by Oliver Mayes
Lillian quickly put the numbers into perspective.
“Aetherius’s account has been seen by pretty much everyone in the game, so about two million people. He’s about to break two hundred thousand votes. But he’s been around since the start. You just got here, and you got twenty thousand votes for doing almost nothing; you have a profile page with two videos on it. That’s it. With no description, no bio, no theme, no playstyle description, no screenshots. Nothing. At. All.”
Damien was delighted. All this time he’d been clutching at straws, the idea of winning the competition nothing but a pipe dream. But his hard work had paid off. It wasn’t such a far-fetched plan anymore. He had twenty thousand little competition emblem icons that said so.
“Thank you,” he started, “I worked very hard to get—”
“I’m not complimenting you, you idiot! Why is your page so empty? A hundred thousand people visited your profile today, and you netted twenty thousand of them. One in five. How much higher might that have been if they had something to look at?”
Damien’s eyes widened as Lillian inflicted her perspective on him. Suddenly his page looked like a disaster. He could have had another twenty, forty, maybe even sixty thousand votes toward the competition, and he’d lost them for nothing more than an uninteresting profile.
“Wait! I thought you told me not to join the competition in the first place?”
“I was wrong!” She’d raised her voice, a perfect blend of defensiveness and frustration. “I didn’t think you’d get these numbers! But you need to do something about this page.”
She took a deep breath and then let it all out in one go, the views on Damien’s profile climbing slightly higher in the background as she adjusted herself.
“I… I didn’t just decide to have a bad profile page,” Damien said. “I went to the raid, where you saw me again, and—and I died. And then I woke up and had to leave Freja’s—the pod hotel. I just haven’t had time. I’m sorry, okay?”
All of a sudden, the IMBA set was coming off his head. Lillian gently set it to one side before removing her own and looking down at him.
“Stand up.”
What was she doing? Was she going to yell at him some more? Did she feel like she had to do it to his face?
Damien stood up, his arms folded in front of himself as he focused on the floor. Lillian stepped forward, lowered her head to rest on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, her headset clutched around the base of his back while her other hand held the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”
Damien’s hands dropped to his sides, and then wrapped around her shoulders. It was a struggle not to cry. Lillian kept talking into his ear.
“I should have helped you from the beginning. But you’re here now. And I can help you with your profile. I can help you win this competition. It’s the reason I invited you here.”
Damien released his hands and pulled back a little to look at her face. She was smiling sincerely, and it didn’t sound like a joke.
“Why are you helping me?”
She let go as well, contemplating him.
“I might not care about the competition, but I do care about what Andrew did to me. I haven’t been to work since. If he’s willing to hurt me professionally for the sake of winning a gaming contest, I’m going to help you win instead. Sure, I’m pretty well known in SO, but I haven’t played seriously in almost a month and Andrew’s way past me now. I can’t catch him in just a few days. But you? Showing up with a hidden class and taking on Rising Tide, by yourself, after only four days in the game? That got people’s attention. All you need now is the right support. Here I am.”
Lillian grabbed his headset and pushed it back into Damien's waiting hands.
“So, first things first: we’re going to get on your profile and I’ll talk you through what you should add. We can edit the footage you’ve got together and get your video count up. If we do it fast enough, we’ll have your page ready before the evening rush. Then you’ll have to make a statement about getting killed in the game. Let people know you’re coming back, so they should still vote for you. Andrew hasn’t posted your death yet; we need your profile ready for that. Hustle, man, hustle!”
Lillian pushed his headset forward and Damien fell onto the sofa heavily, staring at her in awe as she grabbed her own headset and sat down by his side. It sounded like she knew what she was doing.
“You think this will work? That we can do this?”
She pulled the headset halfway down and gave him a last smirk before she disappeared into it.
“Yeah, man. Get votes, win the competition. That was always the plan, right? Nothing’s changed. I’m just on your team now.”
Damien was quick to transfer his video files and the two of them got to work, editing the footage to keep it as fast-paced as possible. Damien focused on cutting out anything with Bartholomew in it to keep his base’s location secret, as well as removing uneventful travel time. Then he’d pass it to Lillian, who wrestled it into shape for viewing. She was incredibly skilled, both with the headset and the software it housed.
Before the rush hour started, Damien had four videos ready for commentary, starting with his first raid on the low-level Rising Tide outpost and ending with his recent skirmish in the Malignant Crypt. There was a lot of content there. Lillian guided him through narrating an episode, making sure he knew what his audience would want to hear.
“No rambling!” She’d been very clear about that. “You focus on what’s going on in the video right at that second and explain what you’re doing and why. If you don’t have time, rewind it and play it through again slowly. Pause it if you have to. But no longer than twenty-three minutes! It’s as easy as that.”
She’d listened in on the first one, stopping him occasionally when he over-explained simple mechanics like soul energy, or under-explained complicated class skills like Shadow Walker. It took about an hour to get through the whole twenty-two minute segment.
