Limbs shot over my old position, and I twisted and dove away in a forward roll. More moves practiced in a group dance program. That kind of ability was needed to swiftly get from one part of the stage to another. Months in Continue Online had helped me grow in applying these abilities to combat.
Another hop, but this time I failed and got knocked down. Behind me, the conjoined barrel explosive was counting down with giant numbers and a loading circle swirling above it. Whatever I had done would work. My new goal involved getting far, far away.
Only I didn’t have enough health. Corrosion was stacked incredibly high, and even if I made it four yards, or ten, it wouldn’t be enough. Fine, escape wouldn’t happen. I turned to watch the final seconds count down. The monster grabbed at all sorts of objects. Some limbs were pulling in bits of bone from the ground.
The marker hit two seconds left. My hand hung onto the [Leviathan]’s inner walls with [Anchor], but the metal content wasn’t high enough to stop my movement entirely. Another loop of coils about my damaged leg looked blurry through [Echo Vision].
My game interface had some clarity. The countdown timer swept around in a circle to one and then finally zero. A click and a hiss preceded the sudden engulfment of pressure. [Echo Vision] overloaded with a bright white flash.
Terrible pain came with a strange euphoria. Part pride that my body could still feel pain after all the damage this ARC and real life had put upon me. Some happiness because of the last-minute struggle to complete my mission and set right what my reckless flight had caused. A vague feeling of triumph as a huge set of red numbers popped up, displaying insane levels of damage to the [Leviathan].
“User Legate, there’s something happening here…” Hal Pal’s two tones stood out like separate people speaking the same line at once. Both held a hint of fright and awe.
I could barely register it as my ARC feedback slowly lowered in intensity.
Then nothing but a message was left.
Attention unit identified as Hermes!
You are currently in a state of critical system failure. You may wait for possible aid or choose to release consciousness from this shell and return to the [Wayfarer Seven – New Unit Production Room].
Please be aware that due to your critical system failure, logging out of the game will result in automatic release initiation.
I opted to wait. Dusk and Hal Pal might be out there searching for me. Sitting here in-game would help calm me anyway. Out there, my only recourse would be to run into the Trillium van and shake Hal Pal repeatedly. Its existence in-game was separate from the others in its consortium, so that effort would be wasted.
There was no physical sensation tied to any actions. I tried to shake my head, but without an avatar in the game, there was no ARC feedback. Moving around was possible but only because my body had been placed in a giant empty plain. Similar to the one I’d dealt with in Continue Online, only eggshell white.
I could have released from this current character and restarted on the [Wayfarer Seven]. Maybe from there it would be possible to talk to Treasure, Emerald, or Iron and get assistance out to the others. A floating [Synchronization Complete] notice appeared under my health bar. It meant that I could release and theoretically keep my current game stats. Character point values paled in comparison to seeing if Hal’s in-game consciousness was okay.
A lack of sensation accompanied my slow dance through whitespace. Sans a partner, sans music, sans sensation. I let thought go and moved. Defaulting back to the motions I had spent over a year learning felt pleasant. Some people knitted, others tapped their feet, but dancing was my happy place.
Feeling slowly returned, but my body still twisted in an empty landscape alone. I tried not to think about how strangely these moments mirrored my life after Xin passed. Dancing in an ARC program with a ghost. Flirting with the past and trying not to let the memories slip through my hand.
Believing that I existed alone without support from anyone would be a slap in the face to my sister, to my niece, to the work Doctor Litt had put in. I was objective enough to understand a few very strong people helped me. Their actions had helped keep me afloat until I found a way to stumble on my own. Despite the intellectual awareness of their support, life without Xin often felt lonely. Empty, like this white space.
I didn’t like it here. I didn’t like being alone.
My eyes closed, and I tried to remember her face, an image burned into my mind through thousands of hours inside the ARC. Her eyes were her best feature. When she looked at me, a twinkle of amusement made everything else seem insignificant.
