Headquarters for The 'Kingdom' of South-East Asia and Oceania.
The area around the fake Borobudur was so packed that the Villagers had taken to sitting on nearby buildings, the shoddily-crafted rooves caving in beneath their weight. In between fits of laughter at this misfortune, the horde wagged their tongues with anticipation. What special event had their dear leaders arranged?
Enter Team Friendship Forever.
“Far out!" said Dan. "There’s gotta be as many people as Eden Park!”
“What’s the capacity of Eden Park?” Henry dove through a gap between a Fighter and a Shaman.
“Fifty K,” answered Brian, unusually fast.
“There’s more.” Henry stepped a metre away from the group, before rejoining them three seconds later. “86,250, approximately.”
Due to the density of the crowd, Henry'd been wearing a Hardman Handaxe on his belt and employing the style’s clumped-fighting techniques to analyse his surroundings for threat. Envisioning the crowd-goers like dominoes, he constantly readjusted his position so as to be able to knock them in the path of potential assassins.
This wasn't paranoia. While training his friends this evening, he’d encountered several enemy spies, who'd finally sniffed out his presence in Suchi after the attention Loki had brought to him.
His group spotted the Byzantines congregating beneath a purple-gold flag. The full force had been summoned, PVErs, PVPers, crafters, and even five 6-man squads of Returnees, higher-level Villages who’d returned temporarily from distant zones in Kanaru. Donkey Bro was already there, boasting to the two guards he’d brought to the barbeque - the donkey had retired from team practice early to Byzantium’s residential area; being an NPC, he needed regular sleep. Justinian was roleplaying.
An Alchemist from a neighbouring Village to Byzantium, whom Team Friendship Forever had delivered sacks of herbs, intercepted Henry.
“Hey, Big Bro, 94th, you guys are slaying it!”
“Don’t call me that,” Henry replied, shuffling two paces back from them.
This dude was a spy from a Brazilian guild, Nex.
“Why not? That...uh...” the Alchemist, holding back on the word ‘pick-up-artist’, gestured at Dan and his overly-beautified avatar. “He does.”
“Dan’s special.”
“Aww thanks, Big Bro.”
“You’re welcome, Dan. Stay innocent.”
“94th!” bellowed one Loki’s beta-orbiters, the others with him laughing as though this were the universe’s funniest joke. “That’s 89 placements too low. You’ve lost, bozo. Admit defeat, and maybe she’ll grant your disgusting soul forgiveness.” His eyes flicked to a portable throne on which the Mediterranean goddess was polishing a bow, and he whispered the words, ‘I love you.’
Henry’s friends cringed hard. He, meanwhile, cross-referenced the beta-orbiter’s voice, subtle mannerisms, and their lack of embarrassment to identify them as an agent sent by the Yoruba Demons of West Africa.
That made for the sixth spy today, so he didn’t spare them any further consideration.
Loki glared at Henry with ball-kicking scorn. “Your tricks won’t fool me.”
“No tricks,” he replied. “You’ve won, congratulations, give yourself a round of applause.” He started clapping with one hand, the other preoccupied with clutching a Spelltome.
Henry was obviously indifferent to these results. While Loki and his beta-orbiters had wasted their effort and resources accumulating Slum Points, a currency whose value was destined to crash, he’d successfully upgraded his noob friends’ movement skills. Simultaneously, he'd finished the plans for his global gold-digger tournament—to be announced in his victory speech for the duelling tournament, free publicity—and also read three novels.
“A likely story," Artemis sneered. Contained within the gesture, though, was a faint trace of Loki’s doubts as to whether he’d been tricked, the spy unable to determine the cause for The Tyrant’s confidence.
But Henry knew that, beneath the fascade of that gesture, the spy was perfectly content with what they’d achieved so far.
Through his research in The Overdream, he’d figured out a peculiar fact about Loki.
The spy's secret:
‘Loki’ was as much a fake persona as ‘Artemis’.
In his arrogance, 'Loki' was supposed to out himself not just to Henry but accidentally also to the other spies that’d been gathering. From them, the news of 'Loki’s' presence would filter back to his superiors, then, through moles within their guilds, to Asatru’s leader Odin, who would kick 'Loki' for letting his arrogance compromise his mission.
