Speedrunner 1.2
A Fictional Story by joifiend11.
I mean, I see what you’re getting at. Yes, I know Prometheus is actively seeding and creating conflict between the players. It’s a competition; that’s the nature of it.
And I don’t think that’s inherently unethical. Do you complain that the rules of American football allow players to deck one another? That the slowest sprinters in the Olympics don’t get medals? That the rules of chess dictate whose king gets checkmated, when the knight gets taken, which pawns can become queens?
These people all knew what they were signing up for. None of them are minors. They’re all consenting adults who signed a package of waivers. They are being compensated—more than adequately, as it happens—in addition to the prize they are competing for. They’re all getting ongoing psychological and health evaluations.
And they’re also free to opt out of the competition at any time.
Hell, even the usual complaints about AI companions don’t make sense here. The players are competing with each other. Sure, there are some AI creations in the mix, but they’re clearly labeled, and they mostly serve as…well, scenery and props for the players.
So what do you take issue with, exactly? That we’re packaging up the footage into a reality entertainment production? Or is this just more of your moralizing about the competition including — gasp — sex?
…I’m sorry, are you really quoting Dr. Ian Malcolm at me? “You were so preoccupied with whether or not you could, that you didn’t stop to think if you should”?
Look, I appreciate a good classic entertainment reference as much as the next bloke. Jurassic Park is a phenomenal film; and yes, it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of scientific hubris, moral and ethical overreach, advancement for advancement’s sake.
But there are no dinosaurs in this particular amusement park, Diane. No velociraptors to jump the fences, no T Rexes that might make it to the mainland to help spawn a dozen-movie-long franchise, no dinosaur DNA extracted from preserved mosquitoes.
It’s an entertainment production about people. Yes, it’s run by a system, but that’s true of all competitions. Ours is just a little more sophisticated than most. Yes, we’ve got a lot more footage than most productions generate. Yes, some of it is violent, and some of it is of people having sex.
But those’re all entertainment formats that existed long before we did. Before you come for me, please talk to the folks who broadcast the Olympics each year, or the professional boxing association, or the people who made millions off of The Biggest Loser.
And ultimately, competitions and games are about the people who are playing: what they do, who they choose to be, how they treat each other.
—
Cruel Edge [D]
You get off on humiliating others, huh? You use it like a weapon to get your way. We’ve all noticed. It’s kind of fucked up.
When you successfully identify and attack an insecurity, vulnerability, or flaw in another participant, all six of your core characteristics are effectively three points higher for the duration of the encounter. This does not affect your Overall Score or Sexual Prowess.
I stared at the ability. The way Ted and Becky had reacted had left me with misgivings.
But I still wanted to take it. I was completely confident that it was better than the other option — The Voice already massively boosted my Verbal to the point where I’d never had it fail, and it would only get better with more points in Dominance. I didn’t think I needed it to be even stronger. Hell, Cruel Edge almost made up the difference easily on its own right now — it’d give me +3 Verbal and +3 Dominance, which would be another point or two of Verbal when I used The Voice. And it boosted other stats beyond that.
…I didn’t actually enjoy humiliating others, did I?
I didn’t. I was sure I didn’t. Sure, I was enjoying the gameifying of sexual encounters. Yeah, I liked being in control. Did I like the feeling of power when The Voice activated and I just knew the right thing to say to make someone do what I wanted? Of course I did.
But it was about winning this competition and not dominating anybody else.
Cruel Edge wouldn’t be any different. It was just one more tool in the toolbox—a tactic to deploy.
I picked it.
The second choice was easier. I had enough already riding on the judgment of my stream’s viewers; there was no way I was investing more into them by picking Chat, Am I Cooked? without feeling way more confident that they could help me. And the encounter with Colton in the tutorial level had been scarily close to eliminating me from the game, since I hadn’t known about his stat reduction ability.
Chloser Inspection was the obvious choice.
“Sorry, chat,” I whispered, as I picked it. People were, presumably, actually watching me right now. It was an odd thought—I was used to being on camera, but generally speaking, I was getting real-time reactions and feedback…and there was an actual webcam in front of me. This felt completely different.
Then I turned my attention to Becky’s upgrade, bracing myself for what was sure to be an argument.
—
“Becky, c’mon-”
“I said no, Chloe.” She crossed her arms, defiantly — although in her current, scantily-clad-Valkyrie outfit and her pointy elf ears, the posture communicated defensiveness more than it communicated a final decision.
The sense of protectiveness I’d felt towards Becky was starting to fray around the edges in the wake of our extended back and forth. I tried to rally what patience I had left.
“Look,” I said sympathetically. “I get that you don’t like Blowjob Becky as a nickname, but what if the game is counting on that? I think it’s the better choice; it’ll get you a new talent from your Sexual Prowess going up. And maybe it’s got really good upgrades, and the game’s trying to use this to keep you from taking it. It’s like how I’m taking Cruel Edge even though I’m not actually cruel, y’know?”
