He steps sideways and blocks me off. Unlike all of the terrain, I can’t move through him. Does that mean we can hurt each other here? I’m not sure I want to find out. His level is significantly higher than mine.
“I said, fuck off,” he says through his Kaiju’s bellow. “This territory’s claimed.”
“Right,” I say. “I’m looking for Xenatlas. He told me to find him.”
A light pulses off to our side and we’re suddenly joined by a third semi-translucent kaiju. The name above its head reads Solrin, and it’s the first quadrupedal kaiju I’ve seen. I’m put in mind of a lion with dinosaur’s head, only someone’s affixed a single antler to its forehead, like a very spiky unicorn. The mane and fur on its legs and tail are bright gold while the layered armored hide is deep copper hue.
I can’t help but think of those lion-dogs that they put outside Chinese temples and restaurants. Or maybe I’m thinking of that Chinese unicorn thing called a Qilin. I know more about mythology than the average Joe on the street because it sometimes came up with other players in videogames but nobody’s ever going to call me an expert.
“Who’s the baby monster?” Solrin asks, and beneath the bellow of his kaiju, his words come across with a decidedly British accent. I guess the beta’s global.
“I ran into a guy called Xenatlas,” I say. “He told me to meet him here.”
Solrin gives a snort. “Right, come on then.”
Megaptera shakes his head, but steps aside to accompany me. I feel positively diminutive sandwiched between these two giants. I mean, this is a huge step up from being the blob monster, but if this is what leveling up does to your kaiju, I cannot wait to hit the upper levels. Pint-size is not how I like my city destroying monsters.
That brings me a bit of depression as I realize my leveling is going to be delayed by my inability to demolish large portions of cities and enemies at once with a special attack. I glance back and forth between the pair. “You guys are taking this awfully serious.”
“So should you,” Megaptera says, but when he does, the hostility from before is gone. Solrin showing up and Xenatlas’s name being mentioned must have mellowed him out.
Some of my curiosity must be evident on Taisaur’s face, because Solrin elaborates. “Whatever this is, it’s much bigger than just a game. The Game Masters sometimes reach out and offer real world cash rewards for specific missions or targets.”
“Real world money?”
“Last time I took a mission they dropped me a quarter mil,” Solrin says. “That’s euros, just in case you were wondering.”
I stare at him. I’ve been thinking if I got a couple of these missions I might be able to save up to take a girl out or maybe put it towards paying a professional to do up a website for me. Who in their right mind drops what I think is close to thirty thousand dollars on testing a videogame level? The guys who are putting this game together are crazy. That’s the only half-rational conclusion I can draw.
“Yeah,” Megaptera says. “There’s a lot of money to be made playing this game. And it makes a lot of people assholes.”
There’s something to his voice—an accent that’s distinct but not as pronounced as Solrin’s. I’m guessing he’s from somewhere up north along the East Coast. Boston, maybe?
“Money changes people,” I say.
“And some players get a kick out of fucking with other players so that they don’t make a payday,” Solrin says. “See, there’s no way to tell when a player’s on one of these missions. So, there’s some murder-happy PKer’s out there. Rumor has it some of them get paid for it.”
PKer, for those unfamiliar with gaming terms, stands for player killer. Some games encourage and embrace this sort of behavior. Other’s abhor it. Really, it depends on the players here. With the kind of money on the line these two are talking about, assuming they’re not bullshitting me, I’m guessing there’s a special kind of hatred for the players that go out of their way to fuck up that kind of payoff. What’s weird though is the idea of some players being paid to interfere with tasks that others are being paid to do. What the hell’s up with that? Something to mull over later.
“And you’re worried I’m one of them?” I ask, pointedly looking up at them, then down at Taisaur to indicate our size difference. While neither of them are as big as Xenatlas, they’re still easily twice Taisaur’s mass.
“Nope,” Megaptera says.
“Only way you’d have been able to find Xen, is if he told you to meet him,” Solrin says.
“Is that why I’ve got the little arrow thing pointing me this way?” I ask.
The two exchange a look over Taisaur’s head. They were waiting for confirmation, I realize.
“Yup,” Megaptera says. “Pretty much.”
“Only way to track someone down in Monster Land is by giving the tracker permission,” Solrin says. “Otherwise you’re just running around mapping things out or hoping for the best.”
We reach the end of the peninsula. The trees part, revealing a natural collection of towering stones several times higher than any of us. They’re a pretty reddish color and would be really impressive in real life. Hell, I’m a little impressed now with the modeler’s attention to the little details. But it’s not the rocks themselves that have my attention, it’s what’s on them.
Something has been carving some kind of code or language all over their surface. The mystery of what’s caused them doesn’t remain a mystery for long as the sound of claws on stone reach my ears. A little ways around the stones, just out of sight from the jungle, is Xenatlas. He’s dragging those massive claws of his across the stone, carving this weird language into it.
I scowl for a moment. Taisaur’s paw had gone right through the trees earlier. What was different about the rock?
Xenatlas stops working and turns his massive horned head to look at me, gesturing toward his work. “We can’t touch any organic material in Monster Land, but minerals we can leave a mark on.”
