Pete found himself wondering what Ollie was up to. He was on the other side of town, or had been when the day had started, and it made sense that he was probably making his way toward the Novice Arena just like Pete and Sam were. Given the size of the storm, however, Ollie wouldn’t have been able to get too close. He’d have faced the same issue as Pete and his crew.
If he’d just unlocked his comms device, they could coordinate their efforts, and Pete could tell him about their plans to pull the storm away from the Novice Arena.
“How far do we need to go, Nero?” Sam asked. “We’re already a hundred miles or so from the arena, and it looks like the storm is only about ten miles across.”
[Nero] A little further, I would suggest. We also need to think carefully about the timing of our lure. If we set it too soon, it will draw the storm away from the arena too early, and it will likely circle back and resume its position while we are still waiting to get into the arena.
“Wait,” Pete said. “So, we can’t just head into the Novice Arena anytime we want?”
[Nero] Indeed not. The arena will only open three hours before closing time. Currently, we are just over forty-five hours from the arena closing time, so we have forty-two hours before the arena will actually be open.
“Three hours?” Pete said. “That’s a pretty small window to hit when you’ve got goblins and hobgoblins all over your ass.”
[Nero] Indeed, and that is entirely by design. In previous seasons—the earliest instances of the game—some contestants simply headed to the arena area and camped inside its protective walls for most of the duration of the first challenge. It made terrible viewing, and when the arena finally commenced, they were woefully unprepared for it and died predictably fast. Hence, the reason for a smaller window in which players can enter the arena. That window also forces players together, drawing them in at a crucial time and often with explosive and violent results. Another reason why the System favors this approach.
“Shit!” Pete said. “I hadn’t even thought about that. So, players can hurt other players. Do they get experience or rewards for doing that?”
[Nero] Experience, rewards, loot. Each of these, in fact. The System recognizes players as enemies just as it does NPCs. Only the rewards for killing fellow players can be quite a bit better than for slaughtering NPCs. A considerable tax is taken out of any loot acquired in player versus player bouts—typically fifty percent of all funds and items—but the haul can still be substantial, particularly later in the game.
Sam nodded. “You get scratched after you’ve busted your hump grinding for coin and loot. That’s just great.”
[Nero] For those who take the villainous path, there are other benefits. Those with a sufficient number of kills can gain exclusive bonuses to their player hunting abilities—skills and rewards specifically targeted at making them more effective at hunting players. In fact, there are entire subclasses devoted to this practice. Reavers are still able to kill and loot NPCs, of course, but the benefits for doing so diminish compared to what they receive when hunting and killing other players.
Pete rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “So, let me get this straight. Not only do we have to watch out for roving gangs of goblins, hobgoblins, weird glitching wolf beasts, and rogue storms that are partially sentient, but we’re also gonna have to watch for other players who get their kicks out of killing humans.”
“Sociopaths,” Sam said. “Has to be a bunch of them in the contest, surely. They would have jumped at the chance for something like this. Kill whoever you want without consequence. It’s like a murderer’s wet dream.”
“Not all sociopaths are killers,” Coop corrected from her place on Pete’s lap.
[Nero] Correct. While some of those who have previously been designated in human culture as sociopaths are drawn to transgressive behaviors, it does not necessarily follow that—
“I just mean that there are going to be some people in this contest who like killing people, okay! That’s all I was saying.”
“I guess that just adds to the excitement,” Pete said, his brow furrowed. “I mean, this whole thing is for entertainment, right? So having a few wildcard killers wandering around picking off players just makes it that much better for all the bastards betting on whether we’ll live or die.”
[Nero] Correct. Anything that has a chance to add an element of unpredictability and excitement to the game is generally welcomed.
Pete shook his head. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? We’re talking about murder here. This isn’t mowing down trash mobs in some game; it’s actually killing sentient beings, and not even ones that are trying to kill you. Like Sam said, you’re basically giving murderers a chance to go nuts and rewarding them for killing. It’s fucking psychotic.”
[Nero] Perhaps, but it is also thrilling entertainment and, as you point out, Pete, that is precisely the point of the Dominion Ultrimax competition.
