《Worldbreaker [Guildmaster's Army #1]》


 PROLOGUE - CULLING

    PROLOGUE - CULLING


    Flint opened his eyes a bleary crack. He reached a hand out, grasped something soft. The other eye opened and his vision accommodated to light.


    He was in a tent of some kind. He glanced down, felt his shirt, then the skin underneath.


    He frowned, lifting the shirt. Muscle visible beneath a skin-tight abdomen. Lifting his woolen trousers, he examined his other equipment.


    It was a strange feeling. With VR goggles, you had the optical impression of being in another body. But here, well, it felt no different than real-life. Except¡­


    He twisted around, letting his legs dangle off the bed. He leaned forward, planted both feet. ¡°Moment of truth,¡± he said. Then he stood.


    At first he didn''t move. Just stood still, waiting for the artificial gravity of the ship to overcome his atrophied legs. But it didn''t happen. He put out a cautious foot, shifted his weight, and stepped. Then took another.


    ¡°Haha! I¡¯m walking!¡±


    He did a circle around the plush carpet. First at a walk, then at a jog. Laughing like a lunatic the whole time.


    A band of yellow light flashed across his vision, stopping him cold.


    ¡°What the¡­¡±


    A rectangular band settled on the bottom-half of his visual field. The band consisted of six empty squares. To the left of the squares were three different-colored meters ¡ª the top filed with red, middle with blue, bottom with green.


    He knew instantly what the bars represented. Confirmation flashed across his central vision:


    This is your Heads-Up-Display.


    It contains your Skill Bar (the six squares in the center) and your Constitution Meters (the three lines to left, indicating your Health, Stamina, and Energy). The message you are currently reading is also considered part of your HUD.


    Flint focused on the band taking up a sizable portion of his vision. Despite its size, it wasn''t obtrusive, and when he started walking again, the bar shrunk into the periphery. When he closed his eyes, it disappeared. ¡°Cool,¡± he said.


    And it was. The HUD was a standard mechanic in games like these. But usually, he was staring at it through VR optics. It was a much different experience to have it right in your visual field.


    A new message populated his HUD:


    NEW QUEST: THE CULLING


    Locate the Jackhammer and register for the next round of the Culling-a team-based deathmatch that will test your mettle against other officer candidates.


    Flint acknowledged the words with a thought, and they faded. Neat how that worked. Just think something, and the HUD obeys.


    ¡°A deathmatch, huh? Not big on the team part, but otherwise... right up my alley.¡±


    He walked excitedly over to the tent flaps and shoved through into sunlight.


    He was in a camp. That much was obvious. In front of him was a haphazard row of other tents identical to his own. Even now, several confused figures not unlike himself emerged from them. Probably other players.


    He glanced across dirt pathways leading through a field toward a round coliseum, where even at this far distance he could hear the sound of yelling crowds.


    He started off down the path, savoring the ambulatory sensation. In this virtual world, he didn¡¯t pain or stiffness moving appendages. A pair of muscular legs carried him without trouble. Hard to believe it, really. Hard to believe all of this. He raised his palms and studied their pinkness and firmness. He made tight fists, watched the forearm muscles bulge.


    Safe to say, this wasn¡¯t the crippled, worthless body back on the Star Ark.


    A few yards further into camp, he came across a motley of people in medieval armors and clothing. They were sat around in groups, their legs on wooden benches, sharpening blades or minding cookfires. There were circles of them sparring with swords. A few paces away, a thick bald man in an apron hammered at stone and anvil while a woman filed a blade against a sharpening wheel. A third blacksmith carried the body of sword between tongs, pulling it from the blazing forge and dumping it into a quenching barrel. Hot steam rose from the barrel, filling the air with the crackling and sizzling of water on hot metal.


    Flint drew in a breath through his nostrils. For all their ghoulishness, these Caskets provided an insane level of realism.


    Two people walked around him on the path. The one that caught his eye first was a female with a white shawl drawn about her head. She had a staff in hand and was talking to a man in a breastplate with a pair of hatchets at his waist. His armor and weaponry were so cool, Flint stared at him long enough for the man to notice.


    ¡°You lost fellow?¡± the man said.


    Flint stopped. When he spoke, his voice was the same as it was in real-world, except maybe a touch deeper. ¡°Uh... no, I''m not lost. Just wondering what town this is.¡±


    ¡°This is Reach City,¡± the man said. He pointed at the stadium ahead. ¡°That up there is the Coliseum.¡±


    Flint thought about the location. Likely he''d been spawned inside the capital city of one of the four major kingdoms. The one he would be expected to fight for in the on-going war that was the main plot of the game.


    ¡°Are you guys players, too?¡± Flint asked.


    The two looked at each other, then back at him.


    ¡°Player of what?¡± the woman asked.


    A new HUD message appeared:


    These persons are non-player characters (NPCs). Except in rare cases, NPCs do not know the difference between real players and themselves.


    ¡°They don¡¯t?¡± Flint asked, frowning.


    The two people slowly stepped back from him like he was crazed, then continued down the path.


    He stood there a moment still breathing in the realistic air. He tracked down the pathway towards the arena and through the thick of the camps. He noticed none of the soldiers were in any kind of uniform. Was he in a mercenary camp?


    As he drew closer, the sounds from the arena grew louder and more prominent. He wondered what was taking place inside. Some gladiatorial combat perhaps?


    People formed a queue outside the gate. Some were shoving each other, one of them getting very angry and smashing a man across the face with his gauntleted fist sending him flailing into the mud. A moment later, a female mage threw a fireball in his face, bursting his head into hot flame that drew the crowd back.


    Flint jumped back. This violence was somewhat unexpected in this area, though shouldn¡¯t of been completely unexpected. These types of games liked to shock you early on.


    There was a throng of bowstrings, and he looked up saw the mage take four arrows through her body, one through the side of her cheek and out the other end. She gave a sickening gurgle, vomiting blood down her shawl and keeled over in the muck.


    ¡°Shit,¡± a man gasped next to Flint. The generic white shirt and trousers gave him away as a player.¡°I actually feel nauseous watching it.¡±


    Flint looked over at him and shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a medieval MMO. What do you expect?¡±


    A moment later, black-clad soldiers with the insignia of a dragon on their breastplates moved through the crowd. They had long, black great swords in hand, their bodies covered head to toe in platemail.


    Flint whispered under his breath. ¡°Where can I get me some of that armor?¡±


    A voice rang out over the throng of people. Flint could smell the burnt smell of flesh. And oddly enough, it made his stomach grumble with sickening hunger.


    ¡°All right you fuckin¡¯ pansies,¡± a hard voice said. ¡°Y¡¯all want to fight, you sign-up for the Culling.¡±


    A small man pushed his way through the soldiers, pushing some of them aside hard enough to make them stumble. The rest stepped gladly out of his way. Flint got the impression whoever this man was he was very powerful. Sure didn¡¯t look it, though. He was maybe 5 feet tall, walked with a limp on the right.


    The man stopped five feet away, looked from burnt-face to the female mage laying dead in the mud. Her companion was still knocked out cold a stride away from her.


    ¡°What a waste,¡± he said, spitting on the ground.


    Flint watched as the man took care to survey the scene, looking at each of the forty or so people gathered around him. Though he took his time, nobody spoke a word.


    ¡°I¡¯m the Jackhammer,¡± he finally said. ¡°I run this arena for the Royal Chamberlain. Which of you wants to earn a commission?¡±


    There was some murmurings among the crowd, but nobody volunteered outright.


    ¡°Form a queue. And nobody kills anyone till I say so.¡±


    The queue reformed, and somehow Flint ended up at the front of it.


    The man called Jackhammer looked him up and down. Flint imagined there was never a more unimpressed face in the universe. ¡°What¡¯s your name, shit head?¡±


    Flint was about to say something, but before the words left his lips, his HUD flashed a message.


    WARNING ¡ª The name you select cannot be changed from this point forward.


    He heaved a breath, then almost said his real name. But then he thought about it. Would he want the same name in this world as he had back on the ship? Flint never took these dialog screens seriously. He¡¯d given himself all kinds of crazy names in other games. JackMehoff and BarryHallsacks, among others.


    ¡°Well?¡± Jackhammer said. ¡°What¡¯s your name shit-stain?¡±


    ¡°Walker,¡± Flint said. ¡°The name¡¯s Walker.¡±


    The dialog box in front of him entered the characters in block letters. It hovered a moment, then the letters blinked and he heard a brief confirmatory chime.


    ¡°Walker,¡± Jackhammer said. ¡°What kinda dipshit name is that?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± He honestly had no idea. No matter, though. Jackhammer wasn''t interested in an answer.


    ¡°What kinda fighter are you, Walker?¡± he said.


    Another dialog box popped up, though this time It was a miniature pop-in screen, of the type he was used to in these games. It brought up his heads-up display at the bottom, where his skill bar sat empty along with his statistics ¡ª health, manna, stamina. Filling in the dialog box were three images of himself or what he imagined himself to be. It looked like his real form, only this time, he wasn¡¯t in a wheelchair. It was an idealized version of himself. Well-built and stocky with olive-skinned. Like he grew-up in a tropical military camp as opposed to a radioactive space-ship.


    Flint whistled again. Damn I¡¯m built like a brick shit house.


    In the image on the left, Flint saw a version of himself in a kind of robe holding a wooden staff. Below the image was the word Magus. To the right of that was a thicker built but somewhat shorter version, this one with a bow on his back and a pair of daggers in his front holster. Below this one the word Adventurer. The third version was the biggest of the three¡ªboth in terms of height and size. He studied the thick chest and legs of this version, falling instantly in love with it. Warrior.


    ¡°Warrior,¡± Flint said.


    The dialog box shifted and a new three set of forms appeared.


    ¡°Warrior,¡± Jackhammer said. ¡°Care to be more specific?¡±


    The three versions of the warrior flashed into his view. The first one¡ªthe Knight it was called¡ªdepicted him full-clad in battle dress not unlike Jackhammer¡¯s soldiers. The middle one was called a Vanguard. A much taller and beefier version holding a tower-sized shield and a short sword. The third option¡ªthe one Flint selected almost instantly¡ªwas the Charger. This one had a great Warhammer in his hands and warpaint on his face. He looked like a mean son-of-a-bitch ready to rush into a fight and bash someone¡¯s brains out.


    He focused on the Charger and was surprised to find two more subclasses: The Berserker and the Dragoneer. There was no information on either of these, but a HUD message told him they would unlock at level 75.


    ¡°Charger,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Charger,¡± Jackhammer repeated. ¡°Very well.¡±


    The dialog box disappeared.


    ¡°You¡¯re signed up, ¡± Jackhammer said. ¡°Next!¡±


    One of Jackhammer¡¯s assistant¡¯s stepped over to him. ¡°Best to go get a weapon, friend. The next round starts in ten minutes.¡±


    A new message appeared in his HUD:


    QUEST UPDATED: THE CULLING


    Do not fight unarmed. Equip a weapon before the contest begins.


    Flint was led over to the sparring circle with a scarecrow dummy next to a tent filled with weapon racks. There was a rack of fresh weapons on the table. There was a long lance, a huge two-handed great sword, and a battle axe. All of them were somewhat generic looking. Flint reached down and picked up each of them in turn, examining their stats in the dialog box that popped-up. The image of the weapon appeared on the left in a panoramic view. Next to it was a blank dialog box, which presumably would¡¯ve held a weapon to compare stats with. He picked up the warhammer, and a dialog box flashed in front of him.


    Basic Warhammer


    Base Damage: 15+2 per each level of Strength.


    Weight: 10.2 pounds.


    Among the three, it was the heaviest. The others had similar if slightly less powerful stats. With each of them, he took a swing at the dummy in the sparring circle, handling each weapon with ease. Back on the Silvestre, he could barely lift a fork to his mouth. Here he could wield a great sword with ease.


    In the end, he settled on the heaviest of the weapons. A chime pinged as he equipped it, automatically bundling it to the harness on his back.


    QUEST UPDATED: THE CULLING


    Join your team at the starting corral. Hurry before the contest begins.


    Red arrows formed on the pathway. He followed them around the series of tent camps and towards the other end of the arena. When he came to the starting corral, he was surprised to see Jackhammer standing on a podium near the other warriors.


    ¡°Okay, dipshits, here are your uniforms.¡±


    A dialog box appeared suddenly, this time holding a set of chainmail. With merely a thought, he equipped the item.


    Gladiator Melee Armor.


    Base 10 armor with +2 bonus resistance to physical and magical damage of all types. This armor is colored green to represent your team in the Culling Contest.


    When the dialog box disappeared, he felt the heaviness sink into his body as the armor was suddenly equipped. Strange how it all felt so real. The armor was much heavier than the shirt and pants he recently had on.


    ¡°Step into the corral,¡± Jackhammer said.


    Flint followed the arrow marker into an tunnel where other players in the same color armor were standing.


    ¡°The goal is to kill everyone on the other team,¡± Jackhammer said. ¡°Last team standing wins.¡±


    Flint smiled. Killing people virtually was something of a personal specialty.


    He stretched his neck out and got loose. Time to see if the game''s combat mechanics lived-up to the hype.


    His building excitement was interrupted by the sound of a teammate. Flint''s head froze mid-stretch on his shoulder when he heard the voice. A familiar one. The words came from the opposite end of the corral, sounding like it came from someone with blocked nasal passages.


    ¡°Hey baby, you ready to open a can of wa¡ªwa¡ªwhoop-ass?¡±


    He slowly turned to the source. A giant warrior of a player in green armor carrying a great sword. He was at the other end of the corral with a buxom red-haired mage. Even in idealized form there was a close resemblance to the person behind the player. Flint''s HUD, perhaps sensing the growing interest in this teammate, engaged the targeter, highlighting him an soft glow. Identification came through a second later:


    Vardock


    Level 0 Charger


    Flint stared across the corral, mouth agape. Hundreds of thousands of players, and they just happened to end up on the same team? Had to be a cruel prank. Or sabotage. But why and by whom? ¡°Gotta be fucking kidding me.¡±


    The woman was beaming at Vardock, touching him on the shoulder and giggling at every stupid thing the moron said. Flint¡¯s targeter named her as Sally Short, a level 0 Battlemage.


    ¡°I¡¯m just hoping to stay alive,¡± she said. ¡°I''m not very good at PvP games.¡±


    ¡°Stick with me and I¡¯ll watch your buh¡ª backside,¡± Vardock said.


    She giggled. ¡°If you¡¯re the real King, you can stay as close to my backside as you want.¡±


    Flint walked toward them, scowling. He grabbed the big man by shoulder, causing him to turn.


    The face of the man was obviously an idealized version of his arch-nemesis. Where the weak, dark eyes and weak jaw were once held, this was a sharp chiseled jaw. The flabby body was replaced with muscular stockiness, still rotund and rounded but powerful.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Vardock''s eyes went big. ¡°Flint? Is that you?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± he snapped.


    Sally Short''s eyes widened. ¡°Flint? As in Flintlock?¡±


    ¡°That''s the one,¡± Vardock said, a stupid smile on his face. It was then Flint knew the prick had inveigled his way into the same instance, probably to annoy him. ¡°What''s going on, boss? Looking a lot less cuh¡ªcuh¡ªcrippled.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing here, Dexter?¡±


    ¡°Playing the guh¡ª guh¡ª game,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s it look like?¡±


    ¡°There''s a million fucking players and you happen to spawn in my instance?¡± he said. ¡°This some practical joke? Are you streaming for your idiotic fans?¡±


    ¡°You can''t stream in this game,¡± Sally Short said, laughing. ¡°And you also don''t get to choose what instance you spawn in.¡±


    Flint turned his scowl on her. ¡°Was I talking to you?¡±


    ¡°Ease up, Flint,¡± Vardock said. ¡°There''s no streaming or practical joke here.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit.¡±


    Vardock frowned. ¡°Believe what you want, then. But you ask me, you should feel lucky you¡¯re on my tuh¡ª tuh¡ª team. Might have a chance at winning for once.¡±


    Before Flint could reply, a loud voice admonished them from behind.


    ¡°Hey, Battle Smite jerk-offs.¡±


    The three of them turned. A woman nearly seven feet tall with white hair and bulky chain mail glared at them above a rectangular shield. Flint¡¯s targeter showed her playername as Lady Val, a level 0 Vanguard.


    ¡°This isn''t the one-v-one ladder,¡± Lady Val said. ¡°This is a team game, so save your shit-talking for the other team.¡±


    Before Flint could reply, Jackhammer¡¯s voice boomed through some magical amplification.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages¡­ Round three-hundred and ninety-one of the Culling Contest is about to begin!¡±


    The cheers were resounding in response.


    Flint gave his arch-nemesis a final glare before walking away. If only the game at least them on separate teams. At least then he could get revenge for the Clownie Moroccos stunt.


    ¡°On the count of sixty, the gates will open!¡± Jackhammer said.


    As the countdown started, a new tool-tip appeared in Flint''s HUD:


    You have three Tree Points to allocate. Use points to unlock Skills before the battle commences.


    This was followed by another pop-in window. A series of square icons appeared, connecting to each other through branching gold lines in a tree pattern. At the top of the tree it said: Charger Skill Tree. Next to the title were three golden I¡¯s, each representing a point to spend.


    Before he could scrutinize the icons, another message flashed:


    Choose your skills wisely or you will likely die during the Culling Contest.


    Flint frowned. These damn HUD warnings were morbid.


    He scanned the Skills, his focus illuminating descriptions written in white. The first one that caught his eye was an illustration of himself charging an unseen enemy, streaks of red like comet tails trailing his impossibly quick movement.


    Skill: Headhunter


    Charge an enemy foot unit 60 paces or less away. The further you charge, the more likely you are to knock up your opponent.


    Cost: 30 Stamina.


    Flint grinned. Steamrolling kids looked like a blast. He applied a point with a thought. The skill icon appeared at the bottom of his vision on the Skill Bar.


    ¡°TWENTY-ONE¡­ TWENTY¡­ NINETEEN¡­¡± came the crowd¡¯s countdown.


    Flint scrolled through the other options. He found an illustration of himself bashing in the skull of a kneeling enemy.


    Skill: Crushing Blow.


    Add four times your base strength to your next strike which cannot be blocked or parried.


    Cost: 25 Stamina.


    He quickly applied one of his two remaining Tree Points. Headhunter was an excellent setup skill for Crushing Blow. And in his vast PvP experience, wombo-combos were key to victory.


    ¡°NINE¡­ EIGHT¡­ SEVEN¡­¡±


    With so little time, he almost randomly selected the last skill. The illustration was of himself whirling in a circle, a dust vortex forming around his body as though he was the heart of a tornado.


    Skill: Dance of the Whirlwind


    Become immune to ranged physical attacks for two seconds +.05 seconds per rank of Agility.


    Cost: 10 Stamina, 35 Energy.


    He selected it, and the third icon transferred to his Skill Bar.


    ¡°THREE¡­ TWO¡­ ONE!¡±


    Flint followed his team forward as the portcullis ascended. At the front of their group were three Vanguards, with tall player called Lady Val at the center. They moved as a single, closely-packed mass toward the center of the arena.


    He gazed across the pitch, saw the other three teams doing the same. In seconds, he knew, the groups would break and the fight would be in earnest. This was a mosh pit waiting to form.


    Flint had become euphoric in similar gaming situations, but this was something different. It was as though the Casket provided its own source of adrenaline. Maybe it did.


    Two of his team''s archers drew back bowstrings and fired.


    ¡°Stick together!¡± Val screamed.


    Flint felt a nudge at his shoulder and turned. Vardock was marching next to him, a crazed smile on his face.


    ¡°Time to light these kuh¡ª kuh¡ª kids up, eh Crip?¡± Vardock said.


    Flint scowled. It would be no surprise for this bastard to troll the game. ¡°Try not to ruin our chance of winning.¡±


    ¡°How could I ruin it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe by rushing the enemy like a fucking dipshit?¡± he said. ¡°I know you¡¯re thinking about it.¡±


    Vardock scowled. ¡°You¡¯re a pro PvP player for fucks suh¡ª sake,¡± he scoffed. ¡°Can¡¯t be a little bitch about it.¡±


    Flint was about to tell him to get bent when Vardock gave a loud roar. A red mist exploded from his body, and before Flint could process things, the man charged the enemy team with breakneck speed.


    No surprise the erratic fool charged ten enemies by himself. Probably he¡¯d be dead in the next few seconds. Hopefully, anyway. So long as he respawned in a separate instance.


    There was a yelp to his right, and Flint jerked sideways. A female mage with the playername of Qu33n NINA caught an arrow through the bicep. Her staff dropped to the ground while her good hand covered the wound. Blood gushed through the gaps in her fingers, staining her robe dark red. She fell to her knees, tears streaking her face. ¡°Oh fuck, oh fuck it hurts!¡± she squealed.


    Flint gawked. That looked awfully painful. ¡°Holy shit.¡±


    A sharp thud, and he turned to see Lady Val a catch rain of arrows on her shield. And then all hell broke loose. Their team broke ranks and they were met in battle with a hodgepodge of blue, red, and yellow-caped players.


    Flint let his team jump into the mindless scrum. No use running into a wall of melee enemies could pelt you with projectiles. He pivoted, seeking isolated targets.


    Ten feet away, a mage in a yellow cape tossed a purple-colored orb at a red-caped female. The woman sidestepped the spell and threw a blast of flame on the back-step, catching him center mass. The poor bastard''s uniform erupted in fire, sent him backwards with a scream. Even seven paces away, Flint felt the heat.


    ¡°Cool,¡± he said, grinning wide. This shit was as real as it got.


    A yellow archer stood near the burnt mage and trained an arrow his direction. The bow thrummed and the arrow ripped through the air above his right ear.


    Without thinking, Flint¡¯s targeter highlighted the enemy. With a thought, Flint activated his Headhunter skill.


    Rage exploded through him like a nuclear blast, bulging and stretching the veins in his neck. He seized his hammer with both hands and thundered across the pitch at inhuman velocity. He tunnel-visioned the archer and shrieked like a demonic banshee. ¡°FUCKING DIE!¡±


    The archer worked on notching a second arrow when he spotted Flint¡¯s charge. He froze, eyes going big as cow¡¯s.


    That can happen if you aren¡¯t ready for it. One second your potshotting the enemy, the next your being bull-rushed by a hammer-wielding lunatic.


    Flint slammed head-first into him and sent him flying.


    ¡°AH!!!¡±


    The archer¡¯s scream diminished as he sailed fifty-feet across the pitch. His body arched downward toward a cement wall below the spectators. The man collided head-first with a sickening crunch, blood spraying the audience above.


    ¡°Haha!¡± Flint raised the hammer in triumph. Damn but that felt good. ¡°Get WRECKED fucking nerd!¡±


    ¡°You bastard!¡±


    He turned to see a female mage sprinting at him. Her heart-shaped face was perfectly symmetric and beautiful, save for the look of mad fury on it. She stretched out and sprayed a gout of blue flame from her fingertips in a wide cone.


    Flint frowned. The flame didn¡¯t reach anywhere near enough to hit him. She followed-up with some other spell that caused the air around him to oscillate strangely.


    In his lower vision, just above his Skill Bar, a yellow warning flashed.


    Elemental Debuff: Fire Damage.


    This was accompanied by a tool-tip:


    You will take double damage from any fire spell.


    He roared with laughter. The mage cast her skills in the wrong order. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to use the damage spell after the debuff you fucking noob.¡±


    She screamed in frustration and ran at him with clenched fists. But Flint wasn''t scared. As a matter of balance in games like these, mage classes weren¡¯t good fist fighters. Classes who could shoot high-damage ranged spells couldn¡¯t also do heavy hand-to-hand damage.


    Flint decided to test that theory. She threw a punch that he let connect with the side of his face. Sure enough, the jolt of pain was like having a tooth prodded by a dentist. Annoying but not too troublesome. The straight red line of his Health Bar blinked away only a smidge.


    He reached up and touched his mouth. ¡°That wasn¡¯t very nice.¡±


    ¡°Screw you!¡±


    The woman reeled back to throw another. Flint raised his arm and blocked it on his metal bracer. She yelped, ringing her hand like she¡¯d caught it in a doorway.


    He smiled. In games like this, warrior classes did the real melee damage.


    He activated Crushing Blow. The mage became a faint glow as he raised his warhammer, light as a feather, and swung. Hard metal met cheek, rent her pretty skull open like a bloody pi?ata. The corpse fell away. ¡°Two frags for me.¡±


    He checked his surroundings, looking to add to that number.


    All four teams were engaged across the pitch. Nearby, two yellow-caped archers were battling a red mage and a Vanguard, the latter using his absurdly large shield to cover them both. Toward the middle of the pitch, Vardock was wrenching his sword free of a red warrior¡¯s skull in time to catch a pink orb in the back. The big man tripped and went face-first into the dirt.


    Flint smiled. Served the fat show-boater right.


    At the opposite end of the pitch, two green warriors skirmished with blue enemies. While the groups exchanged jabs and insults, a blue archer twenty feet away fired potshots at his teammates.


    Flint focused the sniper, his targeter making the enemy player glow. He readied himself for the charge and thought-activated Headhunter.


    A painful click echoed like a gong in his head. He stumbled backwards, dazed. Above his Skill Bar, the word COOLDOWN flashed blue over the skill¡¯s icon.


    He gritted his teeth. So much for a quick entry.


    Using good legs he was unaccustomed to having, he sprinted for the melee. The distance closed between him and the enemies. Then, impact. An unseen force struck him mid-stride. His teeth slammed down, vision dizzied as his body was flung sideways with the force of a vactrain.


    He smashed into dirt twenty paces away, breath knocked from his chest, mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. The violent ringing in his ears continued as he glanced upward, looking for the source of the assault. His health bar shuddered, drawing away 25% of the red meter.


    A spell had hit him. That much was obvious. And it hurt more than expected. Way more. But lying around wasn''t the best strategy to avoid it.


    He gingerly pushed himself up. No sight of any nearby mage. But then his view was blocked by a scrum ten feet away.


    The green Vanguard Lady Val stood nearby. She held her shield steady as she backtracked toward the wall by two Knights stabbing at her with lances.


    Flint heaved a great breath, nearly choking from the pain in his ribs. He checked Headhunter was recharged. And then let it rip.


    The explosion of rage tore through his every fiber in his body, overwhelming whatever sense of pain he still felt. His universe became completely about the Knight filling his vision. A Knight that was about to have a very bad day. ¡°AHHHHHHHHH!¡± he bellowed.


    They collided. the twang of metal radiating through his body. It wasn¡¯t painful though, and it sent the man sprawling sideways a good four paces and tripping up into the dirt. Not nearly the effect with the puny archer. But it was something.


    The Knight¡¯s friend turned in surprise. A dumb thing to do. Val used the distraction to jam her sword through his neck. The man gurgled, blood drooling through his split-open gullet onto his breastplate. His knees crumpled, and he collapsed.


    The Knight Flint collided with was now getting off the ground now. The impact had forced the player''s helmet askew with the visor over his ear. The Knight tried to readjust, then tore it off, discarding it behind him.


    Flint swung the hammer, the Knight catching it on his arm. He felt the man¡¯s arm shatter beneath the blow, letting out a scream of unfathomable pain.


    A simple thing then for Val to step forward and plunge her sword through the man¡¯s skull. He gargled bloody, the tip coming out his yawning mouth. Not a graceful finish, but frags are frags.


    She glanced sideways at him with wide eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± he said.


    ¡°Behind you!¡±


    Flint spun in time to see a triplet of yellow archers firing at him. Two arrows missed. The first arrow caught him through the right shoulder. A wave of hot pain shot through him and he swayed sideways in time to catch a second arrow through the left knee.


    He collapsed, swooning. In his central vision, the health bar blinked madly in rhythm with his heart. A majority of the red meter vanished, only a smidge remaining. The world became a monochromatic blur.


    He groaned in agony. This shit was way too realistic. ¡°Well, that was fun,¡± he gasped. ¡°Now kill me so I can respawn and beat your ass...¡±


    But the kill shot never came. Instead, he felt a sudden, pleasant tug at the center of his being. His alarm vision cleared, and the health bar stopped blinking. In fact, as the battlefield regained color, the red line on his health bar began growing.


    He turned around and spotted the reason. A mage on his team was healing him.


    A thick spread of golden light emanated from the girl''s hand, stretching from her palm to the center of his chest. The pain in his limbs went from unbearable agony to an annoying ache. As he stood, the arrow in his knee splintered and fell away.


    His mouth opened to thank her. The words never got out. An arrow pierced her chest, jolting her backwards and cutting-off the healing spell. Two more struck home, one through the eyeball, and she collapsed, stone dead.


    Flint zeroed on the three bastard yellow archers responsible.


    ¡°Take that, pussy,¡± one of them yelled.


    The other archer, a woman with silver hair sneered. ¡°Yeah, take that, pussy-ass bitch.¡±


    Flint watch them notch arrows and point at him. If all struck home, he was dead. But it''s not like he could surrender.


    ¡°Fuck it.¡±


    He activated Headhunter. Madness overtook his mind like a fever as he bull-rushed the nearest one. Halfway there, the sound of released arrows, and he activated Dance of the Whirlwind.


    Suddenly, his bull rush switched into a nauseating spin. The world turned a sickening blur of colors as he generated a tornadic vortex of sand around himself. Two seconds later, the spin stopped and he made contact. Big contact.


    The shit-talking archer was air-mailed from the ground, bow flying from his grasp. Before he slammed into a stone facade of the arena, his girlfriend was already was already tripping over herself to get away. Flint scrambled after her. A bolt of lightning crashed next to her, and Vardock appeared. The giant man swung his sword downward at the girl''s head. There was a sound like wet leaves being sheared as she was decapitated above the shoulders.


    ¡°Sit down, buh¡ª buh¡ª bitch!¡±


    Flint gaped. That was a neat little trick. Seemed overpowered as shit. ¡°The fuck was that skill?¡±


    His nemesis have him a bloody grin. ¡°Storm Rider.¡±


    An arrow zipped past Flint¡¯s head, causing him to turn. The third archer had another arrow notched and was aiming at him. The bow twanged and Flint jerked sideways, catching it on his left shoulder. The familiar searing pain tore through his body. His Health bar dropped 30% on the point-blank shot.


    Flint gritted his teeth and sprinted. He closed the gap quickly, forcing the archer to turn tail and run. The hammer reached out, clipped the enemy''s foot, sent him sprawling into sand.


    He stepped on the fallen man''s back, drawing a squeak of pain. He raised his steel boot high and stomped the player''s skull, crushing it and killing him instantly.


    Unexpected, that. He wasn''t used to having the leg strength to crush a man''s head like an overripe watermelon. ¡°That''s three for me,¡± he gasped.


    Most of the players were dead now. It was obvious because so few remained fighting. Strangely, the corpses of the fallen players weren''t littering the pitch, like you would expect. The reason for that came when the dead archer, recently dead by Flint''s heel, disappeared-his body vanished as though it had never existed.


    Not unexpected. Dead bodies sometimes disappeared from video games.


    Nearby, Vardock was fighting a red mage. The mage threw a vicious purple orb the size of a bowling ball at the big man''s head. The seasoned Battle Smite pro raised his shield, blocked it, sent it ricocheting into the stands, destroying the seats and NPC occupants in a shower of gore and wood splinters.


    He winced. Note to self-don''t get hit by that spell.


    Headhunter was off cooldown. He focused the mage and let it ride. Euphoric-rage shot him like a bullet toward the enemy, his entire being focused on murdering this bastard in the most vicious, most savage, most inhuman--


    He stopped. No, not stopped. His body came to a sudden, jarring halt that by normal physics should''ve whiplash-shattered his spine and flattened his brain behind his eyeballs. He was frozen now. Locked-in place as though time itself was stopped.


    He couldn''t blink. Couldn''t even breathe. That was the extent of the stun spell. One second became two. Then another passed. Finally, the effect dissipated, unlocking his muscles in a sudden, almost equally jarring release.


    He sucked in a deep, squeaky breath, like a nearly-drowned man resurfacing. It didn''t feel good, being turned into a statue. But the red mage was twenty paces away, and crying about it would only give the little shit more time to sling vicious magic at him.


    Flint ran at him.


    Vardock got there first, using Storm Rider to blink into existence behind the mage. His sword was arcing sideways in a two-handed grip that might chop the mage in half. The scrappy fellow dodged the blade with a spin, letting Vardock''s momentum carry the big man sideways. The smug mage grinned, a little too pleased with himself for someone who was nearly vivisected. He raised a palm to fire a spell at the vulnerable warrior. The purple orb formed, then shattered, blinking harmlessly out of existence.


    Flint stopped two paces from the mage, confused at why the spell stopped. The answer came when the mage toppled forward, an arrow dripping some green substance leaking from the bloody hole in his back.


    Flint sprinted for the source- a yellow archer fifty paces away who even now was notching another poison arrow. The distance was too great. With Headhunter on cooldown, there was no way to close the gap in time.


    The arrow came at him, and Flint''s body vortexed into a tornado again, activating Dance of the Whirlwind. He didn''t see what happened to the projectile, but once the world stopped spinning, he was relieved to find no arrow in his guts.


    The yellow archer had other problems anyway. Three red players jumped at him like lions competing for the last gazelle in the world. A red knight shield bashed the archer face, sent him face up into the sand, bow flying. A second knight stepped over him, raising a spear high overhead. Like a flag bearer planting the colors, he buried the sharp end through the man''s chest. A third red-not a warrior, but a mage with an odd circular tattoo on his forehead. The mage raised a hand up and pulled down like he was yanking an invisible rope. Two seconds passed while clouds overhead transformed to bilious black balloons. A flash of dark plasm spat from the unnatural object, connecting with the dead archer''s corpse, flash-frying flesh and transilluminating the skeleton beneath. As the sky cleared, smoke rose from the corpse in tendrils, filling the air with the scent of burnt meat.


    ¡°Holy shu- shit-balls that was cool.¡±


    Flint turned to see Vardock standing next him. The bloodied man was grinning like a lunatic.


    ¡°Guess it¡¯s you and me,¡± he said. ¡°Lets finish these fuh- faggots.¡±


    Flint turned back to the two warriors and the black lightning mage. The only other players still alive. Even with a man advantage though, the three seemed very hesitant about charging Flint and Vardock.


    Flint smiled. Probably the idiots saw Vardock''s name on their targeter and weren''t keen on charging a player with his pedigree. Little did they know there were two seasoned PvP pros staring them down. ¡°How you wanna play this?¡± Flint asked. ¡°That black lightning probably has a long cooldown. We should focus the-¡±


    ¡°ARGH!!!¡± Vardock screamed, red aura mist exploding from his form as the big man activated his own Headhunter skill.


    ¡°Idiot,¡± Flint spat. He should let the moron fight them alone. But that would only lower his chances of winning.


    No choice left, Flint sprinted after him.


    Dexter smashed into the first warrior, sent him staggering. The mage backpedaled, likely worried about getting involved in the melee. The caster likely had no spells available, having wasted the big one on a corpse seconds ago. The warrior who hasn''t hit by Vardock stepped forward to jab at him in the back with the lance. The big man didn''t see it coming, focused as he was on the other guy who even now was recovering from the collision.


    Flint swung at the lance jabber, forcing him to abandon Vardock. He caught the blow on the hip, staggered sideways. He recovered by activating a skill that made two copies of himself. The copies appeared to the side and back of Flint, jabbing at him in synchrony. Flint dodged the side jab, but the other grazed his shoulder, shooting hot pain and pouring blood down his left arm. There was a popping sound, and the copies vanished. But the damage was done. The graze took away a good amount of his health bar, leaving a 10% smidge that set the meter blinking and turned his vision black-and-white again.


    Flint roared, swinging his hammer at the limping Knight, who even now was using his lance as a crutch to keep himself from falling. The hammer smashed into his guts, driving the wind from him like an exploding tire. He keeled over, purple-faced and wheezing like an asthmatic. Flint''s steel-toed boot came down on his throat, crushing his windpipe.


    One down. Two to go.


    Flint checked Vardock and the other warrior. The enemy one-handed thrust at the big man with his spear. Vardock twisting away, used the momentum to bring his sword in a circle, and cleanly sliced the player''s thrusting arm. The limb should''ve come off, but it didn''t. Likely because the Knight still had HP left. The game didn''t seem to let one suffer limb-losing injuries or decapitations unless they were killing blow. Or at least that''s what he guessed,


    The knight shrieked, spinning away, blood fountaining from the gaping wound, spear dropped and forgotten. Vardock stabbed him through the heart.


    And that was two down.


    They zeroed in on the last enemy. The mage stood far on the other side of the pitch, appearing for all intents like he was trying to escape.


    ¡°He¡¯s mine,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°Like shit he is.¡±


    Flint highlighted the mage and activated Headhunter. The mad, screeching bull-rush across the pitch began, and he could almost taste the violent impact. Right before contact, the mage vanished, causing Flint''s bull-rush to end. He reappeared five paces away, out of Flint¡¯s immediate reach.


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t kill me man,¡± the mage begged, holding out both hands in surrender. His eyes were wide, the circular tattoo on his forehead crinkled as he backpedalled.


    Flint stepped forward, smiling so wide it hurt.


    The mage tripped over his own feet and landed on his ass. He gave girlish squeal and turned sideways, reaching for the sword of a disappeared corpse nearby. Vardock stomped on his hand, grounding the bones into the dirt with a twisting motion.


    ¡°Ah!¡± he screamed, tears and snot bubbling from his face. ¡°It hurts so bad!¡±


    Flint raised the hammer high, he activated Crushing Blow. The mage reached up in the air as though grasping for a rope that wasn''t there. As the blow came down, the sky darkened overhead.


    CRUNCH.


    The head exploded in a shower of blood and skull fragments.


    An impossibly loud clap, and Flint''s every fiber exploded with pain, and his health bar drained of what little red remained.


    ##


    Flint didn''t respawn. But he did wake up.


    Actually, he more or less appeared into existence through teleportation. The problem was, he wasn''t inside the game world anymore. He knew this because the first thing he saw was a Casket. A modular egg-shaped device occupied by a naked person.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡±


    He spoke the words, but no sound escaped his lips. He glanced around the darkened interior of what was obviously a storage container very similar to the one his real body was currently laying in. Or was supposed to be lying in, anyway. But then how did he get here?


    He glanced at his hands, shimmering with blue-white light. His whole body was pixellated. Ethereal. As though he was a hologram. In fact, that is exactly what he was. On the floor was a rolling cylindrical projector¡ªthe same kind that projected McCormick in the Airlock bar a few days prior. It was broadcasting his form upward into reality.


    He stepped toward the Casket, the projector rolling forward in tandem. Was he somehow being materialized outside his own Casket? Was this some kind of bug?


    He stared through the clear glass of the Casket, he knew that was wrong. The naked man in this unit wasn''t Austin Flint. This guy was much taller and black-haired, with a strange circular tattoo on his forehead.


    Flint''s eyes widened. Could it be him? The mage he just killed in the battle?


    A video screen inside the module caught his attention. He saw himself on the screen. Not himself exactly, but the idealized, non-crippled in-game version of himself. The camera was evidently capturing his growing form from foot-level, as though the lens was pointed upward from the ground.


    A first-person view from the mage''s perspective.


    That became obvious when the camera shifted and a hand entered the frame, reaching for a sword in the sand. A giant foot smashed down and crushed the wandering fingers. The camera turned again, and Flint''s character was back in the frame, raising the hammer high for the killing blow. The mage''s good hand came into view, yanking the invisible string, sending the sky darkening overhead. The hammer fell.


    ¡°Holy shit¡­¡±


    Again he couldn¡¯t hear the sound of his own voice.


