Little swirls of oil pooled in a kaleidoscopic fashion. Black inky stuff blobbed onto the surface of dirt. Vestin Go sipped water. He played a game called Oil Captain. Knowledge of the nineteenth century allowed him to know exactly how to use the greasy goop. Like a real oil tycoon, he established a city and collected enough people to run it. Fully immersive, he could envision an entire empire based on his own research. Townsfolk scurried about and ran a courthouse, general store, a shoeshine kit, a hotel, some homes, and a jail among other locales. 

Brought into focus, he studied the wonders of this black gooeyness. Joy sprung from his ability to foster a fortune based on real life knowledge. He exchanged simple pleasantries with his fellow players from around the globe. This wasn’t just a game. Real money flowed into the virtual realm. Go relished the fact he had studied the section of American history where prospectors snapped up land and prospered based on sweat and ingenuity. He wore a dark blue hued suit and clean brown leather shoes, shined to perfection. He looked down at his platinum stop watch. 

Time had come for him to understand just how important it had been for him to piece together how to achieve in this digital world. He put away his watch and produced a piece of paper. By sticking it into the oozing earth, he could ascertain where he wanted his next oil derrick to be placed. No mobile phone service, no Internet, he prospered nevertheless. He journeyed to the general store and sent a telegram to his business partners. It read:

Found new spot. ST0P. Willing to start when ready. STOP. 

Go grinned. It was a soft smile, radiant and affirming. His smile soon disappeared at the sight of Immanuel Crustin. Crustin, gaunt and gangly with a handlebar mustache, had been his latest rival. Go also knew his IP address but didn’t let him know it. It was actually a kid in Brazil named Seu Santos who, in the game, had petitioned the government to have Go’s properties seized in order to preserve the land surrounding the town and his field of derricks. He didn’t win his case.

“G’day, Mr. Fellington,” Crustin intoned.

“G’day,” Go replied. The name he chose in the game had been Barthelomew “Bart” Fellington.

“I hear it’s going to be another hot one in these parts,” Crustin pointed out.

“Such is the report from the almanac.”

“I see you’re still wheeling and dealing around here. That judge must’ve really liked your lawyers.”

Go chuckled. “I think he just looked at the law….”

“Anyway…you know that what you’re doing is impeding God’s greatness. That inky stuff is his to own.”

“Well I own God, then,” Go smirked and tipped his hat to Santos and walked out of the store.

The Brazilian kid just stood there, mouth agape, and allowed him to pass. Go continued to walk down the road. He had installed a tall fence with barbed wire around the place where he had discovered the blobs of oil. In his travels around Fellingtonville, he encountered businesspeople who ran brothels and those selling chains and potions. Mystics occupied various locations with their wares being ideas that didn’t correspond with Go’s, but he allowed them space because they paid their dues, nonetheless.

He journeyed to the gambling house. The sounds of roulette wheels and the smell of tobacco smoke enticed him. The casino always won, allowing him to pocket even more money. He never played the games within a game. All Go concerned himself about remained the fact dollars lined his pockets.

“Look at us,” Santos proclaimed. “We’ve met once more on the same day. Would you finally like to play some high stakes poker? Spades? What?” Crustin asked.

“Never.” Go spoke with a simple coldness.

“Okay. You know that I’m going to appeal my decision, right?”

Just as he uttered those words, a woman the color of nutmeg with jade eyes and ample bosom and a pert posterior walked over. She donned a full green velvet dress with ruffles around her neck and at the bottom of her skirt. It was Chanda. In the game, she chose the avatar Maybelline Bullocker. 

“You boys are going to fuss your way into oblivion. Why don’t you have a drink?”

Chanda, in real life, walked into the room where Go sat. She paused herself. She lifted her augmented reality visor and nudged her boyfriend.

“Maybe he’s just bored and wants to make me more money,” Go announced and resumed the game. 

“You’re both back! C’mon, this cold one is on me. Unless you want to drink something a bit more potent….” Santos suggested.

“Okay.” Santos motioned for the barkeeper. “Two Scotches for the misses and me.”

Barkeeper Mannix Fried wore a clean white shirt with a vest and possessed silver hair. (This character moved as Taylor Bloodworth from Clearwater, Florida.) He looked up with suspicion at Santos. He shot another glance at Go. The only gesture Go gave appeared as a sanction for Santos to drink.

“One Scotch, though. The lady isn’t drinking.”

Shocked, Santos quickly gathered himself. “Alright, make it one. Put it on my tab.”

Chanda whisked herself away from the bar and locked arms with her boyfriend/tavern manager. They ambled out of the establishment. Santos snickered and sipped his Scotch.

Outside, the two peered at the horses adjacent to the parlor. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Chanda asked.

“I’m thinking about buying this gaming company. I might bar him from the place completely.”

“I think we should do something about him right now.”

“I’d like to hear your proposition….” he replied.

“What if you take him to court here? IRL, he’ll be crushed. You won’t have to own the rights to Fellington. Just him knowing that he won’t have any power in the game would quash his soul.”

Chanda became indignant. “Maybe? It would send him into a tizzy and he wouldn’t want to enter this world again.”

“I know what you’re getting at, Chan’. This is still my page. I own only a fraction of the rights. He’s just a troll and I welcome all trolls to my account. No matter how underhanded and despicable he might be, he still has to live in this world I built.”

Chanda switched up the pace. “I saw you struck more oil.”

“Yes, we’re going to be the Producer Barons once again.”

