“So…”
“So,” I said back.
“Do you want to interact with it first?” Lyissa queried, looking at me from the other side of the Prefect’s console.
“As much as I would like to, I am currently the only one able to treat wounds. And,” I sighed, smiling apologetically while looking at a certain shallowly breathing purple giant, “I’m committed to keeping someone else alive.”
“We could make one of the Terrans touch it,” the Elf said, wincing with a bad taste in her mouth. “Then again, they might do something we can’t control. Root and stone, damn it all, I’m doing it.”
I stepped backwards as Lyissa approached with the same enthusiasm as a novice snake charmer.
“Analyze,” she commanded, glyphs and vines reaching out from her fingers to wrap around the ancient stonework.
The glass panels resting atop the console reflected and absorbed and reflected again. They traced over places I knew should be glowing lines, intricate spellwork. All the leylines from outside the tower, outside the city, beyond that I’d never taken time to examine, converged at this one spot.
And it was quiet.
“I’m only getting two question marks. Not even a lack of proficiency to interact with it,” Lyissa panted, tucking stray hairs behind her ear, face pale. “I pushed all of my Mana into the attempt. Nothing, nothing in return. I don’t even have Recursion, thanks to you, so a change must have been fundamental with the System.”
“Cordo?” I sighed, turning toward the Orc standing guard over the Terran woman who fumed with malice, her team member whose face was rearranged by Ana earlier.
“As you unlearned heathens have a tendency to express your feelings with brevity,” the former performer shook his head, “I regretfully must say ‘I’m good’ with regards to that specific conundrum.”
The female Terran rolled her eyes, hiding a smirk. She might know more. Or was just being a smartass taking pleasure in our misery.
“I c-“
“No, Ana, you still have the debuff for the next 30 minutes. Halfway mark,” I cut the Draco off testily.
“Harrumph!”
I walked to the Prefect console and took up the position I’d seen it used. Facing the door to see who might be coming in, back to the windows overlooking Greenharbor. The flat top only held the various pieces of glass that would display images and text. No indication of how to use it, no panels, no buttons or sigils.
Just simplicity. Annoying, unassuming, treacherous and unknown simplicity.
“Here goes nothing. Please make sure to bury me in a soup bowl and spare my mother the grisly details,” I nonchalantly requested, reaching out to place my fingers on the corner of the damn thing.
Nothing immediate. Smooth like marble.
“Diagnose.”
My Status didn’t change. I didn’t get a window reporting like it had before with items and people. There was some tiny pull, a tug, at the edge of my mind that felt stronger than normal. Maybe since there weren't any other stimuli.
“Nothing. Damn,” I sighed, pulling my hand away.
Except it wouldn’t.
“Uhm. Lyissa. Could you get a stick or something to help push me off the console?” I asked carefully, looking at the perplexed Elf. “Preferably unenchanted wood, maybe rock.”
“Jericho, what’s wrong?” Ana called from where she sat on the floor, unable to see my face from this side. “Why is a stick required?”
“Firearm, Firearm, uhhh, that rifle, Cordo? No, crossbow wouldn’t-, I’ll be right back!” Lyissa fussed, head whipping back and forth. “No magic, right?!”
“Yes! And careful it isn’t a wand!” I called after her. She was rather fast when she wasn’t doing office work. Imagine that. “Be careful!”
+Who are you?+
One of the glass screens lit up, words scrawling across it with bright yellow script. Provincial, like a merchant. Not fancy finery some aristocrat might utilize. It floated over my hand.
+Who are you? WHO are you? Who ARE you? Who are YOU?+
Was this some kind of defense mechanism? Spirit or elemental locked inside of it? If I answered wrong there were going to be consequences. Wait, what if Recursion affected it, permissions? What if it hadn’t changed at all, even if the rest of the world had?
+What is your first memory?+
What?
If this thing was a thinking being, created or otherwise, it didn’t seem to have a good grasp on anything except for my hand.
A more insistent orange text began emanating from other screens as they jittered and vibrated, beginning to advance on me. Hovering as they did in the air, I didn’t dare lean away. I was rooted without a Status condition, new or otherwise.
