《Underpowered》 The story before the story It didn¡¯t take long for virtual reality games to corner the market. Not just the game market. Not just the entertainment market. The Market. All of it. The entire kit and caboodle. Within a year after the release of Primerea Online, the entire world, from mountain peak to sandy beach, was spending all their free time immersed, living at 5 times the normal speed of the real world. Living in a world where dragons and trolls walked the virtual landscape. Fighting and leveling and collecting loot and whatnot. Primerea Online, rough as it was, had opened peoples¡¯ eyes to the possibilities. Small game companies all over the world were swarmed with people wanting to invest. Out of depth phone app programmers were being hired to design entire virtual biospheres as companies and venture capitalists all over the world tried to expand into the new virtual reality market. Hackers were being scouted out as early as middle school, and there were rumors of labor camps with kidnapped graphic designers working with their hands cuffed to their keyboards. Eight months after the first game was released, hundreds of copycats began to flood the net. Most were poorly modded versions of Primerea. Others were more original but so buggy that several early adopters ended up on their knees outside their VR Pod (hereafter called a Pod) wondering why their sick smelled like spinach. Only a few gained any widespread following. At first glance ¡°Hel¡±, the first game released by a small garage based gaming company consisting of an autistic garbage man, a substitute biology teacher and a 7 year old girl who had wandered in one day like she owned the place, was just another cookie cutter copy of the Primerea. It was described in the online game directory as a fantasy world where you and your friends could have adventures, slay monsters, collect loot and gain power. It was released with little or no acclaim, and for two months was almost completely ignored by the world at large. Enter webcaster Bud Lightyear, who had attracted a small yet significant viewership by finding obscure yet functional games and playing them while giving a running commentary on how bad they were. He specialized in ¡°Breaking¡± games, figuring out an exploit which allowed him to level up his character to obscenely overpowered heights. Extremely intelligent and utterly ruthless, he was already gaining a reputation in the industry someone who could make or break (usually break) a game company. When Ms. Cornwall, the substitute biology teacher, found out Bud had purchased a copy of their game, she began chewing on her fingernails and pacing about nervously. She immediately signed into Hel, popping into the world she had helped make. She appeared as Terra, Goddess of the Hunt and Harvest. Why a short, overweight, extremely jewish substitute teacher in her late twenties would choose to play as a seven foot tall fur covered death machine with the head of a lion is a mystery, but may or may not have something to do with the state of our public school system. Terra strode through the halls of the pantheon, seeking out her fellow gods. Mephisto, Lord of Death and Rebirth (AKA Frank the autistic garbage man) was easy enough to find. As always, he was in his workshop, tweaking the programming that ran their world. He had long ago moved past conventional coding, and had out of necessity created his own interface using the game¡¯s mechanics. Mephisto/Frank had always been a little strange, but Terra worried that he had grown worse as time went on. He had never been good at talking to people, and as he got better at talking to machines he seemed to stop even pretending to try. These days it was hard to engage his interest long enough to have a conversation with him, even for Terra, who had known him since childhood. ¡°We¡¯re in trouble!¡± She exclaimed as she burst into his room, which pulsed with arcane energy and seemed to somehow be growing and shrinking at the same time. Her feline form was tensed to spring, the ears on top of her head twitching and her claws extending and retracting spastically. Mephisto looked over and gave her a sarcastic leer, which was quite a trick for someone whose online appearance could only be described as a heap of rubbish and compost. ¡°Is it full blown AIDS?¡± ¡°Bud Lightyear just joined our game!¡± ¡°How dare he!¡± exclaimed Mephisto, who enjoyed prodding Terra along despite not really understanding or caring what she was talking about. ¡°I hate that guy! We should sue!¡± ¡°What? What are you talking about? We can¡¯t sue him! We can¡¯t¡­¡± She hesitated, grasping at straws and worrying about their precious game. ¡°¡­No, right, we can¡¯t sue. That would be ridiculous. If you¡¯re not going to take this seriously, Frank, stop interrupting.¡± ¡°My name is Mephisto, Eunice, and I¡¯ll thank you for remember that,¡± said Mephisto, who didn¡¯t really mind being called Frank but wasn¡¯t about to pass up an excuse to use Terra¡¯s real name, which he knew she hated. Frankly Frank thought Terra sounded like a stripper¡¯s name, but he was a live and let live sort of fellow. ¡°Don¡¯t call me THAT NAME!¡± Roared Terra, and when a seven foot tall lion like goddess of the hunt roars, the walls shake. ¡°Indoor voices please, children,¡± said a quiet voice behind Terra. Agnes stood within the doorway, having been drawn towards the noise. Online or offline, Agnes was Agnes, a 7 year old girl with oversized glasses, red hair up in a bun, and Kermit the Frog overalls atop a pink shirt. Agnes had refused all offers to design a more godlike body for herself, stating ¡°There¡¯s nothing people find more terrifying that a child that¡¯s obviously smarter than them.¡± ¡°What seems to be the problem?¡± asked Agnes with wide eyes. ¡°¡­um,¡± squeaked Terra, who had faced down rage-filled roided-out teenagers in her classroom without batting an eye, but was for some reason terrified of this little girl, who was also her best friend, and the smartest person she had ever encountered. She didn¡¯t want to break the bad news. Didn¡¯t want to tell this sweet, sociopathic little prodigy that their reputation as a game company was about to be destroyed. Agnes continued to look expectantly at Terra, who stood making a teakettle like sound, before finally turning toward Mephisto. The heap shrugged. ¡°From what I understood of her rant, a small plastic astronaut has purchased a copy of our game, and may or may not attempt to give all our players AIDS. But since we don¡¯t actually have any players in this game yet, I say we let the little bugger go out and bugger anything her can catch.¡± Agnes, who was used to dealing with Mephisto, took a moment to decipher this before turning back to Terra. ¡°Bud Lightyear bought a copy of our game?¡± She asked. Terra nodded wordlessly. You can imagine her surprise when Agnes¡¯ face split into a wide, feral grin. ¡°Finally!¡± She crowed. *** Bud took a moment before entering Hel for one last check that his live feed programs were running. He was set up to record video both from his own eyes and from several angles around him, in order to get all the action from every angle. This would be the 43rd game he demolished, and he experienced an almost sensual joy from thinking about the dreams he was about to crush. Then the clock struck noon, signaling the start of his webcast. He stepped into the virtual sunlight of Hel for the first time. And, as always, he began his show and his experience with a new game with his catchphrase ¡°One small step for man, one giant leap for game design! Welcome to my show folks! I¡¯m Bud Lightyear, and today we¡¯re reviewing ¡°Hel¡±, an almost unknown Primerea ripoff which I suspect will take me less than a full real world day (That¡¯s five virtual days for you Amish listeners) to break. Let¡¯s see how things go!¡± He continued to give a running commentary as he went along. Trying desperately to be witty. He prided himself on his sense of humor, which didn¡¯t in fact exist. ¡°Alright, looking around I appear to be in a pretty basic medieval town. There¡¯s a road made out of dirt. Some buildings made out of dirt. A town wall made out of, you guessed it, dirt. Oh, and here¡¯s a peasant, who while not made out of dirt appears to have carried on a long, torrid love affair with it spanning several years.¡± ¡°Now this peasant, who is looking at me expectantly and beckoning me over, pretty much screams ¡®starting Quest¡¯, so let¡¯s go see what he has to say.¡± ¡°Hello good sir!¡± said Bud, walking up. ¡°No one will ever love you,¡± stated the peasant in a matter of fact tone ¡°¡­What?