Southern Washington, 1971

  The man who called himself Cooper emerged from a cloudbank to find himself gazing down upon a forest from a height of 10,000 feet. The moon was full that night (he’d made sure of that) so the land below him was bathed in silver. The huge, snowcapped bulk of Mount Adams lay dead ahead with the equally massive Saint Helens off to his left. The forest had a slim, dark edge to it just beyond his knees that he took for the Columbia River. On the horizon to the west was a wall of black, pot-bellied clouds and a haze of artificial light that must have been Portland. It was all breathtaking, but it was also hurtling towards him at 80 miles an hour, so he wasted no time pulling the ripcord.

  The parachute sprang open like a dream. It was an old-fashioned fish-style, built for falling not steering, but Cooper was sure he could find something to do with it. He scanned the ground beneath him, picking out a patch of yellow grass in between the stands of gently swaying Oregon pine. He grabbed the toggles and swung the chute around.

  The sky turned quiet. There was a cold, damp wind blowing in from the west, bringing with it the smell of salt, but otherwise he was alone with his thoughts. The plane had long since disappeared over the horizon to the southeast. Cooper figured it would probably land in Reno as planned, at which point the FBI or CIA or whoever would storm in, guns drawn, and find out they’d been had. There had never been any bomb. The other passengers had been in no real danger - not really. Yet Cooper had somehow slipped away with $200,000 in non-consecutive bills and what should be a 300-mile head start.

  Actually, it was even better than that, Cooper thought with a smile, working the toggles. They also had no idea what he looked like. The passengers would report someone with gray hair and a scar under his right eye, both of which would be gone the moment he reached the river. They also thought his name was “Cooper”, which was another dead end, though they’d have to waste a day or two bird-dogging it anyway. The whole plan had gone off like gangbusters. It was a 10 out of 10. The only thing that hadn’t worked out was the weather. The forecast had said partly cloudy and calm, but instead there was a storm blowing in from the Pacific. Not a disaster necessarily, but it was making his life difficult.

  Cooper steered the parachute east, giving up on the patch of ground immediately below him. The wind was too stiff, and his chute was too slow. He set his sights on another field some 500 yards off. There was a low ridge studded with pines between him and it, but he was sure he would clear that easily. The real problem would be dumping altitude before this goddamn wind blew him to Idaho.

  It was important not to get overconfident, Cooper reminded himself as he worked the toggles. Yes, the job had gone well, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, any idiot who robbed a bank was liable to walk out with a few thousand dollars. You didn’t even need a gun for that. Just a strongly-worded letter. The hard part was keeping what you’d stolen. And even if you actually managed to get away clean - most people didn’t - spending stolen money was damned difficult. It would all get easier once he reached Belize, but there was still plenty that could go wrong between there and here. After all, Cooper knew from first-hand experience that the jails were full of cats who almost got away with it.

  He glanced down at his wristwatch, checking the time. It was 9:37 PM. Just then, the parachute shivered as it passed through a sudden downdraft. Cooper looked up, frowning. He was starting to think he’d made a mistake. The pine-covered ridge to the east was not quite as low as it had seemed at first in the moonlight. Also, the seabreeze had picked that very moment to die completely. He was no longer totally confident he could make it over the trees. Probably, but he wasn’t sure.

  Cooper pulled back on the toggles, gaining a bit of altitude. What he really needed right now was another gust of wind. One solid one might be enough to get him out of trouble. But the air was calm. He could no longer smell the sea. Meanwhile, the ridgeline was slowly looming up at him like the lower jaw of some enormous animal. He could try turning back, but where would he go? The only patch of clear ground within reach was on the far side of the ridge. All around him were rows and rows of Oregon pine, many of them 200 feet tall. Any way he went, he was going to end up putting himself into the crowns of those trees. And from there it would be a long, long fall.

