Roshi
06-27-2005, 01:16 AM
l33tn3ss
Rhylus ducked as the halbred blade wickered past his head by inches. He had to go to his knees to avoid the strike, and his opponent, Mike-The Mighty, Mighty, wasted no time in taking full advantage of the loss of defense. Rhyl looked up just in time to see the ironclad butt of the halbred swing into his helmet slit and collide with his eyes. A mild, electric shock went down his spine, and a red haze covered his vision. The blow immediately robbed him of 6,000 energy points. Rhyl fell over. Sprawled on the ground there was no way he could gain his feet, even if he drank his last, precious bottle of Caledendurii Water. The duel was over, and he logged out just as Mike-The Mighty, Mighty vectored the halbred's swing downward and took Rhyl's head.
Tommy Hiko stood up in the center of his memory pad and cursed. He pulled the virtual helmet off of his head and shook the virt-gloves from his hands with savageness. He struggled with the clips that hooked him into the bungie unit until he was free, then he stalked over to the electromagnetic enviroment tracking board and slammed the off switch so hard that the emag field that arced over the memory pad buzzed in protest at the abrubtness of the cut-off. Tommy didn't care, he was tired of this old gaming rig, sick of it. One hundred Rhylus skulls now ornamented the gate to the Badlands, at least seventy-five of those defeats came due to the fact that he didn't have the newest thing going in virtual gaming. Seventy-five tournament deaths because he didn't have a Neural Cortex Clip. The surgical implant that clipped most of the voluntary nerve control of the human body and shunted it's signal to a working, virtual interface, would always be faster than his outdated, slow, hardware rig. He was losing because he was behind the times.
For a long time Rhylus was the best. For five years Tommy Hiko played Hardtime County, the biggest virtgame on the market, and for three years running his Player Tracker Sequences won trophies at the Vegas Virtual Awards. Last year the Trac of his battle with Yojimbo won for not only best dramatic action, but for best dramatic role-play too. Tommy Hiko knew how to edit and shoot a Player Trac, he even wrote and performed custom background music for them. Before the Cortex Clip hit the market, there were no Rhylus skulls anywhere, and Tommy was becoming a star. Tommy Hiko was the one word that gamers used exclusively for those who mastered the gaming nations and ruled the commercial countryside: l33tn3ss. Now Rhylus was struggling just to keep his guild status, and to make ends meet. Tracs where Tommy Hiko as Rhylus as winner were a thing of the past, and the Virt Awards were right around the corner. One year of gaming with the Cortex Clip and now Tracs with Tommy Hiko as Rhylus losing his head were all the rage.
Tommy made the decision he'd been fighting with himself about, a decision that was based on pure vanity. He would sell his Jette-Vette and buy a little Heloputt. And with the credits he would save on the switch in transportation, he would stop appearing in Tracking Sequences as Rhylus the Headless Hero. Tommy Hiko called his doctor.
***
"...alright, Tommy, I'm gonna go. But I'm gonna warn you again, just so we're clear.', Tommy's doctor stood at his bedside, 'Two weeks. You got at least two weeks before you go hooking up. I saw the new rig downstairs, and I know how it works. That Bumpsuit is no different than a pilot's Gsuit, except that it's programmed to apply G-forces, not inhibit them. Your blood don't need to be pumpin' and rushin' anywhere. Stay out of it."
"Doc, if I can get warmed up, I might be able to pull off one decent Trac before The Virts. If I can walk out with just one Virty Award this year, all this would be so worth it..." Tommy pleaded.
But the Doctor was having none of it. "Your eyes aren't ready either. Listen to me! That neural clip isn't a 'clip' at all. It's a colony of bio-magnetic nanospores that are programmed with specific tasks and growth. You screw up what those nanospores are doing and you screw with the interface, you screw with the interface, you could become a veg. You hear me, Tommy? Stay outta the games!"
"Yes sir." Tommy said. And left it at that.
***
One day. Actually the very next morning. Tommy stood in his bathroom, underneath the holo-mirror. He trained the view to the base of his skull and studied the laserburn stitches. Not a speck of blood marred the clear derma-plastic bandage. Screw it, he felt great. It was time to mount the ladder he must climb to achieve virtual existence supremecy once again. The two weeks restriction the Doctor gave him went right out the window, he would load up the game today...this morning...right now.
