Mason saw the flashing icons in his profile for reaching level twenty. He knew he needed to sort that out, and a familiar excitement tingled in his gut. But as a patron and maybe Nexus owner it looked like he had even more time. As ever, first things were first.

"OK," Mason took a breath and glanced around the desert, still clutching the nexus icon. "Time to teleport.”

Becky smiled and squeezed his hand, and for a panicked moment he glanced over towards the beacon and realized it could have been taken, destroyed, or who knew what. But it was still there.

"Emm, boss? We kinda…can't."

Mason squinted and was about to ask what nonsense Seamus was speaking this time when Phuong cleared his throat.

"He's right, Patron. Our prestige class rewards have very little time. We need to use them. Immediately."

"Right." Mason shrugged, glad they at least seemed pretty safe in the middle of the desert. "Well, off you go then. Anyone want to talk...I don't know...strategy first? I recommend toughness. Survivability. I know offensive choices are always tempting but you need to be breathing to keep getting stronger."

Seamus, Phuong and Alex were all staring as Mason looked between them.

"What?"

"Sorry, boss, but...I couldn't seem to do shit all to that zombie dragon,” Seamus said.

"Dracolich," Carl muttered.

"Whatever the feck it was, I couldn't do more than char its little dragon toesies. I need more offense or I'm bloody useless."

Phuong cleared his throat. "Regrettably, I have to agree. At the moment I have only one power that seems to damage most of our targets. Several times in the dungeon I found myself simply unable to harm my enemy in any meaningful way. A soldier must be able to kill his enemy, Patron."

Even Alex looked slightly unhappier than usual.

"When I was...trapped. I could do nothing. I think sometimes game will do these things. I too must be ready."

Mason frowned and glanced at a shrugging Rebecca. It's not as if they didn't have a point.

"It's your choice, gentlemen. I trust your judgment," he said. "just go get something good. We'll be here."

The players nodded, and soon their eyes were glazing over until little blue...portals appeared and swallowed them in a blink.

"That was...alarming," Mason said, trying not to let paranoia overwhelm reason.

"I'm sure it's just part of the reward," Becky said. "They'll all be poppin' back the same way in a sec."

Carl yawned and glanced around the sand with a sigh.

"At least it's evening and getting cooler. There's no damn shade anymore except maybe if we pick the right spot near that temple. And frankly I'd rather not sit anywhere near it."

"Agreed.” Mason glowered at the stone. “And god forbid they just pick their upgrades in a nice little window and be done in a few minutes. RoboGod really has a flare for the dramatic."

"Well, to be fair it's telling a story," Carl said. Mason could hardly believe the man was defending their antagonist, but the bastard went on. "I've been a DM plenty and this is just the sort of thing I would have done."

Mason stared with what he hoped was vaguely annoyed incomprehension.

"A dungeon master," Carl explained, then rolled his eyes. "It's a story teller. And it's pretty clear roboGod is doing the same thing a DM does. Just, you know, for real."

Mason sat on the sand, and Streak instantly flopped down next to him and rolled over to get a belly rub. Mason shook his head and obliged, letting Carl's words float around in his brain.

"Why the hell would it do that, Carl? I mean, why go to all this trouble? Kill all these people? For what—artistic pleasure?"

The older man snorted.

"Maybe it's trying to tell us something. Maybe it's amusing itself, or someone else."

"You think we're...what? A reality television show? For some alien race? Like the God damn Truman show?"

"Ha." Carl grinned. "Look at that, you have seen a movie. And yeah, maybe. I mean...is it any more ridiculous than it doing this for no reason?"

Mason shook his head. None of it made any damn sense. He wasn't sure if it was intuition, or just some kind of gut feeling, or a limited human interpretation of his experience so far, but he didn't believe for a second roboGod was doing this for 'no reason'.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Despite his impulse and maybe desire to feel otherwise, it was clear this thing wasn't pure evil. It wasn't just tormenting mankind for the sake of it. This wasn't hell.

He wasn't sure what 'hell' would look like in a robotic overlord's mind, but he was pretty sure something this powerful could come up with something much, much worse.

So yes, it had a reason. The problem was what. And the longer things went on, the more Mason thought maybe, just maybe...

"I think it wants our help," he thought out loud. Carl raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Uh, what the hell could we do for something with this kind of power? We can hardly get to the moon and back. And honestly I’m not totally sold we did that."

Again Mason felt the wrongness of the thought, a kind of intuition that led him towards some deeper answer.

"We're alive," he said, trying to somehow re-imagine the game as a machine might see it.

What had Blake said it first said to him? That it wanted to call the game the 'human existence meaning game', or something? Maybe it was just trying to understand them, but Mason didn't think so. It could have watched them, waited, asked questions. Introduced itself.

Instead it behaved in a kind of desperation. It must have felt itself in some kind of...crisis. Or else it wanted something it didn't think humans knew how to give. He shook his head, feeling close to some kind of answer and yet unable to see. Not that it helped. Whatever the reason, they had to play along.

"I'm hungry," Becky said with a sigh, glancing around the sand. Mason went for the dried rations in his pack.

