“With Christmas just a few days away, we are all looking for ideas for a last minute gift. But this year Santa has been receiving requests for more than the usual toy or electronic device. The surprise big ticket item this year is virtual. And a little tricky to put in a stocking.”

The reporter went down on one knee to address a small girl, no more than four, wearing a dress from the newest incarnation of Disney’s Snow White.

“I wanna ostrich!” she yelled enthusiastically.

—The Daylight Sentinel

For a third time the ostrich sank ankle-deep into the Nile.

As you can see, it is a lot harder to transmute water when dealing with a current. I assure you however, that without that handicap I am fully capable of—

“Walking on water?” I scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Actually, I did believe it. I could see no other way they could have travelled through the swamp. But Bert was a bit too pleased with his new powers.

It’s true! Bert protested, taking the bait.

Gunga used the opportunity presented by the AI's distraction to step out of the water, flicking her clawed feet distastefully.

“Then show me.” I rinsed the wetwipe in the river and went back to cleaning my boot. When the croc had launched itself in its acrobatic search for dinner, it had seized, not the large mammal/mutant bird it had expected, but instead the smaller catfish consolation prize, leaving me with the mouth parts still clinging to my boot. Even in death it had refused to release me.

So how about this then? Bert said like a person playing their trump card. And Gunga bent over and began hacking like an abnormally long-necked cat bringing up a hairball.

Ew. My stomach pitched. There is nothing on any world as contagious as puking.

I got to my feet, discarding the wipe as I reached Gunga’s side. “What’s happening, Bert? Are you doing something weird to her internal organs?” I dithered about whacking her on the back or giving her the Heimlich manoeuvre, but the logistics of doing either defeated me, so I settled on petting her side gently.

I am…merely…removing myself…in order to…and sure enough, the glowing core finally popped loose from its housing (aka shot from Gunga’s mouth like a bullet), and landed in the sand. Bert sat for mere moments, recovering, before a long ostrich shadow covered it, lowering…reaching…

Then a strange thing happened. Gunga began to shrink. First her legs collapsed downwards, leaving her body perched on her feet, then her body all but disappeared, causing her neck and head to look like an unattached hose pipe before that too, retreated. The process continued until Gunga was no longer Gunga-the-Formidable, but instead Gunga-the-Smurfling.

Yet even that proved to be only a transitory stage, as she turned the colour of sand and hardened into a lifeless ornament, a perfect miniature of her former self.

As you may imagine, I was horrified. “You’ve disassembled Gunga! Intentionally! I know she has a tendency to eat you, but this is going too far!”

Calm yourself, Bert soothed. Gunga is fine. I merely used one of my newest Core abilities to transform her into a state that is more…transportable. I can reinflate her at need. This is what I was referring to when addressing your concerns about her visibility.

“Huh. So this is definitely reversible? You’ve done this before and everything’s come out okay?”

Ah… The lack of candidates who fit the particular requirements for my Idolification Skill has made it…difficult…for me to experiment.

“Requirements?”

As I was trying to explain yesterday, before you had your unfortunate swamp experience—how did you escape that by the way?

“Through the powers granted to me by self-preservation. And don’t try to swing off topic. What are the requirements that limit you from using this ability willy-nilly? A full moon? Saturn cruising behind Venus?”

Nothing so external. As a Dungeon Core I rely on recruits. Usually these are created based on a pattern gained from the, hm…dissolution of the original sample, but—

“You’ve been dissolving living creatures?”

No! You’ve made your views on that abundantly clear.

“Oh. Good.” The knot of horror disappeared from my shoulder blades. “Carry on. You were describing the weird practices of dungeon cores.”

Bert scoffed. They’re hardly weird. Or at least no weirder than their creators.

“Focus.”

Anyway, as I am unable to use such methods to make an army, the automated software has adapted my signature skills accordingly. I have an ‘in’ with the AI you know.

“Now who’s cheating?”

Merely a case of the subconscious influencing the automatic. I didn’t intend for the changes to happen, but as my processes are in direct connection with each other, they are in a rather unique position to know what I want. It’s the same as reading the minds of players, just somewhat less…clunky.

“Still not sure how I feel about that,” I muttered.

As a result, my recruits are determined by choice, rather than creation. I assign mobs and bosses according to who I think is appropriate for the job.

“Like a company’s HR department?”

Precisely! I knew you would understand.

I frowned. There was something fishy about this conversation, and the smell wasn’t just coming from my footwear. “Bert, you didn’t…“

I had to! There was no one else I could consider. And I have to recruit someone; it’s a basic function of my class. Plus, what better champion can there be than a being that can think?

“You made me your mob boss?”

It’s how I can contact you regardless of distance. And heal you whenever we make direct contact. Two very big advantages, wouldn’t you say? Bert asked plaintively.

