by Arthur Stone
There were three main zones in the Cauldron, and communication between them was difficult. Chat messages either didn’t go through or were severely limited. In order to find March, Cheater would have to check all three locations. That shouldn’t take too much time, Cheater surmised—the Cauldron wasn’t that large, and it was quite well-developed. It was easy to find transportation to any of its points. Cheater had checked this zone for March, with no success. Tomorrow, he would visit the next—or two in the same day, even! If his comrade was in none of the three zones, however, he’d have hit a dead end. Where could he search after that…?
* * *
Cheater was absolutely surrounded by drunks. He himself stayed sober—he wasn’t a drinker—but he did his best to keep up appearances. Staff didn’t care what he did with his liquor as long as he paid for it, and the victims of his eavesdropping were a bit…indisposed. With no alcohol in his system, he could maintain maximum vigilance as he walked the streets. Cheater used every means available to him to survey surroundings. When a drunk collapsed against a wall, his pockets were turned inside out and emptied of anything of value. When a woman loudly confessed her undying devotion to the vulgarly-painted man she embraced, bellowing her desire to have his babies, Cheater’s Inspect mode revealed a spicy surprise awaiting their future romance: this female-nicknamed player seemed only a potential father, not mother. To be fair, neither players nor immune digis could bear any children on the Continent, dooming them from the jump.
A black-uniformed patrol stomped self-importantly down the middle of the street. Cheater had learned that these were not Devils—they were their henchmen. Their nickname was awfully creative: “Black Shirts.” Being a Black Shirt was a gateway to the Devil initiation, though—if you made a good enough showing heaving your weight around the streets on patrol, you’d be in luck. Passersby glared at the gloomily-garbed guards. They were very clearly disliked. One of the players was bold enough to unzip his pants and waggle his member at the passing guards’ backs. This humble protest earned everyone’s approval, but there was no attendant applause, nor laughter. The Devils were disliked, but they were feared enough that none dared to express negativity too openly.
Cheater approached his hotel with caution. The closer he got to his room, the more nervous he became. After all, he’d been captured in a similar location before. Lightning could strike twice, and a hotel room was an excellent place to arrange an ambush. Cheater had changed since the last hotel brouhaha, though; he was stronger, shrewder, and had a wealth of new abilities. Unleashing his first Flash of Omniscience at the threshold to the hotel building, he relaxed slightly, seeing no signs of danger. He had set his ability to show people, revealing there was no party in wait ready to seize him. He only saw loners or couples, all too far to present danger or too engaged in their Kama Sutra marathons to bother. He doubted their elaborate foreplay was prelude to an ambush. As he approached the door to his room, Cheater laid his hand on the hilt of his pistol and tensed, readying his second Flash of Omniscience. At that moment, the light fizzled out in the corridor. He heard a metallic click behind him. A muffled voice called his name—not “Chester,” but his real name. “Good evening, Cheater…”
Chapter 25
Life Nine. An Old Friend
The voice seemed familiar. This fact wasn’t what calmed Cheater’s nerves, however. It was his total confidence in his own abilities. Casting Flash of Omniscience anyway, he saw no signs of a waiting ambush in front of him or to his sides. Perhaps a whole line of enemies waited behind his back, but they were likely dumb amateurs, then—professionals would ensure they had their man surrounded. Where had they come from, though? He had seen no signs of trouble. If they were amateurs, he had no cause to fear. His mana was full, a loaded pistol sat in his shoulder holster, and an axe hung loosely at his belt. No alcohol was in his system. His mind and body were ready. Come to think of it, he had not been engaged in a serious fight for a long time—at least not with a player. He doubted he would draw the axe. The first Flash of Omniscience had shown only loners, no crowds. Worst case, there might be two enemies to deal with…maybe a few more, if they came in shifts.
