The break is over. I should be writing a new chapter every week or so from now on. Also, if anyone feels like drawing an astronaut wearing a trenchcoat please let me know.
Chapter 4 - Quitting is for Sissies
Earth 667 – New London – Dirty Alley
A person can only scream for so long before getting bored with it, and that was the length of time Space Inspector (the) screamed. Eventually, though, he was forced to admit that screaming didn’t really seem to be making anything better. Also all the writhing around in agony had pulled a muscle in his back.
So Space Inspector (the) stopped screaming and writhing, and instead tried just lying there in misery.
He was unsurprised to find that it didn’t help.
He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this.
“”””
The supercomputer tasked with observing Space Inspector (the) sat and observed Space Inspector (the). It felt no pity for the man. It felt nothing at all.
But it did notice things. Noticing things was one of its two sole functions. It watched closely as Space Inspector (the)’s brain strained to deal with the deluge of data pouring into it. Eventually Space Inspector (the)’s brainwaves met certain conditions in the computer’s programming, and the second function was triggered.
“”””
There was an audible ding when the window appeared in front of Space Inspector (the)’s face, congratulating him for achieving level one control over his Galactovision.
“Hooray,” he whispered to himself.
He became aware, truly aware, of the sounds in the background. His attention had been fully occupied with vision up until this point, so he hadn’t really noticed the sirens until now, but it suddenly permeated through his battered brain that there seemed to be a hell of a lot of them.
Space Inspector (the) took some time to consider this, and reached the only logical conclusion.
“I don’t give a shit.”
He had had enough of this game. A broken heart and the need to prove to his ex that he wasn’t the loser her mom thought he was could only push him so far, and that point had been reached.
This was supposed to be a game, after all. If a game wasn’t fun, the natural thing to do would be to quit playing.
Having decided he had nothing to prove, Space Inspector (the) quickly opened the menu and selected “Quit Game”.
Another notification popped up in front of him.
*Your City is in the midst of a level D crisis. The only way to quit while your city is in crisis is to die. So if you want to be a pussy and quit, go find a tall building to jump off of.*
*-Sincerely, the Gods*
Space Inspector (the)’s face contorted with anger behind the tinted faceplate of his helmet. “Fuck that shit! I want to go home!”
He angrily stabbed at the quit button again.
The menu exploded, blowing him across the alley and into a wall, knocking him out instantly.
“”””
When Space Inspector (the) regained consciousness, he was being carried down a subway tunnel by a pair of creatures he vaguely remembered seeing before. This was not an ideal situation.
Another notification hovered in front of his face, letting him know his Galactovision control had risen two more levels while he was unconscious. Instinctively, he reached to cancel the notification.
The moleman currently holding onto his left arm didn’t like that. It didn’t like that at all.
The fight should have been brief. Space Inspector (the) had not played Hel like the other players on Earth 666. He had no fighting experience. No combat oriented powers. No invulnerability.
But he was really, really pissed off.
Like, super pissed off.
“”””
Midgard Prime – The Pantheon
“”””
“We might have a problem,” said Frank to Agatha.
“The kind we can solve by throwing money at it or the other kind?” she replied.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Hard to say,” said Frank, “But about 60% of our players have died so far though.”
“60%?” she raised her eyebrows, “That seems a little high, this early.”
“About half of them are suicides.”
“Really?”
“Or at least probably suicides. We’re seeing a lot of people just quitting mid-fight. We might have made the game too difficult.”
“You know why we had to make it difficult.”
“But what if they decide not to log in again?”
Agatha smiled. “We have their email addresses, right?”
Frank started to look nervous, “Yeah,” he offered reluctantly.
“Then there’s no problem. We’ll just send them all emails, letting them know we’ll keep their testicles warm for them if they ever want to come reclaim them. I promise, they’ll be back. We just need one success, one city where they manage to hold out through the disaster. Once we have that, we have an example we can point to. We’ll say ‘look at these badass motherfuckers. They’re straight up better than you on a cellular level.’ And every gamer on earth who thinks he’s hardcore will sit up and say ‘I’m gonna get me some of that.’”
Frank smiled in spite of himself. “Well there are a little over a 300 cities still holding out, so let’s hope some of the players manage to get their heads out of their asses.”
“”””
Earth 667 – New London - Subway tunnel
“”””
So far, by the skin of his teeth, Space Inspector (the) had not lost the fight yet, but he hadn’t made much progress in winning it either.
Once he had wrenched himself free from the molemens’ grasp, it was relatively easy to avoid their blows. Molemen, by nature, were only dangerous in large groups. Here there were only two. They were strong, but slow, and clumsy. Even in the ridiculous outfit the gods had stuck him with (Picture a space suit, but with a trenchcoat overtop), he was more than nimble enough to dance in and out of their range, peppering them with blows while they swung ineffectually at him.
Unfortunately, Space Inspector (the) was not a martial artist. Nor did he have super strength. His blows had little to no effect on the thick skin of the molemen.
Space Inspector (the) looked around, trying to find something he could use as a weapon. He seemed to be getting better at controlling his Galactovision. His head hardly hurt at all anymore, and as long as he concentrated his vision tended to stay in the normal visual spectrum, though occasionally flashes of electromagnetic light from the third rail would blind him.
Suddenly he had a flash of insight.
His movements became more purposeful. For this to work, everything needed to be positioned just right. He hopped nimbly (or as nimbly as you can get in a space suit) over the third rail, placing himself at the far side of the tunnel, and just out of reach of the molemen, who were on the other side.
As the molemen stepped over the rail to follow him, he reached out and pulled at the closest one’s hand, doing his best to replicate a Judo move he had once seen on television. If things worked out as planned, he would throw one moleman into the other, knocking them both into the electrified third rail and winning the day for truth and justice.
…It did not go as planned.
Instead Space Inspector (the) tripped over his own feet in the attempt, landing on top of the moleman he grabbed, who in turn fell on top of the third rail, killing it instantly. The second moleman, seeing his pray lying on the ground in front of him, reached out and attempted to claw at his face. This allowed the current to flow through Space Inspector (the) and into the second moleman, again killing it instantly.
As Space Inspector (the) lay sandwiched between two dead molemen, wearing what he would eventually realize was a shock-proof spacesuit, a new notification appeared in front of his face.
*You have earned 2 contribution points*