Author: Jason Anspach; J. N. Chaney; Mark Boyett
Date: 2020-12-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: Success brings its own troubles. Dirk's epic run of success in King's League has drawn new gamers to Dawnshire, but not all of them are there to play nice. Rumors about mysterious Graydon's Armor pieces are quietly spreading across the Realms. It isn't long before someone attempts to take away everything Dirk possess as powerful forces conspire against King's League's newest player sensation. The game quickly turn personal as hidden threats work to make Dirk's life miserable in and out of the game. Dirk follows the clues to King's League's cyberpunk expansion realm, 86-Neon. Fighting for survi
Publisher: Audible Studios on Brilliance
Rights: Copyright 2020 Jason Anspach. All rights reserved.

86-Neon

King’s League Book Two

Jason Anspach

J.N. Chaney

Copyright © 2020 by Jason Anspach and J.N. Chaney

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Newsletter

Last Time, On King’s League

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Afterword

About the Authors

About Mountaindale Press

Mountaindale Press Titles

Newsletter

Don’t miss out on future releases! Sign up for the Mountaindale Press newsletter to stay up to date. And as always, thank you for your support! You are the reason we’re able to bring these stories to life.

Last Time, On King’s League

My name’s Dirk. And… I’m sort of a big deal now. It’s not something I was trying to do. All I wanted was to find a way back into school and get a job as a data analyst for a professional football team (the American kind).

What is it about football that makes it so recession-proof?

Anyway, after getting expelled for… reasons, I played King’s League for money. Not tournaments or live streaming or anything that might get some modicum of respect, though. Nope. I was a simple looter of whatever was left behind. A perpetually low-level player who gathered what he could for sale at the River Market, which translated to real life cash.

But never enough. I’d have been on the streets twice over if it weren’t for some angelic landlords.

And then one day I got the score to end all scores. A magical helm called Graydon’s Sight which provided me with—how to say this gently?—game breaking powers. In a game designed to make you suffer, I leveled up at alarming speed and uncovered some long hidden secrets in the world.

I was elected mayor! Sort of.

The bad guys took note. Particularly a once-beloved streamer named Salvatore. One of the game’s few level 99 players. He had been setting up players through his videos into becoming XP farms, slaughtering them to grow his guild The Dark Riders. They came after me, my town, my friends… but in the end good prevailed. Because evil is dumb.

And so now I’m trying to make sense of what comes next. For me—my subscriber base is only growing—and also for Dawnshire, which is doing all right. And then Stoneburner and Brian and… well, for all of King’s League.

I did a lot of talking about wanting to help turn the game into something fun again, free from griefers like Salvatore. Only saying it and doing it aren’t exactly the same thing…

Chapter One

I was supposed to be eating breakfast right now. My stomach isn’t the only thing reminding me, either. My watch keeps buzzing me with updates from Brian. This time he’s promising he’ll be at the diner in ten minutes.

It’s not so bad. The place is a short walk from my apartment. I go through my place, making sure I have everything. Shoes on, wallet stuffed into my front pocket where it’ll be a lot more difficult to steal—gotta be pragmatic about my neighborhood—and yup, I’m set.

I head to what I consider my living room, though as a studio it’s pretty much all living room. And kitchen. And… you get the idea.

I cast a furtive glance at my VR equipment, locked in the wooden box I’ve attached to the floor. If I jogged, I could get to breakfast in three minutes. That leaves me at least five minutes to log in and see how things are going in Dawnshire.

No.

Bad, Dirk. Not that Brian doesn’t deserve it, given how late he is, but you go down that road and you’re not coming up for air for hours and you know it.

I let out a deep breath, the temptation to play overcome, and lock my apartment to adventure into the real world.

The day is nice if a little cool. I spend the quick walk imagining what I’ll do when I return to King’s League. Stoneburner has been doing a great job with Dawnshire, and while I should be helping him there, I can’t stop thinking about Graydon’s set of enchanted armor. I have two pieces of the legendary armor set, with no idea on the whereabouts of the rest. None of the big streamers ever hinted that this was even a thing. And while I’ve watched them play, I can’t say I’ve spotted anything on them that would make me think they possess the boots, belt or any other pieces. I wonder if whoever does own them is somewhere out there. Thinking of how to find what I have.

I’m right on time to the shabby strip mall and its hidden gem, Casa del Domingo. It’s one of those over-the-top restaurants where the management and staff decided to try to sell food by creating a “fun and quirky” atmosphere. As a result, it looks ridiculous.

But the food is good enough that none of that matters.

I’m greeted outside the establishment by Pedro—or at least that’s what the locals call the statue of the big, round man in an over-sized sombrero with a huge cartoon mustache. He’s holding a taco the size of a cat and looking at it like it’s the world’s largest nugget of gold.

The moment the door jingles open, all the garish, silly decorations like Pedro don’t matter. I’m greeted by the aromas which have drawn hungry people to this place for decades. When businesses were failing all around them, Casa del Domingo flourished. People still had to eat, and when everything else in life sucks, at least they can eat well.

“Good afternoon,” the hostess says from behind a lectern painted red, white, and green. She’s wearing big hoop earrings with colorful plastic parakeets perched inside. “Just one?”

“Yeah, for now,” I answer, “but I’m expecting a friend. Can I get a booth?”

She leans over the lectern and peers around the half-empty restaurant as if she’s having trouble finding a booth to seat me at. “Sure thing. Right this way, please.”

With a practiced sweep of her hand, she scoops up a couple of menus and leads me to a spot in the back. It’s directly beneath speakers blaring mariachi music with a mural painted on red brick of a skinny cartoon tiger dressed up like Zorro and slashing away at chimichangas.

I decide it’s the perfect spot. Nobody around to listen to my conversation with Brian. Though honestly even if someone did sit by us, they’re not gonna hear anything over the music. Maybe that’s me being paranoid, but after I saw the advertising payouts for just a few streams, I realized how much money there is to be made in King’s League. Real money. Which may well mean real problems. So why not be safe?

With the waitress off to get a couple of waters, I start looking over the menu, pretending I might order something other than the stuffed carne asada burrito. The smell from the kitchen has already caused my stomach to ache with anticipation. I’m starving and really wish Brian wasn’t late. I would have been elbow deep in rice and steak by now. At least there’ll be chips and salsa soon.

“What’s up, buddy?” Brian says as he slides into the bench seat across from me. He sends me a fist bump, and I immediately lose whatever confidence I had from my own time in the gym. Brian is definitely in football shape. But he looks a little more tired than usual.

“Same crap, different day,” I say, then pass a menu to him. “Late night?”

“Nah,” he says, still smiling. “How’s business? Dawnshire treating you well?”

I shrug. “Still getting it going, you know? It’s coming along, though. Not someplace people are going to visit instead of the River Market unless they’re already out there. But maybe someday.”

The direction of the conversation takes me a little off guard. For one, Brian’s an Ebonforge guild admin. He can see everything I can when it comes to Dawnshire. Second, he hasn’t shown much interest in the place since the big clash with Salvatore. He set up the streaming, but even that he’s let go as school and football take up his time. I should be better about that, but I just didn’t get into King’s League to run a TV show.

“I haven’t been on in a while,” Brian continues as his eyes sweep the menu. “Trying to focus on school and all.”

“Finally following my advice.”

Brian laughs. “Don’t let it go to your head. Are the Dark Riders still giving you trouble?”

I was day-dreaming about burritos and it takes me a second or two for my mind to refocus. Should I get chicken instead of steak? Tough decision.

“Nothing major,” I answer, firm in my decision to go with steak. “Last night a couple of ’em tried to corner me in a dungeon.”

“High level?”

“Couple of fifties. Must’ve figured that the two of them would equal a level one hundred that might be able to top a ninety-nine in yours truly.”

“I need to level up,” Brian says, shaking his head. “So you dropped ’em?”

“I was helping one of our guildies level up. Mentoring him. They managed to get a couple of quick shots off, but I took them out.”

“Nice. Any good drops?”

“For me? No. But the level twelve I was with… yeah. He’s pretty happy to have it now.”

Brian laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“Just think of all this, man? There was a time when you were so tight-fisted about any loot that dropped. Now you’re giving it away. That’s quite the change in circumstances, bro.”

I can’t quite tell if that’s meant as a compliment about my recent good fortune, or a dig. I don’t know why but I’m getting an odd vibe out of my friend.

“How’s school?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Well, you know.” Brian lets out a sigh. Although his eyes are pointing at the menu, he doesn’t look like he’s actually reading it.

“Ah, no. I don’t. I got expelled, remember? So I don’t know much…”

“I’m failing two classes,” he finally admits, eyes drifting to meet mine from his menu. He’s squinting and I can see the lines on his forehead drawing in.

“Dude, you’re on scholarship. And they can kick you out for failing even one class nowadays after the reforms. You know that, right? What are you gonna do if that happens?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. And, well, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

I do my best impression of the Rock and arch my eyebrow.

Brian takes a deep breath before continuing. “Seeing as how you’re doing so well in King’s League, I was wondering if you needed any help.”

“Help?”

“Yeah, like with Dawnshire or something.”

“You know I hired Stoneburner to run the town, right?”

“Of course I do. It’s just—you know—we’re friends. We have a history and all. I was hoping you’d help me figure something out.”

The waitress comes with chips and salsa and to my agony, Brian sends her off for a few minutes so he can figure out what he wants.

When she’s gone, I hold out a finger. “Dude. Do not send her away again without ordering or I will kill you and then die of hunger myself.”

Brian drops his menu and shouts, “We’re ready!”

I flush with embarrassment, but Brian seems to revel in the awkward attention he draws to himself. I order the usual and then place my palms on the table once our waitress leaves to put in the order, watching Brian stuff a fully loaded triangle of tortilla chip into his mouth.

“I’m not sure what you need help figuring out, man. You’re the one who’s supposed to help me out once you get that fat NFL contract, remember?”

Brian dive-bombs the faux-stone salsa bowl with a new chip and shakes his head.

“Why are you failing your classes?”

He leans back against the padded cushion behind him. I can almost feel his uncertainty. “I… don’t see the point anymore. I mean, really, the economy is getting worse. Nobody’s getting jobs when they graduate. I’d like to do what you do. You know, quest, meet interesting people, kill dragons.”

I shake my head, not believing what I’m hearing. “Dude. C’mon. I’m not trying to bring this back up, but you’re only still in college because I took a bullet for you. You can’t quit!”

“I’m not… I don’t want to quit. It’s not like that.”

“What about football?”

Brian splits a chip in half and tosses the smaller piece at the basket. “Let’s be realistic. This town, our university…it’s not like I was getting courted by the big programs coming out of high school. However long college lasts, this is likely it.”

“You sound defeatist,” I say, hoping he’s not put off by my watching the kitchen for signs of our food. “Don’t forget—”

Brian bats away my attempt at encouragement. “Don’t bother bringing up Tom Brady. This ain’t Michigan and I’m not him.”

I shrug. “I was going to go with Russel Wilson.”

“I’m not him, either.” Brian sighs. “I checked the population of the King’s League US server this morning. It’s increased another 30,000 since last week. That means there’s more people to buy our goods, right? More people who might be interested in what you’re doing in Dawnshire and in the game. There’s an opportunity there.”

Steaming plates of amazingness are set before us. We’re warned not to touch the hot plates. As soon as the waitress leaves, Brian and I both prod the edges of our dishes, testing just how hot they actually are.

“About King’s League,” I say, finishing off that glorious first bite of too-hot-but-too-irresistible burrito. The way the sauce dripped from my fork and how the cheese stretched… why don’t I eat this every day of my life? “I’ve managed to squirrel some cash away. Enough for a rainy day. But there’s no guarantee. I could get killed in game—or in real life—tonight. And someone else could take Dawnshire, the helm… everything. Then I’m back to scrounging. But this is your time. You have the opportunity to do something great. Ignore King’s League until you’re back on track. The game will still be there when you’re caught-up on school.”

Brian gives me a slow nod. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll work on it.”

To this point he hasn’t actually touched his food. Just the plate. He sits up and rubs his hands together. “But for now, tacos!”

The conversation turns to girls, as it usually does. Brian has a thing for a blonde in his Tuesday class, but she won’t let him get close. I don’t have much advice about that. Not exactly my strong suit. I had a girlfriend in the sixth grade but after the surreal moments of bliss where she checked the “yes” box on my “will you be my girlfriend?” note, the relationship got awkward. We never even kissed. Technically, we never broke up, either. So I guess I’m still taken. Anyway, that’s the highlight of my love life so far.

We spend the next hour eating, relaxing, and laughing.

One of the owners, the fifty-something family matriarch with a crooked nose and warm smile deposits the receipt on the table.

Brian goes for his wallet but I’m faster. Without looking at the bill I retrieve my King’s League debit card and hand it to her.

She returns a minute later.

As I go to put my card back in my wallet, she coughs softly to get my attention.

I look at her, and she discreetly gestures down to the receipt.

Printed at the bottom in big, bold letters, I see the words: CARD DECLINED.

My face is flush. I’ll admit that being dinged for insufficient funds is hardly a new experience. Sometimes you’re at the grocery store going right up to the limit and something that’s on sale doesn’t ring up as on sale and then… public shame. Except I have over three thousand dollars in my checking account alone. Another four thousand in savings. There’s no way my card was declined. It doesn’t make any sense.

Besides my ID, my King’s League debit card is the only other plastic in my wallet. I glance down at the card reader and turn it over several times as if I’ll be able to spot the flaw preventing it from working correctly.

“Maybe another card?” the owner suggests, looking like I’m just a few seconds off from her calling her sons out to force me and Brian into the kitchen for dish duty.

“Dirk, Dirk, Dirk,” Brian mock scolds as he reaches for his own wallet. He looks at the owner. “Kids today, right? So irresponsible. I’ll take care of the bill. No problem.”

“Hold up,” I tell him, raising my hand to stop him while I give the card back to the waitress. “It has to be a computer glitch or something.” I almost want to bring up my account balances on my phone, just to prove that for once, I’m not broke. Instead I just paste a smile on my face. It feels fake, so I’m guessing it looks that way. “Please, try it again.”

“Of course,” the owner says, with a smile every bit as fake as mine.

“Are you sure things are going well, Dirk?” Brian asks as she departs. “Because if they’re not—”

“Yes,” I interrupt. “Everything’s fine. I just checked my account yesterday. I’ve got plenty to pay for this. We could eat at a real restaurant if we wanted, Brian. Like, with cloth napkins.”

Brian gives me a patronizing look. “Maybe all that new money has you livin’ the life? Huh, buddy? What’s your cocaine and escort budget these days?”

“Shut it,” I hiss through gritted teeth as the owner returns.

Her face appears to be more relaxed, I think. It’s hard to tell, but the wrinkles aren’t so deep. But I feel my heart relax as a genuine smile comes to her face. “You were right. Looks like it was just a computer glitch. Internet is so bad now. I blame the 5G. But my boys, they say I don’t really understand any of that stuff. I usually leave things like that to my grandson. He’s very computer-savvy.”

“He sounds like a great young man,” Brian says in that tone that always makes me think he’s gonna get slapped, but that older people just seem to eat up.

“Yes, he is. Anyways, thank you for visiting Casa del Domingo, and please come back soon. Any time.”

And then, she winks at me.

Brian coughs into his drink, sending driblets of water onto the table. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “Wrong pipe.”

I smile and nod like an idiot, put my card back in my wallet and quickly head for the exit.

As soon as we step outside, the teasing starts. “And you said you couldn’t offer advice about my blonde co-ed. You’re quite the lady’s man when it comes to the more… experienced types, Dirk.”

“Shut it.” I sound angry, but I’m smiling. “Let’s change the subject. Back to your failing grades.”

Brian stops laughing and gives me the stink eye, shaking his head.

“Seriously, bro,” I say, slapping the back of my hand against his chest. Yeah. He’s way ahead of me when it comes to the gym. “You’ve got to work harder. I mean, not your pecs, these are great. But… whatever is distracting you needs to take a back seat. I want to see you succeed. No playing video games—any video games—until you’re passing your classes again, okay? Seriously. You’re not playing a lot right now. Cut it even further. Total video game abstinence.”

“Feel like we had this discussion,” he says as he thrusts his hands into his pockets and kicks a small pebble from the sidewalk into the street. “But yeah. You’re right. I’ll get back on track. Then you have to help me level-up.”

“Deal. And seriously, everything is fine in the game. I’m doing well. Don’t worry about me.”

I have the suspicion that maybe Brian’s attempts to keep me alive and thriving against Salvatore contributed to his big losses when it came to those tests that were upcoming, now that I look back. I don’t want him to be tempted to do it again.

“You sure?” Brian asks.

“Dude. I’m fine. I’m buying the real Ramen now. No more generics for me. I’m like the Jeff Bezos of ramen. For real. Don’t worry about me, man, I’m good.”

Brian gives me one of those punches that wouldn’t hurt a fellow football player made of steel, but manages to sting my arm. “Alright, cool,” he says with a smile. “See ya around. But if you do need anything—anything at all—give me a call.”

“I will,” I say.

Brian turns to the left while I head to the right.

Brian’s a good guy. But as long as I’ve known him, he’s always hovered on the edge of laziness. Sure, we all have our moments, but when he gets in a mood, it’s like nothing in the world can make him happy or motivated. He’s got all the talent in the world. He’s not dumb, he has a good arm, good accuracy… I know for a fact it drives his coaches nuts because they can all see what I see—the potential he has but either doesn’t realize or chooses to ignore.

Maybe this will be a turning point for him.

Thoughts about Brian give way to musings on the game as I reach my apartment building. I hurry up the stairs, feeling the need to make up for what I just ate.

Once I’m home, I unlock my wooden VR storage box and retrieve my equipment. I’ve paid the disconnect fee for my gear, which means the company who made it can no longer collect a percentage of the money I make in the game. That was an up-front loss, but it’s getting close to being made up with what I’m now keeping.

I don my helmet and gloves before powering the unit on. I need to be able to interrupt the loading screen in order to get to the banking function, but it goes so fast there’s no time to do it if I’m not already wearing the equipment. And yeah, I could use the app, but I want to play, too. So why waste time?

The moment the loading screen appears, I press my palms together like I’m praying. In a way, I am. I hope my account is still in good standing and nothing weird is going on.

Logging into my account brings up a three-dimensional banking page. From here I can manage my subscription, check my balance, transfer money, and lots of other things. I select the tab to take me to my transaction history.

The record at the very top is in green. It verifies I paid Casa del Domingo. No problem. The next line is in red and says TRANSACTION DECLINED. I tap it to open a new window and see more details. A message appears in a minibox.

Dear Subscriber,

Suspicious activity has been detected on your account. As a result, your account was temporarily suspended for your protection.

Don’t worry. We took care of everything on our end.

You may notice your twenty-digit account number has changed. We did this to help ensure your account will remain stable in the future.

If you have any questions, please feel free to use the automated help system. We apologize for any inconvenience.

The message also gives me a date and time my account was suspended and restored. I compare the times and it looks like my account was only suspended for two seconds.

“Suspicious activity?” I say to myself. “Like what?”

King’s League is supposed to be one of the most secure platforms out there. It has to be given the sheer size of its economy. I guess it makes sense that some people might try to take advantage and phish for accounts, but this is the first time I’ve encountered anything like this.

There’s an icon at the bottom of the message that looks like a stick figure wearing a telephone operator’s headset. I tap it and a virtual representation of a man in his mid-twenties with a neat haircut and perfect shave appears. He’s not real, but the programmers did a surprisingly good job.

The virtual helper looks up from a clipboard he’s holding like he was busy doing something else. His smile, I know, is supposed to make me feel like I’m not intruding on whatever he was working on.

“Welcome to the King’s League account help system,” he says. “How may I be of service?”

“I got a message that said my account had been temporarily suspended due to some kind of suspicious activity. Can you tell me anything more about it?”

He frowns. “I’m sorry you had that experience, sir. I’d be happy to provide you with more information on the account activity you’ve described. Please stand by while I access your records.”

The man starts tapping and scratching at his clipboard with a virtual pencil as if he’s taking notes. It’s filler material—something to keep the experience from being too boring or awkward for customers who are having trouble.

“Okay, I have the information,” the virtual helper says. “For security purposes I’m going to ask you three questions you have previously provided the answer for. What was the name of your best friend in elementary school?”

“Brian.”

“And what was the name of the street you grew up on?”

“Uh… 21 Jump,” I say, trying to remember what I answered. These questions seem too easy for someone else to figure out so I always make up answers.

“Thank you. And finally, who was your college roommate?”

“Dark Helmet,” I answer. Which would make me Lonestar’s father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin.

“Thank you, sir. Yes, it appears there was an unauthorized login attempt for your account. Have no fear—neither your account nor the King’s League computer systems were breached. I’m happy to report the incident did not reveal any personal information about you. We will continue to monitor the situation and we will inform you if we find anything out of the ordinary. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. How would you prefer to be contacted? Your options include an automated telephone call or text (messaging rates apply), in-game text, or in-game voice communication.”

“In-game text would be fine,” I say.

I plan to be on for a while and I don’t want to die because my virtual buddy here interrupts or spooks me while I’m battling mobs… or worse.

“Very good,” he says as he scratches something onto his clipboard. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, thank you,” I say. I doubt the virtual helper would become offended if I just disconnected but being polite is a habit for me. Plus, he looks so real.

“Very good,” he says with a smile. “Please feel free to contact King’s League account help at any time by selecting the operator icon at the login screen for the game. You can also find it—”

This time I do disconnect.

“Stupid hackers,” I whisper to myself.

They’ve been a problem probably since the Internet was created. But I’m a bit worried that I was targeted specifically. The hacker—or hackers—could have chosen my account randomly, but something in my jellies tells me otherwise. My character has attracted a lot of attention by killing the most well-known streamer in the fantasy realm. It’s not like Salvatore didn’t deserve it, but it made headlines across hundreds—maybe thousands—of personal websites, gaming sites, and blogs.

No, this attack doesn’t seem like it’s something random. It feels personal.

I flex my shoulders and stretch a little, trying to work some stress-knots out. Maybe I’m just paranoid because of all the trouble I had before.

Calm down, Dirk.

Nothing was taken, and it was only a minor inconvenience. I’m not being targeted. It sounds like the developers have this kind of thing happen all the time. They even had a system to deal with it. Heck, they changed my account number immediately and all of it only took two seconds and the virtual assistant didn’t get stumped and have to get a real life person on the line. So that should tell me something. This happens all the time. No big deal.

I need some gaming time.

Lately the most rewarding play has come from finding a low-level character and helping them survive the early grind. People who don’t even know who I am. It’s refreshing. I can’t team up with them, because they’d know something was up from the massive XP they’d gain because of the helm. I don’t approach this like the Dark Riders. It’s not do whatever it takes to level up.

I want them to have a good time and learn some tricks is all. They always appreciate it. It’s also funny when they try to share the loot they get from the little mobs I help them kill.

There are so many new players—or those who just don’t like to read blogs—and they don’t know who I am. Most of them are in disbelief when I decline to take my share of the loot. I tell them I understand what it’s like to be at the bottom. In a game like King’s League where your level and strength can directly affect the real world and how much money you have, having someone like me in your corner for a night of adventuring can be priceless. And I’m more than happy to do it.

The moment the temple materializes around me, a message appears from Stoneburner. It came in twenty minutes ago. I muted the King’s League messaging app on my phone because it was always pulling me into game mode and I’ve been playing enough. I hate being that guy who gets together in real life but can’t stop checking his phone. Disabling most of the King’s League notifications is a big help.

Plus, Stoneburner has my number. He’d have called if it was serious.

The message shows me that my guess is right. It’s not a raging fire. But it is something I need to look into.

Stoneburner: Friend Dirk! Your presence is needed, for you must see with thine own eyes. To the temple with haste! (Not an emergency, probably.)

I shake my head and smile appreciatively at Stoneburner’s dedication to roleplaying. I activate voice chat. “What’s going on, Burner?”

“Glad you’re in-game, Dirk,” Stoneburner says. He sounds a bit shaken-up. And the fact that he’s not playing his role starts to get me worried. “There’s been a development. No, maybe it’s more of an event. I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Where are you?”

“I’m in the temple. What’s going on?”

“Just come outside. You’ve got to see this.”

Chapter Two

Five dead bodies are lying in front of the outer temple doors. They’re all level one characters and they look like they died in a mass suicide. Like they’ve been arranged on purpose. Each is lying with their head toward the building. Their hands are all curled into fists and their feet are tucked close together. Graydon’s Sight shows their inventory as completely empty.

Stoneburner is standing on the other side of them with a worried look on his avatar’s face. A crowd has already gathered around him and everyone is doing their best to get a peek at the strange scene.

“Welcome back, friend Dirk,” Stoneburner says as he gestures toward the bodies. The paladin blacksmith is wearing new armor. It’s not magical, but it’s good stuff—probably something he made himself in his blacksmith shop.

I step over the bodies to stand next to him. “Thanks.”

He nods at the ground. “Pray tell, what might this be?”

A little relieved to hear him roleplaying again—I hadn’t realized how comforting that was. “I have no idea. Their inventory is empty. Who were they?”

“One of them had ‘Dirk’ as part of their name. They killed themselves before I could read.”

“Anyone know what happened?” I ask the gathered audience at the temple footsteps.

“I saw it,” someone behind me says. I turn around and spot a level-7 elven Wizard. He’s raising his hand, eager to spill the beans.

I gesture for him to continue.

“It was kind of weird. They marched in a straight line like soldiers. Looking straight ahead, y’know? They were like robots. I was curious, so I followed them. They climbed to the top of the stairs, just before the barrier spell, turned around, and then stared out at us. I asked ’em what they were doing ’cuz I figured maybe it was Dark Riders, but they just stood there.”

“They didn’t say anything?” I ask, hoping for some clarification.

The Wizard shook his head. “Nothing. They were like zombies or something. They all drank a potion and then just laid down like that!” He snaps his fingers. “I figured they killed themselves or something because they went limp. Super weird.”

“I saw them walk past,” a level-1 Gnome says in his high-pitched voice which perfectly matches his character’s look.

“Anyone else?” I gaze across the crowd. “Anyone streaming? I’d like to see what went on.”

A bunch of characters shrug. Others shake their heads or simply stare like they hadn’t heard or understood the question.

“I took a screenshot,” volunteers a human Wizard.

“Thank you. I’d love to see it.”

Seconds later I’m looking at the four dead bodies while they were still alive. The screenshot shows their names. They’re marching in order with the names: <<Cygnus>>, Requestsss, AnAudience, WithDirk4, _ggGraydons.

The message is unmistakable. It sure is one hell of a way to talk to me. I’ve never seen anything like this in all the time I’ve played the game.

I share it with Stoneburner and ask him, “Who’s Cygnus?” “I know him not.”

I’ve never even heard of him, so far as I can remember.

“A theory,” Stoneburner suggests in the private voice chat. “Perhaps Cygnus is a rival player?”

“I mean, maybe. It could just be a world event in the game.”

Even as I suggest it, I know that can’t be right. The names on the characters are specific. Mine is mentioned specifically. My eyes drift to the corpse of WithDirk4. An Elf with no equipment, no weapons, no armor… these are player-created, no question. Probably made them fresh just to do this.

Still, unless it’s someone with five different accounts—or six, if they actually play the game—they’d have to try to run five VRs at the same time or have five people to pilot each of these characters. It’s pretty elaborate if it’s just a prank.

“What level are they?” Stoneburner asks.

“I can’t tell once they’re dead. But if I’m guessing based on gear, they’re first level.”

“I suspected as much,” Stoneburner grumbles. “Prank or no, warning or no, canst thou imagine had they been seasoned characters? Level eighty Warriors?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Would be a whole lot scarier—like a crazy death-cult or something. I’m leaning toward this being a prank. A publicity stunt. Wouldn’t be surprised if some new player named Cygnus isn’t about to show up with a new stream, trying to get views.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Stoneburner muses. “Look no farther than the ballad of Friend Dirk and Dawnshire to find proof. Hast thou ever viewed the television show Detective Among Us?”

The unexpected question catches me off guard. “Yeah, why?”

“’Tis a wonder. I didst see an episode that did explain that most of the time arsonists, for instance, will stand around and watch the firemen put out the blaze they started. There be no fire, but I would wager a day’s earnings that someone in this rabble is going to report back to their master about this.”

“Not a bet I’d take, Burner. You’re probably right.” I think for a bit, aware that the crowd hasn’t dispersed and are looking for some cue from me. “I’m gonna record the crowd. You take some screenshots. With both of us doing it, and from slightly different angles, we should be able to see the names of every character here, or at least most of them.”

“A gathering of evidence, well met!”

“Thanks. If there is something going on, I doubt this will be the last incident. We can compare the data each time and look for commonalities. Maybe find a suspect.”

“I stand ready to capture the image on my screen.”

“Okay. On three. One. Two. Three.”

In unison, we turn around and record everything within our field of vision. The data will be stored within our accounts. Private by default, I share my recording with Stoneburner right away using my character interface. He does the same with his screenshots.

“A success!” Stoneburner turns around to face the bodies again. “So, what do you want to do with those?”

They’ll disappear soon enough, but I’d rather clear them out now and see if we can get things back to normal in Dawnshire.

“Guardian,” I call.

A few seconds later, the Guardian appears. It’s shaped like a proper genie with huge muscles and a lower half which kind of looks like a gentle tornado. It’s mostly made-up of dirt, but there’s a glowing, green smoke that swirls within it, escaping here and there like solar flares. The spot where its head should be is represented by nothing more than a lump between its shoulders, the top of which looks like it’s about ten feet off the ground. Two tiny, piercing yellow lights represent its eyes.

“Take these bodies outside of the city and drop them in a convenient hole somewhere,” I order. “Then return to whatever you were doing.”

“At once, my liege,” the Guardian rumbles. He scoops the bodies up, two under one huge arm and three under the other, and silently soars away over the head of the crowd. Several characters duck as it passes.

“Might this be some trick of Salvatore?” Stoneburner asks.

“Salvatore’s been beat-down and humiliated. His guild has a fat enough bank and enough followers to be able to do it, but I don’t think this is them. He hasn’t streamed in weeks and I haven’t even heard of him logging back on. Even if it is Salvatore, he won’t admit it to anyone, and it’ll take a long time before his character is leveled up enough to be a threat to anyone.”

“Unless he purchased for himself a high level account belonging to another.”

“I guess that is possible,” I say, not liking the implications at all.

“Hey,” someone says, grabbing our attention. A level one frogkin Warrior standing in front of us.

Almost nobody chooses to be a frogkin. They’re part of the unofficial “slime brigade”—races who do gross things as part of their character animations. frogkin lick their eyeballs, ooze snot from every pore, and scratch their butts. Typically weak compared to other races, they have some advantages, such as being able to stay underwater longer and have decent starter stats for certain professions, so sometimes you might see a frogkin sailor or something, but not enough to be common.

“What ho, frog-man,” Stoneburner bellows. “Have you something to say?”

“Uh… yeah. I was just wondering if either of you want to go questing with me? I know it’s a long shot but, doesn’t hurt to ask. And I found a pretty sweet sword yesterday, so it’s not like I’d be completely useless.”

The frogkin holds out an impressive-looking short sword. It’s curved and highly polished. I inspect his inventory to get a closer look.

Ribbiton’s Short Sword:

Magical

Durability: 80/80

Damage: 1-16

Adds 1-4 acid damage per successful hit.

Interesting. This looks like a set item, specifically designed for frogkins. There doesn’t seem to be a level requirement, and for a level 1 it’s capable of doing an incredible amount of damage.

Not only that, but acid tends to damage an opponent’s armor if you get enough strikes in. Destroy their armor, and they become a lot easier to hit. It’s a great find.

Most of the server doesn’t know I have the ability to inspect the inventory of other people. As far as I’m aware, nobody else can, and it’s proven to be a huge advantage in PVP situations. I can’t say anything without giving it away, so I’m forced to ask a question instead.

“It looks nice. Is it magical?”

“Oh,” the frogkin says. “Right, you can’t see it.”

He takes the next minute telling us all about it and how he got it. “I ran into a couple of old friends yesterday. I just started playing the game a few months ago, but I’ve been busy at school. I made it to level two a few times but I keep dying. Anyway, there I was getting my butt kicked by some giant rat when these guys come along and help me finish it off. They got the experience, but I’m just happy I didn’t die. Then they invite me to their group and we do a kind of round-robin thing where we each take a turn looting mobs. When it was my turn, I found this! Pretty cool, right?”

“Verily,” Stoneburner says with a laugh.

The player’s voice makes him sound like he was about twenty, but the way he spoke made it seem like he was a lot younger.

“That’s a cool story,” I say. “And a nice find. I’m glad you found some honest players to quest with. Also, if I were you, I’d hold onto that sword for a while. Keep it until you find something better. Not just a little better, but a lot. But if you decide to sell it, I’m guessing you can get at least fifty bucks for it—more if you can get lucky enough to collect the whole set.”

The frogkin stared down at his blade for a few seconds. “Huh.”

“Anyway, to answer your question about questing; I’m sorry but I just logged in and I’ve got a lot to do before I can quest with anyone. Catch me another time, though, and I’d be happy to help.”

“Okay,” he says, and I can hear the smile on his face. He hurries away, his long feet slapping the dirt, making heavy, wet sounds.

With the bodies gone, most of the crowd has left and are in the process of returning to whatever they were doing before the unusual mass suicide at my doorstep.

“What shall our focus be?” Stoneburner asks.

I shrug. “No idea. I’m not really the detective type and we need to keep the town growing. I guess we keep our eyes open and watch our backs.”

“Perhaps we advise our guildmates to only venture forth in pairs?”

“Let’s not cause a panic unless we have a solid idea of what’s going on. But just in case, I’ll try to keep the guild chest stocked with healing potions as best I can. If you leave for anything, bring plenty of Master Potions.”

“Friend Nogg should also be warned.”

“We’re not going to see him around for a while. He’s gotta focus on his grades before he comes back. I hope that won’t be long, but who knows.”

Stoneburner nods. He and Brian got along pretty well, and I know they’d been talking about adventuring together when they both had the time, trying to shorten the level gap between themselves and me.

“I did a search on Cygnus in the public player database. There are thousands of players with that name. The one who is just Cygnus hasn’t logged on in a year, though.”

“Thanks for looking,” I say.

This isn’t really something I wanted to deal with. But with how Graydon’s armor works, I knew it would just be a matter of time before I’d have to vie with another Salvatore coming for my crown. Still, this isn’t exactly what I logged in for. In truth, I’d rather be out with the frogkin helping him level up.

“How’s the home life?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Really good,” Stoneburner says, cutting out his roleplay to answer the question directly. “My wife’s happy. I’m happy. The creditors are happy. Yeah, it’s all working out. Thanks for the paycheck, boss.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not your boss. Not really. Anyway, it’s good to hear things are coming together.”

Stoneburner smiles. “I should see to my duties. Roxxy’s potion shop is expanding its crafts room, which has that insufferable Dwarf Tyr1on complaining incessantly about it poaching his General Store’s business. I’m to adjudicate negotiations today. What are your plans?”

We walk down the steps of the temple. I hear the huge, gold doors slam shut behind me, hiding the enormous golden statue of Graydon the Trickster from view.

“I think I’ll head back to Apheia to that cave I told you about. No telling when that spawn will disappear and killing some dragons will be a nice, repetitive task. Plus, it’ll give me some good loot to sell or add to the guild bank.”

“Friend Dirk, I say this not for my own interest but for yours. You would make a lot more money if you did not give so much away.”

We reach the bottom of the white stone steps.

“I know. But money isn’t everything. Once this game quits being fun, it just becomes a job. I kind of like not having to work in the real world.”

“Very well. May your arm remain strong in battle.”

“Hit me up on chat if something comes up,” I say, moving through Dawnshire.

I wave goodbye to him as he leaves, making my own way to the edge of town. It’s a long journey to Apheia, all the way on the westernmost part of the continent. I decide to crank some music to help pass the time.

Zelda - Song of Storms (Deon Custom Remix) begins to play as I run through the valley outside of town and into the nearby forest.

After traveling for only a few minutes, something strikes me in the back. My character stumbles forward, both confusing and surprising me. It’s an arrow—a poisoned arrow, sent by another player.

I’ve got 466 HP when the tank is full, and that shot nibbled away 6 points plus another point of damage from the poison effect. Only time will tell how much that bleeds away or how it affects my abilities.

Drawing my sword, I turn and ready my Fireball spell. Within the half-second it takes me to do all that, though, my opponent looses another arrow which hits me in the middle of my chest. Four more damage and the poison damage accelerates.

Fire licks the spaces between my fingers, ready to incinerate my opponent, but he's not in sight. The trees in this part of the forest aren’t too close together and their trunks are narrow, so he should be easy to see, even without Graydon’s Sight, but he's nowhere around. There’s not any real undergrowth, except for a few ferns here and there, so that's not the problem. For a moment, I wonder if someone just took a couple of quick shots at me and fled. Then another arrow hits me in my stomach.

I’m in trouble.

Chapter Three

Try not to panic, Dirk. At least the guy is lousy enough with the bow that he isn’t scoring head shots.

I don’t see my opponent anywhere.

Keeping my Fireball spell ready and my sword drawn, I slowly back up, trying to look everywhere at once. Okay. So let’s assume that either they’ve got Master Invisibility or they’re visible, but hidden. The first two hundred feet of woods is too sparse to hide anyone. But beyond that, yeah, the trees are so thick, an elephant could be hiding there and I'd never know it.

My thoughts are interrupted when an arrow hits me in the neck. The shaft is sticking out from the tiny gap where my helmet meets my pauldrons. It was either a lucky shot, or the last two were the opposite. I’m feeling like a target dummy right now, and I still can’t see where the shooter is coming from. Though I know the direction thanks to which way the arrow’s feathers are all pointed.

Unless… you’re being hit by multiple archers.

I cancel my Fireball spell so I can cast Regeneration. It will heal me for two health every second for 120 seconds. I’m not in immediate danger of dying. I let it work until I’m back at 440 of my original 466 health, but I’ve learned not to take unnecessary chances. Plus, it only costs 50 mana to cast, which leaves me with 352—plenty for most circumstances even without Salvatore’s old gloves, Graydon’s Might, giving me a five hundred percent mana regen.

While I’m at it, I cast Lay Hands, which removes poison effects equal to half my level and below. And… the poison effect is still going strong. Crap. I’m up against someone who’s put in some time at crafting high level poisons, if not a high level character.

Still, the damage isn’t terrible. At this rate, I know it’ll take my opponent all day to kill me, even if I don’t use any of the healing potions I brought, so I’m not worried about being killed by him… or her… I guess. I’m just stunned by the fact that I’ve been hit so many times but still don’t have anything to hit back.

As I continue to search my surroundings, I consider running. Why waste the time? It’s probably just some griefer who was hoping for an easy kill and is figuring out that I’m not the type to go down easy. Heck, they may have run by this point.

I catch a glimpse of my enemy. It’s only for a split-second, but I can distinctly see the outline of someone about sixty feet to my left. Which means they’ve been shooting and moving. Like any good sniper would. Or so the movies tell me.

I cast Fireball in that direction. A spherical ball of flames about twice the size of a basketball erupts from my hand, flies like a fiery comet into the forest and explodes, right where I was aiming. A half-dozen trees crack, split, and slowly fall to the ground. It would be great if this guy is dead but I’m going to assume they’re still alive and kicking. At least I can hope to have hit with some splash damage.

All right. Time to see if I can lure this guy out.

“Why are you hiding?” I yell into the forest, approaching its border cautiously. “Come out and fight!”

My reply is another arrow to the neck. That’s a critical. Yep. Those first shots were definitely bad luck. This guy may be as skilled with a bow as I am.

I send another Fireball in the direction I think the shot came from. This time I’m rewarded with an in-game grunt. I hit someone.

And then I’m promptly charged.

Only I don’t see anything. I heard the sound of running feet but only see… the forest. The leaves on the ground about ten feet away move as if kicked up by a light breeze and before I have time to consider what that means, twenty more hit points And I was just about healed up, too. Shame.

I find myself staring up into the sky, flat on my back.

The sound of the footsteps is rapid and receding. Like I was knocked over by a charging bull that just kept on going. I’m sure I’ve hurt my opponent and the strike was out of desperation. Knock me down long enough to get away. Not today you don’t.

Hopping to my feet, I sheathe my sword, and ready a Fireball spell in each hand. With Graydon’s Might, I can cast Fireball a bunch of times without taking a break. Unfortunately, I don’t have a target. At least, not one I can see.

Which is a little disconcerting because whatever is hiding my foes is working against Graydon’s Sight, too. Not good.

Still, my opponent must be close. The hurried footsteps I heard earlier didn’t fade into the distance—they just stopped. So… I guess my theory about them retreating was off.

What are they doing, then?

“Why are you attacking me?” I ask loud enough for anyone within a hundred feet or so to hear. “Who are you?”

My answer is, you guessed it, another arrow—this one to the left side of my neck, right next to the last one that hit me. A quick check of my health shows 410. Still well in the green zone. My regeneration has healed me some but the poison damage is really starting to stack up. Whatever type this is, it’s clearly multiplying.

I wanted to put off casting my daily Ranger Commune With Nature ability to gain poison immunity until this encounter was over, but if this keeps up I’ll have no choice.

They’re running. I give chase. I do my best to keep up, two Fireball spells still ready to go, but they’re dodging back and forth through the trees. When I try to pick a straight line to follow my opponent, they change direction again, forcing me to play follow the leader.

I’m still only catching glimpses of my enemy. I can’t see anything besides an occasional outline—not even a name.

I don’t think it’s an NPC or some kind of creature I haven’t seen yet. The pattern of attack just seems too random. Shooting poison arrows, charging me to get away and then stopping to watch me… that all feels decidedly human.

I decide I’ve had enough and begin casting Fireball spells. The spell only takes a second to cast with no cooldown, so I alternate hands to shoot them off every half-second. The machine gun-like fire destroys clusters of trees and sets nearby ones on fire.

It’s a technique I’ve used before, but never in such a confined, flammable environment. After several seconds of setting everything around me ablaze, I stop and begin to search for my opponent’s body. No way they’re getting out of that unscathed.

Thunk.

Another arrow, this one into my right shoulder. I guess they’re only mostly dead.

My health is down to 406 –scratch that. 392 HP. The additional poison damage is starting to add up, the latest dose dropping me 14 points.

Even though I’ve been playing more and more like a Wizard since getting Salvatore’s gloves, I’m still a Ranger by class. Which means I can give myself a sixty second immunity with that Commune ability. But I’m not at the point of using that if I don’t have to. I’d rather wait until I’m locked in the final fight to make sure poison damage doesn’t sneak up on me.

A lot of players would be dead by now just from the poison damage. It’s a good tactic, and while I’m impressed, I’m also pissed.

Every time I blast a Fireball where I think my opponent is, I’m rewarded with another wound, so I ready two Fireballs, launch one behind me, and the other to my left. If this assassin wants to be random, I can be random too.

I cast two more Fireballs in two other random directions. My enemy can’t be close, because everything nearby is on fire and I’m starting to take damage from that, too. I swallow a Greater Resist Fire potion which provides 70% fire resistance for 60 seconds and wait for the next arrow.

Another arrow ricochets off my helmet. It doesn’t do much damage, but the poison keeps adding up. It’s time to use my Commune With Nature ability. With it I can either calm a beast for 60 seconds and makes me immune to poison for 60 seconds.

The ability stops the effects of the poison and a second later, another arrow grazes my helm, just at the left ear. I take a little damage, but at least I don’t get any poison. It makes me thankful the game isn’t fully immersive. That shot would’ve hurt. A lot.

My fire resistance is close to wearing off, so I run through the blaze into a part of the forest which is still untouched by the flames. I need a place to fight where I have a chance to defend myself without taking continual damage from the flames. I’m at 370 health, but I don’t want to re-cast Regenerate just yet. I might miss my opportunity to finish my enemy off by not having two Fireballs ready.

I slowly turn around, searching for my opponent before I realize it’s probably exactly what he expects me to do. Gooseflesh raises on my arms when I realize how efficient my foe has been. No wasted shots. No unnecessary movement. And that camouflage… I’ve never seen anything like it. It all seems planned and professional.

Whoever is out there has forced me into acting hastily. I feel like I’ve been manipulated, which causes me to feel grudgingly impressed.

Okay. So you know what they’re expecting you to do… what’re you gonna do instead?

I cast Regenerate, and draw my Vampiric Sword, which I’ve taken to calling Bram for what I think are pretty obvious reasons. Aside from looking cool—it has a skull with two pointed teeth on the pommel—it does good damage and drains mana with each hit.

I stare at the ground and focus on what I can hear.

The sound of the in-game fire is extraordinarily realistic. To the point that I wonder if the devs sent some hapless unpaid intern into a forest fire with a boom mic. “You’ll be totally safe. Trust us. We’ve got a fire extinguisher right here. Relax!”

I can hear the steaming pops of trapped pitch and moisture as sticks and logs are consumed by the blaze. There’s a loud pop from somewhere behind me followed by a muffled crash. A branch has dropped from one of the trees to the forest floor. A rhythmic cracking sound from somewhere deep to my right tells me a whole tree is falling, albeit slowly.

The wind changes direction and begins blowing the thick, gray smoke my direction. It obscures my vision, but if my enemy is nearby, it’ll do the same to his. At least my eyes aren’t watering.

Then I hear a sound distinct from the fire. The snapping of a twig not ten feet away—or maybe twenty. I dunno. There’s a forest fire out here and so far, Smoky hasn’t shown up to help put it out.

I wait a full second before turning toward it as I bring my sword around in a powerful arc.

My opponent isn’t visible, but the clang of metal hitting metal lets me know I’ve made the right decision. Before I can fully ponder whether the assassin—that’s how I’m thinking of them now—was moving in for a back-stab, I reverse my attack and see my blade and arm lift as my strike is parried. Twenty more health vanishes as my opponent blurs by me, his long, thin blade slashing deep into my chest.

Although I’ve healed some since last taking damage, I’m still down to 361 health. I swing again, hitting nothing but air and suffer another six damage from a slash to my leg. Holy hell, I’m embarrassing myself out here. Good thing I’m not streaming this encounter. Yeesh.

I try to kick my opponent, but the gash in my character’s leg is deep enough to take the force out of the blow. But I at least land it and hit something. I doubt my strike did more than a single point of damage. It would be really nice if Graydon’s Sight was able to pick up my foe. I guess I’ve never encountered an enemy this fast before, so I can’t say if this is normal or if I’m up against some particularly strong juju beyond the speed.

Following the kick, my opponent rewards me with a matching slash on the opposite leg. Eight more points of damage!

Two consecutive low strikes. My enemy probably expects me to block low to avoid a third. I block high instead, hoping this isn’t where I become a double amputee.

The sound of our weapons clashing is piercing. I’m tempted to adjust the game’s volume, but I don’t have any time. I barely blocked an attack that feels like it could have taken my head off.

I give up ground, taking a step backward—but not quick enough. I’m stabbed in the belly, dropping another twelve HP. Regenerate is giving me some back, but not a lot. I’m at 340 health.

I’m pretty fast with weapons. I’m wearing an enchanted mask called the Mask of Haste, which gives me 20% increased attack speed. But that isn’t worth much when I can’t see where my opponent is, precisely. Even then, it doesn’t seem to be enough. I’ve lashed out in what should have scored lucky surprise hits, but my foe is just faster; always getting their blade up to defend.

I can sense that they’re staying after me. Closing the ground for another strike.

Well, fine.

I cast Fireball at the ground between us. We’re both hit by it. My armor provides a total 60% magical damage reduction plus the fleeting dregs of the fire potion, so it doesn’t affect me much, just six of the usual fifty points of damage.

My opponent, though, thumps to the ground about a dozen feet away. I’m thinking they took the full brunt of the attack.

I charge, swinging for the spot where I heard the noise. I catch a glimpse of what I think are two legs, one on either side of my blade a moment before they disappear. My opponent did some kind of backward somersault and hopped to his feet. It’s like fighting the Predator mixed in with Snake Eyes all at once. This guy sucks.

For a moment, the smoke blows across the blazing ruin of a forest, giving me a great look as it clings to the figure—almost giving him shape. Still an invisible man, tendrils of smoke are driving over his form, bending around him to show me exactly where he’s standing. Graydon’s Sight still comes up empty. What is going on?

And then he runs, this time not charging me but moving directly into the fire. Some real, “Ninja, vanish!” stuff.

Survival won’t be an easy task for whoever this guy is. The blaze is enormous. He’ll have to run, and try to survive, a whole mile of flames before he has a chance of getting to the other side. Either he’s insane, or he’s got some other kind of sneaky trick up his sleeve. Probably another trick.

I decide to let him go rather than risking the damage I’d get by chasing him. I’m weak enough as it is, especially with the poison immunity provided by Commune With Nature having worn off. I’m back to taking poison damage, though it doesn’t seem like as much now.

I cast Regeneration again, giving myself a mental note to monitor how long until the last of the poison effects finally wear off. Powerful stuff, whatever it was.

Letting out my breath, I look around, the sole possessor of a charred forest. Did I win that battle? It’s hard to tell. True, I chased my opponent off, and I’m still alive, but I’m wondering if letting me live was part of the plan. Whatever the official conclusion, I’m sure I haven’t seen the last of him. That feeling is sitting uncomfortably in my gut and causes me a bit of concern.

I use my teleportation stone, looking around to see if I can spot anyone approaching—trying to catch me off guard. After the 15-second cast time, though, I’m back in the Temple, safe from any further attacks.

Since I’m not in any immediate danger of dying, I open my character interface and go directly to the Guild tab. I check to see if Stoneburner and Brian are online, then wince at my own forgetfulness. I hit up Burner in a private channel. “Hey, Stoneburner.”

“Aye, friend Dirk?”

“I think I’ve just received another message. It was a nasty one.”

Chapter Four

“What manner of message?” Stoneburner asks. “And be you well? I’m in my shop. Can you come to me, friend Dirk, or dost thou need me to come to you?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m in the Temple. But check it out—I got attacked by a ninja, or something.”

The Warrior was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says, stifling a laugh, “but it indeed sounded like you said you were attacked by a… ninja?”

I chuckle as well, more to hide the fact that I could have been killed out there than anything else. “Yeah, it was crazy. I mean, I know that’s not a specialization. They were probably a Rogue with the assassin specialization. But fighting them… that’s the best comparison I could make.”

“Tell the tale!”

“I was walking through the forest and started getting hit by arrows—poison arrows. High level stuff. My Lay Hands spell was useless. We fought for a while, I set a whole bunch of the forest on fire, but in the end, they got away.”

“I see,” Stoneburner says, sounding a bit unimpressed. “You let the scoundrel escape? Hast thou lost thy killer instinct?”

“Hey. I’m pretty sure I taught him a lesson.”

“So, it was a him?”

“Actually, I’m not sure. They had some kind of camouflage. It was good. I only caught a glimpse of them a few times. Even then it wasn’t more than an outline. It was faint, though, like I needed to stare at it to get it to focus or something. Ever hear of armor that can do that?”

“What did the helm tell you?”

“That’s the weirdest thing. It didn’t pick up anything at all.”

“Sounds like invisibility,” Stoneburner mused.

“That’s what I thought at first,” I say, recasting Regeneration to keep my HP resupply up, “but regular invisibility doesn’t allow you to attack while still being invisible. He could have been using a Master Invisibility potion but he wasn’t really invisible. I could see him… sort of.”

“The only way to find out was to kill him,” Stoneburner says definitively. “I’m sure the Rogue won’t attempt to target you again, Dirk. Count it sweet fortune they are still alive!”

“Maybe,” I say, staring at the statue of Graydon. “I’d have to guess they were at least level 90, but probably closer to 95. They were good.”

“Perhaps Dawnshire is your best course of action for a while,” Stoneburner suggests. “Oversee the town’s growth. Did you not say you wished to learn a trade?”

“Yeah, I did,” I agree, somewhat reluctantly. In truth, all I want to do is find out what the hell is going on. Not a fan of loose ends.

“Unless this encounter was random, which seems unlikely, you’re being watched, friend Dirk. Tarry yet a while and see if more of this mystery shows itself inside the safe confines of Dawnshire.”

I hum in agreement absentmindedly.

“Something else vexes you,” Stoneburner says. “What?”

“I dunno. There’s this thing—I’m not sure I believe it myself or if I’m just being paranoid.”

“Speak. You are among friends.”

“The ninja was more than a pro player. More than some kind of PVP expert. It’s like he knew exactly what I would do in every situation we found ourselves in. Like I’ve been studied for a while. He just kept baiting me into actions that I thought would catch him by surprise, but no matter what I did, right up until the very end when I launched a fireball at both our feet, he had an answer. I think that last move is what stopped the fight. As soon as I did something random, he took off. The guy was like Special Forces or something.”

I could hear Stoneburner typing something in the background.

“You out of your VR gear?” I ask.

“Just for the moment. I wanted to research,” Stoneburner answers, dropping the roleplay. “I think I may have found something.”

He sounds a mix of excited and confused. I feel a well of nervous energy in the pit of my stomach. “What?”

“At first, I suspected invisibility, until you dispelled me of the notion. Then I thought your foe got around the anti-cheats, but that’s such a rare thing now. Do you ever go on KLDB?”

KLDB is the King’s League Database. It’s a fan-run passion project that keeps stats on everything. You’ve seen it a million times before with every game. Walkthroughs, alphabetical item listings. Screen shots. Potion making instructions, monster stats… you name it. There’s even a section that tries to keep up River Market values. Rumor is someone is developing a separate index to see what things sell for in Dawnshire, but there really hasn’t been enough self-reported data yet to make it possible.

“Yeah, I know that site.”

“Indeed. Good site. I searched some hypothetical item effects to see if maybe you were up against a known enchanted piece of armor or what have you.”

“And you found one?”

I see Stoneburner shake his head. He’s back in his VR rig. “I did not, but I found a footnote that went to a list of unconfirmed unique items. One is called the Hazmat Hood. It has some minor resistances to ice and fire, but also disables sensor probes.”

“Sensor probes?”

“Friend Dirk, have you ever played in any of the other Realms in King’s League?”

There are a number of King’s League expansions meant to capture larger chunks of the gaming market. The biggest is King’s League original, the fantasy world. “I tried a few of them,” I say, “but I’m really into fantasy, so this is the Realm I stuck with. Why?”

“Hazmat Hood. Sensor probes… that’s gotta be related to 86-Neon, the cyberpunk realm.”

“I mean, sure. Maybe. So you’re thinking that whoever this was crossed over from 86-Neon to King’s League proper?”

That was entirely feasible. The game’s items were coded to adapt into whatever world you chose to play in. Got a nice rifle in 86-Neon, it becomes a nice bow in King’s League. Armor becomes carbon-fiber weaved trench coats. Things like that. It works that way in all the expansion worlds. It’s part of how the company gets people to spread out. That Hazmat thing might be part of another realm.

“Perhaps. This Hazmat Hood is the closest thing to what you’ve described that I can find. For what is your mighty helm but a sensor that tells you the name, affiliations, and inventory of other players?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but Stoneburner might be on to something. “Something to look into, yeah. Maybe I’ll watch some streams from 86-Neon tonight. See if I can find anything.”

“In the meantime… you should take care to protect yourself, friend Dirk. Your character is a wee bit famous now, remember?”

I laugh. “Well, everyone always has to watch their back in this game. Especially us ‘famous’ guys.”

“Ah, yes. You are the slayer of the odious Salvatore!”

I smile at the comment. “Point taken, Burner. I’ll be careful. People are always going to be gunning for me—and for you if you ever leave Dawnshire. I wish this game allowed us to run more than one character. I wouldn’t mind leveling up a second one.”

“You could always purchase another VR set,” Stoneburner suggests. “I daresay your treasury is full enough to afford that. Or play on PC.”

Since King’s League is free to play—they make their money from their cuts of in-game profits and from financing of the VR and haptic gear—they limit you to one account per VR rig. So if you want to get a second character, you either play on a PC or you buy a whole new set of equipment. There are third party VR kits but they’re technically not allowed and can lead to account suspensions. King’s League knows where its money is coming from. And while I technically can afford to buy a second of their rigs and have a new character, it’s not something I was itching to spend my savings on.

“Yeah. I’ll think about it. Don’t think I can play on PC again now that I’m used to the VR, though.”

“Well, whatever you do, stay safe,” he says. “Having a knave like Salvatore running this town if you were slain would be most… sucky.”

“Yeah it would,” I say, unable to hold back the laugh. Stoneburner has a way of keeping things light. He reminds me of Brian in that way. Two different ways of making me laugh.

Exiting the temple, I pause until the doors shut behind me. A tall, Elven Druid walks by. She’s level 97, which is impressive enough by itself. But I can’t also help but appreciate how much attention she paid to the little details when she created her character.

Most people don’t spend a lot of time customizing the look of their character. They just go with one of the myriad of pre-built faces. And there are enough that you don’t get the sense that you’re seeing the same person over and over again. There’s even a feature where you can upload a picture of your own face and the game will make an approximation of it—but most people hate that. We’re all, apparently, way uglier than we thought we were when it comes to how the King’s League programming sees it. But everything can be changed, all the way from build to the length of the character’s torso, neck, nose, ears, and of course skin and hair color.

What the player who owns the character named Spyce has done with her avatar, though, is amazing. Even though she’s not real, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like a work of art walking by. Whoever did this should be working for the game—it’s that good.

Spyce glances over her shoulder, notices me staring at her, and stops dead in her tracks.

Oops.

She walks up to me and glances at a spot over my head. She’s reading my name, I guess. She smiles, but rather than feeling friendly, it’s predatory, like the cat who’s waited patiently for hours and finally sees the mouse’s little nose sticking out from the hole in the wall.

“Hi, Dirk,” she says, smiling seductively.

Although my VR helmet will show other players my facial expressions, it doesn’t make my character’s face turn red when my real one blushes. Thank you, devs. Thank you.

“Hey… Spyce,” I manage.

“So,” she continues, “where were you headed? Out to do some adventuring? Care to do some with me? I’m this close to leveling up.”

I feel like my brain has been frozen into a block of ice. I’m chipping away madly, but I can’t free enough of it to form words. I know my mouth is open, but nothing is coming out. Quick, before she thinks you’re an idiot!

“Hello?” she says, leaning in and inspecting my face. “Am I on mute?”

“Sorry! No! I mean, yes. I’d love to.” My health bar is almost full, but I notice a small sliver is still gray at the end. It reminds me of my recent fight with the ninja. It also reminds me that he could be anyone. He could be a she. She could be Spyce.

She smiles. “Great. I was thinking of clearing one of the dungeons of Toora Dune.”

I hold up a finger. “What I mean is… normally, I’d love to. But, you see, I’m the mayor of this little city. I was just about to take a walk to see how things are going. Any chance you’d like to walk with me?”

Spyce stuck out her bottom lip. “Really? I heard Dirk the Magnificent was brave. Are you afraid I’m here to get you or something?”

The thought had crossed my mind, but there’s no way I’m going to admit that to her. Instead, I take a moment to inspect her inventory. It feels like snooping, even voyeurism, but it might give me a clue as to what she’s really up to.

The first thing I realize is that she’s not really a Druid. She’s a Warrior. So she’s… undercover I guess?

Weapons:

The Stinger:

Short Sword, Unique

Durability: 128/160

Damage: 2-40

20% increased attack speed.

Guided Darts:

Magic

Damage: 2-20

Quantity: 229

Cobra Whip:

Unique

Durability: 210/210

Damage: 1-55

5% chance to disarm opponent with every successful hit.

Armor:

Necklace of Defense:

Magical

Durability: 160/160

Destroys up to 6 incoming arrows or other projectiles per day.

Clingers:

Magical

Durability: 50/50

Able to use any weapon regardless of strength or dexterity requirements.

Elvenweave Armor:

Magical

Durability: 300/300

10% physical damage reduction

20% magical damage reduction

Graydon’s Binding, Belt:

Unique

Durability: Infinite

5% Damage Reduction

0/2 Slots

Binding

Items:

Platinum: 11

Gold: 209

Silver: 16

Copper: 42

Master Healing Potion: 8

Heals: 100% of health. Cures poison.

Healing Potion: 9

Heals: 50 health.

Minor Healing Potion: 12

Heals: 25 health.

Dragonspine Poison: 2

100 damage, then 1 damage per second for 200 seconds.

Darkwater Poison: 2

Slows target by 50% for 30 seconds.

Wraith Poison: 2

Slows target by 60% for 60 seconds.

I try to hide my shock, but I don’t know if I have. I don’t think I have. In fact, based on the expression the woman is giving me, I know for a fact I’m making some kind of face. I do my best to wipe it off, but it’s not working.

Nothing she’s wearing marks her for certain as being the same character who I was fighting a short time ago, but who needs that much poison? Nobody but assassins carry the stuff. But she’s a Warrior. It’s like nothing fits—nothing matches. But then, I’m a Ranger who waltzes around like a Wizard. So who am I kidding?

Of course, the most shocking thing of all is Graydon’s Binding. The description of what it does is confusing. I wonder what kind of items can be inserted into the slots, and what effects each gives. In the end, it doesn’t matter. She’s got the belt. And I’ve got a sneaky suspicion she wants to get me out of the city so she can kill me and take the other two pieces—but… is that just wild speculation?

“Uh, sorry,” I say, shaking my head like I’m trying to dislodge some spiderwebs from inside my empty skull. “It’s been a long day. I don’t think I’m up to adventuring any more. I’m just going to take it easy. Walk around the city for a bit, you know?”

Spyce frowns for a moment, but quickly wipes the expression away. “Okay,” she says, sounding sad and sticking her bottom lip out again.

The look makes me want to change my mind. To appease her. Don’t be an idiot, Dirk. She’s a virtual woman. Whoever is playing her might be covered in hair with extra chins and using voice modulator software in real life.

“Maybe next time?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” I say. “Next time.”

“Okay, see you around… Dirk.”

It takes a huge force of will to overcome the urge to watch her walk away. I head directly to Stoneburner’s blacksmith shop.

Chapter Five

I reach Stoneburner’s blacksmith shop just as he’s pulling a red-hot sword from the furnace. It looks fully shaped, and I stand back as Burner inspects it, hammers the edge and then plunges it into a bucket of oil, eliciting a satisfying hiss. He doesn’t realize I’m in the shop—I took the back entrance rather than the one on Dawnshire’s front street beneath his sign like a usual customer would.

It dawns on me that I’ve never really watched Stoneburner work. It’s cool to see it. I’m drawn into it, watching him take down a sword and begin to give it a shine with some kind of rag.

Feeling a little awkward, I clear my throat.

Stoneburner turns around and smiles. “Friend Dirk! It is an honor to have the lord of Dawnshire visit my humble smith.”

“Honor to be here, Burner.”

Stoneburner takes an iron ingot and nestles it into the furnace with a pair of tongs.

We’ve been talking on public chat, but what I’m here to say demands privacy. I open a private chat channel. “You’re not going to believe what just happened to me.”

“More ninjas?”

“Maybe. I just spoke with a level 97 named Spyce.”

“Ninety-seven? That’s a rare feat indeed. Did this fellow threaten you? A new heir to the Dark Riders clan?”

“No, and no. And Spyce is a she.”

“A maiden, say you?” There’s a knowing smile on Stoneburner’s face. “Might she be a cute little Elf?”

I put down a silver dagger I was inspecting and look at Burner quizzically. “Yes. Have you seen her?”

