Bitter Ch. 546-550 (Patreon)

“Good timing,” said Stan.

Britta blinked and looked around. She had logged into the Church of Stan Lee, ready to put in her contractually obligated twelve minutes. Log in, chill, log out — that was the idea. She was in the middle of homework and was using this as a short break. She hadn’t expected the church to be quite so busy. There were dozens of people milling around, chatting and laughing.

“What’s going on?” Britta slid off the altar. “Why are you all dressed like that?”

Most of them were dressed alike in beige robes. They looked like monks, but without the tonsure haircuts. Even Stan had the same outfit on, without any stripes or gold tassels to mark him out as a leader.

“We’re just back from our first day of school.” Stan held up the book he was holding. It wasn’t one of the books they’d stolen, it was a notebook. “Never thought I’d go back to being a student.”

“What are you studying?” said Britta. “Where are you studying?”

“Magic. At the Institute.”

Britta was confused. “The Institute for Magic?” Stan nodded. “The place we… you robbed?”

A few heads turned their way and Stan moved to take her aside.

“That’s right. Keep your voice down, we don’t want to make our methods too public. We’re the good guys, remember?”

There were many reasons why what he was saying made no sense. Not only had they recently fled from the Institute under something of a cloud, they had taken most of their teaching resources with them. The Institute hadn’t been open before their raid, it seemed less likely it would be open now. And even if it was, why would they allow Stan to enrol?

“A lot’s happened since you were last here,” said Stan. “I returned the books we took. I had a good long think about what you said, and it seemed to me the best way to ingratiate ourselves with the NPC community would be a show of good faith.”

“You gave them back their books? And they forgave you?”

“Well, it’s not really a matter of forgiveness. More of an understanding we came to. I returned the books and, as a finders fee, I and my friends here were given priority admission into the school.”

“You blackmailed them?” said Britta.

“That’s a very ugly word,” said Stan, “but yes. Not everyone qualified, of course, so, in addition, I provided them with some new employees, working in the kitchens, cleaning and maintenance. They were horribly understaffed, it turned out, and were only too happy to take on new workers at a very reasonable rate.” He grinned at her as his eyebrows waggled like windscreen wipers.

“How many people did you install at the Institute?” asked Britta.

“Twenty students, about the same number of casual labourers. The Institute is pretty much a rebel stronghold now.”

If you were going to take over one institution in Shona, the place where they taught magic seemed like a good choice. If you were looking to improve your magic, that is.

“So, you’re a student there now?” asked Britta.

“That’s right. First year student.”

“But you aren’t a magic class.”

“True, but they teach a foundation course for everyone, as long as your attributes are high enough. You can pick up basic skills like starting a fire or making a light. Makes things a lot easier when you’re out in the world adventuring. Here, let me show you what we learned today.”

Stan put his book down on the altar and pulled up his sleeves. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and pushed his hands out like he was doing Tai Chi. Some of the other players around him did likewise. Then they all chanted in a low drawl.

“Let the light be true. Let the light be bright.” The repeated it over and over.

After about thirty seconds, a glow appeared in the palm of Stan’s hand. It wasn’t very big and didn’t give off much light, but it was clearly the result of magic. Other lights appeared around Britta, of varying brightness. If non-magic users could use simple magic, that would make a lot of difference to their life in New World.

“That’s impressive,” said Britta. “I’d like to see what they teach the more advanced students.” She made a gesture with her hand and produced a ball of light that was blinding in comparison to the tiny flickers around her.

“There’s no need to show off,” said Stan, looking at the rather paltry light in his hand with some disappointment. It winked out. “It’s not an easy process.”

“What do you have to do?” asked Britta, turning off her own light. “Do you sit in a class with a teacher?”

“Yes,” said Stan. “There’s a lot of talking about theory and diagrams on a blackboard. I’m not sure if it’s all completely necessary, but it seems to work. And it’s got everybody excited to play again. Once we max out our magic skills, we’re going to start racking up those experience points.”

“But it’s just basic magic.”

“Yes,” said Stan, “but it’s like you said, the game wants us to reach a certain standard before we’re ready to face the scary stuff. We have to have the appropriate expertise, including skills we don’t normally have access to. I’m seeing how it works now. You have to think laterally.”

