Prologue

“Can you quit it already?!”

Herring was snapped back into reality by an incessant banging on his bedroom’s door. It was three in the morning and his sister, Jenny, had gotten fed up with him. He wasn’t doing anything new to warrant her harassment—it was just his average late night MMO romp. Well, it should’ve seemed that way to her, at least.

“All I hear is clack, clack, clack! Do you ever let up on that thing?! Why’d you have to get such a loud keyboard anyway, huh?!” She spewed her bile, her tiredness and frustration apparent in her voice. Herring finally realized the all too familiar scenario which was playing out.

“Why’d you doze off on the couch? Don’t be getting upset at me for your own poor life choices. We both know it’s not my fault that you’re not getting any sleep.” Herring responded snarkily. “So, as far as I’m concerned, the only thing that isn’t being let up on is all that useless sewage that’s spilling out of your mouth.”

From an outsider’s perspective it would’ve seemed Herring’s response was mean-spirited. Given the request was seemingly reasonable, it’d be an understandable misconception. However, the two siblings had established guidelines for when Herring would and would not ‘clack’. Herring gave Jenny a good two hours where he’d switch keyboards to allow his deep-sleeping sister to fall into her deep sleep. It was only once the next day began, at twelve sharp, that he’d switch back.

Yet despite their agreement, this verbal bout was incredibly common. Herring’s bum of a sister would fall asleep on the couch night after night in the most uncomfortable of positions—one hand in a bag of chips, the other hand on the remote, and her neck resting at a perfect 90 degree angle on the couch’s armrest. So, when she’d slink up to her room in the middle of the night, Herring knew that he wasn’t the pain in the neck she claimed. The couch was.

Herring peeled off a headphone and aimed his exposed ear to the door only to get a response of silence. He’d aptly read the situation. Once he realized his sister wasn’t going to quip back, he eased up a bit and called out to her. “Besides, why don’t you sleep in dad’s room? It’s nicer than yours anyways.”

To this suggestion, Herring was given a groan. “Then I’d have to tidy it up afterwards… If you need me, I’ll be on the couch.”

“Figured. Just don’t expect me to chip in for the chiropractor’s fee.” Herring listened as Jenny slugged her way down creaky stairs, her steps heavy with weary annoyance. When he confirmed that she was gone, Herring turned back to face his computer screen. Nothing had changed.

She can’t be that mean-spirited, right? Herring had an exhausted look on his face, but not due to the argument with his sister. He was staring at the messages between him and his best friend, username: Redlette, who had been offline (or simply ignoring his messages) since he lost a bet the previous weekend. It was now Friday—the day of his ‘punishment’. Needless to say, all of the recent messages were his own. Pages upon pages of text hopelessly asking if Redlette was around or playing later.

If it was anybody else, Herring wouldn’t find going MIA for a week all that odd. Most people had things that popped up that rightfully deserved more attention than games. Most people had lives. Herring had a life, albeit a pretty unnoticeable one of your typical asocial high schooler.

But Redlette was different—she played unreal amounts of hours straight and was on everyday. Everyday for their whole five years of friendship. Whenever Herring got home from school, she’d already be on that same old shitty MMO they played—Rungeon: The Bronze Legacy. She’d just be pacing around waiting for him. That’s why, if it was literally anybody else, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Although, if it was anybody else, that’d mean Herring would have more than one close friend. ‘Anybody else’ hypotheticals only work if there’s anybody else to hypothesize.

Redlette was the only person Herring felt close enough to even call a friend, and as far as Herring knew, she could say the same about him. In reality, though, they were definitely closer than friends—like siblings that actually got along. It was the strongest form of platonic relationship that could feasibly exist.

They shared everything with each other, so long as it was within the realm of their internet lives. They weren’t much concerned with each other’s real lives. Everything they could possibly need to ask was solved the first time they talked to each other, namely the other’s sex, seeing as both of them played female characters. Although, knowing the other’s sex hadn’t changed anything with their relationship dynamic at the time. It still didn’t and likely never would.

Because of their bond, they knew one another more than they knew themselves… as cliche as that sounds. And so, Herring knew if a complete game addict like Redlette were to go missing for a week—if something could steel her resolve enough to resist her life, her very reason for living—it could only be one thing…

—A practical joke.

In order to maximize the pain dished out by the upcoming punishment, Redlette wasn’t speaking to Herring or showing any sign of her existence. This would leave him with no choice but to mull over the social anguish he’d feel Friday, extending it to the full week. That was the only thing Herring could imagine. That seemed like something Redlette would do.

...That or she was dead, but Herring doubted that. After all, it was practically a historical law that annoying people lived excruciatingly long.

With that reasoning in mind, Herring finished up his daily in-game tasks and slinked off to bed.

It wasn’t worth staying up all night if Redlette wasn’t around. Besides, he got enough joy knowing that he was up late enough to land his sister on the couch.

»»»

Unless meaningless inhales of awe counted, the girl was at a loss of words. She was absolutely moved. Tearing up, even. She was unable to do anything but ogle the object in front of her. Within the brick jungle she’d somehow found her way to, she’d finally found one—a barbecue food truck.

