A burst of light pushed out the darkness and teleported me back into the lobby. I coughed, sputtered, and ralphed up saltwater on the cartoon Berber carpet in the dental office, but I was otherwise unharmed.
My arm had been fully restored, and no pain remained. I hadn’t realized just how distracting a mangled arm was until I held it up and flexed every muscle to ensure full functionality and, let’s be honest: total sculpted perfection.
Silas appeared next to me, the MS-222 cleared from his vision.
“I had the strangest dream,” he said as if I hadn’t nearly drowned or been mauled by a cartoon shark. “You were there, we were in water, and there was a shark named Bernie…”
I massaged my raspy throat and blinked. This was all a game… but that had sure felt like real drowning, just like the shrapnel had felt like real shards of metal ripping into my body.
I lay on the moist Berber carpet for a moment—which I knew also wasn’t real, but it felt like real Berber carpet—and I trembled slightly from exertion… and fear. The shark may have been cartoony, but the pain he’d inflicted was anything but.
Get a grip, Shaw.
“That wasn’t a dream, Silas. That just happened.” I staggered to my feet, and Silas pulled himself up onto my shoulder.
“I say… that MS-222 has me feeling well-rested. I don’t do drugs, never will, except for that involuntary dosing—which was your fault—but sirens’ tails, I get why people do it.”
The scarred receptionist clapped. “Well done! Bernie is one of our fussier friends.” She let out a giggle that made me want to slap her. “Not many… well, none so far have been able to complete his much-needed dental care.”
The receptionist printed out a picture of Silas and me. It was a third-person shot of our encounter with Bernie. Silas rode his back like a bucking bronco, and my arm was locked in Bernie’s mouth. Plumes of colorful glitter and sparkles billowed from where his teeth met my arm, and I was clearly underwater-screaming. I cringed upon seeing it.
She then produced a frame out of nowhere and hung that terrible picture on the wall with a placard commemorating our success that read, “Weekend at Bernie’s.” I’d be mad, but it would let every ambitionless moron in this place know that Erik Shaw had done what no one else could—as usual.
After all, at the end of the day, no one would remember the score or that a Daddy Shark had mauled and nearly eaten us; they’d just remember we won.
A series of notifications flooded my HUD interface:
| Your Troublemaker status at this facility has been removed. |
| Your Troublemaker status has been removed from all Veterinarian Simulators. |
| Your Troublemaker status has been removed from all Dentistry Simulators. |
| You are still on the AllVerse Animal Rights Violators list and probably will be forever since you murdered an innocent rabbit who never hurt anybody. |
| Reward: +$1,500 AllCash |
| -$684 applied to clear your outstanding debt. |
| AllCash Balance: $816 |
| +1,000 XP |
My body flashed with light, signaling my ascension to Level 5. Better yet, I’d escaped my debt to this place and even come out ahead.
I looked into the cartoon receptionist’s vacant eyes. “Ten outta ten, would never do this gullshanty again.”
“Oh, sweet lady Karjopia… oh, sweet lady o’ miiiine!” Silas crooned.
“Oh, for fart’s sake, stop that!” I growled. “I didn’t intend to say ‘shanty.’”
He slumped with disappointment. “No one ever does… I had another five verses.”
I shook my head, still a little traumatized from almost drowning. “Let’s go find Dirk, or Stecker, or someone who knows what the duck is going on.”
“Are Dirk or Stecker anything like Friend Brando? I like him. He’s a positive sort.”
Ignoring his question, I stepped back into the vibrant cartoon streets and took a deep breath. It was the same fake air as usual, but it felt better than being inside.
Several horses neighed in the distant Starglue Valley pastures. It struck me again how many horses were out there—just an absurd number. What were they for? No one was riding them.
It didn’t matter. I was leaving this all behind me anyway. I tapped my WHIM and opened the character menu.
I opened the attributes and surveyed the options. While investing in Luck seemed only a little better than wiping my asp with my attribute points, it probably affected more than I thought. So I invested in the skills that remained at 10 or lower: Negotiation, Luck, and Intellect.
