I gripped the painful spot for a moment and then looked at my fingers. Glitter and sparkles covered them.

  I whirled around to see one of the caveman Players rushing me with a club. He was huge, easily my size plus a half, but instead of muscle, his body looked more like a thick upside-down U-shape with a head in the middle. He kind of looked like a Far Side comic-strip caveman, but with a more realistic face and a scraggly brown beard.

  “Back off, Tarzan!” I roared, my head still swimming and in pain.

  He laughed and scanned me. Turns out he even talked like a caveman, too. “Bruh, you no even got no class!”

  “Don’t even have,” I corrected. “I’ll still thrash you, neckbeard.”

  I scanned him with my WHIM pulse, and words appeared above him.

  | MeatPopsicle – Level 5 Player |

  | Game/Class: The First of Us |

  “Bring it on, cupcake!” He charged me, swinging.

  I slipped his swing and threw a jab and cross. Both punches connected, but the blows hurt my hands, and I only did minimal damage.

  What?! Those would’ve knocked this incel out in real life.

  He caught me with a backhand swing of his club. Light flashed in my vision, and literal stars flew out of my face along with the numbers detailing my dwindling HP.

  And it hurt. A lot.

  Like I’d actually been smacked in the face with a heavy-asp club.

  I scampered to my feet and gathered what equanimity I could. Glitter poured from my nose, and a halo of cartoon chirping birds circled my head.

  MeatPopsicle twirled his club and snapped the waistband of his leopard-print loincloth. “Me gonna go apespit on you.”

  My real-life skills, strength, and speed meant nothing in here. Another hit like that, and I’d end up becoming part of the AllVerse—whatever that meant. At first, my pride wouldn’t let me run, but fear of the unknown, of being stuck in here with the lowest common denominator for eternity, overruled my ego.

  I bolted, leaped, and crashed through the coffee shop window. Miraculously, I didn’t lose my footing when I hit the street, so I ran. My real-life running pace seemed to carry over, at least—proud owner of a five-minute mile.

  But the edges of my vision filled with LaCroix again, and sparkles continued to pour from my head like I was a vampire from Twilight. I checked my status while I ran.

  | WARNING: HP Critically Low |

  | Status: Bonked |

  | Further head trauma may result in loss of consciousness. |

  “Me will get you, muscle-y naked dude!” MeatPopsicle shouted.

  I glanced back at him. Apparently, his caveman class meant he couldn’t run fast, which I was grateful for. One more hit and I’d be cooked, muscular and handsome though I may be. Since it was unclear what would happen if I died in the game, I wanted to avoid that.

  I ran across the road, hoping to ditch this Fred Flintstone wannabe, barely dodging several cars in the process. I distantly wondered what the drivers would think upon seeing a naked guy bleeding glitter, running from a dude in leopard-print underwear.

  I’ve been in some low places, like that time I watched Twilight, but this one took the cake.

  A car honked, followed by a heavy thud, a crash, and the shattering of glass. I spun in time to see my paleolithic pursuer go flying off the severely angled hood of a Hyper Truck, only to crash halfway into the windshield of another vehicle. There had to be a joke about modern life catching up to us in there somewhere, but I’d lost too much glitter to think straight.

  I realized then that he’d landed on an ice cream truck, twitching, with broken bones and “ouch” emojis tumbling out of him along with more numbers.

  A lot of numbers. And they weren’t stopping.

  The guy in the driver’s seat wore a pink paper hat and a matching polo shirt, both emblazoned with the logo on the side of the ice cream truck. He stared at the caveman with a horrified look on his face as steam inexplicably poured out from the inside of the vehicle.

  “Me… can’t breathe… What happening?” He locked terrified brown eyes with me, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost.

  It wasn’t steam, I realized—it was icy cold air. The interior of the ice cream truck must’ve been chilled to frozen perfection, but now that the seal was broken, the cold was shooting out all at once. It was so rapid, the caveman was actually turning a cartoonish shade of blue, and frost was forming across his skin.

