Bitter Ch. 536-540 (Patreon)

Britta felt a surge of nausea, and then she was back in the Church of Stan Lee. She stumbled as she emerged with a pop from some space between worlds and squeezed Stan’s hand to stop herself from falling.

“Are you okay?” said Stan.

“Fine. I’m not used to transporting people with me. Makes me a bit dizzy.” She realised she was still holding his hand and let go, wiping her own hand on her jacket.

“I don’t have the lurgy, you know?” said Stan.

“Sorry, my hand was a bit sweaty.”

It was dark outside and the coloured light coming through the stained glass was muted and not very illuminating.

“Hold on, I’ll just get the lights.” Stan went to an unlit lantern hanging on the wall behind the altar. He turned a knob and it lit up, as did numerous other lanterns around the chapel.

“How did you do that?” said Britta. It didn’t seem appropriate in this kind of setting, although you could always explain it away with magic.

“I insisted they make it easier to turn lights on and off when I took over this place. I’m all for a bit of realism, but there’s no reason to go overboard, is there? I don’t want to spend hours going around striking a tinderbox for every lamp in the place. If I have to stay here, might as well reduce the tedium where I can.” He twisted the knob some more and the lighting adjusted, a little bit brighter, a little bit dimmer. “There we go.”

“But how do the lights work?” said Britta. “Gas? Electricity?”

“No, they aren’t that advanced,” said Stan, like it was obvious. “This is a pre-industrial civilization.”

“So, it’s magic?” The Industrial Revolution, which was a subject Britta was very familiar with from school, had relied on coal and steam to power it’s technological leaps. Magic made all that redundant, or it could. This world could easily surpass 18th century levels of infrastructure, if the devs wanted it to. Nothing was impossible, not even indoor lighting with a dimmer switch.

“Not exactly,” said Stan. “These are basic oil lanterns, nothing unusual about them. It’s just that when they’re hung from these hooks, the controls are all linked together, and I don’t need a match.”

“That sounds like magic.”

“In a limited sense, I suppose so,” said Stan. “It’s more of a server-side convenience. They coded it so I don’t have to waste my time on something that serves no real purpose.”

“Ah,” said Britta, “it’s not magic, it’s cheating.”

“This is a game,” said Stan. “Trying to make it as much like real life as possible is thinking too small. You of all people should realise that.”

“I do,” said Britta. “But I think a lot of people would flip out. It would break their immersion.” She knew of one particular player who would rage about something like this.

“If something like this breaks your immersion, I think you need to broaden your idea of where we are. You should immerse yourself in this world, not an attempt to make an augmented copy of the real one. This one is better. Now, let’s see the haul.”

He took the pouch from his belt, loosened the drawstrings around its mouth and turned it over.

Books flooded out onto the floor.

“So, you own this place?” said Britta as she watched the unending cascade of books gush into a giant pile.

“Yep,” said Stan. “I’m a man of property, not many players can say that, not yet anyway. Not that I’m a regular player. But then, neither are you.”

It took a solid five minutes before the books stopped. They were standing in a sea of books up to Stan’s knees, and Britta’s waist.

Stan picked up a book and opened it. “If we can figure out how to use these to level up, we’ll be able to defeat the Empire in a matter of weeks. Days, even. Once they’ve been crushed, a new era will begin.”

“With you as the new emperor?” asked Britta.

“No, no, of course not. A republic with a senate, probably. People voted in, democracy, accountability, all of that. It might even work here. First time for everything.”

“And you won’t be standing for election?”

“Me? No, no. All that glad-handing and kissing babies, no thank you.”

“You wouldn’t need to do any of that if you were a dictator,” said Britta.

“I see what you’re doing. This isn’t about me trying to grab power for myself. I want to go out in the world, have adventures, find magical treasures and legendary artefacts that make everyone sick with envy. You know, the fun stuff.”

“You want to show off,” said Britta.

“Now you’re getting it. Although you’re right, it wouldn’t be so bad if I was a dictator who had to be obeyed, you know, because of a magic book I found.” He smiled and winked at her and held up the book in his hands. Its title was Good Leadership for the People. He flicked through the pages. “I wonder how you activate these things.” He dropped it an picked up another one.

Usually, books in video games were either decorative and generally ignored by everyone apart from the saddest of players who insisted they were interested in game lore (she knew a player like that, too), or they simply gave you a bonus point in some ability as soon as you opened them.

