PART FOUR

But it kept bugging me!

I'd be shopping and see a security guard and I'd think of Lennie.

I'd be in a jewelry shop staring at rubies.

I'd find myself accidentally buying, downloading, and reading entire dungeon core LitRPG series.

I may be slightly gilding the lily here, but you get the idea. I still had that tingly feeling in my brain and it was all tied to dungeon 386.

The Magical Moment

I had a pretty normal start to the day. By normal I mean 'not thinking about computer games even a little bit'.

It went like this:

9 am, virtual book club, established in the First Pandemic and still going strong. (The group's called The Great American Novel Coronavirus. The week in question we were talking about Portnoy's Complaint.)

11 am, browsing the local antique music store (Run by the pun-loving founder of the book club, it's called 'A Tale of Two CDs')

12, light, vegan lunch topped with sprinklings of superfoods.

1 pm, meditation

2 pm, light exercise

3 pm, shower

UNRELIABLE NARRATOR WARNING!

Okay, it's possible that's not EXACTLY how my day went. There might have been leftover pizza, sweat pants, money panic, some light cyberstalking. The point is, I wasn't thinking about the BetterVerse and then I had a big shower.

In the Shower

My brain, while consciously distracted from dungeons for a few hours, had SUBconsciously been putting two and two together. Twenty seconds into the shower I was suddenly fizzing, sparking, EXPLODING with ideas. All these derived from one big Idea, with a capital I. I didn't invent the stalk, or the skin, or the flesh - I invented the whole of the apple right there in one go. It was exhilarating! I was a' whoopin and a' hollerin. (Actually I just smiled a bit but, you know. Sometimes you've got to spice things up. In the movie version the star will run down the street wearing only a flimsy towel, showing off his 14-pack and shouting EUREKA!)

I had a plan.

All I had to do was convince 386 to go along with it.

Beginnings

386 was annoyed with me. "How can I agree to your proposal until I know what your concept is?"

I tapped the side of my forehead. "I can't tell you what it is until you agree! Look, bro, my plan is going to make you rich. You'll be one of the top dungeons in the world. Thousands of people will queue to get in."

"And you say there's no risk?"

"Oh there's one big risk. The risk is you'll make so much mana so quickly that your corridors will be jam packed with the stuff and you'll literally explode. Now, is that a risk you are prepared to take?"

386 sounded like he was smiling. "I won't mention that mana in its gaseous state is inert. Because if I do then I won't be able to use the aphorism, 'if you're going to go out, go out with a bang'."

"That's the spirit."

386 sighed. "Nothing like this has ever been proposed before. I will have to create a ticket for the Engine to create a new game mechanic."

My spirits dropped a little. Paperwork! Bureaucracy! I wasn't exactly in a rush to try my new plan, but there was always the risk of the author of Woke Up being caught sending anthrax to some pop star, leading to a chain of events that culminated with the skill being nuked. "Well, there's a couple of points on our side. One, what's the point of this new skill I got if I can't negotiate with entities such as yourself? And two, we'd be using existing game mechanics. People enter into contracts all the time in this game."

"The Engine agrees with you and has approved your scheme."

"What? When?"

"While you were blabbing. Between the word couple and the word of." 386 continued talking, but later I'd think back to this moment. It was probably the closest a player ever got to direct contact with the Engine itself. Back in the game, the core was saying, "I'm sending you a standard contract form. Fill it in to begin the negotiation phase."

I sat in my corner, diagonally opposite from Lennie, and pored over the document, filling in the blanks. I sent it back to the core, and after a few back and forths it looked like this:

Dungeon Consultancy Contract

This contract is entered into by and between [DUNGEON 386] ("386") and [Billy-Bob 'Rude Boy' Bain AKA The Ace of Raids AKA Heeeeeeere's Jonny] ("Bain"). The term of this agreement shall begin [today's date, one minute from now] and shall continue until its termination date of [December 31st, 2424].

The specific terms of this Contract are as follows:

That "Bain" shall provide expertise in the field of DUNGEON MANAGEMENT. That "386" shall avail himself of the wisdom of "Bain" and shall make fair effort to implement the ideas of "Bain". That "386" shall pay "Bain" ten percent of its mana income in the form of treasure, items, and other goodly things, where said income exceeds its current base rate of 11 MP per hour. That "386" shall not attempt to murder, execute, assassinate, kill, burn, fry, boil, poison, decapitate, or in any way harm or make itchy the person of "Bain". That should "Bain" fail to increase the mana income of "386" ten-fold within a calendar year, "Bain" must destroy "386" with hammers. (Hammers to be provided by "Bain".)

This Contract may not be etc etc.

The Signing Ceremony

The 400-year length of the contract started as a joke, but we kept it in. We were both happy with the deal, and we signed it. There was a really awkward 60 seconds after that because the deal only started one minute after signing. (I didn't have any experience of drawing up contracts and the stipulation sorta made it seem more professional.)

The arbitrator would be The Engine itself, apparently. 386 told me it was 'tickled' by the scenario and would be keeping an eye on us. Fine by me! There didn't seem to be any way for 386 to cheat me, but with things like this, who knew?

"The die is cast," said 386. "I am ready to receive the secret."

Lennie stirred. He stood up and tilted his head, waiting for me to reveal my grand design. My masterplan. His hips jiggled as though he was wagging his tail.

"Okay, 386. Lennie. Here's what you're doing wrong." I paused, enjoying the limelight. "You've got to stop killing your customers."