Top Level Player, page 10
“And what might that be?”
“I would like, very much, to be host to an EPC,” Weebly said.
Didi scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”
“No, no, they’re real! I heard about them on WireFeed. An interview with one of the real-live devs talking about them.”
“Didn’t it turn out that dev was fired?” LP asked.
“Fired for telling the truth!” Leet said.
“Fired for drinking on the job, actually,” Weebly said. “But I remain optimistic of the veracity of their existence.”
“What is an EPC?” Jazz said.
“An EPC is—” Weebly began.
“No! I’ll answer!” Laurel shouted. “From the authorized documentation. There two acknowledged types of sentient entities. Player Characters are entities patterned after the engrams of formerly living individuals. Non-Player Characters, or NPCs, are hand-coded entities intrinsic to the system. These include PDAs, system surrogates like Mr. Exposition, and wildlife. EPCs are a fictional third type of thinking entity, Emergent Player Characters. There are few widely agreed upon aspects to this speculative creature type. The only widely agreed upon criteria to define something as an EPC is that it thinks and behaves roughly as an NPC would, but has not been explicitly coded by developers. Theories regarding their supposed origin include players gaining deeper access to the system and coding their own NPCs, severely glitched NPCs becoming displaced from their role and developing novel code, artifacts of the Algorithm, ghosts of dead real-life individuals asserting themselves on The After-Image, transmissions from alien life forms, the result of NPCs procreating, government experiments to—”
“I think we get the point,” Didi said.
“Regardless of the truth of the matter, if an EPC is identified, I wish for it to be on display,” Weebly said. “I will pay any price for it.”
“Sounds like a plot point to me,” Leet said.
“But you were seeking the Roland TR-808, which is just over this way.”
He turned down yet another aisle. Despite not knowing the first thing about it, Jazz’s eyes were instantly drawn to the item they were after. Tucked between a Hammond organ and a Fender Stratocaster was an odd little board covered with switches and knobs. There was nothing particularly impressive about it. Just a black bit of consumer electronics with orange highlights. But somehow it was different. It seemed to have a weight to it. Not physically but metaphysically. It tugged on her mind and on the world around it just a little harder. It was a little sharper, just slightly higher contrast. It was more real than the items around it. Suddenly Jazz understood. It wasn’t a Roland TR-808. It was the Roland TR-808. Everything else claiming to be the same sort of device was similarly shaped and functioned the same, but this embodied the original idea in a way that transcended coding.
“I must say, I find it odd you’d be so focused on this particular item. It’s one of quite a few of ‘The One Things’ I have, but it doesn’t rank in the top ten most popular. The most I get is the occasional musicians interested in paying some sort of tribute to it. I can’t imagine why.”
“You own this thing and you can’t imagine why?” Leet said.
He deployed Napster from his pocket, which helpfully produced a synthetic but undeniably catchy drum track as he continued.
“This is one whole strand of the DNA helix of hip-hop, R&B, and house music. This is the thing that fueled Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing.’ Half of the children in the eighties were born because of this thumping back beat.”
“I see,” Weebly said, unmoved by the spirited assessment. “Well, there it is. Now, I believe you had some business regarding it?”
“We would like to know if we could acquire it,” Jazz said. “Is it for sale?”
“No! No, heavens no. No purchases. No. Not for the sort of price any of you would be able to muster.” Weebly said, as if he’d been asked to slice off his own thumb. “I cannot abide a decrease in my collection. And while I could permit an authorized duplicate of any of my non-unique items, to part with one of The Ones without replacing it would be anathema.”
“What’s anathema?” Leet said.
“Nothing, what’s anathema with you!” LP shouted.
The rest of the group stared at him.
“Huh? Huh?” he said mischievously. “What’s anathema with you?”
The boombox produced a rimshot.
“Hey-y-y! At least someone’s got a sense of humor.”
“Okay, so a trade. What would you take in trade?” Jazz said.
“Make an offer. I know quality when I see it.”
“Would you mind if I had a moment to talk to my associates?”