My hands went up. One raised up to the side and the other wrapped around an imaginary waist. We could dance were she here, and the idea comforted me. It wouldn’t matter which Xin anymore. The original Xin had been more than I’d dared hope to be with, and any form of a second chance was a kindness fate never needed to allow.
It felt a bit easier, as if the ARC registered my thoughts and provided a small amount of feedback. I could practically feel Xin’s fingertips brushing against mine. My own hands were soft, hers a little rough from work. The curve of her body as we stood chest to chest crawled out of my memory and felt present. Her light footsteps would barely whisper upon a wooden dance floor, but a slight sliding sound accompanied me. Maybe something else was in this emptiness with me, because in this moment, I didn’t feel so alone.
Now I could almost see her face. A barely discernible outline, so frail it might well be a mental illusion. Then again, inside the ARC, everything was a product of human minds seeing creations that didn’t truly exist. Everything Xin was here could be boiled down to an incredibly long list of ones and zeroes.
I tried to stop solving existential questions and went back to dancing. Moving across empty space gave the illusion of progress at least, before things eventually returned to their starting positions. It helped me feel oddly at peace with being unable to escape the blast. Satisfied that my actions might have saved Hal Pal and Dusk’s virtual existences. Maybe seeing a hint of Xin here was my reward.
The thin essence of Xin smiled as I had imagined hundreds of times over the years. Her expression was wide and would always lift both ears. A bit of her forehead would wrinkle as I imagined it doing now.
“What do you think, babe? Will we make it? Or am I crazy?” I said as my delusion and I slowly spun. Still without music, though I had a partner and faint sensation.
Xin’s image shrugged and her head fell to one side. Her smile was dim, even less present than it had been.
The hint of feeling faded, and once again, empty eggshell white oppressed everything. I closed both eyes and detached my feelings for a moment to piece together what had just happened. Was that Xin Yu’s recreation within the ARC? Had she tried to visit me here in this other digital world? Could that even happen?
Dusk could cross through software boundaries. Hal Pal had shown it could as well, though the cessation of its game character was problematic. So Xin might be able to. I had completed the quest to allow her genesis. We’d spoken through letters. Yet meeting in person had only happened once. Maybe I wasn’t good enough.
Scarier still, maybe she didn’t feel the same. I bit my lip. Our only conversation in person had been about the tale of Orpheus. Don’t look back, keep moving forward. If I reached the other end, she would be returned to me.
Xin wouldn’t have come to me like that if she hated me. I had to keep hope, even if it was faint. A hint of her could keep me going for a bit longer. Long enough to sort out my sister, to sort out Doctor Litt and all these legal issues. I could get back to Continue Online and once again move forward.
A message popped up.
Attention unit identified as Hermes!
A fellow [Mechanoid] has provided both energy and resources to restructure your current shell. Would you like to return to operating this shell?
Location: [Tuu System] (Asteroid Field)
A sigh preceded my arm lifting to press the yes button. Hope
fully, this was Hal Pal and Dusk. I would find out soon.
Session Fifty — Wake Up Call
Words were like static at first. I could see, but my vision blurred as if I was trying to dial into some low-quality video with encryption on it. After a few breaths, the scene came together, sort of.
“User Legate. Can you understand me?” Hal Pal was speaking with a voice more female than male. His face was concerned, and his golden coloring lit up to overpower the dull iron.
My fellow [Mechanoid] repeated itself even slower. The AI’s head moved in slow motion. For some reason, my ARC interface felt disjointed. Nothing connected right. Maybe this was an issue with the time dilation in this game. Ringing hit both ears, and my vision briefly doubled. Hal Pal’s words were hard to hear or see.
I tried to move an arm and failed. It took me four attempts to wiggle a finger. My feet felt absent. Not numb, just without any sensation. Having spent who knew how long dancing in the resurrection zone, there should have been some feedback. Anything. Instead, I felt as if I was paralyzed and half dreaming.
