Usually when someone sets up a meeting with a dark broker, they either have money or information. The only thing I had were questions. When Claire messaged he could see me in one hour, I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy or afraid. Either way, it was too late to back out now.

I told Twinkle to do a search for anything related to FlickerFlacker and the Scrolls of Hidden Knowledge, then went to take a shower. The sensation of water made me feel better. For five minutes, I just stood there, eyes closed, not moving a muscle. When the water stopped, I turned it on again. Some people liked to indulge in food, drink, or meds when given the chance; I preferred showering. This time, I scrubbed washing-gel over my body, wringing off the stench of the day. Shortly later, I rinsed and returned to the room.

“Sarah, you haven’t eaten in the last twelve hours,” Twinkle's voice said from the phone on the floor.

“I’ll eat later.” I put my game gear on. “Any attacks on my accounts?”

“Just one attempt to see your Vesperia data.”

“Okay.” Good thing that people had short attention spans. “Any news on the egg puzzle?”

“I’m still working on it, Sarah,” the AI said in a heartbreaking voice.

“Let me know if I get any new mails from school or work.” I logged into Vesperia. This time, I went directly to Firestone. The dark broker hadn’t specified a place for our meeting, but I assumed he’d choose someplace familiar.

The crowds had increased quite a bit since my last visit. According to the announcement banners, discount season had started, drawing in every player with a bit of cash to the city. I would have been interested as well, if I knew what I was supposed to buy. The way Vesperia was developed, game challenges were divided into several main categories. In press releases, the developers claimed that the division was to provide activities for each of the major player categories. Fighters would pursue combat challenges, while more socially oriented characters would engage in NPC interaction for rewards. What no one admitted was that the challenges were constructed in a way to force players to complete most of them to get ahead. The choice was simple: spend time doing activities players disliked, or buy something that would make the game complete the challenge for them. Most casual players weren’t aware of this and blindly bought everything that had a discount, only to resell it back at a substantial loss to make room in their inventory. I knew the feeling. As a child, I used to beg my parents for change every day to feed my “discount addiction.” None of the items I bought were ever used.

I read through the hints FlickerFlacker had sent me. Neither of them made sense. It was as if someone had torn two pages from a book, shredded them, and glued them back together in a random order.

The symmetry of sound lies in the eye of the beholder.

Since the hint came from the Sea of Sorrows, I could assume it had to do with sound or light waves. That was an educated guess at best, and even if correct, it didn’t give me anything to go on. I did a reference search then passed the sentence through a free code-breaker. No results.

“I don’t usually drop everything for a meeting,” a male voice next to me said. “It better be worth it.”

The character appeared to be a mid level knight, but I knew the person behind him was my dark broker.

“I found out something—” that was a lie “—and I need some information from you.” That much was true. “It’s related to the quest.”

“As I said, you better be worth it.” He took off his helmet and entered the crowd. I followed.

We continued along the main street for a few minutes, then turned into one of the smaller alleys. I thought we were taking a shortcut to his tavern, until we hit a dead end. According to rumors, people that disappointed a dark broker had their consciousness ripped out of their body. Right now, I prayed I wouldn’t find out if they were true.

“We’re not going to your place?” I asked.

“Max doesn’t like you.” He lit up a cigarette and took a puff. “What you got for me?”

“You want to talk here?” The place was rather exposed even for Firestone. I could still hear the hustle of the crowd. “Okay, then.” If it wasn’t bothering him I had no intention to argue. “I tried to form a team with someone to complete the quest.”

“I know.” The broker didn’t even look at me.

“He told me that there was a hint scroll event that happened at level ninety-five.” I phrased it as politely as possible. “He called it a Scroll of Knowledge.”

“I know.” That wasn’t the response I was expecting. “It’s a paid-only event. It mostly provides hints on how to trigger the end level boss and defeat it. You had done both, so no point in telling you.”

As much as I feared dark brokers, I wanted to slap him through the face. It would have been nice for me to have known that before my meeting with Flicker. I went on, aware I was treading on thin ice.

“He also said the scrolls contained clues about the quest goal.”

“Which I gave you.” He took another puff.

“He also mentioned something about a group of others who were trying to find the hint.” With five days remaining and seven hours to my next shift, I couldn’t afford to be subtle. “Was he lying?”

Normally, I’d settle for a quick yes or no answer. If I were lucky, I’d have gotten some half assed explanation. When the broker tossed his cigarette on the ground, I knew I was on the right track.

“That’s it?” He walked up to me. “That’s what you dragged me here for? Well, it was fun, but this stunt will cost you an additional two percent of what you capture on video.”

“Make it three and tell me what’s actually going on.” I felt a shiver pass through my body. Ever since I had started the quest, I’d been learning things I didn’t suspect, but still not fast enough. If there hadn't been a time limit, I’d probably have taken things slow, avoided the dark broker altogether. With it, I had to take risks. “If the quest is so rare, why hasn’t anyone tried to buy accounts and brute force it? If the scroll event doesn’t change, then why hasn’t someone made a guide by now?”

“Because no one knows what’s going on.” His voice was calm, but I could feel the seriousness of the situation. “The quest is not part of the game.”

Not part of the game? I swallowed. In a world of impossible truths, this took the cake.

“Why do you think no pro player has bragged about starting the hundred level quest?” the broker asked. “Why do you think the developers are so quiet about it? If it was an Easter egg or an expansion, the media would be buzzing with 'leaks' and announcements. But you can’t find anything about it, not even behind paid web search walls. Do you know how much a game dev makes?”

