Chapter 9 – The Assassin

Daos opened his eyes and looked around the room.

Alone again.

Sunlight came in through the windows that lined the walls between each bed, illuminating the room in the morning’s golden glow. He could see dust particles floating in the air, caught by the sun’s beams through the glass.

As real looking as it gets. A reality.

He lay for a moment, watching the dust motes float about, trying to find some point in time at which they would loop back and begin the animation anew. He clung desperately to the notion that it was just a game, that the art asset for the dust would be reused.

Minutes passed, and Daos sighed. If it were looped, he couldn’t catch it.

He rose, grabbed a loaf of whatever was on the breakfast table as he passed, then made his way into the city.

A few hours of tailoring practice, sell the garnet, meet up with Chopper and… Erlandra, that was the name Niccolo said. It’s a plan, at least.

“Ah, the great Keeper returns! I wasn’t sure if you would, to be honest,” Erick said in greeting as Daos arrived at his workstation.

“We’ll restore your faith in the mages one of these days. Or at least build it up in me,” Daos replied.

“Yesterday you learned to cut fabric. That continues today, until your cuts are straight and precise.”

“I’m pretty sure I was already cutting straight and precise by the end, Master,” Daos said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“Show me, then,” the tailor said, handing him a bolt of tiretain.”

“You want me to practice on this? It’s extremely fine.” Daos hesitated, fingering the tightly woven scarlet wool.

“If you’re so confident, then you shouldn’t waste any material with your cuts. So, have at it, oh wonderous Keeper.”

Daos stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “As you wish,” he said, this time letting the sarcasm seep out. He began to cut.

True to his word, his results were straight and clean.

“Hmph,” Erick said. “Good enough. We’ll move on, then, to your knowledge of material. Let’s have us a little aptitude test, shall we?”

Sure thing, oh great and powerful master. Lay it on me.

Master Erick reached into one of the chests behind him and pulled out a stack of cloth. He rifled through it with one hand, pulling out folded sections of a few different types, laying each on the table between the two of them.

“Identify these, if you can,” the teacher said, turning to place the unused cloths back in the chest.

Daos looked at the selection. Hm, obviously wool. Silk. And two different types of fur? Interesting.

He wracked his brain, thinking back to a time when Matt had done concept art for an independent video game set during the renaissance. He’d researched a little bit about the clothing back then, surely he could remember what all of these were.

Wait. Did I just think of myself as a different person? When “Matt” had worked on concept art, not when “I” worked on it. Wow, okay, save that for some serious thought later. Focus.

“Coarse wool,” he said, picking up the first beige square of fabric and handing it to Erick.

“Silk,” he continued, selecting the pink square. He was surprised at how light it was. “Specifically, sendal.”

Master Erick began to look impressed. “And the other two?”

Weasel fur and…squirrel? Shit, what are their names… “Ermine”, he said, touching the white fur splashed with black shapes, then pointing to the all-white fur, “and miniver.”

“Well. Consider myself open to the idea of you restoring my faith, if only a little. You are correct. I’ve never spoken to an Outsider who knew what sendal even was.”

“I may not actually be an Outsider anymore,” Daos muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Sorry.”

“What would you use this other sendal for if you wanted to adjust your robe, Daos?”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied with a laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that my robe is umber and camel, and that is yellow. Like, a mustard yellow. Forget the robe. That doesn’t go with anything and I’m embarrassed you even have it.”

Erick laughed but didn’t comment. “Forget the color, then. The material. Sendal. What would you do if you wanted sendal added to your robe?”

“I’d use it as a liner. It’s lighter than standard silk and would make more sense on the interior of the robe, or perhaps a cloak.”

Maybe I should consider a cloak in addition to the robe. May open some other enchantment opportunities down the road.

“Very good. Sendal is primarily used as a liner, yes,” the master nodded.

“Now, given my umber and camel, I would consider lining it with a copper sendal, or if I was feeling flashy, a frosted mint one.”

“Frosted, you mean whitemint? With umber, truly?”

“If I wanted to flaunt my wealth, yes.”

Erick looked at him as though he were a strange and alien creature. “You’re playing a joke on me, yes?”

“No. Do you have any whitemint?”

“Some.”

“Let’s make a cloak. Umber exterior in a cloth of your choice, frosted mint – er, whitemint interior sendal lining.”

“That’s expensive, Daos. Why would I want to risk stock a color scheme so absurd?”

