Fiction Issue #3

Jerry

Killed by the Guardians, he thought. Back when he and his pals had first play-tested Halo, Bungie's programmers blamed the glitches they found on the Guardians. It was a scapegoat he'd remembered all his life. Secretly he believed that all the programmers pumping out code were as merciless as the Guardians, even though in reality they only killed him through inattention.

***

There was a thunk outside. He barely registered it. It just floated into one ear, around the back of his brain and right out the other.

Then he heard a scream, this time more clearly. He thought it synced perfectly with his character's brutal headshot from across the mile-wide arena.

And then a gunshot, so much louder than anything he'd heard in a videogame. There was no doubt it was real. He thought he could even suddenly smell a trace of gunpowder.

"I think I just had a stroke," Mike said. "That's the only explanation."

"That was the loudest stroke I've ever heard," Jerry replied. He wanted to laugh, but couldn't. What a stupid thing to say, dumber than almost any line he'd heard in the long line of cheesy, poorly-written suck-fests he'd played through.

They heard it again, twice, three times, pounding their eardrums through the walls.

"Hoo boy. What does that mean?" Mike asked. Jerry knew Mike was probably talking to himself. They sat there anxiously for a few moments before Jerry had a realization. His body relaxed, all the tension slipping out of his joints and flowing away into the atmosphere.

"Oh, wow," he said. "They must be doing some sort of sound capture. That's got to be it. For the gunfire. I thought our gunfire sounded shitty." His relief was contagious; soon he and Mike shared a euphoric smile.

"Wow, they really should do that somewhere else. This is not a soundproof studio."

"What a bunch of jerks," Jerry said. "Scared the shit out of us."

"Prolly why they did it here," Mike said, and then laughed a happy, stupid laugh, picking up his controller again.

Another shot came, and this time there was a sick crunching noise and a yelp of pain barely audible in the aftershock of the blast. Then, silence.

"We're going to die, huh?" Mike said.

"What kind of an attitude is that?" Jerry asked.

"Well, it's true," Mike replied. He looked hurt to have his logic questioned. In truth, he didn't see any alternative.

"Well, I'm out of here," Jerry said. "Good luck with that whole living thing. You should try it."

He was out the door before Mike could respond. What would he have said, anyway? Thanks?

The hallway was long, but there were no signs of struggle. No running, no screaming. It was the eye of the storm, he thought. Plenty of time and space to find a door and lock it. Plenty of time to get out of the way. He hoped Mike would get some sense and join him.