Multiplayer

by John C. Brewer

  “Do you have homework?” his mother asked, stroking Halie’s hair and trying to sound upbeat.

  “Most of it’s done,” said Hector attempting nonchalance, and his mother frowned all the more.

  “You know the rules, Hector,” she scolded. “Homework before games.” It wasn’t going to work, and she knew it as well as he did. Not with Halie crying over Dad.

  “Mom, the shrink said …”

  Helen rolled her eyes but mom’s gaze had already dropped to the floor, and her voice lost any of its admonition. “Of course. I just would like you to get your homework done first … when you can,” she said softly and carried Halie out of the room.

  “I can’t believe she buys that load,” his sister said in disbelief, and turned her attention to her endless stream of text messages.

  Hector couldn’t believe it either. Not that his mom bought it – but that the shrink had. Mom had made them all go when they moved here after their father was killed. It was a waste of time. The guy wanted Hector to talk, talk, talk or cry like a baby – like Halie was now – and gave him a bunch of pills to dope him up. After the first one, he didn’t take any more. He didn’t want to go back, but the second visit went better than he ever could have planned. The prissy, balding shrink asked him why he wouldn’t take the anti-depressants.

  “I don’t like feeling out of it,” Hector had explained. “That’s not me. I feel like I need to do something, not sit around zoned out. I can’t stand it. It’s like … I’d love to go get the bad guys who killed my dad and hurt them or kill them or something. But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and being too stoned to move makes it worse.”

  “What makes it better?” the guy asked.

  Hector had thought for a moment, at first uncertain what to answer, but then it leapt into his head. “Omega Wars?”

  Those proved to be the golden words. The psychologist talked to him awhile longer, then told his mother that the game was a good outlet for Hector’s frustration – a place where he could act out what he couldn’t do in real life. The shrink actually recommended that Hector play every day. Unbelievable. So now, Mom bugged him to do his homework first, but when it came down to it, she wouldn’t refuse him an opportunity to go online and play. That made for at least one part of Hector’s life that was sweet. And while Mal-X had certainly played no part in his father’s death, pwning a guy in a turban had felt good. Very good.

  Ch. 2

  Hector slipped back onto the couch, hoping to squeeze in a quick match if anyone was around, but a message was waiting for him in the game. He clicked on the flag-icon at the bottom corner of his screen, opening a window that read: Private message from Mal-X.

  Hector froze for an instant. What could that turban-wearing noob possibly want? He glanced over his shoulder to make sure neither Helen nor his mom were around to see him accept the message from the total stranger. How could he pass up the chance to rub Mal-X’s face in his victory?

  So you think you’re good? the message read. Good enough to meet me in single combat? A duel. Your sniper rifle for my Nexus Blade. Hector blinked and read the message again. Although less valuable than his Vera, a nexus blade was rare, and the best melee weapon in the game for vanguards. Far better than the more common arc-sword he used. And he would have no trouble with Mal-X. He grinned with relish and pressed Yes.

  A pre-match setup screen appeared with the two vanguard character-types facing each other. Izaak was clad in a full-face helmet and non-powered battle armor with refractive camouflage. Mal-X appeared on the other side of the screen. He was like no vanguard Hector had ever seen. Instead of a helmet, he wore a tight-fitting turban and sunglasses and the rest of his face was covered with a veil. The people who’d killed his father would have looked like that. He was going to enjoy taking out Mal-X again. “Doctor Numb-nuts would approve,” Hector mumbled to himself.

  Beneath Izaak was an image of Vera and across from it, Mal-X’s nexus blade. He was able to wield the blade and examine its stats. The thought of Mal-X pawing Vera made Hector’s skin crawl, though, and Hector pledged it would be the last time Mal-X would touch her.

