Reternity Online : Rescue Quest : DIRECTOR'S CUT : a LitRPG Epic

by Baron Sord

  “Yeah,” I said, my hands shaking. “I’ll call Ryder right now and we’ll be waiting outside Makasan before the doors open.”

  —: o o o :—

  March 24th, 2037

  2:12pm

  The Real World

  Bangkok, Thailand

  Punya Village

  “How long until the SWAT team goes in?” I asked anxiously.

  The old detective from Makasan looked at his antique Casio wristwatch. “Mmmmmm, ten minute?”

  I sat in the back of an unmarked police van with the detective, Ryder, and another plainclothes detective who spoke no English. We were parked on a back alley somewhere in Punya Village, surrounded by cement walls. The apartment building where we believed Emily was being held was one alley over and barely visible through the gaps in the trees.

  The detective pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his breast pocket and tapped out a cigarette, which he offered to me.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Mind if I take it, mate?” Ryder asked me nervously. He was as edgey as I was.

  “Go for it.”

  The detective lit Ryder’s cigarette with a Zippo before lighting his. Smoke curled up and both men puffed.

  I tried not to cough.

  I wanted to be in that apartment building with the SWAT team, but I was a bouncer. Sure, I’d been in plenty of fights, but I didn’t have any actual tactical or hostage rescue training. Killing mobs and pulling Emily out of a tree in Reternity didn’t count.

  My knee bounced nervously.

  The detective placed a comforting palm on my knee. “She okay. Bangkok SWAT very good. Very good.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered.

  Several minutes later, long after he and Ryder finished their cigarettes, a police radio chattered in Thai.

  “Are they going in?” I asked.

  The detective nodded, picked up the radio, and mumbled a reply in Thai.

  My anxiety amped up to 1000%.

  The detective lit another cigarette and leaned against the wall of the van, totally relaxed. A minute or two later, he looked at his Casio again.

  The radio chattered in Thai.

  The detective spoke back and forth with whoever was on the other end, exchanging a half dozen sentences.

  I finally said, “Did they get her? Is she okay?”

  The detective nodded and smiled. “Yes. She okay. We go see her?”

  “Yeah.” I yanked the van’s back door open and jumped out.

  Ryder was right behind me as we jogged down the alley.

  The two detectives followed.

  I turned two corners and saw about 15 Bangkok SWAT wearing black helmets and tactical gear and looking every bit the badasses they were as they gathered around the open back door of the building.

  “Where’s Emily?” I gasped. “Where’s my sister?”

  The SWAT guys stared at me. I’d met the team at the station before we’d driven here. One of them pointed at the open door.

  “Can I go in?”

  The man nodded.

  I sprinted up the stairs to the top floor.

  The hallway was crowded with a half-dozen uniformed Bangkok police and a few SWAT guys. I walked up to the open door of the apartment. Inside, Emily sat on a couch, surrounded by cops. She held wadded tissues in her hands and was crying.

  “Emily,” I muttered, frozen in place, still not believing it was her.

  “Logan?” She looked up. “Logan!” She jumped to her feet and ran into my arms.

  I hugged her as hard as I could for a really long time. Then I sniffed something. I muttered, “You, uh, smell like you pooped your didy.”

  “I did,” Emily smiled before laughing loud and long, a happy laugh that warmed me to the core.

  —: o o o :—

  Friday, March 27th, 2037

  12:00pm

  The Real World

  Affiliated Press News Wire

  WASHINGTON. (AP) - Around the world, hundreds of missing persons stumbled into the streets on Monday and Tuesday. Dazed and confused, many arrived on the doorsteps of hospitals, police stations, or churches. Presumed kidnapped or dead, many had been missing for weeks. In some cases, months.

  Some suffered total amnesia, having no recollection of their name, home address, family relationships, or other pertinent information. Most were clear-headed and were quickly reunited with emotional family members by authorities. A lucky few had only been missing for hours or days and were able to find their way home themselves.