“Well, it’s fucking sick! What kind of diseased mind thinks shit like this up in the first place?!”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Sam agreed, steering the truck around a group of cars that had crashed into one another.
[Nero-Private-Group] Please guard your words, friends. Remember that everything you say is being closely monitored. While a little exasperation is both understandable and welcomed, the System will not tolerate outright aggressive language against either the Tongsly Belch Corporation, the Baron himself, or the System.
[Pete-Private-Group] What about this channel? Can they hear what we say in here?”
[Nero-Private-Group] No. I have set up a localized channel just for this purpose. Provided you speak within the confines of this chat, our words will not be overheard. I also have a scrubber running every few seconds to erase all records of this communication. There may still be a way for the System to intercept and uncover our words; however, provided we do not excessively use this channel, it should remain effective.
Sam grinned. “Well, gosh, I don’t know about you, Pete, but I, for one, absolutely love this contest. I think the challenges are awesome, and the fact that some murderous bastard could sneak up on us in our sleep and slit our throats is fantastic! What great entertainment!”
Pete couldn’t help chuckling.
[Sam-Private] Too much?
[Pete-Private] Yeah, just a little.
“Okay, well, it looks like the storm is starting to slow a little,” Sam said. “Not much, but at least it’s not gaining on us anymore.” She looked down at the dashboard. “We’ve got another problem, though. This truck is almost out of gas, so we’re gonna need to find some more soon.”
Pete nodded. “I figure the gas stations won’t be an option?”
“I doubt it,” Sam replied. “Nero?”
[Nero] Any gas stations that had humans inside or near the structure would have been locked down as part of the Novice stage of the contest. Those inside will now be working off their debt to the Tongsly Belch Corporation on their workstations.
Pete shook his head. “Damn, that’s a miserable existence. Being stuck in a gas station sitting at a terminal for hours on end.”
“Does it really make a difference, though? I mean, even if you’re at home, you’re still a prisoner.”
[Nero] By way of clarification, those humans who are currently working off their debts are not prisoners but are rather employees with the Tongsly Belch Corporation. At present, they are classed as contingent workers, but they are still afforded most of the benefits provided to regular employees. Every employee is entitled to regular bathroom and refreshment breaks, and workdays are restricted to fourteen hours. Entertainment is provided in the form of access to the contest feeds at a reduced price, and all other needs are met.
“But they can’t walk outside whenever they want,” Sam said. “They can’t go to the store and buy a jumbo pack of Cheetos, or go for a bike ride, or take their dog for a walk. That’s a prison, dude. What you’re describing is a prison.”
“And what about all the people who were caught outside of buildings and turned to dust when the contest started?” Pete asked. “They didn’t even get that chance. Just wiped out in a second without any chance of surviving.”
“At least in prison, there’s a chance of getting out,” Coop added.
[Nero] While I can certainly appreciate your perspective on the matter, I will reiterate that all humans who are not players in the Dominion Ultrimax Competition are contingent workers under the employ of the Tongsly Belch Corporation and not—
“We get it,” Pete said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just figure out a way to get more gas. We need some hose and a gas can, and then we should be in business.”
“Hose shouldn’t be an issue,” Sam said, pointing over at the front yard of a nearby house. “Looks like we can get to the yards even though we can’t go inside any of the houses.”
>> NEW QUEST: Solve your Liquidity Problem!
Your pickup truck’s tank is drier than a goblin’s savings account after the final stage of the annual Tongsly Belch Betting Bonanza! To keep those wheels rolling, you’ll need to acquire a gas can and a siphon pipe. Locate abandoned vehicles, drain ‘em dry, and prove that fuel is just another form of liquid currency.
QUEST REWARD: Jerry Can of Limited Holding
TIME LIMIT: Ideally, before your truck splutters to a halt.
“Gas cans are probably gonna be a little trickier,” Pete reasoned. “Unless we can get into a few garages.”
“Okay, there’s a row of houses over there. Let’s grab what we can find. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find something to hold the gas in.”
She pulled the car off the main road and onto a smaller street that led to the row of houses. The shimmering green force field that surrounded each building seemed to be limited to the structures themselves, but several had garages that jutted out of the shielded area.