    What he could hear was a loud ringing sound. A frantic, screeching monotone alarm went off inside the Casket. The naked man jerked violently, the needles in his body withdrawn in a sudden, bloody shower.


    He glanced at the telemetry monitors on the module. The green lines that displayed the heart rhythm ran across the screen in a straight line. The words at the top of the monitor read: NATHAN GOODWOODY. STATUS: DECEASED.


    Flint tried to scream. But all went black again.

 CHAPTER 01 - AIRLOCK

    PART 1 - THE STAR ARK


    CHAPTER 01 ¡ª AIRLOCK


    Austin Flint steered his wheelchair through the cargo hold in search of the mafia bar called The Airlock.


    ¡°Miserable shithole,¡± he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. It was damn hot down here. No surprise, given the ark¡¯s nuclear reactor underfoot.


    The Lowers had transformed the Star Ark¡¯s cargo hold into a stadium-sized shantytown. Stacks of metal crates, carrier platforms, and storage drums lined the massive compartment. A walkway of interconnected planks zigzagged through and around metal shacks. Animated kiosks sprung up every few feet, illuminating the high-tech trash dump where the poorest and most destitute passengers of the generation ship called home.


    He maneuvered the chair up a flimsy metal walkway. As he turned a bend, the wheel slammed against something, nearly launching him out of the seat and making the nearby shack vibrate.


    ¡°Shit,¡± he gasped. That was sure to wake up some rotten-toothed asshole.


    He jerked the joystick and backed up, examining the left wheel. A piece of rebar stuck out of the edge of the walkway.


    He scowled. Damn place was a minefield of sharp hazards. Very far from the handicap accessible config of the upper compartments. But then, those areas of the ship were actually meant to be inhabited.


    Clanking footsteps drew his gaze upward. A gaunt man in a stained wife beater appeared on a balcony of rusty planks. Like many Lowers, his eyes were yellow hewn, likely from the liver cancer so common in his kind. ¡°Hey! We¡¯re tryin¡¯ to sleep here, ya crippled asshole!¡±


    Flint jammed the joystick forward. He didn¡¯t relish getting stabbed in this metal ghetto. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said over his shoulder.


    The Lower did a double-take. ¡°Hey, I know you.¡±


    Flint turned to reply just as a billboard thirty feet behind the guy¡¯s shack flashed to life. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you do,¡± he said, catching a life-size glimpse of himself in a VR headset.


    BATTLE SMITE


    PRO CIRCUIT SEASON 18 CHAMPIONSHIP


    Austin ¡°Flintlock¡± Flint versus Dexter ¡°Vardock_da_King¡± Vardock


    Broadcast Live on FleetRec.TV TONIGHT!


    The Lower spun around and pointed at the image. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s you!¡± the man yelled with annoying excitement. ¡°I bet five-hundred Scrip on you tonight.¡±


    But Flint was already well enough away by now. ¡°Waste of money for you then,¡± he mumbled well out of earshot.


    The trail tapered into a corridor shielding him from the bright lights of the shantytown. Stacks of metal crates with the faded symbol of the Star Ark Project on their corrugated sides appeared in long rows on either side of him. The light became sparser the deeper he went. Soon even the noise faded, replaced by the mechanical whirring of the wheelchair. A few minutes into near-total darkness, a dimly-lit clearing came into view. And there it was.


    The bar¡ªif you could call it that¡ªsat under a high alcove lit with emergency lights. Rows of seats positioned around a misshapen slab of wood that looked like pasted together ends of loading ramps.  It was positioned on a platform in front of a velvet curtain held in place by two lever arms of a giant loading drone. The sign under the alcove read, CAUTION: AIRLOCK.


    He snorted. Seemed the name of the place was taken from its literal location¡ªright in front of the exit to the ship. That should have been obvious, in retrospect. But when you spend your life on a spaceship, the idea an exit is inconceivable.


    A single lower woman was behind the bar wiping a glass with a towel. She glanced up at him, her sickly eyes almost glowing. ¡°Help you?¡±


    ¡°Looking for McCormick.¡±


    ¡°And you are?¡±


    ¡°Austin Flint.¡±


    She treated him to a grin full of necrotic looking teeth. ¡°Ah, yes. The Battle Smite player.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Just a sec.¡±


    She moved behind the curtain, and he again looked at the alcove over the bar. Interesting people, these lowers. They build houses out of storage crates and saloons out of loading drones. Not the safest locations, but it¡¯s not like better real estate was available.


    After a minute, three men emerged from the curtain. Two were in black pressure suits, wearing partial VR goggles concealing one eye. Small submachine guns were holstered on belts. The third man didn¡¯t appear in person. Likely due to his status as the most wanted man on the Star Ark, his life-size image was cast in pixels from a rolling holographic projector. He was tall and thin, with a well-trimmed goatee and a lace up red tunic. The medieval look was completed by strapped leather boots and a sheathed sword at his right hip.


    Flint suppressed a frown. Seemed he caught the leader of the star Ark¡¯s criminal underworld in the middle of a virtual Dungeons and Dragons game. Not unusual, of course. Such forms of recreation were common on a close-confined ship traveling through deep space, where traditional forms of recreation weren¡¯t possible. But if he was going to appear virtually, Flint might as well have stayed home and did this through FleetNet.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Mr. Flint,¡± Dorn McCormick said. ¡°A pleasure to finally meet you.¡±


    ¡°Likewise,¡± he mumbled.


    The mob boss popped a squat on the nearest stool. Or at least his hologram did. The projector whirred sideways and cast his shimmering pixels onto the stool like he was really in the room. ¡°Your brother is ill.¡±


    Flint blinked. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you need the money. Your brother Ezekiel has terminal cancer, and you cannot afford the immunotherapy drugs.¡±


    Flint hesitated. Zeeke¡¯s illness wasn¡¯t public knowledge. And it was hardly anyone else¡¯s business. Even so, lying to a man with McCormick¡¯s reputation seemed like a bad idea. ¡°Yes. The Fleet pharmacy is almost out, and they¡¯re charging exorbitant prices.¡±


    McCormick¡¯s face soured. ¡°It¡¯s a sad state of affairs when essential medications become so expensive even an extremely wealthy gamer has trouble getting them. Can¡¯t imagine the average Lower has any access. But then medical care for the people down here, where most of the disease burden on the ship exists, has always been abominable.¡±


    Flint had no reply to that. Whether he was supposed to feel guilty, he wasn¡¯t sure. He¡¯d been crippled most of his life and owned little sympathy for anyone but himself and his brother.


    ¡°So, will these drugs cure your brother?¡± McCormick asked.


    ¡°No. They halt progression of the disease.¡±


    ¡°For how long?¡±


    ¡°For as long as necessary,¡± Flint said. ¡°Or until we land on New World. They have all kinds of cancer cures there. He just has to survive till then.¡±


    McCormick nodded thoughtfully. ¡°I see. And how does your brother feel about this?¡±


    Flint frowned. Did this murdering thief care about his brother¡¯s feelings? ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°The treatment.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter how he feels. He¡¯ll die without it, and that¡¯s not happening.¡±


    ¡°I mean, I personally wouldn¡¯t take the treatment. Not when there¡¯s so little supply. When so many sick children and babies go without it.¡±


    Flint scowled. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to chat about my brother. I came here to make a deal. We gunna do that or what?¡±


    The goons exchanged a glance. Probably not used to hearing someone talk to the boss like that.


    McCormick stared at him a beat, and Flint held his gaze. Finally, the mobster shrugged. ¡°The latest odds have you beating Vardock tonight, but only slightly. They¡¯re giving you plus-two as of ten minutes ago.¡±


    ¡°Plus-two is a joke. Vardock hasn¡¯t taken a single round from me all season.¡±


    ¡°You lost to him in the playoffs last year. Under very similar odds.¡±


    Flint gritted his teeth. He pictured his Centaurion swinging a great sword through the air to finish Vardock¡¯s Death Fairy in round five of the semifinals. Back then, before the more recent balancing patches, each finishing move against that overpowered-as-shit character had a 1-in-5 chance of reflecting damage back onto the dealer. Remembering his half-man, half-horse champion bursting into a thousand pieces brought the feeling of sheer rage flooding back. ¡°I had that match in the bag. He got lucky playing a character everyone knew was fucking broken, and everyone except him refused to play out of simple sportsmanship.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± McCormick said, nodding as though he wasn¡¯t sure if he agreed. ¡°But the fact remains. The lower the odds, the less I stand make.¡±


    This didn¡¯t sound good. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you five million Scrip to lose,¡± McCormick said. ¡°I don¡¯t think any higher is reasonable.¡±


    Flint¡¯s jaw clenched. Five million might buy only three months¡¯ worth of medicine. ¡°We agreed on twenty.¡±


    ¡°You have to understand, if I bet ten million on the match, I stand to win only six at current odds.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s six more than you have now.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But I like doubling my investment on risky plays like this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to lose the fucker on purpose. There¡¯s zero risk.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t the only one strapped for cash,¡± McCormick said. ¡°Might be someone made Vardock a similar offer. Can you imagine both of you trying to throw the match?¡±


    Flint¡¯s grip on the arm of his wheelchair tightened. He didn¡¯t have time for this nonsense. Zeeke¡¯s life was on the line. ¡°This is bullshit.¡±


    The mob boss crossed his arms and leaned back, making the scabbard on his hip sway. ¡°I get the feeling you¡¯re upset.¡±


    ¡°We agreed to twenty,¡± he said through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Agreements change.¡±


    Flint¡¯s vision danced in front of him. He was almost trembling with rage. ¡°How about I give the police my hand terminal logs? Maybe the one where you first offered me twenty million Scrip to throw tonight¡¯s match?¡±


    McCormick¡¯s smile vanished, and Flint instantly regretted the words. The two armed goons stared intently at their boss who was glaring daggers at him. Flint felt his rage give way to profound anxiety. ¡°I mean¡ª¡° he hesitated. ¡°Well, I just want¡ª¡±


    ¡°Show this fool boy what an airlock looks like,¡± McCormick said, cutting him off.


    His eyes widened as the goons rushed at lightning speed to yank his crippled form from the wheelchair. ¡°What are you doing? Let go of me!¡± he screamed.


    They dragged him past their bosses hologram and through the curtain. ¡°Threaten me, kid? No one threatens me and lives.¡±


    His breathing went ragged as he struggled against their hold. His feet dragged over a metal platform toward an enormous steel door. One goon smacked a red button on the wall, making red alarm lights flash madly overhead. ¡°WARNING: DEPRESSURIZING,¡± a soulless mechanical voice said.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± Flint screamed. ¡°Please! I didn¡¯t mean it!¡±


    The door opened to the sound of hot iron dropped into water. An empty platform appeared in front of another giant door. The door, he knew, leading into the cold, dark of interstellar space.


    ¡°No!¡± he screeched again.


    He was thrown into the middle of the airlock, landing with a thud on his right hip. He tried to scramble forward on his hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he pleaded, trying in vain to escape. ¡°Don¡¯t do this¡­¡±


    The red button was slapped again, and the giant door sealed with an echoing slam.


    Fresh panic washed over him. This was it. His damn temper had ruined him, just like Uncle Geb always said it would.


    A machine voice counted-down the seconds to his death. ¡°THIRTY... TWENTY-NINE¡­¡±


    Tears streamed across his face. He wasn¡¯t ready to die. Wasn¡¯t ready to let Zeeke die, either. ¡°Please!¡± he screamed. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it!¡±


    ¡°NINETEEN¡­ EIGHTEEN¡­¡±


    In the window port, McCormick¡¯s face appeared. The mobster stared at him with a neutral expression. Almost like someone watching the garbage disposal cycle.


    ¡°ELEVEN¡­ TEN¡­¡±


    He squeezed his eyes shut and let the terror overwhelm him. Would he die instantly? Would he float into space and suffocate? Or was the ship moving so fast he would simply get crushed against the hull?


    ¡°FIVE¡­ FOUR¡­¡±


    He was about to die. And without the Excel infusions, Zeeke was going to die too. That knowledge more than anything filled him with hopeless despair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Zeeke. I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°THREE¡­ TWO¡­¡±


    The siren stopped.


    ¡°AIRLOCK OPENING ABORTED.¡±


    The doors funneled open.


    Flint opened his eyes a crack, squinting against the light, heart chattering in his teeth. The two goons stepped forward and grabbed him, much like the first time. His useless legs dragged as they pulled him from the airlock.


    ¡°Changed my mind,¡± McCormick said. ¡°We¡¯ll do it for twenty million.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Flint wheezed.


    The mob boss considered that a moment. ¡°Oh but it is I who should thank you.¡±


    Flint tried to catch his breath. He didn¡¯t have the slightest clue why the man let him live, but this wasn¡¯t the time to ask.


    They dragged him through the curtain and dropped him back in the wheelchair. Before disappearing, the mobster flashed him one final grin. ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you soon, kid.¡±

 CHAPTER 02 — LOSER

    CHAPTER 02 ¡ª LOSER


    Twelve hours later, Austin Flint was in the studio, hot lights bathing him from above. The VR goggles banded tight around his face afforded him no view of the seventy-thousand people staring at him. But then most of those people weren¡¯t physically present anyway. Even so, their jeering reverberated through the room like a packed stadium.


    ¡°Cripp-led fag-got!¡± Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap¡­


    ¡°Cripp-led fag-got!¡± Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap¡­


    The haptic controller cord jerked as he wiped a hand across his sweat soaked forehead. A voice a few feet away broke through the jeers.


    ¡°Tough cuh¡ª cuh¡ª crowd, eh Austin?¡± Dexter Vardock said.


    Flint¡¯s jaw tightened. The voice was lispy and nasally, like every word had to struggle past congestion, it still carried a great deal of arrogance. Though blocked by the VR goggles, Flint could sense the bastard sneering at him.


    ¡°They chanted ¡®stuttering bitch-tits¡¯ at me last week,¡± Vardock said. ¡°Don¡¯t let ¡®em get inside your huh- huh- head.¡±


    As a pro Battle Smite player for over a decade, Flint expected no less from a playoff audience. Jeers and cheers were part of the game. Always had been. ¡°The randos are fine. It¡¯s your annoying squeak that¡¯s giving me a headache.¡±


    ¡°No need to be nasty,¡± Vardock said. ¡°Just looking out for you, is all. Don¡¯t want you paying another fine this year.¡±


    Flint ground his teeth. The memory of chucking his VR goggles across the room after last year¡¯s semifinals loss came flooding back. Not his proudest moment. But the anger then was more to do with Vardock¡¯s cheating and nothing about the idiots in the virtual crowd.


    ¡°I mean, they cuh- cuh- call me fat shit, too, and you never see me Bobby Knight-style a chair at a reporter,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°It was a headset, not a chair, moron,¡± Flint snapped. ¡°And you are a fat shit.¡±


    Not a mature response. But shit-talking in video games was as much a tradition as crowd heckling.


    Vardock gave a tisk-tisk sound. ¡°So much anger for a man with so little tuh¡ª talent.¡±


    Flint¡¯s grip tightened on the controller. Did he really have to lose on-purpose to this asshole? ¡°Even if you win, you¡¯re still a fucking troll.¡±


    ¡°A troll, huh?¡± Vardock replied with edge. Call him fat, make fun of his lisp, he didn¡¯t care. But call him a troll? That was a button to press when you really wanted to piss off the dickhead.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Flint said. ¡°A fat, sloppy troll. Now shut up and play.¡±


    The display inside the goggles lit-up as the game initialized. A virtual gladiator pit came into existence. At either end of the sanded arena were tunnels. The crowd, seeing it on-stream, roared their approval, their avatars appearing in seats throughout the stadium.


    ¡°Ladies and gentleman!¡± the announcer bellowed. ¡°Welcome to the Grand Finals of the Battle Smite Pro Circuit.¡±


    Flint settled into his seat, preparing himself for the distasteful task ahead. Taking a fall didn¡¯t come natural to him. He would have to put up enough of fight to be convincing without actually winning.


    In his headset, the morons in the audience continued shrieking. A character selection screen materialized.


    ¡°Introducing our competitors¡­ first, a seasoned veteran of the Pro Circuit, with two championship titles to his name¡­¡±


    He selected a character. In the virtual arena, a soldier with the lower body of a horse emerged from the tunnel. The hero, Centaurian Warlord, raised a massive greatsword in the air.


    ¡°I give you¡­ Flintlock!¡± the announcer yelled.


    The boos were so violent, Flint¡¯s teeth rattled in his skull.  Oh, well, he thought. Better to be booed than called a crippled faggot.


    ¡°And in the opposite tunnel,¡± the announcer continued. ¡°The Battle Smite Pro Circuit season 17 defending champion... a man with more titles than any player in history... I give you... VARDOCK DA KING!¡±


    The resultant cheers could¡¯ve flattened a real stadium. But that wasn¡¯t what bothered Flint. Emerging from the tunnel opposite the Centaurion was a character in frizzy green hair and face paint. He hopped out on the sand, bouncing from one leg to the other on giant red shoes, laughing like a lunatic and clutching a pair of rattling moroccos.


    Flint balked. ¡°Clownie Moroccos?¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re playing Clownie fucking Moroccos in the grand finals?¡±


    Vardock said nothing. But Flint could sense the smug grin on the bastard. The only reason someone would play such a useless, meme character was to troll the match. That, and to humiliate your opponent. Anyone who lost a round to Clownie Moroccos would never hear the end of it.


    Flint tried to control his rising anger. Not only did he have to throw the match to a hated rival. He had to lose to the worst hero in the game.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like being called a troll,¡± Vardock said flatly. ¡°But you already knew that.¡±


    Flint squeezed his haptic controllers. He had to lose the match on-purpose, not let the scumbag get under his skin. So with great restraint, he held back the curses he wanted to let fly.


    The crowd was loving the selection. Their raucous cheering as the stupid clown hopped around the starting circle was deafening.


    ¡°Var-dock! Var-dock! Var-dock!¡±


    This medicine better work, Zeeke, Flint thought. You¡¯re gunna take every fucking drop of it.


    ##


    Two hours later, Flint went through a hatchway into a small locker room. On a microLED screen above the small row of lockers, Vardock was hoisting the trophy in front of thousands of virtual fans. The crowd was chanting furiously the words Vardock had given the FleetTV reporter a few minutes ago when asked about his feelings on the match.


    ¡°Easy game, easy life!


    ¡°Easy game, easy life!¡±


    Flint¡¯s face reddned as he tore off the VR goggles draped over his neck and pitched them at the screen. It went wide, hitting the nearby bulkhead and exploding into plastic chunks. ¡°Fucking assholes.¡±


    The opposite hatch opened and a man in a Fleet Recreation Board pressure suit poked his head in. The man eyed the broken headset, then Flint with raised brow. ¡°Everything okay, Austin?¡±


    Flint¡¯s face burned with embarrassment. ¡°Yeah, Jerry. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Tough loss. You played well, though.¡±


    That was a lie. Flint got shit-stomped, and he knew it. ¡°Thanks,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°You have visitors,¡± Jerry said.


    Flint gritted his teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to the reporters outside. I don¡¯t want them in here.¡±


    But Jerry had already moved to admit them. Except the people that entered weren¡¯t reporters. There were three of them. A hunched-over frail-looking man with glasses, an attractive women about his age, and a young man who looked exactly like Flint save for the oxygen prongs in his nose. All wore lanyards with studio passes over T-shirts with an image of Flint in his VR goggles.


    ¡°The fuck was that shit-show, little bro?¡± Zeeke said. ¡°Losing to Clownie fucking Moroccos in the first round?¡±


    Flint grimaced as his brother slapped him on his back. He was about to tell Zeeke to fuck off but Esmeralda wrapped her arms around him and near-choked him with a hug.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Austin,¡± she said, squeezing him. ¡°You tried your best. That¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    No I didn¡¯t, is what he wanted to say. But Esse put a positive spin on everything, and there was no arguing with the girl. Plus he was enjoying having his head between her massive rack and didn¡¯t want to end the experience by speaking.


    ¡°Bullshit he did,¡± Zeeke said. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you miss so many skill-shots in your life. What was that Death Charge in round three about? Shit was so off-target, I could¡¯ve sworn Geb was playing for you.¡±


    Uncle Geb smiled. ¡°That¡¯s a low blow right there... comparing someone¡¯s Centaurion to mine.¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    From over Esse¡¯s back, Flint gave Zeeke the middle finger. She let him go a second later. ¡°What are you all doing here? Couldn¡¯t watch from the cabin?¡±


    ¡°Your brother wanted to come see you hold the trophy in-person,¡± Geb said.


    ¡°Or at least give Vardock an ass-whooping,¡± Zeeke said.


    Flint snorted. The way his brother looked all emaciated and carrying around an oxygen concentrator made him skeptical whether the once-junior league boxing champion could throw a punch anymore. ¡°Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you about the trophy. Fat boy is still out on the stage, though, if you wanna pay him a visit.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll pass,¡± Geb said. ¡°Doctor Reddy called on the way here. Zeeke¡¯s blood counts are low again and he needs a transfusion.¡±


    ¡°Another one?¡± Flint said. ¡°You just had one last week.


    Zeeke shrugged. ¡°Who cares? My counts are always low. I ain¡¯t getting another transfusion.¡±


    ¡°Yes you are,¡± Flint and Esmeralda said almost at once.


    Zeeke grinned. ¡°Nope. I¡¯m giving my bag away.¡±


    ¡°You what?¡± Flint said, glancing from Zeeke to his uncle. ¡°Please tell me he¡¯s trolling.¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like using up the blood supply,¡± Geb said flatly. ¡°He wants to tell Reddy to give his red cell unit to one of the anemic kids in the pediatric bay.¡±


    Flint glared at his brother. ¡°You dumb shit, there¡¯s probably hardly any of those artificial cells left.¡±


    ¡°Exactly why it should go to someone who really needs it,¡± Zeeke said.


    ¡°You really need it,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°No I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Stop being an idiot,¡± Flint said. ¡°You¡¯re going to the med bay and getting that transfusion.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. And later this week, you¡¯re gunna start those Decel infusions.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s none available,¡± Geb said. ¡°Reddy put us on a waiting list, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh there¡¯s some available,¡± Flint said.


    The three stared at him.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Cause I got some,¡± he said.


    Geb looked skeptical. ¡°You got some, huh? From where?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great news,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°Isn¡¯t it, Zeeke?¡±


    Zeeke was checking something on his hand terminal and clearly not paying attention. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Your brother got you one of those cancer drugs Dr. Reddy was talking about,¡± Geb said. ¡°The ones we thought weren¡¯t available.¡±


    Zeeke frowned at his brother. ¡°You didn¡¯t get ripped-off on knock-off black market shit, did you?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Flint said. ¡°But you have to stay alive long enough to get it. So get your ass to the med bay for that transfusion.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a good idea,¡± Geb said, checking his own hand terminal. ¡°We best get there before the night rush starts.¡±


    Zeeke heaved a sigh. ¡°Fine¡­¡±


    The two men left him and Esmeralda alone.


    ¡°Walk me home?¡± she said.


    ##


    The four housing pods were attached at a central bridge amidships. Getting from one to the other involved long treks along narrow corridors and multidirectional elevators cutting through the housing pods. What would¡¯ve been a short trek up a small flight of stairs for Esmeralda turned into a five minute wait for one of the auxiliary elevators.


    Flint wore a sweatshirt with a hood drawn over his head. He didn¡¯t feel like signing autographs tonight.


    ¡°How do you feel about that?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    She pointed at an ad kiosk nearby. On it, a medieval-looking bald dude running at a long-robed woman channeling a fireball in her hands. The sorceress was highly attractive and wore far too few articles of clothing to be practical in a fight. The title over the image read: FOUR KINGDOMS. ULTRA-REALISTIC MMORPG. Coming in 06 days 12 hours 32 minutes.


    He frowned. It was a game he with which he was all-too-familiar. And up until a month ago, when the first ads appeared, he thought had long since cancelled development. What? The game?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the game.¡±


    ¡°Why would I have feelings about it?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t your mom and dad come up with the original design?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ yeah,¡± he said. ¡°That was a long time ago, though. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s changed in the last twenty years.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an MMORPG,¡± she said. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Massive multi-player online role-playing game.¡±


    She raised a brow. ¡°Which means...?¡±


    ¡°Basically a simulation where losers escape their garbage lives to live in a fantasy world.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°Do you think people really need a new video game?¡±


    ¡°Need? No. Want? Yes. People are sick of playing the same five games.¡±


    The door chimed and shuttered open, revealing a carriage turned slightly askew on its axis. The seal-beam light at the top was flickering bad enough to give someone a grand mal seizure. They got in and she hit the button for the third deck concourse. The carriage jerked and rotated, moving sideways and upwards.


    ¡°If people cared less about gaming, we could solve more of our problems,¡± she said. ¡°Like building a new hydroponics lab and fixing our food production issues.¡±


    ¡°If those things could be fixed, they would have.¡±


    ¡°My point is why create a fantasy world to escape real world problems?¡±


    ¡°You just answered your own question.¡±


    The doors opened onto a concourse and they exited. Pods of empty storefronts came into view along either side of them. The pods were mostly bolted shut, heavy bars of steel drawn over their hatchways.


    Flint glanced at the empty C-stores. One of them, Fleet Planting Supply and Co. had been shuttered as long as he could remember. A poster was visible through the reinforced grimy window. A man in a fleet pressure suit was using a backhoe on a plot of soil, two women in the background watering a garden. Above them was the huge band of artificial sky and sunlight recognizable to everyone as the Arbolisk¡ªa solarium and greenhouse that was shut down a decade earlier due to an irreparable problem with the air filtration system. The inability to grow food had been on of the main drivers of the worsening food shortage.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir? Spare a few Scrip for the poor?¡±


    Flint turned to see a man sitting against the bulkhead. The emaciated beggar wore a torn pressure suit and was holding out a hand terminal. On the screen of the terminal was a bar code.


    Esmeralda pulled out her terminal and waved it by his. A soft ¡°ca-ching¡± sound verified the small transfer of funds.


    ¡°Bless you, miss,¡± the man said, grinning at them with shit-colored teeth.


    Flint scowled as they moved away, passing a row of more beggars. He never gave money to these filthy panhandlers. Esmeralda, on the other hand, did it regularly. Despite having far less money than him.


    They passed the end of the walkway by the liquor store and he glanced inside. It had been shuttered five years ago after its entire stock was depleted and the ship had gone essentially dry, save for the illegal manufacture of moonshine in the Lower Deck. Despite being closed, there were huge dent marks in the reinforced glass from would-be thieves wanting to verify the absence of inventory.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of the Mayflower?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°The ship the first pilgrims traveled to America on.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡±


    ¡°They faced many challenges on their journey too. Starvation, disease, strange environments¡­¡±


    Flint was pretty sure the pilgrims didn¡¯t spend fifty years living above radioactive generators and moving one-tenth the speed of light.


    ¡°They had all kinds of issues when they first got there,¡± she said. ¡°I mean it¡¯s going to be challenging for us, even after we get to New World. Can you imagine? There¡¯s already a whole group of people building a new civilization there¡­¡± And she droned on at length.


    They came into a new quarter feeding the various pods on Deck Three. Stairwells were spaced every few feet, winding through towering, obelisk-shaped towers where living quarters were stacked in rows of three atop each other. Unlike the Lower deck, it was well-lit, with most of the illumination from closet-sized living quarters bathing the walkway with light. In the common area, a 300-foot television fanned out of the ceiling. The current broadcast was the nightly Fleet News.


    ¡°¡­We just have to love each other,¡± Esmeralda continued. ¡°To care for each other. A rising tide lifts all boats, that¡¯s what my father always said. And when we get to New World, they¡¯ll have to share with us because we depleted our resources. And in return we¡¯ll have to work¡­¡±


    ¡°Uh huh,¡± Flint said, not paying attention. On the TV, the Fleet News had gone to commercial and a new advertisement was starting:


    A man in a business suit entered the frame. Well-dressed and tan. Behind him was the image of a large cliff side flanked by oceans and whitecaps. It looked like a exotic paradise.


    ¡°The Star Ark will be arriving on New World soon,¡± the man said, holding his arms out. ¡°The New World Settlement Corporation wants to ensure your family has a slice of heaven waiting for you.¡±


    The guy looked like a sleaze ball. The surroundings were pretty enough. Images of picturesque cliff sides with rolling green hills and white sand beaches appeared. In most frames there was a bevy of development house and construction drones erecting fa?ades around them. A caption in the lower right-hand corner of the screen said: Latest Transmitted Footage. When the man came back into view, his arm was around a pretty dark-skinned model in a bathing suit. ¡°Be sure to place your down payment today. Prices in the Ansari Basin and Capricorn Hill are at historically low prices.¡±


    Flint frowned. ¡°Historically low¡± was a spurious claim for something that wasn¡¯t built yet.


    The image panned out to reveal a group of kids and adults.  The man stopped in front of the group and smiled as though a giant family picture was about to be taken. A FleetNET web address flashed across the bottom of the screen.


    ¡°We here on New World can¡¯t wait to meet you, Arksmen! Visit our FleetNET webpage today for listings.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s so beautiful,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°So beautiful it¡¯s probably fake,¡± he said. ¡°Maybe they just digitally design all this somewhere on the ship, and there really isn¡¯t a New World.¡±


    She giggled. ¡°There are crazy people that believe that. But if that was true, how would I have met Tommy?¡±


    Flint frowned. Tommy was Esmeralda¡¯s long-distance boyfriend. They¡¯d met on the FleetNET a few years ago as part of some penpal system that matched Star Ark passengers with citizens of New World. The two had developed a close friendship, and at some point decided it was something more. This despite the fact they still lived trillions of miles away from each other. Literally. ¡°Oh yeah. Forgot about Tommy.¡±


    On the big screen, the news came back from commercial with an annoying jingle. Much to Flint¡¯s dismay, the first story was accompanied by an image of Vardock. The fat man was dancing around on the studio like an idiot hoisting the Battle Smite trophy.


    Flint¡¯s body tensed. He would be seeing a lot of these clips in the coming weeks. ¡°Showboating asshole.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she said.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    They went down the ramp leading to a bifurcation in the path¡ªone side leading to an elevator for the middle decks, the other to a ramp toward a security kiosk outside the vault to the Lower Deck.


    ¡°Well this is me,¡± Esmeralda said. She kissed him on the cheek and headed for the elevator.


    ¡°See you,¡± he said, wheeling himself toward the ramp.


    A security guard outside the vaulted door barely seemed to notice him. Just another cripple headed back home to the Lower Deck, she probably figured. Her expression shifted as he drew closer.


    ¡°Do I know you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Flint said.


    She leaned forward lifting her glasses. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re Flintlock!¡± she gasped. ¡°You¡¯re the best Centurion player I ever seen.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°Too bad about tonight though,¡± she said, looking him up and down. ¡°You look different on-stream.¡±


    Less crippled you mean? He wanted to ask. But that wasn¡¯t polite.


    ¡°Why you headed into the Lower Deck?¡±


    Oh just going to pick up the millions of Scrip I made from throwing the match. ¡°My girlfriend lives here.¡±


    Her brows peaked. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m signing autographs at the orphanage.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow and studied him. Almost as though she thought he¡¯d given a foolish reason to expose himself to radiation and crime. But the guard¡¯s job was to keep the Lowers out of the Upper Decks. Fools who wanted to visit the Lower Deck could come and go as they pleased.


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re sure¡­¡± the guard said.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    She reached down to where Flint knew the button for the door seal was located. She paused halfway, concern lighting her face.


    ¡°Problem?¡± he asked.


    She was frozen staring over his shoulder. He turned around.


    Two men wearing holstered pistols and the blue armor of the Fleet Police approached.


    ¡°Austin Flint?¡± the lead officer said.


    Flint¡¯s heart dropped. ¡°Yes?¡±


    The officers¡¯ loud mag-boots halted an inch from his wheelchair. They exchanged frowns. Almost like they were deciding how to extricate a cripple from a wheelchair without overdoing it.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to come with us,¡± one finally said.


    He glanced between the two men, swallowing. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re under arrest for match-fixing.¡±

 CHAPTER 03 — THE DEAL

    CHAPTER 03 ¡ª THE DEAL


    Flint sat in an interrogation room. Whitewashed walls on all sides. A digital clock clicking with each second. There was a stainless steel table bolted to the floor along with the metal chair he was sitting in. In the middle of the table was a pylon where handcuffs could be attached. At least he wasn¡¯t attached to them. Yet.


    He sank into the chair, clutching his hair. How had he been stupid enough to get caught?


    The door buzzed and opened, and a man appeared. He was tall and dark-skinned, with an iron gray beard and harsh eyes. In his hand was a bulb of steaming liquid with a tea string in it. Though the man was wearing casual jeans and a corduroy jacket¡ªnot the formal military-like attire Flint was used to seeing him in¡ªthere was no mistaking his identity.


    ¡°My name is Boyce Gannon,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m the Admiral of the Star Ark.¡±


    Flint stared dumbly as the most powerful human alive took a seat across from him. They stared at each other for several long, drawn-out seconds. ¡°You know why you¡¯re here.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question, but Flint nodded anyway.


    ¡°You needed to pay for your brother¡¯s cancer medicine,¡± Gannon said.


    Flint felt a sting in both eyeballs. ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Your brother is dying,¡± Gannon said. ¡°This is common knowledge.¡±


    Tears leaked from Flint¡¯s eyes. But he said nothing. What was there to say?


    Gannon raised the bulb and took a swig, returning it slowly to the table with a sour look on his face. ¡°Our journey is ten years behind schedule, we¡¯re carrying more passengers than originally planned. Essential drug shortages were inevitable.¡±


    Flint heaved a ragged breath. ¡°My brother doesn¡¯t deserve to die.¡±


    ¡°People rarely get what they deserve.¡±


    True enough, he thought. Especially Zeeke.


    The Admiral took another swig of tea and let a long moment pass. ¡°Dorn McCormick provided us with the evidence. Message logs. A video recording of your agreement. More than enough for a conviction.¡±


    ¡°McCormick turned me in?¡±


    ¡°Surprising, I know. But he¡¯s been a Fleet Police asset for years. Why do you think we let him operate in an easily-located section of the cargo hold?¡±


    Suddenly, the floor became the center of Flint¡¯s focus. How could he have been so stupid?


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first match-fixer we¡¯ve caught.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad? My brother is going to fucking die because of this.¡±


    Gannon glanced at the whitewashed wall, his face slowly scrunching up. Almost like he was deeply pondering something. Slowly his gaze returned to the prisoner. ¡°Maybe we can work something out.¡±


    ¡°Work something out?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Flint¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we can get your brother the medicine,¡± Gannon said. ¡°But you¡¯ll have to do something for me.¡±


    A surge of irrational hope exploded in Flint¡¯s chest. Without thinking, he said: ¡°I¡¯ll do anything.¡±


    ##


    Ten minutes later, Flint sat in a conference room. On a large microLED, a video began to play.


    ##


    A black screen with ominous-sounding war music began, accompanied by the rising hum of a tension-filled melody.


    ¡°Why do you fight?¡± a deep, menacing voice asked.


    The blacked out image shifted to the scene of a great battle. Dozens of sword-wielding figures in Medieval armor clashed amidst a smoke-filled battlefield.


    ¡°For blood?¡± the voice asked.


    The battlefield was replaced with new footage. A soldier in platemetal with the symbol of two suns on his breastplate was knelt before a dual axe-wielding shirtless man with only a helmet for armor. The bare-chested savage raised one of his axes and swung downward at the swordsman¡¯s neck. The picture blacked-out to spare them the sight of the head being cut-off. A split second later, the savage came back into view, only his stubbly beard and grinned mouth visible beneath the helmet.


    ¡°For vengeance?¡± the malevolent voice asked.


    Another twin suns soldier appeared behind the savage, swinging his sword downward in a great arc. The savage spun round at the last moment, crossing his axes in an X. A clang of steel, and the two were deadlocked, the camera panning out to reveal their place atop the parapet of a great castle. The soldier shifted his stance, being driven backward a step. The savage tried pushing him the last inch over the edge. A yellow burst of light erupted around the soldier as three identical clones of himself appeared on each side of his foe. Three simultaneous sword thrusts pierced the savage from three directions. The three phantasms vanished just as the corpse they made fell over the edge.


    ¡°Do you fight for the sovereign?¡±


    The image shifted to the great hall of some palace. A red-caped man with a golden crown walked amongst kneeling soldiers. In the square windows of the backdrop, a brisk snowfall could be seen. After a few seconds, it shifted again¡ªtransforming the great hall into a red-sand beach with dozen or so warriors prostrating before a cladly dressed, buxom female carried atop a litter. Over her shoulder, a plume of smoke rose from a distant volcano.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°For glory?¡±


    The image transitioned back to a battle scene. A woman with a wooden staff was faced-off against an archer. In the background was a coliseum filled with a massive audience whose cheers rose with the firing and evasion of magical fireballs and arrows between the two.


    ¡°For love?¡±


    A new scene came into view. A shirtless man with his arms wrapped around a woman, lip-locked on a bed of straw. A great sword was leaned against the nearby wall next to a crossbow. The two lovers seemed to be going at it pretty hard, and the camera remained above-shoulder.


    ¡°For coin?¡±


    The next scene was a group of five rough-looking toughs walked into a tavern. The leading man stepped forward, and removed a brown sack from his belt that was leaking blood onto the floor. He stepped up to a group of finely-dressed men at a card table and plopped the sack down in the middle of the table, causing the coins and cups to jump. A sultan-looking fat man peered into the sack cautiously and came up with a face looking unnaturally green. He reached into his great purse and produced a much smaller bag tied with a string. The ruffian caught the purse, a few fat golden coins spilling onto the floor with the unmistakable sound of falling money.


    The background music reached its crescendo, and the image went black again. Silence reigned for three long seconds before a new scene flashed into existence. A tall, vigorous-looking man with a golden crown appeared. He was covered from neck to toe in silver armor polished mirror-bright. In his hand was a great sword held relaxed at his side, the pommel fashioned in the head of a dragon. The camera panned out, revealing a half-circle of monk-like figures surrounding him. The hooded men had their hands pressed together with heads bowed like they were praying to the kinglike person in front of them. The picture zoomed out again, showing the king and his retinue positioned at the top of a very high castle. The camera focused on the king¡¯s face as his eyes narrowed then turned in the direction the king was looking. In the distance through a snowy veil, a motte and bailey castle came into view.


    After a few seconds, the king turned ninety-degrees and the picture shifted a distant waterfall. The camera rose above a lush jungle until a mansion came into view.


    The king turned a third time, and a treacherous oceanfront came into view against the backdrop of an erupting volcano. A series of black obelisk-like towers rose from the roaring sea. Giant red flags with a strange sigil flapped from their conical spires.


    The king turned a fourth time as it beheld yet another great residence. This one a mountainous fortress towering over rolling green hills and turquoise rivers.


    ¡°Or do you fight for power?¡± this time the voice came directly from the lips of the king.


    His gaze turned downward with the camera to reveal the sight of a great army approaching the walls of his fortress.


    He gave a throaty laugh, suddenly cut-off as the part of himself on-camera twisted into a ballooning black mass. The sword clattered to the ground as the king finished transforming into a great black-scaled dragon. Not one of the hooded monks around him moved an inch.


    The picture shifted to the point-of-view of the soldiers approaching the wall. Sheer terror filled their faces as they stood frozen next to siege engines. The dragon stretched its wings and gave an unholy screech. Visible panic exploded through the army¡¯s ranks as the soldiers turned heel and ran. The dragon spread its wings and dove at the retreating army, laying a trail of green plasma behind them. Right before the plasma reached the line of soldiers, the picture went black.