  Those taken to hospitals or police stations reported bizarre experiences that can only be described as some form of hallucinogenic drug trip. Hospital lab results revealed no trace of any form of known narcotic.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Dr. Rebecca Zhu, head of toxicology at New York Presbyterian.

  In some cases, victims reported being “mind-locked” via a NeuraLink headset, a device used to connect players to Reternity Online, the world’s most popular full-immersion virtual reality game.

  NeuraSoft, makers of the NeuraLink and Reternity Online, declined to comment.

  Dr. Anup Khatri MD, FACS and Neuropsychiatry fellow at George Washington University Hospital said, “These people describe being trapped inside a literal hell for days or weeks. Many will require months if not years of PTSD counseling to put these awful experiences behind them. My heart goes out to them.”

  —: o o o :—

  Monday, March 30th, 2037

  The Real World

  GIZDOMO Science

  If You’re Rich Enough, You Can Live Forever.

  …asked Cheryl Fowler PhD, author of Black Market Immortality what she thought about the recently released kidnap victims. “They’re lucky to be alive. I have no doubt they were mind-locked for the purpose of partial or total organ harvesting. Somebody somewhere wanted to buy each and every one of their bodies. The sad fact is that most if not all of the buyers were unaware their intended donors were kidnap victims.”

  Although 3D printed organs have been a reality for nearly a decade, few human organs are currently suitable for clone replication and replacement. If you want a brand new body, science can’t make you one. You have to buy someone else’s.

  For law-abiding citizens willing to wait for a legal donor body, beware: Human Whole-Body Replacement Surgery, also known as HWBRS or more colloquially “hubris surgery” or “body hopping”, is still in its infancy. The HWBRS procedure currently offers a disappointing 17% success rate. For those who survive the procedure, they still face the risk of Body Rejection Syndrome, a state where the living tissue of the recipient’s head is attacked by the immune system of the donor body. Anti-rejection drugs rarely work, offering a dismal 11% long-term survival rate, long-term being defined as anything over 18 months.

  While demand for donor bodies is still low, Fowler believes the worldwide black market trade in donor bodies for the elderly elite will increase sharply in the coming years as robotic surgical technology advances and better anti-rejection drugs are developed.

  Thus far, only the elderly or terminally ill have opted to take the risk.

  The very first and longest surviving HWBRS recipient, multi-billionaire Yuri Sokolov, age 86, underwent the procedure six years ago. His survival is considered by some to be a statistical anomaly, but many call Sokolov the poster child of the immortality movement.

  After six years, Sokolov claims to be very happy with his youthful donor body. “Is my body now. I forget what my old body looks like. This is mine. This is me.”

  When asked about the burden of his daily cocktail of immunosuppressant drugs, without which he wouldn’t survive more than a few weeks, Sokolov said, “Is better than dead. I get sick, sometimes too much, but is worth the trouble.”

  Prior to the surgery, Sokolov was fully mobile and active. Post-op, his then 24 year old donor body was effectively tetraplegic. Sokolov had no use of his new arms or legs and couldn’t sit up on his own. But after two years of intensive rehabilitat
ion, he learned to walk. After four, he was running again. “I still run eight minute mile on good days. On bad, I walk.”

  During Sokolov’s successful HWBRS procedure, plastic surgeons replaced his aging facial skin, ears, and scalp with tissue from his donor body. Both of his corneas were also replaced with those harvested from the donor body. To date, no total eye transplant surgeries have succeeded. Although Sokolov now has a full head of hair and youthful skin, he admits his new face could look better. He also uses a hearing aid and had all of his 86 year old teeth replaced with dental implants over a two year period, but that hasn’t slowed him down.

  The new and improved Sokolov recently fathered two children the old fashioned way with his 36 year old wife Olga, his fifth. He legally adopted both children at birth to quell any questions of paternity. Sokolov’s biological adult children have already filed numerous legal actions in an attempt to block their adopted siblings from claiming any portion of Sokolov’s substantial inheritance at some future date, should Sokolov ever pass away.

