Team Deathmatch: Killstreak

by Isaac Stone

  “You’re the first one. Honestly, if you don’t plan on shooting us now, can we leave? This isn't a PvP scenario, at least not expressly.”

  “I haven’t decided what to do. What’s your name?”

  “Detra Jackson,” the man replied. He was a young man, not much older than Kurt was. “You may have heard of me. Whatever you heard isn’t true, by the way.” He tried to suppress a smirk.

  Indeed, Kurt knew about him. Detra was a trust funder who decided to devote his life to online games when he came of age and inherited his oil fortune. His dad wanted the young man to take part in the family business, but junior didn’t want anything to do with the world of petroleum barons. Even with the big money to be made in harvesting old wells. Detra cashed in what money he could get from the fund and lived in a modest house in an upscale, well-policed area. The last thing he wanted was to be the target of some kidnapper hoping to score a big ransom.

  “You I do know,” Kurt returned to him. “Now who is that fine man standing next to you?”

  “Chet Ryan,” the next one replied. “If I were you, I’d put that gun down and let us go. When I get to the VR center, I have all kinds of add-ons I want to apply. I may be an assault loadout now, but there are things I’ve bought for my gear you can’t even imagine.”

  “Right,” Kurt said to him. “You’re ‘The Camper’. Heard about you too.”

  The Camper was another little rich kid who took to the Deathmatch system earlier on after his money kicked into being. The world on the street was that he’d played the game since 16, a good two years earlier than he was supposed to be allowed to play. He was known to be an arrogant prick and was hated by just about everyone in the gaming community. The Camper could afford to buy every upgrade for his system that came on the market. He was rumored to have a few that weren’t supposed to be used too. Kurt gritted his teeth and turned to the next one.

  “Okay,” Kurt said. “Man to the right of the Camper, what’s your name and fame?”

  “Anders Baldwin,” the next one announced. He was of the same age and complexion as the other two.

  Once more, Kurt gritted his teeth. What thingmaker spat out these flouncy lads? Anders was another trust fund kid who’d worked his way to the top of the heap to make the upper hundred. Like the others, he had plenty of time to spend on the game so he didn’t have to work at anything else. Decades ago, he’d have started a record label or film company. He was known as a “yes man” whose favorite answer was “I agree with you.”

  “Okay,” Kurt cried out. “Last one. Who and why?”

  Marco Delgado,” the final young man called back, his weapon at the ready. “I’m with them. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  Christ, Kurt thought to himself, four of these boys. What mad universe permits this to happen? Has to be some kind of algorithm used to dump them together unless Rashid was paid-off and I don’t think he needs that kind of money.

  Marco was a snot-nosed 18-year-old who received his accolade by ranking Top Hundred in the first 6 months of playing the game. As with the others, he really didn’t need the money that came with all the endorsements. He was a natural born player. A little bit awkward when he wasn’t in his skinsuit or out of the simulation, Marco was a legend among the other players for his single-minded determination to be number one. He would enter every tournament he could find over and over just to learn the basics. He learned how to beat every other game player. He usually chose an assault loadout when he entered a game, but didn’t like to spend much cash on his accruements, much to the disappointment of anyone who teamed up with him. With these other moneybags types around him, he was safe. Let them pay for the collective upgrades. He could supply the skill to get everyone ahead. Of course, once he reached the final location, there could only be one winner.

  “Alright, I know who all of you happen to be. Put your hands down and pick up your weapons,” Kurt called out. “The two women with me are Jesse and Lavon. I don’t know if you’ve heard about them, but don’t get any ideas. I’ve seen them mow down orcs in jungle games and shoot dinosaurs out of the sky. We might as well travel to together until we reach the first save point.” He and the women lowered their rifles.

  “Seriously,” Camper said as he picked his crazy high tech rifle up, “did you think we were part of the opposition? Do we look like Nazi Zombies?”

  “I had no idea who you were when you came around that corner,” Kurt responded. “Be glad you weren’t all shot by us. Your guard was down which is dumb if you heard our shoot-out with the NZ’s.” He tossed his rifle over one shoulder and let it hang with the strap, angry with himself for always falling back into teacher mode, especially since this dude was unlikely to listen anyway. It might be a long walk to the abandoned town.

  They fell in line behind the women and walked with them through the desert to the town. The sun was already high in the sky by the time they were down the trail, but it was going to get hotter. By now, everyone forgot they were in a blank room starring at a screen. The sense of common purpose overcame the reality of what they were doing: playing a game. Everyone would get completion points, so might as well work together until the game mode changed.

  It was a few miles from the outskirts of the town when Kurt knew they would encounter trouble. He saw the signs in the distance and knew them well from the other games. There was the sudden movement of birds, the scattering of dirt clouds in the distance and the smell of discharged guns. It wouldn’t be long, but at least he had a team of seasoned regulars with them. He motioned to Lavon who slid up to him.

  “Did you notice that cloud?” he asked her in a low voice. “I think we have some company on the way. This game uses plenty of the same tactics the others did. I don’t care if we’re driving bots around in the real world; they’ve brought up some of the old signifiers. Tell the rest to take the safety off, we’re about to have some fun.” She nodded and melted back in with the column behind her.

