Endless Online: Oblivion's Blade

by M. H. Johnson

  If anything, their tablemate looked more flustered than ever. "Look, I... yeah, exercise and me don't really get along but um, yeah, if I ever ha ha enlist, I'll drop your name and give you full cred, okay?"

  Hank chuckled. "Sure, kid. You know what? I hope you do. I'm fucking with you ten percent. But ninety percent, the armed forces could use more whizzes with a computer." To Val's unabashed pleasure, the powerfully built man actually handed Tubby his card. "Seriously though, if you have skills? They won't even time you on the mile run. You do it, automatic pass. You're in."

  Tubby paled and swallowed. "Run? Me?"

  The high schooler smirked. "Power walk that sucker. You'll end up working for the pentagon in no time! All the chicks and glory will be yours."

  "Uh...yeah. Sure. Thanks for the card, Hank."

  The three of them shared a grin as Tubby abruptly excused himself, tray in hand, re-seating himself as far from them as possible.

  "You know, he is right about one thing," the high schooler said, gazing at Val a bit too consideringly.

  "What's that?"

  "You don't look like a clueless idiot. My brother is one. I should know. You wouldn't find yourself cleaning septic tanks and filtering water, not unless that's what you actually wanted to do. Your eyes are hard, like my uncle's. He was a special forces sniper, not that you asked. Now he's doing time for murder." The boy flashed a cheeky grin. "Tell me that WTS isn't code for some elite corp of black ops assassins."

  Val blinked, totally flummoxed. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought a seventeen-year-old kid could have made him so damn fast. It was every agent's worst nightmare. And never had he been so happy for Hank's roar of laughter.

  "Oh good one, kid, that's rich! Our boy Val here got his legs blown up and his face cut open and you're playing him as James Bond. I love it." Hank then grimaced an apology. "Sorry, Val."

  Val chuckled and shook his head. "You know what, Pete? I'm going with your story. Fuck this stupid ass wheelchair. I'm James Bond all the way."

  It was then that the back lights dimmed as several well dressed men and one woman in a power suit stood up in unison. The woman was a gorgeous platinum blond with shapely legs, gazing at them all intently with captivating eyes that flowed from brilliant blue to emerald green with every graceful tilt of her head. She nodded approvingly, flashing them all a dazzling smile. Val felt his cheeks blush as his eyes trailed the outline of a sensual physique all but bursting from a suit not really intended for a woman who stood as tall and proud as she did. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes, putting such thoughts away as best he could.

  "Good morning, everyone. I am Solena Petrova, and on behalf of Electronic Supersolutions Incorporated, I want to welcome all of you visiting us today. You're all part of a very select group of beta users who will get a chance to experience what we truly feel to be the most immersive and realistic game to ever hit the market with graphics that aren't just bleeding edge, but are indistinguishable from real life." She grinned into the sudden silence. "That's right. Here at ESI, using patented technology and exclusive licensing agreements with the premier VR helm manufacturer in all of China, we have designed a game so breathtakingly realistic, both in sight and sound, that it will absolutely blow you away. Incomparable graphics, along with thousands of real-life actors and next-gen AI mimicking programs, have all been implemented to offer a truly singular experience, unlike anything you have ever seen or played before.

  "All of those chosen to attend this event have been carefully selected from thousands of applicants, and we are happy to embrace candidates of all backgrounds and circumstances, delighted to show how Endless Online can be a boon not only to the entertainment industry, but as a form of therapy for selected individuals as well."

  Val frowned at this, now more certain than ever that his status as a disabled veteran was what had opened the door for him. And who was he to judge? It was probably the only reason why he was sitting there today.

  "But before we begin, we here at ESI want to ensure everyone that your well-being and happiness are truly our paramount concern. If you or someone you love has ever suffered from epilepsy or seizures, please let one of our staff members know so we may best assist and serve you."

  "She means kick them out," Pete whispered as an aside.

  Val smirked and nodded.

  "Another thing, Val?"

  "Yes, Pete?" Val whispered back.

