“You know, Ashen, when you do something good, you see yourself as good. That’s why you like yourself,” Sam said as he walked beside me. I looked at the man. He was average in body size. He had joined me while I walked downhill. His name was Sam Babel. If there was any dead giveaway, I would call his name one. Sam claimed his surname was inherited and not his fault. I shrugged. Sam belonged to the Covenant of the Wise Fool. So, at least we were on the same page. Sam also lived in Wing A, of the Covenant’s living quarters. I had thought he belonged to the Covenant of the Wind.

I reached the building with the various shades of gray. It was splashed with squares and circles, of black, gray, white and many shades of black and white. I got to my room. I freshened up. Then I went for the cafeteria, in [Wing B, room 5 – Kitchen/Breakout Room]. As I walked I overheard a conversation. I recognized Roger Bergeron’s voice. He was talking to Nina and Raymond.

“We’ve got to do something,” Raymond said. “I don’t think being neutral will help.”

“Do what you want, Raymond,” said Roger. “And be tactful about it.”

“That will do,” came the reply.

There was silence for two seconds. “These people are horrible, Roger,” Nina said.

“It is a bad thing that they are horrible, Nina,” replied Roger. “That said, maintaining a contract between the bully and the bullied is one of the hardest things to do.” His voice sounded reticent and incredulous.

I stuck my neck out of it. I had my adventure at the Royal Lucretius and that had taken its mental toll. I entered the [Kitchen/Breakout Room] and grabbed three meat buns. A woman laughed at the other table. Someone had made a joke about one of the city’s casanovas. I had finished my second meat bun before I sensed someone approaching me.

“You are unbelievable, Ashen Spines,” Elizabeth said with her arms crossed. “You took up the Beast of Babel’s invitation. Only a few of us ever did that. It’s common sense to reject the questline related to the Beast of Babel in Life of No Legacy.”

“How did you know? And yes, I did it of my own accord,” I replied.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen people come out crazy from the other end of that museum. I wonder why they have not banned entrance to that place for newbies yet. You need to learn a lesson. I’ll give you 10,000 utils if you complete the quest. What you should do is simple. Make us trust you more.”

I felt like I had come across that same scenario in a parallel universe. “I’m sorry but why are you telling me that I should invest in you. If I wanted to do something, I could do it on my own. I can do what I want with my money and with my time,” I said.

Elizabeth heaved a breath. She pressed her right palm forward, her left arm still hugging her. “I’m from the Sect of the Dragon-Hunters, just so you remember. You’ll have a bad morning next time you come over for breakfast.”

“That’s a threat,” I said.

Elizabeth massaged her side-temple with her left hand. She lowered her head slightly. Her black, curly hair fell forward. “What did you accomplish there?”

“I defeated some illusions of Babel. That was what I did.”

“Sure. You feel good now?” Elizabeth said, holding a kitchen mitten between her hands.

I pondered. Sam’s words came to mind. [If I did something good, I would see myself as good.] If, relational to me, Elizabeth did something I thought I liked, I could choose to reject or accept that something. If she were a stranger who did something I liked, I could admire what she did. In Elizabeth’s eyes, I had done something bad by going to the science section of Royal Lucretius’s museum and accepting the Beast of Babel’s quest.‘Why be an object or a subject at all?’ I thought. I chose not to curse my birth, as another human.

My eyebrows formed a frown. “I can do something about being trusted by you,” I said, though I was inclined to decline. “I hope it will be something useful.”

“Not to worry,” Elizabeth said. “Okay. I’ll tell you who you will help. Then, I’ll make up the preliminary conditions and I will send the request to you. Writing out the request is a personal hobby. That can be a contract too, after all.”

“I see,” I said.

“User Command: Request format.” Elizabeth summoned up a display with blank space and a broad keyboard in front of her.

The act of trusting someone meant to have ‘faith’ in someone. Faith could be short-term or long-term. To have faith meant to have established a series of habits which brought the results you desired and which partly regulated your expectations. Habits came from memories of doing and consuming things. Having a persistent memory meant to have been in a gridlock of rules or to have done an activity multiple times by enthusiasm or by necessity.

Relative to the concept ‘gridlock of rules’, a rule was either a tool or a piece of culture. It was portent of particular and universal ideological standards of people. Rules prevented potential accidents. Rules helped with multi-tasking, prominently as reminders. Rules helped prevent inexperienced actions. Admittedly, I did not espouse every single rule that came my way. Rules, also, stifled teachable moments.

In short, a rule was either a tool and/or a piece of culture. Rules or such activities accomplished several times formed the backbone of faith. To trust someone meant to have ‘faith’ in someone.

Elizabeth had suggested I accept her rule regarding earning trust. Her rule was a piece of culture, not necessarily a tool, from my perspective. Elizabeth trusting me would form the foundation of my relationship culture with Elizabeth.

In particular, a relationship culture made sure my objectives were aligned with the objectives of the other party, and vice versa. In other words, a relationship culture supplemented individual productivity, if personal speed, quality and designation were not your primary goal. If your objectives greatly aligned, you might have mutual dependencies. The downside could be a genuine inability to do work independently.

