Rush to Level 0: The Game (Chapter 10)

It was still dark when I logged off. According to my phone, only thirty-one minutes had passed, but that wasn’t the amount of time that had really gone by. Hours gone in seconds… there were apps that promised that. Approved by the Software Safety Commission, they were available for purchase anywhere online and supposedly granted users thirty extra hours in a day to spend on exams, taxes, and entertainment. I had tried them a few times—enough to learn that they were total crap. The part about creating a virtual time zone was true. Leaving it, though, felt like a ton of bricks, making me feel groggy for days.

But the game had no side effects. I had logged on three times so far, and not once did I suffer a time of decompression lag. As far as the world and my mind were concerned, I had spent half an hour logged on. That alone was enough to keep me terrified.

I took another shower to clear my head, then joined Jeff.

“Sarah,” he murmured, half-asleep as I slid into bed.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “It’s all right.”

Jeff muttered something unintelligible, then turned to the other side and fell asleep again. Things hadn’t been easy for him either. Between work, issues with his sister, and now my involvement with the game, he was straining himself to the limit. After what happened last time, I had promised I wouldn’t keep any secrets relating to my online experiences. The way things were going, though, I was running out of promises to break.

I closed my eyes, but sleep never came. All I could see was the game, along with the desire to learn more. Fears I had hours ago now seemed distant. Now that playing had become inevitable, the best I could do was to learn fast. That meant I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

As the hours passed, I would continually feel the urge to log in, drilling my mind like raindrops on a tin terrace. Each time it did, I found a reason not to give in, and each time the effect was temporary. It reminded me of my first proper MMO experience. I would tell myself I’d only play ten minutes, then waste the night away, careful not to be caught by my parents. In this case, things were different. This wasn’t a standard game. In everything I’d played so far, grinding was an integral part of moving forward; here, grinding would make me weaker.

At half past six, I couldn’t stand it any longer. Careful not to wake Jeff up, I slipped out of bed. My shift wouldn’t start for a while, but it didn’t matter. I needed something to distract me.

“I’m heading out,” I whispered to Jeff, just in case he was semi-awake. There wasn’t any reaction.

Sorry, you can’t be my distraction right now. I kissed him on the cheek, then went to wash up.

In general, work regulations discouraged wearing makeup, however it was makeup that brought in the tips. Usually, I didn’t care—the amount I put on wasn’t large enough for it to be a must. Today, though, I decided to give myself a thicker coat. As I did, I took my phone with me.

“Twinkle,” I said, applying my eyeshadow. “Any luck with the ghost forum?”

“Still looking, Sarah,” the AI companion said in its sad voice. “Do you want me to search the paid layer?”

“No. Send a message to Claire.”

“Sure thing, Sarah! What is the message?”

“I’ll be heading into the game after work. Will let you know more then.” At this point, the fewer details the better. “Did you find out anything?” Never hurts to ask. “End message.”

“Message sent, Sarah! Anything else?”

“Do a search for FlickerFlacker. Forums, streams, leaderboards. Anything that isn’t paid. Try not to ping too much.”

“There’s a new series of ping-masking add-ons available. Do you want me to buy any?”

“No.” If it was commercially available, it probably was crap.

“Sure thing, Sarah!”

“Also, go mute.” I didn’t want him to cause me any issues while I was at work.

The streets were unusually empty when I went out. The weather report indicated it would be a clear day, with humidity levels well within a tolerable range. I checked for chemical warnings—none were reported on my side of town. Half a minute later, I saw the reason for the lack of people—techno cultists. Half a year ago, I had hardly seen any in this area. Since then, they had started slowly creeping in. What disturbed me was that they were using children to find recruits. Decades ago, there had been laws against child labour. With the development of the online economy, the lines had become blurred, and the techno cults had latched on to the exceptions created by the entertainment lobbies.

There were four groups of them. Always in pairs, they wore different neon clothes and glowing rosaries, but the message was always the same: “Come join us, and you’ll reap countless online benefits.”

Gargoyles. I thought. That’s what they were. Small silent gargoyles, walking during the early hours of the morning in search of easy marks. It was almost admirable how each group avoided the others, pretending not to notice them. They would approach different people, never crossing paths or making eye contact. Thankfully, none of them approached me, either.

