บท 28: **Chapter 28: Getting What you came for**
Not long after Biscuit's visit to his room, Kris felt an unbearable weight pressing down on him, as though her words had unearthed questions he wasn't ready to answer. The fog clouding his mind refused to lift, swirling with fragments of what-ifs and a lingering sense of unease. His usual tricks—sarcasm, a forced grin, and brushing things aside—weren't cutting it.
He rubbed his temples and sighed, the walls of the room suddenly feeling too close, too suffocating. A drink. That's what he needed. Something to clear his head and burn away the haze. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his coat and slipped out into the corridor, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet.
---
**The Bar: Unwinding the Threads**
The neon glow of the sign outside the bar promised solace—*The Velvet Taproom*. It wasn't much, but Kris didn't need much tonight. Just a drink, a dimly lit corner, and some space to let his mind work through the madness.
The Velvet Taproom was the kind of place that lived in quiet defiance of change. Scuffed wooden floors creaked underfoot, while a jukebox in the corner hummed faintly with static between songs no one played anymore. A mix of burnt fries and whiskey hung in the air, wrapping around patrons like an old, heavy coat. Kris slipped onto a barstool at the far end, the one least likely to invite conversation.
The bartender, a grizzled man with crow's feet etched deep into his face, sized him up with a nod. "What'll it be?"
"Whiskey. Neat," Kris replied, fishing a crumpled bill from his pocket. As the glass clinked against the wood, he leaned forward, letting the cool bar counter steady him.
He took a sip, savoring the slow burn down his throat. It wasn't the best whiskey, but it was good enough for now. He needed this—a moment to stop, breathe, and think.
---
**Observations and Paranoia**
The flicker of the television mounted above the bar caught his eye. The news was covering the airport explosion, a somber reporter recounting the tragedy.
"...reports confirm that all passengers aboard Flight 180 perished in the mid-air explosion shortly after takeoff. Investigators are still piecing together the cause, though early theories suggest a critical mechanical failure."
Kris snorted quietly. *If only they knew.* His eyes scanned the faces of the patrons, gauging reactions. Most were shaking their heads in sympathy or murmuring quiet condolences, but one man in the corner stood out—a balding old man nursing his drink, lost in his own world.
Kris narrowed his gaze. Something about the guy screamed *off*, familiar in a way. Maybe it was paranoia from the day's events, but instincts honed by constant need for survival whispered that this guy wasn't just a random bar patron.
---
**The Doctor's Tale**
Kris downed the rest of his whiskey and approached the man casually, sliding into the seat next to him. "Hell of a story, huh?" he started, gesturing to the TV.
The man startled slightly, snapping out from his thoughts. He looked at Kris, then nodded. "Yeah... tragic."
Kris flagged the bartender for another drink, playing it cool. "World's a dangerous place. You never know when your time's up." He paused, glancing at the man. "But you seem like someone who's seen a thing or two. What's your take?"
The man hesitated, his hand tightening around his glass. "I just... Look, I don't know. I wasn't even aware something like that happened," he said quietly. His voice carried a mix of guilt and frustration, and Kris caught the tremor in his hand.
"I came down here from New York to find an old patient. I was hoping to talk to her, find out how she was doing, and prove to myself that what I did was significant. But when I approached her a couple of days ago, she threw me out of her house, saying she didn't know who I was or what I was talking about."
"Wow. That person must have some issues. You a doctor, then?" Kris asked.
"Geneticist, actually—or at least I was. Now I'm just a washed-up nobody driving a taxi in New York, living in a shit apartment," said the man.
"Whoa, there, doc. I don't know what you've been through or even begin to understand how you feel right now, but I do know one thing—you're down on your luck at the moment. Yeah, so what?! You've hit rock bottom. There's nowhere else to go but up." Kris tried to lift the man's mood, patting him on the shoulder.
"Thank you. I appreciate what you're doing," the man responded.
"Yeah, no probs, doc. My name's Kris, by the way." Kris clapped the man on the shoulder as he stood to leave.
"Chandra Suresh. Thank you." The man put up his hand to shake Kris's.
The name detonated a bomb in Kris's mind. Faces and moments flashed behind his eyes—a montage of memories Kris didn't realize he still had. *Heroes*. Genetic experiments. A map of people with abilities.
His thoughts spiraled into chaos. This wasn't possible. Chandra Suresh wasn't just out of place; he wasn't even supposed to *exist* in this reality. Kris's instincts screamed *deviation*. The universe was no longer playing by its own rules.
Kris masked his shock with a smile and shook the man's hand firmly.
"Sure thing, doc. Here, let me write my hotel's phone number in case you need a drinking buddy or something. Nice to have someone I know while I'm in town."
The good doctor gave him a firm shake. "I will, if need be. Thank you, Kris—you're too kind."
As Kris stepped out into the cool night air, the weight of the encounter hit him full force. His mind churned with questions, his pulse quickening.
