Blake opened his eyes when the VR capsule automatically raised the helmet. Then the wires, tubes and sensors disconnected from his body one by one. The warm blue fluorescent lighting of the small diode lamps inside gradually brightened up. A pleasant female voice started the report and after three seconds, the door opened and he went outside into his room. Like an astronaut from a spaceship.
The first thing he did was look at the clock on the transom. Time: 12:13. There was a mirror hanging on the side of the wall, he looked at himself: he wore only underpants, many scars and cuts covered his back, blind in one eye, and the other was azure-blue that was absorbing the pain of the past, his skin was white like a dead man’s. The hair was long, greasy. Muscles covered the sinewy body, and calluses coated his palms. Another scar decorated his lower abdomen.
Through the thin curtains, the last scarlet rays of the setting sun made their way into the room. Yellow side lights lit up on the walls. Tables, chairs, a bed—all of them hidden in the walls and came out on command. The exception was a bookcase, as old as this world, made of expensive mahogany. It had been two hundred years since humanity had produced such things. Blake walked towards it, his head spinning, his vision blurry. On the central shelf, he took a photograph showing the moment of his graduation from the military academy. It was of him and his father, both holding rifles, smiles on their faces. There was also a dusty image of his mother, but he did not even look in its direction. The shelves above and below were full of books on weapons and military subjects.
Blake returned the photo to its place, stood in the center of the room, the muscles of his body tensed, the veins in his eyes burst. He repeated the phrase, “my things are not to blame for my death.” in his mind over and over. His hands were so eager to break something, throw it into the wall, make it so that anger would take possession of some soulless object and explode into fragments along with it. In his mind, he knew it was impossible.
“Regina,” he said to the AI, “I need more air.”
The windows in the room opened slightly. A draft blew in. Blake felt as if he was being strangled by someone invisible. His eyes widened, almost did not blink.
“Fucking bitch!” he shouted at the top of his voice and tried to go forward, but fell. Drool flowed out of his mouth. His breathing quickened. He tried to get up, but his legs would not obey. They gave out.
Blake gave up and lay down in the fetal position on a fluffy carpet made of artificial sheep's wool. He looked at the wall and heard the sounds of shovels and screams of people behind it. Inside, a feeling of self-loathing tore him. For half an hour, he replayed in his head how events could have changed if he had not done what he had. It did not get any better.
An hour later, he packed up and reached the living room, large and voluminous. There was practically nothing in it, except for buttons on the walls, columns and door jambs and white neon lights on the ceiling. It’s like being in purgatory after hell. He walked up to one pillar and touched it with his index finger. The lid opened, a shelf on which a bottle of cognac was standing moved out. Blake opened the bottle and took several large gulps from it. Then he sat down on the ottoman and activated a DNA locked computer, looking like a portable hologram with the function of expanding and shrinking the screen and went to the game’s website and clicked on the player rating tab and found himself in the 53rd place.
“You’re not getting away with this, bitch.”
The only thing that kept Blake’s mind from uncontrollable madness was a pre-issued one-year premium subscription. One of the many useful functions of which was to allow players to be reborn not after seven days, but 24 hours after death. The subscription also included discounts for the in-game shop, special orders, a personal safe in the game hall, a warehouse in the basement and additional sets of military ammunition, including the “Ghillie” camouflage.
Blake closed the computer and sat for a couple dozen minutes, looking at the ceiling. Then he went to the far corner of the room and entered an eight-digit PIN code on a dashboard. The mechanism started working. The top panel of the wall moved forward a couple of inches and dropped, and after, he opened a safe filled with weapons. Blake took out a Barrett M107A1 and slung it over his shoulder and took an Eco smoke SYL electronic cigarette model with a huge 100ml tank and pressed the close button and went to a small box next to it and took out the tobacco liquid, the purest genetically enhanced marijuana without carcinogens, flavors, toxins and so on, the brand “AntiOntiCHI” (or abbreviated AOC). He smoked.
“Smoking is bad for your health,” a voice echoed throughout the apartment.