¡± said Bud. This strange, dour statement threw him for a loop, and he didn¡¯t really know how to respond. ¡°No one will ever love you,¡± repeated the peasant, whose eyes appeared to be moving independently of each other. The right one remained locked with Bud¡¯s own gaze, while the left one wandered to look at his outfit and equipment. ¡°You¡¯re going to die alone, in a field, with your blood soaking into the mud, and no one will care. You¡¯re going to die because you¡¯re a pansy. You¡¯re going to die because you have no dick, and they can smell that you have no dick, and they know how good dickless cowards taste. And when your corpse is cooling in the rain, the people who you thought loved you will laugh and divvy up your stuff. Then they¡¯ll sing songs about how they¡¯re glad you¡¯re dead.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Bud took a moment to absorb this. Then he took another moment. ¡°Damn¡­I mean¡­damn. What? What?¡± The peasant laughed, then went back to his gardening. Bud was at a loss. This wasn¡¯t in tune with his normal experience. When you walk up to a peasant at the start of game, they¡¯re supposed to ask you to kill ten badgers or something. Then you give them ten badger livers or whatever and they give you a sword. That¡¯s how this works. That¡¯s how this is supposed to work. But not here apparently. ¡°OK,¡± he said with a false cheer for his viewers¡¯ sake ¡°OK, let¡¯s review what we¡¯ve learned so far. Firstly, the writers for this game are seriously messed up. Secondly¡­.,¡± he drew a blank. ¡°Secondly we need to look at the equipment they started us with. Which we really should have done first. Now remember viewers, unlike Primerea, this game doesn¡¯t allow you to adjust your race/class during character creation. So everyone starts off with the same equipment. Let¡¯s see what we have here.¡± ¡°OK, looks like we have a sword, five health potions, and five loaves of bread. Pretty standard stuff.¡± Bud took out the sword and practiced swinging it around. Having experience with a wide variety of fantasy games, he considered himself pretty good with a sword, though his broken characters usually depended on skill and attribute bonuses to reach true deadlyness. Unfortunately, he was unable to find any sort of help menu that listed skills or how to acquire them. Unwilling to ask the creepy peasant for help, Bud experimented by swinging at a nearby tree from different angles. After a minute or two he got his first notification of the game. Bud did his signature dance of celebration, which was frankly pretty awful. ¡°Alright guys, I just learned my first skill. For those of you who can¡¯t read, it says BLADE MASTERY. It seems pretty cool. So I¡¯m going to level it a few times then go find something to kill. A lot of people would probably just run out the gate now and attack the nearest monster, but this game hasn¡¯t given me any information about death penalties, and that peasant freaked me out more than a little and I don¡¯t want to risk it yet, so I¡¯m gonna grind a little. Feel free to check up on me later, I¡¯ll be hitting this tree for a while¡± In truth, Bud was a little worried. In a normal game, he¡¯d have a pretty good understanding of what he needed to do by now, but this game seemed to delight in giving no advice, direction or hints. There was no menu. There was no tutorial. As near as he could tell there were no quests. He didn¡¯t want to start his video off by dying. Once he got his blade mastery up to level 10, increasing the sharpness and mass of his blade by 5%, he decided he had delayed long enough (several hours had passed) and headed toward the gate. The peasant saw his intention and began laughing like a madman. Bud, his back ramrod straight and his virtual face red with embarrassment, did his best to ignore it and continued on to the other side of the wall, trying not to dread what he was going to see outside the village. What he saw, as it turned out, was rabbits. A field full of rabbits. Hopping around peacefully, chewing on grass, twitching their noses. Bud couldn¡¯t help but laugh. He tipped his hat (beginners cap, +1 against cold) to the programmers of this game. What a great gag. Get the noobs nice and terrified for nothing. Of course, the joke was over now that he had broadcast the secret to the world, but he was fair enough to admit they had had him going for a while. Even though this was a game, he had felt genuine fear for a moment. So he tipped his hat laughed his relief as he walked forward. Then the rabbits attacked. Bud, reactions honed by years of gameplay across a multitude of virtual world, was able to dodge the first attack, dodging its leaping form as it aimed for his throat, cutting it in half as it passed. It was a very cool move. Very stylish. Very Bruce Lee. Less cool was the sound he made as the second rabbit attached itself to his Achilles tendon. Suddenly finding himself on the ground, he was swarmed in moments. ¡­ And that was the world first exposure to the raging beast of a game known as ¡°Hel¡±. A few thousand people saw the live feed of Bud falling under the rabbits teeth. They showed a few million of their friends. Those millions continued to watch as Bud tried again and again to make headway at the game, eventually bringing in other professional gamers to help out. Eventually those professional gamers were joined by thousands of viewers. Together, slowly, working in teams, learning about the game as players (usually accidentally) learned new skills, they got stronger. Guilds formed, with hellish training schedules that insisted on a level of teamwork and precision rarely seen outside of professional sports. Eventually, after months, the valley of rabbits was conquered, not by Bud Lightyear, but by a coalition of teams from other two newbie villages. Then the badgers showed up and began raising hell. Skills and levels weren¡¯t enough to master this game. You needed the reflexes of a professional athlete, and it only took one mistake to die and have to start over. But regardless of the bloodshed, the gaming community was hooked. Not all of them. Not even most of them. Most people hated playing the game. It was too hard. The death penalties were too strict. The monsters too deadly. The designers hadn¡¯t even provided a guide. But the hardcore gamers had finally found their Everest. After years of being treated with kid gloves by game developers who were afraid to hurt their players feelings, they had finally found a game designer who sincerely wanted to kill them. The designers, who came to be known as N.O.W.E.L.Y Games because of the first sentence spoken in their game (No One Will Ever Love You), seemed to want players to fail. And they loved it. It was five years later (25 game years) that a guild of 200 players managed to defeat the most powerful dungeon in the game. The players had amassed godlike power during those 25 years, through sweat and tears and bloodshed. More than half of them had learned to speak Hel¡¯s 7 dead languages fluently, giving them access to arcane magic that had wrecked the continent centuries ago. Others had acquired heavily enchanted artifacts that pulsed with power and bent space around them. One of them had in fact spent 7 game years training under an NPC martial arts master atop a little known mountain in order to have the soul of a dragon bound to his body. Many of them were closer to their guildmates than they were to their own children, and each one had seen more combat than any warrior in human history. They cleared the dungeon, barely, and only because 12 other guilds had made the attempt before them, sacrificing themselves to get the details behind the boss¡¯ minions and tactics. The survivors were few. The demon king had obliterated all but 40 players, most of whom were on their last legs. Then a light descended on the battlefield, and the gods appeared. ¡­The bastards. ¡°Hi guys¡± said Agnes. ¡°Good job and whatever. I guess it¡¯s pretty impressive that you killed the demon boss guy. Especially since no player has managed to discover the holy knight hidden class yet. So, you know, go you.¡± SirNastyNight, who was staring at Agnes but didn¡¯t seem to really be seeing her, replied with a befuddled ¡°What?¡± ¡°Exactly! That¡¯s the spirit!¡± boomed Mephisto. ¡°We wanted to congratulate you. Because of you, we finally get to release our next game. Frankly we didn¡¯t think you guys would ever finish. I mean, 5 years?¡± ¡°Shush Frank!¡± snapped Terra. Then she turned back to the shellshocked players. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him. 5 years isn¡¯t that bad. And it totally gave us time to make sure everything in our second game was perfect. So now that you¡¯re done with our old game, please come play our new game when it¡¯s released.¡± Herratic, who was a little faster on the uptake than his companions, dragged his wounded body toward the gods, ¡°You¡­.you made a sequel to Hel?