by Oliver Mayes
Lillian was halfway down the list when she got a reply. She thought it would be more of the same sorry excuses from dithering, self-proclaimed leaders of men, so it was a nice surprise to get something from Damien instead. A brief release from her obligations. Then she read the message. It was a brand-new request on top of everything else she was dealing with.
Daemien: Hey Lillian. I know you must be super busy right now, but there’s something I was hoping you could help me with? Message me when you’re free.
Lillian: I’m free right now. As free as I’m gonna get, anyway. What’s up?
Daemien: I’m hosting a party at the internet cafe near me and was hoping you could make it. Trying to get them some publicity.
Lillian ran it through her head. Nope, there was no way she could deem that reasonable in the context of reality.
Lillian: I’m kinda busy. Running a kingdom, preparing for a war, trying to stop Hammertime and Andrew from murdering each other. Then I have a work shift tonight. Don’t think I can leave. Aren’t you a little busy to be doing publicity stunts?
Daemien: You remember the goons who were chasing me? Think you called one of them ‘pube-face’? This is the first internet cafe they followed me into. They impounded the pods and fined the employee who gave me shelter without ID. They’re closing down next week.
Oh. Well then. Lillian forgot about what she was doing completely and focused entirely on Damien.
Lillian: You know it’s not your fault, right? You didn’t do anything wrong, you just did what you had to because CU wouldn’t treat you OR your mom properly. They’re the ones who killed that business, not you.
Daemien: I do know that. The place was already on the way out without CU’s help. It would just be nice to make a positive change in the world, rather than everything I touch falling apart.
Lillian: Bravo. If Oscars were still a thing, I’d tip you for one. Where’s the cafe?
Daemien: Thanks Lillian, having the new Queen of Camelot there will be awesome. I’ll send you the address.
Lillian: I never said I was going, I asked where it was. There’s a difference. You said it was a party? Who else is going?
Damien sent the address a moment later, then Lillian waited for his further reply. He’d been replying pretty quickly up ’til that point. Now it was total radio silence. It persisted long enough for Lillian to work it out for herself. About fifty occultists, he’d said.
Lillian: You’re inviting me to an occultist party.
Daemien: Yeah. It’s an occultist thing.
Lillian: Hard pass. I don’t want to be surrounded by people who salivate at the thought of killing me.
Daemien: It’s a game and they’re real-life people. A bit weird, but definitely people. I think. It would be a good way of showing them you’re a real person too, if you want their help. You said you’d suitably reward “anyone” who stepped forward to help in the fight. I’ve got them eating out of the palm of my hand, our support is pretty much guaranteed. This is a chance to kiss some real babies. And you’d be saving a family’s livelihood. And you’d be helping me.
Lillian: One out of three isn’t great. I’ll think about it.
She closed the chat box down and allowed her role to settle back on her shoulders. Now it was even heavier, because she was weighing up the prospect of leaving her post for however long it took to get to the internet cafe. Things were under control here, but could she even get there and back in time to go to work?
This was a bonus objective, one she’d be annoyed to let pass her by if it was at all possible. She went into autopilot, copying and pasting the guild leaders the same message as she played out the timing in her head. It had to be at least an hour away. She could’ve given up on it right there, but she focused on it harder and found an uncomfortable solution: she could more than halve that time if she used the underground highway. Which would mean taking an automated taxi.
Really? Today? It seemed like a bad idea, which made Lillian even more determined. She was not a fan of obstacles. When they showed up in her path she was more inclined to go that way, not less.
Lillian’s pestering was obviously working, because some of the guild leaders were finally responding. Lillian put her bonus objective on hold as she collected their ETAs and preassigned them different construction tasks, depending on their aptitude. While guilds comparable to Godhammer and Rising Tide followed their example, creating the trebuchets that required longer build times and greater artisan mastery, the lower-tier guilds were assigned to building preposterously tall custom ladders.
On the one hand the ladders seemed extremely necessary, in order to get players with no scope for versatility up on the ramparts. On the other hand, they seemed like a great way to get lots of her own people killed in extraordinarily inappropriately hilarious ways. Better to have them and not need them than the reverse. It wouldn’t be much of a victory if they were still being murdered by enemies on and in the wall, or if Magnitude decided to take up permanent residence inside it.
When she’d finally finished issuing instructions to the arriving guilds, she returned to her encampment and found Hammertime presiding over the construction of several trebuchets. There were no catapults in sight. Thank goodness. That would make this chat with Andrew much easier.
“Andrew, I need to talk to you for a minute.”
She led him away, taking a great deal more care to make sure they weren’t heard than she had with Hammertime. Andrew was the first to speak.
“Thank you for talking sense into Hammertime. Sorry for losing my temper. If that’s all, I need to get back to work.”
“No, Andrew, that’s not all. And even if it was, preventing me from speaking my mind will not make this faster.”
“Alright, fine. What is it?”
“You’re obviously stressed out, so I had to explain it to Hammertime. I told him who Magnitude is.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes. Lillian stared back at him, waiting for something more concrete than an angry look.
