Syndicate Slayer Read online

  “First you woo young pilgrim adults, now you flirt with their priestesses. Boltzmann, you do know this isn’t an interactive dating site, right?”

  “Sounds like you’re projecting your online dating history onto my character.”

  “Nothing wrong with a good one night stand every once in a while.”

  “Guys, please,” L’ocean said.

  She consumed a pastry and smiled. Despite the ongoing banter, we still managed to work as a team. Rokkit gulped down his snack and inspected my head. “You just reached a new level, Boltzmann. You might wanna spend those undistributed skill points.”

  He was right. I looked at my inventory menu and beamed at the new opportunities awaiting me.

  4

  Two new abilities became available.

  A new passive skill called Bulwark: each level adds two percent to overall armor, and reduces incoming physical damage by a further one percent (two percent for the first rank).

  Since I had saved one skill point from my last level up, I could spend it on the new passive Bulwark ability. My WarTech needed strong tech armor like otakus and their waifus. The class’s mobility counted as the lowest of all five major player types, which meant I had to swallow damage like Spongebob Steelpants.

  I invested the new skill in my beloved Chainlink ability, which had saved my sorry ass countless times. The new increase upgraded the core ability with an interesting feature:

  Chainlink: Thorny Prison

  Your chainlink device of choice is upgraded with mini-spikes that damage the target by +10% of the device’s base damage. Additionally, shooting your spiked chain allows you to wrap the target by running around it.

  With a successful spike wrap, you will cause an additional +5% DPS of the device’s base damage.

  Wow. So all I had to was shoot my harpoon, run around the target, and wrap it with my spiky chain? Probably useless against smaller foes, but incredibly useful against mid-sized enemies or intense boss battles. I wanted to use this ability ASAP, but the gaming timer knocked on my strained eyes. I had burned through another six hour session again, which happened way too fast. I said goodbye to Rokkit and L’ocean and traveled all the way back to the Cloudkiss mountain village where I logged off at the inn.

  Virtual reality morphed into the clean room I had called my temporary home. Compared to the harsh transition of my old VR set, the new suit log-out felt pleasant. Nice. I unplugged my helmet, the chest plate armor and gloves before I stretched my aching limbs, moaned like a lion, and waddled out my room. A dense smell of overcooked ramen penetrated my nostrils. The stuffy air tasted dank. I entered the living room and almost stumbled over the mountains of Jump! magazines and Anime collectibles. Even burning battlefields in Fourlando looked more orderly than Sparrow’s kingdom of trash. Seriously, this place looked worse than last time—if that was even possible. I maneuvered around the piles of manga mags and opened the windows of the living room. Fresh air poured in and chilled my face.

  Ahh… the little joys of life.

  I picked up some mags and stashed them on top of each other to pave a path on the floor between the windows. I didn’t want to risk smashing my face into the trashy ground every time I entered the living room.

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice sounded both gentle and demanding. Sparrow stood in the doorframe of the living room. Sparrow, my generous host, part-time Anime cosplayer, and full-time Crystal Crusade pro player. She held a rice cookie in her hand and nibbled it while her catlike eyes circled around me. No matter what she wore, she always looked cute with her feline moves and elvish demeanor.

  “I just want to make a little path so the windows are easier to reach.”

  She snacked on her cookie without saying a word. Her thin lips brushed the chocolate pieces and swallowed them in.

  Awkward silence ensued.

  “I know I’m just a guest,” I said. “But don’t you think cleaning up a little would make a big difference?”

  “The natural state of the universe is chaos.”

  “True, but nothing we do is natural, especially not sitting on our butts and playing VR all day.”

  “Good counter. Are you hungry?”

  My stomach replied with a growl before my mouth could. Sparrow exposed her traditional smile. “I’ll take that as a yes. How about Indian food?”

  “Madras chicken all the way.”

  She voice-commanded her wristband and ordered a few menu numbers I had never heard before. Together, we sat down in the kitchen and chatted. I helped her clean a pile of dirty dishes near the sink. If it was up to me, I’d plant an exploda in every single room and blast the trash to smithereens. Burn up all the germs and set my lungs free.

  Sparrow looked at me with her almond-shaped eyes. “Have you been looking for a new place to stay?”

  “As long as my financial situation is dire, it’s tough finding a place. And I don’t want to go back to my Mom’s trailer; not yet, at least.”

  “Mmmm,” she said. “You’re making steady progress. I watched a few minutes of your latest stream.”

  “Thanks, I—”

  The doorbell rang. Sparrow rushed out and reappeared with three boxes filled with hot goodness.

  “The food drone has arrived.”

  She placed the eco-boxes on the kitchen table and fanned out the goods. “My treat.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  She scooped a spoonful of Basmati rice into her spinach Palak Panir dish then raised the combination to her mouth and swallowed it with her eyes closed. The green spinach looked like a forest bush from the game.

  “You’re level fifteen now, right? You can start looking for sponsorship when you reach your mid-twenties. That’s when I looked for monetization options.”

  “How do you actually make money from the game?”

  “I monetize my streams and sell some mid-rare items to low-level players with budgets to burn. Stuff like that.”

