Chapter 28: Dark Disease

Her screams were like a signal for the rest of the room.

Players panicked, some dropping drinks and personal effects in their haste to escape. Debrah was doing her best to keep them controlled. To stop them pushing and shoving as they reached the stairs.

Most of her commands seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Jester didn’t so much as flinch as a pewter goblet fell nearby. All of his attention was on the screaming and jittering Android at his feet. Though he remained distantly aware that Whiskers continued to hiss and yowl.

Their purple eyes turned blue and then purple once more. However, the robopet didn’t approach any closer. Instead, it turned and darted away. That was enough for Jester to guess it would not be more of a threat to Happy Hour.

Good.

It’d done enough damage for today.

Someone was talking, but he wasn’t paying them any mind.

Couldn’t.

They didn’t matter.

No one else mattered.

Not when the pitch of Happy Hour’s screams increased. He dropped to his knees and scooped her up, doing his best to keep her head still. While he knew it wouldn’t matter, it was all he could think to do.

His desire to help winning over his pragmatic knowledge that this was a game. That she was an NPC. The fact none of this was real.

None of that mattered. She was hurting.

He wished he could see her eyes, to make it easier to see his. So that he could communicate all the things he needed too. Without the words that refused to come.

However, the rabbit costume’s head blocked them from view.

That was something he could fix, at least.

When his fingers brushed against the material, he could tell something was wrong. There wasn’t any push to it. As though it’d vacuumed sealed to her skin. Was her skin, rather than the costume he knew it to be.

With desperation, he tugged harder. Strands of the white material came off in his hands. They fell to the floor, to be replaced before his eyes. Not white this time. Instead, it was a familiar purple color.

Each fresh growth was made from a higher quality material.

Such as the one that currently clung to his own frame.

One of her hands flailed about and snagged the goblet off the floor. Her fingers sank into the stem, fusing so that it would be impossible for her to let go. The gems from the cup shifted, flowing down and covering her paw.

Each white strand turned pewter, though some were a lighter color. As if the two colors were blending.

Her leg kicked out and thudded against a nearby couch. In an instant, the rabbit’s foot transformed into solid wood. Though goose feathers stuck out at random points, even as the entire thing was being covered in patches of velvet.

Parts of her floral dress took on aspects of the carpet. The courser material, at odds with the softness of her normal fur.

He was glad of the fact she no longer held the basket.

She wouldn’t be able to absorb either the wicker or any of her unused egg bombs. The last thing he needed was a Happy Hour who would uncontrollably explode.

Her transformation didn’t appear to be slowing. With every shake and scream, she became more of a hodgepodge of material. He studied the room, hoping to see something or someone who could help.

There was nothing.

Dam13n was holding the cage the man had brought in earlier. It was shaking. Jester could hear the pitiful meowing that came from inside it. That was good. It meant they contained Whiskers safely.

Debrah was making sure the last of the guests got out. She stood by the stairs, barking orders at lightning speed. He didn’t know who she was talking to. Though a part of him was thankful, that tone wasn’t directed his way.

“Jester?”

Happy Hour wasn’t thrashing as much now. However, her voice sounded wrong. It still contained traces of the rabbits’ exuberance. That was good. Still, he could hear the echoes of her previous screams.

Plus, something else. A darker voice. One that sounded far too destructive.

He didn’t like that voice one bit.

His smile was still as wide as he could make it. No point showing that he was upset.

“Hey, Happy Hour. I’m here. Right here.”

He spoke slowly and clearly. As though addressing a frightened child or someone who wasn’t full aware of what was going on. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

If this was real, he knew his arms would ache at how tightly he was squeezing her. More of the fur shifted to the purple color, with both her ears having changed completely already.

She opened her mouth, and a screen popped into his vision.

{Congratulations!

You have discovered an a---d---ed C-m-a------C--s r--t crafted by Player:
_______------_______.
General Statistics
++___++___------
(----)(----)
Opt---- for o------p
 |------- ---------- | -------------- | ----------- | }

Lines covered most of the words. They broke sections of them apart, and two out of the three buttons were blank. Not that he needed them. He recognized what it was supposed to be. It’d been the start of this whole thing, after all.