  “Me… oh, my g-g—” MeatPopsicle wheezed and faded into nothing but ethereal sparkles, leaving me with those haunting, if anticlimactic, last words.

  Just hit ’em with a truck and watch ’em wheeze out of existence. Picturing the same thing happening to Nate the Betrayer proved very cathartic.

  I blinked. “If only I could solve all my problems that way.”

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  “Run! Run! Get across the road!” a voice yelled from my right. It sounded oddly familiar, almost like a Muppet voice.

  No one was there, until I looked down and saw a bright-green dog-sized frog hopping across the road next to me.

  He looked up at me, ribbited, and said, “Don’t just stand there, dude! The taxis are coming!”

  Before I could ask what game this part was, he hopped forward. A taxi full of fares blew the stoplight and crushed the frog in a shower of pond water, shimmering fireflies, and numbers.

  Dozens of other frog Players desperately hopped across the road I stood on, dodging traffic. Not many succeeded, but several of those that got squashed popped back up on the side of the road, forced to try again. Others didn’t.

  So, they respawned, but others didn’t come back…

  I winced at the crunching sounds and their Kermit-esque yells cutting short while going through the traffic until I reached the other side. It was precarious, but even injured, my human mobility was way better than the frogs’ pitiful hops.

  “Hey, frogman, what game are you playing?” I asked one who’d made it across.

  “Frogster,” he replied, sounding like Kermit as well, but as if voiced by a different actor than the one from the shows and movies. “You know, get the frog across the road in increasingly harder challenges?”

  That wasn’t the name of the original game, but I’d known Lucretia would be changing some of their names once they were ported into AllVerse. “Some of you guys respawn, but others don’t. Does anyone know how that works, exactly? Lucretia seemed just as confused as I was.”

  His bulbous eyes looked to the sky, and I noticed his bright-red tongue. “Well, when selecting Frogster, I got the option for multiple attempts, but then I got stuck in Frogster. I can’t change the game I’m playing on the fly, like others. Not sure if other games run the same way, but I’m starting to think I should’ve gone with BattleNewts instead.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So… you’re at peace being a virtual frog for the rest of your life?”

  “Don’t know what else I’m supposed to do about it, pal.” He blinked at me as if he didn’t understand the deeper implications I alluded to. If this was the height of his ambition, perhaps it was best he remain a frog. “It’s not easy being green, but at least I’m not running across the street with nothing but the world’s smallest censor bar covering my tadpole and frogsticles.”

  I grunted. Maybe the censor bar had shrunk like I’d thought… “Mmkay, you have fun, frogman. I need gear and a health pack or something.”

  He didn’t respond except to lash out his tongue to snatch a buzzing fly from the air.

  My HP was critical and flashing, just like my patience.

  No one seemed worried, or concerned, or even cared about how death worked here in the AllVerse. Or that we, for all intents and purposes, seemed physically trapped in a game, or that we still felt pain despite being in a fully digital world.

  We’d designed the AllVerse to be the ideal sanctuary for gamers, a hub where they could play any game they wanted, consequence-free, for as long as they wanted—as long as they paid the monthly fee. Getting trapped here, enduring actual pain, and possibly dying for good weren’t originally part of the subscription package.

  A taxi screeched to a halt close to me, and the window rolled down. A Rastafarian-looking cabbie glanced down at my censor bar, then up at me. He spoke with a Jamaican accent. “Hey, ma dude, ya need a ride? Or some pants? Heh… yeah ya do, man.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked him. “Don’t you want to get out of here? Aren’t you concerned we’re all stuck here? Has anyone tried logging out or quitting?”

  He shrugged. “Nah, I took a week off work to play in dee AllVerse. It’s even bettah dan I hoped! Why would I log out now?”

  I blinked at him. You. You’re what’s wrong with humanity.

  “Well, if ya don’ need a ride, I’m gonna try to hit dee frog playahs until someone does.” He chuckled. “Man, dat’s fun.”

  I huffed. “What game are you playing?”

  “Zany Taxi, wit’ dee Lüber Lunacy DLC. One of my favorites as a kid.”