  "We're not wearing nametags. I didn't mention mine earlier because I didn't want creeps like Tubby trying to cyber-friend me. So how is it that you know my name?"

  Val blinked, an icy shiver running through him as he gazed into Peter's curious features. He forced himself to grin. "Because I'm James Bond, remember? I'm clever like that."

  Pete's frown turned into a rueful chuckle. "Guess I had that coming. And if all you did was clean water, then I'm Daniel Craig."

  Val shrugged. "I was always partial to Sean Connery myself."

  "He's okay. Pierce Brosnan was my favorite, the least campy of them."

  Val frowned "Least campy? Daniel Craig is the only serious one of the bunch."

  Pete nodded. "I know. It's almost depressing. Pierce Brosnan was a good mix between them."

  Hank looked up from his paperwork. "Aren't you a little bit young for James bond?"

  Pete smirked, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Hardly. My uncle's a film critic."

  "I thought he was an ex-sniper serving time for body count?"

  "Different uncle. My dad's side has the crazies. My mom's are all complete normies."

  "Damn, kid, how many crazies are in your family, anyway?"

  Pete grinned. "You tell me your body count, Hank, and I'll tell you."

  Hank turned to Val. "This kid is something else, isn't he?"

  Val nodded, turning his full focus once more to the lecture, intrigued despite himself.

  "...To that end, we have invested our extensive resources to make the sense of immersion as seamless as possible. You can lose yourself for hours embracing the life and story of your alter ego, or set internal alarms to naturally rouse you to full wakefulness, should real life duties call." Polite chuckles at that. Certainly she had picked the right audience. Save for Hank, they all looked like serious gamers, and Val had no doubt Hank enjoyed FPS as much as any of his friends did during their R&R.

  "So how does character creation work?" Asked a voice in the audience, and everyone gazed attentively as Solena smiled, dipping her head.

  "A wonderful question, and that cuts to the heart of so much of what role-playing is about, no? Finding the class, the build, that suits you best, that speaks to you. Whether you enjoy questing, treasure hunting, exploring, or world-spanning battlefields, you want to find the class that fits you best. But all too often, as we all know, classes are only approximations, rough cookie cutter builds."

  Val nodded at that. Classes were fine for grouping, letting you know the roles your fellows could best manage, and vital for PUG groups. But they did limit your opportunities to develop your character your own way, and unorthodox builds could also be quite effective for PvP. But they were a nightmare for most games to balance when players thought of clever ways to beat the system, and it was all too easy for novice players to cripple their potential without even realizing it. For that reason, four or five carefully balanced classes was the rock-paper-scissors balance almost all MMORPGs went with, even now. It would be interesting to see if ESI had found another way.

  "Well, I am pleased to inform you all that besides endless excitement and adventure, forging your own path through the game will be part and parcel to your experience. To that end, we have found a unique method unlike any other game on the market today."

  Everyone gazed at her expectantly as Mrs. Petrova flashed a thousand-megawatt smile. "Bio-Resonance."

  Val blinked, the raised whispers making it clear he wasn't the only one who had no idea what she was talking about.

  Solena let the murmuring swell for some moments, h
er smile growing wider. "You decide the class you will play. But not as you think. Or rather, it is what you think, how you think, that will determine your strengths, your weaknesses, what disciplines and potencies will be available to you. What you do from there is completely up to you."

  Val couldn't help smiling. It would be an absolute nightmare for grouping, but for individual immersion, it sounded utterly fascinating.

  "But how does grouping work if there are no defined classes?" asked a bold voice.

  "And what if you don't like what your so-called bio-resonance gave you? Can you reroll?" asked another.

  Solena's smile did not waver. "At this point and time, our sole interest is to provide as immersive and enjoyable a storyline experience as we possibly can. Though nothing prevents you from teaming with an ally, should you make friends in the game, there is no grouping function."

  Stunned silence. "In fact, our game world is so vast and immersive, it is very likely that you won't meet any of your friends without the most concerted of efforts." Her grin only widened as the room became utterly still. "In fact, our AI's are so streamlined and immersive that it is very likely that you won't even be able to tell the difference between an NPC and a fellow gamer at all."

