Brad the Impaler: A LitRPG Adventure, page 27
I scratched his ears. “You’re welcome, wee man.” Focusing on Fortune, I said, “Okay, great. I could sit like this until I starve to death—”
“Biological functions don’t continue while the game is paused.”
“She’s probably right, Brad. That dude hasn’t farted since she stopped the game.”
“My point,” I said, stressing the second word, “is that you can’t talk me into giving the Electors what they want, so you might as well skip us through this tutorial.”
Our guide pressed her hands together like she was about to pray. She kept them pressed, pointing her fingers in our direction. “How you engage with the entrant will alter things.”
“Meaning what?”
“As an entrant, you have choices. Darkworld is complex. Should you agree to fight, duel, or try to sneak past him, the game will adjust. When he stole your supplies, the game marked his location because he interacted with your camp.”
“That’s why he was on my map?” Slash asked.
“Yes.”
“And because we’re in his camp now?” I asked, not liking what this new turn implied.
“Your camp is marked for him.”
“He already knew where to find us.”
Fortune shook her head. “An accident. I read the logs while you rested. Lukieboy81, some of you have chosen strange names, did not intend to find your camp. He was looking to loot a caravan. He got lost. That is how he came across your home. That action resulted in the game labeling your home for him.”
“He set out to steal. He just stole from the wrong target.”
“That is true.”
“Hey!” Slash said. “Wow. Look at that.”
“What?”
“I pulled up my map, and guess what? His camp is labeled now.”
I called up my more basic map and noticed Lukieboy81’s name was added to my map in a swirling, plain white banner, curled at both ends.
“Our camp looks like that on his map now?” I asked our guide.
“It does.”
“Shit.”
By simply wanting to get our supplies back, I’d inadvertently made us vulnerable. Lukieboy81 knew where we lived and could find it, even if he was the most unskilled player in the world. I gritted my teeth. These fucking designers were planting mechanisms throughout the game to ensure increased hostilities.
“Let me ask you something, Fortune. Can this guy share the location and name of our map with others? NPCs? Other entrants?”
Her head dipped slowly as if she was trying to anticipate what was coming next. “Not with NPCs. The game drives what they know and are not aware of. Allow me to correct myself. The AI adjusts based on entrant action and non-action. But, yes, were Lukieboy81 to join an alliance at the appropriate level, all members of his alliance would know your camp’s location, and name, of course.”
I grunted. “Of course.”
“Brad, though you may detest the thought of fighting and killing this entrant, should you not, you put yourself and Little Sir at great risk.”
“Brad?” Slash looked at me, shaking. Tiny dog tears rimmed his eyes. “I don’t want this guy knowing how to find us again and telling all his friends.”
“I know. Me either.”
The game was going to push players to fight each other. I saw that coming a mile away. It’s the type of thing powerless, insignificant assholes did once they had a little control over something. Didn’t matter if that inflicted harm on others. It gave them the power they were desperately deprived in all other facets of their lives. Game designers, bloggers, you name it. Hell, even NCOs and especially officers in the military. No one was immune to the negative impact of the influence of having a bit of power. Politicians were easy targets. Everyone hated them. But every walk of life was susceptible. The worst person to give power to was the person who sought it.
“Are we done, Fortune? I’m ready to deal with this asshole.”
Slash growled at the frozen form of Lukieboy81. “Get some, douche monkey.”
30
Fight For Your Rights
“Are you ready?” our guide asked.
“More than,” I said firmly. I’d locked my gaze on the frozen player hovering near his campfire, looking through a sack of goodies he’d taken from someone else.
“What do I do, Brad?” Slash asked, looking ready to pounce the minute Fortune disappeared and the game resumed.
“Stay right here.”
He grumbled something.
“Sorry, buddy. But I need you to come through if this goes sideways.”
“Oh, so I need to be ready to save the day?”
“Exactly.”
