Dead Man Gaming: A LitRPG Series

by A. J. Markam

And I wasn’t even going to keep any of the money.

  Not that I could tell them that. Not and make them believe it, anyway.

  “We know,” Dobbs said.

  “If you want an incredible safecracker, why don’t you get some international jewel thief? Some James Bond-type guy?”

  “Those type of guys tend not to get caught.” Dobbs smiled coldly. “Nope, you’re what we’ve got, so we’re going to work with you.”

  “Great,” I muttered as I slumped in my chair.

  “You seem to be trying very hard to not help us out. Do you want to go back to prison?”

  “I’m trying very hard not to mess with the Russian mafia. What I want is to not end up dead.”

  “You won’t. It’s a videogame – they’ll never know your real name unless you give it to them. If they kill you, you just start over. Isn’t that right, Martinez?”

  “Yes sir.”

  I tried again out of desperation. “Look, you don’t want me – I’m not that good.”

  “You’re good enough.”

  “Like you said, the great ones don’t get caught. I can’t be that good if you caught me twice.”

  “You’re a good safecracker, Jimmy. You’re just a lousy criminal with a shit-ton of bad luck.”

  “I’ll say,” I grumbled. “The way you guys popped me tonight – it couldn’t have been any easier for you than if I was set up.”

  Something happened right there and then.

  I was looking Dobbs in the eyes – not really looking for anything, just talking – but when I said ‘set up,’ I saw nothing on his face.

  No surprise, no amusement. Just a blank stare. Like he was pulling a stone-cold poker face at the World Championship of Poker.

  Okay, so there’s this one skill that’s invaluable in prison. You either have it going in, or you develop it real quick. If you don’t, you’re in danger of losing some teeth, a lot of blood, or your anal virginity. Maybe all three.

  It’s the ability to read somebody as soon as you see them. You’ve got to be able to size them up in half a second. Are they violent? Are they cool-headed? Are they all talk? Are they an idiot? Are they smart? Are they in control of the situation?

  You need to know whether or not somebody is the type to pull a shiv on you if they don’t like your face. It could literally mean the difference between life, death, or spending six years bent over with your pants around your ankles.

  When Dobbs walked in, I knew instinctively I was screwed. He had that air of a guy who’d seen it all a hundred times over, knew all the angles, and was in charge of pulling all the strings. Confident, but with the cold certainty to back it up.

  But now… he was giving me nothin’.

  Which told me a lot.

  For one, it meant he didn’t want to react to the words ‘set up.’

  Which meant he had something to hide.

  The realization hit me like a Mack truck going 80 down the freeway.

  “Wait – this was all a set-up?!”

  THAT’S why the FBI was there so fast!

  THAT’S why I didn’t hear them!

  “Where’s Rod?” I asked.

  My mind was racing – Did the mob set us up? Why would they do that? What was going to happen to Leo?

  Who betrayed me and Rod?

  “What happened to Rod?” I demanded.

  “Calm down,” Dobbs said.

  “No! I’m not listening to another damn thing until you tell me what happened to Rod! Who set us up? Did Leo set us up?! Did the mob set us up?!”

  The woman sneered, “The mob didn’t set you up, dumbass – and neither did his little brother.”

  Neither did HIS little brother.

  I stared at her as the meaning of her words sank in.

  I remembered how nervous Rod had been when he told me about the job. I’d thought it was because Leo’s life was on the line – and Rod’s life, too.

  No. He was just worried about keeping his ass out of jail.

  My best friend just threw me to the goddamn wolves.

  Dobbs threw the woman an angry look, which all but confirmed my suspicions.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I murmured, and then the rage kicked in. “I will kill him – I’m going to KILL that ASSHOLE – ”

  Dobbs fixed me with a steely stare. “You do realize all of this is being recorded, right? Do you really want to add attempted murder to your list of charges?”

  Shit.

  I collapsed in my chair – humiliated. Betrayed.

  Defeated.

  “Why?” I asked in a strangled voice. “At least tell me that – why? Was it Leo?”

  “Little brother got popped on a drug possession charge by the LAPD with possible intent to distribute. Ten grams of cocaine. He was looking at fifteen years, so when they started milking him for bigger fish, he mentioned his older brother – and you. The cops served Rod a warrant courtesy of his brother’s testimony and got him on drugs and weapons. Parole violations, so he was going back in to finish his last five-year stint no matter what. Fortunately for Rod, and unfortunately for you, the LAPD was working with us on the Russian mafia. The Russians are the big fish in town lately, so we were all on a joint task force together. The cops tossed us your file, wondering if we could use you. We could, so we convinced the LAPD to give Rod a pass – if he could give us YOU.”

  I’m going to kill Rod – I’m going to –

  “Wait – this makes no sense,” I said. “Why me? I’m nobody. Why do you even care about me?”

  “Because we’ve actually tried cracking the gang before you, but nobody was able to get inside.”

  That made more sense.

  I was just the newest experiment in a long line of failures.

  “So you decided to use a – ”

  “Criminal,” Dobbs said with a tight smile.

