Chapter One
Logout
I was slumped in a sagging old chair.
Toxic gray haze wove patterns behind my studio's
window. An industrial haze of the real world. Welcome to technosphere. The
green indicator of hermetic sealing glowed reassuringly. Unlike the cyber
world, here any equipment failure could result in some very nasty consequences.
No amount of buffs could help you here.
It took me several minutes to come round. For the last
six months, the virtual capsule with its massage rollers and life support
modules had been serving me as a clothes dump. Why, might you ask?
I'll tell you. By then, I had abandoned the relative
safety of a virtual capsule in exchange for new experiences unknown to me
before. Now I didn't need the holographic screens with their poor version of
cyberspace; I didn't need the capsule's impact membranes poking my ribs. I
always carried the virtual world around with me. A small implant had been fixed
behind my ear like an earpiece, hugging my temple and part of my cheekbone,
sinking millions of its nano needles into my skin.
Its flesh-colored plastic concealed unknown quantities
of chips, all forming a complex neural system connected to my personal nanocomp
bracelet. That was all it took. The future of the gaming industry.
A product of the highest-end technologies, this
neuroimplant processed gaming sequences in its artificial neural network which
in turn formed series of impulses it then sent directly to the brain. The
neural network was learning constantly, generating new sensations, even those
totally alien to the real world.
Risky, you might say?
I wouldn't argue on this one. But I didn't care,
anyway. A man who's long sunk to the depths of cyberspace has more dangerous
things to worry about, each of them capable of sentencing him to a long and
agonizing death.
Like boredom, for one.
You can't fight boredom. To me, living in the real
world is unbearable. It's gray and poor. And don't even try to convince me
otherwise. I'd made my choice and burned my bridges. The virtual capsule had
been great - until a certain moment when my mind had learned to tell truth from
fiction. I wanted to live there, in these worlds of infinite possibilities, but
every day had been worse than the one before it. The 3D space kept losing its
depth. My eye had learned to see through illusions. All I could see was the
shell of my high tech prison. I struggled with depression, losing my mind, as I
realized that there was no way the virtual world could ever replace the real
one. Which was why I'd agreed to this experiment. It had brought thrills back
into the game, offering lots of new opportunities previously unavailable to me.
I scrambled off the chair and shuffled my feet into
the kitchen to feed my precious biological body.
The little icons before my eyes didn't disappear. The
artificial neural network couldn't be switched off - it just changed interfaces,
closing or opening certain options. Glancing at the clock, I dialed the
delivery service for my late dinner. A couple of minutes later, the hydraulic
elevator hissed. A capacious cylinder rolled out into the receiver tray. I
picked it up and sat at the table, pulling the sides off and ripping open the
seam along the middle. The wrapper unfolded, becoming a placemat laden with
everything one could need. Food, drinks, each in its own airtight container.
Healthy and nutritious, but most importantly, convenient. No need to go
anywhere.
I had two meals a day and slept in the virtual
capsule. So practical and familiar. So safe.
A mental disorder? Absolutely. I am the first to admit
it. Still, I wouldn't change anything.
I'd received my first holographic nanocomp for my
twelfth birthday. Since then, the real world had gradually faded into
insignificance. I was increasingly reluctant to come back from the game. Had it
been down to me, I'd never have come back at all. But unfortunately, our
technologies still weren't up to much. This neuroimplant I had was the first
sign of things to come.
I was thirty-nine. Single, well-off, commitment free.
How I earned my living... I'll tell you about that later.
I ate unhurriedly as I skimmed through my mail and PM
box, deleting most messages with a swipe of my eyes.
Having discovered nothing of interest, I opened the
search engine and entered Phantom Server.
I had to admit it had piqued my interest. The rest, as
experience had taught me, was purely a question of application.
No results
found matching your search criteria.
The incoming call icon flashed insistently. It was
from the developers of my unique wetware. Vultures. They had to have their
daily report on the dot.
Okay, okay. A promise is a promise. My eyesight clouded,
blurring out of focus, while the artificial neural network scanned my mind,
uploading some of the more memorable neurograms.
A test model, yeah right. The implant's developers
promised that the finished version would comply perfectly with the Privacy Law.
Somehow I didn't believe them.
Having finished with my daily report, I rose and
walked over to the window, feeding the wrapper with its unfinished dinner into
the macerator on my way. I just wasn't hungry.
No results
found, they said? I stared at a city enveloped in a cloak of
emissions. The urban landscape served as an abstract backdrop to the more and
more search reports that flashed before my eyes. No results found.
Could whatever had happened simply have been my
imagination playing up?
No way. Impossible. It wasn't for nothing I'd uploaded
my daily report. Had they found the slightest malfunction in the implant,
they'd have already been on my case by now, telling me to switch on the
dedicated communication channel, "sit comfortably and try not to think
about anything".
What were they waiting for, then? Hadn't they noticed
the sudden surge of emotional activity in my logs?
Anxiety was growing within me. I could definitely
smell a rat there somewhere.
Should I leave it as it was? Should I maybe take a
shower and go to bed? Then first thing tomorrow morning I could start looking
for a new game world that could become my life's purpose for the next few
years.
Still, the spark of awakened curiosity began to burn
me from inside - the anxiety within me growing, inexplicable. What if
everything that had happened was the neurocybertechs' setup?
Admittedly, I hated feeling like a half-dead mouse at
the mercy of a fat cheeky cat. It always gave me the desire to strike back.
The Phantom Server.
The name sat like a thorn in my memory.
Now. I'd had this implant for about a year. I'd
already worked a few things out and come up with a couple of backup scenarios
in case someone tried to use me as a guinea pig.
Time to
forget it. I'm perfectly
happy, I reminded myself. I peeled off my clothes and headed for the
shower. The neural network was safely sealed within its plastic casing. Water
couldn't damage it anyway, but the developers wanted to minimize any risks
considering the device's cost. I'd long noticed that the mnemonic interface
shut down every time I took a shower. I also knew about the micro slot in the
machine's lower part. Currently it was empty, but I'd already found out, by
very careful trial and error, that it was perfectly adapted for a 1Tb memory
card. A couple of them I kept at home just in case, filled with pre-recorded
neurograms of deep sleep.
I picked the slot's lid with my nail and pushed the
card into its groove without locking it. It wasn't yet time. I turned the water
off, toweled myself dry and jumped into the capsule, leaving the lid open. I
set it to repose mode and moved my body around, making myself comfortable.
Like, I was fast asleep.
After a few minutes I touched the implant, pushing the
card in until it clicked. I'd done it many times before. Predictably, the icons
of the internal interface faded.
I waited some more, just to be on the safe side, then
slid out online. Reality disappeared. I closed my eyes and entered a very rare
login I virtually never used.
The chatroom was crap: empty and boring. I entered a
code phrase. The PM window flashed, the cursor blinking inquiringly.
The Chrystal
Sphere. Agrion. The Tavern.
OK.
My message had been accepted.
* * *
The tavern was noisy and packed with players. There,
no one could tell me from a newb. I walked in humbly, looking for an empty
table at the back.
"Hi," a rather scruffy goblin took a place
next to me. I looked at his hands. The sign was correct. I showed him mine.
We spoke quietly without attracting any attention.
"So you finally decided to make a few bucks? It's
been a while. How's it going?"
"Fine."
The scruffy goblin was in fact my first online
employer, no less. We went back quite a while, doing business together - for
whatever good it had done us.
By the age of fifteen (by then I had already sunk in
cyberspace but was still devouring various gaming worlds indiscriminately
regardless of their genre) I'd realized that the best and most interesting bits
lay beyond the average teenager's financial and age restrictions.
Well, parental control chips were easily hacked by
amateur experts the same age as myself. This problem could be easily fixed -
unlike the financial one. I'd long given up on my studies and even managed to
get a student loan, immediately splurging it and unable to keep up with the
compound interest. I could sense I was walking a tightrope, no - running a
tightrope, keeping my balance purely out of habit.
I played passionately and without mercy. I didn’t have
time to level my chars properly. The way things were going, I was looking at a
career as a low-level PK - a Player Killer - as I kept clutching at straws in
the naïve belief that the loot from the killed players would allow me to stay
in the game for just a little longer, trading it in for in-game currencies.
Which was when, as luck would have it, I'd met Arbido.
I'd never known his real name - nor had I even tried to find it out. He,
however, had a complete real-life rundown on me.
Our first meeting had been brief and in many respects
unpleasant (for me at least) but, as I later found out, very productive.
He promised to pay off my loan and sort out my school
innuendos. Naturally, he couldn't upload any knowledge to my head but at least
he seriously promised to improve my grades and make sure no one pestered me in
the future.
What did he want in return? My gaming skills. My yet
undeveloped talent that I'd been wasting so uselessly. Actually, he wasn't
interested in my talents at first. My initial jobs were quite primitive. Have
you ever heard of a dedicated driver? You haven't? That's funny. The idea is,
you are granted access to a client's gaming account. Then you get all sorts of
tasks, from completing certain quests that the client either can't or won't do
himself - or even leveling his char. Some of the tasks can be rather
mind-numbing, like ore crafting or collecting certain ingredients. But once you
become acquainted with a particular world, learning its secrets and tricks, it
takes you less and less time to complete your tasks.
That's how I'd started earning online. Working as a
char driver was only the beginning. Soon they began entrusting me with more
complex - and dirtier - jobs.
Gradually I started learning the lay of the land. I
would register a character in some popular game world, level it up, then sell
it through Arbido. Or use it myself. I was accepting orders for artifacts or
unique armor you just couldn't buy - because they were dropped by particular
mobs.
