Occultist

by Oliver Mayes

  “Sorry, Kevin, this really isn’t a good time. We can talk later?”

  Kevin’s cheerfulness evaporated. There was a pause before his voice returned low and condescending. Damien’s favorite form of address.

  “Damien, I only want you to tell me about your gaming experience. That’s the whole reason I sent the IMBA set to you.”

  Something inside Damien snapped. What part of ‘not now’ didn’t he understand? Kevin wanted to know about his gaming experience? Fine.

  “All right, Kevin, you win. Where should I start? You remember Cassandra, right? You should, you were talking to her for a good five minutes while I got the crap kicked out of me.”

  “Damien, I don’t know where this is coming from, but I don’t apprecia—”

  “My mom has a heart condition,” Damien continued over him loudly, “did you know that? Guess what happened after I disobeyed her to help you, Kevin? Can you guess?”

  Kevin had gone silent again. That suited Damien just fine.

  “She nearly died, Kevin. She’s in hospital now, waiting for help that won’t come. But that’s not even the best part! You know where I am right now? I’m in a pod hotel. CU won’t let me stay in my own home while my mother fights for her life...”

  “Damien, you need to listen to me—”

  He couldn’t give a damn what Kevin thought he needed. Damien needed to vent.

  “And now, after all that, you show up and ask how the headset is working out for me? I’ll be honest, Kevin, it’s not—”

  Damien had been so focused on his rant he hadn’t noticed; Kevin had already hung up.

  One less problem to worry about.

  Still fuming, Damien voiced out the letters of Lillian’s name and searched for her ID. That was her name and profile on the screen all right, but he couldn’t add her as a friend. Figures. She was internet famous. Probably had random admirers trying to add her on a daily basis.

  There was a ping and Kevin’s name lit up again. So, he’d resorted to sending messages by text when he couldn’t get through to Damien verbally.

  He opened the chat thread, bracing himself for the wave of judgment. What he read was worse than anything he could have possibly imagined.

  ‘Damien, I’m so sorry. CU contacted me. They wanted me to call you so they could track your location.

  ‘I didn’t know why they wanted to find you. I didn’t know about Cassandra. I’m so sorry.

  ‘They’ll be coming for you. You need to leave. Right now.’

  Damien stared at the messages, his fury completely eclipsed. Kevin’s name was already grayed out again, so he had no way of sending a reply. Was this a joke? Kevin’s way of getting his own back? That was just cruel. Yeah, it was a joke. How would CU know to contact Kevin, anyway? Except for the video with Toutatis… yeah, that was pretty popular, even with people who didn’t play Saga Online… and he’d just posted videos of himself playing again earlier that day… crap.

  Damien’s sense of urgency built up as he considered the facts. He started packing slowly, but by the time he’d finished his analysis he was throwing everything within reach into the bag.

  After being killed in the game, he’d at least thought he’d have time to wash, eat and change his clothes. Just when he’d assumed things couldn’t get worse, he’d been proven wrong again. In the span of an hour, he’d lost everything. Even the safe refuge he’d started to take for granted was gone. He felt every bit as tired as when he’d first arrived, yet now he had to go back onto the streets.

  He took one last look at the pod, wincing at the stains he’d failed to wipe away. There was nothing he could do about that now. He clambered out to the ground and stepped through the curtain without stopping.

  “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

  He swiveled on the spot and found Freja looking at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The image of the canister she’d so kindly given him hitting the pod wall flooded into his mind. He’d left it in the room, along with the stains he’d created.

  “Thanks for letting me stay. I’ve got to g—”

  Freja advanced on him, an authoritative finger held up in front of her face.

  “You’re welcome, but I’m going to check the pod before you go. Gimme a minute.”

  She turned, glancing over her shoulder to keep an eye on him, before brushing the curtain aside and stepping through.

  Damien ran.

  Freja’s shriek of anger followed him out into the street and he turned down the first alleyway he came across, still running.

  A tram pulled up on the street ahead of him and hummed to a stop. A throng of people gathered around the front doors in a tight circle, pressing against each other to get on first. Damien couldn’t run forever. At least the trams were free. He joined the back of the cluster and they shuffled their way on board as a single mass, the doors hissing closed behind them.

  Every inch of space was occupied by somebody. Damien didn’t even bother trying to move away from the front doors. There was nowhere to move to.

  Damien stood there until they reached the next stop. The doors opened to a whole new throng of people who wanted nothing more than to join Damien in his purgatory, yet no one wanted to leave. It transpired that, with a great deal of pushing and shoving, it was scientifically possible to accommodate a further three people on board the tram. Damien’s personal space was now a long-lost concept, a distant memory from happier times.

  After three more stops they reached the central ring. Just when it seemed like it would go on forever, everyone started filing off en masse. Damien managed to find a seat. When at last he sat down, it was a struggle not to fold into his chair. As far as he could tell, he’d successfully gotten away.

  The bigger problem was that he didn’t know where he was going. He was drained. Tired, hungry and alone. It had already been a stressful day; he hadn’t had much sleep because of the early morning raid and there’d been no rest since then.

