“Not that I don't want you out from under this, and for things to go back to normal around here, but this is likely to take some time to sort out, and I'm not exactly above reproach around here. I hate to make this about me, but if I'm sticking my neck out to look into this for you, I need to know that I'm going to be able to eat while I'm not writing articles for the outlet. I'm not going to be able to put my byline on this expose either, per your NDA. I need to make sure I'll be taken care of.”

Harry smiled.

“Of course you’ll be taken care of. Don't worry about your production requirements, I'll make sure that the board sees what they need to see, and I'll make sure you are compensated for the additional risk you are taking on. Aside from that, I can't really go into detail just yet. I'm trusting you with this, I need you to trust me too.”

I wanted to help Harry. I did. The idea of doing some actual investigative journalism instead of having to write a half dozen fluff prices over the next few weeks sounded like a vacation, albeit a working one. But I didn't want to jump into the deep end without knowing a little more about what I would be getting myself into.

“Tell me a little more about how this works. I've played a few simulated reality games before, and they can vary quite a bit from game to game.”

Harry touched the glass top of his desk, bringing the computer display embedded into it to life. He flicked through a couple of menus, finally finding what he was looking for. He flicked the files in my direction, and a prompt arose in my field of view, asking me if I trusted the source before authorizing the transfer.

The hologram reminded me once again about the implant embedded into the base of my skull, and beyond that, the mental illness it held at bay. It was a secret that nobody at the news outlet knew about. Nobody except Harry, who had been remarkably open-minded when he interviewed me, as I was legally required to disclose it. He'd never judged me for it, and that went a long way in building the mountain of respect I had for him.

I accepted the file transfer and opened the file. Images, video, more, even rudimentary maps spilled out, threatening to overwhelm my view before I quickly filtered out everything but the pictures. I would read and view everything in due time, but wanted to get a quick sense of the world I would be diving into, and images were still the best media for that.

Harry, sensing what I was looking at, launched into a synopsis of the more general points of the world of UNDR Online.

“The world, as it is, consists of a series of vertical towers. These towers are, as far as anyone can tell, are endless. There is no top or ground floor to them, and aside from climbing stairs or making use of elevators or escalators from within the buildings, the easiest way to get from one building to another, or from one level to another, is to physically leap through the empty space between buildings.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. I didn't have a fear of heights per se, but there was a level of mind over matter involved in leaping from one perfectly sound building to another that I wasn't sure I was ready for.

“The spaces in between the buildings have a neutral gravity, making them a fairly easy to get where you want to go. There are launch ramps for longer jumps, but they're more about accuracy than speed. It all sounds scary, but I promise it's no big deal.”

Safe in my chair at the moment, with the added reassurance of two hands gripping the padded leather armrests with what could probably be considered excessive force, I took all of the information in detached stride.

“There's a three-dimensional map, of course, which fills out as you explore. More detailed maps can be purchased or downloaded from player kills, but there's enough redundancy in the world that you shouldn't really need it for much.”

“Redundancy?”

“Points of interest. Since the world is procedurally generated, so anything you might need is spread out evenly across the world. If you need an artist, you'll never be that far away from one.”

“Why would I need an artist? I thought I was trying to find info out on the people blackmailing you.”

Harry tapped on his desk, and the augmented reality hologram of images hovering in front of me reshuffled. Once they stopped, the too image was of a man's forearm, a very basic tattoo, vaguely rectangular in shape, dominated the shot.

“Artists are the main quest givers and quartermasters in UNDR Online. Most of the abilities you accumulate, your Interface with the world, and more, function as animated tattoos on your body.”

In reference, he tapped his desk slowly, cycling through the images in front of me, showing variations of the tattoo from the first image. The tattoo blacked out in one, a feed of white text against a black background visible within its boundaries.

“This is the console. It’s basically a real time text Interface for everything going on around you at any given moment. Your battle log, inventory information, etc, shows here.”

Tap

“Here is it showing your map.”

Tap

“Here it is showing character information.”

Tap

“And here it is showing a character stat and ability list.

I nodded in understanding. It was the sort of detail that I'd need to make heads or tails of the world once I logged in, and I appreciated Harry's foresight into collecting the information for me. I hated tutorials.

“There are ways to expand it and use it for more than this, but those are advanced functions, nothing you'll need right away.”

Reviewing the pictures, I noticed something missing.

“What about weapons, items? I'm assuming there's a level of combat involved.”

Harry flipped back to the photo depicting player abilities.

“Weapons and items are handled a bit differently from your typical sword and sorcery RPG. Talents like spells and specials skills take Activity Points, or AP, and the cost for those will vary based on the ability. The designers of UNDR Online didn't want people carrying around ridiculous loadouts of weapons and bags of 200 healing potions, so they made conjuring collected items and weapons zero cost abilities. It makes the world more elegant, they say. People wear clothes, jewelry, that sort of stuff, but anything worth a damn as far as combat is concerned is stored in your ability list until needed.”

I wasn't sure if I liked that. I was likely to find myself in some pretty shady places at some point, and I would probably feel a lot better with the knurled steel of handgun grips in my hands.

“What's involved in conjuring a weapon? It's going to suck if I'm scrolling through menus while someone is shooting at me.”

Barry laughed.

“No, no menus. Just picture whatever item you want from your inventory, and it appears in your hand. It's really easy. You'll see.”

At various points in my life people had explained things as easy or simple, and it had rarely been as easy or simple as they had described. I doubted this would be any different. Harry picked up on my unease, and started to explain further, but I cut him off.

“It's fine, I'm sure I'll figure it out. I guess the part that I'm least comfortable with is the logging in and out of the simulation. How do I get in, how do I get out, and what happens if my avatar is killed in UNDR Online?”

