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“Noob!”
“Newbie.”
“Nuub!” the desk jockeys chorused as Maxi entered the room, which included six cubicles with gray dividers.
Three working spaces were down the middle, two off to the right, and one on the left. There were no other doors or windows, just fluorescent lighting and the elevator door to her back. There wasn’t even a coffee machine.
The Asian man was cleaning blood off a katana.
“Nuh uh! No way. I’m out.” Maxi hit the call button on the elevator, barged inside, and began slamming the unmarked control that hadn’t done anything for her in the first place. “Lobby. Exit. Leave! Get me the hell out of here!”
A barely-outta-high-school thin kid with zits, a mop of brown hair, thick glasses, and a freaking pocket protector stood up from the cubicle on the left. “Time off needs to be purchased—”
She stepped out of the elevator and yelled at no one in particular, “You can’t keep me here! I quit. You hear me! I quit!”
“Dude,” the Asian guy said, “you quit with the app on your phone.”
Satisfied with the shine on his blade, he placed it on a weapon rack on his desk and turned back to his computer, as though annoyed that he even had to talk to her.
She pulled out the app and flipped through her character sheet until she got to a “Delete this character” button at the end of all the skill and item descriptions. She pressed the button, and a warning popped up.
“WARNING: Action is not reversible.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the pocket protector kid said.
“Shut up, Yancy,” a Caucasian woman with long brown hair said.
“She has the right to know,” Yancy said.
“It’s your funeral,” the woman responded with a shrug, and went back to work.
“Our Office Pool is in the bottom Tier, which means the lowest performing player in the team at the end of the month gets fired.”
“So, by quitting, aren’t I doing you a favor?” Maxi asked. Her thumb hovered over the button, but something made her hesitate. It was maybe the way that no one was meeting her eyes except the kid.
“Yeah, but termination is exactly as it sounds.” Yancy made a gun noise while pointing a finger with a raised thumb at her head.
“They can’t do that,” Maxi said. “Can they?”
“You didn’t read the terms and conditions,” a large Black man with a deep voice said. He was built like a human bulwark that football players would have trouble getting through. There was an armor rack with full plate inside his cube. In fact, they all seemed to have weapons or armor racks in their space.
“No one reads the terms and conditions!” Yancy said.
The Black man shrugged and turned back to his computer. “Now you know why you should always read the terms and conditions.”
“No, no! Fuck this,” Maxi said. “Terry said I can’t be listed in the rankings during the tutorial.”
“You completed the tutorial,” Yancy said, and wandered over to her.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to where her quest rewards were listed. Sure enough, she had completed the tutorial and was now assigned squarely in the bottom ranks. Her Tier was 12.11.
“No way! You found an uncommon item!” Yancy, who had been looking over her shoulder, exclaimed.
“Get the fuck out!” The Asian guy jumped from his seat to look at her phone. The others were paying attention now, too.
“Yeah, I mean...” Maxi referred to the bloody stapler she had been holding with her armpit since she started checking her phone. “I kinda stapled the zombie’s mouth shut.”
“I was gonna say, how did you end up in the bottom 10% after finding an uncommon item in the tutorial?” the Asian guy remarked. “But makes sense now.”
“She didn’t kill the zombie,” the White woman huffed. “Such a newbie mistake.”
“Noob!” the Black man chimed in.
“I survived, didn’t I?” Maxi said.
“Incapacitating isn’t worth much XP. About as much as running away. Unless you take them prisoner. That’s as good as a kill, but not a crit kill, or multi-kill, headshot, stuff like that,” Yancy said.
“There’s more of those things?”
“Haven’t you played any video games?”
“I’m in a top 5 Guild!”
“Here, the Guild system works a little differently,” Yancy explained. “There are Branches, kinda like Guilds, and Office Pools, kinda like Adventuring Parties. We are your Office Pool. You’re assigned one based on your ranking in the tutorial.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do well in the tutorial if no one tells me what the fuck is going on?!”
“You should have read the terms and conditions,” the Black man said.
“Cut her a break, Flav,” Yancy said.
“Like, Flava Flav?” Maxi asked.
“My mom loved Public Enemy,” Flav said.
“My ma loves drum circles.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We all have work to do,” the Asian guy barked. “Office Maxi, your desk is over there.”
