The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2)

The Outlaw

a novel

by Andrei Livadny

Phantom Server

Book #2

Magic Dome Books

Phantom Server

Book # 2: The Outlaw

Copyright © Andrei Livadny 2016

Cover Art © Vladimir Manyukhin 2016

English translation copyright © Irene Woodhead, Neil P. Mayhew 2016

Published by Magic Dome Books, 2016

All Rights Reserved

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

Also by Andrei Livadny:

Edge of Reality (Phantom Server Book #1)

The Island of Hope

Other LitRPG books by this and other authors:

Edge of Reality (Phantom Server Book #1)

by Andrei Livadny

Survival Quest (The Way of the Shaman Book #1)

by Vasily Mahanenko

The Kartoss Gambit (The Way of the Shaman Book #2)

By Vasily Mahanenko

Start the Game (Galactogon Book #1)

by Vasily Mahanenko

The Lag (The Game Master Book #1)

by Alex Bobl and Andrei Levitsky

Sector Eight (Perimeter Defense Book #1)

by Michael Atamanov

Project Daily Grind (Mirror World: Book #1)

by Alexey Osadchuk

Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

The MC's stats as of the second book's end

Also by Andrei Livadny

About the Author

More LitRPG books by this and other authors

The Darg System. The Founders' Station.

Active respawn point

T
he ragged edge of the space station's deformed deck hung over my head. I was lying on the icy floor of one of the destroyed modules. The gas giant's brown light reached through the gaps in the station's hull, diffusing in the tangled mess of bent support beams and casting its meager light on the ancient structures.

The place was at the mercy of vacuum and subzero temperatures. The visor of my helmet was raised. My lungs had just exploded with the decompression. My face was contorted in a spasm. Frozen blood clung to my lips. I shouldn't have been feeling any of this but the high levels of my cyborgization had raised me above death.

The Outlaws who'd trapped me and hacked my pressure suit had no idea that, in the brief intervals between the torturous succession of respawns, I was still capable of perceiving everything around me.
I really should learn to use this ability
, an alien thought was slowly snaking down my artificial neurons.

Stars gaped through the jagged holes in the station’s hull, their fine pattern dominated by the brown gas giant — Wearong — within its ring of satellites. Further on I could discern the pale blue and gray of planet Darg the size of a pea: the only habitable planet, populated by xenomorphs.

The asteroid belt sparkled with reflected light. Clusters of debris floated in close proximity to the station: evidence of many a space battle that had spanned millennia. In their midst drifted the Founders' gigantic ships, silent and overflowing with ancient mystery.

This was the gaming world of Phantom Server. The new-generation virtual reality based on neural network technologies.

Who was I, might you ask? And what was I doing here? How had I ended up being cybergized and why was I lying on the mangled deck of a long-abandoned space station in a pool of my own gushing blood?

My name's Zander. That's the only thing I can tell you now. The game mechanics know no mercy.

My helmet's visor went down automatically and hissed shut. A flash of emerald light burst through the gloom, breathing hot life into my frozen body, then went out.

Respawn.

I gasped for breath, tasting blood in my mouth. My teeth shattered in uncontrollable agony.

R... u... n... !

This wasn't a gaming message. The new command swam before my eyes, distorting.

Time until decompression: 55 seconds

I struggled back to my feet, busting my lungs, losing precious moments. There was nowhere to run here. I'd tried it all already. My fighter ship was docked about five hundred feet away. No way could I make it that far. Should I try to control it remotely?

Sorry. Your network connection is blocked.

Pointless. They'd trapped me in respawn purgatory, killing me time and time again hoping I'd speak.

R...u...n... !

I was alone in the vacuum. Every sixty seconds my hacked suit went into maintenance mode, decompressing.

I ran. Blindly and randomly, as hard as I could.

I ran past mauled modules and crumpled bulkheads, past deformed doors blocked in their frames — nothing I could use.

