We dipped our spoons in our cereal, crunching away. Mort and Michael exchanged glances and snickered. Rick shook his head.
“What?” I demanded, but I perfectly well knew what; I’d been 17 once as well, though it felt like a very long time ago.
“Did you do it?” Mort asked, his eyes bright with merry anticipation. “You and that tall lady?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Good thing you aren’t much of a gentleman, then,” Rick stated, spooning cereal and milk into his mouth.
“Well, point taken, but what transpires between consenting adults is less important than what she told me about this place.”
That got their attention.
“I’ll tell you all about it at Anchor’s tonight.”
“Oh, come on! You can’t do that,” Michael said.
But I could. I needed more ears for this information—not because of vanity, but because everyone in Area 10 needed to know. Besides, we had work to do, and I needed the guys to focus on the job.
We spent the day farming a new dungeon, fighting level 5 and 6 mobs—chattering goblins that hurled spears in lazy arcs and shot arrows that hit everything except us when we came roaring at them. I hacked and slashed, green goblin blood whipping from the tip of my sword. My Endurance of 8 started to pay dividends; the others began lagging behind, often leaving me to go in first. My level climbed to 4, my attack strength to 602, and my defense to 588. I had saved up all my Character Points and Skill Points—now 9 of each—and while we sat outside the dungeon, catching our breath and drinking from our waterskins, I decided it was time to distribute them.
I pulled up the menu and my stats, and they looked all wrong. Attack was now 741 and defense 632.
“Hey, Rick. Take a look at this.”
He did and scratched his head.
“That’s odd. Wait… oh, you don’t see this happen often.”
“What?”
“Look at your base stats.”
I did. My base speed had risen from 4 to 5.
“What does that mean?”
“Your base stats are separate from your battle stats. Your base stats represent you,” he said, moving his hand up and down, indicating my person. “That your speed has increased is because we’ve spent the last two days working our asses off, and you’ve become more fit.”
That made sense. For the last seven years, I hadn’t done much except go from build site to build site in my Ford Bronco, getting stuck in traffic. I had my morning runs down at the pier, true, but that built endurance rather than speed. These constant bursts of speed when attacking mobs had obviously done something for my glutes.
“I’m still waiting for my strength to pop from 2 to 3, but that doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon,” Michael muttered.
“Yeah,” Rick said. “And as we said before, your base stats are super important because every percentage gain you get through gear, skills, potions, or magic is scaled from your base stats. So, while a 1-point increase doesn’t sound like much, it multiplies heavily when you add gear, skills, and enchantments.”
“Yeah, because look at this,” Mort said. “You’re two levels below me, but your melee attack is already much stronger than mine. Bupkis. That’s it. I’m going full mage. I can’t compete with that.”
Michael flapped his lips, exhaling.
“Depressing. But I’m with you, brother. Mage it is.”
Rick nodded.
“You won’t be choosing a class until level 10, as said, but it’s wise to start building your stats for the class you will choose already now. Pull up your skill tree.”
I did. It was like algebra—branches branching out from branches. At places, they wove into one another, but there were four separate trees they all grew from:
The Path of the Sorcerer, The Path of the Warrior, The Path of the Thief, and The Path of the Persuader.
“If you ask me, you should go warrior,” Rick said.
I looked at the skill tree for the Path of the Warrior:
One-Handed
Two-Handed
Light Armor
Heavy Armor
Blocking
Base Magic
“When you reach different thresholds of any given skill, you’ll unlock abilities for them. Open one up and take a look.”
I opened the One-Handed skill, and a list of abilities appeared:
15 – Berserker
One-handed attacks do 15% more damage (levels 15, 30, and 50).
30 – Warrior Stance
15% less damage taken from melee attacks (levels 30, 50, and 70).
45 – Armor Piercer
15% more damage done to armor (levels 45, 75, and 80).
75 – Duality
Dual-wielding attacks do 15% more damage (levels 75, 90, and 100).
100 – Damage Done
One-handed attacks do 100% more damage.
