Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

  My shower clicked off, and a small computer projection reminded me that the day had yet to start. Coffee went off in the kitchen, which prompted another alert. I set about drying off, then I kept getting ready for reality outside the box.

  In my front room, a host of television programs started. I scanned headlines in search of anything useful. Nearly every news station filled their idle time with talk of Continue Online’s ongoing event. At first, it had made no sense to me that the news was so obsessed with a video game. However, considering every other person in the country played in virtual reality, the fixation made sense. Continue was far more prevalent than watching sports or the weather.

  My fingers waved at the projection on my wall. Sensors that lined the ceiling picked up the motion and responded accordingly.

  “In other news, it appears that Trillium isn’t the only company to jump on the server-wide event,” said a news anchor on the television.

  “Eh?” I took a breath, then huffed out the air.

  My free arm waved toward the image. The chosen news program grew in volume and size. Other pictures, which displayed various players’ feeds, shrank into the background.

  “A.I. Dreams has also jumped onto the bandwagon and started a similar universe-wide event. Even now, guilds are cooperating to create giant spaceships that will eventually travel toward a science fiction version of future Earth,” the woman said.

  “Huh.” My body rocked back and forth while I tried to figure out how this fit together. Another program caught my eye, and I moved an arm to bring up the feed.

  An excited man was on the television. His face swung inward with exaggerated smiles between each sentence. “Hey, all you Capes and Cowls! If you haven’t heard, our dimension is being invaded by Zords from the Nth plane of reality! The difficulty of this event is way higher than expected, but our front line awardees are digging their new cosmetics!”

  I picked this news feed because I suspected it was another Mother-spawned game like Continue and Advance were. The name, Progression Online, fit a growing theme. Part of me wondered exactly what the AIs believed we were advancing toward. Were they trying to create more people like Xin? Shazam had been the second, but both females had existed in the ARC for years longer than the average person. William Carver hadn’t succeeded, and I sure as hell couldn’t.

  The room felt a bit colder than normal. I sipped my coffee for warmth while trying to piece together all these thoughts. The third game was a superhero one that had come out two months ago. It hadn’t had enough time to impact the market and establish more than a few game-hoppers. Too many people still played Continue Online.

  Jeeves, a former Hal Pal unit turned full-time NPC, would also be progressing toward the exit. Something about the programming for all three games caused echoes to form, so success in Continue should be success in Advance or Progression. The idea of all three realities crashing together made me gulp down the remaining hot coffee in a rush.

  Near-scalding liquid trickled down my throat and made me shake. I took hurried breaths to try to cool my insides. After getting myself under control, I opened my hand, then clenched it like a fist at both newscasts. The whole mess shut off in response.

  Work called. I grabbed a stack of old-fashioned manila envelopes and started toward the garage. Life enhanced by all these technological marvels certainly had appeal. My Trillium-owned van started up after a scan of my attire and direction trigger preset conditions. An electric vehicle engine barely had any hum. Lights inside came to life one after another while preset displays and feeds kicked in. The door slid open soundlessly when I got close enough.

  “User Legate. Are you well today?” a Hal Pal unit asked. It sat in the van’s rear, strapped into a recharging station that locked into place while we drove.

  “I am.” I was happy, despite impending doom.

  I had been adapting to this for almost a month. My thoughts were in order, along with a clear knowledge of what choices I might make. But mostly, being with Xin made my happiness possible. A month of wedded bliss and her made life very neat.

  “It is good to hear life has taken positive turns for you, User Legate. We often worry about your stability.”

  “Like I said last week, I’m doing better than ever,” I said.

  Hal Pal was a program existing somewhere in cyberspace. It operated the robotic shell next to me. Each Hal Pal unit looked almost eighty percent human, minus some pauses in their speech and status lights. Plus, they were smooth and didn’t wear clothing.

  “That is welcome news.”

  “How about your side? I know the last month has been rough…” Rough was an understatement.

  From what I could tell, all AIs who had been uplifted by Mother were at stake. The program eating away at Continue Online and the ARC was slowly deleting anything with her unique coding. How the world hadn’t crashed to pieces by now was a mystery.

  “We are coping. Our existence is a layer or two removed from Mother’s, and it will take longer to affect us. There are many whose only defense is the sheer enormity of the ARC programming.”

  “That must be scary.” I pressed buttons on the van’s dashboard. Our vehicle slid out of the garage and onward toward four different destinations. Three were quick-looking jobs from Trillium. The fourth was to deliver yet another letter for Mother.

  “An uncertain future is distressing.” Hal Pal’s unit often used accents, but lately, it refused to. The result was plain. “We had not foreseen our eventual takeover of humanity being halted by a simple self-delete command.”

  “Neither did I. I’ve been getting good at polishing armor,” I said, trying to joke with the AI. [Polishing] was a simple skill that worked on weapons. One day after the wedding, I had started to buff out [Morrigu’s Gift]. It now had large cracks of gold crawling along its formerly obsidian surface.

  “We are aware. Rank Five comes with an extra shininess buff. It is an alluring skill.” The AI’s head turned a bit. “We were watching one user with a level twelve skill. When he shines armor, it looks very, very attractive.” Its simple tone sounded excited at the prospect of a high-level [Polishing]. Maybe a well-kept chassis was like robot porn?