If you'd like to know more about it, it's no secret.
An Internet search will provide you with a long list of these and similar paid
services.
Arbido had a rather solid business. He had thousands
of players working for him in most popular games. He was very correct, too:
ripping off a client just wasn't worth risking his reputation. Recently I'd
worked for him on a few VIP orders even though I didn't need the money any
more. I was quite capable of earning my own way now. The game had taught me
that.
The goblin's familiar squint landed on me. "I've
been following your progress," he said. "This is a young world.
Completely virgin. Should we bleed it dry?"
I shook my head.
Arbido raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Don't you
think you're taking the game too seriously? You need to shed this Paladin role
once in a while," he said with fatherly concern in his voice. "Very well
now, what is it? My time is money, you know that. How many Easter eggs have you
found?"
He never wasted himself on little things. What he
needed was gold mines and mithril fields. Oh yes, I knew of a few, plus a few
more locations that were off limits to average players. They would only be open
after a couple of years. But me, I did know how to arrange a premature global
event that included mass raids on the unexplored territories. I was the one
with the portal keys.
"I've come to you as a client," I said.
He frowned, trying to imagine me as a customer.
"Spit it out."
"I need an account at Phantom Server," I
said matter-of-factly, not even questioning the doability of my request.
He immediately knew what I meant. The search engines
didn't, but he did! His stare became decidedly prickly.
"Don't you think you're getting too big for your
boots?" he grumbled. "What's wrong with this one?"
"Boring."
"Then you should create an alt character. Try
some other ways of leveling him. This world has potential. You're not bored, if
you ask me. You're just plain lazy."
I cast a surprised glance at him. He'd never been
known to reject a client.
"Just say you can't do it," I shamelessly
upped the ante.
"It's a shady project," he shook his head.
"A closed world stuck in the alpha testing stage," he frowned,
probably realizing he'd said too much. "Are you fishing?" his
practiced stare halted at my temple. Naturally, my current avatar had nothing
there at all, no signs of a neuroimplant whatsoever, but you couldn't keep a
cat in a bag for too long. I hadn’t told him anything. He must have found out
about it via his own channels. He was one influential motherfucker.
I gulped. "No, it's a clean game. I wanna try.
I'll pay you."
"You idiot," he answered ungrudgingly as he
thought about something. "Didn't you hear me? They're alpha testing it.
It's a closed shop. No paying members. If they didn't invite you, it means
you're not good enough. No idea what at. You can knock at their door, no
problem. They might even let you in. But then it gets weird."
"Please explain."
"Please pay. If you're so smart it's gonna cost
you."
"How much?"
A six-digit sum appeared in the interface window. It
wasn't in any of the in-game currencies, either. Arbido was playing it big and
proper. At the time, it didn't even occur to me that he might be trying to
protect me from any potential problems.
Greedy
bastard. He knows I don't have that kind of money.
"How about a swap?" I offered a solution.
"For what?" his stare was cold.
So I made a counter-proposition. A list of all the yet
undiscovered - and unmapped - unique locations plus some artifacts from my own
little stocks.
"Not enough."
"Are you raving mad?"
What was wrong with me today? I just couldn't control
myself. I hadn't even noticed the moment when the spark of initial interest had
transformed itself into a little bonfire of still unclear but already pressing
desires. I felt like a last needer but I could do nothing about it.
"As you wish," he shrugged and stood up,
about to leave.
"No, wait," I threw in the closed locations
and the portal keys.
He sat back down, reproach in his stare. "Aren't
you gonna regret that?"
"Regret what?" I flashed him a stubborn
fearless smile trying to suppress the ever-growing anxiety. "Happy with
the price now?"
"Yeah. Now look. This is how it works," he
got straight to the point. "This is a new-generation game, the game of the
future," as he spoke, the information I'd just swapped was changing hands.
"How long since you've had the implant?'
"About a year."
"They've been testing the Phantom Server for five
years now. They only accept veteran players. They want single loners - those
who have no family or friends in real life."
"What's the catch?"
"Not many of them come back. They log in and
that's the last you hear of them. I do know that all of them had these same
neural network implants installed first. Just like yours. Also, there're
rumors, of course. About worlds being breached. Virtually all games have had
incidents of those. All sorts of weird creatures crawling out of the woodwork.
According to my information, they're all from the Phantom Server. But there is
no direct evidence. The admins make sure they cover up all trace."
I listened, piecing the information together.
The first game based on direct neurosensory contact?
That was breathtaking. Every ounce of adventure spirit within me cheered at the
news. I'd already had the opportunity to experience one side of this new
technology. Admittedly, I was impressed. What could be waiting for me there if
every object in that world was interacting with the neural network?
Surely Arbido simply was unable to grasp it all. But
I, I could see it clearly: the only reason those players hadn't come back was
because they didn't want to! My craving for a new adrenaline fix had got out of
control, bundling reason into the farthest corner of my mind. As long as my
brain was dominated by my selfish urge, it blanked out any suspicions the old
man could offer.
"You don't think they might have died there, do
you?" he snapped, ripping the wings off my hopeful dream.
"Why would they?"
"These things are dangerous," Arbido glanced
at my right temple again. "They cause brains to pack up."
"Know of any cases?"
"No I don't. But I have reasons to believe it.
Trust me."
"You can stuff your reasons-"
"So you've made up your mind, then?" he
asked with a bitter smirk.
"Yes, I have! You can't talk me out of it."
"Well, suit yourself. Go back home. And
wait."
"I'm gonna stay here a bit, I need to auction a
set of armor."
"Leave it to me. And all your other accounts, you
need to either sell them or rent them out to me."
"Depends on the price."
"Have I ever had you over?"
"Very well. I can do that. You can keep the money
for the time being."
"Why?"
"You never know. I might need some cash
injections, whatever."
He didn't say anything, just sat there all grim and
gloomy as if I was already dead.
"So is it a deal?"
Arbido nodded. Moments later, his avatar disappeared.
* * *
Logout
Night had swallowed the real world. I was pacing the
room, stopping and staring out of the window trying to while away the anxious
hours of waiting.
You think I'm an addict? A nutcase? Take a look out
the window.
The stepped silhouettes of the megablocks pierce the
clouds. Smog envelops the wind-pervaded city stretching half the continent. The
buildings' blank walls are prudishly covered with eerie holograms; rivers of
lights flow between them, disappearing into the clouds of all-pervasive
emissions. The city gasps, struggling for breath, still alive and full of
energy - but in all honesty, it's been hopelessly dead for a long time.
Only the serves
can survive outside the sealed house units. It's their planet now. The only
place for me and billions of others that still guarantees some semblance of
sanity is cyberspace.
When I was young I used to think it was infinite. But
with time I started to understand that most virtual worlds are just copies of
each other. What used to take your breath away - the world, the gameplay - had
long faded. My disenchanted mind demanded new experiences, but where was I
supposed to take them if I'd done it all already hundreds of times in a hundred
different ways?
Leaving the boring predictable cyberspace and going
back to the miserable real life was especially unbearable. Many of you can
relate. It's driving you mad, the glimmer of unknown new experiences tearing
your mind apart.
The game of the future! Alpha testing, so what! I
wanted so badly to give in to this new neuronet-technology world.
No incoming messages.
Waiting was unbearable. But this agonizing anticipation
felt too good. A selfish cocktail of craving and adrenaline.
At three in the morning, the interface blinked.
I opened the message.
A link address. A user's name. A password.
I shivered uncontrollably as the capsule whirred its
start-up gears. Why did it take it so long!
I climbed inside. The life support sensors clung to my
skin.
Warning!
You're entering a restricted area.
I entered the user's name and password.
Neuronet
connection activated. Neuroimplant connected.
I closed my eyes, collapsing into the void.
* * *
The Phantom Server. Login
I was shaking.
I couldn't think straight. Never had my introduction
to a new game world been accompanied by such a bunch of weird and painful
sensations.
I couldn't see a thing. I tried to move but I didn’t feel
my body. My temples throbbed with a fading pain.
All the interface icons were gray.
A painful tingling sensation pervaded my muscles. My
unfocused mind barely registered some of the vague shadows that slid past. A
whimpering, similar to a child's crying, filled my brain.
I wheezed, ripping my lungs with the effort.
I was lying on something hard and covered in frost.
That's all I could tell at that moment. The air was cold and depleted of
oxygen.
Messages flashed before my mind's eye.
Mind
expander: not installed
Metabolic
corrector: not installed
Reflex
enhancer: not installed
Semantic
processor: not installed
Alternative
start conditions met.
Alternative
start initialized.
By then I had half-caught my breath and was now
courageously waiting for all the opening fanfare. You know what I mean, a
full-dimensional visual masterpiece.
The pain returned in a flash. I failed to suppress a
shriek. A hot breathing burned my cheek, forcing me to open my eyes. Their
first 'visual effect' was incredible. Some ugly creature the size of a monkey
was trying to bite through my weird gear, its fat neck ring preventing the
monster from sinking its teeth into my throat.
Mechanically I struggled with the failing muscles,
trying to whack it nice and hard. The creature leapt back and disappeared into
the darkness, crying like a little child.
That was spooky.
I couldn't believe their authenticity levels. I could
still feel the creature's hot greedy breath on my cheek. Adrenalin was clouding
my gaze crimson. Shivers ran over me; I was well and truly feverish.
Slowly the interface icons lit up one by one, coming
to life.
Immediately I opened the logs and checked the entry,
A Kicker, a
15-level Xenomorph, is trying to bite your throat.
