by D. Rus
In the capital of the elves of Light, the City of Light, things were even worse. The Sun King was calling all elves, asking them to join forces and advancing one simple slogan that all NPCs could appreciate: "Death to the Immortal!"
One of the inner bastions was turned into a jail, and all the ex-players within city limits were imprisoned. Even Macaria’s gift didn’t help in most cases. The unsuspecting gamers had set their bind points at home or in a hotel. Not even in their worst nightmares did it occur to them that the friendly bartenders and chefs could chain them and turn over to the guards for a petty reward.
No one knew how many thousands of players were going insane in the elven torture chambers. But it was clear that the forces of the Russian cluster would unite and most likely storm the City of Light in the nearest future. The war would be difficult as there were far more NPCs than humans.
To make matters even worse, most of the quests were suspended. Game characters disappeared from their usual locations and routes, closed their shops, no longer said "hi" to the players and made wry faces at the sight of quest items. City guard no longer asked to exterminate the rats in the dungeon, and the bored little old lady suddenly no longer needed to send hundreds of letters to the other side of town.
At the same time, a war broke out between financial and commercial structures. The Dwarf Gold members destroyed the gamers’ Forest Bank and subjugated Kobold Trust. Gangs from city slums laid tribute on small shops and fought the scarce guards to win control of the Original City’s market square.
The world was changing toward Chaos. It looked as if the Golden Age of AlterWorld was over. These were the times of revolts when everyone fought for the Game’s Inheritance.
There was also something strange; my secretary, lady Amara, received a polite request from the Virtual Police to meet with Max Nazarov, the First Priest and leader of the Children of the Night clan.
The analysts predicted that the police were going to ask for peace and make veiled excuses. It looked like there were very few of them around and the last thing they wanted was to make powerful enemies. They were trying to reconcile their differences with everyone, then go underground and grow some muscle after everything they had been through. Then after that, they’d be back to their usual thing.
The portalists also reported something strange. According to them, there was a storm in the astral world, and the spatial coordinates often could not be deciphered. Ruptures on remote territories appeared at random.
This seemed like bad news at first, but on the other hand, such a storm could temporarily isolate the clusters and save us from invasions, which we really couldn’t deal with right now. So we would greet the storm with open arms.
My officers stopped reporting when Camo approached us. She was dressed in full gear as she came straight from a battle order. She was noticeably nervous, but upon seeing the melons, she sniffed the air in a comical way and almost licked her lips.
I gestured for her to sit down. "Have a seat, Camo, help yourself. My apologies, but you won’t be eating in silence. We have no time to spare. I never tried to elicit info from you, although obviously I had every reason to. But at this point, the clan needs info badly. In a few minutes, we will most likely find ourselves battling against your kinsmen, the camoes. I would really like to know; who are they and what can we expect from them? Can you tell us?"
Camo shuddered, swallowing a piece of the watermelon with difficulty. She was lost in thought for a second, then nodded. "I’ll tell you…"
Chapter Seventeen
Camo’s story sounded truthful. It was even predictable and quite logical in certain ways.
Around twenty years ago, during the Sanctions War, Camo’s parents fell victims to the infamous Seventeenth Packet. When the Department of State was "psaking" it yet again, they declared all Russian-speaking immigrants on US territory to be "potentially disloyal" and took away several of their rights.
The first generation immigrants lost their right to choose their place of residence, their job, and their right to move around freely. Putting it simply, they were placed in concentration camps; "ethnic reservations" was the politically correct term coined by newscasters.
The second generation immigrants – the children who were born on the soil of the world’s most free country, were taken from their families and deprived of the right to "alternative education" and to "choose an ideology. "
Special boarding schools took in over half a million teenagers to instill democratic values in them. They were subjected to intense brainwashing, including exposure to gay porn, sexual orientation tests, and mandatory hormone therapy to make the individual conform to American standards.
The result was a genderless creature with leveled psychological activity peaks. No uprisings, no aggressive behavior, complete indifference to the sex of the future spouse. Boy, girl, dog, or a virtual reality headset – everything was the same, everything was acceptable and encouraged.
Camo was born after the sanctions packet was passed and became part of the third generation of the "disloyal." She was blacklisted; she received an ID with a red stripe indicating "limited civil rights," which forever barred her from making it into the middle class.
She was persistenly pushed to the bottom of the social pyramid, forced into prostitution and criminal activity. But the girl didn’t give up. By means fair and foul, she received an education grant and managed to graduate from college with the highest honors. But she couldn’t find a job. Employers looked at her ID, shuddered in fear and shyly averted their eyes when they saw her tears of rage.
The crushing terms of the grant turned out to be a government trap for the more persistent and intelligent. Her failure to find a job instantly got her listed as "unwilling to work or serve the motherland." Her college grant turned into a loan with an outrageous interest rate.
Despite all this, the girl got by for two more years. She made ends meet somehow, working her fingers to the bone, giving blood by the gallon, and becoming a surrogate mother three times. The final blow was the news regarding what her premature 4-month-old embryos were used for. The "Eternity" medical corporation, the leader of production of rejuvenating shots and lotions, was finally revealed to her in true colors.
