Countdown_LitRPG Series

by Michael Atamanov

  “This man is strong and dangerous. I’d hate for him to have a personal grudge against me. I should walk up to the mage, fall at his feet and return his granddaughter’s lens.”

  Successful Intelligence check

  Granddaughter??? I didn’t think Minn-O La-Fin was his granddaughter. I figured she was a daughter, though perhaps born a bit late in life. My mind immediately caught on that detail. That thought didn’t belong to me. The dreadful psionic’s command may have worked on me under normal circumstances. I also may have resisted, hard to say. But with such a blatant error, I had no problem recognizing the implanted thought.

  I gave a mocking chuckle, removed my dark glasses and showed the Psionic Mage my eyes, which had a magical blue glow just like his. Then I pulled my glove off my left hand and flipped Thumor-Anhu La-Fin the bird. Sure, it wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done but, I was feeling ecstatic after my small but significant victory.

  The mage grasped his staff with both hands and the skull on top lit up.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” Gerd Tamara exploded, appearing from invisibility in her exoskeleton suit. The level-79 Paladin was incensed and aiming her high-caliber machine gun right at the mage's forehead. “We agreed that magic is not to be used during the prisoner exchange!”

  Either the grisly Psionic Mage understood our language, or Gerd Tamara’s fearsome demeanor spoke for itself, but Leng Thumor-Anhu La-Fin’s staff stopped glowing. He said something quietly and pointed at me. The leader of the Second Legion looked over and hissed like an enraged kitten:

  “Gnat, if you keep provoking the respected Leng and bungle these negotiations, I swear on my life I will not hesitate to shoot you! And every time I see you after that, I’ll kill you again!”

  Fame increased to 6

  So, my Fame would grow just for being called out in front of lots of people? In that case, I should answer this little hot-head:

  “Well, that old fart used his magic to try and trick me into giving his granddaughter’s lens back!”

  “Ha-ha! Good one! If Leng Thumor-Anhu La-Fin really used his magic on you, you’d be a pile of dust!” the paladin girl disagreed vehemently. “And for the rude language, I warned you...”

  Her high-caliber machinegun turned instantly in my direction. I didn’t even see it shoot.

  Your character has died. Respawn will be possible in fifteen minutes.

  Would you like to review your statistics for this game session?

  * * *

  What the crap?! This was the second time in less than 24 hours I had been killed by the very same player of my own faction! That was becoming a fine tradition. Would I ever be able to exit the game without being helped along by this finicky girl? Although, I had to admit it was my fault. I was warned not to argue with Gerds. And the leader of the Second Legion was not known for her patience and hated being defied. I scolded myself for the lack of self-control and loose tongue. I’d have to make sure not to do it again.

  But this time, I decided to look over my numbers.

  Time in game: 11 hours, 43 minutes. Your character has leveled up 12 times and gained 124 skill levels.

  Oh yeah! Pretty badass.

  You have earned 19407 experience points

  Huh, I guess there was “exp.” in this game!

  You killed zero players and zero NPC’s. Your game session ended due to: death.

  Alright, enough for today. I opened my pod and crawled out of the bed with an old-man’s groan. All my muscles and joints were in pain. My body wouldn’t do what I wanted. The way down from the tall corncob was torturous. My legs wobbled with every step and could barely support the weight of my body. I guess I played too much today...

  Once I got to the bottom, I saw Ivan Lozovsky standing right outside my cob. I was expecting him to be upset and maybe even curse, but he just asked compassionately how I was feeling. In reply, I just cringed in pain. I felt like saying “shitty,” or something even worse.

  “I imagine. Some newbies can’t even walk after their first day. The game puts a strain on your body it just isn’t used to. I mean, you spent all day hiking in the mountains, patrolling and running with weights. Don’t worry. Today it’ll hurt, but your body will get used to the new regimen.”

  He offered to help me walk to his office, but I refused. This man was as physically tall as he was high up in our faction hierarchy, so I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t some namby-pamby. It was just a hundred yards. I could make it! I limped over to the administration building, then down the hall to Lozovsky’s office and collapsed into an armchair with relief. He made me some coffee and set it on the table.

