by Arthur Stone
A deep worry was mutating in Dark’s foggy mind. He could see now: he was being held captive by a sociopath. Kidnapping every boyfriend his daughter had ever had?
There was something very wrong with that.
What was this, a game to him?
Kim continued, his gaze just as indifferent as ever.
“Mila mixed twenty full doses of stardust with absinthe and drank it. She left a note. It was very short. In it, she pronounced a curse on ‘him.’ Whoever ‘he’ is, she didn’t say. Sadly enough for you. And sadly enough for your sixteen, uh, accomplices. So I had to invite all of you here, one after another. And explain to each and every one of you why you should not have done that to my girl.”
“Your daughter and I had a decent breakup! Actually, we didn’t even break up. We just spent a few nice evenings together, that’s all. No talk of love, of commitment, of relationship. This sort of thing happens often. It’s normal.”
“Yes, it happens. But this was my daughter. I loved my daughter as the girl she used to be. A cute, naive little girl. And now she’s gone. Gone forever. I cannot fix that – no one can. But I do know the seventeen suspects. One of them put her in the ground.”
“Logically it should be the last of them.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“So you’ve decided to kill me. How original.”
“Kill you? No. No need to worry about that. I can even give you my word that the thought has not crossed my mind, and will not. That would be a guaranteed method to punish the killer, yes. But no, that’s not for you. I’ve never planned to kill you. What’s more, I will do everything I can to keep any physical harm from coming to you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief. You’re so trustworthy thus far.”
“I have many faults, yes. But I do not speak unless I mean it. My word is law, for others and for myself. You will not die by my hand, nor by my command, nor even by my tacit hints that you be dispatched with.”
“If we traded places, would you believe me when I said that to you?”
“No one will lay a finger on you. On your body. Enough of this, though. What’s your name?”
“You don’t know?”
“You’ll understand why I ask in a moment. Just tell me your name. It’s not so hard.”
“D... Dar... Darnit! What the hell is this?”
“Come on now. Your name.”
“I’m guessing it won’t surprise you that I don’t remember my own name. Only the stage name I had last fight, that’s all I can recall. What did your goons shoot me up with?”
“I’m no expert, so I don’t know the chemical details. Several drugs. A cocktail. The first dose knocked you out. Then, we transported you to Slavonia. Perhaps politics isn’t your thing, so let me explain. Slavonia is a unique country. Well, ‘country’ isn’t the right word. A unique territory. Many, shall we say, internal difficulties, along with a bizarre foreign policy. This is common in today’s Eastern Europe, of course, but Slavonia is a special case. The Slavonians have a ravenous, pervasive curiosity. Their legislative system is a place lions and dragons fear to tread. But some people can turn this fault into a feature and run businesses that would not be possible elsewhere. There is even more to the story: West Slavia, a part of the young state that broke away in a military coup. Eleven years have passed, and yet the consequences are still evident. This new country is not currently recognized by any other country in the world, and a number of important people have a deep interest in keeping it that way. The laws of West Slavonia are even more unusual than those of Slavonia, and subject to a number of interpretations. Yet the area is urbanized, with highly developed industry. That includes decent telecommunications infrastructure. These high-powered communications lines, in conjunction with the flexible legislation of the area, allows us to run Internet projects here which cannot be run anywhere else. Some of the modifications we’ve made to your mind have blocked out certain memories. Such as your real name. Then, you were placed into a sort of coma. I’m not about to share the details, but it was used early on in VR development to boost simulations of reality. Not a very widespread technology, of course. It doesn’t work well on everyone, and there can be side effects. Thankfully, it worked on you, perhaps because of your experience with eSports.”
Dark raised an eyebrow. “Wait. We’re... we’re inside?”
“Yes.”
“Nonsense. I’ve seen virtual reality week in and week out for years. All platforms, all scenes. But the models here are far too realistic. Perfectly realistic. None of the systems are this good.”
“Some of them are. Have you ever heard of X?”
“A plaything for porn addicts.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’ve only heard rumors.”
“Maybe. Just before your crooks kidnapped me, I saw an advertisement. It looked like a porn ad.”
“That makes sense. But it means you know nothing about X. Well, let me explain: this is a unique virtual reality world. Unparalleled. It has running, simultaneously, two bleeding-edge mechanics: first, an unpredictable and changing world controlled by artificial intelligence, without operators, powered by that intelligence and by the resources of all of its users’ brains. Simply put, this virtual world is supported not only by an AI but also by the minds of the millions plugged into it. This you see around you is created not just by the machine, but by the people within. People including you and me. Our brains perfect the reality created by the soulless machine. Whenever flaws appear in the AI’s creation, your brain hides them from your consciousness via integrated precognition. That’s why everything you do see seems indistinguishable from the real world. Other newer technologies have also been used here, but they’re not unique to X. For example, this place has one hundred percent sensation. You’re used to that, right?”
“Arena sensations are synthesized.”
“Why?”
“Natural sensations could kill you if the governors fail. And bootleg equipment often fails, so they don’t take the risk.”
“Ah, I didn’t know that. Here in X there are no synthetic sensations. Everything is real.”
“Right. Hence the porn addicts.”
