Welcome To Gameworld, Chapter One

“That’s BULLSHIT!” Danny threw the controller down on the couch, being careful enough to to throw it gently into a cushion, but throwing it nonetheless. “No way he got a headshot on me!”

Bobby hissed at Daniel, but it was too late. Bobby’s Mom poked her head around the doorframe and smiled at the two boys. “Now now! Language!”

Danny swallowed his bile and picked up the controller again. “Sorry Mrs. Hanson. I didn’t mean it.” He unclicked the mute switch and sullenly muttered “Good game, guys.”

Bobby’s Mom nodded benignly and smiled at her son. “One more round, OK Bobbby? Then Danny should go home, or at least call his Dad and ask if he can stay for dinner.”

Bobby’s face lit up at the implied invitation. “Can he? Thanks Mom!” He turned to his friend “Whaddaya think Danny? Want to stay for dinner?”

“Well . . . “ Danny feigned nonchalance, which fooled nobody. If Danny was lucky his father had left him a TV dinner before heading to the local sports bar. “What are you having?”

“Chili.” Bobby’s Mom said with a twinkle in her eyes and voice. “And I think we may have some chocolate ice cream left over if you boys behave.”

“OK!” Danny grinned gratefully at Bobby’s Mom. “Chili is my favorite.” He paused to think and then turned to Bobby with a frown. “What about Peter? We promised him that we’d play some co-op later.”

Bobby turned to his mother, pleading writ large on his face. “Can Peter come over for dinner too? PLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEEE?”

Bobby’s Mom pretended uncertainty as she teased her son. “Well, I don’t know. Peter is a pretty big guy. What if we don’t have enough chili?”

Bobby rolled his eyes with the impatience that only a twelve year old boy can possess. “Mooo - ommmm” he protested, stretching the word until it broke into two syllables. “You know there’s plenty of chili.” He snatched up his own controller as the new map finished loading and the game began anew.

“OK, Bobby. I’ll call Mr. Hackenmeyer - but ONLY if you take out the trash after we eat.” She smiled again at the two boys and returned to the kitchen. Bobby’s muttered “Yeah sure.” went unnoticed by both boys as they plunged into another round of Stigmata 3.

***

To the surprise of nobody Danny’s Dad didn’t even answer his phone. Mrs. Hanson left a curt message to the effect that Danny was going to stay for dinner, and he could stay the night if it was alright with Mr. Smith. After that she called Peter’s mother and the three-boy sleepover was arranged in the time it took for Danny to wreak his karmic revenge on the bullshit camper sniper. It was the work of another two rounds before Peter actually arrived with a sleeping bag and a change of clothes snugged under his arms but neither Bobby nor Danny noticed the lack of parental input.

Dinner went about as you would expect. Bobby’s older sister Alissa was disgusted by the presence of the two additional “overgrown rug-rats” as she referred to her brother and all his friends. But she was going out to the movies after dinner anyway so she wouldn’t be around to mock the three boys. Bobby’s parents were both easygoing and after the meal concluded they admonished the boys to not stay up too late before retiring upstairs with a DVD. It was only a matter of moments before Bobby had the Xbox online again. Both Danny and Peter had brought memory cards with their profiles and before long the Grim Reaperrzzzz clan was online and taking on any foolish enough to challenge the three friends.

***

It was 2 AM when Mrs. Hanson came downstairs and smiled gently and the three boys, all asleep in various chairs, controllers still gripped tightly in sleeping hands. She turned the TV and console off, and tucked blankets gently around all three boys before heading back upstairs again.

***

“HANDS OFF COCKS, ON WITH SOCKS!” Danny shook his head blearily as the outrageous cry repeated. He rubbed sleepy crust from his eyes and tried to focus on the situation. He was slumped in the Hanson’s overstuffed chair, his feet still propped on the matched olive ottoman. But the room around him appeared to be some sort of highly chromed bunker. He saw a couch against the far wall, Bobby and Peter both asleep on it. In the middle of the room stood a tiny man, only shoulder high to Danny and closer to waist high on Peter. He was dressed entirely in forest green leathers, and albino-blond hair protruded from his pointy green cap. He clutched  a strange baton under his right arm.

