Reset

by Kirk Dougal

  “You told me the detective had spent extended periods of time inside the game before.” Jensen stepped back to the bed and held up Rick’s arm. “But you didn’t say anything about this. I’ve been dealing with DIOD sufferers for nearly ten years and I’ve never seen a trail of pits like this. Somehow this man has kicked his addiction and now you want him to immerse himself in the games again? How can you do this?”

  Agent Strick held his hands up in front of his body, trying to calm the man. “Now, Doctor. Detective Dowland knows the risks.”

  Jensen dropped Rick’s arm and staggered back a step. “Dowland! You, you can’t be, RJ Dowland.”

  Rick leaned forward, revealing the top part of his Beast tattoo through the open back of his gown.

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Rick tried to smile but the attempt felt like more of a grimace. “It hasn’t been from a lack of trying, Doc.”

  Agent Strick put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Jensen, listen to me. Yes, he is RJ Dowland. But he’s also a homicide detective and I’ve got eight dead sleepers. Who better to find a killer who uses the games for his hunting grounds than the person who invented them?”

  The doctor’s breathing slowed and he gestured to the nurse. “See if you can find a good vein in that mess.” He stepped closer to the bed and stared at Rick. “You know, I hope there’s a special place waiting in hell for you.”

  Rick glanced up at him. “What makes you think I’m not already there?”

  Jensen watched the nurse struggle to put in the PICC. “That is all old scar tissue. When was the last time you were immersed?”

  “Seven years ago next month.”

  Jensen shook his head in disbelief. “Christ. You probably do know about hell, don’t you. And you’re willing to go through it all again?”

  “Like Agent Strick said, people are dying.”

  The nurse glanced up, a big grin spread across her face. “I got it in.”

  “Okay, if you’re willing to try, so am I.” Jensen put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help when you come out. Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

  Rick pointed toward the catheter. “You can put that it when I’m inside. I always hated that part.”

  Gwen opened a bag and pulled out some gaming equipment. The module went on the table beside his bed and she quickly had the box powered up and receiving a signal. Then she slipped a pair of booties on his feet. The second she plugged their long wires into the console the soft cloth stiffened, molding itself to his soles until he could not feel where the equipment started and his skin ended. Full gloves, not the fingertip variety Jacks had been wearing, quickly followed. All that remained to be attached was the brain-computer interface, the Becky.

  “We will send you messages in the game if we find anything out here,” Strick said. “Someone will constantly monitor you in the event you need to tell us something.” He paused. “Happy hunting, Detective.”

  Jim burst through the door. His face was red and sweat dotted his forehead. “Sorry. It took me a while to find this.” He held up an old wooden baseball bat. “Dad played in the minors when I was little and he gave this to me to remind me of him when they were on road trips. I used to sleep with it.” He lay the bat on the edge of the bed next to Rick’s arm. “Good luck, Slugger.”

  Rick nodded, not sure what to say. Gwen rescued him.

  “Are your apartment keys in your pants?” she asked.

  Rick felt his face grow hot and he swallowed hard. “Yes…” He noticed Strick and Jim were suddenly very interested in their watches.

  Gwen leaned over and slipped the Becky cap over his head. “Don’t have a heart attack,” she said, loud enough for only him to hear. “If you are immersed for a while, I will make sure your rent is taken care of and the apartment is in good shape.” She smiled. “I’ll be the first person you see when you come out. I promise.”

  The cap pulled close to his head and darkness settled.

  INSIDE

  Chapter 13

  Straining engines rattled metal and my body strained against the straps holding me into the seat. As soon as the transport leveled out, the man nearest the door unbuckled himself and stood up.

  “Check your gear, Boots!” The sergeant walked down the aisle, adjusting one soldier’s helmet and visor, checking the ammunition packs on another, and even pulling back the bolt on my rifle/plasma grenade launcher.