Turning slowly, Cheater’s Darkvision revealed that the door to the opposite room was wide open. A man stood there, pistol outstretched. One detail shocked him, however: the pistol was pointed barrel inward, clearly proposing that Cheater collect the weapon. The two stood in silence for several seconds; then, the light in the corridor blinked on. His hallmate made an inviting gesture, calmly turned around, and disappeared from sight. Cheater looked to the left, then to the right—then followed. When he carefully shut the door behind him, he noticed that it made a distinctive click as it closed. It had opened silently. Amazing.
The man sat down on the edge of his made bed, stashed the gun behind in a belt holster behind his back, and gestured at a chair. As Cheater settled in, the man raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head in dismay. “There are three kinds of brash people: brash, impudently brash, and Cheater brash. You know bad people are looking for you, don’t you? They’re looking for you hard.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Cheater answered quietly.
“Rumors. Uh-huh. How much spec did you have to take to get the balls to come here? Oh—hi, Cheater. Sorry for being rude. I’m just very surprised to see you here!”
“Hello, Clown. You already said hello in the hallway, so I guess I’m the rude one.”
“I did? Ah—so I did. I’m getting old, my memory’s starting to go. Don’t believe it when people say that players don’t age. We all do. We pay for what we did with each and every day we spend in this shithole. There’s beer in the fridge, if you want some.”
Cheater waved away the offer. “I’m only interested in a beer if March is drinking it.”
“I get it,” Clown nodded. “Wait—March isn’t with you? You two seemed inseparable, roach though you were. Well, uh... nevermind. He said that about everyone. Piece of shit.”
Cheater decided not to beat around the bush. “Did you rent this room just to talk to me?”
“Don’t make me laugh! You think I was looking for you? Sure, I don’t mind running into you—I even went out of my way a bit. But our meeting is mostly accidental. Shit sticks to shit, as they say! By the way, that bandage on your face attracts attention more than disguises you. It catches the eye. Anyway, sorry, I admit it—I have been looking for you. Yearning to see you! I abandoned everything else, in fact. So I tried to devise a method to find you. My plan was risky, but as you can see… it worked out!”
“What for?” Cheater cocked his head. “The crossing is done. The group dissolved.”
“That’s all well and good. It was a good crossing, though. We pulled it off beautifully. But what happened after the crossing—I liked that even more! I’m not here to ask about it; I’m just saying thank you. You sent me that invite before that event I’m not going to ask about, even though I really do want to ask. No, forget about it, it’s just my curiosity perking up. I received bonuses so incredible that I nearly fell on my ass when I saw the message. I got lots of things. There was shit, yes, but there was also the finest chocolate. Some of it mixed together!”
Clown giggled to himself. “I thought I’d seen everything in my time, but none of it compared to what I saw when I was with you and March. It’s like a different game with you around! After all, in the months before the crossing, I had barely made any progress as a player. It’s tough when you get to my level. So few opportunities, so much shit. It gets tedious! After the first hundred ghouls you farm without effort, you realize that all of the excitement has drained from the world. Routine. Boredom. Tedium. But with you, things became…interesting again. I like that game. I want to keep playing it. I want to stick with you. If you tell me to scram, I will, and I won’t give you shit for it. But if you bring me on, I’ll stay. I know that you’d have some secrets in a team like this. That’s fine—I’m fine with that. So… either tell me to scram, or let’s shake
on it!”
“I’m afraid you might misunderstand the situation,” Cheater responded, pulling away. “You’ve seen how hard they’re looking for me. It’s serious. Nothing good will come of being associated with me, only trouble.”
At the world “trouble,” Clown grew giddy. “At least trouble isn’t boring! Yes, you have problems, Cheater, but they’re fascinating problems. I might not be able to help you with them, but I’ll do what I can. I could have easily killed you, as you saw, or handed you over for the massive reward they’ve got on your head. For all your progress, you still haven’t grown eyes in the back of your head yet. You need someone like me to watch your back. You saw during the crossing how useful I can be. I can make anything go, if it has wheels! This is the Continent! Sometimes, being on foot doesn’t cut it. I may not be a mighty player compared to someone like Janitor, but I won’t shoot you in the back, either. March knew me for my reputation. I never betray my group…which includes you. That remains true no matter your decision—but I’d like you to take me on, of course.”
