So it seemed that the Warden didn’t dispel everyone’s misconceptions about him, just that of some people, among which I was counted. I didn’t like others calling him a dumb machine, as he had been sort of good with me and I therefore considered him sort of a friend. We had bonded over a control match, and that’s no turkey booger.
I gestured at the screen. “Can you believe this?”
“Yes, Master, I am capable of believing this,” answered Blacky.
“They called you a slacker.”
“They just told the truth, Master. Other guides work twice as hard to make sure their wards don’t kick the bucket. I just cannot be arsed.”
I couldn’t blame him. If I were him, I would not make an effort to save myself from my own idiocy, either. And given the poor thing had to deal with Flat-Earthers in the past, his apathy was understandable.
I wondered if I should strive to dress as a woman and catfish the guide’s author to reveal him the truth about the Warden. And beat him. Mainly beat him.
Sadly, just like Blacky, I couldn’t be arsed.
Sighing, I sat on the featureless, violet floor. “I don’t think that guide will be useful for me, Blacky. The Warden knows I know he is not a computer. Did I shoot myself in the foot by making a friend out of him?”
Blacky nodded and then licked my scalp , just above the ear.
“What was that for?”
“The grease on your hair could sustain me for weeks, Master.”
He gave another lick and earned a slapping.
“Fuck this, I will open the last pack. Hope I get some control tools. I wouldn’t mind playing all day for some sporadic meals then.”
I took the damn thing from my pocket and stared hard at it. “You better have something good inside.”
I opened it and immediately I felt an increase in its weight. I prayed it wasn’t another monster girl and closed my eyes. Then I felt warm in front of my face, and, when I opened my eyes again, a most heavenly combination of yellow and orange floated before me. She was perfect, beautiful in ways men tongues cannot describe. She had the curves in… all the right places. Untarnished, yet wonderfully tortilled, a Spanish omelet lay in a ceramic plate before me.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
It even came with plastic cutlery to eat it.
On my knees, I praised the heavens. “Thank you, Beard!”
I stashed Blacky back into his card and enlisted myself to consume the feast before me. Sitting on the floor wasn’t the most hygienic of actions, but it was the only option. I cut a small slice, thin enough to enjoy the taste but not to consume the tortilla in less than fifteen minutes. Warm enough to be at the peak of its flavor, yet there was something in the smell. Something foreboding I could not make out.
I gave the first bites and my eyes opened wide. My jaw started trembling. No. It was impossible. It couldn’t be. The dream couldn’t just turn to nightmare like that…
I swallowed with difficulty and started whimpering. Then, fist raised in the air, I cursed the very God I had just thanked moments before.
“Onions! It contains onions! Onions!” I cried, wasting my energies on a stupid tantrum.
Then I took another bite because, onions or not, my heterotrophic nature could not be escaped.
I silently cried as I chew, lamenting what they had done to my girl. Criminal, it was criminal.
I left the food aside for a moment after consuming one fourth of the tortilla, as I wanted to look at the other cards of the pack.
The first two were commons, not worth describing in any depth. But the third one was a Really-not-common: Rampugge. It was a 1 cost spell that allowed one of my pugs to attack unblocked for the turn, buffed said pug it temporality by 1/1 and, then, let me draw a card. This was a good tool to push some damage, and fitted onto my pug agro perfectly.
“Blacky, as soon as I finish my meal, we are paying a visit to the Warden. Pug Aggro may not be the best strategy to push stages, but it is fast and can allow me to survive if I play enough of it. With eight hours a day of grinding, even if I never beat stage 10, I should get around sixteen runs of the Warden. So in a worst case scenario, I am getting 720 gbp a day which means…” Then I remembered only the first ten packs were worth 200 each. “Fuck, I’d starve anyway!”
“Master, getting or not food can be considered a binomial distribution. The chance to get at least one food item approaches 50% when you open 3 packs. If you open batches of 20 or more packs, food is practically assured. If you can consistently do all stages from 11 to 19, 16 times a day, you are getting five packs per day and then some leftover BP. That is about 67% chances of getting at least one food item, with good chances of getting two or more to stash for a rainy day,” Blacky went on a statistical tirade that hurt my soft brain.
“Anyway, lead me to the Warden, as soon as I finish eating, okay?”
He popped his head out of the card and held a stare to my platter.
“Can I get some of your food?”
“It has onions. It may kill you,” I explained to him like I was talking with a chair.
“Forbidden fruit is the most delicious, Master.”
“Correction: touch my food and I shall kill you by means of groin trauma.”
After that, he kept on staring, but asked no more. In the tranquility of the Data center, I decided to spend my 200 omnitreats that had resulted from the death of Mewria. Doubling my chances of drawing God Left the Door Open seemed worth the hefty investment.