《Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) by Alexey Osadchuk》 Chapter One ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For my beloved wife ¡°You need to understand, Mr. Ivanenko, that our bank can''t see you as a potential borrower,¡± the teller looked into my eyes, faking sympathy. A drop of sweat rolled down his fat clean-shaven cheek. The man stretched his plump pink lips in a buttery smile. His little white hand which never could have held anything heavier than a knife and fork kept tweaking the knot of his tie. Even when he clenched it occasionally, I couldn''t see the knuckles of his plump fist. ¡°Why, have I ever missed a payment?¡± My wife and I make sure we always have an emergency fund on our account at all times. We call it ¡°the last cartridge¡°: we must have the money, come hell or high water. On the first of each month, the bank always gets its pound of flesh, whatever the circumstances. ¡°No, not at all!¡± he threw his chubby hands in the air. ¡°I wish we had more clients as punctual as you are.¡± ¡°So what''s the problem, then?¡± I touched the bridge of my nose, trying to rearrange the non-existent glasses. Talk about the power of habit. The glasses had bitten the dust two weeks ago, when I¡¯d fainted for the first time in my life. I wasn''t taken ill, no. According to the doctor, this was exhaustion (as he¡¯d put it). My nerves were in tatters. And what with the insomnia, no wonder I''d fainted. Plus I''d broken my glasses, which had been a shame indeed. Now I had to squint whenever I wanted to see anything. But I just couldn''t afford a new pair. Every bit of money available had to go on my daughter''s treatment. ¡°You need to understand,¡± the clerk continued. ¡°Even if you had three lives, you''d never be able to pay back the kind of sum that you¡¯re asking for plus what you already owe us. You¡¯ve got nothing to remortgage anymore. You have no relatives who could act as guarantor. Your wages are below average. Your wife doesn''t work, if you excuse my indiscretion-¡± this cute and cuddly individual promptly shut up, apparently reading something unkind in my glare. I heaved a sigh, trying to calm down, and looked aside. Losing it now would be the worst thing to do. This loan was vital for us. For my daughter, rather. It had all started with some heart murmurs she¡¯d had. According to the doctor, it was perfectly normal in a three-year old. She¡¯d grow out of it, he''d said. She hadn''t. Christa was now six, and her heart - her second heart - wasn''t doing too well. Her own had burned out within the first year. To raise money for the surgery, we¡¯d promptly sold our apartment and our country cottage. We''d had a quiet celebration away from prying eyes when we''d learned that there was a donor heart available. Others might judge us: having a donor heart meant that someone''s child had just died. Those who never spent nights by their dying daughter''s bedside will never understand me. I didn''t care what they might think. All I cared was that Christa lived. The surgery had been performed in Germany, by a team of expert surgeons working for a top clinic. The doctor had assured us that if the transplanted heart took, our girl would live happily ever after. Tearful with joy, we''d believed him. For a whole year our faith in his words had taken root in our own hearts. Christa''s health had largely improved. She wasn''t short of breath anymore. Her nails were now pink, not blue. My girl was strong. The doctors kept telling us that a young body like hers was bound to overcome the disease. Then the troubles had returned. Chronic rejection, we''d been told. Apparently, her blood was the problem. They¡¯d implanted my girl with a prosthetic heart complete with a twenty-five pound battery to be recharged every twelve hours. We''d been told this was the latest breakthrough in medicine. A temporary measure while they looked for a new donor heart. If ever they found one. We''d been waiting for a week when Dr. Klaus came to see us. He''d told us we were on their ¡°risk list¡°. In other words, they''d blacklisted us. Christa''s body had rejected the very first donor heart, thus bringing her back to the bottom of the waiting list. I remember the pain and tears in my wife''s eyes silently asking, ''So this is the end, is it?'' Mechanically her pale lips kept counting the number of extrasistoles of the prosthetic heart ticking loudly in my daughter''s chest. They''d warned us that patients who''d undergone this kind of surgery were prone to psychopathological disorders. But in our case, Christa had taken the ticking and slight vibration in her chest all in her stride. She even joked that she had a ¡°ticking heart bomb¡°. But Sveta - my wife - wasn''t so strong. She''d check the battery and all the connectors every half-hour and almost stopped sleeping at night listening to the beat of the mechanical heart. Only when the first orderlies arrived early in the morning, would she doze off despite the sounds of the television, her hand still resting on her daughter''s chest. Dr. Klaus had finished his spiel, but he wasn''t in a hurry to leave. We tensed up like two hyenas about to charge their prey. Was there hope after all? According to him, there was. With his every word, my wife''s brow cleared. Apparently, about a year ago a Japanese laboratory had succeeded in growing a functioning human heart. And more importantly, it had been successfully implanted in a patient here, in this particular clinic, by Dr. Klaus himself. The Japanese used the patient''s own DNA which in our case was a perfect solution. This had been a miracle - the one we so desperately needed. Dr. Klaus kept talking, describing the whole procedure. We listened to him, already visualizing our baby alive and healthy. His mention of the expenses had brought us swiftly back to earth. Dr. Klaus had already contacted the Japanese. The whole process, from the initial ¡°conception¡± stage until the realization of the grownup organ, took about two months, give or take a week. If you counted the cost of the procedure itself including the transportation and surgery plus the hospital bills and the unavoidable taxes, we were looking at two hundred fifty thousand dollars. That''s with all the discounts offered, both by the Japanese and the clinic itself. When later I checked their price list, I discovered that they basically shared the profits. To grow a heart cost just a tad more than implanting it. Had we been shocked by the price? Honestly, we hadn''t. We were happy. When Dr. Klaus had tactfully left, giving us some time to consider his offer, we hugged and cried. At that moment, we hadn¡¯t even thought where the money was going to come from. All we were thinking about was that our girl was going to live. Gone would be this piece of steel in her chest ticking like a time bomb. Gone would be the bed. Christa would have a proper human heart! She would live! We''d signed the full board contract with the German clinic. They¡¯d sent a DNA sample to the Japanese but they wanted an advance payment of fifty thousand dollars to proceed. They''d asked for seventy thousand first, but the Germans had helped us to bring it down. And once we transferred the money into the Japanese account, my girl''s heart would start to grow. I''d signed all the papers, kissed my family and took the first flight home. Hope gave me wings. My wife Sveta had stayed on in the clinic. We had just enough money for three more weeks in the hospital. I had to hurry. ¡°Mr. Ivanenko!¡± the cuddly clerk gingerly touched my hand. ¡°Are you all right?¡± I startled. ¡°What is it? Sorry...¡± The clerk snatched his hand back in a very feminine gesture. ¡°I thought you were unwell.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I said, peering at his name tag, ¡°Mr. Antonov, you have no idea how unwell I am. Never mind.¡± I slapped my knees and rose. ¡°I suppose I''ll be off, then.¡± ¡°Have a nice day,¡± he mumbled at my back. As I walked out of his cubicle, my gaze was attracted to a colorful poster: smiling faces, medieval attire. I didn''t read what it was about. I had other things to do. I lingered on the bank¡¯s doorstep, holding the door open for a portly lady, when I heard, ¡°Mr. Ivanenko! Please wait!¡± Mr. Shantarsky, the bank¡¯s manager, stood in the doorway of his office, smiling at me. An imposing face, a touch of gray at his temples, an expensive suit and good shoes. Everything about him told you that this forty-five-year-old man was perfectly happy. I heaved a sigh. I really should go and speak to him. You never know. He might help. Shantarsky swung his office door open wide, letting me in. ¡°Do come in and take a seat.¡± A gold watch clinked on his groomed hand as he gestured to a soft chair. ¡°Would you like a coffee?¡± ¡°I''d rather have some water, thank you,¡± I said while my mind raced, coming up with suitable arguments for the forthcoming conversation. He closed the door. ¡°A coffee for me, please,¡± he addressed his secretary, ¡°and some water for Mr. Ivanenko.¡± I caught a whiff of his expensive aftershave as he walked around my chair and lowered his agile body into his seat. His vivid blue eyes stared at me with compassion. I didn''t for one second doubt he was sincere in his sympathy. ¡°I bet you''re angry with me,¡± he smiled. ¡°You probably already have a conspiracy theory about it. You must be thinking that I decided to get rid of you and sent a clerk to deal with you.¡± ¡°Why would I,¡± I waved his suggestion away. ¡°The thought didn''t even cross my mind. You''re too busy. Nobody expects a bank manager to wait hand and foot on his every client.¡± ¡°I can if the client needs me,¡± he grinned. ¡°In the West, apparently every client has access to the bank manager''s office. No one would even dare object. We here still live in the Middle Ages.¡± I smiled back. I couldn''t agree more. I remembered a bank back in Dresden: I¡¯d gone there to change some money and I was watching this old lady who¡¯d walked into the reception like an icebreaker and headed directly for the manager''s office without as much as a knock on the door. The manager had jumped up and begun fussing around her, offering her a chair. At the time, I¡¯d thought she was their millionaire client but no, they¡¯d explained to me later, she was a regular retired old lady like any other. The door opened, letting in the secretary with a cup of coffee and a glass of water on a tray. ¡°Thank you,¡± Shantarsky said. ¡°Thanks,¡± I repeated, reaching for my glass. ¡°Actually,¡± Shantarsky went on, ¡°back in Europe I''ve never seen a bank manager have his own secretary, let alone one who''d make him coffee.¡± ¡°Neither have I,¡± I agreed. We paused, sampling our drinks, then continued our conversation. ¡°Back to what I just said,¡± Shantarsky continued, ¡°I think I owe you an explanation. I''ve only just flown back from Munich an hour ago. I¡¯ve only had time to take a shower and down a quick breakfast. I haven''t even seen my family yet but went straight to the office. And there you were, just leaving. Had I not known about your problem, I wouldn''t have stopped you.¡± ¡°Thank you. I really appreciate your concern.¡± ¡°We do care for our customers and their problems.¡± There it was, the rush for all things Western rearing its ugly head. He was sitting here repeating stale catchphrases and referring to Western work ethics while I wasn''t really sure how he''d have behaved in the above retired-lady scenario. I could see that now he was trying to force his own agendas on me. Most likely, she''d have never made it past his secretary. He was too used to the luxury of a personal assistant''s services which he''d have never been entitled to had he really worked in the West. There, only top directors had personal assistants. I knew this from experience. I''d done my fair share of traveling and been to all sorts of offices, bank outlets included. Everybody needs an expert interpreter like myself. And here I was sitting opposite this small fry that felt entitled to his own secretary and unlimited supplies of coffee and brandy... enough. What was wrong with me today? I really should watch my tongue now. None of this was any of my business. I had other objectives to take care of. ¡°Thank you,¡± I repeated. ¡°I really appreciate it.¡± Shantarsky nodded. ¡°So you need a loan,¡± he said with a smug expression. I nodded but said nothing. Straight from Munich, yeah right. Pull the other one. He''d been sitting in his office all along, following my conversation with the clerk. I just couldn''t work out what he wanted from me. I was as poor as a church mouse. My houses had been sold, my money spent. ''I do indeed,¡± I finally said. ¡°My colleague has explained our situation to you, hasn''t he?¡± I nodded again. At some point, the tables had turned. Only a moment ago I was quite prepared to plead and beg. Now something had changed. He needed something from me. The thought was relaxing. I had nothing he could take from me. It made me curious. ¡°I''m terribly sorry but we don''t decide these things. We follow orders,¡± he pointed a meaningful finger at the ceiling. ¡°So nothing can be done?¡± I played along. He shrugged. His cold blue eyes locked into mine. ¡°If you had a guarantor...¡± So that''s what it was about! Come on, spit it out. ¡°I''m afraid I''ve got no one who could stand guarantee. Apart from my wife, of course.¡± ¡°And your brother?¡± At this point, I could see through his little scheme. ¡°We don¡¯t have much to do with each other.¡± He was my brother in name alone. I''d been nine when Dad had left us. I¡¯d only met his other son decades later. The meeting had been neither particularly warm nor cold - it had been bland. He was the one who''d found me. We''d met, seen each other and parted. Just before we left, he told me that Dad had died fifteen years ago. Before he died, he''d asked him to find and meet me. That was it, basically. I was curious though how they knew about Gleb. Then again, why should that have surprised me? If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°What a shame,¡± Shantarsky chanted. ¡°According to our information, your brother is doing very well. He has an apartment in the center of Moscow and a large country house. With him as guarantor, your loan is as good as settled.¡± Something clicked in my head. My first impulse was to grab the phone and call him. Thank God I still had his number! He''d left it to me just in case. The solution was so simple! Then I felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. This just wasn''t right. I smelled a rat there somewhere. Did they really take me for an idiot? Or did they think I was that desperate? ¡°I''m afraid it''s not that simple. I''m sorry. I do appreciate your concern.