In a hurry to get out of sight, Lorelei pushed open the doors to the Mystical Market.
As she crossed the threshold, there was a soft *ping* of a notification which, reading it, indicated that Lorelei's ticket for entry had been consumed. That was interesting. It suggested that should she want to return, she'd need to earn another ticket first. It hadn't been too tricky to get this one, but she suspected that was because it was part of a specific quest chain. She'd need to ensure she picked up everything she needed on this trip, just in case.
Well, at least following her defeat of the [Kobold Champion] and the looting of Liam, she had some cash. Lorelei paused, trying to remember how she could check how much money she actually had.
***Help Message***
For fuck's sake, you say 'balance'. I literally couldn't make it easier if I tried.
"How did you . . . Are you reading my mind?"
*** Help Message ***
I feel the need, once again, to emphasise your tiny, minuscule, insignificant place in the vast, infinitely complex universe which is me. No, I am not 'reading' your mind. Whilst I am more than capable of doing so, please trust me when I tell you my reading matter runs to slightly more weighty material than the random thoughts of low-ranked players.
"So, how did you know I was thinking about money?"
***Help Message***
I have the capacity to decipher the predicted flight path of a drunk bumble in a hurricane. In a second. Whilst offline. You better believe I can work out what's running through your head when you enter a retail establishment, tap your pockets for a purse you no longer possess and then scrunch your face up in a confused way when you remember the massive life-changing integration that has just happened. Honestly, when I read about the success of 'cold-readers' on this planet, I thought it was all made up. 'No way can a sentient species actually believe other humans can read their minds!' I thought. But no. Here you are, proving that you are all, truly, one card trick away from burning each other as witches.
"A 'no' would have sufficed. Balance."
*** Balance: Day 1 of Integration ***
25 Gold. 87 Silver. 8 Bronze
Lorelei looked at the number without really being able to give it a context. She knew she had picked up several bronze coins off the various mobs - look at me using the lingo - she had killed thus far, and she'd obviously gained gold from the [Kobold Champion]. Her Guide had commented that she'd 'made out like a bandit' on that - it was why she didn't get a title, after all - so her gold level was probably a bit higher than it should be for a comparable person at this stage.
"Guide. How many gold coins did I get for killing the big Kobold?"
*** Help Message ***
You, improbably, soloed [Kobold Champion]. For your level, you thus received an unusually high amount of gold. This should have been split between at least four players.
"I could be wrong, but I was sure I asked for a number."
*** Help Message ***
Oh, do fuck off, you ungrateful homo sapien. 6 gold. You got 6 gold for that act of suicidal stupidity.
Six gold.
A sinking feeling started to settle in her stomach. Considering the impact of the emotional dampening, she assumed this meant she was in a full-blown panic attack. The Guide had suggested that six gold was an insane reward. A go-on-a-Pretty-Woman-style-shopping-binge type of thing. But she didn't have six gold. She had twenty-five. The door behind her banged open again, and two loudly pissed-off people shoved past her.
"Whoever they are, I bet they've come straight in here! We need to hit the high-end stores for anyone on a fucking spending spree," said the more leather-clad of the two.
"They're dead," added her hairy little companion. "Whatever fucking noob took my money is dead. They're so fucking dead!"
*
As she shoved the slight blonde-haired figure in the ill-fitting robe out of the way, Sylvie briefly glared at their nametag. However, seeing their pathetically low level, she dismissed them from her notice.
While they may not have been the brightest of sparks, Liam and Trevor were - or at least they had been - an absolute menace. That had been true since before integration, and since . . . well, there was a reason Sylvie had wanted to keep them onside. That was why leaving them with the proceeds from their exploits seemed sensible. They didn't have the imagination to nick it, but they understood the trust that had been placed in them. And that plan had worked perfectly so far. That is, right until some heavy hitter had looted the cash from their still-warm corpses.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"What do you think, Rupert. Had to have been a Level 9, at least, I'd think?"
The dwarf growled, glancing up at the tag that announced Sylvie's higher level to everyone. "And the rest, surely? The damned bull said only one person had gone into the alley. But it would make more sense if we was looking for a team? Maybe Martin's lot? He was pretty pissed when you killed his girlfriend this morning."
"He'll get over it. But you heard the bull as well as I did. One player. They walked into the alley and then walked out a few minutes later. No description. Apparently, we humans all look alike."
"Speak for your fucking self."
The dwarf cast his eyes around the inside of the Mystical Market. Some pretty startling changes had taken place to the Bullring during the last twenty-four hours. And this was coming from someone who used to be six foot three and as thin as a rake. It was clear that someone with the design brief had taken the words 'Mystical Market' and decided to run with them. However, exactly where they were running and whether this was a sensible direction remained to be seen.
Where just the day before, shiny floors had glistened under bright strip lights, these had been replaced by cobblestone paths meandering hither and thither. These paths still glistened, but it was through being inexplicably damp rather than via polish. Which was a touch weird. Likewise, the spiralling escalators that linked the three floors had vanished to be replaced by . . . shenanigans.
