I was beat, completely shattered after my dungeon crawl—boots of stamina or not. The guys hadn’t left the apartment all day. They’d taken the day off, letting the grind rest, and had been lounging in the living room, watching the talking heads analyze the night’s upcoming semifinal in the Battle Clash. Beacher Ash was up against Trey Aldright.
The musketeers had momentarily forgotten about the Battle Clash when I brought out Laridian’s Edge from my inventory. They passed it around, caressing the shiny, almost oily surface of the blade, watching firelight dance in its reflection. Now they’d gone down to Anchor’s to watch the fight and grab some beers. Me? My plan was to get at least eight hours of sleep before setting my master plan into motion—a plan I’d dubbed The Plan of Massive Power Levelling.
But for the night, sleep was my only plan.
There was a knock at the door.
For fuck’s sake…
I tossed my pillow aside and went to answer it. It was the driver, and I can’t say I was surprised.
“Your friends told me you were here. You need to come with me.”
“No.”
He looked at me like the meaning of that one syllable hadn’t quite hit home.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m tired. I’m not going anywhere except to bed.”
“Miss Parsa isn’t one to be denied. She—”
I slammed the door in his face. I wasn’t doing this anymore. A man had to have some dignity, after all.
I had just drifted into a shallow slumber when the door sounded again.
What in the flying f—
I hurled my pillow at the wall and stormed to the door, ready to tell that uppity fucking NPC a thing or two.
It was Sarah on the other side of the door, wearing a black dress and high heels, a silver necklace, and that same fur coat as before. She looked as gorgeous as ever. A man could falter in his ambitions for less.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture toward our rathole of an apartment. Someone should’ve done the dishes—probably me. She stepped in, her gaze floating through the wreckage.
“And here I was under the impression you were actually a grown man.”
“I blame the kids,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “You want a beer?”
She nodded. I popped the cap off for her, and we sat at the kitchen table, drinking in silence and studying each other.
“I was surprised you sent my driver away.”
“Me too.”
I hadn’t been surprised when I sent him away, but now, with Sarah sitting in my kitchen, cherry-red lips sipping from a bottle, I was more than a little bit surprised of myself.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was a dog. Most probably...
“And I’m a bit surprised you showed up at my door,” I said.
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Me too, but here we are.”
Long story short—cut to the couch. Sarah lit her usual post-sex cigarette and glanced at me, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you said last time, about the time rifts and all. It’s a hard thing to wrap my head around.”
“It is. But then it becomes the new normal. I think that’s why we’ve been chosen to play the game. Not because we’re the strongest or brightest, but because we can deal with this and get shit done.”
“That’s the other thing I’m curious about—what ‘shit’ is. Right now, it’s just fun and games—literally—but I’m not stupid enough to think that’ll last. I know you know but can’t tell me. At least tell me this: should I bail from the game now, before I get too involved? Or should I go deeper?”
“I can’t tell you that. You need to discover what lies ahead on your own. What I can say is this: all the high-level players are here because they want to be here, not because they’re forced. And there are as many ways to play this game as there are players. Some just kick back and live life once they reach High Town. Others can’t get enough of the adrenaline rush and go on mission after mission. Some go into trade, building fortunes. Don’t make the mistake of contrasting ‘the real world’ with this one, because this world is just as real as the other one." She silened for a moment. “Guess we all have our reasons to be here. Out there, in the other world, I’m a nobody. I work at a Hooters restaurant. You know what that is? You had them back in 1984?”
“We do.”
“Well, then you know. It’s one of those gigs you think you’ll do for a year or two at most, but for me, it turned into longer. I’m 41 now, working as a waitress, and I have no fucking clue what to do with my life. This world became my life. I found my special guy here, and we leveled together, did everything together. But he leveled past me, found another woman to fuck, and left me behind. I’ve been stuck at level 42 for a while now. Can’t find the energy to push forward, but I can’t bring myself to go back to the other world either. In about two weeks’ time, the weekend’s over in the other world, and I have to go back to waiting tables, taking the occasional slap on the ass for extra tips. I can’t see how that’ll work anymore. Probably I’ll slap them right back and get fired. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been time to move on for a while. If I can’t muster the energy to take that step, maybe it’s better they throw me out on my ass.”
“Is that special guy still in the game?”
“You could say that. He’s Raker Toth, the Alpha Prime.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yep.”
“I had a little run-in with his baby brother the other day.”
“Vinger?” She looked startled.
“Yeah. We didn’t get off on the right foot.”
“That’s bad. Really bad.”
“I figured it wasn’t great to piss off a level 46, but... bad?”
“Vinger is... not a nice person, to put it mildly. He’s a sadist. He likes hurting people, and if you’ve gotten on his bad side, that means trouble. Stay low and hope he forgets about you. If he makes you a side project, you may as well leave the game now.”
“Surely it can’t be that bad?”
“It can. The Alpha Prime is, next to the Game Maker himself, the most powerful person in the game. He can break any rule in the TOS, and he’s very protective of his baby brother.”