  “So Leo sold Rod out… and Rod sold me out,” I muttered.

  “Pretty much. In exchange for a reduction in their sentences, they gave us you – and now you’re going to help us with the Russian mob.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

  Dobbs’ eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me? Or hire me?” I said angrily.

  Dobbs laughed, and it wasn’t friendly. “Are you saying that you, Jimmy Stanislavsky, an ex-con just 36 hours out of prison – you would have willingly walked into a situation where you’re infiltrating the Russian mob, and trusted the very people who put you behind bars in the first place?”

  “…no,” I admitted. “Probably not.”

  “‘Probably not,’” Dobbs repeated sarcastically. “Well, I’m telling, not asking. As of right now, you’re under the employ of the Los Angeles division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the LAPD. From this point forward, Agent Alvarez is your contact for everything that happens inside the game. This is a black bag operation – no one in your family can know about it. Your friends can’t know about it. You cannot tell anyone about it, period. You are a deep undercover agent, and you answer only to me and Agent Alvarez. You understand?”

  I looked at him resentfully.

  What an asshole.

  “So how exactly am I supposed to infiltrate a Russian gang?” I asked.

  Dobbs grinned. “It’s not that difficult. We just want you to be you… and play a videogame at the same time.”

  9

  Agent Alvarez took me to a room on the 18th floor. The 18th floor of where, I wasn’t sure, but I know it was the 18th floor because that’s the elevator button she punched.

  I tried to make small talk on the way up. She was, after all, pretty damn hot. Even if she was one of the people who had arrested me, I didn’t have handcuffs on – and I didn’t see a ring on her finger.

  “So… this is a pretty crazy situation, huh?” I said, all friendly-like.

  She wasn’t having it. She gave me a Shut the hell up look and snapped, “Just pay attention and don’t ask stupid questions.” />
  As soon as the elevator door opened, she walked out.

  I sighed and followed her out onto the 18th floor. The whole place was painted off-white, with a bunch of wooden doors with small panes of glass next to them. No windows, no people. There were placards next to the doors, but all they had on them were numbers – no names. Very boring, very bland, very secretive.

  She swiped her FBI badge over one of the scanners, pressed her palm against the glass surface, and the door unlocked. She pushed it open and I followed her inside.

  It was a bare room with only two things in it: a giant metallic box about six feet long and three feet tall, and a small table with a telephone. At the end of the room was another door with a toilet inside.

  “This is your new home for the next however long it takes,” she said.

  I looked around at the bare walls. “What?! This is like prison!”

  “No one said it was going to be the Ritz Carlton.”

  “I’ve got to go home,” I protested.

  “We can talk about that once you’ve logged some time in the game.”

  “But my family doesn’t know anything about what happened tonight.”

  “They will. We’ll have the LAPD inform them tomorrow that you’ve been detained in connection with a criminal investigation.”

  “No,” I moaned, “please, you can’t do that.”

  “Okay, then, we can put you back in prison. Your choice.”

  All I could think of was what my grandmother had said to me.

  You’ll be a good boy? You promise me you’ll stay out of trouble?

  It was ripping my heart in two.

  “Can I please just leave them a message? I can lie and tell them I’m going to Vegas or something,” I pleaded.

  She scowled at me, then sighed and relented. “Fine. You want to call them now or tomorrow morning?”

  It was almost 3AM. No way I was calling them now; I’d give them a heart attack.

  “Tomorrow,” I agreed reluctantly.

  “Alright, then, watch and listen closely.”

  “But there’s not even a bed!”

  “You won’t need one.”

  “I won’t need a bed?! This is crazy – you can’t just leave me in here!”

  “I’m not. I’m leaving you in here,” she said, and pressed a button on the metallic pod.

  The top and side of the metal cube suddenly rose up like a gullwing door, like the DeLorean in Back To The Future.

  Inside the box it looked like a super-fancy, first-class seat on one of those crazy Middle Eastern airlines – you know, where you can lay the seat down flat like a bed and go to sleep? I’d only seen stuff like that in pictures, but it’s exactly what it reminded me of. Plush cushions and dim lighting.

  At the same time, a computer monitor rose up out of the end of the box, and a keyboard popped out of the side, too.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “This is the gaming unit.”

  “I’m going in there?!”

  “Yes. It’s how you’ll access the game.”

  “Jeez,” I said, peering into the box nervously. “Am I going to sleep in there, too?”

  “Technically you won’t need to. It’s a long-term immersion unit. Once you’re in, the machine will take care of almost all your physical needs – including regulating your brainwaves so that you don’t need to physically sleep. Your metabolism will slow down, and it will be like you’re in suspended animation in a sci-fi movie. The unit will monitor your body and let you know when you absolutely have to eat or drink or… anything else.” She pointed at the little door with the toilet. “That’s for ‘anything else.’ If you want water or food, press ‘0’ on the phone and an agent will get it for you.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because it’s my job.”

  “No, I mean – are you an expert who used to work on these videogame things or something?”

