Nibblenom Deathtrap Read online

  A dull rumble off in the distance caught their attention.

  Ross cocked his ears back. “That’s our cue,” he said, then leapt into a trot in the opposite direction.

  Max groaned and followed.

  The rumbles grew louder, forcing them to up the pace. But then a sharp whistle brought them to an abrupt halt. Ross whipped his gaze around the immediate area in search of the source.

  “Did you hear that?” he said.

  Max spread his arms with notable distress, then pointed towards the distant rumble. “Hardly the time!” he said through a harsh whisper.

  Ross turned to the human, caught a glimpse over his shoulder, then grinned.

  Before Max could spin, an orange hand cupped his mouth from behind. He howled with fright, but the vice-like grip muffled his cries. His limbs flailed as another arm hooked his torso and yanked him into an adjacent room. He kicked and stumbled as his captor ducked inside and pressed against a darkened wall. After a brief struggle, his thrashing ceased when a familiar face appeared.

  Perra lifted a finger to her lips, commanding him to shut the hell up.

  Max nodded, but Zoey kept his mouth covered just in case.

  Ross had already picked a dim corner and resumed his grooming duties.

  Perra angled towards the entry point in order to survey the main tunnel, making sure to stay within the shadow line of the room. She carried a small device in her hand with a thumb resting on a trigger mechanism.

  The thunder swelled before slowing to a stop down the tunnel. The creature eyed the chute from which Max and Ross emerged, then started scanning the area. Muted steps broke through a strained silence. Perra watched from afar as black eyes peered into rooms and alcoves. Heavy grumbles escaped a massive chest as it searched for prey. The beast lumbered to a halt outside the room, bringing it into full view of everyone inside.

  Max held his breath.

  Zoey clenched her jaw.

  Ross paused mid-lick.

  As the beast turned its black eyes, Perra triggered the device.

  A sudden crash echoed from further down the tunnel.

  The beast shrieked and leapt into a galloping pursuit.

  Perra peeked into the main tunnel, then motioned an all-clear and exited the room. Zoey nodded and released her death grip on Max’s face. She patted his cheek and gestured to remain quiet before joining Perra outside. Max and Ross followed the ladies as they trotted down the opposite side of the tunnel. Several lefts and a few rights later, they arrived at another chamber with white walls and bright lights. Each barrier had a central door, serving as gateways to other regions of the complex. A large overhead port spanned multiple levels.

  Max watched in silence as Zoey and Perra quickly surveyed the entry points. Perra’s long auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Her creamy orange skin seemed to wash away beneath the harsh lights. On the flip side, Zoey’s choppy black hair and sunburst complexion served as a stark contrast to the radiant enclosure. The Mulgawat ladies wore the same leather suit as Max, creating a Fantastic Four level of coordination. And despite being a cyborg cat, Ross embodied The Thing quite well.

  Perra latched the device to her belt and turned to face the group. “Well that was intense.”

  “What is that?” Max said, pointing to the device.

  “Oh, just an outlet remote. I found it in a crate and hooked it up to a few distractions.”

  “Worked like a charm,” Zoey said, adding a sly wink.

  Perra grinned, then eyed Max’s blood-dried face. “What happened to you?”

  Max patted his crusty cheek. “Oh, tripped over some boxes and knocked myself out. I guess I’m lucky as a mofo that the beast didn’t stumble upon me.”

  “Not lucky for me,” Ross said. “I had a nice cozy locker before this nimrod ruined it.”

  Max huffed. “And you can bite my ass, Garfield.”

  “That’s racist.”

  “You do remember that you almost got us killed, right? Thank you for that heart attack, by the way. If we make it out alive, I’ll need beta-blockers just to walk down a hallway.”

  Zoey and Perra traded confused glances.

  “Furthermore,” Max said, “your dumb little vest makes you look like a—”

  WHAM! The black beast fell through the ceiling port and slammed onto the floor. The ground shook as an instant roar echoed through the chamber. It swiped at Zoey, who ducked the attack and sprinted after Perra as she darted through the nearest doorway.

