Syndicate Slayer

by Mars Dorian

  “I’ve grown in experience, Balzac. I have learned many new abilities. I’m not the inexperienced war technician who once left the village for the Crescent.”

  “Surely you are not, Dash. You have changed in every way imaginable.”

  Another passive-aggressive comment? Balzac either acted out of character or revealed a side that I had never seen before.

  “While I question your approach, Dash, you did convince the Preshaar to join our cause. I just hope your brief flirt with the darkness will never happen again.”

  The trade window opened with my rewards: 1750 credits, and a light-to-medium melee weapon upgrade. Way less than what the Syndicate offered me, but still. I was making progress.

  Balzac squeezed his eyes for a second. I knew Balzac’s facial expressions enough to spot any diversions. He forced more pauses into the conversation than I felt comfortable with. Did one and a half Syndicate quests really strain our relationship? I beat the crap out of Odin in the Varmegarden mission and he still offered me quests. If the villain was lenient, why couldn’t Balzac be?

  “Let me think about your place in the rebellion, Dash. The recent events have changed our plans. Adaptations must be made.”

  Not the answer I wanted to hear. He looked at me with demanding eyes and wiped his chin. “Why don’t you rest at the inn. I’ll send you a memo when I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Fine.”

  He turned around and dedicated his attention to the viewfinder of the telescope. I walked down the stairs and stomped down to the village center. Somehow, I had foolishly believed that Balzac would have overlooked my mistakes. But the game’s NPC reactions featured more emotional complexity than any AI I had ever encountered. Probably a measure from the game algorithm to keep conversations and relationships more realistic, which in return made for more compelling viewing. I dragged my character into my favorite inn where the clerk girl with the blue-streaked hair awaited me. She greeted me with a lackluster ‘hello’.

  “I’m back,” I said with fake passion.

  She nodded like a puppet. “I can see that.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am.”

  “I take the same room as usual.”

  “Fine.”

  Man, looked like the frosty winds from the mountain’s peak had damaged her facial muscles. Was this the sparky innocent girl I enjoyed fun small-talk with before?

  I entered my usual room with the wooden interior and the Blue Flame banners. According to Balzac’s hint, he’d probably offer me a new quest once I took a break. I could have simply opted for the in-game sleeping function, but after all the stress and misadventures, my real body needed a break.

  My head ached and my fingers shivered.

  I disconnected from the Crystal Crusade and immediately checked the viewership numbers on my channel despite my head hammering like a motorized club.

  The numbers had grown yet again.

  I wondered whether my morally ambivalent reactions and zigzagging had anything to do with it. The fight between the Syndicate and the Blue Flame rebellion caused drama, which was always fun to watch. I checked the inbox of my wristband where fan messages rolled in by the second. I flipped open a couple and read their ALL CAPS statements:

  “You’re my favorite WarTech.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t die on the sea. So worried!!”

  “Dashing all the way to my heart.”

  Of course, a few troll messages had infested my inbox as well. One part of me wanted to read them, but the other feared getting infected with a virus. If mentally unstable people hated me simply for temporary switching sides in a freaking VR game, they were capable of anything. And the last thing I needed was some kind of computer virus.

  So thanks, but no thanks.

  I wanted to swipe my folder away when a golden-framed email updated in my inbox. The VIP message originated from the company behind the Crystal Crusade, Fate Beater Inc. My eyes burned with excitement.

  Dear Mr. Boltzmann,

  Congratulations on your recent spikes in streaming viewerships. Your WarTech build seems to compel a lot of viewers from around the globe. Fate Beater Inc. is always interested in supporting newcomers who want to help us spread the joy and excitement of The Crystal Crusade.

  We would like to offer you a first-look sponsorship deal.

  This entails a six month contract where your stream becomes part of our official content network. We will promote your streams on our media channels and help you reach a bigger audience. Additional sponsorship opportunities are possible. What do you think?

  I’m looking forward to hear from you.

  Sincerely yours,

  Jeff Hickman, Streaming Recruitment Officer

  Wahaaha.

  Rubbing arms on my back.

  Tears shooting from my eyes.

  Basically an anime-reaction that I wanted to express right now. Even though my body had tired from the intense gaming session, the blazing excitement reinvigorated the cells. Fate Beater themselves offered me a contract? My body fell into my bed. I smiled into my pillow and pictured all the goodies I was going to receive now. After all the sweat, fears, and hustle, I was on the road of becoming my own Holland Pax. I desperately craved sleep, but I also had to break the news to a certain someone.

  30

  My wristband rang at 10:45 am.

  I boosted out of my sleeping bag with more stamina, no fyrekraut required. My real life body stormed across the floor, ready to spread the news to Sparrow. I looked in the living room, the kitchen, and even the bathroom, but the elusive girl remained absent. I tiptoed toward her door and saw the sign ‘No trespassing. Beware of the Sparrow.’

  She was playing a pro session right now, okay. The news could wait. I reread the message from Fate Beater to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. My vision tended to screw up after recent VR sessions. Instead, I flipped through the address list of my wristband and called Susan Cohen. She let me wait another five rings but I was determined to reach her.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Boltzmann?”

