《Samsara The Game》 Prologue: OP. J Author''s Note: Please leave a message. I would appreciate any feedback. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The city night bristled with vitality and life. Its millions of lights shone with defiance as though saying Screw you sun! We don''t need you! To the romantic, each light represented a hope. A hope that competence and industriousness are indeed the twin pillars of success. Thus, the city represented the epitome of human civilization, nagging its finger to the animal life. And in its highest tower, its mightiest trophy, stood a man.... ¡°Hmmmmmmm¡± The man was short but had a lean figure. His sagging face and silver hair spoke plenty about his age. On the other hand, his ordinary blazer and cheap accessories stayed mute to the fact that he was Carlos Dump, the great multi-billionaire of Dump Industries. The same Carlos Dump whose name is known throughout the world as the hero of corruption, destroyer of green parks, and the favorite brand of boots made specifically to be licked. But those glorious days are in the past now. His enemies have banded together to crush him. Everyday, his secretary is awash with the latest persecution letter. Police scrambling for every chewing gum he ever chewed. Swat teams surround his beloved Dump Tower (making it lose its top 10 spot on the city''s to-visit list). Even Japanese yakuza, Italian mafia, and Norwegian pirates have started to send him death notes and porn with his face edited in (the latter being mostly the work of the pirates). Carlos would be lucky to get away with life in prison. Indeed, any atheist in Carlos'' position would suspect a God was looking out for him if he got such light punishment. ¡°Hmmmmmmm¡± Quietly listening to the old man''s mumbling was a smartly dressed young man, one could say almost a boy. He stood respectfully at a distance from Carlos and did not seem at all impatient with the accumulating five minutes worth of incoherent filler sounds. He was use to it. ¡°Say, Rabin.¡± The young man became tensed. ¡°Do you call this being in a jam... Or being in a pickle... Which do you like, pickle or jam?¡± Slowly, the young man began to get agitated. ¡°Sir,¡± his heart beat increasing, ¡°with all due respect." Carlos'' ears pricked, waiting for a response. Rabin spoke quickly. "I believe pickles are a disgusting group of fruits. In all honesty, I am offended you would even propose it for dinner. As for jam, I admit I would much prefer to find myself in jam than in pickle, even though neither situations would be on a voluntary basis.¡± ¡°....¡± Carlos blinked once at Rabin. ¡°Damn it Rabin, I was talking about which expression to use for my predicament. Not dinner! Focus, Son! We''re in a serious situation here. I''m about to get lynched and you''re thinking about what to get for dinner. Ridiculous!¡± ¡°I''m sorry, sir,¡± Rabin''s handsome face immediately tore in remorse. Although in his heart of hearts, he was gleeful that no pickles would be served. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°I''ve got it!¡± ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°Operation Picklejam... that''ll be the name of our secret escape plan. Its perfect! Phew. I tell you son, the most important thing in a business is the name. The name will make or break. Remember that.¡± Carlos stretched his hand forward. ¡°Now where''s the rest?¡± Long familiar with Carlos'' impoliteness, Rabin professionally handed Carlos the black binder he had patiently been holding. In the last hectic week, Rabin and his assistants had analyzed hundreds of legal documents and financial accounts. They had searched through every single word, every single number, even ran entire virtual simulations of possible alternatives, all in the hope of finding for Carlos an escape from total ruin. And at last, the sole solution these experts wrote down in the black binder was the same one proposed by millions of teenagers that had heard of the Dump scandal a week ago: Escape into a virtual game! But Rabin knew it can''t just be any virtual game. Only a few games would do and Rabin knew the best of these games is undoubtedly... Samsara! Samsara the game, one of the few virtual games with no human administration. Aside from a couple fundamental rules, the nature, content, and difficulty of the game are generated entirely from the collective unconscious of its players. There is no preordained goal, no prearranged map, and most importantly no human oversight. This meant that no person outside the game can interfere with the actions of the players inside. Law enforcement from the outside world can still act inside the game, but they are forced to do so as normal players with no special privileges. Combined with the infamous clause from the Universal Virtual Reality Act that states no person can be forcefully disconnected from their capsule for fear of death, Samsara is a felon''s perfect escape. Samsara, the indie, experimental game that will revolutionize life itself! or at least, as stated by the advertisement Rabin happened to see. ***************** The special room was silent except for the quiet humming of the capsule. Ding! A green light turned on, announcing the successful immersion. The capsule had been fitted with all the necessary equipments; nutrient