Rick had brought me to the apartment he shared with Michael and Mort. It was a great deal nicer than mine, but at the moment, I didn’t give a fuck because my hand was throbbing like a mad bastard, sending waves of pain up my arm.
“Sit him down on the side of the bed,” Rick ordered while opening a large chest in the corner of the room.
He came back with an oversized syringe.
“Hey, wait, what’s—”
He jabbed it into my arm and pressed the plunger. I sucked air through my gritted teeth, and then—I looked down at my broken hand. The bluish-purple bruise that had started forming on the back of my hand was gone, as was the pain. I opened and closed my hand. As good as new.
“How the hell…?”
“Stim pack,” Rick said as the syringe went up in a curl of blue smoke. “Pretty useful loot, now spent on an idiot that can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Sorry about that, but thanks.”
“You’re welcome. If I had had the time, I would’ve explained to you why you should have kept your head down awhen Vinger cam into the bar. He’s not only a high-level player, he’s also the brother of the mayor of Breaker City.”
“We got a mayor?”
“We do. The player with the highest level is the Alpha Prime of this city. He calls himself the Alpha Prime, of course, but to everyone else, he’s just the mayor. His name is Raker Tooth, and if you think Vinger is somewhat of a turd, he’s nothing compared to his level 87 brother. You really don’t want to end up on his radar, I’ll tell you that. He can’t affect your performance in the missions—that’s on the Game Maker—but he rules Breaker City with an iron fist and can make your life hell here.”
“Really? Why doesn’t this Game Maker stop him?”
Rick shrugged.
“Makes for interesting dynamics, I guess. There are rumors that we’re being watched, you know.”
“Watched?”
“Now you’re back to repeating questions again.”
“I’m sorry, but…watched?”
Rick nodded.
“We jellyfish know next to nothing about this place, but there are theories. People from the other areas have been here far longer than us, and they know stuff. There are three theories that dominate. One. This place has more than three million players at any given time. That creates enormous amounts of energy and some think this whole game is created in the future to power up some kind of cryptocurrency.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Me neither. I’m a pretty smart guy—9 in intelligence—but I don’t understand cryptocurrencies either. The second theory is that an AI has taken over in the future, gone rogue, and created this game as a parallel world to harvest our energy to fuel its murder bots, to kill off the last of the resistance. Others say it’s the resistance that created the game with their own AI to train us as soldiers to bring us into the fight against the future murder bots.”
I snapped my fingers.
“Hey! I know this script! Are you telling me we’re fighting fucking Skynet?”
Michael brightened.
“You’ve seen it too? The Terminator?”
“Hell yeah! Saw it at the Vista Theatre last week. Arnie rocks that flick so hard.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “He’s suited to play a robot, but my prediction? This is the apex of his career, unfortunately. Can’t make it in Hollywood with that accent.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Some attention, maybe?” Rick snapped. “The third theory?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. Let’s hear it.”
“This is all some strange TV show run by aliens. We watch the Battle Clash, but they are watching us watch Battle Clash, like those Russian dolls—layers upon layers. They watch us watch Battle Clash, but they also watch us when we’re out on missions, placing intergalactic bets and such.”
I nodded.
“I can see that.”
Mort nodded as well.
“Yeah, I would watch a show like that.”
“Okay, that’s enough for one night, I think,” Rick said. “We need to rest so we’re prepared for the dungeon crawl tomorrow.”
I wouldn’t have guessed it, but this dark-haired scrawny boy of seventeen years or so actually had leadership qualities. I nodded and got to my feet.
“Good suggestion.”
“You can crash here if you want to. We have a spare room.”
I took him up on the suggestion. I was tired. It had been a long day, and I knew I wouldn’t sleep much; my brain was boiling with all the new impressions. I needed to get up early, and I didn’t even know where the square we were to fly out from was. Better to just tag along with the musketeers.
