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DEXTERITY BUILD
A LitRPG Saga
The Complete Dexterity Build Cycle
Steven J Shelley
Copyright © 2017 Blue Orchid Books
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual places is purely coincidental.
Not recommended for younger readers.
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The bass throb of industrial music seemed to pass through the walls. Nick shut his bedroom door and retreated to the balcony. At least here he had a little peace and quiet. His bodyguard, Mike Szorko, had moved into a spare bedroom. The swarthy Slovakian claimed that he didn’t like parties, but music, drugs and women constituted a “party” to Nick, and those things were on hand most nights.
Protecting Nick was a relatively one-dimensional job, so Mike needed to let off steam. It had been three weeks since the Slovakian had risked his life to rescue Nick from the Neutron Syndicate studio. They’d come here, to Clementine Towers, a new residential block in the old San Francisco Bay area.
Unfortunately, the Syndicate had been able to track them, which made security a priority. So Mike gathered a few Slovak ex-military types to help protect Nick’s new flat. Mike and his friends had a peculiarly old-fashioned honor system. In essence, they couldn’t be bribed. Of course, that didn’t mean they worked for free. Luckily, there were several wealthy residents who felt that paid protection was a very good idea. It wasn’t difficult for Mike to leave his old security job, where the pay was lousy, and attach himself to a successful pixel runner.
Nick had received quite a windfall from his first placing in the recent series of Oakshield Junction, but the money was being whittled away by “overheads”. Yes, he had a very nice flat, but the rent was exorbitant by his low standards. By his calculations his pockets would be empty again within three months.
Still, just being alive was a victory at this point. If Mike hadn’t liberated Nick from the Syndicate, who knew what he’d be doing now? It was clear that the corporation saw him as both a major talent and a threat. Nick’s problem was that he’d discovered how they were effectively running a slavery ring to populate their NPCs.
The implications were so murky that it was in the Syndicate’s best interests that Nick be controlled. If that meant making him a “tank vegetable” too, then they probably wouldn’t hesitate if an opportunity presented itself. For Nick, the prospect was worse than death - more like a terrifying half-life.
Mike had been critical in delivering Nick to safety, but the pixel runner’s long-term survival depended on his growing popularity. He had accumulated millions of fans during his first run on Oakshield Junction, first by playing an arrogant villain, then by succeeding against overwhelming odds.
The average viewer tended to respond favorably to underdogs, and that described Nick to a tee. He wasn’t particularly flashy or dynamic, and occasionally gave in to baser emotions. Of course, all that made him relatable in a way that other pixel runners weren’t.
The way he played probably made sense to other people. For starters, he liked to protect himself with heavy armor. He preferred to advance slowly, so he could fight one enemy at a time. He hated getting mobbed. Finally, he tended to avoid flashy outfits and huge weapons, favoring his tried-and-tested sword and shield.
In fact, Nick was probably the most average gamer going around, but he did average so well. As long as he remained disciplined, the percentages of any given RPG were usually in his favor. He beat games through grafting and patience, not style or bold experimentation. That probably resonated with most viewers. According to his fan mail, his chronic ordinariness made people think they could be pixel runners too. A powerful talent indeed.
It had taken Nick days to wade through all the messages banked in his account. There was all kinds of fan mail - appreciation, encouragement, admiration, advice, hate, ridicule and death threats. There were also several requests for interviews, which ranged from international news casts to boutique bloggers.
Nick rejected them all, despite his bodyguard’s advice. Mike believed the time was right to develop an extensive media profile. Nick preferred to remain anonymous. Put him in a game and he oozed confidence, but stick a recorder in front of him and he turned to water. Besides, not doing any media had proved to be a masterstroke.
The air of mystery surrounding the winner of Oakshield Junction was a marketable brand in itself. Public interest in Nick Stanners had reached fever pitch. Even Mike grudgingly admitted that Nick’s shyness had worked in his favor. Still, the public needed to at least see what Nick looked like if he was to venture into another series of the RPG. Any kind of public visibility made it much harder for the Syndicate to turn him into a tank vegetable. Win or lose, the public would notice if Nick didn’t emerge from the next game.
He gripped the balcony rail and watched the distant lights of Mulholland, far to the southeast. Forgetting about the rent for a moment, Nick had to admit his apartment was very nice. Sleek and sexy, it spanned two levels and boasted a great living area.
On the rare occasion that Mike and his friends weren’t camped in there, Nick liked nothing better than to fix a meal in his polished marble kitchen and play games on his 136-inch display unit. Even though Mike’s security team absorbed a lot of his money, Nick had allowed himself a small luxury - a rare-edition Sentinel gaming unit. Mike wanted to know why he didn’t just get an Immersion Tank, but for some reason Nick was holding off for as long as he could. He liked to believe he was being prudent with his money, but the truth was he was still traumatized by his experience on Oakshield.
In just four days of professional running, he’d endured every possible emotion on the spectrum. It had taken three weeks of recovery just to feel human again. Of course, Terrence Stanners dominated his thoughts. Some days were better than others, but there were times when Nick just broke down mid-sentence. He missed his Dad.
