Gamelit Novel, 11 (Patreon)

Being able to taste things in the game was amazing, so of course, his mother had to ruin it. “I’m not sure how I feel about all this.”

“I don’t know why,” Nick said. “It’s the best stew I’ve ever had.”

“That’s what bothers me.” She poked her spoon at one of the browned lizardhen chunks. “If things start tasting this good in a game, won’t reality start disappointing people?”

Before Nick could explain that reality was disappointing, the voice in the back of his head woke up. Is this a valid concern? Will people cease to play the game because they believe the contrast will make their lives less appealing?

Would thinking back at the AI work? Because no way was he having this conversation out loud in front of his mom. It’s more likely that they’ll want to play the game more if the game makes their lives look boring.

Humans have corporeal forms that require upkeep, the AI replied, so Nick guessed he was now telepathic, which would have been more exciting if he could do it with people, rather than a computer. Or… would it be awful, to be able to read people’s minds? What was his girlfriend thinking while he kissed her? He hoped it wasn’t her homework, or how awkward he was at it.

No, telepathy was a terrible idea. Except with the AI. And his mom was staring at him now with a faint frown that didn’t bode well. If the game started upsetting her this early she might quit. And the AI was unhappy about this too, so maybe it was a game-breaking problem. “We couldn’t taste things in the game before. Now that we can… maybe… you’ll need to be really good at cooking to make things taste like this? And if you’re bad at cooking, you make stuff that tastes burnt.” He tore the flatbread, which was soft and doughy and perfect. They hadn’t had homemade flatbread in a long time. Dad explained his persistent inability to pull it off by claiming Mom had some magic touch with the yeast. “The AI can only work with your memories, not put new ones in you, I’m guessing. So it’ll never be more perfect than any really good thing you’ve had in the past. I think.”

Nick waited for the AI to chime in, but it didn’t. Which… was a little worrisome. Could it make new sensations? What the heck had he actually put on his head?

“I guess that would help,” his mother said. “If the meals here aren’t consistently the most amazing things you’ve ever had… but wouldn’t it be bad for their business if some of the food was gross? ‘Come, try our new headset, experience terrible meals!’”

That made him laugh. “It might turn some people off, but gamers are used to having their first efforts suck. Otherwise it wouldn’t be satisfying when you got better at things. You should have seen us all when we started. We’d swing a Crude Iron Dagger twenty times and miss nineteen. And all the time, some rabid squirrel or angry pig is biting our shins.”

“That sounds… adorable?”

“Until you die!” Nick paused. Would dying hurt now? Would anything hurt?

We are legally and contractually incapable of inflicting pain on customers.

But would that make combat feel… like all the good parts without the bad parts to convince you not to do it? Sort of like not having a conscience. Or… maybe, not having consequences to your actions ever be bad. Nick dipped the flatbread in the stew and chewed it, savoring it, and began to worry that his mother had a point. But he loved being able to smell the wood burning, and hear the shuffle of hooves on grass, and definitely taste. In fact, he couldn’t wait to taste everythingin the game.

There are implications to immersion for humans that were not immediately obvious,the AI said. We welcome feedback on this aspect of the game as you progress.

Which reminded him that they had progression to do. “So are you ready to go?”

“Go… where? Do you have a quest?”

“We need to go to EverVigil,” Nick said. “The king’s called up his heroes for a big war that’s coming.”

His mom’s eyes widened. “And he wants us?”

She… had a point there. But by the time they got to EverVigil, they’d have new, evolved classes. He’d be whatever super thing an assassin evolved into, and his mom would be… “Do you have a character class?”

“The game said my class would evolve ‘organically based on my choices.’ But I have some skills already. And I have a pouch full of magic cookies.”

“You have a magical item?” Nick asked, torn between envy and exhilaration. “What’d you get?”

“Like I said. A pouch full of magic cookies.” She rummaged in an unassuming belt pouch and came up with a beautiful, chewy-looking molasses cookie, like the ones Mom only made at Christmas for presents. The ones with black pepper and two kinds of ginger. “Wait, how did it pick this one?”