“Link?” Danny breathed in confusion. “Where are we?”

“WHAT?” bellowed the green-clad man in an unnaturally loud voice. “WHEN I WANT YOUR OPINION NOOBIE, I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU!”

“What? I don’t understand. Where’s Mrs. Hanson?”

“OH NOW YOU WANT BOBBY’S MOMMY DO YOU? FRACKIN’ DISGUSTING IF YOU ASK ME! GET THE FRACK UP NOOBIE! DO YOU WANT THE FALLEN TO TAKE OVER YOUR TOWN? WELL DO YOU?”, bellowed the man in green.

The Fallen were the aliens in all three of the Stigmata games. Danny was still asleep but he knew there was precisely one answer to this question. He jumped up to a ragged semblance of attention. “SIRNOSIR!” Danny screamed, his pre-pubescent voice cracking under the pressure.

“THE MAGGOT SPEAKS! RANK AND SERIAL NUMBER MAGGOT!” The man in green swiveled to face Danny and took several long steps until his face was right against Danny’s, his thin aquiline nose touching Danny’s.

“Uh, er . . . Private Danny Smith sir. Serial number . . . I don’t know sir!” Danny quavered in a high voice.

“WRONG! YOU’RE PRIVATE MAGGOT UNTIL YOU EARN A NAME FROM ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND PRIVATE MAGGOT?”, the man in green underscored his words by tapping Danny on the chin with his odd baton.

“ Stop spitting on me Link. I mean, GOD! I want to fight The Fallen and all, but I don’t want to drown before breakfast!”

“WHAT?”, roared the man, spittle flecking Danny’s face with even more coverage and enthusiasm? “LINK? YOU THINK THIS IS FRACKIN’ NINTENDO? DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY! AND YOU CAN CALL ME BY MY PROPER NAME! I’M YOUR GOD. IF, GOD HELP US ALL, THERE IS AN OFFICER PRESENT THAN YOU MAY CALL ME PUCK. SERGEANT GOODFELLOW IF YOU’RE NASTY!”

All the ruckus had finally woken Peter and Bobby. Peter rubbed his eyes sleepily and casually drawled. “What the fuck is wrong with Link over there? Is it Halloween already?”

In a flash Puck abandoned Danny and was inches from Peter’s face, his baton tucked under Peter’s chin and forcing his head up. “VERY FUNNY PRIVATE ASSWIPE! I SUPPOSE YOU’LL BE LAUGHING WHEN THE FALLEN OVERRUN CAMP OBERON? YOU DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY OR YOU’LL BE ON LATRINE DUTY!”

Peter looked sideways at Bobby and rolled his eyes. “Dude, this is wack. Next week we’re staying over at my place. In fact . . . “, Peter broke off as a sharp CRACK rang through the air and his head rocked to the left. A glowing red handprint rose on his cheek as Puck shouted again, spittle flecking Peter’s face.

“SHUT UP YOU GODSDAMN FALLEN-LOVER! DO YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR FAMILY AGAIN? THE THREE OF YOU HAVE EXACTLY ONE PRAYER OF MAKING IT THROUGH TODAYS EVENT AND THAT’S LISTENING TO GOOD OLD ROBIN GOODFELLOW!”

Peter rubbed at his cheek in shock, staring uncomprehendingly at Puck. At that moment a dapper man strode inside. He wore a pith helmet and sported an entirely improbable handlebar moustache of completely white hair. He completed the picture by rubbing a monocle into his his natty shirt before screwing it into his left eye.

“That’s quite enough Sergeant Goodfellow. Pip pip and cheerio, and all that. P’rhaps I can take a tick and explain the young lads why we need them to fight. Then you can carry on with all your noxious drilling, wot wot?” Bobby almost laughed out loud. Bobby’s dad was a huge Monty Python fan and this new gentleman was the spitting image of Graham Chapman, declaring that the entire sketch was “much too silly”.

Puck grumbled something inaudible under his breath and slouched over to a ridiculously reflective wall. He drew a toothpick from a vest pocket and shoved it in his mouth before leaning against the wall and jamming his hands in his trousers.