Camo swallowed a bunch of pills to get rid of her fourth pregnancy. This earned her jail time for the first time in her life. "Destruction of corporate property" was a grave violation in a capitalist world. The judge saw that she was blacklisted and punished to the full extent; twelve years of virtual imprisonment. At that point, some curator in the immigrant police deparment heaved a sigh of relief and tossed her file in the archives; one less pain in the ass for him.
Federal agents put her up for auction, where headhunters from private jails bought out her "rights" and "work duty." The only thing she could choose at her new job was her own overclocking rate and the amount of supernormal work hours. Statistics showed that most prisoners worked on maximum settings; they did ten years in one and were released, each one a certified idiot at that point.
The girl didn’t buy into it and worked on the lowest setting, the 14-hour daily minimum. That’s why she was assigned to the toughest zone; she became a rare metal hunter in the planet’s crust. The jail admins valued Eva 4 currency as it could be easily converted into dollars.
After about a year, everything changed. Because of some progress parameters of her character, Camo was selected for a government program and connected to AlterWorld. During her first six months there, she would cast the same stupid spell day after day: Teleportation of Object to Alpha Zone.
Finally, she reached a breakthrough. The worn gold coins started to obey her. She was promptly picked up by big, tough-looking guys and transported to an underground base in Arizona.
It turned out that her magic was in high demand. Every hour they would roll a wagon up to her, filled with metals, artifacts and scrolls. The girl didn’t have to click the icon anymore. She waved her arms more for show and cast the spell by simply
wishing it to happen, without uttering a word.
She managed to steal some of the transported goods. It was fairly easy as all she had to do to put an object in her inventory was touch it. This basic game ability could not be blocked, but the management just let it slide. The inmates were drowned in the retention basin everyday anyway, which emptied their bags and disciplined them.
But Camo reached an agreement with the guards; in return for normal food and an extra five minutes added to her breaks, she brought them gifts from her cast zone. They worked her mercilessly, constantly lengthening her work hours and shortening her offline time. Soon, this led to a very predictable end; Camo went perma. Her luck smiled on her on that day as she was transporting hefty packs of scrolls. Because of this, she was able to get a hundred Invisibility scrolls.
The girl silently counted her overtime hours, noticed a commotion starting nearby and prayed to all the gods at once. She was aware of the perma phenomenon, and dreamed of it, craved it with every cell and every fiber.
At last, on the tenth hour of her continuous shift, Camo made up her mind. She activated an Invisibility scroll and escaped, crossing hundreds of miles of the Frontier on foot.
The rest was a technical matter. She had to reach the nearest village, change her bind point and stay low for some time until she got used to the new world. There would be no hurry; she would have all eternity. Becoming a Chinese slave was a deliberate act; the best way to ditch a huge jail time was, in fact, to go to jail for a petty violation like vandalism.
We were fascinated by Camo’s story and even forgot about our food. The girl had a hard life. I was sure she would’ve broken into tears or hysterics at some point if Spark the Hell Hound hadn’t placed her massive head on the girl’s lap.
Camo fell into a light trance, scratching the hound’s ear absent-mindedly, and just kept talking.
Orcus was the first to speak after she finished. He cast a warm look at the girl, then cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, Sir, I’m going to have to interrupt for a second. Our stealthers sent reports. It seems they have been spotted. From an impossible distance I must add. Once the camoes realized what clan the stealthers belonged to, they retreated, leaving all trophies behind. Looks like there are very few camoes left. They can’t afford to fight."
Camo nodded. "Anonymity has always been their key weapon. The battle team is small, at least at the base where I was held."
After analyzing the situation, I agreed. "I assume that the NSA’s problems stem not from their avatars, but their trained staff. To send a SWAT team into a virtual world is both difficult and expensive, but it is possible. But sending a bigger team is almost impossible. The Alliance has enough troops for a strong division. No secret agency can win an arms race of such proportions. Secrecy must be just a part of their plan. They’re also probably relying on qualitative superiority and administrative leverage."
The Analyst grinned insidously. "They can say ‘goodbye’ to the last one! They’re screwed and will never see a moderator’s console in their personal interfaces. They will have to play by the rules."
I nodded. "Yes, they find themselves in an unusual situation. But we mustn’t underestimate them. They have probably obtained several trump cards already. It’s a good thing that the camoes retreated. We’ll take the vessel and quickly pick up everything that’s left on board."
Orcus clenched his massive fists and said with disappointment: "It is always so tempting to catch a fleeing enemy…Camo, what are the coordinates of their base?"
Biting her lip in anger, the girl shook her head. "Mailman characters like me are as good as castrated. We have a perma injury, Concussion, with a lifelong debuff, Loss of Orientation. Neither my radar nor my map work. My sense of direction is blocked just like the navigator that’s supposed to lead me to my own grave."
Remembering certain odd things about her behavior, I slowly nodded. This explained many things and confirmed her story.
