Our last day flew by like the day before Christmas. We got all of our affairs in order and Vic and I were able to sneak away during the commotion to "borrow" one of Lady Anne's guestrooms. It would only be thirty six hours in game but we didn't want to waste any time if we could help it. We set up blueprints, wishlists, and to-do lists, because the moment we come back we will be hitting the road. After Higo, on the other side of Lake Rentas, Sonny marked a spot for not just one, but two dungeons for us to explore. Lunch and dinner were little feasts, even Lady Anne and Seriel joined us. The search for Dom was thrown out before it really got underway, but for some reason he had already bugged out of town.
Dawn agreed to have Richter and I over at her place to hang out. Rachel, however, lived in another state and she already had something scheduled before we began planning. Something about participating in an experiment, which is why she was playing in the first place.
Right before midnight, we all gathered together in the vardo and wished everyone good luck and fare well for now before the four of us got the same notification.
[It has been 168 hours. You will now be forcibly logged off for a period of at least 12 hours, real time. Thank you for playing Arc the Game.]
As I wave to everyone I can see my hands evaporate, pixel by pixel, and my vision goes dark. I feel pulled forward, the same feeling one gets when suddenly going too fast on a ride. When the feeling stops I take an extra step forward into a warm pocket of air. I still can't see, but I can feel the sucker-like sensors and nodes pop from my body. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the bright red light of the inner pod. Red light in dark places isn't harmful so they use it to help people getting used to using their actual eyes again. After a while, I remove the crown and the pod splits open.
The room is warm, a good thing since when I strip out of my onesie and place it in the uniquely designed sanitizing box, I'm strolling around in my boxers. Due to our timing, I don't get a chance to meet my roommate who's already in his bathroom. After I take my own quick shower and dress in more comfortable clothes, I call Mom. I check for my roommate, but he's already gone when someone answers on the other end.
It's only eight o' clock in the evening, but Mom's already asleep. Rita, the night shift nurse and the first to learn ASL from us is glad to keep me up to date. She's doing great. Doesn't want me to worry. Make any friends? Meet any girls? I laugh, equally glad to share my current situation with her and I know Mom will be pleased to hear about it later. I thank her profusely and ask her if she could remind Mom about the bank card. By the end of the phone call, a heaviness flew off my shoulders and I breathed a little easier.
Dawn greeted me at her door, dressed in the same outfit as me: sweats, socks, baggy long-sleeve shirt, and her cafe au lait hair tied back in a ponytail. I stand there, mouth agape, ready to apologize for disturbing the beautiful stranger when she pulled me into the room, shaking her head.
"Both of you had the same reaction. Do I look that bad without the blue skin and horns?" Dawn asks, passing Richter and I a paper plate each.
Far from it, I answer mentally. At least I hope it was mentally. She smiles at me and I'm not so sure if it was.
Richter is piling his plate from the cornicopia of fast food Dawn must've ordered while I was on the phone with Rita. Richter and I insist that we split the costs three ways at the very least and she relents after a light debate.
"Alright, my friends," Richter finds a corner spot on the couch and turns on the TV, "Let's check out our standings, shall we?"
I sit in the center, Dawn standing just behind me and biting into a hot slice of pizza. I look over at Richter, my eyebrows giving away my confusion.
He points to the screen, "Whoa, check out the prom king and queen."
On the screen, are two lists of names. Numbers fifty to twenty six are in bronze. Numbers twenty five to eleven are in silver. Numbers ten to four are in gold. Numbers two and three are larger and more ornate rose gold. And the number one names are the largest in a highly decorated blue.
The first list is Highest Level (Most Likely to Succeed) and there’s my name, shining and spinning on its horizontal axis in a ghostly blue. My heart thumps hard against my chest and my face burns with embarassment.
The other list is titled Highest Viewer Rating (Most Popular). "Looksh like they already broadcashted the intronductary epishode," Richter explains through a mouthful of lo mein. With so many characters for viewers to follow, an army of editors slapped together a four hour highlight real, cut into two two-hour shows. If they had showcased every player with just a thirty second clip, they would have a steaming, seventeen hour pile, something they probably couldn't do with the very limited time schedule.
Number three on that list, in intricate pinkish gold lettering, is Dawn Nobel. Her shriek right behind my head sends a pepperoni down the wrong tube and I have to force it out of its temporary home. Richter is laughing, Dawn is still hollering.
"Dude, are you jealous?" Through my fits of coughing, I shake my head with a scowl. Not out of anger, it's just my lungs are starting to hurt.
Of course, I am a tiny bit jealous. It is easy to mistakenly think that the highest leveled character might place in the top ten in Viewer Ratings, but there I am at number fifty eight. Granted, most of the top fifty are female players, but when we check out their clips we can see the real reason why. Most of them are following a single story arc already or at least it's how the editors made it look. Even Rachel landed at forty seven. Brandy and her cool cowgirl style made it to number twenty four. At number twelve is Mr Richter Pryce.
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His arms shoot above his head and he hoots in excitement, "Yeah! Top twenty five!"
I applaud them both. Richter punches my arm and Dawn puts a hand on my shoulder, both congratulating me and wishing me continued success. I thank both of my friends, watching a clip of Dawn practicing with her newly forged hammer in Spindle's Lair, the scene cutting to her throwing the Thunderstruck. They know why I'm doing it and they could easily compete with me on the milestone race. And yet…
"Gotta admit," I say, pausing to take a drink of some cola beverage, a flavor we haven't found in game yet, "I would totally watch a show with you two in it. Besides, Ric's warning and Dawn's gear are part of the reason why I'm ranked so high."
