Volume 1 - Chapter 4

Raymond

I expected night shift porter Raymond to prompt me with a list of available options we could talk about.

When my boss Mr. Gallagher had yelled at me, it was a scripted event, and I assumed interactions with NPCs wouldn't be like real conversations.

So I stood awkwardly in front of the man looking for ways to initiate dialogue. I looked like an idiot, for sure.

The NPC studied me when I said nothing. I was standing in front of him waiting for system prompts, instead of simply speaking like a normal person.

“Mr. Jones?” he asked raising an eyebrow at me. "You're acting quite peculiar, young man. Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir," I said quickly, trying to regather my thoughts after acting stupid. “Who is that player out there? The one who tried to get in?"

Raymond looked but said, "I'm not familiar with that player, sir. He does not reside here."

I nodded, understanding his meaning. Raymond knew the player’s name. I had heard him say it. Apparently NPCs didn't discuss that with players if we didn't also know the other player. It kind of made sense.

I wondered how the player had already made it outside of their starting location, but to be fair, I had spent several minutes going through my screens and investigating my apartment before leaving.

"Yeah. I've never seen him either."

The doorman leaned back to half-sit atop his stool, but he continued eyeballing me. I was clearly acting strange from his viewpoint.

My personal recollections of interacting with Raymond in the game wasn't downloading into my brain like the previous instances, forcing me to improvise. I had no idea what our history was.

He asked, “What brings you down so late, Mr. Jones?”

I shifted my weight, trying to appear casual. It was strange being stuck in a situation where I was supposed to act a certain way without knowing what that way was.

Raymond knew me, but I knew nothing about him and very little outside of what had previously been cold-spiked into my brain.

Finally, when nothing came to me, I answered with a simple, "I can’t sleep."

Most small-talk was boring and stupid to me, but that seemed appropriate enough.

Raymond's eyebrows lifted. “Well, what would you like to talk about? I have plenty of time, young man. It get's quiet and lonely down here sometimes in the middle of the night."

I nodded. “How about this apartment building to start with, and the neighborhood?”

"What about it? You're the one Mr. Gallagher hired to fix it up. You've already seen inside the walls more than I have, and I've been manning this door for twenty-three years."

"Right."

Finally, a little pinprick of knowledge hit me. I remembered the repair job on a wall in one of the units, and a leaky bathtub drain in another where I had to replace part of the flooring.

Nothing particularly useful came to me from that knowledge.

"How about the history?" I asked, pretending to know some handyman terminology, "the, um… stud walls and the brick work are crooked. It looks like a blind man stacked the… um… foundation or something."

Raymond chuckled. I wondered if his programming knew I had no idea what the heck I was talking about.

“This old apartment?" Raymond said. "Hollow Court's been here longer than I have, that's for sure. But I don't know the builders. Must be pushing two hundred years now. Old, yeah, but solid as a rock. You won't find many buildings in The Grims with bones this good."

"The Grims?" I asked, realizing too late I should have already known that.

Raymond's eyes narrowed. "Grimsborough Heights, Mr. Jones. I'm starting to suspect you're not acting right."

I forced a nervous chuckle, clearly acting out of line with my character's history.

Trying to salvage myself, I quickly blurted out, "Of course. I'm just tired. So the whole neighborhood's gone downhill except for this building, huh?"

"It's rough," Raymond said, his tone cautious. "But you know that as well as any. Hollow Court's one of the better spots around here, among a couple of other buildings. Mr. Gallagher's a good landlord and boss as long as you stay out of his mobster business like I do. All I'm good for is manning the door, making basic conversation, and making sure the tenants get their mail."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I nodded my understanding. It was a simple enough reminder that he was just a NPC.

Wanting to ask him more about Mr. Gallagher's business, I decided against it. For starters it seemed like I was already supposed to know these things. Secondly, I wasn't quite sure I wanted the answer yet.

Instead, I went back to the basics. Assuming our boss had just recently been there I asked, "By the way, did you see the boss man tonight?"

"Oh, yeah. Said he had business with a couple of tenants upstairs. Didn't stay long, then left. None of my concern, honestly."

"You didn't find that strange?" I asked, looking at my watch, "the landlord coming to visit tenants at 2 a.m.?

"It's what I seen, that's all I can say, young man."

I sighed, realizing his conversation options limited the amount of information he could give me. I wondered if this was all done deliberately.

I decided to be more blunt to see what happened.

Wrestling answers out of Raymond wasn't my idea of good entertainment, and I had probably already bored any streamers I managed to get at the beginning.

"How do I unlock the mini-map?"

The man acted confused. “What kind of map?"

I shook my head, explaining, "A small map on my view screen showing me important game elements I need to know about. How do I get it?"

Raymond stood, concern etched on his face. "Mr. Jones, are you sure you're okay? You're talking some gibberish words. I bet you’ve been drinking more of that illegal whisky you brought home the other night, huh? It's got you poisoned in a bad way.”

