I go in, and there’s too much loot.
I step back, shut the double doors, take a deep breath, step forward once again, go through the traps, there it is again. Too much loot.
How can there be so much loot?
Just numbers in a computer, just a glitch in the system, definitely a decimal point gone haywire. There’s too much loot for me to carry. It just doesn’t make sense.
So much gold. I can’t carry it all with me. It sucks, it makes me feel fucking depressed. How can little hills of gold make someone feel depressed instead of making them abso-fucking-lutely happy, right? Well, they do.
I feel depressed.
I kick at the gold pieces that are near me, they fly away with excellent physics simulation and on top of that, they’re fucking heavy. Have you ever tried kicking a gold coin? Those things have mass, my friend.
I stub my toe and it hurts, but it helps me take my mind off of this impossible task. Too much loot, man. Too much.
I leave the chamber and shut the doors behind me, even resetting the goddamn traps. They’re easy to reset, I disabled them properly without breaking anything. Sure, I can’t carry my damn pile of gold with me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let others just waltz in there and grab whatever they can.
So I go back to the town and straight to the tavern, order a full bottle of whiskey, pay with the gold coin I pilfered from my pocket and get myself piss drunk. Sure, it’s a game but you can get drunk alright. It has to do with brainwaves and stuff, basically the game intoxicates you by warbling the same things that alcohol does. Same deal, same hangover.
Hey, nothing’s perfect, you know.
The tavern wench comes onto me, I grab a handful and then shoo her away. ‘I’m not in the mood for romance, love,’ I tell her. I drink my ass off all night and then pass out on the couch, Tom is nice and lets me sleep around the back of the store. I upped his security, the fucker basically owes me for the service. Anyway, I get contorted and wake up with both a hangover, my back hurting, why oh why did they have to program that in, and I still don’t have a clue how I’ll carry all that loot out of the chamber.
I head back to the cave system that leads under the mountain and find the double doors again. I disable the traps, it’s a piece of cake for me by now, and I go in the chamber.
The piles of gold coins are staring back at me, taunting me. ‘How you gonna carry us all, punk?’
I spit at them, but they don’t care. They’re just dusty old coins. They’re not even missing the one I stole yesterday. So, I grab one more.
Or rather, I try to. I can’t choose. They’re so many. Who would have thunk it that the infamous Sticky Fingers would freeze like that in front of a ginormous pile of loot?
I grab a coin from the pile on the left. Then I toss it back, it clinks with a satisfying tingle with the rest of the precious metal. Then I grab one from the pile on the right. I feel it in my hand, yeah, that’s nice. This one will get me laid tonight.
I reset the traps, shut the double doors and get back into town. I go straight to the tavern and plop my gold coin on the table, right in front of the tavern wench. Her eyes twinkle and she pulls me by the collar round the back and essentially undresses me before I can say ‘Fuck me, this is forward of ya,’ and she’s sucking me off, right? But I can’t get it hard and I’m off my game, Sticky Fingers cannot perform any longer, I sit on the bed and weep like a kid but she tells me it’s alright and she’d never tell no one, it’ll be our secret, and she hugs me and I bury my face between her enormous tits and I let go of more tears.
The wench’s name is Betsy and she sings me a lullaby and I pass out again.
The next morning there’s no hangover but I still feel like shit. I grab something to eat in a hurry and I’m off to the mountains again, taking big circles and making sure nobody’s following me. I get to the chamber, disable the traps, open the double doors and there it is again, the piles of gold taunting me again, ‘Sticky Fingers has a sticky willy, stinky stinky willy, nyah nyah…’
So I whip it out and I take a piss on the damn piles, right?
‘Take that, you stupid gold pieces. What good are you, anyway?’
But I see the heads on the little circles of gold. And they are faces that remind me of people. Men I’ve robbed, women I’ve seduced for their house keys, marks I’ve stabbed in the back in dark alleys. Rich men, evil men, ordinary men that owed the wrong person money.
They all look familiar, every single face in the rounds.
The golden rounds, they go round and round. I pick one up, it’s that guy I botched the killing blow and it took him fifteen minutes to die in the docks. Fifteen minutes of agonising pain when I could have just nicked his artery and let him fade out in a few seconds. I was a newbie back then, backstabbing ain’t as easy as I make it look, okay?
I throw it on the ground as if it burned me. I grab another, it’s the son of that shithead I garotted back in, oh, I don’t even remember when. I made a fine job of framing his uncle, so the son took revenge and killed his own flesh and blood, the brother of his father.
A job well done, or so I thought back then.
I rub it on my face, smell the piss, that’s what I’m worth as a person, a gold piece that’s dank in piss.
Yeah, I’ll keep that one for tonight. I hold onto it, put it in my pocket and reset the traps and shut the double doors.
I head of to the town, but I won’t be going to the tavern, not yet. I hold my dagger in my hand and I plan to feed that piss-covered gold coin to the man responsible for all this.
I have to set it right. I have to set things right.
One gold piece at a time.