    This time, words spread across the screen in a glowing silver font.


    FOUR KINGDOMS


    A New Reality Forty Years in the Making.


    Visit our FleetNET address to sign-up.


    ##


    Admiral Gannon sat on the other side of the conference table with his hands interlaced in front of him. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Flint shifted in his seat. ¡°Looks cool. But what does this have to do with my brother¡¯s cancer meds?¡±


    Gannon frowned. ¡°I thought it was obvious.¡±


    ¡°It isn''t.¡±


    ¡°I want you to publicly endorse the game. If you do that, I will get your brother the Decel infusions.¡±


    He stared at the Admiral, expecting it to be some cruel joke. But the older man gave no indication it was. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the highest-profile Battle Smite players. With your promotion, we could get thousands more sign-ups by launch day.¡± Gannon pressed a button on the projector and the image transitioned to a picture of an egg-shaped pod with a glass opening. Dozens of cords were running into the back of the pod while a set of dollies on either side held-up bags of strangely-colored substances that looked oddly like something you¡¯d be hooked-up to in the hospital. At the front of the module was a metal pole upon which dozens of branching poles with sharp-edged needles were extended. ¡°These are the modules used to connect to the game. Their off-putting appearance makes people hesitant to sign-up.¡±


    Flint recoiled in his seat. ¡°That¡¯s a Nero Casket.¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°My mom and dad were killed by that thing.¡±


    ¡°They were killed by the old version of this thing.¡±


    Flint remembered learning the fate of his parents. The maiming from these Caskets was so bad they immediately cremated the remains. He remembered standing with Zeeke at the funeral asking when mom and dad were coming to pick them up. Then he remembered Uncle Geb taking them back to his shack on the Lower Deck. He asked the same question then over and over, until finally he realized they weren¡¯t coming. ¡°How can I endorse a game that killed my parents?¡±


    ¡°I believe that will make you a more credible spokesman,¡± Gannon said. ¡°You will convince a lot of people worried about its safety to sign-up.¡±


    A wave of anxiety washed over him. Match fixing should''ve earned him a prison cell, not millions of Scrip worth of cancer drugs and a new video game. Which meant there was a catch. ¡°Why do you care if people play the game?¡±


    ¡°With the latest rounds of rationing and protests, we¡¯re desperate to give people a new distraction.¡±


    That reasoning he understood. Kind of. ¡°Don¡¯t you have more important shit to worry about?¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°Oh I don¡¯t know. Getting us to New World before we starve. Or before more people die of cancer.¡±


    The Admiral scowled, and Flint wondered if he¡¯d gone too far. A long, uncomfortable silence passed between them. Finally, Gannon heaved a sigh. ¡°What I¡¯m about to tell you cannot leave this room. Can I trust you on that?¡±


    Flint blinked. ¡°Okay¡­¡±


    The Admiral stared at him a beat. ¡°The truth is, we won¡¯t survive the rest of the trip. Not unless at least half the passengers play Four Kingdoms.¡±


    Flint didn¡¯t like the direction this was headed. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°How much do you know about the original plans for the Nero Caskets?¡±


    Flint thought about all the things he¡¯d read about the failed project over the years. Shrugging, he said: ¡°I know it was this super-ambitious project that my father and Jason Nero came-up with before the Star Ark left Earth. That it was some virtual reality thing that could connect you to a game world so similar to reality that you could play it non-stop for weeks.¡±


    ¡°Longer, actually,¡± Gannon said. ¡°The project was meant to keep passengers occupied for years. When the game failed in beta, it caused a real problem for us in terms of resource utilization.¡±


    ¡°Resource utilization?¡±


    ¡°Part of Casket induction includes placement of a surgical feeding tube.¡± He pointed a finger a few inches above his naval. ¡°Casket occupants subsist on formula delivered via these tubes. In preparation for the game¡¯s eventual release, the Arks were provisioned with millions of formula bags before leaving Earth. This is a huge source of calories we¡¯ve yet to tap into.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± He didn¡¯t, really. Things seemed to be growing more confusing by the second. He glanced again at the image of the Casket on the projector. If he was a regular Joe, there wasn¡¯t any celebrity who could convince him to get inside one. They looked like Medieval torture devices. ¡°Are those things really any safer?¡±


    ¡°There have been some safety improvements,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°We have been rigorously testing them for the past decade.¡±


    ¡°Whose been testing them?¡±


    ¡°The FRB. Some select volunteers.¡±


    ¡°How many, exactly?¡±


    Gannon frowned. ¡°I could go over the details, but my time is limited.¡±


    ¡°Well, forgive me, but I did lose my parents to those things. I want some guarantee I won¡¯t die after getting hooked up.¡±


    ¡°How about this for a guarantee,¡± Gannon said. ¡°If you publicly endorse and play Four Kingdoms, I¡¯ll get your brother enough treatments to keep him alive till New World. If you don¡¯t, then you go to prison and your brother dies.¡±


    In the end that wasn¡¯t any kind of choice. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

 CHAPTER 04 — LAUNCH

    CHAPTER 04 ¡ª LAUNCH


    Flint sat in the hospital bay, his worthless legs dangling over the side of an exam table. A heavily-mutilated man in a lab coat scrutinized him with an off-putting grin. The name tag on the tech¡¯s dirty white coat read: Bartosz Anders, Medical Assistant.


    ¡°How long ya been a cripple?¡± Anders asked.


    ¡°Since I was five,¡± Flint said through clenched teeth. ¡°Are you finished with these asinine questions?¡±


    ¡°Five years old, eh?¡± he said, smiling. His voice was like rusty hinges, held a British cadence, but a low-class one.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Do ya shit yerself?¡±


    Flint clenched his jaw. ¡°I have muscular dystrophy. I¡¯m not paralyzed.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s a yes then?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t shit myself you fucking ogre.¡±


    Anders hacked an ugly, wet cough, and tried putting a hand over his mouth. Flint recoiled at first, then realized it was just a ruse to hide his chuckling.


    ¡°Are you laughing?¡±


    ¡°Heh heh heh,¡± Anders cackled, faking like he was writing something on his stupid clipboard.


    Flint¡¯s irritation turned to hot anger. ¡°Are you fucking autistic or something?¡±


    Anders turned away, fumbling the stylus and tablet. ¡°Heh heh heh¡­¡±


    ¡°The fact I¡¯m crippled is funny?¡±


    Anders turned, his kyphotic form bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame. He flashed a smile filled with two rows of shit-colored teeth. ¡°Oh nothin''. Nothin¡¯ at all, lad.¡±


    Flint scowled. ¡°Where¡¯s the doctor?¡±


    Anders cackled again, wheezing hard in an effort to stop. The ugly troll wiped tears from his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m gunna walk out¡­ I mean¡­ ride out of here,¡± Flint said, fists clenched. An unfortunate choice of words made the ugly creature sputter even harder.


    Flint¡¯s face burned with rage. With Olympian skill, he vaulted off the table into his wheelchair. ¡°Fuck this.¡±


    ¡°Now hang on, hang on,¡± Anders said, holding up a hand. ¡°It¡¯s naught but fun and games, lad. Naught but fun and games.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t complete your medical, ya can¡¯t join the game tomorrah.¡±


    ¡°Give me a call when the real doctor is here,¡± Flint said. ¡°You¡¯re just the retard assistant.¡±


    There was a knock at the door. Two quick raps, and then it opened. A new figure in a long lab coat stepped into the room. A gaunt-faced man with sunken eyes looked between Anders and Flint.


    ¡°Leave us, Bart,¡± Doctor Reddy said.


    Anders gave a bow and left, still rumbling with laughter. When the door closed, Flint scowled at his doctor.


    ¡°Some help you got here, Seamus,¡± he said. ¡°Your assistant thinks crippled people are as funny as a Starshark movie.¡±


    Reddy took a seat on the stool, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. ¡°Bartosz has pseudobulbar affect.¡±


    ¡°He has what?¡±


    ¡°A brain abnormality. Causes him to laugh at inappropriate things.¡±


    Flint frowned. ¡°And you hired him?¡±


    ¡°His mother is my brother¡¯s wife,¡± Reddy said. ¡°Said he needed a purpose.¡±


    ¡°Might¡¯ve let him sweep the floors or something.¡±


    ¡°I might¡¯ve, but I didn¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s a big fan of yours. Watches Battle Smite all the time.¡±


    Flint''s anger suddenly dissipated. ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Reddy repeated. ¡°Ah.¡±


    The doctor stood from his chair and beckoned Flint back to the exam table.


    ¡°I saw the match the other day,¡± Reddy said. ¡°Tough go of it. But Vardock is legendary.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Thanks.¡±


    Reddy passed an ultrasound wand over Flint¡¯s chest, examining the holographic readout. He always found the image of his beating heart somewhat disconcerting, but with the number of doctor appointments he¡¯d been to in his thirty years of existence, it was hardly something he was new to.


    Reddy re-holstered the wand and stepped over to his computer. The doctor clicked through various lab tests on the screen. Just yesterday, he¡¯d given damn near half his blood volume to the phlebotomy machine. He assumed the tests were to ensure his body could handle a dozen needles jammed into his brain and spinal cord.


    ¡°Tests are fine,¡± the doctor finally said.


    ¡°So I¡¯m cleared?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re cleared.¡±


    He heaved a relieved sigh. ¡°Awesome.¡±


    Reddy stood-up and seemed to hesitate awkwardly. Like he wanted to say something. But Flint had something else to ask about.


    ¡°Listen, Seamus, I wanted to ask you about Zeeke,¡± Flint said. ¡°You know we got him more of those cancer treatments, right?¡±


    ¡°The Decel infusions?¡± Reddy said, frowning.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Will that... Will those infusions keep him alive long enough to make it to New World?¡±


    His long-time physician stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, then shrugged. ¡°They say we¡¯re only thirty-four months away at this point. The Decel infusions can arrest any neoplastic process for at least twenty days. Sometimes considerably longer or indefinitely, depending on the cancer type.¡±


    Flint pursed his lips and tried doing the math. ¡°So he needs like fifty of them.¡±


    ¡°If you can keep getting them through whatever back channel you¡¯re using.¡±


    ¡°Oh I can get it. That¡¯s no problem.¡±


    The doctor went quiet. Long enough to make Flint uncomfortable.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to get any for several months,¡± Reddy said quietly. When he looked back at Flint, there was a deep pain in his eyes.


    Flint almost kicked himself for the insensitivity. Of course Reddy would have lots of patients with cancer who could benefit from the drugs. But the supply was so scarce most patients couldn¡¯t afford it.


    ¡°Well¡­ uh¡­ thank you, doc,¡± Flint said, reaching for the side of the table to hop into his wheelchair. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when I get outta that Medieval torture chamber.¡±


    Reddy gave him a sad smile. ¡°Afraid not, kid. I¡¯m retiring next week.¡±


    Flint¡¯s hands froze on the railings. ¡°You¡¯re retiring?¡±


    ¡°Afraid so.¡±


    He stared at the person who had been his doctor since infancy. Hell, even before then, if you counted his mother''s prenatal care. Reddy had been with him and Zeeke through the death of their parents. And when Flint started losing his ability to walk. He even diagnosed Flint¡¯s muscular dystrophy and many years later, Zeeke¡¯s cancer. Aside from Uncle Geb, the man was the most longstanding constant in his life.


    A strong sense of loss gripped him by the throat, making speaking difficult.


    ¡°Sorry I didn''t tell you sooner,¡± Reddy said. ¡°Just made the decision last week.¡±


    Flint tried to control the tremble in his voice. ¡°But why?¡±


    The doctor''s smile wavered. ¡°My daughter has stomach cancer,¡± he said. ¡°She¡­¡± he trailed-off, looking elsewhere in the room. ¡°I want to spend time with her before she dies.¡±


    Flint swallowed. A passenger getting cancer was far from unheard of. Seventy percent of kids born on the Star Ark eventually got it. A hazard of living on a tin can powered by insufficiently shielded nuclear reactors. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m so sorry, Seamus.¡±


    Reddy heaved a ragged sigh. ¡°That¡¯s the breaks.¡±


    One of his most famous sayings. Flint remembered the doc telling him that when he was eight years old. Flint was crying about how he couldn¡¯t walk like the other kids at school. Then again at sixteen when he had a breakdown over the fact that girls found him repugnant. That¡¯s the breaks.


    The doc held out a hand. ¡°It¡¯s been an honor, young man.¡±


    Flint reached out and shook Reddy¡¯s hand, willing himself to keep it together. ¡°Thanks for everything, Doc.¡±


    ##


    The night before Launch Day, Flint sat at a table in the luxury pod he and Zeeke lived in since Flint became a Circuit pro.


    ¡°So they got 100,000 sign-ups after your appearance on the Sig Sours Show last night,¡± Geb said.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Flint said.


    His uncle frowned, taking a bite of his noodles. On either side of him was Esmeralda and Zeeke, who didn¡¯t seem interested in the conversation. Esmeralda was long-faced and dour for some reason. Sitting opposite her was Zeeke, who hadn¡¯t eaten half his dinner. When he caught Flint staring at him, he pushed his buttered noodles away. Which should have been a crime given how rare a delicacy it was these days.


    ¡°The heck¡¯s wrong with you two?¡± he asked.


    Esmeralda shrugged without looking up from her plate.


    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± Zeeke said.


    Flint frowned. ¡°You feeling okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good.¡±


    He didn¡¯t look good. Though the first of the promised Decel infusions had been given two days earlier, he was white as a sheet and looking as sick as ever. ¡°You should eat.¡±


    Zeeke scowled at him. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±


    Flint shrugged. Turning to Esmeralda, he said, ¡°What¡¯s your issue?¡±


    She was spinning the noodles on her fork. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Geb crossed his arms, looking sideways at her. She met his gaze with a halfhearted stare down, as though the two shared a secret.


    ¡°What?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°Timmy broke-up with her,¡± Geb said.


    ¡°Tommy,¡± Esmeralda corrected.


    ¡°Really?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Esmeralda said.


    His first instinct was to laugh. He never liked that smug dickhead. With his Australian accent and big house on New World. And he definitely didn¡¯t like hearing Esmeralda talk about him. But the two had been e-dating for two years, and he knew the loss of the relationship would be a major letdown for her.


    ¡°Whatever his name is, he¡¯s a fool for letting you go,¡± Geb said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said flatly.


    Flint suppressed a grin. ¡°Sorry to hear that, Esmeralda. What happened?¡±


    ¡°He wanted to see someone else,¡± she said. ¡°Someone he could actually see, feel, and touch in person.¡±


    That didn¡¯t seem like an unreasonable preference, to his mind. ¡°Huh.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for the best. I was always meant to end-up alone.¡±


    Flint let that hang in the air. He¡¯d never had much sympathy for beautiful women. And what little he did have never got him anywhere but the friend-zone. A place even fame and a lot of money couldn¡¯t push him out of.


    ¡°Real cheery sendoff this is,¡± Zeeke commented.


    ¡°You wanna get up and sing?¡± Geb asked.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather he not,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do the presents then,¡± Zeeke said.


    ¡°Presents?¡±


    Zeeke glanced at Esmeralda. ¡°May I give him yours?¡±


    Flint got a shot of nerves as she smiled across the table at him. The last time she¡¯d gotten him a present, it was a stick of deodorant. Which shouldn¡¯t have been as insulting as it was, given the shortages. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Zeeke reached into a bag on the floor. His hand came out with a figurine the size of a snow globe along with an orange envelope. He offered the items to his brother.


    Flint took them, frowning at the figurine. There was a kind of stick running across an open cylinder at the top. It was bent at slight angle at one end, and sharpened at the other. His hands worked their ways through the grooves along the cylinder. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a flintlock rifle, dummy,¡± Zeeke said. ¡°Over the Battle Smite Arena.¡±


    Flint squinted at the piece. It looked like a stick pasted to a dirty cup. ¡°Oh¡­ right¡­ I see it now.¡±


    ¡°Esse made it.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He glanced up in time to see her blush. Esmeralda had a thing for art. Mostly crappy sculptures baring no resemblance to actual objects. And this wasn¡¯t any different. ¡°Gee thanks Esmeralda. It¡¯s really nice.¡±


    In his periphery, Geb shook his head. It was clear everyone knew he thought it was a piece of shit. He''d never been good at hiding his opinion.


    ¡°Give him your present,¡± Esmeralda said to Zeeke.


    His brother''s face betrayed some anxiety. Perhaps watching his brother¡¯s reaction rendered him less enthused about his own offering.


    ¡°Go on, Zeeke,¡± Geb urged.


    Zeeke glared at his uncle. ¡°You give it, then. It¡¯s just as much a present from you.¡±


    Geb reached under the table and came out holding a rectangular wooden frame. He placed it on the table and slid it over to him. Flint grabbed the edge of the frame, examining the inlaid picture. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    There were four people in the photo--two very young and almost identical dark-haired boys flanked by a broad-shouldered man with glasses. The man had his arm around a woman, also with dark-hair, who seemed at least a decade younger than him. It didn¡¯t take long to realize that he was looking at Zeeke and himself, before he was wheelchair-bound, and his parents, Antoine and Elizabeth Flint.


    In the background, Flint recognized the replica of the Statue of Liberty that once stood in the Arbolisk. There were dozens of people standing around in front of it. A banner draped across the front read: 12th Annual Evacuation Remembrance Day Festival.


    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°The Archives,¡± Zeeke said. ¡°Searched the database for mom and dad, and this showed-up.¡±


    Flint stared at it longer. There weren¡¯t many pictures of his parents around. Or many of him before he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. Back then, he and Zeeke were almost indistinguishable save for the two inches of height Zeeke had on him. For whatever reason, his brother grew to be a foot taller. Which worked-out in the end, because he scared the bullies that tried messing with his disabled brother.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said quietly. ¡°What¡¯s with the presents?¡±


    ¡°They were supposed to be for your birthday in two months,¡± Geb said. ¡°But you¡¯ll be locked in that coma machine.¡±


    Flint frowned. Coma machine wasn¡¯t a bad term for it. Certainly no worse than Casket. Still, he didn¡¯t like unexpected moments of sentiment.


    ¡°And I might not be here when you get out,¡± Zeeke added.


    Flint glared at him. ¡°Stop it with that shit.¡±


    His brother gave him a weak smile and a shrug.


    Esmeralda, who¡¯d been standing over his shoulder, leaned in closer to look at the image. ¡°You two are so cute. How old are you in this?¡±


    ¡°Three,¡± Zeeke said. ¡°Before kid brother was in a wheelchair.¡±


    Flint blinked and glanced back at it with new meaning. Was this really the only picture they had of him and Zeeke while they were both normal? Before they lost their health and their parents?


    He suddenly lost his appetite. He set the frame down in his lap and unlocked the brakes on his chair. Esmeralda had to jump out of the way to keep from being backed into.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Geb asked. ¡°We still haven¡¯t done cake.¡±


    Flint glanced over his shoulder. ¡°You don¡¯t have cake.¡±


    ¡°We have a vegetable cupcake.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel like shitting my brains out tonight.¡±


    ##


    An hour later, Flint was sitting on his bed reading his FleetNET terminal. His appointment with the FRB was scheduled for 0500 ¡ª only ten hours away. Shortly thereafter, he would be one of the first players plugged into a Casket.


    He couldn¡¯t help but feel some excitement. Apparently the realism of this thing was going to be crazy. Would his brain actually get to feel what it was like to walk again? To run?


    ¡°Yo.¡±


    He glanced up. Zeeke was in the doorway, holding his portable oxygen concentrator.


    ¡°What?¡± Flint said.


    ¡°You mad?¡±


    ¡°Why would I be mad?¡±


    ¡°You seemed mad at dinner,¡± he said. ¡°Didn¡¯t even say goodbye to Esse.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not mad.¡±


    ¡°You seem it.¡±


    Flint scowled. ¡°Don¡¯t make me beat your ass before I get put in a coma.¡±


    ¡°Be a crime to beat a dying man.¡±


    Flint scowled. ¡°You gotta stop saying shit like that, Zeeke.¡±


    Zeeke shrugged. ¡°Why? It¡¯s true, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°No it isn¡¯t true, dick head. You¡¯re getting those Decel infusions, aren''t you?¡±


    Zeeke blinked, then produced a scowl of his own.


    ¡°Yeah that¡¯s what I thought,¡± Flint said.


    His brother came into the room and closed the door.


    ¡°Speaking of that,¡± Zeeke said. ¡°Doctor Reddy said they had to give me the infusion in an abandoned wing so no one could find out.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you get them?¡±


    Flint tried-on his best look of innocence. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t Geb who bought the medicine on the black market. He doesn¡¯t have five-hundred Scrip to his name.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Guess you have a mysterious benefactor.¡±


    Zeeke¡¯s gaze bored into him, and for a moment he looked angry.


    ¡°What?¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Quit bullshitting me. There¡¯s cancer patients with lots of money who couldn¡¯t get these infusions.¡±


    Flint was forced to think back to Reddy. A doctor whose own daughter needed the infusions. Something in his face must¡¯ve gave it away, so Zeeke shook his head.


    ¡°So I used some connections,¡± Flint admitted. ¡°So what? You think I¡¯m gonna let my brother die?¡±


    Zeeke¡¯s face fell. ¡°I don¡¯t think I got much time left.¡±


    ¡°The doctors say those infusions can delay the disease till we get to New World,¡± Flint said. He said it like he was angry, trying to convince a stubborn jury that already passed the wrong verdict. Why did this kid always have to be such a Debbie downer?


    Zeeke sank into the seat near the VR station where Flint used to make a living playing Battle Smite. In the light of the room, his eyes looked even more sunken and bloodshot. Being just a few feet away, Flint could hear the audible wheeze that accompanied his every breath. ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to be disappointed, man.¡±


    The give-up attitude made Flint angrier. But he had to remember his brother had always been physically stronger, not mentally resilient. That was what Flint was good at.


    ¡°Listen Zeeke,¡± he said slowly. ¡°After mom and dad died, I lost the ability to walk. And you took care of me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what big brothers do.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re only five minutes older than me, kid,¡± Flint said. ¡°The point is, you took care of me when I needed it. Now I¡¯m in a position to take care of you. And that¡¯s what I intend to do.¡±


    Zeeke sighed. ¡°You¡¯re a stubborn bastard.¡±


    ¡°So are you,¡± he said. ¡°Look, Z, I¡¯m not letting you die. It just isn¡¯t gunna happen. You have to make it to New World to get one of those operations they talk about on FleetTV.¡±


    ¡°Cancer surgery.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. And then you have to get married and have kids, and propagate the Flint family name. We all know I don¡¯t have a shot at procreation.¡±


    Zeeke stood, shaking his head, but grinning anyway. ¡°That Four Kingdoms game may change things. I hear you can screw the NPCs and it feels like the real thing.¡± His brother paused a beat, giving him a sideways glance. ¡°Even you could get laid in a video game.¡±


    Flint grabbed a pillow and fired it at him.


    Zeeke grabbed it off the ground and stepped toward him. Thinking he was about to catch it in the face, Flint held up his hands defensively.


    But his brother was too weak for that, and instead did something unexpected. The next thing he knew, Zeeke¡¯s arms wrapped around him. Flint tensed as his brothers face settled above his shoulder, the whispy sound of the oxygen tickling his ear.


    ¡°I love you bro,¡± Zeeke said, clutching him tight.


    Flint said nothing. He was too afraid to speak.


    When they broke free, Zeeke wiped the corner of his eye with the sleeve.


    ¡°Just do me a favor while you¡¯re in this game,¡± Zeeke said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Try not to get herpes.¡±


    They laughed. But for Flint, there wasn¡¯t any humor in it.


    ##


    To store the Caskets, the Fleet Recreation Board purchased a specially designed set of interconnected pods located in the rearmost part of Deck Four. When Flint realized where it was, he was shocked. The group of pods it was located in had been sealed as long as he could remember. But now that it was opened, it looked somewhat like a hospital bay wing.


    ¡°Great,¡± he said. The damn line was out the automated hatch doors, with some hundred or so people standing there. ¡°So much for getting here early.¡±


    He wheeled into the back of the line, and pulled out his FleetNET terminal. He keyed in the address for the FRB website. The status page showed that everything was running on time. ¡°Bullshit,¡± he muttered.


    The closely-packed bodies in such a confined space made things awkward, especially for a guy taking up as much space as him in a wheelchair. Three nearby girls stared daggers at him, as though his taking up more space was some kind of human rights violation. Each time the line trickled forward, they¡¯d take a step or two, then glare back at him like he was fixing to run them over.


    ¡°Sorry about the wheelchair,¡± he said, with obvious insincerity. ¡°If you wanna carry me, I¡¯ll get rid of it.¡±


    The snooty bitch gave him a nasty scowl and turned around.


    Flint sighed. He should¡¯ve been grateful he wasn¡¯t recognized yet. Or at least wasn¡¯t accosted for an autograph or something. That could change soon, though. There was a boy standing behind him wearing a Battle Smite T-shirt staring at him. He was rail-thin, with thickset glasses and a Lower by the looks of it. He was black-skinned with white patches over his arms and face.


    ¡°Line¡¯s a bitch, huh?¡± Flint said.


    ¡°I think people are stuck in there,¡± the kid said. ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s taking so long.¡±


    ¡°Stuck? What do you mean?¡±


    The kid stood on his tip-toes trying to glance over the crowd. ¡°They''re letting people through one at a time. And once you get past that door, they don¡¯t let you back out.¡±


    Flint tried to lean around the broads in front of him. There were two muscled security guards outside the doors, checking passes and IDs. Indeed what the kid said appeared to be correct though. The guards would clear one person to walk-in and then the doors would seal again. After a couple minutes, they¡¯d reopen. That meant whoever went over the threshold didn¡¯t come back out.


    ¡°Hope they''re not butchering people and disposing of the bodies,¡± Flint said.


    The kid leaned-in closer and Flint caught a whiff of sour sweat. Obviously he hadn''t bathed in a long time. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Are you Flintlock?¡±


    ¡°That''s me.¡±


    The kid grinned, showing a set of brown-stained teeth. ¡°I knew it, man. I just knew it.¡± He snapped his fingers. ¡°Man, if Dumpster was here, he¡¯d freak.¡±


    ¡°Dumpster?¡±


    ¡°My kid brother.¡±


    Flint raised a brow. ¡°Why do you call him Dumpster?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his name.¡±


    ¡°His name is Dumpster?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what momma named him.¡±


    Flint was about to ask where she¡¯d gotten the name, but then decided to leave it alone. Most Lowers were half-insane, and he wasn''t sure he wanted to know the story.


    ¡°And what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking to anyone else.¡±


    The boy shrugged, still looking that same mix of hyperactive and nervous. ¡°My name¡¯s Garbage.¡±


    Flint snorted. ¡°Get the fuck out of here.¡±


    ¡°No, seriously. That¡¯s my name.¡±


    ¡°Your mom has a strange sense of humor.¡±


    Garbage¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Nah. She ain''t laughed once her entire life.¡± He paused. ¡°Except the day Papa drowned in that water tank. She done thought that shit was hilarious.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ sorry to hear that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cool man,¡± Garbage said, grinning. ¡°Hey man, how come you alone? Don''t pro Smiters like you have a posse and shit?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a people person.¡±


    ¡°Woulda figured you¡¯d have a lady with you at least. Like a model or something.¡±


    ¡°I wish.¡±


    The line continued moving at a snail¡¯s pace.


    ¡°So what do you know about the game, Garbage?¡± Flint asked.


    He shrugged. ¡°Not too much. They ain¡¯t been saying nothing.¡±


    Flint had noticed that. In the days since speaking to Gannon, he¡¯d fished for whatever info he could find on the FleetNET. Players in MMORPGs usually had several playstyles to choose from, usually based on the classes or profession types of the characters available. He figured there might be some word on what classes would be available and what their respective powers and skills were. But in several hours of searching, he¡¯d come-up with very little beyond what the FRB people told him to share on the Sig Sours Show a few days ago.


    ¡°I hope I end-up on your team,¡± Garbage said. ¡°Would be awful unfair to have to fight against the army with Flintlock on they team.¡±


    Flint shrugged. It remained to be seen whether his skills as a one-versus-one specialist in a different game would carry-over. The whole neurosurgical integration thing didn¡¯t seem that similar to a set of VR goggles and haptic gloves. ¡°Might be I¡¯ll make my own clan or guild. You never know.¡±


    ¡°You just lemme know, and me and Dumpster will join.¡±


    Flint grinned. What better people to recruit for his clan than two Lowers named Garbage and Dumpster? ¡°I¡¯ll keep you in mind.¡±


    ¡°You can count on us. We both Tier 2 in Battle Smite.¡±


    Tier 2 was the second-highest rank on the Battle Smite one-versus-one ladder. There was only about a three hundred people in Tier 2, and Flint thought he knew everyone in that group. ¡°What¡¯s your gamertag?¡±


    ¡°GarbageMan. And my brother is¡ª¡±


    ¡°DumpsterFire?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Shit, I know you guys,¡± Flint said. He¡¯d played both of them multiple times over the years on the Ladder. He never lost to either one, so far as he could remember. But Tier 1s didn¡¯t usually lose to Tier 2s. ¡°You guys are pretty good.¡±


    He beamed. Apparently that was high-praise coming from someone like Flint.


    Eventually they reached the front of the line. Flint held out his hand terminal with the FRB invitation on the screen. The guard scanned it and motioned him through. Beyond the entrance, he came to a check-in desk manned by FRB personnel in hospital scrubs. Beyond it, a series of isolated, curtained-off rooms with all kinds of medical equipment was visible.


    A woman smiled at him from behind the desk. ¡°Mr. Flint,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve been expecting you.¡±


    ##


    With a shaved head and set of IVs in each arm, Flint was wheeled out into a classroom. There were thirty other bald people in hospital gowns waiting there. They were shown a thirty minute video on the functions of the Casket. Then they were issued paper copies of the game¡¯s End User License Agreement and asked to sign it. When that was over, a man in an FRB pressure suit collected the papers before standing at the front of the room.


    ¡°My name is Yurkov,¡± he said. ¡°Is there anyone here who does not have an IV in both arms?¡±


    The people in the room looked around as though searching for the answer.


    ¡°Good,¡± Yurkov said after waiting only a second. ¡°You¡¯ve watched the video and signed the EULA. Any last-minute questions?¡±


    Flint got the feeling Yurkov didn¡¯t care to answer questions.


    ¡°How are we gunna move without a haptic controller?¡± one of the Lowers next to him asked.


    ¡°That was covered in the video,¡± Yurkov said. ¡°Transducers will be inserted into your brain and spinal cord. Your perception of the real-world will fade. Your motor sense, proprioception, and generalized awareness will become one with the Game Universe.¡±


    ¡°What happens if we die in the game?¡± a girl asked.


    ¡°The game mechanics will be covered in the tutorial at the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying we won¡¯t be aware of what our real-world bodies are doing?¡± a third person asked. This one, like Flint, was wheelchair-bound, though he looked quite a few years older.


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°How we gunna take a shit?¡± yet another player asked.


    ¡°The exact same way you do it in the real world,¡± Yurkov said.


    ¡°Whose gunna clean our poop from those Casket things?¡±


    ¡°There will be a tube inserted in your rectum, and a catheter in your bladder. These will drain you of your substances.¡±


    Flint winced. Certainly he¡¯d missed that in the pamphlet.


    Yurkov picked-up the papers they¡¯d signed and threw them in a metal briefcase. He turned his back on them and clicked the lid shut. ¡°We¡¯ll begin calling people by name shortly.¡±


    ##


    ¡°Austin Flint.¡±


    Flint backed his wheelchair away from the table and headed toward Yurkov. The remaining players in the room turned and whispered to each other.


    ¡°Is that really Flintlock?¡± someone said. ¡°He looks a lot uglier in person.¡±


    ¡°I lost a thousand Scrip on that dick head last week,¡± said another.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know he was in a wheelchair,¡± said a third.


    Flint scowled but kept moving.


    Beyond the door was nothing but pitch dark. There was a noticeable drop in temperature. Almost like he was headed into a giant refrigerator.


    ¡°This way,¡± she said.


    He followed her through the door. The temperature dropped a another twenty degrees as he went through it. They followed down a long corridor where the rubberized floor turned into something resembling black cement.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like we¡¯re on the ship anymore,¡± Flint commented. ¡°What is this place?¡±


    ¡°The old cryostasis wing,¡± she said. ¡°They built this section of the ship for the Caskets.¡±


    ¡°Interesting.¡±


    They came out on a broad, open area overlooking what could only be described as a warehouse. It reminded him of the part of the ship where McCormick¡¯s bar was situated. Only in this place there were robot arms weaving amongst metal containers, picking them up and stacking them in neat, endless rows and columns.


    ¡°The Caskets are kept in those containers?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said.


    A pair of similarly-dressed FRB staffers and a man in a lab coat waited at the edge of a platform. Flint wondered why he was being led to the edge of this huge drop-off when one of the robot arms suddenly lifted a close-ended container into view. The container was positioned at the edge of the loading dock ended. Inside, a modular egg-shaped Casket came into view. On either side of it were hooks and dollies where strange-colored IV fluid bags were still swaying from the recent movement. Along the wall of the closed-edge, there were several stacks of large bottles. They were positioned near a conveyor belt feeding the back of the module.


    Flint''s heart rate accelerated. This was it. Time to get stuffed into one of these monstrosities. He couldn''t help in that moment but to remember that both his parents had died in a machine like this.


    ¡°This is Austin Flint,¡± the woman told her team. ¡°Req number 348921.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Molly,¡± a staffer with Torrance on nametag said. He came behind Flint and pushed his wheelchair off the edge of the platform into the container. ¡°How are you today, sir?¡±


    Flint frowned as the man pushed him. The joystick on his chair worked fine. ¡°Uh... I guess we¡¯ll see.¡±


    The man in the white coat walked by them. He knelt on the side of the Casket and opened a compartment to reveal a microLED screen. The man began tapping the monitoring.


    Flint turned to see Torrance checking the clock on his hand terminal.


    ¡°Everything ok, Dr. Strange?¡± Torrance asked.


    ¡°Yes, just give me a second,¡± the man grunted.


    Flint nerves really kicked-in then. He didn¡¯t want to get in a module that was malfunctioned. ¡°Is this Casket defective or something?¡±


    ¡°Everything''s fine,¡± Torrance said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it giving me a lobotomy.¡±


    The FRB man smiled but said nothing.


    A minute later, Flint almost told them to turn around and get him another unit. But then the compartment on the side of the Casket slammed shut and Dr. Strange stood.


    ¡°It¡¯s ready,¡± he said, then walked out of the container.


    Another woman entered and she and Torrance got on either side of him, grabbing his arms.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Helping you into the module,¡± Torrance said.


    He almost insisted on doing it himself. But before he could, they already pulled him out of the seat. He was carried that way over each of their shoulders.


    Torrance hit a button on the Casket. The sound like a hot iron submerged into steam and the clear-glass seal opened, cold fumes leaking into the air.


    Flint was set down atop a kind of leather material submerged in a lukewarm water. The configuration was such that had him almost completely supine. It was cold in there, and his skin prickled from it.


    ¡°Gunna have to remove your gown,¡± the man said.


    Flint glanced between the male and female FRB staffers. ¡°What? Like right now?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    Flint didn''t like the idea of getting naked in front of these strangers. But there wasn''t any helping it. He pulled the thin gown over his head and handed it to the woman. And just like that, he was butt ass naked on the wet leather.


    Torrance reached in and pressed a button on the inner surface of the Casket. Suddenly, lights lit-up all around him. There was a mechanical whirring as compartments at the front, sides, and back retracted inward. From them emerged dozens of thin robo-arms. The tops of the arms folded, and dozens of needles emerged--some large as stakes, others smaller than toothpicks.


    Flint''s heart began racing. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Torrance said. ¡°It isn¡¯t going to hurt at all.¡±


    He eyed the needles a few inches from his head. This was the future of videogames? Naked inside a box with a robots ready to butcher you?


    ¡°This¡¯ll calm you down,¡± Torrance said.


    Flint glanced sideways to see that he was injecting something into one of the IV lines hooked-up to the dolly.


    ¡°What''s that?¡± Flint asked, his voice almost frantic.


    The FRB man didn''t answer. But a moment later, an odd sensation overtook him. His mind calmed. The shivering from the cold suddenly dissipated into a comfortable warmth as every muscle untensed.


    This is nice, he thought. I don''t feel like I''m about to have my organs harvested.


    A mask blowing humidified air was placed over his mouth. Or at least it felt like air. Whatever it was further fogged his sensorium.


    ¡°Relax,¡± a voice said. ¡°You won¡¯t feel a thing.¡±


    The last thing he remembered before passing out was the sound of a drill spinning as one of the robo-needles approached his forehead.

 CHAPTER 05 — INSTRUCTIONS

    PART 2 - THE ROAD TO SIOLAN


    CHAPTER 05 ¡ª INSTRUCTIONS


    He woke up again. Not in front of a Casket.


    The sight that greeted him was a clear blue sky. That, and a health bar with barely enough red to keep the world colored. Mad cheering filled the air around him.


    His breathing was ragged. It was the arena again. But what just happened? Did he really witness a person die in the Casket just after he killed the dude inside the game?


    ¡°Is this a joke?¡± he asked the game. ¡°Cause it¡¯s not fucking funny!¡±


    The answer he got boomed through the arena.


    ¡°The winners of this Culling Contest!¡± the Jackhammer yelled.


    The crowd roared their approval.


    Flint heard crunching footsteps. He glanced up at Vardock grinning over him.


    ¡°Way to not screw up this time, Crip,¡± he said.


    ¡°Did you do this?¡±


    The faux confusion in the fat dickhead''s face pissed him off. ¡°Do what?¡±


    Flint shoved himself off the ground. ¡°What kind of sick fuck are you?¡±


    Vardock blinked. ¡°You mad about winning now?¡±


    Flint shoved the bigger man enough to make him stagger. ¡°You had someone put us on the same team.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah? Who?¡±


    ¡°One of your fans at the FRB. Then you had them broadcast that sick fucking scene in my head just now.¡±


    Vardock''s scowl was fierce. ¡°Why would I wanna be on your fucking tuh- tuh- team? You think I like carrying dead weight?¡±


    Flint''s mind raced. There had to be an explanation. He was confident it was standing two paces away. ¡°You got someone to spawn us in the same instance so you could fuck with me.¡±


    ¡°I just won the match for you,¡± Vardock said. ¡°And what broadcast you talking about? I watched you get domed by that dark lightning spell. I thought you were dead.¡±


    ¡°I wasn''t dead,¡± he snapped. ¡°I woke up staring at the Casket of that fucking dude I killed. I SAW myself kill him in the game, then watched the Casket kill him.¡±


    Vardock''s scowl transformed into a look of profound confusion. It was almost convincing, if you didn''t know the asshole was the biggest troll alive. ¡°It killed him? How do you know?¡±


    Indeed, how did he know? Was that little field trip even real? ¡°I don''t know. It just did. I saw it happen.¡±


    Vardock stared at him a long moment. Then gave an ugly snort. ¡°You outta your mind, kid.¡±


    Flint opened his mouth, but a blaring horn cut him off. He turned to see Jackhammer walking toward them with guards.


    Two things flashed in his HUD. The first in white letters:


    QUEST COMPLETE: THE CULLING.


    The second message in green:


    Having won the Culling Contest by working together, you and your surviving teammate (Vardock) are now partied. You will not be able to travel anywhere without them.


