I got into a bit of a creative slump in December. I felt like nothing I wrote was any good. To get out of the slump, I read my favorite books and tried to imagine additional stories set in their worlds. It came to naught, until I re-read Over_Red’s story “Dream Drive”, which he published on this very site. I managed to conjure up a character and sent him on an adventure in the world of Dream Drive.
Over_Red gave me permission to write this story and to publish it here, in the Sci-Fi & Fantasy category. Everything I’ve written below is to be considered fanon and not official Dream Drive canon. I hope you’ll enjoy this little piece of fan-fiction. It’s far more story than sex, but I’ve written an outline for part two, which will have threesomes and stuff. However, I’m swamped with time-consuming obligations and I don’t know when I’ll be able to finish it.
DISCLAIMER: This story contains a non-Occidental protagonist and a lot of violence. If you’re not up for either, go read something else.
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Warrant Officer Yuri Yanuk stood in the hallway before the closed doors of the Intelligence Service Cipher School’s auditorium. Within, the voices of dozens of flag officers were raised in heated debate. He knew it was a debate about his work, but he didn’t know exactly what was being debated. No matter how hard he strained his ears, he couldn’t quite make out their words. Not with the droning of hundreds of disbelieving officers coming from the opposite end of the short hall.
Yuri swayed on his feet. He had spent an entire day and night working. His body wasn’t tired, but his mind was exhausted. He could hardly string two thoughts together. He needed to sleep. The endless chatter filling his ears seemed to be inviting him to shut it all out. He slowly leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The raised voices coming from inside the auditorium tried to rouse his attention, but he had none to spare. His head nodded.
“Stand at attention!”
Yuri snapped to attention and turned on his heel to see Lieutenant Colonel Tariq Ali standing before him. He saluted. The Colonel glanced at him in disdain and refused to return the salute. In the four years Yuri had been at the Cipher School, Ali had returned his salute only a few times, leaving him to stand with his hand at his brow until either Ali left his sight, or a superior officer came along.
Yuri couldn’t help but grin. Things were going to change for the better around here. Particularly for him.
Ali stared at the auditorium doors, his unibrow drawn down into a scowl. “Half the flag officers of the Caliphate military seriously debating the fears of a whining baby.” He shook his head.
“Sir, my cryptanalysis-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.” The brief pause between the two words of Ali’s rank was all Yuri could do to fight back against the man’s molestation and not get court-martialled for it. Usually, he only used it when Ali abused military statutes to leave him locked into a salute for minutes on end, but he was tired and didn’t feel like waiting. The implication of instantaneous demotion by three ranks never failed to anger Ali into raising his voice and drawing the attention of other officers.
Except this time. Ali wasn’t even looking at him.
“You’re predicting the first naval invasion in more than thirteen years of war, boy.”
“The intercepts-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
Ali still refused to rant and rave at Yuri, which confused Yuri until the muted voices reminded him that half the Caliphate’s military brass was ten feet away, behind a wooden paneled door. Of course Ali wouldn’t do anything rash in this situation.I really need some sleep, Yuri thought.
“You’re a bare-faced boy, Yanuk, not a man that should be taken seriously. Why the General ever brought you in, I’ll never understand.”
Yuri almost rolled his eyes in annoyance. “The messages clearly-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
“And you dreamed up the key to decrypting all that traffic.”
“The Dream Drive-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
Ali stood silently staring at the auditorium doors. Yuri kept his salute the whole time. He was starting to wonder if he could now take a swing at the Colonel’s head and get away with it.
He decided not to try his luck. He was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Ali used to be Special Forces and would gladly break him in half. Then Ali’d insist Yuri be brought before a court-martial and dishonorably discharged. The brass might listen to the man and that would leave Yuri’s future in jeopardy. And his family was counting on him.
Yuri nodded to himself. He just had to muddle through this latest bout of petty abuse of power and everything would be okay. He wished his mind wasn’t lagging so much. His eyes seemed unwilling to remain open any longer.
Suddenly, Ali’s face was right in front of his. “You know they don’t believe you, don’t you?”
“I’m not-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
“You just have to ask yourself why that’s so, Yanuk.” Ali cocked his head. His humungous lip ferret twitched as his mouth pouted. “I mean, it’s a preposterous idea, all on its own, but is there something else?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is it because you were a double agent, for a time?”
“My contact with-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
“No, it isn’t that, either. We both know what’s tripping them up in there. Don’t we? It’s because you’re a Zibar. A descendant of the infidel whores our ancestors snatched off passing ships and enslaved.”
“The Zibar have lived-”
“Silence!”
“Yes, Lieutenant…Colonel.”
“I’ll not be hearing your filthy Zibar propaganda. Not anymore.” His lips curled up into a smirk. “No, definitely not. It’s time, Yanuk.”
Yuri turned his head and looked at the auditorium doors. The voices within were quiet, but only for a few seconds. The debate was still going on.
“A new day is upon us. The beginning of the Caliphate’s rise to glory.”
Yuri’s eyebrow rose at that last phrase. If Ali was thinking that the Caliphate could hold its own against the combined military might of the Greater Atlantic Union, then he had clearly taken leave of his senses. The ant that gets stomped by the boot wins no glory.
Ali turned around and walked away.
Yuri watched him go. As soon as Ali’s back was swallowed up by the press of uniforms at the end of the hallway, Yuri lowered his arm. Instead of relieved, he felt annoyed. In the four years of working at the Cipher School, he had come to know that irritating smirk quite well. Ali always wore it when he had a serious ace up his sleeve, like when he caught a mistake of Yuri’s that he could lord over him in front of the General.
Yuri used to be a daydreamer, too caught up in surges of ideas to see any one of them through to the end. His mind skipped eagerly from topic to topic and tended to get lost in tangents. Only codes and logical puzzles could engage his intellect for more that a few seconds at a time. He got really good at solving them.
When he had taken his aptitude tests at the start of his secondary education, the Caliphate military expressed an interest in his abilities. As soon as he had finished high school, he had seized his chance to join the Army. He had originally been given special dispensation to skip basic training and had been assigned to the Intelligence Service’s Cipher School.
While the School did teach secure communications and intelligence work to military officers, its actual purpose was to decrypt all foreign military transmissions. Ali had been at the School for a decade already and he began to ride Yuri’s ass right off the bat, catching every single one of his mistakes and using them against him.
Always with that stinking smirk on his face.
Ali had been the one that had convinced the General to forgo the special dispensation and ship Yuri off to basic training. He had said that Yuri could only benefit from rigorous discipline and a demanding schedule of physical training. The six months Yuri had spent at the mercy of a bunch of Army sergeants had left him with a chiseled physique. That physique was maintained by the habit of strenuous daily exercise that they had drilled into him.
The sergeants also forced him to develop the ability to focus on a single task, like rope climbing, to the exclusion of all other thoughts, except for the fear that his arms would come off at the shoulders if he was forced to do any more push-ups.
Even after Yuri completed basic training and was reinstituted at the Cipher School, the smirk would still make an appearance, from time to time. It forced Yuri to go over his work from other angles, check and double-check his suppositions. It made him develop a habit of seeing if the same data he was basing his premises on could be used to support the exact opposite hypothesis. Much to his surprise, it sometimes could, and he’d have to work harder.
In a way, Yuri was glad for Ali and his smirk. The smirk, as much as he hated it, had a big hand in making him the best cryptanalyst he could possibly be.
A dopey grin spread across Yuri’s lips.And I’m certainly the best.
He had spent the past few months working at gaining valuable intelligence data from the children of key officers in the Greater Atlantic Union’s military. Ali had wasted no opportunity to deride his work, as it mostly consisted of playing video games with North American teenagers in the Hub, the virtual space of the Dream Drive. Fortunately, the General both understood Yuri’s premise and trusted him enough to allow him free reign and it had paid off just last night.
Using cutting edge technology, Yuri had won some online gaming competitions and enough prestige to get the right people to want to hang out with him in virtual space. The reclusive son of a GAU Navy officer had joined him in a private chat room and gushed over his performance in a prestigious gaming tournament.
Yuri had carefully guided the conversation from the war games he had just played to the actual war and then shared with the boy his desire to join the real thing. The boy jumped on the bandwagon and the topic of conversation became his father, an operations officer aboard a GAU aircraft carrier.
Yuri had stroked the boy’s ego and plied him with ideas of being useful to the GAU’s cause and living up to his father’s legacy. When the boy’s élan faded, Yuri struck hard. He had already known the boy’s father had trouble connecting with him. He guessed that their only common ground was the father’s cryptography work.
Yuri painted a picture for the boy. A way to use his computer skills in the military. To be a communications officer for the GAU and ensure their messages never got read by the enemy. The boy laughed before launching into a lengthy lecture on everything he had ever heard his father say about his duties.
Late last evening, Yuri Yanuk had been told the principles which governed the way the GAU Navy chaffed its transmissions while at sea. He had also been told the actual communications protocols and callsigns for a carrier’s air group. He had quickly ushered the boy out of the chatroom and logged off to get to work. He had put all the School’s supercomputers to the task and begun winnowing the chaff from the recent GAU transmissions the Intelligence Service had picked up. Using the callsigns as cribs and knowing where in the messages they should be, he was able to guess the encryption methods the GAU was using.
Just like that, the number of possible permutations the supercomputers had to run through to decrypt the messages went from infinite to a mere few dozen quadrillion.
Yuri had worked hard through the night, making educated guesses and cutting off futile avenues of calculations, until he had managed to extract a plaintext translation from a transmission. He wanted to jump for joy, but the thought of Ali’s smirk had kept him focused. He still hadn’t known if he had been right. He had triple-checked his assumptions and let the supercomputers work at the progression of encryption for another hour. He got his confirmation when more messages were decrypted. The code was cracked. He had cracked it.
As the supercomputers solved more and more permutations, the process of decryption gained speed at an almost exponential rate. Pretty soon, he had enough decrypted material to be able to predict the correct encryption method, based on nothing more than the exact time the message had been sent. No cribs were required any longer. All the GAU Navy’s secrets were laid bare before his eyes.
By the time dawn came along, the supercomputers were decrypting the messages all but instantaneously as they were being fed into them. When the rest of the staff started coming in, they were stunned by his accomplishment. General Houdani, the commanding officer of the Intelligence Service Cipher School, laughed at seeing the plaintexts and hugged Yuri, calling him “the brightest boy under the heavens”.
Everyone, even Ali, got to work at Yuri’s direction and they resolved the backlog of stored GAU intercepts before lunch.
Some of them wished they hadn’t. The rest barely contained their panic.
Put together, the recent transmissions plainly told of a huge invasion fleet anchored off Sardinia as it was being loaded with men, munitions and machines it would use to invade the Caliphate. It was going to happen any day now.
Despite the grim news, Yuri couldn’t help but feel proud. This was the greatest code-breaking accomplishment of the entire war. If either the GAU, or the Bloc, had ever managed to break the other’s codes like this, they had kept it to themselves.
He knew he wasn’t going to get a medal anytime soon. As soon as the General had realized what was being said in the messages, he had put the Cipher School on a strict lockdown, disabling all telecommunications. He had summoned couriers and dispatched them to deliver handwritten notes from him to all the senior military officials in the capital. Now that the Caliphate knew the GAU’s plans, they needed to keep the GAU from knowing that they knew, at least until they decided that they wanted the GAU to know that they knew.
A steady stream of senior officers started pouring into the School shortly thereafter. The NCOs and civilian secretaries scrambled to accommodate them all and find each one a seat and table where they could read a secure copy of the decrypted transmissions. Their disbelieving murmurs made a continuous droning sound which threatened to lull Yuri into sleep, once again.
The memory of Ali’s smirk roused him back into action. He had to figure out the reason behind it. He knew that his analysis was immaculate, the sheer volume of decrypted messages was testament enough to the quality of his work.
Yuri resolved to re-examine the man’s words, looking for a clue as to what the ace up his sleeve was.What was it that he said? A bare-faced boy? He knew that wasn’t it. In Arab culture, smarts were only possessed by those who also possessed moustaches, the thicker a man’s facial hair, the wiser he was. Yuri couldn’t grow a moustache, as everyone could plainly see.
No, it was something else…The first naval invasion in thirteen years.
As ridiculous as that sounded, it was true. World War Three had been raging for fourteen years and it had been more than thirteen years since either side had tried a true naval invasion. He thought back to how the war had even started and the naval invasions he had learned about, both in school and in basic training.
He snorted softly. The things that were written in his high school history book were quite different from the things the drill sergeants had told him. The history books always painted war in terms of just causes and grand strategies. The sergeants told the stories in different terms; logistics and supply lines. The history books spoke of morale and convictions winning battles. The sergeants spoke of how ammo trumped courage every time and how air superiority was never optional.
After watching the war unfold for years, Yuri had to concede that the sergeants were right and the history books and academia were largely wrong. The people who burned for a just cause always lost to the people who shelled them from beyond the horizon with pinpoint precision by using a tiny robot disguised as a bee for a forward artillery observer. Yuri could predict how every military campaign would end, even before it began, based on nothing more than a good look at the supply lines it relied on. Even the most advanced technology was rendered useless if it ran out of critical supplies.
He focused his tired mind anew and thought back to fourteen years ago, when the war had started. He had been just a boy kicking a ball. If someone had tried to explain the war to him back then, they would have told him about the American city of Phoenix being nuked by terrorists. Now, he knew it was the result of economic collapse in both the global powerhouses and their antiquated leaderships’ fear-driven efforts to force their markets to recovery.
The Greater Atlantic Union on one side, and the Sino-Russian Bloc on the other, decided to fight a small skirmish by proxy over natural resources in eastern Africa. Things slowly escalated from there into World War Three. While the GAU and the Bloc only added about a dozen nations to their official ranks during the war, the entire world was brought into the conflict. Whether they had to bow to economic pressures, or a direct threat of invasion, every nation had to declare for one side, or the other.
The few countries that managed to remain officially neutral only did so with tacit permission from both the warring sides. They were used as third party go-betweens that allowed the rich and powerful to circumvent the strict embargo laws and do business with their enemy counterparts.
As the crisis spread from Africa to the Middle East, the GAU intervened into the Israel-Iran conflict and wound up occupying most of Iran. High on the success, they got the bright idea of invading Russia via the Caucasus countries. The plan would bypass the bulk of Russia’s armed forces.
When the war began, the GAU and Bloc massed their forces at their shared borders. The threat of Mutually Assured Destruction had kept their armies idling in place, even while their comrades in arms had been slaughtering each other in faraway deserts.
Since armies hate sitting idle, they busied themselves with making defensive preparations. This suited the politicians well. Despite threatening to do it, neither side actually wanted to be the one to let loose with the nukes and spark the end of the world. Both sides had been increasing their nuclear arsenals to ludicrous proportions. All thoughts of a crippling first strike were rendered futile. The sheer number of nukes either side had, as well as the various methods they developed for deploying them, meant that any nuclear strike was going to result in the certain destruction of the Earth.
Despite this sobering fact, the world leaders still pressed on with their war, using propaganda to foment pro-war sentiments amongst their citizens. More accurately, they used propaganda to turn their citizens against anyone who dared question, in any way, what the government was doing. Such critical thinkers were painted as traitors and backstabbers. If they got lynched by the angry relatives of dead soldiers, law enforcement routinely looked away and buried the evidence afterwards.
In such an atmosphere, the governments couldn’t afford to appear weak while facing the enemy, so they got on board with the fortification program. The GAU-Bloc borders in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe were quickly stitched up tight with multiple layers of defenses.
An Exclusion Zone was established. It ran for thousands of miles, from the Arctic to the Black Sea, and was tens of miles wide. It was riddled with land mines and automated turrets and tank obstacles. Every square inch of it was pre-sighted by the countless artillery pieces that were installed there.
Both sides seemed to cotton on pretty quickly to the economic and propaganda values of the Exclusion Zone. It was the perfect excuse to keep their military-industrial complexes revved up and a great justification for increasing the defense budget. Wars in faraway places just didn’t ring as urgent in the public’s mind as an enemy right at the border.
“They have robotic insects that are smaller and faster and more sophisticated than ours,” one side would say and get a budget bump to make even smaller and faster flying robot scouts.
“They have bigger guns than us, with greater range,” the other side would say and be given the funds needed to create giant cannons that had to be mounted on railway lines to absorb their recoil. Or they constructed long cannon barrels on hillsides to create stationary supercannons that could fire clear across the Exclusion Zone. Those prompted the evacuation of the civilian populace so the Zone could be widened.
“Enough bunkers to house the entire population of the Earth.” “Enough barbed wire to tether the Moon to the Earth.” “So many surface-to-air missiles we can blot out the sun if we launch them all at once.” “If all the mines that we’ve buried in the Zone were dug up and distributed to the population of Earth, everyone would get their very own mine with lots left over.” “We will make so many artillery shells available to our defenses in the Zone that we’ll have more explosive power focused on our border than what is contained in all the Earth’s nukes put together.”
At first, those were exaggerated threats made by generals and politicians, aimed at scaring the other side and instilling confidence in their own people, but they slowly became literal as the Exclusion Zone grew. Neither side had any illusions about being able to punch through the Zone. At least not without losing a million lives and getting trillions of dollars worth of sophisticated military equipment blown to smithereens.
And in the end, the grand prize for their sacrifice would likely be a nuclear strike to the face.
In view of all that, the GAU High Command planned their Caucasus campaign in utter secrecy. The Caucasus was filled with tiny, Bloc-friendly nations. In exchange for Mother Russia not occupying them, they had to keep the Caucasus locked up against any GAU intrusion as well as economically support her war efforts. If the Russian Federation got even one whiff of the plans, it would redeploy its forces and stop the campaign before it could begin. It was a risky business, right from the start, but GAU High Command thought the risks were worth the reward. If they could knock Russia out of the war, the rest of the Bloc would collapse.
GAU Intelligence selected nationalistic leaders it could back and then began a campaign of destabilizing the democratically elected administrations of the Caucasus countries. They used terror tactics and false flag operations, playing heavily against Russia’s long-standing territorial pretensions towards those countries and their sovereignties. The local media, which GAU Intelligence had quietly purchased through third parties, blew the tiny incidents way out of proportion and created a state of fear among the people. The few isolated protests were again blown out of proportion and states of emergency got declared.
In the resulting chaos, GAU Intelligence managed to overthrow the governments and install the new, pro-GAU leaderships. The new leaders entered into an alliance with the GAU and allowed their troops to march into Russia itself.
The GAU brass was practically celebrating victory, although most must have been scratching their heads as to why Russia had not let loose with the nukes. No one had any illusions of restraint being the operative word in the Kremlin. The Russian leaders were quite loud as they talked about how America had bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki and that bombing America would be just desserts. Or how Phoenix had already been nuked and that a few more nukes wouldn’t matter much.
Most could see that the Russians were suspiciously too loud, but the GAU had been converted into a collection of police states in the wake of the nuclear attack that had wiped out Phoenix. No one dared dissent publicly. The GAU was thrown for a loop by what came next.
The very same leaders that GAU Intelligence had hand-picked and elevated to supreme rule of those small nations on platforms of extreme nationalism, cut a secret deal with the Russians. At the same time as the long-planned Russian counteroffensive was launched, they turned on their GAU allies and became Russian vassals. In exchange for switching sides, they got named presidents for life of their little countries, now forever a part of the Bloc.
The GAU was so blindsided by this move that the results could only be described as a one-sided slaughter. Their forces were isolated by their former allies and defeated in detail by the surging Russian troops. The GAU’s military presence was driven out of the Caucasus and Iran joined the Bloc, further securing Russia’s south flank.
With their own territories firmly walled off from the war, the GAU and the Bloc returned to fighting their war by proxy, on foreign territory. Their navies guarded their coastlines like hawks. The threat of nuclear war seemed to fade, even though the Middle East and half of Africa were becoming hell on Earth.
Then the Chinese upset the balance of power by conquering Korea with a naval invasion that completely bypassed the Exclusion Zone which protected it.
South Korea had been a GAU ally with a terrible problem. Its capital, Seoul, was in range of North Korean artillery parked at the edge of the Exclusion Zone which separated the two countries. Everyone was so focused on dealing with this issue that they had failed to adequately prepare for the naval invasion which happened. They had merely sunk the North Korean Navy and called it a day.
By the time the GAU realized the scale of the assault, it was too late to stop it. Their only recourse seemed to be the nuclear option, but the Chinese Army had already intermeshed with the civilian populace.
Millions of Koreans fled to Seoul and were sheltered in the city’s underground system, while their army was slaughtering the attackers on the streets above them. The city had been planned and zoned by the South Korean military with the exact purpose of making it as hard to conquer as possible. The Chinese Navy sailed up the river to try and split the city into two, but the Koreans sank their ships and later used them as improvised bridges.
The North Korean artillery was still stuck beyond the Exclusion Zone, which was being cleared of obstacles at a rate of fifty feet and hundreds of dead engineers per day, but that didn’t stop them from raining thousands of shells on Seoul almost every hour of the day.
The civilians were safe underground and the soldiers joined them whenever the shelling started. Their armor and combat robots would take cover on the southern slopes of Seoul’s mountains. They all emerged unscathed as soon as the shelling stopped. All the rain of shells accomplished was to force the Chinese to retreat every time it started, giving the defenders much-needed breaks, as well as reduce the city’s buildings into rubble.
Ironically, this also helped the defenders.
The South Korean soldiers used the rubble as cover against the Chinese attackers. It blocked the streets and prevented the Chinese from bringing to bear their numerical and technological advantages. Instead of fighting across a city that was divided into buildings which could be isolated and defeated, one by one, the Chinese soldiers found themselves wading daily across heaps of cover, not knowing which pile hid a booby trap, or an angry Korean with a loaded gun.
For months, the South Korean government launched appeals for help from their GAU allies, but the situation was clear. A GAU counterinvasion would cost millions of lives and dollars. Lives and dollars they had not been ready to pay, particularly not so soon after the Caucasus campaign. The GAU wanted the Chinese to focus on Seoul, as it kept them from reinforcing their armies in the African theater of operations.
Besides, it looked like the Koreans could simply to run out of Chinese to kill at any given moment.
A particularly fat Air Force Major waddled through Yuri’s field of view, his uniform’s buttons threatening to quit at any time. Yuri sighed heavily. He couldn’t help seeing, in his mind’s eye, the Koreans in those vids again.
After the Chinese invaded North Korea and stopped them from interfering with the Battle of Seoul, months of globally televised, bitter, urban warfare followed. The battle only ended when starvation forced the South Koreans to surrender. While the Chinese were pulling the Koreans out of the Underground, the GAU had been shocked at seeing the entire civilian populace reduced to skin and bones.
The soldiers on the streets had always looked adequately fed in the vids, making the Korean frantic arguments of imminent death by starvation look like they were crying wolf. It turned out that the civilians had been subsisting on minimal rations to allow the soldiers to last long enough for help to arrive.
In the wake of the Caucasus Campaign disaster and the images of Korean living skeletons being broadcast alongside their desperate appeals for help, the GAU replaced its leadership, en masse. The new people firmly decided to use nukes to destroy a Chinese invasion fleet aimed at Japan, their only remaining ally in the west Pacific. Nuclear Armageddon seemed to be only minutes away.
The Chinese fleet again surprised everyone by slipping away from GAU oversight and rushing through the straights of Malaya. They sailed to Madagascar and landed an invasion force. The invasion went well, for a week, before a GAU fleet came in from the Atlantic, destroyed the Bloc fleet, and landed nine whole divisions of GAU Marines.
The fleet established a blockade of the island. The Marines on the ground fought a cautious, static battle of attrition with the aim of depleting the Bloc forces of their ammunition and supplies. Once that was accomplished, the GAU got a desperately needed morale boost, as well as a huge propaganda victory and nearly a quarter of a million prisoners of war. The Bloc lost all their craft and personnel that were specialized for large scale naval invasions. They never again attempted to project their power overseas like that, not even after they replaced their losses.
A Russian-led Bloc fleet had been sent to relieve the siege of Madagascar, but had been delayed fighting for the Suez Canal. They only captured it after the Battle of Madagascar was over. Still, Bloc control of the Suez threatened to have them achieve a naval linkup between the eastern Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean and the GAU moved to prevent that.
Their fleet invaded the Horn of Africa to secure ports that would support a naval blockade of the Red Sea. It was the second GAU naval invasion of the war and it went off without a hitch. The GAU was making a comeback.
The Bloc responded with a feat of logistics. They moved the bulk of their African Expeditionary Force across a thousand miles of jungle using waterways and barely serviceable railways. Thousands of leaky boats and hundreds of rusty locomotives moved almost a million men, even while they were bailing water and fixing rails on the fly.
The GAU’s scout drones and satellites couldn’t see through the thick jungle canopy and the Bloc’s Great Green Express, as their propaganda later named it, caught them flat-footed. The GAU Marines were spread out, policing a large area in order to secure the logistical base their fleet needed. The Bloc forces swarmed them and sent them into a rapid retreat towards the sea. The Marines only stopped once they got inside the range of their offshore armada’s weapons.
