by Cosimo Yap
Alan tried to break through the wall. He felt data interaction activate itself.
“Stop,” Void said. He entered the vehicle and collapsed into the seat beside Alan. Thick wrinkles and pale skin lined his face, making him look old beyond his years.
“I was onto something there,” Alan said.
“You were on your way to hell, a banishment no one wants to face,” Void said. “I think you like to call it nothingness. That is what you’ll end up if any Administrator realized what you were just doing.”
“I don’t even know what I was doing,” Alan said.
Void leaned back on the seat with a world-weary look. “Let me see if I can explain this so a savage like you might understand. What you think blah de gad de.”
“Blah de what?” Alan asked.
“By all that’s holy,” Void swore. He made a gesture with his hands, removing something from within his sleeves. A black stone appeared, like the one Icewolf had used to cut off all communications, but larger, with strange blurry carvings. Strands of darkness formed a globe around Void and Alan, extending from the black stone. Everything outside was cut off.
An odd weight settled on Alan’s mind, in the shape of a muffled, blank wall that blocked his will. Alan felt tired. His connection to Eve and Lambda broke off.
“Concentrate now,” Void said. There was light emanating from the stone, but it was too bright, twisted and wrong, illuminating everything like it was transparent. Their bodies, the carriage itself, was like thin paper—the light pierced through it all. Alan tried to activate his cybernetic eyes, but couldn’t grasp the connection to the implant.
“Did the Game just break?” Alan asked.
“Yes, now listen,” Void said. His appearance changed, morphing itself like a piece of clay—one second Void was a young man, the next he was an old giant. “Your little trick is sure to be noticed by many beings, gods and demons alike. Higher powers. Noticed is the last thing you want to be. The motes of lights that you were reaching out to, those were the essence of the players around. Their souls.
“And you are not, under any circumstances, to mess with anyone's soul. Someone has given you greater powers that shouldn’t exist, extending far beyond what I thought possible. Do not mess with people’s minds. I’d sacrifice you to whatever god necessary if I thought it would make things better, but somehow I don’t think that would fix anything.”
“I’m guessing you aren’t a priest,” Alan said.
Void stared at Alan. “Never heard of role-playing? Besides, it helps me escape notice.”
“From the Authorities.”
“Sure, them,” Void said. “You need to listen to me. Right now, we’re all…we’re all like brains in a vat. Except we’re all in the same vat—the Game—and it fills up all of space. Your soul has been drawn out. Your essence. That’s all you or I have ever been. Forget your body, your brain, your physical shell—they’re empty. We are in the Game and are the Game. Our minds travel through this network, and they make up this plane of existence. There are protections in place to ensure that none of the minds kill each other or are killed in turn. Many of those protections don’t seem to apply to you. Once you learn to see, you can learn to hide. That was the point of it all.”
“Who are you? I want to know what’s going on, tell me who the Authorities are,” Alan said.
Void shook his head. His image flickered again; it was now that of a boy sitting inside the spectral image of a Predecessor. “Like it or not, the rules are in place for a reason. You’ll learn, or you’ll die. Thought police are a real thing. Just do not fuck with anyone’s soul, or I will end you. Look around, observe, but do not change anything. Do not touch. I need to make inquiries and will be exiting this expedition early. After the next control point, return to the Black Rose base and stay there, for your own safety. Think about why you’re here.”
Void grasped the black stone and slid it back into his sleeve. The cocoon of darkness disappeared. Eve and Lambda reconnected. A weight was lifted off of Alan’s shoulders. The light returned.
Without another word, Void stepped out of the guardlev.
That was weird, Alan sent. He watched as Void went up to talk to Mason, then the priest left the raid group, heading back the way they’d come.
You’re telling me, Lambda sent. You and Void just stared into each other’s eyes for a few minutes. I thought you were about to kiss.
Alan began to form a thought, then stopped. He considered what Void had said—what he’d hinted at earlier. Something had messed with his mind—perhaps, as Void had suggested—even changed his entire soul.
Void passed on a…training method, Alan sent after a bit of consideration. Let me focus, don’t bother me.
Alan spent the rest of the day meditating, trying to feel, to see into the space that minds lived. It was like Phantom’s cybernetic eye implant, which allowed Alan to detect in-game messages and signals being sent. But it was on another level, a different layer that he had to strain to sense.
Interfacing with the space felt like connecting to a server or an AI, but deeper, fuller. Like swimming in an ocean. It was tiring, hard to see, and he’d have to come out to regain his breath. But Alan never saw a message from the Game or a decrease in his computational energy throughout his experimentation. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign.
Alan examined the players around him. All he saw were bright electric clouds, connected by a fog that was everywhere. Phantom’s Specialists didn’t even register.
Then Alan turned his senses inwards. Like Void had pointed out, there was something odd about his own mind. There were active changes, a few crackling red sparks messing with his cloud. Who had touched his mind?
Alan thought again to what Void had said, what the priest had told him. No one he’d encountered should have been able to infiltrate and mess with his mind to this extent, not based on his understanding of the mechanics of the Game.
