The larger of the two stood about a head taller than Pete, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. The other man was just shy of short but boasted a frame covered in lean muscle. The pair started piling a troubling array of weaponry onto the trays. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, grenades, and even a rocket launcher were among the firearms they produced.
"Holy shit!" Ollie said.
Pete scanned the numbers above each of the players, noting that, between them, they'd killed over thirty players. It confirmed to Pete that they hadn't simply been forced into the Reaver class but had obviously chosen that path. These were killers, pure and simple, and the Ultrimax Contest simply gave them an excuse to do what they had always wanted to do. It wasn't about survival for these brutes. It was about the thrill of hunting and killing their own kind.
"Take a picture; it'll last longer!" the shorter of the pair said with a disarming smile.
He left the tray and walked up to Pete, still smiling and pointing a finger at the other man.
"You're the Vault Breaker, right? The one that's been giving it to the System and stirring up trouble?"
Taken aback by the cordial nature of the Reaver's words, Pete stumbled over a reply.
"Ah, yeah."
The other man clapped his hands together.
"Hot damn. I knew it." He turned to his partner. "Hey, Ralph! It's him. I told you so."
The other man grunted and pulled what looked like a samurai sword from his inventory.
"Name's Carl," the shorter Reaver said, extending a hand. "Originally from Louisiana, but Ralph and I haven't been home in a long while."
Pete shook the other man's hand, still unsure of exactly how to proceed given the nature of Carl's class.
"I heard you were in some kind of car race," Carl said. "Saw something about it on the feeds."
Sam stepped forward, Wolfy suddenly by her side, growling. She pointed to the crimson numbers floating above his head.
"Says there you killed thirteen players, and the contest has only been going for two days. How'd you manage that?"
Carl shrugged. "Luck mostly. Plus, Ralph and I both have military experience, and we're both hunters from way back, so that helped." He turned to face the other man. "Big boy was carting a load of weaponry to a gun show right when those metal shards fell from the sky, so by the time we caught up with one another, we were already loaded up with guns and ammo."
He threw a thumb over his shoulder. "He's my brother. I forgot to mention that. Little brother, if you can believe it."
The big brute finished dropping the last of his weapons onto the tray and wandered over, putting an arm around Carl's shoulder and pulling him in close.
"My big brother," Ralph said with a broad grin. "Always lookin' out for me."
Sam looked sidelong at Pete, utterly bemused.
"So," she said, "you don't have any problems killing other humans? We're fighting for the survival of our species, and you're both fine with killing off other players?"
Carl shrugged. "Well, the truth is we kind of just lucked into it to begin with. I was tryin' to find Ralph here, but before I could get to him, some bastard tried to put a bullet between my eyes. He missed; we struggled; and I took his gun. While he was beggin' for mercy, he told me about the Reaver class and all the perks you get with it. He said he was just trying to get back to his family in Idaho. Said he didn't have anything against me, but he couldn't see any other way to get back home."
Coop looked up at the man from beside Pete, her eyes narrowed.
"And did you let him go?"
"Guy tried to blow my head off. So, no, I didn't let him go. I killed him. Took anything of value that he had and started figuring out how this Reaver class works."
There was no remorse in his voice, no hint of guilt or the sense that he'd done anything wrong. His larger brother turned, looking with interest at the flashing lights and stalls that sat beyond the checkpoint.
Carl held up his hands in surrender. "Look, I get it. You're wondering what kind of freak kills another man without a thought and then goes on to kill a bunch more. But that's the thing. They weren't people; they were players. This whole thing is a game, and we're all just rats running around in their maze."
He pointed at Craig as he said that last part.
"My brother and I are gonna do whatever we need to do to survive, and if that means smoking a bunch of other players, then that's what we're gonna do."
"They're still humans," Sam insisted. "And however you justify it, you're both killers."
Carl turned to face her, still smiling.
"We're killers, sure, but so are you. Doesn't matter whether you've killed humans or goblins, or any other sentient species. Killing is killing." He tilted his head to one side, frowning. "Or are you saying that a human life is worth more than a goblin life?"
"I'm saying that there's no excuse for killing your own kind, particularly when you've got other options." Sam slapped a hand against her chest while Wolfy growled beside her. "We killed because we didn't have a choice, and we didn't kill any humans."
Carl pointed a finger at Ollie.
"He did. Look, you can see it on his tally."
All eyes turned to the space above Ollie's head. Among the impressively high numbers of green kills was a small red skull with the number four next to it.
"Zombies," Ollie said. "So, they don't count."