  Several stops later, and it was only Damien and a few stragglers left, everyone spaced out as evenly as possible among the empty seats. He furtively looked around to see if there were any cameras. There were none in his view, although there was a sign saying the tram had Wi-Fi. He’d only be browsing, not playing; that was as safe as he was going to get.

  Damien pulled the IMBA set out of his bag and retreated to the window seat before putting it over his head, the visor half up so he would still be able to see if anyone came too close. A quick search of ‘internet café no ID’ was not helpful. It appeared pod hotels didn’t advertise by whether or not they were illegal.

  So, Damien was going to have to go on a long search again, except this time CU would be certain he was trying to find another pod hotel. It was a simple pattern. If they notified pod hotels that a fugitive minor might visit that afternoon, how many venues could Damien walk into before someone informed on him?

  He looked over the search bar again and considered typing in his mom’s name. Then he took the thought one step further. He could visit her. Say goodbye. If he went now, maybe he’d get to her before they came to pick him up. She’d still be unconscious, but at least he’d see her one last time.

  There was only one flaw with this plan: his last memory of Cassandra would be sitting by her bedside, choosing to see her instead of save her. He’d have to live with that for the rest of his life. It would be better to fail doing the right thing than to succeed and regret his decision forever, wondering what might have been.

  It was settled, then. He would wait until the tram reached the outskirts of town again, away from the high intensity monitoring of the inner city, and go find some food. Assuming he made it that far.

  With nothing else to while away the time until he was out of the town center, Damien went back to his online profile.

  He was getting more views, but that was no surprise. They’d all be coming online to look at the loser. To confirm that it was the real Damien who’d been taken out before he even got started.<
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  His friend list was flashing. Probably more messages from Kevin. Damien opened the menu and got an unexpected notification.

  User Mobius46 has deleted their account. To remove them, you can select the option from your friend management settings.

  That was strange. Kevin was a Mobius employee. There was only one reason Damien could imagine why his account would have been deleted.

  Kevin had been fired for aiding him. Mobius was making an example of him, likely to keep on CU’s good side. They were taking it seriously.

  Kevin had risked his job for Damien, and lost it. Damien felt a little sick. But there was a second notification.

  You have received a chat invitation from Lillian.

  He was sure he hadn’t been able to send her a message. Lillian was messaging him of her own volition.

  'Hey. So, uh, Shankyou looted your body after he killed you.'

  What, was she trying to rub it in?

  His eyes ran through the text and found the next sentence gave it a completely different meaning.

  'I got your gear back. How do I return it to you? Do you have an in-game inbox? Pm me.'

  He’d been looted, and she was trying to give it back to him. It sounded like Shankyou had met a second painful end.

  'Hey, thank you, but I’m having some problems over here. No in-game inbox. Sorry. If you could hold on to it for me, just in case I manage to get back into the game, I’d be grateful. What did he take?’

  That should cover it. Now he could go back to figuring out how the hell he’d get back into the game at all. The best idea he’d had so far was finding a public data center, but he’d still have nowhere to sleep and he’d need ID to enter. Which meant it wasn’t a very good idea.

  He was still mulling over his options, the tram approaching the edge of the inner city limits, when his headset rang a dialing tone for all his fellow passengers to hear. The webpages he’d been looking at were replaced with the calling box.

  Voice Chat Invitation: Lillian, Gamer I.D 000864, A/D

  When he’d received the call from Kevin, he was alone. This would attract unwanted attention. He couldn’t reject the call, though, or else he might risk offending Lillian and not getting his stuff back.

  He answered and the blare of the incoming call was replaced with the ring of Lillian’s voice inside his head. She seemed plenty offended already.

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? You know how hard it was for me to escape, with your item, and all I get is a lousy ‘thank you’? And what’s this rubbish about not getting back into the game? Wait, don’t tell me; you’re one of those delicate flowers who dies once and never wants to play again!”

  Damien muttered into the headset so his voice wouldn’t carry.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. But I really am grateful you got my stuff. Thank you! But it might not matter. I don’t think I’ll make it back onto Saga Online. If I do, I’ll—”

  “I knew it! We got ourselves a snowflake, ladies and gentlemen. One death and he’s out of the game for life! Should have figured after watching you make that announcement video. You seemed so confident you weren’t going to die.”

  Damien wasn’t sure what to make of this. She’d gone from angry one second to teasing the next. It was an improvement, kind of, but it was still touching a sore spot.

  “You seemed pretty sure you’d saved me as well. I saw the look on your face when your guild mate got me. You weren’t too happy.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Lillian came back a little more somber.

  “Yeah, sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I got him too. Almost immediately. If he’d escaped from combat before I got him, he wouldn’t have dropped the item he just looted and it would be gone for good. You’re welcome. So anyway, let’s quit messing around. Where do you want me to leave it?”

  “No, you’re not listening. I can’t get back into the game. I’ve been thrown out of my house.”

  The tone of her voice had no sooner turned silky than it hardened with flat pragmatism.

  ”Well, you better go get yourself unthrown out.”

