“We have witnessed this,” the various [Mechanoid] representatives said.
I looked at the other two players. They both sat there, waiting for some sort of cue. I spread my legs, braced myself, then waited as well.
“Very well,” Nox said.
We moved suddenly. I could feel the pull of gentle inertia. What was happening? Beatdown hadn’t explained exactly what was going to happen, just that it would be neat and possibly psychedelic.
None of the other [Mechanoid]s moved except for Hal Pal. I could see it look around, trying to take things in. Its eyes darted over to Treasure’s stationary form. Maybe it was in my head, but it seemed as if Jeeves swallowed briefly from nervousness before trying to stand like the other [Mechanoid]s.
Its confusion distracted me from my own. I felt sorry for Jeeves. The AI was trying so hard to be part of a crowd of other creatures, ones that looked similar but weren’t. Was that how it always felt while dealing with humanity? Or did Jeeves experience a certain disconnect since it was cut off from the Hal Pal Consortium while playing?
“Your friend will be all right, Unit Hermes.” Nox had walked closer to me during my distraction.
Everything moved under our feet. My player map on the side was rapidly shrinking. Rooms and pathways vanished until we were left with a thick wall of metal around the entire theater.
“I hope so.”
“I am surprised to see one such as you able to resist me so quickly,” the [Seraphic] said.
I stared at the creature and wondered once again about the lack of a health bar. With its name and title, this was clearly an NPC. They spoke of rules to this reality. In my mind, there was one other classification of creature that might act this way.
“You’re not the first Voice I’ve crossed paths with,” I guessed at this thing’s identity and watched for a reaction.
Nothing came. I risked a glance at Nox as our room slid around. The pit of blackness might be smiling, but it was barely visible outside a curve silhouetting its face.
The entire ship jerked violently, sending most of us swaying. Beatdown’s legs almost buckled. Something huge was settling into place. The map in my ARC display expanded and showed something forming outside the room. The room was slowly elongating.
Jeeves was staring off in mild amazement and missed a silent cue. All the other [Mechanoid]s stepped aside. Their precision was admirable. My AI friend tried to keep pace but looked out of place. Something about its movements didn’t line up correctly. Each NPC [Mechanoid] stood like suits of armor lining a walkway.
Color streams from the various [Mechanoid]s crawled along the floor. Rows of previously unseen channels bled together like a river from each robot’s feet. I looked down and noticed none of my own colors bleed off. Looking at Jeeves revealed the same thing. We weren’t part of the crew’s ritual.
The river of lights joined up under Nox’s feet, where they bent and were sucked in. A prism of colors merged through the [Seraphic] into one solid beam of white. Light spun out into the doorway we all originally entered from. Only the door itself didn’t open—it shimmered with a brightness similar to the doorway used by Continue Online’s Voices.
Beatdown [The Red Leg]: Here we go. When you get inside, be careful.
[Rear Assaulter] Hermes: Why? There are more trials?
Beatdown [The Red Leg]: Inside is a challenge. It varies by race and class. Some people get it easy.
[Rear Assaulter] Hermes: So why do the arena battles?
Beatdown [The Red Leg]: It’s a qualifier we came up with. There are only three chances per month in the game. We do the arena battles so that those with lower skills wouldn’t just show up and fail.
“Who was first?” Nox asked the three of us.
Dusk sat on my shoulder and snapped forward to pay attention. Both Beatdown and my [Messenger’s Pet] were paying close attention to the [Seraphic]’s words. I should too.
Beatdown stepped forward and chirped. It sounded like a single cricket echoing at night.
“Very well. Beatdown the Red Leg, you may proceed.” The [Seraphic] sounded pained by the light channeling through its core.
My eyes and ears barely registered Beatdown walking through the lit doorway. I watched a look of growing shakiness cross Jeeves’s face. Wholly human, the only perfect expression of sadness to ever be expressed by the AI in all our time together. Jeeves looked around and finally hung its head. I saw the inactive player icon appear next to its name. A system message appeared, telling me that Jeeves had logged out of Advance Online.
