The interior of the gas station smelled like burnt code and pine cleaner.
Jake Vance stepped over the threshold. His chrome arm hummed, syncing with the building's erratic Wi-Fi signal.
"Don't touch the floor tiles!" the Stranger barked, leveling his shotgun at Taranov's boots. "The red ones are lava!"
Taranov froze mid-step. He looked down. The linoleum tiles were checkered black and red. The red ones were glowing faintly, emitting heat waves.
"Lava?" Taranov scoffed. "In a gas station?"
"Physics bug," the Stranger spat. "Devs left a terrain modifier on. Step on red, lose a leg."
Taranov carefully hopped to a black tile. The floor creaked, sounding like a dying cat.
"Who are you?" Jake asked, keeping his hands visible but ready.
The Stranger lowered his shotgun slightly. Up close, he looked like a patchwork quilt of soldiers. US Army helmet. Soviet greatcoat. Neon pink sneakers that pulsed with a rhythm.
"I'm the Merchant," the Stranger grunted. "Name's Boris. Or Bill. Depends on the server lag."
"Boris," Menzhinsky whispered, recognizing the accent. "You are Russian?"
"I was," Boris shrugged. "Then the world reset. Now I'm just an NPC with a shop inventory."
He walked behind the counter. It was covered in junk—rusty cans of spam, glowing blue batteries, and a jar of pickles that looked suspiciously radioactive.
"What do you want?" Boris asked. "I don't accept rubles. Or dollars. Just Credits."
"We don't have Credits," Jake said. "We have hunger."
Boris laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound.
"Everybody has hunger, pal. That's the main mechanic."
He pointed to a vending machine in the corner. It was huge, chrome, and menacing. The glass front was cracked. Inside, instead of snacks, there were boxes of ammunition and blocks of grey nutrient paste.
"The machine dispenses daily rations," Boris said. "But it's jammed. Fix it, and I'll give you a meal."
"Fix a vending machine?" Oppenheimer scoffed. "I built the atomic bomb!"
"Good for you," Boris said, unimpressed. "Can you un-jam a coil spring with a physics degree?"
Jake looked at his team. They were shivering, pale, and swaying on their feet.
"Oppenheimer," Jake ordered. "Check the machine."
The physicist grumbled but walked over. He peered into the glass.
"It's not a spring," Oppenheimer said. "It's a rendering error. A Snickers bar is clipping through a grenade."
"Can you remove it?"
"I need tools."
"Use the spear," Jake tossed Taranov's broken stick to him.
Oppenheimer jammed the wood into the coin slot. He jiggled it.
CLANK.
Sparks flew. The machine groaned.
ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED MAINTENANCE.
A robotic arm shot out of the prize slot. It held a taser.
"Whoa!" Oppenheimer jumped back, tripping over a red tile.
"Watch the floor!" Jake grabbed him by the collar and yanked him onto a black square just as the red tile flared, melting the sole of Oppenheimer's shoe.
"It's hostile!" Oppenheimer shrieked.
"It's defensive," Boris chuckled, leaning on his shotgun. "Told you it bites."
Jake walked up to the machine.
He looked at the robotic arm. It was twitching, aiming the taser at his chest.
"Yuri," Jake whispered to his wrist. "Interface."
The holographic boy appeared.
"Scanning device," Yuri droned. "Model: Vendo-Mat 3000. Firmware: Corrupted."
"Hack it."
"Injecting SQL code," Yuri said.
Jake's chrome arm glowed blue. He placed his palm on the glass.
The machine shuddered. The taser arm drooped. The lights flickered from angry red to compliant green.
WELCOME, ADMINISTRATOR.
The coil spun.
The Snickers bar fell. The grenade fell. Then a flood of grey nutrient blocks tumbled into the tray.
"Jackpot," Taranov breathed.
He grabbed a grey block. He tore the wrapper with his teeth. He bit into it.
"How is it?" Valentina asked, watching him chew.
"Tastes like wet cardboard," Taranov grimaced. "And... strawberries?"
"Texture pack glitch," Boris nodded. "Flavor text is randomized."
They ate. It wasn't a meal; it was refueling. Jake felt the warmth spread through his limbs. His vision cleared. The "Low Calorie" warning on his HUD vanished.
"You fixed it," Boris said, impressed. He put the shotgun on the counter. "Okay. Deal is a deal. You can stay the night."
"We need more than a bed," Jake said, wiping grey paste from his mouth. "We need intel."
"Intel costs extra."
"I fixed your machine," Jake countered. "That's worth a map."
Boris sighed. He reached under the counter and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. It looked like skin.
He spread it out.
It wasn't a normal map. It was a topographic nightmare.
"This is the Sector," Boris pointed. "We are here. The Glitch Forest."
He traced a line north.
"This is the Dead Zone. Radiation is so high the air is solid green."
He pointed to the twisted city on the horizon.
"And that... is Neo-Moscow."
"Who runs it?" Menzhinsky asked.
"The Algorithm," Boris said. "A construct called The Director. It sits in the Citadel and spawns mobs."
