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gimmeyoon · 4 years

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Iron World: 5

✰ pairing: Yoongi x Reader

✰ au: Cyberpunk

✰ word count: 4.4k

✰ warnings: explicit language, major angst, mentions of death and violence, murder

✰ summary: ❝Welcome to Iron World, the latest virtual reality online game. Choose your class, join a guild, and explore the depths of this planet. As one of the first 20,000 people to explore this brave frontier, how you enjoy this immersive experience is up to you. There is so much to do and see, you’ll never want to leave.❞

A/N: Highly unedited because I’m exhausted and ready to go to bed, but it’s here and if you want to wait I’ll edit it by Monday for sure.

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The Yellow Velvet was Jin's favorite bar. Not only because the owner happened to be someone he had known in the real world, but also because drinks were always on the house for Bangtan.

"My friend," Seulgi had said, passing Jin a vodka soda the first night he had drank there. "Anyone who gets us out of this game, drinks for free."

"No one's gotten anyone out yet," Jin had said, before downing the drink.

"True," Seulgi said, holding her hand out to him. "That'll be five iron then."

Of course she had only been kidding. Not only was Jin in the lead group, he was her friend, or at least someone who had known her before she had a robotic leg and hair orange like fire.

"Fire like the zombie and Phoenix," she said, motioning to the TV behind Jin, the current broadcast about Bangtan.

"You died your hair because Agust D survived fire?"

"No," she said, pushing another drink towards him. "Because it's hope. Phoenix and Agust D are connected by fire, right?"

"Maybe," Jin said, contemplating it.

"They are," Seulgi said, rolling her eyes. "This is a game Jin, don't forget."

"This might be a game, but they're real people."

"Okay," Seulgi said leaning against the bar. "But fire has nothing to do with their real lives."

Jin had started to think she had a point. In fact, he might eve bring it up again, if he could find her. She was off doing her job somewhere, no doubt, while Jin was surrounded by the masses. Tonight, as Bangtan celebrated clearing the 2nd floor of the Hotel, thanks to Jax Moon's key, drink's weren't just free for Bangtan, but for everyone.

Jin was used to people flocking to him, it had always happened to him, both in the game and the real world. Maybe that was why he had been drawn to the role of Enchanter, the charismatic spell caster known for crowd control. It was fitting, he thought.

And he wasn't trying to be arrogant about how much people wanted to be near him, it was just the truth. He didn't like it much. Maybe if he did, then he would be arrogant about it, but he was constantly exhausted by it all.

He was an introvert, though it was hard to tell by the crowd that formed around him. People always assumed because he laughed and he told stories that he liked the attention. That he was a natural extrovert that thrived off of the crowd. He was just good at putting up a front. One that he'd been taught from a young age.

One of his fans, a girl, laughs loudly in his ear, causing Jin to turn away from her towards his friends.

Chimmy is similarly surrounded by the adoring public, but unlike Jin he is drawn to it. Chimmy lives for the attention and it's obvious as he basks in the fawning of the other players. Chimmy was made for this, Jin had to live with it, and other's avoided it.

Jin can't help but search for Cooky, who is more like him in regards to the reluctant spotlight, but unlike him in that he cannot pretend to enjoy it.

He's managed to escape the crowd, as Jin finds him in the corner of the bar, drinking with Phoenix and Agust D.

Jin thinks that might be the perfect plan. The other player's tended to avoid Agust D whether it be fear or respect. Jin wasn't sure which it was, perhaps a little bit of both. Perhaps more fear than respect at times.

Everyone knew that he had walked out of the flames of Babylon unscathed. How could they not? The drone footage of the event had run on every channel for days afterwards.

Regardless, Jin never could say no to the crowd. Even if he was certain that getting up and joining his friends in the corner would provide him the escape he longed for, he wouldn't do it. He felt responsible to the crowd. They loved him and for the life of him Jin wasn't sure why. Perhaps in the game it was more clear, he was in the lead group, but at times he still questioned why him? Why did they want to be around him so badly.

He owed them his best self because they believed in that person.

Jin wasn't sure what he believed in.

He was pretty sure he believed in Mono, he was the right person to lead them out of this game. He knew he trusted no one else enough to believe it might actually happen.

He believed in Phoenix, what she lacked in general team-player-ness she made up for in skill. Jin believed she would carry the creator's head out on a plate if it didn't turn to pixels before she could.

He believed in Bangtan. They were the only part of this game that kept him sane. That made him believe every day was a day closer to his real life.

He hoped he could believe in himself. Especially because he had a secret.

Agust D had spoken to him. The necromancer had an idea.

What if the enchanter had the exact skill set required to control whatever "crowd" was inside of Agust D. Whatever it was that burned within him, maybe it was Jin that could quell it.

Maybe he could fix whatever was wrong.

The immediate problem which Jin identified was that he didn't know what Agust D was talking about.

So he showed him. Or at least, he said it was the best he could do in order to make Jin understand.

And Jin had done his best as well. His best not to show his fear.

He didn't understand it. He didn't understand how anything could shock him as he was stuck inside a video game.

He was sure there had to be a game element to it all, of course there had to be, but he couldn't explain it. He couldn't figure out how it worked into the game or what the creator was thinking. Perhaps that was the point, trying to understand the creator was pointless.

But Seokjin also worried. Worried even the creator didn't know what was happening with Agust D. It wasn't like he could ask, but Yoongi wondered what the creator could possibly gain from giving this to Yoongi.

It seemed counteractive to his plan to keep everyone in the game.

And in the most selfish parts of his brain he didn't want to help Yoongi. He feared that if he could control whatever power he had, that he might also ruin their chances of getting out of the game. He was their secret weapon, and to quell his flames might be exactly what the game maker wanted.

Jin knew one thing for certain, that was what Agust D wanted. So he would try his best to help his friend. His brother thanks to this game.

He was the eldest, it was his responsibility.

Maybe that was the real reason Agust D had asked him.

Yoongi's not sure when he stopped caring that everyone here avoided him. He hadn't even noticed that the rest of Bangtan was basking in the glory of their latest accomplishment, until Cooky had escaped the crowd to join him and Phoenix.

Phoenix.

That was why he didn't care. She smiled at him, smiled! And he knew that she wanted to hug him as they took out the last guard on the second floor of the hotel. He'd seen it, as her body turned towards him, she'd lifted her arms just a bit, before thinking better and giving him a head nod of recognition instead.

It was endearing since she’d knocked on his door to kiss him just a week ago.

Three whiskey's later, Yoongi was almost ready to call her out on it. Almost.

Cooky. Cooky was why he couldn't do it.

He almost told the kid to bother someone else. Until the knight had sat down with them, Yoongi could almost pretend it was a date. He wondered what she was like in the real world. If she went to bars like this and hung out with her friends.

He never really did, though he liked to drink, he liked staying home more. He wanted to ask her, but he thought better of bringing up the outside world.

He supposed that was part of the territory when you liked someone, you just wanted to know everything about them.

He paid attention to her, tried to see between the broken places of the walls she built up to understand her better. He almost wished he hadn't drank so much so he could be more alert to the ways she let herself go as she let her inhibitions go with each drink.

He also knew he somewhat needed the liquid courage; both to be here and to be his truest self with her.

Because he liked her and that made it so much harder to just act normal around her. He constantly worried he'd mess things up just by being himself. It was the mean part of his brain that made him think if anyone truly knew him they would run away.

In the real world he knew he was overthinking it, but now as the resident zombie of Iron World he wasn't so sure that part of his brain was wrong. What he could do was terrifying, it scared even himself.

The door to the bar slams open, causing Agust D to quickly turn around in his seat, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. He checks Phoenix, to find her in a similar position, though her weapon of choice is a knife, and she already has it unsheathed and ready to throw.

Though Yoongi might personally disagree he drops his hold on the gun when he sees the entrant. A man, another player, walks in the bar, his face highly altered so that he is now half-bot half-human.

That's all Yoongi has to see to know it's a member of the Coffins.

You could recognize them anywhere. This one's switched out his eyes for robotic ones, his mouth for a speaker box, that Yoongi could guess quickly turns into some type of weapon. It was a common mod for Coffins.

Worldwide and Chimmy had their fans and Yoongi had his. His, unfortunately, were insane.

The first time he'd met a coffin, he'd been praised like a god. Yoongi had been repulsed, the man's mouth entirely gone, a flame thrower in its place. Dragon was his name. Yoongi was his idol.

Flames, he'd said through a robotic voice. That's what connected them.

Yoongi hadn't told anyone about it, though the Coffins soon became notorious.

Murders. That's how they'd gotten their acclaim. They liked Yoongi, respected him as they saw his zombie-like fame as proof that nothing mattered in this game. They had theories, Yoongi was the creator, Yoongi was now a god, Yoongi was proof that death in the game didn't necessarily mean death.

It was all bullshit. Bullshit brought on by too much Bone Dust.

Bone Dust was a gift from the creator, some said. Something to ease the unbearable pain of this world.

The truth? It rotted the minds of anyone who took it.

Most stayed away, having the creator's name on it was enough.

But the Coffins, it was an initiation rite.

They liked Yoongi, but he hated them. They stood for everything Yoongi hated in this game. They played the game the creator wanted them to play. They took innocent lives in the name of fun. And they used him as the reason to do so. He despised them.

This Coffin is alone, a blessing in Yoongi's opinion. They were less likely to do anything insane alone. Their hive mind, not a metaphor they truly had modified their minds to be connected via chip implant, was the worst part of the guild.

"No one invited me," the Coffin said, his synthesized voice making the hairs on the back of Yoongi's neck stand up.

"Must have gotten lost in the mail," Worldwide said, sitting up straight.

Even from across the bar, Yoongi could tell the enchanter was settling the apprehension of the crowd as his hand drew the enchantment out in small motions.

"A little modification could fix that," the Coffin said, moving towards Yoongi instead of Worldwide. He tapped his temple a few times, making eye contact with the necromancer. "You could hive up."

"We'll pass," Phoenix before Yoongi could even think of a response. "Like to keep my thoughts to myself."

"Yeah?" the coffin said, causing Yoongi to move closer to Phoenix, as if she couldn't handle herself. "Well then why don't you."

