Chapter Seventeen: Chosen
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Jason now stood watching himself stand numbly in the harsh sterility of the hospital, as the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold glow on the floor. The rhythmic beeping of monitors mingled with distant announcements from the nurses' station created a symphony of clinical sounds.
He stood at the threshold of a hospital room, his heart heavy. Inside, his brother lay motionless, a tangle of tubes and wires connecting him to life-support machines. His pale face was a stark contrast to the vibrant person he once knew, eyes closed in an unending sleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life.
A doctor approached, clipboard in hand, his expression a blend of sympathy and resignation. "Your brother's condition is... beyond what we can manage here," he said, hesitating. “The Stasis System will keep him alive, but without advanced tech intervention... he will never wake up.” The advanced treatment would cost 800,000 credits.
Jason recalled the holos of the sky turning a sickly orange after the Great War, the air heavy with the acrid smell of burning cities. The relentless famine that followed gnawed away at communities, leaving behind only husks of what once were thriving towns.
The war had been far worse than anyone could have imagined, nearly wiping away the 20 billion people on Earth. Famine struck next, devastating the survivors. Many good-hearted individuals poured their fortunes into relief efforts, but when that proved insufficient, governments turned to the largest industries and tycoons, taxing them heavily with massive fines and penalties.
At first, the tycoons managed to survive and adapt, but soon even their resources were depleted. Businesses collapsed, poverty swept the globe, and life deteriorated for everyone. The wealthiest, with their remaining fortunes reduced to mere pittance, went into hiding, trying to preserve what little they had left for their families.
Crippling taxes had turned even the wealthiest families into paupers. Innovation had ground to a halt. And forty years went by in silence.
Then, the game appeared. Twenty years ago, John Rearden, a gas station worker, invented and founded Excelsior Deep Dive VR, a technology light-years ahead of anything seen before. He quickly became one of the last wealthy men on the planet, building an empire from the ashes. He started buying land, factories, and farms. They got into production again and the quality of life started to improve, subtly. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
The most powerful players in the game became highly sought after, earning substantial sums for their crafting and raiding skills. In-game gold could be exchanged for real-world currency, offering a potential lifeline. There were no taxes in the game, and it became so important that real-world finances started to tie in. In the game, anyone could make a career, join a powerful guild, or become a successful artisan. The game functioned on a 42-to-1 time dilation, greatly increasing the quality of life for those who could afford access. The time dilation meant that a month's work in-game could fit into a day. And above that, it was the only place where people could live truly well.
However, people still needed to keep the real world functioning, and there were a limited number of tickets each year to join the game. Rumors spread that with enough money and influence, one could bypass the line, as many of the wealthiest had done. The rest needed to compete for scholarships or wait for the annual lottery.
People worked hard every year to earn acceptance into the game and a scholarship to one of the Tutorial Universities. Many had tried for nearly 20 years without success.
He gazed at his brother, determination hardening his resolve. If the game held the key to saving him, then into the game he would go, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead to secure the future they both deserved. Getting in could change their lives forever.
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The scene shifted to another memory. He was back in their apartment, alone. Days had passed since the attack. The gang hadn’t returned. Jason assumed they were lying low, biding their time. But the damage was done. After the police left, the silence in the apartment was almost deafening. Part of him wanted Rin and his goons to come back to finish the job. Another part couldn't stomach the thought of leaving the place where he had grown up with Alex.
He sat there for days, the weight of loss pressing down on him. With no food, he survived by drinking from the dirty tap, the metallic taste of the water a bitter reminder of his helplessness.
Rent was due in a week. He had nothing. The loneliness was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity. His mind was a whirlwind of grief and guilt.
A few days later, a knock at the door tugged Jason from his stupor. It was Albert. He stood there, a worn-out look on his face, offering Jason a place to stay. He didn’t try to soothe Jason or apologize for the loss or his inability to help cover the needed medical treatment. Jason knew Albert was barely surviving on the store's meager earnings, just as trapped as the rest of them. The whole town probably didn’t have enough between them to even cover the equipment needed for the operation.