The GAU command had not planned for a retreat and there was a lot of dissent within the new leadership regarding how to proceed. Their amphibious and landing craft had been sent back towards ports on the Atlantic coast to be loaded for a complementary invasion of the Arabian peninsula and many argued against recalling them.
Hundreds of embedded reporters had been landed on the beaches with the Marines, all the better to document another GAU victory. The Bloc had propaganda battalions in the hinterland and many independent journalists from all around the world had already come to the region to report on the Olympic Games that had been supposed to be held there soon. They had stayed to report on the war, instead. The entire world watched the “Horn of Africa Crisis” unfold live on their vid feeds.
For two days, the tense stand off continued. GAU Marines holding the beaches and the Bloc staying put, just out of range of the Navy’s guns and missile batteries. Then the Bloc’s heavy armaments caught up with their infantry and the suddenly outgunned GAU fleet had to pull away. For a week, the world watched GAU Marines getting blown to bits as they scrambled onto anything that could float in an effort to escape the beaches. By the time the landing craft came back, there was hardly anyone left to be rescued.
The GAU’s humiliation burned so hot that they had never even hinted at the possibility of another naval invasion again.
The Crisis was also the last time the world got to see unfiltered information on their vid screens. Ever since, all independent journalists attempting to enter war zones were detained and turned back. Ostensibly, this was done for their own safety. The only information about the war that regular people could receive was severely redacted by their governments. It was barely more than pure propaganda.
After the Horn of Africa crisis, the GAU’s official line was that they switched from the idea of trying to find a way to break up and defeat the Bloc to a strategy of outlasting them. Strangely enough, the Bloc’s propaganda also spouted phrases of outlasting the inherently corrupt GAU and emerging victorious one day.
Every now and then, an independent intellectual would say that both sides were deliberately perpetuating the global war for the sake of having an external threat that allowed them to cow their own populaces into obedience and maintain power. Such thinkers would rarely get to repeat their assertions. They would vanish from the public’s eye in ways that undermined their credibility. Usually, they’d be arrested and charged with heinous crimes, like peddling child pornography. Sometimes, they’d slip in their bathrooms and break their necks.
Yuri agreed with those intellectuals and their assertions, suicidal as they were. He had seen both sides pass up huge strategic opportunities over the years. The biggest proof of the war being deliberately dragged out for as long as possible, was the lack of naval invasions. An enemy on distant shores is a truncheon that state propaganda can use to keep the masses in line. An enemy that invades your soil is a kick in the ass that makes people wake up and take stock of the situation. The governments on both sides seemed to fear that more than anything.
There were amphibious assaults happening worldwide to this day, but they were small affairs, mostly utilizing rivers and lakes and coastal waters. Just a few brigades landing behind enemy lines to make the defenders split their forces and wheel around to face the new threat. Then the ground offensive would punch through the weakened section of the battle lines and link up with the beachhead. Rinse and repeat as needed.
Both the Bloc and the GAU definitely had the ships, equipment and personnel needed to mount naval invasions. The GAU even kept its practice of maritime prepositioning of assets. If they had no intention of ever mounting a naval assault, then why would they hide ships laden with supplies in every ocean, but the Arctic? The thirteen year lack of actual naval invasions was not a valid reason to discount Yuri’s findings. The invasion of the Caliphate could not upset the global balance in any discernible way.
What was the next thing Ali said? Is it because you were a double agent, for a time?
Yuri frowned. That couldn’t be it. He had reported the contact as soon as it had gone down and General Houdani had personally handled the operation. Everything had been done according to established protocol. Yuri had played along with the American’s idiotic scheme and handed over everything the boys from Counterintelligence had cooked up.
Prickling needles ran down Yuri’s spine as he got a nasty thought. What if the invasion was in response to something I had handed over to the spy? Logically, the blame for it would lie with those that had conjured up those files and told him to hand them over, but he’d still feel responsible.
He sighed. The double agent thing just didn’t feel like the smirk thing. General Houdani had praised his performance so much that Yuri was sure he’d get a promotion and a commendation, if only he wasn’t on GAU Intelligence watchlists. They might think twice about the information he provided them if he got promoted soon after betraying his country.
The third thing Ali said sounded most like a winner. It’s because you’re Zibar. Yuri’s mouth twisted. The historical record clearly showed that the Zibar people had lived in the mountains to the south of the capital ever since the Vandal invasion, but one wouldn’t say they were natives of Africa just by looking at them. Like all Zibar, he had Caucasian features, straight hair and sparse facial hair, bordering on none. He kept his face neatly shaven and his hair closely cropped, so he looked like the tourists from Europe did, back in the days of the old kingdom, when they still vacationed in this part of the world.
Twelve years ago, the Caliphate had emerged from the brutal civil war that had torn apart the old kingdom. It occupied the majority of the old kingdom’s territory and declared itself the winner. It had won because it had appealed endlessly to the Arab Muslim majority and decried the neighboring, also predominantly Muslim and Arab, nations as takfir. The neighboring countries had each taken a bite out of the former kingdom’s territory as it was falling apart, under the pretext of “keeping the peace”.
Ever since the end of the civil war, the Caliph had cracked down on anything that would make the Caliphate appear weak, or ineffectual. What had started off as an appeal to strength and unity, soon devolved into hatred towards those that were different in any way. The religious minorities, the infidels, the Jews, the Hindus and all the Arabs who wouldn’t convert from Christianity to Islam had been chased out of the country.
About twelve percent of the Muslim Arab majority followed the minorities right out the door, stunning the Caliph and his government. They sealed up the borders as best they could, but even these days, people were trying to sneak across. The real trouble with crossing the border was when the other side caught you and deported you back into the vengeful hands of the Caliph’s clique. After getting swarmed with over a million unwanted immigrants, all the neighboring countries passed strict laws that mandated swift deportation for all Caliphate citizens.
With no religious minorities left, the ethnic minorities were pushed into the spotlight. The Zibar were the most visible ones, so they presented a perfect target for the Caliph and his clique. A Zibar looked European and their language sounded vaguely European. To an Arab’s ear, that is.
A propaganda campaign was concocted. It told that the Zibar were descendants of the women the Barbary pirates of old had kidnapped off passing Christian ships. It was perpetuated so much that the Arab population began believing it. Of course, it had been the Arabs of old who had kept those women in harems and interbred with them, but that part of history was officially declared “a pack of lies the colonial powers concocted to undermine the glorious work of God’s chosen Caliph”.
Yuri had been listening about how “his kind” was going to “ruin the Caliphate” and “betray everyone” for over a decade. It had gotten old as soon as it had started.
A particularly loud exclamation of disbelief brought Yuri’s attention back to the then and there of the Cipher School.
All the personnel in the Cipher School were Arab, apart from him. Most either liked Yuri, or they maintained a professional demeanor around him. Everyone respected his talents and work. Tariq Ali was the biggest exception to that unspoken rule. He adored riding Yuri’s ass, his stubble-covered chin frequently on Yuri’s shoulder as he watched over his work.
All because Yuri had been born into a different ethnic group.
Yuri dismissed that line of reasoning. He was as Zibar today as he had been yesterday. Ali’s smirk was new. It had to be something else. It had to be about the intercepts, after all.
He frowned. They now knew the strength of every Marine division that was going to hit their beaches, down to the platoon level. They knew the name and type of every ship that would participate in the preparatory bombardments and which types of cruise missiles and EM warfare drones they’d use to cripple the Caliphate’s communications in the interior. They had everything on the fleet, except for one thing.
There was no motive.
The decrypts plainly spoke of the target being the Caliphate coast. The sheer amount and nature of the transmissions heavily suggested the fleet had been hastily assembled in the last few weeks, but there was not one single peep as to why they were going to invade the Caliphate.
Could that be it? Could Ali’s smirk indicate that he had managed to unearth the reason? Yuri had only seen Ali achieve something noteworthy once, or twice before and he couldn’t remember Ali smirking like that. The smirk was reserved for Yuri’s fuck-ups, not Ali’s accomplishments. No, Yuri decided. Ali didn’t have the GAU’s motive in hand. Not unless Yuri missed it, somehow.
Yuri softly snorted. If I couldn’t see it, then Tariq Ali definitely couldn’t, either.
Suddenly, Yuri was snapped out of his thoughts by the auditorium doors opening. The brass started filing out of it. Yuri saluted. Half the officers ignored him, half gave him the stink eye. The Navy Chief of Staff, a Fleet Admiral, shot Yuri a cursory salute.
I must look as tired as I feel, Yuri thought. He dropped his arm and looked behind the Fleet Admiral. All the other officers had one or two stars, while the Admiral had been a three-star officer, meaning that Yuri didn’t have to salute anyone else.
Major General Moussa Houdani, commanding officer of the Cipher School, was bringing up the rear. He stopped short when he saw Yuri. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face flushed and Yuri thought the General looked uncomfortable.
“Do they believe them, Sir?” Yuri asked.
“What?”
“The intercepts I’ve deciphered, Sir? Do they believe them to be true plaintext?”
“Oh. Yes, yes, yes they do.” Yuri could have exploded with pride. “It’s, uh, it’s plain to see the truth…sometimes.”
Yuri bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mirth from showing. There was one thing missing from the intercepts, after all. “Sir, do they know why we’re going to get invaded?”
“Well…”
“Are they going to let the GAU know we know they’re coming? That might make them cancel the invasion. Force them to negotiate some kind of treaty with us.”
The General seemed to be struggling to say something. Yuri patiently waited for his words. “Yuri, what are you still doing here?”
Now it was Yuri’s turn to be confused. “Well, you said I couldn’t come in, Sir, so I…”
“You should go home, get some rest.”
“No, no, I’m fine, Sir. I want to stay here and work on-”
“Yuri…”
For a moment, Yuri thought he could see tears glistening in his eyes. Then the General blinked rapidly and Yuri told himself he was just seeing things due to not sleeping for almost thirty hours straight.
“Please, Sir, tell me it’s not because of the files I had passed on to the American last year.”
“The invasion? Oh, God have mercy, no! No, no, no, no, no.” He put a tender hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “My dear, dear, sweet boy…that’s…” He shook his head. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
Yuri looked the General in the eyes. He felt uncomfortable with the emotion he could see in them.
“Yuri, go home. Be with your family.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Sir. We’re up on the GAU’s primary naval communications and we need to stay on them. If my predictions-”
“Yuri.” The General gave his shoulder a soft squeeze before letting go. “That was an order, not an idea. Don’t worry about us. Thanks to your brilliant work, we have things well in hand.”
Yuri’s mouth fell open. The General turned and started walking towards the mess of officers debating the messages. Yuri moved after him. “But, Sir, we need to keep abreast of any changes they make in their encryption protocols. I can rest on a cot in the gymnasium for a few hours and resume my duties at a hundred percent.”
“Go home, Yuri. You’re on leave for the next few days. Spend them with your family.”
Colonel Ali emerged from the multitude of officers with several of them in tow. He shot Yuri another smirk. Yuri couldn’t quite keep from glaring back.
“Peace be with you, Yanuk,” the General sadly said over his shoulder.
Just like that, the General was swallowed up by a sea of uniforms that were pleading for him to tell them it wasn’t true. Ali remained behind. His smirk grew into a wide smile. It looked positively beaming. “Should I call the MPs to remove you, Yanuk?”
Yuri bit back a growl and turned to march down the side corridor that led to the mess hall and gymnasium. For a few minutes, earlier this morning, he had actually allowed himself to daydream of getting the respect that he was due. And when Ali had gotten to work at Yuri’s instructions without protest, Yuri had even begun to hope things were going to change between the two of them. How silly that had been.
“Give my best to your family!”
Yuri nearly tripped on the flat, marble floor at hearing those words come from Ali. Usually, the man had only the vilest things to say about all Zibar and relished in likening Yuri’s family to pigs. Yuri turned on his heel, but Ali was already obscured by the press of uniforms.
Some officers bumped against Yuri’s shoulder as he stood in the middle of the corridor. He turned around again, fought back a wave of dizziness, and walked to the mess hall.
Several Air Force officers were seated at one of the tables, leaning back as a serving woman in a burqa placed steaming cups of tea in front of them. As soon as she moved away, they leaned back in and resumed a heated debate about the merits and flaws of GAU’s combat drones.
Yuri watched the serving woman move and decided she was Alyah. He caught up with her. “Peace be with you, Alyah. Could you, please, tell Sasha that I’m here for my bag?”
Alyah nodded and disappeared behind the door that led into the kitchen. Yuri leaned on the wall and faced away from the officers. The hall was silent. He knew what that meant and he grimaced. He told himself not to look their way. He told himself to just hold on for a few moments longer and-
“What’s a Zibar doing here at this time,” one of the Air Force officers demanded. Yuri tried to ignore him. “Hey! Warrant Officer! I’m talking to you!”
Yuri huffed softly and turned to face them. He sketched a salute. “Sir?”
The officers looked amongst themselves and chuckled. “Is that any way to salute? Who taught you to salute?” The Major looked to be in a foul mood for some reason. Probably had something to do with reading all the intercepts that said he was going to lose to the GAU soon. “Stand at attention, soldier!”
Before Yuri could comply, Sasha’s deep voice interjected, “He’s not a common soldier, Al-Warra. So why are you trying to treat him as one?”
“This has nothing to do with you, Sasha,” Major Al-Warra replied, not taking his eyes off Yuri.
“Yes, it does,” Sasha said and came forward to put his arm around Yuri’s shoulder. The chef was a round man, as wide as he was tall, and reaching around Yuri required him to press his side against Yuri’s. Yuri could feel the cool sweat that covered the man’s body at all times.
“Who do you think got you those drone operator manuals you requested last year? It was this guy, right here.” Sasha patted Yuri’s shoulder. “And if it wasn’t for his tireless and brilliant work, we wouldn’t know about the storm coming our way.” The officers’ jaws dropped. “That’s right, he’s the one that broke the GAU’s codes. You should be saluting and thanking him, not badgering him.”
Major Al-Warra’s face screwed up in disbelief. “A Zibar?”
Sasha snorted derisively at the major. “A great man.” Yuri felt his eyes begin to mist. He blinked them clear. “Even if he is a Zibar.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “And he has more important things to do than bandy words with the likes of you.” He addressed Yuri. “Here’s your bag!”
Sasha effortlessly lifted a large, bulging messenger bag and plopped its strap atop Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri nearly buckled under the sudden appearance of seventy pounds of weight on his shoulder. Fortunately, he had been forced to run uphill with greater loads than that during basic training, so he stayed upright.
“You got it?” Sasha asked, not referring to the heavy bag. Yuri’s eyes flicked meaningfully between the Air Force officers and Sasha. The big man waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, Al-Warra’s in the know.” He turned to address the officers. “If you ever want the newest and best in the world of entertainment,” Sasha nodded at Yuri, “he’s our man.”
Yuri noted Sasha said “our man”. It meant that the officers were in on their little arrangement. Sasha winked at Yuri. He probably thought he was doing Yuri a favor by introducing him to more people from the circle, but Yuri didn’t appreciate it. Their ring’s activities were illegal and punishable by court-martial. The more people that could implicate him directly, the worse he liked it. And here was a whole bunch of Air Force officers who knew about him. He forced a grin onto his face, all the same.
The Caliphate was subject to a comprehensive GAU embargo. The Bloc nations did not support this embargo, but there were numerous difficulties which prohibited the Caliphate from engaging in any significant dealings with them. First, there was the problem of openly shipping things through GAU-infested waters and territories. Then, there were the Bloc nations that did not appreciate an Islamist government as a trade partner. On top of it all, price gouging and ill-timed fluctuations in the currency exchange rates frequently brought foreign trade to a crashing halt.
Shortages of medications, food and various supplies were a part of daily life. The part of Caliphate society that was hit the least by all this was the military. It had carte blanche to import anything it needed to ensure the sovereignty of the Caliphate, without any regard for where it came from. The Caliphate Intelligence Service had an elaborate network of multinational companies it routinely used to procure such critical supplies and covertly deliver them to the homeland. The network also covered up the sales of the Caliphate’s oil and ore, which was how they paid for those supplies.
Even without the embargo, the Caliphate would be isolated from the global entertainment markets since foreign media was deemed immoral and subversive. If any company wanted to distribute media in the Caliphate, they’d have to submit it to the Morality Board, which routinely denied permission, classifying everything as satanical. The few things that they did allow to be distributed were so bad that Yuri couldn’t imagine getting paid enough to waste his time on them.
As a result of this media ban being in effect, new movies, music albums, video games and books were valuable goods in the Caliphate. They worked almost like a currency.
One could trade a copy of the newest piece of entertainment for almost anything, since the person receiving it would, in turn, be able to make copies and trade them for things they needed. Once you had a copy of something good, it held value until you ran out of people who wanted to see it, but hadn’t yet.
Person-to-person was the method of distributing good media in the Caliphate. Emails with large attachments were routinely screened for subversive material. Foreign file-sharing sites and services were blocked. Domestic ones were taken down as soon as they cropped up, their creators imprisoned for long stretches of time. The Cipher School trained the Morality Board’s enforcement arm and they were very good at their job.
During his first few months of military service, Yuri had insinuated himself into a circle of military quartermasters that traded valuable goods amongst themselves. Most of them didn’t want to have dealings with a Zibar, but Yuri would hack into servers belonging to entertainment companies worldwide and download all sorts of contents that would otherwise never be seen in the Caliphate. In exchange for copies, the quartermasters let him join in on the fun. Whenever he needed something, one of the other members of the ring would write it off as faulty and give it to him.
Usually, Yuri dealt with Sasha, as the man had first dibs on any imported food items. He was also the most reliable source of insulin in the Caliphate. No one knew where and how he got it, he just did.
Sasha squeezed Yuri’s shoulder. “Well, have you got them?”
“Yeah.” Yuri pulled a microdrive out of his pocket and handed it to the chef.
Sasha held it up, in open view of the Air Force officers, and said, “I’ll never get what my kids see in a cartoon about a bunch of talking animals, but…damn if it doesn’t get me some alone time with the missus!” Sasha’s belly laugh echoed across the mess hall. Some of the officers joined in, politely.
Sasha clapped Yuri on the back. “Thanks for this! Peace be with you, Yuri!”
“Peace be with you, too, Sasha. Thanks.” Sasha turned around and went back into the kitchen. Yuri could feel the eyes of the Air Force officers on him as he left the mess hall.
He rushed down the side corridor to the gymnasium. He looked around before going to his locker. He retrieved a flat, plastic box and crammed it into the messenger bag. He took out a book on asymmetric encryption and leafed it until it stopped open on a page. There was a collection of bright yellow stickers stuck between the two pages. He took one and replaced the book in his locker. After taking another look around, he applied the Intelligence Service’s official Classified Materials Within seal across the bag’s zipper.
He left the School by way of the gymnasium, not wanting to squeeze past all the officers and frazzled secretaries in the office part of the complex. There were some officers in the gym, praying. Yuri didn’t know if they were praying a late Zuhr, Asr, or a simple dua for God to grant them strength in the coming ordeal. They were facing the Qibla and he tiptoed past them to the side exit, unnoticed. He walked across the small parking lot, that was chock full of jeeps, and got to the side gate. He saluted the duty Lieutenant there.
“Warrant Officer Yuri Yanuk requesting transportation home, Sir!”
The Lieutenant returned his salute and checked a clipboard before saying, “Wait right there, Mr. Yanuk!”
“Yes, Sir!”
The Lieutenant picked up his phone and said, “I’ve got Yanuk at the side gate. … Yes.” He put the phone down and turned his attention to the jeeps coming and going while Yuri just stood there, not knowing what this was about. He tried to interrupt and ask, but the jeeps were carrying high ranking officers, the Lieutenant seemed to be quite short on patience and Yuri had trouble coming up with what to say, so he stood in place and waited. Soon, he was swaying on his feet, blinking his eyes to keep from nodding off. He started counting his yawns, just to have something to do, other than wait.
“Warrant Officer Yanuk?”
Yuri snapped awake and turned around. A young Arab soldier stood there, holding a small parcel. He looked Yuri up and down, affected a sneer of disdain, and held out the parcel.
Yuri glared at him. The days of him being a “bright kid” with “lots of potential” were long gone. He was a hero of the Caliphate. A code-breaking demigod amongst men. He was not going to take shit from grunts anymore.
The young soldier stared back. His smirk stayed on his face, even as he gave in and sketched a quick salute. Yuri sighed, his flash of anger evaporating with the gesture of appeasement. He was too tired to chew the man out, so he just snatched up the parcel. He did take note of his name, though. He’d have a talk with the General about the soldier, when he came back.
The soldier gave a dismissive chortle and turned around to walk back inside. Oh, yeah, we’ll definitely have a chat about discipline, you and I, Yuri thought.
“Yanuk,” the Lieutenant called out.
“Yes, Sir?”
The Lieutenant pointed to the jeep that was pulling up to the gate. “That’s your ride.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Yuri put the parcel into a side pocket of his bag and got into the front seat of the jeep.
The Arab Corporal driving the jeep made no face, or comment, to driving a Zibar Warrant Officer, even when they were stopped at one of the checkpoints that led through the wall surrounding the Zibar enclave of the capital.
Members of the Islamic Militia manned the posts. They were mostly rubes, fresh from the sticks, called to the capital to serve the Caliphate and God. Yuri could tell that they lacked the brain cells to process what they were seeing; a Zibar in uniform. Fortunately, though they had been given guns, they had also been given military oversight, so Yuri had a Captain to talk to.
He still had to present his credentials to the man and answer several stupid questions about how he had come to serve in the military. Yuri found himself wishing, for the umpteenth time, that they’d stop rotating the officers so much. Explaining himself thrice a week was thrice a week too often, as far as he was concerned. Once the Captain asked about his bulging bag, Yuri showed him the bright yellow seal and the man looked nonplussed.
“Are you sure you want to go inside the enclave,” the Captain earnestly asked.
Yuri blinked. He was too tired to fathom the man’s thought process. “Yes.”
“With that bag?”
“Yes.”
The Captain looked like he was going to burst if he didn’t say something to Yuri. After a short, silent deliberation, the man decided to follow military regulations and let Yuri through without searching his bag.
Yuri walked into the enclave. The area immediately visible from the checkpoint was, as usual, short on signs of life. Yuri could hear the squeal of playing children and the chatter of people, but it was all faint until he rounded the first corner. Then the sounds and smells of the enclave exploded in his face.
There were children running after a ball in the middle of the street. An old man was shooing them away, telling them to go play farther down the street, where they couldn’t kick the ball into view of the checkpoint. The children kept ignoring him until he reached for the ball. Then they kicked it down the street and chased after it, laughing at the old man’s exasperation.
A little farther down the street, a large group of women was engaged in stirring cauldrons suspended over small propane fires. A fine dust rose from the cauldrons to settle on their hair and clothes, making them look a little like ghosts. Most wore simple cotton masks over their mouths and noses.
Yuri knew that inside the cauldrons, chickpeas were roasting in sand, along with lemon rinds and laurel leaves. Later, they’d be run through sieves to separate them from the sand and then they’d be doused with a liberal amount of aniseed liqueur and left to slowly dry for two months. It was a Zibar wedding tradition to wrap them up in paper and hand them out to the guests as they were leaving the reception.
Yuri looked at the group, trying to figure out if he knew the bride-to-be. She would be easy to spot. Apart from being probably the youngest woman there, she was also the one that was required to attend the preparations, but was strictly forbidden from doing any of the work. If the bride touched the chickpeas, the marriage would result in stillbirths, the Zibar believed.
It was a stupid superstition, but Yuri had to admit that he loved the flavor of the chickpeas. He had only gotten to taste them a few times before, when he had attended the weddings of his cousins.
He finally spotted the young woman. She didn’t look familiar to him. He sighed and decided to take another route home. He didn’t want to get sand in his nose, or hair. He was too tired to overlay a mental map of the enclave in his mind’s eye, so he just went down the side street, intending to return to his usual route at the next turn.
Yuri walked past a group of old women that were sitting together on some chairs on the sidewalk, knitting and gossiping. They shut up as he walked past. A mouth-watering smell was spreading from an open window of the building across from them. There were men walking around, carrying heavy bags and looking nervous. He could feel their open-mouthed gazes on himself.
He lowered his head and walked past, intent on getting home and to his bed as soon as possible. He was surprised at all the attention he was getting until he noticed the green at the bottom of his vision. He was still in uniform. Usually, he changed in and out of civilian clothes at the Cipher School, but he had forgotten to change before leaving today.
“Well done, Yuri,” he muttered into his chin. “Well done indeed.”
Yuri had heard the rumors about himself that were going around the enclave. It was hard not to. The idea of a Zibar working for the Caliphate Intelligence Service was so outrageous that it made for very popular gossip. Some said that he was a spy for the Arabs. Others said that he was an operative of the Bloc, or the GAU. The nature of his agenda and mission were speculated on daily. There were even some people who firmly believed Yuri didn’t exist.
Despite all the rumors going around about him, few in the enclave knew him by name. Even fewer knew his face.
