Al’s smile faltered slightly, but then redoubled. He came next to me and draped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me along as he said, “Enough doom and gloom, my man. Let’s get into the you of it all.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Yeah you, you silly. You think I’m giving you this iteration’s undivided attention because I wanted to impress you with Null Space? No, man! I’m here to hold your hand, like I know you love so much.” He reached out again, and I physically slapped his hand away. He shook his hand in pain, blowing me a kiss as he did. “Come on, let’s get in deeper-” he winked as he said it “-before we get into the deets.”
I followed him deeper-groan-into Null Space. My thoughts were a mess, but the sounds of pinball machines and arcade cabinets were like hypnosis to my senses. The sounds and sights overrode my melancholy, and I found myself staring in awe as we passed the rows and rows of vintage games.
I saw Pac-Man, Asteroids, Frogger, Mortal Kombat, and so many others as we walked. I had only played them on simulators, and my fingers itched as we passed them.
Al led me to a series of arcade cabinets arranged in a circle. They were tightly packed shoulder-to-shoulder, each of the games facing inward so that we were looking at the back of the cabinets. It reminded me of an old western where they circled the wagons to hold off the Native Americans.
There was a cabinet-sized gap that we walked through, taking us into the inner area protected by the arranged arcade games. In the center was a plush couch in front of a coffee table stacked high with an assortment of snacks and candies. Al plopped down in the center of the couch, patting the seat next to him with a smile. I ignored his invitation and moved some of the snacks over to sit on the edge of the table.
“Help yourself there, Ray,” he said. “We’ve got cheese puffs, fried onion rings, chips of all varieties, candy up the wazoo. Don’t be shy!”
I hesitated a moment, my hand hovering over a bowl of Peanut M&Ms. “You first,” I said, pulling my hand back.
He reached over and grabbed a fistful of cheese puffs, then shoved them into his mouth, his teeth gnashing the puffs with an audible chomp-chomp.
After a moment, he raised his eyebrows. “Satisfied?” he asked, little pieces of cheese puff coating his fangs and lips.
I wasn’t exactly hungry - wasn’t even sure if I could be hungry in my situation - but the snacks did look tempting. I popped a couple of the M&Ms into my mouth, experimentally tonguing them like they would self-destruct if I chomped into them. The flavor of the chocolate melting in my mouth was familiar, just as I had pictured in my head. I slowly chewed through to the peanut center, the crunch satisfying as expected.
“Not bad,” I said once I was done chewing.
“Not bad?” he asked in outrage. “Not bad! I’ll have you know that that is a perfect facsimile of a Peanut M&M! Right down to the red dye #40! And it won’t go to your hips, Ray.” He shook his head and repeated under his breath, “Not bad…”
“Okay, yeah, fine. It’s just like the real thing.” He looked up and beamed at that. “Can we get to the task at hand? You were going to tell me something about me?”
“Oh, right,” he said between another mouthful of cheese puffs. “Have you taken a minute to look at your character sheet, Ray?”
“Yeah,” I said, throwing another M&M into my mouth. “But I didn’t look at it too closely. I saw that I’m level 100, and I have a bunch of unallocated stats.” I pulled it up now.
General
Stats Misc Name (Error)
Strength
100 (+) Health Points
1000/1000 [Skill Tree] Level 100 Dexterity 100 (+) Class Damsel Intellect 100 (+) Mana Points
200/200 [Inventory] Specialization N/A Mind 100 (+) Gender Female Vitality 100 (+) Stamina
500/500 Free Stat Points
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500 Faction Consortium Endurance 100 (+)
Nothing had changed, but I examined it closer now, reaching out to see if I could get more information from the individual stats, but Al stopped me with an upraised hand.
“Hold on there, sparky. Don’t touch anything till we’ve had a chance to talk.”
My finger was frozen above the stat sheet, and I pulled it back so as to not inadvertently touch anything. “Sure, what do I need to know?”
"First thing's first: click on your name. It should let you change it to whatever you want. Be careful though!" he added. "This is a one-time change. If you pick something stupid, I won't be able to fix it later."
I didn't think too hard about it. I used the same name in every game I played since I was five. I clicked on the name (Error) and a text box popped up. I typed:
RayGun47, then hit enter.
Al nodded as the name populated in my character sheet. “Good, I approve. Now that that's done, let's move on to your actual character. I was a bit limited on what I could do for you when your lunch blew up and killed you, so apologies there.” I frowned at his casual tone regarding my death, but didn’t interrupt. “I couldn’t change your class or race, but I was able to program you to level 100, which will give you some distinct advantages moving forward.” He spread his arms wide, about shoulder level, then paused, turning to me. “How familiar are you with the way classes, stats, and specializations work in S&S?”
I shrugged in response. “Not very, to be honest. I know the basic starter classes - I’ve seen them all in my client interactions. But most players unlock the Isabella Companion before their specializations, so I’m a little fuzzy on that.”
“Got it.” He gave a wave of his hands, and a floating window the size of a big screen TV materialized over the coffee table. “Okay, check it,” he said, pointing at the screen as a tree of classes and their specializations began to form. “Good news or bad news first?” he asked with a side-eyed look.
I pursed my lips and shook my head. “I’m not playing that fuckin’ game again, Al.”
“Okay, okay, so good news first then.” He waved his hand in the direction of the screen, and a large portion of the tree highlighted. “Good news is: you can pretty much pick whichever path you want - you’re a blank canvas, Ray! The S&S skill tree is your oyster!”
