Scrambled Lives

by Rue Vespers

  Congrats! You have earned a merit trophy for Magic Money!

  Fun Fact Time! If your purse gets too full, consider opening a bank account or buying a Portal Purse!

  “How is that fact fun exactly?” Jenner asked as he exited the apothecary. He wasn’t sure that it qualified as a fact, let alone a fun fact.

  “You can disable those fucking things, you know,” the teacup commented. “Most people do after a while. Inner-World News: some fucking moron did some fucking thing to some fucking tool! Outer-World News: some fucking moron did some fucking thing to some fucking tool! Congrats! You did a fucking thing! Fun Fact Time! Someone else did a fucking thing-”

  “I get it,” Jenner said.

  Traffic had grown even lighter in the ten minutes he was in the apothecary. A pair of drunkards wandered out of a tavern, arms slung around one another’s shoulders as they sang off-key; Dan the Troll tossed someone into a puddle and waved merrily to Jenner before going back inside Treasure Chest. Most of the shops were closed, quelling his urge to dash out his money at once. He started for The Queen’s Crown.

  A man in filthy pants was walking unevenly down the road. Small step. Large step. Side step. Small step. He wasn’t avoiding the puddles but splashing straight through them, so why he was stepping so queerly was a mystery. Jenner took him for another drunkard and tried to skirt behind him, but the guy abruptly stopped in his tracks.

  Stopped and stared at Jenner through eyes that were somehow . . . empty. Like they had been painted on his face, two flat brown irises. They moved, but there was no life within them, no emotion, no presence. His face was gray with dust.

  “Leave him alone,” the teacup said quietly. Not to the man, but to Jenner. “Back away and stay very still.”

  Jenner took two big steps back and froze. The teacup was frozen upon his shoulder as well.

  The man continued to stare. He crept closer, those flat eyes trained on the two of them, his fingers twitching at his sides.

  Then he turned away and walked on just as oddly as before. Jenner let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “What’s wrong with him?” he whispered.

  “He died,” the teacup said somberly. “His body died while his consciousness was being transferred. If you don’t upload to 75% or beyond before your body dies, that’s what you become. Soulless. You wander through the game forever.”

  Alarmed, Jenner said, “I have my soul!” He slapped his chest. “I’m right here!”

  “Your body is alive, and your soul resides in that,” the teacup corrected him. “Seventy-five percent of a person’s mind needs to be uploaded to the game before the soul transfers. Transfers or copies or whatever happens. I don’t know. I’m a teacup, not a scientist. You’re a perma-added character?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought so. What percent are you at?”

  “Character upload percentage!” Jenner demanded.

  Permanent Character Addition

  You are being uploaded to the game. Check in at any time for an update.

  Current Upload: 5.8%

  “5.8%,” he said dumbly.

  That was all he’d accomplished today? God, did he hope his body hung around for a few weeks, since it was going to take a few weeks at this rate! Why was he thinking weeks? More like months!

  The soulless man staggered on down the road, a woman on horseback swerving sharply to avoid him. Jenner didn’t want to be like that. “Do they get scrambled if they die?”

  “No,” the teacup said. “They spawn instantly back to wherever they died in the body they died in. They’re the only thing that necromancers can work their magic on since nobody else in the game really dies. An army of soulless has no fear, because to feel fear, you need to have a soul first.”

  “That’s revolting!” Jenner exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be able to use them like that.”

  “Most people in this game agree with you. The penalty for a wizard caught commanding soulless is scrambling. By the laws of Talvenor, as they stand, the soulless are to be left alone.”

  The teacup hopped up and down on Jenner’s shoulder. “Don’t just stand here in the street and get run over, Gramma! You aren’t going to upload any faster by getting scrambled.”

  Tearing his eyes away from the soulless, Jenner let himself into The Queen’s Crown. A different innkeeper was there at the counter, directing a new player to Dan the Troll for a map. Yawning and ready for bed, Jenner went upstairs to his room.

  Chapter Eight

  “GOOD MORNING, ASSHOLE!”

  Jenner opened his eyes.

