by Dante Doom
“What about him?” Sang asked as she looked at Jet. He was lying on the ground, snoozing happily. For a dragon, he wasn’t a particularly active creature. He mostly just laid around and sleep, even during fights. Most players ignored him because they assumed that he was just a non-combat NPC.
“We can level him up!” Van said. “He’s got stats and everything!”
“Why didn’t we think to check before?” Sang asked.
“Too much going on,” Van replied as he patted Jet on the head. The dragon burbled back at them.
“Isn’t language a skill?” Sang asked. “If we upgrade its language, it should be able to speak more clearly to us!”
“That’s perfect!” Van replied. Despite all of the travel and physical growth of the dragon, it hadn’t learned much English except for their names and the occasional swear word. Sometimes it would speak gibberish at them, which Van assumed could be the alien language, but he just wasn’t sure.
“Here, let me level him up really quick, and let’s see what we can buff him with,” Sang said. She raised her hands and began to fiddle with the character screen. Van couldn’t see what she was working on due to the fact that Jet was her companion, but he trusted her enough with the game to not worry about her choices. She had come a long way from putting points into maps with every single level.
After a few minutes, Sang looked at Van with satisfaction in her eyes. “I think that I did a really good job—check it out.”
Van grimaced as he looked at some of her choices. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized that she looked immensely proud of her decision to give a dragon the lock-picking ability. He shrugged, and merely said, “Looks great.”
“Looks great to me, too,” Jet said. He stretched his wings out a little and puffed out some fire. “I was getting tired of being incapable of speaking your language.”
“Wow! You’re smart?” Van gasped. This elicited a cold, irritated stare from the dragon.
“Why, I do believe I am smart, Van, yes,” Jet said. “I would wager to say that your level of surprise is rather rude.”
“He was surprised that you were a fully sentient creature,” Sang said. “We didn’t mean to insult you at all.”
“Intentions and actions are two different things,” Jet said as he began to stroll around. His voice was harsh and grating; it was a little more high pitched than the other dragons they’d heard in the game.
“I have so many questions for you!” Sang said as she knelt down to get on the dragon’s level.
Jet merely looked at her and hissed a little, stepping backward.
“Am I interrupting something?” Kenwar asked as he strolled up to the three. They had walked a good distance away from the party, so as to not be eavesdropped on.
“Yes, you are,” Sang shot back.
“My apologies, but I have a message from Captain Edwardson. Apparently, he was so impressed with your ability to singlehandedly delay an entire force from moving when they needed to, that he wants to publicly commend us. We’re all heading to the tower, where he will give a speech and then will host a feast to honor us.”
“We get a feast?” Van asked. “Hell, yeah! It’s about time we got a feast!”
“I wouldn’t mind something to eat either,” Sang said. “I’ve been starving for the last four hours.”
“Well, let’s go,” Kenwar said, never taking his eyes off of Jet. Jet growled a little, but said nothing. It was clear that Jet wasn’t interested in talking when there were others around.
“Fine, let’s go,” Van sighed. He checked the in-game clock. Sleep Time wasn’t too far away now, so they wouldn’t really have enough time to feast and have a long drawn out conversation with the dragon. The good news was that Jet wasn’t going anywhere.
“Let me stay behind,” Sang whispered. “I need to talk to Jet.”
“I can’t risk Kenwar eavesdropping,” Van said. “Let’s ride to the beginning of Sleep Time, and then prevent him from logging in tomorrow.”
Sang nodded. “Yeah, good idea. He can’t hear a thing if he isn’t in the actual game.”
10
Van sat amongst a large group of warriors who were all eating and drinking merrily. The speech given by Edwardson had levied high praise to Van and his team, telling everyone that his mercenary company was one of the best things to have come out of the war. The next thing Van knew, there’d been a line stretching all the way outside of the feast hall with applicants who wanted to be a part of the Iron Dragons. The exploits of Van had been so exaggerated by Edwardson that players almost three times higher in level were itching to join up.
