In a cut away pocket of the universe, suspended in perpetual twilight, there were only three sources of noise. There was no wind to shake the treetops, no thrum of idling engines, no whirring of AC units. However, despite the lack of sources, the entire area was being rocked by cacophonous din.

The quietest in the Instance was the sound of shuffling corpses, the swish of clothing and the scrape of feet against pavement as thirty-odd bodies all moved towards one central point. This was not loud enough to shake the ground. The next loudest was the sound of a man fighting for his life, swinging and smashing and stabbing with all his might, with a pounding heart and gasping breath. This too was not loud enough to vibrate the air.

The loudest was Avatar’s “Feathers and Flesh” being played at blistering volume over poor Johnny’s soundbar, and it rocked the earth.

Chris leaned into the music, letting it distract him from the grim reality of his situation as he smashed and stabbed anything that moved. The first few corpses had been easy, and he was falling into a rhythm. Stab through the eyes with a gigging spear as soon as they get within range, then step forward as they reel and kick their chest while pulling out the spear. This wasn’t enough to kill, but it blinded them and knocked them back into the horde, slowing the tide.

After blinding six this way, he lost a spear. He hadn’t been fast enough at kicking back the seventh, and it blindly lashed out, pulling the spear down with it as it fell back into the horde.

Chris grabbed the other spear, and his resolve set with the pounding of the drums. They were speeding up, but so could he. They were still moving slower than humans, and he had fought humans. These were nothing.

He rationed his strength as best he could, leaning on his speed shift when a body entered the doorway, and dispatching it with brutal efficiency. He only had a few seconds to recover between each exchange, but that was fine. It was how he fought in the ring, anyway.

When his second spear snapped under the force of a corpse’s baseball bat, he took up the crowbar and began smashing skulls. When the crowbar was lost, drawn down under the weight of a falling body, he wielded the breaker bar as a club, shattering limbs and crippling his former friends and neighbors. When the steel bar was bent beyond recognition or usefulness, the blunt wood-axe came into play, severing spines and wrecking skulls with its dull edge. When the wood handle splintered, with an overzealous blow by a man pushed to the brink, the prybar that had gotten him this far re-entered the fray.

With every lost weapon, Chris gave ground. With every corpse that fell, the entryway of the house grew more and more clogged, as the remaining dead had to climb over the bodies of their brethren. With every body added to the blockade, Chris bought himself more time to rest, more space to breathe, and more rage with which to swing. And with every second that passed, the dead grew faster, and stronger, and smarter.

Eventually, the tide slowed to a trickle, then a halt. Chris was grateful for this, as his arms and upper torso were bruised and cut beyond recognition, and he was swaying on his feet, about to drop. He had been fighting for what, 15 minutes, basically nonstop? He supposed he had intelligent design to thank for his survival. If not for the shift refurbishing his body, giving him the body control of a dancer and the health of an Olympic athlete, he would surely have fallen in minutes.

Our hero collapsed to the ground, and began nursing a water bottle as he surveyed the carnage. The couches forming the entrance hallway had been forced apart by the press of bodies, and the entryway now resembled a mass grave. Bodies stacked upon bodies, all with crushed skulls or severed spines, and all bloodless as a stone. He had not fought honorably, often dropping a corpse while it was struggling through the morass, but what was honor to survival?

Chris was most thankful, however, for the music, filling the air with shrieking guitars, drowning out the deafening silence. Part of why the first fight had been so horrible was how quiet it had been, the corpses making no noise but their movement, letting the room fill with nothing but fear and sweat. He quietly resolved to carry a speaker with him whenever he could, from then on.

Grimacing, he toasted the air with his water bottle. “How’s that for survival, Sarah?” Then, as one song wound down into silence, he heard it. The tinkling of shattering glass.

As he watched, with a kind of grim resignation, the bed that he had used to block the main window tipped, and fell to reveal six more figures, armed with bats and knives and hammers.

“You’re a dick, Sarah”.

****

Chris sprinted up the stairs, pursued by a half dozen pale figures. They were fast, now, faster than the average human, and as far as he could tell, they never tired. He had made it through the last wave because he had managed to face them effectively one at a time, leaning on his speed shift, combat experience, and superior weaponry to take them down, only suffering superficial damage himself. Six would tear him to shreds.

