Absolute Zero

by Max Lagno

  THE HQ OF THE BLACK WAVE guild stopped being a simple military base a long time ago. After getting a geographical marker on the Adam Online world map, it became one of the zones of Rim Four. Fortunado even built a village around the base to promote it, calling it Shoreline, even though there was no sea or lake nearby. Although later, using the user location editor, he added a lake too.

  Shoreline wasn’t just home to the NPCs designed to imitate normal life for added realism. Plenty of players bought homes there too.

  At first people settled there who had business with Black Wave: merchants, crafting masters and new recruits wanting to join the guild. Since the brothers had a strict selection process, some new recruits lived here for four to six months of their game shift. They completed little errands and earned the experience necessary for initial selection into the guild. The neuronet generators noticed the increased number of players in this area and doubled the generation of quests and random events.

  The village became a place where you could earn a good living. But thanks to the brothers’ elitism, it never turned into a large population: they couldn’t stand black marketeers, drug dens or public houses. And without them, any human village, even a virtual one, stayed a boring village.

  Patrols from the Black Wave recruits regularly held raids to clear Shoreline of entertainment establishments, not caring who they belonged to, player or NPC. The verdict was the same for all: shoot on sight. Nobody knew why the brothers wanted it this way, and they weren’t talking.

  Shoreline maintained a reputation as a place for serious combat characters.

  Here you could outfit your UniSuit with custom-made upgrades crafted by human master craftsmen. In contrast to the procedurally generated upgrades, custom-made goods had a more useful multiplier from expansion combinations.

  For example, if you wanted to increase your Armor stat. In the Divine Armor or Human Factor store chains, you could get a set of upgrade expansions:

  Chest armor upgrade + helmet upgrade + intricate skin (+10 to attractiveness to NPCs).

  One might be forgiven for wondering why the hell that skin was there. But the procedural algorithms stubbornly added something useless to all upgrades. If it wasn’t an Intricate Skin, it’d be something like Block Bizoid Tentacle Capture. An upgrade that might come in handy in one situation out of a thousand. Not every bizoid had tentacles. Not everyone using them tried to grab with them.

  The human artisan, on the other hand, carefully assembled a set like this: Chest armor upgrade + helmet upgrade + Strength upgrade.

  Or filled all three expansions with the same Armor upgrade.

  High-quality upgrades like that could be found for any race. Mechanodestructors were served at the Depot. People worked there, not NPCs who could suddenly refuse a repair, asking you to take on some dumb quest first.

  The Angel Temples were also staffed by angel players that knew exactly how to endow a spell with the greatest effect. Such rarities as Solar Pillar and the Trumpet of Jericho were made there.

  The biolaboratories sold Nutrient Packs and DNA modifiers for bizoids, carefully crafted by other bizoid players.

  Upgrades and items created by Shoreline’s artisans were highly priced, so only people who knew exactly what they wanted bought them.

  All user zones in Adam Online had a respawn tower that also acted as a transition point from Rim to Rim.

  Sentry mechanodestructors, humanoid robots with missile launchers and plasma guns instead of arms that protected the respawn point at Shoreline, were surprised to see the naked core of a mechanodestructor appear on the respawn point. Any level one hundred player could kill the defenseless nightstand just by poking it.

  “Stop staring like idiots!” shouted the core, trying to scurry between the legs of the sentries. “Get out of my way!”

  They were even more surprised when they read the player’s name:

  Fortunado, Mechanodestructor.

  Level: 165.

  “Sorry, boss, didn’t recognize you in that setup... and with that ranking.”

  Angrily spinning his monowheel, the nightstand careered clean across Shoreline and disappeared into the Depot building. Ten minutes later, Fortunado emerged, shrouded in a humanoid transformer — everything that his low level allowed.

  Less than some of the new recruits that were trying to get into his guild.

  * * *

  The leading members of the Black Wave guild gathered in a meeting room: a tall domed building. It was large enough to fit huge mechanodestructors and the no less huge bizoids.

