Death March (Euphoria Online Book 1)

by Phil Tucker

  I reached down and prodded my leg. I knew my body was lying still in the pod room; that nothing had actually prodded my leg. But my brain couldn’t tell the difference. All this was taking place in my mind, controlled by the neural circlet I was now wearing.

  Insane.

  The gamer in me wanted to laugh in delight. I leapt to my feet and spun in a circle. Friction and gravity were set to earth normal. I pinched my arm. Yep. A little pain there, but nothing too sharp. Speaking of which, I actually felt amazing. I wasn’t getting feedback from my actual body, but rather from Euphoria, and Euphoria was telling my mind that I was perfectly rested, filled with energy, and raring to go. I’d not felt this good, this alive, since—when? Not since hearing the news from Justin, at any rate. These last six months of teaching and courtrooms and jail visits had been an exhausted blur.

  For the first time in forever, I felt like myself again.

  Grinning, I looked around, and on cue an outline appeared before me. It cycled rapidly through different forms, all of them shadowy and humanoid, and this time I did give a delighted laugh. Choose the form of your destructor! Euphoria was reading my mind, locking in on my preferred tutor’s form. I sat on the armchair’s arm and watched as the shadowy silhouette quickly slimmed down and became a young, attractive woman.

  Her white hair was cut boyishly short, an intricate tattoo of Lovecraftian monsters and flowers wrapped up her left arm, and she wore a wry, teasing smile that made me smile right back. She looked just like the kind of girl I’d love to go on a long road trip with, someone filled with energy, spunk, and loaded with sarcastic comebacks.

  “So,” she said, looking down at herself. “This is me. What a relief.”

  “Relief?” Her voice sounded so real. A lifetime spent playing with VR-simulated voices drove home how different a real person’s voice sounded to any normal system’s mimicry.

  “Yeah. You’ve no idea how often I end up looking like a dark elf blow-up doll. And forced to talk like a child. Honestly, it’s really hard to respect you human males when I can see what most of you are secretly looking for.”

  My smile widened. “I’m impressed. Look at you, already complimenting me and making me feel all shiny and special. I bet you do the same for these dark elf-loving dudes, don’t you?”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischievous humor. “Of course not. You’re the only special guy I’ve ever, ever met.”

  This time I outright laughed. I knew she was manipulating me, and knew that she knew I was aware. What was brilliant was that she was purposefully mocking me in a way she knew I’d enjoy, and was still able to make me feel special, despite that level of awareness.

  “This is great!” I slid off the arm into the armchair proper. “So. What do I call you?”

  “My name’s Nixie,” she said.

  “Right.” Again, that was perfect. I’d half expected to have the option to name her, but having her own name made her more real. Part of me wanted to stop meta-observing everything and simply immerse, but another part was giddy at how good this all was. How sharp and slick and spot on. It made the prospect of entering Euphoria all the more exciting. Time for a quick test. “Watermelon turkey.”

  Nixie paused, one finely arched brow rising in confusion. “Excuse me?”

  No matter how advanced the games I’d played, spouting nonsense at the NPCs always resulted in them acting weird and breaking their verisimilitude.

  “Rotating scrotums.” I watched her carefully. Time to see how good Albertus Magnus’ AI really was. “Underbelly backwash, please.”

  She drew in a quick breath, paused as she narrowed her eyes, then gave me a pitying smile. “If that’s your idea of flirting, I’m really glad I’m not an actual girl.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Not a bad response.”

  “Oh…” said Nixie. “You’re testing me. Gotcha. Want to spout some more gibberish? I can wait while you get it out of your system.”

  I gave her a golf clap. “Wow. I mean, really. You’re just like talking to a real person.”

  “Um… yes.” She gave me an overly polite smile. “Albertus Magnus, the Universal Doctor? Most advanced AI in the world? Ring a bell?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But it’s one thing to hear about it. Another to actually get to test it out. Awesome. So, Nixie. What’s next?”