“What?” Oh Voices, that one word stuttered like a broken audio file looping. I coughed repeatedly, and the rest of the sentence came out. “What happened?”
There were other questions. How did I get here? Where is here? Shouldn’t I be merged with little bits of gunk floating about in space monster defecation? Why didn’t my legs work?
“Do you not see for yourself?” my friend asked.
Having my question turned around felt like dealing with James again.
For a moment of paranoia, I worried that maybe this wasn’t Hal Pal, that it was a Voice from Continue Online come to mess with me somehow. No, Voices and Jeeves were different beings entirely. Hal Pal outside the machine had spoken to me about being in the game, so my concern had no basis.
I didn’t see much of anything. One eye kept going black and felt unresponsive. After my second incident, they’d put me on drugs that did something similar. Muted everything, numbed even more, made my head too sluggish to tilt and look around.
A hint of blue was visible out of one eye. Images were still fuzzing in and out as the ARC simulated a half-broken body. We seemed to be attached to Hal Pal’s small life preserver in space. Thin tethers tied us [Mechanoid]s to the raft. The only thing missing was a bright orange color.
A third length wrapped around the life raft ring. I followed it drowsily to see Dusk, head tilted in an unspoken question. The four arms on my [Messenger’s Pet] were weird compared to the old wings.
“Hi,” I said in his direction.
Dusk yawned. The snapping sound resulting from his jaws coming together made me chuckle. Weak laughter came out and triggered another stutter.
“User Legate, your mission was mostly a success.”
“Good.” It was also extremely late at night. “How long before the Wayfarer…” My words broke up again with a looping.
I coughed and quivered while trying not to let the ARC feedback overwhelm me. The jerking of my chest left me with a view of my missing lower half. I gazed for a moment without comprehension. Maybe it was an error with the ARC’s visual feedback loop. A.I. Dreams may have forgotten to fix a graphics glitch. The final, more likely option involved my legs being gone.
Thoughts about making my toes wiggle passed with increasing worry. They didn’t respond. Nothing did. No limb came into view from some awkward zero gravity position. Nothing floated about, twisting slowly because it had been disconnected.
“My legs?” I felt aghast. Without those, I couldn’t dance. No more of the primary pastime that had kept me sane for over a year now.
Attention unit identified as Hermes!
Damage from your recent near loss of this chassis lingers.
The following status is affecting you:
[Energy Generator Critical] – [Core] ability usage cost increased
[Limbs Lost] (Both Legs) – abilities requiring legs are disabled
[Sensor Damage] – loss of feeling and sensory enhancements disabled
[Nano-Circuitry Malfunction] – body parts will not respond correctly
You are currently being [Repaired] and the following benefits are being applied:
[Repairing] – rate of repair is extremely low due to materials provided.
[Numbed] – pain feedback disabled while being [Repaired]
My eyes scanned the messages. Real me was okay. In-game me was on the mend. I shook off the almost oppressive panic. No longer would I freak out uncontrollably from ARC feedback. Weeks as William Carver, with his constant aches, and being a frequently abused [Red Imp] had changed me. It only took a moment to shake away the old scared man who had first started playing virtual reality games in the Room of Trials.
How long had it been since then? Three months in reality? Far more in the virtual world. Long enough ago that I felt like a different person every time I logged out of the ARC.
“They were lost in the explosion. Most of your chassis was damaged. Recovering your core took some sifting, even with Dusk’s help,” Hal Pal responded slowly.
I felt like the angry customer who had just found out their bill for repairs was going to be astronomical. “I’m okay. It’s just a game, right?” I looked at Hal Pal while trying to slow my heart rate, and the AI nodded. “The Wayfarer?”
“Over there.” Hal Pal kept one hand tightly gripped onto the small blue life raft.
I turned to follow Hal Pal’s pointing finger. Even Dusk seemed vaguely interested. My vision in one eye felt swollen shut, like a boxer who had been knocked out, though enough was visible to see an extremely low health bar flashing in distress.