Carl chuckled. "Whatever, dude. Point is, there's no difference whether you're killing players or enemies or NPCs or whatever. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. It's as simple as that."
He turned to Pete. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you in person, Vault Breaker." He threw a thumb over his shoulder. "Who knows, maybe I'll catch up with you sometime in the game."
The two Reavers turned and walked through the checkpoint scanner while Pete and his crew watched them. Wolfy was still growling, and Pete could feel that everyone in the party had tensed up.
"Was it just me," Coop said, "or did that last part sound like a veiled threat?"
Pete nodded. "Yeah, it was a threat all right. From memory, Reavers also have a bunch of skills to help them track other players, right, Nero?"
[Nero] That is correct, Pete. Reavers are granted skills that specifically aid in the hunting of fellow players. They are provided with far more advanced maps that indicate not only the identity and location of other players but also their relative strengths and vulnerabilities. They are either granted enhanced stealth capacities or greater survival skills as part of their subclass selection.
"Great," Sam said, throwing her hands up in the air. "As if we didn't have enough shit to worry about, now we've got Tweedledum and Tweedledee hunting us."
"We'll be fine," Pete said, pulling his bow out of his inventory and approaching a nearby tray. "It's not like the System hasn't thrown everything it has at us so far. A couple of Reavers is just another obstacle we need to get around."
"An obstacle with a hell of a lot of guns and some kind of sick desire to kill humans," Sam added.
Pete placed the bow and his machete into the tray, and the others did the same with their own weapons. While they did so, the hobgoblin standing nearby continued issuing instructions.
"You're permitted to carry shields, protective amulets, and any non-offensive items into the foyer, but if you use them to harm another player or NPC in any way, or to damage Dominion Ultrimax property, there will be severe consequences."
Pete was the first to walk up to the scanner. The hobgoblin nodded and smiled as he passed by.
"Welcome, Vault Breaker. Enjoy your time in the foyer and the best of luck to you and your party in the arena."
"Ah, thanks," Pete replied uncertainly, walking up to the scanner.
The object looked like any other scanner he might encounter at an airport, but it was far bulkier and larger than any that Pete had encountered before. As he stepped into the scanning zone, he understood why the scanner was so large.
To the left and right, glass panels showed dozens of tiny, horned figures working away at computer terminals, flicking switches, and turning knobs as they stared at a variety of tiny screens. The creatures were all only about five inches tall, with pale skin and large, dark eyes, and with short, nubby horns on their heads. They were all dressed in identical gray uniforms with the Belch Buck symbol embroidered in gold on the right side of the chest.
The tiny figures seemed intent on their work, but they all wore scowls, and it looked like several of them were smoking. Next to the small workstations where they conducted their scanning activities, there were a series of shelves with a range of different trinkets and curious objects lined up next to one another. As he leaned in close, he saw a button, a pin, and a bottle cap resting on a shelf near the closest creature.
There was a carefully painted little sign beneath each of the objects with a title written in black and gold ink, along with several unintelligible symbols. Each title was prefaced with the word "hooman," and each described the pilfered item in a way that wasn't quite right.
Hooman Round Tie
Hooman Jabby Jab
Hooman Crimped Toppy Top
In front of each object was a series of small earthenware containers with what looked like joss sticks burning in them, thin wisps of incense smoke rising upwards from the objects.
[Pete] What the hell is this, Nero?
[Nero] Scroungeling Imps. They are highly prized as security workers because of their affinity with technology, their superior reasoning abilities, and their capacity to work without a break for many hours.
While he was staring at the small creature, the Imp turned away from its screen and what looked like an x-ray of Pete's left foot. The little figure promptly turned around, pulled its pants down, and pressed the tiny peach of its bare ass against the glass. It then started sliding up and down, squishing its butt cheeks against the glass as it turned to face Pete, a broad grin on its face.
[Nero] Unfortunately, their manners are somewhat lacking, and they tend to have filthy tongues. For this reason, they are typically forbidden from speaking directly with players or other NPCs.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Pete couldn't help but smile as he moved on, spotting dozens of the little figures all working away at their stations, screens showing different parts of Pete's body or rows of data.
[Nero] In this instance, they are not simply checking for security concerns. These detail scans are instead used to assist the System in calibrating future details of the contest to your biological and psychological qualities. Essentially, they are analyzing every aspect of your physical and mental being and comparing it to scans that were taken when you first picked up the orb and commenced as a player. They are assessing your adaptation rate, checking what physiological changes have occurred in the short time you have taken part in the contest, ensuring correct alignment of your attributes and skills, and so on.
