Chapter 2: Signup Bonus
“And you call me the worst,” Lena said. Nonetheless, she hugged my waist.
I let her for a while. When it started to get weird, I mumbled, “You did a hell of a job playing it cool this afternoon.”
“I mean, I was legit hyped for a new Trowel Samurai.” She untangled her arms from my waist. “I figured the Third Eye thing would end up being a scam, anyway. It only really hit me it might be real when I clicked the signup link.”
“On the plus side, if there’s any game to it, it’s something you’re really going to be into, right?”
“You’d think so, right?” She shook her head. “I had this whole idea that if I got into an immersive enough AR game, it would get me out of the house and interacting with people. Now we’ve been together for years, you drag me out to parties, we’ve got the Monday game night. I don’t, like, actually like a lot of that interaction, but it’s not as miserable as I thought it would be.”
Lena acted so casual, she made it easy to forget how little she talked about herself. Especially about her life before she moved in with me.
I hadn’t realized how bad she’d felt. How desperate she must have been. Her money had run out and she’d had to go from a shut-in who only met people through Doordash to living with her internet kind-of-boyfriend. Who hadn’t had a clue.
Which, in retrospect, made me kind of a shitty boyfriend.
No wonder we mostly weren’t dating anymore.
Instead of letting myself dwell on it, I asked, “So now that Third Eye is actually here, you don’t even want to play?”
“Judging by the thread, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything to play.” She snorted. “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll still end up being cool. If nothing else, in a way, it did what I hoped, you know?”
“That’s a great attitude.” I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Who are you and what did you do with Lena?”
She kicked me in the shin. Deserved. Then she blinked away any tears that had betrayed her by sneaking out, found her grin. “Let’s finish signing in and find out how little I got for my money.”
“So little,” I said.
She glared, but she laughed, too.
Satisfied, I went back to my computer and paged down the end user license agreement. Third Eye Productions is not liable... Multiplayer experience not rated by the ESRB... Agree to the use of location data... Camera access... The legalese blurred my vision.
I hit “I Accept” and officially became a user of Third Eye. It bumped me to a congratulation screen and directed me to sign in on my phone to “take my first step into a new world.”
“They almost nailed the quote,” I said.
“And invoke the wrath of the Mouse?” Lena asked. “They wouldn’t dare, even if they had actual magic on their side.”
“Still, I’m kinda annoyed.”
“Over a quote?”
“Of course, what kind of geek do you take me for?” I reached for my phone and tapped the link in my text message. It sent me to the Play store and there was Third Eye. Real as an actual released product, even though it wasn’t yet. “But what I meant was, I’m annoyed they don’t let me finish sign-up on the PC. At least let me input my username and password on there and give me a QR code so I don’t have to type it all out on the phone.”
“How are you such a dinosaur you still can’t text properly?”
“You know I grew up with a flip phone.”
“Depraved because you’re deprived,” Lena sang.
“She pulls from a musical old when the world was young,” I said, “and I’m the dinosaur.”
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“There was a remake,” she said.
I didn’t have to look at her to know she’d be wrinkling her nose, same as I was.
I turned my attention back to my phone. Frowned.
A welcome screen glowed up at me. Third Eye, with its three-eyed icon, a UI disaster with a bunch of stats and/or currencies I didn’t like the look of, and a stock image of a scroll offering a sign-up gift. Had I actually finished signing up while I shot banter back and forth with Lena?
Half-panicked, I tabbed to Gmail on my PC. Third Eye had sent me an authentication email, including username (OldCampaigner) and password (none of your business). I’d spaced on entering them and scowled at myself for using the same login as I did on a lot of other services. If Third Eye turned out to be a scam I’d have to redo a bunch of my passwords. So much for Lena’s tough love. At least I’d entered the information correctly; my touch-texting was as bad as she’d mocked me for.
Her laugh distracted me.
“Sup?” I called.
She waved her phone at me. “Did I only get this for overspending, or do you have the choice, too?”
