North-west North America, 8:28 a.m.

Reporters were gloomy-faced.

CEO Darius Roth stood behind a podium with practiced composure, his own expression sympathetic though confident to convey leadership during these times of planned chaos. “On a last note, I want to reiterate that Synaptic Entertainment values the safety, security, and privacy, of all our players. We are taking recent events in Aeon Chronicles Online utmost seriously, and we are already working on additional security features. Thank you.”

A woman wearing a popular game magazine’s T-shirt said, “Mister Roth, she was humiliated, attacked, degraded in front of millions. How can you be so dismissive—”

“Thank you.” Darius nodded politely. “This will be all for today.”

“She was screaming in a collar!”

“Thank you.” Briskly walking, he slipped out the back door. He for one had enough of their sanctimonious holier-than-thou squeals for one quarter. As if they cared about young Miss Ayla. They did not. They were bordering on sociopathy in their pursuit for page views and ad revenue. They couldn’t even do proper investigate work to find the truth in plain sight; that, or they were Order members in on the plot. Darius didn’t hold it against them; even journalists needed to eat.

Back in his office, he poured iced vanilla green tea. He washed down three mouthfuls, and noticed a splatter of tea leaves—in the shape of a bird flock—in the cup. He wasn’t a superstitious man, no, but if he were a fortune teller, he would interpret this pattern as good luck for coming times.

Promptly, feverish steps scuffed near. Lead engineer Edgar Wilson barged through the door. He wasn’t as frazzled over the daily catastrophe. “Minor emergency,” he huffed and helped himself to a cup of tea, and he was very welcome. “A player’s in isolation. Desync. He’s a schizophrenic. I think he’s been off his medication.”

Darius’ eyebrow slowly arched in expectation. “This isn’t the first instance, I recall.”

“I may have found a solution,” Edgar said with steepled fingers. “I just got off the phone with your brother Vincent, and he tells me there were a set of research papers published last month, about nano-electrotherapy for psychotic disorders. The pods are suitable for the task, and it’s a simple implementation. A stealth-update can be pushed to the firmware immediately.” He sighed. “But, there is a risk of permanent brain damage. I say about two percent.”

Lucky. Very lucky. As Darius’ Holophone vibrated in his pocket, he suggested, “Call his local hospital. What’s the matter?”

“He’s at a popular Quantumnet Cafe.”

Tough decision. Darius took five seconds to consider options. “I assume staff there have been alerted?” This level of micromanagement was unbecoming but necessary.

“Yes, but we’re trying to overcome a language barrier.” Edgar’s old nose wrinkled.

“Where is this?”

“Far-east Siberia.” Edgar checked his Holophone, swiping with a bandaged thumb. “Yes, yes, an Ivan Romanov, twenty years old. Failed a subscription payment last month, and— Oh, this is interesting.”

“Yes?”

“Your niece Gabrielle is covering his subscription.”

“What’s his in-game name?”

“Ah… Not Insane. Does that ring a bell?”

Yes, a bell was ringing. This was interesting. Famous players were important from a marketing perspective. They needed special care, and the most famous ones warranted direct intervention. At least sponsored streaming contracts as insurance. However, supporting Ivan in a direct manner would be controversial given his reputation. And few would mourn his disappearance.

Darius straightened his tie. “Push the firmware update. Just test it on Ivan first. Get a team ready to intervene. Can you handle it?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I’ll get it done.” Edgar stood and hurried out with equally frenzied steps.

With the situation handled, Darius leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to face the Pacific Ocean, his eyes sore. Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. A formation of gulls were vacating the harbor. Oh, he loathed bad weather. Perhaps it was time for vacation, but such a move would make him a laughing stock in front of the world.

His Holophone vibrated again. Frowning, he answered the unrecognized number. “Darius Roth speaking. Who is this?”

“David Burke.” The name and throaty voice couldn’t be mistaken—police superintendent Burke. He was, of course, with the Order. “We’ve had a jumper at Galveston City. We believe he was playing your game moments prior. You may be getting more heat soon if this starts blowing up. Just a heads-up, Okay?”

Darius clamped down all emotion. “Who jumped?”

“Jonathan Lee. Six-foot-one. Black hair. Lean, fit build. Recently moved from Capitol City suburbs. Lives alone. Nineteen years old, went to Westwind Highschool. Do you know him?”

This was exactly why reading tea-leaves was a job for quacks. “I believe I do. He may’ve experienced some trauma both in-game and out, but he’s more or less a nobody. It’s no issue.”

“And if he starts singing on the Net?”

“He’s alive?”

“No, he’s dead.” Sarcasm.

“Who else knows? Apart from your people.”

“No one apart from a night guard, thankfully, but we will have to contact his parents. He’s in intensive care. Broken legs and spine.”

“Any brain-damage?”

“No serious head injuries. He has a thick skull. He’s awake, distraught over that Ayla girl. He knows her personally. We’re still waiting on his file, but he seems to have a form of PTSD.”