No one was trying to stop me. The Outlaws had nothing to worry about. I couldn't escape anywhere in the sixty seconds I had. As for the respawn point, they were the ones controlling it.

Time until decompression: 15 seconds

The corridor curved. To my right I noticed the towering shaft of an obsolete gravity elevator leading deep into the alien station's bowels.

Without hesitation, I dove in.

My individual gravity generator changed settings automatically. I was dropping into the unknown, staring down into the depths at the destroyed decks until I noticed a faint marker almost out of my scanners' range. It kept growing like a powerful new beacon taking over the ancient structure.

Time until decompression: 3 seconds

2 seconds...

1 second...

I didn't make it, did I?

Slowly my helmet's visor began rising.

* * *

The bottom of the elevator shaft was littered with debris. I was lying amid mangled pieces of spars.

Zander. Level 20. Pilot. Time left until respawn: 1:59:32.

The agonizing pain had faded away. The shock of yet another death had dissolved into the thick darkness. My frozen body was motionless; far-off specks of light overhead reflected in my eyes. Normally, I shouldn't be aware of anything at the moment but my Synaps mind expander remained operative, its sensors collecting available information byte after a laborious byte.

This had to be a bug. I had no leaning toward mysticism. The closed alpha testing of Phantom Server had completed. The game developers were now preparing it for launch, installing updates and introducing new locations, fine-tuning the gameplay. The Eurasia Fleet had already entered the star system, its ships, station modules and cryogenic platforms manned by beta testers. I had a funny feeling they were going to be quick and efficient, priming the ground for an endless flow of new players. And as for us — I meant the meager few who'd survived the neuroimplant tests — we'd either have to find our place in this new reality or add to the gruesome scenery of the abandoned station levels.

The light was growing brighter — closer. My mind expander lagged noticeably, struggling to focus on the vague outlines of two Outlaws clad in heavy pressure suits. They were descending — apparently, after me.

My consciousness was now barely kindling within my neural implants which probably explained why my thoughts were now cold and academic. All emotion had been temporarily suppressed, stripping my perception of any extras and turning the world into a pencil sketch. I couldn't move. I just hoped that the next patch would be able to solve this problem. Everything in Phantom Server hinged on technology. Prompt implant upgrading was vital to a char's leveling. Feeling like a broken machine in between respawns was far from pleasant, I tell you. No one was going to like it.

Jyrd bent over me.
Level 50, Outlaw Elite.
A scanning wave surged over me. He cussed.

“And?” I didn't know the other's voice.

“You were right. It's an hour fifty-eight minutes now, not ten minutes! The timer is disabled, too, you can't change it. The countdown is the only thing that works. They and their updates!” he must have meant the game developers.

“Are you gonna wait?”

“You have other ideas? Another respawn or two, and he'll tell us everything he knows.”

“Obstinate bastard,” the other one said. “Normally they're begging you for mercy after two or three reincarnations. How many has this one taken — ten, twelve?”

“I don't care. I'm not leaving without the Founders’ ship's coordinates,” Jyrd kicked my frozen body. “Leave him alone. We've asked him nicely. If he doesn't understand it, well, tough. Next time we'll be killing him slowly.”

That's where he was wrong. There was no way I was going to tell him the ship's coordinates. Safely stashed away in the depths of the asteroid belt, the Founders' ship held everyone I cared about. In this reloaded world, this Goliath of a ship equipped with a mobile respawn point was our only chance to become a power to be reckoned with.

Then again, I shouldn't be too sure. Considering the 100% authenticity of the experience provided by my neuroimplant, I stood little chance under torture. I had to get out of here, but how? There was no help coming. In order to get back to the station, I'd have to reclaim the only available fighter ship. So the arrival of the Haash cavalry itching to rip the Outlaws apart and rescue me was out of the question, I suppose.