He made sure that everyone whose needs he saw to kept silent about him. They all seemed glad to keep his name out of things. He guessed that it gave them a modicum of power and importance when they suddenly brandished a rare item, or medication, that no one could obtain and casually said that they could get more at a few days’ notice. By keeping him out of it, they kept that power to themselves.
A quiet segregation of Arabs and the Zibar had been going on for as long as Yuri can remember. He had definitely felt it, but only on a personal level. On paper, he had been equal to any other child while he had been growing up. He had gone to schools no better and no worse than all the others in the Caliphate. He had a doctor treat him when he had been a kid, a dentist fix his teeth, food on the table, clothes on his back, a roof over his head. He had even managed to get his hands on some entertainment, every now and then.
There had been hate crimes against the Zibar, but only out in the sticks, where the rubes probably also wed their sheep. The old folks spoke of bad times to come, but Yuri couldn’t see it. It was all just talk, as far as he was concerned. One side talking nonsense, then the other one-upping them in return. Yuri hated listening to people flapping their mouths, just for the sake of taking their turn to make some noise.
The crowning argument for the impending doom of the Zibar nation was, according to everyone, when the Zibar were gathered into enclaves. Yuri didn’t see the downside to it. The enclaves were places where they could live free. It wasn’t like they were imprisoned in them. They could leave to go to work, if they had it. They could go visiting their relatives in other enclaves, or abroad. Zibar emigration was not as strictly forbidden as that of Arabs. With no Arabs in sight, there had been no more violence and he didn’t have to listen to the endless talk of all the bad things that were coming. He still could, but he chose not to. He chose to focus on his work.
Work which he wouldn’t have been able to do if not for the forced relocation into the enclaves.
Zibar society was defined by its traditions. It was organized into tribes, for lack of a better word, according to where the Zibar lived. Each tribe had its elders and, as part of transitioning from child to adult, every Zibar had to go before the tribe’s elders to declare their chosen profession and receive the elders’ blessing for it.
Yuri’s family had lived in a suburb of the capital and they had their own elders, separate from the elders of the other Zibar communities in the capital. When Yuri had professed his desire to become a code breaker for the Caliphate military, the elders had forbidden it.
He had been gutted. Without the elders’ blessing, he had to either find a new career, which he couldn’t even begin to consider, or he and his family would be shunned by every Zibar of their tribe, and then some.
During the spring of his last year of high school, his guidance counselor tried to steer him towards a number of professions, but to Yuri, the man’s speeches sounded like a funeral dirge someone was playing two streets over. A string of notes that he couldn’t quite make out, nor did he particularly want to.
As the firstborn son, leaving his family was tantamount to taking a wet shit on all the graves of his ancestors. His sister was expected to leave the family hearth when she got married, but it fell on him to bring a woman into the family and father a new generation to keep the traditions and the family name alive. To care for the elders of the family as they grew old.
Even if his family moved to another part of the capital, they needed the blessings of both their current and future elders to change tribal affiliation. That blessing would probably only come with a string attached; the one that said his ban on a military cryptography career had to be upheld.
He saw no way out of his predicament, not without breaking his parents’ hearts. He knew he’d feel like shit whatever he chose.
When all the Zibar in the capital had been moved to the enclave, Yuri could have shouted his joy from the rooftops. By Zibar custom, living in one area mandated a single gathering of elders to lead them. That meant that many of the elders had to give up their prestige and social power and none of them seemed willing to do that. A power struggle between the various city quarters’ elders had ensued.
While they had been busy sorting out their new hierarchy, Yuri had seized the opportunity the power vacuum had provided and joined the Army. By the time they had gotten around to establishing a unified council, he had put them before a fait accompli.
Even if they wanted to do something about it, they were now practically powerless to stop him. The Arabs had wedged themselves into every decision-making process regarding the enclave and they controlled who lived where and what could and couldn’t be delivered into the enclave. The elders’ power was now reduced to determining who sat where during social functions and in which order everyone’s tea cups got filled.
As far as Yuri was concerned, it served them right for trying to dictate his life for him.
If the elders tried to decree his family ostracized, people would play along and shun them in public, but in private, they’d have to come to him, hat in hand. Yuri had seen to that.
He used his military privileges to sneak the things he obtained into the enclave. It was mostly things that were hard to come by, even for the more affluent amongst the Arabs. Several of the elders had actually asked Yuri to bring them things in the past few years. He had obliged them, but that had not resolved the tensions between the council of elders and himself.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked faster. A bubble of silence walked with him. He focused on his feet. He couldn’t look up and see those gawking eyes. Not today. Today, he had followed his dreams and saw them come to fruition. Today, he wanted to feel good about himself.
All his life, Yuri felt like he had to explain himself. Like his very existence was some kind of anomaly. In elementary school and high school, whenever he saw an Arab kid with similar interests to his own, they’d be shocked that he wanted to be their friend. The ensuing awkwardness stopped him from ever forging any lasting friendships with Arabs. The Zibar kids would look at him like he was insane that he wanted to even talk with “them”.
His childhood had wound up being a very solitary experience.
He had hoped that, once he left school, things would get better, but his hopes were quickly dashed. All those artificial divisions in Caliphate society kept intruding into his life, every single day. Everywhere he went, he was gawked at as if he was a freak of nature. There were times he wanted to start every interaction with other humans with a punch, in the hopes that their eyes would go back into their sockets and that whatever was stuck inside their brains would get loosened. Only at the Cipher School did he feel like people could see past the superficial to what was important.
Well, people who were not Colonel Ali, that is.
After a few wrong turns, Yuri managed to return to his usual route home. Normally, the winding streets presented no challenge to him, but he was having a hard time figuring out the cardinal directions. Just two turns from his apartment building, a pair of heels planted themselves right in his path. He tried to walk around them, but a soft hand grabbed his elbow. “Yuri, wait!”
He looked up to see the smiling face of Wada Rial, his old flame. While his brain struggled to make sense of the sight, his mouth went on autopilot. “Oh, didn’t see you there,” he said, in Arabic.
She frowned at his choice of language, but continued in Zibar. “Well, I’ll say you didn’t. You’ve got your head hanging so low, you’re nearly brushing the pavement with your nose.” She reached up and gave his nose a quick squeeze. “Honk!”
Yuri grinned despite himself. He leaned away from her hand. “Hey,” he exclaimed in his native Zibar. She honked his nose twice more and he had to pull his hands out of his pockets to get her to stop. “Cut it out! What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She shrugged. “What? Can’t a girl touch an old friend’s nose? And make noises doing it?”
“Yeah, ok…I’m just…” He took a good look at her. She was dressed in a fairly form-fitting blue dress. It accentuated her body far more than concealed its shape. Her pitch black hair was done up in tight, little curls. She had worn it like that a few times, back when they had been dating, and he had never failed to tell her how much he liked it done up like that. Red lipstick adorned her smiling lips. There was some blush on her cheeks and her eyes were made up, too. Yuri almost frowned when he was looking into her brown eyes. They didn’t quite seem to match her smile. “Um…”
“Yuri, you old dog, how long has it been?”
“Since…?”
“Since we got together to talk. How long has it been?”
Yuri had to actually think about that. He knew the exact time and date of their last conversation; it was the one with which she had dumped him for that med student. He just couldn’t, for the life of him, muster the present time and date, let alone subtract one from the other and give her the answer. “Uh, long…” He nodded. “It’s been long.”
“Well, can we talk now?”
“Um, I’m tired and…”
“Tired? Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be tired?”
Yuri squinted up at the sky. The sun was past its highest point, approximately half way to the horizon. “Uh, I guess, but I was up all night, and…”
Wada snuggled closer to him, hugging his elbow with her breasts. “What were you up to all night long, you naughty boy? Making trouble for all the single ladies in the enclave?” She winked up at him and giggled.
“No! No, I was on duty the whole night long!”
“Oh, relax, Yuri, I’m just teasing you.” She looked him up and down. “Though, I’ve got to tell you, you look great in that uniform.”
He could feel his cheeks burning. “Uh, thanks.”
She felt his arm with her hands. “Oooh, and you feel so strong to the touch, Yuri. You do a lot of exercise, huh?” She winked. “It definitely shows. You’re quite the hunk now.”
He didn’t feel comfortable hearing her talk like that in public. “Where’s, uh,” Yuri squinted as he struggled to recall the name of the med student. “Where’s Abraham?”
Wada shrugged. “He’s helping out at the clinic.”
“Oh.” Wada kept smiling up at him, even as she kept his elbow pressed firmly between her breasts. “Well, what would your fiancé think about you standing so close to me?”
“Abraham knows we’re close, you and I.” Yuri’s brow rose. “Well, he knows we used to be so close.” She leaned in and rested her head atop his shoulder, not breaking eye contact. “Don’t you miss it? Us being close? Together?” Yuri’s mouth worked, but no sounds were coming out. “I do. I’ve missed you so bad. I’ve often thought about getting back together with you.”
Yuri gulped as his throat was suddenly very dry. He could feel her breath against the bottom of his chin. Some kind of floral perfume was lingering in his nostrils.
“I used to lie in bed, sometimes,” she whispered, “and imagine what it would be like to get back together with you.” She rubbed her cheek against the top of his shoulder. Her breasts rubbed against his bicep at the same time.
Her overtly sexual motion snapped Yuri out of his surprise. He cast his eyes about. There were few people around, but most of them were glancing their way. “Wada, stop that,” he hissed, “someone will see you!”
“So?”
“So? So, you’re acting like a wanton whore, Wada. Stop it!” He stepped away from her and pulled his elbow out of her grip.
Wada kept smiling. Her fingers traced the front of her dress. Yuri gulped when he realized she was tracing around her nipples. He could see they were erect and that meant she was braless. A flood of memories rushed into his mind’s eye. Broken images of her riding atop his hips, her face scrunched up in concentration as she yelped and gasped. Her tits, her naked, smooth, soft tits in his hands, getting redder the more he played with them. He started feeling his cock swell against his boxers.
“Used to be, you didn’t mind me behaving like that. Used to be, you liked it. A lot.”
Yuri frowned. “That was then. We’re not together anymore.” He forced himself to look away from her chest and cast his gaze about again. “And we never did anything untoward in public.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re worried about public indecency, we can go someplace more private. Someplace where we can be as alone and as close as we want to.” She stepped closer and embraced him.
Yuri could feel her breasts flatten against the muscles of his chest. He could feel her nipples poking into his skin. They felt like a pair of electrodes, poised to make his heart race and stop beating at the same time. The heat of her soft, pliant body against his was too powerful to resist. His cock sprang up to full hardness, poking her in the hip, despite the heavy canvas of his combat fatigues.
“Ooooh,” she cooed in delight. “I can feel how close you want to be to me.”
“No, no, no, that’s not…no, I…” His eyes darted everywhere, noting the disapproving looks the passers-by were shooting him.
“If you want me to stop being so close to you, just say so and I’ll move away and let you and your,” she shot an amused look at his crotch, “big friend walk home all by yourselves.”
“No,” he exclaimed softly and pressed her closer to him. Hugging a girl on the street was indecent, but walking around with a discernible erection was utterly unacceptable. He’d be ostracized for such behavior. His family, too. He could push back against the elders’ nonsense, but this…
He felt Wada’s soft laugh against his chest, even as his eyes darted around in a panic. “Wada, stop it,” he hissed.
“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” She held her hands up above their shoulders. “Look, my hands are up here!”
“Wada!” Everyone’s eyes were on them now. He could feel sweat break out across his brow. He had never seen Wada act like a harlot before. He had never seen any girl act like this in public. He didn’t know what to do.
“If you’re worried about everyone’s eyes, we could duck inside, out of the way.”
“Yes! Yes, let’s!”
“Come on!” She turned around, took him by the hand, and led him to the nearest doorway.
It was a small apartment building, only three stories high, with two apartments per floor. He was almost relieved to be out of the street, but then he heard children’s laughter coming from higher up on the staircase. “Wada,” he hissed heatedly, “children can’t see me like this!” His erection was somewhat subsiding, but he still needed to hide it. He maneuvered his messenger bag in front of it.
“Come on! We can hide in here!” She unlocked a door and pushed him in before he could object. She locked the door behind them.
Yuri looked around the small apartment. It was somewhat cramped, with lots of furniture lying around. There were neatly folded clothes and books everywhere. “Wada,” he whispered, “people live here.”
“Yes, my family does. Don’t worry.” She winked at him. “No one’s home.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Wait, so you live here? I thought you and Abraham moved south after you…” She looked a bit sheepish at his comment. “Since when do you live here?”
She shrugged. “A while now.”
“I had no idea. I live just two streets over. Why didn’t you ever come over and say hello?”
“Your mother hates me.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Wada shot him a look. “Yes, she does. But that doesn’t matter.” She moved his bag aside and stepped closer to embrace him once again. She was sporting another inviting smile.
His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed as he felt her warm body press itself against his. Her pliant hip rubbed against his erection. Even through their clothing, it felt excellent. “Wada, we can’t.”
“Sure we can.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“No,” she said, giggling, “we definitely shouldn’t.”
He looked around and then at her. “I, I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Wada, please!”
“Please, what?”
“Just, let go of me. I have to…I have to use the bathroom.”
She laughed softly as she rubbed herself against him all over again. His cock instantly regained any hardness it might have lost and he had to grit his teeth to keep from rubbing along with her. “Why, Yuri, that’s a sin, you know.”
He shot her an incredulous look. “And this isn’t?”
“Was it a sin when we were together?”
“We, uh…we’re not together now. You’re with Abraham.”
“Forget Abraham.” Her hands roamed up and down his back, squeezing his buttocks and tracing the cleft between his shoulder blades with her nails.
He sucked air and grimaced. His upper back had always been sensitive. Just getting touched like that was making him relive all the times he had spent himself inside her quivering sheath, her nails raking his shoulder blades bloody as she climaxed with him. His knees felt weak, all of a sudden. “Wada, no.”
“Yuri, yes,” she breathed into his chin. She tilted her head and began sucking on the side of his throat.
He groaned when her tongue joined in on the fun. She kissed across his larynx, tickling away until he was unable to speak, only gasp for breath. She kissed up the side of his throat until she reached his ear. “Be with me, Yuri, just like old times. Be with me.”
“Wada, no.”
Her hands reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss. When her lips touched his, he couldn’t fight it any longer. He dropped his bag and seized her ass. Her buttocks felt so right in his hands, their soft flesh overflowing between his clenching fingers. She squealed into his mouth and then jumped up to clamp her legs around his midriff. He supported her weight with ease.
Wada pulled away from his mouth. “When did you become so strong?” He leaned in and kissed her again. She rubbed her body against his, making him groan with desire. “In there.”
He carried her in the direction she pointed, even as their tongues wrestled for supremacy across the expanse of their lips. He found himself inside a bedroom. He walked to the bed and let go of her. She let herself fall back onto the bed and giggled as she bounced upon it.
Now that his hands were empty, he realized that he could just rush into the bathroom before she could get up, lock the door, squeeze one off and be on his way home, without his erection swinging around to scandalize the whole world. No muss, no fuss.
Then he looked down at her. She reached up towards him with a warm smile and all thoughts of decency vanished.
She had been his first and he hadn’t really been with anyone since. Arab girls caught his eye, with their curly, dark hair and smooth, swarthy skin, but few of them dared break the unspoken taboo on inter-ethnic dating. The ones that did had only been interested in one-night stands that provided them with some kind of revenge against their boyfriends.
Yuri pretended those nights had never even happened. If the wrong Arabs heard of the matter, they’d snip his balls off. Literally. None of those girls could hold a candle to Wada, anyway.
She started unbuttoning her dress.
Years of sexual frustrations erupted out of him. He pounced atop her and let loose. His hands nearly mauled her breasts. His tongue frantically tasted every bit of her skin, desperate to confirm his memories of how good she tasted. He bit and licked and sucked, not caring about the marks he’d leave on her.
She tried to fight him, just to reign him in a little, but it was to no avail. She only got him to pause when she managed to undo his zipper and grab his erection. He groaned as she pulled him out. Their eyes met. He burned with desire and, for a fleeting moment, he thought he could see that hers didn’t match. Then she started pumping his cock and he was lost. She used his erection as a control stick and got him to roll over on his back. She wasted no time in pulling her dress up and mounting him. He was paralyzed by the glorious realization that she had not been wearing panties, either.
They both groaned while she slowly sank down his length. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to be inside her again. His memories, as vivid as they had been, felt like liars in that regard. Then she started moving up and down on his shaft and all he could think of was how much he wanted this to last forever.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed in a breathless voice, “just like old times.”
At one point, the top half of her dress pooled around her midriff, revealing her breasts. His hands shot up and massaged them, tweaking her nipples and rubbing around her areoles. He smiled at the v-shaped mole on her left tit. I haven’t seen you in a long time, old friend.
Wada responded to his ministrations with soft yelps and quick gasps. His hips began to buck upwards, all on their own. He was lost on a sea of desire and she rode every wave that possessed him.
Soon, her yelps started coming in shorter and quicker bursts, her breasts flushed pink underneath his fingers and her pussy began fluttering against him. He cried out as his whole body seized up, driving his hips clear off the bed. His seed shot out of him and into her gushing womb. The ecstasy felt like a fire that was consuming his very mind.
As his orgasm faded away, so did his consciousness.
He was jostled into a half-wakeful state. All he knew was that his temples were throbbing. His mouth tasted like shit and he couldn’t focus his eyes on anything.
“Get up! Somebody’s here for you!”
Yuri groaned in vague protest. He couldn’t make sense of anything.
“Mr. Yanuk! We know you’re in there! Come out, please!”
The loud voices snapped Yuri awake and he shot up in bed. Wada was busy doing up her dress and straightening it out to make herself look presentable. Shame washed over Yuri at the sight. Confusion followed.
He didn’t know if this meant that they were getting back together. He didn’t know if he really wanted it, deep in his heart of hearts, or if it was just because she was the only girl he had ever really been with. If he had his choice of women, would Wada be the one for him? Years ago, he would have shouted “yes” to that question. Of late, he had not been so sure. Today had done nothing to clarify the issue.
Fresh knocks on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Yanuk, open the door, please!”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.” Wada looked at him with an expression that told him she was feeling guilty about what they had done.
His heart sank. She wasn’t interested in a relationship with him. He didn’t understand why she did what she did if she was uninterested in him. He got out of bed and swayed on his feet. I really need to get some sleep. He looked back down at the bed. It was so inviting, even if it wasn’t his.
Wada checked herself in the bedroom mirror and then left the room. “Who is it,” he heard her call out.
He looked around the room. He was forgetting something important, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“Just a minute!” Wada dashed back into the room. “It’s the elders! They’ve sent for you!”
“What?”
“There’s people at the door, they want you to come with them.”
He blinked his eyes, trying to process this new piece of information. “What about you?”
She shrugged.
He wiped his face and moved towards the door.
“Hey.”
He looked at her. She was pointing at his crotch. “Oh,” he said and put himself back inside his boxers. He zipped up and remembered he had his bag with him. He looked around for it.
Another knock came at the door. “Mr. Yanuk!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Yuri snapped in that direction. His temples were still throbbing and he was in no mood for any elders scolding him about his lewd behavior, indoors, or in public.
“Yuri,” Wada said, fearfully.
He spotted his bag and picked it up. “What?”
“Please don’t tell them about…”
“I won’t.” He put the strap of his messenger bag across his shoulders and steeled himself against the scorn that awaited him beyond the door. “I’ll tell them to go fuck themselves.”
Wada gasped.
He marched to the door and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge.
“Yuri!”
“What?” He turned to look at her. She looked fearful, desperate.
“Please, come back! After you’re done with them, please come back and talk to me.”
“Okay.”
“Please! Whatever they say, or do, please come back here. I… We need to talk. It’s important. I need you.” Another knock on the door nearly made her jump in place. “Promise me! Promise me you’ll come back and talk to me!”
“I promise.”
Yuri unlocked the door and yanked it open. He stood there glaring at several tense faces. He drew a deep breath to send them to hell with, when they all changed their expression into relief. His brow twitched in confusion.
“Peace be with you, Mr. Yanuk,” one of the men said. “Please, come with us. You are needed.”
“What?”
“Please, Sir, we need your help,” another said.
“What?”
“Please, just come with us, Sir,” said the first man.
“The elders need to speak with you,” added the second.
“I’m in no mood to go see anyone.”
They looked alternately surprised and worried by his words. A silver-haired old man, with a few wisps of hair dangling from his upper lip, leaned in. He spoke softly. “Mr. Yanuk, are you refusing to attend to your elders when called upon? Should we tell them that? Is your family prepared to forgo their guidance and protection?”
Fuck the elders, Yuri thought. He opened his mouth to say it.
The man shot a pointed look at Wada. “There is no need for us to concern them with matters of impropriety. They need to speak with you on a different matter.”
Yuri looked over his shoulder into Wada’s fearful eyes. His indignant rage deflated. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
“Wait until,” one of the men exclaimed in disbelief before trailing off.
“No, Mr. Yanuk. This is an urgent matter and the elders are calling upon you to deal with it.”
Yuri sighed even as he tried to blink himself awake, yet again. Why can’t people leave me alone to sleep? He gestured and they stepped aside to make room for him to pass. He squeezed his way outside and shot Wada a parting look. She looked fearful as she closed the door behind him. He looked down the street that led home with longing. He faced forward and let them lead him in the nearly opposite direction, shuffling along as best he could with a pounding headache. They walked for fifteen minutes down the winding streets of the enclave.
The good thing about the place was that there were no cars, so there was no chance of getting hit by one if you were stumbling around the streets, half asleep. The bad thing about the enclave was that the streets were everyone’s living room. There were children running around, men playing bowls, women standing around talking, teenagers sitting on corners, snickering at God knows what. They were all so loud that they were making Yuri’s headache worsen with every passing moment.
Yuri couldn’t muster the intellectual strength to avoid obstacles, but he didn’t have to, surrounded by the elders’ men. Everyone on the street respectfully parted for them and ushered the children out of the way. Yuri could almost hear the rumor mill begin to grind away behind him.
When the men stopped in front of a large house, they gestured him in. He tilted his head this way and that, stretching his neck to try and wake up. He noted that the sun looked to be at about the same place in the sky as it had been when he ran into Wada. Had he spent more than half an hour with her? Including the nap that had been so rudely interrupted?
He shook himself from head to toe and entered the elders’ villa.
The place was packed. It seemed like half the able bodied men of the enclave were squeezed into the ground floor of the villa. Everyone turned their attention to him as he stood in the doorway.
“Peace be with you, Mr. Yanuk,” called a voice from the back room. Yuri thought it sounded like Kenfer, one of the elders from Yuri’s old neighborhood. “Please, come and join us!”
Yuri planted his feet and folded his arms across his chest. The pounding in his temples seemed to worsen at the sound of Kenfer’s voice. He’d be damned if he had to squeeze through a crowd to get to a scalding. “You seem to be busy,” he called out, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The anteroom erupted in astonished muttering. Yuri turned on his heel. The men that had escorted him there closed ranks around him, to prevent him from leaving. He sighed in annoyance.
“We’re not busy, we’re waiting for you,” Kenfer called out. “Every one of these men is waiting to hear from you. Come! Stand aside and let Yuri pass!” The men in the anteroom scooted to the sides, opening up a narrow corridor.
Yuri frowned and shot a look towards the back room. None of this computed. What’s worse, he knew he’d get it long ago, if only he hadn’t been exerting his mind all day yesterday and through the night and for most of today. Unable to leave, he gave in and slowly walked through the anteroom.
The back room was almost empty, compared to the packed anteroom. The eleven elders were seated at a long table, the head elder at the far end and five to a side. The twelfth chair was pulled out at the near end of the table. An elder swept her hand towards it, inviting him to sit down. He fell heavily into it. He set his bag down on the floor next to the chair. “Peace be with you, elders.”
“And with you, Yanuk,” the head elder said. His name escaped Yuri for the moment. “Would you care for some tea?”
Yuri looked down the table. Every elder had a steaming cup in front of them. There were two attendants standing at the sideboard. The sideboard was laden with refreshments and carafes of water. Yuri squinted in confusion. Usually, the elders offered tea, then waited for the attendants to place the cups and pour. The tea was poured to the elders, in order of precedence, and only then poured to the guest. The time the guest spent silently waiting for the tea to be poured was a mark of respect for the elders, as well as a token of submission to their rule.
For the tea to be already poured when the guest was offered…Yuri had no idea what that meant. He guessed that, if he said yes, the elders would have their teacups removed and a fresh pot boiled. They’d make him wait all that time and he was sure he’d fall asleep and thus insult them. There was no way he was going to stay here for a second longer than he had to.
His grandfather had taught him that in ancient times, wars between Zibar tribes had been declared by sending an emissary to refuse the tea that the elders of the other tribe offered. That simple refusal was enough to declare war. The elders would tell the emissary to leave and arm their people as soon as he was out of sight of the settlement.
He was grateful that time had changed that particular part of Zibar culture. These days, refusing the elders’ tea was merely the equivalent of sticking a thumb up their ass and spinning them atop it. He glanced over his shoulder at the packed anteroom. He hoped the second part of the tradition hadn’t changed; that he’d be allowed to leave before they broke out the torches and scythes.