Mike’s response was usually to give him space, which Nick appreciated, but the truth was he just needed a big hug. Which inevitably turned his thoughts to Emily Lambert. The petite, intelligent nurse who’d looked after his father in his darkest days. She haunted Nick for different reasons. He’d lost count of how many times he’d read her message:
Dear Nick,
By the time you read this you’ll be celebrating your amazing Oakshield Junction victory. Despite hating everything these games represent, I forced myself to watch. It seems things can change quickly in your world. I saw a hero in that Tomb. Your Dad would’ve been proud, and I don’t say that lightly. Please don’t contact me - I feel confused at the moment, and I think we missed our chance. I can’t shake the image of you and that … woman … in the desert. Even if I could get my head around that, you’re a professional runner. I don’t think I want that in my life. I’m sorry Nick.
Emily.
Every time Nick read the message he ended up in a weird purgatory of emotion. Incredibly hurt on on one side, but unable to let Emily go on the other. There was so much going on in those few lines that he didn’t know where to start. She sounded like she needed to stay away, yet she’d taken the time to send the note. Like she said herself, it was confusing. All Nick could do was let it lie - he needed to deal with his grief first anyway.
The one thi
ng he didn’t need to worry about was food - Mike and his friends were constantly causing a mess in the kitchen. Nick loved their beef goulash. Most of his nights were spent playing old video games in between sips of the rich stew. Now that he had cash, the best part of his day was trawling games libraries on Nex.
He played a lot of old school RPGs, glad to have an entire game world to himself. No pixel runners around the corner ready to kill him, no sociopathic villains trying to get under his skin. Just Nick and the game. He fell asleep on the couch more often than not, only to be roused by Mike’s rowdy friends the next morning.
All up, the last few weeks had passed quickly. So when Nick received an official message from Neutron Syndicate, he knew his “holiday” was over. Oakshield Junction was back in town. The Syndicate had a new series ready to air in just a week’s time. Nick could hardly claim to be surprised. International Nex casts like Oakshield Junction were big business, and the Syndicate liked to have new series ready to run almost as soon as the previous had finished.
Despite Nick’s aversion to interviews, his media profile was building steadily. Mike and his Slovakian cronies had been releasing “blogs” in Nick’s name, drumming up plenty of interest. Petyr, one of Mike’s older friends, had proved a dab hand at stringing a few poetic words together.
For Nick’s part, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to dive back into the Immersive world of Oakshield Junction. To do so was to make himself vulnerable to the whims of the Syndicate. After all, it was their world he was playing in.
He must’ve had the same debate with Mike a hundred times as the idle days slid by. The bodyguard was adamant that Nick’s popularity was his shield against the Syndicate. And Nick’s popularity was good business for everyone. What the Syndicate wouldn’t be enjoying was the media’s willingness to paint the Nick Stanners story as a David versus Goliath struggle of one man against an evil machine.
The “story” had taken on a mind of its own, capturing the imagination of viewers across the world. Everyone suspected the Syndicate of foul breaches of basic human rights, but no one was strong or confident enough to call them to account. Besides, casts like Oakshield Junction were insanely popular.
Nick was gradually becoming aware of the massive expectation on his shoulders. He had become a man of the people - the hopes and dreams of millions were riding on his “fight” against the The Man.
It was an incredibly heavy burden to carry at the best of times, let alone when a cutthroat new season of Oakshield was about to commence.
And yet there were good reasons to venture back into the world of Tyrennia. The first was probably minor in the scheme of things, but meant a lot to Nick. Mike told him that Ern Williams, the vindictive producer of his first season, was no longer with the Syndicate. Apparently he’d faced a layoff of six months due to the broken legs he sustained during Nick’s rescue. Neutron had ruthlessly cut him free - they weren’t exactly known for employee welfare.
Another huge weight off Nick’s mind was the news that he would be able to launch from his own, private Immersion tank. What a luxury that would be - no more lonely walks through the intimidating corridors of Neutron studio. The technicians and assistants tended to look at him as if he was a vagrant off the street.
The season launch was just three days away, so Mike organized the installation of a new tank. Neutron advised that they would send a technician to load the router and ensure everything worked smoothly. Nick had no objection, knowing that Mike and his friends would rip the techie limb from limb if they saw anything suspicious.
The final reason for Nick’s temptation was a simple one - the game. Despite its more sinister aspects, Oakshield Junction was amazing. It rode the cutting edge of Immersion gaming because it had exclusive access to the best engineers, designers and writers.
From a pure gaming point of view, Oakshield was a joy. All five of Nick’s senses were stimulated, and the attention to detail was extraordinary. He’d never had a better technical experience. All up, if he was guaranteed safe launches from his apartment, the prospect of joining another season didn’t seem so onerous.
Neutron wouldn’t have it any other way. Nick had generated enough media buzz to warrant an automatic place in the next season - whether he wanted it or not. Neutron never made formal contract offers. After all, who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be a pixel runner? By climbing into a live Immersion tank, runners accepted the terms and conditions of Syndicate employment.
