Glitch Boxset

by Victor Deckard

  I didn’t bother to say anything. Once I reloaded my pistols, I replied with two salvos to Frozen’s head. The biker helmet snapped, blood bursting from the crack. The PK tumbled sideways and went still, dead. Loot dropped from him.

  I could barely believe it. I’d just dealt with two PKs on my own! I felt like pumping my fist in the air. Actually, I did.

  However, it was too early to greet my victory with glee. The two PKs were surely on their way over here to catch up with me before I could relieve the bodies of their previous characters of armor and weapons. So I had to hurry.

  I looked this way, then that. The PKs were nowhere in sight. At least for the time being. I leaped over to Frozen’s body clad in my biker leather outfit. After stripping the body down to underpants, I changed into the “blue” biker outfit. Yet the helmet was completely demolished. It could barely provide any protection so I stowed it away in my bag to repair it later on when I figured out how the repair mechanics in this game worked.

  I accidentally glanced at the face of Frozen’s character. It was completely missing. There was a soft pulpy gory mass instead. It was so vivid and detailed I recoiled from it. Had it not been a virtual reality I might’ve even gagged. Still, the game’s realism notwithstanding, my game character didn’t seem to be capable of retching.

  Frozen’s big duffel bag lay nearby. I unzipped it. Inside were cooked food, several stimulators, rifle and pistol ammunition, and “green” medium armor, which Frozen had had on before changing into my biker outfit. Frozen’s duffel bag was more spacious than mine was so I put all my stuff into it and shouldered the duffel bag. Then I gathered up all the resources and looked around once more.

  Frozen’s assault rifle was lit up in purple color. Me being a Warlock, I couldn’t wield assault rifles. But I’d never found any unique, “purple”, items so I decided to get a closer look at it.

  > Name: Predator

  > Weapon type: Assault rifle

  > Rarity: Unique (purple)

  > The player’s required level: 7

  > Damage: 35

  > Accuracy: 90

  > Fire rate: 950

  > Magazine size: 50

  > Elemental damage: None

  > Special qualities:

  > 1. An under-barrel grenade launcher:

  > Damage: 100

  > Effective fragmentation radius: 2.5

  > Magazine size: 5

  > 2. Your reloading speed gets increased by 50 percent

  I slung the rifle across my shoulders and ran over to the second body. I picked up both my pistols named Screamer on my way to the corpse. I got on my knees before the Croc’s carcass, took all the useful items –– cooked food, pistol ammo, stimulators –– and put them into my duffel bag.

  This done, I stripped armor off the body, took Croc’s primary weapon –– excellent “blue” assault rifle having pretty good stats –– and got to my feet, scooping all the loot in both my arms and hugging it to my chest, and looked around. The two PKs still didn’t show up.

  I carried all the stuff over to the vending machine, which was nearby, and sold everything I didn’t need, namely all the “white” stuff, Frozen’s “green” medium armor, and the PK’s weapons, including Croc’s “blue” assault rifle. Spared only the Predator. Although I couldn’t use it, it seemed to be wrong to sell such a rare item. Maybe I’d find practical application of the rifle later on.

  It took me a moment to decide what to do with the two “white” pistols. They proved to be quite useful. On the other hand, I had both the Screamers to my name. After comparing the stats of the former with that of the latter, I found out that while the Fire Rate attribute of both was the same, in all the other respects the Screamers were way better than the “white” pistols. So I sold them without a second thought and holstered the Screamers.

  With this done, I bought a few vigors and checked my crystal. I had about ten thousand bucks left.

  After that, I got into the street and looked around. The bodies were stripped down to their underpants and beside them lay scattered few trifles like rifle scabbards, pistol holsters, my old bag, and some rifle ammo.

  I pondered for a second. Should I bother with gathering all that unimportant stuff to sell it? Didn’t looked like I was going to make a lot of money out of it. Before I could reach a decision, I heard the patter of rushing footsteps on the blacktop.

  After a second two players turned around a corner. They looked different. It even took me a moment to recognize them as the PKs. They both wore light armor, which seemingly was pretty cheap and of poor quality. More to the point, their faces were no longer concealed by skull-designed balaclavas, helmets, or whatever. It was only when I looked at the players’ nicknames above their heads that I recognized them.

  The PKs no longer held dangerous-looking assault rifles with attached under-barrel grenade launchers. Now the players were armed with small submachine guns, which looked rather harmless.

  As for their levels, both players had them dropped. Croc was now level nine while Frozen was eight.

  They came to a stop thirty or so yards distant from me. Their eyes swept the street. After learning that I’d already relieved the bodies of their previous characters of any useful items, Frozen uttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite make out his words, yet I was pretty sure that he’d cussed.

  After that, both players rested their eyes on me. I regarded them curiously. What amazed me was the vast difference in age between them. While Frozen was 14, if that, Croc looked much older. Perhaps he was 30 or even older. How come had they been playing together? Did a 30-year-old and 14-year-old get along very well?

  Another thought struck me from out of the blue. Maybe they were no friends but brothers. At least that could account for their constant playing together. Maybe Croc looked after his little brother in this cruel game or something.