“You get the system?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s divided into three tiers. Berserker unlocks when I hit 15 skill points in One-Handed, but I can get it again at levels 30 and 50, giving me a total of 75% extra damage from one-handed attacks, right?”
“Right, and all the skills are stackable, so you can have an extra 75% damage from Berserker, and then you can add an extra 100% from Damage Done if you ever hit level 100 in One-Handed. The more you use one-handed weapons, the faster you will level that particular skill. And, as said, all these stats are percentage-based, scaling off your base stats such as strength and endurance. That’s why you’ll do well as a warrior class.”
“Got it. But where should I put my Skill Points?”
“Well, those decisions are super important, so I’m not going to tell you where to place them. But if you plan on going warrior class, you obviously want to invest your Skill Points into warrior class abilities. You’ve hit level 17 in One-Handed, and for now, that’s the only ability where you can put Skill Points. All of your other skills are still below level 15. So, my suggestion is that you unlock your first ability. I would go with Berserker for 15% more damage. You can never go wrong with a straight-up damage boosts. When you progress further, you’ll have harder decisions to make. You can pour all your Skill Points into offensive skills, but that will make you a pure glass cannon. Most people balance their stats and snag selected skills from the defensive skill sets as well.”
“But it’s good to concentrate my Skill Points into One-Handed?”
“It’s a great idea until you find a legendary warhammer in a loot box. Then it’s a terrible idea.”
All three of them snickered before Rick continued:
“Jokes aside, after a while, you’ll need to expand beyond just using one-handed weapons. You’ll need some ranged attacks as well, either archery or some destruction magic.”
“Okay. How about my Character Points? What should I do with them?”
“Two routes. Make a jack-of-all-trades build, spreading your points evenly. Or specialize. As I mentioned before, every point you chuck in there will scale off your base stats, which means that a Character Point invested in Agility is worth less to you than one invested in Strength.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Yeah,” Mort interjected. “It’s, in fact, only worth half as much since your agility is 4 and your strength is 8.”
“That’s right,” Rick said. “It makes sense to invest in traits where you’re already strong. Strength is a good trait to invest in as well. It’s what’s called a True Trait. If you invest in it, you’ll actually get physically stronger. Traits that aren’t true are, for example, Charisma and Intelligence. If you, for example, invest heavily in Intelligence, it won’t make you understand the theory of relativity if you didn’t before. You won’t actually become smarter, but it will boost your magical abilities, which depend on Intelligence, just like sword fighting depends on Strength. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And if you invest in Charisma, that won’t make that tall blonde woman like you more, if that’s what you’re hoping. The Charisma stat only works on NPCs. In Breaker City, you’ll have to rely on the goods God gave you.”
I had experienced firsthand how Strength was a True Trait when I broke my hand against Vinger’s jaw. I never, ever wanted to be at such a disadvantage again—never wanted to feel that weak again. I took my 9 Character Points and placed them all in Strength.
Rick huffed through his nose.
“Going the specialized route, I see. Maybe you’ll want to put something into the other stats as well, going forward?”
“Maybe."
I did take his advice on putting my Skill Points into the Berserker ability, though, since it was the only one open to me. The ability didn’t reflect in my attack or defense stats since it only activated when actually delivering a blow with a one-handed weapon. My increased Strength raised both my attack and defense, though. My attack had more than doubled to 1,521, and my defense had risen to 983.
“Nice,” Michael said, nodding. “Very nice.”
It was strange. I could actually feel that added strength, and when I rose, I felt it even more. My leather harness didn’t weigh all that much, but suddenly it was like I was wearing a T-shirt. My legs felt like coiled springs.
“Everyone rested and ready for another go-around?” I asked.
They were. I hacked and slashed, tore through the dungeon like the Tasmanian Devil. The added strength really made all the difference, and the 15% damage boost turned the chattering goblins to butter before my blade. Mobs that had needed two or three blows to kill now fell apart after one. In this dungeon, there were two special loot boxes, but neither of us got anything better than we already had—though I did find a nicer pair of boots, at least.
