slack in that rope? If there’s too much it might pull his head clear off.” 


“Quite a bit, maybe 8 or ten feet. It’s going to stretch him out good, that’s for sure.” 


 

“Please, guys, what do you want? What can I do here? You can have anything I have. Just don’t do this, for God’s sake!” It occurred to him that they could be bluffing, but now the fear was on him, in him, as he stood on the brink of this pitiless hole with a hangman’s rope around his neck. He didn’t know where he was, the ass end of somewhere, absolutely no lights anywhere except the Milky Way above. He believed that his miserable little life might be about to end. He was in their hands. 


The younger man said, “What we want is for you to suffer. Like you made them suffer. We don’t want you to ever do that to anyone, anywhere, ever again.”


“I won’t, I swear to God, I swear to God. Please don’t do this. Just let me go. I’ll walk out of here, wherever this is. You don’t want to be murderers, do you? Please, just give me another chance. I’ll never touch another woman or child, I swear to you.” 


“You know”, the older man said, “ Why don’t we just skip the rope and throw him down the shaft?” He’s not going to clear those timbers and cables, that’ll be a lot more painful than having his neck broken in an instant.” They all stared down the hole. He was right. 


“ Right…” the other one said. “If he does clear the timbers by some miracle, I don’t even know where the bottom of this hole is. Give him some time to think about it before he hits the rocks.”


“OK then, take the rope off and let’s get this done.”


     The younger man slipped the rope off of his neck and they scooted him to the very edge of the shaft. “Grab him by his belt, let’s send him down head first.” They lifted him off the ground and tilted him forward, giving him a good view of the shaft. And the darkness beyond.


He was in full panic now, screaming and crying, pleading, as they tilted him forward. Death was beckoning him and he knew it. 


“ Bon Voyage, asshole,” the younger man said, as they tilted him up. 


“ Hold it,”  said the older one. “If he hangs up on those timbers and cables, like he probably will, what do we do about the body? Somebody will eventually come along and see it, and that could be a problem. I sure as hell don’t want to climb down there to retrieve it. Put him back down for a minute.” 


     He was sobbing now as his feet reached the ground again. Salvation, if just for a minute. He was still alive. Like nearly all the men who did these kinds of things, he was a coward at heart.


A momentary pause as they listened to his whimpering. “Well, there is that other place,” said the younger one.”  We could just do that.” 


“ Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing. Let’s just do that,” said the other. They hustled him back into the truck while he protested and pleaded and asked questions, but they ignored him as they tied his feet together again and lashed him to the cargo hooks bolted onto the truck. 


“Listen, I left just enough slack in that steel cable to let you reach the pavement and then a little extra. In case you’re thinking about jumping over the side of the truck, I figure it will grind you off down to about the knees before we get stopped. You’d best stay in the truck.” He slipped the hood back over the man’s head before he realized what was going on. The man groaned and whimpered, but said nothing. 


   “I will,” he said quietly. “ Where are you taking me?”  


     “Someplace where no one is going to bother you,” said the ski mask, and then he climbed into the truck and they were off. They traveled for maybe another 20 minutes, he guessed, intermittently on and off smooth pavement and bumpy roads, and he had absolutely no idea of where he was. He realized at some point that although they had terrorized  him and been gruff, they hadn’t beaten him, or really even hurt him after the initial abduction. Maybe they weren’t crazy or murderers. Maybe he could survive this. And then, it would be his turn. He fantasized about that as he rolled around in the back of the truck. About paying them a visit in the middle of the night. 


   He felt the truck climbing slightly over an uncomfortably rough road, and then they stopped. They got him up and out of the truck, and  untied his feet so he could walk on his own, though his hands were still bound behind him.  After a short distance, the air changed somehow, and the sound, and he had the distinct feeling they were indoors somewhere, or in a tunnel… “Where are we?”, he asked?


“See for yourself,” one of the ski masks said. One of them pulled the hood off while the other one quickly put the noose back around his neck. The flashlight illuminated the sides of a rocky tunnel, with little bits of debris and trash here and there, and a hole that disappeared horizontally back into the darkness. They were underground. 


 “Walk,” one of the ski masks said. 