"Gladly," Phoenix said, " turning away from the Coffin. The very act made Yoongi pale with fear.

"You know," the Coffin said, walking away from Yoongi and looking around the bar. "You all seem to be one with the people, except when it comes to me."

"Have to be people for that," Chimmy said. "You're somewhere in between that and robot, makes it hard to connect."

"Is that it?" he said, eyes falling on Jugeum. "But the mutt gets a pass?"

"He was never people to begin with," Chimmy responded quickly, causing the Coffin to turn back towards him. Yoongi wanted to smack the cleric on the back of the head for provoking him. He might be alone, but the Coffin was still very much pro-murder.

"Well at least I know where I stand," the Coffin said, moving towards Chimmy. "Beneath dogs."

Yoongi realized what was happening too slowly. She was out of her seat before he could stop her. Before he could get up in her place, as he should have. As he's proven time and time again is his instinct. But she's gone before he can make a move without actively increasing the tension in the room.

So instead, all he can do is watch as she puts herself between the Coffin and Chimmy. The cleric blushes behind her, but doesn't back down. Yoongi's not sure if he respects his confidence or thinks he's an idiot. Perhaps both, a confident idiot.

"Yes," the Coffin said, looking her up and down. "I had heard you were fond of saving everyone."

"There's no reason anyone needs to be saved, just step back," she said, hand on the knife attached to her thigh.

"I don't like saviors," the Coffin continued not moving. "False hope."

"I don't like nihilists," she said, somehow standing taller. "Always killing the vibe."

"Careful," he said, stepping closer to her, causing Yoongi to stand from his seat. "That's not all we're killing."

He must feel the rest of Bangtan ready to attack, as he backs away from Phoenix without another word and turns to Yoongi.

"She might be everyone's hope, but you're ours."

Yoongi tried not to notice the way the bar looked at him as the Coffin left Yellow Velvet. Instead he watched him until he could no longer see him from the window. Until he was relatively certain he was truly gone. Then and only then did Yoongi let himself look over at Phoenix.

While Mono stared at Yoongi, Phoenix had turned to Chimmy and was berating him for provoking the coffin. All was right in the world, Yoongi thought. While everyone looked at him with fear, confusion, or apprehension, Phoenix worried about other things. He wasn't sure if she knew the way he hated the attention or if she genuinely was not concerned about him.

Whatever it was, it almost made him feel normal.

The Coffins didn't scare you. How could they?

Of all the things in this game, high-as-balls plastic surgery addicts were the least of your concerns.

But you could tell they scared Agust D. You could tell because he insisted on sleeping on your couch after that Coffin threatened you.

"I'm fine, Agust D," you said, though you offered him a blanket for his slumber.

"Sure," he said, nodding his head. "My bed just sucks."

"Oh?" you said, laughing a little. "If you're so desperate, you could order a new one."

"Why order a new one, when I have this amazing couch as a back-up."

You merely shake your head in response as you watch him make-up the couch for bed. A crackling sound and flash of color outside of your apartment has you turning away from and towards the large window in your living room.

Fireworks collide and light up the night sky, so you sit down in the window seat to watch them. It's almost comforting, like an old song you hadn't heard in a long time coming on the radio.

"Is it a holiday outside?" you asked, turning back to look at Yoongi for a brief moment, before another loud bang, pulls your attention back to the show.

"Any occassion with fireworks is a type of holiday, I suppose," Yoongi said.

"No," you said, shaking your head, and looking down at your hands. You don't mean outside your apartment but outside outside. For some reason it hurts too much to say.

"262 days," he remarks, without needing your full explanation. "I'd need a calendar to be sure."

"It doesn't matter," you say, as you finally decide that for yourself as well. "They're nice." You said as the sky shone red and blue.

Yoongi comes to stand behind you, and you can feel his presence as he watches them too, so you scoot over and offer him space beside you. It's snug, but not in a bad way. It feels nice being close to him. Enjoying this moment with him. You think for a moment that there's no one else you would want beside you right now. Anyone else you'd want to give you space. Space to process whatever this has caused you to feel. For some reason you don't mind that Yoongi can watch you do just that. You think he might understand and maybe that's why. That just like before you wouldn't have to explain. He would just know.

"I'm trying something with World Wide," Agust D said after a brief period of silence, causing you to turn to look at him. "I don't know if it'll work," he said looking down at his hands. "But maybe I won't be a walking bonfire soon."

"Okay," you said, nodding your head and turning back to the fireworks.

"Yeah," he said, doing the same.

He laughs without humor, before turning to look at you again. "Maybe I'm not making you safer by being here. What if I blow up?"

"I thought your bed was bad?" you teased, meeting his gaze.

"I'm serious," he said. "I should leave."

"Fire doesn't scare me," you said as he stood up and began to walk away. "I'm the Phoenix."

"Wine with that cheese?" he snorted, as you followed him.

"Its the truth," you said, grabbing his hand. "You don't scare me. The coffins don't scare me."

"Does anything scare you?"

"Yes," you said in a small voice, looking down at the space where your hands met. "I've seen someone die."

"Someone?" he said, looking at you, though you did not move to meet his gaze. "Someone you knew?"

"Yes," you said, nodding your head. "I can't let it happen again."

"It won't," he said, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand in soothing circles.

"No, it won't," you said, looking back up at him. "I won't let it."

"Me neither," he said, tugging at your hand a little, making you look up at him. "I think I've made that clear."

"Yes, you've made it clear you're a stubborn idiot with a hero complex," you said, as a smile stretched across your face.

"Pot meet kettle," he said, mirroring your smile.

"Seriously," you said, tugging at his hand as well. "Don't die."

"So far it seems like I can't," he shrugged, though the look on his face showed anything but apathy.

"Let's hope you're right," you said. "Because if you die, I'll murder you."

"I'd expect nothing less," he laughed, and though you probably should have dropped his hand and gone back to watch the fireworks, you stood there a moment longer, both of you looking at the other as if acknowledging the fire in each other.

He shone so brightly in your eyes, though you supposed that wasn't a metaphor you thought he'd appreciate. There was a light in him that drew you to him. You were like a moth to the flame, and you didn't mind if you got burned. There was something in you that longed for it. That wanted to burn bright with him.

And as the two of you stood there, you knew he felt it too. The way the flames tickled the tips of your fingers and cried out for each other.

Yoongi should have known better than to agree to going to the rave with you. You were tricky, you'd convinced him that it was about appreciating the music one of the players in the game made, so he was intrigued, and then you showed up at his apartment in an outfit that left very little to the imagination, and it took all of the three minutes for him to get off of the couch and walk to the abandoned building with you.

He's not convinced you aren't at least a little bit evil, because you know what you do to him, yet you pretend like he's just another member of Bangtan as you walk ahead of him to the party.

For a moment he wonders if he is just another member of the guild, but then you look back at him and wink once you see he's been staring at your ass, and he's convinced you actually are evil.

But the real reason he should have never let you take him to this rave is because you never actually made it.

And now, as he looks at the coffins encircling the two of you, he wants to remind you that he was originally against the plan, but he figures an "I told you so," is not what the situation actively calls for.

You're never without a weapon and tonight is no exception, but your shorts are so short that the coffins immediately zeroed in on the knife strapped to your leg like an accessory and have ordered both you and Yoongi to keep your hands above your head.

Yoongi kind of wants to berate you for that as well, but he doesn't, because he knows it's unfair. He also can already hear you saying that he wasn't complaining about your shorts earlier, which is absolutely true and a fair response.

He also doesn't bring it up because he's pretty sure it doesn't matter. He hates the thought of it, but he has a plan that involves no weapons. Or rather, it includes one weapon. Himself.

Normally, he would be against fighting other players. He couldn't take a real life. But as he looked around the circle he knew it was you and him or the Coffins. He already felt the guilt in his chest because he knew it wasn't a fair fight. But he hadn't provoked them, they had come after you. Yoongi had no choice but to do what he had to do.

The only problem is you. Yet again, you've made this situation difficult for him because he needs you very far away from whatever's about to shot from every pore of his body. And despite his efforts, he can't figure out how to get your far away from him without starting the fight that no doubt is waiting for the two of you.

So he decides to bicker about that instead.

"Why couldn't you have gotten away?" he said, causing you to scoff and turn to him with wide eyes.

"Are you serious right now? You want those to be your potential last words to me?"

"I thought we said not gonna happen?" he said, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Odds don't look great," you replied, as a coffin moved closer to you, causing Yoongi to stiffen.

He was gonna kill him, he just needed a better plan.

"What spells do you know?" he asked.

"Watch it, zombie," a coffin, said, ramming the butt of his gun into Yoongi's back, causing him to fall forward slightly, catching himself before he fully hit the ground.

He turns back to look at you, your face set as you gave him a small nod, holding up five fingers above your head. Yoongi hopes that he's right as he counts down from five, cursing to himself as he reaches one and unleashes all that is inside of himself.

It feels like nothing which makes it all the more difficult for Yoongi to explain. Normally, he feels restless, the fire inside of him always under his skin, roaring to be let out. But when he does, it's quiet.

He feels at peace as the world burns around him. As if this is the way it should be, the world scorched as Yoongi moves among.

He's both there and he is not, as he seems to step outside of his body as it turns into a firebomb. For a moment it seems like he can walk around and watch all the destruction he's caused. As if time itself stops.

This time is no different than the last and the time before that, though something catches his eye that never has before. He realizes it's you as your hand reaches out to him and for a moment he is filled with dread as he is certain he was wrong and you weren't able to get away, but as your hand meets his, he realizes it's not you, or at least not totally. It's your shadow meeting his as the flames burn all around you.

And just as quickly as he realizes it's you, he returns to himself, the flames returning to their ever-burning state inside of himself.

The coffins are gone, scorched earth in their wake, and before he can mourn their lives, you're back, looking at him with wide eyes.

You've seen it now, seen what he can do, but you don't look at him with fear. It's wonder in your eyes.

"Shadowstep," you said. "I know how to shadowstep. In case it ever comes up again."

"I saw you," he said, though maybe it's obvious.

"And I saw you," you said, nodding your head. "I told you," you continued. "Flames don't scare me."

