“So…what ARE you going to do kiddo?” Setting down his drink, his father casually paused the film and shifted in his chair to easier see his son.
Kurt picked at a nail for a moment. “Well, Jimmy wants my help in this game, so that’s my weekend sorted.” He shrugged, thinking about the real world exchange. “I did end up making what would translate to …roughly twenty-five hundred dollars tonight. Feels like that’s not a usual thing, and it’s expensive to properly play that game, but in theory I could potentially make a living at it. Past that entirely theoretical scenario, I really haven’t thought about it much. Kind of makes me panic a little bit when I do.”
His father nodded, frowning to see his son so unsure and conflicted. “I think panic is a very good start. So long as you don’t just stay at that phase.” He paused to take a sip of his beverage, rattling the ice cubes as he set it back down. “Try not to take your mothers perspective on this so hard Kurt, she really means well.”
Looking over with a frown, Kurt shrugged. “Yeah, I know she does. It’s just hard not to take it personal, you know? Like…you can barely DO anything anymore even with an education. Everyone always says to take hold of your life and make something of it, but what should that thing be?”
“Fundamental change I would suggest you make to that statement.” Kurt glanced over at his father, seeing him looking back with a small smile on his face. “Remove the word ‘your’ from it. Take hold of life and make something of it.”
Frowning and shaking his head, Kurt scowled in confusion. “I don’t get the difference.”
“Life isn’t a possession, son. It’s an experience.” Smiling cryptically, his father resumed the movie and closed the conversation.
With another shake of his head, Kurt settled in to enjoy the film. “Well, that’s just maddeningly unhelpful.” He delivered the line with an appropriately British accent.
“Don’t quote Pirates at me boy, I’ll embarrass you with my unending knowledge.” His father was only partially joking as they would often quote films at one another until Kurt ran out of quotes and lost the impromptu battles. He felt good for a couple of hours, just watching a movie with his father again. The real world could wait.
That night Kurt dreamt of falling, and of flying.
11. The Russian Hit
Chapter 11
The Russian Hit
By the time he finished a quick shower, Kurt had forgotten about the dreams entirely. Grabbing a quick breakfast of cold granola with almond-milk, he wandered up to his plug-in couch and eased into the luxurious material. Swiping up the internet on his wrist, he browsed the nights activities.
GoonStorm had been making its presence and anger felt, their player killer patrols dominating the chatrooms and threads. Kurt could find mentions of their hit against the Goons, but it was usually buried beneath complaints about the constant patrols and speculation about when the Downtown Cluster would be free of them again. The GoonStorm take over conspiracy theorists were out in force as well, telling people this was how it would be when they owned all the turf in the city, or discussing possible ways to stop them. Very little solid information was mentioned about the three-man squad that had robbed their heist, and Kurt figured that would make Gadot happy. GoonStorm and the internet’s short memory span had done a wonderful job of covering their tracks for them.
He glanced at the clock on his phone and discovered it was only a little after eight in the morning. Jimmy wouldn’t be up and around for a couple hours at least, but Kurt wanted to log in anyway and go shopping again if nothing else. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, leaving the empty bowl on a nearby end table and plugging in. Swiping through his options, he logged into The Life of Crime.
The world around him faded to black, the game sounds kicking in. His safehouse rattled softly, the sounds of the train moving on the track coming in first. As his visuals loaded, he smiled to take in the long hallway with its pleasant wooden seats and museum quality riveted walls. He reached in his pocket to the bundle of bills representing his dirty cash, removing it in hundred thousand dollar increments and tucking it into his storage briefcase. Placing the last stack back into his pocket, he decided it would be an appropriate time to go shopping for fresh ammo and perhaps to get a little practice in.
Kurt pulled up his map and went looking for a good gun shop, preferably with a range attached. It didn’t take him long to find one in the path of his train’s route, and he marked a waypoint to it on his map. Once the train stopped, he slipped his plastic key card into the slot in the lock and the train doors opened with a slight metallic rattle. Exiting along with dozens of other NPCs, Kurt couldn’t help but smile as he blended easily into the crowd coming out of the subway station. He walked right past a parked GoonStorm patrol, snickering internally at the bored looks on the players faces.
