75 hours. 75 hours wedged between work and sleep, 75 hours of "free time" I didn't really have–that's how long it took to get here–to the end. Finishing the game felt somewhere between sad and surreal–almost two weeks were dedicated to Dying Light 2–the encompassing story, characters, and Villedor and all of its competing storylines. While finishing had felt satisfying in a way my life could never be, it ended spectacularly bad–Aiden left Villedor… alone , and while Hakon saved Lawan from the explosion, she'd seen Aiden as a monster, the missiles still went off and decimated Villedor, and because the survivors never gained the control tower–they couldn't be warned and so many had died, including Frank…and it sucked. Everything sucked. I'm Alive blasted through my headset as I'd felt the pit in my stomach grow and all I could do was wonder what I could have done differently; I favored Lawan, made fair choices through-out, though…I did get someone hung right in the beginning…but other than that, where did I go wrong? How did I get such a shit ending? It didn't help that IGN confirmed that of all the shit endings, mine was the shitiest.
Midway through the credits, it dawned on me–Techland touted Dying Light 2's multiple endings and story lines–rated highly replayable because of this little caveat. I let out a sigh and took a quick glance at my phone; 1:20 AM–a sure sign that I had no life, but it was the weekend–technically Saturday morning; I had two days before I'd go through the work circuit again.
'Fuck it.'
I figured I'd just start a new campaign and get through what was going to prove both a beautiful and arduous replay of Pilgrim's Path . Admittedly, I loved it the first time, the scenery was beautiful and a huge update from the original, the story was engaging, but losing all the fun abilities I'd gained along the way, just to end up back at the tutorial with Spike, felt draining. I loved running up walls and having a hook shot–wasn't looking forward to just running around and barely making it up a wall.
The tutorial proved far more draining than I realized–it took longer to get to the radio tower than I'd remembered originally and when I finally got to the Metro Tunnels, it was 2:30 AM. I wasn't surprised–but I'd grown progressively tired with the pace at the beginning. I'd let out a long and loud yawn before lacing my fingers and pressing my palms to my forehead–I was toast.
Reluctantly, the sensible side of me shut down the computer–not like there was much excitement to keep me going. It would just be Aiden meeting his mysterious and soon to be dead informant in the tunnels, get bit by a Volatile, beat on some Renegades, see Waltz from the safety of a conveniently human-sized vent, start to change, get hung by an angry mob, and rescued by Hakon. That last part was a sweet moment I would have to save for tomorrow.
In the meantime, I took myself up to bed, threw on a sweatshirt I'd found at bottom of the stairs–my half assed measure to out-compete the cold of the AC, paid the cat tax as I passed the banister, and buried myself in a moshpit of blankets and pillows–I'd finish the tutorial tomorrow.
Typically, I was a restless sleeper–the night was a repetitive cycle of in and out of sleep–but tonight I'd found myself awake under a comforter, the intense chill from the AC left me uncomfortably cold–too cold for my blankets to battle. I'd ignored the discomfort for what felt like hours, only to give up and blindly reach a hand out, haphazardly searching for an afghan. It wasn't until my hand grabbed something wet that my eyes shot open and I sat up, panicked and confused until my brain produced, "Cookie! What the fuck!" The only logical conclusion my mind could muster left the blame on my feline counterpart–clearly, she had peed the bed simply because I knew that I had not. There was no one else to shoulder the blame, hadn't been for a long time.
Something was off– I'd paused mid breath and pushed the top blanket off of me. Everything was dark, as expected, but enough light filtered in from above to see the stretching height of the ceiling and the narrowness of the walls; smooth pitted concrete. Why are my walls concrete? Wherever this was, the reality slowly set in and then fear came–further investigating the wet sensation, I had held my hand up under the stray beams of light and squinted, only to find a thick dark film and small chunks of–'fuck'. All at once, the smell of rancid meat clung to each breath I drew in. It was inescapable, no matter how small the breath had been–even breathing through my mouth I could somehow taste the pungent odor.
My eyes had time to adjust to the dark, revealing how large of a room was, and that me and my blanket were, in fact, sitting in a puddle of mangled bits and bobs of…was that a crushed skull? Are these people? Were these people? My attention went straight back to my hand, the sticky wetness that stuck to me appeared red, a thick layer of congealed blood and liquified flesh.