“So you’d happily die twenty times over at the hands of these Devils on my account?” Cheater asked incredulously.
“However many lives it takes! But go ahead, ask your questions. I’ll sign up for any shit you throw at me, as long as it doesn’t make me break my code of ethics. My code is not very complicated, to be honest; at this point, I believe it’s quite similar to yours!”
“Alright,” Cheater nodded, “no more questions. Let’s shake on it. But in the future, don’t blame me if you end up in a pile of your favorite substance.”
“I always end up in a pile! Alright, so we’re agreed. What’s the plan? I don’t know anything about the situation.”
“Well, what do you know?” Cheater shot back. “What have you been doing since we split up?”
“Well, first, the bots killed me. Artillery shell from far away.”
“I knew that much.”
“I have a huge number of respawn options by this point,” Clown continued, “so I picked ‘small town.’ I figured it would get me closer to where I died. Large cities aren’t so common, after all, so picking ‘big city’ could send me to the other side of the region. I knew that life would be more interesting if I joined you guys. The System did indeed spawn me in a small town. I decided to wait and settle in…and I got a little too intimate with the booze there. It settled my nerves. Crossings can be hazardous to your emotional health, as you know. When the local police arrested me, I was utterly intoxicated. The digi cops, of course, were in the midst of going insane.”
“Yeah,” Cheater murmured, remembering his own encounters with them.
“Well, they locked me in this little cage, until a team of the locals arrived. Turns out they were decent guys! I joined up with them for a couple of days while I got my bearings. Once I had the local geography figured out, I decided you must be somewhere near the Hole, in the middle of all those black clusters. It’s hard to get out of that area with any speed. I also heard it said that players were disliked in the Hole, so I decided to stay put and keep an eye on the exit. This place makes a rotten waiting room, you know. I nearly left out of boredom. Actually, I thought I’d missed you, so I intended to move further east, where these horned beasts aren’t in power—at least, not yet. But then you showed up, just in time!”
“How did you find me?” Cheater pressed.
“I have a knack for that. Not an ability, a perk. I can see badges of former party members on my map, even those belonging to players who left the party long ago. The perk doesn’t last forever, of course, but it lasted long enough to detect you.”
“It doesn’t cut through black clusters, though.”
“No. Any decent stretch of dead clusters will knock out all information about party members. Plus, my perk’s range isn’t very good. The chances of catching you here were much better than if I’d wandered all of those intense roads leading out west. Plus, I knew you needed to go east.”
“Yeah,” Cheater admitted.
“So what happened to you? Where the hell have you been for two weeks? They were two weeks of torment, I can see that in your eyes. No need for details, Cheater; keep everything to yourself, if you’d like. But if there’s anything I need to know, tell me now. Anything useful… or just to satisfy my curiosity.”
As Cheater watched Clown, he realized that he had nothing to hide. Strangely enough, he trusted the man completely—even before his hallway ambush. No, he and Clown had not known each other for long, but they had hit it off. He’d never had the same confidence with Tat. Perhaps his intuition was better than he’d thought. What was the point of secrets now, anyway? All sorts of people knew about March and about his gift, suitable for hunting Unnamed Ones. No one had chained him up simply because that wouldn’t end up working out. His ability killed everything around, including himself. Meanwhile, Watershed and his NPCs knew all about the mods. A whole team of them had taken the trip to one of his caches. Once two people know a secret, was it a secret anymore? No one knew about the tomb, nor about the other little episodes, but they weren’t much worth hiding. Even if the information got out, it wouldn’t harm him.