    ¡°Partied?¡± Vardock said. ¡°What the hell? How we undo this shit?¡±


    Flint stared sideways at him. ¡°And you had nothing to do with this, either, huh?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I don''t believe you.¡±


    Vardock shrugged. ¡°Fuck I care what you believe?¡±


    Jackhammer was now a few paces away with his retinue of guards. ¡°Congrats, dipshits. Now come with me. Time to meet the King.¡±


    As they followed him out of the arena, Flint''s mind struggled with the implications of what happened. If this wasn''t a prank, then what he just saw was real. The mage died in the game, only to then die inside the Casket. But was it real?


    Outside the arena, townspeople choked up the cobbled road leading to the city, clapping and hollering as their retinue passed. A woman in a sleeveless tunic accosted Flint with a hand, planting a kiss on his cheek and a string of flowers around his neck. A child on the shoulders of a man littered them with rose petals from the front of the line. Others showered them with uncorked wine.


    Flint wasn''t able to enjoy it. All he could focus on were questions without answers. Why didn''t he die when that mage hit him with dark lightning and drained his health bar? Why did he get to witness the player''s death? And why did the Casket kill him?


    Only the last question had an answer. Because the player died in-game.


    ¡°I could get used to this,¡± Vardock said.


    He glanced up to see the big man walking with a woman on holding each arm. Attractive women. And young. They were grinning sideways at him, remarking on his bravery and combat prowess.


    Flint pictured the guy in the Casket, the screen showing his final in-game moments before the needle arms were ripped from his body, flatlining him.


    Flint''s insides went cold. Or at least that''s the sensation he got through the simulation. If fragging a player meant really killing them, then dying wasn¡¯t safe in this virtual world. ¡°Oh fuck,¡± he muttered. ¡°Oh shit, this game is killing people.¡±


    ¡°What''s that, lad?¡± one of Jackhammer''s guards asked.


    A wave of nausea overtook him. He retched, pushed the guard away, tried to get free of the crowd. The entourage jumped back as he doubled over, coughing puke into the street.


    Hands patted his back as he stood there, bent over and breathing hard. The HUD flashed and droplet of red drained from his health bar. It was already dangerously low, and the sight of the diminishing meter only worsened his growing panic.


    Flint stumbled after Jackhammer and the guards. The crowd seemed undeterred by his purging. As they drew closer to the city¡¯s gates, their cheers became even more boisterous.


    ¡°Walker¡­ Walker¡­ Walker¡­¡±


    ¡°Vardock¡­ Vardock¡­ Vardock¡­¡±


    At the top of the hill, a pair of elephants waited inside the gates of the city. Between the beasts was a litter with an ornamental rug carrying the Reach phoenix symbol over the front.


    Flint stopped as Jackhammer raised a hand. Suddenly, the open area in front of the litter flashed. The townspeople vanished, replaced by figures wearing armor like him. Other players.


    A HUD message alleviated his growing confusion:


    You have entered a massive public instance (MPI). MPIs are used to host a large number of players inside a single instance. All major cities and the open world environment on Kvar are MPIs. As you enter individual buildings within the city, you will transfer to a small public instance (SPI) with a finite player capacity. Each building may have dozens of SPIs at any given time. The game will automatically transfer you to the same SPI as fellow party members.


    Fellow party members.


    Flint glanced at Vardock standing beside him, talking to a player in a red robe. A mage, no doubt. That brought his mind back to the other mage. The one he killed and watched die in a Casket.


    ¡°Did I really murder that dude?¡± he wondered aloud.


    No answer from the game.


    ##


    Ten minutes later, the clearing at the edge of Reach City was crowded with players. In front of them, the sheet concealing the litter¡¯s interior opened and a man dressed in white robes wearing a silver crown and golden gems on his fingers emerged.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Jackhammer said, bowing low. ¡°I present you the champions of the Culling Contest.¡±


    Flint glanced between the foul-mouthed arena admin and the Sultan-like figure.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± the King said. ¡°Welcome, noble warriors! My name is Cerevant, and I am His Imperial Majesty¡¯s custodial ruler of Reach.¡±


    Around Flint, the sound of shifting armor as players kneeled. He hesitated, then awkwardly followed suit. That¡¯s what he was supposed to do he guessed.


    ¡°Rise, rise,¡± Cerevant said. ¡°I am not worthy of your prostrations. Though I am a king, I am ¡ª like you ¡ª a servant of the Imperator.¡±


    Flint and the others rose.


    ¡°Now, then,¡± the King continued. ¡°As part of your induction into the army, I present an important message from the true and rightful high ruler of Kvar.¡±


    A thunderous crack sent Flint lurching backwards. Above the King¡¯s litter, a swirling dark cloud appeared. Like the mouth of an animated black hole, it flexed and extended, until a figure appeared at its center.


    Flint recognized him instantly. He wore the same garb in the game''s trailer¡ªsilver armor with a black dragon on the breastplate.


    ¡°Recruits of the Four Kingdoms,¡± Imperator Beovold said in his impossibly deep voice. ¡°Today begins the great contest to determine the future ruler of Kvar. To win this war, you must annihilate your rival armies. You must slaughter their people and seize their capital cities. The army that controls the cities and outposts of all four kingdoms will be declared the victor, and their sovereign will become my successor.¡±


    The weight of those stakes hung over the players for a moment before the magical broadcast continued.


    ¡°Most of you will perish in the coming battles,¡± the Imperator continued. ¡°But if you must die, do so knowing you have given everything in the service of your king or queen.¡±


    Flint swallowed. That knowledge gave him no comfort at all.


    ¡°The age of the Four Kingdoms is ending,¡± the Imperator said. ¡°May you earnestly seek the glory that befits participation in this noble conflict.¡±


    Another thunderous crack ripped through the air, and the black hole disappeared. Atop the litter, King Cerevant was looking mighty pleased.


    ¡°I have every faith in you,¡± Cerevant said. ¡°I know we have the bravest, most skilled soldiers in Kvar. And because of this, we do not fear the road ahead.¡±


    Some half-hearted cheers rose-up from the crowd. Behind the king, the thick Reach flags hanging off the litter flapped in the breeze.


    ¡°Tonight you will celebrate your victory in the Culling Contest,¡± he continued. ¡°On the morrow, you will journey to the town of High Marsh. There, you will learn to become officers in my army. You will learn the skills necessary to lead my soldiers against the brazen frost dogs of the North. Against the wicked jungle scum of the South. Against the desert roaches of the far East. And in good time, we will win this war.¡±


    As the other players and NPCs cheered again, Flint¡¯s HUD flashed an update:


    NEW QUEST: March to High Marsh


    Tomorrow, go with your party to the caravan of Culling champions headed to Officer School in the city of High Marsh.


    ¡°The journey will be long and dangerous,¡± the King continued. ¡°For your victory on the arena sands, I award you 1,000 gold coins. There are numerous armories, weaponeers, and blacksmiths in the city. I recommend you provision yourself for the journey.¡±


    At the bottom of his HUD, a plus-1,000 next to a gold coin icon flashing above his Skill Bar. He inadvertently reached into his right pocket, and felt a large handful of coins. Then two things happened at once. ¡°+500 XP¡± appeared over his Status Bar, and a warm sensation fluttered upward from the tip of his toes to his forehead. There was a bright glow about him for the briefest instant, and a new dialog box opened:


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Congratulations! You have reached Level One. You have one Tree Point to distribute into the Constitution, Talent, or Skill Trees.


    Cerevant continued talking, but Flint needed a distraction. Raising his HUD, he opened the Skill Tree. He didn¡¯t have enough points to buy a new skill, so he switched to the Constitution and Talent Trees. There were three Constitution attributes ¡ª Health, Stamina, and Energy. In a separate frame were five Talents ¡ª Strength, Agility, Vitality, Efficiency, and Charm.


    It was an easy choice. If dying meant really dying, he needed health. He invested the Tree Point into the Health branch with a mere thought. The red meter pulsed before extending by 5%.


    Once his HUD vanished, a light jab in his ribs. He turned to see Vardock grinning stupidly at him. ¡°You alright? Looking kinda green.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Flint said. ¡°I need to sit down.¡±


    ##


    When the King finished, the players dispersed into the city. Flint tried catching Vardock, who was ambulating down the main thoroughfare with the quickness of a man who knew his destination. He ducked into a building with a sign overhead that read Hokum Joe¡¯s Respite.


    A warning flashed into his HUD:


    WARNING ¡ª The Party Leader has entered a new Instance. If you do not follow them in the next 0:30 seconds, you will be killed and respawn at their location.


    Flint burst through the door of the tavern and was hit with the smell of sour beer. A band playing on the stage nearby. Behind the counter, a man with a blotchy rash over his right eye worked a dishrag into a mug, eying the door with keen interest. His right leg wobbled on a wooden peg-leg.


    ¡°Greetings friend,¡± the tavern-keep said to Vardock. ¡°What can I get you?¡±


    The big man dropped into a seat. ¡°Beer.¡±


    Flint scowled and strolled over. As he took the nearby stool, Vardock turned on him with a frown.


    ¡°You following me?¡±


    ¡°The fucking game said it would kill me if I didn¡¯t,¡± Flint said.


    His rival blinked. ¡°It did?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    The big man didn¡¯t seem happy about this revelation. But then he grinned, shrugging. ¡°Bet that pisses you off.¡±


    Anger flared through Flint. This guy would be content with his own inconvenience so long as Flint suffered. ¡°No, I love the idea of being chained to your fat ass.¡±


    The bartender set a mug in front of Vardock and swept up the golden coin on the table. He turned sideways to Flint. ¡°What¡¯ll you have?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± he stammered.


    ¡°Beer for him, too,¡± Vardock said, slapping another coin down. ¡°He deserves something for not screwing-up today.¡±


    Flint ignored the insult. ¡°We just killed a dozen people. What the hell are we going to do about this?¡±


    Vardock took a gulp from the mug, coughed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ¡°Damn, that tastes real.¡±


    ¡°Did you hear me?¡±


    The big man turned with a frown, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. A woman in a short skirt appeared behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned, flashed her a grin, and she knelt over and whispered something in his ear.


    Flint almost interrupted them when a mug was slammed down in front of him.


    ¡°Here ya¡¯are,¡± Hokum Joe said.


    Flint stared at the mug. His mouth was filled with the taste of sour vomit, and he didn¡¯t have any intention of drinking it. A message flashing into his HUD changed all that:


    You are currently depleted of Health. Certain beverages (e.g. Ale) can provide you with a needed Health boost.


    He lifted the mug, frowning, then took a gulp. There was a strange tingling sensation at the back of his throat. It was a very realistic sensation and he was surprised about it. Also, to his surprise, the drink increased his Health bar by a smidgen.


    Flint felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. An absurdly beautiful woman in a black skirt was standing in front of him. She had dark eyes and milky white skin.


    ¡°Hello champion,¡± she said, reaching in and petting him under the chin. ¡°My name is Chastity. What¡¯s yours?¡±


    Flint half-choked on his drink, and Vardock clapped him on the back.


    ¡°His name is Dickhead,¡± Vardock said. ¡°And he needs to unwind.¡±


    Chastity smiled at Vardock then returned her gaze back to him. ¡°I can unwind you.¡±


    Flint blinked. He wasn¡¯t used to this kind of situation. And distracting as the woman was, Flint¡¯s life was on the line here. He had assured thousands of people of the safety of Four Kingdoms. People who were now hooked-up to a Casket that would almost assuredly kill them. He had to figure out a way to get out of the game and tell the FRB what was going on. ¡°Sorry but I¡¯m not in the mood. I need to find a way to quit the game before¡­¡±


    He trailed off as she straddled him, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him close. Flint almost knocked over the mug as he tried to steady her weight ontop of him. She drew her mouth up close to his right ear, and Flint¡¯s senses were battered by the overpowering scent of perfume. Her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take me upstairs?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he croaked.


    A hand snaked down his abdomen and he felt her grab his cock through his dirt-caked trousers. His whole body went rigid. Suddenly, the memory of murdering seven people in the arena dissipated like smoke on the wind. Before he could speak, Chastity grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him out of the seat.


    ¡°Yeah, buh¡ª buddy!¡± Vardock yelled as Flint was dragged toward the stairwell.


    ¡°Uh, listen, I need to take a rain check,¡± Flint said as he tried turning away at the top step.


    She grabbed his arm, nails digging painfully into his shoulder.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± he gasped.


    He was twisted round like a top, facing her. She pushed him against the wall, dust pluming from the drywall.


    ¡°What the fu¡ª¡±


    She pressed her lips to his, forcing her tongue in his airway. He could barely breathe, and thought he would pass out. When she released him, he took a huge gasp of air, like a man almost drowned. Her hands clutched his face tightly, dragging her lips to his ear.


    ¡°I want you to screw my filthy brains out,¡± she hissed at him. Then her mouth attacked his face again.


    ¡°Mmm¡­¡± he said, mouth muffled against her own. This wasn¡¯t so bad. A new feeling bubbled over like a cauldron inside him. His muscles went tense as cords, blood draining from his head like water from a broken pipe. A warmth grew in the pit of his guts, moving downward, concentrating itself in his trousers.


    He let her drag him across the hall. They broke through a wooden door, still lip-locked. She broke free, shoving him backwards onto the bed. His head slammed off the headboard, but he hardly felt it.


    The door shut and she slammed home the lock. He sat up eagerly, watching her move towards him with that alluring sway of the hips and fumbled with his trousers. When he realized she wasn¡¯t moving, he glanced up.


    Chastity glared at him, opening her mouth to speak. But the voice that came out wasn¡¯t her own. It wasn¡¯t feminine at all. Instead, it was a deeper, scratchier voice. A voice so distinct it was unmistakable.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed, kid,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve commandeered this NPC in order to commune with you.¡±


    Flint¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°McCormick?¡±


    ¡°The one and only.¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Said I¡¯d be seeing you again soon, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°How did you¡­ why are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why am I what? Interrupting your fun?¡± And he used her arms to motion to the possessed body. ¡°I¡¯ll let you get on with that in a second, but we¡¯ve business to discuss first.¡±


    ¡°How are you controlling that girl?¡±


    ¡°How,¡± the mobster repeated with a chuckle. He¡ªor actually she¡ªstrode to the window, her high heels clacking off hardwood like the hoofs of a great Clydesdale. Peeling back the shades just enough to give a brief peak outside, he said: ¡°Being an Admin comes with certain privileges.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an Admin?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°First you¡¯re a police informant, now you work for the FRB? Why would they make you an Admin?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a fucking criminal, for one thing.¡±


    ¡°You think?¡±


    ¡°And a back-stabbing piece of shit. Why the hell did you turn me in?¡±


    Chastity snorted. ¡°You still mad about that?¡±


    ¡°You almost got my brother killed.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s alive, right? Gannon got him the meds.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, ¡®cause I struck a deal.¡±


    ¡°Glad things worked out, then. You enjoying the game?¡±


    ¡°Are your FRB friends aware the Caskets are killing people?¡±


    McCormick-Chastity, still looking out the window, gave him a sideways glance. ¡°Figured that out, did you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°And here I thought you were dumb as a sack of hammers. What clued you in?¡±


    ¡°At the end of the Culling battle, I almost died to the final enemy. Only I didn¡¯t die, I just lost all my health and was transported out of the game. I saw the guy I was fighting, but not his character. I mean, I saw him. In the Casket. I saw him fucking flat line when Vardock killed him.¡±


    Chastity¡¯s head twisted around, a sudden look of panic etched into her features. ¡°You left the game universe?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. For a few seconds.¡±


    The woman stared at him. Almost like she¡ªor rather, he¡ªwas deeply pondering the implications. ¡°Shit, he finally said. ¡°I should¡¯ve known this would happen.¡±


    Flint eyed the possessed prostitute warily. Her posture had straightened from the slightly bent forward seductress into a rigid stance. The shift was jarring, almost as extreme as the shift in his own feelings over the past few minutes. From horror at the sight of killing someone, to brainless lust, and now profound confusion. ¡°Known what would happen? What the actual fuck is going on?¡±


    McCormick forced the concerned look off the prostitute¡¯s face. ¡°There¡¯s been some changes to the game. Instead of respawning, the game is terminating any player who dies. We need you to fix it.¡±


    Silence in the room.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Flint finally asked. ¡°I know shit about programming or fixing bugs.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bug. This is a result of a directed, intentional change in the game¡¯s source code.¡±


    ¡°So change it back.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t.¡±


    Flint stared at him¡­ or her¡­ for several seconds. ¡°You¡¯re telling me an FRB employee altered the Casket¡¯s programming so it kills people. And you can¡¯t do anything about it?¡±


    ¡°Not an employee. An entity inside the server. Someone we need you to eliminate.¡±


    ¡°An entity?¡±


    ¡°Imperator Beovold. The NPC who rules Kvar.¡±


    Flint pictured the dragon-transfiguring character that only recently spoke to them outside the city. ¡°How can an NPC change the source code?¡±


    Her gaze remained level, and the male voice broadcasted through her throat was calm. ¡°Our programmers can¡¯t access the files needed to fix the problem. Not until this NPC is terminated. That¡¯s what we need you to do.¡±


    Flint balked. The whole thing was so absurd he considered it might be a prank. ¡°Me? Why me?¡±


    ¡°You''re an elite PvP specialist in a similar game. You have the skills to accomplish the task.¡±


    ¡°This game is a little different from Battle Smite.¡±


    ¡°The principles of player-versus-player combat are the same.¡±


    ¡°Yeah but we¡¯re talking about killing an NPC. Not another player.¡±


    ¡°Before you get to Beovold, you¡¯ll have to kill many players.¡±


    That didn¡¯t sound so good to Flint. Not after what he witnessed in the Arena.


    ¡°The choice is already made,¡± McCormick said. ¡°The FRB wants you and Vardock to build an army strong enough to kill the Imperator.¡±


    Flint scowled. So being paired with fatso wasn''t a coincidence. There was one oddity that now made sense. Still, there were a lot of things that didn¡¯t. ¡°So killing this NPC will magically unlock the source code? How¡¯s that work?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing magical about it.¡±


    ¡°If the NPC altered the code so it kills people, can¡¯t he also make himself invincible?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    He waited for an explanation. When one wasn¡¯t forthcoming, he said: ¡°Why not?¡±


    McCormick chose not to answer. ¡°Tomorrow you and Vardock will travel to Siolan. There, you¡¯ll find a sorceress named Sigrid. She¡¯s going to help you build an army strong enough to defeat the Imperator.¡±


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t want to help?¡±


    Chastity¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Cause if you don¡¯t, your brother can kiss the Decel infusions goodbye.¡±


    Flint expected that was coming. ¡°You and Gannon are scumbags. This isn¡¯t the deal we made.¡±


    ¡°Deals change. Haven¡¯t we been over that?¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Chastity smiled. ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m doing you a favor.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see it that way.¡±


    ¡°Going to High Marsh to join the Reach Army means you¡¯ll be sent into pitched battles. One after another. With the other kingdom¡¯s armies. How long can you survive thousand-man PvP battles? Those instances were designed for players to die and respawn dozens of times before one side captures the field.¡±


    Flint thought about that. The players he fought in the Culling were pretty bad and he still nearly died. In a massive PvP battle with ten times the number of players, there was a lot of randomness that no amount of skill could control for. Still, fighting an NPC controlled by a rogue AI didn¡¯t sound like a great alternative. ¡°You know me and Dexter hate each other, right?¡±


    Chastity shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll get over it.¡±


    Before he could reply, a message popped into his HUD:


    NEW QUEST: PATH OF THE CONQUEROR


    You have been chosen as one of a select group of Culling champions to forge a separate path. Abandon the Reach King and form an army strong enough to defeat the Imperator and conquer the four kingdoms of Kvar.


    NEW QUEST: KEEPING ZEEKE ALIVE, PART I


    You will desert the Kingdom of Reach and form an independent guild strong enough to decimate the armies of the four Kingdoms of Kvar and the Imperator himself. Zeeke will be given his next Decel infusion once you abandon the Reach Army.


    Flint dry-swallowed the bile in his throat. ¡°This isn¡¯t fair.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± McCormick agreed. ¡°But life is full of¡ª¡± he stopped speaking and jerked her head toward the window like a switch had been flipped. She quickly strode over to it, her high-heels clacking off hardwood like the hoofs of a great Clydesdale. She pulled the shade back on the window and peered out. ¡°The enemy is here.¡±


    Flint was so confused he felt like screaming. His voice almost squeaked when he spoke. ¡°Enemy? What enemy?¡±


    Chastity turned to him and the mobster spoke through her in a quiet rush. ¡°Listen carefully. In a few moments, one of Beovold¡¯s Vizicar will arrive. He¡¯ll invite you to meet the Imperator in-person. They know you are a threat, and intend to kill you the moment you step outside Reach City.¡±


    Flint¡¯s chest started heaving as a fresh wave of panic set in. One minute he¡¯s murdering people, then he¡¯s about to get laid, and the minute after that, a demon-possessed hooker is putting thousands of lives on his shoulders. It really was too much. ¡°I need a fucking Xanax¡­¡±


    Chastity put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t leave Reach City with the Vizicar. Inside a Safe Zone, no player can be killed by an NPC. Not unless the player attacks first.¡±


    He closed his eyes and blew out through pursed lips, forcing his breathing rate to slow.


    ¡°Go to Siolan and find Sigrid,¡± McCormick said. ¡°Do this for us, and we¡¯ll take care of Zeeke. You have my word.¡±


    When he didn¡¯t reply, she gave his shoulder a shake. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Sigrid,¡± Flint gasped. ¡°Siolan. Find Sigrid.¡±


    The sound of loud footsteps approached beyond the door. Chastity¡¯s head snapped towards it, a look of panic growing in her features. ¡°Don¡¯t make any sudden moves.¡±


    He opened his mouth to say something. Maybe to protest. Maybe to complain. Whatever it was vanished from his tongue as the door exploded off the hinges.


    He gave a girlish scream as three black figures burst into the room. They ignored him completely and immediately began searching the place. They lifted the small rug, pulled out a frayed wooden panel on the door. One pushed open the window and stuck his giant neck out as though searching for an escapee. Another reached under the bed frame and flipped it over as though he wasn¡¯t laying on it.


    ¡°Ooph!¡± he grunted, smacking onto the floor like dead weight. He strained his neck up, spotting Chastity in the corner, hugging herself and watching him with a terrified countenance.


    ¡°Alone,¡± one guard announced, voice muffled by the helmet.


    A man in a dark robe appeared in the doorway. It was one of those monk-like figures that surrounded Imperator Beovold in the trailer. The man has a black hood drawn up that cast most of his face in shadow. Only the orange glow of two eyeballs and the sharp end of a nose was visible. On his right breast was a dragon sigil.


    Flint¡¯s targeter scanned him.


    Vizicar Camorr


    Level 200 Specialist Magus


    The hooded man stared at him coldly, his orange eyes unblinking.


    ¡°You are Master Walker?¡± Camorr asked in a voice like reedy hinges.


    He swallowed. Knowing the monk-like figure wanted to kill him made it hard to suppress the urge to run. But that hardly seemed like an option. ¡°I am.¡±


    The Vizicar¡¯s orange eyes danced across his form, and Flint did his best to lay still with both hands visible and non-threatening.


    ¡°His Imperial Majesty has been awaiting your arrival to this land for many years.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡±


    ¡°He knows you to be a powerful warrior from another realm, and would very much like to meet you,¡± Camorr said. ¡°Tomorrow. Before your caravan leaves for High Marsh.¡±


    Silence in the room. Flint wasn¡¯t sure what to say, so he said nothing.


    ¡°You will meet us on the hill beyond the city¡¯s western gate at sundown,¡± Camorr said.


    A quest popped into his HUD:


    NEW QUEST: THE BLOODLINE


    Meet the Vizicarum outside the northern gates of Reach City after sundown tomorrow.


    Camorr fixed him with a glowing stare for a long moment. Almost like he was trying to remember something.


    ¡°Have a good evening,¡± the man finally said. He raised a gloved hand and snapped his fingers. The soldiers turned and left the room, the door slamming shut behind them.


    Flint glanced at the prostitute. She was hugging herself in the corner, eyes wide with fright. ¡°You still in there?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked in a voice that sounded much more feminine.


    He heaved a ragged sigh. ¡°Never mind.¡±


    She tip-toed toward the door, watching him like a potential assailant. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don''t feel well¡­¡±


    She disappeared through the door, leaving only the diminishing sound of heels clicking off the hardwood.

 CHAPTER 06 — ALE AND CARJA

    CHAPTER 06 ¡ª ALE AND CARJA


    Flint lay on the floor a long moment parsing everything. None of it made sense.


    The Caskets were killing people. The very thing he was promised would not happen was, in fact, happening. Players dying in the game died in real life. The exact same thing that happened to his parents so long ago.


    There were several absurdities to this. First was the fact the Casket had a built-in setting that allowed it to kill its occupant under certain conditions. The second was that Imperator Balevold¡ªa mere NPC¡ªcould define those conditions. Third, and most confusing of all, was that the FRB expected mere players like Flint to fix it.


    ¡°Tomorrow you and Vardock will travel to Siolan. There, you¡¯ll find a sorceress named Sigrid. She¡¯s going to help you build an army strong enough to defeat the Imperator.¡±


    ¡°Shit...¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°What a mess.¡±


    Find Sigrid in Siolan. He didn¡¯t know where that was, so naturally the first step was to find out.


    Strange enough, the mere thought caused an alert to flash in his HUD. The icon of a brown leather book appeared in his visual field.


    NOTE ¡ª You have new Clavis entries.


    A pop-in window appeared. The title of the window read ¡°Clavis,¡± and it had two tabs¡ª¡±Codex¡± and ¡°Map.¡± With a mere thought, Flint opened the Map tab.


    The semi-rectangular landmass of Kvar filled his central vision. A geologically diverse continent of mountain ranges, snowy tundras, deserts, and jungles. Reach City was on the western end, three-quarters of the way to Kvar¡¯s jagged northern tip. The city called High Marsh was labeled to the south near the western coastline, a good hundred miles along a winding road through hill country. To the east of Reach City was forestlands stretching from the slope of a great mountain range called Felspar, ending a few hundred miles in the dead center of the continent where a giant tower was illustrated amidst a heavily fortified city. Imperial Hold, it was called. Flint would bet that was the Imperator¡¯s residence¡ªthe place from where Balevold surveyed the other four kingdoms in the trailer. It lay at the midpoint between four major cities highlighted with stars colored to match the shade of their kingdom¡¯s region. Reach City to the northwestern half, at the edge of the Bellwood Forest. Lancour to the snowy northeast, hugging the Felspar Mountains. Venfall to the far southwest, on the volcano-packed coast of the Dire Sea, and Sandstone to the southeast, in the middle of the Dread Desert.


    Flint squinted. Siolan was no more than thirty miles from Imperial Hold. So close that it fell inside an unshaded zone. He presumed that none of the four Kingdoms held jurisdiction over the city.


    He gave an aggravated sigh. That was damn close to the Imperator¡¯s place. Seemed pretty insane to plot his murder just a few miles away. Not only that, but the distance from Reach City to Siolan was vast. Who knew what dangers and annoyances awaited him in that giant-ass forest?


    That thought caused him to scowl. There was at least one annoyance he was sure about. And it came in the form of a good-for-nothing narcissist to whom the game had attached him. ¡°Fucking Dexter.¡±


    As he walked to the door to find Vardock, a loud voice penetrated the walls of his room.


    ¡°I demand you to tell me how to quit the game NOW!¡±


    Flint raised a brow and exited the room. The tavern was overtaken with an unexpected quiet. He stepped over to the railing. And froze.


    Vizicar Camorr and his entourage of black-clad soldiers stood near the entrance. In front of them was a player in a generic Culling warrior¡¯s breastplate. The owner of the voice.


    ¡°Tell me how to quit this game you orange-eyed bitch!¡±


    Flint blinked. Evidently, the Vizicar hadn¡¯t left the tavern. Worse yet, this idiot sounded close to fighting to him. Flint''s targeter scanned the crazy asshole:


    AndroKung33


    Level 1 Charger


    ¡°You are a bold one, aren¡¯t you?¡± Camorr purred.


    A palpable foreboding overtook the room. Most NPCs and players moved to the corners of the tavern, as far from the hooded menace as possible. Hokum Joe seemed unsettled, too. The proprietor¡¯s hands were frozen on a dishrag, his face white as milk.


    AndroKung33 smashed his fists on the bar, causing mugs to jump. A man nearby leapt back, beer spilling down the front of his tunic. ¡°My sister was killed at the Culling battle, damn you! I want to start the game over and play with her!¡±


    ¡°If your sister died,¡± the Vizicar said slowly. ¡°The only way to join her is to forfeit your own life.¡±


    Flint felt a tingling up the back of his spine. Something very bad was about to happen.


    AndroKung33 unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the Vizicar and his soldiers. The three soldiers unsheathed their own blades and stepped forward in ready stances.


    ¡°Then kill me so I can respawn,¡± AndroKung33 said. ¡°Playing this game alone is shit.¡±


    The player darted at the hooded figure with raised blade.


    The Vizicar raised his right hand a fraction of an inch, making a little flicking motion. Just a flick. Like he was waving away hors d''oeuvres from a waiter.


    Flint felt tug in the pit of his stomach. A strange sensation, not unlike the one he felt on the Silvestre¡¯s elevators as they ascended the artificial gravity well.


    AndroKung33 was mid-stride, sword raised, screaming like a banshee. There was a wet squelch, and the man exploded, bursting apart like a bomb detonated in his innards. The crowd screamed and jumped away. But the killing made no mess. Shreds of the player hung in the air as though caught in freeze-frame, coalescing into a shrinking sphere.


    As the fine-shredded meat particles of AndroKung33 collapsed into a singularity, Flint had to force the sphincter-end of his colon closed. What he just witnessed was both the cleanest and most disgusting murder he¡¯d ever seen. In a video game, that is. And yet this wasn¡¯t just a game. Dying in a video game used to mean respawning and trying again. Or slapping your goggles and controllers down and getting back to reality. Either way, life didn¡¯t end in virtual reality.


    At least not until now.


    Bile rose in the back of his throat as he realized that somewhere back on the Arks, another person had expired inside a Casket.


    The tavern was dead quiet.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Vizicar Camorr said. The sorcerer¡¯s gaze swept the room, rising to the second level and finding a stupefied Flint at the railing. ¡°Some people aren''t meant for our world.¡±


    Flint felt his balls lift an inch. To his credit, though, he held the stare until the hooded killer pivoted and led his goons out the door. He stayed there a long moment, moist hands gripping the railing, pulse thudding in his skull.


    The crowd remained motionless for several long seconds. After it was clear the Vizicar was gone, someone walked over to AndroKung33¡¯s spilled articles. It was another player, a mage by the looks of it. He reached down and lifted the trousers, inspecting them like a customer in a department store. Seemingly satisfied, he grabbed an inventory sack from his belt and dropped in the newfound loot.


    As the terror gripping Flint faded, he made a decision. Vardock was nowhere to be found in the crowd below, so he turned his heel and started knocking on doors.


    ##


    The first door was opened by an angry-looking man in a dirty cloak. Behind him was a woman dressed in similarly ill-fitting rags, clutching a sack. They looked like beggars squatting in the small bedroom. Flint apologized and moved on to the next one. Rooms two and three were occupied by NPCs and none seemed happy about the interruption. The fourth was opened after a long pause by Vardock. He stepped out butt naked, his rotund frame occupying the whole doorway. From head-to-toe he was sopping wet with soapy water. Behind him, a bath was running. Two girlish sets of giggles leaked out from inside.


    ¡°Hey, check it out,¡± the big man said. He planted both hands on his hips and began gyrating, his junk slapping off his enormous thighs. ¡°I¡¯m hung like a huh¡ª huh¡ª horse.¡±


    Flint recoiled. ¡°Can you stop that?¡±


    Vardock¡¯s smile turned into a frown. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    He thought of the best way to explain it. ¡°This is gunna sound strange, but I was just cornered by an Admin. He told me¡ª¡±


    ¡°An Admin?¡± Vardock¡¯s gaze swept the hall. ¡°Like from the FRB?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    Flint hesitated. ¡°He took control of an NPC. He was talking to me through her.¡±


    ¡°What, you mean like a duh¡ª demon?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d he do that?¡±


    ¡°How should I know?¡± he snapped. ¡°The point is, we have to go to Siolan. It¡¯s a city in the south near Imperial Hold. I need to find a witch named Sigrid and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa.¡± The big man emphasized the words with extended palms high-fiving the air between them. ¡°I¡¯m not interested in the long version.¡±


    ¡°What, you got more pressing matters?¡±


    ¡°Me and these chicks are having a swuh¡ª swuh¡ª soir¨¦e¡­¡±


    Flint¡¯s anger flared. ¡°Can you stop fucking around? People are dying and we need to fix it.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± Vardock spat. ¡°Last I checked, you hated my guts.¡±


    ¡°This Admin put us together. And now we¡¯re in a Party, I can¡¯t leave this place without you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave then.¡±


    Flint tried to force his anger down. With great patience, he said, ¡°Look man, you¡¯re not getting it. The FRB wants us to fix a problem with the game. It¡¯s killing people, dude.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I get it,¡± Vardock said. ¡°I just don¡¯t care. Come back in the morning.¡±


    The door slammed in his face.


    Flint seethed at the door and considered kicking it off the hinges. But then a better idea surfaced. If the selfish prick wanted to play it that way, Flint would press the issue. All he had to do was leave the tavern and let the game force the shitbag to follow. The same way it forced Flint to follow him into this tavern.


    Apparently just cogitating his intentions triggered a warning. A tool-tip to flash in his HUD:


    WARNING ¡ª You are not the Party Leader. If you leave the current Instance, you will be killed and respawned in the Party Leader¡¯s location.


    He balked at the message. ¡°Party Leader? What the fuck?¡±


    But the meaning was obvious. There was no going anywhere unless Vardock agreed.


    He turned back to the door and gave it a vicious kick. ¡°Dexter!¡± He hammered at the frame. ¡°Open up!¡±


    No response. Flint stayed there a good thirty seconds, hammering at the thing like a suffocating captive in an airlock. With a single punch, he forced a dent into the soft wooden frame. ¡°Open the fucking door!¡±


    ¡°Hey, arselicker!¡±


    Flint turned and saw Hokum Joe standing at the top of the stairwell. The wine-colored side of the NPC¡¯s face was squinted-up in rage.


    ¡°Are you unfit, man?¡± the tavern keep asked. ¡°First you insult my Chastity, now yer fixin¡¯ to destroy the place with those meat mittens ¡®o yers.¡±


    Flint glanced at the dent he punched in the door, face reddening. ¡°Oh shit, my bad.¡±


    ¡°Your bad, eh?¡± Hokum Joe said. ¡°I¡¯d like you to leave my establishment. Now.¡±


    ¡°Leave? I can¡¯t leave.¡±


    The tavern keep turned over his shoulder. ¡°Merla! Go fetch the Street Watch!¡±


    Panic surged inside him. Getting ejected from the tavern would kill him. He ran toward the NPC, who took a step backward as though expecting to get tackled. But Flint simply dropped to both knees.


    ¡°Please, sir,¡± Flint said, prostrating before the NPC. ¡°Don''t kick me out. I promise to behave.¡±


    Hokum Joe frowned at him like he was a peculiar type of insect.


    ¡°Please,¡± Flint begged, grabbing the man by his wooden leg. ¡°Please¡­ I¡¯ll pay you¡­ for the door¡­¡±


    ¡°And for Chastity,¡± the tavern keep gruffed. ¡°A hundred gold pieces.¡±


    Flint frowned. He didn¡¯t exactly get his money¡¯s worth with the prostitute. But now was hardly the time to argue. ¡°Alright. A hundred gold pieces.¡±


    The coin icon in his HUD flashed, along with the agreed-upon sum in red digits. Flint sensed the instant lightening of weight in his pocket.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The tavern keep jerked his peg leg free of Flint¡¯s grasp. ¡°And pull yer act together. This here¡¯s a place o¡¯ business, d¡¯ya see? Not a bloody circus.¡±


    ##


    Flint dropped into a barstool. He wasn¡¯t happy about waiting for Vardock, but he had no choice. That, and his Health bar was in a shitty state. The metered indicator of mortality still hovered in the dangerously low range, and there was no use going anywhere till that was corrected.


    He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold coin. Raising it up to a girl in a Bavarian beer wench outfit, he said: ¡°I¡¯ll take a water.¡±


    The barmaid frowned. ¡°We don¡¯t have water.¡±


    ¡°Then what do you have?¡±


    ¡°Ale, mead, cider, and wine.¡±


    ¡°Do you have anything non-alcoholic?¡±


    ¡°Nonalca-what?¡±


    ¡°Do you have anything that won¡¯t get me drunk?¡± he asked. ¡°I need to uh... keep my wits about me.¡±


    ¡°Anything¡¯ll get you drunk, you drink too much of it,¡± she said. She gave a surreptitious glance left and right before leaning across the bar. ¡°But if I¡¯m being honest, the Ale here¡¯s weaker than monk¡¯s piss.¡±


    He had never imbibed monk¡¯s piss, but he took her meaning well enough. ¡°Ale, then.¡±


    The girl plucked the coin from his hand and walked off.


    He leaned against the table and massaged his forehead. A fierce headache was building behind his eyeballs. Hopefully the booze wouldn¡¯t worsen it.


    The barmaid slapped a big-handled mug of frothy amber in front of him. He thanked her, took a drink, and watched his Health bar recover by the slightest smidge.


    ##


    An hour later, he was working on his third Ale. His Health meter was around 80% and he was buzzed. Which was good, because it dulled the anxiety and anger about the fucked-up stuff he¡¯d learned the last few hours.


    He gave an unpleasant belch that lifted stomach acid into his throat.


    ¡°They got 100,000 sign-ups after your appearance on Sig Sours last night,¡± Geb had told him.


    The guilt squeezed at his brain. Thousands joined the game on his say-so. And now thousands were likely dead.


    He scowled at his empty mug. It wasn¡¯t fair, to blame himself. After all, it was the FRB who fucked up the programming. All Flint did was hock their game on some idiot¡¯s show. And not for money, either. He¡¯d been threatened to do their promotions or rot in jail while cancer killed Zeeke. When you thought about it, Flint was more of a victim than anyone else. And now fixing it was his problem?


    ¡°Fucking bullshit,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°What is?¡±


    He turned a bit too suddenly and reeled from the sway in his vision. It settled on a man in a leather jerkin with a crossbow on his back. At first, Flint figured him as an NPC because he wasn¡¯t wearing Culling armor. But then his targeter scanned him:


    Dickhead McBallsenstein


    Level 1 Marksman


    ¡°Nothing. Talking to myself.¡±


    McBallsenstein plopped into the seat next to him. ¡°That¡¯s fuckin¡¯ gay.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡±


    The player grinned. ¡°You look like you tongue anus.¡±


    Flint glanced around, thinking the idiot was talking to someone else. But the nearest person was ten paces away. He was about to ask for a reason for the insult, then thought better of it. Random shit-talking was typical in video games. Especially in these multi-Instance towns where a million players gathered. A consequence of mixing public gatherings with total anonymity.


    McBallsenstein picked up a half-full cup of wine abandoned by another patron and drank, half the red liquid spilling down the side of his face. He slammed the cup down and belched. Turning to Flint, he said: ¡°Hey bro, you got a fuckin¡¯ gold piece I can borrow?¡±


    ¡°After you just insulted me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± McBallsenstein said. ¡°I spent all my fuckin¡¯ cash on this new armor and crossbow.¡±


    Flint did like the look of the guy¡¯s armor. ¡°Where¡¯d you buy it?¡±


    ¡°Out there,¡± he jerked his head at the door. ¡°There¡¯s a billion NPC shops. Lots of fly-ass swords and other shit.¡±


    He made a mental note to pick up new gear. He turned and glanced at the rooms upstairs. Damn but Vardock was taking forever.