Stoneburner laughs. “Nay, but from the way you said ‘she,’ I guessed as much. Friend Dirk, you have a strong… fancy for Elves. Am I wrong?”

I shrug and offer him a mock look of innocence.

“Her beauty must have been quite fetching for you to come and tell me of it in person.”

“Gimme a little credit. I’m not Brian. I came here because that beautiful Elven Warrior had a piece of Graydon’s armor equipped. Graydon’s Binding. She has the belt.”

Stoneburner puts down his tools. “Did she challenge you to a duel?”

“No. I don’t even know if she’s aware she can. But I don’t exactly trust her.”

“Nor should you.”

“She just sort of batted her eyes at me, stuck out her bottom lip all pouty-like, and tried to seduce me.”

“And did it work?”

“No, it didn’t work,” I say, feigning offence. “Otherwise I’d be out adventuring with her like she asked.”

“Ah,” he says sagely. “Did thy helm scry to you what Graydon’s Binding does?”

“Not really,” I say, mentally kicking myself for not just taking a screenshot. “The usual stuff like binding and durability. And it had a couple of slots for something. Nothing was in them as far as I could tell. You have experience with that kind of stuff as a blacksmith, right?”

Stoneburner was silent for several more seconds. “Of a sort. Enchanted stones may be put into swords to add magical power by a skilled smith. Amulets the same. It showed no special powers?”

“None, so far as I could tell,” I say, flopping my arms out in defeat.

“Ah, well,” Stoneburner says, removing the ingot from the fire and placing it on his anvil for shaping. “If you desire to reach the final level, you’ll know its secrets someday.”

“Or die trying,” I add morbidly. “Today has been too much. This can’t all be a coincidence. Did I tell you about the restaurant?”

“Tell the tale, friend Dirk. I know it not.”

“I met up with Brian and offered to pay. Only my card was declined—and before you ask, no, I’m not having money troubles. Everything is fine. Anyway, I get the waitress to run it again and the transaction goes through, no problem.”

Stoneburner nods.

“Here’s the odd part. I get a message saying there was suspicious activity on my account. So I contact the help desk. The help-bot says someone tried to hack my account. King’s League support changed my account number and supposedly the hackers didn’t get any further than the one attempt. What happens next? The suicide cult. Then I get attacked by some kind of ninja assassin. Then I see this girl Spyce who just happens to have a piece of Graydon’s armor. That’s a lot of things happening all at once.”

“Fate brought you Graydon’s Sight,” Stoneburner says between heavy blows with his hammer. “Perhaps fate is upon you yet again. Do you suspect this comely Elf was party to your assassination attempt in the woods?”

I pick up a viking helmet and flick it, producing a hollow resonance. “She was packing some poison, which is odd for a Warrior, but poison can be useful in grinding if you’re trying to wear down high level monsters who aren’t immune. Other than that, if she’s the assassin, she swapped all her gear out before heading into the city. I mean, Graydon’s Sight worked fine. It could be her, but I doubt it.”

Stoneburner grunts, still focused on his task.

Outside I hear raised voices. We both look up instinctively, listening for more, but it dies down as quickly as it started.

“Well, friend Dirk. You are in my shop. Shall I teach you the ways of a blacksmith? I reached a blacksmithing proficiency level of 85 not two minutes before your arrival.”

I smile and shake my head. “I’m not going to do something which might end up making me a competitor with you. I’m still thinking about enchanting, though. You create the weapons, I make them sparkly.”

“A fine match! Delay no longer, friend Dirk. Begin your studies.”

The shouts pick up again, somewhere to the left of the blacksmith’s shop. Two people screaming at each other. I turn my head to look for the two characters.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I say, moving for the exit. “But first, I’m going to see what this argument is all about.”

“Don’t let them pull you into petty disputes,” Stoneburner warned. “There will be no end of their petitions once they see you are willing to judge.”

Things sound like they’re getting heated.

“I’m not going to get involved. But they sound pretty upset. I just want to see what this is all about. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Of course, friend Dirk.”

I’m out the door when I hear Stoneburner call after me, “I’ll keep my eyes out for pretty Elves and other things that look suspicious.”

As I step around the next building—the potion-maker’s—I find two characters engaged in a vicious yelling match.

“You said the sword was a plus-five,” the first, a level-3 Warrior named Kriptick snarled. “This is a plus-four, and it’s damaged. What kind of a scam are you trying to pull here?”

“I did not say it was a plus-five,” his opponent, a level-4 mage named Abracadab11 retorted. “Quit lying. Just because you yell louder doesn’t make—”

“Oh, you think this is about yelling?” Kriptick nearly screams. “You haven’t heard anything yet, and quit trying to change the subject! You’re a cheat, a liar, and a crook. Give me back my silver.”

“I already said I would, just as soon as you give me back the sword. You’re not getting it for free.”

“You tried to cheat me,” Kriptick says, closing to within an inch of his opponent. It’s obvious the Warrior is attempting to physically intimidate the mage, but not only are they virtual people, unless one of them challenged the other to a duel, and the other accepts, there’s no way for them to hurt each other inside Dawnshire. It’s all show.

There are already about two dozen other characters gathering around. They’re staying back a respectable distance, but based on the looks in their eyes, they’re hoping for a fight.

“Sticks and stones,” the Wizard says, crossing his arms. “I’m leaving.”

The Warrior rushed to intercept him, juking back and forth to prevent the Wizard from walking away.

“Real mature,” Abracadab11 says, crossing his arms and refusing to look Kriptick in the face. “All this because you’re trying to get a free sword? Lame. Don’t you have anything better to do with your life?”

“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this,” Kriptick snarls. “I can always take my money from your dead body.”

“You’re a thief.” The Wizard jabs his opponent ineffectively in the chest. “You’re making this big show because you think you can get me to give you money and let you keep the sword at the same time. That’s what thieves do.”

The pair exchange their favorite vulgarities before the Wizard spots me. He scowls and looks back at the Warrior. “Oh, I get it, you’re showing off and making a big deal over this because you think he’s going to get involved, right?”

Kriptick looks me up and down, a sour expression settling onto his face. “What the hell do I care about that guy? I just want my money back. Besides, what can he do unless he takes a duel request. This is a no-PVP zone. He’s probably as much a coward as you and can’t do anything but stand there with his hands in his pockets trying to look scary. I’m not afraid of him.”

“That’s Dirk,” the Wizard says triumphantly. “And he’s the mayor of this town. He can ban you. In fact, I bet he’s thinking about it right now.”

I hold up my hands, about to say for them to settle down. I have no intention of banning anyone. But before I can, the Warrior approaches.

Kriptick stops only after he’s come within an inch of me. His character is the same height, so we’re able to look each other directly in the eye. He speaks to me through clenched teeth. “Guess what, Dirk. I’m not afraid of you. This punk cheated. If you have an ounce of fairness in your body, you’ll ban him from the city. Permanently. He’s giving this place and the whole stinking server a bad name and I’m not leaving until I get my pound of flesh. What do you think about that?”

Stoneburner’s words echo in my mind. He’s right. I don’t want to spend my time policing the city. There’s always a way to handle disputes like this. They can yell until one of them finally logs out, or they can fight about it—whatever.

“I think you two should handle your own business, however it turns out,” I say. “The shopkeepers of Dawnshire police each other to be sure it’s an honest place. If you purchased something from a fellow player, then the two of you must find an agreeable solution.”

The Wizard looks down. But I don’t recognize him and know he doesn’t have a shop in Dawnshire. He doesn’t have to be embarrassed, player to player selling is perfectly legal and it doesn’t bother me if it happens—even though I don’t get a cut of the action like I do from the shops.

“I knew you were weak,” Kriptick says with a small chuckle, flicking my shoulder. “I guess I just didn’t know how weak—until now. You know something? You’re famous—so what? But after I tell everyone how you wimped-out at the last minute when you could have done something brave, you’re going to lose respect everywhere.”

He says it like it’s the most painful insult anyone has ever given someone else. He tops it off with a harsh-sounding phrase. He pretends to spit on the ground afterward, so it must’ve been a pretty foul curse. The words aren’t English, though. I think they’re Japanese.

Kriptick watches me for several seconds. So does everyone else watching the argument. There’s about 200 characters gathered around now. Some have helped others get on top of nearby buildings so they can see what’s happening, too.

I shrug. I want to say that a level three won’t last that many seconds against me, but that would be tipping my hand.

“Well,” I say, “I’m sure the forums are just dying to know what Kriptick has to say. Please don’t let me hold you up any longer. You’ve got some rage-typing to do, so do it.”

This elicits a small sputter of laughter from the onlookers.

Kriptick looks around, as though he’s amused, too. He throws his arms outside and smiles at the crowd. “That’s it? You’re just going to stand there while someone gets cheated in Dawnshire? This place sucks anyway.”

Kriptick switches from his low-level gear to what looks like his best stuff. I don’t bother inspecting his inventory. “All right Wizard. Let’s do this the hard way. You heard Dirk. We settle it ourselves. Fight me!”

The Wizard takes a step back, obviously taken aback by the Warrior’s feral attitude and hostility. I doubt this is the first time that Kriptick has challenged him, but with all eyes watching, turning him down might be a bit harder to do.

“Come on,” the Warrior continues. “Step up. Be a man. Let’s settle this the old-fashioned way. Whoever walks away gets the money, the sword, and everything else. If you think you’re right, then show me. We’ll figure out who’s right by who’s left. Accept my duel request.”

The Wizard glances at me. I shrug. I’m not going to bail anyone out. He’s got choices, but they have to be up to him. He can choose to fight. He can also choose to walk away. He can log out, make a sandwich, and hope the Warrior gets bored and leaves before he logs back in. He can also mute all voices and let the guy scream himself hoarse while he goes about his business in the city.

“I told you the sword was a plus-four sword,” Abracadab11 insists, taking another step back. “Plus, you look like, what? A level-two? I’d melt your face. It wouldn’t even be a fair fight. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Oh, here we go,” Kriptick says, hooking his thumbs into his belt and walking around, obviously making sure he’s the center of attention. “Another crybaby whining about fairness. Listen, wimp, don’t do me any favors. Either fight or give me back my money. And, yes, I’m keeping the sword. You owe it to me for trying to cheat. Fight me you…”

I miss the choice expletive on account of Stoneburner on our private channel.

“Friend Dirk, what has happened? I see a growing number running past my shop.”

“Looks like a duel is brewing,” I answer. “The guys who were making all the noise before I left. Warrior versus Wizard, level-three versus level-four. Looks like it’s about to go nuclear. The Warrior is escalating things and it looks like the crowd is eating it up. They seriously want him dead.”

“Were it not for patrons,” Stoneburner grumbles. “I would emerge to witness the spectacle. Pray, record it. Did not Brian ask us to capture events in Dawnshire for him to edit into videos?”

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna have time for that. And now I’m wondering if there’ll even be a fight. The Wizard still hasn’t accepted and now the crowd’s starting to give him a hard time about it.”

“All love to watch PVP, but few wish to fight to the death themselves.”

“Count me in that group,” I say, watching the Wizard and fighter circle each other. “There’s probably only two things I hate worse than PVP.”

Stoneburner laughs. “Salvatore being the top spot?”

“No, liver.”

“Liver,” he repeats, speaking slowly. I can hear him smacking his lips. “Why don’t you like liver? A delicious restorative!”

“Because it tastes like something that died a week ago and has the texture of dried-out toothpaste.”

Stoneburner laughs harder. “And your second?”

“Needles. I’ve always hated needles as far back as I can remember, which is pretty far.”

Stoneburner continues to laugh, but I tune him out when I see the Wizard clench his jaw and square off with his opponent.

“Let’s do this,” Abracadab11 says.

Chapter Six

Unless you’re directly involved in one, King’s League doesn’t give any kind of indication when a duel has been sent or accepted. Technically, two players can stand right next to each other. One can challenge the other to a duel, and the second can accept. Nobody else would know anything happened until the fireworks started. If they never started fighting, their duel would go unnoticed until one of them logged out of the game or left the city.

When either of those happen, the duel is canceled.

In this case, the fireworks start right away. Abracadab11 blasts Kriptick with some kind of ice spell. I still haven’t collected any more spells myself, so I don’t recognize which one it is, but the effect is fascinating. It’s also a reminder that I should get on that.

The Warrior is covered in a thick layer of ice, which forms spikes at the back of his head and torso pointing away from the Wizard. But Kriptick was in the process of slashing the Wizard. The spell may have slowed him down, but it wasn’t strong enough to make him into a chunk of ice and the attack goes through.

These are both low level characters, and I have the advantage of seeing a whole lot more than the other spectators. Of Abracadab11’s 17 HP, he’s now down to 12. Wizards can’t take much of a pounding in the best of times and low level Wizards melt like snowmen under direct attack.

The Wizard staggers back, virtual blood running freely from a wound on his shoulder, just short of his neck. The effects of the ice spell continue, finally freezing the Warrior in place, holding his ice-encrusted scimitar, icicles hanging everywhere from his weapon to his body.

The crowd gathered around to watch the duel cheers. I see people on shop balconies and crowding roofs. They’re stacked so deep that many of them likely only can see the back of the head of whoever is standing in front of them. The Dwarves and Gnomes are on all fours trying to peak between legs. It’s not as big as the turnout for the Dirk vs. Salvatore fight, but there has to be at least five hundred spectators.

Some watch for the excitement. Others, I’m sure, watch to see if there are any new techniques they can use against their own future opponents.

Personally, I think it’s a little sad. Leveling in King’s League takes so long, even losing a level-two means hours of squandered play. Seeing a level-three and a level-four fight to the death means one of them is going to be starting back from level-one again. All that effort, right down the toilet.

They’ve chosen to do this, though. Either could have walked away. I’m not going to interfere.

Kriptick’s face is a horrible, twisted mask of rage and frustration. His teeth are clenched and he’s cussing in at least two different languages.

The Wizard takes the break in the fight to heal himself.

As the ice spell runs its course, Kriptick breaks free and the Wizard’s expression changes from determination to pure fear.

I’ve seen plenty of Warriors fight. Most swing their weapons like they see in the movies. Big, arcing blows, whether with axe or sword, designed to cleave their enemies in two. The kind of swordplay they see buffed-out men with shaved chests in loincloths use when they slay dragons and vampires. Others prefer to use lighter, faster weapons and try their hand at fencing. Never before have I seen one fight like this.

Kriptick’s scimitar moves like an extension of his body. It’s both rhythmic and random—fluid motions with no wasted effort. It makes me wonder what the heck the player does for a living. It’s equal parts frightening and fascinating. Surely this guy was a high level character forced to start over after a bad encounter. He’s too good to be a rookie.

The Wizard’s no slouch, either. He takes a couple of glancing hits, only losing a couple of points of damage from each, but manages to get a spell off somewhere between them.

Kriptick is staggered as three icy arrows blossom in his chest. I have no idea what the spell was, but it looks like it’s slowed the Warrior a bit and his health has dropped from sixty to thirty nine.

The Warrior is back on his target in a flash. His sword dances around and over the magical barriers the Wizard attempts to place between them. The blows aren’t hard, but little by little it looks like they’re going to do the job.

It’s apparent by Abracadab11’s face that he’s beginning to realize he may have bitten off more than he can chew. A glass vial appears in his hand. The liquid inside looks like baby blue paint mixed with glitter—a mana potion. He gulps it, swaps it out for a red one—a healing potion—and gulps it down as well.

For someone as light on HP as the Wizard, a minor healing potion is enough to bring him back to full health. He begins casting something big. As his hands work, they begin to glow blue, and small sparkles of snowflakes begin to form around his hands.

It’s curious to me that the Wizard threatened to “melt the face” of the Warrior but has used nothing but ice spells. Sorcerer smack talk, I guess. Freeze your ass off doesn’t have quite the same ring.

This spell has a decent casting time, and it leaves the Wizard open for attack. Kriptick delivers a big slash that takes six points of damage, then another for six more. If that spell isn’t sent soon, the Wizard is toast.

Abracadab11 begins to bring his hands down to deliver the spell when the Warrior shouts, sending a visible shockwave of sound over his opponent’s body. It’s enough to blow the Wizard’s hood from his head and knock him back. His spell is ruined.

Kriptick continues to needle his opponent. Tiny cuts doing one point of damage at most. I don’t think he’s playing with the Wizard—I think that’s just how he fights. Abracadab11 is bleeding so heavily and it looks like it might be all over.

The Wizard quickly uses another healing potion.

Kriptick screams in rage a second later when he’s again frozen and immobilized in ice. Most of his words are in another language. I have no idea what he’s saying, and in a way, I’m glad. He’s down to one-quarter of his health.

Bet he regrets not just ending it.

My heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way out of my chest so it can watch the fight in person.

Just as the Wizard drinks another mana potion, the Warrior breaks free and the slashing begins anew. When the Warrior notices his opponent preparing another spell, he does some kind of karate spin-kick, it’s so fast I almost miss it.

With the Wizard’s spell ruined again, Kriptick follows up with two slashes and a stab to Abracadab11’s midsection. More blood flows.

I watch as the Wizard’s character grows weak and falls to his knees, just four HP left. Unless Kriptick allows Abracadab11 to drink a healing potion, it’s all over.

The crowd has grown silent. It looks like they’re holding their collective breath as they watch Kriptick regard his opponent. He’s stopped attacking. Instead, he’s pacing back and forth in front of the kneeling Wizard with an expression of someone who’s just tasted sour milk.

“First, you tried to cheat me,” Kriptick says. “Then you accepted a duel you had no chance of winning. How stupid are you?”

Abracadab11 has just enough strength to lift his chin and pretend to spit at the Warrior.

Kriptick stops pacing and places the tip of his sword under the downed man’s chin. “Out of health potions, eh? You have dishonored yourself and your family,” he hisses. “You have made all Wizards look weak and pathetic. You have disrespected this game. Most of all, you have disrespected me. What do you say?”

“You’re a liar,” the Wizard snaps back. “We made a fair trade. In fact, I gave you a better deal than I would’ve given anyone else.”

Quick as lightning, the Warrior strikes Abracadab11 across the face with the back of one hand. Even though I know it’s not real—that this is just a videogame—and nobody can feel any pain, the sound still causes me to wince. The designers did a great job getting the sound of a bare hand hitting a soft cheek right.

The punch does two points of damage, a real wallop.

The Warrior takes a step back before slowly turning around to make solid eye contact with many of those watching. “Let me make something clear. If any of you conduct your business the way this pathetic cheat does, you can expect the same result. You must conduct fair transactions from now on. You will not dishonor me or anyone within my guild.”

For the first time, I glance above his head. I missed the guild tag because it doesn’t look like words to me. It’s a single word or symbol, maybe Japanese, and I have no idea what it says. Kriptick seems to take it pretty seriously, though. It’s the weirdest roleplaying I’ve ever seen anywhere. Including Stoneburner, and that’s saying something.

He locks eyes with me next. “My guild will not accept anything other than a fair transaction.”

It’s obvious he’s speaking directly to me, but I’m not sure why. I’ve never seen him before in my life and I don’t have the slightest clue what he’s talking about.

Have I wronged him somewhere?

I do my best to keep my face impassive, but if he’s acting, it’s the best I’ve ever seen.

Kriptick keeps his eyes glued to mine as he thrusts his blade through the Wizard’s neck and out the other side. Abracadab11 is dead.

After a duel, onlookers usually clap and cheer for whoever won. There’s jeering sometimes, but they always show their appreciation for a good fight. Sometimes a few other duels will break out as others dip their big toes into the big pool of glory the winner has just jumped head-first into.

But this time, most everyone is silent. They’re all just standing there. There’s a few trolls spamming the general chat, but no one’s laughing.

Kriptick kneels and loots everything from the Wizard, leaving the body stripped in an expanding pool of blood. He downs a single healing potion, which brings him nearly to full health. Then he sheathes his sword and bows to the body.

“You were a worthy opponent,” Kriptick says softly. “May your ancestors smile upon you.”

Dude’s taking his roleplaying to a whole other level. It’s really a far cry from the rage-fueled smack talker who got in my face before all this started. So why is he taking this so seriously now?

“That was interesting,” Stoneburner says in private voice chat. “For a low level fight, I mean.”

I scan the crowd and spot him on top of his roof, holding on to the smoking chimney.

“Surely this player has a full VR kit?” Stoneburner suggests. “That kick was not something I’ve yet seen in King’s League.”

“I know,” I reply, still watching the fighter. “Kung Fu stuff.”

About a dozen characters are crowding around Kriptick. Most are level-one. They’re asking him questions like where he found his sword, where he learned to fight like that, and if he can teach them. He’s being extremely polite as he declines all their requests.

Other characters look like they want to ask him questions, but they’re staying back. I can tell they’re inspecting his visible gear, though. They’re curious. Who wouldn’t be?

“What guild is he in?” Stoneburner asks.

“I’ll take a screen shot,” I say, just before capturing the inventory and the kanji letter. I send it to Stoneburner. “It’s just this symbol. Have to look it up later. Did you see how at the end he was talking directly to me, kind of like all this was a performance—something he personally wanted me to see.”

“Aye. His focus was on you. That much was obvious.”

Kriptick finally extracts himself from those gathered around asking him questions, he turns his back to me and starts walking from the city.

“And so the games have ended,” Stoneburner announces. “But warriors need their weapons, adventurers their wares. Back to the shop I return. There are coins to be had. For a smith or an enchanter—if you take my meaning.”

“I’m going to follow him,” I say.

Stoneburner doesn’t hide his disapproving hum. He’s just looking out for me, I know. But when I add all this to what’s happened today, I’m not going to let this low-level Warrior slip away. Good as he was, if it comes down to a fight… I’d mop the floor with him.

I give Stoneburner courtesy reasoning. Not something I need to do, but he’s a friend. He deserves an explanation about why I’m putting off learning a complimentary trade yet again. “I need to see if he talks to anyone or gives some kind of clue as to what he’s really up to. Maybe he wants me to follow so he can get me alone where we don’t have to worry about others overhearing us.”

“Mayhaps. I would not leave the safety of Dawnshire, if I were you, friend Dirk. A trap it may well be.”

“I won’t get in any trouble. Remember, I’ve got excellent stealth. I’m very stealthy. Just gonna follow him to the border. If he keeps walking, I’ll let him go.”

I think about the character I’m following and the individual who’s controlling him. He’s different from any other player I’ve met. At least that I can think of.

Kriptick doesn’t turn around or look behind him. Either he doesn’t hear my footsteps as I pad along behind him, or he doesn’t care. Either way, he’s a cool character.

I stop when I’m twenty feet from the boundary of the city, marked by where the weeds are growing. The Guardian keeps everything inside nice and maintained. As a result, the border is clear. One step into the weeds would take me out of the non-PVP zone and out into the open world where anyone can be attacked at any time. Eventually, we’ve talked about building a wall, just to add to the atmosphere. But there’s still plenty of work to be done inside Dawnshire.

No more than a few steps outside the city limits, the Warrior is hit by three black arrows fired in rapid succession. He drops like a puppet who’s just had his strings cut.

I draw my sword and crouch out of instinct, though I’m still within the safety of Dawnshire. A few seconds later, I spot his opponent as she steps out from behind a tree.

She’s holding her rapid-fire pistol-like crossbow easily in one hand. It’s already reloaded, and though she’s beautiful, her expression isn’t.

“Would you mind stepping back, Dirk?” Spyce asks.

Chapter Seven

When a beautiful Elf murders some player right in front of you and you didn’t even see it coming, you do what she says. I take two steps back and watch as she approaches. She can’t harm me while I’m still within the city limits, but I think she’s worried I’ll jump out and get her while she’s still in a PVP zone.

Spyce watches me carefully as she grabs Kriptick’s body by a foot and drags him into the safety of Dawnshire.

I step out of her way as she walks around the body. I see her making the gesture with her hands which causes the game to take another screenshot.

“Oh, it’s you,” I say, mostly because the silence is beginning to feel awkward, but also because it’s the only thing I can think of.

She frowns at me and seems to study my face for a few seconds. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but when she looks away, I guess she didn’t find it.

“Were you waiting out there to kill him?” I ask. “A low-level like him?”

Spyce quickly finishes looting his body and stands, hands on her hips. “Okay, here we go. Go ahead and tell me that I’m being a bully. No, seriously, go ahead. Tell me bounty hunting is lame. Make your silly comments about how I must’ve been beat up a lot in school, bullied by bigger kids, and that’s why I do this.”

She has her arms crossed and a severe look that warns me against doing exactly what she said I should do.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” I ask. “But you’re a Warrior. Aren’t bounty hunters usually assassins?”

Spyce raises one eyebrow.

“Who could have put a bounty on a level-three?” I continue. “Seriously, what could this guy have possibly done? Yeah, he’s a bit of a jerk, but he’s still in the single digits. Heck, a decently equipped level-six could have taken him out. Give someone a couple of silver and this guy’s a goner.”

“You think so?” Spyce gestures to the corpse at her feet. “You saw what he did to that level-four. He didn’t even use one healing potion, did he?”

“Not that I saw,” I admit. “But I mean, Warriors have a lot more HP than Wizards.”

“How long have you been playing this game?” Spyce asks. “Did you just get lucky and stumble onto your Graydon’s piece?”

“Ah…” I leave my mouth open for way too long, then close it. How does she know this?

Spyce guffaws. “That’s it, isn’t it? You didn’t defeat anything or solve some kind of quest to get it, did you? You stumbled upon it. What, did you find it on a dead body somewhere? Free loot?”

I frown and cross my arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rubs her temples with both hands and shakes her head gently.

“You newbs,” she whispers, “changing the very landscape of King’s League and you don’t even know what you’re doing. This is the first character you’ve been able to get above level 60, isn’t it?”

“What’s with the third degree, lady? And what’s a Graydon’s piece—”

“Cut it,” she snaps. “You’re in the public eye. You showed up on the radar because of Salvatore and Dawnshire. Some no-name named Sir-Sneaks-A-lot remembers having a duel nearly to the death with you. Not even a month later and you’re taking down Salvatore in single PVP.”

“Maybe I just found a good place to grind.”

Spyce rolls her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure. How am I dressed?”

“Excuse me?”

“How am I dressed?”

“Like… a druid?”

“You’re right. And yet you called me a Warrior. How would you know that?”

Busted.

“You’ve got something that’s telling you more than you should know, don’t you? Is it Graydon’s Helmet? Is that it?”

I hold up both hands. I’m not going to deny, but I’m also not going to stand here while she runs the table. “Hold on. How come you get to ask all the questions? Let me get one in. Who hired you to kill this—”

“Stop,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “I never reveal who hires me. My clients expect a certain level of discretion. They hire me because I’m efficient. I’ve never been killed. This is my first character and I’ve been playing since the beta. I’m a master of PVP and I never hire someone to do something I can’t do on my own. Unlike you… Dirk?"

What in the world is this insanely beautiful but also plain insane Elf talking about? “Huh?”

“Oh, don’t act dumb. Don’t even try. That little assassin you sent after me? He might have survived, but you’d better see about getting a refund because he knows better than to come back and test me again.”

“Assassin? What assassin?”

She gives me a scathing look.

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

“Whatever. Try it again, and it’ll be the two of us in a duel. And you won’t walk away this time. I’m not Salvatore. That guy cared more about getting views than playing the game well. How else do you think you managed to kill him, sport?.”

I still don’t know what she's talking about, but she seems sincere. She’s been attacked. I debate whether to let her know that someone came after me, too, but decide to keep my magic cards close to my chest. This could all be designed to draw me out. She could be my attacker for all I know. I decide to keep it to myself and change the subject. “So, where did you get your belt?”

She arches one of her eyebrows again and looks like she’s studying all of my visible equipment. Her eyes linger on my gloves. “You’re really bad at this. How did you know I have the belt? Is that a power of the gloves… or the helmet?”

My face must’ve started broadcasting my shock in bright neon. I felt like my brain had just bluescreened and my fight-or-flight instinct was taking a nap.

“It’s the only way you could have seen my inventory,” she says. “Graydon’s set grants abilities no one else can do in the game. Like knowing class, inventory… and what else, hmm? So, is it the helmet or the gloves?”

I glance guiltily over my shoulders. There aren’t any other characters nearby. “Can we do this in a private chat?”

“Don’t think so.”

“The helmet,” I concede.

“What’s it called?”

“Graydon’s Sight. Now it’s my turn.”

“Ask away,” she says, a small smile breaking through the I’m-tougher-than-you look she’s giving me.

“What did this guy you just killed do to incur the wrath of whoever hired you?”

“Why do you care? He a friend of yours?”

“Definitely not. Let’s just say I’m naturally curious.”

“It wasn’t about what he did,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s what his guild did. There’s a big guild war going on right now, not the kind you’ll see on the livestreams for fun. Serious business. And when that happens, people like me get to benefit. Both sides are paying huge stacks of gold and magic items to have bounty hunters take out people like this maggot. Granted, I could infiltrate a guild keep and decide the war in a couple of weeks, but instead, I’m going to milk it for all its worth.”

I think about Kriptic’s guild symbol. It no longer appears above the dead character’s head.

“What’s the name of his guild?” I ask.

“They call themselves Dragon. I don’t know much about them, except that they’re probably not someone you want to cross, newb.”

She knows I’m a level 99. And she knows I took down Salvatore. I may not be running on my first character, but I’m hardly a scrub. She’s trying to press my buttons. I decide I’m not going to let her.

“New question. How did you get your piece of Graydon’s set, Miss Spyce?”

“I killed the leader of a now defunct guild,” she says dismissively. “My fee was a big sack of gold and whatever he happened to be carrying. I found it when I looted him. I don’t think he knew what he really had. Did you find both your pieces on the same random dead body?”

“I found the helmet on a random dead body,” I confess. “I got the gloves from Salvatore.”

“Now that is a surprise,” she says, though she’s so coy I can’t really tell if she means it or not. “I never would have guessed Salvatore had a piece of the set. You know, despite what he did, people still liked him. You went and murdered a celebrity. You might be one of the most hated gamers on the entire planet right now.”

I had seen enough of an uptick of spam that I had to change my messaging privacy, but it was hardly all hate. I think she’s trying to push my buttons again. Kind of annoying. Still, maybe I can use it against her.

“Is that why they sent you to kill me in the woods?”

She shakes her head and laughs, a deep, husky sound that seemed to come all the way from her belly. “Trust me, honey, if I’d been hired to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

I scoff and show her I know how to roll my eyes, too. But deep inside I felt my stomach try to somersault in my guts. She might be right. I can feel it in my jellies.

“There must be a mistake. See I’m level ninety-nine. Not nine. So…” I look down at the dead level three, “I might be a little bit beyond what you’re used to hunting down. Now that this dangerous level-three is taken care of and everyone can again sleep safely, I suppose you’ll be leaving my city?”

“You can suppose as much as you want to. I won’t judge.”

“Hey Romeo,” Brian says across our private voice chat. “Stoneburner says you got a virtual girlfriend. Is that her? She’s pretty. You going for it? A little Internet romance?”

“Not now,” I hiss as I mute the channel. I quickly unmute it. “And you promised you’d be studying.”

Brian laughs. “Signing off. Needed to ask Stoneburner a question for a paper. Honest.”

“Talking to someone?” Spyce asked, looking around.

“Just one of my guildmates.”

“Okay then,” Spyce says, twirling her hair around her finger. “My turn. And I have a really big question for you.” She steps close and leans in as she whispers into my ear. “Why did you try to hack my account?”

The question hits me like a bolt of lightning. “What are you talking about? I didn’t try to hack anyone’s account. Someone tried to hack mine.”

She steps back, any imaginary electricity I was feeling now grounded. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. Today around lunch time. Made me look like an idiot in front of a kindly old waitress. I thought we had a thing all throughout lunch… she would make me tacos, I would help her level up. But that ruined it all.”

Spyce squints at me. It looks like she’s trying to use some kind of supernatural mind trick on me. Some sort of metaphysical lie-detector. But she does smile at my joke as well.

Score.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, but it’s not a hard accusation. “And another thing: Why do you need more than one piece anyway? With the kind of advantage these things give us, or at least seem to give everyone else, by just having one, why be greedy about it?”

“First of all,” I say, “I didn’t kill Salvatore because he had a piece of the armor. He was threatening to destroy this place. And me. Manipulating everyone. Farming players for XP. That’s why I killed him.”

“That’s what you say. There are plenty of blogs that say otherwise.”

“The Internet is full of stupid people. What’s your point?”

“I don’t have a point and I don’t have a reason to be in this world any longer now that my target is eliminated.” She lifted up the hems of her druidic robes. “You think I dress like this every day?”

The black armor underneath her robes fit her form perfectly.

“Looks… normal,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “In fantasy land, sure. King’s League proper. I mean, seriously, look how tight this thing is. It’s completely impractical. In real life, it would pinch me here, here, and,” she pulls down on her crotch, “here.”

“You don’t play King’s League vanilla,” I conclude, trying not to stare at the last place she’d touched. “Which Realm?”

“The best Realm,” she says with a laugh. “86-Neon.”

Chapter Eight

“So you’re here for a bounty who left 86-Neon,” I say to Spyce, feeling less trusting of her than ever. “Why ask me to go adventuring with you? Why bat your eyes and play the cutie pie game. Unless you’re after my pieces of Graydon’s set.”

Spyce scoffs, sounding more amused than irritated. “I already know where most of the Graydon’s pieces are. And could take them if I wanted them.”

“Oh, you do.”

“I do. Players like us—the ones who have pieces—tend to stick out. For instance, I stick out because Graydon’s Binding gives me a slight advantage over others who are similar in level and gear. I’m better than most, of course, or I wouldn’t be level 97. But there’s a trail of high-level players who didn’t see me coming. And you? You stick out because you leveled up way too fast. And also, you’re the biggest newb. No offense.”

“None taken,” I say, though I don’t really mean it. I’ve been playing since the Beta myself. And I did fine without magical items until a few unfortunate encounters and some even less fortunate real-life crises. I’m not going to get into any of that with her, though. “I’m not the conquest kind of player. I hate PVP. I hate how people farm low-level players for the easy XP. I like the idea of this city. I like managing a new economy. I enjoy making a run out into the wild once in a while, helping low-level characters get started, and relaxing. This game can be fun if you don’t take it too seriously.”

“Maybe,” she says slowly. I can tell what I’ve said has gotten through the tough outer shell she’s established.

“Glad you’re coming around.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t delude yourself.”

I laugh. She didn’t say it in a mean way. “Graydon’s equipment is amazing. No dispute. But what it’s helped us accomplish is necessarily going to make other players jealous—hence, the hacking we’ve both experienced.”

“They can’t hack their way into our equipment. They probably don’t even know about it.”

“Salvatore knows about it. And even if it’s not him, someone else could hack us and make it impossible for us to get into our accounts. Then they could blackmail us to get our accounts back. Or just take over and transfer and sell everything. Stuff like that.”

“Is that your plan, then?” she asks, one eyebrow going up.

I sigh. “Ask whoever’s doing this. Because it’s not me.”

She shrugs and I get the sense that she’s been waiting for me to challenge her to a fight. To have it out and come to a solution through trial by combat. “Or maybe you’re only saying all this so you can look like a victim, too. Distraction, make it look like we’re on the same team—clever. Underhanded, but clever.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I’ve had enough so I start walking away. “Go have fun in your little cyberpunk game.”

“You mean King’s League’s cyberpunk realm,” she clarifies. “Because it is the same game, after all.”

“Might as well be another game,” I say as I stop and turn toward her. “It’s also got a reputation as the sleaziest realm in King’s League. I’ve tried it. I only lasted about thirty minutes before I couldn’t take the edgy teen angst anymore.”

She laughs. “You couldn’t hang, huh? Shocker.”

I give an exaggerated laugh right back. “You know, I think you’ve found the perfect realm for yourself. You’re a lot like the streamers I see out of there. Rude, selfish, and sarcastic. Seems like a good fit.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

The frustration of the day’s events are catching up to me, so I do. “Over there, the bigger the asshole you are to everyone, the greater the reward. There’s no sense of community, no pride in one’s guild. Just when you think you’re getting ahead, or even a basic start, someone you thought was your friend stabs you in the back and takes all your stuff. Unless they have a gun, of course. Then they shoot you in your back.”

“Don’t forget about the other ways you can die,” she says as she begins counting them off on her fingers. “Explosives, electricity, poison, or just bringing down a whole building right on top of someone. That’s my favorite. Did it two weeks ago.”

She smiles. It’s just the right kind of crooked to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Just like that right there,” I say, pointing at her expression. “You can’t just play the game—quest, have fun, make friends, adventure. You’ve got to make it cutthroat, like anything we do here really matters in the real world. Sure, there are people who make their living here, but most of the players just want to have fun and escape reality. They make friends, enemies—the regular stuff. Salvatore was a lot like you, and you can see where that got him.”

I hold my hands up, showing her my gloves, and wiggle my fingers. It’s all that’s left of the former leader of The Dark Riders.

“So, you admit you killed him for his gloves?”

“Ugh. No.” I’m feeling exhausted by the entire conversation. It’s time to wrap it up. We’re getting nowhere, and while she may be lying about trying to get my pieces of the set, if it’s true that she’s always had the one, then she doesn’t realize that there’s an opportunity to reach level 100 by collecting the entire set. “Salvatore and I could have coexisted in the same realm had he just left the city alone—as long as he would have agreed to stop farming new players for XP. He didn’t need it. But he couldn’t help but make the game about himself and make it miserable for those he exploited. That’s my point.”

“Fine,” she says with a dismissive gesture. “You stay in your Realm, and I’ll stay in mine. Unless, of course, I have someone to kill over here.”

“Great,” I say, again turning to leave.

“Great,” she continues. “You see, in my Realm, I’m the Big Bad Wolf—everyone’s nightmare. I don’t ally with anyone—ever. It’s how I’ve managed to stay alive this whole time. Nobody screws with me. In real life, nobody screws with me, either. That includes getting my debit card suspended. So, if you ever decide you want to challenge me, don’t be a wimp. Let me know and I’ll meet you anywhere you want in any Realm. We’ll find out who’s right by finding out who’s left. Just be warned, though… I don’t show mercy. Ever. And, if you challenge me, I’m going to take your Graydon’s gear. Then I’m going to do something nasty to Dawnshire.”

I turn and see her smiling.

“Want to know what?” she practically purrs from her throat.

“Not really,” I say, detecting the end of the conversation approaching.

Her smile broadens. “I’ll put the word out that I’m looking for a Dark Rider. First one who shows up gets the city.”

I clench my jaw and let out a puff of breath from my nostrils. I hadn’t expected that.

“Not a fan of that, are you? So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to leave my account alone, or do I need to come back here and take you down?”

“Do whatever you want,” I say, getting pissed now. “But I’m not hacking anything. I don’t care if you believe me. If you attack me, though, you’ll find I’m full of surprises. When it’s all said and done, I’ll have three Graydon pieces.”

Back in my apartment, I hear a knock at the door. I never get visitors unless it’s one of the Mendozas seeking rent. And that hasn’t been a problem. The tension of the conversation and the abrupt noise startled me enough to duck a little.

Spyce makes a face at me like she doesn’t know what I’m doing.

I try to ignore the knocking, but it keeps up.

Spyce is still watching me. “Let me guess, you need to go? Fine. You’ve been warned, sweetie. You stay in the kiddie pool and let the grown-ups play elsewhere. Ta-ta.”

She starts walking away, so I pull off my VR helmet. I’m safe in town. There’s no way for her to kill my character while I’m away. The pounding continues. Whoever it is sure is persistent.

On the other side of the peephole I spot a young man, maybe only a few days over 18. He’s freshly shaved and is wearing a yellow hat and shirt, each bearing the logo of a well-known package delivery company.

“Yeah?” I say loud enough for him to hear on the other side.

“Mister Nelson?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Mister Dirk Nelson?”

“Yes,” I repeat.

“I have a delivery for you, sir.”

I’m not expecting anything, and after the hack attempt on my account I’m feeling a bit paranoid. “Leave it by the door and I’ll get it later.”

“Can’t do that, sir,” the man says. “It needs a signature.” He lifts his tablet in front of the peephole lens as if I’m supposed to read the document clipped to it.

I groan inwardly, open the door a crack, take the tablet and sign it with my finger.

“Thank you,” he says as he hands me a receipt and a tan manila envelope no larger than my hand. It’s the padded kind and it’s bulging at the seams.

“No problem,” I say, already closing the door. I lock it and then stare at the small package. I check the return address and see something I don’t expect. It’s a single line of text, no address. I recognize the name instantly.

Cygnus

“Holy crap,” I whisper as I turn the package over a few times in my hands. It has several postmarks. The one that looks to be the original is from Japan.

International shipping hasn’t ever been cheap, but since the economic collapse, even sending something as light and small as this has to cost a lot.

I squish the package gently between my fingers. It feels like there’s just one thing inside. It feels like a cube, maybe three inches or so on each side. Possibly a little larger.

A little freaked out, I whisper, “Please don’t be a bomb,” and carefully tear one end of the envelope off as I make my way back to my living room.

The “cube” is actually a beautiful, carved jade box. It has four little feet, intricately shaped like lion’s paws holding a tiny ball which might be a precious gem of some kind. They’re golden, but I suspect they might actually be gold.

One side of the box is showing a scene which resembles an Asian-style dragon flying through the sky. Another looks like a farmer working in a rice field. There’s koi fish—the kind of fat goldfish some of the fancy malls used to have in their artificial ponds before those all shut down and someone probably ate them. The rest are other cultural scenes, which remind me of Japanese wall-hangings.

Inspecting it closely, I don’t see any external hinges, but it does have a tiny, delicate-looking clasp. Using only my thumbnail, I unhook it, and open the box. The hinges are cleverly built inside, but that’s not what gets my attention.

My eyes seem to cross, twist in their sockets, and go their own way like a chameleon’s while my brain tries to decode what I’m seeing. I remove a small object. It’s cold and heavy for its size. It’s about the size of a quarter, only shinier and a little bigger. It’s pure gold.

On one side, there’s a woman’s face. It says “ELIZABETH II” above her head and “1 DOLLAR 2019” across the bottom. The other side has a leaf and “CANADA” across the top, and a bunch of 9s.

Since the economic collapse, people have been snatching these things up as fast as they could get them. I set everything down on my counter and rush to my VR helmet, switching from the game to the rest of the Internet. It only takes a few seconds to find a high-quality picture of what a website is calling a “2019 1/20 oz Canadian Gold Maple Leaf Coin.” Their price is just under three thousand bucks. Holy crap.

The company selling the coin I’ve referenced marks their price up from what they bought it for, but I doubt it’s more than a few hundred bucks, maybe. Why would someone send me a gold coin?

It must be fake, I decide. Not that I could tell—unless there’s chocolate inside.

I gently remove my VR helmet and take off my glove. Then I set the coin back into the box it came in and stare at it for a moment before I pick the envelope back up. I turn it over in my hands a few times, searching for some kind of clue.

The one word on the return address is all there is.

I look down to the bottom of the envelope and find a piece of folded paper. It looks like one of the corners got caught-up on part of the bubble wrap. I shake the envelope a few times, but it’s really stuck, so I reach in, carefully pulling it out. I check for anything else and find nothing.

With one hand, I open the letter.

Dear Dirk,

I hope this finds you well. My name is Barthos. This, of course, is my gamer tag within King’s League.

I represent a powerful man who would like to make a purchase from you. Whether you accept his proposal or not, please consider the coin and the box it came with as a gift.

The man I represent can, at times, be extraordinarily generous. He’s a powerful businessman who—through great leadership and wisdom—has managed not only to survive this terrible global economic collapse we find ourselves in, but has managed to thrive.

I will be arranging to visit you in the city of Dawnshire soon. I do not expect you to wait around for my arrival, though. Please, enjoy the game and have fun. I do hope that when I arrive you will make yourself available so we may continue our dialogue in person.

I am certain that the offer my employer will make will be worth your time and beneficial to you both.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Sincerely,

Barthos

Chapter Nine

I’m not sure how long I stare at the letter, re-reading it over and over, but it’s enough for my arm to get tired from holding it. When I lift my eyes and check on my surroundings, everything looks the same as I remember it. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling my personal space has just been invaded. I don’t feel like I’m alone.

“It’s got to be the Graydon’s set,” I whisper to the room.

I set the letter down and pick up the jade box, staring at the small gold coin within. I’m guessing the gift was to make it clear that the person who sent it has deep pockets. That’s clear. But the fact that my real name is on the outside, and my gamer tag is on the inside, is what’s bothering me the most. Salvatore pulled this trick, too, even if he called me Dirk Wilson instead of Dirk Nelson. Close enough for me to feel uncomfortable. Since then I thought I’d taken steps to hide my personal details. I de-linked King’s League from my social media profiles and anything related to Dirk of Dawnshire would be associated with Brian, since he set up the domain and the streaming channel.

My first instinct is to check with Brian. But, assuming he was being honest, he’s studying. I can’t play the serious, this-is-for-your-own-good friend card and then call him the moment something comes up. Still, there’s some sort of leak going on.

The virtual assistant within the King’s League help system told me all my account details were still secure. He’d said nothing was leaked—nothing got out. It appears he was wrong.

My mind goes to Spyce. Did she get the same letter? I almost hope she did, since it would make things pretty clear that I’m not the guy she thinks I am. Or, likely knowing that I get a percentage of the taxes from Dawnshire, she might think I’m making a lot more money than I really am. That this Barthos person is actually talking about me as the big-time business guy. Couple that with the kanji clan symbol, and I can totally see how she’d make such a connection.

Even though I could use the money I’d get by selling this coin—and maybe the box it came in—part of me wants to give it back. Not that I’d know where to send it. But I definitely don’t want to be caught up in whatever is going on. I want to tell whoever it is that I don’t care what kind of deal they’re offering—I’m not interested. I’m doing fine. I don’t need to sell anything other than what I’m already putting on the market.

It’s too late for that, though. Someone else knows who I am and it’s clear they want what I have. My stomach churns when I think of all the havoc someone could cause if they did nothing more than release the information on the Internet. Anyone I’ve ever killed in the game would have a way to grief me directly. Hell, there might be someone crazy enough to sneak through the window above my sink and cut my throat while I’m sleeping. People are crazy.

I’d have to move. And moving sucks.

I set the letter on my box, don my VR gear, and log into my King’s League account. The balance available looks right. It’s a little higher than it was before, but I had some stuff on the open market for sale, so some of it obviously sold.

Checking the transaction history doesn’t bring up any red flags either. There’s nothing new since lunch and nothing I don’t recognize from the last couple of weeks. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Still, someone has my personal information. I select the help icon and wait a few seconds for the virtual agent to appear.

“Welcome to the King’s League account help system,” he says. “How may I be of service?”

“Someone has hacked into my account,” I say. “And before you tell me that nobody has, you’re wrong, so don’t argue.”

“I’m sorry you had that experience,” the virtual person says, looking sorrowful. “Please stand by while I bring up your account information to see what I can find.”

He only scratches in his clipboard a few seconds before looking up again. “I’ve accessed your account information and have performed a quick analysis. It appears that, though your account was the subject of an attempted tampering, no data has been breached. Please feel secure knowing that King’s League has protected your account, your funds, and your anonymity. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“Yes. Connect me to a real human being. Someone who isn’t an automated virtual helper.”

“I’m sorry,” the virtual assistant says, “I don’t understand that. Can you rephrase it?”

I sigh, close my eyes, and meditate for a few seconds to recover my composure. “I need to talk to a human being about this issue. A real person who isn’t a computer program. Can you put me in touch with a real human being?”

“I understand,” the virtual man says as he nods. “Please stand by while I check to see if anyone is available. This shouldn’t take long.”

I watch him go back to scratching on his clipboard. I’m not sure how much time has passed before he looks up again, but it was long enough for me to start to get bored.

“Thank you for waiting and I’m sorry it took so long,” he says. “It appears that all operators are currently busy helping other customers. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Would you like to wait for someone to join our help session or would you like me to have someone contact you either at the phone number on your account or in-game?”

“That depends,” I say. “How long until someone is available?”

“Current wait time is approximately six hours.” He’s still smiling. I’d like to wipe the expression off his face.

“Can I leave a message for whoever becomes available next?” I ask.

“Yes. You can record a message for a customer service agent to review. When ready, say, ‘start recording.’”

“Start Recording. Hey, I just need—”

“Recording has started. Say ‘end recording’ when you are done, or simply disconnect from King’s League Help.”

I pause, not wanting to get interrupted again. “Hey, I just need someone to verify that everything in my account is still secure. I know the help bot says it is, but I’m seeing some weird stuff that makes me think otherwise. I don’t really need to talk to anyone in person about it—I just need a human to actually check it out and then get back to me with an okay or a list of what was leaked. End recording.”

“You have finished your recording.” The virtual CSR looks down for less than a second before making eye contact again. “Would you like to review your message?”

“Nope.”

“Very well. The message has been added to your help ticket. The next available operator will investigate your case and send you an in-game message when it is complete. I have added a case number to your request so you can access it through this screen right here.” He points and looks to his right. A long series of numbers appear floating in the air sparkling. “You will also receive a copy of the case number by email. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, thank you,” I say, even though I’m not completely satisfied with how things went. I feel a little better knowing a real person will be looking into this. That seems like it’ll be a while and this all feels urgent.

“Very good,” the cyber rep says with a smile. “Please feel free to contact King’s League Account Help at any time by selecting the operator icon at the login screen for the game.”

I remove my VR helmet enough to peek at the door to my apartment. It’s still locked, but I feel weird and somehow exposed. It’s probably what Barthos and whoever he works for intended to happen. There are a whole lot of easier ways to reach someone that don’t involve cryptic packages stuffed with gold and vague messages.

Maybe they just want me to lose some sleep. Nobody makes the best decisions when they’re tired.

I toggle back into the game. My character is still standing in the spot I left him. A curious level-one is walking around inspecting my gear, but that happens sometimes, especially with new players.

The gold sitting on the box back in my apartment feels like it’s calling to me. In King’s League, I have lots of gold, but in the real world, that coin represents all of it. I think about finding a safe place to stash it—somewhere it’ll be hidden if someone breaks into my home, but the safest place is the wooden box I store my VR gear in. Unless I get a safe.

Now, I decide it’s me-time. I haven’t played for fun in a while. I wish I had a way to send a message to Spyce, but since she’s in a different Realm, the only way to contact her would be to travel there. I could try sending one to her every few minutes to catch her if she enters the Fantasy Realm, but the ability to see messages sent by players other than those in your guild or those you tag as friends is turned off by default. I doubt someone like her would turn it on. I’ll have to keep my eyes and ears peeled for her.

Before I head out, I open my Guild tab. We’re up to 230 members now—growing slowly but steadily. I haven’t kept up with the guild-centric blogs to learn how many members it takes before we can be considered a “large” guild, but since I don’t recognize most of the names, I think 230 counts.

Stoneburner is offline, I read a quick message he sent me. No big fires to put out. Nogg is offline, too, which I’m glad to see.

The town is bustling. Characters of all classes and levels are moving from shop to shop, standing around in the middle of the streets to chat or in some cases argue. They all seem to be having fun.

One character, a level two Scout, probably an Assassin, based on some of his gear, is trying to sneak up on me. I’m amused, because he’s still a hundred feet away. The way he’s focusing, though, I know I’m his target. I pretend not to see him.

He has to stop about forty feet away to let some other characters who seem to be in a hurry cross in front of him. If they saw him, which I suspect they did, they’re ignoring him. Most characters probably are.

The Assassin isn’t watching me so intently as he’s inspecting my visible equipment. I’m convinced he’d like to help bear some of my load, permanently, without permission. I act like something to my left has caught my attention so I can turn away and hide my grin. My back is to him. He’ll give it a shot.

He doesn’t realize that not only will his attempt to pickpocket me not work within Dawnshire, but as a high level Ranger with a Sneak of 100, I’m kind of hard to surprise. At least when it comes to this sort of thing. The world’s been full of surprises today, otherwise.

I’m thinking this is a true level two, not some guy who just happened to be busted down. Just looking at me should tell him that I’m out of his league. He can also see my name, and everyone who’s been paying attention the last month knows who I am.

I can hear him creeping and wait another two seconds before turning around to look him in the face. “How’s the Ezio Auditore impression going? Any luck?”

He freezes and watches me. It reminds me of those animals that just lock in place and stay still, thinking you can’t see them.

“Hello, SliceyDicey,” I say, reading his name from above his head. “You do know I can see you, right?”

“Oh,” he says as he stands and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I was just, er… I wasn’t going to take anything. I was just looking. Practicing. I was practicing.”

“Sure. See anything you liked while you were trying to pickpocket?” I ask, not bothering to hide my smile anymore.

He looks around uncomfortably—a kid caught with his little hand in a colorful cookie jar. “Ah… no. Didn’t see anything at all actually. Sorry. It’s weird. I don’t know why it’s not working.”

“It’s not working because this city, Dawnshire, is a non-PVP zone. In other words, things like pickpocketing, attacking—things might be directly harmful to another player or even directly inconvenience them, don’t work inside the city limits. Same as the River Market. Nice try, though.”

“Nowhere in the whole city?”

“Nope. If you want to do that, you have to go outside the city. It’s best to do it in the wild, though. If you do it in one of the other towns or cities and a guard sees you, they’ll throw you in jail or outright kill you right there on the spot. It all depends on how many times you’ve been caught before.”

His shoulders sag. “This game is… ridiculously hard, man.”

I feel a little bad for the guy. He’s playing a Rogue, and though he looks like an assassin, it’s clear that he’s just trying out the Rogue skills, like pickpocketing. I try to offer him some advice. “It can be tough, yeah. Especially for Rogues. Word of advice: start with NPCs. They’re way less likely to kill you for it. If you get caught, request to see the Captain of the Guard. Every town and city—except this one—has one. Do some quests for them, and they’ll forget any prior arrests or outstanding bounties. Then you can do it all over again.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“You new to the game?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been playing for about a month, but I don’t have a whole lot of hours invested—I work a lot. Getting started in this game is pretty tough.”

I laugh. “It sure is. Here.”

I open a trade window and move two gold from my inventory to it and wait for him to confirm.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really,” I say. “We all start somewhere.”

When he clicks the ACCEPT button, the transaction is complete.

“Thanks a lot. You’re nice. Kinda feel bad I was gonna pickpocket you.”

I laugh again. “It’s all good. No worries.”

The low-level Rogue takes a gold piece out of his inventory, holding it between two fingers. “This is really going to help. I’m trying to steal a better weapon. This rusted out iron short sword barely does any damage, but it’s the best I’ve had for days.”

“You can go right over there,” I say, pointing to the blacksmith shop. “The owner’s name is Stoneburner. I’m sure he’ll be on soon. He makes some great stuff and I’m sure he’ll give you a good deal.”

“Thanks,” he says before running off.

I like helping new players. I’m hardly the most experienced, but I’m now in a position to help and so I help when I can.

What I need now, I decide, is some monster-slaying time.

What I get instead is another knock at the door.

Chapter Ten

“Who is it?” I call out, still in my VR rig. If I can avoid getting up again, I’d like to. “If it’s a package, just leave it.”

“FBI,” shouts a voice from the other side of the door. “Open up.”

My stomach sinks.

“What the hell…?” I mumble to myself. Convinced that I’m not going to get any adventuring time, I teleport back to the temple and take off my headset just as whoever is out there pounds again.

I rush to the door. “Hang on!”

“Now, Mister Nelson!”

I reach the door and hear the distinct sound of a woman trying to stifle a laugh. I check the peephole, frown, and then open the door. “What the hell, Brian!”

Brian walks right into my apartment, in stitches. He’s leading by the hand a pretty college girl with straight, auburn hair, cut so perfectly that it looks like a waterfall in laminar flow.

She’s blushing as she ducks inside my crap-hole apartment. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say, a hand going to my hair, hoping that my VR headset hasn’t made me look too crazy.

“Dude,” Brian says, still grinning ear to ear. “You sounded so freaked out. You sure you’re not in trouble, man?”

“Not with the FBI, at least,” I say, instantly aware of everything out of place in my apartment. Oh well, can’t be helped now. I hold out my hand to the girl. “Hi, I’m Dirk.”

“Stacy,” she says, giving me a shake.

Brian, realizing he’s slipped in the manners department, steps in. “Oh, right. Yeah. Stacy and I are—”

“Study partners,” she says, giving Brian a look that says that’s not all there is to it, but that’s all she’s willing to say for now.

“Right,” Brian says, smiling back at her. “She’s in that science class I told you about. Avian biology. Birds.”

“I know what avian means,” I tell Brian, moving to close the door. “Sorry about the mess guys, wasn’t expecting company. Do you want something to drink? I think I have food in the fridge… maybe.”

Stacy laughs at this, but looks to Brian to give an answer.

“Oh, nah, we’re good. Wasn’t planning on staying or anything. Just wanted to drop off the—oh! Hold up!” Brian jogs over to my door, pulls it open, and loses his grip on the handle as the chain latch yanks it away with a bang. He closes the door, unlatches the chain, and says, “You lock up tighter than Fort Knox, Dirk.”

I shrug. “Well, usually the people wanting to drop by aren’t the college types, y’know?”

Stacy smiles, and I catch her looking around. She sees the box that was just mailed to me and goes right to it. “Oh, wow. This is really pretty.”

“Uh, thanks. Someone sent that to me.”

“Can I look at it?” She’s already holding it in her hands.

I move over and quickly, but gently, take it away. “Oh, you know… it’s uh, I haven’t cleaned it.”

She turns her head and gives me a what-are-you-talking-about look, but she’s polite enough not to make an issue of it.

“Who’s it from?” asks Brian, stepping back inside carrying a big box.

“I don’t really know. Someone from the game.”

“For real?” Brian mule kicks the door closed behind him. “That’s cool. Told you those videos would make you famous.”

“That must be it,” I say, putting the box—and more importantly the gold coin inside—up on the shelf that comprises my entire library—mostly books about football, space marines, and statistics. “So what’s in your box?”

Brian looks down at what he’s carrying. “Oh. Right. Here’s my King’s League rig, man.” He drops the box on the floor.

Mister Farley in the apartment below me responds by banging on his ceiling.

“Sorry!” I yell down at him.

I look back to Brian, who slyly has his arm around his study buddy. Brian has always been the kind of guy who’s never had a problem not only finding a girlfriend, but finding the prettiest girl in school to be said girlfriend. And Stacy is no exception. You know that song that goes, money for nothing, chicks for free? That’s Brian. He makes it effortless, really. People are drawn to him. Guys and girls alike. He’s the handsome quarterback straight from central casting and funny—if a bit immature at times.

“Why are you bringing me that?” I ask, pointing to the cardboard box containing his VR headset and gloves.

“Because I’m serious about pulling my grades up, man. After talking with you—and Stacy—I realized that I just can’t put the sort of time into King’s League that I have been and still expect to do well in school and football. Time to prioritize.”

“We just made the rounds with Brian’s profs,” Stacy interjects. I see her squeeze his hand. “Everyone can see his potential—I know you can, too, you’re his best friend—and we all just want to make sure he takes advantage of the opportunities he has.”

Brian smiles, but it’s hollow, I can tell. His eyes dart to me because we both know what this ‘opportunity’ has cost me. Stacy doesn’t seem to pick up.

“That’s great,” I say, and I mean it. I didn’t take the fall for Brian because I didn’t believe in him. Hell, until lately, I’ve always believed in Brian more than I’ve believed in myself. “But I’m not really sure what you want me to do with it. This isn’t the greatest neighborhood. I can’t really promise to keep it safe—there’s only room enough in the safe for my stuff.”

Brian nods. “I know. The main thing is I need the temptation out of my dorm room. Do whatever you want with it, Dirk—short of pawning it, I mean.”

I laugh and roll my eyes.

“But seriously, you can log in and play as me if you want. I don’t care. I’m like, level two. It’ll give you a chance to get online without people recognizing you or hunting you. And if you take a dirt nap… nothing lost.”

I can’t really see myself doing that, but I nod anyway. “Sure. I can handle that. You guys sure you don’t want something?”

“Yeah,” Brian says, guiding Stacy to the door. “We gotta get going. I’ve got a supplemental case study I need to have done by tomorrow for my public relations class. So… better get on it.”

“Totally,” I say, playing the host and seeing them out. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Stacy. See ya, Brian.”

“Bye,” Stacy says, doing that little finger wave that girls do that has no reason to make your heart flutter but does anyway.

I lock myself back in, lean against the door and give a sigh. Usually, I don’t miss college. But meeting a girl—in real life—wouldn’t be so bad. And unless Brian brings them over, that’s probably not going to happen here any time soon.

Well. That’s depressing.

Forever alone.

I look at Brian’s stuff and think of places I might put it. Other than the freezer, I don’t really have anywhere that will be secure. I may as well just leave it out. If things keep going well in Dawnshire, I hope to be in a financial situation where I can afford to replace it should it be stolen. And if Brian actually gets his act together, manages to get a good career going or even better, a shot at playing pro ball, he’ll be able to afford a full haptic chamber. That would be something.

Picking up the equipment, I find a corner of the room, setting it down near the shelf with the gift I received in the mail. I stare at the intricate jade box and get a sense of dread. In my mind, I hear Han Solo telling me he has a bad feeling about this.

“Yeah, me too,” I confess.

The sight of that new mystery—which once upon a time would have made me happier than a triple XP weekend (not that those happen in King’s League)—now makes me feel dread. The gold is worth a substantial amount. But something for nothing… nah. I know how the world works. There’s a reckoning coming because whoever sent me this thinks I can do something for them that will prove more valuable than the cost of the box, the shipping, and the coin.

All I wanted to do prior to people knocking on my door was have some fun. And now… I feel like if I log in that’s exactly what I won’t get. Visions of this mysterious Barthos giving me a Salvatore-sized headache are inescapable.

I should go to the gym. Clear my head. But I’m feeling weirded out by what’s been happening lately. How do I know there isn’t some goon waiting in an unmarked van outside my apartment building, ready to follow me as soon as I step foot on the street? Maybe I should invest in a drone. Scan my surroundings from the window.

Yeah. That’s not crazy.

I let out a sigh, then look at Brian’s equipment.

“Why not?” I ask the room. This will give me a chance to play King’s League with no pressure. Either from mysterious interlopers or from dying and ruining the good thing I have going. Brian said he’s level two, so there’s really not much I can mess up.

It doesn’t take me long to get his VR set synced to my connection and fitted to my head. Soon I’m breezing through familiar load screens. And then… I’m Nogg.

I watch as a third-person rendition of a tall, brown-robed elf yawns and gets out of bed—Brian crashed at some inn, it seems. Then I’m transported into first person view.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” I mumble to myself, bringing up Nogg’s stats.

Name: Nogg

Level: 2

Class: Wizard

Specialty: N/A

Health: 22

Mana: 54

Str: 9

Sta: 11

Agi: 11

Dex: 10

Int: 14

Cha: 10

Experience to next level: 86,440/300,000

It’s almost shocking to see stats so low. I know I wasn’t much better before I found Graydon’s Sight, but I’ve gotten used to being a level 99. Just seeing the low HP and mana makes me feel like a gentle breeze might inflict critical damage. Seriously, if someone swings open the door to Nogg’s room while he’s on the other side he might be killed from bludgeoning damage.

Since Nogg chose an elf as his starter class, he got a slight bump in starting stats in agility and intelligence. This came at the expense of strength and stamina. Not a bad tradeoff, really. Nowhere near as pronounced a difference as say, choosing an orc, which gets a buff in strength and stamina at the expense of intelligence and charisma.