Jason barely registered Albert's words. He shook his head, declining the offer. As Albert turned to leave, he handed Jason a roll of bills. “Your brother didn’t pick up his last paycheck. I’ve added something for you.” With that, he left without another word, the creak of the door closing behind him echoing in the silent room.
A few more days passed in a blur of sorrow. Then, another knock at the door. This time, it was a deliveryman, holding an envelope. Jason stared at it, uncomprehending, until the man handed it over. "Sign here," he said, his voice just another sound in the uneasy silence. Jason scrawled his name and took the envelope and returned to his bed.
He held the envelope with trembling hands. The letter inside bore the emblem of Excelsior, an intricate design that shimmered subtly in the light. He unfolded the paper.
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"Dear Mr. Roalander,
Congratulations on your acceptance into Mount Olympus University.
By now, you should have received your state-of-the-art, latest edition VR kit. This kit is yours to keep and will not be reissued in case of loss or damage.
We hope you have had a chance to explore the entrance hall and get accustomed to the controls.
We thank you again for applying and were very impressed with your entrance exam results.
A world of magic and wonder awaits you.
Please find a slip inside. It has your code for entrance.
Memorize it. It will provide you with official access to Terra Mythica and Mount Olympus University."
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Jason's eyes flicked to the strange slip of paper enclosed. It felt metallic to the touch. Written in neat, precise handwriting was the mental code he needed to gain entry. He read it aloud to himself, committing it to memory.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Ducks shake hands when no one is listening to Shakespeare."
He repeated the phrase under his breath, over and over, until it was etched into his mind. This was his key, his passage to a new life—a life where his brother could be saved, and where they could both find a future worth living.
Jason headed to the local hardware store, borrowing some tools from Albert. He didn’t explain why he needed them, and Albert didn’t ask. With a day loan ticket in hand, he gathered a small mallet, precision screwdrivers, and clamps, knowing his hands were skilled but unfamiliar with this advanced tech.
Back in his dingy apartment bedroom, Jason carefully inspected the dented helmet. He worked methodically, easing it back into shape. Hours later, it still bore signs of damage, but he hoped it would be enough.
He remembered what Rin had said about it frying people's brains. What have I got to lose? Jason thought as he put on the helmet.
The world around him transitioned into darkness. For a moment, he feared it was broken. Then, his hands started to form in front of him, illuminated against the void.
A prompt appeared.
Welcome, Alex.
Jason quickly took the helmet off, his heart pounding. It felt like he had just seen a ghost. That night, he cried harder than he had ever cried before.
The next morning, he made a decision. If this was going to work, if he was going to use his brother's scholarship, Jason knew he needed to get out of town, far away from any trace of Rin or even Albert. Somewhere he could live in private. What he was about to do was not only highly illegal, but highly dangerous. And if anyone found out he would probably be whisked off to one of those black sites. Or something. Honestly, he had no idea what would happen if anyone found out. But he knew it wouldn’t be good.
He took the money Albert had given him and purchased a one-way ticket to an obscure destination, several hours away by Excelsior Rail. Using a fake name, he hoped to bury his past and forge a new beginning.
The rail ride was long and uncomfortable, but it gave him time to think. As they passed through towns and cities, the signs of collapse were everywhere: shuttered businesses, abandoned factories, streets empty except for the occasional scavenger. With unemployment at nearly 80% worldwide, most production had ceased, and the economy had crumbled. People were starving, and desperation hung in the air like a toxic fog.
When the bullet train finally stopped, Jason stepped off into an unfamiliar town. He wandered its streets, seeking a place where he could lay low. Eventually, he found a dingy bar with a "Help Wanted" sign. The owner, a burly man with a thick beard and a perpetually furrowed brow, looked him up and down.
