Future House Publishing
Back in the Game
Future House Publishing
Cover image copyright: Shutterstock.com. Used under license.
Text © 2016 Christopher Keene
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-944452-81-0 (paperback)
Editing by Mandi Diaz
Copyediting by CreelaBelle Howard
Interior design by Hannah Earl
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Dedicated to Jack Gifford. Thanks for dealing with the trash.
Contents
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Chapter 1: A Lucky Find
Chapter 2: A Daring Rescue
Chapter 3: Pirate Cove
Chapter 4: Treasure Hunt
Chapter 5: Seeing is Believing
Chapter 6: Trust
Chapter 7: Taking Stock
Chapter 8: Sulfur Pit
Chapter 9: Old Friends
Chapter 10: The Hunt
Chapter 11: The Broken Clock Tower
Chapter 12: Time
Chapter 13: Betrayal
Chapter 14: Continue?
Chapter 15: Ghost Town
Chapter 16: Forgiveness
Chapter 17: Hope
Chapter 18: Rolling the Dice
Chapter 19: Invitation
Chapter 20: Heaven’s Gates
Chapter 21: The Truth
Chapter 22: Making a Deal
Chapter 23: Frenemies
Chapter 24: The Dragons’ Nest
Chapter 25: Obligations
Chapter 26: City in the Clouds
Chapter 27: Apollo’s Lookout
Chapter 28: Another Lucky Find
Chapter 29: Switzerland
Chapter 30: Reclamation
Chapter 31: Feelings
Chapter 32: The Moral Good
Chapter 33: Splitting Waves
Chapter 34: Only an Annoyance
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Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter 1: A Lucky Find
This is the last time I train in the Penance Peaks by myself!
Cold sleet rained down from the dark clouds. Frank’s heavy boot sunk deep into the snow until it hit the frozen rock below. He’d heard that a Heavy climbing the Alps was a sure-fire way to gain quick experience, but at a cost.
All extreme environments in the Dream State gave the player a level of discomfort that was tantamount to masochism. It only made sense—after all, the game designers didn’t want everyone who played it to be overpowered in their first week.
Flipping up the visor of his helmet, Frank squinted into the chilly breeze. He could almost see the entrance to the cave that held the Tertiatier Dungeon’s Gateway. He’d heard a rumor that a Wanted Ranked player had gone missing from the game after entering it and that his ghost now haunted Rubik’s Castle.
Noah-something? Something-Noah? Maybe if he’d been on the Wanted Boards for longer than a week, I’d have learned his name. Mostly, I just want to know how he managed to get Wanted ranks in Prima and Secotier dungeons so fast. The theater district’s weekly rankings never mentioned him again after he vanished…maybe he cheated and got kicked off?
A sudden, howling wind set his teeth chattering. When he started his climb, he thought his tolerance to the cold would rise to the point that the temperature wouldn’t bother him, so he hadn’t visited other dungeons to steadily increase his temperature tolerance and strength stats. Now he wasn’t sure if it was possible to climb the mountains without a mount. He was regretting that he didn’t have enough Moola to buy a horse or something that could carry him to the top.
He heard the sound of crunching snow behind him and suddenly remembered another reason why the Penance Peaks were such a great place to train… and die. He turned to see a spotted Mountain Lion prowling on a boulder, baring its fangs and snarling at him.
Fortunate to see it through the snow before it could attack, Frank flicked down his visor, equipped his Broadsword in a flash of light and raised it high. When the Mountain Lion leapt at him, he quickly stepped to the side and smashed the heavy blade into the beast’s back. The lion let out a yelp loud enough to draw every monster in the region.
Didn’t expect a Heavy to be that fast, huh?
The large cat rolled to a stop on a ledge that led down a steep slope. Deciding to finish off its remaining Hit Points, Frank stalked forward, the weight of his sword dragging down the arm that was already heavy from his full suit of plate-armor. He planted his boot on a jagged ledge of ice and lifted his sword. He was just about to swing it when the ice crumbled, and the overall weight of his armor made him tip to the side.
“No, no, no!” He waved his arms to stop himself from going over, but soon realized his attempt to regain his balance was futile. “Oh, come on!”
He began to roll, making his sword vanish so he didn’t cut himself. The fine powder flew as his vision went from sky to snow to sky again before the slope ended against a dark cliff face. His armor stopped him from losing too many Hit Points but he bounced off and landed on his face in the frozen slush. Groaning, he looked up, hoping that no monsters had followed him down. For some reason, a portion of snow ahead of him was glowing a bright green.
What the heck’s that?
