Into The Game- Dungeon Crawl Quest

by C A A Allen

  He snatches the tickets from my hand. “Kurht was my best friend and business partner. We co-owned this place. Then he died three days ago and left me in a whole lot of debt.” Anton cracks open a can and pours the fizzy light blue liquid in a glass over ice. He then pours a draught beer and sets the drinks in front of us. “Debt that would have been paid, if he didn’t give away drinks or make glitch-ridden games.”

  “Ha!” Mack nudges my arm and smiles from ear to ear. “Did you here that? Glitch-ridden. I told you.”

  I wave Mack off and wrap my hand around the ice-cold glass. “Don’t you get any royalties from DCQ, though?” I ask.

  Anton turns, rises on his toes, and pulls a skinny glass bottle down from the top shelf. Its label is embellished with an elegant cathedral, topped with several gold onion domes. He fills a shot glass with the crystal-clear liquid and holds it up, staring at the glass.

  “Not a dime.” He pounds it back, then slams the glass down on the bar. “Because unfortunately, the game’s publisher, Blizivision Studios, put a clause in the DCQ contract that suspends all royalties until any occurring error is fixed. So, please don’t tell me you’re a fan of that chain around my neck.”

  Mack scratches his head and sucks air through gritted teeth. “Here we go. Don’t go off on him to hard, bro.”

  I down half of my beverage and plunk the glass to the bar. “I’m DCQ’s biggest fan. I love it.” A couple sitting farther down the bar looks at me, then returns to their drinks, chuckling. “It’s not a glitch, error, or programming fault. It’s a puzzle that needs to be unlocked.”

  Anton refills his glass with the clear liquor and then fills up another one right beside it. “You’re going to need one of these, then.” He slides the extra shot to me. “You see, if nobody advances past the Monster Allocation Chamber by midnight tonight, the DCQ servers will be shut down indefinitely. Apparently, subscription numbers have dropped below five-hundred and Blizivision is cashing out.”

  I just sit there. Numb. Surely, I misheard.

  “Damn.” Mack takes a sip off the top of his beer and makes a sour face. “They’re not even giving the game a proper MMO apocalypse?”

  “Nope.” Anton swallows his shot and sets the glass down. “One of the main servers is located right here in the bar. If you hang around until midnight, you just might get to see the publisher’s goons come in, shut it down, and remove the hardware.”

  Midnight? Midnight? That is barely twelve hours away.

  Anton scoots his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Once the server is shut down, all the game rights, revenue, technology, and properties revert to Kurht’s very unreasonable development partner. A man that has vowed—and I quote—to terminate everything that has to do with the DCQ money pit. My bar here is one of DCQ’s properties. This place goes down with the DCQ ship.”

  “They can’t do that,” I say, my stomach in my throat. This can’t happen. My game and character will be gone forever. I gave up my girlfriend and my job for this. I practically gave up my life, if you added up all the hours I’d spent. I have to do something. “I can unlock the puzzle by midnight,” I say, pulling the bronze coin from my pocket and holding it up. “Kurht sent me.”

  Anton grabs my wrist and pulls the coin in close. “What did you say?”

  “Kurht sent me.” I try and pull my hand back, but he tightens his grip. “That is the password, right?” I stammer.

  “That is the password.” Anton cocks a smile. “I like to follow the progress of the top, um, seven or so characters in DCQ. I have a hunch about who you are.” He looks at me with fixed eyes. “Jareth Goblinmasher?”

  “Yeah, I mean, that’s my main character. My name is Riff Jenkins, and this is my brother, Mack.”

  Anton releases my wrist. “Do you have a Grimoire?”

  I pull the Grimoire from my pocket, flash it to him, and drop it back down.

  “Well, well, well.” The bartender rubs his chin. “Nice to meet you, Riff and Mack Jenkins. Riff, you have a coin, a Grimoire, and know the password. That makes you one of only seven individuals with the ability to enter The DCQ Den. Maybe you can unlock the puzzle.”

  Only seven? I had no idea the den was such an exclusive club. “Okay. Let’s do it. Show me to the den.”

  “You’re not ready.” Anton pushes the shot glass closer to me. “Drink up. You’re gonna need it.”