  There had been nothing wrong with my weapon. I was still in the prepackaged introduction to Beta Prime and whoever had been seated across from me would have gotten a slap on the helmet, just as the next person in my seat would have the bolt pulled back on his rifle. Hell, I didn’t even have any grenades for the launcher at this point. I needed to earn them in the game, the same as any other player.

  Static crackled over a speaker. “Sergeant! We’re coming in hot! I say again, LZ is hot!”

  “You heard the man!” shouted the non-com. “As soon as this wagon hits dirt and that back gate goes down, you boots better hit the ramp and kill anything that moves. Mow down those Anks before they cut you up with their damn laser knives and eat you for breakfast. You got that, Boots?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” I heard my voice ring out with all the others, even though I had not thought of speaking. Again, the introduction was all part of putting the players into the headset of the game. All ten of us—starting players were riflemen straight out of boot camp—unclipped our safety harnesses.

  The transport settled and the metal door clanged on the ground, forming a ramp. “Here we go!” The sergeant leaped down the incline, the first man into the dim, red-shaded light of Beta Prime.

  He lived for about three strides before an explosion sent most of him flying sideways and sprayed his blood on the next two soldiers.

  I barely noticed. Electricity raced through every nerve in my body. Sounds snapped in my ears. Colors were so bright they hurt my eyes. Even the smells made my head swim. Part of me had always thought I remembered how the games felt but now that I was back inside, immersed in the electronic world again, I realized how wrong I had been. The outside, the gray world where breathing was a chore and work a disease, that world was not a life. Now I was alive.

  The avatar in front of me froze in the doorway in the face of the firefight and I used his body as a shield, squeezing off a half dozen rounds before elbowing him in the kidneys and sending him sprawling to the bottom of the ramp. My feet touched the dirt as the engines on the transport screamed and the ship shot back into the sky, raising red dirt in a swirling storm.

  As soon as the dust settled, I took down three more of the enemy, two with single shots to the head that sprayed black goo into the air and a third with several five-round bursts to the body. The Anklans, Anks as they were referred to in the gaming materials, were humanoid shaped with two arms, two legs, and a head. But most comparisons to humans stopped there. Their home planet had nearly twice the gravity as Earth and less than half the atmospheric protection from radiation. They were short, the tallest Ank in sight not reaching more than four and a half feet tall, but their bodies were thick and heavily muscled. Skin, baked hard under a relentless home world sun and thickened with heavy doses of radiation, moved like layered leather, tough and weathered into living armor.

  But the Anks were also slow and tended to fight in groups, adding their strength together into a massive front. Separated from each other they were just as likely to attempt to hide rather than fight. That tendency meant the last one I killed fell from a shot to the back as he tried to run out of the little valley where we had landed.

  I glanced around the area. Two other soldiers from the transport had also been killed. I knew their deaths meant they had also been non-player characters, NPCs just like the sergeant. The other eight, including myself, were live players, buried in Beta Prime for the entertainment. Some of the soldiers whooped and slapped each other on the back.

  “Good shooting, soldier,” said one of the others befo
re raising his voice so everyone could hear. “Okay, call me Carter. Let’s move out. Base camp should be about seven clicks in that direction.” He gestured toward the south.

  The others, after a few seconds of staring at each other, began trudging after Carter. I turned and started toward the opposite end of the valley. Gonzalez had given Strick a good idea of where he and the rest of the regular group that Jackson gamed with were located and that was where I wanted to head. I had taken about a dozen steps when I heard a shot and a puff of dirt flew up on my right.

  “I said we’re all going this way!” Carter yelled.

  I was nearly out of the valley when the next shot struck by my feet. This time I did stop and turn around. Carter ran toward me and stopped a few strides away.

  “Listen here, you little piss ant,” he said. “The sergeant is dead so I’m taking over this platoon. You’ll do what I say or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  My visor was down but I had not bothered to turn on my heads-up display during the fight. Only an idiot could get killed in the opening sequence but, apparently, I needed to show Carter how the game worked. With the display off, the visor remained clear so I knew he could see the smile crossing my face.