“Hey man, I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing here, but you’re not going to  get away with it. Where the fuck you think you’re taking me?” His spirit had recovered during the ride, and he wasn’t going to go easily. 


“Oh, we know exactly where we are taking you, tough guy.” 


He planted his feet and skidded, nearly stopping their progress with his resistance. 


“You have that pepper spray? Get it out and give him a blast in the face.”


“Yeah, it’s here in my pack. Hold on a second”, said the one holding the noose like it was  a leash. He began rummaging around in a small day pack.


“OK, OK, I won’t do that, I swear. No more spray, man. That shit is the worst thing I’ve ever had. I won’t fight you, I promise, just no more spray, please.” They slipped the hood back over his head.


“Alright then, walk and shut up. Any more trouble, and we will spray you and drag you the rest of the way by your heels. Not a goddam word out of you.” He nodded.


     And so they walked, for 5 minutes, then 10, then 15, in the beam of the flashlight  and silence. Occasionally, they intersected other tunnels going off to the left or right, sometimes angling up or down, as the miners had followed the ore body wherever it led. There was timbering in most of the side tunnels. Eventually they turned into one of these side tunnels, and in a couple of hundred feet it dropped off at a steep angle to the right. The area was heavily supported, a ghostly forest of 12-inch square posts holding the roof up. 


     The ski mask with the backpack went into it and came up with a couple of steel bicycle cables and locks. Exhausted, disoriented, and frightened once again, he didn’t resist as he was cabled and locked to a massive vertical mining timber. 

They pulled off the hood and shone the beam around so he could see the surroundings. Rock walls, a large tunnel proceeding into the darkness, and to his right, a huge timbered room slanting downward into the darkness. There appeared to be no end to it. 



“What are you guys going to do to me?”  he asked, the fear rising in him once again. 


“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Here. Have a last drink of water. You’re probably pretty dry by now.” The man tipped the bottle up and he drank thirstily. 


“ This is the end of the line for you.”


“What? What do you mean the end of the line… You can’t leave me here. You aren’t going to do that, are you? You can’t just leave me here!”


“Oh yes, we can, and we are. I doubt you are going to chew through those cables. Besides, it’ll give you some quiet time to think about what you did. About your miserable little life. That sort of thing.”


   The other man added,  “What is it— about the middle of May? When the weather starts to cool down, in October,  people start coming out to the desert again. One of those caving groups might come down in here at Thanksgiving vacation. All you have to do is hang on until then. That’ll give you something to look forward to.” The two masked men giggled at that. 


“Come on, guys, please. I know you’re not going to do this.” 


     The two men got up, and one of them said, “You did this to yourself. There’s no one to blame but you. We’re just getting rid of a threat in our community and a piece of human garbage. No one cares, and no one is going to come looking. Come on, let’s go .” He turned to the other man, they nodded, then started back up the main tunnel. 


     He was immediately surrounded in darkness, their receding flashlight the only source of illumination. It faded as he yelled to them, at them, then pleaded as they rounded a bend in the tunnel, and then they were gone. All light was gone. All sound was gone. He was standing in a universe of complete darkness and complete silence. Nothing. It didn’t take long for the panic, and then terror, to set in. 


     Oh God, Oh God, this had really happened, it wasn’t some nightmare he would wake up from. What could he do, how could he not die here? Oh God, Oh God, not this! He screamed and screamed for a while, thinking they might be just hiding around that bend. Nothing. He cursed them and then he wept, and finally he went silent. Nothing. He calmed  himself and tried  to think logically. Maybe he could escape somehow.


      He spent some time feeling around, figuring out exactly how he was bound, and if there was any possibility of escape. There was not. He discovered that he could sit or stand, and even lie down uncomfortably on the slanted ground he remembered seeing off to his right. He talked to himself, just to hear a sound. This would evolve into full conversations, sometimes in his head, sometimes out loud; it made no difference. There was absolutely no stimulation other than what he created. Eventually, he pissed himself because he had to. The smell, at least, was something, as was the wetness.


