Restart_LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  I sat closer to him, opened a popular social media network and entered the girl’s name into the search.

  Jesus. There were hundreds of them.

  I continued narrowing the search results: first by age, then by country and finally, by town.

  Six girls left. Two of the accounts had no pictures. Another one sported a photo of a teenage girl staring at you with that contemptuous pouted-lip look which teenage girls worldwide tend to assume for their selfies.

  That was the missing Oksana.

  “What kind of job is that?” Dad asked me. “Grooming underage girls?”

  “Dad,” I said, slightly offended. “Look at this.”

  I showed him the girl’s picture on the TV screen, then her social media profile. “You see it’s the same girl, isn’t it? I think I’ve seen her somewhere before. So now I’m trying to decide whether it was her or not.”

  “And?”

  “Give me one moment.”

  Her profile didn’t contain anything useful, just the usual teenage array of memes, quotations and cute pictures. Relationship status: “In active search”.

  Oh well. It looked like the active search stage was now over.

  I clicked on “More” and saw the name of her school. Excellent. I memorized it, then reopened the map.

  And what if she was already dead? How would the map react? Would it show me the location of the body? And in any case, if I failed to garner enough information, I’d have to call her parents anyway and try to come up with a believable excuse in order to help them find their daughter.

  This time, however, I had enough KIDD points. A mark appeared on the map showing the girl’s current location about forty miles outside the city limits.

  I zoomed in. It was a small village. I could make out the squat one-story houses and narrow side lanes. Despite the late hour, the light was on in the house where she was supposed to be. I couldn’t see the details in the dark but the house’s number and the name of the street were marked on the map.

  “Dad, I think it’s her.”

  He jumped off the couch. “Give her parents a ring, now.”

  I hesitated. Using my phone to call them probably wasn’t such a good idea. They were bound to have questions. The police, too. How did you know about it, sir? Why didn’t you contact us straight away? You saw it on television? Are you some kind of an ESP guy or something? Or are you one of the kidnappers?

  “Come on, call them!” Dad spat, furious at my indecision. “You have any idea what her parents are going through right now?”

  All right, but how was I supposed to disable the caller ID function in my phone? Then again, what was the point? The police could always get my number from the parents’ cell provider.

  Feeling doomed, I dialed the girl’s parents’ number.

  An anxious female voice replied straight away, “Yes?!”

  “Hi,” I said, not knowing where to start. “Are you Oksana’s mom?”

  “Yes, yes! Do you know where she is?”

  “She’s out of town. You have a pen? It’s Leafy Hollow, Kulikova St. 19.”

  Dad gave me an incredulous look. I waved him away and repeated the address. “Yes, that’s right. She’s there now.”

  “Is she...” the woman’s voice trailed away, unable to utter what could have become her own life sentence. “Is she alive?”

  “Yes, she is,” I said, praying I was right. Surely the system had a way of marking a dead body?

  I listened to the woman’s relieved sobbing. Then her husband took the phone from her.

  “Hi, I’m Oksana’s father. Call me Mikhail. I appreciate the information very much but could you please tell me where you got it from?”

  “Just go and check the address I gave you. Don’t waste your time. Call the police now.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Phil. If you have any questions you can call this num-”

  He hung up. I just prayed he hadn’t taken me for some stupid phone prankster. Doubtless they’d had their fair share of them already.

  The conversation had knocked the wind out of me. I was absolutely drained. Avoiding Dad’s inquiring stare, I checked my stats.

  My Spirit was at zero. Wonder if it was some kind of mana analog required to use the system abilities? Or could it be related to fatigue levels? I needed to ask Martha tomorrow morning once I’d had some sleep and calmed down a bit.

  “Where — did you — see her?” Dad demanded.

  “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you! I saw her there!”

  “Which is where?”

  “What’s going on here?” Kira walked into the room. “Where’s Cyril?”

  “He’s fast asleep. I took him to the bedroom.”

  Kira left to check on him. It was such a good thing she never asked just one question. You could answer the last one and ignore the rest.

  “Phil?”

  “That’s where I saw her,” I repeated. “I was in that village yesterday, meeting with a client.”

  “How come you remember the address?”

  Dad had never missed a crime series in his life. He could smell inconsistent evidence from miles away.

  I suppressed the desire to avoid the subject and just go home. If I didn’t reply now, he’d spend the rest of the night freaking out about it. He might end up telling Mom who was a certified worrier.

  “Dad, this is the twenty-first century, for crissakes! We went there to see a client and popped into the local market to buy something to eat. That’s where I saw her. And when we left, I saw her entering that house just next to the market. It had a green roof. So now I just opened the Google Maps and found it. That’s how I know its number and the name of the street.”

  Dad squinted, searching my story for any weak spots but finding none. Or even if he had, he must have chosen not to dwell upon them.

  “Good job,” he said.

  For me, that was compliment enough. He’d never been one to praise.

  “Phil, come on now,” Kira called from the hallway, already in her street shoes[18]. “Will you please pick up Cyril? He’s getting a bit heavy for me now. Mom, we’re off!”

