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A man stood before the 24/7, amidst the busy, smoke-filled traffic of the Central Bank District, hand clutching a bundle of various junk food, bought under heavy discount. This is his diner for the day, to be eaten at noon because life is stupid and paying student loan make him an insomniac. He quietly snuck the content into the trunk of his moped before letting out a loud yawn only to-
"DING A DING DING!!!"
He nearly dropped his phone as the sound rudely snap him out of his sleep-deprived daze, hand catching barely seconds before it hit the hard concrete floor.
"Hello? Who's calling?"
He answers the call, annoyed at this unknown number, cursing under his breath. But little does he know the surprise that the caller has waiting for him. It was only a single word, but hearing it shook his being to the core.
"I no longer goes by that username. Leave me alone."
He answered, after a moment of silence. Yet he doesn't cut off the call.
The formal, calm, and almost robotic tone of the caller seems to notice his hesitation, and simply replied:
"We can arrange some proper payment for your service. Your student loan is just a start. In exchange for your consideration to negotiate with us, we can pay half the cost of the remaining loan for you. Think of it as appreciation for your... skillset."
A blatant lie. Skill? Him? A corporation won't even consider 1/100 of that money to someone like him for his talent. More skilled people have been laid-off for even less. Is this a scammer?
"Such a sad fate for the game, isn't it? Such a revolutionary design for its time, yet forgotten and abandoned by the devs due to some mere budget constraint. But we have a great passionate team here, talented people all of them, that would love to bring Next Color Planet back online again. Trust in us."
The caller's claim was met with silence.
"Our nearest office is in the Diamond District. Three hours drive from the Central Bank District. Speak to the receptionist at any time you want, and I will be there. Good day to you."
And with that, the caller cut the line, leaving the man back to his thought.
He sighs, throws his phone into the grocery bag, and jump onto his moped. Its a half an hour drive back home.
###############################################################
The moped came to a screeching halt. It is too old that a mere three-hour drive but the engine already smoking with fumes. Year of rust has entered the fuel tank, and no matter how many times he brought it to a shop, it wouldn't stop. Kinda remind him of his life, thinking about it, the bloody thing.
So, how much of a sore thumb would a man in a rugged up t-shirt, baggy pants, and a bag of junk food going to look be in the golden, glass laden halls of a major corporation? He wouldn't know, he got stopped by the security before that happened. After some frustrating and heated bickering, which almost made him thought that he been set in a ruse, the guard finally let him in after a curious receptionist came in and have a look at his caller's number, and profusely apologized while guiding him to a common lunchroom.
One hour passed. His stomach groans. He wandered near one of the automated snack machines to see anything worth having, but disappointingly anything that wouldn't make him go broke would also be barely fulfilling.
Two hours. Being as hungry as he is, he tried to ask the employees if there any microwave that he could use, but they informed him that those are for employee uses. He tried to ask the employees to heat up the frozen diner that has been sitting in his grocery bag, but self-awareness took rein. Apparently even he wouldn't stoop that low out of shame.
Three hours! He planned to leave. He really does. But sunk cost fallacy, such as it is, prevented him. The dangling carrot of finally being debt-free really motivates a man.
Just when the thought of ditching his whole place wandered into his mind again for the umpteenth time, the sound of expensive boots clicking the floor make him reflexively stood up to pay attention.
Click, click, click, came a man in a cowboy hat. He doesn't look much like the corporate type- but he does look rich. Expensive watch, well shaven, exotic perfume. The cowboy extended his hand, adorned with several golden rings for him to shake.
Reluctantly he does. His hand is slick with sweat and the man grip was strong- an intentional gesture to further wedge the power difference between them both. It lasted long enough to be uncomfortable, but only just.
The cowboy smile, flashing perfect porcelain teeth.
"Shall we begin?"
"...Sure." He answered.
"Alright, so..." the cowboy took a seat "I was made aware that you are one of the core members in the Archivist scene that ran a private server of Next Color Planet after its official shut down?"
"Just so." He nods.
"Impressive. I heard from my technical boys that the governor AI for it, Game Master, has been 'impossibly' difficult to crack. And you all managed to do that in a span of a month."
"Weren't me. I was just in charge of the resources- models, music, dialogue, all that. You might want to talk to EliElixir for that."
At the mention of Eli, the cowboy suddenly pauses his carefree attitude and instead leaned the table, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Taken aback by the surprising change in attitude, he turned to silence as the cowboy stare him down.
"Were you aware of Eli's previous occupation?"
"...Yes. He doesn't say it explicitly, but everyone in the closer circle kinda guesses. He must be one of the lead designers for Next Color Planet. His knowledge of its inner working is uncanny."
"Were you also aware of his previous occupation before that?"
"-What!? No. I don't gossip."
"Military Tech. Then I guess you also don't know about his subsequence arrest after the passing of Ms.Yvi-"
The cowboy jolted as a fist came crashing down onto the table, crack the glasses in half with a loud "BANG!" and stopping him from speaking the dreaded name. He cracked a laugh.
