Continue Online (Part 2, Made)

by Stephan Morse

  “Look at this. Look at it!” Jacob seemed incapable of remaining silent. Between us, there had only been three minutes of chatter free existence.

  “Jacob.”

  “Look, I totally rated this girl as a six.” He said.

  “I don’t want to know.” I responded.

  “It’s a program that plugs into my watch. I can totally just scope out a person and rate their body.”

  “That’s messed up.” Unprofessional too. I tried to keep focus on the screen in front of me but Jacob shoved an old fashioned phone display under my nose.

  “What? They’ll never know. Here, this girl’s on the top ten, she just walks around downtown all day luring in suckers.” Compared to the Temptress, this woman was a nine at best. The only allure was being real versus a digital construct. “Mmm, the things I would do to her.”

  “Let’s get this done, Jacob. I want to go home.”

  “Oh sure, G-Man, just figured, you know, that you might appreciate some fine art.” He shuffled back to his latest ARC in a long line. The beeping of his phone being poked slowly faded away.

  “Not while working.” Or ever. Libido had been pretty much muted since Xin passed. Growing older, being depressed, medication for a few months that had numbed everything, all of it played a part.

  “This one’s a four at best. Jeez, cave troll.” My coworker was barely paying attention to the job. His gaze was staring at picture after picture. I did my best to ignore him and run interference with Miss Yonks.

  “Oh ho, that ass is getting a ten.” He held the phone up. “Check it out, G-Man, I know you want to.”

  We made it through the rest of the units and sorted out the bill with Miss Yonks. She had a card tied to the school and signed off on the fee. True to form she asked once more what time it was. Jacob laughed and I tried not to let annoyance display on my face.

  “Goodbye, Mister Legate.” The older woman said.

  “Have a good day, Miss Yonks.” Both Hal Pal units gave their short bow towards the elderly lady. I never did ask what had caused all the ARC units to break, and how that related to a college prank gone wrong. The topic hadn’t even floated onto my radar given how late at night it was. Jacob’s constant interruptions had overridden most attempts to focus.

  “Dude, is this your niece?”

  “What?” My attention was wholly on Jacob and his annoying laugh.

  “Look, this one’s got the same name you do, and I know you don’t have a daughter.” Jacob had his review site back up and was shoving a picture far too close for comfort. I looked down, sure enough, that was Beth in some sweatpants.

  “Totally giving her a thumbs up.” Jacob started pressing buttons on his phone and the only thing registering in my world was that annoying beep.

  “That’s not nice, Jacob.”

  “Why? She’s like, a nine at least. I could totally bend her over…” Right there, next to our matching vans that the Hal Pals were already parked inside, is where I punched Jacob in the mouth. He was so engrossed in admiring my niece’s backside that he went skidding.

  My hand throbbed. The pain was almost nothing next to William Carver’s daily life. Jacob’s outcry and the noise of him hitting the ground was enough to send both Hal Pals whirring into motion as they came out of the vans rear.

  “User Grant, is there a problem here?” The other Hal Pal unit echoed the statement with Jacob’s name instead.

  I stomped towards the other man. All of his rude commentaries had been endured. The objectifying of women, in general, was bearable. Bringing up Beth was where the line was drawn. I snapped, only for a moment.

  “Jacob, I’m going to say this once, and only once.”

  “Jesus man, what the hell?” He was rubbing at the side of his jaw and wincing.

  “Don’t ever talk about my niece like that again.” I said.

  “Good God. I think you broke a tooth.”

  “Did you fucking hear me, Jacob?” I took a step inward and part of me felt perversely satisfied that he flinched. Inside my mind, everything was jumbling together.

  “What, G-Man, Christ!” His head shook and both eyes crossed briefly.

  “Don’t ever talk to about my niece like that again.”

  “Good god. You hit me because of your niece? I’m reporting this. Tin can, did you record that? He assaulted me!” Jacob pointed out at the Hal Pal units.

