Sam woke up slowly, coughing. It wasn't really cold, just kind of chilly. Not warm. She pulled her eyes open and saw a woman lying on the street. She was a little older? Like, not middle aged, but not young? She had those wrinkles, but not that parchment look. And her hair wasn't gray. She looked familiar. Not because of the drool.
Wait, street?
Cold?
Sam struggled upright, wincing at the pain in her chest. She and the mystery woman were lying on the street, in the shade of a parked car. Not a parking lot, the street. That was a sidewalk. Those were surprisingly large dashed white lines dividing the lanes, those were really shiny double yellows. That was a lot of voices.
Why the hell did that woman look so familiar? Who the hell were all those yelling people?
What the hell with the words? And what was up with the flashing lights?
Somehow the words were like the scotoma she got before a migraine. Subtle enough she didn't notice it until it was big enough to drown a building, bad enough to blind half her vision. The words were there, but she couldn't focus on them. There were little flashes of light around the edges of her vision. She struggled to pull herself upright on the hood of the car.
YOU HAVE UNLOCKED THE MECHANIC JOB. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TAKE THE MECHANIC JOB? YES/NO
What the hell? "No! I don't want..." The words disappeared. There was a brief pop-up.
JOB STORED
Trying to move out from behind the car, Sam doubled over in a fit of coughing. She could barely hold herself up on the hood of the car. She felt like she was going to puke her lungs out with the coughing. It turned from coughs to hacking and gagging. Then there was someone there, holding her up and guiding her back to the ground.
"Easy, there." It was an older, masculine voice. A kinder Tommy Lee Jones. Every innhouse, outhouse, farmhouse, henhouse, and bathhouse was warm in his fatherly aura. The same hair pulled back from the receeding hairline above the that great big nose, but with a gentle smile. "You inhaled half a burning tire and who knows what else. Holy shit, good for you, getting her out of there, but we need to make sure you're okay, too."
Sam couldn't really see much. Pretty sure that's a ... color? Bow suspender button. I'm on the ground.
. . .
Sam woke up feeling a lot more awake. Sitting up really fast, her elbow hurt where it dug into the pavement. Shouting because how she was waking up in the middle of the street would be very appropriate, and she didn't do that, though she did note she had a light coat draped over her. She started pulling herself to her feet, feeling at her clothes, ready to get the fuck out of there. Then she saw the woman. Her face was absurdly familiar. Light blonde hair. Wrinkles. Not old, but older. Sam's noise was making the woman stir.
Her eyes opened and betrayed a confusion that made Sam ache.
"What?"
Nothing more was coming. She was even slower to try and get up than Sam had been however long ago with the help of random whatshisname.
A status alert popped up.
SMOKER'S LUNG (17 MIN)
With that, Sam commenced choking out a lung. As her eyes bugged out and she clung to the hood of whoever the hell's volkswagen, she didn't have much choice but to focus on the woman's face. It was the woman Sam had pulled out of the overturned, burning pickup truck. The one that had given Sam SMOKER'S LUNG (16 MIN). More important, she saw the bar above the woman's head. It was a little more than half full yellow, with the remainder black. As Sam watched, the bar's yellow portion decreased and turned orange.
Sam's jaw dropped in confusion.
"What? A he. A health bar?"
Coughing and looking around, Sam realized everyone now sported a convenient notification of their relative proximity with death. Looking over her own head, she saw nothing. Another coughing fit staggered her and slumped her on the hood of the VW. It was a station wagon. Good choice.
Closing her eyes and splaying her hands on the hood of the sensible sedan, Sam steadied herself. That's when she saw the HUD.
"Jesus Hopscotching Christ, I'm going insane."
She must have hit her head. The smoke was laced with LSD. She was never autistic, just insane. Something. Because now she had a fucking health bar, a mini-map, a compass, and a chat box?!
No. Absolutely not. No. Nope. No way. This is not a thing to think about. I'm not Samus Aran. I'm not Link. Shit Jesus fuck no.
Sam focused on the only thing she could think of that mattered. The woman, once again unconscous, had fallen on her side and her health bar was in the red. Sam pulled her away from the car to lay her on her back and started yelling for help. Would it be nice to think that, in all that confusion, anyone noticed?
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