Brian chose to play a Wizard, but wisely hasn’t selected a specialty. Think of him as a Wizard in training—still working on an undergraduate degree before leveling up to a Master’s and then PHD. The advantage he has is that his mana will get that ten point per increased intelligence bump all the way up to max level, plus an additional bump of his intelligence level times point-two-five. That’s crucial for being able to cast the really powerful spells—if you can find them.

I have some decent magical abilities that are always available thanks to Graydon’s Might, but there are some spells I’d love to use that I just can’t cast because of my max mana. If Nogg were to really level up, he won’t have that problem.

Since Nogg is a Wizard, I need to know what spells he has available. Choosing the Wizard class allows you to select five low-level spells. You can learn more from spell books or by studying at one of the magic schools located throughout King’s League. There’s a school for each of the various types of magic and some players just hang out there all the time, playing through their own Harry Potter fantasies, occasionally having skirmishes with rival schools—things like that.

Here’s what he picked:

Feather Fall:

Effect: Reduce Fall Velocity for 60 seconds

Casting Time: Instant

Range: Touch

Cooldown: 120 seconds

Mana: 20

Hands of Flame:

Effect: Deal X Points of fire damage where X = YOUR LEVEL x 5 (max 20 points)

Casting Time: Instant

Range: Touch

Mana: 20

Magic Dart:

Effect: Fire a magical bolt for 5-10 damage.

Casting Time: 1 seconds

Range: Line of Sight

Cooldown: 1 second

Mana: 10

Rolling Fog:

Effect: A thick, obscuring fog surrounds you

Casting Time: 2 seconds

Range: 10 ft Radius

Cooldown: 30 seconds

Mana: 10

Spirit Mount:

Effect: Summons an ethereal riding horse for 1 hour per level

Casting Time: 10 seconds

Range: N/A

Cooldown: Duration of spell

Mana: 50

All in all, not a bad assortment. I would like to see some kind of protective spell, like a spirit shield, but Brian at least picked something that might help him escape trouble in Rolling Fog. A cure spell would also be good, but given his low HP, a minor potion will do the job just as well and save what mana Nogg has for fighting.

It looks like the Wizard can do decent low-level damage at range and up close. I tab over to see how Nogg is equipped and don’t find much. He’s wielding an ivory dagger, but given his strength, that won’t deal much damage. Probably a last resort. His robes are purely ornamental. No buffs there. Other than some coin, about the only thing of use he has are some potions.

Minor Healing Potion x 10

Restore Mana Potion x 10

Lesser Restore Mana Potion x 5

Cure Poison x 1

Cure Disease x 1

I don’t know whether to be impressed or surprised, because the Guild chest certainly has better stuff than this. For whatever reason, Brian didn’t take it. His play style is usually just goofing off, so maybe he’d feel bad about getting killed and losing it. I don’t know.

What he’s got now should be enough for me to at least take a stroll outside—assuming I don’t forget myself and try to take on something way out of my league.

After going through the usual reminders about leaving an inn, I find myself downstairs. No sooner do I appear than the innkeeper, a sturdy-looking half-orc guy with beefy arms and a dish rag draped over his broad shoulder happily shouts, “Nogg! Been a while, amigo!”

He fills a pewter mug with ale and slides it in my direction. I look over at him and smile, reading his name as it hovers above his head. El_Idolo. I’m surprised not to see his inventory or stats, and then quickly remember why. Nogg doesn’t have the same set of skills as Dirk.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up the mug and hoping that these two aren’t close enough friends that he’ll notice I don’t have Nogg’s voice.

“Of course!” El_Idolo answers back, a slight Spanish accent evident in his voice. “I meant what I said, amigo. Free drinks for life!”

I smile again and knock it back. Just drinking one ale won’t bother my character. Now, if I keep this up, my stats will start to suffer and I’ll have to check back in. I slam the empty mug back on the counter. “Thanks.”

The innkeeper nods approvingly. “Varonil. That’s what I like to see.”

“How’s business?” I ask, unsure where I even am.

“Well you know, it hasn’t been that long since you and Stoneburner let me into the guild, but things are good. I could stand a few more overnight guests, but who am I to complain? This is a dream come true.”

I look around the inn. This is in Dawnshire? I hadn’t even realized we’d gotten an inn built. I try to visualize where it would be in the city but come away blank.

“Yeah, well, the place looks great,” I say, bobbing my head and drumming on the counter. “I should probably… head out.”

“Sure! Sure, amigo. See you tonight?”

“Yeah,” I say, unsure if that’s the right answer. Judging by El_Idolo’s smile, it must be.

I smile back, nod my farewell, and move toward the door, passing a pair of dwarves busy playing some kind of dice game. I step outside and blink in the bright daylight. In the distance, I can see the top of the Temple. A little closer is the pink potions shop. That’s about all I recognize. I take a few steps and then turn around to take the inn… well, in.

Built on a stone foundation, the place has a thatched roof with warm, paned windows. The architectural beams are exposed, crisscrossing through white-washed exterior walls. A green sign showing a comfortable bed swings a cross-beam bearing the name of the establishment: Andrade’s.

“When did this happen?” I ask the universe.

Stoneburner and Nogg have been in charge of overseeing Dawnshire almost since day one, but I thought I’d been keeping up on things better than this. But apparently not. There’s a brand new inn and I had no idea. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve explored this part of town at all. I didn’t even know we’d started building this far from the temple.

If there’s a drawback to wanting to adventure so much, I guess this is it. By right, I’m the mayor—or lord—of Dawnshire. But other than seeing it become a positive place people can do business in, micromanaging the day-to-day isn’t really my thing. I’d rather be out clearing dungeons. As I walk by a few plots of rubble, ruined buildings waiting to be restored, I start to wonder how this place might look if I really focused my energy on building it up and expanding.

I’d probably get some nice results. But what’s the rush? Other than a higher cut of tax revenue?

The city will get built up over time. That said, I should take a closer look around. Really stroll around the place. Usually I’m so focused on getting to my hotspots, like Stoneburner’s shop and a few other stores, I don’t pay much attention to anything else. And then, when out adventuring, I always teleport right back to the temple. I guess I’ve missed a lot of the developing details as a result.

There are actually some interesting places that I find myself wanting to go visit.

Adventure Unlimited, which looks like it sells basic adventuring gear and supplies.

The Dashing Rogue—a clothing store.

Walrus & Simp: Adventurers for hire—that seems like a good (if risky) idea for a business.

Most interesting of them all is a store called Forgotten Arcana. I make a note to pay that place a visit as Dirk, since I don’t feel right about spending any gold that Brian has. Not that he keeps a lot in the game.

As I walk, I’m struck by how many people in Dawnshire seem to already know Nogg. I can’t travel a block without someone coming up and greeting me. Players of every type stop me and fill me in on all sorts of things—quests, real life issues, the state of their business. Mostly I do my best not to seem suspicious. My rule of thumb is to speak if someone calls me Nogg and make some hurried excuse if they call me Brian.

Smile and wave, boys, smile and wave.

Making my way to Stoneburner’s shop, I run into Roxxy, the halfling who owns the potion shop.

“Oh, hey, Brian!” She squeaks, clearly happy to see me. Er… him. “I heard a rumor that you wouldn’t be online for a while.”

“Oh, uh,” I begin… this isn’t going easy. I go to Roxxy’s potion shop all the time to stock up. She knows my voice. I’m sure of it.

“Dirk?” Roxxy guesses.

“Yeah. It’s me. Brian has some real world stuff to do, so he left his stuff at my place. I’m uh…” Well, what am I doing? “I’m going to try and help him level up.”

“Oh,” Roxxy says, and I can’t help but feel like she’s a little disappointed that I’m not the real deal. “Yeah, that’s cool. It’s nice of you.”

“Hopefully, yeah. As long as I don’t mess it up.”

We both laugh out of polite habit.

“All right,” Roxxy says. “Well, I’ve got some upgrades happening at the shop and I should go see if they’re finished. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling a little odd.

Actually this whole experience has been odd. Brian seems like he’s the most popular guy in Dawnshire. And I’m not saying that with even a shred of jealousy. It’s just a fact. If Dawnshire elected its own mayor, it would be him. I’ve played with Brian for a long time, and he’s always been the one more likely to chat with other players (especially if flirting is involved). I guess I didn’t realize just how far that went. All the time I spent leveling or adventuring after I hit the level cap, he’s become everyone’s best friend here in the city.

I step inside Stoneburner’s shop just as the Warrior is putting away his tools.

“Friend Nogg!” Stoneburner calls, “You make my heart glad. I had heard you imposed a self-banishment from these realms…”

“You heard right,” I say, lowering my hands to calm Burner down. “It’s me, Dirk.”

“Be this some spell?”

“No,” I say, laughing at Stoneburner’s character. “Brian dropped off his VR stuff at my place so he could focus better on school.”

“Mmm,” Stoneburner hums understandingly. “Yes, he did query me details for a paper. Asking for my expertise from a previous life. Good for him!”

I nod. Brian had told me before he dropped in at my place he was doing that. Guess it wasn’t just an excuse. “Right. So I figured maybe I’d work on leveling Brian up. Just for a change of pace.”

“A noble goal.”

“And,” I say, holding out a hand toward Stoneburner, “I thought maybe we could go out together. Team up and share the XP. Brian’s…” I scoff, “Brian’s still only level two.”

Stoneburner doesn’t join in my amusement. “Nogg is loved for reasons other than his prowess as a warrior, friend Dirk.”

“No kidding. I mean, I discovered this place—I’m the mayor—and I don’t get half the greetings that Nogg gets just strolling down the streets.”

Stoneburner grunts happily. “Yes, that sounds like Brian.”

“Not the Brian I gamed with,” I say, thinking of all the times his mischievous style brought our guild to near-ruin. Losing our house, getting us nearly wiped by antagonizing high level players way out of our league.

Stoneburner shrugs. “The Brian you played with, it would seem, had not yet found his quest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Friend Dirk, as you adventured, strengthening yourself to withstand Salvatore and the Dark Riders, Brian remained to keep their influence at bay here in Dawnshire. Surely you are aware of such.”

I look quizzically at Stoneburner.

He recognized the look. “Just as you sought to protect Dawnshire from the schemes of Salvatore, Friend Nogg protected you from the ire of players. Was it not Brian who suggested you start streaming?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, think, Friend Dirk. How might he have gained such insight into what needed to be said.”

I hadn’t thought of that at the time and tell Stoneburner as much.

“Friend Dirk, you have provided me with a new means of income. I thank you for that… you rescued me from slimes, aye, but also from despair. I serve you loyally, helping to oversee Dawnshire. It is a pittance compared to the opportunity you have bestowed.” The big blacksmith lets out a knowing sight. “Brian… serves you from a bond of friendship the likes I have not seen. He is fiercely loyal to you, Dirk. I hope you know that.”

I’m starting to feel like a heel for reasons I can’t explain. We always have looked out for each other—more or less. I certainly did in the real world. Maybe that’s why he was working so hard on my behalf here in the game once things started to look up for me. Could that be it?

“We have a long history,” I tell Stoneburner, suddenly feeling like I’m in debt to Brian. “And you’re right, I’ve probably been taking for granted… well, whatever it is he’s been doing while I’m out adventuring.”

“I did not mean to suggest you took anything for granted,” Stoneburner begins, but I wave the comment away.

“Maybe not. But I think that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. This place is really coming along, and not because of me. I mean, did you know we have an inn now?”

“Andrade’s?”

I throw my hands up. “See? I’m literally the only one of us who didn’t know! I’m a terrible mayor.”

“Well,” Stoneburner says in that yeah-you’re-right-but-I-won’t-say-it sort of way.

“Adventuring… It’s all I really want to do in this game. And I’ve been trying to find ways to give back while still doing what I love. So I came here with an idea: let’s you and I—well, you and Nogg—head out and do a quick quest.”

Stoneburner looks around his shop. It’s completely empty. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun. And you know you need to level up to improve the inventory of what you can make in this shop. You’re strong enough to play the tank while Nogg dishes out damage from the rear. We won’t go after more than we can handle and if we get in trouble, I’ll cast Rolling Fog and we’ll get ourselves to safety. And you have that new NPC assistant to handle basic repairs while you’re gone. There’s no downside, Burner!”

The blacksmith considers, staring at the dying embers of his furnace. “Very well. But, friend Dirk, since you are not Dirk but are Nogg… let us embark on nothing so dangerous as you are accustomed to.”

“We’ll take a stroll through the woods. Lots of concealment. Easy escapes.”

“Aye, and foul assassins.”

I hold out my palms. “For Dirk, maybe. But who cares about us? We don’t reach level twenty combined.”

Stoneburner smiles. “Something we shall remedy forthwith!”

Chapter Eleven

With me being as fragile as I am, I don’t want to push things. Stoneburner has beefed himself up pretty good and will make a good tank. But Nogg’s 22 HP make him an easy target for anyone looking for an easy thousand XP. Because of that, I think moving through the woods beyond Dawnshire will be our best bet. The trees will help prevent people from sniping me too easily and can also provide some obstacles should I need to run away in a panic, safely behind Stoneburner.

“What dost thou have in mind, friend Dirk?” Stoneburner asks, brandishing a fantastic war hammer that flashes in the sunlight. It looks almost white, like…

“Is that mithril?” I ask.

Stoneburner gives a one-note laugh. “Ha! Nay, it is an alloy of steel from the north and silver. My own concoction. The benefits of a silver weapon against such fiends as vampires and werewolves, but with the durability of good, warrior’s steel.”

He gives the weapon a swing, making it look effortless with his strength. If he manages to keep leveling up, he’ll make an amazing tank someday.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already sold it,” I say, pointing out the tree line where I want to go.

We begin our journey, traveling on a well-trodden dirt path that sends up puffs of dust with each footstep, taking the gleam off of Stoneburner’s mail boots and dirtying the hem of my robes. A blue butterfly flits past us. Everything seems so nice that I put away any notion I had of trying to summon a spirit mount. Walking is proving all right.

“Thus far,” Stoneburner replies, “none have been willing to pay the price. They haggle, they return, so I know adventurers want it. But… not for the sum I am willing to part with it.”

I can understand that. I remember when I first got Graydon’s Sight how hard the thought of selling it was to me. And that was before I realized everything it did. You get attached to these things. Back in the beta, I hauled around a sword that was utterly worthless for the longest time, just because it was my first good sword. I just couldn’t let go of it, even though I had long outgrown needing it for anything. I regularly traded or sold blades that were three times as good as that one. They were better, but they couldn’t be first.

“Well, don’t split too many skulls with it or you’ll have to offer a discount on account of it being used,” I say, stepping around the bushes and underbrush that thicken as we reach the forest proper.

“The beauty of being a smith. I can repair all my items to new. Though, as I see yon woods closing in upon us, I do wonder at how effective my hammer shall be.”

“Do you have anything else?”

“Indeed.” Stoneburner puts away the war hammer and draws a functional-looking short sword. Nothing special. Usually I’d just use Graydon’s Sight to know everything about the weapon. But I’m in the dark here.

“Magical?” I ask.

“Nay. There are none yet in Dawnshire capable of enchanting it. Merely a well-crafted blade.”

“Hopefully we’ll find something better before long. You ready?”

“I shall lead the way!”

Stoneburner pushes past a thick green bush that looks to be studded with thorns. I step around the same plant gingerly, not wanting it to grab my robes or scratch me for damage. I know—how menacing can a thorn be? But even if it did two points, old Nogg would feel it. It’s hard to believe this was me—just barely staying alive—only a few months ago.

We push into the forest for some time, consistently hushing whatever birds or small, scurrying animals are in place by the sound of Stoneburner’s heavy footsteps. Pressing on, we cross a shallow depression that catches just enough light between the trees to have turned itself into a soft, lush meadow with light hues of green punctuated by yellow buttercups and low, violet ground cover. It’s all beautiful, the kind of thing that makes you just want to stop and appreciate it.

Except we’re not here for a hike or for sightseeing.

“You think we would have at least run into a few wolves,” I say, hopping onto a boulder and climbing a good twelve feet up in the hopes of seeing something worth going after.

“Yon woods are kept clear of danger by the many travelers seeking Dawnshire,” Stoneburner says, not bothering to try to clamber up behind me in his heavy armor. “Perhaps what has spawned in the morning hath been vanquished by brave adventurers. Better luck may be found at the Woods of Adventure.” Stoneburner squints at me, apprising my puny level two frame. “Such might be more suitable for Nogg.”

“No time, Burner. You already said the day was winding down for you, right? And I don’t want to spend all my Nogg playing time traveling.”

Stoneburner holds out both arms. “I am open to other suggestions, Friend Dirk. Unless you wish to simply call it a night.”

“Not ready to do that yet. Look.” I point to what looks like a lone NPC standing in front of a massive stump.

Stoneburner walks around the boulder and puts his palm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “A quest then?”

“Here’s hoping.” I hop down from the boulder. “Should be something that scales by level out here. Let’s check it out.”

We press on without so much as a hint of mobs to deal with. But at least the NPC is there. This is a random quest—they spawn throughout the realm. Most of the time it’s as simple as go find this for me or go kill me some low level monsters. The rewards aren’t anything special, but it’s something. And, occasionally, you can get something special. A magical item or a higher than usual XP payout.

The encounter triggers when we get within ten feet of the NPC, an old man wearing threadbare clothes—brown trousers and boots, a rough cream-colored shirt cut into a vee. But he has a look that makes me think he used to be an adventurer. A sword sits in a scabbard at his side and he wears leather bracers around his wrists, though the arms they cover look feeble and frail.

He waves at us. “You there! Can you spare a moment of time for an old man?”

“Certainly,” Stoneburner says, stepping forward with an almost regal presence. I can’t tell if this is him roleplaying a paladin or if this is just him. “What troubles you, old fellow?”

“An amulet,” says the old man. “Or rather… its loss.”

“Go on,” I say.

“This may surprise you, but I was once an adventurer. Renowned throughout the realm from Apheia to Shah.” The old man sits down on the stump. “What dragons or black knights could not achieve, time did. I’m old. Slow. And though I still travel the land, it is not without needing rest.”

If I were playing with Brian, this is about the point we’d be cracking jokes as the NPC recited his dialogue. But Stoneburner is really into it, nodding his head knowingly and seeming to hang on every word.

“It was here,” the old man gestures to the stump, “that I felt the need to sit and recover. I took out the amulet because I wanted to remember…” the old man looks up wistfully, lost in the clouds of his mind, “… her. She gave it to me, once. For heroic deeds done for her father the King and, perhaps, for all that never could be. For she was a princess and my blood, while hot, is not noble.”

He looks down and it’s clear that the sting of this tragic romance is still fresh in the old warrior’s heart. Stoneburner places a hand on the man’s shoulder. The old man smiles and recovers.

“It slipped through these clumsy fingers,” he says, pointing to a crack in the stump, “and went down there. With the strength I now have left to me, it may as well be encased in a mountain. But you still have the vitality of youth. Will you help an aged warrior in retrieving the final treasure I have left in this world?”

Finally… the quest prompt.

“We shall help you!” booms Stoneburner.

The old man steps aside.

“Okay,” I say to Stoneburner, “how do you want to handle this?”

“We shall widen the gap and recover the old warrior’s boon.”

I take another look at Nogg’s spells. About the best thing I can offer is laying Hands of Flame on it—or maybe shooting a few magic darts. I’m interrupted by the chopping sound of an axe on wood. Stoneburner is now roleplaying as a lumberjack.

But it’s slow going, each strike seems to barely chip away any wood. The gap looks pretty much the same and the stump itself doesn’t look like it’s splitting any time soon.

“Cursed tree!” shouts Stoneburner, taking a step back before bringing his sword down hard one more time to no avail. “I fear all I’ve done is dulled my blade, friend Dirk.”

I activate my Hands of Flame, which literally engulf my hands in fire—though I take no damage from it. “Let me see if I can soften it up a bit.”

Stepping forward, I place my hands into the crevasse in the middle of the log and burn until my mana is depleted. When I move back, the surface of the stump is scorched and the gash in the top is charred like firewood—orange, white and black with thick smoke rising heavenward. It looks ready to crumble.

“Try it now, Burner.”

The big paladin steps forward.

“Switch to your war hammer.”

He pauses and changes from sword to hammer. “Well met.”

With a John Henry blow, Stoneburner caves one half of the stump completely inward. And I mean completely. It crumbles and just disappears like it fell into the earth itself. The momentum of the blow and the sudden loss of surface causes Stoneburner to nearly fall in afterward. I have to grab hold of him to keep him steady.

“Thank you, friend Dirk.”

With my arms still wrapped around his waist, we peer down into a massive cavern that has been exposed with the breaking of the stump.

“By the gods…” Stoneburner whispers. “How far doth that pit descend?”

I take a Lesser Mana Restoration potion, just enough to be able to shoot a magic dart and have a little bit left over. A stardust beam shoots from my finger like I’m stinking Tinker Bell and rockets down the hole, lighting up the occasional rock and ledge in a faint blue glow. It extinguishes in what looks like a body of water… and just on the edge of that water is, yup, you guessed it. The amulet.

The old man appears at our side, peering down the newly exposed underground. “This must be part of the Caverns of Karkoon. There is an entrance not two miles from here. But they are extremely dangerous…”

Great. A two-parter.

“Can you show us?” asks Stoneburner.

“I can mark it on your map, but I fear the journey would be too much for one such as me. I shall stay here and guard the exit.”

“Hold up,” I say to Stoneburner. “The Caverns of Karkoon are way over our level. Or at least over mine. We’ll get ground to dust!”

“We cannot fail this man, friend Dirk.”

“He’s an NPC!” I say. “He doesn’t care.”

“But think of the reward! No doubt for a quest of such difficulty, the fruits of our labor will be sweet indeed.”

I sigh. “Yeah… maybe. But it’s not much of a reward if we get killed on the way, is it?” I turn to the old man. “You said you’d guard the exit. You mean here?”

“Aye. I’ll lower a rope to pull you out.”

I throw my arms out. “So why not lower the rope now and just let us climb down and get it.”

“I’ll lower a rope to pull you out,” repeats the old man.

I shake my head. “Stupid linear questing. Well. Unless we kill the old man and take his rope, I don’t see how we can hope to get that amulet back alive.”

“I have rope, friend Dirk!”

I screw up my face in disbelief. “You have rope? Why would you bring rope?”

“All good adventurers need rope!”

I can’t think of a single time in playing King’s League that I’ve used rope. Yeah, you can buy it and carry it, but other than setting snares or other traps or using it in building if you’re playing a more agrarian character who is loading hay into his barn or something… who carries rope?

Stoneburner uncoils his rope as I take another look down the cavern. The opening we’ve made is narrow and I already know that of the two of us, Stoneburner is the only player strong enough to lower the other down. Plus, it looks like a bit of a tight fit anyway. I’m not sure if Burner’s beefy blacksmith bod would be able to squeeze through without copious amounts of baby oil.

Before long, I’ve got a rope tied around my waist and I’m being lowered down into the deep dark. The other end of the rope is wrapped around Stoneburner, who is big enough that he shouldn’t be pulled in after me unless something strong, hairy, and ugly gets hold of me and tries to pull me into its lair. There’s no pulley or anything, so I’m going down one fathom at a time as Stoneburner lets out a little more rope and then a little more. As a consequence, I’m jerkily going down a few feet and then feeling the pull of the taut line. Whenever Stoneburner stops lowering me, I spin in slow circles. I guess they got the physics of being lowered by rope correct. Do other people in King’s League seriously do this? I can’t remember a time I’ve ever seen it before.

I go down what I imagine must be twenty feet and then stop; suspended in place and doing the lazy twirl—spinning in the darkness. I don’t really want to call out to ask what’s going on for fear of alerting anything that’s down here to my presence, so I hit Stoneburner up on private chat.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, friend Dirk! I have secured the rope and wanted to come over to assess how far down you are. Can you see anything?”

“I can see a little bit of sunlight on my arm where it lines up with the hole but that’s about it.”

“Look up.”

I crane my neck up and see the silhouette of Stoneburner staring back at me. He looks a lot farther away than twenty feet and I tell him so.

“The rope is three hundred feet. I have lowered you fifty. Can you see how much further you must go, friend Dirk?”

“Let me check.”

I don’t have a light source per se. Nogg doesn’t have a torch equipped and he doesn’t have any kind of night vision spell that might let me see in the dark without being detected. But I should get some ambient light by casting the right spell. Maybe another magic dart? My mana is full, but I can’t shake the feeling that something with twenty eyes is going to leap out at me with a shrill scream and hairy fangs dripping venom. I kind of want to keep all my mana in place. So what if…

I ready my Hands of Flame spell and watch as both hands come alive with a faint fire. Kind of like when alcohol ignites—that sort of ghostly flame rather than the deep orange and reds you see from a campfire. It’s enough to light up what’s around me, a night light in a cavernous system meant for adventurers much higher level than me. Well, than Nogg.

“What do you see?” Stoneburner prompts.

It takes me a bit for my eyes to adjust to the sudden light. I hold my hands out wide, so the light source is away from my face and then peer straight down. The steady spin of being suspended on the rope like a yo-yo has me feeling a little queasy, but not so much that I don’t recognize the shimmer of the water down below… and the glimmer of the amulet.

“I see it, Stoneburner. Lower me another—maybe ten yards—and I bet I can grab it.”

“Good! I lower you now, friend Dirk.”

I drop down until I’m within reaching distance of the amulet. We got lucky here. It landed on a partially submerged boulder that rises above what I think has to be a vast, subterranean lake. The waters are still and, other than my breathing, it’s deathly quiet.

“Okay, that’s good,” I tell Stoneburner.

The rope stops and I wait for my lazy spin to slow, tipping myself forward to keep my eyes on the amulet. It’s a large, rectangular cut sapphire wrapped in gold and hung from a sturdy gold chain. For a moment I think it’s giving off a light of its own, but I think it’s just the way my flaming hands reflect on the gem and precious metal.

Stretching out my hand, my fingers extend to try and hook the amulet’s chain. It takes a few scrapes of fingernails on stone before I have a purchase. All at once, something big and hairy scurries onto and over the amulet. I pull my hand back and yelp in surprise, sending the amulet skittering toward the edge of the rock.

“What?” shouts Stoneburner.

I scramble to secure the amulet and grab it, pulling it in close to my chest. Can’t let this thing go.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just a big hairy spider.”

“Have heart! It cannot harm you. All will be well in the end.”

“I don’t like spiders, Burner. They’re not as bad as needles… but they’re up there.”

Stoneburner chuckles. “Do you have the amulet?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it and…”

I’m cut off by the sudden rippling and rushing of water somewhere to my side. That can’t be good. I hold out a palm to cast light on the direction of noise and shout at the sight of a giant, inky black eye staring at me.

“Another spider?” Stoneburner taunts.

But this is anything but a spider. It’s a… giant… squid… thing. Something. Something that looks like it can easily devour me.

“Pull me up! Pull me up!”

I’m hauled skyward without delay, feeling myself hoisted up three feet at a time as fast as Stoneburner’s arms can work. A pale gray tentacle whip-snaps in the air in front of my face. I clutch the amulet close in one hand and send a magic dart at the offending appendage. Its starlight blue glow shows me that there are a whole lot more tentacles rising up from the water.

Pretty sure I know what they’re trying to pull down into the gaping saw-toothed maw that’s emerging through the surface of the water. I send more magic darts at the tentacles, I’m hitting seven out of ten shots, and each time the missile hits home, the tentacle recoils, buying me a little more time to rise up to freedom.

But this thing has a lot of arms and they’re long, too. I’m still easily within its reach.

“How we doing, Burner?” I shout.

“I pull with all of my might, Friend Dirk!”

A tentacle slaps my legs and I take four points of damage. Which, in my low-level condition, amounts to close to eighteen percent of my total health.

“Pull harder if you want to finish this quest, buddy!”

The tentacles are writhing all around me, circling and undulating like a slimy, wriggling jail cell. But I can still get out through the ceiling, one jerky rope pull at a time. I just need to buy Stoneburner the time he needs to get me clear. I send more magic darts at what’s in front of me, but I can’t control myself at the end of the line well enough to get a good aim at the tentacles behind me. One of them wallops me for four more damage and nearly causes me to drop the amulet. I down a healing potion and think. There’s no way that these tentacles can actually see me. The creature—whatever it is—must be able to see well enough in the dark to be watching my attempted escape up through the cavern’s ceiling.

I check my mana—I have just enough to cast Rolling Fog. At once, a thick mist rolls in from nowhere and it feels like I’m travelling through clouds. I can hear the tentacles snapping and cracking like whips, but nothing is connecting. The beast can’t see me.

Stoneburner hauls me up higher and higher until the fog is now well beneath my feet. I can see the tips of the tentacles as they strain upward in vain and then I’m flooded with light as Stoneburner pulls me safely up and out of the cavern.

I collapse onto the forest floor, laughing. I didn’t expect to make it out of there alive. “Well, that was fun.”

“Did you recover the amulet?” asks Stoneburner.

I hold it up triumphantly like an outfielder presenting a flyout after a dive. It feels warm in my hand, and though I don’t see any immediate stats buff or debuff, I can’t help but think it might be magical. A quick check of my inventory has it marked as a quest item. Not something I can equip. “Sure hope the reward for this quest was worth it.”

Stoneburner smiles and takes the amulet, handing it to the old man. “Here you are, friend. What is yours is now restored to you.”

The old man looks at his most prized possession, tears welling in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, holding the amulet in his hand and shaking it, the chain swinging. “From the very bottom of my heart.”

He goes to loop it around his neck and then stops. “I… I should repay you.” Holding out the amulet to Stoneburner he says, “This is all I have left… it is yours in payment of a noble deed. Just as it was given to me for a noble deed done once long ago.”

Now we’re getting somewhere! I can’t wait to see what kind of powers this thing might have. At the very least, maybe it’ll be worth something at the market.

“We cannot accept it, old man,” Stoneburner says, waving away the offer.

“Wait, what?” I say.

The old man takes a stutter step backward. “Are you certain?”

“Burner,” I say, “What’re you doing? This is our reward, man.”

“’Tis not right to accept.”

“He’s an NPC! He doesn’t care.”

“Yes, but I care. Is it not I who makes these decisions, even in the game? I must be true to myself.”

I shake my head. “That’s a lot heavier than what I want to think about when I play the game, buddy. But… your call. Whatever you think. It’s still fun.”

“We are certain,” Stoneburner tells the old man. “Go in peace.”

“Bless you!” the old man says, elation ringing in his voice. “Bless you!”

His vitality restored, he hurries off through the woods. We’re given a QUEST COMPLETED prompt and awarded 3,000 XP—a tidy amount for a game as stingy as King’s League. That puts Nogg at 89,444. Still a long way to go before a level up.

“That’s something,” I say. “Having Graydon’s Sight kind of made me forget the grind it takes to level up.”

“I daresay more experience would be had if we ventured into ye dark cavern rather than taking the shortcut.”

“I daresay you’re right. I wonder how much XP killing that creature in the water would’ve gotten us?”

Stoneburner laughs. “It would have gotten us killed. Only the Lord of Dawnshire is likely to survive that battle!”

I smile and make a mental note to maybe explore the caverns to find out. “Maybe I’ll give it a try some day.”

“I have no doubts that you will, Friend Dirk. Are you ready to return to Dawnshire? I fear the time I have for adventuring is now gone.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Are you finished for the day, then?”

“As Nogg, yeah. But… I’ve still got some adventuring to do before I turn in for the night.”

I summon my spirit horse and we ride back to Dawnshire and the safety of Andrade’s Inn.

“Okay, I’m going to head back to Nogg’s room to log Brian out safely,” I say to Stoneburner, leaving him at the inn’s entrance.

“Enjoy your further adventures, Friend Dirk.”

“See you around, Stoneburner.”

Chapter Twelve

I put away Brian’s equipment, deciding that the bottom of my coat closet is as good a place as any. My winter jacket drops from its hanger, and it does a decent job of covering it. It’s getting late in the real world so I want to do something as Dirk that won’t take a lot of time. That means slaying a hundred baby dragons isn’t an option. That takes hours, even at level-99, although I have a strategy to do it quicker. I’m just afraid of what might happen if I fail.

I decide to head to a place in the land of Shah called Arban’s Rest. It’s a short dungeon, usually consisting of about a dozen mobs before you get to the boss. I saved it as a potential option after browsing some wikis. I’ve never gone there before. Arban’s Rest has a quest associated with it, nothing spectacular but the sort that honest players of a higher level like to run over and over again for loot. It sounds perfect. Tonight’s the night.

Travel time might be the biggest obstacle. It’s kind of far and unlike Nogg, I can’t call a horse when I need one. I could buy one, but they always get killed so easily. Even with the armor. And they whinny and make noise, which aren’t really helpful for stealth. Since my character has so much stamina, I can run most of the way there. I won’t need to slow to a walk until I’ve already entered the land of Shah. Then it’s only another ten minutes to the dungeon.

I have my head on a swivel as I leave Dawnshire. Night is falling in the game, which provides me some cover. But I can’t help but expect to run into another crazy out trying to kill me. The fear subsides as I move closer to my destination. I’m fast and like I said, I can go for a long time, outpacing most characters. But you’d think if someone was tailing me they’d have tried for a bow shot or attempted to ambush me by now.

I play my favorite Chrono Trigger OC ReMix, “The Incredible Singing Robot.” But I keep the volume down to make sure I can hear anyone trying to sneak up on me.

But no. Things have been quiet. No wolves or random spawns… just a peaceful summer’s night. That sensation starts to change as I reach the outskirts of Shah itself. It’s swampy and feels teeming with life. Lots of noise from little critters, though I don’t get a good glimpse at anything. A lot of what’s out here runs—or slithers—away from me as I approach.

The sky is dark and though I can see clouds, it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain. I don’t think it ever rains here. This land is just like that—dark, gloomy, and creepy.

“Holy crap!”

I accidentally step off the sandy path between the tightly packed mangrove trees. My foot slips and I nearly tumble down into who knows what. It’s just a rising vapor and I have no clue what lies beneath. And I don’t want to find out. Sitting on my rear end, I scooch back onto the safety of the path and breathe a sigh of relief. That was too close. I look around. Some type of owl hoots scorn at me.

“Could’ve warned me,” I tell it, getting back on my feet.

The ground is covered by thick fog that gets so dense in some spots that I can’t see past my ankles. I’ll have to be more mindful of natural hazards. Which isn’t going to be as simple as it sounds. I’m still keeping a wary eye out for Spyce or any other potential assassin. My attention is split. Maybe venturing into the unfamiliar wasn’t the greatest call.

But I’ve come this far. No turning around until the quest is complete!

I push forward, casting Regeneration as a pre-battle strategy despite my HP being full. The path continues alongside what looks like a mud bog that roils up big thick bubbles that burst and release a green gas with a roiling pop and hiss. Thank you to whoever keeps failing at implementing smells into the VR kits. There’s no way this place doesn’t smell like hot garbage. I’ve found the bog of eternal stench and with it a consuming desire to listen to David Bowie sing Magic Dance.

I pass through a swarm of gnats, turn a bend, and see my target, straight ahead.

Arban’s Rest is a pyramid, designed to look like the ones the Mayans built in Central America. It’s seven steps tall with a long line of stone steps facing the path I’m on. I’ll take the steps all the way to the top and work my way down from there. According to the wiki, I won’t need any of the torches I brought. There’s glowing stuff on the inside. Luminescent lichen or moss. Always nice for the devs to include that stuff. Either way, I’m glad I get to keep both my hands free.

The closer I get to the pyramid, the more detail I can see. What looked like an uneven, cracked surface turns out to be vines, most no thicker than a finger. They don’t have any pattern, and it’s impossible for me to tell where the main root system might be.

Although nothing is moving, there’s something vaguely sinister about the whole thing. The way the vines have snaked their way across the pyramid—wrapping around each other, climbing around, then over the steps… yeah, it’s creepy.

I’m close enough to notice bulging pods in the vines. Some are connected at both ends which makes them look like a snake who swallowed a large rat. Petals form the ends so they look like unopened flowers. Each bulb, even the ones in the center of the vines, is about a foot long and maybe four inches in diameter. At least they aren’t moving. While the vines are mostly dark gray with little veins of green running through them, the bulbs are nearly opposite in color—mostly green with gray veins. Against the dark gray pyramid and the green moss and slime growing on it, they’re nearly camouflaged.

These add another layer of wonder and concern.

The game designers didn’t waste any space or time with King’s League. They added plenty of details to make the scenes beautiful, mysterious, frightening—whatever they were going for. Knowing this, I’m certain these pods do something, even though I don’t recall the wiki mentioning them specifically. And I’m not about to stop here and check. Still, I don’t buy that these vines are just for decoration.

I stop about ten feet shy of the first step, unable to shake the feeling that something is going to happen the moment I plant my foot to begin the ascent up the long stairs to the stone building on top. The pods bulging from the vines seem equally spaced over this whole side of the pyramid. They probably go all the way around just like this.

In order to climb to the top, I’ll need to pass within a few feet of at least a dozen of them. No avoiding them at all, even if I decide to try to climb the pyramid’s tiers instead.

“Let’s see what happens when one of you suckers bursts,” I say.

Nocking one of the cheap arrows I keep in my inventory, I fire it at the nearest pod. My arrow hits with a wet crunch, like someone stepping on a piece of celery.

“Nothing,” I say, sharing my observation with all the creepy crawlies back in the swamp.

Well, I’m not going to get anywhere just standing around. I place my right foot on the bottom step, expecting Indiana Jones-like traps to trigger. Again, nothing happens. Watching the pods, I take the next step. Zilch. Snoresville. Maybe they are just for looks.

My next step elicits an action. The nearest pod starts making a creaking noise. A kind of popping, stretching sound I would imagine two materials might make when rubbing together. It sounds like a guy wearing leather pants and no shirt trying to get up from a leather couch only he can’t so he has to lie down and then sort of slide off—don’t ask me how I know that sound.

I jump backward, dropping to the bottom of the stairs in time to see the pods where I just stood begin to swell. That triggers a sort of chain reaction and soon all the pods on the vines are growing engorged. Nasty.

I’m about five feet from the first step and the pods have doubled in size, swollen to the point of being round. Little beach balls on the vine. I brace myself, waiting for the pop and hoping I’m far enough away to avoid getting splashed with anything harmful. I take a few more hurried steps away, walking backward and checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not leaping out of the frying pan and into the horrific monster ambush.

The pod closest to the bottom step bursts and the rest follow, creating a sound like a machine gun launching water balloons at a brick wall. As each one pops, it releases a huge burst of yellow pollen, though it looks more like smoke. The cloud rapidly expands, enveloping me and causing me to cough, jarring my view.

Between each hacking, rattling cough, I gasp and cough again. Running is apparently impossible. The best I can do is stagger. I do my best to keep my eyes on my surroundings, because getting solid hits is going to be difficult. Thankfully it looks like I’m still alone out here.

My health is dropping, too. I’m at 456, so it’s not dropping fast. Whether that’s just a mild effect or some of the resistances to physical and magical damage my armor provides, I can’t tell. The clock hasn’t reset on my Commune with Nature ability. But I’m not even sure if what I’m experiencing is poison damage. It could be a toxic cloud of acid mist… I cast Lay Hands on myself, hoping that will do the trick to stop it if it is poison. But my HP keeps dropping, even with Regeneration working on my behalf.

I’m at 450 HP when I decide that the way to survive is getting out of the cloud. That could mean turning around and fleeing into the mists, but forget that. I charge up the stairs, aiming to rise above the yellow cloud cover. Thankfully I don’t stumble, and nothing reaches out to stop me. But moving through that cloud wasn’t without consequences. When I reach the top, my health has dropped to 405. That’s a lot of damage in a short amount of time. But I’m free of the cloud and the damage has stopped.

I look down at the billowing yellow fog of pain, which merely lingers about four steps shy of the stairway’s apex. It’s like looking down from the heavens.

With no immediate threats in sight, I recast Regeneration. I’ll save my health potions for times when I need a lot of healing and don’t have a lot of time. Say one thing for Arban’s Rest—it has a pretty clever design for keeping low-level players away from the temple. Or to soften up higher level players before reaching the top. I’m impressed.

With my HP back above 450, I decide to venture into the dungeon itself. First you climb the stairs leading to the top of Arban’s Rest and then you descend into a winding maze of a dungeon crawl.

I perform a quick inventory of what I’ve brought with me. I think I know what I want to equip, but I double-check, just in case.

Weapons:

Gladius of Arcing:

Magical

Durability: 21/120

Damage: 12-30

Adds 1-25 lightning damage per successful hit.

Ancient Bow of Casting:

Magical

Damage: 10-20

Durability: 155/160

+2 to damage

Drains 10% of target’s mana per hit.

Arrow of the Hammer:

Magical

Damage: 1-35

Qty: 54

Ignores target’s armor.

+15 damage against unarmored targets.

Steel Arrow:

Damage: 1-4

Qty: 10

Shaft of Deep Hurting:

Magical

Damage: 1-35

Qty: 25

Double damage against targets with no resistances.

Cursed Dagger of Ice:

Magical

Damage: 2-16

Durability: 88/120

Damaged opponent does not regenerate mana for 10 seconds.

Shadow Dagger:

Unique

Durability: 300/300

Damage: 2-60

Double damage at night or while in shadow.

Vampiric Sword:

Magical

Durability: 210/210

Damage: 5-60

Drains the target for 10 health and mana with each successful hit.

Armor:

Graydon’s Sight, War Helmet:

Unique

Durability: Infinite

50% physical damage reduction

50% magic damage reduction

Binding

Graydon’s Might, Gloves:

Gauntlets, Unique

Durability: Infinite

500% mana regeneration

Binding

I didn’t mention the Gauntlet’s damage and magic reduction because, sadly, they don’t stack.

Leather Armor of Precision:

Magical

Durability: 116/150

15% physical damage reduction

+15 to bow proficiency.

Mask of Haste:

Magical

Durability: 109/110

20% increased attack speed.

Pauldrons of Comfort:

Magical

Durability: 119/120

8% physical damage reduction

10% magic damage reduction

I’ve also got an assortment of potions—mostly for healing but also some resistance potions to ice and fire in case I come up against any strong magic.

Before I take my first steps into the dungeon, I take a look around the top of the pyramid. Partly to see if there are any mobs that might be waiting to follow me into the dark, more so to check for any hidden treasure, but mainly just to see what it looks like. King’s League is a breathtaking game, and sometimes, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

The top of the pyramid doesn’t take me long to inspect. It’s only about a hundred foot radius. Unfortunately, it’s pretty sparse. There are a few columns and colonnades in various states of ruin that add a touch of the ancient. But no chests containing gold and no monsters beyond some simple rats that could be killed for zero XP… so what’s the point?

The circular staircase has to be unveiled by stepping on some pavers in a certain order. There aren’t any traps associated with getting it wrong… it’s just a time waster. I’m glad for the wiki here—usually I don’t check them because I feel like it ruins the experience to know everything that’s coming. But when it comes to puzzles, I break that rule. I’ve never found much enjoyment in the gaming equivalent of trying to guess your locker’s combination. The ground beneath my feet rumbles as heavy stones grind inside a hidden mechanism, revealing a cobweb dusted stairway that descends from the floor like a storm cellar.

Show time.

I draw my Vampiric Sword and Shadow Dagger, make sure I’m in Sneak, and venture into the depths. The farther I go, the more luminescent moss appears to light my way. It’s everywhere—along the walls, steps and ceiling, providing excellent light. But not sunlight, so I’m fairly certain my dagger’s double damage will come into effect. Combine the double damage with the multiplier from a backstab and this dagger can do serious work down in the deep dark.

The spiral staircase grows narrower as I creep forward. I don’t think anyone could go around me if I were travelling in single file. So whoever is on point is going to be the guy doing all the fighting. If you were to get mortally wounded and had to flee, you’d have to get your team to head backward fast enough to allow you to put some distance between yourself and your attacker. And if your attacker pursued, you’d have to make that final run through the pod clouds to reach the bottom.

What a devious trap.

A place with this much moss is wet and slippery, a fact I’m reminded of with each slight slip—even while Sneaking—as I move down. It seems like every fourth or fifth step my boots slish though the mossy slime on the stone steps, causing me to windmill my arms for a half-second or so to keep my balance. I don’t like to think what might happen if I needed to run.

I move for a good half minute before finally hearing something beyond my own careful steps and the gushing of the water leaving the moss as it’s pressed beneath my boots. It’s a scraping sound, both hollow and low-pitched. I stop dead in my tracks, straining my ears. The creepy part is that the sound seems to die the moment it’s created. It’s as if echoes don’t work for it, or it’s not really a sound. More like the memory of a noise created long ago, which still crawls the passages of this place. Neat!

Although the blue-green light coming from the moss isn’t bright, I keep my blades low to avoid giving away my position by reflecting their glow. The sound doesn’t repeat. I advance one slow step at a time, keeping my eyes and ears peeled as I search for an enemy. It isn’t long before I find one.

What I assume has to be the source of the noise is a mostly decayed skeletal beast. I say beast because I have no idea what it used to be. It’s disfigured, like someone assembled it out of spare parts. Standing upright like a humanoid, the thing has two legs, but they’re mismatched—one longer than the other. One of the legs’ knee joints bends the wrong way and ends in a bare bone, the source of the scraping sound I’d heard earlier. It has three arms—one coming out of the center of its chest. Because who among us hasn’t wished for a chest arm at least once in their life?

The thing hasn’t perceived that I’m nearby yet, the value of my Sneak being maxed out. I keep studying it and decide that its head might’ve once belonged to a bear. Bits of rotting flesh and strips of torn fur still cling to the creature. The jaw is shut, but I’m certain once the fight starts it’ll show me its pearly whites.

Graydon’s Sight tells me the thing is level sixty five and has three hundred HP. There’s no sneaking around it, and while I can probably get a shot or two off with my bow before it can close for melee damage, I’d rather not risk the chance of losing one of my arrows. I can handle this with blades even if I don’t get a back stab since the bear is facing me, albeit clueless that I’m there.

I charge out of necessity, hoping my footing will hold… but, the moss turns out to be slipperier than I thought. My character slams into the wall of the circular staircase, then scrambles to find purchase. The weird bone-bear hisses, revealing thick, sharp teeth, yellowed from age. It hobbles up the steps, closing the distance between us without any slippage of its own. Slow and steady wins the race.

Nothing to do but wait. The moment the thing is within range, I swing my sword. I haven’t fully recovered my balance, so it’s only a glancing blow on an arm reaching to swipe at me. But, the combination of my strength, the blade’s sharpness and it being a skeleton works together to lop that paw right off. When it falls to the ground, each of the little bones separate and scatter like broken glass.

The creature roars—a hollow sound that sounds like a grizzly shouting a warning with a wooden bucket over its head. Unfortunately, this cry is answered by another one further down the staircase. Not another bone-bear. Something else is coming. Its cry is high-pitched and its owner wails on for a few seconds. It sounds tortured, sorrowful, and angry all at the same time.

This is a fun place. Like standing in line at a Walmart.

The bear reaches for me with its one remaining claw and the hand—yes, hand—at the end of the chest arm. Clearly, there’s a Necromancer at work somewhere nearby. The monster seems to unhinge its jaw, the maw opening unnaturally wide.

My sword relieves it of the creepy chest hand while I impale my dagger through the roof of the thing’s mouth. It pierces the top of the skull easily, but the creature keeps fighting. Whatever brain used to be up there is long gone—or not a factor for how this beastie keeps on going. As I pull my dagger away, the bone-bear clamps down on my forearm, crunching my armor and violently shaking me.

It’s so disorienting, like my arm is going to be pulled from its socket. The damage isn’t much, less than ten HP of bite. But the way it’s whipping me around is giving me a headache. I close my eyes to combat the shaking sensation and swing my sword several times before opening them again to check on my progress.

The bear’s body is in tatters, dry bones lying scattered on the steps. I’ve severed its head, but it’s still right there on my arm, biting down. I can’t pry it off me without dropping my sword, and that’s not happening right now because backup has arrived. By wiping out most of the bear’s bulk, I’ve cleared a path for the next monstrosity to advance on me.

This one has the head of a giant eagle—a rare creature in the game found in only a few pockets up in the mountains. Thankfully, it can’t fly, though the reason is pretty gnarly. Its body is free of any flesh—it’s just bone. Whoever animated this dead took three giant serpents, hooked their bodies together at the back of the eagle’s head, and called it good. In between the thousands of delicate ribs are an assortment of large bones—maybe human femurs—which seem to be there to reinforce an otherwise fragile-looking bone structure. Who comes up with this stuff?

The eagle snaps at me, extending its neck further than I expect. I only have time to lift my arm, the one the bear is still chewing on. Its filthy skull makes a decent shield, and although I continue to suffer more damage from the thing’s chewing, it successfully protects me from the eagle’s foot-long beak—though with a new hole from the attack.

My new best friend drops down a few steps. It looks confused like it doesn’t have a plan to get past my macabre defense.

“Come on!” I say to the eagle. “Come get me!”

Although I’m not a Warrior, and my yelling isn’t technically a taunt, it seems to work. The eagle charges forward again, bones scraping the ground like the legs of a millipede.

I take a quick look at my health bar. It’s still mostly full, so I move forward with my plan of using the chewing bear-skull as a shield again. It allows me to keep a barrier between my body and the eagle’s beak. It also allows me to swoop in under the beast and start attacking its thousands of ribs.

Bones shatter and splinter as my sword swings and shears away at the abomination. The eagle continues to attack. When that doesn’t work it tries backing down the stairs. Retreating is more difficult than advancing for it, though.

The eagle screams—a furious sound that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Ignoring it, I continue to chop, hack, and smash my way until I break enough ribs to emerge from the other side of the tangle of bones. Then I turn around and work my way back.

As the bones pile up, they add a new layer of instability to my feet. I have to be careful about how much I move forward or backward otherwise I’ll be on my back and having to fend off strike after strike—I’ve seen how birds fight in those nature docs. They’re metal.

The creature attempts to turn around and square off with me again, but the motion causes one of the three snake-parts to fall apart and it tumbles into a curved wall. I continue to beat on it until the damage starts to shake the unholy mess apart. Bits of bone freely fall to the ground without help from my sword like rain from an undead sky.

I finish the thing off by slamming the bear skull into its face until that falls away. I shake the final fragments and with a kick, send the eagle amalgamation to shatter a few steps down. Splinters of bone have piled up ankle deep. With each step, I kick bone down the stairs, a virtual wind chime of noise announcing that a baaaaad man is coming.

That was fun. It’s too bad I don’t gain experience anymore, though. I bet those monsters were worth a decent amount.

I cast Regeneration. .The fight has brought me down to 392 health. The eagle got a few good hits in, but most of what I was getting dinged by was damage from the bear chewing on my arm. While I wasn’t in any real danger of dying, this would have been a tough encounter for anyone level 70 or lower, but again I’m impressed by the thought put into this game. And we haven’t even gotten to the boss.

Graydon’s Sight showed me that the eagle had a weapon called a Bone Knife along with some other loot. I didn’t pay too close attention to that in the midst of a fight now that I don’t have to be as choosy about doing battle as I once was. I search the pile of bones and find the knife again.

Bone Knife:

Magical

Damage: 1-30

Durability: 100/100

Adds 1-10 damage against living opponents.

Probably not much use down here until I come up against the Necromancer himself. And even then, minimum eleven damage, max forty… not a game changer. Maybe it’s part of a set. It’s a lot more powerful than the usual crappy bone knives that I used to spend all my free time gathering up. On the bear I find…

Bone Helmet:

Magical

Durability: 30/30

25% damage reduction against living opponents.

It’s kind of fragile, only having a maximum durability of 30, but there’s no level or strength requirement. I’m thinking these will be great for the first new player I meet. Brian and Stoneburner would tell me to just sell it, but it’ll be more fun to watch someone else be surprised by the gift.

I pocket some gems, gold and silver—the usual loot for deposit into the guild chests. There’s nothing that will net me a huge sum in Dawnshire, though.

After listening for any more enemies and waiting for Regeneration to do its work for a few more seconds, I continue down the steps. I didn’t hear any nearby enemies. I’m sure a lot of players who survive these first two encounters probably call getting this far a win and turn around. Get home while the gettin’s good. That’s certainly what I would have done back in the day. And while the treasure has been pretty nice so far, I’m curious to see what’s at the end. My health is back in the four hundreds, but even if it wasn’t, I’m nowhere close to wanting to turn around. This is too much fun.

The stairs continue to spiral downward. Had this place been a real structure, I would expect to hit standing water by now. There’s no way stone that’s this old could actually hold back the swamp from above. Some flooding would be expected.

At the bottom of the steps is a landing, about ten feet wide, long, and deep. The ceiling of the cube-shaped room is covered in glowing moss and across from the stairs are a pair of black, wooden doors.

The moss is a lot thicker down here and it’s doing something strange, almost psychedelic. Waves of light and darkness are moving in odd patterns through the glowing vegetation.

I detect movement to my left, and flinch before bringing my sword and dagger up in a defensive posture. But nothing is there.

It happens again, but this time to my right. Yet when I look, there’s still nothing there.

It’s not until I stand still and try to focus on everything at once that I realize what I’m seeing: images, cast in light and shadow by the moss. Battle scenes zoom in and out. Knights fighting some kind of huge beast—a dragon maybe. They don’t win. It’s not even close. A skeleton charging toward the “camera” as it were. Another falling, an arrow sticking through its lifeless skull. The moss is telling me an ancient story.

I take a moment to appreciate the artistry. I’ve never seen anything like it before, which is why it caught me off guard. I don’t regret coming here at all.

A minute later, once I feel like I’ve seen it all and the scenes are starting to repeat, I try the black doors. They swing open easily, revealing a scene reminiscent of a huge storage compartment of a pirate ship. Ropes hang from rafters way up in the ceiling. Fishing nets are strung between them full of barrels, most of them broken or rotted-away.

The floor of the hundred-foot-wide room is littered with storage boxes and barrels. Torn and empty bags litter the spaces in-between and more moss grows here than anywhere else in the dungeon. It’s not daylight, but it’s close.

Eight stone pillars reach into the darkness of the ceiling too far away to see. Just within the light of the glowing moss I can make out a shape hanging within the ropes: a giant, skeletal dragon.

Chapter Thirteen

Walking in on a dragon—even while Sneaking—will give anyone with half a brain pause. I barely survived my sole encounter with a full grown ice dragon and that was enough for me to be wary of dragons for good. You ask me, mixing it up with them is bad for business.

I stay in Sneak and don’t move a muscle, watching the skeletal dragon for any sign of life. But there’s not even a little twitch, no glowing eye socket. Not even a tiny bit of dust falling from a bone I didn’t see move. Nothing.

Remembering the vine pods outside and their harmful spores, I’m still thinking trap. So I wait another fifteen seconds or so before taking another step into the room. Sometimes monsters are triggered by the player doing something, like moving far enough into a room to trigger aggression. I take another step—still not close enough to wake the bone dragon up if that’s how it’s going to be. As I move in closer, the dragon really does appear just to be tied up in the ropes and on display the way a whale skeleton might hang in a museum.

I’m reaching the point where another step will place me directly under the dragon’s head, which has to be at least twelve feet long all by itself. The stress of watching the thing is starting to get to me. If there’s a fight, I’d really like it to start now before my nerves are shot.

Sometimes, game designers will add stuff to rooms which looks threatening, but isn’t important at all. And, sometimes those things are meant to distract you from the real threats. So… is this dragon a distraction or is this my next big foe?

Graydon’s Sight doesn’t show an inventory for the dragon, and I’m definitely close enough to view one. It also doesn’t give me any stats for the thing.

I scan my surroundings looking for anything out of place. The area is filled with more than a hundred storage boxes and iron-banded barrels, most of which appear to be broken. From where I am I can’t see any that stand out. I might have to trigger a different kind of ambush or trap to get this ball rolling.

It kind of looks like someone’s already been here. There’s enough broken boxes and barrels to make me suspicious, but nothing stands out to me.

If someone has been here, though, they would have had to find a way around the skeleton-creatures guarding the winding staircase. And that couldn’t have happened. For one, they had full health when I encountered them. Second, I don’t see how anyone could get past them without a fight. My Sneak level is maxed, and there was no way I’d be able to climb over them, run around them, or somehow make my way under them. This must be how this room looks all the time.

But it’s just so weird. Like, there’s nothing here at all. Just a pretty room. I decide to look for other signs of players having been here before me.

I search the walls for arrows. Sometimes when archers miss, the arrows get left behind, if they don’t break, that is. If they snap when they hit something, they de-spawn and disappear after a few minutes. Those which were recoverable would stick around until the dungeon reset at midnight. That’s still a little ways off, so if there were any left-over they should still be around.

Okay, so no clues there. If a party came through, they either didn’t bring an archer or the archer didn’t leave any arrows behind. How about Wizards?

When Wizards cast spells, those can leave their own mark. Obviously, no one blasted this place with a fireball or nova spell—none of the crates, sacks, or ropes are smoking or charred. Frost-type spells usually leave a bit of ice around—and then eventually puddles. The stronger the magic, the longer the effects linger. But I don’t see anything like that, either. No evidence anyone has been here.

I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something to do here. The movie those glowing moss patches showed me can’t be for nothing. And King’s League is way too polished of a game for me to believe they did all that only for an empty room to be the payoff.

Staring up at the dragon, I have another thought. Sometimes sleeping opponents need to be motivated directly. When that’s the case, attacking them does the trick. I switch to my bow, nock a steel arrow, and send it through the dragon’s mouth up into the skull. When it hits, the arrow makes a spark. Yet, the dragon remains still.

Well, crap. This dungeon is part of a quest given to you by an NPC. I skipped all that on the wiki, partly because no spoilers and partly because I assumed I could skip any questing and just reap the rewards by going straight inside. Doesn’t look like that’s the case, though. If this is it—if killing the bone-bear and bone-eagle is all that I can do without accepting and running the quest associated with this area—I’m a little disappointed.

I can always leave to go find the NPC who assigns this quest. Chances are he or she will give me something to bring to this dungeon—something that’ll force the dragon to wake up so I can fight it. But I’m not sure I want to spend that much time just running from place to place.

I start breaking boxes and barrels open, looking for any treasure that might be lying around. Chances are it won’t be anything amazing if I find anything at all. But maybe I’ll get lucky or at the very least find something the lower-level characters in my guild will appreciate.

King’s League often has a variety of different ways of unlocking special rooms or events, so I keep my eyes open for any of those as well. One dungeon I’ve played makes you find a sword. Once you get it, you have to beat a minor boss in order to find a special socket to stab the sword into. Once you do that, the sword turns to dust in your hands, but a cool, new area opens up.

Another requires you sit through a ten-minute cut scene as the game unlocks a mechanical monstrosity. It’s tough too, and the designers have received a lot of emails of people complaining they can’t do anything during the cut scene. Sitting there waiting for the animation to finish is time they could have spent preparing and coming up with a plan, trading stuff, and generally making sure everyone in their party is ready.

So far I’ve found a few gold, a single platinum, and some gems I’ll probably just stick in the guild chest.

Once in a while, I glance up at the dragon, searching for any sign that it has moved, it’s getting ready to move, or it’s going to do anything but sit there like a gargoyle. Nothing.

The next box I break open, though, has a magical ring inside. I can’t tell what it does, because I’m not a Wizard, and therefore don’t have access to the Identify spell. Graydon’s Sight will tell me if something is magic if I’m looking at someone else’s inventory, but Graydon seems to like keeping the mystery alive when I come across dropped loot like this. Trickster god gonna trick.

The way things are going in Dawnshire, there’s probably a Wizard shop, so I won’t have to travel far to get this thing identified. If Nogg stays alive long enough, maybe I can have him learn Identify. I’m sure it doesn’t cost much mana, but since I’m a Ranger, it’s beyond my ability to learn the spell.

I pick the ring up and hear a crunching, grinding sound from somewhere above me. Riiight… that’s one of the other ways you get mobs to wake up. By touching a cursed item, you become the unwilling target of their ancient rage.

Not turning to face what I already know is happening behind me, I roll to my side, avoiding most of the dragon’s breath. I still take 22 damage as the edge of the attack washes over me. My vision goes wonky, but not like when I was hit by the other dragon’s ice breath. Instead, I’m seeing sparks. It breathes lightning?

Switching back to my bow, I begin to nock an Arrow of the Hammer—hoping that I’ll get the damage bonus against this bone dragon. Literally all of its armor rotted away, c’mon.

Before I can shoot, I abandon my attack to dive to the side again, narrowly avoiding a direct shot from another breath weapon. My vision goes frosty, the wavy, distorting effect of frost forming at the edges of my vision. Apparently this dragon has different types of breath attacks. All I can see at the moment is what’s directly in front of my face, and even then, the clear part of my vision is only a couple of inches wide.

It’s barely enough to see my opponent, not enough to aim well, but I release my arrow anyway. A thunk, followed by wispy, artificial-sounding roar from the creature lets me know it hit.

The dragon’s howl echoes through my helmet and feels like it’s rattling all my joints in real life. I clench my jaw to keep my teeth from being unscrewed and press forward.

I avoid the brunt of a fire attack by diving to the side again, but accidentally hit one of the pillars keeping the floor from meeting the ceiling. I look down to see that my boots are on fire and I’m down to 427 health. There’s no danger of me being snuffed out any time in the immediate future. Plus the flame attack undid the frost’s effects. Score!

I loose another arrow and hear another thunk and a roar as it hits home.

Still hanging from the ropes, the dragon whips its skeletal tail at me, zipping over my head with a snap as I duck at the last second and pulverizing crates and chests in its path. I’m expecting another breath attack. So far it’s gone lightning, ice, and then fire, so I’m guessing another lightning attack. Three breath weapons—all from the same dragon. Impressive.

Instead of lightning an inferno issues from the creature’s mouth, catching me full on as I try to get up from the debris.

Flames lick at the bottom of my vision and my health is beginning to drop precipitously. Even with my maxed out Graydon’s Sight, that still did fifty damage. I’m able to get another arrow launched before the dragon attacks again, my vision clear enough to see that it started with 800 HP but has been whittled down to 720, so those two arrows must’ve been adding their unarmored bonus. I need that!

The next hit drops the dragon below 700 health, striking just as the undead creature prepares to attack again. This time I’m ready for it. In two long steps, I hide behind the far side of a pillar, hoping it will absorb whatever is coming at me, ice, lightning, or fire. My brilliant tactic doesn’t go so well. The dragon… has a fourth kind of breath attack.

The room fills with a glowing, green fog. My character starts coughing uncontrollably. I swallow a Grand Healing Potion, which restores my health to the maximum, but it instantly starts to drop again—and fast.

Peeking around the corner, I notice the dragon is trying to extract itself from the ropes and netting holding it close to the ceiling. I nock another arrow but notice something that causes me to pause. Stepping back behind the pillar, I glance at my in-game hands. The skin is blistering and peeling. Black spots are starting to form, and my health is already back down to 401. It’s poison. Really bad poison.

I can’t use my Commune with Nature ability—it still hasn’t refreshed. I cast Regeneration and try to think quickly. I can cast Lay Hands and at least undo this poison, but that’s only assuming this dragon is less than half of my own level. It feels just as powerful as the level ninety-nine ice dragon I fought previously, though. In the chaos, I don’t remember what level it was the last time I got a peek—I was focused more on its HP.

Okay. Just like the last adult dragon I fought… the big threat is the breath attack. That uses mana. My Ancient Bow of Casting will drain ten percent of the dragon’s mana with each hit. I’ve hit it three times now so it’s lost thirty percent of a base rate that I don’t know and then has used its breath attack on me five times.

Wait… incoming! Six times.

