NPC 1 (Patreon)

I got an idea for a second anthology short. This one will likely be shorter than the other, so I'm doing a lot of telling instead of showing. I hate doing that, but showing will surely make the story far too long.

Regardless, I'd love some input on it. Does it suffer from telling? Can you enjoy it anyhow?

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After filling my mug with javea, I stumbled sleepily toward my usual seat. I enjoyed working for Claw and Blade, mostly. The job was easy, even fun much of the time, but I guess that’s why they didn’t mind working us such ridiculously long hours.

Most of the geroo leaving our old colony work menial labor gigs—cleaning crews, assembly lines, warehouse work, fast food. They get eight hours on, eight hours off, and then eight hours to sleep. They even get two days off each week! I envy them that.

They work ten-year contracts, then return to the colony for a bit to breed, and head back out to take another contract. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Other geroo stay at the colony year after year to raise the young—cubs and chaos! Motherhood doesn’t really have “hours” like other jobs. You do what you need, when you need to make sure the cubs learn everything from how to wipe their own tailholes to airlock safety protocols.

Hard work, for sure, but satisfying for gals who like that sort of thing. Sisterhood, maternal pride, and all that… Eh, it was never for me.

Claw and Blade was one of five MMORPGs that contracted geroo from the colony where I grew up. It was ostensibly a medieval fantasy video game, but the devs won’t hesitate to include anything they think might be fun. If someone programs up a ray gun shoot-out in an underwater setting where everyone gets to wear jet packs, then they’d fit it in somehow, theme and logic be damned. The important thing is that the clients enjoy the game and keep plopping down their gold each month to stay subscribed.

So, we get to play the game all day, every day—sort of.

We work fourteen-hour shifts, seven days a week—no vacations, no holidays, but we do get a short break on patch days or when the game goes down. At shift end, we head back to the dorm, strap on our heart monitors, and take two hours of exercise—sports, work-outs, even sex is fine, so long as we keep our heart rates elevated. Then, eight hours of sleep before we do it all over again.

We won’t cycle back to the colony—ever. Working an MMO is a lifetime assignment with no distractions for raising a family. I’ll admit, I cried a little when they sterilized me, but not because I ever wanted to be a mom. I just felt sad because… It’s hard to put in words, y’know? You spend a dozen years surrounded by gals who have dedicated their lives to motherhood, and then you turn about and say, “This isn’t for me.”

There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, no gal should ever feel forced into being a mother, but there’s still a sense of isolation when you commit to it. I kinda felt as if by going to an MMO, I was judging my mom and her priorities. I wasn’t. Honestly. But I still felt that way, somewhat.

Never mind that. Let’s talk about the game! Claw and Blade was the biggest part of my life now.

The work floor was an endless grid, four to a table, with our monitors raised up half a meter on central poles so it’s easy to work together and collaborate with our teammates. I stole a couple kisses as I passed some guys and gals I liked. I even scheduled a couple “dates” for that evening too, if you could call them that—nothing serious, just some friends who know exactly how to get my heart racing.

Then, I took my seat and logged into the game.

When geroo first join our team, they take a quick training course, and then they play the game’s least interesting NPCs for a few years, getting a hang of how the game works. From there, the server starts sprinkling in a few roles as basic mobs. You fight some battles and lose a lot!

Of course, we lose. Casual players—krakun players, I mean—expect to die about once every hour or two. More often than that, and the game feels frustrating. Less often, and it feels too easy. So, if the player kills some 300 mobs for every time they get killed, then that means we get killed 300 times for every fight we actually win. We don’t try to die, but most players are tougher than the mobs they face.

Raiding is different, but that comes later.

After only a couple seconds of waiting, I’m transported to a train the players use to travel from one game zone to another. Why does a medieval fantasy have a train? No idea, but they do. They’ve integrated it into a lot of the quest lines. But now, I’m the conductor, walking down the central aisle, asking the passengers for their tickets.