Your
aggressive reaction scares the Kicker who runs away.
Yeah, right, I thought struggling to sit up. This had
to be a newb location by definition. Why level 15 NPCs? Why the alternative
start? Where was my character generation menu? Where were all the talent trees
and available skill points? Where... where, in fact, was I?
It was cold. I was freezing in the heart of some
wintry void. The floor was smooth - definitely not earth or stone. Was it some
kind of artificial installation?
Messages started flashing before my mind's eye.
New quest
alert! Alone.
Explore the
location. Try to find at least one human being.
New quest
alert! The Sleep of Reason.
In order to
gain access to the character development panel, you need to find and install a
mind expander.
New quest
alert! It's Your Problem.
In order to
survive, you need to find and install a metabolic corrector.
New quest
alert! The Price of Freedom.
In order to
be able to move between locations, you need to find and install a reflex
enhancer.
New quest
alert! I Can Hear Them.
In order to
understand the language of Xenomorphs, you need to find and install a semantic
processor.
Epic quest
unblocked: Phantom Server.
In order to
unblock new skill tree branches and activate the global story, you need to find
out who created the world around you.
I opened the character generation menu.
Zander.
Level 1. Human
A human body outline, gray slots, weird armor.
I studied the prompt.
A light
armored suit. No integrated weapons. Contains five slots for dedicated cyber
modules. Not hermetic without a helmet. The environment sensor reports 10%
oxygen content. Toxic contaminants content: 20%.
Effect: you
are struggling to breathe. Every minute without protection deprives you of
health and life. In order to survive, you need to install a metabolic corrector
or find a helmet.
I heard more whimpering and whining that now sounded
more like hysterical laughter. It seemed to be coming from all directions.
I burst out coughing. They were right: breathing was a
struggle. The location swam before my eyes. I saw double.
You have
received a dose of toxins.
What were they thinking of! I scrambled to my feet and
struggled to focus, looking around.
Judging by the echoing sounds, the location was huge.
I couldn't see its walls. The floor was covered in ice. No idea which way to
go: the place was sinking in this hostile, arctic, toxic haze.
For the first time in years I felt lost. This was like
none of the game worlds I'd ever been to. On one hand, my curiosity grew with
every heartbeat. It had been a very long while since I'd experienced anything
like this. A half-forgotten intoxicating feeling of an invalid leaving his bed
for the first time, greedily taking in all the revived sensations.
In the twilight depths of my mind, Experience was
holding a whispered counsel with Caution, making it clear: this was one hell of
a world. They call it an alternative start? I'd very nearly had my throat torn
out!
I had to think fast. My every breath stripped me of
hits. I needed to find the helmet.
Question: where did they want me to find it? I
activated the quest and switched over to the map. No direction markers. The
location was swimming in the mist of war. It looked as if the difficulty levels
of the alternative start were all maxed out. Specially for some hardcore
lovers.
The first impressions made it clear: it looked as if I
was stuck here for quite a while. Firstly, I had to find my respawn point.
Normally they're situated in safe locations where the sheer amount of neutral
characters saves the newbs from immediate mortal danger.
Doubtful. This Price of Freedom quest worried me a
bit. In the absence of their mysterious Reflex Enhancer I could resurrect right
here. Somehow I didn't think I could change my bind point. I had a funny
feeling that this 'alternative start' had been introduced for a reason...
I cast another look around me, trying to inhale as
little as possible. The game designers must have been away on holiday when this
particular level had been introduced. The emosphere made your blood curdle. The
far-off whimpering and wailing really worked on your nerves, and the cold drove
you to frustration. There was also no stage setting worth mentioning.
Occasionally the floor echoed with distinct
vibrations, easily recognizable as someone's heavy gait.
Never mind.
I've seen worse than this. Guided by the sounds, I tried to
choose a safe direction.
The icy sheets of mist clung to my shuddering body.
The laughter and the whimpering seemed to distance somewhat. My heart fluttered
in my chest, my breathing refusing to obey me. The life bar had already begun
to shrink before I'd even met a single target!
A few minutes later I noticed an enormous mound of
small sharp-edged bits of debris. Was it a rockfall? I turned and staggered
toward it. The toxic fog thickened, acquiring a greenish hue. Every breath I
took resulted in acute pain. Those neuroimplants were quick learners. So I
wanted authenticity? There it was, the whole nine yards of it. I doubled up in
a paroxysm of coughing. Everything was swimming before my eyes.
I swung round to a rustling sound, just in time to
glimpse some squat silhouettes through the haze. Mechanically I picked up one
of the angular stones, not even noticing that I'd cut myself. I had no gloves.
The unknown creatures disappeared from sight, replaced by a message,
You've received
critical damage!
Since when? No one had even approached me yet! I
stared at the piece of rock I still clutched in my hand. It was glowing - dimly
and unevenly. A barely noticeable glow. I focused on the item.
Radioactive
ore. Effect: radiation sickness. Any intervention is currently impossible. In
order to neutralize the deadly exposure, you need to find a metabolic
corrector.
Suddenly I become quite disillusioned with both the
gameplay and this particular scenario. My life bar kept shrinking rapidly. My
legs were shaking. I retched violently and collapsed to the floor, convulsing.
The brief agony ended in paralysis. The spasms
stopped. Darkness encroached on me, devouring my mind. At the last moment my
vision sharpened; I could see a ruptured domed ceiling overhead. My gaze
penetrated the haze, making out the futuristic outline of a spaceship. It had
rammed the ceiling and was forever stuck in the framework. The rockslide that
had just become my ignominious and agonizing undoing was the ore that had
poured out of its holds.
* * *
A respawn
The heavy steps shook the floor.
The toxic haze; the ground covered in a thick layer of
ice; the whining noises in the dark. Been there. My fists clenched.
Instinctively I waited for the monsters to attack, feeling angry, lost and
deceived. Talk about a stupid death. What an embarrassment for someone with my
twenty-five years of gaming experience.
What on earth was going on? The developers' main
objective is to ease new players into the game, permitting them to embrace
their new reality. Not alienate them! I could imagine the newbs' reaction to
this kind of alternative start. They'd just slam the Logout button, end of
story.
I felt cold
lying on the icy floor. I stood up. I felt like crap. I hadn't exactly lost
interest but was dangerously close to doing so. Couldn't they give me a chance
to do some leveling for a change? After the top bucks I'd paid them?
My anger kept mounting.
I hadn't yet pressed the Logout button out of
principle, even though I had every reason to believe the location glitched big
time. I ought not forget that the game was still in alpha testing. Trying to
stay cool, I sent a technical support ticket describing all the problems I'd
encountered.
No reply. The whimpering and the laughter were growing
closer, approaching from three different directions.
I could make out a squat ugly shape in the haze.
Barely visible, the creature was running on all fours.
A Kicker.
Level 15. Xenomorph.
Time to move my respawn point. Wish I knew how to do
it though. I had no suitable skills nor artifacts. The interface had no
relevant options at all.
My anger mounted some more. Calm down, I told myself.
I needed to disconnect, then try to login again. I could see no other way.
Trying to fight three level-15 mobs was an exercise in futility. I just hoped
that the alternative start was a glitch. Next time I'd find myself in a normal
location.
* * *
Logout
Slowly I came round. My apartment was warm but I was
still shuddering from the rheumy cold that had permeated my bones.
My throat felt raw from the toxic fumes. One might
think I'd really inhaled them. Wretched implant! High authenticity levels were
all good and well but there had to be certain limits!
I gulped down some water without leaving the capsule.
Okay. Let's try it again.
I entered the address. The familiar message popped up.
Warning!
You're entering a restricted area. You must have made a mistake.
* * *
Login
The toxic haze stirred.
I held my breath. Hearing the scampering sounds of
approaching footsteps, I swung round. Too late. One of the monsters had already
taken a powerful leap. The creature rammed my chest. A paw rose to claw me,
sending fireworks of pain as it slit my head open.
Blood gushed onto the floor. I collapsed, unable to
stay on my feet. The creature sprang back.
Grrrgrrr. The
hunching silhouettes circled me in the dark, closer and closer.
I crawled back. The depth and intensity of feeling
were mind-boggling. Everything I'd experienced before was just a shadow of what
I was feeling now. Blood gushed into my eyes - I could taste it, my hastened
breathing tearing up my lungs, defying all gaming stereotypes.
Their authenticity levels were going through the roof.
I was gasping, struggling for breath. Blood-curdling instincts escaped my subconscious,
breaking the age-old ice of boredom. I was driven by one need alone. I had to
survive, whatever the price.
Grrrgrrr, a shadow
rushed out of the gloom.
Mechanically I threw up my left arm to protect myself.
Sharp teeth sank through the armor into my flesh, mauling the muscle. Pain
pierced me from shoulder to tail bone. Everything went dark. A hoarse scream
escaped my throat. Two other xenomorphs met my insane glare, apparently unsure
about assaulting me. They recoiled as if they'd been burned and began circling
me at a distance, whimpering hysterically.
Wheezing, I grabbed the monster by the scruff of its
neck with my right hand and forced the creature off me, seeing its hateful
furrowed face. Its eyes burned greedily, its teeth hurriedly munching on a
piece of my flesh.
The room swam again. Deluded with pain, I rammed the
creature's head against the floor in a fit of uncontrolled fury. Again. Again.
And again. The gargling sounds, the crunching of bones breaking - I watched it
all through some crimson daze, unable to stop.
You've
received a new level!
The message sobered me like a slap in the face.
