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Elle McGib watched Brandon and their game guide scroll through the different options. Options for what, well, she wasn’t totally sure.
Brandon was a sweet boy. She hoped he would find a good girl to settle down with. Barry is, no, was, the love of her life. Everyone deserves that feeling, she thinks. Or a good boy to settle down with; it’s the 2020s, people can love whomever they want, the voice of her favorite teenager volunteer whispers in her ear.
“Cassie, can you get my knitting?” she called out to the girl.
Brandon sighs and brings his hands to his face. They’d been here forever.
“Mrs McGibbons, Cassie isn’t here; she wasn’t working during the collapse. We’re doing your race and class selection, remember?” Brandon said gently, trying and failing to bring her attention back to the options.
“Oh yes, silly me, I remember now.” She did not, in fact, remember.
Elle wasn’t even the last member of Meadowlark that had to go through this process. At this rate, they’d be here for hours more. Brandon gently touched her shoulder, bringing her attention back to the screen.
“Okay, Mrs McGibbons, we’ve narrowed down your options a bit. Why don’t you take a look at the few suggested here and see if any seem good to you?” Brandon said, pointing to the three highlighted options.
The first option was some sort of plant. Elle had never been able to keep plants alive; she always left that up to Barry. Whenever she had to take on that responsibility, he’d come back to a bunch of dead plants. Barry would never approve of her getting more plants, absolutely not.
The next item on the list was an ugly fish-looking thing. Why would anyone ever want one of those things? What was this for again? Eh, whatever, she didn’t want to pick something that ugly. What would that bitch Helen say if she did? Certainly something snarky about how awful Elle’s tastes were.
The last, well, that one could be fun. “Are we playing one of those games Jacob’s grandkids love so much? The ones with all the sexy men?”
“Uh, kinda?” Brandon said. “Yeah, that’s close enough. Whatever you choose will be what you turn into, like your character.”
“Well this one’s badass; I want her,” she said, pointing to the last option, something called a Frost Maiden.
The alien thing, Mrs Tiana or something, nodded, “If you are sure, then you will have to confirm here.”
A screen popped up over her vision, asking her to ‘Confirm’ her race selection.
“Brandon, honey, do I really have to play? I’d much rather watch and knit while the others play. You know I’m awful at these things.” God, she would rather do anything than play a game with Jacob’s snot-nosed grandchildren.
His children did not know how to parent. All of those kids were little spoiled brats. Not like she had much of a leg to stand on; she and Barry never did end up having kids. When he was alive, it wasn’t so bad, but now she wishes they had. She’d love to still have a little piece of Barry walking around. Maybe then she wouldn’t be quite so lonely.
“Sorry Mrs McGibbons, we have an odd number, so we could really use you. I’ll make sure you get time to do whatever you want in a bit, okay?”
She sighed and clicked confirm.
And.
Suddenly.
Every
t
h
i
n
g
Went black
and
.cold
She was so very cold.
**
Elle woke up, wondering if Barry had forgotten to close the window again. What an awful habit of his. He loved the fresh air and claimed it was better for them to sleep with a window open no matter the damned weather. Didn’t matter if it was the coldest day of the year. The window needed to be open.
Normally, Elle would remember to close the thing after Barry’s snores started to fill the room. She must’ve fallen asleep before him last night- what a rarity!
She stretched. Oh, today was going to be a good day, she thought as she felt significantly fewer aches and pains than normal. She rolled over and opened her eyes to see … a rock monster?
What the fuck is that?
The thing was absolutely huge, with dark orange-red veins glittering under the fluorescent lights like magma.
Wait, the hell? Why were the lights already on? This was not her room. Not the room she lived in at Meadow Lark nor the room she shared with Barry for all those years.
It almost looked like an infirmary out of a horror movie. There were quite a few beds around the room with different types of creatures sleeping. The one closest to her appeared to just be a big ball of mush.
She glanced around the room, not fully recognizing anyone around her other than Brandon and Imani, who were talking to Mistress Tiatha.
How did she know that name?
Suddenly, memories of the last week hit her with a clarity she hadn’t experienced in years.
She felt too good. Where was her wheelchair? Last time she thought she would be fine to walk to the bathroom she fell and broke her hip. Yolanda looked like she was going to have a stroke when she found her after that spill.
Yolanda. Poor, beautiful Yolanda with her heart of gold. Jack, that fucking asshole. He never could keep his dick in his pants. He was responsible for about half of the home getting gonnorhea. Broke up multiple marriages too. Just couldn’t help himself, always “accidentally” slipping and falling into someone’s pussy.
Well, he wasn’t much of a loss. Maybe now fewer STIs would go around.
But Yolanda and the others. Oh, so many had died.
She sat there and looked down at her hands. Her hands were more delicate than she was used to and white like snow. She hadn’t fully understood what she was choosing until now.
She knew there was a mirror in here somewhere, but she was afraid to find it and look. Imani was going through her selection process now, one of the last before they’d have to loop around to do class selections for all those who transformed.
She grieved for herself, for the body she’d known and loved for 99 years. It was failing her; of course it was by that point. She was so close to the end.
She grieved for Yolanda, the young girl, a shining star who burned out much too young. Jack, that bastard. So many had died. Her friends and family were now almost all gone. That had been the case for a long time now; she and death were old friends. Yolanda hurt in a way that she hadn’t felt since Barry.
Except Barry had been sick, so it was almost a relief when he finally let go. He was suffering and more worried about her feeling lonely than his own pain.
She grieved for all of the people lost in the collapse, and all of her neighbors and caretakers lost during the first two floors.
The universe had a sick sense of humor, allowing her to live through multiple wars, multiple recessions, only to die in a dank dungeon on a deadly reality game show.
Yolanda should still be here. Carl should have saved Yolanda instead of her, though she wasn't even sure that would have been possible.
Fuck, Carl. She had told him that she’d let him touch her under her sweater in the tunnel of love. Jesus Christ.
You know, she hadn’t been embarrassed about something she’d said to someone in decades, but damn, that was brazen of her.
It would be a while before Mistress Tiatha would have the chance to loop back around to her; she had time to think and to put together the fragments of her memories.
If she focused, she could remember everything that had happened since she entered the dungeon. She played around with her menus, trying to remember all of the intricacies mentioned in the tutorial. It was there, but it reminded her of trying to remember the events after a night out on tequila. It was there, but everything came in flashes, disjointed and slightly nonsensical.
Okay. She had quite a few achievements that she couldn’t yet open. She saw the tab for her social stats, and she started to plan.
She and Barry loved watching reality TV. Granted, they spent more time watching things like Divorce Court, Dr Phil, and Judge Judy, but hey, she knew what people liked to watch.
If she wanted to survive… did she?
She had a good run. She was 99 for God's sake! She deserved to rest, not to die in a traumatic and violent death for the entertainment of some sadistic aliens.
But Yolanda had sacrificed herself for them. For her.
Imani gave herself so many player-killer skulls just to give a quick and dignified death to those who couldn’t continue. Or as dignified as they could get in this hellhole.
She could not, and would not, let those sacrifices be made in vain. She could at least try.
No, she lived until she was 90 fucking 9.
And they would have to drag her to hell themselves.
She read back through her class selection. She’d made a good choice. Brandon and Imani had done a good job steering her in this direction. She could make this work. She would have to.
While she waited her turn, she read through all of her skills and stats and began to plan. She would not break, not yet.
There will be time to cry in heaven or hell.