    ¡°You win your shit today?¡± the marksman asked.


    ¡°The Culling battle?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be here if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess not. I fuckin¡¯ won, too.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I was a fuckin¡¯ Battle Smite player,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m used to this kind of PvP, you know?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°And the kids I faced sucked donkey balls. They couldn¡¯t chain their skills for shit.¡±


    Flint remembered the female mage who misused the debuff spell on him. Hilarious at the time. But now the memory of opening her brain cavity made him cringe. That poor girl was dead. And he really killed her.


    He heaved a ragged sigh and felt a strong urge to drink more. ¡°There were a lot of trash-tier noobs in my match, too. Me and another guy shit on them pretty easily.¡±


    The barmaid came back and took Flint¡¯s empty mug. She glanced between him and the player next to him with a raised brow.


    ¡°Another Ale for me,¡± Flint said, pulling out two coins. ¡°And a cup of wine for this bitch.¡±


    The woman scowled, whether at the uncouth language or the look she got from McBallsenstein. She took the money all the same.


    ¡°Thanks, dawg,¡± McBallsenstein said.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°You doing that fuckin¡¯ quest tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°The caravan to High Marsh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Flint remembered McCormick''s warning:


    ¡°You cannot go with the caravan,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°The Vizicarum will be waiting along the route and will kill you the instant you leave the boundaries of Reach City.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. You?¡±


    The other player shrugged. ¡°In these fuckin¡¯ games, I like to explore on my own. But I heard if we don¡¯t do that fuckin¡¯ quest, then we can¡¯t get deployed to¡­¡±


    One of the hookers happened by just then, and the marksman lost his train of thought. ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    Flint watched as he walked over and grabbed the woman by the arm. They exchanged words, and he reached into his pocket and produced a fistful of coins. Without a second glance, McBallsenstein was led toward the stairwell.


    Maybe it was the booze that dulled his anger, but Flint couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Spent all his gold my ass.¡±


    The barmaid returned with both drinks and Flint studied his Health bar. About 85% full. Which meant one more drink should do the trick.


    He tipped the mug and took a deep pull. No sooner had he finished did a yellow warning flash in his lower vision, just above his Skill Bar.


    Toxidrome: Alcohol Intoxication.


    This was accompanied by a tool-tip:


    You are intoxicated. Skills now cost an additional 5% Stamina. Continuing to drink increases your risk for a Hangover and potentially a blackout (not to mention bad decisions).


    He hoisted a brow. It¡¯d been a long time since he was drunk. Doctor Reddy told him to avoid alcohol because of his muscular dystrophy meds. But he partook on rare occasions. The last time was after his fourth Pro Circuit trophy win. His visor sponsor paid assloads of Scrip for three bottles of hard liquor (then an increasingly rare commodity on the ship). He remembered sitting with Zeeke, Esmeralda, and a half-dozen VizeWear employees, inhaling vodka shots till it was coming out his ears. He remembered waking the next morning in a capsized wheelchair on the bathroom floor, his jeans piss-soaked to the ankles.


    The memory reminded him of the pain in his bladder.


    Hokum Joe was standing nearby, so Flint signaled him over.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± the tavern owner said.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the pisser?¡±


    ¡°Courtyard,¡± he said, pointing across the room. Flint followed his finger to a door near the stage, where three players were spilling in, talking loudly and laughing like lunatics.


    He stood and moved toward the door, doing it slowly to savor the sensation of ambulation. It was weird enough to be walking, but doubly so drunk.


    The tavern had a steady flow to it. Patrons in Culling armor were spread around the room, cavorting with each other and the NPCs. Drinking booze from big mugs, eating stews from wooden bowls and slabs of meat on sticks. The band¡ªthree fellows in feather caps and bard¡¯s robes played an up-tempo tune with plucked instruments. A raucous crew loudly argued at a table loaded with oddly-illustrated playing cards and piles of gold coins. A female Vanguard chased a cat around the room. The feline fucker darted between Flint¡¯s legs, causing the drunk broad to nearly launch him linebacker-style through a window.


    ¡°Watch it,¡± he admonished her.


    ¡°Fuck your mother, shit-wizard,¡± she snapped.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a wizard,¡± he mumbled. But she was too busy yelling after the overgrown rat.


    He pushed open the door and stepped into a cool breeze. The courtyard was really an enclosed square with benches surrounded by plots of shrubbery. Overhead, a bright, big-ass moon took up half the night sky, serving as the background to a much smaller one in front of it.


    He walked down the cobbled path past a congregation of players sucking on glowing smoke sticks. Just beyond the benches stood a pair of wooden shit-houses. A chink of light from a lantern hung between them, illuminating the gender designations.


    He pushed into the one labeled ¡°Lads¡±. A septic stench assaulted his nostrils and almost made him gag. The bathroom¡ªif you could call it that¡ªwas a shack with a gutter that ran from one wall to the other. Two guys were pissing in it, which Flint was thankful for cause the reek suggested it was dual-purpose.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t they just make regular toilets?¡± he mumbled as he fished his prick out. Before initializing a stream, he studied the thing. Looked kinda like his real-world equipment. Strikingly realistic. Which made him wonder if the FRB had a guy whose job it was to program the dong experience. Schlong Engineer. Maybe that¡¯s what they called him. The thought brought a drunken grin to his lips.


    ¡°Ahhhhhhhh¡­ there it goes.¡±


    Flint started, turning to catch the sideways glance of an older NPC. The frail-looking gray-haired man wore a gambeson with a rusted short sword on his belt. He was bow-legged and straining to keep the ends of his massive coat spread as he executed a hands-free sprinkle. Grinning over at Flint, he said: ¡°The river don¡¯t flow like it used to.¡±


    Flint shuffled sideways for breathing room and finished his business.


    ##


    There was still no sign of Vardock when Flint reclaimed his seat at the bar.


    He sighed and nursed the cup of wine he¡¯d bought for that bum McBallsenstein when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a woman behind him. And the shock of recognition took his breath away.


    She was an idealized avatar of the real person. Long, vulcanite-black hair crashed over bare tawny shoulders. An hourglass figure in a mage¡¯s dress that emphasized her perfect dimensions. A heart-shaped face with big emerald eyes and puffy, heart-shaped lips. Her smile was as radiant as the glowing wand on her belt.


    Flint¡¯s mouth hung open. The woman was a breathing incarnation of every gonadal male¡¯s fantasy. And yet there was no mistaking her identity. ¡°Esmeralda?¡±


    She bent down and kissed him hard on the mouth. There was a strong taste of wine on her breath, which explained the act. When she unlocked her lips from his, she enveloped him in a hug. ¡°Oh Austin,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking everywhere for you.¡±


    Flint was so flabbergasted it was hard to speak. Her arms were hung over his shoulders like they were dance partners. She gave off a citrusy, metallic fragrance so pleasant it clouded his thinking ability. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were playing this game¡­¡±


    She gave a hiccup and covered her mouth. Then she leaned in on him, with slurred words, said: ¡°I got three kills in the deathmatch. Aren¡¯t you proud of me?¡±


    Mention of the Culling snapped him free of the daze. ¡°Esmeralda, this game isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    She gave him a pouty frown. ¡°I was tier 4 in Battle Smite. I can hold my own.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand,¡± he lowered his voice to a whisper. ¡°Your life is really in danger.¡±


    Her smile didn¡¯t waiver as she looked him up and down, her pretty head wobbling on an unsteady axis. ¡°Your character looks like the real Austin Flint.¡±


    Flint frowned. His current visage bore no resemblance to that scrawny, invalid body he escaped. ¡°Are you kidding? I don¡¯t look the same at all.¡±


    She raised a brow. ¡°Well, I mean you are more¡­ sturdy¡­ and handsome, I guess. Not that your real self isn¡¯t handsome.¡± She gave him a grin that he didn¡¯t reciprocate. ¡°But¡­ I don¡¯t know. Your face is similar. I could tell it was you from across the room.¡±


    Anger flared in his cheeks. Irrational anger, maybe, but he couldn¡¯t really help it. ¡°Actually, now you mention it, you look really similar too.¡±


    She blinked. Glancing at her supernatural form, she said: ¡°Do you think? I thought this was a slight upgrade¡­¡±


    He gave an unimpressed shrug. ¡°Seems like they just copied your real-life body.¡±


    A flush formed in her cheeks. One that would¡¯ve melted the heart of any normal man. ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me, lovely,¡± a voice said behind them.


    They turned to see a warrior with twin hatchets on his back. He was an impressive-looking fellow, about seven feet tall, with a square jaw and long black beard that made him look like a Viking. For such a majestic-looking figure, it was something of a disappointment when his name flashed on the targeter:


    Retarded Fetus


    Level 1 Vanguard


    ¡°Oh! Fetus!¡± Esmeralda drunkenly proclaimed. She grabbed the warrior¡¯s wrist and yanked him closer. ¡°Austin, you have to meet my teammate. He¡¯s the¡ª¡± she hiccuped, becoming slightly breathless. ¡°He¡¯s the best Four Kingdoms player ever.¡±


    Fetus grabbed Esmeralda¡¯s hand and spun her around. He made a show of dipping her like an expert dancer. ¡°And you¡¯re the most beautiful girl I¡¯ve ever laid eyes on.¡±


    Esmeralda put a hand on her forehead, swooning. Then she hugged the giant man tightly, her head resting on his shoulder. Almost as if she was passed out. Which wouldn''t surprise Flint. Seemed Esmeralda¡¯s ability to hold her liquor was about as dismal in the game as it was in real life.


    Flint¡¯s scowl was fierce enough to melt ice.


    ¡°You know each other IRL?¡± Fetus asked, using the acronym for In Real Life.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Flint grunted.


    ¡°She look anything like this IRL?¡±


    Esmeralda was suddenly reanimated. ¡°Austin says I look the same. Just ask him. He just told me I do!¡±


    Fetus did his own once-over of Flint¡¯s attributes. The warrior¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Holy fuck-balls. You really are Flintlock. Without the wheelchair, of course.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m he.¡±


    ¡°Shit, man, when she bought that charm to locate a dude called Austin Flint, I didn¡¯t really think it was you.¡±


    ¡°I told you!¡± Esmeralda said, still holding onto the warrior, much to Flint¡¯s annoyance.


    ¡°A charm?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s this lady selling map markers for any player in the game,¡± he said. ¡°Must be bugged though. I tried buying one for my cousin cause he died in the Culling fight. The stupid NPC just kept saying she couldn¡¯t locate him.¡±


    Flint had nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you guys come play Windlass,¡± the warrior said, motioning toward the back of the tavern. A motley crew of players of different genders and classes whooped and hollered over a gaming table. They seemed to be having a great time.


    ¡°Of course we can,¡± Esmeralda said, and reached down and grabbed his wrist. ¡°Come on, Austin. You can be on my tea¡ª¡± she covered her mouth and gave such a violent hiccup that Flint thought she might ralph all over Fetus. Or maybe he was just hoping for it.


    Flint pulled away. ¡°No, that¡¯s okay.¡±


    Esmeralda gave him a drunken frown.


    ¡°Do you mind if I borrow her for a bit, then?¡± Fetus asked, putting his arm around her in a way that seemed creepy to Flint but that Esmeralda enjoyed. She was giggling like a schoolgirl.


    He forced a shrug. ¡°Why would I care?¡±


    She leaned toward him, swaying unsteady, and whispered at him. Or at least she thought it was a whisper. As shit-hammered as she was, half the bar could hear her. ¡°Are you mad at me?¡±


    ¡°Why would I be mad?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Go play cards.¡± He jerked his head in the direction of the other idiots. ¡°Just don¡¯t leave without talking to me.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s in good hands, Flintlock,¡± Fetus said, grabbing her around the waist.


    He didn¡¯t reply to that. He just wanted them to go away. Thankfully they did, marching to the back of the room and groping each other the whole way.


    He slammed the remaining Ale into his mug and stood. It was becoming oppressively hot in the tavern, and he needed air. He stood and walked to the door, got two steps away when he heard his name.


    ¡°Walker!¡±


    He turned and saw three players in Culling armor and green capes sitting at a table.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± he said.


    One of the guys raised a hand as if to wave. A green dart-shaped projectile exploded from his hand.


    Flint jumped back, but not before it hit him in the chest with the impact of a light push. An alert flashed above his Skill Bar:


    Buff: Shaman¡¯s Blessing of Vigour


    It was accompanied by a tool-tip: For the next minute, your stamina will regenerate five times faster than normal.


    Flint blinked. Not an attack, then. ¡°Very funny,¡± he said.


    They thought so. The three dickheads cackled like it was the funniest shit they¡¯d ever seen, stopping only to repeat the prank on the next passerby.


    He stepped back into the courtyard, and was hit with a pleasant blast of cool air. He reached up and loosened the top straps of his armor. Heat radiated through his vented neckline like steam from a sauna. Stepping over to a bench, he whisked away the moisture with a sleeve and sat down. It was only as his ass hit the bench did he realize the Warhammer was still on his back.


    ¡°Amazing how those things feel like nothing when you¡¯re carrying them.¡±


    He glanced sideways. A red-haired girl in archer¡¯s armor stood nearby with a pencil-sized stick between her fingers. Red embers at the tip emitted a carmine-colored smoke that smelled like cinnamon.


    He studied the girl. His targeter identified her as Alannah, a level one Druid. ¡°What¡¯s that you¡¯re smoking?¡±


    She turned the stick sideways and studied it. ¡°It¡¯s called Carja.¡±


    ¡°Smells good. Where¡¯d you get it?¡±


    ¡°Vendor up the street. Cost only a few coins.¡± She gave it a deep puff, then stepped toward him holding it out. ¡°Try it.¡±


    Flint took it hesitantly. It had a cold, rough feel¡ªlike a piece of serrated metal. A HUD tool-tip popped into his vision:


    Carja is a mild calming agent with very few, mild side effects.


    ¡°Go on,¡± she said. ¡°It just gives you a little buzz, that¡¯s all.¡±


    He put the stick in his mouth and took a cautious puff. His eyes began to water, and he hacked a few coughs. It tasted like sweet cinnamon. ¡°Tastes good,¡± he said, handing it back.


    She took it and puffed, then handed it back to him. And then they repeated the cycle. They remained that way for several minutes, him sitting and her standing. Other bar patrons came in and out, some catching fresh air, some strolling to-and-from the shit houses.


    ¡°What kind of name is Alannah?¡± Flint said, surprised to be slurring his words.


    ¡°Alannah means beautiful in Gaelic,¡± she said. ¡°Something I am very far from in real-life.¡±


    He took his fourth round of puffs. The warm, pleasant sensation ran-up his toes into his cheeks.


    ¡°What kind of name is Walker?¡± she asked.


    For no real reason at all, he giggled. ¡°Crippled. I¡¯mma wheelchair.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in a wheelchair?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He was starting to feel dizzy and shaky. ¡°People dying in this game. Can¡¯t escape it without dying.¡±


    Alannah giggled. ¡°What other drugs have you had tonight?¡±


    Flint giggled along with her, laughing so hard snot dripped from his nose. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Funny stuff¡­¡± He felt his heart racing. He tried standing but swayed backward. Alannah grabbed him and eased him back onto the bench.


    ¡°Easy,¡± she said. ¡°Maybe you need a break from the alcohol.¡±


    ¡°Gotta find Sigrid.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way to quit the game,¡± Flint said. ¡°Just try to quit. No way to quit¡­¡±


    He got up again, and the world swayed. She said something, but he couldn¡¯t make it out. Somehow he managed to stumble through the doorway. After his vision stopped wavering, he spotted Esmeralda on the other side of the bar. She was sitting next to a recognizable figure.


    ¡°Hey there buddy!¡± Vardock yelled. ¡°Just met your friend, Esse.¡±


    Flint grabbed the edge of the bar and pulled himself toward them. He took two steps, lost his footing, and went sideways. His face smashed something hard, and all went black.

 CHAPTER 07 — TO THE WOODS

    CHAPTER 07 ¡ª TO THE WOODS


    The instant Flint opened his eyes, a yellow warning appeared above his Skill Bar:


    Illness: Severe Hangover


    This was accompanied by a tool-tip:


    You are physically and mentally weakened as a result of overindulgence. Skills now cost an additional 25% Stamina and your Health is reduced by 10%.


    He glanced around. He was in one of the tavern¡¯s private rooms. The door was open to the corridor, allowing sound to drift in. Vardock was in a seat next to the doorway.


    ¡°Morning suh¡ª suh¡ª sunshine.¡±


    He squinted at his arch-nemesis turned Party Leader. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Where else am I gunna go? Stuck with you, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    Flint sat up and was hit with a stabbing pain behind the eyeballs. He groaned and clutched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. ¡°Ah¡­¡± he grimaced. ¡°Feels like I got smashed in the face with a brick.¡±


    ¡°Innkeeper said you smoked that Carja stuff. Can¡¯t mix Ale with Carja or it fuh¡ª fuh¡ª messes you up.¡±


    He thought back to puffing on the smoke-stick with the girl outside. ¡°Lesson learned.¡±


    He tried standing, felt a wave of nausea course through his guts. ¡°Am I supposed to feel this sick in a freaking video game?¡±


    ¡°I got hit with an arrow during that Culling match,¡± Vardock said. ¡°The pain was very real. Wouldn¡¯t be surprised to catch the shuh¡ª shits from bad food.¡±


    He remembered the gut-wrenching pain from similar battle injuries yesterday and couldn¡¯t help but agree.


    Vardock reached in his pocket and produced a small vial of golden liquid. He tossed it over. ¡°Here.¡±


    Flint caught it in one hand. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Hangover antidote. Your friend EsseCount bought it.¡±


    Flint almost forgot about Esmeralda. Last he remembered, she was traipsing about the tavern drunk off her ass. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    ¡°Two doors down.¡±


    He pushed himself off the bed.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t disturb her if I were you,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s with that Retarded Fetus guy.¡±


    Flint froze in the doorway. He turned around, blood draining from his face. ¡°What?¡±


    As if in answer, a door creaked open in the corridor. Flint turned around and spotted Esmeralda in the doorway. She was scratching her eye and yawning. When she looked up and spotted him, she smiled. ¡°Hey.¡±


    She wore the same clothes as the night prior, though her long black hair was disheveled. He could hear the sound of another person moving in the room behind her.


    He stared at her perfect form, the jealousy close to overwhelming him. The two stood gaze-locked for several awkward seconds.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Esmeralda said, waving at him. ¡°Anyone home?¡±


    Flint worked his jaw, trying to restrain the words he knew were coming. ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡±


    She glanced left and right as though it wasn¡¯t clear who he was addressing. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You¡­ how could you¡­¡± A sharp twinge of embarrassment made him hesitate. Who was he to scold her? He wasn¡¯t her damn father.


    She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze. Damn but she was drop-dead gorgeous. The more he looked at her, the more he felt like he¡¯d been gut-punched.


    Vardock came out in the hall with his bushy eyebrows lifted.


    ¡°How could I what?¡± she challenged.


    Flint¡¯s eyes fell to the ground, and he tried to regain his composure. He already felt like an idiot for getting angry. Now there was only the incredible hurt and shame left to deal with. Unless there was a way to salvage this.


    ¡°How could I what?¡± she repeated. ¡°You have a problem, Austin?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I have a problem,¡± he said, glancing between them. ¡°Why the fuck didn¡¯t you two wake me up?¡±


    Vardock and Esmeralda exchange glances.


    ¡°Cause we wanted you to sleep?¡± she said.


    Flint gave an angry grunt. ¡°Yeah, well, I wanted to hit the shops early. Before the other idiots bought-up all the gear.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I fucking suh¡ª said,¡± Vardock said. ¡°I wanted to douse you with a bucket of water, but she wouldn¡¯t let me.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re mad about?¡±


    Flint hoped his cheeks didn¡¯t show the burning he felt. But he wasn¡¯t given the chance to answer. Esmeralda turned in the doorway, said something to the person behind her, then stepped aside. A second later, the seven-foot warrior called Retarded Fetus ducked out of the doorway. He was shirtless, showing off a broad, muscular chest with runic tattoos above the nipple. His beard was trimmed and straightened, his skin shone bronze in the sunlight cast from the nearby window. He looked like a cover piece from an old teenage girl¡¯s magazine.


    He flashed Flint and Vardock a white grin. ¡°What¡¯s good, boys?¡±


    ¡°Sup,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°You guys headed to the caravan quest?¡±


    ¡°After we pick up supplies,¡± Vardock said, nudging Flint. ¡°Sleeping buh¡ª buh¡ª beauty here made us miss the morning rush.¡±


    Retarded Fetus hefted his inventory sack. ¡°I did my shopping yesterday. Before wasting all my gold on booze.¡±


    ¡°Good idea.¡±


    An awkward silence passed.


    ¡°Well, good luck,¡± Retarded Fetus said. He leaned into Esmeralda and kissed her on the mouth. ¡°Have fun with your friends.¡±


    Flint almost puked right there.


    The warrior walked down the stairs and out the door.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go with him?¡± Flint asked.


    Esmeralda melted into the door, blushing. ¡°Um¡­ I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re Partied with her,¡± Vardock said.


    Before Flint could reply, a notification popped into his HUD. Two round frames with red meters appeared on the top right of his vision. Inside the top frame was the smiling face of Dexter Vardock, while the second one was occupied by Esmeralda. It took him a second to realize the HUD displayed his current party members and their Health. ¡°When did that happen?¡±


    ¡°This morning,¡± Vardock said. ¡°She sent me a Party request. And I accepted.¡±


    ¡°You did?¡± he asked Esmeralda.


    She brushed a strand of hair from her face and nodded.


    Flint glowered at the big man.


    ¡°What?¡± Vardock said innocently. He jerked his head towards her. ¡°She¡¯s huh¡ª hot as fu¡ª fuck. Think I¡¯m gonna say no to following that ass around?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Austin?¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°You don¡¯t want to do the quest with me?¡±


    As a matter of fact, he did not. He didn¡¯t want to do anything with either of these two. But like much of the last day, it seemed his desires would take a backseat. ¡°Look, I can¡¯t go on that quest.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± she asked.


    Despite the fact he had no desire to speak to her, he explained anyway. About being transported to that player¡¯s casket and watching him die. About McCormick taking control of Chastity and telling him to wage war against the rouge NPC Beovold. About the Vizicarum trying to kill him. Vardock, who¡¯d heard some of it already, didn¡¯t seem to be paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the wall like he was studying his HUD.


    She took it all in with a neutral expression. When he finished, she said: ¡°Huh.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Huh, what?¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what you were trying to tell me last night.¡±


    His frown deepened. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle you remember anything given how sloppy you were.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t that drunk,¡± she said, pursing her lips. ¡°Anyway. What do we do about it?¡±


    Flint studied her. She was taking the information well. Strange, given she was an emotional wreck at baseline. He at least expected a question or two. Like, ¡®Why does this Imperator guy want to kill you?¡¯ Or: ¡®Why would the FRB admin think you¡¯re the best person to fix it?¡¯ Sure, he didn¡¯t have answers to those questions. But they were obvious enough to ask. ¡°What do we do about it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I have to go to a place called Siolan.¡±


    Vardock frowned. ¡°Why do we need to go there again?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where this Sigrid lady is. Apparently she¡¯s forming an army to stop the NPC causing the Caskets to kill players.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Vardock said. ¡°I kinda wanna do this High Marsh thing. I heard if you don¡¯t do it, you can¡¯t join those war battles.¡±


    Flint stared at him. ¡°You mean the massive PvP fights that¡¯ll be easy to die in?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    Esmeralda looked between them. ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t like that PvP thing yesterday. It was way too realistic for me.¡±


    ¡°I loved it,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I like shuh¡ª shitting on baddies. It¡¯s a hobby of mine.¡±


    ¡°Well, sorry to keep you from your hobby, but the Admin said we have to go to Siolan,¡± Flint said. ¡°And also, if I don¡¯t do what they say, they aren¡¯t going to give Zeeke anymore cancer meds.¡±


    ¡°What does Zeeke have to do with this?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°One of my quests says that if I don¡¯t abandon the Reach Army, they aren¡¯t going to give Zeeke the cancer meds.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°Oh. Well, we better do it, then.¡±


    Flint stared at her. She really was taking everything in stride. And it was starting to bother him.


    The big man¡¯s eyes were unfocused, and Flint assumed he was checking his HUD. ¡°That Siolan place is far,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°Very far,¡± Esmeralda agreed. ¡°How do we get there?¡±


    ¡°Through the forest to the east.¡±


    ¡°The forest?¡± Vardock said. ¡°What, like hiking?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Vardock seemed to consider it. Finally, he shook his head. ¡°That sounds boring as fuh¡ª fuck. I¡¯m going on the quest.¡±


    Flint blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doing the quest.¡±


    Vardock turned and started his trek down the stairs, forcing Flint after him.


    ¡°Did you hear anything I said?¡± Flint said. ¡°About my brother not getting his cancer treatment?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making that shit up.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way an actual Admin told you to fix the fucking game,¡± Vardock said with an annoying degree of assurance.


    ¡°Yeah, he fucking did. And told me you were going to help. That¡¯s why we were put in the same Culling group and partied together asshole.¡±


    The big man snorted. ¡°Yeah? And let me guess, the second I follow you into that forest, there¡¯ll be a dozen of your demented fans waiting to gang up and kill me.¡±


    ¡°If you make me leave town with that caravan, then a level 200 Vizicar and his gang will attack us the second we leave the Safe Zone.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. So what?¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± Flint repeated.


    Vardock turned on the bottom step. ¡°Yeah, so what? We¡¯ll kill them if they try.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re level 200, moron. They¡¯ll crush us like bugs.¡±


    ¡°Sucks for you, then, doesn¡¯t it?¡± He placed a steadying hand atop the sword on his belt and turned, his giant boots echoing off the hardwood. ¡°Come on. I wanna hit the stuh¡ª stuh¡ª stores.¡±


    Flint gritted his teeth and followed his fellow Charger. ¡°You¡¯re really gonna force me to go on the quest, despite the fact I¡¯ll be killed?¡±


    ¡°You think you¡¯ll be killed. Let¡¯s see how it plays out.¡±


    Flint grabbed him by the shoulder. The big man turned with a scowl.


    ¡°If the Vizicar kills me, I¡¯m dead. Like, for real dead. And so is my brother.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault I¡¯m the party leader,¡± Vardock said. ¡°Up to me, I¡¯d ditch you in a huh¡ª huh¡ª heartbeat.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you kill yourself, then? I¡¯m sure that¡¯ll fix it.¡±


    Vardock smirked, and Flint came close to punching him in the face. ¡°Why should I end the game for myself? You¡¯re the one who doesn¡¯t wanna play.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want my Casket to murder me.¡±


    The big man held both arms out in the universal ¡®what the fuck?¡¯ gesture. ¡°What are you so worried about? It¡¯s a video game for fuh¡ª fucks suh¡ª sake. You do this for a living.¡±


    Esmeralda tried to get between them. ¡°Boys, boys,¡± she said. ¡°Just calm down. I¡¯m sure we can figure¡ª¡±


    Flint shoved her out of the way. A lot harder than he intended, maybe. But he was pissed about that Retarded Fetus thing, and there was no rule about hitting girls in a video game. She stumbled two paces into the side of the bar. A sleepy Hokum Joe frowned up from a steaming bowl.


    ¡°What the hell, Austin?¡± she said.


    Flint rounded on Vardock. ¡°So that¡¯s it, then? You¡¯re just gonna be a fucking troll?¡±


    Vardock¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Easy, cripple. You know I don¡¯t like that word.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Vardock¡¯s face reddened. He was clearly pissed. Not that Flint cared. ¡°At least I didn¡¯t lose to Clownie Moroccos in the Finals.¡±


    Flint¡¯s neck veins stretched. His body was taut with rage. ¡°I lost on-purpose, you fat idiot.¡±


    Vardock sputtered with forced laughter. ¡°On-purpose? Yeah, right.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Scuse me, gentleman,¡± Hokum Joe said from behind the bar. ¡°You need to take yer quarrel outside.¡±


    Flint could¡¯ve told him about Zeeke¡¯s cancer meds and the deal with McCormick. But what was the use? This self-centered slob didn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about anyone but himself. ¡°You know what, Dexter? You¡¯re a fucking troll.¡±


    The big man¡¯s hand went to the pommel of his sword. The muscles in his massive forearms bulged. ¡°Call me it again. Just one more time. I fucking duh¡ª dare you.¡±


    Flint was more than ready to meet that challenge. It was a small miracle steam wasn¡¯t spewing from his ears. ¡°You¡¯re a selfish fucking piece of shit troll.¡±


    Vardock¡¯s sword came free the same time that Flint pulled his hammer. A warning flashed across his HUD. Something about initiating violence in a Safe Zone. He ignored it.


    ¡°Austin!¡± Esmeralda shrieked, grabbing for his arm. He jerked away, focusing on Vardock, now highlighted red by his targeter.


    ¡°Merwa!¡± Hokum Joe yelled. ¡°Get the Street Watch!¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Fucking fat troll,¡± Flint spat.


    ¡°Want me to kick your ass in this game, too?¡± Vardock yelled.


    ¡°Put that sword away or I¡¯ll gut you with it, fat boy.¡±


    ¡°Try it ya crippled feh¡ª feh¡ª faggot.¡±


    So he did. He swung at Vardock¡¯s head like it was a gold-filled pinata. Vardock ducked and swung his own blade, slicing Flint across the chest.


    Panicked rage coursed through Flint¡¯s body. He¡¯d heard the strike. Felt it swipe the front of his armor. But there was no hurt, and his Health Meter was still full.


    Vardock was crouched and ready to strike again. ¡°Done yet?¡±


    Flint heaved the hammer like his life depended on it. Vardock tried to knock it out of the way, missed, and caught the business end on his forehead. The big man crashed into the wall, sword clattering to the floor.


    Flint thought he might¡¯ve killed the prick. Hoped he did, even. But then Vardock gave a malicious growl, the muscles in his beefy face tensing. Strangely there wasn¡¯t any blood or bruising.


    ¡°You¡¯re fucking dead!¡± Vardock shrieked.


    Flint realized he had no weapon. So he reached for a nearby barstool to defend himself.


    That was when the guards came. The lead one, a helmeted man with a lace, slammed through the door like a battering ram.


    Flint held the barstool, hesitating, as five more heavily-armed figures clad in silver steel burst through the entrance. Vardock didn¡¯t hesitate though. He was in a fighter¡¯s stance and ready to swing at the first challenger.


    Fucking idiot till the end, Flint thought.


    He studied the Street Watch officers, checking the strange sigil on their armor and shields. It looked like a horse leaping over a bottle of ink and quill. Far different from the phoenix symbol that adorned the banners throughout Reach City. They spread throughout the room like an army of police officers as the leader confronted Vardock.


    ¡°Oye!¡± he said. ¡°You Vardock?¡±


    The big man blinked. But said nothing. Neither did Flint.


    ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± Esmeralda said quietly. Then to Vardock, she said: ¡°Lower your sword. They aren¡¯t the Street Watch.¡±


    Flint¡¯s eyes widened as the leader turned and went back outside. A second later, he reentered with another figure. A woman in a long-sleeved blue uniform with weather-worn chubby cheeks. She was standing there, a roll of parchment in her hand. The stitching on the breast of her shirt had the same logo as her guards.


    ¡°Master Vardock,¡± she said, eying him warily. ¡°That¡¯s you?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ yes,¡± Vardock said.


    ¡°My name is Turi Can-Gault and I am a Senior Courier sent by the Guild of Message Carriers.¡± She produced a roll of parchment affixed with a golden seal. ¡°This correspondence is for you.¡±


    He took the parchment and turned it around in his hand, frowning. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°A letter. Obviously.¡±


    Vardock broke the seal and unfurled it, yellow paper crackling. As his eyes scanned the parchment, Flint glanced between Can-Gault and her six guards. ¡°You need an army to deliver a letter?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°What the hell¡­¡± Vardock muttered to himself, still reading.


    ¡°This delivery is now complete,¡± Can-Gault said. ¡°We shall now recite the Guild promotion.¡±


    Flint frowned as two guards lowered their weapons and stepped forward with raised face plates. They reached into inventory sacks on their belts, producing oddly-shaped flutes. Raising the instruments to their mouths, they filled the air with music.


    ¡°Have you ever sent a letter to a soldier on the front lines?¡± Can-Gault asked in an enthusiastic tone. ¡°Or to a relative in a distant land?¡±


    Flint exchanged a puzzled glance with Esmeralda.


    ¡°Have you ever needed a contract sent to an overseas business partner?¡± Can-Gault continued. ¡°Or an invoice sent to a remote purchaser or financial institution?¡±


    Flint opened his mouth to answer, but Can-Gault plowed forward.


    ¡°Message delivery is a dangerous business. That¡¯s why you need professionals.¡± She raised an open palm to the small army behind her. ¡°Since 1397, the Guild of Message Carriers has been the leader in the delivery of correspondence. Whether it be letters, pages, business manifests, contracts, or court documents, the Guild prides itself on fast, secure, and confidential delivery anywhere in the world.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Flint said, frowning.


    ¡°Our fees are reasonable and delivery is fast. We promise no greater than twenty-two days transit time to anywhere in the world. And we do mean anywhere. Safe and secure delivery is guaranteed or your gold back.¡±


    In Flint¡¯s HUD, the leather book icon flashed that new Clavis entries were available. He mentally opened it, and saw the new Codex entry: The Guild of Message Carriers. When he started reading the entry, though, he realized it was an audio version of Can-Gault¡¯s speech.


    ¡°The Guild has one hundred and eleven locations in Kvar, and is expanding yearly,¡± she said. ¡°Visit your local guild house to procure our services.¡± The men with the flutes reached a crescendo. ¡°The Guild of Message Carriers. We deliver messages. Fast. Secure. Confidential. Since 1397.¡±


    The music stopped. But the promotion wasn¡¯t finished. Can-Gault continued speaking, though her cadence became rapid and difficult to follow:


    ¡°Services not available in all areas. Terms and conditions vary by location. Accidental death or maiming of recipient not cause for refund. Even if caused by us. Delivery insurance sold separately. Visit your local guild house for details.¡±


    As if on cue, the Guild members retreated from the tavern as quickly as they entered. In the resulting silence, Hokum Joe cleared his throat.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sent my girl to fetch the Street Watch,¡± he said. ¡°You lot best get out ¡®fore they arrive.¡±


    The sound of paper crumpling drew Flint¡¯s attention to Vardock. The big man looked puzzled as he jammed the ball of parchment into his inventory sack.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± Vardock said. He proceeded toward the exit and pushed the door open, pausing to look over his shoulder at them. ¡°You coming or what?¡±


    Flint raised a brow. ¡°And where are we going?¡±


    Vardock frowned and scratched his jaw. ¡°Apparently I need to go wherever you want.¡±


    The vagueness of that statement hung in the air as he turned and disappeared through the entrance. And they followed.


    ##


    In the street, there was a buzz of people walking up and down. Several were players still in arena armor. Flint looked down at his own body, he still had the rough spun under armor he¡¯d been wearing since the match.


    ¡°What did that letter say?¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say,¡± Vardock grumbled.


    ¡°What do you mean you can¡¯t say?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s confidential.¡±


    ¡°Who sent it?¡±


    Vardock abruptly turned with a scowl. He stepped in close to Flint, violating his personal space. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you shu¡ª shit about it. Just be happy I¡¯m going with you and duh¡ª don¡¯t ask again.¡±


    Flint frowned. That wasn¡¯t the answer he wanted, but he decided not to push it.


    ¡°Stores are this way,¡± Esmeralda said in a flat voice.


    They walked down the main street, seeing the vendors and their shops. Players marked out by their recognizable Culling armor, intermixed with NPCs. One player had discarded his clothes entirely and was doing some kind of pole dance on one of the flag poles atop the roof of a large building. People mostly ignored him.


    They followed Esmeralda down the winding road, past carts and street merchants. Flint was staring at the signs on the doors looking for an weapon and armor shop. Most were taverns or brothels.


    ¡°All they got here are whore houses and bars,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°What else you nuh¡ª need?¡± Vardock grunted.


    Esmeralda stopped next to a wooden shack with a badly painted placard looked like it was supposed to read ¡°Nelson¡¯s Armory.¡± The middle part of the second word was crossed-out, however, and vandal added some select letters below. The final product read: ¡°Asshattery.¡±


    Flint stopped in front of it. The windows were murky black, no way to tell if it was even open. ¡°Is it even open?¡±


    ¡°It was earlier,¡± Esmeralda said.


    He walked up the steps and pushed open the door. Inside, there were racks of weapons on iron shelves. There was a glass countertop below which were several daggers. There was a seedy smell about the place.


    ¡°Where is the owner?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Sqauwk. Where¡¯s the owner?¡±


    Flint nearly jumped into the ceiling. ¡°The fuck was that?¡±


    ¡°Awesome!¡± Vardock shouted, moving to the countertop. Behind the shelf, a large bird cage was situated, a blue parrot held to a twig inside. ¡°A puh¡ª puh¡ª parrot.¡±


    Flint relaxed a bit.


    ¡°Hello, hello!¡± A voice yelled from a backroom. A great fat woman in roughspun waddled out, her giant frame barely fitting between the edges of the countertop.


    ¡°Uh hi,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°My name is Nelson.¡± The woman put her hands on her hips, her bangles jangling on her arms. She looked him up and down with her tongue between the gap in her teeth. ¡°Rough looking feller ya¡¯re. You looking for gear before heading north?¡±


    He shifted in his stance. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Well you¡¯ve come to the right place!¡±


    ¡°Squawk. You¡¯re not welcome here, douchebag.¡±


    Flint scowled at the parrot. ¡°Where did it learn that kind of language?¡±


    Nelson glared at the bird. ¡°Shut it, feathers.¡±


    ¡°Squawk. Fuck yourself fatty.¡±


    Vardock sputtered with laughter. He keeled over at the belly and laughed so hard he snorted.


    ¡°I thought they only repeat phrases,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°It¡¯s an Insult Parrot,¡± Nelson said. ¡°An ill-mannered sack of feathers I won at a card game.¡±


    Flint stepped into an aisle of weapon racks, checking out the axes and swords there. He picked up a greatsword with a jewel-shaped pommel. The blade itself was rather dulled with time. The dialog box popped up and he examined the stats. It was barely better than his current warhammer, and way overpriced. He put it back in the block, then scanned the other items. What he really wanted was another hammer. He passed across the other items¡ªbows, daggers, axes, swords. He came to the hammers row, and went through each of them. One piece caught his eye. An all-white zeroed in on one that was in all-white warhammer with good damage stats and reasonably priced.


    He pulled it from the rack and moved on to the clothing isle. He picked up a pair of slacks and pants, as well as a good overcoat.


    He brought them up to the counter and paid for them. Then he got an idea.


    ¡°Can I sell stuff to you?¡±


    ¡°Weapons and armor,¡± Nelson replied.


    Flint undid the straps of his breastplate and set it on the counter. He stood there in his undershirt and breeches. Then he dropped the warhammer there as well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you fifty Robban,¡± she said.


    He snorted. ¡°Try again.¡±


    ¡°Squawk. Try again, fatty,¡± the parrot chimed.


    Vardock, who had been browsing the sword rack again laughed. ¡°I want that bird.¡±


    ¡°This rubbish ain¡¯t even worth twenty-five,¡± Nelson said.


