The Alchemist Chapter 1

Sorry about all the new stories I'm starting. I'm just gauging my own interest in them before continuing. Here's the start of a new story.

Chapter 1

It was in my first year of university as an engineering student. I was walking to school one morning and caught sight of a man running at me. He pushed me aside as he ran past me, causing me to stumble, and step out into the street, at which point I was hit by a careening truck and my life was ended unceremoniously.

Upon opening my eyes, I was greeted with an open black room, lit by an unknown source. At its center was a throne with a grey shadow sitting on it. The shadow leaned forward.

“Markus Peters,” said the being. “You have been chosen to participate in a program designed for those who have come to untimely deaths.”

“Um, okay?” I said. I looked around the infinite room. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Indeed,” said the being. “You died in an accident. We are giving you one more chance.”

“Okay,” I say. I didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll take it.”

“Hm,” said the being. “You have a good attitude about this. I will give you a choice of boons that you can bring with you into the next world.”

A gigantic tome appeared in my hands, opening to the first page.

Watermancy. The ability to manipulate water at will.

The rest of the book, as I flipped the pages, was filled with all sorts of superpowers.

“What kind of a world am I entering?” I asked.

The being chuckled. “A world with a demon lord,” he said. “You can extrapolate what you will from that.”

“So, it’s a fantasy setting?” I said.

The being said nothing.

“Okay,” I said. “I think I have what I want.”

“Hm?” said the being. “Do tell me.”

“Alchemy,” I said. “This looks like a good skill.”

“You certainly are an engineering student,” said the being. “Very well. You shall have the power of alchemy alongside you when you go on your mission to defeat the demon lord.”

“Wait, I have to defeat him?” I said.

And then the world blinked out of existence. I stood in an open field, my hair moving in the breeze. I scratched the back of my neck. “Okay then?” I said. “What next?”

Perhaps I should try out this whole alchemy thing, I thought. I pressed my hands against the soil and felt, in that moment, all the elements that were dispersed throughout the ground, the trees, and the boulders forming the clearing. From Gold to Yttrium, I could count the elemental concentration down to the milligram.

Well, this is useful. Not only could I see the elements, I could also manipulate them. So, I drew all the precious metals from the soil in the surrounding hundred yards—the limit of my ability—and had them coalesce into obelisks in front of me. I had in front of me a sizable amount of gold, silver, platinum, and a number of rare earth elements. Also, I gathered a large amount of titanium and aluminum.

I began to mix the elements to form alloys. The metal flowed like it was liquid, even though it wasn’t hot. Soon I had a number of alloys in front of me, of varying properties. I tried making a helmet out of steel and titanium, and succeeded. I then created for myself a mail shirt, a sword, and some boots and greaves. The metal formed into exactly the shape that I wanted it to. Even the intricate links of the chain mail shirt formed without much input from my conscious mind.

After putting on my armor, I made a compass with some of the magnetite that I had sucked out of the ground. I decided that going east was the best choice for now.

I’m not even sure that I can speak the local language, I thought. Well, maybe there was some sort of magic that could help me. Or maybe that god figure had done something about it. Whatever the case, east was the way to go.

I walked through dense forest, following animal trails where I could. The brush was familiar, but the flowers and fruits were not. There were some purple apple-like fruits hanging from short stubby trees, and then there were the greenish blueberries that had one big ball and lots of tiny ones. I didn’t eat any of them, but I did pick a couple of each, shoving them into a metal mesh bag I created on the spot.

By the time I made it out of the forest, I was starving. The forest opened out onto a large, wide field filled with crops. My first sign of civilization.

I walked down a dirt road until I could see a settlement in the distance. Its wooden palisade was short and looked like it had been battered recently. Two guards stood in front of the gate. I approached them.

“Hail!” said the guard on the left. “Let me see your passport.”

“Passport?” I said. “I don’t have one.” I checked my pockets. “Oh, wait,” I said. “I do.” I found a small booklet in my pants pocket that I had not noticed before. What a great, thoughtful addition that was.

I handed it to the guard.

“Very well,” said the guard. “You may pass.”

I entered the city through the gate. Immediately I was assaulted by the smell. Open sewers ran on either side of the street. I witnessed someone empty a chamber pot out the window. The street was narrow and the buildings seemed to loom over it, cutting off much of the natural light. The people who were passing by me were wearing tattered clothes and looked unhappy.

This was not a good place to be, I understood. The city was probably experiencing some hard times.

Well, I had a pack full of precious metals, so I could at least sell some to a pawn shop or something. I wandered the streets until I found a store with a sign that looked promising. I entered.

The interior was filled with furniture and antiques. Valuables were behind the counter. A man with a long beard and beady eyes napped in a chair. Upon my entrance, he opened his eyes.

“Yes?” he said. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“No,” I said. “I’m new here.”

“Hrph,” said the man. “What have you got in there?”

“Some gold and precious metals,” I said. I put my bag on the counter.

The man looked through the various bars. He picked up a bar of the rare earth metal lanthanum. “What kind of a metal is this?” he asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He took out a touchstone and scratched the bar against it, leaving a metal streak. “Hm,” he said. “This is a new kind of metal. It doesn’t match anything I know of.”

“It’s called Lanthanum,” I said. “A rare earth metal.”

“Rare earth?” said the man. He shook his head. “Never heard of them.”

Right, this was a medieval fantasy world. They wouldn’t know anything about rare earth metals.

“What can I use this metal for?” asked the shop owner.

“Various things …” I said. “Well, it looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said the shop owner. “I’ll pay you ten Cris.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. “What about the other stuff?”

“Gold prices are at twenty Cris a dunce,” said the shop owner. “And silver is five Cris a dunce.”

I pretended to know what a dunce was.

“I’ll sell it all to you,” I said.

“Very well,” said the shop owner. He got out a scale and began measuring my metals. “Two hundred and seven Cris for the whole lot,” he said. “How goes your mining claim?”

“Mining … Claim …?” I said. “Right! Yes, I’ve been working hard to dig this stuff … Up! Yes!”

The shop owner looked at me funny. “Well, getting this much should keep you going for a while.” He handed me a bag of coins. “There’s your payment. Come back when you have more of this … Lanthanum stuff.”

I bobbed my head up and down and backed out of the shop.

Well, that was unexpected. I hadn’t thought this through well enough. If I wanted to get by in this town, I would have to get better at hiding where my metal came from.

I found the nearest tavern and sat down at a table. After a long while, a tavern girl approached me.

“What will ya be havin?” she said.

“Um, how about chicken?” I asked.

“We ain’t go no chicken here,” she said. “Just perch.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll have the perch.”

Ten minutes later a small cooked bird was placed in front of me. It looked like one of those tiny chickens you would buy at the store, cooked as is.