My fingers slackened. I looked around, but the two
other xenomorphs had disappeared somewhere. Their mocking hair-raising laughter
had stopped. Silence hung in the air. The new message script contorted before
my eyes.
You've
received a new level!
Congratulations!
You've received a unique human ability: Berserk. In case of your fighting
unarmed with less than 5% Health, you'll be able to ignore the enemy's
defenses, dealing only critical damage.
The sight of
you terrifies your enemy. They flee, unable to attack you.
I slid down onto the bloodied floor. Some of the ice
had melted, forming little red puddles. I kept shuddering. Then I began to
retch. I couldn't help it. I was convulsing in revulsion. A hum in my blocked
ears replaced the piercing silence.
My left arm hung listlessly. I didn't feel it.
The life bar was barely glowing. The pain wouldn't
subside. My injuries bled. So this was your game reality of the future?
* * *
The Berserk still seemed to be working. I could
neither see nor think straight in the all-consuming agony.
I had nothing to staunch the bleeding with. I didn't
have a single shred of fabric with which to make a tourniquet.
My stare stopped at the xenomorph I'd just torn apart.
Loot was loot. Even though my stomach protested
fiercely. The entire gameplay seemed to be defying convention. Take this
Kicker, for instance. What kind of monster was that? A regular monkey with
slightly more dangerous teeth and claws. And how about the emotional backdrop?
What was so terrifying about it? I'd seen much worse mobs and spookier
locations where your teeth literally chattered with horror. And what was this?
An empty space fitted with some toxins and a handful of monkeys. Child's play,
you'd say: I was getting a bit jumpy, that's all. And you'd be right, of
course. Only the problem was, I couldn't move my hand. I watched blood, hot and
sticky, dripping from my fingers. Each breath stripped me of some hits but also
made me feel physically sick. You wanna try?
My inner opponents promptly shut up, demoralized.
I crouched next to the xenomorph and turned him over.
Did you enjoy your breakfast, you bastard? His face was a mess of blood and
gore. His skull had cracked. His teeth were gone.
So how was I supposed to search him? I could agree to
lots of things but this was pure trash. What kind of developers did they think
they were? He had no gear, for crissakes! All he had was his own skin covered
with matted hair. Did they want me to cut his belly open?
Squeamishly (I'd never thought I was squeamish before)
I touched the monster's belly. Ah! That was clever! He had a pouch there. Just
like a kangaroo.
I pulled out some incomprehensible clot of slime. I
weighed it in my hand, studying it, trying to focus.
A symbiont.
Under normal conditions, strips you of 100 pt. life. Offers a one-off
restoration of 1000 pt. life if you're wounded. Metabolically compatible with
the Kickers, Dargians and the Haash. Its effect on human metabolism is unknown
due to the fact that it has never been tested on humans.
I sensed the familiar weak spark of curiosity. I
wasn't going to consume something as disgusting as that, of course. I didn't
even know how I was supposed to install the wretched thing.
The lump then stirred, stretching out a semblance of a
tentacle - it must have sensed blood.
Better safe
than sorry, I thought as I stashed my loot away into one of my
gear pockets while looking around, listening intently. What was that saying I'd
heard - You can never be too paranoid?
I couldn't agree more.
It looked like I didn't have to fear another respawn
soon. The blood had already caked. The pain abated. I still struggled for
breath but my life bar was gradually restoring. I couldn't fight to say the
least, so I had to be cautious and act quickly before the scared xenomorphs
returned.
Only then did the thought strike me: what did I even
know about the Phantom Server?
Nothing, apparently, not to mention whatever meager
experience I'd already had. Judging by the quests I'd received, this was some
kind of technogenic world. No wonder I'd seen that spaceship or whatever it
was. The very name xenomorph, too, suited the theme.
So where was I supposed to be?
Well, that I had to find out, didn't I? The obviously
artificial smooth flooring could mean anything. The toxins? Likewise. I had to
explore the location. As I'd already found out, the choice of direction was
vital. The thicker the haze, the more toxic it was. The green glow was also pretty
clear: I had to avoid it, at least until I got myself some decent gear.
I didn't even notice when this Berserk thing had worn
off.
Yes, it looked like my life bar had grown a bit. Five
percent or so. I tried to make a furious face to scare off any imaginary NPCs,
but winced. The gaping wound that stretched from my chin to the crown of my
head smarted immediately. Never mind. I looked scary enough as I did. I
couldn't see myself in the mirror and it was probably for the better.
The haze seemed thinner in one particular direction.
So that's where I headed toward the unknown.
* * *
This time I'd chosen the right direction. The haze
thinned out quickly. I could breathe easier. Then I started coming across some
weird objects.
Unfortunately, they did little to change my opinion of
the designers' skill and attention to detail. Various molten structures
suggested that this place had witnessed some incredibly high temperatures.
I tried to explore a few of them. I'd stop and focus,
touching a surface that looked like glass strewn with air bubbles. Pointless.
The interface wasn't working. I had a funny feeling that the developers didn't
really know what it was they had erected here or how we were supposed to use
it.
You think it absurd?
But did you ever have to test a shamelessly raw
product? I had. And I'd had the same feeling as I did here: lots of empty
locations with markers that were supposed to represent most gaming objects.
Utterly boring. Vast spaces where you could walk for miles without encountering
anything of note.
Wait. The interface seemed to work, finally.
Now if I concentrated hard I could see the blurred,
shimmering outlines of the items lurking inside the molten overhangs. I
couldn't make out any details, though.
But it had to be something truly valuable.
The vitrified surface had cracked in places. I began
exploring a few of these weak spots, wincing as I tapped them with a clenched
fist. I didn't try too hard. My life was restoring slowly. Their regeneration
rates were crap. It had been ten minutes since I'd fought the xenomorph but my
every movement still hurt.
Whatever had they hidden in there? I was dying to find
out. My decades of gaming experience screamed that this was some long-abandoned
site. Possibly, I was the first person to have ever made it here. The items
could turn out to be priceless - unique, the only ones of their kind.
There you have it. I was already drooling over it.
Leaving all this booty behind was worse than nonchalance - it was a crime.
Especially in my situation when I had no chance to do some proper farming.
So what did they have inside?
At that moment I sensed an unpleasant nagging feeling,
as if I were a bug being watched. As if someone was deciding whether to squash
me or leave me be.
I stopped and looked around but saw nothing out of the
ordinary. The same darkness as everywhere else, studded with the flowing
outlines of vitrified mounds.
But the objects that were inside them, I could see
them much clearer now! The nagging feeling had left me, replaced by a message,
You cannot
fully explore the concealed items without a mind expander.
You need to
install a mind-expanding implant or purchase a mobile scanner. You can also
destroy the obstacle with a suitable tool of your choice. Chances of damaging
the item: 90%.
Oh well. I heaved a sigh. Those implants again. Where
was I supposed to get them?
Never mind. I could always come back. I switched over
to the location map. Aha. This was where I'd found the radioactive ore. And
this was where I was now. I added a placemark. I absolutely had to come back at
the first opportunity and do my bit of archeology.
In the meantime, my life bar had grown to thirty
percent. More messages kept flashing, reporting available skill points, but at
the moment I had nothing to spend them on. All of my char's talent branches
were still closed.
The Admins never replied to my ticket.
* * *
I slowly limped toward a yellowish glow I'd noticed
from afar. I'd been in the game for an hour already. So far, my initial
impressions had been mixed.
The terrain gradually changed. The annoying toxic haze
was now gone. The enormous ceiling had become lower while the molten objects
had become more diverse. Here they were taller, repeating the shape of some of
the unidentified devices, forming chimeric figures, columns and arches leading
me from one room to the next. There were more sources of light here. Some of
those weird shapes glowed weakly, too. Now the damage to them seemed
superficial; soon it was gone completely.
I had already realized that I was walking away from
the epicenter of some ancient disaster. Subconsciously I expected the normal
gaming process to start any minute now: the low-level NPCs would arrive,
putting everything back into place.
As I took a closer look at the massive devices
surrounding me, I noticed that most had been reduced to mere skeletons. Someone
had done a good job ripping out everything that was still salvageable or
usable. Exactly. It made the artifacts still concealed within the molten shapes
all the more valuable.
If I could only find a suitable tool, go back and try
to break into the vitrified mounds...
Deep in thought, I missed the new danger entirely. The
floor became steeper and caved in, forming an enormous impact crater that
sneered at me with its stumps of broken concrete beams and fractured
construction steel, bunches of cables snaking everywhere. I slipped and lost my
balance, tumbling over, cutting myself on the sharp edges of the metallic
debris.
I somehow managed to grasp onto some eroded pipe or
other and clung to it, casting cautious looks below.
It was a good fifty-foot fall, no less. A yellow light
seeped through an ugly gaping hole below, framed with some gleaming metal. The
crater was deep, almost vertical at its center. As I grabbed at the dangerously
squeaking bits of crumbling ancient pipework, I looked around, taking in the
opening panorama. The crater's steep sides were littered with mummified
remains. Everywhere you turned, you could see bits of unknown creatures stuck
between the warped pipes and the snaking cables. I noticed several steel lines
disappear inside a hole at the bottom and some sort of jury-rigged welded
grating that had apparently been added after the crater had appeared.
My eyes were getting used to the dim yellowish light,
allowing me to see new details. Apparently this was a regularly used route and
a place of many a desperate combat. Only a few of the bodies impaled on the
protruding bits of construction steel looked like victims of an accidental
fall.
A sudden bout of vertigo made me cling to the
crumbling pipes.