I gagged, overcome with disgust, and I retched; and for a few blissful moments, I was unable to breath between each heave. But like all good things, the reprieve from the air came to an end as my body forced me to take a deep breath after the ordeal. And there I sat as I slowly understood the amount of fucked that I was; I didn't know where I was or how I'd gotten there, or what had happened to all these people–was that going to happen to me? But once the bilious sensation had passed, my next order of business was to wipe the shit off my hands and look for my phone. I'd dug through the blankets, sopping and heavy with blood and bile that had wicked into the fabric. 'Fucking fuck,' I continued to mutter, trying to keep my breaths short and shallow in the overwhelming stench that I now knew to be dead things–lots of them.
A short lived sigh of relief presided as I'd fished out my phone, happily untouched by whatever horrors I found myself among, and gotten myself onto my feet. The only sensible thing to do was look for a signal–which there wasn't-and call for help regardless. I'd made one full attempt at using the emergency app until an error message appeared and recommended I try changing locations. Would've loved to.
Disappointment aside, I'd been able to see more as my eyes adjusted; I was in a tunnel–trains with doors open and closed, some on and off the rails as I curiously along one. But it was quiet, no engines, no voices–just a slight buzz of the various flies that would bump into me on occasion and an echoey drip of water somewhere nearby. There was only one logical thing to do when in a puddle of blood in an old abandoned subway–and that was to get the fuck out.
Tripping along the semi-clear ground, distracted in the thought of whether I was kidnapped or dreaming, I'd come to a section where an ominous orange light flickered and faded, casting moving shadows on the walls and through the windows of the cars. It was fire, stacked in a tall metal barrel– the smokiness wafting up in the air and following the ceiling through a closed doorway. It was conflicting to feel comfort in seeing light and saddled with the awareness that it meant someone else had to light it–I wasn't alone. Like a stray mouse in a field, I had found a place to tuck myself between an old ATM and an empty wooden spool, and watched; my vigilant eyes kept watch and passed over a sign by the door ' Egress' . The time between glances grew less and less until I'd taken all that I could and raced out of my hiding spot, pushing the door open, allowing the hollow metallic thud to sound out behind me– and found a set of stairs. Looking up, my hand gripping the railing as I leaned in to get a better look; it was stairs and turns as far as the eye could see–but at the top–a pale blue light casted against the edge of everything. Outside. The way out. Freedom from wherever the fuck I'd been.
Then there was a loud screech from the other side of the door and the sound of things being knocked and hit drew nearer the other side–"Shit, Shit, Shit, shit…" I began to race up the steps. Curious and terrified–but not stupid enough to stick around.
I'd gotten up to B3 when the door below swung open, smashing into the wall, and another screech sirened out, only to be followed by the thud of footfalls heavier and faster than my own. All I could think of was that it sounded like a dinosaur. I'd seen Jurassic Park…it was definitely a dinosaur. A stair climbing dinosaur that no matter how fast I raced and hard I breathed, I couldn't outrun. My only saving grace was the head start I'd had, but the high pitch squeal of wet metal couldn't have been more than a floor down.
It was in my own panic and desperation to evade whatever was behind me, that I ignored the hope that the bluish glow brought, and came face to face with the blinding light at the top of the stairs. I'd rushed out–the heat and dryness of the sun enveloping me, my eyes blinded in the dense light, and fell to the ground. I instinctively crawled backward, away from the source of a loud raspy hiss that spat out from the darkened doorway. With my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun, a pale man retreated back towards the dark, hunched over and crawling–eyes locked on me.
The sepia sun tinged everything a burnt shade of orange and poured much needed warmth over my shoulders. It only took a moment for my pulse to die down, but once I'd been sure my pursuer was gone, I let out the breath that I'd unknowingly held and leaned back onto my elbows–letting the coarse dirt press into my skin. Technically, there was no for sure guarantee that I was safe–it'd made no sense that he'd stopped then and there, but I was grateful to be out of the dark and here–I looked around, spotting the side of the small serviceway I'd exited, reading "Metro Service Entrance: The Holy Trinity". I'd hopefully get a signal, call for help, and get home.
In my daze, the dry air and thick smell of bug spray eventually pulled my focus, mingled in with a tinge of dead-something that I caught when the wind changed direction. Snapping my head up, I felt my mouth hang open as I stared at a tall wall tipped with a top red tier that encompassed the stretch of dead trees, decrepit buildings, and broken down cars. The landscape from here to the wall was splattered with charred black and bright bubbling yellow, beyond that it was tall climbing mountains as far as the eye could see. The awe became manageable and my attention diverted behind me; more shambled buildings, smoking cars, garbage along the street, and a dusty fog that hazed the distance. Any hope I had when I exited the metro service door quickly died out–the foliage was overgrown, the windows smashed and frosted with age, with layers of dirt covering any flat surface–whatever had happened here, it'd happened long ago.