¡± This was big news. The gaming community was dying to know when NOWELY Games would release their second title. Mephisto seemed confused, ¡°What? No, no that would be stupid. We already made Hel. Why would we want to make another Hel? Don¡¯t be stupid. No, no this game is called Midgaurd. Completely different.¡± ¡°Completely different,¡± agreed Terra. ¡°It¡¯s gonna be a lot more fun,¡± cackled Agnes. Then they disappeared. The bastards. Chapter 1 - Enter Protagonist Author: Hey guys. The last time I posted writing online was back when xanga was the hip new thing, so I''m super unsure what of what''s going on with this website most of the time. Don''t really know how to make those neat status windows I see so much of in other people''s submissions. Please comment with advice, encouragement, discouragement and abuse as you see fit. I hate every single one of you, and wish you all nothing but the best in all your endeavors. My goal is to produce several more poorly edited chapters in a mad rush, simply so I can get some momentum going. God I hope this posts to the right place. Chapter 1 - Enter Protagonist And here enters our protagonist, one of those countless thousands logging in to Midgard on opening day. He could be anyone, from anywhere. He could be your neighbor. He could be you. But that would be stupid, so in this specific case he¡¯s Bill Door, recent college graduate and current bum. Bill has recently gotten out of a rather unpleasant relationship and had decided what he really needs to do right now is become the most badass gamer that has ever lived. So he walked out, with no gaming experience, and stood in line on opening day to buy that one game he heard about from his cousin who had a skin condition and didn¡¯t get out much. Bill Door is not in his right mind and certainly doesn¡¯t deserve what is about to happen to him, but his reasons for joining the game are no worse than most and his subsequent adventures are jolly entertaining if you¡¯re into that sort of thing, so we¡¯ll focus on him until he dies or we find someone better. Having logged into Midgard, full of piss and vinegar, Bill Door found himself facing a door and a small sign. ¡°Hero Testing¡± ¡°Enter Here, Dummy.¡± Bill Door isn¡¯t sure what he was expecting, but a door was not it. Well, he expected doors, of course, but he expected there to be a bit more to it than that. But he was strangely hesitant to touch the door. He had never personally played Hel, but he had heard of it. He had heard about rabbits that lunged at throat height. He had heard about grass that burrowed into your feet to plant its seeds. He had heard one story, which he sincerely hoped wasn¡¯t true, about a possessed umbrella which would impale bystanders then force itself open. He did not trust this door. He did not trust it at all. But boredom is a powerful motivator, and Bill was not a patient man. After exactly four minutes and thirty seven seconds he gave up and stepped through the door. Far away, a computer under a mountain logged how long it had taken him to come to a decision. It also logged what hand he used to open the door (left), whether he closed his eyes as he turned the knob (yes) and forty seven other criteria involving heart rate, blood pressure and alpha waves. Every player who walked through that door experienced something different on the other side. One woman described filling out long written tests in what appeared to be an elementary school cafeteria, and suddenly finding that she were holding a snake instead of a pencil. A man described running through a purple field trying to escape from an angry bear. A priest from Idaho described sitting under a waterfall and answered riddles from a hydra with the heads of every United States President while piranha nibbled away at his lower body. For Bill Door, it began with white. Remember the Matrix? Like that, only more so. This continued for a while. Bill Door didn¡¯t appear to have a body at the moment, at least as far as he could tell, so he didn¡¯t panic, because panicking when you have no mouth to shout with or arms to flail about is very difficult. So he sat and looked at white for a while, letting his mind wander. What he thought about is known only to himself and the computers measuring his brainwaves. After a timeless amount of time which still managed to be kinda annoyingly long, even for someone as naturally placid as Bill Door, Bill noticed patterns flowing through the whiteness. Bill Door, who had been watching white, then sat and watched the patterns, idly wondering whether they¡¯d end up killing him, and how, and kind of wishing they would just get on with it. After a bit the patterns started becoming more and more complex. He found, much to his annoyance, that he couldn¡¯t stop focusing on the complexity of the patterns. After a while, he got a headache, which was unfair since as far as he could tell he didn¡¯t currently have a head. At this point the patterns stopped growing more complex and started to grow larger instead, stretching his vision as his focus remained nailed to the entirety of the pattern. After a while he got a headache again and the pattern stopped again. Then an orangutan appeared, swept Bill¡¯s legs out from under him, and began to piss on his face. As he flailed about trying to both stand and fend off the ape¡¯s urine, Bill realized he had two extra arms, one growing out of the center of his chest, the other out of his right knee. He was so engrossed in the feeling of suddenly having new limbs he didn¡¯t notice his attacker disappear. ¡°What is the color of one hand clapping?¡± boomed a voice from the aether. ¡°What?¡± asked Bill, trying to keep his chest arm from picking his nose, and wondering where all these damn penguins had come from. ¡°Correct! Would you like a sticker?¡± ¡°What?¡± said Bill again. ¡°Warning! Subject will be terminated in 5¡­. 4¡­ 3¡­ 2¡­ 1¡­ 2¡­ 3¡­ 4¡­ 1¡­ 2¡­ 3¡­ 4¡­ step¡­ 2¡­ 3¡­ 4¡­ turn¡­ 2¡­ 3¡­ 4¡­ aaaannnd dip!¡± Boomed the voice. And suddenly Bill was being thrown through a door, sliding a good few feet along the hallway floor on the other side. He took a moment to collect himself and count his limbs. Deciding he had all the bits he was supposed to have and no noticeable extras, he sat up, which brought into view the door he had just flown through. Above the doorway was another sign. ¡°Hero Testing. Exit Only. Do Not Enter. This Means You, You Stupid Piece of Shit.¡± Well, that was clear enough, if a little rude. Bill turned to look down the hallway, the direction he had been thrown towards after presumably completing Hero Testing. The hall led to another simple door with another simple sign. ¡°Results. This Means You, You Stupid Piece of Shit. Hurry Up, We Don¡¯t Have All Day.¡± Bill was beginning to regret buying this game. He gave serious consideration to giving up, but as he opened his mouth to log out the face of his ex popped into his head. Now we won¡¯t go into why they broke up, or even who dumped whom, but for reasons that will remain a mystery until Bill feels like sharing, Bill didn¡¯t want give that bitch the satisfaction of him quitting before the game even began. This wasn¡¯t a very logical thought, since his ex didn¡¯t even know he had picked up the game, and wouldn¡¯t have cared if she did, but it was enough incentive to get Bill to walk toward the door. Besides, Bill thought to himself, the worst is obviously over. Now the real game begins. Bill Door was exactly half right. *** Midgard Prime ¨C The Pantheon ¨C Meeting Room 2b *** ¡°How¡¯s the testing going?¡± asked Agnes. ¡°Pretty smoothly overall,¡± replied Mephistos, who had given in to the inevitable and gone back to being Frank, though he kept his garbage pile appearance, and had even taken in a family of rats as tenants within his heapish form. He claimed that they were actually sophisticated programs which helped him monitor and maintain the multiplex of worlds across Midgard. Agnes found this hard to keep in mind as she watched one enthusiastically licking its own nethers. ¡°About half the players logged out before completing the test,¡± continued Frank. ¡°Did you send them a notification that quitting before the test was complete would give incur character penalties later?¡± asked Terra curiously. ¡°Of course not,¡± huffed Frank. ¡°Good,¡± replied Agnes. ¡°How are the remainder doing?¡± ¡°About half of them have completed the test, the others are still being scanned.¡± ¡°How many total?¡± ¡°We have about 200,000 people still playing, with 200,000 more who, as I said, gave up and ran home to mommy already. Give or take a few thousand.¡± ¡°So we¡¯ll have about 200 players per Earth?¡± asked Terra curiously. ¡°Will that be enough? I mean, a lot of them are going to die in the first attack. Don¡¯t we need a certain amount of them to survive in order for the experiment to work?