I glanced at Murdoch—Dr. Murdoch the economics professor, avid kayaker, volunteer-er of the year, and poet laureate, or whatever other nonsense he’d said—and then I went off.
“Because gaming is the most phenomenal waste of time in history. It’s a black hole for ambition, volition, and innovation. It breeds losers who can’t face reality, and then somehow they manage to procreate with other losers and breed even more losers.” I looked down at my reflection in the water. “Losers who lose themselves instead of…”
Nope. Don’t go too far into the past, I warned myself.
I shook off the flare of melancholy. “Regarding your second point, the gaming industry is lucrative for those willing to work. People will game, whether or not I approve, so I might as well make boatloads of cash off their poor life choices.”
That was only half the answer, but that was all she needed to know. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with me this whole time.
She arched her eyebrows down and studied me for a moment. “It sounds somewhat… personal to you.”
I didn’t like that she’d picked that up so quickly—practically nailed it right out of the gate. So I shrugged and became steely and mysterious. Although, a high-value man like me had to be careful there; sometimes being aloof drew women in more. Especially if they had absent fathers.
“What about gaming for someone like Calum?” she asked.
I blinked at her. “Who?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Brandon’s son.”
I chuckled. “His name is Calum? Really? Calum? Yuck, man.”
She huffed and looked away. “Forget it.”
After a moment of reconsideration, I spoke. “I guess, well, his situation is different. I can understand him wanting an escape.”
“It’s not just an escape. This was gonna be a place where he could learn to code and actually perform duties from within the game. He could get a good-paying job, meet up with friends, and play sports. Not to take him out of his real life, but to help him find new ways to engage with it.”
I shrugged. “I guess gaming could have actual utility there. The vocational training was, admittedly, a good idea. The problem is that ninety-nine percent of people won’t use it that way or do anything that’s actually productive.” I reflected for a moment. “Still, after all these years, I’m surprised I didn’t know Brando had a son.”
Sync scoffed. “How could you not know? He’s got pictures all over his desk. He talks about him all the time. It’s so sweet.”
“I guess I just thought…” Frustration gnawed at the back of my neck and the inside of my gut. I didn’t like being cornered like this. “I don’t know what I thought. I don’t think about him at all until there’s a tech problem.”
“Oh my gosh…” Sync pressed her palms against the sides of her head. “You’re such a mass-troll.”
“I know it,” Silas blurted. “I’ve never met someone as shellfish as him.”
Folding my arms, I asked, “You mean selfish?”
“Still… he’s got good qualities buried deep within,” Silas conceded. “I can sense them. I mean, they’re way, way deep down, buried under layer upon sedimentary layer of regret, misbeliefs, trauma—”
“Alright, Dr. Krill. Wrap it up.”
“And he is helping my people,” Silas concluded. “So I think there’s hope for him yet.”
Sync raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Hmm, I doubt it. But good for you, seeing the best in people.”
I rolled my eyes and gave a sharp clap. “Well, I’m happy to say this has been a real deep conversation and a transformative experience for us both. I think we need to hug it out.”
I held out my arms, only half-joking, but she scoffed again and shook her head.
“My arms are very, very strong, and my chest and abs are rock-hard muscle. You’ll enjoy it.” Then I half-whispered, “Trust me.”
Sync folded her arms and turned her back on me, so I gave up. I get that she had her reasons and ways of seeing things, but all these issues, debates, and considerations were for other people. I had a company to run and a life to get back to.
Despite all that, I found myself reconsidering the pay cut I’d planned for Brandon. He had a quadriplegic kid to take care of—a kid named Calum… ugh.
But… maybe we could hire him one day. If he became a skilled coder like Sync suggested.
For what seemed like an eternity, we drifted on the canal, and the high rises grew smaller as we left the central area of Seaboard City. The canal walls shifted from plain concrete to vine-coated cobblestone, and the city gave way to medieval fantasy suburbs like we’d traveled through time.
“There’s a ferry station up ahead,” Murdoch announced. “I can drop you off there. I suggest you spend the night at yon’ tavern.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Sync, do we need sleep in here? I don’t feel tired.”
[Unless specified by an applicable game type, sleep is not required for Players. We’ve designed the AllVerse so you can play all day and all night! It’s part
of what makes the AllVerse UGE—the Ultimate Gaming Experience!]
“Well, there you have it. No night at ‘yon’ tavern’ needed.” I blinked, and my mouth dropped open. “Wait, can we drink? That, I would really like to know. I could use a Scotch or six right now.”
[The AllVerse allows for the consumption of alcoholic beverages and other mind-altering substances, up to and including inebriation,
without the consequences of veisalgia or the risk of overdose. Drink to your heart’s content in the AllVerse!]
Then, like a quick-talking disclaimer, Lucretia added:
[*Debuffs may apply depending on game and class selections. Player discretion is advised.]
I caught Sync glaring at me again.
“I’m not suggesting we get wasted, but man, a sip of a good single-malt would go a long way to ease my mood.” I gave her another eyebrow wiggle, this one even more bouncy and sensual. “Or we could get wasted.”
“Would it make you more pleasant and/or more positive?” Silas asked.