[Pete] And the joss sticks?
[Nero] Oh yes. They are also quite religious. They venerate certain objects that can be found within a host world and elevate those objects to godhood by means of a long series of rituals and constant prayers. Each imp will choose a certain number of mundane objects and essentially bet that those objects will eventually become vital to the final moments of the Dominion Ultrimax Contest. The button you saw, for example, could represent a key moment where a bullet is diverted by a button and a hero survives, triumphing and entering the professional league. If that occurred, it would confirm to that imp that it had made the correct choice in recognizing the inner godhood of the object.
[Pete] Sounds batshit crazy.
[Nero] It is a complex and rather contradictory religion that derives from ancient traditions the imps held prior to being conquered by the Dominion. In their old worlds, the religion made more sense, but they have been forced to adapt to the Dominion and the new circumstances in which they find themselves. It is believed that those who bet correctly on mundane objects that will eventually prove to be important are granted exceedingly good luck.
Pete continued walking through the scanner, fascinated by the small creatures and the various objects they'd scavenged, which now sat in places of honor on their little shelves. Aside from the agitated imp that had mooned him, Pete wasn't noticed by any of the other imps. They simply went about their work, joss sticks burning behind them, screens showing a range of complex data.
[Pete] I guess I just thought all this System and game stuff was just like magic, but it looks like there are a bunch of creatures working behind the scenes.
[Nero] Advanced technology can feel like magic to those who do not understand how it functions. You are right, though. There are a lot of hands and minds involved behind the scenes, helping the game progress. These are largely hidden from the feeds, however, and the illusion of a seamless process is maintained wherever possible.
He passed through the scanner and waited for the others in the party to follow. They each noticed the imps, and Grizzle in particular, seemed quite perturbed by the sight.
"To live in such cramped conditions," she said, turning back to face the scanner. "It's just not right. They should be roaming free, allowed to pursue their own path instead of being enslaved to a machine."
Craig chuckled at that. "Have you seen them in the wild? They spend all day rutting and throwing excrement at one another or inventing new kinds of insults. Besides, I think they like the cramped conditions. We used to find nests of them in mines now and then. Hundreds of them all crammed together in tiny little caves, worshiping their trinkets. They were identified as a minor biohazard because of their habit of throwing shit at miners."
"At least they were free. Here, they're nothing more than cogs in a machine."
"We used to have to flag a nest whenever we found one," Craig continued. "They'd send out a cleaning crew to deal with it, and we had to stop work while we waited. They became a symbol of bad luck in the mines. If you came across a Scroungeling during the course of your day, it would likely mean a bad week, even a bad month. They were a curse on our profession."
Grizzle put a hand on Craig's shoulder. "A profession that was itself a form of slavery. You should never have been forced to work in the mines, and these creatures should never have been forced to work in this machine."
Craig rolled his eyes. "And the sun should always shine, and our people should be recognized appropriately for the work of their hands." He looked at Grizzle, sorrow in his eyes. "All fine in principle, Grizzle, but that is not the reality of the Dominion."
"It can be if enough of us choose The Path of the Penniless—"
"No!" Craig snapped. He closed his eyes, softening his tone a little as he continued. "The Path is no less a lie than anything else the Company manufactures, Grizzle. It is simply another means of controlling us. It doesn't solve anything; it simply allows the Company to present the facade of rebellion, a rebellion that they can easily control. The Path is a joke. They bet on how many of us will live and die each time we—"
"There is often truth in jokes," Grizzle said, smiling.
"More importantly," Coop said, padding up alongside the pair. "Where the hell is the food! I'm starving."
"We still have a bunch of food we bought from a vending machine," Sam said.
"Something fresh," Coop countered. "There must be a hundred different restaurants and fast-food joints in this place. We need to find one that sells proper food, like mice or pigeons or something like that. They need to be alive too."
The group turned to face the little ferret.
"What?" she said. "The ferret wants what the ferret wants. I can't help it that I'm stuck in a body that craves fresh meat."
Despite the distastefulness of what she was suggesting, Pete felt his stomach growl and realized that he was also hungry.
"Okay, so we'll get some food and take a look around. Looks like we've got just under three hours to explore and then we need to get ready to leave."
He pointed up at the huge fluorescent orange countdown clock hanging just below the roof and likely visible from everywhere in the foyer building.
>> TIME TO ARENA START: 02:47
"What about our soulbound weapons?" Sam asked.
