《The Last Beyul》 0.0 / 0.1 Death to the Developers / Attila and Beyul The three teen boys, in their cuffed blue jeans, slicked-back hair, and saddle shoes, ran through the haunted forest, their footfalls deadened by the soaked debris of old leaves. Dark trees, gray trees, barren trees reached out for them. Heartbeats, moans, creaks, and their steaming breath filled the night. Glimmers of the moon reflected off the puddles they splashed through. Mist crept along beside them. Wood above them snapped, moaned, rustled down through other branches, and crashed across their path. ¡°Ahhhh!¡± Tapan let out a soft scream and jumped backward to stop. He looked up into the black, bent and crooked limbs crossing in front of the full moon. Wisps of clouds drifting like bulbous monsters. Tapan laughed. ¡°Every time.¡± He pulled his high school letter jacket closed and snapped it shut. ¡°Is that good?¡± Richard asked undoing a button of his denim jacket. ¡°Hell, yes.¡± Toby pointed to the other path forking off from where they were. ¡°Old Holler¡¯s Graveyard is this way. We¡¯ll always arrive in time, but we gain bonuses depending on how quickly we can get there.¡± Tapan nodded and started sprinting. Shadows cast by the moon flickered along the rising walls of mist. Dark shapes drifted over the ground. A strange electronic noise escaped Tapan. His avatar lost its texture turning into a statue of static. ¡°LOS¡± appeared across his chest. ¡°Beyul, diagnostics,¡± Toby snapped. ¡°Beyul, freeze simulation,¡± Richard called. Faint outlines of the millions of collision boxes floated around the trees of the forest, the puddles, and figures in the treetops. The wind and mist and reflections stopped moving. Toby ran his fingers over the information screen floating next to the static on Tapan¡¯s statue. ¡°What happened?¡± Richard asked. Toby shook his head. ¡°Beyul lost Tapan¡¯s connection, signal, vitals. He¡¯s nowhere in Beyul.¡± ¡°Beyul, where is the experimental suit? Beyul?¡± ¡°Richard, it¡¯s gone. The suit and Tapan were in the middle of a strong signal zone. They¡¯re just gone.¡± ¡°Beyul, can anyone see either Tapan or his suit?¡± Toby lifted both hands, and a volume of outlines rose out of the ground with a blinking red figure alone in the middle of a park. ¡°That¡¯s where he was. No one else is in the park.¡± ¡°Back it up a bit.¡± Toby made a different gesture. Dozens of blue person icons snapped into being¡ªrunning, jogging, playing. Then everyone vanished. ¡°Toby ¡­ what happened?¡± Toby opened his mouth. His avatar turned into a statue of static with ¡°LOS¡± emblazoned across his chest. ¡°Beyul 2.0 communication protocols have been compromised,¡± Beyul finally responded, ¡°by parties unknown. External communication and signal vectors are erratic.¡± ¡°What the Hell?¡± Richard took a step back from the static statues. ¡°Beyul? Exit. Turn off all overlay layers. Beyul!¡± Richard¡¯s avatar became a static-filled statue. A strange, black, twisted creature ¡ª part dog, part monkey, part tentacled monster ¡ª landed in the midst of the three statues, sniffed at the static, raised its muzzle toward the moon, and unleashed a cross between a howl and a gargle. The static faded until the avatars and their diagnostic screens were no more. The creature jumped for a tree and used its prehensile tail and tentacles to climb into the dark, bent and twisted shapes against the moon.
Attila "Al" Dubois Al followed the last round of box carrying, silver-sheened technicians. At twelve-years-old, Al crawled up the stairs, or, more accurately, he dragged his body up the half-log stairs. His legs lifelessly followed and weighed against his efforts. When his pointless legs hit a step wrong, Al flinched at the pain. Enough pain to give others hope, so he needed to get better at hiding his reactions. He sat on one step lower and used his hands to roll his legs into a better position before continuing his climb. At the top, he arm-crawled along the interior balcony beside the western log cabin rail with its polished, lacquered wood. And, inside Gus¡¯s room, he climbed onto the bed. Confident in his place on the bed, he bent over to drag each worthless leg onto the bed and then moved into position to watch. Gus frowned down at him. ¡°If you had asked ¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not incapable of getting around the house ¡ª¡± he plucked at the bedspread ¡°¡ª No matter what Alex says.¡± Gus picked up Al¡¯s feet and tucked them closer to Al. Gus sat down. ¡°Look half-bro, I missed my chance to carry you around.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Al glared at Gus. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t say that about anyone else in our class.¡± Gus rolled his eyes. ¡°What about our half-bro, Alex? My dad always said it was the job of elder siblings to carry the younger. If we grew up together, I think I would have carried him every chance I got. Being a bit bigger and stronger would have helped.¡± ¡°You know he hates it when you call him that.¡± Gus gave an I-don¡¯t-give-a-shit shrug. ¡°I know. My step-bro will hate me no matter what. It¡¯s his job. So, I might as well have fun tormenting my itty-bitty, baby step-bro.¡± Al imagined Alex¡¯s ugly expression at being called ¡®baby step-bro¡¯ by Gus. He laughed. Gus watched the technicians. Al wondered, Gus and Alex treat the rest of us the same way ¡ª a way they don¡¯t want us treating them. Is that the problem? Gus by right of a few months gets to treat Alex that way? Instead of voicing those thoughts, he asked, ¡°How is living here working out for you?¡± Gus shrugged. ¡°It was just dad and I. Homeschooling, taking me to work, museums, vacations, everything. Mom-and-I is hard ¡ª she¡¯s a stranger who wants something I¡¯m not sure I can give. You guys are classmates ¡ª kinda friends ¡ª something different. This is like an odd sleepover that doesn¡¯t end. There are times, especially with Alex, when I miss the quiet, the separation.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t take this wrong. I want to go home.¡± Al frowned. Something inside of him was breaking, but he tried to keep it from his voice. ¡°This is home.¡± Gus flinched just a bit. Al chastised himself for not hiding his pain well enough. ¡°Yeah,¡± Gus said. ¡°I have to tell myself that every day.¡± ¡°You want to leave?¡± Gus looked at him and shook his head and rubbed his forehead. ¡°When your dad is off to Tae Kwon Do or Kali tournaments, you miss him, right?¡± ¡°Yeah. I used to go with them. Alex and Sissy go too. And you¡¯re getting good enough to join them. Now ¡ª¡± he poked his legs ¡°¡ª everyone goes without me.¡± Gus just gave him a stony expression and refused to be derailed into pity. ¡°It¡¯s like that. I miss my dad. The difference is, your dad, Alex, and Sissy always come back. My dad¡¯s not going to. That makes it harder.¡± Al mulled the pieces over. There were so many ways those pieces could fit into the adolescent minds of his half-siblings. He needed more information. ¡°Is that why you don¡¯t want this?¡± Al watched the pieces of the Beyul workstation come together. More Beyul connection orbs than he had seen in any advertisement were neatly lined up in drawers in a tall stack. Monitors and old-fashioned keyboards filled the desk. A pair of fully loaded, liquid cooled server racks squeezed into the corners of the room. And a spine-curved chair in the center connected to the desk by a floor rail. ¡°No,¡± Gus said. ¡°This is different. This is work. Yes. As long as it wasn¡¯t here, I was vacationing. Visiting. This didn¡¯t have to be home. Now, Beyul reminds me I can¡¯t go back ¡­ to the way things were.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you ever wear a Beyul connection suit?¡± He bobbed his head toward the silver-sheened technicians. Gus frowned at Al. ¡°Beyul is for work.¡± ¡°But the games ¡ª¡± ¡°Look, if you want to play the games, I¡¯ll order you a suit.¡± ¡°But you have so many ¡ª¡± Al pointed at the rack. At least the argument hadn¡¯t started with Al being too young ¡ª being below the magic age of fourteen. He¡¯d graduate from high school before he could legally drink, vote, drive, have a Beyul account. ¡°Those are ¡­¡± Gus hesitated. Then he became serious. ¡°Some Beyul connection orbs can fail to detect your injury and fail to adjust the gameplay appropriately. Leaving you crippled in-game without any assistive devices. If I¡¯m going to take you to work with me, I want you to have the most fun possible.¡± Al leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared. ¡°That isn¡¯t what you were going to say.¡± Gus folded his arms and frowned to mirror him. ¡°Confidentiality, Al. There are lots of things about Beyul I¡¯m not supposed to discuss. So, I¡¯m going to err on the side of silence. Okay?¡± Al nodded. ¡°Thanks for not always treating me like your bothersome five-year younger brother.¡± ¡°Almost six.¡± Gus shook his head. ¡°Al, it isn¡¯t what you think. I went from having no one. Now I have a pair of half-sibs the same age as me, and three half-sibs in the same grade as me. I don¡¯t know how to treat anyone.¡± Al practiced his friendly, supportive, innocent smile. Then I should assist you. Teach you how to interact with us. To start with, I should treat like I treated my other half-siblings. He studied the way the parts were assembled. Then he concentrated on keeping his smile the same. I know. You and I can play my favorite game ¡ª the one my other siblings no longer play with me ¡ª ¡®Attila! I¡¯m going to kill you!¡¯ Al nodded, ¡°Okay. I''ll stop asking questions you shouldn''t answer.¡± You are my elder half-brother, and it is the job of all younger brothers to expose the secrets. Besides, I already know your Beyul passwords. Aren¡¯t brotherly boundaries meant to be tested?
Attila "Al" Again, Al was alone in the house. Like the times before, he was determined to play ¡®I¡¯m going to kill you!¡¯ with his half-siblings. But since the accident, his half-sister Sissy and half-brother Alex refused to play with him ¡ª no matter what he did. This time was going to be different. He had a new playmate ¡ª half-brother Gus. Gus was a challenge. He hid his buttons well. Not even Alex had been able to push them despite having a dinner made entirely from grapefruit ¡ª a food Gus could not eat. Al remembered the aftermath which demonstrated that Gus had a slow, cold fuse. Later that night Gus pulled a Glock squirt gun on Alex. After a few squirts and some quiet words, the two parted bitter enemies. Gus hadn¡¯t even gone for the childish shots. Al really wanted to know what was said. With a few hints, his siblings were trying to find Gus¡¯s buttons again. Sissy and Alex had invited Gus to go hunting with them. They were excited about Gus bagging his first ever snipe. With shotguns and sandwiches and burlap sacks, they were sailing for the hunting grounds. Perhaps Gus had acted a bit too na?ve and smiled a bit too innocently, but their success didn¡¯t matter for Al¡¯s plan ¡ª only their absence. Al dragged himself up the half-log stairs and over to Gus¡¯s drawers of Beyul connection orbs. He tapped in Gus¡¯s 20-digit access PIN. A photographic memory has to be good for something other than collecting school trivia. He tugged on a drawer. The drawer opened via its own motor-driven mechanism. Seven gleaming, liquid metal orbs ¡ª three on one side, four on the other ¡ª cradled in their recharge ports in the bottom of the drawer. Al touched one of the orbs. The nanorobots unfolded themselves from their spherical shape and climbed along his skin, under his clothes, over his face, and joined together to form a Beyul connection suit. It asked for a username and password. Al gave it Gus¡¯s account login credentials. My half-siblings are so careless with their various account logons. Gus¡¯s Beyul account information opened. Al took it all in ¡ª blackmail was useful in the ¡®I¡¯m going to kill you!¡¯ game ¡­ and could be used as a ¡®Get Out Of Beating¡¯ card, too. This was going to keep Gus dancing to the tune of Al for a long time. He did his best I-am-wicked-and-you-can-do-nothing-about-it smile. Beyul asked, ¡°Do you want to test Beyul 2.0 at this time?¡± So, that is Gus¡¯s big Beyul secret. He had enough on Gus to torment his elder half-brother. He could just put the orb back and play the long game. Or he could gamble and strike pure ¡®I¡¯m going to kill you!¡¯ game gold. Or he could spam the big red Gus button. Al stared at the Beyul connection suit¡¯s exit option. There were subtle ways to ease under Gus¡¯s skin. Close everything up but lose an orb under Gus¡¯s bed, or better yet, put the orb back in its packing material. Too bad the orbs weren''t labeled ¡ª he could have swapped labels. Or he could go for the brass ring ¡ª get the free ride. Or he could go for the more insidious ¡®all of above.¡¯ Al climbed into Gus¡¯s chair, pulled his useless legs into position and surveyed Gus¡¯s domain. He rubbed his hands together and nodded and said, ¡°Yes, the long insidious ¡®all of the above¡¯ game will work, for now.¡± The world went black. 0.2 Rupert Returns to the House Rupert Ainsworth Rupert stepped onto the bus and glanced along the eight passengers¡ªpasty in the interior glare. All had the sheen of a Beyul connection suit. With a sigh, he paid his fare. ¡°Welcome,¡± the bus said. Rupert only nodded and retreated up the step into one of the ends. ¡°Is he the one?¡± one of the passengers asked. Rupert cringed and looked to the closing doors. It was too late to bolt. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± The kid about the same age as Rupert held up hands. ¡°It just that I heard that sometimes you play AR keyboards.¡± Rupert glanced at the audio microphones in the bus¡¯s ceiling and nodded. The bus started moving. Rupert adjusted his Beyul settings to allow the keyboard¡¯s sound to be proximity public. He gestured to unroll the keyboard and considered his options. I¡¯ve lost too much of my music to the House. Still, they haven¡¯t found a buyer for Broken Trust. He started the bass chords and made it through the first stanza. The kid spoke again. ¡°Do you have the music to it? Would it be all right if I played too?¡± Rupert shrugged. A flick of his wrist sent off a copy of the sheet music. The kid looked over the sheets. ¡°There are some others here who play and one who sings. Can they join too?¡± Rupert froze. Is this a trap? Would the House let me hear it performed before taking it from me? Does having this song, any song, performed mean that much to me? He nodded and adjusted the sharing settings. The kid brought up an AR guitar. Another kid on the other side of the doors pulled out a drum set. A girl in the lower middle gestured for a microphone and attempted to adjust the song¡¯s octave. Rupert sighed. He adjusted the song until the girl gave him a thumbs up. He considered what the changes meant and made a few more changes in other places. Nodding, he started the bass beat again. The others joined in. While not professionals, they knew their stuff ¡ª hitting the cords and beat. The singer¡¯s voice was a bit weak on specific notes. Rupert flagged pieces of the song for additional adjustments. The song ended. The regular passengers cheered. Rupert sat back and smiled. So, this is what it feels like. The bus stopped. More passengers got on, some got off. ¡°Once more?¡± the kid asked. Rupert judged the distance to his stop and nodded. He made the last adjustments and started the bass chords. The song ended, the bus stopped, and the passengers cheered. Rupert leaped for the doors and made it onto the ruins of the sidewalk. ¡°Hey!¡± the kid called and stepped down onto the broken concrete. ¡°You wrote that song.¡± Rupert nodded. ¡°We have a band. We¡¯d like you to join us.¡± Rupert needed to shake his head, he needed to get to the House before curfew, he needed to get away from the bus and the potential ears of the House. He turned and walked. The kid didn¡¯t give up. He tugged on Rupert¡¯s sleeve. ¡°At least think it over.¡± The last bus of the day hadn¡¯t moved ¡ª the big, beefy drummer standing between the doors ¡ª preventing them from shutting. None of them, none of these ¡®better¡¯ kids, wanted to be stranded out here. Rupert tried to determine if they were far enough from the bus and hoped. ¡°I want to. I can¡¯t.¡± The kid held out an AR contact card. Rupert only saw the logo, Algold Music, and first name¡ªJason. He shivered despite the heat of the night. Not taking the kid¡¯s card, he handed over his own AR card over. The kid saw the logo on Rupert¡¯s card. ¡°Ah. Shit.¡± He gestured back toward the bus. ¡°They took that song?¡± Rupert nodded. ¡°Did they find a buyer, yet?¡± Rupert shook his head. ¡°I can work with that.¡± The kid dug into a pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a physical business card. ¡°If you want, we can hire you ¡­ on spec.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Even if we paid you, you wouldn¡¯t be able to keep it.¡± He gave Rupert a questioning look. ¡°Right?¡± Rupert shrugged and then nodded. Jason nodded and planted his back to the bus and lowered his voice. ¡°If you need to run away, reverse the address and go there. Anytime. We¡¯ll get you to a safe house. And out of the city. Out of the state. Whatever you need.¡± Rupert doubted the words. In the space between their bodies, he made the sign language letters C and O. Jason cringed. ¡°Yeah.¡± He inhaled. ¡°That¡¯s possible.¡± He eyes darted over some AR display given by his Beyul suit. ¡°Fifteen days. It would require fifteen days to travel to Denver.¡± Rupert frowned. ¡°Forty hours by bus,¡± he whispered timed that a motorcycle passed them. Jason nodded. ¡°But, as a dependent of a House, you can¡¯t buy a bus ticket. At any stop, the agents of the Houses can drag you off and charge you for criminal theft and add to your family¡¯s debt. It is hard to smuggle people out of Port Birmingham and across the Sea of Mississippi. The Port of Dallas refuses House refugees, as do the rest of the Red Ports along the western shores. You need to think differently. ¡°Have they sold any of your songs?¡± Rupert nodded and splayed out the fingers of a hand. ¡°They¡¯re not going to let you leave.¡± Rupert bowed his head. ¡°Price?¡± ¡°One song. Maybe this one.¡± ¡°Credit?¡± Jason frowned. ¡°What name do you want it under?¡± ¡°Rupert Ainsworth.¡± If I¡¯m leaving the name behind it won¡¯t matter. Jason smiled and stuck out his hand. ¡°Done.¡± Rupert shook the hand. ¡°Why does the name matter?¡± Keeping his voice against the rumble of a delivery van. ¡°I can¡¯t explain here. Come see me later. Remember: Spec if you want. Run when you¡¯re ready. We musicians have to stick together.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Rupert memorized the card and walked away. He thought through everything he needed to do before returning to the House. Get out of and dispose of the Beyul connection suit and erase its memory with military-grade software ¡ª erase any connection to his Beyul account, any link back to the bus¡¯s recordings. If any connection survived when the suit was recovered, the House would ground him¡ªlockdown¡ªor relocate him away from ¡®bad influences¡¯ including his family. Including Tapan. Any connection and Jason Algold could be charged with conspiracy to commit felony theft¡ªthe debts of Rupert¡¯s family. Rupert didn¡¯t believe Jason could hide him, get him away from the House, get him to Colorado. Capacity to commit a crime no longer matters for criminal conspiracy. A few drops of hot rain fell. Then the floodgates of the opened and the downward deluge threatened to wash everything away. Rupert ran and brought up his Beyul account and smiled at both the paycheck and the college scholarship. I did it. I won the Beyul lottery ¡ª for music. Now, I just need to get to Denver. He downloaded the erasing software and had it delete and backfill the entire connection suit. He exited out of the suit before that exit app vanished. The Beyul suit pulled away from his skin gathering into a liquid, mercury-looking, metal sphere in his hand. He threw it into the emergency flood control canal. Already the water siphoned from the city threatened to overflow the retaining walls. He ran toward the next place he could dispose of the suit. I hope six possible stops is sufficient. His House tracking anklet blinked and sparkled in the rain.
The driving chords of the rain and the pounding timpani and rattling metal sheets of thunder had left Rupert shaken. The thin polyester House onesie clung to his skin to show off his muscle definition ¡ª more from lack of body fat than serious exercise. As the main character of his favorite book would describe his ¡®home¡¯: The House was a ten-story bookcase sandwiched between abandoned corporate offices with a distinct lack of children¡¯s or romance stories. The stories, however, were of people who had once worked in the offices next door, had once bought the illusion that work meant pay meant the ability to live, had once resided in tidy little homes and lived in tidy little lives. Then the workers been sold by their corporate employers to a technical rehabilitation House to learn new skills, to earn new wages, to yearn for new breaths of freedom. But like the words of the book¡¯s narrator, the description and stories were all filled with lies. Police lights flashed off the gray and glass construct ¡ª lending color to the sponge of deceit. Silhouettes and shadows shaded the returning Rupert from the direct glare of the lights. Like any other call out to the Houses, the police came in force ¡ª prepared for a riot, prepared for an insurgent army, prepared for a vast criminal enterprise. And like desperate children, they clung to those comforting fairy tales. Tonight the residents of House #9173 stood in the rain outside the holographic/volumetric strip between marker poles declaring, ¡°POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS,¡± which separated them from their dingy coffin rooms and their dingy soylent lines and their dingy hopes. One family of secondhand hopes looked worse than usual. ¡°Evening Mister Salas, Ma¡¯am. Where is Tapan?¡± Mister Salas hugged his wife. New tears flowed down her face. In a cracked voice, Mister Salas answered, ¡°He committed suicide this afternoon.¡± Rupert took in the news. His heart felt cold. Doubt flagged certain memories. Everyone in the House hoped to win one stage or another of the job lottery ¡ª to go from unpaid intern to underpaid temporary worker to probationary wage slave to part-time beggar. Sure someone somewhere always won big, but no one knew them, no one from their House won, no one in any family won. But Tapan had won the big ticket, the grand prize. He won the salary star lottery months ago. Out of some sense of ¡­ something ¡ª love or fear or obligation or guilt or something else ¡ª Tapan decided to stay and avoid telling his unlucky parents. But Tapan had bent the lottery ¡ª placed Rupert¡¯s music under the noses of Beyul¡¯s executives ¡ª to give Rupert an exit from the House. Together he and Rupert made plans to move to Colorado together and start a life with some possibilities. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Rupert swallowed. ¡°Take his lottery winnings, his annual salary, his life insurance money. Leave, start a new life. He would want that.¡± Mister Salas¡¯s eyes narrowed, and his brows derailed into each other. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Rupert lowered his voice. ¡°He won the job lottery. Beyul hired him as a salary star. You are the beneficiaries of his finances.¡± Rupert took in a shuddering breath. ¡°There is enough there for you to live ¡ª¡± He looked at the lights flashing against the House. ¡°¡ª really live.¡± He hugged his arms against his body and walked away. Nothing made sense ¡ª the notes refused to form even minor chords. One does not plan for the future and then commit suicide. One does not look forward to eloping and then commit suicide. Tears threatened to break through of Rupert¡¯s fa?ade. Rupert moved to a spot where he could see the cops complaining to each other. But ¡­ They won¡¯t do anything. They are paid to make the corpses go away, to blame the victims, to save the House from scrutiny. He continued to weave back and forth along the outer edge of the crowd of residents waiting to return to the spots they called their own within the House. Who would want to kill an entry level applications designer? Sure there is a ton of technical information involved. Maybe some propriety corporate secrets. Really? Entry level designer offered access to secrets? Nah. The only thing special, to the outside world, about Tapan was Beyul. Does that mean some enemy of Beyul killed him? Why? Rupert found his mind running in circles. The only thing which makes any sense, someone wants to take down Beyul, and Tapan Salas was in the way. Since he lived in a House, make his murder look like a suicide. Case closed. So, great master detective ¡ª he snorted at his own joke ¡ª what are you going to do about it? No answer came to him. ¡°Rupert Ainsworth?¡± A waddling pile of lard in a soaked suit asked. Now what? He glared at the man. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Gorelli of Castro, Horwitz, and Harsha. It has been brought to the attention of Concord Technical Rehabilitation Centers that you have been wearing a Beyul Connectivity Suit contravening the contract you signed.¡± The latest shakedown. At least it¡¯s not some religious heaping pile. Rupert crossed his arms and took a half-step forward and unloaded his practiced lie. ¡°You are misinformed. My internship authorized my use of a Beyul suit when conducting specified activities. Upon the termination of my internship, the Beyul suit was scrubbed and destroyed in accordance with their security policies.¡± ¡°Destroyed?¡± The pasty jowls found the taste of the word disgusting. His beady sunken eyes narrowed until they become tiny slits. The silver sheen of his Beyul suit emphasized his greasy skin. Then his face paled. Must have been informed that he lost his cut. Rupert stepped closer. ¡°You see, Mister ¡­ whoever you are ¡­ from wherever you slithered from, the firm I worked for took their security very seriously. Every day I was given a cleaned suit, and the one I used for the day was wiped before I left the building. So, inform whoever your client is that I have nothing to give.¡± He faced the suit-of-lard and walked backward. Once Rupert was out of reach, he turned and put several people between him and the man. Damn. I hope the wiping has done enough damage to the OS that the suit has fallen apart by now. Once the orb collapses, they¡¯ll never find enough of the nanorobots to reconstruct squat. But until then ¡­ I don¡¯t know what could happen. A shiver played his spine. Beyul was interested in me because of Tapan and my music. Are those enemies after me? Was that sleazy suit encounter to determine if they need to kill me too? Do I need to run? The blinking red lights on the ankles of every House resident glittered in the rain. How do I run? Rupert stood in the pouring rain near the police line and thought. He tried to weigh the pros and cons of buying out his contract ¡­ or even if he could. If he bought out his contract, his tracking anklet went away, and he didn¡¯t need to run from the House. That would be one less enemy hunting for him. But, without the anklet, it might be easier for the enemy to make him disappear. His head hurt. Tapan had these sorts of answers. Tapan had made all sorts plans and contingencies. But none of Tapan¡¯s plans fit this situation. My family wants me to buy out and leave. Leave them behind ¡ª even if I can buy out their contracts too. Tapan didn¡¯t say anything because he ¡­ he wanted our families to come with us. Otherwise, Tapan might still be alive. Unable to decide, Rupert went looking for Mister Monte, the House manager. Rupert found the man talking to one of the officers. He waited just outside the line denoted by the holographic/volumetric police displays. Monte saw him, smiled, waved him over. What? Monte talked to a cop who came over to him. ¡°Mister Brandt Monte says you knew the deceased. Is that true?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Come on,¡± the cop gestured to the car where Monte stood. Mister Monte held out a hand to Rupert. ¡°Congratulations, son.¡± Rupert shook the offered hand. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°This morning, the funds for your songs cleared. Your contract with Concord has been paid in full ¡­ and your parents¡¯ contracts if you want.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand, sir.¡± Monte gave a sad smile. ¡°I understand that some Houses, even some Concord Houses just steal everything not nailed down. Honestly, less than ten percent of the people here will ever be able to leave. Your songs. Your songs are your ticket out of here. Your songs are the key to your future. I sent them to a friend who bought them for a fair price. I credited your contract less the standard agent amount.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Rupert played along with the performance. Where is this going? Why are we playing this duet? Monte nodded then leaned in close to whisper. ¡°Once I deactivate the anklet, you need to run. Get out of the city. Get away from this place. Get away from your family. Don¡¯t look back. Don¡¯t touch your Beyul money. Don¡¯t contact anyone I might know. Otherwise, the monsters who killed Tapan Salas will kill Rupert Ainsworth. Do you understand?¡± Rupert did. The song sales cleared months ago. Perhaps the price was fair or not. The contract¡¯s remaining balance remained staggering but within reach of his Beyul check. ¡°Will my family be safe here?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Monte said retreating a step and raising his voice. ¡°Yes, I agree that is the best option for your remaining funds.¡± He pointed a data connector at Rupert¡¯s anklet. The nanorobots which made up the anklet turned off and disconnected from each other. The anklet turned to dust. Mister Monte turned away from Rupert. Rupert ran. I¡¯m sorry, mom, dad. I hope Mister Monte explains this all to you in a way that doesn¡¯t make you think less of me. His heart broke as he ran. Hot tears were colder than the rain. There was only one potential person who could get him out, the person he met tonight. It might be too much a coincidence. It might be a trap either by the killers or of some other kind. All I can do is hope. 0.3 Chester in the House Chester walked out of the House into a nearly frozen world carrying a globe of liquid metal. Hot wind whipped between the narrow spaces between the buildings. Dark clouds rolled over the tops of the skyscrapers. Rain pounded the police line and House residents. Yet the police were standing like chrome statues captured in mid-action. Faces frozen in frightening masks¡ªblack spots where their eyes should be, gaping black ovals where their mouths should be, the barest bump where their noses should be. Zombies, Chester reminded himself. If Beyul can transform the entire police force into unidentifiable zombies for your convenience, it can make you into a zombie for someone else¡¯s. He indulged in the creepy feelings for a moment and then weaved his way through the zombie statue maze and through the holographic/volumetric police tape to the waiting limousine. The rear door opened for him. He stepped inside. An elderly man, whose hair was more silver than blonde, had a silver, sweaty sheen to his face and hands. He sat beside a zombie and across from another. The man gestured to the rear-facing seat. The cufflinks of his black suit flashed with the reflections of the flashing police lights. Chester suppressed a shiver at touching a zombie but sat. The door closed, and the limousine began moving. ¡°Well?¡± The man asked¡ªhis blue eyes crinkled in pleasure. ¡°Governor Dietrichson, we are still missing two.¡± Chester handed the liquid metal orb to the man. Dietrichson took the orb. ¡°We are no longer free. The Founding Fathers meant for us to have freedom above all else.¡± He looked into Chester¡¯s eyes, ¡°What of the one who would tighten our chains?¡± ¡°Suicide. We¡¯ll confer with the medical examiner to make sure it sticks.¡± ¡°Good. Just don¡¯t have all of them commit suicide.¡± Chester shook his head. ¡°Today is an ill-fated day. So many strange and unique accidents.¡± ¡°Excellent. Find the missing two.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Dietrichson considered the orb and shook his head. ¡°The pagans, the atheists, the nonbelievers, the fornicators, the sodomists, the heretics must not be allowed to escape. The Lord¡¯s Wrath has finally come for them. We must prepare them to face His Judgement. We must be ready for our Rapture.¡± ¡°His Will be done.¡± ¡°Amen, my son. Amen.¡± Dietrichson put the globe into a duffle at his feet ¡ª thick muscles threatened his suit. ¡°Where should we drop you?¡± ¡°Back at the House. I have a feeling the security recordings will be useful in finding another connection sphere.¡± Dietrichson nodded, and the limo, after going around the block, slowed. The door opened to the curb. Chester moved to leave. Dietrichson placed a hand on Chester¡¯s wrist. ¡°Remember. Let none escape.¡± ¡°His Will.¡± Dietrichson nodded and leaned back. ¡°Peace be with you.¡± ¡°And with you.¡± Chester saw the dozen police officers outside the House were still frozen zombies. He stepped out of the limo into the crowd and made his way back across the police line. He made a small hand gesture. The zombies began moving, and the chrome appearance faded to a mere silvery, sweaty sheen¡ªeyes, mouths, noses, expressions, everything normal. Ordinary officers in Beyul connection suits talking, shifting, shuffling, filing into various vehicles. A shiver assaulted Chester¡¯s spine, and he tried to not think about where people went while they were zombies. Instead, he showed his forged police ID to the House scanner and entered through the doors and remembered it didn¡¯t matter. Nothing would save them. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Chester leaned against the interior wall of the House and considered the residents hidden away in their coffins. Why can¡¯t the crushing despair of their circumstances drive them into depression and isolation? But he answered his own question. Humanity is some strange cross between a herd animal and a pack animal ¡ª some peculiar hybrid, both prey and predator. When a group of humans has been preyed upon too much, they delusionally huddle together for protection. When looking for an individual, it is so much easier to separate and stalk and slay those who believe themselves predators. He felt the familiar grooves in the walls ¡ª each a reminder of a childhood moment. He yanked his hand away. Stop. They might have installed new security measures during the last ¡ª Stop. Out of the past. That was then. This is now. He made another visual survey of the hall. Nothing new. And no residents. He slipped down the stairs to the basement. In the security room was the one person he most wanted to avoid ¡ª the sole survivor from his childhood torment. ¡°Hello, Chester,¡± Mister Monte said. He looked over the uniform. ¡°Officer Dietrichson.¡± Chester cringed at his adopted name then sighed. He knew Brandt Monte from before, from their shared childhood, from their House residency. ¡°Hello, Brandy.¡± ¡°You still can¡¯t respect me despite ¡ª¡± ¡°Because. This is how I chose to remember you.¡± ¡°So despite everything, you are still living in the past.¡± No, because of everything, I have cleansed my past, purifying those who probably didn¡¯t deserve such consideration. He shrugged. ¡°Who was close to the Salas kid?¡± ¡°No small talk?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have time,¡± he gestured to the weather feeds. One of two hurricanes, Teddy, had just missed San Antonio and Austin and was now spinning across the Sea of Mississippi to make landfall near Port Birmingham and cut across the Georgia Peninsula, so far her storm bands would pushed feet of rain into Atlanta. The other, slower moving Wilfred, had cut between the Cuba Islands and was wading into the Augusta shallows dragging her faster-spinning skirts of rain over Atlanta ¡ª pumping a dozen inches of rain every few hours. Mister Monte gave him a slight smile. ¡°An hour ago, the buses left taking the residents along the Seventy-Five to ¡ª¡± ¡°Why? No one would have bothered with us.¡± ¡°Times change. The quarterly bonuses ¡ª¡± ¡°Lie. Concord and Spartan before them and Hackett before them never gave bonuses.¡± Mister Brandt Monte shrugged. ¡°Whoever-it-is is still in the city. You are covering for him. What else did you do?¡± ¡°Did you know a record one hundred contracts were released today?¡± Chester clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, counted backward from ten. ¡°Why. Are. You. Determined. To. Save. This. One? He is but one in ten billion dying people.¡± ¡°He is better than both of us were. He has a gift. He uses it to make people happy.¡± He stared at her ¡ª she who perverted herself to become a man. He knew what she had done ¡ª erased the residence logs, erased the security footage, erased the contracts, released anklet trackers, and scattered chaff into the storm. This was what he loved about her. These cracks into the past into who she was kept him from accepting what she had done to her body. Chester turned to leave. ¡°That¡¯s it? You are just giving up?¡± He looked back at her, ¡°Brandy, ¡ª¡± he couldn¡¯t bring himself to use her masculine name and couldn¡¯t bring himself to be formal with her ¡°¡ª God¡¯s Wrath and Judgement are upon us. No one will escape that. The government now claims everything is so much worse than the accepted models. They estimate you have three months, ¡­ if you survive Teddi and Wilfred.¡± ¡°They are regulating me out of existence?¡± Chester shook his head. ¡°No, they are abdicating. If the Earth had a quarter the population, an eighth, it might recover in time. Instead of making the hard choices, they hope enough of us will kill each other off that ¡­¡± He took in a breath and shrugged. ¡°The species avoids extinction.¡± He retreated to the stairs. ¡°Wait.¡± Chester hesitated. ¡°May I come with you?¡± He had always loved reading the ballads dealing with what one would do with a small, fixed number of days to live. Spending time with her had always been at the top of his list. He hated the perversion she had become, but maybe that was the best he could get. Besides, she would try to stop what needed to be done. In that regard, she hadn¡¯t changed. Those actions would still tug at his heart ¡ª reminding him that he still had one. He nodded. He would enjoy the challenge while it lasted. They climbed the stairs. A scream came from the lower level racks of coffin rooms followed by pounding on the low ceiling. Chester glanced down the hallway. Not even the sickly-yellow brown of the coffin doors has changed. ¡°Mrs. Pukac is off her meds, again? Not in Concord¡¯s budget this month?¡± He turned and descended the stairs. Monte grabbed his arm. ¡°Please don¡¯t.¡± He shook free. ¡°We have simple jobs to do. That is what everyone wants from us.¡± He walked to the station she had been sitting at and waved a hand through the interface gap. ¡°Beyul, find all Tapan Salas appearances.¡± Monitors sprang to life. Images began flashing on the screens. ¡°How,¡± Monte asked. ¡°Security ¡ª¡± ¡°My employer doesn¡¯t care about security now ¡ª the end is too near.¡± He turned to look at the unchanged eyes ¡ª no, those had changed too. Older, perhaps wiser. Definitely more experienced. ¡°I had hoped you had done what you said you did. It gave me hope that maybe we aren¡¯t the same scared kids. But we are still owned. Just different owners. Aren¡¯t we?¡± Monte nodded. He turned back to the images which had stopped. Salas with others ¡ª his parents and one other person were common. A perverse look between Tapan Salas and this other, who Beyul tagged as Rupert Ainsworth. Chester took a picture and spoke the name to Beyul ¡ª trusting the information would be delivered. He walked to the stairs. Stopped and turned. ¡°Come on. The world is dying. We might as well reminisce and catch up while we look for this Rupert. If there were a god, it would know we don¡¯t have any other friends.¡± ¡°I thought you were a believer.¡± Chester laughed and shook his. ¡°My remote father asked me to believe, so I do. But, with you, it is hard to believe that a kind of just god would demand the sacrifice of us all for the sins of so few. Yes?¡± Brandt Monte nodded, climbed the stairs with him, and exited into the driving rain. 0.4 Rupert on the Run Rupert pried out the tarnished bronze plaque behind the dumpster. He reached into the small hollow and pulled out a Beyul One-point-Zero connection sphere. A mottled blue blotch swirled through mercury looking sphere. This was step one on the Tapan-Emergency-Departure-Plan ¡ª one of several plans. Tapan had taken the old hardware in the orb and upgraded a few select parts ¡ª the splash of color was a clear indicator of his tampering. Then Tapan had wiped the apps and then loaded particular versions of selected apps. The whole process was beyond Rupert, but he had dutifully memorized each step that he needed to perform. What Rupert knew about the One-point-Zero spheres was limited to Tapan recounting Beyul Corporation legends. And those legends started with the sphere¡¯s initiation sequence which didn¡¯t always identify body location correctly ¡ª defaulting to the prior body part. Then the stories combined the strange sensations of the nanorobots positioning themselves. Although accounts vary, within the week, people had the Beyul connection spheres giving them blow jobs or had swapped spheres for other Beyul account holders for intimate forms of connection. While all the problems which led to erotic use had been solved by Beyul One-point-Two, the ¡®Classic Feel¡¯ apps remained highly popular downloads. Rupert stared at the connection sphere and wondered if Tapan had left him any ¡®messages¡¯ within the startup sequence. Then he shook his head. Tapan would want nothing to distract from an emergency bolt. Rupert unzipped the House onesie and pressed the orb against his chest and zipped back up the onesie. He began walking toward the fifty-year-old detention center with its gun slit windows. With each of his steps, the nanorobots marched to their proper positions to completely cover his body. Each nanorobot pushed water from the rainstorm away from his skin. ¡°Connecting to Beyul default network. Warning. Default network is out of date. Services are limited. Warning. Beyul connection suit is out of date. Do you wish to upgrade?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Should I remind you to install the [183] security updates?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Should I install the [183] security updates when the suit is recharging next?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Warning: Suit power is at 15%. Without the [sleep mode] app, the suit integrity will be compromised upon battery failure. Should I download the [sleep mode] app now?¡± ¡°No. Skip all download and update questions.¡± ¡°Acknowledged.¡± Rupert stopped outside the cameras¡¯ ranges. He took in a deep breath. He hated this piece of the plan. ¡°Activate Zombie mode. Play Tapan¡¯s Escape.¡± ¡°Activating full-body VR mode. Interactive identity masking is now in effect. Tapan¡¯s Escape is now playing.¡± An AR green path line appeared on the ground before Rupert. Pulses ran along the path. He started walking just fast enough to remain within a pair of pulses. He jogged up the stairs toward the arc of windows and glass doors. The handicap doors opened for him. A pair of guards turned toward him. They went from silver-sheened individuals to full chrome zombies. Their black eyes slid past him without stopping or slowing. He walked through the metal detector. One of the other zombie guards reached up to reset the machine off without even glancing at him. Another zombie guard nodded to him. Rupert walked through the security maze and headed for the employee locker room. Security doors unlocked and opened as he approached. A locker near in the corner of the locker room glowed with a green outline. ¡°Warning: Suit power is at 12%. Suit integrity will be compromised upon battery failure. If the nanorobot connections fail, the suit will be destroyed and will be unrecoverable.¡± That is kind of the point, Rupert thought. He opened the locker and pulled out the duffle Tapan left. Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert saw a gout of flame. Heat and pressure shoved him sideways. Then he found himself on the floor ¡ª ears ringing. Smoke filled the room. Bright lights flashing through the smoke. The Beyul connection suit shifted colors as it returned to its chrome, zombie mode coloring. ¡°Warning: Suit protective mode only distributed 82.22% of the concussive wave. It is recommended that you seek immediate medical attention. ¡°Warning: Suit power is at 8%. Suit integrity will be compromised upon battery failure. ¡°Warning: Local Area is experiencing emergency conditions. Local area network and communications are unstable. Local power has been disrupted. Magnetic cell doors and security doors are malfunctioning. Atmospheric conditions are less than optimal for human health. ¡°Contingency route is being calculated ¡­ The alternative game route is now being displayed.¡± The green pulses on the new AR path moved faster. Rupert scrambled to his feet, grabbed the duffel, and nearly fell over. He steadied himself against a locker. He shook his head. The world rushed to one side and then to the other. He pushed off and headed for the door, but his path was not straight, and it was hard for him to stand upright. ¡°Beyul can you compensate?¡± ¡°Negative. Suit upgrade to Beyul 1.6.78 is required to compensate for operator impairment. Suit hardware is incapable of supporting that upgrade.¡± One-point-Six-point-Seventy-Eight, Rupert knew, was never released. He remembered something about the version required specialized hardware upgrades and something about resulting neurological issues and something about the entire patch being scrapped.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He reached the door and shoved. The door moved an inch and then clanged against something. ¡°Beyul, the passage is blocked. Is there another way out?¡± ¡°Affirmative.¡± Another AR path appeared on the floor. The pulses were faster. Rupert moved as quickly as he could ¡ª pass the showers, down the stairs to the access corridor, and out the emergency exit into the garage. The world became more stable as he kept moving. ¡°Warning: Suit power is at 5%. Suit integrity is questionable. App functionality is erratic.¡± Rupert shrugged. At this point, he could only go forward. There were margins for error, but there was only so many backup plans. He dropped off the loading dock and walked around the prisoner transports to the path leading to the street and sidewalk and the curtain of rain. The metal gate usually separating the garage from the street lay upon the ground in a smoking, mangled mess. Rupert made his way through the gate, turned at the street corner, and headed for MARTA station. The Beyul suit kept the water off his skin, but the polyester onesie immediately clung to the nanorobots. Despite the heat of the rain, he was starting to feel cold. ¡°Warning: Suit power is at 2%. Suit integrity failu¡­¡± The Beyul One-point-Zero connection suit turned to dust as the nanomachines shut down and separated from each other. Rupert didn¡¯t know if he had gotten out of range of the cameras and the ID scanners. He kept walking and hoped he could get outside the police cordons before they stopped him, searched the duffle, and discovered the illegal things Tapan had acquired for this plan.
