by Domino Finn
InLink was a social media giant, serving as the who's who of Silicon Valley. If you were a tech company and you weren't on InLink, you didn't matter. If your project wasn't trending, it was already a failure. This was thanks in no small part to avid investor faith in the platform. All industry connections were pioneered through the InLink network, which meant every company Kablammy had ever done business with had a presence here. A link.
What better place to find the bad actor?
But Tad was aware of Christian's concern. They didn't just need a list of suspects, they needed proof of foul play. The CEO was digging into the money, which was a sure bet. Tad? He was looking for a needle in a haystack of unsolicited advertising and narcissism.
"Power in your Pocket," boasted one video, showing a triple-A game clip transition to a shitty top-down phone game. Pocket Global was a mobile-developer outsourcing company that Kablammy utilized for the money-making arm of its business.
"We didn't outsource any Haven tech, did we?"
Christian shook his head. "Goodness, no. The project is too sensitive. If we vitally needed something, we made sure to acquire the developers completely."
Tad swallowed. That exact thing had happened to his old company in Portland. The buyout had been no small source of consternation. Back then Kablammy seemed to be the root of everything vile in the industry. The shovelware empire. A lot had changed in a few short months.
"Another game BOOSTED," crowed another InLink post. Boost Systems was the company Kablammy regularly contracted for running focus tests, including early environment sims of Haven. Tad had a natural distaste for the experts who would stroll in and dumb down his games for the lowest common denominator.
On and on it went. Voice actors, contractors, quality assurance teams, effects studios. Tad couldn't help laughing.
"You know, Christian, it was only a few days ago we thought you were the bad guy."
Getting contacted by his AI double had been a trip. Being swept into a world of intrigue and espionage was something else entirely. An adventure, almost. Just like the ones he enjoyed programming.
"You're romanticizing what's happening here, Tad. As exhilarating as it was to have a real-life mole within the development team, this isn't a spy movie with shoot-outs and slow-motion helicopter explosions. Believe me, business acquisitions are much more banal, and much more profitable. Multinational megacorporations with competing interests will jockey for any edge to squeeze a profit. When a disrupting technology is introduced, those caught on their heels often tumble."
"So you're saying everybody's gunning for us."
He sighed. "To a degree. But forget the cloak-and-dagger and follow the money. We need to isolate the specific companies that would reap the largest financial windfalls following Kablammy's demise."
"And also those that have the technical know-how to pull it off. That Trojan they introduced to the system wasn't the work of an amateur."
"Perhaps, but there's no shortage of mercenary black hat hackers out there."
"I get that, I just—" Tad worked his jaw. "I just think you're looking in the wrong place. Angel investors put up money to make money. They might know the broad strokes of your offering, but ultimately they succeed when you do. The people pulling this off were close to the system, knowing way more than Larry ever could. Independent contractors manufactured the EXSIL units to our specifications, but the focus testers were the only outsiders intimately familiar with the sim itself."
Christian kept his head in the latest portfolio. "Boost Systems? They're a bunch of longhaired fun-gineers."
Tad scooted the office chair back so fast the wheels caught on the rug. Stretching for his crutch, he painfully levered himself into a standing position, careful not to put weight on the cast as his injured leg flooded with blood. "Christian, you need to see this."
The urgency in Tad's voice didn't go unnoticed. The CEO rose and approached the workstation. Kablammy had received a private InLink message.
Title: Stop the launch
Christian snickered. "Oh, I've been getting a slew of these over the last several weeks."
"Really? And you didn't think it was relevant to our current search?"
"Tad, social media is a megaphone for idiots. The most purposeful content is spam and Russian trolling."
Tad couldn't believe the CEO's blind spot. It was one thing to distrust the value of the grapevine, it was another to outright dismiss a threat. He read the content of the message out loud.
An ecosystem that barely holds together during a beta is doomed. Haven has no future. Let the living live and the dead die. Stop the launch.
