As Kurt was standing with a dreamy smile, drunk on his new riches, a civilian NPC laid on their horn, shouting obscenities out the window. He walked down the sidewalk deeper into the Downtown Cluster. Glancing at his phone again, he internally reveled in the sheer amount of money at his disposal. The nearby roar of an engine distracted him, and he quickly lowered his wrist, looking over his shoulder towards the sound. A heavily armored 1997 Hummer H1 rounded the corner, its light blue and grey digital camouflage paint job marking it as a GoonStorm vehicle. A GoonStorm member was leaning on a mounted machine gun poking out of the roof with a bored expression on his face.

  The hummer slid to a stop underneath the parachute, driver and passengers disembarking while the gunner stayed in place. Kurt began to avert his gaze, but then noticed the civilian NPCs in the area were also gawking at the players and decided to maintain his cover. The million and a half in dirty money in his inventory was suddenly a frightening weight on him.

  The driver and gunner were the only players, speaking to each other while ignoring the three other Goons. The driver seemed annoyed. “Gone. We took too long getting here.”

  His gunner yawned into a hand. “I can spray down the bugs, if you like. Maybe some bodies would make the higher ups happy.”

  Shaking his head, the driver looked around again. “They’d just make us pay for the ammo. Screw it. We never saw a parachute, simple as that.” Indeed, as they turned away, Kurt’s parachute dissolved into dust and drifted away on the cool night breeze.

  The Goons loaded back into the Hummer and drove away, drawing a sigh of relief from Kurt. He glanced at his skills menu, noting with a smile that his disguise skill progress bar had jumped a bit again and was continuing to slowly climb. His reverie was broken by another digital camo Hummer driving down the road past him. He scowled before pulling up his map. Several black dots were driving outside of the patterns of the other vehicles, and Kurt felt a chill run down his spine. He thumbed the call icon for Jimmy, and then for Gadot as he began looking for a place to hide from the Goons.

  Jimmy answered right away. “You survive?”

  “What? Oh, right. Thanks for chucking me out of a plane, dick!” Kurt hesitated, remembering the experience and softening his tone. “I made it fine, but I still need to work on my landing. I’m in the Cluster, and there’s Goons literally everywhere. What’s going on?” Kurt walked while talking, making sure not to look at his wrist. He tried to scan the passing windows as if he were just another civilian NPC walking the road.

  Gadot chimed in next. “Show of force. They do this kind of thing sometimes. Trying to remind us that they own the city. If it’s a PK patrol routine, they’ll drive around killing any players they find. Best to avoid them — if you engage one group the rest will come swarming.”

  Kurt nodded to himself, remembering to be inconspicuous only after the action. “Will do. Any tips on getting a safehouse?”

  “Yeah, get a turf-less one. The way the Goons are right now, going through the hassle of turf won’t be worth it.” Jimmy sounded annoyed.

  The sound of a car door came through from Gadot’s side. “Agreed. Once we knock them down a peg and get things back to normal, turf will come in handy. A regular safehouse is just storage, but it’s still pretty much a requirement. Call your attaché, they can help.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah, attachés are pretty great for pointing you in the right direction. It’d be a pain to find everything on your own every time. You just tell them roughly what you want, and they give you a bunch of options. Sadly, they only operate with clean money, even if it’s stuff you can usually buy with dirty.”

  “Cool, thanks guys.” Kurt was about to disconnect but scowled as Gadot’s voice came through again.

  “Hey, Jimmy, what are you up to right now?” Gadot sounded different, less sure of herself.

  “About to hit the range and learn how to use this new heavy-ass gun of mine. You need some muscle?” Jimmy was being strangely polite.

  “Uh, no, not really. You mind if I join you at the range, though? I have a new rifle I need to work on, too.” Her voice was almost pleasant.

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed and he decided to intervene. “Stop being nice, you two, it’s weirding me out.”

  Jimmy was quick to put a stop to him. “Pretty sure we don’t need your sass. Shouldn’t you be off buying a safe house or something, anyway? Get lost!”

