by Yuli Ban
"Heh. You are so cute when you act ignorant," she said. "How about a group kiss?"
“Group kiss? Another one?” I chuckled. “Goodness, you certainly love to love.”
She wrapped her hands around my head. “I’m a sex witch, big man. It’s what I do.”
To be continued!
Coming up next: El Sexorcisto the Third!
Welcome to UFOrlando.
The strange things from beyond the sky gravitate towards this bizarre place, and they just want to have fun trolling the locals. Svboogydood is hiding somewhere in this concrete jungle, but where? And the G-Men won’t give up their chase. They want Alex dead to protect the one known as ‘Polybius’. But who is Polybius? What is the Day That Never Comes? Maybe Svboogydood knows… But he surely won’t know what happened to Ana’s secret stash.
As for Alex’s harem, the discovery of Tatiana’s troubled past has given him new interest in the history of the other girls. This time, he’s interested in Ana (when is he not?) and wants to know just why she is the way she is. Yet coming to UFOrlando, this paranormal hotspot of ultraterrestrials in the desert, seems to be opening old wounds for the neko…
Now it’s time to remind ustedes that I have a mailing list.
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It’s also time for the fairly typical “post-credits bonus chapter.” I’ll give you two this time around. It’s from a WIP called Nightmare Online.
Stop stop! The story is over! You’re in bonus WIP territory now, friend. This story ought to be ready in a few months!
Get a jade pickaxe if you want bitcoins.
So said the ads. Yet jade was rare in Kyrapetra or Knossos, as so many new Players discovered. In mines like the one at Lydon, Players carried mining tools of a more common sort. Most pickaxes were bronze. Iron too. The lucky carried gold, while the blessed found or bought the rare stuff. Dreams of diamonoid rolled from tongues and filled forum posts, but only fools and the delusional dared to travel to Megares to try their luck.
The incentive of money was enough for this lot, so they carried their axes without sadness down into the caverns and shafts to swing at the walls and floors.
Inside the caves, lanterns and magelights lit the paths and illuminated haulage minecarts, crossbars, and portal buses. Ice crystals grew on cups of water, and NPC guard ogres carried their weapons, always affording two glances for every one going out. They all wore silver Stahlhelms and violet-on-silver body armor so thick it seemed to double their already stocky size.
A motley crew filled the donut-shaped place. One was a gothic lolita with huge glittery purple anime eyes, jet-black pigtails under a night-violet bow, a black petticoat, the whole works. Naturally, this was a twenty-something male. Above him: "PeteyPie", for they all had floating nametags as long as the view option was set to "show PID". He swung, his silver pickaxe breaking through with each swing— but only once per seventh swing did he ever receive what he was looking for:
"+1 SATOSHI"
This was his twelfth coin of the hour. Such a rate was tiresome and required constant refills of his Stamina bar to keep going. If he had a better tool, he could have quadrupled the rate. Merchants never mass produced anything other than bronze and silver. Most starter Players could not afford anything better unless they were willing to make the investments necessary.
If he had the finest pickaxe— High Mystical Diamondoid— he'd be able to net at least a few extra quid every day through virtual mining. What a wonderful dream that would be.
He spoke to a talking pair of Converse sneakers, "I don't know, I think it was on the other world. You sure you saw something like that here?"
And the shoes— its axe moving suspended in midair and still consistent to a pair of arms— replied, "No, I saw it in this game. It had to be around these mines. He's probably already got it."
One Player— this one fashioned as Sanic— carried a platinum axe. He motioned for the other Players to watch. In one swing, he gathered three satoshi, though with a great deal of rock splashed about. He immediately received death threats and envious praise. Most of the threats originated from a Player designed as a steampunk L, a la Death Note. All were moot since the mine was a protected non-combat zone. As long as they kept within the limits, they could not equip weapons.
"Hey," someone else said, this one taking the form of the Black Knight a la Monty Python, "I think I saw a troll over by the hill."
A Player designed as Vegeta said, "Alright, anyone got a stinkshock?"
Another, a cyborg anime girl with hot-pink hair and a very much female voice, said, "Was it even a troll? If it was a half-giant, it won't come near us."
The Black Knight replied, "You gotta see it for yourself."
PeteyPie ran out and equipped a jade sword as the rest of the Players called after him to ask him to leave them something to slay (or do more curious things). Lydon's standard appearance was barren trees, scarred earth, gray sky, dusty hills, and coven-blessed clearings. If there were a troll, its fiery red skin and titanic body would call all eyes upon it. There was nothing. When he went back down, he told the Black Knight that there was no troll, only to see that the knight had taken his spot in the mines. It was in that moment that he realized that the Black Knight never specified who the troll was supposed to be and he unleashed a torrent of swears. Another Player laughed, but others mentioned that he had almost followed PeteyPie out.
This was their existence— a bunch of memes and glorified cosplayers digging in a mine for a few satoshis ever so often. One day, all their gambler's hands will lose interest, the mines' veins will bear little more, and the incentive to keep mining will fade save to those with the strongest tools and greatest will. Some will stay for the game's adventures and will usually be awarded for their genuine interest. The rest— those only into these titles for the easy money— will move on to the next verse or lose interest in virtual worlds entirely. So it goes in this high-data world.