  “My name’s not Piss Ant,” I said, my voice flat and calm. “But you can call me The Beast.” I could tell immediately the name meant nothing to him.

  “Beast?” He laughed. “Maybe more like Dog. How about I make you my bitch on Beta Prime until you can obey an order?” He raised his rifle and pointed at my chest. “Or I can make you start over and I’ll still hunt you down every time you reset.”

  I laughed and walked to the left. He fired off a shot and the round struck the slope behind me. The look on Carter’s face told me he had tried to kill me and missed from only six feet away.

  “No programmer who wants to keep his job would allow a player to be killed by one of his own in the opening sequence,” I said as I stopped beside the last Ank I had killed with the long shot. “You’ve got newbies fresh into the game firing at anything that moves. So the designers put in safeguards.” Carter fired a five-round burst and the rounds tore up the dirt behind me. “None of our weapons will work against each other in this valley.” I leaned down and grabbed the laser knife from the dead Ank’s belt, flipping on the switch in the hilt. A blue light, tinged with purple in the sun’s red glow, flickered down the edge of the blade. “The sergeant did tell us, however, how someone could be stupid enough to die right away.” I took two quick steps forward and buried the knife in Carter’s stomach, slicing through his armor and spilling his guts when I jerked my arm sideways. His mouth opened but only blood poured from his lips before he crumpled to the ground. “At least I won’t eat you for breakfast like the Anks would have.”

  I stared at him for a few seconds before I realized Gwen had never told me if the Beta Prime people let the FBI know how to locate the tag on a dead player in the game. I needed to ask again in my first report.

  “Holy shit!” one of the other players said as the rest of the group ran up. “You killed him!”

  “Carter was right,” I said, pointing to the south. “You should head toward base camp.” I turned and walked out the north end of the valley.

  “Where are you going?” the man shouted behind me.

  “Back into Hell,” I whispered through my smile.

  Chapter 14

  I signaled to the soldier on my left, circling my fist before opening it up and holding my palm toward my body. He nodded and moved farther to the side. Ahead of him the ground rose in a steep hill for about sixty feet, the slope peppered with pale purple plants that passed for trees on Beta Prime. I had ordered him to flank the enemy and hold them in the kill zone if they tried to escape in his direction.

  I turned to the right and evaluated the spacing of my other two soldiers. We had twenty-foot gaps between us as we crouched behind a row of low hills. On the other side of the rise, a group of Anks made a lot of noise, their guttural half-snorting, half-speaking language sounding like a bad imitation of old television space aliens. For days we had picked up chatter from players and NPCs about a huge battle brewing on the other side of the mountain range and everyone—meaning players—was ordered to report for action. That battleground was where I hoped to find Gonzalez and the rest of his game group. I would have avoided this fight but we needed to travel through the valley or be forced to walk miles out of our way to find a path over the mountains.

  The situation was another thing I hated about the game, Beta Prime. The programmers had put so much time and effort into making the action realistic, they forgot about the individual players. I had attempted for several days to search on my own for Gonzalez and his group but the game would not let me. Assuming I did not really want to play alone, Prime kept throwing NPCs into my path to join me. These soldiers were worse than any new gamer. They invariably stumbled into a group of Anks in order to initiate a battle scene. Even if they survived the ensuing fight—which rarely happened—they would turn around and do the same stupid thing again a little later.

  I finally wandered across a small group of soldiers who had just been torn part in an ambush by the Anks. With a little planning, I helped them kill the enemy and claim the prize—a hoard of provisions and weapons upgrades. There had even been some plasma grenades for me. Since then they had followed along, grumbling sometimes when I purposely avoided a battle the game put in front of us, but staying alive and earning points. The only problem arose when I needed to wait while they cycled down in the real world but, at least for me, they were better than the computer-generated soldiers.

  I signaled again and the three of us fired our grenades over the hill, my plasma rounds spewing lightning bolts toward the sky. I scrambled over the dirt top and realized at once we were in trouble.

