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Chapter Eighteen

The Gold Split nestled in the middle of a large strip mall on Shelf Six with its virtual neon logo glowing over a black, windowless front. The door split open as they approached, and then flinched shut behind them.

Inside, the place bustled with crowded tables and overlapping conversations. Hostesses in skimpy outfits delivered food and beverages to young adults taking breaks next to their abstraction recliners as well as teenagers and preadults wearing interactive black bodysuits and headsets to compensate for their lack of wetware.

“For a gaming lounge, I’m not seeing much gaming,” Susan observed.

“These places double as social hangouts,” Isaac explained.

“Hello! Welcome!” A hostess who appeared barely above the age of consent headed their way. She wore a fluorescent pink halter top and miniskirt with striped thigh-high stockings and a small neck scarf. Glowing lines of code scrolled across the scarf. Despite her youthful appearance, she moved with ageless poise and grace. “My name is Molly. How can—”

She frowned and her eyes landed on Isaac’s shoulder flash, then flicked to the LENS, and finally to Susan’s gun.

“Is something wrong?” Isaac asked.

“Damn it,” she breathed. “SysPol this time? And they were doing so well.” She faced the wider room.

“I’m sorry?”

“Okay, listen up, you mushbrains!” Molly raged, and the racket died off at her command. “Which of you are the cops here for?”

No one answered. The lounge was quiet except for a slow, stealthy bite of a chip.

“Sebastian!” Molly shouted, fists on her hips.

“Ah!” cried a teenager in the far corner.

“Front and center!”

A lanky teenager weaved through the crowd and hurried to Molly’s side.

“Yes, Miss Molly?”

“Have you been trolling people again?”

“No, Miss Molly.”

“Been spreading prank mail?”

“No, Miss Molly.”

“What about Dobromir? Has he been causing trouble?”

“I don’t…think so?”

“Then why are the cops here?”

“I don’t know, Miss Molly.”

“Doby! Get your butt up here!”

“Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding,” Isaac said smoothly. “Our business doesn’t concern any of your patrons.” He paused meaningfully. “Unless you feel it should.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” Molly smiled at Sebastian and tousled his hair, then turned back to the room. “Sorry everyone! False alarm! You know I love you!”

“We love you, too, Miss Molly!” the room chorused.

Sebastian scurried back to his corner.

“And sorry to you, sir.” Molly extended a hand, which Isaac shook. “Margaret Downes, proprietor of the Gold Split. I thought one of the kids was causing trouble again.”

Isaac ran a discreet search on Margaret Downes and found her listed as a one-hundred-and-three-year-old synthoid, no criminal record.

“Detective Isaac Cho, SysPol Themis. This is Agent Susan Cantrell, and my IC Encephalon.”

“Purr.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed in confusion at the odd sound. Something rubbed against his pant leg, and he looked down to find a black cat slinking past. It padded over to Molly and curled around her legs.

“That’s Siren, my IC. She sometimes hangs out in a cat synthoid.”

“Meow,” the cat said in a husky feminine voice.

“You always this busy?” Susan asked conversationally.

“Not until recently. There’s been an uptick since all this Apple Cypher drama started.” Molly pointed to the far wall. “I have a lot of new customers who only come here to eat because I keep at least one chef on staff at all times, you see. I bring in fresh groceries from Old Frontier twice a week. The kids appreciate the taste of non-printed food.”

Isaac tilted to the side and caught a glimpse of the kitchen through the crowd. A pair of young women assembled sandwiches behind a counter, both wearing long black aprons over their halter top and miniskirt “uniforms.”

“Your staff are…” Isaac began.

“Synthoids, all of us,” Molly explained. “This is my business body. I have another docked at home that’s based on my original meat suit. Do you need to see my registration and permits?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I run a respectable establishment, though you know how kids can be. You’re not the first cop to come through that door.”

“Do you ever have problems with your patrons getting a little”—Susan glanced over Molly’s outfit—“handsy?”

