Which begged the question: “Why play at all, then?”
I didn’t know if I had meant it to come off as inspiring, rhetorical, or some mix of the two, and Scale didn’t know how to respond.
“What else is there?”
The question struck me. Not for its inherent tragedy, which most people up in the real world would have assigned it, nor for its aloof nature. But rather because it was said earnestly, and because I knew exactly what he meant by it.
Titan Online was a gift to people like Scale and me. It was a gift for everyone who spent more time logged in than out. A gift, and a mighty curse. Permadeath gave the world of Titan Online – and its characters – meaning, both to viewers and to players. But that same feature also made it the only game I could think of where grief counseling wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for players who’d lost years-long builds. Sure, they could always log back in, enter a new origin and start playing all over. Some even enjoyed the experience. But for most, losing a build took something from them. Something no AI or algorithm could make tangible.
“Okay, then,” I said. I snatched one of the sturdier-looking crates from the opposite corner and dragged it into the center of the junction, sitting down on it slowly so as not to break it. “Let’s talk about your goals, then. In-game, I mean. What are they? Why don’t you leave this place?”
“I do.”
“Not the sewers, genius,” I said. “I mean the docks. You’ve collected plenty of bronze and copper to start investing in real enterprises. Tech, allies, NPC mercenaries. Whatever. You’ve got a great power set that’s going to scale incredibly well at higher levels. But you need to get there, Scale. And you’re not going to do it by languishing here.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“I think I know what I see,” I said. “And I don’t see that. Look at how quickly I’ve gone to tier five—”
Scale barked out a hollow laugh. It was a bitter sound and made me cringe, and nearly took the goodwill I was beginning to harbor for the beast.
“Don’t give me that,” I said, raising my voice a bit. “You could march right across Silver Bridge tomorrow and pick a fight with any tier-six hero you wanted, start up a rivalry. You can afford to post bail at every major jail in Titan City. Win some, lose some. Boom. New tier. More power. More security.”
“Titan City is teeming with tryhards,” Scale said. “I wouldn’t last ten minutes. All the capes team up these days. No way I’d get meaningful experience getting my ass handed to me every day.”
He had a point. Hero packing had grown rampant in Titan Online in recent months. It was one of the reasons I’d chosen a player-light side of town for the bank heist, and it was another thing that was dragging the game down, in my opinion. Viewers liked heroes. Liked them more than villains, in most cases, but they also liked seeing them challenged, and even liked seeing them lose, on occasion. But the last villain supergroup to rise up and give anything close to a challenge to the major guilds had been Deadlock’s.
“Fair enough,” I said. “Still, your chances of getting perm’d on that side of the water are a hell of a lot smaller than they are here, where the bad guys play.”
“Tell that to yourself. You should know—”
I frowned and stiffened. Scale’s eyes widened in momentary fear as he wondered whether or not he had pressed too far. I didn’t recall having told him of Streak, but he did know I was hunting Leviathan. I assumed he thought I was crazy like anyone else I’d told, but maybe he had caught on.
“Sebastian,” he said by way of explanation. “He told me when we were splitting the last shipment. I asked what you were up to. I meant for the next take, but he told me the long game. It’s… ambitious.”
I slapped my mask and let out a knowing laugh. It dispelled the tension.
“That’s one word to describe it. Okay, so I might not be the best example to use, but ambitions come in all manner of sizes and persuasions.”
“I’m afraid.”
He surprised both of us by saying it. I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily, he filled in the silence that was beginning to stretch.
“I promised this would be my last go-round,” he said, looking at the dancing amber and gold puddles in the porous cobbled floor.
“Promised who?”
“Myself.”
Again, I didn’t need him to explain. I knew. I knew it like a shadow on the heart. Nobody played forever.
“Figures,” I said with a good-natured laugh.
“What does?
“That you get stuck in this ugly-ass build during your last go.”
This time, he returned the smile he couldn’t see, his yellowed fangs looking less menacing and more friendly now that he wasn’t trying to tear someone’s face off with them.
I must admit, I had decided to swing by Scale’s lair to see if my investment in the player was still worthwhile. Now that I had connected with him – really connected, I mean – I found that familiar anger beginning to boil up inside of me. Anger toward Leviathan.
Sure, he wasn’t directly responsible for Scale’s predicament, but he represented all that was wrong with Titan Online to folks like us. Folks who had taken to living in virtual sewers rather than taking in all this blessed place had to offer.
When I made Despot, I had intended for it to be my final build in Titan Online. In some ways, I still did. Despot would be a god-killer. But if he wasn’t, then my next build would be, or the build after that. It was all coming to the same in the end. Leviathan was going to die, and he was going to die by my hand and by my will, no matter how the AI drew me, and no matter what origin story I was dealt.
One of them would work eventually. One of them had to work.
I wouldn’t give up.
“Well, then,” I said, standing so quickly I sent the crate spilling onto its side. “I suppose we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Scale looked confused. I approached him and he shrank back, until I placed my hand on one of his huge shoulders. He was strong, and judging by our conversation tonight, I believed he could be loyal, no matter his initial misgivings and prickly attitude. More so, I was beginning to like him.