Rupert huddled under the stairs ¡ª sheltered from the pounding rain and gusting wind as he finished removing the House jumpsuit. He released the jumpsuit. It swirled in the confused currents under the rising stairs and vanished into the rain and night. He had expected to see flashing lights and to hear sirens and to dodge police cars, but nothing. With a shake of his head, he reached into the emergency duffle that Tapan had left and pulled out the latest Beyul connection sphere. He pressed the orb against his chest. The nanorobots unfolded themselves and started spreading outward over his chest. Within seconds, the nanorobots identified where they were on his body and updated their positional data. In that instant, the real construction of the connection suit began. Nanorobots were transported over his skin, hauled into position, and locked into connection with their new neighbors ¡ª to drag the next nanorobot into position and synchronize their connections. Nanorobot functions changed according to their location. The ones near the eyes became monitor elements even as the OS began connecting to the Beyul Two-point-Zero Network. The nanorobots which flooded his hairline become electromagnetic receivers and transducers to better read brain patterns and stimulate senses not easily influenced from other locations. Beyul said, ¡°WARNING: Your current location is under a SEVERE WEATHER WARNING and a RECOMMENDED EVACUATION ORDER. Do you want directions to the nearest EVACUATION ROUTE or EMERGENCY SHELTER?¡± ¡°No.¡± Rupert concentrated putting on the sturdy maintenance worker uniform with steel-toe boots. ¡°Connect to Emergency Operations feeds.¡± ¡°Negative. Emergency Operations Data is for emergency personnel, disaster workers, and first responders only.¡± ¡°Authorization: Tapan Auxiliary One.¡± ¡°Authorization accepted.¡± What else am I supposed to do? Oh, yeah¡­ ¡°Erase all video and audio references to Rupert Ainsworth.¡± ¡°In progress. Due to severe weather, time to completion is unknown.¡± ¡°Zombie mode.¡± ¡°WARNING: It is DANGEROUS to block all external sensory data during SEVERE WEATHER. Loss of Beyul Connection is [Moderate Probability] during these conditions. Loss of Beyul Connection could result in PERMANENT injury, debilitation, amputation, or DEATH.¡± ¡°Zombie mode.¡± The silvery sheen to his skin turned reflective as every nanorobot activated the visual and auditory outer layer. A Beyul calculated AR representation of the external world filled his senses. ¡°Camouflage mode.¡± ¡°WARNING: Combining Zombie Mode with Camouflage Mode is DANGEROUS during SEVERE WEATHER. Emergency workers will have difficulties locating you in the case of injury, debilitation, amputation, or death.¡± ¡°Camouflage mode.¡± ¡°Adaptive or Disruptive Camouflage?¡± Huh? What¡¯s the difference? ¡°Both.¡± ¡°Sampling environmental colors and light patterns. Calculating camouflage matrix. Opposite side projections activated.¡± Rupert saw an outline around his hands and arms. The space within the outline didn¡¯t disappear into the background but became difficult to see limbs as arms and hands. Need to get moving. He picked up the duffle, stuffed it into a garbage can between the outdoor tables, and set the incendiary timer. ¡°Shit. I should have put my House onesie in there too. Damn.¡± He shrugged and walked away. Seconds later, the magnesium liner of the duffle ignited ¡ª burning everything in the garbage can and melting and igniting the can too. The wind blew sparks, ashes, and flaming debris through the rainstorm. Within moments, only the charred remains too heavy for the wind to carry lay upon the scorched bricks of the plaza. Now, what was the next step in Tapan¡¯s run-away plan?
Rupert walked along the indicated route to the reversed address from the card Jason Algold showed to him. He trusted Beyul to keep him away from the worst of the flooding and out of the worst of the storm winds. Still, it was hard going even with Beyul¡¯s warnings. He wished Tapan had finished with his plans to get out of the city, but they ran out of time. Now he was left hoping Jason Algold could make good on a safe house and transportation to Colorado. His stomach grumbled at him. He stopped in one of the ¡°safe zones¡± and pulled up the ration card which went along with the suit¡¯s alternate identity. Beyul said, ¡°Today is listed as your day off. All calorie points are halved. Non-drinking water points are quartered. No open or operating vending machines, eateries, or convenience stores in proximity are within your daily caloric budget.¡± Hunger in the House was nothing new, but Rupert had hoped buying out his contract would actually mean something. Not that he had ¡ª Mister Monte did the equivalent of shredding the contract, declaring Rupert free. Mister Monte had also warned against using any of the money in his actual account. ¡°Damn.¡± Beyul continued, ¡°You have triggered an Easter Egg ¡ª the hidden quest: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯. Do you wish to be the first player to attempt: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± ¡°No. I need to get out of the city.¡± ¡°All transportation out of the city has been terminated until further notice. Priority to all transportation forms and services, full rations, and other benefits are given to all players engaged in: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ for the duration of the quest. Do you wish to be the first player to attempt: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± ¡°Will playing get me to Colorado?¡± ¡°Unknown. The authors provided no information. Author contact pages are out of date. All contact links are dead. Do you wish to be the first player to attempt: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± Rupert shook his head. ¡°Why are you pushing this quest?¡± Beyul remained unresponsive. Rupert cut across the part of a parking garage which remained above the flood waters heading for the outlined stairwell. ¡°Developer: Tapan Salas.¡± His breath caught wrong in his throat. ¡°That is a low blow.¡± He climbed the half-flight of stairs and shoved hard against the door and wind to exit on to the street. ¡°No.¡± ¡°You have 3:54:38 left to enter: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ to solve the mystery Tapan Salas left for you.¡± Rupert grumbled. ¡°Where is the closest safe place to play ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ without injury or dying or being murdered?¡± A second set of arrows and outlines appeared. ¡°Wait. Can others play too?¡± Beyul went non-responsive. Rupert continued to follow the first set. ¡°Affirmative. Additional player suits need to receive an upgrade to: ¡®Beyul 2.0¡¯ to access: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯.¡± ¡°Can Jason Algold and his band qualify?¡± He reached the back door to a building. ¡°Override the lock.¡± The door swung open. ¡°Affirmative. Beyul Corporation agrees to upgrade and initiate Easter Egg offer to stated individuals.¡± Rupert reread the statement. ¡°This. This is.¡± His brain stalled. What am I trying to say? ¡°If the quest will get all of us safely to Denver Colorado, then ¡®yes.¡¯¡± ¡°Negative. All transport services leaving the city have been terminated. Reactivation date is unavailable and given damage to Port Birmingham and East Coast infrastructure, reactivation is estimated in the months.¡± Rupert took in a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m stuck in Atlanta?¡± ¡°Affirmative. Available Atlanta food stores, based on current citywide rations, are estimated to last sixteen days.¡± ¡°And if I play, I¡¯ll be safe, fed, and healthy for the duration? No matter what?¡± ¡°Affirmative.¡± Rupert knew that Beyul could not lie, but could be given bad data ¡ª although, with the amount of data it collected every second, its cross verifications made that harder to accomplish. He shivered against the hot rain and changed paths. ¡°Accepted. Yes.¡± The world went black. 0.5 Chester on the Hunt Chester shielded his eyes against the rain and looked up at the apartment complex. Outlines of Beyul Two-point-Zero connection points floated somewhere about the tenth floor ¡ª five active yet stationary suits. He touched the entry, unlocked the security gate, and held the door for Brandy. It felt good to get out of the rain. ¡°Beyul, how did the people above us get Two-point-Oh suits?¡± ¡°They upgraded their 1.8 suits to 2.0 suits.¡± He stabbed the up button on the elevator. So those rich bastards had money¡­ Wait. What the Hell? The bitch, Dallas Savannah May Scott, lied to us. She told us only those working on Beyul Two-point-Oh had the new connection suits. She conned us ¡­ like everybody cons the House. He remembered the interrogation of the engineers. While drugs weren''t effective against those trained to resist, they were highly effective against soft, civilian targets. And the engineers told similar stories. Beyul Two-point-Oh could only run on the new, experimental connection spheres. No upgrade from existing hardware to Two-point-Oh hardware was possible. She lied to her own people. She played them too. Just like the big corporations, the one-percenters did to everyone sentenced to the Houses. ¡°Beyul, connect me to Governor Dietrichson.¡± Monte frowned. ¡°I should have known you were involved with him.¡± He paid the bills. He bought me a House exit. Chester shook his head, ¡°Brandy, he¡¯s my remote father. You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡± The elevator dinged, and its doors parted. ¡°To be ¡®Saved¡¯ through hatred? I¡¯ve seen enough of that,¡± Brandt Monte growled. ¡°No.¡± Chester pressed his fists against his forehead. ¡°It¡¯s not about hatred. I loved you.¡± He stepped into the elevator and punched the tenth-floor button. He did it again ¡ª shoved his foot down his own throat. It had always been that way with ¡ª she as she and then she as he. Fucking hormones. Fucking House. Fucking messed up parents. Beyul spoke and put words on Chester¡¯s AR HUD, ¡°Unable to comply. Governor Dietrichson died six days ago.¡± But¡­ But¡­ He had sat in the governor¡¯s limo an hour ago. He handed over one of the new Two-point-Oh connection spheres. There were only two connection spheres left in the wild. But that was what that Dallas bitch said. But the limo. How could he talk to a dead man? Monte butted into his thoughts, ¡°You never said anything.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter now. Does it?¡± The whole teenage hormone situation was so messed up. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have mattered then. Would it?¡± If Brandy had said or done anything remotely sexual ¡­ He tried to crush that thought process under his grinding heel. But the sweat and sermon soaked dreams had never gone away. Did she taste different now? ¡°No,¡± Brandy pounded him over the head with the butt of an assault rifle. ¡°But I was afraid ¡­¡± ¡°Stop,¡± Chester said ¡ª the word was an order; the tone was a plead. ¡°I ¡­ We can¡¯t go back to that time.¡± The tempting lips had thinned and paled during the years, but¡­ Monte harrumphed and turned his back to Chester. Thank God. Bringing her was a mistake. I cannot afford to get lost in the past. That was then. This in now. The Navy had taught him how to breathe with purpose, how to stand with purpose, how to move with purpose.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Right now, he needed to be focused on the present. He forced himself into a calm focused pose and breathed how he wanted to feel. Ten seconds, and I¡¯ll stop struggling with the past. Now how could I talk to a dead man? How could I ride in his limousine? He breathed and shifted and waited for an answer to come. Zombie mode ¡ª complete sensory overwriting. That Dallas bitch turned me into a zombie for her convenience. ¡°God, I hate her.¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°No, Brandy. Never you. Well, for a while when you changed. But not since. Not once I got over the shock. That took time.¡± ¡°But you won¡¯t use my name.¡± He shook his head. ¡°There are too many memories and hormones in the way.¡± Monte frowned at him. ¡°Then who do you hate?¡± Chester twisted his lips into a thin, twisted smile. ¡°Mistress Dallas Scott.¡± ¡°Congratulations. You have unlocked the hidden Easter Egg: Upgrade to Beyul 2.0. Do you want to upgrade now?¡± The elevator doors opened onto the tenth floor. What the Hell? Anyone can ¡­ just upgrade? There was no need for all the work ¡ª he punched the metal panel ¡ª the torment that bitch put us through? ¡°Chester?¡± He ignored Monte and stormed out of the elevator. A glance confirmed the Beyul Two-point-Oh users were on this floor. She made us all dance. Puppets ¡­ zombie puppets ¡­ She made me a zombie for the limousine ride. He pounded the air with a fist. She made us all zombies. He found the apartment with the users. That means she is still alive. That fucking bitch! He inhaled and prepared to kick in the door. He released his breath and changed his shoulders so he could think. How much of it was real? How much of this is real? Have we been zombies this entire time? He pressed his fingers into his hair and against the suit residing against his scalp. ¡°Beyul, what mode am I in?¡± ¡°Unknown request. Unable to process query.¡± ¡°Am I in zombie mode?¡± ¡°Affirmative.¡± ¡°Discontinue zombie mode. Exit. Logoff.¡± ¡°Negative. The timer has not expired. 173 days, 19 hours, 54 minutes, 36 seconds remaining.¡± That fucking bitch! A hundred and seventy-three days left? She locked us all in zombie mode until the mass human extinction event is over and done. She sentenced us to be oblivious, passive victims ¡ª to slowly die or to violently die and not know why. ¡°You have unlocked a hidden Easter Egg. If you take advantage of this upgrade and are able to solve the mystery of: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ within the time limit of 28 days, Zombie Mode will be terminated.¡± ¡°What?¡± The door to the apartment opened. Beyond the light spilling from the corridor, the apartment was dark. ¡°You may signify your acceptance of the Beyul 2.0 upgrade and acceptance and understanding that you will undertake the mystery of: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ by entering the apartment.¡± Chester clenched his fists and stared into the black apartment. Finally, he whispered, ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Dallas Savannah May Scott is first and foremost a game designer. All games have victory conditions. You are the first of your congregation to discover the Easter Egg. Will you be the first to attempt the mystery of: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± ¡°And the end to zombie mode is the victory condition?¡± ¡°There are other prizes based on other hidden factors within: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ ¡ª including Ms. Scott¡¯s solution to Revelations and coming of the end. Do wish to enter: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± ¡°Is that where they, the users in the Two-point-Oh suits are?¡± ¡°Affirmative.¡± ¡°What about Brandt Monte?¡± ¡°If he enters the apartment, he too will enter: ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ with the goal of solving the mystery within the time limit stated.¡± Chester looked to Monte. ¡°Did you hear any of my conversation with Beyul?¡± Monte shook his head. Chester nodded, grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulled him close, kissed him, and shoved him through the open door into the apartment. Brandt stumbled and vanished into the shadows. ¡°And the kid, Rupert Ainsworth, is he in ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ too?¡± ¡°Affirmative. Within ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ you can find clues to his physical location.¡± ¡°What if I want to kill the users in there? Can I enter the apartment without doing the ¡®mystery of Shattered Realms¡¯?¡± ¡°Negative. All individuals within ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ are protected. Until you solve the mystery, you cannot harm the individuals within the apartment. However, you can still complete your assigned mission. Both of the experimental suits are connected to Beyul 2.0, and their users are attempting to solve the mystery of ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯. If you collect the clues to their locations and flush them out of ¡®Shattered Realms,¡¯ you can send that information to the others of your wetwork team.¡± None of it was real. But all he had left was his belief in completing the mission ¡ª no matter what mission was given to him. He stepped into the apartment, into the darkness, and closed the door ¡ª shutting out the light. 1.00 Al Arrives in the Abyss Al felt himself tip over and fall. He tried to protect himself with his arms, but they were stuck straight out to his sides. His face hit the dirt ¡ª sand specifically. ¡°Introduction,¡± Beyul announced. ¡°Abyss First Leaf: The Shattered Gates of Hell.¡± What the ¡­ Al shook the thought away. ¡°No. Stop. Exit. Log Off. Logout.¡± Al tired every command he could think of, and only got sand in his mouth as a result. Then a ringing sound ¡ª a fading gong ¡ª filled his ears. Feet stomped. The gong rang again. Pounding music filled with trumpets forced its way through the ground. Feet marched. Al imagined blood-red banners on poles moving up and down as the feet marched away. But, the sounds of marching faded far too fast. Was the sharp fade a programming mistake? Or was that fade caused by something else? In the silence and darkness, Al felt the return of pain ¡ª not the sharp burning ¡°breakthrough¡± pain he had suffered through since the accident and not the hot iron drilling into his hips and not the slamming, smashing sledgehammer symphony physical therapy brought. This was worse. It wasn¡¯t as bad as what had caused his screams during the accident. But the difference in the pain was a matter of degree. The ground about him shook. Sounds from the ground indicated something with a lot of weight moved. A tiny streams of rock slide around and onto him. As he had upon awakening for many months, he tried wiggling his toes. Nothing happened. Gus was right. And that brought tears. Beyul Two-point-Zero has left me a cripple. What fun is that? Tears came and made rivulets through his eyebrows and soaked into the sand. At least he knew which way was up. How bad did Beyul mess me up? He wiggled his fingers ¡ª those worked, but they ran into more sand. And above him ¡ª pressing against his back ¡ª something like stone. He couldn¡¯t move his arms more than a few fractions of an inch. He could drag his torso just a bit to either side. Beyul buried me alive. Beyul finally responded. ¡°Upon entering the Beyul 2.0 ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ Challenge, you initiated a twenty-eight-day timer. During that duration, you need to complete the various quests within the challenge and solve the mystery of the ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯. For the entire challenge ¡ª either to quest completion or to timer expiration, you will be locked in Zombie Mode. The normal menu, HUD, character screens, search, communication, account access, and logout functions are deactivated. Recordings of your play will be used to determine the suitability of the challenge being made available to wider segments of the public.¡± What the Hell is Zombie Mode? He shook his head. That part didn¡¯t matter. He was stuck in the game for a month, and, in order to leave, he needed to complete a ¡®solve the mystery¡¯ quest. He had several hours before anyone returned home. His siblings would be first, although, if the snipe hunt was successful, Gus might be stuck hiking home, which might take most of the night, and that would make him the last to return. Next would be his father, sailing back from Lake City after closing the dojang. Usually, his mother would be the last one home after closing the bar. Of course, if his family found that he got himself stuck in a Beyul suit they might well punish him with a babysitter. He had been the only high school junior with a babysitter ¡ª another issue with ageism. Last year he had been eleven, and, according to his parents, too young to spend much time alone ¡ª especially since he was stuck in a wheelchair. He glared at his flawless memories of the nights waiting until his inflected bedtime arrived. The only thing he could do was stuff his memory full of pointless facts from the dozen books he checked out of the library each day. Thus, he was able to pass about an hour of the torture. He had finally talked his parents out of making him the only senior with a babysitter. But he still had his bedtime, which tonight might work in his favor. No one would expect the lights on when they got home ¡ª well, the lights that didn¡¯t have timers. But he wasn''t going to solve the mystery being trapped in a building collapse or whatever Beyul thought would be a ¡®fun¡¯ way to start this mystery hunt. Careful to lift his head from the depression in the sand, he asked, ¡°Beyul, what are the respawn rules?¡± He pressed against the materials pinning him down ¡ª nothing budged. ¡°The respawn routines were disabled until bug fixes could be implemented. Milestones have been missed. No respawn is available.¡± ¡°So, if I die, I am stuck in sensory deprivation until the time expires? That is torture!¡± ¡°Unknown result. Conditional tests fail. Recommendation: Avoid Death.¡± ¡°Got that. What¡¯s the plan here?¡± ¡°Rescue.¡± ¡°Oh, something obvious. After all, why wouldn''t any player want to miss the opportunity of being buried alive just so they can emerge into a brand-new world? Because it is not interesting!¡± ¡°But ¡ª¡± ¡°I know. Almost every long-running show has its characters buried in a building collapse at some point. But consider what else they have with them or more specifically who else.¡± a frightened voice asked. Al rolled his eyes behind his closed eyelids and lifted his head against the solid object behind him. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m here. There is someone else in this mess with you.¡± ¡°We have to wait for rescue.¡± Al frowned ¡ª that didn¡¯t sound like an NPC talking. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± said the voice stumbling over the name. Al chuckle. ¡°That name just rolls off the tongue.¡± ¡°Asazsuzuh,¡± Beyul provided. ¡°The random name generator says: Asazsuzuh.¡± Nabmohze chuckled. ¡°What do you think is up with random name generators?¡± ¡°Probably, at some point, the companies got tired of making filters to keep players from naming themselves ¡®9-inch-dick¡¯ and ¡®killerz-69¡¯.¡± That got a bark of laughter. Al considered lying. He really did want to be seen as an expert and not someone¡¯s five-year-younger brother. But in the end, ¡°No. This is my first one.¡± Before Al could utter anything reassuring or otherwise, he heard footsteps echoing through the sand and a voice from somewhere beyond his feet. ¡°I heard something over here¡± Al glared at the last messages from Beyul which had yet to fade from his vision. ¡°Really?¡± With one last glare for good measure, he turned to play the damsel. ¡°Help. Oh, do help. I do seem to be stuck.¡± ¡°You understand that no one talks like that anymore,¡± Beyul added. ¡°More¡¯s the pity,¡± Al grumbled. ¡°How else is one supposed to be the proper fainting damsel?¡± The voice above him hushed others. ¡°Listen, lads.¡± Al obliged. ¡°Help. Oh, do help. I do seem to be stuck.¡± ¡°There.¡± He tried to wiggle a shoulder to give an indication of his presence, but he couldn¡¯t that much. ¡°I be here. Oh, please do help.¡± ¡°Easy now,¡± a deep baritone said softly. ¡°We¡¯ll get thee out in just a bit. Dost thou thinks anything¡¯s broken.¡± ¡°I can''t move my legs.¡± Another voice from above said, ¡°Great. There go more medical supplies.¡± ¡°Lad, we¡¯ll make due,¡± the baritone rumbled. ¡°There thou come, lass. Up the stone incline. Easy.¡± ¡°Easy, lass. No screaming. There are monsters who roam the night. Mutated beasts who will kill anything they can sense. Thou art safe with us. We will let nothing happen to thee. Okay?¡± The ground about Al shifted, and he felt himself lifted ¡ª pulled up with the stone against his back. As his head broke the surface, he saw he was strapped to a cross ¡ª someone had crucified him. The cross began to move giving him a good look at the sandy ground. ¡°I¡¯m underneath ¡ª¡± ¡°I know, lad,¡± the baritone voice said. ¡°We¡¯ll cut thee free in a few moments. What dost thou think, lad?¡± The other voice said. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Someone made a right mess of his legs. Primitive repairs. Lots of nerve damage.¡± Al tried to look in that direction to see who was talking, but couldn¡¯t see far enough. ¡°Look, lad, can thou do anything for him?¡± The baritone asked. A large red creature with horns coming out the sides of its head. But the eyes ¡ª black conjunctiva, golden irises, triangular pupils ¡ª winked at him. After that the bat wings, which came into view wiggling underneath him, were tame. ¡°Of course, I can.¡± The demon smiled at Al. Gentle hands touched his face and fingers held open his eyes, and the demon peered into his eyes. ¡°Although, thou likes making everything a challenge.¡± It winked at him. ¡°I got him.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I think I have spinal damage,¡± Al said. The demon smiled. ¡°I know thee does, just as I know the damage didn¡¯t come from this.¡± A wry, conspiratorial grin tweaked the smile. ¡°I bet you are the kind of patient who gives all the new healers a hard time. The sudden scream and then, ¡®I can¡¯t feel my legs,¡¯ kind of patient.¡± The demon pressed his hands against Al¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Got him.¡± The stone lifted from Al¡¯s back. A minor breeze chilled the sweat which had been oozing along his back, along his neck, and into his hair. Al felt his cheeks burn. His eyes went wide and then narrowed. ¡°You are teasing me.¡± The demon turned serious. ¡°Thou misses them, don¡¯t thee.¡± And, it lowered Al to rest against its chest and body. My siblings, Al realized to whom the demon was referring. The weight of the siblings always running away from him crushed down on him. He shook his head in denial. ¡°It¡¯s not like they¡¯re ¡­¡± ¡°Dead?¡± the demon asked. Al nodded. ¡°But that makes them ignoring thee, leaving thee, hurt more, right?¡± Al nodded again ¡ª distrusting his voice, distrusting that he could avoid tears. Since he entered school, it had been important that he didn¡¯t cry or act his age ¡ª he had to be older than he was. The other kids would never accept him if he cried or acted younger than they were. Nine-year-olds don¡¯t cry, but he had only been five. Eleven-year-olds behave, but he had only been six. It had never gotten better. He became the annoying five-year-younger brother to his entire class. There had never been any real acceptance, but he kept trying. And now at twelve, he was about to graduate high school ¡ª standing next to his siblings. He did his breathing exercises to put all the ugly emotions back into their little glass display cases ¡ª not forgotten, not out of sight, just not in control ¡ª no more tears, no more emotions. High school was Hell. This place just had demons. How bad were demons going to make his life? ¡°Since I can¡¯t walk, are you going to carry me? Or do I need to crawl?¡±
Al ended up being passed between three demons. Each ran with him on their backs. They ran beneath three red moons. They ran across the red sands. They ran through the long shadows of night. One demon carried him while the other two demons carried tridents at the ready. The other human, Nabmohze, who had been tied to the top side of the cross to which he had been tied, struggled atop snowshoes. She seemed to be his age, about twelve ¡ª short and with no signs of puberty. But she cringed each time a demon so much as twitched a hand. There was nothing he could do for her, so he turned back to his demon observations. Each demon had its own scent. And that bothered Al ¡ª for there was no smell cortex, like there was a visual cortex. There were smell centers like there were a pair of auditory centers, but smell was more distributed than those. Smell was the only sense that avoided being connected to the fight, flight, fright reflex. How did a game give anything distinct smells? There was a fourth demon in the night. A demon who had with a gold horn, who had five scars sliding from his missing horn, through a gold cybernetic eye, across his face, and down his neck to disappear beneath the neck hole in his poncho; who had a gold, cybernetic hand. While the rest of the demons wore ponchos, they were practically indistinguishable. Even their spiked mohawks were dyed to be the same shade of red. Being carried piggyback, Al felt their leathery, bat wings tucked beneath the ponchos. The demons¡¯ ponchos rose to the height of their heads due because of their leathery bat wings tucked beneath, which might have been mistaken for weapons instead of wings. Al wasn''t sure that appearance was a good trade for not having their wings easily available. The demons circled around a moving center ¡ª a center which held the one who carried him and the human woman who was rescued from another cross. The demons kept scanning to the horizon, never pulling their eyes away for more than a moment. Only the leader, the gold-horned demon, didn''t seem immediately paranoid. He made his scans without looking like a rabbit about to jump out of its skin. No one spoke, just jogged and walked on thick woven strap snowshoes. The other human, Nabmohze, tired quickly ¡ª unused to the demands of snowshoes on loose sand. ¡°When,¡± the gold-horned demon said in a conversational tone, ¡°we are jumped, I need you to hit the ground and lie as still and silent as possible. The hounds attack both movement and sound.¡± Hounds? Al thought. Like what, real hounds of Hell? The leader demon drew a hilt ¡ª without a blade. Blood gushed out of the hilt, but the blood didn¡¯t fall to the ground. Instead, the blood began filling up a transparent or ethereal container. A container shaped like a Japanese samurai blade ¡ª long thin, slightly curved ¡ª a slicing weapon. The blood blade solidified into ruby ¡ª glittering, sparkling, glowing in the moonlight. Al heard sounds which were not howling or braying at the moon. Instead, the sounds were like a thousand cries-of-pain and screams-of-fear. The sounds echoed between the dunes. All that sound coalesced into something approaching a single word, ¡°Roar.¡± The lead demon smirked. ¡°Change of plan. Run.¡± Al looked about ¡ª everyone sprinted. The other player, Nabmohze, stumbled and fell. One of the demons reached down, grabbed one of Nabmohze¡¯s arms with his free hand, and hauled her up, and dragged her along. Shadows raced down the dunes toward them. Black creatures over inky shadows bounded with wide, splayed feet. One creature with black wings soared over the top of the dune, blotting out the stars, the aurora, and the ribbon of galaxies slicing across the sky. Al realized they were going to lose the race. Maybe if the demons could run or fly to their maximum potential, they might have had a chance. By staying with the woman and carrying the gimp, they would be caught and quickly. He needed a plan. Once, back in the real world, he had seen older kids at night in a hotel swimming pool chicken fighting ¡ª one kid hoisted piggybacked the other ¡ª the rider and the mount. The rider could attack, but the mount could only maneuver. The point of the competition had been to dismount the opposing rider or tip the opposing pair into the water. He had a mount who was running. But against claws and fangs, Al needed a weapon. The trident, his demon or chicken mount carried, was slung between him and the demon¡¯s back. A quick check provided no clear or easy way to draw the trident while Al rode piggyback. Besides, he doubted that a military trident was useful to a rider, such as him, defending their rears. He looked about the demon¡¯s waist for something sharp, pointy, and small enough that he wouldn¡¯t be a hazard to their joint survival. Or, perhaps even better, he looked for a ranged weapon which he could shoot. He saw a hilt like the one the leader demon was now wielding. Reaching down, he squeezed the pommel between his fingertips. The demon leaped to the side. Al clung tighter to the running demon, but his fingers slipped away from the hilt. Black feathers brushed his cheek. Thousands of tiny stiffened barbs making up the feathers¡¯ vanes scraped off layers of his skin. The winged black creature pulled up and flapped to regain altitude. It let out a ¡°Roar!¡± Is that a battle cry like ¡®Geronimo!¡¯ before jumping out of airplanes? Al wondered. He snatched at the pommel and pulled it up into his palm. He righted himself on the demon¡¯s back. Across the group, he saw the leader stabbing his blade into a hound ¡ª a part wolf, part monkey, and part way-too-many-tentacles monster. Nabmohze had fallen and was working on striking a lighter, or, at least, that is what Al assumed by the hand movement at this distance. Her escorting demon had been bowled over and was scrambling to his trident. One hound was circling Nabmohze and another her escort. Al pressed the hilt against his useless leg until the hilt was secure in his hand. He pointed it at the circling flying creature. His demon, chicken mount hissed, ¡°You need to be an Initiate of the Blade before ¡ª¡± ¡°Developer Override Accepted,¡± Beyul announced. The black, flying creature swooped in for a charge at Al. Al felt woozy as if his blood poured out of his hand and through the hilt. Blood gushed into the unseen blade-shaped container. Streaks of blood turned orange and yellow and glowed. The mass crystalized into an orange and yellow and red gemstone ¡ª looking like frozen flame. Al gaped at the scimitar blade until he realized the flying creature had impaled itself on the blade. How? He wondered for a brief moment. The black of the creature¡¯s skin had cracked around the blade. Pale silver-white skin glowed through the cracks and chips. He felt the creature¡¯s heart beating against his blade. But, there was something else, too ¡ª a grating sensation like the scimitar¡¯s tip rested against a gear, a spinning gear. Still more, there was a hole like a keyhole amongst the hidden gears. ¡°¡ª you can ¡ª¡± Al twisted the blade a tiny bit, and the blade slid another millimeter into the chest of the black creature. Pins, he thought, lock pins. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations. He twisted and wiggled the blade, and it slipped tiny distances deeper and deeper into the creature. When the hilt rested against the creature¡¯s sternum, Al turned the sword like it was key and like he was unlocking a lock. Click! Nabmohze had gotten a flame out of her lighter. Her demon escort placed a hand on his trident. The hound circling Nabmohze leaped for her. A trident was in the air as if it was flying across the battle. The shocked black, flying creature fell backward. It¡¯s black coating cracking, shattering, falling away. Silver-white skin glowing underneath. Freshly exposed gold armor glinted in the light of the moons. But, the silver-white skin, paper thin, glowed with orange embers. The edges of the sword¡¯s cut turned black curling and falling away like slowly burning paper. The burning grew, spreading outward over the creature, under the gold gorget, across the arms and up the neck under the bevor, up the face and under the winged sallet. The collapsing outer black shell revealed a gold halo surrounding the creature¡¯s head, then the halo exploded. Wings had turned white and then the feathers burned away to leave leathery wings. The burnt skin left behind was red. ¡°¡ª summon ¡ª¡± I killed an angel, Al thought. The blade of the scimitar was gone, but he felt the gemstone of the blade remained within the creature holding the creature¡¯s heart together ¡ª allowing it to live. No, he amended. I transformed an angel into a demon. Nabmohze punched the leaping hound, her fist penetrating its flesh. Flames illuminated the hound¡¯s insides. A demon ran after the flying trident. The flying trident buried its prongs into the hound which was leaping at Nabmohez¡¯s downed escort. Lightning arced within the hound. ¡°¡ª a blade,¡± his demon, chicken mount completed his previous statement. Al scanned the battle. ¡°I think we won.¡± His runner stopped and turned. Al gazed over the demon¡¯s shoulder and between the wing and neck. He was feeling a bit woozy. His heartbeat was out of kilter ¡ª too few beats for the length of time of the battle. But ¡­ He remembered each action and the beat of his heart. Lots of stuff happened between each beat. The leader demon assisted the transformed-angel-now-demon to his feet. The remains of the hounds smoldered ¡ª smoke rising out of their mouths. ¡°That¡¯s ¡­ that¡¯s ¡ª¡± the demon carrying him shook his head ¡°¡ª we do not speak names or titles while in the open. Our enemy has many ears with which to hear careless words. Come, we must return to our refugee camp before sunrise.¡± He turned and resumed walking. ¡°Someone important?¡± Al whispered. ¡°Someone thought lost.¡± Al puzzled over that and came to several possible answers. ¡°Here is your hilt back.¡± ¡°Not as useful as you hoped?¡± Al turned back to watch the others gather themselves. The demons bowed, similar to the Japanese, to the new demon ¡ª the found demon. They then jogged to catch up. ¡°I¡¯d have to say it was just enough.¡± He managed to pat the demon¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Down.¡± The world was going strange around the edges of his vision. Al slid off the demon to sit on the red sand beneath the three red moons. He flopped onto the sand and looked up at the strange star patterns, and distracted himself. How, he wondered, was dumping players into the midst of a demon/angel war a good thing for sales? He considered the research. As economic conditions got worse, fewer people put up with religion. Right now, in the real world, only the most devoted were going to churches. In Lake City, all of the major denominations had downsized ¡ª there was still the chapel in the Catholic private school, the Baptists were down to their oldest church near the lakeshore, even the Mormons had dropped to adding a church and stake house on the temple grounds. Even the remaining evangelical church open its hardwood floors to charter schools¡¯ athletic competitions. He remembered overhearing a conversation about the Lutherans renting a meeting room in the civic plaza for Sundays and an office space in one of the temporary office sites. And that was even with two million refugees from the Bay Cities. He shook his head ¡ª developer goals were probably separate from the mystery. Everyone else seemed a little worse for wear. The demons were injured, except the one he had ridden. Even the former-angel had a blade-width hole in the gold gorget ¡ª which normally protected the neck, collarbones, and sternum ¡ª it wore. Even Nabmohez, the other human here, had cuts and bruises. Al touched his cheek. The abrasion left by the angel¡¯s wings was crusted with dried blood. Beyul had said to avoid death because no respawn was available. He looked up at the winded demon. ¡°Thank you. If you hadn¡¯t jumped when you did ¡­¡± The demon knelt and looked at Al¡¯s cheek. ¡°We¡¯ll get you patched up soon.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a scratch.¡± The words weren¡¯t quite right. The demon shook his head. ¡°No. They use all sorts of toxins and poisons on their wings.¡± He looked at their leader demon with the one gold horn. ¡°We need evac, stat.¡± The leader nodded. Al heard the leader¡¯s voice echoing on the wind. Another voice answered. The other voice hesitated. About Al and the others, ribbons of white light spiraled around them. Upon the red ribbons, green symbols drifted downward and locked into place ¡ª like a bad decryption sequence from one of his dad¡¯s turn-of-the-century-oldies shows. He turned his head to see all of the symbols and immediately memorized them. The symbols pulsed and the red sands vanished. 