Chapter 3: Profile Creation

Clenching his fists in annoyance – directed as much at himself as anything – Miguel took another look at the list. The choices might suck, but all the same, he needed to pick something.

Crossbow: 1400 dollar-rubies Iron chest-plate: 950 dollar-rubies Hunting knife, fine: 900 dollar-rubies Flint spear: 800 dollar-rubies Bronze helmet: 750 dollar-rubies Leather backpack: 750 dollar-rubies

“All right, then,” he said at last. “I’ll buy a crossbow, that’s fourteen hundred, and then a chest-plate, that makes two-three-fifty.”

“Those items have been added to your unique Demon Hunters profile,” said the guide on the screen. “You will find them in the Preparation Room after selecting your attributes.”

“Is there any way I can get a different backpack? And does the crossbow come with ammo?”

“All ranged weapons come with 10 shots, and further ammunition can be obtained within the environment. You will recognize small orange ammunition packs, labelled according to the type of weapon they fit.”

“What about the backpack?”

“The leather backpack costs seven hundred and fifty, and you currently have six hundred and fifty remaining.”

“Is there any cheaper bag or pack? Filter for those, please, from one hundred up to six fifty drubes.”

The following then appeared:

Leather shoulder bag: 450 dollar-rubies Mesh armor carrier: 375 dollar-rubies Leather belt pouch, large: 150 dollar-rubies

Miguel sighed deeply. “Okay,” he murmured. “Not great, but I’m gonna need something. Well, then, I’ll take two of the large belt pouches.” He swallowed, considering how much money that left him. Next to nothing for his food and living costs for the coming days.

He really was going all in.

“Those items have been added to your unique Demon Hunters profile,” he heard again. “You will find them in the Preparation Room after selecting your attributes.”

“Good. And listen, is there any other way of getting kit? During the tasks, for example?” he asked. “I could really do with getting at least a helmet of some kind. Other than that, it’s basic, but it’s ok.”

The face disappeared, and a flashing dot replaced it. Within a second or two, the face was back.

Thinking time?

“Mr. Rubio, you may be able to seize items during tasks, win them, or trade or otherwise obtain them from other hunters.”

“What do you mean...” He began, but the screen flicked off for a moment. The face disappeared, and then reappeared a moment later.

“What do you mean, ‘other hunters’?” he persisted.

“You will train in the mechanics of the game together with others who have been selected. This will be screened to the audience. Anyone who is killed during the training is out of the competition.”

“That’s... insane,” he said, licking his lips and feeling his heart rate rise as his hope of winning the money to pay off his debt rapidly evaporated. “Obviously we will all immediately try to kill each other.” He didn’t want to admit how little he had actually watched Demon Hunters, but he was fairly sure that participants got killed by the monsters, not by each other.

It was clear enough that they weren’t going to make it easy for him.

“That is your analysis, Mr. Rubio,” said the guide.

“Look – call me Miguel.”

“Very well, Miguel. Now – would you like to purchase any attribute points or hit points.

“Purchase attribute points?”

“Each purchase will give you an additional attribute point to spend beyond the baseline. You can gain each additional one point for 100 rubio-dollars.”

“Shit. I wish you’d mentioned this before I spent all my money.”

Again a pause.

And then: “You should leave the vehicle at the next stop but one. There you will be directed to the studio building. The entire Demon Hunters experience takes place within the same city-center facility.”

He looked up, and then stooped to pick up his backpack. “All right. But please – is there some way I can change my selections?”

A pause.

“Would you like to return some equipment, Miguel?”

He couldn’t give up his only weapon, and some form of armor seemed essential, too... “Yes. Return one of the belt pouches, and give me five extra stat points.”

“Just to confirm, you wish to buy five bonus attribute points?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Consider it done. Good luck in Demon Hunters, Mr. Miguel Rubio. I hope you don’t get killed too quickly.”

“Uh... thanks. Funny. Yeah – that’s the plan”

Miguel sighed as he pulled the plug out from its slot alongside the screen. The transit was slowing for his stop, and he had just spent every last drube for the quarter-year.