    And the time went on and on as he dozed. His body ached, and he changed positions frequently, but he thought he had slept. What difference did it make? He mumbled and he hummed and occasionally he wept or even wailed, just to hear a sound. He remembered a quote he had read or heard somewhere, maybe in high school, about abandoning all hope ye who enter here. Maybe it was in church; it sounded religious to him. He remembered and cursed his stepfather, sensing that there was a through line somehow between what had happened to him then and what he had done to the woman and her children. 


   And the time went on and on. On the second day, he defecated in his pants because he had no choice. At least the smell was something, a sensation, a stimulation.  Several hours later, the skin around his rectum began to burn as the feces turned his skin into a flaming pink membrane. He cried out in pain. But at least the pain was something. He decided he was going to kill himself by holding his breath until he died, but of course, it didn’t work. At least the pounding in his lungs was something to focus on. And the time and the darkness and the silence went on and on. Eventually, he examined his soul, for the first time, he realized. He did not like what he saw, as he relived the countless cruelties and petty meannesses he had routinely inflicted upon others weaker than him. This had been his life; and now it seemed that would be the sum of it. He wept for himself.


 Time went on. He had no idea if it was day or night or how long he had been there. His voice grew into a small rasp, and he had never been so thirsty in his life. He began to see little flecks of light, little sparkles, whether his eyes were open or closed. His body ached in every joint, in every muscle. Just let it end, he said out loud, please just let me die. He imagined he saw a pinpoint of light, getting closer and closer, like they said on television. The good lord or the holy spirit or the devil coming to take his soul. It was ending, he thought, it would be over soon. Then he had the dim realization that the light was progressing down the tunnel toward him, casting light on the roof and the rough stone sides. It was people. Someone was coming. 


     He blinked at the light, asking himself was he awake? Was he conscious? Were his eyes opened or closed? That had stopped making any difference a long time ago. The answer to all of these questions came back yes! It was real, someone was coming. Soon he began to hear the soft rustling of their clothing and their footsteps on the tunnel floor. Thank God he croaked, then  “Help me, help me please!”  He could see two sets of legs approaching.


     The two men in the ski masks looked down at him. He stared back, no one speaking. And then he began to weep, to cry deeply, an agonizing whine amongst the sobbing. Tears and snot covered his filthy face again. He was spent. He was the picture of a hideous thing, a completely broken man. One of them produced a bottle of water and handed it to him where he sat on the ground. He took it wearily, and croaked  “Thank you” as he drank deeply. 


“Smells like he shit himself,” one of them said. 


“I had to, I couldn’t do anything else,” he drank deeply again. It was silent, then finally he said “What now?”  


“Well, this can go two ways. We can get up and go, and just leave you here.” 


He bowed his head  and began to weep again. “No, please, please don’t leave me. I can’t do this anymore,” he sobbed. If you’re going to leave me, then just kill me first. Just kill me before you go.”


“Here, drink this,” the other one said, handing him a bottle of Gatorade. He drank the sweet, salty  green liquid, never tasting anything so luscious. Nectar. Ambrosia. 


“Or… if we’re convinced that you have changed, we can take you with us. It’s up to you.” 


 The glimmer of hope registered in his brain like a sledgehammer. 


“Yes, yes I’ve changed, I swear to you. I’ve had nothing to do but think, and I know what I did was a terrible thing, many terrible things, but I can change, I swear to god.” 


He sensed that they weren’t believing it. 

“What can I do - I’ll do anything you want. I’ll apologize to her. I can send her some money when I get some. Do you want me to leave town? I’ll pack up and leave as soon as I get back. I’m done with her. I’m done with this place. I want to be a new man. Get a fresh start somewhere. Honest, swear to God I will never lay my hands on another woman. Ever. Please, give me a chance to prove it.”


Silence, as they both stared down at him, digesting his babble. He put his head down and began to weep again, uncontrollably, a high-pitched, almost shrill sound. After a minute, he got control of himself, sniffling and smearing the goo on his face with his forearm. 


“Here, one of them said, eat this,” handing him a granola bar. He opened it and ate in the silence. He tasted peanuts and oats and nougat and chocolate, and it was the best thing he had ever eaten. 


“Thank you,” he whispered, and his voice was sincere. He chewed in silence as they watched him. The younger man moved forward and began to unravel and unlock the steel cables. 


