Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you a single truth: life’s a game, and sometimes, if you want to win, you have to cheat.
Olga walked the streets of Paris. No, sorry, wrong world, wrong time. She’d walk Paris, one day, but not now, not here, because she was dreaming of the world she knew. This time, she was walking the streets of Gelerand. You (the reader) would recognize the time old signs of cyberpunk, sort of. High fantasy, maybe. Definitely a combination of, or that’s what you’d think (I assume). It’s what I thought. There’s magic, sure, but there’s also guns and radios. There’s science. It’s all magitech, baby. It’s all very New York, not that you should, or would, make such a comparison.
So, Olga’s walking. She’s dressed to the nines. All black, sure, but it’s all about the textures, nowadays. You gotta remember it’s the 1920s there, or that’s what I was told, and so that’s what I’m telling you. She’s a babe. A dame. Her dress? Flapper style, but sleek and all oil shine, more plastic than gold. Hair? A bob. Shoes? Yes, boots, leather, up to her knees. And gloves? Of course.
I mean, she wouldn’t be wearing this if she was awake. No, this was a dreamer’s outfit, this was all what’s ifs and could be’s, if only the rest of the world was different. The waking Olga would never. Her life wasn’t a fun sort of game, but in the dream, it kind of was. Look, there’s lights, there’s people, there’s food, there’s fire, all sorts of fun. Here, when she was dreaming, she could be the kind of Olga that enjoyed that sort of thing, that liked fun.
But remember, it’s not a game if you can’t cheat. The dreaming Olga knows that, and you (the reader) do, too. I just told you.
So, dreaming Olga is cheating. She has a gun. Sure, there’s magic, but a gun’s just as good, especially when it isn’t any gun, but a semi-automatic, from the year 2021. A pandemic year, a bad year, but a good year for guns. What, you don’t believe me? You don’t think I know about guns? Fine. Ok. You caught me, I don’t, but who cares - you shouldn’t, and I don’t. This is all a fiction. It’s make-believe. If I say a gun’s cheating, well guess what, honey? It is.
Olga brings a gun to a magic fight, all wands of different kinds, but hers goes bang, bang, bang. Suddenly, everyone’s dead but Olga. Good. Cheaters win, cheaters prosper, cheaters get to live to the next day.
So, she gets up the next day. She gets dressed all in black. Do you get it? Like she’s mourning. She’s not. She’s a cheater. A cheater in black means victory. Olga has a gun. Oh no, she’s got a gun.
This is the game of life. People cheat, and you have to use your every advantage. The winners get to see the next day. It doesn’t matter how they win, you (the reader) know the how of anything never mattered.