Gamelit Novel, 17 (Patreon)

            The drama ensuing from the massacre at Donner’s Beck was so intense Ray made popcorn and gave up on sleeping. If someone had mashed up a reality tv show with an e-sports match, and shaken on a bit of forum-level trolling for spice, they couldn’t have come up with better clickbait. It was all Ray could do to keep up with Killz and Goldie as the former dragged the latter all over the starter zone, slaughtering random NPCs, burning random things, and cutting down every mob and critter in his path. Goldie had started out furiously protesting and then Killz had delivered a speech that had stopped not only Goldie in his tracks, but most of the gamer community as well. About how there was a method to his madness: “Everyone wants to be the top of the hero leaderboard. Now that the AI’s evolving things, they’re secretly hoping they get to be king. Not me, losers. I want to be the top of the villain leaderboard. I want this to be my evil origin story. I want the game to evolve to make me the end boss of the game. Why the hell should I compete with every whiny white knight in this pathetic game when I can be the one every single one of them talks about killing? The raid boss to end all raid bosses? Let’s do something interesting for once. Actually be different. Let’s see if the game will let us take the dark path.”

            Goldie, in a move worthy of an epic fantasy franchise, had turned his character to look Killz in the eye, and said: “Fine. I’ll be your partner in crime until we reach the top. But once we get there… only one of us is going to take the prize.”

            “Obvs,” Killz had answered, grinning, and Ray had been sure to make his eye teeth look particularly pointy with the camera angle.

            That had been exciting enough before the game intervened, informing Goldie that he and Killz were no longer eligible for the Call to Arms quest. They’d been branded with always-on PVP flags and titles: “Enemies of the Greenweald.” (Killz’s hissing ‘yes’ in response to this development was already a reaction gif—thanks, of course, to Ray). A new questline had spawned for them: “The Birth of Evil.”

            Ray checked the other beta players’ channels and grinned. None of them were racking up the numbers the way Killz and Goldie were. His AI agents, trawlong the internet, were pulling in hundreds of forum conversations spun off the comment sections of the videos. This was legit the most exciting thing gamers had seen yet. Ray had even gotten an email from Mollie: “Looking good, Ray, keep hyping them!”

            Of course, Mollie’s email had also included a line thanking him for putting effort into the mom-and-teen channel: “I know they’re an unlikely duo, Ray, but they showcase a very different side of Omen Galaxica, don’t you think?”

            What Ray was thinking was that he needed a shower and real food and a chance to stare at something that wasn’t two feet from his face. But Killz and Goldie were finally asleep, and Mollie was such a babe. Rubbing his eyes, he clicked on over to Team G-Rated and flipped through the stream, looking for something that wasn’t DeerBoy staring at flowers… and guffawed. Was that seriously PonyMom beating a cat with a spatula? He marked that and keep speeding through… and hit the music section. Backed up, set it to normal speed, listened. Repeated it.

            “Hell’s bells,” he said. “That’s actually… really cool.” What had Mollie said? Another side of Omen Galaxica? No… maybe the flip side? Killz and Goldie were the PVP troller action heroes, obviously. Or antiheroes, now. Ray had never been much of a lore nerd, but he understood the appeal. More importantly, this was also the AI evolving the game… just for very different people.

He shook himself, then leaned into his keyboard. “Okay, kid. You and mom are about to become the heart of Omen Galaxica. Because hell if I let those other beta teams beat out either of mine.”

***

            After spending most of the night practicing mandolin or singing with the AI or hunting herbs, Nick wanted to kill something when his phone went off at 7 am. He groped for it and peered at the notifications. Was he still dreaming? No way Fish was awake at 7 am in summer. He opened messaging.

lol guess whose sister is home loser, try to have something interest on the channel when i get back

            Nick flopped back on the bed. Seven in the morning. Ugh. He scrubbed his face with a hand until his brain started working again.

going to boardwalk and baseball?

you know it

two smooth days of every roller coaster

at least twice

            Nick chuckled. Neither of Fish’s parents were coaster fiends the way their kids were, and the moment they could trust Fish’s older sister to escort him on riders, they’d handed him over. Nick had gone with them a few times and been amused at how quickly they’d been abandoned so that Fish’s parents could hang out near the cooling fans, fountains, and slushie vendors.

Of course, Fish had been old enough to wander the theme park alone for years, but the annual family trip was the highlight of his summer, especially now that his sister wasn’t living with them anymore. She was just as crazy as Fish and in most of the same ways. Smiling at the memory, Nick answered.

have fun drink some mango slushie for me

gross everyone knows cola is the only flavor

            Nick sent a line of mango emojis and grinned at the expletive-filled response. Good enough. He checked the time: still seven o’clock. He scrolled through the group chat, which was full of the inevitable stupid jokes and plans for meet-ups at the pizza place. His girlfriend hadn’t texted him, but she wasn’t big on texting, and anyway sending her a message this early would not make her happy. He did decide he should say something in group, though, so he did:

hey guys beta eating my brain but its fun

            And left it at that. They’d get to it when they woke up.

            Downstairs, Mom was asleep. Nick raided the refrigerator for the last muffin and wondered, looking at the countertop, if he could possibly make a new batch himself. Wouldn’t that be something? He could probably learn from some video. Except it would wake Mom up, who was sleeping on the couch. He eyed her, decided not to chance it, and snuck upstairs. She’d probably be up in an hour or two, and in the meantime, he could practice herbalism and maybe make up more Cervinaethi songs. The song-making had been… he inhaled. The most amazing thing he’d done maybe ever. He wanted more of that.

            When he zoned into the game, some of the centaurs across from him were arming themselves with short bows and spears. Surprised, Nick said, “Something up?”

            “Something has torn several creatures apart and left their bodies to rot,” said one of them. “The forest is uneasy.”

            A surge of excitement swamped Nick. The game really was evolving! “I see. I’ll keep an eye out on my morning walk.”

            The centaur frowned at him. “Perhaps it is unwise to walk alone at this time.”

            “I know these woods,” Nick said. “I’ve known them for a long time. I’ll be all right.”

            “On your head be it then, traveler.”

            It didn’t take much walking to find the first carcass; Nick could still see the road. Crouching, he prodded the decaying boar. “I’m guessing this is going to become part of a quest since you haven’t made the bodies vanish.”

            At his shoulder, the bobbing green light murmured, “It is our observation that disclosure of game developments can be detrimental to player immersion.”

            “Spoilers ruin things?” Nick thought of the countless wikis and companion sites for Omen Galaxica. “Yeah, I get it. I remember logging in for the first time and having no idea where anything was, or how to find the quest givers, much less the quest objectives.” He grinned. “The game was a mess back then.”

            “Subsequent patches and expansions have resolved many player complaints.”

            “And I bet created as many new complaints as they solved.”

            A pause. Then: “Player reception of the updates was gauged based on subscription numbers and hours logged in play. These metrics indicated that users continued to play, and in greater numbers.”

            “Which mattered to the company.” Nick nodded and rose, dusting off his leggings. “I’m glad the corpses don’t stink, by the way.”

            “Ultimate verisimilitude is not the goal. Player engagement is.”

            “I guess most players only like the gross bits if they don’t go too far.”

            “That is part of what this beta is testing.”

            Nick eyed the carcass, tried to loot it, and actually came up with an item: [Knife-Scored Pelt]. The body faded. “All right, I see where you’re going with this. Let’s go hunting for clues.”