by Domino Finn
"Level is only part of the equation," she said. "I'm willing to bet I got the gear and skills to take you on."
I rolled my eyes dismissively. "Try it," I said, and moved to walk past her.
Lash sidestepped into my path. This time my chin did hit her breastplate. She smirked.
"Hey, cuddly boy, you wanna get close to me? I'll give you a one-on-one in the Arena. Any time. Any day."
Izzy was still watching. Whether it was her hobby or my predicament, she was having too much fun to wear her usual mask of contempt. Her lips crooked into a smile and her cheeks dimpled. She was pretty like that. A boyish part of me suddenly wanted to impress her.
Then I thought about the email I was expecting from Lucifer. That put everything into perspective real fast.
"Lash," I grunted, "just because you learned how to piss standing up doesn't mean I'm gonna waste my time with a pissing match. Not now." I brushed past her. It didn't make me look as cool as I wanted because she was more massive than me, but I thought I got my point across. Her followers let me pass.
"Of course," she mocked after me. "Run along. Disappoint everybody. Be a coward like that worthless roommate of yours."
I spun around and raised my voice. "Level and gear aren't everything. Even in Haven. I'd rate Kyle higher than a hundred of you any day."
"Really?" she snickered. "Did he tell you how he died yet?"
"Car accident, like me. I think it's why we were put together."
"Oh, it was a car accident all right." The knight slammed her helmet back on but didn't bother approaching me. The posturing was over. "Kyle's a rich little white boy. Had all the advantages I didn't. And what did he do with his top-dollar education? He pissed it away drinking hipster beer."
"So this is about you being jealous?"
"Not at all. Spoiled brats can do whatever they want with their lives. As long as they don't get loaded and jump behind the wheel of a car. That asshole was coming home from a party, drunk and high, and wrapped himself around a telephone pole. Good thing all he did was kill himself, because he could have just as easily taken out a family of five."
Lash and her crew stormed away, leaving me, well, a bit stunned.
Death by DUI.
That was rough. I mean, we'd all made mistakes. I figured that's why we were here. Dead. But had Kyle really made such a horrible decision? Had Lash been right about my roommate all along?
I ground my teeth together because nothing in Haven was lining up as I'd first thought. The whole place was a damned mystery, as was every single person in it. I realized, then and there, that I didn't really know anything about anyone. Kyle, Lash, Lucifer, Saint Peter—they were all strangers. Every single one of them. Probably the only being in the whole place I could trust was Bandit, and she was a block of code.
I faced the crowd of players, displeasure now marring my features. Strangers, all of them. I watched Izzy performing her juggling act, no longer interested in me, of course. My show was over. But maybe it wasn't. I still had one more appeal for help.
I eyed the pixie reluctantly. This new world may have been filled with strangers, but I wouldn't get far without a couple of them in my corner.
0270 Words with Friends
"I never took you for a juggler," I said.
Izzy hiked a shoulder as she laid a set of multi-colored bowling pins on the ground. The crowd had dispersed after she announced her break. "Keeps the reflexes sharp. Keeps the fingers working."
I leaned against the stone statue she'd picked as a backdrop to her act. It was a sculpture of a giant open book, with an inscription below that read "Knowledge is Power."
"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, "but mystics in this game don't really need dexterous fingers and sleight of hand."
Another shrug. She was determined not to care much about anything at all. But she did answer. "Probably not. But it means something to me to be the best. I don't just do it, I do it with flair."
Izzy had almost smiled as she said that. Maybe not happy, but satisfied. I'd caught her in a talkative mood.
I studied her, knowing I had to proceed carefully but unable to hide my surprise. "Level 6 already. That's gotta be a record." The higher in level you advanced, the larger the amount of experience needed to achieve the next level. I was a good way off from level 5, so Izzy had done some serious questing.
"You're doing pretty good for your first day," she admitted. "Few people surprise me."
That was almost a compliment. Before I could smile, she added, "Don't let it go to your head."
