Bone Diggers - Chapter Two

Loading.... Chapter Two

"Relax," Michael said, "I'm a photographer."

Despite his very real skills at photography, he always came off as a bit of a creep. It wasn't like he was a jerk around the office, stealing people's lunches or drinking too much at the Christmas party. No, Michael was a dick—or rather, it was clear he thought with it.

The NYC Today wasn't a big production, so Owen could watch from his desk as Michael tried to nip and tuck the model like real-life Photoshop. The model, who may or may not have been called Ashley, kept shifting between professional mirth and contempt between takes.

He could imagine clearly what Daniel would do in this situation. He'd get up without further thought and tell his co-worker to sod off, and the model would thank him with a realistically unreasonable amount of gold.

But this wasn't a game, this was real life. Doing the best thing for everyone wasn't so cut and dry. Who knew if Ashley just wanted to finish the job, let alone the crap he'd hear from his boss for possibly ruining the shoot.

"Owen!"

He jumped in his seat, barely catching a pencil cup before it fell over. That would be his boss, Frank. Owen took another glance over to the others before he walked over to Frank's office. The room had a mounted TV in the corner, as if it was meant to keep someone company idly in a waiting room. In truth, it stole far more time than anyone intended.

Frank looked oblivious to Owen's presence as Owen stepped into the room. On the TV, two Age of Shadows arena players were going at it like gladiators in the coliseum. It was a brutal match broadcast close enough to the sweat and blood so you felt you were on the ground with them. A burly avatar cleaved a shining axe into the shoulder of another man, causing enough damage that the feed cut to show the players underneath. Their faces pulled into masked expressions that the Greeks would have been familiar with.

The celebration of the audience was mirrored in the mirth Frank had as he cheered his favorite on. But the tragedy of the other player was closer to the cringe Owen gave over the collective volume.

"That's a win for the English faction," an announcer said, taking over the discussion. Behind the two speakers, one could make out the players who ended their match much like boxers would. The talking heads debated what this meant for the next arena match.

Excited from a win that was debatably his, Frank finally turned to Owen who lurked in the doorway. "I knew that warrior didn't have it in him. It's nearly impossible to fight a knight straight on if you haven't taken the oath yourself."

Owen nodded so slightly it was almost a one-man play in sarcasm.

"I take it you don't play?" Frank laughed.

"Uh..." The answer should have been easy, but what Frank was really asking was what he wasn't saying. He meant: Do you play Arena? A yes would lead Owen to nights out with his boss, watching matches and downing sodas to keep from being unprofessional in front of his employer. "No."

"Ahh!" Frank waved his hand as if there was a fly about. "For the best. This stuff will rot your brain out."

Owen's eyes flared a bit wider in an effort to keep them from rolling. That must have been said about every medium when it first came out. "So, what did you call me in for?"

"Oh, right, yes!" Frank leaned over his desk to grab a sheet of paper. "Here is the list of the candidates running for council member. Research them all and see if you can find anything good."

Owen crossed the room in a couple strides and took the print-off. He scanned over it, but didn't recognize the short list besides the man who was already in office. "Sounds fun," he said with a shrug.

Frank grinned at a silent joke.

"What?"

"And, you think I find fun in weird places."

Owen chuckled and tilted his head a little to concede. "Yeah, but I get paid to do this. And I'll do almost anything for money."

"Let's hope one of those candidates does the same thing."

"Right? Nothing sells papers quite like skeletons coming out of closets." Owen took another look at the paper. "I'll let you know what I find."

A lot could be found if you simply looked. A stray like or favorite could get someone in trouble. If you pulled on the wrong string, the whole tapestry of a carefully organized campaign could unravel.

Many people forgot everything you could look up freely. That your name could be tied to an email that you used to post an opinion years ago that perfectly highlighted bigotry. It no longer surprised him how shitty people could be. Normally, Owen's job focused on looking up things that the internet wasn't quite equipped for. Mostly obscure fact checking and reviewing figures, but after a freelance bone digging job discovered that a charity's funds were going towards in game Age of Shadows purchases, Frank always gave him these assignments.

By the end of the day, Owen hadn't found anything newsworthy, or even remotely interesting, besides one of the candidates who upvoted a ridiculous amount of Advice Animals. He must have clicked through a hundred of them by now, nearly praying one would be horribly offensive.

Owen groaned and put his head down on his desk.

"Going that well, huh?" Michael asked. Owen picked his head up to watch as his co-worker pop open a soda with a sound so crisp it almost caused him to drool.

"Did you bring that one for me?" Owen joked. His smile wide and friendly.

The noise that came from Michael was more of a snort than anything else. "That was a stupid question for a fact checker," he said.

"A monkey can do your job." The insult trailed after Michael as he walked away, but wasn't said with enough force to catch up. In part because Owen didn't believe it. He saw Michael's photos, they unfortunately were pretty good. It made the fact that he was asshole worse. If only talent bred kindness.

