Dream Stream Reality: Publisher's Pack Books 1-2: (A LitRPG Adventure)

by Derrick Burke

  Getting ready myself, I take the motorbike to work. I also own a kitted-up four-wheel drive, but I let Rosie use that to get around. Sometimes I regret it, because in winter I freeze my ass off on the bike. Luckily the winter has just passed and it’s starting to warm up a bit now. Blessed heat.

  “Morning! How are you doing today?” With a smile, I greet the next group of people in line outside the door to the massive nightclub I work at called Sky High. See, I’m what most people describe as a bouncer, security guard, rent-a-cop, I’m sure you get the drift. I’m currently checking IDs as I’m waiting for my underling to mosey on back from the ladies’.

  Sky High is one of the most prestigious in the city. That usually means that most of the people who line up to get their IDs checked are loaded, or their friends are loaded, or they want to hook up with someone who’s loaded.

  You get the drift.

  Sure, it’s not the best gig in the world moneywise, but it has its moments and pays the bills. Someone has to keep places where people gather safe from those who would harm someone on a whim. Plus, there are some moments that are a damn sight better looking than others.

  I’m not a douche or anything, well, at least I don’t think I am, but almost every lady who ventures into this venue is wearing something sleek, artfully revealing, or quite see-through. It’s extremely hard to keep my eyes to myself when everywhere I look are beautiful women. I don’t need to immerse myself in VR games to get the full view of humanity’s finest, I just have to go to work.

  It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it, right?

  Everyone shows me their IDs as they line up, and I let in a few more people as I wait for Anya to get back. Damn, she’s taking a while. Did she drown in the bowl or something?

  As the next group comes up in line, most of them are young dudes, and a couple look to be a bit on the loose side of the body-language meter. Which is basically a nice way of saying they will probably get kicked out after a couple more beverages, if they pass the attitude test to even get in.

  “How we doing, bud?” I ask the first kid in line, who looks a bit vertically challenged.

  “I’m good,” he replies with a bored expression on his face as he hands me his card. It’s one of the old ones, laminated paper with some watermarks and shiny stuff on it.

  I look at it for a second, checking the details before sighing and giving him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but we aren’t allowed to accept these old library cards anymore. You need one of the new ones.”

  “What do you mean the old? I only got this two years ago, and it isn’t even expired yet,” the kid replies with confusion, his bored expression wiped from his face and replaced with worry.

  “Yeah, I see it hasn’t expired yet, but don’t you read the papers or watch the news?” I ask him, thinking that most kids these days don’t give one wit what happens in any sort of news. That being said, I don’t blame them, considering most of it is just hype that the government force-feeds down the consumers’ throats and doesn’t actually relate to current crises that are occurring.

  He shakes his head no, so I continue with an empathising shake of my head. “Well, the good old government bastards have decided that they want more money from everyone who still has the old card. They are still valid for the cops to use when you’re driving ’cause the cops can check with their databases to make sure it’s real. However, they have said that it’s too easy to fake, so we are not allowed to use it for ID anymore. Sorry.”

  Someone behind the kid’s group pipes up with confidence. “Surely he doesn’t look like he’s under eighteen to you. Just look at him, he looks at least twenty-three, and he’s got a beard, for Pete’s sake.”

  I look at the fellow sorrowfully. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I had a full beard when I was seventeen. That’s beside the point. It doesn’t matter if you are over or under, I can’t let you in without a valid ID. Unless you have a passport or eighteen plus card?”

  The kid has a range of emotions cycle across his face before he settles on crestfallen and looks at his ID as I hand it back to him. “You sure you can’t let me in? I really am twenty-one and I don’t have any other ID.”

  “Sorry, bud, gotta follow the rules,” I reply with a shrug.

  The kid looks at his mates and drops his shoulders with a defeated look on his face. “You guys go in. I’ll head home.”

  His friends start to object to his going home, but he ignores them and turns around to move out of line.

