by Arthur Stone
The van was faster, however, leaving the creatures decidedly in the dust. They were not as frightening as they had seemed—as long as you had gas in the tank, of course—and their height was standard. In darkness, with their legs concealed, they could be mistaken for ugly humans. In the early evening, however, Cheater could see their mottled-gray skin, rail-thin forms and utterly grotesque faces. The sight was enough to tempt the staunchest of atheists to pray. As the humanoids pursued the van, Cheater saw the web of veins over their muscles shimmering under their skin. They’d never catch up to the van, he assumed, but they seemed willing to chase it for days on end. This was fine with him—the further away he was from this mess, the better. While Cheater had no idea who these uniformed people were, he concluded that a meeting with them could only end in disaster. It was obvious that the same went for their pursuers. In short, Cheater wanted nothing to do with this.
So these were the grays. These appeared darker than their name suggested, so they might have been a different species of gray. Unlike the agile hounds and their kin, these were intelligent beings. Perhaps they couldn’t square a circle—Cheater couldn’t say—but they could use sophisticated weapons, each toting a sword, axe, dagger, or bow. Some even had crossbows, others rifles; he noticed a light machine gun and bulletproof vest at one point. Armed to the hilt, none were empty-pawed. Cheater involuntarily remembered the demise of the excavation crew and the spent cartridges left in their wake. The grays’ guns might have formerly belonged to those players.
As the hearse reached its top speed for these off-road conditions, the grays grew steadily closer. No matter had hard the driver pushed, the distance between them began to close. Just as the void’s monsters prepared to overtake the van, Cheater’s suspicions were confirmed: this was no ordinary vehicle. BAM: after the rear hatch swung open, an impossibly powerful machine gun unfolded and began to fire. The continuous stream of sound was jackhammering and incessant. That rate of fire is insane—what was that, fifty rounds a second? It was likely one hundred, as every fifth or tenth bullet was a tracer round. Like Spartan lasers, they beamed into the herd of enemies; aiming was trivial with a weapon like that. Well, at least it should have been. The shooter manning the weapon was practically blind, and the off-road conditions were no excuse for their abysmal aim. In a second, the van burned through enough ammunition to pay for a decent stable vacation. Nearly every shot was in vain. A couple creatures twitched as they were hit, but barely slowed down. Strange. They didn’t seem armored like infecteds. Did they bear thin but powerful defenses, or were they utterly impervious to pain?
One of the pursuers suddenly launched itself towards the van, thanks to some ability enhancing its legs. This lunge carried it a hundred yards, allowing it to instantly close the gap. The beast proved less tenacious than Cheater assumed, however, once the machine gun riddled it with rounds. It collapsed and rolled, knocking down the cacti in its path. It somehow found the strength to press on, but its jerky movements betrayed its faltering agility. Cheater noticed that some of the tracer rounds, shot at close range, left their course to soar straight into the sky; it seemed as though their target was protected by a personal force field, albeit an imperfect one. Once the van reached the top of the rocky hill and disappeared down the other side, all shooting ceased…until the gray creatures crested the hill after them. Cheater could no longer see anything from his position, but the machine gun’s roar continued long after, ten minutes passing before it faded into silence. This ten minutes of continuous volleys—these thousands and thousands of rounds—all seemed as ineffective as the first.
Looking up from his sight, Cheater pondered the flock of infecteds that now rushed top-speed after the chase. The grays made them look like pregnant turtles in comparison. He also glanced over at the visitor’s rock-sifting operations. The extraordinary van could traverse a gray cluster with no engine problems, so Cheater had no doubts it could hold up in black clusters as well. It was utterly unique, made with cutting-edge technology. It clearly hadn’t come in on a reset—it was of local design, made for the demands of the Continent. Cheater mused for a moment on its strange owners. They were wealthy enough to acquire this extraordinary hearse, stock up on thousands of expensive rounds…and then let a nearsighted gunner waste them all? That van easily cost more than an armored car, even a tank! Hordes of players would pay arms and legs for transportation that could cross gray clusters without a hitch. What could these wealthy soldiers be seeking, out among the stones and stunted cacti?
