by David Petrie
The large man glanced around, then shrugged. “Nothing out here.”
“Okay, get back in here and pick up this guy so we can get out of here,” responded the softer voice.
Wyatt got moving as soon as the man went back inside, snatching his phone off his nightstand and dialing 911. He gave his address and explained the situation before hanging up. The operator had asked him to stay on the line, but he couldn’t just sit there on the phone while his friend was in trouble next door.
He couldn’t wait for help to come.
Wyatt tried to think, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do against the two men on his own, especially considering that one was much bigger than him. If he had a gun, things might be different. He hadn’t ever tested the theory, but he should have had the same skill with a firearm in the real world as he did in game.
But, that was just it, this wasn’t a game.
He could die.
Finally, after pacing his room for a full minute, he shook off his fears and rushed back to the balcony. He wasn’t the only one in danger.
Hoisting himself back up on the railing, Wyatt made sure to cross the gap quieter than before. He carefully peeked into Seth’s room from the top corner of the door. Then his heart sank.
They were gone.
He dropped down and stepped inside, stopping at Seth’s empty bed. He covered his mouth, struggling not to throw up. His throat burned as he refused to accept what he saw.
Seth was gone.
Just gone.
The sound of an engine starting came from outside, and Wyatt choked down his feelings. He ran for the stairs of Seth’s side of the duplex, nearly tripping on the clutter his friend had left in the hall. He leaped down the steps before bursting through the front door that had been left open.
A black, windowless van sped off as Wyatt ran in desperate hope of catching up, his bare feet slapping the pavement. Rocks dug into his skin, leaving a trail of bloody prints behind him as he sprinted faster until his leg muscles burned and his chest ached. The van only got further away. He struggled to read the plate number through the tears in his eyes, only catching the first two digits before tripping over his own feet.
Wyatt slammed into the pavement face first, scraping the skin off his cheek and nose as he tumbled. He felt something crack in his wrist as he tried to stop himself, pain shooting up his arm with no system in place to dull it back down.
Finally, he came to a stop, tasting blood. He coughed and tried to push himself up, feeling one hand collapse under his weight. It lolled at an unnatural angle as he fell back down. He clutched his shattered wrist to his chest as he lay on his side, screaming into the distance.
The van disappeared down the street as the sound of police sirens came from the distance. They were too late. No, worse. Wyatt was too late.
He had waited too long in his room. Wasted too much time calling for help. He should have just gone in. He should have swallowed his fear.
He should have saved his friend.
The heist didn’t matter anymore. Berwyn didn’t matter anymore. The Feds didn’t matter anymore. His best friend was gone, and all he could do was cry on the pavement.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Milo buried his face in his hands as an agent from the F.B.I.’s cybercrime division stood in his office and went over the events of the last few days. He wasn’t listening, or more, he didn’t need to. Milo had heard it all already from Wyatt after rushing down to Florida to see him in the hospital the day after everything had happened.
With several pins sticking out of Wyatt’s shattered wrist, he had been in rough shape. Though, even that didn’t compare to the loss.
Milo pushed his palms into his eyes, rubbing them before they welled up at the memory. Apparently, he had sent Max and Kira right into the middle of an undercover investigation without knowing it. Christ, he hadn’t even known that the Feds had a division operating within Noctem. Well, he probably did know at one point since they rented a space within his world to use as a field office, but he had signed so many papers in the last few years. He simply couldn’t stay abreast of everything.
A pang of guilt dug into his chest, only to be replaced by a seething anger at the man in his office.
“Are you listening?” Agent Dawson folded his arms.
“No, I’m not,” Milo snapped back. “You put the lives of everyone in House Lockheart in danger by convincing them to take over your failed mission. Not only that, but you forbade them from informing me, and I’ll tell you this, if I had known, I would have put a stop to it.”
Dawson held his ground. “I assure you, the players in question were well informed of the risks. If there had been another way–”
“They were my friends.” Milo slapped a hand on his desk. The words shocked Milo as much as they did the man before him. The guilt returned as a heavy silence fell over the office.
“Is that why you’re not fighting their claim to the hard they stole? Because you have a personal relationship with the members of Lockheart?”
Milo scoffed. “I couldn’t fight their claim even if I wanted to. They didn’t break any rules.”
“I’m pretty sure what Kira did to the system would constitute as cheating.”
“Yes, well, that all happened after the hard had been removed from the vault. As far as our logs are concerned, everything was on the up and up. There’s no reason to look into the heist any further.” Milo gave the agent a smug smile to let him know he was right and that there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
“Fine.” Dawson’s mouth curled down into a frown.
“Did you at least catch your man, the player behind Berwyn’s account? Obviously, you have bigger problems than a few million in missing hard.”
Dawson blanched as if remembering something he’d rather forget. “Yes. We were able to run raids on his entire network. We can’t actually use anything Kira gave us in court, but she showed us where to find everything we needed. From here, it’s just a matter of getting warrants.”
“Good, then that means the rest of Lockheart is safe.” Milo blew out a sigh of relief. “They’ve already lost enough.”
