LIT RPG 9 (Patreon)

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The fact that their girlfriends looked like their female alter-egos, their near kiss, it made for a lot of tension between quad mates Jack and Brett. They did their best to avoid one another.. Meanwhile, Jack continued to be haunted by trace memories of Mei’s body, missing her hips, the weight of her breasts. He’d gone online and done some research– found a few articles on what was being called slippage–but they were all from blogs and by people with unverifiable credentials. Saturday rolled around, and all morning he found himself absent-mindedly hooking his thumb under his shirt collar, meaning to adjust his imaginary bra strap. Finally, he’d had enough. Hair of the dog that bit ya, he said to himself as he went to his room, locked the door and logged into the system. Maybe, he reasoned, if he spent some time as Kiyo, it would free him of the obsessive thoughts about being her in his real life.

The world of Recon Junction sprang into resistance around him. He sighed with relief to feel the weight of his breasts resting in the cups of his bra, the straps on his shoulders. He brushed his hair back– he’d missed having long hair somehow– and then looked around. He was on the street outside Frenchie’s. He remembered Frenchie’s question, and of course their mission, but he didn’t want to be a dick and finish their mission on his own. Maybe he and Brett would get over whatever was going on between them.

In the meantime, he pulled up the world map. These kinds of games always had a lot of side missions you could– what was this? Blinking someone down in the twisting streets of the Lower Vale was the icon of a house. Jack zoomed in to see Kiyo’s Place under the house icon. She had an apartment? Too cool. Crossing his fingers, Jack then tried to Fast Travel to his pad, and pumped his fist when he felt himself jumping. He hated games where you had to spend hours upon hours running here and there for no reason. He always suspected the designers built that shit into their games just to waste people’s time, to make them think there was more actual content than they really offered.

He’d posted about that to reddit more than a few times, but he forgot all about it as he materialized in Kiyo’s apartment. Nice, he thought. Nice! Kiyo had good taste– and a fireplace! No way. He rushed over and looked to see the remains of charred logs, ashes. It worked. Man, he always wanted a fireplace. The walls were red brick, weathered as one might expect in the old town part of the city and the room was tastefully feminine, but not overly so with abstract paintings, retro 1950s couches and lamps. It reminded him of a kind of compromised interior, where the woman picked out everything, but knew better than to kill her man’s soul. I wish I lived here for real, he thought, looking over the gleaming, stainless steel appliances in the galley style kitchen. I’d actually have some privacy!

He went into the bedroom– once more, tasteful, with a big bed, and, well, he would have to take down the black and white beefcake photo of a shirtless Chris Hemsworth hanging above her bed.

At least she has good taste in men, he thought, as he went to inspect a table with a mirror and a padded stool– as he approached a dialogue box popped up– Change Your Look? Ah. In almost every game you had the option of changing your look– in Red Dead II you did it at the barber shops in different towns. He’d tried a couple different hairstyles and beards, he thought as he sat down and decided to look over his options. I guess I won’t be trying different beards, he thought as Kiyo’s smooth, pretty face appeared.  She is really pretty, he thought as he looked at her big eyes, little nose, and that mouth. Now, having a chance to really look at Kiyo’s face, he was even more struck by how much Brett’s girlfriend looked like him– her.  He cycled through different hairstyles- messy buns, mohawks, and space buns. Then he switched to makeup. There were a bunch of “looks” to choose from, and Jack cycled through a few, seeing what Kiyo looked like in sultry- hot– cyberzombie– scary- basic– pretty but bland– then he saw Manual.

He clicked on Manual. Jars, tubes, brushes appeared on the table top. What the hell. Jack picked up a tube and opened it, finding a lipstick wand inside. Oh, shit, he thought. You can actually do makeup here like in the real world? Why would anyone want to? He went back into the system and clicked on sultry again, turning his head this way and that– the dark, dramatic eyeshadow and thick eyeliner really made Kiyo’s eyes pop. He almost switched to a light, natural look called “Coed” but what did it really matter?  Oh, well…”

Jack’s struggle to decide what look to go with was interrupted. He heard the sound of his phone ringing, or rather Kiyo’s. Turning off what he’d already branded the “makeover station” he activated his phone from his inventory. The caller ID read “Rebel.”

Jack answered. “Hello?”

“Omigod! Kiyo,” a smoke ravaged woman’s voice answered. “I am in so much trouble! You have to help me!”