“Right then lads. Up and at’em! Now Sergeant Goodfellow here has expressed to me the opinion that he’s dealing with a bunch of cock-ups who can’t tell the difference between their arse and a hole-in-the-ground without a set of flashcards. But I says to ‘em I says ‘ere now! That isn’t true. These are the lads who founded the Grim Reaperrzzzz, don’tchaknow? These lads will willingly fight The Fallen, we just have to give them the right orientation, wot wot?”

Danny, being slightly more awake than the other two nodded vigorously, his hand still drawn up in an unacknowledged salute. “That’s right sir! I hate me The Fallen. Not like Peter over there, he’s a known Fallen-Lover!”

Puck surged off his wall, almost swallowing his toothpick in indignation before the Graham-Chapman-alike put up a conciliatory hand. “I’m handling this good-fellow Sergeant Goodfellow.” He winked at Danny and continued. “Did you see that there? That there was what we call a pun - or your typical ‘play on words’. That’s the sort of thing that will put the men at ease. This is what they taught me as an officer and a gentleman.”

Bobby finally jumped up and joined the conversation, unable to keep his peace any longer. “Begging your pardon, sir, and I hate The Fallen more than anyone but where are we?”

“Ah.” “Ah.” “Indeed.” The officer took a rather extended pause at this point to withdraw his pipe, knock the dottle onto the also-very-chromed-and-reflective ground, create a new plug of tobacco in the pipe, and then proceeded to carefully light the pipe with an uncommonly sulfurous match. Having lit the pipe he completely failed to draw at all upon it. The small fire went out as he clutched it by the bulb and jabbed at Bobby with the stem. “Right. A fine question. A fine, fine question. Indeed, this is a fine, fine example of a question, a veritable paragon of questionhood. I’m personally agog at the fine, fine quality of this . . . “

SMACK!

The officer blinked as Puck darted forward and slapped him on the face. Puck swiftly resumed his lounging posture against the shiny wall, rolling his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

The officer blinked twice more before briskly nodded an acknowledgement at Puck and continuing. “Quite right Sergeant Goodfellow. Quite the ticket, wot wot?” He nodded at Bobby “Well then. You’re in Gruesome Gulch. I imagine you’re familiar with the place what?”

Bobby frowned, his forehead creasing in puzzlement. “You mean the Stigmata 3 map? But that’s not a real place!”

“A real place? Well what is real then? I suppose you think that Los Angeles is real? Have you ever been there? I have and I can tell you on a hot day it shimmers like the craziest mirage you could ever imagine. No compared to LA Gruesome Gulch is quite real.”

Peter snorted disbelievingly. “Right. We’re in a Stigmata map. And I’m the King of Sweden.” Puck lunged forward from his wall, arms outstretched but the office brought him up short with a simple hand gesture.

“Look around Pete. You know full well where you’ll find the C4. And you know you’ll need that if you want to get inside The Fallen base from the sewers. Go ahead and scrounge. We’ll wait.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but he tossed his padded quilt on the floor as he stood up. He yawned hugely, stretching his gangly frame out to his full extent. “Fine. I’ll be right back.” He trotted out a oval gap in the wall.

Bobby leaned forward and began to speak, only to find the officer placing a single finger across his lips. “Shush child. Wait for Peter to bring back his news. It will be naught but a moment.” Even as he spoke Peter loped back in from a corridor on the left.

“Guys.” Peter spoke flatly, carrying a rectangle of gray putty and wearing a bandolier of more blocks over his Mario pajamas. “He’s right. The C4 was right by the sewer access. I don’t know what is going on, but it does look like the red base of Gruesome Gulch.”

The officer nodded in a self-satisfied manner. “Take five men. Robert, Daniel - you’ll both want to get your preferred weapons. The Fallen will arrive in twenty minutes. Pip pip! Stiff upper lip and think of England, wot wot?” He strode confidently out the main door, which slammed shut behind him.

