The best place to be in a bargaining session was between two buyers who each wanted the opposite of the other. Up to this point, the game engine had been in that position. With Fizzbarren opening up for a compromise, it shifted to put me in that position. I’m assured that the key to winning the game of Survivor is to spend every night thinking about the best moves of everyone else in the game. This worked until you forecast the wrong best move for them or over- or under-estimated a person’s ability to figure out their best move.
If I applied that to Fizzbarren, I could almost always predict that Fizzie would assume everyone was too stupid to know what was good for them. If I did that, I could almost unerringly predict his predictions. If I applied it to the constructs, who were binge-watching Survivor for lessons on life and how to interact with humans, I could predict that they were learning to trust no one. What? They’d watched X-Files too. I’d tried to get them to watch the Ditzney Plus channel, but they found the simplified versions of constructs in Ditzney productions insulting. Considering that Ditzney hadn’t even caught up with the women’s movement when I was watching it in the theaters in my youth, I couldn’t really blame them. Ditzney had gotten better. (Yes, I was required to say that since they still have lawyers who check for Ditzney references in EVERYTHING. You have been warned. Even your Alexa device isn’t safe. If you’re reading this and the name has been changed to Ditzney, then they got to me too.)
All that to say that I was stretching my brain sideways in the few seconds between rounds to predict the moves of Fizzbarren, the constructs, the game engine, and trying to guess what I might be missing in my predictions with the blindsides and change-ups that could be tossed in by the producers. That was when my head exploded. Game over. Book over.
Just kidding.
Comedy -4 (that’s not funny)
Right. This is where I’m supposed to put in a substantial and satisfying ending that wraps up all the loose ends or I’ll get lambasted by critics everywhere for plot holes or premature ejaculation. I’m guessing a four-chapter fight followed by just enough epilogue chapters to fulfill the Write-a-thon and I’m good to go. Ready?
“If you will forfeit this fight, I promise to boot you and your whole family from my game world so that you can go right back to that life you say I ruined,” Fizzbarren offered. “I’ll even throw in your animals since they have been brought here too as your familiars. Go back to your life.”
“My life has imploded out there in the real world,” I threw back at him. “You can’t give back what no longer exists.”
“Your life out there is as it always was,” Fizzbarren scoffed. “Pathetically scrabbling for the elusive gold ring among the rest of the ants that think themselves wise enough to judge how life should be. What’s the matter? Does your real life pale in comparison to the one you can build here? Did I not ruin your life after all?”
“I can only think of a Kacey Musgraves song called High Horse, though come to think of it, I’d go for Heartland’s one too,” I muttered, trying to find words that this idiot could understand that could possibly make my point. “Hell, I’d settle for the Manic song of the same title, but I figure Musgraves is about all you could handle.”
“I don’t subscribe to the new music that you young people listen to,” Fizzbarren sneered at me.
“Giddy up, Fizzie-baby,” I rolled my eyes, rushing into my next sentence so that he wouldn’t interrupt me with more banal blathering that he pretended was erudite. It was enough that his face reddened at the mention of his nickname. “What I mean to say is that by being yanked out of the real world, my family adapted and changed in ways that can’t be undone. Unless you have a rewind button somewhere in your bag of tricks that can put all of our adaptations back in place, we went from the cusp of medical school to circus performers.”
“That was their choice and hardly my fault.” Fizzbarren rolled his eyes right back at me. If we were going to get into an eye-rolling war, he was not going to win. I’d cut my teeth on Dom’s eye rolls. Fizzbarren could take lessons, especially since he was still trying to be Fizzie in Kat’s face.
“Okay, but admit that this is just a ruse,” I gave a quick laugh. “You, of all people, can’t expect me to believe that you mean what you’re saying.”
“Why not?” Fizzbarren reasoned, pulling at his feet that were not moving.
“Prove it.” I shrugged at him as if I didn’t care. “Let’s pop you out of that costume and put you back in your own body. I’m sure the engine would agree if we do.”
