I managed to drop a weight on my good foot, and ended up in the ward with a bruised sense of pride and some trauma.
August picked me up early. “That bad, huh?”
“I don’t think I can learn under these conditions.” I said. “Have you given homeschooling a thought?”
“No.” She said, in a way that informed me she wasn’t going to either.
“Well, anyways, I got a free tablet thingy.” I said, fishing around in my school backpack they had given me. It was cheap and flimsy. It was also the first backpack I’d ever owned.
She inspected it, firing up the screen. “That’s quite the reading list.”
“You know; I’ve been having troubles falling asleep at night. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that anymore.”
She kind of silently chuckled. “Nate, you’re a character.”
“In what?” I said. “Some sort of sadistic story where I get uprooted from my home and family graves to come here and have a nervous breakdown?”
“Are you going to hyperventilate?”
“I don’t know. What’s hyperventilating?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be dead. This much information and socialization can kill a guy.” I waved a weak finger at her.
“This’ll make you appreciate weekends.”
“I don’t think they’re going to be that great. I’ll always know what’s on the other side.”
“Apologies.” I bowed my head. “If you would like to write a review on the shop, post a note on my door. It will be absorbed into my rating.”
“Like, you’re not going to charge me extra or something?”
“I’m merely sorry that my weapon did not fulfill all the contract obligations.”
“You exceeded them!” He said.
“That’s still a violation of the contract.” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “Amazing.” He held out a hand. “The coin will be transferred immediately.”
“I don’t really do handshakes.” I said. My right hand did happen to be made of metal, and glove and game or no, people could still tell.
“It’s what authenticates my transactions.” He said, his face screwing up nervously.
“In that case.” I reached out and solidly shook his hand. Something in his eyes clicked, and suddenly, I almost visibly saw him see me in another light. “Respect man.” He sheathed his pick. “You run a neat shop here.”
I bowed. “I strive to serve.”
He did a quick two-finger salute as he headed for the doors. “Keep an eye out for me.”
I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. He shut the door behind him, and I quickly scrolled through my account. He had paid the fee and included a nice little bonus. A good customer. Another successful transaction. That weapon was worth two months’ rent back home. I had no clue how much it was worth here.
My shop rating clicked up a notch too, registering another ten-star review.
I strive to serve.
I keep thinking I can't like this story any more than I already do. Stop disproving me.
Did you know Boomer back on the old MBs? It was his avatar pretty much the whole time I knew him, I think. The spiky black hair, the skull face and red jacket.
Vaguely, distantly, may have never actually talked or not. XD I understand the concept though.
He was fairly active on MB Stories, but it's a possibility your paths never crossed.
I shot Ojo a message letting him know the piece was ready to pick up. It wasn’t quite. But I was confident I could get it done before he got here.
He must have been camping on my doorstep, because he knocked literally thirty seconds after I pressed send.
I opened up the door. “You need something to occupy your time.”
His mouth quirked up into a semblance of a smile. “I used to collect stamps. Then all mail went cyber.”
“All good things must come to an end.” I decided was the appropriate response, and turned back inside. “I’m putting the finishing touches on. Shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”
“Oh. That’s perfectly fine.” He said. “Can I come in?”
“Seeing as I’m the one who pinged you early, I can hardly say no.” I turned back to the table, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper and doing a quick sketch. I then proceeded to transfer it onto the handle. I had exceeded the limitations a bit, I had a lot of time to kill.
I set my pick carefully down, and picked up the weapon. I grabbed the lamp and pulled it closer, examining the minute details. “Hm, it’ll do.”
Ojo appeared at my elbow. “Oh, it’s glorious.”
I held it out to him. “It’s yours. There’s a one-month warranty.”
“You act like this is just a piece of metal, a tool.” Ojo fondled it lovingly. “A weapon is so much more. It’s a friend when all else fails.”
“If your forged friend proves unsatisfactory, I accept returns up to and not exceeding one week’s time from today’s date.” I continued in a monotone. “Is the piece satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes.” He repeated. He did a quick check on the stats. His face fell. “There’s a mistake. This is a tier six.”
“Nu-uh.” December shook her head, flinging her dreadlocks everywhere. “Mom’s a real biter. She’s not letting you go anytime soon. Not till you’ve burned the house down and threatened me at gunpoint.”
“That could be arranged.”
“I’m not playing the part.” She waved a finger at me.
“Oh bricks.” I finally said, becoming resigned to my fate. “What’s the system like here?”
“Okay, here we go.” She moved to the bed to sit beside me. “There’s three levels of education. The first five years are a joke, more or less, you learn how to take naps and that you should color in the lines. Next five you actually learn to color in the lines, and there’s math and boyfriends and stuff. That’s Mid-Ed. It sucks. Finally, there’s Up-Ed, the final five years. Starts when you’re fifteen. I’ll be joining next semester. I don’t have no pro tips from the inside there, but I do know all about the Echelon.”
“Echelon?” I echoed her last word.
“It’s a big virtual game thing. You literally get physically placed in a videogame. So rad.” She shook her head enviously. “We spend all five years of Mid-Ed just gearing up. Drills and the whole lot. We don’t get to step a foot inside the arena until we age out, though.” She paused. “You’re what, seventeen?”
“Yeah.” I said, worried about the implications.
“Still got like three years to go. Plenty of fun.” She leaned back with a sigh. “You didn’t even have all the suspense. You won’t fully appreciate the privilege.”
“I think I’ll skip.”
“WHAT?” She burst out. “First off, you can’t. Second off, why?”
“Can’t?”
“Mandatory. It’s a law. Big deal. Nobody gets out. Not the emos. Not the fat kids. Not the nerds. Not even the principal’s daughter.”
“Are there medical passes?”
“Rarely.” She looked me in the eyes. “Practically nobody applies. Twofold. One, nobody wants to leave the games. And two,” she paused dramatically, “passes are like eclipses. One every ten years or so.”
“I’m fairly certain eclipses don’t-”
She cut me off. “Whatever. Point is, you’re playing, and you’re gonna love it.”
“Whatever.” I shot straight back at her. “I’ve got my ways.”
She just shook her head, something like disappointment leaching up into her eyes. “Why though? Man, you have no idea how long I’ve waited. And I still can’t. And you’re just looking at this like it’s some sort of civic duty you’ve got to evade.” She blinked once. “I had pictured this. Telling you about the games. Getting you riled up. Watching you play. Cheering on my big bro.” She gave me a look. “You’re not gonna give it a shot even, are you?”
I hate expectations.
Interesting, the word “echelon” means a level of command, authority, or rank, but there is something else called ECHELON, which is a not-so-secret-anymore governmental code name and surveillance program. Conspiracy? I THINK NOT. ಠ_ಠ Any connection to this, Con?