Van didn’t have much of a selection process, as all he really needed were players who were willing to go anywhere and do anything, so after writing out a quick pledge, he found that his small team of eight had expanded to a group of nearly one hundred players. This would be enough for them to push toward Bloodrock after a few more battles. With such a large group, Van knew it would be important for him to manage the players properly, so he quickly made all of his original team mates managers of squads. Each squad was composed of 14 people. This would allow for Van to not have to micromanage every single player. Instead, he’d still be dealing with his regular team, and would allow them to give out his orders to their people.
With the team figured out, Van was enjoying his scrumptious meal of roast chicken, corn, sauerkraut, and pie when a gangly fellow wearing a jester’s hat approached him.
“Why, are you Van?” the jester asked.
“I am!” Van replied, surprised that the jester knew his actual name. Most of the other players had called him Semimodo.
“Well, it is good to finally meet the man who was singlehandedly responsible for tricking an entire relief force into chasing a fake army,” the man said. “My name is Zac.”
Van looked at Zac’s name tag, which read Foolius. It was rare to meet a player who introduced himself by his real name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Zac,” Van said as he shook the jester’s hand.
“I’m a bard, as well, you know,” Zac said as he sat down, and grabbed a pitcher of beer and began to drink straight out of it.
“Are you here to join my mercenary company?” Van asked.
“Hahaha, no, not even close,” Zac replied. “No, I’m actually just here to congratulate you on your victory. My name is Zac and I happen to be one of the higher-ranking officials over in the Kyrissian army. This is one of my alts.”
“So, what, you’re actually a general?” Van asked. “I highly doubt that.”
“Fun fact, Van—I’m not just a general. I’m a Draco pro. I’ve been playing the part of leader of the Kyrissians as a way to keep Edwardson occupied.”
“Isn’t he a pro, too? I thought you guys worked together.”
“Oh, we do work together; he was just growing bored with the ineptitude of the Kyrissian forces and requested someone to liven things up for him. I was assigned, and have been doing somewhat of a good job. I’m not nearly as skillful as him at warfare, though. My talents… lie elsewhere.”
“So, you’re just here to tell me I did a good job?” Van asked.
“No, no, I’m also here to tell you that your kind of performance is just the kind of thing we’re looking for at Draco. You would make quite the professional player. Now, I’m not here on any official business, but I do know that most players who have professional advocates tend to get the job. Are you interested?”
“I’m afraid not,” Van said. “I like this game, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a pro, sorry.” He stood up to leave, but felt the firm grip of the jester’s hand stopping him.
“Come now—why so glum, chum?” Zac chortled. “Does something about Draco make you nervous?”
“I’m just not the kind of guy who likes to be tied down,” Van said. “End of discussion.”
“Very well,” Zac replied as he took up another pitcher of beer and paused to drink down the entire thing. “But I just want you to know that I
am watching you.”
Those words echoed in Van’s ears and he felt a shudder. It was as if the walls around him were beginning to close in. This was Draco’s world. Everything that he saw had been created by them. Every taste, every texture, every smell. All of it belonged to Draco. The way that Zac had so effortlessly gotten close to him reminded Van that he was walking down a dangerous path.
“You alright?” Bidane asked as she walked up to Van. “You look a little wobbly.”
“Just too much booze,” Van lied. “I need some air.” With that, he rushed out of the feast tent and promptly began to puke. After a few minutes, he leaned up and gasped. “What the hell am I doing?”
“Returning your feast, from the looks of it,” said Kenwar. Van looked up to see that Kenwar was standing by the tent, leaning against the tarp.
“Get out of here,” Van said. “Go party with the rest of them.”
“You look nervous,” Kenwar replied as he walked over and put a hand on Van’s shoulder. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just ate some bad chicken or something; I’m fine,” Van said as he shoved Kenwar’s hand off of him.
“Sure, you did. The fact that a Draco pro just popped by to say ‘hi’ didn’t have anything to do with your panic attack,” Kenwar said.