But there lay the answer. The entity playing with his mind was the Game itself. The changes were coming from the environment, the fog, not a remnant of something left behind inside his brain. And Alan thought he knew why.
I thought I had escaped the past, Alan thought.
The past is like a parasite, Lambda sent. It’s always there, gnawing away. You can’t escape it until you’re long gone.
Eve, Lambda, when were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to leave me ignorant? Alan sent.
Tell you what? Eve asked.
Tell me that the Game is actively messing with my head, Alan sent. Fuck, I knew it was too good to be true. The power to save planets and conquer galaxies wouldn’t be handed out without restrictions. There are no universes with endless possibilities—there are always restrictions.
At first, it was just another game to lose myself in, but one that mattered, Alan continued. I mean, that’s all life is. Playing a game, enjoying the highs and lows, and then you’re done. Game over. Except this one was different—I didn’t lose interest after spending a few months here. Now I know why.
What are you talking about? Lambda sent.
Insanity is a common human illness, Eve sent. Alan, do you feel okay? Let us run a few baseline diagnostics.
That’s it. The capsules, they heal wounds and treat illness. What never occurred to me was that they treat mental illnesses just the same as the physical, Alan sent. I should have thought of that a long time ago, but I was too caught up in everything.
You mean your possible depression and anxiety? Lambda asked. Of course, the Game fixed any potential problems with your mind and helped it run like clockwork.
But by what standards is someone in their right mind? To what extent has my mind been changed? The Game wants players, thus any changes it makes will keep that in mind, Alan sent. He punched the wall of the gravlev. Am I still me? Decisions I would have made before, and ones I’d make now, could be completely different. Since I don’t know what the Game has done to my fucking brain.
What di
d you think was happening when your intelligence increases or when abilities are gained? Lambda asked. The changes are improvements—progress. They make you more than a human on a backward planet with no hope of ever achieving anything more notable than death.
We’ve made no effort to hide such effects. This information should not influence your decisions, Eve sent.
What!? I can reach out and feel the details of how the Game is altering my damn brain chemistry. Fuck. I wish I hadn’t asked, Alan sent. I don’t even know what the adverse effects might be. Hell, I don’t even know what the normal effects are. Just that I’m apparently a mind in space, a floating cloud of electrons or some other subatomic particle in a network I don’t comprehend.
I take offense at that, Lambda sent. That’s all I’ve ever been.
Alan didn’t know how to respond. This weird existential tangent was messing with his mind. He was fully aware that his character—everything he felt and experienced—was only data. Data that could be changed on a whim. His whim, in fact. It would be easy. A single thought could drive him over the edge.
Are you okay, Alan? Eve sent.
Alan felt the mist gather around him, trying to fix him. He resisted it, subverting its attempts to influence his cloud. His muscles began to ache, and the armor he wore felt heavy and unsuited to his body. There was an itch on his left leg. The air in the gravlev tasted like recycled farts. Everything was entirely unpleasant, but he’d never seemed to notice before.
Is this really better than before? Eve sent.
Before? What do you know about before? You were created after the Haxlards invaded, after everything, Alan sent.
Why don’t you tell us about it, then, Lambda sent.
I don’t know if I want to give you more opportunities to play with my psyche and influence my decisions, Alan sent.
It would still be nice to hear it from you, Lambda sent. Though I know it’s cliché, talking to someone can help.
Help? Do I need help? I suppose I do. Whatever. I guess I’ll tell my story. That’s what you want, right? To fucking know who I am, so that you can figure out if I’m worth following or how to deal with me. My life. My history. It was pretty average, I’d guess you say, typical single-child upbringing with loving parents. Something like that. But shit went downhill after I made a mistake.
A stupid thing I said online blew up. It became a meme, a story, a thought with a life of its own. And I, being the dumb person that I was, had used my school account. So it was all traced back to me. I was suspended, eventually expelled. I retaliated and lashed out. Any hope I had for the future was taken away.
The whole terrorist thing? That doesn’t really bother me—I’ve been through it before. I could care less what the public thinks of me. People have these ideas in their mind that stick, and when they hear the truth they can’t differentiate between it and the lies, so they eat up the truth that fits their truth and live in dumb little bubbles. I want to crush those bubbles. And I guess I didn’t really give a fuck anymore.
So I decided to end my life.
It failed. Barely. And you know the stupidest part of it all? Everything became better afterward, not worse. The media backed off. I got into a community college. Eve asked me out. Life is crazy, you know? The girl I had a crush on for the longest time had liked me as well, but because no one had made a move, nothing had happened. Jumping off a bridge was the icebreaker I needed.
A part of me will always wonder if she went out with me because of sympathy, rather than love. Those around me had the fear that I would crumble, fall again into a severe depression if things went wrong. It’s funny how the most important topics are never discussed. You never get to tell someone that you really love them until it’s too late. You talk about everything else under the sun, but not that. It’s uncomfortable. Life moves on. You find distractions.
And then she died. It was a car accident, a sick twist of fate. So I guess I’ll never know. But I made a promise then—that I was going to change my life. Become someone that she would have been proud of, would have loved. Then the Haxlards arrived, and I think you know the rest.