* * *
Cheater knew he was taking an unreasonable risk. He also knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t find out the black-coated visitors’ motives. He had no idea what he was looking for. No matter how intently he studied the ground through his scope, nothing stood out from this gray-black bald patch. The area was teeming with patches like this—what was so special about this one? It took Cheater over an hour to reach the area in question. He could have arrived in twenty minutes, but he had to move with the utmost caution while Chameleon was active. He also took a wide, hook-shaped path to avoid crossing the tracks of the van or the pursuing horde. More infecteds had shown up along those tracks, of course, as the fight had attracted them from all directions. Most of them disappeared over the hill after the suits and grays, but Cheater was leery of any stragglers.
As his Darkvision helped little in the desert night, Cheater soon became lost. He’d noticed helpful landmarks from his earlier vantage point, but couldn’t recognize them now. Ah, there’s the rocky slope I saw…or is it? He activated Omniscience, selecting everything that stood out. Lizards and scorpions shone from beneath their rocks, along with a snake wriggling about its business. Off to the left, he spotted a few unusually-blue places, a shade he hadn’t seen before. Cheater gradually made his way towards the obscure curiosities; after all, you never knew what might show up on the Continent. It was better to lose a few minutes in the name of safety than to recklessly charge headlong in twenty seconds flat. Upon arriving, he crouched down by a highlighted rock, examined it, activated Omniscience once more…and shook his head in a stupor. You’ve got to be kidding.
Chapter 11
Life Nine. The Treasure Mound
This gray-black patch only seemed similar to the others from a distance. It seemed the same from close-up, for that matter: shriveled cacti, baked stone, reddish clay, scorching gravel. However, when Cheater crouched to take an even closer look, he nearly fell backward from shock. A thick, gingery smell wafted into his nostrils, one he’d smelled only briefly once before: the smell of nodium. The resinous mass coated each rock in this patch. Every time he activated Omniscience, the entire patch turned blue. Only along the edges did the highlighted treasure break up; the nodium grew denser closer to the center, where it glommed into a bright blue unit. The price of nodium varied from stable to stable, even more from region to region. In fact, nodium was one of the factors that established the network of inter-region merchants. They carted the stuff to areas lacking nodium, and then carted their hard-earned money back. Cheater had no idea of its value here, but nodium typically cost forty spores per pound. There had to be at least a few tons of nodium before him, meaning at least one and a half million spores’ worth—conservatively estimated. Yet even nodium was cheap trash compared to what sat atop the stones.
Lesser Modification. Transforms an object by giving it of this modification’s properties. If modification fails, the properties of all previously-installed modifications disappear, and the item itself may be damaged (even up to the extent that it becomes useless).
Modification properties:
+1–3 Strength.
+1–3 Speed.
+1–3 Endurance.
+1–3 Stealth.
Lesser Guile of Dexterity (up to 9% of all experience awarded to bonus stats in battle goes to Dexterity).
Lesser Guile of Endurance (up to 9% of all experience awarded to bonus stats in battle goes to Endurance).
Lesser Guile of
Perception (up to 10% of all experience awarded to base stats in battle goes to Perception).
Lesser Guile of Ward of Styx (up to 10% of all experience awarded to base stats in battle goes to Perception).
+1–4 Experience.
Lesser Silent Kill (50% chance that the noise of this weapon’s shot is cut in half).
Weight Reduction (Stone of Liberty) 22–35%. In this event, all other properties of the item remain unchanged. Note: An item can only accept one such Weight Reduction modification.
Durability (Crystal of Durability). A slight increase in the item’s durability.
Modification Weight: 22 grams.
