Book One - Chapter Four: The Best Part of Waking Up

For one glorious second, I saw the city upside-down—a perfect snapshot of skyscrapers like stalactites piercing an urban cave ceiling. Then gravity remembered me, and we crashed. Hard.

Spikes punched through windows and shredded steel like wet tissue. One slammed straight through Private Peña, pinning him to the wall mid-shout. I barely managed to duck, but the others weren’t so lucky. The other two guys in the back were gone before they even knew what hit them. Another spike. Then another. By the time the van stopped screaming, only Riley, the driver, and I were left alive. And Peña—if you could call it that.

Blood sprayed—from his mouth, his chest, his everything.

“Get down!” Riley shouted, the sound muffled by my ringing ears.

The van groaned, tilted, and collapsed on its side with a final, nauseating crunch that reverberated through my bones.

Then silence.

For maybe half a second. Or maybe a lifetime.

Then my HUD flickered to life, its cheerful blue diagnostics a stark contrast to the carnage.

[SYSTEM STABILITY: FRAGILE]

[INTERNAL INJURIES: PROBABLE]

[CONSTITUTION ROLL: SUCCESSFUL – BARELY]

[BARISTA LEVEL: STILL INADEQUATE FOR THIS SHIT]

I coughed. Warm copper filled my mouth. Everything hurt. But I was alive—which felt like both a miracle and a divine clerical error.

Riley pulled herself from the wreckage beside me, limping, her left arm cradled like it was made of glass. Blood matted her hair to one side of her face. Her eyes were wild, but focused. “Status?” she barked out reflexively, military training kicking in despite the chaos.

“Ow,” I muttered, probing a gash on my forehead.

The engine hissed and spat sparks like it was angry we’d survived.

“Everyone else?”

“Gone. Except Peña. He’s still with us. But...it’s not great.”

He was still pinned, skewered like some tragic battlefield kebab, eyes fluttering, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth with each breath that barely qualified as breathing.

I dragged myself to him, ignoring the white-hot pain in my ribs.

“Hold on, man. Just—just hold on.” My voice cracked somewhere between desperation and denial.

I didn’t know why I cared so much about some random guy I’d just met. Maybe it was because he was nice to me, for the two and a half minutes I knew him. But I’ve seen enough death and loss lately to build a trauma scrapbook. I should’ve been numb to it. I mostly was.

But grief’s weird like that. It stacks in the background, quiet and patient—until one little thing cracks the dam.

You know how you might hold it together at the funeral, bottle everything up nice and tight—but then it’s 2AM, and a commercial comes on with a shivering rescue dog, Sarah McLachlan playing in the background, telling you that for just $2.99 a month you could save a life…

But you don’t do it. Not because you can’t afford it, but because you’re pretty sure it’s a scam—and the last thing you need is to be held emotional hostage when you’re already wrecked like the fucking Titanic.

Yeah. Me neither.

Peña’s hand clamped around mine—too hard for someone that broken. Blood smeared down his chin as he tried to smile. I choked down my feelings, pushing them back into my gut.

Outside, Riley was shouting, other soldiers ducking out of cover, guns raised. There was a roar—something big—and the staccato rattle of gunfire. Metal against metal.

I didn’t look.

I stayed with Peña.

“You know,” he rasped, “they tried to promote me. Seven times. Swear to God.” He coughed hard—wet and awful—but smiled through it. “Never took it. Didn’t want the desk job. All that paperwork, man… Now look at me. Kinda wish I had. Might’ve been pushing pencils instead of this.”

“Hey. Hey. Don’t say that. You’re not dying.”

“Wait, what?” He coughed more blood. “Am I dying?”

I scanned him, just to be sure.

[ASSESSMENT SUCCESSFUL]

[PEÑA, PRIVATE FIRST CLASS]

[HEALTH: CRITICAL]

[CONSTITUTION ROLL: NAT 1]

He saw the look in my eyes.

“You’re fine,” I said.

I looked down at the three jagged spikes sticking out of him like a pincushion.

He wheezed a chuckle. “Tell my mother I love her. And I’m sorry. And tell my sister… tell her…” A pause. Blood dripped from his lips. “Tell her not to touch my stuff.” He gave a weak smile. And for the first time, I noticed just how young he was.