“Sometimes, but we can take care of ourselves.” She turned back to the crowd. “Hey, kids! What’s the Gold Split’s golden rule?”

“Look but don’t touch!” the room chorused.

“See?” she told Isaac and Susan. “They’re sweet. And even if a few do cause trouble now and again, better here than in a gang. Am I right?”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Isaac said.

“So, Detective.” Molly clasped her hands together. “How can I assist you?”

“We’d like to use your facilities, if you don’t mind,” Isaac said. “Nothing more than that. We need to visit an abstract domain as part of our work, and your establishment was nearby. Do you have any private rooms we could use?”

“I do. I’ll need to check if one’s empty and cleaned up.” She smiled apologetically. “The kids are sweet, but neatness is a scarce virtue among them.”

“Not a problem,” Isaac said. “We’ll wait here.”

“Be right back.” Molly headed toward the back of the establishment.

“Meow. Pert,” the black cat said before disappearing into the crowd.

Susan eyed another hostess as she passed in front of them, tray of drinks floating behind her.

“I must be the only woman in here not showing off her tits and ass,” she grumbled.

“At least our work didn’t lead us to a brothel,” Isaac replied.

“Fair point,” Susan conceded.

Molly waved at them from the far wall, and Isaac nodded and began weaving his way through the crowd. The few that realized a police officer was passing through gave him and Susan a wide berth, and he used the space to slip through more quickly.

“Business is good. What can I say?” Molly palmed the door, and it slid open to reveal a private room with four recliners arranged around a table. “Will this do?”

“It will.” Isaac paid the Esteem cost and provided Molly with a generous tip. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Don’t mention it.” Molly refunded the base cost but kept the tip. “Always a pleasure to assist our friends in uniform. Just holler if you need anything.”

“We will.” Isaac closed the door and settled into one of the recliners. Abstract connection icons flared to life around him. “Need any help logging in?”

“I think I can manage,” Susan said, dropping into the recliner opposite him.

“All right, then. See you inside.” He entered the connection string for Free Gate, leaned back, closed his eyes, and toggled the commit icon with his mind.

* * *

Isaac materialized in a private, white-walled loading room. A doorway with FR3G8 written above it formed on one wall, and menus activated to either side of the portal, advertising virtual goods for purchase such as starter equipment sets and resource caches.

His avatar matched his physical body, though his attire had changed to a light gray undershirt and tough, dark gray pants held up with a leather belt. Susan appeared a moment later in the same clothing.

Cephalie popped into existence, her avatar full-sized for a change. She wore a long coat with a curious camo pattern of red and blue patches, and she’d replaced her hat and glasses with a helmet and thick goggles, as if to emphasize her concern for their venture into Free Gate.

“I thought you said you couldn’t join us,” Susan said.

“I can’t. We’re in a loading abstraction next to the domain. This is as far as I can go. Both of your accounts are set up, by the way. Be careful in there.”

“It’ll be fine.” Isaac walked up to the advertisements and filtered for free gear. He harrumphed at the paltry selections and clicked the top icon. A tray opened in the wall to reveal a knife in a leather sheath. He toggled the “auto-equip” option, and it teleported to his waist.

“If you say so,” Cephalie said.

“Don’t worry,” Isaac insisted. “I played RealmBuilder once or twice on a temporary account. Everyone in the domain I visited was working on buildings shaped like giant dishes of food. The players were nice enough, but it was so weird and boring.”

“Free Gate’s not like that.”

“How bad can it be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“We’ll be fine. It’s just a game.”

“All right.” Cephalie held up her hands. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Ready?” Isaac asked Susan.

“Ready.” She patted her own knife.

“Then let’s head out.” He nodded to Cephalie. “Be back in an hour or so.”

Zhù hào yún.” Cephalie waved at them. “You’ll need it.”

Isaac shook his head and passed through the threshold.

