Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG - Chapter 284

It was going to catch up to me, eventually.

I cut the power in the building first. In the old days it would have been harder. The local power-grid was horrifically inadequate, but even that terrible system had more contingencies than the generator setups providing power now. As it was, a relatively non-destructive use of bought me at least a few precious minutes to work with. The fact that I’d turned the lights on earlier—effectively blinding the would-be ambushers before they turned it off again would help me. They’d had a minute longer than I had to adjust, but enhanced my perception in the dark, which put me one up on the rest of them.

“Matt?” Tara said, squinting at shadows, trying to pick out my silhouette.

With seconds to decide, I left the mask off. Whoever was waiting inside was waiting for Matt. And Matt was a region leader. Unfortunately, that also meant a hard breach wasn’t an option. There were too many people I knew off-line, too high of a chance there was a hostage.

Leaving Tara behind, I opened the door and slipped inside. The security shutters that covered the expansive skyline view were lowered, keeping the pitch-dark interior insulated from any external light.

Still, I could sense them. A grunt towards the back of the room, quiet breathing just loud enough to make out as a slight rasp. The smell—

Were they cooking in my fucking kitchen?

Either they hadn’t heard me come in, or they were slower than I’d expected. From a brief scan there was no plastic on the ground, and the best ambush point—the bathroom—was clear. Most of the noises I picked up seemed to be coming from the back of the room, behind the long couch.

Carefully, I pulled a crossbow and leveraged the dull-green dot just above the back cushion. I could see well enough now to put down the first head that popped up.

Talia’s voice suddenly resounded in my head, a mix of alarm and amusement. “Do not fire. Do not use any further abilities. Put away your weapon and attempt to smile.”

“Now you fucking talk.”

There was a snapping buzz as the power switched back on.

“Okay, not gonna lie, my life flashed before my eyes.” Someone who sounded exactly like Nick said.

“Speaking from experience, jumping out at him is a terrible idea.” Sae agreed, sounding equally unhappy. “We really ought to just spread out, hands on our knees, in clearly non-threatening positions.”

“Really doesn’t like surprises, huh?” Was that Julian?

“Dios mio, my knee is killing me.” Abuelita’s voice.

“Maybe we should just take it as a sign.” Kinsley suggested. “Grams can stretch out—”

“Pendejo, I am not that old!”

Slowly, I put a hand to my face, turned around and opened the door, allowing both a confused Tara and the dogs she’d apparently chased down and collected inside, then closed it loudly. A collective “Surprise!” rang out, as an absolutely stupid number of people jumped up from behind the couch, only partially contested by Sae’s “Don’t shoot!”

/////

Iris, Sae, and Charlotte sat cross-legged on the floor, intent on befriending the dogs. Sae and Charlotte kept shooting me apologetic glances—albeit for different reasons—while Iris seemed totally fixated on the animals, laughing as they sniffed her curiously and pushed her with their noses. Julian and Nick sat on the couch across from Professor Estrada, watching the girls awkwardly, as Nick turned repeatedly to check on me, glancing away when I looked at him.

There were enough people here that I should have been angry. Most knew I was jumpy on the best of days, and today had certainly not been the best of days. But tempering that with the fact that my mother was here, the story told itself.

I leaned against the wall next to her as she prepped a tray of tacos on the counter. “So… you mad at me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” Mom smiled thinly, as she portioned chicken and distributed it. “Your eighteenth birthday was weeks ago. We had to do something special.”

My birthday had always been a non-event, quietly acknowledged but rarely celebrated. It said a lot for how chaotic things had been lately that I hadn’t even realized, otherwise, I probably would have put it together.

“Guess I’m just wondering why you went with this format.”

“Because you don’t like surprises?” Mom rolled her eyes.

Yup. Her idea. Probably roped everyone else into it and insisted, and no one wants to shoot down the recovering alcoholic.

“Yeah.”

Unbothered, she continued to slice the chicken. “I barely hear from you anymore, let alone see you. If I’d messaged you about it, what would you have said?”

I shrugged. “That we should do it after the transposition deadline.”

The knife came down hard enough that the poor chicken probably felt it in the afterlife. “And then there would be something else in the way. Another crisis, more problems demanding your attention at all hours of the day. Not to mention,” She waved her hand towards the living room. “There’s no guarantee any of these people—people who clearly love you—will be here then. You need to treasure what you have while you have it.”

Pretty sure Julian and Charlotte barely knew me and had probably come by only to be dragged into this as collateral, but realistically, she wasn’t really talking about them. Or anyone else for that matter.

