Rallying his voice above the commotion, the brother made it clear that he was in no way suggesting that the game’s overriding laws be altered – all he was advocating was the motion that every inhabitant, including himself, play their part in making the player’s experience less strenuous.
If they would permit him to explain: A player’s enjoyment, the brother had surmised, ran in direct correlation with their victories. Put plainly: whenever a player completed a mission set before them, they were happy; likewise, whenever a player failed a mission, and was forced to retry it over from the beginning, they were unhappy, and as a result their behaviour would become marred in frustration, annoyance, petulance – and ultimately, as everyone had seen today, there was a possibility that the player would irreparably divorce themselves from the game altogether.
This, the brother paused before assuming, nobody wanted...
Henceforth, whenever they encountered him, the inhabitants were instructed to make life a little easier for the player. Not by much – they should not pull their punches or be seen to coddle him, and never should the inhabitants allow the player to feel as though he were being handled with kid gloves – but the player’s progression should flow more serenely than before. The inhabitants, as per the brother’s orders, should now act as a crutch to the player’s impulses, rather than an obstacle – this, the brother maintained, would guarantee the player’s ongoing presence!
Although there were many in the city who disagreed with this hypothesis – the game, they muttered privately, was meaningless without the struggle – the inhabitants nonetheless obeyed the brother’s instructions; and, for a time, said instructions appeared to bear fruit. The player was soon investing more hours into his adventure than previously, attacking the game with a fervour never before witnessed, smashing down the missions like bowling pins made of china.
But it quickly became apparent to many, at this rapidly accelerating rate of progress, that the player would have the game completed before the week was out...if not sooner.
Reacting accordingly, and not without a hint of alarm, the brother demanded that the inhabitants therefore reverse their strategy and make the game more difficult: Drivers were to keep a tighter formation during high-speed chases; stocks of ammo crates should be halved; police should aim between the eyes and shoot to kill; and if it appeared that the player was likely to escape custody during mission twenty-eight’s heist sequence, all must take it upon themselves to step out in front of his car, no excuses! These countermeasures did indeed retard the player’s progress – so much so, following one infuriating mission, the worst case scenario came to pass and the city was again without a player.
The brother called for an immediate inquest.
He alone would oversee it.
***
With another player having departed in an acrimonious manner, and the resulting blame laid swiftly at the feet of those of the brother’s choosing, the city and its inhabitants again fell under a cloud of sullen and lethargic festering. Just as before, the condition of the city began to degrade in unison, with a fungus of glitches sprouting from every unattended crevice – and now, as the brother had previously warned, they began to infect the inhabitants themselves...
When a woman’s leg suddenly bent backwards like wet origami, and she collapsed to the pavement in a fit of violent spasms, it was only natural that the surrounding inhabitants, rather than come to her aid, would anxiously back away. It was not known if the glitches could spread between inhabitants via proximity – but no one was willing to find out. Many stayed off the streets as a result, preferring to remain indoors – the infected kept mention of their ticks and twitches silent for fear of being ostracised. But if your head begins to spin upwards on its axis, or your arms become detached and involuntary, someone was bound to notice. Especially if there are thousands of you suffering from the same condition.
Under the brother’s orders, platoons of overseers were urgently deployed across all effected sectors, instructed with whipping the state of the city, and those inhabitants responsible for it, back into shape. Yet despite their numbers and their bolstered jurisdiction, the overseers were incapable of enacting the brother’s want – the inhabitants, the overseers reported, were refusing to comply. If that were the case, the brother glowered, then he was left with no alternative but to call for the recruitment of more overseers. Anyone who could prove themselves loyal to both the city and the brother would be accepted into the ranks.
The more stubborn the nail, the brother reasoned, the larger the hammer required...
Before long, over a quarter of the city’s inhabitants were tasked with overseeing the rest. So they could function and communicate more efficiently, and also remain uncontaminated from the still rampant glitches and the afflicted inhabitants’ funk, the brother’s overseers were housed in a single block in the eye of the city – the needs of the swelling bureaucracy were soon paramount, and both the size and reach of this block began to expand exponentially like blood across tissue.
In the case of the brother – due to the ongoing crises, his citywide duties and responsibilities were now many – he took up residence directly beside his faithful overseers, in the player’s former, and presently uninhabited, mansion.
But only until the next player required it, of course...
Countless players arrived during this troublesome period – and just as many left. The only distinction between their stays was the length of their occupancy, which was diminishing at the rate which butter left out in the sun turns rancid.
And following the aftermath of every player’s departure, the brother demanded that anyone aside himself foster the blame. He pointed fingers, summoned numbers, had the guilty parties dragged before him on their knees. If an oversight was reported to have occurred on their block, he would sneer morosely at the irresponsible inhabitant beneath his gavel and stipulate what price needed be paid – for the good of all!