He slapped the ground with a tiny paw. “Makes sense. Good strategy.”
I scratched him behind the ear. “I know you’ll rescue me if this turns upside down. Just be ready.”
“Okay.”
“Alright, Fortune. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I do not understand the intention behind those words, Brad.”
“That means he’s ready,” Slash said with an eye roll. “He’s just trying to sound relevant.”
“Okay.” She nodded. Her digital jaws clenched. “Brad?”
“Yeah.”
“Please be careful. Whatever you’re planning.”
“As careful as I can be.”
She didn’t need to know I’d formulated the least detailed, safest plan possible. If the game was marking players’ camps when others came across them, and then added marks to their camps if they interacted with another’s, that meant the game could change based on inputs. Fortune said so when she warned me against lying low at camp. The designers didn’t want bystanders. They wouldn’t tolerate pacifists. Their jollies got rocked by conflict.
According to Fortune, a fight between me and Lukieboy81 would result in a ‘high bonus,’ whatever that meant. Psychological warfare, in a way. They’d designed the game to reward skirmishes, fights, and battles because it wanted more of them. If that’s what their paying customers lusted for, it was the experience they’d deliver. All contests were surrounded, if not grounded, in conflict. Even sports that were ostensibly designed around a competitor battling themselves had drama introduced. If not by the player themselves, then their handlers, the media covering the contest, or some online loser calling themselves an ‘influencer.’
Sport for the sake of sport or competition for the sake of fair competition was never enough. People got off on problems, real or manufactured.
Let’s see if I could change that. I nodded at Fortune.
She returned the gesture. “Well wishes, Brad. Please be careful.”
“Thanks.”
Suddenly, every sound returned. Birds above. The wind. Lukieboy81’s farts. Cold seeped from the ground into my skin. The crisp smell of the air.
“Game on, bitch,” Slash said, narrowing his eyes at Lukieboy81.
“Stay here. Remember—”
“I know. I’m here to save the day. Got it.”
I petted him and slid down the knoll, only standing in a crouch when it blocked the other man’s view of me. I bent to pick up a stick near my foot. Moving far enough away from Slash, I knocked on each tree I passed, drawing my opponent’s attention.
Lukieboy81 dropped the sack and bumbled his spin, catching himself at the last second as he tried to find the source of the sound. It took him far too long to find me. He finally did.
I dropped the stick and raised my hands. “I’m not here to fight.”
Lukieboy81 was a heavy man. Even in the chilly air, sweat beaded on his forehead. I didn’t expect kindness in his round eyes now that we squarely faced one another. In a different world, under different circumstances, I might trust this guy with a friendly chat over beers. But this wasn’t that world. Not now. Maybe not for a long, long while yet. Maybe not for either of us.
“Who are you?” he asked in a husky voice.
“My name is Brad. My camp is—” I stopped when I remembered he already knew the specifics. “Well, you know.”
Lukieboy81 shifted a step backward. I think he wanted it to go unnoticed. It hadn’t.
“Listen, I don’t want trouble. I just want my blanket, wood, and stone back.”
Another shift. “That’s my shit.”
“No, it’s not. We both know it.” Keeping my hands up, I continued moving to the right. “Look, you took more than I can carry, so you’re already benefiting. I’ll just take what I can carry, and we’ll call it even.”
He shifted again. I didn’t like his edginess. A thief was one thing. A nervous thief was something else entirely. Though I felt a twinge of pity, he truly looked like a sad man. I don’t trust people who couldn’t relax when someone tried to de-escalate a situation.
Lukieboy81 stepped to the back side of the campfire with a series of slight shuffles. I picked up on the fact that his eyes continually flicked to the ground behind the fire. If he had his own version of Slash back there, the dog was even smaller than mine. The rock he’d used to form his fire pit was only a few inches tall and couldn’t hide much.
“No trouble?” I asked once more, staying rooted. My movements, though I was trying to be non-threatening, seemed to only make him edgier.
