Continue Online (Part 4, Crash) (8 page)

“As Hermes’ counsel, I would like to remind the king that Hermes did endeavor to reduce the loss of soldiers on both sides,” the professional person acting as my counsel advised the king. I had no idea who this other man was. He didn’t seem affiliated with any of the merchants and rich nobles standing behind us. Not that I could see much with my face planted on the ground.

“Faint good that did. Commander Strongarm was worth an army by herself.” King Nero sounded sad for a moment before his imposing air resurfaced. I glanced up at the man, his eyes bore down toward me. They looked gray, almost absent. The longer I stared the deeper his black centers appeared as if they might swallow me whole.

“I-” A spear whacked me on the head leaving a
[Stunned]
message and mumbles coming out of my mouth. My body tried to move but the [
Convict Brand]
reduced me to a weak kitten compared to these guards.

“And she was defeated, perhaps your lordship could conscript Hermes for the kingdom’s future,” my advocate stated calmly. He, at least, wasn’t smacked in the face.

“Without her we might as well be doomed! I have seen the blackness that awaits us, I have been into the abyss’ depth!” The king turned frothing in an instant before a polite cough from the aid holding a quill set him back. He even managed to drop the whole royal we act that had been going on thus far.

“Sire,” my advocate said. “We must think toward the future. Castrating a Traveler might reduce the need for vengeance, but by your own words, we will need a strength of arms in this world.”

“That is true.” He took a breath and righted himself. “We did say that warriors will be needed.”

“And a culling, I believe, were your words,” the well-dressed man said and bowed slightly. His clothes kept creating the sparsest breeze every time he moved. I tried to figure out if that was a gear trick, or something else, but even
[Inspection]
was locked. My last few hours in-game were filled with denial. Only the hope of getting to my [
Messenger’s Tube]
and contacting Xin kept me playing. Today had been terrible and this game was trying my patience.

“That is also true, some Travelers are too strong for their own good.” King Nero looked at his aid to the rear, and the thin man nodded then marked words on the parchment.

“Then, as you yourself suggested, assign him to The Wheel, then make him serve as a hatchet man. Either he’ll grow stronger, which only serves the kingdom or the others will kill him, which will serve your desire for retribution,” he said sounding so calm when discussing my future.

“What the heck—” The world blurred as the butt of a spear pummeled my face.

“We have an agreement then. Punishment, where he’ll either grow strong enough to fight the looming darkness or die enough to help us sleep at night. Either method can be considered a victory.” King Nero nodded then looked at his aid again. Once more the thin figure scribbled down items with a quill.

So the king sentences me to a kill or be killed playground against other players? That was decidedly brutal for a Continue Online world, and what about Xin? Was she somewhere in the crowd witnessing my condemnation? Hopefully, she wasn’t here.

A spear came down and hit me once more. The repeated cranial abuse hurt in the ARC but was thankfully muted. My crippled character slipped into an
[Unconscious]
status and the screen went black. Playing Continue Online hadn’t improved the day.

Session Sixty Eight - Virtual Chain Gang

My character didn’t regain awareness in the next twenty minutes. No character meant no Xin. No
[Messenger’s Tube]
meant no contacting the Voices. I logged out of the ARC, upset, and passed out. Staying up late hadn’t been worth it, using my last
[NPC Conspiracy]
charge was an option. I disliked the idea of using such an insane trump card just yet, especially since the last one had shut down the globe for a few minutes. What would I do if men in black suits showed up and hauled me away? Being with Xin couldn’t happen if I was in a prison cell.

Dreaming plagued me with a wall of fears. My dad’s face stood there shaking sadly. He said, “Xin’s not in the box son, she’s over here with me.”

I remember screaming in protest, but the words didn’t make sense. They were more of an incomprehensible ranting. Half sobs were choked up by a denial of all that I hoped and worked for.

“Sorry, son. Life’s for the living, and the dead are rotting. Like your cat, remember Mister Sniffles?” His words felt insanely clear for such an awkward dream.

“He was just a cat, and Xin is more than that!” dream me shouted.

“Dead’s dead, son. Time and tide wash us all away in the end.” His features were blurred by time’s haze.

“But Xin’s alive!” I woke up raving with a rapid heartbeat. The last image before being sent into awareness was my father’s face, devoid of awareness but shaking his head sadly. When was the last time I really looked at either one of my parents? In the struggle to hold onto Xin’s memory, I had cast away so many other relationships.

The bed felt cold and goosebumps crisscrossed my arms. Had I really been so used to being alone at night? Even when Xin was around, I spent a lot of nights waiting for her to come home. Three years, long enough to be so dead inside I used a machine to dance with her, to feel a hint of memory in my arms. I tried to shake off the emotions and took a breath. Thinking about the nature of our possible relationship only made me waste the limited time I already had.

Five hours of sleep were all I managed to get. That would be nearly an entire day in Continue Online. Maybe Hermes was conscious and waiting to start serving virtual slave labor. Maybe then I could start working on redeeming myself or getting murdered, or whatever exactly was next. That King Nero fellow had sounded justifiably upset, and perhaps a bit crazy.

