Merchant of Death

by Jared Mandani

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Merchant of Death

  Eternal War Online: Book 1

  By Jared Mandani

  Merchant of Death is © 2019 by Jared Mandani

  This book is a work of fiction, and any similarity to persons, institutions, or places living, dead, or otherwise still shambling is entirely coincidental.

  Thanks for purchasing this book. Happy reading!

  Chapter 01

  The chilled mountain air stung the open wound on John’s shoulder. Fallen branches snapped under the tires of the ATV he was driving. Each jolt sent fresh waves of pain through his arm. The bunker couldn’t be much farther. His sharp eyes scanned the area. The Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest extended in all directions. On any other day, he might have appreciated the trees towering above him. Today was not that day.

  A wracking cough sputtered from the engine. Chrome peeked out from under the chipped, black paint. The seat was cracked from years of weather, but it still ran. That was good enough for him. A familiar boulder was ahead on the right. He drove up to it and killed the engine. The fallen leaves on the forest floor muffled the sound of his combat boots. Pungent smells of moist soil and pine needles masked the ATV’s gasoline fumes.

  John trailed the toe of his boot along the ground. A smirk spread across his face when it hit something solid. Squatting down, he brushed away a few loose leaves from a metal handle. The bunker’s entrance was sunken into the ground. A mesh netting with leaves and twigs fixed to it concealed the door. He had blown through most of his cash reserves to get the safe house set up. Luckily, he had had enough sense to plan ahead. In his line of work, it paid to be prepared.

  A few strong tugs freed the door. The hinges would need to be oiled. John peered into the darkness. Just inside the door was a second, folded up, mesh covering with foliage attached. He quickly covered the ATV and descended into the bunker. Spiderwebs clung to his face. The musty smell conflicted sharply with the freshness of the forest outside. After a few steps, a motion sensor detected his movements. Naked bulbs flared to life, one after the other. John pulled the bunker door closed behind him. The deadbolt on the inside scraped securely into place.

  As he marched down the concrete steps, a computerized, female voice chimed to life. “Welcome back, Mr. Taggart.”

  “Thank you, Gen.” John trudged down the last remaining steps to the bunker’s belly.

  The Generation Zed artificial intelligence system was the last one made that didn’t have government taps installed. It had cost him a pretty penny to track down an authenticated version. Most copies had been destroyed by homeland security. The black market was flooded with knockoffs. Luckily, he was able to pull a few strings.

  Moving deeper inside, John made his way to the bathroom. The mirror on the medicine cabinet showed his five o’clock shadow. The dark hair on his head was chopped short. Tired lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. Scoffing at his own reflection, John opened the cabinet. First-aid supplies lined the shelves. He grabbed some hydrogen peroxide and bandages. The wounds needed to be cleaned before infection set in.

  John pulled his black, cotton shirt off over his head. The fabric brushed against his injured shoulder and made him wince. The bullet had barely grazed him. That didn’t make it hurt any less. He grimaced, pouring the peroxide on the open cut. Bubbles foamed around the edges. John placed some sterilized gauze on the area and wrapped it up. Baring his teeth, he quickly scanned his body for any other wounds. A dark bruise faded from purple to green along his ribs. Taking deep breaths was difficult. His fingertips kneaded the area. The bruise was deep, but he didn’t feel any broken ribs.

  A throbbing at the back of his neck drew his attention. He grabbed a handheld mirror from the edge of the sink and used it to look at the damage. John positioned his back to the medicine cabinet, lining up his reflections. It wasn’t pretty. Thick, black sutures wove haphazardly around a port at the base of his skull. The procedure would leave a scar, he was sure of it.

  One of the first things he had done when he had been compromised was get a new synaptic socket. Unfortunately, buying off the black market tended to have some downsides. Items could be acquired with two of the following traits: cheaply, quickly, or well-done. If it was cheap and quick, it wouldn’t be well-done. If it was well-done and quick, you could bet that it wouldn’t be cheap. Since he was low on both time and money, John had gone with the first route. The skin around the incision was pink and warm to the touch. He soaked a clean piece of gauze with peroxide and placed it tenderly to his neck. He sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

  The new synaptic socket had been scrubbed of security and overwatch programs installed by the manufacturer and the government. A scar was a small price to pay for anonymity. Still, all the technological precautions in the world wouldn’t do him any good if infection set in. Stashing the first-aid supplies back in the medicine cabinet, John left the bathroom to check the status of his other provisions.

  The thick, concrete walls along the perimeter of the bunker were rough to the touch. The place wasn’t fancy, but it didn’t need to be. John stopped in front of a metal door. A thin layer of rust formed rings around the rivets. Pulling the door open, his fingertips grazed along the inside wall, feeling for the light switch. One flip bathed the inside of the storage room with yellowed light. Crates were stacked high with canned goods and other necessities. One wall was devoted only to weapons and ammo. John’s eyes scanned the room for one box in particular. A frown furrowed his forehead. He skimmed the shelves until he spotted a small, pharmaceutical safe. Punching in the passcode, John opened the fireproof box to reveal rows of antibiotics and pain killers. At least he would have medicine on hand if the port did get infected. It would be better to save them for an emergency. His fingers gently reached up to touch the base of his skull again. He would have to keep a close eye on it.

