Chapter 4:

Shared Trauma and Shared Hope

I stepped out in front of the restaurant and looked up at it, just a little nook of a place with a simple looking sign that barely glowed at all. Very out of place next to all the other storefronts, wildly and flashily displaying their wares and other ads. The sign said: Writer's Retreat.

The reason I had laughed upon seeing it was because Stephen really did seem to have a one track mind. I guess I'm lucky he didn't take me to a Stephen King museum or something.

A message from Stephen popped in my vision.

[ Tell the guy inside that you're with me ]

I pushed the door open, an old timey bell went off, announcing my entrance to the humble establishment filled to the brim with—oh. It was completely empty. Just an old wooden room with a front desk, where an NPC stood, mindlessly cleaning bottles.

I walked up to him.

"Where is everyone? Where are the tables?" I asked.

The NPC put the bottle down and bowed. "Good evening, m'lady. Please choose a room."

A long list appeared in front of me and I understood. The old timey appearance threw me off but this place still operated similarly to other places. It was a hub, hosting multiple rooms of people all in the same physical place but in different layers. But that didn't really help me as Stephen didn't give me the name or login info for whichever one he was in.

I exited out of the menu.

"Um, I'm meeting someone, he didn't tell me the name of his room. His name is Stephen K."

"Ah, Miss RaeDarz, Mr. K is expecting you. Stand by for transfer."

"Thank..." The NPC vanished as I was deposited into Stephen's room. "...you."

"What was that?" Stephen asked from a table in the middle of the room.

We were standing in a normal, coffee shop looking room. Well, normal for old timey earth days. Everything was made of wood, minimally furnished, random knick knacks and boring looking paintings everywhere. And not a single other person.

"What's this? I was expecting to be brought to a Stephen King decked out room." I said as I walked over and joined him at the table.

"Really?? I could totally switch the room to—" He caught me holding back a laugh. "Ah. You're making fun of me. Okay." He grinned though, obviously not too offended.

"So, are you actually a writer?" I asked.

"Yeah. I mean, trying to be."

"That's cool. Not too many people our age are still doing that."

Most art related talents were... I wouldn't say frowned upon. Just, no one really gravitated to them easily. Artistic endeavors could not be properly shown with the stat systems of the Interverse. Art was subjective and extremely hard to break down into statistics. There were rules to creativity but they were meant to be broken and remixed. Without the certainty of the stats showing the progress they've made, most kids early on drop creative endeavors to get proper mileage out of the youth experience boosts.

In other words, we were living in a hellish nightmare where productivity was much more important than labors of love and creativity.

"Yeah, and I hate that."

"Me, too," I said and it was the truth but I had no real convictions to back it up.

"Are you an artist, too?" He looked like a puppy, filled with hope and anticipation.

I shook my head. "No, sorry. I mean, I've dabbled. With my starter Skill as worthless as it is I've basically tried everything there is. I had high hopes that something unregulated by the system would be my purpose but... no."

"Ah, yeah, a lot of people in group share that story. I guess I do, too, cause I don't think I'm amazing or anything. But it's all I seem to be sort of good at."

Silence for a moment, as I'm sure we both marinated on how awful our lives were.

"So, what's your—" We both asked the same question at the same time.

I laughed, "I'll go first. My Skill is Jack of All. It gives me extra stats in every stat that exists."

His eyes went wide, the usual reaction until I dropped the second half.

"The problem is... it's only plus one." I averted my gaze as I said it. Not wanting to see whatever his first reactions were.

I expected fake sympathy or maybe even laughter, like everyone else, but he was silent. Then he put his hand on mine. My heart raced and I risked looking up at him.

"I'm so sorry." And he actually meant it. He let go of my hand but I kept it there and wished he hadn't.

"I-it's okay. I'm sure you've heard worse at the group. Right?" I sounded desperate even to my own ears.

"No, not worse. Mostly just the same thing, remixed slightly. No matter what worthless stat boost we get, we all end up in the same boat: unable to know what we are good at. What we are meant to do."

I found myself nodding at every word. "That's what it's like, exactly. What's your starter Skill?"

"I'll start with the good. It's a +10."

"Whoa! Damn, a +10 can be a negative?"

He grimaced. "Oh yes, when it is in Sitting."

I noticed him not meeting my eyes as he said it, just like I did. He always got laughter from that explanation and I imagined he stopped telling people that detail a long long time ago.

I whistled. "Damn. That's... that's just cruel. I'm really sorry.'

He smiled weakly. "Its okay. Thanks for not laughing." Then, changing the subject slightly he said, "You want anything to drink?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll just take a hot chocolate."

For some reason that seemed to make him excited. "Hot chocolate, really? That's what I always get."

"Yeah, I have never really cared too much about coffee."

He was beaming. "Me, too. Man, I'm really glad I met you."