  She attracted high numbers for her stream—often up to a couple of hundred thousand live. I was still far away from that, although my numbers had skyrocketed lately. But despite Sparrow’s player progression, I couldn’t understand how she could pay for her lifestyle and house. I had never seen her in a commercial spot or any form of stage visit—even picturing Sparrow walking outside seemed weird. I always wanted to know why she’d stay within her walls, but the timing felt always wrong, especially since I lived in her domain. And yet, my curiosity sizzled like the chicken pieces in my creamy curry. “Do you ever go to game events and do interviews?”

  She slurped her spinach and shook her head. “It’s a waste of life-force. Only narcissists obsessed with fame do that.”

  “Like Holland Pax.”

  “Like Holland Pax,” Sparrow said with a smile.

  That guy still owned the limelight of the pro player world. Millions of dollars in revenue, an entourage of international fans, and the looks of a movie star from the old days. One could claim Holland owned the genetic lottery and the golden keys to destiny. I realized he was the one percent of the one percent, but his legacy impacted me. Without Pax’ inspirational career, I wouldn’t have the chops to go for pro. He was the online spark that spurred me on.

  “Earth to Dash, are you there?”

  Sparrow brought me back to my half-eaten curry chicken. “You were Holland Paxing, weren’t you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dreaming of the mighty Pax and wishing you were him.”

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  She tapped her temple with her index finger. “Pattern recognition. Not only useful in VR game boss fights.”

  She finished her spinach dish with a satisfying slurp. “The most important action is to be proactive. Call agents, level up, focus on skills. Get better each and every day, and optimize your viewership.”

  “Sounds like advice from a second-rate, self-help book.”

  She laughed like a funky elf. “It actually is.”

 
I watched her dip Naan bread pieces into the rest of her spinach. Compared to mine, her skin looked like milk powder; like her body had never seen a single ray of light in her entire life.

  “Don’t you ever feel like going out?”

  The pause lingered. Sparrow dropped her eyes to her empty plate and refused to lift them. “You should worry more about agent representation than my health.”

  I nodded. No point in pushing a topic that made her uncomfortable, even though I wanted to know. I really wanted to.

  “Well, the Indian food was delicious. Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After the delicious meal that Sparrow had paid for, I hurried back to my room and called up the agent I had met at the official Crystal Crusade event back in Austin. Cruz, the player controlling TechMage L’ocean, had made the introduction at one of the booths. He helped me build a strong case, and even though I didn’t get a deal, the agent gave me permission to use her social ID. I cleared my throat, spoke a little mantra (I’m the unbeatable Boltzmann. I’m the un-freaking-beatable Boltzmann), and called Susan Cohen. The voice returned like a sharpened blade dipped in ice water.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Cohen, this is Dashiell Boltzmann. We’ve met at the Austin—”

  “How can I help you?”

  Cutting straight to the core. I got it.

  “You offered for me to call you as soon as I made progress. Well, here it is.”

  I sent her my streaming link and the current WarTech character build. She ‘mmm’ and ‘ahhhed’ for twenty seconds before she spoke.

  “Okay, here a few tips,” Susan said. “Your viewership numbers are solid, but you need to tackle bigger quests if you want more attention. Those little convoy missions are cute, but they will never propel you into the big league.”

  She made it sound as if I was playing pesky side quests all the time. My defenses shot up immediately. “I just finished a huge liberation quest.”

  “You and countless other players. This isn’t a sports festival where everyone gets a medal for participating, Dashiell. If you want to be a pro, you have to think and act big.”

  Bam, bam. The agent fired on all cannons, but maybe I needed a wake-up call. I tended to become complacent after finishing big quests.

  “Focus on your WarTech exclusive skills and reach at least level twenty before you call me up again. Then we will check your progress and viewership numbers. How does that sound?”

  “Focused and market-driven,” I said.

  The agent laughed. “Sorry, not sorry. I like your approach, but pro gaming is a battlefield for attention. I’m surrounded by too many wannabes who say they want to go pro but never deliver. Don’t let that be you. Hustle. Hustle. Hustle.”

  “It’s going to be my new morning mantra.”

  The agent said goodbye with another chuckle. I loved her no BS approach. I could only imagine the vast numbers of fans asking for her representation. At least she offered me the chance to call her back.

  Talking about calling…

  I pondered phoning my mother again. I had sent her a message that I now lived at a friend’s house, but I never talked to her verbally. Couldn’t summon the courage; not after all the emotional garbage we went through. But despite all the trouble with the government guy and his creepy anti-gamer gulag program, I missed my mother. She had always supported me and wanted the best for me. I was tempted to call her, but I still hadn’t anything to show. No money, no job; just a few connections and some chance of sponsorship later on.

  Ugh.…

  A twenty-six year old with not a single cent of money coming in. The more I thought about it, the more the shame sacked my confidence. Nah, I couldn’t call my mom; not yet. I needed to earn her trust again. Needed to prove I was capable of earning money in these robotized times. I was going to be a pro player, no matter what.

  Back in the kitchen, Sparrow ogled with me with curious eyes. “You shine like a worshipper of the sun.”