In all likelihood, none of the other NPCs are played by other geroo. It’s possible that the server suspects a player is likely to interact with one of them and would assign someone to their role, but they’re probably just computer-controlled, repeating a loop of innocuous actions and responding to basic interactions forever.

“Ticket, please,” I say to an NPC on an adjacent bench seat. He looks up from his book and mimes handing me a ticket. The ticket isn’t real, so nothing changes in my inventory, but it looks good if any players are watching.

Interestingly, my conductor can’t fight. I can choose from a variety of actions that control the train, but there’s no combat options. If anyone griefs me, the passengers will just have to wait for me to respawn before they can get a ride to another zone.

At the top of the screen, it says, “Conductor Vivorik, arrogant.” The arrogant bit is in red print and slowly flashes. The devs clearly want Vivorik played consistently, no matter which of us is controlling him.

Most players won’t actually interact with a conductor. They’ll click on us, we’ll say something along the lines of, “Where would you like to go?” and before we’ve even finished speaking, they’ve clicked on the map and paid their fare. But they could interact with us, so I’ll play my part.

From the side of the screen, I see a player get on the train. He’s a warrior, which is probably the most basic class. It’s a good place to start with the game, not too hard, not too fancy. It lets you get right into a battle instead of staying back like one of the ranged or support classes.

The warrior’s name is ARRGGAA—yes, in all capital letters—and he’s level thirteen. He’s probably new to the game, but it is possible he’s a long-time player who’s created a new toon and plans to power-level him up to the current level-cap of ninety. Considering the character’s name though, I’m gonna guess he’s new.

When ARRGGAA walks up to me, I glance his way for only a moment. “Can’t you see I’m busy with another passenger? You’ll have to wait!” I say, leaning into Conductor Vivorik’s arrogance. I speak in the krakun language, but the computer alters my voice so to the player, I sound like whatever Conductor Vivorik is supposed to sound like instead of a little geroo gal.

I’m fully expecting the player to ignore what I said and click on me to purchase his ticket—which he’s most welcome to do—but ARRGGAA surprises me. Instead, he backs off half a step and says, “Oh, okay.”

From under my headset, my ears grin wide. The player sounds young. Admittedly, a young krakun has probably lived more years than I ever could, but I like the wonder in his voice. So, I take my time asking another NPC for his ticket, and we chit chat about the weather as I pretend to punch a hole in it. Then, I turn back to ARRGGAA, who is still waiting patiently. “Yes?” I ask him. “And whatever did you need?”

Maybe he doesn’t know he can click on me? You’d think by level thirteen, he’d have worked that out. Regardless, he says, “One ticket to the Blood-soaked Plains, please.”

The Blood-soaked Plains? That’s a terrible idea. It’s not a high-level zone—the mobs probably start at level twenty there—but a level thirteen warrior in shabby armor isn’t going to fare well. “Absolutely not!” I laugh. “They would chew you up and spit you out. I won’t have your death on my conscience.”

Again, he could just click on me, but instead he says, “I promise, I’ll be very careful, mister.”

After all these years in the game, it still feels strange to be called “mister,” but I didn’t create Conductor Vivorik. “Do you know what horrors stalk the Blood-soaked Plains, young warrior? There’s skeletons there! Fighters who don’t know they’re dead! Flesh and ichors dripping from their bones!”

“Yeah! I wanna see that!” says ARRGGAA.

With one paw over my mouth, I struggle to contain a laugh. When I reclaim my calm, I say, “Very well, foolish warrior, but heed my advice … watch the plains from the safety of the passenger car. Don’t go out there! Your life depends on it.”

With a click, I send the train off to the Blood-soaked Plains, and I don’t even charge him the fare.

He is going to die so many times!

———

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1c8Y6t48XlWRJvij_IC6eYFWapmzmZZS9X0U-RqmKg1w/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?