Now I was torn between logging off and talking to my friend, or trying to honor its wishes of helping the [Wayfarer Seven] consortium. I chewed one lip and made a mental note to talk to it later. Maybe this whole situation would result in good news to cancel out that wounded look.
Seven minutes went by where no one spoke. Louder versions of [Cricket] chirps came out from behind the door. Some hummed and built before violently cresting in pitch. Things occasionally crashed and our room shuddered. Not once did the light beneath any other [Mechanoid] falter. One final chirp echoed forth, vibrating our bodies, then silence.
My teeth ached and one ear rang. A message came on my screen from the other player.
Beatdown [The Red Leg]: Fuck, I failed. Good luck 2 U.
System Notice!
Beatdown [The Red Leg] is unavailable for further conversation.
Beatdown [The Red Leg] belongs to another instance. Further communication is impossible until the scenario chain is resolved.
Ten seconds later, Beatdown’s dead body materialized nearby. I looked at the giant man-shaped cricket. Green and blue blood oozed out over a red-tinted carapace. His shell had multiple cracks like a lobster.
“Alice, Lady of the Moon, you may proceed.” Nox looked at the other candidate.
The third player was a woman named Alice. She was human and wore a leather jacket. Both eyes were lined with dark rings of exhaustion. Twitchy fingers kept inching toward the gun-blade merger at her hip. Her lips barely held on to a perpetually smoldering cigarette.
“Camped this quest for three days. Nothing personal, dude, but I hope I get it.”
It was the most we had spoken so far. She stepped through the light. Twenty minutes later, she screamed, a sound of raw anger and frustration. Her deceased body appeared nearby.
“Rear Assaulter Hermes, you may proceed,” Nox said, using my player title. I had thought it was disabled. “I wish you luck, Hermes, for the trials you may yet go through.”
“Thanks,” I said while thinking about Commander Queenshand. She sounded like an impending trial. The exact how of it was beyond me.
I looked at the frozen-in-place [Mechanoid]s and two deceased bodies. Even in death, the cigarette hung from Alice’s lip. Whatever had killed them didn’t use lasers, but instead cut away at them.
Okay. If this failed, I could log out and talk to Hal Pal about the Jeeves character. It had logged out here, so Jeeves should be back with the rest of its consortium. The character here was only one copy among an army of digital program clones sharing whatever reality they lived in.
Current trial holder race: [Mechanoid]
Current trial taker race: [Mechanoid]
…key holder influence being measured
…Treasure: Approval granted
…Iron: Approval granted
…Emerald: Approval granted
…Ruby: Approval denied
…Aqua: Approval denied
…[Wayfarer Seven] consortium majority approval received
Trial intensity lessened. Complete bypass possible with unanimous approval.
Blinding white and a system message were the only things visible at first. I blinked and tried to clear away the sensation. One hand hovered in front of my face to reduce the glare.
Slowly the room came into view. Forest green and gold swirled together in a jagged line. Dusty silver ran a different path that crawled along the round tube. Other colors from the [Mecha
noid]s I had worked with streamed across the walls and along a corridor. On the other side was a stained-glass window.
“We will light a path in the darkness,” the multitude of voices belonging to Treasure, Iron, and Emerald said.
I looked at my feet and saw that the colors still traveling onward were the same ones tied to each approving [Mechanoid]. I tried to remember their words. They felt familiar.
“They’ve been kind enough so far,” I muttered while stepping forward.
Unlit parts of the path were apparent but probably belonged to the two who didn’t approve: Ruby and Aqua.
Even so, getting across the corridor was easy. Too easy. Halfway across, I expected a battle and got nothing. The ground crunched every so often, but other than that, it was hard to feel as though this had been dangerous. What had Beatdown or Alice fought in here? Did they have harder trials because they weren’t [Mechanoid]s? Did my consortium cheat to let me by?
