by Mars Dorian
Quality: Good
Ammo: 8 pellets per cartridge
Ability: Blade-mode———————
5% Break chance
+20% damage against non-armor
+10% against light armor units
Gun-mode- - - - -
+ 7% Critical hit rate
+ 15% blowback chance
Nice. I had to check twice to verify its status. This weapon made my gun saber and mech-axe look like plastic pellet guns.
“Are you serious?”
Rokkit rolled his eyes. “Barely, but judging by your pathetic equipment, you could really use a decent weapon.”
I ignored his snarky remark and drooled at the new weapon. For the next levels, it would function as my primary weapon against the fiends. I would level up like a mofo on fire. Call me insane, but for a split second, Rokkit’s smug grin melted into a warm smile, like he actually enjoyed giving me the blade. Did he harbor a soft spot underneath that heavy armor of snark and sarcasm?
I even believed I could join his squad. Despite some communication problems, we worked together and survived every encounter and trap during the field mission. Plus, both him and L’ocean could really use my skills as a WarTech. Opportunity knocked. L’ocean patted Rokkit’s shoulder plate with a nervous smile.
“Time to part, Boltzmann. Let’s all hope you don’t die on your next quest.”
“Why don’t we join forces?”
“What?”
“You’ve seen my potential. I want to become a bonafide War Technician. I can complement your party.”
He tilted his scarred head with sparkling eyes. “You need a lot more expertise before you can even think about joining my squad. But hey, dreaming ain’t forbidden.”
Typical Rokkit answer. My eyes moved to L’ocean whom I hoped would come to my defense. It sounded as if she harbored feelings for him beyond the team player aspect. Not gonna lie, I felt jealous inside.
“Try me. I’ve got a degree in computer science.”
L’ocean smiled. Awkward silence slid into the moment. “Despite the Academy’s ranking, you acted to the best of your ability. You played a big role in helping us win the field mission.”
She saluted me goodbye. “Whatever your goals are in Fourlando, I wish for you to accomplish them. We’ll surely run into each other again.”
And with that sobering statement, she turned around and followed Rokkit to form their new party. I hated to see her leave like that, after all the intense moments we shared during the quests. One would think magical moments accounted for something, but the hardcore gaming life in Fourlando played by different rules.
I refused to choke up, so I averted my glance from L’ocean and focused on my next steps. After all, the goal wasn’t to make friends, the goal was to rock the game mechanics, get more people to watch my stream, and attract a sponsor.
And with the new kick-ass gunblade, I was encouraged to go big. I was just about to approach the quest board when my eyes shut down and my legs seemed to wade through molasses. Gravity bound me to the ground. A warning sign hammered my view in alarming red.
“Warning. You have been playing for over six hours. Please disconnect from the game and rest.”
The warning system remained right. No point in questing when my body refused to work. Worse, a sleepy mind could risk my player life and nullify my progress. So I saved my game process and dematerialized from Fourlando, my wonderland, my country of wildest adventures. The last hours had been an up and down of intense emotions, but I could finally feel proud about my progress. I had survived the field mission, received a somewhat rare weapon, and could venture into the real adventure world now; well, tomorrow.
My real self set down the VR face shield and unplugged my gloves from the computer. Little dots flickered in my vision, a side effect from the VR immersion. My head hammered as movements slowed down. I checked out the watch and almost choked: 3:45 am.
Darkness still ruled the world outside my trailer room, so I dragged my sleepy body to the bed, barely managed to put on my PJ’s and dozed off with a smile on my face. Despite the exhaustion, I looked forward to tomorrow. Fourlando had finally opened its world to my grand ambitions.
32
When I woke up again, my mind felt like it overslept the 21st century. I thought I heard a knocking, but it may have been an invention of my subconscious.
I stretched my limbs and felt an ache tearing through my muscles—the downside of battling in Fourlando for over six hours straight. I stumbled out my room and found my mom standing in the kitchen, her hand clawed around a steaming mug, her eyes glowed with ferocity like back when I was a troubled teenager guilty of the worst crime. I feared her questions already.
“Already home?”
“Do you know what time it is?”
I didn’t. And I dreaded the answer. My eyes swung to the right of the kitchen where faint light shone through the windows. The sun tried to push through cloud layers.
“Half past one,” Mom said in her teacher mode. “You’ve been playing that stupid game all night, haven’t you?”
“Well, I actually—”
“Jackson told me.”
“Jackson? Since when were you’re talking to—?”
She cut straight into my distraction. “You promised me to look for a job. You promised to send out applications.”
Her stare melted me. She wouldn’t even let me answer.
“Dashiell, for Christ’s sake, you’re an adult now. Every single day you waste gaming is adding a gap to your CV.”
“I’ve sent out a few hundred applications, Mom.”
“Then learn new skills. Learn how to write better applications. DO something instead of playing.”
“I’m actually…”
“What?”
Nah, I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t admit that I was trying to make money from the game.
