Dead Man Gaming: A LitRPG Series

by A. J. Markam

  Lots of glowing yellow eyes for some reason, too.

  Another picture of a werewolf, then a bear’s face with strangely human eyes, a lizard monster, a rat-faced monster… lots of monsters. There were a few regular guy’s faces, but even one of them had pointy ears. One dude had a bald head and a long, bushy beard.

  “What the hell’s all this?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “These are the pictures of what your character can look like. You could also be a woman…”

  All the pictures changed to women. Well, the humans did. The other monsters looked like a cross between women and monsters – smaller features and not as ugly, but still totally monstered-out.

  “…but the Russian mob won’t take a female character serious – chauvinist assholes – and I don’t want you perving out while you’re playing, so you’ll be a man.”

  All the pictures switched back to dudes and guy monsters.

  “So… I could be a werewolf?” I asked, astounded.

  “Technically, yes, although it’s called a Warg in the game. But that’s probably not the best choice.”

  “Why not?” I asked as I reached out to touch the picture, to see if it even really existed.

  It did. Or it felt like it did. The surface felt like smooth glass as my fingers touched it, and there was a Click and the feeling of resistance, like I was pushing down a button –

  Suddenly my hands, which until just a second ago had been my regular hands, were now covered in dark grey hair, with long fingers and sharp claws at the ends.

  “AAAAAH!” I screamed as I drew my hands back in shock. “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

  I could hear her snorting with laughter. “You selected the character, dumbass.”

  I looked down at my hands. The palms were black and tough, like the pads of a dog’s feet.

  “Wait – so if I select a picture, then – ”

  I clicked another picture. Suddenly my hand was green and five times as big as normal, with thick, stubby fingers the size of sausages.

  “Holy SHIT!”

  I started clicking buttons at random.

  Blue skin, red skin, scaly reptile skin –

  For the first time, the FBI agent’s voice sounded almost enthusiastic. “You think THAT’S cool, look over to your left.”

  I glanced over.

  There was an oval shape hovering next to me – and something inside it turned to look at me.

  It was one of the lizard monsters – except it was turning to stare right at me, too.

  “AAAAH!” I yelled, and stumbled backwards –

  And the giant lizard yelped and jumped backwards, too.

  “Wait a second – ” I muttered.

  The lizard’s lips moved exactly the same way.

  “Is that a MIRROR?!” I asked as the lizard’s mouth asked the exact same question.

  “Yup. That’s how you look as a dracan.”

  “Holy crap…”

  For the first time, I noticed the oval shape had a metallic silver border around it – just like a mirror.

  I started hitting buttons in the air again, and a series of images flickered inside the mirror. Giant ugly green dude, little ugly green dude, blue-skin dude, pointy-eared regular human, the werewolf again –

  Mirror, mirror, in the air, who’s that dude all covered in hair?

  Then the FBI agent’s voice spoke up again.

  “To answer your earlier question about why a Warg isn’t the best choice, the Russian gangs are almost exclusively orcs.”

  “…orcs…?”

  “The bald green guy in the top picture.”

  She meant the one with the two giant teeth sticking up from his lower lip.

  “That’s the race the Russians always play, 100% of the time.”

  Now I was confused. “Race? Are they black orcs, or white, or – ”

  “No. In the game, ‘race’ means humans, elves, dwarves, dracans, wargs – that sort of thing. Russians gangsters only play orcs. They have lots of criminal associates who are all different races, but the gang members themselves are all orcs. We think it’s because it allows them to determine who is, and who’s not, in the gang at a glance.”

  I frowned. “But aren’t there orcs that aren’t Russian gangsters?”

  “Tens of thousands of them. However, very few of them know Russian and are criminals. If all Russian gangsters play orcs, then members of the mob can know with 90% certainty that the player’s not in their group just by their race alone.”

  Okay… that sort of made sense. “So I’m going to be an orc.”

  “No.”

  “…um… why not?”

  “We’re afraid it would make you look try-hard.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Imagine you wanted to infiltrate a neo-Nazi gang in the real world.”

  “I wouldn’t do that!” I protested.

  And I wouldn’t. Neo-Nazi’s are racist scumbags.

  “This is a hypothetical situation, dumbass. If you WERE going to do it, you might go and get a bunch of swastika tattoos. And maybe you’d start spouting racist diatribe. But do you think they would let you in?”

  I thought about it for a second. “Maybe… but only at a very low level.”

  “Exactly. You would have to go through a probation period where they test you. Where you prove your worth to the organization. And even then, that could take months or years. We don’t have that long.

  “Besides, the Russians don’t exactly have team try-outs, especially if you’re not Russian. And you’d never be able to pass for Russian. So playing as an orc might look a little suspicious. Definitely try-hard.”

  “So how do you expect me to get in?”

  “We’re hoping you can interest them to the point where they’ll approach YOU.”

  “You want them to recruit me,” I realized.

  “Bingo.”

  “How am I going to get them to do that?”

  “By doing what you do best.”

  “Getting caught by the cops?” I said grumpily.