I sighed.
“Well, keeping a low profile isn’t exactly my strong suit. Especially since...”
“Since what?”
“I asked you if I should go deeper into the game or bail, but I already knew my answer. I’m going balls deep and advancing as far as I can.”
That had been the pattern of my life. I didn’t just enlist in the army—I wanted to be part of the most elite fighting force possible. I became a Recon Marine. When I returned to civilian life, I couldn’t just go to the worksite every morning, hammering and nailing wood while my fat boss sat in his pickup truck, eating his lunch and watching us toil under the burning sun. So, I started my own construction company and ran my former boss out of business.
And I couldn’t be in this game, tailored for ultimate competition, and just be a bystander. I’d have done it for the competition alone, but there was something deeper within me that wanted to know—no, needed to know—why this game had been constructed and by whom. I needed to advance, to get to the answers. It was impossible to just shrug it off and return to 1984, go down to Santa Monica, and watch them pour concrete for the condos at Marina del Rey. I’d pushed through a secret wall into a secret world, and I had to uncover all its mysteries.
I just had to.
“I’ll pull out every stop and try to speed-level to 10 as soon as possible. Then, I’ll enter the Battle Clash to get some serious leveling done.”
“And when you say advance as far as you can…?”
“The Alpha Prime. This is a secret world, but nothing is secret to him. I want his position.”
She laughed incredulously.
“He’s level 87. Do you understand how long it takes to get that far? For most, it’s a lifetime project. He did it in less than three years, and you want to challenge him? You really think highly of yourself, Brad. And what about this grand plan of yours? You’re entering the Battle Clash as a level 10? You’ll have level 20s in your bracket, players who’ve been here for years.”
“I’m level 10. If they kill me, I lose nothing but my gear and credit, and I can get those back. What I’ll gain is insight—what it takes to succeed in the Clash. There’s no faster way to level.”
“Or more difficult. You won’t be fighting mindless mobs; you’ll be fighting real people.”
“Yeah, and I did that in Nam too, and I’m still here to talk about it.”
“You fought in Vietnam?”
“I did.”
“Oh, wow. For my generation, Vietnam is a movie genre, not a country. What did you do there?”
“I was a Marine recon sniper.”
“Okay… that will give you a ton of levels in any ranged weapons in Elatrion from the get-go. Have you been there yet?”
That pretty much confirmed my theory about me starting at level 12 in archery skills. Shooting a bow was much different from firing a rifle, but there were similarities as well.
“Not since the tutorial. I’ve been grinding dungeons in Windersmyr.”
“Not a bad choice, but with your skill set, you should dip your toes into Elatrion as well. There are some powerful places there to get levels and loot.”
“And the Haunted Mansion?”
She grimaced, shaking her head.
“Can’t help you there, hun. I went once and never again. Not my jam. That place is just… it’s fucking horrible. No sane person would put themselves through that hell.”
“There’s good loot there, people say.”
“There is. But no one has ever returned with anything to show for it.”
“What loot can you find there?”
“Multiverse loot. The bizarre thing is, you can’t use any of it at the Mansion itself. They starve you for ammo and make you fight the undead with your bare hands. People don’t die there; they just bail when they see what they have to face. There are easier ways to get loot than fighting the undead for it.”
The Haunted Mansion sounded promising, but that was for later.
The next morning, I followed the Musketeers to the square. When they veered left, I nodded to indicate I was going right.
“Elatrion?” Rick asked, raising an eyebrow. “Good luck, brother. That place is too intense for me.”
“Me too,” Michael said. Mort added, “Aye.”
My fancy legendary sword was a multiverse weapon and would serve me as well in Elatrion as in Windersmyr—maybe even better if Sarah’s descriptions of my intended leveling areas were accurate.
So, the plan: spend the day in Korea Town in Elatrion, complete a basic mission fighting low-level mobs with black-market ray guns, take down the area boss, and then return to Windersmyr the next day to clear mid-level dungeons. My legendary sword would need to carry me since I’d be severely out-leveled by the mobs there. After that, I’d see how close I was to level 10. If I was still far off, I’d join a quest in Windersmyr to finally hit level 10 and gather some juicy loot. Once I reached level 10, I’d enlist in the Battle Clash and roll the dice.
Sounds easy enough, right? Yeah, but things rarely are.
The carrier took off, pulling at my guts as usual. I kept my eyes shut until I felt that familiar lift in the seat. Then I looked out at the curved horizon. Soon the descent began—the carrier twisting in a steep bank, walls creaking and seats rattling.
An urban sprawl of light appeared through the dark clouds. Water streaked backward across the windows as we passed through the clouds. Then we touched down.
The carrier doors hissed open, and a man in uniform popped his head in, barking, “Disembark! Form up at the parade square!”
We scrambled off and jogged toward the parade square, a large concrete slab that looked like the remnants of a tenement building. Broken concrete and bricks surrounded it, with flames flickering from dented barrels.