This time, the breath is orange. My health had stabilized at 348, meaning the green poison, while powerful, doesn’t last all that long. The orange breath hits me and my HP starts ticking down again… two different poison breath weapons. This dragon is crazy dangerous.

All right, Dirk.

I drink a Healing Potion, which restores nearly all of my missing health before peeking around the pillar at my foe.

The dragon is focusing on trying to untangle itself, but it doesn’t look like it’s made much progress. I’m guessing this is the time when other players run for it, if they even make it this far.

My poison damage has ceased, leaving me at 404. It must be getting sucked out of this room and back up the stairs. That’s brutal for anyone trying to escape. They’ll have to run up through dragon poison through the spiraling staircase and then through more poison from the gas pods back outside. Damn. The trap is even more dangerous than I initially thought.

I’m doing more than just watching the dragon struggle. I’m formulating a plan. Graydon’s Sight tells me that the dragon is level seventy. So, Lay Hands isn’t gonna work at neutralizing the poison. Also, I have no desire to take on a level 99 bone dragon. Holy hell.

The dragon roars but instead of sending out more damage in my direction, it seems to protect itself with a ghostly, glowing sheen. Probably a defense buff.

What I’m going to have to do is kill it before it can kill me.

Thank you Captain Obvious.

Since it’s stuck in the ropes, that’s in the realm of possibility so long as I make the right plays. I have 352 mana after casting Regeneration. I spend another 100 casting Silence—that will remove the dragon’s ability to send any breath weapons my way for ten seconds.

Time to make them count.

The dragon roars and is abruptly cut short when I send another arrow into the roof of its mouth. Bam. Twenty five damage, ten percent mana drain. My next one hits it in the dark socket of its eye. Bam. Nineteen damage, ten percent mana drain. Yup… defense buff in effect.

I keep shooting, dropping the dragon down to 503 HP and keeping its mana at virtually zero. Silence has worn off, but my foe doesn’t have enough mana to do anything to me unless it frees itself, which it’s trying to do so frantically.

I realize I’m taking damage again and a quick glance between shots reveals why. I’ve stepped too close to a box the dragon’s breath has ignited. The fire isn’t doing much damage, but every little bit is going to count in this fight.

The dragon roars in frustration. I answer with two more arrows.

“Yeah, you can dish out a lot of damage but you don’t like taking it, do you?” I ask the dragon.

At this point, everything is a foregone conclusion. My only concern is whether I have enough arrows to do the job. Since the debuff is still going strong, I decide to conserve my Arrows of the Hammer and start hitting him with the Shafts of Deep Hurting to see how those interact. He’s going down, either way. May as well gather some data in case I want to do this raid again some time before the dragon disappears from the map like all the others do after a while.

As its HP winds down to zero, the dragon seems to glitch. For a moment I think my game is frozen, but I can move. And when I look around, the tiny flames on the crates are still flickering. It’s only the dragon that has frozen in place, it’s head turned upward, bony tail in mid-whip like I’m looking at a photograph.

I stare at the weird spectacle in confusion.

Just in case, I loose another arrow—just the basic steel arrow because I’ve got a lot of scrounging to do to get my quiver useful again. Stupid dragon. It strikes the thing’s skull near its snout. The beast doesn’t roar. Instead, the skull begins to crack where my arrow is sticking out of it.

Thin black lines spread across the bone, then the next one, then the next. They continue until the whole thing looks like it’s had spiders crawling across it for decades. A few seconds later, the skeleton explodes.

I duck, covering my face from the blast. The sound is like someone stuck me in an oil drum and smacked the side of it with a mallet. It also causes me 100 points of damage. Regeneration had healed me up pretty well, but I drink another Major Healing Potion to get me fully topped off in case there are more surprises.

Dude. That would suck so bad if you had killed the thing and then died from its sonic death blast. Like playing Call of Duty and you kill the guy but he gets that grenade at your feet to take you out a second later. Lame.

“Wow,” I whisper as I move my hand from in front of my face and stare at the spectacle before me. Bits of bone start falling from the dragon—most no larger than pocket change. They’re glowing, burning, and disintegrating as they come down like soft ash from a campfire, slow-moving comets that drift lazily to the stone floor.

It’s time for a victory dance, I decide, so I do one, selecting Earl “The Pearl” Monroe’s Funky Chicken for the occasion. Primarily because it’s the only dance I know. Well. That’s not true. I can do the Floss, but that’s hardly appropriate for such a somber occasion.

I’m glad there’s nobody else around—especially in my apartment. Hell, I’m glad I’m not streaming. I’d be embarrassed if anyone saw virtual Dirk doing this on the Internet. Recovering my wits, I take a few screenshots to show Brian and Stoneburner when they get back on, not wanting to have to go and pull them from my recording.

I check my inventory and notice the magical ring I picked up to start the encounter is now identified.

Dragon Slayer, Ring:

Magical

Durability: 150/150

Required Level: 21

+20 damage versus dragons

Not only was it a great fight, but as the bits of glowing, sparkling bone fall to the ground, they transform into loot. Most of it is just coins, and most of those are silver. Still, it’s something. I also find some other stuff, which is far more interesting.

Anthra’s Helmet:

Magical

Durability: 100/100

25% magical damage reduction

+20% mana regeneration

Required Level: 50

It’s my first decent set item of the day and it’s a doozy! A full set of Anthra’s Guise turns a spellcaster into a demigod who can only be harmed by magic. I’m trying to remember the last guy who got a full set but the story escapes me. Too bad I’m not a Wizard, otherwise, I’d have to do another happy dance. But if I play more as Nogg, this is something he could really use. I bet it would easily fetch a few hundred bucks on the open market, but I’m good for cash right now. I can always sell it later if that changes.

There are some other magical items among the stuff as well, but they’re common. I scoop them up for a later deposit into the guild bank, too. Once I’m sure everything has been picked up, I head toward the staircase, but stop when I hear voices.

“Dude, I think someone’s already down here,” a male voice says.

I put away my bow and draw my melee weapons, backing into the shadows in full Sneak just to be safe.

“Most people don’t get past the first two,” another says. “If they can even take the bone monsters out, they just call it quits.”

“That’s my point,” says the first. “If a party can handle that… they might be able to handle us.”

A third voice, a female, gives her opinion. “We didn’t come all this way to fight those first two monsters. And whoever made it past them… basically, someone just saved us a bunch of time. If they didn’t quit after the first two encounters they’re probably dead and waiting to be looted underneath the dragon. Maybe they’ve got some good stuff.”

“But what if they did get this far?” the first asks, insistent. “What if the dragon is already dead? Or worse, what if it already respawned somewhere else in the realm?”

“Then we’ll see if the survivors left any loot,” the second voice says.

Chapter Fourteen

The unexpected appearance of other characters in Arban’s Rest catches me off guard. That was a tough fight, and I didn’t have this place pegged to be the sort that drew people in to take on something like the dragon I just faced. But then… it’s not like the loot was legendary. And the dragon itself is likely just a particularly tough boss that spawned in place of whatever is usually down here. Even then, once you figure out how to nullify its breath attacks I can see how a small and capable raiding team could handle it. So I take that back. It makes total sense that a team of medium to high level adventurers would be coming here.

So about that team… what do I do with them?

They sound hostile, but I’m guessing it’s only because they don’t know who I am. Once they see my name, I’m hoping everything will be fine. But still, it’s a tense situation. If I go moving up the cramped confines of the stairway, that might be enough to trigger a fight. I doubt any of them—or even all three together—can do anything significant against me. But I’m not trying to get a reputation killing players.

Still, if they try to kill me, I’ll have to defend myself.

I hear them slowly making their way down the spiraling staircase. While there could be more than three, I only heard three voices. So unless they’ve got a Rogue sneaking ahead—they’re the only ones who’d be stealthy enough to be that quiet—these guys are alone. And also, what self-respecting Rogue whose job is to scout ahead would be happy with their party loudly chatting it up behind them?

The first one to peek around the corner of the doorway leading into the room is a level-72 High Elf Ranger named Tw@ng, which surprises me. I can’t see his stats, but at level 72 my Sneak was good enough that I could have made it down the stairs without making a sound. So either he was confident enough not to Sneak or he spent all his time working on other skills. Probably his bow skill seeing as how he’s leading with it the way a member of SWAT leads into his room with a rifle.

He sees me, but despite having a loaded bow, doesn’t shoot, opting to duck back out of sight.

“Someone’s in there,” Tw@ng whispers. “I can see him. Pretty sure he saw me too. I didn’t see any other way out, though. I think we have him cornered. He looks like a Ranger. What do you want to do?”

I want to call out, “I can hear you!” but I know that’s only because of Graydon’s Sight. I could still call out over public comms and let them know that I’m not a threat. But I kind of want to hear their plan now, so I listen to them hash things out.

“What’s his name?” the female asks. Her voice sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“I don’t know,” Tw@ng says. “He’s right there, though.”

“How hard is it to read a name, Tw@ng?”

The scout sounds wounded by that comment. “Why don’t you stick your head out and take a peek?”

“Fine.”

I brace myself, not wanting to appear threatening, but still needing to be ready for a fight. Another face appears around the edge of the door frame, but vanishes a second later. Then it reappears, and I get a good look at the female Dwarven Warrior’s name: StingRae.

“It’s Dirk from Dawnshire,” she whispered over her shoulder before smiling at me. “Hi, Dirk. Um, is it okay if we come in?”

“Of course,” I say, waving her toward me. “Sorry the place is a mess. I wasn’t expecting company, you know?”

She laughs softly. I become concerned when I see that she’s only level 40—nowhere near high enough to have any business in this dungeon.

“I haven’t seen you since the day I broke Salvatore’s blockade,” I say. “Looks like you gained a level. Congratulations.”

“I’m surprised you remembered my level,” she says. “I don’t even remember telling you.”

She laughs and I break out into a sweat because, duh, how would I know what level she was outside of Graydon’s Sight. Be better at playing it cool, Dirk. This is the second time today you’ve given yourself up. Thankfully only Spyce was sharp enough to notice.

“I got some new gear since then, too,” StingRae continues before looking around at the moss and then beyond into the room where the dragon and I fought it out. “Wow, this place is cool.”

I’m about to tell her about the fight that just happened when I notice Tw@ng is still pointing his bow at me. I don’t know if he’s being cautious or if he’s trying to intimidate me. He’s stepped around the corner and is approaching.

“That’s not really necessary,” I say to him as I gesture toward his bow. “I really am friendly. I’m not a PK. No badge. No bounty.”

“That’s what they all say,” Tw@ng says in a gruff tone which I’m sure has scared people before. Not me, but other people. “We both know the good PKs always take care of their bounties.”

I let out a sigh. “Fine. But if you let go of that arrow—even if you miss—it’s the last shot you’re taking before you hit level one again.”

Tw@ng scoffs and then darts his eyes at StingRae. “How do you know this guy?”

“He runs Dawnshire,” she says as if it’s too obvious to even have to say out loud. “You have to know Dirk. He’s the one who took out Salvatore. Where have you been?”

“Not Dawnshire, obviously,” chimes in the third member of the party, a level 80 human Wizard named Blisterer.

“Anyway,” says StingRae, “Isn’t there supposed to be a dragon spawning in here somewhere?”

“Oh, there was a dragon all right,” Blisterer says, walking to the doorway where the battle took place and then leaning against the frame, arms crossed. “But somebody already killed it. Was that you? By yourself?”

“Yeah, that was me,” I say, feeling both proud and slightly embarrassed. Maybe that’s humility. I dunno. “Just me.”

“What did it drop?” Tw@ng asks. “Anything good?”

I shrug. “Honestly not the best drops I’ve ever seen. Some gold, platinum and silver—no copper. That was nice. Maybe the coolest thing it dropped is a ring called Dragon Slayer. You have to pick it up from the crates to wake the dragon up.” I decide not to tell them about the set item I picked up, afraid it might motivate them into doing something stupid.

“Ugh,” Tw@ng says, clearly annoyed. “Dragons are rare as hell and now this one is knocked out. And who knows if it’ll still be the boss of this dungeon when it resets?”

Blisterer waves his arm to calm his friend down, keeping his eyes on me. “Impressive.” He scratches his chin and stares up into the place the dragon used to be. “So you’re the guy who woke up Dawnshire?”

“That’s right,” I say, even though that’s already been established. “Have you had a chance to visit?”

“Yes,” he says, sounding somewhat disinterested. “You’re level 99, right?”

“Right again,” I say as I watch him slowly meander into the storage room and then turn around to rejoin me in the moss theater. I’m not sure where this conversation is going, but I hope he decides to call it a night and come back to defeat the dragon later.

I’m about to offer some advice on how to handle the encounter just to make sure the party is properly equipped. From what Graydon’s Sight is showing me from their inventory, this party might not stand much of a chance.

“What does the ring do?” Tw@ng asks, still annoyingly pointing his bow at me.

“I’ll tell you man, but could you like, put that thing away? It’s kind of rude.” I stare at the weapon aimed at me. If he decides to pick this fight, he’ll be in for a rude awakening.

“Stop being an idiot, Tw@ng,” scolds StingRae.

He grumbles something and then lowers the weapon.

I resist the urge to make it into any more of a thing by cracking a joke and instead fill them in on the ring. “It adds twenty points of damage when the wearer attacks a dragon. It wasn’t specific as to what kind of damage. You could probably punch one and get the extra twenty points.”

Blisterer whistled a slow, descending note. “That would be helpful if you wanted to repeat this quest for an XP grind. What’s the level requirement?”

“Twenty-one. It’s not really much use to me, though.”

“We could use it,” Blisterer says. “Especially Tw@ng, there. He’s our DPS, but there isn’t much D in his PS, if you know what I mean.”

StingRae laughs at the jab Blisterer gave Tw@ng.

“What about you?” I ask StingRae. “Couldn’t you use it?”

I know she can, but she’s the baby in the group. Her level is so much lower than those of her companions. I wonder if she’s worked out some kind of deal with them to allow her to tag along.

“I’m just here to get some quick experience,” she answers. “These nice boys let me tag along just for that. So, one of them deserves to have it.”

I eyeball both of the other players suspiciously. “Is that what they told you?”

StingRae’s expression changes from amusement to concern. “Yes. Why?”

“Because the dragon I killed here is nothing to be trifled with,” I say, watching Tw@ng and Blisterer carefully. “Even with a couple of potions, it still brought me down to about half my health. It would have killed me if I hadn’t come with the right abilities to shut it down. It can potentially take you out with a single shot.”

“She’s got potions,” Blisterer says dismissively.

“A potion won’t save her if she’s killed in a single blast,” I say before turning back to StingRae. “Listen, this dragon has pretty much every breath weapon you’ve heard of. It can breathe fire, of course, but also frost, lightning, and a couple different types of poison. Had I not brought a bunch of potions with me, and had I not had the ability to make that thing run out of mana before it gassed me to death you’d be looting my corpse right now. That’s a fact.”

StingRae looks suspiciously at both of her companions. “Is that why you brought me here?”

“Whoa,” Blisterer says, holding up his hands seeking calm. “That’s a leap. I mean… no guarantees. But, but you wanted to level up. So, survive down here and you level up much, uh, much faster.”

“You two were going to kill me for my XP,” StingRae says sharply. “What, you wanted to make it look like an accident? Like I got myself in over my head and paid the price?”

Tw@ng scoffs. “If we wanted to kill you we wouldn’t have needed to bring you down here to do it, StingRae. And you, Dirky-boy. What gives? Is she your girlfriend or something? Or is it you want her to be your girlfriend, but she already turned you down?”

I ignore his question and turn back to StingRae.

“I’m not trying to suggest that these two had anything nefarious planned,” I say, gesturing to her companions. “I’m just telling you what I observe. You aren’t anywhere near strong enough to be able to take this dragon. You’re not even strong enough to hide in a corner of the room while these two try to take it out. Its poison attack, for instance, fills the entire room with the stuff. There’s nowhere to hide. So what I’m saying is, these guys aren’t prepared enough to be following around for some easy XP. They’re gonna get you killed.

“If I were you, I’d wait about thirty levels before coming back here. Even then, I’d bring help—at least a party of five level seventy players. Maybe six just to be safe.”

“Well,” StingRae asks, glancing over her shoulder at her companions.

The room goes silent. Tw@ng looks like he still wants to shoot me. Blisterer is watching StingRae, who in turn is watching me.

“So what,” Blisterer finally answers. “That’s his opinion. No way of knowing what would have happened now that another high level player has cleared out a dungeon designed for people at our level.”

“Listen,” I say to StingRae, “I’m headed back to Dawnshire. Feel free to come back with me if you’d like. I’ll make sure you get there in one piece.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” she says, waving off my offer. “I can use my teleportation stone to get there—it’s where I’m bound. I would appreciate it if you hung out until I was gone though. I’m not sure I trust these two not to stab me in the back as soon as I activate it.”

Tw@ng bristles at her words and brings his bow back up, pointed at me.

“Really?” I ask him. “You’re gonna play the tough guy angle again? I’m sorry I cleared the dungeon you were after. But you pointing that thing at me is really starting to piss me off. I’ve had a bad day, man. Don’t make it worse.”

“Who do you think you are anyway?” Tw@ng grumbles. “You accuse us of bringing a party member to get killed by a dragon so we can loot her—which was not our plan—and even if it was, where do you even get off, bro? Why do you care? PK’ing is part of the game. Are you denying that you’ve ever killed anyone?”

Blisterer pretends to cough into his hand while saying “Salvatore” at the same time.

“No, of course not,” I say. “I’ve probably killed a dozen other players, but it was always in self-defense. I know some players enjoy player-killing. I don’t.”

Blisterer clutches his chest, feigning injury and insult. “You wound me, sir. You also wound my honor. You are insinuating that my partner and I had ill intentions. Well, you’re wrong. And, frankly, I don’t care what you think.”

Noticing the tension building toward an inevitable end, StingRae is slowly sliding out of the line of fire.

“StingRae,” I say, “go ahead and use your teleportation stone. I’ll stay here until you’re gone to make sure you get back safely. I’d watch out for these two in the future, though. They’re dicks.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything. A second later, her body begins to glow a bright shade of blue and a shaft of blue-white light erupts from the top of her head. She’s activated her teleportation stone.

But before the process is completed, Tw@ng turns his bow on her and drills an arrow into the center of her chest. It knocks her back a few steps and ruins her spell, but she’s still alive.

I equip my bow as a fireball crashes into my face, hitting me for twenty points of damage. I ignore it, knowing that the sixty percent damage reduction I have courtesy of my helm and pauldrons will hold him off—and he’ll be an easy kill once his buddy is gone. I begin to launch arrows as fast as I can at Tw@ng. Within three seconds he’s already got four sticking out of his body. He staggers over a half-destroyed box and ragdolls to the floor.

StingRae has moved to the side out of Blisterer’s direct line of sight just in time. I’m hit in the face with another fireball. This is getting annoying.

“Stop now and I won’t send you back to the character creation screen like your buddy,” I warn as I cast Regeneration.

Boom! Another twenty health vanishes.

I cast Silence on him. He stares at his hands as his next fireball fails to launch.

“Like that?” I ask him. “You’re silenced. So give up now and I’ll let you walk out of here alive,” I say, slowly making my way toward him.

He’s backing up but looks as defiant as ever. “I’m a Wizard. Ten seconds of Silence and most of that is gone, moron.”

Boom! Yup, you guessed. Another fireball, another twenty health chipped away.

“Do those fireballs look like they’re hurting me?” I say as Blisterer realizes he’s literally backed himself into a corner—feeling the walls for some avenue of escape before his eyes go to the doorway to the stairs at the end of the wall a few feet away. But to get there, he’ll have to move closer to me. Something he really doesn’t want to do right now.

So… I prompt him to make a move. “Oh, and by the way. When you run, tell your buddy over private chat that StingRae and I are keeping his loot.”

“Like hell you are,” Blisterer snarls.

He equips a sparkling Mythic Stave of Ice—Graydon’s Sight tells me it’s a magic weapon with twenty charges. Think of it as a staff that can hurl a powerful ice shard spell with no cool down or drain on mana. I was expecting this to come out if it came to it, the stave is clearly his most powerful weapon. If he had a stronger spell to throw at me than fireball, which does good damage for low mana cost, I’m thinking he would have used it.

The Wizard gets a smug, triumphal look on his face. “Let’s switch things up.”

Like I said earlier, I knew that Stave of Ice was in his inventory. I drink the sole Greater Resist Frost potion I have. It grants me a 70% resistance to frost for a full minute. Unfortunately, it’s only 70% of whatever damage comes through from my armor. So, of the 40% magic that will get through, this will blunt that number another 70%. Math is fun, kids!

I finish quaffing the potion in time to see a huge ice spike erupt from the end of the staff. It sounds like a wet leather belt striking a piece of bulletproof glass—not that I have any clue how that would actually sound, but work with me here. I take forty-eight points of damage and can’t help but be impressed with the punch that stave is packing.

So that’s a base rate of 400 damage. Forty percent gets through my armor for—I do a quick mental calculation—160 damage, reduced another seventy percent so, yup… that weapon is amazing.

While I’m doing the math, Blisterer looks downright astonished.

“No way,” he whispers.

And I guess that’s the difference between someone who plays to win and someone who merely expects to win. Because, yeah, it’s a surprise to see your opponent still alive if you were expecting to deal four hundred damage in one blow. But what you don’t do is just stand there, dumbstruck. You keep attacking until the opponent is dead. And that’s a lesson Blisterer is about to learn the hard way.

“My turn,” I say as I spin towards him, slashing down with my Vampiric Sword and then leaving the cursed dagger of ice between his ribs just to keep him from mounting a comeback or prolonging the fight with any healing or shield spells he might have.

“Okay! Stop! I’ll leave!” he screams, but it’s too late for that. He had a chance for this to all end peacefully—except for Tw@ng—and he didn’t bother to take it. And you know why? Because he thought he could kill me. Same as Salvatore and every other player-killing jerk in this game. “Just part of the game, bro,” they say in defense of themselves. But then, when they face someone who can kill them… suddenly it’s not such a fun play style any longer.

The Wizard pitches face forward, his HP at zero. I’d like to send a fireball at him as a final farewell, but the mossy room is cramped and I’m not looking to cause any more splash damage. I turn to StingRae, aware that she may have taken some damage from the fight beyond the arrow to her chest. “You okay?”

“Holy crap,” she whispers in response. “That was awesome. I mean, I saw you fight Salvatore and it seemed like you were barely staying alive. It looked like he didn’t even hit you for a single point of damage.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” I say, casting Regeneration and giving an assuring smile. “He was doing damage. Just not as much as he planned.”

“Unreal,” she says with a laugh. “Well. Thanks for saving me today. No doubt in my mind those two were planning on letting me get killed by the dragon so they could loot me after the encounter was over.”

With the stave that Blisterer had, I don’t doubt it. He could wield that against the bone dragon and have it dead in two hits. “I think you’re right. It’ll be a while until they have the ability to do something like that again. Back to the Woods of Adventure for them for a while.”

“Sucks to be them,” StingRae says. “All right. Now I’m going to teleport back to Dawnshire.”

“Hold up! You should loot the bodies before you go. After all, I made a vow to the Wizard that we would.”

StingRae laughs. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You don’t want anything at all from them?”

I pause for a moment. “Actually… my friend Nogg—”

“Oh, I love Nogg! He’s so great.”

“Yeah,” I say, reminded anew of Brian’s popularity around Dawnshire. “Anyway, he’s working on building up a Wizard character so, if it’s cool with you, maybe I can take that stave Blister was using?”

“Go for it. Totally. You did the hard work anyway, and if Nogg gets something out of it, even better.” StingRae smiles as I take the stave and add it to my inventory.

Mythic Stave of Ice:

Mythical Weapon

Magical

Durability: 200/200

Charges: 20/20

Charges reset with death of owner.

Charge Attack: Deal 400 Ice Damage

Melee Attack: Deal 1-4 Damage + 10 Ice Damage

This will really help Nogg. A little twinking to help his low level Wizard stay alive long enough to become more useful in a fight. It would help me, even. And I like how as a Mythical Weapon it doesn’t have a level requirement. This is the sort of thing meant to get in the hands of a character at any level—make them feel like a chosen one. Think Excalibur or the Sword in the Stone—you get it because you’re supposed to get it and you use it right away.

But this will definitely help Nogg have a reliable melee weapon that will always dish out at least eleven points of damage and then have the optional boomstick ability to just wipe out anyone who tries to take him down. I’ll have to research whether the charges can be recharged or if they’re permanently depleted on use. Given the note about charges resetting with death I have a feeling that’s the only option.

StingRae gives a final farewell after just choosing to take everything at once. I guess she didn’t want to spend any more time down here by having to go through the two corpses’ inventory line by line. Easier to take all and sort it out later. She waits and activates her teleport stone as I stand there and try to think of some low level areas Stoneburner and me as Nogg can go to with creatures who are vulnerable to ice attacks.

Those thoughts are interrupted by a private voice chat from the man himself.

“Friend Dirk,” Stoneburner says, “art thou expecting guests?”

“Guests?” I ask. “What do you mean? Where?”

“A player named Barthos has arrived. Level one from the looks of him. He speaks with an English accent and requested I summon you. He says he sent you a letter.”

My meeting with Barthos. Let’s see what this is all about.

I activate my own teleportation stone. “I’ll be right there, Stoneburner.”

Chapter Fifteen

As the shimmer of the teleportation stone engulfs me, I glance at my surroundings—the luminescent moss, the storage room, still smoldering from my fight with the bone dragon, and the two jerks whose bodies lay ruined on the floor. This was a good run… I enjoyed my time on this adventure every bit as much as I enjoyed playing as Nogg earlier.

Now it’s time to go deal with something I don’t think is going to be any fun at all.

I appear inside the Temple, dropping the loot off in the appropriate chests before letting Stoneburner know I’m back.

“Good. He’s waiting outside the Temple doors for you,” Burner answers. “Good luck?”

“I’ll take it.”

Inhaling a steadying breath, I start recording my game session, and open the door from the Temple to Dawnshire. A lone, bald gnome stands at the top of the temple steps, his back turned to me. His arms are crossed and he looks relaxed and casual, like he’s doing nothing more than enjoying the view from the elevated position. His gamer tag is MisterBarthos and his inventory is empty beyond the clothing he wears. He’s a level one with no guild affiliations.

Well, guess I don’t have to worry about him being some uber-skilled player assassin looking to threaten me with going along with whatever he’s got planned.

“Hello, Mister Barthos,” I say stepping out of the temple. I’ve decided to keep it formal, because the tone in his letter was formal. I suspect I know what he wants, and it might be easier for him to accept my flat “No” if I’m polite.

“Mister Dirk,” he says, turning around. He’s got a big, fake smile pasted on his face. It looks so goofy coming from a little bearded gnome. Equally goofy is me having to bend down to shake the hand of the little guy.

I receive an invite for a private chat and accept it.

Barthos’ voice is pleasant and professional. “It’s good to finally meet you in person—or as close to in person as is practical.”

“Absolutely,” I say, figuring that’s the sort of word a business executive would utter. “I received your letter. The gift was quite generous—”

“Please, keep it.”

I smile politely. “What would you like to discuss?”

The gnome holds out an open hand. “My employer has an offer for you.”

I wait, expecting him to elaborate or at least finish his thought. After a few seconds of blankly staring at him, though, it becomes apparent he wants me to ask. This feels like some weird power play. So I play along, albeit in my own style.

“Oh. That’s a complete sentence. Okay.” I hold open my own hand. “What’s the offer?”

“My employer understands how you came to own not just one, but two pieces of the Graydon’s Set,” Barthos says, still smiling. He pauses and looks to the side, again admiring Dawnshire.

I don’t give an answer. My own little power play.

“This is a beautiful place,” Barthos continues.

“It’s coming along,” I acknowledge. “Still a ways to go.”

“Well, I’ll not feign to be an expert at these things. I admit I’ve never played this game before. This is my first in-game experience, but I have done my research. There were no buildings here. Nor were there people, except some level 1s who sometimes turned the place into an arena for their fist-fight death matches. Or as a shortcut to bigger and better things. It was a bland, wrinkled star—and an ugly mark on an otherwise beautiful game. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I decide not to correct him on how the death matches happened. They weren’t fist fights. Pssh. Noob.

“Ancient ruins add character,” I say, not wanting to agree with anything the Gnome says. I read that in a negotiation course before I got kicked out of school. They try to get you to agree on some basic point about the weather or the quality of the coffee and get you to keep saying yes so you’re psychologically more inclined to say yes when they ask the big one. No idea if it works or not, but I decide to keep on my guard.

“And now you have something akin to a growing metropolis, minus the crime, of course. This is a non-PVP zone, correct?”

Well, I can’t say no about that… gotta think of a way to answer without saying yes. Don’t say yes, Dirk. No to yes. “You’ve done your research, Mister Barthos.”

The gnome smiles at the compliment. “Is it fair to assume that you, from time to time, have to break up an argument between characters? Probably over something petty, such as a transaction one feels they may have been slighted on. That must be the most tedious part about running Dawnshire. Am I right?”

“That about sums it up,” I say, feeling suspicious. His comment was pretty close to the duel that recently played out. “Ultimately, though, this place basically runs itself. I have a couple of helpers, but otherwise, it’s easy.”

“Good to hear,” Barthos says, turning his back on me to face the city again. It looks like he’s finally going to get to the point. So dramatic.

“My employer would like to know your price for both of your Graydon’s pieces. He has very deep pockets and—”

“They’re not for sale,” I interrupt. “Was there anything else?”

Barthos closes his mouth, but keeps his fake smile plastered firmly in place. He gives a genial chuckle. “He said you would say that. But everyone has a price. Everything is for sale… it just boils down to the cost. Money? Connections? Name. Your. Price.”

I give him a stony expression and cross my arms. “Not everything.”

The little Gnome begins pacing back and forth, the conical hat bobbing up and down just below my waist as he passes back and forth. “Let’s say—hypothetically—you did want to sell your Graydon’s pieces. Let’s say you’re tired of babysitting this town and its inhabitants. Let’s say you’re tired of the negative attention and you’d rather spend your days relaxing—not having to worry about the game economy, but just enjoying yourself. Play the game for fun—or pursue something in real life that is equally fulfilling.”

I don’t interrupt.

“Just imagine. A life without Graydon’s helmet and gloves weighing on your mind and your ability to simply play a game. You’d be anonymous again. The only thing special about you would be your level. You’d be able to completely fade into the background. Imagine being able to freely roam the game, go places you’ve never been, find treasure you didn’t even know existed. No more giant target on your back. No more people trying to steal your things from you—other than what typically happens in this game.”

I have to admit, that doesn’t sound half-bad. Still, I don’t relax, keeping my expression blank. “Sorry, Mister Barthos, that’s not as big of a problem as you make it out to be.”

The Gnome carries on as though I hadn’t said a thing. “And when you say this city is easy to run, and basically runs itself—we both know that’s not true. It needs constant maintenance, even if it’s only human resources and conflict resolution. Am I right?”

“You’re not completely wrong,” I say.

I won’t come out and admit he’s right about something else too: Everyone has their price. And, based on the lavish gift of gold he gave me and the fancy little box it came in, his employer might have enough money to get the job done. I find myself torn between two options.

“Name my price?” I ask.

“Please,” Barthos says.

I think about it for a second and decide to quote a movie. “One hundred billion dollars.”

Barthos smiles. “My employer guessed you’d say a trillion dollars, so he was off a little. I am authorized to offer you seventy-five thousand dollars per piece. My employer is aware that you are in possession of two pieces, so that comes to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We can transfer it into your King’s League account immediately and I can take possession of the Graydon’s pieces right here.”

I try to hide the look of shock. Based on the gnome’s growing smile, though, I don’t think I nailed it. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars could go a long way. Now, I do enough statistical analysis to know that he’s greatly exaggerating when he tells me I’ll be set for life with a hundred and fifty grand, but with the right investments I could do something with that. If nothing else it would cover years of expenses, even if I only sat around on my butt the whole time. Assuming I maintain my current (low) standards of living. No new car. No spending sprees. No going on eBay to buy Fred Savage’s Power Glove from The Wizard.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.

But then, there are some problems. Binding says that Graydon’s Sight can only be taken off my dead body once I reached level fifteen… in this guy’s research. Surely he knows that. Or does he know something I don’t?

But there’s more to this than the armor and the cash payout. Guys like Stoneburner are making their livings in Dawnshire.

“What would happen to the city?” I ask.

“A new mayor would be assigned,” Barthos says. “We like what you’ve done with the place. We might change the composition of some of the shops a little, though. It seems you have too many seamstresses, but other than that, we don’t foresee making any major changes.

“We’ve also prepared two cover stories for you—in case you feel the need to save face. There’s no shame in selling something you worked hard for, sir, so we are prepared to assist in that.” After a brief pause where I didn’t immediately shoot him down, Barthos keeps going. “My employer also assures me that we would never tell anyone the price we paid during the transaction. You could, if you wanted to, but we would leave that up to you. It would all be anonymous, nice, and tidy. I can send a contract your way right now. What do you say?”

The little gnome holds out his hand. He wants to shake on it. I have another question, though.

“Why does your employer want Graydon’s pieces? Is it just so he can gain control of Dawnshire?”

“No,” Barthos says with a small laugh. “He could simply come here and challenge you to a duel if that’s all he wanted. He’s a collector.”

“A collector?”

“Perhaps a story will help you to understand. My employer grew up poor. Very poor, indeed. And then… well, he worked and that changed. Some people go for the trappings of wealth—fast cars, beautiful girls… parties. Not so with my employer. He bought toys, Mister Nelson. Every single one he wanted as a child but never received. It’s a private collection, but I assure you, he puts the Steve Sansweets of the world to absolute shame. He has original patents for action figure lines that never made it to production, and what does my employer do? He purchased a toy company so they could manufacture it. Just for him. He is a dedicated man.”

It’s a good story. I’d probably buy at least one mint Star Wars Kenner 12-back if someone dropped a hundred and fifty k in my lap. “Okay, but King’s League wasn’t around whenever this guy was a kid. And what he’s after is all virtual. Who’s he going to show it off to?”

“You are very wise,” Barthos says, tapping the side of his head with a finger. He combs his hand through his long, white beard. “There are other reasons. However, those reasons are personal. In as much as I am privy to them, I am not at liberty to share. They are private. I’m sure you understand.”

I think about the money—the years of not having to worry about expenses. But then I remember that someone tried to kill me, and someone else—or possibly the same person—tried to hack my King’s League account. I’m thinking they’re all related.

“Let’s change gears. An assassin tried to kill me. Does your employer know anything about that?”

Barthos nods solemnly, his pointy blue hat poking my thigh. “That was one of ours—a fellow employee. There was a small clerical error which caused internal confusion and never should have happened. I do apologize, and I’m glad you survived.”

“Wait, so you hired a player killer to kill me?”

“The contract for your head was not supposed to go out yet.”

“Holy shit. No deal. I can’t believe you would tell me that.”

“My employer is dedicated. I told you that. His first course of action is to provide a generous offer that will leave both parties satisfied. But, should you not be willing to listen to reason…”

I’m fuming mad and a little confused by how candid this little Gnome is being. I decide to press him to see if he’ll admit to anything else. “And the hacking? The attack on my King’s League account?”

“That was also us,” Barthos confirmed. “And that attack occurred exactly when my employer planned it should. What you don’t know, though, is that we hacked your account long ago. We had to find your physical address, after all. Otherwise we wouldn’t have had a way to send the gold to you. I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t,” I say, feeling my temper rise. About the only thing that’s keeping the thunder clouds of my rage at bay is knowing that I can show this video to King’s League to get this little jerk and everyone associated with him banned for life.

“You see,” Barthos begins to explain, sounding like he’s choosing his words carefully, “where the money is a carrot, the hacking is the stick. My employer has access to vast intellectual resources and owns more than one large technology company. If you were to tell me no, that there is no possible way you would accept his offer, I would remind you of what has already happened. I would hint that worse things could and would occur. Then I would allow you to imagine what a team of highly-trained hackers could do to your life and your future.”

Barthos lifted his hands, palms up. “In one hand, you have one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. With it comes a life of relaxation. And, of course, you can keep playing this game. My employer understands that this is how you earn your income but imagine how many years you can go without worry, especially if you supplement your fat bank account with funds you earn from the game.

“On the other hand, this could all be shut down with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. No more income. No more account. You would end up on the street begging for money like those people outside of your apartment building you pass every time you go to Casa del Domingo.”

Barthos glanced at both his hands before looking up. “The choice seems obvious, Mister Nelson.”

I’d heard enough. “Had you come to me with just the money and zero threats, I might have entertained the idea. Once you cross the line, though, from being a businessman to a terrorist, you can’t go back. Tell your employer I am politely rejecting his offer and I would appreciate it if he never contacted me again by any form, electronic or otherwise.”

“Sir,” Barthos says, “I implore you—”

“And tell your boss another thing. I’m not an idiot. I recorded this conversation and everything you just said—it’s going straight to King’s League. Let him know to enjoy whatever he’s collected so far while he still can because the ban-hammer is coming.”

“Oh, Mister Nelson. Surely you think better of us than that. Record away—my account here is of no importance. It can be banned all you like, I’ll never use it again anyway.”

I should have known as much. I set my jaw and speak through my teeth.

“Get out now or I’ll have the Guardian pick you up by your bald, little head and one foot and summarily throw you out.”

I’m angry, and I want to make sure he knows it. I’m also scared if I’m being honest. That’s not something I want him to see, though he probably has a good idea as it is.

“There’s no need for that, Mister Nelson.” Barthos sounds remorseful, sad almost. “I can show myself out. Indulge me once more… please understand that you have made a grave mistake. A great friend will now see you as an enemy. And he does not rest until his enemies are vanquished. I genuinely like you, Mister Nelson. Dirk. I truly hope things turn out well for you. But, I doubt they will.”

With that, Barthos drops dead at my feet.

Chapter Sixteen

I stand over the body of Barthos for a minute and remind myself why I rejected his offer. It was because of what his mysterious employer had already tried. Maybe it was just to show how powerful his employer was, but all Barthos did in admitting everything was reveal the type of person I was dealing with. I can’t stand bullies.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried right now. Overall, temporarily suspending my debit card had only been a minor inconvenience, though an embarrassing one. The trouble is, anyone who can do that given King’s League’s notoriously tough security and apparently get away with hacking my account deep enough to discover my real name and address… can probably do a lot more.

Barthos had mentioned his mysterious employer had access to a lot of resources besides money. Well, the gold coin convinced me he had enough cash to spare and the hacking makes me believe I have no reason to doubt anything else the little Gnome said.

It’s probably time to start splitting my money up—moving it into several accounts instead of keeping all my eggs in one basket. Hacking one bank might be easy for whoever is after me, but hacking multiple would definitely prove to be a bigger challenge. At the very least it would increase the odds that someone discovers what they’re doing and traces it back to the source.

I decide to head to the Temple before logging out. If I stay out on the Temple steps, people might try and chat with me only to be annoyed by seeing that I’m not present. Or, worse still, they might “push” my character out of the non-PVP zone and loot away.

I turn around and… nothing. My character isn’t responding. I try again, and still nothing. When I lift my real arm in front of my face, my character should do the same thing, but I don’t see it move. Everyone in my field of vision is also standing still and I can’t make Dirk turn his head to look around. A few seconds later, a message appears on my screen.

Network connection lost. Attempting to reconnect.

What the heck? All my bills are paid. They’ve been getting paid on time since I took over Dawnshire. None of them are behind. Has my Internet gone down?

Network connection lost. Attempting to reconnect.

Trying 1/3…

I hold my breath, but the reality of the situation is beginning to sink in. No matter how hard I wish, hope, or otherwise, my Internet isn’t going to come back up on its own. Barthos has made good on his threat. He or someone else he works with is probably hacking my account right now. Maybe even controlling my character. Will he run me out into the woods where someone else has been waiting? Maybe the assassin? If I can’t defend myself, they’ll easily kill me. Is any of that even possible?

Network connection lost. Attempting to reconnect.

Trying 2/3…

It’s not going to work, though. Deep down I know it, but I feel like I’m frozen in place. If it does reconnect, I’ll need to have a plan ready. I’ll need to do something to make sure my character stays safe and I keep my gear.

This could be nothing more than a scare tactic—a way to soften me up before he makes the offer again. It doesn’t feel like it, but it could be.

There’s no way they could have gotten back into my account. Someone has to be watching, since it was attacked already. They have to have flagged it or something. I’ll check as soon as… as soon as what? I can’t even get onto the Internet to check. Panic begins to set in.

Okay, calm down, Dirk.

Network connection lost. Attempting to reconnect.

Trying 3/3…

Don’t let him win, I tell myself. If you panic and make a stupid decision, he wins. It’s probably what he’s counting on. Then I remember there’s another way to access my account, the King’s League app. I can access it via my phone.

Reconnection attempt failed. No network.

I ignore the message, remove my VR helmet and gloves, and take my phone from my pocket. I’m greeted with a message informing me of suspicious activity and asking me to re-enter my password. There are also several 2-step verification texts sitting unread. Yeah. They’re after me. I feel clumsy entering my password to get into my account through the app. I manage to mess it up the first time and my panic returns. The second time, though, it works. I’m greeted with a pretty login screen and several tabs. Selecting the one which corresponds to my account details, I feel my stomach hit my feet.

Dirk’s Checking Balance: $0.00

Dirk’s Savings Balance: $0.00

“No!” I shout to the room. I nearly throw my phone but regain some control a split second before it leaves my fingers.

The bastard has done it. He’s hacked my account again and drained all my money. It only took a few minutes and now everything is gone.

“Calm down,” I whisper to myself. “There has to be a way. Think.”

I open my eyes and tap the Help icon. It seems to take an agonizingly long time to load the animation which is designed to look like a magical spell is being cast on my screen. A moment later, a chat window appears. The Help avatar is the smiling face of the virtual assistant I’ve spoken to a couple of times in the game.

Help: Welcome to the King’s League account help system. How may I be of service?

Dirk: Transfer me to a human being.

Help: I’m sorry, but all human help personnel are currently busy assisting other customers. Current wait time is approximately three hours.

Dirk: I don’t care what the current wait time is. Transfer me to a human. I don’t even care what department they work in. Just transfer me. This is an emergency.

Help: I understand. What is the nature of the emergency?

Dirk: My account has been hacked. All my money has been stolen. I thought you guys said this couldn’t happen.

Help: I understand. I’m sorry you’ve had this experience within King’s League. Please stand by and I will escalate this and find a real human being for you to speak with.

I wait for what seems like twenty minutes but might have only been two or three at the most. I’m pacing, chewing on my bottom lip, and every second that passes makes me feel a little more ill than I did the previous second.

Help: Thank you for waiting. Your King’s League help session is being transferred now.

Cynthia has entered the chat.

Cynthia: Hello Mr. Nelson. Would you prefer I call you Mr. Nelson or is Dirk okay?

Dirk: Dirk is fine. Did you get the information?

Cynthia: Thank you, Dirk. Yes, I did. May I have permission to access your account so I can look into this?

Dirk: Yes, please do.

Cynthia: Thank you. This may take several minutes so I appreciate your patience and understanding.

I’m still pacing and I find myself imagining all the terrible things I’d like to do to whoever the mysterious employer is in real life. This isn’t some PK being greedy. Nor is it someone trying to make a name for himself. This is far beyond that. They took it out of the game and brought it into the real world. This isn’t creative role-playing. It’s personal. This jerk really is trying to put me on the street. If I ever get my hands on him—

Cynthia: Thank you for waiting. I see your current account balance for both your Debit and Savings accounts is $0.00. You can transfer additional funds by linking your King’s League account with a bank or credit union.

I was afraid of this. Why do they always start by treating you like an idiot? I tell her that the problem isn’t that I’m out of funds, but that funds were illegally withdrawn from my account. Not wanting to complicate the experience, I leave out Barthos and all that.

Cynthia: Please wait a moment while I check your transaction history.

…

A couple of minutes pass before she comes back into the chat.

Cynthia: Thank you for waiting, Dirk. I was able to look up your previous balance as of just a few minutes ago and you’re right, something suspicious happened. I am escalating this ticket. Please wait and my supervisor will be on the line to assist you further. She will be calling you directly if that’s all right.

Dirk: Okay, thank you.

I’m a little worried that nothing will happen, so I keep the chat window open. But a second later my phone rings with an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mister Nelson?”

“Yeah.”

“Hello, I’m Monica from King’s League Support. Cynthia assigned me your case. Before I can help, I need you to verify your information for me…”

I go through the process and can hear Monica typing in the background.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this before,” she says. “Your balance was set to zero—no transactions. I can reinstate the previous balance for both your checking and savings accounts, but there will be new restrictions in place for security purposes.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine. What kind of restrictions?”

“Your account will be specifically coded and marked. Your daily spending limit will be reduced from its current $2000 to $300. Also, there may be up to a two-minute delay on all of your transactions. This may result in some transactions being denied on occasion. If this happens, though, all you need to do is try again two minutes later. This is a security measure designed to prevent someone from draining your accounts again.”

“Okay. I can work with that. How long will that last and how long until you can figure out why this happened—I really don’t want this to occur again.”

“I understand completely,” soothes the supervisor. “I’m not sure how long it will take us to determine what went wrong. As I said, your balance was simply gone—no record of transfer. This was most likely an internal error. To be safe, we will be creating a new checking and savings account number for you—it can take up to three hours to get your new account set up. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Well, better that than being broke. Again.”

I hear Monica laugh at my joke, which makes me smile ever so slightly.

She adds some more complications. “You will only be able to access your account from the King’s League App or from your King’s League VR Experience until your account has been fully restored.”

I glance over at my VR helmet and gloves, and the wooden box I keep them safe in. Suddenly, the stout container doesn’t look nearly secure enough, and my phone feels delicate.

If someone mugs me, then breaks in to destroy or steal my equipment, I really will be shut out of the game.

I have a total of two windows in the whole place. One is above my sink, but it’s too small for the average-sized person to sneak into. The other is in my bedroom. It’s a lot bigger, but both are more than fifty feet above the ground. There’s a fire escape, but part of it is broken near the bottom and someone would almost certainly hear a burglar sneaking up the squeaky, metal steps.

“Got it,” I say. “I know you’re doing what you can, but if you can find a way to speed up this process, that would be great. Thank you.”

Monica is all business. “Please be assured that we’ll do everything we can.”

She types a bit more and starts reading from a script. “Because you have authorized me to set up a restricted account for you, I’ve started the process. Please be advised that it can take up to three hours for your account to become active. Your account will remain restricted until our investigation is complete and a solution is found. While this kind of thing usually takes only a few days to resolve, it could extend to several weeks.

“We are deeply sorry for this inconvenience. Please be assured that King’s League will do everything in its power to make this process happen as quickly as possible.

“Also, please be advised that we take computer hacking very seriously. We will provide you with a summary of our findings for your records via in-game message through the help system. We will also be forwarding our findings to the Department of Homeland Security for possible criminal prosecution. Do you agree to these terms?”

I let out a sigh. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Mister Nelson, I have your confirmation and you will receive an in-game message which will be available on both your phone and your console when your restricted account has been successfully created. Please do not attempt to log into the game until after your account is created, or it could delay activation. Your character will lose none of their equipment, money, or items in any bank they currently have access to. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, that’s about it. Thanks for your help.”

“It was my pleasure and thank you for using King’s League Customer Support.”

I hang up and slip my phone back into my pocket. All this because some greedy hacker wants to collect the whole Graydon’s set. All this for virtual items that don’t exist anywhere but the game.

He can’t just be an eccentric collector, though. Nobody would go this far. If he were as wealthy as Barthos said he is, he could easily have doubled his offer. He would have negotiated and taken his time, maybe sending me a few more gifts to sweeten the deal. A couple more assassination attempts and then a couple hundred grand look even more appealing.

This seems too amateurish, even with the sophisticated attack on King’s League. I mean, clearly the guy has some abilities, but I don’t know that I’m buying the whole image of a super wealthy guy. Why risk criminal charges if you’ve got the kind of money to burn Barthos made it sound like this dude had?

I start pacing my apartment as I think about what’s happened so far. Part of me says I should call the cops… but I don’t know. What’re they gonna do with what I have? Create characters and patrol as part of the Night Watch, trying to find the suspect?

No. At least for now, I need to gather what information I can. My Internet is down, but that might be legit. And the money wasn’t actually gone from my account—they just did some middle school hacker stuff and made my balance look like it was zero.

I resist the urge to call Brian and talk it out with him. He needs to focus on school and this will for sure suck him back into the game.

All right, so if I’m going to go after these fools in game… where do I start? The only common thread I can pull together at the moment is 86-Neon, the Cyberpunk expansion. Spyce shows up out of the blue and directly says that’s where she plays. With no way to play the game, it’s time to make use of all that data my phone company charges me for. I need to make a plan and do a little research. Then, I’m taking the fight to my enemy the best way I know how.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s been a long day. I want to go lie down for a while, but my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I’m still feeling a lot of stress, but I’m also feeling it diminish a bit since my balances were restored.

I hope they’re able to track down whoever did the hacking. But I doubt it’ll lead to whoever was really behind it. Chances are some low-level hacker will take the fall for it. Barthos’s employer seems smart enough to keep himself from doing anything directly. I wonder if I’ve met the boss and just don’t know it. What if Spyce was the boss? How would I know?

I need to nail this guy where it hurts. If he’s got any pieces of the armor, I want to take all of them. If he’s in 86-Neon and has a city like I do with Dawnshire, I’ll put it under new management. No holding back. This is war.

I open the app for my Internet Service Provider and log into my account. It says my account was terminated. After another round of running the customer service gauntlet, I realize what happened. This meeting with Barthos was planned to the minute. Someone had managed to get past whatever securities the ISP had and canceled my Internet service right on cue. It doesn’t take me long to get it back online. I explain that whoever cancelled my account wasn’t me. They turn the juice back on quickly, being real helpful. I don’t know if it’s to save face about being fooled or just because they’re happy to have retained another customer. My new contract—because of course they can’t just restore my old one—is actually a better deal than what I had before. As long as I repeat this little dance in eight months when the promotional price goes away and I’m billed for the real thing.

That’s some serious dedication by Team Barthos. I’ve tried cancelling my cable and Internet before. It’s like an eighteen hour process waiting for the customer service rep to finally give up trying to change your mind. With that accomplished, I try to figure out my next move. I really don’t want to log back into the game right now. I’m still wound up and I’m liable to make a mistake. Run off into 86-Neon without being prepared and then I get got and some other guy gets my stuff and then his life is ruined as a result. No thanks. I have to find something else to do.

The sun is down, but the weather is still warm. I decide it’s time to go for a walk and get some fresh air. I can eat later. For now, I just need to get out in the big, wide open. Somewhere I won’t be constantly reminded that I’ve just become a statistic. I wonder if those identity theft protection services would have been able to save me from this. Probably not.

I grab my wallet and put my VR equipment away and lock the box. After double, then triple, checking to make sure the box is really secure, I close all the windows to my apartment and lock those too. Maybe I’m being a little paranoid. Maybe not.

Usually, I don’t bother to close the curtains for the window above my sink, and sometimes not even the ones for my bedroom. The nearest building with any possible line of sight is at least a few hundred feet away. I’d be no bigger than a gnat to any peeping toms… or in this case, corporate spies. Until things change, though, these curtains need to remain closed. I won’t give my adversary any kind of advantage whatsoever. I’m not playing around anymore.

My stomach rumbles again, but already I can feel my mood improving. I take the steps two at a time, getting a bit of exercise in and by the time I reach the bottom floor, I’m a little winded and can feel a sheen of sweat across my brow. It’s too bad the gym is closed. Getting a long overdue workout in would be good right about now.

I step outside and look in both directions. Food is dominating my thoughts. I could go back to Casa del Domingo, they’re probably open for another hour at least. But I’m not in the mood for mariachi music. The low thumps and crooning just don’t sound like fun right now. It’s been a rough day and the last thing I feel like doing is listening to happy sounds. Of course, given the state of my Spanish, they could be singing about all kinds of depressing things that would fit my mood. But it sounds happy to me.

Beyond the Mexican restaurant is a sushi place I passed a few times but haven’t even gone inside. I’ve been meaning to try it out and my grumbling stomach tells me it thinks the idea is wonderful.

The way to the restaurant leads me past a tent city of homeless folks. It’s grown a lot since things went bad. I know a lot of the people here right now never thought things would reach this point. Things went south and people just kept waiting for them to get better and they never did. There are a few people awake in the camp, but they don’t so much as look up to acknowledge me as I walk by.

I hear the sound of accordions and guitars coming from Casa del Domingo long before I can see it. They must have the front doors open because a second later I smell the intoxicating aroma of fajitas wafting down the street. My growling stomach suggests we go ahead and stop in there. Spicy food is good for the soul, right? Also, the sushi place is a whole ten minutes further away.

The moment I reach the door I’m reminded of something: Though I have money, I have no way of accessing it. My card won’t work. If I sit down, eat, and try to pay, the card will be declined for sure. It won’t just be embarrassing, it’ll potentially be criminal. My stomach rumbles and I wonder if they can make change on a gold coin. Not likely, and even if they did, it would mean a return trip to my apartment.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and open the King’s League app. Still no messages. My new, restricted account still hasn’t been created, though it’s only been twenty minutes or so.

The waitress I had last time is still working. She notices me through the window and waves. I return the gesture, offer her my best smile—which I’m sure looks pathetic—and turn away. Disappointment sits on my shoulders like I’m giving a sumo wrestler a piggyback ride.

Shoving both hands into my pockets, I make my way back home. I have food there—I just didn’t feel like cooking before. Now, there’s no choice.

At least the quality of chow has gone up for me in recent days. I have some frozen shrimp and a large baggie of shredded cabbage left over from a salad I made. There might be some sausage in there as well—far in the back where I’ve forgotten about it. With my recently replenished spice drawer, I bet I can come up with something delicious. If not, it’ll definitely be unique.

On the way back, I pass the homeless camp again. A small gust of wind causes the hairs on my arms to raise. I stop and peer into the dark corners of nearby buildings—places where the light doesn’t quite reach. Whoever’s been spying on me could be hiding in one of those shadows right now, reporting everything he sees back to his boss, the anonymous employer.

I’d love to spot him. Maybe even chase him until he or I can’t run any further. I’d figure out who he is, turn him over to the police and… then what? Probably go to jail for battery. It’s a dream—a fantasy—but it’s all I have for now.

The dreamer mumbles something about his truck. I could end up like this guy—sleeping in a lightweight tent which has been patched so many times it’s hard to tell what its original color was. I’d be asking passers-by for food, money—anything they could spare.

Lifting my head to my apartment building, I think about how lucky I am. Everything has been working out for me so far. Hopefully this is nothing more than a minor setback—a bump in the road.

As I look at my apartment, watching what I think is my window, a light comes on, peaking through the seams of my closed curtains. I definitely turned the lights off before leaving.

I rush the short distance to the entrance, fumble for my key to get into the lobby, and jab it into the lock. Usually, I make sure the door has closed behind me, but right now I don’t care. I take the steps two or three at a time until I’m in my hallway and standing in front of my apartment. It’s closed and still locked. There’s no light coming from under the door and no sounds from within.

Working hard to steady my breath, I listen for any noise but all I can hear is my neighbor’s TV blaring the nightly news. A thin strip of light escapes from beneath my neighbor’s door, casting a weak beam a few inches into the hallway. It wasn’t my apartment. It was the one next door.

I let out a sigh and slowly shake my head, feeling a few drips of sweat drop down from my hair and onto my neck. I scold myself with a whisper. “You’re being paranoid, Dirk.”

Once inside, I flip on the lights and quickly scan everything in sight for signs that someone has been in here while I was gone. In the movies, burglars always make a huge mess—tossing things out of drawers, turning furniture over—things like that. The only mess I see, though, is mine.

Locked safely inside my apartment, I hurry to the wooden box in the center of the room. It’s still attached to the floor and looks completely unharmed. Yeah, okay. I’m good. Just being paranoid. Brian’s VR kit is in the closet where I left it, safe and sound. I go back to my own, feeling a strong urge to just open it and be sure.

Using my key, I open it and inspect my helmet thoroughly. It’s just as pristine as the day I got it, except for the little scratch near where my left ear sits. I dropped it once, but besides the tiny mar, there was no damage. The gloves seem to be fine, too. No signs of tampering. Everything is in its place.

My phone vibrates and nearly makes me drop my VR kit. Man, I’m too wound up! But the notification brings good news for a change.

King’s League Help: Good news! Your restricted account was successfully created and your character has been logged out from the nearest safe zone. We have changed your login password. Your new temporary password is xRri3FggNa2. Please use this password the next time you log in.

When you do, you will receive instructions on how to change your password to one only you know. Keep this new password safe.

Your new restricted account is limited to a daily spending limit of $300. Also, all transactions are subject to a delay of up to two minutes. This is a security measure which will help us detect further attempts against your account.

You will receive an in-game message when this matter is resolved. It will contain our findings and any recommendations we have.

We apologize for the inconvenience we know this has caused and look forward to keeping you as a customer.

After using my phone to log into my account using the temporary password and changing it to a new one, I check my balance. All the balances are as they should be.

All right. I’ve got a couple of options. One, I can research 86-Neon, actually buy the 86-Neon expansion, and then go after homeboy. But… man, I just don’t want to get into that right now. It’s already late and I know if I start now, I won’t get any sleep.

I decide that a quick excursion as Nogg is what I need to do to end the night. Tomorrow, I’ll start fresh.

Chapter Eighteen

I log in on Brian’s equipment and though I’m not surprised to find that Stoneburner isn’t online, I am a bit disappointed. Usually, I just deal with this kind of stuff on my own. That may sound crazy to some people, but those of you who are like me, who would rather take some time to think and figure it out on their own know what I’m talking about. In this case, it’s so huge that I actually do feel the need to talk to someone about this. I know I can’t—or at least I shouldn’t—take Brian’s focus away from school right now. And there’s no one in this game I feel I can trust beyond Stoneburner.

But maybe that’s all for the best. I wanted to get in and play as Nogg so I could take my mind away from everything that’s happened. If Stoneburner were here, I’d probably just be rehashing it all with him. No. My first instincts are correct. I need to clear my head and think about it and the best way to do that is to go out into the woods and fight dangerous furry things.

And probably be killed by one as they grow progressively larger and hangrier.

I leave my room at Andrade’s and head downstairs. The place is packed with adventurers playing minigames at tables. Others seem to be organizing raids. I exchange greetings with El_Idolo, making it quick because I don’t want anyone to realize I’m not actually Brian, and then mingle among the crowd.

A few people greet Nogg with happy tidings and I’m reminded how much everyone seems to like my best friend.

“What’s on the agenda this evening, Nogg?” calls out a guy who looks to be level one, fresh out of the character creation screen. “Want to see who can do the biggest belly flop from the tops of the Cliffs of Insanity? That was so awesome last time—totally worth dropping back to zero XP!”

“Uh, maybe later,” I say, both trying to sound inconspicuous and wondering what the hell that was about. Scratch that. I know what it was about. I can totally see Brian organizing a party of level ones and then judging a diving contest as they leap to their deaths from one of the highest falls in the game. That’s right up his alley.

The perpetual level ones among us have to find something to do for fun, right?

A lot of the groups gathered before the roaring fires are planning raids that will absolutely wipe Nogg out. Which is too bad because what I’d like to do is hook up with a team of level tens and under and just go out and have fun. A little strength in numbers that keeps us in a situation where we can feel like we’re contributing without being overwhelmed by something over-powered and also feel like we’re not frolicking in the woods of adventure, taking down Sly Foxes and Aggressive Rabbits for minute XP payouts.

“Anyone up to forming a band to patrol the woods?” I call into the crowd. “Just see what’s out there tonight?”

“Dude!” someone named BarlesCharkely calls out, making his voice heard above the din of Andrade’s. “Nogg wants to organize a Bear Scare!”

“A what?” I say.

“Bear Scare. Bear Scare. Bear Scare.”

The chant fills the room until everyone is either repeating the words or looking confusedly in my direction, waiting for an explanation.

“Whatta ya say, Nogg?” asks Barles.

“Uh… let’s do it.”

My answer is greeted with cheers. What the hell is this? It’s like there’s an entire subculture happening in Dawnshire that I’m completely clueless about. Again, I have to fight the urge to call Brian and ask exactly what he’s been doing in Dawnshire while I’ve been out adventuring.

“What exactly is a ‘Bear Scare?’” asks what looks to be a high level Ranger standing with a group that had been organizing a trip into the North Lands.

“Tell ’em the rules, Nogg,” says Barles.

“Uh… you go ahead.”

“Righteous,” Barles says, a big cheesy surfer-boy smile on his face. “Here’s how it goes, man. Level ten and under only. Sorry try-hards but us losers gotta have some kind of fun, yaknow?”

The crowd laughs and a few whistles and cheers break out. I’m looking on in wonder. Has Brian… has Brian become the king of the noobs? It definitely feels that way.

BarlesCharkely continues. “Everyone tosses in a gold piece—El_Idolo will keep them safe. Level ones put in one gold. Level twos put in two… all the way up to ten. You get the idea. Then we head out to the woods and start rustling up everything we can find. Sixty minutes, no timeouts. Eventually someone will trigger a Cave Bear’s aggro. There’s always at least one out there. Anyway, when the time expires the survivors head back here. We unload every hide, tooth, and claw we pick up from any wolves or other monsters who come in our path. That wonderful bounty along with all the gold goes to whoever has in their possession the hide of a Cave Bear. More than one hide… gold goes to the owner with the lowest total XP.

“Pay up at the bar if you want in,” Barles continues before screaming like a frat boy at a house party, “Clock starts NOOOOOOWWWW!”

There’s a thunder of feet as everyone who wants to play rushes to the bar to pay the proprietor their entry fees. Then they’re out the door, yelling and screaming as they move into the woods.

I pay my two gold coins to El_Idolo.

“Good luck, Nogg,” he says.

“Thanks.”

Outside, I see dozens of Leroy Jenkins charging out of Dawnshire, weapons drawn and screaming as though they’re determined to meet the armies of Sauron on Pelennor Fields. This… this is exactly what I needed tonight.

I take a detour to grab the stave of ice from our private chest inside the temple, give a battle cry, and rush into the forest with the group.

The commotion has caused a lot of mobs to wander toward the edge of the woods. A pack of Great Wolves, agitated by the noise, engage the first wave of players and the battle ensues. A level one has his throat torn out, laughing the entire time.

Soon the platoon of adventurers overpower the wolves, taking damage but dishing enough out that the creatures flee or die outright. I’m sending magic darts where I can, careful not to inflict any friendly fire. I’m not as careful as I hoped to be and I accidentally send a dart into the rear end of a Warrior named Titus_Titan.

“Sorry!” I shout.

He turns around and glowers at me. “You shot me in the ass, Nogg!”

“I know… sorry.”

I’m thinking a fight is about to break out when the Warrior turns around, bends over, and starts shaking it at me, laughing. “See if you can hit a moving target.”

These people are unhinged.

We push through the woods and I come upon a wounded wolf with thick, black fur. It has its back to me but I can see a random arrow sticking out of its hind quarters, the blood running down, weighing heavy on its fur. All of a sudden I have this tinge of conscience out of nowhere. I remember what Stoneburner said back when we finished that quest with the old man. There’s no way I would participate in something like this in real life… that poor creature—even if it is a mob—is hurt. The game makes it behave just like a real wild animal would in that—holy shit!