They put it up on his profile and moved to the next, Lillian showing outward signs of frustration as the afternoon blended seamlessly into evening. But Damien was a quick, highly motivated learner. He narrated most of the next video on his first try and finished a twenty-one-minute commentary in thirty-five.
Lillian left him to do the third one on his own while she looked for good screenshots to decorate the page. Images of his demons were arranged into folders so they could be easily browsed, along with video clips of their flashier moments. By 19:30, Damien’s profile page was almost unrecognizable. It lacked the adverts and the sponsor badges to look like a pro account, but it had just the right amount of everything else. He was playing in the big leagues.
“You’ll have to do the video talking about your death pretty soon, but that one can wait. Rising Tide still hasn’t said anything about it on the streams. We’ll wait for them to go first, then respond directly. That way they’ll give us free publicity.”
Damien was investigating the folder entitled ‘Imps’. He’d gotten to the stage where he could pick out Noigel from the rest of them at a glance. What would the imp have to say about his death? Probably that he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner.
At least thanks to Lillian, Damien’s afterlife was being well spent. Finding a safe place to play Saga Online was his primary concern above all else, but the professional touch Lillian applied to his profile had proven almost as valuable as not being caught by CU. He hadn’t understood just how terrible it looked until she was done fixing it.
By giving him a place to sleep and upgrading his presentation, Lillian had shunted his dreams one step closer to becoming reality. But first, it was time for Damien to let his reality become dreams.
He’d been awake since the crack of dawn to ambush Rising Tide and Godhammer at the Twisted Forest. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept much at all recently. With a safe place to rest, a belly full of congealed pizza and a death timer on hi
s account, there was nothing stopping him from finally getting a good night’s rest.
He yawned deeply and loudly, prompting Lillian to remove her headset and look at him sympathetically.
“You must be wiped out. Why don’t you go to bed? If you like, you can give me administrative access to your account first so I can polish it up a bit while you get some rest. I won’t be able to do it tomorrow; I’m finally going back to work. I won’t see you until evening, so while I’m out you can finish commentating the other videos by yourself. All good?”
Damien nodded at her and put the headset back on. She talked him through setting her as an administrator on his account, granting her access to all his headset’s recordings and full editorial permissions on his account. She’d already proven it was far more valuable in her hands. It was a real relief to have found someone he could trust. When they were finished, they both took off their headsets at the same time and he gave her a nervous smile.
“Thanks again for letting me stay. You have a great place.”
“It’s all good. Much nicer around here with something to do, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good sleep.”
She gave him another hug, not all that tight but longer than he might have expected, before pushing her hair out of her eyes and returning to the sofa. She already had her headset back on by the time he passed by, but that didn’t stop her from sounding out a final, crucial instruction.
“Throw the dressing gown in the washing machine when you’re done with it!”
He hummed his assent, closing the bedroom door behind him. The bed looked a damn sight more inviting than those of the pod hotels from the nights before. Damien clambered under the sheets and immediately felt relaxed. The shower and the home-made food had made him feel human again, and the work he’d done with Lillian had made him hopeful.
His last thoughts before he drifted off were of home, but for once they weren’t grounded in remorse. He was in the competition. He was doing it. He could still put everything back the way it was before. Cocooned by ignorance and optimism in equal measure, Damien closed his eyes and drifted away.
29
Keeping up Appearances
Damien woke up on a large, comfortable bed, with absolutely no idea where he was. He lay there for all of six seconds before enough memories had connected to form the outline of his life.
He threw the covers off and lurched toward the door. It was the only reference point he had, courtesy of the light leaking in from the hallway. He opened it, but it only opened a crack before it collided with something heavy on the floor. Poking his head around, Damien found his clothes, cleaned, dried and neatly folded in a basket.
There was a piece of paper on top with his name chicken-scratched onto it. A note. He’d only ever received notes from his mother before, and even that had stopped years ago. Nobody had time to write these days.
In his eagerness to seize it, he was about to step out when he realized he was still completely naked. Lillian was almost certainly gone already, but better safe than sorry. Damien arched his hand round the door and dragged the basket through the gap, quickly closing the door and putting on underwear. Then he turned on the light and took a seat on the bed to read the paper.
Back at 17:30. Food processor still has some juice, eat whatever you want. They didn’t announce your death yet. Keep an eye out!
Lillian.
Still no death announcement? Strange. When it first happened, Damien had thought it would go viral almost immediately. Now it was coming up to twenty-four hours and… what time was it? He quickly dressed and went into the living room to find out.
Lillian was a gem. Not only had she sorted out his clothes, she’d put his headset on charge overnight, leaving her own headset next to it. There was no mystery as to who owned the charger: it was the same glitzy gold as her offline headset, her online armor and her hair.
Damien unplugged his own headset and placed Lillian’s on charge in its place, putting it over his head to check the internal display. It was just past midday.
Damien powered up the industrial-sized food processor, several times larger than the one he was used to, and the display blinked at him. Damien blinked back. He’d thought he’d be getting the leftovers of Lillian’s breakfast. In fact, the gargantuan machine was completely full of almost every option he could think of.