“Tomorrow, you’re going to come to the base,” I said. “Not my base. Ours. You’re going to join the team. You’re going to work with me, not for me. And together, we’re going to do big things. This is going to be a build to remember, Scale. Mark my words.”
He frowned at first, the boney protrusion that made up his brow clicking together. And then he grinned and gave a nod, like a soldier to his captain.
It felt good to see it.
I told myself Scale and I truly would be partners, even if I knew it wasn’t true. Even if I knew I’d still be calling the shots. Even if I knew he’d still be the one on the front lines, in harm’s way.
Worth the risk for the glory that was coming our way. I didn’t have to convince myself of that one, at least, as I took a final survey of the dusky, slimy lair and made my way back toward the ladder. Anything was better than this.
“Tomorrow, my friend.” I gave a curt bow, and Scale nodded quickly. He shimmered and then winked out in a flash as he logged out, and I turned and gripped the ladder, feeling good about myself for a change as I made my way to the top.
Tomorrow.
Fifteen
Wake Up Call
The good mood I found myself in on the heels of my new alliance – or renewed alliance – with Scale followed me back to base. My steps were lighter, my mood less dour, and my villainous mask less of an accurate representation of my psyche.
At first, the rest of the crew froze, caught in whatever preparations B5 and – more likely – Luther had assigned them to wonder what could put such a villain in such a bright mood. I thought I saw Spooks wet himself, but I allowed him to play it off as the work of some reaching spray from the sloshing falls. He likely expected some punishment for his cowardice in the fight against Starshot. I admit, a part of me consi
dered ordering Sebastian to throw him into the chasm.
Instead, I smiled wider beneath my mask and passed by the lot of them without breaking stride. I headed right for the supercomputer and plopped down in the chair like I would in my crummy apartment. Only here I had the space to kick my feet up and lounge back. I did just that, scrolling absently with my right hand on the sensor set into the rock.
Villain Watch was still sporting a website design that was years out of date. Hell, they didn’t even have a speech search function embedded into the liquid code. In a way, I think the cretins who ran the site preferred it that way.
As a rule, I tended to avoid looking myself up on the industry blogs and forums when I’d been doing my thing as Streak. I hadn’t felt the need to, since my goal wasn’t to gain fame and adoration – well, at least not that kind of fame – but rather to take my place among the other Titan-level players, and be recognized by my peers more than the viewers.
Villain fans – those who watched but never played – had already trumpeted their supposition that villain players were the only ones playing for the people. Now that the proverbial shoe was on the other foot, I found it hard to argue with them. Where the fans trolling the hero sites delighted in the carnage of the major player battles in Titan Online, those in the darker corners of the web found it more interesting to see how long villains could last in a virtual world the AI had stopped treating as fair years ago.
Villains were the underdogs in Titan Online. Had been ever since the great exception known as Deadlock had shattered the last vestiges of the illusion of a level playing field against an alliance of the game’s most powerful heroes. It was a role that suited me.
But as I scrolled through the white text on its slate-gray background, alert for mentions of the latest player conflicts involving lesser-known villains and heroes, I was intent upon the real reason for conducting such vain research: I needed to know if I was making a name, and while there would come a time for that down the line, right now, I couldn’t afford to be.
“General,” B5 said from behind. Sebastian and the boys were making a racket, helping Luther carry some new loot in the form of scrap metal in from the yard, and it had given me a pounding headache in the real world that only seemed magnified in here.
“Just a minute,” I said.
“I’ve already researched all thirty-six mentions of ‘Despot’ on the industry blogs,” he said. “Nothing to be concerned about. In all, most mention you in rather dismissive tones. Your recent victory over Starshot is considered a happy mistake. A case of clever planning rather than overt power.”
I grumbled something that even I found unintelligible. It was a good thing, being ignored, but it still smarted just a bit, like rubbing salt in an old wound.
“The few who did take a keener interest in the manner in which you constructed the whole scenario – those who recognized the scenario to be a construction in the first place – haven’t the faintest idea how you managed it. They think the NPCs are working for you organically. I haven’t found a single hint as to—”
“My superpower,” I said. “I know, I know. No harm in being thorough, though, right? Even you can agree on that count.”
“Quite,” B5 clipped, in a tone that made it abundantly clear that he felt he had been thorough in his search. Much more so than a mere human would be capable of, compared to a being possessed of Ythilian intellect.
“They’re asking questions, B,” I said, shaking my head. I leaned back in my chair and pushed myself away from the supercomputer. “That’s fine once we give them a place to aim them. For now, we have other matters.”
“Leviathan, you mean,” B5 said, nodding. “Your mission.”
“It hasn’t changed, B. We don’t need the viewers to turn on him in order to kill him. That can come later, when they start asking the necessary questions. For now, we’ve got to play this slow. Play it right.”
B5’s eyes blinked in rapid succession.
“Go ahead, then,” I said, imploring him to tell me what he wanted to tell me. I turned back toward the screen and watched as B5 changed it over to suit the topic. The computer was so used to me asking it to run footage of Leviathan that it had begun to do so of its own accord. B5 had assured me that it wasn’t his doing, just as he had allowed that the Ythilian Hive Stone that made up his mind did some things on reflex.
