Syndicate Slayer: The Crystal Crusade Book 2

by Mars Dorian

  Zzzzzz all the way.

  The next day, I stumbled out of the bathroom and found Sparrow in the kitchen. Her thin lips slurped a coffee juice pack with Kanji symbols. Probably another import from Japan. Seriously, that girl slurped the strangest liquids from the Land of the Rising Sun. A video game soundtrack played in the background and featured a funky vibe, maybe from a popular anime or a modern action adventure.

  “Oh, hey,” Sparrow said when she noticed me. “That was a looooong session yesterday.”

  “No kidding. Fourlando swallowed me and refused to spit me out again.”

  “I watched parts of your stream this morning. That fight with the Skyscratcher creature was nothing short of epic. You swung like Tarzan through the skies. Didn’t you fear permadeath?”

  “Always. But I bought a parachute from a local Preshaar shop.”

  “How did you know you were going to use it?”

  “I’ve yet to visit a shop in Fourlando that sold useless stuff. Whenever there’s a new item on the showcase, it must be useful. Pure game logic.”

  “Smart one, crusader,” Sparrow said.

  “I realized that the game world of Fourlando drops you many hints. For example, I saw how Preshaar love to bargain at the market, so I offered a deal when the two guards wouldn’t let us into the village.”

  “You’re flowing with insight. Don’t stop.”

  “It’s just, well, the more I play the game, the more I LIVE the game, the more I feel like being a part of it. It’s like I’m slowly but surely understanding the underlying matrix that connects everything.”

  “You sound like a follower of the Aeonlight.”

  “Huh, maybe.”

  Sparrow nodded. “That’s what I love about The Crystal Crusade. On one hand, it’s realistic, as NPCs and your actions dramatically change the story flow, but on the other, it’s still based on game logic.”

  “It’s like taking the best of two worlds.”

  “Exactly.”

  Sparrow was about to say something but stopped midway through. Her right hand pointed toward a plate opposite of her. Rice balls, a noodle salad, and some greenish liquid in a slender glass.

  “Here’s breakkie.”

  I sat down and ogled the meal. “For me?”

  “Your real body needs a life potion. Rice balls, a Vietnamese salad with ribbon noodles, and a green tea lemonade low on sugar but high on taste.”

  “Arigatou, I should say.”

  She gleamed. “You speak Japanese?”

  “Just a few words. Learned it from my mother when she worked in Japan. It’s been a long time.”

  More than a decade by now. Image fragments crept into my consciousness. That old life seemed so far away now, it might as well have happened in another dimension.

  I pushed the first rice ball into my cheek. The sticky snack made my tongue explode. The green tea lemon looked like frog piss but tasted like heaven in liquid form. Sparrow laughed while watching me. “Are you having an seizure at my table?”

  “Don’t know about that, but I’m definitely on cloud nine. Where did you get this stuff?”

  “From the Gourmet Empire. An online food distribution service which drone-delivers everything within a matter of minutes.”

  I had to slow my feeding spree to avoid looking like a savage. She slurped the rest of her coffee juice and continued watching me. I wondered whether I should ask her, but maybe the timing was wrong.

  “There’s something on your mind and it’s waiting to get freed,” Sparrow said.

  She knew me remarkably well. For an introvert like her, that was an impressive feat. I swallowed down the rest of my rice ball.

  “This might seem like an odd question—but did you stand in the doorframe of my room yesterday and stare at me?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know, maybe—” I stopped the accusation. “Never mind. I was probably just dreaming.”

  “I watched your viewership numbers. You’re nearing the territory where agent representation makes sense.” She paused. “I’m not sure if you know, but agents can come across as cold because they’re swarmed with representation requests. The truth is, they have to recognize talent before it becomes big and the competition snatches it up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Talk to that agent friend of yours and show her your growth over the last weeks. She’ll see your numbers and do the math. Also tell her that other agents have offered you first-look deals. I can name you a couple if you want.”

  “You mean the whole play-hard-to-get shtick?”