Halfway to work, my phone buzzed. Normally I would answer at once. This time, though, I ignored it. I wouldn’t be playing until later this evening, so there was no reason for me to check. Everything else could wait. Three buzzes later, I gave in.

Crap! I wasn’t even good at that.

The call was from Jeff. Quickly I tapped the accept icon.

“Hi, Jeff,” I said, walking on. Almost immediately, he ended the call. “Shit!”

I quickly tapped to call back. When Jeff didn’t pick up, I knew there would be issues. Knowing him, there would be a lot of grouchiness and maybe even a talk. To reduce the effects, I texted a short apology and an explanation that I had gone to work early to clear my head. Strangely enough, I didn’t even remember my work schedule. I had a vague recollection that he had put me on the morning shift, but there was nothing in my schedule to confirm it. At worst, I’d get a pay reduction for volunteering.

The store was ready for work by the time I got there. Three people were at their workstations, paper cups of coffee in their hands.

“Sarah!” Swan said in a bubbly voice.

Her enthusiasm this early in the morning was on the verge of being annoying. Younger than most of the others, this was her first non-temp job. Jeff seemed to like her attitude. I didn’t. She reminded me too much of Kyle.

“Good thing you’re here! You’re doing the shifts. Jeff texted he couldn’t make it and the other supervisor got some cold. Guess you’re it.”

“Lucky me.” I did my best not to snap at her. “Is this everyone?” We were a few people short.

“Early shift? Yep.”

“Did I miss a memo?” I went to get my work gear. Opening with this few people was absurd.

“Flu season. Everyone in the service industry has been warned.”

“Yay for automation.” This was the first time I’d heard anything of the sort. Usually Twinkle kept me up to date with things like this. “Let’s do what we can. No brand discounts today, so we go with every twentieth customer.”

A chorus of grumbles told me that everyone knew the drill.

“Okay. Smiles on. Let’s get the crowd.”

“We’re opening up this early?” Swan asked.

“Management won’t dock us for this. With a flu wave, best get as many as we can. And watch out for sneezers.”

The crowd came later than expected. Given previous times, I expected the numbers to be halved, but apparently, I was wrong. If there was any flu wave, I wasn’t the only one that missed it. The first wave crashed on us like an avalanche. I had to go to my station full time to try and keep the pace.

Every hour, I’d text Jeff using the company cell, but he still wouldn’t respond. I even asked one of the others to phone him, but the result was the same. Strangely enough, that made me feel somewhat better. Whatever was going on, at least I didn’t seem to be the cause of it.

By mid-morning, the flow had all but ceased, allowing me to catch my breath before the noon crowd.

“Swan, keep an eye on things.” I got up. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Pick up, Jeff. I dialed his number as I left the store. No answer, not even a redirect to voicemail. The dial tone kept going and going, with no sign of stopping. After the tenth time there was a click.

“Jeff?” I felt my heart jump in my throat. Considering all the shit I was dealing with, it was surreal that I’d feel so much relief just getting a connection. “Sorry I missed your call, I was—”

“Wrong,” a masked voice replied. “I warned you not to play games with me.”

“Claire.” I felt a chill. “How…”

“Even hackers have their price. Or fears.”

“I told you I’ll be going back in after work.”

Laughter came from the other end.

“I redirected the call. I don’t want to make my partner feel depressed.” There was a slight pause. “I do want to illustrate that I can be serious. Next time you go off script, I erase you both. Clear?”

I nodded out of habit.

“Good. I’ve sent you a new device. It should arrive at your place in ten minutes. It’s signed for, so you don’t need to worry about anyone snatching it. Read the instructions before you log on.”

“And Jeff?”

“He left a while ago. I’ll be waiting for an update in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes?! I can’t skip work!”

More laughter.

“Look, it’s not just losing my job. It’s…” I had to come up with an excuse. As much as I wanted to log back in the game, I didn’t want to make it obvious. “At least two people from the game are watching me in real life. There might be more. If I change my behavior too much, I might attract attention."

“You won’t. Besides, I fixed the numbers. Your shift’s already over. Scheduled health inspection. It won’t be done until the end of the week. Longer, if your bosses don’t pay a few bribes.”