  “Run!” she said and disappeared.

  Ross had already poofed and vanished, leaving Max all by his lonesome. The monster whipped its ebon gaze to the human, who responded by squealing and fleeing the room. Max hooked the doorframe and swung himself into a large tunnel, reaching full-sprint in a matter of seconds.

  The beast gave chase.

  Max sailed around a corner and into another passage. His heart pounded inside his chest as barking breaths fled his lungs.

  The beast galloped behind him.

  Max hugged another corner, desperate for a reprieve, but stared into another long stretch of tunnel. His legs began to burn as his body exhausted its adrenaline.

  The beast rounded the corner and shrieked.

  Max yelped and tossed a glance over his shoulder, meeting the gaze of ghoulish orbs. He shot around another corner and skidded to a halt.

  A dead end.

  The monster thundered to a stop, trapping the human between the rear wall and a gruesome death. Max spun to face the beast and pressed his back against the cold metal. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared into the black eyes of his imminent demise. The beast huffed and snorted, stretching its dense flesh across a bulky chest. Rows of white daggers dropped ribbons of saliva onto the floor. The creature roared one last time, raised its claws overhead, and hammered down with a vicious blow.

  Max screamed and shielded his face.

  His suit turned red.

  But he was unharmed.

  In fact, he didn’t even feel the hit.

  The hologram claws had passed right through his body, triggering the suit to change color. Max glanced down at the rest of his duds. Boots, pants, tunic, all blood red, but with no cuts or slashes. He withdrew his hands and studied the undamaged flesh.

  The mechanical beast snarled, then turned around and galloped after the others.

  A woeful yet whimsical melody filled the area, followed by a floating hologram message. “You’re dead,” it flashed in big red letters. A text crawl beneath it read “Thank you for playing Nibblenom Deathtrap, brought to you by Nibblenom Snack Cakes. Report to base to continue.”

  Max stared at the message as his brain processed the revelation. He closed his eyes, expelled a fluttering breath, then clenched both fists and shook them with wild abandon. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

  MAX AND THE MULTIVERSE

  Book One, Chapter One

  Max stared at a dingy basement wall, tracing the grout lines of bare cinder blocks. He stood motionless in the center of the room, silent and waiting. Nostrils flared as they recycled the stale air. Fingernails scraped on tattered jeans. A pair of dim lamps painted haunting shadows on a cracked ceiling. His eyes shifted towards every faint sound. A thump here, a muffle there, followed by footsteps. Loud clomps overhead, then down the hall, then nothing. Silence ensnared the room. A door slammed. A car started soon after and faded into the distance. Max closed his eyes, took a measured breath, then scared the crap out of his cat by shouting “Spring break!”

  Max’s parents had departed for Hawaii, leaving him to fend for himself in the dusty suburbs of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Not that he minded. As an only child with social anxieties and a crippling fear of the outdoors, he welcomed a quiet week in a dank basement. He enjoyed it, preferred it even. Spring break to most teens meant travel to exotic locales, or at the very least, anywhere but home. Max had no interest in such things. Spring break to him meant one thing: gaming, lots and lots of gaming, an endless romp of ca
ffeinated carnage without curfews or prying parents.

  And so, it began.

  His closest friends inhabited pixels on a computer, the avatars of fleshy cohorts all around the world. They escaped their real-life dungeons by slaughtering monsters in virtual ones. It gave them a sense of pride and accomplishment, all while dismantling their basic social faculties. Two days into an epic bender, Max’s cat found him facedown and drooling on a rather expensive keyboard.

  “Oi, Max. Time to get up.”

  “Huh?” Max stirred at his desk.

  “Arise, you lazy sod. I’m hungry.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll—wait, what?”

  Max opened his eyes to find a chubby orange tabby with green eyes and puffy jowls sitting on the desk beside him, part one of a reliable morning routine. However, the usual crop of impatient meows had been replaced by the King’s English, complete with a disarming British accent.

  “Morning,” Ross said.

