Logging in at Last Part 1

When was the last time I played a game? Or had one on my phone? I mean, since I’m Korean they probably expect that I’d be good, no matter what type of game it is, but if I’m honest with them, honest with myself, then…Oh I don’t know if I can do this.

For the first time, Yeung-Sung started Airgead up. After a quick initializing sequence a text box popped up:

[Terms & Conditions]

[Privacy Agreement]

“What are you doing?” Wilhelm asked, “Nobody reads that shit. Skip past it”.

Reluctantly, he proceeded to [Agree] and immediately a sea of grey flowed through under a clouded sky. It panned out slowly, revealing a stony beach where every rock had six sides on its surface, rendered with all the shine and colour gradient of a photo.

“I love the new intro, though,” Mamba said through the murmurs. “Aisling’s the one behind the art direction, Pak, if you didn’t know.”

“Still don’t know why she always hanging around here,” Martin laughed.

Wilhelm leaned over to see if she was watching. “Yeah. Not like she tells us anything either. Anything useful anyway.”

“Wil, some respect please!” Mamba exclaimed. He snorted at that. Ignoring him, she fluttered her hands. “Oh! Oh! The music”.

She yelled over to the bar. “Darnes, could you lower your low fidelity nonsense a little -or better yet turn it off so we can hear some music,” she squealed in anticipation, “actual, good music by professionals”.

The music inside blared louder. Mamba stood up and slammed half her bodyweight onto the table. “Come on, Darnes!”

Wil chuckled. “What was that about respect?”

“Quiet, Wil, “cut in Von martin. He covered his hand over Mamba’s and tried to cajole her back into her seat.

From the far end of the couch, Yeung-Sung heard a cough. “You know, this is my first reset,” Shirley announced, “It’s kind of nice to see all this excitement again. Darnes?”

This time the speakers fell away, replaced for a moment by a grumbling from Steph, who was wishing it was his first reset, so that he could get cheaper drink. The volume of others also took some time to adjust; so Yeung-Sung heard two others agree with withering “Aye’s”, and a third, who sounded like the Swede, Fenrick -or maybe it was Hans- who wished that GLI would hurry up and expand the experiment out into the real world, letting them go freely.

Amidst the chaos, Yeung-Sung took a long drink. As his glass emptied, the faint music of Airgead swelled; fiddle and guitar linking the pastoral imagery that passed, evoking a feeling of a melancholic past. And isn’t that what we long for? To go back to simpler times. He thought back to his grandparent’s cottage out in Boseong. He remembered fishing, and failing, and going back to hand pick vegetables for his dinner, and tea leaves for after. Most of all he remembered joy. But as the beer flushed into his stomach his memories stoppered to less than a drip, fading into an uncertain grey and then to the four black edges of his phone; They framed a golden-glowing body crawling from the ocean. As he stood, waves retreated as if he was a barrier that prevented the salty onslaught from touching ground and grass. An arrow appeared overhead, pointing down. Yeung-Sung placed his finger over it and his character began to walk.

“So we do start with all same character,” Martin noted, thoughtfully.

The avatar’s pulse breathed in time to its pace. The background music now underpinned by a male chorus. Footsteps squelched loudly, each one drier than the last until they crunched, Yeung-Sung’s avatar rushing faster now through forestland. Again, he was appointed to point. He did it quicker this time and, in only a few frames his character had crushed the spines of several trees, filling up a progress bar. [Harvesting…]

“Animations are kinda boring,” Shirley noted.

“Not boring; efficient,” Wil snapped, explaining from his bored pose. “Less wind-up, more time spent on task.”

“You know, I forget sometimes how much of an anti-social hobbit you are when you talk business,” Mamba chuckled.

Crossing his arms and nodding in respect, Von Martin agreed, “Pretty badass.”

Yeung-Sung looked away from the screen as the harvesting continued and watched Wil blush. Scratching his head, he noticed Yeung-Sung regarding him seriously and gave him a knowing smile.

“Look, I know games, man”, he said.