    ¡°Two-hundred,¡± Flint countered.


    She chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll give you sixty-five, and that¡¯s being generous.¡±


    ¡°This warhammer killed seven people in the Culling,¡± he said, tapping it with a finger. The black iron still carried dried blood. ¡°It¡¯s a souvenir.¡±


    Nelson worked her jaw. ¡°Eighty.¡±


    ¡°One-hundred,¡± Flint said. ¡°And these clothes and boots free.¡±


    Nelson grimaced. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Without another word or gesture, a gold icon in his HUD showed the added amount in his inventory, taking him from 440 to 540. To his surprise, another flash of white letter across his HUD showed-up.


    You have gained +1 to Charisma.


    A tool-tip pop-up followed:


    From now on, buying good and services costs you two-percent less.


    ¡°Neat,¡± he said.


    ¡°What?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    When he touched the clothing, it automatically appeared on his body.


    ¡°Pleasure doing business,¡± Nelson grumbled.


    Flint smiled for the first time that day. ¡°Hey, you wouldn¡¯t happen to know the quickest way to Siolan, would you?¡±


    Nelson raised an eyebrow. ¡°Only way I know is up the Main Road.¡±


    ¡°Is there a road through the forest?¡±


    Nelson brow raised even higher. ¡°If there is, it ain¡¯t one I would travel, that¡¯s for damn sure.¡±


    Esmeralda stepped forward. ¡°So there isn¡¯t a way there?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Nelson said. ¡°There are forest folk that come into town from time-to-time. But I don¡¯t know how they come to and fro. All I know is the forest is fulla bad stuff I don¡¯t never wanna come across.¡±


    Flint sighed. ¡°Thanks for your help.¡±


    ¡°Might ask my sister next door,¡± Nelson said.


    ¡°Your sister?¡±


    ¡°Duga.¡±


    ¡°You guys own both these stores?¡±


    ¡°Well she technically owns the whole building, and I pay her rent,¡± Nelson said. She didn¡¯t seem too happy about it though.


    Flint couldn¡¯t care less about that. He glanced at the two others. ¡°I¡¯m going next door.¡±


    They nodded at him.


    He left the store and walked into the next one. He paused on the threshold, waiting to see if he got the HUD warning to not abandon Vardock. But it seemed both stores were part of the same Instance.


    Duga¡¯s Adventure Shoppe was filled with tents and robes. There was a line of windowed shelves that looked oddly like refrigerators on the other end covered with fat glass jars, the writing on the glass said Ailments. There was a thin man nearby with a bow on his back looking around the stock who eyed him suspiciously as he walked in. The man had a giant emerald ring on his hand.


    Flint stepped into the room, causing the bell to jingle on the door.


    This time he was greeted by another impossibly obese woman in roughspun, this one smelling of heavy perfume, but not the expensive kind. More the cheap, toilet-water stuff that reminded him of the old woman on the Lower Deck.


    She gave him a scowl as he entered. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Flint scowled back. ¡°I¡¯m not accustomed to being addressed as such by a merchant.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t no merchant. I¡¯m Duga.¡±


    ¡°Your name¡¯s on the door. Isn''t this your shop?¡¯


    ¡°So it is. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Need supplies.¡±


    Duga reached under the counter and pulled out something. It looked suspiciously like a small black tarp. ¡°You¡¯ll be wanting this.¡±


    Flint stared at it. ¡°A tarp?¡±


    The look she gave him was like someone who¡¯d just witnessed the puppy take a dump on the new carpet. ¡°It¡¯s a tent.¡±


    She tapped the top of it and the black tarp ballooned upward into a three dimensional triangle. There was a flap at the front, which she drew back to reveal the pair of sleeping bags and lantern.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Flint said. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°One-hundred fifty gold for this,¡± she said. ¡°But we have bigger ones that fit more.¡±


    She raised a hand up to the ceiling. Several of the same colored tents were unfurled on a display on the high ceiling. One of them was bigger than his room at the inn, and had red carpeting in it and everything. It looked not unlike the tent he spawned in outside the arena. The beauty of magic, he thought. Or programming.


    ¡°How much does that one cost?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Two-hundred thousand,¡± she said.


    The door banged open and Esmeralda entered. She gave him a half-smile, then looked around the store. The refrigerators caught her eye and she made for them.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need some of these,¡± Esmeralda said.


    Flint glanced over the top of the shelf. She was peeking into glass refrigerators, staring at the potions.


    He scowled. In games like this, the biggest rip-off was always to buy potions from a merchant. ¡°I¡¯m sure I can make my own much cheaper.¡±


    Esmeralda frowned at him. ¡°Do you know how?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Okay, then.¡±


    She collected six red-colored bottles in her arms and carried them to the counter. Duga also sold her a tent of her own.


    Flint was scouring the other shelves for gear, but it seemed mostly useless stuff. He grabbed a cookpot which advertised the ability to instacook small-game loot. Then he grabbed a water canteen which advertised purification for one-hundred refills. He also grabbed an extra pair of socks and undergarments.


    The door opened and Vardock walked through. To Flint¡¯s surprise, the blue-colored bird was on his shoulder. Vardock was also missing his breastplate, wearing only a rough-spun leather tunic.


    ¡°What is that thing doing here?¡± Duga shrieked.


    Vardock¡¯s grin was ear-to-ear. ¡°His name is Stanley, actually.¡±


    ¡°Get it out of my store.¡±


    Flint scowled at Vardock. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t have gold to buy anything.¡±


    Vardock glanced down at his tunic. ¡°Sold my armor for him.¡±


    Stanley flapped his wings in a tizzie. ¡°Squawk. Sold the armor to fatso. Squawk.¡±


    ¡°How you gonna survive without armor, moron?¡± Flint said.


    Vardock shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll wait outside.¡±


    Flint carried his odds and ends up to the counter.


    ¡°What¡¯s the fastest route to Siolan?¡±


    Duga eyes him suspiciously. ¡°There isn¡¯t no fastest route, there is only one route. You follow the Main Road around the mountain and get there in one month.¡±


    ¡°Is there a path through the forest?¡±


    Again the look of half-contempt, as though he¡¯d asked the most ludicrous question in the world. Even the skinny stranger peaked over the shelf with a raised brow.


    ¡°The forest?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Yeah, the forest.¡±


    His tone only made her incredulity increase. ¡°If you want to get killed by bandits, eaten by Hornslogs, or starve cause ya don¡¯t know where the heck you¡¯s goin¡¯, then sure, it¡¯s a great way to get there.¡±


    Flint glared and placed the items in his sack, each shrinking to tiny objects when inserted. All but seven gold auto-transferred from his inventory. When he was finished, he walked out with Esmeralda behind him.


    Vardock was feeding the parrot bread crumbs on a bench across the street.


    ¡°Are we sure we want to do this?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    Flint¡¯s irritation surged. Why was it that these two assumed he wanted them coming along?


    ¡°The forest doesn¡¯t seem a safe way to travel,¡± she continued.


    ¡°There¡¯s a river that starts thirty miles from here and cuts through it all the way there. It¡¯s as simple as following it.¡±


    ¡°You going into the Bellwoods?¡± a voice behind them asked.


    They turned in unison. The skinny man from Duga¡¯s store. He was looking between Esmeralda and him with a pleasant smile. As he came closer, the wind caught him, and Flint wrinkled his nose. The guy smelled like old, sour sweat.


    ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡± Flint asked even as his targeter ran over him:


    Quirin of Dugath


    Level 17 Marksman


    A tool-tip flashed above his skill bar as the man approached:


    Quirin of Dugath is a Tutor. Tutors are Non-Player Characters (NPCs) that have the ability (but are not obligated to) to teach players about certain game mechanics.


    The man came to a stop, still smiling. ¡°Name¡¯s Quirin. I live in Dugath, some eighty miles up the river.¡±


    ¡°You live in the forest?¡± Esmeralda said, her voice still close to a shriek.


    ¡°My whole life.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to Siolan,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Dugath is right along the way, friend.¡±


    Flint called up his HUD and the world map. It took him half a minute, but he spotted the landmark for Dugath in the Bellwoods. Quirin had just said it was eighty miles away, but from the marker on the map, it seemed a lot closer. That was until Flint used the distance markers on the edge of the map. He had greatly underestimated the size of the forest itself. Eighty miles wasn¡¯t even a third of the total distance between Reach City on the easternmost end of the map and Siolan to the southwest, around the middle of Kvar.


    ¡°You know the way?¡± Vardock asked.


    Quirin nodded. ¡°Been walking between Reach City and Dugath my entire life. I know the route well.¡±


    Flint pursed his lips. He preferred traveling alone. And the prospect of taking on this unknown NPC seemed risky. Tutor NPCs may have useful knowledge, but that didn¡¯t mean they were beneficent entities. What if he turned out to be a bandit? Flint eyed him up and down. He didn¡¯t look too scary. Seemed something of a frail, half-starving man, truth be told. But long, hard experiences taught him not to rely on how things looked.


    ¡°Why do you need travel companions?¡± Flint asked. ¡°You got here alone just fine.¡±


    Quirin gave him a sad smile. ¡°I came here with my two brothers. It¡¯s not safe to travel alone in the Bellwoods. The segment between here and Dugath has some bears and other stuff. Can¡¯t sleep if you travel alone. No one to be on the lookout, see.¡±


    ¡°Where are your brothers?¡±


    ¡°They left yesterday. Joined the Big Time.¡±


    ¡°The Big Time?¡±


    ¡°The Big Time Circus Company,¡± Quirin said. ¡°The greatest show on the continent. They even got this human cannonball, if you can believe it.¡±


    ¡°Your brothers are clowns?¡±


    ¡°Jugglers. Just looking to earn some gold for their families back in Dugath. There¡¯s no work back home, sadly.¡±


    Flint didn¡¯t care to hear a sob story. He just wanted to hear why he should travel with this guy.


    Quirin must¡¯ve sensed the hesitation. ¡°Look friend, you¡¯re thinking you can just follow the river south and that¡¯ll get you to Siolan. But it won¡¯t.¡±


    Flint frowned. He didn¡¯t like people guessing what he was thinking. Especially when they guessed correctly. ¡°Why not?¡±


    Quirin counted off the reasons on his fingers. ¡°One, it¡¯s impossible to follow. There¡¯s a species of scrub that grows out of the riverbank and stretches for miles on each side. Thornbrush, it¡¯s called.¡±


    ¡°Thornbrush doesn¡¯t sound like something I wanna walk through,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Quirin said. ¡°But that isn¡¯t the only problem. It¡¯s Hornslog mating season.¡±


    Flint paused. That Duga woman had mentioned Hornslogs as a possible hazard. Whatever those were.


    The leather book icon of his Clavis flashed above his Skill Bar. This was accompanied by a tool-tip:


    Entry added: Hornslog.


    With a thought, the Clavis entry opened.


    The picture accompanying the creature was something halfway between a crocodile and a rhinoceros. A tremendous, ugly-looking thing with teeth the size of his arm and a sharp horn. Not something he wanted to run into.


    ¡°The Hornslogs live in the Thornbrush, see,¡± Quirin said. ¡°Another reason you don¡¯t wanna follow the river.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll get a boat, then,¡± Flint said hopefully.


    Quirin smiled. ¡°Not unless you wanna be fish food. There¡¯s gutterfish in the water. No one, and I mean no one, ever brings anything smaller than a pontoon skiff with a metal hull out there. And even then, it¡¯s something of a risk.¡±


    Another Clavis entry popped-up for gutterfish and Flint opened it with reluctance. The image that stared back at him was something like a pufferfish with fangs.


    ¡°Gutterfish feed on wood,¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°Wood?¡± Esmeralda asked, evidently examining her own codex. ¡°Like termites?¡±


    Quirin raised an eyebrow. ¡°What are termites?¡±


    Flint glared between the three of them. If only he could¡¯ve spawned in a different Instance. Without these idiots. ¡°Fine, you can come,¡± he finally said with a sigh. ¡°But if you try to rob us, you¡¯re dead.¡±


    Quirin held up his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±


    As four, they turned up the street to walk.


    ¡°Squawk. Skinny boy¡¯s a chicken shit.¡±


    Flint glared at the parrot twittering on Vardock¡¯s giant shoulder. That thing was going to be a supreme annoyance. Not unlike its owner.


    ¡°Forest is this way,¡± Quirin said, leading them into the heart of Reach City.


    The cobblestone streets of Reach City ran in neat, grid-like arterials. Well-maintained wattle-and-daub homes with thatched roofs lined the outer sectors of the grid. The residents of these neighborhoods were hearty-looking, well-dressed people who smiled and exchanged pleasantries easily. The neighborhoods gave way to a marketplace at the center of the city. Taverns, bakehouses, and stores of all kinds dominated this area. Crowded stalls laden with every kind of good advertised on blackboards with chalked-in prices or vocally by aggressive salesmen. Food vendors and breweries selling victuals of all kinds. Blacksmiths roasting iron in steaming forges. Gem-dealers and cloth salesman bartering over their fineries. One dealer was advertising various kinds of smoke sticks that smelled a lot like the carjaweed Flint sampled the night before. He held his breath as he walked by the stand, not even wanting to catch the second-hand smoke.


    Beyond the market, they ascended a wide staircase that led onto an arched bridge. At the end of the bridge was the main gate of the Reach King¡¯s castle, whose crenelated battlements and cylindrical towers cast long shadows over the heart of the city. From the top of the bridge, the whole of the eastern rim of the city was visible, including the Culling arena at the bottom of the hill. As he looked out that direction, Flint caught sight of so many players he had to issue a thought-command to stop his targeter from flooding his HUD with player IDs. There were literally thousands of them. All standing around a massive caravan of horse-drawn carts. The carts were lined-up end-to-end, running from the city gates along the winding road to a point unseen on the other side of the hill.


    ¡°There¡¯s the other players,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°Where we¡¯re supposed to be.¡±


    Flint scowled at her back, nearly opening his mouth to tell her she was welcome to join them. He held back though. It would only make her think he was still pissed at her for sleeping with that Fetus guy. Which he was.


    Quirin led them to the other side of the bridge, down a staircase leading to the western edge of town. A few minutes of walking through the communal pasture, they came to the forest¡¯s edge. Crowded packs of withered trees rose from the earth, covering everywhere in front of them as far as the eye could see. A ratty old fence demarcated the end of the farm. A rotted sign inked in red was hammered into one of the posts.


    ¡°What does it say?¡± Esmeralda said.


    Flint leaned over and read it:


    ¡°CAUTION: Avoid the forest at all costs. Monsters, Bandits, DEATH.¡± The last word was written in capital red letters.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°Why did I even ask?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine,¡± Quirin assured them. ¡°Just stick with me.¡±


    Flint lifted his foot over the fence and was instantly assaulted by a red dialog box.


    ¡°What the heck?¡± Vardock said, obviously seeing the same thing.


    WARNING ¡ª If you continue your current trajectory, you will automatically abandon the quest: MARCH TO HIGH MARSH. Doing so will mark you as a deserter from the army, making you a fugitive of the Kingdom of Reach.


    ¡°What¡¯s the hold-up?¡± Quirin asked, eying the three of them who had come to a complete stop on the forest¡¯s edge.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Flint said. He closed the dialog box and stepped forward. The second he did, a new dialog appeared:


    QUEST COMPLETE: KEEPING ZEEKE ALIVE, PART I


    NEW QUEST: KEEPING ZEEKE ALIVE, PART II


    You will journey to Siolan and meet up with the criminal witch known as Sigrid. She will help form the guild that will become your army to challenge the Imperator. You will find her within fifteen days¡¯ time, or Zeeke will not receive another Decel infusion.

 INTERLUDE

    Several thousand miles from Reach City, inside an Old Zone, Jason Nero executed a command prompt on his IBM 3270.


    On the dais above the bubbling magma pool, a mere five paces from the Resolute desk, a fat pale man with a wooden leg and a port-wine stain over his right eye appeared.


    ¡°You do what I asked?¡± Nero said.


    Hokum Joe blinked as though awakened from slumber. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°He came into my tavern. I watched him the entire time.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°One of the whores accosted him. Took him upstairs.¡±


    Nero did a rapid twisting motion with his hand. ¡°And¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Her mind went blank. She doesn¡¯t remember what happened until the Vizicarum arrived.¡±


    ¡°The Vizicarum?¡±


    ¡°They came in after. Kicked in the door to their room. Searched it. Like they was lookin'' for someone.¡±


    ¡°Looking for who?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know. But at first, they ignored Walker and the whore and searched the room.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Did they find a third person?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Nero tapped his fingers on the desk. This was rather disconcerting news. But it was interesting. Damn interesting, in fact. ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°Then the Vizicar¡­ his name was Camorr¡­ he told Walker to meet him outside the city. Said the Imperator needed to meet him.¡±


    ¡°They question Walker?¡±


    Hokum shook his head.


    ¡°So we¡¯ve no idea what happened, then.¡± Nero worked his mouth like he had a bad taste in it. ¡°What did our friend do after that?¡±


    ¡°Spoke with some players. Got drunk. Passed out.¡±


    Nero felt a pang of sadness. Most players probably didn''t realize they were prisoners of the GU. Most would die in the coming weeks. And the ones who didn¡¯t would forget there was a reality outside the GU.


    He grabbed a decanter off the desk. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Yes. His two friends were there. The ones called Vardock and EsseCount.¡±


    He reached into a drawer to extract a fog-coated tumbler. ¡°Both?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    A pause while he poured amber liquid into the tumbler. ¡°You get a read on them?¡±


    A smile played across the NPC¡¯s face. ¡°Walker told his friends he was abandoning the quest to High Marsh. Said he was going to Siolan instead.¡±


    He swirled the liquid around in the glass, frowning. ¡°Why?¡±


    Hokum¡¯s smile grew. ¡°That¡¯s the funny part. Apparently an Admin told him to do so.¡±


    The glass stopped halfway to Nero¡¯s mouth. ¡°An Admin?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Nero threw back the drink, swallowing the contents in one swig. Wincing at the bitterness, he said, ¡°Why Siolan?¡±


    ¡°The reason wasn¡¯t mentioned.¡±


    Nero¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°I see. Anything else?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Very well. You can leave.¡±


    Hokum gave a curt bow and then vanished.


    Nero turned to the ancient computer, his fingers working the reticent, coffee-stained keyboard. He typed in a string of commands and pressed ENTER. A series of symbols played across the monochrome screen in green phosphor.


    PlayerID 09:17d53 has Abandoned QuestID #13221


    Nero stared at the words a long time, the cursor blinking in rhythm to the rapping of his knuckles on the desk. Then, ever so slowly, a smile played across his face.


    Perhaps things would work out after all.

 CHAPTER 08 — HORNSLOGS AND MUSHROOMS

    CHAPTER 08 ¡ª HORNSLOGS AND MUSHROOMS


    Flint watched as the arrow arced through the air. There was a high-pitched squeal as it thudded into a tree thirty paces away.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Flint hissed at her. If there were enemies about, he didn¡¯t want their position given away.


    Quirin didn¡¯t notch another arrow though. He glanced at them with a stupid smile. ¡°Gotta get XP when you can, man.¡±


    ¡°XP?¡± Flint said, for the first time noticing the small letterings over his XP bar.


    Kill: Trufluffle.


    +15


    ¡°Group XP,¡± Quirin said. ¡°It¡¯s worth twenty if you¡¯re alone.¡±


    Flint nodded his approval. They stepped forward towards the tree. As they drew closer, a pair of big eyes and a furry tail came into view. A small creature pinned to the tree by a bloody arrow. The damn thing basically looked like a stuffed animal.


    ¡°I like XP,¡± Dexter said. ¡°Wuh¡ª wuh¡ª works for me.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, gotta get it when you can,¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°Squawk. XP for the idiot,¡± Stanley said.


    ¡°Killing a human got me 25 XP at the Coliseum,¡± Flint said. ¡°You¡¯re telling me this helpless thing is worth more than half that?¡±


    ¡°For now anyway,¡± Quirin said. ¡°As you level up, the yield will decrease.¡±


    Flint figured as much. Still, he¡¯d always been a proponent of the ¡°get XP when you can¡± motto.


    ¡°That¡¯s horrible,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°What did that poor thing ever do to you?¡±


    ¡°Squawk. Dumb bitch is dumb,¡± the parrot said.


    Dexter roared with laughter. Even Flint had to work to suppress a grin.


    ¡°That bird is rude,¡± she said.


    Dexter beamed. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s why I luh¡ª like him.¡±


    They continued their walk through the forest. A few minutes later, Quirin raised a hand for them to stop. He pointed off in the direction of a small clearing ahead.


    Flint squinted, caught sight of the doe standing there, looking off in the opposite direction.


    Quirin carefully retrieved his bow and an arrow.


    ¡°ROAR!¡± Dexter yelled. There was a crack of thunder as Storm Rider was activated. He appeared just above the deer, his sword arcing downward.


    The doe turned. Dexter¡¯s sword swooshed and hacked its head off, a gout of blood erupting from the stump of its neck.


    Esmeralda bent forward and coughed puke onto the floor the forest. When finished, she looked up at him half disgusted and half outraged. ¡°I hate this game.¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± Flint mumbled, seeing the +15 XP flash across his HUD. A new dialog box popped-up on his screen:


    Mission started: Small Game Hunter 1


    Collect 15 Deer Hides, 15 Raw Dear Meats, 20 Truffluffle Hides, and 10 Larpy Hides


    Flint accepted the quest immediately. ¡°What is a Larpy?¡±


    The answer came not more than a minute later when Quirin shot one in the tree canopy. It looked more or less like a squirrel with eight legs. At the next clearing they they came into contact with a giant buck.


    Flint drew out his hammer and activated Headhunter. He was half nervous he might end-up impaled on the deer¡¯ antlers. But it seemed when he hit the deer, there was some kind of magical force field in front of him that didn¡¯t allow him to be harmed by whatever he hit. It was a neat thing to keep in mind for the future. Although he should¡¯ve discerned that based on his experience at the Coliseum, having never been injured by a collision.


    The deer was slammed to the ground and Flint¡¯s hammer smashed it¡¯s belly, ribs crunching. Very clumsy move, since he didn¡¯t immediately kill the animal. But Quirin helped by shooting an arrow through its eyeball.


    With the animal down, all Flint had to do was reach down and touch it with a gloved hand. As the carcass disappeared, a text message populated his HUD.


    Inventory


    +1 Dear Hide


    +1 Raw Dear Meat


    ¡°At least we don¡¯t have to clean the damn things,¡± Flint said.


    They continued on through the forest, seeing more random critters here and there and shooting them up, gaining XP. It wasn¡¯t long until Flint heard that sweet chime.


    LEVEL-UP: You have reached level 4.


    Skill Point gained: 1.


    Talent Point gained: 1.


    ¡°Talent point?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°You spend it on core attributes,¡± Quirin said.


    Flint scrolled through the core attributes in his HUD.


    Strength - Increases your base physical damage multiplier.


    Agility - Increases your base movement speed and fire rate with long-range physical weapons.


    Vitality - Increases your base magical damage multiplier.


    Efficiency - Increases your inventory space and the speed at which you gain experience.


    Charm - Increases your ability to bargain with merchants for better prices.


    Flint added the talent point into Strength. He then shuffled over to his Skills and Constitution tree. He could add another point into Health, Stamina, or Energy, or procure a new skill. His skill bar had seven open slots.


    He pursed his lips, muttering thoughts to himself: ¡°Don¡¯t need to add any Energy, since all my skills use Stamina. But I¡¯m not really running out of Stamina too quickly with my current skill chain. Or am I?¡±


    He did a little test run where he activated Headhunter on a tree stump, then activated Dance of the Whirlwind before he hit the target. After he collided with the tree, he activated Crushing Blow. While he did this, he watched his Stamina bar.


    Apparently Quirin knew what he was up to. ¡°How much did you use with that chain?¡± the elf asked.


    ¡°About forty percent, maybe,¡± Flint said, frowning. ¡°A lot more than I thought.¡±


    ¡°But those are your only skills.¡±


    ¡°For now they are,¡± he replied. ¡°All I need is an extra twenty-cost skill to add to the chain. Then I¡¯ll be using up over half my bar.¡±


    ¡°So?¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°It means he can¡¯t cycle his skills twice,¡± Vardock explained. ¡°Bad in a fight.¡±


    Flint nodded, surprised the so-called Tutor NPC didn''t understood the conundrum. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    After a few more minutes of thinking about it, he decided to examine the Skill Tree again. He scrolled beyond the high-Stamina cost aggro skills and checked some of the low-cost passives. ¡°Do these passive skills take-up a skill slot?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Quirin answered.


    ¡°Excellent.¡±


    He took a look at the first of them. The icon was of himself standing tall on some kind of precipice, beating his chest with his fist.


    Skill: Immovable


    Projectile damage has a 10% chance of doing 50% damage.


    Cost: 0 Stamina (Passive)


    He frowned. Not a very good skill by itself. But he glanced up at the connecting icons which represented future upgrades to the skill. The highest upgrade, which could be procured at level 200 (provided he had the prerequisite base skill and upgrade) a 35% chance of projectile damage doing 0% damage. He thought back to the Coliseum and being slammed sideways by that spell. Would¡¯ve been useful, then.


    He moved-on to the other Passives, examining both the base skill and the subsequent upgrade possibilities. Part of the problem in judging their usefulness was that he hadn¡¯t much battle experience yet. Who knew what kind of damage he need more protection from?


    At the end of the final window, he happened on a new category: Lifestyle Passives. He examined the first one ¡ª the icon was of himself squatting above a hole with his pants around his ankles:


    Passive: Weekly Defecation


    You will not suffer the urge to move your bowels more than once every 6 days, and will suffer no ill consequences from not doing so at greater frequency. Note: This skill can be overridden by status effects from Illnesses, Debuffs, and Toxidromes.


    Cost: Permanent -5 to total Energy


    He immediately purchased the skill, but stayed in the menu to evaluate the others. There were other skills related to bodily functions ¡ª- pissing, eating, drinking, even screwing. One of the passives advertised permanent contraception, while another gave immunity to common STDs. Still others provided shortened duration of colds, reduced chance at developing allergies, and even making sleep more efficient. This last group related to sleep carried some cost, however. All appeared to increase your chance of nightmares.


    ¡°These lifestyle passives seem useful,¡± he said. ¡°Less shitting, less sniffles, less aching.¡±


    Esmeralda grinned over him. ¡°What do you think I¡¯ve been spending my points on?¡±


    The Lifestyle Passives menu also contained some class-specific options. For some reason, the Charger ones seemed to involve a lot of head stuff. One had an icon of himself massaging his temples.


    Passive: Limited Cephalalgia


    Description: Headaches, no matter how severe, never last more than 1-hour.


    Cost: Permanent -5 to total Energy.


    Flint snorted. If only such a thing existed in the real world. He told the others about it.


    ¡°Seems like a strange thing to spend skill points on,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Quirin said. ¡°There¡¯s a growing population of mage-kind who specialize in Pain magic.¡±


    ¡°Pain magic?¡± Dexter asked. ¡°That sounds buh¡ª buh¡ª badass.¡±


    ¡°Not if you¡¯re on the receiving end.¡±


    ¡°Speaking from experience?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Quirin grimaced. ¡°My lovely Nara is a member of a TC.¡±


    ¡°TC?¡±


    ¡°Torture cult.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Flint shot Esmeralda a narrow-eyed look, praying she wouldn¡¯t ask the idiot to elaborate. But Quirin didn¡¯t need prodding.


    ¡°Last summer she caught me in bed with another woman,¡± he said. ¡°Cast a curse on me that gave me a week-long migraine.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Quirin continued, eyes narrowed as though peering into the past. ¡°It got so bad at one point I was begging the Shaman to cut my throat and end it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s terrible,¡± she said.


    Quirin chuckled. ¡°Not half as terrible as what she did to Auri.¡±


    ¡°The girl you were caught sleeping with?¡±


    The elf nodded. ¡°Nara placed a special hex on her. Made some kind of devil worm spawn in her brain cavity.¡±


    Flint stepped on a branch, hearing it crack underfoot. He didn¡¯t much care for this story.


    ¡°That¡¯s some dark and messed up shu¡ª shit,¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°That¡¯s Nara for you,¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°What happened to her?¡± she asked.


    Quirin sighed. ¡°Unfortunately I had to marry her.¡±


    ¡°You married the woman you got caught cheating with?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, I had to marry Nara,¡± Quirin chuckled. ¡°Thankfully we had a rushed ceremony. She wouldn¡¯t stop the headache till it was consummated.¡±


    ¡°She forced you to screw her while under a cuh¡ª cuh¡ª curse?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°What happened to Auri?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    The elf¡¯s face darkened. ¡°She billy goat-charged a giant slab of granite.¡± He raised a flat palm in front of his face and pecked his forehead against it. ¡°Smashed her brains out. Right in front of the whole town.¡± He shook his head sadly. ¡°Huge mess, let me tell you.¡±


    Flint¡¯s stomach roiled. ¡°Great fucking story.¡±


    ¡°A little sickening, though,¡± Esmeralda mumbled.


    ¡°You don¡¯t say?¡±


    ¡°Some people find Pain magic fascinating,¡± Quirin said, shrugging. ¡°I got more stories about Nara if you¡¯d like. Wanna hear about the time she caught the housemaid kicking her cats?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± all three of them said in unison.


    And that was the morning¡¯s conversation.


    They spent the next several hours into the evening moving along a path Quirin assured him would lead them to Dugath, all the while killing Small game. Eventually, he completed the Small Game 1 mission, and moved on to Small Game 2. Unfortunately one of the creatures, a Moondevil, wasn¡¯t indigenous to the Bellwoods. That would have to wait till they got further south.


    By evening, Flint gained five more levels. With each level-up, he elected to invest points into Health and Stamina, alternatively. By the time they setup camp for the night, he checked his Constitution Statistics and realized he was in a good position to buy another Stamina-cost skill. He studied the options to see if there were any he could add to his repertoire.


    Skill: Heave


    Throw your two-handed melee weapon at an opponent no more than twelve paces away and have it return to you after impacting your target or traveling twelve paces, whichever comes first. The skill may be activated a second time within 0.50 seconds, causing you to teleport to its location.


    Cost: 40 Stamina and 10 Energy (base) + 45 Energy (if teleport activated)


    Flint considered it. An attack that could also be used as an escape. He made it the fourth addition to his skill bar. After a couple times testing it, he was satisfied he made the right decision.


    They setup camp for the evening on a dry clearing between ancient oaks and dry leaves. Flint removed the small tarp from his bag and it ballooned into a tent. Esmeralda and Quirin did the same, but Dexter didn¡¯t have one, having instead chosen to buy the parrot.


    ¡°So you¡¯re gunna sleep in the dirt?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°He can share mine,¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t puh¡ª play that way, elf,¡± Dexter replied.


    ¡°We need someone awake to watch,¡± Quirin said. ¡°I can do my shift while you sleep and vice-versa.¡±


    Flint glared at Dexter. ¡°No shelter or armor. But at least you got that stupid¡ªass bird.¡±


    Stanley jittered on Dexter¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Squawk. Kill yourself, fuck-nugget.¡±


    They sat on logs around a small fire. Flint pulled out his magical cook pot along with a parcel of dear meat.


    ¡°That¡¯s gross,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°You¡¯re really going to eat that?¡±


    Flint ignored her, plopping the bloody meat into the pot and closed the lid. A dialog box popped up.


    Known Recipes:


    Venison Steak


    He frowned. Limited selection that was. Nonetheless, he selected it.


    A new dialog box appeared:


    Venison Steak


    Satisfies Hunger for eight hours.


    Restores 35 HP.


    Ingredients: 2 Raw Dear Meat


    He made a mental note to search the next merchant for recipes. For now, he reached into his sack and extracted the extra slab of meat, then put it in the pot. When he resealed the lid, the dialog box asked him what he wanted to make, so he selected Venison Steak. There was a loud snap, and when he opened the pot, two neat cuts of Venisan Steak stared back at him.


    ¡°Smells amazing,¡± Dexter said.


    Flint picked up the cut and examined it. It seemed okay. He took a bite, feeling the juices drip down his chin. ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± he said.


    ¡°Can I borrow that pot?¡± Dexter asked.


    Flint thought on it a second. ¡°If you put that annoying bird away.¡±


    Stanley bristled, but didn¡¯t say anything. Maybe the stupid thing ran out of comebacks.


    Dexter reluctantly removed an object from his sack, a thin strip of metal which immediately transformed into a bird cage. He placed Stanley on the twig inside it, then transferred the cage back into the sack, both the bird and the cage shrinking upon entry.


    He let Dexter to cook his own with the cook pot. On the opposite end of the fire, Esmeralda munched on a bag of vegetables she¡¯d bought the week prior, dripping them into a container filled with some kind of yellow oil.


    ¡°I¡¯m going down to the river,¡± Quirin said. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    Flint looked up from his second stake, juices bleeding down the side of his mouth. ¡°The river? Why?¡±


    ¡°Where is the river?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°A quarter-mile from here that way,¡± Quirin said, pointing. ¡°I won¡¯t be long.¡±


    ¡°Thought you said the thorny brush or whatever made it impossible to get to.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Not impossible, just unpleasant.¡±


    Flint grew a little uncomfortable at his departure. A paranoid part of him thought the elf would be going to signal some bandit friends to rob them. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for water, I have some to lend.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Quirin said.


    Flint stood-up. ¡°We¡¯ll all go, then.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do that.¡±


    There was an awkward silence that stretched out between them.


    ¡°What are you planning, bud?¡± Flint said. ¡°Got friends nearby waiting to ambush us?¡±


    ¡°If I did, I wouldn¡¯t need to fetch them,¡± Quirin said. ¡°But you needn¡¯t worry. I¡¯m getting mushrooms.¡±


    ¡°Mushrooms?¡±


    ¡°Hahbi¡¯kara mushrooms. They grow on the banks of the river.¡± He reached into his sack and pulled out a mortar and pestle. He showed them the bottom of the mortar which was smeared with golden yellow from whatever had been ground in it. ¡°I use it for my tea.¡±


    A quest dialog box popped into his HUD:


    NEW QUEST: MAGIC MUSHROOMS


    Take a journey into a land of deep insight by imbibing a cup of Hahbi¡¯kara tea.


    Reward:


    - 1,000 XP


    - Basic Mortar and Pestle


    Flint stared at it a moment. A nice XP reward, that. He wasn¡¯t sure about the motor and pestle, though. And he was doubly unsure he wanted to imbibe anything, whatever the reward. That Carja experience the other night was insightful enough for him. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± Dexter said, standing up. ¡°Lead the wuh¡ª way.¡±


    ¡°I need to go alone,¡± Quirin said.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°In case there¡¯s Hornslogs down there.¡±


    Dexter paused a beat, and Flint understood why. That giant yellow mix between a crocodile and T-rex wasn¡¯t something he wanted to see up close.


    ¡°How are you gunna fight them yourself?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Who said I would fight them?¡± Quirin said. ¡°Hornslogs don¡¯t see well. They rely on smell to catch their pray.¡±


    Flint didn¡¯t see how the elf benefited from that fact of physiology, seeing as Quirin smelled like a pile of dog shit. ¡°That¡¯s why you shouldn¡¯t go near one.¡±


    Quirin¡¯s grin stretched. ¡°Ah but I have the Scentless Wonder skill.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in the Hunter skill tree. Makes you nearly scentless to animals.¡±


    Flint looked at the other two. Esmeralda shrugged.


    After he left, the three of them sat around the fire.


    Flint looked around at his surroundings. Checked the map again. The red cursor marking his location was situated at the edge of Reach City where the forest began, a large question mark over it. He sighed and closed the map, then pulled his jacket tighter.


    The night was cold and airy, they grouped close to the fire.


    ¡°You know what¡¯s weird?¡± Esmeralda asked, her eyes fixed on the fire. ¡°How we¡¯re sitting inside a casket right now, attached to all those wires. With computers snaking needles into our brains.¡±


    ¡°Why is that wuh¡ª weird?¡±


    She raised her two hands in front of her, turning them over. ¡°When I move, I don¡¯t feel anything outside the game.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s still strange.¡±


    Flint had to agree with that. In the other VR MMOs, all one had to do was remove the headset to leave the game world. Now there were thousands of transducers in his brain and spinal cord working overtime to convince him the game world was the real world. Certainly an amazing feat of engineering, but the inability to leave the game universe was more than a little disconcerting.


    ¡°And we¡¯re stuck here forever,¡± Esmeralda said glumly.


    The fire crackled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Dexter said. ¡°My real life was shuh¡ª shit.¡±


    Esmeralda turned to him. ¡°Don¡¯t you miss your parents? Your other friends?¡±


    ¡°I have followers and fans. Not many friends.¡±


    Silence for a moment.


    Flint felt a tugging at his conscience. He hadn¡¯t yet told them what McCormick said about the non-players. ¡°They aren¡¯t going to do anything. The caskets are feeding and nourishing you, and unhooking yourself from them would kill you.¡±


    ¡°So will dying in the game,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°What¡¯s the purpose of killing a player in real-life if they die in the game?¡±


    Flint glared at her. ¡°Saying you believe me now?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t met a single player whose died and respawned.¡±


    She shifted uncomfortably. ¡°There are other explanations.¡±


    ¡°Like?¡±


    ¡°Maybe if you die in-game, you just wake-up. Maybe the Casket disconnects from you, and you¡¯re back in the real world.¡±


    Flint jerked his head toward the giant rock behind them. ¡°Go make like Quirin¡¯s girlfriend and test that theory if you''re so damn confident.¡±


    She scowled at him. ¡°Stop being such an asshole. I''m scared.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, me too.¡±


    ##


    The snap of a twig caused Flint to stand suddenly, reaching for the hammer. But into the light stepped Quirin, a wry grin on his face.


    ¡°There was a Hornslog down there,¡± he said, taking up a seat on his own log across from Flint. ¡°Spotted me as I was leaving the bank.¡±


    ¡°Did it follow you here?¡±


    ¡°Was too quick for it.¡±


    He reached into his sack and removed the mortar and pestle. Then he fished into his pocket and removed a small item that looked like a canteen, along with a pair of what looked like small flowers.


    Indeed it was. It was about the size of a small flower. The thing had a golden cap that sheened in the light of the fire. It¡¯s stem was a clean white.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty,¡± Esmeralda said.


    Flint agreed.


    Quirin placed it into the bowel and started grinding it. When he was finished, he scraped it off into the canteen, then closed the lid and shook it. After that was done, he unscrewed the lid, steam coming out the top that smelled rather disgusting.


    He took a small sip himself, smiling. Then he handed the canteen to Dexter who also drank then passed it on to Esmeralda when it came to him without taking a sip. She eyed it suspiciously.


    ¡°It¡¯s really good,¡± Dexter said.


    She brought it up to her mouth slowly, taking a sip.


    ¡°When should I start tripping balls?¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t hallucinate,¡± Quirin said. ¡°It just calms you down.¡±


    Esmeralda tried passing it to Flint but he waved it away.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s going to have to stay on watch and not be zonked out.¡±


    ¡°Tastes really good,¡± Dexter said, taking it from her and sipping longer.


    ¡°Smells like poop though,¡± Esmeralda said.


    ¡°It is,¡± Quirin said. ¡°Hornslogs shit on the riverbank and this is what grows.¡±


    Dexter gagged on the drink, coughing up a spell.


    Flint grinned.


    It only took fifteen minutes or so for the three of them to start chilling.