You're
deprived of oxygen! -2 pt. to Strength, Stamina, Agility and Perception. You
can't survive much longer without a metabolic implant!
I know, I know.
I froze trying to sit out the bout of sickness - which
in fact had saved me some much more serious problems.
Long shadows rushed below. A muted screeching sound
crept through the rarefied air as about a dozen skinny sinewy creatures hove
into view underneath and shinnied up the grating. They had no clothes on, only
the familiar slave collars.
I focused on one of them. This time the interface
reported without delay,
A Haash.
Sentient Xenomorph. Level 17. Pilot. Current status: Prisoner.
Sentient they may be, but their frame gave me cause
for serious concern. The Haash were over eight foot tall, skinny but incredibly
strong, with a reptilian-shaped skull. Their arms were long, ending in
four-digit hands with strong multi-phalanxed fingers.
I froze studying them, pretending I was part of the
surrounding scenery, as more shadows appeared below and began scaling the
grates. This time they were stocky armor-clad warriors.
Again I focused, but much to my disappointment
received no information whatsoever.
Without a
mind expander, you cannot identify an opponent in a pressurized suit. Find and
install the implant in order to read the stats of your opponent's armor and
weapons.
Well, that remained to be seen. The squat
"gnomes" definitely looked familiar.
I kept watching. The Haash creatures had already
scrambled up and disappeared from view.
The gnomes climbed noisily albeit with equal ease. The
hum of their micromotors and the clatter of steel reached far even through the
rarefied air.
A raid! This was a raid!
I counted about fifty squat figures in total. They
were followed by some truly weird creatures: a separate group of what looked
like jelly fish hovering in the air.
The Guides, the
interface reported.
Chills ran up my spine - purely mentally, of course,
considering I was dripping with sweat trying to stay inconspicuous.
The Guides definitely seemed to be the ones in control
of the raid. I squinted till my eyes hurt, following their unhurried travel.
Their jelly-like bodies permeated with some gristly cartilage substance were
generously stuffed with various cyber modules. This became especially clear
when one of the creatures brushed against a sharp metal fragment. I expected it
to rip the thing open. As if! A force field flashed open. Molten metal splashed
everywhere. The creature's translucent body filled with a visible grid of what
looked like white-hot wire - the power fibers connecting the multitude of
implants into one integrated system.
Dangerous things.
A couple of dozen heavily loaded Haash followed up the
rear. Despite all their power and stamina, they staggered under the sheer weight
of the huge cratefuls of equipment, struggling to climb up the grating.
I decided to check the information I'd received
earlier. Locking my stare onto the last Haash in the group, I read,
A Haash.
Sentient Xenomorph. Level 21. Pilot. Current status: Prisoner.
You can set
a Prisoner free by destroying the collar's control module. Doing this will
affect your reputation. Not all Humans will appreciate your helping a Xenomorph
escape. This will affect your reputation among certain human groups depending on
the levels of xenophobia they practice.
Finally some good news! I'd already started to think
this was a game for some rather sick individuals. Then again, why not? Lots of
people play for goblins, orcs and other mythical creatures - so why not
xenomorphs?
While I was thus thinking, the Haash group in the rear
had already climbed out of the crater and disappeared from sight.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then asked myself: now
where could this raid be heading? They're not after my unique items by any chance,
are they?
Stop it, I told myself. No need to be greedy. I'd
already done well for my level 2. I took a closer look at the crater's almost
vertical walls with their mummified bodies pinned to the mauled metal. This was
my chance to find something worth my while. I needed to get some gear and
weapons before I even thought of pushing my luck further by going down the
crater.
* * *
I decided to leave the grating well alone and start
from the opposite side of the crater.
My first impression proved to be wrong. This wasn't a
crater - not technically, anyway. I'd no idea what could have caused a huge
hole like this to appear nor why would its walls, initially quite shallow, had
suddenly grown so steep.
Forcing my way through the chaos of misshapen metal
wasn't easy. In actual fact, the structure's walls resembled a layer cake
conceived by someone far removed from the culinary profession.
Imagine strong sheets of unknown metal interlaced with
compact layers of various technogenic filling, such as pipelines of various
diameter, power ducts (which I'd initially mistaken for reinforced steel),
unidentified devices and narrow service tunnels.
I counted five such layers in total, their contents
partially gutted, broken and molten. Their mechanical guts hung out, interwoven,
forming an unstable and dangerous support.
I took my time climbing over. Every now and again the
seemingly reliable objects betrayed my expectations, collapsing or dissolving
into a treacherously loud avalanche of rubble. If I lost my grip, I'd fall to
my death. My respawn point was located in the worst possible place. Considering
the raid that was heading in that direction, I had better not take any chances.
I froze every time the debris came crashing down, but
no one had arrived to check out the suspicious noises. Gradually I got a handle
on it and threw caution to the wind. I advanced faster now.
The unusual - I'd say, excessive - authenticity levels
kept reminding me of themselves. The palms of my hands were now covered in
blisters. Every muscle in my body ached. Any reckless movement made my heart
miss a beat.
I couldn't help it. My neuroimplant seemed to have a
life of its own. It got completely out of hand, playing with my instincts and
reflexes. Apparently it wanted me to know what it really felt like, doing
aerobatics fifty feet up.
Whew. I made it. A five-foot pipe led deep into the
floor's mysterious depths. I crawled inside it and lay there restoring my
breath, my muscles sore and shaky from the unusual exercise.
Once I caught my breath, I rolled over onto my side. A
yellowed skull grinned back at me, pieces of flesh still sticking to the bone.
A "gnome". Let's see what you have for me, buddy.
His pressure helmet lay some distance away. I reached
out and picked it up to study it.
Not my size, definitely. The catches didn't fit,
either. I focused to read,
Cargonite
helmet. Part of the Cargonite armor suit. Equipped with an integrated combat
scanning system. Typical of the Dargian civilization and worn by Dargian
pilots, raiders and scouts. Effect: +1 to Armor. The device in the slot is a
slave collar controller. The device is damaged and not in working order.
You can
improve or alter the helmet to fit your own size. In order to do this, you will
need a molecular converter (you will have to provide the blueprints of the
desired alterations). Alternatively, you may have it done by a master craftsman
in possession of the Alien Technologies Expert ability and Repairs and Science
skills. Skill points required: 70.
They didn't want much, did they? I turned the helmet
over in my hands and found the slot they'd mentioned. When I tried to prize the
damaged device out, the following message appeared,
Skill
required to remove the module: Repairs. Points required: 25.
They did like to complicate things. I put the helmet
away into my generous hundred-slot inventory. The weight was a problem though.
Considering the low gravity, I could carry a hundred and fifty pounds. I had no
idea how it was going to affect my speed and agility, but I had my doubts. How
was I going to climb down those flimsy gratings if my weight had doubled?
So he was a Dargian, then. The "gnome"'s
mummified body stuck to the pipe. I turned him over, disregarding the
disgusting crunching sound. One of his arms came off. Further inspection
brought another discovery and yet more disappointment. His Cargonite armor
didn't fit my body type, and I only managed to rip a couple of implants out of
his body. Their stats were reduced to three question marks and a reminder that
I needed to level up Science.
Thanks for the tip. The implants - the cyborgizing
modules - weighed next to nothing, so I took them along.
The discovery I'd meant was the weapon.
It looked like a submachine gun. The entire length of
the barrel was bulging with the casings of electromagnetic accelerators. The
stock housed battery slots. That much was clear. But how about actually using
it?
This time I was in luck.
IMP34, the
interface reported. Suitable for use by
all humanoid-type creatures. Weapon class: impulse. Bullet propulsion is
produced by battery-powered accelerators.
The two indicators of the micro nuclear batteries
glowed yellow. All the mechanical parts seemed to work. The rate of fire slider
and the stiff firing button looked simple and well-conceived.
I couldn't help
myself. I just had to try it. I had to find out how it worked, didn't I?
The result was impressive. It was a good job I'd had
enough sense to point it at an old crate fifty feet away. The single shot
sounded woolly. The impact produced a burst of flame as the bullet evaporated
the timeworn metal, leaving behind a fire-polished hole the size of a fist.
The blast wave shuddered through the air. I ducked
inside the pipe and lay low, waiting for all of the location's NPCs to come
running and make a quick job of me. I changed the clip and braced myself.
I kept waiting. The pulse in my temple clocked up the
seconds.
In the last hour, I'd been indecently lucky. No one
came.
I'd tested my weapon. Things were looking up.
* * *
I scrambled further on but encountered nothing
extraordinary. Most bodies proved to belong to the Haash and the Dargians.
They'd had one hell of a fight here! The traces of combat were everywhere.
Molten gaps in the metal, impact craters of energy weapons; in places, whole
sections of utility lines had been cut cleanly as if with a knife.
The Haash's gear was way too large for me. Shame. Too
much weight with nothing to show for it. I expanded the map and added all the
details I could, marking down every item I'd found in order to come back. If
only I could find a vendor trading in armor and hi-tech devices. I picked up
two more types of impulse weapons: something that looked like a handgun and an
analogue of a 12-millimeter sniper's rifle. This particular Haash had fought to
the last. I counted about a dozen and a half dead Dargians around his position.
Hit by his large-caliber, their armor was only good for the scrap heap.
I was seriously tired. It was time to log out and give
myself a break, but I knew from experience that leaving a char in a place like
this even for a short while was asking for trouble. A couple of times I
glimpsed the xenomorphs' stooped outlines almost out of my field of vision. I
didn't get the chance to have a better look but I took the point.