¡± He heaved a sigh and gave me a look of disappointment. Oh well. Sorry to have rained on your parade. But I still had to call my brother. He needed to know about this conversation. He sprang from his chair making it clear our meeting was over. We shook hands and I headed for the exit - again. I needed money. I needed it now. We had very little left, barely enough to keep Christa in the clinic for two more weeks. That was all we had left in our bank account. Then we still had to find the fifty thousand dollars for the advance payment to the Japanese. And even more money to pay for the clinic. I staggered. Was I shaking? It didn''t look as if anyone in the bank had noticed. Good. Sympathy was the last thing I needed now. Call my brother. The thought filled my mind, drilling through it. That could be a way out. Surely he''d understand our situation. Of course he would. I wasn''t asking him to gift it to us. I''d work to pay it back. All of it, interest included. I''d work my butt off for him. As I stepped out, my eye fell on the familiar poster with its medieval costumes and happy smiles. I slowed down. I decided I might as well check it out. I reached into my pocket for my broken glasses. Only one glass had survived my fall even though it had cracked in the process. Had someone told me ten years ago that I wouldn''t be able to afford a new pair of glasses! Having said that, of course I could. But I didn''t want to. I could do without them. Every cent we spent was shrinking Christa''s time in the clinic. So, what did we have here? The virtual lands of Mirror World await you! Live out your most secret dreams in our world of Sword and Sorcery! Become a Great Wizard or a Famous Warrior! Build your own castle! Tame a dragon! Conquer a kingdom! All those desperate, lonely and insecure - Mirror World offers you a chance! There you can start to- I didn''t read any further. What a lot of bull. Strange that the bank was hung with these ridiculous offers. Strange? Wait a second... Normally, all such glamorous offers have strings attached. The said strings are usually denoted in a very fine inconspicuous script, like Times New Roman. Let''s see... Ah, there it was: Industrial Mega Bank offers consumer loans to finance your work and account upgrade in the Mirror World virtual game. What did they mean by ¡°loans to finance work?¡± Logically, the game probably needed programmers and web designers. Would they be interested in interpreters, I wonder? Actually... what was the point? So they might offer me work for a wage, then what? I needed an enormous amount of money and I needed it now. The money left from the sale of our apartment and country house was dwindling rapidly. Never mind. First things first. I had to talk to my brother, and then we''d see. I could use a well-paid job anyway. Asking for a loan was one thing, but then I''d have to pay it back somehow. If the truth were known, for my daughter''s sake I''d be happy to sell myself into slavery. Then again, who would need a nerd slave like myself? I''d pop my clogs the next day in hard labor. I walked out into the street and took in a lungful of fresh air. Then I took out my cell and scrolled through my contacts for Brother. The phone was ringing. That was a good sign: the number was still in use. ¡°Hi,¡± Gleb''s voice was as strong and confident as I remembered it. ¡°Hi. How d''you know it''s me?¡± ¡°Easy,¡± he chuckled. ¡°I''ve got your number listed as Brother.¡± ¡°I suppose I should be happy to hear it,¡± I said with a bitter smile. ¡°That''s up to you.¡± ¡°I''ve got you listed as Brother too.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°Do you really?¡± ¡°I watched you enter my number into your phone that day.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I paused and took a deep breath before speaking. He beat me to it. ¡°You have problems?¡± ¡°You can say that.¡± ¡°Are you in town?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Got something to jot my address down on?¡± I got there in no time. In fact, I''d splurged on a taxi. My inner money counter was spinning, deleting minutes from my daughter''s hospital stay. Finding my brother''s workplace proved almost too easy, for me at least, despite my failing eyesight. You had to be blind not to notice the familiar medieval fonts. The sign on the front door read, Mirror World. Terminal #17 The door was flanked by announcements identical to those in the bank, only these were the size of a movie poster. I stopped at the reception to explain my business to a security guard. He made a phone call, received a confirmation over an intercom and let me through with a detailed explanation of where to go exactly. I took the elevator to the fifth floor and looked for #105. The total absence of any signs or directions puzzled me. Only numbers. Then again, what did I care? Gleb rose from his desk. We shook hands. His palm was dry and warm. And strong, just like Dad''s. When I was little, neighbors used to recall how he''d bent nails with his bare hands just for fun. I was pretty sure Gleb could do so too. Me, I took after Mom: both in build and in mental abilities. ¡°You don''t look well.¡± He stared at me, his steely gray eyes unblinking. His face was big and rough. Broad shoulders. Not an ounce of fat anywhere. ¡°Thanks,¡± I mechanically touched the bridge of my nose, readjusting the non-existent glasses. ¡°You really took after Dad.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he said, pointing at a soft chair. ¡°Go ahead, spit it out.¡± He was never one to mince words. I began tactically. I told him about my conversation in the bank, mentioning the bank manager''s knowledge of his financial situation and his suggestion to involve him as a guarantor. In doing so, I was steering him toward the only question he was bound to ask. Which he promptly did. ¡°I''ll look into it. What do you need the money for?¡± I''d rehearsed my spiel several times on my way there and until now, everything had gone as I¡¯d planned. I gave him a brief run-down of Christa''s situation: her heart, Germany, the Japanese, her life... When I stopped speaking, Gleb sat thoughtful, staring out of the window. Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision. He turned to me. ¡°I don''t think I can be your guarantor.¡± It took all of my self-control not to crumble. Never mind. I''d have to find another way. ¡°But,¡± he interrupted my train of thought, ¡°I can get you a job.¡± I sighed. ¡°Thanks. God knows I need one. But to be brutally honest, this advance payment is much more important.¡± ¡°You don''t understand,¡± he interrupted me. ¡°I''ll help you get a job here in Mirror World and I''ll pay for your account.¡± ¡°No, wait...¡± ¡°You wait. Just listen. The moment Shantarsky finds out you work here in the Glasshouse - that''s our insider slang for Mirror World - he''ll give you the loan. Maybe not all of it but I''m sure he''ll give you thirty thousand at least.¡± ¡°Yes, but-¡± ¡°You did say you still had something in the bank, didn¡¯t you?¡± I nodded. ¡°Seven thousand two hundred twenty-three dollars and thirty-four cents.¡± ¡°Love it! Add to it the thirty thousand the bank will give you. I''ll top it up. Plus I''ll pay for your account which is another twenty grand.¡± I whistled in amazement. ¡°That''s including my discount as a company worker,¡± he explained. ¡°The standard Daily Grind package costs twenty-five grand.¡± ¡°That''s why all the banks are promoting it like crazy!¡± I said. ¡°Question is, is it really worth it?¡± ¡°What do you think? Why would your bank collect all that intel on me?¡± ¡°So you''re in it too?¡± He nodded. ¡°How does it work?¡± He rubbed his chin. ¡°Imagine a virtual world inhabited by a multitude of races, where every character is a living person. The immersion is so realistic you risk forgetting your real life. Imagine if you used to be a hen-pecked bookkeeper, and here in the Glasshouse you become the best swordsman in the whole kingdom. You choose your own build and appearance. Once a nerd and a loser, you''re now handsome and rich, one of the best warriors, enjoying both property and the attentions of the opposite sex. The only problem is the cost of the account itself - but as you probably understand, some spoiled daddy¡¯s boy has no problem with that. And as for a regular Tom, Dick or Harry whose thirty-day trial period is about to expire, where would he go? He''d go cap in hand to the bank. He''s already an addict, see, dreading to lose what he''s gained.¡± ¡°That¡¯s crazy.¡± ¡°Not really. A money-making machine, yes. We''re talking billions here.¡± ¡°I see. But what about a job?¡± ¡°That''s not a problem. The game developers have thought of everything. In the game, everything is just as complex as it is in real life. Imagine for a second that you''re a spoilt rich kid buying yourself an account. For you it''s peanuts. So you''ve created a super warrior char for yourself. You buy a castle for him and some land. Rich people keep investing in the game all the time, by the way. The developers even had to introduce a monthly payment limit in order to prevent inflation. So your character keeps growing but you can''t level him up properly without, say, improving your reputations. Lots of them there, as you can imagine. In order to improve a reputation, you need to complete certain quests which in a hundred percent of cases suggest collecting some resources or crafting something. Besides, this is still a world, however virtual, so its streets need sweeping, its plants need watering, and so on and so forth. Because if your castle or town is dirty and unkempt, it''ll begin losing its reputation and with it, a certain number of bonuses. Lots of bonuses there, by the way. It''s enough to make your head go round. So do you really think that this spoilt rich kid would buy himself an account just to become a stable hand or a street sweeper? No, what he does he hires other players to do his dirty work for him and pays them in the in-game currency which can be exchanged for real-world money. At the moment, the exchange rate is 1:1. That is to say, one gold piece is worth one dollar. Every bank in the world will accept it.¡± I paused, digesting it all. ¡°What other accounts are there?¡± ¡°There''re also Bronze, Silver and Gold ones.¡± ¡°What''s the difference, then?¡± ¡°The price, the plan, the initial configuration, lots of things.¡± ¡°Can you please explain?¡± ¡°All right, there''s the Bronze plan. It costs fifty grand. The initial configuration includes a basic set of gear. Access to the game from public modules. In other words, you start as a pauper. Silver costs a hundred and fifty grand. They''ll install your personal virtual class B module in your home. You''ll have the right to choose your own seigneur. Then there''s Gold. Half a million bucks for the rich and famous. It offers all sorts of bonuses and freebies, including your own plot of land. Its size can be upgraded for an extra charge.¡± ¡°This is crazy,¡± I repeated, dumbfounded. ¡°Very well, so what about this Daily Grind account?¡± ¡°Daily Grind is a zero-level account. The player can''t kill anyone but he can''t die, either. He''s technically immortal. This type of account is created for work alone. The plan includes the profession itself, some tools and a free access to public modules. Or rather, it''s the char''s employer who pays for all that, allowing his employee to work on his territory without a care in the world. If it''s a mine or a corn field, then they should already be mopped up, free from any potential mobs. Oh, and another important thing. The char''s level of Craftsmanship keeps growing regardless of his level.¡± ¡°How does that differ from Bronze?¡± ¡°Like all other regular players, they have to wait till they make level 10 to choose a profession. They''ll have to pay for their choice and for the toolkit, too. And their level of Craftsmanship is directly linked to their own level.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°Well, the game has a multitude of resources of every level, from zero to relic.¡± ¡°I see. A level-10 player can''t farm a relic resource.¡± ¡°Exactly. I''ll tell you more: even a level-200 player can''t do so.¡± ¡°And what''s the top?¡± ¡°At the moment, there''s nobody in the game above level 300. The top player is level 285, I think. His name is Romulus from the Steel Shirts clan. They''re known as SS to common players.¡± ¡°Jesus.¡± ¡°But you don''t really need to know that. You just do your work and that''s it.¡± ¡°Deal.¡± He glanced at his watch. ¡°Let''s do it this way. I''ll take you to my assistant now. She''ll show you exactly how it works. It''s her job, anyway. I mean, she can do it much better than I can. I''m afraid I''m a bit pressed for time. Agreed?¡± I nodded. ¡°Thanks. I really appreciate it.¡± For the first time, he gave me a warm smile. ¡°It''s all right. We''re brothers, aren''t we?¡± ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Two ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ¡°Oleg, have you ever played computer games?¡± Gleb''s colleague Zoriana sat by her computer entering my data into the company''s database. First name, family name, date of birth, social security number, that sort of thing. She had cropped hair and funny earrings shaped as iridescent butterflies. Intelligent eyes glistened behind glasses. Twenty years old max. ¡°Do Tetris and tank simulators count?¡± I asked. She smiled without taking her eyes off the monitor. ¡°Any bad habits?¡± ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of.¡± She typed away. ¡°Good. Basically, that''s it. All I need is your signature.¡± ¡°Be my guest.¡± ¡°Not so fast,¡± she smiled. ¡°I know you''re serious about it. Gleb told me. It''s not that. First you need to familiarize yourself with the game''s content. You need to choose a race and profession.¡± ¡°Does it really matter?¡± I asked. ¡°You see, Oleg,¡± Zoriana adjusted her glasses and smiled condescendingly, ¡°computer games of today are a far cry from those like Tetris. They are millions of years apart, so to say.¡± Unwilling to argue, I raised my hands in the air. ¡°I give up! Let''s choose a race.¡± ¡°Excellent. I like your attitude. I''m going to take you to a class A test module so you can see for yourself.¡± The test module looked like a cross between a dentist''s chair and - I couldn''t help laughing at the thought - one of those hairdresser''s chairs from the 1970s with a huge bucket-shaped bowl over your head. Ignoring my merriment, she walked over to the machine and began keying in some information on the monitor built into the ¡°bucket¡°. She must have probably heard her fair share of clumsy jokes about the machine''s weird shape. ¡°Make yourself comfortable, Oleg. The process will take much longer than you might think. I suggest you use the bathroom first.¡± I shook my head and climbed onto the hard seat. She finished adjusting the settings. ¡°Relax,¡± she said, ¡°and don''t turn your head. It''s not dangerous. Now close your eyes.¡± With a quiet beep, the ¡°bucket¡± came down, covering my head all the way to the chin. I felt Zoriana take my hand and press my fingers against a hard surface. ¡°You can open your eyes now. The sensor panel is next to your right hand. The panoramic screen is right in front of you. Do you have a cell phone?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°It''s the same principle. I''m uploading the content. That''s it. I''m leaving you to study it. If you need me, there''s an icon with a ring bell in the top right corner of the screen.¡± ¡°I see. Thanks.¡± ¡°See you later.¡± The program upload bar began to grow, changing its light from yellow to green as the percentage increased. It felt like sitting in a 3D theater. I even lifted my hand, hoping to touch the image. 99%... 