  Max yelped and flung himself backwards, tumbling out of the chair. His body thumped the cold tile floor and rolled to a rest against the couch. The chair clanked and clattered before landing on its side. Max whipped a frightened gaze to an apathetic feline.

  “That looked painful,” Ross said.

  Max flinched.

  Ross raised an eyebrow while maintaining a ninja-like stillness, conveying the least possible amount of concern. “You okay there, mate?”

  “You can talk. You’re talking.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “But how? You don’t, um, I mean ...” Max’s sputtering mind sifted through a deluge of questions before settling on the most impractical one. “Do all cats talk?”

  “What, do you mean figuratively?”

  Max started to respond, then stopped, then started and stopped again. His brain and mouth refused to cooperate, sounding like a faulty video stream.

  “Ooookay then, moving on. You’re awake. I’m hungry. Get off the damn floor, get your head on straight, and meet me in the kitchen.” Ross dropped from the desk and trotted towards the stairs.

  Max shook his head and blinked several times, trying to offload the hallucination. He untangled himself and leaned back against the couch. After a scowl and shoulder roll, he pressed a finger to his neck to check his pulse, explaining a grand total of nothing.

  An annoyed Ross peeked around the stairwell. “Are you coming or not?”

  Max flinched again and covered his heart. “Jeez, give me a minute.”

  “That’s another minute I have to abide an empty belly, now get a move on. By the way, the litter pan is full and I deuced in the bathtub. You might want to address that after you tend to my nutritional needs.”

  Max responded with a contorted gaze.

  Ross huffed and scampered up the stairs.

  Max slapped himself across the cheek, winced in pain, and immediately regretted the decision. Climbing to his feet, he glanced over to a morning sunbeam peeking through a small port window, then grimaced like an albino cave troll. Designed as a mother-in-law suite, the basement featured a bathroom, kitchenette, and external entry, allowing Max to come and go as he pleased, not that it mattered much. His real-world obligations peaked at school and the occasional girlfriend, so he preferred to stay put, content to explore his virtual worlds under a veil of darkness.

  He spent most of his time in a living room of sorts, in the sense that it housed the evidence of something living. Apart from an extravagant gaming system, furnishings amounted to little more than a squatter’s paradise. A ratty couch and rickety table served as bedroom and dining room. Corners and cubbies seemed hell-bent on expanding an impressive collection of dust bunnies. A pair of particleboard bookcases with opposing veneers gave a firm middle finger to interior design. An assortment of comic books, computer manuals, and gadget boxes completed the portrait of a standard nerd cave.

  Max climbed the stairs like a half-naked camp counselor in a horror movie. He paused at the top and peered around the doorframe, scanning the hallway through widened eyes. Everything seemed in order, down to the forced smiles of family pictures along the walls. He tiptoed down the hall, pausing to examine each passing room. When he arrived at the end, he poked his head into a sage green kitchen where hanging pots reflected the morning sunlight. Ross stood in the center of the room with an expectant gaze.

  Max froze and gawked at the feline.

  Ross sighed. “Um, food? Sometime around now would be nice.”

  Max stiffened his posture and crept towards the pantry while maintaining eye contact.

  Ross tilted his head. “You’re starting to weird me out a bit.”

  Max filled a bowl with cat food, lowered it to the floor, and slid it over to Ross.

  “Thanks, mate. And for the record, that was way more than a minute.” Ross plunked his face into the bowl, spilling bits of kibble onto the floor.

  Max backed away slowly like a vegan at a hog roast. He turned to the sink, cranked the faucet, and splashed his face with cold water. Droplets fell from his dangling jaw as he gazed out the window at nothing in particular. After a brief mental reboot, his attention shifted to the coffee maker, the lifeblood of any true gamer. He fixed a pot, filled his favorite mug, and lowered himself to the kitchen table. Sip after sip, he studied his furry friend while fretting over mental health and conversation etiquette. Small talk proved vexing with other humans, let alone with a cognizant pet. Convinced he was dreaming, or perhaps the target of an elaborate prank, Max decided to test the waters with a civil exchange.