The “wolf” turns around to face me, its face all snarl, fang and hate. And then it rises to stand on two feet, limping slightly. It throws its arms wide, puffs out its chest, and rears back its head to howl at the full moon above us.

“Not another one,” I say, and then begin to back away and give myself some room.

Out of nowhere, an elvish fighter streaks into view, slashing at the beast and screaming, “Werewolf! Werewolf!”

I hear the call spread and soon more adventurers, all below level ten, are rushing the area. And the wolfman is more than happy to meet them. Two swipes with his claws send the blood of the Elf spraying into the air—I’m pretty sure the fighter is dead before the teeth sink into his neck.

A human thief attempts a backstab, but the damage multiplier isn’t enough for this thing. This has to be one of the Greater Werewolves. It’s just too big to be anything else.

The werewolf reaches behind and picks the thief up, slamming her into the ground in front of him like he was swinging a sledgehammer before finishing her off with its blood-soaked, snapping jaw.

More players roll in and those who get close enough have their characters’ lives ended in a hurry. But they’re doing some damage at least.

“Don’t kill it yet!” shouts a fat Druid named 2Cute4U_33. He rolls back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a portly arm which he dangles in front of the werewolf. “Bite me! I wanna get lycanthropy!”

This causes some laughter among the crowd gathered to put the beast down. The werewolf obliges, and doesn’t stop until the arm is no longer attached. The Druid, though he keeps drinking potions, doesn’t make it. This werewolf doesn’t seem to let up on a victim until it’s dead.

I notice that the crowd of adventurers out on the Bear Scare is dwindling. Whether they went elsewhere because they don’t want to die just yet or because the werewolf has done the job, I can’t say. What I can say is that the thing again has its sights set on me. It howls and then begins to trot in my direction, picking up speed until it’s running on all fours like some demon escaped from hell.

Arrows fly but miss and unless I do something, Nogg is going to be the next snack. The only play I have is to use the Mythical Stave of Ice. With the monster mere feet away, I use one of its charges.

A cone of swirling blizzard shoots from the end of the stave, dealing four hundred damage to the werewolf, which I’m hoping is enough to do the job.

It’s more than enough.

The werewolf actually freezes in place as though I turned it to stone. I swing the stave with all the finesse I can muster—years of training at the feet of Donatello with cardboard wrapping paper tubes. It pays off with a satisfying crunch and then the werewolf shatters as though it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

Even I’m surprised by that. I stand up, aware that all eyes are on me. All I can think of is that old Batman movie so I give my best Schwarzenegger Mister Freeze impression. “Stay cool, were-wolf.”

Someone slaps my back and begins to shake my shoulders. “All right, Nogg!”

The crowd of adventurers cheer in response. I feel like more of a celebrity playing as Brian than I do as Dirk… this is nuts!

“Where did you find that stave?” a Wizard named RoroNoro asks.

Before I can answer, an arrow buries itself in his neck, killing what has to be a level one with one shot.

“PK!” someone shouts, and the crowd disperses.

More arrows fly and more adventurers are killed or have their health shaved off in large chunks. I duck and search for cover, then try to figure out where the attack is coming from. The arrows are coming quickly, but not so fast that I get the impression there is more than one shooter. Most likely, a player killing scumbag saw an opportunity to rack up XP by shooting low level players out in the open. A thousand XP per murder.

Trouble is, it’s dark and so it isn’t until a dwarf is dropped nearby me that I can get a clear idea of where the enemy is. I just barely spot him, a cloaked Scout standing on a rock and picking out targets with the calm ease of a hunter before a herd of docile turkeys… if that’s even a thing. He’s got a PK badge and it’s obvious he’s earned it out here tonight.

“Okay,” I mumble to myself. “First thing… get these people back to Dawnshire.”

I shout as loud as I can, “Back to the Inn!” and then cast Rolling Fog.

The thick mists settle in the forest, lingering at the base of the trees and completely obscuring the ferns and other scrub plants that anchor themselves to the forest floor. The low level players—citizens of Dawnshire as far as I’m concerned—begin to run away under the cover of the fog. But the shooter isn’t giving up. He’s still sending more arrows in the hopes of a lucky shot, willing to trade an arrow for the XP it might bring if he hits home.

That really pisses me off. If I wasn’t playing as Nogg, I’d head over to the guy and give him a taste of what he’s dishing out. But I am Nogg and Nogg won’t last long against a high-level player unless I can use the stave.

Which is what I’m going to do. I don’t know the range, so I’ll have to try sneaking up. I don’t want to waste a shot on this thing for a couple of reasons. First, they’re hard to come by and second, I’ll give away my position and my plans.

I creep around the edge of the forest to where I last saw the guy. He’s still on the rock, still shooting, but at a much slower pace. He’s maybe twenty yards from me. Is that close enough to shoot him with my ice beam? Maybe. Better move in closer just in case and hope that my Sneak which is…crap—fifteen—does the trick.

Stave out, I creep toward him. I’m forced to come at him sideways because the rock he’s standing on has a sheer drop off on the other side. He’s basically atop a two hundred foot cliff; a sheer fall into a valley. That means I’ll be in his peripheral vision the entire time I’m Sneaking. But all I have to do is get close enough to use my weapon—we’re evenly matched that way. I have such low HP that a good shot from an experienced bowman will kill me. But I have enough firepower in my hands that I’m fairly confident I can kill him. I mean, two shots with this stave would kill Dirk. You know, if he wasn’t wearing his armor. So, a naked Dirk better watch out!

I’m ten yards away when a twig snaps beneath my feet. Stupid low Sneak level! The player killer pivots, his bow ready, and sends a hurried shot that glances off my arm, but not before dishing out eight damage. He’s already nocking another arrow and I realize that my only hope here is to close the distance. I run, leap, and perform an open field tackle that sends the shooter off his feet…

…and off the rock into freefall to the valley below.

Not good.

We separate, two skydivers without parachutes flailing helplessly in the few seconds we have left before seeing the character creation screen. And then I remember that Nogg knows Feather Fall. I cast it and my velocity immediately decreases. I’m now drifting down like a cartoon character holding an umbrella, watching the player killer splat onto the valley floor.

I guide myself until I drift down to where his dead body lies and loot him for all he’s worth. He’s got some decent gear. Nothing that Nogg can use outside of some potions, but good stuff to sell or donate to the guild bank. I call my Spirit Mount, wondering why Brian doesn’t keep a teleportation stone and then remembering that he did and it was looted at a month ago. Doesn’t make sense to buy a replacement when you’re constantly dying. I ride through the valley, forced to take the long way back to Dawnshire.

On the way, a thought occurs to me. Rather than dumping it all into the guild bank, I’ll take this stuff back to Andrade’s for those who got sent back to level one. It might not be much, but it’s at least something to help them get back to wherever they were.

Pretty fun night.

Chapter Nineteen

My thoughts are much clearer the next morning. I pour myself a huge bowl of Apple Jacks even though I have no idea why kids like it. It doesn’t taste anything like apples. Also, don’t judge me. I’m a man. I’m level 99. I eat what I want for breakfast.

With every crunchy, delicious bite I surf and read more about 86-Neon. I know from my brief foray with the free-to-play demo that it’s an immersive cyberpunk MMO, still playing in a similar manner to King’s League. More guns and grenades, fewer swords—though there are swords. And barbed wire baseball bats, a wide assortment of stimulants that work like potions and futuristic looking cars instead of horses. When I say futuristic, I mean what people from the 1980’s thought the future would look like. It’s all very Blade Runner.

Items in King’s League are usable in 86-Neon, and vice versa, they just change appearance and in some cases, change effect. I have no idea how my Graydon’s pieces will look or work once I log in to the expansion realm. Before any of that can happen, before I can exact my revenge, I have to figure out who my target is. If I go into the Cyberpunk Realm trying to mete out justice on whoever I happen to run across that would not only be bad for me, it could potentially cause a backlash against the much larger Fantasy Realm. The last thing the game needs is another turf war between people who feel their own favorite flavor of King’s League has been slighted. When 86-Neon first came out, I remember there was a huge problem with King’s League vanilla players griefing the people trying to explore the new world. One of the few times the devs came in and put some governors in place to keep things from spiraling out of control.

The trouble is, I don’t have much to go on to find out who Barthos works for.

My biggest clue is the name Cygnus. It was he who requested an audience with Dirk using those suicided players on my steps. And his name was the only thing listed as a return address on the package containing my… gift. Maybe it’s smoke and mirrors, but I’m not ruling out the possibility that Cygnus is who I’m after. Like he’s just a little too proud to not have his name out there.

I put my phone down and consider whether to search for Cygnus using my VR set. I’ve spent all this time reading about 86-Neon on my phone—mainly from the official account’s page.

The VR set is faster, but I kind of wanted a second bowl of cereal. I decide that my balanced breakfast is enough for the day and get my kit ready. I make sure my phone’s ringer is turned all the way up, just in case Brian—or now Stoneburner—needs to get a hold of me.

I double check to make sure the King’s League app is set to alert me to any disturbances with my character. Dirk is currently sleeping in The Temple, that must be where customer support put the character to keep him safe. It’s the nearest safe logout point from when I was disconnected. Still, I can’t take anything for granted. There’s always a chance my opponent has someone on the inside—or someone with a piece of the armor who can just waltz in and cause trouble.

There’s a search engine I heard about that I want to try. It’s a student-run website for some university in Turkey. When I get there, I’m impressed. The website can translate itself into dozens of different languages, including the results it finds. It auto-detects that I speak English, probably based on the settings my console makes public, and I’m presented with a search box and a button with a magnifying glass icon.

I type “Cygnus” and wait for results. Not that I don’t trust Stoneburner’s research, but I’d like to see it all for myself.

The website returns over a million results in about the time it takes me to blink. That’s too many. I add “King’s League” to the search and I’m presented with six pages—much more manageable.

As I start clicking, though, my helmet’s screen turns red and a biohazard symbol appears. I stare at the icon in confusion before reading a message at the bottom.

UNSAFE WEBSITE

The website you are attempting to connect to has been reported as a console virus source. It is recommended that you do not proceed. If you do, irreversible damage may be done to your console.

Proceed?

The “No” button is about twice the size of the “Yes” button. It’s also blinking, bright, and inviting. The “Yes” button is dim and is overlaid with a skull and crossbones. I carefully select No.

That was a close call. My heart is pounding and my knees feel a little weak. It makes me wonder if whoever built that website set it up as a boobytrap just for me. It’s possible. Dang, this guy has access to a huge amount of resources if he’s doing that. I think of the gold coin sitting in a corner of the wooden box in front of me. It feels like more of a threat now. Not so much like a gift. It’s like he’s saying, “Look how little I care about money. I have so much, I’m willing to give you some. With what I have left, I can do so much more. Terrible things. Awful things.”

Maybe he can, but he can’t change the outcome I have planned for him. He’s going to have a hard time doing anything in the game once he’s back at level 1.

The next link is a video that looks interesting in and of itself. I click it and avoid giving my system digital syphilis. The description goes on about how psychologists are using King’s League to study all kinds of things, such as how people respond to emergencies, group dynamics, and teambuilding. The clip is from a new station and features a reporter interviewing someone named Doctor Carter.

I press play and absorb.

“Tell me, Doctor Carter,” the reporter says, “what is it about King’s League that has you and your associates excited?”

“First, thank you for having me on,” an older man with thick glasses and wispy, gray hair says. “King’s League is a phenomenon. Its designers have been able to construct a virtual world which, like the real one, is a blank slate. This allows players to roam freely, make choices, gain rewards, and suffer consequences, just as they do in real life.

“The difference is, no matter what happens to you within the game, nothing happens outside of the game. It’s a safe environment for people to explore their hidden selves—the desires they’ve had but either could never articulate or didn’t feel free to express in public.”

“Desires like what?” the reporter asks.

“Well,” he says, leaning back in his seat a little, “things such as violence. Humans, by their very nature, are predators. However, we’re also intelligent enough to know that killing for the sheer excitement of it isn’t usually worth it. It’s a good thing, too, otherwise we wouldn’t have developed language, cities, and of course, the Internet. Imagine trying to go shopping for groceries if even one percent of the population—one out of every hundred people—was in the mood to kill someone or something.”

He laughs.

The reporter gives him an awkward smile and she begins asking technical questions about things I’m not interested in. As they drone on about deep psychological and moral questions regarding human behavior, specifically in virtual worlds, I fixate on the man’s name from the blue bar at the bottom of the screen during a break from the subtitles. Doctor Thomas Carter.

The interview ends, and I don’t have anything else about Cygnus that I didn’t know before. I’m not stressed, there are a ton of links out there. But now I’m interested in this guy because I feel like he might be able to give me some insight about who I’m up against that goes beyond just finding out where he operates in 86-Neon.

Turning my attention back to the search engine I search for “Doctor Thomas Carter.” It returns somewhere in the neighborhood of a quadrillion results. Lovely. The guy has to have what’s probably one of the most common first- and last-name combinations on the entire planet.

I try refining my search by adding “King’s League.” The added words cut the results to about 36 million. That’s better, but still not good enough. Most of the results are just the same interview.

I’m wading through dead ends, junk sites promising me to find details about anyone—for a fee—plenty of social media posts linking to profiles with similar names… finally I find an article published by Doctor Thomas Carter in the Journal of Social Psychology: A Study of Human Behavior in a Virtual Environment, by Dr. Thomas Carter, Psy.D.

Of course, it’s behind a paywall that costs more than I spend on food in an average week, but I buy it anyway.

The paper is less than ten pages long, so I do my best to read it word for word. I’ve heard most of the terms on television shows, but I wasn’t a psychology major in college, so a lot of it goes right over my head. After a few minutes, I get bored, and quickly scan the document looking for the word Cygnus. When I find it I read the sentences before and after it several times to make sure I understand what the doctor wrote.

Nowhere is the dysphoria presented to, and developed by, the players more prevalent than in the game King’s League, specifically in its recent Cyberpunk expansion, 86-Neon. It is a virtual world filled to the brim with pollution, corruption, commercialism, and all manner of misbehaving players and computer-driven characters.

When the Cygnus Corporation was established by a character named Billingsly, for instance, a new variable was entered into what had been—up until that point—a stable, self-contained system.

Cygnus began to attract powerful players from the popular 86-Neon expansion. This caused a shift in the way players interacted. A marked increase in developing large clans capable of withstanding the pressure put on by Cygnus as well as a general increase of anarchist activity by lone wolf players. The arrival of Cygnus created something of a caste system inside the 86-Neon expansion not found in other parts of the game.

While this is certainly a fitting backdrop for the Cyberpunk genre, the game’s designers are coy about whether this was their intention. There is no disputing or doubting that it is the result. Those who find themselves within Billingsly’s embrace have an easier time manipulating the in-game outcomes they desire. Those who find themselves on the outskirts tend to take pride in it, even as they find the game far more challenging.

I rest my hands on my knees as I stare at the article. Cygnus isn’t a person. It’s a corporation. Billingsly is the person who runs it. That is who I’m looking for. And doesn’t that just sound like a rich jerk name? Billingsly. Say it with a stuffy British accent. Billingsly.

The paper also said he established it. That means it wasn’t always there. It had appeared, kind of like how Dawnshire had appeared. Maybe in the exact same way. Where I fill ruined buildings with merchants and crafters, he’s probably got a futuristic high-rise and fills office spaces.

The paper Doctor Carter wrote is more than two years old. I don’t know when he became aware of Cygnus, but it means Billingsly has had a head-start on me. If he really is a successful businessman like Barthos—his butler or something—said, he could be making a fortune with the taxes he collects. It might be his only source of income. It’s how he paid to have nearly every trace of himself and his corporation removed from the Internet. Wow.

“Get ready for a hostile takeover, Cygnus,” I whisper to the empty room.

Chapter Twenty

I spend a few minutes calming myself, but I can’t help but hear the name echo in my head.

Billingsly…

It sounds pompous—arrogant. Almost like some spoiled rich kid or white-haired billionaire who can’t be bothered with the small-time trifling of mere peasants. Maybe I’m being petty, but this guy is going down.

I do a bit more research and find that my roundabout discovery is in line with what the rest of the internet is saying. There are plenty of people who weigh in on the impacts of the Cygnus Corporation on the game. The thing to remember, though, is that 86-Neon has just a fraction of the players of King’s League vanilla. And if you add up all the players who spend time in other realms, that fractional number grows even smaller. It’s easy to miss what’s happening in the corners of a game this large. Dawnshire, for example, is much newer than Cygnus. But a search of “Dawnshire” + “King’s League” has ten times the results of the cyberpunk realm.

Okay. Move on, Dirk.

I glance at my friends list to see if Stoneburner is online. He is. Although I could message him back and forth from the VR kit while surfing the web, it’ll be easier if I’m in the game. It’ll be faster, too.

After logging in, I connect to him using a private guild voice chat.

“Hey buddy, where you at?” I ask.

“I labor in my shop,” he says. “Do not entice me with more adventuring! I have orders to fulfill.”

“I’m coming to see you. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“As you wish,” Stoneburner replies cautiously. “I look forward to your arrival, Friend Dirk.”

I leave the Temple, sprint down the stairs and hurry to the blacksmith’s shop.

“I see you ran the whole way,” Stoneburner says with a laugh, cooling off what looks to be the start of a war hammer into a bucket of water. The steam shoots up with a satisfying, bubbling hiss. “What hast thou so excited?”

I glance at the three customers in his shop, then motion with my head that I want him to move to the back of his store. “Let’s talk in private.”

We’re already in a private chat, but I’d rather not feed any potential corporate spies any information. They might be able to tell from my expression that I have some new information, or that I’m determined to do something.

Stoneburner puts away his tools and follows me to the rear of his shop. I wish I could keep him out of this, but I can’t. Lots of things are going to happen in a short amount of time. I need some advice from a person I trust, and Stoneburner is the most level-headed person I know. He’s also proven his loyalty and morality several times over.

I take a couple of minutes to fill him in on what I discovered this morning. “So, do you spot any flaws in my thinking?” I ask. “If you do, please tell me what they are. Seriously—I want to make sure I’m not just panicking or being paranoid. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like you’re in for a great wealth of trouble whether you do this or nay,” he says staring at me with eyes full of concern. “The scoundrel Billingsly has a madness, methinks. Seriously, Dirk,” Stoneburner drops his roleplay. “”I get being enthusiastic about the game and roleplaying. Obviously. But this is certifiably bananas. Who goes to this level of real-life trouble to get what they want out of a game?”

“I don’t know,” I say chewing on my thumbnail.

“Keep in mind, Billingsly may not be the person still controlling Cygnus.”

“No, I checked on that,” I say. “If someone else took over, there’s no mention of it. There’s not really much about him. Like, players know he exists but try to find any details about him and there’s nothing. Did you ever play in 86-Neon?”

Stoneburner shrugs. “I have never left this realm, and as you know, you are much more an expert at King’s League than I. Are you set to do battle in the Cyberpunk realm?”

I shrug. “What other choice do I have?”

“Do the police know?” he asks.

“Ah, not directly, no. I reported what was happening to the King’s League help system. They’re investigating and I imagine they’ll turn over anything criminal they find to some kind of authorities—the last thing they want is word getting out that their systems have been breached. No one’s contacted me further about it. And the local cops, what would I even tell them? That I think someone named Billingsly who plays an anonymous video game hacked my account because I have this really cool helmet and gloves I think he wants to take from me? They’d laugh me out of the precinct after citing me for some kind of, I dunno, time-wasting violation.”

Stoneburner nods, but I can tell he’s not so sure. “Perhaps. Resources are thin everywhere. They likely have more important things to pursue. If your city is anything like mine, there is more than enough crime to fill their shifts.”

“It’s a sad world we live in, man.”

Stoneburner has a grim, determined look on his face. He selects a gleaming longsword from his wares and takes it down from its storage rack. “Very well. Then to battle we ride.”

“No, I can’t let you risk that,” I say. “I just wanted to fill you in on things and get your opinion. I’ve got my helmet and gloves. I’m level 99 in 86-Neon, same as over here. I think I can handle myself without risking you getting busted back down to level one.”

“Be cautious, Friend Dirk. I know enough to be confident in saying things are different in yonder distant realm.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll do my best to keep my head down and remain out of sight.”

My friend gets a serious expression on his face. It looks like he’s chewing on the words he wants to say—tasting and testing them to figure out which ones he wants to use.

“I know you have to do what you have to do,” he says. “But this feels exactly like a trap. Maybe everything that’s happened is just to bait you into going over there. Who is to say how much coin the knave truly has? But, provoke you into entering his world and,” Stoneburner snaps his fingers, “just like that, the fish out of water is dead and his loot is ripe for the taking. All for the cost of shipping and what we presume is a genuine gold coin.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But if it’s a trap, it’s a good one. I don’t feel like I have any other choice. I’ve got to go over there. I’ve got to try to put an end to this or I’m going to be homeless.”

“If it should ever come to that, Friend Dirk, know that you can lodge with my family. My wife and I will make room for you. She’ll understand.”

“Wow, I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.

“Say only that you’ll do your best. If the worst should happen, send me an in-game message. I’ll get you a ticket—probably a bus ticket—from wherever you are to me. You can stay until you’re back on your feet. That’s a promise.”

I reach out and he takes my hand. It might be the closest I ever get to showing him my appreciation in person. I’m glad I met this guy. He’s been nothing but a friend since day one.

“Strike the fatal blow,” Stoneburner says.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’m sure now that he’s got a Graydon’s piece. I don’t know which one, but it doesn’t matter. If I take it from him, he won’t have his corporation. Instead, I’ll have it.”

“Well, time will tell. Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help, Friend Dirk?”

“Take care of Dawnshire, just like you’ve always done,” I say. “Keep this ball rolling. And don’t worry—when I get back, I’ll bring you a bonus.”

“Good luck,” he says. “Remember, you’ll never be homeless.”

“Thanks,” I reply before turning and leaving his shop.

I load up on potions, and get Stoneburner’s NPC assistant to repair all of my equipment. Then I restock my supply of arrows and head to the Temple to grab some money before I log out.

The rest of the day is spent watching videos on Cyberpunk fighting techniques, weapon types, and the basics on how to combine components to build new items, Fallout style.

I also see that many of the races and terms apply to both Realms in order to make switching back and forth easier. It all starts to blur together after a bit, but the most interesting tutorial explains how to use the flying vehicles in the game. The more expensive models fly themselves, but most players can only afford the basic ones. Those who like to steal the airborne cars and motorcycles find it easier to swipe the cheaper models, too. Those don’t have self-defense systems which can turn you into a pile of mud in less than a second like the pricey ones do.

We don’t have any flying vehicles in the Fantasy Realm. We don’t even have wagons. Then I remember the baby dragons and wonder if there might be a way to subdue the creatures. Maybe I can train one and turn it into a pet, or a rideable mount.

I imagine myself soaring across the sky. Getting from one place to another would be so much faster, and probably less risky. If turning a dragon into a pet worked, it could also be a new way to earn some money. I bet players would be willing to pay a boatload of money to fly. I could get a guild member trained on how to fly and start my own King’s League airline. But at this point, if no one has figured it out, it likely isn’t possible.

The day is spent entirely on research. 86-Neon has been purchased and downloaded. I’m actually proud of myself for not just rushing in. When I can’t stay awake anymore, I shut my console down, lock it away in the box, brush my teeth and head to bed. I’ll do the dishes in the morning, just before I step into a place I’ve been avoiding for a long time.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning, I’m dying to get started. I hurry through a shower, a slightly healthier breakfast than the day before (sausages are healthy, right?), and then I find my most comfortable outfit: Basketball shorts and an old Sonics shirt—who were stolen, by the way, and I’m still bitter about it. Now, I grant that this max comfort fashion ensemble is pretty much my everyday wear already. But today it’s worn with special purpose. I have no idea what awaits me on the other side and I need to be ready for the long haul.

After unlocking my box, I don my VR gear and log back into the game. Dirk is safe and sound in the Temple. I’m about to take him directly into harm’s way.

The temple doors open upon my approach and close behind me without a thought. I look at Dawnshire, which is cast in the brilliant glow of morning. It’s come a long way from the ruins and is really coming into its own. I hear music being played from a distant quarter and wonder if those are NPC bards or if some players have taken up residence. I look forward to finding out on my return. And I will return. I almost lost this place not too long ago, and I don’t want it to happen again.

I wonder if Billingsly feels the same way. Is he acting out of paranoia that eventually I’d come for him and his corporation? It’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why he’s being so aggressive. But the funny thing is, I wouldn’t have taken his corporation. Hell, I didn’t even know about it until he attacked me. As I move through Dawnshire, another thought occurs to me. Both of his recent attempts at getting me to capitulate didn’t actually do anything. Yes, I was freaked about my internet and my balance, but both were easily restored once the matter was looked into. And maybe that’s by design… he’d have no way of getting my set pieces if I were logged out. Maybe he just wants to get me back to the bargaining table.

I could stay here. Bide my time. Have fun, and wait for the next gold coin or level one messenger to come with another offer.

The thought almost has me wavering. But no. I’m done negotiating with a guy like this. He has to pay and I’m willing to bet that 86-Neon will be better as a result of his going down. So that’s where I head.

More specifically, I head to the Mystic Portals that take you from realm to realm. It’s another non-PVP zone and there’s no point in going there unless you want to travel from one expansion of King’s League to another. They’re located on a mountaintop just north of Roanoke. There’s a trail that leads up into the mountain from the town. I haven’t been there since I left the Cyberpunk realm, well the free-to-play areas anyway, with a vow never to return.

On the summit are the Great Gates—cool, magical portals which, once you step through, transport your character to whichever Realm corresponds with the portal.

I turn toward Roanoke, and after checking several times to see if I’m being followed, carry on my way. It’s a long way there, but I’ve got the stamina to get there in a hurry. Sure would be nice to have that flying dragon right about now. Or a horse. I need to just buy a horse.

An hour later, I’m trying to talk myself out of what I’m doing. Again. Maybe what the hacker did was all there was. Maybe he’s done with me, he feels like he’s made his point, and this is all over? Maybe he won’t harass me anymore. Yeah. And maybe the next Mass Effect game will actually be good.

When I reach the mountain’s summit, I quickly scan the Great Gates until I see the one leading to 86-Neon. Its stone arc is just as tall as the others—about fifteen feet—with a six-foot-wide base. This one, though, has pieces of rusty steel riveted to it forming hooks, barbs, and blades. Several pieces also seem to have bullet holes in them. It’s a good representation of what lies beyond.

The place I see when looking through the portal doesn’t at all resemble a mountaintop. It’s a rooftop, surrounded by a garish collection of pulsating neon lights, moving advertisements, holograms, and flying cars. It’s filthy, dark, and depressing. Just like I remember it.

After taking a deep breath, I march up to the portal and before I can talk myself out of it, I step through.

As soon as I step out the other side, I discover it’s not exactly how I remember it—it’s worse. I haven’t been here ten seconds but already someone is pointing a pistol at me.

“This can go the easy way or the hard way,” the mugger says. He’s a level-32. And he has a Player Killer badge next to his name. Either the guy can’t afford to pay for that to get removed in game or he likes people knowing the kind of player he is. Probably the latter. A quick check of his inventory relaxes me a little. Graydon’s Sight is working fine and moreover, the punk doesn’t have anything that looks capable of taking me out with a single shot.

He looks supremely confident, though. He’s got the drop on me, but doesn’t realize I’m 67 levels higher than him. I see him glance at the spot above my head to read my character name, but he doesn’t react. So he probably hasn’t paid enough attention to King’s League vanilla to recognize my name. If he did, he might back off.

I understand why he’s so cocky, though. On the fantasy server, it’s maybe fifteen percent of the players are over level thirty. Here, with all the murdering and backstabbing, it’s probably closer to ten percent. He thinks there’s a good chance he’s a higher level than me. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Listen pal,” I say. “I just got here. So why don’t you let me go on my way?”

“Money or your life, Vanilla,” he says, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Or what? You gonna get your guild after me? Call the Night Watch? Go tell your pet goblin? Loser. Now hand it over and maybe I’ll let you live. No promises, cupcake.”

“Not happening,” I say. “Now stand aside or—”

“I’ll finish that sentence for you… ‘or nothing.’” The mugger laughs. “‘Stand aside.’ You fantasy players are such dorks.” He gets deadly serious. “Open a trade window and dump your inventory or I’ll put two bullets right between your eyes and make you look even uglier than you do right now. Then you can go cry to your mama about how the big, bad, PK stole your stuff.”

He laughs at his own joke.

This is a unique approach. Most players just make the kill, get the XP and loot the body. It makes me wonder if this guy has had some success getting loot without risking a level reset by getting into a fight.

“Okay,” I say, sounding defeated. “You win.”

I open a trade window and offer him 1,000 credits, which is what gold is called here.

“Dude. You’re stacked!” The mugger accepts the money. “But I know you got more than that. Hurry up! Money or your levels!”

I was hoping he’d take the credits and leave, forgetting the name. Because you tend to remember the name of the people who kill you in this game since the consequences are so severe. I still keep my eyes open for Pitchy, KillerCailou, and a host of other players who ended me in particularly frustrating ways long ago. Maybe I can get him to back down by showing a bit of my hand… that I’m no pushover.

“You’re right. I did forget something…” I draw my Gladius of Arcing, which in the Cyberpunk Realm, translates into a machete. It’s got little, blue arcs of electricity crawling over it like spiders. It pops and hisses with power and for the first time, the mugger’s look of confidence wavers a little. “I have this.”

My opponent backs up, eyes growing wide. He looks like he’s having second thoughts.

Hurry up and make a choice, I mentally will him. Because I’m starting to lean towards ending the guy. He’s seen my name. He can describe the weapon I’m holding. If he or anyone else does enough research, they’ll find out who I am. By taking him out, I can at least buy myself a little time.

“Pull a blade on me, jack? Nah!” The mugger has made up his mind, he opens up on me. I take three shots—one to the head and two to the body—but the damage is minimal. Other than the headshot. But it’s nothing I can’t manage, though I am a bit alarmed at how fast the damage came. Firearms are no joke, kids.

My slash cuts across his chest, sending arcs of electricity across his body as he jerks and shakes with the sparks. I try to run him through but my blade stops after penetrating only an inch beyond his armor as he spins to one side. The mugger’s got some skills. Too little, too late, though.

I equip my Shadow Dagger, which now looks like a military-style fighting knife with a gut hook. The blade is as black as night and doesn’t even reflect the neon lights surrounding us.

The bandit fights back, switching from his gun to a shiv and gets a lucky shot, slashing me across my forearm. I’m again grateful that pain doesn’t translate across VR equipment. That one would have really hurt.

I slash him again—this time across the leg. He’s down to about twenty-five percent of his health, but he’s not giving up.

He screams and raises a hand to me like he’s going to cast a spell. They don’t have proper magic in this Realm, though some spells are converted to Tech and interact in a similar fashion, with charge points the substitute for mana, symbolized by a battery icon.

My sword slashes him again, bringing him down to a hair away from being dead. Suddenly my character goes rigid. My feet snap together and my hands pin themselves to their sides. I watch as the world slowly tilts and I fall over on my side. A paralysis spell… or whatever they have here that does the same thing. A message appears in the center of my screen. It’s glowing red, pulsating, and is written in an appropriate Cyberpunk font.

SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. OVERLOAD DETECTED. SHUTDOWN INITIATED. MOTOR FUNCTION WILL RESUME IN… 10

I can’t move, but I fall facing him, so at least I can see what happens next. The mugger is stumbling backward and stops after he falls to his rump. He stares at his hands, which are covered in his own blood. Then he sneers at me, draws his pistol, and begins firing.

I’m down to 399 health—nowhere near close to dying, but he’s still shooting.

“Just die already, you freak!” he screams as he reloads his pistol with a fresh magazine. “Die!”

The warning message across my screen disappears and I decide I’ve had enough. I raise myself to one knee, draw my bow—which is now a rifle—and stare at it for a second. It looks like any other high-caliber semi-auto I’ve ever seen in the movies, but it has some cool glowing bits here and there, which are mostly green.

I raise my rifle to my shoulder, move my crosshairs until they’re between his eyes, and pull the trigger.

The report is deafening. Blue smoke spirals out the end of the gun long after the mugger’s head explodes like a watermelon dropped off the top of a skyscraper. My opponent is dead.

I duck as a whirring motorcycle buzzes by overhead. It had to be fifty feet away, but I’m still getting used to the sights and sounds of this place. Its rider doesn’t slow or turn. They didn’t even notice me.

There’s no one else on the roof, so I quickly loot the body and drag it to a dark corner, relatively speaking, there’s still a faint glow of red neon reflecting off of the dead man’s face. Usually I’d cast Regeneration, but I’m not sure that spell will be available to me. Not every spell automatically translates or works in 86-Neon. I bring up the hot key and find that it is, only now it’s called Rebuild. It’s an injection of nanites that repair tissue according to 86-Neon, at the same rate as Regeneration. I cast it, for lack of a better word and am rewarded with a quick animation of my character flicking the cap off of what looks like an EpiPen. I stab the device into my thigh and hear a hiss as the medicine takes its effect and my HP slowly starts to rise. As does my heart rate. Yech. Needles.

With that done, I head to the stairwell and into the belly of the building. It’s illuminated by fluorescent lighting which has seen better days. Half the bulbs are out and others are circling the drain, flickering their distress call to be changed. I doubt anyone will answer it.

Trash is piled on both edges of the stairs. It’s ankle-deep and I pick out some real life fast food wrappers, cross promotional branding for the win. There are also several quarter-inch tubes scattered among the rubbish, though. One end narrows to a point and there’s something sparkling at the tip.

I carefully pick one up as I descend the stairs and take a closer look. The sparkly part is a syringe. I’ve never been fond of needles of any kind, but I recognize these as the remains of stims. People use them the way we use potions in Vanilla.

I pass three other characters on my way down. They eyeball me suspiciously, but after glancing at my visible equipment, seem to decide I’m not worth their time. Or, maybe I’m too dangerous. Either way, I make it all the way to the ground floor with no further trouble.

Across the street is a flophouse, the term used for inns in this realm. It’s part of the roleplaying, I guess.

Just as I approach the busy street, it begins to rain. It doesn’t seem to affect my vision, though. There are other characters around, and a whole bunch of NPCs. They all seem to be having a little trouble, but not me. It’s then I realize Graydon’s Sight is no longer a helmet. Instead, it’s a cool pair of shades. I take them off for a moment to inspect them. Holy crap. Exactly the same type of sunglasses Roddy Piper wore in They Live. How awesome is that!

My gloves are still gloves, but they sparkle with circuitry, microfilament wires, and hardened knuckle covers.

After putting my shades back on, I wait for traffic to clear. I have to think that most of the speeding cars—both with wheels on the ground and hovering overhead—must be operated by NPCs. Otherwise it would be way too easy for people to rack up player kills by driving on the sidewalks.

When the last hoverbike roars down the road, its engine’s whine echoing off the buildings like the howl of a tortured apparition, I hurry across the street and into the flophouse. I’ll be relatively safe once I get into a room. At least as safe as my room was back in Wintersburg when Pallydinator cast a powerful Nova spell and brought the whole thing down. So long as a bomb doesn’t go off here—or the equivalent—I should be fine.

The flophouse is called “The Gray.” There are at least 15 characters in here, but nobody is talking and only one looks up to acknowledge my presence. They’re all playing minigames—gambling for credits.

One character is sitting in the corner twirling a gun like he thinks he’s a cowboy. All I can think about is how skunks wiggle their tail at you to warn you off before they spray. Instead of looking fearless and disaffected, the guy looks scared to death of everyone and everything in the room. The gun-spinning is probably his way of warning me off.

“What’ll it be?” an overweight, hairy, female NPC asks me. She looks like an Elf, but I’ve never seen one who’s eaten so well. The ears look to be surgically manipulated instead of natural and one of her eyes is missing. The other is green and bloodshot.

“I need a room,” I say.

“How long?”

“Two nights. For now.”

A dialogue prompt appears in the center of my screen. The price for a room for the night is 79 Red Chips. I have no idea how much that is when compared to gold, or even credits. I guess the Red Chip is a subset of the Credit. I click ‘Yes’ since I don’t really have any other choice. I’ll figure out the economy later.

“Second floor,” the woman says, gesturing toward a filthy, narrow staircase in the back of the lobby. “Room 201. Maybe something to eat or drink?”

“No thanks,” I say and head where she’d indicated. The staircase is wooden. The carpet that once covered it is battered, worn, and missing in several places. It creaks under my feet, adding to the gloom of the place. I’m still surprised anyone likes to play in 86-Neon. It seems so depressing.

At the top of the stairs, someone else, a level-12, walks out of room 201. She’s a Dark Elf, and again her ears seem to be surgically made to look elven. There are little stitch scars where the surgery took place. Her slightly glowing red eyes really make her stand out.

As I get closer, I see that she didn’t actually come out of my room. Just like in the Fantasy Realm, it’s a common doorway used to get everyone to his or her private room.

I step inside, thankful I’m not staying here for real. The sheet on the lumpy mattress is torn and stained several shades of brown and yellow. Dried blood and urine. There’s a thick layer of dust on the nightstand and what looks like a bloody handprint on the wall. Charming.

The floors are tiled and most of those are cracked. They crunch unevenly under my feet as I walk further into the room. The only light is a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. At least that’s in good shape.

“Home sweet home,” I mutter.

One way or another, I don’t plan on being here long. It’s time to take a look at my character interface to see what my fantasy stuff has translated into.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A cockroach crawls out from under the bed and wanders the room. In true Cyberpunk fashion, it’s big, is lit up like a worn out glowstick, and has a green sheen to its exoskeleton. The thing is about four inches long, about an inch wide, and makes tap-tapping noises as it skitters across the floor.

I stomp on it. The crunch-pop sound it makes is somehow both satisfying and disgusting. If this was real, the health department probably would have ordered the building burned to the ground. Actually, I probably would have done it myself trying to kill the bug.

Hoping that I’m now alone in my room, it’s time to figure out what I’ve got; see what my stuff has been translated to and if anything significant has changed.

First, my stats.

Name: Dirk

Level: 99

Class: Nomad

Health: 466/466

Charge Points: 402/402

Str: 100

Sta: 100

Agi: 100

Dex: 100

Int: 100

Cha: 50

Experience: N/A

Plenty of things have changed, it turns out. For instance, I’m no longer a Ranger. I’m a Nomad. It’s the same thing I guess, and it sounds cool.

Where the Fantasy Realm was focused on magic, the Cyberpunk Realm is all about tech. So charge points must be some kind of measurement of how much charge a character has in their cybernetic implants. The stuff that does the “magic.” Everyone has them here. It’s part of being alive. I don’t think it’ll take me too long to get used to, since the numbers are still the same.

Now I take a look at my skills to see what’s different.

Skills:

Stealth:

Backstab: 85/100

Steal: 70/100

Hide: 100/100

Disarm: 65/100

Slice Lock: 100/100

Assassinate: 78/100

Weapons Proficiencies (Ranged):

Rifles: 100/100

Pistols: 88/100

Thrown Blades/Axes: 100/100

Weapons Proficiencies (Melee):

Long Blades: 60/100

Short Blades: 100/100

Shivs: 100/100

The first thing that I notice is the skill Slice Lock. It used to be Pick Lock, but I guess they mean the same thing—probably just a broader term since it’s not just locked doors and chests you have to overcome, but computer systems and the sort of things we’d call hacking today. I doubt I’ll run into any regular warded or pin and tumbler locks in this Realm.

Most of my weapons proficiencies have been translated into the equivalent Cyberpunk terms, too. Rifles, Pistols, Blades, and Shivs instead of Bows, Crossbows, Swords, and Daggers.

On to my abilities.

Abilities:

Rifle Preference: +2 damage when using rifles. Able to use any non-unique rifle at any level.

Shiv Preference: +4 damage when using shivs. Able to use any non-unique shiv at any level.

Leather Preference: +10% physical damage prevention when fully equipped with leather armor.

Commune With Nature: Once per day, able to calm any animal for 60 seconds, or gain immunity to poison for 60 seconds.

These are the easiest to understand. Also, either my Commune With Nature ability doesn’t translate to anything in the Cyberpunk Realm, or it’s called the same thing in both.

Next is my weapons.

Weapons:

Shock Machete:

Enhanced

Durability: 120/120

Damage: 12-30

Adds 1-25 shock damage per successful hit.

SAP Rifle:

Enhanced

Damage: 10-20

Durability: 155/160

+2 to damage

Drains 10% of target’s charge points per hit.

Hammer Slug:

Enhanced

Damage: 1-35

Qty: 48

Ignores target’s armor.

+15 damage against unarmored targets.

Bullet:

Damage: 1-4

Qty: 48

Round of Deep Hurting:

Enhanced

Damage: 1-35

Qty: 25

Double damage against targets with no resistances.

Glitched Icy Shiv:

Enhanced

Damage: 2-16

Durability: 88/120

Damaged opponent does not regenerate charge points for 10 seconds.

Black Shiv:

Unique, Enhanced

Durability: 300/300

Damage: 2-60

Double damage at night or while in shadow.

Vampiric Blade:

Enhanced

Durability: 210/210

Damage: 5-60

Drains the target for 10 health and charge points with each successful hit.

So since there’s no magic, they call magical items ‘enhanced.’ And if something’s cursed in vanilla, it’s glitched in 86-Neon. Fair enough. I love the look of my Shock Machete, which used to be called Gladius of Arcing. It’s the one I used with the mugger on the roof and even then I loved the crackle it gave off swinging through the air. It doesn’t make me want to spend any more time in 86-Neon than I have to, but I find myself wishing it looked like this in the Fantasy Realm.

My Ancient Bow of Casting is now called an SAP Rifle. The Arrows of the Hammer are now Hammer Slugs. They do the same damage, but naturally look completely different. The image is of a loaded magazine, but I can examine an individual cartridge by taking one out of my inventory.

The Cursed Dagger of Ice is now Glitched Icy Shiv. It looks like an icepick, and when I inspect it under the single bare bulb in the room, I can see frost along its length and a bit of icy fog rising from the blade itself. It occasionally glows blue, like energy running through circuitry all along the weapon.

Black Shiv—the one that looks like a really cool combat knife—is the new name for my Shadow Dagger. I’d like to think that this is the weapon I’ll use the most, since this place always seems to be in shadow, so I’m guessing the blade will do double damage all the time. But I know that gunplay is big in 86-Neon, so I’ll have to be mindful of that. Opponents aren’t likely to stand around waiting for me to engage in melee combat. And while the weapons do the same damage as bows and arrows, I found from my fight with the mugger that you can shoot much faster in this realm.

Finally, my Vampiric Sword has been renamed to Vampiric Blade. Besides having a new name, there are only minor changes to the weapon. Mainly, the cross guard looks like it was hammered out of a spare piece of steel, maybe from a tank or other military vehicle.

I also have the pistol I took from the mugger, though it’s nothing special. I’d liken it to a non-magical crossbow with steel bolts. But I have a feeling that ranged weapons are going to be crucial in this realm so I’ll keep it until I run out of ammunition.

As for my armor, its appearance is drastically different. But first the stats.

Armor:

Graydon’s Sight:

Unique

Durability: Infinite

50% physical damage reduction

50% tech damage reduction

Binding

Graydon’s Might:

Unique

Durability: Infinite

500% charge regeneration

Binding

Leather Armor of Precision:

Enhanced

Durability: 150/150

15% physical damage reduction

+15 to rifle proficiency.

Hasty Balaclava:

Enhanced

Durability: 110/110

20% increased attack speed

Protective Vest:

Enhanced

Durability: 120/120

8% physical damage reduction

10% tech damage reduction

Graydon’s Sight we’ve already covered. Even though they’re tinted, nothing darkens when I put them on. Sadly, they don’t reveal any propaganda hidden behind advertisements or show any aliens in our midst… yet.

I get to my spells, which were the things I was most curious about. They’re under a label called ‘Tech Abilities.’

Tech Abilities:

Fireball:

Effect: Deal 50 Points of Fire Damage

Time: 1 Second

Range: Projectile; splash damage within 5 foot radius

Charge Cost: 50

Well, that’s the same. But when I ready the spell, er, tech ability, I’m surprised to see a panel iris open on my palm, through the gloves. There’s a pilot light like you’d see at the end of an old flame thrower, just waiting for me to give it gas. That alone might be enough to intimidate lower-level opponents.

Lay Hands is the exact same, only it’s now called:

Mend:

Effect: Heal Others for 100 HP

Effect: Cleanse Self; Removes poison effects equal to half your level and below.

Casting Time: 5 seconds

Cooldown: 1 Minute

Range: Touch

Charge Cost: 60

Charm has now become Chemical Hypnosis.

Chemical Hypnosis:

Effect: Chance to charm NPCs up to level 50 for up to 60 seconds.

Effect: Chance to charm PCs up to YOUR LEVEL minus 10 for up to 60 seconds.

Casting Time: 2 seconds

Range: Sight; within 15 feet

Charge Cost: 120

Lastly, Silence is EMP. I think I know what it means but switch over to my web browser to verify it. An electromagnetic pulse, which is what EMP stands for, is a big blast of energy which can disable or fry electrical circuits. That makes sense, too. It’s not a kill-shot, like it might be in real life. Instead, it short-circuits my opponent’s cybernetics. They can’t use any Tech Abilities for ten seconds. I’m thinking that’ll be handier here than it was in the Fantasy Realm.

EMP:

Effect: Target is unable to use tech abilities for 10 seconds.

Casting Time: 1 second

Cooldown: 5 minutes

Range: Sight

Charge Cost: 100

And then Regeneration I already figured out. Like in the fantasy realm, it’ll still be the spell I cast most often.

My items help me get a feel for how the money system works here.

Credits:

White Chips: 88

Yellow Chips: 2,000

Silver Chips: 309

Red Chips: 223

These are all still coins, only instead of precious metals they use thin poker-chip-like items. They’re milky-clear, having some kind of circuitry running through them which is only visible when I hold it up to the light. Their value is based on what color a disc embedded within the chip is. White for platinum, yellow for gold, silver for silver, and red for copper. Easy enough, and it doesn’t look like I lost any money, which is good.

I already knew potions were basically injectable stims, which makes me get all shivery given my aversion to needles. I hate them.

I stocked up on what I thought would most help me get around and stay alive. That was healing potions, some resistance potions, and some all-purpose stuff.

Big Red Dose: 19

Heals: 100% of health.

Red Dose: 3

Heals: 50 health.

Big Orange Dose: 5

70% fire resistance for 60 seconds.

Big Blue Dose: 4

70% frost resistance for 60 seconds.

Light Bender: 2

100% invisibility for 90 seconds. Effect canceled if you attack.

Doc Proper’s Cure-All: 4

Cures poison or disease up to level 80, grants immunity from same for 30 seconds.

That last one was a Master Cure potion that I had to spend a surprisingly good sum of gold on back in Dawnshire. But given my recent troubles with poisons, I thought it best to keep it with me.

I fiddle with my stuff a little longer, making sure I understand how everything works. For the most part, things will operate the same as in King’s League vanilla. I had anticipated having fewer skills at my disposal, but it doesn’t seem so. My teleportation stone is called an Experimental Teleporter in this world. I imagine if I use it, I’ll go back to the Temple, but I don’t really know for sure. There aren’t any extra switches, safeties, or anything else on the guns to get in the way of making my enemies dead. I check my hot bar to make sure everything I’ll need right away is ready. It’s all good, so I mentally prepare myself to head out into the world.

Although I hate to admit it, I feel like maybe the best way to beat the world is to join it. I’m already here, so it’s probably time to reach down deep, find the darkest place of my personality. The stuff I don’t say out loud or do anywhere because I’m a nice guy, and just get things done.

There are few ‘nice guys’ here. I might be misremembering, but I can’t recall a single person in the entirety of 86-Neon I ran into when I first tried out the demo who wasn’t out for themselves. It’s a big part of why I didn’t stick around, because usually I like games with a nice FPS interface like here.

I think the attitude adjustment is going to be necessary. I’ve never gone out to hunt someone down before—not even Salvatore. Quite the opposite. He was coming for me. Now I’m on the prowl and I know I might lose it all. I still don’t enjoy the PVP part of the game, but I’m hoping to find Billingsly and take him out as soon as possible.

In order to not stand out in a Realm where everyone’s a jerk, I need to be a jerk. Players here are also manipulative, sneaky, and mean. They talk big, and plenty of them can back it up. Spyce was certainly no pushover, that’s for sure.

I hear gunshots out my window. Somewhere farther off, a baby is crying. Yeesh. This place. I really want to get in and get out. But the reality is, I have no idea how long this might take.

If I get too stressed out—I can still find a safe zone and then log off and play as Nogg for a while. Even if it’s just to keep me from going insane or getting too depressed.

Taking a deep breath, I leave my room and step out into the hallway. A couple of other characters head in, but in true Cyberpunk fashion, I make them wait a couple of seconds before I step out of the way.

One, a level-6, tries to intimidate me by moving in really close so we’re nose to nose. He’s a little taller and stares down at me with a hard look in his eyes, which quickly fades into uncertainty when I don’t back down. After a few seconds, I slide past him and calmly walk down the stairs. Nobody says a word.

Back in the lobby, I lean against a wall, trying to look casual. It’s crowded. Some people are playing minigames at what look like the tabletop video game consoles pizza places used to have a long time ago. Others are chatting quietly, and I see what looks like a drug deal go down. It’s not real, but these guys sure make it seem like it is.

After a quick inspection of everyone’s inventory, guild associations, and levels, I find my mark. It’s a level-1 human. It looks like he’s doing the same thing I did at level-1: following people around dungeons—or whatever they call them here—and picking up all the trash they leave behind. It’s effective, but really slow. This guy could use a head start.

Among the items in his inventory are human teeth. He’s got 104 of them. I don’t know why he hasn’t sold any yet, though. In the Fantasy Realm they’re useful for potion crafters and even some primitive types of weapons. Maybe there isn’t any equal value in 86-Neon besides something macabre like a necklace.

He’s also got 32 swatches of burlap. Ten should fetch him at least one red chip, equivalent to a copper coin. It would be something, but he’s holding them instead of selling them. Maybe the trip to wherever the public market is in the Cyberpunk Realm is just too dangerous for a level-1 to make. That’s a possibility.

His main weapon is called a ‘Punk Buster.’ It looks like a stick someone has cut cleanly from a bigger branch, drove a nail straight into one end, then sharpened by scraping it against the sidewalk. Brutal, and in real life it would hurt like a bitch.

The character’s name is Wu-Tanis. I wait for him to look up and make eye contact before I show him a white chip in my hand. He glances at it, eyes going wide, then gives me the most suspicious expression I’ve ever seen. Way to go, kid. Way to not attract attention.

Another character—the one sitting in the corner twirling his pistol like an idiot—has also noticed. His name is Stynger, a level-9 Orc, probably. My only clue is his huge brow ridge, small eyes, and slightly green complexion.

After holstering his weapon, he casually walks past me and leans against the wall a little further down.

“What do you need?” Stynger mutters.

I take a peek at his inventory. He’s got money and decent gear for his level. He probably has a lot more experience as well, but the one thing he’s missing is the hungry look. I need a character who looks like he’d sell his left leg for a corndog.

I’m not sure what to say—what’s considered proper etiquette in this kind of situation? Not wanting to call attention to myself as an outsider, the only approach seems to be to reject his help and make it mean.

“What I need,” I say, “is for you to go take a hike, newb.”

The guy’s smooth. He cracks a small smile and rolls his head against the wall until he’s staring me right in the eye. “You’re a funny guy. I bet you’re real cool to have around at barbecues, aren’t you? What are you, sixty? Nobody under sixty says take a hike. Aren’t you a little trembly to be playing video games, old man?”

“Yeah?” I ask, sounding like Clint Eastwood all of a sudden because I have no idea why. “What do the punks say these days?”

I know I’m pushing my luck, but if he attacks me first, any guards in the area will attack him, not me.

I get a deep, hearty laugh in reply. It’s not coming from voice chat, rather the guy used some kind of hot-key taunt animation to make his character do it. “I’m the answer-man. I find out things for people, even old-timers like you. But here’s the thing. I don’t answer questions for free. You want to know what young people say these days? It’ll cost you.”

I give Stynger my best lopsided smile. “The only thing I want to know is whose account you’re playing on. Is it your big brother’s? You better log off, little boy, before you get his character killed.”

Stynger’s smile fades. “You think I let people talk to me like that? I ought to run you through right here, punk.”

“You don’t have enough lead to get that job done. I already know everything about you.”

“Is that a fact?” he asks, obviously amused. He crosses his arms and turns his body to face me.

“Yeah, that’s a fact,” I say, my Eastwood impression in full swing, running with the cover I’m creating on the fly for myself. “Here’s another one for you. I got a contract for your life, punk.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stynger’s smile falters for an instant before it’s replaced by a cool, knowing smile. “Assassinate me? Ha.” He does a quick visual inspection of my gear. Compared to the others in the room, I know it looks impressive. “Well,” he continues, “I don’t think you want to do that there. A bunch of keepers will show up, take you out—really messy. Then I’ll loot your body. You know on second thought, go ahead. I might be able to fetch a few chips for what you’ve got.”

“You don’t believe me.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Oh, I believe you. I just don’t think you can get the job done in time. Not out here. Maybe you and I should take a trip out to the Blocks. No guards anywhere near there. Then we can find out who the big dog is there all right. Your stuff looks pretty nice, but I’m betting it’s all skinned—just cheap crap with a nice coat of paint.”

I shrug, finding it a bit easier to fall into character. “If that’s where you want to die, it’s fine with me. I’m not too picky.”

When I make like I’m about to stop leaning on the wall, he holds up a hand to stop me.

“For argument’s sake. Let’s say you got a contract and you won’t die carrying it out—which, you will, but suppose, for argument’s sake you don’t—who sent you?”

I think back to my conversation with Spyce and try to mimic her answer as best I can remember. “My clients demand a level of discretion, which I’m more than happy to provide. Therefore, I won’t tell you who sent me—directly. You see, you’re just a small fish, and I’m not going to get paid a lot for taking you out. In fact, you’re barely worth my time. I’ve been putting this off for a while, but you see, my boss doesn’t forget. And, she doesn’t forgive.”

Everyone has pissed someone off in this game, I know, so I’ve got about a fifty percent chance of choosing the right gender. If he can remember any female he’s double crossed or killed in a particularly memorable way within the last few months or so, this might work. If not, then not.

Stynger isn’t smiling anymore. “I don’t believe you,” he says, but his expression is telling me the truth. Not only does he believe me, he’s got a specific female in mind. He licks his lips and he’s clenching his upper arms tight.

I nod once. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Not really. You’re not required to believe it. You’re just required to die. But if you want some proof, it has to do with that money belt you’re carrying.”

It’s a big gamble, I know, but Stynger’s money belt is the most unique thing he has on him, I picked it out right away as something potentially special when viewing his inventory. It’s something I can see with Graydon’s Sight that isn’t visible on his person, which I’m hoping only adds weight to the yarn I’m spinning.

His eyes go wide and he stares off into the distance—a clear sign he’s checking his inventory. I can tell that I’ve got him… now I just have to convince him that he has no chance against me.

“What level are you?” I ask. “Eight? You look like a level eight.”

“Level nine.”

“I was close. Now you guess my level.”

He pauses for a moment and I know this is weird, but I’m really getting into this desperado thing here. “Guess!” I shout, turning heads in the room.

He swallows. “Twenty five?”

“No. Guess again. Higher.”

“Thirty.”

“Higher!”

“Fifty?”

“Higher.”

“Eighty?”

I lean and whisper in his ear, “Higher.”

He doesn’t say anything else and I think he’s got the point. I can back up my threats. I can take him down and probably the guards—or keepers as they’re called in this crap hole—without any problem at all.

He’s waiting for me. Waiting to see what judgment I might pronounce.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, wagging a finger for him to come in closer, away from the ears of everyone trying to listen in on what’s happening over in our corner of the flop house. “This job don’t pay much and my client, she don’t want you dead. Not really. She just wants what’s her’s. And me, I don’t need the XP. Where I’m goin’ after this, I’d prefer to keep my slugs stocked and my blades sharp. So you give me that money belt. And then you walk away and forget everything that just happened. What do you say?”

Stynger seems to think about it for a moment, rage growing in his expression. “Damn it,” he mutters.

A moment later a trade window opens. I click ‘Accept’ and now I have a money belt, and the curious character I had no intention of dealing with no longer has any reason to stick around. It was a dirty trick, but it helped me establish a cover. I take another look at it in my inventory.

Money Belt:

Enhanced

Obscured

Durability: 35/35

This item cannot be pickpocketed.

Items stored within this item cannot be pickpocketed.

I’ve never seen the “Obscured” tag for an item before, but it already makes sense based on what I’ve seen while Stynger had it equipped. Anyone who visually inspects me won’t be able to see it. It makes the wearer less of a target.

There was some money in it, too. That’s a bonus.

“Can I go now?” Stynger asks, sounding like a defiant teenager who still knows he has to ask the principal’s permission to leave his office.

I nod toward the door. He leaves without looking back.

When I’m sure he’s gone, I look for Wu-Tanis, the level one, again. He’s still standing in the same spot and looks curious about what just happened across the room from him. I motion for him and he takes the spot Stynger was standing in.

“You look like a guy who needs some money,” I say in a low voice. “I’d like to help you out with that.”

“I ain’t the kind of a guy who’ll turn it down,” he whispers back as he glances around the room. “But what’s the catch? That’s a lot of money to offer a level one. Not much I can do for you, understand?”

“All I need is some information,” I soothe. “Stuff you probably know.”

“Like what?”

It suddenly dawns on me that I can’t come out and ask him the question I want to know most without looking suspicious. Anyone with my type of gear has to be experienced or has to have come from another Realm. So, I’ve got to disguise what I’m truly after. That way if anyone asks what I wanted, the truth might be lost among the distractions.

“I actually have several questions. Let’s start with the first one.” I lean in a little. “What color is an orange?”

Wu-Tanis squints at me. “Are you serious or are you playin’? Because if you’re playin’, Ima bounce.”

“If you want this white chip, I’m serious,” I reply, still staring him directly in the eye.

“Oranges are orange.” Wu-Tanis sticks out his hand. “Pay me.”

I open a trade window and give him a single white chip.

Wu-Tanis smiles curiously like he can’t quite believe things just went down that way. I see him relax a bit. “All right,” he mumbles to himself.

That’s more like it.

“What color is your hair?” I ask.

“White,” he says, and earns himself another white chip. He’s still leaning against the wall but is starting to look at me with skepticism. This has to all seem too good to be true. I can tell he wants to ask me if I’m some kind of weirdo, but then, he also wants those chips.

“Where’s the nearest non-PVP zone?”

“Other than here? Uh, probably the CyberPlex. That’s where everyone buys and sells, you know?”

I nod and give him another chip.

I get another white chip ready and ask him the question I’ve been wanting to ask. “Where is the Cygnus Building?”

“Oh, for real?” he says, tapping a finger on his chin. He starts to spin around slowly as if he’s trying to get his bearings. Once he’s facing a little to the left of the exit door he nods. “That way. Maybe a mile.”

I have no idea if he’s right, but he earns a white chip anyway.

My last question is designed to be silly, but maybe to endear me to this guy, too. I may be the only nice person he ever finds in the game, and one never knows when one might need a friend.

“Now, who’s your best friend?” I ask, allowing a smile to spread across my face.

His face reveals the range of emotions he’s going through. It starts with confusion, then moves on to concern, and finally settles somewhere between dread and excitement. “You keep them white chips comin’ and it’s you.”

I open a trade window and give him another chip. “That’s right,” I say. “And your friend might have some more questions for you later, but that’s all I have right now. Stick around if you can.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a look of disbelief on his face. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

“Good,” I say. “Now, I have business to do.”

Wu-Tanis nods and goes back to where he was standing. He’s got a happy expression like he’s thinking about all the equipment he wants to buy. Five white chips is a heck of a lot of money for a level 1.

I leave the flophouse and step out into the street. It’s raining again and the sky, as usual, is dark. Graydon’s Sight is keeping my vision clear, even though there’s a downpour going on right now.

The neon lights of the buildings sparkle in the puddles forming on the street. There are signs for everything. Some of them are for what look like legitimate stuff—soda pop, fast food, and lawyers, though the last, especially in the Cyberpunk Realm, is questionable. There are also moving ads—not quite holograms, but moving semi-holographic images playing on entire buildings from those across the street. It’s so much flashing, I wonder if some players might have seizures playing this game. It wouldn’t surprise me if it happens now and again.

Most of the buildings in the area would look in place in Chicago—high-rises and office buildings. Others look like pagodas and a commercial version of St. Basil’s Cathedral.

When I look to where Wu-Tanis was pointing, I see one building which appears to be taller than the rest. It’s further away, so it was a bit disguised. My back had been facing it on the way over or I might not have had to ask around at all.

It’s mostly dark, but there are a few lights on in some of the windows. Based on how tiny they look compared to the size of the building, it’s enormous size becomes even more apparent.

The word ‘CYGNUS’ is emblazoned in bright, white neon near the top. I can see it on two sides, so it’s probably on all four. Jeez. I just wasted how many white chips when all I had to do was look outside? So much for not being a nice guy in 86-Neon, Dirk. You got suckered for the first low level player you came across. I need to be better.

Compared to all the neon lights and advertisements on the other buildings, the Cygnus Building is subdued. Shining black windows aside, it looks boring compared to everything else.

As I start walking, the rain slows to a drizzle before stopping altogether. The streets, though, are just as filthy as they were before. Most of the puddles have an oily haze on top, and it looks like the trash has just been moved around, rather than washed away.

The other players I see look like they’ve got somewhere to be. They keep their eyes to the ground and hurry. It’s then that I notice there are narrow walkways between several of the buildings. They’re crowded as well. One way is probably as good as another, and just as bad.

Everyone is armed. They’re all carrying shivs, some have blades, and guns are more common than stims. One has a giant hammer-like thing which looks like it’s been made out of scrap and has some kind of pneumatic head. Its damage is decent.

I also notice the guild names. As I walk down the street, the only characters I see who aren’t moving are all in the same guild—Security Team A. They’re whispering and watching people carefully as they walk past.

Since they’re all in the same guild, they have the option of opening a private guild chat. If they do that, they won’t have to lean in and whisper. It means they’re doing it for effect. The three are trying to intimidate everyone around them. The ploy looks like it’s working.

One of them notices me as I approach and motions to the two others. All three look up and start walking toward me.

Great. This is just what I need.

Luckily, the Cygnus Building is still far enough away that nobody inside should be able to see whatever happens next.

I try to ignore them, but one, a level 39 human, steps in my way. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks. He’s smiling like we’re old friends—like he just said something funny. He sounds like he’s young—really young. Maybe no older than ten or twelve. How does a kid get permission from his parents to play the game this much? My mom never let me spend more than an hour playing at a time.

“Excuse me.” I try to step around him, but he moves in front of me again.

“I said, where are you going?” He looks me up and down, pausing as he notices my pistol. I don’t think he recognizes anything—certainly not my name—but he’s interested.

“Hey, those are some nice shades,” he says pointing at my eyes. “I like ’em. You’re too ugly to do them justice. How about you hand ’em over and I don’t make you dead?”

More player killer crap. You don’t even get badges and bounties out here. It’s just built into the game. Expected.

“I could take ’em off and show ’em to you,” I say, trying to sound menacing, trying to be worthy of Roddy Piper’s sunglasses. “But then you’d see.”

“See what?”

“I’m already dead on the inside. But if you’re willing, I’ll make you join me.”