I backed off, trying not to laugh.

Of course it made sense a door greeter from the 1920s wouldn't know what a view screen was or why I was asking about user interfaces in a game.

This was getting frustrating, and I'd only just started. I could feel my edge over the other players slipping away.

When Raymond simply stood there waiting for a response, I opened my profile and status pages to look again. The multiple paragraphs of information I didn't know were still blurred out.

I wondered why, obviously having never triggered whatever event would unblur the knowledge. I hadn't received very many cold shots to the brain, either. I closed back out and assessed my situation.

Raymond still looked at me, waiting for a response. Part of me wanted to know how long he would simply stand there. The more cautious part of me didn't want him any more suspicious than he already was.

"Sorry, Raymond." I said, answering his concern. “You're right about that whisky. It did a doozy on me."

Raymond relaxed, but I could tell he wasn't fully convinced.

"Usually does, sir. Of course that's my opinion. The Green Fists make a lot of money from bootlegging. Don't like it none, but I don't bite the hand that feeds. That said, you shouldn't be spending your money on their poison even if we both work for one of their guys."

I nodded, figuring the code was trying to steer me back towards the storyline. Like my character before me, I may have been avoiding it.

"You're right. I won't buy anymore illegal booze. Speaking of the gang, you heard anything new about the incident last week?"

I was hoping it was vague enough he would get the hint. I had no idea what Raymond knew about Owney "The Owl" Johnson's murder.

I honestly had no idea what anyone knew of it. According to my own false memories, I had been the only true witness at the crime scene.

Raymond said, "nothing good, Mr. Jones. Just the usual scuffles between The Green Fists and all the fangs. Heard about The Owl's death down at The Green Yards. That place is falling apart just like all the other blocks. The Cortez Family thinks they can murder their way to the top, but that just makes for more blood."

I feigned recognition, finally feeling another cold spike of knowledge. "Yeah, The Green Yards. That's not far from here, is it?"

I remembered doing some odd jobs for Mr. Gallagher in the area. The Green Yards got its name from having quaint little grass lawns shared between small houses. My boss owned pretty much the whole neighborhood.

The Cortez Family reference didn't give me much to go with, other than it was a rival mafia gang on the rise. They were known as ruthless killers, feared by the locals. At least The Green Fists had their origins in The Green Yards, hence their name.

"How long is the walk?" I asked.

"Drunk or sober?"

I laughed, but Raymond didn't see the humor in it. He genuinely thought I was acting odd because of the alcohol.

"Sober."

"Just a few blocks from here, down by The Eastern Club, where The Greenies hang out after business hours. But I won't get into your business with them, or with Mr. Gallagher. I'm not about to get myself fired from this job. I like it here."

He trailed off, seemingly hesitant to continue. I raised an eyebrow, curious what he might reveal if I kept pushing.

"Is The Eastern Club… East?" I asked, trying to be clever.

The night porter shook his head. “No. Your humor needs work, young man, along with your ability to stay sober.”

I sighed. He was probably right.

“Never mind about all that. Like I said, it's not my place to bring up your business. The Greenies hang out at The Eastern Club when they're not working. If Mr. Gallagher went upstairs at this hour to give you a warning, you best listen to it. That's all I can say about the matter."

I nodded, catching his drift. It was another veiled threat, and a reminder for me to stick to my storyline.

"Alright," I said, deciding to bring the conversation to an end, "sometimes I just don't know the old me, you know? Sorry for asking questions."

"That makes sense why you're acting like you don't know anything. The past can be fuzzy, especially after whisky."

I smiled. “Exactly.”

Guessing that prohibition was in full effect in the city, I had been the one breaking the law.

"Well," I said, "it was good chatting with you, Raymond."

"Likewise, Mr. Jones. And please take it easy on the alcohol. It's really not good for you."

Raymond moved to sit back down on the stool. He was a kind old man who had worked there a long time. At some point I might be able to ask him more questions. Right in that moment I didn't think it would help.

I took two paces towards the front door. Raymond reacted to my presence as if I had just walked up.

It felt like another scripted event. There was a very natural flow to it, but Raymond's actions were programmed to happen as soon as I had finished my first conversation with the man.

"Mr. Jones!" he said, reaching for a mail slot on the wall labeled Ethan Jones, Unit 403. "I almost forgot! This came in the post for you during the day, sir."

I took the letter. "Thank you, Raymond."

"No problem at all, young man. Enjoy the rest of your night."

I held a thin envelope in my hand. The names and addresses were handwritten.

Before opening it, I looked at my watch again. It was 2:09 a.m. I had spent at least fifteen minutes just talking to the NPC.

This was a good lesson for me. I learned not to try so hard and instead I would just go with the flow and move along.

If I had simply greeted Raymond and then moved on, I could have had this letter in a matter of seconds.

So much for starting off strong.