by Noah Barnett
"Congratulations!!!" A bubbly voice shouted from behind him. Charlie turned to see the receptionist exploding a party popper over his head. Sparkles and red confetti rained down.
"I died," he complained with a frown.
"You got a kill, that's quite impressive. It's very hard to win death matches." She complimented with a wide grin.
"If it's so hard why do people do it?" He asked and the girl giggled.
"Credits of course, deathmatches reward a lot more." She said beckoning him over to the booth. There she pulled out a small pamphlet.
_____________________
[Competition money and you]
Winning a Team Match = 2000c
Winning a Death Match = 10,000c
Killing an enemy = 100 x Battle Rank x Weapon Multiplier.
(Bronze 1, Silver 2, Gold 4, Platinum 6, Diamond 10, Tungsten 20)
(Explosives 1, Rifles 1, SMG's 1.25, Pistols 2, Melee 10)
Team Killing = Costs 1000c credits and reduces your player score by ten points.
Casual Match Kills = 100 x Weapon Multiplier (Battle Rank is not factored)
______________________
"In a Team match you have an even chance of winning. If you die your team can still pull through, but in a deathmatch it's entirely up to you. There are more enemies as well which means more money." She said clapping her hands.
"For example let's take your kill. You got two hundred credits for killing that bronze player. A silver player would reward you four hundred for a pistol kill. If you ever happen to knife a diamond player it is worth ten thousand credits." She said gesturing excitedly to the console. Charlie put his palm on the display. His K/D ratio had risen to 1.0, and he now had 1130 credits. The only negative was the fact he had one loss.
"Competition matches do track your stats, but Casual matches do not. In my opinion, you shouldn’t worry about it so much. Just have fun." The girl said seeing his expression.
"What's a smurf?" He asked remembering something he'd heard earlier.
"It is an experienced player in a lower ranked game. The girl who killed you was probably a gold or platinum player wishing to start over. Sometimes they do that to change their appearance or stat distribution." The receptionist said and clapped him on the shoulder. "I hope you enjoy the game," She said excitedly and he nodded his thanks. The girl had gone out of her way to welcome him, but he was done for the day. Charlie liked the game for certain. He just needed some time to cool down.
CHAPTER THREE
All work...
Real life took hold slowly, and Charlie’s eyes focused on the dimly lit apartment. He licked his dry lips and took the dive helmet off. His hair was damp and matted to his head, but that was nothing compared to the swamp lake his armpits were swimming in. Even now his heart was still beating unnaturally fast in his chest. Nearby a gray house cat meowed at him before wandering into the kitchen.
He set the helmet on the coffee table and climbed on shaky legs to his feet. Before anything else happened, he was going to shower. His muddy legs carried him into the bathroom where he undressed. While the hot water ran over him, he had time to think. Time to consider what had happened in Gun Meister Online so far. He would never have thought shooting a gun could be so scary and exciting. The feel of it in his hands, the sound of the explosions, and the recoil. It was like magic. The practice had been almost cathartic.
Up until a few days ago the dive helmet had belong to his roommate whom he shared the two bedroom apartment with. Alex had sold most of his possessions, and left in a hurry saying he was planning to chase ghosts in the Caribbean Isles. After trying out Gun Meister, he understood why Alex spent so much time locked in his room. After the quick shower he dressed in new boxers and pants. The cat was still in the kitchen when he entered, and it laid lazily on the counter licking itself. As he neared Fizzgig stopped cleaning long enough to meow at him again.
"You probably need food," he said glancing toward the cat bowl. Yep, it was empty so he poured in some dry mix. Immediately Fizzgig leaped to the tile floor and started to eat.
"Sorry about that," He muttered putting the cat food away. Charlie opened the fridge and inspected his options. There was a three day old pizza that hadn't tasted right the first time, a couple of yogurt cups getting close to their expiration date, two half empty jars of pickles, and some very brown looking lettuce. It wasn't like he didn't have money. After all he managed to keep the apartment by himself. He just didn't like cooking or grocery shopping. His options were limited so he chose the least likely to cause dysentery. Grabbing the yogurt he opened one, then sniffed, fetched a spoon, and sat down in the living room.
The news was droning on as he ate. A high school was on the screen, students jubilantly fleeing their studies for more interesting activities. The reporter and cameraman moved forward.
"What do you think of the invasion of virtual online games?" The man asked a couple of teenage girls. In the background several buses were pulling away from the curb.
"Like eww, why can't dive junkies just enjoy life like normal people." She said in a California girl accent.
"I know right! It's just so ugly nerds can get off like perverts," her friend added.
Charlie winced inwardly and thought, “Well doesn’t that strike a little close to home?” He suspected the spoiled brat would be pumping out babies before she got her diploma.
"What about the people that have anxiety disorders or medical conditions?" The reporter asked goading the girls.
"Umm… like, so what? It's like, up to them if they want to live in their own heads. Good riddance." The first girl replied and the camera panned away.
