WAR: ONLINE needs your help

Dear friends and readers,

I decided to release WAR: ONLINE as a serial novel as an experiment to see if independent publishing could work as a feasible means of reaching people on a wide scale. However, since I have a limited budget, this idea seems to be failing because without promotion, it is very difficult to reach a greater audience.

Therefore, I have decided that I will not publish anymore of WAR: ONLINE until I reach a total of 10 sales. I have only three so far. Ten sales is not that much and keep in mind that because the price is so low, I’m only making about 35 cents of whatever is sold. I made the price so cheap so it could be widely available, but I need help.

I implore you to please buy this story. It is only 99 cents and will be delivered directly to your kindle. I also ask that if you do decide to purchase, and you like it, to please share this with others. Doing so will not only help me, but it will also help you if you’re interested in reading more. Not only that, but it will become a big boost to independent publishing.

The link to purchase is attached below.

Thanks to all for reading and have a good day,

Kevin Limiti

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P6TURAS

Edit: Posted wrong link before. Here is the correct one.

Need 7 more sales of WAR: ONLINE by the end of the week, or I will not continue

Despite my best efforts, and I realize that there are challenges in independently publishing anything, so far WAR: ONLINE has been a flop. The amount of time it takes to promote the piece is not translating into sales. Although I have high hopes for this story, I need people to start buying it so I at least know its good enough to continue. If I can’t get these sales, I may not make an episode 2. Therefore, I would implore each and everyone of you who has an interest in my writing or at the very least an interest in science fiction to please make a purchase and support independent authors. Thanks in advance and have a great day!

Kevin Limiti

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P6TURAS

WAR: ONLINE Episode 1 is out!!!!

WAR: ONLINE, the epic dystopian tale of a video game journalist trapped in a virtual reality death game, has just been released independently on kindle! For only 99 cents, you can look forward to a new installment of this serial novel on a monthly basis–perhaps eventually weekly.

The fate of WAR: ONLINE is completely up to those reading this. I would love to continue, but will not if I don’t know anybody is reading it. So far, I have a measly TWO sales. I will continue the story for definite if I can get EIGHT additional ones.

With that said, please enjoy the read. Below is the link where you can purchase.

Thanks again!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P6TURAS

War: Online is coming!

Greetings all,

I’ve been working on a novel length story called War: Online which I’ve decided to self-publish as a serial novel. I am a huge believer in letting my writing speak for itself. Therefore, I am providing a short teaser excerpt for your reading pleasure. If you like it, please consider pre-ordering for your kindle. The story will be available for pre-order tomorrow or earlier with the official release on November 10th. I will be closely watching the sales for this book and, depending on the response and/or demand, I will release the next “episode” sometime in December.

Thank you in advance for reading,

Sincerely,

Kevin Limiti

War: Online

by K. M. Limiti

It didn’t make much sense to me at the time. A mass multiplayer online first person shooter called War: Online, played with a virtual reality headset. Who could ever believe that such a game would be worth the three hundred dollar price tag?

However, as chief correspondent for Video Game Central, it was my duty to investigate as there had been a lot of ridiculous rumors about this game. Some of the more disturbing and far-fetched ones included notions that there was no logout button in the game and that if you died during combat, you died in real life as well. At the time, I laughed.

I purchased a copy of the game at a local retailer, brought it home, and logged into my virtual headset. An ominous black symbol of War: Online appeared in 3D and asked me to choose my name. “Born2Kill,” I said, with a grin. It seemed appropriate. Then it asked me to choose a faction. The choice was very simple: Red or Green. It seemed a little odd that there was no backstory for either of these factions. I made a mental note of it because since I would be reviewing the game, it might count against it in the end. I chose the Green faction for no other reason than green is my favorite color.

The screen turned from black to white and suddenly I spawned into a vast gray city with ruined buildings. Looking around, I noticed that there were hardly any non-player characters with the exception of weapons merchants. I checked my inventory and noticed that they didn’t supply a starter weapon. ‘Damn’ I thought. ‘That’s going to have to count against them in my review.’ I did—however- have five hundred credits. I walked over to one of the NPC weapons merchants and said, “Hi. I’d like to buy a weapon.”

A virtual screened appeared before me. There was a whole arsenal from pistols to assault rifles. However, the best weapon I could afford was an AK-47. I bought that, equipped it, and admired its handling. I sighted the weapon without thinking towards another player who was sitting down looking miserable. As soon as he saw what I was doing, he let out a gigantic yelp and started waving his hands. “Don’t point that thing at me!”

Despite how ridiculous his protestations were, I lowered the weapon. “You fucking noob!” he shouted. “ Are you out of your goddamned mind? Don’t you even know what kind of game this is?”

Above his head flashed his username, Billy Blunts. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Blunts,” I said, adding as much menace into my voice as virtually possible. “I’ll have you know that I’m a professional video game journalist with Video Game Central—“

‘I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, Born2Kill,” he replied with a sneer. “There’s no use in trading threats with someone who is about to die.”

And with those words, Billy Blunts stalked off into the distant streets. It was at this point that I started to realize that something was very odd about this game. Here you have a player, sitting on the ground in an apparently safe area looking utterly miserable. Why not just logout?