Entering the gun shop, Kurt approached the counter and began browsing specialty ammunition. The shopfront itself was small, tucked away into the corner of a strip mall at the base of a skyscraper alongside a couple other unimpressive businesses. It sported a U shaped counter all around the inside of the building, with a door leading to the range tucked into the back corner behind a swinging gate. A friendly young man with a big bushy beard stood behind the counter and happily brought out boxes of ammunition for Kurt to look through.
He had unlocked access to two new types of specialty ammunition for his 9mm pistols; Ratshot and Armor Piercing. Scanning over the odd looking tube shaped bullets of Ratshot, he discovered it was a miniature shot shell that fired tiny lead pellets, originally designed for use against things like rodents or snakes. Setting that one aside for the moment, he scanned over Armor Piercing. The rounds looked normal aside from a silver material covering the top, and Kurt’s scan told him it was an aluminum coating for the heavy steel bullet. The stats for both ammunition types were rather unimpressive, but Kurt decided to buy a box of Ratshot despite the minimal damage rating it sported. He had an idea about that ammunition type in his drum magazine he wanted to try out.
He also refilled his 9mm+P, 9mm subsonic hollow-points, and standard ammunition before paying a minimal fee for some time on the range. The man behind the counter explained that the rental fee covered his ammunition costs, and Kurt correctly assumed that meant he wouldn’t lose any of his own ammunition supply. After he paid, the man thanked him and opened the door, leading him down a short hallway to the back of the shop. The range was far more impressive than Kurt had expected.
The range had only three lanes, and Kurt chose the one furthest from the door. As he approached the small counter, the lane lit itself with bright omnidirectional lighting that Kurt couldn’t find a location for. The firing lane also seemed to extend in a cone in front of him, allowing for multi-directional targeting. Stepping back with a frown, he leaned over to glance at the lane beside him and found it dark. Shrugging to himself, Kurt reached for a touchscreen pad in the wall beside him. It was filled with options for target practice, and Kurt quickly became confused. He exited to the home screen of the tablet and selected a basic program.
A paper target on a cardboard backer materialized twenty five yards away from him, attached to the ceiling by a metal rail. The target was simple, circular lines dictating different scores radiating out from a bright yellow central bullseye. Kurt’s applicable skills appeared on the touchscreen beside him, showing his gains by means of a greyed-out bar that filled with color as the skills gained exp. Raising his new Glock, Kurt aimed carefully and held down the trigger. The gun bucked wildly, drawing a line up the paper and onto the wall behind it. He pressed the reset button on the touchscreen beside him, and the target reformed, the bullet holes evaporating as he watched. His small arms and gunslinger skills ticked slightly upwards. Reloading his gun while shaking his head, Kurt tried again. This time he fired in small controlled bursts, and was pleased to see a much better marking on the target. His exp gains were small but steady, and he deduced that target practice would not give him as muc
h experience as combat. Kurt gained a single level in small arms, and managed to bump his rank in gunslinger up one as well.
After roughly an hour of practice the door opened to his right, and he squinted to see a man being shown in by the bearded gun shop owner. Kurt’s eyes widened as he recognized the man being led in. It was the player who seemed to like disguising himself as a police NPC, and he was wearing his Illusion Police Department uniform. Kurt reloaded his Glock and raised it, squeezing the trigger. A solid click was all that came from his gun and he glared at it, perplexed.
Ignoring the attempted aggression, the man in the police uniform smiled and approached. “Hi there. Silly question, I know, but…friendly?” He was an older man, in his forties with greying hair beginning to show at his temples as he removed the patrolman cap from his head.
Kurt glared at him for a moment from his side of the room, before responding with a shake of his head. “Not even slightly, no.”
“Ha! Well, I appreciate the honesty anyway. You can call me Jimbo.” He approached and extended his hand. Kurt looked down at it and then back up to him, but didn’t reciprocate the greeting. Jimbo frowned and nodded his head. “Understandable. Our first couple of encounters have been…intense.”
His eyes narrowing, Kurt’s finger twitched beside his weapons trigger guard. “You could say that.”