Very well. Daydreaming was no good. I could only count on myself. I'd never been to this part of the ancient station but I knew from experience that the lower decks still preserved some semblance of an atmosphere, albeit rare and toxic. But the metabolic implant would allow me to breathe there for a while. It was going to hurt, but as long as it allowed me to lose my enemies and avoid yet another respawn, it was worth trying.

* * *

Beyond our reality, the world is devoid of emotion.

My mind expander was still working, and I fully intended to use this unexpected advantage. My thinking still impartial, I concentrated on the choice of an optimal escape route.

I'd left my fighter ship (camouflaged) in one of the station's outer docking modules, about five hundred feet from the respawn point where — so I'd believed — Liori was supposed to have respawned.

I'd been so sure I'd rescue her. Instead, I'd fallen into the trap which I now had to escape from.

When I respawned this time, I'd only have sixty seconds, just as before — which is why I opted for the cluster of obsolete gravity elevators that dissected the station's floors and decks, reaching all the way down into the depths of the ancient structure rife with mysterious transformations. The energy anomaly I'd noticed earlier had grown, taking the shape of a slowly expanding translucent sphere. According to my sensors, the lower decks were now witnessing the activation of the ancient alien systems. There, force fields were kicking in, preserving the rarefied air and offering me a slim chance of escaping the Outlaws, mending my pressure suit and returning to my fighter ship.

“You see that, Khors?” Jyrd's voice sounded in the headphones. He must have noticed the changes, too. “Whatcha think's going on in there?”

“Service pack installation,” Khors replied with confidence. “I bet the station's transforming within the set limits. Wanna have a look? We still have time. Aren't you interested what the developers have come up with? It's probably already jam packed with mobs and-”

His voice broke. He stood bolt upright. “Jyrd, come here, quick!”

Could I really feel the shiver that ran up my spine?

Theoretically, I couldn't. But I did sense it nevertheless.

A bright flash exploded a few feet above the floor, sending bolts of lightning into the walls and evaporating all matter in its way. A cloud of incandescent particles rose into the air.

You're observing a phenomenon known as Molecular Mist. In order to study it, you must be in possession of 75+ Science and a scanner file.

I immediately remembered the Phantom Raiders that had destroyed the Argus station's entire population. Before they'd appeared, I'd seen identical incandescent clouds form by the edge of the asteroid belt, gradually taking the shape of the Founders' murderous ships.

Gossamer charges of lightning kept slicing through the air, intertwining, forming a cocoon, solidifying until the reddish mist shaped a human outline, sinister and impossible.

This wasn't a human being, I swear to you. More like a top-level mob. What were the two Outlaws waiting for? They didn't seem in a hurry to flee — on the contrary, they stepped back and froze, watching the molecular transformation from a safe distance.

The figure exploded with light. The matter inside the energy cocoon flowed, distorting, forming diamond-shaped armor plates, servodrives, sensors and other devices.

Then it was all over.

Avatroid: 35/150. Level: [unavailable] Abilities: [unavailable]

Not all of the Molecular Mist had been used to form the figure. Some of the particles landed onto my armor and my exposed face behind the open visor.

You've received nanites. Total number: 254. Class: universal.

For your information: the number of nanites is insufficient for forming objects. We recommend you increase the number of nanites by replicating them.

In the meantime, the figure stirred. The creature turned its head and raised its arm as if willing to make sure that its artificial body had all the necessary functions. Oxidization flaked its armor. The scorched spots on the walls of the elevator shaft were gleaming weakly.

My mind expander was registering every detail of the unfolding scene.

You have created a scanner file. A phenomenon recorded: Materialization. In order to study it, you must be in possession of 100+ Science.

New skill available: Mnemotechnics. Requires 7 Intellect, 7 Learning Skills. Accept skill: Yes/No.

Yes
, absolutely. I focused on the icon and only then realized I couldn't do it. Technically, I was “awaiting respawn” and as such couldn't receive XP and skills. Neither could I accept new quests.

Thank you. You've received a new skill: Mnemotechnics. Level 1.