Warren and the Dungeon Seed

Chapter 13.The Dancing Cougar

I walked in with Janica floating above my shoulder, taking it in. Two NPC bartenders hustled to serve a line around the bar, three people deep. Beers clanged and sloshed in oversized glass mugs. People laughed and chatted at little wooden tables that made a “U” shape around a dance floor and a stage. All of the workers were NPCs, and a few of the tables consisted of NPCs, but the bar was flooded with gamers.

What would it be like to live your entire life surrounded by the same people, and then in a single day thousands of alien beings showed up, taking over your town and your favorite dive bar? One thing was clear to me. These NPCs were not like NPCs in other games, monotonously working through the patterns of their coding. Janica had proven that. She had quirks, desires, and goals. She experienced guilt, shame, and frustration. I assumed that the NPCs that owned and worked at this bar were no different. My sister had informed me that the world of Integration Online was allowed to run for a thousand, sped-up, years before gamers were allowed in; it was an experiment in AI. They created thousands of individual non-player characters with unique backgrounds, personalities, and goals, then forced them all to work out their lives. Allowed them to reproduce, somehow. Would they act like humans—creating strife, conflict, and wars over tribal thinking and short-sightedness? Or would they see the long-view and make decisions that benefited the greater good like a hive? Humans had only been allowed into IO hours ago, and these questions remained unanswered with only small clues. The Great Mistake, a mining operation that nearly unleashed a great evil, rumors of war…

“Warren,” Janica said, interrupting my train of thought. “Don’t be stingy with that money of yours. I need a drink.”

I reached into my pouch and handed her 1 Silver. There is something about being frugal that most people don’t understand. When you’re frugal, you save your money mercilessly. You look for almost every opportunity to save a penny. Almost. Every frugal person has a weakness or two—a thing that they open their pocket books for. The first for me was music. I spent money on upgrades, different kinds of drumsticks, and sound enhancers. And it was worth it. The second was treating the people I liked to small things. It felt good to buy Sofia or a friend something small that I knew they would love.

Janica snatched the coin from my hands, zipping off to the bar. I saw her cut to the front of the line, elbowing two humans on her way.

But my eyes were drawn to the stage. A burly woman with infinite confidence quieted the crowd with her hands. Her nameplate read . She cleared her throat, and the volume plummeted.

“Welcome to open stage night,” her voice boomed. She didn’t speak into a microphone, but her voice sounded amplified, like some magic was at work projecting the sound from the stage to the audience. People clapped, murmured. “Tonight is special. We’ve been waiting for Visitors to arrive from other worlds, and here they are!”

The crowd roared. People high-fived. Drinks clanged. In the corner, the boy from the mine leaned against the wall. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed. He stared at me, unashamed. He didn’t quickly look away.

“To celebrate this monumental change,” Mags continued, “we’re hosting a competition. As you can see, we have instruments of all types hung on our wall.” She motioned with an open hand. A hundred eyes turned to the display. Stringed instruments of different sizes and woodwinds covered the wall like they would in a music shop.

“We’re looking for full-time acts here in the Dancing Cougar,” she continued. “If you have the guts to try out tonight, go talk to Marv behind the bar and he’ll put you on the sign up sheet.”

People exchanged nervous glances, and some darted to the bar.

“If the crowd loves you, I might invite you to return as a regular act where you’ll get a cut of the door and all the beer you can drink.”

The crowd cheered.

My mind raced. I had promised Sofia that I would farm for her. I had already jeopardized that plan by losing my Worker Job. But what if I could get a regular gig as a musician? It would be a dream to get paid to play music. But I didn’t play any of the instruments on that wall. Fantasy themed games weren’t known for their drummers. I had never heard of a bard playing percussion for a court.

A girl with long dark hair rammed into me, knocking me off balance. She turned briefly and mouthed the word “sorry” before working her way toward the bar. She seemed about my age, somewhere in her mid twenties. Blue eyes met mine. I froze as she held my gaze for the slightest instant longer than she had to. Her nameplate read . I didn’t meet attractive women my age very often, and the magnetism of it consumed me. I had to remind myself that this girl probably looked nothing like her avatar. For all I knew, she could be eighty years old in real life. Or a man playing as a woman. I had taken the option of looking like myself in-game, but I doubted many others did the same.

