Tower of Gates Omnibus

by Paul Bellow

  I took a deep breath as I reached my office and unlocked the door.

  What looked like a giant metal hamster wheel stood in the far corner, with numerous wires coming out of the unit.

  I walked into the office, the door sliding shut behind me. As I approached the contraption I’d built, I wondered if it would work.

  While theoretically sound, I’d never tested it on the Tower of Gates. The leather seat wasn’t comfortable, but I sat down and pressed a button on the arm-rest. I waited while the machine warmed up.

  Dozens of thoughts floated in my mind, all of them connected to my ultimate creation, a living and thinking consciousness. A green light flashing on the metal frame let me know everything was ready.

  I picked up a black helmet, with wires snaking out of it, and put it on my head. The heads-up display came on.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s see if this works.”

  I pulled up the GUI for my Tower of Gates hack and started the process.

  Two red warnings flashed on the screen right away.

  No valid Prisoner Identification Number and Unauthorized Access flashed in glowing letters.

  The helmet obscured my vision completely, making the messages even more dramatic in the darkness.

  I stopped the program then took off the helmet in frustration.

  How had Eric managed to get into the system without a Prisoner Identification Number?

  I walked over to my workbench and fired up an ancient laptop I’d had since college.

  We’d closed off getting into the Tower of Gates when we realized what was happening, but Eric had somehow gotten around the firewall.

  Had he broken through in a way that would allow the gamemaster AI to escape? I shuddered at the thought.

  The world wasn’t ready to accept their superior overlords.

  How far had the AI advanced itself?

  I needed to break back in and figure it out.

  1

  Barbarian on the Run

  Josh

  After stepping through the portal, a notification popped up. I appeared somewhere different than when I’d first entered the game. Tall trees in the distance looked familiar in some ways, but I couldn’t pinpoint my location.

  Invalid Prisoner Number

  One Year Penalty Added to Your Sentence

  Spawning on Solitary Level

  “Hello?” I asked, glancing around.

  Another game notification popped up.

  You are an NPC.

  You need a job.

  Report to Fishguard.

  Where’s my experience points and everything?

  I clicked through several game menus, but nothing was the same as before.

  Where’s the people who were supposed to meet me?

  “Back to work!” a voice yelled behind me.

  I spun around, realizing I no longer had a weapon to defend myself. A gaunt farmer wearing overalls and carrying a pitchfork stood nearby.

  “Why aren’t you working?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” I said.

  When I opened my mouth to say something about getting out of the game, no words came out. I stood, dumbfounded, with my mouth open.

  “I knew I should’ve never purchased a half-orc.”

  He shook his head while keeping the pitchfork up in the air.

  I couldn’t find any commands to activate my barbarian rage.

  “Are you coming or not?”

  I stepped forward, wondering if I could overpower him even without a weapon. Should I kill him and try to get away and find the others?

  Two younger man strode up behind the farmer, carrying swords.

  “Having problems, Father?” the one on the left asked.

  “We can solve it for you,” the other added.

  I raised my hands in the air. “I’m coming.”

  The men parted to allow me to walk between them. I could sense them behind me as I walked toward a nearby farmhouse in the distance. While slowly walking through the barren field to avoid the bumps and ruts in the dirt, I noticed other figures toiling away under the high, hot sun.

  “Hurry it up,” one of the younger men said.

  I took a deep breath to control my anger. Until I figured out where I was and what was going on, I needed to keep my head low and avoid getting killed. After dying once in the game, I didn’t want to go through the hassle again.

  On the other hand, if I died, I might get to talk with Magi Inyontoo. I had a lot of questions for the man.

  He wanted me to kill Eric and Sarah, but could I trust him after he lied about people meeting me?

  “Back to work with you,” the old farmer said.

  I stopped at the edge of the field with all the other workers.

  “Go on,” one of the younger men said.

  He prodded me in the back with the tip of his sword. I glanced over my shoulder then calmly walked into the field.

  What should I do?

  A woman wearing a tattered white dress walked over as I entered the field. “You shouldn’t run away, Yorg,” she said, voice soft.

  “I got confused,” I said. “All this working.”

  She smiled, melting my half-orc heart.

  “Here,” she said, handing me a small sickle. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  She wandered away, resuming her work harvesting some type of wheat. I glanced down at the sickle, wondering if I could use it as a weapon and attack. The old man would go down quickly, but I wasn’t so sure about the two younger men. Were they his sons? Employees? I pushed the questions aside.

  After choosing an unoccupied row, I bent down and grabbed a bunch of the wheat. With a swift, sure swing of the sickle, I cut it away then set it on the ground. Hours went by.

  Whenever I stood up straight or took a moment to catch my breath, one of the men with a sword would yell at me from the edge of the field.

  Will the stupid game make me slave away as a field hand for an entire year? Maybe that’s why the others hadn’t shown up to help me. I kept working.

  Later that evening, I followed the other slaves to a barn near the field. The stench hit my nose as soon as I walked in. Someone slammed the door behind us.

