The dull red light of a digital alarm clock was the only illumination in the room. Chaotically arrayed about the area were pieces of clothing and the occasional take-out food container. Paper and Styrofoam lived together in sin, dirty to the end.

He blinked once then sighed audibly at his return to mundane life. The world he hated reached out and claimed him once more. Scott rolled out of bed, with great reluctance, and stumbled into the bathroom. Loud groans echoed through the house as he relieved himself. There was no reason to be quiet about it. He lived alone, after all.

A quick glance into the mirror revealed an unshaven face with thick stubble, eyes that bespoke sleep deprivation, and the pastry dough-like complexion of a man who only left the house to earn enough money to live.

He looked away from the mirror with a sigh. There was nothing worth noticing within its contents.

“What day is it?” He thought that it would still be his day off, but he had to be certain. The supposed nature of the time difference between worlds should have made it so that only a few hours passed in this world. He only had the Internet to use as a guide, however. This would be his first conscious experience of the time difference.

He walked to his computer and the aging machine stuttered to life in a manner that made it seem to be filled with shame and regret. Had anyone searched the browser history they would have known exactly why the machine no longer wished to live in this world.

“The thirteenth?” He was off today. That was one bit of brightness in an otherwise craptastic life. The time difference did not screw him over.

Recently, he stocked his refrigerator and home as much as possible. The dream consumed his life and he wanted to spend as much time living in it as possible. Leaving the house would ruin that.

Most people saw the existence of the dream world as strange, or terrifying. For him, it was the best news possible.

Unfortunately, unlike many others he did not lose any family members during the events of the last few days. He'd briefly gotten his hopes up a little when he heard that the asshole his mother married ten years ago crashed his truck, but like the majestic cockroach the piece of shit survived.

Scott tried for years to get her to leave the man, to stand up to the bastard. She was too compliant, too beaten down by life to try living on her own. He gave her an open invitation to stay with him, but she never took him up on the offer. The police, those useless bastards, stopped going when he called them.

A slight curve came to his lips when he recalled the one and only interaction he’d enjoyed having with his so-called step-father. Scott had finally been unable to take it anymore. At the tender age of eleven he took a baseball bat to his step-father and repeatedly beat the man.

Yet, he’d been sent to jail and then Juvenile hall. He was the one that the people of this world chose to punish even though that piece of shit had...

Scott growled lightly as those thoughts surfaced. It did not matter anymore. Seeking revenge for what was done would just mean spending the rest of his life behind prison bars. There was no way the bastard could wind up dead without it leading back to Scott's doorstep. He'd been too vocal about his hatred of that bastard for far too long.

He'd largely written his family off years ago, and he had no real friends to speak of unless people who posted on Internet forums counted. There was only one person in his life who he held great concern for, and she was doing just as well now as she was before this all started.

Scott frowned darkly, “Best stop thinking about pointless shit.”

He forced himself to think of something else. He spared a glance at what passed for his entertainment center. It held two bookcases full of games, new and old, mostly old. He liked the older games best. There was less emphasis on multiplayer and online play.

Scott loved the massively multiplayer online games for a long time, but he did not adore the idiotic and immature assholes who plagued such games. They reminded him too much of himself, or worse, Harry his so-called stepfather. No one liked that sort of person.

Since he'd sat down at the computer already, he decided to check on the various sites that he'd bookmarked as blogs covering the dream world. It did not take long to find the verified monster and people level listing on the site that he frequented most, The Dream.

Supposedly, a minimum of three unbiased individuals who were not acquainted with each other had to verify the level of the people who were posted. He was certain that many people gamed the system just to look cool, or whatever. Still, the level ranges were much more realistically shown than on most sites.

“Highest verified level is still two.” During the three days he had been absent from the Dream, someone had already managed to get that far. It was a little sobering. Acquiring levels seemed to take a while. That person must have been asleep for days on end. Three real world days was nearly two weeks in the dream.

After checking into the man’s information, blood-shot eyes widened. “So, that’s why...”

The highest leveled dreamer known to man was also known to be a coma patient. People who were unable to exist in this world in any meaningful way were automatically capable of staying in that world for far longer than others.

It was strange, though. He had not known that coma patients were capable of dreaming. Though, there were studies that showed different response rates among coma patients who were comatose for different reasons.

“I knew I would be behind the curve. This is not news.” It was not a race, but it was important to become a proper threat. If he did not wish to live a second crappy life in that other world, he needed to acquire as much strength as possible.

Unfortunately, Scott would need to remain awake for several hours to rest properly. He did wonder how coma guy managed to restore his stamina. Perhaps he slept in that world, but never returned to this one? Maybe he had a bonus ability that allowed him to regenerate his stamina better? Either way, he was not exactly going to tell anyone given his condition.

