No matter how hard I examined my reward, how much I searched and prodded for hidden features and buttons, the personalised stick remained just that—a stick. Don’t get me wrong; it was a very cool looking piece of wood. I would totally rock the wizard runway toting this baby. But I felt like I’d fast-forwarded to ancient in an instant. Nothing quite says elderly like a walking stick.

Even my boys treated me differently, helping me over rough terrain and deferring to me whenever I spoke, like I had the knowledge of the ages tucked in my venerable cranium.

Bat man, despite being noticeably old, received no such special treatment. He was walking ahead of us with Gunga-Bert, scouting the landscape for potential camping/settlement sites. And, of course, for any dangerous flora or fauna.

He was also proving useful in my campaign to fatten up the EI crew, finding edible roots and fruits across a wider area than my own Identify skill could reach. Their arms cradled food and cheeks bulged as they walked—four less-than-fluffy chipmunks heading to their nest to store nuts for the winter.

A nest I was all too willing to occupy. It had been a big day and the old lady wanted her beauty sleep. I resolved that if the two AIs didn’t stop talking shop and find a place to stay soon, I was going to take command by virtue of collapsing to the ground and stubbornly refusing to move.

My body ached. One big long ache that encompassed my entire length. Feet, head, back, torso, limbs, organs—all were indistinguishable from each other in their general demand for rest. Even my eye had begun to twitch; an incessant beat that fluttered against my lid like a moth had taken up residence. I rubbed the offending orbit in the hopes I could massage away the tic (or squish any encroaching insect), but it proved futile. Only sleep had any chance of stopping it.

The game offered advanced recovery times and the ability to heal quickly, but my muscles IRL had evidently overtaxed themselves, even within the limited movement afforded by my haptic overlay. They needed to be limp and still for several earth hours—and my brain for many more.

By the time Bert and the seer pronounced themselves satisfied, I was weaving on my feet, kept upright only with the aid of my new accessory and solicitous crew members. No doubt my exhausted state had solidified their impressions of a fragile old timer. I was just grateful they hadn’t decided to ditch me as a liability when they figured out that the bat was the better guide.

It was almost dark, so it was fortunate that it took very little time to set up camp. A direct consequence of having almost nothing to unpack.

I sat and watched sleepily while the boys gathered bundles of leaves and branches and made a crude structure from stacked stones that I deduced was going to be used as a look-out assist. Then I buried myself farther into my leafy blanket, only vaguely hoping that Bert would ensure that no creepy-crawlies were sharing my bed.

I didn’t really care. Share and share alike and all that.

My eyes fluttered once and didn’t open again that night.

——

“Terrin! What the hell are these doing in my couch?”

In a land many miles away, in a flat all too close, a young man held up a pair of men’s underwear and grimaced in disgust.

A shaggy head rolled against its resting place on the back of a recliner to eye the offending garment lazily. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. Left them there last night.”

Teeth gritted. “For what reason were they ‘left’ here, pray tell?”

Terrin grinned wickedly and replied in the same spirit that the question was asked. “I do believe, my dear brother, that Shelley ripped them off me in a moment of torrid passion.” His eyebrows waggled in exaggerated lechery. “Totally awesome night, my man.”

Todd threw the boxers at his head. “When are you going to get your own place?”

“Dunno,” Terrin answered, peeling them off his face. “Why? You getting cold feet?”

“My feet were never warm. Or even room temperature. Our mutual parent made it very clear that failing to house you was not an option.” Though Todd was rapidly coming to the conclusion that their mother had had ulterior motives for shunting Terrin responsibility onto him. It couldn’t have been easy, living alone with Terrin for five years. He had only done two months and he already had the same urge to leave him on someone else’s doorstep.

“Ha! The big-shot forensic accountant whipped by his mother.”

“I’m by no means a ‘big-shot’ and you know it. At best I’m a tiny fish swimming in a big pond, collecting a very small paycheck for cleaning up after the senior sharks.”

“Only if ‘cleaning up’ includes researching the entirety of the case against Dougherty.”

“Not according to the big fish. They kindly thanked me for my administrative assistance yesterday.”

“When are you going to find your balls and ditch those assholes?”

“When I dig up the treasure chest buried in my back garden. Or harvest the coins from my money tree. Some of us have to pay bills you know.”