“…Is that what you’re proving right now?” Becky asked, snidely.
Ted snorted. I rolled my eyes.
“But fine.” Becky was all petulance as she relented. “I’ll pick it, if that’s what you want, Chloe. This once. Your strategy did work to bring down that war troll.”
She glowed blue, briefly, as she made a choice…and then paused. “Oh. Wow.”
“What?” I was worried, now.
“It gave me two more options. And they both seem really good!” She was excited, again.
“What are they?” I asked, eagerly.
“I can upgrade Topping from the Bottom, or I can pick a new talent called Baddie…” Becky’s eyes were scanning the text as she read them.
“Don’t pick yet, okay?” I hurriedly read through both of them.
Topping From The Bottom [D] -> Topping From the Bottom [C][UPGRADED] (This is Becky’s talent.)
Sometimes it’s fun to switch things up and be in charge.
Twice per level, raise your Dominance score to equal your Satisfaction until the end of an encounter.
(Currently, this perk will temporarily raise your Dominance to 10.)
Baddie [D] (This is Becky’s talent.)
Boy, some people are bossy, aren’t they? You could be a simpering good little girl who always does what she’s told…or you could be the kind of girl who doesn’t get pushed around into taking talents she doesn’t want.
You gain +1 Appearance immediately for taking this talent. In addition, at the end of an encounter in which you ignore an ally’s instructions or don’t do what they want, you gain one additional point of Dominance.
My heart sank as I read through the second one.
It was good. Like, really good. The best mechanical choice by a mile in my opinion. Becky’s growth encounter-to-encounter was going to be amazing.
But it would also turn Becky into a complete loose cannon. The game was incentivizing her to work against us—literally rewarding her for ignoring what we wanted. She’d be impossible to-.
My train of thought was derailed as Becky flickered blue.
“Which did you pick?” I asked quietly. But I already knew the answer.
She crossed her arms again, her posture even more petulant, now. “I did what you wanted for the last choice. This time I did what I wanted. I get a say too; they’re my abilities. You didn’t ask us, and I’m sure you picked that ability all about how you like humiliating people.”
“Becky,” Ted said gently. “Just…be careful, okay? We’re not trying to make you do anything, but I think the system running the game might be.”
I nodded emphatic agreement, trying to think of a way to explain it that might resonate. “It’s like…how the producers of those reality television shows try to cultivate drama, you know? This will be more entertaining for viewers if we’re squabbling with each other.”
She rolled her eyes. In her battlemaiden get-up, her blonde hair was pulled together into a single, complicated braid; Becky tossed it over one shoulder, dramatically. “As long as you don’t keep bossing me around, we won’t have anything to squabble about, will we?”
“Let’s just, uh, keep moving,” Ted interjected.
“Fuck, Becky,” I muttered under my breath.
—
“She’s a problem, Ted. Like I thought she would be.” The two of us had dropped back a little. Becky was distracted, looking around at the various buildings as we approached.
The Inner City was a lot nicer than the surrounding environs. The streets were cleaner, the foliage well-maintained, the NPCs walking around better-dressed.
“I know, okay? But it’s not her fault, it’s the game’s.” Ted kept his voice quiet, but I could hear the frustration in it.
“Whatever. She doesn’t have to let the game manipulate her.”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. “Yeah? The game’s doing the same thing to you.”
The anger in his voice brought me up short. “What?”
“Chloe, it’s clearly really sophisticated at generating conflict. Yeah, it’s playing Becky into being contrarian with you. But it’s also tailoring your choices so that you’re building yourself into someone who gets ahead by manipulating, dominating, and humiliating people. I understand the talent that drives you to finish quickly. Being on the receiving end of The Voice is…weird. That Cruel Edge talent is full-on scary.”
I paused, took a breath to try to push past the initial anger I felt at being compared to Becky, to really consider what he was saying, to turn it over in my mind.
In the end, though, I just didn’t see it that way.
“It’s not the same at all,” I said flatly. “I’m picking the choices that I think will help us best succeed as a group. My role on the team is to have a high Dominance. Look, if Becky had sat with us and discussed it, we might’ve arrived at Baddie as the best talent to take—it’s really good. But she didn’t pick it because it’s good. She picked it because the game basically directly told her that she’s a pushover if she didn’t pick it.”
Ted just shook his head in disbelief. “I know you think it’s different, but the game’s pushing both of your buttons. It’s taking advantage of your propensity for…”
He trailed off; the street we were walking up had turned. Ahead, it opened wider into a gorgeous market square—a bubbling fountain in the center was surrounded by shops, with vendors hawking wares.
“This is so cool,” Becky said, all enthusiasm once more.