Tad Lonnerman cleared his throat. "This sounds pretty serious. There's no sender. How could someone manage that?"
"There you go," said Christian. "Faulty credentials. That's clear indication of spam if there ever was one."
"I dunno. Even Viagra ads have the decency to make the profile pic a half-naked porn star. This company hacked InLink's back end."
"Or simply found a bug to exploit. It's—"
Christian froze mid sentence as Tad played the video attachment. A high-desert facility took center stage. A launchpad with a background of warehouses emblazoned with the words, "Phoenix X."
Tad frowned. "Is that... ?"
The CEO nodded. "Kablammy's launch compound in Southern California."
The garbled computer voice was the only audio in the security-like footage. "Satellites are a poor proxy for ascension to the afterlife. Leap-frogging the gates of Heaven will only lead to the fires of hell."
The primary site for Haven's satellite launch exploded. Fingers of burning rocket fuel curled as neighboring warehouses erupted, each bomb blast a new piece of shrapnel lodged into Christian's terror-stricken heart.
1570 Deal or No Deal
I flashed Saint Peter the scowl I'd been reserving for Hadrian. Nixing any hope of barter from the Whisperer's mind was imperative. I didn't want him at the bargaining table, I wanted him backed into a corner. If the prisoner was indeed still communicating with an outside influencer, any inch we gave would be taken advantage of.
But how else could we convince Hadrian to relent? The smug bastard was chained to a chair in a locked room underground, and he was as comfortable in his skin as ever. If I was gonna get to him, it would be through his pride. A puppeteer by nature, Hadrian was absolutely addicted to control. That was the chink in his armor.
All trace of agitation fled my face and I chuckled softly. "This isn't exactly how you planned your coming-out party, is it?"
The Whisperer's eyes narrowed.
I didn't want to overdo the boast, so I let the truth speak plainly. "You were tricked into prematurely revealing your identity. You lost the Squid's Tooth, the accompanying kraken, and your freedom. But, hey, at least you earned the ire of the entire population of Stronghold in the process."
An inadvertent twitch of Hadrian's cheek. It wasn't just the battle's outcome that nettled him, it was his failure to assert his will on a united group of players, NPCs, and mobs. Once again I thought of the legionnaires and goblins, an errant arrow away from rising up against each other and meeting on the battlefield as enemies, as others—all while ignoring the true threat.
Hadrian was patient, if anything. He didn't mind setbacks as long as he could regroup. The misstep in Stronghold turned the city against him, drowning his meticulous efforts at manipulation, wrenching the puppets from the strings. If we could find a way to do the same in Shorehome and Oakengard, the Whisperer would be done for.
"You talk and talk and talk," muttered Hadrian. "As impressive as you are on the battlefield, eye to eye you're nothing but a disappointment."
I pressed my lips together bitterly. "Will you say the same at your public execution?"
"There'll be no execution. Decimus is a nuclear weapon without a launch code. Lucifer's rogue angel is mortally wounded and lost in the wind." My eyes flashed and he grinned sardonically. "Yes, I've realized why your devil isn'
t around. There's no scenario that ends in my deletion."
He had me there. Instead of masking it I plainly displayed my frown and nodded to his point. "This is where you and I agree. But deletion would be way too easy on you. You see, we won't execute you on the gallows or at the end of a pair of silver swords, we'll do it by removing what makes you you. Despite the best efforts of your goblin horde, word from the wildkins got through to me."
He snorted. "A paltry band."
"With one very terrifying solution." I leaned close to Hadrian so I could smell his sweat. "The last time a crazed zealot attempted to sack this city, he became a prisoner of the Blackwood. I don't need to delete you to erase you, Hadrian. All I need to do is surrender you to Hood. Imagine that, the puppeteer becoming the puppet."
"Hood doesn't have that power over players."
I hiked a shoulder. "You're probably right again, at least before Lucifer freed his will." I smiled.
Hadrian tensed. His eyes smoldered. For the first time in days, the man didn't have a snappy comeback or a confident smirk.