  I remembered the game well. Dad didn’t like it, so naturally I’d gravitated toward it growing up. “You take fares, level up your cab, and get cash?”

  “Yep. Only it be AllCash here in dee AllVerse.” He whipped a U-banger and swerved at the frog Players. I realized then that his and all the other taxis bore the word “ZANY” on the license plates.

  That was my ticket. I didn’t need a weapon or equipment to play and survive, not when I could just drive around, collect fares, and stay relatively safe in the process.

  It took me awhile, but with a quick consultation with Lucretia via my WHIM and a survey of the map, I found the depot where the taxis and Lüber cars were parked. A few quick fares, and I could at least earn enough AllCash to buy healthpacks, clothes, and maybe a weapon.

  Something. Anything.

  “I don’t know whether to scream or weep for humanity,” I grumbled as I walked in.

  I passed a few alien NPCs from some sci-fi games. I scanned them with my WHIM, both out of morbid curiosity and to continue learning all the features of the scanner. The respective games were Sass Effect and Terra Incognita.

  “Whatever.” I nearly tripped over an orange octopus crawling down the sidewalk. “I hate this place. I really do.”

  Though I tried them all, the doors to the four empty taxis were locked. Whenever I pulled on the handle, a message popped up saying I had to buy the cab for $5,000 AllCash before I could drive it.

  “C’mon,” I growled. “I own this whole asinine game and every bit of crap in it… just give it to me.”

  All the Lüber cars were even more expensive.

  I couldn’t keep my cool anymore. “How am I supposed to do anything other than die naked and sparkly? This sucks. Who would ever play this stupid game?”

  “Hmm, seems you’re in a bit of soft-lock, mate,” said a lowbrow male British voice from behind me.

  I turned, but no one was there.

  “Oi, up here.”

  My gaze drifted up to an awning where an orange octopus with a light blue underbelly and suction cups sat, his tentacles dangling off lazily. I’d seen him a minute earlier, scooting across the sidewalk away from me. His ocean-teal eyes seemed more expressive than those of some real-life people I knew.

  “Yeah, it seems I am. Thanks, octopus.”

  “First off, don’t be salty. Second, I’ll say this nicely, once. I’m not an octopus. I’m a Karjok. Humans seem to have trouble with that for some reason.”

  I frowned at him. “You sure look like an octopus.”

  “And to the painfully ignorant, if not willfully stupid, I may appear to be a common ocean-dwelling cephalopod. But I’m not even from this planet. I’m a Karjok, from planet Karjopia.”

  I narrowed my eyes. He was too articulate and aware to be an NPC—or one of my employees, for that matter. “Are you a Player?”

  “Nope. I’m a one-lady kinda Karjok. Chivalry isn’t dead, mate.”

  “No, no…” I rubbed my forehead. “I mean, are you a person? Or an NPC?”

  “Bloody shell… I’m a person, mate. Just ‘cause I’m different from you doesn’t mean I’m not a person! Neptune’s Trident, you’re bad at making conversation.”

  Pinching my eyes shut, I took a deep breath. I scanned him with my WHIM. This had to be a real person clowning me. But the scanner displayed the results:

  | Silas – Level 99 Karjok NPC |

  | Game/Class: Terra Incognita |

  I twisted my face in confusion. “Level ninety-nine? How the…”

  “Also, frightfully rude to scan me without permission, but I can see you’re the simple sort. I mean, Great Barrier Reef, you didn’t even put clothes on. Don’t know much about humans, but they wear clothes for an obvious reason… you’re hideous. I mean, you’ve only got the one tentacle, and it’s quite small. Now, I’m assuming you’re low on squid, but that thing over there is free, if a bit dodgy.”

  He jabbed a tentacle toward a run-down body shop and mechanic nearby. Tires, stripped-out vehicles, and twisted ribbons of metal lay around the shop, contrasting with the idyllic city around us.

  Among the junk lay a battered, tarnished old rickshaw.

  My eyebrows rose in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

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  Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.