  The teacup was bouncing up and down on his chest. “Wakey-wakey, booty-shaky! Get up! Get up! Get up! I’m sick of listening to your butt putter in your sleep!” The cup blew choppy raspberries in imitation, still bouncing all the while, and then began to sing. “Gooood mooorning, twat-faaaace, Scrambled Lives says heelllllooooooo . . .”

  Jenner shoved the teacup off. It soared away from the bed, shouting, “WHEEEEE!” The spoon spun around and around after it. Landing on the floor with a clunk, the cup tipped itself in a debonair way to catch its spoon.

  As it hopped back, Jenner pushed off the tattered blanket and swung his legs down to the floor. The bed squeaked and groaned at his shifting weight; it had not been comfortable to sleep on. “I’m up, dammit!”

  “Then slap some pants on that tight ass of yours and let’s go!” the teacup cried.

  As he pulled on his itchy underwear, Jenner said, “For someone who doesn’t even possess an ass, you have an anal fixation, do you know that?”

  The glowing blocks soared in front of his face.

  Inner-World News: Good morning! Select a headline below to read more.

  Blue Mountain Trolls Decimate Small Northern Fishing Village, Scrambling Dozens

  Heavy Losses Sustained in Ill-Planned Golden Dragon Raid

  House Alastra Declares War on House Ravanel

  New Cereal Codes Released – Visit Your Local Grocer For a Bowl of Yum!

  Naughty, Naughty! The Scarlet Succubus Reveals Her Secret Love Tips

  Notable ‘Deaths’: Ratatattat the Drum, Lady Squonk, Magus Vonex Rainwater

  Jenner skimmed down the headlines and paused on the last name listed in the obituaries. Where had he heard that name before? It seemed familiar. Right! It was the headmaster of Tremaine Wizarding College. That skulking instructor and his student, the mysterious contents of the beaker . . .

  “Did they poison him?” he asked. “Did those two wizards in the lab at Tremaine kill the headmaster? Get him scrambled? He’s dead.”

  “Probably,” the teacup said indifferently. “I’ve listened to them whisper about it for ages from the mouse hole.”

  “But that’s . . . that’s a crime, isn’t it? Should I tell someone? I have to tell someone!”

  The teacup hopped onto his bare foot and launched itself up onto the bed. “Where do you think you are, kid?” it scolded. “If the High Council prosecuted everyone here for murder, the courts would be overwhelmed in a damn day.”

  “But . . .”

  The cup shook the spoon at him like it was wagging a finger. “Those nine useless lumps of pampered flesh only stir when it affects them, and the death of Random T. Asshole doesn’t. Besides, Rainwater was cruising for a bruising.”

  “He was?”

  “Trust me, he scrambled more players in his time than you could shake a stick at! Good riddance. Nobody will miss him except the oaf playing his character.”

  Jenner tucked his shirt into his pants. It eased his conscience somewhat that this wasn’t an actual murder. “But where did he go?”

  “Nobody will know what he scrambled into unless he identifies himself. Who cares? Maybe he’ll learn some humility as a baby troll or a sand snake.”

  “Or he’ll just scramble himself on purpose until he goes back to being a wizard,” Jenner said, putting on his cloak.

  The teacup bounced onto his shoulder to ride around there. “Oh, but the game’s
artificial intelligence will figure out that’s what he’s trying to do. If you die over and over again in rapid succession, all you accomplish is getting your account fucking flagged. Then the game will scramble you into anything else but what it believes you’re trying to become. Come on, Gramma, shake it! What are we doing today?”

  The weight of the purse in Jenner’s pocket was lovely. “I’m buying myself breakfast, and better clothes before I look at weapons. And armor. And combat classes! I saw some signs on windows about those.”

  “Hogdoor’s greasy guts! Do you know how long it’s going to take you to buy the shit you want if you’re getting jobs out of the scuttle pen?” the teacup complained as Jenner went down the hallway to the stairs. “March that sweet ass of yours over to one of the human Houses like Thorus and offer yourself up to the guild as a red-shirt for a raid. That’s all you’re good for. Then hide behind another red-shirt during the raid and live to collect a fat portion of the proceeds.”

  “No, teacup!” Jenner blinked. “Do you have a name?”

