Latludious and Yleen stepped out onto a balcony and before them was a vast arena, in the center of which sat the boss, about two yards tall, with a hammer in its hands and wearing thick armor beyond the reach of an ordinary man. Nika confirmed the information.
That’s right, it killed Rdrag and Mercyaa.
Noted.
Yleen touched the rail and leaned down. The boss sat motionless, seeming as if it were dozing. Directly behind it, in the corner at two o’clock, was a passageway. The Lord took out his binoculars and took a closer look, and saw shell casings and bullet marks.
“What are we going to do?” Latludious asked.
Yleen took out a B-rank self-deploying scanner and activated it and asked:
“Can we get to that passageway without a fight?”
“Why take such a risk?”
“Can we or not?”
Latludious pressed his lips together, glanced sideways at Yleen, and answered:
“I can try the Gravity Reduction spell. We won’t fly over the boss’ head, but we won’t make too much noise as we descend.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
Latludious cast the spell, and, as if floating on an invisible parachute, they descended into the arena and passed the boss. Yleen took a screenshot of its appearance. Already in another dark tunnel, he looked at the many boot marks and prints of heavy armor and wrote to Hebanyac, who was online. Both exchanged all available information.
I can hunt Faolandan and Vvy down and kill them all, the military commander added.
“No, let’s leave them alive for now. There are rumors on the forum that the surviving members of the Top Secret guild are preparing to enter the dungeon after the battle with the dragon. If that’s the case, then it won’t matter if everyone will know the truth or not, as well as the fact that I’ll endow everyone with an enemy of the race. Our priorities have changed. We need to come up with something new. Give me time to gather information.”
Latludious stopped and asked for a moment to catch his breath.
“All right,” Yleen replied.
The mage closed his eyes and came to life as the monster Mornazhar, who inhabited every crevice of this subterranean realm, and examined the cave with the glowing gate next to which Illyseh and Ronnie lay.
Are they still lying there? Vvy inquired.
Yes. As soon as they get up and talk, I’ll know what happened.
I’m relying on you.
Latludious rested his hands on his knees and exhaled and stood up and said:
“I’m ready. Shall we go?”
Yleen nodded and answered:
“Let’s go.”
***
The black and unsightly floor reflected the light of a thousand screens on three tiers on either side of the walls and two rows in the very center. In front of them, behind comfortable and large office chairs, whose color blended with the dark surroundings, sat three hundred overseers in white robes. They pounded the virtual keyboard with their fingers, feeling the hall with a psyche-pressing, squeaky sound.
Standing at the main entrance were two soldiers in uniforms comprising a dozen lightweight alloys that form an exoskeleton, equipped with anti-electrical and laser systems, and advanced weapons capable of leaving the enemy in ashes in an instant. Masks resembling a gas-masks hid their faces, and a black cotton cap covered their heads.
By the north wall, on the podium where the holograms of the monsters alternated, sat the commander-in-chief in a light, comfortable uniform, decked out with medals and decorations. His weapon was a pistol, holstered at the waist, which shimmered with different colors. No one except a dozen high-ranking officers and a secret group of developers knew exactly what it could do, but there were rumors it could fire self-directed bursting bullets. The rumors also said that the Commander-in-Chief preferred to improve upon the old weapons since people had lost the ability to fight and defend themselves against them. No one really knew what it was, so it was everybody’s duty to whisper about it during a break, throwing one ridiculous assumption on top of another.
The commander-in-chief took off his “Aaron” nametag and reattached it to his uniform - a little higher - and put his fist to his cheek and tapped his fingers on the table. Several chief programmers and developers - some in suits, others in shorts and T-shirts - were standing beside him, discussing something heatedly.
On the ceiling, a hanging column silently broadcast news through projection screens showing rallies and uprisings of people in different parts of the world. The system scanned and recognized faces, transferred them to the data center, and switched independently to new channels.
Some supervisors rushed from one workplace to another. Some laughed and whispered to their neighbor, while others sat in silence, like immortal statues that embodied the dullness and perishability of this modern world. One of them, the one at table twelve, began to fall asleep and yawn. The leftmost screen displayed a vision from Illyseh’s point of view, the center screen displayed a vision from Ronnie’s point of view, and the right screen was blank. Both players were lying unconscious face down in a cave on the ground.
The commander-in-chief approached him in a quiet step, scratching his white and puffy mustache under his nose, coughed, and said:
“Don’t fall asleep. Your shift is about to end.”
“Yes, sir. One hour to go.”