At that moment, the loud claps of a series of microportals shattered the idyllic silence of the elven garden. My officers jumped to their feet, whipping out their weapons and raising magic shields. We all noticed two blurred shadows flying "eights" around us faster than the eye could see.
I promptly sped up, jacking up my senses and slowing down time. I saw two children. The kindergarteners were playing magic tag, chasing each other. One of them was swiftly opening microportals while running. This way he ran in a dashed line. The chaser was right behind him, lifting the disappearing shadow of the last micro portal off the ground and forcing it open again. It was an amazing sight.
I waited till the kids ran really close by, then slowed time time again, stepped forward and grabbed the two children by the scruff of their necks. "Hold it right there! What do you think you’re doing?"
The children kept moving their legs in the air at first, as if still running. Then they froze in fear and began to make excuses and complain in unison: "We were just playing, Uncle Max! Aunt Lena went to see the dragons and told us to find something to do! And White Winnie said we should pattice more!"
"Practice," I corrected.
So, White Winnie was to blame…These kids had amazing skills!
"I’ll take your word for it," I said to the first, putting him down, then pointed my finger at the second child accusingly. "And what were you doing?"
The first began to jump impatiently and cried vengefully: "He’s a cheater, cheater! Tell him, Uncle Max! He never opens his own portals and uses others’ instead! It isn’t fair!"
The second frowned. "And why can’t I do that? Winnie complimented me for it! Said few are able to do it!"
I glanced at my officers. They looked deep in thought. The Analyst was moving his lips, calculating all the possibilities of this ability, while Orcus was rubbing his fist with content.
I agreed; such an ability could do astounding things in battle. "How old of a portal can you open?" I asked the kid.
He put on a serious look, feeling important, and stuck his finger into his nose by habit. Then he realized he didn’t have any boogers at the moment, cast a captious look at his wet finger and finally deigned to answer: "A microportal shadow lasts a minute. A regular gate will hold for half an hour. And a raid portal can be reopened within twenty-four hours. Its mark is huge!"
A bloodthirsty smiled appeared on my face. I put the boy down and said, "Then that’s exactly what you will help us do!" Then I opened the staff channel: "Get this kid a personal security team! Protect him like he’s your own! Clanwide order – prepare to jump in five minutes!"
The little portal hacker did not let us down. After climbing all over the half-sunken ship from its mangled bow to its uplifted stern for his own amusement, the boy pointed to an empty area on the main deck. "There! They got magic all over this place like Alex gets his cereal all over the table! But I’m coming with you in case you need to open anything."
I ruffled his messy hair. "We’ll call you if we need you. You will stay here for now, check out the kids’ room with your guard and pick out some toys for your group."
I turned to my three hundred warriors who had finally found their balance on the slanted deck. "Demons will go first. Then tanks and damagers. Then stealthers, then the second echelon and rear guard. Report when ready!"
The hacked portal led us to the portal hall at the camo base. We took them by surprise, but this didn’t make things easy. They had a strong security setup, and the breached sector was instantly sealed off. The armored doors shut with a clang. Blinking force fields came on. The golems in the corners came to life and multiple arrowslits flew open. Camoes really were short on human warriors.
It was nearly impossible to stop a raid using only passive defense means. These means helped deal additional damage and bought more time for reinforcements to arrive and for the residents to evacuate, but that was it.
For the first hour, we kept the line and slaughtered the golems and mechanoids that poured from the tech tunnels. In the next ten minutes a
fter that, we took apart the main gates and forced our way through the base’s endless tunnels.
The demons of Inferno led the attack under the command of Asmodeus who had unexpectedly joined the raid. The warriors of the Silver Legion seemed invincible. The infernal creatures quickly and successfully eliminated the centers of resistance, broke shields and tore metal with their claws. The demons’ losses remained ridiculously low, which inclined me to think that the Top Demon had figured out that I wanted to get rid of his army.
I should give credit to camoes; they had pretty creative means of killing invaders. The spiral hallways of their base were separated by massive safe-like doors that divided them into 150-foot-long airtight sections. Busting into every new section entailed a battle with its passive defenses. We had to endure sophisticated magic traps, restore HP after magic crystal explosions, resurrect the fallen after a certain section got flooded or filled with magma, or changed its own air from oxygen-based to acid-based.
Our military group 5 which was fighting for survivability was overwhelmed. The guys gave it their best. They kept us updated extremely fast, letting us know which sections we could flood ourselves, which buffs needed to be reconfigured, and which antipode elementals needed to be summoned when the enemy used a certain element against us.
We encountered very few human enemies. Once in a while, another arrowslit would open in a wall, and a magic staff would shoot at us with a bolt of magic strong enough to rival an artifact.
It was all part of the raid routine. Ten new graves lined up to await resurrection. The demons quickly brought down a section of a wall. Behind it was a tiny recess the size of a vertically standing coffin. We could get through by portal only. Those who went in did not leave alive and used the medallions around their necks to die.
The ground would shake occasionally. It was the camoes, most likely. Having lost their key weapon, secrecy, they were in a hurry to evacuate and destroyed all portal areas after themselves.