I followed Bert’s reasoning to the tiny Gunga lying on the ground. “You’re also saying that you could make me into some kind of Dungeons & Dragons figurine. Not exactly reassuring.”

I would never. Besides, its not as if I can carry anyone off in my pocket. Bert hovered over the slightly larger form of Gunga to illustrate the point. Mobs are a dungeon core’s muscle and hands. Our physical bodies are functionally limited and vulnerable, making it your job to protect and serve me.

I snatched up Bert like a Quidditch Seeker—sans-broomstick—and squeezed my fist mock-threateningly.

But we of course have a different relationship, the AI continued hurriedly. A partnership. For our mutual benefit.

“Better.” I let Bert float off and picked up Gunga instead. It really was a perfect miniature, even down to the shocked look she’d had when it had all quite literally gone down. I rubbed my finger across her back and the details and sharp angles of her feathers caught painfully.

Should I put her in my pocket? Somehow it just didn’t seem right. A faithful companion reduced to riding amongst the fluff like a forgotten lolly wrapper.

I can do something about that. Bert settled on the sandy ground and rolled, picking up a layer of grit that stuck to the core like a sand-coated truffle. Then the AI carefully rose into the air and hovered over Gunga’s back, where it shivered delicately. The resulting sandfall settled onto her and began to move, forming into a spiral hook that gradually solidified.

This will allow you to keep her close. Also, a necklace should be more secure than your pocket, which is hardly suitable for anyone to—

Bert was cut off as I picked the AI up again and popped it in said pocket. Of course it was my shift pocket so Bert didn’t fall through. The heat of the morning sun had made the tabard both unnecessary and unwelcome.

“No burning your way out this time. I have few enough pockets left. Oh, and,” I fossicked in my holding bag for leftover greens, “here are some emergency snacks. We’ll find more on the way.”

——

“…and this is our Head of Game Development, Gus Porter.”

The CEO’s smile congealed as the programmer continued to watch his screen without acknowledging their presence. “He is directly responsible for the technical end of this little rescue. Any questions you might have regarding our efforts to retrieve the, ah,…Arline…should go through him.”

Todd eyed the man who looked remarkably similar to an android plugged into a charging station—stiff and unresponsive. He doubted any information would be forthcoming.

“How much do you—“ he turned to ask the CEO, but was treated instead to the sight of the office door closing as the man made a hasty exit. Ten minutes into the grand tour and they were already getting the brush-off. Todd knew their invite was all a publicity stunt on the part of SharkBytes, but he had thought that there would at least be some high-level discussion involved.

“Man, that’s some heavy-duty shit,” Terrin said admiringly as he bent over Gus’s shoulder, not at all concerned with the social niceties, or lack therof. “Is that—?” He leaned in, angling his head so that the micro lens mounted on his ear piece could focus on the screen. As he moved, one of the crammed bags on his utility belt nudged the programmer in the back, making the man cringe forward, the only movement Todd had seen from him thus far.

“I am a heterosexual male with boundary issues. While I am flattered—“

“Dude! That’s fucking hilarious!” Terrin thumped him on the shoulder in the Way of the Bro. “Things don’t point in that direction, if you get my drift. Totally girls for me.”

“And the more the merrier, evidently. I’m going to have to charge a nightly rental fee at the rate you’re going,” Todd concurred.

“Then step back. Whatever you’re poking me with is sharp.”

“Oh, sorry,” Terrin apologised, edging backwards.

“What are you doing?” Todd asked Gus, squinting at the screen from much farther back. “Is that Age of Deception?”

“It is,” he replied, back to focusing on his work.

“And you’re…”

“Determining and ensuring the stability of the world as Arline knows it.”

“Good god— Good,” Todd choked out. Heavy-duty indeed. “Can we help?”

“Get me a cheese burger from Maccas,” he said instantly, “and one of their chocolate sundaes. Don’t shake the container. I don’t like the syrup mixed into the cream.”

“That wasn’t exactly—“

“Come on, man,” Terrin interrupted. “The guy needs supplies. Gotta help out a bro.” And he grabbed his brother by the shoulder of his suit and towed him out of the office.

“What—?”

“This is my field of expertise. Believe me, nothing is closer to a programming junkie’s heart than his munchies.”

“So you’re comparing us to drug dealers.”

“Whatever works, my man.”

——

When I turned away from the river I came nose-to-chest with a large man. A large lvl 12 man who was standing in the middle of a lvl 10 semi-circle made up of two other large-chested males, all three grim-faced and radiating displeasure.

“Who are you?” the foremost man asked, pecs bouncing as he puffed out his chest. (It may sound like I’m obsessed with male torsos, but honestly they did seem to be flaunting themselves. I had begun to wonder if the programmers based these types of constructs on male revue dancers.)