  The hot breezes raked across the road, which materialized in front of them. Somehow, the path they’d used terminated in a remote highway into the town. Kurt bent his head down and saw the blacktop on the road. It seemed a bit odd the company would’ve gone to this trouble to make a road, perhaps it was left over from something else.

  From this vantage point, he had a better view of the town. It was made of small adobe and cement blocks. From where he stood, Kurt could see the illegal power lines that drained electricity off the main grid. It was a nice touch, although a bit of an overkill. This was the sort of thing that plagued power engineers in the poorer countries. Every so often, someone would be fried trying to hook up a TV, but there wasn’t much they could do. In the USA, it was still possible for the cops to bust someone who tried it.

  While he stood in the middle of the road and waited for the rest of the column to catch up, Kurt spotted a vehicle speeding toward them in the distance. This had to be the enemy. He was a bit surprised they’d spent money on a drone truck too, but Rashid didn’t seem to care very much about the money spent on this game. Kurt figured he’d make it back many times over in people who paid to watch it on their screens at home or the bars who wanted to run it.

  “Everybody down!” Kurt yelled as he saw the vehicle, a beastly four wheel drive truck, increase its speed. Kurt dropped to the ground as well. He didn’t even wonder how he could still do it from the vantage point of as small room back in the VR center.

  Behind the wheel was a thing with a face that could have been dreamed up by Lovecraft himself. It had tentacles where the nose should be and had small green eyes. Next to it stood something humanoid and yet far worse, that carried a portable rocket launcher. Kurt identified it as an RPG-7. They were still made, years after the initial design was discontinued.

  What happened to good old fashioned Nazi punching?

  Before he could give the order, Camper jumped up and tossed himself in the middle of the road. “I’m on it!” he screamed and unloaded an entire clip of ammunition at the sp
eeding truck, which was barely ten yards away.

  Once Camper fired, the rest of the crew opened up too. The truck was splashed repeatedly by the gunfire of automatic rifles and burst into flames. Kurt managed to take out the thing that held the RPG, but the rest of the truck continued on until he heard Jesse yell “Got him!” The truck turned over and bounced over the curb. Kurt stood up and watched the remains of it burst into a ball of fire. He didn’t even both to check if the passengers made it out.

  “One for me!” Camper yelled and did a little dance in the road.

  Kurt walked over and pushed him to the ground. Before Camper could say a word, Kurt had his rifle leveled at him.

  “You fire when I give the order, goddammit,” he snapped. “Not until. Do that again and I’ll send you on a one-way trip to the VR center. You travel with us you listen, unless you're ready to go PvP right now. Now get up and move!”

  Camper stood up, brushed off some dirt and joined the others. Nothing more was said.

  Kurt squeezed his hand. Striking Camper had given him the sensation of hitting metal. The game kept that much reality.

  An hour later, they spotted a cinder block building off to the side of the road. Kurt looked at it through his gun scope and saw the words “Safe House Harry's” written on the front. It was illuminated by neon lights. This was the first one and he was ready to make use of it.

  “It’s a save point,” Kurt announced. “We can head over to it and find out who else is here. Maybe get some better ordinance as well, this scenario has gone off the rails a bit.” They walked in a hurry to the direction of the building and arrived in fifteen minutes.

  The building lacked any kind of exterior windows and had a steel door at the entrance. It reminded Kurt of a massage parlor a friend dared him to experience years ago. He didn’t take him up on it and never felt anything was missed. However, this time they needed to go inside.

  Kurt reached down and hit the buzzer.

  Seconds later a world-weary man in snakeskin boots answered the door. He looked them over, nodded his wizened face and held the door open.

  “Come inside, gentlemen,” he said, “and ladies. We have what you need.” Without hesitation, the group filed inside. The door swung shut on its own behind them and locked.

  Chapter 6

  Through the view screen he wore in his helmet, Kurt looked over the save point. It reminded him of a hunting and camping supply store in his old neighborhood, before his parents were forced to relocate. Stacks of shipping containers welded together to form a patchwork building out in the middle of the desert, connected to the main road by a little dirt path. There were endless racks of supplies, some of them with the name of recognizable vendors; some were on the generic side. The rest of the men who’d joined up with him filtered down with the women through the display racks in search of what they needed.

  Kurt assumed this was some kind of abandoned building overlaid with enough computer enhancements to make the game playable. He thought about lifting up his faceplate to see how the others were doing in the VR center chamber where they stood at the present. However, he changed his mind, as the important thing was to get on with the assignment and find the target. Once this was done, he could count the money and make plans. Until then, all he cared about was winning the game. Even what to do about the others, who would be competition once they reached the vicinity of the goal, was irrelevant.

  “So how many of the other hundred have been through this place?” Kurt asked the older man who stood behind the glass counter. He resembled and old biker and even wore a leather vest with several motorcycle club patches on it.