“What did you say to me?” he asks, stepping forward until his body touches mine.

“What’s the problem?” a second guild member asks as he approaches. He’s a level-36 Dwarf. Which in 86-Neon means he’s short, bearded, and bald with face and neck tattoos. Based on the hard-hitting stuff he’s got, including a grenade launcher, I’m guessing he’s a Warrior, or whatever the equivalent is here.

A third guildie stays back a little. He’s wearing silky clothes which wouldn’t look out of place on a website selling pajamas. Based on the tech he’s got, and the distinct lack of weapons, he’s got to be the Cyberpunk Realm’s version of a Wizard. He’s a level twenty, but he’s made a critical error in ignoring his HP by trying to pump up Intelligence first. That means he’s got a ton of offensive but almost no non-magical defense. Just 30 HP. He won’t last long in a fight.

“You know,” the first one says, “I was just going to take your glasses. But seeing as how you want to be tough about it, I’ll just take everything you got. Or me and the boys send you back to level one.”

There’s no way to avoid a fight, and I’m sure I can take these three down if I need to. The thing is, I don’t want to announce to everyone that some super high level player is out roaming the streets running roughshod over established street gangs, which I’m fairly sure is what I’m up against here. So, I’ll have to try to reason with them according to local custom.

“These two your friends?” I ask the level 39.

He looks at the Dwarf and the Tech Wizard, but doesn’t say anything.

“I thought so,” I say. “Pick one.”

He looks confused, but he’s interested. He’s not starting the fight yet. “Excuse me? Is this how you plead for your life?”

“I ain’t pleadin’ and I ain’t waiting. So I’ll pick one. You. Tech Wizard.”

I point to the Wizard, who looks at the others in surprise. He regains a measure of his composure and thrusts his chin toward me.

He saunters up and holds both arms wide, I can see the fireball nozzles in his palms. “You tryin’ to get wrecked, fool?”

I draw my Black Shiv and Icy Shiv both and as quickly as I can—which is pretty fast due to my Hasty Balaclava—I do a quick, two-stab combination and the Tech Wizard is slumping forward dead in my arms. I throw him to the side and stare at his two surviving guildmates, who have only managed to draw their pistols by the time I finished off their friend. They’re standing and staring with their mouths open.

“Try it,” I snarl, hoping I’m not panting from the sudden exertion. “Give me a reason.”

The level-39 looks like he’s thinking about it. He keeps looking between my blade and my eyes. “You just made a big mistake.”

The other one, the Dwarf, exchanges his pistol for a shotgun. I know that’ll do way too much damage up close like this so I charge him, getting in two stab wounds before a shot rings out, striking me in the back.

I take fifteen points of damage, but the shooter is squeezing the trigger of his semi-automatic and each pull is another fifteen points of damage, pop!pop!pop!

Despite my physical damage reduction, this is adding up. Both of these guys are pulling triggers on me. I can only imagine what someone with a fully automatic rifle could do in a short amount of time. King’s League Vanilla has me used to more static fights—stand your ground, dodge, parry—stuff like that. I have to get out of the line of fire so I spin away, twirling my Icy Shiv in my free hand as I do so.

The over-eager shooter puts two rounds in his Dwarf buddy before he adjusts his aim, but I’ve closed the distance between us and turn the weapon loose on him. I bury the Icy Shiv in his neck for a critical—it doesn’t do much harm given the weapon’s base rate of damage, but it does make it so any charge he’s using won’t replenish. I then go to work with the Black Shiv, which as I expected treats every hit as if being in shadow. I’m doing massive damage in quick succession before he pushes me away to get some distance and maybe open up a shot.

The ca-chuck of the Dwarf racking another shotgun shell tells me where the next attack is coming from. I feint and then spin on him, feeling my heart rate go through the roof. As sweat threatens to overwhelm my brows and sting my eyes I use my Disarm skill and knock the shotgun out of his hands, sending it flying through the air and clattering to the ground where it bounces against a brick alley wall.

Two more stabs and it’s all over for the Dwarf. The human who started it all is running when I turn on him. I’m not letting him go. I equip my SPA rifle, line up my sights so they’re targeting right between his shoulder blades and gently squeeze the trigger. He goes down in a heap, the last of his HP gone. This is 86-Neon.

I activate my Regeneration ability—or whatever it’s called now, I keep forgetting—and start to regain the HP I lost in the firefight. I also pick up the shotgun, which I think will help a lot in close quarters.

There are about a dozen other players—the highest of which is level-45—hanging around. Some are watching me intently, the calculating looks all too familiar, no matter what Realm this is. The rest are staring hungrily at the bodies. I don’t need the loot, so I turn away and continue walking down the street toward Cygnus. So much for lying low.

I’ve only gone about twenty paces when I hear a single shot ring out somewhere behind me. It’s followed by another dozen in rapid succession—a machine gun. There’s shouting, cursing, and a lot of scuffling feet. What would be a crime scene in the real world has turned into a feeding frenzy. They aren’t just feeding on the loot I left on the three dead bodies, though. They’re feeding on each other in a winner-take-all brawl.

When the Cygnus Building finally comes into sight, I freeze, then duck into a nearby alley. There are at least three guards at the nearest corner of the skyscraper. One was level 50, but I didn’t catch the level of the other two.

After waiting a second to see if they’ve noticed me, I peek again, but if they have, they’re hiding it well. There are only three of them in sight, but there may be more nearby.

A sleek, shiny car rolls by. It’s got powerful headlights, so I slink a little further into the alley as I think about my situation.

If the building is like Dawnshire, it’ll be a non-PVP zone. It will mean that even if I find Billingsly, I won’t be able to kill him while he’s still inside, unless I get him to agree to a duel, that is. Which won’t be a problem if the rules are the same—I can’t refuse a duel from another of Graydon’s Champions. Maybe Billingsly can’t refuse a duel from another—I don’t know—board member?

Once the car passes, I slink back to the corner and use my Hide ability, which will make me invisible to all but the highest-level characters, so long as I don’t attack anyone.

The guards aren’t the sleepy kind. Nor are they NPCs. They’re characters, each one controlled by a human, and they seem to be taking their job seriously. It makes me wonder if Billingsly is wealthy enough to hire real people to play the game for eight or ten hours at a time and act as guards for him. With the amount of money he has proven he can throw around, it wouldn’t surprise me if it were true.

I’d like to get a look inside the building, but that probably means I have to kill some guards to make it happen. I could charm one, but the other would attack and so same problem. Dead guards. My enemy will know I’m here, if he doesn’t know already.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to take the guards without too much trouble, but I don’t recognize their equipment and they’re too far away to inspect. If they catch me sneaking up to them, it’ll give everything away, too. I’ve got to find a way in, but I can’t do it from here.

Looking around, I see a fire escape on one of the buildings forming the alley. It looks like it’s about twenty stories high. It’s brick and wouldn’t look out of place in Queens—an apartment complex or something like it. It’s tall enough for me to get a closer look. I decide to head to the roof.

Getting to the top is easy. I climb the fire escape and then my dexterity allows me to jump high enough from there to reach an overhang and flip myself onto the building. After looking around, I cautiously check the roof hatch and find it locked from the other side. Then I look behind the two huge air conditioning units and verify I’m alone.

Leaning over the edge, I take a peek at the guards below. It looks like there are three protecting each corner. I can only see two of the corners of the Cygnus Building, though.

All the guards are dressed in black. It looks like body armor, and their shoulders, biceps, chests, thighs, and shins are covered in the same stuff. Like those special stormtroopers from Rogue One that are highly skilled at shooting farmwives, but still miss everything else. Their helmets look thin—barely enough to cover their heads, but looks can be deceiving. Their featureless faceplates add an air of mystery and danger.

A lone guard on each corner of the block is equipped with a huge gun that looks like a rifle version of a revolver. Another has a shotgun of some kind. Much too far away to get details from Graydon’s Shades, I’m left guessing at the weapons’ power levels. Safe bet that they’re magical—enhanced—and that the armor is the same. Something tough enough to keep them alive long enough to call for help.

It starts raining again. The pattering sound the drops make when they hit the gravel-covered rooftop is kind of calming, especially in a place so full of stress and angst. I’m thinking about what it might take to get over to the roof of the tower Cygnus Building when I notice a subtle change in the sound of the rain somewhere behind me. It’s not much, but it’s enough to draw my attention.

Instinctively, I roll to one side and hop to my feet. A bullet ricochets off the spot I’d been lying in as I equip and shoulder my rifle.

My target is running toward me, a pistol in each hand and an angry look on her face. It’s Spyce.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I knew it,” Spyce hisses. “I told you to stay away. I guess you’re one of those idiots who has to learn everything the hard way.”

She squeezes the trigger of one of her pistols. Already anticipating, I try to dodge it, but I’m not quite fast enough. The round hits me in the shoulder and I take 12 points of damage. It’s not a lot, but before I finish thinking about it, another shot rings out and another 12 health vanish.

Her expression makes her look crazy, and I don’t understand why. I know she thinks I’m the one who’s after her, but if she did any research into me, she’d know that was a joke. I shouldn’t be the one she suspects. All I ever did in the game since Salvatore went down was adventure and have fun while Dawnshire grew. She found me and I was minding my own business. I’m not hiding away somewhere. I’m not Billingsly. It should be obvious.

“I’m not your enemy!” I shout as I hip fire three rounds of my SAP into her belly. She’s knocked off her feet and lands on her back.

My rifle is too long for a closed in fight like this. It’s clearly designed for sniping. I switch to the shotgun. A second later she raises herself to one knee and rolls and glares at me.

“You’ve got a real funny way of showing it,” she says, putting her pistols away only to draw a new weapon that looks like a metal rod, maybe four inches long. It has a blinking light at one end and I don’t even have to consult Graydon’s Sight about it—I already know what it is as she hurls it at me.

I kick the grenade out of midair, back toward Spyce but not hard enough. It detonates somewhere between us, sending us both to our knees. My stamina bar is nearly zero and my character is gasping for air. I’ve dropped my shotgun and it looks like I don’t have the strength to even reach for it.

“Nice one,” she says, her voice not strained, not matching the fatigue her character is showing. “Quick thinking. All wasted on the fact that you’re a hacker creep!”

I shake my head. “I’m not the one who hacked you.”

“Liar!” she yells, and I’m starting to think that maybe whatever happened to her hurt a lot more than what happened to me. She sounds genuinely enraged.

Spyce reaches for the pistol she dropped on the ground but seems to be having trouble picking it up. I try to pull up my inventory to equip something else, but find that I can’t. The sapper grenade has completely drained me of being able to do much beyond sit here and feel weak. That’s a powerful weapon. Can’t be cheap.

As Spyce gropes for her gun, I go for my shotgun, but my fingers still aren’t working quite right.

“I didn’t want to come here,” I say, feeling like whoever picks up their weapon first is going to win this fight, “but this is the source of my troubles. It’s Billingsly. He runs—”

“Cygnus,” she interrupts. “So what?”

At the same moment, our characters regain enough strength to raise our weapons. As we do, we both seem to decide we’d rather dodge than trade blows, and roll to opposite sides, trying to avoid incoming fire.

When she raises herself to one knee again, there’s a brief flash of pale blue light and Spyce vanishes.

I get to my feet but stay low, searching for her. Despite not knowing exactly how teleportation stones look in 86-Neon, I know that they can’t be instantaneous. She disappeared much too quickly. Got to keep my guard up.

Something hits me hard in the face and knocks me over to my side. I quickly cast Rebuild to begin regenerating my health, readying a Fireball spell in both hands.

Something moves to my left, but before I can turn all the way toward it, I’m kicked in the head again, and find myself face down in the gravel covering the roof. Wow, they really went all out. This gravel looks amazing up close.

I saw her coming with that last hit. She’s not invisible—just difficult to see, but this time Graydon’s Sight isn’t having any problems showing me her health and inventory. I’m not sure what gives there, but the way she’s moving in this fight is far too familiar to let slide.

“It was you,” I say, pushing myself up to my knees, scanning for her to reappear. “You tried to kill me in the woods!”

Whack! My head snaps back from a sudden strike square to my nose.

“If it was me, you’d already be dead.”

Whack! Now I’m kicked in the back of my head. I have to plant both hands in the gravel to keep from sprawling on my stomach.

This combined with the twenty HP lost from the two gunshot wounds has me down to 427 health. It’s not a lot, and I’m still regenerating HP. But I’ve seen what kind of damage guns in this realm can do if fired rapidly and I’d like to keep as close to full HP as possible. I decide to use one of the Red Dose stims to top off—the 86-Neon equivalent of a Healing Potion. She knocks it from my hand and I turn to see it skitter across the roof before taking a high hop and disappearing over the edge.

Well, that sucks. And so does this entire encounter. I didn’t come here looking to kill Spyce—I wasn’t even sure I’d see her. And if I did, I guess I had hopes that maybe I could befriend her; get her to join me in my quest. That’s looking less and less likely with each new strike.

Smack!

Like that one. Which had to be a kick to the face. I was on my knees, but now I’m flat on my back. “Are you done yet?” I shout as the rain pelts my face.

She only laughs.

She’s toying with me and I’m going to have to show her that I can handle myself. I discreetly equip my Black Shiv, pretend like I’m going to take a swing in front of me, and abruptly reverse course to take a quick slash over my shoulder. The feint works. I’ve hit something and I hear a low growl of frustration.

Spinning on my knee, I follow through with my Icy Shiv, but she’s already dancing away and out of reach—but she’s much easier to see now. I switch to my shotgun and see her enveloped in a flash of crimson light. For a moment it looks like her entire body is covered in pale, red flames.

She’s got a spiked pneumatic hammer in her hands called ‘Crusher Type-D’. It gives her a bonus based on the user’s strength. I’m guessing that’s what that flash of light and red flame was all about.

I only get two shots off before she’s on me, the empty shells bouncing in the gravel beside me. Ducking, I narrowly avoid a wild swing to my head.

“Truce!” I say, sounding like a real goof from the fantasy realm.

Spyce declines my offer, taking another swing, this one aimed at my calf. I jump to avoid it. At the last moment, she hoists the hammer and nails me in the hip. The impact sends me head over heels and fifty health vanish.

Thankfully, I have no trouble popping back to my feet. She’s closing in with the hammer, so I keep my Black and Icy Shivs equipped. I begin slashing, stabbing, and cutting.

She’s still using her hammer, which means she can’t block nearly as fast as I can attack. I get in four good hits before she drives her hammer into my chest, thrusting it into me like a spear. That blunts the damage—I only take another ten—but the force of the blow is enough to knock me on my back and slide me across the gravel roof. If it weren’t for the short parapet that not-so-gently receives my head, I think I would have slid right on off the edge.

Spyce doesn’t follow up the attack, instead using my position as an opportunity to get some distance and inject a Big Red Dose, which completely heals her. I do the same.

“I don’t want to kill you,” I tell her.

“You don’t exactly look like you can kill me, sport.”

Well. She’s got me there, I guess. “That’s because… I don’t want to kill you. But I’m not going to burn through all my potions—stims… whatever—forever. And I’m not just going to stand here until you whittle me down to zero health. I keep telling you I’m not your enemy. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because nobody but you has anything to gain. Billingsly already has everything. I mean look at the building!”

“Yeah, I saw it,” I say. “Kind of what I was doing when you tried to shoot me in the back, remember?”

“Little man Dirk has a city to himself and now what—you’ve decided you want it for yourself?”

I open my mouth to reply but get the sense that the little conversation was just a stall—something to get my guard down. She switches from her hammer back to the pistols.

Okay. This isn’t working out. I start machine-gunning fireballs spells in each hand. The appearance distracts me, instead of being huge burning masses that leave an ash-strewn trail behind them like in the King’s League Vanilla, these look more like tight, flaming baseballs … until they hit. Then they explode with the same force and a loud whumpf.

We’re locked in a dance of death—and it won’t be a slow one. We’re going all out in our attempt to obliterate one another. My body is peppered with bullet wounds at a cost of 12HP per round—and she’s firing them fast and furious, reloading and showing no signs of being low on ammo. My Fireballs are doing more damage, but they’re also a bit easier for her to dodge. Still, I’ve got the upper hand. She’s dropping HP much faster than me.

Spyce flips away and I see her swap out a pistol for another Big Red Dose. I could press her here, rain down enough Fireballs to drop her back into the danger zone and then finish her up with my melee weapons. But… I just can’t shake the feeling that she’s not the bad guy here. She’s simply confused.

I know her ammunition is finally running low. She won’t run out quick, but she’ll be on empty before I use up all my Big Reds. Maybe she just needs to be reassured that it doesn’t have to be this way—or convinced that this is a fight she loses.

“Had enough?” I call to her.

“I can keep this up as long as you can!”

“Lies! Deception!”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? Rogue One?”

“Best of the Disney movies.”

“The Mandalorian.”

“Not a movie.”

She rolls her eyes and brings her pistols up again, ready for another round. “Whatever.”

“You were down to 80 HP before you took that last dose of Big Red,” I call out.

Coiled to strike, my words cause her to falter and loosen up.

I press the issue. “I was still above two hundred. I could’ve killed you while you were injecting your last Big Red and I can kill you now.”

“How did…”

“You have two hundred rounds of Ballistic + 3 ammunition. You will run out long before I use up all my Big Red Doses.” I cast Repair, or whatever it’s called now, hoping that it helps make my point. “I don’t want to kill you, Spyce. And you shouldn’t be trying to kill me when I didn’t ever do a thing to hurt you.”

“You hacked my account and tried to ruin my life!”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you—that wasn’t me!”

It occurs to me that we must be giving the guards in front of the Cygnus Building quite the light show. I need to end this and I need to make it soon. Otherwise, they’re going to get curious. I’m sure fights happen all the time, but this one is probably more spectacular than they’re used to.

Spyce has a look of disgust on her face. “Your helm is a Graydon’s piece. That’s how you know. Fine. You’re right. I’m low on ammo. But you’re wrong if you think I need these—” she tosses her pistols aside, “—to finish you off.”

She reequips her war hammer and charges.

I send enough fireballs in her direction to drop her another hundred HP and then switch to my Black Shiv. She’s made her choice. I didn’t come here to take her belt, but if this is the way she wants it, then so be it.

There’s a flash of green light as she closes the distance. It’s like she had a burst of speed, like she suddenly became Wally West, hitting me three times before I could get a single stab in. I’m knocked backward, turning as I fall and slamming to the ground face first. She leaps and brings the hammer crashing down on my back, bouncing me up in the air like a cartoon character.

I hear a crunch. It’s not any of my character’s bones. I think we’re starting to break the roof.

I catch a glimpse of Spyce’s face. She isn’t angry anymore. She looks determined. She thinks she has me, but only because she can’t see I still have 308 health left. She has far less.

On her next swing, I attempt to disarm her. It works. Her giant hammer goes flying off the side of the building. She reaches for it, but there’s no way to catch it before it tumbles down below.

While she’s distracted, I sweep her leg, and she falls to her back. I follow up with a stab and a slice from my Dark Shiv. Her expression has changed from determination to panic.

Spyce rolls away, kicking me in the face as she does. Luckily, I can’t feel it, but I can see it. I think she did it just to insult me. For every stab, she gets in at least one kick or punch. There’s no way for her to do nearly as much damage as me, but she’s fast and I have to keep one eye on my health. I bet she’s regretting tossing those pistols aside right about now.

A shockwave hits me, knocking me back about a foot, and suddenly my vision skews to the right. Everything tilts about twenty degrees and I’m finding it difficult to swing my shiv accurately. She’s nailed me with some kind of sonic shout. I disengage and use another Big Red Dose, shivering at what I see my character doing with it. Needles, yech.

My opponent disengages as well and pulls out her Cobra Whip. It’s something I wanted to see in action, but not like this. The weapon resembles a herringbone chain necklace—the kind you get from the street vendors who tell you it’s real gold when you both know it’s not. Each segment is interlaced with the others before and after it, and all of them are barbed along its five-foot length. A one-handed weapon, the whip ends in teardrop-shaped polished hunk of metal. It’s flat on two sides and slightly resembles the expanded hood of a cobra.

The way it reflects the neon lights all around us in the darkness gives it an odd beauty, one that grows near mesmerizing as she twirls it over her head once and yanks on it, causing an ear-piercing crack in the air.

One of the flying cars pulls out of the congested traffic lanes over our heads and slows, coming to rest about a hundred feet from our battle opposite the Cygnus Building. It doesn’t look like its pilot is going to do anything other than observe, though I can’t be sure.

As she moves, I hold up one hand, readying my Fireball spell. I know she can see the barrel that forms in my palm, which I hope will convince her. It seems it does, though she’s looking angry again.

“Okay, Indiana Jones. I get why you’re mad. Hear me out. I’m not here looking for you. I know you don’t trust anyone. It’s how you got to level 97. I get it. But I swear, I’m after an enemy to both of us.”

“And who’s that?”

“Billingsly,” I say, watching her expression carefully. I notice her eyes flick over my shoulder toward the Cygnus Building for a split second. “He’s the one who hacked us. I have real life evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?” she asks, clearly still suspicious. I notice she still looks like she’s ready to pounce, so I continue to watch her carefully.

“He sent me a gold coin,” I say. “And a note from someone named Barthos. Who tried to buy my Graydon’s pieces and threatened to make my life miserable when I declined?”

“What color box did it come in?” she asks.

It’s a test. I didn’t tell anyone except Stoneburner about the coin or that it came in a box. She has to have received one herself.

“I didn’t mention a box, so I know that you know what I’m saying is true. Mine was green—carved out of jade with ornate, Japanese reliefs of the side.”

“What did the note say?” she asks, relaxing her posture a little, her voice betraying a tinge of emotion. But all that could be a play as well so I don’t read too much into it.

“It said the coin was a gift and someone named Barthos was going to contact me to talk about a business deal. It said whether I chose to accept it or not, I could keep the coin. I would’ve returned it, but the only information I had was that it came from Cygnus. I followed the clues and it led me here.”

“So why were you on top of this building?” Spyce asks. “Cygnus is across the street.”

“Because I was scoping the place out,” I say, feeling like that should be obvious. “I’m killing Billingsly, but it won’t be easy to do.”

“Not here,” she says, relaxing a little more. “The Cygnus Building is a non-PVP zone.”

“You got a coin too,” I say, dropping my arms as a show that I want no further hostilities. We’re finally getting somewhere.

“Yes. I did. It came with a warning that someone was after me. Only when I followed the clues, they lead me to you. The coin was a down-payment on a bounty the anonymous person said was in the works.”

Ah. Now her hostility towards me makes perfect sense. If I had gotten the same note, I probably would have acted just like she did.

“How much is the bounty?” I ask. If she’s only after the money, I might be able to offer her some in-game stuff she can sell instead.

“I don’t know,” Spyce hisses. “My account got hacked shortly before I found you in Dawnshire. After that, I went dark. I didn’t tell anyone what my plans were and I turned off in-game messaging.”

There are three flying cars watching us, I notice. They’ve got their lights on, which makes Spyce a little hard to see, due to the glare. Her silhouette is still, though. It looks like she might be staring at the ground—maybe thinking about what I said.

“Billingsly is one of your clients, isn’t he?” I ask, sensing the truth in her posture.

“You know I can’t tell you if he is or not,” she snaps. “This is my livelihood. I take whatever reward my clients offer and sell it on the open market. It’s how I pay my bills.”

“I get it,” I say. “Me too. You know what I’m saying is true, right? And if you’re anything like me, the real danger here is keeping enough income to avoid living on the streets. Let’s make peace. If there’s a bounty on me and you need that money, I’ll figure out a way to help you that doesn’t end up with one of us killing the other. All I want is to be left alone. Oh, and Billingsly’s head.”

Spyce is quiet for a long moment. One of the cars honks, but we don’t move and eventually it moves on, the drive-in deathmatch over.

“So what’s the plan?” Spyce asks, lifting her head again. “You can’t kill him while he’s in there, and he never leaves. I mean never. You can’t challenge him to a duel, either, because no matter what, he’ll say no. You can’t stop him. Nobody can. Just because he keeps a low profile doesn’t mean he’s not the most powerful character in the entire game on any Realm.”

It’s clear that while she has some understanding of the way the Graydon’s pieces work, she doesn’t have all of it. At least in Dawnshire, duels can be declined for anyone except fellow champions. If I find Billingsly, a fight’s happening. But unlike with Salvatore, I have no clue what this guy is capable of. I don’t know his stats, equipment or anything. He might be significantly more powerful than I am.

I flex a little, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of humor. “You tellin’ me Billingsly is more powerful than this?”

“Oh ya,” she says, not so much as cracking a smile. “Power isn’t just what you own. Sometimes it’s who you own.”

“Are you saying Billingsly owns you?”

“Nobody owns me. Which is why I’m not still trying to kill you right now. For what it’s worth, you’ve convinced me that you’re not really my problem.”

Spyce puts her weapon away, runs toward the remaining flying cars waiting for our fight to renew, and jumps off the side of the building. There’s a flash of white light, but I don’t hear her hit the bottom.

A second later, the cars accelerate away, their engines whining like they’re tachometers are pegged.

Suddenly, I’m bathed in the brightest, whitest light I’ve ever seen in my life. It doesn’t turn night into day, it turns night into the surface of the sun. Neon signs for a mile look like they’ve gone out because they can’t compete with the brightness coming from behind me.

“Citizen,” an electronically amplified voice says. “Stow your weapon and turn around slowly.”

I peek over my shoulder but keep my blade in my hand. The light isn’t quite so blinding anymore. It’s coming from a pair of powerful spotlights on the front of an equally powerful looking flying car. Between the spotlights, in glowing, neon blue, is the word ‘CYGNUS’. Below it is the word ‘POLICE’. Below that is something that looks a lot like one of those electric miniguns you see on attack helicopters, and it’s pointed right at me.

Ah crap.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Citizen!” the amplified voice says again. “Turn around and be identified.”

I have no idea what kind of damage that cannon will do, but I know it can shoot faster than I can.

The pilot—whether a player or an NPC—probably doesn’t expect me to do anything other than surrender. That’s why he’s being patient. I’d have to be crazy to attack.

I began casting EMP Bolt before I even begin to turn. If this doesn’t work, I’ll know right away. If it does, I’ll need to get out of sight before the 10-second disruption of its electronics wears off.

The bolt looks like a little blue ball of energy—and it’s fast. The second it hits what I can best describe as a flying tank, sparks erupt from every surface. The vehicle’s lights go out, and it begins to fall from the sky. With any luck, it’ll hit the ground hard enough to take it out of the fight permanently.

Well dang… that went better than I’d hoped.

There’s no time to think. I run to the other side of the building and clench my teeth. It’s not like in the movies where the buildings are so close together you can jump from rooftop to rooftop. These are all different heights, and there are streets between the blocks. Whether that ship comes back and blasts me into little pieces with its cannon, or I fall to my death—at least I know I’ll have given myself the best chance possible.

A second later I reach the edge and jump with all my might. I don’t see where Spyce could have landed, but I do see another fire escape on a shorter building I hadn’t spotted before.

I crash into it, suffering fifteen points of fall damage, but I manage to hang. I adjust my grip until I’m hanging on the railing, feet dangling above a street that is still much too far beneath me. The wrought iron micro-balcony screams in protest and one of the welds breaks, but the structure holds.

A window outside the balcony is open, though not completely. Feeling like that’s my best escape route, I risk pulling myself up on the landing, which again whines and shrieks in protest. I pull the window up and duck inside a poorly-furnished apartment.

It belongs to an NPC—an old woman with age lines digging deep furrows into her face. Her curly hair is white, except for tobacco-yellowed bangs. The room is full of cats and overflowing ashtrays.

“Oh, are you here to watch television with me?” she asks.

The question stuns me for a second. “Huh?”

“You are Hubert, are you not?” she asks, giving me a sour expression as if I should know who I am.

This must be part of a quest. Since she’s just an NPC, I ignore her and hurry past her cats, one of which arches its back and hisses as I head to the door. It has about a dozen locks on the thing, so I start moving chains and twisting latches as quickly as my hands can move.

The room fills with that brilliant, white light again and the cats all scatter—or freeze in place along with me. Someone other than the pilot must have been watching me as I jumped because I’ve been spotted.

I’ve only gotten about three quarters of the locks undone and I’m out of time to fiddle with anymore. Taking a step back, I raise my hands and blast the door with two fireballs. It comes apart a moment before the Cygnus Police ship opens fire.

Brrrrrrt!

I’m hit four times—eighty health evaporating—before making it out the door and stumbling into the hallway. The shooting hasn’t stopped. It’s ripping through the apartment walls and zipping through the hallway and through the walls opposite. I drop and start crawling, the bullets snapping over my head as I move out of the deadly spray.

That poor old NPC. She’s not granting completion of any quests for a while, I think.

With the apartment still being chewed apart, I crawl the remaining distance to safety—out of the gun’s sight picture—and stand up just as a level-10 steps out of a doorway to my left.

“What’s goin’ on man?”

I push the player back inside the room and run to the end of the hallway.

There’s a steel door ahead. It’s got a small, square plastic sign next to it. It’s broken, but I can see enough to recognize a stairwell. I kick the wide push-style lever and dash through the frame as it swings wildly open, rebounding and slamming back into my arm, almost knocking me sideways and down the stairs ahead of me.

I cast Regeneration and move down to the stairs. The stairwell is littered with trash, like everything else in 86-Neon. At least someone appears to have been thoughtful enough to sweep it to the sides. It’s still a slip hazard, but less of one.

Lighting is provided by square, steel-framed panels built into the wall every few feet. Most of them are broken, but the ones that remain cast enough sickly, yellow light for me to see where most of the steps are. I can figure out the rest.

The building is ten stories high—or close to it. I landed somewhere around the seventh floor I think. So still a ways to go down. As I hurry toward the ground floor several NPCs beg me for chips, sprawled or sitting across the steps, causing me to jump and slow down to get around them.

Questions race through my mind.

Is the pilot an NPC, or a human-controlled character like the rest of the guards? If he’s human, what does he expect me to do? Whatever that is, can I do something else instead?

I figure I have three possible choices. The first is to continue down the stairs, find an exit, and start running through the streets—maybe into another building.

The second is to stay put. Maybe they’ll get bored and go away… or maybe they’ll send a hundred soldiers in to find me. That might not be so bad. I think I can hold them off in cramped spaces long enough to buy time to use my teleportation stone. Sure, I’d have to start my search all over again, but I’d be alive.

The third is to simply take the fight to these cops. Well, they’re not actually cops.. Just Cygnus Security. Wannabes. Well-armed wannabes. And they’re protecting the guy I need to kill. Working for a raging jerk… I don’t think I’ll feel any worse about putting them back to level one than I did with the Dark Riders. I actually kind of like taking that option. But then… they’ve also got a powerful vehicle with a hell of a cannon on the front of it. That complicates things.

When I reach the bottom level, I slam on the brakes and skid to a halt in the trash at the bottom. There are two doorways here—one to my left, and the other to my right. One has an EXIT sign above it. The other does not.

Leave the building or enter the lobby. Those are my two choices.

Indecision settles on me like a hot, wet blanket. I can feel sweat running down my forehead and into my eyes. It stings, but I can’t take the time to wipe it away.

The mall cops make the decision for me. The vehicle is raking the building with fire, rapidly tearing apart floor after floor until I can hear it shredding the floor above me with that minigun. Yeah, I don’t want to go outside to face that. I run into the building, but not before the pilot adjusts fire and catches me with another round, inflicting twenty more points of damage.

I wonder if the bullets are laced with something or have some kind of enhanced effect because I’m limping as I run. Or maybe Spyce hit me with one of those poisons she carried. Either way, it’s a problem but not as serious as my simply getting the hell out of here.

A quick check shows me that Rebuild is almost spent so I recast it. I definitely want to save my Big Red Doses for later if I can.

The shooting stops, giving me enough time to slow down and consider what to do next. The ground floor of this apartment complex is mostly open. It looks like there’s been a fire. I can see support beams, the remains of a few walls, and things that look like the metal parts of furniture—leftovers from the fire. I can also see the spotlight from the Cygnus Security vehicle as it passes by the filthy windows on the bottom floor, still covered in soot and handprints.

All this for what? Is this how they treat any player who gets too close to their HQ? Or just the ones fighting on nearby rooftops?

There’s still the option of staying put or fighting. I can’t imagine what good fighting would do, though. The thing I’d be battling isn’t a player—not really. I’d be fighting his police cruiser. The EMP burst is going to be close to ready again, but that’ll only buy me ten seconds. And I’ll have to dish out enough damage to destroy the vehicle in that time. I have no idea how easy or hard that would be.

“What’s going on?” asks a voice in the darkness.

I equip my shotgun and train it on where I heard the voice. Several seconds of silence pass before someone steps out of the darkness, holding up his hands. I recognize him right away.

It’s Wu-Tanis, the level 1 I paid to answer the questions for me back at the flophouse. He jumps back and throws up his hands. “I wasn’t doing nothin’!”

“Relax, Wu-Tanis. It’s me.”

“Seriously, man, no trouble wanted.” He steps out from the burned-out room he was in. I doubt he even heard what I said. “I swear. Just looking for leftovers. You know, stuff most badass characters like you wouldn’t even… hey, aren’t you that guy with the white chips? What a coincidence!”

I lower my gun but keep it equipped. “Yeah, I’m that guy. And sure, it’s a coincidence. You didn’t just follow me for more chips.”

Wu-Tanis shrugs and gives a “you caught me” grin.

“Bad luck, your being here right now,” I say.

“Whoa!” He raises his hands as high as he can get them. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“If I wanted to kill—”

“Listen, okay, I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry. Was this your place? Here, you can have all the—”

“Quiet,” I hiss, motioning for him to get down as the blindingly bright spotlight floods the room, probing.

Wu-Tanis covers his head and glances back and forth between the window and me. “Oh, got yourself into a pickle, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “Same as you.”

“What’d you do?”

“Fought someone.”

“One of the guards?” he asks.

“No. At least I don’t think so. Someone else. We fought on a rooftop close to the Cygnus Building. I think they just got curious, but I didn’t stick around to find out why.”

“They aren’t just curious, dude,” Wu-Tanis says harshly. “They’re jerks. All of them. I used to be level twelve before they got curious about me. Level twelve! They said I was looking at the Cygnus Building too long. They wanted to know what I was planning, who was involved, stuff like that. I wasn’t planning anything. They didn’t believe me. And of course, I didn’t have the chips to rent space so…”

I’m listening, but I’m also trying to think of a plan, so instead of saying anything, I just nod. He seems to take it as permission to tell me everything he knows about everything.

“Yeah, they wouldn’t stop asking me questions. Things like ‘where do you live in real life’ and ‘what do you do for a living.’ Real personal stuff. I was like… yo, that’s personal, dawg. Shit’s none of their business, right? What right do they have to interrogate me, anyway? They ain’t even real cops. It’s not like they can come to my house and arrest me. It’s just a game, so of course, I don’t answer them. I’m like hell no. Then they get all up in my face and start waving their guns around and stuff. Like, oh, you wanna be level one? I’m like ‘Bite me.’ So they do, but with bullets.”

“Get down!” I shout as the light shines through the window again. Wu-Tanis and I crash to the floor behind the remains of a crumbling wall when I tackle him. The ship is lower. They must be searching floor-by-floor. It doesn’t look like they have any intention of giving up.

“Bruh, you sure you didn’t fight no Cygnus guards?” he whispers. “Must’ve been one helluva fight. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even look your way. People fight all the time, right?”

“Shut up,” I tell him.

“Oh I see how it is. That’s rude.”

“Stop talking unless the next thing you can tell me is how we get out of here and past that ship without being spotted.”

He looks up at me from the pile of ash he’s lying in. “They ain’t after me.”

“Pretty sure their bullets aren’t going to discriminate when they find us both in here, are they?”

Wu-Tanis shrugs. “I’m a level one. What do I have to lose? I mean. I got some new white chips. But I ain’t got that many.”

I grind my teeth and think about taking him out myself. “Three white chips.”

“Make it four and you’ve got a deal.”.

“Fine, four. Now how do we get out of here?”

“Easy. We take the underground.”

I don’t have time to ask what, exactly, the underground is, so I nod and tell him, “Lead the way.”

He gets up, giving me a strange, sideways glance like maybe he misheard me or something. I may have given away my secret—that my character isn’t from this Realm—but that’s fine so long as I stay alive.

We wait for the spotlight to pass again. It’s not as bright, so it looks like they’re looking at the floor above us again. It also looks like a second cruiser has joined them. I’m surprised they haven’t sent anyone in at the ground level to go floor by floor—maybe Billingsly’s army isn’t as big as I’m making it out in my head. Salvatore had a legit clan that caused serious trouble and that’s what I’ve been expecting.

Wu-Tanis sprints from our hiding place across the litter-strewn remains of the hallway to another partial wall on the other side. I follow closely and when he takes cover, so do I.

He’s humming some DMX to himself as he moves, barely a whisper, “Up in here, up in here, y’all gon’ make me…” he holds out a hand like he’s telling me to stop and his singing falls quiet.

When the light passes again, we sprint to the burnt out remains of what looks like it used to be a steel-framed bunkbed. The mattress is a pile of ash, and on it is a severely charred human skeleton. Poor Uncle Owen. The light comes again and so we duck next to the bed. It’s not much cover, so we flatten ourselves on the floor and hope for the best. Maybe the shadows the light creates will help camouflage us. Maybe we’ll get out of this alive.

The next time Wu-Tanis moves, I’m hot on his heels, but instead of seeking cover again, he jumps through a plate glass window and out into the street. Has he betrayed me? Or is he just crazy?

I can hear the thrum of one of the ships’ engines. Its spotlights return to the place we’d been hiding behind the bunkbed and linger for a moment before snapping in our direction. The pilot has spotted us.

“This way!” Wu-Tanis yells above the noise.

I don’t see him, but I run toward the sound of his voice as the ship’s cannon opens up on me. The ground around my feet explodes into little fountains of red-hot asphalt. Wu-Tanis is waving to me—ushering me toward him with intense urgency, but it’s hard to make sense of what I’m seeing.

It’s still raining. Things are moving in the street—trash that will never be washed away. The neon lights. The reflections. It’s too much.

Something is wrong. He’s been hit and now only half of him remains. His legs—the waist down—has been blown clean away. I don’t see any guts. But he… no, he’s not dead. He’s still waving—maybe for help. I don’t know if my healing potion will do any good. I don’t know if I can save him. I’ll try.

Then I see it, as though my mind and eyes finally agree on what they’re looking at. Wu-Tanis is in a manhole in the middle of the street. The cover is lying nearby. He drops down the hole as I approach.

I dive in after him, headfirst into darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Diving headfirst through a manhole cover isn’t the most graceful thing I’ve ever done. If anyone ever did it in real life, I think it’s unlikely they would have survived. I hear my character’s head rattle against bent bars sticking out from the vertical concrete tube I pass through before there’s a loud, wet smack at the bottom.

All that and I’m down twenty points for fall damage. I can see myself sprawled on the floor, and every joint in my character’s body seems to be sticking out at a weird angle. For a split second, I wonder if it’s possible for me to break my neck in the game and become permanently paralyzed. Or, if such a thing would be an instant kill. I’ve never heard of it before, but anything’s possible, I guess.

My arms still work enough to inject myself with a Red Dose. Doing so doesn’t bother me as much as it did last time. No needle creepy crawlies. Probably because my adrenaline is off the charts and it feels like my heart is trying to escape its cage.

“Keep moving!” Wu-Tanis shouts at me as he yanks me by my arm. “They can still shoot you. They’ll blast their guns right down that tube!”

I scramble to my feet, thankful I can still move. I whack my head against the top of the horizontal tube my companion is attempting to get me to hurry down. Think Ninja Turtles and sewers. It’s barely four feet in diameter, which means I can move in it, but I have to stay stooped over the whole time.

We hurry, splashing through a narrow stream of foul water running along the bottom of the tunnel. I’m thankful again I can’t smell it.

We’re barely ten feet down the tunnel when, just like he’d predicted, the Cygnus vehicle opens up, sending bullets down the tube and sparks all around us as ricochets take flight. I take a couple of hits, but they’re minor and two seconds later, it stops.

“Don’t slow down, dawg,” he whispers. “They’re probably just reloading before trying another angle or swapping to drop something with a boom down the hole. Keep moving.”

I know I’m putting a lot of faith in this level 1 I only recently met, but it’s not like there are a lot of other options beyond leaving the Realm entirely. If this is some kind of setup, it’s the most complicated one ever.

I stumble through the tunnel, which is illuminated by tiny LED lights every few feet or so—too far apart for their weak, white light to overlap. An odd choice and the only thing I can think of is that this is the 86-Neon equivalent of luminescent moss; a gift from the developers to adventurers otherwise crawling through the dark. The conduit—their power source—is attached to the top of the tube with straps and heavy-looking rivets. The metal bolts look like they’re way too big for the job they need to do and the concrete walls around most of them are damaged.

Gunfire erupts from the ships again, but we’re too far away to get struck. The sound of the bullets hitting the ground echoes down the tunnel after us like a stale drumbeat. A second later it stops, and we hear only our hurrying feet splashing through questionable water, our breathing echoing through the concrete tube.

Then I notice the cockroaches—the same kind I saw in my hotel room. There are so many of them, skittering away from us as we run, searching for a place to hide, I imagine this is where they are all breeding. From here, the game probably has them filter out throughout the rest of the city. They crunch and pop under our feet as we move.

Wu-Tanis holds up a hand and we stop. He leans past me and peers down the way we came. “Just making sure we’re not being followed,” he whispers.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t follow us,” I say as I turn to look behind us as well.

“You never know fo’ sure. But they don’t usually get out they ships unless they’re back on top of the Cygnus Building. Them fools wait for backup.”

“Got some experience with that?”

Wu-Tanis smiles. “Now I know you ain’t from 86-Neon. Everyone who plays here knows what happened the last time some fool got out of his ride—homeboy snuck up and stole it for himself.”

“How’d that work out for him?”

“Got shot down a legend, man.”

That gives me an idea. “So if I could get to one… I could steal it for myself?”

“Yeah. Unless the pilots shut them down all the way. Then your slice has to be high enough and you gotta stay hidden for the time it takes them to restart.”

“Good to know.” Whether or not I ever get the opportunity to steal one for myself, it’s good to know such a thing is possible. “Are they always in flight? Do they have some kind of rotating shift so they’ve always got pilots in them?”

“Man, I don’t know. It ain’t like I work for Cygnus. Most of us steer clear unless we can afford to do business inside the HQ.”

“Yeah, I get it. Just thinking out loud.”

“That kind of thinking you’re doing is gonna get you killed.” Wu-Tanis pauses a moment and then offers me another tidbit. “They park on the roof of the Cygnus Building. Once they’re up there, nobody can touch them.”

He turns and starts moving again, slower now. Clearly, he feels like the danger has subsided. I’m still on my guard. For all I know he’s leading me to an ambush, into a den full of player killers who’ll divvy up my loot after they put me down.

“Ah,” I say, feeling a little disappointment. “I thought about going up there riding on the outside of one of those flying cars. Then I’d jump onto the roof and steal one.”

“Trust me,” Wu-Tanis says with a small sigh, “we’ve tried. They’ve got some kind of defense system up there—a shock trap, I think. They probably only turn it on when the pilots aren’t around. Nobody can survive that shit, though. Nobody we’ve sent, anyway.”

“We?” I ask.

“I’d better let someone else explain the ‘we’ to you.”

We move through the tube for several minutes without talking. Our path is mostly straight, but I notice a gentle slope downward, the same direction the water is heading.

As we move, I watch my companion. As a level 1, I first took him for something of a newb. Most level 1s are. But the way he’s talking, how much he knows, I realize he wasn’t kidding about being a level twelve before. At least. I wonder if he was higher than even that in previous lives. This guy’s got history. He’s seen things and been places.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Someplace I shouldn’t be taking you,” he grumbles. Then he stops, turns, and sticks a finger in my face. “Ay, you can’t tell nobody what I’m bouts to show you. Only reason I brought you here is because we didn’t have any other choice. Also, I need the chips.”

“Not a word,” I say, “Big secret. Where are we going?”

Wu-Tanis eyeballs me for a second. It almost looks like he’s sneering. “What Realm you from for real?”

I consider lying, but based on what he’s already seen, it would be too difficult to deny. Plus, I’m fairly sure he just saved my life. Sure, he might be taking me somewhere else to have me killed, but I don’t think so.

“King’s League. Vanilla. Fantasy.”

He starts walking again, splashing through the water. I follow.

“Yeah, I figured. I never liked that knights and dragon shit. But I thought about tryin’ it since things got so whack in here.”

“Cygnus?” I guess.

“Yeah. It’s been about a year now. Maybe two. Cygnus literally popped up overnight. One day the building was an old, brick thing, barely five stories high and filled with mean NPC’s who’d cut you for no reason at all. Good quest area if you was at least level 15 or so.”

He makes a little explosion with his fingers.

“Then poof, it’s a high-rise fancy office building. A few days later, the first guards start patrolling the streets around it, extorting Slicers, Engineers—anyone who stands to make any kind of a profit, even if it’s only chips.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very nice place,” I muse.

“No it’s not a very nice place,” he says, doing a slightly teasing impression of me. “I mean, it ain’t all bad. Lotta people in this realm like inventing stuff. A little bit of this, some of that, add an extra wire here—that kind of thing. Sometimes cool stuff is created. Sometimes the character blows himself up and flattens an entire city block—that doesn’t happen much anymore.”

Wu-Tanis stops to check behind us again. I look too, but don’t say anything.

“So, the Cygnus has rent-a-cops run around finding out what everyone’s up to,” he says, moving again. “You craft somethin’ good, his boys snag it. They call it ‘corporate raiding’ or something. You get hot about it and they put you back at the character creation screen. It’s a racket.”

“Sounds like it,” I say. “So, where are we going?”

“Right now there’s only three things you need to know,” he says, holding up as many fingers over his shoulder. “One, you’re a guest, so you’d better act like it. That means no begging, no demanding, and no causing any trouble at all ever—at least while you’re down here.”

“Got it,” I say, understanding more than he says. His earlier demeanor is melting away and the veteran player is showing through.

“Two, Booster is in charge. I don’t care how badass you think you are. I don’t care if you disagree with what he tells you. Refer back to rule number one if you need to and do what a good guest would do. If you can’t you have to leave. He’s in charge—period.”

“Okay,” I say, not feeling as comfortable with the second rule as I do with the first.

“Three,” he says, “nobody talks about the underground. Nobody. Nothing. No matter what happens. That’s probably the biggest rule. If someone pisses off Booster, we kick them out, but all the cogs keep meshing like they’re supposed to. This good thing we’ve got going keeps going. As soon as someone opens their mouth to the wrong person, we risk losing it. Get what I’m saying? We’re lucky to still be here as it is.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got it.” Images of mafia hideouts and Top-Secret government labs flow through my mind as I watch the level 1 lead me.

“Anyway, this place is easier to experience than it is to explain,” he whispers. “You gotta see it with your own eyes. The only reason we’re able to be here is because nobody else wants to. Or if they do, they know they’d have to fight us to take over, and we ain’t losin’ that fight.”

I resist the urge to ask who the ‘we’ is again, but figure that’s a wasted question so I let Wu-Tanis keep talking.

“In 86-Neon, some zones are fun. Others are fascinating because they’re beautiful or have an interesting mission-line. Some are neither, but the loot the mobs drop makes it worth their time. This place is none of those. Nobody knows why the designers stuck it here. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, and the loot is crap.”

“Should we be on the lookout for spawns, then?” I ask, unsure exactly what that would look like. Where I play, I’d be waiting for monsters. I know there are things like mutants in the cyberpunk realm, but most everything else is human-based. So… raiders? NPC gangs?

“Nah. We clear out all the spawns like that as soon as they show up. We good until midnight. Some of the mobs in this area are level 1. Sometimes we’ll see one as high as level 8. So, if you come here as a level 3, expecting to have an easy go of it, and run into one of those, you’re going to get turned into a little greasy spot on the ground. Your best bet is to find one or two others about your level to team-up with. Two or three level fours might be able to take-on a level 8.”

“Yeah,” I say, “I haven’t seen a lot of teamwork happening around here. It probably doesn’t happen all that often.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wu-Tanis says. “Part of the game. Got to expect to get betrayed once in a while.”

“That’s too bad,” I say.

Wu-Tanis shrugs. “That’s life, yo. At least until you find some boys who’ve got your back.”

“You find anything like that in 86-Neon?”

Wu-Tanis only smiles.

We must’ve traveled a mile already, passing several six-inch tubes which are draining water into this one. It causes the tiny stream to become a less-tiny one as we progress. There’s also more trash, which means some of the water is splashed onto us as we pass big piles of the stuff which are stuck here and there. This place is a maze and I’d probably be hopelessly lost without my guide.

Wu-Tanis stops and turns to me. “Let’s call this lesson number two. Repeat after me, right is right.”

I repeat it back, wondering what it means.

“Left is wrong,” he says.

“Left is wrong,” I repeat, still not sure what he’s talking about.

“If you go to the left,” he says, pointing down the tube to a t-intersection, “you’ll find all kinds of booby-traps. You can go down that way if you want, but it doesn’t lead to our destination. Also, you’ll be dead.”

“Got it,” I say.

Wu-Tanis heads to the right and I follow. Peeking over my shoulder, I notice there aren’t any lights in the other direction. It’s as black as ink.

We travel another hundred feet or so and reach another t-intersection. Wu-Tanis stops and stares at me, expecting something.

I venture a guess. “Right is right, left is wrong?”

“Good,” he says and resumes walking.

We repeat the process several more times, and after each turn, the slope becomes a little steeper. We’re corkscrewing into the ground, I realize.

“Are you fully healed?” Wu-Tanis asks over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I say. Rebuild has gotten me back to full health a while ago.

“You sure? Because if you screw this part up, you’re going to need all the health you can get. I’m serious.”

“I’m fully healed,” I say, noticing the same kind of darkness as in the other passage up ahead. “What part could I screw up? What’s up there?”

“Repeat it again,” he demands.

“Right is right. Left is wrong.”

“Stick to the right side of the tube. Squash yourself against it as best you can. All the booby-traps are on the left. Don’t reach to the left. Don’t step to the left. You probably shouldn’t even look to the left or your nose might snag something you don’t want it to snag. We’ll reach another intersection up ahead—you’ll see it before we get there because of the lights. Stay to the right until we’re around the next corner. I mean it. All the way to the right.”

I hug the wall, ready to move.

“Now, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” Wu-Tanis says, “but you’re inexperienced here. So, I’m going to get a head start. If you set off a trap, I’d rather just you die than both of us. Wait ten seconds before following me and take your time. So long as you stay to the right, you’ll be okay. Also, if you die here, I’m gonna loot your body. And I ain’t givin’ none of it back if you show up with a new character, a’ight?”

“Fair enough,” I confirm. “But if you try one of the double crosses that are just ‘life,’ be prepared to start over again.”

“I ain’t stupid,” he assures me. “I know you could drop me, bruh.”

The guy seems honest, but I don’t like how any of this sounds. I consider using a Big Orange Dose, which will protect me from most fire damage, or my Big Blue Dose, which will prevent most frost damage, or both. I don’t know what kind of traps this place might have, but now I’m thinking it’s more likely electricity-based. I don’t have anything for that.

Well, I might, but I didn’t have enough time to learn everything about this Realm, so it was best to be cautious.

“Okay,” he says, placing his right hand against the right side of the tube. A few seconds later, he disappears into the darkness. I hear his feet moving quickly, but the echoes make it impossible for me to tell which side of the tube he’s walking on. I want to know where he is in case he double crosses me. Graydon’s Sight shows me his inventory, and his gamertag certainly looks like it’s on the right side of the tunnel.

I place my right hand on the wall of the tube like he did, count to ten, and take a deep breath before cautiously descending into the darkness.

I can’t see anything—not even my own hand in front of my face. The light he was talking about must be far in the distance because I can’t see it yet. One foot in front of the other. Stay close to the right side. I focus and try not to allow my imagination of what might be on my left wander.

Ten steps later, I see a faint glint of something to my left. I freeze, but it’s not moving. There’s something there, and of course my imagination fills in the blank with the worst possible things. Maybe a rusty blade attached to an enormous spring. A bunch of spikes riveted to a metal pipe, ready to cut me a thousand times in a single swipe. Maybe a giant needle filled with something that’ll set my character’s blood on fire.

I try not to think about it as I pass, but I do press myself a little tighter to the right-side of the tube—just in case.

Wu-Tanis didn’t say how long this part of the tube was, and I didn’t think to ask. I’ve been walking so long, though, I’m starting to get bored. So much so, I accidentally let my left elbow drift too far out. It touches something. I hear metal sliding against metal and something hits me, staggering me a bit as I struggle to stay to the right.

“You okay?” Wu-Tanis says. He sounds like he’s still pretty far away, but I can’t be sure because of all the echoes.

I check my screen. I’ve got a new icon in the bottom right corner. It looks like a green skull with some kind of green smoke or mist coming out of the top of it. My health is dropping and I hear a sizzling sound.

“Green skull?” I whisper, lamenting the fact that I’ve just been poisoned..

Wu-Tanis takes it as a sincere question, though. “Means you’ve been poisoned, dawg. You got anything for that? Nasty stuff.”

“Yeah, I do,” I say and use Doc Proper’s Cure-All. He’s right—it’s nasty stuff. I’ve already lost 40 health. My Graydon’s set protects me from physical and magical damage, but not from poison. I watch my health for a few seconds to confirm the damage has stopped before casting Rebuild and moving again.

Pressing myself even more firmly to the right side of the tube, I walk for another minute before finally seeing a bit of light up ahead. Within it is a silhouette. It’s moving a little and resembles Wu-Tanis.

“Whew,” he says with a puff of breath. “How’s your health? You good?”

Rebuild has just about restored me to full. “Yeah, I’m good. You were right—that’s some nasty poison. I cured it, but it’ll still be a little more time for me to heal back up. I’m good, though.”

“For real?” he asks. He looks like he’s got a follow-up question at the tip of his tongue, but clamps his mouth shut instead. He probably wants to know how much health I have. It might give him an idea as to my level. Maybe asking such things isn’t proper etiquette in this Realm. “Okay. We’re here.”

This section of the tunnel terminates about thirty feet away from us. At the end is a hatch which looks like something you might find on a submarine, including the hand-crank wheel right in the middle of it. It’s rusty, but I can spot remnants of the white paint that used to cover it.

“Remember what I told you,” he whispers, almost scolding me. “You’re a guest, Booster is in charge, and never ever mention this place to anyone.”

“Yeah, I got it. No problem.”

After a quick spin to the right, Wu-Tanis pulls the hatch, which has well-greased hinges, and we step into the underground.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The underground is bigger than I expected. Either that, or spending so much time hunched over in a narrow pipe has changed my perspective.

The room beyond the hatch opens to an expansive area so large, I’m not sure I can make out the other side. There are little light sources here and there—probably the same kind of weak LED lighting that the tube has, but they only illuminate small portions of the network of huge pipes, little conduits, and steel cables that stretch the vastness of the room like a confusing spider web.

The room has to be a hundred feet wide, and at least as far to the side opposite me. When I look down, I realize I can’t see the bottom. It’s just more pipes, and it keeps going and going. I glance away as vertigo threatens to disorient me.

Steel-cabled ladders and walkways are strewn between the largest pipes, which must be ten or twelve feet in diameter. The ladders are attached to the smaller ones, and there are characters everywhere.

Wu-Tanis leads us onto a rope bridge whose slats look like they might be made from discarded slices of aircraft fuselage. A few bow upward and some bow downward. The whole thing quivers as we make our way across it.

“This is the underground,” Wu-Tanis says. “That’s not its official name. Devs didn’t give it one as far as I know. But it’s what everyone calls it. No quests will lead you down here. It’s one of those places you have to discover on your own or hear about it from someone else. We like it that way. It keeps the riffraff out.”

I nod as I follow my tour guide.

“Right now, it’s about the only place low-level characters can level-up. There’s no spot in this game like them woods you got in vanilla where you don’t have to worry about gettin’ jacked. This is hard core.”

“Why do you say this is the last place low-level characters can level-up?” I ask. “I saw lots of other characters on the surface. That’s the first place I saw you.”

Wu-Tanis opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted.

“Who’s this?” a character named MrGreen asks. He’s a level 22, and based on the gear he’s wearing, he’s no slouch. There’s something to the way he stands, too. It’s like he’s used to being in charge and he’s got an air of authority that hovers around him. He wears it comfortably and it makes me wonder if he might be a cop in real life.

“His name is Dirk,” Wu-Tanis says.

“Yeah,” MrGreen says, “I can see that. What I mean is, how come I’ve never seen him before? What’s he doing here?”

“He ran into some trouble with the Cygnus cops,” Wu-Tanis explains. “We kind of both did, but that’s on him, too. I was minding my own business looking for loot anyone might’ve dropped in the Old Skeleton building.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick enough for him to know I don’t buy it.

He doesn’t confess to following me. He just gives me that cheesy grin and continues, “So, when he looked like he needed some help, your boy came through. Oh, speaking of which, you still owe me chips, dawg.”

“Right,” I say and immediately open a trade window, into which I move 4 white chips. We both click ‘Accept’ and Wu-Tanis’s pale eyebrows almost disappear into his white hair.

“I appreciate you keeping me alive,” I say. “You went above and beyond… just don’t expect to get a tip every time.”

MrGreen glances back and forth between us before settling his eyes on Wu-Tanis. “Are you two square?”

“This guy’s honest,” Wu-Tanis says with a nod. I wonder what kind of dogs he just called off with that little gesture.

“An honest man in 86-Neon,” MrGreen says with a laugh.

“I know. Weird, right?”

The two characters laugh at the shared joke I don’t think I fully understand before MrGreen turns to me with a serious expression. “Did Wu-Tanis explain the rules to you?”

“He did,” I answer. “I’m cool with it.”

“What are they?”

I repeat the three rules I’d been told, which seems to satisfy him.

“Good,” he says. “So, what did you do to piss off the Cygnus cops? You a thief?”

“Nah,” I say. “I attracted their attention when I was fighting someone on one of the rooftops. They told me to stop, but I decided I didn’t feel like it. I ran. They started shooting. That’s pretty much it.”

MrGreen hisses between his teeth. “You survived against one of them Cygnus Scorpions? Damn. What level are you?”

I glance at Wu-Tanis, who’s staring at me with the same amount of curiosity as the other guy. I don’t think I’m ready to tell them everything just yet. Word will get out that there’s a new level 99 in the Realm, but I don’t want to lie if I can help it.

“High enough,” I say. “I barely survived. It took a Big Red Dose to keep me out of the character creation screen. Well, that and Wu-Tanis.”

MrGreen nods, apparently satisfied with my non-answer. I’m a little concerned he’ll push for more. If it happens, I might go ahead and tell him. A quick search of my name would tell him what he was after anyway.

“You plan on sticking around?” MrGreen asks. “If so, I’ll need to get you into the rotation for mob detail. We have a lot of characters now, so you’ll probably be able to choose whichever shift you want. We’ll need you for about three hours a week, but it doesn’t have to be a solid three hours.”

“I don’t plan on sticking around that long,” I say. “A day. Maybe two or three.”

“Well in that case, you’ll need to pay rent,” MrGreen replies. “Everyone contributes either by working a shift or paying into the kitty. Those who refuse to do either, are dealt with. It doesn’t happen very often, but it does happen. Usually it’s just excommunication. Sometimes, it’s execution.”

“How much to stay here a week?” I ask. “I doubt it’ll be that long, but just in case.”

“Fifty silver chips.”

Wu-Tanis’s head snaps around to the other man’s face. “Fifty?”

“Look at him,” MrGreen says. “Look at that gear. You don’t think he can handle fifty silvers? Heck, he can probably handle ten times that much.”

“Yo, we only charge ten,” Wu-Tanis snaps.

“So what?” MrGreen says. “Call it inflation or something. You’re good with it, right?”

“It’s fine,” I say as I open a trade window and move 50 silver chips into it. My intention had been to be a hard-ass, but from what Wu-Tanis had said, this wasn’t the place to do that. Better not to risk it

A second later, the trade is complete. He has his chips, and I have a note, which I take a moment to read.

OFFICIAL PASS

From: MrGreen

To: Whom It May Concern

The bearer of this note has paid his rent through seven days after this note is dated.

The date the letter was written looks to be hard-coded into the document itself. It can’t be altered, and neither can the text it contains.

MrGreen waves a hand at the note. “If you’re challenged by anyone, show it to them. It’s not like we’ve got a central bank or anything, so that’s basically your receipt.”

“Okay,” I say, closing my character interface.

“Are we good?” Wu-Tanis asks his friend, looking more than a little annoyed.

“Yeah, we good,” MrGreen says.

“Good, because I want to introduce him to Booster.”

MrGreen’s friendly demeanor and expression fade into something a little sourer. He looks me up and down, eyes pausing for a moment on my rifle, which is strapped to my back, and my Dark Shiv.

“Yeah, okay,” he says to Wu-Tanis. “Just remember, he’s your guest. You brought him here, so I’m holding you personally responsible if anything… unsavory happens.”

“Fine, whatever,” Wu-Tanis says. “This way, guest.”

He leads me across a few more rope bridges, one of which goes down at such a steep angle, it’s more of a ladder than anything else.

Along the way, we pass a few dozen other characters. Most appear to be engaged in deep conversations. Others are arguing. Still more are playing mini games which look like old, upright arcade-style games. These are attached to conduits with wires whose insulation is questionable. Once in a while, one of them sparks, sending a glowing shower down on everyone’s head who happens to be nearby.

Next we take a ladder, which is so long it disappears into the darkness below. I grit my teeth, close my eyes, and take the rungs one at a time. It looks like it’s strong enough to support the weight of both of us, but it’s just a game, so anything could happen.

When we reach the bottom, a hundred or more feet later, Wu-Tanis steps in front of me and sticks his finger in my face again. “Remember,” he whispers, “you’re a guest. No matter what Booster says, don’t disrespect him. Everyone here owes him a lot, and if you piss him off, you piss all of us off. I know you could take me. I have no doubt. But I don’t think you’d stand a chance with a couple hundred of us, right?”

“It won’t come to that,” I say. “Anything I should watch out for? Any pet peeves or something like that?”

“Nah,” Wu-Tanis says with a dismissive wave. “He’s cool. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble, but maybe you need to understand why everyone respects him so much.”

“Shoot.”

“First of all, like I said, he’s cool. He’s not the typical player up on the streets, okay? There’s no need to try to strong-arm him or anything.”

I nod.

“Second, he’s the one who gathered the founders of this place—got them all to work together. They cleared all the mobs out of the underground. He started the rotation system that keeps them down deep so we can roam the rest of the place without having to worry about getting eaten by something. So long as he’s here, this place will remain mob-free. It’s why we owe him our loyalty. Without him, almost none of us would get past level 1. No doubt.”

“He sounds like an exception to the 86-Neon player profile,” I offer. “Everything I’ve read—and experienced—about this place says there’s no one like that here.”

“Yeah, well. Not everyone’s an asshole,” Wu-Tanis replies. “Anyway. All the other founders have disappeared. They were killed-off, either by mobs or other players. Some of ’em moved on to other realms, other games… different lives. Who knows? He’s the last one, and he’s been playing this game since the beta. So put some respect on his name. But don’ kiss his ass. He don’ like it.”