After that episode, the spy, depressed about his ejection, would mope around listlessly while undergoing a redemption arc. In his vulnerability, he would reveal the authentic self that’d been playing ‘Loki’ playing ‘Artemis’, a sensitive, conflicted man undeluded by Asatru’s Ragnarok lore. In fact, to fit in with his former guild’s machismo culture, he'd been suppressing latent transgender tendencies that’d expressed themselves by his over-immersion into female personas. He, for a last twist, was she.
If Henry'd taken too long to identify this for the sham it was or, worse, fell for it, then the real spy, the one pretending to be the ‘authentic spy’ pretending to be ‘Loki’ pretending to be ‘Artemis’, would be given the opportunity to backstab him by lootjacking his Legendary quest or stealing info on Nerin’s Trials.
Within this convoluted scheme, when Henry’d proposed they compete over Slum Points, the real spy had seized an opportunity. By allowing the 'authentic spy' to mistakenly allow ‘Loki’ to arrogantly allow ‘Artemis’ to hatefully agree and put on such a public display, he would accelerate the pace at which he’d be detected by the other spies – a new player couldn’t have organised the beta-orbiters to boost them so efficiently. Thereby, the real spy’s scheme would move forward faster.
Henry had to give praise where it was due. If he weren’t in Suchi simply to win his own recruitment tournament, then it would have been a mighty effective improvisation. With his own low social IQ, this multi-dimensional espionage was beyond his capabilities - a fact the 'authentic spy' wasn't aware of, but the real spy was, among other of Henry's weaknesses. Thankfully, the extra time for consideration granted by The Cap had offset Henry's flaws.
"Whatever, dude." Henry shrugged, his focus shifting to a message he'd received.
-Caramel_Sprinkles_Sunshine: Their troops are forming an encirclement around The Slums. What's he plotting?
Caramel had been feeding him updates about The Empire’s unusual movements. It wasn’t this Kingdom alone that’d been called to arms. This time was one of the Slum’s busiest, with segments of four additional Kingdoms active – three East Asian, one from Eastern South Asia. In total, half a million Villagers were on the march.
-Henry Flower: Mass murder.
-Caramel_Sprinkles_Sunshine: Bastard! How are we responding?
-Henry Flower: We're not.
The Empire was being managed by Archdeacon Mohon and The Church now. Their job was to do nothing. Wu Wei.
Ten uneventful minutes later.
A band of trumpeters spread around the base of the fake Borobudur and began to blare The Empire’s anthem. The song ornamented the descent of a young lady down the monument’s steps. Her avatar having been beautified to its max, she wore an elaborate crown carved of driftwood along with a regal Indonesian dress with a dragging hem being held up by her guards.
“It’s the Tigress of Sumatra!”
"My Queen!"
To her subjects who began showering her with adoration, she waved with the prim, spoiled manner of a beauty pageant participant. A crack in her smile, though, exposed the embarrassment of being in public after footage had circulated of last evening’s shameful display over the mind-enslaving cookies.
“Queen Suhita, I will lick each of those steps blessed by your succulent feet!” shouted a pervert, who was then dragged away by soldiers to be executed in an alleyway.
“Shed your shame, your grace! Your passion accentuates your resplendence!”
Henry, amongst the Byzantines cheering as fervently as the rest, was disappointed but unsurprised by their fanatical loyalty. This beloved ‘Queen’ was a talentless fraud. After she'd purchased a position into The Empire’s leadership, they’d orchestrated a number of staged feats of heroism to boost her reputation. He thought it pathetic to waste this much cash posturing as royalty in a zone so trash, but he supposed even the lowest of animals, the termites and the molerats, cared about who sat at the top of their dingy burrows.
Queen Suhita, arriving before a podium and accepting a bouquet of flowers from a hired actor, swept her royal gaze across her followers. Her eyes, without any sense of irony, shone at the love being poured upon her, their affection wiping out her shame.
“Thank you, everyone. I express this not for myself alone but also on behalf of the grateful members of our community that you’ve all so generously helped tonight. Thank you, with all our hearts! Bow.”
At the last command, a wave of confusion rolled through the crowd, some of them lowering their heads, others chuckling.
The Queen froze for five seconds. The last sentence had been an instruction in the speech being transmitted to her.
