Gamelit Novel, 2 (Patreon)

The last bit got cut off, so here's the rest!

***

“That’s my hero. Nick, the provider. Talk to you in a bit, this part’s gonna suck.”

With no one to talk to, Nick tried to concentrate on what he was doing… and failed. Usually farming windalos was hypnotizing, what he imagined meditation felt like. Today he couldn’t keep his head in the game. Literally. Bringing up the guild frame let him track the location of his friends, and he flipped from one mini-map to the other in an effort to feel less isolated. If he started talking, someone would talk back—Blythe, probably, or Fish. But he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to farm. He definitely didn’t want to check the game site for more details on the beta, because he’d already read the press releases at least twenty thousand times. If he crept downstairs… but he didn’t want to hover over his mother. If there was one thing guaranteed to make her decide not to do something, it was nagging her about how much he wanted it. Somehow he’d have to get through dinner with his parents without blowing his chances—he wasn’t looking forward to that.

If only he could explain better how amazing this opportunity was. Every game company was messing with AIs, most of them primitive, but no one was doing what Omen was, by letting a next-level AI evolve the game in realtime in response to the players’ actions. Other devs wanted to protect their existing properties from getting messed up by something they couldn’t control, which meant none of their AI-built games were as rich as Omen already was. Omen was… was like a betterworld than the one they were stuck in, so what would it be like when the AI made it even more amazing?

And he could be part of it. Maybe. There was no guarantee that they’d get picked out of the pile if his mom said she’d do it. He had to imagine there were millions of people eager to get into the hottest beta test in the world. Or maybe Fish was right, and there weren’t that many people left who’d never had an Omen account.

His mom liked to say that if something was meant to be, God would make sure it happened, which sounded to Nick like more of her magical thinking. For once, though, he hoped she was right, and that some divine power thought he, Nicholas Augustine Ferrer, deserved to become one of the hottest streamers in the world, playing one of the most exclusive gaming experiences ever.

The smell of cooking rice and the peppery-soy scent of kung pao chicken drew him out of his room and cautiously down to the kitchen. When he peeked at the small round table his family used for dinner, his mom was already seated there, reading something on a tablet. He paused, and without looking up, she said, “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

That was a joke old enough that he mostly didn’t find it funny anymore, but tonight it struck him again. “Are you sure? I’ve gotten bigger since the last time you tried to chomp me.”

She looked up and pursed her lips. “True. It’s too bad you need all your arms and limbs, or I might be tempted.”

He grinned. “Should I set the table?”

“Please. Your father’s almost done. And Nicholas?”

He hesitated.

“So far I’m not seeing anything bad in this contract. If I get to the end of it without running into any problems… then… yes. I’ll play the game with you.”

“Mom! You mean it?!”

She lifted a finger. “If I don’t find anything bad in here.”

“You won’t! I mean… they wouldn’t… it would be bad publicity… they know adults are reading these things, most of the players of the game are grown-ups anyway—”

His mother laughed. “Go get the plates.”

He dashed away, almost ran into his father who had both steaming bowls, one full of rice, the other mounded with fragrant chicken. “Woah, there, partner. Contain your glee before it explodes, and takes the ceramics with it.”

“She said yes!”

His father chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself… she has to finish reading. And then they have to choose you. They might not.”

But they would. Nick knew they would.