When I lay in the bed in the cramped spare room, my feet sticking out from under the blanket, all the oddities of the day came crashing down. I was still sitting on my couch back home. That had worried me—that I would return and my body would be all messed up by sitting in the same position for days—but according to Rick, it didn’t work that way. Twenty-four hours in this world translated to something like two minutes in the other. And when one was in the base world, the script was flipped—24 hours there translated to two minutes in Breaker City. Tme math sounds all messed up, I know, but if a super AI had managed to create all this, its ability to piece everything together to create an even flow of events, was not the thing I would start questioning.
I was wrong about sleeping. I went down like a clobbered ox and didn’t wake up until Rick was in the room shaking me by the shoulder.
“My God, you’re a hard sleeper. Get up and get ready, soldier. We’re having a quick breakfast, and then we need to catch that airlift.”
I threw the blanket to the side and followed Rick to the kitchen. Won’t bore you with the breakfast chatter. Soon enough, we were out in the street, heading north. Rick had marked Rochester Square on my mini-map, and it showed as a bobbing yellow dot. Others were out on the streets as well, heading north like us. Soon, it became a flood.
“Is it always this cramped for space?”
Rick nodded.
“Unfortunately. There are other airlift stations in Area 12, but we haven’t found them yet, so it’ll be like this—or worse—until someone does.”
It was still dark outside. I commented on it.
“Yeah, that’s the way it is. The sun is only up for like two hours a day in Low Town for some reason.”
Well, that was a punch to the gut. I’m all for the ambiance of night, Batmanesque and all that, but I’m a guy from South Cali, goddammit. I need the sun. No need to think about that now.
When we got closer to the square, the air swelled with a mumbling sound, and three weird-looking aircraft took flight. They looked like white beetles with their legs retracted under their bellies, shining in the same blue color as the carbon blades I’d seen yesterday.
“Are they leaving?”
“They’re shuttling people in and out all morning. We’ll catch a ride, don’t worry about that.”
And we did. A line was forming toward one of the beetles, but it never actually became a queue since an NPC in a gray uniform just waved people on, and we marched right in. It was surprisingly spacious, containing rows and rows of red plastic seats. It was already half full when we got on, and we shuffled into a row of seats, me closest to one of the small round windows that lined the side of the carrier. It filled up fast, and soon the NPC in the gray uniform closed the hatch and took his seat by the door. A sign blinked up ahead:
Fasten seatbelts.
There was a sea of clicks and clacks as people locked their belts, the kind that went over the hips only. Then the carrier lifted. It turned on the spot, hovering a few feet above the ground, the intense blue light washing out over the cobbled stones of the square, and then it took to the air—with gut-wrenching speed. It didn’t accelerate like anything I’d ever experienced before. I grabbed my seat and gritted my teeth. Then there was a pop in my ear, and the seatbelt pushed at my hips. Outside the window, I saw the curvature of a planet, sprawling lights, and the black space above it. Was this Breaker City I saw—all of it—or more? I was floating in my seat, only the belt keeping me in place.
“Holy fuck, we’re in space,” I mumbled.
“Sure is,” Rick said, looking a bit queasy.
Just a moment later, we started the descent. Air popped in my ears, and the carrier banked hard right, sunlight spilling in through the window. I saw it pass through the narrow window and then move to our tail. Below, I saw lush green forests and a range of snowcapped mountains in the distance.
“Behold the beauty of Windersmyr,” Rick said, but squawked the end of it as we hit a patch of turbulence.
The carrier rattled and shook, but then we were through it, and the carrier lifted its nose and landed.
“I’ll never get used to this,” Michael mumbled. “Too intense for my taste.”
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Not too much different from riding a Huey chopper into battle, in my opinion, but these guys, of course, knew nothing about that.