Again with the apathy. I was sure a part of her somewhere was kind. Maybe she just didn't like to show it. Then again, she'd been watching my encounter with Lash and didn't seem intent on helping. I was probably being too generous about her attitude. I had to remember: Izzy was one of the oldest residents in Haven. Dead for at least six months. This was the first time in history we could see what that did to a person. We were all guinea pigs of a sort. Izzy was practically patient zero.
"Let me ask you a question," I said, keeping my tone as casual as possible. "How much access do you get for being a veteran? I mean, you're a pixie."
She snickered.
"I mean, do you get cool racial bonuses or what?"
She puckered her lips. "It's not really like that. It's a vanity kit more than anything."
"Ah. Pretty cool, regardless. What... other perks do you get?"
She narrowed her eyes. "And here I thought you were interested in juggling."
"I'm interested in your experiences. You have special sway with the saints?"
Her cheek twitched. "The white robes? Hardly."
"Ever took a tour of the Pantheon?"
She grunted. "Don't mess with that building. Only idiots try. Sheesh, it's been twenty-four hours since the last example."
"I wasn't around for the last example."
She glared at me.
I raised my palms in surrender. "Fine. Advice noted. It's just, well, Saint Peter let it slip that certain residents had certain benefits. Everchat, for example. And I figured, who constituted a special enough resident to qualify if not our friendly neighborhood pixie?"
Her lips pressed together tightly. I could almost see her face transform right before me. No more frivolous banter. No more carefree day. The mention of Everchat closed her up immediately. Instead of looking at me she focused on her props. Instead of a smooth conversation, I'd been shut out.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Let's cut the bullshit," I returned. "I know you have access to Everchat. I know your father's an employee at Kablammy."
Her face darkened. "Investor."
"What?"
"He's an investor. Put a large stake into the future of Haven and helped influence early development."
I thought about what Lucifer had said about shareholders being false idols. I leaned in. "Look, I just want to contact my brother. He's in trouble without me."
She spun around lazily. "Little advice, noob: The outside world will only hurt you. Leave it alone."
"Hear me out—"
"We're done here," she said in a commanding voice. "Now are you gonna make me find another spot in the park or are you gonna leave me alone?"
I chewed my lip. She was really pouting now. I must've said something to set her off without realizing it. I considered apologizing, but her glare warned me off. Besides, what did I have to apologize for? I just shook my head and trudged off, leaving her to her little magic show.
I didn't get it. Navigating the citizens of Stronghold felt like a quest in itself. I should be awarded experience for dealing with these people. I stomped up the foothill in a sour mood and zoned into my house. Kyle was sitting on the kitchen counter with a beer in his hand.
"Don't you give it a rest?" I asked sharply.
"What?"
I didn't say anything.
"Hey, sorry about dying out there. I have an idea for how we might—"
"Let's c
ool it with your ideas," I spat. "They don't seem to be taking you very far."
Kyle paused, stunned. He took a resigned swig from the bottle. "I didn't even wanna go out today."
"That's right. You were booked up with beer pong. You need to realize there's more to life than that. Even virtual life. You can't just hide away and wait for things to happen to you. You need to make them happen. It's time you took this seriously."
I was going hard on him, but he needed to hear this.
"You're talking about the MMO?" he asked. "This is all fantasy, bro."
"Then take fantasy seriously. Look around. This is your world now."
His gaze fell to his fingers scratching the label of his beer bottle. "Lash is right. I'm worthless."
"I just had a run-in with her. She might have a point."
Confusion on my roommate's face turned to hurt. I immediately felt like an asshole but wasn't in a mood to back down. Faced with unenviable options, I said nothing. I went and collapsed on the couch in a huff. I checked my menus. My inbox was still empty. The help button was still disabled. Fucking nothing was going right today.
Kyle wandered over to the living room but stopped short of the couch. He was acting like a dog that had just been disciplined, following me around in hope of righting whatever aggrieved me. I didn't like how that made him look or made me feel.