She was speaking, and he hit the middle button. The box vanished from view.

“It doesn’t feel right.” Happy Hour struggled weakly against his grip. “I need to go to The Junkyard. To fight you. To be beaten. But I have an owner.”

He held her fast, not letting her go.

“No one’s making you go back to The Junkyard. We cleared that. I beat your quest.”

She spasmed in his arms, hands slapping at the carpet.

“I must. Need to gather with the rest. Be available for a new player. Wait for a signal. Game changer. Yes. No. I have an owner. Need owner. Can’t have an owner. We are new. I am old. This is wrong. Please. Help.”

Her words became a garbled mess of random phrases. She continued slapping at the ground.

“What’s wrong with her?” That came from Dam13n.

“No idea,” Debrah replied. “Get Kylee. Send up Tiffany too. We might not have long.”

Dam13n shot past him, but he didn’t spare the man a second glance. Happy Hour was fighting against him once more. All his attention returned to that.

He didn’t know what would happen if she got up. Would she try to leave? Could they stop her if she did?

A part of him noted his UI still contained the symbol for his inventory. That was something. Whatever this was, the game systems still considered her his robot. Which meant he’d not lost her completely.

Jester briefly considered messaging the Developers for help with this. An idea he swiftly kicked to the curb. They might be able to help, might not.

There was also the chance they might start asking questions he couldn’t answer. That could lead to deletions or even an account ban if they decided he was to blame.

An event this big would get scrutiny from the higher-ups, he bet. Any rogue element that could be canned to make it easier probably would be. Which meant they were out. No matter how helpful they might be.

Instead, he started asking Happy Hour questions. Gather some information before Kylee arrived.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” He asked. “Your best guess, at least.”

“Activation code initiated.” She slurred the words out, as though fighting them. “Protocols to build myself a body have begun. Body found. Additions added.”

“What then?” he asked.

“I am to wait. To be found. To attack. Become owned. Wait until the arrival of the next signal.”

“So there’s a third stage to this?” Jester tried to keep his voice calm.

“Next arrival.” Her voice was back to being oddly cheerful at that.

No matter what he asked next, she didn’t elaborate. Simply repeated that she was waiting for the next arrival. After a time, he stopped asking. Instead, content to sit and keep her as still as he could.

A hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. Then a familiar face came into view. Tiffany was looking at him. With no questions asked, she knelt beside him. Her hands moving to Happy Hour’s legs to keep her still.

“Tell me what’s been happening?”

Her voice was gentle, and with a deep breath, Jester explained everything.

***

Kylee arrived just as he finished.

By the look of worry and irritation on her face, he guessed Dam13n caught her up. That was good. Jester didn’t think he could rehash it all a third time.

“Are you ok?” she asked, her words sounded hollow.

It wasn’t a useful question, and she knew it.

“I don’t know. Worried. Can you help her?”

As though triggered by the sound of his voice, Happy Hour started to spasm again. Worse this time. All of her joints shifting at once. Tiffany grunted as she moved to put more of her weight on the legs.

“Jester,” Kylee started once Happy Hour calmed down again. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“That you’ll try,” he supplied.

“Of course, but this is all new. No ones cracked it. Speculation is that we can’t. Not until the update officially launches.”

He could hear the resignation in her voice. Before he could say anything, Dam13n jumped in. His hand raised as though feeling the need for permission to speak.

“After the Final Cup, right?”

Debrah stepped forward and nodded at him.

“Yes. They want to make a spectacle out of it.”

Jester turned back to Kylee. They were right, but it didn’t help him. He couldn’t wait that long. The Final Cup wouldn’t be until the end of the year, or close enough to at any rate.

“Can’t you examine her? Take her back to the workshop?”

He could hear the pleading tone in his voice. Tiffany shifted, holding Happy Hour down with her knee as she placed a hand on his shoulder. She returned his smile with one of her own. Still, he could see the worry on her face.

“And infect my place?” Kylee was staring down at Happy Hour, who was still slowly transforming.

Not that there was much left to change now. One or two patches of white fur remained. Though, he noted with a detached curiosity that the green eyes hadn’t changed. They remained wide and staring.