“You’re right about that part. Realizing your most private, often most criminal sexual fantasies can be expensive. Experiencing sensations that are indistinguishable from real ones is priceless. But there is a dark side: pain. The pain is also real.”
“If the sensations are really as high level as you claim, this game will run out of players soon.”
“Practice has proved otherwise. X was released not long ago, but it’s already in the top five games. X and its active user count are growing. The game world is divided into zones with varying levels of sensation, from zone 1 to zone 9. In a zone 9, users feel only ten percent of what they would in real life. But in a zone 1, they feel fifty percent, which is usually enough to be indistinguishable.”
“A full half of real sensations?” Dark blinked. “More than enough to kill you in cleanse. Not everyone would die, of course, and not in all cases, but people with any pain tolerance problems would be at extreme risk.”
Kim nodded. “So players sign a contract that clearly waives any and all claims in the event that they voluntarily enter dangerous game areas. And to further reduce risk, nearly all zone 1s and zone 2s are safe locations, inaccessible locations, or outright unused locations. Places that are hard to get to, or where it is very difficult to be exposed to harm and danger. But the game is not complete. There are still some locations that fall outside of these safety lines, where fifty percent of pleasure and pain alike are felt. Getting into these areas isn’t easy. You need to get lucky, and you need a whole party of strong squadmates, plus an elite account—which is too expensive for most. But you have been granted an elite account! Or at least it has been granted to us on your behalf. So now, you have full access. You can go wherever you’d like. This zone we are currently located in is one of these level 1 zones. Ah, yes, our specialists handled the
creation of your character. I’m sad to say this, but you’ve been assigned a character from a ... rather defective race. Before the release, the developers experimented a great deal with races, developing many options. Some were discarded—well, archived—like the one you belong to. It was considered a failure. But I asked someone very nicely, and he agreed to pull it out of the archive for me. It suits my purposes completely. Your character now has a special racial trait: sensations are enhanced by 100%. Meaning that while ordinary players experience 50% pain, you experience the full 100%. It’s no surprise, then, that this race was rejected. Quite a dangerous trait, don’t you think? Nobody wants more lawsuits. But you’re not going to sue anyone, isn’t that right? We’ve made an exception for you and the other sixteen. One hundred percent pain. Not only highly illegal, but also impossible for your synth. Unless it’s modified, which we have done. Due to these modifications, you will experience some complications controlling your in-game body for a few days. Thankfully, that will be the least of your problems. Since you’re not in the sharpest state of mind right now, I’ll lay this out plainly for you: a rich array of negative sensations is coming your way. You will be tortured. Day after day, week after week, month after month. No breaks.”
Dark’s reply was calm and confident. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Not without breaks. When you connect to a network of this level, you have to have a separate contract with the provider. Else you won’t be able to join the game. All of the providers track the synth readings of each user. The maximum amount of time for which a synther is allowed to be on the inside with sensation active is thirty-six hours. And that’s only if you’re in some war-torn country in Africa. Usually they won’t even give you thirty-six.”
“You’re right. Except for one thing. This isn’t a war-torn country in Africa. It’s Slavonia. Western Slavonia. Well, your physical body is in Western Slavonia, anyway. That changes many things, since this country allows things that would be unthinkable elsewhere. During the revolution’s redistribution of property rights, one of the key local providers underwent a change of ownership. The new owner has completely lost all ability to track online synthers, due to financial and legal matters, and due to the total lack of control over the reconfiguration of hacked equipment. I happen to know this for a certainty since, by a strange coincidence, one of the companies I tacitly own bought up this service provider. This event happened just after Mila’s death. So I began thinking about what these unique characteristics could gain for me. As you can see, they gained me a great deal. Now, you will remain here in this virtual world for as long as it takes to turn you into a human vegetable. Men are resilient, but no one can last forever. Sooner or later, we will find your limits. Don’t worry about your physical body. As I said, I guarantee its safety. You’re in a comatose state, as often happens with cyberfighters. Too many cleanses on cheap equipment. You know the deal. So your body has been moved to a Red Cross facility. A generous donation was made to the Red Cross from anonymous benefactors, on the condition that they provide the best of care and monitoring to their new patient. Trust me, your body will receive better care than it has ever known. You are also connected to the network with the newest prototype interface, more powerful than anything else on the market. Your body is in a capsule designed for space hibernation. Life support, constant monitoring, massage, reflexotherapy, and an electrical muscle stimulation system. A full alert system and redundant backups, generators, and communication lines are in place to guarantee your safety and continued connectivity. Your body will suffer neither malnutrition nor atrophy, for as long as it takes.”
Dark was growing understandably tense, so he tried another angle. “OK, let’s do things your way. Let this virtual torture rob me of all traces of sanity. What then? That won’t return your Mila to you. Nor will it ease her passing.”