“Maybe it has to be relevant to your class,” said Britta. She had grabbed a couple of books from the Institute’s vault herself. She was hoping being the correct class was all it took.

“This one’s called Point the Arrow,” said Stan. “I’m an archer, so it should be relevant to me.” He opened and closed it a few times. “Nope, nothing.”

“Maybe you have to read the whole thing,” said Britta.

Stan pulled a face. “Really? Oh, no, what if they expect you to actually learn things the old-fashioned way? No, they wouldn’t… they couldn’t, could they? That would be realism gone mad.”

Britta started laughing. It wasn’t really funny, but the idea of it was so crazy she couldn’t help it. What if you had to study books to learn what was in them? Learn how to do something better by studying? In a video game? People would get mad alright.

***

Stan stood at the front of the chapel, waiting for everyone to find a seat. Forty-two people had answered his call. Forty-two didn’t make much of a rebellion. He stood quietly as people found a place, many of them sitting right at the back even though there was plenty of room up front.

Did they think this was school? They were the cool kids who didn’t want anyone to think they cared what teacher had to say?

He was annoyed but he closed his eyes and breathed. Leadership required a sense of detachment. A clear mind was hindered by emotion. His success would be based on how well he overcame obstacles, not by wishing for obstacles to not exist.

“Can you guys at the back come closer?” he said in a neutral voice. “I want to keep this private and discreet, not have to shout. That’s why I only invited a few of you. The ones I know I can trust.”

Make it sound like they were special, the elite members. Use your weakness as an advantage. He smiled. There was always a way forward, if you were willing to focus on the problem and not the injustice.

“I only came to tell you I’m leaving,” said a large man dressed in mismatched pieces of armour. “I’m going to join the Empire.” Groans sounded around the chapel. “They’re offering a Level 2 helmet for all new recruits,” he said defensively. His current headgear was a cloth cap. His name tag said Sir Juke. Stan had no memory of him joining.

“That’s fine,” said Stan. “If you want to leave you can go. No hard feelings. Anyone else? I don’t want what I’m about to tell you getting out. I have no intention of sharing my information with the rest of the playerbase, that would completely cost us our advantage.”

“Maybe I’ll stay and hear what you’ve got,” said Sir Juke.

“No, no, this is the first part of our big push, I can’t have any leaks. I told everyone when they signed up, there’d be a quiet couple of weeks as we made our preparations, and then we’d be full on. If you want to go, go now. If you stay, I expect you to be in it for the long haul and everything I tell you has to be kept confidential. If it turns out anyone here broke ranks and let the enemy know what we’re doing, or even if they let it slip to a friend outside of the rebellion, that person will be marked for death.” He paused for dramatic effect. “That means we will hunt you down and kill you back to a Level 1 scrub.”

Sir Juke was still standing, not moving.

“Well?” said Stan. “Still going?”

Sir Juke sat down.

“Okay, good.” He’d managed to avoid losing another player, but that was the least difficult part of all this. Insisting he had a secret strategy to defeat the Empire was easy if he didn’t have to reveal what the secret was. Once he told them, then it would start to get tricky. They would start trying to punch holes in everything, and he had to be able to seal them up convincingly.

“Go on, then,” said a voice from the multi-coloured gloom.

“You’ll have noticed that this game isn’t like a regular RPG. You can’t just level up by running around killing everything or farming low-level mobs.”

A grumbling murmur spread around the chapel. They had all encountered the same problem.

“You probably think the difficulty levels are borked or someone accidentally set it to hell mode by accident.”

More grumbling. He was saying things they related to. He had their attention. Their discontent was ripe and ready for the picking.

“I can assure you it isn’t a mistake. I’m sure all of you are experienced gamers, but this isn’t that sort of game. Well, it is, but the mechanics are a little different from what you’re used to.” Now came the hard bit. “What I’m about to tell you is going to be difficult to process. It’s probably not what a lot of you signed up for, but it will make a world of difference to how you progress in this game. In this world.”

Stan took a deep breath and explained the situation. He told them about the special interactions with NPCs. He did his best to sell them on the idea of AI so convincing you’d think you were speaking to a real person. He painted a picture of amazing secrets that could be uncovered if you managed to get past the seemingly robotic facade and built a relationship with the NPCs, making sure to stress how hard it was, but also making it clear that it made no difference what level you were.

There was some scepticism, which was to be expected. Ultimately, he knew the only way to truly convince them was to show them. Even in a virtual world where nothing was truly real, seeing was believing.