His eyes unfocused as he made the order in the menus so he thankfully didn't see me blush a little. I couldn't remember the last time someone had been glad to meet me. Maybe never. Any person my age growing up was always so focused on power leveling whatever their focus was. They didn't have time for me.

His eyes focused again, I could tell the order had been placed, and within a second the NPC from before appeared. He rushed forward out of a corner, walking wildly but holding the cups out confidently in front of him. He made it to the table and bowed, extending the cups to both of us.

"Dude, I told you to stop doing that bowing crap." Stephen took his cup from him.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Thank you," I said, bowing a little as I took my cup.

The NPC returned to his full height. "I am sorry, Master Stephen. It is in my programming. You know this."

"Yeah, well, my programming says all I'm good for is sitting on my ass forever. You don't want to fight your coding, even a little bit?"

He shook his head. And then departed back into the corner and vanished.

Stephen sighed. "I don't know why I keep trying."

"To make him fight his programming?" I took a sip of the hot chocolate. Hot, but not too much. And extra chocolatey.

"Yeah... I just hate how some people treat NPCs. Like they are another species. Newsflash, we are all stuck inside a giant computer where numbers and stats rule everything. All we got over the NPCs is a meat suit, maybe."

"Maybe, huh? You're not sure either? I kind of have always pictured fields of brains, hooked up with cords."

Stephen snapped his fingers. "Me freaking too. If we had bodies, why wouldn't we be able to log out? It makes sense that we would be just brains floating in jars."

"My mom always talked about going back. She loved technology and the advancements of stuff, but she didn't want to always be in it 24/7. She missed the world of flesh, as she grossly used to say."

"She was an Earther?" Stephen took a big sip of his drink.

"Yeah, but not by much. She was barely a teenager before things hit the fan and humans hid in the Interverse."

He nodded, still sipping. "You said, 'she used to say,' did she die from that disease Earthers had?"

He provided me with an easy out. I could just go along with that and say that's what got her. Or... I could tell him the truth. I'd never had a real friend but i think you got them by being truthful, even when it was hard. So, decided, I pressed on.

"No, she didn't die from that. It was mostly older adults whose bodies couldn't adjust to the Interverse. She... committed suicide."

Stephen stopped mid-sip and put his cup down. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. We didn't have the greatest relationship. She was a good friend, at times, but a kind of bad mom, always. I could never quite measure up or get enough attention from her. And now I never will. I think that's really the hardest part."

"I'm so sorry, RaeDarz."

I laughed. "That kind of ruined the moment, I can't believe I didn't tell you what to call me. I’m Darcy. Or Darce, that’s okay too."

"Nice to meet you, Darcy.” He grinned real big. “At least it got you laughing again."

"You're right. I think I've shared enough for now. What about you? Are you just amazing at getting people talking so you don't have to talk about yourself?"

He was mid-sip and smiled, almost losing the drink. "No, no. I'm just not very interesting and bad at talking about myself."

"I'll be the judge of that." I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. "I'm eagerly awaiting to hear what a +10 in sitting can do to destroy all your hopes and dreams."

He chuckled and took one more big sip of his hot chocolate before continuing. "I think we all remember that moment. Where we've successfully learned to read and are allowed to look at our stat screens for the first time."

I definitely did. The anticipation, the thought that I was special for a little while, and then the crushing reality. It destroyed me, still to this very day.

"I saw the plus 10 first and got so excited. But then my eyes focused in on what it said. Sitting. My dad couldn't even hide how funny he found it, the asshole. I'm sure from then on our stories are similar. I tried my best to find my place, a way to use the stat gain for something, anything. I thought maybe whatever I was supposed to do would at least involve sitting. So I tried out countless tasks where sitting was part of it. Nothing really worked.

"Kids made fun of me, assumed I would be some hulking fat and lazy nothing. I tried to be as far from that as possible. You would think that at least would be a positive but, nah, I developed an eating disorder."

"I'm so sorry. Is that still something you deal with?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I don't think that's something that completely goes away, no matter what you do or how well you think you got it under control. It's always there, under the surface."

"That sounds... scary and awful."

He shrugged and steered the conversation on from that. "I felt like I had tried every sitting activity there was, and at the same time did all I could to not fall into an unhealthy lifestyle (while falling face first into a different kind of unhealthy). But one day I realized that a lot of what I loved was stories. And that maybe I could write some of my own. My parents were against it at first, the usual thing, it wasn't a trackable skill, yadda yadda. But from the first moment I tried, things clicked for me. I found a purpose and a desire to improve and get better, despite there being no experience and stat gains. Been writing every day since."

"That's amazing! I'm so glad you finally found something. And there is a lot of sitting involved in writing, too," I added.

He laughed and scratched his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"So why are you still in the group? You found your purpose."

"I think that's another thing that doesn't fully get better. I found my thing but it's still seen as such an improper path to take. Too many unknowns, no guarantees. Artists are always the outliers. Unless they make it. Until you do... you're worthless to most people."