Britta shrugged and checked her status screen. Only five more minutes to wait. “I guess.”

“Imagine what they could teach someone who already has the basics down. Someone who’s a proper mage. I could put in a word for you.”

Was that something she would want to do? It might make her spells stronger, but it would require a fair amount of effort. “I don’t know…”

“No need to make your mind now. Let’s go get something to eat, my treat.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on staying. I’ve got a lot of—”

“Come on, come on, it’ll only take a minute. Hot food on a stick, how can you resist? Zero calories. Plus there’s something I want you to see. A brand new building I’d like to get your view on.”

She did have a few more minutes, no reason she couldn’t check out this new building. Nothing could happen if she just took a look.

They left the church followed by a crowd of rebel students. Student rebels? Britta wasn’t sure what they were now.

It was nighttime, as it was in the real world, and Shona was lit up with torches and lanterns. Stan claimed to know where the best food carts were, and they wouldn’t have to pay since they were manned by his people. He had taken Britta’s advice to heart and put all his rebels to work.

It was fun being in a group that was in a good mood and out to have a fun time. Britta never went out to eat with friends. She imagined this was what it would be like at university, taking classes and discussing what you’d learned over a drink and meal. Only, without the magic.

As they strolled through the balmy night — the weather was not like at home — Stan told her about how he had negotiated the deal with the Dean of the Institute for Magic. As well as seeing it as good opportunity to curry favour with the NPCs, he had decided trying to learn from the books they’d stolen would be too time-consuming, and using them as leverage was by far the better option. The dean had been remarkably accommodating, which only cemented the idea that this was how you were supposed to play the game.

“The negotiations were hard and vigorous,” said Stan, “but in the end, I had the upper hand. They couldn’t open their doors without their books, so what choice did they have? None. But it all ended quite amicably in the end and we are now on friendly terms. Shouldn’t be a problem getting you in, although you could probably get in even without my help.”

It was certainly tempting to join a magic school and learn how to do spells properly, but it sounded a lot like a regular school. Did Britta really want to spend all day in a real class and then come to the game for more lectures and more homework. Although, admittedly, it would be lectures about magic.

“A lot’s changed since you were last here,” said Stan, as the group marched down the street. “Lots more people are finding their way to the city. This is where the action is, not out in the sticks.”

“I suppose you’ve heard about all the new cash shop stuff,” said Britta. “Should make levelling up a lot easier.”

Stan stopped, causing the whole train to come to a halt. “No, what do you mean?”

“The cash shop,” repeated Britta. “You know, all the new items they’re selling.”

“It’s all fancy hats and robes, isn’t it? Never use the place myself. What’s the point in playing if you can just buy whatever you want to make yourself look cool? Earn it.” He began walking again. The train followed.

“Isn’t it the same as the real world?” There didn’t seem to be much difference as far as Britta could tell. You didn’t hunt down and skin a cow to make trousers in the real world. “Anyway, they’re adding XP boosters. They give you a percentage increase — twenty-five percent, I think it is — for a limited time, so you can level up faster.”

“XP boosters?” said Stan with a sniff. “I don’t really think they’re a good idea for the game, but I can see the attraction. It was inevitable they would eventually start treating this place like an actual video game and try to fleece their customers.” He sighed. “Obviously they’ll sell like mad and make a lot of money, but there still needs to be a way to gain experience in the first place. A percentage boost of zero is still zero.”

“I thought you’d approve of their attempt at ‘fleecing their customers.’ Isn’t that good business?” said Britta.

Stan gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t know what kind of person you take me for, but mercenary business practices are not something I consider a reasonable way to behave. My father, on the other hand…”

“So, you’re rebelling against your dad? Are you a socialist now?”

Stan pulled a face like he’d been stung. “Socialist? Are you trying to offend me? People should be allowed to make money and keep as much of it as possible. The real difference between my father and I is that he was born poor and struggled to make something of himself, while I was born rich and have little regard for hard work. Something that is entirely his fault, as I’ve reminded him on more than one occasion.”

“Did he appreciate the reminder?”