With everything else, they hit the uncanny valley far harder than anything else. It was enough that he wanted to turn away. He didn’t. She didn’t need to think he feared her.

Not if there was any chance his Happy Hour remained intact.

The words didn’t really hit him until he felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze down.

“She didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Sorry, that came out wrong. But, look at her?” Kylee gestured. “What if she’s still absorbing stuff? You’ve seen my workshop. Imagine this, but when she’s surrounded by weapons and other robot parts?”

He shuddered at that. She wasn’t wrong.

Debrah cleared her throat.

“Tell me something, Kylee. If it wasn’t at your workshop. Would you be willing to help?”

“Sure?” Kylee looked confused. “Depends on what stuff was inside.”

“What would you need?” Debrah nodded as she spoke, fingers tapping at the air.

With a shrug, she dictated a list.

“A diagnostic bench? Some basic tools? Insider information on what the hell this is?” With a wave of her hand, she motioned to Happy Hour once more. “As said, no one knows anything. Without a starting point, we’re screwed.”

“And if I could get you that? All of it?”

Debrah was staring at her, finger poised as though seconds away from hitting send. Her expression was impassive, though Jester swore he saw her small faun tail twitching. The first time he’d seen it moved.

“Then of course I’d help.”

“Excellent.”

Her finger fell, and Jester looked around. He’d been expecting a teleport or some sign of a change. No such thing occurred. They remained where they were, except Debrah was now tapping her foot.

Happy Hour convulsed, and Whiskers meowed. Which earned the cage a look from Dam13n.

“Not to interrupt. What are we doing with cat?”

“Keep it in the cage,” Debrah snapped. “Last thing we need is it getting downstairs. If it infects my staff, it could ruin the entire Dollhouse.”

“Right, I get that. I meant more long term.”

“We wait and see.” Kylee sighed. “Not much else we can do. You said it was a player who brought it in? Did you know them?”

Dam13n shook his head. “Never seen them before.”

“I’m in the same boat,” Debrah said. “Though I got some pictures. They’ll never set foot here again.”

“Oh well, as long as you ban them after they caused problems. It’s all good,” Kylee spat out.

“Excuse me?”

Jester almost jumped when he heard Heather’s voice. He’d forgotten she was in the room. When he looked towards her, he noted she was still at her bar. Though pressed against the back wall. Her desire to remain as far away as possible from Happy Hour on full display.

“Heather not now,” Debrah said. “Stay where you are.”

“Right, but like, she doesn’t get to say that. It’s their fault this is even happening.” Heather pointed towards Happy Hour. “If she just stayed scrap like she should have, this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“Enough.” Debrah said again.

Heather folded her arms, but shut up. While he didn’t agree with her, Jester was grateful for the outburst. It stopped Kylee’s tirade early. The last thing he wanted to deal with was everyone fighting.

“What are you proposing we do?” Jester asked as he stared at Debrah. “Do you have a place?”

“Maybe. It depends on if they can get back to me. They’re online a lot, but they don’t answer messages much.”

“Vague,” Kylee muttered.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “If she could tell us, she would.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jester shook his head. “What can we do as a backup plan? We can’t move her like this?”

“But I need to go back to The Junkyard!” Happy Hour exclaimed with more exuberance than he’d heard yet.

She followed that statement up with another series of kicks and wiggling.

“Hush,” Jester whispered. “None of that. You’re not junk.”

“She could be.”

Heather’s voice came from behind them. Tiffany turned her attention to the Doll, who wore a smirk.

“Shut up, Heather!”

“Everyone quiet, please.” Debrah’s tone brooked no argument.

She tapped at the air again and sighed. Then, after another series of taps and waiting, she cursed. Her face twisted into the most vicious snarl he’d ever seen. Any trace of her lady like persona gone within moments.

“Bad news then?” Kylee asked.

“They won’t help. Can’t. Company policy.” She spat out the words. “Their advice isn’t going to be anything you want to hear.”

Jester looked at her.

“Will it work?”

“They’re not sure. Says it might. Her original programming should beat the new code stuff. A factory reset of sorts. She won’t lose memories, but she should get back to some semblance of normal. Just with additional quirks.”