  “Character gen, of course. But first, a few preliminaries.” She waved her hand and a blue screen appeared in the air before me. “I’m going to show you a number of pretty boring but life-defining legal docs for you to thumbprint. I advise you to read them all, but I won’t be shocked if you skim.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I spent the next half hour actually reading through the small print. Nixie acted quietly impressed, which made me feel savvy and sharp, though I knew—

  Enough with the meta-commentary, I decided. I focused instead on what I was signing, and burned through all the pages.

  The terms were standard stuff, from the terrifying medical disclaimers that I could die or go mad or suffer from a variety of maladies like ‘ludoendocrinal dissonance’ or ‘glutamate excitotoxicity’ to financial stuff that had all been signed already by Brianna. Finally, we got to a simple form.

  “So, here we go,” said Nixie, perching on my armchair’s arm. “This is where you pick the difficulty level of your Euphoria experience. Given your Golden Dawn wins and record, I’m guessing you’re going to go with either Maniacal Maniacal or Soul Grinder?”

  Both levels glowed on the floating screen, but I flicked my fingers and scrolled past them, down to Death March.

  “Expand that one, please.”

  Her playful expression fell away. “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  New text filled the screen, but Nixie slid off the armchair to crouch before me, reaching out to take my hand and get my attention.

  “Listen, Chris. Death March is for real. I don’t know what you’ve heard out there, but if you die in Euphoria while playing on that difficulty level you will die in real life. The neural band will fry your brain and there’s no coming back from that.”

  “I, uh, are you supposed to put it that way to me?”

  Nixie waved her hand, brushing my words away. “There’s no ‘supposed’ to this. I like you. I know you think I’m just saying that to make you happy and feel special, but I really do. I don’t want you to make a mistake here.”

  “Then why offer the option if you’re going to try and argue me out of it? I know what it involves. I doubt anybody would ever pick it lightly.”

  “True,” she said, “but still. We’re talking real death here, Chris.”

  “I know.” I clenched my fists and sat up. “If you’re so reluctant to let me pick it, why is it even an option? Why did the Universal Doctor program a way for people to die in this game?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave me a sad smile. “I’m part of Euphoria, true, and possess a limited degree of Albertus Magnus’ capacity, but not nearly enough to divine his intentions. I don’t know why he saw fit to insert Death March into the game, but in his ineffable wisdom… he chose to.”

  “Wait. You’re part of him. How do you not know?”

  “It’s… complex. Think of it in terms of resource allocation on his part. But regardless, my limited perspective has led me to dislike the option, despite whatever greater purpose it serves. You won’t get access to the full menu, in-game tutorials and so much more. Are you sure you want to go that route? You’re going to be inside Euphoria for what feels like six months. To date, only two hundred and seventeen people have chosen that difficulty level, and of that number a hundred and thirty-seven have died, seventeen have survived, and the rest are still playing.”

  My stomach cramped. “I know. But I have to.” I felt the ridiculous urge to tell Nixie about Justin. To treat her like a real person. Her eyes were glimmering in tha
t way real people’s do when they’re feeling a lot of emotion, and her expression was open, vulnerable.

  Instead, I sat up straighter and took control of myself. Nixie wasn’t real, and I’d come here to work. “Death March, and all its consequent rewards, please.”

  She sighed. “Fine. There’s a lot of paperwork to it.”

  “I’m sure there is. Let’s get to it.”

  I spent the next two hours thumbprinting the densest legalese I’d ever read. When I was finally done, I sat back with a sigh. “Brianna and the others must be going nuts waiting for me.”

  Nixie smiled in a friendly manner. “For them it’s been only a few minutes since you entered.”

  “Oh. Right. So. What’s next?”

  Nixie’s smile became a grin. “The fun part. Time to make your character. Ready?”

  I rubbed my hands together and sat forward. The fugue that had settled over my mind from reading so much morbid paperwork faded away. Nixie wasn’t wrong. Character gen was one of my all-time favorite parts of these games.