He’d never seen a full food processor before.
His mom had only ever filled their own enough for whatever they were making. If the readings were right, this thing was well stocked enough to feed a family for a week.
After five minutes of browsing, Damien settled on steak and potatoes. The processor was faster than he was used to as well. In just five minutes it was ready, and he wolfed the food down in three. Utterly delicious. Whatever brand of processor paste Lillian used, it blew anything he’d ever made for himself out of the water.
Full and focused, Damien dumped his cutlery in the washing cabinet and went to work on the last three videos. First up was the footage of his three-way battle with Rising Tide and Godhammer. There was an awful lot of explaining to do, not least of all why he’d decided fighting two guilds would be easier than fighting one. Having almost died in the process, Damien wasn’t even sure he knew himself.
After an hour-long struggle, he finished with it and went to his profile to upload – and was stunned. He’d gone to bed last night before peak gaming time, too early to see if his and Lillian’s efforts had paid off.
Now, his profile had almost half a million views. His votes hadn’t increased quite as dramatically, but it was still huge to him. Somewhere, out in the world, forty-two thousand people wanted him to succeed. The word was out. He was internet famous. Again.
He loaded up Saga Online and was met with the same page as when he’d just died, with the notable exception that there were only seven minutes to go before he could log back in. Finally. Damien took his last chance at a bathroom break and then retired to his room. He lay back on the bed in time to watch the last few seconds drag past and at zero, the annoying message was finally replaced with the first notification window of his second life.
Choose your respawn location:
1: Camelot
2: Base
3: Zone Entrance
Phew. At least there was a choice. Then again, it made sense. Mobius Enterprises wouldn’t have made many friends by ending a twenty-four-hour timer with a long walk of shame. Or in Damien’s case, if they’d plonked him in the middle of Camelot, another twenty-four-hour timer.
He quickly selected his base and the loading animation appeared, re-integrating him with the game. The screen aligned with his vision, the weight of the headset faded, and everything went dark.
He blinked, staring up at the domed ceiling of his base. At least he hadn’t been dropped on his backside this time. He turned his head and realized where he was: lying upon the altar of the Soul Well.
Damien propped himself up on his elbows, flinching when a surprised squawk rang through his ears. Garbled screeching of pure euphoria followed. The remnants of Damien’s forces came running from every corner, whooping with excitement and prostrating themselves before him.
One of them offered him a ruptured spleen, which he politely declined while still appreciating the sentiment. Then he swiveled his legs around to sit on the edge of the altar and they fell silent, their eyes boggling. The imp at the front of the group cracked first, snorting back a laugh. That was all it took.
Suddenly, all of them were rolling around, slapping their knees and braying. Damien folded his arms and looked down to where they were pointing. Oh. It was like that dream he used to have: he wasn’t wearing any pants. While the robes hung low enough to cover his modesty, his bare legs made it seem more like a skirt than an assassin’s garb. It seemed he was destined to spend his life periodically finding himself in a state of undress with an audience nearby.
Why weren’t his leggings equipped? He opened his menu, looking to see if they’d someho
w escaped to his inventory, before the realization hit him like a poorly calibrated driverless truck.
Shankyou had taken them. And without them, Damien would be missing his stat bonus for wearing the whole set.
He yelled with frustration before sheepishly cutting it short, remembering Lillian had retrieved them for him. He’d have them back by the evening.
Damien shooed his laughing imps away. They scattered to the outskirts of his base, resuming their dissonant chatter.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Damien’s heart leapt in his chest before easing itself loose. His tolerance to Bartholomew’s sneak attacks had gone down, thanks to his absence.
“I hope your death doesn’t dishearten you too much. I’ve died plenty of times and just look at me! I’m the picture of health.”
Damien could think of no one, dead or alive, who looked less the picture of health than Bart. He looked more like the picture of advanced necrosis coupled with severe leprosy. But at least he was being supportive.
“Don’t worry, Bart. I still got this.”
Bartholomew’s fetid forehead furrowed.
“I should hope so. I’d hate to have tolerated your base here for nothing. I see you’ve lost my lovingly crafted Occultist Leggings, as well. This generation has no respect, no respect at all!”
“Actually, I’ve got a friend who picked them up for me. She’s coming later.”
Bartholomew scoffed and shot him a scathing sneer. Damien thought he was about to be mocked for claiming to know a girl, but Bart was way ahead of him.
“A friend? You? Made a friend? I’ll believe it when I see it. In any case, I’ve been waiting for you. I have the item you commissioned.”
His hand retreated into his robes and returned holding a golden disc with a golden chain fastened to it. In the center there was a gap, where a glowing green stone hovered as if held there by magnets. The color jogged Damien’s memory. This was the artifact he’d paid Bartholomew to craft out of the rare boss drop more than two days ago. Damien inspected the trinket, hoping against hope for something truly incredible.
