by Mars Dorian
“No, no, no.” His face flooded with desperation.
I held my axe ready, but didn’t dare to intervene. “You should do something,” I said to the man.
“You want me to kill my own child?”
“It’s not technically your child anymore.”
He hissed. “You monster.”
Man, this was way too much drama. I hated this quest and all the emotional garbage.
“You want me to kill your daughter?”
My glance swung back to the kid. Tiny violet crystals pierced through her skin like an exploding rash. She unleashed a howl that stabbed my eardrums.
“Do something,” the father yelled at me. “Ash didn’t deserve this.”
Great, in the final moments of his daughter’s existence, he used her name. Really helped with the cognitive disassociation.
The infected girl rolled from the bed and staggered on the stony floor like a newborn learning to walk again.
A deranged, crystallized, Creepo newborn.
“Aeons, forgive me,” I said to the in-game gods.
I readied my mech axe, chose the horizontal swing stance, and chopped off the girl’s head.
10
As soon as I made sure the infected girl was dead, I turned my head and suppressed the urge to puke. These graphics rattled my nerves, and I needed to leave this hellhole before I went crazy. The NPC father, the last survivor of the wragg attack, fell to his knees again and cried for his dead girl. I wanted to pat his shoulder, but the moment was heavy with sorrow and I hated to break the mood. I wondered, was it still okay to ask for the quest’s financial reward—the 250 credits?
If this happened to be a real-life moment, I would have just left, but given this was a game quest… I wondered for five seconds before the words tumbled out. “Technically, I did complete your job offer, right?”
The NPC father kept his eyes locked on his dead girl. The moment thickened and I felt useless standing around. The father focused on the game corpse and seemed to be stuck in a trance.
The NPC father said, “Please, just me leave me alone now.”
What to do? I did everything in my power to prevent this tragedy from happening. A game notice floated in my HUD.
Quest update: You have failed to protect to the farmer’s family.
Failure painted my vision. A few experience points trickled in, mostly from the wraggs I had killed, but no monetary award awaited me. Frustrating for sure, but I had learned; I always did. “Goodbye, sir.”
The farmer remained on his knees and sobbed. I marched through the living room and almost slipped on the bloodstains. This place looked like a horrific battlefield, but it wasn’t my job to clean it up. I collected the blunderbuss from the ground and quickly left the ranch. I traversed the village center, ignoring everyone’s stares, and waited for the next caravan to show up near the pick-up spot. The faster I could get space between me and this cursed place, the better. Thank tech the next caravan arrived shortly. When I caught the ride, a new NPC traveler ignited a conversation. Why were these characters so chatty?
“What were you doing at Lynchburg, kid?”
“Failing fast,” I said.
“The only way to move forward.”
Sure it was.
I moaned—I mean, my real, physical body moaned. It must have been late in the real world. The second I entered the central arrival and departure lounge of the Academy, I exited the world of Fourlando and saved my progress.
The switch to the real world fragmented my view. I took my VR helmet and gloves off and found myself back in the tiny room, at 2:45 am. Crazy. Time didn’t just fly by in Fourlando, it vanished. Shaina and mom probably had gone to bed by now. They must have been exhausted from their argument.
I tiptoed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and slipped into my pajamas. The second I crawled into my bed, my eyelids shut like dungeon gates. The experiences of the day flashed through my mind. I still didn’t fully enjoy the game. For someone who wanted to blow off some steam and just hack & slash, the game world offered too much complexity. And yet, something about this world fascinated me. I needed to move on and get better. The question was would I be able to reach the class selection at Level 5?
11
When my eyelids opened up again, the morning sun crept through my window. The timer displayed 10:34 am. Late, but not too late. My legs dragged me into the kitchen, where I found my mother’s note glued to the fridge:
“Make sure Shaina goes to school. Please apply for jobs today. We need the money. I’ll call you later, okay? Leftovers are in the fridge.
Love you, Mom.”
The message transported me back to my teenage years, as if the last decade had eroded from existence. It was hard to imagine that I once lived in a big city, paying for my own flat in the central business district. The trip to memory lane hurt. No one liked to go backward in their career, especially not when punished by destiny for having done nothing wrong. But I was exhausted from complaining all the time so I grabbed the milk and poured the white liquid over my late morning muesli. Mother’s warning echoed in my mind.
“Shaina, are you home?”
No answer, so I crossed my fingers. She better be at school and learn for a world that no longer existed. At least school kept her busy and out of drug trouble.
After breakfast, I trudged back into my room, left my PJs on instead of getting dressed, and rummaged through my application folder on the computer. I had sent out over 431 applications over the past year. More than half of the applications never elicited a response, about 84 companies replied with an auto-reject while the rest ‘promised’ to send a reply later on, citing ‘excessive demand for the position’ as an excuse. Seriously, firing CVs into a massive black hole would have sparked more responses. So instead of repeating the same old mistakes, I loaded up tutorials for dealing with long-term joblessness. I could at least learn about my situation instead of wasting time. During my research, a banner for the Crystal Crusade popped up and urged me to play again. Sneaky bots had analyzed my surfing habits and pestered me with ads. I wiped the commercials away and dove deeper into research.