A course of action fell into place. “David, I want—”

In the window’s reflection, lead game designer Derek Brown walked through the open door. “Hey, Edgar told me about Not. The AI will take core of his in-game story.” Thumbs-up. “But I need to talk to you—”

Darius swiveled his chair and held up his Holophone. “David, I want to you to load Jonathan into an unmarked vehicle and bring him here to Synaptic HQ. Come through the back gate. Meet us at building H.”

There was longer-than-necessary pause. “Do you need medical staff?”

“Vincent will take care of him, but bring one trusted nurse. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll be there in… four to five hours. Does that work?”

“Indeed. Thank you.” Darius ended the call, then looked Derek in the eye. “We pushed the kid too far. He’s developed psychosis. He jumped from his apartment room.”

Derek maintained composure. “But he’s alive, right? And coming here? Why?”

“We’ll try the new electrotherapy tech, and—”

“You can’t zap away all your problems.”

Darius pretended he didn’t hear that. “And pay him to keep his mouth shut if we have to.” Thank the universe that Vincent was a medical genius. Darius sighed in relief. “So do you need something?”

Stubby fingers clicked. “Max Dubois. Is the plan still going ahead?”

“I believe so.” Darius poured another cup, the kettle emptying.

“How soon?”

“Vincent will be here by noon with him.” All the stars were aligning. “Do you know the details?”

“New face. New body?”

Darius nodded.

Derek said, “That is the part I have to say I disagree on.”

This was not the time for an argument. Darius’ expression darkened. “Why?”

“What if this backfires? On us. Rowan won’t like any of this. Neither will Max, I imagine.”

True, but this was long accounted for. “They both will know their places and be thankful for their second chances at life, and I thank you for your concern. Anything else?”

Derek’s head wobbled like a slow pendulum. “Most players still aren’t accepting player World Bosses, especially now after what with Ayla and Rowan.”

Darius decided it was time to push, harshly. “No ideas? You’re the lead designer, Derek.”

“My team consists of a junior guy, three interns, and a quantum supercompu—”

“Still the lead. You oversee the controller. You submit the directives. You interview the interns. So where are the ideas?”

“If you must know, we’re thinking to limit player bosses at tier seven or even six.”

Darius weighed the idea on his palms. “That doesn’t sound arbitrary to you?”

“I knew you’d say that.” Derek’s eyes half-rolled. “It is arbitrary, contrived, Byzantine, whatever you want to call it, but some games, hear me out again, are designed to be a technical diploma.”

Although Darius was no personally a gamer, he was not a clueless leader. He had done his market research. And he was somewhat of a gamer himself, a casual gamer. “You know we’re trying to appeal to as many gamers as possible, not just a hardcore niche. Easy to learn. Difficult to master. All-inclusive. We don’t want a thousand rules tacked to the user interface.”

“Come on, it’s not a thousand,” Derek groaned, his palms wide open. “People aren’t as dumb or fickle as you think. The average IQ is one hundred. I say that’s pretty damned smart, and half of them are smarter.”

“And half of the other half are idiots. Design things so even the idiots can’t get it wrong. It’s not hard. We’ve had this discussion.” Many times. This debate had been long settled—and won.

But to this minute Derek refused to relent: “If you assume people are idiots, and treat them as such, all you will attract are idiots.”

“Not according to our sales stats. Take a gander at the local Quantumnet Cafe down the road and around the corner.” Pre-orders for launch day were off the chart for a widely diverse set of demographics. Young and old. Educated and less so. Rich and poor. All people from all regions of the world were signing up for ongoing beta lotteries.

Derek sighed. His hands clapped onto his knees. “During early development, the AI rejected this whole easy to learn but difficult to master all-inclusive mantra. It’s too vague.”

Darius didn’t miss a beat: “You’re just telling me now.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

“I am taking it well, but you’ll be explaining to the old grandma who refunds her subscription because the game isn’t her cup of tea.” Darius sipped from his empty tea cup.

Derek was slowly nodding. “I believe we’re doing fine with that demographic last I checked. Did you know there was an old lady at yesterday’s battle?”

“No, I didn’t. Have you talked to her, personally?”

“I have. I was there fighting alongside our players, saving NPC lives. You weren’t.” As expected of the lead designer.

“Good,” Darius said flatly. “Keep up the good work. Anything else?”

Derek was about to stand, but his eyes widened. “Not Insane—”

“Ivan.” Darius was not an admirer of the lad’s handle. It was a weirdly comical look.

“Ivan has been sending in borderline threatening and totally unintelligible tickets about…” Derek squinted at his Holophone, chuckling. “Last night he had a complaint about peanut butter? Jenny from support said she was getting fed up. I understand Gabby is paying his sub, so—”

“Permanent ban.”

Derek’s warm laughter rumbled from deep in his chest.

“I’m serious,” Darius reaffirmed, smirking.

“Good one.”

Indubitably, a rising star on the stage was not going to be cut, but this did justify an apologetic visit to his support staff. A few gift cards and free dinners would fix their tears. As for those troublesome tickets? A new AI filtering system was needed here. Simple management.