With phone in hand, I began walking away from the tall walls and into the city, looking for help.
About two hours had passed, as I choked back tears and staved off a panic attack, when I finally came across help. Down the opposite end of a road–an old man had shambled from one side of the street to the other, heading away from me and towards a town garden. Hope renewed, it occurred to me to call out to him before he'd gone off too far, but the dryness of the air left me coughing and gasping to catch my breath–the thick smell of bug spray progressively burned the back of my throat. At first it was just a cough, but the fit had lasted so long that I'd fallen to my knees, teary eyed and unable to stop coughing.
It'd ended as quickly as it began, with the excitement of seeing someone else still fresh in my mind, I dusted myself off and got onto my feet. I'd watched the man down the road, now heading my way, and took a moment to read the posters that plastered the class facade of a shop I'd been near: "Run for your lives", "God has abandoned us" and a myriad of missing people–the names barely legible. It click just then– the metro, the crumbled city, the posters, and the old meandering man– it was the worst case of deja vu–but it wasn't a place i'd been to and–
The old man who had slowly approached threw his full weight on me and let out a scratchy snarl. His hands grabbed at my neck and face- his teeth clicking closed–trying to bite my cheek or nose.
"What the fuck," I smacked his shoulder and put all my strength into pushing him up off of me–he was relentless and didn't budge. It wasn't until I'd looked past his shoulder that I'd noticed the brown pasty skin of his face, the flesh of his lips withered up past his gum line, and his eyes sunken in–he was dead. 'Zombies?' Fuck, it's zombies. I'd played enough Left 4 Dead to know–but this–it was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. The conclusion didn't stop me from screaming at the top of my lungs, but it was the only possibility left.
My attention pulled by the snapping of the zombie's teeth–"Shit, somebody fucking help!" I yelled out, feeling my arms buckle under the persistent force.
A loud hollow 'thunk' followed by the Zombie's body rolling off me left me frozen, unsure whether to run or fight. I'd had plenty of dreams with zombies, monsters, being lost–but they all ended with death–anything bad ends with death–that was how dream-me worked. So what the fuck this? In what universe does my mind cut me some slack and save me?
"Hey, snap out of it." An open hand came into view, fingers snapping impatiently.
Hesitantly I grabbed the hand and rolled up onto my heels, still trying to reason with my mind. My savior put his back toward me, reaching an arm behind him–a silent command that I'd stay there about. His other arm swung a bat at the zombie's head, sending spatter across the wall of posters and my face. The body dropped hard on the pavement, its wide hollow eyes looking up and out. Disgusted and in shock, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and felt my jaw drop as the man turned around, a small smirk on his face. "That'd be a homerun." Short brown hair, squarish jaw, brown eyes, sounds identical to Mirage from Apex…
"Aiden?" It came out faster than I could think. "Fuck."
"Uh, do we–do I know you?" He pointed a finger and cocked an eyebrow. He'd dropped his arm, his hand still gripping the bat, posture still tense.
"Umm…nope." I began to take steps back–using my hand to trace the wall behind me. It made sense, I was just playing the game before bed–zombies, shithole town, Aiden…"fuck."
His eyeline glanced ahead of me, and my eyes followed and went back on him. "Okay–person who doesn't know me, but knows my name. You are?" He began to match my steps, showing his palms to seem as harmless as possible.
I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, "It was a lucky guess." I averted my eyes as I grasped the edge of the building. A quick peek down a shaded alley way that emptied into a park out the other side.
"Okay, okay–wait. You don't have to run, I'm not gonna–" He'd eased forward, his eyeline following my own between the buildings.
"I'm not gonna run." A loud whining siren burst out into the city, sending an uncomfortable chill and a sense of urgency down my spine. I met his eyes once more. The siren meant an hour til sunset–being out here was about to suck way more than it already had–I needed to get off the street before the infected woke and I needed to get away from Aiden so I could figure this shit out.
"Don't–" was all he'd gotten out before I'd booked it between the two shops.
Okay, so I am having a dream about Dying Light…where can I lose him?
I'd made it to the wooden benches past the buildings, only to come to a screeching halt as the infected creaked their necks my way, their attention undivided. Back tracking, I headed in a small entryway into the apartment building and raced up the darkened stairs, before wedging myself between a couch and wall on the third floor landing. There were sounds of groaning, screaming in the distance, and banging from somewhere outside–the only sound in here was my rapid breaths and the pulse in my ears. I didn't have a game plan; not get eaten by zombies, wake up soon, stop playing games–maybe not in that order.