The Bumpsuit felt good, after he zipped in and activated the aircoils. He no longer needed the virtual contact gloves and boots, he didn't even need a helmet, the suit covered him head to fingers to toes. He no longer needed projection screen goggles, the game was now going to play directly onto the backs of his eyeballs, somehow. According to the owner's manual, all he needed was the teflon coated blindfold to block out light. Tommy stepped onto the electro-magnetic enviroment pad and hooked himself up to the bungie system that lifted and held his body just three inches off the floor. He used his wrist pad to turn on the e-mag field.
Instantly the aircoils in his suit tightened, reading the electro-magnetic fields. The field beneath his feet got solid, and the electromagnetic walls of the new player's menu went up. This primer stage was very familiar to Tommy, but without the clunkiness of his old game rig; without the boots, gloves and helmet, Tommy could feel the invisible walls of the tutorial with his fingertips and feet. The virtual world suddenly became a whole hell of a lot cooler for Tommy Hiko...
Tommy pulled the plastic blindfold down over his eyes, and he saw the title screen and load menu flicker and then brighten before him. The real world went dark, and he raised his hand toward the character load-up button called "Rhylus". He stopped. There were enough Player Tracs of Rhylus dying honorably, the last thing he wanted was a recorded gank of Rhylus by some supernewb, or even a low-level NPC, showing up at the Virts this year. Tommy was still unfamliar with his new gaming rig and when it came right down to it, his Doctor was right about his eyes, there was a shimmering fog that floated at the edges of his sight. If he entered Hardtime with Rhylus there was a chance he'd get attacked before he was used to his new situation. Tommy Hiko moved his hand across the mag wall of the tutorial and pushed the create character button. Little did he know, he would never see his beloved Rhylus again.
***
He stood on the familiar wooden walkways of Shiretown, but he wasn't used to being so small. It'd been a great while since Tommy Hiko had started out as a StreetUrchin. He knew he should head over to the NewbCenter, but first he had to feel combat in his new skin. Shiretown was one of the many protected areas that all beginners of Hardtime County started in and peaceful Players lived in. Combat was a pure PvE enviroment, with some parts of town totally patrolled and a 'pre-emptive law' in place that captured anyone after the first move in PvP contact. Combat was almost non-existent in Shiretown, but you could find it if you crossed the river and hung around the Port District. The law was lax there, and you could expect a bullying by NPCs and even worse the longer you hung about. The Port District was just the place for a Newbie to level up in semi-comfort. As long as there were no heavy-hitting Players hanging around, a newb could get the Streetfighter title in a couple hours of work.
He felt wonderful. The Cortex Clip had opened a brand-new door into Tommy's virtual reality, and he reveled in it. His hair waved in the electromagnetic breeze and his hands and feet felt like pads of pure air now that the heavy boots and gloves were gone. A wicked smile crossed the StreetUrchin's face as he made his way across the bridge.
There were only four people in the Badtoon Saloon when Tommy walked in; a Player named Gamblin' Dan, a NPC bartender, a NPC thug named Bootsie, and just the NPC Tommy had come to see. Stabber Butch sat at the table with Gamblin' Dan, losing at cards. At first Dan was Tommy's biggest worry, but Gamblin' took one look at the skinny StreetUrchin, wrinkled his nose, and activated his 'PvE' tag. Tommy nodded his thanks to Dan. Stabber was a whole lot more interested in the newcomer.
"Whatcha name, boy?" Butch leaned back in his chair, an elbow propped on the chair-arm, an empty shotglass in that hand.
Tommy wondered at the sound quality he heard now that clunky helmets and earpieces were gone. Butch's words now vibrated directly into the bones of his ear. "Adamus..." Tommy answered, and marveled at the sound of his own voice going straight into the game, no mic.
"Adamus? That's the name of a Pirate King, punk. You ain't no pirate, and you sure as hell ain't no king..." Butch spat. He stood up behind the table and smiled, his bad teeth as long and greasy as his hair and beard. He towered over Tommy, "You shouldn't be down here, boy. I'll give you till the count of five, then I'm gonna kick yer ass all the way back over the bridge..."
It had been a long, long time since Tommy faced Stabber Butch and any of the Badtoon Gang. But he knew all of their moves, and the Cortex Clip made him feel like a supernewb already. He knew he'd have to face Bootsie after Butch, but then he would have Butch's knife. He curled up his little fists and stared up at the Stabber. "C'mon, Butch. Let's get this over with."