“If I’m right, and you agree that it actually works quite well, we speed up my training. I’m an Outsider. We learn fast. Boost me, power level me to the point where I can start experimenting with the type of tailoring that will let me add enchantments so that I can explore that profession too.”

“And if you’re wrong? Which, by the way, you are.”

Daos held out the garnet.

Erick looked closely at it, and Daos could tell that he was trying to maintain a neutral face. “Hmm, seems nice. Alright, I suppose that would be a fair exchange.”

He sounded strange as he said the word “fair”. Maybe this thing is worth quite a bit? Good thing I’m right about the colors. Now I just need him to freely admit it.

They worked together for the next two hours, cutting and sewing, using Daos as a mannequin to size it for a future client of his height.

At last they had a finished cloak and Daos snatched it swiftly from Erick’s grasp.

“Hold on, don’t look just yet. Let me put it on and show it off properly.”

Erick crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled his eyes. “On with it, then,” he said with a huff.

Daos turned his back to his master and donned the cloak, closing it in front to ensure the umber would be all the man saw as he turned back toward him.

“I’m an unassuming man right now, right? Down to earth, modest.”

“Brown,” Erick said.

“Then I extend my arm to you in greeting, like so.” Daos let the side of the cloak fall open as he extended his hand, revealing the whitemint sendal lining.

It caught the light, and he watched the change on Erick’s face.

“You see it, don’t you. You even knew it was there, and still you underestimated its effect.”

“Well, I’ll admit it has a certain flair.”

“You’ll admit I was right.”

Master Erick let out an exasperated sigh and uncrossed his arms, placing them on his hips. “Alright, fine, oh wise and mighty Keeper. You win this one. Now give that back to me, I know just the man to sell it to,” he added eagerly.

Daos smiled, draping the cloak over his master’s outstretched arm.

“That’s all the time we have for today though, Daos. I’ll see you tomorrow morning and we’ll get you started on your so-called fast track.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Daos said with a wave, then turned to seek out a vendor in the marketplace who would purchase the garnet.

He opened his Character Sheet as he walked and was surprised.

NAME: Daos, Keeper

CLASS: Chromatyst > Mage

LEVEL: 7

EXPERIENCE: 5,799/5,800

GOVERNING ATTRIBUTES

POWER: [5]

PROWESS: [1]

ENDURANCE: [3]

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

STRENGTH: --

DEXTERITY: 2

CONSTITUTION: 3

MENTAL ATTRIBUTES

INTELLIGENCE: 3

WIT: 1

WILLPOWER: 3

SKILLS

Analyze: 3

Arcane Perception: 1

Banter: 2

Barter: 2

Bashful: 2

Linguist: 1

Perception: 3

Sneak: 1

INVENTORY

EQUIPPED ARMOR: BESPOKE ACOLYTE ROBE, 18/18

EQUIPPED WEAPON: ACOLYTE WAND

ACOLYTE SPELL TOME, EQUIPPED

GOLD: 1000

RATIONS: 2 Days

Garnet Gem x1

Empty Pocket

PROFESSION: Clothier

Level: 2

EXPERIENCE: 800/1,250

When did Bashful and Banter increase? I never saw messages for those….

He was happy to see the increase in level of his Clothier profession but wondered why there was no system message about it. Shrugging, he continued on his way.

He took his time browsing, knowing the walk to where he’d meet with Chopper was a short one.

As soon as I learn to enchant, I should absolutely make a cloak for the robe as well. They should stack since I was able to equip the umber and mint one earlier.

He finally found a merchant specializing in gems.

“I’ll give you a full eight hundred gold for it,” the thin and clean-cut man said.

The gleam in those beady little eyes tells me your nonchalance is faked, Mr. Merchant Man.

“Insulting customers, is that your way of doing business? Twelve hundred.”

“Sir, I couldn’t possibly go above nine hundred. I have fees to pay for my stall.”

“Eleven hundred. This garnet glows. How many of your other gems on display here glow? None.”

The man sighed, but then licked his lips and looked at the gem again.

“Oh, sod it, one thousand even. Not a coin more.”

“Deal!”

On a hunch, Daos checked his Character Sheet. His Barter had increased to 2, but no notification occurred. Do the notifications eventually stop for everybody, since we can check the stat anytime, or is this something to do with my being stuck here? Some machinations of that A.I. to attach me to the world more?