[Nero] There is a tent at the center of the foyer where players select their soulbound weapons. There is usually a rush early on, so I'd suggest waiting at least an hour or so before approaching the tent; otherwise, you will be waiting in line for some time.
"Food first," Coop said. "Then weapons."
"Agreed," Sam confirmed.
Pete looked around at the various stalls, tents, and buildings. Some sold clothing, others sold contest merchandise, and there was even a large stall that had hundreds of small, ugly-looking dolls on display. For some reason, Ollie's eyes were fixed on that stall. Pete made a mental note to ask about that but turned his attention to the nearest alleyway, which boasted restaurants and food stalls on either side.
"What are we thinking, food-wise?"
"Belch Burger," Ollie said, pointing over at the McDonald's knockoff.
"Agreed," Sam said.
Pete looked around at the others and received a series of shrugs and nods. The decision made, he led the way to the gaudy restaurant and walked inside. Like every other fast-food joint he'd been inside, it immediately felt humid and sticky, as though every surface was covered with the remnants of poorly cleaned sauces, grease, and fat. The tables and chairs looked like they were all made of hard plastic, and he could already feel the stickiness on their surface.
At the back of the store, a large, illuminated menu showed dozens of different options.
+| The Belch Classic: Two compressed beef units, processed cheese analogue, ledger-lettuce, and mandatory sauce on a softened asset bun. [Market Value]
+| The High Baron Stack: Triple patty, gold-foil wrapper, executive bacon strips, and a surcharge you can feel in your back teeth. [Market Value]
+| Quarter-Pound of Interest: A thick burger that gains +1 Grease per bite and compounds regret over time. [Market Value]
+|Golden Yield Fries: Fried in reused oil and sprinkled with shareholder salt.
"Man, they're really stretching the whole money thing too far," Ollie mused.
There were dozens of other items on the board, including several bundled meals that came with extras. Pete scanned the list, looking for something that might include a lasting buff, but it seemed as though nothing on offer would last until they entered the arena.
+| High Baron's Tribute Combo includes:
The Belch Classic
Golden Yield Fries
Zero-Sum Cola
Tongsly Belch Action Figurine: A glorious, miniature likeness of the High Baron in gilded armor, clutching a coin-scepter and wearing a 'removable smile of benevolent governance' which can be swapped with a 'frown of stern disappointment.' [Frown sold separately] The figurine gains a buff of +2% smugness whenever it is traded for greater value than its former worth.
+| Belch Buck Bonanza includes:
The High Baron Stack
Golden Yield Fries
Zero-Sum Cola
Belch Apple Pie
Belch Burger Golden Buck: A solid [faux] gold, collectible Belch Buck [not legal currency], featuring the face of our beloved leader on one side and your own face on the other! Astound your friends and stoke the jealousy of your competitors with this one-of-a-kind limited edition, unexchangeable, non-refundable, collectible coin! [Cannot be traded or sold unless an unlock fee of 5000 Belch Bucks is paid]
On and on the combinations went, growing increasingly less about food and more about the various collectibles and trading options available with each meal. Some of the combinations included coupons, which offered a percentage discount on additional Belch Burger purchases, guaranteeing a discount on whatever the market value was at a given time. After a while, it became difficult to find the actual food items on the menu.
Pete approached the counter where a thoroughly unimpressed hobgoblin in a too-small uniform stood wearing a Belch Burger t-shirt, apron, and hat. The figure also wore a crooked name tag with the name Magrot written on it.
"Welcome to Belch Burger, how may I service your request for sustenance?" the hulking figure asked, eyes half closed as though they were either stoned or mind-numbingly bored with their lot in life.
"Ah, yeah," Pete said. "It doesn't look like there are any prices on the meals?"
"Prices fluctuate depending on the market," Magrot replied. "Once you've placed your order, you will see a total cost along with a breakdown of current pricing for each item. All orders must be paid for within a two-minute period; otherwise, the market value will be reacquired."
Pete turned and saw the bewildered faces of his party, along with a flood of new customers who had just entered the building and were heading to the front counter. He turned back to the hobgoblin.
"Right, well then I guess we'll have seven Belch Classic burgers, seven fries, seven colas, and seven apple pies."
The hobgoblin tapped the console in front of him. "Would you like a low-interest loan with that?"
Pete frowned. "What?"
"For just an extra ten Belch Bucks I can offer you a small loan from the Tongsly Belch Finance Division, with a competitive interest rate that is currently sitting at..." Magrot tapped at the screen in front of him and read the details. "Thirty-five percent, compounded annually, for loans up to twenty thousand Belch Bucks."