  I wrap my hand around the shot. “I’m the designated driver.” I look at Mack. “Do you want this?”

  “Just go on and take it to the head,” he says. “But you’re cut off after that.” He leans into the bar and takes another sip of his beer. “Blaah. Is there even any alcohol content in this watered-down swill? Anton, I asked for an IPA, not this sewer water. And where is that lotto-dagger I’ve heard so much about? Riff needs it.”

  “No IPA with free drink tickets,” Anton growls. “The dagger is lodged safely in a high ceiling beam inside of The DCQ Den. But it’s never had anything to do with the lottery.”

  Mack pushes his beer back. “I knew that whole story was bogus.”

  I dump the shot down my throat, pause, and then pat my chest to ease the burn. Lotto or not, I need to get a look at that dagger and read its pommel numbers. They have to be a clue to cracking the game.

  Anton flips up a small section of the bar. “Okay, gamer. Come on back and follow me.”

  I leap up so fast, my bar stool clatters to the floor behind me. I’m about to enter my own personal Mecca.

  Mack snatches his beer and swallows it down with three loud gulps. “Ahh, nasty.” He stands, picks up my fallen bar stool, and claps his hands three times. “Yup, let’s go see this den.”

  “No.” Anton holds out a hand. “No coin, no entrance. That’s the rule.”

  Three young girls dressed in halter-tops and mini-skirts pull out bar stools alongside Mack and sit. They giggle amongst themselves, but neither Mack nor I miss the flirtatious sidelong glances they send his way.

  “Besides,” Anton raises his eyebrows, “someone needs to keep these ladies company while I take Riff back.”

  The girl closest to Mack stands and looks at him with crisp cat-like eyes. She has light skin, waist-length purple hair and fiery blood-red contacts. “Can you help us settle a bet?” she purrs. “Do I look more like Sylvanas Windrunner, Nika, or Nova Terra?”

  Mack sits back down on his stool and looks the girl over. “Anton, I think I’m going to need another drink.”

  The girl spins around and strikes a pose. “Well? What do you think?”

  Mack sits up straight. “Well, your eyes say Sylvanas, but you sure got Nova’s hips. If you want to add some Nika into your look, I can make some suggestions.”

  * * *

  I trail behind Anton to a narrow metal door at the far end of the bar. The closer we get, the more the bar-noise buzz fades. To the right of the metal door is a single shelf holding a myriad of old dusty trinkets and used game parts. A red velvet cloth covers several lumps in the center of the shelf.

  It is on this cloth that Anton rests his hand. “Take out your coin.”

  I obey, gripping the coin tight in my fist. Anton glances around in all directions before snatching the cloth off. A cast iron statue of seven bright yellow and black frogs sitting in a row is on the shelf. Four of the frogs have their mouths open, three closed.

  Anton inserts an iron skeleton key into the statue’s base. “These are the Chachu. Put your coin into one of the open mouths but be careful. Its bite can paralyze.”

  I look at Anton to judge if he is kidding about the paralysis thing. Not a twitch of humor crosses his face. Why is he trying to psych me out?

  He winds the key several times. “Go on, put it in.”

  It doesn’t seem to matter which frog I choose, so I place it in the mouth of the end frog, carefully balancing it on the frog’s tongue. Its head snaps back and the coin drops down its throat. “Hey, my coin.” I grab the frog’s mouth with both hands and try to pry it open.

>   Anton pushes my hands away. “Your coin has been swallowed. It’s gone for good. This is a one-time entry situation.”

  Click! The metal door opens a half-inch, a cool draft hitting me through it.

  Anton takes a step back. “Do me a favor while you’re in there. Remind your fellow den members of the deadline. If none of you get past the goblin by midnight, Blizivision pulls the plug.”

  “Plug pulling is not gonna happen,” I assure him…and myself. “Just watch out for my brother while I’m in here.”

  Anton nods. “I’ll keep him in good spirits. You just concentrate on the task at hand.” He turns and walks back toward Mack waving one finger in the air. “You’ve just been upgraded to IPA, my friend.”

  I wrap my hand around the cold metal doorknob. Does this room contain the answers I need? What are the other den members going to be like? I open the door and take a few steps into a dim room. “Hello?”

  Click.