  “Hey, by the way, just so you know,” I say to the kid before he leaves.

  He turns back around and looks up at me and says quietly, “Yeah?”

  I grin at him. “Aww, bud, I’m just messing with you. Go inside and have fun, eh?”

  For the second time in as many seconds I see another range of emotions like a slide show on his face. This kid needs to learn how not to be an open book. Chicks are gonna take advantage of this kid way too much. I hope he has deep pockets.

  “You mean I can go in? Really?” he says hopefully.

  “Yep, get on in there.” I wink at him. He gives me a bro-hug and heads inside. I check his mates’ cards and let them all in. Even though he was almost too drunk to be in there, my personality test told me he wouldn’t cause any drama.

  Some people may think I’m being a jackass or abusing my power or whatever. To them I say do the job first and not filter out the assholes, see how far it gets you when the shit hits the fan because you were nice and let in everybody. Learning different ways to keep the ones who don’t play nice out, that’s the key to having a safe night inside.

  Next in line, the fellow who tried to stick up for a random kid. He has a white suit on and pointed snakeskin shoes. Nice fellow, even if his taste in clothing is a bit over the top.

  I smile at him warmly. “Hey, how are you?”

  “You’re an absolute prick, you know that?” The guy has an angry glint in his eye as he thrusts his ID at me.

  “I’m sorry, what?” My smile slides off my face as I look down at his ID then back up at him without taking it. Awesome, guess I found dick number one tonight.

  “You heard me, asshole. Now hurry up and check my ID. I have friends waiting for me inside.” He waves his card in my face while looking behind me, trying to see his friends.

  My eyes narrow and I move my left hand up to scratch my chin as I take his card with my right. “So how much have you had to drink tonight, bud?”

  “A couple. I’m fine,” he replies, still looking for his mates inside and not paying me much attention. However, I can see he isn’t exactly that steady on his feet. He’s probably had about the same as the kid he tried to help.

  “Well, you don’t look fine. How many is a couple?” I ask. I haven’t bothered to look at his ID and hold it out to him; however, since he isn’t paying any attention, he doesn’t see me trying to give it back.

  He looks at me this time and says, “Three or four. Not that many.”

  I raise an eyebrow; he still hasn’t taken his card back, so his perception of what’s going on isn’t as good as someone sober. “So, which is it? Three or four?”

  He looks at me like I’m stupid or something and finally notices me holding his ID out in front of him, so he snatches it from my hand. “What does it matter? I don’t remember exactly. I’ve had a few, so who cares? Just let me in already.”

  I make a tsk noise and shake my head. “Ah, buddy, I think you’ve had a bit too much to come in tonight. If you’re so drunk you can’t remember whether it’s three or four drinks you’ve had, coupled with your lack of respect to others, I think you must have had a wee bit too much. Sorry, no entry tonight.”

  He gives me a disgusted look before his eyes slide past me to something over my shoulder, and he smirks. “There he is. See you later, prick.”

  Dick number one for tonight tries to shoulder past me, so I put a hand on his chest and shove him back a couple of steps. Now I’m of an average height and build
just like dick number one, although training for a few of those ‘heavy on the physical obstacle courses’ they have around the world has toned me up some. Many years of various martial arts training also probably doesn’t hinder me either.

  “Don’t you fucking touch me, asshole!” the dick growls threateningly. The upstart then tries to do that whole death-staring power-of-wills thing. You know the one, the ‘I’m more macho than you, so blah, blah, blah’.

  I just stare back at him nonchalantly, waiting.

  This only ever ends in two ways: either he will back down, or he won’t and will try to duke it out with me. I’ve seen some pretty crazy fights in my time, probably been the cause of a few without meaning to as well. Just like this guy.

  The kind of guy who will verbally abuse a security guard on the door while trying to get in has a very high probability of smacking someone out cold in the club.

  I should know, I’ve made that mistake too many times in my younger years to keep making it now. It’s safer for the random Joe Blows this way.