I shook my head.

“Not enough not to be bought. Every month, there are dozens who try to sell me information. Release dates, codes, security systems.” He waved his hand as he enumerated. “I can tell you what will happen in twenty-eight games till the end of the year. Pro players are training to use exploits that will appear after seven months. Meanwhile, no one knows anything about Vesperia one hundred.”

“But I sent a bug report...” At least I think I did. “If there’s a bug ticket, someone must have looked into it.”

“They have. I pulled your ticket. It reached a level six human tester before it was marked as 'cannot reproduce' and closed.”

A game within a game... a parasitic game. The concept sounded so out there, it actually made sense. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t even be that difficult to accomplish. The code modifications would be minor; all someone had to do was make a stealth login-logout portal that transferred all of a player’s information—avatar included—from Vesperia to their own game. The timer wasn’t a timer, but a window during which the foreign code would remain hidden from internal game security sweeps. That would also explain why the assets for this quest were so much superior to the standard ones used in Vesperia.

“Did you try to enter?” I asked.

“Careful,” he warned. “That’s more than three percent.”

“How much higher do you want me to go?” There was no backing out now. The broker could tell as well, because he only laughed, moving away.

“The quest is linked to the player, not the account,” he said, moving to the wall across from me. “As long as it’s you, you can do all sorts of shit. You can start a hundred accounts if you want to, but the timer remains the same. The scroll event—“

“Has no timer,” I finished his sentence. “That’s why Flicker never got stopped when he got new clues.”

The notification tune sounded in my ears, informing me I’d gotten a new message. FluckerFlacker had sent me an apology note. An interesting read, though for later. There was an indication he had given me an item. Interesting what would that be.

“Claire, how expensive is it to find out real life info about someone?” I mused.

“Depends on the person.” He glanced at me. “Ten thousand at least, all cash, all in advance.”

“Ten thousand.” That was far more than I could afford. Strangely enough, it also me feel somewhat better. At least I knew I’d be safe from the huge majority of people online. “How difficult would it be to find out stuff about me?”

“You’re kidding, right?” The avatar’s face drained of all humour. “If someone drops the money, I could do it in five minutes. The sock servers you use are crap, and your AI companion is dinosaur shit.” I felt a chill in my stomach. “Who hacked you?”

“No one,” I said on instinct. “I mean I’m not sure. Flicker sent me a mail today. He said he wanted to meet me after work, so... I think he knows where I work.”

From there, it wouldn’t be a big jump to find the building I lived in. Thanks to the Starcity Ruling, employees were no longer required to provide a place of residence when applying for anything. Work, school, deliveries all were done either virtually or in person. However, every piece of wearable technology could trace the path I took to work and back. If someone was good enough to hack my accounts, they could just as easily track my behaviour.

“I’ll tag you,” the broker said as if I were a stray cat. “If anyone tries to mess you, I’ll take care of it. Just until you complete the quest. Manage that and your data remains safe.”

“Thanks.” If I failed, no one would be interested in me anyway. “I'd still like to know what to call you. The way things are going, I might need to meet you again before this is over.”

“I hope not.” He put on his helmet and walked past me. “Claire is fine. If you need to call me again, tell Max.”

“I thought you said she hated me.”

“She does.” The broker looked over his shoulder. “But that way, I know you won’t waste my time.”

Before I could manage a response, he had logged off. There was no visual indication, no system cue... One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. I checked the system logs, but hit the standard game paywall.

“Twinkle, is Claire Nocturna online?” I asked as I opened my inventory and in-game mailbox.

“Sorry, Sarah. Claire hasn’t been online for the last two hours,” the AI said, making a sad face. “Do you want me to send a message?”

“No, it’s fine.” Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. What was I thinking? One could only find a dark broker when he wanted to be found. “Anything new on the egg?”

“Sorry, Sara.” The AI’s expression changed from sad to devastated. I really hated gradation states.

“Just keep working on it.” I wasn’t in the mood for a philosophical discussion with an AI. “Also, scan the message from Flicker.”

The message itself contained no links, just a single “Sorry” written in orkish font—another feature of the paid orc character. It was the items that worried me, however. As anything sent through the game system, they were presented as presents. Normally, the system made sure that everything was in order, yet with enough money, one could import malicious code and send it in the same guise. And FlickerFlacker had shown he had money to spare.

“Sure thing, Sarah!” The AI companion made a somersault in the air. “The game identifiers check out. And the query is positive. Do you want me to report the message?”

“No.” If someone was that good at fooling the game system, a report wouldn’t do anything much. “Focus on the egg.”

I clicked on both presents in quick succession. The boxes exploded in a fountain of confetti, along with a happy birthday jingle. Any other day, I’d scream internally that I didn’t have the option to disable the effects. Seeing the contents made me change my mind.

No way! Flicker had just given me a teleportation ring and an invisibility cloak. The ring cost about twenty dollars and could be bought with enough in-game currency; a useful item, though by no means vital. According to the number crunchers, one had to teleport over ten thousand times in order to cover its price tag. The cloak, on the other hand, was something special. In online auctions, I could probably find one for a few hundred, if I was lucky. A quick check of the stats also revealed it gave me a minuscule amount of magic—far too little for any spells, but enough for me to pass through all “magic requirement” locks. Such an item could reach thousands.

“Twinkle, send a thank you response to Flicker.” I put on the cloak. “And launch a camera. Personal use only, no streaming.” Time to earn my part.