by Deck Davis
As I turned to leave team Perlshaw, a noise stopped me in my tracks. I heard someone laughing behind me. It wasn’t just any old laugh, but one I knew all too well—one that took me back fifteen years. I felt my fingers curl into a fist, and a sharp tension flowed through me. When I turned around, I saw Overseer Lucas entering the fighter’s mess. With him were a few faces that I’d known I would bump into eventually on the VBR circuit, but I hadn’t counted on seeing them just yet. It was Sera, Vorm, and Clyde. With them was a new guy, a dark-skinned man in his mid-thirties who I’d never seen before.
My old team sure looked different from when I’d last seen them. We used to all roll up to a VBR in whatever clothes we’d thrown on that morning. Today, though, Sera and the guys were wearing matching uniforms: pale brown jumpsuits with a logo—a wolf with four heads—on the front. Lucas had bought them damn uniforms. It didn’t mean much, really, having a uniform. After all, your real-life clothes didn’t transfer onto your avatar in battle, but it was a symbol of their new-found sponsorship. It said to everyone else in the mess, ‘Here we are, the new and improved tram Wolfhound. Look at our uniforms. Can’t you tell we’re serious?”
Not only that, but my old comrades now had an entourage of their own. They were accompanied by two coaches and a strategist, one who I recognized as Horn Blair, a guy who’d once coached a diamond team into winning the championship. They meant business. I guessed that along with the uniforms and coaches, Lucas had also bought them new runes. He’d probably furnished them with the best around. It made me sick. I wouldn’t have put it past him to check all the VBR battle rosters, find out I was in Sootstein, and then jet my former team here to show off their new wealth. I felt the stirring of anger inside me. It was like an oven slowly warming up but set on the highest setting so that, before long, it would be an inferno.
It was time to go to my capsule. I was a little early, and I’d just be sat in the gel construct doing nothing but waiting, but it was better than hanging around here. The last thing I needed was for them to notice me.
“Harry Wollenstein, what a pleasure!” bellowed a voice. It was Lucas. He was staring at me, his high-cheekboned face pointed at mine. His black overseer's garb, fasted with a diamond-encrusted belt, looked out of place in the room like he was royalty mixing with peasants.
Mom and Dad’s anger advice fought inside me. I could hear dad’s voice urging caution, while Mom told me just to let it rip, to go over to Lucas and lay one on his manicured face. I couldn’t do that. If I did, Lucas would have every reason to report me to the Overseer’s Commission. I’d lose my fighter’s license.
“Okay, buddy?” said Eddie Hazzard, who was next to me. Although I barely knew him, it kind of felt like I had a friend on my side. There was something he emitted; a sort of genuineness.
I nodded at him. “Good luck today,” I told him. “I’ll be rooting for you. Make sure you take down team Wolfhound; I heard they’re a bunch of asses. Tip for you. The big guy, Vorm, rushes in when he gets bored. Pick him off first, and the others will follow.” With that, I left the mess and went to my capsule, hoping that my anger would abate. But it didn’t. The heat of fury followed me into my capsule, and then into the VBR.
Chapter Ten
Transferring from your physical body in the gel capsule and into the virtual world was almost a spiritual feeling. It was as though you felt your mind detach from the moorings of reality that were holding it back. It wasn’t a painful detachment; it was like becoming free, as though all this time, in real life, you’d been carrying a weight around with you, and the gel-tech freed you from that burden. The weight, it turned out, was your body.
The Sootstein VBR map matched the real-life Sootstein impeccably. It was a tundra of ice, a twinkling mass of cold that stretched out as far as I could see. It was more barren than most maps, with the only shelters being metal-constructed sheds and research facilities. Every so often, blizzards would pour down on me, with the thick, puffy flakes of snow landing in my hair and then melting, dripping cold water down my face. Along with the screaming of the wind, I could hear the faint clamor of the audience. I couldn’t see them, but their baying voices were faint in the air, like hundreds of little whispers directed at me. This was rare, but sometimes overseers liked to get the crowd involved early in a VBR, to try and provoke the fighters into action. The Sootstein overseer obviously liked to run a fast-paced battle.