No wonder he’s so comfortable, speaking so casually, so confidently now that his “worth” is acknowledged. I knew many others that were the same, but they lived in the real world. Don’t act so proud, like all your life was spent purposely preparing for this.

Yeung-Sung nearly bit his tongue holding himself back from spouting something so toxic. It was a lashing vine of feeling that he didn’t expect. “Yeah,” he managed to let out. “I guess you do.”

Back to Airgead, his avatar had cleared out a field’s worth of space with his bare hands and was still going without any signs of exhaustion. Leaving piles of logs behind him as he went. They shrunk until disappearing as if they were absorbed by his phone.

“O-K?” he muttered.

A banner slid in from the side with a brown sack as its icon. [This is your current inventory]

Wilhelm laughed at Yeung-Sung as he wrinkled his forehead in surprise. He pushed himself up, looking more interested. “You’ve seriously never played, like, an RPG? A gacha? You’re…”

“I’m Korean. Yes, I know. But you know, I was too busy helping feed half a city to spend time playing games.”

Wilhelm jumped back in his seat. “Shit, sorry dude. I didn’t mean…”

“Boys, how about we just stop right there?” Mamba cut in like she was one of their mothers. “We’re both here now. And not by choice. We’re all in under the same circumstance, as far as I’m concerned. So let’s be civil.” She turned between Wil and Yeung-Sung until their jaws unclenched, their fists were unfolded and put back under the table.

“Sorry,” Wil said again.

He’s such an idiot, such a lucky idiot to be in his position. Why couldn’t he see that? Yeung-Sung crept out a hand, to which Wil’s eyes lit up. Shaking hands, Yeung-Sung strained out a smile, feeling like he was lifting fallen logs off his face.

“I still need your help,” he said. “I don’t know what I am doing. At all.”

Motioning towards the phone, Wil said, “For now just follow the arrows. It’s a straightforward tutorial. I’ll help you later on with some decisions, as need be.”

On his phone, another arrow hovered impatiently. His character was idling. As the golden person looked himself over in apparent amazement, Yeung-Sung saw redness and purplish bruises around his hands heal before his eyes. Those injuries that would have turned to scars in real life just vanished. Overtop the restored skin, the golden glow quickly filled in the gap.

“Well, Yeung-Sung, we still have loads to do before the real game,” said Von Martin.

He moved his avatar into a plain of bedrock. The shining figure hurdled as he ran, crossing the thick cracks that ran throughout. Huge boulders jutted out of some of them like trapped fingers, covered in a fuzzy orange moss. When he stopped, Yeung-Sung understood what to do and as soon as the prompt appeared, he energetically whacked it. Snapping his neck down, the avatar tore into the ground-rock, and began gathering.

Approximating the length of a second, Yeung-Sung counted to ten before the task was done.

“This process is fae-ester than normal, as it is tutorial,” Von Martin explained.

His pronunciation was odd. “Faster?” he asked.

Von Martin nodded. “Normally a gathering process takes one hundred ticks; here it takes ten.”

“What? For everything?” Yeung-Sung asked. He turned right to check with Wil, who was also nodding.

“Yup, they start you at one tick per second,” he said holding up a finger, “Then with increased mastery, and probably equipment -though I haven’t finished testing- that number goes up. Slowly. I haven’t seen anyone breach five ticks a second yet.”

“That doesn’t seem like a lot,” Shirley said, confused. “Yet I feel that there’s people who are getting far more mats than me.”

“Well,” Wil smiled, “Interesting you say that. I’m almost certain that you can also increase the output per session.”

He frowned. “Though I haven’t figured out how it works with Airgead. Anyway, the other thing is, you shouldn’t underestimate the value of even half a tick. That shit adds up. A person gathering at two ticks per sec finishes in fifty, but a person gathering at two-point-five is finished in forty. Over the course of what -a day, a week?” Wil sat back, still grinning in delight at the numbers running through his head. “It’ll be fun to see how it turns out.”

Shirley slumped, “Great. Sounds to me like we’re already at a disadvantage to the factions.”

Yeung-Sung perked up. “Factions?”

