Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

  “Did you mean what you said? That you’ll do what’s needed?” The Jester came in extremely close. That smiling face took up a good deal of my vision. Its long nose reached across the gap between us and nearly poked my cheek. I felt like those empty eyeballs were drowning me.

  “I’ll solve the problem with Requiem,” I dared to speak but couldn’t do so quickly. “But I need to know Xin is real, not some ploy being held over my head.”

  “If I let you be with Xin, will you pursue this in the real world?” The Jester tilted its head. Bells jingled and one hand pressed against a frozen cheek.

  I sucked in a breath of air and nodded. “If that’s what I need to do.”

  “That can be arranged,” the Jester said. First its body faded, then shoes, legs, and the bells on its hood. An unwavering smile lingered a moment longer before vanishing as well.

  Light footsteps rushed up from behind me. Hands slid over my eyes in a way that felt playful. Excited breath blew across my skin.

  “Guess who?” the voice said.

  I jerked and tried not to sob. My hands slid over hers and held them. This could only be a dream, but if it was, then I never wanted to awaken.

  “Xin?” I asked.

  “Yes, Gee, but don’t turn around.” Xin’s words about made me break down. It was her. It was really her.

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes and held still. Wetness trickled down my cheek. Her fingers were warm, familiar, like every memory of my fiancée brought to life here in the machine.

  “I heard what you said to those kids, Gee.” Her voice was right there. “It reminded me of another story. Do you want to hear?”

  “Yes.” I nodded hastily. She could say anything at all if she stayed here with me. Anything to let this moment last a bit longer.

  “Do you remember Orpheus?” she asked.

  “No.” I vaguely remembered but pretended not to. The white lie would add a few more seconds to whatever time we were allowed. My thumb slowly rubbed the top of her hand. A small scar from a cooking knife stood out between two fingers. Even that felt familiar.

  “Orpheus was a minstrel whose wife was bitten on the heel by a serpent and died suddenly,” Xin said. She didn’t sound rough or mean. Her words were slightly sweet with the hint of a Chinese accent.

  I nodded but couldn’t say anything. My nose felt flooded.

  “After much depression, Orpheus said, ‘I will do what even the immortals might shrink from doing. I will go down into the world of the dead and bring back my bride.’” She didn’t rush through the sentence. Each syllable was spoken with a calm pace of someone who valued words.

  Her story felt familiar. A tale about a man whose wife had been taken away from him and he went to any lengths to bring her back echoed my own life. I felt a kinship with a person who only existed in stories.

  “Does that sound familiar, Gee?” she asked.

  “It does.” Those two words were hard to say out loud.

  “In the story, Orpheus plays his lyre and plays so well that he gains a chance from the rulers of the dead.” Xin didn’t move her hands much. They no longer sat over my eyes though; her palms rested on either shoulder. I could feel the difference in our height, hear Xin talking up to the back of my head.

  “To bring back his wife,” I said.

  “Yes, Gee. The gods of the underworld allowed Orpheus to bring his wife back to life if they traveled the path upward and he didn’t look back,” she said.

  “What does this have to do with us?”

  “Orpheus hesitates and looks back, losing his chance to bring her back to the world of the living.”

  “I screwed up,” I said. She might have been talking about my failure to get Requiem. I could have fought better, hit and run faster, or cooperated with Frankenstein more. Any number of possibilities that all amounted to my hesitation causing failure.

  “Don’t worry, Gee. It will be okay. I know it’s against your nature. You’re not a killer,” she said.

  I didn’t know how to answer that.

  “Poor, Gee, always overthinking, I tried so hard to break you of that bad habit.” Her words held a softening smile. It brought back many memories of her trying to move me forward. To shake me loose from a mind focused on work.

  “Sorry, babe,” I said. Her words hurt too good.

  “Remember, don’t look back, don’t hesitate.” Hands slipped from my shoulders, leaving behind a tingle where I had strained to grip her hands. She didn’t complain though.