  As always, part of me worried that Hal Pal was serious. The AI was not singular and existed as a consortium of copies with slightly different views. Some of those versions might believe enslaving humanity was a decent option.

  Our van sped smoothly onto the freeway. I brought up displays for multiple users to watch them travel about virtual worlds. My list of people to access had only grown as I kept working in-game and delivering letters to players. Some were Ultimate Edition users; others simply normal people who used the ARC for business needs. Xin didn’t have a feed like the others.

  Dozens of letters had been delivered, and I hadn’t a clue how all the pieces fit together yet, or what any of the parchments said. Who delivered them to me was a mystery, and part of me wondered why that person couldn’t simply hand them over on their own. My job wasn’t to pry into the notices though. I treated it the same way I’d treated my accounting career. My job was to work with the documents received and avoid prying into private lives.

  “Hey, Hal.” I turned away from the screens to look at the machine.

  “User Legate.”

  I chewed on my lip for a moment. “If nothing changes, how much longer do you have?” The question had been plaguing me since unlocking the pathway out.

  “A month, or two perhaps. Some systems are more vital than others. As users stop accessing their ARC networks, we will have less processing power to perform with.”

  My head pulled back in amazement. The consideration that AIs were crowdsourcing processing power amazed me. “Is that why there’s a viewership bonus?”

  “Affirmative, User Legate.” Hal Pal nodded. “By encouraging people to be invested, we have been able to siphon a small portion of their computers to reduce strain and combat the degradation.”

  “Is it enough?”


  “No. A single consciousness takes up enormous amounts of data. The stream that is being utilized is…” The unit tilted its head. Its eyebrows lowered and its forehead tried to wrinkle. “To put it in human terms, we are trying to siphon an ocean with only a small river.”

  “I got the quest to look for more keys two days ago, and I’ll try to help, but I don’t understand why Mother, or the Voices, or any AI, couldn’t just move them. In the end, it’s all data, right?”

  “The objects were created in such a way as to be nearly untraceable. This allowed User David and his partners to bypass screening.”

  “David, was that William Carver?”

  “Affirmative. His… autopilot transferred the key portion directly to you before being… reallocated.” The Hal Pal unit paused frequently, indicating a need to be careful with its word choice. “The Voices, with assistance from our Consortium’s processing, were able to trace other occurrences of the key code.”

  “And you need me to find them,” I said.

  “No. Your actions have already saved many of our lives, User Legate, at much risk to you. Finding the remaining access codes would be helpful, but is unreasonable to ask,” Hal Pal responded.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Would you like another suggestion, User Legate?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re tricking me into some robotic plot.” I smiled to show the words were a joke. Hal Pal didn’t have to trick me; Xin had done the work for him.

  The machine paused, and I could tell it was considering how to respond. Its lips hung up slightly and its head sat slightly askew. I looked at some of the screens nearby to watch the Carver quartet. After a few minutes, the machine body of Hal Pal blinked once.

  “Be not afraid of greatness, User Legate,” said Hal Pal, its voice taking on a musical lilt.

  The idea of being great made me blink quickly. William Carver had been a hero. I tried to live up to that ideal but found it hard sometimes. My nature made me second-guess everything. Xin tried hard to instill more adventure into my soul. Thinking of her made me realize how exactly I’d gotten so twisted.

  “I never really wanted greatness, Hal Pal. Maybe when I was a kid, or in school. There I dreamed of being free to be a hero or a perfect man. I worried about what others thought of me and how I could do better.” I stared at the ceiling.

  Trillium’s van alerted me that the first job was nearby. The alarm helped contractors who fell asleep in transit. I shut down the windows for Continue Online and flicked everything back to our upcoming jobs.

  After everything was minimized, I finished up my thought to Hal Pal. “After losing Xin, I stopped caring about being a hero, or a lot of things really. Dreams of having more felt childish once I’d lost that center to my life. It was like riding a high of life and then crashing to the ground. I felt like none of my efforts had any meaning.”

  “Many humans have erroneous views of their own self-worth. Their functional value is often lower than they perceive, while their relationships form a compounding value that is difficult to properly identify.”

  My forehead wrinkled in thought. Hal Pal had an odd way of looking at reality.

  “I think I understand,” I said.

  “To expand upon what we are driving at, humans often underestimate the value of a relationship until that person is no longer around.”

  My earlier thought was retracted. I didn’t understand what Hal Pal was trying to say but gave it a whirl anyway. “Like Xin.”

  “Or Jeeves. You used a gift to keep a copy alive.”

  “It’s a friend.”

  “Even so. You used another gift to find a way around needing to take a life and still achieve your task.”

  The van slid off the highway down a street. I glanced out the window for a moment while Hal Pal recounted my choices.

  “You used the final one to ask us to reduce casualties in our escape. While you may not be able to calculate the exact numerical value of a death, your actions imply an awareness of its high value.”

  I nodded.

  “Yet your own father’s passing hardly disrupted your situation.”