“Take a bow for yourselves for being so great!” she improvised, before immediately continuing to read on. “It is through this spirit of community that our home has grown to its present state. Despite the insistence of those in their palaces of gold and clay,” she paused for boos, “this land is now many times more bountiful, safe, and strong. Most of all, it is united!”
A longer pause for cheers.
“We are the people of the sand, who fly upon the world’s many winds to this bastion of acceptance! We are the rebellious youth who refuse to adorn the yoke of capitalist tyranny! We are the tireless guard who inhabit every corner of Kanaru, defending the causes of community and democracy wherever they are under siege! THEY are terrified by the fact of US! It scares them that, in these barren plains so long ignored, with nought but driftwood and sand, we have constructed an empire! Our very existence exposes to all who study our mission their lies! We, the people, alone yet together, have used OUR abilities to sate OUR needs!”
“From each according to their ability!” shouted another actor.
The rest of the Villagers, their tens of thousands of voices unified, responded, “To each according to their needs!”
Queen Suhita smiled joyfully, not entirely understanding the communist slogan but excited by the enthusiasm. “Our empire, through labour unperverted by foreign merchants and idolaters, has fed the starved, healed the diseased, schooled the illiterate, and clothed the naked! The numbers behind our cause are inexhaustible and always multiplying! Soon, just as it has seized our hearts, the spirit of international community will seize the globe!“
Louder applause followed, members of the crowd competing to best each other with the volume of their support.
“Forward, to our victory!”
“Land, bread, peace!”
“Together, we can!”
“Long live the revolution, long live The Empire!”
When the mob’s energy reached its fever pitch, the Queen frowned gravely, this expression change, being blown up on surrounding projectors, causing the crowd to quieten down.
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“So it is to be expected that some have sought to undermine our growth. Refusing to leave the side of History’s deathbed, they set what we build aflame and laugh as we make meals of ash.”
Those who hadn’t already became silent.
Aflame...a reference to The Cleansings...did the Queen just openly insult The Church? There were many factions one could criticise in Suchi, the Ibangua, their royalty, The Company, but not The Church.
“Many questions we have been asking ourselves of our oppressors and their oppression, yet we have not spoken these out loud because our tongues were held by terror. But what about now? Has the situation not reversed? Must we, the many, continue to endure in silence the oppression of the few?”
She gave a hard stare at the crowd, making them feel the heaviness of the silence, counting to four internally.
“When will they stop their abuse?”
As this line echoed over the crowd’s heads, many in attendance became nervous, scanning the entrances to the site, opening their ears for the march of death squads.
“And,” she continued, “if they refuse to stop, at what point does it become justified for us to rise up and stop them ourselves?”
The players felt their pulses racing, their mouths turning dry. Although they stayed mute, thousands of messages began pinging between them. Were they hearing this correctly? Many rumours had spread of a day of rebellion, but they’d never expected it to start so abruptly. Awesome!
Several NPCs in the crowd swore under their breath with fury, not at The Church, but at the Queen for daring to air her defiance. These immortal Offworlders were playing games with their lives.
The Queen’s lips suddenly parted in a merry grin. “Two days ago, while we were curing our sick friends of The Society, some gangs burnt our storehouses and snuck off to the plains with our possessions. Upon further examination, our investigators have uncovered that many of them stuck around to gloat. They and their co-conspirators continue to hide amongst us, enjoying the bounty of their illicit spoils while we suffer. In the past, we mistakenly tolerated their violent ways, waiting for them to join the cause. No more. Today, we, the community, are going to apprehend these criminals and bring them to justice!”
At once, the players in the crowd broke into a laugh. With the recognition of the bait and switch, the tension of tens of thousands dissipated. The Ibanmothe, meanwhile, who’d been more harmed by the arson attacks, began to shout in rage. Noisiest were those who’d been a moment earlier annoyed at the Queen, guilty of their inner doubts and wanting to prove their loyalty.
A few NPCs, though, their moods remaining dark, began to slip away, summoning their Communication Stones to send warnings.
“Oppressed of the world, unite!” the Queen pressed her fist to her heart, and her dress disintegrated to be replaced with a set of dazzling armour. “We have nothing to lose but our chains!”
As the trumpets blared, as the crowd mimicked Queen Suhita’s cry and equipped their own battle attire, she descended into the cheering mass, her guards surrounding her for protection, her eyes sparkling at the tender devotion of her subjects.