He saw the first twinge of emotion in the man’s eyes. Not doubt, nor sadness, but something wolfish and cruel. “You’ve forgotten that you’re only one of seventeen. Some of your predecessors were weak. They reached their breaking point within just a few days. I began to feel more as each one became a mindless vegetable. Some of what was lost returned to me. Piece by piece I have recovered, by gazing into the crazed eyes of the bastards. Nothing but pain lives in their eyes anymore. Endless, unquenchable pain. I must finish what I have started by adding the final, seventeenth piece. I must break you, like I did the rest. Welcome to X. To a world where anything is possible. To a world where we can take your personality, your memories, your essence, and dissolve them into digital noise. I doubt you like this news, so before I leave you in The Spider’s care, remember that I’m guaranteeing your safety. I promise everything will be alright. No matter how long you last, I will take care of your body. My word is law. I only mean your physical form, of course. I cannot make any assurances regarding your mind.”
Dark grinned. “Then I guess it’s time to say goodbye. I have to get back outside.”
“You know that the 36-hour limit is set for a reason, right? That an uncontrolled exit can kill you if you’ve been in here for more than that? In a manner of speaking, your brain has already grown accustomed to X. An abrupt exit could be fatal. Disconnection under these circumstances can only be conducted in gradual stages, with the supervision of experienced physicians.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Fine, then, try to press that Exit button. Try to surprise me.”
Kim’s lips spread into a wolfish smile.
Chapter 4
The Spider’s Web
Total stat levels: 5
Character level: 0
Mastery level: 0
Cleanse was the most dangerous event a virtual fighter could undergo. But few people know about the pre-cleanse state of consciousness. It’s usually not particularly dangerous, but it can be.
The Spider had the ability to keep its victim in that state for an unbearably long amount of time. After five minutes, Dark was squealing like a bleeding pig, without even trying to resist. An hour passed before the cries ceased, his pharynx unable to utter them anymore as they shrank to a mix of heavy breathing, hissing, and moaning. The sadistically sophisticated Spider tormented his flesh in a stream of unprecedented ways. Most could not have been of his own devising, for no man has that amount of creativity. He must have mastered all of the literature on the torturer’s craft.
“Well? Why are your eyes squinted shut, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not going to burn them out. Not today, anyway. So let your eyes enjoy their day off! Tears of relief would be appropriate, even. How about I help you? I’ll just cut off your eyelids, but I’m warning you, they don’t grow back quickly.”
Dark decided that resistance was unlikely to help him and complied. There was nothing new to see. The place looked like the basement of some abandoned slum factory. Assorted tools of torment lined the walls, and a tin brazier to the side of the low door filled the room with the scent of burning coal. In the middle, Dark sat strapped to a massive piece that combined chair and table. This latter contraption could be turned and folded or unfolded to suit the torturer’s purpose.
The executioner himself was worthy of his nickname. His puny body looked like it had been artificially reduced in size. Four thin limbs protruded from it unnaturally. If his arms were shorter than his legs, it was not by much. His head was massive and unreasonably spherical, without a single hair to be seen, and all of the vices of humanity converged at once in his face. Contemplating that visage was torture by itself.
Still, if only the torment stopped at the face...
“I think it’s time we cut your nails. A nice manicure, and you won’t even have to pay for it!”
The Spider’s voice rattled with mockery, as always. The events of the past hour filled him with joy. He took extra joy in adding poor jokes to the physical torment. Dark had tried to prompt him to give up some kind of useful information at first, but soon had stopped. His attempts had only played in
to the torturer’s hands, giving him some perverted cause for self-justification.
“Ah, I will take your silence as a sign to proceed. Fine, you’ve convinced me. Free it is. Some customers say I cut their nails a bit too short, so I hope you’re OK with that. Shorter looks better on guys, you know, so I figure, why not just go as short as possible? I’m sure you love trying new things. New sensations. And without paying a single penny! Now, which hand shall we do first? Your left hand? Good choice! You right-handed people never give your lesser hand enough attention. Ah, the pincers are good and warm. Here we go!”
Dark grunted as his first nail was burned off. His ability to scream had gone hoarse long ago. A second nail followed, with Dark making the same sounds.
But with the third, something new happened.
+1 Tolerance. Your Tolerance has reached level 6!
What was this? Why did it seem familiar? Ah, yes, a system message. Common in virtual reality worlds. Dark had no experience with games that involved character development, but he had heard a lot about them. So being tortured would pump this Tolerance stat. He hadn’t noticed the previous five messages, probably due to the state of relative insanity in which he had lived for most of the day.
But how could he possibly have missed not one, not two, but five of these messages? Dark had always been observant. Kim had mentioned something about interference with his synth. Modifications. The synth was an artificial implant in the occipital lobe of the brain. Anyone age 14 or older could get one, as long as none of the rare contraindications were discovered during the prerequisite medical examination. It was a non-surgical procedure: a series of nanite injections. The nanites would travel to preset areas and combine with your neurons and with each other into the required structure.
The monsters who had kidnapped him must have done an immense amount of work to successfully modify his synth – idiosyncrasies of the local network provider notwithstanding. They had blocked his ability to receive system messages, too, by all appearances. Yet the assholes must have not realized that cyber fighters got shots of nanites nearly every day to mitigate the ill effects of frequent cleanses. There were plenty of available nanites in Dark’s body at any given moment. Perhaps they had managed to repair the recent damage to his synth, or at least some of it. Now, he could read messages about his Tolerance pumping.