“What is all this? Some kind of alien language?” I ask, going up to the stone.
He laughs. “No, just a simple code I came up with. Any PKer’s make it over here, all this will be gibberish to them. I mean, it’s not a complicated code or anything, but it’s good enough to confuse an amateur.”
Guess I’m an amateur then because this shit looks complicated as hell. Xenatlas must be one of those brainy guys who think working with numbers is fun.
“So, you do know this guy, then,” Megaptera says.
“Yup,” Xenatlas says. “And I want to help him level up.”
He does?
“You do?” Solrin asks, accented voice mirroring my thoughts.
Xenatlas nods. “Yeah. He didn’t get a special attack but a second special quality. Pretty sure he utterly failed to optimize his array, but I want to test to see if he progresses like we do and see what he gets when he finally hits level fifteen.”
“You think it’s worth knowing?” Megaptera asks.
Xenatlas nods. “What kind of beta-testers would we be if we didn’t explore this.” He looks back at his code and I swear I see something appraising in his kaiju’s beady eyes. That code of his probably has a comprehensive listing of Taisaur’s stats and progression all laid out. Maybe the same for his own and these other two as well.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve stumbled into a way to not only overcome my issue of leveling up but optimizing Taisaur’s build as I progress.
“Of course,” he says, turning back to me. “That assumes you’re interested?”
I think about it for a second. “Half the fun of a game like this is the other players,” I say. “Are there any guild-rules I need to know about?”
Solrin laughs. “No official guilds in the game yet, mate. Unofficially though, we give each other an assist whenever one of us gets a paying mission. We watch each other’s backs and we don’t PK.”
I can live with that.
Chapter Thirteen
I don’t know how long we stay together in Monster Land talking. We don’t get personal. That seems to be an unofficial rule of the non-guild of kaiju I’ve joined. I don’t mind. We’ve all got some kind of issue or we wouldn’t be playing the game in the first place. Unspoken or no, we all know it, and that combined with having a task to share in, helps to give us a sense of unity. The game is weird, I decide, but fun. And I’m more convinced now that it is actually working.
The door to the dorm opens and Brett walks in, looking cheerful until he sees me. “Have you moved at all since I left?”
I check my phone. It’s six o’clock already. Damn, where did the time go? More importantly throughout those four hours I’ve been playing I haven’t moved. I’m still in the exact same position I was in when he left.
I offer him a grin. “Not much.” Close enough. He doesn’t need to know just how little I’ve moved. It’s not natural. Anyone playing a game for any length of time is going to at least shift their weight around. I haven’t. Hell, my hand should be sore from holding up my phone sideways for that long and it isn’t either. Weird.
“What’d you find around campus?” I ask, more to change the subject than because of any real.
He takes the bait and whips out a flyer. “Alpha-Alpha-Epsilon’s hosting a party tonight! Open invitation to the early arrivals.”
I spend a moment considering the flyer. “A frat party?” Unless I was very much mistaken, that had been a pair of frat boys, or aspiring frat boys, who’d been tossing around his backpack out in the hall.
He seems to read my mind because he waggles a finger at me. “You can’t judge the entire Greek system off a few bad eggs.”
I laugh. That’s fair. Far more fair than I expected from him actually. Truth is a lot of nerds, and I proudly include myself in that counting, hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Someone who can let that kind of crap not get to them and still go out and want to have a good time might just be the kind of guy I want around. Maybe I didn’t draw the short straw when the college was dolling out roommates after all.
“Besides,” he adds a moment later. “Frat’s always invite sororities to their parties.”
Ah the real mystery is solved. I swear, behind every brave and stupid decision a man makes, there’s a woman. In my case it just so happens to be my mother.
I laugh again. “I guess it’s our duty as new students to scope out the local talent.”
“Damn straight!” He pumps his fist.
“So, when is it?” I ask.
“Meh, half an hour. Probably take us at least an hour to find it though. The frat house isn’t on campus proper. Unless you’ve got a car?” He asks this last part hopefully. It’s that tone that would make me lie if I actually did.
A car is a tool just like any other, only it’s one of those tools that everyone who doesn’t have one wants to borrow or ask you to use for them. I’m glad I don’t have to lie. It would be a pain in the ass dodging him all year when he found out that I had. “Nope.”
“Then we walk!” he says, striking a pose straight out of an old colonial painting, foot up on the bed, chin high, pointing off into space.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully exuberant.”
“And you’re not?” he asks in disbelief.
I’m really not. Not because I’m a downer, it’s just that the few parties like this that I’ve been to have been full of idiots. Call me judgmental, but I’m inclined to think that a frat party’s going to be even worse, full of self-important, self-entitled douchebags. On the other hand, they’re likely well-off douchebags with free beer. Also, Brett’s not wrong about college girls.
I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do yet if I manage to hook up with someone and Brett’s here. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess.
I check my phone to see how much it needs to charge. I don’t expect to be needing it at the party. Hell, I might even forget I’ve got it on me. Only I can’t take the chance that Mom might call and need something. It’s unlikely. Dad’s made sure she’s being taken care of. Even so, I don’t want it dying on me just in case.
