The crowd roared as the twenty foot lizard thudded out into the arena. It was a spot-on replica, without the zipper up the back. Spikes ran down the center of it, from head to that familiar long, floppy tail. It carried that furious look from all the movies, like ‘I just got the baby to sleep, who’s playing music at this time of night!?’ Beer Pong was a big fella, easily six three, but he barely came up to the thing’s knee.

“Gojira! Gojira!” the crowd chanted.

As for me, I felt my guts ice up and drop. That thing was huge, muscled, and terrifying. 

In response, the monster raised its arms and made that unmistakable scream to the sky. 

“Come on,” I muttered over and over. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Because the frat boys were staring, dumbfounded at the damned thing. They’d watched our match, they knew about the monsters, yet here they were rubbernecking like they’d just seen a six car pileup on the highway. All self-preservation got tossed out the window as soon as movies came to life, apparently.  

“How would you take her down, almighty poobah?” Turtle asked.

“Huh?” Crap, I was doing it too. I turned and found a knowing look on Turtle’s face. 

“What’s the best play?” he repeated.

“Spread out and grab cover… then time attacks to keep it guessing.”

It was probably pretty lame, but it was the best I had given the circumstances. Nobody had ever fought anything like this. Nobody knew what tactics to use… climb up its back? Try and get to its blind side?

All I really knew for sure was that if you got thrown off, or that tail rolled over you, though, you’d be dead.

“I’d get between those legs and shove a whiz-nuke straight up the old pucker,” Dragon replied. “Tear that thing a new one.”

Blunt laughed. “Man, if you even lived, you’d be covered in a hundred tons of grilled lizard. You’d be dead either way.”

Dragon smirked. “Yeah, but it would make for one hell of a eulogy.”. 

On screen, Chad and Beer Pong were running around like morons, crouched low, hands spread to either side. Meanwhile the third frat boy was still rooted to the spot, while Gojira blasted out with a conical breath weapon.

It was just showboating so far, blasting rubble up into the electrified hexagon walls of the arena. The crowd loved it. 

“Don’t you sweat, Poobah. They got this,” Dragon said, slapping a hand onto my shoulder. I turned my gaze and saw him staring into my eyes. “They got this,” he repeated.. 

Blunt pointed at the TV, an incredulous look on his face. “Dudes! What are you… oh.”

Chad and Beer Pong were looting corpses. They’d thrown most of their ordnance away battling the techmage, and now they were looking for something to cram down the monster’s throat.

Flame scorched out in lone streams, but they ducked, rolled, and dodged between corpses, getting everything they could possibly use for the fight.

You have authorized the purchase of two hundred Colmoruk’s Comfy Cozy Cushions, assorted colors and styles! Demon Dance Co., the makers of the comfiest, coziest, cushioniest relaxation products on the market, thank you for your business! Customers who purchased this item also bought Saramiun’s Snakey Slitherin’ Pillows, or–

I swiped the notification away and growled Doug’s name. That guy had one final chance to redeem himself, before I threw him in an arena with a bio-engineered movie monster.

A second later, the third frat boy turned and dashed for the trench where his buddy had vaporized himself, and dropped in. Not a second too soon, because Gojira’s breath weapon swept over his position and blasted a groove of devastation where he’d just been standing. Several of the barricades came apart in the silvery light and went tumbling.

The crowd screamed and cheered. They were on their feet, hollering, shaking big holographic foam fingers, banging noise makers together, the works.

Beneath them, in the pit of scorched bloody earth and steel, a cloud of dust and debris had kicked up, obscuring half of the arena. The shadows of the three remaining frat boys darted this way and that, while Gojira screamed and stomped around. 

Several moments later, when the dust began to settle, the boys were there: looping around the monster’s legs with a steel cable, hopping over a clawed foot here, ducking under the tail as they went around for another pass. 

“Hell, that Hoth bullcrap ain’t gonna work,” Dragon said. 

He was right; Gojira seemed to stop and think about what was going on around his feet for a moment, peering between his gigantic legs, before he flexed and the cable snapped like thread. Lashing out, the steel cable took Chad high in the ribs, and flung him back a good ten feet. 

“Oh hell!” Blunt shouted. The crowd screamed too, but not for Chad’s chances. 

As for Beer Pong, he dashed over Chad’s way, slapped a patch on his neck, then started dragging his unconscious buddy to safety. The tell-tale green healing glow surrounded Chad, but he looked to be in bad shape. 

A bright white flash followed, at Gojira’s side. It screamed in response to the whiz-nuke, turned, and blasted another swath of destruction to its right. 

“That last guy found his balls,” Dragon commented. 

Something else happened from Beer Pong’s side of the arena, but again I was interrupted by Doug and his penchant for spending all my money. 

Shamish’s Hashish Emporium appreciates your business! Your purchase of twenty-five of our finest hookahs will be packed and ready to ship as early as tomorrow! Get ready for the smoke of your life, pal, and thanks for shopping with Shamish!” ~Purchased on your behalf by subordinate Doug.