He faced forward and smiled at the head elder. “No, thank you.”
A chorus of murmurs spread behind him. The head elder merely nodded and it died out. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Yanuk. We have a great need to speak with you.”
Yuri rubbed an itchy eyelid. He had no idea why the elders were giving him such leeway, but he didn’t care. He had cracked the codes of the greatest fleet on the planet. He was beyond such trivial considerations. He made a show of looking around the room.
The tapestries adorning the walls caught his eye. They depicted characters from ancient Zibar legends. The ones that predated Islam. He had often seen their like, back when he had been a kid. His grandfather had taken him on a tour of all the surviving Zibar monuments. Every Zibar temple had dozens of tapestries like those adorning their walls.
The temples were gone now, bulldozed by the Caliphate during the last few years.
Another round of murmurs broke out in response to his behavior. Even the elders at the table shifted in their seats. The boy before them was supposed to show great gratitude at being given such deferential treatment from his elders.
Kenfer nearly exploded. “Pay attention to your elders!”
Yuri leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. He then put his head in his hands. If his family had to suffer disgrace, then so be it. He was going to ask the General to move his family out of the enclave, anyway. He wasn’t going to have his time wasted like this ever again.
“Please, elder Kenfer,” the head elder said, cutting off everyone’s indignant reactions. “Mr. Yanuk, you are aware of our people’s situation, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And you are willing to help, are you not?” Without waiting for an answer, the head elder leaned forward and said, “You are one of only four Zibar serving in the military at this time. And you’re the only one from the capital. We need you to speak with your superior officer.”
Yuri was shocked for a moment. Were they going to try and force him to resign? “Look, I’m not quitting my job and that’s final!” The stunned silence that ensued nearly made him regret his tone. He glared at the head elder, all the same.
The man smiled. “You misunderstand, Mr. Yanuk. We don’t want you to resign. Quite the opposite. We want you to use all the privileges and authority of your rank to help us protect our people.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do we mean, what do we mean,” Kenfer quietly mocked. “I can’t believe we’re dealing with this stupid boy.”
The head elder put a calming hand on Kenfer’s elbow. “The Arabs are planning to make their move against us soon.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “Your commanding officer is the highest ranking amongst the officers that we know are against a Zibar genocide. We need you to put together a meeting between us and him.”
“Not this crap again,” Yuri muttered.
Kenfer barked out a reproachful, “Yanuk!”
“You guys have been going on and on about how the Arabs are going to exterminate us for over a decade now. Don’t you ever get tired of repeating yourselves?”
An explosion of noise made Yuri sway in his seat. The entire anteroom was roaring with indignant rage. The elders all spoke up at the same time, loudly. Most of them also jumped up out of their seats. Yuri rubbed his temples. If they didn’t want to take his lip, then maybe they shouldn’t have dragged him in here in the first place. No one hurled anything more than abuse at him, though. He was grateful for that much, at least. He was sure they could get their hands on some rotten fruit, if they wanted to.
The head elder managed to get the crowd under control and seat the other elders. Only Kenfer remained standing. “I told you! I told you all! The moment he put on that uniform, he began believing all of their propaganda. God have mercy, he must have believed it all since before he joined. That was why he had joined them in the first place! Pissant child,” he roared at Yuri, “how dare you speak to your elders like that?!”
“You’re old, Kenfer,” Yuri said, “but you’re no one’s elder.”
Kenfer rushed towards Yuri. The other elders jumped up and stopped him. “I’ll not have this, Mansour,” Kenfer yelled at the head elder. “Remove him! Throw him and his family out! Now! We can’t have dealings with this boy!”
Yuri felt rough hands on his shoulders. A few men from the anteroom had moved to obey, but they stopped when Mansour signaled. The rest of the elders reluctantly joined in with Mansour’s pronunciation and the men retreated quietly.
Kenfer’s face turned red with rage. “To hell with you and your families! Let go of me!” He shrugged the restraining arms of the other elders off himself and stalked out of the room, leaving by the side exit. At Mansour’s nod, the attendants left after him.
An uncomfortable silence ensued. Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to curtail his headache. It wasn’t working.
“Young man,” one of the elders broke the silence, “you cannot deny that our people have suffered under the Caliph’s rule. We’ve been murdered in the streets like rats, with no one ever being held accountable for it.” The crowd in the anteroom broke out in angry murmurs of agreement. “Our women have been raped, our children and elderly beaten. The Arabs see us as subhuman monsters and they will stop at nothing to eradicate us from this land.”
“Had,” Yuri said.
“What?”
“Had been beaten, raped and murdered. That’s why we’re in the enclaves. No one’s been molested, or murdered, since the relocation.”
“You can’t possibly see the enclaves as a good thing,” another elder demanded in disbelief. “We’re prisoners here! Prisoners awaiting execution.”
“If we’re prisoners,” Yuri asked, “how come we’re allowed to travel, even abroad? Didn’t…what’s her face…Roudhan, didn’t Roudhan sit on this very council? Where is she now? Ah, yes, she moved to Italy.”
“Elder Roudhan’s relocation bears no relevance to this discussion,” Mansour said. The other elders sat back in their seats. “The fact is, Mr. Yanuk, that beyond these walls are Arabs who want to exterminate every last one of us. They see it as a way to prove their devotion to God. A way to cleanse this land of those they consider to be impurities and make it ready to receive God’s blessings. They’ll make good on their ambition. I think you know they will.”
“That’s patently ridiculous,” Yuri said. “The Arabs aren’t evil. They’re people, just like us.” A few of the elders scoffed at this notion. The anteroom mirrored their actions. “Yes, the Caliphate has the Islamic Militia, which is a collection of lunatics, but that doesn’t mean that every Arab in the country wants to kill Zibar. Everywhere on Earth, it’s the same. The ones in power manipulate the masses to hate those that are different from the norm, mostly by letting the loonies near the microphones. It’s a way to distract the public from what the ones in power are really doing behind the scenes. It’s the same old story that’s been playing in every culture across the globe, for all of human history. It’s never going to change.”
“Ah, listen to this student of history,” Kenfer said, entering from the side door. “It’s a shame you didn’t learn history properly, you insolent child. If you did, maybe you’d have learned about the ghettos the Nazis had forced the Jews into during the last World War. Did you ever hear what had happened to those people? Particularly the ones that believed the ghettos had been established for their own safety? Huh?”
“That was a long time ago,” Yuri said. “And no one’s going to try and repeat that.”
“Are you really this stupid? Or are you getting high on being contrary to us?” Kenfer took his seat and turned to the head elder. “Seriously, Mansour, why are we even talking to this boy? He’s too stupid to be of any use to anyone.”
Yuri chuckled with derision. “No use to anyone? That’s funny. I do recall getting a lot of things during the last four years for half of you seated here. I wasn’t called useless at the time.”
“Careful, boy,” the elder sitting closest to Yuri quietly hissed.
“You’re a bunch of fucking hypocrites.”
The anteroom exploded into howls of rage. All the elders glared at Yuri. Only Mansour’s raised hand kept the situation from becoming violent. Kenfer’s face turned beet red all over again.
“Particularly you, Kenfer,” Yuri said, loudly enough to be heard over the mob. “You forbade my career. If it had been up to you, I’d never have been able to join the Army, or obtain my present posting.” Yuri cocked his head and sneered. “And now you’re trying to get me to use that very post to help you. If that’s not hypocritical, then I don’t know what is.”
“You don’t know anything,” Kenfer hissed. “Insolent little child. You defied us, your elders, and went and joined the enemy when you should have-”
“Enemy?! Wow! Those are some words. War’s been declared already? You know, I’m thinking that maybe the Arabs might be prudent in locking up some Zibar.”
Kenfer pounded the table. “Damn it, Mansour! Throw him out! We’ll do this ourselves!”
“Do what,” Yuri asked. The elders and the crowd finally fell silent. “What is it that you want with me, anyway?”
Mansour considered for a moment. “We need you to talk with your General about…getting us some guns.”
“Oh, fuck, no,” Yuri barked out.
“Just so we can defend ourselves,” Mansour said.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Yuri shook his head, making his headache worsen. “That is never going to happen.”
“We can’t remain defenseless anymore. We’ve gotten word that the Arabs are planning their move very soon and we can’t afford to act like we’re above violence any longer.”
“No. This is a bad idea.”
“Think of the weapons as only a deterrent.”
Yuri snorted. “No weapon has ever served as a deterrent, or a path to peace. Whenever one side gets armed, the other responds in kind. If the Arabs even suspected you had a cache of guns hidden in the enclave, they’d raid the place to take them away from you. Hell, they might even end the enclaves altogether and send us back out to mix with the idiots from the sticks.”
“The Arabs have guns,” Kenfer yelled at Yuri.
“The military has guns,” Yuri insisted.
“The Militia has guns. Those very same lunatics you’ve acknowledged as dangerous are sitting at the checkpoints with guns trained on us.”
“The Militia has military oversight,” Yuri said. “They won’t so much as fart without orders. You start packing heat and the military is going to give them those orders.”
Kenfer wiped his face with his hands. “I can’t believe how stupid he is.”
Yuri frowned. “Neither can I believe how stupid you are, elder Kenfer.” Mansour raised a hand to silence the crowd again. “What would you do with guns, if you were given any? Do you know which end of a gun to hold? Do you know how to maintain a firearm? How to properly use it? Has anyone in the enclave served in the military in the last decade? Does anyone here have any combat training? No? Giving a bunch of guns to a bunch of civilians unfamiliar with them is the same as shooting them in the head. Hell, shooting them in the head would be more merciful.”
“You could help train our forces,” an elder suggested.
“Help train,” Yuri asked, incredulously, and then trailed off. He looked from one face to the other. “Are you kidding me? I only did basic training. I know how to work a gun, true. I can teach some people to disassemble and reassemble and maintain a few types of weapons, but I can’t train anyone to be fighters. These aren’t the good old days when just knowing how to properly hold the butt of a rifle against your shoulder made you a soldier. These days, fighting requires a lot more technical savvy than guts, or physical fitness.
“I’m talking about technical savvy that takes a lot of time to acquire. Months of training and specialized education that I can’t provide. If you’re thinking of going as old-school as possible… Do I really have to tell you what happens when a few guys with small arms go up against a bunch of men in combat exoskeletons? It isn’t pretty, let’s leave it at that.”
“Ordinary soldiers with rifles can still destroy robots and mechs,” an elder said.
Yuri shook his head. “You’d give an opinion on Islamic law while Imam Malik was in Medina, wouldn’t you?” The elder blushed and glared at Yuri, but made no reply. “Special forces and professional soldiers can take down mechanized enemies with small arms and handheld explosives, yes, but it takes three vital things to do that. One, they must vastly outnumber the enemy. Two, they must have full command of the surrounding terrain. Three, they have to be trained to work together to such an extent that each soldier will not only know the exact best way to react to any move the mechs make, but will instantly know what each and every other man in his unit will do at that same moment. One slip up and half the unit is mowed down in the next instant.
“That kind of coordination takes even longer to train than the technical stuff. I’m talking a full year, at the least. The Caliphate has entire brigades that are continuously undergoing such training. They’re also specially trained and equipped for urban warfare and peacekeeping.” Yuri sighed. “I mean, this discussion is completely moot. I was never trained in advanced tactics. I couldn’t possibly train such a force for you.”
“We don’t have that kind of time,” an elder said to Mansour. “Not if the reports from the south are true.” Mansour nodded, sadly.
“Let’s get back on track, shall we,” Mansour said. “We need to speak with your general. Can you arrange a meeting between us, or not?”
“Not if you’re going to ask him for guns.”
“We won’t.”
“Then what would the meeting be about?”
“It’s futile,” Kenfer said to Mansour. “His general doesn’t have that kind of authority. Can’t have it! I mean, the man recruited Yuri, how smart can he be?”
“Major General Moussa Houdani has plenty of authority,” Yuri said. “Real authority. He also has plenty of duties that are crucial to the Caliphate. The kinds of duties that you wouldn’t know anything about, Kenfer.”
Mansour put his hand on Kenfer’s elbow again. “Do these duties extend to oversight of the Militia?”
Yuri frowned. “Not usually. Why?”
“Can he influence the placement of guards at the checkpoints?”
“Maybe.”
Mansour leaned in. “Would he be willing to appoint some friendly faces at the checkpoints. Friendly faces that might be willing to look the other way?”
“You’re not seriously trying to arrange for guns to be smuggled in here?”
“No,” Mansour said. “We’re interested in smuggling something out.”
Yuri’s eyebrows rose.
Kenfer rolled his eyes. “Us, you idiot!” He gestured broadly. “All of us!”
Yuri looked over his shoulder in amazement. The assembled men cast dark looks back. He faced Kenfer again. “You want to sneak out and leave everyone else behind?”
Kenfer banged a fist against the table. “No, you idiot! Everyone! Every man, woman and child in the enclave.” He huffed and then muttered, “Though it’s clear some should be left behind.” Mansour shot him a warning look.
“Are you kidding me? You want to try and sneak twenty-three thousand people through the capital?”
Kenfer crossed his arms over his chest and refused to even look at Yuri.
“Where there’s a will,” Mansour said, “there’s always a way.”
“We could divide up into smaller groups,” an elder suggested.
“Some classified military transports, maybe,” another added.
“Can he get us passes,” a third elder asked. “Special passes that would allow for free movement?”
Yuri had to rub his temples again. His headache had been bad before, but this kind of talk was making it worse. “And where, for the love of God, would you take our people? The desert? The mountains? That would only leave them vulnerable to exactly the kinds of semi-literate rubes that had been hounding us for years.
“Or, are you thinking of making it across the borders? That’s the one thing that would provoke the Caliph into action against us. He can’t stand emigration. And even if you managed to get to any of the borders, since when do they allow anyone across? The borders are still officially contested by the Caliph. There’s military on both sides. Sneaking past all those watchful eyes is a lot harder than any of you can imagine.
“Not to mention that none of our neighbors want us there. They deport any one of our citizens they catch on their territory. We all know what awaits those repatriated, don’t we?”
“We can go north, to the sea,” Mansour suggested.
“And then what? Say you get a fleet of boats and load everyone on them. Where do you sail? Half the world is a war zone. And the rest of the world is even worse. ‘No fucking foogees, thank you’. Have you never seen the vids? I know you must have. I got half of you your internet access points.” Some of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“What vids?” Kenfer asked.
“Vids of youths attacking refugee camps. They tie up the men at gunpoint, make them watch as they rape the women and then set them all on fire.” Kenfer’s jaw dropped. “What? You never heard of that? ‘The Foogee Burnings’? They’re very popular.” Yuri swept a hand over the table. “Ask around. They’ll tell you. Hell, they can even show you!”
“That can’t be true,” Kenfer protested. The faces of the other elders told him it was. “Where is this happening?”
“Everywhere,” Yuri said. “Both the GAU and the Bloc tolerate that kind of behavior cause those same groups of violent, ultra-nationalistic youths are pivotal to their recruitment and propaganda machines.”
“That’s insane.”
“We finally agree on something, Kenfer. Sadly, it’s completely true. If we try to leave the Caliphate, the Caliph will come down on us. If we were to, somehow, manage to get away, we would only be getting out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“This is our home. This is where we live, where our ancestors have lived for almost two millennia. This is where we must stand and thrive. The Arabs outnumber us. Vastly. We have to cooperate with them. It’s the only way forward.”
“I agree with you,” Mansour said. “But that doesn’t change the facts. The Arabs are planning to hurt us. We can’t bury our heads in the sand and pretend that they’re not. We need you to put us in touch with your general as soon as possible.” He leaned forward. “The situation is dire.”
“While you were away, playing with your Arab friends,” Kenfer said, “they started tightening the noose. There was no bread delivery today. The medicine delivery didn’t come, either. The trash still hasn’t been picked up. They’re going to make their move. Soon.”
Yuri wondered if his discovery had had anything to do with those. The enclave’s management was under military supervision and the military, particularly the forces in the capital, had been thrown for a loop this morning. “I don’t think a day’s delay means anything.”
Kenfer snorted in derision and sat back in his seat, shaking his head.
“Yanuk, please,” Mansour said. “Just put us in touch with your general. We know he’s not a man that hates based on skin color, or ethnicity. We know he’s willing to help us. We just need you to put us in touch, discreetly, and we’ll take it from there.”
All the elders’ eyes were upon him. He could feel the men in the anteroom holding their collective breath. He sighed and then shook his head.
Pandemonium erupted in both rooms. Yuri’s head was going to explode. The men shouted and yelled, the elders pleaded. Arguments and curses were being hurled at him but, in his ear, they all combined into a sound like fingernails being dragged across a blackboard.
After a whole night of beauty and magic watching the supercomputers do his bidding, this argument was like watching someone paint a huge building with a tiny brush; boring and repetitive and unproductive. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted to sleep.
The elders would have none of that, it seemed. They took to grabbing him by the elbows, or shaking him by the shoulders as they listed all the crimes and discriminations their people had suffered at the hands of the Arabs. The crowd in the anteroom shouted abuse at him.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!”
Both rooms fell silent. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing painfully across the back of his skull. “Enough. No more.”
“You’ll put us in touch with the General?” Mansour asked. He was the only elder still in his seat.
“No,” Yuri said and held up an imploring hand. “I’ll tell you why your fears are unfounded.” Everyone murmured. “But only you!” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They have to go.” He shook a finger at Mansour. “And you all have to swear to me that you’ll never, ever, repeat what I tell you. Not to a soul.”
The elders turned to look at Mansour. He considered for a few moments and then nodded. With just a few gestures, the elders sent the men in the anteroom packing. Kenfer summoned the attendants from the side door and sent them to speed the crowd on its way out the door. A minute later, the attendants closed the front door behind themselves. Yuri was alone in the villa with the elders.
Now that there was silence, Yuri found himself regretting his outburst. He really shouldn’t tell the elders. If they told on him, he’d be in big trouble. He reasoned that the news would break soon anyway, but he knew that was no excuse for revealing classified intelligence. He guessed he could probably get away with telling them. He was the master code-breaker, after all. That was bound to net him some leeway and tolerance before any future court-martial.
The elders sat down and patiently waited for him to start talking. Something about the way they looked at him, even the female ones, reminded him of his grandfather. Yuri missed him and his stories. Even as a little boy, Yuri would get bored of stories quickly. He’d guess the ending and shout it out loud to get the person telling him the story to stop and go away, leaving him free to find another preoccupation.
His grandfather had been the only one to not get insulted by that behavior. He’d just laugh, rub his head and call him his “bright boy”. Then he’d tell him another story, a better one.
Yuri wiped his face. “The botched deliveries…those are probably my doing. I deciphered a whole mess of messages last night. There’s a massive GAU fleet in the Mediterranean being made ready to invade us.” The elders gasped as one. “It’ll happen soon. Unless the Caliph manages to talk it out with them. So, you see, we had every single officer in charge of…well, everything, really, come into the School today and that’s probably why the deliveries went awry.”
“You’re not lying,” Kenfer feebly said. His face blanched.
Yuri looked him in the eye. “I wish I was. Anyway, you must not tell anyone anything about this. You gave me your words.” He looked around the table as all the elders, even Kenfer, nodded.
“So, you see, it would make no sense for the Arabs to go on a killing spree, right as we’re about to be invaded.”
“Madness never makes sense,” one of the elders said. Yuri nearly rolled his eyes at her.
“It’s true,” Kenfer said to Mansour, sounding shocked. “What they were saying. It’s true.” Mansour nodded. All the elders looked to be deep in thought.
“What’s true?”
Mansour stared Yuri in the eye, making him feel judged. After a few moments, Mansour relaxed in his seat and spoke. “Last month, we received word from our compatriots in the south that a discovery had been made in the mountains. Endless truck convoys have been ferrying heavy digging equipment into the area, ever since. Armed men were suddenly patrolling the entire countryside, making sure no one got close to the digs without permission. Permission not even the local authorities could obtain. There’s a lot of speculation as to what they’re drilling for, but if the GAU is planning to invade us…”
“Uranium,” Yuri said.
All the elders nodded, agreeing with his reasoning.
“Fuck,” Yuri said.
Mansour grinned sadly. “Pretty much.” He lifted his cup and took a whiff. “How do you think this will play out?” He took a sip of his tea and set it back down.
Yuri fidgeted in his seat. Suddenly, he was struck by the weirdness of this meeting. Had anyone told him yesterday that the elders would be summoning him to ask for his help, he would have thought them crazy. Now, not only had they allowed him to insult them repeatedly in front of an audience, but the head elder was asking for his opinion.
He was too exhausted to think of any reason why he should not give it. “Well, the Caliph had been spouting anti-GAU propaganda since before the civil war had destroyed the old kingdom. I don’t really see him as allying with the GAU, but he’s a calculated man. Realistic. He knows he can’t possibly win. Our Air Force could challenge the GAU’s naval air groups, but my decrypts suggest that the GAU has a lot of air power ready to act from bases in Spain and Italy.” He could tell that the elders were bristling at his use of the word “our”, but he kept on talking.
“Indeed, I guess the primary purpose of their carrier-borne air power will be to defend their fleet and landing vessels against our attacks. Our fleet is chronically under funded. It’s severely lacking in ships and trained seamen. The weapon systems are largely obsolete and the electronic warfare suites are laughable. The GAU can sweep the fleet aside in an hour. The real battle will be at the beaches. Once the GAU establishes supply ports, it’s game over.
“We could stall their advance into the hinterland, but not turn them away. Never mind their technological superiority, they’d win by pure attrition. I mean, the GAU can always ferry another million combat robots and their operators to our shores. We don’t have a combat robot industry. All our losses are irreplaceable. We have no allies. The Bloc couldn’t come to our aid, even if it wanted to.”
Yuri paused as the likely source of Ali’s smirk finally dawned on him. The Caliphate was surrounded by hostile nations and the GAU hadn’t approached any of them to join in on the invasion. It was standard GAU practice to amplify any pre-existing tensions in a region they were about to attack. They’d play the locals against each other to reduce resistance and gain allies that would help them with the ensuing occupation.
The Cipher School had long ago mastered the fine art of intercepting and decrypting every secret transmission concerning their neighbors. Caliphate spies were everywhere in the region. If the GAU had so much as paid a courtesy call to any of the neighboring countries to let them know there might be explosions in their neighborhood, the Intelligence Service would have known about it immediately. It was probably the lack of this information that led Ali to believe Yuri’s work was wrong and brought out the smirk.
Well, poo on him, Yuri thought. That was quite a stupid conclusion to draw. Yuri focused on the expectant faces around him and cleared his throat.
“However, now that we know where the attacks will take place, we could concentrate all of the Army and artillery on those beaches and hit them hard. Put the entire Air Force on protecting the Army and grind away the invasion force with sheer volume of fire.” Yuri frowned. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. Once the GAU starts taking serious losses in a campaign, regardless of how small and irrelevant that campaign is, their politicians insist on seeing things through and achieving total victory. For propaganda purposes.
“Half the time, that just prolongs their defeats and makes them more miserable as they throw good troops into bad situations, but the other times… Their military leaders have to know that they can win against us. Once the invasion force fights its way off the beaches, it’s the end of the Caliphate.” Yuri looked around at the elders’ faces.
“Of course, they have to do it quickly. They can’t afford to be delayed and have our neighbors mobilize and occupy parts of our territory, particularly these uranium mines. The GAU can’t allow for the Burundi scenario to happen again. They must have sole control of the uranium. If they don’t get off the beaches and to the mountains quickly enough, they’ll have to negotiate with our neighbors, or go to war with them. It would make more sense for them to negotiate with us and spare themselves the added expense and hassle of destabilizing the entire region.
“If I was the Caliph, I’d be on the phone to the GAU brass right now,” he chuckled darkly, “before they knock out our antiquated telecommunications networks. He needs to tell them that we know their plans. He needs to invite them to negotiate a treaty. He has to give up the uranium to keep the Caliphate. The GAU would establish military bases on our territory and operate armed convoys throughout the country, but the Caliph could allow that to happen and still keep enough face to maintain his rule.”
Mansour nodded along with his explanation. “Do you think he’ll do that? His cohorts will most likely object.”
“Object?!” Kenfer interjected. “They’d stage a coup, for sure!”
Yuri shrugged. “It’s his only alternative to losing everything.”
They all sat in quiet contemplation. Then Yuri yawned.
“We won’t keep you much longer, Mr. Yanuk,” Mansour said. “We appreciate your help in this matter.”
“No problem.”
“One last thing, though,” Mansour said and nodded at Kenfer. Kenfer got up and walked over to Yuri. Yuri watched him coming and half expected to be slapped for all the insults he had given. His heart raced and his fists tightened. I’m not that little kid you bullied four years ago, asshole. I was taught to kill with my bare hands in basic training and I still remember it all.
Kenfer produced a folded up set of papers from his pocket and held them out to Yuri. Yuri took them. Kenfer returned to his seat and Yuri glanced down at the papers. They contained what seemed like random letters until Yuri forced his eyes to focus. Then he realized he was looking at a list of medications. “What’s this?”