I tried some of the meat. It was passable, and I figured, as hungry as I was, this wasn’t something to pass over. The meal as a whole cost three Cris. After finishing the bird and the side of potatoes I was about as full as I could expect to be.

Now I had to figure out where I was and what I was expected to do. I knew I had been summoned here because of a demon lord or something to that effect. But I, for one, was not a fighter and did not know how the power I chose would enable me to fight said demon lord.

Why did I choose the power of alchemy? Well, because it seemed cool.

I probably should have thought that through better.

I stood up from the table, paid for the meal, and left the tavern to wander through the streets. After a while I realized that this place was probably not as safe as the streets of my suburban home and tried to find a place to sleep.

I came across a small inn that looked safe and clean enough to crash in for the night. Entering through the door, I bought myself a room and dropped onto the bed as soon as I had entered.

As I stared at the ceiling, I began to feel a bit itchy on my backside.

Right, I thought. This is a medieval inn. Of course there would be bedbugs.

I thought for a moment, and then realized that I could probably create some pesticides with my alchemy power. So I did. I formed three chemicals that I knew existed in pesticides and coated the bed with them. Within five minutes the bedbugs were all dead.

Score one for the alchemy power.

A sound rose over the drum of the street. Raising higher and higher, it was the town’s church bell. Several horns blasted over the night. I sat up in my bed. People on the floors above and below me began to scramble.

What was happening now? I put on my clothes, and just in case, my armor that I had created earlier in the day.

I was just getting comfortable! I thought. Perhaps this was the demon lord I was warned about?

I went to the door and opened it, leaning out into the hall. The inn owner was walking down the hall and kocking on doors.

“Quick!” he said. “Get to the walls. They’re coming!”

I went out into the hallway. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Orcs!” said the innkeeper. “They’re attacking!”

Great. The first night I’m here and I’m already faced with a life or death situation. I climbed the stairs to the ground floor and found a bunch of people congregating in the open front room. The fire crackled in the background.

A town guard leaned in from the doorway. “Anyone who is able bodied and can fight,” he said, “Get to the walls!”

Hum. This town probably has a standing force of guards. Why would they need a militia like this?

I went out into the street. People scrambled all around me. Were we really in danger? What would happen if the orcs broke through the flimsy palisade?

All I could do was wait and find out. 

Avarice: The Realm Chapter 10: Dungeon

Dungeon

Endiga is a city born from the ashes of another. It’s in the Apocalypse Biome, a stretch of land that looks like Tokyo’s urban sprawl plus fifty years of neglect. Vines creep up the walls of the buildings, and most of the glass is gone. Cars, covered in moss, molder by the side of the road.

I arrive at the fast travel tower, which is in the center of a large park featuring a gigantic elder tree. Outdoor shops line the edges of the park.

A massive guild of cazzies is heading towards the fast travel tower. I try to get out of their way, but their leader singles me out and approaches me.

“You there,” he says. “You can help us. We need all the help we can get.”

“I’m sorry, but—” I say.

“It doesn’t matter,” says the leader. “The Dawn Wonderers have sent out a draft notice and all players over forty are required to join.”

“I juts got here,” I say. “And I have a high-priority mission I need to complete.”

The leader clasps his hands together. “Do that, and you’ll be on the wrong side of the Dawn Wonderers.”

I put my hand to my ear and contact Garnet. “Hey,” I say, and I explain my situation.

“Sure,” says Garnet. “The Dawn Wonderers have the clout of a medium-sized government military. We wouldn’t want to offend them.”

I hang up, letting my hand fall to my side. “My superiors say I can come,” I say. I hate to cave in like this, but if I get on the wrong side of the rulers of this city it might hinder my mission.

Plus, I have time.

“Good,” says the leader. “My name is Maximilus.” He points to a pair of cazzies. “You’ll be with CA and HelpDog over there.”

I walk over to the two. They look at each other and shrug.

I extend my hand. “I’m RT,” I say.

CA shrugs. He takes my hand and shakes it. “What are your powers?” he asks.

“I’m a transition metal conjurer,” I say.

“Cool,” says CA. “Does that mean you can summon bismuth bronze and bantanum?”

“Of course,” I say. “Nearly as much as I want.”

I haven’t missed the boat, of course. I know that this CA is ColorfulAmber, my target. It’s neither lucky or unlucky that I got paired with him in this press-gang-style army. It merely changes my plans.

I don’t think I’ll need to use Tracking Beacon anymore. At the same time, if I capture him right now, it will disrupt the secrecy of the mission. Too many people are around.

I don’t know if he recognizes me—if he checks his status screen once, he’ll see me marked by the Tracking Beacon put on my by ReaperGoon.

But he doesn’t know what I look like.

The one thing that confuses me a tiny bit is the question of why Peter Cool is joining this expeditionary force. If he’s one of Mandrake Signa’s underlings, he must have a lot of power backing him up. Surely he can resist being press-ganged into the army of a guild who doesn’t have his best interests in mind.

Maximilus stands in front of the crowd of about fifty players. He sticks his gigantic sword in the ground, resting both arms on its hilt. “We’re going to beat them before they beat us!” he says. “We’re going to strike them before they strike us!” He claps his hands together. “Let’s go kill those kobolds!”

“Fill me in on the details,” I say, to HelpDog.

“There’s a clan of kobolds in a dungeon near here who are constantly stealing from us,” says HelpDog. “We’re going to teach them a lesson.”

“And this merits shanghaiing every player in the city?” I ask.

HelpDog shrugs. “I’m just a shopkeeper, man,” he says. “I don’t know why the leadership of this city does things the way they do.”

CA gives me a lopsided grin. “Well,” he says, “Killing things is always worth it.” A paintbrush and palate appear in his hand. “And I’m never one to run away from a good fight.”

Yikes. This is another type of person that I don’t deal well with. People who enjoy killing too much aren’t exactly my cup of tea.

Well, I doubt they’re anyone’s cup of tea.

It does soften the blow a bit when I realize we’re fighting against monsters that technically are not alive and are just manifestations of a large and eldritch Freax web.

But still.

Maximilus puts his gigantic sword on his back and steps up to the fast travel tower.

“Legion Dungeon!” he says, and the light carries him away.

“Legion Dungeon!” “Legion Dungeon!” “Legion Dungeon!”

One by one the members of the raiding party disappear into pillars of light. Then my turn comes.

“Legion Dungeon!” I say, and I am carried away by a ball of light.

The dungeon isn’t actually that far away. We land after about five seconds of travel.

The landscape is dominated by a gigantic mound of soil and rock. The red of the stone is saturated by the midday sun.

“So they’re in there?” I ask.

HelpDog shrugs. “Sure. I guess. I don’t call the shots.”

Maximilus stands before the raid group. “We’re going in, and we’re not leaving until they’re exterminated!” he says.

“Ho!” says a number of well-equipped soldiers. They bang their armor or their shields.

“Those are the core guild members,” says HelpDog.