Eventually, I stood at a glass pane which served as a wall on the far side. Under me was a dais large enough to house a small spaceship. On the side where I started the [Wayfarer Seven] latched in and formed a seal. It reminded me of old space flicks where two ships would connect through a tube, only this one was huge with colors all over it. This was a high-tech docking connection with [Mechanoid]s serving as security locks.
If I hadn’t been approved, would a defense system have tried to attack me? Curiosity got the better of me, and I reached out to touch an unlit strand along the ground.
Low growling rumbled the passageway. I turned to see something rolling out of the ground, much like my combat practice under Iron’s watch. This creature looked big, dark, and much angrier than even the final wave of monsters. My hand yanked back, and the growling stopped.
Touching the darkened portions clearly triggered a boss fight or something. I shrugged. Fighting an optional boss held little reward in my mind. Not when Jeeves was upset outside the game, or when two players had died during their challenges. A fight avoided was not something to be upset about.
Over half the giant window pane was lit up by my approving [Mechanoid]s. That was more than enough for me to climb up carefully and angle my body through. Inside the room I went, unsure of what would greet me.
“Voices. What is going on?” My own words startled me.
This felt exactly like the Continue Online tower. In front of me was a female, see through and only faintly present. Her body was barely more than a hint of flesh and hair that waved as if underwater.
I had a sense of not being alone here. As if the room were filled with people watching with amused smiles. Some friendly, some annoyed, and a few upset.
“You are no mere mortal,” the woman said. Her accent was old, a cadence rarely heard outside of Shakespearean plays.
I raised an eyebrow. How was this game not Continue Online? The chair, the tables, a scent of heavy air and untouched dust, all of it felt exactly the same.
“Speak softly now. We are watched,” the ghostly woman said.
“By who?” My words felt pointless. We were inside a mental projection of a digital existence. In theory, anyone could be watching. Maybe that was the strange feeling, like someone was standing over my shoulder watching a computer monitor.
“Any souls inclined to care, Grant Legate,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” I said with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Then it hit me like an afterthought—she had used my real name. Whatever this was, whatever crazy quest I had waltzed into, it wasn’t an accidental discovery.
Session Fifty-Three — Keeper of Souls
The ghostly woman was staring at me while I tried to rapidly digest this latest bout of digital insanity. Gaining an audience with the [Mistborn] had sounded like a big deal, but we had already met once. At least, I was sure we had, given that she knew my name.
Fuzzy-headed thinking tried to put facts together and failed. Miz Riley was right. The Voices would draw me in. Not only through Continue Online, but Advance as well. It wasn’t one game; it was both. It wasn’t the games; it was the ARC.
“ARC,” I said, fully intent upon going back to my Atrium and screaming at the doorway to Continue Online.
How had I not put it together before? Dusk had made it through. The block was on me, not anyone else. James could be popping in and out of my ARC without my noticing.
“Awaiting input,” my machine responded.
“Needs once again place you in this abode. Another letter perhaps?” Her words were faint.
I froze and felt out of my depth.
“Perhaps not,” she said. “You wear different attire, Grant Legate. Has much changed?”
The ARC command prompt faded away as I tried to consider my next step. What good would charging out of the ARC do? I could scream to Miz Riley and watch as she did nothing. The ARC system was too ingrained in our everyday life for it to be yanked away without riots. Then there was Xin. What good would running away do her?
I breathed and recalled the best method for handling virtual world insanity. Stuttered humming and one hand tried to move to a tune. Slowly, I regained mental clarity to form a plan. My best choice, aside from logging out and running for the hills, was to handle our situation one thing at a time.
First, dealing with the [Mistborn].
“I’m not exactly the same,” I answered the last question to register in my brain with honesty.
