External Threat (Reality Benders Book #2) LitRPG Series

by Michael Atamanov

Would you like to review your statistics for this game session?

  Sure, why not? I opened it.

  Time in game: 32 hours 42 minutes. Your character leveled up 10 times, gained 11 statistics points and 82 skill levels.

  Not bad, not bad at all! I noticed again that this game did have experience, though it wasn’t explicit, and that I had earned an earth-shattering 252730 points.

  You killed 27 players and 11 NPC’s. Your session ended due to: exited game.

  Here I thought for a moment. I guess I had killed twenty-seven players. That would have been the crew of the Sio-Mi-Dori antigrav, and the Dark Faction commandos on board. Add to that the ones I’d shredded with the grenade while defending the comms tower, and it was obvious where I got all that experience! When had I managed to take down eleven mobs, though? I didn’t remember killing even one... Maybe there were pests in the fields I torched during the raid, and it was counting that? No other explanation came to mind, and I had no way of checking.

  I opened my virt pod and shuddered in fear. There were dark figures looming over me again. Deja vu! Fortunately, my eyes quickly adapted to the change in light and I saw my friends. I was being greeted by Imran, Dmitry and Anya.

  “Don’t move your right leg!” the medic warned immediately. “The fracture may not have healed yet, and the damaged meniscus could still be weak. Wait, Gnat, get your hand away from there. Let me take the bandage off your face! Woah! Your nose is good as new! The stitches can come out now, too.”

  I couldn’t hold back and felt my nose, which I couldn’t even touch two days ago. There were no painful sensations now, but I could feel a certain tension. Must have been the stitches pulling at the edges of the wound. With my friends’ help, I left the virt pod, stood up and very carefully tried to put some weight on my right leg. I felt a pain and immediately decided against trying to walk. No, it was too soon. Whatever the healing effect of the game that bends reality, my broken leg and torn meniscus had not recovered in the past day and a half.

  “Kirill, brace yourself on my shoulder!” Imran offered, and Dmitry Zheltov helped me from the other side.

  And so, like that, all three of us started slowly down from corncob number fifteen. The guys mostly kept silent, but Anya was babbling away like a motormouth. Before we got to the bottom, she told me about Tyulenev’s defection, the widespread destruction in the Eastern Swamp, and Radugin’s new deputy. I asked her to tell me more about him.

  “His name is Aleksandr Antipov. Some army guy, maybe a cop, that’s all I know.”

  “He’s probably FSB,” Dmitry cut into the conversation, and Anya easily agreed, saying that she didn’t understand the distinction.

  “He came under the Dome yesterday but, in one day, he managed to whip Gerd Tamara into a tizzy along with many other respected players. He talked with Imran and me too, but he obviously didn’t suspect us of anything. All his questions were about you.”

  Anya sharply went silent, because we were already at the bottom of the spiral staircase and had come face to face with a group of players waiting there. I immediately recognized them all. Gerd Tamara, her second-in-command Roman Pavlovich and her two constant companions, a pair of tall muscular brutes.

  “Gnat, we need to talk! Not for long, just three minutes. And everyone else, please leave us alone!” Once again, the short frail girl said this with such a surprisingly powerful intonation and boundless confidence in her right to give orders that none of my friends could object. “You too!” Tamara said, turning to the armed soldier guarding the entrance to the corncob, and he walked away unquestioningly.

  It was uncomfortable to stand on my one good leg, so I sat down on the bottom step. The dark-haired girl lifted the hem of her long dress and sat down next to me.

  “For starters, Gnat, I want to thank you! Your unexpected intervention changed the balance of forces in Karelia and allowed the Second Legion to go on the counterattack. Unfortunately, not everyone in the faction understands that, but I am acutely aware that our victory in Karelia was all thanks to you. And in many ways, we only kept the Eastern Swamp because of your raid as well. So, I wanted to ask: did you read my note?”

  I confirmed that I found the sheet of paper in my radio just in time and read her warning. And that was why I didn’t inform the faction leaders about my raid, which kept the traitor Tyulenev from learning my intentions.

  “Tell that word for word to Radugin and his underlings, that’ll handle two thirds of their concerns right off the bat!” she advised me. Then Anya abruptly shifted the topic: “Gnat, three hours ago, many sources informed us that the Dark Faction is offering a bounty of ten thousand crystals for your head.”

