The RV rumbled to life, and while it rattled and shook a little, it drove without difficulty toward the opening at the far end of the makeshift arena. The wall of crushed cars and other vehicles on either side extended off into the distance, stretching at least thirty feet high.
"Anyone else got a bad feeling about this?" Pete asked, looking up at the walls of crushed metal and glass.
"I don't trust it," Sam agreed. "And that Greedwell bastard was pissed. Wouldn't surprise me if he's organized an ambush or something."
[Nero] That is extremely unlikely, Sam. You have all reached the Novice Arena and have been officially welcomed in. That means you are protected until you enter the arena proper and the contest continues. It would be utterly unthinkable for Overseer Greedwell to contravene the rules that govern such safe areas.
"Unthinkable like shoving two of us into a half-assed war simulator or dangling my mother over a vat of acid?"
[Nero] While those actions are both quite dramatic, they are still in line with the laws and statutes that govern the Dominion Ultrimax Contest. Committing violent acts against a player in a designated safe zone is a different matter entirely. The betting apparatus upon which the contest is structured relies on places like this where players and NPCs alike can interact with one another safely. This permits spectators to assess the prospects of their chosen players and determine how heavily to bet on certain actions and milestones. Sponsors often use such places to make contact with players they wish to sponsor. If Overseer Greedwell were to contravene the peace of an arena foyer, he would be sent to the board for immediate censure and would likely lose his rank and perhaps even his life.
Sam grunted. "Somehow, none of that makes me feel any better."
"A game's gotta have rules," Ollie said. "Otherwise, no one would want to play it, or watch for that matter. You gotta have safe zones, places where players can stock up and all that shit."
"From everything I've seen," Sam retorted, "the System plays pretty fast and loose with the rules. Half the time, even Nero doesn't know what we're heading into, so pardon me for not trusting in the rules."
"I'm just saying, every game has a logic to it. Even one as batshit crazy as this one."
Pete watched as Sam tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
"I'm still not convinced you're not a Reaver," she hissed, "so your opinion doesn't hold that much weight right now."
"Fuck a duck! I'm not a Reaver!" Ollie protested, hands held up in surrender. "I told you, the other players were dead already. Everywhere I go in this game, the zombies find me."
Sam didn't reply.
"This duck you speak of," Craig asked, drawing Ollie's attention. "What kind of creature is it?"
Ollie shrugged. "They're a kind of bird. Small with feathers and webbed feet and all that shit. They spend a bunch of time in the water, and they make a quack sound. You don't have ducks where you come from?"
Craig shook his head. "We do not. The Translation Matrix is able to provide some context, but when there is no exact match, I sometimes struggle to understand."
"You don't have any birds where you're from then?" Ollie asked.
Torgo chuckled at that.
"Oh, yes, we have a great many birds," Craig replied, "but none that frequent water. Also, the mental image the Translation Matrix has supplied suggests creatures that spend a great deal of time on both land and water, but little time in the air."
Ollie shrugged. "Yeah, I don't really know that much about them, to be honest."
"And why would you wish to have sex with the creature?" Grizzle asked. "Is this some kind of ritual hoomans take part in, or are there practical reasons to attempt procreation with the creature?"
"It could be simply for pleasure," Craig suggested as the three goblins looked at Ollie with puzzled expressions.
"It's just a saying," Ollie said. "We don't actually fuck any ducks."
Craig turned to Grizzle. "It's a strange thing to say."
Grizzle nodded. "Particularly if you have no intention of actually coupling with the beast."
Ollie turned to Pete. "Help me out here, dude."
"You're the one who keeps saying it, dude. I've never been to Australia. Maybe it's something you guys do all the time, but for some reason you're embarrassed about it."
"This duck fucking," Craig continued. "Does it harken back to some ancient myth or legend your people venerate?"
Ollie was saved from answering as the walls surrounding the RV gave way to a vast undercover area the size of a football stadium. There were dozens of people scattered around, some driving cars or motorbikes, others walking or limping toward the structure from several roads that stretched off in different directions.
The structure itself boasted a massive roof fashioned from what looked like thick, tinted glass. It hovered fifty feet above the ground, with lights positioned here and there on its interior to illuminate the shaded area beneath. Dozens of stalls and modular buildings stretched out ahead of the RV, with brightly clothed vendors sprucing their goods and various automated vending machines lining alleys that reminded Pete of the fun fairs he'd attended as a child.
Light and sound filled the space, along with upbeat music and a huge neon sign hung in the air at the entrance.
>> WELCOME, PLAYERS!
Please make your way to the check-in desk where your weapons will be stowed and your pass issued. Vehicles are to be parked outside the foyer and will be moved onto the arena grounds prior to the contest recommencing.
Pete looked down at the mini-map Sam was projecting just above the dashboard and saw red dots mixed in with the green ones. He also confirmed that Ollie was showing as a green dot, just like everyone else in the Winnebago.
"There are Reavers in there," Pete said, pointing to the foyer.
[Nero] Of course. The foyer is a nexus point at which all surviving players within the area will converge over the next few hours. Some of those players have chosen a more aggressive and somewhat distasteful survival strategy, but it is no less valid than your own heroic path.
