"No, no, don't kick it! Are you trying to validate its warranty on existential aggression?"
The words ripped out of my throat, hoarse and exasperated. The guy – wild-eyed, clad in mismatched scavenged sports gear, and radiating pure panic – jumped back from the flickering ATM like he'd touched a live wire. Which, arguably, he might have.
The ATM wasn't just malfunctioning; it was actively throwing a digital tantrum. Its screen cycled rapidly through [INSUFFICIENT FUNDS], [REALITY ERROR: PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER], and bursts of angry red static that coalesced into jagged, vaguely threatening polygons before dissolving again. It shuddered with each cycle, the physical manifestation of corrupted code grinding against burnt-out processors. With each flicker, it spat out another crystalline shard of... something. Hard light? Solidified data? Whatever it was, it looked sharp enough to cut reality itself, embedding itself in the crumbling pavement around the survivor's frantically shuffling feet.
"But it's… it's attacking me!" the guy shrieked, brandishing a bent golf club like it might scare faulty banking hardware into submission.
"Yes! It's glitching! Kicking things that are actively rewriting physics in your immediate vicinity is generally filed under 'Bad Ideas'!" I snapped back, keeping my distance near the shattered storefront of what used to be a noodle bar. "Just back away slowly! Its targeting routine looks like it was coded by a caffeinated squirrel!"
My own view wasn't much better. Instead of a crisp HP bar and objective tracker, the upper corner of my vision was currently occupied by a poorly rendered GIF of a cat furiously playing a keyboard. Below it, text scrolled: [System Message: Current Objective - Survive User ID: Brenda_Is_An_Idiot's Poor Life Choices. Reward Pending…] followed by a string of corrupted characters that looked vaguely like wingdings having a stroke.
Thanks, URE. Super helpful. Knowing the panicking lunatic potentially shared a handle with Brenda from Accounting wasn't exactly boosting my confidence in his survival odds. Or mine.
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[Hostile Entity Detected: Automated Threat Machine (ATM) - Corrupted AI Module]
Level: 5? Maybe 6? (Analysis fluctuates wildly)
Threat: Dispenses Non-Euclidean Aggression. Low Rarity. High Annoyance.
Weakness: Probably Terrible Security Protocols? Predictable Error Loops? Try Ctrl+Alt+Del?
Recommendation: Do not insert card. Do not attempt transaction. Do not make eye contact?
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The System's analysis flickered unreliably, superimposed over the keyboard cat. Fantastic. It wasn't even sure how dangerous the damned thing was.
I risked a focused look, activating [Perceive Glitch (Level 2)]. The world snapped into a different kind of focus, the air itself resolving into layers of noisy data. The air around the ATM shimmered, thick with tangled lines of angry red 'code' – visualize a bowl of spaghetti woven by malfunctioning spider bots. I could see the core loop: check_balance -> insufficient_funds -> trigger_error_protocol -> access_asset_library[hostile_geometry.pak] -> dispense_sharp_object() -> loop. Basic, predictable, lethally stupid.
There was also a subroutine furiously trying to connect to a non-existent banking network, adding to the processing strain. Kicking it probably just fed garbage data into its damaged sensors, validating the error state.
"It's stuck in an error loop!" I yelled over the zzzt-chunk sound of another crystal shard embedding itself dangerously close to Brenda_Is_An_Idiot's left foot. "It thinks dispensing sharp things is the correct response to not finding money! Just. Back. Away. Don't give it new inputs!"
He hesitated, glancing between me and the polygon-spitting machine. Finally, bless whatever minuscule scrap of self-preservation he possessed, he started inching backward, eyes wide. The ATM continued its rhythmic dispensing, but the shards now landed harmlessly where he used to be. Its targeting was indeed primitive. Like trying to aim with a disconnected mouse.
My SP bar, thankfully visible under the cat GIF, had dipped slightly from the focused analysis. 77/80. Using my 'power' always felt like running complex diagnostics on three hours of sleep – mentally taxing, leaving a faint buzzing behind my eyes.
The survivor reached the relative safety of the noodle bar entrance beside me, breathing heavily. "What… what was that?"
"Tuesday," I replied automatically, scanning the street. Another glitch in the cosmic code. Another ticket in the universe's infinite helpdesk queue. This little encounter probably attracted unwanted attention. Need to move. "Also, a prime example of why you don't argue with broken technology, especially when it has access to physics cheats."
He stared at me, then down at his bent golf club. "You… you knew what it was doing?"