  Sokolov dismisses his contentious biological children’s efforts as unnecessary. He eagerly awaits the day when medical researchers perfect the brain-computer interface that Sokolov hopes will allow his brain to be transferred into an ageless robot body where he can live for an eternity and expand his vast fortune even further.

  Until then, he is under strict doctor’s orders to keep his blood pressure down, and under no circumstances should he risk a sightseeing trip to Mars. He may have a 30 year old body and face, but the blood vessels and neurons in his brain aren’t getting any younger. Fully aware of the issue, Sokolov is heavily investing in nanotechnology, despite decades of lackluster progress…

  —: o o o :—

  Tuesday, March 31st, 2037

  The Real World

  Bloomberg News

  Palo Alto, California

  “Turning to the tech sector,” the perky but conservative blonde newscaster said to camera, “Steve Brin, CEO and founder of the NeuraSoft corporation, exited the stage today inside the Jaron Lanier Theater amid cheers and a standing ovation.”

  Rolling video of a relaxed Brin inside the packed auditorium, waving and grinning proudly as he soaked up attention from where he stood front and center on the futurist-minimalist stage. He paused several times to lean down and shake hands with members of the crowd during his slow and indulgent departure.

  “His rousing keynote speech at NeuraSoft’s annual shareholders meeting boasted the company’s 22nd consecutive record-breaking quarterly earnings, marking nearly 6 years of accelerating growth for the company that shows no signs of slowing down.”

  Airborne drone footage of the NeuraSoft corporate campus. The 4 million square foot structure was nestled in a golden valley on 300 acres amidst the rolling Palo Alto foothills. The structure was designed by renowned Italian architectural firm Bianchi+Rossi to resemble NeuraSoft’s trademarked NeuraLink headset.

  “Bloomberg’s own Jayesh Pabu caught up with Brin outside the shareholders meeting as he walked toward the mammoth worldwide headquarters of one of the most successful companies in history.”

  Handheld video of Brin surrounded by polo-shirted staff as he strolled casually away from camera on the pathway leading from the theater to the main building.

  “Mr. Brin!” Pabu called out as he trotted to catch up. “Jayesh Pabu with Bloomberg! Is there any truth to the allegations that the recent wave of worldwide kidnappings can be attributed to actions taken by the NeuraSoft corporation?”

  Steve Brin was taken off guard by the camera ambush. His startled staff hovered in front of their fearless leader in a protective half-circle. Brin stopped and turned to face the reporter. His confusion was obvious as he said, “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  “Jayesh Pabu with Bloomberg. Sir, how do you respond to the fact that so many of the recent kidnap victims claim to have been mind-locked with a NeuraLink device?”

  “Mind locked? I don’t even know what that is.” Brin’s rising irritation threatened to shatter his trademarked poker face. “How did you get in here?”

  “We’re here for the shareholders meeting, sir.”

  “Press isn’t allowed. Who let you in?” Brin’s head swiveled from side to side as if he expected his staff to surround Pabu and pounce.

  Before they could, Pabu said, “I’m a shareholder, sir.”

  Brin smirked in disbelief, “Is that true?”

  Pabu pulled a folded brokerage account statement out of his blazer.

  “What about him?” Brin motioned at the camera man.

  “He is too, sir,” Pabu said.

  The camera man offered his own brokerage statement.

  Brin bristled, not bothering to look at their paperwork as he ground his jaw and jammed his fists on his hips. He glanced at the live-feed video camera for a moment before glaring defiantly at Pabu, hoping to intimidate the reporter into silence.

  Pabu ignored Brin’s withering stare and continued undeterred, “The victims claim mind-locking is a form of brainwashing. Are you aware that a NeuraLink headset can be used to brainwash unsuspecting victims by trapping them in Reternity Online against their will?”

  Brin snorted comically, “Trap them?” He shook his head in disbelief, genuinely confused by the line of questions. “What are you talking about?”