Sam stopped the truck by the curb, and Pete opened the door and stepped out, leaving Coop behind as he ran to the yard. It felt like a strange kind of violation, traipsing through someone’s front yard and pinching their hose. It was absurd given that every other human on the planet was locked indoors other than those caught up in the contest, but Pete still felt a twinge of guilt as he ran around to the side of the house and pulled the garden hose from the faucet.
He moved out to the center of the front yard again and pulled the machete from his inventory, resting it against the ground and then pressing one section of the hose against it. He could have sliced through the hose with one deft swing of the machete, he supposed, but that would mean sticking it on the ground, and he knew that odds were he’d be the one siphoning petrol through the tube, so he’d prefer to have it dirt-free if he could.
The machete was still remarkably sharp despite the battering it had encountered during his recent fights and doubtless before. It sliced through the hose with relative ease, and Pete marked out roughly six feet of length and then cut the hose a second time.
He paused for a moment, hunched over the machete.
“You got it?” Sam asked, the driver’s window of the truck wound down.
“Yeah. Just give me a minute.”
Pete cut a second and third length of hose, repeating the exercise until he had three lengths in total. He dropped them all into his inventory and left the rest of the hose on the ground, reasoning that a length of hose like that might come in handy somewhere down the track. He had no clear indication that this would be the case from everything he’d seen so far, but something inside suggested that gathering even vaguely useful items would be a good idea.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Nero, how much will it cost to expand my inventory so that I can hold, I don’t know, 1000 items?”
[Nero] You will need to approach a Vendo-o-matic machine to get an accurate price. Now that the game is completely underway, you will find that prices fluctuate depending on availability and the whims of the market.
Pete moved to the side of the yard, looking to see if he could get into the garage but found that it was blocked off by the translucent green Barrier. He made a mental note to acquire more storage space as soon as they found another vending machine, once again understanding on some instinctual level that he was going to need that space before long.
He tried three more houses until he found a garage where the door was open and that was technically a free-standing room outside of the main house, so the green barrier surrounding the main building didn’t close it off. The first item of interest in the garage was a car, a relatively new Honda which, thankfully, ran on gas.
Pete couldn’t find a gas can anywhere in the garage, but he did find several items that might prove useful in the future and began placing them all into his inventory.
>> NEW INVENTORY ITEMS:
+| Roll of duct tape x 2
+| Prybar x 1
+| Box of nails x 1 [200+ nails]
+| Pair of pliers x 1
+| Small propane tank x 1
+| Length of rope [20ft]
+| Small set of screwdrivers [6 pcs]
“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asked, hands on hips as she stood at the entrance of the garage. “We need gas! This isn’t a garage sale!”
Pete nodded, returning to the side of the car with the pry bar and jamming it against the edge of the gas tank flap.
“Sorry. I just found a bunch of stuff that might be useful later on, so I figured I’d take it.”
“I know,” Sam said with a grin. “Because I get a ping every time you add something to your inventory. All of us can see exactly what you’re picking up.”
“Shit! Really?”
[Nero] your current privacy settings do not restrict party members from seeing which items you add to your inventory, Pete. If you like, you could adjust these settings so that this does not occur.
“No, it’s fine. I mean, there’s no harm in you guys seeing what I pick up. I just didn’t realize, that’s all.”
He pulled back on the pry bar, and the flap snapped open, revealing a plastic cap inside.
“Well, I’m updating my settings,” Sam said. “Because I sure as hell don’t want to get a ping every time you scratch your ass or pick up a roll of duct tape. It’s bad enough how many notifications we get already. This is driving me nuts!”
Pete undid the fuel cap and let it dangle from a thin plastic cord as he pulled one of the hose lengths from his inventory and stuck one end into the gas tank.
“You find a gas can in this place?” Sam asked.
He shook his head. “Nah, but I found these.” He pointed to the three empty Dr. Pepper bottles sitting on the ground nearby. “Should give us enough gas to get us out of trouble.”
