More Than A Game (Epic LitRPG adventure)

Chapter 1: A frolicking Mammoth Part 2

        "You call this Journalism? I call it crap. And everyone else does fabulous work! Take Petrova. She got a job as a bank teller, worked a month, and got an inside scoop on their HR problems. They hire country bumpkins, leave them on probation, and pay them so little they're jealous of bums on the street outside. They enjoy these young little bodies and then fire them the day before their contract is up."

      He waved his hand. "Hell, Sevastyanov worked with the police to uncover an underground casino. So maybe he just wanted to write an article about a casino he found, and maybe he got drunk and blabbed to an old friend, and maybe that friend worked for the police. But they figured it out. He got an official award from the cops, and that same night, the casino cracked his skull with a pipe-a bonus, I guess. That may have landed him in hospital, but our numbers are up, and that's the important thing. And what about you?"

       "And what about me?" The defence is ready your honor. "Petrova has her 'Give it a Try' column, and Sevastyanov is on the crime beat. If you care to remember, all I have is the society column. It's one long string of nothing. What is there to write about? Who's fighting whom; who cursed who; which mean are sleeping with which other men; how we're all just rinking our lives away? It's the same people traipsing from one club to another, doing the same thing day after day." I paused as a thought struck at me. "Well sometime they throw in a little heroin or cocaine for good measure, to spice things up a bit."

      Mammoth grunted and said "I'll give you that. People aren't aren't who they used to be..... Just take you, for instance, showing up for work straight off a bender.' He saw the glare on my face and waved it away. "Okay, okay, I'm just kidding. But really, your articles lately have been rough. No, let's call a spade a spade; they're terrible, and that's why I'm giving you a story."

       I wilted on the spot. Mammoth had decided to give me a story? Himself? Of his own free will? Up was down, black was white, and hell had frozen over. Afterall, he might as well have had a sign over his door that read 'Let your imagination run wild, you parasites, and don't forget to liven up the facts. And if that's not what you're about, then don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.' And here he was giving me a story? I looked at him warily...

       "Okay", Mammoth said unfazed. "Do you happen to know what the most popular form of entertainment is right now?" Again, he waved away any answer away. "Eh, don't answer that-you'll just mutter something about booze. Virtual worlds are currently at the top of the list - the latest generation, I mean with full emersion. You know, there's a capsule you get into, and they attach some kind of electrodes to your skull. Then voila, you're transported into another reality where you're covered in iron with a club in your hand...or a sword. Whatever.

        "They say your real life is there, and you come back here just to wolf down some food and go to the bathroom. It's ridiculous, obviously, but there must be something to it if so many people are doing it. I want you to try it, see what it's like, do some fighting, and write an article..., actually six or seven feature length stories with follow-ups."

      "Semyon," I quickly whined. "I don't play games! You should really have Petrova do it; she's the one who  should 'Give it a Try.' But no, she gets to be an animator in Turkey or work for someone on Rublevka.  I'm the one stuck climbing into capsules. And you know what -."

      "Oh stop it!" Roared Mammoth, shaking his disheveled, uncut, grey mane. "All Petrova knows are the letters on her computer, and sometimes she has problems with those. Just recently, she was looking for the 'any' key on her keyboard. She couldn't find it and spent the whole morning crying. And don't give me that crap about how you don't play games. Do you think I don't know about those office LAN battles you started a few years back? You obviously know something about games."

       "Where would I even get a capsule?" I broke out the big guns, playing on his stinginess. "I know how much they cost. And Subscriptions cost an arm and a leg. You think I'm paying for thay myself?"

        "You don't have to pay for it." Mammoth grunted. "Remember the people in suits who came by the other week? No? It doesn't matter. They were from Radion, the company that designs the capsules - and the game of course. Naturally they gave me a capsule and a game certificate. And that got me thinking about how I don't do any of that stuff....."

       Then, it all made sense, the old fart. Jeans-it had to be Jeans-advertisements usually paid for in cash, that masquerade as part of an article or movie. So he was getting a cut under the table. What do you know?

".....And a VIP account for a whole six months. I don't think people like that would give us just any old crap, and whatever they made, can't be that bad. So, I want you to walk around in there, check it out, and write an objective, good -let's emphasize, GOOD -article. And if it isn't good, we'll have another talk about your alcohol problems. Or maybe I'll just fire you for betraying the level of trust we've placed in you. Anyway, tomorrow the capsule will be delivered, so make sure you're at home starting at around two. As soon as they set it up, get in there. You have two weeks....no, make that a month. Just so long as I have a six or seven-part series on my desk at the end of it. And write something about Radion-the capsule is comfortable; your back doesn't hurt afterwards; it's easy on the ass. Something like that." 

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