“Trust me, I’ve got something planned. You’ll see the results in the next weeks.”
She poured herself a glass of orange juice with icy silence. “I’ve heard that excuse too many times. And I know you’re going to hate it, but if you act like a child, I have to treat you like one.”
I swallowed and didn’t know why. Something in the tone of her voice sounded alarming.
For the first time since this fiery conversation, I noticed something, or rather, someone, sitting on the left couch in the living room. My head turned toward the unknown man who bent forward with a confident grin.
“Hello, Dashiell.”
Never seen the guy before, but his firm suit reminded me of an old uniform. His voice rang with authority. He stood up and walked toward me with calculated steps. “My name is Ben Ustinov, I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.”
His hand squeezed mine.
“Government? Are you going to take me in?”
His mouth smiled, but his eyes stayed neutral. “Your mother called us because she was worried about the amount of time you’ve spent in your VR world.”
Up close, I noticed the tag on his uniform.
CAPA, standing for Cyber-Addiction Prevention Agency.
A cold shower trickled down my spine.
“You’re kidding, right?”
My head swung back to my mother, who leaned against the kitchen counter with her mug engulfed by two hands now.
“This is a prank, right?”
Her frosty silence told me otherwise. “I gave you more than enough chances to handle it your way.”
A firm grip patted my shoulder. Mr. Ustinov smiled in a way that made me uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry, Dashiell, I’m an expert.”
He followed me to my room and looked at my VR set the same way he’d look at a rotten cat after an eighteen wheeler had rolled over it.
“When we face dark times, we want to distract ourselves with things that we think bring us pleasure. That can be through substance abuse, sexual addiction, or in this case, virtual reality.”
; He grabbed the VR helmet with his right arm and held it in front of his face like a cat corpse. He spoke to me, but his eyes were locked on the face shield.
“Right now, you may believe that your game world is more fun and exciting than reality, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Mr. Ustinov’s head tilted toward my direction. His next statement confirmed my worst nightmare.
“Knock on wood, but so far, I can proudly proclaim that I have cured every one of my patients of online game addiction.”
His smile sharpened. He reminded me of Rokkit showcasing his superiority.
“Trust me, Dashiell, once our work is over, you will never want to play again.”
33
His eyes targeted my mouth, as if he expected an answer which he could dissect like a freaking mental surgeon. I had to watch my tongue—if I denied my growing love for the game, he’d shrug it off, because that was the common excuse from addicts: they denied being addicts. But I didn’t want to comply either—a government guy trying to keep me from playing was the last thing I needed right now.
Oh, the dilemma. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I tried to approach him like an ally. “How about I self-regulate my gaming time. You can check-in with calls or timers and update me with messages.”
Hey, at least I tried to find a middle ground.
Mr. Ustinov nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t buying it. “Based on our research, that approach has always failed. It’s simply better to heal you from game addiction altogether.”
Heal?
He made my gaming sessions sound like crystal meth orgies. This guy probably never played a game in his life. “I think we have very different opinions about gaming.”
I walked away from my place and hoped he followed me back into the living room. Mr. Ustinov ranked high on the creepiness scale and I didn’t want him rummaging through my stuff. His utter disdain for VR gaming seeped through his every word and move.
“Mom, we have to find a better way. I don’t think it’s the government’s job to tell me if I can play games or not. I’m an adult.”
“So far, you haven’t acted like one.”
Our disagreement jumped back to square one. In my mother’s current state, worsened by frustration and exhaustion, it was impossible to make my point. If only she could understand the goals I had for the game. “You can’t make me work with this guy.”
Mr. Ustinov had returned to our living room and ogled us from a safe distance like a mad professor observing his test subject. I tried to shun him from my vision.
Mom bowed over the kitchen counter which meant she was going to unleash a biggie. “Well, let’s keep things simple. You either try working with Mr. Ustinov for a week, or you pack your things and leave.”
“You’re going to kick me out?”
“I don’t want to, but what choice do I have? I’m your mother, and I’m not going to watch you waste your life.”
In the back of my head, I could feel the government guy smiling. His eyes probably drilled into the back of my mind, trying to scan my brain like a Sith lord.
“Your mother cares deeply about you, Dash. But since she lacks the know-how to deal with game addiction, she worked tirelessly on finding an expert like me. It’s in your best interest, Dash, believe me.”
He used my online handle. He probably knew about my player profile; heck, he probably even watched my live streams on the web. This guy came prepared.
“Dash, let’s make a deal. We’ll work together for a week. If we can’t find a common ground, we can always negotiate. You owe it to your mother.”
Mr. Ustinov leaned against the corner and grinned like Lucifer who’d just ripped God a new one. I couldn’t believe it, but I dearly missed Rokkit’s snarky remarks. A mocking co-player was worlds better than this creep.
“What do you say, Dash?”
I hated his self-assurance.
Hated the way he controlled the situation and used my mother against me. But a glance at her disappointed face, prematurely aged by worry, melted my defenses. I couldn’t say no. And even though I disagreed with her approach, I admired her intention. With my sister going down the drug lane, she didn’t want me to fail as well.