That night at Anchor’s, I started telling the guys about what Sarah had told me. We were overheard, and soon people crowded around our table.
“Time rifts,” a guy said, scratching his thin beard, sounding hesitant.
Another guy, tall and blonde, dressed in army fatigues with a black tank top under a leather jacket, laughed.
“We’re killing goblins and ghouls in a world that’s more real than the real one, and that’s what you get hung up on? If the dude says there are time rifts, there are time rifts.”
“Particles causing energy ripples when hitting light speed? That would align with the Cherenkov Effect but would at the same time dispel Einstein’s theory of relativity. It’s a fascinating prospect,” Rick said, more to himself than anyone else.
“That would cause massive amounts of radiation, though,” Mort interjected, and soon the three musketeers drifted away into their own discussion.
“And you got this information from a level 42 player?” the blonde guy asked, swinging a chair by the backrest to our table, sitting down.
I should tell you right now, I didn’t like him. It was something about his face—the smile that looked more like a smirk, the fact that he just sat down uninvited and spread his arm over half the table.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And she was hot!” Mort shot across the table.
The blonde guy lifted an eyebrow.
“Female? Aren’t that many of them around, mostly dudes in here, and we have to settle for NPC companions. Are you some kind of a special one?”
“You’d have to ask her about that.”
“But it’s fuckin’ unreal they opened the 1984-HUB. You know you live in the glory days of humanity, right? From there on, everything will get worse until it turns to shit completely. I’m from the 97-HUB, and even if we’re not supposed to talk about it, I’ve heard the world more or less has gone down the toilet by 2025.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about what?”
“Tiiime, man. I could tell you, for example, that you should log off right now, go and look up a guy called Bill Gates, and buy some stocks in his company, Microsoft. If you do that, you’ll be a multimillionaire before the ’90s hit. We can talk about that, but they won’t let you log off with the information, and believe me, I’ve tried. When you log off, you’ll still remember that a good-looking guy gave you a stock tip that would make you a millionaire, but you won’t remember what company I was talking about. It doesn’t matter what you do—you won’t remember the company name Microsoft or the name of its founder, Bill Gates. And if you try to write it on a note, that won’t work either. You can’t bring anything into the game, and you can’t bring anything out. What happens in Breaker City stays in Breaker City. And that’s not even the oddest thing.”
He leaned in closer, a cold grin spreading over his lips.
“If this place exists already in 1984, why isn’t there a single mention of the NeuroNexus 9000 before 1997, eh?”
“That’s not odd,” Michael said, shrinking a bit when everybody around the table turned to look at him. “It’s… The signal originated in the future—”
“
Yeah, 2071,” the blonde guy interrupted.
“It could’ve been even further into the future,” Michael said. “All we know is that the 2071-HUB is the first one that opened, but there could be a bazillion rifts before it that were never exploited. I’m not saying it’s so, but we don’t know for sure. What we do know for sure is that when the rift opened in 2071, it hadn’t yet opened in 2025, and—”
“Not in 1997, either,” the blonde interrupted again, looking around the table and nodding to collect agreement.
“Yes,” Michael continued. “But the thing is, if we look at time as a line on a paper, 1984 happened without the NeuroNexus being a part of it. 1984 turned into 1985, without the NeuroNexus popping into existence. What’s happening now is that alternative realities are being created.”
“What do you mean?” Blondie asked.
“That there has been a reality where the NeuroNexus didn’t exist, and now there’s a new reality where it does. It’s no longer the same reality. It’s like that stupid thing people say—that if they could go back in time, they’d kill Hitler and save humanity and blah, blah, blah.”
“Wouldn’t they? That guy killed millions.”
“Yes, but even if you go back in time and kill Hitler, it won’t change anything for those he killed. That suffering has already been done with and put into the records of history. All you could ever hope to achieve by going back in time to kill Hitler is to save the people in the alternative reality you created by going back in time in the first place. If you don’t go back in time, that alternative reality will never be created, and people won’t be in need of saving.”
“Ah…” Blondie said, bobbing his head as if everything was clear to him. “And why is this important?”
