Raine VS The End of the World (12 page)

Right! The woman at the arcade also said she was a time traveler. Could she and this very different girl be one and the same? Was figuring out these riddles all a part of ‘beating’ the bonus level?

Hopefully these questions would be answered before her alarm clock rang. This was definitely one of the odder dreams she’d ever had. She was almost proud to be playing host to it.

◙

Gerrit’s head spun as he stepped out of the warp tube and onto the gritty streets of the lowest level of Circuitron, the sprawling neon labyrinth of a city that radiated the Southeastern tip of
Avidya’s
largest continent like a hundred million Lite-Brite cabinets.

As soon as he materialized, he felt the familiar bass thump from the club two levels above. On his watch’s mini-map, he spotted the nearest Templar patrol vehicle disappearing around the opposite street corner. The boy stepped lightly on the slippery asphalt and held his breath; he could practically taste leaked oil from passing hover cars.

The higher levels of Circuitron were home to the seedy nightclubs, the spaceport, high-speed races, android wrestling, and other futuristic amusements. The ever-present floating island above the metropolis’ eternal shroud of night doubled as one of the
Metaverse’s
most popular Adults-Only Zones. Ground floor, on the other hand, was a complete and total mess. It reeked of garbage and decay, and hardly anyone but service droids could be seen in either direction.

It wasn’t normally the type of place you would think for a young man to go and rent a dragon.

He booked it across the street, away from skyscrapers, past the marina district, and towards the docks. After finding the right avenue, Gerrit doubled back until he was in a familiar unmarked alleyway between warehouses, and made sure to do the moonwalk as he sidled up to a nondescript oil barrel.

Upon registering the secret finger-tapping commands, a door emerged from the ground in an impressive display of smoke.

Gerrit knocked three times, and brought up the ‘whisper’ window, switching to a backdoor plug-in.

He thought the keyword into the Private Channeler command prompt.

[NinjaMageKnight99]: “Silencio.”

Three locks unbolted, and he was led into the Tavern,
Endless Metaverse’s
seedy underground, a small private server completely shielded from prying eyes.

Bypassing strange looks from older customers and glancing only briefly at the mostly naked women working the stage, Gerrit made his way into the “Employees Only” lounge, and the underground passageway beyond. A hidden mine-cart took him through the body scanner and three airlocks, depositing the kid in the lobby of an enormous complex.

Weapons, ammunition, vehicles, and various virtual training modules lined the vast metal underground. Tens of thousands of bodies bustled across the floor, their sounds muted by the walls’ insulating plug-ins. Murasama Moe led a workshop on mastering sword combinations. The samurai waved to Gerrit as he approached and took a leave from his students.

“Ey, bro. Lance cool with the arrangement?”

“Haven’t told him. Seems I’ll be playing hookey for a few days.”

“Might be for the best,” replied Moe, dropping his voice. “Major skirmish planned for your guild’s region day after tomorrow. Ya didn’t hear it from me.”

“Gotcha.” The swordsman nodded to the samurai. He made his way into the hidden elevator beside the service one. With his finger he traced a familiar pattern – the anarchy symbol – on the closed doors. They revealed a cozy lair stacked with forbidden trinkets, lit only by fiber optic lamps and Tesla coils.

An old television set’s soft blue glow was obscured in part by the light gray head of a Homo-Pachyderm: half-man, half-elephant. Gerrit couldn’t help but notice that Yossa looked a little exhausted these days, sitting in the dark, eyes and ears constantly absorbing information from sixty-four sources at once.

Yossa was once a great warrior and hero employed by the Developers, but after being literally erased from the public consciousness and hunted due to unpopular opinions, he now spent most of his time working behind the scenes of one of the larger anti-establishment fronts. The Developers called him a domestic terrorist, a threat to peace and justice, while others labeled him an eccentric with power. To Gerrit, he was a confidante, a mentor, and a very good friend.

“I like what you did with the place.”

“You could ask me to teleport you in next time, you know.”

Oh, great. He’s wearing his Serious Face today.

“It’s more fun the long way around,” the boy smiled.

“I don’t like the security on those backdoors. And aren’t you still a little young to be checking out the working women?” mumbled Yossa.

“I seem to recall you telling me that there should be no barriers to appreciating beauty.”

“My, you’re happy again,” Yossa scoffed, inspecting the boy’s sprightly face. “There’s a new girl in your life, isn’t there?”

“Why does everyone assume that?”

Showoff. How could he possibly know?

Yossa gave an innocent shrug.

“So, give me the lowdown. How’s the glorious revolution coming along?” Gerrit asked, quickly changing the subject.

“It’s been said before, but this time it’s for real. Endgame’s near, kiddo. We’ve been getting heaps of financing lately, so intel’s flowing in from every continent. And I’ve come back into contact with Lily again, believe it or not. This ain’t for anyone’s ears, but she reckons something big is coming, and we’ve got to up our recruiting and be ready to take action.”

Gerrit would never forget the unusual girl with cybernetic limb coverings and an odd fashion sense. She was considered by the very few who knew her to be a crazy but immensely powerful player who liked to pretend she could see the future. Only Yossa really respected her, and no one else understood why.

“That girl’s an odd one.”

“Don’t forget, we’d never have met if it weren’t for her,” Yossa winked.

Gerrit had that to be thankful for. Lily had appeared to him only twice, but boy, did she leave an impression.

The first time, she’d materialized in the middle of a dandelion-covered field and challenged him to a duel, handing him his first defeat. He asked for a rematch, and she gladly obliged, with the caveat that he first achieve the rank of Ultimate Swordsman.

A very serious man named Yossa could assist him with the many quests involved, she promised, and even arranged a lunch meeting. When Gerrit finally achieved Ultimate Swordsmanship and dueled Lily a second time, she just barely lost, but to this day he’d never been able to shake the suspicion that the girl had gone easy on him.