  A hexagonal table occupied the center, with a gold statue of a mechanodestructor core sitting on it. A projector panel covered an entire wall. It showed events from all the Rims of Adam Online, news from the real world, news from the virtual world. Stock market data, the state of all guild members and the progress of all the guild’s operations on all levels.

  Fortunado spent a lot of time leveling up his Architect skill to build that structure.

  The android Nika sat on a sofa, legs up. She folded up her thin two-dimensional body dressed in a white jumpsuit. Pulling her sharp knees in to her chin, she gloomily scrolled through a projection of the Adam Online leaderboard in front of her. Tousled black hair like obsidian knives fell onto her face. She swept it back angrily, but the blades stubbornly fell down again.

  The bizoid Most Ancient Evil had lost his Earthly Tremble DNA modification after he was transformed into a pillar of salt. He was no longer a colossal worm that could move under the ground, avoiding fees when moving from Rim to Rim. He was the only one that had no need of a respawn tower.

  Now he looked like a three-meter hairy monster, half bear and half monkey. This DNA modification, called ‘primatebear’, had a few skills thanks to the player’s personal inventions. Most Ancient Evil once earned a decent amount from selling the DNA modification for 600,000 g per test tube. Now he felt he’d have to return to biocrafting.

  Crossing his furry paws on his chest, the bizoid walked bowlegged from Nika’s chair to the giant screen. He stopped and wrinkled his monkey nose:

  “The brothers are arguing again.”

  “No wonder,” replied Crusher the fallen angel. “We won, but it feels more like we lost.”

  Nika switched off the projection. “I went down to level one hundred fifty. I’m not even in the top hundred anymore. Five thousand hours of leveling down the drain.”

  “You’re talking as if you didn’t get anything in exchange,” muttered Most Ancient Evil. “With money like that, we won’t have to worry about pod fees for a whole five years.”

  “I lost my advertisement contracts because I fell off the leaderboard,” Nika hissed. “Who needs adverts from a player at level one fifty? I had a stable income from my ads.”

  The bizoid turned his face toward a column casting a dark shadow. “What about you, Crusher? Did you have corporate contracts?”

  The fallen angel emerged from the shadow. He was shrouded in a chlamys, which he was unable to swap for anything else. His white wings with their scorched tips were folded behind him. He had a stately body, a beautiful pale face. His eyes were all black, with no whites. It gave him a demonic air.

  “Yes, I worked for the Jehovah’s Witnesses. But they don’t care what level I am as long as I give out their booklets.”

  Slapping his bare feet on the hexagonal tiles, the fallen angel walked to the table and sat in an armchair. He had to lift his wings to sit down.

  “You’re not angry because you lost your contracts, Nika. You’re angry because Leonarm killed us all solo.”

  “Oh, please,” Nika rolled her eyes. “That char is like a revolving door. One player in it one day, another the next.”

  “No-o-o,” the bizoid cried. “Something tells me that Leonarm’s rightful owner is back. There was a champion under that name ten years ago.”

  “You don’t remember anything that happened ten years ago.”

  “Who needs memories when you can search?”
>
  “God, you’re such a drag,” Nika slid out of the armchair and stretched her wire-thin body. “One good thing, at least: the nuclear explosion took him back to zero.”

  “By the way,” added Crusher the fallen angel, “why didn’t we use the nuke right away? Why were we sent into battle first?”

  “Don’t you get it?” Nika snorted. “The twins were saving the a-bomb. They didn’t want to waste it. They hoped we could take care of it. And look how much we’ve lost to their frugality.”

  The gate in the wall swung open, letting in Grisha and Fortunado. Grisha was in his core. The tiny robot was entirely lost against a backdrop of gigantic characters.

  “What are you droning about?” Fortunado asked. “Are you dissatisfied?”

  “We’re plenty satisfied, boss,” answered Crusher and Most Ancient Evil.

