I cranked the volume on my gaming headset, trying to drown out the loud music and moans coming from next door.
J-Dawg8 laughed in my ear, amid gunfire and ogre screams.
“Yo, what is that? You watching porn?”
“You can hear that?” I sighed.
“Pretty sure my grandma can hear that, bro.”
“It’s nothing. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
In-game, J-Dawg8 unleashed a fireball fist—his knuckles tearing through several zombie ogres, splattering their organs into the air. An in-game pop-up flashed.
New Badge! Ogre-Fister.
Reward: +5,000 Points!
“I mean, no judgment from me, fam,” J-Dawg8 chirped. “I watch my fair share of porn.”
“You need to watch your six!” I yelled, blasting a giant ogre just behind him.
Another pop-up flashed.
New Badge! Brotector.
Reward: +7,500 Points!
Our avatars exchanged salutes.
“Thanks, bro.”
“Don’t mention it.”
My in-game character compensated for my real-world appearance. Instead of lanky, my avatar resembled an action figure—heroic, tall, and rippling with muscles. My veiny biceps bulged as I blasted dual laser rifles. J-Dawg8 was an orange, tatted orc with dreads.
I gunned down waves of backup ogres fast approaching our avatars. Dozens of ogre-skull icons floated up to my kill count as the number ticked upwards.
My eyes darted to the time in the top corner of my HUD.
9:03 AM
“Aah… I gotta get ready for work.”
Onscreen, my avatar froze in an odd stance while I navigated the pause menu. J-Dawg8 swung blazing haymakers as the skeletal ogres swarmed in. It was no use. They smothered him, pinning him to the ground, biting and tearing his flesh to shreds. A pop-up flashed.
Zombie Buffet!
“Damn,” J-Dawg8 huffed. “We almost had ‘em.”
“Eh. I’ll hop back on tonight.”
“Sam… bro… forget about the game tonight. Go out and have some real fun on your birthday.”
I paused, unsure of how to respond. Yeah… it was my 22nd birthday. For the past week, I had tried to put it out of mind. The day didn’t feel any different or special. It felt like just another Saturday.
“Thanks,” I muttered, signing off.
The moaning grew louder through the drywall, underscored by the rhythmic knocking of a headboard. Even worse, the grunts of climax were synced up to the beat of some crappy techno track.
…unsst… unsst… unsst… “YESSS!”
…unsst… unsst… unsst… “HARDER!”
I washed up in my bathroom and came out in my work uniform—black slacks and a bright, red shirt with a cartoon rat logo emblazoned on it. My mother entered the apartment, clutching her robe with one hand, holding a lit cigarette in the other. She walked past me, blonde hair in rollers, and curled up on the couch with the remote.
“Really, mom… what is he, like… twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” she corrected, tapping her ashes. “And he works construction. You know—you should think about that. Better money.”
I shook my head, lost somewhere between disgust and shame.
“You couldn’t wait until I was at work?”
She shrugged, blowing a cloud of smoke, “Get your own place and you won’t have to hear it.”
I tossed my keys inside my rucksack and headed towards the door.
My mother called out after me, “Oh, and hey—bring a pizza home. I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
I turned back to remind her that it was my birthday, but remained silent. Instead, I caught her wiping a tear, holding an old photo of my dad in his football uniform. She raised a bottle of vodka and took a long swig.
----
I exited the apartment and found myself face-to-face with my mother’s boy toy, Tony. He stood there, locking his door, in an orange vest and hard hat. He was tall and ripped.
“Oh, hey. It’s uh… Sam… right?”
He stifled a laugh, staring at my work outfit.
“Nice… uniform.”
“You know… it’s too bad about your nuts.”
“What?”
I kicked him in the balls, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Okay… That didn’t happen.
But it’s what I wished I had done.
Instead, I walked away, head down, pissed and embarrassed.
----
I rode the SEPTA subway, squished between an obese man with terrible psoriasis and a woman with two rowdy kids on her lap. One of them picked his nose and wiped it on my shirt. The little shit smiled at me as if he’d just given me a gift.
I pulled a tissue from my rucksack and tried to wipe off the mucus. It didn’t work. Instead, the snot smeared into a larger, gooey stain. I sighed and looked across at the ads on the train wall. One caught my attention. It featured a prominent blue pill with the tagline:
“DON’T LEAVE HER DISSATISFIED. SACK UP, SOLDIER!”
Someone had spray-painted a graffiti dick and balls over it.
SKREEE!
There was the loud blare of a distant, powerful horn. A gust of air rushed to meet the train. The shock wave rattled the cars with such force that several windows shattered. The passengers screamed.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“What was that?!” the mother asked.
The mother, the obese man, and I all exchanged glances.
The train screeched to a halt and the lights flickered. The conductor warbled over cruddy speakers, “…sorry folks… mechanical problems… substantial delay.”
I glanced at my phone. It was glitching. I tapped the screen a few times until the display cleared up. I checked the time.