Pete shook his head. "Just the food, thanks. How much does it all come to?"
"Three hundred eighty Belch Bucks," the hobgoblin said as a payment screen popped to life in front of Pete. "Just place your hand on the payment scanner and funds will be deducted from your wallet."
Ollie chuckled. "Fucking highway robbery. Nearly four hundred Bucks for fucking lunch?!"
Pete paid the price, and the scanner beeped, showing the funds that had been taken out of his wallet.
"Ask about the rats!" Coop said. "Or mice or pigeons. I'll even take a lizard if they've got one."
Pete rolled his eyes. "My friend here wants to know if you sell live rats or anything like that."
The hobgoblin looked down at the ferret, brow heavily furrowed. He blinked, then turned around. "I'll check with my manager."
He waddled out around the back, and a small goblin dressed in a similar uniform moved into view. Pete couldn't hear the conversation, but he got the gist of what was being said as the hobgoblin pointed to Pete and mimed an eating gesture. The goblin looked over, clearly confused. A moment later he gave the hulking figure instructions, and the hobgoblin lumbered back to the front counter.
"My manager says that we don't sell live rodents, but we've got a bunch of rats down at the back of the kitchen if you want to catch them. He says he'll give you a free box of Belch Biscuits for every rat you kill and eat."
"Lead the way!" Coop said, jumping up onto the counter and following as the hobgoblin led her through to the kitchen.
Meanwhile, another hobgoblin prepared the order, slamming down hastily wrapped burgers, cartons of fries, and the other items onto a large plastic tray and managing not to make eye contact throughout the entire process. Once they were done, Pete picked up the tray, and the group headed to a nearby table.
"Should have only ordered six of everything," he mused as they all sat and Sam started dividing the food.
"All good," Ollie said. "I'll take whatever anyone else doesn't want."
"How about we split Coop's food up evenly?" Sam suggested, scowling over at Ollie. "Then you can mop up whatever is left when we've all finished eating."
Ollie missed her tone entirely. "Sounds good."
The food was greasy but flavorful. The sugar rush from the sauce was enough to make Pete's head spin, and he wondered how bad the crash would be or whether his newly enhanced body would be able to deal with things like that better than in the past.
"After this, beers," Ollie said. "I saw a place a little way up the alley that looked like it has a bunch of options. Some kind of microbrewery it looked like."
Pete nodded, too busy eating to respond.
"It's all so weird," Sam said. "They invade our world, set up this insane contest, and then mimic all of our shit with the food and the clothes and everything else."
"That's how it works with every season," Craig said, defending his fries from the prying hands of Torgo as the little firebug attempted to plunder the plates of those nearby. "The contest changes to adapt to whatever host world has been invaded. That gives the Dominion a lot of new things to experience and bet on."
[Nero] In fact, I have it on good authority that the reason why Earth was chosen for this season of the contest was precisely because of its unique and varied cultures and the various opportunities for merchandising and new experiences to bet on that this world presented. The eccentricities of your world are precisely what make it interesting to the people of the Dominion and the contest more broadly.
"Lucky us," Sam said.
>> PRIVATE MESSAGE [URGENT]
Pete blinked, staring down at the small notification that had appeared on his display. It showed a symbol of his cell phone next to the message. Frowning, Pete pulled the communications device from his inventory and opened up the interface. There was a message waiting, which he promptly clicked on.
>> You are in danger. Trap. Meet me behind the Bobo stall. - Liandra
[Sam-Private-Pete] Who the hell is Liandra?
Pete looked up to see that she was leaning in close, reading the message.
[Pete-Private-Sam] The elf chick that hosted that weird gameshow. The one with the orc testicles.
Sam nodded. "You gonna meet her?" she whispered.
"Yeah, I think I should."
"Could be a trap?"
Pete shrugged. "She helped me out the last time we spoke. Sounds like she wants to warn us about a trap anyway. Plus, this place is supposed to be safe, so I should check it out."
"We," Sam corrected. "There's no way I'm letting you go off on your own."
He smiled at that. The way she'd said it was like an older sister speaking to her younger brother. There was a protective tone in her voice, which he found quite pleasing.
"Alright, we," he agreed.
"You know we can all hear you, right?" Craig said, finishing off the last bite of his burger. He pointed to Grizzle and Torgo, who were nodding beside him. "You may not have realized yet, but these aren't just for show," he said, pointing at his undamaged ear. "Goblins have very good hearing."
Ollie frowned, looking from Craig to Pete and then back again, clearly with no idea what they were talking about.
"What?"