A faint drizzle hung in the air, and the place had none of Longbourn’s inviting warmth. Tall buildings loomed above, scattered lights running up their façades, spilling out through windows. It felt more like early morning than night.
We formed a jumbled mess on the slab. For me, it was as easy as snapping my fingers to slip back into the role of soldier. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for my brothers-in-arms. They looked like they’d never formed a straight line in their lives.
The army sergeant marched down the line, barking and screaming, tugging at uniforms and rearranging the soldiers. The tag above his short-cropped head read:
Sergeant Watts (NPC)
He stopped in front of me, glaring with his blue eyes.
“What are you looking at, maggot!”
“Nothing, sir!”
I knew how to handle a drill sergeant.
“I’m nothing to you? Is that it, maggot!”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“I’ll be watching you, recruit,” he said, coming so close our noses almost touched. “I don’t like your fucking attitude. Got it?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
And that was how you handled a drill sergeant—always answer the question while shouting “sir!” at the top of your lungs.
He continued down the line, harassing a boy who was visibly shaking.
Goddamn, how real all this felt.
Above, three gray aircraft, resembling troop transports, floated with that weird mumbling sound toward a cluster of high-rises farther away. Flashes of green and purple erupted in the distance. A battle was raging over there. This wasn’t like sweeping over Da Nang in a Huey with an M60 machine gun pointed out the side door, but my body reacted the same way. I was mentally gearing up for battle.
I glanced to the right. Not a soul above level 3.
I glanced to the left. Not a single soul above level 4, and no one looked older than twenty.
“Ahhh-right!” the sergeant bellowed. “Gang wars have spiraled out of control. The Triads are wreaking havoc in Korea Town. Decent people are scared—won’t even leave their homes. The police have asked for our assistance. ‘Can’t manage on their own,’ you say? ‘Not a job for the army,’ you say? ‘You have better things to do,’ you say? Well, swallow your fuckin’ pride, Space Marines, and go clear that area out!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” we screamed in unison.
“Private Orlov! Private Richards! Private Winter! Step forward!”
I had no idea what was going on, but this was the army, and when your name was called, you did as you were told. I, along with a lanky guy with an impressive beak of a nose and a Black guy built like a tank, stepped forward.
“You three are squad leaders. Squad 1!” he bellowed, pointing at Orlov, the lanky guy. “Squad 2!” he barked, chopping his hand in my direction. “Squad 3!” he finished, gesturing toward Winter.
I turned back to the parade square. The usual blue name tags had been divided into three different colors: green, blue, and yellow. All the guys with blue tags now had the prefix “S2.”
I looked at Adam Scott, lvl. 2 – S2, the kid shaking nervously. He met my gaze with an anxious smile. All in all, I’d been given command over eight guys. What the hell was I supposed to do with them? They didn’t look like they’d hold up under pressure. They looked like the kind of guys who’d show you a picture of their girlfriend and talk about marriage—right before getting blown to pieces by a mortar shell.
“You an army man?” Winter asked.
I nodded. “Marines. And you?”
“Specialist Mark Winter, 11B Infantry.”
A veteran like me, then. Good to know. Orlov, it turned out, was a weekend warrior in the National Guard.
“Guess we know why we were selected as squad leaders, then,” Orlov said.
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Shut your mouths and listen!” the sergeant yelled. “You need to work together to clear this place out. All loot is shared, with a little extra for the squad leaders—so no need to get greedy. Work as a unit, or I’ll fuck you up when you return!”
We pulled up our maps. As in Windersmyr, the areas we hadn’t visited were blacked out, but we could see three distinct pathways.
“I’ll take the left route,” Orlov said.
“I’ll take the center,” I said, leaving the right path for Winter.
“Keep in mind,” Winter added, “our paths may weave into each other. We need to avoid friendly fire.”
“Okay then,” I said. “Onward and upward.”
After bumping fists, we turned to our squads. I pulled my guys aside.
“What do you have for weapons?” I asked.
One guy had a nine-millimeter, and another guy, Mark Taews, lvl 3 – S2, had a plasma gun that looked like it came from a toy store. It had no charge. The rest had simple multiverse weaponry like daggers and iron swords.
“I thought they’d issue ray guns when we got here,” Keith Garmer, lvl. 3 – S2, complained. “All I got is this stupid stick.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s a bo stick,” Lars Andersson, lvl. 2 – S2, said with a heavy Nordic accent. “Really useful if you know how to handle it.”
“Well, if you want it, I’ll trade it for that sword of yours,” Keith shot back testily.
“That’s enough, guys. You, how many rounds do you have for that gun?”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Jason Oblach, lvl. 3 – S2, stepped forward.
“Four rounds… sir.”
“Okay, you and I will take point. The rest of you, keep your eyes peeled for enemies and traps, okay? We need to scavenge weapons as we go.”
“Yeah, but—”
I pulled out Laridian’s Edge, its amber glow casting a nimbus of light around us.
“Ooohh-kay,” Keith said. “Feeling a little better about this now.”