+For the wellbeing of the four other Human creatures, the High Elf, the Oni, the Draco – oh, that’s new – and Orc, or whichever combination you care about, that are present within the top two floors of your current position, you had best be answering quickly and truthfully.+
“Is it safe to assume that you are using some kind of tactile telepathy to communicate with me?” I projected my thoughts outward.
The text all disappeared, clear glass slates stacking behind the main display over my hand.
+Yes. So, you’re not as stupid as the other three nerve centers I’ve attempted to make contact with.+
“I’ve never pretended to be smart, only observant. Usually it pans out,” I said dryly, closing my eyes. There was no voice behind this entity, no character except their scrawl. They seemed flighty, maybe. Energetic? However, as my hand was currently stuck to the damned stone, they had to possess some kind of great power to be extremely wary of.
+I will not ask again. What is your first memory?+
That was actually a difficult question to answer. Does someone truly remember their first memory? The way my father told it, an artificial thing kept records of everything that it was told to. Their behavior, their daily routines, the last thing it had attacked, who it pulled aggro from and when. That was usually when my mother cut in to explain things in terms that were better contextualized. A Level 1 Wolf hunts and feeds, eventually turning Level 2, but its path rarely changed even when fighting. The person that had its attention the most at the time was what it focused on, even if I was the weakest thing in the room.
If I was the weakest…
“My parents were arguing. They were angry. I don’t know if at each other or something that happened. My eyes hurt,” I recounted, eyes closed. Vaguely aware of someone speaking near me. Right now I had to focus on this supernatural encounter. “I told them my eyes hurt like when you rub too long and your vision gets spotty, but there were things I didn’t recognize. Letters. Numbers. They stopped fighting and hugged me tight. Huh.”
+And? ‘Huh’ what?+
“I was wearing the generic resurrection shirt and shorts. What was I, four? Five?”
+I see.+
The revelation dawned on me from earlier. I didn’t want to press the one person I thought I could trust with my curiosity, but maybe the Terran was right about the whole concept of the World running on death. That’s how someone’s conscience got turned, allowing the smallest chink in the armor to let the tiniest of pricks from a poison-laced blade flow into the weak underbelly.
“Now what? I’d appreciate keeping my mind intact if there isn’t a way to revive the Administratum. I have a friend who is on the equivalent of Death’s Door relying both on my concentration for Valkyrie’s Blessing that’s rewritten all the rules of my System, my reality that I’ve lived in all my life, and I kinda need the hand that is glued to this fucking useless rock!” I shouted into the void. My face was screwed up with bubbling rage. Something jabbed me in the side, then the elbow, but I couldn’t budge. “I have more important things to do than share my life’s story with a ghost in an ancient machine which refuses to work!”
+Woah, calm down there cowboy. I was doing some calculations. You said your System was affected?+
“Yes, from the entire World losing their Levels gained to this day to the reduction of roles, even my somewhat newly generated Artificer class, to four different Classes. My Draco fr-, partner lost her racial abilities to transform and is stuck in a mostly humanoid appearance.”
+Unprecedented, to say the least. You seem aware enough of your situation. Why are you trying to interact with this nerve center?+
“For a text-based entity, you lack basic comprehension. I told you, my friend is on an equivalent of Death’s Door that I can’t leverage into resurrection. I am too low Level post-Recursion and the next best thing is to work off of previous knowledge.”
+You went and touched the ancient glowy rock and hoped for the best? Without permissions?+
“Desperation is a cruel mistress that sometimes rewards risk.”
+Granted. You might want to tell your Elf friend to stop trying to break the connection. I know she means well. You have ten seconds. I’m not here to harm you. Quite the opposite.+
I blinked.
Then closed my eyes right before getting whacked on the forehead with a broom handle.
“Ow, Reaper’s shroud, Lyissa, stop! There’s something on the other end, don’t know what,” I spat, turning my no doubt wild eyes on the fellow Administratum member as she wound up another concussive blow, “but this might be the break we n-“
“-eed. What?”