He crashed through the open bedroom door, slamming it shut behind him. This was his backup plan, his method of escape, a habit engrained by almost three years of Nova’s meticulousness. She would be proud of him for having one, but the actual plan itself…

Let’s just say that he didn’t give himself great odds of passing this instance.

He frantically grabbed a plastic jug, placed on the nightstand during his earlier preparation, and eased out onto the roof through the broken window. The door splintered behind him. He had remembered to lock it this time.

As he carefully made his way across the roof back to Ben’s window, he emptied the contents of the jug onto the roof, trying to cover as much of the surface area as possible while still giving him places to step. A distinctive scent filled his lungs.

Peanut oil. For frying, presumably.

He silently thanked Johnny, again, for being a little bit country as the corpses made their way out of the room and onto the roof. He watched, one arm bracing himself against Ben’s windowsill as all six corpses clambered out of the broken window and began sprinting across the oiled shingles.

Only one made it to him.

As Chris swung with his free arm, dislodging the last corpse from its perch on the roof and watching it plummet the 15 feet to the ground, he saw the rest of the corpses hit the pavement one at a time. None were still, but all broke bones, crippling themselves with fractured ankles and wrenched knees. As he considered going down to finish them off, the world came to a shuddering halt.

Congratulations, Christopher.

Scenario Passed

Grade: 88%, B+

Time: 1:08:36.25

Positive Modifiers: Establishing contingencies to address the possibility of hallucination, Procuring multiple weapons, Manipulating environment to your favor, Rendering all assailants invalid, Restricting flow of assailants to a manageable level.

Negative Modifiers: Injuries Sustained (Severe Bruising, Mild Laceration, Mild Blood Loss, Severe Muscle Fatigue), Time Taken (Over 1 hour)

Chris found himself standing in a featureless void, starting a white writing suspended in the air before him. He grimaced, and addressed the air.

“You’re a monster, you know that, right?”

Yes.

“As long as you know.” He read through his performance report. “How is taking an hour and eight minutes a negative?”

A superhuman in one of your stories would pass this instance in minutes. The best time of any of my test subjects in a similar scenario was 42 minutes, 33 seconds.

“Shit. What was their grade?”

92%.

Chris swore colorfully for a moment before calming down. “So, what happens now?”

Now you choose your rewards. Your performance netted you 38 reward points. You may choose to take all of them, or spend them on personalized rewards such as items or discounted shifts presented now.

“Show me.”

Your B+ grade grants you 4 personalized options, based on your performance, and access to a heal.

Full Body Heal – 2 points

Dimensional Clip – 4 points

Based on staples from human media including inventories and bags of holding, when affixed to a bag or container, establishes a dimensional pocket inside allowing storage of up to 200kg or 5 square meters. Facilitates retrieval of items stored.

Impact Absorption 0/X (30) – 3:2 ratio of points invested, up to 20

When subject impacts with a blow, through a melee weapon or their body, the force of the impact on themselves can be absorbed and converted into energy for use by the user’s body. This energy can be used by the user to ablate exhaustion, speed healing, or be funneled to an external source. Experienced users of this shift can fight nigh-indefinitely.

Collapsible Baton – 8 points

3-foot heavy baton with molded grip, constructed of carbon metamaterials, the most durable material currently available on earth. Collapses down into a 4-inch section of its grip, losing much of its weight in the process. Soulbound. Repairable. Upgradeable.

Sympathetic Speaker – 3 points

Stores music played around it, up to 12000 hours. Plays music back by resonating metal in the immediate vicinity. Possesses rudimentary intelligence and responds to verbal commands. Soulbound. Upgradeable.

Chris let out a low whistle. “Soulbound, what does that mean?”

No one lacking your unique biological signature will be able to activate the item. In addition, if the item spends 24 hours at a distance of over 100 meters from your person, a homing function will activate, and the object will make its way back to you.

“Chef Boyardee style, huh?” he muttered.

Not quite.

“I’ll take all of it. Except for the heal. I can handle that part on my own.”

Full investment into the shift?

“Yeah, 20 points.”

Excellent choice. Would you like that applied before I send you back?

“Why not. And Sarah?”

Yes, Christopher?

“You’re a monster.”