Admittedly, following Becky up the street, I felt a little self-conscious. Her shining armor, golden hair, and flawless skin were clean and manicured. I couldn’t tell you what had changed about the way she looked from taking another point of Appearance, but she was absolutely gorgeous now. She was the perfect blonde, busty package.
Don’t get me wrong: I felt good, confident, especially once I started talking. And I had a kind of athletic swagger that I could feel too, probably from the various boosts to my Performance going up. It added up to a presence, a prowess, that felt new; like I was a woman who knew what she was doing, and if you were lucky, she’d do it to you.
But I was also currently covered in dried dirt and blood from the fight with the war troll. Maybe I looked sexy in a dangerous kind of way, but Becky looked like the sort of woman that men would kill each other over. The Helen of Troy, face-that-launched-a-thousand-ships line could’ve been written about her.
I sighed and pulled up the objectives list again — it had been a while since I’d looked at it.
OBJECTIVES – LEVEL ONE
Be inside the castle at sundown — 0/1
Survive until daybreak — 0/1
Overall Score >=200 — 0/1
OPTIONAL
Win a duel — 0/1
Bed royalty — 0/1
Bed a monster — 0/1
Steal something of significant value from the castle — 0/1
Be crowned lord or lady of the ball — 0/1
Unmask the King’s secret — 0/1
No completed objectives yet, although my score had certainly improved by leaps and bounds. I glanced up. The sun was still creeping upwards in the sky; it was perhaps midmorning now. We had a fair amount of time.
Then I looked back down at myself. “Maybe we can find a bathhouse or something, or at least some new attire. I don’t think I can wear this to the King’s ball.”
“Fair point,” Ted conceded.
As we made our way into the square, I realized that — for the first time this level — there were a few other players here. I recognized a few of them as ones Ted and I had spoken with from the Tutorial level. Will, a retired soccer player, had some kind of archer or hunter origin—a bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to his back.
My gaze lingered on another familiar face: a woman named Jennifer. I recalled talking to her. She’d been wearing the rez suit like everyone else when I’d seen her in the Tutorial level. But now, red robes floated about her, as if eddied about by an odd breeze — revealing, I couldn’t help but notice, a really nice pair of legs.
I inspected her to see what new information the game would give me.
NAME: Jennifer
ARCHETYPE: PROFESSIONAL DOMINATRIX
Jennifer has a lot of experience fulfilling men’s fantasies. Foot fetishes. Various humiliation kinks. Bondage and rope play. You name it, she’s done it. But what makes her tick, I wonder? Does any of this help her avoid liability, or is it only for the clients? I imagine we’ll find out at some point.
ORIGIN: PSYWITCH
These witches are a uniquely human breed of spellcaster; their manipulation of mental magics and psychic energies. Their unforgiving brand of psychic magic tends to leave people in one of two mental states: catatonic bliss or mindless screaming.
WARNING!
This player’s Psychic Drain ability can reduce the Satisfaction score of other players.
Jennifer had gotten to be a Psywitch, but my spellcasting option had been Clever Elf?
How was this fair? Maybe the game did have it out for me — just not the way Ted was suggesting.
“This is some bullshit,” I said balefully.
“Hmmm?” Ted asked, a little blankly. He was staring at Jennifer’s legs too, with even more appreciation than I was.
I elbowed him. “I wouldn’t, Ted. She’s got a stat drain ability. Takes your Satisfaction. My new talent shows it.”
“Oh. Huh. Good talent pick, I guess.” His voice was wistful.
It was too bad that my upgraded inspection didn’t give me full details, but some sense of what was going on was helpful, at least.
I realized that the players were all congregated around what appeared to be some kind of town crier figure, who — as we approached — launched into a surprisingly booming shout, reading from a scroll.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Invitations to this evening’s King’s Ball will be distributed at high noon! There are a limited number, and only those with an invitation will be admitted. Form an orderly line, please!”
The crowd around the crier was thickening — both players as well as some of the townspeople, all hurrying to try to get closer to the crier.
“We want to get invitations, right?” Becky looked a little panicked.
“We do…” I considered the press of people dubiously. “But I’m wondering if there’s another way. This is going to be a mess. We’ve got lots of time before sundown; I think we should figure out something else.”
Even as I said it, arguments were breaking out as everyone jostled for position in the line that was forming.
“…Yeah, what if we look around a little bit instead of diving into that?” Ted suggested.
I nodded and walked over to the fountain, leaning down to at least rinse some of the grime off myself if nothing else. I marveled again at the sensation of water on my skin, how…wet it was. The VR was just perfect. Totally, completely, flawlessly real.
I stood up, feeling a little better. “Okay, let’s see some of these shops.”
There was, in fact, quite a range of small shops around the edges of the market, all of which had at least a few shoppers — although the town crier had pulled a considerable amount of attention towards the center of the square. A blacksmith, an armorer, a leatherworker, a bakery…the sheer variety of goods on display was staggering.
We wandered for a little, peering in different shop windows, before I saw Becky’s eyes light up.