“About that.” Dawson placed both hand’s on Milo’s desk. “Kira couldn’t have survived, right?”
Milo flinched at the question like it had slapped him across the face. Dawson’s wording was clear. Whatever Carver’s experiment had done to her had turned her into something dangerous. Something like her couldn’t be allowed to exist. Her death was probably the best-case scenario for Dawson. Still, the question hurt as a quiet memory of the fairy’s laugh echoed through Milo’s mind.
“From what our data shows, probably not. But without access to her real body, there’s no way to know for sure. Her brain stopped sending information just before taking over the system. From that point on, all of her activity originated from within our servers, all of which burned out a few minutes later. Apparently, our system wasn’t enough to run her program.”
“And what was her program?”
“If I knew, I would tell you.” Milo held out his hands, empty. “She was a victim of Carver’s final experiment back when he was fired last year. He bound her to some kind of evolving artificial intelligence. We thought we had stopped its progress, but apparently, we only slowed things down. As long as she didn’t activate the A.I., she could live a normal life. But with your operation in jeopardy and the consequences that were on the table,” Milo paused, feeling an ache in his throat, “well, Kira was always one to put others before herself. It seems she let the Carver’s A.I. have her.”
Dawson removed his hands from Milo’s desk and stood back up. “If she is truly gone, then what is controlling her avatar back in Noctem?”
“It’s an echo.” Milo sunk into his office chair. “It’s what happens when a player dies while logged in. If the system stops receiving from a user without a logout signal, it tries to fill in the blanks from the memories of other players. Of course, most of the time, the information l
oses stability within a minute or two, but in Kira’s case, she’d left a fairly deep imprint on the players around her. Combined with the abnormalities in how her mind connected to the system, it seems her echo is here to stay.”
“A ghost in the machine?”
“No.” Milo shook his head. “There’s nothing conscious behind it. An echo is just the system showing people what they expect to see. No matter how lifelike it is, it’s not. As much as I wish there was more to it, she’s nothing more than a dream.”
Dawson’s shoulders relaxed, like the knowledge that she was gone was a relief. “I expect you to turn over all of the servers that this A.I. inhabited.”
Milo rolled his eyes. “Sure, my people couldn’t salvage anything off them anyway. They’re scrap at this point.”
“And I expect to be given every file you have on this Nix character. If she has anything to do with Carver and turning Kira into that thing, then she needs to be stopped.” With that, the agent took his leave, ending the conversation and heading for the door.
“One more thing.” Milo stood from his chair.
“Yes?” Dawson turned around.
“Whoever Nix is, she has kicked a hornet’s nest. House Lockheart is made up of the strongest players in the world, players that have just stolen nine million in hard. Now, I don’t know about you, but that much money can go a long way. And if I know Max and Farn, and I think I do, they will literally tear through Noctem until they find the person that took their friend.” Milo slapped his hand down on his desk. “And I will do everything in my power to help them.”
Dawson’s face hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Milo narrowed his eyes in. “It means stay out of their way.”
Logs
Checkpoint System’s Message Board - One week after the heist
Topic: Looking for information on House Lockheart?
TheNoctemTimes: My website is looking for information on the members of House Lockheart. After everything that happened in Reliqua, this story is going to be huge. However, so far we haven’t found much beyond the names, GingerSnaps, MaxDamage24, Kirabell, Farnsworth, Corvin, and Kegan. If anyone has partied with these players before please DM me.
CronicTheHedgehog69: Yeah, you and everyone else.
MandalorianMan: No idea where they came from, but holy crap! They just got away with millions. That’s insane.
TheNoctemTimes: From what we’ve learned, Checkpoint had to rework the storage system for each city’s vault so that this doesn’t happen again.
HelveticaNue: I’m just glad they put a stop to the House of Serpent’s conquest that has been screwing up the farming for half the game. I’ve been struggling to craft for weeks.
BullShifters: I can help here. Okay, so this one time, me and my buddy Keith partied with some of those guys from Lockheart. We had found them through LFG. An' le’me tell ya, they were something else. I reckon there ain’t no healer out there better than that fairy. Their Shield is pretty much unstoppable, and that Fury is a beast.
TheNoctemTimes: Are you on their friend lists? And if so, could you send them my contact information. They seem to have their accounts set to anonymous because I can’t find them in search.
BullShifters: Nah, that would seem like, what you might call, poor manners. I messaged them a congrats last week after they got away with the crime of this here century, but it seemed like they wanted to be left well enough alone. Probably getting a veritable horde of messages.
EMPIREriot: That makes sense.
BullShifters: One odd thing tho, the message I sent Kirabell never went through. It just bounced right back.
Gameplay recording
Title: Late Nite in Lucem - Episode 253
Uploaded by RoyalAssistantFour
Number of Views: 11,265,584
Music plays while a still image of Lucem’s cityscape fills the screen, its grand archway reaching across the sky. A logo appears just before the title screen fades to a player’s view. They walk into a large room where they join an audience of around fifty other players to sit down in front. A woman occupies at an ornate desk beside a chair as an elven man sits down to join her. The woman smiles at the viewer.