“What’s it like out there? Is it day or is it night? Is it hot yet? How long have I been in here?” 


The two men exchanged a glance, then the older one said. “Well, let’s go take a look.” 


“Oh God, thank you, thank you, thank you, God bless you both,” and he began to weep quietly again.  


They lifted him to his feet; he was wobbly and still and needed help for the first few steps.  His balance was off, and he took baby steps, like a little old man. The younger man said, “Hold it. Give me your hands.” 


“You don’t have to do that. I’m not going to fight you,” he said quietly.  


 Yeah, well, humor me.“ He put his hands behind his back. Then the older man said,  “I think in front will be okay.”  And so he put his hands together in front of him, where they were loosely bound together. 


     They started off up the tunnel, slow at first, but as the food and drink began to kick in and his muscles loosened, soon they were walking at almost a normal pace. It seemed to him that they walked a long time, much longer than when they had brought him here. Then finally he began to sense the air getting fresher, and then they were out, outside under a moonless sky with a million stars in the Milky Way twinkling at them. He stared up in wonder with his mouth open, overwhelmed by the beauty. He had never really paid attention. Now he would never take it for granted again. 


    “Get in the back. I’m not going to tie you down, but if you try to jump out, we’re taking you back in there. You understand?”  


       “Yes, sir. You won’t have any trouble from me.” 


The other man moved in and put the hood over his head. “Oh no, please, not that again, no more darkness. Please, you don’t have to worry about me.”  


“Yeah, well, humor ME this time. Don’t worry, it won’t be long.”


They bounced slowly down the bumpy dirt road, then onto the pavement. The night was cool, even a little chilly in the back of the truck. He didn’t mind a bit, as he enjoyed the whine of the tires on the pavement.  Once a car swooshed by in the opposite direction, and he marveled at the momentary change in the air pressure. He soaked it all in, relishing every sensation. 


   In no more than 30 minutes, the truck slowed, and he was unloaded off the tailgate. One of them guided him around to the front of the truck. In the distance, he could just barely hear sounds of a highway. They pulled the hood off, and in the distance, he could see headlights coming and going from the left and right. 


    “That’s the highway into the city. It’s just about a mile over there. You walk out there, and maybe  you can hitch a ride in. If not, eventually, a cop will come by and wonder why you are standing out there in the middle of the night. You be mindful about what you tell him.” 


“Yes, sir.”


     The other ski mask dropped a duffel bag on the ground and said, “Everything you had worth keeping in that shitty little trailer is in the duffel bag. Clothes, a little food and water, and whatever else that might have some value. There are a couple of towels so you can clean yourself up as best you can. Probably just throw those dirty clothes out in the desert here. And wash your face. You’ll never get a ride looking like that.”


“Yes, sir.”


     The older of the two said, “Now you listen to me, and you listen good. Don’t you ever come back to town or anywhere near it. You forget about that woman and whatever else is back there. If we ever hear  of you coming back here, we will come and get you again and take you into a deeper hole, and we WON’T come back. You understand me clearly?” 


“Yes, sir, yes, sir, I do. You won’t ever see me again. I can promise you that. I want to go somewhere far away and get a fresh start. Things look different to me now. I think I can do better. I know I can be a better person. Thank you for not killing me. I know I’m getting a second chance, and I won’t waste it. I swear to you.” 


    “Well, that’s a good thing to hear. You ain’t a kid, but you ain’t an old man either. You’ve still got time to make something of yourself. No go and do it.”


The two men got into their truck, and he watched them drive away into the darkness. He stood there alone, still stunned by what had happened to him, but also filled with an almost religious zeal for starting over and this time getting it right. Then, he picked up the duffel and walked toward the light. 

Friday, May 16, 2025

Wilfred Smith

 Yet another character origin story from the DragonQuest RPG universe.

 

 

Wilfred Smith                                                                                    by Don Taco

 

  Wilfred's mother named him the most innocuous name she could think of, hoping it might temper what she was afraid he might turn out to be like. She was both correct and incorrect in her fears. She remembered the name Wilfred from the books her own mother had read to her, about life in the great courts and palaces of a faraway land. Actually, it was the name of a fop or a dandy, but she didn't realize that.