  A wave of excitement and disbelief crashed into the dead silence, gamers at various tables falling into heated discussions even as Solena pointedly raised a glass of champagne and sipped, enjoying the spectacle. "You heard right. A vast, immersive game realm that encompasses multiple worlds, steeped with fantastic lore and technology that is both futuristic and primitive, where lasers, lightning wands, swords and suits of mechanized armor can be found. Do you have what it takes to be a fireball wielding master of the elements? Soaring upon wings of magic through Venusian clouds extending for thousands of miles? Such a path is possible. Could you find yourself in a mech suit controlling a massive battlebot cyber-linked to your every move? Launching lazer fire at enemy opponents on a campaign of conquest? You could. You very well could. Could you be a Psiblade wielding master of the mind, able to crush your foe's psyche with a single dark thought? It all depends on you."

  She smiled at the increasingly excited crowd. "Mech-warrior, Battlemage, or Psion Master; those of you who have signed your wavers and can commit to at least forty hours of play for the next three weeks will have a unique opportunity to find your chosen path before anyone else. Anything and everything is possible, should you have the drive, the passion, the potential to make your dreams come true."

  6

  Val blinked, heart racing. He turned to his tablemates. Peter and Hank were both wearing undisguised expressions of awe and wonder that Val knew mirrored his own. The thought of losing himself in multiple worlds filled with AI so advanced that the NPCs were indistinguishable from reality, the potential of total immersion did take cookie cutter build pressure and throw it right out the window. It seemed that this game was utterly character driven, and the thought of commanding a thousand mechanized soldiers across unfathomable battlefields, or flying through endless brilliant cloud kingdoms filled with adventure, or exploring sacred ruins for the keys to unlocking mystical powers, all of it filled him with a sense of exhilaration he hadn't felt since his very first game.

  "Goddamn, that sounds incredible!" Hank enthused, quickly scanning back over his forms, signing a missed spot with a flourish. "Well, that's that, boys. Seizure risk or no, I'm all in."

  Peter smirked but couldn't hide his enthusiasm. "Yeah, I feel the same way. Hell, Hank, if you weren't in the service, I'd want you on my team, no matter what our Russian princess of a host says about grouping. And don't you have to be ready to serve in a heartbeat?"

  Hank smiled before nodding to Val, the respect of one soldier for another. "Val isn't the only wounded warrior at this table, Hank." He lifted up his boot with one powerful leg. "You can't see it, but half my foot was blown off while I was behind enemy lines. My spotter thought we were through, but we cauterized and bandaged that fucker and I hobbled my ass into position. Then I did what I had slogged through twenty miles of god-awful terrain to do, and made it back in almost one piece, for all that you could fry an egg on my forehead with the fever I was running." He shook his head and sighed. "Earned me a medal, medical disability, and a guaranteed cushy contract position, once I play the psych and rehab game. They let me finish my eighth year on my back, since I was only a month from being up for reenlistment, and these last two weeks I've been stir crazy as hell."

  Pete nodded, his expression unusually solemn, as the former Marine quirked a wry smile. "And how is it that a high school student managed to finesse himself into this beta group?"

  Peter grinned. "Long story short, after getting busted in eighth grade for a little unorthodox entrepreneurialism, I bet my parents that if I could stay clean and rock my GPA, they'd let me game as much as I wanted. I upped the ante after my first month of high school, finessing a promise that if I could graduate a year early, I'd have a year to do whatever the hell I wanted without any pressure or grumbling from them, and if l didn't, I'd go to Wharton just like my father had."

  Val chuckled. "And you did just that, I bet. Clean as a whistle, no longer selling pot, killing all your classes, and when all your teachers urged you to apply early you smiled and nodded at all the right notes, so they were all too happy to accelerate you. But the moment you had your diploma you laughed in everyone's faces and never looked back, I bet. And since your family's pretty rich, you don't have to stress the perfect resume track record. I'll bet you're just worried about one day having to manage what your father or grandfather started, and not muck it all to hell."

