“That was me,” Gary said cautiously. “Who might you be?”
Zane drew himself up tall, though the unkempt scruff of beard prevented any chance of dignity in his appearance. “I am Aster Hellcrack, a scholar of many subjects, music not the least among them.”
d20: 6 + (Perception +4) + (Trying to Be Overheard +6) = 16
Zeeto snickered. “Ass Crack.”
Zane winked at the halfling. “I grew up, you know. Didn’t take the lads long to come up with that one. Well played, my seven-year-old chum.”
“Won’t you come in?” Gary said.
As Zane stepped inside, he locked gazes with Gary and held the look. “Delighted to,” he replied warily. “But I must say, you do remind me of someone. Have we met before?”
“Possibly,” Gary replied, equally cautious, like a pair of prize fighters circling one another at the center of the ring. “Any recollection of where, maybe?”
“You know this quill-wielder, Gary?” Zeeto asked, not letting Zane out of his sight.
“I believe we shared a common interest or two back in… Palo Alto.”
Gary grabbed Zane by the arm and towed him toward the kitchen. “We need to talk. In private. Beldrak, mind babysitting the—”
Beldrak already had a firm grip on Zeeto’s shoulder. “Indeed, I shall.”
“Thanks,” Gary called back. He dragged Zane through the kitchen and into the butler’s pantry, slamming the door shut behind them.
This could finally be the break he needed. Someone else remembered the real world.
61
Zane looked Gary over appraisingly. “I see you’ve gone native.”
“Zane,” Gary said, looking up with his eyes shut and squeezing his fists. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Just to be clear, you know who I am, and—more importantly—who you are?” Zane asked, holding up his hands to forestall over-exuberance.
“I knew your name was Zane, didn’t I, Aster?” Gary asked.
Holding up a finger to acknowledge, Zane gave a nod. “Fair point. Fair point. But on the off chance you’ve come by that name through other means, tell me something only the real Gary Burns would know.”
Gary rolled his eyes. “You worked at MatchRoomie until your company went public, and you made out like a bandit on the IPO. Now you spend your days playing MMOs and day-trading.”
Zane’s eyes went wide, and a look of wonderment spread over his face. He placed a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “Good gods. You really are from another world. My master was right again, as usual.”
“Your—?”
“Althius, Duke of Abrax,” Zane said hurriedly, reaching into his satchel. “He’s so been looking forward to the mysterious man from beyond the multiverse.” Zane drew out a short crystalline rod and snapped it in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Gary screamed.
But before Zane could answer, the two of them vanished.
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About the Author
Xavier P. Hunter was born at the dawn of the video game age. He grew up with a game controller in his hand, moving from Atari joystick through PS4 controller the way a hermit crab outgrows its shell. His little league was RBI Baseball, his first date was Princess Zelda, and his first unpaid internship was leading raids in World of Warcraft. He lives in a world of pixels and frame rates, coming out infrequently to eat and that sort of thing.
Most of his writing is done while patches download or when servers are down for maintenance.
Like most superheroes, he operates in meat space under an assumed name.
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