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 9: The Rocks

The Rocks

I’m sitting at a bench at Fort Lincoln, thinking. I need to attach Tracking Beacon to Peter Cool before I can make my next move. Before I can do that, I need to know about a place he’s likely to touch and trigger Sticky Glue. Since we’ve captured Ratsi, we have a good source of that information.

I just have to wait for the interrogators to do their job.

The glint of a scope pops into my peripheral vision and I dive to the ground. A bullet flies over my head and strikes the dirt, sending up a puff of shrapnel.

I get behind a truck, putting the vehicle between me and the sniper.

It’s not the first time someone has tried to snipe me. But I know that, had my adversary been more experienced, or if I had been less observant, I would be less a brain right now.

I peek around the vehicle. “Binder,” I say. “Telescope.”

I scan the desert rocks where I first saw the glint. The formation is about twenty meters tall, filled with cracks, with the occasional cactus sticking out between them.

I see the glint again, and zero in on a male sniper wearing tan camouflage.

I sprint between the truck and a concrete barrier. As I lean against the wall, I conjure my bow.

I pop out and fire while diving. The arrow flies true, and a small spurt of blood tells me that I’ve hit my mark.

I put my hand to my ear and activate telepathy. “Garnet,” I say. “I just took out a sniper who was after me.”

“A sniper?” says Garnet. “Nobody should have been able to get that close.”

“I’m heading over to examine the corpse,” I say. I creep towards the rock formation, measuring about ten feet a minute. There could be two, or the one could be not dead.

I reach the rock formation and press against it. “Binder, periscope,” I say. I toss the view half up to the top of the rock formation.

The man is clearly and totally dead. My arrow is embedded in the man’s eye.

I climb the rock formation and examine the corpse. There’s nothing on him that would indicate an affiliation. His gun has no marks, and I’m not entirely sure what make and model it is.

Garnet and several X-marines climb up the formation behind me. Garnet kneels next to the corpse.

“We’ll get an ID on him,” she says. She points to two marines. “Help me carry this body away.”

When the marines are gone, Garnet sits against a rock. “We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” she says.

“I don’t know how we can do that,” I say. “They know where I am at all times, and a good sniper can get past any sort of defense.”

“Binder,” Garnet says. She slips a card out and gives it to me.

It has a gold border.

“You’re giving this to me?” I say.

Garnet nods. “The US government has three of this specific card,” she says. “This is one of them.”

I look at the card. Surprise Negation.

“This card takes effect whenever you’re going to be surprised by an attack. The effect is permanent. You’ll know about the attack as soon as your enemy is in place.”

“How much is it worth?” I ask.

“Don’t ask that,” says Garnet. “Just know that the brass value the death of Mandrake more than they do this card.”

“Couldn’t someone else take my place if I were to be killed?” I ask.

Garnet shakes her head. “It’s because of your track record so far. The brass, to be honest, thought that you wouldn’t even be able to take out one of them. We’ve tried so many times that they were cynical.”

“So this is akin to a reward,” I say.

“Exactly,” says Garnet. “Now use the card.”

“Binder, Surprise Negation,” I say. A little flicker of light attaches to me and then disappears. The card disintegrates.

I feel no different than before. Scratching my nose, I look off at the horizon.

“Did it take effect?” I say.

“It should have,” says Garnet.

“Well, I trust you,” I say.

Garnet grins. “Great,” she says. “That was a huge investment on the part of the government.”

“Thanks again,” I say. I climb down the rock formation.

Garnet follows.

Pierre approaches us as soon as we enter the compound. “We have the information we need,” he says. “Ratsi caved when we offered her a plea deal outside The Realm.”

“Hah,” says Garnet. “That proves her loyalty to Mandrake was only superficial.”

Pierre nods. “I agree with that assessment,” he says. “But in any case, we have the information we need to proceed.”

I turn away from the two, looking back up at the rock formation. Something about it gives me the chills. As if the rock itself has a soul and it’s watching me.

Pierre holds his hand to his ear. “We have an ID on the assassin,” he says.

I turn to him. “And?” I say.

Pierre sighs. “Looks like a rogue Finnish sniper. He’s been wanted by INTERPOL for several years now.”

“Finland?” I say. “What about his gun?”

“Let me check,” he says, hand still at his ear. “What’s the ID on the weapon?” He’s talking through telepathy, so I can only hear one side of the conversation.

“Right, yes,” he says. “I’ll let him know.”

“It’s a custom rifle,” says Pierre. “It has some sort of hybrid magical system embedded in it. We believe that there could have been a gold card involved in its manufacture.” He sighs. “But we can’t seem to ID what kind of ammo it uses.”

“If you get me one of the bullets,” I say, “I can replicate them.”

Pierre nods. “Pierre to base. Get me one of the bullets from the rifle.” He sits on a bench and continues his telepathic conversation.

I watch the rock formation, still feeling a bit queasy about it.

Five minutes later an X-marine brings the rifle and a bag full of bullets. I take both the gun and the bullets and sit down at a small metal table to investigate.

I hold my hand over one of the bullets and activate my secondary ability, composition read. It’s not a card and has no relation to The Realm outside of being a Freax power.

Looks like these bullets are made from uranium-cored bismuth bronze. The Realm sure has an infatuation with this specific kind of alloy.

