Reapers and Repercussions: (Book Four) (Sci-Fi LitRPG Series) (The Feedback Loop 4) Page 10

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Rocket: We can’t shit you. Only you can shit you.

  Veenure nods. “She’s right. It is technically racist and you’re lucky the in-game AI didn’t catch you. Likely because you only said two words.”

  “There’s a three word minimum?” I ask.

  “Yes and no.”

  “What in the hell is wrong with this world?”

  No one answers and my guess is, no one will. The kids that were born in the 2030s and 2040s all have … um … pudding for brains. None of them were around before the widespread adaption of virtual reality and from that, virtual dream worlds. Sure, there were edgy CG cartoons in the 2020s, and no, none of them were as edgy as some of the DisNike classics from the 1940s and 50s – no racist Siamese cat beating a racist piano with racist chopsticks while racistly singing fortune cookie always wrong.

  Sophia says to Veenure, “You’ll learn Nakk Legendakh when you pass level fifty. Super helpful to have a magic map; there are ways around it though, if you’re interested in doing some of the Hyperborea Fasts down along the coast.”

  “Fasts?” I ask.

  Sophia says, “Players see how long they can stay in the game without eating in the outside world. They also make a journey while doing so, akin to what people still do on the Japanese Island of Shikoku.”

  “Can’t they just plug in a feeding tube?”

  “Nope. Anyone that takes part is surveilled by the Imaginary Friend company, who also is a sponsor. They make sure people don’t die. If you complete the fast and the journey, you get the Nakk Legendakh spell no matter what class you are. Some people do it at level two.”

  “Which means map, right?” I ask.

  “You’re catching on. You may only need to take the remedial Thulean course twice!” Sophia laughs at her own joke.

  Rocket: Burn!

  Sophia spreads her fingers wide to enlarge the map. “What do you think about this way?” she asks Veenure.

  “Yeah, maybe … ” Veenure pinpoints a particular spot on the floating map and double taps it. The map pixilates, returns with a zoomed in picture of the area in question, revealing a mahoosive river with an island in the middle. “See? That’s the Attla spider lair. We should go another way.”

  “Is that why it’s shaped like a spider skull?”

  “Yes, Steamboy. That’s why it’s called Spider Skull Island,” says Sophia. “It’s listed right there.”

  I glance off into the dark to see if Aiden is around anywhere. “Hey Morning Assassin, where dost thou lurketh?”

  “Here,” he whispers in my ear as he materializes behind me. I hate it when he does that; I think that’s why he does it.

  “Want to check out Spider Skull Island and see if it’s a good way to go?”

  “It’s not a good way to go,” he says, “for human players anyway.” He turns to Sophia’s map and points to the shore surrounding the small island. “This is all Attla Spider venom. It sits on top of the water.”

  Frances makes a queasy sound. “That’s so gross.”

  Me: Idea alert. Is there any way we can bottle up some of that Attla venom, put it in a weapon, and use it against the Reapers?

  Sophia: That is the best idea I’ve heard from you all day.

  Frances: As long as I’m not the one doing it.

  Rocket: We’ll need an NPC to handle the stuff, safer that way.

  Me: I know the perfect guy. You two distract Veenure and I’ll pull Aiden aside.

  Sophia floats ahead and Frances follows, doing her best to come between Veenure and me. “Let’s get a move on; we really need to get to the next continent and getting to the giant city is a step in the right direction. Rocket and his buddies can continue to work on Zedic’s situation back in the real world.”

  I turn to Aiden and smile.

  “What’s up?” he asks under his breath.

  “Where’s Dirty Dave?”

  “Probably hopped up on wizard-made Riotous on his way to a unicorn brothel right about now,” he says.

  “Wait, did you just say a unicorn brothel?”

  “Just a guess.”

  “Well, to each his own, I suppose. I got an idea.”

  “I’m all ears,” he tells me.

  “I want you to fall back, do your NPC teleport thingy and get him.”

  “What’s your angle?”