“You are thinking, already,” said Elizabeth. I looked at her. “I won’t ask you for something impossible. Help out Alfred, the gardener. I’ll contact him now. Hang on.”

“No, wait a moment. Who’s Alfred? First time hearing about him. So he’s our covenant’s gardener?”

“No, he’s not. You’ll find him downtown,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh, I see. I’m cool with it,” I said. “Make sure to mention that this is not an outsourced commission in the request.”

“Don’t worry. I will do that,” Elizabeth said, smiling.

“Sure,” I replied. Elizabeth continued typing. She was done, shortly.

I exited the room. As I did, I saw a white-haired man. “I’m Kenji Ishida.” He introduced himself, extending a hand forward. I shook his hand. “My name is Ashen Spines.”

“Okay.” He took a breath. “Let’s discard the formalities. I overheard your conversation. What’s so special about you? You think you are Mark Zuckerberg?”

“You have white hair. I don’t have much of that. This is our first conversation. You have no need to concern yourself with my business,” I said.

“I will not hold my breath. As expected, we are not on the same page.”

I made an outward sweeping gesture at my knee. “I don’t think you’ve heard enough, or that you even should be doing this. No one’s getting hurt.”

I got on my way to meet Alfred. As I walked, I looked at the posters on the roadside. I saw a poster featuring the winner teams of football, basketball and rugby. Of the former two, as an adolescent, I had crossed out a career in these. It was that list you made when planning and changing. I did not want to win at a career in these. So I gave up on them.

I saw a statue of Arvald, the Fourth. Arvald had some knightly attire on, not too light, not too heavy.

‘The sun shines bright in the dusk.’

Welcome to the heart of the Great City, in the Arvald Nation. Arvald, the Fourth, greets you and your new beginning.

Arvald was transfigured, his golden sword raised to the sky. He had hopeful and expectant eyes.

Transcendence in expectation in terms of regulating or being regulated by the duality of gratitude and entitlement was what people looked for when they consumed a piece of mythological abstraction. Arvald was the myth of the good superhero.

I walked past the buildings, focused on the destination indicated on the blue map display in front of me. I thought the museum visit had been a rewarding experience. However, I could not blame Elizabeth for her standards. She had a meddlesome character. Whether it was a good or bad ‘meddlesome’ was something else. Same went for me. I entered the farm area and greeted an old man. He smiled at me with quiet honor and friendliness. He explained the job. We reviewed the details, and we got to doing the job.

Self-satisfaction and reality diverged and intersected. If you wanted to make a game intersect with reality more, it was a game that sought blood, good or bad. At that point, it was not just a game. It might remain a mere matrix, all the same.

A solo game was played at your pace. A team game was played in a tenacious or cohesive manner. A commission was accepted or granted based on your trustworthiness. As I planted each new seed into the ground, I wondered what I should be doing next.

***

In the living quarters complex of the Covenant of the Holy Mother, there was an orphanage. There, children played games among themselves and with their wardens. Emma Decker was among one of the wardens. She seemed to enjoy herself. Emma raised her palm, urgently telling the children to wait. She went to the quadrangle’s corridors and chose one path inside. She got to a room, observing Father Keynes and a woman having a conversation, north-west of her. That woman’s name was Dorothy. Emma took out some badmintons and went back to the quadrangle.

Father Keynes and Dorothy were next to some chambers of members of the covenant. Dorothy was a straightforward woman, with some fervor. She was diligent – that was her trait. Father Keynes reviewed the completion of Dorothy’s preset task log and asked her if she wanted some more free time. Dorothy said ‘no’.

A man with light-blue glasses came out of the chambers area. Father Keynes looked at him. “You are finally awake, Chattoor. What took you so long?”

“I did an all-nighter researching some chess moves. I have a match next week.”

“Alright. Go freshen up and get something to eat. Dorothy will join you, I presume.”

“Yes, I will, Father,” Dorothy said. “Good morning, Chattoor.”

“Good morning, Dorothy,” Chattoor said, walking ahead. Dorothy walked in lock-step with him. Chattoor smiled and nodded at her gesture.

“Pulling all-nighters is tough on your body. Don’t be an idiot. You should take good care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Dorothy,” Chattoor said, ruffling the hair on the back on his head. Dorothy kept quiet.

On the other side of the area, another man poked his head out. He got out of his room. Father Keynes asked him, “You are finally awake, John. What were you doing last night?”

“I was gaming. It was an awesome experience,” replied John, his cheeks infused with blood.

“It’s fine you enjoyed yourself. You left out some chores and self-investments in the process. That’s the third time. Go to the training room. You will run ten laps and do thirty push-ups. I’ll meet you there.”

“Alright, Father.” John rushed along, turning left. Father Keynes looked at the watch on his hand with a demure expression. It was 13:00. After a while, he walked in the direction John had taken. He looked at the left corner. In the room directly opposite Father Keynes, a man noted down Father Keynes’s activities. After Father Keynes was gone, the man got out of the room. The person who came out, still holding his notepad, had the same face as Father Keynes. He gripped the badge of the Covenant of the Holy Mother, on his priestly cloth.