“What choice –” I looked at my phone screen again, really looked. At the end of the scroll, it gave me two buttons to tap. Did I want my login bonus to be digital? Or physical? “Oh, bullshit.”
“Right?” She made a big show of jabbing her finger at the screen. “Beautiful. Disaster.”
Sans fanfare, I picked digital. “You didn’t really choose physical. You know that’s never coming.”
“But imagine if it did,” Lena said.
“Kickstarters never fulfill physical rewards. It’s a law of the universe.”
On my phone screen, a new scroll popped up, awkwardly framing a glittering 3D render of an amulet. Unlike the UI, the amulet looked nice. It sported rune-scribed silver fittings around a half-blue, half-green gem I couldn’t identify, probably because it didn’t exist in the real world. The art was high enough quality, on a project with a low enough budget, I suspected AI generation. The fact the runic characters were text-like but not from an alphabet I recognized, be it Futhark or Roman, made it more likely.
Still, gacha history told me that if Third Eye wanted to sell loot boxes of these .pngs, they needed to swap the jewelry for anime girls wearing not much else.
“They don’t even show a preview,” Lena said. “That sucks.”
“I got one,” I said.
“That’s because you chose boring.”
“Which one of us has a sick amulet?” I held the phone up to show her.
“Which one of us has a .png, you mean?” She hunched her shoulders and had the decency to look away while she groused.
The doorbell cut off any further argument.
We both froze.
Physical bonus...
But that was absurd.
I chuckled as I checked the notifications on my phone, hovering over my unclaimed Third Eye digital bonus. “Pizza’s here.”
“Thank fuck.” Lena exhaled. Because she was hungry, not because she’d believed for a second she’d gotten an amulet delivered. Right? I didn’t press her.
In fairness, Lena stayed hungry. “Any longer,” she said, “and I might’ve had to cook something.”
“Now that’s just crazy talk.”
“You’re right. I would’ve had to make you cook something.” She waved at the door. “Fetch, boy!”
I jogged over to do so.
Behind me, I heard Lena’s chair creak as she got up, as well. Probably to find something to dry her eyes with. It didn’t look to me like she’d actually cried, but she wouldn’t take the chance. The last thing she’d want was to show weakness in front of a pizza guy.
I recognized Raul, the one standing outside, although only his face was visible between his hat and his parka. Which was a lot more sensible gear for the weather than what I had on, jeans and a flannel. There was no snow outside, not even any clouds, so I hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten.
“Here’s your pie,” Raul said. “Get it while it’s hot.”
“I’m with that.” I shivered while I tapped my phone to pay him. I added a little extra to the tip in acknowledgment of the weather.
He handed me the pizza and watched the payment come through. “You two know you could just get the supreme, right?”
“Don’t tell Lena that.”
“Something she doesn’t like on it?”
“Yeah, convenience.”
He laughed. “It’s your money, man.”
“Believe me, I know,” I said.
His phone disappeared into the folds of his parka. “Stay warm.”
“You too,” I said. I started to shut the door.
“Hold up. Is this your package?” Raul tapped his foot against a box wrapped in brown paper.
I risked sticking my slippered foot into the cold and nudged it inside. Package in, no frostbite. Victory! I glanced at the address. “Nope, Lena’s.”
“Cool,” Raul said. “Hope she enjoys it more than the supreme.”
“Thanks. Me too.” I shut the door. Blessed warmth! Just not a lot of warmth. Our apartment was surprisingly well insulated, but once cold got in, we were at the mercy of the furnace and our landlord’s willingness to either fix it or turn it up. I almost wished I had cooked. On the other hand, pizza.
Before I left the door, I gave the package a once-over. Not slickly boxed enough to be an Amazon order, more like Ebay or Etsy. Well, Lena had money again. Wouldn’t be the first weird tchotchke she stacked her side of the apartment with. Our armies of collectible crap waged war over the territory, gaining and losing ground as our finances made us shift from buyer to seller.
I left her reinforcements by the door and delivered the pizza the rest of the way to neutral ground, the linoleum counter of our ensuite kitchen.
Behind me, Lena said, “Holy shit!”