“They’re pretty enthusiastic,” I say, “Considering we’re about to go into a combat zone.”

I consider taking out my specialty rifle, but decide against it. Instead, I conjure two short swords. My class is “Kenshi,” which is basically a weapons specialist, both ranged and close quarters. My “DPS,” or “Damage per Second,” is very high, but my defense is lacking.

Of course, I’m very good at dodging.

Maximilus turns to the dungeon and enters. His form is cast into shadow and then disappears.

He is followed by the rest of the raid guild. I am among the last to enter.

The sound of fighting echoes through the corridors.

“This way,” says Peter Cool. “I received orders to scout this area.”

HelpDog and I follow Peter Cool down a side path.

I am on high alert. At any point, Peter Cool could turn on me and try to kill me. HelpDog is just a bystander, but it’s not my job to protect him. I’ll still try anyways, but if it’s between HelpDog and my mission I’ll choose my mission.

Peter Cool leads us to a branch in the tunnel.

A spear flies out of the darkness and impales Peter Cool in the neck. Blood spurts across the walls.

“Whoa!” says HelpDog. He doesn’t appear surprised—instead, he appears triumphant.

“What just happened?” I ask.

HelpDog shakes his head. “The Dawn Wonderers have wanted ColorfulAmber dead for a long time,” he says.

I think it’s okay, at this point, to break secrecy surrounding my mission.

“I was tasked with capturing him too,” I say.

HelpDog chuckles. “Hey, man,” he says. “First come first sere.”

I kneel down beside ColorfulAmber. His body shimmers. After two seconds, it explodes into confetti-like pieces of tinfoil. A low laughter echoes through the dungeon.

“You thought you could pull one over on me?” it says. It is clearly Peter Cool.

A bear trap the size of a man appears out of nowhere and snaps HelpDog between two pieces of spiked steel. He hemorrhages a huge amount of blood and then lies limp.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” says Peter Cool. “RoundTable. You have made an enemy of some very powerful people.”

“It’s my job,” I say.

I assume a Gold Card has to be involved in whatever’s happening right now.

I notice a tiny little glint near my feet and roll to the side. Another gigantic bear trap snaps the air where I had been a second before.

“Binder. Bright Light!” I say.

The whole tunnel system is lit up like day. A shadow flits at the end of one of the branches.

I dodge another man trap and sprint towards the shadow. The bright light follows me through the corridors, keeping them lit.

Three identical avatars surround me, flickering. I stab at one of them and it disappears into smoke.

“My boss has given me a lot of toys to play with,” says Peter. “And I’m going to use them all. Spark!”

The whole tunnel system erupts into conflagration.

“Fire shield!” I yell. While I’m protected by the shield, I grab an oxygen mask from my binder and put it on. Just as I am finished securing it, the fire recedes.

I turn around the tunnel, watching for the slightest hint of danger. Peter Cool’s ability to create anything he can draw is a lot more powerful in combat than I thought it would be.

As a transition metal conjurer, I understand the concept, but the objects I conjure come from my subconscious.

I creep along the side of a wall. The rock is warm from the fire.

The rock behind me cracks. I roll away from the wall and dodge flying debris. A monster barges out of the stone, surrounded by shrapnel and dust. Its teeth hang past it reptilian jaw, and its six arms undulate. Its eyes lock onto me, and my world begins to fracture.

Tentacles reach into my mind. I begin to lose my identity. The laughter of Peter Cool echoes in my consciousness as I begin to slip into utter confusion.

A sword slashes across from my vision and the monster is separated into two. Trails of blue blood stretch between the two halves of the former monster.

I fall to the ground, scrabbling at my oxygen mask.

“Hey, hey,” says a voice. I recognize it—Maximilus. “Are you okay?” he says.

I shake my head. “What … What just happened?”

“You just met a crawler,” says Maximilus. “Their gaze causes confusion, and they hide in the walls of tunnels waiting for prey.” He turns to where HelpDog is still skewered by Peter Cool’s man trap. “What the hell happened here?”

“ColorfulAmber tried to kill us both,” I say.

Maximilus sighs. “I always knew CA had some shady connections,” he says. “All right. As the leader of the Dawn Wonderers I have to handle this.” He rubs his temples. “This mission has already been a travesty, and now this happens.”

“Is the invasion not going well?” I ask.

“There are crawlers all over the place,” says Maximilus. “We weren’t expecting that.”

“Are we going to retreat?” I ask.

“No,” says Maximilus. “We will fight until we win. We’re no cowards.”

I nod. I understand how that works. “Do you mind if I break from the group and hunt down ColorfulAmber?” I ask.

Maximilus snorts. “If you can take down that bastard, then you’ll be doing us a great favor.”

I bow. “It’s my pleasure.” I turn away from him. A pile of glitter marks the spot where Peter Cool’s body turned into confetti.

I have an idea. I touch a piece of the confetti. “Binder. Tracking Beacon.”

It works. “Status,” I say. I can now track Peter Cool through the dungeon.

It seems that he is going deeper, rather than trying to escape.

“I’ll be going,” I say, to Maximilus.

Maximilus smiles and turns away, walking beyond the reach of my bright light.

I check my status again. Peter Cool is about a hundred meters ahead of me, through the twisting maze of the dungeon. I keep away from the walls as I follow him deeper and deeper into the dungeon.

I follow him deeper and deeper. We are heading towards the core, the deepest part of the dungeon.  

Then he stops. His marker blinks a couple of times, and then begins to head towards me.

I know he knows I’m following him. Is he trying to fight me?

I conjure my swords and stand at the ready.

The dot passes by my location, and I see nothing. Nobody. Peter Cools is as good as invisible.

“I take it you’re the one who killed my friends,” says Peter. His voice echoes through the cavern, preventing me from gauging its location.

I turn in circles as I try to figure out where he is.

“I can kill you now if I want, but I want you to suffer,” says Peter. He cackles. “The United States, and every other imperialist warmonger country, will kneel to the true kings.”

“The US isn’t the bad guy,” I say.

“Say that to the countries that you’ve invaded,” says Peter. “Imperialism and capitalism are a scourge. They must be purged from the collective.”

A see a glimmer of light. I think it’s Peter’s essence. I strike at it, it flickers, and then it reappears behind me.

“You can’t touch me when I’m in this state,” says Peter.

The back of my head tingles. I dive to the ground. An arrow flies over my head, zipping through the air.

Surprise Negation just saved my life.

“Quick, aren’t you?” says Peter. “But my next shot won’t miss.”

“I’ll take you out before then,” I say. “Status.” If I can’t see him physically, I’ll just find out where he is through Trackig Beacon. It’s going to be a shot in the dark but I think I’ll make it.

I conjure a bow and a tranquilizing dart. Watching the status screen, I fire exactly where Peter’s dot is.