“Maybe it isn’t, but it answers why you haven’t read anything about the NeuroNexus before the rift opened in your time.”
He gave a grin and looked at me.
“That’s what I’m always saying. When it comes to science, leave it to the nerds.”
This guy was starting to get on my nerves.
“I think you better. Why are you here anyway, on this HUB, if you’re from the ’90s?”
He shrugged and chewed some air while looking around the place.
“Piled up some infractions. Got demoted below the floor, and they sent me here.”
“The floor?”
“If you get whacked, you’ll be demoted to the closest ten—like dropping from 39 to 30, or from 27 to 20. I was a solid level 19 when they found some crap to hassle me with. I didn’t buy their bullshit and argued back, and they sent me through the floor back down to level 1. So, here I am with the rest of you jellies.”
“Tough luck.”
“Yeah,” he said, wetting his lips while still scanning the room. “But I’ll be right back where I left off. Got some tricks for speed leveling. You’ll see.”
If he had been someone else, I would’ve asked about those tricks, but I knew beforehand that this guy would give nothing but a sly, knowing grin in return.
I had hoped for an uneventful evening with the musketeers—drinking some beer and calling it an early night. These two days of dungeon crawling had taken their toll; there were no potions for stiff muscles and a sore back.
But, no.
The door opened, and a man stepped in, dressed in a gray uniform and a chauffeur’s cap. He looked around the room, and his eyes stopped at me. I recognized him from the night before. It was Sarah’s driver.
The musketeers, showing their combined IQ, snickered.
“Someone got the booty call,” Michael giggled.
Blondie looked over his shoulder at the driver and then back at me, mouth half-open.
“The chick?”
I shrugged.
“Lucky bastard.”
So, across the city limits again and up to room 34 on the 17th floor I went. She was by the window, giving me a look over her shoulder.
“You know, I’m not a dog you can summon at your convenience,” I said.
“And yet, here you are, as the dog you are.”
It was another no-nonsense affair, and we ended up on the bed, just like last night. I lay there afterward, staring at the ceiling, panting as the sweat dried on my chest. Sarah rolled over and snatched a cigarette out of the pack.
“You want one?”
I shook my head.
She lit it, the lighter clattering on the table as she put it back on the nightstand, then rolled onto her back.
“Level 4 now? You’re on a roll.”
“It’s too slow, though. I’m wearing myself out with little to show for it.”
“We’ve all been there,” she said, pulling a drag from the cigarette. “But there are ways to do it faster.”
“Tournaments?”
She shrugged.
“Other ways.”
I didn’t answer, hoping she would fill the silence, and she did.
“There’s a dungeon up in the mountains of Windersmyr that’s glitched. It gives out way better loot than it’s supposed to. It’s very remote, though, and without a portal spell, you have at least a week of trekking to look forward to.”
“You’ve done it?”
“Mmm. A guy showed me the location way back when. It was a solid level jump for me.”
She fell silent, rolling the cigarette between her thumb and index finger, her eyes distant as she blew a plume of smoke. There was something about that guy, obviously, but since she apparently didn’t want to talk about him, I didn’t ask.
“I can mark it on your map and give you a portal spell as well. You’ll have it done in a day if you don’t drag. But you should wait until you’re at least level 7. And get your archery skills up—there’s a lot of distance to cover in that dungeon.”
“Thanks. Much appreciated.”
“But it’s a portal spell for one, so you’ll have to go into that dungeon alone. Your little friends can’t help you this time.”
“I’ll manage.”
“And as I said, don’t go in there until you’re level 7.”
“I won’t.”
“And whatever you do, don’t let the Death Knight get too close to you.”
Death Knight? I didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Now you need to go. I’ll arrange the car for you.”
I felt a bit dirty on the ride back south. So, it’s that kind of transaction, then? She had asked the last time, and this time it actually felt like a transaction. We hadn’t wasted any time when I arrived, and less than twenty minutes after we finished, she sent me packing with my payment—a marker on my map and a spell to take me there.
I’m not a prude or even a proud man, but this arrangement didn’t feel great.