Yea man, a whole year. You guys were clearly long established veterans at that point.
Didn't feel like it. Guys like Benboy made me feel like a greenie.
It never does. Those guys I never would have dreamed of talking to, they were just under mods. I never could understand how people would get on Skul's stories and meanly demand and push to be in them. XD
-last edited on Mar 12, 2019 21:13:24 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Mar 12, 2019 21:12:30 GMT
Okay, since I've had so many probs with Word lately, I'm going to post a bunch while I'm here at a library computer.
Chapter 8: Squad #81
I was halfway through the lunch line when I heard my name announced on the loudspeaker. I stood to attention.
“We have a new student. Nathan Piedstock from no school given is now part of our school family.”
I felt like gagging, but it’d be a bit conspicuous right now. People were actually paying attention to this preprogrammed monologue.
“He is entering the Echelon with a ranking of three, on squad #81.”
I don’t know why, but something about being rank three made me really happy. Despite my physical appearance, they had to face the fact I was lackluster. I was three whole slots beneath a slim, slightly-dorky girl. It was an achievement of sorts.
Conversations around me renewed with vigor.
“Man, they screwed eighty-one over.”
“This dude’s either three-hundred pounds or a weeb.”
“Tacks ain’t gonna be happy.”
“Yeah, she’s gonna take the tar out of this guy.”
“He’ll be a four or dead by next week.”
My smile faded away. All of a sudden, I was filled with a sense of dreaded apprehension. Somehow I felt that maybe, after all, the Game Master was getting the last laugh.
~<>~
I slid back into my seat, seventeen minutes late. I was conducting an experiment, seeing just how far I could take this before I got a reprimand. I’d tone it back slowly from there, drawing out this new kid exception thing for as long as possible.
“Three?” Argo looked at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
“I warned you, honey.” I settled back into my chair, my smugness returned.
“What are you, a bricking invalid?” She shook her head. “You’ve got all your limbs. You should be able to make a five at least.”
“Hey, why you taking this so personally?” I asked. “Not your problem.”
“I’m on squad #81.” She flicked her hair. “You are my problem.”
I met the rest of the squad that afternoon. Turns out a squad is only four people. I’d be getting nice and personal with these folks.
“Should I give a bio or something?” I said, after a few seconds of intense staring.
“Sure, meatsack.” The only other girl, and thus presumably “Tacks,” said. “Make it good.”
“Well, hello, I’m Nate. I’m seventeen. I’ve never played anything remotely physically, and I like videogames. I tried to get out of this mess, but obviously that didn’t work.” I did a little wave. “That’s me.”
“Wonderful.” The girl said in a killer monotone. “I’m Tacks, and I’m in charge here.”
“I’m DeadBeat.” A huge, hunking shadow said.
“And we’ve already met.” Argo held out her hand anyways. “So pleased to have you aboard.”
I didn’t shake it.
“We’ve got in-game practice in thirty, DeadBeat, get this loser his gear.” Tacks nodded towards the hall. “Make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
“I do have a tendency to forget room numbers.” I helpfully supplied. “I never remember if I read them backwards or forwards.”
Tacks looked at me, so full of hate, so full of disappointment. It made my day.
~<>~
Now, the gear was kind of exciting. It was a spandex body-suit, with some padding in uncomfortable places. There was a bright stripe looping over my shoulder and across my back and chest. There were matching stripes on the shins, and helmet. And I gotta admit, the helmet was lit. I put it on and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like I was straight out of a videogame. I took it back off, and tried to determine if this was going to be immersive. Was I going to look like an idiot as I was getting kicked around? I didn’t see any tech. Fingers crossed.
DeadBeat didn’t say much. In fact, the only time he opened his mouth on the way there was to lick his lips. I was okay with this. I wasn’t sure if I could keep my sarcasm in check at this point, and it’d hurt bad if he got mad enough to hit me.
I got into my own little changing cylinder, and tried on the suit. It was too small. It clamped tightly over my chest, hugging my limbs. I surveyed myself in the mirror. Was it apparent? No, I’d pass for human. Till somebody kicked me in face, or tried biting my hand. Savages.
I stepped out. “Hey, I got my Hunger Games garb on. When’s the parade?”
“You’re not at all funny.” DeadBeat said, with a deep sigh, as if he had been really hoping I would be.
“I am wildly amusing to myself.” I said, tugging at the armpits of my suit. “And that’s all that matters. Did they have to make these things to tight?”
“Yes.” He said. I noticed his was just as tight.
“What happens if I gain weight?” I glanced down at my stomach.
“Tacks will slice it off with a rusty dagger.”
I nodded once. “That’s good motivation.”
“She’s all about motivation.” He started back down the hall.
“Hey now, I’ve still got thirteen minutes till game time.” I said, prepared to balk.