“By all means,” Weebly said.
The group stepped back and huddled.
“Okay, I want to start by saying I told you so. We came here attempting to get a one-of-a-kind object with no resources for actually acquiring it and, surprise surprise, that turned out to be a problem.”
“No, no. This is fine,” LP said. “It’s just a subtask. A quest chain.”
“Yeah,” Leet said. “This’ll be one of those ‘trade for successively more valuable things until we get what we need’ things.”
“I hate those things. Maybe we should seduce him,” Didi said.
“Not it,” LP said.
“We’re not going to seduce him,” Jazz scolded.
“Not with that attitude,” Leet said. “Come on. Pull a classic femme fatale. You’ve got the chops.”
Two low cello notes blurted from Napster’s speaker.
“What was that?” Didi said.
“It sounded like Jaws.”
The notes repeated.
“Yes, that’s definitely Jaws,” Jazz said. “Why is your PDA playing Jaws?”
Leet snuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out his brass knuckles. “Why do you think?”
“Are we about to get attacked by a shark?” LP asked.
“Not quite a shark,” came an unsettlingly roaring twenties reply.
They turned to find Tony Louse standing in the aisle behind them with his hands in his pockets and the perpetually sleazy look on his face.
“Not unless you’re talking about Mack the Knife,” he added.
“Oh, Jeez,” LP said, taking cover behind the TR-808 display. “You guys didn’t tell me Tony Louse was after you.”
“Oh, baby!” Leet said, punching his palm lightly and taking a more pugilistic stance. “We got a recurring villain. Definitely a protag on this team.”
“What are you doing here? How did you find us? And why are you after us?” Jazz demanded, on her toes and ready to retreat.
“Yeah, and where’d you get the idea that Mack the Knife is a shark? The song explicitly contrasts him with a shark,” Leet said.
“Is now really the time?” LP whispered harshly.
“It’s hero/villain banter. I’m throwing him off.”
“The only thing that’s gettin’ thrown is you off the top of this building if you don’t shut your yap,” Louse said.
“How did you get in here?” Weebly said. “I have a bouncer.”
Louse slid his revolver from his jacket. “This shoots through bouncers. It shoots through doors. It shoots through the tree outside…”
“Well that’s just lovely. I’ll have to pay for Axwell’s Tutorial Recertification now…”
“Listen, you chumps,” Louse said, stepping forward with a greasy swagger. “I’ll make this real simple. I’m here for little Miss Sunshine here in the pink dress. I’ll take whatever it is you came here to get, too.”
He slipped a small booklet from his pocket and gave it a glance.
“Eh, that’ll be it for now. Hand ‘em both over and no one gets hurt.”
“Me! Now come on. Surely it’s someone else’s turn,” Didi said. “I just had a set piece like twelve hours ago. There’s supposed to be cooldowns on these things.”
“I got my orders,” Louse said.
“Orders!” Leet crowed. “Orders means there’s a Big Bad. A big bad means there’s a whole, honest to goodness plot. Oh, it is for sure on now.” He started bouncing back and forth, unable to contain his excitement. “DJ Leet is going places.”
“Everyone, if you would please give me a moment!” Weebly said.
Louse clicked the revolver and held it up. “Don’t try anything funny.”
Weebly raised his voice and looked vaguely toward one corner of the ceiling. “Is surveillance properly prepared?” he said.
“Yessir, Mr. Weebly,” came a swift reply over loudspeakers.
“Very well.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small black pill. “Proceed.”
He threw down what turned out to be a smoke bomb. When it cleared, he had vanished.
“Look, boys and girls. I ain’t got all day. Either hand over the chick and the whatsit, or I’ll take ‘em and leave a real mess for the cleaning staff.”
“You and what army?” Leet asked.
“Funny you should ask,” Louse said.
He snapped his fingers and at least two dozen suit-wearing, sword-toting, kabuki mask-wearing hired guns stepped out from behind nearby displays.