I don’t know why it kept showing me the same few scenes. Sure, Leviathan had taken some damage in a few crisis events, but hardly anything significant.
“Right,” B5 said. The screen changed over and populated my stats. I sometimes preferred looking at them this way rather than cluttering up my UI. I had had the chance to give them a quick once-over after leaving Scale’s sewer throne room the previous night, but it was high time I dove in and started prepping based off the new me.
Despot
Tier 5 Villain
Threat Index: Moderate
Superpower: Influence
Stats:
Mind: 25
Brawn: 10
Agility: 15
Armor: 10 (+10)
Charisma: 40
“I’m still not ready for any hand-to-hand against anything more than some of my weakest crew,” I surmised. “But I did feel a bit more spry after the row in the junkyard. That agility score isn’t bad.”
“Nor is the mind increase,” B5 agreed.
“Not all that useful to my superpower.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” B5 countered. “True, the Influence power is propelled by charisma, but I believe the mind stat may serve as something of a negation against a target’s own mind scores.”
“Interesting,” I said. “So, the power functions off of charisma, but having a higher mind stat could result in easier checks against future targets?”
“It’s just a theory,” the droid said, as if it wasn’t important. “Either way, there are certain pieces of tech, especially of the exotic variety – visors and weaponized AI systems – that require heightened and stable minds to deploy. If you want to wield more advanced weaponry in battle, simply being charismatic isn’t going to do the trick.”
“Fair point.” I clapped my hands together and heard a startled yelp from behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know that it was Spooks. I sighed. “Now, then, on to the good stuff.”
B5 dipped an unnecessary bow. “With the increase to your charisma score, up ten points since your origin, you’ve added five slots to your max Sphere of Influence.”
I pulled up my Sphere to refresh myself on the names of my latest recruits. Nothing special. Just a few more of the dockside thugs Sebastian and Sascha had been working with. I knew Madam Post had to be getting tired of my co-opting her troops, but then, she had certainly appreciated the armor upgrades I’d had delivered, not to mention the bronze.
Sphere of Influence – 17/20
Single-Slot Members
1) Sebastian 2) Hobb 3) Brooks 4) Sascha
5) Kayde 6) Spooks 7) Damon 8) Greek
9) Vincent 10) Carlyle 11) Ratchet 12) Maria
Multi-Slot Members
Luther Smith (5 Slots)
Each was a special, unique little snowflake in his or her own way, even if the majority of them had a ‘Common Thug’ tag beside their name. Some were smarter than others, and some stronger. But it was those key traits I had begun to focus on. Toughness and loyalty spoke for themselves, but others were less predictable, and more intriguing because of it.
Vincent was cunning. That could come in handy, but it also meant he was one I needed to keep an eye on. Kayde was silent. I assumed that meant he would be good on stealth missions, and not just that he didn’t like small talk. Since my talk with Scale, I had mentally re-committed myself to my mission, and doing that meant I needed to take my crew seriously. They were my power, in many ways.
I also looked at my items, which Luther had managed to make some upgrades to as a result of my own tier-up. The body armor remained unchanged, but my swarm grenades
had improved greatly.
Item: Swarm Grenade Mrk 2
Requires: Tier 5 or above
Requires: Mind 25
Use: Projects 12 lifelike, holographic images of the wielder that move in accordance with the wielder. Images persist for 30 seconds or until they take any damage, including environmental damage.
Note: Enemies with a mind stat of 65 or higher will resist this effect and see the real you.
The tinkerer had also assured me that these holograms would more closely and convincingly mimic the wielder, making me harder to spot. The stasis gun’s level up wasn’t nearly as drastic, but even this small upgrade was valuable.
Item: Stasis Gun Mrk 2
Requires: Tier 5 or above
Requires: Mind 25
Use: Shoots a paralyzing orb that catches enemy combatants in a stasis field. Targets successfully caught in stasis will be immune to all damage for the duration. Any attack will break the stasis effect.
Duration: 30 seconds or until the enemy is attacked.
Note: Enemies with a mind stat of 50 or higher will resist this effect.
Adding five seconds to the gun’s hold was significant. Oh, the possibilities. I equipped the new gun, feeling that bit more powerful.
My thoughts then turned to my recent fight with Starshot, and what I had nearly done at the end of it.
It wasn’t cunning that had forced me to stay my hand. And I couldn’t honestly say it was mercy. Instead, it was that old familiar need to make someone understand. As if by making the one person understand, the rest would follow.
A fool’s dream, if ever there was one.
Then again, it seemed my folly, my momentary lapse into mercy or self-indulgence, had paid off well enough. I had earned Infamy from the fight, certainly, but it had been the brewing story the AI had glimpsed between us that had granted a large Rivalry bonus. I hadn’t intended to roleplay as ‘the villain,’ but I suppose I had, in my own way. And the result was welcome. I’d tiered up ahead of schedule. Now, looking at those empty three slots in my Sphere of Influence, I nearly salivated.
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