“Ted, you have all our Favors still, right? You have to come with me. We need different clothes if we’re attending a fancy ball tonight.”
Becky was staring at an establishment called The Silver Bodice. The signboard outside featured a line-art sketch of an extremely well-endowed woman’s torso wearing a corseted bodice over an exaggerated hourglass figure, lace picked out in black. Several dresses — admittedly, really pretty dresses — were on display in the shop’s windows.
Ted eyed me, clearly expecting that I was going to disagree with this plan.
I paused. My eyes had drifted to the shop next door, an idea occurring to me. “Actually, why don’t you all go ahead? We will need clothes for the dance. There’s another shop I’d like to visit. Becky, you’ve got great taste; will you pick something out that you think suits me?”
“Yeah, of course!” Becky looked shocked, but pleased, by the praise. “I’d be happy to.”
Ted was aghast. “Chloe, what’re you-”
“Don’t spend all our money, Becky, just some of it. We want it to keep growing each level with Ted’s talent,” I said, cheerfully.
He glared at me, full of suspicion, as Becky dragged him inside The Silver Bodice.
I was more interested in the store next door.
Vellum & Verity, Calligraphers, the sign read. Underneath that, in tidy cursive font, signage, invitations, and manuscripts, penned in a steady hand fit for a king.
—
I pushed open the door. I felt a little bad foisting Becky off on Ted. Hopefully they wouldn’t get into too much trouble. But being unencumbered by the two of them was something of a relief.
It made me feel guilty. They were both doing their best, I knew. But it did feel a little like they were holding me back, making me second-guess myself.
Inside, there were a few AI shoppers with unremarkable descriptions, and an older, bespectacled human man behind the counter.
NAME: Simon Verity
ARCHETYPE: CALLIGRAPHER [AI] [CIVILIAN] [FRIENDLY]
Simon is the no-nonsense proprietor of Vellum and Verity and the best calligrapher in the kingdom. He doesn’t suffer fools. He does, occasionally, engage in a bit of forgery as a side-hustle, which is why he keeps a loaded crossbow behind the counter.
The description solidified the hunch I’d had that maybe this was an alternate way to get a legitimate-looking invitation to the ball.
As I inspected him, he met my gaze. “Can I help you, miss?” His voice was professional, if gruff.
I was a little surprised the game hadn’t given him the BORING! tag that I’d seen it apply to some other civilians. He was clearly formidable enough not to warrant it.
“Yes, actually,” I said, moving closer and eyeing the various non-player characters around us to make sure I wouldn’t be overheard. “I had an idea for a dinner party I’m planning, and I thought maybe you could help me with the invitations.”
“We do lots of those, aye,” he allowed. “Got a specific theme in mind?” He pulled out a piece of paper as if to jot down notes.
I nodded, seriously. “Kind of…imitating what the king’s doing,” I said, casually. “It’d be great if the invitations could look just like the ones to his party.”
Simon’s gaze turned shrewd. “Oh?” He very pointedly set his pen down, not taking notes. “Just like them, eh?”
I nodded. “Thought it’d be kind of a little laugh for our guests, y’know? ‘The King’s Ball, except it’s not?'”
“Very clever,” Simon agreed, smoothly. “How many of these invitations that look just like the ones to the king’s party were you hoping we could produce for you?”
“Only three. The party’s tonight, though…so I was hoping to get them as a rush order.”
He nodded, agreeably. “Ten Minor Favors apiece,” he said, archly.
Damn. That would wipe us out. “No discount for a bulk buyer?”
“Three invitations ain’t a bulk order, miss. The rush job is no problem…a few other folks had the same idea for a theme, y’see, so we’ve got a few made already…” He gave me a toothy smile and pointedly produced a sealed envelope from behind the counter before putting it back. “…but you should know the price goes up after noon once the king’s invitations get doled out. Supply and demand, y’see.”
“Ah.” I considered this news, stepping to the side. He started ringing up another customer, an older AI character who was buying some twine and quills.
I watched, with interest, as a younger man—barely older than eighteen, with that kind of gangly, not-quite-finished-growing appearance—emerged from a doorway, carrying a box which he set behind the counter next to Simon.
NAME: Edmund Verity
ARCHETYPE: CALLIGRAPHER’S ASSISTANT [AI] [CIVILIAN] [FRIENDLY]
Simon’s adult son and only apprentice. The young man doesn’t get out much.
As I looked at Edmund, I realized that he was looking back at me. More specifically, that his eyes were locked on my body, the swell of my butt in the leggings I was wearing. The look on his youthful face was so much like my outside-of-VR handler, Ethan, that I almost laughed at the similarity. Instead, I just raised an amused eyebrow, waiting for his gaze to wander up my body to my eyes. He blushed and looked away, before ducking into the store’s back room again.
The store’s back room.
A plan was solidifying in my mind.