  Nixie bounced to her feet and snapped her fingers. A moment later, her eyes unfocused and she frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s strange.”

  Concern flickered through me. “What is?”

  “I’ve never seen this before,” she said, and then looked right at me. “I’m sorry, Chris. You’re not going to like this.”

  3

  I tried to be calm. Failing that, I tried to sound calm. “What’s happening?”

  “Normally, a new player has access to the full roster of different races, and within those parameters they then have the ability to modify their appearance to their heart’s desire. However, it looks like your file’s been locked.”

  “Locked?”

  “An avatar has been pre-selected for you by Brianna, your sponsor.”

  “Oh, crap.” I sat back, thoughts spinning. How bad was this going to be? Images of gimps in leather suits along with mewling bat babies and other horrors flew through my mind. Was this the other shoe dropping? Was she going to get revenge on me by forcing me into some horrendous avatar for the next six months?

  “Here,” said Nixie, and a copy of myself appeared beside her. The avatar was so real that it went beyond a reflection, being three dimensional and vividly real down to the last detail. “This is what she’s picked.”

  I stood and stepped closer. “She’s making me look like myself?”

  “Almost. She’s enhanced your appearance a little. Made you an inch taller, changed your muscle and body fat ratio, minor cosmetic details.”

  I stared at myself. Nixie was right. This was a slightly idealized version of myself. Perfect skin, stubble just the way Brianna had always said she liked it, hair trimmed, shoulders broad and a little more muscular. No belt of teacher’s fat around the hips, no fatigue beneath the eyes. The small, star-shaped scar on the back of my hand Brianna had given me during a particularly nasty fight was also gone.

  So this was what I might look like after a couple of months of Hellfit.

  “Huh,” I said. “That’s better than a gimp.”

  “Much,” said Nixie.

  “But—why? Does it say in my file why she’s forced me into looking like myself?”

  “Nope.”

  I stepped back and slowly sank into my chair. What had at first seemed good news—not being forced to look like a pug or whatever—was starting to freak me out a little.

  “My ex-girlfriend is forcing me to look like a hotter version of myself for the next six months.” I tried the words out loud to see how they sounded. They sounded bad. I could almost hear Ev groaning and shaking her head. “That’s… creepy.”

  “Brianna is your ex?” asked Nixie. “Yeah. That’s definitely creepy.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Real comforting.” I considered myself. I often picked humans as my go-to race due to their inherent flexibility when it came to min-maxing, but I’d kind of been looking forward to doing something completely different this time through. Get away from myself, my life, and spend six months wreaking havoc in the form of a minotaur or half-giant or the like.

  But more importantly, my trust in Brianna was rapidly eroding. She was setting me up for something. Was this an attempt to get back together with me? It didn’t feel like it. She’d not tried to flirt or ingratiate herself with me, and I knew what she was like when she was turning on the charm. No. Revenge, maybe? But that was ludicrous. Who used a $3000 Euphoria pass for revenge? And over what? My ending a toxic relationship she’d told me numerous times was so awful and pathetic that she didn’t even recognize herself when she was with me?

  People weren’t that crazy and vindictive, were they?

  Shit.

  “Shall we move on?” asked Nixie.

  “I guess. What’s the next step?”

  “Next, you have to select your class. You’ve been given free rein here. I’ll run you through your options, and then tell you more about whichever classes interest you.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, sitting back and crossing one ankle over my other knee. The sheer fun of character creation had become muted, however.

  Nixie cycled my avatar through the fourteen different classes, telling me the class name and a brief description of each as she did so. My idealized self fell into a crouch, dagger held in reverse for rogue; stood straight, shoulders thrust back and a longsword propped on his shoulder for paladin; changed into a threadbare robe with a spell book tucked under his arm for wizard, and so on.

  I listened, but not with my full attention. I already knew the basic human Euphoria classes. What gamer out there didn’t? Like I said, I’d obsessed over the tutorials when the game had first come out.