"That's the thing about control, Hadrian. The more you yank at it, the more others tear it away. Those puppet strings pull both ways, and you're not gonna like how this tug-of-war ends."
His breath faltered. He snapped to Saint Peter in a momentary plea for mercy. Happily, my friend held his tongue. It may have been cruel condemning a man to eternal enslavement, but in a world where Hadrian continued his hacks in confinement and couldn't be deleted, I didn't see another out.
"Ah," I said, turning to the sounds encroaching from the dungeon hallway, "here's the good news now." I waited for Hadrian to yield, but he simply dropped his head, returning to the same position he'd opened with. Taking that as a sign he was finished talking, Saint Peter and I left the man to his scheming mind and the silk-covered eyes of Decimus.
As Warden Jorah closed and barred the reinforced cell door, Kyle and Izzy strode down the hall. True to their word, they were accompanied by Dune and his party. "Here's your dispatch," said the ranger, presenting the scroll proudly.
I put a finger to my lips and snatched the message with my other hand. "No discussion in the dungeon. As slim as the chances are, I don't want Hadrian overhearing strategy." I brushed forward.
"You're welcome." The crew turned and headed for the staircase.
We hurried past the cells, all empty except for the one at our back. It was desolate down here, and Jorah had decided it was too cruel even for the gangster Chadwick. The isolation of the separate zone was deemed a necessity for Hadrian, however, and the latest interrogation only reinforced that belief.
"I don't mean to downplay your entrance, Dune. Good to see you back alive. That was ballsy what you did out there."
He grinned and spread his hands in a gesture of magnanimity. "A simple feat for Haven's most famous tracker."
"Famous for failing to nab the good cleric once again."
Dune blanched. "Not for lack of trying. And for the record, we did track him down."
Caduceus released an ill-humored snort. "It was the catching part that tripped us up."
"Healers upon healers stacking OP buffs," complained Dune. "I don't know how we're ever gonna be able to take down the catechists."
I clenched my jaw as our small talk ventured into the arena of strategic discussion. We were at the end of the hallway, though, and the information was probably of little use to the Whisperer. I nodded acknowledgment instead of replying, then zoned up the steps. When everyone appeared on the ground floor of the jailhouse, I crossed my arms and got down to business.
"So what happened with Cleric Vagram?"
Dune twirled his green cloak to the side with dramatic flair. "It was pretty much what they told you. The man's adept at guerrilla warfare. He uses scouts for an early-warning system and lays traps for threats. We knew we were spotted, but I still can't figure how they surrounded us."
Stigg nodded enthusiastically as Dune continued.
"Vagram's not afraid to get his hands dirty either. He brings the fire."
"Fepic," spouted Kyle in the background.
"You're not gonna convince me that's a real word," said Izzy.
"Languages evolve," said the brewmaster. "Besides, in a digital reality, what's really real to begin with?"
Izzy huffed in annoyance and forced her attention back to Dune. "So, once Caduceus and Stigg were gone, I assume the jig was up?"
Everyone blinked at her.
"What? I can say jig unironically."
I laughed. "No you can't. This is a simulation of the Middle Ages, not 1940s Los Angeles."
"Sue me," she hissed. "I've been into historicals lately. Thought I'd start a thing."
"Yeah," quipped Dune, voice laced with sarcasm, "I don't think I'll be saying that. Anyway, since I was alone, I had to regroup and try a more surgical approach. I flanked a whole mountain to gain on them. That's when I saw the crusaders."
I furrowed my brow. "Oakengard's army?"
"Same ones. Black cloaks, white crosses. Although some of them held purple banners I haven't seen before. They were razing the land, looking for the catechists. It was stupid in hindsight, but I approached them. I mean, I figured I was on one of their quests, right?"
Izzy frowned. "They attacked you on sight, didn't they?"