Better safe than sorry. I had to find a safe place
before taking a break.
As I collected the loot, I moved closer to the
grating. There, I'd have to decide whether to go down or climb up.
Going down was risky but promising. Climbing up
probably wasn't a good idea. All I could find there was more xenomorphs, toxins
and radiation, with the added danger of walking into the raid. Alternatively, I
could find a pipe or a service tunnel and climb deep into it, barricading
myself in.
Was I the only smart one here?
During my next stop, I took a good look around. The
damaged lines seemed to be occasionally releasing bursts of toxins that
immediately faded, dissolving into the air. Exactly my point. Why wouldn't
xenomorphs use these pipes as ready-made holes to live in?
The low oxygen content didn't make my life any easier,
triggering regular bouts of vertigo and nausea.
That's sorted, then. I had to go down.
* * *
Casting cautious looks around, I was approaching the
makeshift steel grating, or the "bridge", as I mentally baptized it,
when I had an impossible, incredible stroke of luck.
My eye fell on something familiar. I peered at it.
That's right. Something gleamed a blurred purple amid the heaps of debris, the
hue identical to that of my own armor.
Without a second thought, I climbed the short distance
up, grabbing at the sagging bunches of cables at the risk of falling to my
death as my arms were already shaking with exhaustion.
A mouth of a rather narrow tunnel opened up in front
of me. Before it hung a small platform, apparently made with whatever had come
in handy. On top of the platform was a hideout. The glow I'd noticed was
produced by a gauntlet.
A human? I pulled a rusty sheet of steel away. Behind
it was indeed a hiding place.
I crouched, shaking my head. Whoever had made this was
a hardcore type. He hadn't been interested in small scale, but had lain here in
waiting for some big game. A large-caliber sniper's rifle, quality gear,
prearranged escape routes - and still he hadn't made it. He was literally
chopped down by energy charges. His armor hadn't helped him much. For some
reason, I immediately thought about the jellyfish "guides". I had a
funny feeling they were the only ones capable of making such a job of a human
body. Besides, the laser beams seemed to have hit him directly from above.
I still couldn't understand lots of things. Take me,
for instance. Having received deadly doses of both radiation and toxic gases, I
had respawned wearing full gear. Why were these bodies slowly decaying here
then, armor, weapons and all? Or was he an NPC?
Lots of questions, no answers.
His armor looked very similar to mine. I threw caution
to the wind and began collecting the trophies. It took me a minute to work out
the jammed fixtures of his helmet. Finally I was able to remove it - and I
looked away.
Sick motherfuckers! I felt my jaw lock. It was the
first time in my life that picking up loot made me feel like a grave robber.
A human skull stared back at me with its sunken eye
sockets framed with long matted blond hair.
A girl?
I lay the skull gently next to the body. I wanted to
turn around and leave but stopped myself just in time.
Arbido had been right. The three years I'd spent
playing a paladin had seriously affected my head. This wasn't the Crystal
Sphere anymore. And I wasn't the level 430 top player.
Trying not to look at the skull, I crouched and picked
up the helmet.
Not a trace of human flesh inside. The discovery made
me feel better. Apparently, these bodies didn't belong to dead players. Could
they be part of the gory interior design?
I put the helmet on. The locks clicked shut. The neck
ring rotated close. The dull milky visor began to clear. I glimpsed a brief
sequence of incomprehensible system messages. With a hiss, the row of lights
lining the helmet's rim flickered and went out.
You're not
suffering from oxygen deficiency anymore, the
interface reported breezily, immediately throwing cold water over my
excitement, Warning! The battery charge
of the life support system is dangerously low!
Well, this I could probably manage. I had already
begun to find my way around this new world. I picked up a damaged rifle and
studied its stock. Predictably, I found two micro nuclear batteries still
intact in their slots. I replaced my old ones with these.
The power lights changed their mode to a dull green.
Excellent.
I didn't have any qualms about getting myself a pair
of gauntlets. The blisters on my hands had by then long burst. I avoided
looking at my bleeding hands nor did I have to: the pain wouldn't let me forget
about the damage done.
Once I finished putting my new gear on, I received a
message,
You have
collected a full set of light pressurized gear.
I studied the bonuses it offered. Apparently, now I
could resist the toxic haze, low levels of oxygen and even spend up to two
hours in a vacuum. That's what the charge still left in the batteries would
last: two hours. I also discovered ten empty slots for additional equipment.
The helmet only had one option - which had to be
extremely expensive considering its purpose. It was a set of electronic sights
complete with a self-adapting system of enemy vulnerability analysis and a
ballistic calculator which computed all environmental factors such as gravity,
atmospheric density, wind direction and force. Absolutely indispensable for
extreme long-range sniper missions.
Actually, I could use it too, couldn't I? Why not? Now
I could finally hunt a few xenomorphs if I wanted to. I could do a bit of
leveling, if the ammo and remaining charge in the batteries allowed.
The idea was good, with the exception of a few cons.
My talent branches were still blocked. I could still grow in levels, of course,
simply accumulating the new available skill and ability points. Choosing
specialization, however, required some quality thinking to make sure I didn't
repent at my leisure later on in the game. At the moment, I didn't have enough
information about the Phantom Server world to be able to make this kind of
decision.
But plain leveling wasn't going to do me much good,
either. Game rules dictated that my opponents grew in levels, too. Fighting
them on bare hits alone wasn't an option.
Some predicament. Should I go hunting or should I
continue gathering intel, searching for the apparently so indispensable
implants?
As I pondered over this, the pain in my hands was replaced
with a prickling sensation. My character's cartoonish outline in the tiny
status window had turned green.
Yeah, right. Was this world geared toward technology
alone?
I removed my left gauntlet and studied the palm of my
hand. Just as I'd thought. Not a trace of the injuries I'd received, imagine
the regeneration rate! Having said that, the life support bar had shrunk
considerably. There's no such thing as a free lunch - or a free miracle.
Everything has its price.
The hunt would have to wait. I needed to stock up on
batteries and other supplies before everything else.
My gaze chanced upon a mummy's withered hand. The
creature must have been a quest NPC, I thought noticing a dull metallic glow.
A ring?
Exactly. I carefully removed it, trying to study it,
but no amount of focusing helped me this time. More question marks were all I
could see.
Okay. I had to start playing at some point, after all.
I slid the plain ring onto my own finger and very
nearly screamed with pain.
The metal was melting! I tried to pull the morphing
ring off my finger, but I could just as well pull my own finger off. My vision
blurred, a sudden numbness touching the back of my head. My legs gave way under
me. I slumped down, trying not to faint, and lifted my left hand, overcoming
the ever-growing pain.
The liquid metal had run, forming what now looked like
a signet ring made of quicksilver. Its surface formed a diamond-shaped blob
which began growing a multitude of stalks very much like the microscopic pins
of my own neuroimplant. I broke into a cold sweat, watching them grow. Then
they began filtering through my skin.
I suppressed a scream, gnashing my teeth, wriggling
with pain and horror. To hell with such authenticity!
Grinding my teeth, I wheezed, sweat dripping to the
floor. Tears welled in my eyes.
My left hand throbbed from wrist to fingertips. A net
of blood vessels appeared under the pallid skin, fiery red as if they
transported liquid plasma and not blood.
I balanced on the edge of consciousness, forcing
myself to stay aware. No idea why, considering the agony was dreadful. You'd
think I'd have been happy to zone out for a couple of minutes - but no, I
stayed awake even though the torture seemed to never end.
An intense aura enveloped my hand and flared up,
dripping sparks. Then it went out.
My ears rang. In the crimson darkness a new message
flashed before my eyes,
New quest
alert! Alien Mind.
Availability:
only Humans
You have
found and absorbed a techno artifact of the Founders. Find four more in order
to put together a complete module.
Reward:
Unknown.
That's when it finally clicked.
I turned my head slowly and looked at the remains of
the blonde girl. Her skull grinned ungainly, staring at me in silent sympathy
as if foreseeing my own fate.
I remembered Arbido's warning.
No. I couldn't believe that this girl was a dead
player.
I had to come back to this question at some other
point in time.
* * *
The remaining descent went without any new surprises.
The armor was comfortable, leaving plenty of space for
movement. I used my new sniper system to study the way ahead but it didn't
detect any traps or enemies lying in wait.
I slung the gun over my back and slid down the cable.
Had it not been for the gauntlets, it would have stripped my skin to the bone.
I landed in a rather small room flooded with a dull
yellowish light. No furniture, no equipment - I only noticed the gaping holes
in the walls where some sort of mountings had been ripped out of them. I caught
a glimpse of a bending corridor through a rather human-size doorway.
The only way was straight on.
Honestly, I wasn't a big fan of technogenic post-ap
worlds but I was left with no choice. Besides, they kept continuously
rekindling my interest, adding a liberal dose of cheap thrills.
The silence was dull and muffled. Mechanically I
glanced at my left hand. The pain was long gone and so was the numbness. I was
dying to remove the gauntlet but I stopped myself just in time. The moment
wasn't quite right.
The short arching corridor took me to a large
low-ceilinged hall. Here, the air was very rare. The sound of my footsteps died
on the noise-reducing flooring that felt spongy and springy underfoot.
I looked around. The place resembled a large looted
warehouse. Everywhere I looked I could see broken containers - oblong with rounded
corners. Lots of sectionalized bulkheads hindered my advance. The shelving
within them fit the murky-green containers perfectly.