  To my surprise, she actually chuckled. “No. You’re going to rob safes.”

  I looked around the medieval village. “…in the videogame.”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. This didn’t exactly look like the sort of place to have Brownings, Hamiltons, and McGunns. (All brands of safes, by the way.)

  “Where are they, then?”

  “We’ll get to that in good time.”

  “I don’t understand how any of this works.”

  “You will.”

  I looked at the pictures floating midair again. “Okay, so… I’m not going to be an orc.”

  “No. Choose somebody else on the left side of the screen.”

  “Why the left side?”

  “That’s the Darklings – they get along with each other. If you’re trying to get in with orcs, you don’t want to be a human, elf, or dwarf. They’re the orcs’ mortal enemies.”

  “What about a werewolf?”

  “Warg. No, they’re on the other side, the Federation.”

  “Werewolves are good guys?”

  “Most of them, yes. Now pick something else.”

  I didn’t really want to be green and warty… or a bear or lizard…

  My eyes found the picture of the pasty white guy with glowing yellow eyes. He at least looked human.

  “How about this one?” I asked, and clicked the button. Immediately my hands turned chalky white. I looked in the mirror and nearly crapped myself to see a bald, white head with glowing eyes staring back at me.

  “A Revenant. That’ll work.”

  “A Reva-what?”

  “Revenant. It means somebody who returns.”

  “Why don’t they just call it ‘Returned’?”

  “BECAUSE,” she snapped. “Now for your class – ”

  “I have to go to school?”

  “No.” From the disdain in her voice, I could almost imagine her closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“‘Class’ in the game is – it’s basically what you do. Warrior, mage, priest – ”

  “What’s a mage?”

  “Basically like a wizard.”

  “Huh. And there are priests?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there’s Catholic churches around here?”

  Now she was getting really annoyed. “Not that kind of priest. Just regular priests.”

  “But Catholics are regular priests – ”

  “There are all sorts of priests in all sorts of religions.”

  I frowned. “I think you mean preachers – ”

  “MOVING ON. You don’t get a choice, you have to be a rogue.”

  A rogue. That sounded cool. “What’s a rogue?”

  “They’re underhanded, sneaky criminal types.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Which is right up your alley.”

  That made me mad. “I wanted to go straight.”

  “Which is why we caught you in front of a safe, huh?”

  “You entrapped me!” I yelled. “You basically bribed my best friend to stab me in the back!”

  All she said in response was, “You’re a rogue.”

  “I don’t want to be a rogue,” I said petulantly. And I didn’t want to, not now. Not if I was going to have to put up with bullshit comments all the time about my being an ex-con and getting betrayed by Rod.

  “You don’t have a choice. Rogues are the only class with the option of specializing in safecracking.”

  “Why’s that?!”

  “Because they’re the only ones who can be thieves,” she said in a DUH tone of voice.

  “Why can’t priests be thieves?” I said belligerently, then quickly backed up. “Okay, that would be kind of stupid, God wouldn’t like that… but why can’t wizards or warriors be thieves?”

  “Because the game doesn’t allow it. They only introduced it as a profession two years ago.”

  “‘Profession’?” I asked. “You mean there’s like, taxicab drivers and lawyers and – ”

  “No. This is a medieval fantasy world. Professions in this world are things like herbalists, alchemists, blacksmiths – ”

  “Herbal – is that like, marijuana growing?”

  “NO. It means picking herbs and flowers.”

  “Jesus, that sounds lame.”

  “You know what?” she said testily. “We’re done for now. We’ll cover your professions after you play for a while.”

  “Okay. Hey, can I change how my character looks?”

  “No.”

  “They don’t let you change how you look?!”

  “The GAME does. But you’ve talked enough.”

  “Wait – but – I want some hair!”

  “Too bad. Your name inside the game is now Korvos. Don’t reveal your real name to ANYONE, do you understand?”

  “‘Korvos’?” I complained. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “The one I just gave you. When you emerge in the game, don’t go anywhere – I’ll come find you, understand?”

  “Wait,” I said, panic rising inside me. “What do you mean, come find me?”

  “Just don’t do anything stupid. Or try not to.”

  “Wait – hold on! – ”

  Suddenly the medieval town disappeared, and everything went black.

  11

  It was like I was instantly transported again. Everything was dark, but this time I felt a solid, wet pressure around my entire body. I was standing, but I was also hunched over. I straightened my legs up – and suddenly my head broke above the ground.

  I’d been buried alive.

  I screamed – but my mouth was full of something, and I made a gargling noise instead. I spit it out and realized I had mud in my mouth.

  Strangely enough, it didn’t taste like anything. It was just kind of mushy and gritty against my tongue.

  Nighttime closed in around me. The only light was the glow of the moon hidden behind some clouds. Rain pelted down on me and splashed in puddles on the ground. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel cold.

  I freaked out and pulled myself up out of the mud as quickly as I could. It was difficult – sort of like swimming in molasses – but I crawled up onto firm ground and watched as the rain washed off the mud plastered to my body.

  I looked around in shock and horror.