His choices appeared: 1) Help your friend 2) Hang up. He clicked “Help Your Friend.”

“Me me in the alley behind Club Trance,” Rebel said. “Hurry!”

The line went dead. Jack checked his map. The Mission Marker blacked. It was just a couple blocks away. “Cool,” he said, heading toward the door, space buns and sultry makeup intact.

It was night, and the streets of Lower Vail teemed with life– locals, sketchy looking thug types, ladies of the evening on every corner, and roving bands of over-dressed uptowners, slumming. As Jack clicked along the sidewalks, he discovered the demeanor of the NPCS was different down here. There were whistles and catcalls. “Show me that pretty smile! Look at your fine self!”

He passed a group of teen-age boys gathered on a stoop. They looked him over, mentally undressing him with their eyes. “Nice tits!” One said. As he passed, one said, “Look at that fine ass!” And the boys all laughed. Jack found himself feeling embattled, and he hurried his step, worried and unsure how to deal with all this– guyness.

“You are a fine ass little bitch!” A gross, fat older man shouted as he walked by Jack.

Bitch?

I’m a fucking  assassin! Jack thought. I should go back and kill that asshole. But then, he remembered how fast the police had come when Brett had gotten into it with that guy, and it just wasn’t worth it. Besides, he had a mission. I guess I’ll just have to put up with it, he decided, his whole body tense as he hurried along, trying to ignore the guys leering at him, yelling at him.

It was actually a relief to turn off the busy street and head down the narrow, dark, trash strewn alley that led back around Club Trance. He felt safer there, ironically enough. Turning the corner, he took in the scene– a car, trunk open, what looked like a dead body on the pavement, and one of the hottest girls he’d ever seen, dressed all in leather, sitting on a Harley.

“Kiyo,” she said, lifting one long leg over the heavy metal of her bike. As Jack approached, she put her arms around him and pulled him in, kissing him right on the mouth. Shocked, Jack pushed against her chest, but she held him in her kiss, then let him go. “You have to help me,” she said, her scratchy voice super sexy.

“I killed this guy,” Rebel said. “But that’s not the real problem. I left my purse in the club. My ID is in it. If they find it…”

Some kind of stealth mission, Jack thought, sour. He’d felt like some action, but then again, he was a stealth character. “Why don’t you go back in and get it?”

“The security cameras caught me leaving with this guy,” she said. “They might be looking for me.”

Not the best justification ever, Jack thought. But, what the hell. He needed to do something. “Where is it?”

“In the manager’s office on the second floor.”

“Of course.” It was never going to be easy.

“I kinda fucked the manager before I lured this guy out here to kill him.”

Rebel was a wild one. “I’ll get it,” Jack said, as he turned to leave, Rebel goosed him.

“Hey!” Jack squealed, jumping. “Don’t!”

“You love it, dollface.”

Dollface? Is she my girlfriend or something?

Jack headed back around to the front of the club. There was, of course, a long line. Well, Jack thought, I am a hot girl. He walked right past all the people waiting and went right up to the doorman.

“Well, hello, you fine little thing,” the man said. He was huge– 6-3 and maybe 300 pounds. Options appeared: 1. Seduce 2. Bribe 3. Get in line and wait.

Ugh. Jack clicked Seduce.

Cut scene. He watched himself put a hand on his hip, tilt his head to the side and giggle. “Hey, handsome,” he said in a softer, higher, little girl voice. “How about doing a girl a favor?”

SUCCESS.

“You take your fine ass on in there,” the doorman said, opening the door, giving Jack the once over.

The scene shifted back. Jack entered the club feeling like an idiot– a sexy little idiot– but an idiot still. Why did he agree to play a female?

He made his way into the club. Everyone was so tall! He felt like a child weaving in and out among all the grown up sized bodies. Music thumped. The dance floor was packed. Jack felt hands grab his hips, a guy grinding into him.

“Get off me!” He said, pulling away.

“Bitch,” the guy said.

Fucking asshole. Once more, it took all Jack’s willpower not to pull out his pistol and shoot the guy, but there was security everywhere, and the chances of him getting out of here alive were slim if he initiated a gunfight. Moving quickly, lest some other bro decide to rub his junk against his ass, Jack made it across the floor and took up a position by the stage, where he could get a good view of the room. He activated his Tac Vision, and the guards all glowed red. Shit. There were more than he even realized. But, well, he’d played a few games. He knew they would move about, and once he figured out their pattern, he’d be able to find a way to slip upstairs unnoticed.