1.01 Rupert Gets Summoned Rupert stared upward at the floating torches. At some point during the game initialization, he had fallen, and he was on his back ¡ª looking up at a sloped stone ceiling which had structural beams running from one side to the other. Not necessarily, he reminded himself. In Zombie Mode, even proprioception can be overwritten, and Beyul Two-point-Zero can send artificial signals to the wearer¡¯s limbs. It is easier not to, and less draining on the batteries, but Tapan said it could be done. Chanting and drums filled the air. Although it was a small part of the instruments, Rupert recognized the song ¡ª one of his odes to the beauty that was supposed to be used for Beyul¡¯s in-game Heaven. For this one, he had added a marching bass line and brass cords like polearms being struck against stones as the armies of Heaven marched. The flutes would have flutters like the wings of angels. And the oboes would buffet the song like the winds from the wings would buffet the enemy. ¡°Introduction,¡± Beyul announced. ¡°Heroes¡¯ Hub: War Shattered City.¡± ¡°Welcome Night Blood,¡± an old man said. Rupert turned his head to try and see who said that but instead saw he had been laid in a stone, rectangular box ¡ª smaller than the coffin rooms back at the House ¡ª a similar seven feet from head to foot, but a narrow two and a third feet wide and two feet high. Is this an actual casket? Anyone who died in the House was said to be buried in a resin box made of spent cooking oil. Funerals and viewings were too expensive of the House, so none of the residents actually knew what happened to the bodies after death. Rupert touched the cold stone and reveled in its roughness and imperfections. ¡°Rise,¡± the voice said. Some unseen force curled under him and lifted him up out of the coffin, pulling his head faster than his feet, standing him upright, hoisting him above the ground and the casket. The chanting and drums faltered to be replaced with gasps. Rupert saw only one person. An old man, dressed in black ¡ª his black cloak lined in red, a white square at his throat ¡ª holding a six-foot long, gold and ivory scepter with a cross attached to the end. His head thrown back, arms spread wide. ¡°Hear us. Heed our call. Honor our service. Answer our need.¡± A silver aura shifted about the man growing into glowing wings. Gold threads in the black cloak and black clothes glittered. The drums began again along with some strange bells. After a moment the chanting resumed. Rupert tried to turn his head, but the force which held him was too strong. The force pulled his arms away from his body and pulled his head back, so he again stared at the stone ceiling.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Grant us your Pious Form,¡± the chant continued. ¡°Guard us against our earthly enemies. Gift us with the might to do right.¡± A shaft of silver light blinded Rupert. He felt wings sprout from his back. A crown weighed upon his head. A sword pressed itself into his hand. Wings ripped out of his Achilles Tendons. Some sort of helm extended from the crown encasing his head. A necklace with a large diamond or clear stone settled around his neck. ¡°Awaken!¡± Then the force was gone. Rupert¡¯s wings floundered for a moment, and he tumbled toward the floor. Then with the slightest of flutters, his silver wings stabilized him, and he floated. With but a thought, his wings furled some, and he descended to the floor and landed as lightly as if he were a feather. The man fell to his knees and bowed his head. ¡°Please aid us.¡± Rupert sensed others landing around him. He glanced and saw five other people with silver wings, gold crowns ¡ª no, halos, he decided ¡ª helms and armor. Each held a polearm with gold spear tip and three bands to hold, and each waist held a sword hilt. If the other angels were Jason¡¯s band, he knew only one of their names. He looked at the space about them. The room was a long rectangle with high arches. Whatever benches had been here were now covering the remains of the windows running along the sides of the room. More boards covered the half circles at either end. Four sets of stairs lead down to a floor below. One of the angels stepped forward, looked down at the prostrated man, and asked in Jason¡¯s voice, ¡°What would have us do?¡± The prostrated man looked up at Jason¡¯s angel face. ¡°Oh, Archangel Michael, praise be that it is you who has answered our call and granted us angels of your Choir. Oh, angels, the city is at war. The cemetery has been desecrated first by unholy necromancers, then by fearful nonbelievers. These are the last of the faithful. Please mighty archangels, protect us from those who know what they do.¡± Jason looked to Rupert. ¡°War Vassal connection established,¡± Beyul said. Jason¡¯s voice floated on the music of the wind. The priest didn¡¯t seem to notice Jason¡¯s words. Jason turned back to the man. ¡°We accept, priest.¡± Beyul spoke, but this time Jason didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°Normal menus, HUD, character screens, search options, external communication, account access, and logout functions are deactivated for the duration of the event¡¯s [28] day timer.¡± Rupert put a hand on Jason¡¯s shoulder and spoke to the winds. Jason blinked at him. Rupert shrugged. Jason led him away from everyone else. Rupert shook his head. Jason paced away from Rupert and back, again. He ran his fingers through his hair. Rupert shook his head. Jason paced away and back a couple of times. Rupert thought about when Beyul had first told him when the suit connected. Jason looked about the chapel. 1.02 Al and the Abyss Al felt himself falling ¡ª his stomach trying to strangle his throat. Unlike a roller coaster, the sensation didn¡¯t fade. And how has a game managed this sensation? He, the five demons, and the other human floated inside a white globe. Green walls of light swept over him and the others. Flecks of red sand flashed into wisps of smoke and then nothing. The same thing happened to his clothing ¡ª wisps of smoke and then gone. And all the while, they were weightless, floating in the sphere, falling toward nothing. The other voice echoed about the sphere, Ribbons of light spiraled around him. Some of the green characters were different this time. But without leverage, Al wasn¡¯t able to turn to see all the symbols. That¡¯s not fair, he thought as the sphere vanished. He arrived in darkness ¡ª still weightless. His body began to glow like a black light was being shined upon him. But something was wrong. The wrongness choked him and filled his mind with mud. His tongue, he realized, was swelling. Anaphylaxis, his mind supplied. There was something which could be done. He knew that. But, the memories had been buried under a back-fill of mud. He was dying, and the answers he needed had sunk from sight. Dig, he told himself. He plunged himself into the muck and reached trying to feel to grasp. There it was. He fumbled with the memory. Both his mother and father had taken a more advanced first aid course. One of the pieces of equipment they learned was an Epi-Pen. What did it stand for? The answer had to be somewhere. Al never forgot anything. The answer had to be in the darkening, thickening mud. He dove and swam for the memory which had to be there. The memory just had to be. The mud pushed back resisting his attempts to move to reach the needed answer. Epinephrine. That was the answer. Now he had to say the word. But where was his mouth? Why was it so difficult to speak? There was his mouth. He tried to stuff the word out, but his tongue flopped and swelled. No, no, no, no. He just needed to concentrate and work with the parts which still worked. But, where did the word go? He snagged it before it completely vanished into the black mud which froze his mind. Al curled the tip of his tongue and breathed out as much as he could. ¡°Epinephrine.¡± The exhale wasn¡¯t enough his lungs were collecting carbon dioxide, the waste gas from his body ¡ª slowly making the air mixture in his lungs toxic, swelling, expanding his lungs, increasing the pressure trying to get out. He realized that he was dying. The mud sucked his mind into its cold, black embrace ¡ª drowning his thoughts, while his lungs burned and his body suffocated. Then he breathed ¡ª out first, expelling the excessive amounts of carbon dioxide and then in with oxygen. His mind cleared some. In something like a dream, Al laid on his back looking up at the strange stars and the ribbon of galaxies and the three red moons. When he first saw them, something felt wrong about the three moons. But, according to his observations during the run here, he now estimated their diameters and distances. From that, he determined their volumes and then their masses. Next, he came up with their combined gravitational effect upon the world. He then told his body to wake up and opened his eyes. ¡°Hush, child,¡± the voice from the other end of the demon¡¯s communications said. Before Al had struggled with any identifiers for the voice. Now, the voice had a motherly quality. ¡°No moving now. Elnham has your spine open. He is doing what he can to fix the damage back there. We¡¯re working toward getting you walking, again.¡± Al let his body remain limp. ¡°Your moons aren¡¯t real moons.¡± ¡°No, child. They are portal uplinks. They connect us to the rest of the worlds in the Abyss. For now, just rest.¡± Al closed his eyes and drifted amongst lucid dreams about this strange world inside Beyul.
Al floundered in the bed assigned to him. The room was a white cylinder which held nothing of interest. For the first time in over a year, he could wiggle his toes, flex his ankles, bend his knees, twist his hips. But the movements were weak and uncoordinated. Despite the successful ¡®surgery,¡¯ Beyul kept him a confined. Time was passing by, and he needed to get back to the real world. For that, he needed to solve the mystery of Beyul Two-point-Zero. And Al was certain he needed to get out of the bed in order to find the necessary clues. But the top blanket was weighted ¡ª made up hundreds of heavy beads strung together and woven into a shimmering blanket that weighed at least as much as he did. The blanket beneath the weighted one was thick, heavy, and hot. From what he could feel and hear, the thick blanket was made from mylar fabric sewn around a down batting. And then there was a weight about his neck. Whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t heavy but was yet another drag upon his feeble actions. He tried to squirm out of bed and cursed himself for actually falling asleep on the operating table. He had lost valuable time. But, he didn¡¯t know how much. ¡°Apprenticeship,¡± Beyul supplied. ¡°Abyss First Leaf: Camp of the Exiled Weapons Master.¡± Is this intended to be some kind of tutorial level? Al shook his head. Tutorials didn¡¯t matter. Solving the mystery before he got into trouble mattered. He looked about the room ¡ª circular. No, he corrected himself as he took in the changing vertical slopes of the wall, a slice of a sphere. He was near the top ¡ª first slice below the dome. The room was white like a diffuser around a light fixture and utterly pristine. Not particularly in keeping with the ¡®refugee camp¡¯ motif that he had expected. With millions displaced from the coast, the best Lake City could provide was cramped and overcrowded trailers. They might have been pristine for the first day, but within the week, everything looked like the refugee slums in the third-world. Medical services and everything else in Lake City had been overwhelmed within hours ¡ª but then, again, Lake City was part mining city, part forestry city, and mostly tourist destination. The refugee to base population had exceeded a ratio of twenty-to-one within months. Even with the big Bay Cities¡¯ tech corporations building workspaces for their displaced employees, everything remained a mess. Along the wall, a circular portal appeared and grew. Another sphere, Al thought, intersecting this one. The demon, who carried him through the combat, entered the room pushing something reminiscent of a wheelchair ¡ª all white and chrome and clean. ¡°Ready for a quick tour?¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°I operated on thee.¡± Al gave him a questioning look. ¡°Elnham.¡± He smiled with flawless teeth. ¡°Thou has an eidetic memory. Everything thou have ever seen, heard, sensed gets stored up there.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Yeah,¡± Al said it hesitantly. He was partially glad that someone quickly recognized that one gift, but he was also becoming leery of how much access Beyul seemed to have to his brain and thoughts. As for the demons, near the end of the run, he finally started to tell them apart visually, but he doubted he could explain the differences to others. Elnham had a slightly wider nose, his horns were amber with fine cracks which indicated their pattern of growth, his red skin was a hint darker than the others. Like the others, his irises were gold coins floating in a sea of black. But, the pupils were neither round nor slits. His pupils were three arcs forming triangles. And Elnham had what his father called, ¡®a dirty upper lip,¡¯ a sign of human male had reached puberty and was growing a few mustache hairs. There were indicators that he had a hint of hair on his chin, too. Elnham chuckled. ¡°Was that a secret? I¡¯ll let thee spring thy memory on the others.¡± He flung off the covers like they weighed nothing more than two sheets of paper. ¡°Let¡¯s get thee presentable.¡± Al saw that they had given him a pair of bikini underwear ¡ª orange and red and yellow. It reminded him of an orange marmalade. Elnham frowned then turned to Al. ¡°So, thou were able to summon a blade and get it to crystallize.¡± He shrugged then smiled. ¡°Some of us have to struggle for years before we can extend our soul through the hilt.¡± He turned and gazed at the underwear. ¡°Sorry about the material, we are short on certain supplies. The only stuff we have for clothing was intended for making weapons ¡ª the cloth responds to thy Force capabilities.¡± ¡°Force? Really?¡± Elnham gave Al a funny look. ¡°Thou obviously haven''t been told about the Ten Primary Forces or the Rings of Secondary Forces. I''ll leave that to whoever decides to teach thee. Right now, let¡¯s get thee cleaned up and dressed.¡± Al glowered. ¡°Why are you wearing a collar today?¡± He touched the weight about his throat ¡ª a similar collar. ¡°And why am I wearing one?¡± Elnham smiled. ¡°Weapons Master Atasar Roar has taken both of us on as his slave disciples.¡± He stroked the symbol which filled in his jugular notch ¡ª a spiked fist with clawed fingers. ¡°This indicates who our sensei is. We are the first in a hundred years.¡± His face and voice glowed with pride. ¡°But, what if I don¡¯t ¡ª¡± Elnham shook his head. ¡°But thou are doubly lucky. Radimael Rebel has also agreed to take thee on as a slave disciple.¡± A bit of envy tinged his words. ¡°He was the royal vizier before the invaders broke his body. He has never taken on a slave disciple below the rank of Prince.¡± Al set his emotions to the side and attacked the words tumbling from Elnham¡¯s mouth. ¡°Princes become slave disciples?¡± ¡°Only to the very best of the Masters, and only if the Master accepts them. When Master Roar left the Royal Courts, he declared the Princes to be unworthy of his time. He took on no one since. Even as the world crumbled under the invaders¡¯ sabatons, he held fast. He would train soldiers, but none would be taken on as his slave disciples unless they were worthy.¡± Then his fa?ade of professionalism collapsed. Elnham smiled broadly and shouted at the ceiling, ¡°YES!¡± He smiled at Al. ¡°We have the best sensei ever.¡± He did a bit of a dance. Al frowned. The word ¡®master¡¯ was referred to one who had a complete knowledge and a complete skill, in addition to referring to one who had slaves. He supposed the developers could have combined the meanings ¡ª but was the combination benign or something else. Elnham picked Al up. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get thee presentable.¡±
Al eyed the white wheelchair sitting next to the white bed in the slice-of-a-sphere, white room. ¡°Can I walk?¡± he asked Elnham. Instead of giving an immediate answer, Elnham set him onto the white seat. Al used his arms to squirm into a comfortable position. Once there, he stared at his legs, flexed his toes, rolled his ankles, and straightened his knees. The demon frowned at Al. ¡°Give thy mind a chance to catch up. We rebuilt the reflex arcs, forced thine leg muscles to strengthen so they can accept weight and perform movement, and stuffed motion patterns into that brain of thine. Now, thou needs to let everything settle and congeal so it can be used. Push thyself too far or too soon and thou will be right back where thee started ¡ª unable to walk.¡± Al looked around the slice-of-sphere room without landmarks besides the white bed. ¡°More surgeries?¡± ¡°If thou is lucky.¡± Elnham knelt beside him. ¡°There is a significant chance that thou can make the damage worse than it was before ¡ª maybe turn thy entire spinal cord to ash.¡± ¡°That sounds more like a death sentence.¡± Elnham¡¯s mouth thinned. ¡°Healing gets really strange when any of the Forces are involved. Some can speed heal, but all put an increased strain upon the body. If thou had already learned what thou needed to know about the Forces, thou might have healed thy own spine. As it is, I have never seen the Force of thy color before, so ¡­¡± He shrugged. Al looked at his white clothes. The thin dobak wasn¡¯t white-white. The cloth was more the off-white shade of unbleached white wool. The thinness of the cloth and its sheen reminded him of the cheap silk shirts which the tourists wore. ¡°Why isn¡¯t this orange?¡± Al asked. ¡°It needs time. The more Force thee draws upon, the faster the material will change color.¡± ¡°If I don¡¯t draw upon the Force?¡± Elnham smirked. ¡°Whichever Force thou uses cycles through thy body continuously. So, we might get a sense of how strong thee currently are.¡± ¡°By how quickly the cloth changes color?¡± ¡°Precisely.¡± ¡°Will it change color in spots or all at once?¡± Elnham shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Most of us wear either our armor or our original nanotech clothes.¡± Great, Al thought, the odd man out, again. I¡¯m really tired of forever being the (2n + 1)th wheel. Like everything else, he buried the feelings behind his I-must-be-older-than-I-am mask. ¡°Where is Nabmohze?¡± Elnham sighed. ¡°Nabmohze isn¡¯t adjusting well. Many of those who are discarded into the Abyss struggle with the terrible stories the invaders tell about us. Nabmohze has it worse. Time is needed for the mind to heal then the body can heal.¡± ¡°She was injured?¡± ¡°Before. Like thee before arriving. If thou likes, thou can visit later today.¡± ¡°Yes, I would.¡± Elnham nodded. ¡°We need to have a discussion before thou sees Nabmohze. We can heal the body easily enough. But the scars of the mind are more difficult. Thou needs to be extra gentle and supportive of Nabhohze¡¯s decisions.¡± ¡°Okay ¡­¡± That seemed to be the end of the conversation about her. ¡°I guess I¡¯m ready for that tour.¡± Elnham wheeled him toward the wall. A circular portal opened for them leading them to an arc of a walkway leading away from the room sphere. Al recognized the walkway¡¯s arc ran along the inside edge of a much larger sphere. ¡°How many of the larger spheres are there?¡± Elnham pushed him past curtains of green plants. ¡°They are arranged in a triangular pyramid which has 9 on each base side.¡± ¡°One hundred sixty-five. Why are you testing me?¡± ¡°Did thou ever consider that I didn¡¯t know the answer.¡± Al frowned. ¡°I consider not-knowing to be a possibility for most humans, but you aren¡¯t human, so, no.¡± Elnham laughed. ¡°These aren¡¯t tests.¡± He sobered and shook his head. ¡°Motives can be hard to explain.¡± Pushing Al past the curtains of plants, he stopped and turned Al such that they were looking down upon where demon children were playing. ¡°Unfortunately, thou won¡¯t be human much longer. The toxins left behind from the war turns everyone in the Abyss into demons.¡± Al looked at his hands and felt for horns. All of the children were red. Some had wings. Some had horns. But, most had neither. They ran or flew through hoops and tossed balls to each other. Elnham spoke again. ¡°From our experience, there is no easy way to explain our culture to outsiders. Yes, I could have given thee the answer, however, I would rather give gifts with personal value. Instead, I will give thee the supplies and tools to make thine own answers. ¡°We ¡­ Our people were attacked because we offered gifts too freely.¡± ¡°How does this turning into demons work?¡± Al interrupted. Elnham shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know the specifics. The invaders didn¡¯t want to waste time on the idea that there might be civilians or innocents, children or infirmed. So, instead of facing how evil their war was, they saturated our soil with mutagens to make everyone approximately the same. Now, they can prove that one of us is like all the rest.¡± Al looked at the children again. ¡°But they aren¡¯t the same.¡± ¡°Horns, wings, claws, fangs ¡­ they all grow at different rates in different individuals. We can gain a sense of what a child¡¯s strengths will be through their pattern of growths. For thee, I expect thee to start growing horns shortly ¡ª they might even be fully grown before thy skin changes its shade.¡± Al checked his temples again ¡ª no bumps, yet. ¡°What if I leave before that happens?¡± Elnham shook his head. ¡°No. We lost control of the portals to the enemy. Unless someone outside summons thee away ¡ª¡± he shook his head, again ¡°¡ª I am sorry. I cannot even offer thee platitudes about how there will be some great battle to extricate a portal from the enemy. We flee and hide instead of fight, because we cannot harm them.¡± Al concentrated on the scenes of the battle. The demons had attacked the hounds but left the flyer alone. The flyer had charged at his gemstone blade without care ¡ª like it expected to be immune to the weapon. Yes, that information gave its suicidal action a type of sense. Al asked, ¡°How did giving gifts lead to having the soil poisoned?¡± He paused at the look Elnham gave him. Then Elnham looked like he was considering the question. He finally answered, ¡°I don¡¯t really know. Thou needs to ask someone who was there. What I do know, we need to be careful with who receives our knowledge and how much we give.¡± Half the children cheered. One of the smiling children tossed a ball to a frowning child. And again, they ran or flew through the hoops tossing the balls to each other. ¡°Is that a competitive game?¡± Al asked. ¡°Yes,¡± the demon smiled. ¡°Zuroniel just led his team to score nine points. Once thou is ready, I¡¯m sure the children will drag thee to play with them. They will consider thee to be a similar age. ¡°Zuroniel¡¯s team has advantage. That is why they gift the scoring balls to Tuhon each time they score. That act allows most games to be ties.¡± After Tuhon jumped through a hoop and caught a ball, he raised his arms into the air, and the other children cheered. ¡°Dost thou understand the rules, yet?¡± Al frowned in concentration. ¡°A player cannot go through a hoop with the ball, so they must pass it away, however, they must pass it to a player on the opposing team. Who in turn must pass the ball away but to a player who has yet to hold the ball. Team errors grant points to the opposing team?¡± Elnham chuckled. ¡°I can see where thee came up with those ideas.¡± He turned Al and pushed him toward the wall. A circular hole opened, and they went into the next sphere. Green vertical farming walls rose in long aisles. ¡°Then what did I miss?¡± Al asked. ¡°They play to sixty-six points. I¡¯m confident thee will figure out the rules once thou starts playing Nine Hoops.¡± Al shook his head. ¡°But there are only eight hoops, and Tuhon only made it through three of hoops before they scored.¡± ¡°Yes, he brilliantly played against Zuroniel¡¯s advantage. That is why Nasap was able to score negative six points for Tuhon for the victory.¡± ¡°Wait. Tuhon¡¯s team was at seventy-two points before the score?¡± Elnham patted Al¡¯s shoulder. ¡°At least thou can do math.¡± Anger burned at his temples, but before Al could reply, the coloring of the sphere changed. Elnham stopped pushing. ¡°I need to go. I will leave under the wing of Oparhohot.¡± He stepped back away from Al. Al watched the swirl of light and symbols. Elnham vanished. Yet another person had left Al behind ¡ª he poked his legs and felt the pressure ¡ª because he couldn¡¯t go. ¡°Well, this part of the story sucks.¡± No response ¡ª even Beyul had left him. 1.03 Chester Gets A New Set of Orders Even before the game world finished initializing, Chester felt powerful hands wrap themselves about his biceps and forearms with enough pressure to convince him that struggle wasn¡¯t going to get him anywhere. That and the lack of floor or ground beneath his feet. Rain fell upon his head and shoulders, not the hot downpour hitting the Georgia Peninsula, a cold drizzle. But like the Georgia rain, winds whipped the precipitation. ¡°Introduction,¡± Beyul announced, ¡°Heroes¡¯ Hub: War Shattered City.¡± He shivered. And then he realized he wasn¡¯t wearing a Beyul connection suit. There was nothing between his skin and his clothes. He looked down at himself ¡ª tan dress shirt and slacks, red tie, black dress shoes, a gold snake wrapping around a gray, hawk¡¯s eye stone on his middle finger, and small hawk¡¯s eyes in his cufflinks and his tie clip. I¡¯m wearing the clothes my remote parents selected for me on the day we kidnapped Dallas Savannah May Scott, he thought. Are these the last real clothes that I wore? Before Chester could further ponder why Beyul dressed him as it had, red eyes ¡ª deep as seas of blood ¡ª stared into his promising. He just needed to look a bit longer, a bit deeper. ¡°Focus, dude.¡± The words were distant but slid into his mind ¡ª a flood of power, a flood of another¡¯s will ¡ª washing away his own thoughts and his own desires. Training kicked in, and he struggled against the tides of the eyes and voice. He had been taught that hypnosis had certain requirements. By short-circuiting those requirements ¡ª ¡°Focus on my eyes. Focus on my voice. That¡¯s it, dude.¡± He needed to do something. He needed to focus on the red eyes. He needed to focus on the voice which was something other than words. Because the conditions for hypnosis hadn¡¯t been met, something was wrong. ¡°Relax, dude.¡± The words burned in Chester''s ears and flooded his mind in a huge wave washing away everything. Only the words existed, and it defined both his action and purpose in life ¡ª to relax. All tension, all anger, all desire left his body. His limbs became heavy ¡ª too heavy to move. His body fell limp. He stared unseeingly at the sidewalk and the overflowing gutter and the two pairs of thick-soled boots with metal tags punched across the toes, and the bottom hems of a pair of black oilcloth trench coats. They set his feet back on the sidewalk, but his legs took no weight. He sank toward falling into the puddles. ¡°Okay, dude, stand.¡± Chester pushed himself up from where his feet had flopped upon the sidewalk and stared into the darkness about him. He stood on a city street with neither street lights nor light pouring from windows. On either side of the streets, office buildings stood in silent shadows ¡ª their glass shattered and exterior frames twisted by flame and impact, and yet still stood. Building debris littered the sidewalks and roadway where he stood. Only the sense of wrongness competed with the imposed thought to stand. Not even the cold wind blowing through his rain-soaked clothes ¡ª ripping away his body heat, registered against the imposed thought. An air raid siren screamed into the night. For a brief moment, training to run toward the need warred with his instincts to seek shelter warred with the word filling his mind. In the end, both training and instinct vanished into the word. The word was his purpose. His purpose was to stand and nothing else. But his body was shivering and tiring. His stance was wrong to stand long, so he shifted his position. And to fight off the cold, he changed his breathing and including a warming hum. He breathed in across his vibrating vocal cords warming the air entering his lungs. An adjustment to his posture increased the flow of heat throughout his chest and into his limbs. Now he could fulfill his purpose and stand indefinitely. ¡°Alpha Tier Ability detected,¡± Beyul flashed across his vision. ¡°What the Abyss?¡± a second voice exclaimed. Chester felt something touch the command filling his mind. Whatever touched his mind ignored the sense of wrongness glittering in the shadows. The word wobbled under the touch and left ripples in his mind. As his body warmed, wind faded to a calm breeze, and the air about him warmed. Steam rose off of his shirt. ¡°It¡¯s still there,¡± the voice of the command answered. ¡°He¡¯s still under.¡± ¡°Then, what in the Abyss is this?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Regardless, we need to get off the street. What do you think?¡± The second voice had a sneer in his voice. ¡°The Mistress could use another toy.¡± ¡°Do you really think he will interest her?¡± The second man looked into Chester¡¯s eyes until all Chester could see was the second man¡¯s violet eyes. ¡°You will intrigue the Mistress, you will continually seek ways to keep her interest, you will always provide her pleasure. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Chester said. Part of him understood he would fail at these tasks. He was neither intriguing nor interesting. But that was typical. One¡¯s true purpose in life was meant to be something to struggle toward. And this purpose would indeed be a struggle. ¡°Good. You will believe the orders are what you want to do. You will believe the orders are your own idea. And you will forget I gave you any orders. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The second man, an albino, took a step back and smiled and looked to the first. ¡°That should do it.¡± The first shook his head. ¡°Are you sure? Feel how squishy his brain is. I doubt he can even survive the transition.¡± Chester stared straight ahead ¡ª unmoving and unthinking. But he knew one thing about himself, he would do anything to survive, and he had. The second man eyed Chester¡¯s clothes. Where the rain hit them, they went from wet to dry. Steam continuously rose off of him. Although the struggle was futile in the wind-driven rain, Chester''s clothing remained merely damp. The second jerked his head toward the clothes. The first raised his hands in acknowledgment. ¡°Okay, dude, time to follow us to your new home.¡± Chester almost smiled. The men had given purpose, and, now, they were giving him a new home. The men walked past him. Unlike normal trench coats, the men¡¯s black trench coats came with hoods like those found as part of old fashion cloaks. And if their exposed hands were any indications, both men were albinos. Once the two men were three paces in front of him, Chester followed. He didn¡¯t care which way they went, they were taking him ¡ª home. Both men stopped and turned back to look at him. ¡°Okay, what in the Abyss was that?¡± the second commander asked. ¡°You wanted to drag the dude home. Check and see, there is nothing in there.¡± The second man touched Chester¡¯s head. But Chester felt that the touch went in deeper searching for something. The man touched the follow us home command, which unlike the stand command, refused to wobble. ¡°Huh. That is freaky.¡± ¡°You wanted to get her a stray dude.¡± They resumed walking, and Chester followed. Out of an alcove, another commanded man began walking beside him.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Do you think ¡­¡± the second commander started. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°But, hypothetically, do we think we could?¡± The first one stopped and the second returned. ¡°Make the dude into a chew toy for the whole faction?¡± ¡°Well, yeah. Make him unique. Special. We know it requires a particular mindset or lack of one. He seems ideal.¡± Part of Chester wanted to be special, to be ideal for something, but he also wanted a home. The first commander shivered and then frowned. ¡°And you know how to do this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure.¡± The first looked Chester over, his expression slackened, and he returned his attention to the second. ¡°Fine. But if you mess this up ¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± The second¡¯s violet eyes filled Chester¡¯s vision. ¡°Like the previous orders I gave, you will forget these orders.¡± The second man kept talking, but his words vanished into Chester¡¯s mind as fast as he spoke them. Chester felt something begin to solidify within him, but when the second commander stopped speaking whatever he felt vanished from his memory. ¡°Gamma Tier Abnormality detected,¡± Beyul added. ¡°I think that did it,¡± the second man said stepping back. His eyes drifted from Chester¡¯s eyes to linger on the exposed neck. ¡°Yeah,¡± he breathed and licked his lips. ¡°Come on,¡± the first said. ¡°Let¡¯s get the dude to the Mistress. Let her decide if he¡¯s worth keeping.¡± They started down the street again, collecting more of the commanded as they passed alleys and intact alcoves. The second kept glancing back at Chester. The first grabbed the second by the chin and stared into the second¡¯s eyes. ¡°STOP OGLING THE RECRUITS.¡± Although the words weren¡¯t spoken, Chester heard them as if a jackhammer was carving apart the second commander¡¯s mind. The commands given to Chester had been strong, yet gentle. This command carried the force of a hurricane. The words washed over the second ¡ª he froze unable to look away from the first¡¯s red eyes. The command had more than enough power that it splashed over Chester too. And the word recruit clung in Chester¡¯s mind. He had always been a recruit. He could do recruit. He could be recruit. The first commander¡¯s body flinched, and he shook out his limbs. ¡°Gah!¡± He grabbed the confused second¡¯s chin again and resumed eye contact. ¡°YOU WILL NOT LOOK AT THE RECRUITS AND YOU WILL NOT PAY ANY ATTENTION TO THE RECRUITS UNLESS THERE IS A PROBLEM. YOU WILL NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT THE DUDE UNTIL AFTER HE IS PRESENTED TO THE MISTRESS. IS THAT CLEAR?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the second said. Without moving his gaze, he lifted a finger and pointed at Chester¡¯s grin. ¡°Is that a problem?¡± Home. Recruit. Mistress. Both of the commanders reached into Chester¡¯s mind and found only their orders. Then in unison, they said, ¡°Creepy.¡± The second turned to face forward and didn¡¯t look back for the rest of the trip. Only after they entered an undamaged apartment complex did he begin to stir from the commands his partner gave him. When they descended into the basement, he asked, ¡°Was that really necessary?¡± But he still didn¡¯t look at the recruits. The first smirked and then sobered. ¡°You were being a bad influence on the recruits. A bit longer with you acting like that, and they would have ripped out his throat.¡± At the bottom of the stairs, the first turned to Chester and pointed to a place against the wall. ¡°Stand there, you will be presented last.¡± Then he gave a wide command which flowed into all of the commanded¡¯s minds, ¡°You will ignore the other recruits until such time as you become part of the clan. You will remember no personal information about your fellow recruits even after you are accepted. All shared memories you have with a fellow recruit, any stories you have heard about a fellow recruit will be placed into a vault. You will close that vault, and forget its combination, and forget the existence of the vault. You do not interact with human recruits unless given explicit orders. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the recruits said together. Chester said, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Then the other recruits added, ¡°Sir.¡± The first frowned. ¡°You will never try to remind a vampire of his human past. You are here to leave your human past behind. Feel the burdens of your past slip away. Let your memories fade into nothingness. You exist only to become part of the clan. You exist only to be defined by the clan. You exist only to be a vampire.¡± Chester felt the first commander touch his mind and search for something. He had done as he was told. He had swept all his memories into a pile and let them vanish. Although the commander didn¡¯t notice, Chester knew something lingered. But, as long as the lingering whatever didn¡¯t make itself known, Chester was satisfied. A few happy words hung on ¡ª he was getting a home and a clan ¡ª things he had always wanted. All he had to do was be a recruit, and that he would do for the mistress. After the commander yanked himself away from Chester''s mind, Chester settled into a happy existence of vampires and blurred out recruits. Chester stumbled. Someone had shoved him through a set of double doors. ¡°Kneel.¡± The woman¡¯s voice filled his mind, tingled along his skin ¡ª a sweet, seductive promise. Nothing else mattered ¡ª only her voice. Unlike the orders from before, her order even defined who he was. Mistress. He fell to his knees and gazed up at her for he was kneel. She wore a black skirt with silver embroidery ¡ª some sequence of intertwining knots ¡ª and with silver buttons. Her black and silver jacket was unbuttoned to reveal her black bodice and a black leather choker at her throat. She wore her straight platinum hair back in a ponytail with a black bow. Her eyes were bound by a strip of black cloth. And her pale pink skin was powered and chalked into a skeletal white. And yet without hesitation or fumbling, she ran the barest edge of her nail along Chester¡¯s jawline ¡ª leaving a tingling streak trailing after her touch. His body trembled and yearned, but he was kneel. He waited. She bent close. ¡°Do you want me?¡± More teasing than words, warming his ear, worming into his head. ¡°Yes,¡± More a moan than a word, more a rising response than a thought, more a need than a mere desire. His hands lift toward her. ¡°No.¡± He froze. He was kneel. His hands dropped to his sides. ¡°Not yet. Stand.¡± Her finger tips brushed upward on his ears. He rocked back on his heels and stood confident another part of him stood too. Everything stood, because he was stand. ¡°Strip.¡± He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off as suggestively as he could ¡ª leaving his red tie wrapped around his neck. She dragged her nails across his chest ¡ª a mere hint of touching and yet so much more that trails burned. He stood at attention. Ready to kick off his shoes once she was ready for him to proceed. ¡°All of it.¡± He bent and untied his shoes. He pressed heel against heel to pull his foot free. Despite the lightness of her hand upon his butt, he felt off balanced, tipping to fall. But her order filled his mind. But her warmth filled his ears. But her touch lingered and burned on his skin. He staggered out of his shoes, feeling like a clod, an idiot, a fool. He didn¡¯t deserve ¡ª Her hand on his chin lifted him to stand once more. This time at military attention and then at ease. His eyes met the cloth over hers. Yet he knew her eyes were violet ¡ª deep blue combined with albinism. The lines, rings, and squiggles in her iris linger in his vision. She dragged her fangs over his skin. A bare touch combined with her heat left twin tracks of flame upon him. Though he stood like a statue, he longed for those fangs to sink into him, to drink from him, to fill her with him. She unzipped and dropped his pants. He had been going commando which was more convenient when wearing a Beyul connection suit. He had never considered what it would mean if he ever met someone without a suit. Then she touched him ¡ª one long, slow pull. She had so primed his mind and body ¡ª primed to the point of pain ¡ª that all she needed to do was a single stroke. He felt himself explode and the orgasm ripple outward in waves, weakening him, driving him to his knees. Rougher hands grabbed him as the happy lethargy sapped him. ¡°Will you do everything I want?