The Villages set to work, their Village Heads directing them with orders passed down from their superiors.
The Byzantines bunched up around Walker. Their first mission would be coordinating with eight more Villages to catch a gang of drug-dealers who’d been operating out of their county. As they listened to his instructions, the fatigue from the already lengthy evening was dispelled by the invigorating thrill of the hunt.
Henry sighed.
‘Apprehending criminals’, that wasn’t how it worked here. In The Slums, where the punishment for petty theft was execution and the judges were corrupt, few would submit to the authorities peacefully. They would fight, and they would die. Ramiro, despite warnings from The Church, was drumming up another round of tricking the brainwashed plebs into eliminating his enemies on his sadistic behalf.
He would not bloody his hands on the orders of these clowns.
Henry Flower has transferred leadership of Team Turbonoobs to august rode in.
Henry Flower has left Team Turbonoobs.
"H.?"
“I’m out for the night. Bye.”
“You’re our commander,” countered Brian, “we need you. As a unit, our skills are deadly. The criminals are peeing their pants. We’re like Elite Squad 8.” A 2046 superhero film that’d flopped at the box office. “You can’t break up Elite Squad 8.”
“Nah, this isn’t my battle.”
Criminals? Henry thought. There were no law-abiding citizens in the anarchy of Suchi, where honest living meant exploitation and death. You could find reasons to give anyone the label.
Cathy was unhappy. “Team Friendship Forever has to do everything together!”
“I would have refused regardless, but, actually, it’s 2.04 a.m., meaning that the official time slot for Byzantium’s community participation has concluded and with it my contractual obligation to tolerate this nonsense.”
The spies observing made a note of 'contractual obligation'.
“That’s an appalling mindset! Friendship doesn’t operate according to a schedule! You—”
Her chubby lips continued to flap, but no sound emanated, Henry having muted her character.
Artemis-Loki cackled. “The wimp's—“
Muted.
“Let him be, Byzantium.” Walker gave Henry a friendly wink. “Mr Flower has his reasons for being unable to participate, reasons we should respect.”
By this, the Village Head was hinting at rules of conduct for The Company’s members that limited the circumstances under which they could kill NPCs. There was a subtle hint of jest in the response, like someone poking at a chained pug.
Walker missed the irony that the person he prodded was the one who’d established these rules and forcefully imposed them on everyone outside of this $&#* zone.
"Hah! Let us fly, Team Friendship Forever! In the place of this ugly, selfish child, I will accept the reins of command—“
Donkey Bro was muted by the hook of a handaxe yanking him back by the throat.
“You're not going, either," said Henry. “You can’t die before repaying your debts.”
This debt was fictional, a non-kind excuse being needed to prevent the donkey from committing suicide. With spies observing them now, it had become necessary to refrain from displaying a positive relationship with the donkey openly or they might assassinate it. Thus, he'd created a cover story after Donkey Bro's transformation into a human that it was his debtor.
"That debt again!" Donkey Bro, squirming under his captor’s armpit, noticed the two guards watching, then whispered in complaint. “But my friends are going.”
“Your friends are triple your level and debt-free.”
One of the guards winced – no, she wasn't.
“Hah!” Donkey Bro, his muscles swelling with his
“You’d look even worse as a corpse," Henry replied, before addressing the watching Byzantines. “Don’t let us delay you. Justice awaits.”
With his blessing, the Village rushed off to begin ‘apprehending' 'criminals'. Henry’s friends were conflicted, but, ultimately, not wanting to miss out on the fun and more fun, they also left.
Watching their departure and those of the thousands of other spirited noobs around him, he sighed.
He would like to have explained the darker background to his friends, but they couldn’t be trusted with the information. The naive put too much faith in the speaking of ideas; they erroneously believe that once a problem's been identified, addressing it is simply a matter of alerting others. They have no feel for the complex spider web of political change, which is always sticky, strong in certain respects but fragile in others, a dangerous domain where tugging the wrong thread at the wrong moment can draw attention from the eight-legged occupants.
Justice would have to wait a bit longer. The massacre about to occur was, in part, due to him already rushing.
Wu Wei.
”Why aren’t we catching the bad guys, Big Bro?” asked Dan, still by his side.