  “I am dissatisfied,” Nika said. “As a temporary participant, I joined only for the raid to Rim Zero. I’m leaving the guild.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Then scram, get out of here!” the little Grisha squealed. He began to roll toward the android. He nipped a thin leg with his claws: “We won’t call you again. Go complete some NPC quests.”

  Nika carefully pushed Grisha back with her foot. “Unlike you losers, I do real scientific work.”

  “Real scientific work is done outside, beyond the pods,” Fortunado replied skeptically. “This entire place is an imitation. Thank you for the help, Nika. The mission was more challenging than we initially expected. We have decided to give you an extra fifteen percent on your reward.”

  “Oh, that’s good!” Most Ancient Evil thundered.

  “I wouldn’t have given her anything,” Grisha muttered, trying to get to Nika again to bite her.

  After checking that the money had reached her account, Nika nodded. “Thanks, Fortunado. Pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Not with you, not at all!” Grisha said, waving his pincers and escorting her to the exit. But then he stopped and whispered to Nika: “I’ll come see you tonight.”

  When the door closed behind her, Fortunado stood at the head of the table. Grisha rolled himself to a chair and stretched out his claw arms in expectation:

  “Someone give me a lift, dammit.”

  Carefully, knowing that he could critically harm the little thing just with a touch of his claw, the furry bizoid lifted him up and put him in the chair.

  “Friends,” Fortunado began. “My brother and I have held counsel. We have decided that...”

  “You decided, you did,” Grisha said, waving his pincers. “I was against it.”

  “Very well. I have decided to inform you of our relationship with the client that commissioned us to kill Leonarm. After the losses we’ve suffered on the leaderboard, this is the least we can do for you.”

  “Come on, boss,” Crusher said, flapping his wings. “We earned a fair amount. But thanks for the trust.”

  The primatebear growled in agreement.

  “This isn’t just a question of trust,” Fortunado continued. “As the leading guild members, you must be informed of all events. And we need your advice.”

  The bizoid Most Ancient Evil opened his maw in a grin. “I do wonder what client could craft a nuclear bomb.”

  Grisha tapped his pincers on the table. “We don’t know who our client is exactly. It could be the US government, or the Chinese, or ours, or the Russians, or even the Kazan People’s Republic. But there is no doubt that these people are all-powerful.”

  The fallen angel shook his wings. “Are they the ones that gave us the passage to Rim Zero?”

  Fortunado nodded.

  “But how did they do it? It should be impossible.”

  “Why?” the bizoid muttered.

  “You can hack individual objects, weapons, even characters... and the controllers will come down on you and kick you off the game. But the game itself doesn’t just exist on the servers. It exists in the players’ heads as well.”

  “Woah, crazy...” the bizoid scratched his head. “Right inside my noodle?”

  “Yours, mine, his, everyone’s,” continued the fallen angel. “Take at least a little interest in science. Read some books on quantum consciousness theory.”

  “You read ‘em.”

  “Adam Online isn’t just a server cluster, it’s a kind of imagined reality that is being created by the players themselves.”

  “But there are servers, right?” Grisha asked.

  “They’re used to store data that hasn’t yet been perceived by any Adam Online players. Damn, how am I supposed to explain this kind of thing to people that don’t even know what a wave function collapse is...”

  “Collapse? Huh?” the bizoid clenched a clawed fist. “Don’t make fun of me. Collapse shmollapse. Explain things properly before I collapse you down to your glands.”

  “Well, imagine that we all got together in real life in one big room and started imagining a virtual world. While we’re imagining it, while we’re involved in it, it exists. I’m looking at you, you’re looking at me. It’s as if we’re both creating each other.”

  “So why the servers?”

  “The servers store information about us in case we stop perceiving each other. Nika just left the zone, but she didn’t disappear into thin air, right? The servers are the room where we’re imagining this virtual world. The CSes, the control systems, generate new maps and quests, then insert them into the consciousness of the player that requested them.

  “Ugh. I don’t feel like playing after hearing all that.”