“I guess they call themselves the yakuzi—”
“Yakuza,” corrected the man nearest to him.
Louse sneered in his direction, then blasted him with the revolver. He disappeared in a cloud of pixels.
“Like I said. Yakuza. The ninjas didn’t work out, and there ain’t no local mobster-type heavies, so I split the difference. Now are we going to do this the easy way, or is it gettin’ messy?”
“Napster, hit it!” Leet said.
The boombox slipped past a few stations and settled on “Somebody’s Gonna Get Their Head Kicked in Tonight” by the Rezillos. Jazz and Didi dove over a park bench with a feather fluttering around it. LP dashed down the aisle. And Leet dashed toward one of the display cases. Bullets flew in every direction as Jazz crouched beside Didi.
“Why are they after you? And why didn’t you tell me they would be after you?”
“I don’t know! Someone’s always after me, but usually not this rapid-fire. Maybe it’s how I dress,” she said, rummaging through her clutch.
“You’re seriously telling me you somehow got a cartoon mobster after you and you don’t even know why?”
“A few hours ago you were still alive, now you’re in an anime-themed afterlife splitting your time between negotiating for a musical instrument and fighting organized crime. Things happen, okay?”
She revealed what appeared to be a police riot shield from inside her purse. It was at least a dozen times the size of the purse itself, but fortunately this place was outside the jurisdiction of the laws of physics. Didi huddled behind the shield. Jazz joined her. Not a moment too soon, as it turned out a wooden park bench wasn’t terribly effective at stopping bullets.
“I don’t suppose you have a gun, do you?” Didi said.
“No, I don’t. Not that I’d know how to use it if I did.”
Laurel, who seemed unperturbed about the suddenly violent turn of events, happily piped up.
“You reached Level 1, but have not adjusted your stats. You have five points available and may assign your class. Would you like to put a point into a weapon proficiency?”
A gun blast that sounded like a Norse god slamming his car door echoed through the arena and took a bite out of the corner of Didi’s shield.
“Fine, yeah, put one in guns!” Jazz said quickly.
Laurel produced a parchment with a character sheet on it and scribbled down a notation. Another rogue shot blasted the sheet to bits.
“O, my,” Laurel said.
“And find me a gun!” Jazz said, grabbing Didi and helping her to her feet so they could find better cover.
They managed to safely navigate three aisles and took refuge with LP behind a giant penny that was for some reason on display. He seemed to be just finishing a pep talk to Doodad, who was peering up at him silently.
“… and then we do a number three. Okay, little buddy? A number three, got it?” he said.
The well-bundled critter gave a salute and tottered away. Bullets took little bites out of the ground all around him, but he miraculously made it into a vent on the floor intact. LP pressed his back to the base of a display and started digging through his jacket.
“This is what I get for getting out of the Warthog. If there’s going to be battle, always stay in the car,” he grumbled to himself. “All I’ve got are upgrades and repairs for the buggy and med kits. No handheld weapons. None!”
Another hail of bullets struck the base of the penny. The supports for it blasted away and it started to roll. The trio moved along in a panic, staying behind the rolling disk as bullets pinged and bounced off it. Finally it smashed into the side of a full Viking longboat that was on display. LP laced his fingers together and motioned with his head. Didi took the boost and vaulted up into the boat. Jazz followed suit. LP pulled himself up after.
“Oh, good, you’re here!” said Leet.
They turned to find him poking his head up from below decks.
“Y’all find anything good to use for fighting back?” he said.
“You didn’t have anything? How did this whole team get put together without anyone having a weapon?”
“Oh, I’ve got weapons,” Leet said. “I asked if you found anything good for fighting back.”
“Did you?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Leet said.
Napster, hidden below decks, started playing something that sounded like a speed-metal song played through a PC speaker.
“Do the letters BFG mean anything to you?” he said, hauling a gun from below decks that looked like a Steadicam and a jet engine had a child. “Fire in the hole!”