“If you feel like I’ve neglected you, or taken advantage of your contributions in any way, I’m willing to have that conversation.”

Suddenly changing the topic, she pointed out a tray of brownies. “I was warned not to eat those. You probably shouldn’t, either.”

“Mom.”

“It’s not about me. Even if it was, a region leader is an important person. The more important you are, the more time becomes a commodity.” She turned her back, continuing to prepare the food.

Tell that to the bug up your ass.

More annoyed that I didn’t understand why she was doing this than that she’d done it in the first place, I pulled up my messages from her and scrolled up. Beyond the usual parental hovering and check-ins, most of which I’d responded to, I found it. A message from the night we took down Sunny.

Damn. I’d seen it. I’d even replied to the next unrelated message she’d sent. But I’d never acknowledged the progress. Scrolling through the screen caps—how the hell was she using the UI to send photos, anyway—it looked good. More old Reddit than IRC, but seeing how the point was creating a resource for the general public, that was a good thing.

Mom strode over and put her wrists on my shoulder, grease-glistening fingers precariously raised over the red fabric and pushed me towards the living room. “Get out of my kitchen and enjoy the party.”

“Pretty sure it’s my kitchen,” I complained, even as she pushed a platter of tacos into my hands and pushed me out. Eventually I gave up and sat down next to Nick and Julien, glancing towards the latter curiously.

“Sorry—” Julien started.

“Here for other reasons and got roped in by gunpoint?” I filled in.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded.

“Your mother’s a very persuasive woman.” Charlotte added, leaning back and squinting as Marmalade lapped at her face. She chuckled. “After I was—um—recruited, I needed to go back to the complex to grab some ingredients, and she barely let me leave.”

Nick waggled his eyebrows at me. “Always nice to have someone who bakes in the friend group, am I right?” As usual, his double-entendres veered closer to single.

I shook my head. “Are you high?”

“Nooooo.” Nick lied, then grimaced, head bobbing slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Charlotte. “That really just the usual stuff? It barely tasted like anything other than chocolaty goodness, and I am sent right now.”

“Technically, yes.” Charlotte hedged. “Warned you to eat half.”

“I was hungry!”

Across from us, Abuelita was cracking into the last of what looked to be several brownies, so far entirely unaffected.

“Technically?” I asked Charlotte, more for Estrada’s sake than my own.

“It’s the oil. Had a… uh… questionably legal side hustle before the dome…” Charlotte trailed off, scanning faces for judgment.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Join the club. Trust me, he doesn’t care.” Nick said automatically.

“I don’t.” I agreed.

“It started as a hobby. Something I just did for friends who kicked me a few bucks in return. But friends refer friends, who refer friends, and so on. When the statewide bans on the delta-alts went through, demand was at an all-time high.” Charlotte shrugged. “I started making serious money and decided to actually take it seriously. Sourced better stuff, learned the whole decarbing-double-boiler-filtration process. What no one warns you is that it takes a while to dial it all in. Threw the weak batches away, and most of the dialed in stuff I’d already used up.”

So all she had left with was the strong stuff. I slapped Nick on the back, “Sounds like you’re fucked.”

“How is she fine?” Nick complained, pointing at Estrada.

“Jódete, gilipollas.” Estrada shook her head.

“Well first off, unless my Spanish is completely rusty and I’m mistranslating, I’m not sure that she is.” I gave her a long look as I addressed Nick. “Second, the professor’s been dealing with back issues for longer than you’ve been alive. Tolerance is probably way higher than yours.”

Julien shifted awkwardly. “Much as your mom means well, this is obviously meant for close friends and family. If Charlie and I are at all imposing…” he trailed off, leaving it open-ended.

I fought a strong compulsion to take him up on the implicit offer to leave. Parties were uncomfortable for me. Parties where I was the focus with near-strangers in attendance were even worse. But my most recent rant to Jinny’s mother on the importance of networking was still fresh in my mind. Matt needed to be able to do this—be congenial and welcoming to newcomers, meet and greets, cordial political shit that didn’t come naturally to me. Somehow, irrelevant yet equally important, Iris seemed to like them.

Surrendering, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “No, that’d be a special kind of shitty. Don’t feel like you have to stay if you’d prefer to go—if that’s the case we can talk about whatever you came here to talk about before you leave—but you’re welcome.”

“Must have made quite the impression.” Sae called over, eyebrows raised over her sunglasses. “It took him weeks to warm up to me.”