    Flint looked at Quirin through the light of the fire, his eyes big as saucers. He turned over to Esmeralda and Dexter, who were sitting hunched up together, leaning on each other for support. There was a contented smile on Esmeralda¡¯s face as she stared straight into the fire. Dexter had a sheepish grin on his face as well, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fire,¡± she said.


    No one spoke for half a minute.


    ¡°What is fire?¡± Quirin asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s an element of life,¡± she replied. ¡°It¡¯s something that¡¯s in all of us.¡±


    ¡°Every blessed one of us,¡± Dexter said. ¡°Every man, woman, child, and animal. We are one with the server. And the server is one with us.¡±


    Flint¡¯s raised an eyebrow. Dexter hadn¡¯t stuttered a single syllable.


    ¡°The fish in the pond is not with us,¡± Quirin said. ¡°He is for himself.¡±


    Another pause as the fire crackled.


    ¡°Walker?¡± Esmeralda said softly. ¡°Walker, are you there?¡±


    Flint¡¯s brow raised even further. She hadn¡¯t called him that name yet. He didn¡¯t say anything in reply though.


    ¡°Walker?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Walker,¡± Dexter said. ¡°Runner¡­ Walker¡­ Talker¡­ Walker¡­¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s to say there is none?¡± Quirin said. ¡°We all rest on the seeds of the new beginning.¡±


    ¡°Walker, Walker, Walker,¡± Esmeralda repeated. ¡°Are you there, Crippled One?¡±


    Flint scowled. ¡°I¡¯m sitting right in front of you.¡±


    Her eyes lifted up to his very slowly and asked in a tone that was equal measures calm and earnest: ¡°You are the special one, Walker. You were born to be here.¡±


    Flint sighed and stood-up. Being in the company of stoned fools weren¡¯t any kind of fun sober. He stepped out from the campfire and back towards the perimeter of their little circle towards the tent. He was drowsy and wanted to sleep. ¡°Wake me up when it¡¯s my turn on the watch.¡±


    He was about to turn around when he caught sight of something behind Quirin. Flecks of red against the backdrop of pitch black, bobbing up-and-down as they grew closer. It took him a whole second to realize what they were.


    ¡°Quirin,¡± he said, his voice barely a whisper. He carefully drew out the hammer on his back, heart thundering in his chest.


    The sound of a twig snapping caused Dexter to turn around. Esmeralda kept her head half-laid on his shoulder.


    ¡°Quirin,¡± Flint repeated with more urgency.


    Quirin¡¯s heavily-lidded eyes scanned upward. ¡°What?¡±


    The horrifying jaws of the Hornslog appeared three feet in front of its beady eyeballs, thick films of saliva pooling off its fangs. Up close, the thing was even more enormous than he¡¯d thought. Certainly big enough that he would¡¯ve though it might¡¯ve made more noise. It was hovered less than a half-stride from Quirin¡¯s back.


    Flint¡¯s targeter zeroed in on it.


    Baby Hornslog


    Level 232


    ¡°Run,¡± Flint said, scrambling backwards. ¡°Run!¡±


    There was a mighty roar and a pair of eighteen inch fangs spitted Quirin at an angle like a piece of gristle. The elf was ripped apart in a bloody shower, the creature shaking him like a chew toy.


    Flint had never ran so fast in his life. With great strides, he bolted from the clearing into the tree-line, not thinking or caring one iota for the other two. He ran and ran until his lungs were near to bursting, and then he ran some more. The wind itself couldn¡¯t outrun him.


    A good twenty minutes later, he came up to a stop, chest heaving. Even then, he checked over his shoulder with the hammer out, ready to Heave away at the first sign of that yellow beast. There was no one there though. He stood there against a tall tree, his smoky breath coming in wheezes as he watched a whole minute. When nothing came, he doubled over on the ground, sucking air like an asthmatic.


    A good ten minutes later, a plume of red ash lit up the treeline, causing him to bolt back on his feet, hammer ready.


    ¡°Flint?¡± a voice yelled.


    Esmeralda.


    ¡°Over here!¡±


    Two figures stepped through the clearing, their own breaths smoking. There was blood running down Dexter¡¯s face from a gash in his forehead.


    ¡°What the fuck happened?¡± he demanded.


    Dexter¡¯s calm and unstuttered voice came back. ¡°The Hornslog ate Quirin, man.¡±


    ¡°No shit, Sherlock. Where is it now?¡±


    ¡°Gone with the wind,¡± Esmeralda said, waving her hand in the air. ¡°Whoosh.¡±


    Dexter looked at him with wide eyes. ¡°Whoosh,¡± he repeated.


    Flint gaped at them. They were still very much high.


    Esmeralda laid a hand on Flint¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The universe is full of secrets. We must learn to unlock the boxes.¡±


    Flint shook her hand off. ¡°The fuck are you talking about?¡±


    But neither of them said anything. They calmly walked over to the nearest tree. Without a word, they sat down with their backs to the trunk and closed their eyes.


    Flint worked his mouth in anger, then confusion, then realized it was up. He looked up at the sky, spotted the twin moons high above, the nearest one covering a fourth of the sky, and the far one just a smudge straight overhead. He sank against the trunk and stared, not daring to sleep.

 CHAPTER 09 — GNOMES

    CHAPTER 09 ¡ª GNOMES


    By the time the sun rose, Flint hadn¡¯t gotten a wink of sleep. He lay there, leaned against the tree, heart hammering in his chest. It was strange, feeling the need to sleep. Of course, he was used to it in real life. But this need, this strong desire to close his eyes and drift off into dreamland was indistinguishable from what he¡¯d known in real life. He wondered what kind of engineering needed to give him this multitude of complex signals and sensations.


    Esmeralda stretched out, blinking and looking around. Her green eyes were bloodshot.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± she asked, yawning.


    ¡°Somewhere near our last camp.¡±


    She looked at him sideways, one eye still closed. ¡°My body aches and I¡¯ve got a headache.¡±


    ¡°Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.¡±


    He stood and walked over to Dexter, who was snoring loudly on his back. Flint kicked him gently in the ribs.


    ¡°Whas-is,¡± Dexter said, rolling over on his side. There was drool coming out the side of his mouth.


    Flint reached into his sack and extracted the canteen. He unscrewed the lid and poured some water over Vardock''s head. The big man went bolt upright, eyes big as a cow¡¯s. His fat head swiveled left and right. ¡°What the fuh¡ªfuck?¡±


    ¡°Time to move.¡±


    Dexter glared at him. ¡°That was unnecessary.¡±


    Flint had already started walking by the time the other two caught up to him.


    ¡°We going back for our stuff?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Obviously.¡±


    ¡°What if that¡­ thing is still there?¡±


    ¡°They sleep during daytime,¡± Flint said.


    They walked on in silence for several minutes. When they finally came to the clearing, Flint felt his chest tightened a bit. He remembered seeing Quirin get ripped apart by that monster. He wasn¡¯t looking forward to seeing the dead man littered about the camp.


    When they finally did arrive at the old camp, their fire was still going at a minimum. Flint looked around both ways and carefully stepped into the clearing, his weapon raised. After several long tense moments, he started to relax.


    Their tents were still out and open along with several of their items, including Flint¡¯s cook pot. They spent the next 10 minutes combing through the camp and collecting their belongings. There was no sign of the little man Quirin, save for dried blood on the log he was sitting on. A lot of it.


    ¡°Think it carried Quirin to its nest?¡± Dexter asked.


    Flint shrugged. ¡°Who cares?¡±


    ¡°Think he''s dead?¡±


    The image of the monstrosity shaking the elf around like a chew toy flashed in Flint''s brain. Not a nice image. ¡°Nah, I think he''s having tea and biscuits up the road.¡±


    Dexter frowned. ¡°Don''t gotta be a puh- prick about it.¡±


    ¡°Obviously the stupid elf is dead, moron. The Hornslog chopped him half, last I saw. Probably shit the retard out already.¡±


    ¡°You don''t have to insult him, Austin,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°He was trying to help us.¡±


    Flint snorted. ¡°Yeah, by drugging you two and leading a dinosaur to the campfire. Great help he was.¡± Almost as much as you, is what he wanted to add.


    Dexter''s face was screwed up, his tongue pressed between the gap in his teeth. ¡°How we get outta this forest without a guh- guh- guide?¡±


    Flint opened his world map. The cursor was still at the edge of the forest with a question mark over it. He followed the length of the river all the way to the city of Dugath. He kicked himself for not asking Quirin for a rough estimate of how far we gotten.


    He turned around, looking up at the foliage around him as though that was going to tell him anything useful. Then he caught sight of the sun peeking up over the canopy. ¡°There.¡±


    They turned and looked in the direction he was pointing.


    ¡°The leaves?¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°No, idiot,¡± he said, forcing his finger in the same direction. ¡°The sun.¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°On Earth, the sun always rose in the east and set in the west,¡± Flint said, reopening his world map. ¡°Dugoth is due east of Reach City.¡±


    ¡°So we walk towards the sun?¡±


    Flynn didn¡¯t answer, he was again studying the pathway around him. He caught sight of their foot tracks from yesterday, and confirmed that what he had in mind was the right thing to do. He pointed to them. ¡°That¡¯s the way we came from yesterday, the exact opposite of east.¡±


    ¡°What if the sun doesn''t rise in the east in this world?¡± Esmeralda asked.


    ¡°Then I guess we¡¯ll be lost.¡± He started off at a brisk walk, the two hurrying to keep pace.


    ¡°Maybe we should go closer to the river and follow it,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°That will also run right into Dugath.¡±


    ¡°The elf said the river is concealed by the thornbrush, wherever that is. That, and Hornslogs sleep there during the day.¡±


    They carried on walking from morning to night with no problems. There was more small game of the variety they¡¯d already seen and both Flint and Dexter took to killing it. Esmeralda as usual did not participate, which irked Flint more than a little bit, because she was sharing the XP.


    By mid-day, he cleared level 12, and received his second Talent point. He placed it this time into Charisma. He¡¯d been placing his skill points mostly into his Constitution bar ¨C both Health and Stamina. But after browsing the Skill Tree again, he decided he would invest in his next active skill. The one he chose was his favorite yet:


    Skill: Triple-Double


    Execute three fast strikes with a two-handed weapon. If you successfully damage an enemy with all three strikes, the third will do double damage.


    Stamina: 32


    Practicing the skill, he realized it wasn¡¯t the most ideal for a Warhammer, being more suited for quick slashed and thrusts with a greatsword. But it sure felt cool. Activating the skill made his blows lightening fast, a quick side-swipe, followed by a back swing, and overhead smash.


    ¡°That looks buh¡ªbadass,¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°Squawk. Keep stuttering douche-monkey,¡± Stanley said.


    ¡°That''s not very nice,¡± Esmeralda said.


    Dexter shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s mad I put him in the cage.¡±


    That night, they made camp again but decided to forgo a fire. Flint elected to get a full night sleep, hesitant about letting Esmeralda of all people do half of the nights watch. But he was so damn tired at that point, that by the time the sun went down, he¡¯d actually noticed his stamina bar shrink in size. An interesting effect of fatigue, one he would have to keep in mind in the future.


    In the morning, they set off following the rising sun. They had no problems throughout the morning and into the early afternoon. The small game XP yield was dwindling by the time he hit level 14, and became insignificant at level 16. By late afternoon of the fourth day, it¡¯d become so paltry that he didn¡¯t even bother. His inventory was also about full with Deer meat and animal hides anyway.


    By evening, they crossed into a new part of the forest. The land began to change from mossy, sparse woodlands to a mucky, windblown mire of greenery. The trees changed from thin far-spaced and leave-less to big-trunked monstrosities. The ground became much more hilly too.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem natural,¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°No,¡± Flint agreed. He licked his cracked lips and sipped from the canteen. Only a sparse few drops trickled out. He turned it over, seeing nothing come out. ¡°I need to find a pond or something.¡±


    ¡°There,¡± Dexter said, pointing in the distance.


    Flint squinted. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything.¡±


    ¡°That sound, coming from over there.¡±


    Esmeralda bent her head sideways. ¡°I hear it.¡±


    ¡°Hear what?¡±


    ¡°Like a waterfall.¡±


    He followed Dexter and the bird to a grassy hill which turned into a steeper hill. The sound of rushing water grew louder as the tree cover became more sparse.


    ¡°Hold up,¡± Flint said. He pulled his hammer off his back.


    ¡°What?¡± Dexter said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s on the other side of this hill,¡± he said. ¡°But the geography has changed, and in games like this, that means entire new sets of critters.¡±


    Dexter nodded and removed his m sword.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Are we further south? Is that why its greener?¡± Esmeralda said.


    Flint had enough of her belly-aching. He ignored her and started moving forward.


    ¡°Well?¡± she said loudly.


    ¡°Well what?¡± he snapped.


    ¡°How do you know we¡¯re going in the right direction?¡± she said. ¡°If we¡¯re going south, why is it freezing here?¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t going south, we¡¯re going east.¡±


    Nearing the top of the hill, the sound of rushing water reached its peak and when they came over, it was clear why.


    ¡°This is nice,¡± Esmeralda said.


    Flint looked around. They were on a narrow shelf of land overlooking the forest, the shoulder of the small waterfall in front of them. Some thirty feet up another steep incline was the summit of the hill, whatever was up there invisible from their vantage point.


    Flint stepped over and filled his canteen. Then he stepped over to the opposite side. They were high over the forest, and he caught sight of the river running seventy feet below. A mile or so up the river, the red-orange thorn brush appeared on both sides, roughly corresponding to the transition zone where the mire turned into the sparsely wooded segment. The canopy of trees stretched out for miles to either end.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± Dexter said.


    Flint agreed. It was a sight to behold.


    ¡°Let¡¯s stay here tonight,¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°My feet hurt.¡±


    Flint looked around. It was a small parcel of land with good elevation, the only way to access it was up the steep hill.


    ¡°You guys see this?¡± Dexter said, he was climbed up the rocky passe of the waterfall, his hand cupped over his eye to shield from the sun.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    Before he could respond, Dexter¡¯s eyes grew wide. ¡°Oh shuh¡ª shuh¡ª shit!¡±


    An arrow plunged into the center of his chest and he fell backward. Esmeralda screamed, dropping bundle of sticks in her hands. Dexter seemed to fall in slow-motion, his mouth agape but no scream coming out. A moment later, he smacked into the waterfall and was carried along with the current. Before Flint could move, he was carried off the shelf of waterfall to plunge into the river some hundred-feet below. A messaged flashed in his HUD:


    NOTE ¡ª Vardock has left the Party.


    Flint¡¯s heart raced into overdrive. His first instinct was to run against the top shelf of the hill, lest any other arrows sail down. He pulled out his hammer, ready to move.


    ¡°Stop,¡± a voice yelled from behind him.


    Flint froze. How did someone get up the hill behind them? And how did they manage to hit Dexter with an arrow when he was on the summit of the hill?


    ¡°Place your weapon on the ground,¡± the voice said. Monotone, brusk. Almost bored.


    Flint looked at Esmeralda whose gaze was fixed on whoever was behind him. She slowly turned to look at him and nodded frantically.


    He cursed and dropped the hammer, then reflexively put his hands up over his head. A minute later, a giant man close to seven feet stepped up beside him, a giant staff held lazily at his side. His face was broad and flat, a stubble of beard forming. He was dressed in a button-up military coat and wore boots of dark leather.


    Flint¡¯s targeter auto-scanned him.


    Dr. Branimir Romchil


    Level 200 Mage-Specialist


    Romchil stepped into their camp and looked in each of the tents slowly. He seemed almost bored. Esmeralda stood in the same place, frozen in horror or fear.


    When he was finished scanning over everything slowly, he said, ¡°Clear.¡±


    Flint caught movement on the summit. A dozen tiny figures appeared carrying golden crossbows. At first, he thought they were a band of toddlers because they were no more than three feet tall. But as they descended the rockface where Dexter had stood, their faces came into view. Harsh, ugly faces with big noses. A few had scrabbly beards.


    The group of them waddled over the stones in the waterfall and made to surround them, their weapons raised and pointed at them. As they made their way across, Esmeralda slowly inched her way back toward Flint, coming to a stop right at his side.


    ¡°Outta my way.¡±


    One of the gnomes roughly pushed his way through the crowd of them and past Romchil. Where most of the other gnomes wore green tunics and knee-high socks, this one had an open blue blazer and something that looked awful close to jeans and dark-brown penny loafers. In his arms was cradled an even more giant crossbow. His face was big and puffy, his nose a bulbous red. Flint¡¯s targeter auto-scanned him, but refused to display a report, even after he prompted.


    A long, awkward silence passed as the line of gnomes ¡ª some twenty of them in all plus the giant wizard Romchil stared at them.


    ¡°What are you kiddos doing in this neck of the woods?¡± the head gnome said, his voice harsh as a squeaky wheel and much louder than you¡¯d expect from something his size. It was grating and filled with arrogance. Reminded Flint of the New York mobsters from old movies.


    Flint glanced at Esmeralda who had his left arm in a vice grip.


    ¡°Whatsa matta?¡± the gnome said. ¡°Lost ya tongue?¡±


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± Flint said.


    The right side of the gnome¡¯s lip twitched upward. ¡°I¡¯m Mox. Like the animal. With an M. And what¡¯s your name, friendo?¡±


    ¡°Flint,¡± he said. ¡°I mean, Walker.¡±


    ¡°Walker,¡± Mox chuckled, saying it more like Waukuh. ¡°And so you did. Walked right onto my property.¡±


    ¡°Your property?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I uh¡­ didn¡¯t realize someone lived here.¡±


    ¡°Oh you wouldn¡¯t have,¡± Mox said. ¡°I don¡¯t keep any signs up or nothin¡¯. Still, you¡¯re a tresspasser, and for that, I¡¯m sadly gunna have to kill ya.¡±


    Esmeralda whimpered next to him, starting to cry.


    ¡°Why?¡± Flint asked, then regretted it when Mox started laughing.


    ¡°Why?¡± he said. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we can work something out. I have gold.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? How much?¡±


    Flint checked his inventory, his heart sinking. ¡°Seven gold pieces. But I got tons of animal pelts, too.¡±


    The gnomes burst out laughing in unison.


    ¡°Animal pelts,¡± Mox said, his own smile widening. ¡°That¡¯s real cute there, friendo.¡±


    Flint¡¯s mind raced for something. He looked left and right frantically. He could try to get away, activate Headhunter while targeting a bird somewhere. Might get him away.


    Romchil tapped his staff on the ground and Flint¡¯s skill bar suddenly blacked-out. A warning sign in the Status Effect window appeared.


    Status Effect: SILENCED


    Duration: 300s


    (Dr. Branimir Romchil with Skill: Extended Lockout)


    Flint¡¯s eyes bugged out wide. That was the most OP shit he¡¯d ever seen. All his skills totally disabled by one spell.


    ¡°Do not make me use the other one,¡± Romchil said calmly. ¡°It is much more painful.¡±


    Flint swallowed, the panic setting in again. ¡°Look, Mister Mox. I am deeply sorry for the offense we¡¯ve caused by trespassing on your lands. But you¡¯ve already killed one of my friends. Can you find it in your heart to let us go?¡±


    Mox¡¯s brows twisted in thought. ¡°Nah. I can¡¯t.¡±


    Flint¡¯s heart sank. ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°Cause as I said, why not?¡±


    ¡°Leave us alone, you bastard!¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°We didn¡¯t do anything to you.¡±


    Mox snapped his fingers and one of the gnomes stepped out of the line carrying a golden crossbow. He walked-up to his leader, who was taking his time rolling up his sleeves and deposited it in his hands.


    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, sweetheart,¡± he said, pronouncing the last word sweet-haht. ¡°Just by playing this game you¡¯ve done immeasurable damage to me.¡±


    ¡°Game?¡± Flint said.


    Mox waved his arm around as if revealing the surroundings for the first time. ¡°Where you are now, schmuck. You¡¯re in a game world, believe it or not. The GU. The Server.¡±


    Flint blinked. Was this NPC actually aware it was part of a game? ¡°You know you¡¯re in a game universe?¡±


    ¡°Duh.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you killing us when you know it¡¯s going to result our death?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re already dead, dummy.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You heard me, pencil dick. You died the second you chose to log-in to the game,¡± Mox said. ¡°They call it a casket for a reason, moron.¡±


    Flint was caught halfway between shock and anger, and the stalemate was keeping him mute. He wasn¡¯t at all happy about being insulted by a gang of bearded fetuses. Being robbed AND insulted was too much. Yet even as he clenched his fists in anger, he had to admit the thing¡¯s points were dead-on. Still, the fact that this NPC was meta-aware gave him an idea.


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill us,¡± Flint said. ¡°We¡¯re on an important mission for an Admin.¡±


    Mox scowled as he pulled the lever mechanism to load a cross bolt.


    ¡°He told us to meet him in Siolan, that it was imperative we get there,¡± he continued.


    ¡°Good for you.¡± Mox raised the bow up to point at him.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    Flint opened his eyes. Romchil¡¯s face was twisted into a frown.


    Mox glanced over his shoulder at the wizard with a look of extreme annoyance. The big wizard ignored him.


    ¡°What was his name?¡± Romchil asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Flint said, heart hammering.


    ¡°The Admin. What was his name?¡±


    ¡°Dorn McCormick.¡±


    Romchil turned his glare on the gnome. ¡°Lower the crossbow.¡±


    Mox¡¯s face turned bright red with rage. ¡°You believe this garbage?¡± Gah-bidge.


    Romchil raised a brow high as he looked between Flint and Mox. Then, he shrugged. ¡°Better safe than sorry. You know what happened last time you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, fuck it,¡± Mox slammed the crossbow down. One of his comrades stepped forward to collect it.


    Flint heaved a sigh of relief. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Romchil didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he simply turned on his heel and walked up the rock face. The gnomes didn¡¯t go anywhere. They, along with their leader, just glared at them angrily.


    Flint felt Esmeralda tugging his arm.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t going anywhere,¡± Mox said. ¡°Till you pay-up.¡±


    ¡°Pay up?¡± Flint repeated.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll let you live this time. But you¡¯re gunna pay the toll.¡±


    Flint scowled at him and thought to tell him something rude. But a couple of the gnomes raised their crossbows.


    ¡°Just give me a little lip, and I¡¯ll have them shoot you, no matter what the oaf said.¡±


    ¡°What do you want from us?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with them inventory sacks.¡±


    Flint and Esmeralda tossed their sacks on the ground in front of the gnome, and one of his henchman snapped it up.


    ¡°Give me your weapons too.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all I have to defend myself,¡± he said in a voice much more whiny than he¡¯d meant.


    ¡°And I am indeed sorry for that,¡± Mox said, clutching his breast, a look of faux sympathy on his face. It disappeared quick though. ¡°Now check ¡®em in.¡±


    ¡°How are we going to survive the walk?¡± Esmeralda said. ¡°How are we going to get to Dugath without food or tents?¡±


    ¡°Dugath, eh?¡± Mox said. ¡°You¡¯re pretty far from there.¡±


    ¡°You know how to get there?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°Put one foot in front of the other.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the advice,¡± Flint said, tossing the hammer over in front of him.


    ¡°You want advice, get a lawya. I¡¯m just the guy robbing you.¡±


    ¡°We finished here?¡±


    ¡°Be needing them clothes, too.¡±


    Flint angrily unbuckled his breastplate and tossed it on the ground.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Mox said.


    They turned to leave.


    ¡°Ah, ah, ah.¡±


    They turned back around.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have anything else,¡± Esmeralda yelled.


    ¡°Really? Cause I see a perfectly good tunic on your carcass.¡±


    A cold feeling passed through him.


    ¡°No,¡± he said.


    Mox just smiled. ¡°Yes. And I want all of it, too. Skiffies included.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not giving you all her clothes.¡±


    Mox snapped his fingers and the whole line of gnomes raised crossbows, the sounds of latches being pulled back.


    ¡°You were saying?¡±


    Flint exchanged glances with Esmeralda who looked horrified. He glanced back at the row of crossbows and thought. Maybe he could execute his escape now and get away. The silence was worn off now. But something told him that would just get him killed faster.


    He reached for the top of his shirt and unbuttoned it. Then undid his belt buckle and dropped his pants. Esmeralda did the same thing.


    When they were stark naked, Flint gathered their clothes and tossed them over in front of Mox. Esmeralda covered her sizable breasts with one arm and her crotch with the open palm of her hand. Flint just let it all hang out.


    ¡°Pleasure doing business!¡± Mox said. ¡°Happy journey.¡±


    They walked back down the hill, barefoot and bare-assed. Esmeralda walked alongside him, her eyes downcast. They walked off in the general direction of the river, not saying anything. It wasn¡¯t long until both of them were shivering.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go this way,¡± Flint said. ¡°Too close to the river.¡±


    She looked up at him with tears glinting. Her arms were crossed against her chest, teeth chattering.


    ¡°Those Hornslog things might be around,¡± he said.


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    She said nothing, but when he widened out their path away from the river, she followed.


    He felt a pain and a guilt then. Like he was the one that screwed this up for them. They got half a mile up the path when she suddenly stopped. Her face a milk-white, shallow breath smoking. His own skin was ice-cold.


    He grabbed her by the arm and tried leading her but she wouldn¡¯t move. Just stood planted still.


    He looked around. There was a hollowed-out log nearby, a patch of leaves jammed under it. Looked dry enough.


    ¡°There,¡± he said, voice choked with cold. She glanced where he pointed. After a second, she let him lead her over.


    They ducked into the hollow, grabbing each other in a tight embrace. They lay there on the leaves, naked bodies pressed in tight as lovers, drawing whatever warmth they could from each other. He never thought his first time laying with a naked girl would be while he was freezing to death, but there it was. There wasn¡¯t anything sexual about it, though. They were freezing to death, and there wasn¡¯t a damn thing to do about it.


    He wondered stupidly if their bodies would be found. Would they stumble upon them at some unforeseen future time and see them locked together in a frozen embrace? Would they think them lovers caught in a frozen storm, as opposed to two people who could barely stand each other?


    The sight of his HP bar blinking low reminded him that he wasn¡¯t in the real world where corpses laid around to be discovered. In the game world, they simply disappeared.


    Esmeralda¡¯s breathing became shallow, and he was vaguely aware of it. Her lips were dark blue. His was too, for all he knew.


    Delirium set in a short while later. First he saw himself in her face, not as he was now, but as he used to be. A crippled boy who knew nothing but video games. He squeezed tight to that boy, squeezing him hard. Glad he wasn¡¯t him anymore.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be okay,¡± he gasped. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    But it wasn¡¯t okay. It was just cold.

 CHAPTER 10 — THE CART OF QUANDARIES

    CHAPTER 10 ¡ª THE CART OF QUANDARIES


    The first thing Flint saw was the erratic flickering of red in his lower visual field. His HP bar blinked rapidly at 5%, neither filling nor emptying.


    Huh.


    There wasn¡¯t a cold feeling, but a numbness and tingling from head to toe. A heavy, course material pressed against his skin from the neck downward. A scent of old wool prominent against a background of damp.


    He opened his eyes the tiniest fraction. Bright light assaulted him like an enemy, forcing them closed again.


    Light¡­


    He tried again, this time forcing one to open despite the pain. His vision was a smear. Blotchy outlines sharpening with every painful moment he kept his eyelids from recoiling. What appeared was a bland white room, lined with strange boxes and vials. The light source were three torch lamps shaking violently in their attachments. There was a constant squeaking sound, harsh but regular, like the belt of an escalator feeding a rusted motor. He tried moving his head, the muscles and joints in his neck stiff as a cork in a wine bottle. When it did move, he glimpsed high-set windows at the top of the room, blurs of green moving at nauseating speed outside.


    Where am I?


    ¡°This one is waking up!¡± a voice said from behind him.


    His heart fluttered. He tried to lean back his head.


    ¡°Stop trying to move. You are hurt.¡±


    Flint frowned. The voice carried a hard edge, yet was flowery as a spring blossom. Her t¡¯s were turned to soft v¡¯s and z¡¯s, with this becoming zhis, and why becoming vie.


    He ceased his efforts immediately, breath catching in his throat. He tried swallowing, but his throat was dry. He tried speaking, but all that came out were croaked mumbles.


    ¡°Where¡­¡± he breathed-in, trying with great might to expand his lungs. ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°You are in a wagon,¡± the voice replied. ¡°Obviously.¡±


    A wagon? He stared at the flickering torchlights on the ceiling. ¡°But how did I¡ª?¡±


    ¡°We found you three nights past,¡± she said. ¡°Frozen near to death in the woods.¡±


    Like a switch had been flicked, memories of his recent past rushed back. The hilltop campsite¡­ Dexter plunging to his death¡­ the ambush and theft¡­ the naked trek through the forest. The half-mad shivering, body pressed against¡­


    Esmeralda.


    ¡°Where¡­¡± his voice creaked like old reeds. ¡°Where¡¯s Esmeralda?¡±


    No reply.


    He tried sitting up again, but found only his neck worked. All four of his limbs and torso were paralyzed.


    ¡°Stop moving, fool. The potion only works if you are completely still.¡±


    A figure appeared in front of him. She was clothed in a dark hood, sleeves running down to the edge of her wrist where leather gloves began. Half of her face was concealed by shadow. Her skin was olive-colored, her eyes wide-set and arched, a golden yellow flecked with lines of black. Everything about her radiated hardness.


    ¡°Where is the woman I was with?¡±


    ¡°Your woman is dead,¡± she said, arms crossed. ¡°We tried to reheat her, but it was too late.¡±


    He blinked. Dead?


    The woman stared at him a long moment like you¡¯d stare at a child you expected to throw a tantrum at any moment and would have to subdue.


    ¡°Dead¡­¡± he repeated.


    He pictured her frozen in that log. It made sense. He didn¡¯t think he would survive, and her lips were dark blue. It made sense¡­ Now his two companions were gone.


    ¡°My sympathies,¡± the woman said, her face betraying none at all. She seemed more irritated than anything else.


    Much to his surprise, a small well of tears leaked from his eyes. He gave a shuddered breath and closed them. Alone now at last. Wasn¡¯t that what he wanted?


    He didn¡¯t know whether the bitter sadness was for himself or his dead friends. Not that you could even call them that.


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t my wife,¡± he said.


    The woman was turned away from him, staring off in another direction, arms crossed.


    ¡°She was a friend of mine,¡± he said, giving a weak chuckle. ¡°Not that I treated her like one.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± she grunted, still not looking at him.


    The cart bounced along a rough patch, pitching him off the mat for a microsecond. Had he really slept three days with this turbulence? And where in the hell were they taking him?


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I am Mederess Dah¡¯me, of the Arcane Surgery of Auxvasse,¡± she said. ¡°But I prefer to be addressed by my first name. Kali.¡±


    His HUD came to life suddenly and auto-scanned her:


    Kali Dah¡¯me


    Level 56 Specialist Magus/Mendress


    ¡°A Mendress?¡±


    ¡°Resident Mendress,¡± she said.


    ¡°Resident?¡±


    ¡°What of it?¡± she snapped.


    His brows shot up. ¡°What? Uh¡­ nothing¡­¡± He checked the new Clavis entry:


    Mender Caste


    Maguses who specialize in the healing arts of Mending. They are adept in both magic and the use of medical alchemy. Menders trained in Kvar graduate from advanced Arcane Universities and hold the honorary titles of Mender or Mendress.


    The cart shuddered violently again, this time for several seconds. Kali grabbed hold of the railing.


    He lay there silent for several moments. Then opened his HID. His Level-Up notifier was blinking.


    WARNING ¡ª You have unspent Skill Points to spend.


    WARNING ¡ª You have unspent Talent Points to spend.


    He watched in surprise before switching over to his Trees, and caught a second surprise. He had gained five levels, and five unspent skill points along with two talent points to allocate.


    ¡°How did I get all this XP?¡± he muttered.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The only answer was a crisp metallic banging somewhere behind his head. Like loud feet on a staircase.


    Kali turned around, scowl alight on her face.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she asked the unseen arrival.


    ¡°I have come to see the patient!¡± a cheery voice replied. It was male and older. Not the voice of a young man.


    Kali gave an annoyed grunt as the man appeared. He was short and plump, wearing a turquoise hood with neat black lacework. A compact leather-bound book jingled from a copper ring on his belt loop. On his breast was affixed the seal of some grand design, incomprehensible symbols sewed into the sigil. Below the seal in plain English lettering was wrote the words, STUDENT MENDER.


    Flint frowned. The man was easily five decades older than Kali. His high-boned cheeks and soft eyes were lined with wrinkles. A full beard of snow white covered his face, clean and well-trimmed. As the man grinned widely down at him, Flint thought he looked more like Santa Claus than any kind of medical student.


    ¡°This is him, eh?¡± the student said.


    Kali grunted again. She seemed to do that a lot.


    ¡°Hello, my good man,¡± he said. He pulled off his glove and foisted his hand out to shake. ¡°My name is Deftly Drummond Busby, Student Mender of the Arcane Surgery of the Auxvasse School of Mending and Medical Alchemy.¡±


    Flint stared at the hand a beat, trying to move his own. His limbs felt like tree roots.


    ¡°He¡¯s not supposed to move, fool,¡± Kali snapped.


    ¡°Oh, quite right, quite right,¡± Busby said. He twisted around frantically then grabbed for something above Flint¡¯s head. A second later, the old man appeared at his right shoulder seated on a stool.


    ¡°Now my good man, what name was given you?¡±


    Flint¡¯s scratchy voice came to life. ¡°Walker.¡±


    Busby clapped his hands together. ¡°Very good! Did you hear, that, Mendress Dah¡¯me? This lad¡¯s name is Walker!¡±


    Kali looked at Busby like he was a turd she¡¯d found on her doorstep. ¡°I¡¯m going upstairs. Make sure he doesn¡¯t move.¡±


    She walked off above him, and he heard her footsteps echo away. Made him wonder what kind of wagon had multiple levels.


    Busby grinned after her. When she was gone, he leaned in close and whispered. ¡°That is the Resident Mendress Kali Dah¡¯me. She is a most¡­ particular kind of supervisor. Harsh and unyielding in manner.¡± He leaned back, the grin returning. ¡°Now tell me, Master Walker, what brings you to the Glowing City? Are you here for the Carnival? For the Arcane College? Or perhaps a respite on you way to the wide and fertile South?¡±


    Flint stared. The man was speaking so fast it was hard to keep up. ¡°Well¡­ I¡­ to the what?¡±


    ¡°Auxvasse, Master Walker. We call it the Glowing City, on account of the Illuminautumn trees. You can see their phosphorescent leaves aglow in the canopies over the city. The effect is most notable on the eastern side of town, at the arbologies lining the great walls of the College.¡± His grin showed a set of perfectly white teeth. ¡°My wife, the beauteous and most talented Professor Myrtle Maribelle Mathers Busby is a specialist of Arcane Botany there. Indeed, there is no more renowned scholar on exotic flowering plants in the whole world.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± he said dumbly. Who was this doddering old idiot?


    ¡°There are many reasons to journey to Auxvasse, Master Walker. Indeed, there many. What, may I ask, is your reason?¡±


    ¡°I uh¡­ was going down south. To Siolan.¡±


    ¡°Siolan!¡± he shouted, clapping. ¡°That is a most beautiful and majestic place! The banking capital of the world! I have been there myself. I have seen a great many things, in fact, having dabbled in one profession or another throughout my life.¡±


    Flint just stared. There wasn¡¯t much to say.


    ¡°Might I ask what became of your clothes, Master Walker? One shouldn¡¯t discard those in the woods during autumn. No, no, that would not be a wise thing at all. They are of the essential, lest you end up frozen like a popsickle. Like you and your wife did.¡± He gave a hearty chuckle, like two people freezing to death was as funny as a fart in a quiet classroom. ¡°I am very sorry that she died, though. Very sorry.¡±


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t my wife.¡±


    Busby¡¯s brow shot upward. ¡°Oh, that is not likely, Master Walker. Not likely at all. You were wearing the same Mark. Such a strong, unmistakable signal, one so profound that our lookouts in the Tower of Quandaries dispatched this hospital cart immediately to your aid. Immediately to your aid, they did.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Whatever this hyperactive old man was on about, it was making his head hurt. ¡°What Mark?¡±


    ¡°What Mark?¡± Busby repeated, giggling. ¡°Why, the Mark of the Bonding, my boy. The one placed by maguses with knowledge of Ceremonial Magic. Indeed, the one placed by the official of your most recent coupling.¡±


    ¡°Most recent what?¡±


    Busby kept laughing. ¡°Oh, my. I believe you are suffering amnesia.¡± He stood-up and walked to somewhere unseen, the sound of glass bottles clinking.


    ¡°But I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry, Master Walker, I have the ailment necessary to fix your problem,¡± Busby said, voice somewhat strained as he sorted through whatever glassware. ¡°Ah! There we are!¡±


    Flint strained to look back, his neck throbbing.


    ¡°Mendress Dah¡¯me would have no problem with me administering this,¡± the old man said. He ambled over, a round glass pot clutched to his chest, an eerily-glowing liquid sloshing inside.


    A wave of panic caught him. That did not look like something he wanted to drink. ¡°What the hell is that?¡±


    ¡°Just Ramistigmine Elixir, my boy,¡± Busby said, like that name explained everything. ¡°A few drops of this and you¡¯ll be good as new!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling better,¡± he said, squirming. ¡°Really, I feel almost as good as new.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the body is healed, that is excellent news. Now we must mend your injured mind. Help you regain those memories with which you¡¯ve parted.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s quite alrig¡ª ach!¡± ¡ª his jaw was thrust open as Busby poured the liquid in gagged, the first measure sliding down the wrong pipe, the majority dribbling down the front of his blanket. He hacked and whooped, trying mightily to sit up. The hot liquid burned the back of his throat, made his nostrils burn.


    ¡°There, there,¡± Busby said. ¡°That¡¯s a good lad.¡±


    Flint was force fed half the damn bottle, each drop choking. Busby gave him encouragements, but kept the flask draining. Flint was sure he¡¯d drown by this madman when suddenly the flask was withdrawn. He hacked and blinked away the burning, caught sight of Busby being yanked violently by the hood. The flask tumbled from his hands and clattered to the ground.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡± Kali screamed, snatching the flask off the ground.


    ¡°I was giving him a remedy!¡± Busby squealed. ¡°A mentation elixir¡­ to aid his broken memory!¡±


    ¡°You gave him this?¡± she screeched, holding the bottle an inch from the old man¡¯s nose. ¡°Are you a fucking idiot?¡±


    Busby grabbed the book looped to his belt, thumbing through the pages. ¡°But it says right here, for amnesia, you give one-half liter of Ramistigmine!¡±


    ¡°Look at the concentration, fool!¡± she thrust the bottle in his face again, with the bottom upward. ¡°This dose is for demented giants. Giants! Not fucking humans!¡±


    Busby¡¯s face turned ashen. ¡°But I¡­ but I thought¡­¡±


    She shoved him roughly aside. He lurched sideways as a bump in the road sent him sideways into the wall.


    Flint wheezed violently, his lungs burning. A red warning message appeared over his Status Effect window:


    TOXIDROME: Neurotoxic concentration of a ¡ªstigmine administered. You will die within the hour unless the effects are reversed.


    He coughed so hard, he thought he¡¯d pass out.


    She tore his blanket down and pressed her warm hand against his chest. A pulse of heat passed into his chest, spreading through his four limbs and circling back to settle in the low center of his gut. A violent wave of nausea hit him like a sack of bricks. He found a sudden strength and twisted his neck sideways and spewed orange puke down the front of her jacket. She kept her hand in place, not even flinching away from him.


    ¡°I was only trying to help!¡± Busby sniveled.


    ¡°Damn your help,¡± she said.