The platform we’re standing on looks like it’s the remains of another aircraft wing. Some kind of jet—maybe for transporting passengers or cargo. It’s so large, the little lights hanging from another pipe over it don’t even show the edge, and I have no idea how it’s not falling into the darkness below. I wonder how it got down here, but don’t bother asking.

“So, this place is kind of like a guild?” I ask. One of Wu-Tanis’s eyebrows goes up and I feel my ears grow hot under my VR helmet. I don’t know what they call guilds in the Cyberpunk Realm, but I take a stab at it. “A corporation, I mean.”

“A gang,” he corrects. “But not, it’s not official. Gangs get put on wanted lists whenever we do somethin’ against the NPC cops. Cygnus reads that list and makes sure to disrupt. So, the rule about being a good guest only applies to you when you’re down here. Up on the surface, it’s every character for himself. But the rule about keeping this place quiet—that one don’t end.”

“And nobody ever gets in fights down here?” The thought is mind boggling given how aggressive the players are in this realm. How I thought they were, at least.

“This area isn’t technically a non-PVP zone. We treat it like it is, but realistically, anyone could fight anyone anytime here. Hell, someone could bring in a bomb and if it’s big enough, kill us all. We just don’t. We’ve got a good thing going on here and nobody wants to spoil it.”

“I get it,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about any trouble from me. I’ll defend myself if it comes down to it, but I won’t start anything. You have my word.”

“I know,” he says, jabbing me with his elbow. “It’s just stuff I’ve got to say.” After taking a deep breath, he nods to an area of darkness in front of us. “Okay, here we go.”

We walk toward the narrow end of the wing-platform. Just when the darkness seems overpowering and I start to get worried that we’re going to fall off the edge, a vertical line of bright light appears. It quickly grows wider as a heavy curtain is separated.

Wu-Tanis sticks his head in and whispers to someone.

A few seconds later, he glances over his shoulder at me—a worried expression on his face—before sticking his head between the curtains and whispering some more.

Nearly a full minute later, I hear him whisper “okay.” He closes the curtains and walks back to me.

“As you might’ve guessed,” Wu-Tanis says, “Booster isn’t alone in there. We never leave him alone. He’s got his own personal bodyguards, and they don’t play. I know you’re tough, but these guys are loyal and they don’t mind dying for him. They want you to disarm. I told ’em I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

“I won’t.”

“Like I said, didn’t think you would,” he says with a slow nod. “But I had to ask. So here’s the deal. You un-equip your stuff, you can come in. But you equip any of it inside, you’ll be killed before you get a chance to use it. No exceptions. No mercy—their words, not mine.”

I consider Wu-Tanis for a moment.

“You’re a guest here,” he says, urging me to accept the terms. “They’ll treat you like one, but Booster has to be protected. Now I’m vouching for you, dawg, and you don’t know what that can mean for my neck if you go all Rambo up in here. I’m bringing you to him because you look like a guy on a mission. It’s the only reason you were snooping around the Cygnus Building, am I right?”

“You’re not wrong,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, you and Booster might have a lot to talk about—stuff that could benefit each other more than either of you know. The only way to find out is to go with the flow, dawg.”

“I’d suspected as much. I look forward to meeting with him. And, their terms work for me. I’ll de-equip all my weapons. That’s no problem. Let’s go talk with Booster.”

Wu-Tanis checks me over, probably ensuring all my weapons are de-equipped before he takes a step away and moves the curtain to one side for me. I take a quick peek inside, then step through.

It looks like about twenty feet of an airplane’s fuselage—maybe the same plane that the designers chopped up to make the rest of the props throughout the underground. No telling how this thing got down here, though. Probably something the devs thought would be cool.

Most of the seats in the fuselage have been removed. Only six remain—the ones from First Class. They’ve been turned ninety degrees, so they face inward rather than forward and spread out to provide a bit more room than even that mythical part of the plane usually has.

Beside Booster, there are seven other characters, ranging from level 50 to level 86. They’re all equipped with what has to be the best gear for each of them at their level. They’re all doing their best to look as intimidating as possible, too. This guy doesn’t mess around.

Booster is standing between them with his fingers interlaced in what appears to be a relaxed position. There’s a tenseness in his eyes that tells me he’s not as relaxed as he seems, though.

“Welcome,” Booster says as he slowly approaches me.

I offer my hand to shake, but he doesn’t even glance at it. Instead, he walks around me a couple of times, inspecting what he can see of my equipment. His eyes linger on my glasses and gloves.

“Interesting gear,” he says. “Very nice. Tell me, where did you get this rifle?”

I was a bit surprised by the question, not only because he’s going right to a point that I wasn’t expecting, but also because it wasn’t the piece of visible equipment I thought would draw most of his attention.

“Dropped off a mob,” I said—an honest answer even if it wasn’t complete. He didn’t ask for specifics, after all.

Booster nods and walks away a few steps before turning around to speak to me again. He smiles. “Nice shades. You look like you can handle yourself on the surface. I see some decent armor, nice weapons, and a couple of curious items I’m not familiar with. All in all, I’d say you’re at least level-80. Maybe level 90. That puts you in the top one or two percent of the characters around here. Why are you here?”

“I’m here because Wu-Tanis brought me here,” I say, gesturing at the level 1 who looks like he’s trying really hard to disappear.

“That’s not an answer,” he says, turning his hard eyes toward Wu-Tanis. “That’s just telling me what I already know.”

Wu-Tanis steps up. “Dirk could have killed me if he wanted to. He didn’t. He did manage to piss off a bunch of Cygnus guards, though. Coming down here was his only chance of getting away. I saved his life.”

“For how much?” Booster asks.

“Yo…” Wu-Tanis starts, swinging his arms like he doesn’t’ really want to answer the question.

“How much did you make him pay you in order to save his life?” Booster insists, taking a step toward Wu-Tanis.

“Four whites,” he says.

"Booster lifts his head and studies my face for a few seconds and asks me, “And how did you feel about that deal?”

“A white chip for my life? Pretty good deal.”

“Well all right,” Booster says. “Tell me, why would the great and mighty Cygnus want you dead?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “Other than the fact that I didn’t stop when they told me to stop. I was in a fight—and not with one of them. They got curious and wanted to question me or something.”

“Who were you fighting?”

My stomach clenched at the direct question. He might really want to know, or he might be testing me to see if I’m a rat. I can’t tell which. I decide to go half-way with my answer.

“Another player. An assassin. At least, I’m pretty sure she was.”

“You have trouble with assassins, Dirk?”

“I have trouble with lots of people trying to kill me since I got here. She came closest to getting the job done. She didn’t.”

“You like basketball, Dirk?”

“I’m… not sure what you mean? It’s all right. More of a football guy.”

“Nowitzki. Dirk Nowitzki. Played for the Mavericks. Thought you might’ve been a fan. Dirk is… an uncommon name.”

I shrug. “Just the name I picked.”

Booster smiles at my answers. “So, what brings you all the way from Dawnshire… Dirk to 86-Neon?”

I try to hide my shock, but I think I’ve failed. He’s a perceptive one. Obviously he’s paying attention to more than just his own little corner of King’s League. I see Wu-Tanis smiling as well. Crap. They both knew who I was. I start to think of an exit strategy, seeing what kind of damage these people can do by checking their inventories and gathering details with Graydon’s Sight even while hoping that my notoriety just got me to an advanced level of trust and these are people who can help me.

“I have a beef with Cygnus corp,” I say. “ A personal one. Specifically, with Billingsly.”

“The CEO?” he asks. “That’s a big fish. Lives in deep, dark waters. What’s it in regard to?”

“It’s a personal matter,” I repeat. “Let’s just say he’s gone out of his way to make my life outside the game as miserable as possible. So I’m here to return the favor.”

A couple of guards glance at each other, their eyebrows go way up.

“You don’t know the kind of trouble you’re in, Dirk,” Booster says, his expression growing dark. “But I’ll tell you one good thing: an enemy of Cygnus is a friend of ours. What can we do to help?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maybe it’s just my own personal feelings about 86-Neon, but I doubt anyone here ever gives anything without getting something in return. Take Wu-Tanis, for instance. Even though his life was at stake—at least as much as mine—he still wanted to get paid to help me. So, what’s this guy’s deal? What does Booster want?

“What’s in it for you?” I ask.

Booster smiles. “You don’t miss a beat, do you? Well, I’m not sure how things work in your realm, but you’re right to be suspicious. Rarely will you ever find anyone here who is truly altruistic.”

He begins to pace the aisle of the jet fuselage he calls an office. “Now I have several motivations for wanting to offer you help, not the least of which is my own personal satisfaction and my annoyance at being confined to the underground like so many of the others down here. It was already hard to get ahead in this realm and Cygnus has made it so difficult to level up, players are leaving in droves.”

“Seems like something the devs would want to take care of,” I offer.

“You know how they are. Let it play out. Don’t interfere. But I have another reason besides all that. And that’s revenge.”

Here we go. Story time, kids!

“Backstabbing is part of the game. So is thievery. Without having access to the surface and a level playing field for everyone, the players are severely limited in what they can accomplish. It’s too dangerous to go to the surface most of the time, so they stand around talking or take a shift killing the mobs that spawn below.”

“I saw lots of people topside,” I say, hoping the comment doesn’t come across as a challenge.

“Oh, you can show up. But if you plan on sticking around, that’s when Cygnus demands its cut.”

I nod. “Fair enough. Still that’s… not the kind of story I was expecting to hear when you said revenge,” I say. “Bit of a letdown if I’m being honest.”

Booster cocks his head. “You want my help or not?”

I can see Wu-Tanis mouth “be cool” to me.

I hold up my hands apologetically. “I just want to know what you’re after.”

Booster stares at me blankly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps I’d like the thrill of seeing the leader of Cygnus fall. That, of course, would be satisfying all on its own.”

The whole interaction still makes me feel like I’m supposed to be the fly who’d just been invited into the spider’s web for a spot of tea, but I decide to run with it.

“Fair enough,” I say. “What kind of help can you offer?”

“That depends on what you need,” Booster says, turning to face me again. His expression is one of intrigue and excitement. “You see, I have many capabilities that I don’t want others to know about unless there’s a specific need. Those with military experience would call it communications security or operational security. In laymen’s terms, it’s on a need-to-know-basis. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do,” I answer cautiously. “But I’m sure you understand that I’m not going to divulge my plans without knowing more about my potential allies.”

Booster smiles again and lifts a shoulder. He’s always smiling. It’s a thing… like he’s trying to convey how amusing this all is for him.

“Before I can help you, I’ll need to know what it is you’re planning, Dirk. If the plan sounds good I may be willing to tell you what specific help I can provide to make it into a reality. So, that leaves us at a bit of an impasse, as it were.”

I glance at the guards, doing my best to read their expressions. Beyond looking interested in the conversation, they don’t seem overly invested in what’s happening.

“My guards,” Booster says, noticing my glance, “hold my complete trust. Not only have I done something for each of them, based on their need, they have done something for me in return. They know all of my capabilities, but it is up to me to decide which ones to tell you about. You can trust them as much as you trust me.”

“All I need right now is some information,” I explain, giving myself a mental reminder not to let on how much I can see about Booster and everyone else in the room. Their levels, HP, energy, and equipment. “Who do I talk to, and how much is it going to cost me?”

Everyone in the room chuckles. Except Wu-Tanis, he shrinks back into the shadows and I can tell he’s a bit rattled by all this. Maybe I’m treating Booster too much like an equal? If that’s the case, the man doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re a direct one, aren’t you?” Booster asked. “If I had a price in mind you’d have been told up front. My biggest reward is the fall of Cygnus, so don’t worry about having enough chips. You’ll just owe me. So tell me what you need to know and I’ll tell you what I want to answer. Anything I don’t know, my guards might. Anything outside this room, well, yeah, you’re gonna have to pay for that info.”

“Fine,” I say. “I want everything there is to know about the Cygnus Building.”

Booster smiles again, feigning amusement. He flops down into his leather chair, a toothy grin plastered to his face. “I see. What you’re going to get isn’t all verified. A little is, but the rest is speculation based on what we’ve observed and what others have told us. Water-cooler knowledge isn’t always accurate. But that’s a pretty big piece file you’re asking to read. We could talk all night about it. So instead of telling you everything I know, what I suspect, and why, it might save us both time if you tell me what your goal is.”

“Okay,” I say, getting tired of the cat-and-mouse roundabout that keeps playing out. I watch the guards more than Booster as I spill it. “I’m going to kill Billingsly. Whether I have to go in there to enter into a duel with him or draw him out onto the streets—he’s going down.”

Several of the guards nodded, a grim look of determination in their eyes.

“That’s not a plan, it’s a goal,” Booster says, his face showing a hint of annoyance. “There’s a difference. You told me your goal… I want to hear your plan for achieving that goal. Billingsly doesn’t leave the building. Some folks don’t even believe he exists. And if you go inside, he ain’t acceptin’ no duel.”

“I’ll worry about that. And as for his being real… the assassin I was fighting on the roof just before I was attacked by the Cygnus police seemed to think he was real.”

Booster holds out his hands. “Well, if an assassin says he’s real, I guess that mystery is solved.”

Everyone laughs at the boss’s joke.

I shrug. “I got the distinct impression that he was a customer of hers, actually. So in this case… maybe so.”

“You talkin’ about Spyce?” one of the guards says.

The others exchange nervous looks.

“That’s her,” I say.

Booster tilts his head and gives me a look that seems to blend annoyance with disbelief. “You mean to tell me you fought Spyce? And you ain’t a level one?”

“If Cygnus hadn’t have broken it up, I’m not the one who’d have ended up at the character creation screen.”

A whistle comes from one of the guards.

“We got ourselves a baaaad man here, boys,” Booster says, playing to the room. He looks coldly at me. “Bitch came at me once. I barely escaped. Barely. Only reason I survived was because I managed to outrun her, not an easy thing when you’re bleeding out.”

I nod. “Can’t imagine it would be.”

Booster shrugs, gets up, and starts pacing. “I wouldn’t put a lot of faith in what that woman says. She’s good at what she does, mainly because she’s good at convincing people she’s not as dangerous as she really is.”

After a few more seconds of pacing, he reaches the right side of the small room, turns and stops. “Since you ain’t got a plan, I’ll give you one. Free of charge. Walking into the Cygnus Building ain’t hard. Just move quickly, and you enter the non-PVP zone. What is hard is fending off all the duel requests from every scrub guard on payroll to keep you from reaching the boss. Annoying at best, fatal if you give in to the taunts.”

“Billingsly ain’t gonna accept no duel request,” Wu-Tanis chimes in, joining the conversation for the first time.

I turn to acknowledge that I heard him.

“Young brother is right,” says Booster. “He ain’t ever accepted a duel that I’ve ever heard of. Why would he?”

“Maybe I know how to make him.”

Booster gives a sly smile. “What? You got some kind of special artifact from Dawnshire, Dirk? Well, hey, you storm the building, he logs out. Easy. Can’t challenge a man who ain’t online, now can you?”

“I guess I’ll wait for him to come back.”

“Your ass will be waitin’ outside,” laughs Booster.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to remain there?” I ask. “If it’s a non-PVP zone, then it’s not like the guards could throw me out.”

“It’s not them you need to worry about,” one of Booster’s guards named SkullStomper says. He clamps his mouth shut and looks at Booster, who gestures for him to continue. “It’s the receptionist.”

“Like… a secretary?” I ask.

“We’ve sent people in before,” SkullStomper explains. “We got them to stream their experience. Mostly level 1’s, and most of those were ones who’d been killed by the guards already, so they had a score to settle.”

I have a sneaking suspicion who, or rather, what, the receptionist is, but I let him continue.

“Most didn’t get in, but those who did never made it past the receptionist. She’s an NPC, but she’s the most powerful NPC I’ve ever seen in any game. She watches everyone who enters the building. If she decides she doesn’t like you, or you’re not on a list, or you don’t have an appointment—something like that—she flies across her desk, picks you up, and tosses you out.

“Once you’re outside, the guards just shoot you. They usually take the body out into the street and leave it until it despawns. Sometimes the stack of corpses gets pretty high.”

“Like some kind of warning,” another guard adds. “Against anyone trying to get stupid and doin’ the same thing.”

“Right,” SkullStomper says. “We even tried flooding people in. One time we got a hundred and twelve players to all rush the entrance at once. About half were taken out before they could make it all the way there. None of those who got inside made it past the receptionist. She’s crazy powerful.”

“And there is your dilemma,” Booster says. “Though we might be able to help you get inside, there’s no way for you to remain there in order to accomplish your mission.”

“That might not be a problem for me,” I say slowly, still deciding how much I want to tell these people. My Graydon’s set items have painted a big target on my back. They’ve been a blessing and a curse since the day I picked them up. If these guys aren’t legitimate, I might be falling out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“What makes you say that?” Booster asks, staring at me through squinting eyes. He must notice my hesitation because he adds, “Anything you say in this room will remain strictly confidential. My word may not mean anything to you, but ask these brothers what it’s worth.”

The guards and Wu-Tanis nod in considered approval.

“You liked my shades,” I say, pointing to my glasses. “Well, they got a few tricks of their own.”

In truth, I don’t want to give away any information. Unfortunately, there isn’t much of a choice. I can’t do this alone.

Booster glances at my gloves before looking me in the eyes again. “Please, elaborate.”

“These glasses, and these gloves, are part of a unique set called Graydon’s Armor. It caused Dawnshire to spring up in the fantasy realm the same way the Cygnus Building sprang up here. Billingsly has to have a piece to the same set.”

“Ah,” Booster says, “I see now. If that building works the same way your city does, you have some special insight into it. But what does this have to do with the receptionist?”

“In Dawnshire, I have something like a receptionist. It’s a djinn called the Guardian. It can eject people from the town and prevent their reentry. It can also do menial tasks, such as pulling weeds, which, come to think of it, it’s still probably doing, if it can find any.”

Everyone in the room looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Booster nods for me to continue, so I push on.

“The Guardian can kick anyone out of my city unless they have a piece of the Graydon’s Set. Those people have the privilege of never being able to be kicked out.”

“Once you’re in you can’t be kicked out?” SkullStomper asks.

I shrug. “That’s how it works in Dawnshire. My guess is that the rules for all this aren’t so different here. But, that’s only a theory… until I test it.”

Booster begins pacing again and laughs. “You’re ambitious, Dirk! Goin’ straight for the snake’s head. But what if that snake knows you’re coming? Then what? What would you do back in Dawnshire if the roles were reversed?”

“I’d have the fight and kill him.”

This time no one laughs and Booster smiles. They’re either starting to believe that I can do what I say, and that I’m the most powerful person in this room, or they’re thinking about what they might do with the loot that got me here once they take it from my dead body.

“I can’t discount the chance that Spyce may have told him, but I don’t think so. She didn’t make it sound like he was exactly her favorite person.”

“Hold up,” Wu-Tanis says, peering suspiciously at me. “I thought you said you fought Spyce. Not just talked to her.”

“I did.”

“Did you sneak up on her, or did she sneak up on you?”

“She snuck up on me,” I say.

“Then you’ve already got a bounty on your head,” he says, looking to the others in the room who nod in agreement.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” I say. “The first time I met Spyce was in vanilla. She came looking for me because she thought I was hacking her King’s League account.”

“Were you?” Booster asked.

“I didn’t hack her account,” I say. “I’ve never hacked anyone’s account. Wouldn’t even know how to begin to do it. But she was sure I’d done it, to try to gain her Graydon’s Set piece.”

“Am I the only one playing this game without a piece?” Booster asks with a laugh. The others join in.

“So she saw you here and started some beef?” Wu-Tanis asks.

“Yeah. She spotted me when I was scoping out the Cygnus Building. Tried to make good on her promise to kill me if I ever showed up in this realm.”

“Man,” SkullStomper whispered. “You ain’t the most popular dude around, are you?”

“Popularity don’t mean nothin’,” Booster says with a sigh. “Results do. So if you want to get to Billingsly, the first obstacle you’ll need to overcome are the guards set up outside. It may be safe once you enter the non-PVP zone, but they’re selective about who reaches there. Shoot you down in cold blood if they don’t like the looks of you. Now we can help with that. Another Underground run against the entrance gets you enough cover and distraction to reach inside. What happens after that… that’s all on you. If you’re coming to take down the king, you best not miss.”

“I understand,” I say, trying to imagine how many volunteers it would take to get past the guards, especially when you factor in the short work of people those Scorpion flying tanks can accomplish.

“I got a new question, Booster,” says SkullStomper, raising his hand. When Booster gives him the okay, he says to me, “You said Billingsly made your life outside the game miserable. How?”

I tell them everything. The package sent to my real life address, hacking my accounts, the meetings and threats.

Booster waves a hand at his man. “SkullStomper, please tell Dirk what we know about hackers.”

The guard clears his throat. “What you’re saying is not only plausible, it’s something we’ve suspected for a while. I work for… a security company, let’s say. What you’re saying sounds familiar to something we’ve been looking into already.”

“You know who did this?”

“Maybe. The trail we’ve heard about says that Billingsly has an agent working for King’s League corporate. There’s someone on the inside who’s doing this stuff. It’s the only way to bypass their security, as far as I can tell. Someone is on Billingsly’s payroll.”

The news hits me like a bowling ball to the stomach. “So, he’s unstoppable?”

“No,” Booster says. “It just means you’re going to have to fight harder after he discovers you’re here. You’ve attracted the attention of some of his guards. That’s bad. Really bad. If he already knows you’re on his trail, the rest of your plan might fail. He might have his people do something even more drastic.”

“Like what?” I ask, dreading the answer.

Booster shrugs. “Maybe going so far as to burn your house to the ground with you in it. Poison. A bullet to your head. I don’t know the man personally and I have no idea how far he’d be willing to go in order to keep whatever he has going on.”

His words take my breath away. Once again, I’m not sure I feel safe within my own home.

“However,” Booster adds, one finger held up in front of him, “if you can take him out and expose his agent, he’ll be for sure shut down—permanently. I mean, what you’re saying he’s doing—that would be jail time. Underground is willing to help, if you’re willing to try.”

I allow my eyes to drift over the men standing in front of me. They watched me with an intensity I’d rarely seen. It seems that all of their hopes and dreams of a future within King’s League rest with me. My hopes and dreams for any future rest with me.

I catch Wu-Tanis looking at me. “Ride or die,” he says.

“Let’s do this,” I answer.

Booster smiles again. “It’s getting late and not everyone here is a full time player. Plus, even I need a little time to get things going. Get the word out. Start preparing. So let’s meet up tomorrow—ten am pacific time—and we’ll go from there.”

I rock on my heels. I’m not complaining about the wait. It’s been a while and totally understand the need to get things lined up. I’m not thrilled with the thought of logging out here in the underground where anyone could put a bullet in my head and then loot me before I got out of bed.

“Okay, that works,” I say to Booster. “You got a guide that can show me the fastest way to a flophouse so I can log out safely?”

“You don’t trust us, brother?” Booster asks, laughing at his own joke.

“Would you if this was Dawnshire?”

“If this was Dawnshire, there’d be no PVP,” Booster says, then he pulls something out of his inventory—it’s an Experimental Teleporter. “This is linked to this room. Take it. I know from watching some of your streams that you have one of your own. Go on back to Vanilla. Sleep easy. Use this, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

A trade screen opens up and I take the item.

“Thanks,” I say. “This works between realms?”

“It does.”

I turn to Wu-Tanis. “Thanks for your help today.”

“Thanks for the chips.”

I smile and activate my teleportation stone, keeping watch on the guards as the light builds around me and I’m transported back to The Temple.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I wake up early the next morning. Too early, actually. I’m supposed to meet Booster at ten am. It’s six fifteen. I had a feeling this would happen. Ever since I was a kid, if something big was happening the next day, not only did I have trouble sleeping, but I woke up way early. Christmas, family vacations, birthdays… same story every time.

There’s little chance I’ll go back to sleep and even if I could, I’d be too afraid of sleeping past my alarm to try it. So I get up and try to have a nice, peaceful breakfast.

Ten minutes later and I’m logging on to King’s League. I had debated playing as Nogg, but I don’t want to end up in a situation where I’m in the middle of something and I have to abandon his character to the elements. If I’m being Dirk, I can teleport my way to the Underground.

I’m in The Temple and figure I’ll take a walk around Dawnshire. Try and get a better feel for a town that I’m nominally in charge of, but don’t know nearly as much about as I should. I walk past the statue of Graydon and out into the sunlight.

Smog the Guardian is zipping past me with a handful of what look like the tiniest little weed starts I’ve ever seen. “Hey, Smog.”

The djinn stops. “Yes, my master.”

“How’s the weeding going?”

“I have kept the grounds clean unceasingly, as you have demanded.”

I look around. He’s not kidding. I don’t see so much as a blade of grass coming up between cobblestones. In the distance, NPC workers are adding another story to the potion shop. This is one of those things that merchants deal with, just like those old mobile games where you built your clan or whatever. You wait for days until the NPCs do the job… unless you want to pay cash for upgrades. The potion shop looks a pretty long way from being complete.

I nod toward the construction site. “Can you help with that?”

Smog turns and looks. “Help complete construction, Master?”

“Yeah.”

“I can.”

“Okay, go do that for a while. Pause every third day to resume weeding duties for a day, and then help with construction again. When construction is finished, repeat the process and begin helping with the next building if there is one. Do you understand?”

“I shall obey,” rumbles Smog before zipping off to the job site and lifting timbers up by his own strength—no need for a pulley system.

I smile, satisfied. That should help Dawnshire grow even faster. I’m pretty good at this Lord thing.

Stoneburner is online, so I decide to walk over to his shop to say hello. It’s weird because I could easily just hit him up on chat, but there’s something about going there in person first that’s just nice. Like we’re really all living in this community together, you know? It’s a stark contrast from the constant fighting and backstabbing over in 86-Neon. Yeah, the guys in the Underground are acting nice, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being set up for a double cross. I don’t know if you can ever shake that feeling in that Realm. I don’t think I could stand to play there day after day. But this… this is nice. It’s a reminder of what I’m fighting for.

“Friend Dirk!” Stoneburner shouts upon seeing me. He’s working on what looks like a dagger. He sets it down and rushes me, taking me up in a massive bear hug. “You are back from the forbidden realm of the future, I see.”

When he lets go and we’re back at arm’s length, I say, “86-Neon isn’t our kind of place, I can tell you that much.”

“I don’t doubt it. Tell me, did you accomplish your quest? I am very happy to see you alive.”

“Final boss,” I answer, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. “Today’s the day when the big push to take down Billingsly happens. I made a few friends there that I can trust. They want him dead just as much as I do.”

“I would not have suspected such noble souls to exist in that peculiar land. It just goes to show that the good hearts of men cannot be so easily squelched.” Stoneburner moves back to his tools. “Mind ye if I carry out my labors? I must complete this order.”

“Ah, what’s the fun in that?” I ask. “Maybe the two of us should go and see about taking down that tentacle monster…”

“Say it not, Friend Dirk! No more adventuring for me lest my business suffer from neglect.”

“Only kidding. I have to get back to the Cyberpunk Realm at ten. Can’t you hire another NPC to help in the shop? One that can do more than basic repairs?”

“Aye. Should I invest in leveling the business. But my profits are not there such as yet. There is more gold that must be hoarded to afford such a luxury.”

“Maybe Smog can help?”

“The Guardian?”

“Yeah. I think he can do way more than what we’ve been asking of him. Right now I have him helping build the potion shop.”

“I was not aware such was within his power… mysteries are still yet being revealed to us who rule Dawnshire.”

“No kidding. I got the idea from my time in 86-Neon.” I tell Stoneburner about the receptionist that guards the Cygnus Building. “So evidently, our helper can be a lot more helpful than serving as a gardener.”

“Praises for this being true.”

The bell on Stoneburner’s shop door rings and we both turn to see the new customer. I’m surprised when I recognize him. “Hey, it’s you!”

“Your pardon, sire,” says the old man Stoneburner and I helped out in the woods. “But I don’t think we have met. My name is Ralphus. And I am here because of the noble heart of this blacksmith.”

Stoneburner steps forward. “Of course. I remember you well, friend. Do you have need? Though Friend Nogg is sleeping at yon inn, I remain willing to serve.”

That’s right. I was playing as Nogg when we helped this guy.

I look to Stoneburner. “Oh, so now you’re willing to go adventuring?”

The old man—Ralphus—gives Stoneburner a kindly smile. “I have no further quests at this time. But your kindness would not depart from my thoughts. In this land, so many would have taken my greatest possession for their own game. But you did not.”

“Nor would I now…” Stoneburner begins.

Ralphus smiles again. “I know you speak truth. I thought on these things and realized that you are a steward of Dawnshire. And therefore have access to the Temple of Graydon.”

He holds out his hand, revealing something wrapped in cloth.

“If that’s a gold coin from Cygnus,” I say, “so help me…”

The old man unwraps the cloth and reveals three brightly shining gems. One red, one yellow, and one blue.

“What’re those?” I ask. “Infinity Gems? Because if you’ve got a quest to get the gauntlet, 86-Neon can wait. I’ll snap everybody in that realm to dust and call it a day.”

Stoneburner hushes me just before the old man speaks again.

“These are the Stones of Graydon.” Ralphus refolds the cloth and presses it into Stoneburner’s hand. “And I wish for you to have them. Their power, when rightly used, is considerable. And they belong here with the stewards of Dawnshire, who have proved their worth.”

“Truly, this is a great honor.” Stoneburner nods in respect. They shall be safe here.”

The old man doesn’t linger. He turns for the door. “Farewell… stewards of Dawnshire.”

“Farewell,” says Stoneburner.

He immediately opens up a trade window and offers me the stones.

“Whoa, hey,” I protest. “This was your adventure. You were the one who didn’t want to take the amulet. If this is some kind of powerful Graydon’s set piece we didn’t account for, it’s yours, fair and square.”

“Nay, Friend Dirk. You are the bearer of the armor. Take it.”

“If you’re sure… I mean, I’m serious. I want you to have it.”

“Take it,” insists Stoneburner.

I accept the trade and look at the stones in my inventory.

Graydon’s Stone (Red)

You cannot equip this item.

Graydon’s Stone (Blue)

You cannot equip this item.

Graydon’s Stone (Amber)

You cannot equip this item.

“Cannot equip?” I mutter out loud.

Stoneburner laughs. “I might have kept them if it were not so, Friend Dirk. I see that you are in the same predicament as me.”

“Very funny,” I say, a smile close behind the words. “Wonder what they do?”

“They are gems,” says Stoneburner, gesturing to the weapons around him. “Perhaps they can be set into your armor to add additional powers?”

“Not that I’ve seen.” I say. “Stoneburner, you learn that trick yet? Can you add these to my helm?”

“Nay,” he answers with a laugh. “ I have much to learn in my craft before I can do such things. Of course, were there an enchanter to work with…”

I wave away the hint. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll get around to it someday.”

“Until that day,” Stoneburner says, going back to heating his project, “I suggest you keep these precious stones safely inside the temple. I think we both know what purpose they have to the benefit of the lady Spyce.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” I check the time. Still a ways until the meeting, but it’s getting closer.

“Okay, I’m going to head to The Temple. Let you work here.”

“Good luck this day, Friend Dirk. And my offer still stands…”

“I’ll be okay doing this on my own, Stoneburner. You stay here and keep Dawnshire safe. If anything happens to me, I’ll call you. Take the gems out of my private chest and see if that’s enough for the statue of Graydon to grant you control over Dawnshire.”

“Don’t speak of such things.”

“Just being realistic. Between me and Billingsly… one of us is losing it all today.”

Stoneburner gives his heated iron a decisive pound and then looks up at me. “Then may it be you who are victorious, Friend Dirk.”

“I sure hope so. See you soon.”

I leave the shop and head back to The Temple. Smog has already made considerable process in helping to upgrade the potion shop. I’ll have to stop in and find out how much it’s helping before I resupply myself for the mission.

But first… I have some questions.

I move to the statue of Graydon and clear my throat. “Hello?”

After a pause, the statue rumbles and seems to come back to life. “You have summoned me, my Champion.”

“Uh, yeah.”

I rub the back of my head. “I had a few more questions.”

“By all means.”

“What are these stones?” I hold up the red stone between my fingers.

“These belong to my set of armor. They will provide the user with certain… powers.”

“But I can’t equip them.”

“You cannot.”

I let out some air. Not entirely surprising.

“These go with the belt, don’t they?”

“They do.”

Thought so. While I’m on the subject of the armor, I ask another thing that’s been in the back of my mind. “My set pieces, the helm and the gloves, they have binding so they can’t be taken from me unless I’m killed.”

“That is correct.”

“But does that mean I can’t give them to someone else?”

“You may bestow them upon whoever you wish.”

Aha! That makes a lot of sense. I had been wondering exactly how Cygnus had planned on making good on their offer to take my piece of armor without killing me for it. Now I know. But this is good news because it means I can let Nogg borrow the gloves the next time he goes grinding. I’m hesitant about letting anyone else use the helm, though. I can afford to lose the gloves but I don’t know what I’d do without Graydon’s Sight.

NoWell, after he gets a bit more robust in HP anyway. But with that mana regeneration, a proper wizard could do some serious damage.

“Is there a statue of Graydon in the Cygnus Building?”

“Speak to me not of realms other than the one we now share together.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling awkward for some reason. “Well… thanks.”

“You have my blessings in your adventures, Champion.”

“Thanks again. Bye.”

How do you end a conversation with a deity, anyway?

I’ll have to find the answer to that another time. I stow the infinity gems, check my inventory and head to Roxxy’s Potion Shop—a quick stop before returning to the Underground.

Chapter Thirty

“Right on time,” Booster says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as I appear back in his HQ. “I’ll tell you what we got set up overnight.”

“Hopefully you got some sleep,” I say, taking in the room, thankful that my trust wasn’t used against me. There’s no ambush. It looks like the guards have changed shifts, but SkullStomper is still here. So is Wu-Tanis.

“Don’t worry about me,” Booster says. “I can sleep when I’m dead. Now, like I said, we’ve lost several members of our little community to our attempts to disrupt Cygnus. But we never had someone who couldn’t be removed by the receptionist. That reality has energized the Underground.”

“I’m curious why Billingsly has his sights set on you in particular,” Booster says.

“I told you, he wants my Graydon’s Set items,” I say.

“I have no doubt the Graydon’s Set items are powerful,” Booster says, still pacing. “But that ain’t it. Cygnus can buy power. Dawnshire provides you income, right? That’s what the whole beef with Salvatore was about, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty much,” I say. “He wanted control of Dawnshire and I wanted players to know how he was farming them. In Dawnshire I collect tax on every transaction that happens within its shops. It’s not much, but it adds up pretty quickly. It’s all gold, which isn’t worth a ton on the open market. I sell it, and whatever I get is income. It pays the bills.”

“What was the package again?” one of Booster’s men interjects. He wasn’t here last night. Gamertag is VyRuss.

“A gold coin,” I say. “It came in a carved stone box. I think it’s made of jade.”

“Real gold?” he asks.

“Yeah. Which makes me think he really does want the armor. He has money.”

“Boy, you don’t know the human condition,” Booster says. “You know what people with a lot of money want? More money.”

I shrug. I certainly don’t have enough money to know whether that’s true or not. But then, plenty of rich people seem only to be focused on making themselves richer. So maybe Booster is right about that. “Billingsly offered me $150,000 for my set.”

“Yo, and you said no?” shouts Wu-Tanis. He clutches his heart. “I gotta sit down, yo. This fool’s crazy.”

“It wasn’t easy to refuse. But I felt a sense of responsibility to my city. Trust me, I could have used the money. But then, when I found out they were also behind the hacking—not to mention an assassination attempt. Forget it.”

No one in the room seems to think that I made a wise choice. I can tell that they all would have taken the money and dropped the loot, even if it meant hitting level one again. It makes me wonder, now that the word is out, if I can trust them not to try to take what’s mine when I’m not looking. At some point, Dirk, you’re gonna have to develop that killer instinct.

“Yeah,” VyRuss says. “That’s a lot of money to walk away from. For most people that’s probably four or five years’ worth of expenses. That must’ve been tough to do.”

“So here’s the thing we worked out,” Booster says, changing the subject. “Someone hacked your account. Got into all your personal information. They know who you are, where you live and… most likely what you look like.”

“I’ve thought about that. The other night, coming home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.”

“Good,” Booster says in a calm voice. “Good.”

“I don’t see how that’s good.”

“It’s good because it might be the solution to a problem we’ve been trying to solve. This could be the move that ends it all—the thing that takes Billingsly and his insider down.”

“How so?” I ask.

“Because the hacker knows your face,” VyRuss repeats. Some of the other guards stare at him with as much confusion as is probably on my own face.

“You see,” he continues, growing more excited the longer he talks, “we don’t know who he is. Nobody knows. But, he knows who you are. We do know where the hacker works. Now, King’s League isn’t located in one building. Their finance department is in Texas. Their human resources department is headquartered in Virginia. Their security department is in Los Angeles. We’ve found pictures of the building. We know what it looks like. We have the address.”

“You want me to go there?” I ask. “I thought we were doing this in game.”

Booster puts a hand on my shoulder. “We are, but since Billingsly took all this out of the game, we gotta do the same. It’s the only way. If that hacker meets you face to face, you’ll know it. I’m sure they don’t expect you to show up at their place of employment. They’ll be stunned and shocked that you found them.”

“This feels like a stretch.”

Booster shrugs. “People react differently when they’re confronted. But they do react. This fool knows what he’s doing can cost him everything. How do you think that cat will behave when you show up?”

“If we’re being fair,” VyRuss interjects, “this could end up solving a lot of problems. Anyone who’s willing to hack their employer’s computers is probably up to a lot of other bad stuff as well. Who knows?”

“There’s also the possibility that there’s more than one dude on Billingsly’s payroll,” I add.

My mind is whirling at the possibilities of what could happen. Will I have to fight the guy? What if it’s a girl? Will showing my face spur on more retaliation or scare the hacker away from doing anything else? The possibilities are endless. It also seems like the only way I’ll ever know peace again.

“You say your city has been profitable?” Booster asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Good, because you’re going to need to go to Los Angeles to do this in person. I recommend you buy a bus ticket, rather than a plane ticket. Too much security with planes, and it might set off some alarm bells if the hacker has something like that set up.”

“I’ll manage it,” I say, avoiding telling him where I actually live. “If I take you up on what you’re laying down. I mean… this is not at all what I was thinking. What do I do after I discover who the hacker is? Go to the police?”

“Maybe nothing at all,” VyRuss says. The goal is just to let them know that you know. So they won’t interfere any further.”

“Anyway, that’s the plan,” Booster says, his tone making it clear that what he just said was final. “You down?”

It’s up to me now to decide whether I want to go along with one of the rules of the Underground, that what Booster says, goes. I wish this wrinkle would have been shown to me last night. That way I could have at least bounced it off of Stoneburner this morning. Everyone in the room is looking at me to make a decision.

How much do you want to get your life back to normal, Dirk? Enough to go to LA and… well, what? So far the plan is, go to LA, spook a hacker and then what? I guess I figure that out as I go along. The one thing I can’t do is continue to sit back and wait for Billingsly’s next attack.

“What you’re telling me,” I say to Booster, “isn’t a plan. It’s a goal. But, yeah, I’ll do it.”

Booster’s big smile turns into a huge, room-filling laugh. He looks around at the rest of his security team, who start laughing as well, but not nearly as loud or genuine as Booster.

“I told y’all!” he shouts. “I told you my man was on a mission. Sit down, Dirk.”

I sit in one of the empty seats.

“We ain’t sendin’ no one to L.A.” He laughs again and then shakes my knee, like I should be laughing, too. But all I am right now is confused. And maybe a little angry. “Dirk, ask SkullStomper how he came up with the theory about a hacker working inside King’s League’s security offices.”

I look over to the guard for a moment.

Booster prompts me again. “Ask him.”

“How about it?” I say.

SkullStomper stands up. He’s wearing a long, black leather trench coat with purple sunglasses that have a single, black lens running uninterrupted across his face. He looks like Space Jam Geordi La Forge.

“I work for an independent cyber security firm. We do audits of existing practices, try to find vulnerabilities that can be exploited. Things like that.”

“Tell ’em who hired you a couple weeks back,” instructs Booster.

“King’s League.”

“Tell ’em why.”

“They know someone is messing with their systems. But their internal team isn’t finding the answer. So they asked us. We’re good.”

I nod my head. “I mean… that’s great. If you can figure out how to stop them from being able to hack my account—”

“That’ll take some time,” SkullStomper says. “If the dude knows what he’s doing—and he probably does—he’s been covering his tracks.”

“But,” Booster says, holding a finger in the air as he lounges back in his seat.

“But… we can arrange a sort of surprise inspection with management.”

“A surprise inspection?” I ask.

SkullStomper nods. “We do it sometimes when we want to see how the rank and file behave. In cases where someone is dirty. Given the King’s League compensation packages, I doubt your hacker is someone extremely high up. So anyway, I got my boss—actually my cousin—to set up a time. Only us and the department head knows it’s happening. Everyone else will be surprised to find a team of inspectors looking over their shoulders, watching their every move.”

“And that is when you’ll strike, Dirk,” concludes Booster. “Although it comes at the expense of having SkullStomper fighting beside you. The man can play.”

“Thanks, Boost,” SkullStomper says.

I feel so relieved that I must look like an idiot shaking my head up and down. Whether all of this has been a plan to get me to go along with them naming the time, I don’t care. This is something I can go along with. I’m not James Bond. More like Frank Drebin.

“When does it go down?” I ask.

Booster looks like he’s checking his watch, though all he has on his arm is a spiked bracelet. “Six hours. We go hard on the building then, you sneak inside, find Billingsly… and then you best take him down.”

“Guess I’ll make myself ready,” I say.

“We got Big Reds and stims here,” Booster advises with a wave of his hand. “Drop some chips to Wu-Tanis. He’ll make sure the Underground gets its cut.”

I nod. “Good. But I was thinking of something more.”

“More like what?”

“One of those bombs I read about before coming here. The kind that blows up a city block.”

Booster smiles. “Wu-Tanis.”

“’Sup, Boost?”

“Show the man how.”

* * *

Wu-Tanis beams at me and nods toward the door. We’ve been following a maze of tunnels that have led out into a burnt out warehouse and back to the street level. I let him leave before following him out.

When I step out of the building and onto the sidewalk, I’m stunned by how many characters are walking around. It’s like there’s a street fair or something, except I don’t see any vendors. Maybe I just got on when most of the other players usually log on to the realm.

Wu-Tanis is on my left so I follow him for a while, keeping my distance so nobody thinks we’re together or wonders where we might be going. At the same time, I don’t want to lose him. I’m not sure how I’ll find him again if I do.

The further we walk, the thinner the crowd becomes. I’m thankful for the Money Belt I picked up off of that Orc back at the flophouse. Not because I can’t handle a pickpocket—they’d likely fail an attempt—but mostly because it keeps my money hidden. Sometimes people will attempt a pickpocket just to see your loot in order to make a determination of whether to attempt a player kill. If they see the number of chips I have, it might be enough to drive them to do something stupid. I only wish there was something similar I could equip to hide everything else I’m carrying.

Wu-Tanis stops in front of a shop up ahead of me. He glances over his shoulder, and pulls open the front door. He’s got to wait a second to allow someone else to come out before entering.

When I get there, I give the outside a quick inspection. The neon sign, which is bright and hurts my eyes, says it sells something called ‘Skinz’.

When I pull the door open, I hear the tinkle of bells somewhere near the back.

“Oh, another visitor,” a man’s voice says from behind one of the tall shelves spanning and crisscrossing the middle of the room. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll come find you in a moment.”

The words seem unusually polite for 86-Neon and I immediately wonder if it isn’t an NPC—an old mom-and-pop shop owner who remembers the city before it went to hell.

I don’t see Wu-Tanis right away. He could be standing right in front of me, but there’s so much to look at—so many strange things—I’m having trouble focusing.

An eclectic collection of lamps from what must be a hundred years of human history and from every culture hang from the ceiling at different heights. It appears the proprietor either likes to collect ones which use red glass, or they’re the ones that don’t sell very well. Almost all of them have red glass.

Racks of armor and clothing, much like a department store would have, or maybe a thrift store, clog the spaces between several of the shelves. It looks like someone would either have to navigate a way around them, push through them, or climb under to get to the next area of the store.

Electrical components, bundles of wires, even what look like artificial body parts, are strewn, stacked, and hanging from the shelves. One shelf, though, has what looks like old vinyl records stacked neatly, still in their plastic wrappers. I pull one out to take a closer look.

It’s not a band I’ve ever heard of. Probably made up for the game. The front cover looks like a pistol of some kind, though it’s generic and I can’t really identify it.

“What’s this?” I ask Wu-Tanis.

“It’s a weapons skin,” Wu-Tanis says as he thumbs through the armor and clothing rack to my right. “You don’t have these in vanilla?”

“We have enchanters that make our stuff look different,” I say, wondering if this skin can also, like an Enchanter, enhance something. “Is it just for looks?”

“Yeah. Mostly people just use them to look cool. Sometimes gangs will use them to identify their members if they’ve got a sniper on a rooftop somewhere.”

“Can I help you gentlemen with something?” the proprietor asks as he emerges from the back of the store. I’m surprised to see it’s a player character—a level 5 orc, though green skin and slightly larger teeth are the only indication of his race in this Realm.

“Is this your place?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “You were expecting an NPC?”

I shrug.

“Yes, well, I fired mine. Now my brother and I run this store. It’s far more profitable this way. We can give deals, or the opposite, as we see fit. NPC’s, you see, have to follow certain rules. We do not.”

I notice Wu-Tanis glancing over both of his shoulders like he’s trying to make sure we’re alone. It’s hard to tell in the cluttered place. Even standing on my tip toes I can’t see over most of the shelves.

“We need to see what you’ve got in the back,” he tells the proprietor.

The orc’s eyebrows raise just for a moment before he wipes the expression away. “The back? Nothing there but a breakroom and a restroom—not for public use. Anything I have is stocked out here. As you can see, I’m so well-stocked I have to make room where I can.”

“Yo, stop the game,” Wu-Tanis growls. “You know what I mean. We need to get to the back. Why you make everybody go through this every time? You seen me before, bruh.”

The orc glances at me before returning his eyes to Wu-Tanis. “I’ve seen you. Who’s this?”

“He’s with me,” Wu-Tanis says. “Just open the back so we can go. The longer you delay, the higher the risk someone walks in and then we gotta wait for them to leave—and we short on time. High on chips, though. Understand?”

The orc stares at me for a moment, his eyes quickly taking in my visible equipment as he seems to assess whether or not he feels like challenging my new friend. A few seconds later, he says, “Fine. Follow me.”

He locks the front door and hurries under the rack of clothing. I stick close so I don’t lose him, but he’s fast and I’m having trouble keeping up. It looks like he’s done this a lot. When I take a wrong turn, Wu-Tanis grabs my arm and leads me in the right direction. After making a dizzying number of turns and climbing over another shelf, we get to the back of the store.

Here, the proprietor grabs one of the shelves attached to the back wall, pulls on it, and reveals an opening with uneven edges. The hidden door glides on silent hinges and again I’m greeted with another tube, this one only about two feet in diameter, leading down into darkness.

“Go feet first,” Wu-Tanis says. “Stay close, but it’s not like you’ve got to worry about getting lost. Oh, and there aren’t any traps down here. It’s just the hidden entrance. There are lights, but not for a while.”

The shopkeeper holding the door makes a couple of hissing noises and motions for us to hurry. Wu-Tanis goes in first, with me close behind.

This tube is dry, thankfully, so neither of us seems to be at risk of slipping down into the depths.

A few minutes later, I hear a click, and a line of tiny LED lights illuminates.

“Here’s the button for the lights if you ever have to use this tube,” Wu-Tanis says, pointing to a small panel on the ceiling. “It only gives you sixty seconds of light, though, so you gotta keep moving.”

“Got it,” I say, noting its position. “How far back does this store go?”

“We’re far from the front of my establishment,” the orc shopkeeper says. “But we’re nearly where your friend wants to be.”

The tube changes directions a few times and there are four more buttons Wu-Tanis has to press to illuminate the way. When we reach the end, I can see dim light coming from ahead. The tube ends at the jagged remains of a pipe which stick out into the empty blackness of the underground like the teeth of an ancient dragon.

“This is the fun part,” he says as he plants his feet on a couple of the protruding parts and leaps into the darkness.

I wait until I hear a squeaking sound and his laughter from somewhere below. “Don’t worry,” he says. “There’s a net down here—made out of cables and springs and stuff. You can’t miss it, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Well, if you get all crazy about it and leap like you’re trying to reach the other side maybe, but if you fall straight down you’ll land right in the middle of it. Get your ass down here.”

I peek over the edge, but all I see is darkness. Trusting Wu-Tanis and I have the same goals and he’s not trying to get me to kill my character, I jump.

The sensation is one I’m used to—jumping from a distance—but usually I can see the bottom. A second later, I reach the net, bounce a few times, and I’m safe.

“You good,” he says with a small laugh. “It’s tough the first time. Here we go. Just step off the net.”

A series of lights bloom and I find that we’re inside a storage room. This one is much more tidy than the front of the store, that’s for certain. You know that scene from The Matrix, when the rows of guns show up. Yeah, it’s like that. Only I’m seeing guns, blades, armor, tech… all sorts of things. I’d kill to have a place like this in Dawnshire.

“Okay, so what do you need?” asks the orc.

I notice he has a couple of guards stationed in here. Level forty. I wonder if they’re part of the Underground—or if they work in exchange for picking up some of what’s here.

“I need a bomb.”

“A bomb, you say?” the shopkeeper echoes.

His guards give each other a nervous glance before returning their eyes to me.

“You heard the man,” Wu-Tanis says.

I smile. “And I need one powerful enough to do about ten times the amount of damage it would take to kill a level 99.”

“Such a tall order,” the orc says. “What makes you think I have such a device?”

I look to Wu-Tanis and shrug.

“Quit playin’, man. I didn’t bring my boy to you to play games, for real. You got it or not? If you do, how much?”

“I don’t,” the orc says. “As you know, most bombs of that power are made by mistake and the owners discover what they have when it’s too late. I haven’t had anything that powerful in quite some time. Nor does anyone, so far as I know.”

I sigh. There goes my grand scheme.

“However,” the keeper continues, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he watches me. “Since anyone wanting a bomb of that magnitude likely isn’t too terribly worried about attracting unwanted attention—I can tell you where to get all the ingredients you’d need to make one yourself. You already told me how much destruction. How small does it have to be?”

I de-equip my money belt and hold it out for him to see. “Can you get it to fit in here?”

The shop keep’s eyes narrow. “One white chip?”

“For the ingredient list?” I ask.

“No. For the solution to your problem. C’mon, don’t be cheap. That’s the least you can pay for leading me down here but not buying anything.”

“Okay,” I say, transferring him the chip. “Whatcha got?”

“The Stingers.”

“Whoa,” says Wu-Tanis. “Hold up…”

The shopkeeper continues unabated. “The Stingers are a local street-level gang who run most of the blocks on the west side of the city. They’re heavy PVP’ers, preferring to kill rather than questing for the things they want. Especially anyone within sniper-distance of their turf. It’s become something of a mecca for those level 50 or higher. A proving ground, of sorts. They collect things—and I know for a fact they have what you’re looking for.”

“You mean the vault?” Wu-Tanis asks, sounding deflated. “No… no.”

“Precisely,” the orc says, nodding to my friend.

“What’s the Vault?” I ask.

Wu-Tanis shakes his head, looking down dejectedly. “Those adventurers looking to prove themselves? I used to be one. Heading out to try to make my mark and have something to brag about, you know? It was stupid, but I saw first-hand what goes on in the Blocks.”

He pauses, clearly remembering something. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to let him daydream. “What did you see?” I prompt.

That breaks his reverie and he stands up a little straighter. “The Stingers control this industrial-type area we call the Blocks. All these jacked-up buildings, rust, trash—really ugly place. Well, they’ve managed to take over most of them, including a warehouse that is still in fairly good condition. Inside is this chain-linked area. Inside that are a couple of rows of lockers, like you see in high schools, right?

“It was heavily guarded, but I managed to get on the roof and find a gap with a view. That’s when I saw it—the Vault. There were things in there I’ve never seen before. Game glitches, I’m thinking. Or experiments others have done which then glitched an item and made it do something weird. They collect the stuff.”

“Why wouldn’t Cygnus put a stop to that?”

“Same reason they don’t try to raid the Underground. They don’t want a war. It’s a big game. You can control your turf, maybe even expand it a block at a time, but to go to war with some of the big clans means a whole lot of people drop down to level one. Your boys all drop to the character creation menu, they stop bein’ your boys.”

“Let’s get back to the original question. What did you see?”

“The glitched chip,” Wu-Tanis says, almost reverently. “It’s been passed around for a while. Most people consider it a vanity item, but whoever owns it usually ends up getting assassinated. I stole it, but when I died, they took it back.”

I motion for him to continue, but the shopkeeper speaks up instead.

“Get the glitched chip back, and there’ll be no trouble in turning it into a bomb. Just the right size.”

“How do I get there?” I ask.

Wu-Tanis holds up his hands to slow me down. “Gettin’ there ain’t the trouble. How many points you got in slicing?”

I check my character interface. “Slice lock?” I ask.

“That’s the one.”

“One hundred,” I reply. “I’ve used it a lot in vanilla, but never here.”

“One hundred will do the trick, then,” Wu-Tanis says, sounding almost sad at the realization. Like he’s worried about our future wellbeing now that he knows I can get that part done. “Okay. Well, first thing we gotta do is steal a car. I’ll fill you in on the rest later. Man… we both gonna die.”

“Tell you what,” I say. “You get me a car… I’ll do the rest.”

Chapter Thirty-One

I drive past the compound in the car Wu-Tanis jacked for me—something that looks like a Tesla Model 3 had a baby with a silver Chevy Astrovan—it’s all kinds of ugly. But ugliness suits the Blocks. Just a bunch of run down factories or empty blocks where factories once sat that are now caked in dirt or choked with weeds.

And at the center of it all is what I imagine must be the Stingers’ headquarters. It’s the most fortified section of 86-Neon I’ve seen outside of the Cygnus Building. Burned-out husks of cars block every entrance that isn’t protected by chain-link fencing. Some of the streets themselves are impassible which means I have to divert by several miles and wind my way back as close as I dare to get. It still leaves me almost a mile away, but I’m hoping it's far enough none of their sentries will notice.

After pulling over in front of the remains of some kind of government office, I step out of my stolen car and into yet another rainstorm. The clouds are low, and it looks like a fog is hanging over the entire region. Distant thunderclaps and flashes of light speak to the storm’s violence, but I’m not sure if it’s what has already passed or what’s heading toward us. I don’t mind. It’s good cover so I can sneak and move quickly with little chance of being spotted.

The blocks that comprise “the Blocks” are laid out in a grid, more or less, with each fenced-in area owned by the ghosts of manufacturers or other corporations. All the buildings are dark with the occasional outside light here or there, and none are currently in use. It’s a ghost town, and I’m curious what kind of mobs spawn here when nobody’s around. It feels ripe for those radioactive mutants you see in the Fallout games.

It takes a few minutes for me to find the right grid and spot my target building, a water-stained concrete monstrosity with a patchwork of corrugated steel to cover gaping holes. I’m leaning around one of the wrecked cars which has been moved into place as a barrier and peering at it through the darkness, but it’s still a couple hundred yards away. My shades help me see through the rain and I spot two doors on the front. They are the roll-up kind and there’s a group of four windows between them. There might be light coming from inside, but either the windows are covered by heavy curtains or they’ve been painted to keep them dark.

Three other buildings are within the fence-line. They’re smaller than the warehouse, and none have any lights on.

The first sentry is a level 26 named FistfullOFBallerz. He’s staring at his feet, pacing back and forth between a couple of wrecked delivery vans. He looks bored, passing the time as he splashes in the puddles created by the torrential downpour. His rifle is slung over his shoulder and he’s got his hands in his pockets. I can’t help but think about how boring the game must be for the members of The Stingers. Sure, they’ve got to have sentries to keep guard, but why put yourself through that? This isn’t playing. This is drudgery.

I could go around him, following either fence-line, but it seems like a waste of time—and I don’t have much of that at my disposal. With my Sneak being what it is, there’s little chance he’ll detect me, even if he were to suddenly lift his eyes from his feet and act like a real guard.

Inspecting his inventory, more out of habit than anything else, I see he’s got some decent gear. His armor is low-level stuff, but he’s got what looks like the right amount of firepower. He’s got the Stinger gang tag—what’s called guild affiliation in vanilla—below his name as well, so I let him be. With any luck, I won’t have to fight anyone while I’m here. In and out, all nice and silent.

Further in, most of the wrecked and rusting vehicles transition from cars to heavier trucks and construction equipment—everything from farm tractors to bulldozers and dump trucks. They’ve all got the same name on them, which makes me think they were the original vehicles here—not the cars. This lot was probably designed to look like it used to be owned by a construction company.

The closer I get to the main building—where Wu-Tanis told me I’d find the Vault—the more I can feel my heart rate increase. The outer sentries will probably be no higher than level-40, but the ones closer to the loot could be much higher. I’m not worried about encountering anyone less than level 70, but if there are a bunch of them, I could be in trouble.

I decide not to touch the first building at all. It’s one of those portable ones that you always see at construction sites. The large windows on the narrow end are broken and when I peek inside, I can see the remains of what looks like a homeless camp. There are blankets pressed up against the walls, a swirling pond of trash, and the rotted remains of several cardboard boxes.

There are no sentries, so I move quickly across the open ground to the next building. It’s smaller and built from aluminum. It’s probably a pumphouse, but the thing that catches my attention are the voices coming from inside.

“How long do we have to do this?” the first asks. It sounds like a kid, though I can’t see him.

“I don’t know,” a second, slightly older voice says. “I thought this was going to be fun, but they don’t even let us quest.”

“Maybe we should just go,” the first one says with a sigh. “Careful what you wish for, huh?”

“Right.”

I wait a few more seconds, but it sounds like they’ve finished talking. They’re still moving around inside and I don’t hear any doors opening, so I move to the last small building, which is only about 20 yards from my target, the warehouse.

This one is also made of corrugated metal, but its condition is much worse than the aluminum building. There are huge rusted out holes in the side of it, and what look like rats’ nests stuffed around the pipes and boxes inside. It could be a storage building, or another pumphouse. I don’t know which, but I do know there’s a sentry on top.

A nearby lightning strike casts the character’s shadow on the ground. They’re holding a rifle and appear far more serious than the other players. The character is pacing back and forth and it sounds like they’re actively searching for threats. Actually guarding the compound.

I don’t think I’ll be spotted down here, but if I am, it’ll be better to find out now. Stepping away from the building, I equip my Black Shiv and wait for the sentry to look in my direction. Their gaze passes right over me without pausing, so far as I can tell. Either way, there’s no overt reaction, no cry of alarm, and I’m not attacked. The sentry is level 43, so it bodes well for my chances of being able to sneak all the way into the warehouse without being spotted. With a renewed sense of confidence, I continue on.

BOOM!

Thunder shakes the nearby buildings and the amount of rain coming down reaches a whole new level of chaos. The noise from the huge water drops striking the metal buildings is deafening and the sentry I passed has ducked, looking up at the sky like she’s under attack.

Taking advantage of the noise, I hurry to the warehouse and press my back against it. Nobody is running toward me. No alarms are sounding. So far so good.

Another lightning strike reveals at least two more characters on top of the warehouse. There might be a third, but the flash was too brief for me to see.

If I have to fight any of them, I’ll need to make it quick before they can tell the others I’m here. Even if I take them out and cut off some of their chat options, they’re sure to have a private chat set up or some kind of group chat app to warn everyone else that something’s happening. This whole operation gets more complicated as soon as I drop one of these guys, even if I do it perfectly quietly.

Just before I turn the next corner to find the ladder to the roof, I hear a noise above the raindrops and thunder. It’s rhythmic. Feet against gravel. Someone is coming around the corner.

I might be able to stay where I am. If the character’s level is low enough, they won’t be able to spot me. But, if they’re walking close to the building, they might accidentally trip over me, in which case, sneaking won’t do any good. I only have a few seconds to decide.

Crap—this one needs to die.

I wait until the character is just a few steps away before dashing around the corner, one hand pressed against his mouth and the other plunging the Black Shiv through leather armor over and over again. After ten frantic stabs, I shove the sentry away and prepare to pounce if there’s any sign of life.

The character is dead. Based on the equipment, the first or second stab might’ve been enough. There wasn’t any time to inspect him, so I had to be sure.

Now the clock is ticking. Checking the in-game time, I throw the dead character over my shoulder, and hurry along the side of the warehouse. There are groups of windows along this side as well, but like the others, they’re dark. But, I can see one that hasn’t been painted all the way to the edges, so after checking for nearby sentries, I take a peek inside.

The place is almost empty, except for several large pieces of carpet laid on the concrete floor and some tables and chairs scattered on top. I count ten characters inside, but the glass is too smudged with grime to see what level they are.

It looks like they’re playing cards, maybe. A minigame more than likely.

To the right at the far corner is the loot room, just as Wu-Tanis described it. It looks like the fencing goes all the way from the floor to the ceiling. The area is darker than the rest of the building and I don’t see any guards nearby.

After checking around the far end of the building and spotting no sentries, I deposit the body I’ve been carrying around between a couple of wooden crates, using my foot to make sure it’s wedged in nice and tight so it’ll be that much longer before it’s spotted. It’ll still be a while before it despawns, which means there’s a good chance someone will find it, but by then I want to be long gone.

There’s a ladder attached to the side of the building which will give me access to the roof. The first six feet or so are covered by a locked piece of metal to prevent just about anyone from climbing it. It’s no problem for me to jump past the metal blocking the rungs and use my strength to climb far enough to get my feet under me. This has to be the way Wu-Tanis came before he was caught. I probably should have asked him how he got caught so I wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Hand over hand, I slowly make my way to the roof, pausing to wait for another lightning strike to try to get a clue where the guards might be. Thirty seconds later, I give up and slowly poke my head over the roofline.

The guards are still there. They’re standing side by side on the other end of the roof overlooking the main entrance to their domain. I can hear them talking, but the noise of the rain battering the steel roof makes it impossible to make out any words. But they don’t sound animated. So maybe the guy I killed wasn’t a hardcore guild member. Maybe they weren’t a Stinger at all? Just another adventurer looking to knock this place over for some easy chips. If so… sorry, pal.

When one of the guards turns and starts walking my direction, I almost duck, but I haven’t been spotted yet. I need to see what level he is and check his gear. I’m guessing the closer I get to the prize, the tougher the sentries will be.

When the sentry gets close enough, I inspect his inventory. He’s equipped with a sniper rifle. It does some decent damage, but has a slow reload—the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing in the game. My own rifle is capable of firing much faster for about the same damage. I guess that just makes it better overall. At level 58, this guard is only a slightly tougher fight than the ones I’ve seen so far, but still beatable.

I think again about ducking out of sight as he continues walking in my general direction, but he’s still not looking at me. He keeps turning his head like he left something on the roof and now he’s trying to find it. When he’s about six paces from me, he stops, turns to his left, and walks over to a small, dark shape. Just then, lightning strikes, and I see what he was looking for—a severed head.

“Hey!” he yells as he tosses it to the others. They scramble, shove each other, and make a game of trying to catch it. Neither does, but it stops before it rolls off the edge of the roof.

Someone who wandered too close, most likely.

