Chapter 3: Arete |
James reread his personal statistics. They reminded him of the Dungeons and Dragons game he’d played back in high school. But none of the rest made any sense.
“Definitely Catholic,” murmured Serenity. “All this miracle and benediction shit? Man am I relieved to have been born into the right religion. Sucks to be you, rest of the world.”
“You got ‘none’ next to everything?”
“Except for my rank and Aeviternum Points, whatever that is,” said Serenity distractedly. “Ooh. Focus on your unspent points, and it shows you where you can spend them.”
James did so, exhaustion and blood loss and the booze making him feel like he was floating. The first half of the sheet disappeared, leaving only the Strength and other stuff.
“What’s Arete?” he asked.
“That I don’t know. Why don’t we have Beauty as a stat? Or Wealth? Give me some… Power sounds good. And some Agility. And oh, I always wanted to be strong.”
James dismissed his own sheet to watch Serenity. She’d gone still, sat up straighter, was frowning as she stared down at herself.
She’d changed.
Serenity still had her edge, but now… now it looked as if the clock had been rewound on her by a few years. As if she’d not made quite as many mistakes, spent quite as many nights losing sight of her dreams.
“Damn,” she whispered huskily, and then gave a startled laugh. “This… I mean, this is better than… what the fuck?”
James felt a shiver of excitement. “It actually works?”
“Try it for yourself. Yeah it works.”
He summoned his statistics, considered them carefully. They were all self-explanatory but for Arete. Five points. He could give one to each of his physical stats, an even spread. Or focus on one element. What would give him an edge against another Gremlin?
Speed? Strength? Stamina?
For long, aching minutes he considered. Speed was probably just how fast he could go in a run. But there was no outrunning the little shit. Agility then would be hand to eye coordination, reflexes, maybe. Since he was planning on getting a gun, that would be his best stat. If he shot the fucker before it got close he wouldn’t need to be strong or resilient.
James hesitated.
His gaze dropped to Arete.
What was that? Why was it listed?
“Can I borrow your phone?” he asked Serenity.
She hesitated good and long before unlocking and handing it to him, but he didn’t judge her for it. A moment later he Googled Arete.
The first result had a weird accent over it and meant ‘a sharp mountain ridge.’
He scrolled down.
Wikipedia saved the day. It was an Ancient Greek term that referred to ‘excellence’ of any kind, “especially a person or thing’s ‘full realization of potential of inherent function’.”
James looked off into the middle distance, considering. Excellence of any kind, the full realization of potential.
That sounded pretty good.
Moreover, it felt right. He understood so little of what was going on. Half his statistics sheet was filled with terms that meant nothing to him. Spending points on Agility had an immediate appeal, but he intuited that there were far greater depths of development available to him in this new system, and that if he only had control over where he spent these five points, he should sink them into what might be the key to unlocking the rest.
He activated the Unspent Points, then simply willed them all into Arete.
Arete 13
He dismissed the menu. Serenity was watching him with avid fascination. “Well?”
“I don’t know.” He still felt loopy. Maybe he should have dropped some points into Stamina to give himself a boost. But there was a new edge to the world. He felt more… alert? No. More in control of himself. He raised his hand. It trembled slightly. So not control exactly, but more… prepared? Focused?
“What did you raise, already?”
“Arete.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“So what are you at now?”
“Thirteen.”
“No way! So… what does that mean?”
“I don’t know. That I’ve just raised my potential…? I’m not sure.”
He reviewed his statistics and saw a new change:
Aura: Lead
Aura Strength: 1
“What?” demanded Serenity.
“More mysteries. Looks like raising my Arete gave me an aura. Lead, strength of one.”
Serenity stared at him, mystified. “Do you feel anything different?”
James raised his hand, turned it about, looked down at himself. “Just feel like shit.”
Serenity laughed and pressed her glass to her brow. “We all do, honey. It’s almost dawn. Time for regrets.”
The volume on the TV cut them off as Herman raised it. On the screen two news anchors were gazing seriously at them.