The sword was legendary for a reason. It bumped my attack score from 1,721 to a massive 2,892, and its glow had special properties. When I swung it, the glow followed like a draft, absorbing energy from destruction magic and energy weapons. It offered no protection against ballistic weapons, though.
“You guys ready?” Orlov asked.
I nodded, and so did Winter.
We set off.
Winter took his men down a narrow street to the left, and Orlov led his down a street to the right. Ahead, a building had collapsed, most of the second floor avalanching out through the cracked wall of the first floor. The building didn’t look safe, but "safe" was a relative term in a dark maze where armed people were trying to kill you.
Well, whatever—I had no choice. I had to lead my guys through these broken buildings.
We advanced, Jason and I at the front. His knuckles were white around the grip of his pistol, and it looked like he might squeeze off a shot at any moment.
“Remember, conserve your ammo,” I said. “Don’t shoot unless you’re sure you’ll hit the target. Those four bullets in your gun are all we have for ranged attacks. ’Kay?”
He nodded.
“’Kay.”
From the outside, to our left, came the aggressive rattle of something that sounded like a machine gun. Winter was under fire. The guys around me looked nervous, their heads darting as they scanned the area.
Up ahead, light shone through a cracked wall. The upper floor was gone, and the height of the ceiling made the ruin feel like a church. Among the rubble, a shining silver box with visible rivets sat like a beacon. It was as big as a mini fridge—a loot box.
“Hey, look at that!” Ted Lawson, lvl. 2 – S2, said as he shouldered past me and Jason.
“Wait!” I hissed.
A sharp crack rang out from the third floor, and Ted stumbled forward, most of his head blown clean off, before collapsing to the ground.
“Fuck, they got Ted!” someone yelled behind me.
Yes, because Ted was a fuckin’ moron, I thought, gritting my teeth.
“Fall back! Behind the wall!” I screamed.
The guys dove for cover, and I plastered myself against the wall. Another crack sounded above, and a piece of the concrete corner vanished in a puff of dust, the bullet ricocheting wildly.
Someone shrieked.
“I’m hit! I’m hit!”
It was Carl Peters, lvl. 3 – S2. He squirmed on his stomach, clutching the back of his thigh.
“You,” I said to the boy sitting closest to him—Larry Maloney, lvl. 2 – S2—who was holding a pair of tonfas, his eyes wide and scared. “Does he need a stim pack?”
Larry took a quick look.
“It hit him in the ass.”
The guys took the opportunity to laugh, a nervous release of tension.
“Doesn’t look that bad,” Larry added.
“I’m fuckin’ shot in the ass! How can it not be bad?” Carl yelled.
I checked the in-game stats. Carl’s health bar was down to orange.
“Give him a stim pack,” I ordered. “He’ll slow us down if we have to drag him, and we’re not leaving anyone behind.”
Larry pulled a syringe from the party’s joint inventory and jabbed it into Carl’s ass. He pressed the plunger, and Carl’s health bar returned to green.
“So, what now?” Mark Taews, lvl. 3 – S2, asked. “This is the only way through, and that guy up there will take our heads off if we try to make a run for it.”
“Not to mention that delicious loot chest,” Keith said. “I need better gear. This stupid stick doesn’t do anything here.”
“Well—” Lars started.
“This stupid bo stick won’t do anything here. Happy?” Keith shot back.
Lars shrugged.
I tuned out their bickering, thinking about the report I’d heard from the sniper’s gun. It was a rifle. If I could just get my hands on it…
My sword was great, but it didn’t offer protection from ballistic weapons. Sarah had said the enemies in this section would be armed with plasma guns, but she'd been here years ago, and might’ve gotten things mixed up. With that rifle, I could take down targets at a distance. With the sword, I could finish them up close.
I scanned the walls.
“You guys, stay put. I’m going to grab that rifle, okay?”
They stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Grab… the rifle? If a guy has a rifle and you don’t, you don’t just grab it. It doesn’t work like that, even in a video game,” Keith said.
“Thanks for the insight. Just stay here and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Right, boss,” Keith said, giving a mock salute.
I went back to the previous room, where the floor had collapsed and sloped down toward the entrance like a broken concrete tongue, with rebar sticking out of the gaps. The collapse had pushed the entrance wall out a good five feet. When I climbed up onto the tilted floor, I saw a clear path to the second floor.
I crouched and moved as silently as I could. Through a warped doorframe, I saw the sliver of the second floor that remained. Below, Ted Lawson’s headless corpse lay in a pool of blood.
If the sniper was any good, he’d be at the far end of the third floor, covering as much ground as possible.
I hugged the back wall as I moved along the ledge of the second floor, keeping out of the sniper’s scope. At the corner of the room, I paused and scanned for a way up.
I spotted a rickety wooden ladder leaning against the edge of the broken floor above. The middle section of the third floor was gone, leaving the sniper on an island of concrete. There was no way to reach him without making noise.
Fuck.
I needed eyes on him to decide my next move.
I crept toward the ladder, careful not to kick loose concrete or crunch debris underfoot. When I reached the ladder, I began ascending silently. Just one creak of the wood would give me away.