  Kurt disconnected with a chuckle, stopping next to a fine dining restaurant. Another GoonStorm patrol made him decide to duck inside and get a table. While waiting for a server to notice him, Kurt pulled up his notifications to look at his new reputation gains.

  The Lace

  The Lace is a secretive group of high end heisters. Your discretion and ability have raised your standing to a degree, but much more work will be required to become a trusted ally. With notable risk comes higher than average rewards, and high stakes work seems to be common within The Lace.

  Current Rank: 2

  Current Contacts: “Crane” “Gadot”

  Jobs successfully completed: 2

  Pulled from his thoughts by a waiter in a stark white apron, Kurt swiped his phone away and smiled at the NPC. After ordering a coffee, he called his attaché. Sipping his coffee while listening to her explain the purchasing options for a safehouse, he quickly realized the options were too vast for him to explore in a single night. He decided to get something thematically resonant with his faction, with a hidden entrance. Nearly choking at the ten-million-dollar price tag, he forced himself to stop caring about the money so much and ordered it. His attaché paused for a moment before cheerfully informing him the safehouse was his, and that she would travel to his location shortly with the key.

  Kurt sat quietly as he watched the people in the restaurant and out on the street moving around in a facsimile of day-to-day life. He found his mind going back to his friend and the way he had moved on his crutches earlier in the day. Jimmy’s nonchalant attitude about being in a wheelchair in a few years bothered Kurt. He knew his friend hid his problems from the world and acted like nothing bothered him, but Kurt had grown up with him and knew better. Jimmy needed that surgery, which meant he needed money.

  As he sat and thought, Kurt decided to look up the FLEX pack exchange rate for in game money. The menu was fairly straightforward and showed what the exchange primarily did for players. One could purchase FLEX packs with real money directly from Blacklight Industries, but the exchange was fully player operated. Only other players could buy or sell their FLEX packs. In typical auction house format, the exchange was full of bundles undercutting one another by a single dollar, along with other equally sleazy but effective financial tactics. Auctions raged back and forth, making the cost of a single FLEX pack wildly variable.

  Quickly doing some math on his phone, he scowled. One billion in-game currency wouldn’t cover the surgery Jimmy needed, but it would be a large step in the right direction. Kurt sighed and exited the exchange, the inkling of an idea beginning to form in his mind.

  Swiping to his equipment screen, Kurt happily thumbed the ‘shop’ button under his new Glock. A list of websites selling the weapon sprang onto his display, and he thumbed the top option, purchasing two backup pistols, as well as two extended magazines for the weapon. The Glock came with a magazine that could hold seventeen rounds, but Kurt had decided that was nowhere near enough for his purposes. He chose a long tower-style magazine that held thirty-three rounds and shrugged as he splurged on an odd-looking drum magazine that could expend fifty rounds.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Swiping through the shopping options, Kurt smiled and sipped his coffee. Inventory management had always been something he enjoyed. Next up on his list was a vehicle, and the sheer number of options was staggering. He swiped through various vehicle shopping websites before deciding to just get something for now and worry about specific vehicles another time. Glancing through the options, he chose a filter based on price and instantly found a winner. For a mere ten thousand, he bought a 1953 Volkswagen Beetle with a full off-road conversion package. The vehicle had its wheel wells removed to make room for the oversized, off-road tires. Its engine was exposed, with a more robust exhaust profile raising up behind the rear window. Aggressive suspension upgrades rounded out the conversion, ensuring a rugged vehicle that Kurt felt would cover any bases.

  Kurt jumped as his attaché sat down across from him. He had been engrossed in his shopping and hadn’t noticed her entering. She smiled and slid a tarnished, copper-colored key across the table to him, before glancing to the side. He looked down to see a shopping bag holding his weapons and extended magazines, and when he looked back up, the attaché was already at the door of the restaurant. Standing, Kurt pulled up his map and marked the safehouse location, checking for GoonStorm before he exited the restaurant. He noticed his clean cash had dropped to 25.5 million and shrugged as he exited. Easy come, easy go.