  The PKs remained immobile. They glared at me hatefully. Nevertheless, they weren’t eager to engage me. There was no hurry to launch a shootout on my part either. Still, I was ready to defend myself if I had to.

  Only then did Frozen noticed his “purple” rifle Predator across my shoulders. He took a wary step forward toward me and brought himself to a stop, his eyes never leaving the rifle. Finally, he looked at me, his eyes smoldering.

  “You there,” He made as if he was going to call me names, but he reasonably held his tongue in time. After a moment, he spoke up again. “Hand me my rifle, will ya?”

  “Who’s gonna make me?”

  Frozen was taken aback by my sarcastic jest as if he hadn’t expected me to confront him so boldly. His face turned red with anger.

  “Give me my rifle, now!” He snarled. “Or else–– Or else–– Just gimme it, ya hear?”

  “Or else what?” I teased him. “What if I won’t?”

  Frozen was completely dazed and didn’t know what to do. He hesitated before answering, “Then–– Then–– If you give me the rifle, we’ll leave you alone.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatev.”

  Frozen finally realized that I wasn’t scared of them. He mumbled something to himself. I didn’t even bother trying to make out what he’d just said.

  By that time it was obvious that the PKs weren’t intent on having another run-in with me. Figures. I wasn’t up shit creek without a paddle any longer. I could handle myself now and both the players were well aware of that.

  Although I remained poker-faced, showing no sign of any expression whatsoever, I was delighted with my achievement. Perhaps I should’ve refrained from making smart-ass remarks, but I couldn’t help it.

  “With your “purple” piece gone, you ain’t so badass, are you?”

  Frozen grunted something incomprehensible and made to charge at me, but Croc held him back. He then stepped in front of his short-tempered brother.

  “Listen, bud,” Croc said calmly and almost amiably. “It was really hard to get that rifle. We had to beat the c
rap out of a raid boss thirty times in a row before it finally dropped the rifle. Hand it over, would you? Let’s make peace. We killed you, but then you killed us, retrieved your armor and weapons, and sold all our stuff. So we’re even now, right? Just give him his rifle and let’s forget about all this. Sure, we ain’t gonna become friends after everything that happened between you and us, but at least we won’t be picking on you anymore. Sounds good?”

  At first, I wanted to consent to his proposal and hand the Predator over to the player. But I had a sudden urge, which I couldn’t resist at all, to defy the player.

  “Tell you again,” I said in a cold voice. “Wanna get your piece back? Try and take it away from me!”

  Both the PKs got stunned. Frozen couldn’t threat me into giving him the rifle and Croc had failed to reason with me as well. They couldn’t think of any other way to persuade me to hand the gun over. Fighting for the rifle seemingly was out of the question. They didn’t believe in their ability to defeat me anymore.

  A few seconds passed. The PKs remained motionless, not knowing what they should do after having gotten my rejection. It made me feel even better. I couldn’t help but throw them a scornful look and make a rude remark.

  “Get the hell outta here before I whoop your asses once again, morons!”

  It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Frozen completely freaked out over my last remark and couldn’t restrain his emotions any longer. Swearing out loud, he charged at me. Having no other choice but to join him in the attack, Croc followed suit.

  Feeling an adrenaline rush, I dashed forward toward the players, having activated the Acceleration. Both my Screamers barked violently, raking the PKs with bullets.

  This time it was much easier for me to deal with the two players. I wore the excellent biker armor and toted two great handguns while the PKs, who had weakened by one level each, had crappy armor on and were armed with pretty worthless guns.

  I applied the same strategy. First of all, I tricked Frozen into a vortex trap. He seemed to be unwilling to be thrown in a vortex of dark energy. He darted from side to side, yet he got into the trap in the end.

  Croc was constantly moving trying to dodge my bullets. No such luck for him. My rounds tore into his body scarcely covered with armor. Most of his bullets went wide, what with my movement speed increased by the activated Acceleration. He once withdrew a stimulator and administered the shot to himself. Still, it didn’t do him much good. He’d just gotten himself a few more seconds of life.

  After dealing with Croc, I turned my full attention to Frozen. To croak him was even easier. He didn’t even bother to change his tactic a bit. He just stood still firing away on me and constantly cursing.

  Finally, both the PKs were taken care of. Unfortunately, this time none of them had dropped anything useful for me. Taking my time, I gathered up all their stuff and carried it over to the vending machine.

  After selling the loot, I walked out into the street and looked for the PKs. They were nowhere in sight. It stood to reason. After I killed them for the second time, they must’ve revived without any armor and weapons. They would surely be trying to avoid encountering me at all costs now.

  I wondered if my nickname had gotten red after I’d killed the PKs. Then it occurred to me that Crayne had covered the topic. According to him, slaying player killers didn’t change the color of one’s nickname a bit.

  I surveyed my surroundings for the last time, my eyes sweeping the street to take stock of any items that might’ve gone unnoticed. Finding none, I turned around and walked off. After some time I went so far away from the police station, in which the vending machine was, that the building was out of sight.

  As I walked down the street, I speculated on my fight against the two PKs. They had higher levels, more powerful weapons, and tougher armor. Nevertheless, I’d actually been able to defeat both of them at the same time. How come?