He rose to his knees, seeing something hidden in the snow that was lighting the cliff face in a green hue. His eyes widened and he scrambled forward on his hands and knees toward it. Hoping for a rare item, his thick gauntlets dug into the snow until the glow shone through the slits of his visor. It was an orb, and as his hand clutched it, the item’s information popped into his vision.
— ACQUIRED ‘TRANSFER ORB’ —
I can’t believe it. How…? Why is such a rare item hidden all the way up here?
Frank laughed as he rose to his feet, raising the Transfer Orb high and shaking it at the sky victoriously. Someone with his experience finding such an item was unheard of. Not only were they uncommon and incredibly useful, but expensive as well. They were so valuable that if he sold it, he could use the Moola to buy a mount that could support a Heavy like him, maybe even four. On the other hand, he could train in Tertiatier dungeons with it, knowing he could use it to escape whenever he n
eeded. The possibilities were endless.
Did anyone see?
He quickly peered around before making it vanish into his inventory, wondering if anyone had followed him. If another player saw that he had a Transfer Orb, stronger players would be targeting him as soon as he entered a Tertiatier dungeon in the hope of stealing it from him. Seeing no one around, he trudged through the snow, following the cliff face back to the path heading down.
He didn’t feel the cold as much on his way down. His thoughts whirled with what he could do with such an item, whether he should keep the orb and use it to play chicken in the higher tier dungeons, or sell it to get enough Moola to buy whatever he wanted. Both would be of benefit to him, but both also came with risks. If he kept it, he risked having it stolen, but if he tried to sell it, he risked being grifted by a player willing to sell his name to rare item hunters.
There’s only one thing I can do that makes sure I get something from this without the risk of being hunted down. I have to put it up on the Anonymous Auction. If I put it at a high enough price I can get a decent haul from it. Until then I’ll be able to use it if I ever need a quick getaway.
He grinned now that his plan was set in stone, leaving the Penance Peaks area of the mountains and making his way down to the Galrinth Fields. If he could get to the city before anyone spotted him, he wouldn’t have anything to worry abou—
The sound of a group of players arose from the frozen wind and his gaze shot to the bend in the rock they were emerging from. He shook his head and tried to act casual as he descended the frosted track, although he knew a single Heavy up this high in the mountains was suspicious enough. As long as he didn’t try to run, he would be fine.
There were four of them, a guy and three girls, one from each of the different Niches. As usual, the male player was the Heavy in massive armor similar to his own. The two smaller females were a Spellcaster in white robes and a Range fighter in black leathers, but the one that stood out the most was the Warrior. Frank could tell she had altered her avatar to decrease her waist size and increase her hips and bust, as well as make her long hair a blood red. Not only this, but her chainmail ended at her thighs to reveal lean legs. The four of them together were quite a sight.
They look like a normal party. Not a group from a hunting guild.
Their eyes scanned over him as they crossed paths, but other than a slight lull in their conversation, there was nothing that made him feel nervous. He sighed in relief as they moved from sight and he jogged behind the bend, breathing like he had a thousand dollars in his wallet and was expecting to be mugged.
Calm down, Frank. No one suspects you. Just get to Galrinth and put the auction up.
* * *
It seemed to take forever for him to reach the Galrinth City. He considered using the Transfer Orb to teleport himself there, but he didn’t want to risk any players seeing him reappear. Half of the players going up the Penance Mountains had enough strength and accumulated Skill Points to physically drag him to a Tertiatier dungeon. He’d heard that some resorted to such methods to steal rare items.
Although the Galrinth City was plain in comparison to many in the Dream State, the streets were another story. Thousands of colorful avatars of every Niche filled the wide medieval roads as others flew over the thatched rooftops. The smell of forges and spiced foods wafted from the buildings. He passed the bright blue avatar alterations building and stone forges before entering the Synth Square. Beautiful gardens weaved between the branching turquoise-tiled paths leading to the synth stores, spell shops, and the auction house that rose tall against the clear azure sky.
Frank moved into the hall where dozens of players browsed the available auctions. Frank hadn’t put anything up to auction before, but he’d been told by his friend Tessa that the system made it easy for newbies. In the center of the murmuring hall was a panel that rose from the wooden floor when he approached. He stood before the terminal, flicking the screen until the catalogue was replaced with the option to make an auction. He selected the option and a form popped up with the entry commands:
— ENTER THE CODE OF THE ITEM YOU WISH TO AUCTION —
Followed by:
— ENTER MOOLA RECLAMATION PASSWORD —
So the form doesn’t ask for a name. That’s a relief.