“Choose two of you, two guys you know aren’t bullshitters, and I’ll show you what I mean. They can report back to the rest.”

“Why can’t we all go?” said somebody.

Stan threw his hands up. “This isn’t going to be easy. You can’t just walk up to an NPC and engage them in chit-chat. The more people I take, the less likely we’ll get anywhere. Look, I know how all this sounds, but you’ll have a much better idea of what’s expected once you accept what I’m saying is true. And even then, that’s just the start. You’re going to have to put your dreams of killing dragons with bolts of lightning on hold for a while. But once you see what’s possible, you won’t regret it, I promise you.”

It was a facile promise. He had no idea if they would react to the NPCs the way he had. He didn’t even know if he could repeat what Britta had done. It would have been a lot easier if she had agreed to help him, but she had rushed off to do her own thing. He couldn’t blame her, she had already opened many doors for him. There was a very high chance that he would try to talk to an NPC and get no response at all and look like a fool. It was a chance he was willing to take. It was up to him now.

The thought of it gave him butterflies in his stomach, which he hadn’t felt since he was a child, going to work with his father and being treated like a little prince. The world had looked big and exciting back then, and had rapidly shrunk, his excitement fading as the novelty wore off. Now he had the chance to recapture that thrill.

Two of the congregation were selected, a muscular man with dark hair, and a blonde woman in a white robe. The man was Rob Roid, a thief, and the woman was Clem, a cleric.

“Okay, good,” said Stan. “Let’s go. The rest of you stay here, we shouldn’t be long.”

They returned in half an hour to expectant faces. Stan strode to the front, the other two following with wide eyes and jittery expressions.

“Well?” said someone.

It had been dicey. He had gone to another hot food vendor and tried to get a job as Britta had. He had been met with a blank look and a list of food items for sale. He received the same response no matter what he asked. His witnesses were not impressed and quickly grew impatient. Then he remembered how Britta had used the idea of helping the competition to force an unscripted response.

Once he brought up the peanut vendor and news that he was taking on new employees — which was technically true as he had offered Britta a job — the man became more open to discussion. Soon, he and Stan were chatting about how to increase sales by adding salt to food and offering beverages. The man volunteered details about his family and how his wife was being very pushy, urging him to make more money. Steering the conversation into talk of ungrateful women had been easy.

The other two players had watched with mouths hanging open. They had interacted with NPCs on many occasions but never had they had an encounter like this. Their unbridled enthusiasm was more than enough to intrigue the other forty.

Questions were thrown at them, ignoring Stan, which was fine by him. The excitement in the small church grew as they began to realise there really was something to Stan’s claims. Something none of them had even dared to believe possible.

The atmosphere had completely changed. Optimism about the new style of gameplay was very high and all forty-two members of the rebellion were ready to take matters to the next level.

Now Stan just had to convince them to get jobs.

***

Britta’s bus ride to school was usually a very dull affair. She would stare out of the window, noticing which shops had closed down, which had just opened, and the general state of disrepair of the roads. There were always roadworks somewhere.

This morning, she hardly noticed the outside world. Her thoughts were preoccupied with one question: why wasn’t she getting experience points for her completed quests. Why wasn’t the game even recognising that a quest had been completed? Did she not count as a player?

If she wasn’t going to be allowed to level-up anymore, it would make it very hard to progress in the game. She didn’t want to be one of those lauded three-year-olds who could play the piano like they were sixteen, who grew to adulthood still playing the piano like a sixteen-year-old. There was no advantage to getting a head start if you just let people catch up to you later.

It was also impractical to stay stuck at a low level. There were bound to be areas that were too dangerous or just plain inaccessible to someone at Level 5. In addition to which, she wanted to find out what her class was capable of. There were a lot of spells that would only become available when she reached the appropriate level. The whole thing ticked her off no end.

Sending Lin an email, asking her to check if there was some problem or bug was an option, but Britta suspected this wasn’t something caused by the devs. Not directly, anyway. The person she really needed to check with was N-28. He would have a much better idea of what was going on. He was probably the one responsible for making it like this.

She arrived at school with all these distractions still swimming about in her mind. Her original intention had been to separate her school life and her job. She knew full well how easy it was to become obsessed with a game and end up absorbed by the minutiae of the digital world. So far, she had done very well and managed to keep to her forty-eight-hour obligation.

That was starting to slip after only a few weeks. No point getting a head start and then losing discipline, either. It would only waste her lead.