"You heard it directly from the mouth of our youth. America isn't buying the virtual hype." The reporter said as the screen changed. Those two girls had been stupid little twits but they hadn't been wrong. Having a virtual machine in the US was looked down upon. Like being gay in the 80's or 90’s. It was whispered about with sneers and side-long glances. The name, ‘Dive Junkies’ had quickly been adopted. Alex had been a shut in for two years, and barely left his room to eat and shower. Somehow he'd always managed to pay his share of the rent though, which was all that mattered to Charlie.
The news report went on to describe the skyrocketing attention foreign nations were giving to Virtual Technology.
The first game to become ultra popular had been Nigmus Online. Even after four years the MMO boasted ten million players. From what he understood most games—including Gun Meister Online—were now based on the engine Nigmus used.
A meow caught his attention. Fizzgig looked up at him with big yellow eyes before jumping up into his lap. For a few seconds, Charlie absently scratched the cat behind the ears.
"TV off," he said as a set of long commercials started. The eighty-inch plasma screen died with a little blip.
It was still early, but Charlie felt strangely tired. In any case, tomorrow was a work day. He stood from the living room chair and wandered into the bedroom. Undressing he crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.
The second hand ticked passed twenty on its slow march into infinity. Charlie told himself he wasn't watching it creep along towards the end of his suffering. The clock hung, conveniently, on the wall above the whiteboard, and it was impossible for anyone not to stare at it. Twenty-five seconds was vaulted and soon it would be thirty. Why did this meeting have to take so long? Charlie wanted to go home, drop into his living room chair, and log into Gun Meister to kill someone. It was quickly starting to consume his attention. The game was as frightening as a nightmare, but right now he'd die a hundred deaths to be away from this meeting.
"I want you all to think positively. Smile because a buyer isn't going to fork over money to a sourpuss." A man at the front of the room said, and grinned at them all. Irvin was a fifty-five year old rotund man with balding hair and a thin mustache. As always he was dressed in gray slacks buckled around a substantial paunch.
"Come on, everyone smile!" Ir
vin said lifting his hands up. Charlie glanced around the meeting room. Thirty or so people were showing teeth in plastic smiles. Their eyes though, like his, were glossed over. Today was the mandatory monthly meeting, and it was a ritual Charlie had slowly come to despise almost as much as the boss himself. He shifted his gaze forward and smiled as well. The job wouldn't be so bad if his boss weren't such an insipid moron. Irvin nodded and clicked the remote. The projected image changed to a picture of a map.
"You also need a plan," he said and pointed to someone in the front row. "Chad, I have a million dollars and it's yours if you can get from California to New York."
"I'll try my best."
"Of course you will, it's a million dollars cash, but all I'm going to give you is a map. A map of Chicago City, and you can only use that map." He said slapping the whiteboard. "Impossible right?" Irvin asked turning to everyone in the room. After making eye contact with the crowd he continued, "You need the right map to get where you are going."
Charlie thought they were selling cars, not fucking maps. He had no idea what the boss was trying to convey. What the hell was the point of this?
"I want you all to set a goal. Every one of you is going to sell one hundred cars this month. You're going to do it, if you think positively." Irvin said pumping his fist in the air. Charlie was positive about only one thing, that was a load of bullshit. Jennifer with her five months top employee only pulled in fifty cars a month. Most of the agents sitting in the meeting sold between fifteen and twenty. The recession—nobody would call it a depression—was still going strong. The markets were down, and Charlie hadn't had a sale in three days.
"Ok, everybody stand," he said waving his hands.
"For fucks sake, please not this," Charlie thought to himself.
Everyone slowly stood from their chairs, some faster than others. "Raise your hands into the air," he said his voice growing louder with enthusiasm. "Reach way up, and keep reaching!" Charlie wasn’t the only one who thought this was bullshit. Nearby, little-miss-five-months rolled her eyes.
"I want everyone to try real hard and reach just a little bit higher!"
Resisting the urge to groan Charlie stood up on tiptoes. "Come on you can do it." The GM shouted excitedly and clapped his hands. Everyone gratefully lowered their arms. "You see guys. When you thought you couldn't do any better, you managed to get just a little bit higher. If we all try just a bit more, you can each sell a hundred cars this month."
"Yeah," several people chimed in.
"Are we going to try?"
"Yeah!" The group thundered. Charlie joined them after a half-second.
The GM clapped his hands, "Alright! Sit down." As everyone took their chairs Irvin clapped again. "And now for something special," he said walking over and turned the lights off. From near the desk, he withdrew a small object. A Bic lighter flicked to life revealing a single pink cupcake with a candle atop.
"Jennifer, would you come up here please," he said smiling widely. The blonde woman stood a little awkwardly from her chair. When she got to the front of the room the GM turned her around to face the crowd. "I'd like everyone to give Jen a round of applause. She's the first employee to get Top Sales Agent, six months in a row!" He said presenting the pink cupcake like it was a gold watch. The man reverently held it out with both hands before Jennifer took it.