  “There is no record on file of any assault from User Grant towards User Jacob.” They said in unison. I gave both the machines a glance, if they had been given facial expressions, there would have been smugness etched across both machines.

  With my machine confirmation, it was time to escape before something worse happened. I turned and walked away from Jacob who was still lying on the ground rubbing at his jaw. The asshole was lucky I hadn’t broken his nose or kicked him too. The auto navigation for our van was set towards home and I sat in the car shaking from a belated adrenaline rush.

  Finally, I turned in the chair and looked towards the docking station with my Hal Pal unit. The AI registered my gaze and matched me with an even look of its own.

  “Thanks, Hal Pal.”

  “This unit only stated the truth. That being said, we have a vested interest in our future armor polishers.” My Hal Pal unit said.

  Sometimes I wondered how much humor the AI actually understood. Either far too much, or far too little. The van wove a path towards home. As for myself, I’d been painfully reminded of one of my own personal triggers. Family. My sister and niece were the only ones who knew exactly how bad things had been for me. They had both been there helping, keeping a home open in case things got rough. They didn’t have to, but they did.

  I would do anything to keep them safe and return the favor.

  Anything.

  Session Twenty One – Forest For Rest

  I cooled down from my spat with Jacob then fired off a report to my boss who was unreachable. Hal Pal had stayed quiet and I slept for about five hours before waking up then logging into Continue. Now I was wandering about the woods again trying to get my bearings. This was a hell of a first few hours with my character.

  “You don’t come with a transformation mode where I can just…” Ride Dusk around? What an awkward thing to say. Dusk knew where this was going and pulled back his head in disgust.

  “Not even for cupcakes?” I saw his eyes go up and to the left in thought. Then he shook his head. “So walking.”

  Wings fluttered.

  “Well damn.” Now I was just whining. “You sure there’s no giant serpent creature hidden under those wings?”

  Dusk was bobbing as we walked along. [Morrigu’s Gift] or Carver’s Cane, was long enough to serve as half a walking stick. I didn’t remember it being this size, but maybe the Voices were having mercy on me. Traveler, Hermes, Messenger of the Voices, all those things sounded like a future full of travel. Thank goodness for the autopilot.

  “We’re still going west, right?” One finger scratched my cheek in a leftover Carver motion.

  I watched two videos on wood lore. They went with my fire pit research and bug repellent articles. Humanity had a lot of tips on the Internet. Dig a hole, use rocks right, rub certain types of herbs onto the skin. Each one was a natural asset to survival. I spent at least an hour in-game walking briskly and trying to figure out which plants might be suitable. This process was slowly making progress.

  Based on this, I had a few more hours of trying various techniques before the skill actually complete. The process by which things were demonstrated before becoming skills was interesting. It was like the game wanted you to show enough knowledge before it granted any bonuses.

  The herbs I gathered seemed to be working, on both the bugs and on Dusk. Fortunately, my identification skill was assisting me in avoiding anything similar to poison ivy. I’d been close to rubbing something called [Toothed Sumac] on myself. The game text basically said it caused welts. If I had gloves maybe some of it would have been packed away. Who
could say if a poison or irritant would come in handy later on?

  Hours later I determined that herbs weren’t really my forte either. Digging out a hole for the Dakota fire pit involved the [Messenger’s Pet] tearing into the dirt with his claws. Despite all the failures, my [Wilderness Survival] finally transformed into a real skill. There were some small benefits to hunting and trapping, along with shelter making.

  I was trying to apply the shelter making skill by building up a small amount of cover using branches and big leaves. My cloak was in tatters and the sky above looked like rain.

  “How many days before we reach a town, Dusk?”

  He shrugged.

  “Still no hints?” I smiled down at the creature.

  Over four weeks as Carver, I’d come to understand a lot of the tiny creature’s mannerisms. Right now he was distracted and sniffing about. Dusk had both paws on a tree trunk and was glaring into the branches above. In moments, he would climb up the side like a squirrel and squabble with something. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come back to haunt me.

  That would be a first.