The arrow stops in mid-air, and Peter materializes out of nothing. I run up to him and capture him with the apprehension module. Before he disappears, I hear him groan “Bell …”

Target acquired. I stand up and survey the tunnels around me. I have no idea where I am.

Since this tunnel is crawling with monsters, I have to be very careful not to lose my way.

I backtrack as far as I can remember, and find myself at the place where HelpDog was trapped. His body is stiffening, still encased in the man trap.

What a brutal way to die.

I pass the body, making sure to mark where it is so that his guild can recover it. I then back my way through the dungeon until I find the entrance.

11

***

Avarice: The Realm chapter three: South A Town

South A Town

Garnet takes me to Fort Lincoln’s fast travel tower. It stands in the center of a military staging area. Five tanks and six helicopters rest along two of the area’s side fending. A couple of marines walk in between the vehicles.

“Do you have your Traveler’s Pass?” says Garnet, walking up to the tower.

“Binder,” I say. My binder appears in front of me. I flip a couple of pages to where I had stowed the Traveler’s Pass card. Only a tiny amount of the space in my binder is being used by the cards that I was given. With the Traveler’s Pass in hand, I walk up to the tower.

“South Dungeon A,” says Garnet. She disappears in a flash of light.

“South Dungeon A,” I say, and the same light picks me up and carries me over the desert landscape. A gigantic tower appears on the horizon, as tall as a skyscraper and maybe a kilometer in diameter. It is decorated with an intense, chaotic geometric pattern.

We land at a fast travel tower not to far from the dungeon’s edge. The FT tower stands in the middle of a small settlement. A single main street is bordered by shops, stores, and what looks to be a saloon.

“Welcome to South A town,” says Garnet.

I look at the dozen or so people meandering about the street. “Are these all players?” I say.

Garnet points at various people in turn. “Those are some Italian soldiers, those are some cazzies in the Square Moon guild, and those are some mercs who work for, I think, Ismex International.” She shrugs. “There are probably a whole bunch more affiliations around here. This is a good place to get used to The Realm. Binder.” Her binder appears in front of her. “I’ll toss you the key to your room. The US Government rents out a number of rooms in every major staging area to make sure that we’re always able to train.” She picks a card from her binder and tosses it to me.

I catch it. It’s just a card that says Key to Room 209 at the Purple Stallion.

“Drop,” I say. The card turns into a key in a puff of smoke. I twirl it about and slip it into my pocket.

“We’ll start grinding tomorrow,” says Garnet. “I’ll leave you to your own devices.” She smiles, and then turns around and walks away.

I remember that I haven’t spent my skill points yet. I was interrupted. “Status,” I say. My status screen appears in front of me.

I look around at things that I can spend my points on, and finally decide to just put them into Dexterity. From what I remember playing tabletop games as a kid, this will allow me to be more reactive and flexible.

I am interested in the saloon. While I don’t drink, it’s a pretty cliché place where interesting things might happen. This is a video game world, after all.

I enter through two saloon doors straight out of a western. There is an ambient music being played through a jukebox in the corner.

No one watches me enter. Along the bar, a number of people are getting drunk.

So, they sell alcohol here in this game? Interesting.

“Binder,” I say. I pull out one of the cards I was given. Gold: 500. “Drop,” I say. I hear a ‘clink’ sound effect, but I see no gold. “Status,” I say. The status screen appears, and at the top right corner, the number ‘500g’ floats. So, this is like electronic money.

I walk up to the bar. I don’t drink, but I do want to taste the flavors of this world. Since asking for something non-alcoholic might not go down well, I’ll just ask for something to eat.

“What can I do ya for?” says the bartender. It is pretty apparent that he is not a human—I think the term was “NPC.”

“What’s your best lunch dish?” I ask.

“I would recommend the smoked cod,” says the man sitting next to me. He is decked out in chainmail and leather, and wears a cowboy hat. His bright red hair flows down to his shoulders.

“Smoked cod it is,” I say, to the NPC bartender.

The bartender grunts, turns around, and then turns towards me with a full dish. The whole sequence takes less than five seconds.

This is a game, after all.

I take a bite of the fish. Good enough.

“Not going to get a drink?” says the man sitting next to me.

“I don’t like alcohol,” I say.

The red-head chuckles. “You look a lot rougher than that,” he says. “Who’s your sponsor?” He is eyeing my equipment.

“The US government,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the government type.”

“I’m more of a freelance special operative associated with the US,” I say.

“Hrmph,” says the man. “Status.” He flicks his finger a few times. “The username’s HobNob. Call me Hob.”

“My name is An—Er, RoundTable,” I say.

“You want to friend me?” says Hob.

“I’m not certain what that means,” I say.

“It means you’ll be able to contact me using the telepathy system,” says Hob.

“Uh, sure,” I say. A little square that says accept friend request? appears in front of me.

I touch it. My status screen changes to show a list named friends online. The number next to it is 1. I should probably friend Garnet before things get too complicated.

Hob takes a shot of whiskey. “You want to play some Reball?” he says.

“Reball?” I say.

“Heh,” says Hob. “It’s sort of like Wizards’ Chess.”

“I think I understand that reference,” I say. I turn to the big table at the center of the room that is covered with terrain like a model train setup. “I assume that’s where the game takes place?”

I suddenly remember one of the cards Garnet gave me. “Binder,” I say. I flip through my binder until I find it.

Reball Starter Kit: Delevians.

I take the card out.

Hob whistles. “As expected of the US military. Always providing their people with the best stuff.”

“This is good stuff?” I say.

“The best starter kit money can buy,” says Hob. “To get better stuff, you have to clear certain quests.” He chuckles. “Binder.” He flips through his binder. It appears to be mostly full. Near the back, he slips a card out and flips it between his fingers. “Let’s see how you stand up to my current army.” He stands, and walks to the table.

I scarf down the rest of my fish.

“Two silver,” says the bartender.

Before I can think it, a gold coin appears in my hand. I toss it to the bartender. The bartender catches it, and flips me back eight silver coins. They go ‘cha-ching,’ and the number representing my gold count now includes eight silver. I turn to Hob.

Hob is setting up a number of miniature figures on one side of the terrain table.

A number of other rough-looking fellows approach the table as well.

“Ah, Hob’s got another newbie on the hook!” says one.

“He’s going to get plastered!” says another.

I hold the Reball Starter Kit: Delevians card in my hand.

“Drop,” I say.

A small wooden box full of miniatures appears on the table.

“I don’t know how to play this,” I say. “You’re going to have to teach me.”

“Binder,” says Hob. He pulls out a card. “Here’s the rule book.” He tosses it to me.

It seems that he does not expect me to actually read the book. “Drop,” I say. I flip through the pages and absorb the information using a Freax technique that I was taught by my master.

“Hah!” says Hob. He appears quite cocky. “Let’s see if you really can read that fast.”

I nod, setting up my army using the combined arms technique.