  Her voice sounded peeved, probably because of the last calls I hadn’t answered. Maybe today’s news would retune her. “I’ve got an private sponsorship deal from Fate Beater. They want me to become a member of their main media network.”

  She mmm’d all the way through the conversation, like she was listening to a feed report about sea turtle migrations. I expected a little more buzz from her side. “Isn’t that great?” I said with more passion, hoping to excite her.

  “Have they mentioned any details regarding the sponsorship?”

  “Well, they talked about a first-look deal and mentioned a six month trial period.”

  “Okay, so they’re just testing the waters. This is actually common among beginners. Fate Beater wants to see how you will rapidly increase your viewership and deepen your fan base.”

  Way to break my excitement. My joy throttled from Mach three to broken bicycle speed.

  “Well, I thought it was exciting.”

  “I know a few hundred players who have been offered a first-look deal alone in my home state. A couple of thousands new players worldwide are approached as we speak, Mr. Boltzmann.”

  Ouch. The more stats she spouted, the more I questioned my so-called good deal. Rokkit would have called me a disillusioned noob by now.

  “I guess I have to be sorry for bothering you.”

  “Almost,” she said with an uplifting voice. “I’ll send you an NDA, you send me your Fate Beater message, and I’ll take it from there.”

  I pondered her words. “Take it from there?”

  “Agent representation, Dashiell. You can’t just sign a contract without proper consultation. You have to know the general principles, such as the terms of agreement to make sure you get the best deal. These contracts are full of confusing legalese.”

  I had zero clues. The last time I signed a contract was when I still had a day job. But that memory lingered in the fog of the p
ast.

  My very-soon-to-be-agent continued. “In the worst case imaginable, Fate Beater might trick around the terms of agreements leaving you with authoritarian obligations while cheating you out of your royalties.”

  I swallowed. “They can do that?”

  I heard a soft thub on the other end of the line. Maybe the slap of a face palm. Or maybe she just slipped—on her hand.

  “Dashiell, we’re dealing with a multinational billion dollar corporation here, not your neighbor’s lemonade stand.”

  “All right.”

  The agent’s words poured out like darts from an auto-sentry. “Once we have everything settled, we can focus on optimizing your market value. By the end of the six month trial period, I’m going to turn you into a walking gold mine.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Hold on, I’ve got an idea. The next VR expo is coming up, which would be a perfect opportunity…”

  She stopped in the middle of the sentence.

  I said, “Perfect opportunity for what?”

  Susan hung up in the middle of the call.

  Same old Cohen, probably dealing with three different clients at the same time. Meanwhile, Sparrow waddled out her gamer cave and examined with narrowed eyes. She wore a Thundercats pullover and carried headphones masquerading as cat ears. She nabbed at her pullover sleeve that was at least two sizes too long. Still looked cute though.

  “Hello, catwoman.”

  She licked her delicate fingers and ignored my remark. “There’s a sunshine trapped on your face.”

  “Not just a sunshine, but a super-nuclear nova.”

  “Oh wow. Please share the revelation.”

  “Well, looks like I’m officially getting agent representation.”

  Silence. Followed by more silence. I really needed to work on my revelation rhetoric.

  “Mmmm,” is all Sparrow said, well, moaned.

  She expressed a similar reaction as my now-agent. Maybe to them, dealing with pro players counted as the norm. To me, who had been unemployed for too many months, it was a blessing. A new life started, and it was linked to my favorite world.

  “You have to remember that your gaming sessions will change from now on.”

  “How so?”

  “You will likely play to attract the most views possible. And that means choosing riskier quests.”

  “I already do that.”

  “It’s also likely that you’ll have to focus on playing solo now.”

  “Why is that?”

  “To build your own personal brand, Dash. Do you know how many players are in Fate Beater’s official streaming network?”

  I shrugged, because I didn’t want to know. Too many probably. Hundreds, thousands, an army?

  Sparrow refrained from giving me a number. “You can’t just have a bunch of player coming in and out, unless they’re high-ranking pros. Pro players only join other streams if they think it gives them an advantage to level up their career.”

  I wanted to add something but Sparrow’s advice flowed at the speed of sound. “Some players will slime on you like cave critters, hoping you’ll slip so they can shine.”

  “Sparrow, I—”

  “They will betray your trust and stab you in the back with pain burning worse than poison damage, Dash. Their humanity will peel away and reveal a disgusting creature from the sewage of eternal darkness. And then you will find yourself in a simmering cul-de-sac, cowering in the corner, wondering what the hell went wrong, because you have sworn a blood-oath with your so-called allies and that was your death sentence.” Her eyes turned red, either from tears or the rage ballade she had just unleashed at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  She swallowed but kept her eyes pointed at me. It took her five full breaths to form a sentence again. “I’m just trying to warn you.”

  No clue into which subconscious trauma hole she just slipped into, but I wasn’t in a Freudian mood, especially not with my wristband vibrating.

  “Is that her calling you?”

  “If you mean my agent, then yes.”