  “No, I’m a gamer. I do it for fun outside of work.” A bit of resentment entered her voice: “So naturally I got the assignment.”

  “You’ve got one of these box things?”

  “I have one of the more basic ones. I don’t have something this expensive.” She flashed me a bitter look, then muttered as she went back to typing on the keyboard, “Funny how the criminal gets better treatment than the FBI agent, but… whatever.”

  “I didn’t ask for this, you know.”

  “No, you just won the lottery ticket.”

  “How is being forced to work for you people a lottery ticket?” I snapped.

  “I’m totally fine with taking you to county jail right now,” she said in a deadpan voice.

  “My best friend said his little brother’s life was in danger. That’s the only reason I did it.”

  “Sure it was,” she said sarcastically.

  I tried one last time to get out of all of this. “You know, I didn’t ask back in the room, but – if you want somebody to play a videogame, why not get a really good videogame player? Wouldn’t that be better?”

  She kept looking at the screen as she typed. “Most gamers aren’t criminals, aren’t safecrackers, haven’t done time in prison, and don’t speak Russian. Trying to teach a regular gamer what you already know, and what you’ll need to infiltrate the Russian mob, would take years, if it could even be done at all. You can learn whatever you need to learn inside the game.”

  “So you’re saying I’m the perfect man for the job.”

  “I don’t know about ‘perfect’…”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Get in.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  When I hesitated, she asked, “What, do you want a written invitation?”

  “With my shoes on?”

  She looked like she was about to rip my head off. “JUST GET IN.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, and lay down in the unit.

  The gullwing door came down and closed. I started to freak out. I could still see because of the dim lights, but it felt like I’d been buried alive in a coffin.

  “HEY,” I yelled as I pounded my fist against the plush material on the side of the wall. “HEY, I – ”

  “You don’t have to yell,” the woman’s voice said, clear as day, right next to my head. It didn’t sound muffled or anything.

  “Oh,” I murmured. “Hey, what’s going to happen now?”

  In answer, there was a whirring sound by my head. I craned my neck around to see several small robotic arms extending from the wall of the unit.

  “WHOA – ”

  “Calm down. Just relax and lie back. The sensors are going to touch your head – it’s all a normal part of the game.”

  I nervously put my head back on the cushion. I winced as small pads touched my forehead and side of my skull, but it wasn’t painful – just weird.

  “What do I do now?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  I did what she said.

  When I opened them again, I was in a totally different world.

  10

  I was standing on a bridge under a blue sky. And I don’t mean I was looking at a picture of a character in a videogame – I mean, I was standing on a bridge. Just a second ago I was in some metal box on the 18th floor in a building in Los Angeles at three in the morning, and now I was standing on a bridge in the sunshine. Like I’d been teleported there in the blink of an eye.

  And I was wearing different clothes.

  I’d been wearing blue jeans, a t-shirt, Nikes, and a jacket. Now I was wearing a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes.

  How the hell did THAT happen?!

  I looked around at my surroundings. The bridge spanned a small stream running through some sort of medieval city – I could hear the water burbling underneath me. Sunlight was glinting off the water as it circled through a stone canal.

  All the buildings were made out of stone, and there was a castle in the distance with pointed towers jutting up into the blue sky. Bits
of green places – grass and trees – dotted the stone roads all around me.

  The only weird thing was, there weren’t any people. The entire place was deserted.

  What the f–

  “Jimmy,” a voice said out of nowhere.

  I jumped about two inches and yelped. It was the FBI agent lady’s voice, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where are you?!” I yelled.

  “The same place I was before you got in the unit. Relax. You’re inside the game now.”

  I looked around in amazement. “This is the game? It seems so REAL!”

  “That’s because the machine is beaming sights and sounds directly into your brain, the same as if you were seeing it through your own eyes. Technically, though, you’re just in the entry part. You still have to select your character.”

  “My character? Aren’t I going to be playing as, uh, me?”

  “Yes, sort of – you’ll be controlling all your actions – but you get to choose what you’ll look like and what your abilities are. Call up your character generation screen.”

  “My what?”

  I could hear her sigh. “Never mind, I’m doing it – hold on – ”

  Suddenly there was a blast of music. A rumbling voice said, “Welcome to DarkWorld,” and a series of pictures appeared in front of me out of thin air and hovered four feet above the ground.

  “AAAAH!” I yelled as I jumped back. “What happened?!”

  “Are you going to do that every time something new happens?”

  “I will when crazy stuff happens!”

  “I over-rode the normal player creation process so I could guide you through it. Just look at the pictures.”

  I stepped closer to the square photos. They were all close-ups of faces – monsters, mostly.

  There was a bald, ugly green guy with pointy teeth jutting up out of his lower lip. There was another ugly green guy with a hood over his eyes and a smashed-in face like a pug. There was a third dude with a long, hooked nose, high cheekbones, and bugged-out eyes.

  Lots of green guys, for some reason.

  There was also a blue-skinned guy with glowing yellow eyes, a guy with paper-white skin with glowing yellow eyes, and a dude with reddish skin, pointy ears, and glowing yellow eyes.