  Vera had been built by a sergeant in his dad’s unit – an actual sniper with confirmed kills over 1,000 yards. Almost anything could be constructed in Omega Wars‘ dedicated fabrication mode which let you get the very most out of the game’s raw materials. Everything from microchips and computers, to jet engines and anti-gravity generators could be found in the sprawling, destroyed cities of post-apocalyptic Earth. It was like the real world but without the limitations of time and money. And laws. And parents. And school. And getting dead. Vera, a sniper rifle like no other, had been the sergeant’s pride and joy in Omega Wars, a game he played only because of Hector, who had showed his father Omega Wars when he started playing. The Special Forces lieutenant colonel had been so impressed with the game’s realism that he had ordered his entire alpha team to sign up. Hector used to put together teams from his clan to go up against the soldiers who said it was better than their top-secret, high-tech simulator on base. And since it was a digital copy of Earth they could train in actual places, many of which – like Afghanistan and Iraq – were post-apocalyptic in real life.

  Hector and his father had spent hours wandering the blasted wastelands together battling thorks, scarobs, rouges, ruffians, and scoundrels. Hector thought back on happier times. In Omega Wars, Hector looked out for his father, and many were the times Izaak had come to C0L0N3L W35T’s rescue in the nick of time. Iraq had been different. Hector never had a chance to save his father, nor Vera’s previous owner who died with him. And when MegaSoft honored the request in the sergeant’s will that Vera go to Hector, he knew he needed to use the weapon to avenge their deaths whenever possible, even if it was only in the virtual world.

  Still, in ten kills the nexus blade could be his. He paused for an instant, thinking. Seventeen kills to none in the last match. What could go wrong? He pressed ACCEPT.

  The game opened a voice line as it linked them across cyberspace. “So now,” came Mal-X’s voice, “we find out who truly is the best.”

  An American voice, and for a moment, Hector wondered if Mal-X’s owner really was a Muslim or if he just thought dressing like one was funny. But the voice didn’t sound right; it was stilted somehow. A shiver flew up Hector’s spine. “I think we already know that one, Mal-X.”

  “It’s easy when you’re a griefer,” the disembodied voice shot back. “Let’s see how you do when I can see you coming. Face to face.”

  The screen went blue and then cleared, and Izaak found himself atop a stone tower with a crenelated parapet – like something from the Dark Ages. It was then Hector realized he’d failed to check the location selection. In one direction stretched a rubble-strewn courtyard studded with short, twisted trees surrounded by a crumbling stone wall. Behind him was a cliff with the ocean far below. An island? He spied some Islamic-style minarets in the distance. It almost seemed real until he heard a gunshot and Izaak fell dead. You Were Killed by Mal-X flashed in his HUD.

  “I am a sniper, too,” came Mal-X’s voice, and Hector forced his rising emotions back down. There was no reason to get angry.

  Izaak spawned and immediately activated his refractive camouflage. This time he was on the ground in the courtyard and time-worn walls with the same notch-like crenelations stretched in either direction. There was a tall spire off to one side: the minaret. In the other direction was more of the same wall with towers and ramps leading up to them. He bolted for cover when he heard another gunshot and he fell in the grass. “Refractive camouflage,” came the voice again, slow and precise, “only works when you’re not moving. Didn’t you know?”

  It was two to zero, but Hector refused to panic. He had a knack for grasping terrain and identifying strategic locations – something his father had helped him learn.

  The next time Izaak materialized, he was inside a small, domed room made entirely of rough, brown stone. The walls were cracked a
nd broken so that he could see outside. Crosses were etched in the remaining walls, telling Izaak it had once been a church. He had seen just such ruins on their family vacation to Turkey last summer. Unusual to have this much detail inside a game ruin, he thought. Someone had spent a lot of time upgrading the terrain. He crouched and looked out the window, trying to get his bearings. Something about the place seemed familiar and it was throwing him off. The ramps, too, leading up to some of the towers, seemed overly-modern and out of place with the crumbling masonry. He managed to stay alive for a few minutes until an incoming rocket sent him to respawn again.

  It was soon five-nil. Mal-X was farther ahead than Izaak wanted and it was becoming harder to control the anxiety eating at Hector’s confidence. He spawned at the base of the wall, and glanced about. He was outside the courtyard this time and could see that he was not on an island at all but a peninsula. The ground dropped away in a steep hill that led to a small harbor about a virtual-mile away. The wall followed the contours of the hill until it ended at a tall, red tower with octagonal sides. Déjà vu tingled through Hector. That’s why it felt familiar! That’s why the ramps didn’t fit! He’d been here before. Alanya castle on the Alanya Peninsula in southern Turkey. Time to even the score.