With the knowledge of how it works, I can reproduce it. I don’t know how I do it, not consciously, but I know I can. I conjure a handful of bullets, all slightly different.

“Can I use your firing range?” I ask.

“Sure,” says Garnet.

Pierre is still engaged in a conversation.

Garnet leads me to the shooting range on the other side of Fort Lincoln. I am carrying the rifle.

Several X-marines are using the range, but there are plenty of open spots.

I settle in with the rifle and load it—it’s bolt action. My first shot goes wild—the scope must have been unaligned when I killed the assassin. I zero it in after a few shots and then test the ammo I conjured.

It works. I’m a little scared about the fact that these bullets use depleted uranium, but the bismuth bronze coating should prevent too much radiation from escaping.

Also, the bullet is in a special, unique caliber that I’ve never seen before. This gun is most definitely custom.

I like it. Turning to Garnet, I smile. “Can I keep this?” I ask.

“Sure,” says Garnet. “I’m not sure if I have the authority, but you need a better weapon than what you can conjure on your own.”

I place the rifle on a table. “Great. I’ll make sure that this gun works for us.”

It’s been a while since I last used a gun for my primary weapon. Now seems as good a time as any to change that. This rifle shoots in a way that reminds me of my childhood, and I think I’m feeling a bit of a connection with it.

Hunting trips with my father. That’s where I learned to shoot, to track, and to defeat my quarry.

Garnet takes out her own pistol and begins shooting down the range.

I pick the rifle back up and fire another couple of shots. All of them go exactly where I want them to.

Garnet and I spend the next hour or so shooting, and in that time I manage to deconstruct the ammunition completely, matching everything with how the gun was designed to shoot.

Pierre enters the shooting range, waving at me.

“Hey!” he says. “RT.”

“Yes?” I say, putting down my gun.

“We figured out what kind of weapon that is,” says Pierre, pointing at the gun. “It’s a custom, of course, but it was actually manufactured here in The Realm.”

“I mean, it makes sense,” I say. “It was probably made by a conjurer anyways.”

Pierre shakes his head. “Of course,” he says. “But we managed to contact the man who made it. We might be able to buy some off him.”

“This gun should be enough for me,” I say. “But if you can outfit some elite soldiers with this I wouldn’t complain.”

Pierre shrugs. “Yeah. Just wanted to let you know. Maybe you can learn something from this conjurer.”

I turn back to the shooting range. “Makes sense,” I say. I pick my gun back up. “Card,” I say. The gun turns into card form, and I slip it into my binder. I also turn several dozen bullets into card form.

“Another thing,” says Pierre. He hands me a piece of paper. “This is the information we got from Ratsi. Peter Cool lives in a penthouse apartment in the Western Biome city of Endiga.”

I take the slip. “I can probably sneak in somehow and implant Sticky Glue.” I pause, turning to Garnet.

She takes her ear protection off and puts her gun down. “Are we ready for this?” she says.

“Get me a copy of Sticky Glue,” I say, “Plus Tracking Beacon, Wall Walk, Light Bend, and Transportal.”

Garnet smiles. “Will do, chief!” she says. She jogs away towards the card storage building.

I am left standing next to Pierre. He turns to the shooting range. “Transportal, eh?” he says. “No one uses those. The fast travel towers are too convenient.” He scratches his head. “How are you going to use it?”

“You’ll see,” I say. I walk away from the range. Pierre follows me.

I absent-mindedly flip my half medallion between my fingers. “If there’s nothing stopping me,” I say, “I’d like to implant the Tracking Beacon on Peter Cool as soon as possible.”

“We won’t stop you,” says Pierre. He salutes. “Good luck with your mission.”

I walk to the fast travel tower.

“Endiga!” I say, and I am transported away.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter 7: Blood Oath

Blood Oath

The next job won’t be as easy as the first. I caught Mandrake Signa and his gang off guard; they didn’t even know anyone was after them. From here on out they’re going to be ready for me.

After I arrive at Fort Lincoln in a burst of light, I am greeted by Pierre, who grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me into a makeshift tent near the fast travel tower.

I enter, and most of the Fort Lincoln brass is there. Their faces tell me everything.

“He retaliated,” I say. I cough into my hand.

Pierre nods. “Much faster than we thought he would,” he says. “It’s been ten minutes since you successfully captured Ronald Delinsky.”

I hold out the apprehension module. “You should probably take this.”

One of the brass grabs it and slips it into a secured, tracked, and electrified storage container.

Pierre turns away from me, facing the wall. “And we’ve had an attack on an embassy near the British Fort Dunkirk. Two diplomats were killed, and we’ve had a lot of injuries to important people.”

“So he knows it was me,” I say. I feel a little tingle coming up through my arms.

“Not you exactly,” says Pierre. “But the US. We’ve beefed up security around all of our bases, but we’re not sure that we’ll be able to withstand Mandrake’s wrath.”

I cough, and a wave of dizziness takes over me. I know exactly what is happening.

Blowback.

“I can deal with that later,” I say, as I clutch my stomach. “If you need me.”

Pierre nods. “We’re all Freax users here,” he says. “There’s a blowback clinic just two buildings down.”

I cough up a thick, green fluid. The familiar feeling of numbness inserts itself into my abdomen.

I stagger out of the tent. As I do, I hear one of the officers speaking.