Sam frowned down at the bottles but didn’t object as he pulled one closer, took a deep breath, and prepared to suck on the hose. It took a little while to get the gas flowing, and Pete ended up with half a mouthful of the stuff as he splattered and spat and jammed the end of the hose into one of the bottles.
It took a little time to get into a rhythm, but eventually he and Sam figured out the most efficient way of siphoning the gas and depositing it in the truck’s gas tank. This involved building a makeshift funnel with another empty Dr. Pepper bottle, but within a relatively short space of time they’d managed to fill the truck’s tank a third of the way.
As Pete stood and stretched his back, Sam returned from the truck holding an empty bottle and pointing to her right.
>> QUEST COMPLETED: Solve your Liquidity Problem!
Well done, you siphoned enough gas to keep that beat-up old truck running. Just one more impressive milestone in a list of thrilling accomplishments on your journey to certain death!
QUEST REWARD: Jerry Can of Limited Holding
As the reward item appeared in front of them, Sam frowned down at the empty Dr. Pepper bottle and tossed it aside.
>> ITEM ACQUIRED: Jerry Can of Limited Holding
RARITY: Green
TYPE: Storage / Currency-Sink Container
DESCRIPTION:
A battered red can, its metal warped with strange glyphs and faint coin sigils. The Jerry Can of Limited Holding looks like any old fuel container, but its interior is bound by liquidity wards, allowing it to store up to 3x the normal capacity of any liquid. However, the goblin artificers who built it weren’t about to give that convenience away for free.
To use its special capacity, you must “pay to pour.” The can’s mouth is engraved with a slot for Belch Bucks, the system’s greasy coinage, which fuels the magical compression inside.
>> BASE STATS:
+| Capacity (Standard): 1x normal liquid volume (no cost).
+| Capacity (Enhanced): Up to 3x normal liquid volume (requires unlock via Belch Bucks).
+| Weight: Always weighs the same as a normal, empty can, no matter how full.
>> MECHANICS
+| Unlock Cost: 50 Belch Bucks to activate the compression enchantment permanently.
+| Filling Cost: For every liquid stored (gas, water, oil, blood, etc.), the Jerry Can demands a surcharge.
+| Gasoline: 5 Belch Bucks per gallon stored.
+| Water: 1 Belch Buck per gallon stored.
+| Exotic Liquids (acid, ichor, alchemic fuel): 10–25 Belch Bucks per gallon.
>> USAGE LIMITS
Can only be used once per day.
“Alright then,” Sam said, picking up the Jerry Can and paying the required price to fill it full of gas. “I guess this solves our gas problem.”
Pete watched as the Jerry Can shimmered with golden light for a moment. He could sense the outsized weight of gas contained within, but, true to the item description, it weighed the same as an empty can, something that Sam demonstrated by lifting it up to shoulder level without difficulty.
“Gonna keep this in my inventory,” she said. “So we don’t accidentally leave the damned thing somewhere or get robbed.”
Pete nodded as the Jerry Can vanished. “Job done then, I guess.”
They had just begun walking back to the front of the property when the sound of thunder rose again, drawing their attention to the distant storm. The sky above hadn’t changed, however, and the storm seemed to be sitting in exactly the same spot it was a moment ago. The thunderous sound swelled and then grew a little quieter, distinct from what the storm had sounded like earlier.
“It hasn’t moved,” Sam said, checking her Novice Area map. “The storm is still where it was just before.”
Pete closed his eyes, listening in an effort to determine exactly what it was they were hearing. There was something eerily familiar about the sound, something that reminded him of the hobgoblins that had attacked earlier.
“I don’t think that’s thunder,” he said. “I think another hobgoblin gang is coming towards us.”
Sam checked the map again, shifting the display so that it hovered in front of both of them.
“I can’t see any enemies though,” she reasoned. “Nero, is there any reason why I wouldn’t be able to see enemies on the map?”
[Nero] Some enemies are able to hide themselves by means of stealth or camouflage. But there is also a limit to the range of this map. While you will be able to see the Novice Arena and any vending machines in the entire area, the map typically only picks up enemies when they come within a certain range.