  She was correct in that Wilfred grew up big, and tall, and strong, very strong, and, well, somewhat brutish to be perfectly honest. But she was delighted to find that he was gentle and kind and in love with life, and never acted the bully, even though he could have pushed around every kid in the village, and probably all of them at once. She shuddered to think how much more he could have looked like his father, but he mostly seemed to have inherited her looks, which made him just average looking, except fot his size and rather obvious strength.

  Wilfred drifted down the path towards becoming a healer early in life. It just seemed to suit him. He would be called upon by the neighbors, and eventually, by most of the villagers, sometimes even to neighboring settlements, whenever any of the livestock were near to giving birth. Listening to and aiding the elder women, he became a competent midwife, and the births seemed to go smoother when he was there, plus there was such an obvious joy deep within him to be present at this miracle time after time.

  When Wilfred was in his later teens, and obviously growing into being a big man, his mother looked at him thoughtfully one day, shook her head ruefully, and began to tear apart a section of the edge of the thatched roof of their cottage, puzzling Wilfred no end. A stick was revealed. No, not a stick, a staff. But no, more than that, a weapon. A glaive. More than that, a giant glaive. Again, even more than that, an obviously well-crafted giant glaive, the haft of a dark wood, inlaid with patterns of bone, and carved with cryptic runes almost from tip to stern. Wilfred had never been so mystified in his life.

  Presenting him with this prize, his mother told him it was the only inheritance he would ever receive from his long-absent father, and that since he was obviously going to grow into the strength and dexterity required to use it, he might as well start learning how. "With your size and a bit of skill," she told him, "you could get hired as a caravan guard and see the world, something I always wished I could do. Be my eyes and ears. Make me proud!"

  An old soldier was found, a few villages away, who could show Wilfred enough of the basics to let him set up a practice routine, and a few short years later he was off to see what adventures, mysteries, companions, laughs, and loves might come his way.

 

A short mechanical diversion for story-telling purposes

 

  In order to do the next part of his tale justice, we're going to have to resort to game mechanics, and so we will require a basic look into the system.

  DragonQuest is skill-based rather than level-based. As you receive experience points, through adventuring, you don't go up in levels, acquiring the same new abilities as any similar character. Instead, you choose how to spend your experience, developing the skills that suit you, or that prudence or the fates dictate that you acquire. Wilfred's two earliest choices were skill in Great Glaive, and the Healer skill, which is the most expensive in the game, but often the most valuable. Having a companion so good at his craft that he can re-grow your hand if it gets chopped off is nothing to turn a blind eye to.

  DragonQuest is a percentage-based system. Skills and abilities have a base chance of occuring, and this is modified by many factors, including skill rank, various bonuses or drawbacks, magical spells and enchantments, and position or state of mind. It's easier to sneak up on a man who is asleep. It's much easier to hit a man by surprise from behind with a sword than it is to face him, alert, and try to swing past his shield. It's hard to burn a witch at the stake who is immune to flames, although you can certainly piss her off trying to.

 

Wilfred makes an unexpected discovery

 

There were a number of times, in those early traveling years, when someone would look quite queerly at Wilfred's weapon. But by then, he'd gotten used to standing out in a crowd, and he never put two and two together. He was still clueless even when, one time, he was asked, by a royal court official they had just performed a task for, how he happened to have the war weapon of an Uruk-Hai chieftain. He had no answer to that. "It was a gift from my father," was all he could say. But one day, someone read his aura, to determine if he had been death-cursed by a recently deceased evil necromancer (yes, that's probably redundant,) and they remarked, "Ah! Half-orc. No wonder you're so tough. Don't really look it, though, They're usually much uglier." "Excuse me. What?" "You're half orc. Father's side, I would wager. That's typical. No one beds a female orc if they have another choice. Not even orcs."