  She observed me with furrowed eyebrows. Like I just told her the lie of the century. “Sorry, gotta take that call.”

  The second I turned around to my guest room, Susan Cohen’s vibrant voice powered through my connection. “I’ve good news. Very good, in fact.”

  “I don’t know whether I should be worried or excited.”

  “Both,” she said. “I’ve gotten you a gig at the VR expo in San Diego. You may bow before me.”

  “How the hell did you accomplish that?”

  “I’m a professional, Dashiell. I breathe networking.”

  A new ping entered my inbox.

  “I’ve just sent you a Hyperloop ticket to San Diego Central. You’re going to mingle with your fans and start building your physical brand awareness.”

  “Wow, so fast? What about my gaming sessions?”

  “I make sure you’ll have a VR set at your room. I’ll even get you on a panel, but that’s still work-in-progress.”

  I almost forgot to breathe. Tended to happen when Susan Cohen was on the line. “Do I need to prepare? Like, anything?”

  “Learn more about the Crystal Crusade and be nice to your fans. They’re the ones who keep your career alive. Other than that, enjoy. You seriously need to lighten up.”

  I tried to read between her lines and failed.

  “I’ll send your details later. Bye.”

  She hung up before my lips could form a sentence. Pure Cohen.

  Sparrow waddled by the floor and flicked me a glance. I was still trying to pull my act together. “Looks like I’m going to the VR expo in San Diego.”

  “Good for you,” she said with forced calmness.

  Dumb silence echoed between us. Sometimes shutting up was the smart, tactical move. I observed her disappearing into her four-walled kingdom before I dedicated myself to my real-world quest.

  31

  I followed my agent’s advice and targeted San Diego. It had been ages since I visited the city; I think I was still a kid drooling about the infamous Comic-Con. And since my agent paid for the trip, I could enjoy the journey without worrying about my non-existent budget.

  My Hyperloop capsule halted at the Central Loop station. Instead of chilling in the park or going sightseeing, I went straight to the exposition center in downtown San Diego. And after all the butt-massaging during the loop ride, I was looking forward to using my legs again.

  Tired but not defeated, I reached the VR gaming center where thousands of visitors waited in line. A gray sky grinned from up above, pushing the warmth down like a wet bed sheet. I checked the satellite worldview on my wristband and zoomed into my location. A line snaked around four blocks.

  Four freaking blocks.

  Crazy wasn’t the right word, but it was the first that came to mind. Thankfully, as a VIP guest and participant of the expo, I could bypass the line and headed straight for the express lane. I doubled my pace when a girl in the line pointed at me. She waved at me and shouted my game name that felt more natural than my full version. Dash, Dash, again and again, like a morning mantra. Dozens of guests either pointed their wristbands toward me or blinked to photograph me with their smart contact lenses.

  Some cheered, some grimaced.

  Given my darker game narrative, I was going to solicit that mixed response from now on. That’s why I wanted to avoid the crowd and headed straight to my hotel room, when the voice of my agent buzzed through my ears.

  Engage with the fans!

  Sign autographs and do blink selfies.

  Remember, you’re a walking product.

  Increase the damn market value.

  Okay, okay, commercial voice in the back. I turned a sharp curve toward the girl waiting in line. She reached out to me and grinned, like a zoo visitor touching her favorite animal. “You’re my favorite WarTech, Dash, I’m serious.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “You’re embracing your inne
r darkness unlike most gamers who just want to play it safe.”

  “Well, actually, I just—”

  “You’re twisted inside, and you allow yourself to let it all out. I think it’s admirable.”

  “I think you’re interpreting too much into my character. I—”

  She cut into my answer again. “Go full slayer all the way. Slay those furries and those rebels and all the Sunbleeders. They deserve it. All of them.”

  Now that I looked at her, she dressed in an interesting fashion. Whitened skin, black eyebrows, and crimson stripes pulsating through her black, fake, armor dress.

  Maybe Anime Hipster meets magic-tech Nihilist?

  I did a quick blink selfie with her. A guy with ashen-black hair and fingernails greeted me with the horn sign. “I always knew you’d join the corrupt side. I actually watched one of your earlier streams where you left the lumberjack guy in the hole and took his axe. Remember that quest?”

  I did but wished I didn’t. Finsterland Forest, back when L’ocean and I were still low-level classless characters trying to find our way around the Academy.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  The guy nodded. “Once a thug, always a thug, eh?”

  “Your passive-aggressiveness is over 9000.”

  He shrugged with a grimace. All hail to fan engagement. Could somebody beam me out of here?

  Another young woman with a T-shirt said, “Can I do a blink with you?”

  “Sure.”

  I posed next to her and pushed my lips upwards until they resembled a pathetic smile. I did more blink selfies, autographed some merchandise, and spotted yet another girl wearing a T-shirt with a warning sign.

  Beware of the Boltz!

  A stylized image of me graced her chest, painted in black and white. Two thorns made out of crystals protruded from my cartoon head while my mouth opened like a dungeon gate.

  “Where’d you get that shirt from?”