Despite the plummeting temperature, which the Sootstein overseer obviously took delight in making as freezing as possible, I felt a fire burning in me. I tried to be rational, to stick with my game plan, but it was like there were two of me. One knew why I was here and wanted to be sensible and stick to my strategy so that I could finish in the top five; the other came from my mother’s side. It was my irrational, furious side. It was this side of me that wanted to run into the center of the map, half-naked with war paint on my face.
After looting a set of daggers from an abandoned ice-cap research station, I leveled up by killing the map’s NPC monsters. I took risks, fighting ice golems and polar bears, often two or three at a time. Five levels later, I had powered up Song of Thunder and Fury to its highest upgrade, completely ignoring the more sensible skills like Tune of Vitality.
Fueled by fury, I took out two fighters. One was a barbarian who I caught hiding in an igloo, and the other was a warlock adorned with a thick bear pelt. Quite honestly, I was amazed that I took them out. But I had more adrenaline than blood in my veins at that point. Before the warlock could even summon a spell, I played my Song of Thunder and sent lightning crashing from the heavens, ripping him into pieces with electric bolts.
As the fighter numbers dwindled and we were down to the last ten, the overseer initiated the final wave. I checked my map and saw that this wave would leave a safe-zone centered around a series of shacks in the northeast. That was where the final combatants would have their climactic battle, and I was ready for it. I was ready to rip them apart, to stab my daggers, to spit thunder and lightning like an angry god.
Then, a message flashed on my screen.
Bonus goal set: Kill the Ice Watcher [Sponsored by OL]
It didn’t happen in all battles, but sometimes, publicity-hungry businesses or rich private spectators could pay bits to initiate a bonus mission within a VBR. These side quests often involved slaying a ridiculously overpowered NPC monster, upon which the successful fighter would gain a massive bit prize on top of his regular battle winnings.
They were best-avoided, I knew. Not only would the NPC monster be ridiculously strong, but the quest would attract the attention of other fighters. It would be a blood-bath. The sensible thing to do was to ignore it entirely. After all, side quests couldn’t hurt those who didn’t take the risk to complete them. If anything, leaving the side quest to the others would only increase my bit count at the end of the battle, since a handful of fighters would kill each other trying to get the prize, allowing me to place higher.
However, it’s one thing knowing what to do, and an entirely different thing to do it. The fact was that I could still hear Overseer Lucas’s voice in my head. I could still see Sera, Vorm, Clyde, and the new guy wearing their plush new uniforms. I felt the sting of betrayal, the knife wound in my back from my team’s abandonment.
What was it dad used to say? His advice on anger? No. It was gone now. I wasn’t acting rationally. The only thing I could think was, ‘If Lucas is watching this, I’ll show him what I can do. I’ll kill the Ice Watcher, whatever it is. I’ll tear its head off.’ I checked my map. The object of the side quest, an NPC I needed to kill, was a click east of me. I set a green guiding pin on the map, closed it, and followed my upper navigation wheel. My boots crunched on the frozen plains as I ran. The chilly air froze my chest. I ran for two minutes without stopping, and then I saw it.
What the hell? I’d never seen anything like it before. Just ahead of me was a gigantic creature with a bulbous body. Icicles were stuck to its back, lining its spine like the rid
ges on a stegosaurus. On its fat belly, it had a mouth filled with rows of rotten teeth. Tentacles so big that they could have smashed me in half with one swipe were twisted off its side. This gave me a second’s pause. The sight of such a hideous monster seemed to zap the recently-deceased rational part of my brain with a thousand volts.
Come on Dad, what was it that you used to say? That sensible thing about anger? Lucas’s smug voice drowned it out. It flooded my thoughts. Whatever Dad had to say, my rational brain wasn’t around to hear it. It was dead again.