"Mobs?"
"Soldiers," Boris clarified. "Endless waves of them. They patrol the streets. If they see you, they don't arrest you. They delete you."
"And the West?" Jake pointed to the black skull on the map.
Boris flinched.
"We don't go West," he whispered. "That's the corrupted biome."
"Who is there?"
"The Shadow King," Boris said. "Some say he's a player who got banned but refused to leave. He builds towers out of deleted files."
"Hoover," Jake muttered.
"The Director and the Shadow King are at war," Boris explained. "They fight for server bandwidth. The more land you control, the more processing power you get."
"So it's a strategy game," Yuri's voice chimed from the wrist. "Territory control mechanics."
"Exactly," Boris nodded at the wrist. "Smart watch you got there."
"He's my son," Jake said.
"He's a plugin," Boris corrected. "But whatever helps you sleep."
Suddenly, the lights in the gas station went out.
The hum of the vending machine died.
"Power surge?" Valentina asked, reaching for her pistol.
"No," Boris whispered. He grabbed his shotgun. "Raid event."
A siren began to wail outside. It was the same digital scream they had heard in the forest, but louder. Closer.
"Hide!" Boris hissed. "Behind the counter!"
Jake shoved his team over the counter. He crouched next to Boris.
"Who is raiding?" Jake whispered.
"Scavengers," Boris said. "Level 20s. They come for the loot."
The front door exploded inward.
Not kicked in. Blown in.
Three figures stepped through the smoke.
They weren't human. They were cyborgs, cobbled together from car parts and flesh. One had a chainsaw for an arm. Another had a stop sign welded to his chest.
"Loot!" the Chainsaw-Man screeched. His voice was a grinding metallic noise.
He revved his arm. He slashed the vending machine.
Sparks flew. The glass shattered.
"Hey!" Boris popped up. "That's my inventory!"
BOOM.
Boris fired the shotgun.
The buckshot hit the Chainsaw-Man.
-5 HP.*
The damage number floated in the air. It was pitifully low.
"Armor!" Boris cursed. "He's tanking it!"
The Chainsaw-Man laughed. He swung his blade at Boris.
Jake moved.
He didn't have a weapon. He had a chrome fist.
He vaulted over the counter.
"Yuri! Combat mode!"
"Engaging," the wrist said.
Jake's arm glowed red. He caught the chainsaw blade with his metal hand.
Sparks showered his face. The chain ground against his palm, but didn't cut.
"Inventory denied," Jake growled.
He punched the cyborg in the face.
CRITICAL HIT.
The cyborg's head snapped back. His health bar dropped to zero instantly. He collapsed into a pile of scrap metal.
The other two raiders froze.
"He's a hacker!" the Stop-Sign-Man shouted. "Run!"
They turned to flee.
"Oppenheimer!" Jake yelled. "Shoot!"
Oppenheimer popped up. He leveled the glowing green Makarov.
He pulled the trigger.
PEW.
A beam of green plasma shot out. It hit the fleeing raider in the back.
The raider didn't die. He turned into a chicken.
"What?" Oppenheimer stared at the gun.
The chicken clucked and ran out the door.
"Polymorph round," Boris noted, reloading his shotgun. "Rare drop. Nice shot."
Jake stood over the dead cyborg. He looked at his hand. It was scratched, but functional.
"We need gear," Jake said. "Real gear. If we're going to Neo-Moscow, we can't fight with sticks and polymorph guns."
He looked at the scrap pile.
A glowing blue object was sticking out of the cyborg's chest wreckage.
It was a keycard.
Jake picked it up.
ACCESS LEVEL: BUNKER 4.
"What is Bunker 4?" Jake asked Boris.
Boris's eyes went wide.
"That's an old military cache," Boris whispered. "Pre-reset. They say there are tanks in there. Maybe even a mech."
"A mech?" Taranov perked up.
"Where is it?" Jake demanded.
"Five miles east," Boris pointed. "In the swamp."
"Swamp?" Valentina groaned. "I hate swamps."
"It's a toxic biome," Boris warned. "Poison damage every second. You need filters."
"Do you sell filters?"
"For Credits," Boris grinned. His merchant persona was back.
Jake looked at the dead cyborg. He ripped a gold chain off its neck.
"Will this cover it?"
Boris took the chain. He bit it.
"Low-poly gold," Boris nodded. "But it has weight. Deal."
He reached under the counter and threw four gas masks onto the floor. They looked like WWII masks, but with glowing green lenses.
"Filters last one hour," Boris said. "Move fast."
Jake grabbed a mask.
"Gear up," Jake ordered his team. "We're going to the swamp."
"And then?" Taranov asked, strapping the mask on.
"Then we get a tank," Jake said. "And we drive to Moscow to kill the Director."
He looked at the map again. At the black skull in the West.
"And after that," Jake whispered. "We go delete a ghost."
They stepped out into the night. The snow was still floating upward. The purple moon watched them.
The game had changed. But the player was the same.