Von Martin bellowed a laugh. “Yes, Pak. Assholes with common goals to be coming together and control flow of money in Airgead. It’s…bit like politics, actually.” Roaring again, he slammed an empty glass down on the table.

Mamba flicked her nails and fanned her fingers out, observing them. “You’ll see some of them soon, I’m sure, Pak,” she continued for Von Martin, “Some of them -like PM and the Debaters- are always looking for new members”. She ended with a groan.

“What do they do, exactly? The factions?”

Wil interrupted any answer that might have been given with a clap of his hands. “Oh, we’ll tell you later. This is the good part!”

Past the plains, Yeung-Sung’s avatar climbed a hillside. Dark clouds present from even the beginning cutscene grew heavy and close enough for the glowing man to touch. Reaching out, Yeung-Sung and his avatar touched the middle of the screen together.

[Your arrival was foretold. Now, they come for you.]

The sky burst open. Barbarians streamed in through a curtain of rain, advancing quickly. Yeung-Sung tapped hastily, seeing that they did not pause as he read the text, and in fact as he reached for the [Next] icon they kicked up dust even faster.

[Prepare for battle!]

[Craft yourself a weapon and some armour]

Shaking, waiting to be opened, the inventory unveiled its grid of boxes eagerly when Yeung-Sung clicked it. The wood and stone he had collected took up the first two slots. But that was it.

“What am I supposed to do?” Yeung-Sung asked.

Shirley responded first. “There’s no smithing or nothing. I guess you’re a god,” he laughed. “One capable of crafting with your bare fists.” He clasps his veined hands together and squeezed.

Yeung-Sung spotted a small [Craft] button in the bottom corner. Through the translucent inventory he saw his avatar mimicking the same pose as Shirley.

Pressing it unveiled a scroll that fell beyond the end of the screen. Readying himself to pick something quickly, Yeung-Sung noticed that it was blank, with only a blinking dash at the start. Out of a new habit, he tapped anyway, and a keypad bumped in from beneath.

He looked up from the screen with a puckered mouth. “Ehh…what now?”

Everyone at the booth looked to Wil to explain, but he just sat back with his head down and smirked.

Von Martin sighed. “The type of weapon you use affects the attack order, is what I understand.” He gestured around to see if anyone would add.

Shirley shrugged at Yeung-Sung. With a light, sympathetic tone he said, “They’ve changed it a lot in this version and I thought that I had no idea what I was doing before. You could probably put just about anything in there, whether or not it would help you in fighting would be a different question, however.”

Both Shirley and Von Martin eyed Wil suspiciously.

“Guys, they’re still approaching,” he said, voice shaking. He was still unsure as what to type. “So, I’ll just type in maybe… a sword?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mamba answered. “Sword, spear, shield, harp, whatever.”

“Not in the tutorial,” Shirley agreed. “It’s all the same.”

“Of course it matters,” Wilhelm interrupted, “If you want to be optimal!” He looked around, frustrated.

He leaned over with one elbow on the edge of the table. Everyone huddled in closer, eager for his insight. Except for Von Martin, who let out a moan.

He’s so sure of himself. Yeung-Sung drew his hand back, but still sweated at the thought of dying before he had even begun. He listened to his advice.

“The quality of your materials is garbage anyway -meaning they’ll all do roughly the same amount of damage, so it’s best to pick the fastest attacking weapon you can think of.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Shirley admitted.

Von Martin was moaning still. “Would be better if we could see numbers.”

To that, everyone nodded, except Yeung-Sung who didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“The game, well, this new version since the reset, has gone for this minimalistic style where any information that would tell us how items and skills work are hidden,” Mamba explained. She twirled a finger in her hair, focusing as she relayed her own understanding of Airgead to Yeung-Sung. “They are there, for sure they are there -I’ve made better looking equipment and it kills faster, but I can only guess. It’s a really, really abstract system.”

It makes it kind of realistic then, doesn’t it?

“What if I pretend that its “real”, and don’t think about it?” he asked. “All the numbers.”

Unsure, Mamba looked to Wil, who just shrugged. “Can’t say yet.”