100%... The speakers exploded with a fanfare riff. I hurried to put the sound down. Basically, the thing was quite easy to use - no more difficult than my phone. The interface pleased the eye. The font was clear, the graphics high quality. Apparently, people enjoyed playing games in these machines. If they spent so much money on it - actually investing in it - then they must have. Whatever. So far, I wasn''t that impressed. Never mind. Let''s do it. The world''s history came first. But I had no interest in all those myths and chronicles. They must have been packed solid with useless information dear to the hearts of some die-hard fantasy fans. Me, I preferred facts. What''s there? - Aha, Newbie Guide. Professions. Let''s click it. Farming, crafting, services... So! Each category had hundreds of pages! Blacksmith, Street Sweeper, Stable Hand, Fisherman, Herbalist, Water Carrier, Sewage Collector, Farmer, Gardener... The mind boggles. Zoriana was right: I wasn''t going to leave this place any time soon. I clicked on the filter: Most Popular. A hair stylist, a landscape designer, a manager... okay... Filter: Best Paid. Number one on the Best Paying list was Mine Digger. I didn''t look any further. Mine Digger it was. Now race. Which ones were the most popular for this particular profession? The huge bulk of racial choice #1 filled the screen. Muscles bulged under his gray hairless hide. His sinewy arms wound with veins hung to his knees. A walking shovel, like. What''s your name, handsome? A Cave Horrud. Basic characteristics: Strength, Speed, Survivability, Defense, Agility. As for his additional abilities, I really needed to look into them. Additional Ability: Force of the Mountains Effect: +0.5% to Strength with every new skill level Additional Ability: Power of Will Effect: +0.8% to Speed with every new skill level. This was more or less clear. The guy was strong but too slow. Next. A Rock Rhoggh. More of the same, only slightly smaller. Slightly less Strength, a bit more Speed. The next down the list was Dark Dwarf. What about you, buddy? Additional Ability: Free Miner. Effect: +0.5% to chance to mine twice as many resources with one swing of the pick. Additional Ability: Dark Vision. Effect: +0.1% to chance to mine a higher-level resource in one swing of a pick. He was followed by a regular dwarf with similar characteristics. Basically, the bulk of players seemed to prefer strong and slow guys. They apparently thought that speed had no use in underground mines. Others went for dwarves and Dark dwarves whose additional abilities offered resource bonuses. I checked their contracts. They offered three types of payment: by the hour, by piecework and ¡°extracted value¡°. Now what was that? Aha, I see. Same as the two above but it also took into consideration the resources'' price. I might take piecework plus extracted value. So where was I? Oh yes. A normal dwarf or a Dark one? I definitely wasn''t going for the first two beefcakes. As far as I was concerned, too much muscle never solved a problem. I repeated my search, adding Strength and Speed to the search characteristics. Same story. Oh well. I''d have to go for Dwarf, then. Why not? His characteristics were not bad. Also, as far as I remembered, these were underground dwellers, a race of mine diggers - at least if the game developers stuck to the traditional mythology. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I clicked Reset Settings. Wait a bit. What''s that now? I repeated my search. Indeed, the moment I filtered search results by popularity, I got 124 search results. But the moment I removed it, the search came back with 125 results. Same thing happened when I tried to filter the search results by Strength. Why? The search filter seemed to have overlooked a race. Was it a glitch? It shouldn''t be. This was a big corporation. So how was I supposed to find the missing race? Did they expect me to scroll through all the pages? No. There had to be a better way. Then I figured it. I filtered the search results by page views. Got it. I entered 0 into the page view results and waited. There! But... was this a joke? The picture of a puny little man appeared on the screen. He had a shaggy beard and unkempt hair. I gave him a closer look. His shoulders were narrow but his forearms were rather strong. All he needed was a sailor''s uniform complete with hat and pipe to look like the epitome of a weathered seafarer. His complexion was tinged gray; his eyes glared at me from under his bushy eyebrows. His hands were large. Actually... it all fit. What would that ten-foot monster of a Horrud do in a narrow low-ceilinged mine? Together with the other one, the Rock Rhoggh, he was destined to farm cheap ore. And both kinds of dwarves looked like sawn-off wardrobes with knee-long beards - way too broad around the beam to toil in narrow tunnels. Even if creatures like these had indeed existed, they must have looked different. Never mind. No sense in me getting so wound up. So what''s your name, buddy? An Ennan. Okay. And how about his abilities? Additional Ability: Shrewd Operator Effect: +1% to your chance of raising skill level with every 20 resources farmed. Additional Ability: Back Door to Success Effect: +2% to your chance to raise the Shrewd Operator ability 1 level with every 100 resources farmed. Did that mean that the second ability affected the first one? In other words, I''d only have one because they were interconnected. Crafting... what a shame I couldn''t try it out. I spent at least another hour reading up on the Ennan. As if it could change anything. I peered into his sullen face. ¡°What do you say, buddy? Should we try it?¡± He didn''t say anything, just kept staring into space. I gave it some more thought and calculation. Finally, I pressed Select. You''ve chosen the profession of Mine Digger. Confirm: Yes/No. Yes. You''ve chosen the race of Ennan. Confirm: Yes/No. Yes. Enter the name by which you would like to be known in the game. Oleg. We''re sorry. The name is already in use. Would you like to enter another name? Good question. A small window popped up: Ennan Name Generator. Let''s try it. I entered Oleg and cringed at the results. No good... definitely no; but this one might actually work. And this one? Olgerd... Welcome, Olgerd! Well done! Right. I pressed the bell. Time to get out of this contraption. Zoriana reappeared after a few minutes. ¡°Are you all right? I was worried. I was about to check on you myself.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°You''ve been sitting here for nearly four hours!¡± ¡°No way! I thought it was thirty minutes at most.¡± ¡°Yeah right! And you haven''t even started playing yet. This was only a test module. Now I would ask you to follow me.¡± ¡°What do you mean, I wasn''t playing?¡± She gave me a funny look, then turned round and headed for the exit. I shrugged and tagged along. We came back to my brother''s office. He sat there staring thoughtfully at the monitor. The silence was only disturbed by the quiet hum of the computer cooler and the clicking of a mouse. I sat in front of him waiting. They were taking themselves too seriously here. No idea what all this hype around this Mirror World was about. If you asked me, this was just a flea circus. And a very expensive one at that. My brother kept staring at my results. What was wrong? What could he see there? ¡°I see, said the blind man,¡± he rubbed his forehead. ¡°That''s what Dad used to say. His favorite expression.¡± ¡°It was,¡± he agreed without taking his eyes from the monitor. ¡°He couldn''t just say ¡®I see¡¯, he absolutely had to add ¡®said the blind man¡¯. I got the habit from him.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± I said. He smiled bitterly. ¡°We have a lot in common, don''t you think?¡± I paused. ¡°How''s your Mom?¡± ¡°Sick. And yours?¡± ¡°She died seven years ago.¡± ¡°I''m sorry.¡± We fell silent. The mouse kept clicking. The cooler switched off. ¡°All done,¡± Gleb finally looked up at me. ¡°I''ve saved your escapades in our database. Where did you find him? I didn''t even know this race existed.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Pure chance.¡± ¡°Never mind. Now it''s only the checkup left to do and we can sign you up. That''s tomorrow. Now you need to go and get some rest.¡± ¡°What checkup?¡± ¡°Just a few tests. It''s obligatory. Government''s requirement.¡± ¡°Is it so serious?¡± ¡°It is. There were certain problems just after the game''s release,¡± he waved my silent question away. ¡°It''s nothing, really. That''s it for today. I''ll be expecting you tomorrow at nine a.m. Go and get some rest now.¡± I struggled to my feet. ¡°Thanks, man,¡± I offered him my hand. ¡°Don''t mention it. I just hope it works out for you.¡± I smiled and nodded, then headed for the door. Things got rolling. I couldn''t wait to share the news with my wife. All the way back to my rented apartment I imagined her eyes and her smile when she hears the news. I couldn''t stop thinking about how it all was finally over. We''d be together. Sveta was bound to be happy for me and my brother getting to know each other. I was already forty; he thirty-five. We were grown-up people ourselves now. We had to understand that our parents had had their own agendas that had nothing to do with their children. I couldn''t wait till tomorrow. Time was an issue. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Twenty ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ¡°The administration of the strongest clans of Light,¡± Dmitry smiled, repeating my words. ¡°They have some imagination. Wish I could say the same about myself.¡± I only shrugged as I wrapped myself up in the familiar blanket, then downed the remaining brandy. I¡¯d stayed on the phone to Sveta for a good forty minutes. I did my best to reassure her, piling lie upon lie. What was the point in upsetting her? As it turned out, I had been absent for about ten hours. Which was even less than Shantarsky had told me, even though technically his phrase, ¡°less than twenty-four hours¡°, was correct. I¡¯d gotten away with a dressing-down and a lecture on the importance of being careful. Then I¡¯d told Dmitry the truth: every word of it. He was furious. He made a few phone calls, including one to the head of the module center security from where I¡¯d been kidnapped. It seemed to have calmed him down a bit. About twenty minutes ago we¡¯d had dinner and were now working our way through a bottle of Hennessy. ¡°I found out you were gone about half an hour before you arrived,¡± Dmitry said. ¡°I was just looking through the logs of your misadventure.¡± ¡°Right after you were back from your business trip?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± he nodded. ¡°I was back three hours before you logged out. I had an urgent virtual meeting. My telephone was switched off. Naturally, it took me some time to crawl out of the capsule and take a shower. When I finally switched my cell phone back on, it was flooded with missed calls from your wife and her messages saying you¡¯d gone AWOL ten hours previous.¡± ¡°And what about Rrhorgus?¡± ¡°He¡¯s been offline for the last forty-eight hours. He doesn¡¯t answer his phone, either.¡± ¡°I hope he¡¯s all right,¡± I said. He dismissed my suggestion. ¡°Please. Who would do that? Shantarsky? He may be wealthy and connected, but not connected enough to start stirring the shit.¡± ¡°Are you sure? What about me, then?¡± ¡°You were a different story. He really put his foot in it this time. I seriously didn¡¯t expect him to do something this stupid. Jesus Christ! The ¡®administration of the strongest clans of Light¡¯, of all things! One might think you¡¯re some legendary hero! Trust me: you¡¯ve no idea of the kind of money they deal in on a daily basis. For them, you¡¯re nothing. Don¡¯t look at me like that. I mean it. You¡¯re nothing. Sorry. Your Shrewd Operator is one hell of an ability. I¡¯m not questioning that. So Shantarsky, the bastard, probably thought he had his future all sorted out. If you look at it in a different way, there was a certain logic in what he did. He¡¯d never have been able to take you to No-Man¡¯s Lands, but renting you out to some stronger groups among the top clans¡ªsurely he could do that. So he¡¯d have had himself an Expert Digger all leveled up¡ªa perfect cash cow, no risks involved. A contract would have chained you better than any slave¡¯s collar. By the way, do you know that Expert level isn¡¯t the limit? The game keeps evolving. New resources are being introduced all the time. You have some space for growth, trust me.¡± ¡°If I¡¯m still around.¡± He smiled. ¡°Relax. No one¡¯s gonna do that. You are an experienced player now, in all respects. Congrats on your new level, by the way! There¡¯s one thing I agree with Shantarsky on: you found a very elegant solution. Beautiful!¡± I waved his compliment away. Still, it felt good. I wasn¡¯t as jittery anymore. Could have been the brandy; could have been my brother¡¯s tone. Or both. ¡°So what¡¯s gonna happen with Shantarsky now?¡± I asked. ¡°Good question. Even though he left someone to guard your room, I don¡¯t think he expected you to escape. And he definitely couldn¡¯t have expected his own daughter to interfere, either. Heh! Who would have thought!¡± ¡°D¡¯you know anything about her?¡± ¡°Virtually nothing. I heard something about the car crash. Her mother died, the girl lived. If you can call that a life.¡± ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll have problems because of me?¡± ¡°Nah. From what I hear, he absolutely dotes on her.¡± ¡°Is he dangerous?¡± ¡°Forget it. He¡¯s small fry in the large scale of things, but he¡¯s still a power to be reckoned with. For the time being, I suggest we leave it as it is. I might do a few things but we can¡¯t confront him openly, that¡¯s for sure. We¡¯re just not in the same league. What a shame. Had it not been for Somov, he¡¯d still be shifting papers in his bank.¡± ¡°I think I remember something. Shantarsky was deputy manager when I got my first loan with them.¡± ¡°Exactly. It all started when Shantarsky Jr. met Somov¡¯s daughter online.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s Somov?¡± I asked. ¡°President of Industrial Mega Bank and the leader of the Gold Guild clan. A very big shot. I mean, very.¡± ¡°That¡¯s strange. A very big shot like that could have surely found a better match for his daughter.¡± Dmitry shrugged. ¡°Apparently he couldn¡¯t. I just can¡¯t work out all the machinations of their soap opera. From what I heard, Somov¡¯s little girl is as ugly as they come. Did you see Shantarsky Jr. online?¡± I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what he looks like in real life. Tall, handsome, broad shoulders. Cover boy material.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°And as for Shantarsky,¡± he went on, ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll start making waves. You can forget about him for the time being. Just keep your eyes peeled. He may be small fry but he has teeth too. A piranha is tiny compared to a shark but if it attacks you, you¡¯ll know all about it. So if he does do something, it¡¯ll be on the sly. Publicity is the last thing he needs.¡± ¡°I could say the same,¡± I added. ¡°Actually, my work contract expires today. So I don¡¯t owe him anything, anyway.