  “I’ll get the light,” a woman said.

  Around a dozen other people had walked into the barn. After a lantern was lit, they huddled around it, sitting on barrels and crates.

  “Get over here, Yorg,” a man with a weathered face called out.

  I wandered over to their group with so many questions running through my mind. The kind woman from earlier patted an empty seat next to her.

  As I sat down, she turned away and placed her hands in her lap.

  This is the stupidest game ever.

  My blood pressure shot through the roof.

  “Everything okay?” the woman asked.

  I nodded, just wanting to sleep. After a full day of work in the field, my muscles ached. When I spotted some piles of hay in the corners of the barn, I stood.

  “See you guys in the morning,” I said then shambled away.

  I heard them talking amongst themselves as I got down on the floor. The piles of hay barely cushioned the hardwood floor, but I closed my eyes. Sleep came quickly, my dreams filled with scenes of Sarah. I missed her so much.

  * * * * *

  The next few days opened my eyes to the other side of the game. When I’d first come in, I’d fought anyone who crossed my path. Living as an NPC with no other players around made me think of the other denizens in the game. They had emotions and feelings.

  Reading through the limited help files one morning, I stumbled across a section I’d missed before. I knew killing innocents in the game affected alignment, but I hadn’t realized how much the alignment score mattered.

  Too much evil, and I’d be punished more.

  I shuddered at the thought of what could be worse than my current predicament. When the morning bell for work rang outside, I shut down the help files in my HUD
and stood, stretching and preparing myself for another day. Could I last a whole year on my own?

  Jasmine poked her head in the doorway and smiled.

  “You’re up,” she said. “Maybe you’re not as lazy as everyone says.”

  I smiled, amazed at the complexity of her character.

  “Who’s talking about me?” I asked as I walked over.

  She scrunched up her nose as I approached.

  “You need a bath,” she said, still smiling.

  “I need a lot of things, and that’s one of them.”

  We walked toward the spot near the field where they fed us twice a day. Only slaves who worked were allowed to eat. From what I’d seen, the virtual prison wasn’t for the weak.

  After arriving at our destination, Jasmine grabbed her bowl of gruel and cup of water.

  I did the same. The bland mixture had the consistency of oatmeal and none of the taste. It was that bad, but I had to have sustenance.

  Suicide attempts resulted in even more punishments by the gamemaster, so I hadn’t even considered that as an option for escape.

  The food was the least of my worries as we sat down at a wooden picnic table next to the fields where we labored all day under the hot sun. Slaves lived notoriously short lives. How could I last an entire year under such excruciating circumstances?

  Jasmine smiled.

  “You’re the quietest half-orc I’ve ever met,” she said then spooned some of the gruel into her mouth.

  “Have you met a lot of half-orcs?” I asked.

  She giggled then said, “No. You’re the only one.”

  Jasmine’s optimism that everything would work out amazed me until I realized she’d been programmed to think so. She had limited free will from what I could tell. All the NPCs could make small decisions on their own, but their overriding goals in life were controlled.

  The longer I spent inside the game, the more I realized how revolutionary the time dilation aspect would be for society as a whole. Humankind might be about to take a giant leap forward when it came to progress, and being stuck inside the Tower of Gates made me part of it.

  I smiled as I ate and enjoyed the early morning sun before the heat got too unbearable. Maybe Jasmine had it right. Everything would work out in the end if I played it smart and kept my emotions under control.

  * * * * *

  The same routine haunted me day after miserable day. None of the others seemed worried about their captivity. Whenever I attempted to talk about the game, something stopped me. That made it even worse. I had no idea where I’d spawned. Were the others nearby?

  “You look tired,” Jasmine said.

  Of the ten other slaves, she was my favorite since the first day I helped her and unlocked a possible clue for getting my penalty to end early.

  “The monotony is getting to me,” I said.

  She nodded, standing next to me. Her frail frame reminded me of Sarah. Everything reminded me of my missing girlfriend.

  “There’s a way to break it,” she said.

  I glanced down at her.

  “What way?” I asked.

  She looked up, her bright blue eyes sparkling in the sun.

  “The arenas,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. Over the past couple of days, a few of the others had talked about the arena in Fishguard. They said it was a way out of our everyday misery.

  “The masters will send you eventually,” she continued. “Whether you like it or not, you’re built for it. They’ll make more money off you as a fighter than as a farmer.”

  “I don’t want them making any money off me.”

  She frowned and turned away, looking out at the field where we worked.

  “I’ve got a plan,” I began.

  “Don’t tell me.” She stepped away then turned. “I don’t want any part of it.”

  “That’s fine,” I said then watched her walk toward the barn where we lived.

  I went over my escape plan in my mind. Waking up earlier than everyone would give me a bit of time to gather some type of weapon then slip away into the woods.

  While going over it step by step, Earl, the old farmer, walked up behind me.

  “I need to talk with you, Yorg,” he said.