"Heroic," Pete breathed. "A desperate struggle to survive more like."
"I beg to differ," Craig said from the rear of the RV. "You saved me from certain death when there was no logical reason for you to do so. Time and again, you have put yourself in danger to aid us all in our survival, and against the Overseer's construct, you sacrificed yourself, using your body as a shield so that Sam and Coop would have a chance to survive."
That brought a round of nods and grunts of approval from the others. Sam turned to face Pete.
"You used your body as a shield?"
He shrugged. "It was the only thing I could think of. It all happened so fast. Couldn't you see when you were frozen?"
"I couldn't see or hear or touch. It was like being locked in a black box of nothingness."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"Worse," Coop said. "Time felt like it was slowing down. I thought I'd be trapped in there forever."
[Nero] The hero's path. As I have said before, it is only one of several paths a player can take. In comparison, young Ollie has followed a somewhat less conventional path, by necessity, given his requirement to fight off so many zombies. And with his Loan Shark Enforcer subclass, his path has broadened even further.
"Loan Shark Enforcer?" Pete queried.
Ollie waved away the comment. "Long story. Buy me a beer and I'll fill you in. Shit! Nero, they have beer at this place, right?"
[Nero] The Novice Arena foyer has numerous dining establishments with a range of foods and beverages for sale. Given that the contest is situated on your home planet, you will find that most of the dining options are loosely based on cuisine you are familiar with.
Ollie chuckled, pointing a finger off at a strangely familiar sight out front of what looked like a fast-food restaurant. There was a large golden letter B on its side with the arches peaking in exactly the same way as a McDonald's restaurant.
"Belch Burgers," he said. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"Oh, and look," Pete said, pointing at a smaller building sitting just beside the other restaurant. "Taco Belch."
A goblin usher with a high-vis shirt stepped out in front of the RV, motioning to the right where a number of other vehicles were already parked. Sam steered the vehicle in the direction the goblin indicated, parking the RV in a large space next to a bright orange sedan, which had dents and gouges cut out of just about every panel.
>> VEHICLE REGISTERED: JACKPOT
Your vehicle has been registered for the Novice Arena under the party name Vault Breaker. Identification for your vehicle has been coded to your Dominion Ultrimax profile.
"What?" Sam asked, turning to face Pete. "Why the hell has it been locked to your profile?"
[Nero] The System has chosen Pete as a representative for the party and has thus registered the vehicle in his name. It is possible for Pete to extend that privilege to anyone else within the party, however.
Pete clicked on the notification on his display and found the option to add vehicle privileges to other team members. He selected Sam and Craig, and a notification was sent to both of them.
"Okay, I've given access to you and Craig," he said to Sam. "That should cover us, right?"
Sam nodded. "I mean, Ipicked the RV, drove it, fixed it up, and helped Orin with the modifications, but the System gives you ownership. How the hell is that fair?"
[Nero] Fair has little to do with the Dominion Ultrimax Contest, Sam. You should realize by now that prestige and notoriety are far more important than traditional notions of ownership and the like. Pete is simply more recognizable than anyone else within the party, so he is assigned ownership whenever such a factor is required.
"The rich get richer," Coop snorted.
"Preach it, sister," Ollie added.
"Look, I don't even want the damned RV," Pete protested. "And I never said I owned it. If you want, I can assign it to everyone in the party."
Ollie held up his hands, a look of mock offense on his face. "Call me old-fashioned, but that's a real slap in the face to Sam, wouldn't you say? I mean, she chose the RV, drove it, fixed it up."
Realizing that he was being played with, Pete shook his head and slid out of the passenger-side doorway. "Screw you guys."
That prompted a round of chuckles as they all exited the RV and walked toward the main part of the vast building. The distant lights and sounds of dozens of different vendors and NPCs filled the room, along with a confusing mishmash of smells and sensations.
The place had a carnival feel to it, but with a far more somber atmosphere than a fairground. Pete scanned the other players entering the foyer to see if there was anyone he recognized. None of the faces were familiar, but it was clear that the other players had been through just as much trauma as his crew. They wore it on their tattered, bloodied clothes and their drawn faces.
“Jesus,” Ollie said, “it’s like we’ve walked into a funeral.”
“These people have been through hell,” Sam reasoned. “You can’t expect them to be laughing and joking, can you?”
“Yeah, but they made it. I mean, they survived.”
Pete shook his head. “But how many of their friends and family didn’t survive? These people could have lost their entire families in the opening seconds of the game, or they could have been competing alongside their best friend who just died a few minutes ago. We don’t know.”
Ollie scratched his head. “Fair point, I guess.”
[Nero] You will not see much joy at this stage of the contest, I’m afraid. But if you survive to fight in future arenas, the atmosphere will be notably more upbeat. It has only been two days since the competition began, and these players have endured a great deal. Many are suffering psychological duress.
“Is that why this place looks like a carnival?” Pete asked. “They’re trying to cheer us up after spending the past two days killing and imprisoning our friends and family and trying to kill us.”