¡± Agnes and Frank shared a look. The experiment, or rather, ¡°THE EXPERIMENT¡±, was something they didn¡¯t talk about much with Terra, who felt intense guilt over using their players to test their theories without permission or oversight. Terra agreed that the experiment was necessary, and even acknowledged deep down that in this case the ends really did justify the means, but that didn¡¯t stop her from whining to her companions about the moral implications of what they were doing. So Frank chose his next words with care. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be a problem. In fact it¡¯ll probably help speed things up. Sure, about a third of the starting players are probably about to die and have to start over. But their performance during their first incarnation will give us a baseline of data to base their next character on. When they fail to synch with their powers and die, our computers will process the data from that incarnation, and assign their new character powers more likely to produce success. As more players die and are reborn, we¡¯ll get more and more data to crunch, and our algorithms grow more and more accurate. It¡¯s a positive feedback loop, so the process should only accelerate as time goes on.¡± Terra countered, ¡°but what about the people who didn¡¯t die because they couldn¡¯t synch up their powers? What about the people who died because of bad luck?¡± Agnes snorted. Now thirteen years old, she still hadn¡¯t updated her seven year old avatar from Hel. ¡°What about them?¡± she answered curtly. ¡°We¡¯re trying to build supermen, Terra, not run a daycare center. You need to come to terms with the fact that most of our players are going to wash out of this experiment. Hell, all of them might wash out of this experiment. Never forget our theories might be wrong. But you and I and Frank all believe at least some of them will succeed, though none of us really agree on what that success will look like when it happens. But if you¡¯re so worried about our precious test subjects, stop whining to us and get your overpowered ass out there to help the noobs out.¡± Terra glared at her teenaged best friend. ¡°Well excuse me for having a moral compass.¡± ¡°Only if you¡¯ll excuse me for lacking one,¡± replied Agnes to her middle-aged best friend. Terra¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m going. But give me a hug first, so I don¡¯t stay mad at you.¡± Obediently, Agnes climbed up into Terra¡¯s lap and gave her a hug, burying her face in the thick fur of her shoulder. ¡°You really need to stop making me do this sort of thing. People are going to think you¡¯re a pedophile.¡± Terra gave a feral grin. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, you aren¡¯t pretty enough to be targeted by a pedophiles.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Agnes punched her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯ve had eleven pedophiles approach me since Hel was released. Though I¡¯m pretty sure at least three of them were only after me for my money.¡± ¡°Really?¡± said Frank in surprise. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that. What did you do with their bodies?¡± ¡°I bought a tiger.¡± Agnes replied. ¡°Just one?¡± asked Frank. ¡°It¡¯s a big tiger.¡± ¡°Neat.¡± Terra was, by now, in a much better mood. Her friends might be morally retarded sociopaths with a tendency toward sadism, but at least they weren¡¯t boring. Terra had experienced too much boredom in her life. But together, the three of them would drag the human race out of stagnation and into interesting times. ¡°Alright,¡± said Terra, pushing Agnes out of her lap. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯ll stop whining. But I can¡¯t just sit here and watch while our players die. The better they do at the start, the faster the experiment will progress. I still think that if the game is too hard at first, people will stop playing. We have to at least give them the hope that success is possible, even if it¡¯s not probable. So I¡¯m off to get my hands dirty. Hold down the fort here.¡± ¡°Will do,¡± replied Frank with a wave. ¡°Toodles,¡± said Agnes. Terra disappeared with a pop of displaced air. Agnes raised her eyebrows. ¡°Is the ¡®pop¡¯ new? I don¡¯t remember hearing a popping sound before.¡± Frank grinned. ¡°Yep, I finally got the air displacement algorithms right. That¡¯s the exact sound a seven foot tall lioness would make if she suddenly disappeared from a room this size and ventilation.¡± ¡°Not bad,¡± replied Agnes. ¡°Does Terra know you lowered the safety restrictions?¡± asked Frank idly. Agnes paused. ¡°No, and if you don¡¯t want a dinner date with my tiger she never will.¡± *** The Aether ¨C Just outside the Results room *** Bill Door stood looking at another door, once again wondering whether opening it would kill him. Finally steeling himself, he stepped through, keeping an eye out for lurking orangutans. Bill Door had grown up in a post-cellphone economy, so he had never personally encountered a wild travel agency, but if he had he would have recognized the room he walked into immediately. A woman sat staring at him expectantly from behind a cheaply made desk, a three ring binder open in front of her. ¡°Howdy Bill,¡± she gushed. ¡°I¡¯m Cindy! Congrats on doing so well on your Hero Test! You were one of our most successful candidates!¡± Bills chest swelled a little at this news. Weeks later, he was discouraged to find out that every player who completed the test had been told the same. Cindy extended the binder that she had been flipping through. ¡°All right, please take this, but don¡¯t open it until you step into the dimensional elevator,¡± she pointed over her shoulder toward the metal door behind her. In that binder is information on your starting location, powers and some of the basic rules of the game.¡± As the doors to the elevator closed behind him, he thought her heard her continue in a much smaller voice, barely audible. ¡°No One Will Ever Love You Games warns that information on starting location, powers and basic rules may or may not be accurate and is in fact probably meant to lead you to certain death. Any and all certain death experienced by the player should not be blamed on NOWLEY Games, but instead stems from the player¡¯s basic lack of worth as a human being.¡± Then the doors were closed, and the elevator lurched into motion. Bill was momentarily distracted by the motion of the elevator, which felt off to him in some way. It felt, he eventually decided, like the elevator was accelerating in every direction at the same time. Forcing himself to focus, Bill ignored the strange tactile sensations of virtual interdimensional travel and cracked open his three ring binder. The papers within contained only block text, with blanks filled by almost illegible handwriting. WELCOME TO MIDGARD BROUGHT TO YOU BY NOWELY GAMES TODAY BEGINS YOUR ADVENTERS AS A SUPERHERO, DEFENDING Earth 667 FROM MONSTERS, MAD SCIENTISTS, ALIEN WIZARDS AND EVER OTHER EXOTIC THREAT THAT REARS ITS UGLY HEAD (OR HEADS). YOU WILL BEGIN YOUR ADVENTURES IN New London, HAVING RECENTLY ACQUIRED SUPER POWERS DUE TO alien gods replacing your eyes with space walnuts. AS A STARTING PLAYER WITH NO DEATH OR COWARD PENALTIES, YOU WILL START THE GAME WITH 10 POWER POINTS WORTH OF SUPER POWER(S). THESE POWERS ARE CHOSEN FOR YOU BASED ON YOUR PERFORMANCE DURING THE HERO TEST AND YOUR INTERACTIONS WITH CINDY. TEN POWER POINTS OF POWER MEANS YOU COULD HAVE TEN LEVEL 1 POWERS, ONE LEVEL 10 POWER, OR ANYWHERE IN BETWEEN! EXTRA POWER POINTS CAN BE EARNED IN-GAME BY PERFORMING CERTAIN HEROIC TASKS. IN-GAME, POWER POINTS CAN BE SPENT TO EITHER IMPROVE ONE OF YOUR CURRENT POWERS (1 PP) OR TO PURCHASE A NEW POWER (10 PP). AS A HERO, THE CITY/NATION/PLANET YOU PROTECT WILL SUBSIDIZE YOU WITH A CERTAIN AMOUNT OF CASH DEPENDING ON THE SUCCESS OF YOUR EFFORTS. FAIL TO PROTECT THE CITIZENS AND ECONOMY OF YOUR CITY/NATION/PLANET, AND YOUR REVENUE STREAM WILL SHRINK. PLEASE TURN THE PAGE TO SEE DETAILS ON WHAT POWERS YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED. POWERS WILL ACTIVATE AS YOU EXIT THE ELEVATOR. Bill was shocked. He had been expecting another fantasy world game. He was not alone in this. while the designers had stated that Midgard would be completely different from Hel, most people had assumed it would still be fantasy based. Most designers claimed their second game would be completely different from the first. No one really took it seriously. Except, apparently, NOWLEY Games. In thousands of other interdimensional elevators throughout Midgard, former Hel players were gnashing their teeth in frustration. Very few of their skills would be useful in this world, and the intricate guilds they had been planning to reform once they got their feet on the ground would be all but impossible if they weren¡¯t lucky enough to end up on the same earth as their guildmates. Bill though, having never played Hel and having no real emotional investment