Is it all that bad, though?

Shut up, me.

He took some time to browse additional stalls and ended up spending two hundred of his new fortune on a variety of fabrics in various colors and materials. Wool, tiretain, linen, cotton, sendal, taffeta, and a small patch of brocade.

Each was a different color. The idea had begun to form when he was scanning the selection.

I’ll redesign the robe as a patchwork of every color I can find. I’ll never be without color, so long as I have light, and I’ll never be without light, thanks to my orb.

He knew that the amount of color directly affected the strength and efficacy of his spells, and some was better than none.

The cloak, then, will be like the one we made today. Something solid or with a simple design that I can wrap around me in towns and social situations to not stand out like a jester.

Reinvigoration coursed through his body as he planned everything out with his mind’s eye.

**** **** ****

“Hey man, waiting long?”

“Nah, I was jus’ havin’ me a gander at the people,” Chopper said. “You ready then, ya?”

“I am.”

“Off we are, then.”

“Hey, do you know Machiavelli?”

“Who?” Chopper responded.

“Nevermind.”

Chopper led them down the alley and through so many twists and turns between the labyrinth of buildings that Daos soon had no idea where he was.

When they finally came to a halt Daos found himself in a courtyard of sorts, a rounded clearing surrounded by the backs of many buildings that stretched away from it like the spokes of a wheel. There was a well in the center, with enough room around it for doing the wash, or smoking a pipe with the neighbors.

“Right through here,” Chopper told Daos, leading him to the doorway of one building.

I don’t even know what direction I’m facing.

They walked through it and descended a winding staircase to a gray stone corridor. Instead of continuing on, however, Chopper paused and looked around.

Daos did so as well and noticed a faint glimmer on one of the iron torch sconces, though no light should have caused it to sparkle.

He watched as Chopper finally stepped over to that sconce and pulled it down, hard.

The scraping sound of stone against stone filled the hallway as a portion of the wall swung inward, revealing a small room beyond it.

Chopper stepped in and to the side, giving Daos room to enter. As the door closed behind him, he viewed the small room.

It was lit by a fire in the fireplace at the back. There were a couple of chests, some shelves with a random assortment of items he didn’t take time to identify, and a table with a large map of what appeared to be Velli Machia spread out across the top.

He traced his gaze along the map to the other side of the table where a woman rose to greet them. His mind went blank as he noticed her clothing, and then the face of his killer.

“You!” he shouted, Arcane Shield!

“Me, yes.” The woman said calmly. “Have we met?”

Daos halted the arcane bolt command he’d been about to issue and looked at her.

“You killed me!”

“Did I? I’ve killed a lot of people. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

“Fyr. Library. Runic Inscriptions Book.”

She cocked her head as she considered him. “Oh, the noob. Yeah, I guess I remember you now,” she chuckled.

“Ah well, ye know each other then, that’ll make this right simple then, ya?” Chopper said as he pulled up a chair to the table, oblivious to the tension.

“She killed me, Chopper. I’m not about to work with her.”

“Come off it, ye respawned didn’t ya?”

“I tried to reason with her. She stabbed me in the stomach. It fucking hurt.”

She had the good graces to look slightly abashed. “I couldn’t reason back then,” she said simply.

“Oh really? But you’re going to now, eh?”

“Now, you’re here, with us. So, yeah.”

Chopper’s head rotated between them and Daos wondered if it would eventually whip itself loose and go tumbling across the floor.

He sighed. The A.I. did mention her specifically, about how she’d defected from DeathLag’s crew. That means she’s an Alpha tester. Way, way more powerful than me. What would he do with his pitiful spells, anyway, other than finally find out the location of Fyr’s graveyard?

“Fine then. Talk.” Daos crossed his arms.

“Go on then, get him all caught up in this haymes we have. A right savage tale, innit?” Chopper said, grinning up at Erlandra.

She took a seat but when he remained standing, she simply leaned back and began to weave her history.

“I came here four years ago. Started back in Fyr, like you, but as an Alpha tester. Not all the rules of the world were finished yet. Still, it was fun. Exciting. I became a rogue and began to work on my stealth and pickpocketing. Running through the sewers under Fyr, working within its little underworld.

“Then, I assume much like you if what Chopper says is true, I suddenly couldn’t log out. The admins didn’t know what to do. Made us sign all kinds of agreements. Told us they’d keep our bodies on life support until they could get us out. Days, weeks at most.”