Bartering +1 (I will Not!)
Exp +10 (3,156,375/5,985,462)
“Good,” I told the engine silently.
“I suppose we could do that,” Fizzbarren said, but I could see a flicker of doubt cross his face when it didn’t happen.
“I didn’t think so.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“What is it that you didn’t think was so?” Fizzbarren gave me another disdainful sniff.
“You’d have to use your god card to exit the game to be able to force the game engine to do anything,” I revealed.
Bartering -1 (what are you doing?)
“There is that,” Fizzbarren pretended that he already knew this.
“But I could use my god card to stop you.” I flicked out my god card for viewing.
Bartering +1 (god cards can’t be used to counter another god card)
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Exp +10 (3,156,385/5,985,462)
“Why not?” I sent my thoughts to the game engine.
Bartering -1 (because only one person was supposed to ever have god cards)
“So?”
Skill Learned: Bantering (so he would never contradict himself as he isn’t a hypocrite)
Exp +30 (3,156,415/5,985,462)
“What?!”
Skill Deleted: Bantering (and he’s god and can’t make mistakes)
“You’re making this up!” I thought with a mental hiss.
Random skill upgrade (it is my job to make everything up!)
Exp +10 (3,156,425/5,985,462)
“Admit that your god card is a fake, silly girl,” Fizzbarren pressed Kat’s lips together. “You cannot stop me from doing anything I please. I’ve half a mind to show you…”
“Sure, take that chance.” I waved my card back and forth between my first two fingers. “I don’t have as much to lose, as all future god cards will go to me, not you.”
“What?” Fizzbarren finally showed a spark of fear.
“I took down all versions of your books on every publishing platform,” I admitted, thinking he was on the hook enough that a little bluff might work for me.
Acting +1 (I am not amused)
Exp +10 (3,156,435/5,985,462)
“The only writings that will produce any god cards are being done in my name on Royal Road,” I doubled down. The truth was closer to the idea that whoever was standing next to the machine when it spit one out would get the god card. “And I fed my books into the machine. I have a dozen published books on Amazon that I wrote before Kat was born.”
“Poppycock,” Fizzbarren protested at the last bit. It figured that the last part, being true, was what he had trouble believing. Fizzbarren wasn’t very good at discerning truth, something I found typical of those who lied a lot. If you counted how much Fizzbarren lied to himself, he was a supreme expert at lies, not truth.
“Unbelievable,” I nodded with a wry frown as I recast Cement Shoes.
“I thought we were discussing things under the banner of a truce,” Fizzbarren lofted Kat’s nose into the air with pursed lips. “And you accuse me of being the villain when you are the one who doesn’t even respect a truce.”
Go ahead and scroll back up the page. See if you can find that agreement of a truce. I’ll wait right here. Yeah. It’s not there. This is another thing the bad guys do to make the good guys question themselves. I could argue with Fizzbarren about there not being an official truce of any kind but that would distract from the real issue and muddy up the truth. I’d learned this from arguing with Dom.
“You’ll stay where I put you.” I pointed at Fizzbarren seriously, ignoring his baseless tangent. “I don’t trust you any further than I do the guy who last claimed I was a villain.”
“Maybe you should start listening to those who are simply trying to point you toward reality instead of pandering to your dreamworld,” Fizzbarren sounded perfectly reasonable in a way that made me want to fry him like a chicken, except that I didn’t like most fried chicken because under that delicious flour and spices of a crust was a slimy undercoating of skin that didn’t get fried well enough.
“The last guy to claim I was a villain had just blamed me for making him pull a knife on me,” I mused, letting the trauma flow off me. “You remind me of that guy a lot, actually.”
“Preposterous,” Fizzbarren shook his head, his face still twisted into the self-denial I knew so well. “I almost sympathize with the man. You are a very frustrating individual. I, however, have more restraint and honor.”