“That wasn’t a panic—”
“Yes, it was,” Kenwar interrupted. “It absolutely was. Do you want to know how I know? Because I get them all the time. It’s what happens when you’re in over your head.”
Van shook his head. “I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“I’m on your side here, Van. I’m on your side because we’re on the same team. We’re on Team Do Whatever the Hell It Takes To Survive.”
“That’s a long team name,” Van said as he wiped his mouth. “Won’t fit on any jacket.”
“Look, I know you’re trying to be a good guy here, and I know you’re trying to help the CIA out, but let’s face it, man. We’re in a ton of trouble here,” Kenwar said as he walked a few feet away from Van and looked at the night sky. “We aren’t going to survive unless we start making some better choices.”
“Like what? Serving Draco? Siding with a bunch of psychos who want to kill the majority of humanity?”
“It’s better to be alive and a slave than to be dead and a free man,” Kenwar said.
“You’re a coward!” Van shouted. “You would do whatever it takes to survive this thing, including selling out your own race?”
Kenwar shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? I didn’t really have a choice when they brought me in, Van. This was supposed to be some kind of fun video game. I never signed up for the whole crazy alien thing. But let’s face it, when you’re looking at something as grim as the destruction of mankind, you’ve got to be willing to make some hard choices about the kind of person you are. I chose to be a survivor.”
“What’s the point of survival if you live your life like a coward?” Van asked. He knew that he was supposed to be pretending to play along with Kenwar, to slowly succumb to the man’s lies in order to gain his trust, but at the same time, Van was growing exhausted. He couldn’t keep carrying all of these burdens, looking in every direction.
“What’s the point of dying?” Kenwar said. “You only live once. Then, after that, you’re dead. I don’t know about you, but I’m not counting on any kind of afterlife. No heaven, no hell. So, I’m stuck. Stuck with the realization that I very much do like to exist. I enjoy being alive. I have no desire for my candle to be snuffed out. So… I’ll do whatever it takes for me to stay this way.”
“What do you even want from me?” Van asked.
Kenwar took a deep breath. “That dragon is a problem. As of right now, it’s entirely immune to any of the biofeedback controls that would normally exist for a player in a haptic system. This means that Draco can’t really… kill it. So, they will have to employ other means to ensure that it’s permanently dead.”
“You want to kill it?”
“Me? Oh no, I don’t want to hurt a soul here. I just want to go home and never have to worry about Draco or your CIA friends. But that’s not an option. So, I’m going to do whatever it takes to survive. That’s where you can come in. The dragon isn’t really a living being; it’s code. Everything in this game is code. In order to kill it, you’d have to disrupt the code that’s allowing for it to transmit into the game.”
“And how do you disrupt the code?”
“Cut off the signal,” Kenwar said. “The dragon is functioning roughly like a cell phone. As long as it’s connected to the cell phone tower, it’s able to live. However, if a cell phone goes out of range, it won’t work anymore. There aren’t a lot of places where Draco can cut off Jet’s signal. However, I do know of one place. And Draco has made it clear to me that if… if Jet goes away, I’m off the hook for good. The CIA program will probably end, too, because they’ll have lost a major lead and… we both go home. Draco has no bad blood against you, Van. They’re impressed with the kinds of people who can successfully fight back against them. They respect strength.”
“Where is this place?”
Kenwar grinned. “A cave in Bloodrock. It’s entirely inconspicuous. Just looks like a regular cave to any regular player. Might have treasure, or maybe an Ogre. Your team wouldn’t suspect a thing. You can just stroll in there, watch Jet die, act shocked, and then we’re both free. We get to leave this game for good.”
“I don’t understand, Kenwar. Something’s not adding up. If all you want is to be free, then why wouldn’t you have simply flipped for the CIA and stayed out of the game? You’d be perfectly free then.”
“That’s… uh… the problem,” Kenwar said as he swallowed a little. Van could see the fear flash across his face. “Do you know how many Draco pros are in this game? Literally tens of thousands. They’ve been working extremely hard to gain a number of loyal followers. Out of those tens of thousands, how many do you think are loyal to the cause?”