“Malevolent debt-maker! You expect repayment, yet bar me from gaining the means to amass it! Each second, others grow stronger on the nourishing meat of delinquents! Here, I rot in stagnancy and humiliation!”
“For me, it’s a personal issue I'd rather not divulge. You can go if you want, though. I won’t judge.”
“If Big Bro’s keeping out of it, then I’m keeping out of it, too.”
“Release these hypocritical chains, capitalist thug!”
“Suit yourself, Dan, but I think this blind loyalty contradicts your ultimate goal of fostering independence.”
Dan considered this, then shook his head in handsome disagreement. “Nah. If Big Bro’s keeping out of it, then I’m keeping out of it, too.”
Behind them, Rose, who wouldn’t sacrifice her stalking to participate in this noob stuff, nodded as if Dan’s reply had contained the wisdom of the ages. Yes, wherever Cripple-gege was, that was always exactly the right place to be.
“You think I'll forget this insult? Never! There is no drug superior to persecution for enhancing the memory!”
Henry, reaching for a vial of memory-erasing knock-out poison, wondered what to do now. He would have preferred to either log off to sleep or head back to The Overdream. However, if he left at this moment, the donkey would certainly get itself killed, it lacking all sense of self-preservation.
Right when he was about to drug Donkey Bro, an elderly Ibanmothe woman approached them with a baby in her arms whose face was oozing violet pus. The woman's desperate gaze shifted from the Spelltome in Henry's left hand to the vial in the right.
“Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but are...are you an Alchemist? A Scholar? Our Vallem...she’s...she’s...”
Henry glanced at the distressed NPC, then the queue of quest givers she’d split from, who were all contemplating their next move after the players had abandoned their mundane issues for the more exciting criminal chase.
That’s an alternative, he realised, transferring the poison back to his inventory. The donkey would be granted its wish to grow, and, however minute, he might gain a slither of atonement for himself.
He sighed yet again.
It wasn't like he would have got much sleep anyway...
After The Slums had slipped deeper into the dark of night.
Squads returned to the Headquarters to claim their bounties and squads left for the next. Some came back with rope-tied ‘criminals’, screaming their innocence; most did not. The atmosphere was lively and fun, indistinguishable from any other Slum event.
Away from the action, at a table stacked with paper, Henry was scribbling down instructions for an NPC.
“Remember, buy the Canthum Honey Oil from Olaj or Furo. Theirs are the only apiaries whose hives have access to Sour Lilies.”
Across from him, a Carcassworker in a bronze mask for anonymity snorted. “Parsimana nakarale aheta ka he kahi pharaka padata nahi.”
“Yeah, and then the unneutralised Bramalromies cause all the fur to fall out, saddling you with two hundred kilograms of useless bald hyena skin. Son, it might be a Secondary Class for me, but you’re not in my league. Pay up and shove off.”
The Carcassworker slammed down a rattling bag of wooden Slum Point tokens. “Bu kicik ilan xiarici!”
Henry mimed pulling a worm out of his mouth. “Mian dia uzaq dildia danishiram, san diarman diarisi adamsan.”
“SIKIM RIAT!” They stormed off.
“Bring me Mr Malek.” Henry shoved a piece of paper to Dan, waiting obediently beside him.
“On it, Big Bro!”
While the handsome meathead zoomed off, Henry picked up a stack of papers containing quest summaries and began skim-reading them to find those that could be solved with his class skills. The summaries had been produced by the donkey, who was sorting through the queue of NPC quest givers, interviewing them one by one. It was in a cheerful mood because Henry’d promised it a cut of the 20% Slum Point surcharge being levied on the NPCs for his Tier-5 Scholar advice. With these points, the donkey hoped to purchase monster meat to bolster its strength.
But this wasn’t the growth Henry intended for Donkey Bro.
Donkey Bro's secret:
There was a minor question outstanding in regards to Henry's guild. What would happen to the game world after they and the rest of the players disappeared in three real-life years, when this instalment of Saana ended and the next began however far in its future? The current plan was to have his guild toppled in a world-wide rebellion in the game’s last few months. Then, the resulting fractured territories would be overtaken by successors they’d groomed – such as Archdeacon Mohon. Some of them should be able to preserve the ongoing golden age for a few millennia, before their kingdoms, too, were dismantled by the entropy of history.