The others returned to their work, and Maxi walked over to an empty cubicle with a chair that was covered in plastic. There was a note on it that read:
Guaranteed Blood Free!
–Janitorial.
It didn’t take much imagination to figure what had happened to the previous occupant of the desk.
She set down her stapler, and a note appeared on her phone. “+1 Stapler of Binding added to your Home.” She clicked the “i” button next to the word “Home” on the note, and it said: “Objects in your Home will not be dropped on death. They are unable to be accessed while on a quest, cannot be stolen, and can be sold on the Free Market.”
She rifled through the drawers and found they contained similar office supplies to what she had seen before. She booted the computer next, and the screen came to life. There was a chirp and some jaunty music that reminded her of the victory screen in an 8-bit video game.
The screen read: “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life!”
She wasn’t sure what was going on here, but wanted no part of it. However, she didn’t see much choice but to play the game at this point. If one person a month was being murdered from this office pool, she was certain she could outlast any of them. All her mistakes were from ignorance, and she didn’t plan to make any of those in the future.
Perhaps all she needed was to climb the ranks just enough to be assigned to a different Office Pool, then she would have more access to the building and could find the nearest emergency exit. While she loved games, she enjoyed being alive much more than that. If termination meant death, then she wanted no part of it.
The computer loaded to a main menu that was analogous to a video game screen. She browsed through the options and glanced at the offerings in each one. It was all there: her character sheet, inventory, skills, Free Market, etc., but there were also more mundane buttons like Facilities, IT, and other departments. There was even a button for managing the funds in her account.
As promised, there were 20 credits and a zillion payment options, including many she had never heard of before. She was tempted to cash out, but knowing how video games worked, there was probably some equipment she would need to buy with her credits.
Before she went shopping, a button marked “Office Pool” caught her attention. She clicked on it.
The screen read: “Office Pool: Lus3rs (Cumulative Tier: 12.3)”
Her Tier was listed as a 12.11, whereas her Office Pool seemed to have an average. She clicked on the “Terry” button and was given the choice to speak or chat. She selected chat and typed: “What’s the difference between Tier and Cumulative Tier?”
“Tier is your individual rating,” Terry replied in what Maxi assumed was a chipper tone, “and your Office Pool is tiered based on the average of all people within the Pool. Office Pools range in size. A typical size is six, but depending on the objectives of the team and Class synergies, they can vary. For example, Worker Classes get bonuses by working as a team, so you can see as many as forty in a single Office Pool, whereas the Public Relations Class benefits from lean and agile teams that can react quickly to changing situations, so they are typically three to four members.”
She turned back to the Pool screen. There were six players listed: Yancy, Lots’O’Flav, Office Maxi, and three others. She guessed Daisuke Hax was the Asian guy with the goatee and XxPattixX was the woman, which meant Farhad Lus3r was the person with the sixth cubicle next to hers on the right side of the room. Each player’s name displayed a notification: “This player has not shared basic Class/Level/and Tier information with you.”
There were two buttons that seemed like places to buy and sell: the “Company Store” and the “Free Market.” She checked out the Free Market first and was assaulted with listings, auctions, advertisements, and even a ticker across the top that shouted out players when they won an item. “Tess the Destroyer won a +10 Ever Fast Printer for 1839 credits! Torgo Smash won a +50 Cane Sword of Mastery for 259,436 credits! Pete won a perfect breakfast burrito for 12 credits!”
The items for sale in the market ranged from the ones meant to fleece new players, like Sticky Notes of Wonderment for 5 credits, to those wildly out of her price range, like Gargantin King Slayer, 1 billion credits, and everything in between. There were also Class and stat restrictions on various items. It was a lot to take in. Like every other online shopping website, this one offered various ways for players to pay for ads for their listing, modify the font size, add a picture, color, or description of the item. In short, the company took every opportunity to monetize the market.
Considering that she didn’t know enough yet to make wise purchasing decisions, she checked out the Company Store, which would no doubt have jacked prices just enough to keep people playing the game. However, at the low Levels, she was pretty sure it was her only choice, as anything a low Level player could afford in the Free Market was probably not worth it.