"Whoa. Now now, what you do that for?"
Just then would the poor man is reminded of his rash action. Hiding his bleeding fist behind him, he timidly muttered.
"My hand slipped."
"Gods, you madder than me."
"Anyhow, it was a suicide. It has nothing to do with-"
"Assisted suicide. But since it is such a... volatile topic to you, let move on, shall we?" He folded his hand, seemingly amused.
"Right, so... let talk payment." The cowboy shrugged, tapping his phone.
"Wait, so soon?"
"Just to set some expectation, that is all. Better to know what you are dealing with than not, hmm? Don't worry, you will still get half your student debt even if you walk away from this deal. I am a man of principle."
"...I am glad."
"Three million. Three thousand upfront, if you accept the deal. The rest will be given out per milestones completed."
"!!!" The shocked expression from him showed it all. The cowboy seems pleased with this response, grinding from ear to ear.
"N-No. Wait. Let slow down. I need some details first."
"Certainly. Ask away." The cowboy lights up a cigar and leans back in his chair, full of confidence.
"What is the task even? I mean you haven't-"
"Milestone one: a working copy of Archivist's Next Color Planet that you processed."
"How did you know that I have- Nevermind. And?"
"Milestone two: the private server traffic data. We do not need the user data, so you can safely tuck them aside or throw them away as you wish. What we value most though is user interaction with the GM."
He suddenly felt light. Easy! This is so easy. Surely there must be more!?
"Milestone three: the replacement of GM."
"WHAT!? But that would make the game unplayable!"
"We have other alternatives in mind. Instead, you can back up the Game Master as it is and send it to us."
"What alternative?"
"We expect you to not ask needless questions."
"Of course, of course... will I work on this alone?"
"Yes. And we expect you to keep complete anonymity on this project and our involvement in it. This might not be a signed contract but considered it as such. Penalty for breaching our agreement will be... harsh."
Chills ran down his shoulder. His six senses tugging inside his mind to shake his head and ran away from this man for as far as he can. But...
"I agree."
"Grand. Then, as promised." The cowboy tapped a button on his phone, and just like that,
"I-" He quickly pull out the phone to check. It is true. His student debt is almost cleared, and with plenty of money left to survive to the end of the year. The money that is promised would be enough to pull himself out of the poverty line. Hell, maybe even start a new life somewhere else...
A firm hand gripped on his shoulder, and he is instantly pulled back to reality. That right. He just made a deal with a devil in a cowboy hat. He shouldn't be so careless to plan so far ahead if he doesn't even know what coming tomorrow.
"Be seeing ya." And with that, the cowboy left.
And he slumped down on the chair, the tension of the life-changing deal he made just now still run wild over his body. Some times passed before he decided to grab the spoiled diner he just bought and throw it into the bin, hand still bloody and all, then walk out of the lunchroom.
Back home it is. Fuck being hungry. He just wanted to rest.
###############################################################One month has passed. The first few days of it felt like he is still in a dream, perhaps some sort of deluge he created for himself to escape the shoddy position that his life has been in. But it was not so, for no matter how hard or fast he blinks, he couldn't wake up, and the zeroes added to his bank account doesn't disappear. A week passed, and the first milestone is complete. A million richer. Still isn't a dream. The student debt is cleared, with a few thousand left to his name. He bit his lips when he saw the number go up. The next week came, the second milestone is completed. He was hesitant to hand them over so quickly, a sudden reminder out of nowhere that he is actively betraying what the Archivist stood for. If they could see him now, what would they say? Many sleepless nights followed, haunted by nightmares from the past. The payment felt dirty when it arrived. But still, he took it. Those who could, and would, criticize him have long left his company for years. He took relief in the idea that the current him owns nothing to the past- that past. This is for a better future, they would have done the same in his position. Or would they?
The last week of the project was the worst. Like there is some sort of force that compels him, he couldn't stop getting the idea from his mind. He wanted to ask. He wanted to know what they going to do with the Game Master, the system that Eli poured so much love into. But he couldn't even pick up the phone, much less calling that dreaded man in a cowboy hat. Panic attacks came more frequently. One day overdue. Two days. Then four. Then six. Two weeks passed like a flash as he struggles to both works on dismantling the GM and keep his sanity in check. The dreaded call from the cowboy never came. This only fuel his paranoia.
But on the dawn of the new month, a message came for him. Unknown number. A blank note containing only a link to a cloud drive.
What is this? He thought as he shifted through all the folders, under closed curtains. Automated assault drones? Data siphoning? World Wide Net 8.0? Quantum Cipher?
All of them read like some sort of sci-fi concept. But the more he read, the more he realized this isn't some aspiring writer book of ideas. One folder caught his eye in particular. "GM". Is that?
<
Ominous. A directory into human consciousness? Simulation theory? More real than real life?
Then he read the name of the project lead. It took a moment, but he recognizes it.