  I pat him on the back as I say, “I’m thinking we could get him to make a couple of hose guns with the Attla Venom inside, just like those hose guns he made us in Steam, and somehow feed those into the hack that our CWO made. Imagine this: I blast a gaggle of Reapers with the Golden Goosinator and not only is their location logged, not only is their life bar affected once they finally log back in and use any of their weapons, now they are unable to log in for a week because of the venom. It’ll sting real bad.”

  “Using a gun will affect your life bar.”

  “Not worried about that part. I’ll tell you what … ” I access my inventory list, scroll to item 306, my pound of Walter White Riotous. I do the drug dealer handoff to Aiden. “Give him a little of this, just a little. I don’t need to take the Pepsi Challenge to know that this smack is better than whatever a wizard can conjure up here in Tritania. Once he makes the weapons, give him more, but just a little. Approach with caution though: he may get twitchy.”

  “Got it,” he says, flashing that sinister grin of his. “If he gets twitchy, I’ll get twitchy. He won’t like me when I’m twitchy.”

  With that, he disappears.

  ~*~

  The itsy bitsy spiders turn out to be relatively easy to squish once we get in our groove. Sure, they got their venom, but our level sixty-one Mind Mage has these creepy crawlers practically doing circus tricks by the end of our battles. She has them attack each other, get scared and run away, wrap their counterparts in webs; hell, Sophia even has a couple join our side in a few of the battles like Dolly did a week ago (which I get the feeling she does just to get Frances a little urpy).

  Of course, I keep trying to impress the three ladies with my vast array of combos and attacks from my exceptionally robust inventory list. No one bites, and when they do, it is usually tinged in mockery.

  “A bicycle pump?” Frances snickers as I brandish item 270 on high as if it were the Sword of Truth, Justice, and the Federal Corporate American way.

  “Yes, with your choice of Schrader, Presta, or inflating needle attachments! Observe – your very own WalMacy’s Day Parade.” I run forward, stick the inflating needle into the nearest Attla Spider and pump the surprised arachnid up until she’s a fully inflated, eight-legged, venom-dripping Goodrich Blimp, straining at her tether.

  I bound into the air like Greg Louganis off the springboard at Seoul – only better – and with the most delicately precise of jabs from item 538 – Catherine Tramell’s ice pick, the arachnid explosively deflates with an icky, sticky, gooey KABLOOEY! Spider guts galore.

  COMBO MADE!

  The words Pump and Prick appear in the air.

  “Sounds like a great name for an erotic novel,” Veenure says.

  “Or the name of my first sex tape,” I chime in.

  Rocket: You made a sex tape?

  Me: You’re just not good with sophisticated humor, are you?

  Sophia: I wouldn’t classify your humor as sophisticated. Sophomoric at best; legally actionable at worst.

  Here comes the color guard. Veenure spins a staff that she’s manifested, does a side cartwheel, tosses the staff in the air and performs a series of backflips as her weapon beelines towards its target. The kumonga on the left explodes as soon as the staff pierces it.

  “Not too bad,” Sophia faintly praises. “You should find a Droga Kona necklace; it will double the power of your explode attack. The spiders are low level; that attack wouldn’t work on anything higher than level eleven. Also, your flips need work.”

  Me: Droga wha wha?

  Rocket: Dragon horn. Droga means dragon, kona means horn. So
dragon horn necklace.

  Frances moves up to the plate. She casts her hand into the air and a small cloud appears above the last spider. Lightning bolts shaped like tiny daggers strike the spider and deplete its life bar by three quarters.

  SHOW ME THE MONEY!

  “What the hell does that mean?” I ask as the words disappear.

  “Frances is a Dark Thief,” says Sophia as she steps forward. “She steals something with every attack. That particular attack is a magic/melee hybrid, meaning it increases her chances of getting some loot.”

  “A spider carries loot?”

  Rocket: It’s a MMORPG! Of course it does!

  Sure enough, the words appear on my vision pane: +62 Rupees

  Sophia stops directly in front of the last spider, the one Frances just shocked into coughing up a bit of lettuce. She points at the spider, snaps her fingers, and the spider shrivels up and crumbles into dust.