  “Seriously? When did you last slurp soup off Sally the Spoon? Or tickle the tines of Freddy the Fork with your tongue? Why would I have a name?”

  “I need to call you something.”

  “Something fierce,” the teacup suggested. “A name worthy of a troll. Like Blood ‘n Guts, or Bonesnapper.”

  “I’m going to call you Rosy.”

  The two little eyes narrowed in consideration. “I’ve never heard that name before! Is that fierce?”

  “Really fierce,” Jenner said with a straight face.

  “Rosy,” the teacup growled menacingly. “I like it. Gramma and Rosy. People will piss themselves to see us coming.”

  Jenner wasn’t sure if he was pulling the teacup’s figurative leg, or if the teacup was pulling his leg, or they were both pulling each other’s. Whichever it was, he soon forgot about it. After eating a cheap breakfast out of vendor drums on Road of Royals, he went to the nearest clothing store.

  A forest of mannequins stood upon stands throughout the main floor, each one modeling a different outfit with stats posted to the side and a code along the bottom. Customers were scattered about, a few giving baffled looks to Jenner and the teacup on his shoulder.

  “Slightly Enchanted Shirt,” Jenner read from the sign posted by a white shirt with a laced-up collar. “What in the hell is a slightly enchanted shirt?”

  “A slightly enchanted shirt is a shirt that’s slightly enchanted,” Rosy explained.

  “That’s helpful.”

  “It will give you a weak protection against blows, and it’s better than a shirt that hasn’t been enchanted at all! Like that scruffy piece of shit you’re wearing right now. If a troll with the runs shoves you out of a second-story window to make it to the can in time, you’ll only sustain forty-nine points of damage instead of fifty.”

  “Rosy, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard today!”

  “The day is young, kid, and it won’t seem so stupid if that’s the point that keeps you from getting scrambled. Sometimes one point makes all the difference.” The teacup nodded sagely.

  Other mannequins wore shirts described as moderately enchanted and highly enchanted. Their prices, however, were far less enchanting. Jenner returned to the slightly enchanted shirt and pressed the code as Rosy directed. The shirt he had on disappeared and was replaced in a split second with one identical to what the mannequin was wearing. It fit perfectly. His purse lightened a little as the game withdrew several pennies.

  “Now, let’s get some slightly enchanted pants,” Rosy said.

  “No, underwear first,” Jenner insisted. “I’m sick of my nuts itching.”

  “Do you really think we know each other that well?” Rosy said in disgust. “Just go commando. Why waste your precious pence on underwear?”

  Jenner looked around. “Do they sell underwear here?”

  “I’ll find out for you.” Rosy jumped to the top of a mannequin’s head to see. Then it leaped in rapid succession from head to head. “This way! This way! That’s a lovely dress you have on, ma’am, but we’re here for man panties.”

  “Shut up!” Jenner exclaimed as a gorgeous woman gave them a look of revulsion. He jumped into the air, trying to catch Rosy, but the teacup was moving too fast for him.

  “Man panties! Man panties! Get your man panties! Get out of the way, you stupid little girl, there’s a man with itchy balls coming through!”

  “Dammit, Rosy!” Jenner dashed between mannequins, expecting to see a bewildered little girl beside a mother taking aim at him with a well-deserved bitch-slap, but Rosy was just yanking his chain. The teacup was sitting innocently on a long table in front of torso-only mannequins modeling underwear.

  When Jenner hit the code for regular old briefs, his itching evanesced. So much better. From there the teacup led him over to the selection of men’s trousers, Jenner choosing a slightly enchanted gray pair of pants that came with a belt.

  Congrats! You have earned a merit trophy for Looking Spanky!

  Congrats! Clothes really do make the man. Your charisma has increased to 3.

  Fun Fact Time! Don’t forget to check your status now and then, especially when you go up in levels!

  He inspected himself in the floor-length mirror hung upon the wall. It wasn’t a grand outfit, but it was a definite step up from the rags he spawned in. Satisfied, he looked over to the mannequins modeling cloaks. Better materials, better cuts and colors, and they were enchanted as well.