  “Demand, even fake one, never gets out of style.”

  I was surprised, not to say a bit flabbergasted.

  “What?” Sparrow said with rising intonation.

  “You’re shrewd.”

  She giggled. “I’m pragmatic. You have to be. Living costs a fortune, and you can’t freeload forever.”

  A not-so-subtle hint for me to make money and move out her house. I understood the sentiment—Sparrow was probably tired of having me around. I wanted to believe I was low-maintenance, but to an uber-introvert like her, every roommate was one too many.

  Her wristband vibrated. “Ahhhh.”

  The message alert was none of my business, but I couldn’t suppress my curiosity. “May I ask what?”

  “Drone delivery has arrived.”

  She dashed from her chair and maneuvered around the trash piles to reach the door. I sipped the rest of my green tea lemonade and waited for Sparrow to return. She didn’t.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Not really.”

  I moved from my chair and found her in the floor, staring through the peephole. She seemed to be frozen on the spot. Her slender arms shivered when her face turned to me.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ugh. That stupid drone landed the package on my front lawn.”

  Her eyes turned to me. “It’s supposed to get delivered to my doorstep. I even created a mini-landing pad.”

  I looked through the peephole. The packet stood about fifteen yards away, almost touching the sidewalk. Ten seconds was all it took to retrieve it.

  “Maybe the drone couldn’t recognize your doorstep.”

  “No, they always deliver it right on the spot. That landing mark direction is there on purpose.”

  She seemed distressed about the issue, but I couldn’t see the problem.

  “Well, why don’t you get the packet? It’s not raining.”

  She squeezed her eyes as if I uttered the most stupidest statement in the world. Her lips twitched, on the verge of opening. But whatever Sparrow wanted to say remained on her tongue.

  “Do you need help?” I asked.

  “Can you pick it up for me?”

  “Sure.”

  I put on my shoes and walked outside. A warm breath of air wafted at me. Pretty nice day for a walk. Up high, the sky battled with the clouds for screen time. The sun pierced the layers with a few rays. I turned back to Sparrow standing at the doorframe. “It’s pretty nice, actually.”

  Her eyes darted through the distance. “Would you just mind bringing me the package?”

  I nodded and picked up the delivery. A crimson color covered the package and reminded me of a certain substance haunting Fourlando. I peeked at the label—the delivery came from Fate Beater, the company behind The Crystal Crusade. But the label revealed nothing about the contents. Collectibles? A special gift from the company for loyalty? I wish I had X-Ray vision.

  “Dashiell?” Sparrow said with pressure.

  “Coming.”

  Back inside, she clawed the package from my hands. “Arigatou.”

  “A present from The Crystal Crusade?”

  “Something along those lines.”

  Before I could follow up with a question, Sparrow rocketed back into her room and locked the door. It was such a bewildering move. So Gollum-ish in its greed.

  “Are you really okay?”r />
  “Yes, yes, I just need a moment.” She paused. “If you need more food, help yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Damn, now she was making me even more curious. Maybe later she’d tell me about the mysterious package. Or even let me into her dark kingdom she called a room.

  Back in the kitchen pile, I pondered my day. With the timetable of my soon-to-be agent and Sparrow pushing me, I needed to join The Crystal Crusade as fast as possible. The longer the pauses between sessions, the faster I risked losing my audience. With so many players around the globe participating in exciting quests, audiences had unlimited choices of streaming entertainment. Still, I had to clear the emotional garbage littering my mind. I talked to my wristband and connected with my little sister, Shaina. After five seconds, she picked up.

  “Dashiell?”

  “You make me sound like a stranger.”

  “I’m just… it’s been a while.”

  I tried to eliminate the awkwardness as fast as possible. “How’s your life treating you?”

  “Okay, I guess. I’m actually going to school and even doing homework.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. I stopped seeing JD and moved on.”

  It took me a while to pinpoint JD. He was the asshole I once met at the trailer park when I needed to pick up Shaina. Boy was I glad she stopped seeing him. The guy was a bonafide Level 99 douchebag.