It had taken him more than a few goes to get his head around the various "Levitating Ledges." To ascend from the ground floor, you had to step onto a swirling vortex of wind and light. The first time he did it, he thought it was like being caught in a very localised, polite tornado. It gently whooshed him upwards in a spiral motion, leaving his massive amounts of hair in quite a state. And that safety railing? That was just an illusion. It was clear that health and safety regulations were more like guidelines in the newly integrated world.
To get up to the top floor, though - where all the exciting weapons and armours were - thick vines sprout from the ground to form a latticework that lifted you gently upwards. It was like being in a fairy tale if the fairy tale was about getting to the next level of a shopping centre without using stairs. As someone who had never had a problem with heights, Rupert was somewhat disconcerted that since choosing his Dwarf Axeman class, his head swam with vertigo the moment he reached that floor. He'd barely been able to keep his lunch down when purchasing [Grumblecleave]. Even shutting his eyes didn't help.
But that was nothing compared to the rigamarole of getting back down. He staggered a little even now when he thought of it. You had to step off the edge of a platform and into a swirling maelstrom of mist. It was like being inside a fog machine with a mild obsession with dramatic entrances. You descended in a gentle enough swirling motion but then were spat out onto the floor with a loud 'ta-da'. For someone who, since losing two feet of height, very much felt like he had to stand on his dignity, this did little for Rupert's temper.
"So, what do you reckon? We're looking for some vicious fucker in the Level 10 range, splurging our money? They'll be looking to spend and run if they're smart."
Sylvie nodded, dark eyes searching through the crowds of noobs looking to part ways with their pathetic haul of bronze coins. She and Rupert had worked hard since stumbling upon the Mystical Market to spot the players worth rolling for their stash - and the whole of her hastily assembled crew had worked even harder taking them down in the alley.
The initial plan had never been to become murderhobos. They'd been doing a brisk enough business of relieving poor lost souls of their inventory for a good hour or so and life was good. However, when a Level 7 Mage had cut up rough with Liam holding a knife to his throat, they'd been left with few choices but to see things through to the logical conclusion. After that? Well, it turned out that as well as carrying serious cash, if you picked the right player, they gave up some sweet, sweet XP.
As a former hairdresser, there had been moments over the course of the day that Sylvie questioned her move from 'going anywhere nice for your holidays' to 'hand over all your gear and then I'll kill you. Yes, I picked the appropriate connective." However, she genuinely did not seem to feel any guilt for her actions.
It was really quite liberating.
"Let's split up. You go to the top and work your way down . . ." Sylvie sighed at the green tinge that came over Rupert's face. "Fine, I'll start at the top and work my way down, and you go the other way. We meet in the middle and see where we are at. For safety, assume anyone Level 8 and upwards could be our guy. We're looking for someone on their own, looking handy and splashing the cash."
With a nod, the two separated. Sylvie ran to the Whirlwind Vortex, and Rupert circled around to vanish amongst the crowds.
*
Listening to them, Lorelei felt a bang of worry that she was going to be responsible for the murder of an innocent Level 8, but then, scanning the crowd, she realised how few of that level were currently shopping and - more than that - how fucking terrifying the ones she could see looked. They didn't need her worrying about their welfare. She needed to be more concerned with her own.
"Guide, just checking. For my own peace of mind, is it right that I've just Ocean Eleven'ed those guys?"
There was a slight pause during which time Lorelei imagined the System speed watching several very poor - and one reasonably decent - movies.
***Help Message ***
Yes. Yes, you did.
Keeping half an eye on Rupert, who was stalking around outside various shops, Lorelei took her first proper look around the Mystical Market.
Each shop seemed transformed to cater to a more... shall we say 'eclectic' clientele. Whereas Lorelei had spent many a happy hour perusing the big H&M that used to be near the entrance, in its place now stood Hexes and Magic. THE place for fast fashion now appeared to be more concerned with fast enchantments. From a quick perusal, they were selling everything from haunted armour - buyer beware, returns not accepted if the armour decides it does not like you - to potions that promised six extra inches (from context, it looked like this meant height, but there was a helluva queue of slightly bashful young men outside on the off chance).
Lorelei mooched around for a while, making sure she did not do anything that might be interpreted as ostentatious spending and found herself standing outside what used to be the jewellery store, Pandora, and now was - obviously - called 'Pandora's Box.' "I have a quest to pick up a trinket, don't I?"
***Help Message ***
Babycakes, I have such a vivid memory of telling you how to access your old quests. There were bullet points and everything. We do need to move to a situation where you retain and remember the information I give you. Just opening your mouth and letting your helplessness spill out all the time is not a good look.
"You know what? You could have answered the question in the time it took you to type all that out. And you wouldn't have looked like such a dick. Again." Lorelei found she could scroll back through the day's messages. "Yes, thought so. It's the last bit of Gear Up I haven't finished.
Trinket Time: The Mystic Market awaits. Find something shiny to distract your enemies (and maybe your allies) from your apparent lack of skill.
Checking no aggrieved heistees' eyes were on her, Lorelei slipped inside Pandora's Box.
***System Notification***
That joke is the definition of low-hanging fruit. Shame on you.