¡± Dmitry nodded. ¡°The loan which you already have, you can still pay it off bit by bit. But I don¡¯t think you can get the big one now. Shantarsky will take care of that. By the same token, you¡¯re an Experienced Digger now. You won¡¯t have problems finding a new job. By then you might decide on a new bank too. Getting a long-term job contract is key.¡± He paused. ¡°My wife and I, we¡¯ve visited our bank recently. Because we have a mortgage on all our properties. Apart from our summer cottage, that is, that¡¯s been remortgaged to use as equity for our city apartment.¡± I tensed. ¡°What are you driving at?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just telling you we¡¯ve been looking at some possible ways to help my niece.¡± ¡°But Dmitry-¡± ¡°Oh, do shut up,¡± he said with a good-natured smile. ¡°My Natasha and your Sveta got on like a house on fire. So you and I, we have no say in the matter: our better halves have already sussed it all out. In any case, my mortgages prevent me from becoming your guarantor. So we have some thinking to do in this respect. If push comes to shove, I could raise up to twenty-five grand by selling a few assets. That¡¯s the best I can do.¡± ¡°But Dmitry-¡± ¡°Dmitry what? What are you trying to say? We¡¯re family. We should stand for our own. Natasha and I, we haven¡¯t been blessed with children. In this respect, Christina is like a- never mind.¡± We fell silent. What else was there to say? ¡°I have another one in the cooler,¡± Dmitry pointed at the empty bottle. ¡°Shall we?¡± I nodded. He reached into the cabinet and filled our glasses with the amber liquor. The tangy woody aroma embraced my nose. We took a sip. ¡°I¡¯ve been to the Moon yesterday,¡± Dmitry announced. I choked on my drink. ¡°Excuse me?¡± He grinned. ¡°Been to the Moon, I¡¯m telling you.¡± ¡°I heard you the first time. I thought I was hearing things.¡± ¡°Our company is facing some major changes,¡± he began to explain. ¡°Most importantly, we¡¯re about to sell the majority stake to the government. That¡¯s it. End of my freedom. My bosses just don¡¯t cut it. The whole thing proved too big for them.¡± ¡°It was to be expected,¡± I said. Dmitry nodded. ¡°This is the proverbial mountain coming to Mohammad.¡± ¡°What about the Moon?¡± I reminded him. ¡°Not just the Moon. It¡¯s also Mars and Jupiter,¡± he began to ramble. ¡°They¡¯re working on several projects, both major and minor ones. Mirror World is only the beginning. Not everyone is into sword and sorcery, you see. A lot of people would prefer shooters and all sorts of star wars. Others don¡¯t want to fight at all. They want a game where you can create a character and just live there in peace with no need for swords, spells, starships and all that bullshit. A few new games are being tested even as we speak. One, as I¡¯ve just said, is a space war simulator. Another one is a post-ap. There¡¯s also one based on the two world wars.¡± ¡°Oh. What about the minor projects?¡± His eyes lit up. ¡°That¡¯s where it gets interesting. It¡¯s going to be some sort of funfair ride. Like an imitation of a trip to other planets, for one. Everything will be real: the launch site, the spaceships, the spacesuits¡ªthe lot!¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°If they¡¯re as real as Mirror World, they will go through the roof,¡± I said. ¡°Oh trust me they are,¡± Dmitry assured me. ¡°Just think of all those dreams coming true! Space travel! Journeys to other planets! No need to pay a king¡¯s ransom for a premium account. It¡¯ll be single-use rides. They¡¯re going to create a special client database to log in their medical checks results and all that.¡± ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°You think someone would refuse to take their family on a Mars weekend? Or try one of our Animal World shows where you can soar in the sky with eagles or become a dolphin plowing through the seas? We have Stone Age, The Era of Dinos, Ancient China, Ancient Rome and Medieval Europe. And our Children¡¯s World, packed with ponies, Disney characters and Barbie dolls! The mind boggles. Would you like to go to a Beatles show?¡± ¡°You bet,¡± I said. ¡°So you see? Only a game, you said?¡± ¡°More like a new industry,¡± I agreed. ¡°Something¡¯s brewing, I can feel it. Something very special.¡± We fell silent again. ¡°Listen,¡± Dmitry finally perked up. ¡°It¡¯s no good me doing all the talking. You still haven¡¯t told me what you plan to do now. Don¡¯t you feel sorry about your loan?¡± ¡°Not at this price,¡± I said. ¡°Not now that I can finally see this game¡¯s potential.¡± ¡°I told you it wasn¡¯t a game anymore, didn¡¯t I?¡± he grinned. ¡°Mister escape artist.¡± I chuckled. ¡°Talk about bad luck. I thought I had it all sorted, and now I¡¯ll have to start all over again. And time is an issue.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to ¡®start all over again¡¯, do you?¡± he said. ¡°And even so, not many have a jump start like yours! You¡¯re an Experienced Digger, man, and that¡¯s no ¡®starting over¡¯ at all! So what¡¯s your plan?¡± I rubbed my temples. I felt tired. ¡°I¡¯ve been considering several options,¡± I began. ¡°At first I contemplated the idea of joining the Dark side, but then I realized I might actually be giving Shantarsky a carte blanche. You¡¯re nodding¡ªso you probably agree with me. Then I asked myself a question. Where can I work in peace without having to fear all these Slayers and other psychos? I came to the conclusion that I needed to find an influential land owner, preferably one who belongs to a top clan. Like Lady Melorie from the Steel Shirts.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Dmitry rubbed his chin. ¡°I was about to suggest Egan from the Untouchables. He is a very influential person in Mirror World, and his clan is one of the strongest. Melorie, the Lady of Storms! Hm. Actually, you might be right. She is Arrid¡¯s wife...¡± I nodded. ¡°Arrid is the clan¡¯s leader.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a clever bastard, are you?¡± ¡°You bet,¡± I grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll join her workforce as an ordinary Grinder and just keep leveling, nice and quiet. She won¡¯t even notice me. She has hundreds of workers like myself¡ªthousands even. I checked her out once at some forum. She¡¯s a major land owner too.¡± ¡°And then what?¡± Dmitry asked, curious. ¡°Well, considering that a major loan implies a long-term work contract, I¡¯ll be working toward that end. I can always sell myself into slavery if it comes to that. But now I need my independence. I need a free hand.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he nodded. ¡°You see,¡± I began, ¡°when Christina¡¯s body rejected the donor heart, we lost everything. We¡¯d already sold everything we¡¯d had. Thank God we¡¯d had it! We¡¯d hoped it would solve the problem. As a result, we lost everything¡ªand the problems just kept piling up. God forbid you ever feel as helpless as I did then!¡± We paused, each thinking his own thoughts. Dmitry was the first to break the silence, ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me whether you have other banks in mind.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Zilch. I¡¯ve been with Mega Bank for ages. My credit history, you know... The moment I find another job I¡¯ll start shopping for a new one.¡± He rubbed his chin. ¡°Listen... If you don¡¯t mind me saying... You do have an account at Reflex Bank, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Reflex what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Mirror World¡¯s in-game bank.¡± ¡°I see... Yes, I used it to channel real-world money into the game. I must still have about a hundred left there. Why?¡± ¡°There¡¯s something you need to know. Reflex Bank isn¡¯t just a money-shifting machine.¡± I hurried to wipe my glasses. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°To put it short, they do loans too,¡± Dmitry said. ¡°Just don¡¯t hold your breath. At the moment, you can forget it. Both your account type and the narrow time frame are against you. But, say, in a year¡¯s time...¡± I tensed like a greyhound. Dmitry must have sensed what I was feeling. ¡°Look at him,¡± he said mockingly. ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll explain it now. The bank where you keep your in-game currency is indeed only a cash dispenser with a few very basic functions. That¡¯s all it is. If you want something more sophisticated, you need to address yourself to their head office in Mellenville¡ªMirror World¡¯s capital city. I¡¯m not sure if you know but low-level players aren¡¯t even allowed within its city limits. But you¡¯ve already sorted that problem out for yourself. When I realized it, I immediately thought about Reflex Bank.¡± ¡°Wait a sec,¡± I said. ¡°This doesn¡¯t add up, does it? An in-game bank capable of giving out wads of Monopoly money which you can then exchange for the real thing? That¡¯s bullshit.¡± ¡°It would have been¡ªhad it not been for one peculiar detail. Reflex Bank is a baby of some five or six¡ªcan¡¯t remember the exact number now¡ªof the world¡¯s biggest banks. When receiving an in-game loan, you choose one of them as your creditor.¡± ¡°So the money is real.¡± ¡°Of course. Basically, you¡¯re signing a loan agreement with a proper bank, only you do it in Mirror World. If later you quit the game for some reason, you¡¯re still under the same obligation to pay the money back in real life.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± I murmured. ¡°The question is, where¡¯s the catch? Would I be correct in suggesting that in order to get a loan, I first need to earn a certain reputation? Is that right?¡± He nodded. ¡°Exactly. And not only that. There¡¯s a number of conditions you¡¯re supposed to meet, otherwise they won¡¯t even talk to you.¡± ¡°Which are?¡± ¡°An extended immersion without logging out for at least a month, for starters.¡± I whistled in astonishment. ¡°If you do log out, you¡¯ll have to start it all over again. Next thing. All these employer-paid communal modules won¡¯t cut it anymore. You¡¯ll have to shell out for a state-of-the-art capsule and medical support. It¡¯s not as expensive as you might think, but still. Plus your own health, of course. Having said that, an Experienced Digger¡¯s gear can keep the player in the game for even longer periods.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not all, is it?¡± ¡°Oh, no. Far from it. They won¡¯t even talk to you in the bank unless you have a registered Mellenville address. Normally, a player can just come and live there, no red tape involved. But you must have one. You can¡¯t afford to buy a place, that little is clear. So you¡¯ll either have to rent a room or stay at a hotel. And to have your address registered, the property owner has to sign for you. If ever you decide to go that route, you won¡¯t get bored, that¡¯s for sure.¡± ¡°Why all this song and dance?¡± ¡°The city¡¯s reputation. The higher your own reputation, the more opportunities you¡¯ll have all around the city. And that means at the bank too. You¡¯ll be obliged to do certain tasks and quests¡ªsome simple, others quite complex. You can go and check the forums to see what everyone has to say about Mellenville. Just don¡¯t expect to find any answers. ¡°Why so?¡± ¡°There¡¯re no guidebooks on Mellenville. All the quests are individual and random. And one more thing. You really need to be on your best behavior there. Mellenville is an NPC city.¡± ¡°What city?¡± ¡°A city controlled by Non-Player Characters. Artificial Intellects. Robots, if the word can help you grasp the concept. ¡°I see,¡± I suppressed a yawn. ¡°Just don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be greeted by some primitive pieces of scrap metal. Right,¡± Dmitry slapped his shoulders and clambered to his feet, looking tired. ¡°More on this tomorrow. Beddy-byes time. What a day! Try to get some rest now. The bedding¡¯s in the wardrobe. The couch is quite comfortable. I¡¯ve slept here on a number of occasions. I still have a few phone calls to make.¡± ¡°Thanks, Dmitry. No idea what I¡¯d have done without you.¡± He waved my words away and added in a rough voice, ¡°Off to bed now... escape artist.¡± ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Twenty-One ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Surprisingly, I slept like a baby that night. This is probably what happens to everyone who¡¯s just made a life-changing decision like I had. I was going to do the extended immersion thing. Sveta hadn¡¯t liked the idea at all. Still, when I¡¯d laid all the pros in front of her, she¡¯d finally given in¡ªbut only because she had no idea of my last-night¡¯s adventures. Dmitry, on the contrary, accepted my decision. I even got the impression he¡¯d expected it from the start. My move to the new module center was nothing to write home about. I¡¯d been living out of a suitcase for the last few years anyway so I¡¯d become quite immune to that sort of thing. A month¡¯s subscription had put me back thirteen hundred bucks. More expenses¡ªbut at least I hoped it was worth it. Thank God I had money on my account! Between the ten grand transferred by Rrhorgus, all my starting money and whatever I¡¯d earned in the last week, I hadn¡¯t had to borrow from my brother. By the way, Flint had managed to declare their last haul. As a result, I¡¯d earned six hundred gold from that instance. Excellent. All because we¡¯d had lots of bonus crystals that day. I really didn¡¯t want to part with the guys. They were a good team. Dmitry had told me they¡¯d found another employer, somewhere closer to the frontier with the Darkies. Apparently, Flint and Co. had filed an official complaint against Slayer. Shantarsky pretended he¡¯d known nothing about the Wild West nature of the situation in his cluster and had publicly kicked Slayer out of the clan. That was the end of it. Apparently, Flint hadn¡¯t had a chance to delete me from the group. Slayer had done his best to stop them too. By the time they¡¯d got their act together, I was already engaged in combat while Flint stood by the entrance to the grotto trying to disband the group. Imagine his surprise when I dropped out of the instance, then quit the game! I just hoped he understood enough to keep his mouth shut. At some later date, we might meet up and discuss it all. But not now. Admittedly I couldn¡¯t even remember how I¡¯d quit the game. It was irrelevant, anyway. I had other things to worry about. My main objective was to raise a hundred and eighty-five grand. Time to start all over again. My ¡°extended immersion¡± was looming. Perusing the multitude of forums and blogs had only added to my confusion. The amount of contradictory and superfluous information on Reflex Bank was mind-boggling. It gave me the impression that seventy percent of it was a clever decoy. It made one thing clear though: it wasn¡¯t going to be easy. Especially for me with my humble Grinder¡¯s account. But as far as NPCs were concerned, the information on them was pretty clear-cut. The so-called ¡®Glasshouse NPCs¡¯ were considerably different from their counterparts in other computer games. Mirror World¡¯s developers had created a special program called A Mirror Soul. This was a truly grandiose concept that allowed the Non-Player Characters to go far beyond their usual ¡°emotion imitation¡± stuff. Instead of just generating joy, pleasure or fear, these NPCs could express their own attitude toward the situation and their role within it. Basically, a Mirror Soul was nothing other than a high tech clone of the human mind. Jesus. A virtual world. A virtual mind. The more I learned about this place, the less comfortable I felt. I had a hunch that something had changed¡ªthat the world had moved on while I was lagging behind, choking on the dust raised by the avant-garde. * * * ¡°Are you ready?