  I was in a graveyard.

  The cemetery was a small one – maybe 30 graves, with tombstones jutting up out of the patches of mud and overgrown grass. I could see very little in the dim light from the moon.

  There was a small building with marble columns behind me. Probably a rich man’s final resting place.

  Around the cemetery were lots of trees, and their branches shrouded everything in darkness. There weren’t any trees in the cemetery, which is why the rain was so heavy and I could see a little light from behind the clouds – but beyond the rickety iron fence that surrounded the graveyard, all details got swallowed up in the darkness.

  Where the hell am I?

  What the hell happened?

  And what the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I looked down at my body. The mud that coated me just a few seconds ago was slowly washing off to reveal the pasty white skin underneath. I noted in a detached sort of way that my videogame body was in good shape. My muscles were wiry and well-defined, and my bare arms only had a few bones sticking out of my skin –

  Hold on.

  I had bones sticking out of my skin?!

  Something was wrong with my forearms! They seemed to be half-rotted away – and I could see the bones poking out of the gray, stringy muscles!

  It was at this point I screamed again – and immediately realized that something was wrong with my voice. It sounded low and rumbling, even though I was screaming like a seven-year-old girl.

  I immediately stopped screaming and said, “Hello?”

  Not that there was anybody to say hello to, but I had to say something.

  My voice sounded like Barry White had picked up a ten-pack-a-day cigarette habit for the last 20 years.

  What the HELL?!

  I winced and poked at the bones. Surprisingly, there was no pain. In fact, it didn’t feel any different than if I’d poked healthy, living skin. It just looked horrific.

  As I recovered from the shock of both my body and voice being nightmarishly messed up, I looked down at the rest of my body. I was wearing torn, mud-soaked, tattered leather pants; scuffed up boots with multiple holes in them, from which mud was seeping out; and a torn leather vest that looked like it was hanging onto my body by threads. No shirt.

  I also had a belt, which held the only semi-cool thing about the outfit: two long knives strapped to each hip. I pulled them out of the sheaths on my belt and stared at the rain streaking down the rusty iron blades. There were ugly pits and notches in the dulled edges, and the tip on one of them was broken off. These things had definitely seen better days.

  What the hell is going on?!

  I tried to figure out exactly what had happened to me, and then I remembered what Agent Alvarez had said: Revenant means somebody who returns.

  The realization hit me like a freight train:

  I had returned from the grave.

  I was dead – or had been.

  “That bitch!” I screamed. It came out sounding like the roar of a sci-fi movie monster.

  Why didn’t she tell me?

  Probably one of her stupid little jokes. She hated me so much, she thought she’d have some fun and screw with me –

  Although an intriguing thought immediately came to mind.

  Since I was dead, did that mean I couldn’t die?

  Huh…

  Suddenly something happened at my feet. The ground began to shift, and something pushed its way up out of the mud.

  I screamed again like a cross between Barry White and a seven-year-old girl, and stumbled backwards as a hand shot up out of the ground.

  Within seconds, another dead guy had pulled himself up out of the mud and onto his fe
et. He was dressed in little more than rags, too – though he had an archer’s bow strapped to his back, along with a quiver with a few arrows in it.

  He looked over at me and I recoiled in horror. He didn’t have a lower jaw, and his tongue waggled obscenely back and forth like a writhing snake.

  I was sure I was going to have to pull my knives and go all Walking Dead on his ass – when he gave me a head nod like What’s up, then ran off into the forest.

  For a second all I could think was, Am I missing my lower jaw? Is THAT why I sound so weird?

  I felt for my jawbone with my hand –

  There it was. And it appeared to be completely intact – no rotting flesh.

  Phew.

  What the hell is going ON?

  …and where’s that dude going?

  It’s not like I was doing anything special hanging around the cemetery, so I followed him out of curiosity. I kept about 40 feet behind him as he ran between the trees. Within a few seconds we had emerged from the forest into a small town – or what were the ruins of a small town. There were several buildings made out of crumbling stones in the distance, and candlelight flickered through the smashed windows.

  Also, there were people.

  Although I don’t know if I should really call them people.

  I stopped short and looked around in amazement as tons of dead bodies walked and ran around. They all had skin that was different shades of wormy white, though some of them looked like they’d been rotting in the ground longer than others. All of them had either yellow glowing eyes or empty black sockets.

  A couple of them were dressed like me – in tattered rags – but some of the walking corpses were actually crazy decked out. Some were wearing badass armor, like they were in some Japanimation version of Knights of the Roundtable. Big spikes sticking out of their shoulder plates, dragons carved into the metal surface, things like that.

  A horse trotted down the street that was just as dead-looking as its rider. Big white ribs stuck out of its rotting skin.

  But it wasn’t just dead people – there were plenty of green-skinned living ones, too. Massive musclebound hulks with giant teeth jutting out of their lower lips. Little green warty guys with hoods, like the one I’d seen when I was choosing my character.

  (Choosing – ha! What a joke! That asshole FBI agent chose this all for me – and didn’t even tell me what I was getting into!)