“I don’t know, but can I have it?” Nick wiggled his fingers, and she laughed and handed it over. It was, in fact, one of her molasses ginger cookies, and it tasted perfect. Like memories of the holidays when he was in elementary school, and he was ‘helping’ with the baking but actually eating the dough. The flashback was so intense, in fact, that he paused to see if it would go away.

Query: should these sensations be foregrounded, or are they distracting?

Nick tried another bite, and was swamped again. Um, definitely distracting. You can choose how strongly we feel our memories? Not going to lie, that’s a little creepy.

Did the AI sound disturbed? No, that was just him reading into the situation. We have little experience with handling the intrusion of non-game-related thoughts. The hardware interprets them as important if they reach a threshold of disruption of its signal.

Okay, definitely creepy. How are other people handling it?

Other players have not provoked similar reactions.

Which meant… what? That out of all the players in the beta, only he and his mom are thinking more about their real lives than the game? He eyed the cookie, which popped up a tag.

Spiced Holiday Cookie

This food grants a bonus to activities involving dexterity and speed.

“This is awesome,” he said aloud. “So you didn’t pick it for me?”

“No… at least, the only thing on my mind when I reached in the pouch was ‘I hope it’s Nick’s favorite.’ But I thought that was oatmeal pecan.”

“I do like oatmeal pecan, but these are definitely my favorite.”

“And I didn’t know because I only make them for holidays—” She paused. “So that means the game read my thought, and then somehow read your thought, and came up with the right answer?”

Query: Creepy, correct?

Yeah,Nick thought back. But probably unavoidable. The hardware works the way it works. “I guess so. Or maybe it got lucky, because I happened to be thinking about cookies when you mentioned them. Still, I’m not gonna complain.” He grinned. “So… ready to go?”

“I don’t know,” his mother said. “I’m going to have to nap soon. But I guess we can start and see how far I get.”

How far they got was barely out of camp, because all the centaurs wanted to talk to his mom, and try to give her side quests, and while it was funny it was frustrating too. The Call to Arms quest kept being up there, in the corner. He wanted that evolved class. He wanted to be first! Or, all right. Maybe not first, but he wanted his playthrough to matter.

His mom looked at him apologetically. “If I cook them one more dish, they’ll give me some kind of… award? Achievement? And a piece of gear. I should want gear, shouldn’t I? What should I do?”

Nick’s fantasy of himself arriving at EverVigil wrapped in a black cloak in the coolest armor ever seen, bristling with… he didn’t know. Spikes and smoke or something… all of it vanished. He looked at the camp of hopeful centaurs, and his mom—his newb gamer mom, who was his responsibility—and said, “You definitely need gear. So I guess, let’s see what they want you to cook.”

Had he been asked, he would not have chosen to spend the rest of their playtime cooking a feast, and yet… it was kind of fun. Doing the same kind of basic kill-and-gather-parts quests he’d labored through as a fresh player, putting together the dish only to have it evolve into a feast with centaurs everywhere, and dancing, and by then it was sunset in-game so there was a bonfire and… yeah. It was actually pretty good. When his mom logged off for her nap, he stayed to toast his weird deer toes by the fire and listen to the musicians, who’d mellowed out a bit. One of them was playing a mandolin, which he'd secretly thought was the coolest looking guitar-like thing.

“You’ve got long fingers, boy,” said one of the centaurs. “Care to learn?”

Could he? If he learned in the game, with the wireset… would he be able to play in person? Would that work?

There is no data available on the likelihood of carry-over of physical skills learned with the wireset.

But?Nick said, sensing one.

Accruing that data is part of the purpose of the beta.

And you can really teach me to play?

We have access to thousands of training resources. It would be a worthy experiment.

“I’d love to learn,” Nick said, and got up to join her. So maybe he’d evolve into some kind of assassin-bard. That could be cool, right? Or if it wasn’t, he could stab anyone who disagreed. And then make up a sarcastic song about them! “What do I do?”