“What does that 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 over thinking, 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 mindset focused on work.
“Sorry, babe,” I said. Her words hurt too good.
“Remember, don’t look back, don’t hesitate.” She said. Hands slipped from off of 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 the current situation.
“Babe?” My face crumpled. The moment had been fleeting. Seconds passed where 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 the two messages.
My eyes slowly scanned over 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
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. Turn signals flashed invisible 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’. A particular twist of the cheeks would only be used when her brother faced a confusing piece of homework or relationship issues. In a sense, the ideas 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 with more than that. Stating 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. This 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 shattered Old Man Carver.
The Jester figure asked more than once if Grant could kill a man. Not only in-game but out 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 back and forth. “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 alright?” 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 attempting 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. 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.
“Did 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 seriously considered abusing the [NPC Conspiracy] ability to hunt down Requiem in the real world and beat him senseless.
Being abused for weeks on end in the name of necessity 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 really caused actual damage to the player’s body in reality. That was a huge difference between intent and action. Almost like daydreaming of various questionable actions yet not actually implementing them.
“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 while speaking today.
“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.” Hal Pal said.
“Is it that easy?” Grant wrinkled his forehead and stared back 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 on his face. It looked off against 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 together and 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 about situations until an outcome was clear. The faint words of Xin 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 statement for the AI to process an acceptable response.
“She told me that. Orpheus hesitated.” Grant looked at Hal Pal and smiled. Not a faint or shy expression of a m
an 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 no 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 and 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’ 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.
Requiem had spent the better part of two days tearing up the castle for items. The process wasn’t simple. He had quite the number of trade skills and gathering professions. 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 to stand in the green circle in order to slow the wall’s awakening.
One eye had been hard enough. Especially 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. That had been his plan the whole time, 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 worked out better than he hoped. Too bad it needed to be destroyed to cancel out the final ability. It might have been worth some cash too.
“Ah, I bet someone will 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 it 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 thought far enough in advance, out skilled the others, and constantly looked for an advantage, money flowed in naturally. Still, he 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 least no one beside him and Freakinstain, and now that he was out of the picture Requiem had it all to himself.
Quests, unique gear and quest mobs, this entire place was a money maker that would last at least another month. Long enough that more players might catch up or find ways in. He had to be quick and work hard to get the most profit.
Bills, his father’s credit card debts, and other costs stacked up extremely high. There were too many for one nineteen-year-old to handle alone. Maybe in another few months some might be paid off. Then he could move out of the crappy trailer and get a real house.
“If only I could have taken that weapon away. I could have gained so much from that.” Requiem shook his fist in frustration. “Or used it myself.”
No one was listening to him, though. Requiem spoke to himself to fill up the strange silence this landscape created.
On day three of looting the landscape, he got a system message.
“What?!” Requiem screamed and rapidly tried to gather up the nearest items. If he was fast enough they could be sent through the town mailbox to his contractors. “Ahh!”
He yanked out a scroll of [Recall]. One finger jammed onto the trigger rune and twisted to activate. Letters flared to life with an orange brilliance. Everything about Requiem swiftly started fading away. Soon he was running full bore through the streets of [Midnight Sun], the town where Requiem went to send his items.
There was only one [Porter], only one pedestal. No other players here meant the line was minimal. Requiem saddled up, slammed a hand down, and started flipping through menu options. A character could always be redone, it would hurt, but life went on. Losing the money these items represented was something else entirely.
“What?!” Requiem panicked and tried the next one. Seconds dwindled away as each one of his fences displayed the same results. He tried to think about how his concise little system had crumbled around him. Not only was his character at risk, but so was his means of gaining money.
They would not be happy to find themselves banned. People like them were never happy.
Requiem could only figure out one answer. Someone had targeted him, though who, and why, was beyond him. He threw both hands out and started
to curse loudly.
“Fu-“ the logout countdown hit zero and Requiem Mass vanished from the world of Continue Online.
Outside the box was a real person. His trailer looked rundown and empty. Anything of value had been pawned off in order to pay bills. There the person controlling Requiem Mass sat. A small message icon displayed on his ARC display.
Attached were multiple billing statements. Each piece of virtual paper represented one of the debts shackling him to parental mistakes. Their balances showed zero amounts due. Forty thousand dollars in all, enough to pressure him into acting the way he did. A cheap unpaid trailer home, bank loans, the kind of money a poor teen would never have. Gone, taken care of.
He stared at his hobbled together ARC. It was assembled from leftover parts scrounged up at electronics stores, garage sales, and online auctions. No longer did the quality matter. Matthew could go back to part time jobs and earn legitimate money without the constant worry of being caught then thrown in jail. Maybe he could play the game for fun instead of profit.
Matthew didn’t know if he should cry out from relief or outrage, so he did both.
If Matthew’s ARC was a cobbled together piece of junk, the one now in front of Grant went in the other direction. It came with all the bells and whistles. Medical equipment attached to both sides. A few tubes ran up to the side of a woman’s pale skin. Her tone would be far darker if she got outside, but it looked like the girl spent most of her time indoors trapped inside this machine.
“Mmmh. Are you a friend of Lia’s?” A short nurse with exaggerated blonde curls came into the room.
The medical assistant wore glasses, which seemed odd since laser surgery was cheap. Even after all these years nurses wore different outfits from everyone else. It was part of an image that never seemed to die.
“Sort of. I know her in-game.” Grant said. He had come into the room to try and talk to the other player but felt conflicted upon seeing the situation. Lia, or Shazam, was apparently on life support.
Continue Online (Part 2, Made) Page 40