  “Just called my soon-to-be agent. She fired me up like a Reepulse spell.”

  Sparrow grinned. She loved it when I used in-game speak. “What is your new destiny, Crusader?”

  “Same as before. I just clarified my path of getting there.”

  She handed me over a metal-colored plastic bag with a straw. Kanji covered the label as well as a funky Manga figure with fox ears.

  “What’s that?”

  “Japanese power juice for pro players.”

  I nodded and downed the strange liquid. It tasted sweet and strange, but I liked it.

  “How’s your character doing? You’re a level forty-six assassin, right?”

  “Fifty-two.”

  I waited for the answer to my second question, but Sparrow just looked at me, strangely comfortable with the awkward silence.

  “Making good money from your Stalker, right?”

  “Enough to pay for the rent, food, and J-merch. I’m a low maintenance maiden.”

  Her interior proved it. The trash piles of magazines, old game discs, and Gundam mech toys littered every room. I stumbled at least twice a day.

  Sparrow still stared at me. “I can see at least a dozen invisible question marks popping up on your face.”

  “I’d love to know more about your playing style. I realized our past conversations just revolved around my WarTech.”

  “Watch my stream. It will tell you anything you will need to know about the Stalker class.”

  And with that said, Sparrow snapped up the empty bowls and piled them on top of the dish mountain that threatened to fall over any second.

  “I’ll clean it up.”

  “Thanks. And if you need any help, you can always ask me. As an ongoing pro, you have to be obsessed about your character’s safety.” She tapped her temples again. “I’ll be your sparrow in the coal mine.”

  Canary, I corrected in my mind.

  Sparrow bowed, giving me the peace sign, and disappeared from the kitchen. Seriously, that girl was hard to figure out. It felt like she channeled twelve Anime personalities and expressed them in random order.

  I waited a few seconds before I marched into my guest room and pulled up the streaming network. I typed in her player profile and watched her roaring viewership numbers. Up to 120,322 viewers per live session, as well as thousands of comments. She almost never replied, but the audience loved her. Hearts, two thumbs up, and shiny smile symbols dominated the comment stream. I wondered if she ever got deadwood fan mail. Rampant fan boys who wanted to date her.

  I also wondered what would happen if I’d beat her in viewership numbers and popularity. Would she kick me out because of jealousy?

  Hard to tell. With her, everything was.

  Still, Sparrow’s working ethic and epic questing inspired me to level up my own game. I had build tremendous momentum and needed to keep it surging. So I pulled on the VR suit and dove back into Fourlando. It was time to separate the wannabe schmucks from the pro crusaders.

  5

  My WarTech woke up in my favorite inn of the Cloudkiss mountain village. Wooden floors, spacious cross-windows, and oversized beds looked more comfortable than the cramped room in real life. I stretched to get used to my virtual movements again and strolled down the stairs. The infamous blue-haired girl from the reception greeted me with a jubilant hellooooooo. Even after all our little encounters, her infectious energy sparked my joy anew.

  “Balzac—”

  “—wants to speak to me, I know,” I said, much to her bewilderment.

  “How do you know?”

  “The Aeons have told me.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “Nah, you’re a good innkeeper. My favorite, to be frank.”

  “Really?”

  I winked at her and entered the central plaza of the village. I had to pass more houses than the last time to get to Balzac’s observatory tower. The village seemed to grow every time I logged in. Additional shops, utility houses, and even
training ranges enriched the landscape now. I wondered whether my mission successes enabled the Blue Flame’s rampant expansion. After all, my quest accomplishments had deepened the alliance with the followers of the Aeonlight and allowed them to set-up base in the liberated township of Varmegarden.

  Back in the tower, I rocketed up the highest stairs and expected Balzac to be glued to his giant telescope. To my surprise, he wasn’t. An eery silence crept through the space.

  “Balzac?”

  No answer. I looked down the spiral stairs and scanned the thousands of ancient books gracing the shelves. For the first time since my first quest for the rebellion, Balzac was absent from his observatory tower. Had something happened?

  I walked toward the telescope and looked through the view finder. The scope was directed at the Violet Lunar in the sky. Even with the magnification, I couldn’t detect the details of the moon’s surface. The fog of war clouded the crystal soil. The misty soup floated like an organic being made of gas and seemed to concentrate on the northern and southern pole of the natural satellite. If I owned an airship, I could traverse the distance and check it out myself. Before I averted my glance, a couple of crystalline shards escaped the moon’s orbit and pierced the azure sky of Fourlando. They crashed down like crimson meteors leaving a blood trail.

  “The blood moon is crying again.”

  I jumped away from the telescope and found Balzac standing a few meters in front of me. He wore working gear with many pouches and carried a mechanical container in his left hand. The metal coating shielded whatever lurked inside.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay, Dash. The Violet Lunar is hard to ignore, isn’t it?”

  “I always get the feeling it’s looking at me personally. Like an evil eye in the sky.”

  “Indeed. Many stories have been spun about the bloodmoon’s mysterious appeal. It seems to be as obsessed about the observer as the observer is obsessed about it. You should ask the followers of Aeon about the Violet Lunar’s origin. They have some interesting thoughts about it.”