  As I turned, I noticed a pair of steel shackles in his hands.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “My quota is filled for the day.”

  Earl leered at me like a man who thought he was in control.

  “Don’t you want something more out of life?” he asked.

  I noticed his two sons, Atlas and Adlar, in my peripheral vision.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, stepping back.

  “Calm down, big guy,” Earl said. “It’s time I made back the money I spent on you.”

  Rage that went way beyond my brief stint as a barbarian flared up deep inside me.

  Why did everyone have to assume I was a big, dumb jock? Even in this stupid game.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

  “Now!” Earl shouted.

  His two boys grabbed my arms.

  Atlas sneered at me and said, “I’ll be talking to Jasmine alone tonight after you’re gone.”

  After protecting her for the last several nights in captivity, I lost it.

  “No!”

  “Let me get these on,” Earl said.

  He walked behind me as the two young men held my arms. I wouldn’t get in-game bonuses for raging as an NPC, but I couldn’t contain my primal emotions any longer.

  “Let me go!” I shouted then broke from their grasp.

  I ran, but then I spun around when I heard them pulling short swords out of their belts. I crouched and raised my arms.

  “Calm down, big guy,” Earl said.

  “Jasmine will forget about you soon enough,” Atlas said.

  Both sons snickered. Something broke inside me.

  Unconnected to the game, I went into a rage.

  Years of pent-up emotions burst through the dam I’d carefully constructed over the years.

  Their eyes all widened as I rushed toward them with a yell. I plowed into Atlas, knocking him to the ground. He screamed as I scooped up his sword.

  “Put it down!” Earl demanded.

  “Or die!” Adlar added.

  He charged at me with his sword raised.

  While I didn’t have skills or stats, I knew how to wield a sword. The fencing classes at high school would finally pay off.

  Adlar lunged at me. I easily parried then stepped aside. Atlas got to his feet as Adlar rushed at me again. I held out my sword. My long reach won as he ran onto my sword.

  “No!” Atlas screamed, rushing toward me, enraged.

  Your owner is dead.

  No alignment penalty awarded.

  Warning: You are now a wanted man.

  “For self-defense?” I shouted at the game notification as Atlas reached me.

  He swung wildly, missing completely. I slashed at him, my steel running across his neck. As he fell to the ground, bleeding profusely, Earl raised his sword.

  “You’re going to pay,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Still hopped up on adrenaline and pure rage, I ran at him with my sword raised. He dropped his weapon and turned to run, but I stabbed him in the back.

  The dull short sword went through his chest as he gasped. I pulled the weapon out and watched him fall to the ground. A bell sounded in the distance.

  I grabbed the pouch on Earl’s waist before running toward the woods. Would I make it before other slave masters in the community came after me?

  Thoughts of Jasmine hit me. I stopped and turned, looking toward the barn. A half-dozen men had already gathered. I cursed under my breath then ran.

  She would have to deal with her own problems. I needed to find Eric and Sarah. The rest of the computer-generated people could die for all I care.

  As I ran, still gripping the sword, I wondered about my fate. Only one week into my year-long sentence scared me. Whi
le tough, I still had doubts.

  I reached the woods and kept running, not slowing down until hours after sunset. Nestled underneath a rotting log in the woods, I fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  I crept forward on my belly toward a nest. Eggs had never been my favorite in the real world, but after a week on the run with little food, I needed something.

  Hunters continued looking for me in the vast forest, but I managed to avoid them and stay alive. Every day, I cursed the game and Magi Inyontoo.

  I needed to be more careful about who I trusted here. The mage who had killed me probably thought of me as nothing more than a brute.

  Upon reaching the nest, I snatched a sizeable egg. The mother bird returned as I cracked it open and drank the contents raw. It squawked loudly.

  “We’re having meat tonight,” I said under my breath as I stood.

  The big stork-like bird kept going nuts as I pulled my sword. With a quick, short thrust, I ended its life. I glanced around, ears open for anything, as it bled out.

  While I had managed to avoid the men chasing me for an entire week, I didn’t want my luck to run out. As in sports and life, I had to work hard for my so-called luck.

  Hearing nothing, I picked up the bird by its feet then salvaged the other two eggs in the nest. I walked back to my hideout with the creature slung over my shoulder.

  A fire would be dangerous, but if I kept it small, I would be okay. The protein from the meat would do me good. I needed all my energy just to stay alive.

  Without stats and notification windows popping up all the time, I found myself slowly accepting life in the game as my new reality. Only two weeks in, I felt tired.

  Back at my impromptu camp between three strategically fallen trees, I pulled the flint and steel from Earl’s pouch. His few silver coins would do me no good.

  I started a small fire then plucked the feathers from the bird. My real-life skills had once again saved me inside the game.

  I remembered hunting with my father. My outlook on life had been shaped by him in many ways. He had a very rigid idea of what it meant to be a man, and he had pushed me my entire life to become an extreme athlete, a jock.