Author Frank Morin
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Interlude 3 - from Book 2
🕑 Added 2026-01-02 17:00:07 +0000 UTCHere is Interlude 3 from book 2 - Nexus Runner - Rampage
“We need 8 more margaritas,” Sam called over the bar.
“Sure thing, boss,” Steve responded, glancing up from his workstation piled high with glasses, salt, tequila, orange liqueur, and limes. He’d finally gotten his drink-mixing skill leveled up enough that he could produce some of the ingredients he needed, and demand for his margaritas was growing so fast, he could barely keep up.
Of course, the minor courage-boosting buff they added didn’t hurt. Too many people feared the woods and the wolves and were hunkering down inside the walls. They might stay safe in the short term, but that was a losing proposition. Taking the chance to sign up to work with the zombies terrified a lot of people too. With enough margaritas in them, a few slightly tipsy but far more courageous souls were starting to sign up to join patrols and the work at the lake.
The bar was hopping, as always, and Steve hummed a happy tune as he set about making the new order and helping people face the future with resolve.
* * * *
Steve sat at one of the tables in the bar, nursing a huge tankard of frothy ale. Sam was getting better at producing some really good stuff, but it wasn’t the smooth drink Steve was enjoying.
While he occasionally sipped from his ale, he soaked in the many conversations going on all around him. Most folks didn’t bother talking quietly in the bustling bar, and it was easy to hear just about everything.
There wasn’t a ton of interesting facts, but lots of gossip, and that told him a lot about people. A small band of musicians were playing on a slightly raised wooden platform in the far corner of the room. The group specialized in Middle-East medieval tunes and had been hired to compose and play music for the movie. Their style fit Arasha quite well and added a bit of ambiance to the bar. The ceiling was set to look like a soft twilight, adding to the effect the music produced, which seemed to loosen tongues and wallets.
A rowdy bunch of Teamsters were sitting nearby, their various assigned teams spread farther out. They were among the first Earth groups to start gravitating toward each other, but it was too early to tell if that would cause rifts with their assigned teams, or strengthen the community as a whole.
The Russian bear tamers were laughing and gambling closer to the bar, and Steve loved to listen to them, trying to memorize their accents and stories. Those kind of details came more and more easily to him. He’d need to get his hands on some of those fur-lined hats eventually too.
Other teams were talking about werewolves, worrying over how to level up in such a dangerous forest, or arguing about whether the plan to work with the zombies was a miracle win or a sure death. Few suggested venturing out into the forest on their own to hunt, especially after the loss of team Inception. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave many good alternative options for leveling, and that scared people even more.
Crafters huddling at other tables nearby were talking about their wares, worrying about competition from the System Store, or discussing the exciting new projects they were working on with that influx of high-quality materials Lucas had gifted to the town. It sounded like many were finally advancing skills and gaining much-needed levels.
Overall, the mood was not bad, but the seeds of deeper problems were starting to germinate. Steve had no idea how to solve those problems, but made notes of groups and individuals he had to pay more attention to.
* * * *
“How goes the watch?” Steve asked as he climbed to the walkway that ran along the top of the wall ringing the town.
Nearby, a burly Asian guy was standing next to Vinda Lee, the petite Chinese gal with the cool building block powers. Steve scanned the big guy long enough for Identify to trigger.
Zhong Liu. Level 23 baby human. Team IP man.
Zhong shrugged and spoke in a perfectly cultured British accent. “Quiet for now, thankfully.”
“Seen any werewolves?”
Vinda grimaced. “Too many for one lifetime the other day.”
“Any word on plans to route them out of the forest?” Steve asked, joining them and scanning beyond the walls to the dark shadowed forest looming too close for comfort.
Vinda snorted. “More like everyone’s wondering how long we can hold out.”
Zhong made a calming gesture, and she relaxed. They were from the same team, so was he the team leader? His presence was pretty strong, although it wasn’t an aura. Just natural charisma and confidence.
Zhong said, “We have heard nothing about such plans. All communication from town leaders is focused around the joint venture with the zombies.”
“What do you think about that?”
He shrugged. “I lack enough information for an informed opinion, but you are friends with Lucas. You should know more than us, no?”
He seemed better informed than he claimed. Steve shrugged. “Nothing specific yet. Need to keep leveling.”
“How?” Vinda asked, gesturing at the forest, not hiding her frustration. “The zombies have to be a trap, but no one leaves the city. The werewolves are too strong.”
“That is not entirely true, is it?” Zhong asked softly, black-eyed gaze studying Steve. He was a smart one. Clever, and maybe calculating? Worth keeping an eye on.
“Some of us went exploring with Lucas. It was a challenge, but we got some good experience.”
“Perhaps he will take others out to hunt,” Zhong suggested.
“I think that’s one of the plans being discussed.”