“And you’re bad for my state of mind, but I’m using you anyway,” Blake answered in a low voice with a touch of hoarseness.
“You have an appointment with the veterans aid group tomorrow.”
“Tell Lorry to go fuck himself.”
“I’m not programmed to do that. If you want to cancel, contact the leader yourself. I will remind you, however, that group sessions help with post-traumatic stress disorder. There you will find people close to your heart and...”
“That’s enough,” Blake interrupted the AI.
In the kitchen, two white sofas made of artificial nubuck surrounded a table. An electronic clock with the day’s date, 24.08.2311, was ticking on the lintel. Two small boxes with the name EF-312 [1]stood in the room's corner, illuminated in grass-green light. Next to them was a refrigerator and an AB-100 garbage disposal unit. Blake put the bottle of cognac on the sofa and went to the opposite wall, but caught himself thinking that his hands were shaking again. He looked at his palms and felt a sense of detachment from his body. Fear enveloped his consciousness. Blake staggered and almost fell. He mumbled and tried to say something, but the speech turned out to be incoherent. The smart house was saying something, but its voice seemed distant and muffled. Everything happened as if in a dream. After ten minutes, the terrible condition receded. Blake crawled to the sofa. The armrest rose and a glass of water and pills came out of it, which made their way through the house’s pneumatic tube delivery system from the bathroom to the living room.
“Do not neglect the pills.”
“Yeah.”
He put two capsules in his mouth, washed it down with a lot of water and turned on the TV that was along the entire wall and put the AOC next to it and took a drag and the small built-in vape speaker emitted a barely audible crackle of smoldering tobacco. Artificial, but still nice. He held the SYL forward and watched the remaining steam rise from the mouthpiece upwards. The first federal channel started its news program. A female voice in the video's background sequence told about the events that happened seven years ago. Then the Earth Alliance attacked a planet in order to get a new type of energy, but they faced serious resistance and a war broke out. People seized more and more territories every passing day, they sent the prisoners to jails or labor camps. Much time had passed since the day the humans gained consciousness, but the methods had not really changed, as well as the laws of war. The wrinkled face of the president appeared on the screen. He talked about plans, about the future, about innovations and fresh changes, at the end he said that the year was difficult, but by uniting we could overcome everything. He recalled the tragic history of the 22nd century and ended with the “do not forget your ancestors.” statement.
Blake went to the far wall with the SYL in his mouth, pulled a small cube, the size of two nails, out of the refrigerator with “Burger classic” written on it. He put it in the first EF-312 box and waited a couple of minutes. Rallies of people were broadcast on TV, chanting about the rights of the universe, that hostages should not be used as slaves, that the government had forgotten the word “diplomacy”. The leaders of the movement reminded the entire world that the perpetrators of these inhumane actions had not been brought to justice, although everyone knew who they were. Today, exactly five years had passed since the aliens from the planet NSR-318556A destroyed themselves and their homeland. The prisoners of war also disappeared. And once again, we were alone in the universe.
A short beep sounded. Blake took the raw burger out of the 3D printer and placed it in the second compartment of the EF-312. He went back to the sofa and grabbed the cognac.
“You shouldn’t mix alcohol with your pills.”
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“Why the fuck are you getting on my nerves, hm? Leave me be.”
“It’s my job to monitor you and your health. I can also tell Lorry about this event.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Then I suggest you make yourself some tea.”
Blake cursed and put the cognac away. He looked at the lamp, over which the steam of SYL was floating. Condensation covered the windows. He went back to the countertop and made himself tea in a self-decaying eco-friendly mug and sat down on the sofa and put the rifle next to him and began watching TV without paying attention to what they were saying. The universal news was becoming more and more depressing. Blake switched one channel after another, then advertising, then news from the animal world or a new series that was being played for the nth time. Nothing interesting. He asked Regina to give him the book “The Art of Weapons of the 21st century” by Howard Korten, and a minute later it appeared on the sofa's arm. A hot, freshly cooked burger moved out of the compartment on the coffee table. Blake took it in one hand, and the other held the book he already knew by heart.