“Are you sure he can handle this?” the officer says.

“I know he can,” says Pierre.

I peel away before I can hear the rest of the conversation.

The blowback clinic is just like the one run by my friend, Daxton, in the real world.

I enter through an automatic door and am met with a blast of air-conditioned cool. There are two bialysis chambers against the wall. One of them is being used.

“Is it that time of the month again?” says a man in a lab coat. He is wearing a lopsided grin.

I clutch my stomach. “Yeah,” I say.

“I’m Doctor Fan,” says the man.

“Great,” I say, still holding my stomach. “Just get me cleaned up.”

“Clothes off,” says Fan.

I turn my armor back into card form and do the same for my clothes. I am standing in my underwear, and it feels a bit chilly.

Fan puts a special bismuth bronze fabric over my body, sort of like a magical hospital gown.

“Since The Realm is only accessible by Freax users,” says Fan, “There are plenty of places to get detoxed.” He shrugs. “But even so it’s pretty expensive.”

I step into the bialysis machine and lay against the fabric. I close my eyes.

My mind clicks. I am used to it by now, but even so it’s a difficult process. My soul rises out of my body and stands in the middle of a cluttered mess of a house. There are trash bags full of takeout boxes everywhere. The sink is overflowing with dishes and algae. Cockroaches scanter across the floor.

I walk through all the trash bags and head up worn stairs to the second floor. One room is filled to the brim with old furniture.

The whole house has a nostalgic feel, as if I had lived here as a child and forgotten it.

I begin the cleanup process. I know that, in the real world, I am being injected with liquid Freax. But to me, in the depths of my mind, it takes the form of an army of robot maids who skitter about the house, picking up trash, dusting, doing the laundry and the dishes.

This is what Freax does to the mind. It changes you. It controls you. Once you’ve taken the drug, you have to keep taking it. Forget heroin withdrawals; if I were ever to stop taking the Freax drug, I would die a horrible and painful death.

Superpowers come at a cost, after all.

The robot maids toss all the garbage into a portable lava bucket, each bag sizzling before disappearing into the red abyss. They wipe everything down, fumigate, and rearrange the furniture.

After about half an hour of experienced time my mind-house is cleaner than it’s been since the last booster dose.

I wake up underneath the metallic dome of the bialysis machine.

“Your vitals are all good,” says Fan. “You were out for eight hours.”

I sigh. That’s about normal for a Freax booster and bialysis operation. Normally this process would run me about two thousand dollars, but ever since I started working with the government I’ve been getting the operation for free.

I get up out of the machine. As soon as I do, another marine gets in.

“Binder.” I take the cards representing my clothes and armor and equip them.

Once out of the bialysis clinic, I am greeted by Pierre.

“This was the worst possible time for you to get blowback,” he says. “We’ve needed you desperately for the past eight hours.”

“Another attack?” I ask.

“No,” says Pierre. “It’s Ronald Delinsky. ReaperGoon.”

“And?” I say.

“He refuses to talk to anyone but you,” says Pierre. “We’re not allowed to use any more … Painful methods to extract information. But something tells me you’ll be able to get something out of him.”

“Don’t you have mind affecting Freax users here?” I ask.

Pierre shakes his head. “We tried. This man has been trained to resists mind-altering Freax abilities.”

I sigh. “Take me to him.”

Pierre leads me through Fort Lincoln until we reach an entrance to an underground bunker. We ride an elevator several floors down and step into a well-lit hallway. People with lab coats are walking back and forth.

“This is our research lab and quarantine unit,” says Pierre. He leads me to a nondescript door at the end of the hall.

I open it. The room is dark, and there is a shadowy figure strapped to a chair in the rooms center.

“Heh, heh,” says the figure.

Pierre turns on the light. The figure in the chair is Ronald Delinsky.

Ronald spits. “You knocked out several of my teeth with that footlock trick,” he says, wearing a dangerous lop-sided grin.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I say.

Ronald laughs. “No! I want to kill you!” He cackles. “Mandrake is going to repay you tenfold for what you’ve done to me.”

Yuck. I really don’t like this type of person.

“Just tell me what you want with me,” I say, “And we can end this early.”

Ronald laughs again. “Like I’ll ever do what you want!” His laugh is maniacal. He knows that he is in trouble.

I sigh, and sit down on a chair directly across from Ronald.

“We can do this the easy way,” says Pierre, “Or we can do this the hard way.”

“You Americans don’t have the guts to torture me,” says Ronald.

Pierre shrugs. “The Geneva convention states that we can’t torture prisoners. However,” Pierre puts on a very scary face, “The Realm isn’t beholden to those rules.”

Ronald spits. “You Americans have, like, some sort of election thing going, right?” he says. “You do something to me and you lose that chance!”

“First,” says Pierre, “Military personnel aren’t elected.” He holds up two fingers. “Second, no one has to know what happened to you.”

Ronald cackles. “Well, I’m dead anyways,” he says. “And I’ll take my secrets to the grave.” He winks at me. “I just wanted you here so that I could do this. Binder. Tracking Beacon!”

A flash of light surrounds me and my skin begins to tingle.

“This is not good,” says Pierre.

Ronald continues to laugh, and then his body boils.

“Binder,” I yell. “Ethereal shield!”