As the table pondered the nature of Jordan’s combat system, Yeung-Sung saw another regular from the bar -the Irishman Sykes- approach the booth with a wonky stride. Slurping down the last of his drink, he wiped the daydreaming look off his face. He pushed his way past Shirley onto the couch, saying, “Doesn’t everyone in the tutorial get one-shotted anyway?”

“Yeah, whatever, it’s still optimal,” Wil sneered back. Sulking, he turned back to Yeung-Sung and said, “Type something already, man!”

Yeung-Sung typed. S-I-C-K-E-L.

Peering over, Shirley stifled a laugh, “Nice try, but it ends in L-E not E-L. Yeung-Sung noticed him gazing over curiously while he was changing it, then hit [Confirm].

“That’s an interesting choice. What are you trying to prove with that?” Shirley asked.

“I’m not sure,” Yeung-Sung answered, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t think I would be a swordsman in real-life, so I picked something that suits me.” He pointed at himself. “I’m a greengrocer. I, uhh, like farming, growing food for other people.”

A few at the table raised their eyebrows, but Wil gave an approving bob. “Well, it’s better than a great hammer…Shirley.”

Tucking his face under his curled bangs, Shirley blushed.

Martin coughed loudly, pounding his fist on the table. “That was un-necessary,” he growled, separating the difficult pronunciation into two distinct words. Raising his fist, he slipped it into a gesture to bring everyone’s attention back to the screen. Airgead now prompted Yeung-Sung to choose a type of armour. He stared at it blankly and waited for someone to explain what to do. But there came no explanation.

“Armour reduces the damage I take, right?”

Von Martin rubbed his chin with visibly greasy fingers. “Yes,” he began, narrowing his eyes as he looked away, “But it ees not only this. More complex.” He sighed. Opening his mouth he absent-mindedly flicked his teeth with the tip of his thumb. “Armour will also give you stats. But I think there is more.”

“What makes you think that?” Yeung-Sung asked.

Shifting in his seat, Martin cracked his thumb. “In combat, the game allows you to select where you get hit with an attack. Apart from miti- mit, ahh, mit-ee-gat-ting,”

“Mitigating, you got it,” Mamba said.

He smiled with fond eyes. “Yes, apart from mitigating damage, there must be a reason why this is one of few things we can manipulate in battle.”

Wil snapped his fingers and made a finger gun towards his head. “Yeah, man. I have the same theory, and what’s more, the game allows you, when you’re selecting an enemy, to target a piece of your own body. Now, why would that be if there wasn’t an explicit purpose to it?”

“This bloody version,” Sykes said, yawning.

Shirley smiled through still flushed cheeks, bulging out like onions in a sack. “At least I’m not the only one who’s confused.”

Yeung-Sung chuckled at that. “So what will I do?”

He, along with the rest of the tabled watched Wil intently for an answer. He looked to be deep in thought, swirled a green coaster around in circles on the table. It took a few lingering moments for him to realise. Looking up, surprise and snark fell on his expression at the same time. “What?” he asked, “Oh, now you want my opinion?”

He wasn’t thinking at all; he was sulking. But it’s pretty damn clear no one wants to stroke your ego.

Sykes was the one that broke the silence. “Sure, we’ll hear it. But it’s probably wrong.” He got up with a laugh and went back to the bar.

Wilhelm snorted as he lay at the corner of the table, hot head in his hands. “I guess it doesn’t matter here,” he admitted.

“Right “, Yeung-Sung began.

“-But if you fellers must know, the different armour types resist different types of damage.” He slapped the coaster down on the table. It had the intertwined candles in a W shape; the Wick’s logo. Wilhelm began ripping off each corner off it as he talked.

“True, we have only vague visual indicators to go by now, things like cracks and dents, but even that little shows us how much a given attack damages it. Following the logic -unless Jordan decided he really wants to fuck with us- then resisted attacks should damage gear less,” he explained, then ripped the remaining coaster in half,” and attacks that it’s weak to will destroy the equipment faster. Make sense?”

Shirley scooped up the pieces and spread them out like the spokes of a wheel. “Then it becomes like a typical element-weakness chart?”