9:55
“Shit! I’m gonna be late.”
“Hey!”
The mother to my right was incensed. She cupped the ears of the children on her lap.
“Watch the potty mouth!”
The little boy on her lap giggled, excitedly chanting, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
The mother’s eyes widened with rage. Before I could apologize, I sniffed the air, smelling something foul. I turned to see the obese man’s guilty smile.
“Sorry. Dairy always does this to me—but I love it so.”
----
When I finally emerged on Broad Street, downtown Philly looked wrecked—like the aftermath of a seismic shock. Auto windshields and glass windows from every building were shattered or blown out. Car alarms wailed from every direction. Electric vehicles were stopped at odd angles in the middle of the street, causing massive backups. Traffic lights were blinking on the fritz. The sky was darkening with an odd swirl of storm clouds. Flashes of lightning arced between them.
A grubby man shuffled up next to me, “Shit’s messed up, man. Whole world goin’ crazy.”
“What was it? Earthquake?” I asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe a giant bitch farted. Either way, I’mma get high. Got five bucks?”
----
I arrived at Rat E. Cheddar’s Pizza Palace—a knock-off, family restaurant and arcade that was several notches down in every conceivable way from the more popular vermin venue it was fashioned after. Workmen were covering the blown-out windows with sheets of plastic. People on the street were assessing the damage to their cars. I trudged to the rear employee entrance. I grabbed the door handle, closed my eyes, and summoned the resolve to endure another crappy shift.
Inside, I walked down the staff hallway, sighing at the macabre, rat-themed décor. I hated the job but it was all I could manage, while saving for an apartment and studying video game design at community college. I dreamed of creating amazing AAA titles, but for now, I was relegated to making pizzas for sugar-whacked kids.
I instinctively thumbed my phone to ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ as I passed a “PHONES OFF!” sign. Past employees had defaced the walls with all sorts of vulgarities that no one had bothered to paint over. I glanced at a few of the greatest hits.
“Suck my calzone!”
“My rathole itches.”
“For good pepperoni, holler at Marcus.”
I paused at the wall-mounted “Employee of the Month” plaque. My manager, Jackie’s, wide, cheesy grin stared back at me from behind the greasy glass frame. I shook my head. What kind of asshole manager consistently awarded herself the honor of “Employee of the Month?”
Jackie Fulbright. That’s who.
Someone had already drawn a sinister mustache onto her face and a goatee over her double chin.
I popped my head into Jackie’s office.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. Whatever hit the city, really messed up the train lines.”
Phone to ear, Jackie turned to me with her patented “bow before me—I’m better than you” look. She was so proud of the fact that she had an office, crappy as it was.
“Tell me about it. Did you see the front entrance? I’m on hold with insurance now. Gotta get the windows replaced. Oh, and that’s your second tardy this month, Mr. Wynbrook. One more and that’s a write-up.”
She put a check mark next to my name on an employee demerit list on her desk.
“Can’t you cut me some slack—it being my birthday and all?”
Her eyes widened.
“Ohhh, that’s right. It’s your birthday. Well, why don’t you add an extra five minutes to your lunch break? My special gift to you. Mmmkay?”
“This some bullshit…” I mumbled.
“Sorry, what was that?” She cocked her head.
“Nothing. Thanks.”
As I walked away, I could hear her bitching to the insurance agent on the phone, “I don’t know what it was. Probably some secret government weapon they don’t want us to know about. Just fix my damn windows!”
I walked past the dormant arcade and entered the kitchen. I took a moment, closed my eyes, and whispered my mantra, “Time to save the world—one slice at a time.”
I turned on my favorite playlist—a collection of old school jazz greats, featuring Quincy Jones, Count Basie, and Chet Baker. I went to the corner and lifted a carefully hidden, potted basil plant. I set him on the counter.
“Hey, Count Basil. What’s shaking?”
I know for some people, it’s silly to talk to plants, but I read up enough on the subject to believe in its benefits. And, besides this was our little thing.
I sprinkled flour across a long countertop. I buckled on a custom leather belt with holsters on either side, containing my two favorite pizza cutters. I had rocked this setup for a while and endured more than my share of mocking. Still, the holsters were convenient, and I thought they were pretty cool.
I did a couple of deep breathing exercises I had learned once in therapy and tried to let go of the strange start to my day. They worked a little and I relaxed a bit. Being in the kitchen helped. Though it wasn’t much, the kitchen was my refuge. In here, I was commander of the ingredients, an artisan of the dough. It was early still and quiet. Soon, more pizza peons would be arriving, goofing off, and complaining. I launched into my prep work with a Zen-like approach, knowing that any minute, the momentary calm would be lost.
Skinny as I was, my forearms were strong from years of button-mashing and gaming. Striated tendons flexed as I punched mounds of dough. I imagined the dough balls were the heads of my coworkers or strange boss beasts from Ogre-Splat.