His eyes started to glaze.

I fumbled for the thermos, tugging it from my apron’s pocket dimension. One use a week. I prayed I wouldn’t need it again before the Cooldown was up; but I knew better.

My HUD blinked to life, as cheerful as ever:

[MORNING BREW]

[Cooldown: 7 Days]

[Effect: Deathstop – Instantly restores health to a minimum of 1 HP for a duration of 2 hours. Seek immediate medical attention. We are not liable if you’re still bleeding out when the timer runs out.]

[Warning: Not Covered by Any Known Health Plan]

[Warning: This shit could literally wake the dead from their eternal slumber]

Then the System did its best commercial jingle impression:

[The best part of waking up… is not being fucking dead]

I unscrewed the cap with trembling hands. Hazelnut and hope hit my nose like a miracle.

“Drink this. Come on, man.”

“Wha…?” He was half-conscious and instinctively tried to pull away, confused and weak. It wasn’t like the movies. Turns out dying people don’t usually love having things shoved into their mouths—go figure.

“It’s organic. Fair trade. The beans were serenaded by monks at dawn. Don’t make it weird. Just fucking drink it.”

I forced the thermos to his lips and let the brew slide in, slow and steady. He coughed, choked—then swallowed.

His eyes flared. Muscles tensed. Color crept back into his skin as the brew worked its magic—fusing bone, sealing ruptures, patching over death like duct tape over a bullet wound.

Not perfect. Not even close.

But enough.

His breathing steadied. His grip loosened. And for the first time since the wreck, his eyes focused.

He was alive.

Barely.

But sometimes, barely is more than enough.

“That was really sweet,” Todd crackled in my ear. “Incredibly stupid—because now you’ve got no backup plan—but yeah, super touching.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, pushing myself up to face the chaos of gunfire and screaming steel outside. My head pounded like a war drum.

Another roar shattered the moment, rattling the air and shaking the ground beneath my feet.

I stepped out from behind the wreckage and spotted Riley, kneeling in the open, firing round after round at the creature. It wasn’t doing much damage—just pissing it off.

The other two personnel carriers had stopped nearby, soldiers popping in and out of cover, unloading their rifles in chaotic rhythm. The beast twisted one way, then the other, snarling and flinching like it couldn't decide who to charge.

It was big, angry, and—thankfully—dumb as hell.

They’d turned it into an interdimensional game of monkey in the middle. And for now? We were winning.

A fourth military vehicle roared in behind us, tires screeching as it skidded into position. Soldiers poured out in a frenzy, shouting orders, unleashing a storm of bullets and explosives. Grenades flew. One of them even fired what looked suspiciously like a rocket launcher.

It didn’t matter.

The creature barely flinched.

Riley fired round after round, each one slamming into it. Sparks flew where bullets struck quills, others sinking into flesh only to be pushed out as wounds healed instantly.

“This isn't working!” she shouted, ejecting a spent magazine.

It looked like the Hulk had done unspeakable things to a porcupine and fed the resulting love child nothing but Monster Energy drinks for ten years. Quills the size of javelins jutted from its rippling green flesh. Drool as thick as motor oil dripped from fangs.

A small part of me thought it was funny. We were just talking about cacti and now there was this thing.

“Hey Prick!” I shouted, breaking the circuit.

It didn’t care about anyone else. It was here for me.

One of the many perks of being Fully Awakened: I basically pulled aggro nonstop. Like a walking boss trigger.

Its bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. Focused.

The cocky flew right out of me as I reached for a Battle Brew and got a big flashing nope.

A warning blinked across my HUD:

[BATTLE BREW: Cooldown, 13 Minutes Remaining]

“Fuuuuck.” The word came out embarrassingly high-pitched.

I dove back behind the ruined van, yanking open my notifications.

[BREWS ON COOLDOWN]

1. Battle Brew: 13 minutes remaining
2. Final Brew: 23 hours, 2 minutes remaining
3. Coffee Pod Bomb: Depleted — Refill Rate: 1 per 3 hours
4. Espresso Shot: Depleted — Refill Rate: 1 per 3 hours

[STATUS REPORT]

1. Mana: Critically Low
2. Panic: Uncomfortably High

I was out of my go-to brews. Should’ve been paying closer attention to the cooldowns. Just because I’m Fully Awakened doesn’t mean I’m perfect. Rookie mistake, Jerry.