I found myself glaring at my coffee cup. "Why does it have to be like that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. From what I can tell it's always been that way, even back on Earth. Artists are seen as lesser. Yet everyone consumes art. It's kind of fucked up."

"For sure. I'm sorry that it's like that still. I'll be honest, I always wanted to be an artist but completely wrote it off cause of what everyone else thinks. I think it's really cool that you did it anyway, overcame all that. That's... pretty brave."

He blushed and tried to hide it with his drink but he had reached the end of it. He put the cup down.

"Uh, thanks. Never been called brave before."

"Maybe cause everyone else are cowards. Including me."

"I don't think you're a coward. You came to the meeting tonight, that's a huge deal."

I laughed. "I have been avoiding it for like twenty years. No bravery here. But thanks, I appreciate that. But it really was more, just..."

"Desperation?" He said.

I snapped my fingers. "That's the one, yeah."

"Whatever it was, I'm grateful for it. Without it, we never would have met." He smiled and avoided looking directly at me for a second but eventually our eyes met.

I returned the smile.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Before I could figure out where to take the conversation from there, a loud noise, like a message alert but longer and coming from every direction, boomed all around us.

"What the fuck is that??" I yelled over it.

"Oh! That was tonight, I totally forgot!" Stephen smacked his head.

"Forgot what? What is it??"

"Some kind of announcement, you didn't get the message?"

The noise was still there but diminished in volume by the second.

"I had kind of a rough day so, no, I didn't really read many emails."

"Oh, right, that's understandable. Well, the Admins just said there would be an announcement, something special that no one in the Interverse is going to want to miss."

"How could we miss it with that god-awful sound?"

Stephen laughed, I think, it was hard to be sure over the noise.

"Look, there's a notification."

I saw it pop up in the corner for a second but then it flew open on its own. I think I'd seen this before, it was saved for really special and pressing matters. The sound effect was new though, as far as I could remember. I wondered if people were being woken up for this.

"Whatever this is, it better be damn good," I grumbled, slouching down in my chair.

"I'm sure it will be," Stephen said. "Look, somethings happening."

Sure enough, words appeared in the middle of my vision, followed by a booming voice that read them off.

"Hello, fellow Inversers! How we doing tonight??"

Not sure why they said that. None of us could answer directly.

"Good, good. I'm sure you're anxious to see what we've been hinting at for so long so, here it is, drumroll please."

A soundbite of a drumroll began playing. You would think they would have better production values.

"I've got four words for you: Tournament. Of. The. Century." Each of the four words was big and flashy, blinding us on top of making us deaf.

"The details will come later, but all we will say now is this is going to be the biggest event we have ever hosted. An event so big that it will span the entire Interverse itself. We want as many of you as possible to get in on this so, to ensure that, we've got the perfect thing to entice you..."

A real drumroll started up, I could tell cause there seemed to be an army of them, building and building to...

"Ta-da!" A plain-looking bracelet floated in front of me, spinning slowly in circles.

"I know, looks a little boring. We didn't put too much into its look cause it took so much effort designing what it does. This plain-looking bracelet... can give mad gains to your starter skill. Or, if you don't like your starting Skill, well... how about the chance to re-roll and get a brand new one?"

Stephen and I just looked at each other, the same shock written on our faces.

"Did he just say what I think he said??"

"Shh, I dunno." I had gone from a complete lack of interest to hanging on the guy's every word.

There was a live chat on the side of my vision, going faster than I'd ever seen a chat go. I couldn't even read what was said.

"Or maybe that's not enough for you? Maybe you would rather have your Youth experience bonus back? Maybe a bonus even better? Maybe... all of the above?"

The chat moved so fast it almost looked like it was standing still.

"This dinky-looking thing can do it all! You want it? You gotta join the tournament! More details coming soon—later!"

The words and the announcer's voice flipped off and it was just me and Stephen, staring at each other as the chat continued to go crazy.

"That can't be real, right?" He asked. "That's too good to be true."

"It has to be real. But the tournament must be hellish. We would lose in the first round." Stephen was staring off into space. "You... aren't thinking of entering, are you?"

He was quiet. "What about you?"

I was quiet.

But inside, my mind screamed with excitement, the hope that I'd lost on this horrible night had been fully and completely rekindled. An answer to all of my problems existed. How could I turn down the chance to finally make something of myself?

"I am 100 fucking percent entering."

"What are your combat-focused stats? I used to be into FPS firefights so i've got a little, not a lot but its a start."

"Yeah, about that..."

I brought up my stats, sorted by combat, and displayed them so he could see.

[ Combat Styles!

Hand to Hand: Rank 1

Gunplay: Rank 1

Magic: Rank 1

Weaponry: Rank 1 ]

"Oh man," Stephen's hope seemed to die in his eyes.

I was completely screwed.