Cataclysm: Don’t Dream Alone

I smashed my arm on my table in rage.

"WORK, DAMN YOU! WORK!"

I ran my hand through my hair before sinking into my cheap and small office chair. Thankfully, the minimal cushioning treated my butt better than the old wooden chair I shoved to the side. I sat up and stretched for a bit.

The game relaunched smoothly with a few clicks. Noticing nothing out of place, I tried reloading my save. It loaded the core mod files, finalized its mapgens, and remained stuck at verifying the flags. I loomed over my keyboard and glared at the screen.

"Work, you damn thing. I swear!"

The blue highlighting brushed over the flags and soon, the entire list became green.

"Yes! Yes! YESSS!"

That's when the table disappeared, leaving a black screen on the monitor. I waited in anticipation, with minutes ticking by.

Finally, the familiar error window appeared, reporting the program crashed due to a segmentation fault. All my progress officially disappeared.

"DAMN YOUUUU! 69 hours of grinding, lost! I almost got some .223 for my M4A1!"

I smashed the table again, jolting the keyboard, empty water bottles, and speakers.

I spent the past ten minutes trying to reboot the game in vain. If only I knew minimal coding, I might've been able to transfer the save file or resolve the error, but my focus couldn't hold for more than my fleeting interest. I knew two things: the logs could help report the issue and the game being an experimental build meant I should've expected this.

"Goddamn it, but the stable version doesn't have any of the cooler concepts… figures that they're hard to implement in a free, open source game."

I dropped back into my chair and opened the game once more, beholding the title screen in all its minimal glory.

"Cataclysm Dark Days Ahead," it stated at the top, in big ASCII graffiti text.

I previously felt lucky that it was experimental build #10777, though I shouldn't have pushed my luck with the mods I installed. No matter how much I bemoaned surviving the chaotic city full of infected hordes, it wouldn't change a thing.

"Screw reporting bugs. I just want to play…"

To avoid incompatibility and overburdening the game, I selected much less than before.

The core of my new world used the mods Aftershock, Mythical Martial Arts, Stats Through Skills, Stats Through Kills, Speedy Dex, and Fuji's Military Profession Pack. I used almost default settings for my world generation. I added a starting NPC to support me since I had to start from scratch again. Then, I finalized the world of "Balsam Lake."

I selected "New Game" and generated a preset character template.

The game loaded smoothly for a minute and turned to black. I waited with anticipation, only to be sent back to the title screen.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

I tried a few more times, just to get the same result.

"Mother of God, you steaming pile of…"

I muttered a dark choice of swears and gave up on Nuts "Hack" MacGyver. A few more tests showed that my Bionic Sniper, Martial Artist, Churl, Survivalist, and True Foodperson presets didn't work.

I groaned and felt like crushing my own head.

I selected "Custom Character" and my world to begin the slow process of selecting my scenario, profession, stats, traits, and skills. Finally, I had my new character, "Anus Mic Guyver."

I watched the game load with sharp eyes, daring it to fail again. To no surprise, it loaded until the screen blacked out, returning me once again to the title screen.

"Goddamn hunk of JUNK! I swear, if you don't work this time, I'll just wait until the next stable update!"

My last resort was a random character. Holding my breath, I stared down the screen.

"Wait, Stats Through Surviving? Military Profession Pack? Mega what? Adaptive…"

The window disappeared before I could understand what happened. It blazed through in a few seconds, finally giving me a black screen with the text, "please wait as we build your world." After a few minutes, it turned fully black and stayed that way for even longer.

"You buggy garbage. Why'd I expect anything!"

I lunged to my monitor to shake its screen.

"AH! MY HANDS!"

The inky darkness consumed my arms and tried consuming my arms. I pulled back, still getting sucked in. Even pushing my legs against the wall failed to stop it. It yanked me in, headfirst.

"FU—!"

I couldn't breathe. Nothing. It felt like weightlessness and discomforting dread. Something happened. I didn't know what, but something happened. Danger. Danger. Danger!

I pushed my arms out and shoved something hard.

I saw a kitchen just below me, with some junk around the counters.

"The Hell?"

I felt constricted and hot. I quickly crawled out of the cupboard, barely stopping myself from falling, and made it to the floor.

"What am I wearing?"

I had some old blue jeans and a puffy winter coat on. I struggled to slip out of the coat and left it on the counter. Some kind of heavy-duty work gloves covered my hands, making it hard to do anything. I pulled them off and put them on the coat.

"Phew. What is all of this?"

I tried running my hand through my hair, but ran into wool.

"Huh?"

I yanked it down and a black hunter cap fell in my lap, with flaps hanging to the side. My vision blurred and I realized I had on safety glasses and even a mask.

"What kind of joke is this?" I asked myself, taking off the safety glasses and mask. "Holy…"

I could see. I really could see! My eyesight improved more than any pair of glasses could correct. I could even—!