Frank accessed his inventory menu and pulled up the Transfer Orb’s item details. Every item had a unique code so it could be identified. With so many items in the game, it was unlikely that anyone could connect the item to him. He memorized the code and then inserted it into the panel: E40Y78Z5
After he had entered the last number, the image of the Transfer Orb appeared on the screen. Although he would keep the item on him, he would get a notification whenever a bid was placed on it. Frank then entered the password to claim the Moola offered by the highest bidder, using the same password he had for his email account. He pressed enter and a new screen appeared, asking him what price he wanted to start the auction with.
He grinned, thinking of a ridiculously high number and ending at 70,000 Moola. As soon as he pressed enter again, the auction was confirmed and a notification popped up in his vision.
— AUCTION CREATED —
He smiled. Tessa had been right; it had been incredibly easy. As he stepped back from the terminal, the panel lowered into the floor. The light on the screen passed over the floor and then up the wall like a hologram before showing his item on the wall with its absurdly large price tag.
Satisfied with a job well done, he made his way to the hall’s exit. As he was about to leave, he took one final look around. Frank saw that there was someone already looking at his auction, a blond male archer in beige leather. The expression on his face appeared determined. Although he doubted the player had enough for the asking price, he thought he might have a potential future bid appearing in his notifications very soon.
Chapter 2: A Daring Rescue
The floor never seemed as fascinating as when I was in the rehab center’s patient lounge. That and gravity’s effect on how long it took my drool to get to the sterile blue carpet. Whatever drugs I had been prescribed by the doctors, it made my mouth dry, my saliva stringy and my head cloudy.
The only thing that seemed to pierce the murk was the constant agony of loss every time I remembered Sue wasn’t going to come visit me. The drug also made me forget, so every time I remembered that I would never see her again was just as painful as when the wound was fresh.
The rehab center was, in fact, an asylum owned by the Wona Company, designed to cater to anyone who had suffered symptoms from spending too much time in the Dream State. Its main purpose was to cover the company’s backside from lawsuits against anyone suffering from overdose-induced brain damage, muscle atrophy, or in my case, attempted assassination.
My mother had signed me in after I had returned to reality. She checked in on me now and then, although it was more a formality considering I couldn’t focus on a conversation for longer than five minutes. I felt I should have been telling her something important, but couldn’t remember what it was long enough to put it into words.
Maybe it’s something to do with the drugs they’re giving me?
One of the orderlies at the rehabilitation center looked a little like my friend David, minus his dreadlocks and stubble. It was impossible, of course. David could never have held down such a job with his addiction to the Dream Engine. He might very well end up in here with me.
There was something to do with David that I knew I had to tell someone about. I kept fishing my memory for what it was and kept reeling in an empty hook. Even the bait, the thing that had triggered my thoughts was lost along with why I threw out a line in the first place.
Time drifted like a ribbon in a swift wind, but with the drug making me sleep throughout the day, the nights awake seemed to go on forever. This was especially so after I could walk again and yet couldn’t leave my room, the door of which was always watched by a night guard.
If my mother’s
paying for me to be in here, who’s paying to make sure I don’t leave?
I heard voices outside my door. The night guard was speaking to someone. I focused on the dull murmur to see if I could make out the words.
“. . . if you really need to take a crap, just go. I’ll hold down the fort until you get back,” a familiar voice said.
“What if someone comes to give me a break?” the guard muttered.
“Didn’t you say you just had your break and forgot to go? So just go already!”
“Alright fine!” the door guard sounded more agitated than convinced. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t push too hard. You don’t want to end up getting hemorrhoids!”
Now that tone of voice was familiar, but how? The door to my room then opened and the orderly rushed in.
“Come on, Noah. We’re getting you out of here.”
It was David. How on earth did David get an orderly job, let alone at a rehab clinic for people whose muscles had atrophied from extended periods on the Dream Engine?
Without a word, David pulled me onto my wobbly feet and wrapped a duster around me. After being paralyzed for a month, I had lost a lot of weight and was as light as a feather. David carried me out of my room and down a side corridor to a fire exit. I recalled I had tried to escape by this fire exit before, but it was always locked.
Does David have a key?
As though to answer my question, David pushed some buttons into a phone, and there was the squealing of wheels outside. Blinding headlights filled the safety glass windows of the fire exit before the bull bar of a four-wheel-drive drove up a ramp and crashed into the double doors. They smashed open and alarms went off. When my eyes adjusted to the headlights, I saw another familiar face behind the wheel.
“Hurry up, get in!”
David helped me into the backseat before getting into the passenger’s seat, calling, “Shotgun!”
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