Zombie Rebirth

“Welcome to the Tier One Penthouse.”

I looked up at the ceiling. I didn’t see any speakers. With a shrug, I walked out of the elevator and into the foyer. Like the lower floors, it made an effort to be audacious without being outright gaudy. Marble floors, mahogany wainscoting, black and white furniture and lamps with gold trim. It was rich, well beyond anything I would have afforded in my life before the system. A circular table stood in the center of the round room with a vase full of fresh flowers. They were unlike anything I had seen before. The stalks were a brilliant cool purple, while the flowers themselves were a luminous green. It was like someone had made flowers, but had been given a palette of colors and told to go wild. Some looked like sunflowers with a broad head, while others more closely resembled roses with petals swirling in to a geometric point. I was completely distracted by the wild look of the plants, which is why I was startled by the voice that came from somewhere behind the plants.

It was smooth, with a clear affectation that was stereotypical of a British manservant. “Sir, are you here for the high roller game?”

I straightened up in a start. Looking around, I didn’t spot anyone at first, until the thing moved. It was presumably what the smooth, cultured voice had come from. I just couldn’t make heads or tails of the thing. While it wore a tailored suit, it was clear the clothing was meant for a human of significant proportions. Instead of a neck and head, a writhing… thing wiggled. It pulsed like an earthworm, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what the flesh was made of. The only thing I was certain of was it wasn’t actual flesh. It rippled and shined like liquid mercury, or like the liquid Terminator from the second movie, but the color was wrong. It was like someone melted down a mood ring and that was the body of the thing.

“Wha… what? What are you?”

I’m a freaking genius, I thought derisively. Couldn’t even put together a coherent sentence. I stepped to the side, readying for a fight. The thing even had gloves at the end of the sleeves. The left hand was at its side, while the right was held palm in in front of the chest; a towel or something to that effect hanging over its arm.

“I am a–” it broke into what sounded like a small dump truck of shale crashing onto broken glass for an eternity, or maybe more like four or five seconds. “Most other species call us ‘Stoneworms’, as translated into your tongue.”

“Uh… huh…” I stepped closer, looking at the rippling stone. Based on the name, that was exactly what it was made of. Rings of moving color never stopped rising, closing at the top while more followed. It was like ripples on a pond in reverse. I felt mesmerized. Without even really registering it, I reached a hand out, ready to touch the odd substance.

“I would not do that,” the voice said again. The ripples moved a little faster while it spoke, then returned to a sedate pace.

I hesitated, then pulled my hand back. “Why?”

It still did not move, save for the ripples crawling upward. “My skin is reportedly quite caustic to more organic species.”

“Huh, useful. Skin that burns anything that threatens you.”

“Oh, no, sir. We use our skin for fast, chemical based communication within our own species.”

“If you can communicate chemically, why do you talk out loud?”

My curiosity was piqued.

“Audible communication requires several years of training for my kind. I completed my training in a mere forty years.”

I nodded mutely, contemplating that. It had taken nearly twice as long as I had been alive for this alien to learn to speak out loud.

“As I enquired before, are you here for the high roller game?”

I nodded again. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Very well, sir. It is ten thousand to buy in. Are you familiar with Texas Hold-em?”

My attention snapped back to the butler. “Yes I am.”

“We play a variant here. If you are familiar, you should do just fine.”

“O… okay.” Not going to lie here, I was completely out of my depth. The stoneworm turned in place, still not actually moving. The door opened slowly, enough that I expected it to creak. It did not, instead gliding smoothly and silently. Beyond was what had clearly been part of a hotel suite at some point. All the furniture had been replaced with a single round table in the center. Three men already sat around it, cards in hand. I say men, and maybe they had genders in their respective species, but in the end, I was only guessing.

None turned to look at me, instead focusing on the game. I took the opportunity to look them over. The first resembled a pigeon, if it was slim, humanoid, and had moved toward forward vision. The feathers along its neck were small and smooth, approaching the look of scales, while those on top of its head were so long as to appear like hair. It had a very short beak that looked almost like a long nose, though the color was wrong for skin. The eyes were a rich brown interwoven with golden highlights. Its plumage was a pleasant gray-white, with darker gray in spots that almost appeared like eyebrows and even facial hair. He had two arms that ended in slim hands with long feathers all but covering the fingers. I tried to pull its status, and got a short response.

???

Race: Pipio Sapiens

Faction: Silver Spire Casino

Level: 20

HP: ????

HP regen per second: ???

Mana: ????

Mana regen per second: ???

“Great,” I muttered to myself. A few feathers on the bird’s head shifted, like it was listening to me. It still didn’t look at me. Satisfied it wouldn’t for the time being, I turned my attention to the next apparent boss.