Apparently, millions of people across the country—if not the world—had suffered from job loss. It wasn’t just the lower class clerks and menial workers who got fired. Automation had crept into middle management and left a scorched battlefield. The more I read, the more I cringed. Bad news was the last thing I needed today.
In the middle of the reading, I took a break and carried the trash outside to the front lawn where the containers stood. A milky gray smeared the sky and splashed cold drops at my face. It was the perfect weather to snuggle up in the living room with a loved one, if you were lucky to have one by your side. Across the road, I watched my neighbor, Jackson, sitting in his chair, gulping down cans of beer, and staring blankly at his unkempt front yard. I wanted to believe the global economic crises had hit him hard too, but I had never seen the guy work for a day, and I wondered how he made money. Life in the trailer park came dirt cheap, but electricity and rent still required some sort of income.
“What’s up, Dash?” Jackson called out across the road.
“Just taking out the trash.”
He nodded and raised his beer can toward the sky. “You still playing that game where you dress up like kids for Halloween and hit monsters with swords and guns? What’s it called again?”
“You mean the Crystal Crusade?”
He winked at me. “That’s the one.”
“Sometimes,” I lied.
I motioned to go back inside and evade the conversation but Jackson rose from his chair and moved toward me.
Oh no.
He crossed the road and leaned against the wooden fence while finishing his can of ‘Merica Light.
“It’s a pretty big game, right, like hundreds of million players?”
“It’s the biggest VRMMORPG on the planet.”
“VR-what?”
“Virtual reality massiv
e multiplayer online role-playing game. It’s the official term.”
“Gotcha.”
He took another long sip. Why was he even interested? As far as I knew, Jackson never played video games of any sort.
“I’ve heard of this super-famous player, Poland or something.”
“Holland?”
“The country?” Jackson asked.
“No, I mean the super-famous player. I think you mean Holland Pax.”
“Holland, right. He makes like millions of dollars from that game, right? Slashing monsters and collecting swords and stuff.”
Holland did make that much money, especially from sponsorships and paid live events, but the entire business model was more intricate. However, I had zero interest in explaining to Jackson how professional gamers made money. Besides, his beer breath etched into my nostrils like acid, and the faster I could distance myself from his caustic cloud the better. The problem was he just wouldn’t let me go. “Do you think I could make any money from it?”
“Well, it’s pretty tough. You have to play day and night, understand the game mechanics down to the details, and keep up-to-date with the constant changes. It’s an eight days a week job, if you know what I mean.”
Jackson’s shoulders dropped already. Another potential pro gamer never to hit the light of the day. “Sounds like work.”
“It does.”
Jackson scratched the back of his head and sniffed. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from working or whatever. Just wanted to know how this VR game works.”
“No worries. Hope you learned something.”
“Sure did.”
He waved goodbye to me and sauntered away. Halfway across the road, he turned around and called my name before I could reach my porch door.
“By the way, Dash, do you make any money from the game?”
“Me?”
Of course he meant me, but it was such an unusual question it surprised me. “Nah, I just play for fun.” I waited. “The few times I play, I mean.”
Jackson nodded. “I saw you playing every single night for the past four weeks… like until three a.m.”
Ouch. I should have realized he could see my lights switched on until the early mornings. Somehow I believed Jackson had more important things to tackle, like setting a new high score in drinking six packs of ‘Merica Light.
A proper excuse left me.
“No worries, I ain’t judging,” Jackson finally said. “I just wonder—if I was spending that much time on a game, shit, I’d figure out how to make money from it.”
“Makes sense.”
And with that, I climbed the porch and stepped inside the living room. I believed deep inside, Jackson was a decent fella who had grown up in the wrong neighborhood and never found a way out. Scarily like me right now. Ugh. I poured myself a glass of water and skulked back to my cramped room. I reopened the video tutorials on finding a new job. In the middle of the stream, an absurd thought crossed my mind. A thought so idiotic, I was glad no one but me had access to my mental lunacy.
Why wasn’t I making money from the game?
12
I chuckled from just thinking along these idiotic lines, but the idea grew. Curiosity shot through my mind and rumbled. I asked my computer ’How Holland Pax makes money’ and watched the search update its results. A list popped up and showed the star player’s income, listed in percentages:
53.5% private in-game sponsorships from Rebel Bionics, Gekko State Sports and NRJ drinks.
26.3% merchandize, such as limited autographs, licensed products, and commercials
20.2% paid speaking gigs and stage events
A nice variety of diverse income streams flooded Holland’s wallet. I had to admit, I was jealous. The guy looked like a fiction feed star, played the most important VR game in the world, and made millions from it. I knew he worked hard, but still, what a life. His feed showed hundreds of fans across the planet: China, Japan, South Korea, Europe, and even the Middle East. I pictured Holland Pax, replaced his profile with mine, and wondered how different my life would look as a pro player. Even making only 10% of his income, I’d get by and pay for my family’s expenses.