  Peter's blinked, grin fading, though he gave a nervous chuckle. "Damn, you are a perceptive one, aren't you, Val? I guess reading your targets is one of the tricks of the trade for a black ops assassin then?"

  Then Val was the one to blink, at a momentary loss for words for what had seemed utterly obvious to him from Peter's clothes, attitude, snarky but not cruel demeanor. Selling pot was a game for someone like Peter. Selling meth or the like would have been an act of desperation or coldest calculation, which didn't fit the boy's MO at all. And considering Peter's attitude about his brother enlisting, grungy job or no, it was obvious that their family had money and easy connections to an officer's path. The boy's natural savvy, restlessness, and ability to think outside the box made Val think his father had made his mark as an entrepreneur, not by thirty diligent years in a cubicle. Getting a sense of Peter had been like clicking together the pieces of a puzzle, nothing exceptional about it.

  Hank chuckled softly. "Kid's a real character, isn't he?"

  Solena's throaty voice washed over them all once more. "And there you have it, friends. Worlds of endless adventure and possibility, ripe for exploration, discovery, even conquest await you. But sign your contracts, and come this way."

  Hank blinked as people rapidly began racing through their paperwork, in a hurry to join their hostess, who did nothing to slow down her stride as a few raced after. "Crap, that's fast. She hardly waited for any questions."

  It was then that one of the two men present took a moment to stand. "We thank you all for coming. Unfortunately, we've had some last minute changes in slotting, so not everyone will be allowed to participate, I'm afraid. If you want to assure yourselves a seat, ladies and gentlemen, I'd advise you to waste no more time."

  Peter grimaced. "Hot damn if that isn't high pressure enough. Fuck it. No seizures in my family, let's do this, guys. Who knows? Maybe we'll be able to group after all, whatever that ice princess says. Let's just enter simultaneously."

  Hank frowned, looking anxiously toward the departing hopefuls. "Sounds good. Let's get a move on, guys, they're collecting our paperwork."

  Val nodded, then froze, blinked once, and took it all in. The considering gazes of the man who had only chosen to speak at that moment; Solena's grand speech, then her rush at the end; the way everyone was feverishly racing with paperwork in hand to the doors obviously leading to the i
nner sanctum, and the smiling man collecting their waivers. And what detailed waivers they were.

  "Val? What are you waiting for? Come on, man," Peter urged.

  Val swallowed, feeling the weight of increasingly impatient eyes staring at him, the fragile strings of acquaintanceship too easily snapped by the changing tides and pressures of the moment. If Val didn't hurry, Pete and Hank would leave, strangers once more.

  For all that he thought himself inured to such forces, he liked both the bemused Marine and the snarky boy genius. But surrendering to pressures, to the expectations of others, could be folly as well. He did not like the way the two suits were eyeing them. They made his gut crawl. "Sorry, Pete, something feels off. Give me a minute."

  Pete's brows furrowed, but Hank held the boy's shoulder, no longer the bemused jock, his voice that of a soldier. "Hold, Pete. We know Val's got a good eye, and these guys are hard-selling like there's no tomorrow." He then flicked a glance at the two suits, frowning, reseating himself.

  "The hell with this. If you guys got cold feet, that's on you." Pete glared at them both.

  Hank smiled while Val carefully looked over the paperwork a second time. "What's born every minute, Pete?"

  Pete frowned, gazing at Hank, looking back at the rapidly thinning crowd of people presenting paperwork being carefully looked over by the smiling gentleman in a perfectly tailored suit before they were ushered in back, one by one. "A sucker," he quietly said, reseating himself, frowning at Val and Hank both, skimming through the paperwork as well.

  "Hot damn," Pete hissed, a few minutes later.

  Val looked up, a hard grin on his features. "Not just a waiver, is it?"

  Pete swallowed, shaking his head. "It's an addendum. You wouldn't even get the wording if you weren't really, really looking for it."