After an hour, he got tired of this too. He picked up the Barrett, hung it on his back, returned to the countertop and placed the empty cup in the AB-100 and then went to the window, opened it and went out onto the loggia. At the height of the thirty-ninth floor, a strong, warm wind was blowing. The holographic panel showed the air quality index (AQI) 2, pressure 739 mm Hg, humidity 75%, visibility 35 miles, no geomagnetic activity, ultraviolet index 0 points, temperature 25 degrees. There were eco-houses in the front, overgrown with grass and moss, and five hundred and seven floors high. Like the biblical towers of Babel, inside which parks with dwarf trees were built, choose what you want: on the twenty-fifth floor oaks, on the thirtieth cedars and fir trees, on the fortieth birch and so on, mini zoos with exotic animals, shops, small platforms for levitating transport powered by solar energy, branches of the local police, the community administration and it can continue indefinitely. Each house was a city with its own infrastructure, management, and people. As a child, Blake heard a story about an old man who had never come out in thirty years. It seemed crazy to him at the time. But now he understood him better.
Blake put his hands on the railing and looked down and saw abandoned highways converted into pedestrian and bike paths. To the right and left of it were the canals’ blue waters, lakes and rivers which flowed in an endless winding line. Raindrop shaped ships floated on their surface. Trees blocked the view of all people living up to the 10th floor. Nature was regaining the space that it once lost. Blake took out the AOC and poured more liquid into the SYL, sat down comfortably, placing his weapon between his legs. The darkness slowly settled in. He directed his gaze to the heavens, where stars appeared wherever you looked. Some burned with a bright yellow fire, others white and faded. In the very center was a dim strip of the Milky Way, shaped like a human spine. In the silence of this world, he sat for a couple of hours, smoking and watching the horizon through the thick white steam coming out of his lungs.
Blake returned to the living room, activated the computer, expanded the screen to 27 inches, set the temperature in the apartment to twenty-three degrees with the help of a voice command, and began to read the forums. The players were again furiously discussing magic, how to get it, who could pump this stat by at least 0.1. Every day, more and more theories and assumptions appeared, but as soon as it came to practice, everything went to waste. Some players claimed the stat was there, but there were no mechanics, so there was no point in discussing it. There were also those who debated on the topic of “one server”, and why the killed monsters did not respawn. In the “Craft” section, more and more alchemists and smiths appeared. They offered their services in creating weapons, potions, healing boosts, and other things of a much better quality than the Vanguard had, and for a lower price.
Then Blake went to the online maps section and studied where Nika could theoretically go. He looked at what roadblocks and fortresses the guilds had built within a radius of a hundred miles and who he could contact, made notes in the in-game notebook connected to his personal account. Unfortunately, the choice was small. The bulk of the players concentrated their forces to the north of the known terrain of the Elgoreombdon forest, at the foot of the Orodrim Eoul mountain range. There, the top guilds united in an alliance, erected several battle forts and prepared to go through the dungeon in the cave together. Blake was more interested in the desert and what was to the north of it. Maybe that’s where the detour of these damned mountains could be. If his theory will prove correct, then he would be one of the first to find himself in a new location, where other races and new powerful monsters were most likely living. At the place of his death, he saw a new dungeon, to which the AI assigned the A+ rank, and also added new creatures to the bestiary: sand soldiers of the eighteenth level and harpies of the twentieth. All unconscious types, aggressive.
The character’s rebirth was less than twelve hours away. As Blake’s father used to say, if you want time to go faster, work. And that’s exactly what he did and went to his room and took a book on weapon creation from the shelf and looked for a quick way to improve and restore his Barrett. Several hours had passed. Blake took a break. This time, he decided against cooking on his own and called for a delivery. Ten minutes later, an UAV landed on the kitchen loggia with two containers with ready-made food. He had a snack and put the rifle on the floor next to him and lay down on the sofa with the computer in front of his eyes and a mug of freshly made coffee in his hands and opened the forum again and saw a new topic about hangers. In the first primary message, a player with a familiar nickname, Onstoff, told a story:
I was analyzing the local flora and fauna on the border of the Nepril Desert, and at the same time I was hunting weak creatures, finishing the last five percent. An hour later, when I was one tiny step away from getting a new level, a girl with the nickname Nika ran up to me. She said that monsters attacked her group ten minutes from this place. I agreed to help, dunno why.