On a relatable occasion which had become the talk of the city, a taxi driver had been accused of impetuously changing lanes at the wrong moment – her reckless actions were deemed to have caused the current player to swerve, crash, fail the mission, and consequently quit. Whether or not said driver changed lanes due to the road before her no longer existing was a triviality quickly dismissed with a wave of the brother’s wrist – the city, no thanks to her, was again without a player!
The city was minus a taxi driver, thereafter.
No one cared to volunteer themselves for the vacancy...
Another bleak morning, another bleak sunrise, and another 47 bus came to a shuddering halt as it had so many times before. Even the squeak of its wipers sounded mournful.
In the city’s happier days, the faintest note of the bus’ exhaust would have elicited a mass rejoicing amongst the inhabitants – yet now there was no such fanfare. Rather, as though cows being led to the butcher’s knife, there only arrived groans of dread from the inhabitants: heavy heels dragged late and disorderly into positions, disconsolate grumbles internalised so as not to be spotted by an overseer, and an undercurrent of apprehension fuelled by the fear that any one of them would make a mistake and suffer the repercussions handed down from The Brother’s iron fist.
The Brother...this unofficial yet inarguable title caused many of the inhabitants to feel nothing but disgust for their leader. If another election were called they would vote on mass against Him – not that one would ever be sanctioned. There were whispers of a revolution at hand – a vast populous uprising against Him and his new order – but with so few inhabitants fit enough to contest so many overseers, the plan never came to fruition...
Regardless of the inhabitant’s misgivings, however, a new player would shortly bear themselves forth. What type of personality would they assume this time? the inhabitants wondered between twitches. In what guise would he present himself? These questions and the resulting
answers would previously have circulated around the city like confetti on the wind – yet on this joyless occasion, just as one does not dwell on the accent in which bad news is delivered, no inhabitant gave any inclination to caring what form the player now took. He would shortly be gone of his own accord, anyway...
But when the new player did present himself, stepping from the bus in the same unassuming manner as all those before him, the inhabitants in the immediate vicinity were so aghast they practically froze.
Praise be, my kid brother has finally returned home! The Brother announced more loudly than usual, drawing the attention of further nearby inhabitants – and to their disbelief, they saw that the new player shared an uncanny resemblance to that of the original player.
The Player!
Had He?..
Yes! He had come back to them!
Had they not been constrained by the responsibilities of their roles, the inhabitants would doubtlessly have broken character and screamed with delight at His arrival – the only inhabitant who appeared unfazed by this unpredicted revelation was The Brother. Just as always – albeit now to a routine of his own revising – he led The Player from the bus shelter and around the block with an expression laced with smug satisfaction, chuntering away as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
The Brother had even seemed more relaxed than usual, several inhabitants commented afterwards – he’d seemed mellower, less belligerent, his arrow-like gaze not darting vindictively between forthcoming catastrophes and those most likely to instigate them. In a sense, The Brother had acted like his old, humble self. For a time, anyway...
The topic of The Player was, unsurprisingly, also a point of discussion between the inhabitants. All were delighted, to the verge of euphoria, that He was back in His old haunt; and everyone was in agreement that it was just the kind of morale boost the entire city had for so long been starved of. Some even claimed, as a result, that their glitches had cleared up overnight!
However, there were a certain few, those with a sharp eye and sharper suspicions, who couldn’t shake the feeling that something about The Player wasn’t quite right...
Yes, in appearance at least, The Player presented Himself exactly as He had before, identical to a hair – He was even wearing the same exclusive attire from His last appearance, which only a player who had completed the game on the hardest difficulty could attain. And, in terms of His play-style, He certainly tackled the missions before Him with the proficiency one would expect of a veteran.
As a side note, the question of why The Player had deemed it pertinent to start the game a’ fresh was not a point of conjecture – it was not unheard of, in other alternate cities, for players to replay the game from the very beginning; if anything this was regarded as a reflection of the inhabitants’ competency, as it meant the player had so enjoyed their initial experience that they wished to relive it – what troubled the dubious was rather The Player’s overall deportment this time around.
Unfortunately, none of the disbelievers could put their finger on exactly why The Player seemed peculiar – this in turn led their baseless ‘conspiracies’ to be mocked by those who trivialised them – yet they were adamant, as certain in their doubts as they were of their fate should The Brother learn of their misgivings, that something about The Player wasn’t sitting as it should.
He had a vague look about Him, many insisted: dull and expressionless like a statue, His eyes sparkling little more than plaster. Many pointed to the fact that His progression through the early missions was questionable not for its competency, but more so for its efficiency. As opposed to His original technique – lairy and extravagant like a teenage striker – The Player was now taking the most efficient route from A to B, rather than the most challenging, profitable, or fun.
And the most sceptical inhabitants allowed the roots of their imaginations to grow deeper: What were the chances, they pondered sarcastically, that He should return at this very hour, at this very juncture, just when the city looked set to regress into something approaching a civil war? Just a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?