  “The servers also store data about NPCs, gear, weapons, zones, number of players...”

  “Right!” Grisha exclaimed. “The zones are on the servers after all. So they can be hacked?”

  “No. The game rules can’t be violated. We all agreed to them. That’s what the voting system is for, changing the rules. All adamites decide whether it’s possible to do this or that in the game. Think about it, why do you think there’s a ban on returning to Rim Zero?”

  “Well, so that high-level players don’t waste scrubs.”

  “Exactly. That’s just common sense. We all agreed to that. In the same way, you can’t go from Rim Five to Rim One without lowering your level. The game couldn’t exist without basic rules. And while all three billion of us believe that high-level players shouldn’t be messing around near noobs, that’s how it’ll be.”

  “Wait,” The Most Ancient Evil frowned. “Theoretically, I could imagine myself up to level one thousand?”

  “Theoretically? Hell, to level one million. Practically, of course not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your will alone isn’t enough to become a level one-thousand player. The other players also have to agree to it. And they won’t. So you have to level up in the same conditions as everyone else. Up to four hundred and no higher.”

  “Shame. Then tell me why...”

  “Friends, whoever wants to familiarize themselves with the theory of Adam Online’s functioning should read the manuals,” Fortunado interrupted. “I... We gathered you here to talk to the client. She’s already on the line.”

  A video chat window opened on the projection panel. A girl appeared on the screen with blonde hair gathered into a ponytail. Her blue eyes literally smoldered on her face like two little flames. She was wearing a vest with a graphic of the word Darknet.

  “Hello, Fortunado. Why are these people here?”

  She spoke without emotion, making an emphasis only on the word “people”, which was also strangely unemotional. It was hard to tell whether she was indignant or surprised.

  “Where do you see people?” grumbled Grisha the mechanodestructor.

  The bizoid and the fallen angel giggled warily.

  “Hello, Mariam,” Fortunado said. “We won’t be able to continue the operation without them.”

  Mariam held her blue eyes on Most Ancient Evil and Crusher for precisely one second each. “Very well.”

  C
hapter 8. New Victim Leaderboard

  MARIAM SPOKE unhurriedly. The pauses between her sentences could have been measured with a stopwatch.

  “You failed to kill Leonarm without attracting attention. But we are satisfied with the result. No, we are not entirely satisfied with the result.”

  Fortunado listened carefully, while Grisha clicked his pincers thinking: A nuclear explosion in Rim Zero sure does draw attention.

  “We have analyzed the course of the operation,” Mariam continued. “We cannot give you another nuclear bomb.”

  “Shame,” Grisha said, clicking his pincers.

  Fortunado nodded. “I understand. Too much noise. The explosion is the talk of the town. The atomic bomb was an urban legend in Adam Online, but now everyone knows that they actually exist.”

  “We cannot give you another nuclear bomb,” Mariam repeated for some unknown reason.

  It wasn’t that she had no facial expressions, but it was as if she was following a certain rhythm.

  Crusher couldn’t help himself. He messaged Most Ancient Evil privately: This girl bothers me.

  She scares me too, the bizoid answered.

  Grisha tapped his pincers on the table, demanding attention.

  “Then we’ll have to increase our fee, Mariam. Killing high-level players costs a lot in ranking points. Sometimes those players take us out, after all. Our guild is already off the top ten.

  Fortunado nodded his agreement with his brother.

  After a pause that seemed unnecessary, as if the girl was imitating a pause for thought, she asked,

  “How much?”

  Fortunado examined his guildmates inquiringly, then turned to the screen. “Another five hundred million.”

  Holy shit, Crusher and Most Ancient Evil said to each other.

  Now there’s a demand.

  “The world of real business and big bucks.”

  Mariam shook her head. “Too much. We are forced to request services from the Golden Horde and Langoliers guilds. Thank you for your collaboration...”

  Grisha waved his pincers. “Hey, hey, ain’t ya heard of haggling?”