A shield made of yellow crosses surrounds me just as a lance made of boiling blood slams against it. A foul-smelling steam surrounds me.

Pierre gags. “That’s nasty,” he says.

It looks like, in his final moment, Ronald used his own blood as a weapon to try and kill me.

“Is there a card to remove tracking beacons?” I ask.

“It’s a Gold Card,” says Pierre. “And the US government does not have one.”

This is going to affect my work. Now, Mandrake and his goons are going to know exactly where I am at all times.

Not good.

I examine Ronald’s body. His skin has shriveled, and all the blood in his body is gone.

“Nasty,” says Pierre. He puts his hand to his ear. “Yeah. Call the biohazard cleanup crew.” He puts his hand down. “Sorry to subject you to this,” he says.

“I’ve seen worse,” I say. Though, the room is giving me some strange vibes. I back out as slow as I can and let Pierre close the door.

I stand in the hallway, my hands in my pockets.

Pierre sighs. “He pulled one over on us,” he says.

I shake my head. “You had no idea.”

“I should have anticipated that!” says Pierre. “I’m a veteran of the Realm.” He grits his teeth. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve never actually been in a real binder battle.” He turns away from me. “And it showed.”

I put my arm on Pierre’s shoulder. “I can deal with this,” I say. “As soon as Mandrake and his goons are dead, I’ll be safe. I just have to strike first.”

“Right,” says Pierre. “We’ll support you all the way.”

I walk to the elevator and take it up to the surface. Pierre is silent.

Garnet is leaning against a wall outside the entrance to the underground bunker. “Did you get anything out of him?” she asks.

I shake my head. “He put a tracker on me and then killed himself.”

Garnet scoffs. “He deserved whatever he got,” she says.

“It’s going to get tough,” I say. “Mandrake will most likely continue to retaliate. Now that he knows where I am at all times, I’ll have a lot of difficulty sneaking up on him.”

“So what are you going to do?” asks Garnet.

“I have a plan,” I say. “It involves the card Focus Teleport. You have some of those, right?”

Garnet shrugs. “I mean, yeah. We have a lot of cards here.”

“Get me two copies of Focus Teleport,” I say. “And ID some sort of physical object that both of Mandrake’s remaining underlings are in possession of that they may leave in a place I can reach.”

“Um, okay,” says Garnet. “That’s a pretty specific order.”

“It’s necessary,” I say.

“I’ll get our intel team on it,” says Pierre.

Pierre and Garnet split to do their respective jobs. I sit down on a metal bench and put my chin in my hands, watching the X-marines walk past. They’re doing some sort of tank exercise, and about a dozen Abrams tanks are rolling across the demonstration grounds.

A man wearing a black fedora approaches me. I recognize the pin on his lapel; it’s the emblem of the Black Marches.

“You’re pretty brazen to make your way into a US military base,” I say, as the man sits down next to me.

The man tips his hat. “Indeed,” he says. “I have a message to deliver. Someone has put a hit out on you.”

“I had guessed that,” I say. “Why are you telling me this?”

“That someone is an enemy,” says the man. “As the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?”

“Hah,” I say. “Mandrake Signa must have done something stupid to get on the bad side of the Black Marches.”

“It’s not Mandrake,” says the man. “Mandrake is cookies compared to the person we’re talking about.”

“Sure,” I say. “But my job is to deal with Mandrake.”

“And that’s what you’ll do,” says the man. “Just keep a few Ethereal Shield cards handy.” He passes me half of a medallion. It looks like the metal has been sheared with powerful bolt cutters.

“This is one half of the Gold Card called Rainbow Coin,” says the man. “And Mandrake has the other half. Once you unite the two pieces, something special will happen.”

“You obviously gain something from that, right?” I say.

The man shrugs. “Of course. I work for profit, after all.” He winks. “And you might receive a reward as well.”

“What’s to stop me from keeping the card?” I say.

The man stands up. “You won’t.” He pulls out a black card. “Evecin.” A familiar pillar of light surrounds him and then he is gone.

Garnet runs up to where I am sitting. “I just saw a transfer light,” she says. “What happened?”

I shake my head. “Just a secret organization contacting me to give me a job,” I say. I hold up the half of the Gold Card. “Do you know what this is?”

“No,” says Garnet. She takes it from me and looks at it under the sunlight. “Isn’t this Bismuth Bronze?”

“I guess,” is say. “I’m no expert on metals.”

Garnet hands the half medallion back to me. “Well, if you do actually find a gold card, the government will buy it off you for an exorbitant price.”

“What are we talking?” I ask.

“Millions,” says Garnet.

Is that what the Black Marches representative meant when he said I wouldn’t keep it?

“Card,” I say.

The medallion stays inert.

“Card,” I say again.

The medallion refuses to turn into card form. I slip it into my pocket.

“Mandrake Signa has the other half,” I say.

“Looks like you have another reason to do your job,” says Garnet.  

“Sure,” I say. “As if I didn’t already have enough of a reason.”

Garnet turns away from me. “I’ll contact you via telepathy if I find out anything more.” Then she heads towards the HQ building.

It’s time to get to work capturing my next target.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter six: First Job

First Job

Grinding our way through the dungeon’s lower floors is a tedious, uninteresting job that involves killing infinitely-respawning monsters while following a repeating pattern that maximizes our kill rate and minimizes our expenditure of energy. I gain about twenty-five levels in the first week of grinding, and it takes me another three weeks to reach level fifty.