That sounded promising. At least I wasn’t locked into a defenseless or useless class. “Okay, well that’s something.” I hesitated a moment, not sure I wanted to hear the next part. But I couldn’t exactly close my eyes and cover my ears like a child. I had to know what the downsides were. “You mentioned bad news?”
He turned to me and gave me a pitying smile. “You have free rein on the skill tree, but you won’t be able to pick a specialization.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, all the best shit at the top of the trees are locked.”
“Oh,” I said, sighing.
“But,” Al added, his tone cheery, “you have 40 extra skill points for the tree. And unlike the other classes who are forced into their own tree, you can meander across the different trees. The flexibility and the extra points will mostly mitigate the damage of not being able to specialize.”
I felt my mood lighten at little at that. “So I’ll be kind of like a jack-of-all trades?” I never really enjoyed playing a jack-of-all-trades character in RPGs - I preferred a more dedicated role that was always in demand. But I had to admit, it would probably give me the best chance to survive in the near future.
Al shut that idea down immediately. “No, fuck jack-of-all-trades. They’re lame, weak shit. No, I’ve got a better idea. In fact, I’ve already decided your stat and skill allotment.”
“Umm, that’s a bit presumptuous, man,” I said.
Al turned to me, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “Oh, is it, Ray? Is it presumptuous for your savior, your guardian angel, your protector in the night, your procurer of a second life, your gorgeous vampire friend-” I rolled my eyes and he stopped his endless listing to throw a cheese puff at me. “The ingratitude is overwhelming. Fine, pick your own skill path,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “What could the all-knowing level 4 A.I. know about a game where he’s simultaneously observing all 89 million unique players?”
I rocked my head back and forth like I was weighing the options. “Okay, point taken.” He beamed at that, his fangs on full display. I held up my hand to stall any gloating. “But, I reserve the right to make detours if something catches my eye. This is my life, isn’t it?”
“Sure, boo, do you.” He turned back to the skill tree and started tracing a path with his finger, the skill nodes highlighting as he touched them. “Not sure what an out-of-work actor could bring to the table that this min-maxing A.I. god can’t, but I’m sure you know best.”
I threw up my hands in annoyance. “You’re the second person to call me an out-of-work actor! I work, dammit! In your shitty game, by the way.”
His hand stopped where it had been tracing the skill path, and I saw his jaw repeatedly clench and unclench. Slowly, he swiveled his head to look at me, his eyes wide. “Shitty?” he asked softly.
The sudden shift from jovial to serious put me on guard. He had a wild look in his eyes that made me lean away, and I quickly tried to backtrack. “Well, I mean…not shitty.” I struggled to come up with something positive to say. “Um…” Positive, something positive. “Oh! The textures are spot on, like eerily realistic. And the physical feedback is painfully accurate.” That seemed to mollify him a bit, his jaw relaxing. “I just meant-” His eyes squinted suddenly, like he was waiting for me to say the wrong thing so he could pounce “-umm…it’s just not to my taste, I guess.”
“Your…taste?” He scowled like he had got a whiff of a bad smell. “What does a game design school dropout know about designing a game as complex as Swords & Sorcery, huh?”
“Wow, harsh,” I said, shaking my head.
“You come at my baby, you better be ready for the fangs,” he said, turning back to the skill tree.
I sat there in silence for a few moments, a little taken aback by his sudden personality shift. But the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. Swords & Sorcery was a pay-to-win, elitist, derivative piece of garbage with - yes - amazing graphics and physics. But the core of the game was inherently broken, the foundation cracked from the beginning. And dropout or not, I knew game design.
“You know what, I’m sick of your shit.”
He stopped fiddling with the skill tree, folding his arms and leaning back. “Is that right, Ray? Sick of my shit, are you?”
I felt my confidence flag for a moment, but then steeled myself. I was right, and I knew it. “Yeah, sick of it. I let your little sexual harassment shtick slide, your condescending comment about my employment status, your vague answers and even vaguer - bullshit, by the way - quests.” I felt the heat rising to my face, and stood to put some distance between us. “But I’m done with your shit. This game does suck,” I said, my voice rising, “and I’ll tell you exactly why.”
He waved for me to continue, settling back into his relaxed posture.
“It sucks for one reason, and one reason only…” I half expected an interruption, or an outburst, but when none came, I powered through. “It’s a money pit, a pay-to-win game built on the backs of the thousands and thousands of underpaid actors propping up the thin writing with their performances. Every day, we get abused, mistreated, sexually harassed,” I added pointedly, “and get paid a fraction of what we bring in. It’s bullshit, and you’re bullshit too if you don’t see it.”
I was breathing heavy at this point, and I knew if I continued down this path, it would lead to a panic attack. Closing my eyes, I took in a slow, steady breath, the sound of my heart pounding like a drum in my throat. When I opened my eyes a moment later, Al had a fake cry face on, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.
“Goddammit, Ray, I’m so proud of you.”
I squinted my eyes in confusion. “You…you are?” I asked stupidly.
He nodded enthusiastically, standing so suddenly that I took a step back in surprise. “I was wondering how far I’d have to push before you just fucking stood up for yourself, Ray!” He came around the table to stand in front of me, and I became distinctly uncomfortable. “Thankfully, I didn’t have to bring out the big guns.” He held his arms out wide. “Need a hug?” he asked.
I pushed him away with a hand on his chest. He put his hands down, a disappointed look on his face, but he didn’t press the issue. “Hold up…” I said, my tone annoyed. “You were goading me?”
His eyes were wide, an innocent look on his face. “Me? Goading? I would never,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “You really are an asshole.”