More from the shop...
May. 11th, 2008 05:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerOf course it wasn't as simple as that, as Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula was at some pains to explain to us all when he hired us. The thing was, after all, a game. Each new upgrade was in fact a "mission," and in order to keep the supply of the new commodities coming, the mission had to be won. But not just any old way.
The goal for this current mission was to eradicate the bandit gangs who were hanging around a well and starving the surrounding villages of water. We'd been trimming them down carefully over the past fortnight, never actually pressing the point; it was wasteful of soldiers, since one big push would have got rid of them completely, but rules were rules, and if you finished the mission before the next upgrade was due, the nightly deliveries dried up. Tonight was the night, though, and I was in the hot seat.
I let Liliana, Taz and Asher out--Nick always went home early, and Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula had disappeared around lunchtime to a meeting at headquarters, or I think that's what he said--locked the door and switched off the lights in the shop, threaded my way through the shelves back to the office, and sat down in front of the computer. The city was ticking over nicely, all the little people's needs being taken care of and a healthy surplus left over for us. I gathered my forces of swordsmen and bowmen on the outcrop of rock outside the walls and imagined myself giving them the traditional pep talk before they went to get slaughtered. Unfortunately, it kept slipping into If you die today, you can die in the knowledge that a bunch of people you never heard of in a world you've never seen will be able to sell some really good food, which didn't seem to set the right tone somehow. I settled for a silent Tally ho and sicced them on the foe.
I've never been much for war games myself, but this battle was important, so I spun the mouse wheel to zoom in and watched closely. Every time a soldier died there was a little scream and a ghostly angel floated up and off the top of the screen; some of them were blue, but more of them were grey, the colour of the bandits. It looked as though I had judged my forces just right. Too many soldiers are a drain on a city's resources, too few don't get the job done.
The last of the bandits expired with a wail, and the surviving blues stood breathing hard on the field of battle. I listened to the spiel from the headman of the nearest village, about how grateful they were and how brave I was and in return for our heroism they would teach us the arts of weaving and poultry farming, and then the screen filled with my citizens cheering and clapping and dancing to the plinkety music that seemed to be de rigueur in these things.
I reached to click on the END button, and stopped as I caught sight of a figure on the fringes of the crowd, simply standing and watching. I'd never noticed him before: if I hadn't been zoomed in so close I might never have. He had long hair brushed back from his face, and a short beard, and on his feet--
I laughed. Those were Nikes. The swoosh was tiny, but unmistakable. Some joke of the programmers', no doubt. The game world didn't have Nike, or McDonald's, or Exxon. It was clean, unspoiled. As Liliana had said, unmessed-up. Most of the little people went barefoot, even on the stone roads.
Then I clicked the button, and the picture blacked out and was replaced by the standard Windows wallpaper. I collected my things, switched off the light in the office, and felt my cautious way with cat-like tread to the front door. As I locked it from the outside, I wondered, as I often did, what would happen if I stayed inside and waited for the twilight staff and the delivery. But of course there wouldn't be one tonight.
It must be fairly clear by now that there was a very great deal about this job that I was trying very hard not to be freaked out by. One little computer-generated sprite in a pair of snazzy trainers was very low down on the list. And yet when I dreamed that night, I dreamed that he turned and looked out of the screen at me, and said something, over and over again, but I could never make out what it was through that damned accent.
The goal for this current mission was to eradicate the bandit gangs who were hanging around a well and starving the surrounding villages of water. We'd been trimming them down carefully over the past fortnight, never actually pressing the point; it was wasteful of soldiers, since one big push would have got rid of them completely, but rules were rules, and if you finished the mission before the next upgrade was due, the nightly deliveries dried up. Tonight was the night, though, and I was in the hot seat.
I let Liliana, Taz and Asher out--Nick always went home early, and Zoltan-hound-of-Dracula had disappeared around lunchtime to a meeting at headquarters, or I think that's what he said--locked the door and switched off the lights in the shop, threaded my way through the shelves back to the office, and sat down in front of the computer. The city was ticking over nicely, all the little people's needs being taken care of and a healthy surplus left over for us. I gathered my forces of swordsmen and bowmen on the outcrop of rock outside the walls and imagined myself giving them the traditional pep talk before they went to get slaughtered. Unfortunately, it kept slipping into If you die today, you can die in the knowledge that a bunch of people you never heard of in a world you've never seen will be able to sell some really good food, which didn't seem to set the right tone somehow. I settled for a silent Tally ho and sicced them on the foe.
I've never been much for war games myself, but this battle was important, so I spun the mouse wheel to zoom in and watched closely. Every time a soldier died there was a little scream and a ghostly angel floated up and off the top of the screen; some of them were blue, but more of them were grey, the colour of the bandits. It looked as though I had judged my forces just right. Too many soldiers are a drain on a city's resources, too few don't get the job done.
The last of the bandits expired with a wail, and the surviving blues stood breathing hard on the field of battle. I listened to the spiel from the headman of the nearest village, about how grateful they were and how brave I was and in return for our heroism they would teach us the arts of weaving and poultry farming, and then the screen filled with my citizens cheering and clapping and dancing to the plinkety music that seemed to be de rigueur in these things.
I reached to click on the END button, and stopped as I caught sight of a figure on the fringes of the crowd, simply standing and watching. I'd never noticed him before: if I hadn't been zoomed in so close I might never have. He had long hair brushed back from his face, and a short beard, and on his feet--
I laughed. Those were Nikes. The swoosh was tiny, but unmistakable. Some joke of the programmers', no doubt. The game world didn't have Nike, or McDonald's, or Exxon. It was clean, unspoiled. As Liliana had said, unmessed-up. Most of the little people went barefoot, even on the stone roads.
Then I clicked the button, and the picture blacked out and was replaced by the standard Windows wallpaper. I collected my things, switched off the light in the office, and felt my cautious way with cat-like tread to the front door. As I locked it from the outside, I wondered, as I often did, what would happen if I stayed inside and waited for the twilight staff and the delivery. But of course there wouldn't be one tonight.
It must be fairly clear by now that there was a very great deal about this job that I was trying very hard not to be freaked out by. One little computer-generated sprite in a pair of snazzy trainers was very low down on the list. And yet when I dreamed that night, I dreamed that he turned and looked out of the screen at me, and said something, over and over again, but I could never make out what it was through that damned accent.
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-11 08:56 pm (UTC)[IS A BIT CREEPED OUT. IN A GOOD WAY, HONEST.]
no subject
Date: 2008-05-12 06:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-12 06:34 pm (UTC)There will be continuation, as soon as I work out which of the available plots I want to follow.
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Date: 2008-05-12 08:23 pm (UTC)