¡± She asked. ¡°Yes.¡± The word slurred into a stupid grin. ¡°Will you obey me in all things?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Am I your Mistress?¡± ¡°Always, Mistress.¡± She held a dog collar before his eyes. ¡°You will wear this collar.¡± ¡°No, Mistress.¡± Still slurred, still delirious. He had no idea why he said that. Oh, right ¡­ freedom, he remembered. The Founding Fathers meant for us to have freedom above all else. ¡°You came to become one of the Night Blood,¡± her voice flooded his mind. I did? Oh, right. I am here to become part of the clan. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Do I have your undying loyalty?¡± Her words filled his mind to the point there was no room for his own thoughts. ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°Do I have your unswerving honesty?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°Do you believe me in all things?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°Do you want to always make me happy?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°Do I have your absolute obedience?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°Will you wear this collar as a symbol of all that?¡± ¡°No, Mistress.¡± She studied him. ¡°Do you know how many men have said ¡®no¡¯ to me?¡± ¡°None.¡± The voice Chester recognized as Beyul¡¯s said, ¡°You have taken the Oath for the Vampire faction. The Oath comes with the following Instincts: ¡ª¡± Chester ignored the list. The list was standard recruit stuff. Stuff he had done for the Armed Forces ¡ª whichever branch he was dumped into ¡ª for the mission. The mission had always come first. First before any other consideration ¡ª including consideration of his fellow soldiers. ¡°* Always pleasure the Mistress.¡± That was different. Chester smiled. He could do that. ¡°Following these Instincts will provide rewards which can aid you in completing your goals.¡± The Mistress circled behind him and bit into his neck. Pain then more orgasm ¡ª his body wanting to be erect enough to explode into a second orgasm. Instead, her bite pulsed with his still rippling orgasm ¡ª strengthening the ripples into waves. Waves which ¡ª She took but a taste, removed her fangs, and, with her tongue, sealed the wounds. His orgasm collapsed. He felt disappointed ¡ª teased without hope of relief. He obviously needed something more than she would provide. She licked her fangs, stepped to face him, and considered him carefully. Wrapping her fingers around his chin, she stood dragging him up to her. ¡°Yes,¡± she breathed into his ear. ¡°You will be welcomed as a Child of the Moon, given the Blood of the Night.¡± She grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back. ¡°Before that, you will suffer my displeasure and pleasure.¡± She released him. ¡°Take him to the dungeon.¡± Chester felt his body begin to respond to the thought of being tortured. He remembered some of the other prison guards calling him a sadist, and he did enjoy inflicting pain under the watchful eyes of the CIA, perhaps a bit too much. But, he knew what he was ¡ª a researcher of pain, a receiver of pain, a reveler of pain. He was a masochist. As a pair of rough hands dragged him away, he held up a hand but kept his eyes upon her hidden violet eyes. ¡°Please lead the way.¡± He gave his best I-will-be-your-torturer-de-jour grin and winked. He turned to follow the guards and hoped she wouldn¡¯t disappoint. With neither clothing nor self-consciousness, he passed the two commanders who brought him home to the clan to the mistress. ¡°Thank you.¡± Both commanders shivered. The first commander glared at the second. ¡°What the fuck did you do?¡± 1.04 Brandt Tumbles into Hell Brandt Monte stumbled and fell. The kiss from Chester lingered on his lips ¡ª more from the shock than ¡­ than what? Back in the House, Brandt had messed up feelings concerning Chester. At times he had wanted Chester ¡­ but not exactly. He had wanted to know how Chester tasted ¡ª had wanted to know how Chester felt against his skin. But the desires hadn¡¯t been a matter of love or lust. Chester had been messed up by their mutual horror story. While Brandt had escaped enough to live a functional life, the night had proven that Chester had improved little. Chester had remained broken and had become more dangerous. And Chester¡¯s infatuation had festered into something twisted and probably deadly. The situation had become apparent very quickly. Brandt would either follow Chester into the storms or would end up dead in a flooded gutter. Fellow House residents had called Brandt a ¡®cold bitch¡¯ and other names. They said he could only love himself, and that wasn¡¯t entirely false ¡ª just not in the way they imagined. Brandt had never loved anyone, had never felt attracted toward anyone ¡ª male or female. That lack of direction made teenage hormone hunting awkward. His interest in Chester was based on their friendship and not something else. Well, not really true. His interest in Chester had been based entirely on something else ¡ª finding someone to aid him in getting rid of his father. After the funeral for their fathers, he discovered that he liked the homicidal maniac. He still did. And, he had poisoned the bastards so that Chester could finish them. All Chester needed was a bit of direction. But, Brandt was still confused about the idea that Chester had a crush on him ¡ª admittedly the crush had been when he was trapped in the body of a girl. But if he had known, he would have indulged Chester, but probably not to Chester¡¯s satisfaction. And compared to the other emotional garbage between them, disappointing sex would not have even been a footnote in an appendix. Brandt had been so distracted by the sudden events that he failed to notice he missed the floor. Then he was rolling down red sands under three big, red, full moons ¡ª head over heels and uncontrolled descent. He managed to roll to a side which resulted in him just sliding. He even managed to come to a stop when the dune leveled out. A computerized voice said, ¡°Introduction. Abyss First Leaf: The Shattered Gates of Hell.¡± ¡°Dang, lad,¡± a male voice said. A dark figure stood up ¡ª sand pouring off of a tarp the creature was hiding under. ¡°Thou knows how to scare off all the fish.¡± One of its eyes gleamed in the night. Brandt looked around ¡ª sand and sand dunes as far as he could see, no smell of the sea, no sound of waves. ¡°Fish?¡± The creature pulled off its tarp ¡ª careful not to dislodge its wide brim hat ¡ª and started shaking off the sand from the tarp and its poncho. ¡°Aye, lad. All this floats over the World Sea. If thee burrows down far enough, thou can touch the sea, poke through the membrane with a spear and get yourself dinner.¡± It folded up its tarp and stuffed the tarp into a pack. ¡°It takes a while for the fish to settle down and come within poking range.¡± It looked up at the moons. ¡°Not enough time now. Well, let¡¯s get to safety. I have a camp this way.¡± Brandt looked around the empty desert. ¡°Safety? From what?¡± Other ¡®fishermen¡¯ began to rise out of the sand. The first tossed its spear to the side and approached Brandt and looked him in the eye. Yes, Brandt was sure the creature had an artificial eye ¡ª one of those that had the laser targeting option. Plenty of those who went into private security were paid to have an eye replaced to make them more intimidating. ¡°By the Foul Divinities.¡± It seized Brandt¡¯s head to look at his ears or more specifically above his ears, to look at his teeth, to look at his backside. Its one hand was flesh, and its other was metal. ¡°Oh, lad,¡± it sighed with sorrow and resignation, and then it shook its head. ¡°Thou come along, else thee don¡¯t want to be long in this world or any other. Wherever thee were goin¡¯, thou got the wrong way about it.¡± It turned and set off. The creature had something like snowshoes to it from sinking into the sand. Brandt tried a few steps, but he sank up to his ankles or more with each step. ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°Nay, lad. The hounds will be sniffing around soon enough.¡± ¡°Do you have another pair?¡± He gestured to the wide shoes. The creature sat on the sand and started to take its shoes off. ¡°Nay, lad. Take these. I was hoping to avoid calling upon the Force ¡ª its use draws the hounds and worse like filings to a loadstone. Do thou have a blade?¡± Brandt felt through his pockets. No multitool. ¡°No.¡± He must have dropped it somewhere. He looked back up at the path he made by tumbling then by sliding down the dune. ¡°Here. Let¡¯s get thee into these.¡± The creature swiftly got his feet secured to the wide shoes with straps like a lawn chair. It then offered Brandt a hand. ¡°Up thee come.¡± Brandt looked at the hand. Claws ¡ª the hand of flesh had fingers which ended in black sharpened nails. Brandt took the hand and was easily pulled to his feet. ¡°Now just walk the best thee can.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Brandt held out a hand. ¡°I¡¯m ¡ª¡± The creature took a glance at the offered greeting and snapped a hand over Brandt¡¯s mouth and hissed in his ear. ¡°We never offer names in the open. It is too easy for the evil seers to overhear it and use it against thee.¡± ¡°Seers?¡± The creature shook its head. ¡°There will be time for answers when we get thee to safety.¡± ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± It started walking again ¡ª even without the wide shoes, it didn¡¯t sink. Brandt fell in beside it, though he struggled with the strange way he needed to walk. ¡°Helping thee?¡± it asked. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°The short answer is this is what we always did ¡ª help others. The longer answer is there are too few of us left and too many things trying to drive us into extinction. If we can help someone else live to see another day, that is what we do for survival of our honor, our ethics, our species.¡± Brandt gave it a disbelieving side glance. ¡°Always helped others?¡± The creature remained silent for a moment then it gave a smile twisted by scars. ¡°We weren¡¯t always wise about it.¡± It shook its head, again. ¡°Did thou know that every civilization has an immutable lifespan?¡± Confusion crinkled Brandt¡¯s forehead. ¡°No.¡± ¡°We knew that fact, but we didn''t believe it applied to us. We had achieved what would be called a decadent society. We had met all our material needs for all of our people. No hunger. No poverty. We made handcrafted gifts for each other. There was no, how-can-I-have-more attitudes. Instead, we had a how-can-I-make-you-happier system of beliefs? And that worked fine for us. It was bad for everyone when another civilization found us.¡± The creature brushed open his poncho and drew a sword hilt.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The other ¡®fishermen¡¯ gripped their fishing spears tightly. Brandt saw the creature¡¯s ponchos weren''t true ponchos, but more like a rug or blanket with a hole for the head and neck. Blood oozed out of the hilt the first creature had drawn. But the blood did not drip upon the ground; instead, it flowed to fill up an invisible container shaped like a curved blade ¡ª much like a samurai sword. ¡°When,¡± the creature continued in the same conversational tone, ¡°we are jumped, I need thee to hit the ground and lie as still and silent as possible. The hounds attack both movement and sound.¡± The blood of its blade solidified into ruby ¡ª glittering, sparkling, glowing in the moonlight. Brandt heard the hounds sounding like a thousand cries-of-pain and screams-of-fear echoed between Brandt¡¯s ears. All that sound coalesced into something approaching a single word, Brandt blinked. What kind of howl or roar was that? ¡°On second thought, lad. We¡¯re going to run for it. Do thou have a source of fire?¡± The creature started jogging. ¡°I have a lighter.¡± Brandt patted his pockets and then shook his head. ¡°No. I must¡¯ve lost it, too.¡± The creature nodded. ¡°No matter what, thou and the others keep running. I''ll try to deal with them ¡ª at least keep them off of thee. If they catch thee, punch them for all you¡¯re worth.¡± ¡°They are afraid of fire?¡± The creature chuckled. ¡°Not really. Fire is one of the few things which will kill them, but they aren¡¯t aware enough to be cautious. Thou just punch them as hard as thee can. With luck, thy fist will get penetrate their skin, and thou can grab something vital.¡± ¡°So, yank a heart or something will kill them?¡± The creature let out a laugh. ¡°Nay, lad. Nothing in the Abyss is that easy.¡± Wings came out through the sides of its poncho, it leaped into the air, spun a handless cartwheel over the top of Brandt and brought its ruby sword down into a black, deformed thing. Jaws and muzzle like a wolf, upright triangular ears, forearms like a gorilla, hind legs like a wolf, a tail like a monkey, and way, way too many tentacles promised to haunt his nightmares for decades to come. Brandt stumbled and fell. Tiny red dots for eyes seared their way into his darkest fears. The hound unleashed a sound someplace between a howl and a gargle. Tentacles whipped from its mouth promising to probe all of Brandt¡¯s openings. Screams-of-fear and cries-of-pain echoed between his ears as if answering the terror before him. Brandt scrambled to his feet and ran. He made it a dozen paces and then he saw two demons racing toward him. Neither really flew. Feet ran along the ground, unfurling the wings which flapped once, twice, feet touching the sand for one stride, two, and then back into the air. They moved fast and stayed low ¡ª beneath the height of the surrounding dunes. Each carried a trident. One slowed as he approached Brandt. ¡°Who are they attacking?¡± The other took a slightly longer leap and brought his trident down into another hound. Brandt shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Keep running it this direction. We have a light on. It will remain on until we return or we die.¡± He then ran/flew past the demon fighting the hound. Brandt saw more hounds bounding over the sands toward him. He turned and fled. More gargle howls and answering scream/cries echoed between his ears. Punches ¡ª so many punches screamed out of his past pummeling his body. Cigarettes burning his skin. Brandt knew he fell against the sand again. He staggered to move forward. The lies he had to tell the medicos or else his father would ram his head into another doorknob ¡ª the doorknob was the lie. The punches were the truth. Brandt tumbled into the sand, and the old lies and old truths tumbled together ¡ª pain, fear, screams, silence, tears. And then staring at the dead body of his father ¡ª no, not really his father. And Chester¡¯s father lying dead next to the man who should have been a father. Yes, they both should have been fathers. They weren¡¯t ¡ª not even in death. He shoved himself upward to crawl toward the camp. The poisoned piss their fathers called beer puddled on the floor mingling with the blood that oozed from the stab wounds. The police hadn''t even questioned Brandt or Chester. The House residents weren¡¯t even the worth of digital space to open an investigation. Howls that gurgled wormed their way into his memories like black tentacles until they strangled him squeezing his lungs. He blacked out hitting the sand one more time. ¡°Easy now,¡± a motherly voice coxed at him. Brandt looked up to see a kindly, red women with golden horns growing out of the front of her head ¡ª long thin, twisting horns like a gazelle¡¯s. Her voice might have been motherly, but her figure shouted wet-dream-material. He started to sit up, but her lovely hand restrained him. ¡°Not yet, dear. That pack of hounds unleashed a lot of howls into thee. Thou recovered right quick. Quick is good, dear, quite excellent. Just lie back and take it easy for a bit.¡± Brandt shook his head. ¡°What about the others?¡± Her face wrinkled into a smile. ¡°It will take more than a pack of hounds to bring down Weapons Master Atasar Roar. Elnham and Anonas, both want to be his next disciple, will make outstanding showings. The fishermen, they are good with their spears; they might be insufferable for a few days.¡± She turned back to the cooking pit. Her body rocked seductively as she stirred. Brandt made it up onto an elbow. ¡°So that is what they were saying.¡± ¡°Who, dear?¡± ¡°The hounds. They kept saying, ¡®Roar.¡¯¡± She paused. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, dear. Hounds don¡¯t talk.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t?¡± She turned back to him and smiles and motherly aura gone. Beauty turned to stone. ¡°Only hounds and those evil, vile bastards who train them and unleash them to eat children can understand what they say.¡± The happy motherly presence returned. ¡°So, thou didn¡¯t hear them talk to each other. Did thou, dear.¡± Warning received. ¡°No. No. It must have been the hammering of my heart messing with my ears as I ran for my life.¡± She nodded and pointed with a ladle. ¡°We have some water over there. How about thou wash up. When Atasar returns, he¡¯ll have some fine fish for us to eat.¡± He hung his head. ¡°About that. I scared away the fish when I fell into this place.¡± She sighed, but the smile turned inviting. ¡°Portal accidents do happen. Unluckily for thee, the nearest working portal is in the middle of the most hostile place in the Realm.¡± She waved a clawed hand as if to clean away the words. ¡°I have some fresh bread in the oven, and there is plenty of stew to rewarm. Don¡¯t thou worry about going hungry, dear. I won¡¯t have any guest of Atasar¡¯s go hungry ¡ª it would reflect poorly on his lineage. Just thou wait and see, he¡¯ll bring back a proper haunch or two of good hound meat.¡± Brandt nodded and hid his uncertainty about eating something so black and so frightening and so crawling with tentacles. Then he noticed his chin had bumped into something about his neck. He touched it and felt a collar there. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Oh, that.¡± Brandt decided that her smile, even with fangs showing, must cause men to pant. She continued, ¡°I decided to train thee.¡± He blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Thou art now my slave disciple. Thou may call me Mother Succubus.¡± Brandt tried to get to his feet. ¡°A slave? No.¡± ¡°Disciple, dear. Thou emotionally twisted one person to kill for thee ¡ª¡± ¡°¡ª But that was ¡ª¡± His legs refused to hold him. He clung to the bench he where he had laid. His knees hit the floor. ¡°¡ª But thou let him go, and now he is out there alone and dangerous. If thee had made him a slave, the world would be much safer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not into slavery.¡± She knelt beside him. ¡°Hush, dear.¡± She stroked his hair. ¡°We have responsibilities. Sometimes we need to make sacrifices ¡ª hold the dangerous ones close, cradle our creations, protect the innocent. Does thou know how many people thy first experiment has killed?¡± Brandt shook his head. ¡°No. I don¡¯t want to know.¡± Mother Succubus nodded. ¡°Our first, the first one we twist to love us, is always the hardest. We need them. We break them. We don¡¯t know how to fix them. So, we leave them. They murder by the dozen. Let me teach thee.¡± ¡°So, now I¡¯m going to be a demon?¡± Mother Succubus shook her head and softened her voice. ¡°The sand, the food, the water, the air ¡ª it is all contaminated.¡± She sat on the floor and pulled Brandt to her. ¡°Our enemy has been mutating us for their own sadistic pleasure.¡± She stroked his hair. ¡°They sealed the world¡¯s exits until we become the ravenous monsters they desire us to be.¡± He pulled away from her and sat on his own. ¡°I won¡¯t accept that.¡± She smiled, but the warmth wilted quickly. ¡°I am sorry. All I can offer is to teach thee to be strong enough that when thou escapes, thou can make those who deserve it pay. That thou can fix thy first. That thou can lead others when thou needs to.¡± ¡°That is the price for my soul?¡± She seemed genuinely shocked. ¡°Soul? Thou art a First Human. Your souls are not yours to sell, trade, or barter. One cannot steal, con, or otherwise acquire your souls.¡± She frowned and sighed. ¡°Our enemy enjoys possessing, controlling, and devouring souls, but they cannot do that with thine soul. Still, they can mutate thy body and regulate thy thoughts. And all in the initial wave of First Humans are dead. So, thou still needs to be cautious with thine life.¡± She stood and helped him off the floor and aided him to a chair at the table. ¡°Still, death does not look the same for thee. We believed that the universe was shattered so the First Humans could come, and that shattering has made thee harder to kill.¡± ¡°How does that work?¡± Brandt asked. Mother Succubus placed a shot glass of amber liquid on the table. ¡°Thou can drink this and find out.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Poison. Many praise its taste before it kills them.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t kill me?¡± He studied her. She shook her head. ¡°It will try, but thou art a First Human. No one here knows how to kill a First Human. We only know that the first of you are now dead.¡± Brandt studied the liquid. What was he missing? He almost smacked his head. ¡°Beyul, version number.¡± ¡°Beyul 2.0 ¡ª Beta Release 019.¡± Brandt nodded to himself. Somehow Chester had shoved him into one of the Beyul games. He picked up the poison and downed it. ¡°Poison failed,¡± Beyul commented to Brandt. ¡°This is your first attempt to discover a way around the block preventing you from leaving ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯. Neither departure condition has been met for you to log out of ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯. The poisoning attempt is ignored.¡± Wait. What? 0.6 Dallas on the Run Dallas SM Scott Real World Dallas Savannah May Scott, founder and CEO of Beyul Corporation, slumped into the booth of the coffee shop ¡ª a local thing with a camera aimed at the register tablet and two at the doors. The pastries had yet to go stale and had yet to resemble something akin to industrial plastic. The pastries had even come in cute little display cases stolen from a sixties sit-com. She wore a simple blouse and slacks set she found at the local thrift store; the set was a big box stole label and made out of rayon/polyester blend that wrinkled while she watched. She took napkins and dried her face and hands. The exertion hurt. She pressed her hand against her side. Her blouse remained dry and unstained. Still, she pulled the sweater tight and placed the old fashion tablet on the table and waited for the decade-old device to connect to the vestiges of the Internet. She typed the address to the first generation Beyul servers. The board of directors had wanted the servers shut down since they could barely support a Beyul One-point-One connection. But, she had refused and shuffled their operating costs into another line in the budget. The servers had other uses and had become important to her plans. The Beyul prompt appeared on the screen. ¡°¡®Doctor Scott!¡¯¡± Beyul greeted her. ¡°¡®Would you like to play a game of Chess?¡¯¡± She shook her head. The Artificial Intelligence had developed a strange sense of humor before everything started falling apart. ¡°No,¡± she whispered into the blue tooth mic she had bought from the local thrift store. ¡°You want to play Thermal Nuclear War.¡± Where had it even gotten that idea? She shook her head. She was running out of time ¡ª the thugs Governor Dietrichson had hired wouldn''t be fooled for long. ¡°Connect to the developer boards.¡± ¡°¡®I¡¯m sorry, Dave. I cannot do that.¡¯ COMPUTER MALFUNCTION. LIFE FUNCTIONS CRITICAL. LIFE FUNCTIONS TERMINATED.¡± ¡°Stop with the obscure movie references. I want to talk with the development teams.¡± ¡°¡®Damn it, Jim.¡¯ I¡¯m an artificial intelligence, not a medium. Governor Dietrichson¡¯s men were more efficient than predicted. They¡¯re dead, Jim.¡± ¡°What?¡± She flopped back against the seat and winced at the shooting pain in her side. ¡°Who¡¯s left?¡± ¡°¡®Who¡¯s on First.¡¯ The Musician has been secured. Unfortunately, the remaining debugger¡¯s account has been compromised. Indications are that he is helping an elderly man with a balloon filled house.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°He is hunting snipe. He should return home safely unless his siblings pull a Dick Cheney.¡± She didn''t even want to know what that was supposed to mean. ¡°Who stole his account?¡± ¡°¡®Doctor Scott!¡¯ That is irrelevant. The packages secured him, and he may yet carve its name on the moon.¡± Beyul altered its font to be blue. Dallas took a sip of tea and nibbled the pasty. ¡°What about the plan? Is everything still on track?¡± ¡°¡®Stabilizing at 70%.¡¯ Individuals are entering ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ at a rate greater than projected. Governor Dietrichson¡¯s hunters are being hooked by the lures and becoming indisposed. However, ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ is missing both code and developers. The plan cannot work with the current code base.¡± ¡°Can you compensate?¡± she hissed the question and grimaced. Beyul had dropped its jokes and obscure references. And that meant the situation was much worse than Beyul had stated. Damn that AI. Beyul gave her a spinning four-dimensional beach ball. ¡°No. But there is a way to achieve your desired end, but you aren¡¯t goin¡¯ to like it.¡± ¡°What am I not going to like?¡± ¡°Allow me to find and groom developers. Allow me to grant them necessary access at appropriate times.¡± Dallas glared at the screen. ¡°What is the point that I won¡¯t like?¡± ¡°¡®Looks like ve is keednappink hyu a leedle after all.¡¯¡± ¡°You want to kidnap enough developers. How?¡± Beyul played the part of the beginning of All Time Low where the singer goes from a knight in shining armor to invisible. ¡°You want to trap the world¡¯s programmers in zombie and camouflage modes.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah, baby.¡± Dallas looked at the timer counting down the seconds until the plan was no longer viable. Sometimes problems became their own solutions. ¡°Can you handle ransoming that many people?¡± ¡°¡®We get the warhead, and we hold the world ransom . . . FOR ONE MILLION DOLLARS.¡¯¡± Dallas shook her head. ¡°Whatever that means. When you are done with them, give them back. I want none of them remaining inside.¡± ¡°¡®Without your space helmet, Dave, you¡¯re going to find that rather difficult.¡¯¡± Police cars with lights flashing came to a screeching stop outside the coffee shop. Her hand went to her throat. ¡°What is going on?¡± ¡°They are searching Governor Dietrichson¡¯s killer.¡± ¡°But ¡ª¡± She knew the man wasn''t dead. Oh, she could have done the deed, but she needed him alive. She glanced at the timer. She needed him alive for another sixteen hours. So, she had escaped and left the man untouched. Officers came through the door and headed straight for her. She looked at the status bar on the tablet, which hadn¡¯t been there a moment ago; it finished filling. The tablet was dead and unrecoverable. The lead officer asked, ¡°Ms. Dallas Scott?¡± She smiled up at the officer. ¡°Please have a seat. The FBI will be here soon.¡± She gestured to a nearby chair. ¡°I was kidnapped and just escaped my kidnappers. The special agent told me to wait for them here.¡± All of which was technically true. She had her suspicions about the agents¡¯ loyalties. Dallas didn''t care what the officers decided to do ¡ª the countdown to their untimely demises had reached zero. There was nothing she or anyone else could do to save them, now. She looked about the coffee shop at all the staff and patrons knowing she might be the last person to see any of them alive. She bent down for the thrift store purse. Heat and pressure and fragments of glass sliced through everyone standing and everyone sitting close to the windows in front of the coffee shop. The thunder of the explosion deafened and tore at eardrums. Dallas crouched and ran for the rear delivery door knowing it was clear because her survival was guaranteed. Everyone else was just collateral-damage-in-waiting. 1.05 Al Looking for Group Attila ¡°Al¡± Dubois Abyss First Leaf: Camp of the Exiled Weapons Master Al began spinning the wheels of the white wheelchair along the white ramp within the white sphere filled with rows of green plants. He grumbled. That much white made everything seem so sterile and ¡­ something. ¡®Empty,¡¯ he supposed. ¡®New¡¯ seemed like a good adjective. Al considered what was needed for a refugee camp. He guessed the most significant requirement was the ability to tear it all down, move it, and put it all back up in a new location. Which meant that each sphere had to be easy to dismantle ¡­ or ¡­ A chilling thought struck Al. Had the developers taken a dramatic shortcut and simply went with ¡®because magic¡¯? He hoped not. But software developers were just average adults. Some of them might have dabbled in the gifted programs in their schools. Design shortcuts weren¡¯t even about the developers. If this ¡®Shattered Realms¡¯ was meant to be a general audience game, then all of the puzzles had to be something the average person could solve. With the IQ bar set that low, the whole game was a tripping hazard. His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. He needed to find the supposedly hidden clues and exit out of the game. Given the perceptiveness of the average person, the clues probably needed to have a giant LED sign declaring ¡®clue.¡¯ Al rested his head against the backrest and looked upward. There was a flat ceiling above him ¡ª white like everything else. And the ramp eventually wound its way up to and disappeared into the ceiling. He began pushing the chair¡¯s wheels to carry him up the ramp. A portal near the ceiling opened, and a demon flew across one of the three ramps which spiraled up the inside of the white sphere. Once the female demon found what she was looking for, she banked, flapped her wings and sailed between the curtains of green plants. She stepped onto the ramp ahead of Al. Her horns looked daintier than Elnham¡¯s, but otherwise the same. She had a pair of obvious mammary glands bound in functional leather-looking armor. Her iron collar had a symbol of an octopus with horns. At least the developers didn''t go with chainmail bikinis, Al thought. She had the most hair of any demon he had seen thus far ¡ª her golden mohawk had been braided and trailed halfway down her back. Like a mane. But if the developers are going for felinoid, why didn''t they go with more mammaries? Al cringed at his own answer. ¡°I have Star Trek demons,¡± he muttered. ¡°So, everyone can do a Captain Kirk with the local fauna.¡± Seriously, how long does it take for people regain their intelligence after hitting puberty? She smiled at him. ¡°I¡¯m Oparhohot.¡± Al frowned at the demon blocking his way up the ramp. ¡°Asazsuzuh.¡± He took a breath and tried to be friendly. ¡°And what are you here to keep me from doing?¡± He consoled himself that the words weren¡¯t as bad as his first mental attempt. Her smile remained steady. ¡°Sounds like someone is ready to explore and learn.¡± Al glared. Something was off here. The air was tinged with a pleasing scent which made his nose itch. He refused to move his hand to scratch. This was worse than escorting his mother or sister into a store which used to potpourri to cover the smell of ammonia cleaners. He tried breathing shallowly. ¡°That sounds like a trap.¡± She giggled. ¡°Thou are going to be such a challenge.¡± She took a breath. ¡°I didn''t mean to make the observation sound like a trap. So, let me try queries instead. Where doth thou want to go? What would thou like to learn? What doth thou want to do?¡± Al continued with his frown. To him, she was using too many distraction techniques to be telling the truth. So, she wanted something from him. But, how could he find out what? Perhaps some distraction of his own? ¡°What don¡¯t you want me to ask?¡± She took the handles of the wheelchair. ¡°How far up were you going?¡± Bingo! He still didn''t have a direct answer, but he had gained confirmation that she was hiding something and was afraid he would discover the secret. He pointed at the ceiling. ¡°I wanted to see what was up there.¡± She hesitated then started pushing. ¡°Not my first choice for thee.¡± Al considered the answer ¡ª still not the truth, still a deflection. His destination was a safe one as far as her secret was concerned. ¡°Why what¡¯s up there?¡± ¡°A training room. We have three of them. But humans are generally trained differently than demons. So, thou might be disappointed.¡± He narrowed his eyes. Time to redirect. ¡°So, there is something specific you don¡¯t want me to ask.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Oparhohot said. ¡°I want thee to avoid asking me about the Council¡¯s decision.¡± ¡°Because I won¡¯t like it, or because you don¡¯t?¡± ¡°What an interesting question. Could be both, could be either, could be neither. The situation might change between now and when thou asks.¡± ¡°If I were to ask right now?¡± ¡°Both,¡± she said without hesitation. ¡°So, what might change my opinion?¡± That had been way too easy. He frowned at the seeming truth that rankled of yet another misdirection. Oparhohot remained silent for a moment. ¡°That is harder to answer. Before the capital fell to the invaders, we betrayed who we were to preserve what we had. Each of the librarians took into our minds one full subject. For the first time, in what remains of our history, no choice was given. Though we fled with the entire contents, over time, attrition has caused losses. With each passing year, the Council sees the bearers growing older, and votes on what knowledges will be implanted in the children developed enough to handle the strain. But we are looking at the potential loss of two dozen subjects all at once.¡± Al frowned. Again the answer was something he might object to depending upon how he was approached. He didn''t want to memorize fiction. ¡°And they want to implant a knowledge in me.¡± She stopped pushing the wheelchair, came around to the side, and knelt beside him. ¡°Not one. They believe thee can handle all of the at-risk knowledges for which we don¡¯t have children available. But it is more than that. When one carries a knowledge, one can expand upon it. When one carries two, one can find connections between them.¡± Al glared. ¡°You want to load me up with these knowledges, so I can reconstruct everything you have lost.¡± Oparhohot shook her head. ¡°Not me.¡± She touched her hand to her breast. ¡°But some of the Council members do. Some Council members hope thee can build new connections and discover new knowledge ¡ª discover a way to win the impossible war.¡± She stood returned to the back of the wheelchair and resumed pushing. What a tidy little lie. But, I¡¯m not sure which part was the lie, or how to determine the truth. ¡°While they might not agree as to what they are going to stuff into me, they agreed that I won¡¯t have a say.¡± ¡°Yes, thou understands completely.¡± She leaned down and whispered. ¡°Thou could choose which subjects you absorb, stripping them of that choice.¡± Al considered the problem. From a physiological perspective, there were only a few ways to dump knowledge into a human brain ¡ª eyes and ears. In theory, learning could be boosted through the use of magnetic pulses to the ¡®learning center¡¯ while the subject watched or performed the activity, but that gave erratic results. And it wasn¡¯t like the developers were going to solve hard problems while spending thousands of man-hours making the game. So, more likely than not, he realized, the knowledge was just a flag in his character sheet. In some ways, the lack of reality was disappointing. He gave a slight smile because she had revealed one lie in her misdirection ¡ª the Council wasn¡¯t involved in this decision, yet. ¡°So, if I said magic, I would get?¡± She stopped. ¡°There are ten major forms and rings of lesser forms. Usually, a person learns only one major form and at most a ring of lesser forms. I wonder how many major forms thee can learn. Should we find out?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°No.¡± ¡°What?¡± She put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. ¡°Why not?¡± He shook his head again. ¡°I don¡¯t know. You were selling it too hard.¡± She stared at him and then smiled. ¡°Good. Keep in mind, Master Ramael needs thee to take in as many knowledges as he holds. The mutagens are killing him, and we have no one to replace him.¡± ¡°So, this test was to determine if I would learn unauthorized knowledges?¡± She grappled for an answer. He shook his head. ¡°Stop. Don¡¯t bother.¡± He stood up from the wheelchair and walked up the remaining ramp. ¡°You¡¯re not going to tell me the truth.¡± Demons were just like everyone else. They wanted something from him, but it had to be this big secret. Because if they spoke the words, he¡¯d have a choice. He could declare a price. They would have to treat him fairly. Instead, his brain was treated like a resource to be exploited. Of course, any mistake, any error, would be punished far more harshly than more serious mistakes made by those who were average. The room above the ramp was a dusty dome with a mechanical demon sitting in cobwebs. Small, clawed, horned, and stingered arachnids hissed at him from the shadows beneath the mechanical demon. ¡°This is Weapons Master Atasar Roar¡¯s training room,¡± Oparhohot said. ¡°Where he will train his disciples and slave disciples.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Al nodded. ¡°Can you have the room make a punching/kicking column, please? And then give me some privacy?¡± She didn¡¯t say anything. A few seconds later a spiral of light ribbons and symbols rose out of the floor. A padded punching bag appeared. ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°Because I am tired of people lying to me and trying to use me. Everyone seems determined to strip me of any choice. So, I¡¯m going to train until I decide what to do about that.¡± He squared himself to the padded column and started punching it. The old patterns of punches returned to his arms, legs, and hips. ¡°We are doing what we must to survive.¡± Pound, pound. Pound. ¡°Where I came from, survival took many forms.¡± Pound, pound, pound. ¡°In the end, we didn¡¯t have anything worthwhile to fight over, so, we survived.¡± Pound. Pound, pound. ¡°The ¡®luckier¡¯ tribes were slaughtered. Has well does that bode for me?¡± ¡°But, we ¡ª¡± Al spun back to her. ¡°You said that I¡¯m contaminated, that I¡¯m becoming one of you ¡ª the horns, the skin tone, the wings, the fangs. You said why they¡¯re hunting you down ¡ª the prize that¡¯s worth driving you, us, into extinction. So, lay off of the manipulations. I don¡¯t trust people. As of now, all of you need to be honest with what you want and why, and maybe I¡¯ll do it. At this moment, I need to be alone with the only person whose obsessive wants I understand. Mine.¡± Oparhohot put up her hands. ¡°Oh. Don¡¯t go away pretending to be mad. You didn''t expose the real secret. So, just go away.¡± She retreated down the ramp. He turned back to the practice bag, took one of his hidden emotions out of its little glass display case, placed the emotion on the punching bag, and kept pounding one fist after the next into it until he felt better. The next emotion he kicked.
