Strength: 6
Intelligence: 3
Constitution: 5
Dexterity: 5
Charisma: 4
According to Mordecai, I couldn’t directly adjust these stats. Not yet. I received three stat points every time I leveled up, but I couldn’t distribute them until I picked a race and class. And I couldn’t do that until I reached the third floor down. For now, these numbers went up and down on their own based on my inherent, real-life physical and mental attributes. He also added the typical adult human averaged between three and five for each of these first five stats, so my six in strength was good.
I could find items and potions that would either temporarily or permanently adjust these numbers, but for now, there wasn’t much I could do about them.
“Why do we have to wait until we go down to the third floor before we get to pick a class?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It takes a lot of energy to run this whole operation. I think they figure if you manage to make it to the third floor, you’re worth the investment to transfigure. Class is easy. But changing your race takes some doing. You’re being fundamentally changed at the cellular level. That’s a lot of effort for someone who’s just going to get eaten by a flytrap on the first floor.”
I hadn’t thought about it until that moment. I can change into a different type of creature. If this was a computer game, I’d do it in a second. I never played humans in games if I could help it. But permanently changing myself into something different? The thought made me ill. It was something I’d have to think about and deal with when I got there.
I grumbled a bit about that three in intelligence. Yeah, I never did too great in math, but I never considered myself a slobbering idiot, either. I could fix most anything electrical after studying it for a bit. My friend Billy Maloney, now that guy was an idiot. Just last week we’d come out of a bar, and he’d peed right on a cop’s bicycle while the cop was giving someone else a ticket for drunk and disorderly. That guy deserved an intelligence of three, maybe two.
Billy is dead. He was still in jail. He’d had a warrant for failure to appear, so they’d taken him in. He’s dead like everyone else in the world. I pushed it away.
After I complained about my intelligence score to Mordecai, using the Billy example, he said, “Intelligence told you that bike belonged to a police officer. Wisdom told you not to urinate upon it. We all have a wisdom stat, but it doesn’t appear on that list. It used to, but they discovered changing one’s wisdom greatly changed their personality, so it’s no longer adjustable. I do not know what this Billy’s intelligence is, but I guarantee his wisdom is not a 5. Worry not about an intelligence of three unless you’re seeking a magic-based class. Your best bet is something that focuses on strength.”
That mollified me while Mordecai moved me to the next menu.
“This next screen is the single most important menu in the entire game. Your life depends on these numbers.”
It was called Ratings. I clicked on it, and the list took me aback:
Ratings
Views: 0
Followers: 0
Favorites: 0
Patrons: 0
Apparently the first level of the dungeon was off-limits to live viewers, so these stats wouldn’t move until I descended to the second floor.
As of right now, no viewers had access to anything that was going on. However, Borant would release an edited highlights reel over the next day or so. If I managed to get shown during the “premiere” of the show or any of the regular update episodes, it would be like hitting the lottery. Featured crawlers always gained billions of views and millions of followers right out the gate.
Given the sheer number of people in the world, I seriously doubted I was going to be featured, so if I wanted to survive, I needed to have what Mordecai called “Chutzpah” and “The ‘it’ factor.”
“You need to stand out. You can’t just kill that shambling acid impaler and walk away. You need to kill it with style, with excitement. Maybe you can come up with a catchphrase. During my crawl, I managed to accumulate almost 30 million followers and four patrons. That’s the only way I survived.”
“Excuse me, a shambling what?”
“A shambling acid impaler. The second floor will be lousy with them. They trounce about on four legs, are green, hairy. Spit darts at you that melt your skin off. Awful creatures.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said. I still felt as if this was all a dream.
Mordecai snapped. “Hey. Kid. Pay attention. The monsters aren’t important. Well, they are. But this part especially is more important.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, waving him along. “Keep going.”
He went on to explain how viewership worked. Once I hit the second floor, watchers from across the universe had the ability to tune into any crawler they wished. Borant would continue to air highlights. So the longer I survived, the better my chances at getting featured. Any time someone watched me for just about eight seconds or so, it counted as a View. This stat didn’t help or hurt me, but it was a good indicator of how “interesting” I was.
“You might not like it,” Mordecai said, “but pay careful attention when I tell you this. Obtaining Patrons is crucial to your survival. There is plenty of great loot in the dungeon that’ll help you survive, but the best loot comes from benefactors. Patrons. Views lead to followers. If you’re being followed, it means the viewer has bookmarked your crawler ID. They can look in on you whenever they want. Following leads to favorites. If you’re favorited, that’s a good thing. It means the viewers are getting live updates on your stats and condition. They get notifications if you’re fighting. If someone has favorited you, they really want to know how you’re doing. Viewers only get a certain number of favorites, so consider it an honor.”
“But,” Mordecai continued, “ultimately, it’s all about the patrons. Lots of favorites will always lead to patrons. Patrons are usually organizations, not individuals. They’ll see someone has a lot of favorites, and they’ll sponsor you. It’s an advertising thing. They sponsor you by purchasing boxes for you. There are dozens of types of boxes, and each type of box has six quality tiers. Bronze, then Silver, then Gold, then Platinum, then Legendary, then Celestial.”
“Yeah,” I said drily. “You wouldn’t let me open my boxes yet. Can I do it now?”
“Hold up, kid,” Mordecai said. “We have a process here. We’ll get there in a minute.” He continued. “Most patrons can only afford, or are willing to, send you silver or gold boxes. Bronze boxes tend to be crap, but anything higher usually has some good stuff in it. Some of the richer patrons may even send you platinum boxes, though the cost for them has got to be astronomical. That said, patrons are the only ones who can send what are called Benefactor Boxes. Those contain the rarest items. So even a bronze Benefactor Box is better than a plain, Gold Adventurer box. A Benefactor Box may contain items from the patron’s home world. You will never find a pulse rifle or automated power armor in any sort of box in the world dungeon, but it’s possible to get one from a patron. Does that make sense?”
“None of this shit makes sense,” I said. “But yes, I understand what you’re saying. I’m on an intergalactic game show, and I have to be an obnoxious showoff in order to get eyes on me. And once I do have eyes on me, I might get a loot box with toilet paper in it. Does that about sum it up?”
Mordecai clapped his rat hands. “Yes! But toilet paper is complimentary. Restrooms are liberally populated throughout the map. It’s the only place the viewer cameras can’t follow you.”