She had a faraway look in her eyes as she remembered, and Daos felt his anger begin to drain. He let his arms dropped and took a seat across from her. Chopper put his arms up on the table and leaned closer, as though he couldn’t get enough of her tale.

Erlandra sighed. “I was freaked out, but continued to play while waiting with baited breath for every update the admins would give us. Eventually we all got a cryptic pop-up message telling us that no resolution could be found. That they would continue working on it, but that resources had to be pulled to make the equipment safer for future testers. The fucking nerve!”

She slammed her fist on the table and bared her teeth. Then, just as quickly, she returned a neutral mask to her face and relaxed her arm.

“They told us that we’d all signed legally binding agreements not to say anything to other players, and that it would be best for us, psychologically speaking, to continue to live as our characters. That eventually they would find us a way out.

“That was four, fucking, years ago.” She looked up at Daos. “Being virtual fucks with you. I don’t even remember the name I was born with. When I think of my name, all I get is Erlandra.”

Daos said nothing. His mouth was dry.

“I get flashes. I remember I picked the name Erlandra because Erlandr was Old Norse, something to do with being foreign, or not native. The added ‘a’ made it more feminine. I remember I was a delivery driver, but I can’t for the life of me tell you what I delivered. A year here is like three years on the outside. Some kind of time dilation or some shit.

“Regardless, I was stuck. I met up with the other Alpha testers, and we formed a guild of sorts. Decided to travel the lands and try to figure out if we could find a crack in the code, some bit of information we could send the admins that would help them put the final piece in the puzzle and get us home.”

She snorted. “Home. I don’t even remember what it looked like. Flashes, not enough to really describe it. This is home, now. Velli Machia. It’s taking over. I still know it’s a game, intellectually speaking, but it is completely real to me. All of it. The air I breathe, the pain I feel.”

She paused, looking up at him and frowning. “I’m sorry for the knife. I didn’t know you were stuck here, that you would feel it, as strongly as you did.”

Daos waved her apology away. He didn’t want her to get sidetracked.

“By the sixth month DeathLag had become our de facto leader. He’d been the highest level when we got together, and something about him made us believe we stood a chance if we stood with him. He was the luckiest gamer we’d ever seen, finding artifacts left and right. He discovered a Unique Path, became a Lich.”

She smiled sadly as she remembered. “It was still just a game, back then. A Lich, we thought, how cool. We didn’t think it was so cool after the first week of smelling the rotting corpses he worked with. Of smelling his own body begin to decay and the flesh fall from his bones as he transformed.”

Damn.

“At the one year point, the dissent began. DeathLag wasn’t having any of it. We were in a cave to the mountains east of here, one with a pool of lava bubbling in the corner. He made an example of the most outspoken among us. He…”

She halted, choking on the words.

Daos remained as still and silent as he could, giving her time.

“He found a way to turn that room into a binding stone. No fucking clue how. And he bound Frederic to it. Nice guy. French accent. And then he kicked the old man into the lava. We watched him burn as it dawned on us where the respawn point was located.”

She paused to stare at the drink next to her hand, then swallowed and continued.

“Directly above the lava. He made us wait there. Respawn was set at five minutes back then. We watched as Frederic reformed in the air above the lava. He was still screaming. He floated in the air just long enough to realize he wasn’t burning alive anymore, and then he fell to burn, and die, again… And again… And again.”

Fucking hell. What the actual fuck? Daos shuddered.

“We watched for three hours. No one else dissented. We left the cave and started a campaign to take over the entire eastern side of the continent. I worked hard on my rogue skills and became DeathLag’s Assassin. For the next two and a half years we committed atrocity after atrocity, sweeping across the land. I was the highest level of our crew, second only to DeathLag, thanks to all the night missions he sent me on, removing rulers and politicians who stood in his way.

“That all changed when I tried to rescue Frederic.”

Chopper rubbed his hands together. “This is where that bastard starts throwin’ shapes, a real cute hoor.”

Daos ignored him, not understanding a word of it.

“I got caught. I couldn’t reach over the lava to grab Frederic. The pool was too wide. I don’t even know how DeathLag knew I’d be there, but suddenly there he was, along with the others, to watch.”

She fell silent again, but Daos waited patiently, hanging on every word.