  I just laughed carelessly and answered that Leng Thumor-Anhu La-Fin placed too high a value on sending me to respawn. For that kind money, I would agree to take a fifteen-minute break all on my own. But my jocular response stood in stark contrast to Tamara’s stone-cold face.

  “You’re not getting it, Gnat. He’s offering ten thousand to kill you in the real world, not the game! Either that or kidnap you in the game and bring you alive to Dark Faction territory. Also, Leng Thumor-Anhu La-Fin has officially promised sanctuary to whoever kills or kidnaps you. He will even bring their body into his world!”

  Aw hell... The smile crawled off my lips and was replaced by an expression of gloom and worry. This was quite the cause for worry. Two thirds of my allies hated me with a passion, and some of them would kill me even for no reward. What was more, the persistent darksider propaganda and speeches from the Tyulenev were leading many on our team to believe the H3 Faction’s days were numbered. Given that, there would surely be a few people to take them up on the offer.

  By the way... was that what caused the recent boost of fame and fall in authority? The news about a bounty on my head? What was more, a reduction in authority, as far as I understood, could be caused by allies thinking worse of me. That meant I had gained some enemies, who were probably now willing to kill me for the Dark Faction’s reward!

  “Gnat, this is more than a serious threat!” Tamara assured me, though I already understood that perfectly. “So, whether you like it or not, I am giving you two of my bodyguards! The will always accompany you under the Dome and subdue any person who even thinks of threatening you. They’re battle-tested soldiers and I have no doubt in their loyalty and skill.”

  I didn’t resist or try to refuse. I sincerely thanked Tamara for the concern. Then she turned her head and happened to meet eyes with me. I wasn’t wearing dark glasses, and I was afraid I might accidentally read her thoughts as I had done before with Anya. But Tamara held steady, in fact locking gazes, and staring deep into my glowing blue eyes...

  “Should I warn Gnat that Antipov is a federal agent? Probably not worth it. Gnat is a grown boy and can figure out how to talk with people like that on his own. In fact, he’d only get angry that some little squirt like me dared give him advice. Gnat clearly thinks I’m too young and inexperienced. Oh well. Should I tell him my seventeenth birthday is in a week? I’m already almost an adult. No, that’ll come across like I’m asking for a present. Better let him know but not directly, as if on accident. Then I’ll gauge his reaction. Why is Gnat looking at me so weird? Is there something wrong with my face? Maybe he noticed the scar under my lower lip. Or is my cheek twitching again? Oh! He’s smiling!”

  Tamara unexpectedly smiled back, but it seemed somehow unconfident and tortured. No, it didn’t just seem that way! She told me why:

  “I can see by your reaction that it didn’t look natural. Yeah, Gnat, I’m not used to smiling... Everyone thinks it’s so easy. Babies knows how to smile from birth. They laugh without thinking how to do it. But my facial muscles atrophied while I was in a coma, and I lost the ability to convey emotion. I’ve been practicing in front of a mirror but, so far, I can only make this predatory scowl, not a warm smile.”

  “It looks just fine, Tamara. You have a pretty smile. I couldn’t see the scar under your lip either, and your
cheek wasn’t twitching. I’ll give you a present next week, too! But don’t say a word to anyone about what you just learned! If it is the only way of exposing traitors, no one can know about it!”

  Yes, I was taking a serious risk by revealing my ability to read thoughts to the leader of the Second Legion. But, I needed to entrust someone with my secret, and Gerd Tamara was definitely not working for the Dark Faction, so I figured she could be a very useful ally. Leaving the dumbstruck and blushing girl sitting on the step, I stood heavily and called over my friends and the two Second Legion bodyguards she’d assigned to me.

  “Take me straight to headquarters! If the leaders are so desperate to see me, it would be wrong to keep them waiting!”