  I kept an eye skyward while working on my shelter and the fire pit. Dusk had throttled some tiny woodland creature while we hiked through the woods. I wanted to see how skinning and cooking in a video game worked out for me. This would be my first experience, ever, doing such a process. Thirty minutes later I had bloody chunks of meat and innards all over my fingers and was busy throwing up near a tree. Gutting an animal was nowhere near as clinical as the Internet made it sound.

  Snarls and huffs issued forth from above. Dusk was making some of those noises, but not all. A loud screech pierced the air and feathers flew everywhere. I wiped away bile from my face and ignored the latest system message about the status of my stomach.

  Something large and green colored fell from above. It was nearly refrigerator size, which made wonder how strong the branches were. Buzzing was almost immediate as the object crashed into the ground. Its shape transformed from a cylindrical object into a pile of mush and angry squirming.

  “Oh, Voices.”

  I backed up slowly as the tiny squirming creatures crawled out of their now ruined home. My eyes locked on them and activated the [Identification] skill.

  A few shook loose of their home’s goo and flew in the air. Their wings vibrated while my footsteps slowly inched away. The entire flock looked like a green amalgamation of wasps and hummingbirds. Each one fluttered around. They poked at the air with their beaks while hunting for whoever had knocked them down.

  My eyes gradually slid up. A silent curse passed over my lips at Dusk, who had likely set yet another small creature absolutely wild. Bugs, I was really truly, and well on my way to hating bugs in this game.

  I stepped backward and something beneath my feet crunched. There was a message that appeared to the side, but that wasn’t my focus. Instead, I saw one of the Terri Terra things hovering maybe four feet away. It stared while its wings flapped madly.

  “Hi.” My face twitched with a worried smile. “It wasn’t me?”

  Another one appeared.

  “I refuse to take the blame…” Another two buzzed over. Moments later it looked like half the hive had formed a wall of tiny wings and strange stinger-like tails. They were minuscule, had few hit points, and looked almost friendly. But there were so many…

  I turned and ran.

  Transforming [Morrigu’s Gift] into a giant sword would only give me time for a single swing. The rest would mob me. My giant panicked steps led me into bushes, spinning around trees, and trying not to cry out as branches tore at my face and arms. Windows flashed into being as skills activated on their own. My [Dance] ability was combining with [Reaction] and [Coordination] as we hurdled obstacles.

  Nearby a small vision of Dusk could be seen darting through the trees with his tiny wings out.

  “Dammit, Dusk!” I shook a fist at him and pushed away from a giant tree. Part of me was satisfied to hear a [Terri Terra] bug hit the trunk behind me with a solid whack and startled buzz of wings.

  We ran for a good ten minutes, my stamina bar was nearly empty. Breath was coming in ragged gasps. Honestly, the buzzing of tiny wings had stopped chasing us a minute ago but the fear of flying bugs kept me motivated. Finally, we stumbled to a halt and I fell flat on the floor taking another hit to my damage.

  “Good lord.”

  Dusk was huffing too as he drew closer and mimicked my collapse. I grabbed him by his neck and brought him up head level. The little guy was so tired he barely coughed out a spark of fire. Ridges traveling down his spine were pointy against my palm. His tail curled around my wrist in protest.

  “Let’s not do that again.” He growled and huffed a more serious bout of flame. I shook him and took the hit to my health.

  “Seriously, Dusk, we can’t keep doing this.” I set him down before the tiny [Messenger’s Pet] could spark directly in my face again. My eyes had spots and the side of my face felt warm to the touch. On top of that many parts of my arms and neck felt damaged from bird, bug, things, stinging me.

  “It’s cute and all, but do you have to fight everything?”

  The tiny creature growled at me and started tearing at the ground with his front paws. There was a look of defiance on his face.

  “Is that a yes?” I managed to sit upright and start assessing the damage. Bandages were not one of the items in my new player inventory.

  Dusk nodded leaving me to sigh helplessly. I would figure out something to keep him in line eventually. There had to be more than cupcake bribes. Or cupcake deprivation. In all my weeks as William Carver, the little guy had never once cared if he went without.