Butch threw the shotglass directly at Tommy's face, and Hiko caught it with the sweep of a hand. The action was so quick and so abrupt that the whole room stopped for a beat. Tommy was especially suprised at the ease with which he caught the glass and the pump of the glass as it hit his palm. It had hurt a little. Sweet...
The wicked smile that crossed the bridge with him returned to his lips, and Tommy settled himself into a crouch. He intended on trying some of the higher martial arts moves he knew from Rhylus, even though it shouldn't be possible gamewise. But Tommy felt himself, gamewise, and he knew now why the Cortex Clip made such a difference. He knew he could beat the living electromagnetic pixels right out of Stabber Butch. And he proceeded to.
Butch drew his knife and started around the table. Tommy gently backed out the batwing doors behind him, into the sunlight and onto the boarded walk. The batwings flopped slowly still, and then Butch pushed both wide and entered the sunlight, blinking. He didn't blink more than twice when Tommy kicked him so hard in the groin that Butch went down kneeling. Tommy spun with a wicked backfist that landed his knuckles across Butch's temple. When the Stabber jerked his head back to face the StreetUrchin, Tommy rammed the shotglass between Butch's teeth and then rammed a knee up his chin. The glass and teeth shattered with a vicious crack. Tommy looked for a damage reading on Butch, he shouldn't be able to score such a knockdown so early no matter how good he felt gamewise. Tommy found he couldn't get a health read on Butch and that was also pretty much impossible, Stabber was an NPC. Tommy shrugged, must be a bug in his new system.
But everything else was cool. The impact of his foot into the Stabber's crotch was magical. He'd felt things in Butch crunch under his heel...pure magic. He bent down after he was sure Butch was out and picked up the Dirty Dagger that Stabber Butch carried. He walked back into the saloon.
Bootsie was already on his feet, and the Bartender had a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun in his hands behind the bar. It was clear to them that whatever this 'Adamus' was, he damn sure wasn't no StreetUrchin. Gamblin' Dan sat quietly at the table, watchful.
"We don't want no trouble..." the Barkeep said. But Bootsie was a Badtoon. He knew trouble had just come to him. Bigtime. He pulled his knife and held the blade in a throwing position, elbow up, the bladetip in his fingers. He was pretty good with ranged attacks, and just as Adamus got set, the NPC hurled his blade.
(continued next post)
Rhylus ducked as the halbred blade wickered past his head by inches. He had to go to his knees to avoid the strike, and his opponent, Mike-The Mighty, Mighty, wasted no time in taking full advantage of the loss of defense. Rhyl looked up just in time to see the ironclad butt of the halbred swing into his helmet slit and collide with his eyes. A mild, electric shock went down his spine, and a red haze covered his vision. The blow immediately robbed him of 6,000 energy points. Rhyl fell over. Sprawled on the ground there was no way he could gain his feet, even if he drank his last, precious bottle of Caledendurii Water. The duel was over, and he logged out just as Mike-The Mighty, Mighty vectored the halbred's swing downward and took Rhyl's head.
Tommy Hiko stood up in the center of his memory pad and cursed. He pulled the virtual helmet off of his head and shook the virt-gloves from his hands with savageness. He struggled with the clips that hooked him into the bungie unit until he was free, then he stalked over to the electromagnetic enviroment tracking board and slammed the off switch so hard that the emag field that arced over the memory pad buzzed in protest at the abrubtness of the cut-off. Tommy didn't care, he was tired of this old gaming rig, sick of it. One hundred Rhylus skulls now ornamented the gate to the Badlands, at least seventy-five of those defeats came due to the fact that he didn't have the newest thing going in virtual gaming. Seventy-five tournament deaths because he didn't have a Neural Cortex Clip. The surgical implant that clipped most of the voluntary nerve control of the human body and shunted it's signal to a working, virtual interface, would always be faster than his outdated, slow, hardware rig. He was losing because he was behind the times.
For a long time Rhylus was the best. For five years Tommy Hiko played Hardtime County, the biggest virtgame on the market, and for three years running his Player Tracker Sequences won trophies at the Vegas Virtual Awards. Last year the Trac of his battle with Yojimbo won for not only best dramatic action, but for best dramatic role-play too. Tommy Hiko knew how to edit and shoot a Player Trac, he even wrote and performed custom background music for them. Before the Cortex Clip hit the market, there were no Rhylus skulls anywhere, and Tommy was becoming a star. Tommy Hiko was the one word that gamers used exclusively for those who mastered the gaming nations and ruled the commercial countryside: l33tn3ss. Now Rhylus was struggling just to keep his guild status, and to make ends meet. Tracs where Tommy Hiko as Rhylus as winner were a thing of the past, and the Virt Awards were right around the corner. One year of gaming with the Cortex Clip and now Tracs with Tommy Hiko as Rhylus losing his head were all the rage.
