I was standing on a dock. The dock was floating on a big pond. I had a chair, a bucket filled with water, and a fishing rod. At the end of the dock was a little shack with more rods leaning up against it, as well as some nets, and an old man enjoying the sun. The pond smelled fresh. I don’t know how else to describe it- like water and green and cool and sweet had a distinct smell when combined.

  Never been fishing. Played god knows how many fishing minigames, of course. There was a fishing minigame in a bunch of the Yakuza games. Can’t explain that one, but hell, they had actual JAV’s and top tier Hostesses in there too. Common sense need not apply.

  And there was a fishing mini arc in Sword Art Online, but that comparison is a little…

  I waved my hands, trying to keep them coordinated. They moved together. Nothing popped up saying I unlocked dual wielding. Day Twelve marked safe from being Kirito. Don’t even have a black jacket. Or a sister with more issues than the New York Post.

  You know what? SAO Abridged is canon now. Yeah. The so-called original is just a demonic conspiracy, presumably puppeteered by the Black Robe and their quisling running dog lackies in the publishing industry.

  Having resolved all important matters, I turned my attention to the trivialities- how exactly do I play this minigame? I walked over to the sun-seeking senior and cleared my throat politely. Then less politely. I respectfully tried to wake him via verbal stimulation. Respectfully.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Knock knock?”

  “Hi?”

  “THEY ARE TAKING AWAY YOUR MEDICARE!”

  “Your grandson is going to prom dressed as 1940’s era Alucard and his boyfriend is cosplaying as Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing. They look amazing together, but the prize committee is tearing their hair out about how they can be crowned. I mean, call them both Prom King? Retire the award as a weirdly classist, sexist, relic from a thankfully bygone age? Frankly, the Prom Committee should have answered these questions months ago. More proof of the degeneracy of the new generation- no commitment to organizational rigour and policy development.”

  The wind rustled the trees, the sound bouncing softly off the pond. Somewhere a bird called and insects sang in the grass. It was beautiful. Peaceful. The oldster wasn’t dead. He kept dramatically exhaling, sending his mustaches flying outward.

  “Oh boy, fishing.”

  “EH? Somebody came by?” He jolted into life, looking around myopically.

  “Hi, Liam, pleasure to meet you.”

  “Do you want to go fishing?” Okay, lights are on but nobody's home. Right now I’m putting him at roughly the level of the Gnome shopkeeper.

  “Yes, thank you. How do I fish?” I asked.

  “You don’t know how to fish?!” He puffed up with scripted outrage. “It’s the greatest pastime in the world! Why, you get some bait, put it on your hook, and cast it out into the pond. Then you just watch your bobber. When it goes below the white line, you yank it back as fast as you can.”

  Basic fishing game, got it. Very basic. Minor player involvement, outcome is random but weighted by things like improved bait, hook and rod. Might even be higher level fishing holes that get unlocked based on certain conditions.

  “When you have used up all your bait, you can buy more from me or wait until tomorrow. Every day you get five free worms. Bring me any fish you catch. I’ll score ‘em and award Fish Points. You can trade your Fish Points for amazing prizes.”

  “Are there different types of worms?”

  “You bet!”

  “And rods?”

  “Eh?”

  “Hooks?”

  “Eh?”

  “Give me my free worms please.” The old timer handed over a tin. I cracked it open. Little red wigglers. I pulled out the tin of worms that Rikka brought back. They were bright orange. Traffic cone orange.

  I’d start with the red worms. Get used to how this game worked. I held up the hook and the worm. It wiggled in my fingers. Smooth, a little cool to the touch, maybe a little rubbery. It squidged and moved around. It was, as much as anything here was, alive. I didn’t even notice my hand coming over and hooking it. I just watched, detached, as the hook slid in. The worm was forced past the barb. Hook, bait and bobber swung back and I cast them gently off the edge of the dock. They landed in the cool dark of the pond with a quiet splash. The ripples spread, then vanished. I sat in the chair.

  The stillness spread out and I felt myself involuntarily relax. I was just… in the chair. Watching the bobber. Letting my thoughts drift around like the dragonflies over the pond. I noticed that I had made a rough right triangle. There was me, as the vertical stroke, the pond as the horizontal stroke, and the hypotenuse was the line. And you can’t think of the hypotenuse without thinking of Pythagoras.

  I think it’s the first real formula kids learn- a2+b2=c2.

  “But why not a+b=c?” I remember asking.

  “It just doesn't work that way. Try adding ‘em up yourself. Here-” Dad got out a ruler and a pencil. “Leg A is five inches long. Leg B is ten inches long. A+B is fifteen. How long is the hypotenuse when you measure it?”

  I carefully lined up the ruler and checked twice. “Eleven and a bit.”

  “Yep.”

  “Is it because the ruler is not in metric?”

  “Good guess- the formula is originally Greek, which means metric. But no, it’s just how triangles are.”

  “And is that why Pi is such a weird number? It’s how circles are?”