¡± my brother asked me. ¡°Yeah,¡± I nodded, suspended in the jelly-like substance. Now more than ever he reminded me of Dad. I¡¯d been eight at the time; Dad had taught me to ride a bike. The same emotionless face and the same vivid eyes filled with care and concern. ¡°Make sure you don¡¯t do anything stupid,¡± he said. I grinned. ¡°Will do my best.¡± ¡°Good luck, then!¡± ¡°Likewise.¡± Noiselessly the lid of my ¡°coffin¡± slid shut. I found myself in the familiar pitch darkness. A piercing light assaulted my eyes. I was back in Mirror World. A large 3D inscription hovered before my eyes, Greetings, Olgerd! Welcome to Mirror World! Please choose your entry point. I stared at a list of some fifty major towns within Mirror World¡¯s realm of Light, supplied courtesy of the game¡¯s administration. I suppressed a sarcastic chuckle. How very nice. Freakin¡¯ do-gooders. It¡¯s the thought that counts, anyway. I chose The Outskirts of Verdaille City. Leuton was more or less off limits for me now. I heaved a sigh. That was it. I was in it for a month. No way back. I was standing with my back to a forest, facing a neat corn field. The clock showed 7 a.m. The sun was just kissing the horizon. I turned around. The forest was still dark and damp. The moist grass felt cold on my bare feet. Oh. I¡¯d love to know who was wearing my boots now. They must have already flogged them for a nice bit of profit, as well as the gloves. What a shame. Never mind. Once I got to the nearest city shop and compared their prices with the auction, I could kit myself out again. Oh, before I forgot. I opened my Friends list. Nobody online yet. Would you like to delete yourself from your Friends list? Sure. This way they¡¯d have no way of locating me. Sorry, Rrhorgus, Greg and Sandra. It was for your own good. Seeing me now wasn¡¯t a healthy idea: you were still in Shantarsky¡¯s employment. One day we might meet up and discuss it all over a nice long drink. At least I hoped we might. Now, the clothes. Oh. That Steel Widow had done a nice job on me. My damaged gear was worth jack shit now. But what could I do? It was a good thing I still had something to wear. Wait a sec. What was that now? How could I have ever forgotten? Actually, no wonder. I¡¯d been too busy thinking of other things. The Apps tab was blinking orange. Let¡¯s have a look. Would you like to install the Der Swyor app suite? Oh, no. No need to rush. A new surprise from Pierrot was the last thing I needed right now. Later, all later. I¡¯d completely forgotten all about the clan¡¯s ring and the app that came with it. What a shame. I couldn¡¯t even pick Dmitry¡¯s brains on the subject now. Actually, I hadn¡¯t asked anyone¡¯s advice before downloading the file, had I? So it was only fair I had to use my own head. I was still kicking myself for having stayed behind in the cave that day instead of leaving with the rest of the group. ¡°Never mind,¡± I mumbled. ¡°Time to get going. I have lots to do still.¡± I walked along the road past golden corn fields, watching the farmers heading off to work. They all smiled. I could hear them joking. The air rang with women¡¯s laughter. Someone had already got down to work, singing. For a brief moment I had the illusion I was back in my childhood home, standing amid the boundless corn fields of Ukraine. I could almost hear the voice of Grandpa Stephan asking me to fetch him some water. I shook my head free of the unwelcome memories and squinted at the workers for a better look, making out the pointy ears of Alven women and the Dwandes¡¯ impressive fangs. The loss of my boots and gloves hadn¡¯t affected my mood that much. My speed hadn¡¯t dropped. Even incomplete, the Seasoned Digger¡¯s gear set allowed you to comfortably travel the vast expanses of this world. I remembered the trials and tribulations of my first-day journey. That had been a feat! After fifteen minutes of brisk walking, I checked my Energy levels. I¡¯d only spent 20 pt. Excellent! That was a drop in the ocean. And if I set the bot to economy mode, I wouldn¡¯t even need to check it: it would restore Energy levels automatically. I could see the city walls from far away. Verdaille, if the truth were known, was just another one-horse town. Same as Leuton really, only with a bigger population and three times as many mines. The Outskirts of Verdaille City was a location controlled by the Steel Shirts clan. Or, to be more precise, it was Lady Melorie¡¯s domain¡ªthe clan leader¡¯s wife¡¯s. Even if you disregarded her high standing, The Lady of Storms was a very influential figure in Mirror World. A level 270-wizard, she obviously wasn¡¯t the kind of woman to indulge in needlework in the safety of her own castle. Once again I congratulated myself on my choice of seigneur. It meant safety for me too. She wouldn¡¯t even know I was there. The less I stuck my neck out, the better. I had to level up my skill first, and then we¡¯d see. The city gates were pretty crowded. I¡¯d never seen so many people in one place here before. The air hummed with voices. My eyes watered from all the loud colors and the glittering of armor. Domestic animals crowded the road: horses of every race and size, clumsy cows and bleating sheep. I noticed quite a few identical carts, heavy and unyielding¡ªapparently standard-issue transportation. I focused on one of them. Name: Wooden Cart Durability: 3554/5000 Restriction: Requires the Slow Coach skill. ¡°Eh, she¡¯s not as she used to be,¡± the driver said, noticing my interest in his vehicle. ¡°I¡¯m gonna get her some new wheels at the market and add a few points to the shaft, then you won¡¯t know her! She¡¯ll roll off the road like some freakin¡¯ Mercedes, by God! Only I need to sell my beasties first.¡± ¡°Good morning,¡± I hurried to greet him. ¡°Same to you,¡± the man answered. He spoke almost in a singsong, with a soft and melodious Ukrainian accent. I glanced at his tag. Zachary. I did a quick check on him. A Daily Grinder like myself. A Farmer. Race: Human. Level: Prosperous. From what I remembered, it was equal to Seasoned Digger. Did I have access to the driving skill, I wondered, or was it only available to farmers? I took a look around me, focusing on every driver. Lots of Farmers among them, but also quite a few Herbalists and Fishermen. Which meant that the skill was available to everyone. I¡¯d have to check it out later. What a shame the game didn¡¯t have Internet access. That would have simplified a whole bunch of things. ¡°Excuse my asking, dear sir, but what¡¯s actually going on here?¡± I said, walking next to his slowly advancing cart. ¡°Why all these people?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a fair today, isn¡¯t there?¡± he answered eagerly. ¡°It¡¯s like this every six months.¡± I could see he was in the talkative mood. Such long, slow queues usually make one disposed to shoot the breeze. ¡°I see,¡± I commented. ¡°How long does it last?¡± ¡°The whole week, what do you think?¡± he grinned back. The man was positively beaming. He probably hoped to sell his ¡°beasties¡± for a good profit. ¡°How are things overall, then?¡± I asked. ¡°Is it quiet here? Any robbers or highwaymen?¡± Zachary shrugged off my suggestion. ¡°Forget it! What would they want with us? The idiot hasn¡¯t been born yet who¡¯d mess around in Lady Mel¡¯s lands! She¡¯d make quick work of any evil-doers.¡± I breathed a sigh of relief. This was exactly what I wanted to hear. Noticing this, Zachary asked sympathetically, ¡°You must have had it rough in other parts of the world.¡± With a sad smile I nodded at my feet, ¡°You could say that. Even my boots are gone.¡± The farmer threw his hands up in dismay. ¡°What kind of creature is man? You tell me! Always trying to profit from others¡¯ misfortune!¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. I sighed. ¡°Sort of.¡± ¡°Why won¡¯t you stay here with us?¡± Zachary suggested. ¡°I can see you¡¯re a Seasoned Digger. We have lots of work for the likes of you. Plenty of mines around.¡± I smiled back. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯ve come here for. I¡¯d like to make a new start.¡± ¡°Good decision. You won¡¯t regret it.¡± ¡°Actually,¡± I asked, ¡°where does one go here to look for work?¡± ¡°Well, if it¡¯s the dwarves you want, their office is in the Craftsmen¡¯s Quarter.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Sorry, sir. I¡¯d rather apply to Lady Mel. I liked how you spoke about her.¡± The farmer beamed like a newly-minted gold coin, puffing out his cheeks. My compliment had struck the right chord. ¡°I thought you were going to join your own,¡± he said. ¡°In this case you need to go to the high street. That¡¯s exactly where I¡¯m heading. Get in, I¡¯ll give you a lift. No good marching barefoot on the cold stone.¡± Did he need to ask? A few saved Energy points were always welcome. Apparently, Zachary must have taken me for a dwarf. Ennans did bear some resemblance to those fabled creatures. He must have glanced me over without bothering to check my tag. A short guy with a beard and a Digger to boot¡ªhe had to be a dwarf. I didn¡¯t mind. He''d also called me a Seasoned Digger¡ªprobably judging by my clothes. I had yet to get myself some new gear. Wait a sec. And what if?.. Without even knowing it, the farmer had just given me an idea. Nothing major but it was worth trying. I¡¯d have to look into it when I had the time. As I entered the city, I received the standard system message and the offer to download the free map and the city¡¯s history. Plus lots of other offers for paid apps. Okay. I couldn¡¯t say no to freebies. The rest I didn¡¯t need. It took us about twenty minutes to get to the city center. Remarkably, the town turned out to be much bigger than I¡¯d assumed from forum discussions. Leuton wasn¡¯t a patch on it. Broad streets. Three and four-story buildings. Lots of shops, inns and taverns. It wasn¡¯t even eight in the morning and the sidewalks were heaving with people. I actually might like it here. I absolutely had to check their fair stalls for any new clothes. The shop and the auction would have to wait. I just might find something cheap and cheerful. ¡°Here we are,¡± Zachary stopped his cart. ¡°You see that green building with wide windows over there? The one with the bird on it? That¡¯s where you need to go.¡± I nodded. ¡°The bird¡± was an Aquila¡ªthe picture of an eagle spreading its wings. The Steel Shirts clan had simply copied the Roman legion¡¯s emblem. ¡°Thanks a lot, man. You¡¯ve really helped me out.¡± He grinned back. ¡°My pleasure. Come and see me at the market.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Eight o¡¯clock: logically, the office must have already opened. Last night I¡¯d checked their schedule on the site, just to make sure. The doorway was completely blocked by players: dwarves, gnomes, Dwandes and humans. I also noticed a few Horruds and Rhogghs. About eighty percent of them zero-level, the rest Seasoned. I didn¡¯t see any Experienced ones. The beginning players in their start-up kits were an eyesore. They were standing apart from the rest, coveting the Seasoned players¡¯ gear. Others stared openly. The Seasoned ones, in their turn, stood there as if the whole world belonged to them. They didn¡¯t check out anyone; they just hung out talking calmly, casting an occasional ironic glance at the beginning players. I received the same kinds of stares: arguably even more scornful than if I were a bare-chested newb. I checked my reflection in the window. I could understand them. I looked like a scaled-down dwarf, shaggy and disheveled. Although my stats were private, my clothes¡ªwhatever was left of them¡ªbetrayed me as a Seasoned Digger. My bag, boots, and gloves were missing. Even the new players looked better than I did. I didn¡¯t give a damn. This wasn¡¯t Paris and I wasn¡¯t on an haute couture catwalk. I took another look at them, noticing that all of the Seasoned players had their stats available to all. It felt weird¡ªreally as if they were part of some beauty pageant. There was nothing particularly special about their gear: just some standard-issue tools and runes. Only three of the Dwandes stood out. Their gear was top of the range and virtually unused. Not a single empty item. They stood apart from the rest, casting searching glances around as if looking for someone. They must have been a team. Their gazes scanned me en passant with a disdain reserved for a pigeon that had just shat in their soup. Then the crowd perked up. Five dwarves were approaching the building from the direction of the square. ¡°The Ironbeards¡¯ headhunters,¡± a zero-level Dwand commented. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯ll start hiring in a minute,¡± a Cave Rhoggh agreed. I cast a curious glance at the three Dwandes. They stood up straight, bright-eyed. Were they counting on this job? Then why hadn¡¯t they gone directly to the dwarves¡¯ office? Never mind. Why should I care? We¡¯d soon find out. The dwarves were only a few paces away from the front door when it swung open, letting out the powerful shape of a Cave Rhoggh. Everyone turned to the sound. The Rhoggh looked over the crowd as if it already belonged to him. Having noticed the approaching dwarves, he scowled, ¡°Breon, did anyone tell you that you look remarkably like a hyena?¡± The smallest of the five dwarves hid a smirk within his fat beard. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Weigner, you¡¯ll have plenty left for yourself!¡± He looked over the crowd, studying the workers. His mocking stare rested on me. Or rather, on my bare feet. He turned back to the Rhoggh and shouted, nodding at me, ¡°I¡¯ll leave you the best ones, don¡¯t you worry!¡± His friends guffawed. The crowd joined in. Even the newbs were laughing their bare asses off. I didn¡¯t care. Let them laugh. You couldn¡¯t surprise me with a brownnose here anymore. Their kowtowing was only witness to their own worthlessness. What else could a useless person do? They might be thinking they were gaining something by it: something worth the humiliation. They might realize they weren¡¯t a pretty sight; they might even hate themselves for doing it. But as the famous French mathematician Blaise Pascal once said, ¡°the pureness of a goal justifies the perversity of the means¡±. Which allowed me to take any and all such scorn philosophically. Now the fact that I¡¯d been waiting here for a good ten minutes was much harder to take. I was losing time. I still had lots to do today. Ignoring the useless dwarf, I looked up at the Rhoggh. Surprisingly, he was the only one who hadn¡¯t even smiled at the joke. That was good. The guy had character. Silently he opened the doors wide, turned around and walked back in. Apparently, it was supposed to mean that the office was now open. To my surprise, no one seemed to have noticed it. All the mine diggers stayed outside, watching greedily the five dwarves who were walking through the crowd as if they were shopping for a couple of old cart horses. I seemed to be the only one not interested in working for the dwarves. Excellent. It meant I wasn¡¯t going to languish in the long line at the PR office as I¡¯d expected. How lucky was that? I hurried to climb the steps in the Rhoggh¡¯s wake. Breon the dwarf was just talking to the three Dwandes. Our eyes met. He gave me another smirk and went right on talking. In the meantime, Weigner the Rhoggh was already climbing the stairs to the first floor, muttering something under his nose. The sound of my voice made him turn round, ¡°Excuse me! Could you please tell me where I could sign a work contract?