Tommy made the decision he'd been fighting with himself about, a decision that was based on pure vanity. He would sell his Jette-Vette and buy a little Heloputt. And with the credits he would save on the switch in transportation, he would stop appearing in Tracking Sequences as Rhylus the Headless Hero. Tommy Hiko called his doctor.
***
"...alright, Tommy, I'm gonna go. But I'm gonna warn you again, just so we're clear.', Tommy's doctor stood at his bedside, 'Two weeks. You got at least two weeks before you go hooking up. I saw the new rig downstairs, and I know how it works. That Bumpsuit is no different than a pilot's Gsuit, except that it's programmed to apply G-forces, not inhibit them. Your blood don't need to be pumpin' and rushin' anywhere. Stay out of it."
"Doc, if I can get warmed up, I might be able to pull off one decent Trac before The Virts. If I can walk out with just one Virty Award this year, all this would be so worth it..." Tommy pleaded.
But the Doctor was having none of it. "Your eyes aren't ready either. Listen to me! That neural clip isn't a 'clip' at all. It's a colony of bio-magnetic nanospores that are programmed with specific tasks and growth. You screw up what those nanospores are doing and you screw with the interface, you screw with the interface, you could become a veg. You hear me, Tommy? Stay outta the games!"
"Yes sir." Tommy said. And left it at that.
***
One day. Actually the very next morning. Tommy stood in his bathroom, underneath the holo-mirror. He trained the view to the base of his skull and studied the laserburn stitches. Not a speck of blood marred the clear derma-plastic bandage. Screw it, he felt great. It was time to mount the ladder he must climb to achieve virtual existence supremecy once again. The two weeks restriction the Doctor gave him went right out the window, he would load up the game today...this morning...right now.
The Bumpsuit felt good, after he zipped in and activated the aircoils. He no longer needed the virtual contact gloves and boots, he didn't even need a helmet, the suit covered him head to fingers to toes. He no longer needed projection screen goggles, the game was now going to play directly onto the backs of his eyeballs, somehow. According to the owner's manual, all he needed was the teflon coated blindfold to block out light. Tommy stepped onto the electro-magnetic enviroment pad and hooked himself up to the bungie system that lifted and held his body just three inches off the floor. He used his wrist pad to turn on the e-mag field.
Instantly the aircoils in his suit tightened, reading the electro-magnetic fields. The field beneath his feet got solid, and the electromagnetic walls of the new player's menu went up. This primer stage was very familiar to Tommy, but without the clunkiness of his old game rig; without the boots, gloves and helmet, Tommy could feel the invisible walls of the tutorial with his fingertips and feet. The virtual world suddenly became a whole hell of a lot cooler for Tommy Hiko...
Tommy pulled the plastic blindfold down over his eyes, and he saw the title screen and load menu flicker and then brighten before him. The real world went dark, and he raised his hand toward the character load-up button called "Rhylus". He stopped. There were enough Player Tracs of Rhylus dying honorably, the last thing he wanted was a recorded gank of Rhylus by some supernewb, or even a low-level NPC, showing up at the Virts this year. Tommy was still unfamliar with his new gaming rig and when it came right down to it, his Doctor was right about his eyes, there was a shimmering fog that floated at the edges of his sight. If he entered Hardtime with Rhylus there was a chance he'd get attacked before he was used to his new situation. Tommy Hiko moved his hand across the mag wall of the tutorial and pushed the create character button. Little did he know, he would never see his beloved Rhylus again.
***
He stood on the familiar wooden walkways of Shiretown, but he wasn't used to being so small. It'd been a great while since Tommy Hiko had started out as a StreetUrchin. He knew he should head over to the NewbCenter, but first he had to feel combat in his new skin. Shiretown was one of the many protected areas that all beginners of Hardtime County started in and peaceful Players lived in. Combat was a pure PvE enviroment, with some parts of town totally patrolled and a 'pre-emptive law' in place that captured anyone after the first move in PvP contact. Combat was almost non-existent in Shiretown, but you could find it if you crossed the river and hung around the Port District. The law was lax there, and you could expect a bullying by NPCs and even worse the longer you hung about. The Port District was just the place for a Newbie to level up in semi-comfort. As long as there were no heavy-hitting Players hanging around, a newb could get the Streetfighter title in a couple hours of work.