During a lull in conversation, PeteyPie looked around and said, "Yo, where'd the guards go?" One bragged of sending them to the Shadow Realm, and a few others considered the oddity. Even on patrols, one always walked by as soon as another left. When the reality that they were unprotected and unwatched washed over the group, one screamed, "PURGE!" Another, one named Colgate McSensodyne, unequipped his pickaxe and meandered outside, then making up his mind to leave. Before long, however, they all quieted. There was a clamoring rising in the distance, and they couldn't tell what it was supposed to be.
Colgate McSensodyne ran back in, screaming, "Necro! Necro's coming!"
The swears and panic erupted. PeteyPie scrambled out of the non-combat zone, but at the same moment a nearby Player equipped his bow-and-arrow, the horde stormed through. Zombies and rogue demons all swarmed the mine, and every strike from them drained unnatural chunks of Players' health bars.
PeteyPie survived.
He hid behind a half-refined crystal rock ridge, unable to wield his sword but safe in the knowledge weapons were of little use either way. For safe measure, he toggled a stealth spell to mask himself from the demons' sights. The zombies, he couldn't guess what they'd do. He never recalled facing a zombie thanks to his unwillingness to visit the haunted lands to the northeast. He never faced off against a necromancer before either.
"Good god!"
Look at this necromancer's level.
He, on the other hand, was level 13.
One course of action: log out into the lobby and respawn in the town to avoid such an embarrassing death, even though it would mean losing the money he had earned while playing. At least he would keep his weapons.
All he wanted was to raid goth girl gatherings and roleplay as a meme while making bits of money on the side. Glancing into those empty eyes genuinely frightened him. Perhaps it was the suddenness of the horde's raid that spooked him so deeply. Perhaps.
He made no mistakes— it was a turn of luck that outed him. A zombie hobbled onwards, following no set path and looking for nothing other than more Players to kill, when entirely by chance it caught sight of the man's giant bow.
He screamed and thrashed. The offending grip loosened. His ears could scarcely make sense of some voice from afar. Orders? Something that stopped the zombie. All of the hellspawn parted, allowing a figure in black to come his way unimpeded. He had a mane of bone-white hair stretching to his shoulders and empty white eyes. His smile looked unnatural, as if his lips were meant to be curved into a perpetual frown. And he didn't walk. He glided.
As he reached PeteyPie, he pulled out a blank gunmetal pocketwatch whose hands and fingers all pointed straight down.
"Please don't rape me, sir, I'm just a poor little anime girl."
"Unequip everything. Throw it all to the ground."
"Yeah? You want me to do that?" He tossed down flowers he had intended to use for alchemy but were otherwise worthless. Down with them went a rusted dagger. The entire time, he made sure to bend over as far forward as he could.
The man in black rolled his eyes, picked him up by his arms, and said, "The emerald, imbecile. The emerald. Give me the emerald."
"Creepy bastard, I don't have an emerald. I'm gonna hack you. I swear I'll do it." He went to the ground, letting out a grunt as he bounced off the dense mine floor. A red "-1" floated in his vision. Then the white-haired necromancer unsheathed a black sword, decorated as if it were a death metal prop with a skull hilt and a violet crescent blade.
The necromancer then said again, "The emerald. I'll let you keep your money if you give me the emerald."
"I don't have your stupid emerald, man. You can't even do this. I work for the emper—" And immediately, the sword went across his body. The numbers didn't matter— nine-tenths of his health bar vanished instantly. His haptic suit buzzed as pain flashed across his body. It was almost enough to get him, the real him, to tear the suit off.
His avatar rolled along the floor, blood splattered across the mineral rock faces and pooling beneath him. His silk dress was stained red.
And his mana bar exploded, overfilling several times over. Energy surged through his body. Sparks danced around his right hand. Without thinking, he pulled out a jade sword.
Then, as if the man behind the avatar was no longer in control, he lunged forward and slashed in every direction. He hit two zombies and one demon— the strike knocking off its helmet.
He put his blade against the necromancer's chest and said, "What now, huh? Didn't expect this?"
And Asmodeus chuckled. "Impressive. I'm impressed by such bravado in doomed Players. It's always the best part of these battles." He grabbed the blade and pushed PeteyPie to the dirt, face down. "More impressive is how you managed your weapon in a non-combat zone. Even I wasn't aware of this loophole. What notes I need to keep...!"
PeteyPie scrambled to his knees, but a thick and muscular demon stepped on his back and brought him back down.
"No, you are not the new Chosen One. I can tell. And it's for the better." Then he picked PeteyPie up with a blade, the end picking into his dress. He brought PeteyPie into his grip. "Remember my name, child! You will soon work for me in more ways than one!" And he stabbed, ending PeteyPie's life for the next six hours.
Chapter One (WIP)
Mark Clark came home at 3:55 PM. He felt that the sun shine was too bright for his eyes. That always happened now— it scared him how he learned to hate sunshine. And when he unlocked the door, the tumblers jiggled. She was still home.
