by Hugo Huesca
“Alright,” I said, “so, you are into creepypasta.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Rylena, shaking her head.
Beard smiled in triumph. “Well, turns out some are true after all, seeing Validore —that’s Zodia 5 name— is acknowledged here by the game as a real planet.”
“I’m sorry, Gabrijel, but you need to explain what you’re talking about,” said Rylena, arching her eyebrow.
“This space right here,” said Beard as he moved the screens towards the dark point between Zodia 4 and Zodia 6, “is the place where Validore is supposed to be. Some players have argued back and forth on the forums about it, but there’s evidence that a planet once orbited here. Residual energy, drifting debris, gravitational irregularities with the leftover planets. The disappearance happened recently, too, just before Rune Universe came online. If we assume this universe existed before that, I mean.”
“The lore goes back a lot of zeroes,” she said, “some stars here are older than the real universe.”
“I know. Here’s what makes it such a good creepypasta,” said Beard. “It’s still ongoing. We have found some quests that literally can’t be completed unless there was a planet right here. That’s where the “Validore” name comes from, by the way. Some people have looked for it. Some of them have claimed to come close. They will refuse to publish their advances, of course, and the ones that do always turn out to be fakers. But, sometimes… A player will log on to a forum, make such a claim, and then will never be heard from again.”
“Now you’re getting weird,” I told him. But a shiver came down my spine, even if I hated myself for it.
“It’s true. Some of them, I knew myself.” He crossed his heart with his finger. Then he added:
“Besides, Internet horror stories are definitely based in reality, at least part of it. You know the Window the newer versions of mindjacks use to show you the real world?”
“I do.” In fact, now that he reminded me of it, I checked back real quick on my sofa. It was all clear.
“Well, why do you think they were added? Original versions were full-immersion, you know. There was no Window and no external feedback to interrupt the game experience. Am I telling the truth, Rylena?”
“You are. I had one such mindjack myself,” she said.
“Then this story starts making the rounds across the gaming community,” he kept on. “It’s a very short creepypasta, perhaps you have heard it before. It goes like this: ‘A player is complaining to his ingame friends about a creep who has been blowing up her phone. She’s probably going to the police, she says, as soon as she finishes the raid. So her party goes raiding and, as they are fighting the last Boss, this player just freezes. No matter what they say to her she’s just there, immobile.
“The friends worry and they call the police on her. So the drones go to her house. Someone broke in while she played. Her wrists are slit, there’s blood everywhere. She never realized she was dying. She bled out as she played…”
While maintaining a perfect poker face, I checked back furiously at every corner of my apartment. “Damn.”
“It’s just a story,” Rylena said. “The feedback and the window were added to comply with new safety protocols. Of course,” and now she was smiling eerily, “that’s just what the official report says.”
She shook her hands at me, mocking me.
“Whatever,” I said, looking away.
“Yes, but I’m right,” he said. “For years we have been called obsessed. Well, who’s obsessed now? Wait until the forums hear about this.” He shook my screenshot around like it was made of gold.
Rylena caught his hand. “Perhaps it would be better if we kept quiet about this, at least until we’ve found Validore.”
Beard grunted. “This is the part in the story where things get scary and the players all die horrible deaths.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, “to avoid that, we should keep quiet. Got it, Gabrijel?”
“Kid, I’ve studied Russian history. And American history, too. I know what a vast conspiracy can do to a person who won’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Understood,” said Rylena and she let go of his forearm.
“So, we go searching for this planet,” I said, to clear the tension. “We try not to get killed. Then what? No offense, man, your ship’s really cool, but it doesn’t have enough firepower.”
This time, both Rylena and Beard nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “We are going to need a better ship. Half of the reports that got somewhere with Validore all claimed the clues brought them near either a wormhole or a black hole. My ship would get shredded in seconds before we came close to either of those.”
I made a mental note to ask them later what those did in-game. “So, we buy a ship? I have a hundred thousand databytes ready.”
“Too expensive,” Rylena said. “I’m a Diamond-ranked Battlemind, I do little to no trade. I’m not rich enough to buy a crew-fitted ship.” She turned towards Beard.
“I can sell my ship,” he said, “and pool my databytes in. Won’t be enough, though. We’re talking endgame gear here. And you,” he pointed at me, “are very far from endgame.”
“We need an endgame ship,” Rylena agreed, “that’s probably why Kipp got us the Apollo Wing. Only Alliances can afford an endgame ship bigger than a fighter, you see. Independents like us can only get one if we invested into our ships from the start.”
My new friends looked down as if they had run into an impossible obstacle. I realized this was a case where being too deep into the Rune ambient was really clouding their judgment. In my opinion, the solution was simple.
“So, it’s decided,” I said. “We are going to have to farm.”
“You can’t just kill a bunch of mooks in Rune and find a warp-drive inside their stomachs—” started Rylena, but I cut in.
“Yes, yes, I know that. All I’m saying is, this is still a game. There has to be a way to farm in here, even if we have to craft the parts ourselves.”