Bobby and Danny both eyed each other warily until Puck erupted in speech again. “YOU HEARD THE LIEUTENANT! GET YOUR WEAPONS YOU MAGGOTS. BEFORE THE FALLEN SLAUGHTERS US ALL!” Startled, Bobby and Danny fled out opposite exits. It was less than a minute before they returned. Bobby now had a Red Cross hat and a cartoonishly large doctor’s bag. Slung over his back was a wicked-looking sniper rifle. Daniel carried a freakishly huge rifle and had saddlebag of ammo on both hips, incongruous against his Darth Maul pajama tops. Even worse he had two bandoleers crossing his stick-like chest, both bristling with an ominous array of grenades.

“Well, OK. We appear to be in Gruesome Gulch. What the fuck do we do now?” Bobby said softly.

Puck eyed the three boys and stepped forward, speaking quietly for the first time since they had woken up. “Now boys? Now you pray for grace. The Fallen arrive in fifteen minutes.”

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An Update To Fictional Thing A Week

I'm changing the rules. I originally said that I was "committing to a whole new story - beginning, middle and end." on every Friday. I was contrasting it to the cliffhanger way I wrote the Captain Arcolier serial. But then yesterday I sat down to crank out this week's story and jammed out 2000 words just setting up the scene and the characters. Last week I bent the rule already - Vlad was a complete story, but it's also set inside a larger framework I've been building. 2000 words is a long blog post, and there's at least another 2000 words on this story. It's already longer than the first two Thing A Week posts, and I don't feel I'm at the halfway point. The thing is, the story hit a natural breaking point, a place where it makes a lot of sense to post what I have so far. So I think I'm going to give myself an out about posting chapters of a story if that makes sense. If I end up doing some 10K words in a story I don't want to just plop that into one window and say "Hey enjoy the scrolling!" I'll post the story (OK, the chapter) next. I think most people will find it a reasonable chunk of story. I'll ask one thing: if you dislike (or like) the concept of chapters each week then post about the general concept on this thread. If you have specific comments about the piece itself, then post on the comments for it.

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Monterey

Last weekend Karin and I drove down to Monterey. The main purpose of the trip was to see "Weird Al" Yankovic in concert but we went ahead and stayed overnight and did a couple of other touristy things. We saw an exhibition of the Matisse Jazz unbound book, which is a series of oversize prints from Matisse's gouache cutouts and we went on a whale watching cruise. The Weird Al show was awesome - he's a really good performer. I realize nobody will take this seriously, but I mean it. He puts on an amazing show. There was also the twist too amazing to plan. We were in row 'H' of this theater, on the left side. There was an empty seat, then Karin, then I. So when he started singing Wanna B Ur Luvr he got down off the stage and worked down the aisle, singing lines to various women. When he got to our row he jumped up into the chair next to Karin and sort of . . . danced at her while he sang. Yes, my wife has now had Weird Al make pelvic thrusts at her. The rest of the row was a family and the mom was clearly jealous. I'm not sure Karin was as impressed herself. The whale watching cruise was fun. I tried to take some pictures, but I didn't really get much. My camera is too freakin' slow for action snaps, so I got a lot of "just after they fluked" shots. I put a bunch of them up on Flickr. This was probably my best shot of a fluke: I'm seriously thinking I want a better camera. I'd like to get a nice digital SLR body, and look into getting a "prime" lens (one without a zoom). I've been reading and hearing quite a lot about what a revelation it is to start shooting with a 50 mm lens. But I need to do a lot more research before I even know what kind of camera I want. But it was frustrating trying to catch the whales and w . a . i . t . i . n . g for my camera to get its act together and take the damn shot.

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Stupid DS Tricks

Every so often I'm brought up short when I'm on one of my "You know, the Nintendo DS is a very flawed console." rants, and it always happens at the same point. One part of my spiel is that Nintendo has a certain list of stupid features that they include in every DS game, and the absolute dumbest is the fact that they make you blow into the microphone for a variety of things. Invariably somebody claims this only happens in a small fraction of games and/or it only happens on goofy niche games. So at this time I'd just like to note that a minor obscure title called The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass has you blow out candles (in order to open doors) and blow dust off a map (just in case you weren't annoyed already). While I'm thinking about they totally ruined the battle mode in Mario Kart where you have three balloons behind your cart by making you blow into the microphone to inflate the balloons. So the next time somebody tells me they are a big DS fan, and they never have to blow into the microphone I'm going to ask if they played either Zelda or Mario Kart. Admittedly, neither is likely to be a popular mainstream game . . . .