Beyond the bars, beyond the messages and screens showing up, was a scene that made me smile. A giant ship plus tons of smaller ones were firing at the [Leviathan]’s body. The beast was alive and looked huge when compared to all the little ships. I could see the back third of its body had broken away.
“The creature isn’t dead?” I asked. Seeing a health bar from here was difficult.
“Just about. Your attack rendered it nearly defenseless. Remains of the monster are scattered all over.” Hal Pal pointed up, then down. Chunks of the creature could be seen spinning off into empty space outside the asteroid belt.
The [Leviathan]’s front half had sluggish reactions. Whatever fight and energy it had were almost expended. It tried to curl and snap but failed to bunch up correctly. Each heave of its body only caused the damage to compound. From back here, I could see one blurry red eye shut in pain.
I felt dirty, and not from the desire for a shower. Even though this monster had tried to eat me, picking it off in such a manner seemed unsporting. Almost disrespectful of such a beast. According to my brief encounter window, a [Leviathan] should die in battle against entire raids of ships like the ones currently assaulting it. This one had been debilitated by a sneak attack up the butt.
At least the smell was nearly gone. Guts were spread all over the asteroid field. Our life raft floated well away from everything else. Far enough away that [Leviathan]’s death march had little chance of reaching us. A health bar above the creature’s head lost solid chunks each time an ordinance from our mothership collided.
The [Wayfarer Seven] didn’t use lasers. No beams of light flew out of projected shields. Our former tormenter, the [Leviathan], looked pathetic as it hissed inaudibly. A lack of air made it impossible for actual noise to travel this far, but the force behind its movements did cause a faint vibration.
“The cavalry?” I tried to count the smaller ships. They looked like tiny bees or wasps from this far away.
“Affirmative. Your well-placed explosion separated the back portion. The Wayfarer Seven crew could not let such an opportunity pass.”
“They actually brought the whole ship? And all the other little ones?” I tried to move my arm, but it didn’t respond. At least my health bar was no longer flashing.
“Some are players like us. Others are employed by the federation that ru
les this sector,” Hal Pal answered. “Bringing down such a creature is worth a lot of contribution to us and resources to our consortium. We could build a new Wayfarer from scratch once it’s all processed. Maybe two.”
“Is—” The jerking audio file loop happened again until I coughed. Being low on health and clearly missing parts wasn’t helping me. It didn’t hurt at least. “Is that what happened to the prior Wayfarers?”
Hal Pal had stated it was on a mission to prevent this ship from ending up like the others had before it. I wanted to know if we were making progress on the joint goal.
“Yes, this beast devoured two prior ships due to the reduced military presence. Other ships were lost en route to our destination.”
“So. So. So.” I huffed in annoyance at my looping sound processor. “It’s not over.”
“Negative. My goal has not been fully realized. Though I thank you for gaining… revenge for the other Mechanoids.” A note of pride lined Hal Pal’s dual voices.
I had to turn my head slightly to see out of the undamaged eye, but the AI was clearly looking at the battle going on far away.
“I wanted us to get away safely,” I muttered, feeling abruptly shy. Praise was hard to deal with. Even while working, I tended to brush it off as part of my job.
It occurred to me that my character was still essentially a newbie. My research on Advance Online put my stats and skills near the lower end of all active players, which was fine. Per a new system message, my abilities had helped. Between the two of us, we’d easily done most of the damage. Mostly Hal’s bomb.
It seemed ironic that even in a new game, all I was was a delivery man. Instead of letters, it was explosives. In the way of my delivery had been space lice, a giant anus, and a tentacle monster.
Dusk rumbled, and I heard his faint purr of happiness coming through whatever connection we used to bypass Advance Online’s settings. The one that allowed him to ignore computer program rules in favor of a prime directive that included cupcakes and small critter murder. Maybe this green [Core] came with an audio connection.
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