He bolted straight to his room and fell on his bed. He didn't want to hear about Elizabeth's day. As cruel as it sounded, he didn't care anymore. There was nothing he could do for her. And luckily, she didn't bother him for as long as he laid down.
Sweat moistened his bedsheets and his clothes felt uncomfortable in the cool air of the house. Yet another symptom he could not explain, always sweating so easily within seconds of standing outside. Let alone exerting any effort.
The window darkened for seconds at a time as clouds passed by, and he wished that rain would come. His mother's tree had to be watered, the first time in months he manually had to do so. By this point, he had grown too lazy to want to do it himself. But the thought of the leaves permanently falling off and leaving behind dead branches worried him and his father, and he had to presume his sister also cared.
The sheer temperature change from walking into the house felt like falling into water, making him ever happier to be home. When he took off his shirt, he could feel just how damp it had become from his body.
Soon, he decided to check the forecast just to see if there would be relief anytime soon, and the next chance of rain wasn't until next week.
'Dammit,' he thought. However, he forgot to unfocus from the search bar and the swear filled the search queue. He decided to give it a go and the first result was a video uploaded by someone with the username Princess Varvara.
New. Uploaded 9 min ago.
He brought his eyes over the preview image— the pink-haired elven archer princess stood beneath a comically oversized broken bow, satisfying the full title of the video: "DAMMIT! I BOUGHT A CHEAP BOW AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS!" followed by a string of emojs.
Sounded like it would be a fun time. He made a note to watch the video later, instead readying himself to have his evening ruined by his sister as she walked through the door.
"Go away," he moaned.
"You should seriously taste this medicine just once," she said.
Again, he said, "Go away."
"How about I drip a few drops into your drink? You won't even know which one!"
"I'll drink from the hose directly then."
"And then I'll spike the entire city water supply."
Mark beat his head down against his pillow. "You'll just be charged with terrorism. Besides, why would you willingly waste all that money?"
She sat on his bed. He felt a vein pulse on his forehead.
"I kept a little bit of it. Seriously, just taste it." She held up the royal-blue bottle, swishing it around to show the tiny black leftover puddle inside.
He snatched his sheets, trying to pull them from under her, but she shifted her behind to keep them stuck.
"You idiot, you can't just not take all your medicine. For all you know, you're gonna die tomorrow because of that tiny amount!"
And she was grinning.
"It won't hurt. Just take it. C'mon!"
"No. I'm not sick. You are. Go away."
Right as he said that, the book flashed through his mind. He threw his sheets over her head.
"Hey!"
Then he stormed off to her room, pushing her door open and searching around her computer desk.
"What are you doing in my room, jerk-off?"
"Don't even start."
"You need permission before you go breaking and entering."
"Seriously, don't even start."
As his sister continued on explaining why he was a morally bankrupt villain for entering her room without permission and refusing to leave when asked, he scanned a bookshelf. All the spines were clean, with dust built up on the bare areas and on top of the books themselves. One particular book had the words he was looking for. The spine read "DAVID AUGUSTUS | THE DECOMPOSITION IS NEAR"
He pulled it out and let the spine crack as he flipped through the pages. When he bought this particular book, he could not remember. At least not the exact date. It was two dollars at a mini book fair in Sanderson Hall (all hardcovers were two dollars), and the cover was the only thing that interested him. On it was a photo of a remote graveyard on a foggy day as a mahogany coffin is lowered into a grave by multiple humanoid robots.
"Now you're stealing my private property? What are you, a communist?" She reached out to snatch the book, and he pressed against her face to keep her away.
"I'm taking this book," he said.
"That's my book, you dolt!"
<
br /> "It's actually my book. I let you borrow it three years ago."
"Fake news. I remember the very day I bought it at the book sale."
Quickly, Mark rushed out of Elizabeth's room. Once he made it back to his room, he shut and locked the door.
"I'm gonna make you pay!" she screamed.
"Whatever."
Yet even as he said that, he couldn't help but feel that his sister's overdramatic annoyances were one of the highlights of each day.
Right as he started to open the book, Elizabeth quieted. And in that moment, his mind went to the possible future that was silence throughout the evening. It did him no good to keep thinking about it, but he didn't mind her socially inept snark sometimes. If he ever wrote a book, he'd use her material that she's graciously— graciously!— inundated upon him over the years.
Then he scanned over the title page again.
He opened to the Table of Contents, finding out where the deliciously ironic chapter started. As if his body were forcing him to procrastinate, he looked up and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, thoughtless, putting off doing such a simple task. Then he forced himself to find the page. First, he waded through the legal matter. It was somewhat old— he found © 2022 on the brown-stained legal page and it covered the legacy of that odd late futurist, Ray Kurzweil. 2032 came to his brain. Spring semester 2032. Ten years hence Kurzweil's ironic death. He set the book down next to the Neurouniverse and flipped to page one hundred ninety-seven. 'So What About Full-Immersion Virtual Reality? (Hint: Not Even Physically Possible!)'