Clinging to the top rung, I took a moment to steady myself, wet my lips, and popped my head up, bracing for the sight of the sniper, rifle pointed my way, muzzle flashing.
But no—he was lying on his stomach, legs splayed, hunched over the rifle, which was still aimed at the room below.
The tag above his head read:
Triad Sniper, lvl. 9
Level 9. The highest-level mob I’d encountered so far, aside from the Death Knight boss. Did mob levels scale based on my level or the party’s combined level? I didn’t know, but if level 9s were the norm here, I’d lose a lot of my guys.
I could see from this distance that it wasn’t a proper sniper rifle. It had a scope, though, and I’d have more use for it than the asshole currently staring through it.
Behind him, in the corner, sat another loot box—this one gold.
The gap between my ledge and his was jumpable, but I’d need a sprint to make it. He’d hear me, but it takes time to react to sound. He was on his stomach—it’d be awkward and slow for him to swing his rifle around to fire.
Well, here goes nothing.
I climbed the last rung, crouched on the ledge, and eyed the sniper. If only I still had my bow—and maybe some more Character Points in Attack Speed.
I drew my steel dagger, rose, and took a few light steps before breaking into a sprint. My boots grated against the sandy concrete floor, and the sniper’s shoulders tensed.
I pumped my legs, cutting the air with my hands. The gap opened before me, and I pushed off.
The sniper was quicker than I expected, his mouth drawn down in a grimace as he swung his rifle toward me.
Crap.
I hit the floor and dove into a forward roll.
The bang rattled the air, and the bullet whirred past me, pinging off the wall.
I leapt out of the roll—feeling, in my mind, like an attacking panther—and stabbed at his face.
The knife cracked his cheekbone, blood gushing from his nose as he sagged over his rifle. My view lit up with achievements scrolling toward the ceiling:
Achievement unlocked: Brought a Sword to a Gunfight – Awarded for taking out a ranged unit with a blade.
Achievement unlocked: Bulletproof – Awarded for dodging a bullet.
Achievement unlocked: Pure Savagery – Awarded for killing an enemy in close combat two levels above your own.
Achievement unlocked: Pure Savagery 2 – Awarded for killing an enemy in close combat three levels above your own.
Achievement unlocked: Pure Savagery 3 – Awarded for killing an enemy in close combat four levels above your own.
Achievement unlocked: Infantryman – Awarded for killing a gunpowder-based enemy.
A stream of XP followed, leaving me virtually on the edge of level 6.
“You alive up there, boss?”
“Yeah, I grabbed the rifle.”
A few moments of silence were followed by hooting and celebrating. I would’ve preferred strict professionalism and silence, but I couldn’t help smiling.
I picked up the rifle. As I’d suspected, it wasn’t a sniper rifle but an M1 Garand—an old WWII rifle. It loaded with a clip of eight bullets. Old, but reliable. Properly maintained, its firing mechanism never jammed.
When I held it, the stats for all my shooting-related abilities floated up in my view:
* Sniper Rifle (Ballistic): 57
* Sniper Rifle (Plasma): 32
* EMRG Rifle: 0
* Assault Rifle (Gunpowder): 24
* Assault Rifle (Plasma): 17
I’d fired an EMRG Rifle during the tutorial. I thought I’d done well, but apparently, I sucked at it. My ranged weapon stats still looked juicy, though.
I approached the golden loot box in the corner and knelt. I was still searching for a locking mechanism when the box began to whirr. The top folded back, almost like a Transformer, and seven oblong balls rose from it, rotating in the air. Black with red stripes around the tops, they automatically entered the party’s joint inventory.
I checked one:
Frag Grenades
Very effective in enclosed areas. Will shred everything within a twenty-foot radius.
“Wow, boss! Did you do that?” Keith hollered from below.
“I did. Now keep your mouth shut, or you’ll alert every enemy in the area.”
On my way back, I looted the dead Triad sniper. I found another clip of ammo for the rifle, bringing my total to 12 bullets; 200 credits, giving me a grand total of 2,203 credits (whoop-de-do); a set of keys with an unknown purpose; and half a pack of smokes. I dumped it all in my inventory, along with the rifle.
It felt damn good seeing that rifle in there.
Before climbing down, I opened the skill tree for ranged weaponry and checked the branch for ballistic sniper rifles:
* Smooth as the Wind: 15/30/45 – Reduces kickback by 15%. 3 skill points.
* Rapid Fire: 20/30/50 – Makes reloading 15% faster. 3 skill points.
* Eye of the Hurricane: 50/75/100 – Slows target speed by 15% when using a scope. 5 skill points.
* Metal Hammer: 50/75/100 – Adds 15% extra piercing against armored targets. 5 skill points.
* Metal Slug: 50/75/100 – Adds 50% extra damage to unarmored enemies. 5 skill points.
The one that caught my eye was Eye of the Hurricane, a Multiverse Ability. It had a direct equivalent in the Archery Skill Tree, doubling its value. Slowing targets by 15% while aiming through a scope or bow sights was huge. At max level, I could slow them to almost half speed, turning them into sitting ducks. I could already afford the first level, but did I need it?