  He turned with purpose and ran along the wall, then bolted up a set of stairs, ducked through a low opening, hurtled down a ramp, and raced down a corridor with evenly spaced windows overlooking the courtyard below. After some twists and turns, he came to a small window that had originally been meant for an archer. Whoever had done the upgrade work had nailed the place exactly. Every detail was rendered faithfully, right down to the handicapped access ramps. It was exactly as he remembered from his vacation the previous summer. Well concealed by the shadows, he waited for Mal-X to appear.

  His family had spent two weeks in Alanya. While his sister had been sunning on the beach and flirting with boys from Germany and Switzerland, Hector and his dad had explored every inch of the original Greek outpost which had been turned into a Roman fort, expanded to a Byzantine castle, doubled in size by the Seljuks, and finally converted to Ottoman Turk fortress. His father had explained the strategic points of the castle to him and what made them important. It was the last time he’d seen his father alive. Now, he was back in a digitally-rendered version of Alanya in Omega Wars. And he was here to avenge his father. But why –

  A hint of movement on the far side of the courtyard caught his eye, and Vera made the score five to one. His confidence suddenly restored, Hector knew he was unstoppable now that he knew his way around. Just as in the game before, the kills mounted quickly, soon tipping in Izaak’s favor. “Didn’t expect me to know the place, did you, noob?” growled Izaak, as the score went to six - five in Izaak’s favor, with an impossible head-shot that dropped Mal-X in mid-leap.

  “Always from the shadows,” growled Mal-X condescendingly, “Americans are cowards. Will you not face me? Like a man?”

  To address the challenge, Izaak waited in an alcove of a corridor until Mal-X crept by. All it took was a single swipe with the heavy sword-like blade that swung from the butt of his sniper rifle. “Close enough for you?”

  “Still afraid to face me,” sneered Mal-X. “Face me! Like a Man! Or perhaps you are not a man at all?”

  Izaak retraced his steps and picked up a shotgun he’d passed a moment earlier. He’d have to be careful up close with that nexus blade, but he had an idea that would level the field. Mal-X respawned and, as soon as he entered the courtyard, Izaak activated his arc-sword. A thin rod sprang from the handle and twin arcs of crackling electricity glowed from the hilt to the end of the rod, forming a long, narrow blade. As Izaak had known he would, Mal-X pulled his nexus blade to meet the head-to-head challenge. Izaak saw the edge glowing gold as they approached one another. He’d have to time this just right. At the last second, Izaak dropped the arc-sword and whipped out the shotgun. Mal-X cried out and lunged forward, but before his stroke fell, Izaak’s blast caught him point-blank. “How’s that for a blowjob!” Izaak laughed, making the score eight to five.

  “Shem et Duat!” snarled Mal-X. “That is the last time you will kill me!”

  This was too easy. Time to end it. Mal-X reappeared and wandered into the courtyard again. What an idiot, laughed Izaak. Typical Muslim. He must have realized he couldn’t match Izaak and was giving up. Hector put Vera’s crosshairs on Mal-X’s head and pulled the trigger.

  But Mal-X vanished in a glittering flash, leaving the bullet’s vapor trail to arc through the emptiness and fade into the distance. Izaak gaped in surprise and an instant later fell to the ground. A message popped up on his HUD, You were killed by Mal-X. “What the heck was that?” he roared.

  “That’s called a melee attack,” said Mal-X, and Izaak could hear laughter in his words.

  “No, I mean, how did you –” But there was no time to discuss it. Hector respawned atop a tower. Blinded by rage and temporarily unable to think, Izaak crouched down, hidden behind the low wall that encircled the top of the tower. How did he do that? Hector wondered.

  A red blip appeared on Izaak’s motion sensor, but before he could turn around Mal-X, who had not come up the stairs, attacked from behind and killed him again. The score was now eight-seven. “You freaking douche!” Izaak howled in rage, a tornado-like fury rising inside his stomach. “You’re cheating!”

