Mummified corpses in spacesuits floated through the air. Not human, but humanoid, having arms and legs, and some kind of wonky big heads. Skin stretched over skulls, now. Bits of glass and a broken helmet drifted past. A glass shard tapped into me and bounced off my skin harmlessly, falling to the floor as I shut the door behind us. What little there was of the floor, anyway.

  “Dude!” Jake said, pointing at the center of the chamber. It was another long cargo hold, except half the floor was missing. The jump would have been almost impossible to make, so I guess the zero-G zone thing was a benefit. Didn’t feel like it, though.

  “We jump and try not to hit anything,” I said, feeling more fear at that than I had at the toxic cloud, which really hadn’t bothered me until we were pinned against a sealed door. Stupid panic.

  “Wh—oh,” Elora said, looking at all the obstacles we’d have to somehow drift between.

  Jake nodded, “Yup. One wrong tap and our trajectory changes. We can’t swim in zero-G, so we just go wherever physics decides.”

  I watched a body collide into another and do a slow-mo spin away, drifting downwards. As if to prove the point, the corpse floated lazily down to the edge of where the floor had been shorn away. The empty area around it flashed briefly. The body instantly disappeared. Sucked into space more efficiently than any vacuum cleaner I had ever owned.

  Elora pointed and frowned, “I don’t want to do that.”

  “Me either,” Jake agreed, arms folding over his chest, tail lashing.

  I turned slowly, taking in the floor that was still there and the things still sitting happily on the ground, on the edge of the zero-G zone over space. Squinting at Jake, I said, “I think I have a way to make this less risky.”

  I picked up a nice, hefty crate. The weight didn’t matter, but the size did. The trick was tossing it without an arc and slowly enough that the debris didn’t pick up its velocity and drift faster. I’d rather try leaping through a lazily floating cloud of imminent doom than a pinball fest of junk and bodies.

  We were wasting too much time. The timer had ticked down to 15 minutes left. I balanced the crate on my palm and aimed with the other like a shotputter lining up their throw. With a careful heave, I shoved the crate out into the zero-G zone.

  As it bumped into corpses and clutter, pushing them away, I grumbled, “If we could hack something useful, we could hack a floor back onto this fucking thing.”

  “All we can do is keep trying to decipher the code we can access.” Jake gave me a sidelong glance as he extended his wings and jumped, following the path of the crate.

  Elora shuffled nervously, putting a hand out over space and then cringing. She faced me and said, “Throw me.”

  “What?” I scowled at her, then glanced at Jake, landing safely on the other side of the gap.

  Her jaw tightened, and she raised her arms like a kid waiting to be picked up. When I didn’t grab her right away, she spat, “Just throw me! The space thing is creeping me out!”

  Who was gonna throw me? I didn’t want to make the jump either.

  I sighed and lifted her by her waist. “Straighten your body. Be an arrow, Elora.”

  She stiffened in my hands. I awkwardly tossed her underhand towards Jake, who put his hands out over the edge of the zero-G zone. Elora arced gently upward, almost grazing the trailing arm of a corpse. She squeezed her eyes shut, so she couldn’t see. I cringed for her.

  When she hit the gravity zone, she fell. Jake caught her, spinning with her like they were doing an energetic waltz. I laughed with relief. Then frowned. It was my turn.

  Time to YOLO it.

  I backed up until my shoulders hit chilly metal, then took a running leap. Suddenly weightless, I curled up into a ball, hoping to avoid touching anything. I kept going upwards, more than Elora had. Something grazed my back, and I started drifting in a downward arc. My eyes flew open. I twisted, falling through the empty space I’d carved with the crate. I flailed, reaching for the gravity zone—and grabbed hands.

  I was yanked forward, back into gravity. My organs all settled back into their usual spots and my knees hit the chill metal floor. I shook my head and looked up at Jake and Elora, still gripping my arms tight.

  “Let’s not do that again,” I breathed. How many times have I said that? That’s right, too many. They hauled me to my feet and to the next door.

  I heard movement beyond. I put my finger to my lips. This door didn’t have a keypad, or maybe it was on the other side. Regardless, I listened before opening it. Footsteps, moving away. I dropped to a crouch before opening it, only enough to slip through. I spoke in Party chat:

  “Encountered other players. Akilah, you guys see anything yet?”

