My Roommate Is a Reaper Read online

  My Roommate is a Reaper

  Part One

  Andrew Peed

  Matthew Peed

  Copyright © 2020 Andrew Peed, Matthew Peed

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Publishing April 2020

  Andrew Peed

  Matthew Peed

  Iteration 64 Publishing

  P.O. Box 481

  Dover, TN 37058

  https://www.Patreon.com/DungeonRobotics

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/21700/dungeon-robotics

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/27303/my-supers-online

  http://dungeonrobotics.com/ (< --- Go here for all of the latest Dungeon Robotics and other Iteration 64 Books)

  About the Authors

  Matthew Peed is a single father who works hard to provide for his daughter and also for his loyal readers. He has read or devoured millions of pages of novels, web fiction, and any other media that he can get his hands on. He started Dungeon Robotics in order to shape something with his own mind that he could leave for his daughter to read. This world had branched into many more!

  Andrew Peed writer and game designer has been writing for years. He loves to put words on paper and loves even more to share the words with everyone around him. Taking care of his small family of five he works hard to provide and expand upon the many worlds in his mind.

  Together these two are working to craft a mega-world of media that they can leave behind for generations to come to enjoy.

  Dedication

  Kristin and the Kids.

  Matt and Rosie.

  Friends and Family.

  Those who listen.

  Those who read.

  Those who care.

  The good people in the world!

  My Roommate is a Reaper

  Chapter 01: Monsters in the Dark

  Outside of New Harmon City, sitting on what used to be a plantation, was a house named Dalton Place. The four-story home stood tall at the end of a driveway that circled back to meet itself. Tall lush trees filled the lawn and cast shadows from the mid-morning sun on the white walls.

  Waylon Dalton lived alone in the large empty house, which had been willed to him by his grandfather. He lived there because, well, it was the easiest of the options. The only financial responsibilities that he had living in Dalton Place were the utilities. He still needed to work a job in order to fulfill these basic requirements and preform such actions as putting food in the fridge, but he never had to worry about rent or a mortgage payment.

  The sunlight seared his eyes, and as hard as he tried to ignore it, Waylon finally woke up. He rolled over in bed and growled, pulling the blanket up over his face. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he began to spout vulgarities when he realized that the sun should not have been that bright, not if his alarm had gone off. He threw the blanket and dove for his nightstand where his phone sat on a wireless charger. When his fingers snatched his phone, it went flying into the air, forcing him to perform a juggling act. Pressing on the screen, his stomach fell when nothing happened.

  His phone was dead.

  He already knew that it was late in the morning, and he cursed because he was late for work. Again. The sun was far too high in the sky for him not to be late. He jumped out of bed and grabbed the first pair of pants out of the pile of clothes on the floor beside his dresser and didn’t even bother giving them a sniff. He didn’t have time to care. The shirt he had worn the day before was sitting on the back of the chair in the corner of his room. He pulled it over his head while he grabbed a jacket from his closet.

  While attempting to exit the room and put his jacket on at the same time, his vision became obscured. He tripped and stumbled forward, hitting his head on the wall opposite of his bedroom door. His eye quickly began to well up on his face.

  Streams of obscenities continued to flow as he took the stairs down from the third floor. Waylon had chosen to sleep in a bedroom other than the master. He felt like it still belonged to his grandfather. Even though Waylon’s grandfather was dead, it just didn’t feel right for Waylon to take it over. Something kept him from spending time near that room.

  The basement door flew open as Waylon stumbled down the stairs into the garage. His car waited patiently for him. This car was new to Waylon, purchased after a cattle truck turned over while going about fifty miles per hour and a cow landed on the hood of his old car. Nothing could have recovered the machine from its bovine death.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. In a fluid motion, he started the car and clicked the garage door opener. While the door rose into the ceiling, he checked the clock. His stomach twisted when he saw that he was over an hour late for work.

  Fumbling through the center console looking for his phone’s charger cable, he backed the car out into the driveway. He couldn’t find what he was looking for and shoved his phone into his pocket. He thumbed through the radio stations using the controls on the steering wheel, but he couldn’t find anything that he wanted to listen to in his current mood. He was too concerned with being late and what his boss was going to do to him. With those thoughts, he sped up a little, even though he was already at the speed limit.

  The traffic through town was light enough. It was mostly because at this point in the morning, people who were going to work were already at work. When he pulled up to the entrance to his building’s garage, there was a short line. Waylon gripped the steering wheel tightly, attempting to keep his frustration in check as an old man took far too long at the gate. The old man was struggling to get his parking stub out of the machine.

  He softly beat his head on the steering wheel as he waited. When the old man’s car was finally out of the way, Waylon jolted forward and snatched his ticket from the machine. The moment the gate was up far enough that he could fit, he sped off into the garage. He had to search on some of the lower levels before he finally found a parking spot.

  Waylon jumped out of the car and jogged across the parking garage, making sure his dead phone was in his pocket and the car doors were locked. He grabbed the railing and tried to take the stairs two at a time, but he was short of breath and ended up just skidding down the edge of the steps, jarring his teeth.