  While I usually went for direct roles, opting for rangers or fighters who had the flexibility to work from both a distance and in melee, that didn’t seem appropriate here. If Brianna was setting me up, I had to keep her and her friends in mind even more than the monsters and mobs I’d be facing. If this was a trap, then going the fighter route wouldn’t help me any. I had to plan long term on dealing with her and her cronies, and direct combat would never be a good option against them all.

  No. I tapped my lips in thought as Nixie cycled through the classes for a second time. My usual glass cannon with ranged and melee capacity would be a bad call this time through. I needed something that would allow me to escape her if things turned out for the worst. One of the mage classes, perhaps, or one of the rogues.

  I sat up again, uneasy. “Nixie, tell me about the rogue-based classes.”

  “Sure,” she said, and my avatar shifted position, crossing his arms and raising his chin in cold disdain, a curved dagger held in his right hand, a black bandana covering his mouth and nose.

  “The three rogue-based classes are straight rogue, darkblade, and charlatan.” Three screens opened up before me displaying each class’s starting stat modifiers, initial talents and equipment.

  “The straight rogue promises a life of endless adventure for those who love to live by their wits. Always one step ahead of danger, straight rogues have the greatest versatility in how they choose to grow. They have the greatest number of in-class skills and talents, and can develop into anything from a thief or bandit to an explorer or sniper.”

  I nodded. Standard stuff.

  “Darkblades tread a darker road, focusing their skills on dealing death from the shadows. They blend magic and illusions with their talent with the blade. What they lose in generalities they gain in specialization: no other rogue class can match a darkblade in stealth, assassination skills, or arcane might.”

  Interesting. Very interesting.

  “Finally, we have the charlatan, whose joy for life is matched only by his ability to convince others to succumb to his charm. Always found in the center of excitement, this rogue class specializes in
social interactions, swaying others to his point of view through either diplomacy, seduction, or intimidation. The weakest of the three classes in combat, they instead tend to focus their efforts on alliances, friendships, and acquiring powerful followers.”

  Nope. Charlatan was right out. While I could see its utility and appeal to certain kinds of gamers, its social focus would only be a handicap if I had to escape from Brianna. Unless I covertly acquired those powerful followers… No. Too much of a gamble.

  I had the urge to make my selection immediately, but the experienced gamer in me knew not to rush. I’d have to live with this decision for the next six months, which could be the rest of my life. Instead, I leaned forward and studied each class profile in detail, checking their talent tree progression, proficiencies and possible archetypes. Nixie waited patiently as I read in silence.

  “The darkblade class depends heavily on mana points,” I said. “Can you tell me more about those? How quickly they regenerate, how I can raise my cap, where I can find more in-game?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nixie. “Your file states that you’re skipping all basic tutorials.”

  “I—what?” My heart gave a little painful jump. “No, I mean, I said I wanted to skip that before, but now I definitely want to dig a little deeper. I’m not going to trust Brianna to tell me all this stuff. Please. Tell me everything.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nixie again with a pained smile. “Your sponsor has stipulated that you’re to skip all basic tutorials. We can only do cursory level reviews of all classes, stats, and talents. I can’t go into any of the mechanics beyond that.”

  “You can’t…” I sat back, stunned. What the hell? How was I supposed to optimize if I couldn’t even learn how Euphoria worked? I recalled Brianna’s smirk. I’ll teach you everything you need to know in-game.

  “Crap,” I said. How had I let her maneuver me into this situation? Not only was I going to be level one, but I was also going to be completely at her mercy.

  I almost pulled out right there. I actually opened my mouth to ask Nixie about withdrawing from the game, but then hesitated. I thought of Justin. Locked up in his cell with his fate closing in on him. Fighting to stay optimistic, cracking jokes whenever we met, but with that growing undercurrent of fear and despair. I clenched my hands into fists. No. Screw Brianna. If she thought she could control me she was in for a huge surprise. I’d find a way to break free if I had to, and would use a lifetime of gaming experience to go it alone if she gave me no choice.