For the first few turns, I manage my resources and bolster my defenses. I’m not too sure what Hob is going to do. Hob attempts to take a hill that I’m defending, but I manage to push back his attack. He uses several special units to slip through my lines and play havoc with my supply chain, but after a few turns I root them out and stabilize. As I go on the offensive, Hob’s face goes from cocky and filled with bravado to slightly nervous, and then very nervous. The people standing around the table are making a lot of noise—it appears they’re not used to Hob being beaten.

Nothing is riding on this game, of course. Not that I know of. But it still feels quite intense. I close out the game with several trick moves and manage to destroy his base. When the game is over, Hob wipes his forehead.

“You’re quite the Reball player,” he says.

I extend my hand. “So are you.”

Hob shakes my hand. “If you ever want a rematch,” he says, “You know who to contact.”

The saloon doors open. Garnet walks in. “RT!” she says. “What are you doing?”

I shrug. “I got caught up in a game of Reball,” I say.

Garnet sighs. “Yeah,” she says, “Reball is pretty popular among cazzies.”

Hob swaggers over to Garnet. “Who’s this babe, RoundTable?”

Garnet makes a disgusted face. “No one who would give you a second look,” she says, to Hob.

I can’t help but chuckle.

Hob appears taken aback. “You really think you’re better than us?” he says. “Just because you work for the US military?”

Garnet scoffs. “That has nothing to do with the quality of my character.” She turns to me. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Hob looks at me. “Let’s play again sometime.” Then he makes a face at Garnet and turns away.

Garnet drags me out of the bar and into the street. “Hopefully you didn’t get too drunk,” she says.

“I don’t drink,” I say.

“Even better,” says Garnet. She turns down an alleyway and stops in front of a rather modest little building. “This is where we’ll be staying. You and I have separate rooms, of course.”

“I have a question,” I say.

“Ask,” says Garnet.

I open the door to the inn. “How am I supposed to get back to the real world?”

The inside of the inn contains a small dining area, a large fireplace—currently empty—and a counter behind which sit large barrels. An NPC host is standing behind the counter. I see no other players.

I still have my room key in one of the pockets of my armor.

“In order to leave the game,” says Garnet, “You have to buy a ticket on the orient express that pulls through major cities about twice a day.” She sits down at one of the tables in the dining area. “But your contract with the military doesn’t end for quite a while, right?”

I shake my head. “No. I was just curious.” I sit down at the table across from Garnet.

“Now, if I remember correctly,” says Garnet, “You don’t need to be outfitted with any weapons. You conjure your own.”

I shrug. “Mostly, yes,” I say. “Like I said, I’m a transition metal conjurer.”

“And that means that you can conjure bows, swords, and arrows?” asks Garnet.

“Definitely,” I say. “I can also do guns, but they usually don’t turn out very reliably. Sometimes they’ve exploded on me.”

“Understandable,” says Garnet. “The accuracy of conjuration doesn’t often match what can be done with tools.”

A server comes up to the table with a plate of food. Garnet takes it and begins to eat. After a moment she looks up. “If you want something, just go and order it.”

“I already ate,” I say.

Garnet shrugs and continues to eat. The atmosphere is silent, and the only activity is the NPC server starting up the fireplace. The rest of the day follows mostly uneventfully, and I retire to my room soon after.

Later that night, as I take a break from my daily exercise routine, I summon my binder and flip through the cards that Garnet has given me. Most of them appear to be spells that do things to hinder my opponents. I have to remember, though, that my opponents will use spells like theses against me. I must be ready to face that. I finish my training regimen and spend the rest of my waking hours practicing my conjuration.

I wake up to the sound of an alarm. Garnet bursts into my room, wearing her full suit of armor.

“Looks like South A Town has been randomly selected to be the site of a PVP event!”

Avarice: The Realm chapter two: Fort Lincoln

Fort Lincoln

I materialize in an open field that stretches out in every direction. To the north, a fiery landscape of volcanoes curbs the horizon. To the east, a deep, thick jungle encroaches on the grass. To the south, a desert. To the west, an abandoned, post-apocalyptic city.

The starting valley is adorned with four towers, one in each of the cardinal directions.

Garnet is leaning against one of the towers.

“Binder,” she says, holding out her hand. A binder appears in a puff of smoke, floating above her hand. She takes a card out of one of the card slots inside it, flipping it around in the sunlight. She tosses it to me, expertly.

“This is a black card,” she says. “Traveler’s pass. It allows you to use fast travel locations like these—” she knocks her knuckles against the pillar—“which can be pretty helpful to get around.” She crosses her arms.

A couple of players materialize behind me. Apparently they are a group, and as they pass us, they quiet down. Garnet waves.

“Those are probably cazzies,” she says.

“Cazzies?” I say.

“Casual players. Not affiliated with any major government or organization. We do business with them, but they’re pretty much on their own.”

The group of cazzies gets far enough away that their voices fade. Garnet surveys the landscape.

“The Gatewatch knows who I am,” she says, her eyes flickering. “They won’t bother us.”

“I see,” I say. “So, where is our base of operations?”

“Just a minute,” says Garnet. She pulls out a card identical to the one she tossed at me.

“Say ‘binder’ and your card binder will appear,” she says.

“Binder,” I say. A binder appears in front of me. It is empty and unadorned. There is a space that says “no name.”

“We can get you a username later,” says Garnet, as she flips the Traveler’s Pass between her fingers. She taps the obelisk. “Fort Lincoln,” she says. A pillar of light surrounds her, and she is gone.

I tap the obelisk while holding the pass. “Fort Lincoln,” I say. My body is surrounded by light again, and I feel weightless. The ground lifts away, and I watch as the world unravels beneath me. I pass two cities on my way to the middle of the desert area. Scattered around the landscape are towers that are identical to the one that transported me.

I land at a tower that looks slightly different than the others. It stands in the middle of a military base that is reminiscent of those in desert regions in the real world. This is obviously an American military installation. Marine “Freaks”—soldiers with Freax abilities—wander around the installation, working out, chatting, and doing their business. The government has obviously put a lot of resources into this game. Garnet is leaning against a canvas tent.

“So,” I say, pointing to the row of tanks and helicopters. “How did you get those in here?”

“This game is egregiously pay-to-win,” says Garnet, with a half smile. “And a government has a lot of money to spend.” She motions toward me. “Come. I need to outfit you.”

We walk towards the only concrete building in the whole base. Garnet keys us in and, after a blast of cooled air, we walk through the halls to a large, library-like room filled with shelves. Each shelf has thousands of cards stacked on it. I approach one and pick up a card that reads “small canteen.” It contains a picture of a standard military-issue canteen.

Garnet smiles at me. “Say ‘drop,’” she says.

“Drop,” I say. The card poofs, and a real canteen, just like the picture, appears in my hands.