transplants, muscle movers, etc. to allow for indefinite immersion. Rabin had spent days grilling the lawyers to make sure there is no law that can forcefully discontinue these functions. Now, Carlos cannot be caught by the outside world, at least for a while. The room became truly silent. The young man named Rabin gave a last look onto the unconscious face of the old man, before moving away with the black binder. Boldly written now on the front cover are the handwritten words ¡°Operation Picklejam¡±. Rabin took out a pen from his pocket and crossed out the word pickle and capitalized the j. Much better. Rabin promptly tossed the binder into the shredder. Operation Jam has begun. Chapter 1: The Reincarnation Department Many people (especially the police) have speculated as to how Carlos Dump, born poor and with negligent parents, could have became so filthy rich. It certainly was not because he invented or produced anything of value. Carlos made nothing that was unique. Carlos hardly worked. Carlos was an investor. The story of Carlos'' rise has been the subject of numerous books, many of which have been self-published. His autobiography The World is My Dump emphasized his unyielding perseverance in the face of tragedy. The episode of how, as a child, he blackmailed his lazy parents into working and sued the mayor for neglecting his part of the city, touched the hearts of many aspiring lawyers. His best-selling financial help book The Dump is on You detailed how he turned small family businesses into money making juggernauts with revolutionary management techniques that you too can apply. His critics (which is nearly everyone) have pointed out that these stories are indications of his criminal psychoses and his complete lack of conscience. Activists have argued that his ¡°technique¡± of forcing employees to recite ¡°Profit, profit ¨¹ber alles, ¨¹ber alles in der welt¡± a hundred times every workday have driven dozens to suicide (as well as offend a couple people). When asked to comment on these criticisms by a stalking journalist, Carlos said with a puzzled look, ¡°...but...I''m rich.¡± After a moment of blankly staring at each other, it was said that the journalist quitted his job that day and went to live in Costa Rica. However, in Carlos'' mind, the genuine reason for his success was not his diabolical canniness, but rather his great eye for people. He often uses the example of his secretary, a young high school dropout with nowhere to turn to when he ¡°discovered¡± her. Instantly, he had recognized her high conscientiousness and inner character, and decided to provide for her education. He often gets tears in his eyes when he thinks of what might have happened to her if he had not been there. Of course, gratitude is not a trait of youth. After giving her a job and she started to gain independence, she immediately indulged in the latest ¡°fashion trends¡±, something Carlos explicitly warned her against. She started to lose weight and, much to Carlos'' regret, destroyed her beautiful plump figure. Carlos has a deep disgust with the current standards of women''s beauty. A real woman should be chubby and big, none of this anorexic business. When he tried to discuss this with the girl, he gave her a look of disgust as if she was witnessing a monkey eating his own feces. Now, he gets versions of that look every time he has to see her for work. Luckily, Carlos doesn''t work. Still, even with all his years of experience and his tremendous eye for people, Carlos could not tell, in Hindu Gods true'' name, what that thing currently sitting in front of him is. *************** When Carlos opened his eyes after being immersed in the capsule, he felt surprisingly calm. He discovered himself sitting in an armless chair in front of a bare desk. The setup resembled a police interrogation room where you have a single desk and two chairs on opposing sides. But here, there were no walls and instead, one could see infinite rows and columns of identical setups. Carlos'' "room" was just one of countless. All of which were evenly spaced apart and lighted by a beam of light high above the table in an otherwise pitch-black environment. Situated in each "room" was a human and what can only be described as a monster directly facing each other. Dwarfs, fairies, goblins, and numerous other creatures that Carlos could not give a name to populated this mysterious place with their human counterpart. Most of the monsters visible to Carlos held a clipboard and were animatedly speaking to their weirdly diluted human partner. Although, Carlos too felt strangely calm for being in such a bizarre position. ¡°Ahem... Can we start?¡± The monster sitting across from Carlos was not pretty. From her voice and facial features he assumed it to be a female. Although, rather than resembling any conventional monster, she was a giant blue blob or perhaps a slug with a partially human face on top. Her body appeared to be made out of a dark blue congealed slim that jiggled as she moved. She wore a beige t-shirt that is shockingly plain. No pants as she did not have legs. Beneath her shirt was simply an extension of her blob body that ended in pudding-like flatness. In short, she was a giant blue slug with the face of a heavily obese woman. A disgusting but fascinating sight. The monster''s unhappy fat face browsed over her clipboard which she held in her fat blue hands. Carlos found these movements extremely interesting. ¡°Okay, first of all, welcome to Samsara. This is the reincarnation department and I am your guardian angel. My name is Fatand Blue.