Gary’s face burned with frustration and humiliation. It almost felt worse than the actual burns Zafier had hit him with.

For as long as he could remember, he’d disliked his name.

More accurately, he disliked the responses his name often provoked. As far as he was concerned, Gary was a perfectly good name and there was nothing wrong with it. But for reasons he’d never understood, it was a name that invoked contempt and humour amongst his friends, his cousins, his teachers, his house share mates at university. Everyone he knew. Whenever he’d made a simple mistake at school, others had blown it out of all proportion, turning him into a laughing stock. “That’s so Gary,” people would say.

“Doing a Gary” had become synonymous with screwing up, a phrase raised in situations that didn’t involve him. If he went on a date and it went poorly, he’d be accused of “Pulling a Gary” with a roll of his best mates’ eyes.

It had added up over time. The mockery had a cumulative effect. Because everyone assumed Gary was inept – based on little more than the fact that his name was Gary – he thought of himself as inept. Someone who was forever going to be the butt of the joke, no matter how hard he tried.

The absolute nadir had been when he’d left a job interview and the two interviewers had conferred behind a door that wasn’t as soundproof as they’d assumed.

“I mean, he really is a Gary, isn’t he?” one interviewer had chuckled, leading to the other one joining in.

Gary had become used to it, in a way. Being seen as the clown in the group had its advantages. But it also meant that he was forever feeling unsure of himself, unless he was the source of the surrounding joke.

And he lived in mortal fear of getting things wrong because he knew the mockery he would receive would be exaggerated out of all proportion to the actual mistake he’d made. And this became a cycle, a personal confirmation bias. Because he was used to making mistakes, he expected he would make mistakes. Because he expected he was going to make mistakes, he made mistakes.

It was one of the reasons he often kept himself to himself.

To Gary’s credit, despite all of this, he had never let the little jibes get to him to the point that he’d exploded in anger. Keeping his temper in check had been a valuable skill to learn, leaving him with solid reserves of self control. He was sure this was part of the reason he could keep pushing the cravings he felt away.

Still, he had seethed over the years. And he’d wondered what would happen if one day he stopped keeping it all in. If just once, he let his frustration out.

And now here it was again. After everything he’d done, all his efforts to help the people inside the church, it was a case of ‘let’s blame Gary,’ or ‘Gary screwed it up again.’

Gary sighed.

He didn’t know why he had expected today to be any different.

What gutted him, however, was what Rain had said earlier.

“That’s so Gary,” she’d said, in reference to Zafier.

Which implied that Gary being considered a screw-up name wasn’t just confined to this reality. It was a constant across the entire multiverse.

“Gary?” Jonathan said, “Are you in there?”

Gary realised his eyes must have glazed over.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, look, whatever these lot think, you’re okay in my book, right? You tried to help and when things went sideways, you fought on our side.”

Gary nodded, feeling relieved that at least one person here appreciated his efforts. Jonathan was alright.

“Now,” Jonathan said, “Would you mind telling us all what the hell is going on?”

*

The survivors grouped together as Gary explained, as best he could, the situation they were all in. It took him a little over half an hour to go through everything, as he tried to make sure he missed nothing out.

“This is a waste of time,” Rain interrupted as he began, but he ignored her and pressed on.

He began at the start, the rain of black slugs and the battle with Zafier. As he had surmised, the slugs had slithered into the church in the middle of the funeral and seeded everyone. He went over Zafier’s arrival, adding that there had been some mistake and the system had classified him as a zombie.

When he got to the explanation of the multiverse and the war between the living and the dead raging through it, questions were raised. More than half the group struggled with the idea that there were other realities, and that earth was being used as a factory to add more undead to the war caused gasps of horror.

“So, wait,” Jonathan said, “The people that... seeded Earth, that activated it. They’re the people who are fighting with the dead?”

Gary frowned.

“I’m not sure. Rain?”

The blue skinned woman shook her head in frustration. “This is all stupid. We should leave, now.”

“We’re not leaving until everyone understands the situation,” Gary said, “Including me.”

Rain scowled, “No. The system seeders, the admin, they’re not fighting on either side. They exist outside the multiverse. They make sure that everything runs as it should. That the laws of reality hold fast. Whatever is going on inside those realities is nothing to do with them.”

“What, you mean, they’re like God?” someone asked.

“No, not like God. More like caretakers.”

She was struggling to get through the explanations, her words halting and her eyes rolling at the questions asked.

“Or...game designers?” Jonathan ventured.

“Sure,” Rain snapped, “That. Whatever that means.”

“Okay, so to summarise. Earth is now part of a multiversal system where the laws of reality have been altered...”

“No, brought in line with the rest of the multiverse,” Rain said. “This was all Annabel’s forte. She dated someone in the admin for a while.”