Garnet nods. “Objects can be turned into cards for easy transport and storage.” She picks up a card that reads MRE, Chicken Quesadilla Menu, tossing it at me.

“Eat up. You’re hungry, right?” she says.

I catch the card. “Sort of,” I say. “Drop.”

A standard-issue MRE appears in my hands. I tear it open, and use the water from the canteen I just “dropped” to activate the meal heater.

“Normally you would eat in the mess,” says Garnet, as she walks among the racks. “But this is a good way to get you used to the game.” She takes a few cards from the rack. “As well as objects, there are also cards that contain spells. They are usually one-time-use and do anything except directly harm another player.”

The MRE is better than I remember from my own basic training. Perhaps the recipe has changed?

While I eat, I watch Garnet move through the racks, picking up cards from their places. She chooses about two dozen of them. Walking to a small game table in one corner of the room, she beckons me over.

I sit across from her.

Garnet spreads the cards across the table. “These cards can do many things,” she says, “But you’ll have to rely on your own Freax power to actually close the deal when it comes to your targets.” She takes one card and flips it. “For example. Lightning Cage.” She points to the card. “This card is a staple. It surrounds the target with a cage made out of electricity for about fifteen seconds. That could give you enough time to close in on them.”

I take the card. “And I can only use it once?” I say.

“Yes,” says Garnet. “Don’t worry about its cost. We’re an official branch of the military, with all the funding that entails.” She takes another card and flips it.

“Another example. Counterspell. This card can stop another card’s effects if used fast enough.” She passes it to me, along with about a dozen more cards. “Learn how all of these cards work. They’re all very common here in The Realm.”

I take the stack of cards and look at them individually. The artwork on the cards is quite well done. It reminds me of the card games I sometimes see kids playing in the streets or at the library.

I take out a card that looks interesting to me. Slow. Apparently it slows my target’s movement for a short amount of time.

“I have a question,” I say, placing all my cards neatly in a stack. “Are there monsters here?”

“Of course,” says Garnet. “This is a game, after all. What would it be without monsters?”

“Are they dangerous?” I say.

Garnet chuckles. “You can call them that. Someone of your caliber may not find the low-level mobs dangerous. But there are some beasts that not even a tank platoon with air support can take down.”

“Yikes,” I say. I look at a tank rolling past through a window. “If you have tanks here, how do the, um, cazzies handle the bigger monsters?”

Garnet laughs. “There are a lot of very powerful people playing this game. If you don’t know how to handle yourself, you will die.”

I flip a card around between my fingers. “And these cards work on monsters too.”

Garnet shrugs.

I put the card down. “Looks like I signed on for something strange,” I say. I stand up. “Should I be wearing some sort of armor? I saw those cazzies wearing what looked like reproduction equipment from the middle ages.”

“Yeah,” says Garnet, “All the armor and weapons that appear naturally in this game are based around medieval armor from around the world. Most have some sort of magic ability. You’d be surprised how little a gun can do against a ‘plus-six’ set of anjab armor.”

“Anjab …” I say. I shake my head. “I would prefer a bulletproof vest, if that’s not a problem.”

“Eventually you may find something you like,” says Garnet, as she stands up. “We can get you fitted now if you’re ready.”

“Do you have any of this … ‘plus six anjab” armor?” I say.

“One set,” says Garnet. “But it’s being used. The real-world value of a full set is about one hundred million dollars.”

“A hundred …” I say. I whistle. “And objects here have real world value.”

“With anjab, it’s not the value that keeps us from acquiring some. It’s the rarity. There’s just not may people willing to sell their anjab sets. Or their ‘plumage,’ ‘rastafa,’ or ‘taliax’ sets.”

“Those names make no sense,” I say.

“It’s a game,” says Garnet. “Get used to it.” She walks to a series of shelves containing cards that are arranged facing outwards. Each set of armor represented by the cards is in its own little nook. I browse the sets. There are samurai sets, knight sets, Arabic sets, and Viking sets. Every culture in the medieval world is represented. On a whim, I pick up the chest plate of some red samurai armor.

“Ah, you’ve picked a good one,” says Garnet, looking over my shoulder. “Cherry Tree Plus Two. This particular one is a legendary set with ‘angel slayer’ and ‘worm chaser’ buffs.”

“Explain that,” I say.

“This armor has been worn by players who have defeated the ‘Bloody Archangel’ and ‘Driving Worm’ dungeon bosses,” says Garnet. “Thus, it gets some bonuses.”

I flip the card in my hand. “Interesting,” I say. “Drop.”

A large set of armor appears on my person. Everything is in place, even the straps, which look to be tied with a special kind of oriental knot.

“Here’s a mirror if you need it,” says Garnet, wheeling a large stand-up mirror from a nook.

I look at myself. Not bad. Maybe I could reconsider the simple bulletproof vest. I certainly look like someone from a period drama. I pick up the rest of the suit’s cards and ‘drop’ them onto my person.

I can deal with this. The armor is surprisingly light and easy to move in. I turn to the right and left, reaching behind myself.

“I think we’ve just decided your class as well,” says Garnet. “Kenshi.”

“Swordsman?” I say.

“No, Kenshi,” says Garnet. “There’s a difference. Kenshi fight without shields. Thus, most of your level-up points will go into straight sword skills.”

“Can’t I just use a gun?” I ask.

“You’d be surprised at how many ways there are to make a gun obsolete,” says Garnet. “Even a one hundred and twenty millimeter cannon can’t be guaranteed to kill a high level player with a direct hit.”

“That’s some powerful Freax,” I say.

“Not exactly,” says Garnet. “The power is based on Freax, but it doesn’t manifest like Freax outside the game world. Players have the Freax powers they bring with them, and they also have the game abilities that they earn inside The Realm.” Garnet holds up her hand. “Status,” she says. A semi-transparent sheet appears in front of her, covered in symbols.

“Since you haven’t played many video games recently,” she says, as she manipulates the sheet, “We’ll have to teach you how status screens work from scratch.”

“I think I know how they work,” I say.

“Do you?” says Garnet. She flicks her finger and the clear screen goes away. “Try spending your two level one skill points.”

“Status,” I say. The screen appears in front of me. I flick my finger around to move it. I see a little button that says skills. I press it. A skill sheet appears in front of me.

“You won’t be able to choose your class until level five,” says Garnet, “But for now you can give yourself a name. Careful, though, as names can only be changed with name stones, and those are expensive.”

Enter name:  “Andrew Dayne.”

Garnet scoffs. “Try not to use your real name. That way, you won’t be retaliated against in the real world.”

Enter name: “ProfessionalKiller.”

That name is already taken.

I frown.

“Try not to be too obvious, either,” says Garnet. “And remember that this game has millions of unique players.”

Enter name: “RoundTable.”

Name accepted. Hello, ROUNDTABLE.

Garnet shrugs. “Good enough. I’ll call you RT from here on out.” She holds up her finger. “Display.” A name floats above her head.