Dune nodded. "I know you speak highly of Colonel Grimwart, but after that I didn't know who was friend or foe. And seeing as how I'd lodged arrows between the eyes of both catechists and crusaders, I was suddenly standing in the middle of two angry armies." The ranger shook his head. "I booked it back to Stronghold."
Izzy huffed and turned to me. "It's what you were afraid of."
"Oakengard's mobilizing," I agreed. "They really want the clerics under control, but I have a feeling their army's preparing for a longer march. At least you have a good understanding of the troop locations," I told Dune.
He smiled. "Spoken like a true scout."
"And you tracked like a true ranger." He bowed his head. "Speaking of tracking, why'd you make my people hunt you down for the message?"
"Simple," said Dune. "I had to recover Blossom."
"Who's Blossom?"
"My red-headed falcon."
"Psh," spat Kyle. "You named your bird Blossom? With the red hair, I would've gone with Mary Jane or—no!—Jessica Rabbit!"
Dune blinked. "You would've named my falcon after a rabbit?"
"She's not a rabbit. She has huge—" Kyle puffed his hands out in front of his chest. "Am I allowed to say knockers?"
"Some people are above naming their pets after cartoon characters," piped Caduceus. Stigg nodded.
The ranger cleared his throat. "Yeah." The falcon popped into existence on Dune's shoulder, cocking her head at an extreme angle to take in her audience. She was cute up close, a body of gray plumage, lighter but striped on her belly, with a white neck, yellow band around her eye, and the orange-red feathers of her namesake running from her crown to her shoulders.
I whistled. "I didn't know you could do that."
"You obviously haven't been paying attention. I wouldn't be much of a ranger if I didn't have animal companions."
I scratched my chin. "Oh yeah. Would kind of be an oversight on my part." I shook it off. "So was Blossom hiding or something?"
"Nah, she's just trained to make a beeline for home base. And since I don't own a legendary tower like some people I know, I made our base the Wicked Crow."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you did." The Crow was the seediest bar in the city, out of the way in the slums, and a second home to the ranger. I waved the scroll in the air. "Anyway, thanks for the message."
As I broke the wild king's wax seal and unrolled the scroll, Peter read a PM and stiffened. "Oh dear. I have to go."
"But I'm just about to read the wildkin reply."
"Sorry, this can't wait." Saint Peter vanished in a flash.
Izzy arched a violet brow. "That was ominous."
Kyle chuckled. "You could
almost say—"
"Don't," she warned.
I grumbled and tapped the letter in my hand. "Well, without further ado, I suppose."
My argumentative acquaintance,
Here, here we have an impasse. Thou risest toward warfare, yet I rest easy in peace, residing in a burnt wood that nobody wants. We vie not for power over those outside our kin. Recall, recall the will of the wild: to be left to our own devices.
Rumors of shadowy armies stir us not to betray these ideals. We shall look after our own, and our executioner will keepeth his hood and his axe close to the Blackwood.
At the risk of straying from my stance, I wish thee well in thy fight, but the fight be thine alone.
- The Wild King
"What is it?" asked Izzy.
I handed her the letter with a curse.
1580 Life is Strange
My friends passed around the scroll and the accompanying troubled frowns. Days of negotiating and still the wildkins didn't take the threat of Oakengard seriously.
"What does he mean, 'rumors of shadowy armies?' " complained Caduceus.
"He's acting like you're using scare tactics to enlist help," said Dune.
Stigg quietly nodded along.
I canted my head. "Theoderic is an even-keeled fellow. After we broke into his throne room to steal his crown, his first response was to reason with us. I'm sure he knows Oakengard is a potential threat."
"He's hoping his isolationist stance leaves him out of the war," concluded Izzy. She crossed her arms. "So where does this leave us?"
"Without leverage against Hadrian," I answered. "With an army outside our walls. In a stalemate. Exactly where we were before."
"What about Shorehome?" asked Dune.
I shook my head. "We haven't had word from Papa Brugo. The Brothers in Black are an unknown quantity until we find out how much support Hadrian still has. My bet is there's a struggle for power."