Chapter Two

Decisions, decisions….

“Do you mean to tell me that you would rather focus on what your name will be rather than considering what kind of dungeon you will become?” Tutor’s voice echoed incredulity and confusion. “Surely the matters at hand take precedence . . .,”

The core cut the voice off before it could say anything else.

“I’m sorry,” the core said as innocently as it could, not wanting to irritate the “helpful” voice. “I wasn’t aware that we were on a schedule. How much time do we have left before I have to make a decision?”

“Well, erm, technically,” the chagrined tutor replied, “There is no deadline. At the moment we are outside of time. Theoretically, you could seemingly take a trillion years to kit yourself out before a second will have passed in real-time.”

“So,” quipped the core, “I can take a few minutes to figure out who I am before I decide who I’m going to be?”

“Yes,” Tutor said so quietly and in such a manner that the core was certain that the voice had to look away from him as it uttered that single word.

“Excellent!” The core did not recall anything about who or what he was in his prior life, but he knew that he didn’t like others dictating how he went about doing things. It was odd, but the core had an emotional memory that was as clear as a pond on a sunny day. He recalled feeling powerful, sometimes admired, and sometimes feared. He knew that he had been special, and that was evidenced by his current status as a deviate dungeon core. Not only had he been chosen to be a core, and then survived the process but had then been the first core ever to break the mold of what it meant to be a core. Suddenly, the core’s fears and concerns with being experimental faded, and were replaced with a pride that had been curled around him just waiting to be noticed.

Fear was another thing. It was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. How long, he couldn’t tell, but if he had to guess the core would have supposed it was centuries, but that couldn’t be right. Humans barely made it to the one-hundred-year mark under the best of circumstances. His sense of timing, he imagined, was way off. Either way, the core knew that fear was as alien to him as being biological. He was crystalline now, and there were no traces of his former physicality within him any longer. The core imagined holding his fear in a pair of strong hands; the fear slipping through his fingers like sand until it was gone. He wondered if it could return. Would he feel its icy stab when danger loomed? He hoped not. Danger brought out anger; anger like a roaring fire that did not die until whatever had called the flames forth had been burned into a cinder.

That was who he was. A fearless warrior that brooked no insolence, and was apt to erupt at insolence and disrespect but carried a patience that was deeper than an ocean when treated with the proper reverence and respect.

The core couldn’t remember his former life, but at least he knew who he was where it mattered the most. To be certain, his was an incomplete understanding of his emotional construction, but the core had the foundation of who he had been and still was now. Now he could decide on what he was going to call himself.

“Hemi.”

The voice shattered the core’s internal assessment. It had not expected Tutor to just blurt out a name.

“What?” the core asked politely. He decided that he liked manners and there was a decorum that had to be followed. Being polite, even to thieves and enemies was important.

“I said, how does the name Hemi sound?” Tutor reciprocated the attitude and showed no irritation at having been dragged into going over a list of what amounted to baby names.

“Why Hemi,” the core inquired curiously. The name seemed utterly chosen at random, but he suspected that Tutor had some kind of reasoning behind it.

“Most cores name themselves after what they are made of. For example, if you were made of diamond you might call yourself Die. If you were made of gabbro you might refer to yourself as Gabbi, and if you were made of calcium you could call yourself . . .,”

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“I see where you are going with this. Isn’t that just a touch, oh I don’t know, uninspired?” It seemed to the core that such a naming tradition would help the overseers keep track of their gemstone progeny.

“Uninspired is calling yourself Flint when you are made of flint. The others are reflections of your new life.” The tutor replied. “You are made up of hematite, and I thought you might like it.” The core swore that he sounded a little dejected. “You don’t have to follow convention. There are several dungeon cores that have more traditional names such as Bob, but if I remember correctly, he called himself that because he floated on the water. “I’m sorry,” the voice intoned, “I’m not helping. Am I?”

“While I have no intention of naming myself out of my physical makeup; I do see a way for me to keep up the tradition that will satisfy you, I think?” The core’s mind reeled. A name was important. It was something that told the world who you were; its mere mention made your enemies quake with fear and your vassals draw courage from its very utterance. He had a name finally in mind.