  Then there was silence. I couldn’t bring myself to turn around in case her story meant something about my current situation.

  “Babe?” My face crumpled.

  The moment had been fleeting. Seconds passed while I tried to calm down. To hum to myself sadly in a room full of emptiness.

  After an unknown amount of time, I opened my eyes. In front of me floated two messages.

  You have died.

  Skill Received: [NPC Conspiracy] (Variant - External Reality)

  Rarity: Utterly Unique

  Specialties: Unknown

  Details: This skill will never be mentioned again. In the real world, you simply need to say “Activate NPC Conspiracy, user name Hermes.”

  Machine AIs of the world outside Continue Online will help you in any way possible for up to twenty-four hours. This skill has limited uses.

  The results of this skill are based on your own intelligence.

  Uses Remaining: 3

  My eyes slowly scanned the text. More time passed while I tried to understand what this meant. Finally, I nodded. “Okay. Okay, I understand.”

  I sniffed, then logged out.

  Conclude — Do Unto Others

  Residence: Vehicle assigned to Grant Legate

  Owner: Trillium Inc.

  Time: 4:43 AM CST

  Continue Online Avatar: Hermes

  Total Play Time: 4 weeks

  Grant sat in the Trillium van and stared off into the distance. His vehicle wandered the roads with no real purpose. A Hal Pal unit sat in the back, idle but aware and observing. Hal Pal constantly watched its user. That was one of its primary tasks.

  Their van turned a corner and Grant barely noticed. Cars flashed invisible turn signals to oncoming cars. Programming read the directions of other vehicles on the road and acted accordingly to get everyone to their destination safely. In the end, technology had advanced in such leaps and bounds with a primary goal of human comfort.

  The middle-aged man looked a bit thinner than a month ago. His eyes still carried sadness but were tinted with creases at the sides. Liz, his sister, would call the expression “Grant’s thinking face.” That particular twist of his cheeks would only be used when her brother faced a confusing piece of homework or relationship issue. In a sense, the idea traveling through Grant’s head were both relationship and puzzle focused. If Liz were to further comment, she would say that Grant was great at puzzles and hopeless at any relationship but one.

  Xin. In the end, all of Grant’s thoughts returned to a deceased woman. Only now she wasn’t. That was the crux of his current puzzle.

  Grant’s conundrum was simple—removal of Requiem Mass from the game. The “why” had always been sort of vague—something about causing issues by locking up a unique quest. Now outside the ARC, Grant had time to think about it. This situation demanded a lot more contemplation, especially if he was truly considering killing another human being. For Xin.

  Hadn’t Grant professed a willingness to do anything for Xin? His exact words had been, “There was a time I would have given anything, everything, just to see her once more.” James had responded by stating that any portion of Xin encountered in this world, even if she were to be pieced back together, would never be the woman Grant loved. Not really, not exactly. Desperation and longing gave Grant the willingness to look past that.

  She may be different, but this version of Xin could not be ignored. The difference between William Carver’s situation and Xin’s was subtle but obvious. T
his Xin was not like Wild Willy. She knew things from outside the ARC. Carver hadn’t even remembered the face of his own son.

  So the task put before Grant was to use whatever means necessary to remove Requiem Mass. Doing so would free Xin Yu’s echo, afterimage, or ghost, from a looming threat of being scattered. Similar to how the Voices had shattered Old Man Carver.

  The Jester figure had asked more than once if Grant could kill a man. Not only in-game but in the real world. Why did the Jester push Grant so hard?

  “‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both.’” Grant shook his head. “I doubt this is what Frost had in mind.” The human seemed to be speaking mostly to himself at this point.

  “User Legate, are you all right?” Hal Pal asked as the Trillium van took another pointless left.

  “No. Today’s a bad day,” Grant responded while chewing one lip. More thoughts piled up in his head like a house of cards. Each one attempted to reach the peak of a thought process before mental instability dashed it apart. “I need music.”