“I can say with one hundred percent certainty, yes.”
He raised a tentacle. “I vote we stop at yon’ tavern.”
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“There’s bound to be an Avatar Station there, so maybe you could see about changing your appearance instead?” Sync suggested. “Either way, we need to be quick about it.”
Murdoch directed the raft to a pier, and we hopped off. I leaned over the edge and dipped my left arm in the murky water, and Silas hauled himself back onto my shoulder. Believe it or not, I was actually getting used to the sensation of a slimy space octopus slurping his way up my arm and sitting on my shoulder.
“Bye, Dr. Murdoch!” Silas called. “Hope you End the Fed, or whatever economics professors do.”
Murdoch waved at us as he pushed off in search of a new fare, and we turned our attention to the village before us. A wooden sign posted just beyond the edge of the pier read, “Welcome to Evervale: The City of Dreams.”
They could call the place whatever they wanted; to me, it was a waking nightmare.
Most of the buildings were made of cobblestone and thatched roofs, and everyone dressed like it was a Renaissance faire. Lots of orc-people roamed around, or rafted down the many branches of the canals and rivers. Other people, most of them humans or elves, conjured bright magic, which took the form of colorful apparitions hovering over their hands.
Basically, this town was a home base for any and all sword and sorcery fantasy RPGs.
Gargantuan trees grew among the clusters of homes, shops, and raft-supplier stores. The steady clinks of a blacksmith hammer sounded in the distance and a ruckus emanated from a nearby tavern.
We walked the street toward the tavern, keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of adversity or bird men, but the scuffle died down as quickly as it started. I wondered if it had been a scripted routine for a specific game.
The tavern, called The Green Apple, was a large wooden-and-plaster building with an open serving area and a big colorful canvas tent. Patrons, both Players and NPCs, hung out with drinks. Some had “Dizzy” or “Drunk” debuff bubbles above their heads and certainly did their best to live up to their statuses.
“Now that I see it, I hate it,” I muttered.
Near the tavern, a large golden-framed mirror hung from nothing, suspended in the air. It glowed, suggesting magical involvement, and I scanned it with my HUD.
| Avatar Station |
| Change your Player avatar here. Fees apply. |
I wondered if Avatar Stations in other game types were also magic mirrors or if they were adapted accordingly. Would a sci-fi game Avatar Station look like a portal or something?
I guess it didn’t really matter. I ignored the mirror for now and waved down the bartender who, amazingly, wasn’t an NPC.
The Player was a busty orc woman with a butter face, tusks, and green skin. I hoped that, for her sake, the face was orcified, or if not, that her body was at least rendered accurately. At least then she’d have something going for her. Otherwise, the odds were solidly against this chick.
I scanned her next:
| GrannySmythe – Level 9 Player |
| Game/Class: Legends & Lattes – Tavern Edition |
“What can I get ya, hun?” GrannySmythe asked with a shockingly smooth voice.
“McCallahan, single-malt, 30-year,” I answered, expecting her not to know what the smell I was asking for.
“Excellent choice. Coming right up,” she answered to my pleasant surprise.
“I’ll take a sea breeze mocktail,” Silas ordered. “I gave up drinking years ago, thank Neptune.”
I rolled my eyes at him and refocused on the orc chick. “So is this a… medieval tavern simulator?”
GrannySmythe prepared both drinks. “It’s a lot more than that, hun. It’s building, running, and managing your own establishment.”
I was too emotionally drained to hate every word of that sentence, so I just shrugged. “Dreams really do come true.”
Silas turned wide eyes to me. “Wow, the alcohol must be working already. That’s one of the few things you’ve said in the last hour that’s not snotty.”
She returned with both drinks and set them before us. A notification popped up:
| Single-Malt McCallahan Scotch – $650 AllCash |
| Sea Breeze Mocktail – $25 AllCash |
“You gotta be kidding me…” I muttered. After buying my new Air Hortons shoes and the raft ride, all I had was a whopping $96 AllCash. I groaned and pushed the drinks back. “Never mind.”
GrannySmythe frowned at me, but I didn’t care.
Silas rubbed his front tentacles together until I pushed the glasses back. “Uh, out of the two… one of those is definitely affordable, mate.”
“I’m not spending $25 AllCash on a virtual mocktail, Silas. And even if I could get my drink, I still wouldn’t.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Of all the enigmas in the AllVerse, the biggest yet remains: Why can’t Erik Shaw make friends? Truly strains credulity, I must say.”
“If you’re not buying anything, I have to ask you to move along. I’ve got paying customers,” the butterface bartender grunted.
Sync sidled up next to us and smiled. “I’ll take a sea breeze and a Shirley Temple, please.”
GrannySmythe placed the Shirley Temple on the counter next to the other two, and Sync spent $50 AllCash total. She then passed Silas the sea breeze.
“May Neptune smile on you, my dear!” Silas wrapped a tentacle around the glass. They clinked the edges and drank. Silas angled his body up and jammed the glass against his… mouth, or whatever, and slurped it down.
Still frowning at me, GrannySmythe took my McCallahan off the bar, and it disappeared in her hand, along with the payment notification.