“Uhh, like what?” asked Yeung-Sung.

Martin tsked. “Like Pok-e-mon, Pak.” Then, when Yeung-Sung showed no signs of comprehension Mamba added, “Like rock-paper-scissors. One beats the other, circling back around.” She pointed around the length of the coaster bits.

“Oh, I see. Sorry.”

“Yes, but more subtle,” Wil said, with his eyelids drooped, “More -as you said, Mamba- complex.” He re-arranged the pieces into an umbrella shape. He speared the top one. “One type can have may different relationships of varying strengths to others. And that’s not even considering that most equipment will probably end up belonging to more than one type.”

“What I’m understanding is that there’s no way to know, correct?” Yeung-Sung asked.

“Not without a lot of testing. No.” Suddenly Wil tossed all the pieces to the floor with one fierce swipe. “One would think,” he said with gritted teeth, “That you could just brute force your way through the game by grinding. However, someone that spends the time to discover the acute details could beat you to it. If you’re a lucky piece of shit.” He slammed his head back against the couch, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. “That’s how I lost. I’d bet on it.”

The mood at the deflated after that. Martin stroked his chin intently, Mamba excused herself and Shirley bent over, collecting the littered pieces. Yeung-Sung was sweating, though. No one told him what to do so he thought quickly and typed up BOOTS, hesitating to lock his option in.

Quietly, Sykes muttered into a mostly empty glass. “It’s the information wars all over again.”

Giving him a look of disgust, Von Martin stood up. “I think…it’s time for another round!” he exclaimed, hoisting his face back up into a smile.

Putting her phone away as she came back, Mamba shared the face of muddled uncertainty that had affected the rest of them. “Champs are going to be up our asses with spies again,” she sighed

Shirley nodded. “We’ll need to keep our mouths shut. I know. Don’t worry I learned from last time.” His voice grew sharper, distinctly thicker than before.

Atop a valley, his avatar sat, with the barbarians still rushing through the plains beneath. The plains were a lot larger than he first thought, but the threat was closing in and he had no idea what else was required of him in the tutorial. Anxiously, Yeung-Sung left him to craft his boots in silence, as he swivelled the camera around with a finger, watching. He was curious about the “factions” and the “Information wars”, but he decided to keep his attention on the preparing himself for the raid party.

When he finished, a red notification popped up over his inventory and his avatar shuffled onto his knees and began to pray.

[Before battle, seek blessings from the gods.]

Yeung-Sung heard frenzied shouts now, flying from his phone, nearly causing him to drop it. His character though, was still deep in meditation.

“Umm, they’re not going to attack me before I finish the tutorial, are they?” he asked Shirley who shrugged and, on the opposite side of the booth, Yeung-Sung saw Mamba make the same, unconcerned gesture. Wilhelm laughed hard. He took up one of the collected coaster pieces, flicking it.

It hit Shirley in the face. “Thanks for that, you ass,” he said, pulling it out of some curls, “but to answer your question -yeah Yeung-Sung, they will eventually”.

“-If you’re a paraplegic!” cut in Wilhelm.

“But,” said Sykes, coming back with a fresh beer, “it doesn’t matter.” He pointed his drink at Yeung-Sung, spilling some on the table. “I’m telling you. Even without equipment or the blessing, your avatar can destroy the group barehanded.” He looked at the mess and puffed up his cheeks. “Oops.”

Behind them at the bar, they heard Darnes’ rough voice. “Animals! Use a coaster!”.

“Anyway,” he continued, dropping down onto the couch, “I tried it. The only thing that happens is you when you start ticking away normally, you don’t get the accelerated ticks of the tutorial. Meaning you’ll have to do the basics again, but slower.”

Yeung-Sung nodded along and as soon as Sykes finished, he felt his phone vibrate in his hands. His avatar got up from the grass and took a wide stance upon the hill. He had his copper sickle now, sparkling from the morning dew and his boots were covered by a dark shadow. Drums rolled and clattered, rising loudly. Then, fading abruptly, a diagonal cut sliced through the screen and out of the transition the battle sequence began.