in Midgard being a fantasy game, just shrugged and turned to the next page, flushed with excitement to see what powers he would receive. But when he saw the form on the other side, the color began to drain from his face, eventually leaving him bone white. ------ Hero Name: Space Inspector (the) STARTING POWERS (PL = Power Level) (CL = Control Level) 1. Galactovision (PL 10) (CL 0) 2. Not Applicable 3. Not Applicable 4. Not Applicable 5. Not Applicable 6. Not Applicable 7. Not Applicable 8. Not Applicable 9. Not Applicable 10. Not Applicable *Beware, Powers with a high Power Level are harder to control. Increase the Control Level of the power to better control your power. (duh) -------------- As he finished reading, Bill was left with more questions than he had before. What in the hell was Galactovision? What did they mean level ten powers were harder to control? How the hell did he increase the control level of his powers? Also, what the HELL was Galactovision?!? Also also, what kind of name was Space Inspector (the)? He turned to the next page, hoping for more information. The next page was blank. So was the page after that, and so were the hundreds of other pages contained in the large binder. Space Inspector (the) quickly turned back to the first two pages, but was not really surprised to find those pages now blank. The elevator emitted a soft ding, and he looked up to seen the digital readout now read 667 in bold red letters. The doors slid gently open, revealing a dusty alleyway between two large stone buildings. Space Inspector (the) made no move to stride boldly toward adventure. He was not at all pleased with his experience so far, and was very suspicious of that sentence about powers activating as you left the elevator. The choice, however, was taken out of his hands as the floor of the elevator seemed to shift under him and he found himself falling sideways, hitting the street outside with a soft ¡°oof¡± as all the air left his lungs. As he gasped, trying to catch his breath, a small part of his brain noticed that his face was now covered in a mask, and that his clothing seemed to be a lot tighter all of a sudden. Another small part of his brain pointed out that there seemed to be a hell of a lot of sirens going off in the distance. But the vast majority of him was dealing with sudden-onset galactovision. He finally caught his breath. And began screaming. *** Reality ¨C NOWELY Servers ¨C Deep Under a Mountain *** It¡¯s said that a hawk in the air can read the fine print of a newspaper from miles away. It¡¯s said that the eyes of a mantis shrimp can perceive thirteen colors that humans don¡¯t even know exist. It¡¯s said that goats, with their horizontally split pupils, have peripheral vision that extends almost to the back of their own head. People say these things, and then they look at each other, and they say ¡°isn¡¯t nature amazing?¡± The supercomputers that designed the powers of Midgard had studied Nature. They had recorded these various facts, and countless others. They had considered them. They did not turn to each other and say ¡°Isn¡¯t nature amazing?¡± as they were incapable of thinking Nature was amazing. They were, in fact incapable of having any opinion about nature at all. Or an opinion on anything else. There was intelligence there, but not consciousness, despite Frank¡¯s best efforts. But if they had been able to have an opinion, and had cared enough to express an opinion about nature¡­ ¡­it would have been that nature lacked imagination. *** Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Dusty Alley *** Space Detective (the)¡¯s vision strobed and stuttered, flashing with an intensity that was dulled not at all by his eyelids, which were closed as tightly as he could get them. He was looking at the sky, but he was also looking at the buildings around him, but he was also looking at his hands, but he was also looking through the buildings around him, but he was also looking at the heat waft off his skin, but he was also watching blood flow through his veins, but he was also looking at the subtle bend of space/time caused by electricity flowing through the wires around him, but he was also looking at ants beneath the pavement extending their domain one mouthful of dirt at a time, but he was also looking at several grotesquely humanoid creatures dragging a woman into the sewer two streets away, but he was also looking at the microorganisms infesting the lower intestine of a rat digging through the alley¡¯s garbage, but he was also looking at the shape of air flowing as it drifted under a distant sparrow¡¯s wings, but he was also screaming and screaming and screaming. Chapter 2 - Molemen and Mayham Another day, another chapter. I''m playing this by ear, so let me know what you think. Not sure whether I''m going to pound out another chapter tomorrow. How does one go about getting listed as a weekly or monthly release fiction? Eventually I''m going to want to slow down. Chapter 2 ¨C Molemen and Mayhem When we left Space Inspector (the), he was screaming in the dirt, and he¡¯s still a little preoccupied with that, so we¡¯ll come back to him in a little bit. Space Inspector (the) was actually rather late to the party, comparatively speaking. While he was by no means the last player to finish the test, he was far from being the first. In fact, Interdimensional Elevators had been dumping confused superheroes throughout the Midgard Multiverse for over 11 game hours. In fact, Space Inspector (the) wasn¡¯t even the first hero to be dumped in New London. He was, in fact, the seventh. ¡°¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C New London Central Station ¡°¡±¡± Volcano Croc was desperately trying to concentrate on ice cream as he flailed through the horde of molemen pouring out of Central Station. He had, much to his embarrassment, burned down most of a strip mall before stumbling upon a strategy that seemed to keep his Level 4 Magma Core ability in check. *+1 to Magma Core Control Level *Destruction of property. Your contribution to the Moleman Invasion Event has been penalized. *Moleman Invasion Contribution: -500 points (The Molemen will build a statue in your honor) As long as the thought about ice cream, he was cool. Seven hours after being dropped into the middle of a moleman invasion, he was starting to get the hang of it. Sort of. As long as his stone skin didn¡¯t come into direct contact with anything flammable. As long as he didn¡¯t get distracted by his tail, which had a tendency to flail about at odd moments. As long as he didn¡¯t trip over his new legs, which bent in the opposite direction common sense insisted they should. So suffice to say Volcano Croc had a lot on his mind. Including the fact that he was losing. Oh, he didn¡¯t seem to be in any real danger. His Level 3 Stone Skin was too tough for their claws to scratch. This didn¡¯t stop them from rushing forth to try. Crowding around him and pushing at Volcano Croc¡¯s softly glowing form. Welts formed wherever their skin came into contact with his, and the flailing swings of his massive arms shattered bones and pulped organs. But the pressure of the horde continued to crash against him, and he was powerless to stop the steady stream of molemen who passed to his left and right. After around five hours of killing molemen and thinking about ice cream, and he had almost brought his contribution points back up to zero. Each moleman he killed giving him only 1 contribution point. He¡¯d been periodically moving through the streets to keep too many bodies from accumulating around him. He would occasionally receive notifications that his contribution points had been penalized due to the damage his feet were doing as he walked, but he had avoided most of those by staying outdoors. He was much more worried about the notifications he was occasionally receiving about citizens being kidnapped by molemen. They seemed to be arriving more and more frequently as the horde swarmed past him, and each notification ate away at his contribution points. Volcano Croc suspected that his contribution score would start to plummet if he didn''t do something soon. He had a plan. Sort of. But it wasn¡¯t a very good plan. It almost certainly wouldn¡¯t work, and it was definitely going to tank his contribution score. But it was the only thing he could think of to do that would have any impact on the invasion on a strategic level. So he fought his way through the streets until he stood within central station, where the horde poured out of multitude of subway tunnels. And then he stopped thinking about ice cream. