“There’s no such thing as neutrality when everyone wants something from you.” —The Tao of Idleness, Book 6, Verse 4
The following morning, I opened my eyes, stretched, yawned, and prepared to begin presiding over a nice new Village Hall, extra workers, and lots of shiny new Points to allocate from hitting Level 4 while I slept . . .
Yeah. Not so much.
Idle XP Gains: 8 hours of inactivity. N/A due to running debuff
Progress: 99% towards Level 4
Loot Leech Deactivated: N/A due to running debuff
Gold gained: 150 coins (*2 due to non-collection buff) N/A due to running debuff
Items collected: None. Nada. Nich. Nil. Nul. You get nothing.
Special Reward: Come off it. You’re lucky we’re letting this charade continue
Okay. Let’s unpick all of that for a cotton-picking moment . . .
First of all, ouch. Second of all, a hearty 'fuck you' to whichever Celestial Being I’ve obviously pissed off through building a Medical Hut. Yeah, look at me, cheating in a game to save someone's fucking life. Boo me! Obviously, I'm the bad guy in this situation. It’s one thing for the building of the village itself to be debuffed by breaking the tech tree prerequisites - I get that. Cost of doing business. But it now appears I'm being targeted personally by those messages. Which, in case I'm hiding my anger under my emotional bushel, I’m not wild about. And that leads to Part Three of the WTF trifecta: who in all that is holy is the ‘we’ in that last line?
Fuck it. So, no new ‘Freeloader’ goodies for me until I sort all this out, is it? Well, that’s a colossal pain in the arse. But, then again, until very recently, the only free thing I’d got lately was an STI from a long-term girlfriend who, it turns out, was pretty much the definition of ‘easy access’. Thus, I’m sure I can cope with the crushing disappointment of my life screwing me with my pants on. Again.
In the grand scheme of things, though, I was more irritated by my Pixel Workers making no progress on constructing the Village Hall during my nap.
“Fuck sake! What happened, dudes? Did you just stop doing any work the moment when I wasn’t watching you?”
When the master's eyes drift away, the tools grow heavy in the workers' hands. For without the watchful gaze, the wise see no reason to toil. Why build when the taskmaster sleeps? The Great Slacker’s drawl was hardly a welcome addition to this morning’s shitty soundscape.
“What, so these guys are the only fucking Workers in any game ever that have to be watched to actually do their job! What’s the fucking point of that! Speaking as a Freeloader, that seems like a lot of fucking work!”
It would probably help with these little temper tantrums if you actually read my book, you know. There's all sorts of useful commentary about just this sort of situation. Or don’t. It will all be the same in the end. Laters.
The fucking ‘Tao of Idleness’ reappeared in my hand and flipped open. I tried to close it, but it resisted my efforts. “Mate, can’t we just have a proper conversation? I don’t need to parse your crappy philosophical musings; just talk to me about what is happening here. Are you the one debuffing me? Or is there someone else I need to worry about? This ‘we’, for example, who seem really pissed with me. Or with you. Both of us? Dude, you need to talk to me!”
Nothing.
Sigh. Having little else to do with my time right now – there was still just over three hours to go until the Village Hall was complete - I cast my eye over the pages the Great Slacker seemed sure were a crucial infodump right now. This little anecdote was from Book 11. Industrious little bugger for a Slacker, isn’t he?
The Great Slacker sat beneath a wilting tree, sipping lazily from his cup, when a disciple stormed over, red-faced and grumbling. ‘Master,’ the disciple said, ‘I hired a man to dig my garden, yet I must stand there and watch him to make sure he works! It is unfair. Why should I toil just to supervise?’
The Great Slacker raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, the tragedy,’ he drawled. ‘Forced to stand idly by while another sweats in your place. Truly, your suffering is immense.’ He rolled his eyes and stretched out, lying flat. ‘Let me tell you a story.’
‘Once, there was a man who complained about watching the workers he paid. He stood there, arms folded, cursing his lot in life, angry that he had to watch them toil. "Why must I bear this burden?" he cried, as they lifted heavy stones under the hot sun. But when the workers looked up, they simply laughed, for the one who watches carries no weight but the weight of his own foolishness.’
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
The Great Slacker sat up slightly. ‘So tell me, disciple, which is harder: standing in the shade, watching, or bending your back under the sun? You’ve paid him to dig, not to think for you. Your only labour is to stand and complain. Poor you.’
Okay. Good point. Well made. Dammit.
To hide my blushes from anyone who might be watching, I poked my head around the door of the Medical Hut to check on Lia, but she was still lying in stasis. Stable, right? So, at least this ominous ‘we’ was taking out their annoyance on me and not her. That was something, I guessed. I mooched around for a bit, absentmindedly watching the two Workers hammering away on the Village Hall while the solitary dude in the woods kept chopping away against the trees. I guessed there were worse ways to spend some time, right? I could get used to having a bit of quiet, 'me' time, to be honest.
Visitor Approaching: Empire Messenger
Oh shit! I made that happen, didn’t I? Me and my sloppy 'please kick me in the arse, oh Law of Sod' mind.