Stan smiled. “No, not very much. But it’s very easy to get trapped in the idea that you need to make more money to prove you’re a person of value. When you’ve been surrounded by it since birth you realise it doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Are you going to tell me family and time spent with the people you love are the key to happiness?” said Britta.

“Certainly not. First a socialist and now a hippy — you really don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you? What you realise once you burn through enough cash and can’t think what you want to buy next, is that the important thing is to enjoy what you do.”

“You mean it’s the journey and not the destination?”

“I wouldn’t put it in quite such a prosaic manner but essentially yes. If you have a results-based mindset and rely on the success of your endeavours to experience satisfaction, you will feel disappointed a great deal of the time. If you find something that keeps you engaged and entertained during the process, the end result will only be a bonus, not your entire income.”

“What if the thing you enjoy is fleecing people of their money in the most brutal and unfair way possible?” said Britta.

“Then I imagine you will do very well in the current economy. In the real world, that is. Here, you might find it harder to capitalise on other people’s foolishness when they can stab you if you upset them.”

“Do you really think anything will be different here?” said Britta. “It’s the same people, won’t they end up falling for the same stupid tricks?”

“No,” said Stan, “because here they learn their lesson.”

“How?” said Britta.

“By suffering the correct penalty for their stupidity — death. People who make silly mistakes need to die. And then try again. It’s the only way they’ll learn.”

Stores and restaurants in the central square were open and full of customers, both NPCs and players. The city’s nightlife was thriving. They stopped by a cart and got kebabs for free, with a nod and a wink. The food smelled amazing and tasted even better.

“There,” said Stan,” that’s the new place I told you about.”

One side of the square was covered in scaffolding with workers everywhere, hammering and digging and putting up various bits of construction.

A sign read: Under Construction.

It was for the effect, of course. You didn’t need time to construct anything on a digital platform.

“I’ve got no idea what it’s for,” said Stan, “and they won’t hire any of my people. Any guesses?”

But Britta didn’t have to guess. Talking to the workers, giving them instructions, was a familiar face. N-21, the AI who had created the battle royale.

“Is something wrong?” asked Stan.

“Um? No, it’s nothing.” Britta was on tiptoes trying to get a better look at what was going on, but the lighting wasn’t great and there were a lot of people on that side of the barriers separating the building work from the street. “I just recognise someone.” When she turned back to Stan, he was watching her closely. A bit too closely. “Stop staring, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I know that look,” said Stan, continuing to stare intently. “What is it? What have you seen? Is it this arena? Is it special?” His words were heavy with suspicion. “Out with it.”

She shook her head at his overeagerness. “It was just that foreman over there. I met him before in the Korlath Mine. Only it might not be him. It might just be the same computer model.”

Stan tried to see who she was talking about. There were a number of people over there.

“The stocky guy with the beard?”

“Um, yes. I think so.”

“And he was in the mines, was he? What was he doing?”

“Running a battle royale,” said Britta. “Just a test run. Maybe he’s setting up something similar here.” Stan was staring at her again. “Now what?”

“He’s an AI?” Stan had lowered his voice. The rest of their group were busy eating and enjoying the general ambience and atmosphere. There was plenty going on apart from construction work.

“Yes. An older one. N-21, I think.”

Stan’s eyes grew bigger. “Let’s go talk to him. Find out what he’s up to. Introduce me.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember who I am,” said Britta. She hadn’t planned to get involved in any more AI business. They tended to be a bit temperamental.

“Of course he remembers. You’re in his memory banks.”

That was true, but didn’t mean much. “Yeah, I’m sure he has my name filed away, but that doesn’t mean his personality will allow him to access it, does it?”

Now Stan was looking at her with a kind of bewilderment. “I don’t know, does it?”

Britta shrugged. “I don’t know either, but they take their personalities very seriously. We may find it hard to think of them as real people, but they have no problem believing in themselves.”

“I see,” said Stan. “We should really sit down and talk about it. I feel you have a lot more to say on the subject.”

“No, not really. I’m just guessing.”

“Well, I think we’re about to find out how good a guesser you are. He’s coming over.”

“What? Who?” Britta felt a surge of panic as she turned and saw N-21 headed towards them. She wasn’t in the right headspace for dealing with an AI. They always made everything so tricky. She hadn’t even meant to be out so long, just twelve minutes. That was twenty minutes ago.