¡± ¡°Ah, it¡¯s you,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Decided to join us? Simply because those midgets won¡¯t hire you? Don¡¯t you worry, all those idiots will be back in a minute. But today, you¡¯re gonna be the first. Hurry up. I¡¯ve lots to do.¡± Without saying a word, I tagged along. His office proved too small for his bulk. A giant of his proportions needed more breathing space. Actually, it was the second time I¡¯d seen an office worker of his dimensions. Was this the current trend? Or the company¡¯s policy? Or could it just be that the player was too puny in real life so here he lived life to the full, scaring any potential clients with his fangs and his booming voice? ¡°Shut the door,¡± Weigner grumbled. ¡°And take a seat. I¡¯ll make out the contract.¡± I closed the door softly. I hate doors being slammed. It¡¯s just some sort of a nervous tick I¡¯ve had since early childhood. Noiselessly I moved my chair closer to the desk and sat down. Been there, done it. I knew what was going to happen next. The Rhoggh touched a dark wall panel with his clawed paw. A translucent screen materialized above the desk top. While the program was loading, Weigner was going through some paperwork, muttering deliberately loudly under his nose to make sure I could hear his every word, ¡°It¡¯s the same thing every month! One might think the dwarves¡¯ mines are paved with gold. Okay, so they pay a better wage, so what? Who would need their flippin¡¯ circus? They¡¯re not Ironbeards: they¡¯re Cheekyfaces.¡± It was probably time for me to butt in. ¡°Why, what¡¯s going on in here?¡± He squinted at me, disbelieving. ¡°Quit playing the fool, you!¡± I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m just curious what this hoo-ha is all about. That¡¯s the only reason I asked.¡± Weigner froze, his tiny yellow eyes boring a hole in me. His gaze sent shivers down my spine. ¡°Are you saying that you¡¯ve no idea that the Ironbeards keep on coming to our front door every month offering jobs to players of other races?¡± ¡°I had no idea, honest,¡± I replied, then added with a smirk, ¡°Since when are they so generous?¡± Weigner sat back, his stare still pinning me down. He paused, then spoke, ¡°There was this stupid discussion at some forum where the forum members accused the dwarven guild of being racist. People claimed they only hired dwarves and gnomes. I don¡¯t know about the Stonefoot, but the Ironbeards decided to teach everybody a lesson. Now every month their scouts arrive at the offices of those forum members who were particularly outspoken in that discussion, and pick workers from other races.¡± ¡°But what about Lady Mel?¡± I asked. ¡°Well, she was the loudest. And the fact that they keep coming to her doorstep, she actually considers it her victory.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s what it¡¯s all about.¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly it,¡± he grumbled, then added, fuming, ¡°And she doesn¡¯t seem to give a damn about them stealing our best workers!¡± ¡°The rich and their whims,¡± I summarized. ¡°Do the dwarves really pay higher wages?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Indeed they do. And they have better working conditions. They¡¯re a guild, what do you want? They¡¯re interested in making money first and foremost. And the Steel Shirts are a military clan. Admittedly one of the richest and most influential in Mirror World, but some of those clan members, while not exactly have-nots, have no idea of how to manage their riches. Or rather they don¡¯t want to.¡± I wasn¡¯t going to tell him about all the possible solutions to their money-making problems. If the truth were known, I didn¡¯t give a damn about all these ¡°useless bosses vs. stupid rulers¡± conversations. What was the point? Why would I care about other people¡¯s problems? I had more than my fair share of them. It was time to fold up this discussion. ¡°Had I wanted to work for the dwarves, that¡¯s where I¡¯d have gone to.¡± ¡°And you think they¡¯d have hired you?¡± his voice rang with sarcasm. ¡°They might,¡± I said, unveiling some of my stats. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Twenty-Two ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Watching the change come over his pallid fanged face was admittedly funny. He stood up in his seat, reading my characteristics. Naturally, I didn¡¯t allow him to see my Shrewd Operator. He seemed sufficiently impressed with my Experienced level, anyway. I don¡¯t think they had many diggers of my caliber here. I flashed him a friendly smile. ¡°So shall we sign me in? I¡¯m a bit pressed for time.¡± I left his office at nine in the morning. Not bad. I¡¯d thought it might have taken longer than that. The corridor was already packed with sour-faced players lining up. Apparently, not many had been ¡°lucky¡± enough to get a job with the dwarves. I didn¡¯t see the three Dwandes anywhere. I was pretty sure the dwarves had hired them. I¡¯d have done the same. A well-knit team is worth a lot. I knew this from experience. I had signed their standard contract of my preferred piecework type. Two weeks. My level gave me no preferential treatment. Well, that was to be expected. According to Weigner, Experienced Diggers didn¡¯t stay in town long. They inevitably found a strong group and moved cluster in order to start mopping up instances. That was fine with me too. The fewer people down the mine, the more space for me to swing my pick. Still, I wasn¡¯t yet ready to join any mop-up groups. At my level, the minimum raid duration was six days. I wasn¡¯t quite prepared to be stuck in some cave or grotto for almost a week without the chance of getting out. Firstly, because at this work pace I risked leveling up prematurely. You never know with my Operator. So as I wasn¡¯t planning on blowing my cover, I¡¯d have to work in a regular mine, slowly but surely. That also gave me the chance to check Zachary¡¯s idea out, even though he knew nothing about it. Secondly and most importantly, if my char¡¯s Reputation with Mellenville wasn¡¯t up to scratch, the in-game bank wouldn¡¯t deal with me at all. And in order to level it up, I had to perform daily or long-term tasks within the city limits. That decided it. I had to work in Lady Mel¡¯s emerald fields. That would fetch me about fifteen hundred gold a week. No doubt I could have earned way more doing instances but at the moment, reputation was key. Plus I was desperate for a long-term work contract. If I failed to get a loan with Reflex Bank, then I¡¯d have to go cap in hand to real-life banks. So the longer my working experience, the better. The main thing was to make sure I didn¡¯t pop my clogs too soon. Nor do anything stupid. I had six weeks to raise a hundred eighty-five thousand dollars. My next port of call was Mine Diggers Guild. I paid the weekly due of twenty-five bucks, this raising my Reputation with the guild 50 pt: 100 in total. As I left the guild¡¯s building slapping my bare feet along the marble tiles, I could hear giggles and quips. Enough! I could stand a lot if absolutely necessary but there was a limit to everything. Thus thinking, I headed off to the market. Time to do some shopping. Admittedly I did look like a tramp. ¡°Holy Jesus,¡± I uttered, watching the central square transform before my very eyes. I had surely expected to see some semblance of a market. The kind of market I knew in real life, that is. But this... Had I ventured in, I could have easily spent a week there. My eyes watered with all the colors. The bright miscellany of tents and pavilions formed uneven aisles crowded with carts, kiosks and stands. I could hear the inevitable music playing. They probably sold everything here. In an aisle off to my right, a big dwarf fronted a stand selling weapons and armor. To his left, a slim Alven lady boasted her embroidering skills; not two paces away from me, a fat Rhoggh was busy baking golden loaves of bread for everyone to marvel. The air was thick with music, vendors¡¯ voices praising their goods, the howling and bellowing of animals... What a crazy place. At nine in the morning, mind you. Where would I go? Where was I supposed to find what I needed? ¡°Aquamarine dust! Aquamarine dust for sale!¡± ¡°Hares¡¯ pelts! Wolves¡¯ tails! Boars¡¯ fangs! Bear claws!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll buy your gear!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll buy class-two herbal infusions! Price no object!¡± ¡°Hey, mister! Need some boots?¡± At first I didn¡¯t even realize he was addressing me. ¡°Pardon?¡± I managed. A ginger-haired guy of about twenty-five patiently waited for me to focus my stare on him. ¡°Just wondering if you might need a pair of boots. I can see you ain¡¯t got no gloves either.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± I hurried to reply, embarrassed by my momentary lapse of concentration. "What have you got to offer?¡± ¡°Over there,¡± the guy waved somewhere to his right. ¡°Stall nine. My uncle has some gear to sell. Froll¡¯s the name. Understood?¡± I nodded. Not waiting for me to reply, the guy stole deeper into the crowd. As I began moving in the direction he''d indicated, I couldn¡¯t help hearing his voice, ¡°Hey, ma¡¯am! Need a jacket?¡± This was scary. A person with money wasn¡¯t going to leave this place empty-handed. By the time I made my way to stall nine, I¡¯d been offered all sorts of things, from needles to legendary-class swords. Had I had to move a bit further on, I was pretty sure I would have stumbled along a tank vendor. Froll¡¯s stall wasn¡¯t that hard to find. It was groaning under piles of clothes, footwear and various accessories. I¡¯d never been a big market shopper so I was completely out of my depth here. Sveta, she¡¯d always enjoyed this sort of thing. She would have loved it here. As I studied the goods, I cast a quick glance at the vendor. His nephew hadn¡¯t taken after him, that¡¯s for sure. They might have been related in real life but here in Mirror World it would have been a bit over the top. Froll was a Rock Dwand. His stats were hidden. Broad-shouldered, wearing town clothes. Not a Grinder. I coughed to attract his attention. He turned round and beamed, seeing me. ¡°How can I help you, dear sir? I just happen to have an excellent Strength kit,¡± he immediately switched to the offensive. ¡°No, thanks. I¡¯m interested in Energy ones,¡± I said. ¡°Excellent. Hardy Digger will fit you just fine. I have both new and second-hand ones.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. I need something more advanced.¡± For a brief moment, his expression betrayed surprise. Then his face dropped. ¡°Something wrong?¡± I asked. ¡°Not really,¡± he breathed a sigh of disappointment. ¡°Thing is, I don¡¯t trade in items for your caliber. I¡¯ll tell you more: I don¡¯t think this market has anything to offer someone like you.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°In this backwater? What do you expect? Experienced workers all move closer to the capital. If you take me, it¡¯s not worth the trouble for me to stock items I can sell once or twice a year if at all. My cart and my storeroom can only hold a limited amount of items. Pointless lugging around something I can¡¯t even sell.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I said. ¡°But why would you lug them around? Can¡¯t you just auction them?¡± He smirked. ¡°That¡¯s what you think. Auctions charge a fee on every submitted item regardless of whether it sells or not. And here I only pay my custom duty, then I can sell till the cows come home.¡± ¡°I see.¡± So that¡¯s how it worked, then. I¡¯d had no idea. You never know, it might be useful. I bade my goodbye and was about to leave him when a jaunty female voice called behind my back, ¡°Excuse me, Sir Olgerd!¡± I turned around. This was an Alven Archer girl. A pretty face; a pair of childishly blue eyes, slightly slanted. Black hair. Slim to the point of being fragile. A fancy bow and a quiver were slung behind her back. A knife and a dagger dangled from her belt. Her name was Saimie. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to delay you,¡± she hurried to add. ¡°I just happened to overhear your conversation.¡± I smiled gallantly and shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s all right. We¡¯re at the market, aren¡¯t we? You¡¯ve something to sell, haven¡¯t you?¡± She beamed. ¡°Exactly. No clothes for your level, unfortunately, but I have some interesting jewelry. It¡¯s on my stall over there, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± She nodded, motioning me to follow her. I shrugged and followed, hoping I wasn¡¯t getting into something I might later regret. Her tent was comparatively small but neat and tastefully decorated, mainly in the shades of green that matched the vendress¡¯ own clothes. A small round table stood at its center, surrounded by several small three-legged stools. She pointed at one of them. ¡°Make yourself comfortable.¡± Without saying a word, I perched myself on the stool. Saimie produced a small canvas bundle and unfolded it on the table. ¡°Have a look if anything takes your fancy.¡± Right. What did we have there? I had a funny feeling I knew her line of business. After my memorable conversation with Shantarsky I¡¯d checked a few forums and done a bit of research on No-Man¡¯s Lands. There was a lot of eye-opening information there, especially about the likes of her. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Are you a scavenger?¡± I asked. ¡°Sure,¡± she nodded. ¡°Why, does that bother you?¡± her voice tinged with sarcasm. ¡°In a way, yeah. Are you White or Black?¡± She smiled. ¡°Sure I¡¯m White. Do you think I¡¯d be standing here selling had I been Black? Black scavengers sell everything via their own channels. My business is perfectly legal.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you do your own looting?¡± I asked. ¡°Hey, those are No-Man¡¯s Land mobs. I¡¯m not exactly in the same league,¡± she paused, then offered the iron-clad argument used in virtually every forum discussion, ¡°Ninety percent of all Mirror World players are scavengers. That¡¯s just the way it is. You¡¯ve any idea of all the stuff lying around there unclaimed?¡± ¡°Unclaimed? Really?¡± ¡°Of course. Imagine a group of level 100+ players. To cross the location, they¡¯re obliged to mop it up. They don¡¯t even look at all the loot from the low-level mobs. They save the space in their bags for much bigger game. Clan raids, that¡¯s different, there¡¯s virtually nothing left after them as they have their own newbs to feed. But there¡¯s plenty of stuff left after the loners too. Personally, I sign a contract with a group and do my job. Waste not, want not.