What had that merchant said to him at the first stable he ever visited, that one March brought him to? “Depends. Seven hundred fifty at the cheapest, and that’s for a trashy mod.” This crystal—a splotchy pink on one side and a bright, rich blue on the other—was anything but “trashy.” Its properties certainly didn’t seem trashy; while not unprecedented, some were very useful. Cheater would absolutely take the weight reduction, if he could. It’d be nice for a rifle, even more so for a heavy sword. In addition, the mod claimed this weight reduction wouldn’t affect the item’s other properties.
Cheater glanced left, then right. Crystals of all sizes sparkled on the rocks, stretching in all directions. Their rainbow of colors contrasted sharply with the pitch-black nodium on which they sat. Lifting his eyes, he estimated hundreds lay before him. The center of the hill was ablaze with them, some patches entirely obscured by thick layers of mods. Cheater found himself remembering Clown’s words. “Sometimes you’ll hear stories,” Clown had sniffed, “about players running into fields of mods, filling their sacks and going off to live like kings. I don’t give stories like that much credence. You’d be lucky to find two.” As five whole Cheaters would be unable to cart off all of this treasure, he was pretty lucky indeed.
The modifications weighed between twenty and fifty grams, so one thousand mods would be thirty-five kilograms—nearly eighty pounds. There were at least ten thousand here. He also found all four ranks of mod represented: lesser, average, greater, and superior. The better the rank, of course, the higher the price. When an average mod failed, it could undo all previously installed mods and damage the item itself; unlike lesser mods, however, an average mod would not render the item unusable and irreparable. Greater mods couldn’t cause any core item damage at all, only undo earlier mods. Superior mods, if they failed, would simply vanish, leaving all other mods untouched.
Superior Modification. Transforms an object by giving it of this modification’s properties. If the modification fails, the properties of all previously-installed modifiers are preserved. The item does not take damage.
Modification properties:
+14–20 Willpower.
+14–20 Talent Rank.
Superior Guile of Willpower (up to 75% of all experience awarded in battle goes to Willpower). The target item can only have one Guile of Willpower or similar modification.
Superior Experience Conversion (up to 75% of all experience awarded in battle is evenly distributed among bonus stats). The target item can only have one Experience Conversion or similar modification.
Protection from Long-Range Detection (characters and creatures with early warning abilities will be unable to detect you until you are within 260 meters).
+0.25 Spirit of Styx Regeneration per minute.
Durability (Crystal of Durability). A tremendous increase in the item’s durability. If the item is a sharp melee weapon, its point and cutting edge become exceedingly difficult to damage. The item also acquires a self-sharpening property which keeps it razor-sharp and can self-repair even significant damage. If the item is a firearm, non-standard ammunition with properties increasing its attack power may be used. Misfire risk experiences a very significant reduction.
Modification Weight: 48 grams.
As he read these descriptions, Cheater’s mouth grew dry. These boosts could render items truly magical—and truly valuable. With its piles of modifications and nodium, he couldn’t fathom how much this treasure-mound was worth. A week ago, this discovery might have knocked him out cold from euphoria; now that he was wealthy enough, it puzzled him. He’d spent hours pondering how to hold onto the riches he had. Now, here were new untold riches, in cartoonish qualities! Cheater couldn’t drag away any substantial amount, but he was prepared to make do. Whether or not he would be able to return to this paradise was unknown; its region was seriously dangerous, and he was not about to try to set up camp here. He had to keep moving east, and he had to remember his mission.
In all fairness, he could indulge in a few of these goods too…right? After all, he did have some items that could use upgrading, and his second global achievement bonus allowed him to modify and bind objects on his own. When he used a modification, he could select one of three properties presented to him; this meant that chance of the modification activating his selected property increased by 48%. He could store the mods in items, too! There was no reason to squander the chance to create a custom item one could never find at the merchants’. A successfully-modified item was worth several times more than the mod crystals that went into it.