“Oh you can stop with the gun, they won’t work on other players in here.” He spread his arms wide and gestured to the room around them while moving in a slow circle. “We stand on holy ground. Or at least neutral ground.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, gently caressing the wall to his side. “These places were important in this era. A place of rules, and order. Who you were didn’t matter, just how you comported yourself. All men became equals with a gun in hand.” He finished with a small smile and a barely audible sigh. “I can appreciate that.”
Kurt started to set his Glock down on the counter, but realized the vulnerability of that motion and holstered it instead. “What can I help you with Jimbo?” His voice was tense, his anger clear.
Jimbo stood still for a moment, looking at Kurt as if sizing him up. “You interest me. You appear out of nowhere a few nights ago, and suddenly the city is torn to pieces and hovers on the precipice of all-out war. Goons patrol the streets, zealously exerting their distorted image of control, and yet…they’ve suddenly become weak. Vulnerable.” He paused there, reaching for the Desert Eagle holstered at his thigh. He set the gun down on the counter next to him, before turning and leaning against it and looking at Kurt again. “I can’t help but feel like there’s something more going on here. Something big.”
Kurt’s eyes narrowed on their own, causing Jimbo to smile slightly. “Sorry pal, can’t help you.” He un-holstered his Glock and began firing at his target again, practicing his burst fire control while trying to ignore the enemy to his side.
Jimbo tapped at his screen for a moment, and then began firing at targets of his own. The firing range appeared to house only Kurt’s plain paper target, so he correctly assumed it operated independently for individual shooters. They fired a few magazines of ammunition off at their own targets for a while, the only sound the thunder of Jimbo’s large caliber shells and the rattling cracks of Kurt’s Glock.
Reloading his Desert Eagle, Jimbo paused while gazing down range. “You should know, I’m contracted to the GoonStorm company right now.” He squeezed off a single round, his lips screwing up in disappointment as the shot went wide of the target. “I’m supposed to be gathering information on your crew.”
Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not smart to be telling me that then.”
Shrugging before squeezing off a few more rounds, Jimbo glanced over at Kurt. “You must be new here.” He fired off the remaining rounds in his magazine, dropping it out to fall to dust on the floor. “Disguise players like us are a rare breed. I mean, sure everybody puts on a suit to rob a bank every so often. But walking WITH the goons AS the manager.” He kissed his fingertips as he raised them in salute. “That’s something else entirely. I tip you my hat sir.”
Sighing and trying to focus on his groupings, Kurt fired off another full magazine in short bursts. “Don’t know what you mean.”
Jimbo shook his head. “You’ll want to start controlling that body language if you keep playing disguise. The game can help cover up stammers and excessive use of hesitation markers like ‘um’ while speaking, but body language is a dead giveaway.” He looked Kurt up and down. “You’re tense. You obviously knew who I was the moment I walked in, and you keep showing little stress indicators as we talk. You say one thing, but your body language tells me everything else.”
Kurt turned to face him, his anger surprising him by beginning to fade. “You want to mentor me now? Maybe invite me to your guild?”
Jimbo smirked. “No sir, I work alone. I’m on the clock is all, and I’ll be sharing the information I have already gathered with my clients at GoonStorm.” He paused there, looking towards Kurt as if sharing a private joke. “But between us, I mix work and pleasure. Like I said, you interest me, as does this fascinating little three-man campaign to topple the biggest crew in the game.”
Controlling his reaction to indicate only boredom, Kurt turned back to the shooting range touch screen, selecting a different style of target. The circular paper target was replaced by a man shaped target, with different score zones on various parts of the body. “Like I said, dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Much better! You have real potential for this.” Jimbo stayed as he was, clearly invested in the conversation in spite of Kurt’s attempts to stay uninteresting. “It could work you know. You keep hitting their heists, or even just fight them and win like you did the other day, and they’ll start losing members. Getting that officer busted was…an inspired touch. Wouldn’t take much to fracture a guild that size with tactics like yours, you’re already the only thing they talk about.”
Kurt remained silent, and focused on controlling his physical reaction to the statement. He fired off a few bursts, using both hands to control the recoil of the pistol.