¡± Despite Fatand''s unenthusiastic voice, Carlos did not feel the slightest disturbance in his composure. He divined that there is probably some sort of mental anesthetic at work here. Indeed, he suspects that, without it, many first-time players would panic being in such close proximity with such frightening monsters. Nonetheless, Carlos could not help but be fascinated by Fatand''s disgustingly obese figure. Fatand continued to speak monotonously, ¡°Well, as you are probably aware, in Samsara when you die your character is completely destroyed. Then you are transported back here, we have a little chat, you then go back into the world, play around until you die, and the cycle repeats again. Fun, am I right?¡± Carlos nodded along as Fatand spoke. Apparently, in most role-playing games you respawn with little losses as your former character when you die. Not that Carlos cared much since he doesn''t play virtual games. Nonetheless, this fact always interested Carlos. He wondered how someone could lose if even death is of no consequence. In Carlos'' mind, games should have clear winners and losers, just like in life. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Carlos was not interested in the minutiae of Samsara. He was interested in Fatand''s hideously fat body, which Carlos eyeballed ever so closely to the point of making even the ugly blue monster visibly uncomfortable. Despite not paying any attention, Carlos was able to get the gist of some of the things Fatand said. According to the hideous creature, guardian angels are the players'' special helpers. They are equipped with knowledge of the real world, which they consider to just be ¡°another¡± world. Each guardian angel is unique as their appearance are a creation of the personal unconscious of the specific player. Hence, they are not controlled by any sentient person but are rather considered to be NPCs integral to Samsara. However, a player''s only interaction with them is when they start the game or when they die and have to be reincarnated. In the latter case, they supposedly comfort the player, analyze what they did wrong, and help prepare them for their next life in Samsara. ¡°If you don''t have any questions, then I guess¡ª¡± ¡°I want to be a dwarf,¡± said Carlos with conviction. ¡°................¡± ¡°A fat, ugly dwarf.¡± ¡°.....Ehh, well, if you were listening, I already said you can''t customize your character appearance, at least not until you earn enough karma. But since this is your first life, your character appearance will be selected from your personal unconscious. I can push for big generalities like gender, but don''t get your hopes up. Don''t worry though, Samsara almost always picks from your unconscious an appearance that you''ll like. That was one of the last rules the creators had added before they left.¡± ¡°I see...¡± Outwardly, Carlos was the picture of equanimity but inside, a dark turmoil quietly began to boil. As it turns out, one of Carlos'' best kept secret is his ¡°sympathy¡± for fatness. His psychoanalyst once said that he has a Samoan character, suggesting he has an unconscious tendency to associate stability and power with fatness, hence his attraction to fat people. The psychoanalyst reasons it might have to do with his poor childhood environment, where he was constantly malnourished. A load of bull in Carlos'' mind. The only reason he went to see a psychoanalyst was because that''s what rich people do, but it turned out to be a horrible experience. So what if he kept a notebook with the estimated weight of every women he ever met. He''s not a creepy pervert. Women like discussing their weight... Don''t they? Still, Carlos admits he would like to try being fat for once. He himself had a short but lean figure in real life. Now however, it seems his fantasies of being a rich fat dwarf is impossible! Curses! Of course, objectively speaking. Carlos only entered Samsara to escape persecution in real life. A rational person might say that not getting to be a dwarf would be the least of Carlos'' concerns. In reality, such a rational person would long have been fired by Carlos. And if he was not an employee to fire, then Carlos would hire him, wait until he reports back to his parents, then fire him, because Carlos is a man of heart! He has no time for rationality or logic. The thing he wants now is to be a fat rich dwarf in a virtual world and he can''t so he''s ang... Carlos remembers something. ¡°Did you say I could be a dwarf if I gained karma?¡± Fatand the fat slug monster eyed Carlos suspiciously. ¡°Yes... in theory, it''s possible. In Samsara, every player, or wanderer as we call you here, is forced to be born in a human form generated from their personal unconscious. The creators wanted every wanderer to be equal in that sense. However, your kind disliked that and wanted to have conscious choice. So the creators reluctantly introduced the system of karma. Karma is a quantification of your achievements upon death. You can then use karma to decide the form of your next life. Nothing other than form can be chosen.