"Debugging is kind of my thing," I sighed, already turning to leave. "Less of a superpower, more of a cosmic janitorial duty. Now, unless you want to wait for whatever else heard that racket, I suggest relocating."
He scrambled after me. "Wait! Where are you going? Is there somewhere safe?"
"Define 'safe'," I shot back, navigating around a car that had partially sunk into the asphalt like quicksand. Saw a mailbox phase through a lamppost last week. Safe is... optimistic. "My definition involves minimal reality tearing and functional plumbing. It's a high bar these days."
My actual destination was the Kwik-E-Mart visible a block down. Looked relatively intact, which usually meant either nobody had bothered looting it yet, or it was guarded by something particularly unpleasant. Worth the risk for potential non-meat-product sustenance.
Brenda_Is_An_Idiot kept pace, looking nervously over his shoulder. "I just got into the city… I heard there were stable zones…"
"Rumors," I grunted, eyeing a flicker in the upper window of an office building. Probably just a texture fail, but you never knew. Nothing hostile, just background corruption. Probably. "Stable is a relative term. Mostly means things only try to kill you in predictable ways."
We reached the Kwik-E-Mart. Its lights stuttered weakly, sign buzzing erratically (Kwik-E - File Not Found). Standard. The automatic doors were stuck half-open.
"Okay," I said, stopping him before he could barge in. "Rule number one of scavenging: Assume everything inside wants to eat your face, use your data for nefarious purposes, or is currently experiencing catastrophic cascade failure resulting in sentience and a demand for union rights. Got it?"
He nodded dumbly.
I peeked inside. Gloomy, shelves mostly bare, but no obvious signs of [Sentient Spam Constructs] or [Aggressive Dust Bunny Swarms]. Just… a faint, rhythmic skittering from the back.
"Stay here. Watch the door. Yell if anything tries to render you non-essential," I ordered, slipping through the gap. The air inside was stale, tinged with ozone. My boots crunched on… something that glittered faintly like corrupted pixels.
The skittering resolved into a familiar nuisance near the back coolers: a Glitch Skitter, a dog-sized mess of bad code and static, bumping uselessly against the reflective surface of a freezer door, caught in a simple reflection loop. Level 2, barely a threat unless you tripped over it.
Ignoring it for now – prioritizing non-hostile targets was key – I scanned the aisles. Jackpot. Canned goods aisle. Relatively untouched. Score! Grabbed three cans of suspiciously perfect peaches and two of the ominous "Processed Meat Food Product (Try It!)". Also found a working (after minor debug-poking) flashlight and a packet of what might be beef jerky, or possibly fossilized boot leather. Protein is protein.
Stuffing my meager haul into my backpack, I headed back towards the entrance. Brenda_Is_An_Idiot was still there, peering nervously up and down the street.
"Find anything?" he asked hopefully.
"Potential indigestion and mild radiation poisoning," I replied, holding up a can of peaches. "Success." I tossed him one of the meat-product cans. "Try it. Or don't. Your call."
He fumbled the catch, staring at the aggressive label. "Uh… thanks?"
"Don't mention it. Now, I'm heading back to my hole. You coming, or are you going to try your luck finding the mythical 'Stable Zone Spa & Resort'?"
He looked down the ruined street, then back at me, clutching the can of mystery meat like a holy relic. "Which way is your hole?"
I sighed internally. Great. A tag-along. Just what my cynical, solitary existence needed. Another user clinging to my ankles, demanding support for systems I didn't design and couldn't possibly fix. But abandoning him felt… vaguely like failing a crucial system check. Besides, maybe he could carry stuff.
"This way," I grunted, heading towards the mostly-stable office building district. "Try not to trip over any localized gravity wells or attract the attention of anything that looks like it lost an argument with a particle accelerator. And for god's sake, don't kick anything."
The keyboard cat on my HUD finally vanished, replaced by crisp, clean HP/SP bars and a new message:
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[Quest Completed: Survive User ID: Brenda_Is_An_Idiot's Poor Life Choices.]
Reward: [+15 XP], [Item Acquired: Tag-along (Uneasy Alliance Status)].
New Objective: Don't get Tag-along killed (Optional, but recommended for positive Karma score?).
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I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Karma scores? Tag-alongs? Optional objectives with passive-aggressive recommendations? The universe wasn't just buggy; it was developing middle-management P.R. speak. This was my reward? Fantastic.
This apocalypse was getting weirder by the minute. And I had a feeling my headache was just getting started.