  “Sounds like you’re finally growing up.”

  “Thanks, sucker.”

  The mood lifted up. This call went better than anticipated. Now was the time for the tougher question. “What about Mom? How’s she doing?”

  Shaina hesitated. The awkwardness crept back into our conversation. For some reason, I didn’t fear her answer anymore. All the pressure had evaporated once I called her up. “Tell me truth, Shaina.”

  “She’s really mad at you.”

  I knew it. Of course she was. I basically blasted out the trailer and only sent her an update on my new living situation. No call since then, just a few messages, telling her that I was safe.

  “Why don’t you call her?” Shaina asked.

  “I will.”

  “Now?”

  “Soon.”

  “Come on, bro. Don’t be a dick.”

  “I still haven’t figured out my situation. Tell her that I’m fine and that I will call her.”

  “When?”

  “Shaina…”

  “Do it, or I come over to Boulder and kick your ass.”

  Shaina the tomboy surfaced. Still better than her previous version, Shaina the I’m-a-Drugged-Up-Girl-in-a-Drugged-Up-World.

  “I promise. Laters.”

  “Bye, bro.”

  I wiped through the address book and selected my mother’s phone entry. Calling her up was only one tap away, but I didn’t want to fight with her over the connection. I needed to wait until she cooled down. Until the dark memory with the government guy was buried by the sands of time. More importantly, I needed to wait for my financial situation and tell her I could take care of myself. As soon as Susan Cohen offered me a deal with a juicy contract, I could make my move. Before that, I was still the loser son who had failed to adapt to the roboconomy.

  Taps sounded from behind.

  Sparrow, The Exclusive One, had returned to the kitchen to get a pack of Japanese lemonade. “Did you finally call your Mom?”

  “My sister.”

  “Quest successful?”

  “Decent outcome, actually.”

  She nodded but her eyes had already darted back to the floor. As if a secret summon was calling her name. Hush, hush, back to the secret chamber.

  “How’s the present?” I asked.

  “It’s not a present.”

  Sparrow realized she sounded harsh and disarmed her voice. “Sorry, this is not against you. I simply can’t talk about it. I signed an NDA.”

  Non-Disclosure Agreement? Players only received those contracts when big, insider information was involved.

  “What did Fate Beater sent you—a prototype sword powered by real-life Reepo crystals?”

  She half-grinned. “Close… and yet so far away. Good luck on your session today. You’re making serious progress.”

  And with that, she vanished from the kitchen.

  I wished I had the skill set of a Stalker, so I could turn invisible and follow Sparrow back into her mysterious room.

  Instead, I opened my streaming profile on my wristband and watched my numbers climbing. I tapped on the analytics section and marveled at the growth. The graph shot exponentially into the air. Growth had almost tripled since my party and I had traveled to the Western Crescent and dealt with our furry frienemies. I zoomed into the timestamp where I had fought against the Skyscratcher. Thousands and thousands of viewers loved that moment judging by their comments. I could only skim through a couple hundred before being overwhelmed.

  “You’re my favorite WarTech,” one commenter said.

  “Epic air fight.”

  “Rokkit’s annoying. He’s just whining while you do all the fighting. Can’t you kick him out?”

  “Dash, you’re the best of the West.”

  “Bravado, Mr. Boltzmann. BTW, do you sell merch? Boltzmann’s such a cool name. You should totally sell merch and use a slogan. Can’t beat the Boltz or beware the Boltzmann or something.”

  I pondered that compliment. Can’t beat the Boltz? Beware the Boltzmann?