That was outright scary, which was the entire reason for it. There were dozens of ways Claire could have gotten me home. Closing the entire store served to show me what he was capable of. That, and something else; if I were in his place, I wouldn’t waste this many resources on me, even if I had become part of the game. Or maybe I didn’t know the game’s true value?

“Anything else?” I tried to keep my breathing level.

“I’ll tell you in half an hour.” He ended the call.

For several seconds, I stood there, phone still to my ear, incapable of processing what exactly had happened. Finally, I moved it away and looked at the screen. As far as everything was concerned, I’d had a conversation with Jeff.

Events unfolded pretty much as Claire had said they would. When I got back, there was already a video call from management telling us to pack up and close for the day. As senior manager, I was tasked to check the books and do the automated report—which took all of five minutes—before locking the place up. Unsurprisingly, none of my colleagues waited for me to finish. Even less surprising, I was glad they didn’t.

Rushing home, I tried calling Jeff a few more times. There were no further surprises, just a redirect to his voicemail.

“Jeff, store’s closed. Scheduled health inspection or something,” I said, careful not to be run over by a car or an overenthusiastic cyclist. “I’m heading home. Call me when you get this.”

The package was waiting for me inside my apartment—a grey cardboard box, wrapped in plastic and insurance stickers. I got a knife and ripped it open. There was a single USB drive among the layers of polystyrene. No sooner had I taken it out than my phone rang—blocked number. I accepted the call.

“Got my package?” Claire asked, knowing full well I had.

“A USB drive?” With today’s connectivity these were getting extremely rare.

“Not quite. Plug it to your rig before switching it on.”

I considered my response.

“Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble.”

Now I knew he was lying.

“I plug this in, then log on?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find out anything interesting about the game?” I went to my rig. Most models had their USB ports removed, but since I had gotten a somewhat gamer-specific system, there were two left for auxiliary devices. I put the plug in the first accessible socket.

“Not yet, but I found how you can.” There were a series of high-pitched sounds in the background. “There’s talk of a guide you can access from the inside. Check your menus when you’re there, but don’t ask anyone about it. It’s very important!”

“Not asking? Why?”

“Just don’t. Write when you’re back out.” The call ended.

Quite talkative today. Especially considering dark brokers preferred never to communicate in the real world. Something had stirred him… or maybe he was just freaking out that none of his software functioned in the game. There was only one way to find out.

I grabbed half a protein bar, washed off my makeup quickly, then entered my rig and logged on. The loading sequence appeared the same as usual, though just a tad slower, as if the system was downloading an update.

“Hello, Sarah!” Twinkle appeared. For some reason, his color had gained a slight purple glow. “How are you today?”

Only you could ask that. “Connect me to the gate.”

“Sure thing, Sarah!”

The virtual space cleared, leaving nothing but a doorway in sight.

Imposing as ever, I thought. “Twinkle, did you manage to find anything?”

“There are thirteen thousand and eleven mentions of the username FlickerFlacker. In eleven thousand eight hundred and sixteen of those, the user name is written as two words. The rest are players who’ve been in different games over the last twenty years. Six are players of Vesperia. Four stopped playing three years ago. The other two are still active.”

“I thought you said that his account didn’t exist.” I stood in front of the game, mentally preparing to step through.

“The accounts were created twenty-one and seventy-eight days ago, shortly after the name registration expired.”

Name registration. Rich kids loved those—the guarantee that they were the only person with a specific username. During my grandfather’s days, all users had a unique name. Back then, it was first-come, first-served. The game companies quickly saw a potential for money and started offering registration options. Nothing screamed money and status better than the guarantee that you were the only player in a game with a specific username. For a few thousand bucks more, all similar name combinations were also banned.

“And the ghost forum?”

“Sorry, Sarah,” the virtual cat whimpered. “I’m still looking.”

“Start all cameras. And when we’re there, hold tight.” I stepped through.

The virtual lobby disappeared, replaced by the lush environment of the game. I found myself in the village, facing the Depository. The sun was directly above, scorching down on me as if I were at a Burning Man festival.

“You need to learn time,” a child’s voice said behind me.

I turned around. A blond boy was standing there, looking at me with his head tilted to the side. He seemed similar to the children that I had seen running about the place, but it was the first time I had actually seen him.

What is it with creepy children today?

“Hi.” I walked up to him. “Do you know me?”