Nick was expected to launch from his new tank at 1030 on Friday morning. His new apartment helped to ease his mind, but he couldn’t quite banish the fear of the unknown. On Thursday night, just as he was preparing himself for a nervous sleep, he had a visitor that ultimately made his decision an easy one.
The man in the hallway had a pronounced hunchback. Curly black hair framed a pallid, fleshy face. Piercingly intelligent eyes appraised Nick, sizing him up.
“Please, come in,” Nick said, sensing he wasn’t in danger. Besides, Mike was watching intently from the kitchen. The man shuffled in, smelling like he hadn’t washed in days. Despite the offer of a seat, he paced nervously.
“I can’t stay,” he muttered in Russian-accented English. “If they knew I was here …”
Nick realized who he was. “Gideon …?”
The Russian nodded. Nick was suddenly filled with immense gratitude - he would never have made it through the Tomb of the Fallen if it wasn’t for this man. Resisting the impulse to give Gideon a big hug, Nick settled for a strong hand shake.
“Why?” he blurted, realizing he’d been dying to know for weeks. “Why did you help me?”
Gideon looked at him intently. “Because you are a human being and no one deserves to have the odds stacked against them like that.”
Nick blinked. It was rare to find such integrity these days.
“Coffee?” Mike asked from the kitchen.
The visitor was finally convinced to sit down and tell his story from the beginning. It turned out Gideon Popov hadn’t always been a programmer. He piloted a boat on Lake Peipus, Russia, where he would show visitors around when the weather permitted. It was one of the few wilderness areas on the globe that hadn’t been ruined by toxic waste.
As a tour guide, Gideon’s income was meager, but he was living the dream. Especially when his wife Sabine gave birth to their daughter, Inez. For a few blissful years he counted himself among the happiest men alive. That was until he came home one day to find his family had disappeared. Gone.
Distraught, Gideon hunted high and low, finding nothing. Sabine was a loving, devoted wife and wouldn’t have left him. No one had seen his family. All he had was one half-lead to go on. An old timer who liked to sit on the lakeshore claimed he saw an armored flyer on the same day of the disappearance.
After a thorough investigation, Gideon ascertained that the flyer did in fact belong to Neutron Syndicate. He was certain they were the kidnappers, but was powerless to do anything about it. The Russian government was hopelessly corrupt and often accepted bribes from the Syndicate to turn the other way.
Using his hard-earned savings, Gideon traveled to Moscow and established a handful of underground connections. Using their code-shielded servers, he researched the Syndicate and discovered their “cutting edge” use of human NPCs. He also heard stories of people being taken away from their families. His wife and child weren’t the only “pixel ghosts” in far Eastern Europe.
At this point that Gideon had a clear choice - sink into a pit of despair or remain proactive. He was a fighter at heart, so he chose the latter. Working double shifts at a downtown restaurant to finance his way through university, Gideon studied advanced Segel coding, the kind used for Immersion experiences. He graduated with Honors and was impressive enough to find work with the Neutron Syndicate.
It took him years to work his way into the tightly protected NPC division. He needed to pass several security checks before he was allowed access to the index of “non-running assets” on the Neu
tron roster. It was another six months of careful, painstaking investigation before he found what he was looking for - his daughter’s profile
“In some ways I wish she was dead,” Gideon said, his eyes welling up. “All I can see when I close my eyes is her little body trapped in some grimy Immersion tank.”
It took Gideon another two years to get a fix on her daughter’s position.
“They had me under surveillance,” the Russian said. “It wasn’t as simple as downloading a data cache.”
Through sheer, pig-headed persistence, Gideon finally made a breakthrough - his daughter was being held in an underground facility just outside of Phoenix, Arizona. He knew he had the right underground connections to launch a rescue mission, but there was one last complication - “tankers” couldn’t be pulled from Immersion without a “wake” sequence.
To do so was to put their neural stability at risk. Gideon waited patiently for an opportunity to learn more about the mysterious “wake” protocols, but couldn’t achieve the requisite security clearance. Just when everything seemed hopeless, a low-level pixel runner in Moscow related a story that grabbed his attention.
Apparently the runner had once “woken” an NPC during an Oakshield session. If what he said was true, it might be possible for a runner to bring Inez back to the real world. Gideon got himself transferred to the Oakshield Junction team, where his daughter was due to make her NPC debut.
It was painfully surreal to write code for a game that featured his enslaved daughter, but there was no other choice. Far better to be close to her than trapped in another division. He considered telling his superiors the truth - that his daughter was ripped from him for use as a lowly tank vegetable. But he knew deep down that Neutron would almost certainly force him to join her as an unknowing, mentally-broken NPC.
So Gideon explored the only option left on the table - finding the right runner. A white knight. Someone he could rely on to break the rules. Someone skilled enough to reach his daughter. Someone like Nick.
Gideon has risked everything to help Nick through the most recent episode of Oakshield Junction. Coding a wooden club into the game had been a masterstroke, exactly what Nick had needed. Listening to Gideon made him realize how lucky he actually was. He couldn’t imagine losing his loved ones to a pixelated hell.
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