by Mars Dorian
Man, this game sucked.
4
Game over. Well, not really, because this quest counted as a tutorial mission with no permanent death, which would only happen after I had graduated from the in-game academy.
Still, I was done for today. I summoned the exit menu and switched off. The virtual world dematerialized in front of my eyes, and a whoosh brought me back to reality. The second the switch from VR to reality occurred, I yanked myself up from the chair inside my room and breathed in. The dank air of my smelly four walls invaded my nostrils. I hated this moment. I didn’t know whether it was the programmer’s fault or mine, but the return to reality always felt like a shock that jostled my body from head to toe. My limbs shivered for seconds before I pulled off the VR face shield and gloves. I disconnected them from the computer and taught my mind to adapt to my new surroundings. The misty atmosphere and wooden trees of the Finsterland Forest had made way for the walls of my children-sized room. Old-fashioned sci-fi books in print form graced my shelves; classics penned by Heinlein and Crighton completed the collection.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else in my room. Books, the bed, my computer, and a lot trash in-between counted as my real world kingdom. Just like my game character, I lacked funds.
“Dashiell?”
My mother’s voice permeated the wooden door. Was she home already? A quick glance at my wristband showed me it was half past eleven; she had already finished her second shift.
I switched off my computer and ventured into the living room. Openly connected to the kitchen, the first thing I saw was my mother washing some fresh vegetables in the sink. She turned her head at me and smiled, but exhaustion wracked her muscles. Working two jobs six days a week had vaporized her energy.
“Were you playing the entire time?”
A normal question a mother would have thrown at her teenage son, but considering I reached well into my twenties made the situation slightly awkward. I grabbed a stool and sat in front of the kitchen counter. A steaming bowl of brown rice with local-grown veggies welcomed me. The healthiest snack one could buy on a low budget.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Mom said.
“Just a little to cool off.”
“How many jobs did you apply for today?”
Same old question, every single day. It grated my nerves, but she was paying for my food and my housing, so I couldn’t be disrespectful. “I talked to an online career advisor today, and she said that most companies didn’t bother searching through applications anymore.”
Mom’s shoulder sagged. Her hands were about to drop the sieve with the veggies. Hurt me a little to see her like that. “So you’re going to stay at home and play games all the time?”
“Probably not, the game sucks pretty much. I did, however, grab a cool mech-axe before a couple of Reepo-infested wolves ripped the shit out of me.”
“Language,” Mother said.
“Sorry, comes with the territory.”
Not that Mom had any idea about the Reepo, the Academy, or any game-related terms from the Crystal Crusade. She poured the vegetables next to my rice bowl and sprinkled a bit of seaweed over them.
“Itadakimasu,” Mom said with her first smile of the evening.
A Japanese saying meaning 'good appetite', which she had learned during her gig in Osaka. I plunged the chopsticks into the rice and fished out the vegetables. Few ingredients, but boy, did they wake up my taste buds. Mom was a cuisine goddess who summoned the few ingredients and conjured them into a pleasing health potion. In the middle of the munching and crunching, she raised her head with curious eyes. “So what are you going to do now?”
Questions that I hated, part two. Crafting CVs and shooting them into the void of corporate hell was a waste of time. I had always thought that gaining a computer science degree would prepare me for any destiny, but the real world moved in mysterious ways. To be fair, I loved my old job. The right mix between analytic thinking and practical variety. And boy, was I damn good at it, but how could I compete against robots?
Just thinking about it burned me up inside.
Mom finished up her plate and padded toward my neighboring room. She carefully opened the door and snuck inside before she cursed. I almost fell from my stool and choked on my rice ball. I spat out the mushed pieces and spun my head around. “What’s the matter?”
Mom hurried back into the living room with wide open eyes. “Where’s your sister?”
“Apparently not in bed.”
“Keep your snark, I’m serious.”
She shouted into the living room, “Shaina?”
Again and again.
I scratched my head. “Mom, I don’t think she’s home.”
“You were supposed to watch her.”
“She’s freaking fifteen.”
Mom ignored me and called every one of Shaina’s friends; names that sounded more ridiculous than most game characters I’ve come across.
Raze.
Goldie.
Smiley.
Numbers.
Whoever had those whacko names in the real world couldn’t be taken seriously. After the tenth call, Mom’s eyes targeted me again. “Why didn’t you watch her?”
“I was stuck in Fourlando.”
“What?”
“The game world. You know, from the Crystal Crusade.”
I wanted to spew more details, but my mother already ignored my comments and started calling the friends of friends of acquaintances. It hurt to see her like that, all riled up after a ten hour day at two menial jobs she loathed. And now the trailer’s number one troublemaker went missing yet again. Same old dramatic story; like a nasty quest that looped over and over.
Then it hit me. In the middle of the call frenzy, I wiped the sauce from my lips and stood up from the stool.
“Mom.”
She was talking to my aunt, and effectively ignoring me.
“Mom,” I said again.
She threw me a sharp glance and was about to shush me with her index finger, but my mouth moved faster.
“I think I know where Shaina is.”