Fifty is the lowest that one can be and maintain a workable advantage in the “Player-Versus-Player” realm—which is, of course, my ultimate goal.

When I finally reach level fifty, I take a moment to celebrate and then return to Fort Lincoln via fast travel. It is there that I am to receive my first assignment.

I stand in the briefing room with some of the top brass at Fort Lincoln. They stand in a row around the projection screen.

A picture of a man appears on the screen. Pierre points to it with a laser pointer.

“This is Mandrake Signa,” says Pierre, “Known in-game as Mother of Death.” He clicks the presentation. “He is known for being able to plant bombs anywhere he touches and detonate them remotely.” Pierre clicks the presentation again. “As you can probably guess, the ability to create and plant bombs at will goes really well with the job of being a terrorist.”

“This man is responsible for five attacks on US soil,” says one of the brass standing against the wall. “And seven attacks on other countries. He has an INTERPOL arrest warrant out for him. However, INTERPOL doesn’t deal inside The Realm.”

“Right,” says Pierre. “Don’t underestimate this man. He has multiple accomplices, all of whom are dangerous in their own right.”

I salute. “I can handle him,” I say.

“We don’t doubt you can,” says Pierre. “Your track record is impressive. Three targets last year, twenty-two in total.”

“Thank you for that assessment,” I say.

Pierre nods. “Great. We’ll give you all the information we know about Mandrake Signa and let you do what you do best.” He pulls a paper file out of a cabinet. “Here’s the dossier,” he says. “One for Mandrake and three for his known accomplices.”

I take the files. “Is there anything else?” I ask.

Pierre shakes his head. “No. That’s everything we know.” He salutes. “Good luck.”

I leave the room and head to my personal room in the officers’ barracks. I lock the door and sit down at the room’s wooden desk. Spreading out the files in front of myself, I put up a cork board and begin sticking pins in it.

It looks like Mother of Death’s three accomplices are Ronald Delinsky, known as ReaperGoon; Brandi Knock, known as Ratsi; and Peter Draws, known as ColorfulAmber.

ReaperGoon is a watermancer who can produce high-pressure streams of water, enough to cut through flesh and bone. Ratsi can summon gigantic rats. ColorfulAmber can draw things on a piece of paper and have them become real.

Mother of Death’s goons might not be as difficult to take down, but I still need to keep my guard up. The things I learned about card battles while grinding in the dungeon will definitely affect how I go about my hunt.

I prepare a strategy. I’m going to take out Mother of Death’s three goons before I go after him. From what I’ve experienced, when a kingpin has powerful underlings, he’s more likely to run and hide and let his underlings do his work for him.

I plan on striking ReaperGoon first.

“Binder,” I say. I flip through my binder until I find the Unconnected Track card. It allows me to see the general location of a player. In order to see more detailed information, I would have to use the Tracking Beacon card and attach it to them. However, just knowing which part of The Realm they’re in is good enough for me.

It appears ReaperGoon is currently somewhere in the western portion of the Eastern Biome, somewhat near the entrance gates.

I head to Fort Lincoln’s fast travel tower.

“Roghponanov!” I say. A ball of light surrounds me a spirits me across the landscape. The desert turns into a post-apocalyptic city, complete with mossy buildings and rows of abandoned cars. I land at the fast travel tower in the center of Roghponanov, one of the two biggest cities in the Eastern Biome.

This is where the hunt begins. Right now, it’s probable that ReaperGoon does not know I’m coming after him.

The best way to deal with a mook is to kill them from a distance. Any Freax user worth their salt has a sensing barrier around them at all times, and as such can’t be sniped or killed in a surprise shooting. I myself am always watching for that sort of thing.

As well as this, I have to keep my identity anonymous. If the organization that supports a terrorist knows who I am and what I’ve done, they’ll go to the ends of the Earth to kill me. So far, I’ve been able to do my job without revealing my identity.

I meander through the city until I find what I need—an information broker. This incarnation of the trade is a man dressed in a pinstripe suit sitting against a pile of crates next to a clothing shop. I know he’s an information broker because of the mark above him, etched into the wood. It’s a universal symbol that brokers use to distinguish themselves.

I approach the man.

The man tips his hat. “How can I help you?” he says.

I show the small badge I have sewn into the inside of my undershirt.

The man’s lips curl up. “Of course.” He takes a cigar out of his pocket, cuts, it, and lights it. “What do you want to know?”

I lean against the shop wall. “ReaperGoon,” I say.

The man chuckles. “Ah, yes. Lots of people want the Goon dead.” He rubs his hands. “Fifty gold.”

I transfer the money. The information broker grins, taking a puff of his cigar. “Well now,” he says. “I seem to remember hearing that ReaperGoon is in the business of running an illegal unicorn brawl. Somewhere here in Ropov. If you head to the right establishment the owner might point you towards your target.”

“Unicorn brawl,” is say, rolling the name on my tongue. “I know you information brokers charge for everything, but I have to ask. What’s illegal about it?”

“I’ll give you this one for five silver,” says the man.

I flip him his money.