“How long have they been lying unconscious?”
The supervisor adjusted his thick-lens, gold-rimmed glasses and looked at the timer in the lower-left corner of the screen and responded:
“Twenty-three hours and forty-three minutes.”
“Are there any changes?”
“Only on the physical level, so to speak. According to the AI data, before, only light magic flowed through the magical veins on Illyseh’s skin. Now darkness filled a quarter of them. Ronnie got a twenty-fifth level and an unknown magical aura. We’ll find out what it does. We have encountered nothing like that yet. Otherwise, his internal organs are functioning normally, with only an elevated heart rate of 150-160 beats per minute, but it’s not life-threatening.”
“Why is it so high?”
“As far as I can tell,” he said, fixing his glasses again. “Something is happening to them on a subconscious level, but we won’t know what it is until they wake up and discuss it. We’ve seen a similar phenomenon in Hebanyac’s illusion magic before. It’s almost the same thing.”
“These veins here, um... like... um...” said the Commander-in-Chief, embarrassed, “dark magic, is it like orcs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It appeared while he was asleep?”
“That’s right.”
“All right, then. Report when they’ll wake up.”
“Yes, sir.”
The supervisor adjusted his nametag with the name “Bakir” on it and took a couple of sips of coffee from the thermos and yawned and took off his glasses and wiped his watery eyes. Ten minutes later, he saw Illyseh and Ronnie on their feet. He brought the third screen out of sleep mode and there was a pile of collected data and encrypted codes. Bakir crunched his fingers and immediately wrote something down and called the military to him. Five of them came up to him and put on headphones and nodded at him:
“Turn on the sound,” Aaron said.
He pressed the record and broadcast button.
“Can’t hear anything.”
“They are still silent, sir.”
Ronnie opened the HUD and saw the message:
Your level has increased to 25.
Congratulations! You have reached a new checkpoint!
Change in stats:
Strength 5.9 (+0.1 increase at the next level)—first modification.
Agility 17.3 (+0.3 increase at the next level)—third modification.
Reaction 3.7 (+0.2 increase at the next level)—no modification.
Magic 0.6 (+0.4 increase at the next level)—no modification.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Amount of experience 66%
Mana count 0 out of 10
Then he looked with frightened and round eyes at his comrade. Illyseh stared at his palms. The first was as black as tar, the second was as bright as the sun on a clear day.
“Do you feel the same way I do?”
“Are you talking about magic?”
“No, about what’s in our heads.”
“Yeah. My brain’s about to explode,” Ronnie answered, and then he collapsed and disconnected.
The military made a lot of noise and got all agitated. Bakir turned to them and said:
“They ran out of playing time.”
“Why didn’t you extend it?”
“Because that would have raised suspicions.”
Illyseh deployed the protective tent, dragged Ronnie inside, and passed out as well.
Aaron touched the transparent sensor mounted on his temple, and two soldiers standing by the front door ran up to him.
“I have a bad feeling about this. Hook up to the smart home systems of their apartments and monitor their every movement. Listen to the calls and record every word. We need to know what happened there.”
“Yes, sir,” they said and took him aside and asked, “if anything goes wrong, shall we deal with them?”
“If they go to the press, catch them and send them to the interrogation room; I’ll deal with them myself. If anything happens to Blake, you answer with your head.”
“Sir?”
“What is it?”
“Do you know him?”
“How about we go out for a coffee and have a heart-to-heart talk? Get out of here! Get on with your mission!” Aaron shouted and watched the soldiers until they were out the door, and then he said quietly, “Fucking hell. Gotta stop being so nice.”
***
Blake stepped out of the VR pod and nearly fell, disoriented and frightened. He looked at the time: 2:00 pm and closed his eyes - vertigo. A strange whistle, explosions, and gunfire came from across the street. His brain barely reacted to movement, and the first thought that came to his mind gave him a terrible headache. Blake headed into the kitchen, grabbed his SYL, and with trembling hands, brought the mouthpiece to his mouth and filled the entire volume of his lungs with smoke. He held it there for a few seconds and exhaled.
He went into the shower stall, turned on the hot water, and sat down with his hands wrapped around his knees. The glass on the doors fogged up. His feet slipped on the dirty surface, which only caused him irritation. Blake came out after ten minutes and took his PTSD pills and went into the kitchen.
“Noikondrob se mo’os hyponstrom en foro, kinmen.”
Interesting changes are happening to you, son.
Blake cursed and slammed his fist into the wall with all his might.