“…we’re getting reports that emergency departments across New York City are seeing nearly a hundred times as many victims of injuries from dog bites as compared to this time last year, prompting concerns that stay-at-home orders and other pandemic lifestyle changes may be to blame.”
The other news anchor, a perfectly coiffured man, turned to the first. “Is that right, Megan? A hundred times greater?”
“That’s what we’re hearing, Mike. The numbers are startling, and seem to be the case across the nation. We’re seeing reports from other major metropolitan areas coming in, and it is, to be frank, unprecedented.”
“Well, the numbers speak for themselves,” said Mike, looking at his papers. “There are over 77 million pet dogs in the US, all of whom have been living under restrictions these past few years. It’s clear that our canine buddies are - like the rest of us - reaching their limit with the current situation.”
Herman frowned, changed the channel to another news station.
“Such bullshit,” muttered Serenity, White Russian held to her lips.
The next channel featured a man reporting live from outside a police station, the blue Chiron emblazoned across the bottom of the screen displaying the words: Hundreds slain by rabid dogs.
“…an atrocious night, of the likes that we have never seen before,” the reporter was saying with heavy tones into his microphone. “911 lines are facing delays of up to ten minutes, and I’ve received word that off-duty officers have been called to help reinforce what is clearly an overwhelmed NYPD. The victims range across all of the city, with no borough exempted. We are being told that all pet owners absolutely must isolate their animals, and that no pet is to be considered safe at this time…”
“What the fuck’s going on?” asked Herman, his tone blank with wonder.
The news station cut back to the anchor, who stared grimly out over his desk, his features chiseled, his suit crisp. “An absolutely horrifying turn of affairs. Word is coming in that this is not an isolated phenomenon; we’re seeing reports of other deaths from across the globe coming in, with all reporting the same mysterious exponential leap in animal attacks and what can only be described as an outburst of panic and mania.”
Herman shook his head and stepped back. “Dog attacks?” He looked over to James and Serenity. “That what happened to you?”
James downed his whiskey, then summoned the countdown.
88 Hours till Nemesis 2 Released
He knew how systems worked. How delicately balanced the different services were, how little it took to knock shit askew. Hell, the entire medical system had nearly collapsed when the pandemic hit, and was still struggling. The whole of the Mount Sinai Health System, with eight of the biggest hospitals in the city, had about 400,000 visits a year, which came out to about a hundred, a hundred and fifty ER visits a day per hospital. If hundreds were dying, and who knew how many more were being injured, then all those ER’s would have to deal with the wounded on top of the pandemic infected and regular folk who needed help.
And the text had said this was just the first wave.
What would happen when the second hit?
What would happen if it was larger?
James already knew. It would mean ambulances would take longer and longer to reach the wounded. It meant that triage would become more brutal in its assessments. Doctors and nurses already working at their limit would be pushed over it. Emergency rooms would overflow, and doctors would have to be called in to help from other departments.
This could last for a few days, a few weeks at best, but only if numbers didn’t continue to increase.
The US medical system simply couldn’t take another beating.
Which meant, what?
That people in the United States would finally see what happened when medical systems collapsed.
James shuddered.
Eighty-eight hours till Nemesis 2. Was that the second wave? Or would their be more waves of Nemesis 1?
“When were you attacked?” he asked Serenity.
“What? When? Tonight. Wait. As in exactly?” She gave a hollow laugh. “You’re asking the wrong lady.”
James bit his lower lip, considered. First Wave.
He had to warn people. Watched the screen as a police officer spoke to reporters, giving advice on how to handle rabid pets.
They had to start telling the truth. Had to start telling people to get guns, knives, hammers, whatever.
To be ready for demon attacks.
James gave a silent, despairing laugh. Who’d listen to him? At any given moment there were a dozen homeless guys yelling about demon attacks in NYC. He’d just blend right in.
Except this time he was right.
“There’s got to be something we can do,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” Serenity had pulled out her phone. “Do? Oh shit, you on Instie?”
James just frowned at her.
“Instie? Instagram? No? It’s blowing up. Oh wow.”