  Mom walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

  I gave them both a hug, followed by a solemn mental promise to call them every day for the rest of my life.

  I dozed off before the car had even started. It was quickly becoming my most distinctive trait.

  Kira’s whispered voice awoke me. “Phil? Phil, we’ve arrived. You can go to bed now.”

  I gave her a peck on the cheek and staggered upstairs to my apartment. The yard was dead quiet, including the pavilion. Our local branch of Alcoholics Anonymous was probably already comatose. Serves them right for chasing vodka with beer[19].

  I collapsed on my bed too.

  No idea how long I’d slept. A shrill phone call awoke me in the dead of night. Not a call even but rather an excruciatingly long vibration right under my ear.

  I shut it up without even looking who it had been. Still, the caller was persistent.

  Finally I picked up. “Yeah?”

  “Are you asleep? At night? You’re full of surprises, you!”

  I recognized the voice even despite the fact that it sounded dead drunk. No idea how I knew — it must have been some sort of instinct I’d developed in all those years. “Yanna?”

  “He recognized my voice!” she announced, then fell silent.

  “Anything wrong?” I asked.

  “Everything’s wrong! You’re a slimy piece of filth, you know that?”

  “I do. Anything else?”

  “Go screw yourself!” Yanna hollered and slammed the phone down. Literally. I heard a crashing sound just before the line went dead.

  Typical. None of Yanna’s phones had ever survived the warranty period. She seemed to have had some sort of personal vendetta against cell phones.

  Now what was the point of her calling me?

  I forced myself to stop
thinking about her and fell asleep again.

  After a brief moment of slumber, the vibration under my pillow awoke me again. What was wrong with that woman?

  “Yanna, what now?”

  A stern male voice in the receiver made me sit up and pay attention,

  “Is this Philip Panfilov?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is Police Major Igorevsky. We have a few questions to ask you regarding the missing person case of Oksana Vorontsova. Where exactly are you at the moment?”

  Chapter Nineteen. Red, the Color of Danger

  “Of course I’m dangerous. I’m police. I could do terrible things to people... with impunity.”

  Rust Cohle (Matthew McConaughey), True Detective

  THIS WAS SURREAL. I’d just helped to bring a daughter back home to her inconsolable parents. I might have even saved her life for all I knew. Still, as I waited for the police car to arrive, I felt so anxious as if I’d single-handedly planned and executed her abduction.

  This irrational fear did have some grounds, though. It’s true that we Russians have an arguably bigger fear of our police — or of uniforms in general, if the truth were known — than of actual criminals.

  We have an affinity with criminals. We grow up together and go to the same schools. All of us know someone connected to criminal circles in some way or other. We too commit occasional offenses by trying to avoid taxes or breaking traffic laws. The semi-legal allure of tough-guy crime TV series has added to the criminal’s somewhat romantic image. Just try and enter the Russian word for a “cop” in the Google image search. All you’ll get is dozens of cartoons of bribe-taking traffic cops, corrupt police inspectors and overworked, drunken investigating officers.

  This explains why I didn’t expect anything good from meeting Major Igorevsky. As I made myself a cup of coffee, I scrolled through a number of Internet articles with advice on how to behave in this situation. They all boiled down to two things: if you’re officially a suspect you should keep your mouth shut and deny everything. If they apply pressure, just suffer (hopefully not literally) in silence. And if you’ve been summoned as a witness, just answer their questions as honestly as you can (if you can), otherwise you might be charged with false testimony. And in any circumstance, demand to see your lawyer.

  I didn’t have a lawyer. And as for telling the truth... where should I even begin? Should I tell them about that last breakfast with Yanna? Or a piece of wetware in my head courtesy of the First Martian Company?

  Please. They weren’t born yesterday.

  Dawn was already breaking. Even though I hadn’t had enough sleep, the Lack of Sleep debuff had already worn off. I had no idea whether they were going to question me here or take me to the station, so I decided to get dressed and have breakfast just in case. I poured a generous helping of pet food into my beasts’ respective bowls and fried myself a couple of eggs.

  I’d almost finished them when Rich began barking his head off.

  The doorbell rang.

  I answered the door. Two young guys in plain clothes stood outside on the landing. Both had crewcuts. One was taller with a sharp face, the other squat and stocky.

  Neither of them attempted to step inside. Somehow I didn’t think they were afraid of the dog.

  “Philip Panfilov?” the taller one asked.

  He had a piercing, watchful stare. Very unpleasant. I didn’t like it at all.

  “That’s me,” I said. “Did you just call?”

  “Police investigator Golovko,” he showed me his card, then handed me a summons. “The person who called you was Major Igorevsky, the chief investigator. He has a few questions to ask you regarding your involvement in the Vorontsova abduction. We’ve come to take you to the station.”

  I studied the summons. ...Hereby summoned to give evidence as a witness...

  “Have you found the girl?” I asked.

  “We have no authority to answer your questions.”

  “Should I pack a bag?”

  “No. Just bring your ID papers.”

  They took me to the station in a shabby unmarked Korean car, its insides reeking of tobacco smoke.

