LITRPG 3 (Patreon)

Jack grabbed the mini-skirt, then held it out and away with two fingers, like it was a dead skunk. “Never,” he said, stashing it in his inventory, but not equipping it. Instead, he started searching the bodies, hoping for more loot. “The gear for women in these games is always so sexist and stupid.”

“If you aren’t going to wear it, give it back,” Brett said. “I found it.”

“And I gave you that armor, so suck it.”

Just then, they heard some mumbling, and the sound of wood tattering on concrete. They both looked up, hands on weapons, to see the currier, still tied to the chair, rocking back and forth, trying to shout through her gag to get their attention.

“Oh, shit!” They said in unison.

“Are we supposed to escort the currier back to Frenchie?” Brett asked.

“I hope not. Escort Missions suck.”

Jack untied the currier’s wrists and ankles. She immediately pulled down her gag and shouted, “Thanks, girls! I’m outta here!” and ran up the stairs, disappearing from view. Jack and Brett had both followed her with their eyes, and they now starred at the stairwell. “So, I guess that’s it?” Jack pulled his long away from his shoulders.

“What if we were supposed to go with her?”

“Well…”

But just then, they heard a bell ring, and a starburst appeared reading Currier Rescued. LVL UP! Skill Points +2.

“Sweet.”

They both went immediately to their skill menus. As tempted as Jack was to put his points on strength– he hated being so weak– he knew it was not going to help him, so instead he added points to speed and dexterity, though it kinda didn’t matter since they were over and out soon. Brett added to strength and perception, watching his hit points and firearms accuracy rise.

“Well, let’s get this briefcase back to Frenchie and call it a day, so I can get rid of these tits,” Jack said, tugging at the base of his bra, which seemed to have slipped under his breasts and was pinching.

“Oh, I like your tits,” Brett said. “I’m gonna… hmmmmnnnn….”

“What?”

Now that Brett had raised his perception, he noticed that a section of the basement wall seemed– off. Like an ill-fitting joint. The edge seemed to glow, faintly. “There’s something…” Brett said, going over to the wall. Once he got close, he noticed that certain bricks had faint etchings– each of the bricks read either left or right. Brett started to press them, and sure enough they depressed into the wall with the grinding sound of stone on stone– only to grind back out again.

Jack came over. “Some kind of secret door,” he said, still tugging at his bra, trying to get his boobs to sit comfortably in the cups.

“I wonder what the proper order is?” Brett said, pressing them in a different order, but failing to get the door open.

Despite his eagerness to get out of the game, Jack found himself intrigued by what could be behind the door. His bra emergency settled, he went over to the desk, looking for a code, a hidden drawer, anywhere that might have the answer. He found a bunch of takeout menus, and some crude drawings, but nothing that looked like an answer. He sat down, watching Brett, looking around the room. There had to be a clue. There was always a clue. Rat.tat.tat– Jack tapped his long fingernails against the desk top. He’d never understood women’s obsession with long nails, painting them, decorating them. To him they had always just seemed like an impractical waste that made actually using their hands less effective.

Thinking about women and all their confusing ways, his eyes fell to Brett’s body. He actually looked pretty sweet from behind– those long, athletic legs, a firm, round ass. He wondered what it would feel like to cup one of those sweet cheeks and squeeze…

Brett kept pushing, hoping to randomly hit upon the right order. Finally, Brett he threw up his hands. “I don’t know.” He turned to face Jack, who quickly averted his eyes, locking them onto the computer screen, pretending he’d been looking there the whole time. The screen was green and gold, looking like one of those terrible website from the 90s. Fuzzy letters spelled out the word “Link.”

“The odds against guessing the code are astronomical,” Jack said, reaching for the mouse.

“There has to be a clue,” Brett said. “There’s always a clue. Somewhere you don’t expect.” With a sudden burst of inspiration, he ran over to the chair the currier had been sitting on, lifting it up, thinking maybe there would be something on the base of the seat. Nothing. He threw it down, annoyed.

Jack, meanwhile, had moved the cursor over the word “Link” and tried to click. Nothing, though it did roll-over to spell out the word “Legend.”  He moved the cursor away, and back. Link. Legend. Link. Legend. This has to be it, he thought to himself. This has to be the clue.

Brett had picked up the briefcase, was turning it over and around. “Maybe it’s inside here?”

Suddenly, Jack laughed, a high, sweet, feminine laugh. “It can’t be,” he said, getting up and skipping to the wall, his hair bouncing prettily.

“What?”

He reached up, and if it hadn’t been for his heels he wouldn’t have been able to reach the top brick, but he pushed Left, then Left, then Right, Right.

Nothing. His heart sank, and the smile disappeared from his face.

“I thought for sure…”

And then they both heard it, the sound of a bar sliding open. Jack pushed on the door. It swung open, revealing a small room with an old-fashioned film projector and a small, silver screen. Jack turned, a wicked smile back on his face, and took a bow. “Ta da!”

“How did? What was?”

“It’s the famous code from the Legend of Zelda,” Jack said, amused with himself and pleased to have figured it out instead of Brett.

“But how did you figure it out?” Brett said, as equally annoyed Jack had beaten him to the solution.

“I’m smart,” Jack said. “That’s how.” He went to the projector.

“She’s got brains and beauty,” Brett said, wanting to knock Jack down a bit.

Jack didn’t take that bait. “Let’s see what’s on this film.”