I reached into the game controls, but couldn’t find Doug’s buying permissions amidst the ridiculous number of screens, panels, notification popups. Turning an alarming shade of red, I yelled out, “Calamari!”

Blunt and the rest of my griefers jumped in alarm, but I was beyond giving a damn. The newest window to pop up in front of my face to add to the clutter read: Calamari is a refreshment fulfillment program. Seek out Calamari wherever you find food and beverages.

I stalked over to the walk-in refrigerator that looked like it had once been a 7-11 cooler, but the clear door had been replaced by shining opaque black. I ripped the door open.

“Where are you?” 

The plump little anime squid peaked out from behind a large jug of milk. 

“Well if it isn’t my pal DIRK STONE. Good to see you RISING IN THE RANKS, like an absolute sir! How can I help you today? I’m afraid this unit is a WYSIWYG cooler: what you see is what we have available. Please make a selection–”

“I’ve given permission to one of my underlings to purchase using my account somehow, and I want to turn it off. Do you know where–”

Shamish’s Hashish Emporium thanks you once again for your business! Your order of assorted smoke flavors ‘Date Night Delights’ will ship once we process your payment. Get ready to have your mind elevated, and thanks for shopping with Shamish! ~Purchased on your behalf by subordinate Doug.

“That guy!” I shouted. “Shut him down!”

Calamari winked at me and spun in a circle. Immediately, the menus flew off, leaving me with a single screen reading ‘purchase permissions’, with Doug at the top. The little toggle was in the green, so I slapped it. A new window appeared, with three permissions options: ‘unlimited’, ‘restricted to x Credits per day’, and ‘complete restricted’. I jabbed at the last option with teeth bared. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, user DIRK STONE? It would be my pleasure to whip you up a plate of Donkatsu with crushed black sesame seeds in the sauce, but alas, such selections are not available at this terminal!”

“Hang on,” I grunted, and took a look at the other permissions. Nolan had permission to acquire specific crafting materials for a maximum of 200 Credits per day, cumulative, and Eric Joel had permission to acquire security gear for a maximum of 750 Credits per day, also cumulative, but Eric had yet to spend anything.

Luckily, Doug hadn’t yet run me into the red with all the hookah lounge crap. I’d seen him do magic, so I knew it wasn’t a sham, but it seemed like he was more interested in opening up a smoke shop than doing his job.

The crowd gave off a collective ‘aww!’ and I realized I’d missed the better part of the fight. Turning my attention back to the screen, I fully expected to find Beer Pong in several pieces, and Chad a smoking nuclear shadow on the arena wall, but it wasn’t to be.

“Can you enhance the screen size?”

“Of course, DIRK STONE. This service will cost a mere 25 Credits. Do you accept?”

“Sure.”

The screen expanded to the size of the entire wall, so now Gojira stood over ten feet tall directly before us. Dragon and the rest gave appreciative low whistles.

“Thanks,” I told Calamari. 

“Happy to help!”

Gojira now had several massive gashes up the size of his snout, revealing teeth the size of my hand. Several places on his body now sported scorch marks, and he was walking with a limp.

Even as I turned my attention to the huge screen, a flash lit up the arena, a stream so fast it was difficult to follow, and then the back of Gojira’s head exploded into a fireball. Amazingly, the big galoot wasn’t dead. Instead he rocked forward, unleashed another one of those unique screams, and tail swiped the arena.

Everything behind him was smashed to bits. 

“Ooh damn!” Dragon said. “You think he dove into the trench in time?”

“Can you show me his HP gauge?” I asked Calamari quietly.

“Well, DIRK STONE, I’m technically not allowed to–”

“I can’t communicate with them anyway. There’s no way I can have an impact on this fight.” In my side bar notification I saw that I had successfully used my Sway skill, meaning I could influence a holographic AI system, another bit of knowledge that needed storing away. 

The HP gauge appeared above the monster’s head, a long line of red with only about ten or fifteen percent remaining. 

The regular cacophony of the arena went into overdrive, and I could hear the feet pounding through the concrete wall separating us from the crowd.

That was when Beer Pong dashed out of a trench with a weapon looking like a cross between the Grim Reaper’s scythe and a lightsaber. The blade was also at least three feet thick and nine feet long, made of purple holographic energy, and it was humming. 

My guys leapt to their feet, screaming.

Beer Pong shot out a grappling hook, caught Gojira under the chin, and went zipping upwards. As he did, the huge purple energy scythe slashed a ragged line right up the monster’s belly. He finished it off by somehow grabbing some leverage, and whipping the scythe through Gojira’s lower jaw. 

Black ichor sprayed out everywhere. The telltale Gojira scream died out. It took one last stuttering step, and ponderously collapsed to the ground directly onto its face.

In our room, the griefers were leaping up and down, hugging and shouting. 

“Get those Sigma Alpha Phi on our team,” I told them. “ASAP.” 

Then we waited, tensely, watching the screen to see whether Beer Pong had been squashed to death in the fall.