  “No, that IS a metric thing, kind of. The French swine keep trying to change Pi to ten because “decimals are more simple and intuitive.” Only the American Traditional Unit is holding the tide against the creeping insanity.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  It took me years to realize Dad was screwing with me, in a loving, too busy way. He was punch-drunk from working insane hours for a salary that, when combined with what Mom brought home, was just barely enough to keep us comfortable-ish in Brooklyn.

  I was never that close with them growing up. Which is a bizarre thing to say about your parents, but it’s true. I didn’t hate them or anything. Even when I was a kid, I got that they loved me and were really trying their very best. But they weren’t around, and everyone I knew was a short timer. A babysitter that was around for a year or two, after school teachers, kids that I met on the playground one day, became friends with, and never saw again. Nobody was around long enough to be important to me. But Pokemon was always there. And Sailor Moon, and DBZ, and once I found Toonami, well!

  I found my family.

  But that conversation with Dad stuck around in the back of my head. First as an example of classic Dad Humor, but later because it gave me a little creeping thrill of horror. The geometric perfection that made the Greeks think they found God scared the hell out of me.

  The Hypotenuse of a right angle triangle was just that way. Always. For no goddamn reason. That’s just reality, and conveniently, there is a simple formula to express that reality. Pi is an infinite irrational number because the curve of every circle is infinite. No matter how big or small, it contains infinity. But cut a notch out of the circle, and those straight sides break infinity into mortal numbers.

  Only by breaking the perfect and inexplicable could you kill God.

  And then my bobber dipped and I explosively yanked back, quickly winding the line and catching the small fish thrashing on the end of the hook.

  It was pond cool and smooth and wet, thrashing in my hand. Brown and yellow, the head and tail just sticking out of my fist. The worm was gone, the hook lodged in the fish’s lip. My hands acted without my instructions once again, carefully removing the hook and putting the fish in the bucket.

  I could choose to stop here. I could choose not to put the worm on the hook. Who knows how long I could sit in the chair, remembering my Dad and that little apartment in Brooklyn. Not that we were poor, we did okay. It’s just New York. You need big money to have a medium sized apartment. Generational wealth to have a big one. And my scammy business aimed at scammers earned more than my parent’s honest graft ever managed.

  Wasn’t even close, really. I love New York, but goddamn will this city break your heart every chance it gets.

  I pulled another worm out of the tin and hooked it. I flung my line out and settled back into the chair. This seemed like a good place to rest and think quietly. To watch the thoughts fly past. No Awakened, or Tower, or monsters. Just a man and his thoughts, down by the old fishing hole.

  “So, respected elder! What kind of fish do I have?”

  “WEEEELLL, I see you have four mud guppies, and three yellow grubmuchers. Now the guppies, I can only give you two points for ‘em. But them grubmuchers are worth five apiece! Not bad for a first haul, not bad at all.”

  Do I need to say the guppies were all caught with the free bait, and the shiny yellow fish were caught with the worms I had to spend orders to get? No, by now I’m sure that was obvious.

  “Oh boy! A whole… twenty three points. What can I buy with twenty three points?”

  “Just so happens that we have a special offer. Only available for first time fishermen.”

  “Does it cost eight points?”

  “And it only costs eight points!”

  “No. How is such a bargain possible. I am so amazed. Amazed that you, a veteran of the Whiskey Rebellion, are able to offer limited time gift boxes to passing strangers.”

  “Eh?”

  “Damn the VA and their slow speed at getting our veterans the hearing aids they need. Have you looked into the 3M hearing protection settlement? You may qualify.”

  “Eh?”

  “What’s in the special offer?”

  “Twenty Red Wiggler Worms, Ten Verdant Nightcrawlers, a cork handle fishing rod, and a hat kit”

  “Does the rod help you catch better fish?”

  “Eh?”

  “I want you to know that I don’t hate you. You are a victim here. But sometimes the Tsar’s servants get it in the neck as the Bolsheviks storm the Winter Palace. Metaphorically, as it were.”

  “Eh?”

  “Damn you. What can I get for fifteen fishpoints?”

  He showed me a list of four types of worms and, at the very bottom, Runed Bones. One fish point for five bones. I did badly need more bones for the Relic Sites, but the wave was about to hit and I didn’t really need them tonight. I went back and forth but ultimately decided not to. Seventy Five bones just wasn’t enough to tip the scales anywhere. If there was a zero at the end of that, it would be a different story.

  I’d come back here. It didn’t refresh me the way the Nightmare Realm did, but I felt calmer. Like jumbled up bits inside of me had shaken out and found a solid place to settle.

  When I returned to the Tower, I could feel the night was about to come. I ordered everyone into position. The battlefield had been cleaned as best we could, but there were still puddles of acid scattered around. It made field improvements hard, and played hell with our repair efforts. We got it done as best we could, but I would be very interested to see-

  The night came down and the moon rose. That brilliant white light shone down on the clearing and reflected off… nothing. The acid puddles evaporated.