The building was imposing but unspectacular from the outside – a massively long concrete block, not unlike the city’s hundreds of apartment blocks. At least the main entrance was easy to find, thought Miguel, for it was right in the middle; the vast lit-up double doors had a neon sign above them:

viperstar games

With his backpack over his shoulder once more, Miguel walked hesitantly up to the entrance, and the doors slid open for him.

Inside, a service android left the reception area immediately, and with a call of “This way please, human,” it rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, and began to lead him down the leftmost of five corridors that appeared to adjoin the main semi-circular reception area like a set of spokes upon a wheel.

The corporation had made its name, Miguel knew, by collaborating with universities back in the Old World, leveraging the power of immersive games for educational purposes.

Today, however, their huge New Baravia head office was the sum total of their operation; it presided over a vast suite of entertainment products.

The service android was blocky, with mechanical arms and wheels low down and out of sight. Unlike the screen on the transport coach, it lacked an anthropomorphic face, and didn’t attempt to interact with him on the way.

But the journey was not long.

Soon, it stopped and pointed, and Miguel found himself walking along down an adjacent corridor with many doors along both sides. At one of those, the android stopped, whirred for a moment, and then opened the door.

Inside, Miguel found himself in a small room with a large, capacious chair and very little else. There was room for him to sit, or even recline – but that was about all – he couldn’t even walk around to any reasonable extent.

“This room would make a D-class apartment look big,” he muttered to himself, and then glanced around at the taciturn android. It whirred once again, closed the door from the inside, and retreated to the corner behind him.

With few other options, Miguel sat. The chair was, he had to admit, astonishingly comfortable. There was once again a kind of screen in front of him, and he momentarily wondered how he could access Demon Hunters this way.

Would the android somehow explain?

But no sooner had he thought about it when the screen had opened up, revealing an area inside around the size of a loaf of bread. A headset sat within.

This is it, I guess, he thought to himself. This is where I start. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

He lifted the headset out and began an attempt to strap it on, but soon the android had come forward to his side and taken over. Its robotic limbs could have been designed specifically for this, and it appeared to be making quick progress – though not without a certain discomfort on Miguel’s part.

As the room around him became obscured, a grey screen appeared in front of him, and he waited until his brain adjusted to the total immersion.

In moments, he found himself in a small, square room which was entirely white – floor, ceiling and walls. No, he realized. Not square – it was more like a corridor that he could walk down, but so uniform in color and light that it was hard to tell.

A voice rang out; it sounded identical to the one on the transit system, but he couldn’t see a face this time. It reminded him of the announcements that were sometimes played into all the residential blocks when the city was being locked down for some reason or other.

“It’s time to create your profile, Miguel”, it said.

Miguel smiled.

“Ok, guide,” he said, “I’m ready. Let’s go. How do I start?”

But the voice had already continued: “Profile creation involves selecting levels for all of the attributes that you will have and use in-game. Think of your in-game self as like a hero from ancient legends. What can you do that makes you special? Some are very tough, some very strong, others very good with a particular weapon, and so on. There is the option of using magic, too, or some combination of factors.”

“All right,” said Miguel, thinking fast. What would give him an edge, he wondered to himself. More – he needed something that would work for a low-level character with almost no gear.

Some characters front up, and others skulk, he realized.

“I need to be as stealthy and quick as possible,” he said.

But the guide was no longer listening. Instead, one message after another flashed up inside of Miguel’s mind:

You have fifty-five attribute points left to allocate.

Select your strength attribute (1–20).

Fourteen, he said out loud. And the number appeared, together with a message:

Strength: 14

You have 41 attribute points left to allocate.

Now, select your speed attribute (1–20).

“Wait – hold on,” he said aloud, and realized at that moment that it was his avatar that was speaking – his in-game body and voice. “Wait – how many stats is this for in total? And can I reallocate these points at the end?”

There was no response to this.

Damn. I should have taken notes.

But it was too late to stop now.

“I need to be as fast as possible,” Miguel murmured out loud. “I don’t think I can afford twenty, so make it eighteen.”

