There was what looked like a dog park behind the area and some kind of market further back, though with only bare metal frames showing where canvas stalls would likely be sitting during the weekends. Pete had never seen the place before, but he could imagine middle-aged couples flocking to the market by the hundreds on any given Saturday. Not exactly his cup of tea, but he could see the appeal.
The kiosk sat at the center of the eating area. Surrounded by a taco truck, a gourmet hotdog vendor, a burger truck, and a vehicle that served ‘deconstructed donuts,’ the vending machine looked identical to all the others. It sat on top of a ruined metal table and bench set which had apparently been crushed as the kiosk descended from the sky.
Sam and Pete both got out of the Winnebago while the goblins decided to stay in the vehicle and Coop simply gave instructions to ‘buy her something nice.’ They walked up to the kiosk, scanning the area for any sign of enemies but finding it free of goblins, hobgoblins, or any other foe. Discarded coffee cups littered the ground along with trash and various other personal items like handbags and wallets.
As he looked around the area, Pete reflected that there must have been a bunch of people here when the obelisks fell and the contest started. They would have been drinking their morning coffee, preparing for the day’s work, or out for an early morning jog. Judging by the bicycles lying around, there were likely quite a few cyclists caught outdoors when the game started.
“I wonder how many people actually died,” he mused, picking his way between a group of bicycles. “When this all started, I mean.”
Sam nodded. “I try not to think about it. I’ve got family on the east coast and… well, like I said, I try not to think about it.”
Pete was about to offer a reply when his shoe caught on a bike pedal, and he went stumbling forward, jarring his ribs on a bicycle handle and then twisting away and falling onto a nearby bench, cracking his knee in the process and only barely stopping himself from falling headfirst into the dirt.
“Fuck!” he shouted, hopping about as Sam tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a smile. “God damn it!”
“I think you’re just gonna have to take it easy for the next few hours,” Sam suggested. “Walk slower and keep your distance from anything that might be a tripping hazard.”
Rubbing his knee, Pete looked over at her. “Yeah, and avoid any fighting. Can you imagine how badly I’ll do if we have to take on a pack of hobgoblins?”
Sam walked towards the kiosk, with Pete limping after her. “Here’s hoping we don’t get any trouble on the way to pick up your friend. Come on, let’s just sell our shit and keep moving.”
While they walked to the kiosk, Pete noticed the two trucks that were covered with a translucent green shield. The taco truck was still closed up, but he guessed that there must be someone inside there, typing away at Tongsly Belch Corporation's workstation inside the vehicle. That was a special kind of torture, being locked inside a small metal cell like that and forced to do what Pete imagined was the most mundane and boring paperwork.
In contrast to the taco truck, the deconstructed donut truck was completely open, with its serving window pulled back and an awning sticking out from the side. The green shield completely surrounded the vehicle, but Pete could see a young woman sitting inside on a small stool that was connected to the side of a workstation.
She was typing away at a holographic keyboard, staring straight ahead at the screen and looking utterly miserable, still dressed in her serving apron. The young woman turned to face him as Pete walked by. He saw the misery and confusion in her eyes as they locked on each other. She looked like a teenager. This was probably a job she’d taken to help pay for college or just to give her a little more cash, and now here she was, imprisoned in deconstructed donut hell.
He expected to see jealousy or even rage in those eyes as she regarded him, but instead, Pete just saw a deep helplessness. She was a prisoner, like so many other humans, locked in what amounted to solitary confinement with no hope of parole.
Unless…
Unless he, Sam, and Coop could survive the contest and make it to the professional league. That’s what Nero had said, wasn’t it? If they could beat the game or at least survive long enough to reach the professional league, then there was a chance that humanity would survive and become more than slaves. They’d still be under the thumb of the Tongsly Belch Corporation, like everyone else in the Dominion apparently, but at least humankind would continue, and these people would be free. Or a little freer than they currently were.
[Nero] I sense your unease, Pete. I understand that it can be quite confronting for new contestants to see their people treated in this manner, but you should take comfort in the fact that, while they are unable to move beyond the confines of the shield, all of their basic needs will be met.
Pete snorted at that. “What about the need to get out of the house and just walk around, or to speak to another person so you don’t go absolutely crazy? What about fucking toilets, for fuck’s sake!”
[Nero] Toilet and bathroom facilities are taken care of. If suitable facilities are not available in a given domicile, a portal door is provided which opens out into a modest but serviceable bathroom unit. Workers are also provided with food and clothing, sleep quarters if none exist within their structure, and basic entertainment.
“Let me guess,” Pete said. “They’ve all got access to the game feeds.”
[Nero] Correct. As to the need for contact with other members of your species, each workstation is equipped with a communications module which can be utilized at a slight cost to contact other workers. Even this young lady will be able to speak with any of her kin who are likewise connected to the workstation network.