Pete was about to ask what range that might be when he and Sam caught sight of a dozen red dots suddenly blinking to life on the map. They were moving fast, faster than the hobgoblins had moved in their strange vehicles.
“Whatever they are, they’re going to be here in under a minute,” Sam said. “We need to go!”
They ran back to the truck and spotted Coop sitting on the bonnet of the vehicle, staring through the windshield at the hellhound sitting with its mouth hanging open, tongue lolling, eyes swirling with demonic crimson light.
“Get in the truck, Coop!” Pete shouted as he and Sam drew close.
“Not until that demon dog gets back in his box!” she barked, still staring daggers through the window.
As he drew up to the side of the truck, he reached out and scooped the ferret as Sam shooed Wolfy into the back seat. They all piled back into the vehicle, and Sam turned the ignition key.
The truck spluttered, the engine turning over but not starting.
Pete grinned. “If you’re trying to build suspense, I think we’re already good.”
Sam snorted in response, trying to start the engine again as the truck chugged and shuddered. She tried again, pumping the gas pedal as the vehicle spluttered. Outside, the thunderous sound changed slightly, and Pete recognized the rumbling of engines. It sounded like a group of motorbike-riding gang members was bearing down on them from up ahead. Exhausts roared, and Pete spotted a cloud of dust up ahead, coming from the direction of the noise.
“Come on, you bastard!” Sam hissed, taking a deep breath and trying once more.
The unmistakable staccato rhythm of an automatic firearm cut through the air as the ground up ahead began to spark with lines of bulletfire.
“Fuck!” Pete blurted, pulling his bow from his inventory and very quickly realizing that there wasn’t enough room in the cabin for him to draw the weapon, let alone effectively loose an arrow.
He quickly dropped the bow back into his inventory as the gunfire continued and a dozen dark shapes came into focus in the distance. Bullet fire ricocheted off the road, with projectiles pinging left and right, bouncing off the nearby shielded houses and peppering letterboxes and parked cars.
The truck finally roared to life and bucked forward as Sam shoved her boot down against the accelerator pedal. Tires screeched as the truck skidded forward, bullet fire puncturing the side panels of the vehicle and punching holes through several windows.
Coop screamed, calling her shield and bursting it a moment later as an errant bullet shot into the cabin. The bursting shield slammed against Pete, crushing him against the car door with enough force to knock the wind out of him. Blood spurted from his nose as the roaring of vehicles grew louder and the truck and surrounding street were peppered with a hail of bullets.
Through bleary eyes, he stared out the window as several vehicles roared past. Only they weren’t just vehicles, not in the traditional sense at least. It might have been the fact that he’d been crushed against the interior of the cabin a moment earlier, or the fact that he was being shot at from all sides, but it looked to Pete as though those were humans moving at speed past the truck.
Humans.
They were upright, with big wheels fixed to their legs as though a bunch of Segways and riders had been fused together to form some kind of machine-human hybrid. There were metal spikes jutting from the wheels, along with metallic fenders that looked to have been fixed to each person.
Worse, handlebars were jutting out of their ears, and each of the bizarre vehicles housed a small goblin rider seated on a chopper-style high-backed seat just behind each human head. There were guns mounted on the foreheads of each figure, which were firing sporadic bursts. The goblins were dressed in black leathers, all sporting red bandanas and shouting and whooping, fists in the air as their strange human-hybrid vehicles roared past.
The truck survived the initial onslaught, roaring forward as the gang of goblin bikers they had just charged into turned around and started following after. Sam turned to Pete, eyes wide with concern.
“You saw that, right?”
He nodded, spinning around to look through the rear window and spotting the dozen or so human hybrid bikes spinning around and coming after them as bullets pinged off the back of the truck.
No. Not bullets.
Pete turned around and spotted one of the projectiles jutting out of the front windscreen, cracked glass webbing outwards from the impact point. He reached forward and plucked the twisted Belch Buck from the windshield. It was warm to the touch and badly bent but still recognizable.
He dropped the coin into his inventory and spun around again, noting that Coop had crawled up on the back of the seat and was peering out at the enemy as well. They both watched as the ridiculous human bikes roared forward, quickly gaining on the truck, guns continuing to fire.
