Chapter 2 — Cigarette
And thus begins Chapter Two.
Now, children.
The bus eventually stopped.
Calicut.
The council looks around.
NIT?
Not yet.
Tournament venue?
Not yet.
Glorious battlefield of keyboards and rage?
Also no.
Children.
Bus stop.
Just
Calicut.
We got down.
Five gamers.
One objective.
And immediately,
a secondary crisis emerged.
The council becomes concerned.
Nicotine.
My nicotine meter
low.
Children.
Very low.
Bus journeys have one fatal flaw.
You cannot simply light a cigarette inside them.
Well.
You can.
But society tends to react poorly.
So by the time I stepped onto Calicut soil,
my body had submitted a request.
Nicotine.
Now.
I pulled out a cigarette.
The council watches.
Hex looked at me.
Probably with the expression of a man who had already predicted the next five minutes.
He advised against it.
Children.
Important.
Hex
the Social Interaction Department,
Logistics Department,
and frequently Common Sense Department
said:
Maybe don’t.
Story Nuo heard this.
Processed it.
And rejected the recommendation.
The council sighs.
Naturally.
Because at this point,
I had a very incomplete understanding of public smoking.
I knew people disliked it.
I knew certain places might tell you not to.
But the actual legal side of standing around publicly smoking?
Children.
Not installed.
I thought this was mainly a social problem.
Someone might glare.
Someone might cough dramatically.
Someone might give me the universal expression of:
You disgusting little chimney.
Fine.
I could survive judgment.
So
light.
Puff.
The council looks toward the road.
Hex probably sighed.
The other three teammates?
Somewhere around us.
Existing.
As established.
Potentially watching.
Potentially not.
Children.
Background characters are allowed freedom when the camera is not pointed at them.
I smoked.
Nicotine meter beginning to recover.
Peace returning to the nervous system.
And then
police Jeep.
The council freezes.
Not drove toward us.
No.
That would imply transition.
Children.
Materialized.
One moment:
road.
Normal.
No police.
Next moment:
LAW ENFORCEMENT.
The council erupts.
PROPHECY.
Hex had said:
Don’t.
Universe:
Excellent suggestion.
Nuo:
Ignored.
Universe:
Deploy Jeep.
Children.
I remember the feeling very clearly.
Not terror.
Mostly annoyance.
Because the cigarette was not finished.
The council stares.
That was your concern?
Children.
Priorities are rarely dignified in the Archive.
The officers approached.
Or called us.
Or perhaps the Jeep stopped right there and conversation began.
The exact choreography is missing.
But suddenly
we were dealing with police.
And I learned very quickly that perhaps public smoking involved slightly more than disapproving aunties.
The council nods.
Did you handle the situation?
Absolutely not.
Children.
Why would I?
Hex existed.
The council laughs.
Escape Protocol:
outsourced.
This is where the beauty of our friendship infrastructure becomes obvious.
If Nuo encountered a social situation beyond preferred operating parameters
Hex.
If Nuo needed information from another human
Hex.
If Nuo had just ignored Hex’s advice and immediately attracted police attention
also Hex.
The council pauses.
That feels unfair to Hex.
He chose friendship.
Contracts have hidden clauses.
The council rejects this legal reasoning.
I remember standing there.
Cigarette crisis unresolved.
Officer.
Hex talking.
More talking.
Possibly explanations.
Possibly apologies.
Maybe promises.
Children.
The Archive does not preserve the negotiation because I was not conducting it.
I had delegated diplomacy.
My contribution to the event was approximately:
stand nearby.
Look mildly annoyed.
Wish nicotine meter were full.
The council lowers its head.
A statesman.
Exactly.
Did I say anything?
Possibly.
Did it matter?
Probably not.
Hex handled it.
That is the surviving truth.
He spoke to the officers.
They spoke to him.
Something was resolved.
No dramatic arrest.
No police station.
No tournament abandoned before it began.
The council exhales.
Eventually
the Jeep left.
Law enforcement dissolved back into the world from which it had spontaneously manifested.
Hex returned.
Children.
Crisis over.
Did he lecture me?
Maybe.
Probably deserved.
Do I remember?
No.
Because the important part was:
We may now continue to Dota.
The council nods.
Objective restored.
And thus,
within minutes of reaching Calicut,
we had already achieved:
one ignored warning,
one police encounter,
one outsourced negotiation,
and zero tournament matches.
Promising start.
Now
transport.
NIT Calicut still somewhere ahead.
Five people.
One auto.
The council pauses.
Five?
Yes.
Children.
Geometry is flexible when autos are involved.