  “So, um, any plans for the day?”

  Ross halted mid-chew and lifted an irked face from the bowl. “What, besides eating?” he said through a mouthful of kibble.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Why?” Ross narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t know, just curious.”

  “Okay. I’ll play your little mind game.”

  “It’s not a game. I’m just making conversation.”

  “Life is a never-ending game of attrition. Our wits, swords. Our composure, shields.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Jeez, dude. It’s a simple, harmless, superficial question. I don’t need a Shakespearian response.”

  “Fine.” Ross thought for a moment while crunching. “I haven’t thought much past this bowl, to be honest. Napping will be a high priority, on a variety of precarious surfaces. Might take in a window viewing or chase some sunbeams. May freak the hell out for no apparent reason, that’s always fun.” He ruffled his brow. “Why? Is there anything I should know about?”

  “Nothing comes to mind. Why are you so suspicious?”

  “That trollop of a girlfriend isn’t coming over, is she?”

  “Who, Megan?”

  “No, Miley Cyrus. Who the bloody hell do you think I mean?”

  “No need to be a dick about it. What’s wrong with her coming over?”

  “Well, duh, she’s an insufferable twit.”

  “Wow.” Max cringed. “That’s a bit harsh. I thought you liked her.”

  “What? When did I ever give you that impression?”

  “So you don’t like her?”

  Ross huffed and glanced away for a moment. “You are one dense wanker, you know that? How many times do we need to have this conversation?”

  Max started to respond, but sighed instead.

  “She’s a canine sympathizer, Max. She consistently reeks of wet dog and utterly fails to grasp the concept of an inside voice. I have choked down her prattle for long enough. Let it be known that I am very close to a rash retaliation.”

  “Please don’t. She’s a good person.”

  “Seriously, the next time I see that dimwitted bint, I’m going to vomit in her shoes.”

  “Fine, no Megan today.” Max groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Jeez, it’s like living with a douchebag Garfield.”

  “That’s racist.” Ross cocked his ears back.

  “What? How is that— You’re both—” Max paused for a brain buffer. He shook his he
ad, took another sip of coffee, then stood from the table. “I’m going out to get the mail.”

  Ross replied with a stink eye, then plunked his face back into the bowl.

  Max shuffled to the front door, unlatched it with a limp hand, and greeted an onslaught of New Mexican sunlight. The heat needled his pale skin as he lumbered towards the street with an arm raised overhead. He grabbed a handful of letters from the mailbox, sifted through a pile of mostly junk, then turned for the house.

  “Maximus!” said a voice from below.

  “Sweet mother of pancakes!” Max convulsed the letters out of his hands.

  “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to wonk you,” the voice said, also in a British accent.

  Max palmed his heaving chest. He glanced down to find the cheerful face of Gerald, the neighbor’s cat, a dirty brown tabby with blue eyes and an obvious weight problem.

  “You got any more of those salmon treats? I could really go for some.”

  “Shut up, minger,” Ross said from an open windowsill. “You need treats like a Max needs a third willy.”

  Gerald scrunched his brow. “You have two knobs?”

  “No, of course not,” Max said, then glared at Ross.

  Gerald perked. “My uncle had one eye, three legs, and talked like a pirate. True story. Strange lad, that one.”

  Ross snorted with amusement.

  Max gathered the letters from the ground and stomped towards the front door with Gerald prancing behind.

  “About those trea—” Gerald said as the door slammed in his face.

  Max tossed the mail onto the counter, scowled at Ross, then flopped back into his chair.

  Ross snickered and returned to his food bowl.

  Max leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. Troubled eyes stared at the surface as he nodded with the steady cadence of a metronome. Fluttering breaths fled his lungs with every sip of coffee. Teeth chattered behind taut lips, filling his mind with a grim melody. After a long spell of nervous contemplation, he dropped his forehead to the table with a loud thump.

  Ross jerked away from the bowl with cocked ears and a poofed tail. “What the hell, man?”