They normally scare Yoongi, but as the two of you return to your building, he thinks he could get used to them. If they didn't scare you, maybe one day they wouldn't scare him. As long as you were by his side he supposed it was possible.

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #suga fanfic #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi x reader #cyberpunk au #bangtan fanfic #iron world #magicshopnet

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keinart · 6 years

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Weekly Update and Dicing Character Sprites

ENGLISH:

For this week update I’ll talk about Dicing, it is something I mentioned before in a previous entry but I’ll give examples this time. If you are a VN dev you should definitely check it out it will make your life so much easier and your game size a lot smaller! And since we are talking about technology I decided to open the entry with Rosemary because you guys didn’t give her enough love in the poll.

Anyways for starters I’ll talk about updates for a bit, there’s not much however because real life work plus some other issues. We got some serious trouble with graphic design that are now fixed, however we will probably change the design we had before and probably start again from the ground up. Follow our Discord to get updates on that before anyone and give your feedback, it will be really useful for us! (Or just come to post memes, it’s what we usually do).

Apart from that I got some scripting going and some development in art. Not much but we never stop!

Now about Dicing. No, it has nothing to do with cooking but I feel like making the joke with the screenshot. Please kill me.

I’ve mentioned before how we are using Unity together with Utage to work on this game, and one of the main reasons was because of this.

Visual Novels have always been kinda low resolution. Until recently most Visual Novels were 800x600 (some STILL are). The are several reasons for that but the main one is because Visual Novels use a lot of uncompressed images and having tons of them in high resolution could give issues when running in potato computers, or other devices.

Indies visual novel games resolution in the west however are usually larger since it is easier for them. They don’t have many backgrounds or characters. This project is a bit different, by combining several gestures and body parts we have around 100 variations of expressions per character, and each sprite has crazy huge resolutions (around 2000x3000 pixels depending of the character). We could make them smaller for sure, there are tons of ways, but we want to make it so it looks GREAT no matter your screen. Also we need to use crazy high resolution sprites because that way we can put the characters in different distances during the game, making it a lot more dynamic.

Having different sprites for different perspectives would be a bit overkill, so the usual is just using high resolution sprites and make them smaller depending of your needs. Lotus Reverie characters are usually in these three perspectives as the example just above.

Now to do expressions is just a variation of body position, gesture (different hands or head position), mouth, eyes, eyebrows and some other minor details. What most visual novels do is just separate in different images each of these parts, so you have a full body image without face or arms generally, then have another images with different arms, other with different mouths, etc.

This is pretty convenient and of course it reduces a lot the size of your game compared to having one full sprite for every little change in expression, but it has a few of negative points:

While scripting you can’t check the characters different expressions unless you export them individually, meaning you still have to create full body images for your characters and try them out for each line if you wanna test how they will work out in the game before actually putting them together, adding more work during the programming.

Programming becomes a bit harder and it is easier to get bugs. Sometimes a particular part of the body will not appear in the position you wish, or the different eyebrows positions are hard to determine so you need to spend a lot of time to get it right unless you create big pngs full of nothingness, or the layer for some parts will be below the characters, or animations need to move all the different parts that compose the character at the same time. There are ways around all of this but it can be messy.

The game still needs to have in the memory tons of images ready depending of what will you use later. For any scene your game will probably mix a lot of different variations of expressions so that’s a fair number of images the game needs to load in advance with the respective slow down that comes with having to preload and close them in the background.

Here’s where Dicing comes into the game. It’s a pretty simple system that fixes all these issues. You export all your characters expressions full body normally, like this.

And then you take all of them together and juse Dice them. The result? Something like this:

Still pretty, Columbine.

Basically it automatically identifies all the part of the images and dice them into small parts, then remove all the parts that are the same and make a single image with all the parts that are different. This reduces the size of the image a lot, makes your work easier since you only need to press one button, it doesn’t create any bugs of different images going their way neither you need to complicate your life with positions or defining every single part in your programming, and this means that per character you will only have one single image to load in your memory instead of trillions of them, which by the way is great for memory usage optimization.

This can be used also for backgrounds, particularly if you have several backgrounds with different variations (like day/night), since you will reduce all the parts that look the same and only take the ones that are different. My backgrounds went from this:

To this:

But where it works wonders is without no doubt with characters. This is what Columbine size was when having all the images as single sprites:

And this is after Dicing:

They are still pretty big pictures for sure, since everything is really high quality, but with this the game only has to preload around 10 pictures in the background during the entire game, all of them diced.

So if you are a dev, you should definitely check out this method to develop and make your game smaller and run smoother.

This was longer than expected! But I wanted to give some insight into VN development too for those who have no idea. Hope you guys liked it. Until next update!

ESPAÑOL:

Para esta semana hablaré sobre Dicing. Se trata de un método que ya mencioné en una entrada anterior pero del que esta vez daré ejemplos. Si eres un desarrollador de novelas visuales esta entrada seguro que te interesará. Es algo que puede hacer tu vida mucho más fácil y el tamaño de tu juego mucho más pequeño. Y ya que estamos hablando de tecnología he decidido abrir la entrada con Rosemary que necesita más amor que el que le habéis dado en la encuesta.

Para empezar de todas maneras voy a hablar un poco de actualizaciones. No hay mucho que decir debido a mi trabajo en la vida real y otros problemas. Hemos tenido algunos serios retrasos respecto al diseño gráfico que ya han sido arreglados, aunque nuestro diseño probablemente va a cambiar y vamos a empezar de cero. Nos ayudaría muchísimo si os unís a nuestro Discord para que así podáis seguir las actualizaciones antes que nadie y nos podáis dar vuestra opinión sobre los nuevos cambios (o solo postear memes, que es lo que solemos hacer).

Aparte de eso he conseguido avanzar un poco con el scripting y avanzar con unas cuantas partes del arte. Sin prisa pero sin pausa.

Ya lo he mencionado antes pero estamos usando Unity junto con Utage para trabajar en este juego, y este es uno de los motivos principales.

Las novelas visuales siempre han tendido a tener resoluciones bajas. Hasta hace poco la mayoría de novelas visuales eran 800x600 (algunas de hecho se siguen haciendo a esa resolución). Hay varios motivos para esto pero uno de ellos es porque las VNs usan muchas imágenes sin comprimir y si todas estas fueran de alta resolución podría dar problemas en los ordenadores y dispositivos más patata.

Novelas visuales occidentales generalmente usan resoluciones mayores ya que es más fácil al no tener demasiados fondos y personajes. Este proyecto es un poco distinto sin embargo, al combinar todas las partes de los personajes tenemos en torno a 100 variaciones de expresiones por personajes, y cada sprite tiene resoluciones altísimas (en torno a 2000x3000 píxeles dependiendo del personaje). Podríamos hacerlas más pequeñas de muchas maneras claro que sí, pero la idea es que se vea de lujo sin importar lo grande que sea tu pantalla. Además también necesitamos sprites de tamaños enormes para que podamos jugar con diferentes distancias con el juego y volverlo más dinámico.

Tener diferentes sprites para diferentes perspectivas sería una locura, por lo que lo usual suele ser utilizar sprites en resoluciones grandes y hacerlas pequeñas dependiendo de lo que necesites. En Lotus Reverie los personajes generalmente vienen en estas tres perspectivas como el ejemplo de arriba.

En cuanto a hacer variación de expresiones suele depender de posiciones del cuerpo, gestos (las manos o la cabeza en diferentes posiciones por ejemplo), boca, ojos, cejas, y algunos otros detalles. Lo que hacen la mayoría de novelas es crear imágenes diferentes para cada una de las partes. Al final terminas con una imagen del cuerpo completo sin brazos por ejemplo, y entonces lo unes con otra que tiene los brazos, otra que solo tiene la boca, otra los ojos, etc.

Esto es bastante conveniente y por supuesto reduce el tamaño de juego comparado con tener sprites completos por cada pequeño cambio de expresión, pero tiene unos cuantos puntos negativos:

Mientras haces el scripting no puedes comprobar sus diferentes expresiones por separado a no ser que las guardes individualmente, lo que significa que al final tienes que hacer las imágenes con cuerpo completo sí o sí y probarlas si quieres ver cómo van a quedar. Además tienes que definir muchas más cosas a nivel de programación.

Programar se vuelve un poco más difícil igual que tener bugs. A veces una parte particular del cuerpo aparece en una posición distinta, o las cejas necesitan que las posiciones en sitios distintos dándote más trabajo a no ser que hagas pngs enormes llenos de nada, o la capa en la que sale está por debajo del personaje en sí, o la animación al mover todas las partes a la vez falla. Hay muchas formas de evitar todo esto pero a veces puede volverse un tanto molesto.

El juego necesita tener todas estas imágenes en la memoria listas para ser abiertas. Cualquier escena de tu juego probablemente va a mezclar muchas variaciones de expresiones por lo que el juego necesita ir preparando y quitando un buen número de imágenes.

Aquí es donde entra el Dicing. Es un sistema bastante sencillo que te ahorra todos esos problemas. Lo que haces es exportar todas las expresiones de tus personajes con su cuerpo completo tal que así:

Y luego las pone todas juntas y las corta. Este es el resultado:

Sigue siendo adorable mi Columbine...

Lo que hace es identificar todas las partes de la imagen y cortarlas en cachitos pequeños, entonces quita todas las partes que estén repetidas y lo convierte todo en una única imagen que reúne todas las partes distintas. Esto reduce el tamaño de la imagen, hace mucho más fácil trabajar ya que solo tienes que tocar un botón, no crea bugs de diferentes imágenes haciendo lo que les venga en gana, y también significa que el juego solo necesita una única imagen por personaje que cargar en tu memoria, lo que ayuda a la optimización y facilidad de la memoria de tu dispositivo.

Esto también sirve en fondos, especialmente si tienes fondos con diferentes variaciones tipo noche y día, ya que quita de en medio todas las partes que son iguales y hace. En nuestro caso de entre todas los fondos que llevamos vayan de esto:

A esto:

Aunque donde se crea una diferencia considerable es con los personajes. Esto es lo que cambia el tamaño de Columbine de cuando está todo dividido en sprites individuales:

Y esto es tras el Dicing:

Siguen siendo imágenes grandes por supuesto, ya que todo es de muy alta calidad, pero ahora el juego solo tiene que ocuparse de unas 10 imágenes en la memoria en total durante todo el juego, todas ellas optimizadas.