Jazz and the others hit the deck. Leet pulled the trigger. Incandescent destruction came spewing out the business end. The members of the Yakuza dove for cover. Most of those who reached it learned too late that not all cover is created equal. Leet laughed maniacally until the weapon clicked empty, then hefted its smoking muzzle up and blew on it.
“Anyone alive out there?” he shouted. “I have some death quips I want to try.”
The only reply was the crackle of settling debris and the plinking creak of cooling metal.
“I thought so,” Leet said.
A piece of dislodged timber fell aside and a lean, cocky figure strutted out from behind. Louse was badly singed, and the brim of his hat was smoldering, but he was otherwise intact.
“You shouldn’t shoot me with a BFG. A space marine shot me with a BFG once.” He raised his finger. “Once.”
“Come on!” Leet said.
They all ducked below the edge of the boat as Louse started taking pot shots. One of the shots clipped Napster’s Antenna, sending the PDA into a tizzy. It retreated into Leet’s pocket. As Louse’s weapon systematically dismantled the longboat they were hiding in, the group scrambled.
“Anyone else got anything?” Leet said.
“I have a weapon!” Laurel announced.
The tiny buzzing fairy returned with what looked to be a long rifle. She dropped it into Jazz’s hands.
Jazz had never in her life even touched a gun. She simply wasn’t interested. But the moment the gun landed in her hand she knew everything about it. How to aim, how to reload. She even knew how to field strip it and clean it. She also knew one other very important fact about it. A twist aside to check the branding confirmed it.
“Red Ryder Carbine!?” she said. “This is a BB gun!”
Laurel landed on it and raised one hand. Stats appeared in the air over her.
“It’s got a +50 in critical hit,” Laurel said.
“It’s true,” LP said. “You’ll take an eye out with that thing.”
He gazed across the now much less cluttered display floor and spotted something that had survived the devastation.
“Leet, you seem to feel like music can be a turning point in things like this, right?”
“Theme music power up. It always turns the tide.”
LP rummaged through his pockets. “Just cover me for one moment and we’ll see if you’re right.”
Jazz popped up and took aim. She pulled a trigger for the first time in her life. The rifle made a pathetic little *thwip*.
“Gah!” Louse shouted, slapping a hand to his eye.
Now it was LP’s turn. He pulled a quarter from his pocket and gave it a flick. It rang like a bell as it flipped in a long, lazy arc through the air. It was a one in a million shot, but the coin managed to bullseye into the coin slot of a jukebox on the far side of the battlefield. The machine clicked and buzzed for a few seconds. Berry Gordie’s “The Last Dragon” dropped into place.
“O-o-o-o-h snap!” Leet said. “This is it, man. We’re gonna win it.”
“Explain to me how a song from an eighties exploitation movie is going to turn the tide?” Jazz said.
“Look, none of us have guns, right? And he has a gun, right? And it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but that’s a kung fu movie, right? Mark my words. The next time he tries to fire that weapon, it’ll click empty, and then we’ll just karate chop him to victory.”
Louse raised his gun again, blinking tears from his eye, and fired. It blew out the last support rib on their side of the boat and all four of them came tumbling down to the ground. They tried to climb to their feet, but Louse stepped up to them and swept his gun across them.
“You put up a good fight. You gave me a chance to use eighty-eight here. A bunch of nobodies got killed. These are a few of my favorite things. So I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. Because I’m a nice guy. I’m gonna take toots here. I’m going to find that whatsit you were after. And I’m only going to shoot one of you. I choose.”
He lowered the gun to Jazz’s face.
“You shouldn’t have shot me in the eye with a BB gun.” He pulled back the hammer. “But it’ll only happen once.”
Louse pulled the trigger.
Jazz’s head spun aside. Her vision filled with a splash of gold sparks. For a few heartbeats—what she supposed were her last heartbeats before whatever a respawning felt like—she held perfectly still. She didn’t feel any pain, but she really didn’t know how much of it to expect, since she’d never been shot in the face before. The only thing she felt was an uncomfortably hot sensation just behind her lips. She turned her head, opened her eyes, and spread her lips.