“Good. Let us hope it happens soon.”
Steve nodded and paced away down the wall.
* * * *
Steve wandered through narrow lanes between Base Camp tent neighborhoods. Most of the tents were similar, although some had obviously been upgraded more than others. Those were harder to see, even with their stealth deactivated in town.
Most were simple and clean, since few people bothered to do much with the exteriors. The marvelous, supersized interiors were the important thing. Still, those few who did care had started adding exterior decorations too. Trying to make it easier to pick out their homes among all the rest, maybe.
A few sported colorful penant banners, so those were probably just decoration. Others had actual flags hanging over them, showcasing the home nations of the inhabitants, or even a few religious symbols. Interesting.
A rare few tents had piles of trash heaped outside. That was odd, and he noted them before moving on. It was easy to keep one’s space neat on Arasha, since everyone had inventory space and each tent had waste processing options.
Rounding a row of tents, Steve spotted a man struggling with a woman. She was much smaller and looked like one of the crafters, so would lack much in the way of fighting abilities.
“Get off,” she shouted, then cried out in pain as the man wrenched her wrist.
“Not until you give me another dose.”
“I haven’t made any more.”
“Liar. I need a fix!” he snarled.
Steve sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d run across folks peddling or using magical variants of drugs. It was hard to find substances that could produce similar effects to Earth drugs since natural regeneration tended to remove things like intoxication or a minor buzz. Still, there were new magical ways to trigger all sorts of wild effects, and some people were just weak.
“Hey,” he called out as he approached. He didn’t even bother Identifying them. He didn’t care. It was a miracle any addicts had survived the first week, but he doubted they’d live out the next few days.
The man whirled, releasing the woman. Instead of fleeing, a dagger appeared in her hands, and she jumped up, slashing it across the big man’s throat.
He gagged, eyes bulging as he clutched his ripped-open throat while his life blood exploded outward, soaking nearby tents and Steve’s jacket.
“If I see you again, I will kill you,” the woman snarled, then rushed off.
The man dropped to his knees, but a healing potion appeared in his hands. He dumped it over his wounded throat, splashing potion everywhere. He wasted a lot of it, but got enough on the wound to seal the flesh. Then he drank a second potion.
Coughing and spitting blood, he surged back to his feet. A short, wicked-looking sword appeared in his hands. “Where did she go? I’ll kill her.”
“I doubt it,” Steve said calmly as he examined his ruined jacket. “Best to let her go and find a different supplier.”
The man whirled back toward Steve, sword held low and ready. “Give me some mana crystals, pal. It’s an emergency.”
“I bet breathing is an emergency half the time,” Steve said with a chuckle.
“Then we do it the hard way,” the man growled, lunging and stabbing out with his sword.
Steve didn’t move, but summoned a full armored breastplate over his bloodsoaked shirt. The sword clanged off and the dummy stumbled. Terrible form.
“Bad move, pal,” Steve said and cast Ice Bolt.
The magical bolt of pure ice struck the idiot in the center of the chest, carving a deep hole into one of his lungs, then freezing it solid even as the impact catapulted the fool off his feet.
The man tried to scream with his one good lung, clutching at the wound before remembering a healing potion. Good thing he had one left, because frozen lungs had to hurt.
Steve wandered off, whistling softly to himself.
* * * *
Steve slipped through the forest, dressed in all black, trying to move as quietly as possible.
“Hey, Cyrus. If I practice enough, can I unlock a Stealth ability?”
“Who is to say?” Cyrus responded. “But probably not any time soon, considering how bad you are at it.”
Before Steve could object, a werewolf erupted out of the bushes nearby. All Steve saw was glowing eyes and flashing white fangs before pain tore through him, replaced by total blackness.
* * * *
Steve sat up abruptly in bed with a gasp, rubbing at his neck.
“First time a clone died that way. Rest in peace, mini me. Not my favorite way to die,” he muttered as he swung his legs to the floor and willed a new outfit to appear. It was so nice to get dressed with a thought.
“We no longer all get dressed one leg at a time,” Steve chuckled to himself as he moved to the kitchen area of his Base Camp and ordered up an omelet.
He honestly had no idea what time it was. He’d been hanging out in bed for a while, his mind lost among his many clones spread throughout the town. It took a few minutes to slowly pull his scattered thoughts back together as information from so many sets of living senses percolated down through his mind.
Echoing Doom was turning out to be even more powerful and versatile than he’d imagined. He’d been downright inspired to get that quest to make the potion into a scroll, then permanent it, but it was still mind-bending to see and hear and smell and taste and feel in more than one body.
He’d master it, though. It offered way too much potential not to. How else could he work all the hours Sam wanted while still doing so many of the other things he preferred? And who else in the world could eat a dozen desserts at the same time and perfectly savor every last one?