[Nero] In essence, yes. This is as much about sponsors and spectators as it is about players, however. They have seen how you react to life-threatening situations, but this is their first chance to see you in a more informal setting.
Pete rolled his eyes. “Of course they’re watching us. And, let me guess, the happier we seem, the more likely we are to pick up top-quality sponsors and gain other perks? Because this crazy-ass game rewards psychos.”
[Nero] While it is true that the game favors players with a certain level of emotional detachment and the ability to adapt to change quickly in terms of survival, such attributes can also significantly harm a player’s reputation among the viewing community. There is a reason why the majority of players who reach the professional league take the heroic path. Two primary reasons, in fact. First, they are beloved by their audiences and sponsors. Second, they do not work alone but leverage teams to survive and prosper.
Pete nodded at that but didn’t want to think any further about the implications of what Nero was saying. He secretly wondered how many of those teams had died along the way, how many players had died so that just one of their number could make it to the professional league?
As they walked closer to the arena foyer, the press of players began to increase. Pete and his crew drew a lot of attention, primarily because of the trio of goblins that were part of the group. Grizzle and Torgo still wore the tattered remnants of their robes, while Craig was dressed in a haphazard arrangement of scavenged clothing.
The looks they got from other players spoke of intense distrust, fear, and even outright hatred, a fact which Ollie pointed out with a wry smirk.
"Seems like you guys are gonna be popular at this thing."
Grizzle and Torgo moved in close to Craig, shadowing him as he walked beside Pete.
"It is understandable," Craig offered. "We wear the face of the enemy. It will be difficult for your people to see us as anything else."
It is also quite unusual to have members of other species accompany players at this early stage in the contest. It is not unheard of, of course, but very rare. In one sense, that makes your party more interesting and thus more likely to garner support from viewers and sponsors.
Pete nodded, looking to his left and spotting a pair of heavily armed men with buzz cuts and wearing black t-shirts and camouflage pants. They stared at the goblins with undisguised malice. The shorter of the two, who was Pete's height, though a lot thinner, held a hand on his sidearm as he leered at Craig and his fellow goblins. The larger of the pair showed rows of mismatched teeth and seemed to be staring directly at Pete rather than the goblins. There was something hungry about that look, like the big man was sizing up his next meal.
As they all moved into the beginning section of the foyer, red skull symbols appeared above the heads of the heavily armed bruisers. There were also details floating beside the skulls, listing the number of total kills they'd achieved, the number of players they had ended, and the number of boss fights they'd encountered. A quick look around confirmed that Pete and his crew had similar holographic symbols and details, though theirs were green in color, and the main symbol was either a shield or a sword, which Pete took to represent whether each player played primarily a defense or attack role.
Coop, not surprisingly, had a little shield hovering above her head, and so did Grizzle. Everyone else had swords, except for Ollie, who had a sword clasped between what looked like praying hands.
"Jesus," Sam said, shaking her head. "This is really gonna give you a big head now, isn't it?"
Pete frowned, not understanding. Ollie pointed to the space above his own head.
"You've got a crown there, dude."
Pete blinked. "Well, it's probably just because I'm technically the leader of the party, that's all."
"Yes, your Majesty," Sam said with mock courtesy.
That prompted laughter from the others, but before Pete could respond, a hulking hobgoblin dressed in a plain gray uniform and trying her best to smile pleasantly addressed them.
"Greetings, players. And welcome to the Novice Arena. Please remove all weapons from your inventory and place them into the receptacle in front of you. All weapons will be returned to you once you leave the foyer and rejoin the Dominion Ultrimax Contest."
A faint green shield ran to the left and right of a checkpoint that reminded Pete of the kind of thing you had to get through when traveling by airplane. There was a long bench with a series of gray plastic trays lined out and a passage leading through the checkpoint with a large scanner in the middle of it.
Ahead of Pete and his group, other players were depositing their weapons obediently in the trays and then proceeding through the scanner to the other side. Pete watched as humans, who had been trained over long years of experience, moved like sheep through what was a familiar and almost comforting process.
"Nero, what happens if we don't give up our weapons?"
[Nero] The System would flag you as non-compliant. You would then be given a rather steep fine and would be apprehended and forced to relinquish your weaponry. Several players attempt this each season, but only at the Novice Foyer, because the lesson is well taught.
"Alright, then. I guess we don't have a choice."
[Nero] Remember, prior to entering the arena, you will be required to choose a soulbound weapon. As I have mentioned previously, this will be your primary weapon from this point onwards, and other mundane weaponry will prove less valuable the further you progress.
Ollie pulled the crowbar out of his inventory and frowned down at it. "I can't keep this?"
[Nero] You can keep it, of course, but it will do little good in a fight.
"But I get a big-ass sword or something instead, right? Sword and board, or a spear or something like that?"
[Nero] You will be offered a choice between three weapons that have been selected by the System and which align with your class, subclass, ideological path, and personality.
The rangy Australian grinned as he turned to Pete.
"Fingers crossed it's a big fuck-off war hammer!"
Pete laughed. "Or just a bigger crowbar."
"I'd be okay with that," Ollie admitted, twirling the weapon around in his hand. "Gordon Freeman for the win!"