We disembarked, blinking in the sun. It was warm, but not hot—more like a spring warmth. I could’ve dwelled on that and how clean and fresh the air smelled, but the fact that my friends were suddenly wearing chainmail and helmets, with swords by their hips, kind of took me out of it. And that was when I realized my clothes had been replaced by a worn leather jerkin and smelly pants of roughspun. I didn’t even have boots—my feet were wrapped in rough cloth tied together with leather strips. In my belt, a dagger without a sheath was tucked. Crap. Was I supposed to fight ghouls and goblins with this?
Michael and Mort sniggered when they looked at me.
“Behold the awesome power of the fearsome level 1 dungeon crawler.”
“Ha ha, assholes. How am I supposed to kill anything with this?” I said, pulling my dagger.
“Well, you’re not. You just keep behind us in the dungeon. There will be loot in there that’s useless to us but useful for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hand down your useless crap to me,” I said, though I was secretly pleased with the situation.
“The starting village is Longbourn, but we don’t need to go there today. You guys are stocked up on arrows and healing potions if you need them, right?”
“Right,” Michael said.
“142 iron arrows in the inventory,” Mort said. “That’ll last me a day.”
I was scanning my own inventory, nurturing a faint hope that my imposing green battle suit from the training practice was there, and my plasma rifle—but they weren’t. The puny dagger was all that was in there, along with my filthy clothes.
“How’s your credits, Brad?”
I looked, and I gasped.
“Down to 20 credits. How did that happen?”
“Hmm, maybe we should’ve told you, but the transport costs 100 credits.”
“I guess it’ll cost 100 on the return trip as well.”
“It does, so this is what you should do: grab everything you find in the dungeon. You’ve got plenty of inventory space. Then you can sell it to the merchants down in Longbourn for silver, which you can convert to credits. With some luck, you might break even today,” Rick said, chuckling.
“Well, enough talk, then. Let’s go and earn some money.”
“Well, it’s silver, and we call it ‘coin,’” Mort said. “Like, ‘earn some coin.’ Not ‘earn some money.’”
“What difference does it make?”
“‘Coin’ sounds more fantasy. Gotta play the part, you know.”
“Well, whatever. Let’s go and earn some coin, then.”
“Let’s!” Michael said and started up the grassy hill.
We followed a well-trodden footpath, swerving between massive oak trees. After a while, the ground to our left started sloping down, and a valley emerged. At the bottom of the valley, there was a village, smoke curling out of the chimneys.
“Village of Noria. Good tavern with really cool missions. I’ll take you there sometime,” Rick said.
“You always take me to the nicest places.”
Rick chuckled.
Soon, we arrived at the dungeon entrance. I wish I could say I was eager to go in, but then you’d be forced to call me a liar. A rocky protrusion beneath a grassy knoll marked the entrance. Outside, in a drying pool of blood, a human skeleton picked clean of meat lay.
“Don’t mind that. It’s just for show,” Rick said, making us huddle up. “Okay, Michael, you stay in the shadows as usual, taking down targets with your bow. You and I, Mort, will go in hacking and slashing. Brad, you’ll follow a few steps behind. Try to get some kills if you can. There are some really useful achievements to collect when you start, and you need the XP.”
“Okay. Just a question,” I said, my heart pounding a bit harder now. “Are there NPCs in there? Are we killing NPCs?” I was thinking back to the other night and the lovely and accommodating Rose Vitalis at the Mini-Mart.
“No, sorry, should’ve mentioned that earlier. We’ll be fighting mobs in there. They’re not real and will pop right back to life as soon as we exit the dungeon. They’ll look as real as any NPC, but they’re the equivalent of the spiky tortoises in Super Mario. You don’t feel bad for stomping on them, do you?”
I didn’t. I hated those nasty little fuckers, always appearing at the worst time, sending poor Mario flailing and falling out of the picture, costing me a life.
“Okay, musketeers,” Rick said. “Let’s go in.”
The cave was cold and moist, the shadows flickering and dancing in the heavy light of a torch burning in a sconce on the wall. Up ahead, there was the sound of water dripping into a pond, the faint echo amplifying it. There had to be a larger cave down there. We walked single file down the narrow, rocky footpath.