"What the f—" I stifled my words. "You can't be serious…"

I saw a zombie just outside of the kitchen's screen door, with several paper flyers strewn on the streets around it. It bent down, slurping away at a Golden Labrador's intestines. Its fierce, black eyes shone with madness as it continued its bloody meal. The tears in its black tank top and pants showed chunks of flesh missing, and its arms had bite marks of a hard-won fight.

"Ugh…"

Disgust bubbled in my stomach, but I tried not to let it get to me. I lived in quarantine for months, and some more after the reopening, but I had no idea this could happen! Madness! Goddamn madness!

I crouched down and put on the hunter cap, tying its flaps back with its provided strings so it wouldn't fling around. I needed to know my current situation.

I had a black hunter cap, pair of clear safety glasses, generic filter mask, white long-sleeved shirt with no brand, white tank top under that, leather backpack, cheap wrist watch, gold ring, fast draw holster on a leather belt, old blue jeans, white boxer briefs under that, pair of white ankle socks, and flip flops.

My body disturbed me most. It wasn't mine, being a bit more fit than normal, with callused hands and long nails. We had the same dark hair color, yet this body had a few inches on me. I controlled another person's body, and the layout of my starting point resembled one of the beginning spawn points for CDDA.

The gold ring gave me a chilling dissociation from my reality. The engraved initials "R.B." and "J.J." meant something to whoever this body was. What used to be a game for me became all too real.

I could die from any of the unforgiving dangers in this post-apocalypse. Every moment I wasted was time I could've stopped future threats from killing me in the night. My stomach churned with my ramping anxiety.

I nervously checked the M1911 I found in the holster. It felt strangely familiar, though I never held a gun before. I checked the safety and popped out the magazine, noting to myself the gun had three shots. Two surprisingly full magazines stuck in the side pockets of my leather backpack. Other than that, I could only find torn up photograph scraps in there.

From the cupboard I exited, I saw nothing noticeable, which probably meant having nothing to block my way allowed me to safely get down from the cramped space. I took a deep breath and thanked my luck for not being in a worse situation.

The three other cupboards had many items within. I collected a butcher's knife, paring knife, carving knife, pot, an almost empty lighter, an empty flashlight, and four long strings.

I tried putting the butcher knife in my holster, but it got repulsed by some force. I put some more effort in and jammed through it, but it stayed awkwardly placed. I wrapped a string around the holster to secure the blade better.

Then, the door next to me open.

"Ah," I dropped my jaw in surprise.

"Eh?"

A young woman poked her head and her loaded crossbow in.

"Hands up," I hissed, reflexively whipping my M1911 to her face within a second.

She whimpered and pushed into the kitchen.

She had a baseball cap, long knit scarf, dust mask, blue dress shirt, brown leather gloves, white lab coat with a first aid kit clipped on, duffle bag, sheath on a leather belt, diver's watch, engraved gold bracelet, generic green pants, and a pair of boots.

"Is this your house?" I asked.

"No," she eked out. "I-I'm a doctor."

"Are you alone?"

She nodded and coughed up some blood.

"Damn, are you alright?"

I kept my distance. She probably was infected with something and wanted to find some antibiotics. This must've been my starting NPC, since it was hard to come across any others. Only going to faction bases guaranteed spotting someone.

"Y-yeah. You don't have to worry about me. Please let me go."

"Hm."

I leaned over, trying to look past her, but she puffed up and blocked the way.

"There is another."

Shock registered in her eyes as I backed off. I thought pushing a confrontation from an ambush meant suicide, considering I hardly knew what was going on, and didn't have anyone reliable backing me up. This woman was a definite goner, and dealing with people pushed to the edge was out of my expertise.

"Hey, you don't have to run," a masculine voice thrummed from the half-open doorway. "We can team up."

His words froze me in my tracks.

A big man pushed past the woman. He looked imposing from his boonie hat, to his full scabbard and quiver on his hip and the crossbow on his backpack.

I struggled my hardest, and I still couldn't move.

This man looked ready to survive with his trenchcoat, knit scarf, pair of binoculars around his neck, and plastic canteen on his thigh.

"It's safer to travel in numbers," he announced confidently, with a fingerless gloved hand outstretched.

I mechanically shook his hand, but shook my head. "She's going to be dead weight soon. I bet in a few hours, she won't be able to stand."

"Help me, then!" the woman desperately pleaded. "If I die, where will you find a doctor now?"

The man glanced at his wrist watch. "If I can get her medication in a few hours, will you consider teaming up with us?"

"Fine," I somehow found myself nodding. "I want to get geared up better before clearing out some zombies. No sense in leaving threats around."

The man smiled and pushed up his thick bifocals.

"You're a funny guy. My name's Anus Mic Guyver and she's Randy Bowser. What's your name?"

I felt my mouth moving on its own.

"Roscoe. Roscoe Baggett."

At that moment, I realized I wasn't wearing big boy pants like the cargo pants this man had on.

No, I was just a bugged supporting character, destined to stay under his boots, either dead or alive. To my horrified eyes, I witnessed his possessive gaze stick to me.

"Nice to meet you, Roscoe. I feel like we're going to get to know each other for a looooong time…"