I shouldered a nozzle-tipped, plastic bag of pizza sauce like it was a gun and fired red blobs onto the center of each dough circle.
SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!
“HEAD SHOT! HEAD SHOT! HEAD SHOT!” I shouted.
That’s when I noticed Sola Fuego staring at me. A waitress. Gorgeous, 21, with honey-tanned skin. I always had a crush on her, but never dared to mention it. She looked at me and smiled, tying on her server apron.
“Kicking ass and taking names, huh?”
Nervous, I pointed at the pizzas.
“Oh, hey, Sola. Hah. I was just—playing with myself.”
“Sounds exciting. You’re a funny bird, Sam Wynbrook.”
She exited the kitchen with a giggle. I palmed my face.
“Really, Sam? Playing with yourself? Headshots? You dumbass!”
A moment later, my expression changed.
“Wait a minute. She knew my name. She called me Sam.”
I was all smiles now. Sola Fuego had, in fact, called me by my name.
----
I grabbed a roll of sliced pepperoni and tossed the pieces like ninja stars. I impressed myself. Each one landed with good accuracy—evenly spaced on the pies.
Ten minutes later, eight baked pizzas cooled on the counter.
SHIIING!
I cross-drew my pizza cutters from their holsters. The razor-sharp blades gleamed under fluorescent lights. I slashed them down with savage, crisscross cuts.
SWIP! SWIP! SWIP!
Each stroke made fast work of dividing the pizzas. I twirled the pizza cutters around my fingers and holstered them like a wild west gunslinger. I stood there, dusted my hands off, and admired my handiwork, only to be interrupted by a sarcastic hand clap from behind.
“Great job. You made pizzas.”
It was Jackie.
“I need you to go find Todd. He’s AWOL, as usual, and I need him suited up and ready to go.”
“Why do I have to find him? You’re the manager.”
Jackie put an arm around me, shaking her head as she led me towards the door.
“Sam, Sam, Sam… I know you’ve mentioned wanting to become assistant manager. It’s decisive moments like these that can demonstrate team spirit and initiative. Mmmkay?”
I bit back a scowl. Jackie had been holding that carrot over my head for two years now. Still, I wanted a promotion, and Jackie was the only one who could give it to me. As we parted ways in the hallway, she yelled out one final command.
“IF HE’S IN THE BATHROOM AGAIN, REMIND HIM OF OUR POLICY, MMMKAY?!”
I turned the corner and walked down the rear employee hallway. I paused at Jackie’s Employee of the Month plaque and promptly ripped it off the wall.
“TAKE YOUR MMMKAY AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!”
“Whoa! Easy, tiger…”
I turned around. Sola stood there, eyes wide, a stack of pizza trays under her arm.
“Wow. From playing with yourself to playing with fire. You’re full of surprises.”
I watched her go. I knew I shouldn’t risk peeking at her ass, but I couldn’t help myself. I stared at the round, supple curves, hypnotized as they bounced with each step. Sola glanced back and caught me looking. She waved a naughty finger at me. Embarrassed, I walked off in the other direction, wondering how much worse this day could get.
----
I coughed my way into the bathroom, batting through a thick haze of marijuana smoke that was streaming from a closed stall.
“Really, Todd? Kids are gonna be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Tell them to fuck off. I’m not sharing,” a voice giggled.
I pounded on the stall door.
“C’mon, man. You been in here twenty minutes and you know the policy… if I don’t tell Jackie I smelled a number two—she’s gonna write you up.”
“Fine. I’ll take a shit if you help me wipe.”
“Oh, grow up, dude.”
The stall door flung open. There, Todd stood, dressed head-to-toe in his Rat E. Cheddar mascot costume. He coughed a few times causing puffs of smoke to waft out of the rat’s mouth.
“The hell you lookin’ at?” Todd grunted.
I shook my head, “Nothing.”
“Naw. I seen the way you look at me. You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
I stifled a laugh. It was hard not to giggle at a five-foot-tall, intoxicated rodent, talking shit.
“Look, Todd, let’s just get out of here, man.”
“Square up!”
Todd shoved me. I looked at him, unsure.
Was this really happening?
Todd lifted his rat dukes.
“Let’s go, pussy. You can catch these paws.”
I raised my palms in a peaceful gesture.
“I’m not fighting you, Todd.”
He cocked a fist back.
“Then I’mma kick your—
SHUNK!
Todd’s threat was cut short.
I stood there, blinking, drenched in his blood. It was everywhere. Pooling on the floor. Dripping from the walls. Spurting from his neck. Only, I didn’t see a head.
Bits of gooey flesh and brain matter were splattered across the floor.
My eyes traced from the gaping hole in the ceiling, to the large metal trunk that had flattened Todd’s head.
The chest lay open, atop his crushed skull, beaming a translucent hologram into the air. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Hovering mid-air, a few feet away, the twinkling icon looked like a golden shield from one of my video games.