  Akilah: “Dead people. The map is coming clear. We’re headed for where we think the escape pod is.”

  At least someone was on the job.

  Beyond the door was a room full of what looked like servers. It was a lot cooler than the server rooms I’d seen before. Rows of glossy black columns with blinking lights. Most of them red. I guess red was a universal color for swirling down the toilet. Elora crept beside me. Jake wisely faded behind one of the servers and peeked around it, pistol in hand.

  I pointed to the other side, and Elora knocked an arrow. Moving from a crouch to a stand, I called Baneheart from my inventory. Ro’Fatoft was too long for narrow spaces. I gripped the hilt and moved forward, glancing left and right as I did, pausing and checking before stepping all the way out into the cross paths. We’d drilled this kind of thing. Jake and Elora followed, slipping into cover.

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  The shuffling ahead stopped.

  With Baneheart held close at my side, I stepped forward and glanced both ways again. We cleared most of the room. The door at the other end hadn’t opened. Whoever it was, they were still in the room, and I was running out of server rows to check.

  On the last row I stilled, listening. I couldn’t hear breathing or even clothes shifting on skin. I could smell the faintest hint of smoke. I leaned my shoulder against a server—cool and smooth against my skin. Taking an inhaled breath, soft and slow, I calmed the raging rush of blood in my ears.

  From stillness to an explosion, I jumped and grabbed the top of the server with my left hand as I pivoted, throwing myself at the wall, higher than a shooter would expect a target. I kicked off it and dove in a tumble, rolling up to a stand, facing my surprised opponent. Just a regular guy.

  Who was pointing a finger at me like Yuske Urameshi—just his index finger. I slashed Baneheart down at his arm just as a gout of fire burst forth. [Hit: -6 Poison -2 12s] [Perfect Dodge] I twisted, the lash of fire sliding past me as he jerked his arm away. He gasped, clutching his wound, mouth twisting angrily.

  Until I punched him in the frown. Pain replaced rage, the back of his head cracking against the wall behind him. [Hit: -3 Brawlers Handwraps -10] He aimed his left finger at me, and fire shot out in a stream once again. It seared along my armor, and I turned my face away, dodging the worst of it and grabbed his wrist. [Hit: -6 Fire -1 6s]

  As I watched my HP tick down by one, I wrenched his arm. The pop in his elbow was nauseating, but if I was honest, also satisfying. The look on his face as tendons tore and his elbow dislocated. Fuck.

  “Gross,” Elora said from behind me.

  I let go of the fire-finger guy. He slumped there, glaring at me through tears, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. I looked at my bloody handwrap and shrugged. I said, “It’s what winning looks like.”

  Ugly, but for the greater good. I hoped. Even so, the warring parts of me clashed. Aggression felt right; what I did was what battlegrounds were all about. And yet—part of me shrunk away from what I’d done. Disgusted. I shook it off. I could have the morality debate with myself later.

  “Sorry, bud,” I said, walking away. Jake had his plasma pistol aimed at the guy, so I made that power move with confidence.

  “We have to get going, guys,” Elora said, her eyes unfocused. She was watching our time tick away.

  [System Alert: Power losses throughout the ship] [System Alert: 10 minutes]

  The lights went out, except for the ones on the servers. My darkvision jittered, the little lights interfering with it. I went to the door and listened. In the distance, I heard the thud of feet.

  Akilah: “We’re engaged. Get over here.”

  I threw the door open and glanced around as the lights flickered on and off, switching the world from grayscale to bursts of color. The habitation area looked like a freakin’ cruise ship, but without the glitz. The lounge was straight out of Star Trek, minus the 70’s color palette—no mustard, rust, or puke green. I heard Fig’s voice singing something that made my blood tingle. [Song Aura: Overclock - Speed Boost]

  A railing above encircled the lounge. More of the habitation section, I guessed. Another blue, sizzling flare came from above, followed by the eerie flicker of Akilah’s blackfire. Jake didn’t wait. He jumped on a coffee table, wings flaring as he shot upward.