  Leaving the storage room, John went to the small surveillance station that had been set up in the living quarters. He dug a data tab out of his pocket and inserted it in the correct slot. Lights along the control panel showed that the computer had registered the insert. John sat roughly on the meager, twin bed across from the monitors. The bedspread was plain with a few moth holes. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed in the world, but it beat sleeping on the hard ground.

  John leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Gen, access the files on the data tab I just inserted.”

  “Files accessed. Current language: Mandarin. Would you like me to translate the files for you?”

  “Yes.”

  The machine hummed as Gen fired up the processors. “Translation complete.”

  Images populated the screen. John let his eyes skim over the documents. Coordinates along with timestamps filled the first few pages. “Gen, can you tell me what is located at the latitude and longitude listed here?”

  “Certainly. Those coordinates correlate to the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China, located in Washington, DC.”

  Squinting at the screen, John thought out loud. “The Chinese embassy, huh? Gen, I need you to access news headlines that match up with the dates on the timestamps.”

  “Your requ
est is very broad. Current processing time: four hours.”

  “Cross-reference with political topics and headlines on the dates in question. Give preference to anything related to China.”

  The computerized voice responded promptly. “Parameters narrowed. Processing time: ten minutes.”

  John pulled out a knife from his boot and began scraping dirt from underneath his fingernails. He skimmed the rest of the documents while Gen performed her search. One section of the data tab was merely a list of files named after people. What struck him as odd was that the names were not traditionally Chinese. He stopped when a familiar name grabbed his attention. Pulling his lips into a thin line, John clicked on the name. An error dialogue box popped up on the screen: Access denied. “Gen, why won’t this file open?”

  “It appears to be heavily encrypted.”

  “Can you get past the security?”

  The system’s internal processors whirled faster. In a moment, the dialogue box disappeared. The previously encrypted file contained pictures of a U.S. senator with a young girl. John wasn’t sure how old she was, but if the information was encoded, it was unlikely that she was of age. He shook his head in disgust. Closing out the file, he saw that many of the names listed belonged to senators and congressmen. Each file contained some sort of sensitive information that could be used against the men and women in question. It ranged from embezzlement, adultery, and forgery to tax evasion, shell companies on foreign soil, and inappropriate conduct with minors.

  Revulsion twisted his lips into a grimace. “They have blackmail on almost every senator and congressman in office. I guess that explains the warm welcome I received.” He touched the wound on his shoulder gently.

  Gen chimed to signal the completion of her task. “The information you requested is ready.”

  “Give me the top five hits arranged by relevance.”

  The headlines quickly reorganized themselves on one of the additional monitors he had installed. Gen recited the top five results. “March 14, 2119 Zhou Sheng Elected to Chinese Presidency Despite Suspicions of Foul Play.

  “May 12, 2119 China Declares Exports on Hold until Embassy of the People’s Republic of China Is Expanded and Tariff’s Lowered.

  “June 6, 2119 U.S. Senate Approves Chinese Trade Deal and Embassy Expansion.

  “June 30, 2119 Member of Congress Killed in Motor Vehicle Accident. Driver Retains Chinese Diplomatic Immunity.

  “July 7, 2119 POTUS Agrees to Meet with Chinese Officials Concerning Missing American Reporters.”

  The last result piqued John’s interest. He immediately skimmed the list of names. His jaw tightened. Amid the names of senators and congressmen was the name of the President of the United States. John hesitated over the file name. He took a deep breath and opened it. Inside were racy emails exchanged between the president and an intern at the Chinese embassy. If they were made public, it would mean an international scandal and possible cause for war. It seemed that the Chinese government had gone to great lengths to place itself in a position of power, secured by blackmail on almost every higher ranking U.S. official. John swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. They were corrupt, all of them.

  Gen’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I’m registering an increase in your blood pressure. My programming suggests that you take some of the following precautions: reduce stress, exercise regularly, or reduce the sodium in your diet.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” John slipped his knife roughly back into his boot and located the synaptic link virtual reality collar that paired with his newly implanted socket.

  Finding a SyLVR collar that would actually pair with a scrubbed synaptic socket was rare. Manufacturers usually installed a kill switch. It would trigger if a socket that didn’t have the correct security protocols tried to link to it. The result was an internally-fried hunk of metal with about as much use as a paperweight. The current black market work around was to pair the collar with the socket before the overwatch programs were scrubbed. Since the collar only checked for the protocols on the initial set up, it would acknowledge the socket as an already approved device. Naturally, the two items together racked up quite a price.