As she walked through the school gates, children of all ages swarmed around her and entered the main building chatting and laughing. The sudden shift back to the real world didn’t come when she took off her VR helmet, it came here when she was surrounded by kids of her own age. It reminded her about her encounter with Rick. The thought that he might be here, about to pounce on her from a hiding place, made her uncomfortable. What if he started saying things about her dad in front of others? What would she do?

She had all but forgotten about the weird boy who had followed her home until now. She should have come up with some sort of contingency plan. He might have learned his lesson, but obsessive boys were unlikely to be shooed away so easily.

The real problem was whoever had told him about Dad. Lewis was still her prime suspect and she planned to confront him next time they crossed paths, which would be in English later today. In the meantime, she kept an eye out for Rick, ready to run away if she spotted him.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Rashida asked her in geography. “Guilty conscience?”

“No. What do I have to feel guilty about?”

Rashida shrugged. “You tell me.”

The sudden accusation unsettled Britta. It was an odd assumption to jump to out of nowhere. Did she look guilty? Britta checked her face in the reflection on her phone.

“Don’t worry, you don’t look guilty,” said Rashida.

“Then why did you say it?” asked Britta.

“I sensed it. Woman’s intuition.”

It annoyed Britta when her friend used her religion as some sort of superiority card. Rashida very much believed a closeness to God allowed the faithful to have greater sensitivities, whereas non-believers were like muggles, clueless and unaware as they stumbled through their mundane lives. She was, to put it mildly, a condescending snob.

Britta had pointed this out to her before. Rashida hadn’t denied it, quite the opposite, in fact. “It’s got nothing to do with religion. It’s called being British.”

Britta couldn’t really dispute that.

“Your senses are wrong,” she told Rashida, speaking under her breath. “I’ve got a lot of stuff going on at home, that’s all.”

“Because your Dad’s unemployed?” Rashida said without lowering her voice at all and drawing looks from the children around them.

“Rashida, please. And no, not that.”

“Hey,” said Rashida, dropping her volume this time and leaning closer, “what I want to know is why is that weird boy staring at you?”

Britta looked around but there was no one looking at her.

“Sir,” said one of the other kids with their arm raised.

“Yes, what is it?” said the teacher. Mr Drews didn’t like to be interrupted and didn’t really like children, as far as Britta could tell.

The raised hand pointed at the window. “What’s he doing?”

Everyone turned to look. Rich was standing outside, peering in through the window. He was looking in Britta’s direction.

There was a moment of confusion. Why was there a boy outside? Why wasn’t he in class? Why was he looking in the window?

People recognised him as the weird kid, which explained a lot, but it was still very strange.

It got stranger when he held up a sign.

Meet me at lunchtime. Your locker.

Everyone turned to see who the message was aimed at. Britta looked around, too, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious it was her.

As soon as he’d delivered his message, Rick left. He walked off with the sign tucked under his arm like nothing of any consequence had happened. The half of his face that was visible showed no emotion.

The class filled with chatter and Mr Drews began banging his computer mouse on his desk like it was gavel.

“Enough,” he yelled over the noise of the children. “Ignore what just happened. One more sound and there’ll be a test tomorrow.”

No one really believed him, he wasn’t the sort of teacher who would create more work for himself, but everyone quieted down anyway.

Fortunately for Britta, no one even thought to consider her as the object of Rick’s interest. It was universally acknowledged Rick must have been trying to woo one of the girls in class, and there was a mixture of guessing who could have caught the weirdo’s eye and revulsion at the idea of where such things might lead. Chloroform and the back of a van was the popular guess, which Britta considered plainly ridiculous since Rick was too young to drive.

Britta sensed that the girls in class both keenly wanted to be the one who was special enough to warrant messages at the window, and at the same time, they desperately didn’t want to be the girl in question.

Rashida was the only one to look nowhere but at Britta. She didn’t say anything, she just raised an eyebrow on her hijab-framed face.

After the lesson ended, Britta left the class in a panic. She didn’t care what Rick wanted, but if people saw him hanging around her locker at lunchtime — and they were bound to be watching — she would become the focus of unwanted attention and a laughing stock. Even if she didn’t turn up to the meeting, it would make no difference.

How did he even know which locker was hers? Had he been spying on her? It was all very disconcerting.

There was no real threat involved. She didn’t think he was going to do anything other than try to get her to introduce him to Dad. It was even sadder than people would assume.