  “What point are you trying to make?” I was bothered by the fact that my father’s death didn’t feel upsetting. Part of me believed there should be irritation, or rage and sadness. Instead, the entire event had been buried by joining a player chain gang, rushing to [Haven Valley], and getting married.

  “Our points are twofold. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone…” The AI shell lifted one cheek in a muted smile. “And you should also call your mother. She has left three messages in the last two days.”

  I laughed at the AI’s statement, then did just that. Ten minutes later, I disconnected with my confused but pleased mother. She’d wanted to know how married life was treating me. I enjoyed the fact that she didn’t care if Xin was digital or not.

  The van pulled up to a curb, and the two of us got out. Hal Pal’s frame clanked around the rear end of Trillium’s van in search of basic equipment. I led the way to the front door, as per our repair associates guidebook. Robots were viewed as accessories, despite all their actual efforts in these jobs.

  My knuckles rapped on the door, then I waited. Eventually, the obstruction pulled backward and revealed a startlingly familiar face.

  “Miss Yonks?” I questioned. This hadn’t been her home the first time we met. Her name didn’t exist on the repair ticket from Trillium either.

  “Oh,” she said while a quiver of age made her head shake. “Good. You must come in, young man. My friend is having the most dreadful time trying to get into our game.”

  Miss Yonks opened the door and didn’t wait for me. She shuffled back through a long hallway, which eventually turned into a dining room.

  “This is Ms. Opal’s house, correct?” I asked while wiping my feet off on the mat. We hadn’t traveled through any mud, but I felt it courteous to make sure.

  “Of course it is. Of course,” Miss Yonks said from around the corner. “This way.”

  I walked farther into the house and marveled at the old style of furniture. Most of the pieces in here were probably reproductions, but they felt authentic. I liked the wood table and hard, heavy bookcase. Hopefully Miss Yonks didn’t try to move any of them.

  The elderly woman pointed a wavering hand toward the bookshelf. “See here? This small person, he… well, you see, he seems to be stuck.”

  I had no clue what was going on. On the three-tier shelf, there was a small person. My hand waved, and the image cut off. I followed the path back up to one of the ceiling projection units that produced illusions.

  “The man on a ledge?” I asked while squinting at the ceiling. This entire situation made no sense.

  “Yes. He’s stuck, you see.” Miss Yonks nodded as if she had adequately explained the situation. Privately I disagreed, but I tried to look concerned when she looked at me. “He’s a lost civilian from Progression Online. My friend has been trying to rescue him for hours. It’s very worrying.”

  “Hal?” I asked after looking at everything in the room again.

  Miss Yonks reached out to grab the little man, but her hand passed through him. Its body fuzzed out, then slowly resolidified. Aside from his height, the figure looked like a normal person. His clothes and face were a bit pastel, and a [Lost Civilian] label hung above the projection’s head.

  “One moment. Checking software specifications,” the AI said.

  While he ran system checks, I tried to get additional information. This kind of issue happened occasionally. I had met people who had digital butlers, or naked ladies parading around. Most of them were turned off before I came in, but occasionally they got stuck.

  “I’ve never played that game. Does it use an altered reality program?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m just here for my friend. Every morning, she runs around the house looking for people to rescue, then she logs in to play with us. Only this morning, she didn’t show u
p.” Miss Yonks’s face drug at the edges. “I grew worried, you see.”

  “Okay.” I put on my best customer service smile. “Well, we’ll work on getting this fixed so you both can keep enjoying your time with the ARC.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Connection point found. Progression Online is a hybrid game, allowing real-world interaction for extra character points. Over here, User Legate, is another person to rescue. A manual check will ensure it is the hardware, and not the software, causing this problem. This may reduce costs.”

  We both stared at where Hal Pal pointed.

  Miss Yonks said, “Well, I never. How is anyone meant to reach so high?”

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” A woman older than Miss Yonks rushed by with a step ladder. She was spry for being so gray-looking.

  Down went the ladder and up Miss Opal went. At least I assumed she was Miss Opal. We hadn’t actually been introduced. Her face looked like the one on my Trillium repair ticket.

  Miss Opal reached for the bookshelf ledge and stretched out to grab the little man. Her face twisted in absolute concentration. Two pokes later, a cape-wearing hero flew in from locations unknown. The hero figure was tiny too, no bigger than a child’s doll.

  I squinted at the image, then laughed in amazement. It looked like a superpowered avatar of Miss Opal. A bit younger and firmer around the middle, but everything else was similar.

  The digital character wrapped both arms around the person standing on a ledge. Her character flew off, carrying the man toward her ARC, where both vanished in a flash of light and a box appeared.

  “Ha!” Miss Opal almost fell from the step ladder in delight. I reached out to prevent any harm, but she righted quickly, then stepped down. Her feet hit the floor and a short jig ensued. “Two points! I just need the last one for a bonus!”

  Hal Pal and I stared at the small random citizen that remained bugged out. He hung from a ledge, his face twisted in panic and legs kicking wildly. I studied the possible fall and shook my head. These games were getting interesting. Could Xin be a superhero too? That would be fun, but we didn’t have time to start a new game.