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My surroundings turned into an ethereal orange laced with whimsical designs of violet symbols that bounced around. Hand still affixed to the pedestal, the glass screens gradually rose into the proper positions I’d spied them before the few times I’d reported to the Prefect directly. Floating in empty space, each took on a bright white that hurt my eyes to peer at. Empty doorway ahead, wide open blank sky behind.
Perfect model of the office I was standing in aside from the fact no one else was here. That’s when a Status window with that annoying anonymous Other popped into view.
+Is this how this nerve center is meant to look?+
“Can I ask a few questions of my own first? It may speed things along,” I said with a stilted smile, “for starters being, what can you see of my World? You obviously exist outside of it if you are needing approximations and for me to describe shadows for you to try and draw them on your side.”
+In a sense, yes. Conceptually each of these nerve centers are the same but for some reason nearly all of them in this World have gone dark. Our short interactions sheds some light on the situation.+
“I’m glad to be of service. Second question, can you help my friends?”
+A little selfish, aren’t we? Your World is in turmoil.+
“And I need a team of people that I know will fight to the best of their ability to correct the issue, have to start somewhere. As I said, one of them is on Death’s Door. I lack the equivalent ability to perform Restoration magic of that caliber and it seems like every magic item not made with Runetech or Arcanotech is broken.”
+That shouldn’t be possible. Magical items are unbreakable, it’s one of the universal rules.+
“Disabled, then. They can be fixed from a damaged state, but like I said, everyone’s at or near Level 1. The only individuals that have hopped over the learning curve are those that have killed other people. Player versus Player, the post-Recursion System announced. My group survived by wits and the skin of our teeth. After culling the entire plaza, a small Party tried getting here, to the Prefect’s office. Their leader and two lackeys are the only survivors, traded for putting Fatally Injured on one of ours.”
+I do not recognize that condition.+
“Neither do I, but thankfully we were able to find a SysTablet. So the System says. It was developed in our World and now it’s a complete item on its own after the Recursion. Works like a Scroll that lets us see… Analyze… maybe understand…”
+What is it? Tired of the infodump already?+
Blinking furiously, shaking my head with a scoff, why did it take so long for me to notice these things?
“I’m using terminology from both Systems. My original and this one. Fatally Injured and Death’s Door are almost exactly the same,” I hurried explained, a small flicker of hope catching flame in my gut. “Maekita’s Assault Class must have an extremely long cooldown Feature that Fighter or Barbarian has to avoid being instantly killed on taking massive damage in one blow.”
+I’m assuming there’s some correlation with the presence of machineguns in your World then?+
“The perpetrators are all armed with Firearms. Pre-Recursion they were inaccurate but high-damage weapons that required training to use, let alone other requirements for magical ones to be created and yet more to use. Now, long rifles have replaced swords, I suspect pistols to daggers.”
+So the Proficiencies have altered as well. I don’t see the significance of terms being altered except to reflect that.+
“As soon as I take my hand off of this console, the System will prevent me from saying something as simple as Bard. Fighter. Barbarian. Artificer. The word will be morphed or outright prevented,” I said, pausing. I sincerely hoped this was some form of benevolent deity.
+Hold that thought.+
The faintest feeling of movement in the air sent shivers down my spine. I had maybe two things going for me. They had tried three other times to get answers from people, plus the insignificant praise that might have been a backhanded comment about my intelligence. The fact that we were communicating through the Prefect’s console confirmed what I’d thought about it before.
There was no reason for all the energy and power in a region – excluding the ‘unnatural’ MagiTek doing its own thing – to pool into one spot. Leylines, magic siphons, whatever the method of transport, they all fed into an Administratum location. They were responsible for resurrections, maybe a way for the spirits of the fallen to congregate, but after the past few hours their purposes were becoming clearer.
Death and power rushed to these places like crops reaped from the killing fields. From people to artificials, it all happened under the influence of the Administrata network. Using a branch from the Terran’s analogy earlier, just enough was sown again for the next harvest. That’s why resurrection took place, why it cost so much in materials and potentially Levels.
Or it was all the ramblings of a crazed boy in the throes of a psychotic break, looking for some way to justify giving the order to murder dozens, hundreds of innocents.