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I said. ¡°You sure you never robbed any corpses? I wouldn¡¯t want to buy some charm or bracelet off you only to be hunted down by its legitimate owner afterwards.¡± ¡°They¡¯re clean!¡± Saimie said, indignant. ¡°Here, look, they¡¯re not marked!¡± ¡°Marks are easy to remove.¡± ¡°Do I look like I have tons of money to pay wizards for doing that? Are you going to have a look or not?¡± It looked like I¡¯d overdone it a bit. ¡°Sure,¡± I mumbled. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry. I¡¯ll take a look now, only it might take some time. I¡¯ll have to compare the prices with the auction¡¯s. Is that all right with you?¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be there at the counter if you need me.¡± She cooled off a little. I made a mental note to mind my tongue in the future. Apparently, not everything they said in blogs and on forums could be taken as gospel. Let¡¯s have a look. What had she got there? Name: The Bone Bracelet of Gadang Effect: +15 to Defense Race restriction: Only Cave Horrud Level: 10 Defense had something to do with combat skills, didn¡¯t it? I opened the info portal. Aha. It reduced Physical Damage. That was good. Unfortunately, not for me. Some of the item¡¯s stats made it useless in my particular case. Next. Name: Bear Tooth Necklace Effect: +10 to Strength Race restriction: Only Forest Dwand Level: 15 Not for me. Next. What else did she have? Name: Rock Charm of Torrk Effect: +15 to Speed Race restriction: Only Cave Rhoggh Level: 15 Having checked about twenty items, I finally found a couple of runes: one of bone, the other of stone. Both with +15 to Capacity: one for my future bag and the other for a belt. That was all. The rest were all wrong classes and wrong levels. I checked the auction but didn¡¯t find any similar runes there. So I might take them just in case. You never know, I might need them some day. Now we had to discuss the price. ¡°Saimie? I¡¯m done.¡± She materialized next to me as if on cue. ¡°Found anything?¡± Without saying a word, I pushed the two chosen runes toward her. ¡°Good choice,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯ll be two hundred gold.¡± I couldn¡¯t believe my ears. What a cheek! ¡°You sure you¡¯re okay?¡± I asked. ¡°Two hundred gold for two miserable runes?¡± She seemed so surprised that she lost her professional manner. ¡°Are you freakin¡¯ nuts? These are Capacity runes from No-Man¡¯s Lands! You try and level your reputation with geologists first and then you speak! These two runes are actually the most valuable items in my entire shop! Miserable runes, he says!¡± She seemed to be sincerely upset. What a shame I couldn¡¯t check out the authenticity of her claims. I had no access to forums. The info portal didn¡¯t offer any intel. It was possible that the admins purposefully removed all information, editing the manuals and other players¡¯ comments. Never mind. Not that I really needed them. I wasn¡¯t prepared to splurge on some totally unknown and untested items. ¡°Do you have anything else?¡± I asked, expecting a negative answer. In a moment, she¡¯d say ¡°no¡±. I¡¯d bid my goodbye and be on my way. Neither of us would gain anything from this encounter. She seemed to understand it too. She didn¡¯t look too happy about it. Silently I rose from the table and headed for the exit. I hated shopping. Sveta would have already haggled the shop owner into submission. What was I saying!¡ªshe would have never been attracted to such irrelevant items to begin with. ¡°Actually,¡± her voice softened, ¡°there is something I have... but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s worth your while.¡± I turned around. That was weird. She sounded upset. I felt out of sorts too. The conversation had left a bad aftertaste. I had this tendency of putting my foot in it before I even knew all the details. I didn¡¯t want to leave it like that. ¡°Take a look,¡± she reached into her bag for some item or other and offered it to me. I peered at it. Snuggled in her hand lay something resembling a bird¡¯s feather: either a charm or a pendant. Okay, why not? It was pretty. It looked like silver. Simple but tasteful. It wasn¡¯t inlaid with precious stones¡ªbut the craftsmanship was amazing. You could see the feather¡¯s every barb and quill. The craftsman was a genius. Then again, what was I saying? This was Mirror World. How about its stats, then? Name: [unavailable] Effect: [unavailable] Race restriction: [unavailable] Level : [unavailable] I looked up at the girl, uncomprehending. ¡°Haven¡¯t you ever seen a hidden-stats item before?¡± she sounded surprised. ¡°No, not really,¡± I mumbled, taking the silver feather from her. She chuckled. ¡°I see. To open them, you need to go to Mellenville and find an artifactor. It¡¯s gonna cost you. But if the item turns out worth your while, you can make good money out of it. Of course it can also be junk. It¡¯s the luck of the draw, if you know what I mean.¡± ¡°Why can¡¯t you unlock it yourself?¡± ¡°It¡¯s in Mellenville. I¡¯ve still some leveling to do to get admission. Also, artifactors¡¯ services cost an arm and a leg.¡± ¡°And where do such thingies come from?¡± I kept grilling her. ¡°They don¡¯t. Not anymore. I was on a raid with this group of guys doing some hunting in the Misty Mountains just next to No-Man¡¯s Lands. So we found this nest made of rocks, huge like you can¡¯t imagine. Absolutely packed with bones inside. Well, I decided to check it. Found a few bits of steel and this feather. It was still attached to one of the skeletons. When I found it I thought, that¡¯s it, that¡¯s my lucky ticket.¡± ¡°And?¡± She shrugged. ¡°As if! Had it been a sword or a piece of armor, that¡¯s different. You can take them to artifactors no problem. You¡¯ll always get your money¡¯s worth. But a dicey charm like this, who would need it? The auctions have already returned it to me a few times. I paid their lodging fees for nothing. So I¡¯m obliged to lug it around like an idiot. It just takes up space.¡± ¡°It might go if the price is right,¡± I suggested. She raised her head. ¡°What price would be right for you?¡± I winced. I hated tricks like that. It felt too much like manipulation. I shrugged. ¡°This is a strange situation, don¡¯t you think? You¡¯re offering me a pig in a poke and expect me to name my price?¡± She looked up at me sullenly. ¡°Not even twenty gold?¡± I winced again. Enough. I was fed up with her childish attitude. Time to go. I had more pressing things to do. ¡°Fifteen!¡± she offered pleadingly, watching me turn away. I heaved a sigh. ¡°All right. Give it here.¡± She¡¯d talked me into it, hadn¡¯t she? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Twenty-Three ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Barefoot, I left the marketplace as I¡¯d entered it, feeling I¡¯d wasted both my time and my money. Sveta would have laughed long and hard: I¡¯d been shopping for some shoes and ended up with a useless trinket. It was almost ten in the morning and I still had clothes to buy. The experience had left a strange taste in my mouth. Weird girl. I¡¯d have to look into these runes and especially into these private-stats items. I opened the map. The city store was one block away from the square. It didn¡¯t take me long to get there. Remarkably, the shop¡¯s interior design was identical to that of Rrhorgus Digger¡¯s Store. Only the player manning the counter was a stocky dwarf who went by the name of Doryl. Black beard, small closely set eyes. A bulbous nose. A large wart on one cheek. A typical dweller Under the Mountain any way you looked at him. He sized me up and down, then chuckled. I could swear he was about to say something about the state of my footwear. ¡°Aren¡¯t your feet cold?¡± he guffawed, his toothless mouth grinning. What did I say? Ignoring his quips, I dictated him a list, ¡°I need a full Reflection kit, a Sturdy Bag, a Sturdy Sword Sling, four sapphire runes of Strength and three of Stamina. I¡¯d also like you to show me whatever tools for Experienced Diggers you have. Some Capacity runes and maybe also some jewelry. Just show me whatever you have.¡± With my every word the dwarf¡¯s jaw seemed to drop lower. Finally it must have reached some limit. I heard his teeth clatter, followed by a voice shaking with excitement, ¡°I¡¯m afraid, sir, we don¡¯t carry any tools, Capacity runes or jewelry to suit your level...¡± I dismissed his excuses, all the while studying my virtual toes. ¡°It¡¯s all right. I might get something in Mellenville. How about the rest of my list? I¡¯d hate to spend three days hitchhiking to Mellenville for nothing.¡± My last words must have become the final straw for him. He darted into the back of his shop. No wonder: he was looking at some nice profit today. A sapphire rune alone cost about eighty gold. On average, a seven-piece kit for an Experienced Digger was two hundred and fifty. It all added up, but it was worth it. Absolutely. The night before, my heart had been bleeding as I¡¯d transferred two grand to my in-game account. I had to. In order for my plan to work, I had to invest in it first. The dwarf kept disappearing into his storeroom, dragging out more and more items from my list. The heap of clothes on the counter kept growing. I started with the Reflection kit. It brought up Strength and Stamina 45 and 35 points respectively. The seven-item kit bonus also made me 30 pt. speedier. I glanced at a small open box and the neat row of deep blue tablets inside. Gingerly I took one out. Name: a Sapphire Rune of Stamina Effect: +15 to Stamina Restriction: Only Experienced Digger So it worked out that just one such rune increased my Energy 300 points. That opened up some excellent prospects. I fought with my desire to buy four of them instead of three. But I promptly remembered Rrhorgus¡¯ instructions issued when I¡¯d bought those malachite runes off him and decided to stick to my plan. So I bought three Stamina runes and four of Strength 17 pt. each. Balance was key. Next he brought out a nicely-made leather knapsack with carved fastenings. Name: A Sturdy Knapsack Capacity: 150 Durability: 90 Lastly, a sword sling. Made of a dark brown fabric with leather inserts, it had 90 pt. Durability and twenty-five slots. The dwarf zoned out temporarily, then hurried to inform me, ¡°All in all, that¡¯ll be nine hundred gold forty-five silver with the discount.¡± I heaved a sigh. More expenditure. Still, it had turned out much cheaper than I¡¯d expected it to be before logging in. I paid, then asked him, ¡°Will it be all right if I change here?¡± The dwarf was beaming like the desert sun at noon. ¡°Absolutely! We have a fitting room here. And a mirror too.¡± I walked into the large fitting room and stopped, facing a large mirror. ¡°Jesus,¡± I mumbled. ¡°What a state to get into. No wonder everyone was poking fun at me.¡± I smiled sadly, remembering Walter White the way he looked in the last episode of the fifth season of Breaking Bad. Quite a semblance, really. The shaggy beard, the tired eyes... I needed a makeover really badly. It took me only a few minutes to change my clothes. That was it. All done. The familiar Ennan stared back at me from the mirror, looking quite the same. Only, how can I put it... he was sort of pimped up. His leather clothes were of good quality, his boots with thick strong soles hugged his calves nicely. The hat resembled one of those funny Alpine hats with a tapering crown jauntily pinched on top, its medium-width rim turned up at the back and pulled down in front. It made me look like the epitome of a Bavarian climber. All I needed was a long feather tucked into the headband. Right. What I looked like wasn¡¯t really the point. My stats were. And I had to admit that the said stats were quite pleasing to the eye, Strength, 116 Stamina, 83 Speed, 34 Kit¡¯s Durability, 150 Energy, 1700/1700 It even made it easier for me to breathe, as if I¡¯d dropped twenty years or so. What a feeling! Now all that was left for me to do was choose some tools, a few Capacity runes and some jewelry. I stuffed my old clothes into the knapsack. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, I hung the silver feather around my neck. It might be a dark horse but it would make a nice pendant for the time being. I gave myself another once-over. No. That just didn¡¯t look right. I needed to sort myself out properly before heading for the big city. Really. At the moment I looked like a tramp who¡¯d robbed a well-to-do townsman. I scrambled out of the fitting room. The dwarf was still smiling. Still, as I approached the counter, his smile faded. His jaw locked. He glared at me from under his bushy eyebrows. What was going on? Just a moment ago he was all cute and cuddly and now he looked like a thunder cloud? A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I tensed. ¡°Everything all right, sir?¡± He drew his eyes away from my chest and glared at me, sniffing. When he finally spoke, his cold, level voice rang with a threat, ¡°Black scavengers have no place in my shop.¡± His announcement dumbfounded me. What the heck? ¡°I¡¯m afraid there must be some misunderstanding,¡± I did my best to sound calm and confident. ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m a scavenger and a Black one at that?¡± He sniffed his indignation. ¡°Grave robbers have no shame! You¡¯re walking in flashing a relic artifact that can only be taken off a dead body, and you¡¯re asking me what¡¯s wrong!¡± So that¡¯s what it was, then. I looked down at the silver feather. So the girl was a thief, after all. Still, something didn¡¯t add up. The dwarf kept glaring at me, his eyes livid with rage. I locked his stare in mine and answered calmly, ¡°Firstly, you¡¯ve just insulted me. I can actually file an official complaint with the admins now. And once they check the logs, they¡¯ll see that your accusations have been both hasty and unfounded. Secondly, I bought this so-called ¡®relic artifact¡¯, as you say, at the market today. It cost me all of fifteen gold. This can also be checked. Thirdly and fourthly... but that¡¯s enough for you, I think, at least until I hear your apology complete with your side of the story.¡± He sort of deflated under my stare. His face betrayed confusion. ¡°I, er, all I wanted... you know...¡± he kept mumbling. I shrugged. Crossing my arms on my chest, I stared at him. Deep inside, I was shaking with agitation. If the truth were known, it was my brother who¡¯d told me about ¡°the logs¡±. He''d said this was one of the magic words in Mirror World. Apparently, you could solve any argument by applying to the admins for a copy of your ¡°logs¡±. It did cost you but this seemed to be the most effective tool in the game¡¯s judicial system. The game¡¯s server registered everything that was said or done, so my determination to contact the admins in order to provide them must have shaken the shop owner¡¯s conviction. He sort of shrank. The vendor sighed. I could read confusion in his face. ¡°Please accept my apology. I can see now that I was wrong. You don¡¯t look like a scavenger even though you¡¯re in quite a state.