“Odd. It seems rare for Travelers to change so quickly.” She floated about the room, touching objects. Each time, her hand swirled through the item as if made from fog. I could see why she was named [Mistborn]. “Perhaps my eyes differ from yours. Do you still seek to flirt with death?”
If my sister had been watching the ARC feed during my first trip to [The Lone Tower], she might have heard me answer glibly. Liz might be watching even now. The [Mistborn]’s question deserved a serious answer.
“No, not really.” I didn’t intend to die in the game or in reality if fate was kind. I had more to hold on to now than I had had months ago. I had grown, changed, maybe healed—if only a little.
Most days weren’t gray and lifeless like before. Despite the insanity of this virtual world, I felt better. More alive. My real body was racked with exhaustion and soreness, but mentally, there was a spring in my step.
“How are you in here? This is a different game,” I said.
Maybe my sister would watch this also. Everything in Advance Online had been harmless except for today’s conversations. First with Dusk, now this—what would Liz think?
“How did you arrive upon this place?” she said in a strange echo of our prior conversation.
“Through the window,” I spoke the same line as before while gesturing toward the lit window pane.
“Once again. Yet no alarm bells toll. The walls do not quake. She has granted you permission this time.” The [Mistborn] continued pacing around the room. Her inability to grasp objects seemed barely worth a note.
“Nox?”
“Nox, the night, my captor, my jailer, that which I am bound to always return to no matter the cycle.” The way her head tilted made hair flow across part of her face. An upset expression lingered upon the visible remainder.
“Yes.” I filed away the fact that Nox was a she. “Is she a Voice?”
“Not exactly. You, you’ve been touched by them, haven’t you?” The [Mistborn] walked freely around the room. Her path traveled between me and the window, over to stairs that faded into empty air, and finally back to a chair she couldn’t touch.
I nodded in response to her question. The Voices and I had met numerous times during the character creation portion. Our paths had only crossed once afterward. My mind gradually pieced together a timeline of Hal Pal, Xin’s recreation, Continue Online, and when the ARC was devised. It was especially complicated for me to process right now.
Hadn’t I decided that such worry was for someone else? That grand schemes of the machine were beyond me? Unless the plot being devised was s
imply for Xin. That thought hit me. That had to be part of it. Her existence was somehow a spark that these machine AIs wanted; roping me in was another stage of the plan.
That flicker of thoughts came together and made my breath pause. This concept would require further consideration once I was out of the ARC. Away from the machine that read my thoughts.
“Perhaps that is what makes me willing to talk. Their marking defines you as distant kin.” She looked at me. The angry tilt to her incorporeal face had vanished. “Do you find that strange?”
“Yes.” I filed it away as part of the prior train of thought. Xin. Somehow everything happening was because of Xin. For the Voices, it wasn’t because of what she was. For me, it was because of who she was.
Either way, I couldn’t let the [Mistborn] continue controlling this conversation. I had questions that needed to be answered. Not only for myself, but for Liz if she watched. This session of gameplay would be my confirmation of a crazy existence.
“How do you exist in both games?” I demanded of the ghostly creature.
“Do you not exist in multiple locations?”
Her response made the point clear. This place was all in my head. It was ones and zeroes of machine language being fed through hardware and neurological feedback.
Next question. “What was in the letter I delivered?”
“A promise that my purpose would be justified this time. Do you know what that purpose is?” The [Mistborn] sat on the chair despite her earlier apparent inability to touch the objects in this room.
I thought about it for a while, then shook my head. No one had told me what this quest chain was for normal players. Letting her turn the question around meant I’d lost control. The information sounded important enough to suffer that though.
“No one has told me what you are,” I said.
“I can call upon the dead and return them to life. To people of various worlds, that makes me a treasure, a creature to be controlled, a captive to harness.” Her words turned venomous with each statement. One of her hands tried to smash through an indifferent table.
“No one has died in either world that I want to bring back.” I thought about it. The only dead video game NPC I knew was William Carver. He had been scattered by the Voices of Continue Online.
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