“Why?”
“He needed a reason besides the two of you not liking each other to understand your aggression. Like it or not, he is now involved and needs to know the bare minimum. Knowing this fight is personal is the bare minimum.”
“I disagree.”
“He’s making trebuchets, I must’ve done something right. Treat him like an ally rather than an enemy and there’s a real danger the two of you will work well together.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“That’s fine, so long as you stop mouth-breathing all over him. I can’t leave the two of you here alone if you keep fighting, I need to log off soon.”
“Yeah, you need to eat. You haven’t logged off since this morning.”
“Neither have you...I’m not logging off just to eat. Damien invited me to an internet cafe for an event.”
“With everything else you have on your plate?”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s the right thing to do. He’s trying to advertise an internet cafe so it doesn’t close down. You have your personal stake in this, it seems this is his. Problem is, I’d have to go by automated taxi to get there fast enough. I know this is stupid—”
“It is stupid. I’m surprised you’re even considering it, especially if you need to take an automated taxi. I know they’re...you don’t like them. We need you here and we need you at your best.”
“If I don’t do this thing that I know is the right thing to do, I won’t be at my best. Besides, there will be lots of occultists there as well and we need to keep our options open. We’ll need their help unless more players show up.”
If Lillian thought casually dropping it into the conversation was going to make it hit more softly, she was mistaken.
“Damien is hosting an occultist party at an internet cafe, and you want to go?”
“I don’t want to. I have to. We’ve been here for four hours and only six guilds have enlisted, with two hours to go. Since the Empire players aren’t
showing up, screw ’em. We need a safety net, Damien’s providing one. That’s worth a trip, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think putting you in an automated car to travel by yourself to a party full of weirdos, Damien included, is a good idea. And I won’t pretend to change my mind to make you feel better about it.”
“What if you came with me?”
“What, and left Hammertime in charge of the defense while we’re gone? Are you out of your mind?”
“If he was as big an idiot as you’re making him out to be, he wouldn’t have given us half as much trouble when he was our enemy. Magnitude isn’t sending anyone out, he’s probably making his own preparations on the other side of the wall. Please come with me. I don’t want to go alone, and I think it would be good for you and Damien to meet in person, as well.”
Andrew drew his hand down his face.
“You’re going no matter what I say, aren’t you?”
“Yup.”
“And if I don’t help, you’ll be traveling by yourself, by automated taxi, to a real-life occultist den, right before an endeavor that requires your complete focus.”
“Concise and accurate. As expected of my Court Wizard.”
“You’re a pain. What food should I bring on my way to your place?”
It was 5:30pm. Damien’s guests had been arriving for the last fifteen minutes, though he didn’t know if his first choice of venue would have him. Its owner had chased him into the street earlier that day, after all. Hopefully Antonio would be a little less brash when there were witnesses who were also paying customers.
He’d managed most of the tasks set for him and a few more on top, although he’d not quite got around to groceries. He’d left his mom a note on the kitchen table apologizing, informing her he’d be home late and why. She’d understand. Right now he was a bit more preoccupied with what lay ahead.
He was sitting in the noodle bar window across the street, watching members of the Council of Nine enter. There wasn’t realistically anyone else they could be, given he’d never seen anyone else go in there. Without that knowledge he wouldn’t have had a clue, as it turned out occultists came from all walks of life.
Some were more or less what he’d expected, youths just like him. For each that came alone there’d be a pair traveling together, sometimes three or four. Interspersed between these arrivals were those he hadn’t foreseen. Suited businessmen, coming straight from work. Suited businesswomen, doing the same. Middle-aged, pot-bellied men in jeans and T-shirts which were pulled up to expose their one-packs in the blistering heat, much to the chagrin of those around them.
The group he’d been dreading arrived toward the end: a put-upon lady with a floral dress and a strained smile entered, herding a gaggle of excited young children in front of her. Damien tried to make out Scorepeeus63 among them, but of course it was impossible. Scorepeeus63 had taken Damien’s face on his avatar, after all.
When the kids entered, Damien decided it was time. If Antonio wouldn’t have them, they needed to move to another venue before battle started. He’d have to give Lillian notice before they diverted to his second choice: the better organized, much larger pod hotel chain on the main road, about a ten-minute walk away. He could forgive himself for holding up the occultists a little, but something told him Lillian might not be so forgiving. She had a fair few more players to organize than he did.
It was a risk, but with a larger pod hotel nearby that was both willing and equipped to house them, Damien regarded it as a risk worth taking. That didn’t make it easier to step through the door. He slurped down the last of his noodles, picked up his backpack and marched across the street through the internet cafe door, not allowing himself time to reconsider.
It was gratifying to see how many had shown up at his beck and call. He’d counted over forty people. The space was completely transformed by their presence. It was a bit crowded with the outdated cubicles taking up space, but everyone was gathered around and talking over them. Teenagers, moms, dads, suits, all happily chatting away. The youngest of them were kneeling on the chairs so they could see over the top.