  “DAMN!” Of course the game evaporated the acid before the next wave. How could the designers be nice enough to give me free acid traps? They screwed over my repair ability, screwed over my ability to shape the battlefield, AND left me flat footed for the Twelfth Wave.

  In Japan, and I think China, Four is the unlucky number. Twelve is three times four. I had no reason to assume this wave had a Murphy’s Law gimmick.

  “EVERYONE! BE EXTRA CAREFUL. TAKE NO RISKS UNLESS SPECIFICALLY ORDERED TO!”

  Not the most useful order I have ever given, but what could I say? “We may be in a Final Destination Scenario, so watch out?” I may have no reason to assume that, but betting on Dev Depravity is always the right choice.

  I looked around. The roof above the rampart had been fixed up. I didn’t think it would hold up to toad acid, but it was the best I could manage for now. At least it was solid wood and stone shingles. I had a mad thought- eves. We should have long eves. I already made the roofs sloping instead of flat, to encourage things to fall into the moat. We really should have even more overhang.

  The things you think of when you are waiting for the enemy to turn up.

  “Rache, Rikka, find ‘em and mark ‘em. Stay safe out there.”

  I may be worried about being snakebit, but not taking full advantage of my artillery’s range would be stupid. Especially since we could expect more Toads today. Dropping them in once, then not using them again? No chance.

  The smoke started rising in the woods. The silvery threads rose in a ragged line, the arc stretching further and further around the Tower. The monsters are coming on a wide front from the get-go today. Radz was sending her mortars in high arcs out into the forest. So far, I wasn’t seeing any blazes of yellow light. They must be sending something else out to soften us up.

  Radz had the field to herself for a little while. I couldn’t see the expression on her face from up on the balcony, but I could imagine the dreamy contentment. “Radz raining death. Radz raining death. Radz raining death.” Just as she always had, and always would. War without end. Amen.

  Then Pomoroi opened up and the drumbeat of thunder hammered the forests. God, I’d love to have ten more of each- Radz for plunging fire, Pomoroi to clear out long columns. Still no bursts of yellow light shining between the dark trees.

  Then from out of the woods came the Monsters. Basic type, galloping towards us on their long human hands. They were spread wide, as expected, coming in ribbons of monstrous bodies rather than dense clumps. Miuki started picking them off, and the fear effect started clumping them up.”

  “Pomoroi, prioritize the clumps of monsters rather than what’s in the forest for now.”

  This was the opening act, the warm up round. How can I capitalize on this?

  “Miyuki, hold your fire. Only shoot when you can nail together two or more monsters. Keep moving around the Tower, get as much coverage as possible.”

  If the Devs were going to send me free kills, I’d take ‘em and turn them into weapons to use against the monsters coming later. Waste not, want not. I was feeling pleased about my tactical acumen, when bursts of harsh yellow light came from the woods.

  The toads were on the field. Given that Radz was the only one shooting at them, there were probably lots of them out there. Good.

  “Miyuki, when the Toads get in range, only shoot when they are between two pinned monsters. Otherwise, let them close in and leave them for your comrades.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yoko, if you aren’t buffing everyone, get to it. Keep them powered up.”

  And if things went really sideways, the costume power for Judith and Rakim had reset. And I had a fresh load of stones just waiting to be used. Moohoohahah, etc. But we’d steadily grind for now.

  I kept an eye on the edges of the forest. My grin felt very toothy when I saw Toads hopping out behind a screen of monsters. As expected. They were pushing the more expendable monsters out first to absorb fire. It wasn’t a bad tactic. It’s just that I was familiar with it, and happy to use it against them.

  With a little luck, and a little care, I think I can have the monsters build the traps that they will die in. The fear effect from the arrows is really useful for shaping the direction of the enemy attack. I could see the toads clumping together, then blowing up in a chain of sympathetic explosions to create an acid barrier that yet more monsters would be funneled into by the fear arrows. A little perpetual misery engine for my uninvited visitors.

  Was there anything else I could do to speed up that process? Not yet. The Toads were hopping in, swelling and glowing until Miyuki got around to poking holes in them. Given her multiple jobs at the moment, the Toads were moving steadily closer. Carousel gently waved her magic staff and started firing Glass Arrow, picking up the pace of the explosions. A few made it to the Mika’s range, but it was in the low single digits.

  I rapped my knuckles against the stone railing of the balcony. This wasn’t adding up. Sure, warm up, intro wave, whatever, but this was easy mode. Like… far, far too easy. Something was up.

  “Rikka, return and report.”

  I measured time in Radz’s mortars. It took Rikka a whole five mortars to get back to me.

  “My Lord.”

  “What’s going on in the woods, Rikka?”

  “Armored monsters, My Lord, many of them, moving in big columns. They are escorting groups of Toads.”

  Alright, we’ve seen that before with Murder Baboons, which strongly implies- “Did you spot any Murder Baboons with them?”

  “Yes, my Lord. But there was another thing.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Toads, sir. These ones are blue.”

  “Blue?”

  “Yes, my Lord. Blue.”