A younger girl, possibly a teenager, followed in her wake. She had identical dark, straight hair. . The older of the two girls reached back and grabbed the younger one’s hand. They worked their way through the crowd, now five to six people deep surrounding Marv.

I found myself following them as they squeezed through people like two superfans trying to get to the front row of a concert.

Rowan got to the front of the line through a series of graceful maneuvers, both elegant and pushy. “Put my sister and I on the list. We’re a duo,” she projected over the din of the crowd.

“What’s your name?” Marv asked.

“Call us The Offspringers,” Rowan said.

“Fine,” Marv replied, scribbling their names on his sheet. “You’re the last ones up tonight.” Then he raised his voice. “That’s it, folks. We’re all booked up.”

Several people complained and shot glares at the girls.

Rowan high-fived her sister, and then moved toward the instruments.

Was their name a reference to the popular, sometimes hard-rocking, sometimes poppy, punk rock group from the ’90s and 2000s? I couldn’t say that I was a huge fan of punk rock, but I respected it. It wasn’t metal. It wasn’t Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath, or White Snake. But The Offspring had a rage that I didn’t hate.

“Warren.”

I turned. Janica hovered in front of me, a mug of beer in each hand and a huge grin on her face. I knew she was a warrior, but I did not understand the physics of how a fairy could fly, without effort, while holding twice her weight in beer.

I reached up to grab the mug she held out for me, and then I saw it, behind Janica. A drum sat on a shelf above the liquor bottles. An actual percussion instrument. It was made of wood and leather with intricate carvings around its round shape.

I approached Marv, unable to stop myself. “May I borrow that drum?”

He looked at me, his eyes far too serious. “Nobody uses that, kid. That’s why it’s behind the bar.”

At this moment, the game took over my brain. A number of things happened at once. First, I felt a tingling at the base of my skull, and I began to notice things. Both bartenders hustled about, sweating, trying to keep up with the demand for drinks. One of them hollered “keg’s tapped!” Four tables hollered for a server, getting impatient. Marv told the woman who had been on stage “We’re in the weeds. Down two servers and a barback.”

Alert: Your Perception Attribute triggered a hidden quest.

You have been offered a quest.

Quest: Opening Night

Objective: The Dancing Cougar’s wait staff is overwhelmed. Help the establishment survive the rush.

Rewards: Marv will grant you a favor.

Do you Accept: Yes /No

I accepted the quest and Marv looked up at me, startled confused.

“How did you…? Whatever, just help,” he said. “We need two new kegs brought up from the cellar, new mugs brought out from the kitchen, and there’s a huge mess of glass and beer next to table three.” He reached behind the bar and handed me an apron.

Over the next hour and a half, I completely lost track of time. I had never worked in a restaurant before and didn’t understand how one task could lead to the next with such urgency. I hauled kegs. I cleared mugs. People yelled at me. I found a mop and cleaned up beer, glass, and vomit. I caught two gamers in the bathroom, kissing, and kicked them out. I kept moving. That was all I could do. Move, carry, clean, help.

Singers went on stage, one after the next. Most were bad. Really bad. Like karaoke night, most people were there to have a good time—dance and sing on stage with friends. The audience cheered for every person who stepped up to the stage, but at the first hint of mediocrity, they ignored the singers until they finished their song. Unlike in karaoke, the lyrics weren’t projected for singers to read, and the audience couldn’t help. When people didn’t know the words, the crowd booed them off stage. A couple of acts were decent—people who could play guitar, or actually hold a tune. But not both. And not with the energy or charisma of a true star.

The girls that I had seen earlier kept to themselves in the back corner. One had chosen a stringed instrument that looked like a guitar, and the other a stand-up stringed instrument, large enough to emit a low, baselike tone. I found every excuse to get near them as I worked. They tuned their instruments. They practiced. They sang to each other, low enough that they couldn’t be heard by anybody but each other. Except by me, when I ventured close enough to listen. They practiced a song that I had heard many times called “She’s got issues.” A song by The Offspring. An emotional, ironic, funny song with a good hook and a great chorus. A crowd pleaser.

“For our last act of the night, I’d like to welcome The Offspringers!” The woman’s voice carried over the crowd.

I looked at my clock, shocked by the time. 9:24 p.m.

Rowan and Cassandra headed to the stage, and the crowd settled down. Rowan stood center stage, the guitar slung over her shoulder.