“Forget coma guy... I need to see where I am.” He searched the world map section for verified information. The topics were sparse, but it did seem that a few larger cities were verified. He spent the better part of an hour looking through the information, but no one mentioned Argent.

He rubbed his chin. Maybe the bestiary would help? People had also started to catalog the monsters in various regions. He already knew that monsters seemed to be territorial. Few among them existed in all places.

The screaming onion was not listed. Either he was alone in the region, or other people on these sites were not talking about the area. That was fine. He would be able to learn more about his part of the world after he reached town. Argent was not supposed to be a large town, but if it was on a major road then there was bound to be information about the region.

There was little else that he could do to determine where he was at the moment in relation to where the rest of Earth born humanity resided. Instead, he checked the updated information topics on skill development.

Unfortunately, that section of the site was not verified to the extent that he would like. Forced to sift through a lot of garbage information, he despaired a little that it would be difficult to find anything worthwhile. Still, he did find a few interesting gems that seemed legitimate.

Most people did not choose their starting skills well. They chose things that sounded cool, or seemed like they would be useful. Most thought that they would be able to choose other skills later, because it was like a game. Surely, they could reset their skills.

So far, those people were wrong. It was too early to tell, but many people were crying foul. A few even claimed that it was unfair. He smiled as he read the foolish rants of the people who thought that the dream world owed them something. It was like what happened when someone who played a free online game that charged nothing, and did not even have a way to purchase items for their character, chose to complain because their character sucked.

He shook his head. During his tutorial dream he decided that whatever he chose would be the only thing he would have to work with because life, even in a game-like existence, did not owe him a do-over. He'd decided to be as self-sufficient as possible while focusing on his true desire, magical badassery.

Many did similarly. They decided what sort of character they wanted to be, like it was a game, and then added ways to make themselves as capable as possible while supporting that desire.

Other people chose eclectic skills thinking that if they could do a little bit of everything they would have greater viability. That might be true, no one knew. However, at the moment many people complained because their life force was too low to allow them to do anything.

He disregarded the foolish bickering morons for the moment then focused on the few gems of information that he found. The information that he sought most was how to generate new abilities without skill books.

During the tutorial, he was granted basic abilities derived from his skills. However, there was no automatic ability updating system outside of currently known skills. He would have to find, or create, his own skills then use skill points to make them into official abilities. Some larger towns seemed to have dedicated training centers, but they required paid enrollment in a course of instruction.

Everyone started out with the exact same capacity if they chose a specific skill. However, everything they did after that was completely dependent upon their own desire.

“Magic talent means that I can use magic, I know that. How do I create new spells?” That was something he desperately wanted to know. Jolt might be useful in the future, but until his vitality increased he would not be able to use it much. Until his charisma increased, he would not be able to have any real use for it besides imbuing the spell into his sword.

The man who would be Blackthorne considered the situation for a moment. His jolt spell would be the key. What did it take to cast that spell? There was a chant, and a vitality drain. He had a vague idea of the spell working based on that. He suspected that creating new spells or abilities was more labor intensive. No one had quite managed it yet.

He read through the information some more, and then refreshed the page. A new topic appeared. His eye lit up. “There are spell books?”

That would be incredibly useful. Yet, there was a catch. The books took time and effort to study.

“Precursor six-one-seven claims that he found a book on day one, but after several days of studying he has only learned the basics of how to form even the simplest spell,” he said aloud. The one who had posted was doing so on behalf of a friend.

“Spell books? That could work.” If he studied magic to the extent that he learned new spells, he might be able to determine how to create one himself. There was a specific type of spell that he wanted to learn as quickly as possible. Once he mastered it, his vitality issues would be lessened considerably and his journey as Blackthorne could truly begin. There was no way to know if it actually existed, but there was currently no reason to believe that it would not.

He looked around the site some more then noticed the time. “Guess I should get going...”

Scott took a deep breath, and then stepped away from his computer. He forced himself to smile a normal, happy smile. It was a fake smile, but it was there. He practiced smiling and made an attempt to sound happy while he walked through his garbage strewn home and made his way to the bathroom once more.

Unconcerned by the fact that water was becoming scarce in the area due to a lengthy drought, he turned on his shower then stood in front of the bathroom sink once more. He stripped down to reveal all his glory to the world. The man in the mirror was a pale mockery of a real person, and both the man and the mirror knew it.

While his shower water warmed up, he washed his face and proceeded to perform his bi-weekly ritual. He shaved. He even brushed his teeth. He needed to look his best today.