Damien had been worried this would end up being awkward, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. There was one thing the group all had in common, besides their unwitting fealty to a manifestation of Satan: they all had sticker labels on the front of their clothing. Damien took a step closer and squinted at one of the businessmen’s labels, reading, with some incredulity, ‘BabySharkolomew’.
“Ah-hah, Praise Be. Guess I don’t need to ask who you are.”
Stood off to the side of the doorway was one of the unsuited, larger gentlemen Damien had seen enter. If Damien wasn’t mistaken, he’d been one of the first to arrive. His poorly fitting T-shirt had been mercifully pulled back down over his front and was now adorned with a sticker that had his name on it. ‘Vargus’. He was holding a pad of sticker labels and a marker pen. This was clearly not his first rodeo. He scrawled ‘Daemien’ onto the top leaf and handed it over.
“If you could sign my headset later that would be awesome, but I guess you’ve got other stuff to worry about right now. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you bring us here? This shop’s a bit small and this guy isn’t prepared for us.”
He tilted his head toward the back and Damien followed his glance. Antonio was carrying beanbags out of a back room five at a time (or he would’ve been if he wasn’t wedged in the doorway). He ripped them through, and as the lousy furniture dropped to the floor, his contorted face appeared in the frame.
He was just about managing to force a smile, but it didn’t take a genius to see he was on the verge of tears. He finally had customers and was trying his best to accommodate them, but there were too many and he was all by himself. The desks were no use to people who’d come to play VR, he’d have to move them out to make room for the beanbags.
At this rate, Damien would have to take everyone to the larger chain round the corner. What would that do to Antonio? It was his own fault. Damien had come that afternoon to try and give him advance warning and had been talked down to and threatened instead. Part of him felt this served Antonio right. The rest of him felt physically sick, watching a grown man trying to stave off a meltdown.
Well, it was all up to Antonio in the end. This would be Damien’s last attempt to help someone who thought himself above Damien’s assistance.
“Vargus...that feels weird...can you come talk to him with me?”
“There’s a Dream Factory round the corner, why don’t we go there? Bit more expensive but much better equipped, it’s a good chain.”
“No, if we help him out we’ll be done in a few minutes. Come stand behind me, please, I don’t want to talk to him alone. He seems stressed out.”
They made their way to the back of the room, the people in front making space for them. It wasn’t long before Damien was recognized and the players started yelling out to him. The physical presence of children was enough to keep the ruder adulations out of the adults’ mouths. The physical presence of a parent was enough to keep the ruder adulations out of the children’s mouths. For Antonio, just Damien’s name was rude enough.
He dropped the next installment of beanbags and turned, right as Damien stepped into punching range. Damien stared up at him, daring him to do it. With the rest of the group behind him only Antonio could see his face, but everyone could see Antonio’s. As sad a spectacle as he was, Damien wouldn’t let him off the hook without taking back some of the verbal abuse. He’d spent enough of his life being walked over without it coming from a would-be beneficiary.
“I see you’re struggling, since Gian isn’t around and I didn’t get the chance to tell you we were coming. Do you need help? We all need to be online as soon as possible, so if this isn’t sorted out in the next few minutes we’re going round the corner to the Dream Factory. Can we help you move the furniture, or should we just leave?”
“...Okay.”
Damien lowered his voice.
“Try ‘Yes please’, and ‘Thank you’.”
“Yes please.”
“And?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome! Hey, everyone, we need to help Antonio make room. I should’ve given him notice we were coming but I was too busy farming souls all day, let’s not make him suffer for it. Move all the desks to one side, please! Vargus, can you go with Antonio to the back and help him get more beanbags out?”
Minion management in real life was not so different from minion management in game. The only difference was that Antonio had been much more difficult to get under control than Noigel. Not being able to give orders sure made things tricky, but in the end it came down to the same crucial underlying factor: incentive.
Incentive to meet Damien got forty strangers to travel from all over the city to a place they’d never heard of before. Incentive to help Damien remove the chip from his shoulder had convinced Lillian to do the same thing, on the eve of the fight she’d been preparing for all day and working toward all week. And while goodwill, compassion, courage and patience had got him nowhere with Antonio, holding the incentive of forty-plus paying patrons over his head had done the trick. He was a hard man to help and a harder man to love.
“I can’t believe you got me in an automated taxi for this.”
She actually came. Damien had barely turned when Lillian embraced him in a bone-crunching hug and Damien’s thoughts went completely parkour. They did an additional backflip when he saw who was standing behind her, his hands awkwardly jammed in his pockets. Her plus one did not cut quite such a dashing figure in person as he did in game, but Damien had seen his streams more than enough to recognize him.
Andrew pulled out a hand and held it to him, his eyes rising up off the floor to meet Damien’s.
“Long time no see.”
Damien hadn’t counted on meeting Andrew in person, least of all as Lillian’s escort. While both of them were a bit out of place in this company, Andrew was most definitely regarded by occultists as the enemy. Damien put on his biggest smile and grabbed his hand, shaking it as enthusiastically as he could.