“The medical delivery had been missed,” Mansour said. “Those are the medications needed most urgently. We would appreciate it if you could have them delivered by tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” Yuri said. “I can’t.”
The elders gasped. “Why not?” asked Mansour.
Yuri held up the papers and tapped them with a finger. “No dosages.”
Mansour shot Kenfer a look of reproach. Kenfer sighed. “We’ll get you a completed list by the end of the day.”
“Don’t bother.”
The elders gasped again. “For many of our people, Mr. Yanuk, these medications mean the difference between life and death,” Mansour said. “We-”
“I’m on leave.”
The elders’ third collective gasp nearly made Yuri laugh. “Is everything alright, Mr. Yanuk?” Mansour asked.
“Oh, God have mercy,” Kenfer exclaimed. “He got fired! They’ve thrown him out on his ass and it’s going down! We’re all going to be killed!”
“I wasn’t discharged,” Yuri retorted in anger. “I was rewarded with a few days of leave for my service to the Caliphate.”
The elders remained silent, unsure of what to make of his words. “So,” Mansour drawled, “you’re still on active duty?”
Yuri lifted his bag and showed them the seal across the zipper. “Yes, I was even given some homework.”
The elders seemed to relax.
“Well, we’ll let you go start enjoying your leave now. We’ll talk with you tomorrow about the medicine deliveries.”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
The elders rose and started to file out. “Goodbye, Mr. Yanuk.”
Yuri swayed in his seat and then said, “Wait! I need an escort home.” The elders gave him a look of surprise. “I’m severely sleep deprived and I really can’t think anymore. I don’t think I could find my way out of a paper bag, right now, let alone all the way home.” He grinned and gestured around them. “I hadn’t been to this part of the enclave before, you know.”
Mansour chuckled. “Of course, Mr. Yanuk. We’ll send someone in to escort you home.”
Yuri nodded. “Thanks. Oh, and, uh, could it be someone that hadn’t been here, earlier?”
Mansour nodded. “Yes, I imagine you didn’t make any friends here today.”
Yuri yawned.
“My grandson is outside,” an elder said, “he can escort Mr. Yanuk home. I’ll send him right in.”
“Thank you, elder,” Yuri said. The elders left the room and he closed his eyes. He was startled by a firm hand gripping his shoulder. It was pulling him out of his chair. No, wait, it was propping him back up in his chair.
“Mr. Yanuk,” a youthful voice asked. “Are you alright, Mr. Yanuk? You nearly fell out of your chair.”
Yuri sat up straight and wiped his face. He looked up to see the face of a young man that was almost his size. “Yeah, I’m ok,” he mumbled. “Just sleepy.”
“Well, I’m here to see you home.”
Yuri hefted his bag and let the boy lead him out of a side door to the villa. There was a crowd of men out front. The boy led him away from them and down a few winding roads in silence. Then the boy began to gush over Yuri’s uniform. Yuri nodded and grunted along with whatever the boy was saying. He couldn’t spare the concentration to understanding his words. He could barely manage to put one foot in front of the other. Fortunately, the streets were mostly empty. Yuri couldn’t remember if it was supper time, or prayer time. He didn’t care either way. It was sleepy time for him.
Just when Yuri thought he could recognize a bathhouse, the boy gripped his shoulder and caught his full attention. “Well? Please, Mr. Yanuk, tell me!”
“Tell you what?”
The boy looked to be on the verge of tears. “Which of the checkpoints should I try to go through when the Arabs attack?”
“The Arabs won’t attack,” Yuri said. He looked around. He definitely knew where he was now. The proximity of his bed gave him a second wind. He strode down the correct road to his house.
The boy kept pace with him. “Yes, they will! Please, Mr. Yanuk, you know these things! Why won’t you tell me?! Are you afraid I’d give you up?! I wouldn’t! I’m discreet!”
“As everyone on this street can attest.”
“You have to tell me! Which of the checkpoints would give me the best chance to escape?!”
Yuri sighed. The boy’s shouts were drawing even more attention to them than his uniform. He couldn’t afford to get mobbed by a bunch of paranoid people begging for an escape route from imaginary monsters. “Use your brain, boy! If the Arabs are coming to kill you, how will they get inside the enclave? Are they going to climb over the wall? The three meters tall wall decked with barbed wire?”
The boy kept pace with Yuri and looked like he was waiting for him to continue talking. After a minute, he said, “Uh, no. No, they’d come in through the checkpoints.”
“And would hundreds of armed lunatics swarming through the checkpoints make them more, or less likely to provide you with an exit?”
The boy blinked. “Well…less?”
“Exactly.”
They walked in silence for a minute longer. “So, how do I get my family out?”
Yuri sighed. “If the checkpoints are out, then that leaves you with the wall. You’d have to go over, under, or through it.”
“Which would be best? Which way are you planning on going? Do you have a tunnel? A secret spy tunnel you’ll escape through?”
They turned onto Yuri’s street. Yuri didn’t need this boy clamoring on about escaping come anywhere near his mother. He patted the boy’s shoulder. “That’s classified, kid. If the time comes, you just stick with your grandpa. He knows what he’s doing, ok?”
“If you say so.”
“Good. Now, beat it.”
“I’m supposed to take you home.”
“This is my street. We’re done.”
The kid hesitated and Yuri sped up to leave him behind. He was soon climbing the steps of his apartment building, pulling himself up by the smooth, wooden railings. He stumbled and missed a step, but managed not to fall on his face.
Yuri grumbled when he came to his floor. The open-air landing connecting the apartments to the staircase was also the communal balcony. It was chock full of potted plants and children’s toys and bicycles. Fortunately, there was no one around. He tried to be careful crossing the balcony, but his head wasn’t in it. His foot caught on things twice and he once stepped on something that crunched under his boot. He couldn’t spare the energy to see what it had been. You leave it out on the walkway, you lose it.
Finally, he made it to his door. As soon as he opened it, Dad, Sister and Mom jumped up to greet him. “Hello, everyone.” They lined up, and kissed him on the cheeks as he came in.
“You look awful, Yuri.”
“Thank you, Mother,” he said with a sad smile. “Every boy lives for the day his mother says something like that to him.”
She smacked his shoulder. “Oh, you! Why did you wear your uniform home? Does it need to be cleaned?”
Yuri waved off the questions.
His father gave him a critical look. “Are you alright?”
“Tired. Need sleep.” As if on cue, he yawned.
“We’ll have dinner early and then you can go to bed.”
“No, thank you, Mother. I’m going to bed right now. I’m too tired to even chew.”
He went to his grandmother, seated in her comfy chair, and kissed her on the cheeks. “Good evening, Grandmother.”
“Welcome home, Yuri. Did you pray today?”
“Yes, Grandmother. I prayed the Ishai, Fajr, Zuhr and Asr at work. I’ll make up my Maghrib after I’ve slept a little. I’m in no shape to worship right now.”
“One must always be in shape to praise God,” she said.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Yuri said, with a deferential nod. He turned around and set his bag down on the dining table. “Speaking of being fit enough to pray, you guys should have a nice dinner.” He broke the Classified seal and unzipped the bag. He began pulling out the dehydrated military rations from the bag. His father immediately began to move them to the kitchen cupboards, one armload at a time.
“Here’s Mentra for your friend’s son,” Yuri said and handed his mother a packet of pills. “That’s two months’ worth.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said and gave him a quick hug.
“And here’s your insulin, Grandma.”
Yuri’s sister, Malia, stood by him, looking antsy and expectant. He grinned and winked. She nearly squealed with excitement. Their father scooped up a second armload of foodstuffs and moved it to the kitchen. Their mother turned around to show Grandma the insulin and Yuri slipped a high-capacity microdrive to Malia. She smiled from ear to ear and gave him a quick hug.
Malia and her friends were followers of an American all-girl band called The Venus Battle Brigade, or VBB for short. The microdrive contained the official concert album they had released the week before in America, as well as an assortment of bootleg vids of their other live shows.
Back when Malia had first asked Yuri to supply some VBB materials, he had looked the band up and was aghast at the way they dressed and behaved on stage. In his estimation, prostitutes would dress and act more modestly. He had been outraged and titillated, simultaneously sporting an erection and a disgusted grimace. His confusion had only been resolved when he had pulled out his member and stroked off to the sight of the Asian band member dry-humping her microphone stand in a vid.
Since then, he had been a closet fan of the band. Not of their music, but of their beautiful physiques, skimpy costumes and lewd choreography. They made his lonely nights a little less lonely, from time to time. He gathered vids of the VBB, ostensibly to supply Malia and her circle, but he also made copies for his own enjoyment. His personal collection was his most closely guarded secret.
Naturally, his supply line to Malia had to be kept a secret, too. He didn’t particularly like the thought of his baby sister looking up to such loose women, but he’d feel like a hypocrite if he enjoyed the band and didn’t let her have the same materials. Malia and her girlfriends knew better than to try and emulate the VBB’s costumes and behavior in real life. It was all good, so long as none of the parents found out.
If they had any idea their daughters idolized such wanton harlots that gyrated half-naked in public whilst singing lyrics containing thinly-veiled references to sodomy, they’d probably have strokes and disown the girls with their dying breaths.
Fortunately for them, the VBB, like most bands from north America, would never tour northern Africa, or be played on the Caliphate’s broadcast media. The parents enjoyed blissful ignorance and the kids enjoyed their small taste of rebellion.
Yuri pulled out the flat, plastic box he had crammed into the bag. “These are…”
“You don’t have to tell me what’s on them,” his mother said as she plucked the box out of his hand and opened it. The inside was shaped into slots for microdrives. Almost every slot was filled. There was also a folded up piece of paper inside. She took it and opened it. A legend that said which microdrive went to whom was written on it. “I can read the names.” She gave him a hug. “You go to bed and get some rest. I’ll see to it that everyone gets what they need.”
“Ok.” He shuffled off.
“Oh, did you get that part for Mrs. Cillick’s computer?”
“Yeah, it’s in the bottom of the bag. In the tin canister right next to the wooden box full of fresh strawberries.”
Everyone exclaimed in delight.
“Oh, thank you so much, honey,” his mother gushed.
Yuri walked to the master bedroom while his family gushed over the size of the strawberries. Malia bit into one and squealed at the taste. Yuri closed the door on their enthusiasm and leaned against it to pull his boots off. He stumbled to the bed and fell upon it, face down. His tired mind only managed to note that the sheets smelled fresh before sleep finally claimed him.
***
It was so dark and quiet when he woke up, that he wasn’t sure if he had woken up at all. The near-painful urge to urinate quickly convinced him he had. He stretched out on the bed, softly groaning as his muscles protested the activity. He looked at the bedside clock and blinked a few times. It was half past three in the morning. He had slept for almost eleven hours straight.
He rolled out of bed and turned on the light. He tiptoed across the apartment to the toilet, guided solely by the sliver of light coming from his bedroom door. If he used his own ensuite, he’d risk waking up his sister and grandmother, whose rooms shared walls with his private bathroom. The communal bathroom was surrounded by the balcony, the kitchen and the neighbors’ bathroom. It was a fair bet no one would be woken up by the flush of the toilet.
He shivered as he relieved himself. He washed his hands in the sink and took a look at the mirror. The rings under his eyes were gone, replaced by pillow lines on his cheek. He rubbed those away and concluded he looked great, otherwise.
Why am I concerned with my appearance, all of a sudden, he asked himself. He knew the answer was Wada. He leaned against the sink and sighed. The girl had come back into his life after years of zero contact and he couldn’t keep his mind from quickly conjuring up scenario after scenario. In all of them, she dumped Abraham, in increasingly cruel ways, and then got back together with Yuri. In all of them, they made each other so happy and she performed VBB dance routines for him. Complete with costumes. Even while he visualized Wada humping a microphone stand, another part of his mind called up his mental map of the enclave.
Wada had been living just three hundred yards away from him for “a while now” and he had had no idea. Furthermore, her eyes had been unhappy when she had smiled yesterday. Neither of these two things spoke in favor of the scenarios. He sighed.
As soon as he straightened himself up and let go of the cold ceramic of the sink, he could feel her warm, firm breasts in the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes and relived the best part of yesterday. His cock grew hard in his pants.
He forced the other parts of his mind to shut up as he undid his zipper. He focused on a vision of six Wadas performing a VBB video. He pulled himself out of his pants and began stroking, using a little spit for lubrication. He didn’t take long. Just imagining a half-naked Wada rubbing up against her blonde twin had him shooting his load.
After he cleaned up, he went out onto the balcony. He slid some toys aside with his foot and made his way to the edge. He looked out across the enclave. It was completely silent. There were hardly any lights. Beyond the enclave, the capital still had its streetlights lit, but the night was so quiet it was hard to imagine a million people were living within a few miles of him.
They all slept soundly, not a clue about the GAU fleet and Marines coming to invade their country.
Yuri’s gaze found the glass and steel skyscrapers in the distance. They were pillars of diffuse light. Inside them, light bulbs heated stacks upon stacks of small boxes in which crickets were being kept. As the heat of the bulbs simulated eternal summer, the crickets ate and ate, steadily growing larger until they would be doused with liquid nitrogen and then ground into the flour which fed most of the people in the Caliphate.
When the GAU cut the Caliphate off from the world’s economy, they had to rapidly turn to alternate sources of food to keep their populace from mass starvation. Crickets kept in boxes used over ninety percent of the weeds they were fed to grow. They were the most efficient way of turning inedible plants and seaweeds into human food and the flour they were ground into was incredibly nutritious.
When it had first been introduced, the starving people of the Caliphate greeted cricket flour and the things they baked from it like mana from Heaven. After those became seventy percent of what everyone ate, day in and day out, they were cursed as a plague on the palate.
Gazing at the skyscraper cricket farms, Yuri couldn’t help but wonder what the GAU invasion was going to bring to the Caliphate. Even if the Caliph made a deal with the GAU and averted it, the troops the Union would deploy throughout the Caliphate would doubtlessly trickle their own supplies down to the general populace, as part of a campaign to engender good will.
Cricket flour was one of the leading staples worldwide. In GAU nations, it made up almost a quarter of the food consumed, but only because their populations were so big that it was a necessity. Yuri imagined GAU troops tossing cricket flour cakes to children running alongside their convoys and then getting those same cakes thrown back at them in exasperation. He grinned. Change was coming. For better, or for worse, a big change was almost upon them and the people were no more aware of it than the crickets were aware of their fate.
He shook off his pseudo-poetic mood and turned his face towards the end of his street. Wada was in that direction, just a few minutes away. She was probably lying in her bed with her soft hair spread across her pillow and her sweet lips parted.
He leaned over the balcony railing and frowned as he tried to make sense of yesterday. The more he replayed the events in his head, the less sense they made. He even found himself doubting his explanation for Ali’s smirk. The man was a shithead, but Yuri doubted if the Colonel was dumb enough to think the GAU would never invade without an alliance of their neighbors to help them. He’s a senior intelligence officer, he must have been informed about the uranium mines. That information, combined with the lessons from the mess in Burundi, inescapably led to the conclusion that a GAU invasion of the Caliphate would have to be a solo effort. So, why the smirk?
Yuri sighed. It was useless to dwell on yesterday. Without any new information, he couldn’t draw any conclusions.
The two major aberrations of the day irked him. The elders raised the genocide alarm every other week, but they had never before gone so far as to talk to him. And the amount of tolerance they had displayed towards him yesterday would usually only be afforded to senior government officials.
Something was going on there. Yuri didn’t know what their plans for him were, but he felt sure that they must have some. If there was one thing the elders could be counted on, it was manipulating people and adding to their power base. He had no intention of becoming one of their puppets.
He decided he’d stop by their villa and find out. He envisioned himself either asking the elders directly, or goading their men into letting something slip, or simply asking that kid that had walked him home. Whatever the method employed, he was going to get some answers.
The even bigger thing was the General’s behavior. Why in the world had Yuri been ordered on leave? They were in the loop on the GAU’s primary naval encryption. If ever there was a time when the Cipher School should be calling all hands on deck, this was it. Staying in the loop was of paramount importance to the very survival of the Caliphate and here he was, the guy that cracked the code, sitting bored on a balcony, completely out of the loop. It made no sense.
The General was not the kind of man to make moves that made no sense. On the surface, yes, but not really. If you ever found yourself thinking you were about to catch Moussa Houdani with his pants down, you were actually the one whose belt was being undone, you just didn’t know it.
Yuri couldn’t even begin to formulate a theory as to why he had been ordered on leave. Ali had been working to get Yuri tossed out of the service ever since they had first met. Houdani had agreed that Yuri would benefit from undergoing basic training, but that was it. All the other complaints and suggestions Ali made were summarily dismissed.
And that had been before Yuri cracked the code. He found the idea that the General would suddenly give in to Ali’s bullshit inconceivable. Yuri let himself entertain a scenario in which the General had given in and let Ali run the show. Ali was going to fail soon and the brass was going to come down on his ass, hard, for not providing them with fresh decrypts at this crucial time for the Caliphate.
Yuri didn’t even let the scenario run itself to the conclusion where he’s called in to save the day and promoted and decorated and thrown a parade. He knew Houdani far better than that. There was no way the General would play petty games at such a crucial moment in Caliphate history as this.
All this not knowing and second-guessing was giving Yuri a headache. He came to a decision. He was going back to the School and getting to the bottom of this thing, orders be damned.
He went back inside, making sure to close the door softly behind himself. He tiptoed past his old bedroom door. He could hear his father snoring away in there. He grinned. If the two of them can sleep through that, they can sleep through anything I do.
His stomach started growling and he made his way to the kitchen, still mindful of any noises he was making. Immediately, he smelled roasted flour. He grinned. It was the last of the wheat flour he had brought home last month. There was a small pile of it on a tray atop the sideboard. Of course his mother would predict him waking up in the dead of night and leave some out for him. As expected, there was also a pot of tea on the stove. He fired up the burner to reheat the tea.
He poured himself a quarter cup of the warm, fragrant liquid and spooned a small amount of butter into it. He watched the butter slowly soften while he inhaled the tea’s scent. His mouth was watering with expectation. He took a measured pinch of the roasted flour and sprinkled it into the cup, filling it halfway. He twirled his index finger inside the cup until the contents formed a small ball of dough. He fished it out and put it into his mouth. He slowly closed his lips around it, feeling the dough completely envelop his tongue. He chewed the mouthful slowly, savoring the taste of maternal love. Cricket flour dumplings just didn’t taste as good.
He poured another quarter cup of tea and added the butter. He sprinkled the flour in and twirled it all into a ball. As soon as he was done with his current mouthful, he plopped the fresh dumpling into his mouth and set to work on the next one. Before long, he was full. There was only a little flour left and he poured himself the last of the now lukewarm tea. He took the cup to his bedroom and set it down on the nightstand. It wasn’t even four in the morning yet.
He looked at the chin-up bar he had mounted between the two heavy wardrobes he had in his room and sighed. Normally, he did his exercise routine after waking up, before praying the Fajr, but he didn’t want to risk waking anyone else up with his grunts. Grandma’s room was separated from his by his bathroom, but he shared a wall with the rest of his family. Malia’s room was on one side, their old bedroom where their parents now slept was on the other. Well, his father was snoring as loudly as a running chainsaw…
Yuri shook his head and sat down on the bed, instead. He chose not to make up for yesterday’s prayers at this time, either. Despite what the imams said, he didn’t feel like he’d be renouncing Islam altogether if he simply dropped his prayers for the day when he had ensured the survival of the Caliphate. Besides, he had already lied to Grandma about them. If she got woken up by him praying what he had told her he had prayed already… Best to take his chances with divine judgment.
His mind returned to thinking about yesterday. Wada’s smile, the elders’ behavior, Wada’s hair, Houdani’s order, Wada’s breasts, Ali’s smirk, Wada’s eyes, they all kept occupying his mind, forcing it to run around in pointless circles until he growled softly. He wanted to go to the School and get to the bottom of things. At least find out more about the invasion.
The General wouldn’t be there until eight. Since the General had ordered him on leave, Yuri couldn’t possibly come to the School while Houdani wasn’t there. He couldn’t even imagine disrespecting the old man like that. No, the first thing he had to do was present himself to the General. Explain why he was disobeying his orders.
He looked at the clock again. The lazy bastard hadn’t changed its digits.
Even accounting for the twenty-five minute commute to the School, he still had three and a half hours to kill. Yuri hoped the General hadn’t taken his name off the priority transport list. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had taken public transportation anywhere. He’d cross that bridge if his call to the vehicle pool got denied.
Another round of obsessing over Ali’s smirk and the General’s order and Wada’s eyes not joining in with her smile. He got up and paced the room. This time, he formulated a theory about the elders. They were only running scared, allowing the rumors of the covert mining operations in the south to fuel their paranoia. They had no designs towards him. He found the theory credible, but still decided he’d check in on them after he got back from work tomorrow. Correction, today.
He glanced at the clock. It still showed the same time.
He thought of Wada. Why had she not reached out to him after moving here? His mother hated her ever since she had dumped him, but that was no reason to stay away. They could still share a civilized cup of tea. Why had she begged him to promise to come visit her? Was she really thinking of getting back together with him? If so, what was holding her back? Abraham?
He decided he’d visit her. Maybe when Abraham was around, see if he couldn’t precipitate their breakup. He decided he’d stop by her place after visiting the elders. He’d be getting a lot of answers today.
He glanced at the clock. It finally indicated that a minute had passed.
Yuri rolled his eyes. He needed answers. He couldn’t just let the questions pile up inside his mind. If he had too many unanswered questions on his mind, he’d be like a computer with a fragmented memory, slowed down until borderline useless.
He needed a distraction. Any distraction would do. He reviewed the previous day for the umpteenth time and remembered he had been made to wait at the side gate. He had been given an unexpected parcel. He tiptoed to the table where he had left his bag. It wasn’t there. He turned on the lights and spotted his bag hanging on a peg by the front door. He turned the lights off and went to it. He fished out the parcel and brought it to his room.
He took a good look at it. The markings on the package looked like standard, international, postal ones, but his trained eye could see those were mere camouflage. It was obvious to him that the parcel had been rerouted to him via the Intelligence Service’s American assets. Yuri frowned. He wasn’t supposed to get anything from America.
A sudden chill ran through his bones. Oh, God have mercy! Is this why Ali had been smirking? He shook his head in quiet denial. If that dumbass American spy was reaching out to him again, Yuri was going to fucking hijack a combat drone and smoke the asshat, wherever the hell on the planet he was.
Yuri had been infuriated by the man’s attempts to subvert his loyalty to the Caliphate. It had been obvious, from day one, that the man had no clue how Zibar, or Arab society worked.
The fact that the man had mistaken him, a genius cryptanalyst, for a mere IT guy was to be expected. Being an information technology specialist, the kind the GAU called 25 Bravo, was Yuri’s official cover. Acting as if Yuri was the local version of a stereotypical, American, basement-dwelling nerd was just plain wrong and disrespectfully ignorant. Had the spy bothered to simply ask someone in a tea house the first thing about Zibar, he’d soon learn how a Zibar home worked.
It was Zibar tradition for a home to have at least three bedrooms. One for the children, one for the adults and one for the elders. Even second sons that left the family hearth and started their own branch of the family were expected to have three bedrooms. One for the children they were going to have, one for themselves and one for the family elders, if they came visiting. No matter how many children a family had, a room had to be set aside for the elders.
If a household had more than three bedrooms, the family elders decided who got the spare rooms. It was also Zibar tradition to consider a home the equal property of all the family members that resided in it, regardless of whose name was on the deed, but the rule was that the biggest providers to the household got the biggest share of the space.
Yuri had the master bedroom and its ensuite bathroom ever since he had joined the Army and become the family’s primary provider. He hadn’t wanted to displace his parents, who had first moved into the room, but Grandma had insisted. Mother only worked part time at the beauty salon, Father scrounged together what work he could find, but opportunities were slim for programmers, even the Arabs. Yuri was the primary breadwinner, his was the best room. It would be his even if it weren’t for his extracurricular supply efforts.
His parents moved into the room he had shared with Malia, as it was the second largest in the apartment, and Malia was put up in the spare room, which had originally been earmarked as Father’s office.
And then that dumbass Yankee came along, treating Yuri like he was some kind of loser that would never get any pussy in his life, due to being a nerd that still lived with his parents. Yuri had to bite his tongue several times during their meetings, lest he inform the man that this whole leaving-your-parents’-home-as-soon-as-you-turn-eighteen was actually something American propaganda invented after World War Two. The entire rest of the world worked on different social norms.
For one thing, Yuri was a catch, being the primary provider for his family. If he wasn’t away from the enclave all day long, his grandmother would be pestered by the elders of other families to arrange formal introductions between him and their daughters and granddaughters.
Also, the fact that he was serving in the Caliphate military tended to put people off when they were told.