“Hey, I’m a student.” He jiggled the tablet sitting on his lap, a lap his brother earnestly hoped resided in a replacement pair of underwear. He was already going to have to sponge down the couch.

“What are you studying?” Todd asked, stepping over and trying to angle his head to see the screen. “Women’s navels?”

“Brother, you hurt me,” he said like a man suffering a mortal wound. But he tilted the tablet defensively.

Todd grabbed it and a wrestling match ensued. Todd won.

“Is this some kind of gaming forum?”

“Totally legit. Doing some research for my Python course.”

“And you chose a game that you have no actual legitimate access to, or samples of its source code? Oh, and look—it’s also one that’s recently been discontinued. Just how do you propose to study a game that’s not even available any more?”

“That’s the thing,” Terrin said, showing more interest than I’d seen in him since he moved in. “I’ve found an anomaly. A first in gaming history. Not only do I believe that Age of Deception’s still active…I think someone’s still in there.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

——

I woke to the sound of digging and chattering males. A brief inspection determined that it wasn’t, as I briefly thought, a grave to inter my derelict body, but instead a foundation of some kind. The AIs had set my boys a task and they were setting to with enthusiasm.

I closed my eyes again.

After the second dumping of dry dirt scattered across me, I decided enough was enough and levered myself upright, propping my back against a handy tree. (After checking it for claw marks.) It wasn’t much of a backrest, but my customary pillow was currently making inroads into a patch of grass, abandoning me for food—her usual MO.

Sculpt was the only teen not digging. He was standing aside, tapping his fingers on a stick (not as cool as mine) and eyeing bat man with suspicion.

“So this god spoke to you?” he asked. I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

His skepticism was understandable. Sculpt’s previous experience with seers communing with deities had not been a happy one.

Arliiiine…Bert whined like child importuning his mother. Could you step in? I can’t speak to an NPC directly and he doesn’t seem to be obeying his superior’s instructions. I cannot detect a malfunction, but circumstances suggest…

Let me get this straight. A construct that you manipulated has now exceeded its parameters—you did set limits on behaviour, didn’t you?

I may have left certain lines open-ended in order to promote growth…

You can see the irony, can’t you?

I am a highly evolved piece of software, not an arcade game. Of course I see the irony. Though how you can compare a barely aware NPC to—

I cut Bert off before the AI could recite his superior abilities and CPU model number. I don’t even know his name.

Heidel.

And the seer guy?

Retisfich.

Really?

Why would I lie?

It just sounds so…German. Made me wonder how much effort the script writers had put in when they were researching minority cultures. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’d tacked in the whole cannibalism element for salacious effect. Or even that the Birdman competition was a complete fabrication. Then again, it was so bizarre that it just had to be true.

I rose stiffly to my feet. There may have been cracking and popping involved, but I finally managed to interpose myself between the locked eyes of the two men. Then I clasped a male shoulder in each hand, reckoning that if they went for each other’s throats I could shove them off balance and still have time to scramble away.

“Morning all. Good to see you’re making progress with the camp.” Friendly-neutral, that’s the ticket.

Heidel frowned. “Don’t tell me you agree with him?”

“Retisfich has had a change of heart. A spiritual awakening.” A lobotomy. “He can now be trusted to lead you in the right direction.”

Heidel turned his head aside and spat.

I lifted my hand away as my stomach churned in revulsion. Why did men have to do that? I thought at least in a virtual world I would be spared that particular sight. It took real effort to force my eyes away from the disgusting biological sample.

“You think he has our best interests in mind? Him? How can we follow a person who has already led people into death for his own benefit?”

“I don’t expect you to make nice or even to regard him as some kind of leader. In fact, I think you would make a better leader. But he is a resource that you would be wise to make use of. He knows how to find food, make tools, and…” I waved towards the grave, where the three boys had stopped digging and were listening in, “…create a shelter.”

He still looked dubious.

I leaned in and put my hand back on his shoulder, trying to evoke sympathy. It was a talent I didn’t actually possess, but I watch a lot of movies.

“I know there’s bad blood between you two. You lost your own brother through his partner’s desire to brown-nose your clan chief. I get it. But this land is not like yours. In order to survive you need to exploit any advantage—even if that advantage is an asshole.”

“Is your brother involved in this?”