Jeez, what was I thinking? Ridiculous. The pro players started in their early teens and honed their craft twenty-four-seven. And yet, the specialty about the game was it demanded more than quick reflexes. Tactics, logical thinking, the right skill selection, and moral choices dominated the Crystal Crusade. So having fast reflexes counted just for a slice of the game.
Hmmm.
The thoughts had merged and multiplied. I opened a video of a recent Holland Pax interview. The hostess basically melted in front of him like Swiss raclette in a pressure cooker. Holland was answering a question.
“You know, it takes a lot of effort, and I know this sounds like a conceited response but I don’t think many people realize how hardcore pro gaming can be.”
“So would you go back and have a normal day job instead?”
“No way,” he said, laughing.
Holland then appeared to ponder for a second as he ran his fingers through his mane-like hair. “I have good friends who were fired from their jobs because of automation. I love tech, don’t get me wrong—I mean, The Crystal Crusade is full of awesome sci-fi fantasy stuff—but bots also replace a significant number of people in the real world. Lots of countries don’t know how to cope with that and folks suffer. I hate to sound all doomy and gloomy, but I think it’s the truth.”
The makeup laden hostess nodded with her permanent smile set to maximum charm. “Do you think that’s the reason why the game streams are so popular? Do they provide an escape from all the wars and economic issues going on today?”
Holland pressed his lips. I wondered how much he could get into discussions about politics without risking losing a sponsor. “Maybe. But the game’s also compelling on a mysterious level I can’t explain. It’s like there’s a secret layer that drags you into the world, again and again.”
“Like the Violet Lunar?”
She meant the infected moon hovering in the sky of Fourlando. I saw that damn thing even from my dorm windows in the Academy.
Holland nodded. “The Violet Lunar is, and probably always will be, the biggest mystery of the game. As far as I know, no one has ever reached it.”
“Maybe you will one day,” the hostess said with blushing cheeks. She was about to pop.
“Well, we’ll see. Right now, I just want to share my adventures with my fan base—which is amazing, by the way.” He winked at the camera—which, in this case, meant it was directed at me. I suddenly felt like a stalker.
“Fifty-three million players can’t be wrong,” the hostess said.
“Exactly.”
The hostess then asked the star player about exclusive sponsorship deals, and I made sure to jot them down. A few camera angles showed the audience—a couple hundred fans of various ages cheering for their VR hero. Some had even built Holland’s character’s armor layout with the branding on.
He had picked the Lancer, a melee fighter class, which had since become the most sought-after class in the game. Amazing how many millions of lives Holland had impacted. I reckoned at this stage, he was more popular than any other celebrity on the planet.
“Can I take a selfie with you?” the hostess said and barely hid her cheeky smile.
“Of course.”
He posed like a hero and flamed on the audience. The hostess twisted her wristband and snapped the 3D image while girls in the audience nearly collapsed as they yelled ‘Holland, Holland, Holland’ in unison.
I tapped the video away. Holland talked like a cool guy who actually worried about world affairs, which I thought was admirable. He didn’t seem uber-human and simply trained hard as a Lancer. Besides, thousands of players made a full-time living from The Crystal Crusade, so even if I never reached elite status, I could still earn a respectable income and support my family. The prospect flooded my mind with determination. The game’s
banner hovered next on my computer screen. A silent voice seemed to call my name, like a siren on a beach rock, as my mind wrestled with my desires.
I should learn more about my job situation.
I should send CVs to make Mom happy.
Or…
I’d try to excel at the game, rock the quests, and attract some low level sponsorship deals to rake in a couple grand each month. The chances neared one percent, but sitting on my butt and pretending to apply to jobs would neither help myself nor Mom. And besides the screw-ups in the game, I had improved and collected more and more experience. So I crossed my fingers, plugged in my VR set and dove back into the wondrous world of Fourlando.
I had to.
13
My character woke up in a dorm room inside the Academy, the safe space inside the complex. The outside light illuminated my sparse place. Even this vacuum looked better than the crammed mess I slept in, but tidying up wasn’t high on my priority list. Never was.
A quick glance at my character menu revealed I had reached Level 3, only two levels away from Level 5, which would mark the first milestone in my progression: class selection. I couldn’t wait to focus on my skill points and apply real tactics instead of just slashing fiends like a brawler. Thankfully, unlike older games, you didn’t have to upgrade your dexterity, strength, agility, or any other micro-management mess like that. These attributes grew naturally the more I used them. So the more I ran, carried, and climbed, the better my stamina. The more I used a particular weapon type, the better my proficiency became. All attention was spent on the items, the upgrades, and most importantly, the development of skills.
Speaking of skills, I spent my new point on the close-combat melee ability again. Now my proficiency upgraded to 10%, and soon I would be able to use better weapons.