Así que si eres un dev no dudes en echarle un vistazo a este método, que seguro que hace tu juego funcionar mejor y ocupar mucho menos.

Vaya esta entrada ha sido mucho más larga de lo que esperaba, pero espero haber dado cierta idea sobre el desarrollo de NVs para aquellos que no tengan ni idea. Espero que os haya gustado, ¡hasta la próxima!

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elsewhereuniversity · 7 years

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(re-submitting after edits)

I really loved the Elsewhere University’s comic and kind of got inspired? I’m not much of a writer so it’s not too good, but I hope you’ll still like it!

When Pokémon Go was first released, Elsewhere University was in hysterics. While the rest of the world was playing this innocent little game, professors at Elsewhere were busy confiscating the phones of freshies and blocking the app store from Elsewhere’s internet services. Everyone except the freshmen Knew. They Knew of the Danger and safely stayed away from all mentions of Pokémon. Because contrary to popular beliefs, Pokémon were real. They weren’t called Pokémon, sure, but no one doubted that they existed. They had the same powers and enough of the same physical attributes to be identifiable, but they were more corrupt and surreal than the childhood companions, lurking in the dark shadowy realms of Elsewhere. They existed in convenience store parking lots at 2 in the morning. They existed in the form of the Not Right animals seen on long car rides when drivers and passengers alike were too tired to believe what they had witnessed. They existed as the inhuman screeches heard in the woods, the screeches that anyone with a right mind would stay away from. They were not typical fae though, for they had far less interest in humans. Whereas normal fae still used humans as a source of entertainment or as pawns, these Other fae, the Pokémon, despised humans. If a human dared come within their vicinity…well, let’s just say that there have been no souls intact enough to tell those stories. Until Eevee.

Eevee had had the unfortunate chance of meeting one back in her first year at college. She supposed, looking back now, that it was her fault for being so ignorant and naive, for choosing the name of a Pokémon as her alias. She hadn’t known though. She couldn’t have. Even so, the name was her first mistake.

It had been a normal morning, except she hadn’t payed attention to her surroundings or where her feet were carrying her like she had been warned to—her second mistake. She had ended up walking into a peaceful clearing that she was fairly certain did not belong on their campus, and in her dazed, barely awake state of mind, she had thought herself lucky. Some places in the university only revealed themselves to a select few, she had heard, and sometimes they were extremely beneficial, especially for studying. So yes, she had thought herself lucky, thought that she had found another pocket of twisted time. She had even thought herself special and had almost preened at the attention the fae gave her. Other students had the deep recesses of the library, but she had gotten her own clearing. However, in Elsewhere, you should never make assumptions like Eevee had. This was her third mistake.

“I’ll just stay for a little bit, get some of my studying done,” She had told herself. Fourth mistake.

She had spread the salt in a circle around her. She had thought that would be enough. (She was sorely mistaken. Pokémon were not affected by salt or iron. They were made of a different matter entirely, fae but not fae, shifty forms that the human eye could barely concentrate on.)

Around an hour into her study period (Time was warped there, so she couldn’t be sure of anything at all), a rustling behind her had caught her attention, and she turned around. She saw nothing. It was a clearing, so there were no bushes or leaves to rustle, but she could’ve sworn she had heard something. It unnerved her. Common sense told her to pack her things and run, to leave as soon as possible, sprinkling salt on her body, behind her, everywhere.

(She had never been good at listening to her common sense.)

Instead, she had turned back around, only a little more alert than before. This was her fifth mistake.

It was good that she had played lacrosse back in high school because her reflexes were sharpened from years of dodging and weaving and cradling. It was good that she had played lacrosse back in high school because when the thing jumped out at her, she had been prepared. Salt in hand (useless, but she didn’t know that), she had jumped up onto her feet, leaping away from the shadow and muttering an ancient banishing spell under her breath. (Her ancestors had been witches, burned at the stake in Salem, Massachusetts.)

The creature had leaned back. It wasn’t much, but a surge of pride had coursed through Eevee’s body. She wasn’t completely powerless here. She had her words, carefully chosen. She had her swift speed and precise arm, carefully developed over five years. She had her brain and her salt and her iron and her ring, small weapons and tokens to aid her. In that moment, she had not felt completely powerless. She had felt strong, almost able to conquer that which stood (floated? existed?) before her. Feelings never quite equated to reality, however, and this was her sixth mistake.

The shifty darkness had come closer and Eevee was finally able to take a longer look. It’s physical form had appeared to be feline, but it did not have fur or texture on its back. Rather, most of its body (if you could call it that) was of black. It was not made of ooze or skin or blubber or any Earthen matter, but of literal black, and, clearly, the substance was not meant for human minds to think about. Eevee immediately shifted her eyes somewhere else. Golden, blinding circles had met her stare. Sharp teeth extended from the creature’s face and from underneath the creature, where the stomach should have been (she couldn’t be sure of what part of the creature anything was). It was as if the belly had been carved out and replaced with razor sharp pearls, glistening dangerously, singing out to her. The worst part, however, were the eyes-a hypnotizing blood red that dared her to touch it and be sucked into the void.

“Umbreon,” it had hissed, as if sensing her shocked realization. Umbreon, the Pokémon. Umbreon, the evolution of Eevee. Which was her name. Overwhelmed with this new information and still not truly believing that Pokemon existed, Eevee had shrunk into herself. This was her seventh mistake—fae could see fear; they knew who were weak and who were not.

The creature-Umbreon-had let out a gurgling, chortling laugh that came from two feet above her head. It Knew.

“Little girl,” It had purred out, “You bear the name of my descendant. What makes you believe you are worthy?”

A trick question. It had to have been a trick question. No human could be worthy of a fae name, especially not her. She couldn’t have run away though, or throw salt. Umbreon had asked her a question and it would be impolite to do so, not to mention dangerous.

“I mean no offense,” She had managed to bite out, sinking into a low bow.

“I know you don’t,” He (?) had replied, a hint of amusement tinting his words, “Humans never do.”

The vague quality of his (she had decided to call it a him) words paired with his tone had raised warning bells in her head. Not knowing what to do, she had stood there, waiting, hand closing around some iron. It was only then that she had noticed Umbreon was within her circle of salt; he had easily stepped across it. Eevee’s eyes widened at the realization that he was immune. How was he immune?

“I ask you again: What makes you believe you are worthy?” Umbreon interrupted her thoughts.

“I am not,” She replied simply, deciding that it was the safest course of action.

Umbreon had fallen silent again, judging her. His teeth snapped at her, both sets–the ones below him and on his face. Once, twice, three times. Eevee had tried not to flinch, but when Umbreon had circled around her like a real cat, closing in and brushing her legs, her arms, her hair, she broke.

In a flurry of panic, not wanting to know where this would lead, she had thrown the iron against Umbreon, trying to press it against him. (Eighth mistake.) It fell through as if he was incorporeal, but she could feel him, so obviously he wasn’t. Either way, she had threatened him, attempted to hurt him. Umbreon had hissed, teeth bared in response. She looked into his eyes. (Ninth mistake.) Almost instantaneously, she had been able to feel a part of her fall away into the void of his pelt.

“Get. Out,” he had growled, words low and rumbling, poison laced in each of the words. She could feel herself crumbling and melting, her vision pixelating, her eyes burning, and a darkness sinking into her. Immediately, she had turned tail and ran out, leaving her textbook and homework behind. As she ran, the woods had closed in behind her, and by the time she had gotten back on familiar ground, the clearing was no longer visible. In fact, it was like the clearing had never existed.

When she was back in her dorm, feeling a little more safe and a little more secure, heart still working fiercely under the stress of her experience, she let herself cry. Falling down to her knees, she cradled herself. Bits of her were broken: her childhood wonder was gone, her imagination was gone, her creativity was gone. Umbreon had taken them all, absorbed them into himself. Invaluable aspects of her were forever lost, and with them, her happiness. The adrenaline had slowly faded bit by bit, replaced with anger towards herself, and an aching sadness in her chest that she still carried to this day. Halfway through her breakdown, a harsh sting had shattered her tears. She had looked down, too surprised to feel the full extent of the pain, and had discovered a nasty array of rashes, burns, and purple bumps lining the inside of her arms. Further inspection had revealed that the same collection was scattered across her chest and ribcage. They had stung and itched and prickled and hurt.

That was then. She’s more experienced now-a junior, but that doesn’t mean she’s recovered. She still has the scars across her arms and chest, phantom pains shooting across them every now and then. She still wakes in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming, her soul ripping itself apart. She has not been herself since, and despite all her efforts, she will never be again. She knows this. So, when Pokémon Go was released, she was not scared. She is not scared. She is strong and ready, both mentally and physically. This is her chance to forget, to numb the pain, to be fully consumed (she would rather be an empty shell of a person than have what little is left of her clatter around aimlessly within her, reminding her of what she’s lost). This is her chance.

So, late one night, she walks off campus and downloads Pokémon Go. (After all, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain.)

[x]

#onceuponademigawd #stories #HAHAHA this is great and creepy #for some reason the idea of students referring to all gentry unequivocally as pokemon just cracks me up #pokemon creatures like that one politcal cartoon #not quite canon #submission

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ernmark · 7 years

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@typehere452 requested “Blankets, hot warm non-alcoholic beverages and someone who figured out what happen and wants to help out even if Juno is most likely to refuse all that.” in response to the fic where Juno thinks Peter is dead.

Juno’s world is fuzzy with drink, but he’s still aware that he isn’t alone in his apartment.

“Wow,” says a voice. A familiar voice. “That’s… you said this happens often?”

“All the time.” This voice is easier to identify. He’d know Rita anywhere. “I mean, it used to happen every once in a while, like on the anniversary of… some days. But it’s been getting real bad lately. I don’t even know what happened.”

What happened is that Nuryeyev’s death has finally hit the mainstream news– along with a video. If there was any doubt in his mind that Peter was dead for real, that video put it to rest.