¡± I grinned and tried to keep my voice level, eager to take the edge off the situation. ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll tell you more: had I been who you thought I was, your stance would have deserved every respect.¡± His gaze warmed up to me as I went on, ¡°But could you please be ever so kind as to explain what exactly prompted you to think so ill of me?¡± He groaned. ¡°It¡¯s that thing on your chest, sir. I literally turned to stone when I saw it. Private-stats items are extremely rare in Mirror World. That¡¯s what players call relics. Now where would a common Digger, even of your level, lay his hands on something like this?¡± I froze. ¡°I see. Shit.¡± ¡°Actually, now I understand,¡± he went on. ¡°Had you indeed been a scavenger, I¡¯d have never seen you wear it. Besides, those rats only keep these things because they want to sell them. And you wore it in broad daylight.¡± ¡°The more I speak to you, the more questions I have,¡± I replied with a sad grin. He chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s another thing confirming that you¡¯re not what I thought you were. You¡¯ve put the charm on. Now you won¡¯t be able to give it away¡ªneither for money nor as a gift. It¡¯s non-transferable. It has no Durability. In other words, it¡¯s eternal and it¡¯s yours alone. Relics are non-transferable first and foremost. Or rather, you can try and give it to someone else¡ªuntil its new owner tries to put it on.¡± I forced a smile. ¡°You can call me a noob.¡± He smiled back. ¡°Or a very rich Experienced Digger.¡± So he hadn¡¯t believed the price I¡¯d paid for it. Still, it gave me an idea. The whole situation rang a few bells... it was almost a d¨¦j¨¤ vu. I had to go back to the market place. ¡°Mind if I give you some advice?¡± the dwarf asked. ¡°You¡¯d better hide it away from prying eyes. Till better days, if you know what I mean. I don¡¯t want to offend you but this type of item only looks good on a level 200+ player.¡± I hurried to follow his advice, burying the feather in my new knapsack. ¡°Okay,¡± I kept sponging more free intel off him, ¡°so what am I supposed to do with it now?¡± ¡°There¡¯s only one answer to that,¡± he said. ¡°Make an appointment with Aldor of Mellenville, the wizard. He''ll open it for free.¡± ¡°For free? Really?¡± I asked, remembering what Saimie¡ªor whoever she was¡ªhad told me. He grinned. ¡°He''ll open it for free, no catch there. He charges for the appointment itself, not for the service.¡± ¡°Oh. So much for my lofty illusions.¡± ¡°Heh! You know nothing about prices yet! Are you ready?¡± ¡°The way you say it already makes me sick.¡± ¡°So!¡± he continued. ¡°Jewelry: prices start at ten grand. Weapons and armor: twenty. And so on and so forth.¡± ¡°Oh. So what¡¯s so valuable about them?¡± He shrugged. ¡°That I can¡¯t tell you. Simply because I¡¯ve no idea. I remember reading in some forum or other that apparently some of the relics are quest-bound. But this is pure speculation. There are no guides available on them. As I¡¯ve just told you, only top players are in possession of these kinds of items. And as you can well imagine, they¡¯re not in a hurry to divulge any information about them. I¡¯d think they must be extremely pricey even though I haven¡¯t yet seen one at auction in the entire year I¡¯ve been in the game.¡± Shit, shit, shit. What had possessed me to put it on? Once a noob, always a noob. I wanted to smash something against the wall¡ªpreferably, my own head. The dwarf must have read my state of mind as he added soothingly, ¡°Don¡¯t get so worked up about it. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll lose anything by having it opened. This thingie must cost a fortune.¡± I sighed. ¡°I wish. It¡¯s about time I learned how to handle unknown items.¡± We didn¡¯t even notice as we switched to friendlier tones. We chatted for another quarter of an hour, discussing the game and the world beyond it. He was all right. I needed to strike a few new friendships. I still had at least another month in front of me, digging in this hole. Finally, we agreed to meet the following night over a few beers in one of the city¡¯s numerous taverns. Then we parted¡ªif not as true friends, then at least as good buddies. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Twenty-Four ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you like this book, please consider buying it: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ¡°This girl, she put up her tent right here, see. Then she brought you in. And once you were gone, she packed up and left, and that was the last we saw of her.¡± That was all I¡¯d managed to find out about the scavenger girl. The place where her tent used to stand had already been taken by a ginger-haired farmer selling agricultural tools. His neighbor, a square-shouldered Dwand, kept telling and retelling me the story of the girl ¡°packing up her stuff and disappearing¡±. He squinted knowingly. ¡°Has she ripped you off?¡± ¡°Not really, no,¡± I muttered. ¡°I can¡¯t really tell you what it was.¡± He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Women!¡± For the second time I left the market with mixed feelings. I had zero intel. Her motives were clear as mud. I had my suspicions but I tried not to even think about them. Time would tell. Basically, I had to keep my eyes peeled. Preferably grow another pair in the back of my head. As I walked past a large shop window, I couldn¡¯t help seeing my reflection. It made me cringe. I opened the map. Immediately I saw something I could use. Lyton¡¯s Tonsorium. I looked the word up. Apparently, it stood for a barber¡¯s shop. Excellent. Time to sort myself out. At first I thought that the satnav had brought me to the local branch of the Red Cross. The benches in front of it were packed with shaggy individuals. The only things missing were soup canteens in their filthy knobbly hands and streaks of gravy dripping from their thick beards. I was about to turn round and leave when a neatly dressed dwarf appeared in the doorway, his own beard trimmed and plaited. His hair was nicely styled. Dandy being the operative word. Immediately one of the shaggy characters ducked into the doorway past him. So that¡¯s what it was! I seemed to have come to the right place. If this dwarf used to look as scraggly as the others did, this was the place for me. When I took another look at them, I noticed that judging by their clothes, most of the queuing customers were Seasoned Grinders¡ªalthough their professions differed, of course. I took my place in line, perching myself on one of the benches. The virtual sun warmed my body. I threw my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. Even so I could sense several pairs of eyes staring at me. The Reflection kit was a statement in itself. My hair might be a mess¡ªno more than theirs, actually¡ªbut at least I was dressed to the nines. I decided to put the unexpected pause to good use. I opened the action tab and auctioned off the remaining items from my Hardy Digger kit. Reserve: fifty gold. Bid deadline: twenty-four hours. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have any problem flogging them. Every item had a malachite rune installed. Their Durability wasn¡¯t as good as that of new ones but still quite decent. In any case, any of the runes cost fifty gold in its own right. A hand touched my shoulder, followed by an impatient voice, ¡°Are you getting your hair cut or what?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± I hurried to reply as I ducked into the shop¡¯s doorway. I expected to see a standard barber¡¯s layout but this was nothing of the kind. A small room harbored a small table and two chairs: one for the owner, the other for his clients. The barber was an Alven guy. It didn¡¯t surprise me in the slightest. This particular race stood out from other Mirror World denizens through its finesse and style. I focused on his name tag: Lyton. Without saying a word, he pointed to one of the chairs. His slanted green eyes stared at me, impassive. ¡°What would you like?¡± ¡°What can you offer?¡± I countered his question, making myself comfortable. ¡°Eh?¡± he sounded surprised. ¡°Won¡¯t you ask me to ¡°just give it a trim¡± or to ¡°tidy up the sides¡±? ¡°Oh, no,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re the king here. It¡¯s up to you to decide.¡± His eyes lit up. The guy seemed to be fed up with mediocrity. I just hoped I wouldn¡¯t regret my decision. The already familiar transparent screen rose between us. ¡°I¡¯d like you to remove your hat and sit up straight,¡± the barber said. ¡°Please don¡¯t move. It¡¯s only a second. I¡¯m taking a screenshot... that¡¯s it! All done. You can breathe now.¡± I saw myself on the screen¡ªor rather, a picture of myself. ¡°The engine will now generate several images and you¡¯ll be asked to choose one,¡± Lyton explained, beaming. ¡°All I¡¯ll have to do is process it.¡± In less than a minute, I heard a soft ping. The screen filled with... er, with myself. Sort of. Lots of me, depicted in all kinds of colors and styles. ¡°You can browse through it now,¡± the barber suggested, adding a background to the images. ¡°You have a few minutes.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumbled. Firstly, I discarded everything too loud. The pink, acid green and other psychedelic versions of me went straight into the Recycle Bin. They were followed by all the hipster types, even though admittedly I liked the one with the Mohawk. He looked formidable but... I still had to go to the bank. Delete. I spent the next five minutes leafing through the catalogue until I realized that I needed to follow my plan and blend in with the crowd. Right. I opened the picture of an Ennan wearing classic Dwarven hair. This was what I needed. ¡°All done,¡± I said. The barber hurried to switch off the background. The impression of insulted incomprehension froze on his face. ¡°So that¡¯s what you want,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Standard issue. You shouldn¡¯t have wasted all that time.¡± ¡°You need to understand,¡± I began, ¡°you might have already noticed that I belong to one of the dead races. I¡¯m trying to avoid the limelight. How would you feel if you were walking down the street and every five minutes someone stopped you and asked you about your stats, abilities and other trivia? Every day. I can see it in your face that you know how it feels. So what would you do? Exactly. You¡¯d go to an expert stylist.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I know, I know. I¡¯d turned the whole thing on its head and flattered the boy shamelessly in the process. But you wouldn¡¯t expect me to tell him the whole truth, would you? My arguments seemed to have worked. Once again the barber¡¯s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he began to fine-tune the chosen image. He spent the next five minutes perfecting the screenshot. ¡°D¡¯you like it?¡± he finally asked. ¡°Excellent.¡± I seriously liked what he¡¯d done. A dwarf stared back at me from the screenshot¡ªa dwarf with an Ennan¡¯s eyes. I thought I even detected a hint of reproach in his stare. Come on man, cool it, I said to him mentally. This is only a temporary measure. Once we did a bit more leveling, we¡¯d be strong enough to wear what the heck we want. Traditional Mayan dress, if you want to. My beard had been trimmed and plaited into several braids, each ending in a tiny steel cylinder covered in fine ornamental script. My hair was brushed back, some of it tied into the semblance of a ponytail. ¡°No one will tell you from an Experienced dwarven Digger,¡± the barber commented. ¡°Are you choosing this one?¡± I nodded eagerly. ¡°That¡¯ll be five gold with the matrix and virtual makeover. Payment upfront,¡± he said. I nodded again. ¡°I would ask you to sit up straight and be still,¡± he said. Gently he pushed the screen in my direction. A 3-D copy of my head left the screen and floated toward me. A message materialized, Would you like to install a new image? Price: five gold Accept: Yes/No I accepted. Your avatar has been updated with a new image. Effect: +5 to Trust Duration: 7 days ¡°All done,¡± Lyton summed up, then added bitterly, ¡°What a shame no one will see this coiffe in a mine.¡± Gingerly I felt my face. ¡°They will. I¡¯m going to Mellenville first.¡± Lyton sat up. ¡°That changes everything! How long are you going to stay there?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to live there, I¡¯m afraid,¡± I said, ¡°but I¡¯ll be working here.¡± He threw his hands up in excitement, ¡°Aren¡¯t you the lucky one! Would you like me to enter your matrix into our database?¡± I tensed. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°What do you mean, what for? Once your seven days have expired, you¡¯ll have to come back to me. This way we¡¯ll have your image already created and set up. Updating it will only take a moment.¡± ¡°Aha. I see.¡± ¡°You might want to focus on leveling up your reputation with Mellenville, am I right?¡± ¡°You are. Why?¡± He smiled. ¡°I just happen to know that certain characteristics although utterly useless for mining somehow work wonders in the capital. I mean Winsomeness, Tranquility, Endearment, Inspiration and the like.¡± I rubbed my forehead. ¡°That¡¯s weird. The forums don¡¯t mention anything of the kind.¡± He snorted. ¡°You bet! There¡¯re no guidebooks on Mellenville. I¡¯m pretty sure the developers have something to do with it. One thing I do know, though: if a characteristic exists, it means it can affect something.¡± ¡°How am I supposed to level them up, then?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Lots of ways. Jazzing up your clothes might work. Alternatively, having your hair cut like you¡¯ve just done can do the trick too. Basically, giving your char a makeover in whichever way you can think of.¡± Pensively I rose from the chair. ¡°Thanks for the tip.¡± ¡°My pleasure. So are we saving your matrix?¡± ¡°Why not,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s not gonna hurt, is it?¡± He chuckled bitterly. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Good luck!¡± I walked out onto the street and temporarily zoned out, thinking. So that¡¯s how it was, then? By having my hair cut, I¡¯d accidentally found out that looks were an important detail in Mirror World. I had indeed read about all the places where they could glam you up, but I¡¯d believed it to be a useless whim. ¡°Jazzing up one¡¯s clothes,¡± I repeated. ¡°How¡¯s one supposed to do that?¡± I decided against going back to the barber¡¯s. I wasn¡¯t going to waste my time standing in line again simply to pose one last question to the owner. I might try another way. I opened the map and activated the search. Got it! Oh wow. So many of them! Alice the Seamstress, Alanis¡¯ Tailored Suits, Liseanne¡¯s Fashion House and so on, and so forth¡ªat least fifteen search results. No, enough for today. I was too tired. First the market, then the shops and now fashion houses? I don¡¯t think so! I headed for the portal. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Buy Mirror World: Mirror World, Book 1: Project Daily Grind Mirror World, Book 2: The Citadel - release August 10, 2016 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------