“Don’t you think that’s going to upset the townsfolk, mainly you-know-who?”

“How? They’re going to be rewarded with a flood of cash that will flow down and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

The doors to the saloon burst open like fresh corn being shucked. Santos stood outside and breathed in the air.

“It’s such a fine day. What are we chatting about?”

“Either way, we’re not talking to you,” Go explained.’

Chanda lifted up her dress and returned to the saloon. The two men stood as the horses neighed. 

“In this cool autumn afternoon, why don’t we just be friendly?” Santos’ voice lilted a bit.

“I’ve been ‘friendly’ enough with you,” Go countered.

“That’s not enough.” Then, a paperboy ran along the path. He bumped into Go.

“Get your paper! Get your evening news!” The kid,  a guy from Calgary Canada IRL, wore gray knickers and a white shirt and gray flat cap. “You’ve just been served, sir. Get your paper! Get the news!”

Santos lit a cigar and basked in the glow of the setting sun.

Go just looked towards him. “You cannot be serious….”

“Oh, I’m very serious. Taking you back to court would mean everything to me. Friend.”

Go sighed. “You know, I want you in this world. I like the competitiveness. At the same time, you know I’ve got high-powered lawyers who will win another case in my favor.”

“Be that as it may, you will be dragged in the news again. That will only hurt your chances of becoming mayor.”

“You know I have no political aspirations.”

“I do. I’m just making it clear that you will not even be considered for the role of a carriage driver once I’m through with you.”

Go looked at his stopwatch again. Five o’clock on the dot. “If you mean to sully my reputation, let me remind you that you’re going to lose every time. This is my town. You’re just coasting on the proceeds of my labor.”

“Yes, spoken like a true robber baron….” Santos shot back.

“Whatever you want to call yourself, you're stripping the earth of its bounty. Everything around here is an abomination to God.”

For all intents and purposes, I am the God of this realm,” Go fired away.

Santos stomped down the stairs a bit tipsy to meet up with Go eye-to-eye. Go applauded himself in making his character six feet six inches tall. Santos stood at five foot nine.

“Of course you are! You’ve shown yourself to be a big man around here. You named this town after yourself. So original. If you are able to meet me in court again, I’ll see that you not only are as outlawed as the gun ban you imposed, but that you will live on the outskirts of Santos Town as a no-account grifter.”

“You won’t be able to do that without the money.”

“That Scotch you ordered in there was worth a billion credits. Once I gave the look to Mannix, he knew that you’d order even more and become as inebriated as you are now. That tab you ran up with the liquor has bankrupted you. You’ve drained your account. A lot of luck trying to pay your attorneys, now.”

“But nothing. You have done this to yourself. Now, you can stand here in your stupor, or you can join me in creating this beautiful place. The land supposed to be used. It is not by God or any divine order but this is about property rights. What? Did you think I wouldn’t be able to put a code in to impede on your injustice? No, I want you right here. This idea of taking your wealth had been harboring for quite some time, now. I didn’t want to just steal it. Hell, as you’ve observed, we have a no firearm policy here. I just knew the ‘liquor would be quicker.’”

Santos looked ashen. It appeared as if his entire soul had been wrenched from his body. He blew past Go with a bluster and rage that precipitated a few onlookers to look aghast. Chanda came running out of the Saloon. 

“He tried to make it not work, but I fixed him,” Go beamed.

Chanda kissed Go in the game and then paused herself again and took off Go’s set and kissed his mouth.

“This is going to be interesting with him not around,” Chanda admitted.

“There’s going to be a heel that will come along. Maybe from France, or Nigeria…I’ll be looking out for them. What they don’t understand is that their hacktivist actions are piss poor and not planned out well. They feel as if they’re empowered in some way. Like they have this notion that if they can just mosey on in and ‘set things right’ in a game, they’ll have leverage outside of it.”

“And you’re protected?” Chanda asked.

“Absolutely. I’ve got a firewall and encrypted memory. You don’t think I had already thought of that?”

“I knew. I just wanted to see what you’d say.” Chanda grinned a bit.

Go laughed inaudibly. It was like a child’s laugh in a full grown body, filled with mirth and unblemished joy. 

“You never compromise on your engagements, that’s why I honor you,” Chanda mentioned this in a low, sincere tone.

“That’s all you can do. I’ve earned that. With this game, I’m able to better explore my options and equip myself with the tools to surmount and negotiate any obstacle along the pathway. And I’m just glad you’re on this journey with me to fulfill the life I always wanted.”

“Even in your struggles, you’ve been able to champion the notion that it’s never too late to be great. Forget Santos. Or, maybe remember him. Remember him as a brief note in your adventure. That’s all he will ever be. And when the next foe presents him or herself, we will be on guard to stand up to them, too.”

Chintan Jani

Smartystan

Pathway

Little swirls of oil pooled in a kaleidoscopic fashion. Black inky stuff blobbed onto the surface of dirt. Vestin Go sipped water. He played a game called Oil Captain. Knowledge of the nineteenth century allowed him to know exactly how to use the greasy goop. Like a real oil tycoon, he established a city and collected enough people to run it. Fully immersive, he could envision an entire empire based on his own research. Townsfolk scurried about and ran a courthouse, general store, a shoeshine kit, a hotel, some homes, and a jail among other locales. 



Smartystan

Pathway

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Businesswoman Chapter 198

Smartystan

Pathway

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Businesswoman Chapter 198

This is an Exclusive Story for supporters of Skyler Saunders