“So…” The truck owner, a hefty middle-aged man with patchy stubble and a grease-stained tee, waved the girl’s order in front of her, eyeing her like the anomaly she was.

“Oh yeah… here!” the girl emptied her pockets and shoved the balled-up remains of her cash onto the counter, her gaze not wavering from the bag that contained her excitement.

The man offered her a deeply puzzled look and reluctantly shoved most of the money back her way. He then paused for a second before seemingly coming to a conclusion of his own. “I see… that’s how it is.”

The girl, however, had not heard the man, as she was already half a hot dog into her pure elation—her lips smacking violently as she devoured her meal. Almost as soon as it’d entered her sight, her food was gone. She hadn’t even made her way to the picnic tables that resided in a nearby clearing. Yet, despite the speed at which it was consumed, she found herself satisfied…

Or rather, she would’ve been satisfied if another dish hadn’t been placed right before her eyes.

“Whoa…” The girl muttered, looking up at the man as he sat down before her. “Thanks bro! This on the house?”

“Sure, sure. Go on. Eat up.” The man offered her a warm smile, but his eyes showed that there was a catch. He wanted information. Not like the girl particularly cared, though.

Before she had either the time or want to act on anything, the food before her, a juicy grill-charred burger with rich, gooey cheese billowing over its edges, was exiled into the vacuum of her stomach.

It was obvious. The man must’ve thought she was a stray. Well, by all technicalities she was. She had been her whole life, but in that moment…

“So, kid, where’re you off to in such a peculiar… costume? Especially so late at night.”

“Huh? I’m on my way to visit a friend!” The girl beamed, her scarlet red, scruffy hair catching the wind as she turned to leave. “Thanks again for the grub, man!”

“Wait! You weren’t lost?!” The man leapt up from his spot behind the truck counter, a look of the most mild betrayal on his face.

“Nah… Not at all, And I ain’t no kid, either!” Before the man could protest any further, the girl was already bolting down the road, an otherworldly tail flicking side to side behind her.

“What the hell…?” The man sighed as the girl left, picking up the mess she’d left behind… along with the rest of her money. Apparently, she didn’t need it anymore.

»»»

As he trudged through the night, he likely appeared as a walking sauna or a bleak and bloodied ghost. The red aura emanating from Herring’s being was so strong it was almost tangible, and the haggardly way in which he both moved and looked had created a ghastly air around him. Though, luckily for his mental well-being, nobody was likely to see him. If anyone were to, he’d probably overheat and pass out from embarrassed exhaustion.

So, as he trudged his way home blanketed by the shadows of the crisp fall night and through the chilling gales it provided, all Herring could think to himself was a mundane and drawn out question of “Why?”

—Why had he accepted that bet with Redlette?

Herring couldn’t quite put his finger on the answer to that question. Was it his pride that had caused him to? Perhaps, he was just tired of losing all the time? Maybe, it was so he could spend more time with his best friend, even if it was in competition…? Or possibly it could’ve been the ability to attain that one new and somewhat risque outfit that had just been released on the MMO he played. Would he really have accepted a bet with such soul sucking consequences just so his hot elven MMO character could look the littlest bit sexier if he won…?

If that was why he had accepted, then he wasn’t prepared to admit that to himself.

...Either way, the bet had passed, and he’d been the loser. A reality that landed him in his current situation of walking home from a school football game—the attendance of which was Herring’s nightmare scenario. This was, to put it in layman’s terms, his punishment for losing.

To put it in a more brutally honest and true to reality way, this was his fifth consecutive punishment for losing in a series of dumb bets with Redlette—a friend who he didn’t even know in real life, yet somehow found exhaustingly creative methods to torture him within it. Each loss was simply part of an ever increasing echelon of punishments.

—Still… aren’t you meant to show compassion towards your friends? ...Isn’t cruel and unusual punishment illegal?

Herring thought to himself all sorts of similar questions as he plodded on the now forest enshrouded path. If he could find any reasonable vessel to pawn the blame for his incompetence on, he’d do so without a second thought.

The silence of the night only further led to more mental gymnastics within Herring’s head.

His home was at the far end of a forested road, connected to an old, ‘historic’ town somewhere within one of the many boonies of the US. The walk was one he was overly familiar with as well, which meant that the little energy Herring could muster would be put solely into sulking and spite.

Due to this, Herring was caught off guard. He was so wrapped up in his own mind that all focus meant for navigating the real world had faded. He was completely vulnerable.

“ROAR!!! Heerrrriiing…! —Oof!”

Almost completely vulnerable.

Now, much like most physically inept and unathletic geeks, Herring had a special defense mechanism built into him. One made just for times of dire need… and one that would often flare up even when it wasn’t needed.

—He was a spaz.

So, when a roaring red blur bounded out of a bush, he didn’t even need to think. Herring’s body went into full auto as he stepped back, accidentally biting his tongue and putting his knee to the gut of whatever was emerging from the bushes.

…Then he lost his own balance and tumbled backwards onto the ground along with his assailant.