“Quirks?” Jester waved at Happy Hour. “Like what?”

“They don’t know.”

Kylee rolled her eyes.

“What do we need to do?”

“Restart the quest. From the beginning. As it happened when you first found her.” Debrah bit her lip, and her hands balled into fists. “You’ll need to grant her request.”

“And what happens if we don’t?” He stared down at Happy Hour.

His mind whirled at the possibilities. There was so much stuff in the city. If she hadn’t finished transforming, what would happen? From what he’d seen, it was items she could grab things off.

Which was consistent with her code. He didn’t think buildings and streets would count.

However, plenty of other players roamed Geartown. Not even thinking about what would happen when they got into the crowded streets of The Outskirts.

“They don’t know.”

“I need to go to The Junkyard. Get owner. Have owner. Please. Owner. Help.” She sounded so cheery, but the screams were still present. That edge of something else. It was wrong.

Jester thought about what he knew.

Happy Hour was a robot who gained her personality from what she wore.

This virus grafted things to her.

Thus, her personality could go through a massive change. So far, everything she absorbed was basic material, most of which attached to her rabbit suit. The goblet she held being the most unusual thing.

Weapons or even other torsos, though? He could remember all the Chimera-bots wandering the streets.

Could they fuse? At no point did he ever see them touch.

His eyes met Tiffany. She nodded.

“I’ll come.”

“Me too,” Kylee said.

“Count me in.” Dam13n waved, Whiskers meowing alongside him.

Debrah smiled.

“Sounds like your set. I’ll clear your way out of the Dollhouse. I suppose this bears repeating a second time today. Good luck Jester. Don’t dawdle.”

***

Tiffany was walking at the head of their small procession. She was holding Happy Hour’s legs behind her. Jester followed suit, holding Happy Hour around the shoulders. She still twitched, but seemed calmer now that she was outside.

Kylee and Dam13n were on either side of Happy Hour. The four forming a quarter of guards around her. Any player who got close was glared into submission.

Their pace was slow, due to both the others on the road and to make sure they didn’t bump into anything. Once, when making a turn outside, they hit a lamppost. Now one of her feet was a metallic and shining. Lightbulbs bloomed from it like tiny mushrooms.

He’d winced at that, but Happy Hour didn’t show any signs of concern.

It drew attention, though.

“Hey, Dollfucker!” someone called. “This is a little much even for you, isn’t it?”

“Aww, bless your heart,” Kylee said. “Why it’s so good to see someone so interested in others’ wellbeing.”

Her fake southern was in full force as she glared at the player. A short gnome looking thing in a wide-brimmed hat and a leather jerkin.

“What about you, sweetheart?” They replied. “You into the same thing?”

“If I was, I’d still be doing better than you.”

The gone staggered back, pretending to be wounded. Though he didn’t follow as they passed him. More Players started to stop and look at their group. Some whispered, others fiddled in the air.

He hoped they were only taking screenshots.

One of them wasn’t.

A tall Nordic looking woman pulled out a glowing sword. She tossed it, and it flew through the air. The hilt snagging Happy Hour on the stomach. That was all it took.

As though made of ooze, the dress writhed up. It hooked onto the weapon and puled it into her. Jester grunted, as he watched the sword sway as it stuck upright out of her stomach.

Laughter rippled around him. Several people cheering. The Nordic woman was slapping one of her friends on the back. A shorter lady with fiery red hair. Both were near doubled over.

That action was like a starting gun going off.

From then on, Both Kylee and Dam13n were busy. They fended off all kinds of armor and weapons people through. Most of it was dud gear. Things from the last update that no one cared about. Jester growled under his breath.

Tiffany surged forward, and he did his best to keep up.

Happy Hour started singing. Some song in a language he didn’t know. It sounded guttural and angry. When a feathered hat that looked pirate landed on her face, the song changed. So did the hat.

Holes burned in it as though covers din acid. The black material formed around the bottom of her face, making a mask. The feather shifting to hang down from the tip of her ear. It seemed whatever this was, didn’t want her eyes covered.

He wondered why.

As for the song, it was in the same language. Though now it was jauntier, and he swore he heard a few curses thrown in.