By the time I finished, my Strength and Speed were at 14, my Endurance was 13, and my Agility, Negotiation, Intellect, and Luck were all at 11.
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I opened the Skill Trees next.
Silas glanced at me. “Any chance you’d consider investing in my Skill Tree? It’s only gonna make me more incredible, and when I glow brighter, you can bask in my glorious radiation. You desperately need it.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Silas,” I said, but I refused to admit he had a point. Despite that Animal Flossing skipshow, Silas had helped. And if I wanted him to be a better resource going forward, I’d need to tailor him to suit my purposes. I’d be hammed if I ever chose “Coral-Rolling,” though.
I opened his Skill Tree, and his ocean-colored eyes gleamed. Letting my hand hover over the two most useful-sounding abilities that were eligible for upgrades, I read their descriptions.
| Ink Jet |
| Not to be confused with the lame old printer in your mom’s basement, this cephalopod ability functions precisely how it sounds:
the Karjok releases a jet of ink to distract and confuse enemies, occasionally grossing them out.
At higher levels, this ability can inflict damage on foes. |
| Camouflage |
| Utilizing their incredible biology, the Karjok can manipulate the color and texture of their skin to mimic their surrounding environment to hide orenact an elaborate ambuscade. And if you don’t know what an “ambuscade” is, figure it out using context clues. |
“I don’t know what to pick first… it’s all so shell-cracking good!” Silas blurted.
“First of all, who uses ambuscade anymore? Second, you really are just a talking octopus, aren’t you?”
SMACK. He slapped me upside the head with a tentacle.
“We are nothing alike. I’m not even from this planet! Can these octopus-things camouflage their skin, release ink, walk on land, and develop strong bonds of enduring love and friendship with even the most insufferable of life forms?” He added, “That’s you, by the way.”
I blinked. “Yes, they can literally do all of that.”
He waved a tentacle dismissively. “Oh, what do you know about it? You’re just trying to get a rise outta me. Not falling for it, mate.”
“No, Silas. It’s all true. I dated some chick in college who wouldn’t shut up about her major in marine biology. She—” I stopped myself once more.
I’m gonna remind you of this slowly, Shaw: He’s. Not. Real.
Silas arched his brow ridge. “I concede that females of most species can get chatty, especially when they’re talking to someone dull and self-absorbed, which checks out in your story. Marine biologist or not, she’s only studied this planet. We’ll talk when she gets a Xeno-Marine Biology degree. Otherwise, just wait. Someday you’ll learn just how magnificent the Karjok are, and how distinct we are.”
I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the Skill Tree and chose “Camouflage” for Silas. It seemed the most useful currently.
“Bloody brilliant!” He began shifting his skin tone and texture, experimenting with the ability.
I opened my own Skill Tree and put my next point into a skill called “Scrounger,” Tier 1 of 5. It would allow me to find a bit more AllCash and more valuable crafting items in loot boxes, reward drops, and other in-game opportunities to find good stuff.
Everything at my level was nickel-and-diming. Investing now would pay off later. It was another decision based on my dad’s gameplay advice, and though I didn’t like its source, it was the path I knew I had to walk.
After allocating my points, I checked the map and messaged Brandon.
ErikShaw: Brando, are Dirk and Stecker still at the water treatment plant? Any word from Sydney?
Brando: Dirk and Stecker checked in after you left the hospital. They’d found an avenue to explore at the water treatment plant and potentially one at the factory, but I haven’t heard one word from them since. That was about an hour ago. Sydney is on her way to the treatment plant to check out what they found and check in on them.
ErikShaw: Good. I’m heading there, too.
Brando: And it’s “Brandon.” I can see that you changed my name to Brando, but it’s actually Brandon.
I didn’t change his name back.
I pulled the rickshaw from my inventory. I could move faster with it than without it, so I figured I might as well just give in, and I ran toward the water treatment plant and back to the portions of the city that looked real instead of cartoony.
