“A mutant hack?” FeeTwix asks.
“Yes, an algoweapon as it is known here. This one you’ll find is most excellent, and far superior to the one you already have.”
“How did you know I have one?”
Dirty Dave taps his finger against his temple. “I’ve been saving this particular specimen whom I’ve named Colonel Bowie, for the right buyer, and the little bird on my shoulder tells me that that buyer is you. Tritania’s NVA seed put a restriction on how many times this sort of weapon can be used – thanks to your hero, Quantum Hughes, by the way. You can use it once a day, for the duration of whatever battle you are engaged in. Don’t forget that, and don’t be surprised if this weapon does more than you originally intend for it to do. This one was made here in Tritania, and like I said, it’s much more powerful than yours.”
FeeTwix admires the weapon for a moment. He runs his free hand along the hack’s exterior, flicks it to test its hardness. “That reminds me, my guildmates told me about some type of protective vest that would prevent damage from using unapproved weapons.”
Dave nods. “You’re referring to Doc’s tactical vest. There were two in existence, actually, but I was never able to get one. I was, however, able to examine one and reverse engineer a duplicate.” He bends and opens another drawer. He returns to the display table with a black sleeveless tactical vest lined with pockets. “It isn’t quite as good as Doc’s – that man was truly an artist in every sense of the word – and it won’t give you any additional defense points, but it will limit the life bar penalty to no more than 15%.”
FeeTwix slips into the black tactical vest and zips it up. “I love it,” he says as he runs his hands up and down the front of the vest. “Now I won’t have to chug as many healing potions.”
(0)__(x)
Dirty Dave and FeeTwix join the rest of the group in the front room. Zaena is performing some flashy and elaborate four-armed sword drills and Hiccup, his goat-horned helm perched on his head, watches her and comments in Thulean.
“Now comes my second favorite part,” the weapons dealer claps his hands together. “Let’s discuss remuneration.” His eyes light up as he drums his fingers together.
“We have a little over fifty thousand rupees,” Ryuk informs him. As the scion of a well-to-do Yakuza clan, he’s never had to concern himself with what things cost, and is ignorant of the primary rule of bartering – don’t tell ‘em how much you have.
“How excellent,” Dirty Dave claps his hands in delight. “That should almost exactly cover the tip!”
All eyes turn to Hiccup.
“Now just a fickin’ minute,” he objects. “Yeah we’re a little short of funds, but it’s not like I’m the one who pissed away seventy thousand … oh, wait – that was me.” He huffs, “Well, at least I’m not the one who blew ten grand at the fancy house … no, that was me, too. Well, I for sure didn’t lose twenty-five large on a fixed ponytail race to an ink shadow … um, yeah – that was also me. No matter. We’ll never go back to Sotla so we won’t have to pay it back.”
“We?” Ryuk clenches his fists.
A slightly contrite Hiccup stage whispers behind his hand, “Okay – never mind. Just leave it to me. I’ll trick this yokel into dropping his prices with my superior negotiating skills.” With a thoroughly unconvincing and most insincere grin crookedly plastered across his lumpy goblin physiognomy, he turns to the weaponeer. “Oh kind, gentle, charitable Mr. Dirty Dave, sir!” He hurls himself at the proprietor’s feet, wraps his arms around Dave’s ankles and weeps and caterwauls. “Through no fault of mine, we are seriously short of funds. Please, oh please good kind sir – is there any way you can help us out?”
Numbers of electric blue fire form in the air as Dave reads off the costs of the weapons.
The final total – eighty-six thousand, seven hundred and fifty-three rupees flashes like the tote board for the national corporate debt, and a scroll with a handsomely calligraphied itemized receipt materializes out of thin air and drops into Ryuk’s hand.
He gulps. “That’s quite a bit.”
“I disagree. You get what you pay for, young sir, and despite Mr. Goblin’s shenanigans, I did not charge you the usual ten percent PUWYBS surcharge, in addition to the generous five percent discount that I don’t normally offer to the walk-in trade, plus an additional seven hundred off the top.” Dave’s eyes narrow on the five. “Consider it a complimentary Knights of Non Compos Mentis discount.”
FeeTwix: PUWYBS – Putting up with your bullshit. I’ve been charged this before by a guy I call Steampunk Santa in Steam.
“But that’s no longer my guild,” Ryuk says. “Ow! Dammit!”
Hiccup removes his metal fist from where he’d pounded it into Ryuk’s toes, and hisses, “Shut the fick up and take the fickin’ discount!”
“Wait!” FeeTwix announces, his finger in the air, “I have a bill of credit.” The Swede gives his list a quick looksee and a scroll appears. “Take a look at this.”
The weapons dealer unrolls the scroll, examines it, offers the Mitherfickers a satisfied nod, and a red Thulean wax stamp appears on the parchment hovering in front of Ryuk.
“We are in so much debt now,” Ryuk mutters under his breath.
“Debt?” Hiccup scoffs. “I hate to break it to you, Marbles, but thirty K worth of debt is nothing. Remember those orcs we were running from in Sotla? I owed those fickers at least seventy K, owed the brothel another ten.”
“That’s your debt, not ours.”
“But it would have become ours if they had caught me. The way I see it, we’re already eighty K up and that’s without the bonus I’ve been promised.”
“You owe some orcs eighty thousand rupees in Sotla?” Tamana shakes her head and looks to Zaena.
“What, Tammy? And don’t get Liz involved in this discussion; she wasn’t even a member of our guild at that time!”
Zaena ruffles his clump of pink hair with her ghost limb.
“Hey! Watch the hair!”
“We’ll get the money the good old-fashioned way – advertising, fighting, and gambling.” FeeTwix grins. “I’m not worried about it.”
Dave snaps his fingers and a crate of healing potions appear. “This isn’t something I normally do, but I was recently given a year’s supply of SafeKrogerWay healing potions for sponsoring the annual Waringtla Tournament. The case is yours. There are also two mana potions in there, if the White Warrior needs them.”
“The store brand kind? Eew!” Hiccup groans, doffs his helmet, and tucks it under his mechanical arm.
“And that’s not all.” Pixie dust swirls around Dave’s hand as a ray gun with a bulbous barrel takes shape.
“Fick me.” Hiccup mumbles as he lifts his hands into the air. “Dammit, I should have known!”
Tamana draws her weapon and steps in front of the group, her surfboard-sized sword nearly as long as Hiccup is tall. Ryuk aims his marble gun, Zaena her four new swords, and FeeTwix his mutant hack.
“Ha!” Dave snorts in amusement. “The five of you versus … me? Now those are some odds I can get behind! But fear not, dear friends – I’m not here to shoot you. If I wanted you dead, to quote an old friend, you wouldn’t have made it to the door. No, this ray gun is something I invented that modifies an avatar’s D-NAS – digital neuronal autoconstruct system – to spoof the world’s algorithm into granting double experience points for a six-hour time frame. You people need to level up, especially you, White Warrior, and this will help. Also, before you ask, it isn’t for sale.”
He puts the ray gun away.
“Aren’t you going to fire it?” FeeTwix asks.
“I already did. No glitz or glam about the EXP Ray Gun, but you do have a time limit to reap the most awards, and as it is currently the Hour of the Morning Pig, you have until the Hour of the Rabbit to take advantage of the algospell. Recently, in Kayi, near the Klin Mountains, there’s been an outbreak of orc zombies. They’ve since taken over the town, turned most of the townspeople into zombies, and as such, the Aramis Security Force are looking for a few good entities to help rid the town of the Z infestation. And talk about luck … ”A badge the size of a dinner plate appears on his chest. “I’m also sponsor of and a recruiter for the ASF.”