“Unicorns are one of The Realm’s protected species,” says the man. “The game’s own police system protects them and hunts those who harm them.” He shrugs. “But I guess there are shady applications for everything and everybody.” He flicks the ashes off of his cigar. “Anything else?”

“No,” I say. I turn away. “Ashente.”

“Ashente,” says the information broker.

We part ways, and I walk to the most seedy eating establishment I can find within half a mile of the broker. I find the Hidden Bowl, a remarkably dangerous-looking pub that is surrounded by ruffians and villains.

I walk past the gang of petty thieves around the door, watching my pockets.

“Steal,” I hear someone whisper.

“Binder. Counterspell,” I say. A small flicker of light sparkles around my binder. I turn to face the thief who tried to steal from me.

“Blinding light,” I say. Two orbs of light appear in front of the thief’s eyes. I then deliver him an uppercut that’s sure to break his jaw and send most of his teeth flying.

The little white bits of bone clatter to the ground around me. The thief collapses.

A big, burly man who must be the leader of the gang steps up to me, his chest puffed out.

“What was that for, dead meat?” he says.

I knock his teeth out, too, with a hard right hook. I don’t have time to deal with petty criminals.

The rest of the thieves surround me. There are five still standing.

I sigh, and conjure my trusty bantanum sword.

“Unless you want to know what bantanum looks like with blood on it,” I say, “You’d better back off.”

Two of the thieves pick up their boss by the shoulders. The whole gang backs off. “We’ll remember this,” says one of the thieves, and then the group peels away. The thief I hit first regains consciousness, looks around frantically, and then scrambles to his feet, sprinting into the street and around the corner.

I sigh and turn to the door.

A man in a red vest is leaning against the wall. “You have a way with a fist,” he says. “Those butt-licking pickpockets have been lingering here for weeks.” He grins. “Not that anyone inside is any more moral.” He winks. “I assume you’re not here for the booze.” He points to himself. “The name’s Reggie.”

I frown, trying my best to evaluate the man. “RoundTable,” I say.

“Well, Mr. Roundtable,” says Reggie. “Let’s get down to business. You want to buy some FB-twelve, right?”

“I have no idea what that is,” I say, “And I don’t want any.”

Reggie scoffs. “Well then, why else would you be here?”

“I’m looking for the unicorn fight club,” I say.

Reggie raises an eyebrow. “The location of that place is common knowledge around here,” he says. “Did someone pull a prank on you?”

“I’d appreciate it if you could tell me where it is,” I say.

Reggie points to something behind me. I turn around.

“That building?” I say. It’s a building that looks much like all the others in this post-apocalyptic biome.

“Yeah,” says Reggie. “You’ll have a great time. I recommend betting on James the Rabbit. He’s been on a losing streak, but I feel like his time is coming.”

“Thanks,” I say. I flip him a gold.

Reggie grins, and winks. “Well, if you ever do need any FB-twelve, come stop by.”

I cross the street and approach the building’s door. It’s a large steel construction, with a small slit at eye level. I knock.

The slit opens and I can see two bloodshot eyes. “Who’re you?” the man says.

“I’m here to bet on James the Rabbit,” I say. “I hear he’s going to start winning soon.”

The man behind the door chuckles. “Well, I’m not going to stop you from doing that,” he says.

The door creaks open. I pass through, past the fat man guarding it, and into a crowded open space with a rodeo-style arena in its center. The place is packed, and bright searchlights flit back and forth. Two unicorns are romping around the rodeo arena, kicking up blood-stained dirt. The crowd undulates every time a unicorn scores a hit.

A scabby man shuffles up to me, his one good eye flitting up and down my person. “Who’re ya bettin’ on?” he says.

I shake my head. “I’m—” I reconsider. “I’ll bet ten gold on James the Rabbit.”

“Eh, heh,” says the man. “Everyone seems to think Mr. Rabbit will come out of this one ahead.” He turns away, waving his crabbed hand. “Good luck!” He cackles.

I sit down at an empty seat near the back of the bleachers and watch the battle unfold before me for a minute. Then I stand up and tap the shoulder of the man sitting in front of me. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his chest is covered in alcohol.

“Whaddya want?” he says, his eyes glazed over.

“Who runs this place?” I ask.

The man spits. “Why’d I ever tell you that?”

I flip him a gold.

The man’s eyes light up and he seems to be pulled from some other world. “Well, ya really want to know, dontcha?” he says. He points up. I follow his finger and see a suite, covered by bulletproof glass, and through the glass I see the man himself, ReaperGoon.

Target acquired.

I flip the stoned man another five silver and then climb the bleachers until I am directly underneath the booth.

“Binder,” I say. I take the Periscope card and activate it. It splits into two parts, and I toss the camera half into the air where it floats just at the bottom of the window to the club.

I watch ReaperGoon drink wine and eat a succulent roast pig like he’s at a royal banquet. I guess being one of Mandrake Signa’s underlings has its bonuses.

I take the Footlock card and attach it to a Delayed Activation card. I then slip into an employees-only door and climb up a set of maintenance stairs.

There are no guards. It looks like ReaperGoon is being lax with his protections.