For a moment, a bright glimmer of hope burgeoned within me. Maybe Dirk and Stecker had found a way out, and that’s why they hadn’t checked in. If so, I could either follow them out, or they’d be working the problem from the other side. That option wasn’t as good, but it was better than not having a plan at all.
As I ran, I noticed we’d transitioned from the high-tech modern cityscape that resembled Seaboard City in real life—if it had been pushed forward a few decades into the future—and we entered a section of the city that looked like a historic downtown. Brick buildings, older architecture, abandoned factories, and rail lines defined this part of the city.
We’d clearly entered a new game zone, but it wasn’t one I immediately recognized.
As we rickshaw-ed through the cobblestone streets, a group of four anthropomorphic bird men stepped into the road ahead of me from what looked like an old factory. The blinking 1940s-style sign, illuminated by multiple individual light bulbs, read “Gandolfini’s Tavern.”
Each of them had the head of a bird of prey situated on broad-shouldered bodies that undoubtedly ended in skinny bird legs, much like gym bros who skip leg day. Their hands were vaguely human-shaped, but with pronounced feathers instead of fingers. On each of their backs, a pair of bird wings were folded.
They all wore finely tailored double-breasted suits, and overall, they looked like they’d come right out of a Golden Age bootlegger movie—apart from all the bird stuff, anyway.
The sight of the bird guys almost made me laugh. Then I remembered I was stuck in this digital cesspool along with them. The only thing that would truly make me happy was getting out, and then none of this nonsense would matter. It would just be a single embarrassing blip on the radar of my otherwise extraordinary life.
Just like that marine biologist I’d dated in college. She was cute, but man, a guy can only make so much conversation about jellyfish.
The bird guys looked around, chattering among themselves, and then a green exclamation point materialized above them. I contemplated passing them by, since I could be close to finding my way out of this digital wasteland of humanity. Plus, they had wings… so why wouldn’t they just fly wherever they needed to go?
“Remember boys, even when the end boss seems close, don’t abandon side-quests or loot-gathering. You never know which stage is the last, and you could screw yourself over if you just rush straight for what you think is the end. Don’t leave money on the table.”
I winced as Dad’s words to Nate and me ran through my mind yet again. More than being annoying, it was becoming depressing.
Still, I decided to temper my expectations, something I’d learned long ago, and keep playing as if it weren’t the end. That advice had served me well in business, so it might help me in here, too.
I ran up to the bird guys, and my rickshaw skidded to a halt.
“Where are you fine-feathered gentlemen headed?” Silas asked before I could say a word. “Fancy a hoist? Hmmm, that doesn’t quite have the right ring to it…”
Three of the bird guys looked to be an Osprey, a Kestrel, and a Vulture. The apparent leader of the group, a Falcon-headed man, cracked his neck and fixed his keen golden eyes on me.
“We might.” His words were thick with a vague, almost-Italian, almost-New Jersey accent. “You offerin’?”
“I might…” I raised an eyebrow, tried not to laugh even as I used his parlance. Rather than just scanning him, I asked, “What game are you playing? I gotta ask.”
“We’re from The Godfeather.”
Rickshaw Riot chapters will be posted every weekday. If you don't want to wait, follow us on Patreon:
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break--Royal Road. They call us the Critical Hitters.
In the desolate desert of the North American Sector, the government harvests the Soul Energy of siblings Eos and Maxima in secret.
When their powers attract the attention of a dangerous criminal organization, their routine lives are shattered. Eos and Maxima must search for freedom and the truth about their past as hostile forces close in.
The answers they seek lie behind one word—!
Occam's Favor
A grizzled ex-mech pilot is drawn back into the Everwar, a decades-long conflict raging across Jupiter’s moonscape.
This time he refuses to fight alone, bringing a crew of misfits and a mech powerful enough to rewrite the war itself.
is a can't-miss power-scaling mech series. Read it now!
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Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.