Almost immediately, a figure appeared at the edge of the village, cutting a sharp silhouette against the backdrop of the woods. He was dressed in dark leather, with what I assumed was the Empire's insignia emblazoned on his chest. Hand on heart, I wasn’t feeling the fuzzies from all the ‘skull with a snake winding out of its left eye’ imagery. And this was the side Lia – and I, assumed - were on? Fuck. Maybe the alchemist had a point after all . . .
The dude looked around my little pied-a-terre with a smug little smile playing on the corner of his mouth. Matey-boy carried himself as someone used to people bending the knee at his approach and having goons on tap to remove teeth if said supplication didn't come fast enough. It appeared the Empire wasn’t subtle about their power plays. Catching sight of me, he strode over, boots sinking slightly into the mud.
“You are the Rogue of Eldhaven.” That wasn't a question. His voice was clipped and sharp, as if he had a limited amount of time and even less patience. My word, I have had a lot of versions of this guy in my life, lately. From lawyers, to probation workers, to prison guards, to job centre employees. This was Malign Administrator with Delusions of Grandeur Avatar #1. I decided to shorten that to ‘Wanker’. You know. For ease. I sensed we were going to get along famously.
“Depends. You asking or telling?” I replied, folding my arms and trying to project an air of casual disinterest. “If you’re from HMRC, never heard of him, sorry. On the other hand, if there’s a bevvy of kissograms lurking in the woods with my name emblazoned on their tits, I’m your huckleberry.”
Wanker didn’t smile, which was a shame. That extra point in Charisma had clearly been a waste. Instead, he handed me a rolled-up scroll with the same fucking morbid seal as on his chest waxed on the outside. “The Empire recognises your recent establishment of this village. It remains Unnamed, correct?”
I nodded, disappointed I hadn’t formally gone for ‘Lazytown’ as of yet. That name would probably have sounded even cleverer and more sophisticated when spoken by an armoured bureaucrat.
“The Emperor extends an offer of protection,” Wanker continued, his smugly irritating tone never wavering. “You will obviously be delighted to accept. Aligning this . . . village with the might of our forces will, in return, ensure you receive supplies, reinforcements, and more general Imperial support. All you must do to receive this largess is to pledge your village to the Emperor’s service. Indeed, I may suggest naming your village in his honour would be an especially helpful touch in ensuring no . . . misunderstandings.”
I took the scroll but didn’t open it, instead leaning back slightly to consider his words. “Well, blow me down with a feather. That sounds like the peachiest of all the deals, and I’m sure comes with absolutely no strings nor downsides whatsoever. Altruistic fellow, this Emperor. Just for shits and giggles, though, what would happen to me if I don’t accept?”
Wanker raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. I was sure he probably practised this expression in the mirror every night. Probably whilst being flagellated by a latex-clad buxom beauty. “You have many enemies, Rogue. Outriders for the Rebel scum are not far behind me, I am sure, and I would imagine they will be distinctly less welcoming to the Rogue of Eldhaven setting up shop on one of their Accumulation Pools. The Empire can shield you from them, for sure, but without our protection…” He let the implication sit there like a shit on a birthday cake.
Reputation:
Empire: Neutral
Rebellion: Belligerent
Interesting. So, just interacting with Wanker had moved me from 'Suspicious' to 'Neutral' with the Empire and from 'Hostile' to 'Belligerent' with the Rebellion. Fuck. That’s not ideal. I sensed I was going to be throwing hands with some scrappy Rebels in the near future. And having absolutely nothing in the way of game on that front, I wasn't looking forward to that turn of events. And here was the Emperor offering Supplies, Reinforcement and Support? Timely. Mind you, everything about this offer screamed trap, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of options – particularly if the Rebellion wasn’t even going to talk first before wiping me out.
“I’ll . . . consider it,” I said, feeling the weight of the decision more than I wanted to admit.
Wanker nodded curtly, clearly expecting no less. “You have limited time to consider. The Empire does not wait forever.”
And with that, yet another countdown in the corner of my vision started beneath the one marking the moment Lia’s father would be murdered. Helpfully, they had exactly the same time to run. Which was nice. Don’t want to overclutter my mind with too much complexity, after all. I mean, a more cynical soul than me would have any number of follow-up questions as to how the two were able to sync up quite so smoothly, but np. Not me. I'm all about the upside. And then, with no further ado at all, Wanker turned on his Cuban heel and strolled back the way he came, vanishing as soon as he crossed the treeline.
Once I was sure he’d gone, I unrolled the scroll, my eyes scanning the archaic, formal language. It was just as Wanker had said—basically an extortion racket in exchange for fealty to the Emperor. No hidden clauses, no fine print. It was all laid out in stark terms. Pledge yourself to the Empire, or else. Nice looking village you have here, be a shame if our giant army took a massive shit in the middle of it . . .
Fuck. Lazytown wasn’t built to withstand a siege. It wasn’t even ‘built’ at all, It couldn’t even function when I fell asleep, apparently. If I aligned with the Empire, I’d be painting a massive target on my back for the Rebellion, who already were predisposed to shank me on sight. And that went without acknowledging that they were clearly not the Empire of Joy and Eternal Happiness. But if I turned Wanker down . . .
Shit. Things aren’t getting any easier, are they?