  The squat detective took the driver’s seat. He never identified himself. I sat in the back next to Golovko who appeared perfectly relaxed but was watching me out of the corner of his eye. The squat guy mouthed a cigarette without actually lighting it.

  My heart was racing. I just couldn’t pull myself together. Trying to calm down, I began studying the two detectives’ stats. Both were under thirty, married with children. Their social status levels were quite high. Ditto for their Intellect and Charisma. Their Perception, Communication Skills and Deception were even higher. Those were the kinds of skills you needed to successfully worm yourself into a person’s confidence.

  I also noticed a very high Composure on their respective skill lists. I didn’t even have that.

  These weren’t fat cartoon cops, the butt of Internet memes. Despite their age, these guys were old guns who commanded respect.

  By the time we’d arrived, the sun had already risen. I got out of the car.

  This glorious Saturday morning was the best publicity for the upcoming summer. The chirping of birds filled the early-hour silence. The streets were devoid of rush-hour traffic. No crowds of grumpy pedestrians hurrying to their respective workplaces. The air was cool and fresh, the trees’ foliage still wet from last-night shower.

  I took a deep breath. I really didn’t feel like going to the station. I’d rather have picked up Richie and taken him for a run in the park. Followed by a nice breakfast made from scratch and a good book to accompany it. Afterward, I could have spent a couple hours doing some work provided I’d received new orders, gone to the gym for an hour, then continued sorting out my interface, optimizing my skills and improving characteristics. In the evening, I could have invited Vicky to a restaurant before taking her to the movies.

  It would have been a perfect Saturday, had I not ruined it for myself by answering some TV announcement.

  “Follow me,” Golovko said.

  I walked after him, with the squat guy bringing up the rear. They took me past the front office to the second floor. We walked along a drab corridor painted with flaking blue paint until we came to the chief investigator’s office.

  I stayed outside watched over by the squat guy while Golovko walked in and reported, “Comrade Major, the witness is here.”

  “You mean Panfilov?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bring him in.”

  My Composure definitely left a lot to be desired. I shoved my shaking hands in the pockets of the light jacket I’d put on before leaving.

  Major Igorevsky was forty years old. A bald patch was forming on his head. He was in his shirt sleeves. A tie hung on the back of his chair. He appeared exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. Doubtful he’d gotten any sleep last night.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning, Mr. Panfilov. Please take a seat,” the Major rose from his chair and proffered me his hand. He was courtesy incarnate. “I’m Chief Investigator Major Igorevsky. It was me who called you.”

  I couldn’t in all honesty have said “nice to meet you” so I didn’t. I just nodded and shook his hand.

  “I’ve asked you to come here to give evidence as a witness. Thanks to your phone call, we were able to find the missing girl, Oksana Vorontsova,” he paused, studying my reaction.

  “Is she all right?” I asked.

  “She’s fine. That’s all I can tell you at the moment. On behalf of all those that were on the case I would like to thank you for your cooperation.”

  I watched his status bars. His Mood was high, and so was his Interest in me.

  I didn’t reply. What did he want me to say? That I’d only done my duty?

  The Major paused, then continued, “Now I’d like you to answer a few questions...”

  For the next hour, he continued to ask me every possible kind of question about myself. My plac
e of birth, my school, my work history, the names of my employers. He kept unraveling the chronology of my life thread by long-forgotten thread until finally he arrived at the point.

  “Last night you called the missing girl’s parents and gave them the exact address where we later found her. Where did you make that call from?”

  “From my parents’ house.”

  “Can anyone confirm this?”

  “My parents and my elder sister.”

  “What’s your parents’ address?”

  “Verbitsky St. 76, apartment 15.”

  “Have you ever been to Leafy Hollow before?”

  “No, never.”

  “Where were you on Saturday night May the twelfth of this year?”

  “I was at home playing a computer game.”

  “Can anyone confirm this?”

  “My wife,” I faltered. “We’re going through a divorce. She doesn’t live with me at the moment.”

  “Her contact information?”

  I gave him Yanna’s parents address and their phone number. It looked like I was deep in it.

  “How do you know Sergei Losev?”

  “First time I hear about him. Who is he?”

  “Think again.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Very well,” the Major murmured, writing down my statement. “The witness denies all knowledge of Losev... How did you meet Oksana Vorontsova?”

  “I’ve never met her.”

  “In that case, how did you know her exact location?”

  “That’s difficult. You might find it hard to believe.”

  “Believing isn’t part of our job. Our job is to check the facts. How did you know where she was?”

  “I saw it.”

  “How exactly did you see it?”

  “I saw the announcement on TV. And then... then I just sensed I knew where she was.”

  The Major yawned. “You sensed it.”

  “I did. I was at a family dinner with my parents. After dinner, my nephew started channel-surfing. I saw the picture of the missing girl. And then I just knew where she was.”

  “Did you really?” the Major asked in dead seriousness.

  He sounded so sincere that I would have believed him had I not seen his stats. His Deception skill was maxed out all the way up to “Divine”.