7/18

  Hollywood Sign dungeon

  12:50 PM

  The first and second studio lot hubs are cleared by the Navy SEALs daily. Which is nice, and I'm sure they're racking up levels for it. Because of the 24 Hour Lockdown quest, troops can't leave right away, so they have a small camp right inside the door. This whole operation is way less intense than the Capitol Building was.

  We grab a golf cart and drive through the first lot, passing by the large, nondescript studio buildings. The tan concrete walls hide the wonderful, I mean terrible, worlds within.

  We get to the far end of the rectangular lot and find the exit to this area. It's just an open gate leading to a two-lane street. Up and down the street are five more studio lots, with three gated up and two open to the public. It's a really interesting dungeon design. It means once you clear a set of studios (floors) you open up the next gate down the street. You can essentially see every floor at once but not get to them all at once.

  The fake noon-day sky overhead is perfectly blue with big puffy clouds floating by. Bogart outside told us the lighting inside the dungeon matches the outside weather, including rain. What a neat touch.

  “I like this dungeon so far,” I say as Odysseus drives our golf cart to the third studio lot. The gate has big brass numerals on it, 11 on the left gate and 15 on the right. The white painted gates are already wide open for us.

  “I'm going to drive around so we know what's here,” Odysseus says as he turns past studio 11. He probably just likes driving the cart, but I can't complain. We weave between the big tan box studios and get the lay of the land.

  I'm actually already in my Solar mind Chimerablood armor. That keeps all my possibly infectious biological materials to myself. And the AP drain isn't too bad out of combat. I almost regen enough AP per minute to counter the drain.

  We round back to studio 11 and hop off the cart.

  “Ninja protocol,” I say. “We have absolutely no idea what we're walking into, so stay on guard and put defense first.”

  I'm up front. Mercy is in her Psi Dragon armor form. Odysseus has a SCAR-L rifle. Quins has a quiver full of color coded arrows. Ivy has Bluetooth speakers at the ready.

  I creak open the door to studio 11 and take a gentleman's peek. Inside is a 30 story office building that's sort of on fire towards the top. I swing the door wide open, not seeing any enemies at the moment.

  It's night inside the studio, and I can see lights, cables and cameras around the perimeter of the parking lot. That must be the actual edge of the studio, because past that looks like downtown Chicago. A city that got nuked by the Ambrose Society. A city that doesn't exist anymore.

  As we sweep into the parking lot I take out my camera and take some photos of fake Chicago. The others notice me, then notice the city, and lower weapons. “Did any of you guys lose people in the Chicago attack?” I ask with solemnity in my voice. The solemnity people used to have for 9/11.

  “An uncle,” Ivy says. “We weren't close or anything but it was still awful. Part of why I wanted to join up and do something to fix the world.” She doesn't normally talk about herself.

  “What was he like?” asks Mercy, who's always willing to innocently pry into other people's business.

  Ivy smiles to herself. “Dude was a typical mid westerner, beer and cheese kind of guy. Probably would have kicked over from heart disease in a few years.” Her smile fades. “He used to share just football stuff on Facebook, and got angry when anyone said anything political, either way. That was how I knew him best, through Facebook. Anyways, dude would always rant about both sides. I think he just liked to rant.”

  “I think we all have an uncle like that,” Odysseus says, placing a massive hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugs, “just cause he wasn't unique doesn't make it suck less.”

  We take another minute and then move forward. “These cars seem new but old,” says Quins.

  Ivy chips in. “He's right, these are all 1980s models. Oh, nice a 1989 Pontiac Sunbird. Someone put this into inventory for me?”

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  I start to lift it by the front bumper and find it light. Too light. I hold it up so I can see underneath it. “There's no engine. Still want it?”

  She shakes her helmet-ed head. “Nah, but thanks for checking, dude.”

  We move past the parking lot to approach the front entrance of the 30 story office building. There's half a dozen dead cops on the ground, having bled blood that's a bit too bright red.

  “Is this Die Hard?” I ask hopefully.

  Quins squashes my hopes. “Nope, sorry mate, too many dead coppers, not enough alive ones.”

  We approach the sliding glass doors of the entryway and find them shot to pieces. Glittering glass is scattered across the floor. There's a couple of dead guys in tan windbreakers. “These can't be scanned, so they're not actually enemies we could have fought.”

  “Set dressing,” Odysseus confirms, and pulls up the shirt of one man to reveal a mannequin torso beneath. “Bogart said to watch for false positives and fakery.”

  I nod and head to the elevator. The up button is smeared with fake blood. I press it anyway. We only have to wait a second for it to open and we get inside. The control panel is mostly dim, with only the 17th, 28th and 29th floor buttons working. “Go in order or head to the top?” I ask the group.

  Mercy punches the 17th floor button. “We're going to do things carefully from now on.” She turns to me and can't see my face behind my mask, which I think pisses her off a bit. “Carefully,” she repeats, entirely for my sake.