  What Wilfred had never been told, and never suspected, was that, just about nine months before his birth, there had been an orc raid on his village. A small band, not a lot of devastation, one hut burned, a few wounded, but no abductions or deaths.  Except one. The orc chieftain, thinking his band in control of the situation, and underestimating the tenacity and spirit of the villagers, had caught Wilfred's mother unaware, and had decided a nice little rape was just the thing. Wilfred's uncle burst into the hut, and with just a hayfork and the blessings of the gods, had gotten in a lucky shot and severed the chieftain's spine. But the damage was done. The seed was spent. Orcs are extremely fertile, which is apparently nature's recompense for them being the most despised race on the planet and so often on the wrong end of a weapon.

  

Wilfred makes an even more unexpected discovery, in a most unexpected way

 

   In one of Wilfred's first adventures, he had traveled to a small coastal town, though it seemed enormous to a farm boy. He was swapping yarns at an inn with a few companions he'd been traveling with, when a pair of seasoned looking women, well-armored and quite self-assured, entered, took a quick look around the room, and approached their table. One of them never spoke, but had eyes that said they missed nothing. The other said they had just sailed in, were close to a goal they'd been pursuing, and had need of more men-at-arms. Were they available? Money was. That sounded like the answer to a dream. Playing guard to a caravan is a great way to get around, but it won't fill your coffers any too quick. The woman explained that they were commissioned to retrieve a stolen artifact that they had recently discovered the location of. Decades later, Wilfred and his companions will have discovered that this is what everyone says, even when what they really plan is to liberate an article from its current owner, regardless of its past history, but at this time they were a bit naive, and the women seemed so sincere. They retired to a private back room, and spent a bit of time discussing expectations, pay rates, and inventorying skills. The silent one arched her eyebrows when Wilfred stated he was studying as a Healer, though as yet only rank 4. The vocal companion nodded and remarked, "Four is considerably higher than none. Never would have guessed you as a healer from your looks. Well met." Decisions were arrived at and preparations were begun. They set out the next afternoon.

  After two weks of hard travel into a mountainous region, they arrived at the mouth of a cavern. Peering into the darkness informed them that it was guarded by the statue of some kind of snake woman with six arms. Everyone agreed that it certainly seemed a bad omen, but the unspeaking woman, by now obviously in charge, indicated that their path lay that way.

  And it wasn't long before they discovered the warren of goblins. Now, any individual goblin isn't really any larger or more dangerous than a human 12 year old, but the average human pre-teen isn't usually well-armed, armored, or anywhere near as incredibly vicious and equally stupid. Also, their hygiene is lacking. They stink. The problem is that they run around in packs, and it isn't hard to be overwhelmed. No one like smelly surprises with sharp swords.

  The first encounter came as they entered a smallish cavern in the tunnel complex. The six of them surprised eighteen goblins, who immediately charged. The silent woman captain gestured that they should form an arc and hold their ground, and then began the twisting hand motions that anyone would recognize as a mage preparing a spell.

  Wilfred took point position, and the others spread out in an arc. One of the beauties of the glaive, and similar two-handed weapons, is that it can be used to sweep at up to three targets. Your percentage chance of hitting each one is reduced, but the damage is not. Wilfred took on the first three goblins, hitting all three, two of them hard enough to stun them, which prevented them from attacking until their head cleared. The third swung and connected, but not hard enough to penetrate his armor. At his side, Masaki, ambidextrous and skilled, struck another two goblins with his long and short scimitars, stunning one and getting hit by the other. The woman who speaks traded blows with a third, and Cyber and Sinclair, at the ends of the arc, prepared for the onrush of the remaining goblins.

  In the next pulse, three more goblins reach the fray but are behind their compaions, and another four run at the ends of our formation. Cyber and Sinclair each engage one, and blows are traded. Wilfred strikes his three again, stunning them all. The speaking woman steps back from the line and cuts off the lone goblin trying to flank the mage woman, striking him and stopping his rush. He hits her in return and draws blood. Masaki strikes both of his again. The mage finishes casting her spell, and the other flanking goblin bursts into flame.

  In this system you have a Fatigue value and an Endurance value. Damage wears down your fatigue until it is gone, and then affects Endurance. When your Endurance reaches zero you are dead. However, if your dice roll is lower than 15% of your strike chance, your damage goes straight into the target's Endurance. A stunned target increases your strike chance, and if a target is out of fatigue (OOFed) another bonus occurs.