  It was then he saw it - a bald spur of flat-topped rock emerging from the tree line halfway down the ridge. It was small, not much more than 10 feet square, and he would have liked it better if it was 50 feet closer, or if he were 50 feet higher, or if his chute wasn’t shit, or the wind wasn’t shit, or if his luck hadn’t generally turned to shit ever since he jumped out of that airplane, but the point was it was doable. He waited five more seconds. No miracles happened. Fuck it, he thought, bringing the chute around and flaring as hard as he could, pulling his knees to his chest as he braced for impact.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  His aim was perfect. He hit the spur dead center, immediately dropping his ass to bare rock. The last step was to disconnect the chute from his harness. Normally, that took no time at all, but it was dark, and his hands were cold, and the chute was a million years old. Still, it wouldn’t have been an issue if the fucking sea breeze hadn’t returned precisely as he touched down. As it was, Cooper had maybe two seconds to wrestle with his harness before the parachute suddenly filled, dragging him right off the rock and into the forest.

  The next few seconds were all about falling, spinning, and bouncing off things that were hard. When he finally came to rest, Cooper was lying against the base of a tree, staring up through the canopy at a pair of twin moons. He had taken a shot to the back of the head, which probably explained why he was seeing double. He spent a few seconds lying there, waiting for the moons to combine back into one.

  As he waited, Cooper slowly became aware of just how much pain he was in. He would decide later that he probably had a broken rib or two, in addition to a twisted left knee. In the moment though, all he knew was that everything hurt. It didn’t matter what position he lay in, which way he turned, or whether he breathed deeply or shallowly or not at all. Everything he did hurt like hell, so there was hardly any point trying to avoid it.

  “You dumb motherfucker,” Cooper grunted as he sat up gingerly, finally disconnecting his chute. Raising his right arm hurt too damn much, so he used his left to remove the two duffel bags around his neck and place them in his lap. The good news was the duffel that held the money was still intact, but the other one had been torn entirely in half by a tree branch, which meant his map, compass, canteen, flashlight, raincoat, and .28 revolver were now somewhere on the forest floor.

  He would have loved to go looking for them, but the forest around him was all but pitch black under the canopy, so the best he could do was run his hands across the mats of pine needles to see what he bumped into. And since his right arm was basically useless right now thanks to his ribs, the only way he could stand to do that was lying flat on his back, waving one arm and both legs like some sort of pathetic, retarded snow angel. It made him feel ridiculous, but on the second try, he kicked something that turned out to be the .28, so Cooper had just resolved to make retarded snow angels across the whole damn ridge if he had to when suddenly there was a flash of lightning and it began to rain.

  The rain was shockingly cold. Probably cold enough to kill if he got soaked. That changed things. Cursing under his breath, Cooper began looking about in the mirk to see if there was any place he might stay dry. It was only then that he saw the cave.

  It turned out the rocky spur he had attempted to land on wasn’t totally solid after all. It narrowed at the bottom, and there was a slight hollow space between it and the ridge. The opening was just about wide enough for a man to walk through. Cooper couldn’t see the back of the cave, and it would be just his luck if there was a bear in it or something, but it was certainly better than hypothermia, so he threw the surviving duffel bag back over his shoulder and painfully scrabbled up the ridge.

  “Hello?” Cooper said stupidly, his words echoing off the stony walls. The good news was there were no animals inside, or at least none he could see. Then again, the cave had turned out to be much bigger than he initially thought. Just past the entrance, there was a passageway branching off the main trunk leading down into the heart of the ridge that was almost wide enough to drive a truck through. There was something strange about that passageway. Despite the rain, the air inside was warm and dry, with a slightly musty smell, like grandma’s attic. Also, something back there was sparkling. That didn’t make a ton of sense of course, as the forest outside was almost completely dark now, and the cave was darker still. Yet he could see it clearly.

  “Hello?” Cooper said again, even more stupidly than last time, reaching into the duffel bag to pull out his .28 revolver, though it was hard to imagine what good it might do him. The smart thing, he suddenly realized, was to go back to the front of the cave and just wait it out. It would be a long, cold night, but morning would come soon enough. Whatever was back here, it was none of his business. But even as he thought that, he was taking another step forward into the passage. He raised one hand, reaching out to touch the sparkling thing, which seemed to be just in front of his face.

  One more step, he thought to himself. After that I’m turning around.

  That thought would be the last thing Cooper remembered.

  * * * * *

  Name: Cooper of Vancouver

  Gender: Male

  Affiliation: None

  Age at Entry: 29

  Current Level: The Labyrinth (1)

  Jing: 6/10

  Qi: 7/9

  Shen: 0

  Status: Injured

  Also, please note that Book 1 is now finished on my , and will finish here on Royal Road on March 29th.