  I figured that one of the reasons for my successful overcoming the two PKs was my well thought-out tactics. First, my wielding two pistols loaded with the high-velocity bullets and having the quite high Fire Rate attribute, along with my timely using the Acceleration psi-power to increase my movement speed and the Telekinesis skill to bat the enemies’ grenades, really paid off.

  That there was a stubbornness about the PKs was the second reason. They persisted in employing the same tactics no matter what. The PKs would attack a single player, discharging their grenade launchers on him or her over and over again. That was pretty much it.

  Perhaps their tactics had paid off on other players just fine, which probably was why there was no need to amend their strategy. Until they met me. Not sure about Frozen but Croc might now be racking his brain trying to conceive new workable tactics in case they encounter me again. So I should be careful.

  It started to be getting dark. It was time to come up with an idea to get through the next night. After I’d failed the Delivery quest, a thought crossed my mind. I thought of finding some big vehicle, like a derelict school bus or something, and turning it into an armored combat vehicle.

  Designing such a vehicle for the purpose of staying alive at night might be a pretty good idea. Guessed driving an armored car through the streets instead of holing up in some house would make it much easier for me to survive the invasion of the night monsters.

  Still, I didn’t know either where to find a derelict school bus and how to upgrade it or if the plan was even realizable. So I had to seek shelter in some building suitable for surviving tomorrow night.

  I kept walking down the street, constantly looking around. One house caught my attention. It was pretty spacious building that stood two stories high. I started for the house.

  Close inspection sowed a seed of doubt in my mind for two reasons. First, all the windows were boarded up. But it wasn’t just decrepit, decaying planks like that of all the other buildings I’d passed by but thick and tough-looking metal plates with long thin openings for viewing or discharging weapons. Second, the entrance door, which was metal too and looked reinforced, was shut tight.

  Sensing danger, I started to retreat. Yet it was too late. I’d been spied. The door flung open and two guys burst out of the house. They looked seventeen or eighteen years old. One of them pointed his shotgun at me. I felt my body tighten as I prepared to defend myself if the need arose.

  But the second player motioned for the first one to lower his weapon. He obeyed, yet he still held the shotgun in his hands instead of putting it into the scabbard behind his back. He eyed me suspiciously. As I watched him, information popped up in my HUD.

  > Name: Guard

  > Level: 8

  “Don’t freak out, bud,” The first player said. I shifted my gaze toward him to see a piece of info appear in my HUD.

  > Name: Stan

  > Level: 7

  “We ain’t gonna shoot you,” He declared.

  “Yeah? That’s good. Won’t have to whoop your asses then.”

  Guard couldn’t help but chuckle. Guessed he wouldn’t have chuckled had he gotten to watch me have dealt with Croc and Frozen.

  “Do you happen to play the Warlock class?” Stan asked. Perhaps he was uncertain because of the assault rifle hung by the strap over my shoulder.

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “Good,” He nodded. “Listen, we’ve worked out a plan for surviving tomorrow night.”

  “What’s the drill?”

  He gestured toward the building behind him, “We’re gonna hole up in there for the night. See? We’ve already reinforced the building. But we’d be better off with one more player joining up with our group. We’d love a Warlock to team up with us.”

  Suddenly a thin, girlish voice came from the building, “We don’t need another Warlock! How many times do I have to tell you this?”

  Stan grinned lopsidedly. Before I could say something, he explained, “There three of us on the team, actually. I play as a Soldier, Ward’s an Eng
ineer, and Melissa, who you’ve just heard, is a Warlock.”

  “What do you need me for if you’ve already got Melissa?”

  “According to our plan, each of us has his or her respective task to carry out,” He said. “The problem is that Melissa gotta deal with the most difficult one. She says she can handle it, but Guard and myself reckon we need one more Warlock on the team.”

  “So what are you guys planning on doing?”

  The players looked at each other. Then Stan said, “So do you agree to team up with us? If so, let’s go inside and we’ll fill you in on the details. We've recently heard gunshots in the distance. Looks like some sniper amuses themselves with killing novices. This street seemed to be out of their line of sight. But we’d better not take this chance.”

  They turned around and started for the house casually. I remained immobile, still in doubt. I got suspicious again. What if it were just a trap? What if they planned to trick me into the building only to get me killed and relieved of all my stuff? Their nicknames were white-colored, which meant they hadn’t iced another player yet.

  But it meant nothing by itself. I didn’t know what the level of Melissa’s character was. Neither was I aware of the color of her nickname. For all I knew, there might be more players with higher levels than mine was, lying low inside the home. They might’ve just had Stan and Guard, two players with white nicknames, get outside to trick me inside the house.

  Nevertheless, I was certain, somehow, that it was no trap. Stan seemed nice and open, which was why I started to take to him. Even Guard, who appeared silent and somewhat somber, didn’t give the impression of an out-and-out player killer. Speaking of Melissa, her soft girlish voice made it hard for me to make her as an aggressive PK.

  But this game had taught me to be always vigilant. Hence, I didn’t follow the players. Stan glanced back and asked, “You coming?”