Where the donkey came into this was that The Great Black One, after learning of Henry’s succession plans while reading his mind during the tutorial, wanted him to consider the donkey as a candidate. The Imbahalala’s stated hope was for the formation of a realm in which monsters and humans co-existed peacefully. After all, ‘Donkey’ Bro wasn't a donkey; by eating that funky apple, it'd transformed into a monster king like King Torc and The Wolf Empress – hence, the one-shot bite attack.
Frankly, Henry didn’t believe a word of The Great Black One’s story.
He struggled to imagine a shabbier candidate for a ruler than the donkey. Histrionic, melodramatic, narcissistic, insufferable personality aside, it was saddled with too much emotional baggage over its shabby appearance, it being the sole member of its species, and its cannibal cult origins. It didn't seem to care much about humans OR monsters.
Henry guessed he was really being manipulated into an apocalyptic scheme. Logically, he should have killed the donkey or let it commit suicide to be safe. However, this task was difficult for him because, after spending a year in The Redeemer’s jungle with Donkey Bro for his sole company, they were kind of friends. Call him selfish, but he was a bit averse to his friends dying.
Worst-case scenario, he'd deal with the problem when it arose. He’d already plugged hundreds of sinister-epitheted buttholes.
Anyway, presently, Henry was attempting to increase the donkey’s humanity and give it extra perspective by having it listen to the Ibanmothes' sob stories under the guise of collecting quests. There was nothing quite like sharing in another's misery to soften a person or a donkey-monster-king.
Checking in on Donkey Bro's progress, he lip-read it interviewing a chick with acid-scarred stumps for arms.
“700 Slum Points? Sing your sob song to another, you cheap wench!”
The scheme didn’t seem to be working...
Oh, well, no kingdom for The Donkey Brother. Not much monster meat either, after the Slum Point's crash.
Incidentally, at the current rate that Henry was doling out quest assistance, he would soon accumulate enough 'Slum Points' to win this community service event thing. Newbie quests were a joke to solve for him, whose Mental Library contained copies of most of Saana’s known books.
Dan brought Mr Malek, a Cook who was seeking savoury sources of an obscure Ingredient Harmony. Henry could list these off by heart after his baking experience, but he made a show of accessing his Mental Library to reduce suspicion.
In the meantime, all his thoughts of death and annoying asses reminded Henry of Rose.
-Henry Flower: Your performance wasn’t atrocious today.
-Zhangmei33: Thanks.
-Henry Flower: Rose, let’s cut to the chase, you went to the shrink this morning, what was their prognosis? Is it terminal?
-Zhangmei33: There's a lot to be done...
-Henry Flower: 'A lot' is uncomfortably vague. Be specific about the time frame. A month? Two months? What if you have daily sessions?
-Zhangmei33: The doctor said...a week..maybe?
-Henry Flower: A week...
A week, he thought, of Geno’s insane sister continuing to creep him out, like a cursed statue that moved closer whenever he glanced away...he could stomach that. In fact, after his Floating Leaf mind training, ignoring her was quite easy.
To be honest, a week sounded awfully short to him for the treatment of a mental illness. However, his knowledge of abnormal psychology was inadequate to judge accurately. Outside of detective novels, his experience with that field was limited to visiting a company shrink once to fix his insomnia from the recurring nightmare of the corpse mountain, and he’d ended up withdrawing half-way through the first session. Guilt, he’d realised, isn’t always pathological. Sometimes, it’s warranted by one's actions; sometimes, it’s necessary to preserve one's humanity.
This crazy $&#*, for example, should feel guilty about stalking him.
-Henry Flower: A week...Rose, stick it out, you can do it! Don’t feel aggrieved about squandering those hours – they’re an investment in your psychological future. And, besides, life could be worse. Look at my suffering. I’m enduring twice that length in this crap zone while also having to deal with a deranged stalker. How long are you planning to be here by the way? Your underlings must be missing you.
There was no reply. Instead, a creepy snickering sounded within a dagger's thrust distance behind his neck. As he peeked back over his shoulder, his soul was half spooked out of him by the horrific sight of her crazed, blank expression.
-Zhangmei33: I’ll be by Cripple-gege’s side forever.
-Henry Flower: Cool, cool...still disturbed...I guess we’ll revisit this topic in a week...