It’s the end of a chase scene, Nureyev leaping from rooftop to rooftop while New Kinshasan guards are in hot pursuit, his face alight with the thrill of the chase. And then, mid-stride, he’s struck by a bolt from the sky. He falters. He falls. He hits the ground.

And then they play it again. Because it’s a short clip, not even a minute long, and the talking heads who report the news need longer than that to give it context. So they just repeat the video again and again. Run, falter, fall. Run, falter, fall.

It’s everywhere. Juno can’t do research on his cases without seeing Nureyev die in the sidebar. He can’t turn on the radio without hearing strangers celebrate his death. He can’t skim tabloids without finding speculation on where he spent the last twenty years.

It was bad enough when he saw Nureyev die every time he closed his eye. Now it’s happening even when he has it open.

He’s going to lose his mind if this keeps up. So he drinks himself into a stupor, and prays it’ll be over soon.

“Do you think you can help him?” Rita asks.

He wants to point out that the only help he needs is a refill, but he’s too tongue-tied to say so. Instead he only grunts.

The other woman – now he remembers, it’s Alessandra– sighs. “Well, let’s start with getting him off the floor. Rita, can you get his feet?”

Juno is only vaguely aware of being picked up off the floor and hoisted into his bed. He mumbles protests, but she strokes his hair.

Alessandra cradles his head in her arm and helps him drink something decidedly non-alcoholic, and he might have spat it out if he wasn’t so thirsty. Her arm is replaced by a pillow, and her warm presence is substituted with a blanket– and then a second blanket, and a third. Alessandra tucks him in snugly and kisses his forehead.

Still, she picks up a blanket and wraps it snugly around him. Then another, and another. How did she find all his blankets? Is it laundry day or something?

“It’s okay, Juno. We’re going to fix this.”

But there is no fixing this. That’s the problem.

He’s barely awake for five minutes before Alessandra is pushing a mug of coffee into his hands. “That’ll help with the hangover.”

“This isn’t my first one,” he rasps. “I can handle it.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Drink up.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Juno asks, but he’s already nursing the coffee. He’s not about to admit that it really does help a little. He’s got his pride.

“I’ve got a case. And I could use your help with it.”

“I think you’re going to be disappointed.” He sighs. But if it’ll get him out of his apartment and give him something else to think about for a few minutes… “Fine. What do you need?”

“I need to know why Arch Chancellor Rossignol wants you dead.”

And suddenly being blackout drunk starts to look appealing again. That’s a name he never wanted to hear again.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met her.”

“But you know who she is,” Alessandra points out. “And that she identifies as a woman. That’s more than most people on Mars.”

Of course he does, but only because he’s seen her through Nureyev’s eyes. That was decades ago, in New Kinshasa. Another place he doesn’t want to think about right now. Because if he starts thinking about it, he starts toying with little ‘what if’s, and from there it’s just a few steps to asking himself if murdering a city full of people might have been worth saving one man.

And it’s not. It’s not, and he knows it, and that makes him hate himself for halfway wishing it had happened.

“What can I say?” he says, trying to steer himself away from the black hole in his chest. “I like my trivia shows.”

“Well, she’s heard of you,” Alessandra says. “And it looks like you made an impression. While you’ve been hitting the bottle, she’s sent a few dozen assassin drones after you. I’ve been able to take them down before they cause much trouble, but I want to know why. I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation.”

Juno respects Alessandra. She seems to like him, despite her better judgement, and he doesn’t want to screw that up. So he tactfully doesn’t say the first few things that cross his mind, and diverts the conversation entirely: “What does that have to do with your case?”

“You are my case, Juno. I got offered a lot of money to keep you safe.”

Wait. Say that again? “From who?”

“Rossignol, obviously, but the Triad and the Kanagawas have both put out new hits on you, too.” She casts a sidelong glance at Rita, who’s been spending most of this conversation carrying crates of empty bottles out the door to be recycled. “And maybe from yourself, while we’re at it. It was a pretty open-ended assignment.”

"I mean your client,” Juno says. “Who was your client?"

“I don’t know. They’ve been doing a lot to stay anonymous. I’ve tried running some decryption software on their messages, but so far I’ve got nothing. That’s why I started talking to Rita in the first place. I figured if anyone could break through all of this, it would be her.”

“They didn’t even tell you their name, and you took the case anyway?” Juno asks, but time feels distorted. It’s like he’s falling into a gravity well, the entire galaxy shifted and stretched in unnatural ways.

“If it was for anyone else, I wouldn’t,” Alessandra says. “But for you, I made an exception.”

And she’s not the only one who made an exception for him–

But that can’t be right. It can’t be real. And he can’t let himself start thinking that way, even for a second. Because if he entertains that kind of hope, the despair that follows it is going to kill him.

It’s got to be somebody else. Sasha– but why would she bother with secrecy?– or Mick – where the hell would he get that kind of money? – or Vicky – sure, she likes him, but not enough to do something like this – or Julian – okay, so he might actually pull off something this elaborate to be dramatic, but you’d think he’d get bored by now.

Maybe one of his enemies is trying to toy with him?

Alessandra is smiling grimly. “It’s good to see your mind working again, Juno. That stupor of yours was hard to watch.”

“Nobody said you had to watch,” Juno says, but moves on. “Did this mystery client tell you why they wanted you looking out for me?”

“They seemed to know that you and I had history,” she said. “In fact, they seemed to be counting on it. So they had to have known about the DiMaggio case. And they have to have some kind of attachment to you. The Triad and the Kanagawas, too– the hits they put on you aren’t the kind they give out as favors to other factions. They’re personal. From what I can tell, you’ve done something to disrespect them, and they want revenge.”

“I’ve done plenty of that,” Juno says. And he tries not to think it, tries to steer away from the void.

“But you didn’t always do it alone, did you?”

She pulls out her phone and offers it to him. He doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to look.

“Recognize this man?”

It’s an ID photo of Peter Nureyev, smiling and charismatic in a Dark Matters uniform. She gestures over the screen, and the image changes. This one is crisp and clear and stamped with the official Kanagawa channel watermark: Nureyev, barely an inch away from a flustered-looking Juno, a gore-covered mask in his gloved hands. Another shot, pixellated, clearly cropped from a larger wide-angle camera. Nureyev again, leaning suggestively over a dinner table in an old-fashioned Triad restaurant. Another one of them leaving that restaurant, bloody and bruised, Nureyev gazing tenderly at Juno as he helps him walk on a mangled leg.

No wonder people get so violent when he investigates them– this is awful. He feels violated, his innermost secrets scrubbed raw and laid out in front of two of the people he actually still cares about. Of all the pictures Alessandra had to have dug through, she picked those. The ones that leave no room to deny exactly how Peter and Juno felt about each other. Between the time stamps on the pictures and the look that must be on Juno’s face right now, there can’t be much left to the imagination: this is the man he rejected Alessandra for.

She has no right to know, but it’s her job, and she’s damn good at it.

He swallows. “Agent Rex Glass. We worked a case together.”

“That might be what he told you,” Alessandra says quietly. “But that’s not who he really is.” She gestures, and the picture changes again. This time he’s eighteen years old and unsmiling as he poses for his annual government-mandated mug shot. The last one he took before he killed his father and fled Brahma. “Peter Nureyev, an infamous terrorist and resistance icon on Brahma. Twenty years ago he took an entire city hostage, and he’s been threatening to drop it out of the sky ever since.”

The next picture is a piece of graffiti, stenciled with spray paint: a vengeful seraph is swinging a sword at a planet. In its way is a shield, held by a stylized, almost cartoonish young Peter Nureyev. Bold lettering captions the image: “OUR REAL GUARDIAN ANGEL”.

“In fact, Arch Chancellor Rossignol reached the position she has on the promise that she’d be the one to bring him down. And two weeks ago, that’s exactly what she did.”

She gestures again, and Juno knows exactly what video will be playing when he looks down. He can’t look. He just can’t.

“And less than four hours later, the first assassin drone came looking for you at your apartment.”

“Why?” His voice is almost inaudible.

“Maybe someone on her staff was a fan of the Kanagawa feeds and recognized Nureyev from the propaganda posters. Maybe someone from the local gangs wanted to get cozy with the ruling class on Brahma. But somewhere along the line, Rossignol must have figured out that the best way to get to Nureyev is through you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Juno says. Or it does, but he can’t acknowledge it even when it’s staring him in the face. “Why bother getting to him when he’s already dead?”

“Because I don’t think he is,” Alessandra says. “Look at that footage. There are cameras all over Brahma, but they only ever showed one video. No other pictures. No other angles. Nothing before, no body afterward. Not even a report of how they found him or what he was doing at the time.”

Juno lets himself fall out of orbit and into that black hole. Time and light and space stop making sense. “You think the video was staged.”

“I think it wouldn’t be the first time somebody got replaced by a mechanical puppet.”

“To make good on her promise,” Juno says, and his voice is cold as the void.

“But the fake wouldn’t have mattered for anything if Nureyev popped up again afterward. So she’s been attacking you here, probably hoping he’d try to contact you, to warn you or tell you he’s still alive.”

“And meanwhile they’d be watching to see where that communication came from, and they’d track it back to him,” Juno concludes. But he’s reached the singularity, and at the other end of it is a blinding, beautiful light. “But they wouldn’t think to look at you.”

“Not at first, anyway,” she says. “But by the time they realized I was protecting you, I suspect my client was already long gone.”

Her client, who knew about the case Juno and Alessandra worked together, because he was there. Who knew they had a connection, respect– hell, he probably even knew about their make out during the stakeout. And that was a connection nobody else would make.

And suddenly he wants to throw off these blankets and take a shower and get out there and beat some goddamn heads in, because he’s thrumming with energy along an entire spectrum of wavelengths– anxious and exhilarated and furious and defiant, all of them at once and more.

Because Peter goddamn Nureyev is alive.