“What about physical touch? Talking isn’t enough; we need to be near each other, to touch each other. It’s part of how we work.”
[Nero] While they will likely not be able to afford one at present, it will be possible for the workers of this world to purchase proxy dolls that can simulate the physical attributes of loved ones. Advanced models even come with the ability for individuals to translocate within the proxy for a time so that physical intimacy can be experienced. The proxy dolls are expensive, but they are provided as an option for those who are industrious and who are able to meet their quotas quickly and put in discretionary effort.
A sharp whistle drew Pete’s attention, and he looked over to see Sam already standing in front of the kiosk. The young woman in the donut truck had already turned back to her work and was tapping away on her holographic keyboard again, so Pete turned and headed toward Sam.
“I’ve already sold everything I’ve got,” she said as he drew close. “Picked up a bunch of medkits too.”
She stepped away from the kiosk, and Pete walked up, reaching to touch the screen before a zap of electrical power flared from the display and stretched out to hit his finger. He recoiled, cursing as the display flickered and then went blurry before flickering with bright lights and then turned completely black. Pete stared at the screen, sighing heavily as a message appeared.
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>> This Tongsly Belch Vendo-o-rama unit has experienced a catastrophic internal failure and is no longer functioning. Please proceed to another vending unit to exchange or purchase goods. You have been charged 1000 Belch Bucks for damaging Tobgsly Belch Corporation property, and a permanent record of this infraction will be maintained in the Mammon Codex.
Pete rolled his eyes.
“Hey! What just happened!” a voice called out from behind them.
They turned to see Coop poking her head out of the driver’s side window of the Winnebago.
“I just got a message saying that I lost all my money! Something about damage to a machine or… Damn it, Pete, did you screw this up with your bad luck?!”
Sam walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “How about you send me everything you want to sell, and I’ll handle the next kiosk.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
On the way back to the RV, Pete did his best not to look over at the young woman trapped in the donut truck. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, though, staring blankly ahead at the floating workstation monitor like some corporate drone chained to their desk.
He felt anger rising at the realization that his mother was likely doing exactly the same thing, sitting at her workstation, spending the bulk of her day doing pointless busy work when she should have been enjoying herself. All those years she’d looked after Pete, put him through college by working two jobs, and worked her ass off. Now she was at the age that she should have been able to take it easy, but instead, she was being forced to work for her own survival, just like the rest of the human race.
Pete clung to the anger and let it fester inside him. He was more determined than ever to win this damned contest, no matter the cost. He would do whatever he had to, beg, borrow, steal, and kill. He would climb the ranks, amass Attribute Points, new skills and abilities, and whatever else he could to prevail.
And then, once he had done all of that and saved the human race, he would turn his attention to the bastard that started all of this: Tongsly fucking Belch!
Pete didn’t dare voice any of these thoughts, nor did he fully realize them in his mind, for fear that they might be picked up. But he made a decision as he walked back to the RV: a determination to triumph no matter what obstacles were thrown in his way.
That heroic determination was blunted only a little when he missed the metal stair leading up into the interior of the RV and cracked his shin against it.
“Damn it!”
>> ACHIEVEMENT: Banana Peel Prophet!
Congratulations! You’ve done it again. And again. And again…and again. In fact, you’ve now managed to trip, slip, tumble, bonk, crunch, and otherwise mangle yourself twenty times in a row, which is less tragic misfortune and more performance art. It would be impressive if you hadn’t just been slapped with a twenty-point luck debuff for being a very naughty boy.
Still, even with your luck in the toilet, sustaining twenty minor injuries in a little over half an hour is impressive. But let’s be real: after the fifteenth pratfall, you stopped being a “contestant” and officially became “the comic relief.”
ACHIEVEMENT REWARD: 1 x virtual Band Aid strip with shiny red cars on it to make the boo-boo feel a little better.
Pete stumbled into the Winnebago cursing under his breath and wondering how many more injuries he’d sustain over the next nine or so hours until his luck debuff wore off. Instead of receiving the virtual Band Aid strip in his inventory, it was automatically applied to a small cut on his forehead, meaning that everyone in the RV cabin could clearly see the bright strip with the shiny red cars with cartoon faces plastered all over it.
Coop snorted with laughter and, to Pete’s surprise, Craig joined her, and even Grizzle smirked at the sight. Rolling his eyes, Pete stepped back outside again, carefully watching his step and moving twice as slowly as he normally would. He headed to the passenger side door in the front cabin, opened it up, and slowly climbed onto the seat next to Sam.
She started the engine, and the RV lurched forward as she pulled the vehicle back out onto the road.
“What was all the laughing about?” She turned to face him, immediately spotting the virtual Band Aid strip and grinning in understanding. “Ah, got it.”
