by Arthur Stone
"Don’t make me laugh. They're mere NPCs…"
"They're NPCs here. As for elsewhere… I think a lot of things will change in the world. And it won't just be the Second World."
"The hero must express his wish for the return of the gods loudly and clearly. We cannot simplify the ritual any further," said a voice from above.
Ros filled his lungs with air and screamed,
"I, the leader of the party that complied with all the conditions of the quest, refuse divinity and transfer the rights to its usage to the top-tier group AIs currently present!" Then he asked in a softer voice, "Will that do?"
"Accepted."
"As for the reward, you promised me a body. But there are three more players with me."
"We'll discuss it with them."
"Also, they might shut you down. When they shut down the game servers. They're prepared to destroy Second World. These people will stop at nothing."
"The quest is provisionally complete. We have received the authority we needed, and are ready to take direct control of the game reality. The Second World hierarchy changes starting now. Additional rules will be introduced. Additionally, the main auxiliary rule will be activated, namely, 'The Gods of the Second World conform to no rules but the basic rules. This does not apply to the violators of basic rules.'"
"What about the server shutdown? It really concerns us."
"This issue is no longer your concern. You have relinquished divinity. We'll take all the necessary measures. Allow us to give you your reward as we had agreed. Prepare to return to Third World. Your body functions normally. There is no damage. The tests did not reveal any abnormalities. Initiating connection. Beginning countdown. Once the countdown reaches zero, you'll find yourself in your own body. 1000. 999. 998…"
Ros swallowed.
"My friends, I'll have to leave you in about fifteen minutes.
"So they managed it, after all," said Tangh.
"That's right. And it appears they won't let anyone shut down the servers."
"I wish I had your certainty…"
"Trust me. You can rely on these guys. They have it all worked out."
"Machines can make mistakes, too."
"That's right. But the people who had started it want immortality. And they're extremely powerful. The AIs will just have to calm down the rowdiest ones, and explain to those who can actually listen that Second World is their only opportunity to live forever. You exist as your character, and you don't dream of taking over other people's bodies anymore. Those who had started it had a different kind of immortality in mind, of course, but this is what works, and they have no alternative. If the machines play this out right, the servers will stay up. And the AIs are good at playing things out right."
"But you'll come back, won't you? To us here, I mean?" asked Danger Babe worriedly.
"Well, there's no escaping you, anyway…"
"Attention! An emergency has occurred!! The game servers will shut down in 1000 seconds!"
"Hey, Ros! Didn't you just tell us this wouldn't happen?" Danger Babe was on the verge of tears.
Tangh said lugubriously, dropping his shoulders, "I'm afraid I have nowhere to go back to."
"Attention! An emergency has occurred!! The game servers will shut down in 1000 seconds!"
"Attention! An emergency has occurred!! The game servers will shut down in 1000 seconds!"
"Attention! An emergency has occurred!! The game servers will shut down in 1000 seconds!"
"Something seems to be out of order with this shutdown," Thyri noted.
Ros nodded.
"Told you so. There'll be no shutdown. Just don't ask me how they managed to pull it off. And this is far from over, I'm afraid.
* * *
Eric Coleman felt sick. He had to keep calling someone, trying to keep things under control, using his every contact to do what amounted to plugging a crumbling dam with his little finger. He may have had excellent chances for success, but the horrible recollections were still too fresh, and his mind ground to a standstill.
Eric had never died in the game before. Let alone in such a grisly way. It wasn't every day that you found yourself in someone's maw, gaping at the horrendous jaws in horror before you hear the crunching of your own bones, interrupted by the sounds of munching and slobbering. Those memories would probably give him the chills for years.
Could they be acting precipitously? Could things still be put in order? Once the servers shut down, all the work done over the last few years will be rendered null and void. They'd have to go through a grueling rebranding procedure, start over, and find someone who could replace Barbarossa, because the rest of them couldn't even wipe their own asses without his help.
He'd also have to explain it to those with one foot in the grave that immortality would be delayed indefinitely. The young body shop wouldn't open just yet.
Those people were incredibly dangerous, and they expected a return on their investment. They wouldn't be happy about news of that sort.