#the penumbra podcast #fanfiction #writing prompt #wow okay this one got rather long

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realklimt · 6 years

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25/6/18

It’s been absolutely hectic since the funeral and between hangovers and parties I haven’t had time to write. I guess given the aforementioned observation that its almost better to write about events after some time has elapsed so that they’ve had time to congeal into a narrative, that isn’t such a bad thing after all. Anyway, I’m on the train to Bristol now (going to clear out my room) and finally have some time to dedicate to getting it all down on ‘paper’ (‘pixel’?). I brought my laptop and everything, so hopefully I’m gna be able to get a pretty damn good account of things.

The influence of rereading Diary 2 weighs heavy, and inspired by the imaginative structure I employed to record my final days at school I’m going to recycle it and take you through the past few days party by party. Party, of course, I’m using very loosely, to refer first of all to:

Party 1 – The Funeral

Paradoxical, right? I’d love to be able to say with whole hearted conviction that I’m describing Mum’s funeral as a party because it was a celebration of her life. Unfortunately I didn’t really spend that much time celebrating her, by which I mean talking about her and stuff like that. Most of the time was given over to playing host (Beth, Susan, Sheelps, Georgie, Anjie, Charlie, Alia, Soph, Edmund, Paige, Mel, Milla – u see, an awkward group in need of being comingled, I was on fire) and having a good old giggle and a chinwag with my much missed friends. I think I enjoyed it – the wake part at least – because it was just exactly what I’ve been craving to do for ages – have a drink in luxury with my mates entirely at the expense of someone else (pun – Dad’s money, Mum’s life?). Anyway, I don’t feel so guilty about it because it was a bloody good distraction and exactly what I needed, and besides, what’s the point in being sad?

I’m jumping ahead of myself a bit though because I haven’t even tried to address everything that came before the wake, you know, all the stuff in the cars and the church and that. I managed to keep upbeat and focused on looking forwards to having a drink and a chat with my friends through most of the church. I was trying, dangerously, to balance reverence with excitement, and I didn’t succeed entirely. Processing into the church on Max’s arm I spotted the Bristol kids standing over at the far end of the Church’s parking lot space and gave them a craned head grin. I think I got away with that bit but I know I didn’t get away with the poke in the ribs I gave Alia by way of greeting (I hadn’t considered she was coming, I was buzzing) because when the time came to peace-be-with-you in the middle of mass Smel refused to shake my hand, gave me one of her filthiest glares, and informed me that she couldn’t believe I had said hello to Alia and that I was disgusting. The whole thing hit a nerve, the nerve that was feeling guilty about being so upbeat at Mum’s funeral, and was probably responsible for my subsequent mellowing, and inability to hold back the tears. Moon River, violinned at the end of the Mass, completely did Dad, and it fucked me quite a lot too. But then I would have to be a proper bastard not to have cried at that.

The crem wasn’t so bad. Channah made a really nice speech. I think the thing was that I knew it would be over in 20 minutes and then the whole, sad, hard thing was at an end, and I could go get drunk with my friends. There was one totally bit, which was, like the church, right at the end. That song came on (crazy how music is always the trigger for emotion – observe) and it was that song that Dad picked, I think it’s called ‘Loving You’. Anyway its completely beautiful and utterly perfect. There’s a lyric which goes something like ‘loving you makes everyday be in spring time’ – anyway that’s the sentiment, and that sentiment is what really fucked me up. Being with Mum really was like being in one long, eternal summer holiday – there was always laughter blooming like flowers and the house was always full and in bloom and I can’t refine this metaphor now because it’s making me want to cry on the train but basically the house used to be really full with flowers and now it just feels kind of awkward and empty and it’s never going to be full to the bursting again because there’s a big ass gap where she should be.

Let’s keep it happy now. Because really, apart form those few moments, it was a good day, and I had fun. Everyone dribbled away and in the end the only people left were the family, so all the cousins and of course Maria. She was being strangely very good fun at the Wentworth and, basically completely drunk, I ended up having a good old laugh and chat with her which I carried on into the taxi home, where it morphed into some stupid declaration of ongoing affection (you know the drill – ‘I know we’ve grown apart but the great thing is that whenever we see each other it’s exactly the same’ – all that bullshit). So we were all piled into a cab and we got home, there were like twenty or so people there what with Channah and Craig and I think Chrissy and Sean too from Dad’s friends, and of course Dad and Smell and Uncle Tony (Max still in the thick of exams so was taken home by Angie) and Me and Johnny and Maria. Started feeding myself and Maria and Smell some gin and tonics but got bored of that so asked Maria, on a bizarre whim that was obviously brewing for a while but which I fully accept was entirely inappropriate, if she’d like to do some coke. I don’t know if she felt obliged to indulge me given that it was Jackie’s funeral or if she just genuinely fancied it but she said ‘I mean, sure, if we can’t today then when can we’ and we trotted upstairs, did a key in the locked bathroom, then fell on my bed, wide eyed and high, and got very deep very fast. As always with coke I remember feeling at total liberty to say absolutely anything I fancied (ah, the perfect drug) but struggling to find the right words (at a few moments I literally exclaimed ‘damn I’m not making sense I’m too high to articulate’), and not able to remember exactly what it was I did end up saying. But the basic gist was a general outpouring of cooped up thoughts (I hadn’t had the chance to vent to anyone other than this diary for weeks). I’m not sure I brought it up or if she did but we ended up on the topic of our similarly long term boyfriends and our similar frustration and desire to ‘experience more’. That’s how I got the scoop that Maria is almost definitely going to end it with Johnny, amicably if she can, and with the potential to rediscover one another after discovering themselves. Interesting stuff, stuff I’ve since been happy to disseminate in traditionally loose lipped fashion (really should work on that) but also stuff which I can entirely identify with. More than anything I think I’m just bored with Charlie and frustrated that that isn’t sufficient motivation to end a largely happy and functional relationship. So basically what I’m getting at is that I identify a lot with her at the moment, and that since she’s stopped being obsessed with Johnny she’s sort of reverted to her old, fun self, and basically, made me very tempted to take her up on her invitation to go visit Brighton and see her art show later this week.

Once we’d ridden the high down a few earthward sloping cloud banks (or should I say ‘I’d’ – she kept insisting she wasn’t very high) it felt safe enough to venture downstairs. The party had dribbled away and it ended up being just Johnny, Maria, Channah, Craig and myself slobbing around the early hours kitchen. Channah, Johnny and I had a conversation about Grandad on the sofa in which Channah vehemently defended him against my accusations (‘selfish, arrogant’ parried with ‘he may have been an awful father but he was my Grandad and he was sick’) with Johnny riding the middle ground. That chat wound up and then it was onto the next one in the kitchen, though this felt less like a chat than the q & a with the victim of mourning everyone has been hoping for these past months. I wound up in the hotseat, the swivel stool floating ominously adrift of all other furniture in the middle of the kitchen floor (my emotional isolation…). Channah, drunk and slurring, was the luck interviewer who finally had enough dutch courage to interrogate me with a vengeance.

Accusations came veiled in sympathy and support – ‘you seem alright now but when it does hit you you know that we’re all here for you because you’re my little cousin an I love you’. I’m proud because I think that I rather eloquently externalised the internal monologue that has backing tracked the past few weeks, namely how it has already hit me and I’m okay and I’ve somehow managed to internalise it all and not get completely fucked up. I trotted out the much rehearsed soliloquy on why I don’t feel life is unfair, you know, the one with the babies that get the exact same thing and the people whose whole family get killed in bomb raids and how can I say my life is unfair when fairness is measured against the common experience of human life on this planet which tends, almost exclusively, to look beside mine comparatively shit?

Anyway, cue ‘I don’t know how you’re so strong’ and ‘you’ve made everyone so proud’, which was to be expected but still kind of nice feeling. I’m a posturer and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t partly enjoy the limelight my interview afforded me, and the insistence on my own sadness Channah wouldn’t let drop I excuse her on the grounds she was very very drunk and only trying to help. She did ask one question which I stalled at because I simply didn’t think it was a very good one, which was ‘what’s your favourite memory of your Mum?’ – I don’t know but I think that to pick one would be kind of irreverent. Anyway it struck a nerve with Maria because she had a bit to say about how inconsiderate it was during round two of our dmc in my bedroom (under the pretext of getting pyjamas). That conversation was mainly devoted to the sensation of being a circus attraction that comes with grief, which I tried my best to explain ad which Maria was, to her credit, remarkably receptive and kind about. The thing with her is that I know she has a wicked streak, and that however lovely and kind and understanding she can be, I’m always kind of doubting whether it’s all part of some elaborate ruse. If it was, then it worked on the funeral – as I said to her, ‘it’s ironic that everyone keeps trying to get me to talk to them and in the end the only person I’ve opened up to is the one who never pressured me to – you’.

For all that she claimed she was dissatisfied with Johnny, Maria still let him spoon her to sleep on the sofa. I slept on the front room floor with some pillows, and woke up a few hours later. We didn’t get to sleep until 4 am. On Thursday I was trashed.

Party 2 – The Pool Party

The pool in question being Ella’s, the party her 21st. I guess I shouldn’t really have gone to it, given it was only two days after the funeral and Dad was very upset, but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. It was, after all, the very consummation of all my efforts – having gotten good grades, gone to a good university, made rich friends, here I was, the ultimate symbol of social climbing – going to my rich friend’s summer house in the South downs to spend a day drinking, eating, tanning and slobbing about a pristine pool at her parent’s expense. The fact that I’m not even that good friend’s with Ella somehow made it even better. I got in by the skin of my teeth, not on the merit of personality, but social finesse – she couldn’t exclude me because I was a member of her circle, because I’d wormed my way into a house with a group of people far cooler, richer, and prettier than I would ever be. And god, I can tell you, it was literally everything I hoped it would be.

Okay so I kinda fucked up and haven’t had time/ effort to come back to this until now, which is Thursday (28/06/18, in bed, lazy morning) cos the train wasn’t long enough to get it all down and I was at work all day yesterday and Bristol turned out to be more full on than I expected but never mind. I reckon your Mum’s funeral is a pretty *momentous occasion* that deserves to hog a good few hours diary time so it’s really no surprise that parties two and three suffered as a result. In the time that’s elapsed between writing here I’ve also accumulated a fourth party to add to the proceedings, which we’ll get to in due course – but first I better polish of two and three as well as I can (the once crystal memories slip backwards into a murkier abyss).