  “No entry means no entry, bud,” I repeat myself and raise my eyebrows whilst giving him my best reproachful father look.

  The battle of wills through the windows of the soul continues as I sigh.

  Well, one last try. “Have a good night somewhere else. I’d rather you enjoy yourself elsewhere than have a bad time here. Let’s not do this and just say we did, eh?”

  The dude directly behind dickasaurous yells, “Just leave, mate! He’s not gonna let you in, so just bugger off already. You’re holding us up.”

  Well, mister pent-up frustration from probably not getting laid due to his douchebaggery turns and full on king hits the fellow behind him. That fellow gets knocked the fuck out and goes down like a sack of shit with what looks like a broken jaw.

  Damn, that little upstart has a pretty nasty right hook, which actually looks like he knows what he’s doing. Realising this, I make the snap decision to take him to the ground sooner rather than later or this might get messy. He just made this a ‘restrain for police’ issue, not a friendly ‘restrain and let go’ issue.

  To make matters worse, the dick then decides to raise his fist again and lean into the fellow for a second strike. But I’m already right behind him. My right arm snakes under his and gets all nice and snug with the back of his neck while my left hand gets right up in his white-suit-jacket-covered armpit.

  A quick twist of my upper body jerks him backwards off balance while I follow through by popping out my hip. Using my body as a counterweight means that mister dick is now face-planting the rough pavement. He deserves a lot more for breaking someone’s jaw, but I’m not that kind of bouncer.

  “Ooof!” is the sound of all the air escaping his lungs when I land on top with a well-placed knee in his back. Since he is distracted with breathing, I yank his arms behind his back into a secure lock and keep up the pressure with my knee.

  Grabbing the mic, I quickly speak into it, radioing for a roaming guard to assist at the front door as well as getting the manager to call for an ambulance and the police.

  All that build-up and it’s over in a flash. That’s usually the way it goes when I can get the drop on someone being stupid. Gone are the days of me fumbling to get an armlock on someone in need of said lock for various reasons.

  Now that I think about it, I guess my time spent in VR sims over the past few years really has helped out in the body-control department. Something about neuro links increasing the number of pathways in your brain, which creates mind memory of the muscle memory actions you make in-game.

  Eh, I’m not all that hyped on the technical details outside of game mechanics. I learn how to fight in-game and smash stuff, which helps in other ways too. That kid probably also plays the game and learnt how to fight in it.

  I probably shouldn’t space out my thoughts whilst there’s a dude under me who wants to knock my block off. Then I realise he’s shooting his mouth off with that verbal diarrhoea from earlier, whilst also bucking around like one of those vibrators that wiggle around all over the place.

  You know, like the one from that movie with a pie from America and a birthday cake? Cracks me up every time.

  “Calm down,” I say loudly in his ear. Then I remember I’m supposed to say something else for all the people who probably have their phones out, taking videos for their mates to laugh at. “Stop resisting and I’ll let up some pressure, ok?”

  Pfft, like that’s going to happen, but I have to say it anyway. Rules are rules. Doesn’t matter though, it looks like he’s been to a few rodeos, so it doesn’t look like he’s going to quit any time soon.

  Looking over at the dude laid out on the ground, I see that his mates are smart and quick thinking. One has a phone to his ear, speaking rapidly into it, while the other has checked to make sure he is still alive.

  “I’m gone for, like, two minutes and you already have two dudes on the floor? Come on, man, you could’ve at least waited for me. You know I get so bored on the door,” a female voice whines jokingly.

  Two minutes, my ass, I sent Anya to relieve herself ten minutes ago. She is also known as Ifalna, our healer in DSR1, and is a very valued member of my security team.

  I look up at her as she quickly checks on the fellow with the broken jaw. We have all seen our fair share of injuries, and this one isn’t very rare. There is nothing we can do for someone with a broken jaw, especially not touch it, as that can produce lawsuits and such.