This one resembled a frog, again as if it were changed into human form. While the eyes were still bulbous and at the top of its head, like the more active predatory frogs, they faced forward. It had slick, almost shiny green skin, though I had a feeling it would be dry and smooth to the touch. It had a wide mouth which opened occasionally to breathe, and a bright red tongue that sat right behind its lips. Shiny brown eyes glared down at the cards it held. His fingers, like the rest of the creature’s body, were long and dainty. I expected them to end in almost sucker-like protrusions, but instead, they were just slightly larger pads than my own fingers. Once again, I tried to pull up its status.

???

Race: Polypedates Sapiensis

Faction: Silver Spire Casino

Level: 20

HP: ????

HP regen per second: ???

Mana: ????

Mana regen per second: ???

I shook my head. I was getting nowhere. For the sake of completion more than anything, I turned my attention to the third man. He had a long mane of luxurious fur, which looked like a warrior’s mohawk more than anything. His coloration was like that of a cheetah or something more exotic. Tan-brown, with some red in the background. The spots were a much darker brown, and went all over the body. He had a long snout, golden eyes, and short, muscular arms. It had hands with thumbs, though the fingers were just as snubbed as the limbs. He shot me a look, though it was so quick I wasn’t sure I even saw it. For the last time, I checked out his status.

???

Race: Crocuta Sapiensis

Faction: Silver Spire Casino

Level: 20

HP: ????

HP regen per second: ???

Mana: ????

Mana regen per second: ???

Each of them rapidly picked up cards, playing whole hands every few seconds. I could see some blurs of movement on the table. I took a step closer, still wary of the three ‘men’, but finding my curiosity piqued. They were playing a game, and it was likely that was the one I was going to play when I sat down with them.

“You know,” said the dog-like boss in an accent that was very much inspired by The Godfather. “It’s pretty rude to stare.”

I blinked, took a step back, then did just that, staring at the dog. He turned his full attention on me then. He smiled, though all that did was bare his teeth. And there were a lot of teeth.

“I’m Patrizio Selvaggi, of the Selvaggis.”

“Oh, come on, Pitbull. Don’t be so heartless to the kid.” This came from the frog looking boss. His voice put him around the same age as Selvaggi, though he sounded more Italian. He turned to me.

“I am Innocenzo Branciforte.” He said his name like In-no-chen-zo Brawn-ki-for-tay. It sounded very Italian.

“Hey, if you’re gonna do Pitbull dirty, Roulette, at least give him your nickname while you’re at it,” said the third man in an unmistakable New Yorker accent. He turned to me and nodded. “I am Clodomiro Coopman, though these ‘egg-heads’ call me The Owl.”

“Uh, hi. I’m Alabaster Blackwood.”

“Ooh, that’s a good name,” said Coopman.

“Uh-huh,” grunted Selvaggi.

“Quite good. Some day, he may have a family of his own, and I would be delighted to welcome him to our table,” added Branciforte.

“But today is not that day,” I interrupted. That made all three men snap their attention to me. “Am I right?”

“Ballsy,” said Coopman.

“I’m guessing he’s called Pitbull because he’s a dog, or something dog-like.”

“My ancestors were Hyenas, if you must know,” said Selvaggi. “And we are a proud people and family from New Jersey.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “I knew it.” Then I turned my attention to Coopman. “You look like a dove, or a pigeon.”

“Same species, actually,” said Coopman in a calm tone. “And yes, they call me The Owl to make fun of me. Joke’s on them, owls are dumb as fuck, and I descended from one of the greatest flying species in the world.”

“You ever wonder if we already knew that, bird brain?”

“Gentlemen,” interrupted Branciforte. “Perhaps it is best if we behave ourselves in front of our guest.”

“You guys are fine,” I said. “What I can’t figure out is why you’re called Roulette.”

“That is because these two consider me to be a bit of a wild card.”

“Just like in the game of roulette, you put your bets down, and watch the game happen. It’s out of your hands, and in those of fate.”

Branciforte sighed. “For the last time, I am not an instrument of Fate.”

Selvaggi shook his shaggy head. “We’re all tools of Fate. It’s just that some of us have more say in how and when we are used.” He looked pointedly at Branciforte before turning his head back to me. “This is a private game. Sorry, son. Another time, maybe.”

I shook my head. “I was sent here by Douma.”

All three fell silent.

“I had to buy in. Ten grand.”

None of them moved or spoke for a long moment. I took a step closer. The board in the center of the table was completely clear.

Selvaggi was the first to speak. “Perhaps it is not us that are the tools, today. Perhaps it is our guest.”

“I don’t know if I like being called a tool,” I said. I didn’t want to disrespect the three men. Each of them were significantly more powerful than me, and all three together represented an insurmountable force.

“Relax, kid. He’s not calling you a tool,” said Coopman. “He’s saying you were guided here.”

“Uh, yeah. Douma sent me, like I said.”

The three men looked at each other, having the kind of rapid, silent conversation only old friends can have. Finally, Coopman spoke up.

“Alright kid. Have a seat. Like you said, it’s ten to buy in. Have you played this before?”

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”

All three smiled. “You are gonna love it.”