"Well," Dawn says, wiping her mouth,"We wouldn't be up there without you, you know?" I smile up at Dawn, her hand gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but maybe her fingers traced the back of neck or maybe it was an accident. Either way I didn't want to show any signs that anything happened.
The next few hours fly by. We eat, filling in all the corners, as we watch clips of everyone. We take notes, make comments, laugh until we cry when they have a "Top Twenty Deaths" segment.
Dawn is sitting on my right, a whole person space away, but still closer to me than Richter. Both of their phones explode with notification ringtones and they bury their noses in them. I ask them if they want me to turn down the volume and when they don't reply I turn it down a bit anyway.
Richter is the first to come up for air. His excitement is contagious, "Dude, three. But one of them is my brother, so I'm not sure if he should count?" Once more, his words are like a crossword puzzle in Cantonese to me and he cocks his head like I'm the one confusing him. "Really, dude?"
Dawn's hyper pitched squeal is tough to get used to, but she's giving us a lot of opportunities to try. She pounces on me, grips the front of my shirt, stares into my face with a crazy look in her eyes, and shakes her words into me.
”Eight! I got eight! I can't believe I got so many in my first week and they're just going to have to wait for me to sign all the paperwork until next week but Im sure they're not gonna care cuz it'll only get better, right?"
She releases me to check her phone once more and before she can resume scrambling my brains with her shaking and string of words I ask, "What are you guys talking about?"
Once again, I get the "talking to a puppy" look as she cocks her head, eyebrow raised. Her eyes search me for any evidence that I'm teasing her and she finally straightens up.
"Sponsors, Ardy. Didn't you read the contract you signed?" She shows me her email list and I recognize some of the companies reaching out to her. "The milestones are good and all, but long term… Long term we can really get paid through sponsors. I think the beta testers will be the only ones who can advertise in game for the next few years."
Richter takes a drink from his soda and continues where Dawn leaves off, "Yeah, kinda like social media personalities. Get a lot of followers, wear a little sticker or something, and get paid!"
The muscles in my neck are asking my brain if we're watching a tennis match as Dawn picks up again, "Except Ele-Quince gets a small cut since it's their game. Its just another prize to keep working for, because if we drop out of the top fifty it can result in breach of contract and we can lose sponsorship."
I can't believe this thought never occurred to me the whole time. It seemed like every other person was totally disinterested in the milestones and now I know why. "So," I muse out loud, "Is it possible to do well in both?"
They both look at each other, contemplating my words. I would have felt really stupid about what I said if it isn't for the word problem solving faces they both have on.
Finally, Richter says, "Maybe. But it's kinda hard to quantify what makes people so popular."
Dawn points at the screen at the current number one and two spots, "They're probably in it for the sponsors as well. Not to put them down or anything cuz the way they planned their characters was smart, I mean, sex does sell."
Number one is a half naked Bard, Elf/Succubus. And number two is an equally barely dressed Warlock of Pavaros, the Goddess of Love and Sex. They're both probably really playing up their parts, but Dawn's quick to point out that the show does get edited so people get shown in whatever light the editors feel like putting us in. Good. Bad. All we can do is make entertaining choices for television.
Or not.
That's always an option, too. But still, who can pass up free money? I check my phone, a tiny brush stroke of jealously paints a portion of my mind when all I find are spam emails concerned with my erection or the ten warrants for my arrest, spelled with numbers and symbols that mark them as obvious junk.
Several hours fly by and, although we've been essentially asleep for the past seven days, the amount of junk food and TV we've consumed plus the initial levels of excitement eventually bring yawns to our mouths that we can't stifle. Dawn can barely keep her head up and Richter's snoring head has fallen back at a crazy angle. I wake them both up, and tell them that's its time to put on our jammies. Dawn gives Richter a hug before he trudges out the door like a zombie, leaving the two of us alone.
I just finished putting the extra plates and napkins away in a cabinet when Dawn pulls a bar stool up to the breakfast bar dividing the kithen from the dining room, "Thank you for cleaning up."
"No problem," I said, finally realizing what I was doing. There wasn't much left in terms of food, but whatever wasn't eaten I throw away since we'll be diving for another week. The housekeepers stop by every morning just to make sure everything is in order and I'm sure after the break they'll be making their rounds.
"Guess it's just second nature now," I say while wiping the counter tops where the food was sitting. She smiles dreamily to herself, ruffling her own hair as she leans on her elbow on the counter. "Come on," I say, walking her over to her room and pod.
I search the sanitizer box, but find her suit crumpled to the side of it, only half of a sleeve made it inside. After making sure the suit got a chance to be cleaned by shoving the rest inside of the box, I go to the side of her pod and retrieve the spare from a compartment. I laugh, stopping her from stripping with me in the room, and tell her to wait until I leave. Her eyes open slowly, only making it half way as she looks at me with a smirk.
"Thanks…"
"I told you, I don't mind cleaning up at—"
She interrupts me with a hug before sitting back on the pod, "Not for that. For… nevermind. Thanks, Ardy. I'll see you in game."
"See you in the vardo."
I stare at my pod, onesie on and ready to rock. There's still five minutes before we're supposed to be seated and then the three minute countdown for us before everyone's allowed to dive. I think about Mom, all of my new friends, my in game love, and my rank. I look over at my phone sitting on the charging pad, grimacing at my naiveté regarding the sponsors when my phone goes off. I scramble over and check the notice.
"Yes!"
All it takes is one and one is what I get. I agree to the email, telling them that I'll see them next week for the paperwork. I pump my fist tight near my chest and skip back to my pod, hopping in and beaming with hope. It's always good to have a back up plan.