Perhaps...Those who had popularised a revolution against The Brother during the hardest times, yet had not found the opportunity to instigate it, said one point was undeniable: The Brother must be counting His blessings!
Yet those who held these opinions were warned, by their more wary compatriots, to not let them be known – if an overseer overheard any inhabitant expressing such crazed dissension, let alone The Brother himself, then their time in this city would be cast into serious jeopardy.
Sensibly, for the time being at least, the rumours clouding The Player’s legitimacy stayed firmly underground – yet here they gestated. It wasn’t long before greater numbers of inhabitants began sharing their own doubts regarding The Player – whispers of ‘wooden’ and ‘robotic’ gnawing like termites at the city’s foundations – while many added that The Brother’s proximity to Him had become more intimate than it had in the past.
Shielded, some would say. They were indeed now like brothers, inseparable, practically joined at the hip. In fact, no one could think of an occasion when The Player and The Brother were apart. At their joint residence in the city’s mansion, it was even rumoured that they stayed in adjoining rooms.
Just a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?
Perhaps...
Born of the mushrooming hearsay which had festered underground over the passing weeks, a plan had been hatched by the inhabitants – and tonight, whatever the outcome, it would be enacted.
The plan was this: Upon the retirement of that day’s performance – or rather at the moment when it became apparent that The Player intended to conclude His session – a small band of the most sceptical and rebellious inhabitants intended to trail The Player and The Brother back to their illustrious mansion, and attempt to uncover the truth behind both of their suspicious activities. This the band did under the cloak of darkness, penetrating the mansion’s boundary walls without detection and gaining access to the building itself via a window. It proved useful that one of the band acted the part of a burglar during game time.
The internals of the mansion had been overhauled by The Brother far beyond the comparative pale of those originally conceived – a vulgar upholstery of gold and gemstones and velvet and silk from floor to ceiling, as though a bomb of opulence had been detonated in every corridor – but the band paid these updates little attention; by now, having evaded the patrols of The Brother’s most devout overseers, the band stood at the threshold of The Player’s room.
They found the door unlocked. Not sensing any movement within, the band took a joint breath, bowed their heads, and crept inside...
The band had not known what to expect from His room – sacred and shrouded in mystery as it was, its contents only conceptualised within folklore – yet, despite what any of them may have imagined, they could not help but be underwhelmed by the space they found before them.
The Player’s mythical abode was, in reality, rudimentary: a single bed, dresser, wardrobe and window, with little else rising above the noteworthy to speak of. If it wasn’t for the unmade bed and scattering of valuables about the floor – yes, that was His gold-plated Uzi from level fifteen resting on the windowsill; unmistakeably, those were His limited edition sandals with the inscriptions on the heel – the band would’ve assumed they had walked into one of the mansion’s many servants’ quarters, rather than the city’s most holy of alters.
Yet the band were swiftly relieved of the opportunity to build upon their disappointment – suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching from outside.
Like startled ants under a lifted slab, the band darted for cover, the only location suitable for concealing themselves being a large wardrobe full of The Player’s clothing. Cramped for breathing space and trembling like caged gerbils, the band’s unblinking eyes stared out from a t
hin slit between the wardrobe’s doors as two figures entered into the bedroom...
First in walked The Brother, followed not two steps behind by The Player – the former, after dismissing his guards with a waft as though swatting away moths, slammed and locked the door to the bedroom behind him. When he was certain they were alone – a lengthy cupping of his ear to the door confirming this – The Brother began conversing with The Player, who, in turn, as expected of His muteness, at no point replied. Despite being unable to discern word for word what was being said, due to the peevish hisses in which The Brother spoke and the muffling of the wardrobe’s doors, the band considered the overall tone of The Brother’s sentences, the harshness of them predominately, to be most disrespectful. To the ears of the band, The Brother appeared to address The Player in a manner that a headmaster would scold a pupil: combatively, directly, and with a domineering and bullish authoritativeness entirely unbecoming.
In strict accordance with his tightly defined role, The Brother was permitted only to advise The Player within the parameters of his script, not to provoke or chastise or order as he saw fit – and The Brother was especially prohibited from suggesting, never mind demanding, that He take to His bed at once! Yet, to the band’s astonishment, this The Brother did – and even more astonishingly, The Player obeyed without the merest hint of indignation! With all the resistance of a house trained poodle, The Player obediently laid back on His bed, brought His palms to His chest, and peacefully closed His eyes. The Brother, as though a ventriloquist, may as well have been folding the strings of a puppet...
In much the same way that what awaits an individual after their death is both a mystery and a viewpoint of one’s faith, the band had no comprehension regarding what happened to The Player whenever He vacated their world between sessions – no one did. No one outside of The Brother, perhaps...
While The Player Sleeps Page 3