Beard was the first to support me. “I’m a Diamond-ranked Engineer. I can build us a ship if we get the right parts. We’re going to need a spaceport. A shipyard, too…” He stumbled away, deep in thought, muttering to himself. Eventually, he just took out a screen and started typing.
“Great,” said Rylena, “you broke the Beard. Now that he’s obsessed with the new project, he won’t be thinking straight until it gets done.”
“And you? You’re in?”
Rylena smiled. “To be honest, building a ship from scratch sounds cool as hell.”
Then we laughed because a screen had deployed right in front of us:
Congratulations! You have started a new quest: Raising from the Ashes (Build a new ship from scratch). This quest is a part of Discover the Mystery behind Rune Universe, good job on your advancement!
“The game thinks we’re on a good track,” I said as I accepted the new quest.
“I think it cares more about us thinking we are on a good track,” Rylena said. She did the same with her own quest, identical to mine. Somewhere in the cabin, we heard the distinct “quest accepted!” ping from Beard, too.
“Well, I think we’d make more progress if a legendary spacesuit fell right in front of me, out of nowhere,” I said. I pretended to wait around for the spacesuit, but nothing dropped from the ceiling.
“Good try. I don’t think it works that way, though.”
“Funny, when I first started, Rune’s idea of a tutorial was to send me to the forest to kill some mutants,” I said. It was only a couple of days ago, really, but they felt like a lifetime. Before and after. “Now, the game is tailor-making quests for us.”
“My first quest ever was to solve a murder with two Terran Federation high-ranking officers,” said Rylena. “If I chose the wrong one, a part of the Federation might have splintered.”
“That’s favoritism,” I said, “you get the cool tutorial quest and I go kill rats in a cellar?”
Rylena laug
hed, but then she stopped to think. I could see something was bothering her. “You said you only played old MMOs before, didn’t you?”
“Yes, my ‘computer’ used to be my phone connected to an old tv screen. I preferred simulators to the MMOs, though. The quests always made me feel like an unimportant NPC. Go to the blacksmith and deliver this package. ‘Congratulations, a hero is you! Have four copper coins.’”
Rylena said nothing. She just scratched her chin and stared at me.
“My eyes are up here, girl,” I said with an exaggerated sway. “You’re thinking of hiring me as errand boy? Because I have experience on that. Probably could start with a hundred skill points in package-delivering.”
“No, no,” Rylena said absent-mindedly, “I was just thinking, before coming to Rune, I loved fast-paced real-time-strategy games. The ones where you build armies and order them around? Must’ve played a dozen before Rune.”
I felt like somehow I was missing the point. “What made you change genres?”
She smiled again and shrugged. “This game always felt like home. Like… coming back to your childhood house? A place you don’t even remember, but it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“Even when blowing up Posse of Iron mooks?”
“Especially when blowing up mooks,” she said.
Funny. Last couple of times we’ve met Rylena was mostly an annoying know-it-all. I’d seen her in real life only once before and she was pretty. Elegant, in her own way, which wouldn’t work with many girls I knew. Then she opened her mouth and loved to remind you how smarter than you she was, which took most of the charm away.
But… the way she mixed melancholy and fierceness in the same smile…
The silence between us extended long enough to make things awkward. Before I could think of something to say, she added:
“We are not done building a crew, by the way. Bigger ships work better with a crew of four or more.”
“You have someone in mind?” I stuttered. Rune apparently simulated a dry mouth just as well as it did a mutant’s bite.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “You were talking of classic farming one minute ago, right? Well, we already have the foundation of a decent party. I’m the Controller, Beard is the Tank, you’re the Bard, probably; we need a damage-dealer.”
“What do you mean I’m the bard—”
“I’m thinking it’s time you get to meet Walpurgis.”
“No, we’re talking about this! What do you mean I’m the bard—”
Beard flew his freighter into a space station in a Sector I’d never seen before (which wasn’t saying much, really). Unlike the Argus, this Blackbay Space Station was on the edge of what Rylena called “civilized space”. A few million miles outside of it, the reach of the Terran Federation ended, and began the territory of a couple thousand different pirate Alliances. More like roaming bands of marauders, in space, for the way my friends explained it.
Blackbay was as seedy as I imagined after hearing the name. It looked like it was built out of parts of dead ships, stolen satellites and scorched plaques of armor and metal. It had none of the streamlined edges that Argus had: it was rusty, dirty, and the hangar’s doors threw a curtain of sparks as they opened to welcome us. Even the forcefield containing the station’s atmosphere looked seedy.
“What happen if the shield’s generators fail and we get sucked into space?” I wondered out-loud.
“If you’re wearing a spacesuit, you can survive as long as your oxygen tanks can hold on,” Rylena said over her shoulder. She brokered with the station’s officers to get the landing permits we needed to land in Blackbay. “If you’re not, the asphyxia mechanics apply, but a lot faster.”
“Lore explanation is, our bodies are genetically engineered, so they have some resistance to vacuum. So, a minute of exposure we can survive with little medical attention,” Beard added. “I think the real explanation is, no one wanted to program a virtual death by space exposure.”
“But they are perfectly fine with a virtual ‘get eaten by mutants’ program,” I said.