¡± Carlos payed close attention. Indeed, he''ll pay anything to be a rich fat dwarf. ¡°In your case, if you want to be born in a form so different that even your race has changed, you will need an enormous amount of karma. This means you need to achieve great things in life.¡± Carlos pondered about what Fatand just said. Great things in life. As ignorant as Carlos is, even he is aware of the attraction of virtual gaming among the masses. What is denied to people in real life, they may have to their heart''s desire in a virtual one. Carlos grinned. How ironic that he achieved in real life; power, fame, fortune, everything deemed highest by the city, the so-called great things in life. And now he must do it again in a virtual one. ¡°And how do I achieve these great things in life?¡± Carlos asked, still grinning at the irony. Fatand leaned closer. Her eyes narrowed. ¡°You don''t. You simply survive.¡± Before Carlos could comprehend what those words meant, a hole opened up beneath Carlos, swallowing him whole. Chapter 2: Gobi Author''s Note: Please leave a message. I would appreciate any feedback. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It is night time. Dim lights escape from the windows of a particular mansion. An annoyed intruder was stealthily moving along in the mansion''s back garden. He attributed his annoyance to what he was wearing. He wore a head-to-toe special body suit called the Chameleon Special and carried a light invisible backpack. Basically, he was wearing everything included in the Invisible Assassin''s Kit he bought from Gobi, the giant online retailer. The suit''s effect was very impressive. His entire body was invisible to everyone watching him from over a meter away. Within a meter, the watcher would more likely suspect some dust in his eye than recognize the intruder. Its only defect was that the suit was intensely hot for the wearer and this greatly irritated the intruder. Of course, it was well-known that all Gobi products would at least carry one defect. They would not have bought from Gobi if they had more time to plan the mission. At this point, the annoyed intruder had made it to his planned destination. He was leaning to the wall right next to the main back door of the mansion. Of course, considering his invisibility, there was little purpose in staying close to the wall, but some things have procedures. He took out a tiny bomb from his backpack and planted it on the door. Then he took a couple steps back. According to the plan, his co-conspirator would remotely cut off the electricity to the mansion the same time he blasts the door open. In the confusion that ensues, the intruder would quickly head to the main bedroom, shoot his panicking target, then make his escape to the black car waiting for him outside. It was a crude plan but it gets the job done. The invisible young man whispered for his invisible Gobi earpiece to pick up. ¡°Agent Purple, are you ready?¡± The intruder waited for a response in his earpiece. 10 seconds... 20 seconds... At this point, the dreadful heat from the suit, his absent partner, and the fact that he is missing precious sleep time, pushed the intruder''s annoyance to a near boiling rage. ¡°Ready,¡± said a voice in his earpiece. The intruder rolled his invisible eyes. Finally! Next time, he''s not going to let the lazy bastard get a cool nickname like Agent Purple. Agent Pink perhaps. The frustrated intruder moved his hand to press... Something didn''t feel right. As hastily as the plan was made, the two conspirators had devoted half their time to deciding code names. After intense debate, he had settled for agent black and his partner for agent purple. Now, in the moment that counted most, why would his partner miss out on calling him by his code name. It defied logic! Slowly, the invisible man moved his hand away from the- Bang! A terrible pain bursted from his right torso! As the intruder fell crippled in pain, his mind became deafeningly calm. Ah....I wasn''t annoyed at the heat... Everything moved at a snail''s pace. ...I was annoyed.... His mind raced at ten times its normal speed. ...at how stupid this plan is. Thud. Rabin hits the ground. As Rabin writhed in pain, blood oozed from his gunshot wound. The shot had damaged the Chameleon Special and he was no longer invisible. A portly man in an expensive business suit stepped out from the shadows into the garden. ¡°Next time, if you have a next time, you should change the default frequency on your Gobi earpiece. One press of a button and its hacked. Also, your suit is generating so much heat, we were practically blinded when looking at you with our thermal goggles.¡± Rabin didn''t reply. He needed to conserve his strength. Luckily, he wasn''t hit anywhere fatal. In fact, Rabin was still more annoyed about the heat from his suit than his gunshot wound. Thankfully... or not, the heat was also decreasing. The mysterious man spoke again, ¡°Hmmm. You know, I''ve always liked you and hoped we can work together again.¡± The portly man''s face looked genuinely concerned. His overall appearance was friendly and attractive, with no hint of being insincere. His expression, posture, and voice all point to him being a man of feeling and intelligence. Indeed, he looked like that favorite uncle, whom many young children secretly wish was their father. But Rabin knew the true nature of this man. ¡°Let me die in piece, Berjustin.