The man lunged toward the ground, reaching behind the rock ring, and coming up with an ax.
“Goddammit. This is not the way this needs to go down.”
“Get away from my wood.” He hefted the ax.
Forty feet separated us, so unless this dick was an exceptionally good ax thrower, I was safe. For now. I had time to equip my dagger or branch-club if he insisted on a fight. With his size, judging by the lack of speed when he moved, I’d have plenty of time to snag a weapon. Doing so now would only set this confrontation on a path I didn’t want to explore.
“Just calm down, man.” I took a step back, even turning partially to the side, using all the skills of de-escalation I had in my repertoire. “All I want is my stuff back. I’ll get out of your hair right away. I’ll even talk to my guide about removing this location from my map so I can’t find my way back. Cool?”
I didn’t dare check on Slash. This guy couldn’t know I had a dog. I was faster than him, but he was closer to my pooch. Since he’d already given me too many nervous signs that he was itching for a fight, I didn’t want him to think he was being ganged up on. Hell, I didn’t want him to know he had more than one visitor, even if one of those weighed as much as a small bag of sugar.
“Did Ragnar send you?” the man asked.
I lifted my hand slowly, mimicking his posture. “How about we lower that ax so you and I can talk?”
“No way, man,” he said and took a step forward.
“Whoa. Whoa.” I put up both hands now. I had no problem appearing to be the one backing down. The game designers could think me cowardly all they wanted, as long as Lukieboy81 and I were still alive to be criticized. “I don’t know who that is.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Ragnar is a butcher. How do you not know that?”
I tried to grin. I’m not sure it came off the way I intended. “Look. I just learned the name of my own butcher when he showed up to talk shit to me the other day. I’m pretty isolated.”
“Yeah, well, if you knew Ragnar, you’d know why I need your shit.” He took another step. “Sorry, man, just the way the game goes.”
I stepped away, realizing I was putting myself too close to his house, running out of space to avoid his attacks if he decided now was the time to kick this off.
By reducing the space between us by a few feet, Lukieboy81 allowed me to make out the details of his ax. It was an elementary weapon, hand-crafted. That was being kind. It was really nothing more than sharpened rock, bound by a length of twine, and an uneven four-inch thick branch he’d fashioned into a handle. Despite it being simple, it could still kill me.
“We don’t have to do this,” I said, taking another step back. I tried to chuckle. It came out sounding forced. “We’re in the middle of a forest. There’s plenty of wood and stone.”
“Good. Go collect what you need from the forest and leave mine alone.”
My anger flashed. “That collection you stole from me took weeks to gather.”
“Tough shit. I need it.”
“So do I, and I’m the one who put the hard work into collecting it. You’ll keep what I can’t carry, but I’m taking back what’s mine.”
Lukieboy81 grinned wickedly, running a hand through his mangy hair as he shook his head. “You don’t get it. I told you Ragnar is on my ass. My guide says he’s already narrowed down which server I’m on. I got a fort to build, asshole. So fuck off with your whining.”
He charged before I had the chance to propose alternatives, like working together and seeing where each other’s skills could complement the other’s weaknesses. He denied me the chance to explain that we could sit down over a meal once I harvested and processed the wheat crop into something consumable. We could have literally broken bread together and explored a closer working relationship, if not an outright alliance.
Instead, I was busy dodging and weaving as he closed, swinging the ax like he was trying to cleave mosquitos out of the air.
I jumped to the side. His strike was vicious and far too close for comfort. “Stop!”
Had I ceded the need for peace talks, I would have equipped my weapons. Because I tried to take the high road, I was now weaponless and scrambling. Lukieboy81 was slower, but armed. Pulling up my Inventory and hoping it popped open to the weapons tab was a distraction I didn’t want to risk while this madman tried to open me like a pinata.