  Chapter Seven. Claim to Fame

  THEY WERE WAITING for me. All my bosses were gathered in Tyulenev’s former office: faction leader Radugin, Diplomat Ivan Lozovsky, and an unfamiliar chubby dark-haired man, clearly the “fed” Aleksandr Antipov, who my faction-mates all seemed to fear. I’m not sure what they found so intimidating about him, but the new deputy leader made no such impression on me. Maybe it was because of the stereotypical spy-hunter or agent from the movies. I was expecting an inconspicuous gray man with an attentive and tenacious gaze, and this plump dark-haired guy in a warm sweater just didn’t seem to fit the bill.

  Imran and Dmitry helped me get in the seat, then hurried to leave the room.

  “Tell me!” Radugin suggested, not even trying to greet me or introduce me to the new faction member.

  “What, you don’t even offer coffee or a drink to a weary cosmonaut?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Sure, I’d help myself and not bother the mucky-mucks but I’ve still got this broken leg, so it might be a bit hard to hobble over.”

  That took them aback. The leaders exchanged glances until Ivan Lozovsky said he’d make me a coffee. He even offered to add a strong infusion of taiga herbs, which he said would perk me up even better. I agreed with gratitude.

  “Ah, that’s a lot better!” I declared with bliss after the first little sip of burning hot liquid. Beyond coffee, it smelled of wormwood, pine nuts and Saint John’s wort. “So, what do you want to know? What should I tell you?”

  My bosses wanted to know everything! Why, despite my injuries, had I suddenly decided to enter the game? Who gave me the authority to allow newbies into the game before the introductory lecture and Labyrinth training? What made me think riding into Dark Faction territory would be so easy, and how did I know that there wouldn’t be serious resistance in the Golden Plain node? Why didn’t I inform leadership? What made us choose the communications tower to hole up in and why did I change artillery targets? How did I know the Geckho would come get me on the Shiamiru and evacuate me? Why had I brought another player into space?

  Lots of them were trick questions. It was as if they implied I had committed some sin and were trying to get me to admit to it. But I tried to answer honestly and in detail, because I had nothing to hide. Hell, I considered my actions absolutely correct, and damn near heroic. Sure, I had to tell them about the warning note from Gerd Tamara, and even promise to show it to them when I got back from space. But the leader of the Second Legion had given me permission and even suggested I do it, so I wasn’t exactly betraying her.

  I was worried leadership would have doubts about the downed Sio-Mi-Dori and the twenty-seven Dark Faction enemies I killed, but that part of my story went unquestioned. Either the upper leadership could see statistics on faction members, or that part of the story had already been told in full detail by Imran, Anya and Dmitry. What surprised and even offended me was that the leadership wasn’t interested in the detailed scan of the Dark Faction antigrav.

  The questioning was primarily conducted by Ivan Lozovsky. The faction leader just asked a few clarifications, while the fed just kept silent and listened closely. When the first wave of questions was over, I finally heard a reaction from Radugin:

  “What can I say? I’m totally satisfied with your answers. Gnat, your only real shortcoming was when you overstepped and sent seven newbies into the game without preparation. And it isn’t just that they didn’t bring any stuff in from the real world, even though we’re hurting for materials and they could have carried two hundred twenty pounds each. It’s more that our faction was counting on them and now six of their characters are handicapped, because they didn’t get any bonus stat points at the start. Now, we’re left with six weak Drivers, Miners and, by the way, another Prospector. In the end, the Prospector didn’t have enough stat points to take Eagle Eye and Rifles to copy your path and might even not be able to use the Prospector Scanner! So tell me, Gnat, was all that worth one decent Journalist?”

  “A Journalist?! Is there even such a class in the game?” I didn’t answer Radugin’s provocative question, but still couldn’t hide my astonishment.

  “As you see, there is. Her name is Lydia Vertyachikh, and she was the only one who got out of the Labyrinth within the allotted time. Also, the game only offered Lydia two professions: Journalist or Prostitute. She makes no secret of that and has told the whole faction. I don’t think anyone was surprised that Lydia ended up picking Journalist after hearing that. It seems unlikely that our faction will ever need a Prostitute. I find it even more dubious that she could find enough opportunities to level such a character... But we actually did need a Journalist, because shining a light on our successes will raise our overall morale. And Lydia found her rhythm quickly. Yesterday, she tied your record for day-one leveling!”