  Having been struck twice by a high damage weapon, all three of Wilfred's tagets are both stunned and out of fatigue. But it is Masaki who gets the lucky roll, and one of those facing him crumples up dead. And that's when it all begins to go south for Wilfred. He feels disoriented and very uncomfortable. And one of his next three swings misses.

  Every character has a primary birth aspect. Almost everyone is aligned with the time of year of their birth, summer, winter, spring, or fall, and has some slight bonuses in that season, especially on the solstice or equinox. A very small percentage, however, end up aligned with the sun or the moon, and have different bonusea altogether, and at different times. An even tinier percentage wind up with the aspect of death, or of life. A death-aspected character will have a 10% bonus to any and every action if a death occurs within a certain distance and time period. (Grey Miller is death-aspected. Wouldn't you guess that?) A life-aspected character will have a great bonus being near a birth, but a negative adjustment if near a death. And, for a life-aspected character, these are cumulative. Wilfred is life-aspected, and never knew it. Everything is suddenly 10% harder to do.

  In the next pulse, silent woman prepares to cast, speaking woman dispatches her goblin with a lucky swing, Cyber and Sinclair trade blows with their targets, more goblins arrive to join the fray, stepping into the place of their fallen comrades where they can, and Masaki kills one of the two in front of him. Wilfred, swinging at only 44% now, misses two of his three, but kills the third. He feels as miserable as he has ever felt in his life, but does realize that he is performing poorly, and decides to stop sweeping and concentrate on single targets.

  In the next pulse, there are no more deaths. Another goblin bursts into flame. Wilfred, swinging at 64%, rolls a 48.

  The following pulse, two more are dispatched. Wilfred, at 44%, rolls a 32.

  Still at 44%, he rolls a 13, not low enough for an endurance shot though it would be under ordinary circumstances. Two more die.

  At 24%, Wilfred rolls a 20. Masaki takes a goblin down to 1 Endurance, and it falls unconcious and is out of the fight, but this doesn't affect Wilfred. Another takes its place.

  Still at 24%, Wilfred rolls an 18, killing that goblin.

  At 14%, He rolls a 12. One of the burning goblins succumbs to the flames.

  At 4%, Wilfred rolls an 01. Under any other conditions, this would be a critical hit and do extra damage, but it's all he can do to keep hold of his weapon. The other burning goblin gives up the ghost, and Wilfred falls to the ground and curls up into a fetal ball, whimpering, distressed, and with no idea what has gone wrong with him.

  After some more time, the goblins are defeated, and after six minutes Wilfred regains his composure. The woman who speaks explains his predicament. The group marvels at the astounding composure he mustered to keep striking successfully down to the lowest possible chance of doing so. Wilfred thinks seriously about walking home.

 

Epilogue

 

  Understanding what had happened made it easier to accept. Wilfred didn't walk home, which would have been quite difficult and dangerous, and settled into the adventuring life, eventually becoming a top-ranked healer, capable of even resurrecting a deceased companion if necessary, though at a great cost. As time went on, Wilfred and his companions marveled at the ridiculously higher than normal percentage of times that their group would knock foes unconcious instead of making them dead. As if the Pantheon had chosen to make fighting easier on him.

  Sometimes, after a few cups at one inn or another, Wilfred would swear that someday he was going to satisfy his wanderlust, and have amassed enough coin to retire. His plan, he stated, was to move to a decent-sized city, take a position in the maternity ward of a large hospital, and just sit back and enjoy life.

Thursday, May 15, 2025

Code 3 by David Molina

 Code 3



“CODE 3, ICU…CODE 3, ICU!”


Doctor Smith arrived in less than thirty seconds.


“Congestive heart failure, 60-year-old male.”


A flurry of activity. A well-trained team now doubles in size and even more are on the way. A quick look at the monitors confirms the patient’s heart has stopped beating. As the precious seconds pass, Smith knows every second brings his patient inevitably closer to the end.


“Clear!”


The jolt of 50 joules jerks the body, almost levitating it off the table. 


Flatline. 


The team battles to save their patient, with fading hopes also flatlining. One of the male nurses stubbornly continues chest compressions with vigorous strokes attempting to provide circulation.