"What?" I asked, annoyed.
He sighed and twirled the beer in his hands. "She told you, didn't she?"
I stared at the turned-off TV. "She told me."
He swallowed. "I should have."
"That occurred to me."
Kyle came around and sat on the adjoining L-shaped side of the couch. "It's not so simple. 'Hi, I'm your new roommate. A worthless sack of shit who killed himself by getting blitzed and driving home after a party I only went to so I could impress my frat brothers who didn't even like me anyway.' What kind of first impression is that?"
I picked at my fingernail. It was a boneheaded way to die, but had I never gotten behind the wheel once or twice when I shouldn't have? Sometimes the only thing separating a Darwin Award winner from a successful Congressman is pure chance.
"Your frat bros didn't even like you?"
He shook his head. "Not really. My family was rich enough and all but I was never good with people. I figured a fraternity would come with instant friends, right? I acted like college was a big 80s movie. I got wasted and did inappropriate things for attention. Played to the crowd. It got me plenty of laughs, but I was a punch line to them." He rubbed his beer. "The very thing I did to get noticed got me ostracized. The sad thing is, it took me a month playing solo Call of Duty in the afterlife to realize that."
I worked my jaw and looked at him. "That's a crap deal, Kyle."
"I own it. I'm a fuckup."
We sat in silence a minute. It was uneasy and weird. We didn't really know each other but I had the sense he was a good guy. Did everything change because of one night at a party? Or a few years of compounding bad decisions? What the fuck was Haven if not a second chance?
"It gets worse," he said softly.
I jutted my lips out, concerned.
"She—Lash—well, her and her family were hit by a driver at three times the legal limit. Her aunt and baby sister died immediately. Lash was in the hospital for a week before dying of complications. For a while there, she'd recovered enough to hear the bad news about her family. To find out she'd been paralyzed."
My face was frozen in horror. I couldn't imagine anything worse.
"Yeah," he said, "pretty harsh. Lash got me alone outside for an extended session of torture and told me all the gory details. Kablammy took her in as part of a pilot program for more diversity. I don't know if you've noticed, but most of the residents of Haven are somewhat well-to-do or connected. Limited closed beta and all that. So Lash gets to live on, fully mobile, but her aunt and sister are dead forever."
I just started getting my jaw working again. I stretched it numbly. "Survivor's guilt," I mumbled. "So she's not a complete bitch."
"Oh, she's a bitch," he countered. He saw my surprise and shrugged. "Listen, man. The world treats some people like shit. She got a bad draw. But she also chose to lash out because of it. To make everyone else miserable."
I thought of Izzy. "There's a lot of that going around."
And then I thought of me. I was better than this.
"You made a mistake," I suddenly said, my tone edging brighter.
"Correction: I made tons of mistakes."
"You didn't kill anyone."
He shook his head in agreement. "Just my own dumb ass."
"That's a great start... Considering."
He sighed, unconvinced. "Nice to see you lowering your standards. I'm still a useless waste of space who can't even hit level 3. You're totally owning me at level 4."
"No," I said. "The assassin was my fault. Without you, I would've died. You would've made it too. You just got hit with bad luck. Who would've thought your corrosive would eat right through a sword like that?"
His eyes brightened. "That's why it shattered."
"That's what I figure, anyway."
He paused and went glum again. "Doesn't that just make me a bigger screwup? My death was my own fault."
"Don't think of it that way. It's trial and error. It was a good idea." I went into my inventory. "I got something for you." I tossed the dual crossbow to his side of the couch.
He winced. "The assassin's weapon."
"Yup. I figured you could try ranged attacks for a while. Keep some distance between you and whoever's trying to kill you. Might help you live longer."
"Hmm, it's a pretty sweet piece. I'd need to spend another skill point to handle it."
"Do you have one?"
"Yeah. When I respawned I lost all my progression. I'm bottom-of-the-barrel level 2 again.