I stand next to the door to the club room. Opening it slightly, I peek through the crack and observe. It’s the same as before. ReaperGoon at the west corner with a woman on both arms, two underlings sitting at a table playing cards, and a stripper doing a pole dance in the south corner. Classic “bad guy lair” vibes. My target is ReaperGoon. While I am cleared to kill anyone who tries to attack me, I want to make as small a mess as possible. The two underlings probably haven’t done anything to merit death, and if they have it’s not my job to mete out justice for that.

I activate the Bug Familiar card and let it buzz into the center of the room. At my command, the bug explodes into a thick cloud of smoke.

I burst into the room. As I pass the room’s center, ReaperGoon comes out of the smoke and aims a fist at my face.

I activate the Footlock effect. ReaperGoon’s feet lock to the floor, and he faceplants into the concrete. I pull out an apprehension module, attach the wires, and ReaperGoon turns into a ball of light that is then sucked into the module. The module beeps.

Target apprehended. Bagged and tagged. I retreat out of the room before the smoke clears, and two minutes later I am safely on the street.

I won’t need to go through the whole information broker thing to get to the rest of my targets—the government can interrogate ReaperGoon and get info out of him.

I walk to the fast travel pillar and take out my Traveler’s Pass.

“Fort Lincoln,” I say. I am carried away in a pillar of light.

Avarice: The Realm Chapter Five: Dungeon Beginnings

Dungeon Beginnings

I climb to the top of a building so that I can get a better look at what Garnet calls ‘The Roving Keep.’ It does, indeed, look like a walking castle. The goblins still outside the city are rushing towards it.

Several causeways drop from the keep’s side and hundreds of large, bear-like creatures march out. The bears clash with the goblins in a large, ragged wave.

Garnet climbs up to the roof next to me. She slips her daggers back into her equipment belt. “Looks like we’re saved,” she says.

“Are those bears?” I ask.

“Bearfolk,” says Garnet. “The bearfolk and the goblins are mortal enemies.”

“Are they NPCs too?” I ask.

“Well, sure,” says Garnet. “As much as any non-player character here in The Realm can be considered one.”

We both watch as the goblins are routed by the bearfolk. The American and French armored cavalry pull out and assist the bearfolk from behind their lines.

Garnet puts her hand to her ear. “Yes. Right.” She drops her hand and looks at me. “Looks like our military didn’t take any casualties,” she says. “Though the French lost a few.”

“So the cazzies took the brunt,” I say.

Garnet sighs. “Yeah. But they know how dangerous this game is.”

I shake my head slowly and watch as our combined arms mop up the remainder of the goblins.

“I hope I don’t have to deal with any more of this,” I say. “I signed up to be an assassin, not a grunt.”

“Well, this is part of your job too,” says Garnet. “Defending the weak and all that.”

I shake my head. “Well. I’m just glad that we can keep moving along our schedule.”

Garnet turns away. “We’ll begin the grind tomorrow. For today, I think—”

Hob climbs up the building we’re standing on. “Hey!” he says. “There’s some sort of military puke who wants to see you guys!”

Garnet sighs. “It’s me they want. Just go buy some binder skins or whatever.” She climbs down the stairs to the roof, leaving me alone on the roof with Hob.

Hob puts his arm around me. “I misjudged you,” he says. “For a newbie, you definitely have the moves.”

“This isn’t my first combat scenario,” I say.

“I can see that!” says Hob. “As a gesture of our new friendship, I’ll treat you to some lunch!” He peels off and stands against the roof’s fencing. “The boys have been waiting for some fresh meat.”

“Ah, more Reball?” I say.

“Hah,” says Hob. “You beat me, but I’m the worst out of us.” He grins at me. “And this time we’ll put up something of value for the bet.” He walks to the stairs and begins to descend. “Meet me at the Graven Reball Parlor.”

I watch him go, and then turn to look at the helicopters buzzing around the city. I suppose that it’s because of them we survived with as few casualties as we did.

I turn to the stairs and descend from the building’s roof. After finding a town map posted on a billboard, I make my way to the Reball parlor.

The parlor is a small building with a large façade that evokes the neon signs of Las Vegas mixed with the back-alley red-light Hong Kong aesthetic. A clear signal that this is where ne’er do wells hang.

Oh well. I’ve been to worse places. I push my way through the door and into a dimly-lit dive-bar interior dominated by a dozen large reball tables. Most of them are occupied; I assume the cazzies who survived the battle are spending their loot money. I, too, obtained a sizable amount of gold from monster ‘drops.’ While I was fighting the goblins, whenever I killed one, a little ping notified me that I had earned some cash.

This is how video games work, after all. Kill monsters, get loot. I have enough that I’ll be able to handle the ‘something of value’ part of this event.

I approach the table where Hob is standing. He is flanked by a  burly-looking man; a thin, wiry man with a ruffled haircut; and a rather seedy-looking woman wearing a gaudy purple dress.

Hob shakes my hand as I approach. “This is Capo Two-Three-One,” he says pointing to the burly man. He points to the wiry man. “PeaksGold,” he says. He points to the woman. “Ramma.”

Ramma winks at me in a motion that, to me, is a bit off-putting. I really don’t know what she’s thinking. Capo grins, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I hear you beat Hob,” says Capo. “I’ll be your next challenger.”

I sigh. “Sure,” I say. “Binder.” I pull out my reball starter kit. “Drop.” The box appears on the table, ready to use.