She had to stop him, but she didn’t even know where to find him to tell him to leave her alone. But she had a good idea who to ask.

The next lesson was English, and Lewis was sitting at his desk with his laptop open. Britta walked up to him holding a notebook. He slowly dragged his eyes from the screen to look up at her, and then at the book she was offering him.

“What?”

“Take this and pretend I’m asking you something homework-related.” She wasn’t about to start any rumours herself.

He took the notebook and opened it. There was nothing in it. Britta took notes on her own laptop, the book as just for emergencies.

“Why am I doing this?”

“Never mind that, you told Rick about my dad.”

Lewis looked back up at her. “What? No, I didn’t.”

“Then how does he know? You were getting all chummy with him and then suddenly he wants to talk to me about my dad and holds up signs to get my attention.”

“Oh, that was you?” He’d already heard about what had happened earlier in geography. News travelled fast.

“I told you not tell anyone,” said Britta. “You have to tell him to leave me alone.”

“Me? I didn’t tell him anything. Why would I?”

“Because you want to get on his good side so he’ll let you see his helmet.”

Lewis looked even more shocked. “You think I’d tell him just so I could… Okay, maybe I would do something like that, but I didn’t. Really. He never even mentioned you or your dad. Maybe he met him in the game.”

It was a possibility, one Britta had already considered, but it seemed very unlikely. Much more plausible was that Lewis had used the information to start a conversation related to New World, and was now lying. Although that still didn’t explain how Rick had known about Dad’s video-making side-career.

“You really didn’t tell him anything?”

“I swear. On my mum’s life.”

It was a bold declaration, and Britta was inclined to believe him.

“Okay. Sorry. He’s just freaking me out. He followed me home yesterday.”

“Shit. Maybe you should report him.”

“He didn’t do anything,” said Britta. “I don’t think he will, either. He’s more interested in my dad than me.”

“Why don’t we go ask him what he’s playing at?” said Lewis. “After class.”

“Really? Thanks, I’d appreciate it. I don’t have to go, too, do I?”

“I think it would be better if you confronted him. He doesn’t really register things if they aren’t aimed directly at him. If I told him you wanted to be left alone, he’d assume that was just my opinion.”

Britta had also got that sort of feeling about Rick. That he wasn’t being malicious, he just didn’t get what the big deal was. He’d followed her home to meet her father and talk about video games. What could be more normal than that?

“Do you know where he’ll be?” asked Britta.

“Same place he always is,” said Lewis.

After class, Britta quietly left as normal and waited around the corner. It was breaktime and people were wandering around in large groups, chatting and generally wasting time until the next class began.

Lewis walked past her, nodding once. She fell in behind him, doing her best to make it look like she just happened to be going the same way.

He led her out of the main building, into the computer annexe, up the stairs, into a small room full of older computers no one used any more.

Rick was in the far end, seated in front of a large desktop PC. What was surprising, though, were the two people with him — Toby and Lucas.

They weren’t fighting or arguing. They were chatting and laughing and getting on like a house on fire.

The whole scene had a surreal feel to it. Why were these three all together? Why were they together and laughing?

It wasn’t like they were laughing at Rick, or making fun of him. They were all matey and relaxed in each other’s company. What was going on? And what was Lewis’ involvement in all this?

“Oh,” said Toby, noticing them at the door. “You convinced her to come.”

“Actually, she asked,” said Lewis.

“I told you it would work,” said Rick.

Britta felt like she’d been set-up. They were all in it together, whatever it was.

“You swore on your mother’s life,” she said to Lewis.

“My mum died of cancer when I was six,” said Lewis.

Britta’s anger at being lied to was tempered by pity, and a begrudging acceptance that technically he had found a loophole. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Lewis.

“Are you all friends now?” Britta said, trying her best to sound casual. Her heart was beating very fast and she couldn’t help but feel they were going to try to pull something on her. They wouldn’t have gone to these lengths if there wasn’t some ulterior motive behind it. One that she wasn’t going to like.

Rick stood up and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Extraordinary times call for reevaluating of old rivalries.”

Britta stood blinking, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

“What he means,” said Lucas, “is that there’s no point squabbling over trivialities when the world is undergoing a seismic shift.”

Britta blinked again, and then looked at Toby, hoping for a clearer explanation from the dummy in the room. If he knew what was going on, maybe he’d be able to word it in a clearer manner.