5
Mom looked at me with her mouth hanging open like I was telling the worst joke of the century, except I was being dead serious. She even stopped talking to my aunt and pulled the phone away from her ear. “Then where is she?”
Telling her would break her heart, so I just said, “She’s in the trailer park. Let me pick her up.”
Without waiting for her answer, I grabbed my coat and headed toward the front porch.
“You want to go out now?”
It was late evening, which meant most folks stayed home and away from the dangers. “Give me twenty minutes. Don’t worry, I’ll get her back.”
Outside, the fresh wind of the night brushed against my sweaty face. Fighting through VR lands made me forget how welcoming the real world could be, at least for a couple of seconds.
I walked by our used family van and hit Capistrano Avenue, one of the major roads in the park. Even near night, most lights in the trailers were switched off. I pictured all the drug dealers in the neighborhood getting high and partying all night long. Thankfully, no one besides me walked outside. Not even dealers were stupid enough to go on foot out here, unless they were selling their stash.
I hurried around the street corner and headed up a parallel lane. Fifty yards in front of me, a trashy trailer with barricaded windows came into view. Ancient fuel-based Pontiac Firebirds jammed the driveway—looked like half the gang was at home. I summoned the little courage I had, marched toward the front door, and rang the bell. After the fifth ring, a young man finally opened the door. He wore a skull cap and some ‘Earth Must Die’ logo shirt that was mostly holes. The stink of cannabis wafted at me. “Whadyya want?”
“Hey, I’m wondering if Shaina’s with you. She needs to come home.”
“Who the hell are you—her boyfriend?”
“Brother.”
He sniffed and craned
his head toward the living room. “Shaina?”
The loud music swallowed his shout. To be honest, the guy didn’t even bother to raise his voice.
“I can get her, no problem.”
His toxic glare was enough to kill a cat. “No, you’re gonna stay outside, buddy.”
He looked into the living room where more smoke drifted around. I wanted to pinch my nose but didn’t want to appear hostile toward the guy. He already seemed on edge.
“Shaina, move your ass.”
A brunette teenager with freckles stepped onto the front porch, her expression stuck between annoyance and confusion. I almost didn’t recognize my own sister.
“Hey, bro,” she said.
She couldn’t even call by name. Not a surprise, so I played it cool. “Mom is worried about you.”
“I’m okay.”
“Let’s get home.”
“I don’t—”
I gave her THE stare, and it worked. She French-kissed Mr. Badass and stepped down from the porch with slouched shoulders. Her breath reeked of smoke.
“Later, Shaina,” the guy said before he slammed the door shut. She air-kissed him goodbye and kept her distance from me. For a while, we just walked quiet alongside, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“Great friends you got.”
“Shut up.”
“What did they give you? Pot? Meth? Burrn?”
“Are you from the DEA now?”
“I just hate to see my little sister taking drugs.”
“Uh-oh. Big bro is watching me.”
It was impossible to talk to Shaina in her current state. At least she was able to walk and function on a basic level. In no time, we returned to our trailer’s driveway where Mom already guarded the van, ready to jump in for an emergency pickup. “Shaina.”
Here we go. Mom stormed toward my sister and hugged her tight before she unleashed her warnings. My ears automatically tuned out the debate. We moved inside where the ugly, living room light greeted us with its piss-yellow. I walked toward the fridge and gazed at its sparsity. Except for a few veggies and mineral water, the void stared back at me.
Hello darkness, my old friend.
I poured myself a glass of fresh mineral water and watched mother going crazy at Shaina, who seemed to beam her brain to a different dimension. Same old trouble every day; at this stage, it felt as if there was an invisible wall between me and my family. I should have cared, but I didn’t. “Goodnight, everyone.”
Mom stopped her scolding for a second. “We will talk about your job situation tomorrow, young man.”
“If you say so.”
I shut the door and thankfully it muffled at least half of the yelling. Granted, I was no model son either, but unlike Shaina, I didn’t take drugs or hang out with druggies. I had studied at a decent college and found a good job which I worked for almost half a decade. I made a rock-solid 70K a year and could afford the latest version of the VR immersive game set—that is, until the whole robot automation kicked into high gear and the corporation pushed me out. So much for company culture.
Whatever.
I swung into my chair and swiveled around. Even with the door shut, Mom’s yelling permeated the walls. I peeked at my VR set and found my hands trembling. The game sucked, but not as much as reality. I activated the set, wrapped the helmet around my head, and snapped the face shield open, plugging myself into the VR world of Fourlando.
The digital start menu curved around my eyes and played the orchestral game melody in the background. An addictive jingle, like honey teasing the ears. When the menu asked me if I wanted to start from my latest save game, I said yes. Digital fragments rebuilt the world of Fourlando and flooded my ears with the immersive soundtrack. Mom’s yelling tuned out, and only the Crystal Crusade remained.
6
I woke up in the infirmary of the Academy, a result of me ‘dying’ in the tutorial level. A quick glance into my window revealed that I had lost all items except for the crimson mech-axe. To heck with the potions and the cutter, the axe counted as the most important item in my short gaming life so far. I could sell it for a profit and maybe snag some decent gear.