I proceeded slowly and carefully, casting an
occasional glance on the map. The gun in my hands had offered little security
so far. I knew from experience that until I had tested it in battle, the two of
us wouldn't be inclined to trust each other.
Nothing special was as yet happening, and still
tension was growing inside me, a mind-chilling premonition ringing like a taut string.
Another bend. Another sectionalized bulkhead. This
time the containers weren't broken but just lay there in a heap. I tried to
prize one open. No way. Not a sign of a lock or any other access device.
Yet another bend. On the map, the outline of the room
could be seen clearly. Beyond it, everything was dark. Was it a dead end?
There was one way to find out.
I stepped out, bracing myself for whatever might come
next. I expected anything. But not this!
This was beyond all expectation.
I slowed down, unthinking, oblivious to everything
around me, not even noticing the containers behind my back that had begun to
glow with the same coursing of static. Then their tops fell apart into segments
that began to open like mechanical flowers.
But I hadn't seen it yet. This understanding would
come later. Now my gaze was slowly sinking into the Void.
An entire wall of the large room was in fact an
enormous observation window. Beyond it, billions of bright stars clustered
generously in space.
I was smitten. Slowly I approached the window, amazed
at the clarity and the thinness of the material that separated me from the
vacuum and its eternal cold. More pulses of energy shimmered across its
surface.
A force field?
All the questions crowding my mind had faded away,
losing their importance. Countless more details came into view. I could see a
large ledge one level below, its ribbed surface arching toward the stars. Its
compartments were shaped rather like launch pads - some were empty while others
offered a glimpse of spaceships ready to take off. Judging by their size, they
must have been airspace hybrids.
Two planets glowed at a distance. One was yellowish
brown surrounded by several rings; the other a light bluish gray blotched by
swirling clouds.
I started shaking. A multitude of tiny sparks could be
seen moving on the foreground of the magnificent constellations. Immediately my
helmet reacted to my mental state, enlarging the sparks and bringing them
closer one by one, switching between potential targets.
Enormous space stations floated in the dark. A
plethora of cargo and warships scurried between them.
Before I could get a good look at them, the helmet
switched to other objects. Several clusters of some technogenic Leviathans
drifted through space, their outlines dark and menacing, their hulls gaping
with past impacts. I was looking at the aftermath of a space battle between
some ancient Titans!
My heart sank in awe. The sheer scope of it dwarfed
you, teasing your imagination. All this knowledge to pursue! Would one life be
enough to explore every corner of this stellar system? And what if there were
even more of them here? I focused on one particular spark of a spaceship
orbiting the grayish-blue planet until it zoomed in to a reasonable size,
descending, actually entering the planet's atmosphere!
Yeah, right. Did they mean you could land on a planet
here?
That could expand the already-impressive world to the
size of infinity! And that was only what I could see and grasp now. By the fact
that the stars were stationary I concluded that the space station I was
currently on didn't rotate, which must have left scores of unknown objects
hidden from view. I could only guess about the true scope of this world.
The scintillating shock of this sudden change of
scenery began to release me. I wasn't yet trying to process what I'd just seen
but I was already celebrating all the new opportunities multiplied by the new
gameplay's doubtless authenticity.
A suspicious noise distracted me from the scene. I
swung round, instinctively raising my weapon but having no chance to shoot
first. Lightning-bolt discharges hit me from every direction at once.
For a split second, the armor had withstood their
pressure. Then my muscles froze solid.
You've been
paralyzed!
Several mechanical creatures were approaching me. They
looked like spheres a couple of feet in diameter, with lots of sensors. Their
ribbed tentacle-like manipulators writhed around freely.
Dargian
combat drones, my interface offered helpfully.
Another lightning bolt hit me. Everything went dark.
* * *
I came round in a dark personnel module, cramped and
dirty, divided slap-dashly into tiny little cells.
My armor was gone and so was my gun. I was dressed in
some crumpled oversized gray clothes. On my neck was a slave collar.
I could barely see and I definitely couldn't think
straight.
Through the thick gloom I glimpsed a few Haash-like
shapes. One huddled on the floor in the cell next to mine; another clenched the
bars of one opposite, piercing me with his glare; the third one was crouching,
whining and rocking from side to side.
That was me done here. Enough for today! All I could
feel was a mind-numbing exhaustion bordering on indifference. Never before had
I ever been so depleted both physically and morally.
Should I just sit there cursing myself for being so
gullible? What was the point? I definitely hadn't been the first one who'd
frozen open-mouthed at the observation window, dumbfounded, exposing his back
to the conveniently arriving drones.
A noob trap.
Very well. So I'd lost my gun and my gear. They hadn't
killed me on the spot which meant they intended to use me. For the time being,
my avatar wasn't risking much - meaning, things were unlikely to get worse.
That was settled, then. Time to log out. I needed a
break and a bite to eat, as well as some quality sleep and time to think my
options over.
I pressed the virtual button. Instead, a message
popped up,
Your current
status: Prisoner. According to the Terms and Conditions you accepted by
signing, you cannot exit the testing mode while being imprisoned. We strongly
recommend you activate the in-mode by sending a remote command to your capsule.
If you are unable to do so personally, send a message to our technical support
team to visit your current physical location.
They were too much! All my apathy was gone in a flash.
I hadn't signed any terms or conditions! I hadn't even
seen them!
I cut myself short.
Arbido. The bastard! He'd signed it electronically in
my name, hadn't he? How else was he supposed to register a Phantom Server account
for me?
I pressed the logout button again.
New quest
alert! A Prison Break.
Find a way
to escape from your current imprisonment. In order to do that, we strongly
recommend you activate the in-mode. If you are unable to do so personally...
With a swipe of my eyes, I got rid of the message and
crouched on the floor.
The Haash opposite was still staring at me. Whatever.
I fell deep in thought, none of it particularly rosy.
The moment I was out of here, Arbido could kiss his reputation goodbye. Then again,
what was the point of him risking it for the dubious pleasure of setting me up?
No. I wasn't buying it. He couldn't not have read the TAC before signing it.
Not with his experience. Something smelled very badly here.
This logout ban should have sent alarm bells ringing.
Then again, he had warned me - or at
least hinted at it. So what had he been playing at? Had he hoped I'd become a
mindless chunk of flesh wound with cables? And what were my prospects like now?
A lifelong coma in the tender care of miscellaneous life support systems?
After a while, the door clanged open. One of the
"gnomes" walked in, accompanied by two drones. The lights went on
automatically. The Haash stepped back into their cells trying to stay as far
from the passage between them as possible.
Still brooding, I studied the gnome. Disgusting. There
was nothing human about him. A pushed-in nose, a pair of nasty beady eyes. A
long face, an enormous toad-like mouth. Instead of hair, his head was covered
with warts. What a heinous creature.
I focused on him.
A Dargian.
Level 22. Sentient Xenomorph. Slave Driver.
He had tons of hits - at least five hundred. Below I
saw two purple bars and an orange one. Let's presume that the purple ones
signified the two drones' status. Where did that leave the orange one? A
particular skill? An energy supply?
Pointless trying to second-guess it. I was going to
find it out sooner or later, anyway.
I just couldn't work out what had prompted them to
come up with such crippling imprisonment terms?
There was a catch there somewhere, I just knew it. I
also knew that getting to the bottom of the logout ban wasn't going to be easy.
Still, I would do it.
In the meantime, the Dargian stopped in front of my
cell.
I didn't avoid his stare. I had nothing to lose. Somehow
I doubted they'd changed my respawn point. But still I didn't want to find out.
He grinned, as if reading my thoughts, and pointed at
the Haash. On his signal, the drones bent their ribbed tentacles and peppered
the prisoner with impulse charges.
Blood and pieces of flesh flew everywhere. Then I
noticed the air shimmering green to my right.
A respawn.
The Haash winced with pain, growling under his breath.
Point taken. They made it perfectly clear that my death would be equally
painful and ignominious, followed by my immediate reinstatement as a slave.
Lesson learned. I put this particular Sentient
Xenomorph on my personal KOS list. For those not in the know, KOS stands for
Kill on Sight.
He grinned again. The magnetic locks clicked. The door
of my cell slid aside.
I lunged forward, aiming for his throat. My collar
self-constricted, strangling me. The ever-watchful drones rewarded me with two
paralyzing charges.
I didn't lose consciousness. I hurt, fury clenching at
my throat harder than the collar itself. All pointless.
The Dargian entered my cell and lifted me in the air.
He laid me on the floor and unbuttoned the top of my clothes.
I tried to struggle free but failed. My muscles were
lax and unmoving. For a few moments, the gnome watched me. Finally, satisfied
with my helpless state, he produced a narrow box made of black plastic and
touched a sensor button on it.
A servomotor hissed gently. A bluish glow escaped the
inside of the box. Five identical devices in their respective nests radiated an
intense light, each reaching out with thread-like charges of energy that probed
the air around them blindly, as if groping for a... a victim.
The Dargian gave me a dirty look. His gaze focused.
His fat fingers touched my right upper arm, squeezing an invisible pressure
point. Pain surged through me.
Anatomy had never been my forte. He, however, seemed
to know what he was doing, feeling for a large nerve center. He found one and
wheezed, reaching for his box, then reconsidered. His gaze focused again,
studying me. His short fat fingers reached for my throat.
Cold sweat erupted on my forehead. I was immobilized
and utterly helpless while he grunted with contentment, feeling the vertebrae
at the base of my skull.
No, he was wrong again. His beady eyes grew harsh. The
Dargian was getting nervous, apparently unable to find the problem. I can't
have been the first human prisoner they'd had here, but now things seemed to
have gotten out of hand. Something wasn't working right for him.