"Oh no... Eli."
So this is what they going to plug into Next Color Planet. He doesn't understand much of the jargon presented, but he can at least read between the lines... this is forbidden knowledge. Why was it given to him?
But before he can be rational, curiosity has gripped him tight. He doesn't even hesitate to press the download button, and quietly plug in the VR headset for a scan of his brain.
<
"Import new! Code: V29ydGhsZXNz! Damn my sentimental self..."
<
<
"Denied! Run them side by side!"
<
"Yes! Reset world state too!"
<
"...My god. I have finally gone off the deep end. I should have booked a psychiatrist."
<
"There no way my skill set could decode a GM by myself. But if it is another GM..."
<
"SYSTEM! Tell mom I love her! ...and my sister too, but told it at 50% volume. HELL TELL IT TO EVERYONE I KNOW."
<
"Heh. I'm coming, Eli. You better have some explaining to do-"
And the world went black.
###############################################################
< Da da da da
Man in a Box!
Spinning and spinning and spinning
Round and round in the black and white
No sunrise...
La La La La
Meat box, tight chain, sinking time
Conscience falter, void of light
Sing and singing and singing somewhere still
Out of sight...>>
"Shut up..." I swat my hand away into the empty void, a futile effort to shut off the noisy singing. It is only now that I am aware of the cold wind that battered upon my body, the creeping chill seep deeper under my skin.
< A gruff voice echoes from above you, reeking of cheap liquor and nicotine. An old man's voice:
"Hmph. So. You are finally awake."
My eyes struggle to open, the comfortable blanket of the endless void of non-existing felt too good to give up. The formless, spiritless, thoughtless nothing have no struggle to face. But alas-
< The old man has already used his dirty fingers to pry my eyes open and in his other hand shone a bright light upon my face. The sudden flash made me panicked and I reflexively jerked my body away from him.
"Aye. So you are alive. Trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into our Bera traps. Thankfully the hunter didn't mistake you for one of those beasts."
The old man backed off, throwing the shinning crystal he just held into a bucket of water, then make his way over to a burning kettle on the stove. He looks rugged but well shaven, clothed in a simple garment made of leather and fur. Dotted along his forearms are various letters tattooed into his skin, enough to fill out several blank pages. The entire wooden shack I am in smells of salt and manure, and despite the raging fireplace the chilly fog that has seeped in between the floor cracks still make my naked body shiver uncontrollably.
< "A shot to your head would do a lot of bad things toward your memory, son. Get your bearing. The damage could be extensive. Let start with your name. Tell me your-"
"I, erm- Barf" I didn't manage to finish my sentences as a stream of pungent acid rise to my throat and vomited out of my mouth. The green-ish bile smear all over my body and onto the white bed sheet.
The old man sighs, and pour the content of the kettle into a bucket, then dip a rag into it. He walks over to me and started wiping off the puke from my body.
"Take it easy. You are fog-ridden. Being outside in the open in the salt storm going to do that to your body. Here, have a cup of tea. Might warm you up."
"T-thanks." I nod, my teeth chattering. The cup of tea is warm to the touch, but the smell is terrible. Like fish. I wonder if just going to have me in another fit latter on.
//LORE CHECK: PASSED
< "Wait, we are in Loom?"
The old man nods slowly. "That's right. You are at the edge between Loom and the Rywardry's Wyrderness. I see that your memories are coming back to you. Try to think some more. Do you remember your name?"
//MEMORY CHECK: ERROR
< < "What do you mean? My name is-"
The old man shakes his head. "Take it slowly. You seem to be in shock."
< "What do you mean? My name is-"
The old man look at you with a hint of worry. And confusion.
"What do you mean? My name is-"
"Calm down lad. Breathe!" He said, moving quickly to grab the shiny crystal just now, his other hand holding a line of rope.
"Damn it, he is convulsing!"
< < //MEMORY CHECK: ERROR
//MEMORY CHECK: ERROR
//MEMORY CHECK: ERROR
< "What do you mean? My name is-" "What do you mean? My name is-" "What do you mean? My name is-"
< < < < < < //RESPEC CHARACTER INIT Y/N?
< "Wait, what are you-" momentarily pulled out of my deluge, I was about to protest, but then a jolt come through my body, and I blacked out again.
###############################################################
Where am I?
< Huh? What do you mean?
< Who are- no. I know the answer to that.
< ...What are we? I can't remember-
< < < Sigh. Am I-
< Yeah, seem like. It is all void-like there. Is this even possible? There no color. Not even in black and white. It just nothing!?
< < //AFTER CREATION RESPEC CANNOT CHANGE STAT DISTRIBUTION
//PICK YOUR CHARACTER NAME:____________________________________
< Wait, so we are choosing our name now?
< That... a lot of responsibility.
< < < Urgh... Alright, damn. I'm just going with what sound cool then. Fuck you guys. Seriously. Let see. My name going to be... Wyrdermore!
<