“I’ll be back in a moment to continue our discussion, Master Verity,” I said to Simon, cheerily. “My…husband…has our funds, and is just shopping next door.”
Simon gave me a sly little nod as he helped his other customer.
I left, but I didn’t go next door.
Instead, I circled to the alleyway behind the little row of shops.
As the picks shifted the mechanisms into position with a satisfying click and I quietly opened the shop’s back door, I had to admit: it was pretty damn fun. I wondered if the virtual reality was playing up the tactile feedback, or if this was what it was actually like to pick a lock in real life. Maybe I needed to take up lockpicking as a hobby.
I was just about to sneak inside when a voice from behind me stopped me in my tracks. “What’re you doing, Chloe?”
I whirled around. My sword was in my hand before I even registered deciding to draw it.
It was Jennifer, who was watching me curiously, red robes still fluttering around her.
“Hi, Jennifer. Almost didn’t recognize you in the robes; it’s a good look for you. I’m…exploring,” I said. I kept my voice casual, light.
“Thanks. Why?” She furrowed her brow. “I was inside the front of the shop earlier; they just sell parchment and stuff.”
“What’re you doing? Why aren’t you out front, posturing for a spot in line for invitations with the rest of them?” I countered.
She shrugged. “That feels like it’s probably a losing battle, don’t you think? Anyway, a fight just broke out, and the guards showed up. The Inner City guards are more serious business than the ones on the outskirts of the city. They carted a couple players off to prison. I don’t think they’ll make the dance tonight. I saw you head down the alley and wondered what you were up to.”
I nodded, slowly. It made sense that you couldn’t get away with whatever you wanted in the context of the game.
I sized Jennifer up. “Well, I’m looking for another way to get an invitation, but it’s kind of a…stealthy approach. And you kind of stand out. So…”
Jennifer tilted her head, curiously. “Why this shop, though? All they sell is stationery…ohhh.” She blinked, realization dawning.
“Yeah. It seemed like an interesting place. Now, if you could move along, I’d like to get back to my breaking job.” I gestured down the alley with the sword.
I saw her assessing the blade in my hand. I met her gaze, frank.
I didn’t really want to fight her. Or fuck her.
…Although now that I considered it, both ideas were actually a little intriguing. I hadn’t fought another player yet. I had enough Satisfaction that I wasn’t unduly concerned if she drained a point or two of mine. Could I take her?
Maybe.
But I had a plan, and I wanted to get back to executing it. A fight in the alley would just draw attention I didn’t want.
Jennifer’s eyes were calculating. “Tell you what. I’ll come with you. We find some invitations, we’ll both profit. If we don’t, no sweat.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I said flatly.
“But you’d also prefer I didn’t scream for the guards about someone breaking into the shop,” she pointed out. “Which is what I’ll do, if you don’t let me come with you.”
“Great. So you’re blackmailing me to force your way in on my plan?” That was enough to make me seriously consider stabbing her in the throat for a moment. I didn’t know enough about her abilities; it would be a massive risk, I knew.
Even more than that, a paranoid little thought crept into the back of my mind.
What if Prometheus had orchestrated this little run-in? Was the system trying to push me into killing another player?
It was too big an escalation. So I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” I said, sheathing my weapon. “Stay behind me and stay quiet.”
The shop’s backroom was larger than I had expected, dimly lit and shadowy; part-warehouse, part workspace, part breakroom. There were several rows of big, heavy shelving, which were crammed to the gills: crates, reams of different kinds of paper, big spools of twine, jars of sealing wax, pots of ink, bundles of quills neatly stacked, one atop another.
One end had the door that must lead into the main shop behind the counter. Next to it, a flight of stairs went down to what was probably a basement.
Edmund, the young man who’d been checking me out in the shop only moments before, was currently at a desk, back to us, working on something with a quill and parchment by the light of an oil lamp, brow furrowed in concentration. As I watched from behind one of the crates, he stood up, grumbling.
“So many of these fucking crates of paper.”
Grunting with effort, he maneuvered it heavily down the stairs, into the basement. I listened, holding still. I could hear him applying a crowbar to it, pulling things out in the room downstairs.
It seemed like he’d be busy, at least for a little. I needed to move fast.
There was one obvious point of interest to my assessing gaze: a safe.
I crept over to it, aware of Jennifer, robes swishing quietly, moving further into the room behind me.
The situation sent a surge of information and approaches into my mind, the same way I’d somehow know how to hold a sword and kill goblins with it. The safe had a standard rotating lock, probably a left-right-left combination. I swiftly ran through the possibilities—in a quiet room like this, where I could hear the clicking of the combination, these were pretty easy to crack. Less than sixty seconds. This would be where forged documents — like the invitations to the ball — were, I was sure of it.
“Hurry,” Jennifer murmured, warm breath tickling my ear. I heard her pull away, move about the room, inspecting other things.