“Hey, hey, and welcome to Late Nite. I’m your host and Lady of the Silver Tongues, Leftwitch. Tonight, we’ve got an interesting guest on to shed a little light on the fall of one of my fellow rulers, Lord Berwyn. So let’s give a big hand for Dartmouth, the new Lord of the House of Serpents.” She gestures to the Elf beside her.
“Thank you so much for having me on the show. I have to say, I don’t know where you find the time to run a city and entertain all of us.” He gives her a slight bow.
Leftwitch gives an exaggerated shrug. “I have eleven million viewers. I have assistants for the boring stuff, but we’re not here to talk about me. What about you? How’s the new Lordship treating you now that Lady Amelia has executed your predecessor.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie, many out there would like to see the House of Serpents disbanded after Berwyn’s attempt at world domination. But with the fall of our Lord, we’re determined to build a new house, one that might help the players rather than just lord over them.
“Ah, speaking of, do you think Berwyn will ever show his face in Noctem again?”
“No idea. He hasn’t logged on since losing his throne.”
“That’s one hell of a rage quit.” Leftwitch laughs.
“Truly. Unfortunately, his absence has thrown half of Noctem into chaos now that three cities have suddenly lost their ruler. I think Torn has had six rulers in the last week during the power struggle.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch indeed.”
She leans closer. “So I take it you won’t be throwing your hat in the ring then?”
“Oh, lord no.” Dartmouth waves the question away. “We don’t have that kind of strength anymore without a city’s hard behind us. Not to mention, many of our members have left for greener pastures. I’ve had to recruit a new Archmage and Knight just to keep the house together.”
“Ah right, you no longer have the Death Grip in your ranks. I heard he up and left. What’s he up to now, anything interesting or just becoming a standard murder hobo?”
“Ha, yes, I wouldn’t put that past him, but seriously, Ripper was Berwyn’s right hand. I don’t think he felt like he had a place within the Serpents now that his Lord’s account has gone offline. Plus, he’s no longer the Death Grip.” He arches an eyebrow.
“That was certainly unexpected. Who would have thought that the contract would pass on to the player who took him out? And that actually brings me to the meat of why I asked you on tonight. Tell me,” she leans on one hand, “what do you know about House Lockheart?”
Dartmouth gave a polite laugh. “Unfortunately, not much. They had me fooled just as much as everybody else. All I know is that they have a Death Grip of their own now and a fairy that knows her way around a dance floor. Oh, that, and they’re significantly richer than they were.”
Leftwitch gives him a charming smile. “Come on, you gotta know something more? The world is dying to know. Lockheart can’t have just gone silent after overthrowing an empire and pulling off the greatest heist of the modern world.”
Dartmouth gave her a wink. “Sorry, but all I can say is this—everything you’ve heard about them… is true.”
Gameplay recording
Title: They’re Back
Uploaded by Hoover
Number of Views 89,746,625
The throne room of Torn, as seen through the eyes of a player, fills the view. A large Blade class player reclines in the city’s seat of power with an intentional swagger.
“Welcome to the reign of the House of the Boar. I am Lord Tusker, and I’m settling into my new throne pretty well. I’ve got my Knight by my side,” he gestures to the player recording before continuing, “so let’s see if we can hold our kingdom for more than a day.”
Suddenly, a voice speaks over
the Boar’s house line, “Hey Tusker, I’m done setting up the NPC guards at the front gate, and you’re not going to believe who’s walking toward us.”
Lord Tusker raises his house ring. “Who?”
“It’s them, house– Hey! what the hel–” the voice cuts off mid-sentence.
Another speaks up, this time from inside the palace. “Oh shit, that didn’t even slow them down.”
“Didn’t slow who down? Damn it!” Tusker growls into his house ring.
“No no no–” the voice shouts back before going silent.
More reports come in, only to end before getting out more than a couple words.
Tusker steps back and signals to a few Leaf players standing by the door. They take up defensive positions on either side just as the sounds of combat reach the viewer from down the hall.
Silence takes the room again.
Tusker looks at the player recording the events as they draw their sword and hold it at the edge of the view.
A man, recognizable from dozens of blurry screenshots, appears in the doorway. A dark scarf covers his face. His name is well known.
MaxDamage.
House Boar’s archers let loose, firing arrow after arrow as several translucent swords blur around him. He doesn’t even slow down. The pings of metallic impacts echo through the room, arrows falling to the floor at his feet. Max raises a pair of pistols and fires into the archers on both sides, landing headshots without even looking.
Behind him enters a dark Shield, her name now living in infamy, Farnsworth the Death Grip. A small woman sticks close to her side, a hooded cloak hiding her face from the viewer.
Finally, the Lady of House Lockheart, GingerSnaps, strides into the room bracketed by a Leaf and a Blade, Kegan and Corvin, respectively. The bodies of the fallen players shimmer as she passes through the cloud of drifting particles.