I rushed at the creature. I tried to cast Bardic Dread to lower the creature’s defense, and then I realized that I’d leveled up stupidly. I’d put everything on Song of Thunder and Fury. And I didn’t care. Ever had that moment when you’re so angry that you do something stupid, or say something stupid, and it’s like you can see yourself in the act, but you’re powerless to stop it? This state of mind led to me approaching the beast until I was ten feet away. It towered above me. Icicles cracked off its back when it moved and smashed into the frosty ground. The swirls of a blizzard lashed against it, but the creature didn’t care. It saw me. Its belly-teeth clacked open and shut. I smelled a waft of rotten air that reminded me of Rynk’s putrefied shark.
I cast thunder at it. The sky crackled, and bolts of lightning hit the creatures back. The ice shards melted, and more of them fell. A tentacle lashed my way. I dived to the right, rolled, and corrected myself.
I cast Thunder again.
Skill Re-generating! Duration: 10 seconds.
Damn. Song of Thunder and Fury had a cooldown, and I needed to wait it out.
Another tentacle swept my way. I moved to the side and heard a rush of wind as it missed, sweeping the air behind me. I turned to see the tentacle rebounding my way for a return sweep. This time, as I dodged and let it go past, I stuck my daggers out and felt the blades slash across its icy limb. The creature roared. More rotten air wafted at me, choking my lungs. The blizzard picked up. Snowflakes landed on my forehead and melted down my face, dripping into my eyes. From somewhere, I heard the roaring of a crowd. Was it for me?
I wiped my brow and then focused on the creature. My lightning attack had drained a fifth of its HP. Did I have it in me to duck and dodge enough to cast four more lashings of thunder? The rational side of my brain fought for control. ‘Retreat,’ it told me. ‘There’s only ten fighters left. Others will get here soon. Let them kill themselves trying for the side quest, and you’ll place in the top five.’ But Lucas’s voice replayed in my head on a loop. ‘I’ll show him,’ I thought. ‘I’ll show Sera, Vorm, Clyde.’ I cast thunder again. Lightning crashed from the sky and struck the beast’s belly.
Critical hit!
The electricity was powerful enough that I felt my hairs stand on end. The creature cried out. It was a deep sound, unnervingly unnatural. It was like listening to an agonized whale underwater as great whites tore chunks from its body. Oil-black blood splattered on the tundra ground, melting the snow.
A tentacle lashed my way. I avoided it narrowly, but the return swipe smashed into my back, knocking me to my knees.
75 HP lost!
Seventy-five HP from one swipe? I’d increased my HP by leveling up, but even so, this thing was going to destroy me in 5 seconds flat!
Finally, the rational part of my brain won out. I felt my thoughts settle. This was stupid. I was going to die, no doubt about it, unless I left right now. This was my last chance. I turned away from the beast only to see a figure rushing at me through the blizzard. It was a barbarian with a shining pulse-sword held above him, closing the distance between us. No point taking him on; he had me beaten in terms of strength. As I turned toward the east and prepared to run, I felt something smash into my side. Agony flared in my ribs, and the air left my lungs. I sucked in, trying desperately to fill them, but each breath hurt. I saw a tentacle slither away from me, having just broken my ribs. It tensed up and readied for another strike.
I had to move. One more hit and I was done. My legs had checked out, though. The pain was too much. The right side of my body was mulch. How high are the damn pain sensors on this map? Then, a sword plunged into my back. I felt the hot burning tip of a pulse sword. My vision faded, and warning klaxons sounded as my hitpoints drained to zero.
The burning blade fizzed through my insides, charring them, slicing through my skin, bones, and organs until it reached the other side of me, effectively cutting me in half. Thank holy-hell that pain-sensors have built-in limits. I tried to strain my head to see my now-dismembered legs, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to see, and the landscape around me was already fading black. Before I died, I saw the barbarian standing over me, and then everything disappeared.