“Try getting a date. Month’s wait minimum.” Tara winked, serving herself two tacos from the platter and plopping down in the over-size arm-chair next to Estrada. She bit into a taco and grimaced slightly.

That was something else I needed to get used to. “You guys all meet already?” When the answer was a mixed no, I did a round of introductions, including Tara. Iris came out of her shell enough to politely greet Julien and Tara, then seemed to withdraw again, standing to the side awkwardly.

“Kiddo.” I signed. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

Iris gave one quick shake of her head and signed back. “Not really hungry.”

“Wanna just sit with me instead?”

A nod. I waved her over and she clambered onto my lap, settling in, seemingly content to just absorb the festivities passively.

Nick absorbed this, oddly somber for how intoxicated he was. He stared at Tara seriously. “Never thought anyone would lock Matt down. He’s always been a player.”

I elbowed him. “Shut up.”

Undeterred, Nick crossed his arms. “I’m almost ready to give the best friend seal of approval, but before that can happen, you need to answer a very important question.”

Tara set her plate on her knee and leaned forward. “Mmm. Intriguing. Go for it.”

“What is the best hour of television ever filmed?”

“Subjectively or objectively?” Tara asked.

“Objectively.” Nick insisted.

Sae looked between them, unimpressed by Nick’s sudden posturing. “It’s obviously the end of Six Feet Under.”

“No.” Nick shot that down immediately.

“It is!”

“Says you and the thirty senior citizens still alive that watched it.”

“Michael C. Hall is a national treasure, you dick.”

Charlotte snapped her fingers. “Oh-oh, the intervention episode of Euphoria.”

“Weren’t there multiple interventions?” Sae asked, scratching her head.

“From season one.” Charlotte clarified.

“Great show. But too zoomery.” Nick shook his head.

“Aw.”

Tara made a show of thinking, tapping her bottom lip in amusement. Nick was joking around, but he’d put her on the spot, and she didn’t have time to get a feel for the group yet. Given that, I threw her a lifeline. “Just cold-read him. He’s practically asking for it.”

“Are you… sure? Most people don’t enjoy that party-trick.” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“He’s used to it.”

“What better place for a party trick than a party?” Sae shrugged, watching Tara curiously.

“Okay. Just going off of energy and limited information, so don’t take anything personal, alright?”

Nick nodded.

Tara leaned forward, steepling her fingers and studying Nick. “From the zoomer comment, I think we can eliminate anything recent. You’re giving bro too cool to like anything from his era, but if you were too far in that direction, I can’t imagine you and Matt being as close as you are. So you’re masculine, likely with masculine tastes, but nothing too overboard. Even for that niche, you have an odd air of vulnerability. Almost like you make a point of it.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s something popular, critically acclaimed, and relatively well-known, older than Euphoria, but newer than Six Feet Under.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “But you specified episode. Not finale, not season, episode.”

“It could be a finale…” Nick attempted to misdirect, looking entirely caught off-guard by the depth of the analysis.

“Judging purely from that reaction, it’s not. Which is interesting. A lot of shows have good seasons, some have great finales, but there’s not a ton that have individual, standout episodes the typical person can call back to. From what we’ve already established, I think I can already narrow it down to four.” Tara held up four fingers, then pulled one down. “The Sopranos is a little old. Even if it wasn’t, the characters probably aren’t to your tastes. You don’t mind gray, it’s the dickishness that puts you off.” She closed another few fingers. “We can eliminate Mad Men for the same reasons. The Wire packs plenty of standout episodes, but it was too disjointed and emotionally divorced for your tastes.”

The longer she went on, the more Nick sank into the couch, his eyes wide. He stared at me, genuinely unsettled.

Don’t look at me. You started it.

Tara sat back, smiling in victory. “Which leaves us with the obvious choice. Breaking Bad, Season five, Ozymandias. ‘Boom. Done.’” She mouthed the last two words and feigned dropping a mic.

I snorted at Nick’s abject shock, chuckles growing into outright laughter at how called out and exasperated he looked.

“Holy shit, she actually out pop-cultured Nick.” Sae gaped.

“You coached her.” Nick accused me, still reeling.

“Swear to god I didn’t.”

“I just… like a good puzzle.” Tara pushed a bang behind her ear self-consciously. “Sorry if that was creepy.”

“You’re fine.” Sae waved away the anxiety. “If that’s the bar for creepy, Matt’s creepy all the time, and we still keep him around.”

“Whose birthday is this supposed to be again?” I flipped Sae the bird, and she responded in kind.

“Do me next!” Charlotte said.