  “So, as far as I understand, you set a new faction record for first-day experience gain.”

  Of all the ways this conversation could have started, he went with that! That perked me right up. With some surprise, I realized he was not going to chew me out. In fact, Lozovsky had no complaints about my gameplay. Instead, he was interested in how I had leveled so quickly. I told him about the combination of Cartography, Eagle Eye and the fast-moving starship.

  “Interesting. Somewhat paradoxical even. Refusing to take our readymade map so you can make one yourself… a curious approach. I’ll admit, I thought of Cartography as basically a useless skill. Hard to level and with little benefit. Especially for players that sit in laboratories and workshops and never go anywhere. Great idea! Of course, your method requires high Perception, so it won’t work for all new recruits, but in any case, our starship pilot will be getting more work.”

  “By the way,” I said, remembering my promise to the antigrav pilot, “I owe Zheltov a bottle of good brandy. How can I get one under the Dome?”

  Ivan Lozovsky first looked surprised, then chuckled:

  “I see you missed my introductory lecture this morning. Today or tomorrow, you’ll all be issued special debit cards and your salary will go to them twice a month. Your pay is determined by Radugin, and it depends on your level, contribution to the faction and other bonuses. What’s more, any resources provided to the faction, such as valuable minerals, machine parts, mechanisms, weapons and whatnot, will be compensated with either goods or services in the game, or real money on your debit card. The choice is up to you. Using these cards, you can order anything your heart desires. But if you need brandy right away...”

  The diplomat walked up to a cupboard and opened it, showing me a shelf filled with expensive bottles of liquor. He chose one, a French cognac, and placed it on the table.

  “Take this. I’ve got no use for it. They’re gifts from relatives of the terminally ill people we have cured under the Dome. Don't be ashamed, take it!”

  Feeling somewhat timid, I took the bottle off the table, and Lozovsky continued his speech:

  “That trick you pulled on the freight pier, I have to admit, it made an impression on the Geckho. Kosta Dykhsh even said you’re playing the game as its meant to be played. Gerd Tamara praised you very highly as well...”

  “But in the end, she shot me anyway!” I interrupted, unable to hold back. The diplomat just laughed:

  “First, you must agree, she had a good reason. You should never argue with a Gerd, especially with other people around. Your behavior dishonored an esteemed player in the presence of an enemy! Second, there were complications after you died. The Dark Faction negotiator added two last-minute conditions: return his granddaughter’s things and punish those responsible for dishonoring her. The problem is that, in their world, Minn-O La-Fin comes from a very prestigious aristocratic family. She is supposed to be treated the proper way, and certainly not like a simple prisoner of war. By shooting you, Gerd Tamara smoothed that problem over. You had been killed, which they found to be just punishment. Also, no one could say where you'd respawn, and they didn't want to wait around just to get the items back. Sure it was radical, but it worked.”

  Aha... A bizarre perspective. It seemed things were coming together poorly for me, so I asked:

  “With th
e items I get it. I have Minn-O La-Fin’s lens. But what did my character have to do with ‘dishonoring’ her? It wasn’t me that captured, undressed and searched her!”

  “But the old man found out about the whole thing by reading your thoughts! The only other person who was at both places was Gerd Tamara. Plus, she gave all our soldiers defense against mental magic before the prisoner exchange, including herself!”

  “I was in way over my head!” All the gravity of the situation reached me. “Someone should have helped me!”

  But Ivan Lozovsky didn’t agree. The way he saw it, no one had told me to be there, and I had taken the girl’s lens of my own accord. The terms of the exchange were already settled, and everyone who was supposed to be there was adequately protected. So, there was one thing to blame: my astonishing knack for finding trouble.

  At any rate, though this hurt me personally quite a bit, the faction saw certain advantages in the situation. But what they were exactly, Ivan Lozovsky refused to answer, saying it was top secret. But I was intrigued by what he said next:

  “You have a very busy day ahead of you tomorrow. You’ll have to get up at five thirty in the morning. If I were you, I’d have a quick dinner and go right to sleep.”

  “And what am I going to be doing?” I asked, somewhat worried but also intrigued.