  “Quite a few,” he replied. “Everyone was ported in at the same time, but in positions all across the play area. Guess Rashid didn’t want to give any one group or person an advantage. Since I’m the only rest and refit station this far out, a lot of you will end up here eventually. That’s five Domingo dollars if you want to make a purchase.” The proprietor looked across the aisles at one of the men who’d come in behind Kurt and his crew.

  The basic Deathmatch economy worked on an elaborate system of “points” which could be transferred into “credits” and then to cryptocurrency for use in the game. Domingo dollars and their fractional breakdowns where the most popular form of exchange and tender for the game players. At any point, the cryptocurrency could be converted into the federal version, but this involved a substantial transaction fee. Most people kept their earnings inside the game and only cashed out when they left it.

  “What do you make of those four gamer bros who we picked up?” Lavon asked him. She asked while handing a bottle of cologne on the counter.

  “Probably a decent bunch if you get past the obvious,” Kurt replied to her. “I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble when we leave here. They're all high on the leaderboards, but I don't recall hearing much about off-mode PvP, then again, given how open world Killstreak seems to be, things could get interesting.”

  “One of them was talking to Jesse a few minutes ago,” Lavon told him. “I think they want to join up with us. You put the fear of the gods into them.”

  Kurt turned and watched them shop for equipment and upgrades. This bunch seemed to know what they wanted and how to get it. It didn’t matter what role they played in a Team Deathmatch solo game, they seemed to have a feel for what was needed in the group. Kurt thought it over and decided to bring them along. If nothing else, it would be more meat for the grinder when they got to the final destination. In truth, being a few years older and more of a working glass guy, Kurt was finding that leading a group of gamers who probably were just as good as or better than he was coming naturally to him. Could be the teacher thing again, either way, it seemed to be working.

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Kurt told Lavon. “Only one problem.” He waited for her reaction.

  “What’s that?” she asked him.

  “We have to change to change the name of the group. Can’t call it ‘Triple Skulls’ if there are seven of us now, can we?” She nodded in agreement.

  “Then what do we use?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about ‘Skull Legion’? It has a nice ring and its close enough to the one we did use.”

  “I’ll go let them know.” She walked over to the others, who were gathered around a small machine gun as they argued over the relative merits of the weapon.

  One thing Kurt did find a little strange was that this place was unlike any gun shop he’d ever been inside before. The weapons were right out one the counter for everyone to look and examine. Nothing was behind glass or locked away. He saw a “shooter” take a Walther P38 and walk back to the firing range in the rear of the store. No one even though it strange someone carried a loaded weapon around the store. Of course, all of this was merely simulations. Whatever real weapons inside this store for their robot bodies to use could be deactivated by the game command in seconds. Besides, there was nothing to be gained by violating the truce and turning your gun on someone inside the spawn point.

  A few minutes later, they were back on the road outside the save point with their new weapons and upgrades. Kurt, who kept his original rifle, noticed the group looked much sharper than before and seemed to be in a better mood.

  “I don’t have to tell you who’s in charge from now on,” he made the announcement. “The four of you wanted to ride with us, fine, but you let me make the calls. Listen to me and you’ll stay in the game. Try something stupid and you’ll find out what friendly fire can do to you.” The new recruits seemed to listen to what he had to say.

  They walked for another hour, the town looming closer with each step. Several times, Kurt put his gun scope up to his faceplate to get a good look at the landscape around them, but he seldom saw any movements. If the creatures the game masters use to fill this scenario where out there, they had to be good at hiding. Kurt really didn’t care. All he wanted to do was reach the endpoint and win the game. He tried to keep his mind off what they would do when it
was reached, but it was a subject he’d need to address.

  “That Anders reminds me of my ex-husband,” Lavon spoke to Kurt as they walked down the lonely road in the direction of the town. They were far enough ahead for the voices not to carry.

  “How is that?” he asked her. “I didn’t know you were married.” He made a quick check to the rear to make sure the new recruits weren’t listening. None was.

  “Real needy, he was,” she commented. “I had to get rid of him.”

  This caught Kurt’s attention. “I hope you didn’t shoot him,” he told her. It was something he wanted to know.

  “Hell, no,” she laughed, “I would never waste a good bullet on a sorry ass like him. I kicked him to the curb one night when he whined that I wanted too much. I only married him because we were both in the army and I was tired of all the lover boys who wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  Kurt knew that everything they said and did was watched by someone in the game center. Later, it would be edited down for public consumption. Although the viewing public thought everything it watched was live, there was enough of a delay from the time an event happened to the time they had to broadcast it. There were several options available for the paying public, but most of the viewers opted for the cheaper package, which updated every hour. This gave the game monitors time to find something exciting in the battlefield and extract the images. This way a commentator had time to rehearse his or her running monologue before it was released to the viewers.

  “I was one of the few women working in a motor transport company,” Lavon told him. “I would be out repairing a tire by myself. Eventually, I would hear a ‘hi!” and there would be some specialist who thought he was a stud standing next to me.” She laughed a bit at her own comment.

  “So what did you tell them?” Kurt asked. He did want to know.

  “I told them I wasn’t their sister, mother, or girlfriend, so get the fuck out of my face!” she snapped. “By the time I’d laid my message down to the third one they quit coming back.”