Yuri didn’t miss the attention. Malia worked part time at a tailor’s shop, mostly sewing buttons back on, or stitching up zippers and ripped seams. Grandma was fielding offers of introductions for her from people all over the enclave. Malia was of age, beautiful, popular within her social circle and could help provide for the family that got her. Malia still got to choose her husband, but she was expected to sit through every introduction Grandma agreed to.
Malia and he had shared a room growing up and he had wound up having many a late-night discussion with her about all sorts of girly things. He knew she dreamed of living in the West and being a fashion designer, but he also knew she definitely wanted to have her own family, too. After Malia got wed and moved out, the pressure would be on him to woo a woman and fill up Malia’s room with kids. Grandma would insist. Yuri found himself silently cheering every time Malia politely refused to date a potential suitor.
He had fantasized of marrying Wada, back when they had been dating, and he had imagined their children. He had named them, given them toys and read them storybooks, all before Wada had ripped his heart out with just a few words in a random tea house.
He guessed that he still wanted to marry and have kids one day, but he had no idea what kind of woman he should be looking for. He feared the next woman he fell for would also sit him down and tell him that she was leaving him, out of the blue. He didn’t think he could survive that kind of pain and humiliation again.
For the time being, he was content to immerse himself in his work and point out the flaws in all of Malia’s suitors for her. Or, he would be, if Wada wasn’t sleeping less than a thousand feet away, probably nestled in that asshole Abraham’s arms.
He bit back a growl and breathed deeply. He seriously needed a distraction. He unwrapped the parcel in his hand. Underneath the wrapping was a plain brown packaging box. Printed on it was:
Alex Dearborn
2281 Maple Street
Woodbridge, CT
“Huh,” Yuri said. He recognized the alias, he had used it to gain entry into a prestigious gaming tournament. As per standard operating procedure for intelligence-gathering operations, he had registered the alias with the proper branches of the Service. They had discreetly intercepted the package at the mailing facility in Connecticut and forwarded it to him, as they would do with any mail sent to an alias based in a foreign country.
Yuri winced. The Service had spent considerable resources to deliver this package to him, probably within hours of when it would have been delivered to his alias’ listed home address in Woodbridge. Messing with the American postal system like that incurred serious risks. Risks he could no longer justify. The proper procedure for starting and canceling a foreign alias precluded the use of electronic communications to do it. He had to go do it in person.
And now I have the perfect excuse for swinging by the School today.
Yuri reached into his pocket and retrieved his butterfly knife. He slit the package open. Inside was some bubble wrap and a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and read:
Alex Dearborn,
Thank You for competing in the Crux: Top Gamer Championship! For making it into the quarterfinals, You’ve won an early-release copy of our new game, Isis, on the day before the beta goes live! The servers are already up and running, so feel free to hop right in. I hope You enjoy the world I’ve created!
Sincerely,
Emil Mohammed
Beneath the man’s printed name was his signature. Yuri recognized it. He had studied Mr. Mohammed as part of his preparations for the tournament.
The Crux: Top Gamer Championship was an invitation-only tournament of 4096 of the best gamers that could be found on the Hub. In the months leading up to it, Yuri’s alter ego had played hundreds of games. He had barely managed to generate enough buzz and Followers to warrant an invitation. He now remembered the fuss was because of this game he had received. It was the most hyped-up game of the last five years. It was also a role playing game, and those weren’t really Yuri’s cup of tea.
Few games could hold Yuri’s interest for long. Like most people, he played real time strategies most often. Every week since he had gotten his first computer, Yuri would get a new real-time strategy game to play and figure out its intricacies. The units, the factions, the upgrades, the maps, the missions…they were all variables for him to plow through in a few days’ worth of spare time. Then he’d be on the lookout for the next set of variables to crunch.
The militaries from both sides of the global conflict sponsored the development and free distribution of RTS games. The skills a top player developed in them were easily transferable into real life duties a battlefield operator would perform coordinating a troop of combat robots. The militaries would organize a steady stream of tournaments with substantial financial prizes for the winners, as well as a recruitment pitch.
A lot of kids from the GAU and the Bloc would play RTS games against each other as a way to release their pent up aggression, or settle some score from the real world. For the ones who had lost a family member fighting in some strange, faraway country, such games were very, very serious business. Yuri steered clear of those. Whether they won, or lost, they would always try to make trouble for their opponents.
His RTS skills had come in very handy during the Crux tournament. Every round saw four contestants matched up by random draw and consisted of forty-five games. Fifteen were first person shooters, fifteen were racing games and the final fifteen were real time strategies. The player with the most wins advanced into the next round, the rest posted lots and lots of comments about how unfair the map and game selection had been.
Researching the tournament, Yuri had heard that each game would be selected by Emil Mohammed and during each game the players would clash on a map, or track that was also selected by him. Yuri figured it would be Emil’s favorite games and maps. For that reason, he had done his homework on the man.
The first thing he had discovered was that Emil Mohammed was an Arab and a devout Muslim. The second thing he found was that his great-grandparents had been born in the old kingdom. Yuri hadn’t expected that. Now that the Caliphate was largely isolated from the rest of the world, hearing of someone who had ties to the old kingdom and was part of a global trend was very rare.
Emil’s ancestors had emigrated to France and that was where Emil had been born. He had emigrated to the USA to attend one of their high-tech colleges and there he had dropped out to work as a video game developer. At age thirty, he had been a rock star on the rise, as far as the world of game design was concerned. He quit his job and founded Crux Software. Over the next decade, his company became the most venerated video game developer. They mostly did RPGs, which was why Yuri had never heard of them before researching for their tournament.
For the past five years, Emil had been working on this game called Isis, that Yuri now had in his possession. During that time, there was next to no trace of the man available to the general public.
Yuri had been about to dig deeper and utilize the intelligence assets he had at his disposal, when he had learned he didn’t need to. The official rules of the tournament had been released. All the games and maps would be subject to random selection; Emil merely compiled the lists that they would be chosen from. The lists were finalized and made public before the tournament started.
Yuri had managed to reach the quarterfinals, where the top sixteen players were supposed to clash. The winner of each clash would advance to the semifinals, where they would play one-on-one, before an online audience of millions. He did the mental math. The semifinals had been played just hours ago. The winners of the semifinal matches would face off in tomorrow’s final and the champion would take home 50,000 Vitcoins. That was a hefty payout. It was more than three times what an average person could earn in a year, even in GAU nations.
Vitcoins were illegal in the Caliphate. Converting them into Caliphate dinars necessitated dealing with the less savory elements of society. Even Yuri’s circle of quartermasters avoided that. He followed their example in this matter.
He hadn’t really cared about the money, he had been after the prestige qualifying for the final tournament would give him and the information he was able to trade it for. Besides, he had cheated his way to victory in every round. Claiming the cash after that would feel like robbery.
The guys at the Cipher School’s skunkworks had cobbled together a monster of a Dream Drive rig for Yuri to use on his mission. It was contained inside a very large briefcase that was bulletproof and resistant against explosions and heat. It weighed almost eighty pounds and Yuri kept it under his bed.
The time difference between the Caliphate and America meant that he did half of his work from home, at night. The other half of his work, playing against European GAU kids, had been done at the School, during the day. An identical rig to the one under his bed was set up in his office.
I need to return this rig to the School. He had gotten so used to it in the past few months that he was reluctant to have to go back to his usual, boring, old computer again. I’ll return it after my leave ends, not before.
Aside from providing him with extreme speed satellite access to both the Dream Drive Hub and the general internet, the rig’s connection was hardwired with a superior encryption that guaranteed privacy.
The rig was special cause the boys had made a few additions to it. One of them allowed for him to target things with his eyes, instead of actually moving his virtual arms and sighting down a virtual barrel. Whatever Yuri looked at and willed to be shot would be hit.
With that simple cheat, Yuri had won practically every FPS game. Even if the other three gamers on the map teamed up to put him down, he could snipe them when they peeked out from behind cover as he was jump-running out of their traps. There was no beating that. They rarely managed to squeeze even a single point from him. The only downside was that, for every shot he made, he had to be his computer’s meat puppet for a split second. It was well worth it, since he’d start each match with all fifteen possible points. That was very demoralizing to his opponents.
Racing games followed. Yuri and the boys had thought up another cheat, one that would calculate the exact moves needed to pass through the course using ideal racing lines and optimized speeds. It was a great cheat, but they couldn’t use it. It didn’t account for the presence of other players on the track. Being the overall match leader, Yuri would always start from the rear and he had to adjust his performance to those of the other three gamers.
The racing games often had demolition derby elements to them and winning those couldn’t be achieved with a simple, straightforward race. In some other games, there were special powerups that a player really, really needed to pick up if they wanted to win, racing lines be damned.
Attempting to modify the cheat to be able to be activated at will, or be subject to Yuri hitting the brakes whenever someone crossed his nose, would carry a risk of lag detection by Crux’s servers. He decided the risk of getting caught cheating was simply not worth it. He let those fifteen games go to the others. Split three ways, they were never enough for anyone to catch up to his lead. No one player he went up against could win fifteen vehicle games in a row. Not against the kind of players that were in the tournament. Even Yuri managed to squeeze a couple of racing victories for himself over the rounds.
The last fifteen games were real time strategies. Fifteen random games, each played as random factions on random maps. They were the most popular and most exciting part the tournament. Aside from the global obsession with RTS games, they were the ones in which the winner of each round was finally determined.
Yuri had gathered recordings of the other players’ games. For every serious gamer there were at least a hundred hours of those available in various gaming forums online. Yuri had loaded them into a tactical analysis program and crunched the numbers. He had compiled a breakdown of every player’s tactics and foibles for every faction of every game on Emil Mohammed’s list.
Between individual FPS and racing games, he’d pose his avatar to silently watch over the growing numbers of his Followers and quickly study his notes on the opponents he was matched up against.
He’d go into every RTS game fully prepared for them. He had the advantage of not needing to scout his enemies and figure out their tactics and then having to adapt to them. He would rarely be mistaken over how they’d come after him. He’d simply build the specific types of units that were best to defend against their attacks and trim his upgrade tree to just the special powers needed to crush their particular forces of choice.
The other players would all come after him, right out of the gate. Having predicted their tactics, he’d be able to position his resources in such a way that their forces wound up tripping over one another. All games had their alliance options disabled during the tournament, so the other players’ units would always wind up fighting each other. The players would be left unsure if they should proceed, or retreat and regroup.
Yuri would exploit their confusion to build up his forces and destroy the player that held second place. This would leave Yuri weakened. The remaining two gamers would knock him out and then one of them would win the game. That suited Yuri just fine. He’d pick which one of them would win by focusing his resistance on the other one.
This strategy also prevented the other players from teaming up to ensure one of them won instead of Yuri. Normally, gamers were too competitive to sacrifice themselves for another gamer, but the humiliating defeats Yuri handed out in the first third of the match carried the risk of such an event happening. Once Yuri handed the gamer in fourth place an easy win, that gamer was hooked and wanted to go all the way, even if it meant winning all fifteen RTS games. They’d always believe they could pull it off.
By the time the RTS part of the match was drawing to a close, none of the other players would have a chance of catching up to Yuri’s lead. Adding the fact that his manipulations would engender some bad blood between the other three gamers, the last few games became a true free for all. Yuri would then amply demonstrate his savvy by crushing all three of his opponents, one by one. He’d cement his overall victory with clear triumphs.
To those who knew their way around an RTS game, it was obvious that Yuri was a masterclass player. Whether he won, or lost a particular game, it was always a close run thing with multiple, thrilling reversals of the tactical situation. The fans would be very appreciative of the way he’d direct each game to his ultimate advantage. Recordings of his RTS games quickly became viral. They brought Yuri’s alter ego far more Followers than his immaculate FPS record.
In the end, Yuri’d win only six, or seven of the RTS games. Combined with the fifteen points from the FPS games, he’d win each round by a comfortable margin.
Yuri turned over the packet in his hand. He had thought that an advance copy of the Isis game was the prize for the winner of the tournament, but Mohammed’s note contradicted that. He took the game case out of the bubble wrap. It had a big tree on the cover. A tiny AO stamp in the corner marked it as Adults Only. He opened the game case with his knife and ripped off the factory tape.
A single black chip was inside. It had an inverted red pentagram on it. The title of the game was written under it in cursive script.
Yuri considered his options. Either he spent the next -he checked the clock- three hours and twenty-six minutes spinning his mental wheels in circles, or he tried this game to distract himself from the thoughts of Wada’s warm embrace and the way her cheeks puffed out whenever she smiled and-
He shut his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath. He couldn’t possibly endure that. He had no other distractions in the apartment.
He crouched by the bed and reached for his Dream Drive under it. If he tried to pull the heavy case out, he might wake someone up. There were wheels attached to the case, but it was on its side at the moment. He touched the latch next to the carrying handle with his index finger. After a second, the fingerprint reader confirmed his identity and a small panel opened up on the side. Yuri tapped in his code and the lid of the case clicked open.
He reached further in, getting down on one knee, and engaged the Dream Drive unit in safe mode. His fingers scraped on the lip of the helmet for a few seconds, before he finally managed to pull it out of its shape-fitting section of the case. He opened a slot in the Drive itself and inserted the Isis chip. He knew the game couldn’t possibly be on the chip. Not if it was anything like it was purported to be. The chip merely provided access to the Crux gaming servers which held and ran the game itself.
Normally, Yuri hated such business practices, where a person only bought access rights to a thing, instead of their own copy of the thing, but this one came free, so his misgivings were moot. He quietly closed the case and straightened up.
He lay down on the bed and put the oversized helmet on his head. A series of actuated pistons silently locked the helmet in place, forming a snug inner sheath against his scalp. Only the bottom half of his face remained uncovered. A confirmation message appeared on the tiny screen before his eyes, asking if he wanted to enter the Dream Drive.
“Yes,” he whispered.
The screen switched off and the helmet’s machinery came alive, whirring softly. The helmet engaged the signals traveling though his twelve cranial nerves as well as the ones coming into his skull from his spine. He lost his sight, followed by the rest of his senses, one by one. Then he lost all sensation of his body. His body would lie still on his bed, safe under the control of his autonomous nervous system. His mind would receive inputs determined by the program the Dream Drive was running and the resulting experience was utterly indistinguishable from reality.
The technology behind the Dream Drive had been developed by the militaries in order to train their soldiers as well as allow their battlefield operators smoother control of their war machines. The world had clamored for the tech to be shared for ages, before it finally slipped out, some six years ago.
Lees than a moment passed before he was standing upright in an endless, white space. Two squares were before him. One represented the Hub.
The Hub was a globally shared virtual world and the default location to which everyone was transported by their Dream Drive. It looked like the love child of Shanghai and Las Vegas. Just like the Internet had suffused the world in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century, the Hub had been all the rage since it had been unveiled to the general public. Every important company in the world had a virtual store in the Hub, where one could shop. The shops combined the best part of online shopping, the search function, with the experience of examining the product just like in a brick and mortar store. The rent for these commercial spaces kept the Hub going and growing.
Private persons could also rent Hub space to create their own fantasies and utopias. Some said that the Hub was the last place where humanity could truly be free, since it wasn’t as tightly regulated and scrutinized as the real world. Yuri didn’t see the point of freedom if it was only simulated.
Before embarking on his mission, Yuri hadn’t had much experience with the Hub, or the Dream Drive. Both were illegal in the Caliphate. Fortunately, his rig bypassed all the technological obstacles the Morality Board’s enforcement arm had put up.
When he had started his mission, Yuri had designed his avatar, an average, middle-aged Joe from The States. Everyone else on the Hub modified their avatars to be idealized, or fictional versions of themselves, so Yuri’s avatar stood out like a sore thumb.
He had been so caught up with gaming for his invitation that he hadn’t realized just how much he stood out until he was well underway and his Followers began appreciating his “honest look”. No one was making an issue over his appearance, so he had just shrugged it off and plowed on. He had even begun getting offers from women who wanted to fuck him.
Every activity a human body could experience in reality, it could also have in the Hub. Sex was no exception. Most people had Hub sex precisely to avoid certain aspects of real-life sex, like body odor, imperfect skin and features, or diseases. Chicks offering to have Dream Drive sex with a guy that they could literally find next door in real life didn’t quite compute to Yuri, so he had simply ignored them. He had been a man on a mission, after all.
He looked away from the Hub’s square. The other square was dark red and had the silhouette of the tree from the game’s cover on it. An inverted pentagram was on the tree’s trunk. The title of the game was written above the square in black letters.
Yuri nodded at the tree.
Connecting to Crux game server…
Connected.
Welcome, Yuri Yanuk.
Yuri flinched when he found himself in whitespace again. How the hell did Crux know his real name? How could a privately owned company from America possibly see through all his security and trace his connection back to him in an instant? This connection was encrypted by bleeding edge technology. The transmissions his rig used to interface with the satellites were very hard to detect, even by specialized ground stations. Pinpointing and identifying them was next to impossible. It wasn’t like he was piggybacking off a neighbor’s wireless network.
There should be no electronic link between this connection and his name. None whatsoever.
“Hello there, Alex.”
Yuri couldn’t dwell on his shock for long because Emil Mohammed was standing right in front of him. Emil’s long, black hair hung down past his shoulders. His black and white beard was quite impressive. It reached his robes. Yuri wanted to ask him about his name. A small part of him desperately clung to the hope that he had only imagined it flashing before his eyes in letters that were two feet tall.
“Thanks for participating in the tournament, I’m a prerecorded message from Emil Mohammed.”
That put the kibosh on asking about the name. Yuri wondered if he should quit. He had had enough unknowns yesterday to last him a whole year. How a privately-owned company, even a computer related one, could have possibly detected his identity was not one he could afford to juggle as well. He was going to get to the bottom of this mess.
“I wanted to personally introduce the quarterfinalists to the game.”
Yuri’s jaw dropped when he finally realized Emil’s recording was speaking to him in Zibar. Not English, Arabic, French or Spanish. Zibar. And it was flawless, too. No consonants were mangled the way the Arabs usually did. Yuri was stunned by the realization that Crux had known exactly who he had been since day one. Even if Emil Mohammed had ancestors from Yuri’s country, there was no way he could learn to speak flawless Zibar in the time span between Yuri missing his quarterfinal match and this copy of the game being shipped. Not even just a few sentences.
And there were no Zibar-speaking apps online. Yuri’s dad had been struggling for years to come up with the resources to create the first one.
But, if the man had known exactly who Yuri was, then why was he still addressing him as Alex, his cover identity?
“It’s a shame you quit. I was looking forward to seeing you in the finals and finding out if you were keeping any racing skills hidden, like an ace up your sleeve. I know that no one expected you to amount to much in the Tournament. Even as you made it from round to round, you were still pegged as an underdog, despite the large margins of all your wins. When you made it to the finals, everyone agreed your racing game deficiency would stop you in the one-on-one semifinal.
“Personally, I thought that, even if you were as shoddy a racer as everyone thought, this would only balance out your FPS magic. I was sure your matches would be determined by the RTS games. And, boy, do you play an exciting RTS game, or do you play an exciting RTS game.” Emil paused and shook his head. “There was something of an uproar on the Hub when you quit. Despite all the pundits discounting you, your Following was dead sure you’d win and prove everybody wrong.”
Mohammed grinned. “I think they were looking for a beacon of hope in you and your playing. If you could win, after everyone else said you were going to lose, then maybe their lives could be improved too, despite all obstacles.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. It wasn’t as if your quitting surprised me.”
Mohammed winked at Yuri. “I took the liberty of looking into your gaming record. You seem to have only taken up Hub gaming after I announced that advance copies of Isis would be given to the top sixteen competitors in my tournament. Forgive me if I sound immodest, but I got the distinct impression that every game you played was aimed at obtaining an invitation to my tournament.”
Mohammed smiled. “You only care about Isis, don’t you?”
Yuri’s eyebrow rose. Even with all the unanswered questions on his mind, he had to appreciate Mohammed’s astute observation. The man was dead wrong about Yuri’s motives, but he had correctly pegged Yuri’s Hub gaming history.
“Well, that makes two of us.” Emil got serious. “You see, reality kinda stinks. I mean, it’s alright, for the most part. But there are crappy bits. You know it, I know it, the whole world knows it. That’s why we bothered making a Dream Drive in the first place. That’s why we built the Hub to escape into.
“But it’s no escape at all, is it? The Hub isn’t much better than reality. It’s reality version 1.1. I had to go beyond the Hub, beyond normal games. I had to make an entirely new reality, a reality so good it was a genuine sequel to the original. A reality so real, so encompassing, so much better, that you would watch the old one burn, just to stay in the new.”
Despite the baffling inconsistencies plaguing his mind, Yuri couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the man’s recording.
“A reality that is powerful, gripping. Something that seizes your heart and never lets go. That’s the kind of world I envision.” Emil Mohammed looked Yuri right in the eye. “I have made that world. Or, rather, I’m making it still. All good things take time, but we’re well on our way.”
“Perfect,” Yuri muttered. “It’s just an incomplete demo.”
“Your avatar in the Hub probably doesn’t look much like your real self. Let me ask you a favor! Don’t be fake. Don’t disrespect Isis like that. Put yourself in the game as you really are, and play the game as you really want to play. Do you want to gain power and become a warlord, a king? Do it! Do you want to become a knight that fights for truth, justice and the American way? Do it! Go where your heart leads. This is a second chance. Take it, but be yourself.”
Emil Mohammed nodded emphatically. “Do that for me and you’ll be happy that you did. I promise you that.” He sighed. “The other players will get a similar message. Not just the finalists in the tournament, either, but every player will be asked to keep themselves as they are. Not by me, personally, but you get the idea. I’m trying to build something together with all of you.”
Oh, goody, Yuri thought, I’m trying to get some answers and he’s trying to recruit gamers into being his company’s unpaid multi-level marketers.
“This is our second chance, our second wind. We’ve screwed up the Earth badly enough, right? Isis is not a fairy-tale world. It is not a typical online game. Prepare yourself! What you do can and will matter, but if you want to change things, you must change them. So go out and do it. And who knows? We might see each other around.” He gave Yuri a jaunty wave. “Good luck!”
Emil vanished to be replaced by a character creation screen. An image of Yuri stood slowly rotating. Six foot tall with short, dark hair, a smooth face and strong muscles under his tanned skin. “God have mercy,” Yuri whispered in horror. These people really knew everything about him. His avatar even had all his moles and childhood scars.
Two buttons were before him. One for retaining his default options, the other for customization.
He rubbed his temples. This was the most confusing thing he had ever experienced. First their servers knew his real name, then Mohammed addressed him by his alias in perfect Zibar and now, instead of the chubby, middle-aged, blonde Alex Dearborn and his big, bushy moustache, Yuri’s actual face was spinning before him.
Yuri slapped his forehead and groaned as he finally got it. This was a prank from the guys at the skunkworks. What else could it be? An American videogame company figuring out his real name and its CEO learning to deliver a short speech in fluent Zibar was just too far fetched to be true. He felt really dumb for having fallen for it, even for a second.
He giggled. This might not even be the real Isis game. That was likely only awarded to the winner of the tournament, just like he thought it was. This could just be something the guys had put together to play a prank on him. Even if this was the real Isis, the guys must have slipped a few more things into it, besides the avatar, name and speech. Well, whatever they had in mind for him, he was sure they’d all be laughing about it in the mess hall later today.
He squinted at his avatar’s very accurate genitals. Ok, maybe it won’t all be laughs.
He decided to play the game and figure out everything the guys had done to it. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with the rest of the night.
He tapped the default appearance button and the world went dark.
***
“You are hereby sentenced to banishment at the base of the tower. Do you have any last words?”
Yuri shivered naked as a bitterly cold wind whipped at him. He was standing on the end of a long, wooden plank that extended over a deep, dark pit. There was a rotating black light at the bottom of the pit. He hunched over as he tried to rub some warmth into his limbs. Even though he knew the cold he felt was merely simulated and that he was lying perfectly still on his warm bed, not shivering on a windy plank, he was still shivering on a plank, buffeted by a chill wind.
“Very funny, you guys,” he muttered, “very funny.” He squinted at the man that had spoken.
The man stood near the end of the plank that was over solid ground. He wore a red tabard emblazoned with the tree image that came with the game. Several men in metal armor flanked him. Yuri recognized that they were wearing medieval armor. This was one of the reasons he didn’t like fantasy RPGs so much. It was always the same setting; Western Europe during the Middle Ages with a collection of accents from the British Isles.
Well, at least this one speaks Zibar.
The fact that he spoke Zibar and sported an impossibly massive moustache was, to Yuri, proof positive that this was yet another part of the prank. “This is not funny,” Yuri said to the man and his escort of guards.
“Being banished rarely is,” the mustachioed man replied. “Nor is being a star-marked slave. Have you any last words?”
“Why do you insist on speaking with them,” one of the men asked Moustache Man.
“They panic when it comes down to it. Lose all sense of self. I’ve seen it too often.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to be banished?”
The man with the moustache gestured. “You jump.”
Yuri took one more look at the bottom of the pit and barked out a laugh. “Not gonna happen, you guys.” He started walking briskly towards the solid end of the plank. “Look, you’ve had your fun, but I’m-”
“This is nothing personal,” Moustache Man called out as he pulled a lever.