Then I remembered that rumor and decided to take a peak inside the menu … only there was no menu to be looked at. In fact, apart from the fact that our usernames were above our avatars, it would be very difficult to tell real life from the virtual world. I had not played this game for more than five minutes, and I was already beginning to come to the conclusion that this was the most immersive virtual reality game I had ever tried.

I was about to make a mental note of this when I heard a booming voice that sounded like it was coming through a radio inside my head. “Attention Green Army!” it said. “Mandatory attendance is required at the South Gate for an assault. All those who do not attend will be immediately disconnected. You have ten minutes. That is all!”

‘Immediately disconnected?’ I repeated to myself. ‘Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. That way I can log out.” I have to admit that despite being a wannabe journalist and a fuck-up, I had an immense personal pride and commitment to delivering quality game reviews to my employer. I knew that to quit now would be chalked up to a failure on my part. This needed my full attention. I checked a map that was supplied for me, and followed it toward the South Gate.

I watched the players follow the road I was on toward the South Gate. They marched without enthusiasm; as if they were being forced to partake in a game that they really wanted no part in.

“First time too?”

I turned my head and there was a sandy hair kid who looked like he was thirteen years old. His eyes scanned his surroundings with a nervous awareness of some greater reality. I nodded my head, but made no reply because I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t want to seem like a noob.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied, not understanding what he meant.

“Why did you join this game?”

“I’m a video game journalist,” I replied, with an air of importance.

“Wow,” said my fellow noob, his eyes lighting up.

I ignored the kid the rest of the way there. He made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever met another player like him, and I’ve played all sorts of mass multiplayer games: from fantasy themed adventure ones, to heavy player-vs-player, World War 2 themed ones, etc. He was clearly scared, but why? Nothing is going to happen to you. Why would anyone want to play a game like this? The community seemed full of strange people who were either angry or terrified. ‘It has to be the gameplay’ I concluded. ‘The game play must be phenomenal.’

I approached the gate and the rest of the players were already assembled in a neat row. There was a counter on the high end of the gate. We had two minutes. I looked around me hoping to see some kind of clue about what was going to happen, but there was no text or gamemaster to guide me through the process; just the counter and the crowd control methods of the community meshed with my fear of this unknown game that gave me nothing but hints and a terrible rumor that this was a game you never logged out from.

There was no tactic or strategy discussion as the countdown hit 30 seconds. There was no trolling and there was no hope.

Then, it was time.

Excercise in Futility

The random thoughts of days long past never cease to give me insight into the purpose of tomorrow. But that doesn’t mean I do not doubt. That does not mean I do not have sleepless nights where I wonder about my purpose and my being. That does not mean I ever forget. I will never forget.

It may seem strange that a self-professed writer and journalist would have such thoughts. Aren’t we always so cocky? Aren’t we always so sure of ourselves? And yet, I can’t find a single reason why things don’t go as planned. In fact, I don’t even understand the concept of defeat. I cannot be defeated unless I’m six feet under.

This is an exercise in futility; a lost cause; a hopeless endeavor; a meaningless journey. With a pack of Parliament’s on my left and the bottle of Peach Schnapps on my right, I dive head long into the hopelessness of tomorrow with a psychotic optimism of today. That is the truth about me—I’m a psychotic optimistic, pessimistic, passive-aggressive, loner who has no business doing anything but working in a retail store his entire life, and yet is trying to make it as a writer.

With waves of doubt cascading into emotion, my last paragraph makes no sense to me even as I try to read it through the intrusive rip tides that pull me away from the main focus of this exercise of futility. But—then again—there was never a true purpose to this. The only true purpose was living without fear, and that’s all I’m trying to do. But I like fear. I like the smell of it. It makes me want to understand why things are the way they are. I don’t try to correct the problems of the world, but record them.

So I light a cigarette, pausing momentarily from my stream of consciousness to inhale toxic fumes that I am completely aware will probably be the death of me. I think of all the people in this world, and I laugh. Then I cry. Then I hate myself. But then I realize that it all comes back to a single sentence on a blank page. Perhaps mysticism can be taken out of context? Either way, I know that I’m screwed. This is my nature. I love and hate it, like I love and hate myself. Nothing on God’s green earth will change the fact that I was put on this earth to put pen to paper. And that’s what I’m gonna do.

But I know it’s an exercise in futility. Just don’t try to stop me.

A Personal Appeal

Dear Readers,

I cannot be sure of how many of you are actually readers of mine or are otherwise indisposed of spam bots, but if you are alive and kicking, I need your help.

The protests in Ferguson, Missouri over the killing of Michael Brown are as heart wrenching as they are frightening. There is an attempt to shut out media from the area. There are reports of reporters being tear gassed, arrested, and forced to stop filming. The militarization of our domestic police force is something that is important to take away from what is happening. Far from the simplified idea that this is just some looters who are getting what is coming to them, the unrest happening is Ferguson is a direct result of years of oppression.

In order to understand and to properly report on the situation, I need your help.

I’ve organized a fund to take care of my travel and incidental expenses in order to travel to Ferguson, Missorui. This is not something that I take lightly. I feel like my talents can best be used to help others when they are in dire need. If the people of Ferguson, Missouri need anything, its a voice.

I’m not asking for a handout but an investment in my clean and honest commentary and reporting. Please consider becoming a backer:

http://www.beaconreader.com/projects/the-ferguson-protests

Thank you,

Kevin Limiti