The loading room vanished, and a gray, craggy wasteland flashed into existence around them. Black clouds rolled overhead, and lightning streaked from cloud to cloud. Thunder boomed in the distance, and dry, dusty air blew across the rocks. The back of his undershirt and pants flapped in the wind, then settled back down.

“Oh dear,” Isaac breathed as he turned around in a circle. Free Gate’s central spawn formed a blasted plateau of rock and ash with deep, gaping trenches all around. The shattered remains of three bridges spanned the trench, but even if they’d been complete, impossibly tall walls farther out formed an incomplete ring around the central spawn, further locking in new players who would enter with few resources.

And then there was the tree.

It was the only tree on the plateau, and an arch with a wooden sign declared it the TREE OF WELCOME, but Isaac didn’t feel welcomed. Not one bit. Thick branches spread across a leafless crown, and hundreds of pale corpses hung from them like rotting, diseased fruit.

“Now, that’s just rude,” Isaac grumped.

“Is this what central spawn is supposed to look like?” Susan asked.

“No. It’s normally more…green. The players must have modified the landscape over the domain’s lifespan.”

“Which way to Delacroix’s last login?”

“One moment.” Isaac opened a virtual compass over his palm and turned to face the correct heading. “This way. Across what’s left of that bridge.”

“I could jump it in real life.”

“Yeah, but not in here. You’ll be limited to baseline human strength and speed.”

“Then how do we get across?”

“Not sure.” He looked around. The wind picked up, and pebbles chattered across the ground. “Maybe if we had a rope and grapnel? Normally, we could use the in-game crafting system to construct tools and equipment.”

“I don’t see anything we could—”

A gunshot rang out, and Susan’s head exploded in a burst of gore.

“Ah!” Isaac yelped, flinching back. He turned to the left, then the right, searching frantically for the source of the gunfire.

A second shot barked, and the world turned black.

—LIFE LOST—



“Hey, kiddos,” Cephalie sneered. “Back so soon?”

“Me and my big mouth.” Susan picked herself up off the floor. She patted the sides and top of her head to make sure it was back in place. “Didn’t expect to lose body parts so soon.”

“Come on.” Isaac rose from the floor and dusted himself off. “That doesn’t count.”

“What happened to you?” Susan asked.

“Same as you. Who would do something like that?”

“How’d they get you?” Cephalie asked.

“We were sniped,” Susan said. “At least one player must be watching central spawn for new arrivals.”

“Figured.” Cephalie gave them an indifferent shrug. “Welcome to Free Gate.”

She walked over to a blank wall. A chalkboard appeared, and she picked up a piece of chalk and drew a small, vertical line.

“What’s that for?” Isaac asked.

“Just making a prediction. Please, don’t mind me.”

“What now?” Susan asked.

“We’ll try again.” Isaac stepped up to the menu, ordered a rope and grapnel, and paid the Esteem fee to start the game with it. One appeared coiled around his shoulder.

“Any guns in there?” Susan asked.

“Yes, but they’re expensive.”

“Fine by me.” She filtered the menu, her face a stony mask of determination. “There. This one.” She clicked her selection, and a long-barreled scoped rifle materialized in her hands. She raised it to her shoulder, released the safety, and viewed down the scope. “Now this is more my style. Antiquated, but lethal is lethal.”

“We need to find cover as soon as we spawn in,” Isaac said. “Fortunately, we can keep trying if we fail again.”

“Unlimited lives?”

“Yes, but we lose our gear when we die.”

“Oh.” Susan glanced down to her hip and saw the starter knife was missing. “I see. Maybe I shouldn’t have splurged so soon.”

“First priority is locating and neutralizing that sniper. Ready?”

“Ready.” Susan raised her rifle.

“Here we go!”

They charged though the threshold, vanished from the loading room, and popped into existence on a barren patch of the spawn plateau, close to where they first appeared but with a slightly randomized entry. Isaac swept his gaze across their surroundings, spotted a rocky outcrop, and sprinted for it.