“Are you all right?” asked Regina.
“Do you think the man who hits the wall is okay?” Blake asked and wiped his nose and saw blood on the back of his palm.
“Should I call a doctor?”
“I’ve had enough of doctors.”
Tyriel, with a stony face and a humble look, watched as his son was thrown from side to side, as his eyes turned red and as his legs wobbled.
“Gor de fumu, na’am mo hoz,” he said.
You’re hungry, so you’re feeling sick.
“Regina.”
“How may I help?”
“Pour me some water, and have the kefir ready in half an hour.”
“In a moment.”
Blake walked around the destroyed UAV lying on the floor and headed to the safe and pulled out the Barrett.
“No mondoro ques ife.”
All the son’s habits come from his father.
“Just talk normally,” he said and went to the window and looked at the street, where there was real chaos, wrapped in a dense, electrified blanket of gray clouds.
“Mnrfon guxmirn pvopvopvo jnkirn fus bduitsk nou stor. Ho os mo’os nvina em tom.”
You said yourself, I'm just a projection of your subconscious. It's talking to you in the language of dragons.
A long thunderclap echoed through the roofs of the houses. The windows trembled. Blake returned to the kitchen and drank a liter of water in one gulp.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and it’s pitch black.”
“Schtis shofo ifo.”
That’s just the appetizer.
Blake sat down on the couch; Tyriel followed him.
“A simple VRMMORPG is hardly capable of this, right?”
The farther nodded. Blake gripped the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb and cursed.
“Mi ino mo’os doof, zon pengom ista’ak.”
I told you there’s something wrong with the game.
“That’s not what you were talking about at all.”
“Mo’os nran gitz tour.”
You just didn’t catch the connection.
Blake got to his feet and started pacing from corner to corner. The ominous roar of thunder rumbled again, followed by a thud, and then raindrops clattered against the glass.
“Gof mo stakna frizos de tarf.”
It’s as if the devil himself is breaking through the windows.
Blake suddenly froze, his eyes darting across the ceiling.
“Regina.”
“How may I help you?”
“Where are the smoke detectors installed?”
The AI directed beams of diode light at them. Blake left the room, and Tyriel grinned. He returned a minute later with a hammer in hand and smashed every sensor, then went to the panel and cut off all the electricity.
“If they want to, they can get you out of the bowels of hell.”
“They won’t have the balls.”
“Did you forget the dinners we had with Commander-in-Chief Aaron?”
“Bou, janral, no firm tui me.”
No, that’s why I’m sure I won’t get killed.
Blake stopped himself and cursed.
“What the fuck is going on in my head?”
“It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. I never thought I’d see you like this.”
“So, you don’t.”
Blake thought and involuntarily focused his attention on his tattoo. Then remembered the doctor and frowned and clenched his fists.
“Has the puzzle finally come together?” Tyriel asked.
Blake turned the power back on and waited until all the smart house systems were fully operational before looking at the time. It had been about an hour.
“Regina, are you there?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Turn on the psychological help channel.”
“Stand by... connecting...”
After a few seconds, the AI reported the channel was switched on and asked:
“What’s troubling you?”
“I’m concerned about a man, a former member of parliament. I want you to help me find him. He ended his career in the upper circles of the government five years ago.”
“What does he look like?”
“A fat man with three chins.”
Blake activated his DNA-based computer.
“Bring up all the candidates on the screen.”
“There are over a hundred people matching your description.”
“What, are they quitting in droves?”
“There’s no information available.”
“Okay. Analyze the speech of each of them. The one I want to find speaks slowly. Start your search with the ones that are closest to me.”
Pictures of five candidates appeared on the screen. In the third image, Blake recognized Illyseh. His real name was Andrei Ivanovich Andropov.
“Is that him?”
“I think so.”
“What kind of complaint should I send? A reminder, all complaints are sent to the Department of Mental Health anonymously. You have nothing to fear.”
Blake fell silent, staring at the screen and rubbing his fingers.
“You know, I changed my mind. We’ll hold off on the application.”
“Do you want to register a reason for the cancelation?”
“Ronoy, Ronoy. Nizarom itdas freen yushch. Naovo mo’os te fi?”
Clever, clever. The psychological help channel cannot be traced and monitored. How did I not think of that?
“I don’t like to hold a grudge against people,” Blake replied to Regina and opened the Uniform State Real Estate Registry website. Then typed in his last name and found one apartment about an hour away.
Blake looked at his watch. Another half hour had passed.
“Ribronga? Mo he foko mi rice trpna gofa.”