Pete scowled, shaking his head. “It’s like I’ve completely lost control over my body. No matter what I do, I just keep bashing into shit.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Turns out your bad luck also affects machines, so you’d better hope you don’t screw up the Winnebago.”
He turned to face her. “Shit! I didn’t even think of that.”
“I figure we got to this first kiosk without a problem, so maybe we’ll be alright,” Sam said. “We should be able to reach another kiosk before we hit your friend.”
“Honestly, I’m lucky I haven’t accidentally skewered myself with my own machete,” Pete muttered.
[Nero] That could well have happened if you had not put so many points into your Agility attribute, Pete. Your Penny Pincher class bonus has also assisted. If you had picked a different class, things might not have gone so smoothly.
“Smoothly?” Pete complained. “I can barely walk in a straight line.”
[Nero] If you had picked Strength or Intelligence as your primary attribute, you might well have died due to an unforeseen mishap already. Minus twenty luck at this early stage of the game would ordinarily be catastrophic. With your class bonuses and focus on Agility, you have likely mitigated the damage by at least two-thirds. You will still be tremendously unlucky for the duration of the debuff, but you are more likely to suffer minor injuries than an untimely death.
“I don’t get that, though,” Sam said, scanning the road ahead as she steered the RV around a line of parked cars. “I mean, the System must have known that you have enough Agility to help. So, why didn’t it hit you with a harder debuff?”
“Harder than a twenty-point luck drop?” Pete blurted. “What the hell would that look like? Hanging a radioactive vial around my neck and infecting me with a terminal disease?”
[Nero] While the System is all-powerful in terms of the Dominion Ultrimax Contest, it is not able to do anything it wants. The System still answers to the Tongsly Belch Corporation and thus the board and Baron Belch himself. A balance must always be struck between keeping the game interesting and bludgeoning players to death simply because the System has taken offense. Your heightened Agility attribute allowed the System to publicly hit you with a twenty-point luck debuff, which is high enough to get everyone’s attention but not an immediate death sentence. If you did not possess the Penny Pincher unique class, the System may have only assigned a ten or five-point luck debuff, which would have been less impressive but would also have punished you without killing you outright.
“So, it can’t just kill me. It has to give me a chance to survive at least?”
[Nero] Correct. The game is all about continually producing a heightened sense of excitement. Each new challenge, every random encounter, and strategic System decision is designed to serve that goal.
“Keep people on the platform,” Sam mused. “Same rules as social media.”
[Nero] Just so. In fact, the game is governed by principles similar to those of your human social media platforms. Keep viewers engaged for as long as possible so that there is an increased chance of them seeing an advert that prompts them to purchase goods or services. In this way, the Tongsly Belch Corporation continually boosts its income. In addition, the vast betting networks that feed off the Dominion Ultrimax Contest produce and redistribute wealth throughout the Dominion. The Company takes its cut of that transition process. Even the black-market betting cartels are forced to pay a tax. All of these sources feed back wealth to the Tongsly Belch Corporation, and that only works when the contest itself is exciting to watch.
Pete nodded, working through what the AI had just said and feeling around the edges of what he suspected was an important fact. He tried to articulate the idea while he was still thinking through it.
“Everyone is a slave to the need for the game to be as exciting as possible. Even the Mammon System itself has to serve that priority.”
[Nero] Deftly put, Pete. You are correct. In essence, the System is a slave to its own internal algorithm; the fierce logic that maintains a drive toward excitement. As you say, everyone in the Dominion, in one way or another, serves that algorithm. All advertising, manufacturing, betting, career progression, game mechanics, and so on all serve that central directive.
Pete smiled and nodded. He didn’t want to say more, and he wasn’t exactly sure how the knowledge he’d just gained could help him, but it was a start. He was reminded of a saying he’d heard in one of the second run of Star Wars movies—the Jar Jar Binks Abominations, as Ollie called them.
‘There’s always a bigger fish.’
Qui-Gon had said that, and despite the woeful nature of that whole trilogy, the saying had always stuck with Pete. In this context, it applied to this seemingly all-powerful System and the individual it served; Baron Tongsly Belch. However big and powerful they were, there was always something bigger and more powerful, and now Pete knew what that was.
The algorithm.
Now that he knew that fact, Pete was convinced that there had to be some way to exploit it, to use the power of the algorithm to take down the System and Belch, or at least give Pete and his crew a better chance of winning the game. The algorithm would always favor excitement over anything else. If something was gripping viewing, it would be promoted. If it was uninteresting, it was susceptible to being destroyed.
He could use that. He wasn’t sure exactly where or when, but he could definitely use that.
“What are you so happy about?” Sam said, turning to face him.
“Nothing,” he said, unable to suppress his grin.