My sniper rifle skill was already high for my level, and I didn’t need the extra support just yet. I considered a Multiverse Skill called Unarmed Combat. In Carlin's inventory I'd seen a wide assortment of metal braced gloves and gauntlets enchanted with all sorts of crazy stuff. It appealed to me that if I ever got into real trouble, and they took all my gear away, I could still put up a fight with my bare hands. It also aligned well with my focus on the Strength stat.
But to make it viable, I’d need to start taking enemies down bare-handed, which was easier said than done. For now, I had nine unassigned Skill Points and decided to hold onto them.
When my inventory popped back up, I saw riot gear, helmets, batons, reinforced gloves, and a heavy riot shield with a slit of plexiglass at the top. The guys had opened the loot box.
I climbed back down to find them in their riot gear, marveling at the frag grenades and miming throwing motions.
“Playing with the new toys, huh?”
They grinned.
“Remember, don’t use those in confined spaces. The shockwave will kill us all—if the shrapnel doesn’t.”
“But if the enemy is in a confined space and we’re not?” Keith asked.
“Then throw until your arm goes numb.”
I equipped my riot gear, which gave me a slight defense bump but no boost to attack. There was riot gear for everyone, but only one riot shield. I had Lars hand it to Jason.
“You hold it like this,” I said, slipping my left arm through the straps and hunkering behind the shield to look through the slot. “That leaves your right hand free to shoot the pistol. It takes practice, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
He better—he only had four bullets.
“You’ll take point, and I’ll follow half a step behind. ’Kay?”
Jason nodded, looking pale.
I led the group deeper into the crumbling buildings. We crossed the collapsed floor of the second room and emerged into a moonlit area where the building had been swept aside, as if by a giant’s hand. Scattered boxes and barrels dotted the open space.
Well, did this ever feel like a trap?
I glanced over my shoulder at Larry and Keith, then pointed to a metal box on the right before directing the others to a piece of broken concrete that looked like part of the roof's structure.
“You and I, Jason. We’re going for that center crate.”
“That’s far.”
“Better get moving then,” I said, giving the back of his shoulder a shove.
We set off, fanning out in three directions. The minimap lit up with red dots—more than I could count at a glance. The guys on the sides dropped into cover, but Jason was running too slow with his shield. Way too slow. Fuck. A mistake on my part. My strength and endurance far out-leveled Jason’s. I should’ve been the one on point with the shield. Too late to fix that now.
Excited chatter erupted from the enemy, followed by the first shot. A purple beam lit up the area.
Plasma weapons.
Finally.
Three of the red dots crept down the right side of a large crate, hugging the wall toward the next set of crates. They passed one of the barrels—dark, rust-red in the dim light.
“Fire at that barrel!” I shouted to Jason.
He squeezed off a round. The report of the gun sounded pitiful. A puff of red brick bloomed up in front of the barrel.
“Again! Hurry!” The group of enemies was almost at the barrel now.
Jason fired again, the muzzle flash leaving a blue afterglow in my vision. He had missed again. The first enemy passed between the barrel and the wall.
“Again!”
Jason fired a third time.
Bang!
The barrel exploded in a flash of white fire, the shockwave hitting me like a fist to the chest. The second enemy was smeared against the wall, and the one who managed to slip by went airborne—a black shadow twisting in the air, arms and legs flailing. The third Triad was knocked back as if clobbered in the face. Something told me he wouldn’t be getting up.
“Whooo! Did you see that?” Jason hooted.
“I did. Now get into cover,” I said, giving his shoulder another shove.
When we reached the crate, I noticed the tag above Jason’s head had changed:
Jason Oblach, lvl. 3 – S2
“Congrats on the new level, soldier,” I said, patting his shoulder as we pressed our backs to the metal crate.
“Thanks, boss. Got a slew of new achievements too. Apparently, I’m a master bomber now,” he grinned.
The enemy was chattering in Chinese, their green and blue plasma bolts lighting up the area. It was time for Laridian’s Edge to prove its legendary status. I drew the sword, its amber glow illuminating the darkness behind the crate.
I stepped into the open. I spotted the outline of a head behind a crate farther down. A flash of green lit up the area. I sidestepped, swinging the sword left to right. The plasma bolt was caught in the sword’s light draft, dissolving and making the glow of the sword stronger.
Two more enemies fired at me. I swung the sword again. The ambient light grew stronger, lasting a fraction longer. It absorbed one bolt but, for some reason, deflected the other. The strange thing was – plasma was light, yes, or energy at least. As soon as I saw a flash of light, that should mean I was dead, but it didn’t work like that. When I saw the flash of a gun fired, I had the fraction of a second to react and I found that was enough.
I charged the line of boxes, swinging left to right, absorbing plasma or deflecting it like some bizarre disco ball. The achievement bell pinged like crazy.