"Well, shit," he muttered, staring down the empty street.
The universe wasn't just stacking the deck—it was throwing in cards from completely different games.
---
Kris woke up the next morning still feeling groggy from the events of last night. The strange encounter with Chandra Suresh clung to the edges of his thoughts like fog, but he tried to push it aside. It didn't make sense. Not yet.
He dragged himself out of bed and into a cold shower, hoping the rush of water would clear his head. The cold helped, but the questions swirling in his mind remained, persistent like a low hum in the background.
To the best of his memories, the movie plot didn't start a month later, after the group gathered to commemorate the ones that died in the plane crash.
Giving him enough time to spend the remaining nine days to gather more information regarding the weirdness they got themselves in.
He grabbed a jacket from the back of his chair, throwing it on without thinking. Biscuit was already waiting downstairs.
After a quick, quiet breakfast, the two of them headed out, the cold morning air biting at their skin.
Kris didn't bother telling Biscuit where they were going; he was used to Biscuit letting him take the lead. She had a way of knowing when it was time for action, and today, it seemed, was no different.
**The Bludworth Funeral Home: A Conversation with Mr. Bludworth**
The funeral home loomed ahead, a small, nondescript building nestled between two storefronts on a quiet street. The heavy door creaked as Kris pushed it open, the scent of aged wood and incense wafting out to meet them. The place was peaceful, almost too peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos still churning in Kris's chest.
Bludworth, a tall man with an unsettling calm, stood behind the counter, his eyes tracking their every move without a hint of surprise. Kris couldn't decide if the man had seen too much in his lifetime or if he simply knew exactly what people like Kris and Biscuit were after.
"Can I help you?" Bludworth asked in a voice like gravestones cracking under pressure.
Kris glanced at Biscuit, and she gave a subtle nod. Without hesitation, Kris stepped forward.
"Yeah, we've got some questions about death," Kris said, voice steady, though the weight of the word *death* hung between them.
Bludworth raised an eyebrow, but his expression didn't shift. "Death, you say? Most people don't come looking for answers. They usually prefer the comfort of ignorance." He paused. "But I can see you're not like most people."
Kris leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Bludworth's. "We're not exactly your typical customers. We've been... noticing some oddities around here. Death doesn't seem to stick the way it's supposed to. People die, sure, but some things don't add up."
Bludworth's lips curled into a tight, knowing smile. "The rules of death can be slippery. But only for those who think they can cheat it." He looked over at Kris, and something in his gaze seemed to pierce deeper than usual. "Why do you think you're still here? Even after you should've been gone?"
Kris's pulse quickened, though he tried to hide it with a casual smile. "I'm not asking for myself, just... you know, general curiosity."
Bludworth's smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. "Curiosity can be dangerous. Some things are better left alone. Death, after all, is the ultimate authority."
Biscuit, not one to be left out, interjected. "So, what? You're telling us people like us can't change anything?"
Bludworth's gaze softened as he met her eyes. "I'm telling you that trying to cheat death may bring you face to face with something far worse than dying."
Kris's mind raced. There it was again, that cryptic warning. Was Bludworth just messing with them, or did he actually know something more?
---
**Bludworth's Revelation**
"Come now, let's not play coy, shall we? I know you're from *that* place." Mr. Bludworth's knowing smile widened slightly. "I know this because I, too, was once like you."
"What? How is that possible? You don't seem to be wearing one of these." Kris lifted his hand, the mysterious watch catching the dim light.
"Why don't you hold that thought for now? This isn't the right place to discuss such matters. Come, follow me. I have the perfect place where we can talk."
With a graceful yet deliberate pace, Bludworth led them down a set of narrow, creaking stairs, deeper into the funeral home. The air grew cooler, and the scent of incense faded into an earthy stillness. He stopped at a heavy wooden door, unlocking it with a key that looked older than the building itself.
Inside was a secure study, its walls lined with books that bore titles in languages Kris couldn't recognize. The room was lit by the soft, flickering glow of an oil lamp on the desk, which cast long shadows across the leather armchairs arranged in a tight circle.
"Take a seat, both of you. Would you care for some tea?" Bludworth's voice remained calm, almost inviting.
Kris exchanged a glance with Biscuit before nodding. "Sure."
Bludworth returned shortly with a tray, setting down delicate porcelain cups. Once the tea was served, he settled into his chair, his gaze steady on Kris and Biscuit.
Slightly eager to resume the conversation, Kris leaned forward. "How did you know we're… not from around here?"
The mortician chuckled softly, his thin lips curving into a faint smile. "In my eyes, you're still too green, boy. You make no effort to hide that watch of yours. And, as I said, I was a player once."
Kris froze, the words sinking in.
Bludworth continued, his tone patient, almost teacherly. "You see, *Death*, *the System*, *God*, *Ball of Light*—whatever you choose to call it—is not perfect. Sometimes, people like me slip through the cracks. But no…" His expression darkened. "We are not free. Far from it. We hide here in movie worlds that are a bit *more*—so to speak. I bet you've already noticed."