Harry relaxed, leaning back in his chair and losing the mission critical time in his voice.

“That's the easy part. You log in by laying your head on the interface pillow, which connects into your implant. The system helps you go to sleep, and once your mind reaches the right level of unconsciousness, the system pulls your mind into UNDR Online Online.”

Seemed simple enough, though I was a little more concerned with getting back out than getting in.

“And getting back out?”

“The system has a pretty heavy reliance on time dilation. Barring your death in the system, you stay logged in until whatever wakeup time you set in the software. I don't know all the details, but if you're killed in the game, the system stretches out your perception of it until it's time for you to wake up in the real world. You can of course choose to go idle and accelerate that rate of time, but it's only your perception that accelerates, you're still logged in and if anyone talks to you or attacks you, normal time resumes. Also, no matter if you die five hours away from your alarm or five minutes, you always wake up feeling as though you were kicked out of the system upon death, and you get the benefits of a full night's sleep while your mind was active the entire time.”

I didn't say it at the time, but the entire time dilation thing sounded like a one way ticket to a thunderclap migraine. Harry had a head of steam going, so I let him talk.

“The only thing else you really need to know is the sociopolitical climate of the game.”

“Wait,” I cut him off, “don't people play games to get away from that shit?”

He shook his head.

“No, it's nothing like that. But there are groups in power, and groups in power almost always want more power. Knowing a little bit about the players involved can help you stay out of their way.”

The only reason I was still listening was that he included the phrase little bit. My stomach had been growling since I'd signed Harry’s NDA, and if Harry expected me to sit through a dissertation on the sociopolitical climate of a simulated reality dream world, I had a few thoughts I wanted to share with him as well. Most of my thoughts were of the four letter variety, and I wouldn't be talking about food. Something in my expression must have said as much, because he hurried on.

“The world of UNDR Online, as I already said, is made up of an endless series of infinite, procedurally generated skyscrapers. They have no beginning or end that anyone has ever found, and yes, they've looked. Aside from the map, the only real way to know which direction you are going is from the global illumination. Moving up always moves you closer to the blue fog, down moves you closer to the gray. The colors are perceptual, things don't start getting more blue or more gray the further you go, except for the center 20 or so floors, which are considered neutral territory.”

I raised an eyebrow. If I knew anything about any situation requiring people to band together to protect their interests, be they governments, gangs, clubs, or committees, it's that inevitably they look to expand. In a world where the map is almost entirely colored in, that expansion comes at the expense of someone else. Those people, having interests of their own, usually don't step aside without a fight. For those reasons and others, peace treaties and armistice agreements have always been tenuous, temporary affairs. Harry's talk of a neutral zone was instantly translated to firing line in my brain.

“The groups are referred to as the Blues and the Grays.”

I lost my battle to hold in a chuckle.

“Yeah, I know. Not exactly eloquent, but it makes it easy to keep track of territory. Nobody knows why they never came up with anything more threatening or awe inspiring. I suppose getting a large enough group of people to agree on anything nowadays is asking a lot, especially on the internet.”

I couldn't argue with him there. I was honestly surprised one of them wasn't called Bluey McBlueface.

“But as long as you stay within the Middle 20, as they are called, you're not likely to run into any further wars or gang battles. Most of that goes on at the fringes of the neutral zone, with the zone shifting up or down a level or two as needed. The system maintains the buffer, meaning nobody can claim it, and any ground gained or lost happens on the outside of the neutral zone. It just,” he made a gesture with his hand that looked accidentally sexual, “slides up or down, staying in the middle.”

My eyes must have glazed over, because he narrowed his eyes and a crown escaped one corner of his mouth.

“Anyway, hopefully you caught all that.”

Sensing an end to the conversation, I perked up.

“Didn't have to.”

I tapped the back of my neck, at the base of my skull.

“Total recall. Everything is buffered for a period of four weeks. So long as I saw or heard something inside of that timeframe, I can play it back.”

Harry had a similar implant, but his only allowed data to flow between his brain and whatever brain computer interface he might be using. Mine, owing to the added complexity and horsepower required to manage my condition, had a few more bells and whistles. Most days, it was simply there, invisibly cranking away, but every once in a while it proves useful in other ways.

Harry nodded.

“Right. Forgot about that. Well, here's the info to pick up your equipment.”

He virtually slid me a file from his desk. It struck the edge of his desk and flipped into my view like a paper football being flicked with a finger, a neat trick built by some programmer yet to have his sense of imagination crushed by the near sweatshop-like conditions typical of his trade.

“Got it.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, the exhaustion he had been pushing away finally cornering him. His nod came across as disinterested, but I'd known Harry long enough to see it for what it was – embarrassment. While he was rattling off all of the pertinent details of UNDR Online, he was able to hide behind purpose, but the story told, the weight of his situation fell back on his shoulders.

I hated seeing him like that, but took it as yet another reason for me to stand up and leave. Harry, brought out of his solitude by the change in the room, spoke before I had managed a second step towards the door.

“Casey?”

I turned around to face him.

“Yeah?”

He still looked beat, but he had just enough of that old steel in his eyes to lend his next words gravitas.

“Be careful. These people can't kill you, at least not in the game, but I don't know how big this thing is. It's probably best to assume that anyone willing to threaten people in a virtual world is willing to do it in the real. Randomize your avatar every time you log in, and use the masking software I bought as part of the package. No idea what you'll come up against, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, as my mother used to say.”

Not wanting to risk a waver entering my voice, I gave him a nod, trusting the serious expression on my face to say everything that needed to be said.