  Cheesy AF, but it did sound cool. I jotted down the slogan on my To-Do memo and saved it. Plus, every little income stream would bring me closer to my goal of making a full-time income. For the next couple of minutes, I bathed in the comment section and ignored the trolls. I memorized my streaming graphs and searched for online videos to boost my views and fame. As always, the one and only Holland Pax showed up on my search results. I watched one of his game sessions which had attracted 5,232,132 views. He played a high-level Lancer with a Stalker sub-class and combined a tank and shield build with fast, critical attacks against single targets. His armor and equipment put mine to shame. He carried multi-slotted, upgraded heavy melee weapons and mechanized shields that absorbed damage, bounced off projectiles and even caused shock attacks to close-range attackers. I would have made over ten thousand just by selling his inventory. Thousands of comments updated on his stream, everything from exclamation volleys to marriage requests. In-between the gaming sessions, natural advertisement merged with the in-game footage, showing Holland Pax promoting energy drinks. He sipped a blue Electro-Coke while posing in bio-plastic Lancer armor. He pulled off some fake jab and swipe attacks while unleashing terribly cheesy one-liners. At this stage, Holland could crap on strawberry cakes and people would buy it. If only I could conjure a tiny percentage of his fame…

  Nah, that was the narrative of a jealous schmuck. I needed to make serious progress, level up those viewership numbers and turn myself into a desirable player package that agents wanted to snap.

  Holland Pax, watch out.

  The Boltz was coming for you.

  14

  For the first time since playing the game, I wasn’t waking up in the Academy or the comfy inn of Cloudkiss. My WarTech arose in a round-shaped chamber in the Preshaar Village, hundreds of kilometers away from the mainland. The interior design was minimalistic; clay-walls and a strange bowl awaited me next to my sleeping place. It was a glorified niche carved into the rocky wall. If that was the guest house for the visitors, I didn’t want to know how their prisons looked like. If these beast creatures even took prisoners.

  Man, I missed the core continent.

  Yeah, the Killa Kanyons and the rocky surrounding looked gorgeous and exotic, but I preferred the people and locations of the mainland. Preshaar or furries, as Rokkit called them, annoyed me with their arrogance and alleged superiority. But I wanted to score plus points with Balzac. I wanted to access even bigger quests, fight the Syndicate, and access rare items that powered up my WarTech. This gig was part of the bigger plan, so
I shut up and hustled.

  I walked out my save spot and found myself in a side alley of the Preshaar village. Children climbed ropes above my head and stared at me from their towers. They were at least as tall as me and featured more muscle, evenly distributed around their slender body. Unlike their adult versions, they lacked any mechanized bracelets and claws. One of them pointed its hairy finger at me and said, “dwarf.”

  I pointed back. “Smelly furry.”

  The kids took it with humor. Some chuckled, the others vanished around their spire-like roofs. Funny bunch. But as long as no one attacked me inside these clay-colored alleys, I was okay. I called Yumi-D, L’ocean, and Rokkit. All of them answered my request.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m back at the village. I want to ask Kharra if she’s offering us another quest.” I paused. “Do you want to come? It’s a private game again.”

  I always feared a ‘no’, but as of late, almost everyone agreed to join my quests. Success attracted co-players.

  Minutes later, I regrouped with my usual suspects in the village center, near the majestic tent of the Preshaar leader.

  “Do you ever sleep?”

  “Sleep is for the weak,” Rokkit said.

  “You should trademark that slogan under Rokkit-isms.”

  “I already did, Boltzmann. Got my merch 3D print set-up as we speak. So while you were pandering to your five new followers, I was already making money. Real world money.”

  “You’re an enrichment to aspiring pro players around the world, Rokkit. A real mensch.”

  Yumi-D rolled her eyes. “Cute conversation, big boys. I bet you can both make even more money by selling all that excessive testosterone of yours.”

  Her humor disarmed our banter. I was ready to focus on the mission when I noticed one player missing from the conversation.

  L’ocean greeted me last. “It’s fascinating to see your progress, Dash. I love being part of your narrative.”

  Rokkit rubbed his palms at each other. “Let’s quit wasting our precious game time and do some questing. I wanna see what those furries are up to.”

  “You’re on fire,” Yumi-D said.

  “And I don’t even smoke.”

  Together, we visited the main tent of Kharra located in the central plaza of the village. Yumi-D joined my side with raised eyebrows. “Do you know why she’s living in a glorified tent instead of a spire?”