  “So like an American,” said Mal-X calmly. “Swearing to sound tough. You don’t sound tough, little boy.”

  Hector told Mal-X exactly what he thought about that comment, but it was soon nine-eight in favor of Mal-X, and Izaak spawned in a closed room he remembered as being where he’d first spawned. Hector was so angry by now, his teeth were clenched and his hands shaking. This guy was cheating! Hector didn’t know how, but he was sure of it.

  He crouched and made his way to a window where he waited, panting. Mal-X crept by outside and Izaak silently dropped a grenade on him. “Eat that, asshole!” snarled Hector through clenched teeth, as the bomb went off. Nine-nine.

  A moment later Izaak zeroed Mal-X in Vera’s sights but couldn’t hold it steady. He thought back to what his father had told him. This wasn’t a real gun but the principle was the same. Breathe. Breathe. When he felt his hands steady he squeezed the trigger on his controller. But Mal-X disappeared again. Izaak sprinted, then crouched down again, waiting. He got in position for another shot and fired. The virtual bullet went through virtual air. The virtual Mal-X was gone.

  “Victory is mine!” cried Mal-X an instant later, as Izaak tumbled to the ground for the last time.

  “You cheating loser!” howled Izaak in disbelief. “I’m going to report you!”

  “Bring it on, kid,” Mal-X laughed. “Bring it on. You know where to find me.”

  A cut scene rolled and Hector watched as his never-before-defeated vanguard, Izaak Ersatz, knelt and offered his beloved Vera to the masked, turban-wearing Mal-X, who lifted it high in triumph. The illusion of the game crumbled. He stared at the screen in horror. The stinging tears in his eyes turned the TV into a shimmering wash of color. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the controller ever tighter with both hands, trying to snap it in two. “You fu –”

  “Ready to do your homework?” his mother trilled, and Hector nearly leapt off the couch. He hadn’t heard her enter the room.

  He turned, swallowing hard to conceal his rage, and dropped the controller onto the couch. “Yes, Ma’am,” he croaked, wondering if she understood what had just happened.

  She squinted at him and cocked her head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just tired. Long day.” He changed the subject, forcing down the nausea threatening to swamp him. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset Halie.”

  “Thank you for apologizing,” she replied, as her eyes wandered over the information displayed on the screen. Her smooth, olive skin, brown eyes, and dark curls spoke of her Greek ancestry. Her eyes were wide-spaced, large and round, and she had full lips. Though s
he was his mother, Hector knew she was a pretty lady and he’d always imagined she looked something like Helen of Troy – who could not have been blonde as portrayed in movies. She had to have been like Hector, who favored his mother save for the gray shock in her hair that had begun growing the day they learned his father had been killed. It sprouted just to the right of her forehead and had grown almost all the way out. There was now only a short, black tip at the end of the gray streak, like it had been dipped in ink. It was all that was left from before his father’s death.

  His mother frowned at the TV, displaying stats from the last match. “And I’m not sure I like that game. Those people you play with, this Mal-X, he could be anybody, anywhere in the world. What if he figured out who you are?”

  Hector rolled his eyes, still reeling inside from his defeat at the hands of a cheater. He had failed! Failed his father! “Why would Mal-X care who I am, Mom? I’m not going to agree to meet him somewhere; I’m not that stupid. Besides, he’s just a gamer.” But I’d like to find him, Hector thought bitterly. Find him and kill him. The real him. Dad would approve.

  “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for you to run around killing people, and vice versa.”

  Hector scowled, matching his mother’s look exactly. “Dad thought it was okay.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “Don’t do that to me Hector. You don’t play soccer anymore. You hardly go outside. You don’t study like you should. You don’t do anything but play that game. And it isn’t even real.”

  “There’s nothing to do outside.” He looked out the window, thinking how true that was. In his old home, he was always outside. So was everyone else. This was like a ghost-town, everyone holed up in their houses or bustling about in their minivans racing from one event to the next. It was Omega Wars or … nothing.