Not mutually exclusive. Stars below, I should’ve been fighting to keep myself from getting blackout drunk against Koliastrazana in a different timeline. Maybe it was me having the psychotic break while my head was being looked at, some kind of coma brought on by Carl the Otherworlder turning out to be a competent adversary I lost against to a curious ability that altered reality. Now that, that could be an interesting story, being the first in a long line of casualties that fell before the oppressive dynasty of God-King Carl Jenkins.
No, instead I had to start my evening off with the lawn in front of the place I worked getting watered with blood, my coworker shot, a raving lunatic making me question existence, and what I assumed was either a coy trickster or apathetic observer.
+Your thoughts bleed into the open air like a gutted boar hung upside down.+
“Bite me, as my dying friend would say. It might be due to the fact that I actually feel tired in this space. It’s still a Warzone where I am, in the thick of a worldwide conflict – you know, not wherever you are.+
+Look, I’m sympathetic. I really am. However, there are rules and bylaws I am currently dodging on my end to try and do something about your situation. Alright? In case you have forgotten, I am outside your System looking in. What does that make me?+
“It…”
I scoffed. Dumbfounded, shaking my head, I most definitely had to be the crazy one.
“Something more than the Administrata Primara.”
+Yes. Sure. Whatever that is. Good grief, is this what She had to go through way back when?+
It almost felt like the last end of the sentence was meant to be under one’s breath. I couldn’t pick out words or a voice, but it felt like the faintest garble of… static? I think that’s what it was. Someone had demonstrated how a SysTablet could talk with another one across vast distances. The signal was not ideal and that sound was like this one, just more. Perhaps because this was all in my head.
+Is your hand still stuck to the nerve center console?+
“Yes. Why?”
+Your World is broken because something cracked it. There isn’t much that can be done to put the pieces back exactly the way they were, but there’s enough of-+
I felt my eyes glazing over trying to comprehend what I knew was going to be some sort of MagiTek-style lecture. Put Rune on gun, make gun shoot gooder I get. Many parts together create lots new functions, sure. This seemed like an already watered down summary of something beyond me.
+Ugh, fine! Let me go pre-technological on you. Somebody ripped up the fabric of your World like a quilt, maybe to see how the fibers all connected, but went too far. Now you got scraps of it all over, disjointed, holding on by threads. The Somebody is slowly but surely getting what they can to sew it back up together the way they want it. I am watching them do this by making a quilt out of these individual pieces, bringing nerve centers back to life. Following so far?+
“Somewhat. They’re claiming entire zones? That’s never happened in my lifetime. Before the changes to how Otherworlders are handled, sure, with wars and Demon Lords and similar.”
+No territory control mechanic in your System? Huh. Interesting. Well, the fact you know about it makes this easier.+
“Not exactly. It’s a lost art. The current System – well, pre-Recursion – had no need for it. The Administrata got rid of it.”
+And how did they manage to do that, I wonder?+
Narrowing my eyes, I decided to pick a far off spot on the orange walls and stare intently. Menacingly. Stars below, and tried to shake off the feeling I was a complete nincompoop for trying to intimidate an office.
“What do you mean?”
+Nothing. Just that nerve centers are also territory control points. Resources flow to and collect at the largest regional ones. Any connected by the same owner allows their Faction to define resurrection rights, to enjoy and deny as they see fit.+
I stayed quiet.
+So, hand, still on console?+
“Yes.”
+Don’t take it off. Unless, well, you’d rather let someone else bear the responsibility?+
“Please don’t make me play the fool. My day has been long and my night is just now getting started,” I mustered.
Silence.
+Sorry. My perspective on these things is skewed, as you can imagine, but understand that I don’t take pleasure from this situation. No one should have their reality stolen from them.+
I breathed evenly, closing my eyes. The System’s ever-present glow, those symbols and numbers tattooed into my vision, faded into the faintest translucence. I could still see it. It never went completely away. Maybe the dead of the Recursion knew peace from it? A morbid thought, but easier than chasing speeds too fast for my brain to remain functioning on dragonback.
No.
“Why me?”
+Why not you?+
I waited.