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C Hurling Through New London ¡°¡±¡±¡± Ram Raptor had dreamed of flying since she was a little girl, which made it all the more annoying that she apparently wasn¡¯t any good at it. She was one of the few players who had leapt eagerly out of the Interdimensional Elevator, impatient to test out her Level 5 Flying. She had promptly accelerated through a nearby doughnut shop, her invulnerable body crushing its way through several walls. That was her first experience with property damage penalties. The first of many. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Industrial District ¡°¡±¡±¡± Shaman Dude was having no luck controlling his spirit familiars, and was now just doing his best to ignore the five voices whispering nonsense babble and smells into his subconscious. They floated around him as ran towards the sound of nearby screaming, drifting through the walls of passing buildings, picking up random items and tossing them through the air. They kept up with his sprinting form with no effort, and together they burst into an empty lot where a group wearing orange vests and safety helmets was fighting off a group of creatures. Wading in headfirst to join the fight would be a bad idea. Shaman Dude hadn¡¯t been blessed with invulnerability as one of his powers. The fur layers of the costume he¡¯d been given were some protection, but not much. Shaman Dude spent most of his offline time finding exotic chemicals to shove up his nose. He had in fact modified the oxygen mask of his VR console several years ago, delivering a steady stream of THC and stimulants into his air supply. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Shaman Dude had joined Midgard to crack skulls, and that was what he was going to do. He raised his stick over his head and charged. His stick had been in his hands when he was thrown out of the elevator, and appeared to be part of his costume. It wasn¡¯t well designed to be used as a cudgel; being a thorny, twisty shape and slightly too thick to get a solid grip on. But it was around four feet long. And quite heavy. And most importantly, already in Shaman Dude¡¯s hands. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Outside New London City Hall ¡°¡±¡±¡±¡± Blue Mystery encountered another player for the first time on the steps of city hall. He had been dead for quite some time. Blue Mystery stood, examining the remains and trying to keep her joints from wandering. Whoever he had been, he had been a big son of a bitch. His torso, which was essentially all that was left after whatever had torn him in half had torn him in half, was still half a foot taller than Blue Mystery (depending on how hard she was concentrating on remaining the same size). His four arms were all very thickly muscled and very, very broken. Blue Mystery had seen only one type of enemy since the game began. Standing about seven feet in height, with long claws, rubbery skin and slightly higher than human strength, the molemen she encountered had been quite a challenge for someone of her power set. But she didn¡¯t think they were capable of something like this. Blue Mystery¡¯s mouth, which was currently making its way toward her left elbow, frowned in distaste. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Intersection of Elizabeth Ave. and 4th St. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Doctor Magnetism was stuck to a traffic light. He was doing his best to enjoy the view, which in his opinion was sub-par. He had been stuck to a traffic light for quite a while now, and had long given up on figuring out how to stop being stuck to a traffic light. This was partially due to Doctor Magnetism¡¯s laid-back approach to life, but mostly due to the large group of molemen below trying to topple the pole he adhered to. Doctor Magnetism really had to admire the craftsmanship of New London¡¯s engineers. It had been several hours since the molemen had begun attacking his pole. From what he could see, they hadn¡¯t made any progress. From what he could see, they had no intention of giving up. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C New London Central Station ¡°¡±¡±¡± Operation "Burn Central Station to the Ground" was taking longer than Volcano Croc had hoped. In comparison, burning down the strip mall had seemed to take no time at all, and he hadn''t even been trying. Volcano Croc blamed ice cream. He was trying very hard not to think about ice cream, and the harder he tried not to think about ice cream, the more ice cream seemed to pop into his head. He didn¡¯t even particularly like ice cream. He tried thinking about bonfires, about blowtorches, even about volcanoes. Frustrated, he tried to envision the taste of tabasco. He thought about how it had felt to be pepper sprayed during that peace rally back in college. He strained to recall a documentary on fusion he had watched years ago. But nothing worked. At which point a woman exploded through the ceiling above him, burying him and a large group of molemen in debris. He would later insist that was the moment he fell in love with her. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Intersection of Elizabeth Ave. and 4th St. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Blue Mystery turned a corner to find a group of molemen trying attacking a traffic light. When he spotted her, the man stuck atop the traffic light smiled gave a little wave. ¡°Howdy!¡± he shouted, ¡°How¡¯s it going? Are you with these gentlemen?¡± His shouting alerted his attackers to her presence. They turned en mass and started trudging up 4th street towards her, hissing and screeching. ¡°Oh #%@,¡± the man continued, ¡°I guess not! Sorry about that!¡± Blue Mystery started backing away. Her wandering joints made running difficult, but she was still significantly faster than molemen. ¡°No worries mate!¡± she shouted over her shoulder as she ran, momentarily losing focus as her head spun 180 degrees to look directly behind her. ¡°I¡¯ll lead them away! Once they¡¯re gone you can come down. Meet me at City Hall!¡± ¡°Wait!¡± He shouted, ¡°I don¡¯t-¡° but she was already gone. Doctor Magnetism hung from his streetlight, watching the last of the molemen trail after her. And then he was alone again ¡°OK,¡± he chided himself, ¡°time to get back to business. I¡¯ve got places to be now. Things to do¡± He carefully pressed his hands together, taking several deep breaths. Then he began rubbing them together. Faster and Faster. Faster and Faster. Remember the feel of static energy coursing through your body. Faster and Faster. Faster and Faster. Suddenly his hands leapt apart, extending toward the sky, and Doctor Magnetism threw back his head and gave a shout that echoed throughout the streets. ¡°SHAAAAAZAAM!!!!¡± ¡­.After a while he put his hands down. ¡°No, no I didn¡¯t think that would work,¡± he admitted cheerfully, ¡°OK, what next?¡± Chapter 3 - Meet Cute Very excited about some ideas I had yesterday while writing this chapter. Might have to go back and rework some earlier chapters so it will jive, but should be very cool overall. Remember to rate this fiction if you like it. And to let me know of anything I can improve upon. Been a long time since I''ve written for pleasure and I just want you to know I''m having a blast. Chapter 3 - Meet Cute As Volcano Croc sat buried in rubble, he heard a voice. "OK, we''re getting the hang of this. So orange is accelerate, soft is decelerate, sex is Decelerate Fast, green turns left, red doesn¡¯t do squat, and now we know itchy makes us spin like a motherfucker. This is workable. Totally workable. Ideally we¡¯d have figured out how to turn right by now, but fuck it, it¡¯s still early days.¡± Volcano Croc froze. There was no way. There was no freaking way. Even if she had joined Midgard there were at least 666 other earths she could have ended up on. Probably more. No way she had ended up on this one. No way. There was a hiss from above, and the sound of rubble shifting. ¡°Motherfuckers, we KNOW you¡¯re not trying to interrupt our fucking flying practice. You''re looking at a paladin of motherfucking justice, and we will fucking end you.¡± Nope. That was her. The royal "We" was a dead givaway. ¡°Well,¡± he muttered to himself, ¡°So much for playing big fish in the small pond. I wonder if she remembers me?¡± Cecilia the White, universally known throughout Hel (but never where she could hear it) as ¡°That White Bitch¡±, had been dropped onto Earth 667. May god have mercy on their souls. Volcano Croc would have been very surprised to learn the Cecilia wasn¡¯t in fact the most famous Hel veteran to land in New London. He would have been even more surprised if he¡¯d seen what that player was up to. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C A Familiar Traffic Light ¡°¡±¡±¡± The man once known as Horde Slayer was delightedly sticking and unsticking his hands from each other. ¡°Fantastic!¡± he exclaimed. He was still stuck to the traffic light, of course, but he felt his discovery that thinking about expensive toffee caused his hands to become magnetic was certainly a step in the right direction. ¡°City Hall, here I come.