Speed: 18

You have 23 attribute points left to allocate.

Select your weapon skill (melee) attribute (1–20).

That, thought Miguel, is something I can make less of a priory. Getting a good weapon and being smart about when to use it might make more of a difference. Besides – it will be better to use a ranged weapon if I can.

“Four,” he said.

Weapon skill (melee): 4

You have 19 attribute points left to allocate.

Select your weapon skill (ranged) stat (1–20).

“Uh, guide... How many attributes do I still have to go?”

“Three, including this one, Miguel.”

“Damn... I really should have gone easy on strength,” he said, speaking to himself as much as to the AI. “Can I knock a couple off my strength stat, perhaps?”

There was no response to that.

Miguel sighed.

“Fine... make the ranged weapon stat fourteen, then.”

Weapon skill (ranged): 14

You have 5 attribute points left to allocate.

Select your spirit (magic) attribute (1–20).

“This I can definitely de-prioritize,” he said, reckoning that characters were either specialist spell casters or they were not. And it was definitely too late to take that path.

A pity – perhaps he could have saved on armor or weapons.

But then again, the game probably had some way of squeezing the magic users for all their drubes, too.

“Make my spirit score one, then.”

Spirit: 1

You have 4 attribute points left.

The remaining attribute points have been automatically allocated.

Agility: 4

“Ouch. I am going to be horribly clumsy.” Miguel walked from one side to another, as if to test whether he was still able to move around without falling over.

But for now, he felt no difference whatsoever.

Perhaps it will make a difference when I reach the game proper.

As if anticipating his thought, the wall at the far end of the narrow room shimmered and transformed into an archway. He couldn’t see anyone, but a voice spoke: “Continue, continue, continue.” The voice was similar to before, but it sounded like it was coming from further away.

Miguel walked forward.

The doorway led into a very large square room with several benches on each side and at first he wondered which way to go; around half of the benches were occupied.

Then he noticed a flashing light above one of them, and his name in lit-up letters below. He hurried over. And indeed, the items he had requested while on the transit were here – the dull-looking curved lump of metal must be the breastplate.

They certainly hadn’t gone to any trouble to make the equipment look impressive. The crossbow looked heavy and uncomfortable to use, and the belt pouch was smaller than he was expecting... but it would have to do.

He looked around. There was a heap of what looked like towels nearby, and other, similar piles further off.

He looked around at the nearest bench to his, where a woman with long and wavy light-brown hair and muscular bare arms was fastening up a pair of boots.

“Well, this sucks,” said Miguel.

“How do you mean?” She didn’t look around at him as she spoke.

He shrugged, raising his hands widely, and then pointed around the room. “Look at how many people there are.”

She was looking up now, and she leaned back on her bench, putting her hands behind her head. “Well, what did you expect?”

The woman sounded very calm to Miguel, almost expressionless, and he found himself grudgingly admiring her composure.

“Well, I dunno, but not this,” he replied. He got up and walked closer, leaning back against the wall just a couple of feet from her. “I mean, I guess I thought that after the whole application process, it meant that I was in. That I’d been chosen for the show.”

She chuckled, lines appearing around her eyes.

“And then I heard that I’d have to fight others,” he continued, “but I assumed, well... perhaps like five, or something.”

A smile. “If it was that easy, Buddy...”

“I know. I guess I just didn’t realize. And it’s Miguel, by the way, not ‘Buddy’.”

“Tell that to the publikum.”

“Huh... Hey, I know we are going to be pitted against each other, but wouldn’t a temporary alliance be worth thinking about?”

As he spoke, he noticed that the woman was wearing a medieval-looking leather armor shirt with iron rings, and had a spear and a pair of knives. He wasn’t the only one that couldn’t afford high-end gear, it seemed.

“Why would I want to ally myself with someone as naive as you – especially when you are about to lose your weapons?” She winked at him, and then nodded over in the direction of his bench.

Miguel’s head snapped around, and sure enough, there was a ratty-faced man at his bench – and he had just picked up Miguel’s crossbow.

“Shit...”