“Okay, and there’s this war going on, and our world is just the latest victim of this war? We’re all just supposed to roll over and die so that the dead can continue to rage across the multiverse?”

Rain nodded, “That’s about right, yes.” She turned to Gary. “Done now? We need to leave.”

Gary frowned and pulled Rain to one side, out of earshot of everyone else. He wasn’t satisfied.

“Why are you so intent on getting me out of here? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Because I need to find something out,” Rain said. She closed her eyes and continued as if reciting scripture. “And you shall know him by three signs…”

“Know who? Three signs of what?”

A flicker of emotion crossed Rain’s impassive face.

“The three signs that will tell me if I was wrong about everything.”

Rain’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“I’m going to need a better explanation than that,” Gary replied. He’d had enough of Rain’s evasiveness and hinted at truths.

Rain nodded. She looked tired and confused. Her words were halting again.

“My people, the ones that raised me. A cult. We’re not… they are not just simple assassins. We believe… they believe that death is a relief. Life is a burden, death a release. That’s the first line of the scriptures of the death goddess. The Shiranti, my people, my former people, act as they do because of that fundamental belief. Killing is not evil to them. It’s a mercy. Do you follow?”

“So far.”

“They feel nothing bad about the deaths of others, or themselves. They embrace it, inspired by divine purpose.”

“You grew up in a death cult,” Gary said.

Rain nodded, her black eyebrows furrowed.

“There’s a prophecy bound up in those beliefs, our - their - supposed messiah. One who would be found. And you shall know him by three signs. We... they believe that when this one is found, he will bring an end to the war between the living and the dead. And then the devout, those of the Shiranti who believed and acted accordingly, will ascend to eternal rapture.”

“And you think this is all true?”

“I think it’s all a lie,” Rain spat, her confusion switching to anger. “I know its all a lie! I escaped from them, I got out and saw it for the lie it is. But now you, here, you fit. ‘And he shall rise from the earth as one of the dead, but speak, breath and act as one of the living.’ That’s the first of the three signs. Then the second, here: ‘And he will resist the call to divine slaughter three times as his faith is forged, taking up arms in opposition to divine will...’ There, you, again, here in the church. Refusing to take part in the killing, taking my blades to stop it.”

“You wanted to see what I would do. You think I might be this messiah.”

“You fit!” Rain choked. The anguish in her voice was clear. It was as if she was battling with deep convictions which opposed each other. “It might be you, and if it is, then everything they taught me to believe was true. And if that is the case, then I’ve been wrong all this time.”

Rain sat down. Her poise was gone. Gary had only known Rain for a few hours, but she had kept her cool throughout everything that had happened. Now inner turmoil had overtaken her.

Gary was getting a better understanding of her. He had been half right. She hadn’t come back to help the survivors, but to investigate him. Beneath that decision, however, was a world of conflict that had nothing to do with turning a profit.

Or turning a prophet.

“Okay,” Gary said, “So this messiah. He’s supposed to, what, stop the dead? To end the war so the living can survive?”

I mean, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Rain shook her head impatiently.

“You don’t understand. My people don’t fight on the side of the living. We...fuck, they...fight on the side of the dead. The prophesied one will bring death to the whole multiverse. Everyone, everywhere. The Bringer of the Eternal Night. Then, and only then, will the devout, my people, rise to rapture.”

Gary swallowed.

Okay, that does sound bad.

“And why didn’t you mention any of this earlier?”

Rain cast her eyes to the floor.

“It only occurred to me after you left the sanctuary. Then the others came up with their plan and I played along because I had to find out if there was truth in the scriptures. And if there is, then I should never have turned my back on the Shiranti.”

*

Rain refused to say any more about the topic. Gary stepped away from the group to sit on a pew and ponder Rain’s words. Bringing this eternal night to the multiverse wasn’t something he was keen on. Was there any chance that this was all true? He wondered. Was there really a death goddess out there, a prophecy that he was a part of?

He had no way of knowing. The rules of reality had changed, so why couldn’t there be some prophecy about him?

That’s ridiculous, he chided himself, This is nothing more than a misunderstanding because of a glitch in the system. A bloody lucky one, all things considered. If Rain hadn’t switched sides, then fuck knows what might have happened. And anyway, even if it is all true and I’m supposed to be some multiverse murdering messiah, here’s an idea: Let’s not do any of that.

I mean, it’s not a tough choice, is it?

A voice interrupted his musings.

“We need to think about next steps,” Jonathan said, speaking to the entire group.

“There are some basic things to worry about. Food and shelter have to be high on the list, at least in the short term. We need to find other survivors if we’re going to stand any chance of fighting back against the dead. We’ll need weapons.”

“Are we all staying together?” someone asked, “Is that the smart thing to do? Or does that just make us an easier target?”

“And are we really thinking about taking Gary with us? I’m still not sure this isn’t all his fault...”