  She calmly picks up the fellow and moves him to a more out-of-the-way spot and then goes back to the door. She then starts checking the IDs of the people who have been waiting to get in while I continue to sit on the angry beaver.

  Anya is the typical old-school-style bouncer, if the bouncer is female and looks like a slightly Russian but really tall Amazonian bodybuilder. Six feet, eight inches of muscles. Think Wonder Woman and, well, that’s Anya, just with a squarer jaw and sharp lines. Her blonde hair is shaved at the sides and spiky up top. Shove her in a collared shirt and a black vest that are tailored and you have a respectably sexy-looking granite boulder.

  She fits in perfectly with our group, usually making the cruder jokes, and probably undresses the women in the club with her eyes more than the men do. She considers herself one of the guys, which we all heartily agree with.

  Funnily enough, she rarely gets into fights. Mainly due to when she walks over to an issue, people tend to look up and up and squeak.

  “You just going to stand there, or are you going to help with this fellow?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. If you can raise it, you should do it all the time. Really helps getting your point across.

  “What do you mean?” Anya asks with a devilish smile while carding another person in line. “If I weren’t doing this, then the queue would get even more massive and block more of the walkway. Thus, in turn, hinder the paramedics when they show up and tell the fella waking up that he has a broken jaw. Oh, and no one would be getting inside. So it’s a good thing I’m here and you’re over there.”

  I roll my eyes at her and keep repeating the whole resist thing to my cushion till Lockie finally rocks up. One of the nicest managers I’ve met in my years of doing these gigs. At six feet tall, he is still a beanpole and has a pretty happy-go-lucky attitude most of the time. However, he does know how to manage a shitload of staff and is rather meticulous, so don’t fuck up around him or you’ll know about it. Lockie also plays Ezekial the thief in the game, which is actually quite funny when you think about the connotations.

  Lockie takes one look at me, pulls out his phone, presses a number from speed dial, and makes a few quick comments before hanging up again. That’s a rush job on the cops for an apprehended patron who assaulted another.

  He walks over to the other guy, who is now groaning and moaning. “So, I have the police on their way, and it looks like your friend has the ambulance coming. How are you feeling? Anything broken except for the jaw?”

  I look over at the fellow trying to
talk through his jaw and wincing in pain, eventually shaking his head no.

  Lockie starts chatting them up and keeping them company till the authorities arrive.

  The line starts to dwindle as the flashing lights arrive and pull over out front next to me. Both the ambulance and the police rock up at the same time, which is cool. The paramedics get to work on the broken jaw while a short female officer and a medium-height but bulky male officer come over to me and see what the go is.

  I’ve got a lot of respect for police, especially since they usually come and clean up my mess, which is quite nice of them. I’ve seen all sorts of coppers tangle with idiots, and I wouldn’t want to go any of them to be frank. The smaller ones are usually feistier than the larger ones, I guess just because they have to keep up.

  Lockie makes his way to us and says, “Looks like he wants to press charges. I definitely would.”

  After a brief overview of what happened from me, the female starts taking the victim’s statement while the dude reaches down and claps my cushion in iron. We lift the fella up, and he starts going on with his sob story. It’s pretty much routine after that. I give my details, witnesses do the same, and the fella in cuffs gets in his own personal cab to his new home for the night.

  Maybe a few nights if he doesn’t have any friends to bail him out.

  I thank the officers and they go on their merry way. I’m about to turn around when a massive hand makes a touchdown on my shoulder, and Anya whispers in my ear, “You really are an asshole though, Donald. You know that, right?”

  Laughing, I shrug and we go back to work. It’s not like I try to be one. Now that Anya has come back to the door, I move around the rest of the club and check on the other guards. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, so I grab my usual from the bar, water with lime and no ice, and make my way through the crowded club to the normal hotspot areas where people like to get silly.

  As the crowd is enjoying the music, I do the same, grooving through the crowd and dancing my way around. It’s good to have some fun every now and then. Otherwise what’s the point in going to work, right?