I knew none of this was real, but it all still irked me. In here, I was scraping by, barely earning enough to keep healing myself whenever I managed to get shot or clubbed or blown up or have my arm ripped off by a cartoon shark, while in the real world I was worth over a billion dollars by now. It just wasn’t fair. One drink wouldn’t have changed any of that, but maybe I would’ve felt a little better.
Sync took a sip and raised an eyebrow at my scrutiny.
I slid my tongue over my teeth. “You did that just to annoy me.”
She lowered the drink and rolled her eyes so hard I feared she might pass out. “Good golly, it had nothing to do with you. You aren’t the center of the AllVerse.”
“That’s factually inaccurate. It was my idea.” I sighed. “And a Shirley Temple? Really?”
“What? It’s my favorite.” She played with the little umbrella in her drink and let out a single airy chuckle. “I would always get them as a kid.”
I yawned as hard as I could and didn’t even fight it. “Cool story, bruh. Let’s have a look at this avatar thing.”
“Thanks, love.” Silas tossed the glass back to GrannySmythe, who caught it without looking up.
I entered the glowing area and stared into the mirror. Everything else was grayed out except the mirror, though I could hear everything around me. Lucretia’s voice spoke into my head:
[Would you like a tutorial on how to navigate the customization screen?]
“No,” I answered, and all the pop-ups faded away. “One thing I will admit is my legs look great in these shorts. Look at that teardrop quadricep.”
I cycled through the different “races” of beings, purely out of morbid curiosity, astonished and appalled by the number of choices. Each of them displayed with my face on the avatar, and I’ve never been more horrified at how I might look in my life. The mirror showed me as a horned demon thing, a lizardman like Debbie from accounts receivable, an orc, an elf, and a dark-elf.
When I found a catman race, I groaned and gestured to the thing. “Well… I know why you’re in the game. Wish I didn’t.”
Silas tilted his head. “Why?”
“Trust me, just drop it.”
Every avatar option cost AllCash, of which I had precious little. Even if I were loaded, I’d rather be caught dead before I’d ever change to an orc or a catman, so I navigated to the individual options for humans.
Turns out, I could even modulate my voice, which I found interesting for all the wrong reasons. I had no doubt some of these idiots in here were getting catfished.
But the longer I scrolled through the endless options, the more patience I lost and just didn’t care. The Godfeathers had found us once and would still find us regardless of what I looked like. I’d rather spend my AllCash on weapons, ammo, and armor.
“Okay, forget this.” I exited the customization mirror to find Sync still at the bar, engaged with a group of what looked like fantasy-style mercenaries.
Admittedly, they had a slicker look than the rest of the dweebs here—all but one, who wore an intricate tunic, leather pants, and had the “Friar Tuck” haircut and a crooked wizard hat. He’d probably spent his childhood getting beaten up—and hopefully his adulthood, too.
The other three were a human man with brown skin and heavy steel armor, a shield, and a sword, an elfman with twin daggers in admittedly cool leather armor, and a fugly goblin chick with a bow. She wore a mix of leather and plate armor that looked somewhat mismatched.
Weirdly enough, each of them wore excessive amounts of gold, diamonds, and jewels, all of it more modern-looking than it should be. In addition to rings, chains, and earrings, the Elfman actually wore one of those giant spinner clocks suspended from an oversized platinum chain around his neck.
It all seemed out of place with the rest of their attire. For how early in the game it was, it seemed like they’d either done incredibly well early on, or I was missing something.
When I scanned Wizardman Tuck, I finally understood.
| I-Bite-Moms – Level 11 Player |
| Game/Class: Lord of the Blings |
There was no way I was ever gonna call this guy “I-Bite-Moms,” but at least the excessive gaudy jewelry made sense now… sort of.
I moved up alongside Sync and folded my arms. “Problems, nerds?”
Wizardman Tuck glanced at my Octo-Boxers and chuckled.
I sneered at him. “You’re laughing at me? I got bad news, Friar Schmuck: a pencil called. It wants its haircut back.”
I did not use the word “pencil” in that sentence, but he seemed to get the idea.
Wizardman Tuck frowned, then he held up a sheet of somewhat translucent parchment. I couldn’t entirely make out what was on the other side, but the torchlight from the tavern shone brightly enough that I could tell it was a medieval-style “wanted” poster.
He gazed at it then scanned me with his WHIM. Then he smiled, displaying gaudy diamond-studded grillz on his teeth. “That’s them, alright.”
“What?” was all I had time to ask before they drew their weapons.
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break--Royal Road. They call us the Critical Hitters.
In the desolate desert of the North American Sector, the government harvests the Soul Energy of siblings Eos and Maxima in secret.
When their powers attract the attention of a dangerous criminal organization, their routine lives are shattered. Eos and Maxima must search for freedom and the truth about their past as hostile forces close in.
The answers they seek lie behind one word—!
Occam's Favor
A grizzled ex-mech pilot is drawn back into the Everwar, a decades-long conflict raging across Jupiter’s moonscape.
This time he refuses to fight alone, bringing a crew of misfits and a mech powerful enough to rewrite the war itself.
is a can't-miss power-scaling mech series. Read it now!
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Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.