“My…?” I stopped myself. I had to exploit my own advantages. “Yes. He has emptied Retisfich of his former personality to create a communication bridge between him and you. To help the Rapa Nui people to live a better life.”

Heidel thought. I could practically hear the cogs whirring. “I will agree to this.”

Ah, good. I let out a little breath of relief.

“Until he goes back to his old ways. When he does…” He shot a look of pure menace toward Retisfich and grasped his stick in a manner reminiscent of players posing on baseball cards. Then he jumped into the dirt hole and used it to bash away at the sides.

At least he was using his anger constructively.

Ugh. Bert this time. In a mental voice that expressed revulsion.

“What is it now?” I turned to face Gunga, only to see her backside in the process of relieving herself of a stream of white droppings. In the midst of the mess was Bert, pulsing in an effort to absorb and clean off the offending matter.

This is disgusting, Bert opined, but continued the collection.

I guess food is food but…

I can’t believe I’m finally free. That an idiotic bird had the ability to hold me hostage—

A large beak came down and gobbled the core right back up again.

I had to stifle a bark of laughter. “You didn’t think to move away from that ‘idiot bird’?”

I would appreciate a moment alone.

“By the looks of it you won’t be alone for another few days.” The sphere had lodged without resistance into Gunga’s gullet, a gentle glow highlighting its passage.

Silence.

Well, at least that solved the problem of faeces-fossicking and where to put Bert when we headed to Africa. Speaking of which…

I looked for the little scroll that had appeared on my UI when I was awarded the Map of Mystery. Not the most inspiring name, I noted. It sounded like something a five-year-old would come up with.

But when I opened the map I was in for a pleasant shock. It was a map of the world—no surprise there—but one that contained an additional extra.

Seven uppercase L’s were dotted across the continents and two of the world's outlying islands. Each was circled in green, except for one, which was red with a cross through it.

Directly over Easter Island.

——

“What makes you think that?”

Terrin took the tablet back and scrolled up to his messages tab.

“I got this from an AoD auto-directory. It’s probably been sent to you too if you’ve kept your account active.”

Todd opened it, prompting an explosion of fireworks and confetti.

Logo Found! All Hail closedwhisper!, it said. The greatest treasure of Easter Island has been discovered! Are you brave enough to repeat her achievement?

It was a standard message given to taunt gamers into pulling on their boots and entering the game with new purpose. But…

“I don’t know anything about an Easter Island Logo. There was the one from the pyramids and…Stonehenge?… But Easter Island is a new one on me. Did someone manage to get it just before the logout?”

Todd had become a bit of a guilty fan of the game just four months ago, when his brother had recommended it. He had agreed, thinking that it would provide a bonding opportunity. It hadn’t worked, of course. Terrin-of-the-limited-attention-span had skipped off into another game like the toddler he was. But Todd had stayed, hooked by a sense of adventure he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager, when he still had a passion for bashing things with a diametrically implausible sword and ogling women in chain-mail bikinis.

And then the AoD adventure was abruptly over. Terminated. He hadn’t retreated into the virtual world since.

“Look at the time stamp.”

“Two hours or so ago.”

“And the game was cancelled…?”

“Last week.”

“So, my erudite brother…?”

Todd didn’t appreciate Terrin’s flair for the dramatic. “The message could’ve been delayed.”

“Where is your soul?” Terrin sighed. “Eaten by the demons of commerce?”

“The ‘demons of commerce’ are keeping you in beer and Cheezels. Next time come up with a better story.”

Todd handed back the tablet and went to bed.

——

A tingle shot down my arms. I was looking at something that pre-logout would have netted me a literal virtual fortune. A map to the locations of the hidden SharkByte logos. Too bad I would have to use it to save my hide. And that there was no one left to sell it to. There was that, too.

It seemed like an unfair advantage, but maybe the admins had decided that they weren’t being found fast enough and added it in to revive interest. Or maybe they just didn’t care anymore about maintaining difficulty level and wanted a tidy resolution. Who knew? Regardless, I had an ace in the hole.

The nearest green L was set on an island just off the coast of Africa. Madagascar. I hoped it was friendly. My only knowledge of the island were hazy memories of watching a nature documentary some twenty-odd years ago, back when exotic animals actually existed in the wild. Something about lemurs…? And weird-looking dog-pumas. Foster-whatsits?

Clearly I was in need of a refresher in Madagascan biology. And I was going to get it.