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Vlad Versus the Dragon

Vlad certainly had no intention of becoming Vlad the Dragonslayer that fine May morning. In fact he was only supposed to go as far as Willow-on-Taukney to buy his mum a wheel of fine Taukneyshire cheddar. Vlad's mum had always told him never to talk to wizards but the stories had been so fine, so mesmerizing. Vlad hadn't seen harm in talking to old Genikar for just a moment. None of that helped as he crouched in a damp little cave that Genikar had claimed was a forgotten gateway to the ancient Dwarf Runs of Mount Feneelzin. He lightly and repeatedly struck his head on the grim basalt before him, muttering "Stupid, stupid!" under his breath.

Vlad was from good solid Middlelands stock. The people of the Middlelands were not big on adventures - Vlad's own Da had often said "Ye can keep yere epic quests! Me, I'm just for a hot meal and a full flagon!" As a wee bairn Vlad remembered sitting by the hearth down at the Wet Whistle, listening to Genikar spin his tales of great heroes and kings, staying until his Da cuffed him for staying up so late and sent him home to bed. Every tale would end with the prince rescuing the fair princess or the hero slaying the foul monster terrorizing the countryfolk. And the men of Ambleshire would roar with laughter and refill Genikar's flagon and thank the gods that there was no heroing needed there in the Middlelands. 

Vlad grunted disgustedly. "Oi!" he thought to himself. "If me Da could see me now he'd cuff me so hard I'd miss next Tuesday! And where be Genikar now with all his fine tales of adventure and luscious appreciative wenches? He's gone and knocked his fool self out casting some damn-fool spell and now’s likely down that overgrown lizard’s gullet! Leaving me here in a fine little pickle - an angry dragon outside and me with just a little skinning knife that wouldn't scare a large rabbit!"

Not that Genikar had come right out and said to Vlad "Hey, wanna go slay a dragon?" Oh no. At first Genikar had just needed a "little help" getting a cart to Danestown - the roads were boggy and he was afraid his swaybacked old mare wouldn't be able to pull the cart out of a mudhole. The wily old mage had even offered to buy his mum's wheel of cheddar as payment for Vlad going out of his way. So Vlad's best mate Davin had gone back to Ambleshire carrying Vlad's mum's cheese and Vlad had agreed to stay a day and help Genikar over the Taukney ferry and down the muddy path to Danestown. Of course in Danestown it had been a shiny guinea to stay on and get Genikar's goods to the border. Each simple step lead to his next involvement and before he knew it Vlad was huddling in the back of a forgotten cave hoping a dragon wouldn't hear his breathing.

The dragon was nothing like the soaring magnificent creatures of Genikar’s tales either. It didn’t speak and it didn’t swoop through the sky with the sun glistening on iridescent jewel-like scales. The beast had wings aye, but Vlad was more likely to get airborne than this hulking creature. It scrabbled along, a vast serpentine belly clearing the ground by mere inches on stubby legs. Vlad’s eyes watered as an errant breeze brought the foul carrion stench of the beast to the back of the cave.

“And where is his vast horde of gold and treasure anyway?” Vlad muttered to himself in disgust. He looked around the dank cave where he huddled but saw nothing more than stone outcroppings and a few piles of ash.

“Give Genikar his due. His tales got the firebreathing right at least. Guess that why yon lizard doesn’t mind the damp.” Vlad clamped his hand over his own mouth as the dragon’s head rose up. The triangular snout turned to the rear of the cave. It sniffed the air, nostrils larger than dinner plates flaring wide. Vlad wished he could strike his head on the rock again but he knew he couldn’t afford the slightest risk of a sound.