I ignored her, started slowly turning the dial. I was focused on the safe; I tuned out her quiet movements, the sound of Edmund downstairs, stilling my own breathing as I listened for the telltale clicking of mechanisms, feeling for the slight, nearly-imperceptible catch of the dial registering the right number.
And there it was. I twisted the dial to the right, slowly, now—another catch, more quickly this time.
And then a longer pause, a harder-to-detect catch in the tumblers, one I could only just barely feel…and I pulled the lever, and the heavy door of the safe swung open.
Inside was a neat, tidy stack of the same type of small envelopes that Simon had shown me.
Invitations to the king’s ball.
I felt a surge of triumph that was soured almost immediately.
“D-don’t move.” The voice was a nervous tremor behind me.
ENCOUNTER STARTED.
Fuck.
Slowly, I turned around.
It was Edmund, perhaps a dozen feet away. I hadn’t heard him come back up the stairs; I cursed what either my inattention or an unexpectedly quiet set of stairs was.
He had a crossbow in his hand, which was pointed — if a little shakily — directly at my chest. The bolt was loaded, and it had a heavy, wicked-looking flanged tip.
Well, he couldn’t point a crossbow at both of us. I raised my hands, slowly. If he had the crossbow pointed at me, Jennifer could…
But Jennifer was nowhere to be seen. Of course. For all I knew she had a spell to make herself invisible, or maybe she had heard something and made herself scarce.
And she’d elected not to warn me, either. I seemed to be on my own: just me, and a nervous, gangly eighteen-year-old with a crossbow leveled at me.
“Let’s not do anything hasty.” I was impressed with how steady my voice was; the situation was bad.
I’d never had a gun pointed at me — or a crossbow for that matter –, but the effect was disconcerting. Even with reflexes that I knew were finely honed, just about anybody could hit me at this distance. The metal broadhead of the bolt gleamed in the dim light.
“I’m calling the guards.” His voice cracked on the last word.
I saw, again, what I’d seen in the shop. The way his gaze caught on my body, lingered at my waist and hips.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” I asked the question softly, meeting his eyes.
“Y-you’re a thief! I have to turn you in!” He sounded like a man trying to convince himself.
“There’s nothing else you want to do with me?” I kept my hands well clear of my sword — I didn’t want the kid to shoot me accidentally, that’s for sure — but I lowered them slightly.
The crossbow dipped just a fraction as his gaze followed my hands, traveling down the tight black leggings that clung to my hips and thighs.
“M-my father, he’d kill me if-”
“Look at me,” I interrupted, taking a careful step forward.
Edmund did. I could see the Adam’s apple bob in his throat.
I made sure there was a little more sway in my hips as I took another slow, careful step forward. “How often do you get attention from a woman like me, Edmund?”
Even without using The Voice, I had the now-familiar sense of knowing just what to say to keep him on the back foot, to put him under my power.
He flushed. “Th-that’s not…I-I’m…”
Virgin. He was definitely a virgin. The nervous excitement, the embarrassment…I felt the smirk on my face widen. “I mean, this is a real opportunity for you, Edmund.”
I was close enough now that I could’ve reached out and grabbed the crossbow. But I didn’t.
“W-what do you mean?” He was confused, watching me warily.
“Well, I just need a few invitations. Easy. Your father wouldn’t even notice, I’m sure,” I purred, closing the distance between us with another half step. My eyes were locked on his.
“So the only question is, what do you need in return?” As I spoke, now, I took the final step in, stopping so that the point of the crossbow was resting, lightly, between my breasts.
“I couldn’t just-”
I cut in, didn’t let him finish. “You look like you might need an education, for example.” Deliberately, I reached out and walked two fingers up the length of this crossbow. “I could teach you lots of things, Edmund. Please show them what it feels like and what to do. With a woman. Would you like that?”
I’d walked my hand all the way to the back end of the crossbow, and now I slowly, softly, wrapped it around his. I heard his breathing accelerate…but then he nodded his head, his grip on the crossbow slackening.
I set it aside, carefully.
“Let me leave with three invitations, and I’ll make a man out of you,” I whispered. I reached out, my hand confident — and let my fingers graze across the skin at his collarbone. Start trailing lower, across his chest.
He made a needy sound, in the back of his throat. I saw his eyes flick from the crossbow, to my hand, to my body, its silhouette in the darkness against the oil lamp on the desk behind me.
“Okay,” he said, hoarsely.
I leaned close. “Good,” I purred into his ear. My hand crept lower, down his abdomen. He was trembling, slightly, under my fingers.
“Don’t worry.” As I said the words, I nibbled at his earlobe, felt him take in a shuddering breath. “I know just…what…I’m…”
My hand arrived at its destination, and stopped.
Oh.
Oh.
I cupped him. He made a small, vulnerable, whimpering sound.