So to give image of Ella’s pool party in sort of broad strokes: I met Georgie at Clapham where we boarded the train to Barnham, the seat of the Dunn families Sussex retreat. As planned we met Sheelps on the train with her trailing entourage of Ella’s future housemates (Kavya et al.) and, happy surprise, Steffen. The whole party was a real bonding experience, I feel, between me and Steff – he was the only one from his house and immediate circle of friends at the party (others didn’t receive an invite, news received in turn with bitterness), so he had no choice but to attach himself to G and Susan and Beth and I, and we had some good chats, established a sort of rapport. Anyway when we got to Ella’s it was all that was expected but also somehow better – I’d had a great sandstone manor house in mind, but it wa in fact more rustic and cutsie, if still sprawling, all brick and ivy and climbing roses. The whole thing felt very Period drama, what with all the walled gardens connected by hedged walkways and opening onto farmy vistas – that is, until one arrived at the pool area. Think rhombus deck chairs, think polygonal glass poolhouse structure, think ground level wicker sofas, think fire pit and flat screen TV’s: it looked like something off the Kardshian’s, or the villa out of Love Island. The latter association as naturally picked up, and indeed, our twenty four hours spent slobbing around that magnificently modern pool area felt a lot like we were playing at reality tv, hopping from sleepy chat to private gossip, lying on each-others sun warmed arms with the greatest ease and intimacy. Things really picked up when Beth and Susan arrived a few hours after us, and Georgie, Steff and I a somewhat stunted trio on our own, were able to retreat into the warm familiarity of our own established group. Probably my favourite thing about the whole party was how comfortable I felt socially. Relaxing together in our own private deckchair area, bitching about some of Ella’s more irritating friends, sneaking off to get coked up in the tipi away from Ella’s (sensitive? Prying? Judging? Idk she just don’t like drugs) eyes, and staying up when everyone else was engaging in the moronic fraternity (golden sunrise, Will Costello and Dick dancing with us, balanced outrageously on the garden wall, oasis et al classics blaring) it really felt like I’d regained what I loved so much in school, that sensation that I was a key part of a very comfortable club on which others looked in envy and thought ‘wow. I wish I had a group of friends as happy with each other as that’. I’ve never properly felt like that at Uni. Joy.

Party 3 – BBQ

Destroyed on Saturday evening. Train home, near disaster when phone died at Egham station. Couldn’t bear the thought of Dad’s wrath (he get’s especially pissy about travelling without an phone charge), but luckily a kind Indian man in the off licence let me use his phone charger. Dream.

Sunday morning, dragged to horse show but put up with it for UJ because, well, fair. England playing Panama that afternoon so we rushed home where we were met by Frys and family (Tone, Anj, Max, John, Diva etc.) for footy and barby. Max’s friend came too and we were told to get our mates over so after the match Edmund trotted over and we sat and had some drinks in the sun. Camilla finished work at 6:30 and joined us too.

I don’t really know what more to say about party 3 except that it was great fun chatting with Edmund and Milla (Beth keeps saying that she thought all my ‘home friends’ were really fun when she met them a the funeral and it’s at time’s like party 3 that I really believe her) and that it felt a little bit empty because Mum wasn’t there. I kept seeing Dad sitting alone and worrying about him, and hearing snatches of his conversation where he said things like ‘everyday is torture’, so I buried myself in happier chats and a good few drinks and, well yeah. That’s kind of it.

Party 4 – Cocaina Blue Lagoona

Wherein the name gives it away. Monday night in Bristol with Beth and Susan, clearing out the house. Wasn’t the same easy chats and intimacy that I’d been enjoying at Ella’s – suspect it may be something to do with the domestic I overheard Beth and Susan having just before we hit the Lagoon, something about Susan being short and sarcastic with Beth which Beth didn’t like. Interesting insight, we’ll see how that one plays out. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t quite like the idea of wedging myself in the cracks between Beth and Susan – but can you blame me? It’s tiring hanging around best friends.

Anyway, we’d done most of the packing so we hit up Blue Lagoon where, surprise surprise, Maddy was waiting. Maddy’s course friend was also there and though I can’t remember her name I actually really liked her and I thought she was a welcome addition to the party. The same can’t be said for Maddy. I mean, I really have tried to like her and I know she’s sweet really and she really is very kind and including to me but I don’t know – she’s just so loud! And so Maddy orientated. It just get’s wearing sitting in a group and every perceivable lull in conversation is filled with a new exclamation about what Maddy has been up to, which will of course dominate the conversation until she remembers something else she wanted to tell us about her day. Honestly so relieved she’s going on a bloody year abroad. If you want my opinion, she almost always makes a night worse, and seldom improves it. That’s just my honest opinion.

Anyway. Blue Lagoon wouldn’t let us have alcohol outside past 11 so we had to move inside and endure the deafening music in there. Beth snuck to the toilet and did some coke, something she only told Susan and I. After half an hour of conspiratorially waggling her eyebrows across the table at us she finally outed herself to Maddy, a declaration met not with outrage but surprise, and then the suggestion we all go back to Maddy’s for afters and get coked up. That’s kind of exactly what happened. Not much else to report. Oh yeah, except this, which future you may find funny. Maddy has this ‘party trick’ which she thinks is the nuts where she balances a can of cider on her head and like moves around. From the way she and people talk about this you’d think she’d shoved it up her ass, I mean, you should hear them go on and see the reels of photos they take. It’s not impressive, it’s boring. I was pretty coked by the time she got round to doing it so I can’t remember fully, but I hoped I yawned.

Anyway. I feel like we’re kind of up to date. Needless to say the diet has gone completely off the rails over the last week, so I’m now on a three day detox before Grace’s. Gna try go until about two or three without eating – intermittent fasting, do yo thang!

PS. You’ll notice that I’ve barely mentioned Mum, and that I don’t really sound sad. That’s the thing with distractions. But what happens is that when I’m finally alone and I’m lying in bed and I’ve turned off my phone and the noise is all gone, I suddenly realise that I haven’t thought about her in a while, and that that’s how life will be until at last I don’t think about her at all. I think that’s the saddest thing ever. How your everything can suddenly shrink to your sometimes, and then to your rarely ever at all, a footnote in your life. I don’t really know how to remedy this but I think that maybe writing about it might be a good way to start. Not to self. Less partying, more writing. Let’s not let this all go to waste.

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ramblingpillager-blog · 7 years

Text

VRC: Brandon

Brandon swaggered, as only a VR avatar could swagger, through the crowded bar. How stupid that VR bars were nearly impenetrable. It’s not like you could drink real alcohol in a VR bar.

His ID twinkled above his head, RecklessABrandon. That made him swagger too. He was proud of that one. Took him three days to think of it, and then he had to totally redesign his avatar to match. His avatar, like Brandon in the flesh, was muscular, fit, and attractive. He spent as much time running at the gym as he did in his VR headset.

Unlike many, VR didn’t suck Brandon in for days at a time. He liked being outdoors in the Minneapolis sun. Climate change had made the central US weather pretty erratic, but Minnesota had lucked out. The winters were milder, and the lakes and parks helped make the summers a little more bearable. Plus he had hockey practice three nights a week most of the year. His VR time had to pack a lot of entertainment for each minute, since he had so little.

The hot chick at the bar watched him cross the dance floor and worm his way through a crowd of cheering sorority sisters who’d gotten wasted and come to the VR bar to fuck shit up. But this girl wasn’t into that shit, and Brandon nodded approvingly.

Of course, everybody in VR looked great. It was the risk you took, building relationships with these projections of people’s illusions rather than their physical beings. “Outing” avatars had become a pastime for a whole sector of Internet trolls, members of the jealous class who hacked into less-secure VR networks and stalked social media for any clues that might link an avatar to its owner. The fact that RecklessABrandon wasn’t afraid to have his name in his handle meant he was either too solid in real life to care what people knew about him, or he was part of the troll gangs who loved to out their victims.

Of course, it was easy to dump one avatar identity and pick up another, so almost no one knew Brandon led the r/outage board for “kills,” as they liked to call them. It was all meant to be base human cruelty, but sometimes the cruelty hit its mark too hard and victims took themselves out of VR permanently, usually via suicide. If you couldn’t VR, you struggled to get anywhere in life. Unless you were Amish. Some of the outed people moved to Amish country, no joke.

Trolling had gotten so bad, Congress haggled over two bills, one banning the use of anything but real names (it got shot down immediately by privacy advocates and domestic abuse victims groups) and another to apply a 5 year Internet and VR ban to anyone caught outing someone else. The second bill almost passed, but some of the Internet freedom groups drummed up enough fear that the government couldn’t be trusted to identify trolls unless it also had access to everyone’s usernames, profile information, and location data, something the Privacy Act of 2027 had banned outright thanks to Senator Snowden’s efforts to reform the US’s privacy laws.

Brandon loved Senator Snowden. In fact, he donated money to his re-election campaign every six years as a quiet token of gratitude. Privacy laws had bolstered security around everyone’s account information. As someone who understood those systems too well, RecklessABrandon felt little fear that his side hobby would get him busted.

The girl at the bar was still watching him. Hm. Was that an invitation? Might as well knock on this door while it was available. Maybe she had one of the new suits that let people experience in the flesh what they were doing in VR. Because he sure did, and VR sex was way better than the original. If you had the right person. And a little daring.

Brandon nestled himself into his VR rig, moving gracefully in real space within a full 360° harness that allowed him to act out every motion he was performing within the virtual environment. His swagger may have been exaggerated a bit in virtual reality - a man’s got to represent, after all - but anyone who really knew him in VR could pick out his gait as he strolled IRL.

“Hey. What are you doing in a dive like this?” he opened, hoping a slight nod to film noire might score him some points with this woman who radiated confidence and allure. Mmmmm. He didn’t need his mesh suit to tell his body parts what to feel. She generated everything he needed.

She tipped up her chin in a manner of greeting. Too chill to be bothered to speak, he noted. “Want to join me in some whiskey and then some sex?” Brandon didn’t beat around. He’d learned that people in VR tended to be more upfront about their goals, since they had a level of anonymity to protect them. And he had to consider that this gorgeous model might be piloted by some dude in a half-assed piece of shit rig in a slum in Oklahoma City. You had to take risks, if you wanted to gain any glory. Besides, he loved outing the cross-gender VR avatars. Absolutely made his day.