“Well, that’s your own fault, in that case, isn’t it?” said Beard. I was positive it wasn’t the case, but I decided to let the matter lie. After all, few people got eaten in their first tutorial quest.
We landed on a small hangar-pod which rose to greet us as soon as Rylena finished paying a couple bribes to the officers. She mentioned the station was mostly player run as of now, but it had begun as a base for NPC’s pirates in the region.
“Where are they, now?” I asked. I had never fought against an NPC so far, I realized. Plants, other players, and genetically engineered abominations. But no pirates.
“Players wiped them out,” she said, “took us like six months. You see, they gave you better loot than most planet-side quests.”
“I thought monsters didn’t give you any loot,” I complained.
“Well, these pirates had pockets.”
As we got down of the freighter, the pod retreated into the nearby wall, like one of those Japanese motels. I wasn’t sure it would still be there when we got back, seeing the state of disrepair of the entire Blackbay.
“Don’t worry, it’s insured,” Beard said, patting me on the back. I made my best effort not to fall on the floor, stumbled, recovered, then went after my friends.
Spacers Retreat Bar was dark, tepid, and smelled vaguely like Roscoe’s futon. It was player run, just like everything else in Blackbay, but the waiters and bartenders were all NPCs. The clientele looked like something taken straight from an apocalyptic movie that had slept with a seedy science fiction movie: spacesuits covered in dried blood, reinforced with patches of steel, leather, and enough spikes to give The Ferals a jealousy fit. Everyone was carrying some kind of weapon, but none of those looked like my campy Basic Blaster. Some of those had nothing to do with Rune’s space setting. I saw a crossbow dangling from someone’s hips, and a chick with a spear was telling her party members of her latest exploit at a nearby table. The spear had a flamethrower glued by the tip, I could tell by the small flame on its tip, just waiting for the fuel —and a reason to use it.
“Cute place,” I mumbled.
“Shhh, don’t talk or you’ll get us into a fight,” Rylena told me. “They realize you’re a newbie and they’ll kill us all just for fun.”
“Charming.”
That explained why Beard was carrying around what looked like a futuristic bazooka and a belt filled with grenades.
Blackbay wasn’t a safe zone like Argus. In fact, Player on Player combat was something of a pastime around here. People fought, got killed, respawned in their pods, then came back for more.
Definitely not my cup of tea.
“You see her?” Beard asked Rylena. “She may be doing a stint with an Alliance, for all we know.”
“Don’t think so, there’s no interesting war going on right now,” said Rylena, “same with me. Alliances are only worth it for the war-games.”
“I can’t see why anyone would stay here for long,” he said, taking a glass of something nasty from a waitress nearby. He gulped it down in one go and ignored her indignant scowl as he placed the empty glass back on her tray. “The booze here tastes like water.”
“You don’t even drink, Gabrijel,” laughed Rylena, “stop trying to mess with Cole. He’s going to think you wrestle bears in your free time or something.”
“You don’t?” I asked Beard.
He placed a comforting hand around my shoulders. “I absolutely do, kid. I absolutely do.”
“He’s a scrawny computer science engineer,” Rylena said, “I have had a good source that says his wife had to open a pickle jar for him, once.”
“Who told you that?” he demanded.
“Your wife.”
“Goddamit, woman, stop talking to my wife!” he said. But, he refused to confirm or deny any further events regarding the pickle jar.
Soon after, Rylena pointed us towards a corner of the
bar. I recognized Walpurgis without having seen her avatar in-game before. She had been at Kipp’s funeral in real life.
She was much taller in Rune, and much older. Couldn’t have been older than thirteen out of game, yet here she was middle-aged. Her avatar had short black hair and a slender frame, suited for a gymnast. My first impression wasn’t gymnast, though. It was badass paid killer, like in the movies. The aviator sunglasses finished the look.
Her spacesuit was more professional than the “zombie apocalpyse” look most of the mercs here went for. It was matte black, scorched in a thousand places, and repaired a thousand times, too. On her chest plate she had painted two long human bones crossed in an X with white aerosol.
She saw us coming before we reached her.
“Irene. Beard,” she nodded towards us. She didn’t mention me. “Long time no see.”
“I saw you a week ago,” Rylena told her. “Out of game?”
“It’s been more, in here.” She was standing near a wooden table filled with a mix of full and empty glasses of vodka. She turned around and downed one. Even if it wasn’t real alcohol and the effects were greatly mitigated, she was thirteen.
But hey, I’m no one who could go around lecturing people about law-breaking.
“You bored yet of murdering players? The folks around here don’t seem to be on your level.” Beard told her.
“Never.” Then she looked at me. “You’re new. What are you doing here?”
“I’m a friend of Kipp’s,” I said. Her avatar may look intimidating with her bones-motif, but I had seen her in real life. I wasn’t scared of a little girl. “I was there, at the funeral.”
“Yeah, Irene’s new crush. Saw you over there.”
Rylena made a very unladylike noise. “Don’t give the newbie any ideas, damnit.”
Walpurgis shrugged. “In war and love, dear.”
The Beard muttered to Rylena, “I thought she was over it?”
“I hoped so,” Rylena whispered back.