  Me: Damn! What’s that attack called?

  Sophia: I call it instant death. The correct name is Takk Duchig Nakk – Quick Death Magic.

  ~*~

  No time to think about the fact that my real life body is in an RV somewhere bangtailing it towards Colorado. Again, digital dream worlds trump the real world. If only they could get the sex and the food up to snuff in here, there’d be no reason to log out.

  We’re not clear of the forest yet, but I can see the walls of a great city through the foliage. That and we just passed an abandoned giant’s shoe, large enough for me to crawl inside and stretch out. “We going to case this joint or bust in?”

  Sophia asks, “Are you always such an impulsive dundrekhcha?”

  Veenure snickers.

  “Lemme guess? That means idiot?”

  Frances claps me on the back. “You’re getting better at Thulean.”

  “Not by choice,” I mumble. I’m just about to shoot my mouth off when Aiden drops in front of us.

  “Dirty Dave is onboard,” he says, locking eyes with me. “It should take him a few days though.”

  “Who?” Veenure asks.

  “He’s one of the NPCs we brought over from the other world,” Frances explains. “You’ve met most of them.”

  “The British guys?”

  “Yup, those are some,” I tell Veenure.

  “The Scottish one farted right in front of me!”

  “He’ll do that. Did you see the guy scratching his arm, kind of jittery?”

  She thinks for a moment. “You mean the one with the stringy hair and bloodshot eyes?”

  “That’s Dirty Dave.”

  We press forward, down a narrow lane that leads to a bridge. I get the notion to look for a troll under the bridge but I’m not in the mood to see the ghost of Jon Lovitz yet to come. We move on, past an overturned cart with vines twisting through its spoked wheels.

  Aiden steps out of the ether, directly in front of me for the umpteenth time.

  “Yeah, I get it, you’re a stealth ninja.”

  Rocket: I’m a ninja, he’s an assassin.

  “Get ready!” Aiden flips around and disappears again. The ground shakes as a man the size of a four-story building pushes away the trees.

  “HALT! WHO GOES THERE?”

  ~*~

  “State your name, age and reason for visiting Waringtla!” The giant snarls. His body is obscured by the dark, his face lit by the lantern he holds. I catch the glint of a weapon, but can’t really make out how long or how sharp it is. My guess is that it’s large enough to cut me in two.

  I push Sophia aside and say, “My name is Daft Punk and I am twenty years old. I am one part of a French DJ duo that should have been dead long ago but secretly passed the torch to a pair of Muslim DJs from Metz to keep the brand going indefinitely. My hobby is playing four-on-the-floor classic choons for infidels that’re chock-full of subliminal messages.”

  “And the rest of your party?” the giant asks, dropping his voice a couple of decibels.

  “Her name is Angelica Pickles; she’s fifteen and fond of mind magic and bossing people around. The thief’s name is Little Red Riding Hood; she’s twenty and likes dating older guys. The one with face tattoos and hood is … um … Tank Girl; she’s fond of doing homework and dancing with herself. The NPC is Ra’s al Ghul and he’s into bear traps and morning brawls.”

  “And your purpose for visiting the city?”

  “Proselytizing. We’re spreading the good word of the Quran all across the continent.”

  “Is that so?” I hear the bracelets on the giant’s wrist jingle, meaning he’s either lowering his weapon or moving into a striking position. Even with Veenure’s hand flame and the giant’s lantern, it’s still too dark to get a good gander at what he’s up to.

  Sophia: Did you seriously just tell the giant you were a Muslim DJ here for Islamic proselytizing? And who the hell is Angelica Pickles anyway?

  Frances Euphoria: Why didn’t he just read your info? He’s an NPC; he can access it.

  Sophia: NPC Giants aren’t granted access to player character databases as punishment for attacking the Great Jubilee.

  “You gonna let us through or what?” I ask Brobdingnag’s digital counterpart.

  The giant chews on what I’ve just said for a moment, shines his light on my guild amigas. “If you’re all Muslim, why is she the only one wearing a hijab?” He rattles his lantern at Veenure. “And why is the NPC bodyguard wearing a burka?”