He felt wonderful. The Cortex Clip had opened a brand-new door into Tommy's virtual reality, and he reveled in it. His hair waved in the electromagnetic breeze and his hands and feet felt like pads of pure air now that the heavy boots and gloves were gone. A wicked smile crossed the StreetUrchin's face as he made his way across the bridge.
There were only four people in the Badtoon Saloon when Tommy walked in; a Player named Gamblin' Dan, a NPC bartender, a NPC thug named Bootsie, and just the NPC Tommy had come to see. Stabber Butch sat at the table with Gamblin' Dan, losing at cards. At first Dan was Tommy's biggest worry, but Gamblin' took one look at the skinny StreetUrchin, wrinkled his nose, and activated his 'PvE' tag. Tommy nodded his thanks to Dan. Stabber was a whole lot more interested in the newcomer.
"Whatcha name, boy?" Butch leaned back in his chair, an elbow propped on the chair-arm, an empty shotglass in that hand.
Tommy wondered at the sound quality he heard now that clunky helmets and earpieces were gone. Butch's words now vibrated directly into the bones of his ear. "Adamus..." Tommy answered, and marveled at the sound of his own voice going straight into the game, no mic.
"Adamus? That's the name of a Pirate King, punk. You ain't no pirate, and you sure as hell ain't no king..." Butch spat. He stood up behind the table and smiled, his bad teeth as long and greasy as his hair and beard. He towered over Tommy, "You shouldn't be down here, boy. I'll give you till the count of five, then I'm gonna kick yer ass all the way back over the bridge..."
It had been a long, long time since Tommy faced Stabber Butch and any of the Badtoon Gang. But he knew all of their moves, and the Cortex Clip made him feel like a supernewb already. He knew he'd have to face Bootsie after Butch, but then he would have Butch's knife. He curled up his little fists and stared up at the Stabber. "C'mon, Butch. Let's get this over with."
Butch threw the shotglass directly at Tommy's face, and Hiko caught it with the sweep of a hand. The action was so quick and so abrupt that the whole room stopped for a beat. Tommy was especially suprised at the ease with which he caught the glass and the pump of the glass as it hit his palm. It had hurt a little. Sweet...
The wicked smile that crossed the bridge with him returned to his lips, and Tommy settled himself into a crouch. He intended on trying some of the higher martial arts moves he knew from Rhylus, even though it shouldn't be possible gamewise. But Tommy felt himself, gamewise, and he knew now why the Cortex Clip made such a difference. He knew he could beat the living electromagnetic pixels right out of Stabber Butch. And he proceeded to.
Butch drew his knife and started around the table. Tommy gently backed out the batwing doors behind him, into the sunlight and onto the boarded walk. The batwings flopped slowly still, and then Butch pushed both wide and entered the sunlight, blinking. He didn't blink more than twice when Tommy kicked him so hard in the groin that Butch went down kneeling. Tommy spun with a wicked backfist that landed his knuckles across Butch's temple. When the Stabber jerked his head back to face the StreetUrchin, Tommy rammed the shotglass between Butch's teeth and then rammed a knee up his chin. The glass and teeth shattered with a vicious crack. Tommy looked for a damage reading on Butch, he shouldn't be able to score such a knockdown so early no matter how good he felt gamewise. Tommy found he couldn't get a health read on Butch and that was also pretty much impossible, Stabber was an NPC. Tommy shrugged, must be a bug in his new system.
But everything else was cool. The impact of his foot into the Stabber's crotch was magical. He'd felt things in Butch crunch under his heel...pure magic. He bent down after he was sure Butch was out and picked up the Dirty Dagger that Stabber Butch carried. He walked back into the saloon.
Bootsie was already on his feet, and the Bartender had a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun in his hands behind the bar. It was clear to them that whatever this 'Adamus' was, he damn sure wasn't no StreetUrchin. Gamblin' Dan sat quietly at the table, watchful.
"We don't want no trouble..." the Barkeep said. But Bootsie was a Badtoon. He knew trouble had just come to him. Bigtime. He pulled his knife and held the blade in a throwing position, elbow up, the bladetip in his fingers. He was pretty good with ranged attacks, and just as Adamus got set, the NPC hurled his blade.
(continued next post)