  The reporter jammed the microphone up an inch away from Brin’s nose like a loaded gun. “Is your company aware that a NeuraLink headset can potentially be used as a means to kidnap and brainwash your unsuspecting customers?”

  “No comment,” Brin spun around before resuming a fast walk toward the main building, surrounded by his staff. He was too flustered to answer the reporter’s questions on live TV. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut.

  Pabu followed on his heels, squeezing relentlessly between members of Brin’s staff like an NFL running back. “Sir! Is it true that the CoreAI that runs your company has gone rogue?”

  “No comment!” Brin shouted as he started jogging. His staff jogged with him.

  Pabu bull-dogged after them, hollering questions like he was lobbing hand-grenades. “Has NeuraSoft’s CoreAI started conducting criminal social experiments on innocent citizens? Mr. Brin! Sir! Please answer the question! Sir! Does your company have any control over your CoreAI? Sir! Is anyone at NeuraSoft smart enough to stop it? Or is it too late to do anything? Sir! Please answer the question!”

  Brin didn’t. Instead, he ran as fast as he could in his $65,000 Testoni loafers. The shoes weren’t designed for running. He almost slipped and tripped, but one of his alert staffers grabbed him by the bicep and hauled him to his feet without slowing down. When the group reached the main doors, two security guards halted Pabu and the Bloomberg cameraman as Brin disappeared into the building.

  —: o o o :—

  Tuesday, March 31st, 2037

  The Real World

  Palo Alto, California

  Inside NeuraSoft corporate headquarters

  Steve Brin walked down a polished concrete tunnel. He was two stories below ground in the sub-basement maze of the NeuraSoft campus. Dozens of electrical conduits ran along the dimly lit ceiling. The smack of his extravagant loafers echoed off the walls, announcing his arrival to no one.

  Despite his outward calm, inside he was on the panicked edge of explosion.

  He laughed out loud and shook his head, pretending his world wasn’t upside down. After ditching the Bloomberg reporter at the doors, he’d met with Ana Maria Gonzalez, NeuraSoft’s Chief Information Officer, and key members of Ana’s team. For the next two hours, they had busied themselves gathering all the information they could about the kidnappings. They also strategized a public statement that would exonerate NeuraSoft while denying everything in a believable way until they could buy themselves more time.

  The situation did not look good.

  Now alone, Brin turned into a short alcove in the tunnel. At the end was an industrial transformer panel board. The access hatch featured a
red and white warning sticker that read:

  DANGER!!

  HIGH VOLTAGE!!

  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!!

  SEVERE INJURY OR DEATH MAY RESULT!!

  Beside the text was a graphic of a flailing man being stabbed in the heart by a big wicked lightning bolt. The image amused Brin. It made death by electrocution seem comical and fun.

  There were worse ways to die.

  Brin slid a tubular key into the slot next to the latch lock and opened the access hatch. Inside was a frightening high voltage panel that featured heavy gauge wiring connected to industrial breakers, as well as four bare copper strips bolted to the back of the panel. Several triangular yellow warning stickers near the copper strips read:

  DANGER!!

  LIVE BUSBARS

  1500 AMPERES.

  Touching one of those strips would mean certain death.

  Brin grabbed one of the busbars with his bare hands. Instead of pumping enough electrical current into Brin to burst the heart of a blue whale, the dummy busbar ratcheted as he turned it 90 degrees. With a clack and a snap, the entire transformer panel swung slowly open on hidden hinges, revealing the entrance to the Bunker.

  During the design phase of the NeuraSoft campus, Brin had insisted the Bunker be built to provide a secure meeting location that wouldn’t be susceptible to any form of corporate espionage. The entire volume of the Bunker was encased in a sandwich of concrete, metal alloys, and 12 inches of lead that blocked all electromagnetic radiation, making the Bunker a communications dead zone. No electronic signals could get in or out.

  The small portal reminded Brin of a submarine bulkhead hatch, which was cool in and of itself, and therefore a worthy addition to the Bunker build. He climbed through and pulled the hatch closed.