Jimbo squinted, shaking his head. “No, you still tensed up in the shoulders. It’s hard to control, I admit. But as with anything, you can learn how with practice. Did you get Infiltrator yet? It’s pretty hard for me to gauge when you started playing, so please don’t be offended if I guess low.”
Swiping through his options again on the touch screen control, Kurt tried to suppress his reactions as he spoke. “How did you find me?”
Turning his body to lean against the counter again, Jimbo looked towards the ceiling. “Oh, I have my ways. Tell you what, give me one of your secrets and I’ll give you one of mine. We can start simple if you like. When did you start playing this game?”
Kurt hesitated to answer, but decided he couldn’t see any harm in this one question. “The night we met in the stairwell was my first time.”
Jimbo smacked the counter with his palm, clearly frustrated. “I KNEW that was a starter Beretta. I should really learn to trust my memory more.” He shook his head while looking up at the ceiling again. “Deals a deal. I found you today with my network of NPCs. I had an idea you were based in the Cluster, so I set up stakeouts looking for you. You might want to change up the suits, you’re still wearing the same one you wore to the GoonStorm heist. By the way, all of GoonStorm is looking for that stealth pistol you have sticking out of the back of your pants.”
Looking at his suit with a nod, Kurt had to concede the point to Jimbo. “Yeah, that’s fair. How do you keep showing up at our heists? And how the hell are you immune to cops?!”
“Ohh, those would cost you dearly. Tell you what, you tell me who your driver is and I’ll spill it.” Jimbo crossed his arms and offered Kurt a predatory smile.
“Speaking dishonest sneak to dishonest sneak, I won’t even respond to questions about my friends.” Kurt nodded as he spoke, his respect for this strange man beginning to grow as their interact
ion continued. “You’re too good at this particular aspect of the game and I’m just getting started.”
An unimpressed look came over Jimbo’s face, and he sighed slightly again. “Alright, fair enough. I’ll leave your friends out of it and you leave my methods out, how’s that?”
Taking a deep breath, Kurt stared at Jimbo for a moment. “Ok, fine. Why are you interfering? What’s it to you?”
A slow smile crept onto Jimbo’s features before he answered. “I already told you, I’m interested. That tends to be rare for me, so I’m part of it now. Like it or not.”
“You’ve chosen the wrong side.” Kurt moved to leave, shouldering past Jimbo. He turned at the doorway, one hand holding it open, irritation obvious in his expression. “See you on the field then?”
Jimbo nodded with a sad looking smile. “Not if I see you first kid.”
Letting the door bang behind him, Kurt scowled as he entered the gun store once again. He moved to leave, but the thundering bangs of Jimbo’s Desert Eagle made him pause. He swiped up his equipment screen and stared at the remaining space for a weapon for a moment. Making a sudden decision he turned back to the bearded man behind the counter.
“I need a semi-automatic magnum, with holster and ammunition. What’s the best one I can buy?” He glanced at the door to the shooting range, satisfied that it was sealed enough to keep his purchase a secret from Jimbo.
The gun shop owner immediately reached under the counter and produced a small black plastic briefcase, setting it down in front of Kurt while he turned to collect ammunition and find an appropriate holster. Kurt opened the case and scanned what looked to be a Colt 1911.
Coonan
Magnum Pistol. Sidearm. Weapon drops upon death only if equipped in the Primary/Secondary slot.
Caliber: .357 Magnum
Rate of Fire: Semi-Automatic
Capacity: 7 round magazine
Kurt’s eyes widened at the guns statistics when he switched between realistic and simple displays for his scan. The Coonan magnum sported an impressive damage rating, along with a standard armor piercing rating that seemed to come with the magnum caliber rating. The shop keeper returned then, setting down a simple holster that slung under the arm and came with a single magazine holder sewn onto the side of the black leather. Shrugging out of his jacket, Kurt quickly slipped into the holster and sheathed his new firearm in it, before buttoning the jacket again and moving side to side. It felt bulky, but didn’t seem to show easily, and he nodded as the store clerk turned back and placed a box of shells on the counter.
The Life- Illusion Page 16