Chapter Eleven
My awakening in the gel capsule in real-life Sootstein was jarring. For a second, I was disorientated, and I wondered if I’d blacked out and was still in the game. It was always like that, coming out of a VBR. Imagine the deepest, most involving dream you’ve ever had. The kind that seems to follow you out of sleep, so that you’re not sure if the dream was real or not. It takes your mind a second to catch up. VBR was like that but magnified by a hundred times.
My brain finally jogged alongside reality and kept pace. I took a deep breath, thankful that my ribs weren’t broken in real-life and that I wasn’t actually dismembered. I broke the gel seal and left the capsule, and then the VBR center, thankful that Sera and the others weren’t around.
Two train journeys and an s-bus later, I was back home. Home was a place that managed to settle my feelings, no matter what had happened. It was as if, decades ago, when Cosma Wollenstein laid the first brick, he’d endowed it with some kind of spiritual energy. Of course, magic didn’t exist outside of VBRs, but there was something to my theory. Otherwise, how could you explain how calm the wolfhounds became as soon as they explored their new home? Even the ones recently rescued from the fighting pits, still stuck in a fight-to-live instinctual frame-of-mind, mellowed into softies when they touched the grass that surrounded Wollenstein ranch.
I’d left most of the ranch untouched since Mom, Dad, and Bill had died. I knew there was stuff that should have been thrown away, decorations to update, and things to fix, but it seemed wrong to disturb it. I hadn’t been in any of their bedrooms since it happened. It was bad enough that I had to see reminders of them everywhere else—for example, the gel calendar on the refrigerator that was still stuck on September of four years ago on which Mom had drawn Xs on the days leading up to the opening day of a play she had a supporting role in. It was called Hot Tin Roof on a Cat, which was a sequel to the Tin Cat on a Hot Roof.
The living room itself was the same, save for the little tidying I did. There was a picture of us as a family on the wall near the dining table. It showed me, Mom, Dad, and Bill outside Yesteryear, which was a holo-theme park that let you see historical battles and events as they had happened, with enough realism that you felt like you were there. In the photo, Dad had asked a guy dressed up as Buzz Aldrin to take the shot. When he’d fumbled with taking off his space gloves, Buzz had grabbed a President Obama look-alike and gotten him to take the snap.
The living room and kitchen were open-plan, with just a doorless oak frame marking where each room ended and began. On the left and right sides of the frame were two vertical lines of perma-gel, which was like the gel I spread on the wall to make a TV, except perma-gel didn’t evaporate after a few days. It would scrub off with water and bleach, but, left untouched, it would hang around for years (unless you had wolfhound pups who liked to lick it, as the bottom of the gel strips showed).
On the left perma-gel strip, digital red horizontal lines were drawn, and next to them were dates. On the right perma-gel strip was the same thing, but with blue lines instead of red, and they were drawn at lower intervals. The left strip was Bill’s height chart as he grew up, and the right side was mine. It was easy to see how Bill was taller than me at first, but how I then caught up to him with an explosion
of growth when I was twelve. The only sad thing was that each chart stopped on the dates that made Bill thirteen and me fourteen. There was a final line and date on there for both of us, ones that would be the last times Dad ever recorded our heights. In a way, those lonely lines represented the very moments we each grew up.
I still remembered mine; I was fourteen, and I was plugged into the mainnet watching a stream of the Expanse Charter setting up a prot-layer for villagers who had spent years hidden in a cave. Dad came in with a digi-pen and told me, with a big smile, to stand up.
“You know what time it is,” he said, “Time to see how much my carrot has grown.”
“You weirdo,” I told him. If I had to be a vegetable, carrot definitely wasn’t it. I stood up anyway, lined up next to the gel-strip, and I let him mark my height. As Dad scribbled the date next to it, I said, “Don’t you think I’m getting a bit old for this?”
He looked at me. His eyes were sad for a split second, but then he nodded. “S’pose you’re right.”