I jumped the first crate, slicing down on two Triads hiding behind it. My sword scorched clean through them. The enemies’ eager chatter now carried a tint of fear.
I cleared the area and stood amidst the carnage, panting, sweat stinging my eyes. It smelled like a late summer evening barbecue.
When the fighting was done, all my achievements poured in at once, along with XP and credits. My level shot from 5 to 6 and nearly reached 7. The guys hooted and slapped my back before rushing to loot the corpses.
Everything went into the joint inventory. Among the spoils were three plasma guns labeled:
Spark Acha – Plasma Weapon, Energy Level 1
And four more labeled:
Kraw 9 – Plasma Weapon, Energy Level 1
There were enough yellow energy cells to fully charge all the weapons, including the drained energy gun that Mark had brought:
Kraw 12 – Plasma Weapon, Energy Level 2
Mark, for obvious reasons, chose to hang onto it.
I grabbed one of the Kraw 9s and weighed it in my hand. It was almost weightless, and the plastic creaked when I squeezed it.
“Okay, we can afford to fire a few practice shots,” I said.
I aimed at a metal crate and pulled the trigger. The muzzle’s metal ring, discolored from repeated heat, glowed green as the gun charged for half a second before releasing the bolt.
Now I understood why I’d been able to react to the enemies’ shots. The charge delay gave just enough time to move.
The others followed my example, and soon the crate was scorched black. I would’ve thought our combined fire would’ve melted it by now. Were these guns even lethal? I hoped we wouldn’t have to find out.
Heavy fighting erupted from both the left and right, followed by another earth-shaking bang—likely another barrel explosion.
“We’re lagging behind. Let’s go.”
We cleared out another room of Triads without taking any casualties. Keith was hit in the right shoulder, but as expected, the plasma blast wasn’t lethal. The force threw him to the ground, and he clutched his shoulder, teeth clenched, smoke seeping through his fingers. It wasn’t pretty—his uniform jacket was burned through, the skin beneath blistered black, and the blood bubbled at the wound.
One stim pack later, he was back on his feet, unloading his pistol on the advancing Triads. I handled most of them with Laridian’s Edge, the sword cleaving through them like a scythe.
As we advanced through the room, white markers appeared in the dark area ahead, signaling the other teams. My group was the last to arrive. Winter and Orlov nodded at me, their squads already in position.
“Any casualties?” Winter asked.
“One. Sniper fire,” I replied.
“We lost two,” Orlov said grimly. “One to sniper fire, the other to a plasma bolt right through the thorax.”
“Ouch.”
“No casualties here,” Winter added, a hint of pride in his voice.
Ahead was a series of sliding doors, like the entrance to a shopping mall. I couldn’t see much beyond them. It was too dark, and the minimap showed little detail. From what I could make out, it looked like a large circular area.
“What do you guys think?” I asked.
Winter shrugged. “Feels like a big baddie is waiting in there to squash us.”
“My thought exactly,” Orlov said, looking grim.
We compared inventories. The other two squads had gathered similar loot—plasma guns, yellow energy cells, and assorted gear—but Orlov’s squad hadn’t managed to loot their sniper rifle.
“We got the sniper with a frag grenade,” Orlov explained. “Cost us one guy to get those grenades, though. Couldn’t find a way up to loot the rifle. Stupid mistake.”
“These plasma guns are so goddamn weak,” Winter muttered. “Whatever’s in there, I’ll try to take it down with the rifle.”
“Same here,” I said. Turning to my team, I added, “We don’t know what’s in there, but Winter and I will hang back with the rifles. The rest of you, get into cover and be ready. Once we identify the threat, we’ll hit it hard.”
They nodded. I exchanged glances with the other squad leaders. Everyone was ready.
We approached the doors. They slid open with a mechanical hiss.
We stepped through.
The doors didn’t slide shut behind us—they slammed with a heavy thump, followed by the distinct click of a locking mechanism. The lights flickered to life, revealing a deserted food court. It was immaculately clean, so pristine it looked like no one had ever been there.
Through a pergola entwined with fake ivy, I saw a door swing open at the far end.
A hulking figure emerged.
I whipped the rifle to my shoulder and stared down the scope.
The man was enormous, dressed in a tank top and army fatigues. His black hair was cut short in the military style, the top of his head flat like a runway. But what caught my attention—what made me freeze—was his right arm.
It had been replaced by a mini gun.
“What the fuck…” I murmured, watching as he disappeared behind a white-painted concrete column.
“Did you see that?” I asked Winter.
“The guy with a mini gun for an arm? Yeah, I saw him. As soon as he pops out to wind that thing up, I’ll take the shot.”
But the man didn’t pop out.
Instead, the low whir of the mini gun spinning up began behind the column, rising to a howl. He stepped out, mouth open in a scream, eyes squeezed into slits. His right arm was obscured by the jagged star of the mini gun at full blast.
The room erupted.
He swept from right to left, sending ripple waves of splinters and shredded fabric through the room. I had him in my sights but the howling weapon and the streaks of super-heated bullets sweeping my direction like a scythe made me squeeze of the shot prematurely. It hit the pillar. I dove into cover. The maroon bench above me exploded in white splinters, the pillar behind turning to concrete dust.