“You have a deal with the Depository.” His tone suggested that that was a big deal. I couldn’t tell if he was envious or impressed. Likely a bit of both. “Why?”

“Tell me what I need to learn about time, and I’ll tell you.”

The boy remained silent for several seconds, then turned around and walked away. A pissy attitude, but it made it apparent that I was considered too poor for information exchanges. In the eyes of everyone, I was nothing but a pauper. The only thing that kept my value high was my level. At least for the moment.

There was a cold draft when I walked into the Depository, as if there was a system blocking the outside heat. Elvira was the only person inside, pinning empty sheets of paper on the boards.

“I told you I’d send a message when it was time,” she said without turning around.

“I’m here to make a change.”

The words made her hand tremble slightly. If she hadn’t been holding a piece of paper, I wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Oh?” She turned around, her expression like a mask of wax.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going after the quest.” Sweat a bit. ”I’m going after both.”

The moment I finished, her features softened. I could almost imagine her letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you, there are no quests.” She went back to posting blank pages. “Just tasks.”

“Well, I’m going after both of them.”

“The game rewards the enthusiastic, but I’m afraid it’s impossible. Each of the tasks risks delevelling you. If you were to take both, one of the clients would be disappointed.”

“The other wouldn’t be. And there’s a good chance both of them get what they want.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Elvira shook her head. “Arrangements have been made. I’ve already sent a message.”

“So you can send another.” I wasn’t giving up. For once, I held the cards. “If I start with the identifying task, there’s a high chance I remain invincible for the other. After all, you said yourself that there are always exceptions. There’s no guarantee I’m not going to investigate a nest of culling beasts.” I smirked. “Is there?”

The woman stared at me for what felt like minutes. I could feel the intensity of the gaze, but didn’t dare look away.

“No, there isn’t,” she said at last. “Are you sure about this? Once I send the message, it’s done. One renegotiation shows initiative. Two and you become damaged goods.”

“I’ll be damaged goods when I delevel either way. Might as well cash in while I can.”

A smile appeared on her face. As it did, I felt a sort of gamer pride mixed with caution. I was starting to get a feel for how the game was played. All I had to do was not get cocky.

“Wait here.” She took a quick glance at the new notices she’d placed, adjusted the position of a few of them, then left the main hall. This time, I hadn’t been invited to join her, though it might be just as well.

While waiting, I read through the posts I could see. The vast majority were requests for area exploration—no specific details given, of course—and info on monster experience amounts. In a world where each kill made things more difficult, it was more important to know what the results of a killing would be than the actual method.

Two notes caught my attention. Both were open invitations for joining “a group,” and both demanded tasks outside the game. One was a request for “indefinite lodgings” in the real world in exchange for an admission to a game group. The other was looking for an “outside watcher.” The phrase reminded me of Kyle, or possibly Legion.

“Not a good idea,” Elvira said, startling me. I hadn’t heard her return at all. “Maybe get a sense of things first, before raising the difficulty.”

“Is playing the game more difficult in the real world?”

The woman didn’t respond.

You can’t tell me, can you? I thought. Whatever happens in the game stays in the game… until I find the exception.

“Your request was accepted,” Elvira said. “You can try to go for both.”

“Just like that?”

“Arrangements were made. As a result, some of the conditions have changed. You’re to do both tasks today.”

“By today, you mean in the real world?” This felt all too sudden.

“No.” She held out a small bronze medal. It was a square-shaped medal with three dots on it, and an old worn out piece of cloth that must have been a ribbon at one point. “I’ve been instructed to give you this. It’s an artifact. All you need to do is pin it on and say the word Vesperia.”

“Vesperia?” Interesting coincidence.

“After that, you’ll be transported to the location you need to be in to accomplish your first task. If you’re still green-eyed after you finish, you’ll move on to the second. Your earnings will be waiting for you once you return.”

Interesting. Also, way too appropriate. The first few times I was here, it had taken me hours to find out any useful fragment of information, and now two low-level players had responded minutes after I’d let Elvira know I’d changed my mind. Either they were keeping an eye on the happenings in the game, or she had an instant means of communication.

“Your choice,” the woman said in a somewhat urgent fashion. “In the game, everything is.”

“Sure.” That was the biggest lie I’d heard. I grabbed the square medal from her hand and pinned it to my shirt.

To hell with everything! “Vesperia,” I whispered.