The plank under Yuri’s feet slid away from the wall and fell into the dark pit. Yuri fell after it. The swirling blackness engulfed them both.
***
Yuri was awakened by strange sounds that seemed like they were muted by distance. He felt a lumpy bed underneath him. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a small room with a ceiling and walls made of roughly-hewn wood. He kicked the covers off himself and got out of bed. He was buck naked again, but at least he wasn’t freezing in the wind anymore.
A semi-transparent, brown panel flashed in his vision. It looked like imitation wood. Light blue, curved letters were inscribed upon it.
Welcome to Isis.
Your Health is represented by a red bar in the upper right-hand corner.
You can access the game menu by saying ‘game menu’ at any time.
There was a red bar sitting in the corner of his field of vision. No matter how he turned his head, it was there.
“Game Menu.”
A partially see-through screen took up most of his vision. On the left half of it, his avatar was looking back at him with a neutral expression. The right half was blank. Towards the bottom of the screen was the ‘Options’ button, a button that read ‘Skill Trees’ and some numbers.
Carry Weight: 0.00/60.00 (0%)
Health: 50.00/50.00
Status Effects: None
He tapped the options box and a prompt asked him if he wanted to quit the game. He tapped “No”. He only got there and he still wasn’t done with figuring out all the easter eggs the guys must have slipped into the game for him to find. There couldn’t be many of them, they probably only had the chip in their possession for half a day, tops.
He willed for the game menu to close and let him focus on the room and it did. Cool. From what little he knew about the Dream Drive, intent-reading interfaces were still a remarkable thing. He nodded to himself as he looked around the small room.
Aside from the bed, there was a stool with an empty washbasin in the corner of the room. A small chest was at the foot of the bed. Those were the only furnishings in the room. Yuri bent down and opened the chest. It contained some clothes. He reached in for them and paused. There was an ugly, big, black pentagram inked across the back of his left hand.
He licked his right thumb and tried to scrub any of the tattoo off. It wouldn’t budge. Instead, a prompt appeared in the center of his vision.
Do you wish to travel to the 9th Circle?
Yuri shrugged. “Sure.”
The box that showed up in his vision was slate and it sported blocky, red letters.
Error. Travel impossible at this time.
“Of course it is. This is just a stupid beta.”
Floating blue words took up most of his vision.
You were a slave to angels. You worked to build the next level of the tower, Babel. Human generations have been born and died before a single level of Babel has been completed, but the angels have an eternity to wait.
It is written that the star-marked pose a great danger to the angels and normal humans. Such individuals, marked by darkness, are banished to the base of the tower.
The tower is vast. Its breadth was made great and its height must be still greater. The angels built themselves cities in which to live upon each level, as did the humans.
Those humans left behind when one level was completed created their own cities, countries and civilizations. Some thrived, while others died. Some scraped together what they could from the ruins of those that came before. Perhaps some have forgotten from whence they came.
Powerful magics course through the tower, remnants of the passing angels, their artifacts and guardians, their essence forged into the walls and rocks. Magic unchecked gives rise to things both great and terrible. For magic is the power of change and change begets change.
And change…well. Change can be good and it can be bad.
Yuri waited for a minute to see if any more text would show up to distract him. When none did, he turned his attention back to the chest. He pulled the clothes out and held them before himself. There was a pair of burlap trousers, a soft leather vest and a flaxen shirt. A pair of breeches made out of linen completed the outfit. Each piece looked like it would fit him, so he donned them.
While he was skipping on one leg and trying to pull on the tight breeches, he saw a pair of boots under the bed. The wooden floor under his feet sounded a bit hollow, like there might be something under it; a basement, most likely. He pulled the boots out and sat on the bed to put them on.
He was trying to figure out how to tie the collar of his shirt together when he heard some noises from the outside. He moved to the tiny window. Across a narrow street from his window, stood a squat, wooden house. Yuri realized he was on the second floor of his building.
A big man pinned a young woman to the building’s wall with his body. One of his hands was holding her hair and the other was busy under her skirt. She tried to fight him off, but all her efforts got her was a slap that appeared to make her insensate. Her dark, curly hair spilled out across her shoulders. It reminded Yuri of Wada’s.
Yuri could see that the girl was wearing a yellow dress which hugged her upper body like a second skin and flared out below her wide hips to completely conceal her legs. Her cleavage was brazenly displayed by the low, square-cut neckline. For a moment, Yuri thought he was witnessing a prostitute and her customer in a dispute about her fee, but then he remembered that the girl’s attire was entirely appropriate for the setting. The virtual world of Isis didn’t operate on Caliphate rules and customs.
Emil Mohammed’s recording had said that Yuri should do what he wanted in this game. Seeing nothing exciting, or original, Yuri decided to go with the stereotype. He was going to beat up that guy and rescue that damsel. Just as he was about to head out the door, he saw some more activity out the corner of his eye.
Another man, dressed in the same brown leather vest and dark green pants as the big one molesting the girl, was dragging a fat woman out of the squat building. An old man ran out after them, his hands held up in supplication. After he and the brute that was dragging the woman exchanged some words, the brute unceremoniously slit the woman’s throat and then plunged the dagger into the old man’s gut.
Yuri pressed his face closer to the window and looked around as far as he could see from his vantage point. There were some other bodies lying in the muddy street under his window and he could see at least one more man in dark brown leather stalking down the street with a sword drawn. Beyond the squat house across the way, Yuri could see columns of smoke rising up into the cloudy sky.
The brute that had just murdered two people joined the one molesting the girl and Yuri roused himself into action. He jumped to his door and opened it. The corridor had several other doors, but his attention was drawn to the staircase. Even as he rushed down it, he was considering how he was going to beat the brutes.
The problem with most RPG games was that the sheer number of characters programmed into it meant that each character was only capable of a limited number of actions. Once the player did something unpredictable, the character was stumped. Some formidable opponents in the game could be turned into pushovers, with nothing more than the right combination of moves. Yuri would just have to figure out the exact combination that killed the brutes outside.
It didn’t much matter to him, he’d just respawn if he got killed and try again, but he never liked not having a plan going in. There was also the possibility that respawning would include the plank scene again and he was quite eager to avoid that.
He wished he could just target and hit things like he had done in his FPS games, but his rig’s hack was inactive. As soon as he thought this, an orange box appeared in his vision. As his eyes moved, the box framed whatever object he was looking at, individual stairs, planks of wood on the wall, tables and chairs in the big dining room he descended into.
He willed the box to fade, since it was a bit distracting, and took a quick look at the room. It had a big fireplace in the middle of the wall to Yuri’s right. There were only glowing embers in it. A bar took up most of the far wall. Half the tables in the room were either overturned, or tipped onto their sides. The chairs were in similar disarray. The entire room seemed like its occupants had been rudely interrupted in the middle of a meal.
The windowed wall to Yuri’s left had a big door, which stood slightly ajar. He could hear distant screams through it. He jogged that way until he slipped on something. He caught his balance and realized his boot had slid through a puddle of curdled blood. “Ick.” There were other puddles of blood and most were smeared towards the front door, as if the previous owners of the blood had been dragged out. Yuri moved more deliberately after that. He also picked up four knives. He held one in his right by the handle and three in his left, nestling their blades between his fingers.
He elbowed the door open and stepped out. One of the brutes was pinning the girl to the ground with his body. The other was standing over them with his back to Yuri.
As the girl was trying to wiggle free, her eyes met Yuri’s. He shivered at the panic he could see in them. Wow, this is some really good game design.
Her mouth opened and she screamed out a, “Help me,” in Zibar. The brute pinning her down covered her mouth with a hand and laughed.
Her words prodded Yuri into action. He looked at the back of the standing brute. His leather armor seemed sturdy. He had a leather cap on his head, but his neck was completely exposed. Yuri willed the targeting system into action and an orange box sat on the back of the brute’s neck.
Yuri gripped the knife in his right hand by the point, using just two fingers. He tossed it at the brute with all his strength. The brute fell bonelessly to the ground, the handle of the knife sticking out of the back of his neck. A transparent, brown box with pale blue letters flashed briefly in the center of Yuri’s vision:
You have created a new skill: Aimed Knife Throw
Even as the brute was falling, a white mist left his body and coalesced into a ball. The ball rushed at Yuri and he only barely managed to jump back inside to avoid it. The ball of white light curved around the doorway to hit Yuri right in the chest.
There was no pain. He wasn’t even sure if he felt the contact at all.
The other brute outside snarled and yelled out, “Show yourself!”
Yuri leaned over and peeked outside. The brute was frantically spinning and trying to see where the knife had come from. He was shaking his blood-stained sword in the air, menacingly. The girl at his feet was trying to crawl away from him without drawing attention to herself.
As he was peeking out, Yuri spotted something different in his Heads-Up Display. The word Essence was written under his health bar. The number 18 stood next to it.
“Please, help me,” the Zibar-speaking girl yelled out. Yuri winced. She had her arm extended towards him. The brute noticed this and turned his head to see Yuri. He charged without hesitation.
Yuri jumped back from the doorway, planted his feet and bent his knees a little, remembering his basic training. He dropped the rest of his knives and wiped the palms of his hands against his trousers. For all the combat drills and training he had gone through, he didn’t think he’d ever try anything like this in real life. Thankfully, this wasn’t real life; this was just a video game.
The brute charged in, sword-first, and surprised Yuri by raising the sword into an overhead swing. Yuri had expected a stab. The corner of his mouth twitched. This was much easier to defend against. He jumped forward, inside the man’s swing, and raised an arm overhead. The brute’s downward swing was pushed wide by Yuri’s forearm angled against his. At the same time, Yuri jabbed his right hand into the brute’ throat.
The brute raised a hand to his throat as he coughed. Yuri kneed him in the groin. The brute fell to his knees, wheezing in pain. Yuri grabbed the brute’s ears. A knee to the face made the man nearly insensate. He fell to the side, blood spurting from his nose.
Yuri glanced at the curdled blood on the man’s blade and knelt down to pick up one of his knives. He viciously stabbed the brute in the side of the neck and drew the not-too-sharp utensil’s blade forward, ripping the video game character’s throat out, just like he had been taught to do in basic. The brute coughed and spluttered as he tried to staunch his fatal wound.
Yuri had never killed anyone. After a minute in this game, he didn’t have to wonder what that would be like. Killing this would-be rapist had felt disturbingly realistic. Yuri almost quit the game, right then and there, but he had played FPS games where he had shot people, as well as gotten shot himself. Simulated, video game death was nothing to be squeamish about. I take back my eye-rolling, Mr. Mohammed, this is top notch game design.
The girl’s cries drew his attention. She was upright now and she ran inside, her dress torn and covered in mud. She was clutching the bodice of her dress to herself, lest her breasts be exposed. Her chest was heaving. Her face was completely white. Her eyes were wide with horror. Yuri noted they were also very blue. “They’re coming!”
Yuri raised an eyebrow as the girl trotted over to cower behind him. Another small ball of white light touched his chest. The brute at his feet was dead and the number next to the word Essence under his health bar now read 36.
“Who’s coming?”
A big man in brute uniform suddenly appeared in the doorway. He looked at Yuri, then at the man on the floor. More men showed up behind him, all wearing the same brown leather vests over dark green trousers and shirts.
With an enraged snarl, the big man’s hand flew to his scabbard. He drew his sword so fast that the tip whistled through the air. At the end of his swing, the heel of his hand impacted the doorjamb and the sword went flying from his grasp to clatter across the floor. His roar of rage turned into a groan of agony upon impact.
Yuri wasted no time and rushed at the man with his knife raised. The big man fell for the faint and raised his uninjured arm to block Yuri’s overhead stab. Yuri pitched his whole body forward and swung his arm wide. The man’s arm tried to catch Yuri’s, but failed. As Yuri dropped to the floor at the man’s feet, he ran the blade of his knife down the inside of the man’s leg. The man fell back with a pained scream.
While the big man’s comrades were pulling him back out of the doorway, Yuri got back to his feet. One of the brutes rushed in, his sword aimed at Yuri’s belly. Yuri stepped aside and let the man’s momentum carry him forward. He slammed his elbow into the man’s throat, incapacitating him and sending him to his knees.
A second brute rushed in, his short sword slashing left to right. Yuri jumped back, mindful of the corpse from half a minute earlier. The slashing brute missed it in his rage and tripped over it. He churned his feet to keep his balance. Yuri stepped inside the man’s reach and grabbed his arm. He pivoted into a shoulder throw and the brute ended flat on his back at Yuri’s feet.
You have created a new skill: Arm Lock
You have created a new skill: Shoulder Throw
Yuri stomped down on the man’s throat twice, crushing his windpipe.
The girl screamed in horror. A sudden pinching sensation came from Yuri’s abdomen, front and back. He looked down to see a sword tip sticking out of his navel. The sword vanished back inside Yuri’s belly and the strong pinching sensations vanished with it. A warm, putrid breath tickled Yuri’s ear. “That’s what you get-”
Yuri blindly stabbed his knife over his shoulder. The man squealed in agony. Yuri reached back with his other hand and grabbed the man’s ear. He casually threw the man over his shoulder and stomped on his throat.
You have created a new skill: Ear Twist
He spun around to see two brutes. The first was the one Yuri had elbowed in the throat. The second was trying to help the first back to his feet. They were both staring at Yuri’s abdomen in shock. He grinned back at them.
A white mist rose from the first man whose throat Yuri had stomped on. It coalesced into a ball and rushed into Yuri. Another ball rushed in through the door and did the same. The two brutes looked behind them and saw that their comrade, whose leg Yuri had slashed open, was lying dead in a large pool of his own blood. When they looked back, a white mist rose from the body of the second man whose throat Yuri had stomped on. It, too, was absorbed by him.
Finally, the standing brute shrieked in panic and ran out of the inn. The kneeling brute jumped up and hurried after him. Yuri bent down to retrieve his knife from the eye of the last brute he had killed, when he noticed that each of the brutes had a proper knife in a sheath at their belts. Yuri took the dead man’s knife. As soon as he handled it, he could feel it had superior balance and durability compared to the kitchen knives he had used. It was much sharper, too.
“Praise God,” the girl said in astonishment. “It’s you! It’s really you!”
Yuri shot her a look before retrieving another knife from another corpse. “You know me?” Yuri decided to take the man’s belt, too. To have someplace to keep his knives.
She nodded, her mouth hanging open. “You’re one of the Saviors.”
Yuri paused at the strange wording. “Well, I saved you, so I guess I am a savior, of sorts.” He grunted as he lifted the dead man and pulled his belt off.
“You’re one of the prophesized ones,” she said and pointed to his tattoo. “You have the mark, just like the fallen angel had foretold.”
“Oh,” Yuri said, glancing at the back of his hand. This was another problem with RPGs. You just got handed a big, important quest out of the blue, on account of prophecy. It was sloppy writing, as far as he was concerned. He put the man’s belt on, complete with sheathed knife, and fastened it.
Some noises came from the outside.
“They’ll kill you,” the girl said, her voice trembling.
“Hardly. I scared them so much they won’t stop running until-”
“There’s more than a hundred of them!”
He could just about make out the sounds of boots stomping quickly through the mud outside. “Whoopsie.” Yuri looked at his health bar. That sword through his gut had taken more than half of it. The essence number under the health bar now read 80.
He rushed to stand behind the door. A brute ran in, sword held out in front of him. Yuri tripped him up and he went flying headfirst into a table that had been tipped over on its side. The second man, that ran in right after him, couldn’t stop in time and Yuri bashed him aside with the door. He tripped over one of his dead comrades and fell flat on the floor.
Yuri planted his foot on the ground right behind the door as a third brute slammed into it, hoping to bash Yuri aside. Instead, the door bounced off Yuri’s foot and the brute smashed his face against it.
While the man was stunned, Yuri’s hand shot out and slit his throat. The man gurgled as he went down. His comrades cursed and then grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him out of the way, so they could come inside. Yuri didn’t have time to count them, but there were more than a few. He slammed the door shut on them all and latched it. He drew his second knife from its sheath and killed the two fallen brutes as they were scrambling to their feet. Two more essence balls flew into him.
The girl gasped and he noticed his skin started glowing white. Now what?
His essence counter was ticking down from 115. The door behind him boomed as it was impacted from the outside. He had more pressing things to attend to than figure out some game mechanic. He gathered two more knives and their sheaths from his fresh kills and stuck them all in his belt.
“You’re leaking essence,” the girl exclaimed. “You gathered it from them and now it’s leaking out of you! How!?”
The door boomed again, splintering a little near the latch.
Another ball of essence flew in through the door, sending Yuri’s essence counter up to 124. It kept on ticking down. It seemed like a waste. “Game menu.”
His avatar now sported his clothing and held a knife in each hand. A piece of text that said Double-Edged Knife was written next to them. Two lines also connected the text to the blades in the sheaths on his belt.
The new thing on his game menu was an inverted pentagram. He focused on it and it expanded into a list of attributes.
Strength
Vitality
Agility
Compulsion
Persuasion
Spirit
The door boomed again. It was going to give soon. Yuri found that he could move with his game menu open. He backed away from the door and sheathed one of his knives. His virtual avatar exchanged the knife in its left hand for another in a sheath. The lines extending from the knife’s text also adjusted to the change.
He checked his health bar and essence counter. He had 19/50 health and 121 essence. 120. He didn’t know what essence did, but he’d need the hit points if he was to defeat the brutes banging the door down. He looked at Vitality. A description popped up.
Vitality – Stamina and health. Increase your health bar. Shrug off physical status effects.
Next to the description was a slider for adding essence. “Sold,” he said and willed a hundred essence into Vitality. His health bar now read 129/160. He still had 18 essence left.
“Oh, God,” the girl exclaimed in a panic.
The door gave in and a giant brute barreled through it. The game menu faded from Yuri’s vision as he focused on this new enemy. The man looked to be a seven foot tall, three hundred pound mass of muscles.
The rest of the brutes began filing into the inn. Yuri did a quick headcount. There were seven of them, besides the giant. The three to one side of him looked scrawny, but feral. The muscular foursome that fanned out on the other side of the giant sported some scars on their faces and looked like they knew what they were doing. Each of the seven was a head shorter than the giant in their center.
When the giant brute began advancing on him, Yuri gave ground. He glanced behind himself to see the terrified girl backing up, as well, trying to get as far away from the men as she could. Yuri set his jaw. He had a sneaking suspicion that the guys from the skunkworks had set up some way of recording what he was doing in this game so they could tease him about it later, when he returned his rig to them. He was torn between not wanting to show any weakness and not wanting to do anything suicidally stupid.
Then he saw, in the corner of his vision, his hit points tick up to 130/160. He grinned. All his doubts left him. With a healing factor working for him, this was just too easy.
With hardly a thought, an orange box appeared on the brute’s jugular. Before the giant could come to a stop, Yuri threw his knife and drew another. The giant brute reacted with confusion to the sudden impact on the front of his throat. He reached up by reflex and pulled Yuri’s knife out. He tossed it aside and snarled at Yuri, even as a steady stream of blood started pouring out of his neck.
The giant started blinking and swaying on his feet. He stopped advancing and held his arms out for balance. He slowly sank to one knee.
While he was doing that, the rest of the brutes were flanking Yuri. He grimaced. He should not have yielded the door. That was a terrible tactical error on his part. If his old Army instructors were here to see him, they’d tan his hide.
He looked at the group of three scrawny brutes. Particularly, at the throat of the leader. An orange box highlighted the man’s carotid artery. Yuri threw his knife at the man, only to see it clatter off the man’s leather vest, just below the throat. What the hell? He had kept his eye and the orange box on the carotid, why had the knife impacted below it?
All seven brutes rushed at him with swords leading and war cries echoing. Yuri stood his ground, but wheeled to face the scrawny trio. The brutes stumbled into one another, getting in each other’s way, but two came at him from the front and another two from the rear. He focused on the closest of the scrawny ones rushing at him head-on and sidestepped the man’s stab. He grabbed his wrist and elbowed him in the throat. Three swords sank into his gut, one from the front and two from the back. Their owners roared in triumph.
Yuri took the sword of the brute whose wrist he was holding and, with one swing, slashed his throat, as well as the throat of the scrawny man that had run him through from the front.
“What the hell,” asked one of the men behind Yuri, even as he was pulling his sword out of Yuri’s back. He could see the holes in Yuri’s shirt and vest, but no blood.
Yuri turned around and slashed the astonished man’s throat open. Three brutes were standing behind the fallen man and they pushed around him to try and stab Yuri. He stepped back, dodging their wild thrusts and swings as he pulled the remaining swords out of his gut. He flinched at the sharp pinching sensation that shot across his upper back twice and dropped the second sword. He had forgotten about the third man on that side. His shirt fell open at the back.
White mist rose from the giant brute and rushed into Yuri. He saw his essence counter run from 3 to 28. Wait, three? Wasn’t it eighteen a moment ago?
The three brutes in front of Yuri kept swinging and one scored a hit across his forearm. Prompted by the sharp pinch, Yuri jumped backwards. He slammed into the brute behind himself. Yuri dropped the sword he was holding and grabbed that brute by the ear. He pivoted and threw the man into his comrades, knocking two of them down to the ground.
Yuri noticed his essence counter now read 18.
The last standing brute swung again and Yuri jumped out of the way of the blade by reflex. He then stepped inside the man’s reach and headbutted him in the face. He grabbed the man’s wrist and ducked under his arm, twisting it. The man yelped in agony and then his body could no longer resist being launched into a somersault which ended with him flat on his back.
You have created a new skill: Twisting Throw
Yuri stomped on the man’s throat and took the blade out of his limp hand. He rushed forward and stabbed mercilessly at the trio that was trying to untangle themselves and get away from him. In just a few seconds, it was all over. Seven balls of essence rushed into him. His skin began glowing again. He looked at his essence counter. It was ticking down from 132. 131.
He willed another hundred points into Vitality. He now had 30 Essence and 200 Vitality. His hit points read 117/245. He bent down and scavenged a few more knives and their sheaths to stick in his belt. He fastened two to each hip, and two to the small of his back. His hit points were regenerating at a rate of about three a minute. They were already at 120.
“So,” he said to the shocked girl, “care to tell me what’s going on around here?”
She opened her mouth to speak when a shadow fell over her face. She gasped and looked behind him, wide-eyed. Yuri followed her gaze. A long-haired brute stood in the doorway, looking at the carnage with fear and slack-jawed amazement. He took one look at Yuri and then pulled the door shut as he retreated through it. “Burn this one down, boys!”
“Huh,” Yuri said. That was a far more original and realistic reaction than he had expected from a video game character. The girl let out a panicked sob. He turned and winked at her. “Wait here! I’m going to deal with this real quick.”
He went to the door and pulled it. It came open just a few inches before being pulled shut again. Through the gap, Yuri saw that the long-haired brute was holding the door closed. “I need some help here,” the panicking man yelled out.
Yuri picked up a sword from one of the brutes he had killed. He planted his feet and gave the door a harder tug. It came open by a whole foot. The long-haired man was trying to pull it back with both hands. Yuri stuck the sword out through the gap and slashed the man’s forearms. The man let go of the door with a pained yelp and stumbled backwards, holding his arms up and staring at them in disbelief.
Yuri threw the door open and followed the man. He stabbed the brute in the chest and twisted the blade. He could feel the blade scrape against the brute’s ribs. The brute stared at him with unseeing, bulging eyes. Yuri had to use his foot to kick the dying man off his blade.
A small ball of essence left the brute as he fell into the mud and rushed into Yuri. His Essence counter now read 48. He looked up and saw six brutes standing at the corner of the inn, holding torches. They roared as one and tossed the torches aside to draw their swords.
Yuri spared a glance at the inn’s door before turning around and running away. It wouldn’t do to bring the girl into more danger, particularly not right after he had rescued her. He ran down the muddy street, glancing all around for a choke point. The boots were very uncomfortable around his feet. He wished the game would put some socks on his feet, but nothing happened. The wood and adobe houses were stuck together, but he saw a small gap between two of them down the street. Some brutes walked out of it. As soon as they saw him and his pursuit, they moved to intercept.
“Damn.” He was again surrounded on both sides. He wasn’t going to repeat his earlier mistake. He dropped his sword. He ran towards one house and then pivoted to run full tilt at the house opposite. He jumped up at the last moment and his feet slapped against the wall to convert all of his forward momentum into vertical. He grabbed the window sill on the upper floor and pulled himself up.
You have created a new skill: Wall Run
He planted his feet against the sill and extended a hand towards the eaves of the roof. The brutes collided with one another directly below him. They tried jumping up and swinging their swords at his heels, but they came up short by an inch.
Yuri grabbed the beam at the edge of the roof with one hand, then the other. He pushed off with his feet and swung his upper body over the edge. He scrambled for a bit and then managed to get his legs up, as well. The brutes yelled for him to come back down. They brandished their swords as they swore vicious oaths.
He got up into a crouch on the very edge of the roof. He looked around. He was in a small town and thick pillars of black smoke were rising in many places. Despite all the fires, there were plenty of houses stuck close enough together for him to rush across their roofs and lose his pursuers. He flipped them the bird. “Bye, boys!”