“All of them, I assume,” Van replied as he coughed a little.
“Some are even fanatical. The fanatical ones… Draco likes to use them outside of the game to clean up loose ends. They left Trefor’s body behind as a message to you guys. Normally, someone comes in and cleans it all up, making it look like a suicide, or just vanishes the body.”
“What?” Van gasped. “They left his corpse behind on purpose?”
“Oh yeah. They wanted you all to be well aware of the fact that you really could die in here. They were hoping that you’d be afraid—too afraid to fight back. It’s a shame that you decided to dive back in. You’ve made life a lot harder for the rest of us,” Kenwar said as he shook his head.
“But… you can’t… you can’t be serious,” Van gasped. If Draco really did have influences outside of the game, it wouldn’t be hard for them to find someone like him and kill him for real.
“I am. Do you see why I’m so freaked out? I really like mankind, so I don’t want to see it get obliterated,” Kenwar said, “but what am I supposed to do? I’m just one guy. So, I’m going to do what’s best for me. Van, they were clear that this offer’s for you, too. Just let Jet die and we both walk away. You can even continue in your little adventure with Sang until the CIA cuts the program. You’re of no concern to them, but that dragon is.”
“What makes Jet so big and scary?” Van asked.
“Don’t ask me,” Kenwar said, “I’m just the messenger.”
“I’m not afraid of Draco,” Van replied.
“Maybe not, but you should be. Don’t displease them any further.”
“Ha, and what are you going to do if I do?” Van asked as he leaned forward. Kenwar took a step back.
“N-nothing.”
“That’s right,” Van said as he puffed out his chest. “You’re in our control right now. So, you would do well to stop thinking about how you’re going to help Draco out, and start thinking more about how you’re going to be helping us. We’re going to win th
is war.”
“I’ve never heard such confidence mixed with such delusion,” Kenwar replied. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Yeah? Maybe I am. But at least I won’t have to live with the guilt of being a spineless weasel who’ll do anything to save his own neck,” Van said as he strolled back toward the tent.
“The offer is open, Van. Just lead them into that cavern and you’ll walk out of this game alive!” Kenwar shouted.
Van shook his head. While he was terrified out of his mind of the prospect of having to face a foe that could actually kill him, he knew the truth about Draco now. They were scared of Jet, and that meant that he needed to be protected at all costs. This was the big break he had been looking for.
He glanced around, looking for Sang, but she was nowhere to be found. Where could she be?
“I’m going, I’m going,” Sang said as Jet pulled her pant leg toward the tower. Everything had been fine during the speech by Edwardson, but as soon as everyone had started to move toward the feasting tent, Jet had begun to bite and snap at her, indicating that he wanted her to follow. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he also refused to talk. Maybe he was worried about Kenwar listening in.
Sang followed Jet into Tower Banesfield. While it was considered to be a tactical position to hold, there wasn’t much in the actual building itself except for some barracks and a few empty rooms for archers to store their gear. Sang wasn’t sure what this had to do with her, but she followed after Jet. Even though they were alone, though, he still didn’t speak.
“What is it?” Sang asked as he stopped dead at a wall. With a black talon, he pointed at the wall itself. Sang shrugged and ran her hands across the wall, feeling around for a few minutes until she felt a stone push in. The wall made a grinding sound as it began to slide backwards, opening up and revealing a secret room.
Sang glanced around behind her, but there was no one watching. Everyone had left the tower to attend the feast. She crouched down a little and climbed into the secret passageway. The passage seemed to be deep—far deeper than what made sense for the size of the tower. With Jet following her, she walked for a few minutes until she came across a large wall made up of bright yellow gems. There were hundreds of tiny gems along the walls, in fact. Every few seconds, they would light up in some kind of pattern. Sang stared for a few minutes. Her mind darted back to the Morse code that she had deciphered a few months back. Was this the Allies trying to talk to her again?