  Kurt followed the GPS directions to a nearby subway station, then down into the tunnels beneath the street. He began to get a little nervous that he had purchased the same style safe house that Gadot used but was surprised when the GPS led him to a subway train sitting at the platform. He followed the trail of the GPS to the rear car, where it ended with a cheerful proclamation that he had reached his destination. Looking around, he saw nothing but the train car and various passengers.

  The doors on the last car didn’t open along with the rest, and no NPCs were lining up to board it either. When he looked closer, he saw that the windows were blacked out with what looked like old newspapers and electrical tape. There was a simple lock on the doors, and he decided to try his new key. The door slid open with a metallic scream and a shower of rust particles. Stepping inside with a grimace, Kurt’s face fell.

  “Oh good. I bought the world’s most expensive shit heap.” He looked around, morosely taking in his surroundings. The train car was in a state of severe neglect, the seats displaying gouges in the hard plastic and graffiti sprays across the walls.

  The train lurched into motion as he brought up his safehouse information, and he staggered with an annoyed expression. It indicated he had storage space for three outfits, one extra suit of armor, three spare firearms, and one million in dirty cash.

  Looking around, he quickly found the outfits and armor storage area. A broken plastic mannequin torso was glued to a seat, underneath three metal wire hangers dangling pathetically to the motion of the train. With a sigh, he turned and found the weapons and cash storage nearby, in the form of two cardboard boxes underneath a seat. One was labeled ‘gunz’ and the other ‘munney’. Kurt found the intentional misspelling more distressing than anything else and raised his wrist to pull up the safehouse screen again.

  This time he noticed a small number at the top right corner of the screen, displaying 1/5. Raising his eyebrow, he thumbed the button and was overjoyed when an upgrade menu popped to the front of his display. Happily paying the million-dollar upgrade price, he sighed in relief when his surroundings instantly changed. The window informed him he had storage room for ten outfits, three suits of armor, ten firearms, and two million in dirty cash.

  The train’s seats had reverted to an older form, with wooden backs and cloth cushions. Graffiti no longer graced his walls, replaced with burnished metal dotted with lines of rivets. The windows were still blocked out, but now they had fresh-looking wood slats over them, perfectly matched to the seats. He glanced at the seat behind him to see that the broken mannequin and hangers were gone. In their place stood three small body racks, similar to those found in a tailor’s shop, in front of an open armoire-style wardrobe. A thick metal briefcase was underneath the seat where the ‘munney’ box had been before, and a wooden rack with hooks for weapons was pinned to the wall above.

  Kurt happily placed his new Glocks on the rack next to his old starter Beretta, equipping the long magazine to the weapon he carried. It jutted a ways out from the butt of the weapon, but his underarm holster still accommodated the weapon. He decided he just had to be careful about which magazine he equipped when he was trying to be sneaky, as the extended magazine jutted from the front of the suit coat. Leaving the drum magazine in his weapons storage rack, he patted his pockets to discover the safehouse key had transformed into a plastic keycard.

  With that realization came another: gnawing hunger had set in. No amount of mental coffee consumption would stave off his actual hunger.

  After sending a goodnight text to Jimmy and Gadot — which they ignored — he sat back in one of the seats and swiped the logoff option. A screen popped up to inform him that logging off for eight hours in his safehouse would provide a six-hour buff of 25% increased skill EXP. That settled his internal debate to log back in later, and he called it a night with the press of a button.

  The world around him faded gently to black, his senses switching back to the real world. He sat up from his plug-in couch with a yawn, stretching and heading towards the kitchen. His ears picked up the sounds of his parents eating dinner and he glanced at his phone to see the time was nearly eight-o-clock at night.

  Entering the kitchen, he smiled at his parents and moved to the counter to see what his father had made for dinner. Following the air laden with hints of an Italian meal to a counter laden with food, he was pleased to discover spaghetti with sausage and peppers, and hurriedly filled a plate. He plopped down into a seat at the table and began eating, ravenous from his day.

  “Thanks for dinner, Dad. This is pretty great.” Kurt spoke with his mouth full, his time at college having dulled his manners somewhat.