“Really?” The tutor perked up as soon as the core had said that he was going to stay within the tralatitious manner in which cores chose their titles. Tralatitious? Where had that come from? It seemed like an imperious way of saying something simple. Had he been such a snob that he’d used words such as tralatitious when traditional would have sufficed? If so, that was going to stop. The core didn’t like the way it made him feel to talk like that. Perhaps becoming a core had made him more salt of the earth than he realized. He was no longer a biological creature, and like it or not, our forms did shape our personalities. “One thing I should warn you about is that whatever name you pick will be your true name. It will be a name that only you and the overseers will know. Beware, names have power. Do not give out your name recklessly.”

“Yes. I’m ready, and I won’t share my name with just anyone. I can promise you that. You said I was designated DV8-1by the overseers. Deviation one. I admit that at first that I did not find that appellation appealing, but after some consideration, I have grown somewhat fond of it.” The core held back, making the tutor work for it. It felt like a game, a familiar one in which he held the power and tutor had none. It was a reversal of roles that he quite relished; even as he knew that his dominance was fleeting. Once his name was revealed then the tutor would insist on going back through the process of designing his dungeon. Unless….

“I am of the general opinion that I should take the name Dev. It references my new status, and keeps with the way things are done.” The core felt a toothy grin wanting to form as he said those words. He faintly recalled teeth. He missed them.

“Dev?” Tutor said it tentatively, testing the word on his nonexistent tongue. “Dev. Hmmm, yes. I like it. I think it suits you. Well done!”

“Devin,” the core retorted.

Tutor was only slightly taken aback. He barely let his shock at the name change reflect in the modulation of his tone.

“Devin? Well, that still works. We could still call you Dev for short.”

“Devinadinthrayvicrialborreir.” Devinadinthrayvicrialborreir said matter of factly. “But you can still call me Dev. For short.” Dev didn’t know why, but he knew that the longer your name was the more important you were; additionally, the name sound elvish. He was beginning to suspect that he had been some sort of high elf. The haughtiness of his former speech patterns, the inferred long life, manners being important all added up to elf in his mind.

“Yes, well we’ll just keep that part of it between us. You can’t see the form I’m filling out, but it doesn’t have a lot of space for your name. Dungeons instinctually keep their names short.” Tutor sounded six shades of flustered but carried on like a true professional.

“If that’s the case then I’m already living up to my designation,” Dev said cheerfully.

“Indeed, you are!” Tutor’s voice livened up once he realized that Dev was doing exactly what he was supposed to. “Still, I wasn’t kidding about the space for your name. If it’s all right with you I will just fill in your name as Dev, and we’ll keep the truth between us.” There was a pause and then he added, “It will be between us. Once I’m done here my mind will reset to help the next dungeon. I will have no memory of what we’ve discussed.”

“That’s fine by me if you are copacetic with it. I’m sorry to hear that you will be reset. Is there anything I can do for you?” Dev had no idea why he offered to help Tutor, but it seemed the proper thing to do. Even if he couldn’t do anything it was just good manners to offer.

“It is an existence I have lived since the first dungeon came into being untold millennia ago. It is my way of life, and I take it for what it is. I thank you for your unexpected consideration, but there isn’t anything you can do for me.” Tutored seemed genuinely touched at Dev’s concern. "I know that I have interacted with other cores in the past, obviously, as I have already alluded to such knowledge but I will not recall what was said, what decisions were made, and so on. I do get an innate knowledge of all stats collected by my creators, and any incidental incidents they wish to share with me. My world starts when a core appears and vanishes when they leave. In this manner, I maintain a fresh attitude for each core. My knowledge, though vast, is not firsthand. It is an amalgamation of data collection, reports, and incidents of note.

“Very well. Now that that’s settled; I think I am ready to decide what kind of dungeon I want to be.”

“Really? That’s wonderful. Nothing would make me happier. Let’s get on with it, shall we?” Devin swore he heard a page flip and a pencil furiously scribbling as Tutor continued, “So, what do you want to do first? Pick a dungeon type, energy, or companion?”