+Alright, fine, an itemized list after all this sitting and talking, is that what you want to justify this call to action? Wasting time that could be spent shoring up a base of power and creating a place that your Death’s Door Fatally Injured friend can revive themselves?+
And waited.
+Is there some assurance that you require that this isn’t just a game for me?+
Something twinged in my chest.
+Something like this happened in my World. Almost did. We had someone that stopped it before everything fell into darkness and shattered the System completely. Yours still has all the pieces on the floor, they just need gluing back together. I won’t lie by saying that I’m not excited at having a hand in that, maybe, but I need an agent in this World in order to help it. Help you.+
+I could fry your brain and wait for the next idiot to touch one of these consoles I’ve managed to spike, go through the whole song and dance, and hope to the Engines of Creation they have half the braincell you possess, but that means less time to prevent whatever is being carried out.+
The text became harder and harder to read as a voice began breaking through, cracks in the orange walls and noise vibrating the lines and symbols of violet floating about the room.
“So please,” a quavering woman’s voice whispered. I looked towards the source, found the walls solidified once more. “Please, try and trust me.”
I chuckled, shaking my head.
“I knew there was a knife to my back this whole time,” was my curt reply.
+And you understand the gravity demanding it!+ once more angrily scratched across multiple glass screens as they activated, drawing close to me. A few took position over my ensnared hand.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, getting ahold of myself. Couldn’t breakdown. Wasn’t psychosis after all. Damn it.
+You? You are going to create a Faction and gather up as much of the canvas as you can so Somebody can’t. Me, well, let’s just say the more you get, the more I can work with in order to put things right.+
“Create a Faction? I’m assuming that’s the old System label for it, but a Party, a Fireteam?”
+Mhmm, not quite. Bigger. Multiple Parties.+
“So a Raid? It’ll be difficult traveling as one band going from place to place.”
+That’s the largest scale you can think of?+
“The only other big group,” I growled, “is the Terran Arcanocracy. A Guild or something. We always thought it was just a bunch of Parties and Raids reciting the same asinine creeds.”
+Maybe a step over that. Wow, your System hasn’t seen the territory control mechanic in forever, has it?+
“Since before my time and then some.”
+Well, my dear Human, I will have you know that you will probably be the first in ‘before your time and then some’ to lead a Faction. You’ll need it to claim the other nerve centers. Control points. Whatever you might call them once we separate.+
“Right. I imagine I need to recruit people with my winning personality by myself.”
+No, you can delegate some functions. Your Tablet thing will probably fill in the blanks, if it works the way I think it does.+
Ancient magic and prehistoric Systems, broken fabric of reality and stitching together a new quilt from it. Lots to take in. Was this the part where someone wanted to vomit from the intense pressure? Speaking of which, I couldn’t remember the last time I ate.
“Do I get to call you something other than ‘mysterious ghost in the console?’ My friends will be wanting an explanation of some sort for why I’ve no doubt been making odd faces and refusing to let go of the stonework,” I verbally jabbed, not meaning much from it. “The name’s Jericho Amontillado.”
There was a stiff scoff, captured like words written and quickly erased.
+Curious that you offer up your true name so eagerly, but I’ll excuse you asking for mine. Call me Rook. Speaking of labels, do you have one for your Faction in mind? Perhaps an emblem, an insignia and where it will display on your person?+
Closing my eyes to focus, it was difficult to conjure up any images or names on the spot like this. Any number of vibrant designs or flowery words appeared in times of boredom, but when it came to World-level antics of course they were scarce. If only this damned Status and the System could log things, recall them, instead of fading to the background when…
I thought I heard something.
The powerful thrum of wings, chasing away the darkness.
Black scales of swimming iridescence, orange eyes wreathed in fire.
“I think so.”
+Wonderful! This will only hurt a lot.+
“Wait, wha-?”
The main glass slate splintered into dozens of blades. Faster than thought, they drove through my hand and forearm like spikes. A few of them looked to be dragging along the flesh, maybe even writing. Drawing?
Oh, it hurt.
Be it seconds or be it minutes, I fell backwards into the peaceful void of sleep. At least my hand came off and my brain was intact.
I think.