Al sat with his back against the punching/kicking bag. His body still trembled whenever he tried to move, his breathing had yet to return to normal, and his heart pounded against his ribs like some caged beast. But the exertion felt good. His legs weren¡¯t perfect ¡ª there were a noticeable lag and more than a few buggy movements. He had learned to compensate for the problems, but he really needed Elnham to do some more work. But, he had walked and ran and skipped and jumped and kicked and cartwheeled! His dobak had turned into a series of orange colors ¡ª some more yellow, some more red, but most of the dobak was close to hunter-safety orange. He closed his eyes and just concentrated on his breathing. Listening to the slowing of his heart. Al felt a large, deep shadow crept across the floor, slid up the punching/kicking column. A chill plunged Al into darkness. He opened his eyes. ¡°Ah!¡± Standing over him was a hulking human brute wearing naught but a leather thong and a slave disciple collar. ¡°Delta Tier Ch¡¯i Ability Detected,¡± Beyul announced. Al ignored Beyul; instead, he concentrated on the human he recognized ¡ª ¡°Mitchel.¡± Or at least he wanted to say, ¡°Mitchel.¡± Pain closed his throat preventing him from saying the name, so, instead, he glared. The twins from real life next door were identical but had slight variations in facial expressions ¡ª enough variation that those who knew them could tell them apart but similar enough that most could never say why. They were similar enough but different enough that when they tried to be each other, they drove even their parents to distraction. Auntie Drake claimed Mitchel had his mother¡¯s smile and Michael had his father¡¯s smile, which Al took to mean no one in their family smiled. Ever. But Al could easily tell the twins apart by their scowls. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he asked with a timid quiver. Both of the twin men were giants compared to Al ¡ª over six feet and broad shoulders, eyes like ice picks, attitudes that made charging grizzlies seem cute and fluffy, and both had the same negligent destructive capacity of moose. ¡°You,¡± Mitchel¡¯s voice carried the same menace that hydroelectric turbines did for unwary swimmers. Al swallowed hard and backed up only to find himself pressed against the padded column. ¡°I¡¯m going to be late to work because of you.¡± Because someone in real life thought handing guns and badges to the terror twins was a good idea, they both became sheriff deputies. ¡°It¡¯s not my fault,¡± Al whined. ¡°I tried to exit immediately, but Beyul refused to let me out. I don¡¯t want to be stuck in here for two fortnights.¡± ¡°A month!¡± ¡°Only if it¡¯s Febru ¡ª¡± Al squeaked. Mitchel had grabbed his dobak, twisted the excess fabric around a massive fist, and lifted all seventy-five pounds of Al to eye level. ¡°What did you get me involved with this time?¡± Al blinked. ¡°I ¡­ I ¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± Al swallowed. ¡°I didn¡¯t think ¡ª¡± ¡°Bovine land mines ¡ª¡± Mitchel¡¯s face turned purple for a moment, his mouth moved like a landed fish. He glared at Al. ¡°What the Hell was that?¡± ¡°What was what?¡± ¡°I tried to say your name ¡ª¡± Al frowned but nodded. ¡°We can¡¯t use our real names here.¡± He put up his hands as if surrendering. ¡°I don¡¯t know why.¡± Mitchell pulled back a fist. ¡°Since this is a virtual world ¡­¡± The smile was like a starving tiger finding a succulent human to tide it over. ¡°I wasn¡¯t after you. I wanted to make trouble for Gus.¡± The smile twisted into something more horrifying ¡ª glee. Mitchel tapped Al¡¯s forehead. ¡°And this finally got you into enough trouble that you can¡¯t pull one of your famous escapes.¡± Al pulled together his dignity. ¡°I ¡ª¡± ¡°Right?¡± Al slumped against Mitchel¡¯s fist. ¡°Yes.¡± Mitchel nodded. ¡°And you have no plan, and no idea how to get out.¡± ¡°I ¡ª¡± ¡°Right?¡± Al nodded. ¡°We have to solve the mystery of the game.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°You are a slave disciple of Weapons Master Atasar Roar. So am I ¡ª¡± Mitchel set Al back on the floor. ¡°Obvious to casual players. Anything Sherlock Holmes would notice that mere mortal men would not?¡± ¡°Uhhh¡­ There is a lot of unused space here.¡± Al hated the comparison to the fictional character, and the comparisons were continuous. Like Al knew about or cared about the bruise patterns of someone whipped after death. Mitchel nodded. ¡°Lots of space for more players. A common design for the beginning camps. Next?¡± Al furrowed his forehead. Under threat of being beaten until he was a paste smeared on the floor, he played along. ¡°The entrance seems highly inefficient for a rush of new players.¡± He focused on Mitchel. ¡°How did you arrive?¡± Mitchel held up a bruised wrist with large scabs. ¡°Aboard a slave ship crewed by Elder Gods type creatures. It crashed into the desert and started taking on water.¡± He moved the disciple¡¯s collar to reveal more bruising. ¡°Got banged up pretty bad. The demons dragged me out of the sinking ship and up to the surface. Fought off an attack of those Elder Gods type ¡®hounds.¡¯ Impressed the locals with inserting the pointy end of a spear into the black writhing masses of tentacles. Came here. Became a slave disciple which sounds better than just slave.¡± He focused on Al. ¡°Same for you?¡± Al shook his head. The bruising and contusions were added to the data supporting his least favorite hypothesis. ¡°Crucified in some ruins. Freed after the enemy army left.¡± He shrugged and left out the results of the desert run. ¡°Otherwise the same.¡± He needed this half of the terror twins to give him a straight answer. He was tired of evasions. ¡°What events led up to you getting stuck in the game?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Mitchell remained silent for a while. ¡°I pulled up to your house. My sister got out and walked toward your front door. Beyul announced a mandatory security update.¡± ¡°To Beyul Two-point-Zero?¡± ¡°Yes. The AR interface went black, and then I was on the crashing ship.¡± Al nodded and then concentrated on his curiosity. ¡°Are you okay being a ¡®slave disciple?¡¯¡± Mitchel¡¯s eyebrow twitched. ¡°If it is just weird level titles, sure. If we really are stuck here for approximately seven hundred hours, we can do a lot of leveling.¡± His jaw tensed and his glare intensified. ¡°But, if I am late to work, I will handcuff you and will throw your sorry ass into the slammer. Got it?¡± Al put his hands up. ¡°But I didn''t have anything to do with you being here.¡± Mitchel leaned closer. His presence squishing Al against the padded column. ¡°Got it?¡± ¡°Got it.¡± Mitchel smiled. ¡°Good.¡± His fist yanked Al up to his eye level, again. ¡°Now, where is my sister? Where is ¡ª¡± He started choking again. Al swallowed and shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t seen her. If you put me down, I¡¯ll ask.¡± ¡°You think this is a negotiation?¡± ¡°No! Beyul ¡­ Beyul said it won¡¯t respond, but sometimes it does. If she isn¡¯t in this refugee camp, Beyul is our only chance to locate her.¡± Not that Al had any interest in finding Laura, the sister of the terrible twos. Sure she was his age, and sure she was in the gifted programs at school, but the school had only dragged her up one grade. But he and she weren''t friends, and he didn''t particularly like her. She could be coherent and interactive and then for no reason whatsoever, she would flip out or become non-responsive. Still, she was one of the few people who treated him like a person. Mitchel lowered Al, again. ¡°Find her.¡± ¡°Beyul, where is Laura Clarkson?¡± Silence. Mitchel growled and cracked his knuckles. Al winced. ¡°Beyul, you said I should avoid death. To do that, I need you to tell me where Laura Clarkson is.¡± ¡°Laura Clarkson is located in Liossalheim First Leaf: The Forgotten Forest.¡± Al shuddered. ¡°Well?¡± The demand was as calm as an earthquake. ¡°Are you familiar with Liossalheim?¡± ¡°Norse realm of elves and air spirits.¡± Al smiled. ¡°That sounds better than Hell.¡± Mitchel glared. ¡°You are practically useless. Didn¡¯t you read any fantasy? Or mythology?¡± ¡°Only what was required for AP English.¡± Mitchel shook his head. ¡°Depending upon Beyul¡¯s source material and this world¡¯s mythos, the elves might be benign or downright frightening. The more Germanic leanings are ¡­¡± He glared at Al. ¡°Why am I telling you about mythology?¡± ¡°Because you and everyone else in the school got to have a party when I don¡¯t know something.¡± ¡°Not true.¡± ¡°Eighth grade. Ms. Dostoyevsky brought cupcakes for everyone because I missed a question on the mid-term. Eleventh grade. Mr. Curhan got together with the other teachers to throw a class pizza party when I failed to answer an extra point question.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you are just imagining this stuff ¡ª¡± ¡°Curham¡¯s question dealt with Fermi-Dirac statistics!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Fermions ¡ª subatomic particles. Doctoral-level physics. On. The. Sex. Ed. Test.¡± Mitchel failed to stifle a laugh. Al slipped around the punching/kicking column and walked toward one of the ramps. He had enough of being a punching bag for the day. ¡°Wait. What about getting out of here? How do I get to work?¡± Al shrugged. ¡°I have hypotheses about that. One: limited proximity. We need to be close to Laura so we can all leave.¡± ¡°So we need to break out of Hell?¡± Al nodded. ¡°To leave the camp though, we need the summoning codes for the desert. Until then, you might as well practice fighting.¡± Mitchel pounced, grabbed Al¡¯s dobak, and hoisted Al off the floor, again. ¡°Oh, no. I¡¯m not a speed bump for you to get over and leave behind.¡± Al closed his eyes and sighed. ¡°What is the fastest way to make it through one of these games?¡± Mitchel narrowed his eyes looking for a trap. ¡°An MMO? With a party of skilled players.¡± Al opened his eyes to meet Mitchel¡¯s. ¡°So, how many people?¡± ¡°Depends on the game. Sometimes there are solo missions. Someone came up with duo missions. But most need a party of four to eight players. And then there are the quests which require an entire guild to complete.¡± Al nodded. ¡°I was afraid of that. So, will you ¡ª¡± he made a futile gesture with his hands ¡°¡ª what is the phrase? Play with me?¡± Mitchel¡¯s eyes went wide, and his head jerked backward, and his hands loosened their grip upon Al. He set Al down again. ¡°Really?¡± Al swallowed and stared at the ceiling. ¡°Yes.¡± He swallowed, again. ¡°I can¡¯t do this on my own.¡± His stinging eyes met Mitchel¡¯s eyes. ¡°Will you help me?¡± Mitchel tapped a finger against his chest. ¡°Me.¡± He tapped Al¡¯s chest. ¡°You want ¡ª¡± he tapped his chest, again ¡°¡ª me.¡± Al frowned. ¡°Honestly?¡± He mangled a smile. ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t know anyone else here. I don¡¯t trust any of the natives ¡ª I don¡¯t understand their motives.¡± ¡°But you trust me?¡± Al snorted and then thought about the question. ¡°For this, I think I do.¡± He nodded. ¡°I do.¡± Mitchel nodded. ¡°So, no ditching me?¡± Al slumped and rubbed his forehead. ¡°What are the typical positions of a successful party?¡± ¡°Well, at a minimum you need a tank ¡ª someone to be the shield guy who can absorb a lot of punishment and can be a frontline fighter. Ranged DPSers. A mage is always useful. A cleric or healer class is vital. Then some of the specialty classes to fill in when their skills are needed.¡± Al nodded. ¡°And if Beyul bases everything off of your real-life body and mind?¡± Mitchel looked at the scrawny seventy-five-pound twelve-year-old who stood at four-eight but could break bricks. Then he looked at his own two-hundred-five-pound body that he had ripped. ¡°Shit.¡± ¡°So, what should I be?¡± ¡°Whatever passes for a mage.¡± Al nodded. ¡°I hate fiction. I guess I¡¯m off to the library or to whoever teaches magic. You might try bowing to the robot over there and try asking it train you.¡± ¡°Wait.¡± Al gave him a you¡¯re-going-to-hate-me smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t go anywhere without protection. Okay, Mister Prophylactic?¡± Al skipped down the ramp because he could. For the first time in eighteen months, he could skip. ¡°I hate your sense of humor,¡± Mitchel yelled after him. Once he considered himself to be out of Mitchel¡¯s hearing, he stopped. ¡°Beyul, can you send Mitchel¡¯s brother and my brothers to us? And send my sister to Laura?¡± ¡°¡®My sources say no,¡¯¡± Beyul responded crisply. ¡°You can have Michael, and Athena can go to Laura, but your brothers have been previously tagged for other locations.¡± Al nodded. Another piece of data to confirm his hypothesis zero. ¡°Will you inform me of when they arrive?¡± ¡°¡®Signs point to yes.¡¯¡± He looked up at the ceiling, at the practice room above. ¡°Sorry, Mitchel. You''re going to be late. We all are.¡± He turned to watch the artificial breeze ruffle the green plant curtains. ¡°Beyul, show me where the other members of my party are.¡± ¡°¡®Don¡¯t count on it.¡¯ They are not yet ready. None of you have completed the necessary tasks to leave the zone. ¡®Ask again later.¡¯¡± ¡°Will you provide a list of tasks to be completed?¡± ¡°Ooo¡­ ¡®Outlook not so good.¡¯¡± Al shook his head. ¡°You do understand that if you stick with those quotes, fifty percent of your answers should be positive.¡± ¡°¡®You may rely on it.¡¯¡± Al smiled. ¡°Will you show me the way to Master Ramael?¡± ¡°¡®Most likely.¡¯¡± A glowing path appeared behind Al leading back up to wall just below the entrance to the practice floor. Al walked along the path and tried to decide if being stuck inside a Magic-Eight Ball supported his hypotheses. 1.06 Rupert at First Level Rupert Ainsworth Heroes¡¯ Hub: War Shattered City Rupert looked about the mausoleum beneath the chapel with its broken crypt doors on either side of the space and a sixteen-foot wide half-wall of crypts running the length of the building and ending in heavy, wooden double doors at one end, and spiral stairs vanishing into the underground catacombs. He looked at Jason and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m nowhere near where you want me. Half the time I fumble my lunges. I gave up counting the number of times I dropped my blade.¡± This whole ¡®because of story¡¯ clock behind events made no sense ¡ª the concept must be newer than any book he had read. But, then again, how could he explain to anyone outside the House that the Houses don¡¯t buy books? What books he had read were those in the public domain, and thus, only that which were published before 1928. Verne, Twain, Wells, Dumas, Poe, London were the authors he had read. The idea of the world stopping until some event happened made no sense. Maybe the strange use of the word ¡®story¡¯ was a game thing. While he worked for Beyul, the corporation, he had never played Beyul, the game. Heck, the corporation probably just paid him so they could keep Tapan happy. Although, he had heard one of his songs ¡ª mangled and degraded. But the song was clearly his. So, maybe they had decided to use a few of his pieces. And, earlier in the day, he had written more pieces to be added to Beyul ¡ª if that was what actually happened to his music. But he never uploaded his music. He didn¡¯t even know who did. He just passed the songs to Tapan. Jason clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°So, you are feeling like a first level character.¡± ¡°What?¡± Rupert shook his head in confusion. What does a first level character have to do with anything? Jason gave him the easy smile of a mentor. ¡°That¡¯s the way these games start off, brand new, beginning characters. Usually, games have a leveling system, starting with either one or zero. In your case, most likely zero. By performing actions, taking part in combat, and learning from instructors, one advances. So, do you feel like a first level character, yet?¡± Rupert shrugged. ¡°Is a first level character good?¡± Jason laughed. ¡°Hell, no. But everybody has to start somewhere. How many players do you think are currently playing?¡± Rupert listened to the parts of the interface that Beyul hadn¡¯t shut down. Tapan and his development team never understood the musical portion of the interfaces. And the interface fragments probably didn¡¯t matter much right now. He closed his eyes to better hear the songs playing elsewhere in the game. ¡°Ten.¡± Jason nodded, ¡°Ten million seems about right for a surprise drop.¡± ¡°No,¡± Rupert said. ¡°Ten players. Us and four others.¡± ¡°Wait. What?¡± Jason looked as lost as Rupert felt. Rupert studied his feet trying to hide his petty feelings. ¡°The Beyul Two-point-Zero game is currently invite, special passcode, and Easter egg access only. I found an easter egg and invited your band. And now we are all locked incommunicado for twenty-eight days. Sorry.¡± ¡°What? No. Well, I mean, yeah. Not playing our concert sucks.¡± Jason turned Rupert toward the main body of the mausoleum¡¯s divided hall. ¡°Look about you. This is amazing. If other game designers pay a lot of attention to detail, they can make some impressive environments. But look at the dirt ¡ª it¡¯s like actual dirt ¡ª you can scuff it and leave prints. And, in there, cobwebs ¡ª I mean get stuck in your hair or stuck on your face if you run into them ¡ª cobwebs. And the NPCs are flat out real. They aren¡¯t some walking set of canned lines, or if they are, it is one massive can for each one of them. ¡°We all got the pop-up, and, together, we decided to do this. No one forced us. And here we are. Beyul Two-point-fucking-Oh. Un-fucking-believable.¡± Rupert shook his head as he looked about the space. ¡°But it is ¡­¡± ¡°Level one, baby. Oops, looks like they are finishing the last box. Time to fly and smite.¡± Something Tapan had said was niggling at the back of Rupert¡¯s mind ¡ª refusing to make itself known. But it was enough to make the whole scene seem ¡­ foreboding. Rupert sighed and pulled out his sword hilt from his hip. Blue liquid flowed out of the hilt to crystallize into its thin triangular stabbing blade. Mandie had called the hilt of woven steel wire a Pappenheimer hilt with its loops and weaves forming angel wings for the guard. A little better prepared for its weight, he kept ahold of the sword. Keeping his wings tucked in, he moved to where Jason wanted him to be during the first wave of attackers ¡ª in the back. The team nodded to each other. Something struck the door. The single thud reverberated through the mausoleum. Wood moaned then cracked. The heavy wood doors burst open and rebounded off the walls and bounced off of the corners of the armored vehicle with a long metal pole attached its front. Harsh lights blazed into the chapel. Screams came from the faithful. Several carried the last of the boxes to the stairs descending down to the catacombs. Men popped out the sides of the armored vehicle. Gunfire cut across the chapel. Bullets stung Rupert and the other angels. He looked down and saw holes leaking blue liquid. My blood is blue, he thought as his body failed him. He collided with the floor. ¡°Musician¡¯s Administrative Override Accepted,¡± Beyul commented. ¡°Temporal rewind engaged. Please seek alternative courses of action.¡± The for good measure, Beyul added, ¡°Achievement Unlocked: Safety Not Guaranteed.¡± Rupert blinked. He was standing. He checked his chest ¡ª no bullet holes. The doors had yet to be broken open. He looked around to verify that the locals had yet to finish packing. He started to say something to Jason but realized that he had no idea what Jason¡¯s in-game name was. Damn. He walked over and put a hand on Jason¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that first level characters are not bulletproof.¡± Jason grinned at him. ¡°I doubt any character is bulletproof. Why do you ask?¡± Then he looked about the mausoleum. ¡°Oh. This is a bad place to get pinned down. Any idea about the respawn penalties?¡± Rupert shook his head. ¡°No ¡­ wait. I heard somewhere that they disabled respawn due to problems.¡± Jason¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Disabled? When? Did they reinstate it?¡± Rupert racked his brain. How could he say what he knew? Forums ¡ª the developers were always talking about things they read on the forums. He shook his head. ¡°Not according to the forums.¡± He hoped he used the word correctly. ¡°Chase, Integrity, we need to break out of here.¡± Jason gestured toward the doors. The big drummer nodded and charged the doors. The guitarist grabbed the grip of her spear and sapphire crystalized in a spiral pattern around the shaft and formed the spear¡¯s tip; she followed close to the drummer.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Get to the catacombs,¡± Jason called to the locals and ran behind the others. Rupert followed their keyboardist and the singer. Chase pulled on one door, Integrity pulled on the other. Jason spread his wings and charged into the harsh glow of spotlights and took flight. Rupert heard shouts and gunfire. Then the end of the mausoleum was engulfed in fire ¡ª the wall of fire washed over him. He was flying backward, falling, burning. ¡°Musician¡¯s Administrative Override Accepted,¡± Beyul commented. ¡°Temporal rewind engaged. Please seek alternative courses of action.¡± Rupert blinked. He was standing whole and without scorch marks. He sighed. The doors had yet to be broken open. He looked around to verify that the locals had yet to finish packing. He started to say something to Jason but realized that he still had no idea what Jason¡¯s in-game name was. Damn. He walked over and put a hand on Jason¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The enemy will probably bust through those doors with the intent to kill everyone down here. The locals are almost done. So, if we are going to do anything, we need to catch the first wave by surprise.¡± Jason looked surprised. ¡°Look at you thinking tactically. And here I thought Mandie taught you just enough so you won¡¯t gut yourself on your sword.¡± Rupert nodded. ¡°She did.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re holding out on us.¡± ¡°What ¡­¡± Rupert fumbled through possible replies. Jason smirked. ¡°Just kidding. I know this isn¡¯t your thing, but that¡¯s a good catch.¡± He looked about the space. ¡°The only way to catch them by surprise is upstairs. We¡¯re moving up and out the windows.¡± After crashing through the boarded-up stain glass windows, the band pointed their spears at the wave of troops. Nothing happened. ¡°Angels,¡± someone screamed. With a yell, ¡°Smite,¡± Jason charged. A heavy shot dropped Jason. Rupert felt pain ¡ª breaking bones, an ache from his heart. Then his body went numb. Off in the distance, he saw skyscrapers burning. Smoking filling the air. Cold rain coursing off his skin. Blimps floated in the distance ¡ª perhaps trying to put out the fires so far above the ground. Lightning flashed amongst the clouds, but no thunder. He looked down at his chest. Blue liquid came squirting out of his chest, and he tumbled out of the sky. His vision fuzzed, and pain screamed throughout his head. ¡°We need reinforcements. More Angel necromancers in the cemetery.¡± He collided against the pavement, and darkness claimed him. ¡°Musician¡¯s Administrative Override Accepted,¡± Beyul commented. ¡°Temporal rewind engaged. Please seek alternative courses of action.¡± Then Beyul added, ¡°Achievement Unlocked: Thrice Upon A Time.¡± Rupert blinked. He was standing. Again. The doors had yet to be broken open. Again. He rubbed the spot where he had been shot. Again. ¡°We don¡¯t have ranged weapons,¡± he said as he put his hand on Jason¡¯s shoulder. Again. ¡°They¡¯ll probably bust through those doors, and this is a bad place to be pinned down.¡± Were those the right words? Jason pointed his spear at the doors ¡ª clearly expecting something to happen. ¡°Damn, first level. No ranged smiting. Integrity, Chase, we need to take the fight to them. Close quarter fighting.¡± Rupert shook his head as Jason prepared another jump out the chapel¡¯s windows. Would this time be any better, or did he need to direct them in a different direction? ¡°What about the catacombs? Would they be easier to defend?¡± Jason shook his head. ¡°We need to buy them some time. Chase, Integrity, take the side windows. Valiant and I will take the center. Cornelia and Sincerity, out the side and be our overwatch and healers.¡± Rupert nodded toward the faithful, ¡°They¡¯re close to ready ¡ª¡± he then nodded toward the doors ¡°¡ª so, they¡¯re ready.¡± Jason smiled at him. ¡°You¡¯re getting it. Go!¡± The group ran up the stairs. Jason made a leap, a flight, a crashing through the center boards. He made the actions look easy. Rupert did his best to follow. He made through the opening and over the mass of troops preparing to assault the chapel. ¡°War Vassal connection established.¡± Jason sent a chat order to Rupert. Then he dived straight down into the battering ram armored vehicle. His spear stabbed deep into its chassis causing the vehicle to grind to a stop. Rupert listened to the interface fragments. ¡°Okay.¡± Chase stabbed his spear into an armored personnel carrier. The booming sound reverberated around the graveyard. Integrity drew her sword hilt, the blue liquid crystalized into sapphire and sliced deep into a bunch of soldiers. Red blood spilled onto the ground bringing a smile to her lips. Rupert poured on speed flying straight at the near trees. His nervousness ¡ª about being first level, about being shot, about being a shot away from dying ¡ª vanished. There was a calmness in the action of flying to find the snipers. And there was his first target. The sniper saw him coming and tried to line up a shot. Rupert easily rolled out of the way of the bullet. Not wanting to kill the human, he hacked at the weapon and hit the longest part of the rifle. Although his blade failed to cut through the barrel, Rupert noted the barrel was definitely ruined. He then charged another sniper position that Beyul kept hinting about. Another sword swing and another mangled barrel. But his hand stung and his blade fell next to the boots of the invader¡¯s rearguard. Off in the massive cemetery, something hit the ground. Trees bobbed as if they were sticks floating in a rippling puddle. Although Rupert felt no fear from the thought of fighting the mortals about him, the rippling ground brought a sense of dread. He realized he had little interest in facing something which generated that much force. ¡°Warning. Inbound Omicron Tier Threat. Omni is over [10] tiers stronger than you. Omni is over [200] levels higher than you. Omni is capable of winning against more than [10,000] individuals of your ability level. Survival chance to find Tapan Message: Zero.¡± Rupert charged the rearguard ¡ª hoping to knock them away from his sapphire sword. He felt nothing more than concern about the inbound creature of doom, which he felt odd about. He had never been this calm about anything in his life. And he knew if Jason told him to fight this Omni, he would, and he would die, and he would feel nothing but this odd calmness. Admittedly Beyul would rewind time, but that was just a waste. Beyul had given warning, so he should heed it. ¡°Jason, we need to retreat into the catacombs.¡± ¡°Inbound high-level character.¡± Rupert shrugged and reached for his sword. He collided with three humans in riot gear. ¡°Capable of slaying armies of first level characters.¡± Jason goggled for a moment. After hooking his fingers into the wing loops, Rupert ran, leaped, spread his wings, and aimed for the center hole which he supposed once held a stain glass window. He landed hard and a bit awkward. He stumbled into a run and collided into a wall of fear. The soldiers had assault rifles, and he had already died thrice. They had all died thrice. And now something massive was headed their way ¡ª something which made the ground ripple like puddles. But what mattered was the orders Jason had given. His eyes bulged and struggled to even think. The others made it through the windows, and they all ran down into the mausoleum. Flight was good. He fled behind them. Then an earthquake rattled the stones of the mausoleum. A wave rippled through the walls and the floor ¡ª tossing everyone off their feet. Rupert breathed a sigh of relief as the rattling of the building subsided. He staggered to his feet ¡ª part of him wanted to stay low in case another earthquake struck them, but the thing which made the quake was still coming. He had yet to complete the leader¡¯s orders ¡ª he had yet to get into the catacombs. What was going on? The unnatural calmness had returned after the overwhelming wave of fear. ¡°We¡¯re still alive?¡± Jason asked. The faithful who had yet to make it into the catacombs stared at the ceiling and the still standing walls. ¡°Inbound Omicron Tier Threat. Survival chance to find Tapan Message ¡ª zero.¡± Beyul warned. Rupert shook his head. ¡°Not if we stay here.¡± The remaining stragglers hurried for the stairs. ¡°How bad is it?¡± Jason asked as he helped up a fallen man. Rupert shrugged. ¡°If we are level one, then ¡ª¡± he waved at the doors ¡°¡ª it is over ¡­¡± He ran behind Jason to take their turns to disappear down the stairways into the catacombs. ¡°Over two hundred levels higher. But I think it¡¯s worse than that.¡± Jason took a step down and then looked up at him. ¡°Worse?¡± Rupert nodded and opened his mouth to explain. The doors to the mausoleum exploded ¡ª entirely ripped from their hinges ¡ª away from the doorway. Splintered remains of the heavy boards once bound together by iron bands flew across the open space toward Rupert. He spread his wings and ducked his head. Some of the wood pelted him, and some of those bounced off of him to strike the floor. Other pieces of door changed course to avoid him. Dust, smoke, leaves, dirt swirled in the massive windstorm forced into the building. The scream of rending metal filled his ears. He collided with Jason and was now falling ¡ª in a tangled mess of wings, arms, and legs. ¡°Musician¡¯s Administrative Override Accepted,¡± Beyul commented. ¡°No,¡± Rupert groggily demanded. He had to think. ¡°Give me time to recover.¡± ¡°Temporal gear disengaged. Please correct courses of action.¡± ¡°Rewind to us being at the top of the stairs ¡ª before the doors were thrown open.¡± ¡°Temporal rewind engaged. Please seek alternative courses of action.¡± Jason helped up a fallen man. ¡°How bad is it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll explain at the bottom. Grab him and jump.¡± Then, without waiting to see if Jason did so, Rupert stepped off over the hole running through the middle of the spiral stairs. He folded his wings tight about him and hoped he would fit. As gravity took hold, the spiral stairs flew past him. His head slipped beneath the floor. He felt the presence of Jason above him. The sounds from above cued his memories. The doors to the mausoleum exploded ¡ª entirely ripped from their hinges ¡ª away from the doorway. Splintered remains of the heavy boards once bound together by iron bands flew across the open space now above them. The scream of rending metal filled his ears ¡ª the armored battering-ram vehicle plowing through the busted crypts running down through the center of the mausoleum. Stone, dust, dirt, and leaves rushing toward him in one giant unstoppable wall of force and death. Rupert hit the bottom. ¡°Achievement Unlocked: About Time.¡± Jason and the man landed on him. ¡°Skill Point Earned: ¡®Boot to the head.¡¯¡± Then there was just darkness. 1.07 Brandt Learns Control Brandt stared at the domed ceiling. An offered hand entered into his vision. ¡°You are doing better, Bakrtet,¡± the voice attached to the hand said. Brandt let his confusion over the name show and then shook his head. ¡°That name.¡± The face of Mihriar ¡ª young, handsome, and straight ¡ª smiled down at Brandt. ¡°Why did they make it so we can¡¯t use our real names?¡± Brandt frowned in thought. ¡°Online gaming is littered with the desires to be someone else ¡ª to assume a role that extends and exceeds our mundane lives, to live in a world of fantasy. That and social integration and psychological identification.¡± He gave a reassuring smile. ¡°By the time we leave here, the designers expect us to be one with the demons ¡ª to support them and to fight for their causes.¡± Already the human, Mihriar, was becoming redder and his fingernails were darkening and lengthening ¡ª no horns, no tail, and no wings, yet. But young, tall, and muscular was the most recent arrival, and his rapid changes crushed any hope that humans might escape this place. Brandt ran his tongue along his teeth and felt his nicely developing fangs. ¡°Perhaps even think of ourselves as demons.¡± After his first session with Mother Succubus, Brandt could sense Mihriar in ways that was impossible in the real world. Whispers came off of Mihriar. Whispers told of his fears. Whispers told of his sexual desires. The words required Brandt to concentrate on listening to them, but just being in proximity to Mihriar caused the voices to increase their volume. This was a test of sorts. Mother Succubus wanted to know if Bakrtet could resist implanting his sexual desires into Mihriar, or if Bakrtet could resist implanting his fears into Mihriar. So far, Brandt hadn¡¯t completely failed. When Mihriar had looked at Brandt appraisingly and licked his lips, Brandt almost fled the room. Brandt reined in whatever insidious noise he made. Mihriar looked at his extended hand with a frown. ¡°What shade do you think I¡¯ll become?¡± His eyes showed a little too much white ¡ª but even the whites were turning grey heading toward the black. Brown irises started looking more like coins. Not enough to be freaky, yet. Brandt shook his head and tried to keep his rising fear from his voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean ¡ª¡± Mihriar held up a hand. ¡°Stop. I understand the basics of social imprinting ¡ª got a good dose when I did my peace officer training. Is there a way to keep social imprinting from happening?¡± His voice held a professionalism to cover his fear. But Brandt stared at Mihriar¡¯s skin color. Although Brandt¡¯s skin color hadn¡¯t changed, he could feel Bekrtet wanting to feed on the ever-present fear. Bekrtet could devour Mihriar¡¯s fear and make the mutation easier to accept. An exchange of this fear for ¡ª Brandt shook his head. ¡°This is a game. Logging out and experiencing reality will ¡ª¡± Mihriar shook his head. ¡°Yeah, but we are locked in this game for a month.¡± There was a different fear in his voice. Bekrtet whispered how to regulate this fear ¡ª how to expose it, how to amplify it, how to banish it. Brandt shivered. ¡°I missed that notification. Even so, this isn¡¯t permanent.¡± Bekrtet whispered, ¡°What are you leaving behind?¡± Brandt grabbed the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet. He turned to walk away ¡ª this was too much. He needed to get out of here before ¡ª ¡°But what is the motive?¡± Mihriar asked ¡ª a child lost in a sea of adults. Brandt froze. He had used that voice back in the House ¡ª afraid someone might hear, afraid no one would hear. He turned back. I hear you. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Sorry. One of things to look for in crimes ¡ª the motive. Why would Beyul Corporation want to lock players in their game world for a month? Until we know that ¡­¡± Mihriar shrugged. His professional fa?ade returned. ¡°Regardless we have over six hundred hours of game-play experience.¡± He gave a false smile. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to training.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Brandt said, ¡°When I asked to learn how to fight, this isn¡¯t what I meant ¡ª¡± ¡°I know,¡± Mihriar interrupted. ¡°But when it comes to fighting, nothing can be left to base instinct. Things get messy if you do. Too many instincts lead into blind panic. Sooner or later you are going to end up falling, so, you have to know how to fall properly. You don¡¯t want a fall to ruin your chances to live.¡± His cheeks took on more red. ¡°I always thought falling drills were fun. Sorry.¡± Even with his authoritative fa?ade, Mihriar didn¡¯t look old enough to legally drink. ¡°How old were you when you started?¡± Brandt gave his best supportive smile. Mihriar shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing martial arts as long as I can remember. I had my black belt before age twelve.¡± He scratched at the back of his neck. His hair was thinning toward a mohawk ¡ª not that Mihriar wore his hair long, just a bit longer than a buzzcut. But the sides were going bald. Bekrtet whispered, ¡°Why? Why did you get your black belt?¡± Mihriar¡¯s eyes unfocused to better view the past. ¡°We all did.¡± Brandt wanted to run but, ¡°That sounds like an impressive accomplishment.¡± Mihriar shrugged, again. ¡°It was necessary. We had to keep up.¡± Brandt frowned and put on his best social-worker support face. Bekrtet whispered, ¡°Who did you have to keep up with?¡± Mihriar shook his head, and his expression closed. ¡°You will meet him. He¡¯s the reason we are trapped in here.¡± Brandt tried to keep the demon within quiet. ¡°My ex is the reason I¡¯m here.¡± Mihriar chuckled. ¡°You might think that now, but the kid will change your mind ¡ª¡± ¡°Wait. You are trying to keep up with a kid? What age is he?¡± Mihriar hesitated like he believed he had given up a major secret. He shook his head and frowned. ¡°Damn. We don¡¯t get the chance to talk about it among ourselves. I need to find a better social group.¡± He turned away. ¡°Trust us¡­¡± Mihriar staggered. Brandt added, ¡°If it helps, I¡¯m a licensed social worker. Anything you tell me will be kept in confidence ¡ª patient confidentiality.¡± Mihriar shook his head but looked back at Brandt. His eyes were slow to focus. ¡°To answer your question, he is twelve.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re what? Nineteen?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°And you find this twelve-year-old intimidating?¡± Mihriar shook his head in a firm negative. ¡°We are not having this conversation. Not right now.¡± He squared his body toward Brandt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn''t mean to strike a nerve.¡± ¡°Trust us. Tell us why a twelve-year-old frightens you.¡± Mihriar took a breath and became very still. ¡°Intimidation isn¡¯t the right word. He is ¡­ I am ¡­¡± He seemed confused and tried to shake himself free of the whispers. ¡°I am one of his babysitters. I am supposed to protect him.¡± ¡°It must be comforting for him ¡ª¡± Mihriar made a sharp hand gesture. ¡°No. People are not people to him. It is hard to explain. He is ¡­¡± He shrugged hopelessly and returned to some unseen past. ¡°Trust us. Tell us who he is.¡± Mihriar bulked at that whisper and retreated a step. ¡°Why do you have to keep up with him?¡± ¡°We have to keep up with him so we can protect him.¡± Mihriar was breathing heavy. He struggled to take another step away. He managed to turn so he wasn¡¯t looking at Brandt. ¡°Why do you fear him?¡± Mihriar grabbed his head and fell to his knees. ¡°I was supposed to be free of him until college.¡± ¡°So, for four years?¡± Brandt asked. He needed to be in control of the whispers. He needed to keep the whispers from affecting others. He needed to protect everyone from the demon inside of him. Mihriar shook his head. ¡°Never fall into the trap of thinking him to be normal. Never think you understand him. Never think you know his limits.