“Come on!” he urged.

“Don’t need to tell me!”

A shot rang out, zinged across the rocks at Isaac’s feet, and he dove for cover. He landed prone behind the outcrop, and Susan struck the ground next to him with her shoulder and tucked in her feet.

A second shot blew shards off the outcrop.

“Did you see where those shots came from?” Isaac whispered.

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s no good,” Susan breathed. “He’s going to blow my head off if I peek out of here.”

“I know,” Isaac whispered. “Maybe I can reason with him.”

“You seriously think that’ll work?”

“Worth a try.” Isaac put his back against the outcrop and drew in a deep, virtual breath. “Excuse me, Mister or Misses Sniper!”

Another shot ricocheted off the rocks, and Isaac ducked deeper out of reflex.

“Look! I don’t know what kind of grievances you have with new players, but I can assure you we don’t plan to stick around!”

Two shots plinked off the stone.

“We’re here on important business! I’m not exaggerating when I say this is a matter of life or death to some people!” Which, Isaac supposed, was technically true. “If you would kindly provide us safe passage beyond central spawn, we would greatly appreciate your aid!”

He paused and waited for another shot.

It didn’t come.

“Are you going to shoot at us anymore?” Isaac shouted.

“No!” came the distant response. “I won’t shoot you! Promise!”

“Thank you, sir!” He turned to Susan. “See? Even Free Gaters can be reasoned with.”

“Guess so.”

Isaac heard a soft thoomp from the sniper’s general direction. Something clattered against the top of the protective rock, and he looked up in time to see a small cylinder fall past his head and land in his lap.

“Oh, for the love of—”

The rifle grenade exploded in a blinding white flash.

—LIFE LOST—



Isaac popped into the loading room on his back. He huffed out an angry breath and stared at the ceiling, arms and legs splayed around him.

“Why, hello!” Cephalie said brightly as she drew a second line next to the first. “Back so soon?”

“Well, that was a bundle of Esteem wasted.” Susan sat up. “Didn’t even get to fire once.”

“Maybe we can force him to stop shooting us,” Isaac said.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged against the floor. “Just keep spawning until he runs out of bullets?”

“You really want to try that?” Susan asked.

“Nope,” Isaac huffed. “‘I won’t shoot you. Promise.’ And then he lobs a grenade at us.”

“Not very civil of him.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Isaac sat up and gazed at the menus by the portal and all their expensive, high-end gear. “That’s it. No immature spawn camper is going to get the best of us!” He rose and opened the menu. “Forget cost, we’re taking this guy down!”

He scrolled through the selection, picked out a set of full body armor, and hit the purchase icon.

“You could expense those, you know,” Cephalie said.

“Are you kidding?” Isaac turned from the screen, voice muffled by his new helmet. “There’s no way I’m expensing RealmBuilder equipment packs! Can you imagine what Raviv would say?”

“Nothing nice, I’d wager.”

Isaac clicked an icon to purchase grenades. He kept clicking until his belt sagged with them.

“How about you, Susan?” Cephalie asked.

“I’m good. The Admin provides an Esteem stipend while I’m over here, and I’ve barely touched it.”

“You really want to spend it this way?”

“Sure, if it’ll help solve the case. Honestly, Esteem feels almost like play money to me.”

“Fine.” Cephalie rolled her eyes. “You two have fun. I’ll be here when you’re finished. Just let me know whenever you want me to get that search warrant.”

“We won’t need a warrant.” Isaac’s face hardened as he purchased a submachine gun. It materialized on a strap hanging from his shoulder. He tapped a secondary icon, and extra ammo phased into place along a bandolier.

“Good grief!” Cephalie exclaimed. “How much are you spending?”

“As much as it takes!” He gripped the submachine gun and released the safety. “You ready?”

“Ready.” Susan stood away from her menu, clad in body armor and sporting a new, even larger rifle. “Just give the word.”

“All right. Here we go!”

They charged through the portal.


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