CRYSTALGOBLET.

“So I’ll call you Crystal,” I say.

Garnet winks. “Glad you get it.” She looks at my reflection in the mirror. “I think we’re good with your equipment. Binder.” Her binder appears. “Equip: set two.” Leather armor appears on her body in a flash of light. A bow and a quiver full of arrows rests on her back. She taps the quiver. “I’m a thief class. We probably won’t be working together much, but sometimes we might.” She tilts her head. “And that’s all I’m going to have to tell you.”

A higher officer approaches us from the entryway. I salute.

“Sir,” I say.

The officer returns my salute. “Andrew Dayne,” he says. “You’re needed for the briefing for your first mission.”

“Already, sir?” I say.

The officer shrugs. “I don’t call the shots. If it were me, I’d give you some time to get used to this hell hole of a game.” He does a sharp about-face. “Follow me. The HQ building is this way.”

I follow him through series of halls until we reach a briefing room. It’s a little warmer in here, and a projector is displaying something on the far wall. Maybe something left over from the last briefing.

“I heard you’re one of the top Freax agents,” says the officer, as he gets to the podium with the computers. “We follow what we call ‘Video Game’ procedure here. That means our agents get a lot more freedom to do things their way than would be the norm in the real world.” He extends his hand. “My name is Pierre.”

“Andrew,” I say, shaking his hand.

Pierre clicks a few times on his computer and a new power point slide appears on the wall. It’s a picture, appearing to have been taken in The Realm.

“This is your first target,” says Pierre. “He’s a tough one. We’ve sent three agents in after him, and he’s killed all of them.”

I tap my fingers on the table. “So that’s why I was brought here all of a sudden,” I say.

“Mostly, yes,” says Pierre. “You’re the best at what you do. We won’t tell you how to do your job. You just need to kill him.”

“Question,” I say. “Can’t we just kill him with a remote strike?”

“No,” says Pierre. “His magic is too strong. He’s a level ninety in game and has many layers of protection.”

“And you’re sending me,” I say, “A level one, to fight him?”

“They said you were the best,” says Pierre. “I don’t doubt it will take you more than a couple of weeks to reach level fifty.”

“So I won’t be going after him until I reach a comparable level.”

“Right,” says Pierre. “We’re not sending you on a suicide mission.”

“I get it,” I say. “I just need to grind levels until I can compare to his power.”

“Exactly,” says Pierre. “He is an electromancer. He can generate large amounts of electric energy and produce entire thunderstorms. Electric devices don’t work near him if he doesn’t want them to. He’s a mage class, which bolsters his natural Freax ability as well.”

I nod. “Okay. I’m used to dealing with people with powerful abilities. Electromancers aren’t my specialty, but I can handle them.” I conjure a small chip of metal and flip it between my fingers—it’s something I do when I’m thinking.

“What kind of metal is that?” asks Pierre.

I hold the chip out in my hand. “I’m not sure. It’s the most comfortable blend of stuff I can produce. I do it to fidget.”

“Let me see it,” says Pierre.

I hand it to him.

“So you’re a metalmancer,” Pierre says.

“Not exactly,” I say. “I’m a transition metal conjurer.”

“Transition metals,” says Pierre. “Like, the middle of the periodic table?”

“Plus lanthanides and actinides,” I say.

“You can conjure uranium,” says Pierre.

“I can,” I say. “It makes me very hungry though.”

“I see,” says Pierre. “How is someone with your valuable powers in a role this dangerous?”

“I enjoy my job,” I say.

Pierre purses his lips. “You’re the assassin type.”

I shrug.

Pierre turns to the screen. “Well. You’re going to be power leveling with Garnet for the next two weeks to prepare you for this job. I see you are already wearing your equipment.”

“It’s pretty comfortable, actually,” I say. I tap the surface of my breastplate.

“Great. Glad that you like it.” Pierre pauses. “That particular set is quite valuable.”

“Is it?” I say, lifting up one of the fabric corners.

“Several thousand gold, at least,” says Pierre.

“Gold?” I say.

“The current exchange rate is about ten dollars to one gold,” says Pierre. He turns to the projector. “Anyways. You’ll be training in the dungeon complex closest to Fort Lincoln. It’s a mid-range dungeon that should have enough monsters of middling level to get you to fifty in two weeks.” He clicks the projector off. “Garnet will handle you from here.”

Garnet enters the room and leans against the wall. “Ready?” she says.

“Ready,” I say.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter one: Freax

Freax

I leap across the gap between apartment buildings, flying over the alleyway, my shadow swimming across the concrete. My quarry is two buildings ahead.

I hold up my hand and activate my Freax. A metallic bow materializes in my fist.

My quarry turns and flips backwards in the air, two shotguns pointed at me. Both fire at the same time.

I deflect one slug with my bow and duck under the second one. The ping of the bullet hitting the building’s roof sounds behind me. I slide behind an air conditioning unit.

So, he means to fight.

My quarry rips open a door to the building’s stairwell and dives in. The door slams behind him.

I take a minute to catch myself and use my Freax to conjure several arrows. One of them contains an autonomous drone, to which I have a video feed.

I fire the drone arrow across two alleyways and, once it lands and deploys the drone, I direct it into the stairwell.

All is clear. My quarry seems to be on the run, after his shots missed. A short fight!

I jump across two alleyways and rush into the stairwell. My drone is still in front of me.

I lose feed to the drone. On instinct, I press against the wall. A blast of hot air shoots past me, singing my nose.

I dematerialize my bow and materialize a trench spike. My quarry is close. I can smell it.

The sound of footsteps going down stairs echoes in the stairwell. I creep towards the source of the sound.

A door to a landing opens. A man steps out—a civilian.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says. “You’re not authorized!”

I conjure a small memory taser and knock him out. His body slips to the floor, guided by my hands. He won’t remember me being here, and will wake up in half an hour.

The sound of my quarry’s footsteps has faded. I slow my pace even more and continue down the stairs.

There is a slight tug at my feet. A sudden blast pops off next to my head.

I catch a dart in between my fingers—a booby trap. My quarry has a similar Freax to what I have, so this is to be expected. I toss the spike to the side and continue down the stairs.

I cone out into an open stairwell. Three layers down, my quarry is still running. I conjure my bow, arm an arrow, and shoot him in the side of his neck.

My quarry slips and falls to the ground. The tranquilizer in the arrowhead takes effect.

Target captured.

I slide down the stairs and come to where the man is laying.

He is a tough-looking fellow, with several scars and many tattoos. I’m not sure what he was wanted for, but I’m not the person who should know. All I do is catch people.

Bagged, tagged, and taken down. Another successful mission.

Two days later, I stand in front of my operator, inside the government’s secret FREAX-C program headquarters. I’ve had my usual break and now it’s time for my next mission.