  “As far as the whole faction is concerned, you have an early morning shift on the Antique Beach. The very same Guard Post Eight but second shift, from six to ten in the morning. Feel free to tell that to your friends and everyone you know. That is no secret. It will be written on the schedule hanging next to the dining area for everyone. But as for where you're really going tomorrow morning, only a few people will know.”

  At that very moment, a voice thundered out so loud the windows shuddered:

  “ATTENTION, THIS IS THE DOME LEADER. I HAVE TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS TO MAKE, BOTH GOOD. GERD IGOR TARASOV WAS FIRST IN OUR FACTION TO REACH LEVEL EIGHTY-NINE TODAY! WE CONGRATULATE OUR CHAMPION AND WISH HIM CONTINUED SUCCESS! ALSO, A NEW FACTION RECORD WAS SET FOR FIRST-DAY LEVELING. SIXTEEN!!! THAT WAS ACHIEVED TODAY BY A NEW PROSPECTOR BY THE NAME OF GNAT!!!”

  “So now the record is officially on the books. Keep it up!” Ivan Lozovsky patted me approvingly on the shoulder. “And now go get some rest, Kirill. You can’t even sit up straight. We can talk more later. I’ll answer all your questions then. And I’ll give starship pilot Zheltov your present. I need to meet with him anyway to tell him he’ll soon be getting more work. He should like that.”

  Chapter Nineteen. Morning in the Forest

  “GET UP, GNAT. It’s time for your shift!” said the bald boy from yesterday, waking me up again.

  I yawned wide and took a look around. It was dark both inside and out. Artur, Denis and Imran were still asleep. As far as I'd seen in the shift schedule, Imran had patrol again today at Border Post Eight on the third shift, just like the three of us yesterday. I had also seen Anya on the list, but at some other time and at the far post of the Eastern Swamp. As for Artur and Denis, I hadn’t seen their names. Apparently, they were supposed to spend all day plugging away on some secret project in the Prometheus laboratories.

  I quickly washed up and got myself in order, then hurried to my corncob kernel. My muscles ached, shooting with pain at every sudden motion. I even had to stop on the steep spiral staircase, sit on a step and massage my painfully convulsing left calf. That felt so good! The spasm quickly passed but, for the last few floors, my teeth were clenched and I was dragging my feet. Finally, floor fourteen... I wiped the sweat off my forehead. I hoped Lozovsky wasn’t mistaken when he assured me that my body would soon grow accustomed such constant intense exercise.

  I just hoped this pain wouldn’t carry over into the game world. Otherwise, I'd be limping all day. But as far as I could tell, the virtual world had an impact on ours, but the reverse was not true. So then, back into the virt pod to load up the game that bends reality.

  Fame increased to 8.

  My Fame shot up by two whole points?! That must have come after yesterday’s announcement that I set a new record. I couldn’t find any other explanation.

  I appeared, as expected, at our central base right where I'd set my spawn point. And I wasn’t limping. That was good. But my progress bar had predictably fallen to zero, so I felt vulnerable. I needed to raise my progress bar by at least a hair right away. I immediately activated the Scanning icon and saw a bunch of lines and marks on the mini-map. Buildings, fences, stacked boxes, roads, trees, items, living players...

  As my skill level increased, the results of the scan became more detailed and accurate. I could see some stuff and even people on the other side of walls, and my discovery radius was noticeably larger. Also, allied player markers on the map now had a bit of information with them — name, class and level. Handy!

  Speaking of that... I saw stock keeper Vasiliadi on the map, despite the early hour. I remembered what he told me yesterday. My Rifles skill was now twenty-one, so I could upgrade to a more accurate and damaging weapon. I had a bit of time, so I decided to pay him a visit.

  Vasiliadi clearly hadn’t gotten enough sleep. When he saw me come in asking for a better weapon so soon, he looked peeved and told me to quit joking around. I had no way of proving it, so I had to insist, making reference to how quickly my character level had increased. The morose and untrusting stock keeper eventually relented and went back to find me a better gun, though it seemed to me he didn’t fully believe me.

  Vasiliadi was gone for a while, six minutes. I even got scared that I'd have to go on patrol with what I had on me. But the hirsute stock keeper came back with a roll of fabric, unfolded it on the table and showed me a short pneumatic rifle that looked like a sawed-off shotgun.