“How long has he been on the ventilator?”

“Three days, Doctor.”

“That’s not good…”

“No, Doctor. CO2 levels had been creeping up despite oxygenation during the last twelve hours.”


“Clear!”


The second shock is 100 joules. A flat line continues fleeing away from its last peak. The EKG registers no change. Smith squints at the graph. Now it has been beyond five minutes. A third one would be the last. The hurried activity has dwindled to a somber stillness.


“Clear!” 


Even the tone of the doctor's warning is dropping off, announcing the end of the end.


200 joules. The crowd slowly disperses. 


Even after decades of hospital scenes like this, Smith feels sadness. His patient, Manuel Garcia, 60 years old, was a simple man. Smith took care of him for the last few months as his patient slowly declined. He learned that Manuel was a self-employed gardener, hard-working, and honest. He had a single year of education, as he was needed at age eight to take care of his mother and his brother and sister. A good man did not deserve to go this way.


At ten minutes since his last heartbeat, minutes after chest compression was abandoned, Mr. Garcia’s EKG began to blip. Then blip. Then blip again, and again.


The team now swarms around Mr. Garcia, energized and unexpectedly back on the job.


One of the nurses exclaims, “It’s a miracle!”


Miracles? During his many decades in medicine, Smith has seen it all.  A man of science, he knows from experience that once in a while for some unknown reason, the heart decides for itself. An optimist, he believes that as many good things happen as bad things. But he has to shake his head a little bit on this good thing, and as a pessimist expects that Mr. Garcia will be back in the ICU—sooner than later.


To his surprise, a week later he is standing beside Mr. Garcia’s hospital bed. No ventilator. Normal EKG. Just finished breakfast.


“How are you feeling, Manuel?”

“Alive. I can’t think of anything better.”

“Do you remember what you felt when you woke up?”


“Doctor Smith, I remember everything.”

“Tell me what you remember, please.” Smith sat down next to him.


“It was like this, Doctor Smith. I think it was when my heart stopped beating. I remember floating up to the ceiling and looking down — looking down at myself, my body lying on the table. All of you doctors and nurses were running around and worried, trying and trying to save me.  Or at least my body, because up above somewhere I was looking down at all of you.


“Then I saw a tunnel of light above me, and I knew I was supposed to enter the tunnel and follow the light. The next thing I know is I am going faster and faster across space, like in outer space. I had no idea there were so many planets, so many stars! I kept going faster and faster, but I was not afraid— I just saw how huge and wonderful things were.


“Then I saw this beautiful, shining gate that was open, and I knew it was Heaven. I know that because I passed through the gate and there I found my family. It was the greatest, happiest moment in my life, to hug my mother and father and aunts and uncles and even grandpas and grandmothers who I never even met. It was so wonderful. I wanted to stay there forever.”


Smith was studying Mr. Garcia’s face intently. He perceived nothing but an honest simplicity as his patient continued his story.


“Then Jesus comes to me, opens his arms, and hugs me. I am so happy because I know I am home. Then Jesus says, ‘Manuel, you must go back home.’ I told him I just want to stay where I am, right here with you and all my family. ‘Don’t worry, Manuel,’ says Jesus,  ‘because the time will come for you to come back home here. You’ll be back in a little while, but you still have some things to accomplish before you return to your home here.’


Mr. Garcia looked at Dr. Smith. Smith could see that Manuel was sincere in what he was saying, as fantastic as the story seemed.


“The next thing I remember, I wake up in the hospital bed.”


“Well, Manuel, I’m glad you are back. It sounds like you had quite a ride. Please let me know if you figure out why you were sent back.”


As Smith walked to the parking garage at the end of his rounds, he recalled the many, many instances of patients speaking of how it felt like they hovered above a hospital bed, and saw the light and the tunnel before returning to their bodies. The older nurses could tell you scores and scores of such experiences. As a man of science, Smith had no valid tests or studies to confirm or deny Manuel’s story. 


Could it be, he conjectured, that his story was Manuel’s mission? 

The Airplane by Paul Delgado

                                                                The Airplane                                                  by Paul Delgad...