I hesitated, for just a moment. The embarrassed look on his face…this was an obvious opportunity to see how my new talent worked. But…
He isn’t real, I told myself firmly. This is just a game. And please make sure you know how it works.
I met his gaze. “Well, well,” I breathed. I gave him my best condescending smile. “Edmund. You’ve got quite the little surprise in there, don’t you?”
CRUEL EDGE ACTIVATED.
I would’ve known it was working even without the words flitting across my vision, though. Everything about me suddenly felt sharper. Cutting. My touch on his groin was feather-light. I felt deadly, competent. Focused and honed.
Something shifted in Edmund’s expression. The vulnerability was replaced by something else.
Something that sent a shiver of arousal through me, a clenching between my thighs.
Reverence.
I’d had guys look at me with lust. With affection, maybe even love.
But I’d never had a man look at me this way.
I hadn’t needed to see his eyes widen to know that I’d changed, but it confirmed what I was feeling. He was staring at me openmouthed. “Y-you’re…perfect,” he breathed. And then, stammering, “P-please.”
I luxuriated in the combination of fear and awe on his face. Nobody had ever looked at me this way before — like I really was perfect, a goddess to be worshipped.
“Mmm, yes? What is it you’re begging for?” The words sounded like me…but not. My voice was richer, somehow. The confidence in them complete.
All he could get out in response with my hand on him was another incoherent, needy sound, and I laughed, low.
“You’re lucky you caught me,” I noted, my tone casual as I deftly worked the laces of his breeches. “With what you’re packing, this might be your only chance at…”
I trailed off into an incredulous little giggle as his cock came into view.
Colton, with his absurdly high Appearance, had recently redefined my view of what the ideal cock looked like. But even before him, I would’ve considered Edmund undersized.
“Please.” He repeated the word.
“Please what? Please tell you I’m impressed by this?” Slowly, eyes on his, I reached down and took him between my thumb and forefinger. “Should I pretend it’s thick? Massive? That I want to fuck it?”
I felt him twitch between my fingers, and he groaned. I could hear the shame in the sound, how embarrassed he was to be so aroused by someone who was being so cruel to him.
“But you know none of that would be true,” I said, my tone mocking. “The truth is, I don’t know what to do with your little dick, Edmund.”
I moved my fingers, rubbing more than stroking him, and he let out another moan. “O-oh god.” His words were a whisper. “Y-you’re so hot, and your hand feels so good, a-and-” I could feel his body shaking like a leaf against mine.
“My fingers feel so good. I can’t even use my hand,” I corrected, amused. “You’re too small.”
He made a sound of wordless agreement. I was in complete control of him, I realized. I could say whatever I wanted.
“What were you planning to do, Edmund? Fuck me? With this?” I made sure my tone conveyed how ridiculous the notion was. “I wouldn’t even notice.”
He flushed with shame and looked away. He’d do anything I wanted, welcome anything I wanted, give me anything I wanted. The realization was intoxicating; it sent another surge of arousal through me. I’d gotten wet, I realized. This was…actually hot.
That prompted another thought. “You don’t get to fuck me,” I informed him, archly. “Not with a cock like that. But you can use your tongue, if you like. Please me with your mouth. Try to, anyway. Do you want to do that, Edmund?”
“Yes,” he moaned. There wasn’t shame in his voice anymore; just desperation. “Yes, please, I need to-”
“I bet you do.” I turned around, presenting him with the ass I caught him staring at earlier. Bending forward a little, twisting back to watch him, I slowly pulled my leggings down over the round curve of my ass, moving teasingly slowly.
“I saw you looking, back in the shop. Ever since then I bet you’ve been dreaming about what it would feel like to sink your tiny little cock into-”
I didn’t even get the leggings down past my butt before it happened.
“W-wait…just give me a second, or I’m…I’ll…” The helpless, overwhelmed note in Edmund’s voice sent a thrill through me. I stopped moving, twisted back to watch him.
I snorted. “Oh my god, Edmund…”
He was frozen, barely holding on. I could see what was going to happen if I wanted it to. In a giddy haze, I activated The Voice.
“You’re not going to cum, are you? I’m not even touching you…” The words dripped with mockery, syrupy with honeyed cruelty.
He stiffened and stared at me, entranced for a moment, before he let out a choked cry.
And then his little cock started pulsing a load onto the floor. He wobbled, leaned against one of the big shelves for support, his face a mask of mortified ecstasy as he stared at my ass, completely losing control.
Holy shit. He came just from watching me undress.
I was torn, for a moment, tempted to stay, to make him eat me out as I’d planned.
ENCOUNTER COMPLETED: +1 DOMINANCE
CRUEL EDGE DEACTIVATED.
ANY% COMPLETION: +1 DOMINANCE
The system message flashing in front of me snapped me out of the moment.
Huh. Prometheus was summarizing post-encounter information now. Maybe it had caught on to the fact that I was pulling up my stats to look for any changes after every encounter anyway, and was saving me the trouble.