  I sprinted for the stairs, Elora fast on my heels. We pounded upwards as Jake swooped and spun, shooting across the balcony. I wished I had time to watch. He looked just as cool as I imagined he could be back when we met. Big dork.

  As I bounded the last few steps, I took in the field and planned my move. I stepped aside for Elora to race past. The upper gallery had tables lining the circular railing and ports showing the yellow neon gas that lurked beyond the hull.

  Akilah was standing on a table. Probably because of the creepy mud creatures beneath it, trying to jump up and catch the edge. I couldn’t see Fig, but I could hear her. She’d hidden herself away somewhere. Frag had somehow wedged his legs between the metal ceiling joists and flexed his torso to aim and shoot. Cyborgs. I wished I had that kind of muscle control.

  Directly across the galley, two of the other group were shooting back.

  My heart jumped when a shot flew at Akilah. Darkness flared. The plasma bolt splashed across it and fizzled to nothing. Akilah raised her staff. Across the gallery, the floor glowed black, if black could be a glow. I stopped trying to figure that out a while ago.

  I spotted a reptilian draped with bone-decorated robes, carrying a staff, off to the side, away from the snipers across the gallery. The likely culprit behind the pint-sized mud golems. I took a step in that direction when I felt something skree along my back, over my armor. I turned, slashing Baneheart at my attacker, even as the blade caught my hip. [Hit: -4 Warp -2]

  A satyr’s horns. That snarky smirk. The cloak. I barked, “You!”

  The motherfucker from the Veliyarix event. The old urge to kill him surged as he vanished. My lip curled. Hit-and-run son of a sprite. He’d have gotten my kidney if my armor hadn’t been enchanted with monster cores. The hip stab stung.

  I spun toward a table, vaulting over it. Cutting behind Akilah and the mud monsters, I angled for the reptilian druid and snagged a chair on the way. His yellow eyes focused on me as I rounded them. He raised his staff. I jumped, flinging myself up and out of the way of the Tangle spell I knew he’d be casting.

  [Perfect Dodge]

  I threw the chair at him, and even though the range was bad, he flinched. That was all I needed. Across the galley, screams made my ear twitch. Akilah’s superjuiced Wither spell. She’d never dared to use it on us, even in training, but I’d seen what it could do.

  Like lightning, on Fig’s Aura and my own adrenaline, I charged.

  There’s something about pushing your body. It’s exhilarating when your muscles work like you want them, feet pounding on grating, a palm slapped to a smooth table surface as you rocket over it and hit the ground running again. Perfect balance. Razor focus.

  The druid’s yellow eyes gleamed with fear. He blocked the thrust of my blade with his staff, so I plowed into him with my shoulder. His claws raked the back of my neck, my momentum carrying us both into the table behind him. [Hit: -4] He hit, lost his balance. I slashed Baneheart up the inside of his arm. [Hit: -6 Poison-2 12s] The staff clattered to the floor.

  Without hesitation I thrust Baneheart into his soft-scaled belly, angled the blade, and tore it out. A gout of blood sprayed up like a broken faucet. [Hit: -6 Poison -2 12s][Hit: -12 Vital Point Bleed] Yesss. Bleed. I drove a kick into his hip, and he flew into the next grouping of tables and chairs that tangled his limbs.

  Moving away from him before that satyr could take advantage of my focus, I searched the gallery again. I still hadn’t clocked the last member of the other group. The two Akilah and Frag burned down were blackened mummies. Fig’s song cut off. A door whooshed open, and she peeked out.

  “There’s a satyr around somewhere,” I said, wiping blood from my face. “The one from our first battleground.”

  “Cool,” Jake replied, landing on the floor nearby.

  “Not cool,” Akilah muttered, cautiously kneeling to inspect the puddles of mud dripping through the grating beneath her table perch.

  Frag dropped, flipping to land solidly on his feet, rifle cradled. He went over to offer Akilah a hand down. Elora, bow in hand, a silver arrow nocked, turned in a slow circle, ears twitching.

  Dead silence.

  [System alert: 5 minutes] An explosion rumbled the ship, followed by a few more, smaller ones.

  “That way,” Fig said, pointing to a hall leading out, beyond the tangle of chairs where the druid lay twitching in a growing pool of blood.

  I nodded and strode out the arch. Game on.