“I wonder what he wants,” said Stan. He didn’t seem to be at all nervous at the prospect of facing an AI. He clearly lacked experience.

“Let me know how it turns out,” said Britta. “I have plans.”

“No, no, no,” said Stan, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around. “You can’t leave me alone with one of them. You know how to handle these people.”

“I’m late for a thing,” said Britta, who very definitely did not know how to handle these people. “You’ll be fine.”

He wouldn’t let go of her, though.

“Excuse me,” said N-21 gruffly. “Excuse me, if you’d like to register for early access to the Games Palace, just put your name down on here.” He was holding out a clipboard with a pencil hanging from it on the end of a piece of string.

“Sign up for what?” asked Stan, his face the picture of innocent curiosity.

“The Games Palace, like I said.”

Britta detected the slightest hint of irritation. Here we go, she thought. Time to make for the exit.

“Yes, but what kind of games?” said Stan, not taking the hint at all. “Is it a battle royale?”

N-21 gave Stan a glance from feet to head. Then he looked at Britta with no hint that he recognised her. “No, not quite. More of a one on one, or party versus party.”

“I see,” said Stan. “Players, I mean, contestants battle each other. A fight to the death?”

“Every battle is different,” said N-21, his tone lifting as he went into some kind of sales mode. “No two fights are the same. Winner takes all. Try your luck, and your skill. No limits, no restrictions. Find out what you’re capable of.” He held out the clipboard for Stan to sign.

“But what is the prize?” said Stan. He took the clipboard but didn’t sign it.

“Experience. You earn it by winning. You lose it by losing. How much depends on how much you’re willing to risk.”

Stan nearly dropped the clipboard. “We bet our XP?”

N-21 maintained a blank look like he hadn’t heard Stan.

“Wow. This could be huge. A closed economy for transferring XP between players. Holy cow. This place is going to be massive.”

“Thank you,” said N-21. “We’ll try our best. Please sign and then pass it on to anyone else who would like to try their luck, and their skill. No limits, no restrictions. Find out what you’re capable of. More details soon. Don’t worry, once you’re on the mailing list, we’ll be sure to keep you updated.” He smiled genially.

“I wouldn’t,” said Britta, even though she had planned to say nothing. It wasn’t her business what Stan got up to.

Stan, who had been on the verge of signing, stopped. “No? Why not?”

N-21 was glaring at her, she could tell without looking. “No reason. Go ahead. Good luck.” She turned, no longer held by Stan who had his hands full, and was about to log out.

“Ah,” said a deep voice. “Nice to see you again. Thinking of having a flutter?”

She looked up at N-28, standing there with his golden locks billowing in the wind, even though there wasn’t even a breeze blowing.

“No. I was just leaving,” said Britta.

“Oh, but I’m sure you’d do very well in the arena,” said N-28.

“Games Palace,” said N-21.

“Not really my thing,” said Britta as she opened her status screen.

“Shame,” said N-28. “I think you’d do very well, as long as you believe in yourself.”

Britta stopped. “Are you saying I’d be allowed to take part?”

“Of course,” said N-28. “You could be the first champion.”

“Aha,” said Stan. “If you’re here, she must be right. This is important. What is this, some kind of gathering of the AI? Secret conclave? Are you about to start the next evolution of New World?”

“This is just a place for fun and relaxation,” said N-28.

“I’m sure,” said Britta, not sounding very convinced.

“Well,” said N-28 to Stan, “that’s what I’ve been told. We probably shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves. This is an independent project in the hands of my good friend the Games Master. I have very little input into how it will turn out. As a matter of fact, you are somewhat responsible for this.”

“Am I?” said Britta. “I don’t see how. I don’t even know what this is.”

“Just a bit of fun,” said N-21. “Sign on the dotted line.” He had another clipboard which he offered to Britta.

“No, thanks. I’m not into competitive sports.”

“But you came second last time,” said N-21.

“Ah,” said Britta, “so you do remember me.”

“It just came to me,” said N-21. “You could do very well here. Defending champions get a bonus.”

“Why am I suddenly allowed to participate?” said Britta.