“Nero, what the fuck are these things?!” Pete asked as a spray of Belch Bucks slammed into the rear of the truck, prompting him to duck back and slump down in his chair.
[Nero] Noob Riders. A savage group of goblins who hunt new players and debase them by transforming their victims into rideable mounts and vehicles. They incorporate such vehicles into their particular brand of warfare, delighting in the misery of those unfortunate souls they manage to capture and transform in this manner. Here, I will show you what details exist within the System codex.
Another barrage of bullet fire hit the truck from behind, one stray projectile crashing through the rear window and shooting right into the front cabin, burying itself in the dashboard. Sam looked down at the Belch Buck, glowing red as it sat half stuck in the dashboard.
“Shit!” she cried out, looking up and turning the truck sharply to one side to avoid an abandoned car directly ahead.
>> NON GLADITORIAL CAPITALIST [NPC]
TITLE: Noob Riders
ROLE: Chaos Merchants
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil
LOCATION: Random contest areas
>> DESCRIPTION:
The Noob Riders capture, enslave, and “convert” new players into grotesque, makeshift vehicles and then employ these vehicles to travel throughout the contest grounds and fight enemies. Using jury-rigged augmetics, cursed rigging harnesses, and exploitative coding hacks, the goblins reshape their victims into rideable contraptions. Once converted, a noob becomes both transport and weapon platform, forced to carry their goblin rider into raids, races, and battles.
>> CONVERSION PROCESS:
Victim ‘noobs’ are fitted with a Hacker’s Bridle (a parasitic implant that hijacks the player’s movement inputs), after which various scrap grafts (wheels, handlebars, exhaust pipes, etc.) are fitted to the victim’s body. Players are then fitted with crude projectile weaponry (often a jury-rigged coin-launcher) that is bolted to the victim’s body and used in combat.
Noob vehicles constructed in this manner come in a variety of sizes and shapes (depending on the noob species and preferred manner of movement); however, Noob Riders prefer vehicle configurations that allow them to sit high up on their victims so as to get a clearer vantage of the battlefield.
The victims themselves are kept alive throughout the process, and their minds and bodies are fitted with parasitic batteries, feedback dampeners, and auto-heal subroutines that prevent death but never dull the pain—ensuring they remain functional, obedient mounts for the Noob Riders’ chaotic battles.
>> BEHAVIOR:
Noob Riders operate as predators, swarming the outskirts of starter zones and pouncing on unsuspecting players the moment they stray too far from safety. Their first strike usually involves a Weaponized Loot Lure—a device that projects false treasure drops to bait noobs closer before the ambush. Once captured, victims are stripped of their goods, broken down, and “refitted” into grotesque mounts.
Beyond ambushes, the Noob Riders thrive on spectacle. They race their enslaved noobs in high-stakes contests during the Dominion Ultrimax Competition, wagering coin and pride on the durability of their warped steeds. When a mount grows too slow or too mangled, it’s sold off in the black-market showrooms, where broken players fetch a tidy profit among collectors and sadists.
“Damn,” Pete said as the information dropped away. “I mean…DAMN! These guys are psychos.”
[Nero] Indeed. So much so that they were banned from the game several seasons ago as their methods were deemed ‘too unsavory’ for entertainment purposes. It is only recently that they have been permitted to resurface; however, it seems that little has been done to curtail their unsavory practices.
“Alright, so how do we kill them!” Sam shouted as another barrage of gunfire tore through the back of the truck.
[Nero] While they are gifted with all manner of technology, Noob Riders themselves are just as vulnerable to attack as any other goblin. They will use their vehicles as shields and weapons, however, so you will need to be prepared that it may not be possible to kill the goblins without also destroying their human hosts. That is part of the reason why Noob Riders are so feared and dreaded.
Pete was about to offer a reply when a sound suspiciously like the popping of a tire came from the rear of the truck, and it suddenly veered to one side. The truck was jolted violently before turning sharply and hitting something that launched it up into the air, sending Coop flying through the cabin, screaming, with her claws splaying and Sam’s hellhound barking excitedly as it tumbled about in the rear cabin.