Tara seemed surprised—both that her so-called party-trick hadn’t put anyone off, and that she had another taker. Nevertheless, she recovered quickly. “That would be Euphoria Season 1, episode 4.”

“Aw.”

“Nah nah nah,” Nick leaned forward, rallying. “You’re guessing what we, individually, think is best. Which is impressive. But you haven’t shared your opinion.”

“Well… Breaking Bad’s a great show…” Tara smirked.

“Uh huh…” Nick was on the edge of his seat.

“And Ozymandias is a great episode.”

“Uh huh…”

“But ‘Fly’ is objectively better.” Tara finished. Before she’d even completed her sentence, Nick collapsed over the arm-rest, groaning.

“Matt. I’ve been mortally wounded. She likes… bottle… episodes.” He croaked.

Tara absorbed his ridiculous display stoically, then looked to me. “Don’t think I’m getting the seal of approval after all. We might have to break up.”

“Unfortunate.” I waited a beat. “I’m keeping the dogs.”

“Bastard.”

Beside me, Julien had been unexpectedly quiet. I watched him for a moment, wondering if he felt out of place, until I picked up on the telltale eye-flicker of motionless UI manipulation. “Trouble?”

Julien shook his head. “Shopping, actually. If I’m gonna crash a birthday party, least I can do is buy you a present.”

This fucking guy.

I rolled my eyes. “You are literally the only person here who already gave me something.”

“What? Julien.” Charlotte squawked.

Nick slugged me. “Since when do you do gifts?”

Julien frowned and lowered his voice. “It’s not really a gift if it has a responsibility attached, is it?”

“If the inherent value overshadows the complexity of the responsibility? Pretty sure it’s still a gift.” I answered dryly.

“And it was something nice? Now I look like the asshole.” Charlotte huffed, fiddling with her UI for a few moments before swiping it away in frustration. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “What if I don’t charge for the glamour work? That could be my present.”

“The-who-what now?” Sae’s head whipped around, suddenly laser focused on Charlotte.

Shit. With the unexpected surprise, I still hadn’t had time to talk to Sae. About the glamour or the potion. “Uh—”

“It’s a hex.” Charlotte chirped. “Um…” She trailed off as Sae approached her, the other woman’s fists clenched, body trembling. “It’s… a bit like sculpting, only for… appearance and stuff. That’s why I came here. To talk about the commission… oh…” Charlotte trailed off as Sae removed her sunglasses.

“Could it fix these? Make me look normal again?” Sae pointed a shaking finger at her compound eyes, almost cringing, expecting a no.

I was slower than I should have been, struggling with a sensation that felt almost like a mental lag. Finally, I managed to interject. “Sae—wait.”

“Been waiting, Helpline.” Sae said, eyes still locked with Charlotte’s.

“There’s something we need to talk about first. Another more permanent option—”

She’d picked up on my discretion, but didn’t seem to care much. “Is the other option available now?”

“If you answer the way I think you’ll answer… no.”

For how fish-out-of-water she must have felt in this situation, Charlotte caught on quickly. “It’s painful at first, but the touch-ups are easy, and I’m happy to keep it intact until the more permanent option is available. Guessing… you didn’t exactly sign up for that.”

The sudden outburst of tears was natural. Almost expected. What was less expected was the way she hugged me. “You might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“That’s the brownies talking.”

“It’s not,” Sae sniffled. “Haven’t even had any brownies. Just the tacos.”

Something about the way she said it, then immediately hugged Charlotte, then Nick gave me pause. I glanced down at my plate and the half eaten taco, then glanced around. “Mom? Wait—Where’s Kinsley?”

“In the bathroom. Been there for a while, hope she’s feeling okay.”

Feeling a growing urgency, I knocked on the bathroom door twice, and when there was no response, opened it. Kinsley was prone on the bathroom floor dead asleep, snoring loudly, wadded up towel beneath her head serving as a pillow. The water was still running from when she’d started to wash her hands and apparently decided to take an impromptu nap instead.

I turned it off and left her there for the moment—despite the tile, she looked comfortable enough—and raced into the kitchen, searching the labels and containers for something specific. “Where—What did you cook the tacos with?”

“Love.” My mother chuckled at her own joke.

“No, the oil, mom. What oil did you use?”

“The only one I could find.” Mom passed me a bottle I’d never seen before, label handwritten in loopy feminine print. Cooking Oil: >25 Percent. Use with caution.

Slowly I panned the room, noting the numerous empty and half-eaten plates, including my own.

Well. Shit.