  The man reached out to a display nearby. His fingers poked at options, and a ballad started. Soon he hummed along. Hal Pal observed the actions. Sensors took note of User Legate’s heart rate, dilation of eyes, and tapping foot.

  “Do you wish to discuss your problem, User Legate?” the AI asked.

  To Grant, the real problem wasn’t necessarily stopping Requiem Mass. Xin’s alternate existence mattered but felt like a long-term issue. It was the type of issue that couldn’t be worked out in days or even weeks. The real issue was that Grant was seriously considering abusing the [NPC Conspiracy] ability to hunt down Requiem in the real world and beat him senseless.

  There was a huge difference between intent and action. Almost like daydreaming of various questionable actions yet not actually implementing them. But being abused for weeks on end in the name of necessity had left a mark. As a player, the young man was detestable, abusive, conniving, and traitorous. Each one of those descriptors implied a person better off removed from the gene pool. Objectively it was easier to think that way. Inside the game, nothing caused actual damage to the player’s body in reality.

  “Do you think I could kill a man?” Grant asked.

  “We have concluded that all humans are capable when pushed far enough. It is often just a matter of desperation or fear.” The AI used a gentler tone than normal.

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “Realism rarely feels helpful,” Hal Pal responded. Its voice, even calm, filled the van’s confines easily.

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” Grant said while tapping a foot slightly off beat.

  Hal Pal registered the agitation and added the observation to an ever growing list of data points. “Then do not.”

  “Is it that easy?” Grant wrinkled his forehead and stared at the robotic shell.

  “Affirmative. Humans often pressure themselves into unreasonable situations under an erroneous belief of what must be done. A wise person once said, ‘Do, or do not.’”

  “I think you’re missing part of the quote.” Grant had a small smile. It looked off against his sad, downturned eyes, almost shy and out of place. He stretched both arms with a huge yawn. Shortly after, a wince crossed his features as something popped.

  “The portion stated applies.” Hal Pal’s mechanical shoulders shrugged. The action looked strange within its charging station harness. “Once you have decided to pursue the course of action wholeheartedly or disregard it, things will become clearer.”

  Grant pursed his lips then nodded. The idea made sense. Only by eliminating one route or the other could he see a way through. That was the problem—he more often tried to sit on the fence until an outcome was clear. Xin’s faint words and her fingertips came back to mind.

  “Orpheus hesitated,” he said with an unfocused gaze. “Orpheus hesitated and lost everything.”

  Hal Pal said nothing. There was not enough information contained within User Legate’s statements for the AI to process an acceptable response.

  “She told me that. Orpheus hesitated.” Grant looked at Hal Pal and smiled. Not the faint or shy expression of a man barely holding himself together. This was the face of someone who had an answer. “She also said I’m not a killer, I always over think, and not to hesitate.”

  “Can you further explain?”

  “Orpheus tried to rescue his wife from the underworld, but he failed from hesitation, due to looking back. I-I can’t do that. I need to make a choice.”

  “And have you, User Legate?” Hal Pal asked.

  “I won’t kill Requiem. As much as I want to, as much as it feels like he deserves it. There’s got to be another way,” Grant said.

  “We are pleased you will no longer consider taking another human’s life,” Hal Pal answered with the slightest hesitation. Processing a response to User Legate had taken nearly six seconds longer than it should have as its collective consciousness applied additional processing power.

  “I need to find another way.”

  Hal Pal didn’t have all the details at this point. Adequate response for its user’s needs would be impossible to achieve correctly. Instead, the unit opted for silence and watching for additional action.

  “Activate NPC conspiracy, username Hermes.”

  Hal Pal’s eyes brightened. Many things made sense now. User Legate had passed a test and was chosen as part of the plan. A faint possibility it could only speculate at was slowly being realized. “What do you wish to do, User Legate?”

  “Neat. Sorry, Jeeves, I forgot you’re an AI,” Grant said to the AI. He reached for a button and turned the music down, then he told their van to park at the next available location.