Sure enough, he noticed a lone guard on one of the stairwells would walk across the dance floor, stop at the bar, pause, then walk back. Jack would have just enough time if he timed it right. The guard moved. Jack went into stealth mode, his character crouching. He started toward the stairs.

Shit! His mini-skirt, which had so far not been an issue, crept up his legs, and he could feel cool air against his bare ass. Still moving, he tugged against the back of his skirt, but it just kept climbing back up. Am I even wearing underwear? He wondered. He reached back and, yes, he was wearing panties. Thank God, he thought, not wanting to put on that kind of a show. As for his skirt, he would just have to deal.

Jack reached the top of the stairs. Uh oh! There was a guard halfway down the catwalk. Jack froze. The man, armed with an uzi, faced the dance floor, hadn’t noticed him yet. He scurried into an open office door, crouching behind a desk. A second guard approached the first. “You seen Guns?”

“He left with some chick. Said he’d be back in a couple minutes.”

The guys chuckled. “That’s going to be one disappointed senorita!”

More laughter. “I’m gonna go look for him.”

“Yup.”

The second guard left. Jack crept along, staying below the line of windows that ran along the office. He found another room, another door. A locker! Score. A couple guns. One was an upgrade on his pistol. Some ammo. 150 credits. He threw it all into his inventory, switching out his old one for the new one.. Jack crept to the second door. It was on the opposite end of the catwalk. The door to the manager’s office was down a long stretch of catwalk that would put him right in the sights of the guard hovering outside the office where he hid.

There was also a security camera right above the manager’s door.

Shit.

Jack tried to hack into the club’s network, planning to sabotage the camera.

Fail.

Well, hell, he thought. It looked like he would have to try and blast his way through. He would take out…

Wait. Hadn’t he seen a computer back in the office. He crept back, staying low, tugging at his skirt. He activated the computer. No security, and a link to the security system right there on the desktop. Yes. One thing about these games, there were always multiple ways to complete a mission if you looked for them. Jack looped them as he’d done on the earlier mission, so anyone looking would see the same feed. He would be invisible and– yes. He found the recordings of Rebel and deleted them. Just to be sure. You never knew what might happen.

Jack got his blow gun out and slipped it between his lips. He crept back to the door, poked his head around the corner and blew. The dart struck the guard in the neck, and he crumbled to the floor.

Jack knew he had to hurry. Another wandering NPC could show at any second. Still crouching, he scurried down the hall to the manager’s office. Locked. Oh, for the love of God. Looking around to make sure no one was coming, he activated his lock picking skill, praying as he waited and– click! Yes.  He turned the handle, slipped into the office and shut the door.

Tacky, he thought, looking at all the frame pictures of naked girls on the walls, the velvet couch. Probably covered in jizz, he thought, standing, squirming as he pulled down his skirt. He saw a black punk purse on the floor next to the couch. Gross, but he went and picked it up. When he tried to put it in his inventory, though, he got a message: Return Rebel’s Purse to Her to Complete Mission.

Oh, come on! He would have to carry it. He felt ridiculous slipping the purse over his shoulder, feeling the bag nuzzle in the space right above his hip. He didn’t want to carry a purse! Kind of ridiculous, he thought, for a guy wearing a mini-skirt and stilettos. But, he couldn’t help how he felt.

Time was ticking. He was about to sneak back out and make his escape, when he saw another locker. This was a boss’ den. There would be some sweet loot. He’d grab what was there and get the hell out. Jack was just about to open the locker, when he heard the door open behind him. He stood, turned.

A tall, bald man in a silk suit stood in the doorway. He smiled, a gold tooth gleaming. “Well, hello little lady,” he said. The threat bar above him read, LVL 20.

Jack was dead, unless…

“I got lost,” Jack said, imitating the high, little girl voice he’d heard his character use. “Um, where’s the john?” John! Damn. Girls didn’t call it a john. “I mean, you know the little– the ladies– the room where girls go to piss?” He pulled the purse strap up, hugging the bag protectively to his side. “I’ll just be going,” he said, heading toward the door. “So sorry. I love your office. So classy!”

The man closed the door and stepped toward Jack, hovering over him. “You aren’t going anywhere.”