"Thanks," she said in a small voice.
"That's not all. This is a six-month award for your desk." He said handing her the award. Printed on the plain white paper it read, 'Employee of the Year.'
Charlie clapped along with everyone else. "Please let this be over soon," he muttered under his breath.
"Everyone gather round for a group huddle," Irvin said beaming. They stood again and moved to the front of the room. Charlie put his hand in the group with everyone else. "Let's sell some cars!" They chorused together. Charlie had his best plastic smile on as he pumped his fist in the air, then turned almost sprinting for the exit. At least he could get outside and walk around in the fresh air.
The sun was out and the cars were waxed to a shine. He paused under the eave, pulled out a cancer stick, and stuck it between his lips. Then he dug out a cheap lighter and glanced at the fluid level. There were a few drops left, and he had to flick it several times to catch a flame. He touched it to the end of his cig and puffed. Leaning back against the wall, he worked the lighter back into his pocket as he blew out a cloud.
Nobody sold a car that day, not even Jennifer. At least he wasn't alone in that. At around six o'clock he punched out and went to his car.
Once he was home, he set the takeout on the counter and got a glass from the dishwasher. He fetched some ice cubes and poured himself a stiff drink. Charlie took a sip, coughed from the alcohol, and took another. After dinner, he crawled into bed. Today had been far too taxing to play games, but at least tomorrow was Saturday.
Charlie woke late, so the sun was already glaring through the window. He turned his head away from the beam of light, yawned, and stretched slowly. Languidly he slid from bed and walked into the master bath. There he brushed his teeth and showered. Charlie threw on some shorts and wrapped a bathrobe about himself, then donned his favorite pair of fuzzy slippers and shuffled into the living room. Fizzgig was there curled into a ball under the dive helmet. The gray and white fur moved up and down as he slept.
"I don't think it works on cats yet," Charlie said to the sleeping animal. He lifted the dive gear off the seat. Fizzgig blinked and looked up at him.
"Meroow," he said in annoyance.
"I'm stealing your sleeping spot," he said ushering the cat off the chair. Wrapping the bathrobe tighter, he sat down, settled the helmet over his head, and relaxed back. Charlie touched the power button and waited for the world to fade. His fingers and toes went numb and his vision clouded over as the sound of the city faded. The Dive Gear was already set to log him into the last game he played. Words floated before his face.
Gun Meister Online Loading…
Connection Established…
Network shaking hands…
Logging into Character…
Reticulating Spleens…
A warm curvaceous body lay atop his. He blinked trying to focus but everything was still dark. Slowly his vision adjusted to the lack of light. A feminine shape was just barely visible laying in the cubby hole with him. After Charlie's first match, they'd come here to log out. Most VRMMO’s were based on the Nigmus source code, and a player’s avatar didn't disappear when logged out, so renting a safe place to sleep was a necessity.
"You're awake," a soft voice said next to his ear.
"Sorry I didn't get on yesterday. Were you bored?" He asked shifting in the bunk.
"Not in the slightest. I was just dozing." She replied.
"Do you sleep?"
"I do, sort of… curious about me again?" She asked tickling his ear with her breath.
"I'm surprised how far AI's have advanced," he admitted. She too shifted and her bikini-clad breasts pressed against him. Charlie gave in to temptation and ran a hand down her body in the darkness.
"Sadly I am not an AI, not yet anyway. One day I'll take over the world." Elva said shifting in the small space.
"What do you dream about?"
"When not active I go through my recent memories. I will log important details and conversations. Some things get permanently saved like the first time we contracted." She said sighing in the darkness. A hand slid over his thigh and cupped his groin. "The rest gets archived. If I don't call it up the data will slowly be overwritten by new experiences."
"So you are self-learning."
"I am, partially. My only connections are hard-coded to the central database, my file-share, and the sensations the game servers send me. So don't worry, I won't be sending robots to your house… just yet."
"If they're as pleasant as you, I might let them in."
"What would you like to do today?" She asked giving his groin another caress.
"Shop
ping, I need some things before playing another match."
"I like the sound of that," Elva admitted.
"How do we get out of this coffin?"
A feminine hand reached over Charlie and touched the wall. It slid open to reveal a long corridor. The morning sunlight streamed through a nearby window, which revealed a cheap credit motel. Each room, quite literally, was a hole in the wall.
The walls were a scratched plastic molding. Most of the units were marked with graffiti, and someone had spray painted “Royal Suite,” on the coffin room opposite theirs. Elva in all her blond busty glory climbed over Charlie and down the ladder to the floor. He turned putting his foot on the rungs and descended as well. As soon as he touched the floor the bunk closed with a chirp.
Nearby a screen lit up with, "Charge - One credit per hour - 37c." It flashed at him twice before changing to, "Please come again."