Will you risk it? You have two and a half hours to get home without arousing suspicion.
“Regina, have you changed the channel yet?”
“No.”
“I think my best bet would be to talk to the abuser and discuss the conflict, right?”
“That is agreed to be a very effective method.”
“Call a cab.”
“Please wait a moment.”
“Nio mo’os de rina?” Tyriel asked. “Ta’amen can ni.”
Do you feel the same way I do? They are watching you.
Blake ran to the front door and turned on the camera broadcasting the hallway. There were two men in bathrobes and slippers, chatting amongst themselves, smoking old-fashioned electronic disposable cigarettes. Blake wanted to go outside and talk to them, just to make sure it was all paranoia, but as soon as he grabbed the doorknob the scene flashed through his mind as he walked out of his apartment, the two neighbors turned in his direction and came over and pulled out their guns and told him to stay inside. Blake flinched in surprise. Did I also get the gift of foresight? He looked through the camera eye again, zoomed in, and noticed the handle of a gun under one’s robe.
Five minutes later, he received a notification informing him of the taxi’s arrival in front of the loggia. Blake turned on the apartment alarm, dressed the first thing that came to hand and took a can of kefir from the kitchen and sat inside, and gave the address.
“What floor?” asked the AI.
“Better stop in front of the driveway,” he replied.
“As you wish.”
Blake tried to see what was going on in the city below, but the storm clouds blocked the view, and only the signal lights on the rooftops shone through the grayness of the sky. Halfway through the trip, the car shuddered. The AI issued a warning that they were in a zone of turbulence and that there was no reason to worry. A small screen on the back of the front seat updated the altitude readings. The cab was eleven thousand meters above sea level. The sun’s rays burst into the interior of the car. Blake moved to an adjacent seat and looked down and watched the pristine apocalyptic darkness with bright bluish flashes and distant rumbling thunder that covered his entire city.
The weather delayed the cab by eleven minutes. The AI refunded a third of the fare at the end for the inconvenience. Blake covered his head with his hood, slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather coat, and ran across the street to the first driveway. An angry mob - fifteen men - ran past him, carrying placards that read, “Peace is but a dream,” and laser pistols. At the same minute, police cars came down on them, and armed riot police ran out and ordered them to drop their weapons. The crowd froze. Blake stopped and watched; he noticed the signal jammers on the cars.
“Everybody on your knees, hands on your heads! Weapons on the ground!” They shouted, but the protesters did not react.
One bald man with a full skull tattoo pulled out a gun, and no sooner had he taken aim than the soldiers opened fire and killed each one of them.
Blake ran under the canopy of a house, where the more peaceful protesters were standing and shaking with frightened and angry faces. Some of them activated the augmented reality communication chip (or ARCC) mounted on their temples and filmed what was happening.
“This barbarism will be on the federal news,” someone whispered.
“They have no right to do that. I filmed the whole thing.”
“Wait, where’s the Internet? I lost my connection.”
Everyone started glancing at each other and whispering. A scene flashed through Blake’s mind in which the police ask these people to surrender their personal ARCCs, and when they refused, they opened fire on everyone.
“Fuck,” he said quietly and asked one guy who was speechless, in his twenties, to open the door.
He nodded and put his hand on the scanner’s glass surface. Inside, a friendly AI voice greeted Blake. He gave a dry greeting in response and ran to the elevator and called it. Not ten seconds later, there was a deafening explosion, followed by the sound of gunshots. The front door crumbled into tiny shards, and the peaceful protesters ran inside, screaming and groaning. Behind them were soldiers, finishing the wounded along the way.
Blake got into the elevator unnoticed and went up to the one hundred and forty-fourth floor, walked down the long hallway in silence, and called apartment number 3876. Nothing. He jabbed his finger at the bell and did not let it go for a minute. No one opened it.
“Fuck!” he said and kicked the door with his foot.
A neighbor from apartment 3875 ran out at the noise and saw the troublemaker’s face and opened his mouth in fright and ran back in. Blake sat on the floor with his back to the wall and his head in his hands, trying to think of a plan for what to do next.
A minute later, the door opened. He turned his head and saw a skinny old man, with an overgrown belly, a bald head, crooked thin legs with bright blue veins protruding on them. He was wearing a vest and boxers. His hands were all green. Uncountable bruises covered the body.
Blake stood up. They looked at each other. Illyseh said:
“Wu gong mi us ril.”
“Wu gong mi us ril.”
Well, now we meet.