  Not yet, he thought. He was all too aware of how much lighter his purse was becoming. A new cloak would have to wait.

  A weapon was next on his mental shopping list, if he could afford anything. The Queen’s Crown wouldn’t be free for long, and he had to budget for food as well.

  He picked his way around the mud puddles to the armory, where he and the teacup perused an overwhelming amount of options. There were swords both curved and straight and two-handed greatswords, short swords and hook swords and axes and spears, tiger claws to be worn over the knuckles, clubs and staves and throwing knives. Whips were coiled upon hooks, slingshots jumbled up in a bin, and smoke stones hissed and sizzled under a foggy glass cover. Almost everything was much too expensive for what he had in his purse.

  He turned a corner at the back of the store to an absolutely glorious sword propped up within a case. Light trailed along the sinister edge of the blade and glittered on the hilt, which was encrusted with jewels. “Wow!” he blurted.

  It was the sword of a prince. No, a king.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw himself parrying and thrusting, or whatever it was you did with swords, defeating his opponents one by one and sending them off to be scrambled. The price wasn’t posted on the case, but it had to be exorbitant.

  “Oh, fuck me through the handle,” Rosy swore, surveying the sword from his shoulder. “Get that bedazzled little boy look off your face, you dipshit. Nobody needs a sword like that.”

  “I need a sword like that,” Jenner protested.

  “You listen to me, kid, and you listen good. This game will spend a lot of time trying to sell you shiny stuff that’s more fashion than function. Do you want to look snazzy or do you want to stay alive? You can’t do both.”

  “I can try.”

  “You can fail. Come on, pick out a nice, sensible, affordable dagger. What do you need a sword for anyway?”

  “For the Fortune Islands.”

  The teacup howled with laughter.

  “What?” Jenner asked.

  The cup hopped off him to jump upon the cases, Jenner following it back to the cheapest weapons at the front of the store. Picking up a plain, boring dagger, he said in irritation, “What’s so damn funny about me going to the Fortune Islands? I’m not ready for them yet, but-”

  “The Fortune Islands are for fools who can’t perform basic math!” Rosy castigated, peering down to the prices on the daggers. “Who cares if you come back with fifty golds when you had to spend thirt
y-five golds on equipment to fight the monsters crawling around everywhere over there?”

  “Don’t listen to that teacup,” a man said from behind a sheet of gray. He had opened the lid of the smoke stones case and was reaching in with a pouch. Gathering many of the stones inside, he lifted the pouch out and closed the lid.

  The gray dissipated, revealing a grizzled fellow with curly black hair. He had on leather fighting armor, high quality from the looks of it. Bracers wound around his forearms and small steel plates were riveted to his cuirass. It fell to his navel; any lower, Jenner guessed, and it would impede the man’s movement while fighting. Around his neck was a black cord dropping a swirling gray symbol caught in gold wire. Neither a letter or a number, the symbol changed shape from a two-barred cross to a triangle.

  “You’ve been there?” Jenner asked. “You’ve been to the Fortune Islands?”

  “Dozens of times!” the man said casually. “I’m going there as soon as I’m done buying a few things here today. I’ve never spent thirty-five golds on a trip. Players wait around for Level 8 or Level 15, thinking they need all of this gear that they never use, but I went for my first time at Level 3 with only a dagger and I’m still kicking.”

  “Did you get high off that smoke?” Rosy asked irascibly, jumping over to the smoke stone case to confront the man. “You’re just trying to red-shirt the kid!”

  The man scoffed in good humor and held out his hand to Jenner, who shook it. Heavy calluses pressed into his palm.

  “I’m Tosco, Master Tosco to you,” the man said. “Level 17, if you care. I hardly remember these days. You want to come along today to see the islands for yourself? No fighting required. I just need someone to be my weapons caddy. You’ll earn a twentieth of whatever I earn, and I’ll pay for your boat fare. And a new dagger, but you don’t want that one.” He went around Jenner to the selection and pressed a code for a dagger that cost ten silvers.

  The sleek black dagger appeared in Master Tosco’s hand. He waved it around in lightning-quick moves, the amulet swaying on his chest, before presenting it to Jenner. “Do you know anything about daggers?”