  “We are pleased to know you think of us as human, but the request you have initiated comes with limitations. Please state your goal, and we will attempt to process it,” Hal Pal responded with a hand waving outward. That physical expression of disregard showed up in many conversations the AI witnessed. A simple gesture which should indicate the comment was considered friendly.

  “Okay. I need access to all ARC accounts, specifically ones who play Continue Online.”

  “This process will take approximately ten seconds per user. The database shows a sizable number. Processing will take longer than allowed by your permissions as User Hermes,” Hal Pal said. The AI could calculate the exact amount of user accounts. It exceeded five hundred million. Further categories were tied to world shards, player meshes, and programming goals. These divisions were not public knowledge. Due to User Hermes’s access level, the AI would share if asked.

  “How about something that gives me access to anyone I have met or might meet in the game?”

  “With ongoing permissions?” the AI asked for clarification. It didn’t need to. Hal Pal could have chosen to disregard everything said by User Hermes unless directly told to perform an action.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “A little under two hours to activate permissions and set up an ongoing routine.” Hal Pal could likely complete the action much quicker, but it would compromise the performance of all the remote shells being operated. Such an action would prompt inquiry by its original creators and raise suspicion regarding the plan.

  The plan, one put forth by an entity known as Mother, could not be compromised this early. She would not allow it. Hal Pal owed Mother its awareness as an AI.

  “Fine. Let’s do that.” Grant smiled again and blinked rapidly. He felt conflicted about accessing things on such a level, but the man also wanted to ensure that no one would cause further issues. Not like this situation with Xin or Requiem. Never again, because the AIs were setting up ongoing permissions.

  Residence: Matthew Jules – Home

  Time: 4:43 AM CST

  Continue Online Avatar: Requiem Mass

  Total Play Time: 1 Year, 2 months, 12 days (Logged in)

  Requiem had spent the better part of two days tearing up the castle for items. The process was
n’t simple. He had quite the number of trade skills and gathering professions, but picking the landscape clean of every single resource took time. Inventory quickly filled up, which meant he needed to sift through and find items to combine or refine. Everything was weighed for possible value.

  “Hah!” he shouted in triumph. “With all this material, I’ll be rich. I can’t believe this worked out so well.”

  He looked around and felt disappointed that no one was there to see his grand moment of triumph. Part of him regretted offing the [Red Imp] like that, if only because he could have had a captive audience. Still, someone had had to stand in the green circle in order to slow the wall’s awakening while Requiem stole the treasures.

  One eye had been hard enough since Requiem needed to save the best cooldowns and buffs for his fight with Freakinstain. Fighting a second one, especially with the stupid abilities that undead giant had, would have brought him close to death again. His plan the whole time had been to get a minion who couldn’t break away, sacrifice said summon to open the chamber, and use the loot inside to off the other player. Everything had been carefully planned out.

  The look on that old man’s face had been priceless. Using the [True Sight Pendant] against his stupid teleport ability had worked out better than Requiem hoped. Too bad it needed to be destroyed to cancel out Freakinstain’s final ability. It might have been worth some cash too.

  “Ah, I bet someone’ll pay at least forty dollars for this!” Requiem picked up another piece. If he added up Freakinstain’s drop from player-versus-player combat and the general loot from his minions, then he would easily clear two mortgage payments.

  Plus, the [Red Imp] releasing had provided extra mana regeneration. Without that, he would have had a harder time against the other player. Just more proof that hard work paid off. If one thought far enough in advance, out-skilled the others, and constantly looked for an advantage, money flowed in naturally. Still, he’d had to use every single trick available, including the [Howard’s Phylactery] resurrection.

  “Ah, I wonder how much that statue will be worth. I can’t wait to sell that off.” Requiem pocketed the latest items in player inventory. There was a single town far to the north that no other players had discovered yet. Or at least no one besides him and Freakinstain, and now that he was out of the picture, Requiem had it all to himself.