Winter hunkered beside me, cradling his rifle, his eyes pinched shut.
On my HUD, health bars dropped to red. Two instances of DEAD flashed in bold red letters. I didn’t catch which of my guys had fallen.
Concrete dust stung my eyes as I blinked.
How the hell could this be a starter mission?
The red dot on the minimap was advancing—fast.
I risked a glance.
He – Triad Boss level 14 – came charging like a rhino, tossing shredded furniture left and right, grunting as he did.
“Grenades!” I hollered. “Take him down now!”
Lars pulled the pin on one of his grenades and threw it in a perfect arc. Jason, next to him, fumbled his. The grenade spun out of his hand, landing at his feet.
He stared at it, wide-eyed, the ring to the pin still dangling from his finger.
Fuck.
I threw myself to the ground, hands pressed over my ears, mouth wide open.
I threw myself to the floor, hands pressed to my ears, mouth wide open to save my eardrums. The explosion ripped through me, a single streak of fire as a piece of shrapnel tore through my scalp.
On my HUD:
DEAD
DEAD
DEAD
DEAD
DEAD
DEAD
DEAD
My ears were ringing, my body bruised from within. Winter sat slumped against the pillar, staring at his feet, a trickle of blood dripping from his mouth. Lars and Jason were just—gone.
Through the swirling grey smoke, I spotted the Triad boss on one knee, shaking his head and leaning on his machine-gun arm for support. I felt wobbly, not quite there, but I realized the rifle wasn’t in my hands. That much was clear. I took a long, hard look at my hands to be sure. My eyes drifted over the floor and landed on the rifle, half-buried under a heap of rubble.
My rifle.
My rifle?
My rifle!
I dove for it, yanked it free, and got to one knee. The Triad boss was back on his feet, his pained expression twisting into a smirk.
The scope was cracked, but I raised the rifle, angling the barrel toward him. He locked eyes with me, his black pupils narrowing, teeth bared.
I fired.
The bullet hit his right shoulder, spinning his torso a quarter turn. Slowly, he turned back to me, the smirk now a full grin.
I fired again.
His front teeth shattered, and his face seemed to collapse inward. His knees buckled, and he fell forward, hitting the ground hard.
More achievements, more XP, and a level up to 7—but at that moment, none of it mattered. I was rattled by the encounter. Most of my team was dead, and the survivors were in bad shape.
I went from soldier to soldier, administering stim packs. Once everyone was back in the green, nobody felt like celebrating. Orlov was still alive, along with two of his men and three from Winter’s squad. From my team, only Keith and Larry Maloney were still breathing. Keith shook his head and tried to smile, but it didn’t land.
“What a ride that was,” he said, pale and blood-smeared.
And then, we looted the corpses of our fallen friends.
It weren’t really them, I told myself,.Just digital representations of them. They were probably already respawned and off on new, exciting adventures. That thought actually helped as I filled my inventory.
I’d planned to grind the rest of the day, but this fight had drained me completely. I needed rest. I shook hands with the remaining guys, told them they did well, and left.
I wandered down a side street toward the ocean I’d glimpsed during our landing. I wasn’t about to spend 200 credits on transport back to Breaker City when I planned to return the next day. My credits were up to 2,866, and I decided to save both time and money by finding a room in Elatrion for the night.
I found a shoddy-looking three-story hotel on a side street, its sign glowing in purple neon. The room was 800 credits a night—highway robbery—but I wasn’t in the mood to haggle. I handed over the credits to the smiling NPC, went upstairs, and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
After a while, when the… had it been shock? I think it was. That disorientation and the creeping fatigue in my body—I recognized it. It was remarkable how deep this game went. To actually die inside it... I could understand how it might fry someone’s brain.
When the fatigue lifted, I went through my inventory to check the loot I’d gathered during the day and opened a row of shining loot boxes from my achievements.
I had three bronze boxes, two silver ones, and one gold for taking down the boss.
The bronze boxes popped stim packs and energy cells—useful, but nothing exciting. The first silver box revealed:
Renegade Mark 2 – Plasma Gun, Energy Level 3.
Nice! That one got into one of my hotkey slots.
And then – drum roll please – the gold chest. It opened in a puff of swirling gold and out of it rose a metal harness, painted in battle worn camo.
Eagle Fury Battle Harness – Reduces ballistic weapon damage by 25%.
Now that’s what I call loot.
I had the sword for protection against energy weapons, and now the harness would shield me from ballistic ones. I checked its info, hoping it might be multiverse—something that could also protect me from arrows in Windersmyr—but no such luck. A good day’s haul, nonetheless.
I had a pile of useless level-1 guns and planned to unload them at a trader at the first opportunity. It looked like the loot had been split evenly among the surviving party members because I also had two frag grenades and two measly rounds for the rifle.
The broken scope annoyed me. I’d need to buy a new one, and something told me it wouldn’t be cheap.