“Oh, he claimed to have honor too,” I nodded. “Just like you, he had very little power over me once I unveiled exactly how little honor he had. Would you like to try that?”
“You cannot use your trickery on me,” Fizzbarren gave a bark of a laugh.
“That ship has sailed,” I whispered.
“We stand here as almost equal foes,” he protested. “I have just as much magic as you do.”
“You only have magic near equal to mine because you stole it from Kat,” I reasoned without emotion. “And I was winning. You were the one that wanted to stop and bargain. I fail to see what bargain you have that you could offer me that would make up for all this.”
“All this magical world of adventure where good health is as easy a wave of your hand?” Fizzbarren mocked me, but I wasn’t having it.
“Kidnapping without my consent,” I ticked the charges off on my fingers. “Slavery, as you put me to work for no compensation to write a book only you would receive profits from.”
“You truly can twist anything, can’t you?” Fizzbarren argued and it was like nothing could ever penetrate his concept of the world.
“Are you saying that kidnapping and slavery are okay?” I reasoned.
“If by kidnapping you mean saving you from the drudgery of the real world and putting you in a magical place of wonder, then I’d say that it saved you, and you were well paid in a rich house, tons of money, and political power in the game.” He crossed Kat’s arms over her chest, having to adjust to her different form.
“Interesting perspective,” I nodded, “and one that should be combined with some Kant philosophy. Have you read any Kant?”
“Wasn’t he the author of the Utilitarian movement?” Fizzbarren waved Kat’s arms. “Something about how the ends justify the means, which doesn’t seem so bad if you bother to look at it from a more grateful mindset.”
“I was thinking about Kant’s universal law.” I recast my Cement Shoes to keep Fizz on his side of the room. “It gets a little sketchy when you use Utilitarianism to justify using fantasy-future-fortune-telling to excuse any action you really only want to do, but Kant’s universal law can be applied to most things more rationally.”
“I think I met Kant once,” Fizzbarren mused. “Miserable man. He thought that prisons with glass walls was a rational idea.”
“Universal law states that what a person deems as acceptable for others should then be applied to the universe as a whole and then that person should be asked if that is a world they want to live in,” I explained, ignoring the attempt at another tangent.
“A bit like the golden rule.” Fizzbarren shrugged. That was okay. I didn’t need him to get my point. In order to satisfactorily close any plot holes about which of us was the villain, I chose to use Kantian Universal Law.
“Nope,” I shook my head, reaching down to pet Terra, who was rubbing against my legs. “The golden rule says to treat others the way you want to be treated, which is close, but Kantian Universal Law takes it one step further by saying that if a person acts, they do so in a way that sets that act into a law in their world, a law to which they should be held. To make this simple, I’ll apply it to your assertion that I should be grateful for being kidnapped and forced into slavery. You are also stating that you would be grateful if you were kidnapped in a similar way and that we could expect you to be grateful for being put to work in a similar way as you put Chester and Lily to work as characters in your book.”
“Of course, I’d be grateful,” Fizzbarren asserted. “I’m not a hypocrite.”
“Good,” I gave a final nod and straightened back up with a recast of my God Bubble. “Then you will be grateful when the game engine enslaves you in your own shelved novel where you can live out the rest of your life in the wonder of a world of your own creation.”
“Now listen here, young lady,” Fizzbarren said, as a pair of Fireballs collided into his face.
Kat level 22 (Health 16,399/20,105) (Mana 18,475/21,660) Poisoned and Grounded (-75/5 seconds)
I focused on the floor at Fizzbarren’s feet and soured the highest version of my mend spell. I pulled at the energy of the magic that held the very world together. Nothing happened at first, but as I ignored Fizzbarren’s rantings about my shortcomings, I felt the sourness warp the wood that was already stressed by the cement shoes on Kat’s feet. I pulled harder. Maybe too hard.
Spell Learned: Rot (uh, I should probably fix that…)
Exp +30 (3,156,465/5,985,462)