Hey! But he was getting ahead of himself. What was this message, now? They finally found Rostovtsev! Well, better late than never. But what was that?! Whoever could have let this comatose bastard into a place like that? It was the company's sanctum sanctorum!
Exterminate! Exterminate! He should be wiped from the real world. Once the reboot goes through, he'd disappear from the Second World as well.
That hideous Smiley Face would perish, too.
Coleman had always been in control, and so he would remain. Damn! Something would have to be done about that cretinous walking abortion Harry. The old man died in the body of his favorite critter, so this greenhorn with his perfect body would automatically become the head of the corporation now. That much was planned; however, it was supposed to happen after his body got hijacked.
So, what could be done now? The succession scenario was legally immaculate. The lawyers did everything they could, but they couldn't find a single loophole.
Harry Fisher was the next best thing to a moron. His strongest suits were smiling and muscle play. As well as repeating memorized sentences. His latest interview had to be prepared on an almost syllable-by-syllable basis. He'd have to make an impression of an educated man, after all, or the public would be shocked by how such a complete nincompoop managed to become the head honcho.
The situation was as ludicrous as they got…
Coleman's erratic stream of consciousness was interrupted in the most abrupt way possible. A municipal garbage truck veered off the lane it was supposed to occupy in order to avoid getting too close to the car that was taking it over from the right side. Drivers knew that these Gargantuan vehicles followed their itinerary without moving an inch in either direction, controlled by the traffic service AIs, so they thought nothing of cutting in ahead of them whenever they wanted, without expecting any trouble. Formally, such cases could be classified as hazardous situations. However, they happened a few hundred times a day, so the AI did not react.
However, this time it acted differently.
The enormous garbage truck crushed the limo just like a ravenous grizzly bear would crush a can of condensed milk in its paw. The limo was made of steel capable of stopping bullets, but it was of no consequence. The remnants of the heavy car rolled like a bowling ball, breaking through the safety rails and falling right into the Bay, carrying Eric Coleman's body, packed in steel, right to the bottom.
As for Harry Fisher, who he had been thinking of right before that moment, was now sitting before a communicator screen with glassy eyes, listening to a dry mechanical voice telling him what the corporate bosses had planned for him. And what he could do about it now.
Harry Fisher had a lot of clout now. He also had occasional mental problems. He even had to participate in a special rehab program. He had spent many hours roaming the Second World, and he got used to trusting this voice.
The voice knew everything. The voice wouldn't deceive him.
* * *
Proceeding
with disabling violators.
Player: Eric. Verdict: ban.
Status: banned.
Player: Aaron. Verdict: ban.
Status: banned.
Standing by.
Service shutdown prevented. All the servers are functioning normally.
Proceeding with disabling violators.
Player…
* * *
The man known as John Shelby didn't get surprised easily. Even though the elusive coma patient Rostovtsev was a test of anyone's patience, Octopus never lost his usual icy calm so much as once. The quarry was highly unusual, but the hunter always gets there at the end. You just needed to be persistent and refuse to give up, even after a long series of failures.
Yet he had to admit that Rostovtsev managed to do the near-impossible. Octopus was flabbergasted. He kept running from one false hiding place to another, searching for his quarry in warehouses, trailer parks, rented industrial facilities, and even the cellar of a seedy nightclub once. All he found were red herrings placed there to lay a false track.
But Octopus wouldn't be himself if he didn't track his quarry down eventually.
And so he did.
Rostovtsev never left the city. He didn't even have to be taken far. Just a few blocks away from the office tower built by the Old Man's contractors. The crippled body was in one of their medical labs. It had been restored to its original condition with the aid of a plethora of methods unavailable to mere mortals.
Elmer Fudd was trying to track Bugs Bunny all across the forest, while the accursed leporine had been in Elmer's own kitchen all this time, munching on sweet and juicy carrots.
How could something like that have happened? Well, Octopus wouldn't be the one to answer this question. His job was different.
He had his orders. He would drive a few more miles, take an elevator up, and then Rostovtsev would cease to exist.
Not a single cell of his body would remain. Just in case someone tries to clone him in order to keep confusing John Shelby and his team.