Oh, I’m sure some armchair warrior watching from home would swear they’d have timed it better—yeah? Cool. Come trade places with me. It’s easy to yell answers at Jeopardy or Family Feud from the comfort of your home*.* It’s a little different when a nightmare beast is trying to rip your spine out. Or you’re facing off against hordes of goblins 24/7.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I pulled up the brew list, scrolling fast—options spinning past like old contacts in a phone I hadn’t used since high school. I felt more than heard the beast getting closer. No amount of bullets would distract it now.

I needed something new.

I hated this part.

Trying new drinks was risky. Unstable. Unpredictable.

But at the moment? So was dying.

I had hundreds, probably more. Most were unlabeled, untested, or flat-out cursed.

The System never told you what a potion did until you brewed it and chugged it. Only after you’d swallowed the mystery sludge would it light up with a cheerful, “Congrats! Here’s what you just did to yourself!”

Some were harmless. Even fun.

One made my voice sound like I'd been huffing helium for three hours straight. Another tasted like gym socks and triggered vivid flashbacks to a birthday party I had when I was four.

One had turned me into a woman for a month (not entirely unpleasant, honestly).

Another had done absolutely nothing—except slam me with an instant hangover and a flavor profile best described as shame, drunk-dialing your ex, and karaoke you only vaguely remember but everyone else definitely recorded. Actually, that last one might have been a Four Loko.

“Todd!” I shouted, tapping my earpiece. “I need help! Anything useful that won't kill me?”

Static crackled, then: “I was in the shower—what's up?”

“You're in a cubicle, Todd. You live in a cubicle. You shower in disinfectant wipes. Focus!”

“Not cool, man. I've got a life,” Todd whined, the sound of keyboard clacking undermining his claim.

“The life you currently have depends on you helping the life I currently want to keep,” I hissed, ducking as a quill shot overhead and impaled itself in concrete.

“I told you, Jerry, I've got limited access. I can't use the admin override again without getting caught. But... how about the Fem-Brew? That was a good time, right?”

“What the fuck, Todd? Why the hell would I need to turn into a woman right now?”

“I don't know, man. I just work the help desk. Maybe it'll make the monster fall in love with you. Or grow boobs. Either way, distraction.”

Useless. So completely useless.

I scrolled desperately through my list of unidentified drinks. Each had only a black silhouette and a vague name.

[BOOSTER BREW]

[EFFECTS: UNKNOWN]

The icon was a tiny can with a smiley face. It looked friendly enough. Harmless. Probably lethal. I’d seen this one before—but never had the guts to activate it. Trying a new brew was like playing Russian Roulette where every chamber’s loaded… you just don’t know with what.

“Jerry!” Riley’s voice cut through the chaos.

I looked up—

—and found myself staring straight into the snarling, green face of imminent death.

It had a soldier clutched in its claws, dangling above me like a prize.

He was about two seconds from being unwrapped like a Tootsie Roll.

Welp, as the saying goes—fuck it.

I selected [Brew].

Magic surged through me—hot, frothy, like espresso laced with static electricity. My apron of holding rumbled. The brew was ready.

Saliva dripped from the creature’s mouth onto my shoulder.

I pulled the can from the vortex. It was neon pink with a winking face and a warning label written in what I'm pretty sure was Sanskrit, or possibly the language the universe speaks when it's laughing at you.

I popped the tab. Fizzing, glowing liquid danced inside.

“Bottoms up.” I stood and gave Big Green a salute.

I downed it in one gulp.

The world shivered. Colors intensified. Sound became texture.

My skin glowed gold. My bones sang the national anthem of a country that exists only in dreams.

[BOOSTER BREW ACTIVATED]

1. Effect: One random stat boosted to the sum of all other stats × Barista Level
2. Duration: 60 seconds
3. Side Effect: After 60 seconds, all stats drop to 1 for 12 hours
4. Selecting stat...
5. Selected Stat: Charisma

[Good luck, Buttercup.]

“Oh, shit.”

I was a level 20 Battle Barista, which meant my Charisma stat was now sitting at approximately... I did the mental math... Barista Aphrodite.

The effect was instant.

The battlefield stopped.