In the medical room, a nurse approached me and squeezed some kind of injection into my right arm. “You be careful out there, Cadet. Fourlando has become a dangerous place.”
No kidding. A pack of Creepos had ripped me apart in a tutorial mission. What happened to beating little rats to gain first experience points? Everything had become more extreme nowadays.
I joked with the NPC nurse. “Do I need any medicine?”
“I don’t think it will necessary anymore. You just worry about getting back to class.”
She waved me goodbye, ready to treat the next beginner player who had ‘died’ in a tutorial mission. I entered the hallway and noticed that I had upgraded to Level 2.
Even though I failed the quest due to the NPC dying in the hole, killing a few Creepos and finishing at least half of the mission was enough. Looked like the game didn’t punish me for choosing the amoral option—which was smart. I hated it when games only gave you one right option and punished you for taking the ‘wrong’ one. The skill menu on my e-scroll showed me the three main categories which summarized all abilities in the game.
Assault, Support, and Utility.
Assault described any skill which debilitated or killed an enemy. Support functioned as boosters that increased a player’s survivability during a fight—think attack rate increase, and protective arts. Utility was the name for skills which helped interact with the world, like riding animals, bargaining with merchants, or operating machinery.
I spent my first point on the close-combat melee expertise skill, set in the assault section. This ability increased my damage with melee weapons by +5% and allowed me to access light arms. I then took the mechanical lift and traveled to the player’s hub inside the Academy, the major hang-out for users from all around the world. They chatted, traded items, and looked for new teams to join. A few hundreds characters, most of them classless, buzzed around the airport-styled venue and engaged with each other. In the crowd, a white-haired, slender female in uniform armor chatted up a scarred man with short-trimmed, red hair. The name ‘Rokkit’ came into view. He stood at least a head taller than her and crossed his arms. He posed like a melee fighter even though he hadn’t chosen his class yet. Two other characters accompanied him like bodyguards and nodded.
“L’ocean,” I shouted.
She twitched from afar, but didn’t turn around so I joined her group. L’ocean’s elfish face rotated toward me with a frown. “Hey,” she said with a lackluster voice.
“Crazy quest, eh? Just woke up in the infirmary.”
Useless opener, but I had to say something to jumpstart the dialogue. The short-trimmed, red-haired guy sighed at my direction. “What’s up, NPC killer?”
He delivered the line with enough attitude to burn through titanium metal.
“I didn’t kill any NPC.”
His thick crimson eyebrows cocked. “You didn’t swap a mech-axe for the life of a trapped man?”
My shoulders dropped. L’ocean must have told him about my quest failure. “First of all, he wasn’t a ‘man’ but a piece of computer code. Second of all, I only had limited inventory space, so I had to make a decision.”
“So you went for the axe,” the avatar, Rokkit, said. “I bet you’re a real sunshine in the offline world, too.”
He almost reacted like L’ocean the first time, except with more attitude. Unbelievable how seriously these players took Fourlando and its inhabitants.
“I know you’re really into this game, but spoiler alert: it’s not real, it’s a virtual entertainment software.”
“For you,” L’ocean chimed in. “Some of us actually take this game seriously. Some even make their full-time living from it.”
She must have meant sponsoring. Some of the best, higher-ranked players received real-world sponsors and monetized their streams onl
ine. Rebel Bionics, Charity Coke, Macrosoft, and Younity, among other corporations, supported pro players with mucho money. And with the Crystal Crusade becoming the most popular VRMMORG in the world, more and more money flooded to the players, creating a new class of human workers.
“What are you up to now?”
“We’re taking a few more tutorials and joining quests to reach our class selection.”
“That quick, eh?”
“Some of us have actual ambitions,” Rokkit said. “While lowlifes waste their time dabbling in mediocrity, the go-getters strive for high ranks and gaming excellence.”
His not-so-subtle hint about lowlifes showed me what Rokkit thought of me, but I wasn’t going to fret over player competition.
“Maybe I should take some more tutorials as well. I need to level up before I can even think about participating in the final field mission.”
L’ocean nodded, but Rokkit cracked up. “You’re the quintessential bloob.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the abbreviation for bloody noob,” L’ocean said.
“Well, I did start out a couple weeks ago, so—”
Rokkit cut me off. “Where are you from, Dash?”
“The US, why?”
“No, which state.”
I wondered if it was smart to tell him, although looking someone up on the web was easier than ever. As long as I didn’t mention my real address, I could reveal the basic details.
“Southern Colorado. Why?”
His facial expression turned pensive. “Have you ever heard of Sparrow?”
“Never.”
“She’s a pro player from Denver or Boulder, I can’t remember. Point is, she’s very good. So when you get tired of losing all the time, go ask her for some much-needed advice.”
…because the guy knew all about my gaming style—typical bully; always attacking the lower ranked, casual players. The idea that I played the game for fun was lost on him. Still, I had enough of the banter; I wanted to play.
L’ocean saluted me goodbye, more out of politeness than camaraderie. Rokkit sniffed at me like a piece of rotten meat—I wondered what kind of class he would pick later on; my guess was mechanoid jackass.