“Fine. A week.”
A broad smile shone across my mother’s face. She relaxed for the first time today and hugged me tight. “I knew I could count on you.”
I turned back to Mr. Ustinov whose smile had never left the chiseled face. I dreaded asking the following question, but the next days of the week would be dark, so why not deal with it headfirst?
“So when do we start tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” He pronounced the word like it was a foreign language. “No, Dash, we start this very second.”
Mr. Ustinov walked back to my room like he owned the place and targeted the VR set again. I feared he’d produce some kind of tool and smash my computer to bits and pieces, but the guy had an even worse attitude. With his maroon eyes locking on me, he leaned next to the table where the computer stood and waved me over. I followed his invitation like a prisoner ready for execution.
“Dash, you probably think I’m going to destroy your equipment, but that would only direct your anger toward me.”
Too late for that, Mr. Ustinov, but I let him speak anyways. I wanted to see his approach.
“Change can’t be forced outward, it must always come from within. That’s why you start with the first step of battling game addiction.” He forced unnatural pauses in his declarations, which started worrying me. “I want you to enter the world of Fourlando again.”
“What?”
He handed me over the VR headset and gloves.
“What for?”
His smile widened. A sparkle unleashed in his chestnut eyes.
“To delete your player data.”
34
I wished I was a time lord who could rewind this moment. All the way back before this creep infested my living room trying to dictate my life.
I wish…
I wish…
I wished in vain.
“You can’t be serious.”
“You’re a Level 9 War Technician, right? You just finished your field mission with a B minus ranking and now seek to quest in the main world of Fourlando.”
Damn. He was a pro. He must had watched my streams, and probably analyzed every one of my gaming decisions. I had to adapt my tactics or else I’d lose the battle. “You said we’re going to work together for a week to get to know each other. And now you tell me you want me to delete my player data?”
“I’m not telling you not to play. I’m telling you to get rid of your current character so we can start afresh. See this is a new beginning.”
On the path of hell, I added in my mind.
Seriously, this was wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
I had invested countless hours and experiences to level up to Level 9, and I was finally on the right path. I had decent equipment, a kick-ass gunblade, and a new skill point that I needed to distribute. My eyes rotated back to the floor; I could see my mother out of the corner of my eye, fumbling with the freezer in the kitchen. She noticed me staring at her and exposed a sad smile. I didn’t want to be mad at her, but damn. “I think I need to take a piss before I can do anything.”
Mr. Ustinov sighed, but what was he supposed to do?
“Do that,” he said. “And then we’ll start right after you’re done.”
I hated to leave him alone in my room, but the situation demanded for an emergency measure. I hurried to the bathroom, locked it from the inside, and cowered in the shower. I called up the only person I knew who could help me—Sparrow. And despite the bad reception in the bathroom, I managed to reach her.
“Yes?”
“Um, this is Dashiell. I’m the guy who—”
“Yes, I remember you. How’s it going—did you pass the field mission?”
She did actually remember our last conversation.
“Let’s not talk about
the result. I passed the mission; that’s all that matters.”
My time was running out and I needed to talk about the important matters. “Listen, I know it sounds nuts, but please don’t hang up on me now.”
A pause lingered. “Do tell.”
“There’s a guy from the National Anti-Cyber Addiction department in my house and he’s telling me to delete my player account.”
“What?”
She sounded genuinely bewildered.
“I’m serious. He’s trying to ‘heal’ me from gaming.”
“Why don’t you kick him out? The government can’t force you to stop playing.”
“It’s complicated. I’m still living with my mother, and she was the person who told the guy to come. I don’t want to bore you, but my mom and I, we’ve gone through a lot, so I promised her to work with the guy for at least a week.”
I paused and tried to reselect my thoughts. “But now that shill wants me to delete my player data.”
“Calm down. Take a deep breath first.”
“I will.”
“No, do it now.”
What strange advice, but Sparrow acted as my mentor and had the cool head. I had stop mine from exploding, so I breathed in deeply. It worked. Some tension chipped away, and my thoughts floated around in order. Somewhat.
A person knocked on my bathroom door in calculated pauses. The pattern could only belong to one person.
“Dash, are you okay?”
Mr. Ustinov, pretending to worry about me. I half-expected him to slice the door with an axe, push his wicked face through the hole, and say, “Here’s Johnny!”
Would have been less freaky to tell the truth.
“I’m okay, it’s just, the news just messed up my stomach or something.”
“I’m waiting for you.”
I pictured Mr. Ustinov waiting in front of the bathroom door like a terminator. I flushed the toilet to prove my point and resumed my talk with Sparrow. “See? Now the guy’s like a super-stalker from the game, with slimy stealth attacks and decoy maneuvers.”
Sparrow sighed. “I don’t understand his request. You can locally delete your player’s backup data, but your progress is still saved in the cloud.”