“Hello, Brandon.” Her voice came through his headset as an alto, smoky with an undercurrent of bourbon and danger. She stood up and slid over a seat so he could have the stool. He noticed her incredible figure, her size D breasts, her dress slit up the thigh allowing him a glimpse of black lace panties. If she wasn’t here for sex, she sure was hanging out the wrong shingle.

“You mean RecklessABrandon,” he responded with a wink. Gotta make sure the bitches are clear about his self-confidence. Plus the wise ones would heed the warning: This guy is fine with you knowing his real name. Don’t fuck him over, or he’ll destroy you IRL.

“Fine. Then I guess you’ll have to call me PollyM0th, if we’re going to be all formal about it.” She swigged the last of her bourbon and set the glass aside. “I’ve got a room booked upstairs, and I’ve been itching to try it out. Are you wearing a suit?”

“Yeah. Top of the line Nike 2689, just came out a month ago. If you so much as brush a fingertip across my arm, I’d feel it.”

“Excellent. Let’s see how much it can take.”

***** One benefit of virtual sex was the avoidance of pounding and shouting in the flesh, which always had the risk of generating threats from the people next door or below. Brandon followed PollyM0th up the stairs to a room at the end of the 3rd virtual floor. VR had spawned an entire industry of virtual real estate, where brokers bought and sold virtual apartments and houses for real money. It made little sense to the aging Millennials but nobody gave a shit about them anyway. Whoever hadn’t made the jump to VR got left behind, as far as most VR residents were concerned. If you were the type to spend most of your time online, what did it matter how shitty your apartment was in real life?

This woman clearly loved her space. The oak door opened at a touch - virtual fingerprint lock technology, he noted. It wasn’t enough that the door probably recognized her ID; this was an additional security measure meant to ensure no one could hack their way into her VR space. Wise move.

The interior, as was common in VR apartments, vastly overflowed the physical “exterior” of the apartment. In virtual space, rules of geometry were irrelevant. Renters could pay for as much interior storage as they wanted. PollyM0th clearly paid for a lot.

She grabbed him by the tie (Brandon always dressed up to go clubbing; only slobs didn’t) and pulled him toward her for a kiss that was shockingly passionate. His Nike suit did not disappoint him; these models included a comfortable lightweight face mesh that enabled the wearer to experience exactly something like this, a kiss. He mentally praised his foresight in refusing to skimp on quality where it mattered.

A small file chimed in his vision. His hands were occupied though with this vixen chewing on his lip while she groped for his trousers. He put his hands to better use, feeling around her shoulders to unzip the back of her dress. It fell away revealing her naked torso. God, she was beautiful. He didn’t even care that she was probably a 250 pound middle-aged woman from some godforsaken corn town in Iowa. He’d hack her tomorrow to find out for sure; right now he wanted the sex.

PollyM0th maneuvered them both toward a spacious bedroom appointed with a variety of chains, hooks, and posts. Ah. A BDSM junkie. Of course. He’d been a little lax lately in checking out the women he banged in VR; and as a general rule, he avoided the kinky ones unless he had some reason to believe they were good at it. Hopefully, this one would let him handcuff her, bang her, and then leave her till the cuffs expired in an hour or two. Virtual BDSM was actually pretty dull even with a good flesh suit.

As if she’d read his thoughts, PollyM0th stopped kissing and groping and looked him over. “You probably think this is dumb, don’t you, my lair of sexual fantasy and bondage. Most men do. They just want to handcuff me to the bed, and walk out once they’re done. I hope you’re not so dull.”

He eyed her, letting his eyes wander over her gorgeous form. “For you, madam, I would do anything tonight.”

“Anything?”

“Absolutely. Do your worst. I can’t wait.” He pulled off his tie and threw it on a chair. Arms spread wide, Brandon dared her to make it worth it.

Oh, she did. Brandon lost track of time as they tumbled, groped, banged, sucked, whipped, tied, and teased their way through a pair of orgasms each. She showed little signs of slowing down, though he was getting pretty tired. His Nike suit transmitted every experience perfectly, though now he understood why the salesman had emphasized repeatedly that his suit was machine washable.

PollyM0th eyed Brandon up and down, his naked avatar reclining lazily on the bed. “I bet you’ve never actually done anything really interesting in VR,” she challenged, narrowing her eyes at his virtual penis with a questioning look.

“What? God, woman, you don’t even know me. I’ve done everything with this penis, both in the flesh and in pixels.” Brandon found himself genuinely offended.

“Are you willing to put that Nike 2689 through its paces one more time? Or are you done for the night?” She got up, turning her lucious rear view toward his appreciative gaze.

“I can take anything you can dish out. Tie me up, do what you will. I’m ready.”

“Did you notice I sent you a file awhile back?”

No, he hadn’t. His hands and brain and penis had all been busy when it’d arrived, and he’d completely forgotten to see what she’d sent. He flipped the file onto his virus checker and frowned. Yellow bar. That meant the file would execute a program. “What is this? I don’t run programs from strangers.”

She turned around, holding a metal bar and a pair of handcuffs. “If you want to put me in these, you’re gonna have to open the file. Look, my dad runs a company that writes VRware for suits like yours. That’s why I have such a great suit myself. My dad programmed the software to perfectly fit my body. And he wrote an enhancer that works with any top-line suit. You’ll feel things you’ve never experienced before, I promise.”

He flipped the file open without a pause.

***** Oh god, oh god. This is horrible. He couldn’t say it, but it was all he’d been thinking for the past ... how long had it been? He had no idea.

If anyone had walked into Brandon’s actual apartment at that moment, they would have seen him frozen motionless in his $2500 VR rig, his ankles and knees and wrists suspended in front of him, in alignment with his head. On his screen, they would have seen the whole picture: his virtual body was locked in a steel frame, ankles and knees and wrists handcuffed to a bar that ran all the way to a metal collar around his neck.

He’d discovered some things about his Nike 2689 that the salesman hadn’t mentioned, or perhaps the girl was telling the truth about her dad’s programming abilities. Either way, once she’d locked him in place with what he thought were self-timed handcuffs, his face mesh had hardened into a mouth piece that blocked his ability to speak. The material covering his eyes went opaque, blocking his vision. And the suit otherwise responded realistically to being handcuffed to a metal bar and suspended from the ceiling.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that tore at him right now, though if the bitch was to be believed, she’d kept him cuffed for two hours already. His body suggested she was telling the truth, and his full bladder was beginning to force its way into his consciousness with urgent warnings. If I piss myself, and my girlfriend finds me in here in what looks like a whorehouse covered in my own urine, she’s going to walk out and never come back.

No, it’s what she’s saying.

“Well, Brandon, I’m glad you dropped by tonight. You know, I’ve been waiting in that hell-hole of a bar every night for four weeks hoping to find you. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? How many people have you outed? One hundred? Two hundred? Your profile on r/outed suggests it might be closer to two-fifty.”

This is when he realized she wasn’t role playing anymore.

The virtual cuffs were made only of pixels, but his Nike suit squeezed even harder around his body, stifling his breathing and holding him rigid in places that weren’t meant to be immobile at this angle. His back ached, his neck muscles burned, his tongue felt wooly since it’d been probably 4 or 5 hours since he’d had a chance to drink any water.

“Two hundred and fifty people, lives opened up and smeared all over the Internet, for your pleasure. Dick move, Brandon. Brandon Lewis. Brandon Lewis of 365 Sycamore Street, Minneapolis.”

Underneath the mesh suit, beads of sweat formed on Brandon’s face as he blanched. If she outed him....

“Oh yes, you’re fucked. The only question is whether I’m going to fuck you and crush you, or just humiliate you. What’ll it be? Oh, right, you can’t say anything.” She waved a finger toward a menu and Brandon felt the mesh around his mouth loosen.

He panted and tried to lick his lips. “Please, I don’t know what you want, but this is genuinely painful. Please let me go.”

“Of course it’s painful, asshole. Why do you think I did it?”

“These cuffs are going to expire soon, right? Like, I get your point, ok? You think I’m a total dick because I outed people. Yes, I did it. I’m Brandon Lewis. Con-fucking-gratulations on your google skills, bitch--” A sharp pain shot through his back as she grabbed his virtual ankles and twisted them one way while turning his wrists and the bar in the opposite direction

“Look, Brandon, here’s the situation. These aren’t timed cuffs. I have total control of your suit. Also, while you’ve been hanging there, I’ve dumped your hard drive data and located your complete activity log for the past four years. One, I can’t believe you’re still using the same crappy hardware. Guess you put all your money into your fancy experience suit. Two, I’m about to doxx you into no tomorrow on r/outed. I know your troll buddies won’t care that you’ve been outing, but the FBI watches that board daily for clues, and I’m about to make sure they find you.

“Hopefully the FBI will figure it out soon, because I have no intention of releasing a piece of shit like you back into the wild. I’ve locked your door -- thanks for installing smart locks, by the way -- and posted the code along with your address and list of outings on the r/outed board. It’s currently 5am. Assuming the FBI checks the board first thing in the morning, you can expect someone to show up and release you by noon today. I’ve also texted your girlfriend that you were with me all night having hot sex, and she’s pretty angry with you. I think I watched her storm out the door via your security cameras. So I’d say you’ll be all alone until the feds come to lock you up.”

Brandon swallowed. He was numb all over, unrelated to his uncomfortable position. He raced for ideas, hoping to hit on something he could say that might work as a bargaining chip.

He didn’t even get to take a full breath to speak before the facial mesh tightened across his mouth, mirroring the gag PollyM0th crammed into his mouth in her virtual dungeon. She smiled. “I don’t want to hear it, Brandon. Save it for your lawyer.” She waved her left hand in the farewell menu gesture, but instead of disappearing from the frame, Brandon watched as her bedroom faded from his view. He was left looking at the grey grid of a blank program in his own developer software, watching the clock in the corner blink slowly toward sunrise.

#VRchronicles #fiction

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