When I see that the little battery marker up in the corner is at 100% I do a double take. My phone hadn’t been plugged in when I started playing. It should be just about dead, not higher than when I started. I stare at it, then at the tiny scar on my hand. Had my chip somehow charged it while it was in use? Weird, but very cool.
“Alright, let’s get going then,” I say, hopping off my bed.
A short while later, we’re out the door and hiking across campus. We make a few wrong turns and have to double back but eventually we’re on the right track. As we get nearer though, the sounds of laughter and music reaching us from half a block away, Brett slows almost to a stop.
I’m several steps ahead of him before I realize what he’s done and turn around to make sure he’s okay. “You good?”
He gives a slow nod. The kind that says “Yes, but…” It’s an expression I hate. Fortunately, this time it only mildly irritates me, a very pleasant change. I don’t like what he’s doing. I’m also not going to make something out of it. The damn Doc’s game really is helping.
“Look I wouldn’t normally bring this up,” he says, catching up to me and coming to a full stop. He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Only we’re going to be roommates. And I know we’re about to go to a party and all, it’s just…I had a cousin who was into drugs. Started with weed, worked his way up to meth. Really fucked him up. He’s been in jail a few times.” This last he stresses like it’s the worst thing in the world. Honestly, he’s not too far off, at least for some people. It could have been a whole lot worse for me, truth be told.
“And if there’s illegal substances found in our dorm, it’s both of us that take the fall for it,” he says.
Okay, I get that. Considering my own semi-parole status, I even appreciate it. What I don’t get is why he feels the need to bring this up with me.
“No problem,” I say. “Not into drugs.”
He holds up his hands. “Look I’m not judging. There’s no need to lie to me.”
I narrow my eyes. Why would he think I’m lying? Unless…oh damn it. He thinks that’s why I sent him out of the dorm. Why he found me in the exact same spot he left me in. Damn, this just got awkward.
“I’m not into drugs, Brett.”
He deflates a little. “If you say so. Just…don’t bring anything into the dorm room, okay? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Won’t be an issue.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the disappointed set of his shoulders. “Whatever, man. My cousin was pretty good at hiding it. Good at lying about it, sometimes even to himself, I think. What you put into your body’s your business, just—hey!”
I’m leaving him. If he’s convinced of something and just as convinced I’m lying about it then there’s not much I can do to change his mind. At least there’s a party waiting for me. Maybe a pretty girl and a few cans of beer besides.
“Hold up!” For a little guy he can really move. He’s at my side a moment later.
“What?” I say, without slowing down.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t make assumptions. You say you’re good, you’re good.”
I don’t stop, making him hurry to keep up. “Damn straight I’m good.”
“I’m just really trying to keep out of trouble,” he says.
I glance at him sideways. “And you’re going to a frat party?”
“Uh…okay, fair point.”
We close the rest of the distance in silence. The dour mood doesn’t last long.
I’d thought the party wouldn’t actually start until well after the designated time. I was wrong. Things were in full swing. Best guess is there wasn’t much else to do for us early arrivals. People screamed. Music blared. Cars lined the
streets.
And vehicle in particular was stopped in front of the house next to the frat house. It’s a 2008 Ford F-150 pickup, good condition but clearly used, and just as clearly stalled. The hood is up and several guys in those colorful short shorts are hovering around it. Mostly showing just how useless they are, making suggestions that sound more like random guesswork.
Drawing near, I suddenly understand their interest.
The car clearly belonged to a pair of beautiful girls. One is a Latina in a crimson sun dress. It is her I’m guessing the car belongs to. Under any other circumstances I’d have walked right up to her and offered my assistance. Except that I recognize the other young woman, which is why I’m guessing the girl in the red dress is the truck owner.
The second girl is tall, elegant, and blonde, an icy but no less beautiful opposite to her Latina companion. Those frosted eyes fall on me, widen in surprise and then narrow.
“Aaron,” she says politely, voice brimming with false warmth. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
Oh, I very much doubt that. I give her a nod of greeting anyway. “Hello, Lusitania.”
Chapter Fourteen
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“I heard you were attending here,” Lusitania says. “I didn’t think you’d already arrived. Who’s your friend?”
Brett starts blubbering again. The stutter goes on for a few minutes while Lusitania offers him a patient smile, like she’s the angel of grace, and waits for him to pull himself together long enough to gape at me and say, “Y-y-you know them?”
“Articulate, isn’t he?” the girl in the red dress asks. Where Lusitania is tall and willowy, like a runway model, only healthy, she’s on the shorter side, curvier, but in an athletic way. Clearly her truck breaking down has her in a foul mood.
“I know Lusitania,” I say. I don’t want to call us cousins, we really aren’t. “Her aunt married my Dad.”
“So, you’re cousins, then?” Brett says, loudly. Loud enough that there’s a collective release of tension from the gathered crowd of the girls’ admirers. If any of them are hoping to score with Lusitania they’ve got another thing coming. She’d just as soon castrate them.
How To Train Your Kaiju Page 7