  “I have very little in the way of non-automatic weapons that fit the bill. But I did find a Matador that was refit for the game. It isn’t new, and the stock isn’t original. We got thirty of these six months ago from the real world for the First Legion, and they proved effective against animals and unarmed enemies like forest spirits and centaurs. It’s a trusty pneumatic rifle with a ten-round magazine. The caliber is 6.35 mm just like your burp gun, but the firepower is much higher.”

  The rifle was so pretty I just had to hold it. But even after a quick scan, I quickly noticed traces of repair. The air tank had been replaced, and I could see a line where the wooden stock had broken and been glued.

  Angel Dust. Standard 6.35 mm PCP pneumatic rifle (modified)

  Attention! This weapon contains the following modifications:

  + 20 trajectory flatness

  +3% chance of dealing critical hits

  +40% damage done by critical hits

  Attention! This weapon was named Angel Dust by its first owner. Name cannot be deleted or changed.

  Statistic requirements: Agility 13, Strength 12.

  Skill requirements: Rifles 20

  Attention! This weapon has been damaged and repaired. Firing power reduced by 17%

  I had my doubts about the repaired rifle, and I turned the air gun over in my hands, looking critically at it new tank. It was quite a good repair job, but clearly not up to factory spec. Sensing my doubts, the hirsute stock keeper intervened:

  “It’s got bullpup configuration — the bolt, trigger group and heavy elements are set back for comfort and lower profile. Sure it isn’t new or flashy, but who cares? It got dinged up in an explosion, but our boys remodeled it and sawed out a new stock. Sure, it isn’t as pretty as the original, but it shoots just fine. This air rifle used to belong to Lozovsky himself!”

  “What does the name do? And why Angel Dust?” I enquired, already having decided I’d take the air rifle, even if it was a bit beat up.

  “It does nothing,” Vasiliadi grumbled unhappily. “All these custom names are just window dressing. This rifle was just one of many, and Lozovsky wanted his to stand out. But I have no idea where the name came from! Ask Ivan! You want it? Just so you know, this is the best I’ve got for
Rifles level twenty!”

  I handed my old air rifle in to the stock keeper and hung Angel Dust on my shoulder. I also took its special pump and a few boxes of lead 6.35-mm bullets and stashed them in my inventory.

  “Could I get a couple fragmentation grenades?” I asked in curiosity. Seeing the dismayed look on the hard-fisted cheapskate, I hurried to add: “Yesterday, only a miracle kept me from being taken prisoner by the Dark Faction. And, unfortunately, I had nothing that could definitely send me to respawn. I didn’t want to get taken alive. So, I thought of grenades. That way, I could kill myself and take some enemies with me...”

  “Gnat, you just grew significantly in my eyes...” I heard notes of respect in Vasiliadi's voice for the first time.

  He went into the back again, but this time came back almost instantly:

  “Take these. Four RGD-5 fragmentation grenades. Here are the fuzes. They’re good, brought in from the real world. Also, there is no decent replacement for your shotgun yet, so I dug up some more cartridges. There are twenty-five in this box. But they are the last we’ve got! So, don’t go using them up for nothing — we’ve got a lead deficit, and no in-game production facilities for shotgun cartridges.”

  I thanked Vasiliadi. Just then, the little bus pulled up. The canvas lifted and the Kisly waved me into the back:

  “Gnat, step to! It’s time for us to head to Antique Beach!”

  I jumped into the bus, and the group commander set the canvas back down. The eight-wheeled titan belched out diesel fumes and tore off down the well-worn road. I did my best not to reveal my confusion. Was I really being sent to Antique Beach? But what about the secret mission Lozovsky told me about yesterday?! But, as soon as the little bus was a few miles from the Capital, deep in the foggy forest, Kisly told San-Sanych to stop.

  “Gnat, this is your stop! I don’t know why, but I got an order to let you out at this fork in the road. You shouldn’t really be at Antique Beach now anyway. Last night, a pissed off centauress by the name of Phylira came by. She was asking for you and demanding you return her pearls. That magical night of love didn’t quite work out the way you promised.”