“We’ve seen the future,” said Toby. “It’s time to switch gears, you know?”

“No,” said Britta. “Not really.” She looked to the side, where Lewis was standing.

“Look, I’m sorry about all this,” said Lewis. “We need to make sure no one knows what we’re doing. No one we aren’t sure of.”

Britta nodded slowly. “What are you doing?”

“Something very important,” said Rick, adjusting his glasses again. “Something so important, it’s brought the four of us together. The brains, the brawn, the money, and Lewis.”

“I’m the analyst,” said Lewis, sounding peeved.

They had formed some sort of group, like superheroes. That, at least made sense. It was exactly the sort of puerile thing boys would do. It might seem they were a bit old for this sort of thing, but she had only to look at Dad to know boys were never too old for this sort of thing. They probably had a name for their team. That was probably what their first meeting was about, all six hours of it.

Britta still didn’t know what they were up to, but she could easily believe they would put aside their differences if they could pretend to be part of the Justice League of North London.

“That’s great,” said Britta, glad to be close enough to the door to make a break for it. “I’m glad you managed to settle your differences.” She took a step towards the exit. “I just don’t know what it has to do with me.”

“Your father,” said Rick. “Guildford Underpass, yes?”

Britta stopped and stared at him. “How do you know that?”

There was murmuring and looks between the boys, as though something had been confirmed. Was it a guess? Had she inadvertently outed Dad?

“We’ll get to that. First, let me ask you, have you ever played the game? Have you ever been to New World?”

Britta didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to get tricked into admitting anything else. She looked from one expectant face to another, trying to decide how best to answer.

“Would you like to?” said Rick.

“What do you mean?” said Britta. “You can get hold of a helmet?”

“I have one. At home.”

“Okay,” said Britta. “How would that let me play the game? Only you can use it.”

“No, anyone can,” said Lewis. “We all have.”

Britta looked at the others, giving her looks that confirmed that they had all visited New World. Now it made a lot more sense why they were so chummy with Rick. He had let them play with his new toy, and they were ready to put all grievances aside. “How?”

“It’s like any piece of electronic kit,” said Rick. “It can be hacked.”

Britta was inclined to believe him. She knew from her own experience it was possible, it was how she had first got into the game, using Dad’s old cradle. If it could happen by accident, it could happen by someone fiddling around on purpose.

“You hacked your helmet?” Rick nodded. “And you can let anyone into the game?” He nodded again. “Isn’t that dangerous? The helmet links to your mind. You could give yourselves brain damage.”

“That’s why I tried it on Toby first,” said Rick. “Brain damage wouldn’t really make much of a difference to him.”

Toby looked shocked, and then burst out laughing, followed by the others. It was clearly a joke, but one made by someone with status in the group. Rick had come a long way in a short time.

“Why are you doing this?” said Britta. “If APE find out, they’ll take the helmet back and ban you.”

“For sure,” said Rick. “Which is why you can’t tell anyone about this.” His voice took on a serious edge. Not quite menacing. Not yet.

“Then why tell me at all?” This was the thing that was unsettling her the most. “And you still haven’t told me how you know about my dad.”

“Once I unlocked the helmet’s potential, it enabled me to see far more than just the game. I have access to a lot more information than a regular player. Your father obviously has connections with APE. I heard that he was fired by them. I’ve seen his videos. I think he would be the ideal person to join forces with us. Together we could dominate the game.”

“It’s amazing,” said Lewis. “Even better than I imagined. You’ll understand when you see it for yourself.”

Hacking the cradle had done something similar for Rick as it had for her. She could interact with the game on a deeper level and, apparently, he could see player information, and who knew what else? It was worrying.

“I still don’t see why you think you need Dad. They didn’t fire him, they let him go. He has no problems with them. They’re the ones who gave him his rig.”

“Yes, I know,” said Rick. “But he has an enquiring mind. He’ll want to get to the bottom of the mystery, same as us.

“What mystery?”

“The gnome wizard,” said Rick.

What had he got to do with any of this? Dad was looking for him, too, but that was for purely gamer reasons. He wanted cool loot. She could see how Rick might think Dad could lead them to the wizard, but then what?”

“Why do you want to find this gnome wizard?”

“Because the whole game revolves around her. She’s the one who controls everything.”

Britta realised he wasn’t talking about the gnome wizard who ran the magic shop, he was talking about another gnome wizard. He was talking about her.

AN: If you have a moment, please vote on TWF, cheers. VOTE