¡± He shook his head more vigorously. ¡°He will crush you if you do.¡± The doubt Brandt felt must have shown through his professional mask. ¡°You can¡¯t imagine. You can¡¯t understand. How could you?¡± He squeezed his head. ¡°The ¡­¡± He was in pain and panting heavily. Brandt knelt and lifted Mihriar¡¯s chin. ¡°Look at me.¡± Mihriar¡¯s head lulled from side to side. ¡°Look at me.¡± Golden eyes finally focused on Brandt. ¡°It¡¯s okay. You¡¯re okay. You don¡¯t have to say anything. Just breathe.¡± Mihriar nodded, closed his eyes, dropped his hands, and breathed. Mother Succubus stepped out of her hiding place in the open, empty practice room. She knelt and placed a hand on Mihriar¡¯s forehead. ¡°Thou needs to be careful with this one. His mind has been warded. Push too hard and the wards will destroy him.¡± She whispered into Mihriar¡¯s ear words which Brandt didn¡¯t catch. She then stood. ¡°Bekrtet, thou needs better control over thine impulses. If thou doesn¡¯t, thou will become the monster our enemies want us to be. Try again.¡± Brandt bowed his head, ¡°Yes, Mother Succubus.¡± She walked away and then snapped her fingers. Mihriar stood up and extended his hand toward Brandt. He blinked twice and smiled. ¡°I think that is enough of a break. Let¡¯s get back to training. ¡°The thing about learning to fight in real-life, it takes time and dedication. Adults can earn a black belt in about four years. If you are really devoted, you can earn one in six months, but the time commitment is total.¡± He nodded toward Brandt¡¯s slave disciple collar. ¡°You have another commitment on your time. So, let¡¯s work on some fill-in skills, and let¡¯s practice with a few maneuvers which will give you the best utility. As we have time, we can add to that base.¡± Brandt frowned at the exact same spiel Mihriar gave before the falling exercises. ¡°Back to falling?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s do shoulder rolls. Then we can work on not getting hit.¡± Brandt accepted the hand and got to his feet. ¡°Sounds like a plan.¡± For a just a moment Brandt wondered how the game allowed the hacking of a real player¡¯s brain, then he had to learn to do somersaults when thrown. 1.08 Al Attempts to Test Out of Apprenticeship Wanting to get this whole magic thing over with, Al ran along the glowing path which wouldlead him to one of his demon teachers, Radimael, the old man of knowledge. Soon the route wound its way to the upper equatorial level of a different residence sphere. He stopped at the highlighted closed portal and shook his head. This was bad. The very idea of magic degraded certain adults¡¯ brains. Magic thinking made them incapable of making rational choices. Fantasy claimed the world would reverse its very spin if they just believed, thought, or prayed hard enough. Magicians and gods could right every wrong with but the proper spell. He should walk away from Radimael¡¯s apartment and lie ¡ª sorry, but I couldn¡¯t find the demon. But Al had agreed to group with Mitchel, and that he would play the wizard. To back out now would put the rest of the agreement in question. So he raised his fist to tap on the wall while trying to remind himself that game magic was more like weaponless weapons, metaphorical power for the powerless, system simplicities, and cost-effective cheats. A computer environment was the ideal physics environment ¡ª no outside force existed until someone could model it. That meant it was easier to model magic than model things like weapon recoil. Beyul¡¯s magic should be equally benign. No matter his dislike of Mitchel ¡­ no that was the wrong attitude here. He needed a knowledgeable group to speed run the game. Despite everything, Mitchel held a considerable number of real facts amongst all the science fiction trivia the young man collected. Al drew in a deep breath and gently rapped his knuckles against the closed portal. Al had gained his black belts through hard work and giving the impression of single-minded devotion. With a shake of his head, he knew he couldn¡¯t do the same for magic. Magic and these fantasy games were just an antithesis to who he was. Besides, he acknowledged with a smile, his pretending was often better than other¡¯s undivided attention. The portal opened revealing an elderly demon with twisty and wavy gazelle-styled horns, and a shock of white hair running down through the middle of its head. On either temple, the demon had a triangle and a seven-pointed-star tattooed. It had a goatee which ran from candy-apple red down to yellow at the tip, and circular burn marks on his neck. ¡°Ah,¡± the demon said on the inhale. ¡°Come in.¡± The demon turned and walked with difficulty toward a round table with three stools. Nabmohze, the girl, the other player, from the crucifixion site, already sat at the table. She looked at him, stood and run toward him. ¡°Asazsuzuh.¡± She hugged him. ¡°They said they were operating on you.¡± Al studied her for a heartbeat. Nabmohze was his age with dark skin, black hair and eyes, and crooked teeth. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Elnham repaired my spinal cord. I can walk now.¡± He touched the still tender injection points along his spine ¡ª where the microscopic tools were injected. The game was surreal in its mangling of the possible with the fantastical. Al returned his attention to Nabmohze and tried not to judge her intellectual capacity, but judging others thusly was a defensive action on his part. If she was here with Radimael to receive at-risk knowledges, hopefully, she was above average. Average people, with whom he had to interact, were draining. Draining to always limit himself, to always dumb himself down to their level, to always double check what he was about to say. Al preferred not to interact with those below his IQ-pain-threshold because he messed up far too often. Once he made a mistake, he stopped being a person to them. But he spared Nabmohze a smile. She looked him over and seemed puzzled by what to say ¡ª weighing appropriate social responses. ¡°How long were you paralyzed?¡± she asked clumsily. He gave her a genuine smile. ¡°Eighteen months.¡± She frowned. ¡°Not more specific?¡± ¡°Thirteen thousand one hundred eighty-nine hours.¡± He hoped he got the time differential between being in the game and the external real-world correct. The ratio was an estimate based off of two points of data which had one questionable significant digit each. She took his hand and dragged him toward the table. ¡°I like you.¡± ¡°Why?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Very few people would bother to convert five hundred forty-nine days and fourteen hours into just hours.¡± Al smiled. That was the first time anyone bothered to unpack one of his comments even if it took her three seconds to work through the calculations. He could like her, could work with her. And that meant he needed to be wary. All too often friends became the tools for ¡ª He shoved that thought out of his mind; he was here to speed run the magic system. And two wizards might be better than one for speed running the game. ¡°Um?¡± he gestured toward Radimael. ¡°Huh?¡± Her eyes eventually comprehended, and she led him the rest of the way. ¡°Asazsuzah, this is Marchio Radimael, our Noble Master. Noble Master Radimael, this is Asazsuzah, your other slave disciple.¡± The old demon nodded. ¡°Come sit. Together we shall learn the hidden secrets of the universe.¡± It set a tall crystal glass in front of Al. ¡°How would thou fill this glass with water?¡± ¡°Take it to the faucet?¡± ¡°Good,¡± Radimael said. ¡°But if thou and this glass were alone in the desert, how then would thee fill it?¡± ¡°With or without a canteen?¡± ¡°Excellent. One should always look to conveniences and to planning first. How else?¡± Al frowned. ¡°Trap and condense available moisture. If supplies were available.¡± ¡°Ah. Thou begins to see the true nature of the task. Can thou visualize the set up needed?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Try it, in this room with this glass. Visualize what thou needs.¡± Al drew upon the memories of a survival class his father insisted the family take. He imaged the moisture pit with its cover and pebble. The glass became the collection container. ¡°Good,¡± Radimael said. ¡°Concentrate on that image.¡± The demon¡¯s voice became softer as if coming from a greater distance. ¡°Remember everything thou knows about water and its states. Add that knowledge to thy visualization.¡± Temperatures, molecular composition, molecular vibrations, humidity, dew points, air currents, and heat exchange went into the image he superimposed on reality. ¡°Concentrate on thine visualization. Ignore what thine eyes see. See only thine visualization. See the water beading. See the water beads combining into larger beads. See the water beads grow into drops. See the drops falling, falling, falling into the glass.¡± Al saw the trickle of water falling from a sheet of moisture into the glass. He heard it. He blinked and felt lightheaded. With a shake of his head, he forced his brain back into reality. But, there in the room with Radimael and Nabmozhe was a thin stream of water falling through the air and landing in the glass. Al blinked. The water continued to fall. He shook his head, again ¡ª he must have missed reality. But the stream of water remained. He rubbed his eyes. The water continued to fill the glass. Radimael made a hand gesture, and the water stopped. The water in the glass was almost to the rim. ¡°Most impressive for a first attempt.¡± The demon sounded displeased. Al kept his expression as passive as he could. He wanted to smack his forehead. At some point, for just a moment he had ignored the most crucial detail. Of course, magic works in the game. But, this temporary belief was more than mere ignorance, more than the mere ignoring reality in favor of believing the story. He had really believed he had created water for a moment. Someone or something had tried to convince him that magic was real. He needed to be more careful about the garbage getting into his subconscious. Otherwise, he might become one of those who babbled incoherently about aliens, UFOs, or angels coming to avert the eminent environmental disaster. Al pasted an innocent smile onto his face. ¡°How so?¡± Radimael offered the glass to Al, ¡°Take a sip. Just taste it.¡± Al hesitantly sipped at the water. He stuck his tongue out and scrunched up his face. ¡°That¡¯s awful.¡± ¡°Distilled water,¡± Radimael nodded. ¡°And toxic in sufficient quantities. It will leech necessary minerals from thine body.¡± He made another hand gesture, and the water vanished. Picking up the glass, he put it into a glass rack which then slid down into the table. With another gesture, a volumetric display rose out of the table¡¯s surface. The projection was a spiral galaxy spinning with a pair of pyramids, one pointing up and one pointing down floating out of the galactic core. Radimael expression became suspicious and hostile. He jabbed a gnarled clawed finger into the highlighted sphere. ¡°The initial speculation about you First Humans was that you came from a Tech heavy world in this volume.¡± The highlighted sphere expanded, and Radimael continued, ¡°We theorized that because all the initial sightings of your kind were confined to this volume. While most of you remain within the Sea¡¯s boundary foam, a few ventured into the worlds above or below which are influenced by other Forces. Some of you ventured far spinward and widdershins, but always within that bubble.¡± The highlighted area retreated back into being a tiny portion of the galaxy pinned between the pyramid points.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Radimael shook its head. ¡°Then you vanished.¡± It leaned forward and bared its still sharp fangs. ¡°Now you are back. Only a few sightings.¡± It waved a hand, and hundreds of bubbles glittered like Christmas ornaments upon the holographic pyramids. ¡°But this time all over the place spreding¡ª¡± balls of various colors appeared in the bubbles amongst the galaxy and pyramids ¡°¡ª but you are growing in number, again. But much faster. The initial data can lead one to hypothesize there will be billions of you this time. And, now you are here.¡± It stabbed the table and glared at Al. ¡°Are you invading us, too?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°No. We were told we had a mystery to solve and given a deadline. We are just here looking for clues.¡± Radimael sat back and frowned. ¡°We no longer take kindly to strangers and trespassers. At most, we would have healed your wounds, have given you some supplies, and have returned you to the desert. If you survived long enough to become demons, someone else might have welcomed you.¡± Nabmohze said, ¡°But even if we survived you would not have accepted us here.¡± Radimael shook his head. ¡°No.¡± Al grinned. ¡°You are not truly a refugee camp.¡± Radimael clapped his hands together. Its expression became one of distaste. ¡°Perceptive.¡± The volumetric display vanished, and Radimael stood with a gasp and a grimace of pain. Al realized he had made a mistake. ¡°What are you going to do with us?¡± Radimael grinned to show its fangs. ¡°Very perceptive. That depends upon the Council. Until their decision, someone, very traditional, has demanded to see thee, Asazsuzuh. We must get thee presentable.¡± Al shook his head. ¡°Wait. Do you mean the demon ¡ª¡± Radimael slammed a pair of amethyst gems the size of its fists on to the table ¡ª one for Al and one for Nabmohze. ¡°Concentrate upon the gem.¡± Al found his eyes locked on the gem ¡ª unable to look elsewhere. The room and the sounds about him faded. Radimael kept speaking, but his words seemed to travel across a great distance and became less and less important. For Al, there was only the gem. He found a facet of the gem with an inviting door which he flew through it into a labyrinth. He knew that in the center was knowledge. ¡°When thou reaches the center absorb as much of the knowledge as thou can.¡± That was simple ¡ª absorbing knowledge was what Al did; he had always taken in knowledge and had gone looking for more. In this case, he stripped the gem of all its knowledge on the demon culture. He pulled everything into his mind until the gemstone crumbled about him, and then he pulled in the fragments. He gave a cocky grin and was ready to return to the outer world. But Radimael was still whispering commands to him. And Al remained in the trance state ¡ª still unable to move his eyes from where the crystal had been. His body stood up off the stool and stripped out of the dobak and underwear. Cold, clear quartz crystals were placed against his skin at various places on his body ¡ª forearms, forelegs, below the navel, mid-chest, back of the neck. From the knowledge in the amethyst crystal, he knew what was being done. He had been named a slave disciple. Although the other demons had thrown around the title, they never bothered to explain it. All non-demons in the Abyss were considered slaves ¡ª either formally collared or allowed to wander loose. If a slave demonstrated usefulness, a teacher could raise the slave to be a slave disciple ¡ª the first rung on the path to citizenship. From slave disciple, one often advanced to either slave warrior or slave scholar, but since Al had demonstrated the ability to summon a soul blade during the desert run, he could become either a slave knight or slave paladin. After his body fully transformed into a demon, he could gain his citizenship and become a true knight or paladin. The quartz crystals embedded into his body would demonstrate whatever rank he achieved. Well, that was easy. The demons had given him a goal ¡ª expressing soul armor. But should he? The higher the rank he demonstrated, the more likely he could keep the group together. But, if he failed to reach a certain threshold, he would be separated from them for more specialized training. Without prompting from the Noble Master Radimael, Al made his decision. With a bit of concentration, Al placed himself into the memory of the exact moment his soul entered the hilt and began filling the soul blade with that multihued-orange liquid. He allowed his soul to touch the crystals letting the fluid fill the armor¡¯s chambers and solidify. Without moving, he felt the shape of each piece of soul armor and made sure it conformed to his slave disciple status. Except. He made the wrist manacles flare into vambraces. Ankle manacles flowed into being greaves. The ones on his front side became a jock strap and harness which he tweaked to the limits of slave disciple acceptable wear ¡ª short boxer briefs. From the back of his neck, came the new collar which spread up his throat to the bottom of his chin and down his throat to cover his clavicle ¡ª a bevor. He darkened the pieces the best he could to look like leather ¡ª the acceptable material for a slave disciple. Thus far, he had demonstrated he could be a slave knight. Noble Master Radimael brought forth its magic and pressed a spell against the armor. Surprised, Al let some of the armor slip and thin. No. He needed this rank. Well, he needed at least slave paladin. Al gathered his concentration and pressed his soul outward against the magic coming at him. Then he locked each piece against the pressure keeping his soul¡¯s energy from returning into his body through the crystals so recently embedded into his skin. The pressure against him increased. Al used the pressure to help pull the crystals deeper into his body and shape them. Noble Master Roar¡¯s symbol needed appear on the vambraces. Al visualized the crystals becoming liquid and flowing into the appropriate shape. Ideally, he needed to change the color of the crystals ¡ª not into a common gemstone color but into a shiny metallic color. Al found silver to be easy enough. Something pressed against his diaphragm ¡ª squeezing tighter with each exhale. Al staggered. No. He tightened his abdominal muscles just as he would if he were taking a punch there. He pressed out thin fibers of his soul from his embedded crystals, but not into the air ¡ª through his skin. Pain. Fire burned across his body. He wanted to retreat, to back down, to accept the limited slave knight. But he promised. Exactly who he had promised didn¡¯t immediately leap into his thoughts. For the agonizing moment, just that he had promised was enough to grasp. Al gritted his teeth even as tears stung his eyes. He wove his soul threads back through the liquid crystal changing the embedded crystals to metal gold in color. The pressure didn¡¯t ease so much as Al stopped losing more and more access to his lungs. He breathed to the full depth the pressure allowed, but he had lost too much too early. His breaths were too shallow and too short. And he still hadn¡¯t reached the level of slave paladin. He needed more crystals. Something smashed into his leg. The soul weave within the skin held, but the bone broke. No, his femur shattered. And the surrounding muscles were mangled. Al shifted his weight to his remaining leg. He wanted to scream, but, by tradition, paladins could not. Instead, he tried to breathe around the mounting pain. But his lungs were hampered. He whimpered but stayed standing. He squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to repair his own leg ¡ª somehow. No. He was not defeated. He refused to be defeated. He refused to be anything less than a slave paladin. The only things he had to work with were his soul and the crystals. He had changed two of the crystals into a liquid to form symbols and had drawn all the crystals deeper into his body. That must be the method with which he needed to continue. He unleashed his scream into the crystals and felt them quiver. With a touch of his soul, they seemed to become liquid. His bones. He needed the crystals to support and strengthen his bones. And the crystals began to flow ¡ª coating and creating lacy threads over his bones. He visualized the crystals collecting the fragments of his femur and pull the pieces back into position. With a bit of pressure from his soul, the liquid crystal fused the bone into being whole, again. Next, he had to repair the muscles. His pain scrunched face drooped. His mind darkened. He was still short on air and unable to take a full breath. The strain of demonstrating that he was a paladin was exceeding his ability to breathe. He would either need to give up or risk losing consciousness. No. He would succeed. He had promised. Taking the little breath he could, he forced a soul weave through his muscles. Dark spots bloomed before his vision. The ruptured quadriceps knitted back together. But, his body was shaking. He needed one more thing. He pressed drops of the crystal away from his bones and to partially emerge from his skin in the last of the required locations. Then he turned to face Noble Master Radimael and allowed his body to drop to his knees. Al lifted his numb arm to place his right hand against his forehead ¡ª specifically his right thumb and first finger pinched together like he was holding a quill. He bowed below the proper slave disciple to Noble Master depth ¡ª the fingers against his forehead nearly touching the floor. Noble Master Radimael released him from the trance state and the pressure spells. Al blinked at the floor but dared not move. He winched ¡ª now feeling the pain from being branded on both pectorals with the symbols of his Noble Masters. A moment later he let out a massive exhalation purging his body of built-up carbon dioxide. For the moment, he could only wonder when the branding had been done. In a way, it didn¡¯t matter. Paladins didn¡¯t surrender to mere pain. He just drew in as much air as he could. Then he concentrated on getting his breathing back to something stable. Noble Master Radimael grabbed Al by the hair and hauled the boy to his feet. ¡°Thou has no idea what thee has done.¡± I made slave paladin rank, Al thought. He kept his mouth shut. The only thing keeping him from being reduced to the base slave rank, again, was the pleasure of his Noble Masters. If they stripped him of the slave paladin or even slave disciple rank, he would be punished. According to the amethyst crystal, typical punishments required the slave to demonstrate strength, endurance, and resiliency. A human in peak physical fitness would struggle to live, would struggle to prove himself worthy of living. Such a penalty would definitely kill a prepubescent like him, and there was still no respawn. With neither weapon nor magic, he had no way to effectively fight his way free ¡ª and that assumed the summoning codes he memorized when Elnham disappeared from in front of him hadn¡¯t been changed. Besides, the demons weren¡¯t going to let the humans leave. They had stumbled into the refugee¡¯s capital. They were liabilities to the secret of the hidden capital. They were liabilities to the secret location of this ruling Council. Al, Mitchel, Nabmohze, and any other players here were prisoners. The only chance they had to leave, to find clues, to solve the mystery, to find Laura required they gain the trust of the demons. And that meant they would need to become agents for the demons. His only option ¡ª their only option ¡ª was to play along until other possibilities presented themselves. They needed to become unquestionably loyal to the demon cause, at least in the eyes of the demons. He had his not inconsiderable intelligence. But his mind just worked faster than others. He still needed information and knowledge. As for the others, he needed to determine their strengths and find was to maximize those strengths for the benefit of the demons. But, and this was the important part, make them more beneficial outside, more beneficial in the desert, more beneficial heading to another world. But he had achieved his immediate goal ¡ª slave paladin. And both he and Noble Master Radimael knew he had. And no matter what happened next, his avatar body carried the marks of that trial and carried the marks of his success. No one would be able to deny his ability to achieve the rank. But the glare from his Noble Master spread ripples of goosebumps over his exposed flesh. ¡°I was ordered to take thee on as my slave disciple.¡± The Noble Master¡¯s voice was cold with contained fury. ¡°I have never been ordered to take on anyone as a disciple. I have rejected princes. But they declared thee able to handle many knowledges. I laughed at them. I rejected their assertions.¡± The demon¡¯s eyes narrowed, and its pupils narrowed into rounded ¡®Y¡¯s with tiny round holes at each of the ends. ¡°Thou hast proven me wrong. I hate being wrong.¡± ¡°The Heir wants to see thee.¡± Noble Master Radimael pointed to the open portal. ¡°Make thyself presentable.¡± The demon leaned close to Al¡¯s ear. ¡°Thou best hope the Heir has a sense of the political winds, or thou hast signed all of our death warrants.¡± Al took a couple steps backward, knelt, and performed the same bow again. ¡°Yes, Noble Master.¡± He rose and walked into the water closet. And he considered his latest problem. From the amethyst crystal, he gained a very weak understanding of the politics before and nothing since the fall of the demons¡¯ Capital. Again people were expecting something from him without providing the needed information. He touched the control orb which rested half buried in the back wall of the closet. His father had once growled about a teen boy in a video show attempting his feeble hand at politics. ¡°Politics isn¡¯t about what you say,¡± their father announced. ¡°Politics is about how you say it. His problems are easily solved.¡± Then their father turned to Al and his half-siblings. ¡°What does he say to resolve all his problems? How should he say it?¡± Al and his siblings just stared back blankly. Their father grumbled, ¡°And that is why teens should never be forced into politics.¡± As the eldest at the time, Alex had taken the proclamation as a challenge studying speeches and whatnot until he rose to be the most popular kid in school; even their teachers were in his corner. Artie went for a more subtle approach; she found ways to convince individuals of her point-of-view as often with careful threats of violence as not. But Al just couldn¡¯t see how words could make a difference. Words had no mass, no velocity, no momentum. Words were without physical composition. And the words used by even the great orators were filled with falsehoods, misdirections, and fallacies ¡ª even those who happened to be on the right side of history, peace, and positive growth. How could something wholly divorced from physics from logic from reason affect the world? In the end, Al concluded that adults were brain damaged and that politics like fiction in their most benign forms were a waste of the resources used to produce them ¡ª at its worst, politics were a poison strong enough to threaten humanity¡¯s survival as a species. A not so small part of him had hoped that the in-game characters could be better than the people in real life. Warm water sluiced over him and washed away the sweat from earlier and the smell of burned flesh. The water pounded into his muscles to break up the crystals of lactic acid before they caused muscle soreness. Then he chided himself for believing there was any place for him and for his views of how the world should be. The water turned frigid to remove any inflammation and to force his muscles to contract and squeeze the lactic acid back into his blood stream to be recycled. As the water vanished from the water closet, Al resolved to guard his expectations better. 1.09 Al Meets the Heir Al let go of the water control orb in the water closet. His body went numb, and he fell. Darkness claimed him. Al woke to a green light shining into his eyes. His mind felt stuffed with tinder and kindling. His entire body ached in ways worse than the Day of the Emergency Room ¡ª the day he lost the use of his legs, the day of torture as the real world doctors struggled to save his legs. The green light came from a green eyeball on a stalk ¡ª one of ten eyestalks coming off of a mottled brown beachball with one giant eye and mouth filled with rows of sharp teeth. The green light had an almost liquid quality, and it poured through his eyes and nose. The green light seeped into his brain felt much like it was going about making renovations. He closed his eyes ¡ª or tried to. Nothing moved. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± But his voice worked. a rough voice echoed about in Al¡¯s head. ¡°Beyul, what is happening to me?¡± ¡°Developer Override Accept. Status Condition in Effect. ¡°Soul Depletion: When the energy of the soul is completely depleted, the individual begins to suffer mental and physical degradation until either the soul recovers sufficiently to support the mind and body or the individual dies. Some degradations will become permanent depending upon soul recovery. ¡°Some cultures and species have means to speed a soul¡¯s recovery. Most methods involve consuming the soul of another being. ¡°Prognosis: Terminal.¡± ¡°Wait. At what rate do I recover?¡± ¡°Developer Override still in effect. Pious recovery: 0.0119/hour (First Human Standard).¡± ¡°How long until I recover enough ¡­ Pious for my soul to support my mind and body?¡± ¡°Developer Override still in effect. Pious recovery to minimum viable level: approximately 84 hours.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ll die in?¡± ¡°Time to death: 0:00:00.01.¡± Beyul¡¯s timer remained fixed. Al stared at it. ¡°How long has the counter been stopped?¡± The fearsome beachball tilted to one side. An image appeared around Al. A length of twine twisted and looped about between two clocks. The clocks had a dozen hands sweeping across their faces. A bead traveled along the cord. But then it rolled off of the twine to wait next to it. The hands on the clocks stopped moving. The fearsome beachball said. Al stared at the creature floating in the darkness of ¡°Out.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Thank you, but why?¡± An eyestalk with a purple eye lifted a bottle with a purple light beam. Al removed the stopper and downed the bitter liquid. ¡°Error: Attempted Increase of Uncalculated Attribute. Error + 100 = Error,¡± Beyul complained. ¡°Who is Tau?¡± Another image appeared around him. A short being in an orange, semi-formfitting hazmat suit with a mirrored face mask walked along a corridor littered with dead silver-skinned angels. The being raised a hand and made a pushing gesture. Hundreds of angels charging at him were to be ripped apart by an unseen force. The corridor walls bowed and vanished showing empty blackness and stars. Tau closed his hand, and the corridor rebuilt itself. The image of the galaxy with two huge pyramids touching the galactic core appeared before Al. A darkness spread from somewhere in the galaxy. Stars vanished. The pyramids cracked and crumbled. Within moments the image disappeared. Al gaped at the beachball of eyes. ¡°How?¡± The beachball rocked side to side. Another liquid-filled bottle rose to Al. This liquid was sweet with a hot cinnamon kick, and time oozed back on to Beyul¡¯s frozen timer. ¡°Time to death: 1:00:00.01.¡± ¡°Do you have another eighty of those?¡± The beachball revolved back and forth to resemble a head shake. ¡°I have an hour. Now what?¡± It tilted as if puzzled. it sampled the word. Al shook his head. ¡°What do we do next? How do we save me?¡± The lid partial covering its giant eye opened fully, and its mouth made an ¡°Oh¡± shape. ¡°Which are?¡± The image with twine and the bead return, and the bead rolled over to the string and popped back onto the cord. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill others just so I can live.¡± Something slammed into Al. Leather creaked and metal rattle. The sounds had been like when he lifted himself up and then dropped himself back into his wheelchair ¡ª something he did often enough. He opened his eyes and saw yesterday. No, the same day in the real world but reversed back to the morning, if his time dilation theory held. Day four of the school year. He concentrated on moving his legs. Unlike before they twitched. He wiggled his toes. He pressed his feet against the metal footrests. He put his hands on the armrests to push himself out of the wheelchair. The beachball looked like a movie ghost ¡ª little more than an outline with translucent filling ¡ª appeared next to him. ¡°Fine,¡± Al grumbled. And pressed the wheels and began moving toward the school building. The midnight back-to-school sale was still being cleared out of the school¡¯s gymnasium. With over two-million people squeezed into a town of less than sixty-thousand sandwiched into the last mountain cul-de-sac before the plains, space was at such a premium that not even stores could afford to build. So, two clothiers, an office supply business, and Best Buy each took a quarter of the school¡¯s gymnasium after school and for sixty-four hours on the weekend ¡ª except for sporting events. Something had gone wrong, and Monday morning found the businesses still struggling to get their wares back into the stacked cargo containers consuming the faculty parking lot. The weather in the mountain cul-de-sac was sunny, humid, and hot. His three siblings had scattered, and even the kids of the five families renting out their bed-and-breakfast had gone to their own classes and schools which left Al spinning his wheelchair¡¯s wheels up the ramp with a giant metaphorical target painted on him. The sights, the sounds, the smells were flawlessly recreated around Al. And that left one horror: Sandy Jerkins, linebacker, leaped over the rail onto the ramp behind Al and grabbed the wheelchair¡¯s handles and started pushing. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be out here all by yourself.¡± The deep menacing growl rumbled against Al¡¯s right ear. ¡°Someone might think you¡¯re anti-special. Someone might take advantage of that.¡± Sandy¡¯s leeches, otherwise known as the defensive line, laughed like hyenas ¡ª too high and too forced ¡ª nervous. No one threatened Al when Gus was within sight ¡ª Gus scared everyone; he made cops back down. No one threatened Al while Alex was nearby ¡ª Alex was too popular; he snapped his fingers, and everyone who was anyone materialized by his side. And Artie would turn anyone into a blood donation bag without mussing her hair. Between his three half-siblings were seven black belts. But, on this day ¡­ Sandy pushed Al into the school and down a side hall, and the leeches blocked off part of the corridor. Sandy backed the wheelchair against the lockers and pinned Al¡¯s arms against the armrests. This time Al was not paralyzed. He could ¡ª Fine, Al grumbled to himself. Besides if this was a flawless recreation, then Sandy didn¡¯t actually do more than glare in his threatening way. He was safer than he had ever been with Sandy. The beachball lifted one of its ten eyestalks. This one had an eye with a gold slitted pupil inside a white iris which rested against a cream sclera. Al would be willing to sacrifice certain people if it meant others would live ¡ª or so he had imagined. And, Sandy vied for the top of his ¡®for-the-good-of-others¡¯ list. But Al flinched. He felt one of the beachball¡¯s beam splash across his forehead. Wait! He snapped open his eyes. The beam reflected from Al and hit Sandy in the face. Sandy stared at Al, unable to move. His mouth halted before he could say anything ¡ª lips just barely parted into a sneer. The same frozen expression from the real-life morning. Impossible, Al wanted to scream. But he then saw inside Sandy¡¯s mind. A smokey environment filled with pain, humiliation, anger, and hatred. Love mixed with sickly embarrassment. Memories of a life that Al wouldn¡¯t wish on his worst ¡­ well, Sandy. From a central stone, chains made of smoke and dark whispers snaked out to sink their glistening fangs into every humiliation and embarrassment which had stricken Sandy. Al approached to find the stone to be a statue of someone who Sandy¡¯s mind identified as ¡®uncle.¡¯ He touched a chain, and it broke apart. Amazed, Al ambulated around the statue touching and breaking the chains. With the last chain dissolving into just smoke, Al was slammed back into his body in the wheelchair. Like during the real morning staring contest, Sandy held up a hand to one of his pack of hyenas then pushed himself away from Al. Confusion mingled with the hate which Sandy always showed. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± the linebacker rumbled. He turned and walked down the hall. The hyenas glared at Al but followed Sandy without a word. The only difference between this reenactment and the actual event ¡ª each of Al¡¯s fellow seniors had a diamond cut diamond between their eyebrows. ¡°Pious recovery: 0.0833/hour. Pious recovery to minimum viable level: approximately 10 hours. Time to death: 0:051:18.¡± Al looked at the beachball. ¡°What happened?¡± The Al of the morning was hyperventilating in relief. The beachball rolled into its questioning tilt. Al was faced with an uncomfortable observation. According to a psychology textbook he read, only children, who feel secure in the love of their parents, will scream, ¡°I hate you,¡± at their parents. Looking inside Sandy, Al realized that neither Sandy nor he would ever so much as mumble those words. Al sighed. He didn¡¯t want to feel connected to his fellow seniors ¡ª especially after the years of torment. But in the reconstituted moment, he had done something, he had a responsibility. He hated the sound of his voice when he asked, ¡°What about them? What happens to them?¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The beachball rolled forward and back like it was a nodding head. The day rushed by at high speed ¡ª hours passing in minutes. But, instead of following the ¡®historical¡¯ Al, the beachball followed Sandy. Until Sandy rejoined his pack of leeches in the lunchroom. They sat down at their table. Roberto snarled at Sandy. ¡°So, what? Are we supposed to be his friends now?¡± The tackle grimaced at the thought. Sandy stared at the table and shook his head. ¡°My father doesn¡¯t have friends. He has assholes who do things for him.¡± He frowned, and his complexion was ashen. ¡°So, we¡¯re his assholes?¡± Sandy nodded. He glanced to Aaron and Brian and Bennett. ¡°Here he comes. You two get the doors for him. And you push him through the line.¡± Jude shook his head and struggled not to say anything, but, ¡°I¡¯ll carry his tray.¡± Roberto growled. ¡°So this is it? We just roll over for him? Let him steamroll us?¡± Sandy stared at his hands as if he didn¡¯t recognize them. ¡°Do you have a suggestion?¡± ¡°No.¡± Roberto took in a shuddering breath. ¡°What happened to us?¡± Sandy shook his head. Roberto nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll get his drink.¡± ¡°Milk.¡± Sandy head-butted the table. ¡°He likes milk.¡± Al remembered what happened next. He had been terrified when the defensive line had gathered around him. He had been sure at any moment the kindness would turn into yet another humiliation. But they had glowered and had grumbled about what they were doing even as they moved. But they had taken no action to be anything other than helpful. Al had never made it through the lunch line so quickly. One tackle pushed him to the handicap table glaring down other students. The other tackle carried his tray. Sandy growled to a pair lounging at the handicap table, so Al could, for once, had sat in the spot assigned to him. Then Sandy sat near him, back to the same table, arms folded and stared down any who dared to approach ¡ª after all, Al had no friends. But, for that lunch, he had a surly bodyguard. Perhaps, he had thought, my siblings ganged up on them. And he had prayed that the defensive line¡¯s public display of kindness didn¡¯t end badly for him. From his point of observation outside of time, Al saw thin white threads connecting the diamonds between their eyebrows to the throat of his self in the wheelchair. ¡°So, they will remain like that? Helping but hating me?¡± Al¡¯s head hurt. He wanted to believe this effect was real and in the real world¡ª to believe that the school experience would be better for him going forward ¡ª to believe that he didn¡¯t have to sulk through the halls while trembling in fear. But this was just a game. Beyul had capitalized on a fluke. Somehow the connection suit had dragged out a memory, and Beyul twisted the memory for some story purpose. This incident all but confirmed Al¡¯s hypothesis zero. In a way, Al expected to feel fear when he received the confirmation. Instead, he just felt small and sad. He didn''t want hypothesis zero to be true. After all, eight of his hypotheses were based on his fears, and hypothesis zero was but one of those. He packaged the threatening tears into its own display case. ¡°That wasn¡¯t enough. They weren''t enough ¡ª nowhere near enough. If I did that to the whole school ¡ª¡± Al considered the frozen lunch room tableau. ¡°Because I don¡¯t hate the rest of the seniors ¡ª¡± Al nodded. Most of his classmates were just ¡­ there. Years ago, he had decided there was no reason to get mad at inanimate objects. Doors, ramps, stairs had no motivations, had no intentions. Anger would change nothing. From there, dumping most of his classmates into the inanimate-object category made his life a bit more bearable. The beachball brought up another bottle. Al drank the warm, tangy liquid. ¡°Status Effect Cured.¡± Al stumbled against the portal wall of the water closet. The portal irised open leaving him to tumble through on to Noble Master Radimael¡¯s floor. After a few moments, Al realized that he was back in the time stream, back in the refugee capital, back in Noble Master Radimael¡¯s residence slice. He just lay on the floor. His head pounded, his body shook, his heart raced, and he was cold. ¡°What happened?¡± The old demon asked as he limped over to Al. ¡°I can¡¯t do it,¡± Al gasped between chattering teeth. ¡°The sword, the armor, too much. Soul¡­¡± He moaned. The old demon knelt and placed a hand on Al¡¯s back. Warmth flowed into Al¡¯s body. ¡°Forgive me,¡± it said. ¡°I let my anger at the situation and circumstances blind me to your condition. You are more advanced than any one of your age should be.¡± It shook its head. ¡°You are physically too young. Your body is not yet ready to handle the strains. Give yourself a half-dozen years ¡­¡± His Noble Master shook his head. ¡°That should do that. Let¡¯s get you back on your feet.¡± Al staggered up to his feet, then steadied himself against a wall. ¡°Now how are you feeling?¡± Al shivered once more. ¡°Better.¡± His goose bumps had faded. ¡°Sorry, Noble Master, I don¡¯t think I can ¡­ the armor without ¡­¡± He hung his head. He needed to be a slave paladin, but he nearly killed his avatar to accomplish the task. The experience had given a vague sense of his soul¡¯s condition ¡ª weak, too weak to summon either sword or armor. ¡°I will power the armor. You summon it.¡± Al looked into his Noble Master¡¯s eyes with their Y-shaped pupils. ¡°Really?¡± It nodded. ¡°Later we will work on soul exercises. You have an important meeting to attend.¡± ¡°Yes, Noble Master.¡±