The man grunted as he swung. Sweaty clumps of his dark hair stuck to his face when the momentum of his swing whipped it around. One lateral swing nearly ripped my gut open.
I dodged around a workbench, keeping it between us. Over three feet wide, he was going to have a hell of a time swinging over it and getting to me. He tried anyway.
I stepped back.
Lukieboy81’s arm crashed against the workbench. I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it in both hands.
He howled and pulled back. His sweaty skin gave him the reprieve he needed when my grip slipped.
Somewhere, Slash barked.
Lukieboy81 whipped around, his hand going to the rope that cinched his loincloth. A hidden dagger hung behind the belt. He equipped it, making it zip away from its current location and appear in his hand. He brought it back to fling at my pup, who now stood in the middle of the dirt patch, bouncing side to side and yapping between tiny growls.
As his arm came up, I raced around the workbench and drove my shoulder into his nasty, sweaty back. He cried out when I hit him and again when we crashed to the ground.
I pushed myself up, about to demand he stop with the stupid shit, when he rolled over. His arm swung out in a wide arc too late. Where I’d forgive his trespasses, he refused to forgive mine. The blade of his dagger sliced my skin open.
I roared in pain, spinning away, feeling the burn of open skin and the warmth of blood. I tried to turn on him, but the pain was excruciating. My Health bar was down a quarter of its length. A glance at Lukieboy81 showed his in a similar state.
Slash dashed forward, baring his teeth, and snapping at the man as he got to his feet.
Lukieboy81 spun on my dog and a small stream of piss ran down my boy’s legs as he tucked his tail. His ears were pinned to his head as he raced away.
“You stupid fucker,” I growled, still holding my arm, disturbed by how much blood I was losing. “It didn’t have to come down to this.”
Lukieboy81 lifted his dagger and charged.
I barely avoided him, distracted by protecting my dangling arm that felt like it was on fire. I sidestepped just in time, giving him a shove in the back to propel him forward. He smacked his house, yelling out. When his hand went to his nose, I figured my shove had taken a bit of the fight out of him.
When he turned, swinging wildly, his strike gashed me across the chest. The tunic took some of the damage, but shredded far too easily. The burning red line across my chest stood as testimony to how much trouble I was in.
31
Snake Bite Love… Sorta
“Fuck!” I screamed as I spun away from his swipe and stumbled backward into the center of his impressive camp.
Slash dash between us, hackles raised and yapping enough to annoy the deafest player in Darkworld.
“Get away,” I grunted through the pain and the flashes of white. When he didn’t move, I yelled, “Now, Slash!”
“Nuh, uh!” he said without looking my way. He skipped from side to side, like the way a flat rock skims across the top of a static lake, just without the ripples and satisfying plop at the end of the journey.
I pulled my arm away from my side, exposing a four-inch long cut. One look at Lukieboy81’s blade told me I was going to have to figure out if Darkworld had an urgent care clinic to get a tetanus shot. Without pressure against it, blood seeped from the wound.
I’d tried to keep the peace and tried to find a reasonable solution. Look what it got me. I’d tried to de-escalate and talk him back from an edge he’d send both of us over, and he refused to listen. But when my pooch stepped between us and the fucker went after my wee man, he’d crossed a line no one was allowed to cross.
In a way, it was comical. The lumbering man, just shy of my six-foot-one-inches, and exceeding my two hundred and ten pounds of decently fit masculinity by about forty of flubber, swung down at my seven-pound Chihuahua.
Slash danced away, yapping. His snout wrinkled with the most vicious snarl I’d ever seen on him. When he pounced, his ass lifted twice the height of his tiny head. His tail was as stiff as a board, and I swear, if one inch of fang could rip the world asunder, this was the moment I’d point to as proof.
Lukieboy81 kicked at Slash.
Even blinking felt like an effort. My eyelids seemed to lower and open like they were being moved by a rusted crank. The smell of iron, my blood, filtered through every thought, every action I planned.