I needed to go. To get back to Ted and Becky, figure out what we were doing next.
“Well,” I said, all smug condescension, slowly pulling my leggings back up. “I didn’t realize you’d be so easy to please, Edmund. Thanks for being so accommodating.”
I grabbed the invitations from the safe and blew him a kiss. He slumped, the look on his face a little glassy. He was staring at me, still drinking me in with his eyes.
“You should try not to make a habit of this, though. The next woman might not be so understanding.” I winked and escaped back into the alley.
—
I hastily fled down the alleyway; I didn’t think it was likely, but if he got his wits about him, I didn’t want him sounding the alarm or pursuing.
My heart was pounding. I wondered, idly, if it was racing in real life, or if the game was simulating the experience of an elevated heart rate.
Was there a difference?
Finally, I turned the corner, slowed; I blended back into the shoppers of the square, and the adrenaline dumped out of my system.
I was left with something disquieting that I didn’t like, but couldn’t ignore.
That had been such a fucking turn-on.
The look on Edmund’s face: humiliated, surprised, impossibly aroused. That sound he’d made as he’d cum, a little whimper, as he stared, incapable of controlling himself, at my round ass in front of him. The sight of his little cock throbbing out a load.
He’d been so out of control that he hadn’t even been touching himself.
I hadn’t been touching it, either, and had barely touched him at all.
All I’d done, really, was be mean to him.
Horribly mean. It was the cruelest I’d ever been to another person, far worse than anything I’d said to Ted in our teasing encounters during the Tutorial level.
And it had been one of the hottest things I’d ever done. I’d loved it. I was half-tempted to find a spot to sit down and finger myself to an orgasm thinking about it.
I had been powerful. The feeling of complete dominance had been so…so all-consuming, so satisfying. If that encounter-end message hadn’t popped up when he’d finished, I’d still be back there, probably making Edmund eat me out. He would’ve done it.
I was sure he would’ve done anything I wanted. It had been written in the awe on his face when he’d looked at me. All I had needed to do was keep talking about his pathetic, quick-cumming, little-
I cut off the train of thought, feeling slightly horrified at myself. Not just at how easily the thoughts flowed…at the sense of satisfaction I felt as I thought them.
Was this really who I was? Had this been inside me all along? I’d always liked the pleasure of making a guy lose control. The surprise on their face when my handjobs had them cumming sooner than their own hand would’ve, the distant look they got in their eyes as they tried to last longer inside me, all of it. Was this just an extension of that?
The questions were disquieting, uncomfortable.
…Or maybe the game was doing something to me. Maybe it was Prometheus, tweaking what I liked, the same way it was tweaking how we talked, how we looked, what we could do.
But wasn’t that even worse, if the game was making me into something I wasn’t?
I was, suddenly, afraid of the game. Afraid of myself. Of who I was becoming.
I wished I had abilities that were about Connection, or Satisfaction. Not all these points in Dominance alongside Cruel Edge, The Voice, Any% Completion. Everything, taken together, just made me good at cruelty. Controlling other people.
And how much I liked doing it was a little scary.
“Chloe? Where have you been?” It was Ted, from over my shoulder.
“We looked everywhere for you! There was this huge commotion in the square, and the guards carted off some people; we were worried you’d gotten involved somehow.” Becky was at his side, paper-wrapped garments folded neatly over one of her arms. “…Are you okay? Are you hungry or something?”
I realized I was standing in front of some storefront that appeared to sell different kinds of cheese, staring at my own reflection in the glass. My eyes were dark. And they were shining a little bit with unshed tears.
I swallowed hard. After the guards at the gate, and how Ted and Becky felt about Cruel Edge, I was really, really glad that the two of them hadn’t been there to see what had happened with Edmund.
Worse, I didn’t know how to talk about this. Not with them.
And I certainly didn’t want to broadcast the train of thought I’d just had for god-knew-how-many viewers.
Or to put it into words for Prometheus to hear and learn from.
So instead, I did what I’d done that time I’d learned my grandmother had passed away while I was in the middle of a livestream.
When I’d looked down from my webcam to my phone and learned, abruptly, that I’d never see her again.
I boxed all my feelings up, and I pulled it the fuck together.
I took a shaky breath and composed myself. I put a confident, rakish smile on my face as I turned to face them.
It was easy. The grin felt comfortable.
And my eyes in the glass of the storefront looked right. Tears gone; now the only thing my dark eyes were shining with was a little bit of sly malice.
The expression suited me. I hated that it suited me, but I tamped down that feeling too.
“Hey, I was thinking — you guys want to go to a dance tonight? I happened across a few invitations.”
I fanned the invitations out for their inspection, trying to distract myself with Becky’s delighted giggling and Ted’s incredulous—but impressed—questions.
Their reactions helped.
A little.
The End.
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