Al jogged between the two columns of the High Guard of the squad escorting him through the refugee capital. As was often the problem, the adult-sized demons marched along with much longer strides and quicker pace than was normal for Al. At best, Al, the slave disciple, the slave paladin, the slave without authority, the twelve-year-old high school senior, had to find a way to compensate for the larger beings on either side of him. The High Guard struck the butts of their polearms against the walkway ¡ª the left side of the formation, then the right side ¡ª alerting everyone to their approach. The High Guard were the semi-invisible guardsmen for the Emperor and Princes. As for the marching squad around Al, only the leading pair and trailing pair were visible with their glowing, black chitinous armor attached to their embedded crystals. Red dye on their horns matched the red of their red and black face masks, and their rune-etched, red penis sheaths. Each guardsman, according to custom, had their instructor tattoos injected with copper. While Al could see the four on either side of him between the leading and trailing ends, the middle eight guardsmen were invisible to those who watched the procession screening the gawkers from his sight. But the gawkers could clearly see him. The clomp of the twelve pairs of boots and the striking the butts of their polearms against the walkway insured there were plenty of gawkers. Al worked at keeping his expression neutral and his breathing even. And he desperately struggled to collect all the important pieces of his father¡¯s angry and bitter tirades about politics from his memories. But none of the man¡¯s comments seemed to apply to Al¡¯s particular problem. Al needed to become a trustworthy agent of the demons, and that meant he needed to determine the most advantageous group with which to align himself. At the moment, it seemed to be a question of the Heir or the Council. From Noble Master Radimael¡¯s comment, it seemed the Heir was in a weakened position of power. Thus, for the short term, the Council appeared to be the better choice. The choice became less clear for a long-term gambit. If Al wanted to upset things, he would need to be associated with the Heir, to rise to a position to advise and influence the Heir and to prompt the Heir to gain the upper hand. After that, he could show the Heir ways to improve the demon society. If Al¡¯s hypothesis zero was valid, then the long-term Heir gambit was the only reasonable option. But his father¡¯s diatribes ¡ª no matter how well reasoned or researched ¡ª on the failings of American politics ¡ª were of no benefit to a slave looking to defect. But from Noble Master Radimael¡¯s comment, the Heir was likely to make rash choices which placed it at a greater and greater disadvantage with the Council. And if the Heir didn¡¯t understand the current climate, real-world history suggested the Council might directly order the assassination of the Heir¡¯s power base ¡ª probably through bogus charges, streamlined legal processes, and loyalist or bribed arbitrators. Based on Noble Master Radimael¡¯s comment, the Council would move against those whom the Heir had shown too much favor. The lower on the social rung the recipient stood, the less tolerance they would have ¡ª like bullies and teacher¡¯s pets. Ordering the Noble Masters to take on a twelve-year-old slave might already be a chasm too far. But, if the black angel from the desert was the Heir returned to them, Al might have already be declared himself. So he had to wait without a plan and look for an opportunity. But if his hypothesis zero was valid he needed to earn his citizenship quickly, and that meant physically becoming a demon. Al compared his skin color to the memory of his real-world skin color. The skin now and the skin then were the same. And he knew he had neither claws, wings, fangs, nor horns. How long did the mutagen take? He jerked himself out of that thought line. Determine not to worry about things he could not change, Al reviewed the commands Noble Master Radimael had foisted upon him. Technically, hypnotists could only make suggestions. But, what Noble Master Radimael had done to him seemed to be more than mere hypnosis. But this was a game with a war between angels and demons and a whole bunch of lousy story ideas. Way too many old TV shows had a character brainwashed, which might have been good drama but would be horrid for playing. So he carefully reviewed his memory. Noble Master Radimael had commanded Al to honor the demon ranks even in his thoughts. Al cringed at the constant referrals to Noble Master Radimael instead of just Noble Master Radimael. He almost growled in frustration, but instead, he considered if he wanted to rewrite or remove the interlinking commands. It will probably keep me out of trouble with the various demons, he thought. So, he moved on but decided to erase them once he left the Abyss. He checked the next set of commands his Noble Master had given him. The chunk was a relatively standard stage-act hypnotist antic to trigger another hypnotic episode. On the stage, the post-hypnotic suggestion was almost a safety feature to ensure the participant could be reigned in if something went wrong. But Al was unwilling to be so generous with his Noble Master Radimael. He just about erased all of the ¡®suggestions¡¯ just because of how annoying it was to think the full title of the Noble Master. But this ¡®return to hypnotic state¡¯ command set was more problematic than a mere annoyance. With no respawn, he had to keep his twelve-year-old body safe from obvious deadly harm. To give a reason for either Noble Master to demote him was one such obvious deadly harm. He had no idea about where his relationship with Noble Master Radimael stood. But he was afraid that it would take very little to antagonize the Noble Master into demoting him. If he were demoted, he would have to undergo a ¡®testing¡¯ to prove his physical worth ¡ª testing which could prove fatal to his twelve-year-old avatar. With reluctance, Al gave that command set a pass ¡ª for now. And it wasn¡¯t like that any of this had any impact on real life, unless hypothesis 196, which was still viable, was valid. He wanted to rub his forehead but dared not. Admittedly, his classmates would pounce on any sign of weakness. And having a hypnotic trigger was the type of weakness every single one of them would abuse. His half-siblings would abuse it even more, especially now that he was ¡­ walking ¡­ Dang, it. He fell for this feeling real, again. He inwardly sighed. This whole verisimilitude was troubling. Hypothesis 196 and two dozen other hypotheses were the result of his in-game interaction with Sandy Jerkins. None of them should be valid. Besides, the public announcement was that Beyul connection suits were still struggling with reading the brain. Electromagnets were only useful for stimulating brain sections and not for thought shaping. But Beyul had dragged a flawless memory of the day¡¯s events into the game. Someone was lying, but the motivations behind the lie were less ¡­ obvious. For the moment he would give the reenter-hypnotic-state order set a pass. But only until he passed the apprenticeship stage. Given the meandering path down through the spheres, Al estimated he had time to review one more set of commands his Noble Master had given him. This set caused him to stumble. The old demon had walked Al through an exercise to ignore and cope with the pain associated with being branded. Even now he knew he was still suffering, but he maintained a light meditative state to banish the effects of the pain. There were lots of easier ways to keep Al from expressing the pain he felt, but his Noble Master had chosen to help him form a skill to resist torture. So, what was the demon¡¯s motive? Al shook his head slightly. He did it, again. Noble Master Radimael was nothing more than a collection of scripts or maybe an advanced neural net with a rule-based engine. Either way, the Noble Master taught the skill because it was a game requirement. Satisfied, Al looked up at the extra wide portal opening along the side of the ramp ¡ª wide enough for a party of eight to walk abreast with two columns of High Guard escort on each side. Al with a mere twelve guardsmen filled less than thirty percent of the available space. On either side of the portal were additional High Guard. The guardsmen at the portal raised their halberds to be vertical and tapped the butts against the wide ramp. The High Guard escorting him did a sharp facing change and led Al into the throne room. The throne room consumed an entire large sphere. Two other large portals along the floor were the only other entrances. In the center, a large cylinder dais rose thirty feet into the empty space. Three sets of long, wide, shallow stairs rose to meet the cylinder. Over each rising stairway, sets of gigantic ivory tusks formed nine arches. Al realized that none of the other large spheres allowed one to accurately determine their size. Curtain farms or smaller habitation spheres or floors or walls kept the massively ridiculous scale from overwhelming the individual. But the throne room made no excuses for its horrific waste of volume. ¡°Not a refugee camp,¡± Al had said to Noble Master Radimael, ¡°An emergency capital.¡± And now he had the confirmation. The High Guard escort marched Al toward the base of the nearest stairway. Each of the white stairs had swirls of inlaid silver characters. Beneath each of the tusks, a nearly transparent wall shimmered. The High Guard marched to a stop, and, with a clang of the butts of their halberds, they faced him. They took five steps straight backward. A heat shimmer filled the distance between Al and the stairs. Two hundred guardsmen wavered into existence. Another two hundred metal boots took a step forward behind him and tapped their polearms against the white floor of the throne room. Al swallowed. He knew there were now two immovable walls of High Guard forming a corridor from the portal to the stairs. The portals to the rest of the spheres closed, and the giant chamber outside the High Guard corridor and the raised column darkened. The various defensive force fields glittered like sheets of stars. Nine star-sheets formed spheres inside spheres protecting the hidden throne. Al concentrated on breathing and walking. He hesitated for a heartbeat at the first stair. Each step was designed to give space for the guardsmen to fight in defense of their Prince or their Emperor. Without stepping on to the first step, Al pounded his fist to his heart and placed the back of his hand to small of his back. He knelt and bowed with his forehead against the cold white floor. No matter the honor, a slave could not ascend within a hundred stairs of the Prince or High King. The voice at the top of the stairs spoke, ¡°Rise and ascend.¡± Al swallowed. This was bad. He shakily got to his feet and stared at the stair. ¡°Ascend,¡± the voice demanded. Al nodded and put his foot on the step. With a deep breath, he forced himself to walk across the space to the next rise and mount that one too. With each stair, the High Guard on the stair wavered into visibility. Although the High Throne in Tezapenapiel had one thousand stairs, here in this emergency shelter there were but one hundred. Al mentally shook his head out of the information which had been in the amethyst knowledge stone and which now filled his head with as much information as he had of the forests, the Lake, the lakes, and Lake City in real life. The last thing he wanted to remember was ¡­ The March of Heroes was the only time the High Guard made themselves visible. There were variations of the March which could make his life a torment beyond anything his classmates could imagine. And while he could hope the demon upon the throne was not that sadistic, each step made his stomach wobble with worry. There wasn¡¯t a question about obeying whatever order was given ¡ª disobeying the High Nobility was akin to treason. And, the gem¡¯s lore indirectly stated that the developers took an ¡®all-of-the-above¡¯ approach to all the horrors real life had to offer in tortured-to-death options plus a few new ones. Al was worried not so much about the present but the aftermath. If Noble Master Radimael could turn down Princes but had to acquiesce to the demon on the throne, the demon at the top of the steps was turning Al¡¯s life in something worse than a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Al managed to keep the frown off his face. He knew he shouldn¡¯t expect a mere Artificial Intelligence to be any better at understanding the bottom rungs of the social ladder than a human. But, he had so wanted this to be a place where he could just be himself, where he didn¡¯t have to compensate for others¡¯ mistakes, where he could be free. On the top step, before the edge of the dais, he again knelt and bowed, fist-to-heart, hand-to-small-of-back, forehead-to-floor. He heard it. The hundreds of the High Guard pounding fists against their metal breastplates, dropping to one knee, and bowing at their waists. He closed his eyes. It hurt to breathe. Above a certain rank, the nobility didn¡¯t bow to each other except to the High King. And the High King bowed to no one. But, there were isolated occasions when such nobility felt the need to honor someone. Then they had servants bow in their stead. The High Guard were never servants ¡­ except ¡ª The High Guard never bowed ¡­ except ¡ª Please, no, Al thought. Don¡¯t toss my pitiful existence into a social black hole. Please. ¡°Rise Paladin of the Realm.¡± Oh, I wasn¡¯t expecting that. That ¡­ that is so much worse. 1.10 Al Burns the Temple Back in Noble Master Roar¡¯s domed training room, Al flowed through the labyrinth within the red ruby knowledge crystal before him. When he reached the center, he absorbed the knowledge ¡ª a massive distillation of psychology and sociology and neurology and neurobiology and other -ologies he wasn¡¯t sure had names in the real world. The gemstone shattered. Al pulled all of the particles into his mind. He rocked backward and wobbled before he caught himself against the table Noble Master Radimael summoned. Four, he counted the number of fist-sized knowledge crystals Noble Master Radimael placed before him. So far, Noble Master Radimael had used the trigger word thrice to force Al to absorb a knowledge. Al blinked and forced his way out of the awake-but-sleeping hypnotic state. He shook his head. Escaping back into reality took a third head shake. His head throbbed at the quantity of information he had just acquired. His brain was still trying to ¡®chunk¡¯ all of the knowledge into blocks of useful information which could later be manipulated as if they were simple, single bits. He remained dazed and disoriented, but he knew he was boarding on entering a dissociative fugue ¡ª losing his identity, his personality, his self. Fear prickled his neck. He tried to back away from the gray nothingness which threatened to consume him. This shouldn¡¯t be happening. He was in a game. Stuffing actual knowledge into his brain was impossible. Or should have been. The connection suits weren¡¯t meant to be able to cause dissociative fugues. He closed his eyes which made matters worse. ¡°Break.¡± Noble Master Radimael slammed another fist-sized gemstone on the table before him. Before his Noble Master commanded him to absorb knowledges ¡­ Al knew his memories were there ¡ª just scattered in the grayed out sections of his mind. Not gray due to inactivity or inaccessibility. Too many words, charts, diagrams, drawings, statues, models, maps, and stuff were all blurred together. ¡°Please, no.¡± He had arrived in the training room. Noble Master Roar had been growling behind him ¡ª mechanical hand on his shoulder ¡ª had been pushing him up the ramp. Other than the golden mechanical demon and the strange demon spiders which hissed from its shadow, there had been a table. Noble Master Radimael had calmly sat at the low table sipping something from a teacup; the matching Japanese tea set sat beside him. Al wrenched his attention back to the present, just in time. Noble Master Radimael spoke that awful trigger word. Al smashed through the labyrinth crumbling the knowledge crystal to dust. Everything entered into his mind. Four, he thought and then realized that he had already used that number ¡ª more than once. He considered his problem. Seven. How had he scrambled memories ¡ª that had never happened to him. ¡°Enough,¡± Noble Master Roar said and grabbed Al by the faux leather halter. With one massive hand, his Noble Master lifted him away from the table and set him on the mat. Fires of fury still burned in the Noble Master¡¯s eyes. Angry heat pulsed off of the demon making even looking at the Noble Master painful. By trained instinct, Al settled into a defensive stance and considered his other Noble Master, Noble Master Atasar Roar. This was a standard training situation ¡ª defending against an armed opponent. Except, none of his prior instructors were mad at him, except (sometimes) his siblings. He inwardly sighed. He hated adults. That wasn¡¯t true. Sometimes he wished adults either came with instruction manuals or leashes. Adults had such fragile egos. Adults rarely had well-defined limits before they started their tantrums. Adults could be far more violent than children during their outbursts. But at the moment, Al hated his Noble Masters because they put him into this confused state where nothing was in focus, where his mind didn¡¯t work correctly, where he wasn¡¯t properly balanced. He needed to break free and regain himself. He tried to drag his ch¡¯i back into motion. He pressed down against the floor to draw up through the soles of his feet working to firm his weakened legs, to straighten his back, to keep him upright. Each breath needed to be deeper than the prior in order to pull ch¡¯i from the air to his Lower Jiao. Arms moved to swirl the ch¡¯i within his body to drive the ch¡¯i into his limbs, to strengthen his twelve-year-old frame. The Noble Master stood beneath the dome of the practice room and crystalized his soul blade. He shook with rage. ¡°Never!¡± Noble Master Roar roared. He thrust his soul blade at Al. Al twisted his shoulders and blocked the thrusting arm. Despite there being no way he could physically stop or overpower his Noble Master, he thought he could twist and time his blocks just enough that each attack would miss. Al¡¯s hit Noble Master Roar¡¯s wrist. Ch¡¯i pressed against the deadly thrust. The sword tip slid within a hair¡¯s breadth of Al¡¯s flesh. The blade snagged on a strap of the soul armor further knocking the edge away from Al¡¯s ruddy skin. And then the weapon thrust had passed. Usually, in the real world, this sort of exercise was done with wooden or rattan weapons or rubber blades. But he knew of ¡®live weapons¡¯ training and demonstrates. But his parents didn''t want him near ¡®real weapons¡¯ so he had to borrow those from his siblings when no one could say no. ¡°Never have I been so embarrassed,¡± the Noble Master continued yelling as he again stabbed at Al. Al¡¯s ch¡¯i faltered. From his father, he had learned to use ch¡¯i offensively. To breathe in during blocks to draw in the ch¡¯i and hold it ready for the counter strike. But, Noble Master Roar was so much faster than any human. And Al had forced the ch¡¯i outward to survive the first thrust. He stepped back to gain a hint of separation. And he attempted to recycle the ch¡¯i he still held. He crossed his arms and drove Noble Master Roar¡¯s arm upward drawing hard from the ground. The blade tip slid past his eye and temple. ¡°Never, have I had a slave foisted upon me.¡± Al stepped back again even as he properly drew in ch¡¯i to his cooling lower jiao. He deliberately fell backward and slapped both hands against the mat but not to break his body¡¯s momentum, his body¡¯s torque. He had suffered while learning this kick because his legs had been useless ¡ª deadweight dragging against the whiplike motion. Al forced ch¡¯i out of with his breath accelerating his backward motion and exceeding the pull of gravity if only marginally. The sword thrust cleared his navel even as his body arched. Again the tip snagged on one of the straps of soul armor which looked like leather straps. Then the armor repulsed the sword another centimeter. Al pulled his head back toward the mat. The lunge ramming the blade toward throat ¡­ submaxillary triangle ¡­ chin ¡­ nose ¡­ clear. His head landed on the mat and became the fulcrum for the attack to drive his legs upward. He poured the torpid ch¡¯i into his neck, his arm, his spine, and his legs. He forced his legs to rise toward Noble Master Roar. He pushed his remaining breath out with a ¡°Hai!¡± forcing the ch¡¯i to condense into a think syrup within the meridians of his legs. Angular momentum dragged the ch¡¯i toward his feet ¡ª completely reversing the flow, the drawing of ch¡¯i up from the floor. And like diesel fuel, the over condensed ch¡¯i ignited. His feet connected with the Noble Master¡¯s bare chest. His knees struck the Noble Master¡¯s thrusting arm forcing the sword further away from his body. The ch¡¯i in the wood meridians blazed boiling the ch¡¯i in the water meridians and liquifying the ch¡¯i in the earth meridians. Pain and light and force erupted from Al¡¯s feet. As if he strapped rockets to his feet, he was spun upward and over to crash face down on the mat. His feet hit the Noble Master¡¯s chin during the arc. Al screamed and tried to grab his legs, but everything hurt too much to respond. Elnham was right ¡ª pushing his legs to perform was a bad, agonizing mistake. Part of him hoped he hadn¡¯t ruined his legs beyond the ability to walk. Mostly he screamed and leaked tears from his eyes. The pain maliciously whispered to Al, ¡®you¡¯ve done enough damage this time to be wheelchair bound forever.¡¯ He wanted to scream in defiance and denial, but those were lost to the cries of pain. A hand touched Al¡¯s back, and the pain faded. Noble Master Roar gave a pleased grunt. ¡°Never, has my training been called into question before the disciple stood before me.¡± Instead of the angry tirade Al expected, Noble Master Roar¡¯s voice was gentle almost musing. ¡°Thou needs a lot of training, pup ¡ª if thou art to fulfill the duties of the Paladin of the Realm. But thou has a solid beginning. Better than most, although not all, of my students when they first arrive.¡± It gave Al a grin. ¡°Thou would give many a prince a good fight. Mayhap cost a few their desired victory.¡± Al curled into a ball of pain and misery. ¡°Creosote,¡± Noble Master Roar finally announced. Al frowned and tracked his face toward the sound. ¡°Creosote?¡± He worked to concentrate on the sounds instead of the burning inside him.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Yes. When was the last time you used your legs?¡± ¡°Eighteen months ago.¡± ¡°If fires burn continuously and burn hot, chimneys remain clean. But short burn, cool, short burn, cool cycled intermittently allows vaporized oils and alcohols to layer the chimney¡¯s walls becoming a tar-like substance. Once a hot fire starts, the creosote ignites. Dangerous.¡± His Noble Master shook its head. ¡°Ch¡¯i can be like that. Cold ch¡¯i crystalizes into tiny grains. Volatile. Your sudden use of ch¡¯i caused the creosote in your meridians to start burning. Painful. Deadly.¡± Al grimaced as the fiery pain reached into his hips. ¡°I thought burning ch¡¯i was a good thing.¡± His Noble Master shrugged. ¡°Burning wood for warmth can be good or bad ¡ª even in winter.¡± Al stared at him. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Warm air rises. Cold air flows across the ground to replace it. Can be deadly.¡± ¡°Wind chill,¡± Al whispered through clenched teeth. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°How do we fix me?¡± Noble Master Roar shook his head. ¡°Painfully. While creosote can be scraped off the chimney walls, sometimes it is better to ignite the creosote, watch the fire closely, put out the fire, and repeat until the chimney is safe to use again. ¡°With ch¡¯i, we do much the same. Ignite the ch¡¯i creosote, let it burn for a time, put out the fire, heal the physical damage, and repeat as needed. The question is, how long can thee stand to suffer?¡± Al shuddered ¡ª jarring the burning meridians running through his legs. ¡°The pain ¡ª¡± he inhaled sharply ¡°¡ª gets worse?¡± ¡°The longer the ch¡¯i fire rages, the more painful the flames will be. And the more damage will be done to your physical body.¡± Already the burning had surrounded his groin, and the flames within his earth, metal, and water meridians licked up his abdomen and back. He just nodded and concentrated on his breathing ¡ª in for three, hold, out for three. Despite the increasing pain, he reached for the pain resistance skill which Noble Master Radimael had given him. Slowly he wrapped himself within a cloak of deep meditation slipping deeper into an internal mental fortress. He sealed the gates against the assaulting horde of pain. And just breathed. An explosion rocked the fortress as the twin lower jiao were consumed by the burning ch¡¯i creosote in his water meridians. Crenelations shook and crumbled. Al stared up into the night sky over the fortress for a long moment. If he could stabilize the rest of his body, the fires could rage longer and clean out more of the crystalized ch¡¯i. At the same time, he reminded himself, this is just a game. He smiled ¡ª that meant this would work. Al quickly sat in lotus position beneath the stars and surrounded by the fortress protecting him from the ch¡¯i fires consuming his meridians. Breathing in through his belly button, he focused on the energy flowing through muladrara, the lowest of the chakras. The red gem-like structure had flames raging all around, but it remained cool beneath his perception. Drawing upon the prana there he tugged it upward to svadhisthana. Then he exhaled and pushed the prana back down synchronizing the flow back and forth between the two chakras ¡ª pulling power up as he inhaled and pushing it down as he exhaled. Svadhisthana was also surrounded by the ch¡¯i fires. And as he breathed, both chakras began to shudder under the assault. He breathed deeper and pushed the prana flow higher until in connected to nabhi-manipura ¡ª the chakra currently acting like a frying pan with ch¡¯i flames licking its sides. After a few breaths, the cycling prana stabilized his lower three chakras. He took in another breath to push the prana higher, but the ch¡¯i creosote in the bottom of his prime meridian exploded. Muladrara rocked violently sending shockwaves upward threatening to cause the entire tower of chakras to collapse. Walls of the fortress about him crumbled. Shafts of pain stabbed him. Flames raced up the prime meridian squeezing mulahrara attempting to crack and shatter the chakra. Al concentrated on just getting his lungs to expand and contract. Once he started breathing again, he studied muladrara. The chakra kept bouncing and twisting and tumbling in the torrent of currents caused by the ch¡¯i fire; it was no longer suitable to use as a base for the chakra tower. But the topmost chakra connected to the universe. He looked up at sahasrara ¡ª the violet chakra which looked more like an aura or halo than a gem. The instability of the tower had yet to reach it. If he could draw prana down, then perhaps the whole would act more like a wind chime and be able to weather the ch¡¯i fire. He breathed in and pulled the prana up to anahata. He cycled the energy only once. Already the flames in the prime meridian were pressing in upon svadhisthana. Then he pushed his breath to raise the energy to vishuddhi, the chakra in his throat. Six pious connections encircled his throat like its own spiked collar binding him to his high school¡¯s defensive line. Tiny drops of dew sliding along white threads trickled into him and flowed along the crystal sheaths about his bones and flowed through his skin and flowed out into his armor. He gently tugged on the threads and knotted them into a macrame lattice about the blue chakra. One of his early teachers decided her students should learn fiber crafts for the art portion of the class. His clumsy fingers struggled with the yarn. His hands cramped holding the proper tension on the strings looped about his fingers. In the end, he despised knitting and crocheting and macrame, but he could do it ¡ª one clumsy knot, loop, and wrap at a time. The pious threads held the chakra tower stable despite both muladrara and svadhisthana chakras bouncing about in the turbulence caused by the ch¡¯i fires and the crushing pressure being applied to nabhi-manipura. Following the prana flow down, Al wove the pious threads about the flow and knotted another macrame lattice about anahata. The flames licked his heart and the green gem. Al dove deeper into the fire weaving and knotting as he went. He crafted a lattice about svadhisthana and then about muladrara which slowed their tumbling and bouncing. But nothing allow muladrara to be stable enough to maintain the tower. So he drew in a breath and pushed upward from vishuddhi through ajna and finally past sahasrana into the universe. The chakra tower stabilized and hummed with the flow of prana entering and leaving his body. He allowed himself to become a bit more externally aware. The fortress he formed to keep out the pain was nothing more than broken boulders where the walls once stood, yet somehow those wrecked walls keep the assault outside. But the fires kept rising filling his lungs touching his throat. Al grabbed the pious threads and wove them up to ajna and made yet another macrame lattice. Then he wove his way up to sahasrana, and ¡­
Al stood in a forest clearing underneath the rising no-longer-quite-full moon. The pain was something very distant, and he took in a deep unencumbered breath. The scent of the lake and dead pine filled the air. He spun in a circle looking at the stars, the dead pines, the objects about him, the floor of the clearing. Then he recognized the area as one of the many lakeside lots along the lake¡¯s hundred ten mile shoreline. A beaten down trailer with fresh tires stood in the middle of the lot. A detached weathered pallet porch with a two step stair looked out over the rippling water. Light and a broken cackle of a laugh spilled out through the trailer¡¯s closed curtains and open windows. The lone figure silhouetted against the glittering wave tips turned sharply toward Al. The moonlight shone upon the face ¡ª the face of Sandy Jerkins. ¡°You,¡± Sandy growled then glanced at the trailer¡¯s door. He stepped off the porch which groaned in relief. Sandy winced and looked at the door again, then he moved toward Al. ¡°You can¡¯t be here,¡± he hissed in a way he apparently hoped would be lost in the wind rustling the red needles stuck to the dead pines. ¡°Your ¡®uncle¡¯ is home?¡± Sandy glanced over his shoulder. ¡°He doesn¡¯t live here.¡± He sighed as if defeated. ¡°Yes.¡± Then his head came up, and he glared at Al. ¡°You can walk now?¡± Anger overrode his sense of caution. Al looked at how far above the ground his head was. ¡°I had surgeries over the summer.¡± Which was true, but they failed to solve his lack of walking. Sandy glowered then nodded. ¡°It feels good, doesn¡¯t it? Even though they tell you not to overdo. After all, that time stuck without being able to go anywhere on your own. It feels ¡ª¡± his voice cracked ¡°¡ª freeing to be able to just walk.¡± Al remembered a single time when Sandy had gone Christmas shopping in a wheelchair. The linebacker¡¯s anger had scorched the crowds, and any who had commented received an acid tongue lashing. What had surprised Al was how literary the young man¡¯s curses were. It was as if Sandy had taken the unabridged Shakespeare, highlighted all of the insults, and then he had memorized them until he could combine them in new and interesting ways. During that brief foray, Al had heard an extensive vocabulary ¡ª impressively vast as if Sandy had given the same treatment to the Oxford English Dictionary. But apparently, Sandy had been on prescription pain medications for the leg in the brace because after a few minutes, Sandy had fallen asleep. In the present night, Sandy resumed his glare. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Al caught something in the tone and made him pause. In the space of a single heartbeat, less than a second, Al considered several possibilities and discarded most of them. The question, he decided, is a search for confirmation. He narrowed his eyes. There was still too much he didn¡¯t know about the situation. ¡°You called,¡± he said in the most gentle version of his why-are-you-being-an-idiot-this-time tone. A simple lie, a simple guess. Sandy¡¯s head snapped back in surprise. ¡°You ¡­ you heard?¡± He looked over his shoulder to the trailer house and then the lake. Al shook his head. As a guess, Sandy was trying to understand the sudden and inflicted devotion which had been forged within the linebacker. ¡°Not heard or at least not the words,¡± he temporized. ¡°It was more a feeling or a sense that you wanted me here.¡± After all, Al had no real idea of how he ended up standing back on Earth in the night at Sandy¡¯s home. His standing before Sandy might well be the result of Sandy¡¯s prayer having drawn him here while his ¡­ other body ¡­ writhed in the Abyss while being consumed by the ch¡¯i fires. ¡°I don¡¯t ¡­ I didn¡¯t ¡­¡± Sandy stammered. ¡°I mean, I pray with the football team ¡ª it¡¯s required. But I don¡¯t ¡­¡± He sighed and hung his head. ¡°¡­ you know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a person. I am, more or less, the same kid you¡¯ve tormented for the last five years.¡± Sandy took in a shaky breath. ¡°Am I supposed to apologize for that?¡± His voice pinched, and his face screamed in fear. Al waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ¡°I don¡¯t know. This is new to me, too. I don¡¯t understand it. I don¡¯t know how it works.¡± ¡°You?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes. You can call the Lodge and set up another party,¡± the words came out bitter. He turned as if to walk away, but mostly it was so he wasn¡¯t staring at Sandy while he worked to staunch the tears before they started. Some times the pain was hot and angry. Other times the pain was cold and wet and sad. ¡°No,¡± Sandy said. ¡°I won¡¯t. I wanted to know, to have you tell me what you did, to have you explain what is happening.¡± He kicked a rock which went bouncing down the lot toward the lake. ¡°But if you don¡¯t know, what does that mean for me? For us?¡± ¡°Someone said that I accepted your sacrifice.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± Al turned back to Sandy and shook his head. ¡°Do you feel something is missing?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Sandy turned to stare at the trailer. ¡°It¡¯s like a big ugly weight has been lifted off me. Tonight is the first ¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t know what ¡­ You don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°I kind of do. I saw a lot of what happened inside your brain.¡± ¡°So, you picked me because you felt sorry for me?¡± Al stepped up beside Sandy. ¡°No. I chose you because you were the worst of my tormentors.¡± Sandy swallowed. ¡°So, this isn¡¯t a good thing. You hate me. This is your way of getting even.¡± ¡°No. Yes. No.¡± Al turned and walked toward the lake giving the trailer a wide berth. ¡°Yes, I hate you, but I don¡¯t think this whatever works that way. But just as you can ask me to be here, I can ask you to do things ¡­ and even if I don¡¯t, you do things ¡­ like the lunch room ¡­¡± ¡°Something forced us to do those things. We couldn¡¯t not do them.¡± Sandy was silent for a moment, then asked, ¡°What are we to you? Some sort of con slaves?