CH 2 — The Crimson Wolf
A tall, shrouded figure stood outside a long defunct toy store. A truly archaic structure, as most things could be ordered online and delivered right to your home. That was all done through virtual channels such as this, but one couldn’t walk out, newly bought toy or accessory tightly clutched in your hands. You couldn’t untangle the contraption from its infuriating restraints and fiddle with it on the way home.
But there were no kids in sight, and the few customers roved about in concerted movements, touching and inspecting the same objects with renewed interest. After awhile, they slowly dispersed from the store, marking the same path with the same, stilted gait. Sometimes they bought a toy from the equally robotic cashier, but there was no joy or interaction beyond carrying the toy out. It was beyond eerie.
A new customer appeared, not stopping to glance at the figure near the door. Just like the others, the customer waited for the automatic doors to open before stepping inside. They mingled around the store, examining robot toys and bikes, before making a beeline to a shelf lined with dolls. They picked up a doll, set it down, and made an about turn to begin the rotation all over again. Eventually, they returned to collect a doll, and made their purchase at the register.
You’d think the developers would invest in better scripting for their NPCs. There were far more robust mechanics in gaming companies that actually cared about the end product. Indie titles alone had so much going for them, crafting games that really spoke to their audience. Not this...soulless abomination Saffron found itself in.
It only delved into the gaming side of the VR to see just how far technology had come, and if an MMO of this scale was worth the hype. One of the selling points was the ability to craft unique skills and classes, to truly stand out from the pack. The results were...interesting. Not alright, or outstanding. Just interesting. Aside from the open class system (which wasn’t so open to be truly broken or unique), there wasn’t much to see here.
Well. Aside from avatar customization. And even that required money. If not through in-game currency, then what its ancestors referred to as “folding money”. And if you were the sort who relied heavily on the miserly allotments, you could allow the game to deduct directly from your funds! There was a setting to do this automatically for the first of the month, with measured amounts that consumed up to 90%. The icing on the cake was that this was the only way to earn bonus credits.
Saffron knew people, “VR junkies,” as the press called them, who used their monthly allotment almost exclusively to live in the game, while their physical bodies were hooked up to feeding tubes. A combination of tubes and in-game food somehow kept the body alive, mere husks of their former selves. Those who recovered often became advocates against prolonged VR use. The more extreme ones wanted to return to the days of yore, where you had to have a physical computer to complete most tasks or games.
A low growl working in its throat, Saffron turned from the pitiful display. People like that were why it was stuck in this state. This limbo, filled to the brim with mindless NPCs. It didn’t know how they achieved it, but they really fucked everyone, trapping them in a virtual hellscape.
Saffron clutched the cloak tighter around itself, painfully aware of the heavy red paws beneath, of the long and bushy tail flickering at its heels. All this would be tolerable if its friends were still in the vicinity. On that fateful day, it was not in the grassy and wooded landscape of the private sim, but in this dreadful throwback to yesterday. Leaving wasn’t an option, as the normal commands were inoperable, and there were gangs at the border, looking for people just like it.
And they all had guns, blades, gunblades, and magic. Saffron just had its claws and fangs. If it was going to break through, it needed armor. It needed a sword. But there were none to be found in this district. Not unless it wanted to bluff its way through with a toy gun.
Saffron actually considered it for a hot second, but without allies, there was too much at risk. No, better to stick to the shadows and make a break at the first sight of a clear path. Still, there might come a time where it wished to have a weapon in hand, no matter how flimsy.
Keeping its game issued cloak closed, Saffron marched into the building, ever mindful of the scripted customers. Would the cashier interfere if it simply snuck out with several “weapons”? Or would it sound the alarm and send well-armed guards after the beast? Better not risk it. And game or not, I’m no thief.
The cashier plastered on an overenthusiastic smile as Saffron purchased a sturdy baseball bat. It was neither blade nor rifle, but one could do some serious damage with a blunt instrument.
Armed with a slender bat (the biggest it could find), Saffron strode out into the night, ready to start a fight. Or retreat to its shelter to brainstorm a functioning plan. It still needed food, after all. Food, bandages, a change of...
Saffron glanced down at its cloaked figure, at the ripped jorts beneath. It could really benefit from some new gear, or at the very least, a shirt, like a civilized being. The one downside to this form was the lack of suitable clothing. These big, strong thighs weren’t made for the confines of pants, and then there was the tail to consider. It needed a skilled tailor or a shop that catered to large furries, such as itself.
Bigger isn’t always better, it thought with a grim smile.
It slunk into the thinning crowd, shoulders slouching when it noticed the height discrepancy. For one that always desired to blend in, for the sake of avoiding conflict, it surely chose the wrong avatar to get stuck in. Its less impressive height of 5’8 was sorely missed.
Saffron slipped into a dark alleyway, dropping onto nearly all fours, the bat tucked in one arm. This way, it could cover more ground to its little hideout. While most people rented rooms or couch surfed, Saffron squatted in an abandoned office building. It nodded at some of the other inhabitants, a few who were clearly NPCs, decked out in what the devs assumed houseless people wore. They were friendly, at least, offering Saffron food, bedding, and other supplies.
And they didn’t ask questions. But why would they, when city NPCs were designed to be as subservient and cordial as the store clerks? There were always exceptions to the rule, but antagonistic NPCs rarely appeared outside of combat and quests.
It mumbled a thanks to a small child, half-buried under layers and layers of clothes and padded jackets. A human child, without the luxury of a thick, furry coat. The child nodded and retreated, gloved hands carrying the plate of cookies to another densely bundled figure. Like the others, Saffron could make neither head nor tails of their facial features. They all had eyes, noses, and ears, but no distinguishing features, aside from their clothes.
Saffron slipped by them, munching on a cookie almost as big as its paw. Not its favorite, but you could never go wrong with chocolate chip. And as it licked its lips, standing behind the corporate desk that shielded its bed, Saffron was grateful for the treat. A sweet little reward for skulking around all night, and securing the means of freedom.
It packed up the sleeping bag and other meager possessions in a duffel bag, and fashioned a sling for the bat out of salvaged belts. For its paws, there was nothing more than gauze and wraps, just enough to protect the leathery skin on its palms. All fitted out, Saffron smiled at its reflection on the large window, and at the smirking moon beyond.
“Showtime.”
Sienna Eggler