A creak in the quiet stiffened my back and stifled my breath–there was no plan, I didn't know what to do. All I could manage was to cover my mouth as the stairs whined and squeaked under each step, "Look, I just wanna talk. I can wait you out…or you can just come out on your own."
Wait me out? That's right, Aiden, all those in Villedor, couldn't remain in the dark for prolonged periods of time, not if they wanted to stay human . That was it–that was the plan. My plan. I wasn't infected–I could outlast him, easily.
"You listening? You can come out–I'm not gonna hurt you–you don't have to," he sighed, "boo."
Before I could put two and two together, he'd popped over me, grabbing the arm I shielded myself with and yanking me out of my hidey hole. "What the–" I put an arm out to keep him at bay, "wait, just–" I tried to dash by but he'd caught me by the hood.
"Just–stop. I just wanna talk" He'd changed his tone–going for a more reasonable and less alarmed version, but I had to remember his reason for being here was to look for his sister, I didn't want to give him the impression I'd known anything–perhaps unwarranted hostility would work?
"Right, then fucking talk." I resumed my hands out in front of me, trying to catch my breath and keep him back.
His attention drew down, "No Biomarker?" More accusatory than questioning.
"Point?" On the defense–the comment caught me off guard. His character was observant, intelligent, and had a handle on deductive reasoning, meanwhile I couldn't slow down fast enough to think.
"No biomarker, nice clothes, and you smell like–" he inhaled the air, seemingly unsure, "soap. No one smells like soap, not out here."
"Yeah, you definitely don't." Perhaps insults would deter him.
He closed the distance and ignored the insult, "I know how the welcome wagon greets strangers around here, so couldn't have been here long–" he'd held up a finger and turned his head. The other hand casually fished out an inhaler from his pack, then he took one hit, and cleared his throat.
"What do you want me to say here?" I pressed myself into the wall, trying to think of a way out of this.
"So, you're not infected–"
"No, I'm not."
"Are you traveling with someone else?" He stopped pressing forward, his cold eyes focused and attention undivided.
"With someone else?" I didn't have a quip and I didn't want to bury myself any deeper.
"I saw you out there, no way you made it this far on your own–no biomarker, no weapons, you're not from Villedor–"
"There's no one." I'd said it bluntly. The laundry list felt more like bashing than observations at this point. "You're right–I'm not from here, I can't fight off the infected–are we done?" I felt my vision blur with tears. Dream or not, dread filled me with the prospects of surviving one night in the game. Hordes of infected, special infected, looters, peacekeepers, Renegades–if any of the survivors found me.
He'd looked over the railing, then back at me, biting his lip, "Look, there's no version of tonight that ends with you surviving on your own–let's get top side, find a light, and pick this up."
"Pass." Sure, there were a few moments where I thought Aiden was grade-A bangable, funny, charming–the list goes on. But getting "top side" was going to be a challenge for me because I'm not spiderman, and whether he'd said it or not, I felt like a series of probing questions was awaiting me once we'd gotten to some semblance of safety.
"What if I promise not to ask–"
I cut him off, "You'd be lying, Aiden." I paused after I'd said the name again, at this point, it must've felt like a flaunt to say his name–the very thing that got me way more attention than I wanted.
His posture stiffened, "Okay, what's your plan then?."
"My plan…" Apparently dream Aiden was unaware of how unprepared I was for this, "uh…don't get eaten?"
"Right," sighing and tightening his grip on my hood, he began to both harshly and gently yank me down the stairs, "You know, this'd be a lot easier if you'd walk."
My hands pulled at his fingers as I yanked myself away and pushed through an ajar door on the second landing. Rose-gold light poured in from an adjacent window, casting light on my face and on the large hole in the middle of the floor. I'd gone in too fast and wasn't able to stop myself as I slid into the hole, and landed two floors below on a mass of idling infected. The wind had been knocked out of me, and my right wrist took the brunt of the fall–so aside from that and the infected that dug its teeth into my arm–I was surprisingly fine. I had opened my mouth to scream–but no sound came out. A sensation of feeling uncomfortably warm rushed up my arm, and as the second zombie tried to bite me through my sweatshirt–I'd had the passing thought that I should have just sucked it up and gone with Aiden. My vision narrowed and my chest tightened–the pain leaving me to claw at my throat to somehow get to it. I took in a sharp breath and screamed in pain–though the scream that came out wasn't my own.