A small player darted in, and slapped a ring on her velvet covered foot. It broke and stretched out. Making it appear as though she had a strange golden scar.

Someone hooked another goblet onto the sword. He watched it melt as it slide down the blade. It partially reformed, fusing strangely to the sword. That caused her to scream at those around her in German.

Though he couldn’t figure out why.

The single saving grace he could see was that none of the people were following. Once they were out of sight, that was it. None followed, though their laughter was still audible. Not that they needed to.

There was always someone to take their place.

Rings, amulets, hats, even a jacket designed for a dog. Each of these hit Happy Hour, causing her to evolve in a rush. Her song changed, sometimes languages, sometimes pitches.

The metal always ended up either on her legs or on her face.

She grew a pair of glasses, made from two different metal chains. They looped around her eyes, bounded together over her nose by a series of rings.

Jewels studded her at random points. A set of garnets making a sad face around the sword.

He was glad when Dam13n blocked a hefty breastplate. He didn’t need her gaining more armor. If there was a fight, the last thing she needed was more defense.

When they hit The Outskirts the chaos intensified.

Players stopped throwing things, which was a plus. But the sheer amount of people slowed them to a crawl. This meant more accidental bumps as people carried virus riddled gear towards The Junkyard. Either to dispose of it, or to see if they can upgrade their new Chimera-bot.

He’d thought normal gear was bad.

Virus gear was much worse.

Every time it touched her, she started to squirm and thrash about. Her screams cut through the noise of the air, causing players to shy away. Those whose items she absorbed cursed at them. Even as they lost armor and weapons to her.

These were absorbed fully. Often being disassembled before their eyes. Blending into her form far more neatly than the non-virus gear. They almost formed as they should.

A Pauldron wiggled to her shoulder and clamped on. Jester swore he saw teeth like protrusions digging into the fur.

Several rings attached around her paws. Not quite on the fingers, instead forming a circle on the back of her hand.

However, it was the robotic arm that caused issues.

The piece itself wasn’t much to look at. A three-pronged grabber attached to a metal pole, with some wires snaking around it. With a yell, the player it belonged to tried to jerk it away from her. Not that it helped.

Dam13n let out a yell as the arm waved about. It smacked into Jester before making an attempt at a nearby item. Happy Hour laughed maniacally as her new appendage slammed around.

Tiffany cursed, and Dam13n did his best to grab a hold of it. Kylee helped both of them, getting it to stop.

Though not before it snagged a dagger.

The weapon bonded to the grabber, now giving her a makeshift spear. As he watched, the entire appendage took on the bluish-green of the weapon’s hilt.

“This isn’t working,” Kylee cried.

“Yeah, no shit.” Tiffany let out a snort. “What’s your plan?”

Jester looked around, trying to find a gap. He didn’t see one, though he got one better.

“ANDRY!”

His voice carried, and the big man turned. Even from this distance, he could see the look of exhaustion on the man’s face. Others wearing the armbands turned towards him as well. Some smiled, others looked wary.

“Jester!” Andry called out. “What are you doing here? Is Miss Happy Hour ok?”

Players grumbled as the two groups met, essentially blocking the street. Jester didn’t care. As Andry looked on with horror at the wiggling and laughing Happy Hour, he gave the man the rundown.

“Right.” Andry clapped his arms. “Everyone line up! We’re heading to The Junkyard!”

“But Mistletail said to stay here and help,” One younger boy said.

Andry let out a booming laugh. “She’ll understand. We are to help our fellow members as we are able. Come!”

No matter what the Geartown residents thought about Scrappers, they moved for Andry. He wasn’t rude, but he wasn’t willing to wait. With him in the lead, they made good time.

Soon enough, Gero was in sight. All without Happy Hour absorbing anything more.

“I’ll let you go,” Andry said. “Unless you need me?”

“No, I don’t think so. Thanks. I rally appreciate it.”

They tipped Gero the required credit and moved across the bridge.

“Where to now?” Tiffany asked.

Jester let out a laugh, not from humor but from exhaustion. While his limbs were fine, his mind was buzzing.

“Where this all began. Let’s go look at some history.”