Coming Out of the Basement

And here’s part 3, which is the last of the parts.  It’s even more specifically related to MxO.  And also the last of my gimmie posts.  If I’m gonna hit my “3 posts a week” metric, I’m gonna have to start being original now.  Bugger.

This one was written 2 months after the others.  In that two month window, they changed about 80% of the game (to their credit, it was much better in a lot of ways, unlike, say, Star Wars Galaxies).  Prior to that, the game had gotten really buggy.  I was unable to play without it eating my PC alive, so I gave up….

But I still want a pudding faucet (you’ll understand if you read – that’s what we in “the business” call a hook.  Or a teaser.  Or …. I dunno.  Look, just read it).
I took a nap.  It was, I admit, a long nap.  Something like two months.  I think I needed it – before the nap I was blacking out randomly, hearing strange noises, and just randomly running in to walls for hours at a time.  Then I heard something about “new rams” and “new mothers are bored” and poof, I’m awake.

But man, things are different.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve been here for ever.  Okay, well it is, kinda.  But not.  But now, once again, things are different.  All that combat stuff I got taught in the dojo, fighting Bob over and over again?  It’s kinda still relevant, but then it’s not.  Crazy.  But then Neo said something about them always changing things, so….

In any case, I woke up refreshed and renewed, and ready to go save some people.  Or shoot them.  Whatever presented itself, really.

I whip open my phone – Tyndall’s surely been freaking out – I mean, I was the One!  Or, well, not the One, cause Neo was the One.  I guess I was the Two (should I have named myself Wot?), or something.  Ah well – nothing wrong with that.  My battlecry of “It’s time for number two!” isn’t inspiring the fear I thought, but you know….

Anyway, I open the phone.  And there’s a couple new names in there.  Flood and some Agent Gray.  Flood looks like he needs to be sipping a mint julep and shouting at the neighbors about how they wouldn’t know a gentleman if they fell on one, but he still looks like more fun than Agent Gray.   I mean, Gray.  Not that we live in a really shiny happy colorful world, but come on.  That’s like saying “Hi, we’re the stodgy ol’ machines.  And we mean it.  We put the Stod in Stodgy!  Or maybe the Gy.  Something.”  So really, I’m not gonna call him, it’s just not likely to be worth much.  So that leaves this Flood guy.

*ring ring*  *ring ring*.

*sounds of a wild party, someone either being killed or … um… you know*  “Hello?”

“Uh, yeah, is this, um Flood?”

*squeal of what might be a pig, or possibly a smallish monkey* “No, no man.  But hang on.  I think he’s around here, or maybe in the hot tub.”

Okay, so this is looking good.  I mean, really – I’m spending the majority of my life here in the Matrix.  Even though, you know, the whole point was to free my mind from the Matrix and get out more.  But have you seen Zion?  Seriously?  I mean, there’s a couple good parties, sure, with lots of half-naked people in sweaty clothes bumping about, but you can really only go to that party so many times.  Sometimes you really just want a latte and a good issue of Ladies’ Home Journal/Sports Illustrated/Playfish/Whatever your magazine of choice might be (I figure if you can make anything you want, people aren’t gonna stick with the “traditional” fare).  I was kinda starting to wonder where the secret back room was with all the buckets of chocolate and unending pudding faucets and stuff for the loyal troops.  Turns out that Zion’s not really big on that, because it’s not real.  Yeah, okay.  But this Merovignigianain (I dunno, it’s random characters.  Or french.  Whichever) dude apparently has it all.  And I mean, if you’re gonna be spending most of your life somewhere, and you *can* randomly create a room full of hot tubs and shrimp cocktail, why wouldn’t you?  Anyway, Flood picks up.

“blah blah blah, need your help, blah blah blah, get stuff, blah blah blah, Zionite interference.”

Yeah, makes sense – like I said, they’re not big on the hot tubs.  And, I mean, I know how many new guys there are – probably Zion will have to send a couple of them over to mess with Flood – probably like a big friendly rivalry – you know “Ha ha! We got the Mona Lisa this time!  Next time you might get it, if you’re not so slow!”  Then they go have drinks, and laugh about it.  I bet.

So, I step up to the road, and I look for a cab – I mean, apparently I’ve gotta go like 800 yards.  That’s like 8 football fields or something!  Come on!  I’d tried that whole “jumping over tall buildings” thing.  I think I pulled a muscle.  A groin muscle.  So not good.  Strangely, no taxis.  I mean, come on!  This is … well it’s…. I mean… this is …. well, it’s a city, certainly.  It likely has a name.  And it’s kinda big.  So I mean, they have taxis, right?  Or … police?  Fire trucks?  Pizza delivery guys?  Come to think of it, I can’t really remember seeing anything except about 5 different types of cars…. Hmm….

Annoyingly, as I find myself on the brink of a great and powerful revelation, someone rudely shoots me!  With an assault rifle!  Which probably explains why I don’t see many cops – when every ganger around is armed like a small aggressive country, it’s a bad idea to have a big target sign on.  But I mean, he shot me!  Outta no where!  All the other gang guys I’d met before just stood around politely, presumably doing whatever it is gangers do when they aren’t out, you know, ganging.  Trading graffiti signs, or something.  But this dude saw me, and just took a pot shot!

Strangely, it didn’t hurt that much.  A lot less than I’m used to, actually.  I check my guns – that one really nifty shotgun I found that used to read “55-75”?  4-4.  4!!!  I mean, math isn’t my strong suit, but that’s like, a lot less!  So I’ll just stick with my tried and true method of “Hooligan-Fu”.  Punch to the face!  Kick to the groin!  Butt to the head!  Then grab, hold him down, and kick him in the face!  Now we’re talkin’!  Weird thing is, gangers used to be really polite – if I was hitting him, he’d stand there and take it.  If he was gonna shoot me, I’d spend my time mostly being shot.  This time, while I’m punching him in the face, he shot me!  At the same time!!  I mean, really, come on folks!  That’s just not right.

Anyway, I’m giving up on cabs – maybe they just don’t drive to hooligan infested waters.  Streets.  Whatever.  I put on my “shoes of glowy yellow code” and start hoofing it.  Maybe when I’m done, Flood will let me use his hot tub….