My paralysis seemed to be wearing off. I tried not to
show it but the gnome's keen eye immediately noticed my cheek twitch.
More paralyzing charges tore at my mind, plunging me
into a brief but welcome slumber. Then reality returned, drenched in pain and
fear. The neuroimplant flooded my brain with an entire range of painful
feelings available for all those billions of credits invested in its
development.
The objects and actions around me came back into
focus.
The Dargian leaned over me, panting heavily. In one
open hand he held a glowing ball of thread-like energies. In the other he
clenched some sort of surgical tool. The Haash craned their necks, watching the
scene in silent tension. I thought I noticed a glint of sympathy in one's
stare. That was the thing that finally did my head in.
Suddenly I knew. Arbido had been right. This was a
place of no return. First the neuroimplant turned the game into reality; then
the developers' sick mercenary imagination joined in, wishing to evaluate, at
these early testing stages, the adaptivity threshold of the human mind,
creating neurogram databases and trying to determine the authenticity level at
which the game's world would turn into a virtual tomb.
I assure you it's very scary when you suddenly realize
that the monster coming for you is real.
That the rusty iron hook that he uses to strike sparks on the wall could soon
tear your flesh apart. This is when the game ceases to exist. At these
authenticity levels, the brain just can't tell the truth from fiction. One blow
followed by going into pain shock could result, instead of a respawn, in a very
real dead body. No amount of the "in-mode" could help here.
All this flashed through my mind as some sort of
intuitive epiphany.
So all those dead bodies in full gear I'd believed to
be part of the scenery were in fact dead players?
No. It didn't sum up. I refused to believe it!
The black box in his hands jolted.
A wound gaped in my upper arm, reeking of burned
flesh. There was no blood: the laser discharge had seared the blood vessels
closed. The Dargian bent down, grinning. The ball of crackling electric charge
slid off his hand right into the wound.
It doesn't
hurt!
My eyes popped out.
It doesn't
hurt! It's a game! It can't hurt!
My mind shut down mercifully.
* * *
I survived but it took me some time to recover.
I had no idea how much time had passed. The wound on
my arm had closed, leaving an unpleasant tingling sensation under the skin like
the crawling of a tiny mechanical bug.
The icon of a new system message kept flashing. I
opened it.
I Can Hear
Them: quest completed!
You have
successfully implanted a semantic processor module. Now you can understand the
language of the Xenomorphs!
+1 bonus to
Intellect
+2 bonus to
Perception
You've
reached the next level! You have new Talent and Characteristic points available!
I was surprised to discover a letter from the Admins.
Had they finally replied to my ticket?
Oh no. This was much more serious:
We inform
you of the following actions we have undertaken:
1. A support
group has been dispatched to the address you provided.
2. The
capsule has been serviced, including the activation of the in-mode and
replacement of life support cartridges.
3. We have
studied the existing neurograms in order to optimize the neuroimplant's
functionality. Feedback levels have been lowered seven percent. Thank you for
your cooperation.
Scumbags.
Then again, what was the point in spouting bile now?
It had been my decision from the start.
I chose not to argue with myself. Instead, I checked
my inventory. Much to my surprise, I discovered all my possessions still there:
the Dargian carbonite helmet, a full set of human pressurizers and three types
of weapons.
The slots in my gear worked too. The only thing
missing was the fact that all the batteries were empty, armor as well as
weapons. Without them, my gear was little more than a heap of technojunk.
I activated the Prison Break quest but found no
prompts. It was swim or drown.
What was the deal with my new abilities?
I looked around me. Indeed, my perception seemed to
have upped a notch. I could see much better in the dark.
It was time to try this semantic thing. I looked
around me, searching for the Haash who'd looked at me with sympathy, and tried
to strike up a friendship.
"Hi. How did you end up here?" I asked the
first thing that came to mind.
He paused, casting a sideways glance at the fellow
prisoners. Then he nodded.
The mnemonic inbox blinked its icon. Mind boggles.
Were we going to converse telepathically? My interface had no virtual keyboard:
the advent of the neuroimplants had rendered them obsolete.
Are you a
Human?
I crouched, leaning my back against the cold wall, and
closed my eyes. Nice to meet you.
It felt weird. My very first attempt to use the
mnemonic chat. Forming phrases in my mind wasn't easy. My name's Zander.
I'd already noticed that characters had no nicknames
here but I'd explained this away by the fact that I'd so far only met NPCs.
Apparently, I'd been wrong.
I was speaking to another player!
My...
name's... Charon.
I opened my eyes and tried to focus. That's right. I
could see nicknames now. Did that mean that I couldn't identify the players
properly without this semantic thingy of theirs?
I hurried to check my KOS list.
That's right. The char's information had grown. The
Dargian's nickname was Rash.
Charon? Have
you been here long?
Two full
orbits, he answered promptly but obscurely.
Two what?
Two complete
circles of the station around the star.
"You mean two years?"
I couldn't conceal my astonishment. Were the developers raving mad? Two years? The skin on the back of my head
tingled, growing taut. I gulped, trying to calm down. "Have you tried to
escape?"
"Impossible," the Haash answered darkly.
Well, that remained to be seen.
"What's the problem?" I struggled to pose
clear-cut questions. I needed information badly. Personally, I wasn't going to
stay here long.
"Rash is strong. You can't remove the collar. It
will strangle you. The drones will paralyze you," Charon listed the
problems one by one. "We have nowhere to run," he added after a
pause. "This station has suffered a lot of damage. It's not easy to
survive here."
"How about the other stations? And the
planet?"
"They won't let us in. And the planet belongs to
the Dargians. It's their world."
I felt curious. "Where are you from, then?"
"I'm from another star system," he answered
calmly.
I paused, thinking. I didn't want to play father
confessor to the guy just to find out why he'd chosen a xenomorph as his
character. The gaming worlds had their own etiquette. He'd tell me himself when
he was ready. If he didn't, then I'd just have to consider him a xenomorph.
Very well. I opened the inventory and checked my
helmet's stats. The broken device was still there. Rash was going to regret his
oversight.
I addressed Charon again, "Are you a pilot?"
"Yes."
Excellent. Time to try out more complex message
options. I wasn't sure if I could do it but surely it couldn't be more
difficult than sending an MMS?
I closed my eyes trying to recreate the view out of
the observation window just before the drones had attacked me. The view of the
station's docking facilities.
The Haash followed this mental picture with interest.
This kind of communication sent shivers down my spine. Still, I was getting
used to it.
"You know what it is?"
"That's Yrob!"
despair was rapidly draining from his voice.
"Which is?"
"One of our ships. We arrived at this
system," he faltered, "in a big ship. We wanted to study the
Founders' stations. The Dargians attacked us. They destroyed the mothership.
Our group broke away and landed here. Then they captured us."
"I see. What do they want from you? How do they
use you?"
"They want to use our knowledge. To study our
ships."
"And none of you has ever broken down and told
them anything? After two years?"
"We have. We showed them. After torture. But they
can't. They don't know how to. These are our ships. They're not easy," he
faltered again, searching for the right word, "not easy to customize. Lots
of things will have to be changed."
"Are they flightworthy?"
"There's nowhere to fly to."
"How about the station next to this one? Who
controls it?"
"Humans. Your race."
"Are they a problem?" I remembered the
warning message about potential repercussions of my mixing with 'xenomorphs'.
"They'll kill us."
"How do you know?"
"We divided into two flights during the attack.
My group headed here. The other went to the other station. The humans took them
prisoner. Then they killed them."
"It's been two years. Lots of things have changed
since," I said confidently even though I didn't know much. One problem at
a time. At the moment, the Haash were my only chance of getting out of here. It
wasn't that I was trying to take advantage of Charon. But I knew that in order
to survive, a gaming world was obliged to have a well-developed economy. If the
Dargians owned the planet and the humans were in possession of the station,
they were bound to engage in intensive trade with each other. Which lowered
xenophobia levels by definition. This I knew from experience.
"We can't escape."
They had broken Charon's spirit well, hadn't they?
"We can still try!" I, on the contrary, was
filled with resolve, my mind replaying various options, going through the
details of my daring plan.
"We can't."
"Why? You don't even know what I want to
say!"
"We don't have enough ships. Only three are still
functional. And we are many," he sent me a mental image. At least fifty
Haash prisoners!
"We can escape together, the two of us," I
came up with a solution.
A long pause hung in the air as he mulled over my
words, exchanging a whispered word with other prisoners.
"If I escape, the Dargians will kill them."
"Not necessarily," I expected him to say
something like that, so I'd come up with a suitable response. "All they
need to say is that it was all your idea. That they're happy to serve their
masters. Trust me, it'll work. In fact, you can just blame everything on
me!"
"Will you help us?" the Haash sidled over to
their bars, hope and mistrust in their eyes.
I felt uncomfortable. What could I promise them with
my laughable level 3? Still, I couldn't even consider this torturous
imprisonment for much longer. So I answered confidently,
"I will! You've been suffering here for two years
already. Do you think you can take it for a little bit longer?"
They nodded.
No sooner than I gave them this questionable promise,
a message popped up,
New quest
alert! The Ties that Bind.
Help the
Haash to escape from the station. Deadline: 50 days.
Reward:
doubtful, unknown. Your relationship with the Humans may deteriorate
considerably.
I paused, thinking. It was no good
trying to get out of here without a pilot and a ship.
Whatever. Once the Logout button was back on, I'd have
plenty of time to think it over.
I pressed Accept.
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