  Capo summons his own reball army. “Let’s put something up to make this game more fun,” he says. “How about that armor you’re wearing?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think the brass would appreciate me gambling away their assets.” I hold out my hand. “But I’m a conjurer. I can summon quite a bit of useful stuff.” A small bar of silvery metal drops onto the table. It is coated with a purplish sheen.

“Bantanum, eh?” says Capo. “That’s quite a bit.” He chuckles. “All right. And I’ll put up this.” He places a dagger on the table. “A Regalus Plus Two.”

Hob scoffs, looking at Capo. “You’re really going to put that up? You don’t even know his power level yet.”

“I’m going to win,” says Capo. “And I only need one more bar of bantanum to complete my armor upgrade.”

I set up my army using what I learned from my previous game. Defend the flanks, protect the tanks, pierce enemy lines with heavy infantry. Even with the starter kit, which seems to be quite underpowered, I manage to defeat Capo in under ten minutes.

Capo, upon realizing his defeat, slams his fist against the table. “Seriously?” he says. “I’ve been playing reball for five years and this newbie with a starter kit beats me this badly?”

Hob pats Capo on the back. “It’s fine,” he says. “I warned you, and this is what you reap.”

Capo rubs his temples. “The knife is yours. Do with it what you will.”

I pick up the knife and the bar of bantanum. “Card,” I say. Both objects turn into card form. “Binder,” I say, and then I slip both cards into their slots.

“Since I won,” I say, “Would you direct me to a place where I can buy a skin for my binder?”

Capo sighs. “Sure.” He turns to Hob.

Hob nods. “I’ll come with you,” he says.

Hob and Capo lead me out of the reball parlor and through a series of winding streets. A small, hole-in-the wall shop is nestled in between two houses. A battered sign reads “South A Skins.”

“This shop is run by a player,” says Hob. “In The Realm, it’s possible to customize skins. This shop sells the best of the best.”

We step through a battered door and into a dusty, cluttered shop floor. A single player is reclining in a chair behind the counter, sleeping.

“Hey, Rick!” says Hob.

The man whom I assume is Rick jolts out of his slumber. “Oh, heya, Hob,” He says. “You here to pick up the skin you ordered?”

“Well, yeah, that,” says Hob, as he approaches the counter. “Plus I have to get this newbie a classy skin.”

“Binder, shop!” says Rick. His binder is decorated with an intricate tribal pattern. “Hm, right. Here’s the dragon fire skin you ordered.” He slips a card out of his binder and hands it to Hob. Then Rick looks at me. “What kind of skin strikes your fancy?”

“Um, I like cars,” I say. “You have any skins with sports cars on them?”

Hob shakes his head. “No,” he says. He pauses. “But wait. I do have a couple of binders with the logos of famous car companies.” He flips through his shop binder. “Ah, yes.” He takes out a card. “The Etemna logo.” He hands the card to me.

I look at it. Yes, it is the Etemna logo—a picture of a falcon carrying an engine.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

“That will be five gold,” says Rick.

I pay him his gold and receive the skin card. “Drop,” I say. The card puffs into a burst of colored smoke and is gone. “Binder.” My binder is now covered with a sleek, well-made skin presenting the Etemna logo on each face.

“I like it,” I say. I put my binder away.

Hob chuckles. “Classic,” he says. “Now you’re a real player. Welcome to the club.”

I thank Rick and head out into the street. Hob and Capo part ways with me, and I wander towards the center of town.

The cleanup from the goblin invasion is going on wherever the goblins managed to break through the walls. The portions of the palisade that were destroyed are now being repaired, and scaffolding covers most of its surface area.

A large building built with flowing architecture and covered in shining glass is at the center of the town. Lots of people are going in and out. I approach it out of curiosity. The sign hanging above the door, in big letters, reads Magic Inc. Below, in tiny letters, it reads South A Branch.

I push my way through the door and enter into a large, box-chain style sales floor filled from end to end with racks of cards. I wander past the entrance area and begin to browse some of the cards.

Reyvan Dagger +2; Selurian Armor; Box of Secrets; Common Sponge; there seems to be no end to the variety of objects that can be turned into cards.

I pick up a Bag of Apples and two Loaves of Bread for the low price of three silver. I slip the cards into my binder—who knows when I’ll need them?

After browsing around of a bit longer I leave Magic, Inc and head towards my lodgings.

I spend the rest of the day performing my Freax meditation and training as best as I can in the small room I’ve been given. I go to sleep at my normal time and wake up feeling refreshed.

When I leave my room and head to the inn’s common area, I see Garnet leaning back in a chair and enjoying her breakfast.

“You’re up early,” she says. “I wasn’t planning on waking you up for another half hour.”

I sit down across from her. “I usually get up even earlier than this,” I say.

“Today’s the day we start our grind,” says Garnet. “Since you’re a level one, we’re going to start at the bottom and work our way up.” She waves over the server. “Get this man a hearty breakfast.”

The server nods and, two minutes later, brings out a piping hot plate of pancakes, sausage, and eggs.

Even though The Realm is technically some sort of illusionary game formed from pure Freax, the food definitely tastes real. I finish my plate without much aplomb.

Garnet stands up, shouldering her crossbow. “Let’s go,” she says.

I follow her out of the inn and into the streets. For the first time, I head directly towards the monolith that dominates the skyline. The dungeon.

And soon, we enter.

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.