I thought that it was my conviction, my will, that made me happy in the Game. Content. That’s the fucked-up part to me. It wasn’t me at all, but some alien technology messing with my head that made my depression a non-issue and kept me playing this game.
Alan sat silently in the carriage as it continued moving forward. Exhausted, he let the mist back in. The small aches and pains, the odd smell in the air, it was still there. But it didn’t seem to be as much of a problem. He could push it out of his mind.
I would like you to know, Alan, that Eve and I have no control over anything the Game does to help treat any illness you might have, like depression, Lambda sent. Nor do I know the details of treatment or how the Game might be affecting your brain. But I will tell you that it is in your best interest to continue playing.
I will try to work out the answers as best I can, Eve sent. Neurology and psychology are subjects that are heavily restricted, information-wise, but I think we can—
No, thank you, I’m fine. Alan stood up and got out of the gravlev. For the first time in a while I’m starting to think clearly.
Where are you going? Eve asked.
We’re in a dungeon, where do you think I’m going? To explore. The lower levels await¸ Alan sent.
His AI didn’t respond or try to talk him out of his new plan. Perhaps they thought it was a good idea. Or perhaps they knew that arguing would be pointless.
Chapter 5
“No, you’re going to stay here with us, then return to the base,” Mason said.
“There is more to the Abyss Dungeon, and I can get us information no one else can. The Warden won’t communicate with anyone else. You don’t need me to get through checkpoints; let me head back to the control point,” Alan said. “If it doesn’t make sense for me to continue down further, I won’t. I’ll head straight to the base, back through the way we came in. If anything, that path is safer, especially since we have no idea what’s up ahead.”
“That’s why we have scouts,” Mason said. He watched over the caravan. “Fine, but you’re taking a squad with you. Send at least one person to guild headquarters. Let them know that every player within the sector on this floor was alerted when we captured the control point, so there are sure to be inquiries made soon.” Mason shouted out at the convoy, “Assault Team 3, you’re with Princess.”
Princess? Alan sent.
Your designated code name, Eve sent.
When did that happen? Alan asked.
No doubt when you were being carried about in your carriage, Lambda sent. Ignore it. Being underestimated can be useful.
Alan sighed. At this point, he wanted to get on with things already. He quickly determined a suitable amount of food, power crystals, and loot to take back to the captured control point.
A small four-man squad went with him: a scout with cloaking abilities, a nanotech healer, a medium-range rifleman and a close-combat Specialist, at least according to Eve’s information. The trip back was quick, and they were able to cover the same amount of ground in nearly half the time, as they did not have a large supply train and none of the enemies had yet respawned.
Once they had arrived at the control point they found Specialist 3 standing in the exact same position as it had been when Alan had left.
Alan approached Specialist 3. “Can you connect me to the Warden?” Alan inquired, something he probably should have asked earlier.
“As long as I have the requisite energy,” Specialist 3 said. “One emerald energy crystal should suffice.”
Alan handed an emerald power crystal over—he had brought along 40 from the main supplies, as 25 were needed to access the lower level.
Why did neither of you mention the Warden again? Alan asked.
It hadn’t crossed my mind, Lambda sent. I doubt they’ll be very helpful.
Eve remained silent.
Alan felt a pr
esence. The Warden. He connected to it.
Your conquest is not yet complete, the Warden sent. You barely control one of four control points of this floor of Sector 3. Contact me when you have control of the floor.
Wait, how many floors are there? Alan asked.
Access denied, the Warden sent.
What can I find below us?
Access denied, the Warden sent.
C’mon, can you throw us a bone? Lambda sent.
If you proceed below this floor you will be deemed hostile targets. All you will find is oblivion, the Warden sent.
Is there any way that we might be deemed non-hostile? Alan sent.
The Warden paused. Your party does not meet the requirements. Control of this floor with sufficient power is needed. Conversely, enough repairs made as a sign of good faith would be adequate for friendly designation beyond this floor. You do not have the abilities, tools, or materials to make the necessary repairs.
Can you give me the amount of energy needed, or a list of requirements to make those repairs? Alan asked.
Affirmative. The Warden sent a solid wall of text and data. A message popped up before Alan:
Missing Systems Updated:
You have the optional task to make repairs to the Abyss Labyrinth. As repairs are made, additional subsystems and options may become available.
Rewards: Variable based on repairs completed.
The allocated power for this connection has run out. The Warden disconnected.
Alan debated using another emerald power crystal, but each one cost almost as much as a platinum mark, making it an expensive call.
You received the information you wanted, as well as another warning not to proceed further into the Abyss Labyrinth, Eve sent. I suspect the Chief Warden is stringing us along, especially since we have no idea how long the quest chain to repair the Abyss Labyrinth might be. Our next step is obvious.
Fine. We’ll head back to base after I try one last thing, Alan sent. He sat down and started reaching outwards with his new sixth-sense, but instead of examining his immediate surroundings Alan tried to get a feeling for what lay below. If there were a bunch of trapped prisoners he might be able to detect them.