“Watch your step, gents,” Rick whispered. “Don’t send any rocks tumbling, alerting the dregs to our presence.”
Dregs, I thought. I didn’t know what a dreg was, but I pictured it now—a great, hulking beast with a mouth full of very sharp teeth.
We reached the bottom of the cave, and it stretched out into a great pillared hall. At the center of it, a fire burned. By the fire sat four scrawny, long-limbed creatures with gray skin, barefoot and clad in dirty tunics. One of them poked the fire. To my right, there was a creaking from a bowstring being drawn. The sound alerted the dregs by the fire. They looked our way with great, big eyes without irises; their eyes shone like silver dollars. One of them gave off a piercing shriek and pointed toward us. My mouth went dry in an instant. Then they were on their feet, hurtling toward us with strange curved swords that almost looked like they were made out of wood. The blue text above their heads was the same for all of them:
Dreg – lvl. 2
Michael let the arrow fly. It caught one of the dregs in the chest, and it fell backward, feet up, as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath it. Yellow text rose above it:
25 XP
Mort and Rick charged forward, screaming like madmen with their high-pitched voices, their swords raised. They clashed, and the two musketeers made minced meat out of the dregs. The reason? The dreg's swords were made of wood. Another 50 XP, split between Rick and Mort. Nothing for me.
“What do you think, Brad? You want this?” Rick asked with a grin, holding one of the wooden swords in his hand.
His grin told me everything I needed to know about the quality of the weapon, if it hadn’t been obvious from the fight.
“You keep it.”
Rick chuckled and threw it to the side. He pointed his sword toward the dregs’ campsite, the blade covered in thick, gray blood.
“Go and loot that box by the fire. You’ll find something a bit more useful.”
“Really?” I scampered off eagerly and flipped open the lid on the wooden box. Inside was an iron sword, rather short and with a chipped edge. I swung it back and forth. It might not be sharp, but it had a reassuring weight to it. My inventory grid popped open, showing the sword at the top left corner. An in-game message appeared:
Achievement complete: Master Arms Man
Reward: 25 XP, 1 x Healing Potion (25 percent)
A progression bar appeared, showing me 7 percent of the way to my next level. After that, a new display popped open:
Battle stats:
Well-used iron sword +3 Attack Power.
The guys came up to me, Mort putting a hand fatherly on my shoulder.
“Your first XPs—congrats! And a mighty fine sword you found for yourself as well.”
And there was more. I found another wooden box containing an iron helmet, a leather harness, and best of all—a pair of boots!
With the new gear equipped, my defense stats rose by a whopping 12 points. I was ready to do wonders.
Total attack: 97
Total defense: 102
I asked the guys about their stats, and they were all in the five hundreds. Blasted…
We continued through the cave, into another narrow passage.
“There’s an ogre up ahead. A lot tougher than the dregs. They have excellent smell and hearing, but they see for shit. Michael will soften it up with arrows, and Mort and I will attack up front. Join if you want to, but no worries if you stay back.”
I saw the ogre at a distance, pacing the glum cavern, snorting air through its nose. Light fell at a slant angle from an opening in the cave’s roof. The ogre walked in and out of the light. It had massive shoulders, a head that looked screwed directly onto those huge shoulders, small ears, a broad nose, and eyes that seemed way too small for that enormous head.
Really? Were we going to fight this thing?
The level indicator above the beast read:
Cave ogre – lvl. 4
Four times the size of the dregs and twice the level. The sword in my hand didn’t feel as reassuring anymore.
“It looks nasty, I know,” Rick whispered in my ear, making me jump. “But it’s a low-level mob, so we can manage.”
“It’s still a higher level than you three—not to mention me.”
“Yes, but we’re four, and we’re not stupid. Ogres are. Show him, Michael.”