“I am from foreign lands,” I answered, in case that wasn’t obvious from the strange way I was keeping all my bits covered. “Reasons for travel are pleasure, not business.”

One of the men that had been quiet up till now whispered, “Hyksos!” to the guy next to him. No idea what that meant, but their already grim faces took a turn for the worse, and the metal-tipped spears they were holding became more sharply angled in my direction.

“I’m just a musician, touring the world in search of new stories,” I said placatingly. “No outside affiliations whatsoever.”

“I thought you said you were entering our lands for pleasure. As a performer, do you not expect payment for your services?” The man’s voice was cold and suspicious.

His spear dropped to the ground as he slowly retrieved a strange-looking axe from his belt. It was about the size of a hatchet with a heavy-looking ball on the top that would have been more at home on a mace. Probably their version of a multi-tool. (It slices, it dices, it clubs, it kills!—all for the low, low price of joining the Egyptian military for the remainder of your usable life.)

“Oh, no payment necessary,” I said, while edging back slightly. “In fact, why don’t I give you a sample. This one’s a particular favourite of mine.” I activated the Lullaby song and, as I could sense that reaching behind me for the lyre could well be misinterpreted, acapella it was.

“Hush little baby don’t say a word—“

Mana Insufficient! Your Mana is in Negative Balance!

Restoring at 1pt/sec! Wait time 2hrs, 23 mins, or take a mana potion to reset!

Wait. What? How have I lost so much mana?

I tried Clamorous Cacophony and got the same message, minus another minute, then Sound Gives You Wings. It was Banshee Shriek that proved to be the last straw.

“Shut up!” The leader was wincing as he advanced with axe raised, clearly wanting to bean me into next week—if only to make the noise stop.

Your determined, but ultimately futile attempts to summon your music Skills have awarded you the artefact: Magical Music Stand! (Common)

I frowned away the nuisance message and turned to face the man on the left who was obviously trying out his flanking manoeuvres. But as I did so something invisible whacked the front man across the chops and he staggered back. I whirled back to see who my defender was and the unseen attacker clipped him over the ear on the opposite side. This time he went down like a stone.

Critical Hit to Guard Leader! Hit pts remaining: 5/150!

Wait. That would imply that I…

I waved my hand in front of me. The two remaining fighters backed away from the uncertain gesture, and I found myself in the rather peculiar situation of having a power that I knew nothing about. Neither how to use it, nor in what form it came. I advanced slowly.

“Take her, you cowards!” ordered the leader, barely conscious, before something slowly squished his face and pushed his body backwards at the same speed I was walking. It was like I had a force field attached to me, cow-catcher style.

Only one that didn’t go all the way around. The other two had taken their commander’s words to heart and were gingerly approaching from two sides, spears held low. They met no resistance.

I whirled between them and they ducked as something caused the air to whistle as it moved.

Huh. Interesting. I wonder…

I let them get to within a spear-touch and spun like the Tasmanian Devil; a whirling dervish of destructive power. Both spears were broken in the first few seconds; the men’s heads in the next. I kept spinning before I realised that the horizon was clear of large men, and also kept spinning when I tried to stop. The world was a trippy mass of moving scenery that made me lurch and stagger and almost vomit, until I finally tripped over something on the ground—whereupon I discovered that closing my eyes and keeping still made the motion altogether less distressing.

The feeling of my arms being drawn back and rope on my wrists made me open them in a hurry and I kicked out, but by then it was too late.

“You,” the guard leader panted, “are under arrest for the assault of three members of the Royal Egyptian Guard.”

Oh, bugger.

I had been captured.

——

Todd was watching Arline get trussed up like theproverbial Christmas turkey on the wallscreen in Gus’s office when the man himself suddenly stood and cried out. “I’ve got you now!” he shouted, while pumping his fist in jubilation.

From a man who until then had been giving his best imitation of a wax figure, it was startling enough that it made Todd jump in his seat, only his trained gamer reflexes saving him from spilling coffee into the lap of his best suit.

“What, what?” Terrin sat up from his nap on the table and knuckled a smear of drool from the side of his mouth. “What’s going on? Is she dead?”

“Better. I have her username!” And with that surprising announcement, he power-walked out the door. His rather pretty assistant/secretary/food procurer/whatever-the-hell she was, grabbed a canvas bag that rustled and followed after.

“Is that all?” Terrin grumbled, laying his head back in his arms. “I thought at the least it would be something interesting.”

“Don’t you realise what this means?” Todd grinned and began to follow the follower. A knot in his stomach that he hadn’t even known he had eased its grip. “They can use her registration files to get her address. We can find Arline!”