  There was a short underground tunnel that connected the garage and the basement of the building that he worked in. If he had been able to find a parking spot on a higher level, he would have been able to take one of the sky bridges, but being late had consequences. While he waited for the elevator in the basement of the building, he attempted to straighten himself up a bit. It was painfully obvious, however, that he had not showered, nor had he even attempted any kind of hair care before he left his house. He took a deep breath and stepped into the elevator when the doors opened.

  There was no one else on the elevator as Waylon reached over and pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. His department, IT, was working on a large project that spanned the whole building. For a few days, they had been working in a closet on the fifteenth floor. They were in the process of a major network overhaul that was nothing more than a pain in his ass.

  After the elevator went up two floors, it stopped with a slight lurch, and the doors opened. A tall well-dressed man in a suit, slacks, and dress shirt with beady eyes and slick black hair stepped onto the elevator and turned with his back to Waylon. He hardly even acknowledged Waylon’s existence.

  “Mr. Hicks,” Waylon attempted to greet the man, who was his boss.

  “Mr. Dalton,” Mr. Hicks replied in a cold, empty t
one. He cleared his throat. “I hope that you plan on finishing the migration on the fifteenth floor today. You’ve got four more floors still to be finished,” he said with a sneer.

  Waylon could only see the corner of his mouth, but he knew. Waylon started to make a mocking face at the back of Mr. Hicks’s head.

  “Ah, yes, sir,” he said once he had finished acting like an idiot.

  “I hope that you realize that this door is made of mirrored steel,” Mr. Hicks said. The elevator lurched to a halt on floor thirteen, and the confined room filled with a loud chime.

  “I do now, sir.” Waylon sighed.

  “I want floor fifteen done today, before you leave,” he said. “Today, or it’s your job.” He never looked at Waylon. The doors opened, and he stepped off the elevator.

  “You are a moron,” Waylon said, pointing at his reflection in the elevator doors once they had slid closed. He started to beat his head on the metal, which was quickly becoming his most common pastime.

  “Not true,” Waylon heard whispered words say a few times around him. He looked around the elevator, but he was the only person in the tiny space.

  “You really need to stop hitting your head on things,” he said to himself, shaking his head and thinking that he was going crazy. Gingerly, he reached up and touched his eye.

  When the elevator reached the fifteenth floor, it stopped, and the doors opened. Waylon sighed a long breath and walked off the elevator. He walked through the aisles and weaved around several offices to find the closet at the back of the fifteenth floor. The word “IT” was stuck haphazardly onto the door at eye level.

  Waylon opened the door and slipped into the room. He pulled the door closed and rested his head against the closet door. His eye was killing him.

  “Rough morning?” Waylon’s assistant, Blake, asked. “You’re almost two hours late.”

  “Yeah, phone’s dead,” Waylon said, holding up his phone’s carcass. “Then I made an ass of myself in front of Mr. Hicks. Again.”

  “Wonderful!” Blake chuckled. He was painfully aware that Waylon’s actions would lead to the both of them working harder and longer.

  “I’m sorry, man. I hope that this doesn’t come down on your head,” Waylon said as he crossed the room to stand next to where Blake was sitting. “You can leave on time. I’ll make sure that things get done tonight.” He shook his head and knelt down beside him. Blake was preparing to rewire a cable backwards. Waylon reached out and fixed the wires before it was too late.

  Blake was a tall good-looking man, when he stood up, he was about four inches taller than Waylon. The problem was that Blake was obnoxiously aware that he was good looking, and he tried to manipulate people with it. He stood back and scratched his head while the two of them looked over the tangled mess of cables that sprouted from the wall.

  Waylon grabbed a second stool and rolled it over so that he could sit in front of the mess that they were working on. Blake stretched his legs for a few moments before returning to work. The two of them were in the process of moving all of the computers from the building’s original networking equipment to newer, faster, more secure equipment. It was an easy enough job if it were not for the human element involved.

  “We’ll get it done together,” Blake said as he shook his head.

  “How many have you done?” Waylon asked. He took a deep breath and gazed at the mess. He did not want to even get started.

  “Twelve.” Blake sighed.

  “How many calls have you gotten?” Waylon asked. He wished more than anything that he had been able to get some coffee before having to start this nightmare. His stomach growled as he thought about missing breakfast.

  “Eleven,” he said, and he looked up in surprise. No sooner had the words made it out of his mouth did the phone ring. They both rolled their eyes, and Waylon went for the phone.

  “Waylon. IT speaking,” he said while he took a deep, steadying breath.

  “I was just working on the internet, and it’s not working anymore,” a woman complained. She sounded extremely agitated.

  “Yes, ma’am. The building is in the middle of a network migration,” Waylon explained calmly, “and you must restart your computer. We’ve been sending out memos for several weeks on the building upgrades.”

  “But I haven’t saved my work in hours,” the woman continued.