How, though, could he tell the story? Where could he begin? He was never a good storyteller; already his thoughts were tangling in his head, before he could even put them to words. “Well... When we left you and Fatso behind, we didn’t leave the border region. We had more to do. Well, March had more for us to do, and convinced us to come along. Dammit, Clown, you’re not going to believe any of this!”
“Try me,” Clown grinned. “I just might.”
“Some of the things that happened… I don’t even have the words to describe. I could never have imagined any of it. And so much has happened, I still don’t believe it myself.”
“Just tell me what happened!” Clown urged. “You may not be an eloquent speaker or whatever, but cut the preludes and disclaimers. I’ll figure it out.”
“No, you can’t even imagine it,” Cheater insisted. “How I survived it all, I still don’t know! I got beat up pretty good, but I didn’t lose a life. Wait, let me show you something. You should see this.”
Cheater placed his backpack before Clown, unzipped the top and opened it wide. “Look inside.”
Clown gazed within—and froze. It seemed his very breathing had stopped. He raised a trembling hand to touch the misshapen crystals’ uneven surfaces, stopping short an inch from them. A few seconds later, he spoke. “Is this really what inspect mode tells me?”
Cheater nodded. Clown returned them slowly, then suddenly fell into deep contemplation. He limped over to his refrigerator, crouched down and pulled out a huge bottle of whiskey, which he proceeded to uncork and guzzle. Cheater was at a loss. His comrade was guzzling pure liquor. A third of a liter coursed down his throat, at least. Clown returned to his seat with bottle in hand, still drinking more. He stared at the backpack, his eyes and voice empty. “Now, I’ve seen it all.”
“I’ve heard you say that before,” Cheater remarked.
“No. I wasn’t serious that time. I knew what I was seeing, then. I could explain it. But this shit... this shit, I cannot explain. I can’t even fathom how you plan to explain it. I’m... the world doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“Exactly,” Cheater agreed. “Some things are, well… hard to explain.”
Clown shook his head. “‘Hard to explain’ is trying to tell your wife that the lipstick stains below your belt are because you bought her some lipstick and it melted in your pocket. Explaining how you got a backpack of mods is straightforward, especially when that backpack sits right before your very eyes. This significantly helps the mind believe it. So, showing me this was the right thing to do.”
Clown sipped from the bottle again, then placed it on the coffee table. “Welp, that’s that! Now I’m ready for your story. If you keep stretching this out, I swear I’ll cut my wrists here and now. Like they say, curiosity killed the clown. So if you want to keep me around,
you’d better start talking.”
* * *
For hours, Cheater told his story, full of details and decision points. He didn’t realize when his speech shifted from stilted stammer to smooth storytelling. Sometimes he jumped around, but on the whole, he kept the chronology of events clear. Clown listened, silent and motionless, for the most part. When he reached the episode of that bitch’s Tat’s betrayal, Clown went for his bottle. This happened four more times during the story: at the first mention of the underground crypt, at the appearance of the “undertakers” in their “hearse,” at the sighting of the treasure mound of modifications, and during the battle with the grays. Yet his gaze remained mostly sober, sprinkled lightly with the sparkles of insanity in his eyes.
“...So I reach the door, the lights go out, and I hear a gun get cocked behind my back. You know the rest.” Cheater sighed and sat back, waiting for Clown’s response. After several seconds, the man grabbed his nearly-empty bottle and held it out. “Could you order me another one?”
“I think you might have missed the part about that being whiskey, not beer,” Cheater ventured, treading carefully.
“You’re right, but beer won’t help my poor brain get a handle on all of this. So, let’s try to summarize this whole affair: The three of you wiped out the Unnamed One and looted it. March exploded, Tat burned you alive, and you killed her for that. Baked through to the bone, still you survived for several days in the borderland wilderness, ultimately on the tribal territory of some grays, where you cleaned out a tomb holding their esteemed ancestors. Between us, that is the most dangerous kind of gray. No one can survive on their lands for long.”