¡± ¡°Die?¡± The slightly chubby man looked shocked, ¡°No, no, no. You aren''t going to die, Rabin. Both you and I know you''re too strong to die from a single gunshot wound.¡± Berjustin reached under his suit''s lapel. He pulled out a gun. ¡°That''s why I''ve come closer to give you three more.¡± He pointed the gun at Rabin. ¡°Wait,¡± shouted Rabin, he had to stall for time. There was hope that his partner from far away might still be able to do something. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°I can tell you where Carlos Dump is.¡± Five days ago, the city police finally gathered enough evidence to incriminate Carlos Dump. That same night, they raided Dump Tower with an arrest warrant. Carlos, however, was nowhere to be found. The media went ballistic. They filled pages after pages, extras after extras, speculating about the disappearance of their favorite celebrity. The whole city was in an uproar. Berjustin''s eyes tightened, his gun pointed straight at Rabin''s face. ¡°How do I know you''ll tell me the truth?¡± ¡°You can''t,¡± said Rabin very weakly. He was starting to find it hard to stay awake, ¡°But you do know I don''t like getting shot, so you can trust that.¡± Berjustin sternly nodded. ¡°Where is he?¡± ¡°Canada-¡± Bang! Hard dirt flew in Rabin''s face. A shot was fired inches from his head. ¡°I''m sorry! I''m sorry!¡± Rabin hurriedly shouted, his handsome face turned pathetic as he appealed for mercy. ¡°I thought you like pointless banter. We used to have so many laughs.¡± ¡°I do. But I also believe there are times for solemnity, like your possible death.¡± Berjustin''s grave face remained unchanged. ¡°One last time. Where is he?¡± Rabin''s eyes darted back and forth. There was no sign of his partner. His earpiece was silent. ¡°He''s in... He''s in...¡± Truly panicking now, Rabin grasped for words that could save him. ¡°He''s in... He''s in... Fucksville! Screw you, Berjustin! You traitor. We treated you like family. We trusted you with our finances. Then you go and fuck with the gangs, dragging us with you. Finally, when it mattered most, you betray us and laid all the trouble on us. Why?! Just because you wanted to play your sick games. Just you because you were, and I heard you say it, bored! You fucking psychopath! Fuck you!¡± Large tears were streaming down Rabin''s face now. He hated himself for being so emotional. Throughout it all, Berjustin remained impassioned. ¡°Are you done?¡± Seeing that the defeated Rabin wasn''t going to say another word, Berjustin answered his own question. ¡°Then I guess I''m done too.¡± Berjustin cocked his gun. Rabin looked up and then everything became dark. ***************************************************** After three whole minutes, the city lights turned back on. In the mansion''s back garden, Berjustin had not moved from his spot, his attractive face was thoughtful. Immediately in front of him, with his back turned, stood a large muscular man in full combat gear. His hands tightly gripping his revolver. His thermal goggled eyes sifting for any movements. ¡°I think that''s enough, Barnie,¡± said Berjustin. The man eased up a little bit. He turned to face Berjustin. ¡°I apologize, Mr. Bie,¡± the armored man said in a deep voice, ¡°I was not sure if he had any more allies and so could not risk giving chase, leaving you undefended here.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± asked Berjustin. ¡°When the city blacked out, a single man came and grabbed Rabin. If he came closer to you I would have sniped him but he didn''t. He was fast and seemed quite skilled. Possibly a hired professional.¡± Berjustin nodded. ¡°I think I have an idea who that might have been.¡± After a moment, Berjustin yawned. ¡°Well, thank you for your work here, Barnie. You''ve protected me excellently, you may go now.¡± However, the large man did not move. ¡°Is there something else, Barnie?¡± ¡°Mr. Bie,¡± Barnie tried to phrase his words as respectfully as he could, ¡°It''s just... We had already received intel that Carlos Dump had escaped to Samara, the virtual game. Yet, just then you acted like you didn''t know...¡± Berjustin blinked once at Barnie, then he suddenly bursted into a hearty laugh. ¡°I''m sorry, Barnie. I forgot you were listening from the earpiece. Well, as for your question, I couldn''t just kill the boy could I. I needed an excuse to spare him and also to drag the conversation long enough till his friend could save him.¡± Barnie''s large rough face looked comically puzzled. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Well, Barnie,¡± and as Berjustin spoke his face became serene and his eyes lost its usual gayness. Instead, his eyes became deep and piercing, so much so that Barnie felt a slight shiver. ¡°I''m not a murderer. I''m an investor. I invest in people. And the boy is interesting so I invested in him. That is all.¡± Berjustin gave a wave to indicate the conversation was over and walked away. Barnie, a trained killer, bowed his head towards the direction of his employer. His bow lasted a brief second longer than usual. He was wondering when the last time was when he actually felt fear towards another man.