He slipped into the shower and let the purifying water wash away his cares for a time. He bathed more frequently than he shaved, but some days it was a struggle to really give a damn about either.

He toweled off and headed back into the living room. Scott turned on the television then immediately sighed. “Still talking about it, huh?”

The only thing on television for several days now was the news. The death toll proved immense since the first dream, and the world continued to mourn. Scott supposed that he should mourn with it, but he just did not have the energy to give a damn. Why should he care about a shitty world that let a man like Harry roam free after what he did? Should he weep for those people who lost loved ones?

Yes, he knew that he should. Somewhere deep down beneath his rage and depression there was a person who gave a damn. That was why he shut the television off in disgust. He hated himself for that fleeting sense of concern and empathy. He hated that he still cared on some level. There was only one person in this world worth giving a damn about, and he would finally get to see her again today.

He got dressed in his best outfit, it was the only shirt that he owned that had no holes in it. He walked over to a vase that held beautiful flowers, water lilies. They were her favorite. A soft sigh escaped his lips before he moved to the door. The moment he touched the knob he forced himself to smile. He would not want her to be sad, so he needed to show her how happy he was right now.

A short time passed and Scott walked into her residence, the place where the only good thing in this world resided. He stopped just short of where she lay in repose, as beautiful in his memory as she was on the last time he had visited her.

Scott placed the flowers down in front of her headstone and said, “Hey, sis. It’s been a while, huh?”

His eyes began to mist over as the memories and recriminations passed through his mind. He tried to tell himself that he was only a child, and that he could not have done more. He'd even gone to jail for what he did when he'd seen what had happened.

He fought back the tears and forced himself to smile. “It’s been a crazy two weeks... Let me tell you about it...”

His words catching in his throat slightly at first, Scott sat down next to his little sister's headstone and began to relate everything that happened. He spoke at length about work, and even made up a lie about how he'd been spending time with a girl lately. His sister would like to know that he was happy, after all.

He leaned back and looked up at the clear blue sky. "It's pretty out today. Don't you think?"

For a time he waited as though he expected an answer. When none came, he pretended that it did. "Yeah, you're right. That cloud does look a little like a rabbit."

Briefly, he smiled at the cloud bunny as a memory of his childhood surfaced. His little sister clutched a stuff rabbit to her chest while looking up at him. He'd climbed a tree and gone a bit too high to get down, like the world's most ridiculous cat.

"You cried that day..." said Scott. His smile widened even as tears welled up in his eyes. "I made you so worried that I'd never get down and you'd lose me forever."

His lower lip began to quiver a little. He wrung his hands slightly, even as he closed his eyes. He did his best throughout the weeks he spent away from his little sister, he truly did. During that time he would pretend to smile, and try to show a happy face to the world. It was exhausting.

Scott noticed something on her headstone. "Geez, you're a mess."

He pulled a bit of cloth from his pocket, something he always carried when he came to visit her. He spit on his fingers a little and rubbed it on a dirt stain. Immediately he snorted then said, "Oh don't be such a baby. It's just a little spit."

Rubbing at the stain with his dust rag, Scott continued to have his one-sided conversation. "Don't call it gross... Besides, if you washed your face like a big girl I wouldn't have to do it for you."

Scott sat upright then blinked. He turned to look sheepishly at another headstone on his left. "Dad... I wasn't teas—"

"No, no!" he cried while waving his hands back and forth. "I was just cleaning her face."

He became still for a moment, but then his eyes grew wide. Not long after he snorted then said, "I look like hell? As if you're one to talk..."

Scott gestured to the weeds growing up near the headstone. "Oh, what? I can't point out how scruffy you look? How's that fair, pop?"

"Aww, man! Really?" Scott sighed at the weeds. The graveyard maintenance guy cut the grass regularly, but he took his sweet time when it came to weed pulling.

He started to grumble like a small child who did not get his way. "Can't believe he makes fun of me, and then I'm the one stuck mowing the lawn..."

His head snapped sideways suddenly, "No-nothing, dad... Just singing while I work..."

Scott eyed the headstone briefly to see if his dad bought into his little lie. When he said nothing else, it was assumed to be a success. Scott smiled slyly while continuing his work. He'd gotten away with it.

He looked over to his sister's grave. "No, you don't have to..."

After a moment she smiled once more and moved to the side. "Well, if you insist on helping, start there but go put some gloves on first. Don't want you to hurt your hands like last time."

Scott began to hum a soft and merry tune while he worked. He rocked from side-to-side in time with his music.

After weeding the headstones of both his father and his sister's graves, he sat down between them and took out a few sandwich that he'd made. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he nibbled on his meal. It was nice to spend a day with the family, even if it included yard work.