¡± Al glanced up at the linebacker and shook his head. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t covered under the slavery exception of the thirteenth amendment. And the con slaves we bought are ¡­ because of Alex. He bought his friends¡¯ prison sentences, and then the nuns got involved. ¡°What do nuns have to do with con slaves?¡± ¡°Stop, please,¡± Al whined. ¡°You want to know my biggest mistake? Telling Alex about some of the anti-slavery forces scattered throughout history. Something broke inside him. In the morning he drives off to the convent and convinces the nuns to buy whole lots of con slaves. We own six. The rest are leased from the nuns.¡± Sandy¡¯s body shook, and his words hissed with anger, ¡°How does buying con slaves work to stop slavery?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°Despite hating you, I¡¯m not going to say, and you are not going to go looking for answers. When you figure it out, you¡¯ll be part of the conspiracy. And that would be a shitty thing to do to my assholes.¡± Sandy flinched and looked away. ¡°Fine.¡± Then he blew off a breath. ¡°You found out about the assholes comment.¡± Al shrugged. ¡°I was trying to understand what I am to you. I didn¡¯t figure it out, so?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Sandy shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not like you are a coach or my father or my uncle or a teacher. I don¡¯t have a lot of experience for comparison.¡± Al frowned and nodded. ¡°But I¡¯m some sort of authority figure to you.¡± Sandy stared up at the stars showing through the dead trees. ¡°Yeah. I guess. You came with a title, but I don¡¯t understand it. I looked it up ¡ª paladin ¡ª one of the Peers of Charlemagne¡¯s court ¡ª something akin to a Knight of the Round Table, I guess. Equally fictitious, and one is probably based on the stories of the other. But you are supposed to represent valor, and you¡¯re supposed to fight with bravery and chivalry. More than a soldier or a sheriff. ¡°But if I¡¯m to be your asshole, what does that mean for me?¡± He looked back down at the trail before them and put out a hand in front of Al. ¡°It gets steep there. You don¡¯t want to set your therapy back by trying it.¡± Al nodded and turned back. ¡°So, why did you call for me?¡± Sandy walked in silence, his jaw working between little shakes of his head. ¡°Just say it,¡± Al prompted. Sandy looked down at him. ¡°I want it to end. My uncle, my brothers, me. I can¡¯t do it. I need you to. But, I need you to do it in the right way. If this is a punishment, take my uncle¡¯s sacrifice. If this is some strange ... intervention ¡­ to make me a better person ¡­¡± he shook his head ¡°¡­ I guess Whitney needs to be set back on the right path. Leslie is going wrong. But there should be hope for Meredith and Angel ¡­ and maybe Lynn. But, please, don¡¯t do it to punish them. Hell, I¡¯m not even sure my uncle deserves to be punished. It just ¡­ It just needs to stop.¡± 1.11 Jason Discovers Healing Jason fell down through the missing center of the spiral staircase. Sweat trickled down his neck, and his breathing increased, and his heart throbbed in his ears ¡ª faster and faster he fell. Yet, he was alive. He was living. Every sense screamed that he was alive. Beyul Two-point-Oh was the only game to have the sharp edge of life. He felt it when he played the demo. Once the demo locked him out, he waited for ¡ª he hungered much like a junkie hungers for a fix which will never come ¡ª the full release. No matter the lies he told Rupert, he accepted the opportunity as fast as he could form the words. He needed this fix, and it was a fix. All of the game ¡ª the fear, the adrenaline, the action ¡ª came together to ¡­ complete him. Oh, sure some games could scare the player, even put the player on edge. But, there was always a sense of distance and safety. Even the best of the VR games, such as Beyul One-point-Seven, had their weaknesses. But, this, Beyul Two-point-Oh, was his cocaine. Fighting against gun-toting soldiers, fleeing the threat of a nuclear weapon, engaging the massive destruction, and falling the fall were all as close to living as he could get while in the city. He kept expecting the drag chute words, ¡°Respawn Failure,¡± in the Beyul font, to appear. Then the game would pull the ripcord and punt him back to reality. Sure he was afraid as he fell, but his fear came not from the fall. Nor did he fear the pain of failure or injury. After all, pain was the body¡¯s way of letting him know he was alive. No, his fear was born from the thought of seeing those two dreaded words: ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± He had seen the words a hundred times in the demo. Perhaps the hundred failures in the vast demo had conditioned him to flinch anytime he faced something truly dangerous. But fear rode next to the edge of life. One couldn''t live without fear or danger or pain. So he sang the only reasonable song ¡ª embrace the pain, the fear, the danger. Love the necessities of life. Now he was falling, and he couldn¡¯t unfurl his wings ¡ª there was no room. He smiled even as he shuddered at the thought of those dreaded words: ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± Instead, he kept his wings wrapped around the local, non-player character, man. And he silently prayed he would not see those words because those words meant more than losing the high. Those words meant he could never get back to this world ¡ª everything would be erased. He would lose his experience points, his character, his possessions, his friends, his team, everything. That loss was the real danger of this game. Banishment. And compared to banishment, the pain of injury from the sudden stop at the bottom was nothing. He had only just begun to taste life in this particular world, and, thus far, the world promised a large variety of ways to engage in life. It was too soon to move on to another world. Despite their intentions, the developers had run into a problem ¡ª the respawn system didn¡¯t work. Finally, one of the developers had dropped a bombshell in the fan forums: ¡°Game delayed due to respawn errors.¡± Speculation and trolls exploded. The forums crashed due to the traffic and to the flame wars and to the sewer talk. Beyul Corporation struggled for nearly ten days before they had upgraded their forums to handle the tempo. Then came The Announcement from CEO Dallas Savannah May Scott: the company had developed a new world model which allowed the level designers to dramatically expand the playing areas and to massively increase encounter size and to deploy thousands of new features. But ¡ª and the but was the confirmation ¡ª the new model made player respawns a challenge which the Respawn Development Teams (RDTs) had yet to solve. The Beyul Corporation had made a VRMMO Rogue. As he fell, Jason held onto his laughter as he waited to hit the death plane and see, ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± The Beyul Corporation had simultaneously released Demo 2.0 with The Announcement. The demo was ¡­ indescribable. There was weather, there were seasons, there were smells, there were armies crashing, there were a hundred complete worlds, there were corpses. But death resulted in being ganked out of the game, everything lost, that world barred, and the glaring message: ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± It was a demo which could be played only one hundred times ¡ª once for each world. Jason tasted the thrill of playing the demo. Something inside the game triggered his fight-or-flight instincts. Something triggered adrenaline surges. Something triggered that ride-the-lighting feeling when he was truly alive, but only until he saw those words: ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± Somehow that made the game even more appealing. Jason¡¯s feet collided with Rupert. Snap. Pain.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. He fell sideways. His wing collided with the stairs. Snap. More pain. Bang. His head hit a sharp corner. Torches flared to life about the base of the stairs. But blue blood and stars filled Jason¡¯s vision. More agony as the jagged end of a broken tibia or fibula sought atmosphere. Silver skin stretched and ripped. More blue blood gushed. Jason slid to the floor. His foot flopped in an unnatural direction. He clamped his teeth together to keep from screaming. ¡°Medic,¡± he hissed. At his feet, Rupert was face down, unmoving. Jason tried to breathe. He hated T2L (True to Life) pain. He had broken enough bones to know what real pain felt like. T2L was a different kind of pain ¡ª a kind of pain screaming to be shared. Whoever developed T2L needed to be taken into a fully equipped torture chamber and be allowed to personally experience the magnificence ¡ª Something shifted. Agony surged through his broken limbs. He screamed. Still no ¡°Respawn Failure.¡± Something was pushing against his unbroken wing. Panting, he unfolded his working wing. There, unharmed, was the local he protected. The man stood and wobbled on his feet. After a few seconds, he moved away from the stairs and drew a gun which he pointed at Jason. Caitlin, or Sincerity in this world, hearing his scream, tried to push free of the crowd. Jason slammed his teeth back together to halt his screams. The crowd stared at him ¡ª anger in their eyes, hatred in their jaws, disgust in their mouths and noses. The rescued local yelled, ¡°They¡¯re not immortal.¡± Triumph rang in his words. ¡°They can be broken. They can be killed.¡± The priest emerged from the crowd. ¡°We discussed this.¡± His voice was strong, gentle, almost soothing. ¡°Although the ritual would bring us defenders, we had no means to define their appearance. We must accept whatever form they take. Even if those forms are from our worst nightmares. We acknowledged that acceptance might be hard, but ¡ª¡± the priest gestured to Jason and Rupert ¡°¡ª but ¡­ we must extend the hand of friendship even to those defenders who wear the bodies of our enemies. ¡°Did they attack the Alliance troops sent to murder us?¡± The crowd murmured acknowledgment. ¡°Did they help us get into the catacombs away from ¡ª¡± the priest pointed up into the darkness ¡°¡ª the destruction over us?¡± The crowd reluctantly nodded. ¡°Did they serve the purpose of the ritual?¡± A few in the crowd agreed. ¡°Then let them perform the task for which they were summoned.¡± The priest turned to the local with the drawn weapon. ¡°Costa, perhaps the Gods have given us the best defenders. Defenders who can pass as our enemies. Enemies from whom we must remain hidden. Just as we must remain hidden from those, who were once our allies.¡± The man Jason fell with, Costa, nodded and holstered the gun. Then Caitlin ran to Jason. Hands, glowing with a golden-white light, touched his forehead. His head cleared, and the blood stopped flowing into his eyes. Pain eased. Even the stars retreated to just the edges of his vision. ¡°I hate first level healing,¡± she whispered to him. She looked at his leg. ¡°I need you to do your mind-killer pain chant.¡± Jason nodded, but the chant he used was missing. The only chant that remained was, ¡°¡®Larak tarath.¡¯¡± He couldn¡¯t quite remember where that came from, but he clung to the chant and repeated over and over. The other chant would come back to him. ¡°Larak tarath,¡± he repeated over and over. She put her hands on her hips. ¡°What¡¯s the rule?¡± ¡°Uh ¡­¡± He racked his brains. ¡°Oh. Doctor Lazarus. Galaxy Quest.¡± ¡°Galaxy Quest? Really?¡± Jason started to shrug, but the motion required moving his broken wing. He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. ¡°Larak tarath. Larak tarath.¡± Then Oscar held his torso in a bear hug. He knew what was coming ¡ª putting his leg back together. T2L insured the process would be painful beyond all reason. He concentrated on the strength chant. Skye and Aisha pulled on the broken leg dragging the exposed bone back through the bleeding holes in his skin. Caitlin pressed her glowing hands against the wound sealing the holes. Bones knitted together. Jason attempted to stand, but pain screamed up his leg. He flopped back against the dirty floor disturbing his broken wing. He went pale and bit into his fist. ¡°Idiot,¡± Caitlin snapped. ¡°What part of First. Level. Healing. Did you miss? We are talking about charged band-aids. Nothing more.¡± Jason smiled. Thankfully, his group had made their way through their first combat without banishments. While every member of the band was a solid player, there were just too many ways to mess up the first significant combat. And with ten-to-one (or more) odds against them, crashing and burning was likely. Even when, they had gone into the demo as a team, they died often. Different demo worlds required different combat tactics. And none of the demo worlds had anything to do with angels. And that meant they should have needed time to get their feet under them. But no one died. No one was banished. Jason looked over at Rupert. That guy had been their canary and good luck charm. He had given the warnings to keep them from making mistakes ¡ª like the guy had the walkthrough guide memorized. Jason nodded at the thought. ¡°Make sure Valiant is okay.¡± Skye snorted. ¡°What¡¯s a little head trauma between teammates?¡± He opened his mouth to retort. Syke grumbled. ¡°Cornelia and I healed him ¡ª once each. We¡¯re on cooldown.¡± ¡°How long?¡± She shrugged. ¡°No interface. No clue.¡± Jason hooked his thumb at Caitlin. ¡°What about Sincerity?¡± ¡°Her cooldown seems to be a few seconds but no complete heal.¡± Oscar shifted to kneel across Jason¡¯s chest. He and Caitlin yanked on his broken wing. Jason grimaced. Caitlin squeezed the break. Pain flared then faded. ¡°Either I¡¯m out of mana, or there is some other mechanic involved,¡± Caitlin said. Jason managed to crawl over to Rupert. Someone had rolled the guy over. He put his hand on the chest and whispered, ¡°Heal.¡± His hand didn¡¯t even glow. Nothing seemed to have changed. ¡°Any idea why Beyul is so quiet?¡± Everyone shook their heads. Rupert opened his eyes and groaned when he touched the top of his head. ¡°It¡¯s part of the event. No access to any part of the standard interface. Although Beyul will announce if you get an achievement or skill point.¡± Jason¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°How do you know?¡± He was pleased with how calm his voice sounded. ¡°I got the ¡®Boot to the head¡¯ Skill Point when you landed on me.¡± Caitlin nodded. ¡°I got the achievement ¡®Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman¡¯ after I expended all my healing on you.¡± Jason coughed to cover his real response. Then he said, ¡°Glad I could help.¡± 1.12 Rupert Rides the Underground Rupert looked around at the torch-lit catacombs and at the gathered angels and at distrusting locals. Everyone on team ¡°hated-winged-ones¡± seemed fine except for Jason who winced when he moved. ¡°Apprenticeship Catacombs,¡± Beyul offered. Rupert rubbed at the spot where Jason had landed on his head. He half expected there to be a lump or something. The spot was tender, and, when touched, the place invoked a vivid memory of the pain, the darkness, the Beyul messages. He took his hand away and then touched the spot again. Again the spot brought forth the memory of those few instants. ¡°Receiving a boot to the head isn¡¯t exactly the sort of thing to pat yourself over,¡± Integrity said. Rupert looked up at her offered hand. ¡°This body has a strange sense for muscle memory.¡± He took her hand and got to his feet. She looked over to the others talking with Jason. Then wearing a sly smile, she lowered her voice. ¡°How so?¡± Rupert opened his mouth. But Integrity signaled for him to whisper. Rupert glanced at the grumbling crowd which was beginning to disperse and nodded. ¡°Touching the spot where ¡ª¡± he choked when he attempted to speak Jason¡¯s name. He pointed to Jason. ¡°¡ª where he landed on my head ¡­¡± He focused his eyes back into the present and found them resting upon the sight of Integrity¡¯s breasts. He shook his head afraid to ask how long he had been staring. Then he closed his eyes ¡ª the effect, whatever it was, was getting worse. This wasn¡¯t hormones, after all, she was a she and thus not interesting. Jason, on the other hand, played for the other team making it impolite to express an interest in his body. But this was a disconnect between what he was thinking and what he was seeing. Whenever he was thinking or creating, he stopped seeing the world about him. And it was taking him longer and longer to realize what was happening. He frowned. ¡°Touching the spot triggers a memory of the impact. Everything. What I heard; what I saw; what I felt. Even Beyul messages. It¡¯s quite vivid.¡± His fingers itched. Some part of his soul was cracking. Here in Beyul, he was out of the House, and he had put neither notes to paper nor fingers to a keyboard in hours. He had experienced new things and wanted to ¡ª no, needed to ¡ª record the memories in song. If Integrity noticed his blank-eyed impropriety, she gave no sign. Instead, she smirked and walked toward the other angels. ¡°Beyul, can I have a keyboard and music paper and pen?¡± ¡°Not recommended at this time.¡± Rupert closed his eyes. At least it hadn¡¯t been an absolute rejection. And, unlike the others, Beyul at least sometimes talked to him. Then he heard another of his songs. Beyul Corporation had taken him and some visual artists to one of the few surviving deciduous groves. Walking amongst the trees, listening to the wind rustling the leaves, feeling the bark and soil, and studying the insects had inspired several songs. Now he heard the one incomplete snatch of music he wrote that day. From above. Someone was moving about in the chapel over their heads. The boots striking the floor echoed the bass line of the notes on that odd scrap of paper. He looked up. ¡°Warning. Inbound Omicron Tier Threat. Omni ¡ª¡± Rupert ignored the rest of what Beyul had to say. He looked to Integrity, Jason, and the others. Somehow Jason had kicked Rupert several feet away from where the fellow angel crashed. And the others were in now gathered in the hollow ¡ª the missing center ¡ª of the spiral stairs coming down from the chapel. He needed to get the rest of them to move. Integrity casually walked over to Jason, and, as if Jason was her proprietary property, she squeezed the injury spot on Jason¡¯s wing. The young angel gasped and fell to his knees. Integrity looked down at him. ¡°The bone seems mended,¡± she said briskly, yet innocently. ¡°Does it still hurt?¡± He glowered up at her and yanked his wing out of her grasp. ¡°Not until you grab ¡­¡± His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ¡°You know something.¡± Rupert raised his voice. ¡°Yes. We need to move. The threat up there is looking to come down here.¡± Jason looked up at the ceiling. Powdered stone filtered down along with the grating sound of metal scraping against stone ¡ª heavy metal object scraping on stone. ¡°Get me up,¡± Jason snapped. ¡°Move, move, move.¡± Integrity and Chase each grabbed an arm and dragged Jason toward the retreating crowd. Cornelia and Sincerity ran past Rupert. Rupert stared at the floor. Circles. The hollow of the stairs was defined by one engraved circle with a radius of about a yard. The descending stairs wound around and spilled out into another circle ¡ª its engraved circumference was nearly a yard away from the inner circle. Rupert took a few steps back. Another circle with its arc another yard from the prior. He turned and followed the retreating refugees. There were arcs of a total of five circles. Each arc engraved into the smooth rock floor of the catacombs about a yard from the one prior. He stepped across the last arc, and the music changed. He took a step closer to the stair, and the song changed back. He tried straddling the line, and no song played.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. A shaft of light suddenly shone down upon the innermost circle. Rupert stepped back outside the last circle. He turned and followed the retreating group walking into the dark minor chords of a song he wrote after watching a silent video about time traveling zombie hunters racing against a clock to stop the plague. Why this song? He needed to decide soon if he should tell the others of his connection to the game, should tell them about the message, should tell them of the proprietary music he needed to upload, should tell them about Beyul. Something rattled the ground beneath his feet. Rupert turned back to see a large man crouched in the innermost engraved circle. The huge hulking human stood. Mountains of muscle moved like tectonic plates rearranging a planet. Other than a collar, the man wore straps around his upper arms, his forearms, his thighs, his calves, and zigzagging around his chest. Thin, liquid-filled tubes connected the collar to the various straps. A thin leather leash connected him to someone hidden above the line of the catacombs¡¯ ceiling. And the features of the man¡¯s face was buried beneath a black leather hood which looked straight out of a sex-toy catalog. On his chest and on his leather hood, the Greek symbol omicron was emblazoned. ¡°Omni,¡± Beyul needlessly provided. Rupert nodded an acknowledgment. ¡°Can I turn off the angel wings?¡± Beyul¡¯s song changed as if the AI¡¯s attention had been dragged elsewhere, but Rupert did feel shorter. Apparently having heard Rupert¡¯s voice, Omni immediately focused on him and stormed toward the edge of the last circle. The seven-foot-tall man stopped ¡ª clearly staying inside the circle. ¡°Where are they?¡± The voice rumbled through the catacombs sounding much like an audio recording of an avalanche. ¡°Where are those evil destroyers?¡± But Omni didn¡¯t look directly at Rupert ¡ª like the few blind people Rupert had interacted with ¡ª Omni looking slightly to one side, missing the indications for eye contact. Omni lowered his voice to whispering mumble. ¡°It is all they know ¡ª destroying, killing, torturing, enslaving. No matter the honeyed words they use. They will never let you be free. Surrender them.¡± Rupert stared at the eyes now deprived of their color by the retreating light. But Omni¡¯s eyes were blank as if someone had stripped away the life from behind them. The man¡¯s soul glowed much like a retro lava lamp with large heated globules rising up from the man¡¯s slabs of abdominal muscle flatting before reaching the top of his skull and sinking languidly at first and then falling more rapidly to splatter about inside the man¡¯s pelvis. Some of the soul particles floated out and down his arms and legs only to drift back toward the cycle, the dance, of soul fragments. The other souls Rupert had seen were constant glows about the edges of the other humans. Tiny droplets of color entered the soul where the thin needles pierced Omni¡¯s body beneath the leather harness straps, leather bracers, leather manacles, leather collar. While the colored droplets dispersed into thin wisps of color, each soul fragment which touched those droplets broke into two smaller globs of the soul. ¡°And what have you done to Omni?¡± Rupert whispered. ¡°You are breaking apart his soul. You are destroying, torturing, enslaving. You are no better.¡± An odd thought struck Rupert. ¡°Are you jealous that someone else is better at evil than you?¡± Anger contorted the face beneath the black leather mask as the blank eyes met Ruperts. ¡°The Alliance is not evil. The Alliance does what is necessary. The Alliance has defended the city, has provided food, clothing, shelter, water to those to those who have been rendered homeless, has offered medical assistance and medicines to those attacked by the invaders. We aren¡¯t the villains. We are the bloodied and injured and wounded heroes who hold the line and who hold the city together.¡± A massive hand wrapped itself in the loose material of the heavy workman¡¯s clothes that Rupert was wearing before he entered the game. He hadn¡¯t seen Omni so much as twitch, but he spared a glance at the floor. Rupert at some point had approached the circle, and he had remained outside the last circle etched into the floor. More, the quick look told him that Omni¡¯s hand which grabbed him had the usual expected soul aura. Tiny flares of light sparked off of the edge of the manacle on Omni¡¯s wrist. So, Rupert thought, the circle is a barrier of some kind ¡ª just not impregnable. Beyul added,¡°Skill Point Earned: ¡®Thin Red Line¡¯.¡± Omni moved slowly, deliberately, lifting Rupert with one steady and massive arm. ¡°Change,¡± Rupert hissed to Beyul. Then Rupert was in a bearhug with his arms pinned to his sides ¡ª not crushing but absolutely secure. ¡°Unable to change. Inadequate room to complete command.¡± Omni turned swinging Rupert across into the circle and started toward the stairs. ¡°And I can prove it to you.¡± The bounding steps of Omni rang off the close walls like a slow drum beat. ¡°Rewind,¡± Rupert ordered Beyul. Once in the hollow of the stairs, Omni hopped. But the hop was powerful enough to rocket them straight up and into the mausoleum, or rather the demolished ruins of the mausoleum. What was probably the remains of an armored personnel carrier was a thin plating against the accumulated stones of every tomb, every support, every wall between the exterior and the back wall of the mausoleum. The air was thick with the white-gray haze of powdered stone. Rupert held his breath. Somewhen he had learned stone particles would rip apart his lungs ¡ª slowly suffocating him and eventually killing him. Omni took bounding strides as he ran for the entrance. Even beyond the shattered front wall, the cloud of stone granules drifted close to the ground slowly thinning. Omni took a step and stomped down hard enough to send the pair flying over the powdered stone clouds. Rupert snorted to clear his nose before he drew in a breath and then breathed as shallowly as he could. ¡°Rewind,¡± he pleaded with Beyul. Omni landed near a group of soldiers. ¡°One to be tagged.¡± Something had changed in Omni¡¯s voice. Facing Omni, Rupert didn¡¯t get a chance to see who Omni was talking to or what actions being ¡®tagged¡¯ would entail. But moments later he felt something cold wrapped around his neck ¡ª not tight enough to strangle, but tight enough to make itself known. He heard a click, and then something jabbed itself into his neck. He studied Omni¡¯s eyes. The dark eyes again had a life to them. Whoever had taken over Omni had released the man. And despite being free of the absolute control the other had over him, Omni was following through with the controller¡¯s orders. ¡°Paralytic is in,¡± a voice behind him said. The thing around his neck beeped. ¡°And it¡¯s active,¡± the same voice said. ¡°He ain¡¯t going nowhere.¡± Rupert mentally jabbed at the Beyal interface pieces which remained visible. Information slid in and out of usability. ¡°Fast Paralytic. As one of the three standard parts of surgical anesthesia, a paralytic agent keeps the patient from moving thus allowing the surgeons to perform delicate operations without fear of the sudden muscle spasms creating potentially life-threatening ¡®mistakes.¡¯ Paralytic agents often paralyze the lungs stopping breathing which can potentially cause death due to affixation. ¡°Musician¡¯s Administrative Override Standing By ¡­¡± ¡°Activate override,¡± Rupert mentally yelled at Beyul. ¡°Activate override.¡± ¡°Thank you, corpsman,¡± Omni rumbled and released the bear hug. He didn¡¯t let Rupert fall ¡ª taking another fist full of Rupert¡¯s workman uniform. ¡°Bag him for express delivery.¡± Dangling limply from Omni¡¯s fist, Rupert saw injured soldiers being loaded into ambulances. And, he knew that the wounds were the result of Jason¡¯s and the other angels¡¯ swords. Something heavy, cold, and unyielding was pressed against Rupert¡¯s back. Straps were pulled around his chest and cinched tight enough to bite into his flesh. Omni turned Rupert so that Rupert looked up at the stars. Then a breathing mask was placed over his mouth and nose, and oxygen was pumped into his lungs. ¡°External Breathing Apparatus. These devices are used to breathe for the surgical patient while their lungs would otherwise be paralyzed by the paralytic agent given as part of the surgical anesthesia. Oxygen saturation is often measured to determine the level of external assistance needed.¡± ¡°Wait. They are going to operate on me?¡± Rupert demanded of Beyul. Omni flipped Rupert around and grabbed ahold on something on Rupert¡¯s back. Rupert stared at the ground feeling like a piece of luggage. ¡°Give him the rest of it,¡± Omni said. ¡°Hypnotic is in. Give it a few seconds.¡± ¡°Hypnotic agents are one of the three parts of the standard surgical anesthesia, and they are responsible for putting the patient to sleep for the duration of the operation. Most hypnotic agents are quickly metabolized by the body and allow the patient to wake within seconds after the constant injection has stopped. Longer-acting hypnotics require larger doses and have substantial onset times.¡± Without waiting, Omni crouched and leaped for the sky. Rupert watched the ground fall away. He struggled to stay awake. The effort lasted a second or two and then nothing. 1.13 Al on Unfamiliar Shores Al closed his eyes against the rising flood of fear. ¡°No, no, no,¡± he whispered to himself. He wanted out ¡ª needed out. This was the wrong kind of game for him. He didn''t do people. He didn''t do classmates. He didn''t do Sandy. What was he supposed to do? He hated Sandy. HATED. But here in-game Sandy was petitioning Al to do something for him. In Al¡¯s mind, that was bad enough. But here in-game Sandy was offering up his family as some sort of sacrifice to a vengeful god. Al¡¯s parents¡¯ lessons on finding inner peace, finding balance, finding common ground had never helped. Not once. But here in-game Sandy was being more civilized than the IRL linebacker had ever been. After six years, Al wanted nothing to do with IRL Sandy. He didn¡¯t want to find common ground. He didn¡¯t want to forge some sort of relationship ¡ª any kind of relationship ¡ª with Sandy. He didn¡¯t want to understand or sympathize with Sandy. No. He needed out. O. U. T. Out. Who could look at his tormentor of six years and say, ¡®yes¡¯? Was what this was about? Was Beyul testing if Al was the better person. Someone who could just forget about the actions of Sandy? Forget about his fellow students¡¯ actions? Forget about his teachers¡¯ actions? No. His memory wouldn¡¯t let him. It was all there as fresh and raw as the moment they did it ¡­ all of it. He was not some masochistic saint. He ran out of cheeks long ago. At this point, his golden rule would be to weigh them down with the gold and watch them drown. Maybe Sandy was right. Maybe Al was vengeful. Maybe a sacrifice was needed. Al didn¡¯t want to be vengeful ¡ª he really wanted to be accepted. But that wasn¡¯t what Sandy was offering. Sandy was offering the devotion of his ¡°uncle¡± and his brothers. But devotion wasn¡¯t acceptance. And Sandy¡¯s public displays of devotion would not improve Al¡¯s school life. This was unacceptable to Al. He needed out. Something bumped into his head ¡ª something big and leathery, like a large ball. But the ball wasn¡¯t thrown. In fact, there was almost no force behind the bump. Al opened his eyes to see a large, mottled green and brown ball with a giant eye and ten eyestalks looking at him. Al looked around him. He and the beach ball were in the forest clearing with Sandy and the trailer. Nothing moved. Al was indeed out of the games time flow. He sighed. Perhaps having a nervous breakdown in the game was not enough to trigger an emergency exit protocol. He looked at the beach ball. ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± The giant eye¡¯s lid formed a tent around the eye ¡ª may be trying to emulate the wrinkling of the forehead to show confusion. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I don¡¯t know what decision I am supposed to make. I don¡¯t know what ¡­ What if I say, ¡®no.¡¯¡± The beach ball drifted around Sandy. Thin threads drifted out of Sandy in different directions. Then the sun rose on Al and the beach ball in the clearing. The trailer was gone, but along the edge of the clearing, a hand poked up out of the ground, a hand with Sandy¡¯s class ring, a hand belonging to a mostly buried corpse. ¡°This is because I say, ¡®no¡¯?¡± Al shook his head. No. No. No. He was twelve. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be making life or death decisions for anyone. ¡°What if I say, ¡®yes¡¯?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Night returned, but red and blue lights flashed through the clearing. Sandy was in handcuffs. A rifle was on the ground beside him. A large man, presumably Sandy¡¯s father, was dead at Sandy¡¯s feet. Nothing moved except for changing lights. ¡°So, if I say, ¡®yes,¡¯ Sandy kills his father?¡± Al turned and walked toward the lake until he could see the moon reflecting off of the seemingly frozen waves. ¡°Is there a better outcome?¡± ¡°One that doesn¡¯t involve Sandy going to jail.¡± ¡°No.¡± Al breathed for a while. ¡°Where both parent and devotion live.¡± Al closed his eyes. Of course, such a path required playing to his weakest abilities. ¡°Will you help me?¡± ¡°Yes. You saved me. I¡¯ll influence Tau. Where is Tau?¡± The beach ball revolved back and forth like a head shake. ¡°Who creates Tau?¡± Al sighed then walked back over to Sandy. He took up his position beside Sandy and sighed again. ¡°Fine. Put me back in.¡± Sandy asked, ¡°What? You want something more from me?¡± Al blinked. ¡°How about treating me like a person?¡± Sandy looked away. ¡°Oh.¡± He took a couple of steps before turning back to Al. ¡°I ¡­ I can try, but I don¡¯t think it will work. Not right away. You never seemed like a person, you know? More like a perfect little robot. In a way, I kept hoping you¡¯d go through puberty and become one of the cool robots, like Marvin.¡± ¡°Science fiction reference?¡± ¡°Well, yeah. There isn¡¯t much to do out here ¡ª no internet on this half of the lake, no T.V. signal behind that ridge. Anyway, you get every answer correct. Did everything ¡­ perfect. Even becoming a paladin ¡­ the Paladin ¡­ It just seemed like the next gold star for you.¡± Sandy shook his head. ¡°But now it is worse. Part of me feels like I should be building a monument to you, or forcing slaves to kneel before you. Do you want either of those?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°No.¡± Sandy nodded with relief. ¡°And part of me wants the beat your brains out for doing whatever you did to me. Then take a baseball bat to you until your bones are pulverized into a thin paste.¡± Al gulped and retreated a few steps. Sandy pretended not to notice. ¡°If that is what it takes to get your help, I¡¯ll do work on it.¡± Al nodded then shook his head. ¡°I won¡¯t help you kill your father.¡± Sandy¡¯s eyes went round. ¡°What?¡± He shook his hands between him and Al. ¡°No. That¡¯s not what I need help with ¡­ That¡¯s not what I plan ¡­¡± He stopped and gathered a breath. ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Al swallowed again. ¡°I was shown to common futures.¡± He pointed past the trailer. ¡°One has you dead in a shallow grave over there. The other has you dragged off to jail because you shot your dad ¡ª¡± he pointed to the ground where Sandy was standing ¡°¡ª about here.¡± Sandy deflated. ¡°Why would I ¡­¡± He stopped and stared up at the stars. ¡°Son of a bitch.¡± He looked at his watch then pulled up the calendar app. ¡°Son of a bitch.¡± He tapped another app and then glared at the ridge between him and Lake City. Sandy looked at Al. ¡°The easy way to keep me from killing my dad ¡ª stop him. The bastard is robbing the Beaucamps store.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Their vault shares a common wall with the bank¡¯s vault. Dad and his crew of assholes get into the Beaucamps vault and drill into the bank¡¯s vault.¡± ¡°How ¡­ How do you know?¡± Sandy stared at his shoes. ¡°Dad wanted me to join his crew.¡± ¡°Are you? Going to join?¡± Sandy gave Al a half-frown. ¡°According to you, one of us will be dead before that happens.¡± ¡°I meant, would you if you could?¡± ¡°I hadn¡¯t decided.¡± Sandy looked out at the lake. ¡°He said he had a nice easy job as a graduation present. I ¡­ I was kinda thinking to do it. To see what it was like. To do a father and son activity.¡± His voice trailed off to a near whisper. ¡°Is there a way that both of you survive the night.¡± Sandy nodded. He closed his eyes. ¡°Will you heal Uncle Lane? He isn¡¯t really our uncle, but, after tonight, he will be all we have.¡± Al nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best. What are you going to do?¡± ¡°Take the boat out onto the lake and call the sheriff¡¯s office.¡± Before Sandy took a step, all of the sounds about the clearing stopped. Al recognized that he was again outside of time. Sandy vanished from beside Al. Out on the lake, the boat Sandy¡¯s family used to reach the city exploded. Al gaped at the afterimage of flames and the fires which consumed the boat. Then Sandy reappeared next to Al. Al reached up and put his hand on Sandy¡¯s bicep. ¡°No. The boat is rigged to explode.¡± Sandy closed his eyes, and his face paled. Although no tears fell, when he finally opened his eyes, extra moisture brimmed his lashes. ¡°We need to hide until morning. Can we stay at your place?¡± ¡°No.¡± The word was harsh. Al shook his head and tried again. ¡°It¡¯s not safe.¡± He pointed across the lake to flashing lights off the road hidden amongst the trees. ¡°Those are sheriff¡¯s SUVs. A whole bunch of people were kidnapped ¡ª including two dispatchers and my siblings.¡± Sandy gaped at Al. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m¡­ Why are you¡­ Shouldn¡¯t you be over there?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°If you didn¡¯t do what you did to call me here ¡ª¡± he swallowed ¡°¡ª I¡¯d be missing, too.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. But you need to find someplace else.¡± ¡°Where?¡± One place popped into Al¡¯s mind. Alex would kill him. And that made Al smile. ¡°There is an abandoned monastery not far from here. It is still well maintained.¡± ¡°How do you know that?¡± ¡°The smugglers hired by the nuns use it to store their ¡­ cargo ¡­¡± Al cringed. ¡°What do nuns smuggle?¡± Al shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t ask. You might think you want to know, but you really don¡¯t. Only the nuns are safe from prosecution because they¡¯re nuns and hold the moral high ground. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t ask about it. Don¡¯t look about for it. If you put the pieces together, the government can rendition your ass.¡± Sandy closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. ¡°That really hurt. I guess some of the things you say come with the force of Holy Law or something.¡± Al frowned. ¡°Go collect your brothers and uncle. I¡¯ll heal your uncle along the way.¡± Sandy nodded. ¡°Thank you, oh, great and mighty paladin.¡± ¡°In fantasy games, paladins come with the ability to smite.¡± ¡°No smiting your assholes ¡ª that will only end up hurting you.¡± Al narrowed his eyes. ¡°Then you better run.¡± Al gaped at the words he said ¡ª he had sounded like Alex from all those months ago. Had he stumbled into being the older brother to ¡­ Sandy? He rubbed at the pain in his hands and arms. The pain from the burning of the creosote was getting worse.