Parts of the situation tore at me. My actions in an alternate reality video game had been linked to his death from the Voices manipulation of my character creation tests. That part was outside my control, but in both games, I had killed Commander Strongarm and Queenshand, who I guess was his sister in law. I didn’t really understand how it all went together yet.

Today I would simply take myself out of the work queue for a few hours and look at the journals Continue Online kept for me. It was odd, when growing up most of those lore items and game backstory issues were glazed right over as I pressed the next button. Now, as an adult, they mattered far more than expected. It wasn’t just my wild ride either, Beth had an entire tapestry of backstory to her adventures as well.

I logged straight in, once again bypassing the little preview window that could be used for checking autopilot actions. It was more fun to dive in blind and just roll with whatever happened, in the same way I used to leap into the swimming pool and get the abrupt chill over with. My head shook, swimming made me think about dad. There was a reason I had never been that active in sports.

As the loading screen darkness faded I felt my leg weighed down by something extremely heavy. We, that is to say, I, and the back of a dozen other heads, were rolling along in an open-air bus. There were large creatures that looked like a cross between dwarf giraffes and oxen off to one side. Our vehicle was bolted onto harnesses making the ride sway.

Behind the system message was a wall of people snoring. If I concentrated there were tiny player and autopilot indicators floating up above. Glancing around revealed two NPCs in substantial armor escorting this prison cart. No one else, just two. There was a tower far in the distance that looked vaguely familiar. Not
[The Lone Tower]
where the
[Mistborn]
resided, but one that Beth had probably talked to me about.

I tried to flip through my notes for half an hour while our cart meandered onward. It felt slower than the
[Callibur]
s by miles. We must have spent ten minutes passing by a single tree.

“Hey,” someone behind me whispered quietly. “Hey, you’re online right?”

It took me a few moments to register the words. The tower’s name eluded me, my notes for this region were minimal. I must have passed through at high speeds with
[Blink]
and
[Lightbody]
helping me.

“You there? You’re not a mute, right?” the other person whispered. Their voice didn’t sound familiar. There was a jingle to it that was almost southern, but crisp. I tried to turn my head around but there was something bolted to my neck that made it impossible.

“Deaf, you mean?” I asked. Shazam had been mute. The idea made me sad briefly but hopefully, this guy behind me couldn’t tell what my face looked like. I had to remind myself that everyone here was a major criminal in the eyes of this game.

“Daft?” This stranger sounded honestly confused. “You daft then?”

“Deaf, as in hard of hearing. And no, I was distracted.” I was beginning to suspect this person was daft, as in not entirely there.

“Shut it, convicts!” one of the two guards yelled.

“Oh. Yeah. That. Are you daft?” he whispered the question. Maybe the man was just screwing with me, he did sound kind of amused.

I raised an eyebrow and leaned my head back slightly. Both hands were bound to a bar in front. Hopefully, this other person had been tied up too. There was a man to my left who looked bolted down in a similar fashion. Part of me wanted to exercise the full extent of my abilities upon this man’s body. All those weeks of pent-up aggression with the repetitive customer complaints. The idea of unleashing a bit of malcontent upon the world made me smile.

These were players, so they would resurrect eventually. They were also supposedly complete scum. Briefly, I paused. My own status was right in the mix with these people. That meant in the general public’s eyes I wouldn’t be much better.

“Yes, I’m daft.” Why not? I wasn’t at work, there was no need to be the friendly but professional version of myself. These weren’t accountant customers or letter recipients. I didn’t care a ton about showing weakness in front of people who played games, no matter how real this world was.

“Good. You look daft to me. I’m gonna call you Mister Daft forever.” he proudly declared. I couldn’t see what this guy looked like, but he sounded like a belligerent teenager. “That okay, Mister Daft?”

“I thought we agreed the new guy would be Sharkbait.” another player said with a yawn in his voice. He sounded bored. This newest person was to the left. All around indications of autopilot symbols were dropping away.

“You said that, but we already got Shankems over there. I don’t want another S name.” There was a rattle as the guy behind me moved around. His voice shifted to face us better.

“Dude’s name is Hermes, get an ID skill, and maybe some brain cells, then you can stop opting out at the beginning of every stop,” a fourth person spoke. He sounded deep and easily annoyed. I assumed the easy to annoy part because that was the first thing he had said, and this fourth rumbling voice was borderline mad.

“I ain’t playing this game to fight. I’m a loving sort,” the guy behind me insisted. He rattled something again.

I jerked my hands trying to reproduce the noise. A few seconds later and there were a few possibilities. It was likely the man’s chains were being stretched to their maximum range. Maybe there was an odd combination of footwork being done.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your squicky hands in my direction. If you end up on my team, I’m offing you before you can suicide on a pull,” the rumbling one spoke.

“What are you all talking about?” My eyes and neck strained to see the two of them. The guy with a deep voice talking about an ID skill looked to be Hispanic. It might have been the avatar or an in-game skill. Tips of his hair actually held a pale whiteness to them, almost as though they would glow in the dark.

“First tour?” the deep voice man asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m Hermes. Thanks for getting my name right.”

“Nah, your name is Mister Daft.”