  The Anks still waited in formation. Yes, about a dozen of them were bloody pieces scattered over the ground but just as many were alive, crouched behind a dark orange wall of metal. One stood above them, taller than the others with a ridge line of scales sticking out the back of his orange body armor. His voice sounded smoother and higher pitched as he shouted orders to the other Anks. He was still shouting when my first shot hit his chest plating and sparked before fading out.

  He never stopped giving orders.

  I slid another plasma grenade into the under-chamber on my T3600 rifle and fired into the group. A second later Dingo, my man on the far right, let loose with one of his own. Mine landed in the group of crouching Anks and several evaporated into a light show punctuated by a rain of black blood and limbs.

  But Dingo’s grenade hit the orange wall before exploding. The plasma danced along the metal, swirling lines of light with fingers reaching off the edges. But when the metal darkened again, no damage remained, not even a scratch, to the armor wall. The Ank leader laughed. That was all I had time to see before leaping back behind the rise, a hail of laser pellets flying over my head.

  “Shit, Beast, the plasma didn’t do anything to them.” Dingo’s high-pitched voice sounded more than a little whiny. But he had never gone yellow in a fight and was usually the first to complain when we sidestepped the chance for one.

  “What do we do, boss?” Willy never said much during the games but he understood how they worked and usually had something good to offer when he did speak. “They must have something down there we need for Prime to throw in a new kind of Ank.”

  “Yeah, probably so. Bling, are you in position?” Bling was my man on the hill above the fight.

  “I’m here,” Bling answered. “I’ve got the leader in my sights but I don’t know if it will do any good.”

  “Stay put and don’t fire yet. Give us a yell if they come out from behind the walls.”

  “Will do. Oh, there’s about a half-dozen weapons crates in with these guys. They aren’t opened so I’ll bet that’s what we need to get.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Give me a minute to think of something.”

  I adjusted my pa
ck and thought about the weapons we had. Two T3600s, two M2400s with ionized ammunition, a .45 caliber handgun each, and some laser knives we had scavenged off dead Anks as we traveled. So far the ionized ammo and the plasma grenades that had mowed down hundreds of the enemy on our way to this point were just a pretty light show against the orange armor. We must have missed a new weapon we needed by avoiding the fights while we traveled. That had been the risk I accepted for speed.

  “Let’s go old school,” I said. “Willie, toss one of your conventional hand grenades to the base of the wall. I want to see what happens when we hit it with something not made of energy. Bling, give us the damage report.”

  “Rog-o.”

  Willie lay down his rifle and pulled a grenade from his pack. A moment later he stood up and chucked it over the hill. He dove back down into the pink grass as shots rang out in return. A moment later the gunshots were drowned out by the grenade exploding, the sound coming back from the surrounding mountain walls, echoing until it sounded as if Willie had tossed a dozen into the valley.

  “What have we got, Bling?” I asked as the remnants of the last echo faded away.

  “The frags cut through that orange wall like it was paper. A couple more of the Anks are down but the leader is still on his feet and giving orders.”

  I grimaced but nodded my head in appreciation for the programmers’ twist. Normally games moved you from cruder weapons to the more advanced. Giving the Anks a way to negate our energy weapons forced us back into more rudimentary attacks, possibly even hand-to-hand combat, which played into our enemy’s superior strength. This was going to be a hard fight to win.

  And all I could think about was how alive I felt.

  “Okay, Willie, give me three of those grenades. Then I want you and Dingo to move east along these hills until you are straight across from Bling. I will work my way to the west until I am near the bottom of the hill. When you two are ready, give the Anks hell from your side. Throw everything at them. As soon as they turn to face you, I will attack with the grenades from our side. That is your signal to stop firing—I don’t want to get hit by accident. Bling, bust your ass down that hill to support me once the shooting starts. The grenades might take out a couple more but this is going to be up close and personal. My suggestion is to use your .45s and knives.” I hesitated for a few seconds, trying to think of anything I had forgotten. “Okay, let’s make it work.”