Michael drew his bowstring and sent an arrow clattering against the cave wall. The ogre roared and pounded its massive fist on the floor before charging the wall like a bull. Michael pulled out another arrow, this one with a red shaft. The tip of it shone with swirling red light. He fired it at the pillar closest to the ogre. The arrow caused an explosion that buckled the pillar. The roof collapsed, sending the ogre hurtling back, bleating, blood running down its face.
“Crap, I had hoped that would’ve killed it.”
Michael and Mort drew their swords and approached the ogre at a slow jog. I followed with my scrappy iron sword. The ogre threw punches wildly in long sweeping strokes. Michael pelted it with arrows. Mort went in—I scrounged my face because I saw what was going to happen. The massive fist of the ogre struck Mort in the ribs, sending him stumbling to the side.
“Shit!” Rick said, and from his voice, I understood this wasn’t something that happened often—if ever. Mort could be in real danger.
I darted forward, the ogre’s beady little eyes locked on Mort, and I rammed my sword to the hilt into its side. Yellow text flashed before my eyes:
Critical Hit
The beast roared and stumbled back before losing its balance and crashing to the floor. A ragged exhale escaped it, and then it became still. From it, yellow text floated up to dissolve against the cave ceiling:
250 XP
And then a progression bar turned up -- One Handed Skill increased -- sliding easily to the right.
“Holy crap,” Rick said. “You scored a crit! Not easy to do for a low-level.”
Achievement cleared: Marksman 1
Reward: 250 XP, +3 Accuracy
My level bar hurtled fto the right, well over the halfway point. I shan’t lie—it was a good feeling.
Mort was on his feet, teeth gritted, supported by Michael, holding a hand to his side.
“Clobbered me good, the bastard.”
“Thought he owed it to us, considering we’ve killed him some twenty times by now,” Rick chuckled. “Are you popping a potion or walking it off?”
“I’ll save the potion, thank you. Nothing’s broken. Just a bit bruised and battered.”
A group of five dregs ended the dungeon. We made short work of them, and I managed to snag another 25 XP. At the entrance was another box, different looking. It wasn’t just a crude wooden box with a latch but a chest with a golden lock. It wasn’t locked, though.
“Should we give the honors to Brad this go-around?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, hard to deny him, saving my bacon and all,” Mort said.
Rick turned to me.
“That is a proper loot box. The ordinary boxes always contain the same thing, but this one—it can hold whatever. That’s how we earned our gear. We take turns opening it, and now it’s your turn.”
“I’m honored, lads.”
I popped the chest open, and a silvery sword rose, spinning in the air. Above it, in blue, read:
Rare Silver Sword of Chills
“Wow,” Mort said with a clear tint of envy in his voice. “It has an enchantment.”
I grabbed the sword and swung it back and forth. When the rushing air hit it, it shone with a faint blue glow.
“That’s the jackpot,” Rick said. “That’s about as good as it gets from a low-level dungeon. Silver is effective against vampires and werewolves, and the chill effect is effective against anything.”
The sword appeared in my inventory, bumping the iron sword one square to the right.
Achievement unlocked: Dungeon Dweller (obtaining a rare piece of equipment)
Reward: 100 XP
My progress bar made another jump to the right.
“I like the feel of it, and it’s kind of nice-looking as well,” I said, holding it up in front of me.
“Yes, very,” Mort said, angling his steel sword a bit, looking down on it.
We ran that dungeon six times in a row, getting our operation oiled up and sleek, clearing the dungeon in faster and faster times. I earned three more achievements, and when it was my turn to open the loot chest, I was awarded steel shin bracers. Not as awesome as the sword—more what one could expect from the chest, Rick said. My attack score had increased to 308 and my defense to 272. The guys weren’t interested in the crap from the regular boxes, so I hogged that. At the end of the day, when we walked down to Longbourn, a village with wooden houses and thatched roofs lying by a river, I sold it all to a merchant for 231 gold, which translated to the same amount in credits. I could travel back to Breaker City with the guys, but they would have to pay for the beers this time.