The dragon stepped further into the cave, still snuffling at the now-still air. Vlad held his breath in an attempt to be completely still. Still suspicious of something the dragon sucked in a huge breath and then pursed its muzzle in a dainty moue. Vlad would have chuckled except the dragon then exhaled a narrow ribbon of flame that reached to the back of the cave, just a scant foot from where Vlad hid. The fire roared greedily as Vlad recoiled from the sudden heat. To his great horror he collided with a stalactite behind him and broke off the tip. The stone shards clattered noisily down the back wall. The dragon lumbered forward, nearly filling the cave mouth with scaly bulk.

“That’s it, I’m in the soup now. If I don’t go now I’ll never have the space to squeeze past. If I get eaten by a dragon, I’ll hope I can haunt Genikar’s shade in the afterlife!” Vlad muttered, past caring if the dragon heard him. Hoping for an element of surprise Vlad placed both hands on the rock in front of him and vaulted over. Or he tried but cold and cramped muscles failed him and instead he sprawled gracelessly on his stomach right in front of the dragon’s questing snout. Vlad got his surprise though, and the dragon reared back its head away from Vlad’s sprawled form.

“Heeeeyyaaaa!” Vlad screamed and pushed off the ground, clumsily scrambling back onto his feet. He stumbled forward and brandished his skinning knife. “Come on you misbegotten overgrown salamander! I’m not afraid of ye!” Vlad’s voice cracked on the “ye”, which rather ruined the dramatic effect.

The dragon blinked in surprise and paused briefly before inhaling again. Vlad watched carefully and when the dragon stopped inhaling he tumbled madly forward. He somersaulted a half-dozen times, veering randomly to the left or right with each tumble. The dragon exhaled flame and came close enough to singe Vlad’s beard but didn’t strike home. Vlad tumbled a last time and popped up next to a bulky forelimb almost as thick as his waist.

“Ye missed!” Vlad grinned nastily and stabbed at the shoulder with his skinning knife. He stared round-eyed as the blade broke harmlessly against the dragon’s ruddy scales with a metallic TING!

“Bugger!” Vlad cursed and then tossed the useless hilt at the dragon’s eye. The dragon caught the missile in its mouth and swallowed it.

“Smug little bastard, ye are!” Vlad muttered as he dove for the cave mouth. The dragon’s sinuous body still blocked most of the entrance, but the beast couldn’t move sideways at any speed and Vlad slipped past into the warm spring sunlight. Vlad smiled and stepped forward where he promptly tripped over Genikar’s body.

“Godsdamn! I thought ye had been eaten!” Vlad said. Genikar lay tossed at the cave mouth, one arm outstretched and his other hand clutching an amulet around his neck. The amulet flashed golden in the light, but more than that it seemed to pulse with an interior glow.

“I don’t recall seeing that before. Mayhap it is tied to your last spell?” Vlad reached out and tugged on the amulet. The clasp opened with a snick as if the amulet was eager to move. There was a bright flare as the necklace came free and then the amulet pulsed faster, synchronizing itself to Vlad’s racing heartbeat.

The dragon roared in rage, having doubled back in the cave and forced its head outside past its tail. Vlad blinked at the beast and quickly fastened the amulet around his own neck. He dropped the medallion inside his tunic, hissing as the metal touched his chest. It burned there with a cold fire and he reached to pull it out again when he noticed something that froze him in place. As soon as the amulet had touched his skin the dragon stopped looking at him, choosing instead to sniff the air as if unsure where Vlad had gone. Vlad paused for a moment, thinking of Genikar’s last spell, remembering th e wizard speaking of going undetected through the dragon’s den. Vlad waved his hand in front of the dragon, at first tentatively but quickly gaining speed and energy.

“Hah! The wizard appears to have left me a mighty spell of concealment. Ho! I am away!” Vlad chuckled and boldly strode away, back down the path. It was only a matter of moments before he went around a bend in the path and was lost to sight.

Another ten minutes passed before Genikar blinked his eyes and stood up again, smiling as he brushed dirt from his robes. He straightened his hat as he made a mystic hand pass at the dragon. The dragon froze in place before fading into translucency and converting into a large body of crimson smoke.

“That should bait the hook nicely.” Genikar said to the evaporating smoke. “Now we wait.”

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