"Can't pay you," the owner said gruffly. "But the job comes with a room and a meal a day."
Jason nodded, relief washing over him. "Deal."
The owner extended a hand. "Name's Teddy."
"John," Jason lied, shaking Teddy's hand firmly.
“Let’s get you a meal. Consider it an advance on tomorrow’s work.”
Teddy led him to a small, dimly lit room above the bar. It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes, a far cry from home, but it was a place to hide and try to forget. Jason threw himself into the work, taking any odd task that Teddy needed done—cleaning tables, washing dishes, unloading deliveries.
Jason worked harder, the physical labor a welcome distraction.
Days came and went, and he got into a routine. He would work the night shift, cleaning after everyone left. He would have a late breakfast and then eat the uneaten leftovers, when there were any.
He kept a countdown until the day of the official orientation at Mount Olympus University.
When the time finally arrived, it was just after his shift, and he sat alone in his room. He stared at the helmet, its faint inner light pulsing steadily.
"This was your dream, Alex," Jason murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the helmet. "I'll make you proud.”
Jason took a deep breath and slipped the helmet over his head.
Tuesday, April 21st, 2251, 12:03 AM.
Initializing...
The surrounding darkness lifted, and the scene dissolved into a bright, blinding light. When it faded, Jason was back in the chamber, standing before the Oracle.
His vision blurred with tears. He no longer cared about the risks he was taking, about the borrowed identity, or the potential consequences. Let them find out. Let them take everything. He just wanted the memories to stop, but they kept coming, relentless and unforgiving.
“Do you see now?” the Oracle's voice echoed in the void, raspy and resonant. “You carry the weight of your brother’s dreams. But do you truly understand the burden you bear?”
Before Jason could respond there was another voice, darker and more sinister. “Interesting,” it intoned.
The shadows beside the Oracle twisted and writhed, coalescing into the form of a dark, imposing figure. His silhouette exuded an aura of quiet menace, the very air around him seeming to chill. Muscles rippled beneath his obsidian-black robes, each movement as precise and deliberate as a predator stalking its prey. His face was a mask of stern resolve, carved from the very essence of darkness, revealing nothing of the thoughts that churned behind those cold, calculating eyes. The world seemed to hold its breath, every sound muted, every movement stilled.
His gaze was piercing, two burning embers in the shadows, devoid of warmth or mercy. The weight of his presence pressed down on the room. The atmosphere grew heavier, the shadows around him deepening, as if they were drawn to the gravity of his presence. The figure’s aura was one of unyielding authority, a stark contrast to the curious light of the Oracle.
“Oh?” The female voice asked. “Could he befit your domain? You are ever so… prudent with your invitations.”
“Perhaps,” the dark figure mused, his tone filled with a dangerous curiosity. “Perhaps.”
The dark presence loomed closer. "You think you can handle this burden?" it hissed. "You think you are worthy?"
Jason stood tall, his heart filled with a newfound resolve and fury at all the personal intrusions. This was just a game. And fuck them if they thought they could put him in his place. Fuck them for making it so damn hard to climb to success. He would do it just to spite them.
"I know I'm worthy," he said firmly. "And I won't let you or anything stand in my way."
Jason thought he almost caught the remnants of a smile on the shadowy face as it vanished from the room.
“And the rest of you?” The Oracle spoke, looking off into the middle distance of the dark. “He could be a worthy choice for many of you.”
She paused, as if listening to someone speak, and nodded somberly. “I see. Very well then.”
She turned back to Jason. Her look was soft, and her eyes hid something more. Sympathy? Hope?
"The choice is yours, Jason. Good luck."
With that she vanished, leaving Jason alone with a short prompt in his view.
Quest Update
The Oracle's Trial
You have received the favor of a god. I knew you had it in you.
You have been invited to follow the following deities - Hades.
You have no other invitations.
Would you like to align with - Hades?
Accept | Reject
Jason started at the prompt for a long moment. “What the…?”
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