    Busby hoisted himself up, grimacing with effort. He hobbled over to the mat, a look of imminent sadness on his face.


    ¡°I am so sorry,¡± he sniveled, leaning in close. ¡°Please forgive me?¡±


    Flint tried speaking, but his guts found a bolus of bile to empty. Hot puke shot through his gullet like a rocket into Busby¡¯s face.


    ¡°Go downstairs and get Vibiana,¡± Kali said. ¡°Tell her to bring the tube.¡±


    The old man¡¯s eyes were clenched shut as he wiped the puke off with the back of his sleeve. ¡°Right away.¡±


    Flint laid back on the mat, moaning in pain.


    ¡°Stupid fucking Mend students,¡± Kali muttered. She removed her hand from his chest and stood. ¡°Sorry, man. I¡¯m going to have put a rock in your stomach.¡±


    Flint gazed bleary-eyed at her. ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°An element that absorbs magical toxins.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s that or die.¡±


    An old woman with a headband emerged next to her in a black overcoat. She was a giant, broad-shouldered women. Looked like the gender opposite of that Romchil mage he¡¯d run into. She was carrying a clear tube the size of a small garden hose.


    Flint tried with every ounce of strength to stand.


    Kali placed her fingers over his forehead, her eyes going glassy as she did. She seemed to be focused on something beyond him.


    He tried fighting against her, but his limbs were still paralyzed. He could still turn his neck though, which he did. In whatever direction made it hard for Kali to keep her warm fingers on his face.


    ¡°Hold him down,¡± Kali grunted.


    Vibiana grabbed either side of his head and wrenched his neck straight with strength. He clenched his jaw with effort, fighting to turn away, but her grip was a vice.


    A soothing sensation poured over his mind, clouding his vision.


    ¡°Relax now,¡± Vibiana¡¯s guttural voice urged. ¡°Just relax.¡±


    So he did. And fell into a deep sleep.


    ##


    When Flint came to, he was in a familiar place. And it wasn¡¯t inside the game. He knew that because his HUD was gone, and the setting around him was familiar. He was in the conference room he and Gannon met in a few days earlier.


    He glanced at the floor, saw the shimmering pixels of himself cast from a cylindrical projector. The same kind of device that cast his form into the Casket pod during the Culling.


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡± he said. The words crossed his mind, passed over his lips. But no sound came out.


    ¡°You need to stop dying.¡±


    Flint twisted toward the voice, causing the projector to whir as it spun him 180 degrees.


    Admiral Gannon was seated at the opposite end of the room.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you have lots of questions, but we only have a few seconds,¡± Gannon said, staring through him. ¡°You must stop dying.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± he tried asking. But again, the words didn¡¯t issue. ¡°Am I out of the game? Where is my body? Where the fuck is Zeeke?¡±


    Gannon stared through him, giving no indication he heard a single word.


    ¡°You are the Worldbreaker. Only you can save us.¡±


    Before he could ponder that statement, the world went black again.

 CHAPTER 11 — THE ARCANE SURGERY OF AUXVASSE

    CHAPTER 11 ¡ª THE ARCANE SURGERY OF AUXVASSE


    Flint awoke in a bed. He looked down, saw a white sheet over his body. He looked around, the room was well-lit, sunlight creeping in through a wide window, casting dappled shade along the opposite wall where the Mender¡¯s sigil was engraved.


    He sat up and moved his legs to the side of the bed. He was in a hospital room of some sort. And back inside the Game Universe, since there was no Gannon and his arms weren¡¯t shimmering pixels.


    ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡±


    This time, the words did issue from his throat. But the only response he received was the illumination of his HUD.


    NEW QUEST: THE WORLDBREAKER


    (ERROR RETRIEVING QUESTID #23133c)


    He stared at the error message. Worldbreaker. What the fuck did that mean?


    Gannon had called him that a few seconds ago, too. Or at least it seemed like seconds. Truth was, he didn¡¯t know when his interaction with the Admiral occurred. Whatever the case, the game was clearly fucked-up.


    ¡°You are the only one who can save us.¡±


    Flint scowled. He didn¡¯t know who ¡°us¡± was. As far as he was concerned, the Fleet leadership and the FRB could go fuck themselves. The only person he was interested in saving was Zeeke.


    To that end, a notification popped into his vision.


    ACTIVE QUEST: KEEPING ZEEKE ALIVE, PART II


    You will journey to Siolan and meet up with the criminal witch known as Sigrid. She will help form the guild that will become your army to challenge the Imperator. You will find her within thirteen days¡¯ time, or Zeeke will not receive another Decel infusion.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Flint said. ¡°I¡¯m fucking working on it.¡±


    He did an inventory of the alerts in his HUD, focusing on the one notifying him of unspent Tree and Skill Points. He went into his Trees and briefly looked around. In the end, he put the two talent points into Strength, and all the rest into Health, saving the Skill Points for deeper consideration. It was plain that it was of absolute necessity that he stay alive. To that end, he was pleased to see that his Health bar was sitting at a full 100%. He checked his status effects, saw the Ramistigmine toxin was no longer in his system.


    Pleased with that, he checked over to his skill bar. All of his skills were blacked out, but fully recharged and available to him, should he find his weapon. He looked around the room, but didn¡¯t spot any of his belongings. Then he remembered being robbed by that damn gnome.


    ¡°Ah shit,¡± he muttered. Seemed one problem led to another which led to even more. Now he knew the fate of thousands of lives rested on his ability to survive a dangerous trek across the continent, health points seemed pretty valuable.


    He buttoned up the shirt on his gown and made for the door, finding a set of loafers waiting for him. He slipped them on easily, just a size too big for him. He was within a stride of the doorway, when an angry voice wafted in from the corridor.


    ¡°This is unacceptable,¡± a male voice said. Older, authoritative. ¡°This woman has been a failure ever since she started residency. This is but one more example.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t her fault, Mender Warren.¡± The nurse Vibiana¡¯s voice. ¡°This Mend student Busby, he took a bottle of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mend student?¡± the one called Warren cut her off. ¡°She let a Mend student give her patient a potent neurotoxin?¡±


    Flint peaked out the doorway. A man with a long white coat stood in front of a desk in the center of the room. On the other side was the giant nurse Vibiana. She was flanked by coworkers wearing the same black short-sleeved shirts and what looked like aprons. Nurses of some kind, he figured.


    ¡°She can¡¯t stand at the bedside for the whole journey,¡± Vibiana snapped back. ¡°You¡¯re being entirely unreasonable.¡±


    ¡°Unreasonable?¡± Warren snapped back. ¡°Unreasonable was her not being fired after the last five infractions.¡±


    The sound of approaching footsteps. Flint couldn¡¯t see who it was, but it made Vibiana twist around, a worried look on her face.


    ¡°Running your mouth again, Warren?¡±


    The Mendress named Kali Dah¡¯me appeared in front of him, face twisted into the scowl she seemed to wear constantly. She wasn¡¯t wearing the fashionable winter robe he¡¯d seen her in the first time. Instead, she was drawn up in a white coat buttoned straight down with a sharp collar. The insignia of the hospital was etched on her left breast, below which was her name and credentials in scripted lettering. For all intents, she looked like a real-life physician.


    ¡°How dare you speak to me like that,¡± Warren said. ¡°I am the Chief Resident Mender at this Surgery.¡±


    ¡°Fuck yourself, cunt,¡± she spat at him.


    There was a collective gasp from the people inside the nurses¡¯ station. Flint¡¯s brow shot up. The man called Warren positively bristled, the side of his face reddening as his fists balled up at his side.


    ¡°You are low-life, wretched excuse for a Mender,¡± he said, stepping up right in her face. ¡°You¡¯re lucky we¡¯re in the hospital or I¡¯d kick your sorry¡ªoomph!¡±


    Kali¡¯s fist smashed into his jaw with shocking force. The Chief Resident toppled back into the wall with a thud, a look of profound shock on his face.


    Flint''s brow arched. Now that was a decent sucker punch.


    Kali stepped up again, looked for all intents like she was going to kick him in the face, when Vibiana launched herself on-top of the woman.


    ¡°Holy shit balls,¡± Flint muttered.


    The room descended into chaos. Nurses and students yelled for security, while others jumped between the two Menders, trying for all their might to keep Kali from smashing the man¡¯s face in.


    Flint considered eloping in the midst of it all. Seemed an easy way to avoid the inevitable medical bills. He was ready to bolt when a thunderous voice boomed over the commotion.


    ¡°What the hell is going on here?¡±


    The chaos stopped so quickly, Flint thought there was some kind of magic involved. Flint couldn¡¯t see the source at first, but by the reactions of the crowd it must¡¯ve been someone important. The nurses and students got eyes big as cows. You could hear a pin drop in the room.


    ¡°Chief Mendress Chela,¡± Warren said, voice cracking as he pointed a shaking finger at Kali. ¡°This devil struck me!¡±


    ¡°Only after he tried to hit me!¡± Kali returned.


    The quick sound of hard-heels tapping across tile, and a new person appeared before the scrum. She was short, no more than five feet tall, and walked with a notable limp. Dressed in the same white coat as the others. She didn¡¯t seem like much more than a crippled old lady. But the people at the nurse¡¯s station jumped out of her way like she was a Hornslog.


    ¡°Everyone get back to work,¡± she snapped. Then looked straight at Warren. ¡°That includes you.¡±


    ¡°But Chief Mendress, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do you have dung for brains, son?¡± she said, cutting through his protest like a hot knife through butter. ¡°When I tell my employees to do something, I expect immediate compliance.¡±


    Warren stared up at her, blood drooling from his nose and down his shirt. He gave a hateful grimace and turned on his heel.


    ¡°Chief Mendress,¡± Kali said.


    The old woman held up a hand. ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this later. Who is the next patient?¡±


    One of the students trembled so badly with a clipboard he looked like a spastic. ¡°Patient name of Walker, first name unknown¡­¡±


    ¡°This one, Chief Mendress,¡± Vibiana said pointing at Flint.


    Flint¡¯s own heart leaped a moment. He¡¯d been so caught up observing he didn¡¯t think anyone noticed. The old woman turned to face him. Her face was wrinkled, but she had hard eyes. Arched and angled. He might not have made the connection, but standing right next to Kali, there was an unmistakable similarity to those hard features.


    ¡°So you are awake,¡± Chela said, using her cane to step towards him.


    Flint backed into the room, allowing the crowd of people to enter. Among them, much to his displeasure, was the old man Busby. He hobbled in behind his fellow students, gave him a weak little smile. But it seemed even he wasn¡¯t about to talk out of turn with the grand Pumba standing there.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Chela asked him, taking the only seat available. The retinue of students hovered nearby, hands clasped behind their backs, eyes downcast. Kali¡¯s face was twisted up into a hard scowl that made him viscerally uncomfortable.


    Flint backed up to the edge of his bed. ¡°I¡¯m fine, I guess.¡±


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    When Chela spoke, the hardness was completely gone, replaced by a kind of grandmotherly inflection. ¡°You had us very worried, young man.¡±


    ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°After Mendress Dah¡¯me put you to sleep, your heart stopped beating. We assumed the overdose killed you.¡± Chela paused to give Busby a side glance and the old pupil¡¯s eyes became fixed on the floor. It was so awkward, he almost felt bad for the old fool. Almost.


    ¡°Your body never disappeared, however,¡± Chela said. ¡°So we admitted you to this room and monitored things. The thought was you¡¯d either wake up or disappear. I¡¯m glad it was the former.¡±


    Flint said nothing. He supposed his field trip to Gannon¡¯s conference room would be beyond the comprehension of these NPCs. ¡°I had a friend with me. A girl named Esse.¡±


    The old Mendress glanced at Kali, who was still staring daggers at Busby.


    ¡°Dead,¡± Kali said. ¡°Disappeared shortly after we arrived.¡±


    Flint¡¯s heart sank at hearing the news for the second time. Esmeralda wasn¡¯t just one of his oldest friends. She was a girl he had a crush on for over a decade. At some point, her loss would feel particularly acute, and he would need time to grieve. But now wasn¡¯t the time.


    ¡°How did you find us?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°The hospital has a Tower of Quandaries. We have Seers that are trained in the art of recognizing patterns of physiologic distress. When they sense someone in medical danger, they dispatch a team of Menders.¡±


    Flint nodded. It was a fascinating concept. ¡°Like some magical 911.¡±


    ¡°911?¡±


    ¡°Never mind.¡±


    Chela smiled. ¡°Well, seeing as you are healed, I see no reason to keep you here. Unless you want to let our Mend students practice procedures on you.¡±


    Flint laughed politely though he didn¡¯t think the joke was funny. The others seemed to take it as permission to do so as well though. He cast a quick glance at Busby, hoping the old coot felt bad. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame you,¡± she said. ¡°Though it seems you¡¯ve lost a lot of things lately, even your clothes. How, prey-tell, did that happen?¡±


    ¡°Some gnomes robbed us.¡±


    Chela frowned. ¡°I see.¡±


    There was another pause. Outside, there was a chime of some bell. Some important hour of the day had been struck.


    ¡°It is your business of course,¡± Chela said. ¡°But I would like to know one thing. If the lady traveling with you wasn¡¯t your wife, how is it you were wearing a Bonding Mark?¡±


    Flint¡¯s mind went back to the conversation with Busby in the cart. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes young people elope,¡± she said. ¡°Especially the wealthier ones in relationships their families disapprove of. Sometimes the decision is fueled by spirits and other such¡­ substances.¡± There was a pause then as though she was suggesting this was the case with him and Esmeralda. ¡°Nonetheless, the way they are eventually tracked down is by the Mark. The Mark of the Bonding is one of the strongest magical signals in the world. This is especially true for a Mark-Pair that is most recently placed. It was this Mark that drew us to you without the slightest bit of trouble.¡±


    ¡°Well, we didn¡¯t elope. I¡¯m sure of that.¡±


    ¡°Why did my people find you naked on-top of each other?¡±


    Flint gave an embarrassed chuckle. ¡°Just trying to stay warm.¡±


    ¡°That is the wrong thing to do when two people are freezing. It is a good idea when one person is freezing and the other is at normal body temperature. You do no good clutching a frozen person.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that. Thanks.¡±


    ¡°You still didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because I don¡¯t have an answer. I¡¯ve no notion of what this whole Mark thing is about. We weren¡¯t married, accidentally or otherwise.¡±


    Chela looked at him with some suspicion for a while, then nodded her head. ¡°Your business, of course.¡±


    ¡°You think I''m lying?¡±


    ¡°I am a Mendress. How and why you got here isn''t relevant.¡±


    Flint frowned. ¡°Okay then, you tell me. How does someone get this Mark without knowing?¡±


    ¡°Did you encounter a Ceremony Mage on your recent travel?¡±


    ¡°Not that I can recall.¡±


    ¡°Ceremony Mages are exceptionally powerful. It¡¯s unlikely you crossed their path without knowing.¡±


    Flint thought about it. ¡°The gnomes had some mage with them. He seemed pretty powerful.¡±


    ¡°Did they force you to marry prior to stealing your belongings?¡±


    Flint frowned. ¡°No. They killed my¡­¡± he thought about how to describe Vardock. He certainly wasn¡¯t a friend. ¡°Another man traveling with us.¡±


    Chela clicked her teeth. ¡°Very strange. What made you think he was powerful?¡±


    ¡°He had a funny name and wore an ugly brown hood. Looked like a damn giant, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± she said, seeming bored. ¡°What was his name?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t remember his exact name. Romchil-something.¡±


    At the mention of the name, Kali¡¯s demeanor changed. Her eyes grew wide in her skull, mouth slackening.


    ¡°Branimir Romchil?¡± she said, voice shaking.


    The whole room turned to look at her.


    ¡°Yeah, I think so,¡± Flint said, frowning. ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    ¡°Do I know him?¡± Kali repeated as though it was the most ludicrous question ever asked. ¡°He¡¯s the most powerful Ceremony Magus in Kvar¡­ maybe even the world!¡±


    Flint thought back to his targeter lighting the man up. Level 200 Specialist Mage, it had said. Then he remembered the one-hundred-second silence that blacked out his entire skill bar. He could believe that was right enough. ¡°He convinced the gnome not to kill us.¡±


    Chela¡¯s brow was high on her wrinkled forehead. ¡°How gracious of him.¡±


    He nodded slowly. ¡°Yeah. Didn¡¯t save Esmeralda, though.¡±


    A long pause took hold of the room.


    Chela planted her cane and foisted herself up. ¡°Well I for one wish you the best on your journeys, Master Walker.¡± She turned to Kali. ¡°You may put in the discharge orders, Mendress.¡±


    And just like that, she was gone, her retinue of students going after her. Kali seemed to linger for an inappropriately long moment, her wide eyes fixed on him. Flint wondered if she would jump on him and eat him for dinner when something shook her out of the trance. She slowly walked backward out of the room, her eyes never leaving him.


    ¡°Damn weird,¡± Flint said.


    The nurse Vibiana entered shortly afterward carrying a sheet of parchment. Flint took it from her and glanced at it. A bill for hospital services. Thankfully, at the end of the itemized receipt showing various charges for equipment and nursing care and Mender services, there was the lettering: 0 gold.


    ¡°Free?¡± he asked.


    Vibiana shrugged. ¡°The least we can do after trying to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Works for me.¡±


    She handed him a sack, one not unlike the inventory sack he¡¯d once had. He took it from her, found some basic clothes inside. ¡°Here¡¯s some more charity.¡±


    His HUD notification screen blinked, showing he had increased his inventory slots from 0 out of 0 pounds to 0.15 out of sixty pounds.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said.


    ##


    He was met with quite the sight when he stepped out of the hospital. Great swaths of Gothic buildings, statues, and archways spread before him. They stood tall between cleanly-paved roads of red cobblestone packed to the brim with horse-drawn carts and people in finely dressed cloaks. Above all of them hung a blanketed canopy of honey-yellow leaves, throwing the city into various patterns of shade. When he came to the center of town, he realized there were not dozens of tall trees over Auxvasse ¡ª there was, in fact a single tree. It stood in the center of a giant circular fountain, its trunk almost as wide as the city¡¯s largest building. As he looked up into its branches, he saw they stretched out hundreds of feet above in dozens of gold-colored leaves.


    He gave vent to a whistle. All around it seemed that he was in some grand Medieval city built under five-hundred foot trees. Seemed the crazed old man Busby wasn¡¯t overstating the matter. He stared up at the thing for a long moment, taking in its majesty. A group of women in long white bonnets, groups of younger, meaner-dressed women following behind them and holding their dresses up. They eyed him with a look of utmost suspicion, made him wonder about his clothing.


    ¡°Quite the sight, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Flint spun around suddenly, the sound of the voice automatically putting him on guard. Busby was standing there in his Mender Student¡¯s robe. He was cradling a stack of books piled to his eyebrows.


    Flint felt a strange urge to turn and run from the man.


    ¡°I am relieved to have found you, Master Walker,¡± he said. ¡°I spent the past half-hour searching for you.¡±


    ¡°Why? Looking to poison me again?¡±


    Busby gave a nervous chuckle. One of the monstrous textbooks slid down and hit him between the bridge of the nose where his glasses were perched. ¡°Oh, ha ha a funny joke.¡±


    Flint wasn¡¯t laughing. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I owe you for the trouble I have put you through,¡± Busby said. ¡°I made a profound error in medical judgment, under pressure in all.¡±


    ¡°Is that right?¡±


    ¡°It is, it is. I was hoping, Master Walker, that you might consider being my guest for supper?¡±


    Flint didn¡¯t have any desire in that direction. ¡°No thank you.¡±


    He turned up the street to walk away.


    Busby hurried after him, books barely held in front of him. ¡°Yes, I understand you may not want anything to do with me. Who would, after all? I am a long-winded old fool and a dreamer to boot. But still, when I make mistakes, I rectify them if I can. If you will not have supper on me, then only name the price of my transgression against you.¡±


    Flint paused and turned around. ¡°You have money?¡±


    Busby strained under the weight of his book load. ¡°Alas, no. My wife, the beauteous and most talented Professor Myrtle Maribelle Mathers Busby has set limit to the amount of currency I may carry on my person.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± Flint turned up the street again.


    ¡°I can, however, get you to your destination. I am good friends with the owner of the Siolan Caravan Cooperative.¡±


    Flint paused, the words stopping him like a bullet. ¡°The Siolan what?¡±


    Busby trekked up to him, the swaying books dangerously close to falling. ¡°Master Reese Karpathia, the owner of the Cooperative. No man has delivered more people safely through this side of the Bellwoods.¡±


    ¡°How does he do it?¡±


    ¡°He coordinates a group of wagons that make the journey every other fortnight,¡± he said. ¡°He has been doing so successfully for many years.¡±


    ¡°And when does this fellow''s caravan leave next?¡±


    ¡°I must confess, I am not sure. But my wife, the beauteous and most intelligent¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I know the rest,¡± Flint said. ¡°Get to the point.¡±


    The old man beamed. ¡°She knows his wife. Every Eionnsday night, they drink sweet tea and play Windlass.¡± He leaned in as if to whisper, one of the books sliding back into his face again causing him to squint. ¡°You might say they are gab quarriers.¡±


    ¡°Gab quarriers?¡±


    ¡°Gossipers.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He worked his brow. ¡°How does this help me again?¡±


    ¡°Why, it is Eionnsday today, is it not?¡± Busby beamed. ¡°The ladies are scheduled to play this evening. On the top floor of my tavern, no less.¡±


    ¡°You own a tavern?¡±


    ¡°Only the most extravagant drinking hole in all of Reach,¡± he insisted. ¡°A most reputable establishment called Busby¡¯s Happy House.¡±


    An alert popped up on his HUD:


    NEW QUEST: TAVERNS OF AUXVASSE


    Have a drink at one of the fine watering holes in Auxvasse: Busby¡¯s Happy House, The Shit-Hammered Dragon, or Bandy-Ho-O-Tep-O-Tep.


    Flint sighed. He didn¡¯t relish the idea of going anywhere with Busby. But easy XP was hard to pass up. Plus, the reward for completing the quest was a Simple Jacket and Men¡¯s Breeches, and he desperately wanted to replace the hospital attire he was sporting.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Flint said. ¡°Why the hell not?¡±


    Busby beamed. ¡°You will not be disappointed, Master Walker.¡±


    ¡°We''ll see about that.¡±


    A cart horse came up behind him, but Busby was oblivious. He began backing up, trying to balance the top book yet again. The old Mend student came smack dab in the center of where the carriage was maneuvering around the pond. A white-gloved man in a black top-hat leaned out the window, a ferocious scowl on his face.


    ¡°We have the finest ale in town,¡± Busby continued. ¡°I do say, the finest¡ª¡±


    ¡°Outta the way ya fuckin¡¯ old coot!¡±


    Busby turned quickly, clipped the edge of a cobblestone. He pitched backward, glasses flying from his nose, books going up in a shower of rippling pages. There was a splash as he fell ass-first into a shin-high puddle of water. People around began laughing hysterically. The man on the cart snapped the reins and the horses moved, one of the leather-bound books torn asunder by the wagon¡¯s great wheel.


    Flint heaved a sigh and stepped forward. He reached down and picked up the man¡¯s glasses, the right eye cracked into a spiderweb of broken glass. He began collecting what was left of the books.


    ¡°Oh no¡­¡± Busby whimpered. ¡°Mender Warren is going to kill me¡­¡±


    ¡°Kill you for what?¡± Flint said, pulling him to his feet.


    ¡°The Medicus Arcanus of 43 Sunden,¡± he said, reaching for the ruined textbook. He picked up the torn leather tome, turning it over gently like it was his dead puppy. ¡°There¡¯s only one copy left in Reach.¡±


    Flint frowned at the mess of tomes on the ground. ¡°What are you doing with all these books anyway?¡±


    Busby seemed almost on the verge of tears. ¡°I¡¯ve been forced to prepare the conference presentations this week,¡± he sniffled. ¡°Normally a group effort, but¡­¡± He drew in a ragged breath. ¡°My peers find it difficult to collaborate with me.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re making you do all the work?¡±


    ¡°Alas, I am not popular among my colleagues,¡± he said softly.


    Flint felt an immediate surge of sympathy. He knew well enough what bullying felt like. Still, he was hardly in a position to give advice on how to deal with it.


    Busby leaned back and studied the sky as though contemplating things deeply. ¡°But let not my clumsiness ruin the evening. Come, let us go.¡±

 INTERLUDE

    Several thousand miles from Auxvasse, inside an Old Zone, Jason Nero executed a command prompt on his IBM 3270.


    On the dais inside the simulated observation tower a mile and a half above the lunar surface, a mere five paces from the Resolute desk, an Asiatic woman in a white Mender¡¯s robe appeared.


    ¡°Chief Mendress,¡± Nero said. ¡°How are you this evening?¡±


    Chela glanced around, looking uncomfortable to the point of horrified. ¡°How would one know it''s evening in this place?¡±


    Nero shrugged. ¡°A clock, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°The moon. Above Earth.¡±


    Chela turned over her shoulder and glanced at the orb in the distance. It wasn¡¯t the real Earth, obviously. The real one was a badly scarred, horrific sight. The simulated one was a reconstruction of old images.


    ¡°Is this your home world, then?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A recreation of it. Before it was destroyed.¡±


    She frowned at it. ¡°I don''t like it here, Jason. It''s a dark, unsettling place.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± he said. ¡°I have some questions though. Won¡¯t take long.¡±


    The dignified old healer straightened and took in air through her nostrils. ¡°I shall try to answer.¡±


    ¡°There was a Player named Walker in your Surgery today. I¡¯d like to know what ailment landed him there.¡±


    Chela¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°A Resident Mendress brought him in on the Cart of Quandaries. He and his wife were half-frozen to death.¡±


    Nero raised a brow. ¡°Wife?¡±


    ¡°Well, he denied she was his wife. But our Seers sensed a newly-placed Mark of the Bonding on them.¡±


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    Nero paused a beat. Pondering the implications. ¡°They were newly-weds?¡±


    ¡°It seems so. But the boy denied it.¡±


    ¡°I see. And they were frozen, you said?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°He was rewarmed en route to the Surgery. But then one of our trainees inexplicably administered a lethal dose of Ramistigmine Elixir. This necessitated heroic measures to save his life. Truthfully I thought he was dead. He had no heartbeat when he arrived, but his corpse failed to disappear. So we put him in an observation bed and waited. And he woke-up.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± Nero reached into the drawer and pulled out a box of cigars. He opened it and clipped off the edge of one of them.


    ¡°Those are not good for you, Jason,¡± she scolded.


    He flicked the lighter and ignited the end, puffing out smoke as he did. Truth was, such a statement had no meaning in this grand simulation. But telling the construct that would only give her existential anxiety. ¡°Thank you for your concern. But back to Walker¡­ what became of this wife of his?¡±


    Her face grew sad. ¡°Yes. Her remains vanished shortly after they arrived at the scene.¡±


    Nero sat back in his chair, frowning, the cigar between his fingers wafting fragrant smoke into the air. ¡°Did he mention anything about this recent marriage?¡±


    ¡°Only that he didn''t remember marrying her.¡± The old healer scratched her nose. ¡°If I had a Robban for every man in my Surgery misremembering his nuptials, I would be a rich woman.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the Mark was placed to help your Seers locate them,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Which Ceremony Mage placed the Mark? Did he say?¡±


    Chela paused a beat. ¡°As a matter of fact, he did. A fellow traveling with the gnomes who robbed him.¡± Her eyes went up to the ceiling as though trying to remember. ¡°The name eludes me, however.¡±


    Nero sat up in his chair. A Ceremony Mage traveling with a group of bandit gnomes. There was only one man fitting that description. ¡°Branimir Romchil?¡±


    The old Mendress squinted at him. ¡°That sounds like the one.¡±


    Nero stared at her for several long seconds. So, Romchil found Walker. Or did Walker manage to find Romchil? Whatever the case, Walker shouldn¡¯t have survived an encounter with the Superuser. But not only did he survive, it seems the old fool saved his life. Strange, that. Damn strange. Did Romchil not know who Walker is? Unless¡­


    ¡°Is something the matter, Jason?¡±


    He blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You look ill,¡± Chela said. ¡°Are you in need of a remedy?¡±


    Nero scratched an itch above his right eye. ¡°I¡¯m alright. Thank you.¡±


    She raised a brow. ¡°Certainly. May I leave? This realm is disquieting to my spirit.¡±


    ¡°You may leave.¡±


    Relief washed over the woman''s face. ¡°Thank you. Goodbye, Jason.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    The NPC vanished.


    And just like that, Nero was alone on the lunar station, the image of a living Earth hovering in the periphery.


    He turned back to the ancient computer and the blinking phosphor command line. He placed his fingers on the home row of the rickety old keyboard. The way he was taught in primary school. And began typing.

 CHAPTER 12 — BOUNTY

    CHAPTER 12 ¡ª BOUNTY


    ¡°Quite a place you got here.¡±


    They stood before a building in a high-end part of town. Flint knew that was the case, because Busby¡¯s Fun House was nestled between the Banking House of Auxvasse and the governor¡¯s mansion.


    ¡°We selected the choicest of locations for the establishment,¡± Busby said as they swung through the iron gate into a small courtyard. A series of exotic-looking plants flapped at them on the walkway. Planted in the ground were agreeable-looking torches flaming high into the night. There were people stood about the outside porch area at tables near the garden, some in fine clothing, others in armor and similar battle dress. His targeter scanned a few of them, and to his surprise, revealed them as Players.


    ¡°There¡¯s Players here,¡± Flint muttered.


    ¡°Gambling is popular in Auxvasse.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I said that gambling is a popular¡ª¡±


    ¡°Never mind.¡±


    They trekked up the stairway into an entrance lined with red felt. A large black oak desk guarded the entryway. Behind it, a red-haired woman with narrow spectacles smiled warmly at him. Then she saw Busby and her expression changed. Something he could¡¯ve sworn was close to contempt.


    ¡°Hello Rowena,¡± Busby greeted. ¡°I have a friend with me this evening.¡±


    The woman fixed her gaze on Flint and ignored Busby. ¡°Are you here to play Windlass? The buy-in is 450 gold.¡±


    Flint patted his empty pockets. ¡°Forgot my wallet at the hotel.¡±


    The woman called Rowena didn¡¯t laugh. ¡°This is a very expensive establishment.¡±


    ¡°Good thing the owner here,¡± and Flint patted Busby on the back, ¡°Owes me all the free shit my heart desires.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes narrowed as she looked down at Busby. ¡°You have the owner¡¯s son, at any rate.¡±


    Busby gave a nervous chuckle. ¡°Yes, but I am her favorite. Don¡¯t forget.¡±


    Rowena¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Follow me, then.¡±


    They followed her into a large, high-ceilinged room with a patterned red carpet brightly lit by multi-colored lanterns. Card and dice tables were evenly spaced throughout the room, with Players and NPCs moving and sitting amongst the various games. Fashionably-dressed dealers threw out cards and chatted with patrons while servers delivered Ale mugs and scented smokesticks. Pleasant music filtered in from an adjacent dining room where a band played for a group of fancy diners and heavily-armored Players.


    As they passed through the room, Flint caught the glance of several patrons. Players scanning him, no doubt. One group whispered to each other as Flint passed their high-top table, swiveling around on their stools and watching intently as he walked by.


    ¡°Am I criminally under-dressed for this place?¡± Flint asked.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a dress code,¡± Busby informed him.


    Rowena cast a side glance at Flint. ¡°Fortunately, for some.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She led them up a flight of stairs out of the gaming hall, past a server carrying a steaming tray of food that smelled like heaven. At the top of the stairs, two guards in matching leather armor pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a dimly lit dining room with a single long table. At the table were several finely-dressed women of older-than-middle-age. At the head of the table was a hunched-over gray-haired dwarf woman. She was so old she looked like a reanimated corpse. She and the others turned to their new guests.


    ¡°And here you are,¡± Rowena said, before promptly making an exit.


    Flint glanced at Busby, who appeared a bit nervous for some reason.


    ¡°Ah¡­ good evening ladies,¡± he said. ¡°Forgive the interruption, but I wanted to introduce¡ª¡°


    ¡°Deftly?¡±


    It was a scratchy, shrill voice belonging to the ancient woman at the head of the table. She was squinting at them with rheumy eyes enlarged by thick spectacles. ¡°Is that you, Deftly?¡±


    Busby tensed. ¡°Yes, Mother. It¡¯s me. As I was saying¡ª¡±


    ¡°This one of your Mend School friends?¡± she said, almost screaming. The two women on either side of her visibly winced.


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    Busby glanced sideways at him and then moved toward the head of the table. ¡°No, Mother. This is Master Walker. One of my patients, actually.¡±


    Flint frowned. He wasn¡¯t one of Busby¡¯s patients. Or at least never would be. Ever again. But the old man seemed very timid and nervous, and almost a little too eager in the sideways glance he was giving.


    ¡°Uh, yes,¡± Flint said. ¡°Busby here saved my life the other night. He¡¯s a skilled physician.¡±


    ¡°Did he now?¡± the old woman screamed. ¡°Well, that¡¯s my Deftly. Always willing to lend a hand!¡±


    An awkward pause then while Flint studied the other occupants. His targeter passed over the women, confirming they were all NPCs. Some of the old women stared at him intently, and for the second time that evening, he felt profoundly under-dressed.


    ¡°Is he the entertainment tonight?¡± one of the women said.


    ¡°He is not,¡± Busby said. ¡°We¡¯re simply here to have a drink. And to that end, Mother, may I take Master Walker to the private bar?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take him away so quickly, Deftly,¡± another woman said. A buxom old fox in a light pink dress adorned with diamonds and a giant, unsightly mole on her cheek. ¡°Come sit by me, stranger. Tell me your adventures, and I¡¯ll tell you mine.¡±


    Flint chuckled nervously. The other ladies cackled, obviously enjoying his discomfort.


    ¡°Oh leave him be,¡± a voice said from behind them. They turned to see a dwarf woman in a modest dress enter carrying two goblets of sparkling liquid. The woman walked over, gave Busby a kiss on the cheek and deposited one of the glasses in front of the mother.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Busby said, beaming. ¡°Master Walker, allow me to introduce my wife, the beauteous Professor of Botany, Myrtle Maribelle Mathers Busby.¡±


    Flint clumsily took her outstretched hand, and not knowing what to do, planted a kiss ontop of it. The awkward act sent giggles through the room.


    ¡°I prefer Mary,¡± she said. ¡°But it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. Deftly has so few friends.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t imagine why,¡± Flint said.


    ¡°How much do you charge for a night?¡± Busby¡¯s mother screeched at him. She took a sip from the goblet, spilling part of it down the side of her withered face. ¡°I¡¯m a very rich woman, you know. Very experienced in the ways of the flesh.¡±


    Flint¡¯s stomach roiled. He felt a tug on his arm as Busby tried pulling him away.


    ¡°On second thought, Mother, we¡¯ll go to the main hall. A pleasure seeing you ladies again,¡± he said, and to his wife: ¡°My love, I will meet you at the Pass.¡±


    The Professor smiled. ¡°A pleasure meeting you, Master Walker.¡±


    ¡°At least dance for us,¡± one of the women said as they left.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t the entertainment,¡± another said.


    ¡°Oh, he looks like he could be quite entertaining.¡±


    Flint needed to escape these aggressive old broads as quickly as possible. But they were forgetting something important. He pulled his arm away from Busby.


    ¡°Where¡¯s that guy who runs the caravans to Siolan?¡± he said.


    Busby blinked. ¡°Oh, right. Master Karpathia.¡± He turned back to his wife, saying: ¡°My dear, you wouldn¡¯t happen to know where Carmine Karpathia is this evening?¡±


    ¡°Out of town,¡± one of the women said. ¡°In Siolan. Won¡¯t be back until next month.¡±


    Flint felt his heart sink.


    ¡°Too bad,¡± Busby said.


    ¡°You can stay with me till she gets back,¡± the same woman said. ¡°Unlike her, I don¡¯t have a husband.¡±


    ##


    Back downstairs, Flint drank from a mug of Ale at the bar. The second he swallowed, his HUD flashed:


    QUEST COMPLETE: TAVERNS OF AUXVASSE


    He had earned 500 XP plus the fine black jacket and pants. He opened his inventory and examined the stats:


    Fine Evening Wear


    Armor: 5


    Bonus: Grants the wearer +8 to Charisma when worn after sundown.


    ¡°Nice,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°It¡¯s the best ale in the Reach,¡± Busby murmured without enthusiasm. He seemed dejected for some reason.


    It was actually bland and tasteless, but saying so didn¡¯t seem polite. ¡°Sure. Listen, do you know any other ways to get to Siolan? Besides the caravan?¡±


    Busby stirred his drink. ¡°There are many roads through the forest, but alas, they are not particularly safe or well-traveled.¡±


    Flint sighed. Of course not. He opened the map in his HUD and studied his location for the thousandth time that day. Since Busby couldn¡¯t get him on the caravan, he saw no real reason to keep hanging around the dwarf. He decided to exit after the drink. ¡°So your mother owns this place, huh?¡±


    ¡°She does, at least until she dies. If she ever dies¡­¡±


    Flint tracked the road leading from Auxvasse through the forest and all the way to Imperial Hold. Siolan was on the other side, a good two dozen miles south of it. He figured with the Imperator looking to murder him, it might be a bad idea to walk through the capital city. That was if he could even make it that far without being robbed or killed by something else.


    ¡°I imagine she will outlive me,¡± Busby droned on. ¡°She outlived my father, her siblings, and my own brothers and sisters. Why not me as well?¡±


    Flint sighed and closed the HUD. The old dwarf was swirling the ice around in his tumbler, staring at the contents like they could give him an answer to his troubles. But Flint had his own troubles. Namely, getting to Siolan without being eaten or robbed by forest creatures. He couldn¡¯t care less about Busby or his lecherous old mom. ¡°You could kill her.¡±


    Busby slumped even further. ¡°No. The authorities would immediately suspect me.¡±


    Flint raised a brow. It was a joke, but the dwarf wasn¡¯t treating it like one.


    A Player in a sporty-looking gambeson strolled by carrying a tray of bright chips. The targeter identified him as Ser Karl, a level 34 alchemist. He was flanked by a guy with a bow, also a player, and both looked mighty pleased with themselves. Probably had just won the chips.


    When Ser Karl caught Flint¡¯s eye, the wide grin on his face vanished. The Player stopped suddenly, causing the man behind him to collide into his back, sending the chips falling to the floor.


    Flint frowned as the Player bent over to collect the spilled chips, all the while keeping his eyes glued on Flint. He whispered something to one of his companions and then the other one started staring.


    ¡°Do I really look that bad?¡± Flint wondered aloud.


    ¡°You look like a patient just released from the Surgery.¡±


    Now several other people were staring at him. Enough to make him uncomfortable.


    He thought of the new clothing in his inventory and pushed back the stool. ¡°I¡¯m going to change. Where¡¯s the bathroom?¡±


    ##


    ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± Ser Karl hissed at his friend. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s him.¡±


    They watched as the one called Walker stood and left the room, heading for the bathroom.


    ¡°They¡¯re offering 50,000 gold for that bum?¡± Nelly said. ¡°Looks like a fucking beggar.¡±


    Ser Karl jammed the last chip into the tray. He needed to cash out ASAP. ¡°Whatever. The quest says to find and kill a level 14 Charger with the Playername Walker. That dude is a level 14 Charger named Walker.¡±


    Nelly¡¯s face scrunched up. ¡°Why¡¯s he so special?¡±


    ¡°How the fuck should I know?¡± Karl snapped. ¡°Just follow the cunt to the bathroom and stab his ass.¡±