She glanced over the items she could afford. There was a mix of items from office supplies to swords and armor. The yellow button-up shirt that everyone else was wearing was a +2 Shirt of Protection—it was only 5 credits and came with +1 Khakis, which explained why everyone was wearing one. +1 Leather Armor was 15 credits, and from what she could tell, the leather gave her +1 Resistance to bludgeoning weapons and +1 to Sneak, but she wasn’t sure if the 10-credit difference was worth it, especially because leather would give her an armor rating of 2, whereas the shirt and khakis provided 3. The other armors in her price range seemed like junk.
On the weapon side of the equation, there was a +1 Longsword for 10 credits, +1 Dagger for 5 credits, +1 Bow for 20, +1 Letter Opener for 2 credits, and a +2 Steel Water Bottle for 3 credits that seemed to serve a dual purpose as a weapon and a utility item. Each had a low range of damage, with the sword being the most at 2-4, and the letter opener being the least at 1. She glanced around the room—all the people in her Office Pool were beyond the newb gear.
She pulled up the utility items in her price range and found a Utility Belt for 3 credits that allowed her to bring three items with her on quests, the water bottle that stored sixty-four ounces of liquid and, when full, could clunk a foe for 1-2 damage, and a quiver of twelve arrows for 2 credits. She pitied the newb who got the bow.
Before she closed out, she spied an HR implant for 100 credits. There wasn’t any information, so she asked Terry about it.
Right away, he responded, “A very fine choice of item if you ask my personal opinion.”
“I didn’t. Now, what is it?” she typed back.
“A way to interface with me without using a device. We will communicate using brainwaves that you will experience as sound, and can respond like you are talking, but no words will come out of your mouth. It’s valuable, especially for those who plan to specialize in a rogue archetype.”
“So, you’ll be in my head, all the time?” she typed.
“Only when you summon me.”
“Still, no, thank you.”
“The implant will also show certain in-game attributes like Level, to a limit of 100 Levels above yours, life bars, and other helpful information in an augmented reality interface. Many players find it helpful in avoiding an early demise.”
That gave her pause. The benefit of life bars alone was readily apparent. Knowing if her weapon caused any significant damage could save her from an early encounter with an overpowering enemy. However, she didn’t have the credits, and she was hoping to be out of this place by then.
Since none of the items required prerequisites, she bought her first loadout. She bought the Longsword, Shirt of Protection, and Utility Belt. During the checkout screen, an ad popped up.
“Want more credits? Try Menial Labor!”
She clicked on the ad, and it came to a page where it said: “CURRENT JOBS—none. OPEN JOBS—Product Sorting (.0001-.3 credits per click), Tax Returns (2 credits per form), Graphic Design (1 credit per design), Copywriting (.01 credit per word), Copyediting (.001 credit per word).”
She peeked over at Flav’s cubicle. He was looking at two product pages on the world’s most popular online shopping website. At the top of his screen, it said: “Are these two products similar? (.0012 credits)” It was a vacuum and a box of diapers. Maxi guessed that was how the website generated the “customers also bought” lists. She had always thought it was AI.
On her screen, the Graphic Design disappeared, and the Tax Returns bumped to 2.3 credits per form, Copywriting went down to .0096 per word, and Virtual Wellness Coaching appeared (5 credits per appointment).
She looked around at her cubicle mates. It was no wonder they were furiously working away. She was tempted to make some quick cash, maybe even get her balance back to 20 credits, but dismissed it as a no-win scenario. Even if she gamed the system and only took the job that paid the most in terms of credits per hour, she knew the top players were completing quests, not corporate flunkies.
She returned to her cart and hit the checkout button. There was a delivery confirmation, but nothing else to indicate where her purchased items would be. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they materialized on her desk, as she had a suspicion the holodeck room where she had first appeared had scanned and digitized her.
She imagined her body being kept alive in some chamber while the company siphoned off her energy to power their scheme, like in The Matrix. The only flaw would be that whatever they fed to the humans to keep them alive would make a better fuel source than using people as batteries, so it’d be more cost effective to kill all the humans and just use the food that was keeping them alive for power. Water could be turned into rocket fuel by sciencing the shit out of it, as she learned from The Martian.
Whether or not she was in the real world or some digital one was a moot point until she could find a way out, and there was only one exit to the room: the door where she had arrived. And by now, she figured it would only let her go where the company wanted her to go. She asked Terry where to get the items.
“The mailroom. Though for a monthly fee, you can have them delivered to your Home.”
“No, thanks,” Maxi said.