At least for Owen there was one thing that never failed. Daniel.

In VR, even the simple things that were the equivalent of being an office gofer were far more rewarding. He traveled with Lance over cities to deliver papers and family heirlooms to thankful NPCs for pockets of gold and EXP. He tabbed over to the leaderboards, seeing that he was a close second to the weekly top players in the northeastern region of the U.S. He'd been solidly at third without any real extra effort, but recently he pushed and was getting closer and closer over the past month. Someone with the log in Tiansheng had held the number one place for what seemed like forever. They relentlessly hoarded the spot. There were good prizes for the top players, so it was worth the extra effort.

On Daniel's way back home, a herald caught his attention. Or rather, his voice raised over everyone who had gathered. "The Duke has left us hungry, and without coin in our pockets! We no longer have to stand for this atrocity! His caravan comes this way. Good people, let's act now and stop it!"

"I don't know why the Duke thought he could live such a lavish life without facing any consequences," Lance said. Merchants who could pack up their wares did, and others who were in the streets decided to clear out before there was trouble. Leaving the town square empty for players to risk what they had on the event in hope for more.

"Wasn't it only a month ago that he earned that title?" Daniel asked.

"Mmm. Took it at the edge of a sword, too." A few more people from within earshot had gathered like them, but for the most part, the group was shrinking. The Duke wasn't an NPC, but taking him out would most benefit that group. Lance's lip curled up in disgust as more people passed them. Every time good people did nothing, he wondered why he left his own country for this one.

"Shall we give it back?"

"Let's." Lance grinned, and drew his sword.

They fought in tandem against the guards that protected the Duke's caravan. Feeling no desire for position or power, Daniel left that target for whoever had a vendetta against the man. He was aiding in the raid simply because he had been a witness to the plight. A good ally didn't steal the spotlight.

The versatility a sword allowed Lance to set up anyone for failure before they even reached Daniel. He, too, could use a sword, but favored the daggers for speed and the ability to get up close and personal with men in armor that would otherwise give them both trouble.

With his chest pounding, he looked at the battlefield. Fallen bodies were piling up now. That heads up gave everyone plenty of time for an ambush. A few people were still fighting, including the Duke, but all the help his title gained him had run off or had been killed.

In the chaos, a woman stood apart. She was watching from the sidelines. Her small frame and the six inches in height Daniel had made her stand out even more, like a daisy among weeds. Curiosity captivated him as strongly as attraction ever could.

Daniel glanced over to check on Lance who was pulling his sword out of the chest of a man. "Are you going to be fine on your own for a moment?" Daniel asked.

"Bien sûr." That man breathed confidence as easy as air.

With his worry sated, Daniel headed over to her. "Greetings, miss," he said. Her chestnut brown eyes seemed striking against pale skin. "My name is Daniel Ortiz. I'm sorry if this violence has startled you still."

"Amilia." Her hand twitched, but anything that manners normally would have called for was lost to the moment. The name displayed in black like any other NPC. But he wasn't given time to wonder about why she was here. "It would take a lot more than that to scare me."

"Well, I guess you aren't going to run off on me too quick, then," Daniel replied easily.

A small sly smile stretched across her face, and stirred butterflies in his stomach. "Not unless you give me me a reason to," she said. It was such a fair and honest answer that Daniel chuckled.

The sound of a guttural groan cut through the air. The Duke was in a pile on the ground, red spilling out from behind fine leather armor. "Well, finish it then," he taunted, ready to take the death penalty and reset his character.

"Wait," said a bard from the group of fighters. "I bet if we turn him in there will be a bigger reward. It isn't as if he and the king are on the best terms." They debated for a moment before agreeing that it was the best choice. Lance excused himself from their party once his sword was no longer needed.

"You two fight as smoothly as ghosts," Amilia said once Lance neared. He shot a look over to Daniel, equal parts amused and flattered. "I'd like to learn."

"You... want to learn how to fight?" Daniel repeated as if he didn't understand.

Amilia nodded. "My father was a part of the thieves guild. I fear my family's current path isn't...just anymore." She ran her hand through brown hair that fell back into curls. "It must seem funny. A thief trying to be noble."

It's almost magical when you hear a stranger repeating a personal truth back to you. "No, actually, it doesn't."

"You'll do it?" Amilia asked, brighter than the midday sun. "There is a festival tonight. I could meet you again there?"

"Sure." The word slipped out of his mouth without further provocation. Too fast for his liking. "I'll teach you if you can prove you have the heart for it."

"I promise I won't disappoint you." She curtsied, and bowed her head to the both of them before excusing herself.

"Won't that be fun," Daniel mused to himself before turning to Lance. "What do you think?"

Amilia's excitement was undeniably intoxicating. It held the promise that he could share everything with her. It might be a foolish or tedious venture, maybe even selfish in ways. But her story intrigued him. What did he have to lose?

"We have a term for women who death follows," Lance said, "Femme fatale."