¡± ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Industrial District ¡°¡±¡±¡± Shaman Dude was bored. Shaman Dude had run out of things to hit. With the enthusiastic help of the powertool wielding construction workers, the small group of molemen who had worked their way up the long, narrow pipe had been demolished quickly. Shaman Dude¡¯s stick had been put to full use. And now he was bored again. Shaman Dude hated being bored. And this was very upsetting to Shaman Dude¡¯s spirit companions, whom he had forgotten existed. They had quite enjoyed the rush of happiness they felt from him through their link during the fight. They didn¡¯t at all like the feelings they were getting over the link now that the fighting was done. They had a brief discussion amongst themselves, quickly inventing a language they could all understand. They discussed how nice they had felt a moment ago, and how bad they felt now. They discussed what had changed, and eventually reached a conclusion. They discussed what should be done, and eventually reached a conclusion. Shaman Dude was taking a closer look at the drainage pipe, slowly talking himself into crawling in to see if there was something to hit. He didn¡¯t notice his spirit companions leave. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London - Far Enough Away From the Streetlight ¡°¡±¡±¡± Once she had judged herself far enough away from the man and the streetlight, Blue Mystery lost the molemen tailing her with very little effort. Frankly the most difficult part had been unfolding herself once they had passed her by. It took her over twenty minutes. She just couldn¡¯t remember where everything went, and was discouraged to find what seemed to be several extra parts. She ended up settling for ¡°good enough¡± in her haste to get going. She resolved to smooth out (or at least artfully reposition) the lumps before she arrived at city hall. She was excited to talk to another player and didn¡¯t want to make a bad impression. So she was very upset when she lurched around a corner to find a ghostly otter leading a solid wall of molemen towards her. ¡°¡±¡±¡±¡± The artificial intelligence currently swimming through the streets of New London wondered idly whether he and his brothers had gathered enough creatures to make their retarded brother¡¯s mind sing again, or even whether the creatures had any correlation to the singing at all. They had very little data to go on where his poor brother was concerned. Just a series of spikes in the singing that correlated with his making physical contact with similar creatures. But it was more than enough to justify further testing. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Finally Free, Doctor Magnetism had not made it very far from his intersection, mostly due to the severed streetlight that still clung to his back. He was resolved to get the embarrassing lump of metal unstuck before he arrived at city hall. He was excited to meet another player and didn¡¯t want to make a bad impression. So he was very upset when she burst around a corner and started sprinting toward him in a literal jumble of arms and legs. ¡°I can explain!¡± he shouted in panic. ¡°Run!¡± she shouted in panic as she passed him. Thinking back later, she would remark at how quickly he followed her order. There was no hesitation. He reacted as if that had been the plan all along, and he had only been waiting for her to give the word. He kept up with her with the easy grace of a man who was prepared to do so all day, despite the burden he carried. Meanwhile, Blue Mystery was stumbling along on two left feet and, occasionally, an elbow. ¡°What are we running from?¡± he asked curiously. ¡°Ghost Otter and Molemen,¡± she replied, trying to keep her eyes facing forward. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°Bitchin¡¯¡± he replied. ¡°How big is the otter?¡± She looked at him out of the corner of what she was pretty sure was her left eye, wondering how his optimism had lasted this long in-game. ¡°¡¯bout normal otter size, but it¡¯s got about a million molemen following it.¡± ¡°Seen molemen already. Not particularly worried about them. They couldn¡¯t even hurt my pole.¡± He pointed over his shoulder toward the severed piece of metal adhering to his back, ¡°I beat the pole they couldn¡¯t beat. Ergo they can¡¯t beat me. That¡¯s logic.¡± Blue Mystery was opening her mouth to tell him where he could shove his logic when they almost collided with a southbound spectral stag leading another group of molemen through an intersection. Blue Mystery felt an uncomfortable tug as Doctor Magnetism calmly hooked her by one of her arms and spun her 90 degrees. She was moving in a new direction almost before she realized there had been any danger, and she wondered later just who her strange companion had been before joining Midgard. ¡°Let¡¯s not get too far ahead this time,¡± said Doctor Magnetism. ¡°I want to see where the stag is leading them.¡± ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°Because they¡¯re trying to attack it, which I find interesting. And they¡¯re failing, which I find even more interesting.¡± ¡°¡±¡±¡± The stag spirit had established a loose system to lead the molemen along. It had been very successful so far, and the artificial intelligence was quite proud of it, in its own mechanical way. It would wait for the molemen to catch up to it, then turn and kick one of them in the face. Then it would run forward about block in the direction it wanted them to go, before pausing to wait again. For a while now it had been aware of two new presences following along slightly ahead of its herd. The stag was not interested in leading them to his retarded brother, so he did not kick them in the face when they passed nearby him (the artificial intelligence of the stag having loosely translated kicking someone in the face to mean ¡°Hey, follow me!¡±). Finally the stag arrived at the space they had left their retarded brother. Proudly leading a large horde of molemen and wondering whether his brother would sing again. The stag was quite vexed to find his brother had wandered off somewhere. ¡°¡±¡±¡± ¡°It seems pissed,¡± remarked Blue Mystery, watching the stag toss its head about. ¡°Sure does,¡± agreed Doctor Magnetism distractedly, ¡°What do you suppose those construction workers are being so busy about?¡± Blue Mystery noticed the group of workers for the first time. They certainly did seem to be very animatedly doing something in a group around a drainage pipe. Several of them appeared to be gradually letting the slack out of a rope. ¡°Looks like they¡¯re lowering someone into that hole,¡± she hazarded. ¡°¡±¡±¡± The stag was pleased to see his poor brother hadn¡¯t stumbled off far. But he was worried that his brother wouldn¡¯t be able to see the gift he had brought if he was down in this hole. So he grabbed hold of one of the strips of non-brother that his retarded brother wrapped around himself and began to pull him towards the surface. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Shaman Dude was caught by surprise when he started being pulled back up the hole. He almost started to shout up at the workmen manning the rope before realizing he was being pulled up by his outfit, not the rope. One of the voices, which had become muted without his really noticing it, had come back with a vengeance. It babbled excitedly in his head, showing him pictures of sunlight and the smell of blood. He looked up toward the circle of blue at the top of the shaft, hearing panicked shouting beginning to break out, and then back at the ghostly stag pulling him skyward with its teeth. ¡°Good boy,¡± he said. ¡°¡±¡±¡± When the stag dove into the hole the molemen started lurching toward the group of construction workers. ¡°Well,¡± said Doctor Magnetism, placing himself between the horde and the workers. ¡°Break is over, I guess. Time to prod buttock, as Gran used to say.¡± ¡°Your Gran sounds like a classy lady,¡± offered Blue Mystery, preparing herself. ¡°Oh my goodness no,¡± laughed Doctor Magnetism, ¡°Horribly racist woman. Made the best ginger cookies I¡¯ve ever eaten, but just an awful human being when you get right down to it.