She set her phone on the bar and hit play on a video. It was shaky, the lighting terrible, a woman sobbing into the camera.
“Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, I just… I just… I’m fucking bleeding…”
“Get to a hospital, dumb ass,” whispered Serenity impatiently.
“I’m bleeding, because a fucking… I don’t even know what it was, a - a - demon? A shit chimpanzee? It broke into my house and I killed it, and oh gawd -”
Serenity swiped to another video. A burly dude with broken glasses was holding up a black blood-smeared axe. “You need to listen to me. You need to pay very, very close attention. They can be killed. Do not be afraid. The government has finally unleashed their weapon. When it comes for you, be ready. Get an axe, get a gun, nowhere is safe. Be prepared to fight for your life.”
Swipe.
“What the fuck? Oh - oh - oh shit, what… can you see it? Right here, can you see it? Why is nobody fucking reacting -”
The blood-drenched young man aimed his camera at the dead gremlin on the ground. Around him others stared in horrid fascination at him, not seeing the corpse.
“Herman!” Serenity waved him over. “You see this? Can you see what’s on the floor?”
Herman leaned in close then recoiled. “Argh! What the hell, Serenity? Don’t show me that kind of stuff. I curate my headspace carefully -”
“So you see it?”
He stared at her wonderingly. “Of course I see that. Was it a prank? Wait, was that real?”
James pulled out his phone. It was almost useless. No carrier meant he could only use it where there was Wi-Fi, and he’d lost his charger in his backpack. Still, he had 20% battery left. He scanned the wall, saw the Wi-Fi info, logged in.
Hesitated. Where should he go?
He had to get the word out.
But where could he post it?
How could he establish his credibility?
“Serenity,” he said. “Where will a video get the most views?”
“These days?” She considered. “TikTok.”
“Fine.” It took him a couple of minutes to make an account, then he handed the phone to Serenity and stood. “Record me.”
“What even is this?” she asked, turning his phone around.
“Serenity!”
“Fine, fine. Ready? Go.”
James drew himself up and stared into the little camera. “My name is James Kelly. I was an Emergency Medical Technician for seven years in New York City. Tonight I was attacked by something called Nemesis 1, just like thousands of others around the world.”
He paused, took a breath, forced himself to go on.
“Nobody knows what is happening, but what we do know is this: Nemesis 1 can be killed, so arm yourself. They attack with bites and claws, so get protective clothing and gear if you can. These attacks have only been part of a first wave, so there will be more. They can be seen when recorded, but otherwise only by those they’ve come for. Please. This isn’t a joke. These aren’t dog attacks. Fuck, keep your dogs close, they can help. But if this hasn’t happened to you yet, get ready, because it might, and thousands are dying right now because they’re not ready.”
Another deep breath.
“This will only get worse till the news and the police and hospital staff start telling the truth: we’re under attack. Humanity is under attack, and the only way we’re going to survive is if we get ready and fight back.”
James hesitated, then nodded to Serenity, who lowered her phone.
“A little too serious for me,” she said. “A bit too much of the crazy earnest vibe, you know? But fuck, let’s tag the shit out of it and post it. You never know.”
“Yeah,” breathed James, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah. Good.”
They sat on their bar stools again.
Herman was staring at him. “You really believe all that?”
James held his stare. “I do.”
Herman nodded, reached under the bar, and pulled out a shotgun. “Well all right.”
Serenity looked sidelong at James. “You were an EMT? For real?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right, all right, don’t get your panties twisted. But the video’s uploaded. Ready to become famous?”
“Famous?”
“Sure. This is all just breaking. Maybe you’ll be the first to go viral.”
“Whatever. Just post it.”
“And… done. The truth is out there.”
James sagged and looked up at the TV where a reporter was earnestly interviewing an older man with an image of a raccoon inserted in the upper right.
“Fuck me,” he whispered. “Herman?”
“Yeah?”
“Another whiskey.”
The bartender gave him a curt nod. “You got it.”
And for the first time in far too long, James saw an old emotion in another person’s eyes: respect.
Comments 25