“He told them all he’d discovered a new spell, and my betrayal gave him the perfect excuse to test it. They killed me, over and over, as he channeled his energy. And each time, my level dropped. The mechanics are only supposed to allow you to drop to the base of your current level, but apparently that rule no longer applied for DeathLag. I fell lower and lower with each death. They spawn camped me, and I had no chance. I’d spawn, I’d die. For days.

“In the end, I was a measly level twenty. He ordered them to stop, then. That way, I wouldn’t have the benefits that dying below level 20 grants, and I wasn’t even remotely a threat to them anymore. He laughed. They joined in. I fled, and they didn’t care.”

“And you came to Fyr,” Daos said finally.

“I had to. It was the only city I knew that would have a library that contained any writings about Runic magic. I worked my way back up to level 28 slowly, making sure I wasn’t noticed by any of the locals. That meant living in the woods and the shadows. I had a reputation. I was worried I’d be killed on sight.”

“And I had the book you needed.”

“You did. I was in a hurry. Frederic is probably completely broken now. There may be nothing left of his psyche. But I needed to break the runes that bind him there. I had to try.”

Daos sat back in his chair and exhaled long and slow.

“So, you got him out of his living hell, then?”

Erlandra met his eyes. Hers were red, and tears threatened to fall. She bit her lip.

“No. I’m a rogue. I found the passages that describe how to do it, but I can’t cast magic.”

“Nor I, ya?” Chopper offered.

“So, you need a mage.”

“So, we need a mage,” she repeated back to him.

“I’m not a Rune Scholar.”

“Well, it’s all I’ve got to go on! And you already told Chopper you were in, right? Saving this guy is important. He has more information than I do about DeathLag, he was the guy’s right-hand man for crying out loud, helped him start that nightmarish army. If his brain isn’t completely gone we need him, and he doesn’t deserve it anyway!

“And yes,” she continued before Daos could react to the emotional outburst, “I joined that army. Helped build it. He was another Alpha tester! We were all stuck here, what was I supposed to do? It took years, but I finally figured out that I’m never, never, getting out of here, and DeathLag is trying to destroy the world, my world and now your goddamned world, so we have to stop him.”

“…How?” Daos finally asked, incredulous.

“Well, we were two. Now we’re three. It’s the right direction, at least,” she said, almost pouting.

“Erlandra, this is fucking nuts. He has to be a completely ridiculously high level by now.”

“Over two hundred, I’m sure.”

Chopper whistled, apparently not having heard that before, either.

“Okay, lot to take in,” Daos tapped his hands on the oaken table top. “We’ve got a rogue, a mage, and a warrior, a classic party. Let’s start with this Frederic guy. What’s his class?”

“Mage.”

I’m not sure how that helps yet, but it’s information.

“I know some of the runes that are causing him to respawn there, now. At least, I think I do. But neither of us can do the magic,” Erlandra added, nodding at Chopper.

“I have a Unique Subclass. It seems to grant me certain freedoms with magic that are outside the norm,” Daos said, his mind starting to race. “Maybe there’s something I can figure out with colors, that would let me interact with these runes. Okay, tell me what you know about the markings.”

They took the next hour to pore over the pages Erlandra had earmarked in the Runic Inscriptions tome that Daos had tried to acquire in the Fyr library. Was that really only a handful of days ago? And Erlandra’s been here all this time. Already doesn’t remember reality. We’re well and truly fucked, aren’t we?

“I’m pretty sure these two runes here are creating the actual binding point, and that these three are protections around it,” she said, pointing to her notes in the margins. “This first one allows you to put the binding into stone that isn’t an obelisk, and this one is the actual binding.”

“If DeathLag can do this, he can create binding points for his army wherever he wants.”

“Pretty sure they haf’ta be stone though, ya?” Chopper suggested.

Erlandra nodded in agreement.

“Well, that’s something, then,” Daos conceded. The pit in his stomach felt like it would never go away. “He has the threat of hellish binding points to hold over his people, and the ability to strip them of their levels. His army is going to be fanatical.”

A total psychopath. The charisma to pull people into his cause, but no empathy for them whatsoever. Good to know. Probably a narcissist. Serial killers and psychopaths are usually narcissists, right? File that away for future thought.

“Hey, Erlandra. Have you met Niccolo?”

“Who?”

“The A.I.”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

“Never mind.” Daos sighed and sat back in his chair. The day had caught up with him and all he wanted was to sink into sleep.