“We’re going to see the arena.” He said. “You need to see the arena.”
I could see that being fairly important, so I complied. I still grumbled like heck, but that was just how I roll.
I had held off my awe as long as I could. I just stood there, face plastered against the window DeadBeat had found for me, and gaped. My breath threatened to fog up the plastic and obscure my view. I breathed shallower.
It was huge. You could fit a whole parking garage in there. Except they didn’t have parking garages here. You could fit a whole school in there. The other end was a bit fuzzy, it was that far away. The ceiling likewise. Was that actual clouds up there?
Some other teams were apparently practicing while we waited. I watched as a couple of people kicked the tar out of each other.
“I’m so dead.”
“Yes.” DeadBeat said with a sort of finality.
~<>~
The airlock was a scary start. It hissed angrily at me, and I almost jumped away. We were entering the field about thirty feet up, the airlock would deposit us on the ground after adjusting the pressure and atmosphere. Argo was explaining all this. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was the scientific one, or if it was because Tacks and I were no longer on speaking terms. I had no doubt that DeadBeat unquestioningly accepted that the airlock was operating on magic.
“The contents of the entire arena are merely an illusion.” She said, and then the door opened.
“Okay, what?” I said, no longer certain of my footing.
She stepped out onto it. “The ground does not, in fact, exist.”
“But…” I said, staring at her feet. “You’re standing on it.”
“I should rephrase that. The floor does exist. It’s sixty feet below ground level, which is what I’m standing on.”
The rest of the gang followed her out. I stayed firmly inside the airlock. I stayed stubbornly inside. “So, does the ground exist or not?”
“In substance, yes. It is created by physicalized pixels.”
“Oh, that makes so much sense.” I said, my sarcasm dripping off and burning holes in the explanation.
“Basically, some super nerds came up with a way to create a 3D image on a computer, and actualize it using a pixel-based matter solution that can take any shape or form, given the proper input code.”
“I hate nerds.” I said, but stepped out. They generally were a trustworthy caste of individuals.
“This is practice field #7. It’s gets a lot more exciting on game day.” She said. The others had already taken off. She ran to catch up. I walked. Practice field #7 was pretty dang plain. There was barely any terrain, and it was all a sort of greyish-opaque.
They stopped eventually, and let me catch up. I reached the group, and stared solemnly at the horizon with the rest of the gang. I put on a mock-epic face.
“From now on, if you fall behind, you sprint to catch up.” Tacks said, an edge to her voice.
“I’m not really a sprinter.” I said. “More of a slow gallop.”
-last edited on Mar 12, 2019 21:36:19 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Mar 12, 2019 21:35:01 GMT
There has also been some canon changes. Basically, as you may have noticed, this story also kind of details the events that take place in the replacement of BASICS, whenever I get around to writing it, so I'm trying to make it good.
As such, there are only two great factions now, ruling over the rest. The dominate the...well, I'll just repost an edited part of the story.
I checked under my menu, looking at my notes. I had only three orders right now, two of them just minor repairs on previous jobs. Then I had my custom weapon, ordered by an oricsh-looking fellow who had said he lost his last blade imbedded in an assassin. I didn’t ask questions. Their business was not my business.
He appeared to be without a party. Which was odd, not many people abstained from the two major parties. For one simple reason: without them you had nobody at your back. You joined one, and prompto, you had three thousand friends backing you up in case of a scrape. They would help you in a fight, they would get you a job if you were unemployed, and they would buy from your shop. I worked alone. Friends were dangerous. They were a weakness. People could use them against you. And plus they tended to get in scrapes and then start squealing your name.
As such, my small shop didn’t invite much business, it was considered betrayal of the code to order weapons at a rival factions’ furnace, but since I proclaimed no loyalties, some risked it. My work was worth it, they claimed.
I also catered to those without a guild or faction. Which normally meant wack-jobs on manhunts or something.
The two controlling factions were the Fraternal Commonwealth, and the Iron Guild. The first was established upon users entering the party and receiving almost equal status with hundreds, now thousands, of other members. They shared their resources and the positions of power, though it was rumored to be rigged nowadays. The Iron Guild, on the other hand, counted everything by years of service, the most was given to those with the longest history.
But either way you went about it, it wasn’t a game about the individual user. Other parties tried that. There was a new one every third day, and none of them came even close to the original two’s stature. I checked the standings. I scrolled down the leaderboard. Not an unlisted or unique guild in sight. Just lines after line of Commoners and Aluminums, as they derisively called each other. I looked a little closer. There had been some fluctuation in the scores, so something had gone down. Oh well, it was presumably miles away from my humble abode, and leagues away from actually effecting me.
I flipped my menu back away as the knock rang out on my door. I gave up temporarily on the sputtering flames, and crossed the room. I pulled back the deadbolt, and peeked out of my sophisticated little eyehole.