We packed ourselves in.
Somehow.
Human limbs folded into available space.
Three teammates.
Hex.
Me.
Driver.
A small vehicle suddenly carrying enough people to begin its own esports bracket.
The council laughs.
And I acquired
the side seat.
Window seat?
Not technically.
Autos do not possess windows in the traditional philosophical sense.
But the open side.
The premium air access position.
Children.
Good seat.
Fresh air.
Calicut moving past.
Nicotine incident behind us.
Tournament ahead.
The auto rattled forward.
And unlike the bus,
there was no glass barrier.
Wind.
Noise.
Road.
The city close enough to reach out and touch,
though children,
do not.
Traffic tends to object.
I sat there.
Looked out.
No particular revelation.
Just travel.
The little stretch between arrival and destination.
And eventually
NIT.
The council straightens.
Now?
Now.
Children.
NIT Calicut.
Tournament venue.
College fest.
The actual objective.
We got out.
Paid.
Or someone paid.
Potentially Hex.
Administrative details were rarely my ministry.
And then I looked around.
The council notices the change.
This
I liked.
A college fest has a particular energy.
Not one single event.
Many small things happening at once.
Students everywhere.
Groups moving.
People sitting.
People shouting across spaces.
Music from somewhere.
Announcements from somewhere else.
Little stalls.
Makeshift counters.
Games.
Things designed by students with limited budgets and excessive confidence.
Children.
Life scattered everywhere.
I stood there for a moment
and simply
admired it.
Not the architecture.
Not NIT as an academic institution.
Story Nuo had demonstrated limited interest in academic institutions as a concept.
The council nods.
But the fest?
Interesting.
Little stalls lined up.
Food perhaps.
Trinkets perhaps.
Games.
Challenges.
Random activities.
Students milling around without one obvious central purpose.
The whole place felt less like:
Go here.
Do this.
And more like:
Stuff is happening.
The council looks at Gamer Nuo.
Objective?
Tournament.
Yes.
Still very much.
Dota remained religion.
We had come here to compete.
But children
for a second,
the world around the objective became visible.
The fest itself.
Not just:
Where are the computers?
Not just:
Who do we register with?
I looked.
Observed.
Students playing little fest games.
People laughing.
Stalls decorated.
Groups sprawled around.
An entire university temporarily behaving like education had been cancelled in favour of nonsense.
The council smiles.
A respectable institution.
Finally.
There is something about college fests that understands the true purpose of university better than classrooms ever did.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Present Nuo editorializing?
Correct.
Story Nuo likely thought:
Cool.
The council approves.
Cool.
That was enough.
And there we were.
Five Dota players standing inside NIT Calicut.
One best friend.
Three teammates.
One nicotine related brush with law enforcement successfully handled by Social Department.
Tournament somewhere inside.
And an entire fest spread around us.
Children.
The quest marker remained clear.
Dota.
But unlike the bus stop,
where the only thing I wanted was a cigarette,
here
my attention had begun widening.
A stall there.
A game there.
Students over there.
Noise from somewhere deeper inside.
Interesting.
The council leans forward.
Did you wander off?
Not yet.
Children.
Behave.
We had just arrived.
The team still existed.
Hex still existed.
The tournament still awaited.
And unlike twelve year old Wonderla Nuo,
Gamer Nuo had a very strong reason to remain attached to four other people.
Dota requires five.
The council nods.
You cannot outsource teammates entirely.
Sadly.
So for now,
I stood with them.
Took in the fest.
Let the atmosphere settle.
And somewhere inside NIT
computers waited.
Opponents waited.
The reason we had smoked a mandatory joint,
boarded a bus,
survived a police encounter,
and compressed five gamers into an auto
waited.
The council opens the tournament file.
TEAM:
ARRIVED.
HEX:
PRESENT.
BACKGROUND CHARACTERS:
PRESUMABLY PRESENT.
NUO:
DISTRACTED BY FEST.
Children.
A perfect competitive configuration.
And so the Twelfth Wandering moved from road
to campus.
Calicut had been reached.
NIT had been reached.
Now
the tournament.
Thus concludes Chapter Two.
The Nicotine Crisis.
The Ignored Warning.
The Spontaneously Materialized Police Jeep.
The Outsourced Escape Protocol.
The Five Man Auto Geometry Experiment.
The Premium Open Side Seat.
And NIT Calicut.
Children.
We came for Dota.
But first,
I ignored Hex,
summoned law enforcement,
made Hex fix it,
and arrived at a college fest already admiring everything happening around the actual objective.
The council nods.
Tournament form:
excellent.