Of course, when I found myself at an oasis hidden by sand dunes, she hit me on the head and I was stunned. As soon as I regained consciousness, I saw I had none of my belongings with me. Fortunately, the developers thought of introducing the PM function, and I wrote a message to my friend from the guild, who was near to this place.
Nika did not waste time in vain, it was clear that she was experienced. She took a rope out of her backpack, made a noose and was about to finish me when my friend arrived and stunned her. After a few minutes, I returned my belongings, weapons, and decided to take revenge on her with her own weapon. But... a player was passing by at that time. He was the fifth place in the military rating and without thinking twice, without understanding the situation, killed me and my friend at the same time.
The nickname of that idiot was Ronnie. I was seriously wounded by a bullet, and my friend, who, by the way, was at fourteenth level too, was killed instantly. Of course, karma did not take long, and after a couple of hours, I saw Ronnie fall from fifth place to fifty-third, losing three levels at the same time.
What was the outcome of this drama? Ladies and gentlemen, please don’t jump to conclusions. Now I don’t even want to go back into the game. I spent so much time and effort to raise to the fourteenth level, and now I’m ten again.
Just imagine how lucky this bitch is. She took our things as she wanted, and then killed Ronnie with a PK debuff, and received a reward and experience for killing him and rose from the sixth level to the tenth (exactly the same as I am now) in less than a day. So she also escaped system’s punishment. Very fair.
1. I hope the game admins will start banning every player engaged in such things. Because what happened was just dishonest.
After reading the story to the end, Blake choked on his coffee and turned off the computer and grabbed his head and took a liquid with a high nicotine content and poured it into SYL and made some deep breaths and gathered his thoughts. A couple of minutes later, he went back to the forum and saw over ten thousand views and described the situation as he saw it, and also apologized to Onstoff and his friend. The players were divided into two camps. One side condemned Ronnie and laughed at him, the second justified his actions. Blake took a break from the drama unfolding around his persona for a while, took the Barrett and returned to his room.
“Regina, I want to sleep.”
A large double bed with an orthopedic mattress, two pillows, and a blanket slid out of the wall. He lay down with his arm under his head, and before going to bed, he saw an SMS notification about the receipt of funds in the amount of 1000 units from the state for the next month. This amount was enough to eat well and not deny yourself anything. At least something nice happened during the day.
He closed his eyes with the rifle in his hands and a minute later had a dream, after which he woke up covered in sweat. There was the earth burning and smoking, as if the devil himself had walked over it. Behind a river of red-hot lava, from which the air trembled, stood a ten feet tall old man, and in his hands he held a small body without a head and an arm. Weak, bloody. He chewed his flesh so fiercely and furiously that Blake could say for sure—this was not the first victim. There was madness in the old man’s eyes, bones were crunching in his teeth, and a crown blackened by soot and coal was under his feet. His veins throbbed and expanded. Above his head hovered three women with yellow teeth, black, dirty skin, and torn clothes. The first two have threads in their hands, the third had scissors. The fourth creature, which was in the center of them, looked directly at Blake, smiled, and beckoned with a gesture to come closer. However, he did not give in to the persuasion and took out his weapon and opened fire, but the bullets flew through. Then he left, as pilgrims go, in his own way, beyond the world of darkness, the world of oblivion, in search of a new light, having stopped trying to change what he could not influence.
Blake woke up. It was three o’clock in the morning. He took out the last bottle of water from the bedside table and drank it in one gulp, went into the shower, turned on the water for a minute, turned it off, lathered his body and washed off the dirt and sweat, cut his hair there, chose a haircut with the name Fade. Clean and fresh, he went back to bed and fell asleep.
When the sun shone like a bullet hole in the sky, he opened his eyes, had breakfast in silence, smoked a full tank of SYL and went into the VR booth and launched Guns and Magic. The download of the new update had started.