Kris nodded cautiously. "And why not go back? To the real world or to… God's dimension?"
Bludworth's smile returned, tinged with irony. "Because I don't want to. My escape would be pointless if I returned to being *Death's* puppet. No, I chose to remain here. And it's not so bad, if you know what to look for."
"What do you mean by that?" Biscuit's tone was sharp, cutting through the stillness. "Are you talking about the world's condition—like not being overrun by zombies—or something else?"
Bludworth's eyes gleamed as he regarded her. "No, my dear. What I'm saying is that this world, this *movie*, is special. It has branching plot lines that keep it from collapsing under its own weight. Some worlds, you see, have a single plot—linear, fragile. They can be reset, rewound, or destroyed entirely. But not this one."
He leaned back, folding his hands. "The System, or the Test, has little influence in such worlds. That's why people like me—those who've escaped the System's oversight—can hide here and live something resembling a normal life."
Kris furrowed his brow, trying to piece it together. "But without going back to God's dimension, doesn't that mean you can't exchange points or gain new upgrades?"
Bludworth chuckled, a low, almost pitying sound. "Oh, I'm not as helpless as you think. I still have my upgrades from before. Some of us are content with what we have. We make do."
Kris tilted his head, studying the man's calm demeanor. "And you're just… okay with that? No points, no progression, no way out?"
Bludworth's smile faded slightly, and his voice dropped. "Better to live as I choose than to dance on the strings of a capricious master."
The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, even Biscuit was silent. Kris leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
"So… you're telling us there's a way to survive without playing the game."
"There is." Bludworth's tone was firm but laced with caution. "But survival comes with a price, Mr. Kris. The question is, are you prepared to pay it?"
---
Kris didn't want to entertain that thought for the moment. In his mind, doing so was like giving up. He pressed on, focusing instead on the question that had been eating at him.
"What is the goal of the system?" Kris asked. He already had a pretty good idea of the answer but needed confirmation.
Bludworth studied him for a moment, as if weighing how much to share, then began, "Evolution. The game, as some call it, is a medium designed to advance humans to the next stage of evolution. The system gradually evolves normal humans, pushing them toward the ultimate goal: Stage 5."
He leaned back, his voice steady but tinged with something almost reverent. "You see, humans are bound by what's called the *Genetic Constraint*—a code in our DNA that prevents further evolution. Unlocking this constraint, also called *Unlocked Mode*, allows a person to break free of that coding, realize their full potential, and even tap into ancestral experiences—both human and otherwise.
"But," Bludworth continued, his tone darkening, "this comes at a cost. The process releases poison into the system, which can kill a person as it forcibly breaks down their genetics to trigger evolution. Those with enough experience and enhanced stats, however, can mitigate the effects."
Kris exchanged a look with Biscuit but said nothing, letting Bludworth explain further.
"Each stage unlocks a new ability, separate from the Exchange System, and allows one to push enhancements beyond what a normal human can achieve."
Bludworth tapped the table with his finger, emphasizing his point. "There are five stages, but I only know the effects of the first three."
He began to list them out.
**STAGE 1**: Release instincts from ancestors, increasing combat ability. The potential of D-tier and below enhancements, genetic mutations, and skills can be brought to 100%. C-tier can reach 70%, B-tier 40%, and A-tier 20-30%.
**STAGE 2**: Gain absolute control of the body. The potential of C-tier and below enhancements, genetic mutations, and skills can be brought to 100%. B-tier reaches 70%, and A-tier hits 50%.
**STAGE 3**: Gain absolute control of the brain. The potential of B-tier and below enhancements, genetic mutations, and skills can be brought to 100%. A-tier can reach 70%.
Kris absorbed the information, his mind working through the implications. But Biscuit had her own question. "What about guides? What do you know about them?"
Bludworth tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What about them?" he asked, his gaze flicking between Biscuit and Kris.
"Well," Biscuit said, setting her teacup down, "ours isn't doing his job. He's pretending to act like a normal player."
"Hmmm." Bludworth's expression darkened as he considered this. "If that's true, then he may have fused with a player."
"Fused?" Kris asked, confused.
"Yes. To do that, there must have been an overlap," Bludworth explained, leaning forward. "Wait—was there a point in your team's history where he was the only survivor?"
"Yes," Kris said after a pause, glancing at Biscuit for confirmation. "I think it was in this movie. He said he was the only survivor."
"Well, there you have it," Bludworth said grimly. "That player must have been on the brink of death. When a player's heart stops—or comes close—during a reset to God's dimension, there's a small chance they can fuse with a guide. I've heard of this happening to another team once. That team ended up being wiped out because they couldn't prepare properly for the movies they were assigned."
Kris's stomach sank. "So what do we do?"
"You have to get rid of that guy as soon as possible," Bludworth said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "If he's a guide, you can kill him without penalty."
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