"Maybe dying was good news then. The crossbow will be useful."
"Mr. Bright Side, huh?" He hefted the new weapon. "You might be right. I guess between this and the grenades—"
"Screw grenades. You were on to something, Kyle. The corrosive on your sword did a lot more damage than the grenades. Getting that gel into an enemy's bloodstream is nasty business. Just lobbing it over them isn't good enough."
"Okay."
"What can you do with that glasswork skill of yours? I figured, instead of grenades, you could make custom crossbow bolts. Very thin vials of glass for your corrosive. Rig it so when you shoot someone, the black gel gets injected into the baddies."
He thought it over and opened his menu. "I would need to spend another point in my glasswork tree, but I have it. Yeah, I think I can do that. And the bonus is glass is easier to craft than alchemy. Each crossbow bolt will take a much smaller amount of the corrosive, so instead of three grenades I can make..."—he ticked his fingers to some mental math—"hell, at least twenty. And that's without support skills."
"Great. Do you have enough to get to work?"
"That's the downside. Glasswork is easy, but it takes resources. Smaller vials, and more of them—that'll create more waste. But I have enough silver to buy what I need. As soon as my lockdown wears off, I'll hit Front Street and get to work."
Already Kyle was energized. I liked seeing him that way. Hopeful. Still, the reality of combat was far different than strategic planning. If he died again too soon it would discourage him. I'd need to try harder to keep that from happening. For now, anyway, my roommate's mood was unstoppable. He'd even set aside his beer.
Heightening the mood further was the fact that my green help button was no longer disabled. I filled Kyle in on my meeting with Lucifer. I tried to give him a quick rundown, but I'd forgotten how interested he was in the politics of the Fallen. Between the loot I'd given him and my story, I was his new hero.
I didn't share the whole I-might-still-be-alive thing. I wasn't sure what to believe and was afraid that would make me sound like a conspiracy nut in denial.
Of course, Kyle tho
ught the part about breaking into the Pantheon was crazy. But my intention was to circumvent that plan completely. I clicked the help button, ready to annoy the crap out of Saint Peter until he caved.
A man flickered in almost immediately. Instead of wearing the maroon-striped white robe of the saints, he was dressed in a scarlet uniform with large gold buttons. It almost amounted to a British red coat.
"Uh," I said, taken aback. "Who the hell are you?"
0280 Star Control
The man had blond hair and blue eyes and was clean-shaven except for a thin mustache. Regal in his slightly anachronistic suit. The gold buttons and shiny black boots were gaudy. He matched the attire with a straight and proper posture. Even though his face looked American, he spoke with a thick Indian accent.
"How may I serve you, sir?"
I froze at his sudden intrusion.
His eyes lit up. "Ah, I should introduce myself. I am Varnu. I shall be assisting your play problems from here on."
My voice deflated. "Saint Peter passed me off to tech support."
"That is correct, sir."
I rolled my eyes. "Outsourced tech support."
"I'm not sure I understand the implication."
"You're human, right?"
"Of course—"
"In some crowded call center in India."
His face went whiter than it already was. "What? Of course not. I am sitting in the good old honky-tonk capital of Texas, sir. I am offended that you would think I am not American."
I shot him an entirely unconvinced glare. "You just said your name was Varnu."
He nodded unabashedly. "Oh yes, I can see why the name would throw you. All my friends in the American universities have made similar remarks. But you will see that my last name is very popular in your country. I am Varnu Son of John." He blinked triumphantly at me.
"Son of John?"
"Yes, sir. It is quite clear on my motorcar license." He tilted his head like he was reading something. "Varnu, John, Son."
I arched an eyebrow. "Varnu Johnson," I said flatly.
His eyes lit up. "Yes! Thank you for that trouble. I am Varnu Johnson. Raised and born in American US. I assure you, sir, I am eating a mutton burger with mayonnaise as we speak." He mimed eating while somehow not looking like he understood what a sandwich was.