  Sophia: Are we really going with this?

  Me: We are now!

  Veenure plays along, “I am from a more conservative family.”

  Aiden says, “My nickname is Scarface Charlie and I don’t like to give away the fact.”

  Me: See, she gets it!

  “I see,” says the Saiduka giant. “In that case, you may pass, but you’ll need to register with the Office of Proselytizing at the city gate. Just follow this path; go straight when you get to the fork in the road.”

  “Thank you, brother. Salaam alaikum.”

  The giant steps aside and the ground trembles. His lantern casts light across his toes – dirty, hairy things in need of a good ol’ fashioned Texas Chainsaw Pedicure and die grinder follow-up.

  “Nice one,” Aiden says as we file past.

  “The Scarface Charlie comment was spot on,” I say after we’re far enough away from the giant to speak normally again. “I almost miss the stupid bastard.”

  “I don’t know why that was so smart,” Sophia says. “You two clearly have no idea what going to the Office of Proselytizing entails. We may be there for days just to get registered. Days.”

  “Give me a break. You really think that’s what we’re gonna do?”

  She stops. “So you lied to him?”

  “Don’t get your cloak in a bunch. So I lied to an NPC giant too stupid to quiz me on what the Five Pillars of Islam are just to test my veracity. Who cares? He’s an NPC, I played the old religious card and it worked!”

  Sophia ostentatiously levitates and lands in front of me. “You lied about our religion back there; I’m not Muslim.”

  “Well no duh, princess. I don’t know what the big deal is? I’m pretty sure no one in our guild is Muslim; well, maybe the Chef or the Saucier are, but if they are, they didn’t check the box on their guild membership application, and we wouldn’t discriminate against them if they did, right Aiden.”

  “Right,” he says. “That’s part of our charter.”

  “Veenure?”

  “I’m Vegan.”

  Frances laughs. “That’s not a religion.”

  She gives Frances a look. “It is if you do it right.”

  Sophia sighs audibly. “Would all of you please stop joking for once? I’m just trying to figure this out. Lying to NPCs has consequences.”

  “Relax, Sophia,” says Frances. “You’ll get used to Steamboy’s way of doing business.”

  Rocket: He’s not as dumb as he comes across!

  Me: Thanks?

  Veenure says, “It’s clear what he d
id. He manipulated the rules of Tritania to get us into the city. We couldn’t just tell the guy that we’re here to stop them from attacking the Griffin Festival. Most human players don’t visit Waringtla without trade items, and we don’t have a trading cart. Just like the real world – well at least in America – NPCs are programmed not to question religious beliefs. In fact, that guard was almost out of line by asking us why we weren’t wearing hijabs. I was actually surprised by that!”

  “See? There’s a method to my madness,” I say, dropping my goofy grin.

  Sophia tips her head to the side and squints at me. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard of this tactic.”

  “Anything that helps someone win is a tactic,” Aiden says.

  “You’d be surprised what I’ve used this tactic to do,” I tell the group. “Not just Islam – I’ve pretended to be a Tibetan monk; a Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster disciple; A Jehovah’s witness; a Branch Davidian groupie; a devout follower of Sun Myung Moon; A Scientologist with a Dianetics book containing a personalized message from Tom “Too Crazy for Oprah” Cruise; hell, even a devout follower of everyone’s favorite secular holiday – Festivus! I used the last one there to get into Scarface Charlie’s Chinatown headquarters a number of times. Nothing like beating a door goon with my unadorned aluminum Festivus pole, item 274 – now that’s a Festivus for the rest of us. Now, we can discuss how I brilliantly duped the guard for the next hour, or we can infiltrate this city and do what it is we came here to do.”

  “I get it,” she says, “but what about the registrar at the city gates? That was just a guard back there; we’ll still need to register.”

  “There’s the moat,” Aiden says, moving ahead. “And there are several sewer passages connected to the moat. What we’re going to do is simple – we’ll dive to the bottom of the moat and fight our way through the sewers.”