  The door closes shut behind me, removing what little bit of light I had. I reach for a knob but there isn’t one—just a smooth, cold metal surface.

  “Hey.” I turn back to the room, blinking away the echo of light in my eyes. I guess there’s no going back until I solve Kuhrt’s puzzle.

  As my vision adjusts to the dark, I make out a rectangular room about the size of my dorm living room. To the left, a server rack covers the wall from top to bottom and left to right. Its computer’s fans and electronics fill the room with an ambient buzz, and its multicolored lights give the room a dim glow.

  I run a finger across the DCQ world server. I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone shut this baby down.

  In the middle of the rack, I notice a square glass box with a glowing green stone inside of it, held between three metal prongs. I’ve never seen a hardware component like this before. What the hell was Kurht into? I reach out and touch the glass, and suddenly the stone’s glow changes from green to purple. “Whoa.” I jerk my hand back.

  Now that my eyes have fully adjusted to the dim lighting, I make out a single door across the way, and six gaming stations against the wall to my left. All the monitors have brown and gold Dungeon Crawl Quest logo screen savers spinning on 24-inch curved displays. They call to me. Optimism matches the pulsing in my chest. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna solve this game. These are the DCQ optimized game stations– six of them. But where are the gamers?

  I walk along the game stations from left to right. The first one has a blue and black zebra pattern sport wheelchair in front of it. The chair’s seat back and frame have assorted NGL eSports, Overwatch, Dota 2, and skull stickers all over it. The wheelchair looks familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen it.

  The other five stations all have high-back gaming chairs, and each computer has a backlit keyboard, mouse, and a half-moon shaped docking cradle in front it.

  I pick up a cradle from the station in front of me and look closer at the others. Three of them are loaded with Grimoires. But where are the gamers who synced them? Maybe I caught everyone on a lunch break or something. That just means fewer distractions as I jump back into the game.

  I sit at one of the non-synced stations and wrap my hand around the mouse. There’s no way I’m waiting another minute to try this out. I give the mouse a shake and the screen changes.

  >WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF DUNGEON CRAWL QUEST!

  >YOU CANNOT PLAY WITHOUT SYNCING A GRIMOIRE.

  >S) YNC GRIMOIRE

  >B) EGIN GAME

  I’m so excited I let out a whoop of joy. If only those suckers in technology club could see me now. I pull the Grimoire from my pocket, drop it in the cradle, press ‘S’ on the keyboard, and feast my eyes on the screen.

  >GRIMOIRE UPDATE IN PROGRESS

  >PLEASE WAIT…

  A loading bar pops up and the filler is barely visible, it’s updating so slow. “Argh!” I grab onto the chair armrests with a death grip. I can’t stand updates. Especially when the clock is ticking nearer and nearer the destruction of all that I hold dear. Okay, maybe that’s a bit much, I flop my head back on the gaming chair and try not to count the seconds.

  That’s when I notice a large beam bisecting the ceiling with a dark object jutting from the center, high above my head. The legendary dagger.

  I roll my chair under the spot and step onto the seat. With one hand on the seat back, I stretch out my other arm. I’m close, but I can’t quite reach. How in the heck did that one girl reach the thing without help? She must have been half-elf.

  I let go of the seat back, rise on my tiptoes, and stretch both hands up. I’m still an inch or so from the handle. I look around, but don’t see anything that could help me get a leg up. The room is full of expensive and easily breakable technology, but little else. I’m going to have to jump or give up. And I’m not giving up.

  I steady the chair, bend my legs, and push off, grabbing the dagger’s handle with one hand. To my surprise, it doesn’t come loose. It holds my weight and my legs flail, kicking the chair out from under me, so I’m left hanging from the ceiling by my one-handed grip on the knife.

  The chair rolls into the server-wall, bounces off, and tips over.

  “Come on, you.” I wiggle my body and jerk it sideways, trying to work the blade loose from the wood before my arm gives out. “Come on!”

  With a satisfying creak, the dagger slips from the beam, and I crash to the floor.

  CHAPTER 4

  36:00:00 hours until DCQ server shut down.

  “Hey there, are you all right?” A sweet female voice floats out of the darkness.

  Have I been asleep? Or did I hit my head? I don’t remember.