My operator, Jones, paces back and forth in front of me.

“We’re going to send you into a game,” he says.

I blink. “A game, sir?” I say. “You mean, like a computer game? A VR game?”

“Neither,” says Jones. “This is a much more deadly game. It’s called The Realm. A black-market Freax-users-only game that teleports players to a realm in another dimension where they play by rules similar to VRMMORPGs. Death there is permanent. You play with your real physical body.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I say. “Why would the US government want to play around with a bunch of stupid Freax-addled adrenaline junkies?”

Jones tilts his head. “I was about to get to that,” he says. “There is a reward for completing the game. Collect one hundred ‘gold’ cards, and you will receive a certain reward.” He pauses, tapping his fingers on his shoulders. “We, the government, do very much care about the reward ourselves. However, we are more concerned with terrorists or other enemies of the state getting their hands on the reward.” He turns around, facing the wall. “There are thousands of people in this game,” he says. “And there are dozens of those types of people. The government already has a large stake in the game, but we’ve decided that we need a specialist to deal with those … Loose cannons, so to speak, who threaten our national security.”

“Tell me more about this game,” I say. “I played video games as a child, but it’s been a long time since I was current with all that technology.”

Jones chuckles. “Yeah, I expected that,” he says. “You’re stone-faced most of the time, after all. I wouldn’t expect you to be interested in entertainment of any kind.” He sighs. “But we really need your help. The game can only be accessed by Freax users, and you’re the best spec-ops agent capable of that who is available right now.”

“Do other governments have an interest in this game?” I ask.

Jones shrugs. “Of course. The rewards are great. Japan, South Africa, and most of NATO are allied with us inside the game. Russia and China aren’t exactly at war with us inside the game, but they aren’t helping us either. India, on the other hand, is actively trying to stymie our advances. And then, of course, there’s all the non-superpower nations who scrabble by as best they can.” Jones turns to face me. “We won’t bother providing you with a translator. There’s a Freax enchantment over the game world that automatically translates between players.” He shrugs. “Though I do know you can speak at least seven languages.” He taps his foot. “Your assignment begins the day after tomorrow. We’ll let you into where we keep the consoles.”

I salute, and step away from the briefing room. As I walk through the hallway, I nod politely at several of my coworkers. Even though we’re bounty hunters and assassins, we still get all the benefits of being an office worker. Health, dental, 401k. All the good stuff.

I get into my sports car and drive towards home. The center is located in Millvale, Virginia, a tiny town of less than ten thousand people that is actually quite close to an international airport.

My house is not exactly a mansion, but it is bigger than your average domicile. Standing at two stories tall, it is inhabited by me and my two dogs, Richard and Glive. When I open the door, both dogs pounce on my.

“Hey, boys,” I say, as I rub their ears. “Glad to be home.” I crack open a couple of cans of dog food and put it in their bowls. They seem to like it—I always buy the most expensive stuff. I feel like it’s my obligation to make sure that my money makes someone happy.

I head to my cultivation room. It’s a large room the size of a martial arts dojo, with mirrors on the walls and lots of swords, bows, and weapons hanging on racks. I sit in the room’s center, cross-legged, and begin to cultivate. Freax is a temperamental power source. It takes a lot of willpower and concentration to keep it in shape. And, of course, I always aim to improve. I spend the rest of the day cultivating, as well as the day after.

When I arrive at the center to report for my next mission, I find that Jones is standing at the entrance, leaning against a wall.

“Andrew,” he says. “You’re early.”

I nod as I swipe my ID card at the entrance. I walk past him.

Jones peels from the wall and follows me.

“I’ll be sending you with another agent,” says Jones, as he follows me. “You won’t be with her for all your missions inside The Realm, but she does know a lot more about the place than you do. She’ll be training you in how to use The Realm’s mechanics.”

“So The Realm has mechanics,” I say.

Jones nods. “Yeah. You can use things called “cards” to perform all sorts of cool feats. It’s really quite game-like. Though I’ve never seen the place myself, as only people with Freax can enter.”

I continue to walk. “I see,” I say.

Jones points me to one of the meeting rooms that always seems to be empty. “In there,” he says.

I enter. A rather brusque girl with copper red hair is sitting in an office chair at the meeting table’s head. She turns when she sees me.

“So this is the famous Andrew Dayne,” she says, her arms crossed.

I frown. “You don’t exactly sound like you like me.”

“I don’t not like you,” she says, “But your record is too spotless for me to think you’re a good person. Someone as dedicated as you is probably a stuck-up job-only type.”

“Um, sure,” I say. I turn to Jones. “Should I sit down?”

Jones nods, winks, and leaves the room. I sit.

The woman folds her hands in front of her. “The name’s Garnet,” she says. “I’m a veteran of The Realm. There’s a whole lot in there that I need to give you a crash course in.” She turns around in her chair. “We’ll do most of it in-game. But I’m here now to tell you that the place is a hell-hole. Lots of casualties on all sides. There are some organizations that would go to very excessive lengths to achieve a win.”

“So,” I say, “What, exactly, does a win entail?”

Garnet sighs. “We’ll start from there. To win the game, one must collect one hundred and one golden cards.”

“That’s it?” I say. “It’s a collect-athon?

Garnet chuckles. “I’m surprised you know the name. But no. Sort of. The game is more akin to a trading card game.”

I shake my head. “I never played anything like that as a kid.”

Garnet sighs. “Well, I’ll tell you the basics. Each card has something that it does or represents. Gold cards represent very powerful things and objects. You can turn any card into its object or effect, but once you do, it’s gone. Thus, collecting one hundred gold cards is difficult, as you’ll always be tempted to use them.” She turns back around in her seat.

“Our job isn’t to find the cards,” she says. “It’s to keep them out of the hands of terrorists, criminals, and enemies of the state.” She looks me straight in the eye. “And I heard that you’re pretty good at dealing with enemies of the state.”

I shrug. “I suppose. Someone has to do the job.”

Garnet winks. “Well then. Should we enter?” She stands up.

I nod, following her into the hall and to an elevator, which we take to the fifth basement layer. The doors open to show a large, cavernous room equipped with row after row of FunCons, a popular gaming system from two decades ago.

“So this is what they run on?” I say, as I approach one of the consoles.

Garnet chuckles. “Yes, indeed. The last compatible console is, as you can see, the FunCon.”

I touch one of the consoles. It is rather dusty and a bit warm. Four original controller ports are modified with docks that allow more controllers to be attached, for a total of sixteen input spaces.

Garnet walks to one corner of the room. “This is our console,” she says. “All the other spaces are being used by other agents.”

I approach the console Garnet is standing beside. She plugs in a controller and sits down.

“Just press start!” she says, “And activate your Freax!”

Her body disappears in a flash of light.

Well, that was unexpected. I pick up a lose controller and plug it in. When I press start, the whole world lights up and my body disappears.