Literally stopped.

Not because time had slowed, or I’d suddenly gone all bullet-time.

They stopped because they were in complete, dumbfounded awe… of me.

The monster froze mid-lunge, its quills quivering like it had just seen the barista of its dreams.

Riley turned to me, her mouth slightly open, eyes wide. The hardened soldiers looked at me like I was the last drop of water in a desert—like they wanted to taste my soul, frame by frame.

One of them actually swooned.

Even the porcupine-hulk-monster... blushed.

I think.

Its green skin flushed to a delicate shade of purple around what I guessed were its cheeks. The quills retracted slightly—like a hedgehog trying to look presentable for a first date.

I did a quick, critically important scan, and—small miracles—this thing was definitely a she.

Not that I was worried about getting... y'know... by a...

“Oh, good god,” I whispered.

I stepped out slowly, aware that every eye tracked me like I was magnetic north. My golden aura pulsed with a nearly audible chime.

“Hey there,” I purred at the monster.

It blinked. Dropped the soldier it had been about to vivisect. The poor guy scrambled away, but kept looking back at me longingly.

“That's right,” I cooed, walking closer, swaying slightly. “Easy now. You're just a big softie, aren't you girl? All bark, all bite, but deep down... lonely?”

The monster whimpered. Actually whimpered. Its massive head bobbed in agreement.

I ran a hand down one of its spines. It shivered. I tried not to scream as the quill's edge nearly sliced my palm open.

“I just need a teensy weensy favor,” I said, voice dripping with honey and velvet. Then I stepped closer, lifted a single finger, and gave the tiniest gesture—down.

She actually obeyed.

The beast lowered herself, slow but cautious, until her massive head was level with mine.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of her breath, and whispered the next part like it was a secret meant only for monsters.

“There’s this vintage coffee grinder I’ve always wanted. It’s in a museum. In Singapore. I know, I know—fourteen thousand miles away. But I really want it. It’s… that way.” I pointed vaguely east-ish, like I actually knew.

The coffee grinder was real. I’d seen a picture once in a magazine they made us read at Perky during our unpaid downtime. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

“Brass, hand-cranked, late 19th century. Total beauty. If I had it… well, let’s just say I’d be very grateful.”

The beast tilted her head, quills twitching. Her bloodshot eyes narrowed, and for a second I was sure I’d overplayed it. Too smooth. Too cocky. Too much.

I watched as the last ten seconds counted down on the Boost.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Then she purred.

A low, throaty rumble like an old muscle car revving to life.

She gave a single, approving nod.

Turned.

And with one last smoldering glance over her shoulder—I had no idea goblins could smolder—she bounded away.

Straight through a building. Then another. And another.

A lovesick wrecking ball on a mission.

Eastbound. Single-minded. Unstoppable.

God help Singapore.

The silence that followed was thick enough to chew.

I felt... different. Warm. Invincible. Sexy? Was this how Ryan Reynolds felt all the time? The power was intoxicating.

Riley stared at me, wide-eyed, a flush creeping up her neck. She blinked. “What the hell was that?”

[BOOSTER BREW EXPIRATION IMMINENT]

[RECOMMENDED ACTION: FIND SOFT LANDING SPOT]

I smiled at Riley.

She blinked rapidly and then looked horrified. “Are.. are you flirting with me?”

The countdown hit zero.

And… fuck.

The glow vanished.

My knees buckled like they were made of wet cardboard.

The world went sideways, then upside-down, then inside-out.

[ALL STATS REDUCED TO 1]

[Motor Function: LOL NOPE]

[Stamina: 404 NOT FOUND]

[Charisma: FROM HERO TO ZERO]

[Brain: DIAL-UP INTERNET NOISES]

I collapsed in a heap, apron askew, face-first into a pile of dirt and spent shell casings. Drool pooled under my cheek. My limbs refused to acknowledge our previous working relationship.

“Jerry!” Riley's voice sounded a million miles away. “Jerry?”

Blackness took me, warm and welcoming as an old friend.

And I swear, somewhere in the distance, I heard Todd mutter, “Should've gone with Fem-Brew.”

The System did its best to comfort me by queuing up Sarah McLachlan in my head. I dreamed of puppies running through open fields in slow motion.

“In the arms of the angel, fly away from here…”