A little before our usual bedtime, Otoha handed me my smartphone.
“It’s done charging.”
You might be wondering what use a phone could be to a dyed-in-the-wool NEET. Well, sorry to disappoint, but my folks bought it for me back when I started high school, and I’d held on to it ever since. That’s all there was to it.
By that point, my life had been entirely consumed by FPS games. Every day, as soon as school ended, I’d swiftly dart out of the classroom before anyone got the chance to pester me with their normie trifles and scamper all the way back home, where FPS-induced bliss awaited me. The phone saw little use, and my laughable contacts list reflected that.
“Never thought I’d be happy to see you again, little buddy.”
I had it switched off ever since the incident at the police station, and I’d completely forgotten about its existence—that is, until yesterday, when an ingenious idea occurred to me. I’d tried switching it on, only to be greeted by 1% battery... Damned self-discharge phenomenon.
“Here goes nothing,” I said, holding down the power button.
The goal was to gather as much info from the internet as possible. Retreating into the countryside was a brilliant suggestion on Otoha’s part, but it was far too abstract for my liking. We had to delve into the nitty-gritty of the operation or risk hitting an unexpected roadblock further down the line.
Narrowing down the destination was our top priority, followed by figuring out the best way to get there. We could even try looking to see if there were any large-scale apocalypse survivor groups or something. Didn’t want to get my hopes up too high, but it was at least worth a shot.
“No texts, no missed calls... nothing. What else is new?”
By “laughable contacts list,” I meant that my address book only had about ten names in it, including family members. The liveliest aspect of my social life was the constant stream of fan mail I’d been receiving from a sudden influx of spam bots. If I had to guess, one of the many FPS games I’d signed up for was probably hit by a data breach.
Speaking of bots...
I was suddenly reminded of a certain AI assistant: Raven from Field Battle.
At the time, I had no idea what she could’ve possibly meant by “best of luck” or why she knew my real name, but looking back on it, it was almost as if she knew it would be the last time I ever logged off.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. That tinfoil hat’s getting a little bit too close to your head there, buddy. Raven’s just another AI. Granted, she’s pretty advanced—as in “routinely tricking people into believing she’s a real living human being” advanced. But why would an actual human keep up the act way after the apocalypse? It doesn’t add up.
“Actually...”
If her life-sized figurine was anything to go off of, Raven was definitely a well-beloved character. The game even offered players a Raven-themed cosmetic set. Combine that with a character customization system as fleshed out as Field Battle’s, and you could probably see how some really original boneheads came up with the hilarious idea of turning their toons into Raven clones. In conclusion, there was a very real possibility that I had been talking to a living, breathing person and not an AI.
There was only one crack in that theory: only one person in the game knew me by my real name.
“You holdin’ up okay, bud?” I wondered aloud.
My Field Battle buddies and I had an unspoken agreement not to probe into one another’s personal lives, and we’d always stuck to it. Well, until this one guy Zino and I had to exchange our addresses over e-mail.
We never met up in person, and each of us had no idea what the other guy looked like, but something just clicked between us. His gaming skills were superb, he was a high-ranking player like yours truly, and our playstyles complemented one another beautifully.
Zino wasn’t much of a talker, but that was only because he wanted to “get in character,” so to speak. He was so hellbent on staying in character that he wouldn’t even break it when we were waiting around in the queue. This quirk of his really appealed to me on a deeply personal level.
“‘Bud’? Who are you talking about?” Naturally, Otoha’s sharp ears didn’t let that one slip past her.
“Just a buddy of mine. A real bro who always had my back. You think he’s hanging in there somewhere?”
“Sure...” She was side-eyeing me with her head tilted to the side, which made her stare feel oddly interrogating. “Weren’t you supposed to be gathering intel?”
“Got lost in my own head, my bad. I’ll get right to it.”
Since there was no one left to do server maintenance, the internet could be cut off at any moment. I had to act fast... but there was just one tiny problem.
“Lemme have a look.” She put her head on my shoulder.
’Scuse me, miss, don’t mean to be rude, but there’s this thing called personal space! If the hairs brushing against my cheek are any indication, you’re violating mine! And why’re you draping your arms around me, too?!
What exactly set off Otoha’s sense of shame was about as much a mystery to me as anyone else.
“Your inbox is empty.”
“I know.”
“Why do I get the feeling you have no friends?”
“Because I don’t.”
“That makes two of us.” There was a hint of childish glee in her voice; she seemed very tickled by this.
Otoha was pretty high up on the misfit totem pole because of the niche nature of her obsession. Honestly, I would’ve been more surprised if someone who spent their free time roaming the sewers wasn’t ostracized by their classmates. In that sense, we were practically kindred spirits.
“That it does.” I fired up the default web browser.
“Now’s not the time for games.”
“I just had this set as my homepage, chill.”
The homepage in question was Field Battle’s official website. It felt oddly nostalgic to see it again after what felt like months, or even years, even though only a week had passed. Pre-apocalypse me was no more, but I would always have a soft spot for those halcyon days.
“Also, you do know that smartphones can’t run VRFPS ga—”
I suddenly noticed something in the bottom right corner.
“What the...?”
A notification window that looked like a manga speech bubble had popped up. The little caricature of Raven attached to it looked as enthusiastic as ever, but that was beside the point. The notification itself was what had blown me away.
“Zino?!” I could feel my voice crack as I yelled out his name.
Field Battle automatically notified users whenever their mutuals were last online.
“Last online... yesterday?!”
“Who’s this Xeno? Is he xenophobic or something?”
“Tone down the false accusations, will ya?” I took a deep breath before carrying on. “It starts with a Z. Z-i-n-o. That’s my buddy’s handle. He originally wanted to go with Gino, but it was apparently taken.”