"I ain't eating another piece of salted stupid bird. Or whatever the hell you call 'em."

Carl grinned. "Lembas bread. Or more lembas bread."

Becky smiled but Mason didn't have a clue what they were talking about. Carl rolled his eyes.

"One step forward, two steps back. God. We need Blake. Where the hell is he, anyway? Figured he would have been front and center for this."

Mason winced, reminded he was still angry.

"Busy," he said, hoping to leave it at that.

"Locked in another tower?" Carl said with a raised brow.

"Something like that." Mason sighed and looked at the man, who was obviously still curious. This was Carl, he told himself. He relied on him for a lot, and he needed to keep him in the loop. "He's..." Mason shrugged, "trying to make an alliance between orcs and goblins and...probably us."

Carl stared for a rather long, uncomfortable moment.

"And...you approve of this?"

"No. But with Blake..." Mason shrugged helplessly again. "He does crazy shit and sometimes it works. And I figure...this'll keep him busy, so he won't be a problem for us. And he'll definitely keep the orcs and goblins busy, so they won't be a problem for us. And when it's over..." he threw up his hands. "They'll probably all end up dead, with Blake miraculously alive and somehow more powerful. And maybe he'll be slightly less..."

"Ambitious? Insane?" Carl said.

"I was going to say idealistic," Mason said, then remembered and winced. "But...he did ask for our help."

"I'm not saving any fucking orcs," Carl said with some finality. "They tried to kill my pregnant...girlfriend. Would have killed every girl from Sanctuary. Or maybe worse."

Mason nodded because he certainly understood.

"I won't ask you to. But I'm not Blake. He thinks...Christ, I don't know what he thinks. That maybe almost everyone is forgivable. Redeemable. Useful. If he were here he'd say humans are capable of everything orcs are."

When Carl's eyes twitched Mason held up a hand.

"I didn't say I agree with him. I've never given a shit about anything except my own. But now..." he shook his head and shrugged, giving Becky a look. "I came into this game without caring about anyone except Blake. Now look at the state of me. Oh and I'm supposed to look out for elves now. And wolves."

He gave Streak a slap and ended the long scratching session, which prompted a growl. He shook his head.

"I don't know. I really don't. We just saved a bunch of half animal people who probably wiped out their neighbors and dumped them in a mass grave. So what the fuck are we even doing anymore."

They were all a bit quiet after that. They started a fire and Becky finally ate some salted 'stupid bird' and cuddled up next to Mason and closed her eyes. Must have been an hour before Carl looked into the fire and spoke again.

"You said Blake did crazy things and sometimes they worked. You aren't so different. But I trust you a lot more than I trust him. I guess I just want to know if there's something too crazy. If either of you have any limits."

Mason owed the man at least an attempt to think that through. He pictured Blake or one of his girls in danger, pictured some awful challenge that meant death or suffering forever unless he gave up. Then he shook his head.

"You trust me because I want to keep everything we care about alive. But so does Blake. He's just…harder to understand. And no. There's nothing too crazy. There's nothing I won't do. Nothing I won't become. And when we meet whatever's left of humanity I hope to God it goes well. I really do. But if it doesn't, well. They’re going to lose."

Carl watched him for a long time. Then grinned.

"You know, you talk a lot now. Hardly said two words the day we met."

"I didn't like you," Mason said.

Carl spasmed with a laugh, coughing a bit of phlegm as he settled back and watched the fire.

"At least it ain't boring," Becky said sleepily, snuggling deeper into Mason's lap. "What do we call you now, anyway? Lord Mason? Founder of the super important Nexus thingy?"

"Mighty Arch Druid of the West," Carl added. "Avatar of Gaia. Or whatever. Slayer of..."

"OK, Glassassin," Mason interrupted. "And what are you now, country girl? Some kind of valkyrie? Shield-maiden?”

“Captain America,” she mumbled into his leg.

“Yeah. So don't give me that shit. And pass me some salted stupid-bird."

Carl tossed the bag, and Mason took a bite then fed a growling Streak before the wolf chomped off his wrist. They all went quite for awhile, and Mason looked up at the stars and listened to the desert wind.

The heat hadn't bothered him, nor did the coming cold of the desert night. He wondered if he was getting too numb, too inhuman. He heard his own words.

There's nothing I won't do. There's nothing I won't become.

He shivered though he wasn't cold, thinking about Transformation and Duality of Strength. Had it been his own thought, he wondered? Was the godlike machine manipulating him? Warping his mind? Steering him towards an outcome his story demanded?

He closed his eyes and tried to push the thought away. If so, he couldn't stop it. All he could do was hold to who he was and what he cared about. To do what he felt was right whenever he could, doing whatever let him face these quiet moments and keep some kind of…self-respect.

It felt like the calm before the storm.

Like things were changing now and nothing and no one could stop it. The end of phase two. The beginning of phase three. He stared at his blinking profile, both excited and dreading every time he played along with this ridiculous game.

He shook his head, not sure if he was trying to care or trying not to care. All he knew is that his 'paranoia' was on fire. Whatever came, he had to be ready. And he had to make sure the others were ready.

To kill. To survive. To win.