One final item remained to be addressed. This item “stood out”…but it wasn’t nodium, nor binding sphere, nor modifier. It was a heavy car battery, wires hanging from its contacts. It was a simple device for collecting trophies in a treasure trove like this, and someone had clearly dropped it in a hurry. Cheater was glad to have it. As he touched the bare ends of the wires to a random crystal, it let out a light, rippling ringing.
You have mined a Lesser Modification. +1 Perception. This is the first modifier you have mined. Bonus: +50 distributable bonus stat points. Congratulations!
Cheater glanced towards the center and crunched some numbers. He could gather at least 10,000 Perception progress points here! Nice. It would be a long, hard night of collecting the best modifications, which meant hours of climbing and cleaning out the rocks. If he found Greater Spheres of Binding, he would nab those, too; they always worked, with a 0% chance of dealing damage. Dawn was imminent and treasure awaited him…so he began.
Chapter 12
Life Ninety-One. Interlude
The bullet pierced its target’s shin square in the middle, a hit precise enough to have been marked by measuring tape. Ironically, it was the result of an unintended ricochet. The bullet—fired by its cross-eyed shooter’s crooked arm—missed its intended target dramatically, instead hitting a rock…and then a leg. Ricochets could be seriously hazardous: a refracted bullet could deform dramatically from its first point of impact, resulting in a mangled wound laced with metal fragments. In the real world, this kind of wound had to be meticulously cleared and cleaned, lest one risk amputation. Even with cleaning, speedy and thorough medical intervention was a must.
With no surgeons in the vicinity, Kitty did what she always did in situations like this. Breaking away from pursuit, she paused for a moment to hastily bind her leg, bandaging it over her pants as tightly as possible. Her pants were dingy and the wound was no doubt filthy, but there was no time to deal with that now. This was the Continent, after all, and no one had ever heard of a player getting gangrene.
Blood soaked through the bandage, but Kitty counted her blessings: at least nothing vital had been severed. The wound would slow her down and each step would be torture, but he had no choice but to shrug it off. She’d seen worse. There’s something unlucky about this leg, huh? This leg was nearly torn off not long ago, when a maniac spawned into a cluster reset had let loose on her from a helicopter. The machine gun volley had brutally shattered her bone. If it hadn’t been for her athletic physique, Rocky’s microscopic brain and his cheating Accuracy, she’d have died. If she’d made it out then without losing a life, she could do it this time, too…probably.
As Kitty’s ascent came to an end, a ravine lay before her, its angles periodically plunging from steep decline to cliff. A narrow pat
h ran down its side into its belly. Few knew of the path, and even fewer risked using it; the border was dangerous enough without any extraneous adventures. A boulder could easily become dislodged, either to crush a traveler from above or drop out from beneath their feet. As Kitty carefully crossed a perilously narrow section, she noted a powerful rockslide had taken out a chunk of the wall, leaving several hefty boulders to linger unsteadily along the ledge. A light tap could send them rocketing towards the abyss, and the vertical cliff had just enough of an angle that the boulders could strike on the way down. If Kitty had been carrying a mine with her, this could have made for a perfect trap, as any enemies who managed to survive the explosion would fall to their deaths. This wishful thinking could go on forever, though: “if she were carrying a mine,” “if she were carrying a grenade,” “if she had ammo…” No matter her wishes, all she had left was her faithful Biter and a short knife.
Once Kitty reached the top of the boulder pile, she turned to regard the hundreds of yards of path behind her. No one pursued her. Her antagonists, she supposed, must have grown tired. They couldn’t have stopped from fear, of course, for they knew full well she’d lost her all of bullets and her machine gun to boot. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours without firing back, instead weaving wild pretzel-paths through the wilderness to confuse her tail. Why had they lagged so far behind? Kitty was exhausted and wounded. They should have been breathing down her neck by now—what was their excuse? They had the numbers, they had the equipment, and they knew that she was no longer a threat. They might have chosen to take their time, knowing Kitty’s incessant bleeding would slow her down. As she couldn’t properly tend to the wound before, she’d marked her path with telltale splashes of red.