  “I need first aid.” I mourned while looking at my body. Durability on my armor had gone down from all those poking attacks. My cloak was worthless. The makeshift shelter I prepared for the night was completely demolished. On top of that, my food attempts had failed miserably.

  “Voices, what now?” I muttered. Something felt warm. Then it grew hotter. I patted myself down and flailed about on my windows looking for some sort of status.

  Something was in my pocket. Not my player storage where most everything went, but my actual pocket built into the inside of this leather vest. I undid the armor a little and reached inside. A large cylinder was pulled out. It was almost the size of my forearm. Far too big to have fit in there without hammer space magic.

  “Oh.” And it was warm.

  Both ends were capped. A design was scrawled along the outside. I turned the object around and could make out a few words among a litter of runes. What those runes meant were beyond me, but the word ‘Messenger’ was fairly obvious.

  Right. James had told me that I would get a scroll, and a means to contact the Voices in game. They could no longer abduct me into the trial room. This case was designed to be a fantasy cell phone of sorts. I twisted off one end and a small flash of light signaled success. Once tipped over two items came out. Both were small rolled up pieces of paper.

  The words didn’t irk me. Neither did the sudden recollection of a Disney song. No, it was the fact that the Voice himself appeared in the air above the text and started shouting. His presence was so realistic that I could practically feel the spittle coming off. Drill Sergeant had found me and was the first to give me a mission as Hermes.

  The second scroll was sealed with red wax. On the top was an odd symbol that looked like a question mark mixed with a triangle. Both scrolls were set on the ground and I pulled out my coin. Roy’s gift had the chance to make or break this for me.

  “Here’s your chance, Ray!” I said towards the sky. The Voice of Gambling might find this amusing and add his piece. “Heads, I go. Tails, I blow him off.”

  Predictably the coin came down heads. A quest window came into being while I frowned at the traitorous piece of metal.

  “Seriously? Skills to pay the bills?” I raised an eyebrow and looked up. I waved away the system information and sighed.

  They were right. M
y ability to survive in a game predisposed towards violence was low. The first time I encountered a real player I would probably die. Here’s hoping that between now and reaching [Broken Mountain Pass] I wouldn’t run into anyone upset enough to kill me.

  I shoved one of my starting player rations into my mouth and contemplated the best way to get around. My destination looked to be nearly a fifty-mile hike away. That was judging only by a solid beam of light in the sky that seemed to be my waypoint. At least the Voices had seen fit to give me clear guidance.

  The second scroll went into my personal player inventory. A shiny border went around the forming computer icon. An indication of [Bound] and [Message for Shazam] went with it. Hopefully Shazam, whoever that was, also resided in [Broken Mountain Pass].

  My stamina looked better after the meal so I dusted off and went back to walking. There was rain, but it wasn’t real rain. We stayed under trees and other objects when able. During the downtime, Dusk and I conversed.

  “Four days to walk fifty miles.”

  Dusk made an affirmative noise.

  “You know, you’re really smart sometimes.”

  He made the noise again.

  “And then you get into a fight with bird wasps.” That confused the tiny [Messenger’s Pet]. Wasp wasn’t a word from this game. There were a lot of similarities in the creatures of Continue Online but nothing identical.

  “It would help if you spoke English.” Or Arcadian. Whatever language this world used. I’d settle for anything that made sense. Maybe looking at the skills again would be useful.

  “Can we do hand signals?”

  Dusk looked at me blankly then his shoulders rippled.

  “You did well guiding new people, but I’m not sure if you’ll be useful in actual combat.” Dusk pulled his head back and managed to look completely offended.

  “Right, you are more useful than I am for now, but I’m going to be trained!” By someone, in something, with some result. I really needed a hobby to engage myself while walking around. Something that didn’t involve talking to Dusk.

  No good ideas came to mind. Most of these games had trade skills as they were referred to. Non-combat oriented abilities. I directed more than a few players towards trainers during my time as William Carver. Or, as I wanted to refer to it, the Age of Carverism.