  John pressed the pairing button on the collar. “Gen, can you link my SyLVR to the satellite grid?”

  “Linking now.”

  “I need you to scramble the signal, too. Reroute it through a few other countries just to be safe.”

  “Rerouting.”

  Once the collar was linked to the grid, a green light started to flash. The light stopped blinking when it detected the socket in the back of his neck. John hesitated before plugging his socket into the collar. He hated to leave his body defenseless while his mind was in a virtual reality. It never set well with him. That was part of the reason he had chosen such a remote location. There were only a few, low-security patrols along the US-Canadian border—none of which should come anywhere near his bunker. John clenched his teeth together and placed the collar behind his neck.

  After a few moments of trying to line up the socket with the connector, he felt the two pieces slip snuggly into place. The metal was cold on his skin. The semi-circle design meant that the SyLVR collar stopped at the edges of his collar bones, leaving the front of his throat uninhibited. He quickly laid down on the bed while the technology booted up.

  One by one, his senses were slowly loaded into the system. His body would no longer register the stimuli from the real world. Instead, his brain would process the virtual input as reality. The total immersion experience could be disorienting for an inexperienced user. A three-note chime echoed around him in surround sound as the program initiated. A plain, white shirt and matching pants adorned the mental projection of his body. The welcome screen faded in from the blackness accompanied by a calming, female voice that led him through the initial setup.

  Welcome to SyLVR

  Embrace your reality.

  Create New Account

  Sign-in

  John reached out and touched the new account option. He was prompted to fill out a form and accept the terms and conditions. The information he inserted didn’t matter very much as long as it didn’t match his true identity. It would just be a throwaway account once he had acquired enough funds to finish implementing his escape plan. New faces weren’t cheap, and they certainly weren’t something to skimp on.

  After he locked in his information, the SyLVR welcome AI chimed in again. “Great! Now that we have your information, what would you like to do next?”

  Setups were always tedious. John rolled his eyes. “Add funds.”

  “You have chosen to add funds to your account. Any money transferred to your SyLVR account may be used to purchase upgrades or to fund microtransactions in applicable games. Please note that any currency spent will be nonrefundable unless a glitch is detected. If you accept these terms, please input the amount you would like to transfer to your account.”

  John linked his off-shore bank account. It was setup under an alias just in case his usual assets were frozen, or he had to go into hiding. There wasn’t much in the account. It was just a place to store some of his previously laundered cash for a rainy day. A loading bar let him know that the transfer was complete.

  Current Balance

  $4375.62

  The AI continued her programmed responses. “Now that we have your funds added, what would you like to do next?”

  “View games.”

  A menu rushed up to him from a distant point on the pitch-black horizon. The first game was a feel-good virtual petting zoo. Definitely not what he was looking for. John swiped to the next game before the preview had a chance to load. He passed over an escape room and several puzzle-based games before finding an option that caught his eye. The preview loaded.

  Chunks of dirt and clods of grass flew up around him. The clash of enchanted blades against clockwork spiders sent sparks into the sky. Combat spells flung oppone
nts backwards. Demonic spirits charged through a barrage of bullets. Intense music swelled as the scene shifted to show three different factions represented by characters in power stances. The title of the game was stamped over the image: Eternal War Online. Real players. Real rewards.

  He had heard about EWO before. The creators had used strict privacy policies when they made the game which was perfect for people like John to launder money and accrue wealth. Plus, the game style fit neatly in his wheelhouse. With a cocky smirk, he chose the download option. If he played his cards right, EWO could solve all of his monetary needs.

  John watched the loading bar at the top of his vision. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders to loosen up. “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter 02

  The introductory cinematic flared to life. The sun glared over a cracked and parched wasteland. Something rumbled in the distance. Loose pebbles shook on the ground. A stampede of clockwork towns charged forward. The towns were poised above deadly, metal legs that dug into the earth like spikes, quickly traversing the badlands. The scene zoomed in on a man twirling a pistol around each of his trigger fingers. A flag fluttered behind him sporting a skull with two crossed pistols underneath it: the faction symbol of the Enlightened.

  From there, the cinematic melted to show a poppy field at night. Blood shone on the petals in the moonlight. A woman stood among the flowers. Her eyes were rolled back in her head so only the whites of her eyes were visible. In one, explosive gesture, she shot her hands up into the air. Mist swirled around her and then formed into what could only be described as an army of spirits. Branded on each of their foreheads was the image of an unfurled paper fan seated inside of a seven-point star. The mark was a calling card for the Empire of the Seven Paths.

  Quickly shifting away from the poppy field, the game morphed to a scene where an old man was passing his hands over a longsword. As his hands moved along the blade, the sword started to glow with a shimmering, golden light. The radiance illuminated a younger man wearing a suit of armor. The sigil on his breastplate resembled a coat of arms containing a cross fleury. The image marked him as part of the Holy Seal.