High in a glass monolith, a lone woman watched the city below with a bored gaze. The moon was high in the dark sky, though the woman couldn't see any stars. The stars she could gaze upon were below her— the fluorescent lightbulbs that dotted her city like fireflies— each polluting the world above. The woman didn't like living in a disgusting city like this, but she had no choice. Her job was here, thus so was she.
The woman wore a black suit and skirt, though she kept the skirt low enough to cover her knees. She wore her deep red hair in a bun and covered her eyes with a thick pair of glasses. The woman was a natural beauty, though her expression was scornful and annoyed. The woman's name was Anne Snow, the CEO and founder of Desert Industries. Her company had created the DDS, as well as the game: Avalon Online.
She was the richest woman in the Western Hemisphere and one of the most powerful individuals in the entire world. Yet, to her, her wealth and riches were merely a means to an end.
Behind her, a man sat patiently at her desk. He wasn't somebody famous or good-looking. He didn't even hold an administrative position in the company. He had blonde hair and an ordinary face, but his strong chin and robust form implied he was a boxer in his youth. The man's name was Troy Scarlett. He was one of the engineers for the DDS project. He was the one who invented the technology that allowed the players to connect their consciousness to an in-game avatar.
Of course, though, he was aware of a massive secret because of his invention. His secret was so big it would destroy the game's chance of success should it have become public. Only a few select others were aware of this secret.
Without him, the project couldn't have succeeded at all. His invention granted him fame and fortune, but never enough to consider himself a celebrity. His existence was all but forgotten by the big bosses and executives. Now, however, he found himself sitting in the founder's office.
He watched patiently as Mrs. Snow watched the city in silence. His hands tapped against his knee impatiently, but he didn't dare move his chair or touch anything on the desk. He swallowed a ball of saliva, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other. After a minute or so, Mrs. Snow finally acted.
She turned around and moved closer to her desk. She didn't say a word as she sat down in her office chair before leaning back and placing one leg over the other. She looked up at Troy and smiled.
"Troy Scarlett, it's a pleasure to meet you," Mrs. Snow spoke with a smile, her voice tense. Troy nodded quickly as he felt a bead of sweat drop from his hairline. Mrs. Snow leaned forward and readjusted some things on her desk before looking back up at him, "I've been told you're the one responsible for our success. The link-up technology? That was you, wasn't it?"
"Y-Yes, it was, ma'am," Troy nodded. Mrs. Snow smiled once more, though less enthusiastically.
"Good. It was surprisingly difficult to find you, Mr. Scarlett," Mrs. Snow said with a chuckle, "It took me a whole week."
"Uh, t-thank you?" Troy wasn't sure whether he was grateful for this information or not. Mrs. Snow seemed angry at something, but Troy couldn't understand why.
"However," Snow said, "I hear you did this through a strangely unique method. What did you call it when you first came up with it?"
"The save-and-paste, ma'am," Troy answered. A few moments of silence passed before Troy realized Mrs. Snow wanted a deeper explanation. He spoke again, this time with more confidence, "When I first started researching the project, I realized the strain on the human mind would be too much for the brain to take. The influx of information from the game would fry it completely. So, I thought it would be a good idea to remove the difficulties of the brain from the equation. I gave our servers direct access to the player's consciousness and told them to copy it. The servers would treat that 'copy' as the player. Then, when the player logged out, the server would 'paste' their consciousness back into their body."
"Hense, the save and paste?" Mrs. Snow's voice was cold. Troy slowly nodded, his heart beating with anxiety.
"I see," Mrs. Snow said. She massaged her nose bridge with her fingers and sighed, "Are you aware that what you're doing is wrong, correct? If the press finds out about this, we'll be ruined permanently."
"Wrong? Ma'am, nobody is dying because of this technology," Troy muttered, surprised. He put his hands up in defense, though there wasn't anything to defend against, "At the end of the day, the player still remembers everything from before the transfer."
"Yes, I would have agreed with you. However, I have test results that say otherwise," Mrs. Snow muttered, "During your transfer, you've been putting the players in a brain-dead state during their playtime. The players return to normal when you transfer the consciousness back into their bodies. It's more accurate to say you've been stealing their consciousness, not making copies of it."
"What? B-but that's impossible!" Troy stammered, absolutely confused. Mrs. Snow ignored him as she sighed once more. Her eyes gazed at her desk. Then, with a determined gaze, she moved.
She leaned her chair back and opened a drawer from her desk. Then, she reached her hand into the deepest reaches of the drawer and pulled something out. Troy's eyes widened as he saw the object Mrs. Snow carried, but he couldn't react fast enough.
A loud bang echoed through the dark office space as a brief flash of light illuminated the surroundings. Only a moment passed before it was dark once more. Troy's body dropped out of his seat as the momentum from the impact forced his body back. His head, now with a massive hole in the center, sprayed blood everywhere as his skull slammed into the office floor below.
Mrs. Snow, now with a used revolver in her hand, put the weapon on the desk and sighed.
"It's not just the consciousness you've decided to mess with, you fool," She muttered to herself. Then, she held up her hand and snapped her fingers. A small ember of flames began hovering over her skin in a moment. The flames had no source— no fuel— and no origin of heat. Yet, the flames hovered healthily despite this contradiction. When she snapped her fingers once more, the flames disappeared.