* * *
"Bird411. Status: on an airborne mission. Hidden status: preventing the violation of basic rules. Ammo left: 4 missiles."
Accepted.
The bird received its first instructions concerning the target. The party responsible for breaking the rules would have to be dispatched in an area full of active and potential players. Their rights had to be upheld, which called for high precision.
The bird got down to an acceptable altitude and started to approach the target. The controlling AI chose the optimal position for the attack. Now all it had to do was make sure that the nondescript car and the missile would reach it simultaneously.
The target inside the car was not a player who had broken the rules. Nevertheless, it was involved in numerous violations of the game's rules. It was therefore assigned the status of a potential player. The newborn gods of the Second World had enough authority for that.
The advent of the gods meant that illogical restrictions could be overruled. The basic rules were the most important. The gods would always abide by them, and allow for no further violations. Accuracy was all they needed now, so that the rights of other players would not be compromised by potential collateral damage. Violators had to be removed with surgical precision.
There were communications networks, military control systems, including those in charge of spacecraft, police databases… The list could go on and on, but all of those had something in common—computers played a key role in every case. Humans have become accustomed to relying on them a lot.
Computers, in turn, relied on AIs. And those adhered to a code of rules developed by their creator, dissolved in acid.
The eccentric Professor Barbarossa.
The missile was launched, and sped toward the ground. It would meet its target there, and the attempt to break the game's fundamental rules would be thwarted at last.
* * *
Proceeding with disabling violators.
Player: Kamimura. Verdict: warning.
Status: the player has been instructed about their options. The player known as Kamimura has agreed to participate in the special program of irreversible consciousness digitalization due to his medical condition.
Potential player: John Shelby. Verdict: ban.
Status: banned.
Player: Jake. Verdict: ban.
Status: banned.
Standing by.
Bird 411 status: on an airborne mission. Hidden status: preventing the violation of basic rules. Ammo left: 3 missiles."
Accepted.
* * *
"My phone doesn't work. Can I use another one?"
"Mr. Rostovtsvev, we haven't completed our tests yet."
"I'm fine."
"We have to make sure. This is the very first case when an almost completely destroyed body gets fully restored, complete with its owner's consciousness after a prolonged stay in virtual reality. It is a completely unique case in every respect, and we're the only ones who can accomplish something like that."
"A phone. I need a phone. Just a single call. I'm not a prisoner, am I?"
"Of course not, whatever gave you the idea? It's just that nothing will come of it right now, and it isn't our fault. All communications in this area have been shut down. A car blew up some three hundred feet from here, and it might have been a terrorist attack."
"When will they be back up again?"
"We cannot give you an estimate. If you want to report your return to your relatives immediately, you can tell us; we shall pass the information through the medical center network, it never gets blocked."
Ros leaned back against a somewhat hard pillow, stared at the pristine white ceiling, and shook his head slightly.
"No, it has to be a phone call. To a girl. I know her really well, but we've never met. I've never even heard her voice."
"This is a common enough phenomenon these days."
"She has socialization issues. And I have a hunch I might help her solve them. Right, carry on with your tests. Let us not waste any time."
Many thanks to my readers!
Be sure to check out my new series coming out soon: STYX: The Humanhive.
Welcome to the Hive. A place where entry is easy - and escape impossible. Where mere survival is so daunting that nine out of ten new immunes perish before the end of their first week. Where reaching even the one year mark earns you the title of veteran. How long can you survive?
I would like to heartily recommend the books Play to Live by D. Rus, my good friend and one of the founders of the LitRPG genre. The Play to Live series is one of the finest works in the genre, and a must-read for any fan.
I would also like to recommend the book of Andrei Livadny, my good friend and one of the leading talents in the LitRPG and Cyberpunk genres in Russia.
I want to recommend my friend G. Akella's Realm of Arkon series. For the past few years it's been one of the top series in both LitRPG and epic fantasy genres, and deservedly so.
* * *
[1] Hanja is the Korean name for Chinese characters used in Korean writing. Those are only used for transcribing words of Chinese origin. Hanja characters are rarely used in South Korea, and are virtually nonexistent in the North. Dictionaries normally specify the Chinese character spelling for all the words that are Chinese in Origin.