  I open my eyes to slits, but the sun overhead blinds me. Wait…sun? A hazy hourglass-shaped figure stands over me. I angle my face so the figure blocks the direct ray of the sun. I try to speak but only manage a cough. It feels like there’s dirt in my mouth.

  A larger shadow falls over me and a grumpy male voice says, “Who’s the lanky stiff?” He jabs me in the ribs with a boot. “Hey stiff, get up before I slit your throat.”

  “He’s with me, Castilian.” The sweet voice turns harsh. “Now, back off.”

  “I don’t allow unregistered questers in my stronghold.” The man moves away. “So, get him to the tavern before I send my people to apply some unpleasantries.”

  Quester? Stronghold? Tavern? I sit up and shade my eyes with a hand. It feels like the devil is banging on my skull with a war hammer. Where am I? How long was I out? And who was that rude bastard jabbing me in the ribs?

  A slender girl, who looks to be about my age, kneels beside me. Her brown hair is in a loose bun, but the curls framing her face are dyed red. She wears curvy leather corset armor, a leather skirt with studded tassels, and has a nasty looking dagger in her double-strapped thigh scabbard. “Sorry about the rude awakening. Castilian doesn’t like afternoon arrivals in the Marketplace. Announced and early morning is the only way to avoid his grumpiness. Anyway, welcome in.”

  I look around. Not only am I no longer in the gaming Den, but I’m apparently no longer indoors at all. I sit in the middle of a dusty road in what seems to be an ancient village marketplace. Buildings and small booths of different sizes and shapes are situated in a large circle with lots of people walking between them.

  “What…where…?” My pocket pops and vibrates wildly. “Whoa.” I grind my palms into the gravel and crawl backward in a frenzy. “What the—” The Grimoire flips out of my pocket and pulsates across the ground. “I-I put that in the cradle. What…what’s going on?”

  Is all this just a dream? An elaborate hoax? Did Anton put something in my drink?

  “Paperwork.” The girl points to the bouncing gold disk. “Check it for your paperwork.”

  “Paperwork?” I corral the Grimoire, open it, and tap the red dot.

  The girl snatches it from my hand. “Here, let me see.”

  “Hey, that’s mine.” I try to grab it back but miss by a mile.

  She looks at the s
creen and perks up. “Well what do you know? Jareth Goblinmasher has entered the game. And with a nice abilities number too.”

  “Who are you?” I try to stand, but my head pounds when I do.

  She smiles a wide, dimpled smile. “My gamer name is Madmartigan.”

  This is the Madmartigan who’s been riding my coattails in DCQ? “You don’t look like a Madmartigan,” I tell her. She is not what I expected. Not at all. For one thing, she’s a she. “How did you get to level eight?”

  “Actually,”—her eyes narrow—“I’ve been at level nine for ages now. And I made it into The DCQ Players Den long before you did, didn’t I? And I look exactly like a Madmartigan, because that’s who I am.”

  At this point, I look down and notice my clothes. I am wearing a long-sleeved tunic, leather breastplate, brown trousers, low leather boots, and a thick belt with several empty sheaths and a small attached pull string bag.

  “My real name is Bella, if you must kno—”

  “Did you change my clothes?” I blurt.

  “Not a chance.” She runs her finger down my Grimoire’s screen. “You’re a fighter, Jareth. And that is entry-level fighter’s garb.” She seems to place an extra emphasis on the words entry-level.

  I stand, take a deep breath, and crack my neck left and right. “Better.” I loosen the strings on my belt’s bag, dip in a hand, and pull out a fist full of silver and gold coins. I drop the coins back in and look at Bella. “What is going on?”

  Bella closes my Grimoire and examines its back. “You’ll find a spot for this on your belt.” She tosses it to me.

  I catch the Grimoire and find a sheath on my belt that fits it perfectly, just like she said. As I put it away, a small shock courses through my body, and I flinch.

  “That jolt is how the Grimoire lets you know you’re synced,” Bella explains. “Your player stats will now appear in your forward vision.”

  Before she even finishes talking, stats and blurry words swim in front of my eyes in a translucent neon blue. It’s hard to focus on them. And hard not to.

  “You’ll get used to it,” she says. “It takes a few hours to acclimate.”