  The elevator music of the 80s plays as we rise. The doors open on an incomplete floor under heavy construction. There's piles of wood planks, big plastic sheets hanging up and paint cans scattered about. We immediately hear men shouting in Russian.

  I say, “oh, right, the 80s. The Russians were the bad guys.” and form several Sol Arms shields in front of us as AK-47s open fire on our group.

  Russian Separatist. Tier 3. Nobody knows exactly what they're separating from, or where they're going. But we do know that their ideals are TOO EXTREME to coexist with western values.

  Possible loot: AK-47, manifesto, vodka.

  They look like regular guys, so I jump over my own shields and move forward, tearing down a plastic sheet that's in my way. Bullets bounce off my armor with way too many sparks, confirming that yes, even the monster's attacks conform to movie protocols. I rush forward and just punch a guy in a knit cap. He dies immediately. I turn and kick another guy in the stomach and feel bones crunch under my feet. He goes flying way too far, landing 15 feet away. Mercy is heading out across the right side of the room, firing blades of psi energy while protecting herself with a bubble of purple magic. Odysseus and Quins take cover behind my shields and begin to attack. Ivy plays Whitesnake.

  Within minutes we've cleared the floor and collected some 20 dollar bills with Ronald Reagan's face on them. Fun, but worthless. Unless they're worth something to the system store? I collect a few hundred bucks worth.

  We get back in the elevator minutes after we left it, and I press the 28th floor button. More 80s elevator music. The doors open to a floor of offices behind glass and chrome fixtures. Also dozens more Russians. We kill them.

  “Wasn't the top half of the building on fire?” Ivy asks as the 29th floor opens to us.

  “Just ‘ad to ask,” Quins chides her. The floor is an inferno of burning walls and doors.

  I'm already in Solar mode, so I walk in and am unfazed. “I can handle it,” I offer.

  Mercy immediately changes to her White Hat Warlock outfit and casts a spell around herself. A lime green ribbon spins around her like a hula hoop, and she steps off the elevator, seemingly unaffected by the heat. He big floppy white hat bobs as she marches into battle. It's a fun contrast to the harsh glance she gives me as she walks in.

  “You really need to talk to her,” Odysseus says to me. I follow my girlfriend and leave the others behind.

  -----

  The enemies here have flame throwers. Which is hilariously ineffective against me, and doesn't have enough range for Mercy to be threatened. Her White Hat Warlock green ribbon-laser spells can curve around corners and cut through fragile walls to hit Russians from afar. I should say she's being ruthless, but these guys bleed fake blood and never display any gore. Seriously, I turned a guy's flame thrower on himself and after he was dead he looked just a little blackened. No melted faces, no disembowelings, no crushed skills. Just old fashioned stunt men deaths and blood packet wounds.

  After we take down a group of 10 Russians it looks like we're in the clear for this floor. Odysseus comes over our comms. “30th floor button just lit up. Head on back.”

  “In a minute,” I say back. Then I turn to my girlfriend. “Got a minute?” I ask.

  “Apparently.” Her eyes roll hard.

  I have to work up the courage to say what I feel. Odd that I can fight horrible monsters but explaining my feelings to my girlfriend is actually scary.

  “I love you, and would choose you.”

  “Choose me?” she asks, still grumpy.

  “Over anything, over everything,” I say, stumbling through this. “I don't want to fight and die, I want to fight with you by my side. I want to finish this thing and then spend the rest of my life with you.”

  She's quiet for a moment. There's a raging fire all around us, but here, between us, is a silence.

  “What do you mean, finish this thing?” She's curious. Cautious.

  “The Dracosys. I want to help end it. And then I'm all yours, forever.”

  “You know I'm pissed with you right now,” she says.

  I step up close to her and take her gloved hands in my gauntleted ones. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know I can't stand the thought of losing you, right?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I know.” I pull her against me, her big floppy hat sliding back.

  She looks up at me. “You know I want to marry you, right?”

  It feels like marriage hadn't occurred to me until just now, but also seems totally natural. “Yeah, I know.” I look down at her through my mask. I want to kiss her so bad right now.

  She squeezes my hands, then pulls her right hand away. Something from her inventory flickers into her palm. She opens it and shows me a ring.

  “I'm not waiting for the Dracosys.”

  I'm suddenly deeply confused.

  “Jun Kyung Han,” she says. “Will you marry me?”

  The flames burn all around us, never growing, never diminishing, never changing. Their heat suddenly shifts from a dangerous threat to a warm passion. Shadows from yellow flames dance across the hall we're standing in. The fake corpses of fake Russians in a fake building surround us. I want to remember this. Remember this moment forever, every lick of flame on wallpaper that isn't peeling, the smoke that's barely in the air, the windows out onto a city that no longer exists. Every damn part of this nonsense is getting tucked into my brain as the most important moment of my life.

  Surrounded by fakery, I say one true, real word back to her.