¡± And then the molemen reached them, and there were no more words. ¡°¡±¡±¡± When Shaman Dude made it to the shaft entrance, he was surprised to find two other players already attacking his prey. He didn¡¯t begrudge them the experience points, as they had been defending his construction workers, who he already viewed as his personal property. Also his stag seemed to have brought enough for everyone. ¡°¡±¡±¡± The stag watched his retarded brother race towards the gift he had brought, his mind singing brightly through their link. The stag gloried in the song for a moment, savoring its success. The song was complex, chaotic even. Unbearably intense yet serenely flowing. Once again the song showed definite spikes whenever his poor brother made physical contact with one of the creatures. Even more interesting, though, were the tiny spikes in his brother¡¯s song that occurred whenever his brother saw one of the other two presences make physical contact with a creature. This gave the stag an idea. The boldest of the five spirits, the stag decided not to wait for his brothers¡¯ arrival before testing its theory. It felt an almost naughty pleasure from acting without consensus, but the stag was allowed a certain level of autonomy if its brothers weren¡¯t present, and it took advantage of that loophole by kicking a moleman in the face directly in Shaman Dude¡¯s line of sight. The stag was delighted when a huge spike in the song carried over his link, bigger than any he had ever felt before, and somehow whispered to the stag personally instead of shouted out to all the brothers indiscriminately. He shared his discovery with his brothers, most of whom who would be arriving with their own presents shortly. Chapter 4 - Quitting is for Sissies The break is over. I should be writing a new chapter every week or so from now on. Also, if anyone feels like drawing an astronaut wearing a trenchcoat please let me know. Chapter 4 - Quitting is for Sissies Earth 667 ¨C New London ¨C Dirty Alley A person can only scream for so long before getting bored with it, and that was the length of time Space Inspector (the) screamed. Eventually, though, he was forced to admit that screaming didn¡¯t really seem to be making anything better. Also all the writhing around in agony had pulled a muscle in his back. So Space Inspector (the) stopped screaming and writhing, and instead tried just lying there in misery. He was unsurprised to find that it didn¡¯t help. He wasn¡¯t sure what he had done to deserve this. ¡°¡±¡±¡± The supercomputer tasked with observing Space Inspector (the) sat and observed Space Inspector (the). It felt no pity for the man. It felt nothing at all. But it did notice things. Noticing things was one of its two sole functions. It watched closely as Space Inspector (the)¡¯s brain strained to deal with the deluge of data pouring into it. Eventually Space Inspector (the)¡¯s brainwaves met certain conditions in the computer¡¯s programming, and the second function was triggered. ¡°¡±¡±¡± There was an audible ding when the window appeared in front of Space Inspector (the)¡¯s face, congratulating him for achieving level one control over his Galactovision. ¡°Hooray,¡± he whispered to himself. He became aware, truly aware, of the sounds in the background. His attention had been fully occupied with vision up until this point, so he hadn¡¯t really noticed the sirens until now, but it suddenly permeated through his battered brain that there seemed to be a hell of a lot of them. Space Inspector (the) took some time to consider this, and reached the only logical conclusion. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit.¡± He had had enough of this game. A broken heart and the need to prove to his ex that he wasn¡¯t the loser her mom thought he was could only push him so far, and that point had been reached. This was supposed to be a game, after all. If a game wasn¡¯t fun, the natural thing to do would be to quit playing. Having decided he had nothing to prove, Space Inspector (the) quickly opened the menu and selected ¡°Quit Game¡±. Another notification popped up in front of him. *Your City is in the midst of a level D crisis. The only way to quit while your city is in crisis is to die. So if you want to be a pussy and quit, go find a tall building to jump off of.* *-Sincerely, the Gods* Space Inspector (the)¡¯s face contorted with anger behind the tinted faceplate of his helmet. ¡°Fuck that shit! I want to go home!¡± He angrily stabbed at the quit button again. The menu exploded, blowing him across the alley and into a wall, knocking him out instantly. ¡°¡±¡±¡± When Space Inspector (the) regained consciousness, he was being carried down a subway tunnel by a pair of creatures he vaguely remembered seeing before. This was not an ideal situation. Another notification hovered in front of his face, letting him know his Galactovision control had risen two more levels while he was unconscious. Instinctively, he reached to cancel the notification. The moleman currently holding onto his left arm didn¡¯t like that. It didn¡¯t like that at all. The fight should have been brief. Space Inspector (the) had not played Hel like the other players on Earth 666. He had no fighting experience. No combat oriented powers. No invulnerability. But he was really, really pissed off. Like, super pissed off. ¡°¡±¡±¡± Midgard Prime ¨C The Pantheon ¡°¡±¡±¡± ¡°We might have a problem,¡± said Frank to Agatha. ¡°The kind we can solve by throwing money at it or the other kind?¡± she replied. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Hard to say,¡± said Frank, ¡°But about 60% of our players have died so far though.¡± ¡°60%?¡± she raised her eyebrows, ¡°That seems a little high, this early.¡± ¡°About half of them are suicides.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Or at least probably suicides. We¡¯re seeing a lot of people just quitting mid-fight. We might have made the game too difficult.¡± ¡°You know why we had to make it difficult.¡± ¡°But what if they decide not to log in again?¡± Agatha smiled. ¡°We have their email addresses, right?¡± Frank started to look nervous, ¡°Yeah,¡± he offered reluctantly. ¡°Then there¡¯s no problem. We¡¯ll just send them all emails, letting them know we¡¯ll keep their testicles warm for them if they ever want to come reclaim them. I promise, they¡¯ll be back. We just need one success, one city where they manage to hold out through the disaster. Once we have that, we have an example we can point to. We¡¯ll say ¡®look at these badass motherfuckers. They¡¯re straight up better than you on a cellular level.¡¯ And every gamer on earth who thinks he¡¯s hardcore will sit up and say ¡®I¡¯m gonna get me some of that.¡¯¡± Frank smiled in spite of himself. ¡°Well there are a little over a 300 cities still holding out, so let¡¯s hope some of the players manage to get their heads out of their asses.¡± ¡°¡±¡±¡± Earth 667 ¨C New London - Subway tunnel ¡°¡±¡±¡± So far, by the skin of his teeth, Space Inspector (the) had not lost the fight yet, but he hadn¡¯t made much progress in winning it either. Once he had wrenched himself free from the molemens¡¯ grasp, it was relatively easy to avoid their blows. Molemen, by nature, were only dangerous in large groups. Here there were only two. They were strong, but slow, and clumsy. Even in the ridiculous outfit the gods had stuck him with (Picture a space suit, but with a trenchcoat overtop), he was more than nimble enough to dance in and out of their range, peppering them with blows while they swung ineffectually at him. Unfortunately, Space Inspector (the) was not a martial artist. Nor did he have super strength. His blows had little to no effect on the thick skin of the molemen. Space Inspector (the) looked around, trying to find something he could use as a weapon. He seemed to be getting better at controlling his Galactovision. His head hardly hurt at all anymore, and as long as he concentrated his vision tended to stay in the normal visual spectrum, though occasionally flashes of electromagnetic light from the third rail would blind him. Suddenly he had a flash of insight. His movements became more purposeful. For this to work, everything needed to be positioned just right. He hopped nimbly (or as nimbly as you can get in a space suit) over the third rail, placing himself at the far side of the tunnel, and just out of reach of the molemen, who were on the other side. As the molemen stepped over the rail to follow him, he reached out and pulled at the closest one¡¯s hand, doing his best to replicate a Judo move he had once seen on television. If things worked out as planned, he would throw one moleman into the other, knocking them both into the electrified third rail and winning the day for truth and justice. ¡­It did not go as planned. Instead Space Inspector (the) tripped over his own feet in the attempt, landing on top of the moleman he grabbed, who in turn fell on top of the third rail, killing it instantly. The second moleman, seeing his pray lying on the ground in front of him, reached out and attempted to claw at his face. This allowed the current to flow through Space Inspector (the) and into the second moleman, again killing it instantly. As Space Inspector (the) lay sandwiched between two dead molemen, wearing what he would eventually realize was a shock-proof spacesuit, a new notification appeared in front of his face. *You have earned 2 contribution points*