“The good news is that our cause is rapidly growing, thanks in no small part to the concert raids and bustling street art scene. I’ve been polishing up the latest info packs. We’ve got daemons tracking the nodes and private caches through which Mister Senior and his pals are connecting, but we’re still no closer to finding any usable exits,” Yossa mumbled, his attention fixated on a multitude of holograms, monitors, keyboards, motion-detection machines, and track pads, all run by high-powered rigs that took up half the walk-in freezer and melted any tubs of ice cream within a forty-foot radius.

“You see this? Mister Senior’s itinerary keeps changing! Guess where he is right now? On vacation. But you know who else is on vacation? Emperor N. The Prime Minister. Regal Brandon of Atmoya. Helium-Corneria’s princesses. Don Chelu. Pinoci. Game Meister Matt. You get the picture. As we speak, they’re probably talking about ways to convince the public to prolong the war for profit.”

“I still don’t see what’s so bad about the war, other than it being boring, of course,” Gerrit pointed out. “Nobody’s characters get frozen or disappear. People level-up and pick up rare drops faster.”

“Let me count the ways. First off, it’s the power a massive-scale conflict has over the mind,” Yossa said. “When you put people on different sides and tell them they’re supposed to fight each other, it keeps them busy and afraid. Who profits? The system does. Without war, others will become as restless as I am. Pardon me for saying, but I can see in your eyes that you’re getting to my stage faster than I’d anticipated.”

Gerrit hung his head. If he was really that transparent, what else might Yossa have guessed? He’d considered voluntarily wiping his memory more than once. At the very least, tens of thousands rebooted their accounts every day, but it was still considered something only done by those who gave up hope in their lives.

An even scarier thought entered Gerrit’s mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d had it.

Could it be that I’ve met Yossa before, only to have my memory wiped?

He dismissed it, forcing the issue far back into his subconscious. He’d never know, and was far too afraid to ask.

Yossa adjusted a few edits on the illegal ‘vidfile’ he was working on, comprised of snippets from underground source feeds and anonymous visor recordings. Freedom fighters were shutting down one of the major weapons marketplaces in Ikura, a nearby kingdom. A towering man in furs led the charge.

“I’m sure you recognize old Hector from his fighting style,” Yossa said. “He’s been using the anonymizing masks to great effect. I’m broadcasting this in a few hours on the pirate networks. Gonna do my best to keep it playing to the very end.”

“They took down SmithMart? That’s pretty awesome,” Gerrit beamed.

Onscreen, a barbarian beat his chest.

“Down with the system! I don’t believe we’re fated to be their serfs, in this or any other realm. Even the Templars are tools. The real game masters, the Developers, the politicians, they’re not taken from here. They’re brought in from the outside!”

The video cut to an enormous digital chart highlighting the connections between players suspected to have knowledge of the outside world.

Gerrit scratched his chin. “Well, they haven’t deceived us. We know the whole thing is rigged.”

“Yes, but others must be told.”

“The only reason they don't know is because they are ignorant.”

Yossa shook his head, meandering across the room to the pizza box on the coffee table.

“Think, man. Who educated them? Who controls the flow of information, the channels, the Web? Gerrit, you’re young, but you’re smarter than this. You’ve not quite started down the path I’ve taken. As your friend, I’ve always--”

“Here comes the speech again.”

“I’ve always said I don’t mind your escaping from the harsh realities of this world, but I want you to at least recognize that that’s what you’re doing.”

Gerrit rolled his eyes – they went to the plaque on the ceiling – lasered into the metal was a supposed relic from a decade-old data storm, a quote attributed to some dude named Goethe:

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.”

“Isn’t escapism the reason we’re here in the first place?” Gerrit said, sitting down on the arm of Yossa’s sofa and messing with a Rubik’s cube. “I mean we – the players – we’ve gotta be in the minority. We paid for this, right? To be where we are right now, it’s supposed to be considered a luxury.”

“Of course they would want us to think that,” Yossa said honestly. “Answer me why no one remembers what the world before
Endless Metaverse
was like. I for one don’t buy that official story about memory wipes being necessary.”

The boy gave up on the cube and plopped down on the sofa.

“Man, you’re just laying it all out on me today.”

“You and I have absolutely no idea what’s out there,” Yossa said. “
They
allow
us
to play in this sandbox. We are entirely in these people’s hands. Remember that other leaked quote? If power corrupts, then shouldn’t it follow that absolute power corrupts absolutely?”

Unable to sit still, Gerrit gently drew his Transforming Sword and gazed at the sharp, shiny steel. It was difficult for him to imagine, although he reasoned it must be true, that something so useful, something that he could see and hear, weigh and wield, might be completely artificial, with the only world he’d ever known nothing but an elaborate fabrication.

Yet his dreams told him otherwise. If it weren’t for the vague but vivid glimpses of another world that haunted his nights, Gerrit might not have cared about any of this.

It was a faint hope at best, but even the slightest sliver of truth was worth investigating. He sheathed his weapon.

“Yossa?”

“Hum?”

“Can I see the pictures again?”

With his trunk, Yossa pulled out a manila envelope from a nearby filing cabinet and tossed it overhead to Gerrit. The boy warily studied the blurry, low-resolution photos within. They were of a desolate wasteland. Forgotten structures jutted into the sky like great shards of glass, weathered down by winds and dust. Unfamiliar vehicles of war rusted, abandoned in streets overgrown with vegetation. There wasn’t a single human as far as the eye could see. For weeks, Gerrit had been trying to connect the pictures with his uneasy visions. No one was supposed to recall dreams – it was grounds for a forced memory reset – so he’d kept dead silent.