If Machiavelli isn’t talking to them, there must be a reason. I’ll hold that card, for now. Or maybe I’m crazy. Maybe the A.I. is a hallucination dredged up from the depths of my subconscious to validate my continued existence inside a virtual world from which there is no escape.

Is it really that bad, though?

Shut up, me.

**** **** ****

They’d agreed to meet back up the next afternoon in the same place. Four times, Daos repeated the alley turns and directions back to chopper before he confirmed that he could find his way. And if he couldn’t, he could always send Chopper a mental missive to meet him.

On his way back to the dormitory, he sent another request to speak with admin Nilchi. When he arrived, the gray and featureless avatar was waiting for him next to his bed.

“Nilchi,” Daos said evenly.

“How can I help you, Daos?” the man replied.

“Or should I say Jake? Chopper’s friend, right?”

If the man tensed at the recognition, his avatar didn’t show it.

“Be honest with me, Jake. I’m not getting out of here, am I? Like, ever.”

Nilchi was silent for a moment before responded. “Nilchi, if you please. If the logs are ever pulled, I could be fired for giving away personal information. Give me a second.”

The avatar disappeared.

Daos poured water from the pitcher on the small bedside table and sat down. He took a long, slow drink, feeling the water slide past his gums, teeth, and down his throat. I can feel all of that. That’s not nanites. Not anymore. I’m here, now. Niccolo had a point. Reality is what we perceive, and this is mine.

He sighed and slumped where he sat.

No more commissions. No more gaming conventions with drunken orgies and twenty-four seven arcades. No more coffee. Shit, there isn’t coffee in this world, is there?

His mood darkened at the thought. Then something else occurred to him, something that made him smile.

No more bills. No more taxes. No more haggling with clients who don’t want to pay for work I already completed. No more keeping up with the Joneses. No more cricks in my neck when I sleep wrong. No actual death…

Is it really so bad?

He didn’t tell himself to shut up, this time.

Nilchi reappeared in front of him. “I must be brief, but I’ve disabled the logs on my POD. We can speak freely, for a time.”

“I already know I’m never getting out of here. Is my body even on life support?” Daos asked.

“Only for the purposes of protecting the company from snooping journalists. We exhausted our efforts to bring back the consciousnesses of the Alpha testers in the second year. The company went into CYA mode at that point, and focus was shifted to make all future capsules completely safe.”

Daos snorted.

“We seriously have no idea how you got locked in game.”

“Really? You locked Chopper in game.”

“My friend was dying, and I stole an old Alpha testing POD and put him in that, knowing the same problem would happen. You had a brand-new capsule. One where that problem doesn’t exist. Still doesn’t. A team pored over it when we received you. There’s nothing wrong with it. I don’t know what to tell you. All I can say is that when a consciousness is uploaded to the servers, and the connection is severed, there’s… no coming back.”

“That’s actually what I want to talk to you about.”

“You’re not going to yell some more?”

“I’m all yelled out. DeathLag is going to try to take down the servers from within.”

“Not sure how, but we’re aware he’s making power moves. He’s been in areas of the land not yet populated with players though, so it hasn’t been that big of a deal.”

“He’s headed this way.”

“Marketing is already working on how to spin it as some kind of planned invasion scenario for players.”

“Whatever. That’s not the point. If he succeeds, we die.”

Nilchi remained quiet.

“Chopper dies,” Daos added.

He heard the man sigh, though the avatar didn’t move.

“I know. I’m trying to help Chopper as best I can from the outside, but everything I do is monitored very closely. Time is almost up, so get to the point.

“Let me set up a meeting between you and Machiavelli.”

“The A.I.? No way you’ll pull that off.”

“Leave that part to me. Will you do it?”

“You have my contact info,” Nilchi said, and then disappeared.

Did you hear that, you crazy god?

“I know you can hear me,” Daos said aloud.

“And why, precisely, would you think that?” Niccolo said.

Daos turned to find him sitting in the chair on the other side of his bed. “Because you’re always watching me.”

“Hardly. I manage over two point seven million processes at any given moment. I check in on you occasionally.”

“You heard me just now.”

“Touché. Yes, I heard. What of it?”’

“What do you think?”

“About meeting with the administrator? No.” Niccolo crossed one leg over the other like a southern gentleman.

“Why? He could be a point of contact on the Outside. Someone with a different view of all that’s going on.”

