'Playing: Part XIII' ©

For those of you just joining us here at The Sound and Fury, this is the 13th part of an ongoing story that I've been writing and posting on the fly. If you are new, or just need a refresher, please click this link to catch back up. Soon, very soon, Christian's story will come to a close.

Thanks for reading and commenting. It is always appreciated.

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Playing: Part XIII ©

Christian was nearly through the throng of troops and back to the front of the line when a distant horn sounded twice. Michael looked back once, quickly, and Christian watched as his red braided pony tail bobbed quickly out of sight. Chris took a deep breath. Let it all out evenly, pursing his lips and puffing his cheeks as the air fled his lungs. He thought fleetingly of his real body, sitting alone there in his cool dark room, leads running out from the hood to form a spider web of  tangled tubing and wires that had been spun about his head. And his chest. His chest would rise and fall deeply with the breath that he’d just taken in-game.

One word formed in Christian’s mind. The letters coming together in his mind like the letters from those old alphabet soup commercials he'd seen at the 80's cafe in Neverland.

Vulnerable.

The space where a pair of shoulders met parted, and Christian was in the front line again with a clear view of the battlefield arranging and maneuvering itself in front of him. Faceless figures pivoted and swept here and there in graceful columns at the direction of their sergeants and mounted lieutenants. And Chris thought for some reason that it all reminded him of a row of dominoes being set up to be knocked down.

The frayed banner of the Morrigan whipped and flapped in the chill breeze that blew out of the north. Of course there wasn't really any breeze, or banner for that matter. And yet Christian felt the goose flesh rise on the skin of his in-game body.

Chris had never felt any fear in a free walk game before. Of course he felt concern and a bit of worry over the possibility of losing an avatar every time he stepped onto the field. And there was always the minor inconvenience of the simulated pain one felt from a virtual wound.


Actually, it hurts like shit, Christian thought.

The neural override allowed the brain to feel the pain of a wound that wasn't actually there, and at the same time prevented the player from going into shock from the simulation. But even with all of that, no one ever really felt fear.

But as Christian took his place in the shield wall, he was afraid.

He looked to his right, saw Michael there, a few men down the line. He hadn't said anything to Michael about where he'd gone earlier in the day before the free walk battle began. And he didn't feel particularly proud of himself for keeping the secret, but he knew that Michael would scorn his desire to investigate Neal's remarks about what he'd heard while in the safe room.

So he'd left him out of the loop.

Of course Neal knew. But Neal wasn't free walking in this battle. He'd stayed back in the real world; holding the rip chord to Chris' reserve chute should he need one.

And as another bull horn sounded, the men in his line began to beat their swords and spears and axes against their limewood shields. And seven imaginary armies converged on the green field.

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The rushing sound of blood in his ears was punctuated by the clang of steel on steel, the muffled, wet thumps of blades finding their mark, and by the shrieks and screams of those who had been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of those sharp (and sometimes dull) blades. Chris' shield wall had penetrated and divided the Northmen's line, and some segment of his clan was attempting, even now, to turn the corner on the Viking line and surround them. 

A voice twittered in his ear, tinny and hollow at first, finally resolving itself into one he recognized. 

"I'm running a scan of all the participants and their registration signatures..." Neal's nasally voice trailed off without finishing the sentence.

"Neal?"

"Yeah, sorry. Um. Nothing particularly noteworthy has popped up yet, but I'll pop back in if something comes up. It's best if I don't stay on this feed, in case something picks up the signature."

"Okay." Christian heard the click in his head as Neal logged off the feed, and he wondered as a short, grizzled man began to swing an improbably large war hammer in his direction, if his instinct had been wrong.

The head of the hammer smashed into Christian's raised shield, the limewood splintering at the impact point sending shards of sharp wood into his forearm. Christian winced at the simulated pain, but re-focused his mind on the task at hand. He was distracted, and if he got killed or wounded badly, he'd never get to test his theory.

The stubby, dwarvish figure was recovering from the hellish back swing of the long, spike ended war hammer, and was rearing back for a low, back swing strike. Christian knew his battered shield couldn't handle too many more of the focused blows from that hammer. He'd need to finish this particular confrontation, or he'd be a sitting duck with a useless shield. The shortish man's burly mallet arm came forward, steel whistling on the wind, and Christian mentally crossed his fingers in hopes that his deflection would be as well aimed as he intended it to be.

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To be continued . . .

Kirk out.