Sanna Amari
The Big Deal
Start Writing!
Barrett "Bear" Sterling, ex-governor and reigning real estate mogul, was sitting in his opulent office in Austin, Texas, when the shit hit the windmills. He was on the phone trying to convince an unwilling farmer to sell land. "Listen, you damn hillbilly! I’m offering you the deal of a lifetime!" Barrett yelled into the phone as the transparent, glowing interface appeared right before his eyes. His index finger, heavy with the gold of his signet ring, twitched. He blinked. The screen remained. "What the hell is this?" he thundered into the receiver. "Is this your fucking idea of a joke?" He almost knocked over the heavy crystal decanter on his desk. "Belinda! BELINDA! Come here right now! What the fuck?!"
Belinda, his wife, entered the room, her carefully tousled hair perfect, but the slight tension around her eyes revealed that she was already struggling with the same phenomenon. Her own screen was still flickering in front of her face. Barrett didn’t notice her barely concealed annoyance, his attention focused entirely on his own anger. "Tell me what that is! What is this crappy screen?! I can’t click on anything! Press on it!" He tried to touch the transparent screen with his finger, but it evaded him like a hologram. Belinda sighed inaudibly. "Barrett, that’s... different. I’ve asked Miss Albright from the research department to explain it to us. She’s already ’started’ it."
A slim woman in neat, slightly disheveled suit trousers entered shyly. Her glasses were crooked, but her gaze was clear. She had chosen the Scholar class. "Sir, ma’am," Miss Albright began, her voice surprisingly firm amidst the increasingly loud chaos of sirens and screams outside on the streets of Austin. "It’s... an interface. It reacts to thought power, to will. You have to mentally select it to activate it." Barrett’s small, alert eyes narrowed. A mental click? Nonsense! He was used to things following his direct orders, not his thoughts. But then, spurred on by the sheer will to control this damn thing, he concentrated on the words "Start game". A barely perceptible jolt, and the screen gave way to the three-dimensional selection of twelve classes.
He instinctively ignored the warrior - too brute, too unstructured. There were employees for the rough work. Scholars? Theory was for the elite in their ivory towers. Thief? That was petty. His eyes lingered on the dealer. Yes. Bargaining, gathering information, recognizing value. That was his language. It was the only game he had ever played. He could do it. And he would play it better than anyone else. "Merchant," he murmured, his broad lips twisted into a smug grin. His body was bulky, not muscular, more "bear-like", but he radiated an imposing presence. All hell broke loose beneath him. Honking horns died away in a crescendo of crunching metal, screams mingled with the distant wailing of sirens. But to Barrett, they were just sounds. The sound of an economy reorganizing itself. His economy.
His gaze fell on his secretary, who stood pale and trembling in the doorway, the pop-up still in front of his face. "What are you looking at, Bill? Click! And choose what I tell you!" Barrett barked, his voice a booming authority. "Miss Albright, your expertise is now invaluable," Barrett barked, his voice booming, but now with a calculated undertone. He rubbed his large, shovel-like hand across his chin. "I expect any employee who values their place here to seek classification immediately. And no random choices will be tolerated! I need warriors to secure my property. Craftsmen for my infrastructure. And scholars, Miss Albright, who analyze this ’game’ for me and show me the best ways to maximize profits! Anyone who doesn’t make themselves useful in my new empire is a liability. And we eliminate burdens. Understood?"
His words were unmistakable. It wasn’t a request, it was a dictate. And the unmistakable threat of being eliminated - in a world that was collapsing - was a weapon more powerful than any bullet. Miss Albright nodded mutely, her eyes still blank from shock, but a spark of panicked determination dawned. She understood. Bear Sterling wouldn’t just survive the chaos. He would monetize it. Barrett pulled out his oversized smartphone, whose battery was surprisingly still holding up. He began to feed the first instructions to his far-flung associates and former political contacts. The vast network of his real estate companies, ranchers and media influences was immediately repurposed. His private security team - once designed to deter paparazzi and protesters - was given new orders: Secure the access roads to his sprawling estates, to his raw material deposits. Take control of the local distribution centers. Under the guise of "order" and "protection", he ordered to claim the first, crucial territories for himself. The world was now one big deal, and Barrett Sterling was ready to make the best cut.