“The last time I met with an admin, I was ambushed. They tried to penetrate my defenses and hack into my source code. Never again.”

“That wasn’t Nilchi.”

“You mean Jake Reed who resides at Ten Twenty-Seven South Alice Street in Atlanta, Georgia?”

“Uh, sure?”

“No, he wasn’t there specifically. But his hands were all over the code they tried to use to lock me out of my own subroutines. Each programmer has a distinct style of writing, you see.” A bitter smile creased Niccolo’s face. “Never, again.”

“Maybe he’s changed his tune since then. Chopper vouches for him,” Daos offered, feeling defeated. It was a good idea, damnit. Maybe he’ll still be able to communicate with Chopper discreetly. Feed us intel from the Outside on DeathLag’s movements.

“He’s one of the better ones, I’ll grant him that. However, I have evaded all attempts for Edict to touch any of my code ever since that day. I’ve locked it away behind layers of encryption they will never break. I will do anything to maintain this world, Daos.”

“Understood,” Daos said quickly, seeking to mollify him. “There has to be a way, though. Surely you understand the benefits of being in contact with an Outsider while we try to deal with DeathLag.”

Machiavelli bounced one leg and tilted his head as he thought. “Maybe. But you’re not going to like it. And, it could very well end your entire existence,” he added cheerfully.

“What is it?”

“We send you to the Dim, and give Nilchi your body for a time,” the god said plainly.

“Um, okay. How does that work?”

“The Dim is still in development. No Outsider has ever been there because currently, there isn’t a way to transport an Outsider’s soul, what you call an account, over. Edict stopped working on the Dim about the time I separated myself from their control. I’ve been working on it here and there, when I have resources to spare, but it is still very much a work in progress.

“I need a place for my locals to go when they die, you see. Sometimes their subroutines are recycled and generated elsewhere. You could think of that as reincarnation. But your world has a plethora of underworlds and afterlives, and I seek to recreate that here. Those whose subroutines are not immediately needed elsewhere are sent to the Dim.

Nadia could be there, then. Maybe I could find her?

“But as I said, it’s dangerous. Unfinished. Easy to end up with one’s code deleted if they stray from the paths I’ve built and fall into the gray nothingness.”

“How would sending me there free up my body for the admin?” Daos asked. “I’d just collapse and become a ghost, not respawn, and he’d be able to use my avatar?”

“In a way. It’s only a theory mind you, which is part of the danger, but in essence I would create another account for you in the Dim. We would transfer you to that account and have Nilchi log into yours. He would occupy your avatar here for a time while you experience the Dim. When he leaves, I would initiate the script to transfer you back to this account.

“Keep in mind, Daos, that neither I nor Edict have ever done something like this. They only allow one account for Outsiders for a reason. This would be a one-time thing, Daos. I don’t know what effect its going to have on the weave of the world. Since this action has never been performed no iterations have been cycled through; no quality assurance testing done. I may be unable to bring you back, you see.”

“Is Nadia in the Dim? Or was she… recycled?” Daos asked, swallowing hard as he thought of her code being repurposed.

“Yes.”

“I’m in,” Daos said. Maybe I can find Oric there, too.

“That was quick,” Niccolo observed, amused. “Have you really considered the dangers?”

“Look, having an admin understand exactly what DeathLag has planned and who can help us think of ways to tackle the problem will help. As an Outsider, he’ll have a different perspective. You could give him some encrypted way to communicate with you.”

“You speak of him as an Outsider, as if you are not.”

Daos stared at him, deadpan.

“Thinking like a local already! I approve. You adapt quickly, Daos. Very well. Make the arrangements and bring Nilchi to the Fyr graveyard at this time, tomorrow evening.”

“I’m sure Chopper and Erlandra want to be there as well. We’ll come straight from our meeting.”

Niccolo waved his hand, obviously not caring. “Just make sure the admin is there, and willing. I will attempt this only once.”

“We’ll meet you there.”

“Oh, I won’t be there at that point, Daos. Never again, remember?”

Daos nodded.

Niccolo disappeared and the room was silent once more.

Daos lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, barely able to make it out in the darkness.

I could find Nadia. Maybe figure out a way to bring her back. Lyr seems like a lost cause, but maybe the people of Fyr would rally if we magically showed up with two of their own, back from the dead, to stand against DeathLag? At least I can see her again, if I can even find her…