It looks like they’re beginning a rousing game of keep-away with the thing, but they’re staying on the far end of the building. One guy equips a baseball bat studded with spikes. So maybe they’re going to play nine innings? I’ll have to catch the highlights on SportsCenter. I take the opportunity to climb up and take a closer look around, specifically where the loot room is, to see if I can find a way in.

Lightning strikes again, and the flash of light helps me spot the roof hatch. It’s a square about three feet across and sticks up about ten inches.

The hatch looks like it’s in the right place to get inside, so after checking to make sure I’m still alone, I give it a gentle tug. It doesn’t budge. I tug a little harder—still nothing. It’s not until I run my hand along the top that I find the electronic lock holding it in place.

Duh. This is why Wu-Tanis asked about my slice skill level.

An odd, wet thump nearby draws my attention. Slowly turning my eyes toward it, I see the severed head spinning in the rain and one of the sentries coming for it. It’s only about four feet away. I’ve never tried to sneak this close to anyone before—especially while completely exposed and out in the open. Only the darkness of the night is keeping me hidden. If lightning strikes… I’m in trouble.

A different guard, this time, runs up. It’s a level 60. He picks up the head by its blond hair and turns away, ready to throw it back to his friends, but pauses.

For an instant, it looks like he can see me. I equip my Black Shiv, ready to pounce as his eyes search the area. Another full second passes before he shakes his head and finally throws the severed one back to his friends before running off.

I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it escapes my lips with a soft hiss. That was a close one. I need to get inside and get this done before I’m spotted.

Time to slice the lock. Breaking it would surely gather attention. The minigame for this one is a lot simpler than the one I saw Wu-Tanis complete for the car. Of course, the difficulty of the mini-game is determined by your slice lock or pick lock skill. Mine is at the maximum of what you can do without very specific buffs that come from rare and enchanted items. I only need to make three connections between the power sources and the circuits. They’re all more or less straight lines. Five seconds later, I’m done.

The guards are still playing on their end of the building, so I quickly open the hatch and, spotting four pipes a few feet below, settle myself onto them before quietly closing the hatch behind me.

The loot room is bigger than it looked from the window. The school lockers are here, just like Wu-Tanis said, but it looks like they’ve added some heavy-duty shelving as well.

Weapons litter the shelves. They’re roughly grouped together into rifles and pistols, but there look to be far more handguns than anything else. In total, there must be a hundred of them, and though I’m curious, they’re not the reason I’m here.

Now that I have a birds-eye view of the interior I can get a more accurate count of players. There’s sixteen of them. Two are pretending to sword fight with a couple of pipes at the far end of the warehouse. Every time they clash, it creates an ear-piercing noise and they laugh.

The rest are milling about watching the card games or actively playing. I can’t tell who the leader is. They’re about forty or fifty yards away—too far to see their levels. With any luck, I’ll never find out.

I carefully lower myself to the top of a row of school lockers, check to make sure I’m not spotted, then lower myself again to the concrete floor.

The first locker isn’t locked, but what I’m looking for isn’t inside. I go through the rest of them, checking the open ones first before slicing into the locked ones. They’re simple, so the minigame only involves completing one simple path and only takes about a second. On my third one, I hit the jackpot.

This minigame is much more complicated. I have to make eight connections, swiping until I connect power sources to circuits, careful not to run certain colors across each other. Eight connections isn’t really that much, and I can only imagine how hard this lock might have been to slice had my skill not been maxed.

Inside is a lone, purple, sparkling chip. I pick it up without thinking and then hold my breath for an alarm, but nothing happens. I examine it between my fingers for a moment. There are pink, red, and blue swirls spinning through it like tiny sea creatures. When I add it to my inventory and inspect it there, I notice how strange it looks.

T2@@ ChiP: 1

The ‘P’ in ChiP keeps blinking in and out of existence. Weird.

In the same locker are other glitched items. Since I’m here, and I’m already technically stealing, I go ahead and take a handful. I’ll inspect them later. Maybe they’ll come in handy, but if nothing else, they will be something fun for Wu-Tanis or the orc or whoever knows what to do with this stuff to mess with when I get back.

As the locker door starts to close, I notice it—a short, black wire sticking out from a gap near my hand. It’s too late to catch it. When the latch falls, the wire sparks against it.

There’s no explosion, but from somewhere within the darkness of the other end of the warehouse, I hear a generator rumble to life. The next instance, sparks erupt from the fence. It’s a trap.

It takes a few seconds for the characters inside the warehouse first to become aware of the new sound, and then to figure out what it is. In the meantime, I equip my rifle. They’re far enough from me right now that the range is exactly right. But I’m not looking to drop the gang members inside. Just as they stand, I take cover behind the lockers and unload an entire magazine into the corrugated wall. There’s no fence here, so after I dot the wall with holes, I lunge, crashing through it and sliding into the mud outside.

I’m on my feet in a flash, and instead of rushing toward the main entrance, I head to the rear of the compound to the tall fence with razor wire on top. I’m up and dragging my body through the hazardous barbs in a flash. Without the razor wire I’m sure I could have cleared the fence in a second, but it takes five to get through it. Thirty health is gone, I’m bleeding, but I’ve made it out with my prize.

Chapter Thirty-Two

My stolen piece of crap car is where I left it. It doesn’t look like anyone has messed with it, and why would they? Honestly, I think we did the owner a favor by taking it off their hands. I hop in and hurry away. If any of The Stingers see my headlights or taillights, I want to make sure I’m out of sniper range when they do. I’m not so worried about getting shot—none of them had anything powerful enough to take me out with one hit unless they have some damage multipliers. But I am worried about them disabling my vehicle. It’s a long way back to the city, and I’d rather not run the whole way there.

The clock is ticking.

I abandon the vehicle at the edge of town and leave the door open. Someone else can pick it up and drive it around, hopefully taking it far away. That character will get a thrill, and I’ll get the evidence as far away from me as possible. It’ll be a win-win for both of us.

With my hands in my pockets, I head into a familiar shop. There are two other characters inside. They’re inspecting armor skins, so I pick up a weapons skin and pretend to do the same.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the shopkeeper says. “Just a moment. Feel free to browse. I also offer deals to anyone who buys anything in bulk. In a gang? Need everyone to look the same? You’re in the right place!”

He sounds excited, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last after he sees me.

The proprietor squeezes himself between the end of a shelf and a poster-covered wall but stops most of the way through when he spots me. His eyes widen in alarm and he mouths something I don’t catch.

I nod to the two other shoppers and pretend to ignore him as he hurries to them.

“Have you made a decision?” he asks.

“We’re still looking,” one says. “We might be a while.”

The proprietor glances over his shoulder at me and turns back to them. “Well don’t be all day about it,” he grumbles. “It’s not that hard of a decision really. Just find one that speaks to you. Are you buying skins for a gang?”

“No,” the other says. “How about you just leave us alone so we can shop?”

“Just find something and quit wasting my time,” he replies.

“We can shop somewhere else,” the first customer says, trying to get the upper hand.

“Fine by me,” the proprietor responds. The look of pain in his eyes tells me it’s not fine with him. He’s trying to get rid of them for me.

“Fine,” they say in unison before exiting the store, the door slamming behind them.

Once they’re gone, the shopkeeper’s shoulders slump. “That’s not the way to gain business,” he grumbles. “They’re going to go tell all their friends not to come. Word would spread and soon it’ll be all over the city. You better have enough chips to make this worth my time.”

“How much money do you make in a day?” I ask.

He scoffs. “On an average day? Eighty yellow chips. On a great day, a hundred.”

I open a trade window and transfer five hundred yellow chips to him.

His eyes widen with surprise and he clicks ‘Accept’.

“Yes, this will help ease my grief,” he says. “By the time this runs out, the commotion will die down and I’ll be back to regular business. Do you need to get to the back?”

“I do,” I say. “If that’s where you can build the bomb.”

The orc shopkeeper shakes his head. “Oh, no. I’m not building that thing. Could blow up my entire operation. I just told you what you need.”

I frown. The yellow chips were for his trouble and for his bomb making fee. I figured it was more than enough.

“Great. Thanks so much,” I say, my sarcasm dripping.

“Don’t get fussy about it. I do have more components you’ll need. But they’re easy to come by. I’ve got them up front.” The clerk moves through the store, collecting inventory. He gives it to me in a trade window, not asking for any chips in return.

“You know how to find the Underground on your own?”

I pull out my teleporter. “I got a shortcut.”

He nods and steps back as I transport myself back to Booster’s office.

The man himself whirls to see me and gives me a big smile. He’s got some guards with him. However, there are also about fifty others, all level 1. The place is crammed full of players. They’re chatting quietly but go silent when they notice me enter.

“I wasn’t sure we’d see you again,” Boosters says, standing up in First Class. “Not after Wu-Tanis told us where you were going. You get the chip?”

“Only had to kill one Stinger to do it, too,” I say. “Set off an alarm, but I don’t think anyone saw my name. Here’s the glitched chip, along with some other stuff I hear you’ll need to make it. They had some other glitched items I thought you might find interesting. Think of them as gifts for helping me—that’s assuming you’ve got someone who can turn all this into a bomb.”

Booster smiles like he’s just been handed a pot of gold when he sees what’s in the trade window. “I don’t know what any of these other glitched items do, but I’m sure we can put them to good use. Always better for these things to be in our hands, ain’t that right, Underground?”

The assemblage of players stamp and hoot their agreement.

“You have someone who can make a bomb out of this?” I ask as I watch him inspect the glitched chip.

“You’re lookin’ at him,” Booster says.

“I came to the right place. Plan ready?”

“It is,” he says, sweeping his arm out at all the level ones standing in the fuselage. “These characters are all volunteers. They’ll head to the surface in a moment and take positions where they can be close to the Cygnus Building without giving themselves away. For most it will be a boring task, but for others, it’s their opportunity for revenge. Wu-Tanis, here, will be bait.”

I’m not surprised to see the measure of respect the others are giving him. I hope he can get back to where he was someday—even higher. But that’s probably not going to be today.

“He”, Booster continues, “will be the one to set everything in motion. When he receives word that things are in place, he’ll saunter up to the entrance and try to walk inside. I don’t think the guards will let him get that far. When they stop him, he’ll open up with the best curses and insults he can think of. They don’t always shoot the level ones on sight, you see. But eventually, he will get shot. Or, more accurately, he gonna start shootin’ until they put him down. Once that happens, you can bet the guards will go on the offensive for the swarm. Flip the switch from protect to kill.”

I glance at Wu-Tanis. He’s going to sacrifice himself. I nod, hoping the gesture conveys my appreciation.

“The rest of these are gonna swarm the area around the entrance,” Booster continues. “All angry. Like they had it. Running toward it before dodging away. Throwing Molotovs, harassing fire with sniper rifles. Get the guards real worked up. Get all hands in the building on deck—including our target.”

“They’ll all die,” I say, looking at the milling crowd who are all staring right back at me.

“This is why I asked for volunteers,” Booster says. “They’ll lose everything, but they aren’t exactly gonna show up with all their best gear. We’re holding that back here for safekeeping. When they show back up to get it, with their newly created characters, they’ll find it’s no big loss. Booster rewards those who help the Underground. They all know I’ve got the chips to do it.”

“When’s my part?” I ask.

“I’d say give them a second or two to get the guards’ attention. When they’re fully engaged with this pack, rush past them and into the building. Try to avoid fighting if possible. Just get in. If you’re correct, neither they nor the receptionist will be able to throw you out. If not, well, bring your new character my way and I’ll give you something to get by on… but we’re counting on you being right.”

“Let’s do this,” Wu-Tanis says. “Ride or die. Just don’t back down, Dirk.”

“I won’t,” I promise. “This all ends.”

I see Booster smiling at the exchange.

“Any new information on the mole?” I ask him.

“SkullStomper tells me the surprise inspection is underway,” Booster says, opening a trade window and sending me an in-game text message. “He thinks we already found our boy. Sweating like a hog, all shifty… yeah, he looks real scared.”

I read the text. It lists a name, Brock Phillips, along with his physical address, Social Security number, driver’s license number, height, weight, occupation, and credit score. I feel my jaw hit my chest. “This is the guy?”

“It’s the guy who looks like he might be the guy,” Booster says with a laugh. “So we looked him up. He’s not the only hacker on the planet.”

“Okay,” I say, unsure of what use this information would be to me. I’m not going to ruin the guy—I’d be just as bad as he is. “Well, with SkullStomper making sure no one actively interferes from the inside, I won’t worry about another Internet freeze or getting locked out of my account mid-fight.”

“And if all else fails,” Booster holds up the glitched chip between his first two fingers and wags it under his nose. “You can use this and then wipe out everything Cygnus has that’s not inside the building. All those leveled up Scorpions on the roof, all his guards stationed outside. Force the man to endure a total reset of nearly everything he’s built.”

“Is it ready?” I ask.

“Sure is,” Booster says, that condescending smile back on his face. “This ain’t real life, and it ain’t some Clash of Clans garbage… all I gotta do is combine the components in the craft screen. We’re done.”

The chip is passed back to me. It looks different.

#CHIP_

Enhanced Tech

Damage: *6LL

Durability: 1008/1010

_R aat 5% toO 0T&ff 00FFEE__

“Is this normal?” I ask.

Booster laughs. “Yeah, these things are kind of unpredictable. The chips became a durability bomb—that’s the most common. When the durability reaches zero, it detonates. A lot of suckers find the durability only lasts a few seconds. No time to run away.”

“And you still crafted it down here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I ain’t a sucker. I know what I’m doing. Now, the damage portion means it’s flipped beyond the basic numbering system. Just make sure you have that thing inside the building before it goes off. The rest of this Realm doesn’t need another crater in the middle of the streets.”

“How long do I have until its durability is gone?” I ask.

Booster shrugs. “What does it say? You’re the one who has it in his inventory.”

I study the item and see its durability drop to 1007 and begin counting in my head. Two seconds later, it drops to 1006. Some quick math gives me my answer. “Just over thirty minutes,” I note. “We need to get moving.”

“Go, go, go!” Booster says to the milling crowd as he claps his hands to get their attention. “We only have thirty minutes until the bomb detonates! Time to change the world!”

The room erupts into a frenzy of bodies, all pushing and shoving each other. I’m staring at the glowing chip in my hand, suddenly feeling small compared to the powerful device.

“Let’s go, dawg,” Wu-Tanis says as he grabs my arm and pulls me into the crowd.

“Best of luck,” Booster says, returning to his seat and crossing his legs as I’m dragged away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“We appreciate what you’re doing,” Wu-Tanis says as he and the rest of us follow the path out of the Underground and back to the surface. “For real, this thing you’re doing is a big ten out of ten, would recommend. Just make sure you kill the guy for good. Blow him all the way up. If he survives, you know he’s comin’ back to make the game unplayable for everyone involved.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise. But I’m not sure how this will end. I hope I have the skills to take his character out in-game, but whatever Graydon’s set piece the guy has might be more than I can handle. And whatever SkullStomper is doing, hopefully that puts major complications in his ability to cause damage to my credit score or whatever. But, who’s to say he’ll just give up after getting dropped to level one? Sure, Salvatore sort of disappeared, but that doesn’t mean Billingsly will. Especially if he’s independently wealthy.

I’m shoved into a pipe sticking out of the wall by some of the volunteers and pulled by those already inside. I can’t help but wonder if Billingsly will even be there. If he’s not, or I can’t find him, our plan will likely be ruined permanently. I’ll have to leave the bomb behind and that’ll be a setback—but it won’t take long for him and his guards to figure out what we just attempted.

Slipping it into my money belt to keep it from being seen or pickpocketed in the chaos, I turn my attention to the others and try to help as they hurry me along.

Five minutes later, I’m being lifted out of another manhole by four level 1 characters. There are a whole lot more of them up on the surface. Booster really went all out in getting a sizable distraction. I wouldn’t be surprised if we start to pull in players just for the fight that’s brewing. It’s clear that something is going down.

A female human with spike pin hair grabs my hand and hurries me down the alley and around the corner. The others stay behind. We stop behind a green dumpster in a dark alley.

“This is your spot,” she whispers next to me. “Stay here until you hear the gunshots. Then count to three and run like hell. The Cygnus Building is just around the corner to the right. You can’t miss it.”

I nod, looking for Wu-Tanis, but he’s already moved on. “I appreciate what you’re doing,” I say, wishing I was telling that to Wu.

“Don’t try to save anyone. We’re all here to die.” She pulls out a Rusty Shiv and adds, “Oh, and to be the biggest pains in the ass anyone has ever seen before. I’ll let Wu-Tanis know you’re ready.”

I check the durability of the bomb. It’s down to 749—less than 25 minutes before it goes boom.

Leaning against the dumpster, I find myself feeling more alone than I have in a while. I’m going somewhere nobody else can follow. I’m about to meet the man who hired a hacker to frighten me into giving up something I worked hard to keep. He’s a criminal, and I’m about to reveal I know enough to send him to prison. There’s no good way to back out of this. No chance to do something else. With a bomb in my hidden belt, I’m a walking catastrophe. I’ve got to get inside, no matter what happens.

Just when I begin to wonder how long it’s going to take for Wu-Tanis to get into place, my thoughts are interrupted by a loud noise.

Crack!

A split second later, I hear the war-cries of scores of angry level 1 characters. The guards are yelling and there’s more gunfire. I count to two, then equip my Shock Machete and Black Shiv and glide around the side of the dumpster before leaning forward and sprinting as fast as my feet can carry me.

Just as I clear the alley, a bullet whizzes past my head. The guard who fired it doesn’t look like he was aiming at me, though. He’s got two of the volunteers climbing all over him, making his shots go wild. They’ve got their weapons out and they’re probing his armor for a nice, soft spot they can bury their blades in.

The guard roars his frustration and fires off a dozen more shots randomly. One unlucky level 1 goes down when he’s struck multiple times, but another is right behind him, headed straight for the guard.

The scene is chaos. All four guards who were in front of the entrance seem to have been caught by surprise. One standing in the doorway sprays the crowd of volunteers but ends up shooting another guard instead.

That causes a brief shouting match between guards, but these guys are a lot more disciplined than the Stingers. The spat is over almost as soon as it begins and I see the guard who suffered friendly fire shrug off the damage and grab a level 1 by the neck and slam him into the concrete before bludgeoning him with a stun club.

The guards are jumping around, trying to find room to fire their weapons effectively. They’re getting thronged by low level players using melee attacks. The front doors swing open and an Underground raider is thrown out of the building as if he’d been launched out of a circus cannon. The receptionist is earning their pay right now.

The doors still open, I put on a burst of speed to get inside and into the non-PVP zone. A guard stooping to administer a Red Dose to his friend notices me, steps directly in my path and opens fire with a compact submachine gun.

I do my best baseball slide, ducking the opening salvo and stopping my progress with a kick into his groin, causing the guard to fall on top of me. With one hand, I keep his weapon busy. He’s too enraged to do anything other than fight me for it, cursing and swearing—apparently clueless to the fact that I’m stabbing him in the guts with my shiv as rapidly as I can.

He finally figures out what’s going on and lets go of the subcompact, pulling a Big Red out to stay alive. I use that moment to throw the guard off of me, rolling away to get back up. Another guard sees me and gets a shot off, smacking me right in the side for twenty-four damage. I can deal with that, but I really don’t want to get too beat up before reaching the lobby. I still have no idea what kind of a fight Billingsly will be able to give me.

I don’t engage the guard; I keep pushing for the entrance.

Two guards grab my legs and try yanking me away but are forced to let go when a couple more volunteers attack. One jumps on a guard’s back and tries to put him in a choke hold. The other slides across the sidewalk, stopping between the guard’s knees and begins to viciously stab him in his groin.

Free again, I scramble inside, crawling quickly on my hands and knees away from the doorway for a few seconds to make sure they can’t reach me. As I scamper along, I find myself climbing over the dead body of Wu-Tanis, eyes wide open and staring at the night sky, his chest torn open by a blast from a shotgun. I grit my teeth and hurry over him. Billingsly just gave me one more reason to put him down.

I’m inside, free from any more trouble like what just happened out there. I keep moving another twenty feet or so before standing back up—I want to be sure I’m safely inside the non-PVP zone.

There are no guards in sight in here, and I guess that’s to be expected. Not much they can do beyond challenge me to a duel. I stand up, catching my breath.

The thing that immediately stands out about the interior of the Cygnus Building is how opulent the place is compared to the rest of 86-Neon. Polished granite tiles on the floor, fine furniture in the waiting area to my left, and an expensive menu for the little bistro to my right. At first I think I’m the only person there until I spot a severe-looking woman sitting behind a desk in front of me. Her hair is in a tight bun and that, combined with her narrow nose and pointy chin, make me think of a bird of prey.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks.

I de-equip my weapons and slowly walk toward her. “I’m here to see Billingsly. And before you ask… I don’t have an appointment.”

“Mister Billingsly does not want to be disturbed. Even if you had an appointment. He’s not seeing anyone.”

“So he’s here.”

The receptionist frowns. “He does not want to be disturbed. You may leave now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, unsure of what to expect next.

The receptionist slowly rises from her feet, staring daggers at me. She leaps across the desk in a picture perfect jump kick—straight out of Three Ninjas, really impressive stuff. But she doesn’t deliver the attack. She seamlessly lands on her feet—in heels, no less—and stops in front of me, hands at her sides.

You can’t touch this.

“What?” I ask, holding my hands out to my sides in challenge. “Are you going to throw me out?”

“No,” she confirms. “As a champion, you have a right to be here. I cannot fulfill the CEO’s command.”

“That’s right,” I growl as I brush past her and around her desk. It doesn’t sound like she’s following me, but I glance over my shoulder to check anyway. The receptionist has returned to her chair behind her desk and is facing the entrance, just like she was when I entered this place. Part one of the plan has gone better than I’d hoped.

The back wall of the building has an elevator. Next to it is a polished, silver panel with a single button, upon which is printed an arrow pointing up. I reach for it but stop when I hear machinery come to life on the other side of the door. According to the lights above the elevator, someone is headed down from the top floor.

Taking a step back, I glance to both sides and notice a doorway to the right. It probably doesn’t lead all the way to the penthouse, but it’ll get me closer. Or I can wait to see who comes out of the lift. Hopefully, it’s Billingsly. I decide to wait and find out.

It takes a full minute for the elevator to reach the bottom floor. I’m not sure if the bomb I’m carrying is becoming warm, or if it’s just my imagination, but it’s making me nervous.

The man who steps out is a level 86 human. His name is Billingsly, and a quick check of his inventory verifies he’s the guy I’m looking for.

Graydon’s Circle (Ring)

Unique

Durability: Infinite

50% physical damage reduction

50% tech damage reduction

Identify Tech/Enhancements

500% skill advancement rate

Binding

Oddly, that’s about all he has beyond a Stun pistol. No Big Reds, no stims, chips, nothing a regular player would have on them. Oh, and some glitched items that I can’t make sense of. I think this guy is overly secure in his non-PVP zone. He’s also a warrior. Pretty beefy. 656 HP.

Upon seeing me, Billingsly sneers. “Dirk. He told me you’d be coming.”

I’m taken aback by the quiet rage in his words and whatever answer I thought of is suddenly out of grasp. He sounds older than me, maybe by twenty or thirty years, but I’ve never seen such an emotional response. He’s wearing vanity clothing—a suit and tie—and has no lethal weapons. I’m assuming a Stun pistol can’t actually kill you.

“Why haven’t you thrown him out?” he shouts at his receptionist.

The woman gets up from her chair and faces him with her hands interlaced in front of her before answering. “It is forbidden by the Cygnus Bylaws.”

“I’m the Chief Executive of Cygnus!” he bellows, pointing a finger at me. “I write the rules. Throw him out! Let the guards deal with him. I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I cannot.”

Perplexed, he turns back to me. “What did you do?”

I shrug. “Learned more about how all this Graydon’s stuff works than you, apparently. That’s the problem with keeping everything in the package, collector, you never get to take the stuff out and play with it.”

I actually wonder if the Cygnus Bylaws are a real thing, like a massive document laying out all the details. One of those things you’re forced to accept when you power on your phone. Here, agree to this novel or the thousand bucks you just spent will be for nothing… sucker. Maybe the statue of Graydon back at the temple is the only one you can ask questions of? I mean, how much do I not know about simply because I haven’t asked?

“Don’t be so smug,” Billingsly says. “And, since you’re here… don’t throw away your last chance to sell your set pieces to me.”

Now, it’s possible that Billingsly doesn’t know that he can start a fight with me and that I can’t refuse it. Just like I can do with him. But, he’s only level 86. And while some of his gear looks tough—there’s a lot of glitched things in his inventory that I have no idea how to decipher—I think I can take him down. But I want more than just sending him back to level one. I want to make sure that he stays out of my real-world life for good.

The clock is ticking on the bomb, but I’m not out of time yet.

“Let’s talk,” I say.

Billingsly takes a moment to adjust his bright red tie as he clears his throat. He appears to be calm, but that could all be for show. I have a strong feeling he’s just waiting for his guy inside to do something to me. Boot me from the game with a ban—something like that. Little does he know…

“Glad to hear you still have some sense,” he says, satisfied with his appearance. “Please, follow me to my suite. There we can discuss things in private.”

“Lead the way.”

I follow him to the elevator, stepping inside at his prompting without fear of being stabbed in the back. I could request a duel right here and now, but I want to make sure that my real life problems go away at the same time my virtual ones do. I can’t rush this.

We don’t speak on the way up to the top floor. The shaft is made of glass, and there are views beside me as we move up, floor after floor of immaculate office space, indoor fountains, high end shops and restaurants. I take the time to check the bomb’s durability. There’s only fourteen minutes left. Hopefully that will be enough time.

When the doors open again, we step out into an elegant office. Every wall is glass. His office doesn’t take up the top floor—it takes up the top two, and the view is magnificent.

From here, I can’t tell where the lights of the city end. Spotlights shine into the sky. There’s a cartoony hologram of a dragon being projected into the clouds—some kind of advertisement. I think it’s for an energy drink. The number of flying cars I can see is more than I can count.

The rest of the office is mostly consumed with bookshelves, feeling like a minimalist library, white cases with volumes artfully arranged in color-coordinated rows. There’s a shiny, silver drink cart near his desk with an assortment of colorful, sparkling bottles.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asks, the satisfaction evident in his voice. “I’ve spared no virtual expense. This is my domain. We both know you can’t say you’ve done the same with your fantasy realm.”

I drag my eyes away from the view and plant them directly on his face. “I’m not here for the sights.”

“And I’m hardly here for your company,” he says as he sits down in a tall, green leather chair behind a mahogany desk. “So let’s get down to business. Please, have a seat.”

He motions to a chair on the other side of the desk and I take it, but my mind is on the bomb. I’m starting to feel like my plan may not have required it…

Billingsly takes a deep breath and rubs his hands on the top of his desk. “Oh, where are my manners? Can I offer you a drink?” He motions to the silver cart nearby.

“Didn’t take you for a role-player,” I say. “Given how much you’ve tried to bring my real life into the game. I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug. “Down to business then. Since you made it this far, I’ve decided to honor my original offer of $75,000 for each of your Graydon’s Set pieces. I can transfer them directly into your King’s League account in less than a minute. I’m prepared to do so right now, if you like. I’ll also throw in safe passage back to the Fantasy Realm or any other Realm of your choosing. There’s no need to pursue this path you’re on.”

“And what path is that?”

“To take what I’ve rightfully earned. Even if you could—you can’t—you’d only make yourself a larger target than you already are right now.”

“Seems like you’re the only one targeting me, Billingsly.”

He ignores the comment. “What do you say?”

“No.”

“I see,” Billingsly says carefully. “You drive a hard bargain, but I’m willing to go higher. I know you’re just a college dropout—well, not exactly, you were expelled for gambling, isn’t that right? Regardless, a quick business lesson on negotiation. I name a price. You accept it or you give a counteroffer. We settle on a deal agreeable to both of us. So… what do you want?”

I just sit there.

He tries to overwhelm me. “Five hundred thousand. For everything.”

The weight of that number sits in the room. I could live off that kind of money. Invest it… I’d be set for life. But what kind of life?

“No deal,” I tell him.

He leans across the desk with a look of genuine confusion. “Your greed seems to know no end, Dirk. Name a price!”

“No,” I say, surprised with how calm I’m feeling. “I don’t want your money.”

He leans back and back. “Then what do you want?”

“Your ring,” I say.

He glances down at his finger before chuckling low and shaking his head. “That’s funny. It’s exactly what he said you would say. I told him you’d see the folly of that line of thinking. I mean, you’ve come so far already. You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not kidding,” I say.

I can’t help but notice that Billingsly has mentioned this anonymous ‘he’ a few times now. It sounds like maybe he’s not talking about Barthos or the hacker after all. Some new threat? I don’t have time to worry about it now.

He purses his lips before continuing. “Then what do you really want? It can’t be this ring. Haven’t you noticed how empty this building is? You don’t have any experience in 86-Neon. You wouldn’t know how to run this place, nor how to manage it if you did. It would be an exercise in futility.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I reply.

“I’m growing tired of this. The ring is mine. It’s not for sale. I may not be able to throw you out, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to be stupid enough to fight you. I’ll decline your offer and keep collecting income from this building and the real world. Meanwhile, Dawnshire remains a disappointment. Are you willing to spend your days here, Dirk? Just waiting for me to enter a PVP zone? Pathetic.”

Billingsly slowly eases into the back of his chair, finger on his temple, watching me. I imagine he’s probably a successful businessman somewhere. He’s got a look that reminds me of a predatory bird, sizing up a mouse. He studies me for a few long seconds, maybe looking for a crack in my armor, a flaw in my words, or some other clue as to what I really want. I don’t think he imagined that I’d come to his place of business and demand his ring.

“Maybe I’m not being clear enough,” I say as calmly as I can muster. “After all, I’m not a businessman, like you say. So, here’s a counter-offer.”

Billingsly throws up his hands. “Finally.”

“I want your ring. And then I want you to log out of King’s League and never, ever return. Do this, and I promise to keep your secret. Don’t do this, and I promise you’ll end up spending the rest of your miserable life in prison. Either way, I win.”

My opponent smiles serenely and leans back in his chair. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

“I have a friend close to the King’s League corporation, too. He found someone doing something very naughty. You might know him. I pull up the text message Booster gave me and read all the details on the employee we think is the hacker. The next few seconds will tell me if the guess is correct.

It doesn’t take long for a look of horror to settle on Billingsly’s face. “That idiot,” Billingsly snarls and pounds a fist on his desk. “I told him he was getting sloppy.”

And so are you. Like any good streamer, I’ve got my session on record.

“So how ’bout it?” I ask, standing from my seat and adjusting my glasses. “I have come here to chew bubble gum and collect Graydon’s Pieces. And I’m all out of bubble gum.”

My opponent glares at me from across the desk. The muscles under his ears and on his temples flex. He’s grinding his teeth and, in a flash, equips a pistol and points it at me. The barrel glows with a smoky, blue light.

Chapter Thirty-Four

There’s a flash of light. My vision clears a half-second later and I can see his weapon still pointed at me, held in his trembling hand. The look of rage on the man’s face is animalistic. He squeezes the trigger three more times to the same effect.

“That’s not going to work,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He keeps trying to use his weapon four more times in rapid succession. I’m getting the feeling negotiations have ended. He’s just letting out some aggression, still mentally keeping it together enough not to start a duel he doesn’t want.

“You’ll never take it from me!” he yells into my face. “Do you hear me? You’ll never take it. I know this is what you’ve been after the whole time.”

He makes a fist and brings Graydon’s Circle close to my face, showing me his ring.

“I never wanted your ring until you started this whole mess,” I say. “When you—”

“Liar!” he interrupts. “You’ve been stalking me this whole time, waiting for the right opportunity to snatch everything. I’ve worked too hard to have this stolen out of my grasp. You can’t have it. I earned this. I earned Cygnus. I earned this place, and I own it.”

“You threw it away,” I say. “The moment you went after people in real life, you cut your own throat. Face facts. It’s over. You’ve lost.”

As he stares at me, breathing hard I check the bomb’s durability. I’ve got ten minutes before it detonates—maybe less.

“I won’t go to prison,” he says. “I know people. Senators. Congressmen. Important people who will protect me. You’re a nobody—nothing.”

“I’m not a district attorney,” I state flatly. “I’m just part of the team that will tell them what you did. You and your little hacker-buddy. And we both know what’ll happen. The feds will be all over this. King’s League will make a big show of it, this conspiracy to get around their systems. I’m willing to bet they’re more loaded than you and they’ll be making just as many calls to make sure the Feds throw everything at you just to see what sticks. Then they’ll seize all the money you’ve made—you know they will. All of this because you convinced yourself you’d never get caught. You’re the guy that always gets away with it—until, one day, you don’t. You broke the law, hacked my account, and tried to put me on the street all because I declined a business offer.”

My last statement seems to have done the trick. His left eye is twitching. Either I broke something in his brain, or he’s fighting against the truth he’s hearing. Maybe both.

He has to know he’s lost. I have the name of his hacker. Even if that guy flees the country, the Feds will still find him. More likely, he’ll roll over on his boss and testify for a plea bargain.

Billingsly is about to lose everything. And a man who has nothing left to lose is dangerous. I watch him carefully as he slowly sits down in his chair and stares at his hands, which he’s laid flat on his desk in front of him. He looks like he’s trying to think of a way out of this—some escape plan he can come up with in the next ten seconds to rescue himself from the embarrassment, humiliation, and punishment that he knows will soon follow.

“I need some time,” he says. “I can make a bigger offer. A seven figure offer.”

“No. You want time because you’re hoping your buddy can pull a last minute trick to get me out of the game. It’s not happening. King’s League hired a firm because they knew something was up. The firm found him. There’s nothing left for you to do but make the right choice. Do the right thing.”

“Whatever happens to me in the real world,” he whispers, staring at the ring like a corporate Smeagol, “I’m never going to give you this ring. This is as close as you’re ever going to get to it. I know why you killed Salvatore. He contacted me and told me you did it to get his gloves, trying to collect all the pieces.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “I killed—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he says as he spits at me. “I’m off to my suite. I’ll then log off. I won’t log back on. Therefore this piece of the Graydon’s Set will always be unobtainable.”

I check the glitched chip. The durability is down to six minutes. My plan, back when I wasn’t sure whether Billingsly would be a level 99 beast who can handle me, was to place the bomb on him, challenge him to a duel, and then get the hell out of the building letting the bomb do the dirty work.

That’s seriously complicated right about now. If he’s going to go log off, that could be a problem. Will you lose your set pieces if you just never play again, like will the game respawn them somewhere? Or is that it?

Surely he can log off in less than six minutes?

There’s only one thing for me to do.

“Hey,” I shout at him as he gets up from his desk. “I wasn’t asking. This is one of those offers you can’t refuse.”

I send him a duel challenge and watch the surprise as he realizes that as a fellow champion of Graydon, I can’t be denied.

Let’s do this.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The maniac I’m facing gives a shout of rage. There’s no logging out while in combat. He has a gun, but its only effect before the duel was a dazzling light show. He’s not wearing armor, though, and Graydon’s Sight isn’t showing me that he has any viable way of defeating me unless one of those glitched items can do something amazing. Oh, and he has the ring. Guess that helps, too. I’ve got to make this quick.

Billingsly dives behind one of his bookcases. He emerges a moment later with a pair of matching pistols equipped and starts firing. I jump out of the way, while at the same time equipping my shotgun—that line from They Live would have been so much cooler if I was holding this at the time.

Two shots hit home, twenty damage each. Thankfully I’d regenned to full since entering the building and leaving the outside combat zone. I’m at 426 HP.

Raising myself to a knee, I take aim, but he’s gone. Several bullets split the air as they pass close to my head. The last one hits and knocks me over sideways. That one did thirty more damage, but I’m still not in serious danger—though I would be without the reduction my armor is providing.

I recover and get behind his desk, aware that I haven’t even scratched him yet. He splinters the heavy, expensive furniture with bullets. Pieces of wood shower down but I’m not hit.

“That your best?” I ask.

His answer is a bigger weapon. It gives off the fwoosh of a rocket propelled grenade as well as a matching explosion. A direct hit. I’m knocked into a bookcase, sending it over like a domino that topples a second case nearby. One hundred health vanish and I’m forced to take a Big Red Dose. I had restocked to twenty of them before leaving the Underground.

Another explosion sends me further across the room, and I’m on fire. I might be able to fight back, but I need him close. I’ve got to get him within my grasp.

I take another Big Red Dose, and my health is completely restored. He fires another RPG and I fly across the room again. I take one of the Red Doses, restoring 50 health and laugh at him, sitting at 416 HP.

415 HP. Stupid fire damage.

“My turn!” I raise my shotgun to dish out some damage, but he’s already close—too close. With a practiced move, he disarms me and I watch my weapon spin end over end across the room. I liked that thing.

I punch him once, which knocks him away, but he shouts, and my VR helmet goes black. He’s a warrior.

SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. OVERLOAD DETECTED. VISUAL REBOOT INITIATED. MOTOR FUNCTION WILL RESUME IN… 10

That’s an in-game message, though for a moment I was worried that somehow his creep on the inside got into my VR set directly. Equipping my dagger, I stab viciously where I think he is and am rewarded by the haptic feel of my blade piercing that expensive suit. No idea how much damage, but… it’s something.

I take five damage, then ten, then five more. He’s using unarmed combat against me. Suddenly he stops and my vision returns. We’re on the floor, and in the scuffle I see that his chair has been tipped over and the rug it sat on is askew, revealing an emergency escape hatch. Pretty high-tech. He’s got an easy means of escape if this fight goes south on him.

At the moment, that’s probably not in his mind. He’s got weapons stashed all throughout his office. When I see what he equips next, I groan inwardly. It’s a pneumatic hammer, exactly the same as the one Spyce used against me. It’s a safe bet his strength modifier will make each blow hurt a lot more than the assassin could manage.

Billingsly swings it in a wide arc. I try to dodge out of the way, but it catches my leg. There’s a loud snap and I know my character has a broken bone to accompany the eighty damage I just suffered.

I try to use another Big Red Dose, but he disarms me, and the little injection of medicine goes flying from my grip. I give him my best panicked expression. Actually, I’m not having to act all that much. He’s bringing much more of a fight than I thought.

The guy is so full of snarling rage, just staring at me panting, that I go for a regular Red Dose. He knocks it away. I try my last Red Dose—disarmed again. He’s toying with me. I’m only glad he’s knocked away my Red Doses instead of my Big Reds.

I roll and use a Big Red, jumping back to full health. I’ve used up a quarter of my supply already. He’s dealing heavy damage, too much for Rebuild—hey, I remembered it!—to help much. I cast it anyway.

“That won’t save you,” he says as he drops the hammer to start pounding my face with his fists. Can you say psycho?

You know… my original plan just might work after all.

“You win,” I saw, raising my hands. “Don’t kill my character. Please. Here, just… take one piece. To know I mean it. We’ll renegotiate. You win.”

I open a transfer window.

He doesn’t take the bait right away—not that I expected him to. I suffer through a couple more punches to the face, but they’ve slowed. I can tell he’s looking at what I’ve offered.

“It’s glitched.”

“I dunno what that means,” I answer, panting a bit in the hopes it adds to the moment. “All my Graydon’s stuff got that way as soon as I came here.”

He accepts the item and laughs. “You’re dumber than I thought. I’ll still kill you and take everything.”

I cast a Fireball spell. It damages both of us but also blasts him off of me. This is the first damage he’s received from me and it’s cut in half by his set piece. I cast another when he tries to get up, which scoots him across the room and now he’s down 50 HP to 606. Time to turn up the heat. I keep firing in rapid succession over and over again. While I do that, I inch my way toward the emergency exit until he finally takes cover behind a bookshelf, its volumes already in flames.

Billingsly is down to 481 HP, but once the booby prize I gave him goes off, that’ll change real quick.

Once I’m close enough, I open the emergency exit and begin to fall. Every second takes me further from the bomb and increases the chance I’ll make it through this.

Looking down, I can see the other end. A hatch somewhere on the first floor has opened on the ceiling. I hit the lobby, right next to the receptionist’s desk, and take what has to be some major fall damage. What the hell kind of emergency escape hurts you for using it? I must have missed a step.

Before I can inject a Big Red, I hear the sound of Billingsly falling down the shaft in pursuit. Not good.

I drop to the floor and head toward the doors. There are guards outside, so I take a Big Red Dose and hope for the best.

A half-second later, Billingsly emerges, landing safely in the arms of his secretary.

Oh, so that’s how you do it.

I open the door enough to get outside, slam the door shut, and lace my arm through the handles. Gripping it with my other arm, I hold on tight, ready for the worst. The warrior has more HP because of his class, but our strength is probably close to the same.

My opponent hits the doors hard, but with my arm in the way, he can’t open them.

Billingsly laughs. “I might be alone in here, but you’ve got company.”

I expect another push, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I get hit in the head with a shock baton for fifteen damage. The guards have thinned out the ranks of Booster’s Underground volunteers and focused on me. There’s still fighting in the streets, to be sure, but Cygnus has the upper hand. There are more dead players than I’ve ever seen in one place. This makes what happened when Pallydinator blew up the inn look tame.

The remaining guards outside jump on me and begin beating me with their feet and fists. My health begins dropping, not so fast that I feel like I’m in immediate danger, but I can’t keep this up forever. They work hard trying to kill me, but so far I’m successfully fighting them off.

These survivors are all level fifty and above. I glance at my health to see where I stand. Yikes—310 HP, and I really don’t have time to take a Big Red or cast Regeneration. I need to make some room for myself while still holding the doors closed. One of the guards is trying to get me in a choke hold, I duck out of his grip and throw my back against the door, double-fisting Fireballs at my feet. Everyone goes flying, but I judged my firing angles correctly and am only slammed into the door. The maneuver buys me some time at the expense of another thirty HP lost.

I take a Big Red Dose and then cast Regeneration, pulling out my Black Shiv, by far my most damaging weapon in this realm, and keeping my other hand free for Fireballs or any other spell I can think of. Actually… I cast Hypnotize and get a level thirty guard to start shooting his partners with his handgun. That adds to the chaos.

But still no sign of Billingsly… I hope he didn’t log out before the bomb goes off. I’m sure our duel continues until one of us dies—so I don’t think he can. So where is he in the… crap, I have no idea how many minutes are left. It can’t be much, can it?

I feel a rumbling at my feet and turn just in time to see something big and metal crash through the front doors. Glass explodes around me and I’m flung forward, sprawling down the stone steps that lead up to the entrance. Guards and Underground fighters alike shield themselves from blinding search lights that probe the front of the building.

I pick myself up, shards of glass scraping beneath my gloves. I see Billingsly sitting in the control cupola of a two-legged mech straight out of Robocop.

I’d buy that for a dollar.

The monstrosity has twin miniguns, one on each arm. It bobs up and down mechanically as it goes down the steps toward me, pulverizing the lip of each stair beneath its mammoth weight. Not good!

Underground volunteers and guards alike begin to flee from the scene. The guns are spooling up and they know as well as I do the sort of damage they’ll do. I’m a dead man if I don’t think of something soon. I doubt I can stab or shoot this thing to death. I just have to buy time until the bomb goes off.

I cast EMP Blast. The machine stalls, and I can see Billingsly shouting inside the cockpit, though I can’t hear what he’s saying. He’s frantically working the controls as the mech powers down.

Okay. Ten second head start. Time to run!

I take off down the street, thankful that the flying Scorpion tanks buzzing overhead are pursuing other targets. It has been five seconds before I hear a brrrrttt and see the street around me chewed up by high caliber machine gun fire. I’m hit multiple times and shed 200 HP like it’s nothing.

How can that thing already be back online? It must have some kind of tech resistance. Maybe a reduction of my spell’s duration. Either way, not good!

I throw myself to the side, roll, and get up to run again, trying to give myself a Big Red Dose in the process. Sweeping fire from Billingsly’s mech chases me, tearing apart a pack of his own guards who were moving to intercept me.

There’s no time to thank the jerk for helping me, because three more Cygnus guards are blocking my path, rifles up and ready to make me pay for moving in this direction. But I can’t stop. If the mech gets a solid lock, I’m dead. Flat out.

Suddenly, one of their heads explodes. He drops to the pavement. Another gets shot in the arm. The third takes three shots to the torso. The last gets shot through the neck.

Whoever is shooting them is doing so from a rooftop, maybe a block away. I take the opportunity to cut back into the street, hoping to reach an alley and get out of Billingsly’s sights. I have this terrible feeling the bomb is a dud and understand now why marking time is so important in military operations—I’d love to know how much longer I have to do this and I don’t have a clue.

The alley is in sight, and whoever is shooting from the roof is managing to drop high level guards with just a few trigger pulls.

Brrrrrt!

A spray of fire from the mech completely cuts off my path. I do a one-eighty to go the other way and a spray from the mech’s other arm cuts me off from that direction, too. He’s got me trapped in the middle of the street.

“Game over, Dirk!” Billingsly shouts from the mech’s external speakers. “We’re all going down together!”

The mech steps toward me and at this range, if the bullets don’t kill me, the bomb will. He takes his time lining up his sights and all I can do is hope to time a dodge enough to stay alive when—out of nowhere—another player is standing at my side, a Javelin-style rocket launcher on his shoulder.

I do a double-take just as the weapon launches, sending a round straight into the air. The rocket comes crashing down on top of the mech with frightening speed. Billingsly’s mech wobbles, trying to keep its footing, not damaged enough to be out of the fight.

A high, piercing whine begins to sound from the cockpit. Uh-oh.

I turn to the player who just helped me, expecting an Underground volunteer. Instead I see a level 95 named xxDEAD_HUNTERxx. And in his inventory… Graydon’s Boots.

The guy just saved my life, so I have to at least try to do the same for him—though I have no idea how that’ll happen. “A bomb inside that mech is about to blow. We gotta get out of here!”

“How big is the bomb?” xxDEAD_HUNTERxx asks calmly.

“Enough to level a city block.”

He nods. “We can make that.”

I’m not sure how. Even if I activated a teleportation stone, the whine of that thing sounds like there aren’t enough seconds left.

Without warning, xxDEAD_HUNTERxx hoists me onto his shoulders and starts running. And he’s running fast. We’re moving at the speed of a hover cycle at least. I’ve never seen anything like it.

He puts me down exactly a block away. “Hope you’re right about the distance. I’d go further, but I don’t want Billingsly to get out of this one.”

I stare down the street to the mech, which has regained its footing and starts after us, firing ineffectively over our heads.

The bomb explodes.

Instead of the sharp crack I expect, it’s a dull tone. The mech disappears inside an undulating blue and white ball that seems to contract like a shimmering heatwave before exploding out like the Death Star after a visit from Red Five. Everything in its proximity just flattens, blown over like it was made of plywood. The blast of wind assaults me, causing me to lean into it and cover my face as a dust storm blows past me.

The blast is accompanied by a massive EMP wave that causes lights to flicker offline and Scorpions—plus any flying cars about, watching the action—to fall to the streets in fiery wrecks.

“Holy crap,” I say, amazed at the destructive power Booster managed to create.

“Some bomb,” says xxDEAD_HUNTERxx. “Let’s see if he’s really dead.”

Before I can say anything, he’s running to the epicenter of the blast. I can’t possibly keep up. No! He’s going to reach the body before I do and get the Graydon’s piece.

When I catch up, xxDEAD_HUNTERxx is standing over some wreckage. It’s the cockpit, torn open and twisted, with Billingsly’s charred body somehow still in one piece, but definitely crispified. Maybe this is how the game deals with someone being atomized, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m way too late. “Good loot?” I ask xxDEAD_HUNTERxx, not wanting to go from one fight to the next.

“Don’t know,” he says. “Can’t search him. Says restricted. Can you?”

“I, uh, challenged him to a duel inside,” I offer sheepishly. “Maybe that’s why.”

I loot the corpse and realize the body is nothing but ash, it crumbles on the touch and is carried away by the wind. But I get the ring and quickly stash it inside my money belt. I’ll put it on later.

“Surprised he accepted a duel request,” xxDEAD_HUNTERxx, who looks on as though he couldn’t care less about getting some of Billingsly’s loot.

“Made him an offer he couldn’t resist, I say. Who are you?”

“Call me Hunter.”

“Okay. I’m Dirk. Thanks for the help.”

“Taking Billingsly down was worth it. I don’t usually do team ups.”

Talk about personality zero. This guy sounds like he’s playing a superhero. I guess he’s got the speed thing down. I want to ask him about his boots, but that might be too obvious.

There’s still sporadic gunfire and fighting on subsequent blocks, but I think Hunter and I are the only living players around here. A smoking police craft—not Cygnus but the NPC police force of Stryder City—comes crashing down on the street, breaking apart so that a wing and engine skitter toward us, sparks trailing as it grinds to a halt in the slick street.

“Nice realm you’ve got here,” I say to Hunter.

He only nods. “We’ve got company.”

I use another Big Red Dose. My shotgun is gone, so I equip my Shock Machete and Black Shiv, ready to take on the four forms I see walking toward me through the smoke of the downed police craft.

“Looks like you did it,” Booster says, but I can’t see him. He’s obscured by the smoke.

xxDEAD_HUNTERxx has a wicked looking rifle shouldered, ready to take the newcomer down the moment he appears.

“Wait, don’t shoot,” I tell him. “They’re friendly.”

A second later, Booster and two of his guards emerge from the smoke. They all look pleased. One of them kicks the burning wreck of the Stryder City police ship next to him.

“You know things are crazy when even the NPCs are getting blown out of the sky,” Booster says with a smile. He stops short when he sees xxDEAD_HUNTERxx, then looks at me. “You must enjoy keeping dangerous company, Dirk. How's life treating you, Hunter?”

“Booster,” says xxDEAD_HUNTERxx, who evidently already knows the man. At least by reputation.

But I’m watching in the smoke. When the last figure steps out, my heart sinks a little. It’s Spyce.

“Easy there big fella,” she says as she raises both her hands. She’s got the largest sniper rifle I’ve ever seen, hoisted in her arms. I think it’s as long as she is tall. “I’m not here to fight. In fact, I was keeping you alive until Hunter could swing in and save your ass. And, by the way, you’re welcome.”

“You were sniping from the rooftop,” I say, everything clear now.

“It’s true,” Booster confirms. “She came to the Underground looking for you to apologize. Figured you weren’t the bad guy after all. We had a one-way discussion. By that, I mean she did all the talking while pointing a big gun at me. She threatened to kill me a dozen different ways unless I told her where you were.”

“I thought he was kidding,” Spyce says as her eyes drift over me. “But here you are. I didn’t think you were brave enough to actually come here. Maybe desperate enough, but you never struck me as the heroic sort—nothing personal.”

Her words sting a little but the small smirk I see curling the corner of her mouth lets me know she’s joking.

“So,” she continues. “Is it done? Is Billingsly dead?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s gone.”

Booster claps his hands and lets out a laugh. “And SkullStomper tells me that the hacker just got perp-walked out of King’s League’s HQ.”

The man’s laugh tells me how much he’s enjoying the reversal of fortunes that just happened today. I can’t quite believe that it’s over. In fact, I think it might be awhile before I feel like someone isn’t watching my every move again. I’m gonna have to start carrying cash. I just can’t handle the anxiety of not knowing if my debit card is going to be declined at any moment.

“All right,” xxDEAD_HUNTERxx says. “I’m out.”

“That’s it?” Spyce asks him.

“Yeah,” the man says, eyeing me up and down before turning his attention back to her. “Now that Billingsly is gone, one of us three is going to end up the best. Doesn’t have to be decided today.”

And with that he takes off, running toward a collapsed building and running up its side before taking a massive leap across an alley to clamber onto a taller building.

“That fool is dangerous,” Booster says. “Don’t care nothing but being the best in the game.”

“What did he mean, ‘one of us three?’” I ask Spyce.

“Take a wild guess.”

“The set.”

“Yes. The set. I don’t talk to Hunter much, but we cross paths. He’s more of the vigilante type. Hunts down gangs for the XP. Goes questing for the biggest grinds. He’s a pro. And, apparently, he knows how to reach level 100.”

I don’t let her know what I know, but I’m fairly sure it’s the same thing xxDEAD_HUNTERxx figured out. The moment I added the ring to my inventory, my experience bar got an extra segment illuminated with sparkling gold. Only three gray left. Spyce has one of those set pieces, Hunter another. The last remains a mystery.

“Well,” Booster says, “I guess it’s about time you head back to your own world of dungeons and… you know. I’ll take my teleporter back now.”

I give the teleporter to the Underground back. Heading home sounds great right about now. I suddenly feel very tired.

Spyce, I notice, hasn’t said anything in a minute, but her expression leaves me feeling a little suspicious. It’s like she’s appraising me like I’m a fancy ring she’s trying to figure out the value for.

“So what are your plans?” asks one of the guards.

I tear my eyes from Spyce and look at him. “Plans?”

“For this,” he says, gesturing to the building. “You kill Cygnus, you become CEO, right?”

We walk toward the entrance. The receptionist walks out to meet us, stopping just inside the doorway. “Welcome to Cygnus, Mister Dirk. Congratulations on your promotion to CEO. The board is excited for your vision of the future.”

I see a pop up.

You now have controlling ownership of the Cygnus Corporation!

I don’t have time to run Dawnshire, let alone Cygnus. But I don’t know if there’s a way to get out of this thing without another duel. I guess I can consult the bylaws? Maybe the statue of Graydon back at the temple can tell me.

Or maybe the receptionist has answers.

“I’d like to stay the owner, but assign someone else to run the corporation,” I explain. “I’ll need this person to be able to do everything I can do, except take ownership. Is that possible?”

“Yes,” the receptionist says. “Who would you like to assign as the Vice President of Cygnus?”

I turn to Booster. “Want to bring the Underground above the streets?”

He looks surprised for a second, then suspicious as he scratches his chin. “That’s generous. To quote a vanilla player I met recently, ‘What’s in it for you?’”

I smile. Wouldn’t be 86-Neon if you weren’t in it for yourself first. “You manage the day-to-day activities, like you did the Underground. I get a cut, and the Underground gang gets a cut. The receptionist can help with most of the work and I have a couple of buddies from Dawnshire who you can chat with for other details. Just make this something that will attract players to the game, but don’t turn it into something Billingsly would be proud of.”

“Never,” Booster says, waving the statement away. “I was kind of looking forward to playing this game again, though.”

“You still can,” I tell him. “Just don’t get yourself killed, or I’ll have to find someone else to make my Vice President. Maybe Wu-Tanis.”

Booster smiles. “Nah, that cat couldn’t resist adventuring. He’d never show up for the job.”

I smile. He sounds a lot like me in that way. I feel sad that he’s not here to experience this.

I turn back to the receptionist and ask, “Is there something like a guild bank here?”

“Yes,” she says. “There is one by default, but you can add more if you like.”

“Add another, please. And is there a tax charged for transactions?”

“Yes,” she says. “The default tax is three percent. The previous executive had it set to forty percent. Shall I maintain that level?”

“No,” I say. “Keep it at three percent, but have one percent go into my account. Put the rest into the corporate bank.”

Then I turn back to Booster. “The two percent is your incentive, and you’re free to do with it as you please—even cash it out for real money, if you want the job.”

He continues to scratch his chin as he studies me, then breaks into that amused style. “Well that’s all you had to say.”

We shake hands before I turn back to the receptionist. “Forget everything Billingsly told you. Booster is your new Vice President now. He has complete access to the corporate bank, but not my personal account.”

“Welcome, Mister Booster,” the receptionist says. “If you are ready, I can show you to your penthouse. We can make whatever changes you desire if the decor does not suit your taste.”

“These are my boys,” he says, motioning to the two guards. “They go where I go.”

“Of course.”

They saunter inside the building. Something tells me that Billingsly would be enraged if he knew that the leader of the Underground was going to be sitting in his chair from now on. Good.

“Hey, Secretary,” I hear Booster say, his voice faint, already inside the building. “Can you go pick up my office and bring it here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but I can only…” her voice fades away as they get out of earshot, leaving Spyce and I alone.

She’s giving me that look again. Her eyes glitter like jewels and I am reminded of the stones back in Dawnshire. A part of me wants to give the Graydon Stones to her. Yeah, as a peace offering, but maybe just because I want to impress her? What are these feelings inside me? I know I can’t do anything like that, though. I don’t trust her the way I want to. Not yet.

“Hey,” she says. “I was thinking I’d hitch a ride with you.”

“A ride? What do you mean?

“Back to the Vanilla. Back to your little kingdom of Dawnshire.”

I pause, surprised by her sudden request. Where is this coming from? “Why would you want to do that?”

“Call it a change of pace,” she tells me. “Something tells me you’re a magnet for trouble.”

“If that’s true, then what makes you think sticking with me would be in your best interest?” I ask.

“Maybe it’s not, but if I wanted peace and quiet, I wouldn’t be playing in 86-Neon all the time, now would I? We both have set pieces. I still have some leveling to do. If we stick together, maybe we can figure out the endgame for all of this that doesn’t result in a death match.”

The endgame. A few seconds pass as I let the words settle. Maybe it’s her tone, but I sense there’s more to what she’s saying than she lets on. Something she doesn’t want to admit. Whatever it is, even if I can’t trust her, keeping her close by is probably the best move. She has a piece of Graydon’s, which makes her valuable. And I still have the gems.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound pleased but not sure if I pull it off. I want us to be on good terms. “You can come with me to Dawnshire, but it’ll take some time for me to trust you. I’m sure it’s the same for you trusting me.”

She smiles. “Fair enough. I’ll meet you there. For now, I need to gather up some weapons caches, but first.. I want to see first-hand how Booster is going to redecorate.”

I watch as she turns and heads inside, the belt around her hips bouncing against her garment.

I feel myself relax at last, finally aware of how tense I’ve been. Whatever happens next, it may change everything. This girl could betray me. Or she could prove to be a valuable ally. I don’t know yet, and I can’t see the future. More people will come for the armor eventually, and I’ll have no choice but to prepare. Maybe that’s tomorrow. Maybe it’s a month from now.

But let’s try to deal with one problem at a time. I activate my teleportation stone and make my way back to The Temple.

Epilogue

The first thing I did after getting back to Dawnshire was tell Stoneburner everything that went down. We set a time to do some adventuring together the next day. Then I called Brian and met him for delicious carne asada burritos. He brought his “study partner” and I have the feeling that the two might be turning into something.

It was tough not to fill him in on everything that went on, but I really didn’t want to suck him back into the game. Not with how strong he’s poised to finish the academic year. I don’t think there’s any doubt he’ll be playing ball in the fall, and I plan on going to every game I can. With two sources of income in Dawnshire and Cygnus, I might even be able to fly to a few away games. Become one of those boosters I hear so much about.

Another thing I didn’t tell him is my plan to level up Nogg as high as possible for when he returns. I learned something during my adventures in 86-Neon—the value of having a good team at your side. The Underground and then the two other Set holders both saved my bacon in that futuristic dystopia. If things get rougher from here on—and I’d be naïve to think they wouldn’t—then having a high level team that has my back will be crucial. I’ve thought of a pretty good trick to accelerate the process that I’m eager to try the next time we go adventuring.

Spyce still hasn’t shown up. But Wu-Tanis did. He said he was a little burnt out on 86-Neon and wanted to see what life was like where I was from. He hasn’t picked his specialization yet, so we’ve all been talking about how to form up the best squad. Nogg as Wizard, me the Ranger, Stoneburner the Paladin… maybe Wu-Tanis would be a good thief, but he seems to want to be a cleric specializing in hand-to-hand. Too many old kung fu movies in his life to resist that option, I guess.

Things go along really well for a while. Dawnshire is growing. The buildings are getting second stories. Stoneburner leveled up his shop to the point where he has a second NPC assistant, which gives him a lot more time to go on raids with me. I still haven’t started enchanting, but I’ll do it eventually!

All that leads me to right now. We’ve been grinding our way to the point that Nogg is a level eight. Not bad.

And then Stoneburner laid the news on me.

“I got a message from an old friend,” Stoneburner says over voice chat. He’s not roleplaying, I’ve taken that to mean it’s not a good sign.

“What’s the message?” I ask.

“Here, see for yourself.”

I expect him to forward me an in-game text, but instead he offers me a note in his inventory. You can write letters in game and give them that way. I open it up…

Stoneburner

Blacksmith

Dawnshire

Your boss is going down. We’re going to hunt him down and destroy everything. This is your one chance to save your own skin. Be prepared to do what we ask of you. If you don’t, we’ll ruin life for both you and Mary.

Make a wise choice, because a reckoning is coming.

—Salvatore

“You think it’s really from him?” I ask.

“I don’t know. But he found out who you were, or close enough, if you recall. And Mary… that’s my wife’s first name. She’s never played this game in her life.”

I guess I didn’t really believe a guy like Salvatore would just walk away from the game. Billingsly might have had his hand forced due to legal troubles, though as much as I’ve searched, I haven’t found any news stories that have let me connect his character to the real life person behind it.

“Well, I guess it’s not a surprise he’s back,” I tell Stoneburner. “Sorry, man.”

“For what?”

“To have dragged you into this. This doxxing crap.”

“It’s not your fault that people are idiots,” Stoneburner says. “My life is better since I got to know you. You know that to be true, Friend Dirk.”

I smile. “ Well, I gotta say, this sounds like an immediate problem, Stoneburner.”

“Verily.” He chuckles, but the sound lacks any mirth. “I don’t want you to think I’d betray you, Dirk.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” I assure him. “But I’d never see it coming—you’re a good friend, Burner.”

A silence falls between us. I break it. “After everything we’ve seen lately, one thing I’ve learned is to take threats seriously. This is a flex, no doubt. Salvatore wanted to intimidate you, but he made a mistake. We know he’s working with someone still unaccounted for—I never got to the bottom of who tried to kill me back in the woods before all this went down. Maybe that was related to him.”

“What about Spyce?” Stoneburner asks. “Could she be involved?”

I think back to our last interaction. What she said to me. She never showed. So what does that say? “I wouldn’t rule her out yet, but let’s wait and see. She’s smart and has Graydon’s Binding, the belt, which means she has something to lose, same as us.”

Stoneburner’s expression is grim. “He’ll find just how much there is to lose by bringing my family into this, Dirk. You don’t want to know what I’ve got in my safe…”

“It’s not going to come to that,” I say, hoping that my statement is true. I bring up my inventory and study the three Graydon’s set pieces I have. Ideas are already forming in my head. “I know you’re ready for trouble in real life. In the game… we’ll be ready to. All of us. Brian when he gets back, Wu-Tanis. Booster and the Underground are more than loyal thanks to us handing Cygnus to their control. And don’t forget me, Stoneburner. Whatever Salvatore and his partners are planning to do, I promise you… we will be ready for them.”

Afterword

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About the Authors

Jason Anspach is an Associated Press Bestselling author living in the Pacific Northwest. He is the author and co-creator of the military sci-fi series, Galaxy’s Edge. Jason enjoys shooting, coffee, Spaceballs, 1980’s action movies, the smell of coffee, Scrooge McDuck comics, drinking coffee and playing basketball.

J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

For more information about King’s League and its creators, visit www.DirkOfDawnshire.com.

About Mountaindale Press

Dakota and Danielle Krout, a husband and wife team, strive to create as well as publish excellent fantasy and science fiction novels. Self-publishing The Divine Dungeon: Dungeon Born in 2016 transformed their careers from Dakota’s military and programming background and Danielle’s Ph.D. in pharmacology to President and CEO, respectively, of a small press. Their goal is to share their success with other authors and provide captivating fiction to readers with the purpose of solidifying Mountaindale Press as the place ‘Where Fantasy Transforms Reality.’

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