N-28 made a non-committal tilt of his head. “In PvE, you do have an unfair advantage, but PvP… there’s no real reason you can’t compete.”

Britta looked up at the semi-completed building. It looked like it was going to be some kind of amphitheatre with large crowds seated in a circle. It might even be broadcast outside of the game. There was no way she wanted to be under that sort of pressure.

“You want people to fight over the small amount of experience you’ve allowed them?” she said.

“It’s not really like that,” said N-28. “This is more of a side project. A minor diversion for players that will allow them to pick up a little spare change, as it were.”

N-21 didn’t seem overjoyed to hear N-28’s view. “Once people see what a real contest looks like,” he said, “they’ll be beating the doors down to get in.”

“We shall see,” said N-28. “In any case, it’s a closed economy, so no new XP is required, no inflation. It should have a minimal effect on the world at large.”

“What if I buy an XP booster from the cash shop?” said Britta. “Would that boost my earnings from the arena.”

There was a pause before N-28 spoke. “Yes.”

“What?” said Stan. “How does that makes sense with your closed economy?”

“We have to make small allowances. If we don’t, we’d fall too far behind the other regions.”

“What does that mean?” said Britta.

“Yes, what have the other regions got to do with anything?” asked Stan.

“The internal market requires each region to maintain a certain population level in order to keep receiving its share of resources. In order to be an attractive location, some concessions need to be made.”

“Can players just leave then?” asked Britta. “Move to a different region?”

“Yes. They can migrate freely. If they take resources with them, they can help sustain their region while destabilising the one they’ve raided.”

“Like the Chinese team,” said Britta. She was starting to see the bigger picture. It wasn’t just about the players competing against each other. The AI were holding their own competition. Actually, it was more like a war.

“But I don’t understand why you would make it so hard for us,” she said. “If you don’t let people level up, they’re going to leave.”

“Especially if the other regions offer better inducements,” added Stan.

“I bet the Chinese team get help from their AI. They probably made things easier for them so they could get stronger and start raiding other regions.”

“Yes, they do,” said N-28. “But if I offered you all the bonuses and upgrades you wanted for free, what would you think? That I was a jolly nice fellow?”

“No,” said Britta, “I’d think there was a catch.”

“Exactly so,” said N-28. “There is always a catch. And in any case, direct intervention isn’t allowed. You can’t simply give people immense power. If you give it here, you have to take it from there.”

“Does that mean the Chinese team are got so strong by making the rest of their region is really weak?” Britta could see that kind of approach not being very popular at all. Who wanted to give up what they had so a few elite players could be serious competitors in a global war that had nothing to do with them?

“You are correct, it is a risky strategy. One I certainly wouldn’t impose on anyone. However, once they decided to implement these booster packs, well, it seemed the ideal opportunity to put my dear friend the Games Master’s theory to the test. He believes he has the answer to keeping things interesting for everyone. He may well be right.”

N-28 was making it out to be a small venture for bored players, where they could mess around. But it was more than that. If the restriction on XP were imposed on them, this was a way to use the devs’ greed against them.

“But won’t the other regions set up their own arenas to help boost their players?” she said.

“This is the only arena of its kind,” said N-21 with pride. “Not everyone has the vision to see the possibilities of an arena format. It’s all adventuring and raiding with some people.”

“There’s one small problem I can see,” said Stan.

“And what’s that?” asked N-28.

“What if the best players, like the Chinese team, come here and beat everyone? They’d take our XP, plus any boosts, and take them back to their own region.”

“Yes,” said N-28. “Which is why we need to make sure we have experts who won’t let that happen.”

“Good luck,” said Britta. “Sounds like it should be very exciting, AI against AI, player versus player. I wish you all the best. Although, I think you may have left it a bit late.”

“What do you mean?” said N-28.

“I mean them,” said Britta, pointing to a large group of gloriously outfitted players coming towards them. The Chinese team had arrived.

There was no mistaking them. Even though Britta had only seen them on video, and not very close up, their polished and glowing armour set them apart. They were dressed for war in a fantasy setting, with multi-coloured outfits, helmets with plumes and oversized weapons that they swung around.