She switched over to her character sheet and perused the “More information” about her stats. Ambition affected power, attack damage, and feats of strength. Adaptability increased her technology use, ability to multitask, and gave bonuses to cyber warfare. Dedication was for her stamina, resistance to illness, poison, physical attacks, and gave her 1 extra life point per 5 Levels/Level.
Speed increased her ranged attacks, dodge, and gave her an extra Armor Rating point per 5 Levels. Creativity affected her ability to puzzle out difficult situations, gave her bonuses to mind attacks, and modified her Psychic attacks, which bolstered her belief she was in a simulation because psionic powers were for video games and Stephen King novels. Emotional Intelligence was for her resistance to charm, bolstered social interactions, and gave bonuses against mental illness. The last on the list was Luck and the information box only said: “There is no stat more mysterious than Luck.”
She bumped her creativity by 2, figuring that puzzling her way out was the most important priority. If she couldn’t find the exit, then she’d fight her way. No matter what happened, she was getting out. Her stats now read:
Ambition: 10
Adaptability: 8
Dedication: 10
Speed: 10
Creativity: 13
Emotional Intelligence: 10
Luck: 11
She went to the skills next. The skill trees were broken down into archetypes. There were super categories called Cyber Warfare, Healing, Rogue, Combat, etc. Each skill had a minimum stat and Class restriction with a short description of what the skill did. There was the option to sort the list by selecting the skills available to her Class, but she didn’t have one, so the option was grayed out.
Unfortunately, most of the skill trees were also grayed out. All she could see were the ones where she met the minimum requirements or the ones that were prerequisites for ones she could acquire. However, only the name and cost were available for prerequisites out of her stats and Class. For example, on the Cyber Warfare skill tree, there was a skill called “Cyber Resistance—an increased resistance to cyber attacks,” which only required an 8 Adaptability and no Class restriction. However, the prerequisite was Denial of Service Attack with the description grayed because she didn’t meet minimum requirements, which were an Adaptability of at least 18, and the Hacker, IT Professional, and other techy-sounding Classes.
Being that there was a good chance spending her points over saving them would help her in this situation, she bumped Sneak another +2, which was also boosted by Speed, and spent the other two to learn Listen at +0, which was boosted to +2 by her Creativity stat and would get another +1 when Creativity got to 15. Her skills now read:
Listen +2
Sneak +4
Listen gave her the ability to detect unseen enemies, reduced her likelihood of being surprised, and allowed her to gather basic information such as direction and party size in situations where the opponents are heard but not seen. Also, if someone attempted to use Sneak on her, she would have to roll a Listen check. It seemed everyone could use any skill with a -10 penalty, and a successful use of the skill resulted in learning it without spending skill points.
A quick chat with Terry explained that everything was based on a contested roll system, with certain skills facing off others. For example, a person in combat would roll an attack check versus a person’s armor rating check. While there was no information about the size of dice being rolled, there were rolls always considered hits and others always misses, regardless of what the opponent rolled.
But if she thought of it in terms of a certain popular role-playing game system, she assumed a 1 was always a miss and a 20 was always a hit, and the 20 could result in a critical depending on what the other person’s armor rating roll was, and the 1, a fumble, also depending on the other person’s armor rating roll.
This only reinforced her belief that she was in the Matrix, but Terry countered her argument.
“How do you know that when you trip on the sidewalk, you didn’t just make a bad Speed roll in some unseen mechanics of the universe, or car accidents are caused by terrible driving checks?”
“People must not put that many skill points into driving,” Maxi typed and chuckled, since every person seemed to claim their hometown had the worst drivers.
“You do not meet the minimum requirements for Driving, but with a little boost to your Ambition...”
“Forget about it,” Maxi typed.
She assumed that when she attempted to sneak up on the zombie, she rolled her -10 Sneak check and beat its Listen check, which must have been dismal, thus earning her the skill without paying the 2 points to purchase it. She’d have to remember that learning the abilities during an encounter seemed like a cheaper way to go, especially because it seemed that buying something at +0 was more expensive than raising it when it came to the higher skills.
Maxi leaned back in her chair. Yancy was staring at her, but when her eyes connected with his, he turned back to his work. She stretched and stood up. She was about to go to the mailroom to collect her starter gear when a bloodied man with a gaping wound in his chest stumbled through the elevator door.