Chapter 33: Odyssey

The friend request came with a user icon, but it looked more like a corporate logo to me. A stylized version of a boat with its sail forming the curve of an O and a pair of Z’s shaped by the waves it kicked up.

Very slick. Very professional. Too detailed for a Discord icon? Probably, but I bet it looked great on a website.

Lena spun her chair around and stared at it. “How long did that take?”

“Five minutes, tops?” I shifted to her side so I could both meet her eyes and see her screen. “Your email address must’ve tripped a flag somewhere.”

“It’s either that, or...” She bit her lip.

Or it was like how AlephLambda instantly responded to every Discord message. How Albie did. We’d talked about the possibility of Omar Jeffries being Albie’s big brother, but ultimately we’d ruled it out. He was too old, his history too mundane.

And by “we,” I mean “me,” because Lena never ruled out any possible insight on Albie’s situation.

“The response wasn’t instant,” I said. “Just fast.”

Lena bit her fingernail. “If it really was my email address... God. Zhizhi was right, wasn’t she? We’re legit famous.”

“Does it count as famous,” I asked, “if it’s only within a worldwide community that would fit in a big stadium?”

“Yes,” Lena said. “It totally does.”

Who was I to argue?

She opened Discord on her computer. She hesitated over the button to accept the friend request.

I wondered if I should say something.

Nope. After a second, a smile spread across her face. Not the manic grin she hid behind when she was a bundle of nerves. Not the little twitch of her lips she sometimes graced me with in our quiet moments. A level smile, a steady smile, winning, confident.

I’d seen her fake it often enough since we started recording videos, but it was the first time she’d smiled like The Magnificent Ashbird when she was just being herself.

She jabbed the button.

OdysseyZZ: Great to hear from you, Ashbird! I was absolutely made up to see your name show up in my inbox.

Lena reached over Bernie to type. I held my hands out and she nodded, so I scooped him off her lap. Though he looked like I was cradling him in one arm, I felt the suggestion of stickiness where his feet latched onto my shoulder.

Ashbird: Heya, OdysseyZZ. Glad you got my email.

OdysseyZZ: Of course, of course! I hope to see all the top players here, but now I know I’ve got the interest of a legend. I can’t wait to get you into a match.

A hint of freckles appeared on Lena’s cheeks.

“Lays it on thick, doesn’t he?” I asked.

She coughed. “As long as he lays on what the rules of his tournament are going to be, I’ve got no complaints.”

It didn’t look to me like she would have any complaints about being called a legend to begin with.

Ashbird: Maybe you’ll see me there, maybe not. I’m interested in the format you’re expecting us to play in.

OdysseyZZ: Oho! What sort of format would make you want to stay away?

I thought it was interesting that Omar went negative. Not, “what would get you to attend,” but the opposite. It was, I supposed, a reflection of his confidence. The default state was wanting to be at his tournament. Refusing would be the aberration.

Hell, he wasn’t even open to the idea Lena wouldn’t come. Just that she might, maybe, not want to.

Ashbird: The kind of format where I don’t know what I’m getting into.

OdysseyZZ: Does it sound fair for me to tell you but not the rest of the contestants?

Ashbird: I actually asked on your Reddit thread. If you tell me, I’m just going to share it with everybody in a video.

OdysseyZZ: Bummer. I kind of liked the ambition.

“Heh,” Lena said.

Ashbird: I don’t need unfair advantages to fulfill my ambitions.

OdysseyZZ: Loving the confidence!

OdysseyZZ: The boys and girls in marketing had a whole plan for how to roll out information about the tournament. Announcement, hints, trickle out details, keep it in the news cycle.

OdysseyZZ: The idea was to make finding out tournament details a game in and of itself.

Despite myself, I stood up straighter. We’d done precious little to engage with the Altered Reality Game side of the supposed AR-ARG. The Augmented Reality side, which tied more directly into Third Eye’s ability to manipulate what seemed to be real magic, had dominated our thoughts. But it was the ARG part that first got me to back the Kickstarter.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Playing an ARG to find out more about the tournament? I much preferred that to the tournament itself.

Maybe more interesting was the fact Omar, or at least his marketing department, wanted to use an ARG to promote his event. If his sensibilities were so much like those of the devs, was it really a coincidence?

Was it the reason he’d backed Third Eye at the highest tier?

Or was it a hint he was more than a simple backer?

All of that ran through my head, but Lena cut it off by focusing on a more immediate concern.

Ashbird: So I’m supposed to wait until your marketing department decides I get to hear what you’re doing at the tournament?

OdysseyZZ: So I’m going to give you an advantage whether you like it or not, and we’ll find out what kind of a disruption you’d like to cause with it.

She snorted. “Oh God. Disruption. Why do I feel like I’ve signed up for this guy’s TED Talk?”

“Just keep telling yourself, $500,000 and five of each Reactant,” I said.

“Plus whatever secret he has that lets him transfer Reactants,” she said.

“Is all of that worth putting up with a TED Talk?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Honestly? His shtick is kinda funny, anyway.”