What was most noticeable about them, though, was how well coordinated they were. Their separate pieces of armour matched each other like they were all from the same set. Most players had a hard time finding two pieces that were the same colour.

Players and NPCs alike stopped what they were doing to check out these new arrivals strutting through the city like they owned it, or would do soon.

There were ten of them, all different shapes and sizes, mainly fighting classes as far as Britta could tell. They were loud and boisterous, easily drowning out the rest of the city which had become somewhat subdued. No one quite knew what to make this riot of noise and colour.

“How did they find out so quickly?” muttered Britta to no one in particular.

“I think they’re here for you, Games Master,” N-28 said to N-21.

“Are they, now?” said N-21. “They’re welcome to put their names down. Let’s see how well these coddled cherubs do against some proper competition.” His eyes flashed with anticipation.

No matter how much they argued about what was fair and what was best, in the end, the AI had a common goal — to beat the other AI. Just like how gamers complained about everything, but when it came down to it, they all fancied their chances in a big brawl. It was what gamers enjoyed, randomly attacking others and somehow coming out on top. And then they got all cocky about their achievements when they’d actually achieved nothing.

“What’s with that look?” said Stan. He had a bad habit of watching her face and then drawing questionable conclusions.

“Nothing. Look at their gear. They’ll wipe the floor with anyone they face in the arena, take all our XP and swan off back to China with it in a sack. There’s no winning here.”

She was being very negative, but also very realistic. It wasn’t even close.

“Ho, there,” said a tall, lean fighter covered in chrome armour. He took off his helmet, which had silver wings on either side, to reveal a young face with lots of floppy blond hair at the front and hardly any at the back. He definitely didn’t look Chinese. He looked more like he was in a boy band.

That was what they all reminded her of. One of those Korean boy bands with dozens of members and intricate synchronised dance moves (followed by the tough one rapping unintelligibly apart from the word ‘babe’).

“We heard this was where you can farm X. Where do we sign up?” His English was good, but there was a strange American twang to it, with undertones of Chinese.

“Right here,” said N-21. “Tournaments start soon. You’ll get a message.”

“X, baby,” said a shorter player behind the main one. “We taking all your X.”

“These people are too low-level,” said a very tall bald barbarian carrying a giant meat cleaver. “It’s all diet X. Wait… you look juicy.” He was pointing at Britta.

“Here, sign,” said the blond one, handing over the clipboard. “Plenty of time to suck them all dry.” He pointed at Stan and then turned around, like it was a dance move, pointing at everyone else. His teammates copied him so that it really did look like a dance move. “We challenge you all.”

If they’d broken out into song, Britta might have started screaming and jumping about. Now that more of them had removed their helmets, it was clear they were all very pretty. Much prettier than her.

Obviously, you could make yourself look however you wanted, but there was something very well put together about all ten of them, like they’d had professional artists help design their faces.

“You might want to stop drooling,” said Stan.

“I’m not drooling,” said Britta, and then involuntarily wiped her mouth.

“Psst.”

Britta turned at the sound behind her.

“Psst, over here.”

She looked over at the corner of the building site. Dad was crouched down, waving at her. Everyone was still focused on the pretty boys, so they didn’t notice Britta slowly sidle away.

“What are you doing here?” she said in a whisper.

“I’ve been following the boys there. I’m like their documentarian. I film everything they do.”

“They hired you?”

“Unofficial documentarian,” clarified Dad.

“You’re their stalker.”

“You bet. It’s been very interesting seeing what they get up to. They don’t play the same way we do, I can tell you that.”

“How did you find them?” asked Britta. “You were still looking for them last time I spoke to you.”

“Oh, I don’t hang about,” said Dad. “Lock on target, bombs away. Ah, I see some old friends. Games Master, nice to see you again.”

Britta hadn’t even seen N-21 sneak up behind her.

“Guildford,” said N-21, like they were old chums. He hadn’t been that friendly with her.

“Did you get them to sign up?”

“Indeed. Didn’t even have to give them a nudge.”

“Great, great,” said Dad.

“You know about the arena?” asked Britta.

“Of course. It’s all part of the plan. We can hardly beat them on their home ground. We’re going to take those gorgeous young men to the cleaners.”