  “We also send out a memo weekly about saving more frequently,” Waylon said while miming choking someone to Blake, who found the motion quite amusing.

  “I haven’t had any problems in the past. I didn’t think it would be an issue.” She groaned.

  “Yeah, well, it is.” Waylon hung up the phone. He slouched and leaned his head forward onto the wall in front of him. His eye touched one of the cables, and he jumped back a little from the soreness.

  “I swear they get dumber every day.” Blake shook his head. He pulled a cable from the panel and plugged it into a device that would check to see if any of the patch cables in the line needed to be replaced.

  The device chimed with the failure beep. One of the patches was bad. Blake pulled it out of the wall and threw it into a box for trash. He pulled out a new one and plugged it back into the wall. He checked the line again, and he still received the fail error.

  “I’ll go down to the subbasement,” Waylon volunteered, standing up from his stool and stretching.

  “Take a light. The subbasement’s been acting up,” Blake said without argument. Waylon knew that Blake hated the basement, as most people did.

  “Right,” Waylon said with an understanding nod. He grabbed the tool bag and a flashlight. Before he walked out, he remembered his phone. It took a moment, but he was able to locate a charge cable and plug the phone in so that it could finally charge. He didn’t really want to leave it behind, but it wouldn’t do him a whole lot of good dead.

  “Beware the spiders.” Blake chuckled.

  “You’re the one that has to answer the phone. I’ll take ten spiders over those morons any day, any time.” Waylon shook his head and left.

  The elevators on the fifteenth floor were situated on both the north and south ends of the buildings. The elevators on the north end all worked, and those were the ones that Waylon had rode up on from the basement. He needed to go to the subbasement, which was only accessible from the south bank of elevators.

  As it had been for the past few weeks, the first elevator was broken. If it was called to his floor, the doors would open, and the elevator would just sit there. It didn’t matter how many times the floor button was pushed, it wouldn’t move. There was a sign, but most people missed it.

  Waylon pressed the call button and waited patiently for his ride. A beautiful tall blonde woman approached the elevator landing from the right hallway. She wasn’t usually on the fifteenth floor. Waylon and Blake actually referred to her as Floor Fourteen because neither one of them had gotten an opportunity to get her name.

  The woman stopped and stood next to Waylon. They both stood in an awkward silence waiting for the elevator. After a few moments, the doors for the bad elevator opened, and she did not hesitate to walk inside. She turned and smiled at Waylon.

  He had attempted to talk to her a few times in the past but could never make his mouth work. She looked questioningly at Waylon as he stood his ground, waiting for the other set of doors. The elevator doors did not move.

  Waylon had to talk to her. He had to tell her that the elevator wasn’t going to work. He took a step forward and leaned into the elevator.

  “Um, the eleva—” Before he could finish the sentence, the elevator dinged, and the doors shut on his head. He freaked out and pulled his head back a little too sharply. He fell back onto his backside. The flashlight shot out of his hand and skidded across the floor. It smacked into a wall and rolled to a stop.

  Way to make yourself look even more like a moron, he thought as he stood up and walked over to retrieve the flashlight and put it into his pants pocket. He returned to the elevator and pres
sed the call button again.

  The subbasement was an interesting monster to Waylon. He always felt like it had a life of its own. He felt things when he went down there. Eyes on the back of his head, movement in the shadows. He knew they weren’t there, but he couldn’t help imagining them. It didn’t really help that the lights were screwed up. They were supposed to be motion activated, but they never worked as intended.

  The landing of the elevators was lit, but as he moved out beyond that point, the lights didn’t not come just like always the room remained bathed in darkness. He pulled out the flashlight and flicked it on. The light flooded the hallway, and the room that was his destination was clear on the other side of the building.

  When he attempted to open the door, he found that it was locked. He rolled his eyes and pulled out a gigantic ring of keys from the IT tool bag. Waylon had begged the company to install proximity locks, but they didn’t care about the IT department.

  It took him a few minutes, but he found the key and unlocked the door. He ducked inside and quickly closed the door behind him, as the feeling that something was standing right behind him began to creep up his spine. He turned on the lights in the room, and about half of them didn’t come on. He shut off the flashlight and put it back in his pocket.

  This room was where the main internet line came into the building. From here, the network branched off and went to each floor, then spidered off again to all of the offices on each floor. For many years of work, Waylon had tried to clean up the mess, but he hadn’t made much headway.

  Waylon walked over to the patch panel that led up to the fifteenth floor. He dug through the cables until he found the one that he needed to replace. He pulled the cable out and wrapped it up, sticking it down in his bag, and then he pulled out a new cable, plugging it into the port that went upstairs. After that, he used the same device to check the quality of the line. Everything was good to go, so he plugged in the line to the main router.

  Waylon turned to leave. Something moved in the corner of the room out of the corner of his eye. He whipped out the flashlight as quickly as he could and shined the light into the corner. Something darted out of the light, and at the same time, the light flickered. Then with a rather loud pop, the light went out.