I stared at her in mock horror to hide how horrified I felt.

Ashbird: It doesn’t sound like I could stop you even if I wanted to.

Ashbird: Which I don’t.

OdysseyZZ: Great! We’re already on the same page.

Lena laughed.

With her lines together the way they were in the finished Discord log, I supposed their interaction did look funny.

I found it less amusing that the ‘OdysseyZZ is typing’ message had appeared on her screen before she sent her second line, though. Sure, he might’ve deleted something and replaced it. Or he might’ve considered the page they were on one where he made all the decisions and we just went along with it.

If Lena noticed the timing, it didn’t seem to bother her. Her hands whipped across the keyboard.

Ashbird: Rules y/n?

In answer, Omar sent her a link. No URL, just an IP address. I supposed the ARG would have somehow clued players in to both the individual numbers and the order in which they should be arranged.

Lena shot back a response that I considered optimistic.

Ashbird: Thanks!

OdysseyZZ: Any time.

OdysseyZZ: I might hit you up about further cross promotion once you’ve had time to think about the rules. We’ve got so much untapped synergy!

OdysseyZZ: Be sure to let OldCampaigner know, too. You’re both going to be amazing parts of the tournament.

Lena elbowed me. “You hear that, OldCampaigner?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Let’s see these rules.”

Ashbird: Sounds cool. I’ll pass it on.

Then she clicked the link.

We were greeted by a much larger, more parsable version of the OdysseyZZ logo. All clean, overdesigned, swooping lines, but they were just detailed enough that I realized what I’d called a boat was probably supposed to be one of those Ancient Greek ships. A bireme or trireme or something. Made sense, considering the theming of Omar’s username. I supposed he’d picked it for the branding of his companies as well. Fair enough. It was certainly distinctive.

Apart from the logo, a couple of other illustrations drew my eye. They were done in the same style, but these lines suggested Third Eye avatars in a stadium environment. Again, too abstract to make out details, but I couldn’t help but notice that one of the figures had either an especially billowing cloak or a pair of wings.

“No wonder your email address tripped a flag,” I said. “Looks to me like he was going to imply you’d be there, whether you wanted to go or not.”

Lena nodded. “Good thing I do want to go, huh?”

I pursed my lips, but said nothing more until I got the chance to read the rules.

I pushed the pictures out of my mind and checked the text. A header proclaimed the tournament’s name, Imagined Worlds Open. A description of the event followed, pretty much reiterating what Omar had put in his initial Reddit post, but run through a filter of corporate-speak to sound more official.

Applying such a filter was the sort of task Lena and I often got hired to do. Seeing the transformation in action made me shift on my feet.

From there, Lena clicked through a link to the Rules page.

She scanned it. I read along with her.

Thirty two qualifying players would compete in single elimination matches, with a one day break between rounds. Each match would last until a player dropped to zero HP or surrendered.

Anyone who landed an attack against a defeated or surrendered player would be disqualified. I breathed easier reading that. The contestants would have to be careful as they got their opponents to low HP, which meant that even if Lena lost – I didn’t even entertain the idea of her surrendering – she shouldn’t face much risk of physical harm.

Maybe the most interesting thing was the discussion of time limits. According to the website, if a match stretched past ten minutes, the contestants would be subjected to stage hazards to discourage “excessively defensive play.”

I had a hard time imagining it becoming an issue. The only Third Eye match I’d seen last that long was the one between Lena and Matt, and that only because they had repeatedly paused to announce their HP and leave gaps for Zhizhi to edit in explanations. I supposed if a pair of players who specialized in defensive Earth effects faced off, they might stall things out.

I very much hoped they would, because the stage hazards fascinated me. They’d have to be Third Eye constructs, right? Would Omar command them himself, or had he developed some way to automate Third Eye effects?

Lena and I both read and reread the line.

“Almost makes me want to figure out a stall build,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but as much as I’d like to see the stage hazards, there’s no way you’d have the patience to pull that off.”

She cupped her chin. “You’re right. Control players are basically war criminals.”

As someone who usually ended up borrowing a Blue deck when the tabletop gaming group we shared with Miguel played Magic the Gathering, I harrumphed.

Lena giggled. “I noticed you didn’t contradict me.”

“I was counterspelling you with my mind,” I said.

She gave me the finger, I clasped her hand, and she wiggled the rest of her fingers free so she could return the gesture.

“All of this looks super cool, I have to admit,” I said. “Except for the open tryouts.”

Her shoulders sagged, and I ended up holding her hand aloft.

“For my part,” she said, “I actually think it sounds kind of fun. But I don’t know about bringing you and Mom and Dad into that environment.”

There wasn’t a lot of detail on how the thirty two contestants would be selected, just an announcement that Imagined Worlds would play host to open tryouts for the week leading up to the tournament. The “top performers” would be welcomed to the tournament proper.

No detail, but we didn’t need it to understand:

Omar was going to turn his failing VR amusement complex into an open invasion zone.