  “Kurtis. Don’t be pedestrian.” His mother’s favorite insult, covering a wide range of undesirable behavior.

  He finished chewing his mouthful and swallowed, making a big show of daintily dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin before speaking again. “Apologies, Mother dearest, I shall endeavor to comport myself with greater cordiality in the future.”

  “Mmm, I love it when he talks fancy. Really makes those years at college seem worthwhile.” His father’s eyes twinkled.

  Kurt sighed and put down his fork. “I am actually sorry about that, believe it or not.” He looked morose, before shaking his head and starting to eat again. “I dunno what I’m going to do, though.”

  “Plenty of ways to get an education.” His mother’s attitude towards his college fumble had begun to bother Kurt, but he knew better than to press her when she was like this. He had seen her shut down on subjects that upset her before, and it was often best to just let her come around on her own.

  “Well, it’s fine for now, anyway. Your mother and I don’t mind supporting you while you figure things out.” His father looked pointedly at his mother, though his tone was gentle and polite as ever. Kurt suspected they had been fighting about him.

  “It’s good to think about options. Options which have become rather limited in recent years, are now even more limited without some form of higher education. Are you considering a different school yet?” His mother had the irritating habit of not looking at him while speaking when she was annoyed or angry.

  He stared at her full-sleeve tattoo to avoid looking her in the eye. “No.” Kurt took a deep breath and waited for a storm that didn’t come. When his mother looked over at him, he continued, “I didn’t fail school on purpose, but I did fail. I’m not cut out for it, Mom, and while I’m sorry about that, it’s just how things are. I don’t see myself going to school anymore.”

  She looked at him, repeating herself in a measured manner. “Your options will be much more limited without an education, Kurtis.”

  “I know. I dunno, maybe dogs . . .” Kurt burned with shame, contemplating the napkin in his lap.

  “Every third grader in the neighborhood has their own dog walking service. You have to be realistic about this. You can’t just spend your life-” She faded out, noticing a steady stare from her husband. “I’m sorry. I just want what’s best for you. Take your time and figure things out, we’re here for you.” The meal continued in silence.

  Later on, when his mother had gone up to her studio to work on her designs, Kurt approached his father in the living room. He had the habit of watching old movies, and Kurt had always appreciated their shared hobby.

  “So, what are you going to do, kiddo?” Setting down his drink, his father casually paused the film and shifted in his chair.

  Kurt picked at a nail. “Well, Jimmy wants my help in this game, so that’s my weekend sorted.” He shrugged, thinking about the real world exchange. “I did end up making what would translate to . . . roughly five hundred dollars tonight. Feels like that’s not a usual thing. It’s expensive to properly play that game, but in theory I could potentially make a living at it. Past that entirely theoretical scenario, I haven’t thought about it much. Kind of makes me panic a little bit when I do.”

  His father nodded, frowning. “I think panic is a very good start. So long as you don’t just stay at that phase.” He paused to take a sip of his beverage, rattling the ice cubes as he set it back down. “Try not to take your mother’s perspective on this so hard. She really means well.”

  Looking over with a frown, Kurt shrugged. “Yeah, I know she does. It’s just hard not to take it personal, you know? Like, you can barely do anything anymore, even with an education. Everyone always says to take hold of your life and make something of it, but what should that thing be?”

  “Fundamental change I would suggest you make to that statement,” his father said. Kurt glanced at him, and his father looked back with a small smile. “Remove the word ‘your’ from it. Take hold of life and make something of it.”

  Frowning and shaking his head, Kurt scowled in confusion. “I don’t get the difference.”

  “Life isn’t a possession, son. It’s an experience.” Smiling cryptically, his father resumed the movie and closed the conversation.

  With another shake of his head, Kurt settled in to enjoy the film. “Well, that’s just maddeningly unhelpful.” He delivered the line with an appropriately British accent.

  “Don’t quote Pirates at me, boy. I’ll embarrass you with my unending knowledge.” His father was only partly joking.

  He felt good for a couple of hours, just watching a movie with his father. The real world could wait.

  That night Kurt dreamt of falling, and of flying.