  Despite himself, Damien felt a twinge of anger. It always seems so easy to fix other people’s problems, especially when you don’t know anything about them.

  “I had a fight with my mom. She left the house. The next day, CU calls and says I can’t stay there by myself. No way of contacting her and I’ve run out of money to stay in pod hotels. So when I tell you I might not make it back, I mean it.”

  It wasn’t the whole truth, but Damien didn’t feel like going into detail.

  “That sounds… rough. Where are you, Zone 1?”

  That wasn’t much of a guess. Zone 1 was home to about 50% of the city’s population.

  “Yeah, so no shortage of street food. I’ll be fine.”

  “And… how old are you?”

  Damien frowned. That was an odd question. Unknown to him, Lillian had set him at ease. He’d already forgotten where he was. It had all faded away around him as he focused on the conversation.

  “That seems like a very personal question!”

  There was no reply. Reality began to creep back in around the edges as he waited in the silence. He wanted to hear her talk again.

  “I’m sixteen,” he relented. “There. You happy?”

  There was still no reply. Damien's eyes flickered to the call box, checking she hadn’t disconnected. No, she was still there. She was just keeping her thoughts to herself. He was about to speak again when Lillian got there first, the words tumbling out of her mouth as though it were an idea she didn’t want to take back.

  “Why don’t you come crash at mine? Just for tonight. I’d been meaning to have a chat with you anyway, about taking down Aetherius.”

  Damien seized up. He’d been trying very hard not to be pitied, and he’d obviously failed in that regard. But this was a good offer. Better than anything he was likely to find.

  “Are you sure? I’m literally a stranger to you, and I could be lying about my age.”

  “Oh, piss off, Damien. I’ve seen you on the streams. I’m confident you’re sixteen. If you’re not sixteen when you get here I’ll lock you out. Does that make you feel better?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Good. It should. I’ll send you my address. You can show up anytime between now and 7pm, but no later! I’m making dinner. See you!”

  And just like that, she hung up. A few moments later the chat box lit up again and Damien received her address. The clever headset was already showing routes and estimated times of arrival. He canceled out the ones using closely monitored transport and found the fastest time. He could be there in forty-five minutes. More than that, he could face using another tram to get there, because now he had something to look forward to.

  He pulled the IMBA set off and crammed it into his bag, his route already safely stored in his head and the beginnings of a smile gaining ground on his face.

  28

  The Immortal

  Damien took a deep breath, staring at the compound.

  It wasn’t too far from the city center, very well connected for a domestic facility. Probably one of the early domiciles. One of the few buildings that housed residents within the central ring, built before the mega-city rush in the forties.

  If it were any older, it would’ve had speed bumps. There was a man sat in the antiquated sentry box, but the gate was wide open and people were coming and going as they pleased. They probably got a bit stiffer during the evening. It was a good thing he’d shown up before nightfall.

  Damien walked in, keeping his head forward while his peripheral vision lingered on the man to see if there would be any response to his entry. There was none whatsoever. He kept his pace and checked the address on his visor.

  A few minutes later, he’d found the correct quadrant and was standing awkwardly in the middle of a long corridor, directly outside the apartment he’d been sent to. Having got there in
one piece, this was the moment he decided to have second thoughts.

  Lillian was supposed to be Aetherius’s girlfriend, right? What if this was another trick? A really sick, finely tuned piece of social engineering designed to humiliate him completely? The last prank had been in VR; if Damien fell into this one Aetherius would have got him in real life, too.

  But it didn’t seem likely.

  Lillian could have killed Damien, or at least tried to kill him, when they first met. That would’ve been much easier. If she was only acting like she hated Rising Tide, it was a good act. Damien was sold. And it wasn’t as if he had the luxury of choice. It was this or nothing.

  Damien pushed the buzzer and a soothing chord echoed through the apartment. He had halfway retracted his hand when he noticed the second buzzer a few inches below it, a small black box emblazoned with the Mobius logo. A call-box. He pushed it and there was no sound, but a couple of seconds later the logo lit up and started speaking to him.

  “Hello, who’s this?”

  Lillian’s voice. Damien sighed with relief. One of the easiest things she could have done to screw him over was send him to the wrong address. He was much more vulnerable than he’d have liked.

  “H-hey. It’s Damien.”

  “Already? Gimme a minute. I’ll log out.”

  The light dimmed, and Damien was left standing outside, waiting. A last chance to collect his thoughts in private. Assuming Lillian decided to let him stay. He looked down at himself and couldn’t find any reason why she should.

  The hours on the trams and the walking in between had taken their toll. Now he was a sweaty, stinky mess.

  A bolt clunked. The door gently swung open, and Damien’s eyes widened in surprise.

  She was a perfect match for her avatar. Most players got stuck in the customization options for a long time, making their online representatives slightly more perfect than they were themselves. A little thinner. Slightly bigger eyes. Higher cheekbones and a more appealing smile. It had seemed obvious that Lillian’s character had undergone the same treatment, with her delicate features. But it hadn’t. That was just how she looked.