  “She just got lucky,” Ivan Lozovsky said in a dismayed tone. “It just so happened that, on the day she entered the game, we had that epic battle with the Dark Faction. Tons of our players performed acts of heroism that day. All that was of massive interest to our players. They also wanted to know what was happening at different parts of the front, so it was all timing.”

  I found that interesting but still tried to steer the discussion away from the lucky journalist. First of all, I asked about the scan of the Dark Faction antigrav. Why was their reaction so subdued and even ambivalent? It was a rare achievement! Was our faction really not interested in the design of enemy tech?!

  “What makes you say that? Of course we’re interested,” Aleksandr Antipov spoke up for the first time. “But it is worth somewhat less than extraterrestrial technology.”

  Antipov then fell silent, as if ashamed he’d said anything. His thought was finished by Ivan Lozovsky:

  “Yes, Gnat. Dark Faction technology is somewhat better than ours. But all the darksider weapons, apparel and transport we’ve captured is an order of magnitude less impressive than our specimens of Geckho and Miyelonian technology. Dark Faction laser pistols and rifles are just a bit more powerful than our weaponry and are actually worse than our best, made-to-order real-world imports. But our firearms, like the Dark Faction guns, might as well be Christmas crackers in comparison with Geckho blasters and target-seeking pulse pistols.”

  Well, dang... I lowered my head, feeling chastened. The hard-won model of the Sio-Mi-Dori was nowhere near as valuable as I’d guessed. Here, as if wanting to cheer me up, Ivan Lozovsky continued his speech:

  “But that model of the Shiamiru is truly invaluable. In fact, we the curators of the Dome project thanked us officially. They say our rocket scientists shrieked in elation when they saw the highly-detailed model of a working space shuttle! Our scientists are studying away, but there is no certainty modern understanding will be enough to grasp all the technological principles. In any case, though, it is a huge step toward interstellar flight for all mankind!”

  Radugin stopped his subordinate’s fiery speech, and made a gloomier comment:

  “But there’s also another side of the coin... Now, the curators are asking us for more 3D models. They think we must have starships growing on trees! Gnat, it looks like you’re the only player in our faction who can possibly carry out this critical mission. So, from this minute forward, your main job is to get more blueprints of space technol
ogy from the great interstellar races! If you need more scanner supplies, just say the word. The faction can provide whatever you need. If you want anything at all, draw up a list and we’ll do our best to either bring it in from the real world or buy it from our suzerains. For every starship of a different model, we’ll pay you a five-hundred crystal bonus!”

  Radugin spoke of the bonus with such a smug tone that I really had to strain not to break down laughing. How much now? Five hundred??? And that’s for a unique blueprint that will allow scientists and engineers to reproduce a genuine alien space ship? Was our faction really that hard up for Geckho currency? After buying the new gun from Uline, I was left with mere pocket change, three or four hundred crystals. I basically considered myself broke.

  But I didn’t get on my high horse. And I definitely didn’t ask for more. I just told them I still had enough Scanner supplies, and the faction didn’t have to spend any of their obviously lacking Geckho currency on me.

  Radugin nodded, as if he wasn’t expecting anything else, then sharply changed topic:

  “So, now that we’ve covered your new mission, I suggest we discuss the biggest thorn in our side: your reputation in the Faction. Gnat, we regularly receive all sorts of complaints about you from all kinds of players. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. We can work with that. Just explain the situation to the players, and they calm down. It’s the underwater part of the iceberg that has me worried — the anger and discontent that are not voiced but end up stewing in players’ minds. I have to admit, it scares me. I mean, it doesn’t look like simple envy or small issues like missing border patrol shifts or flying off with the faction’s expensive stuff. You’re becoming something of a pariah!”

  Ivan Lozovsky asked for the floor and, with his boss’s approval, continued:

  “Our Geologist Mikhalych is managing just fine and I don’t think he has much need for help. So, sending Gnat there would just mean wasting valuable analyzers. And not showing up for patrols is an even more worthless complaint. Our faction has more than six hundred players that never patrol the border, but none of them have any issues! It’s like Gnat is just too big a deal. All anyone sees is you missing training sessions and patrols! And though earlier, the negativity could be chalked up to your conflict with the beloved Gerd Tamara, you two have made up now, so I don’t see a logical explanation anymore. But it is a clear problem, and it must be dealt with ASAP.”