He took a step and immediately fell through the roof. He landed heavily on a wooden floor. Thatches of straw were raining down on him. He groaned, more in humiliation than any pain. He could hear the creaking of wood and the shouts of the men below him. They had gotten into the house and were breaking the door down.
He frowned. That didn’t make sense. If they were already inside-
The cracked floorboards beneath him gave way and his upper body fell through. He grabbed at the intact floorboards to his sides, but they also gave way and he landed heavily on a table on the ground floor of the house.
The brutes wasted very little time in stabbing him. Pinching sensations erupted all over his body. His health bar dropped down to less than a quarter full. The brutes gasped as one and stared alternately at him and then at their swords. There was no blood anywhere, not even on his clothes, which were slashed to ribbons by now.
Yuri rolled off the table and got his feet under him. The nearest brute, a big, bald fucker, swung at him. Yuri ducked back. The brutes came at him, swinging away and he had to give way. They backed him into the wall as they fanned out. They all inched closer to him, baffled and intimidated by him being unhurt, but intent on ending him, all the same.
At the bald brute’s nod, two moved to cover the ladder that led to the upper floor. As they moved, Yuri saw a clear line to the door. Only the table he had fallen on stood in his way. The brutes were parting around it as they moved in on him.
He remembered his basic training. Jumping over the length of the table wasn’t all that different from some of the obstacles he had trained on. If he could pull it off in one go, he’d make it out unscathed. If he needed to stop on the table, his remaining hit points would be carved away from him.
“Whatever,” he whispered. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t respawn.
He dashed towards the table, jumped up, leaned down upon the table with one hand, and then found himself propelled clear across it. The brutes flanking the table swung at him, but only hit air.
You have created a new skill: Speed Vault
He ran out the door and turned on his heel. He drew a knife. The first man that came through the door got it right in the jugular. The next three fared the same. The fifth brute stopped and stared at Yuri. His colleagues tried to push their way out of the small house. Yuri threw his fifth knife at the man’s throat and drew his last blade.
The brutes gasped as one and shut themselves inside the house.
Yuri frowned. Surely they could plainly see he only had one knife left? It was only then that he noticed his skin was glowing again. His essence counter was at 118 and dropping. “Oh, for the love of…” 117.
He willed another hundred Essence into Vitality. His health bar now read 102/320. The essence counter was down to 17. He really needed to look into this essence leakage problem soon. There was probably some way to increase his capacity, just like he did with his hit points.
He strode to the door and knocked on it. “Gentlemen, please open the door so I can kill you all.”
“Bugger off! We ain’t openin’ nuthin’!”
He kicked at it. The door groaned and shook, but held. He could tell they were all pushing against it. Breaking down the door would be a bother and it would only bring him face to face with the enemy.
“Bugger off! We don’t want no part of this!”
Yuri looked up and grinned. He jogged backwards and then ran full tilt at the wall. He jumped up and his feet glowed as he ran all the way onto the roof. He crouched and looked down the hole in the roof. He hopped through it, setting his knees to brace for impact against the table below.
The legs of the table didn’t withstand his second landing and the table was flattened beneath him. Yuri’s body had performed thousands of shoulder rolls on the obstacle course. It had become reflex for him, years ago. His reflexes didn’t fail him now.
You have created a new skill: Shoulder Roll
He found himself standing right behind the brutes, who were leaning heavily against the door. They screamed in panic and scrambled to open it. They had piled the bodies of their slain comrades against it and now they struggled to toss them aside in their rush to get away from Yuri.
He looked at the back of the neck of the nearest brute and loosed his knife when the orange box appeared. The brute fell into a boneless heap. Another ball of essence rushed at Yuri. He crouched and retrieved two more knives that he buried into the backs of the necks of two more brutes.
The last two gave up on their struggles and turned to face him. One fell to his knees and put his hands together in supplication. The other just stood there, trembling as he stared at the dirt.
Yuri retrieved another knife and brandished it. “Alright. Tell me what’s going on around here.”
The standing brute shook his head and whimpered. The kneeling brute swept his long, shaggy hair out of his face and licked his lips. “Will you let me go if I do?” Yuri glanced pointedly at the standing brute. “Us! Will you let us go?”
Yuri nodded.
The shaggy-haired brute licked his lips again. His eyes seemed drawn to the inverted pentagram on the back of Yuri’s left hand. “Alright. Alright. Uh, the Mage sent us. We’re to gather up these heretics and bring them to him.”
“Heretics?”
The brute shot his colleague a look of astonishment. It was not reciprocated. He faced Yuri again. “Uh, yeah. They’re devil-worshippers here. How do you not know this?”
“I’m not from these parts.”
“Oh.” The brute’s face brightened. “Oh, well, then, this was all just a misunderstanding, right? You didn’t know, right? That’s alright. You can join us. How about that? You can join.” He gestured at his colleague. “We only joined the other day, too. It’s alright. The Mage pays good money.”
“So, you’re paid to kidnap these people?”
“Yes! Yes, you get it.”
“Then why are you killing and raping them?”
The brute smiled. “Ah, well, what’s life if you can’t have some fun while you work, eh? Besides, it’s not like the Mage minds. There’s thousands of these devil-worshippers around and no one’s going to miss a few.”
“I think someone might notice an entire town gone missing.”
“Pffft. The local lord disappeared a town just like this one and nobody lifted a finger in protest. And the Mage said the lord wouldn’t even need know about this place.” He spread his arms. “How about it, friend? Join us! It’s good pay, there’s fun to be had and, and a man with your abilities…whoo-hoo. I don’t need to tell you… Plus, the Mage! The Mage would love to meet you, friend. I bet he would! You’ll do good with us, friend. Real good, indeed. Mark my words!”
“And you don’t mind me killing your previous friends?”
The brute looked at the corpses all around him. He chuckled and winked. “The split goes less ways now.” He licked his lips. “What do you say, friend? Are you with us?”
The other brute raised his fearful gaze at Yuri. Yuri pretended to consider. He made many a “hmm” noise as he bent down to retrieve six knives and put them back into his holsters. He then picked up a sword and considered it.
“You know…killing and raping aren’t really my things, so I think I’ll pass on this great op-”
The kneeling brute swung his arm. A knife thunked into Yuri’s cheek, obscuring a part of his vision. He yelped in surprise and pulled it out on reflex. He blinked. He was amazed by the fact that he had not plucked his own eye out. I guess this game has some limits to how much gore it will simulate.
“What are you?” the standing brute whispered in despair, his eyes wide as he stared at Yuri.
The kneeling one jumped up with a yell. Yuri ducked to the side and then blocked his sword with the flat of his. He deflected the second swing and then had to jump backwards away from the third. He stumbled on something and barely managed to stay upright. What am I doing? I can take a hit; I can’t get tripped up to take a dozen of them.
He stopped backing away and held up his left arm as bait. The shaggy-haired brute’s sword slashed through Yuri’s forearm with no resistance. The brute lost his balance and churned his feet to try and regain it. Yuri jumped forward and ran him through. The man keeled over.
Yuri looked at the last brute. “How many of you are there?”
A ball of essence rose from the shaggy-haired brute and was absorbed by Yuri. His essence counter read 79. The last brute shrieked in panic and turned to try and clear the door. He mumbled, “no”, over and over again as he wailed and keened in a panic.
Yuri felt sorry for the cowardly character, but the noise he was making represented a tactical liability. Yuri ran the brute through, silencing him forever. His essence counter now read 94.
“Game Menu.”
As he was clearing the doorway of corpses, he looked up his six main Attributes. He already knew what Vitality did. Strength and Agility were pretty straightforward. The last three were new to him.
Compulsion – The compulsive power of runes. Force the world to bend to your whim.
Persuasion – The persuasive power of runes. Convince the world that your way is better.
Spirit – Sense and use essence more efficiently. Resist the effects of magic. Hold more Essence at once.
He found it strange to have three Attributes that could stand in for the more common Mana. From their descriptions, he guessed that Persuasion was a stand-in for the more common Charisma and that Spirit was the equivalent of Wisdom. So much for creativity, he thought. Crux just renamed half of the six basic RPG attributes and called it a day.
Just like Vitality, each of these five Attributes had a slider to put essence into them. He also noticed an option concerning the essence counter. He toggled it and a blue bar became the background of the number 94. A small section of the bar at the very end of it was empty, only an outline of how much it could be.
Yuri put fifty essence into Spirit and the blue bar’s solid part suddenly shrunk into one fifth of its size. The number across it was 44. Apparently, putting 50 essence into Spirit more than doubled his capacity to hold more essence. He wished the display would show exactly how much was the maximum value, like it did with hit points, but nothing happened.
At least I won’t be wasting any more essence.
He cleared the doorway and jogged down the street to the inn. The inn’s ground floor was empty. “Huh,” Yuri said. He had expected the girl to stay right where he had left her. Now that she was gone, what was he supposed to do in this game? Kill the bad guys?
His hit points were ticking up slowly, but steadily, already making him all but invincible to them. And they hadn’t even been all that formidable to begin with. Like all RPGs, this game was already brewing a yawn in him. He sighed audibly and trudged back towards the front door.
“You’re alive,” the girl fearfully exclaimed.
Yuri spun around to see her emerge from the kitchen door. She was wearing a dark brown cloak instead of her ripped, yellow dress. She had a bundle over her shoulder, but she dropped it and ran towards him. As she moved, he could see that she was wearing a simple shift under her cloak. She latched on to him and sobbed. He could feel her warmth through the slashes of his clothing.
Yuri stood there awkwardly as she cried into his chest. After a few seconds, he began to run his hand through her curly hair. It felt just like Wada’s. “Ok. It’s ok. Everything’s going to be alright. It’s ok.”
She shook her head no and then pulled back. “No. No it isn’t.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “They have my father. They’ve taken all our women and children. They… They’ve…” Her chin trembled, but she managed to draw a deep breath and fight back another wave of tears. “We have to go. We have to go get the men from the fields before it’s too late.”
She tried to break loose from his grasp, but he held on. “Wait! Tell me what’s going on.”
“They’ve come to take our women and children away. We have to go get the men from the fields and go after them. We can’t let them get away with this!” She tried to break loose again, but he held on.
“Hold on! Let’s clear some things up, ok? The able-bodied men of this town are away in the fields, right?”
“Yes! I have to go get them!”
“How far away are these fields?”
She frowned and looked up at him with hostility. “What are you doing? Let go of me! I have to go and, and… Let go of me!”
“How far to the fields?”
She stared at him with an incredulous frown. “About three miles. Across the flood plain and the river and through the woods.”
“Can someone see the town from the fields and the other way around?”
“No. That’s why I have to go and warn them, bring them back!”
“Could the men in the fields see all the smoke rising from the town?”
She stopped struggling and looked up at him in surprise. “Yes.”
“So, the men in the fields have seen the smoke by now and are probably running here as we speak?”
Her eyes darted around as she realized he had a point. “Yes.”
“Now, do the men in the fields have horses with them?” She nodded. “Wagons, too?”
“Yes.”
“So they could be riding here, right now?” She nodded again. “Moving on to the second point; you said the bad guys have taken your women and children. Where have they taken them?”
“To the town square. They’re rounding them up. They’re going to put them on the wagons and take them somewhere.” Her brow scrunched up as her lip trembled. “We’ll never see them again.”
Yuri snorted. “Nonsense. Guide me to the town square and I’ll handle this.”
She shook her head. “No. No, that’s not the way it goes. You…you’ve been sent here to lead us to safety, to our destiny, not…”
“We’ll get to that bit later. Right now, you need to point me to the town square. Which way?” He started pointing around. “Which way to the town square?”
She pointed in the opposite direction of the one he had come from. “Turn left past the butcher’s shop and you’re there.”
“Thank you.” He turned to go.
“You can’t go there alone! They’ll kill you! We need you! The prophecy-”
“Wait here and I’ll be right back!” He winked at her and was out the door. He set off in the direction she indicated, keeping his head on a swivel. There were fresh corpses littering the streets, mostly old men and women, with a few boys in the mix.
As he moved down the street, he peered carefully around the corners of the side alleys. He could see that many houses were on fire by now. A steady breeze was helping the fire spread. This entire town was going to go up in flames. He should have told the girl to get out, not wait for him in the wooden building. He turned around to go back for her and saw her come out of the inn to follow him. He put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot in the mud as she jogged awkwardly towards him. She was hefting the heavy burlap sack over her shoulder.
“I thought I told you to stay put?”
“Half the town is on fire. If we stay here, we’ll burn. We have to go.”
He shrugged. “Ok. Lead the way.”
She nodded and walked down the street, her hair whipping this way and that as she cast her gaze all around. Smoke wafted into their noses, carried by the breeze. Yuri could hear noises as they were coming to the end of the street. She stopped at the last house in the street and slowly peered around its corner. He joined her and found himself looking down a bigger street that opened out into the town square.
Much like the town itself, the square wasn’t very big. It was packed tight with dozens of wagons and carts. The brutes were very busy. Some stood guard over groups of townsfolk who sat in the dirt, clutching at each other in fear. Some brutes were tying nubile girls’ ankles together and loading them onto the wagons. Others were hitching horses to those same wagons.
No one was looking Yuri’s way. He tried to do a headcount, but the scene before him was quite chaotic. He estimated that he was dealing with around sixty, or seventy men.
“They don’t have enough horses,” she whispered, sounding almost happy.
“What?”
“We’ll be able to follow them. They won’t get far. When the men come back from the fields, they’ll be able to catch up to them.”
“I’m not going to let these brutes get away with this.” He looked around and took note of his surroundings, identifying tactical elements.
She pulled her head back from the corner and looked at him. “Of course not. But, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll follow them and guide our men after them and-”
“Nah,” Yuri said. Stalking some kidnappers sounded boring. “I’ve got a better idea.” He stepped out into view of the square and nodded at the corner house. “Hide inside.”
The girl gasped in fright and tried to pull him back, but she pulled her arms back at the last moment, lest she be seen by the brutes.
Yuri gathered a few of his knives into his left hand and held one by the point in his right. The orange box showed up on the back of the neck of the closest brute. Yuri let loose with his knife. The brute collapsed into the mud unnoticed by his colleagues. Only one of them noticed when the ball of essence left the corpse. The man’s eyes followed it as it flew at Yuri. Yuri’s next knife caught the man right in the throat. He fell over, gurgling and spitting up blood.
Some of his colleagues noticed this. They looked at each other in confusion. When the next one collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut and a knife handle sticking out of his neck, half a dozen of them followed the ball of essence to Yuri. Yuri threw his next knife into the jugular of the fourth man and then they rushed at him with a roar.
He ran from them, but not down the side street he had come from. He dashed down the bigger street, which could easily fit two cars, side by side. His feet were sending stabbing pains to his brain, like he had just ruptured fresh blisters. He shook his head to himself. In this video game, wearing ill-fitting boots without socks hurt worse than being run through with a sword. He led the men past a few burning houses, so their friends in the square couldn’t see them for the flames and smoke, and then dashed inside a narrow alleyway. His feet slid through the mud at one point, but he managed to stay upright.
Yuri stopped halfway through the alley and turned around, making sure of his footing. Within a heartbeat, a brute ran in after him. He caught a knife to the jugular, just like the next man. The third tripped over them. The fourth vaulted over the mess of bodies with a battle cry. His feet slid apart as he landed in the mud and lost his balance. Yuri stepped forward, grabbed his sword arm by the wrist, and took his blade. He slashed his throat open and tossed him down on top of the man that was trying to rise up.
Two brutes stood at the opening of the alley, looking hesitant to join the fray. Then they stepped aside and a cloaked figure pivoted around the corner. It was another brute, Yuri saw, but this one was also holding a crossbow. Yuri blinked in surprise. The bolt had a wicked-looking blade attached to it. Before Yuri could react, the bolt went through his gut, shaving off a big chunk of his remaining health bar. Yuri nearly swore out loud. He only had sixty-two hit points left. He should have put that last fifty essence into Vitality, not Spirit.
The bolt had left him with two pinches, one in front and one in back and that was that. His shredded shirt gave up the ghost and slid down his chest and back. He was left standing in his cut-up leather vest and two sleeves that were now only connected by a narrow strip of fabric across his shoulders.
The other two brutes confidently advanced down the alley. “Not so fast now, are ye, laddie?” They laughed as they stopped to help their comrade to his feet.
Yuri jumped forward and slashed one brute’s throat open before slamming bodily into the other one. The two living brutes fell atop their dead comrades and Yuri stabbed them to death. One of them managed to slash at his ankle, but this only took ten hit points from Yuri.
Yuri looked up at the crossbowman. The man’s face turned ghostly pale and he fumbled with the crank on his crossbow. Yuri waded over the corpses and stabbed the panicking man in the gut. He pulled his sword free and slashed the man’s throat open. He went down gurgling. Soon, another essence ball went into Yuri.
Yuri peered around the corner. There were no more brutes coming. No one was even bothering with looking this way. They must have thought this was enough for one man. He pulled the crossbowman’s corpse around the corner and sized it up. A bit pudgy in the middle, but otherwise my size.
Working with all haste, Yuri exchanged his ripped up clothes for the man’s dark green trousers. He took a shirt from one of the men he hadn’t stabbed in the gut. All of their boots and socks stank so bad that Yuri chose not to take them, even though his feet hurt badly enough to be distracting. He donned the leather armor. He gathered up three belts from the fallen men. He used one as a belt and the other two as bandoliers. He fitted ten knife sheaths to his front and sides and filled them with blades. He girt a sword at his side. He cranked the crossbow and loaded a bolt.
He had fifty-six hit points out of three hundred and twenty possible. If he was going to beat all the brutes, he was going to need more. His essence counter read 177. He willed another hundred into Vitality. His hit points read 131/395. He found himself wishing he could find some kind of medkit, or healing potion. The two hundred and sixty four hit points missing from his health bar seemed like a big handicap, but he would have to do without them.
He needed to properly scout the situation, survey the streets surrounding the square and pick out his choke points and lines of retreat. He also needed to figure out their command and control structure, see which ones he could draw away and pick off unseen. He donned the dark green cloak and pulled the hood up to conceal his face.
He walked back towards the square. He looked at the corner house as he was passing, but saw no sign of the girl. He strode into the square as if he belonged there. He didn’t find it hard to fake, since this was just a video game. He looked around and saw that the square was larger than he had thought. What he had considered to be the south end of the square was really just a very large building in the middle of it. Some of the brutes seemed focused on it.
A heavy hand suddenly landed on Yuri’s shoulder, making him flinch. It spun him around. He found himself face to face with a grizzled looking guy with graying hair. He stood a few inches taller than Yuri and wore chainmail over his leather vest. A buckler was strapped to his left forearm and a veritable arsenal of bladed weapons hung off his front and sides. Something about the way the man was staring into his eyes reminded Yuri of the sergeants that drilled him through basic. He almost raised his arm in salute. He would have started inching it towards a knife, instead, but he found himself somewhat unable to move, arrested by the warrior’s hawkish gaze.
“Did you get him?”
Yuri’s brow twitched. Did the man think him a part of his company? “Uh…”
“Did you get the knife-throwing bastard? Where’s the rest of you?”
Yuri bit back a sigh of relief as he realized his disguise had fooled the seasoned warrior. The stuff about men joining this kidnapping expedition just the other day must be true. This guy doesn’t know them all by face.
“Yes. We got him, the bastard. I took his knives, but not before he killed the rest of the men.”
The silver-haired warrior turned around and whistled loudly. “Hold off on burning the barn! I want saddles removed from six more horses and I want those horses hitched to three more wagons!” His brow drew down when the men didn’t immediately jump to obey. His growl was loud and scary. “Get to work, maggots! Fill up three more wagons!”
The men scurried to obey. Some were squabbling over which horses’ tack should be taken off. The wagons were disassembled into piles of beds, sides, wheels and axles. The group putting them together seemed unpracticed at their work.
The leader shoved Yuri towards the big building. “You’re rear guard. Go keep the leftover people in the barn. When I give the signal to move out, you’re all to set it to the torch.” He moved off and Yuri let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.
Yuri watched the older man march away. There was a definite military precision to the man’s gate. Yuri felt oddly grateful that he didn’t have to fight him. He turned around and made his way through the chaos towards the big barn. He squeezed between wagons laden with scared people, mostly young women. They sobbed and wailed softly. He could hear softly murmured assurances coming from the lips of the older captives. He shivered. The simulated misery was almost enough to get to him. He kept his head down.
He made his way to the big barn, after twice having to jump away from prancing horses, and did a proper tactical survey. Most of the brutes were standing guard over the wagons they had already loaded. About a dozen brutes was standing guard at the front and rear doors to the barn. The rest were almost done with assembling the wagons and hitching the horses.
“You!” Again a hand landed on his shoulder. The brute that spun him around this time was not as fearsome as the silver-haired leader. This one had dark, patchy hair and awful teeth that he was exposing with a sneer. “Look at you, all decked out with weapons! You’d think you were someone to be feared. Here!” He pushed a bucket at Yuri. Yuri took it. “Go to the far side of the barn. When you hear two short blasts from the horn, pour this pitch on the side of the barn. When you hear the long blast, set a torch to the pitch and get on your horse. Got it, Knifemaster?” Yuri nodded once. “Good.” The man waved Yuri off. “Get!”
As Yuri walked around the barn, he could see the brutes drag more people out of it. The people still in the barn cried out in anguish and pleaded earnestly with the brutes. The brutes replied with beatings and a few slashes of their blades and the pleas died out. Wailing replaced them, but the brutes ignored it. They wasted no time in tying the people together at the ankle and loading them up on the newly-assembled wagons.
By the time Yuri came to the corner of the big barn, he finally spotted what he was looking for. A narrow alleyway led between two big houses on the west end of the square. There were no parallel roads in the immediate vicinity. It would be the perfect choke point. He’d draw the brutes in and knife them in the throat as they came, one by one.
He set the bucket on the ground and put the crossbow to his shoulder. When the horn sounded, he’d shoot the brute closest to him and then draw the remaining brutes into the kill zone.
A commotion sounded from one side of the barn. The people inside were trying to break down the door and escape. The brutes moved to prevent them, even as they kept working on loading the last three wagons with struggling captives.
“You stay there,” a brute called out to Yuri. “Watch for them trying to tunnel out!” Yuri raised the crossbow to acknowledge the order. He moved away from the barn and towards the choke point he had chosen. He wanted to make sure it would serve him well. He stayed there after completing his inspection of the alley. He didn’t like the screams of the captives. He wished the game would make them comply with the kidnappers, so he could proceed with saving them. He looked away from their desperate struggles.
He was surprised to see a lone rider galloping his way. The man was riding in from the south, but the street he was riding down entered the square at an angle and no one in the square could see him but Yuri. Yuri squinted and saw that the man was wearing brown and dark green. Yuri took a look around and then jogged towards the rider. They met two houses away from the square proper.
The rider slowed to a canter. “They’re coming,” he called out. “They’re less than ten minutes behind me! We have to go!”
He spurred his horse as he was passing Yuri. Yuri raised his crossbow and willed the orange box to appear over the back of the man’s neck. His arms adjusted his aim. Yuri twanged the lever and the bolt buried itself into the back of the rider’s neck. The man slumped in the saddle and the horse ran on. A ball of essence rushed into Yuri.
He jogged to the corner and peeked out. No one noticed the horse running into the square. The rider’s body fell out of the saddle and the horse ran on, pulling it through the dirt by the foot caught in the stirrup. The weight of the body turned the horse away from the barn and brutes. It vanished into a side street on the other side of the square and Yuri chuckled. No one had seen it.
He cranked the crossbow and loaded another bolt as he walked back to his assigned post. Two brutes joined him. Each stood halfway between him and a corner of the barn. Each had a bucket of pitch at the ready. Yuri willed the orange box to appear on the jugular of the one with the uglier smile. His arms felt locked into position as he waited for the signal.
When the horn sounded, Yuri loosed his bolt. The brute dropped his bucket and grabbed at his neck. Yuri spun around and drew a knife. He willed the box to appear on the other brute’s neck. Yuri loosed his blade as the brute started to splash pitch on the wall of the barn. The bucket went flying out of the man’s hands as he collapsed.
Yuri drew two more knives and ran towards the choke point. As he ran past the corner of the barn, he loosed his knives at the throats of the brutes standing there. Two brutes fell over and the rest roared as they ran at him. He ran into the alley. Two balls of essence dashed after him, catching up with ease.
He ran until the end of the alley and stopped just inside of it. He turned around and drew a pair of knives. The brutes rushed in with drawn blades and screamed oaths. He grinned and waited. When the first was just a few yards away, Yuri loosed his blade at the man’s throat. The man collapsed and slid through the mud until he was almost directly at Yuri’s feet. Yuri didn’t pause as he loosed knife after knife. Five more brutes fell before they alley was choked off. Two white orbs of essence rushed past the last two brutes to join with Yuri.
Yuri was almost out of knives. He bent down to get more from the killed. One of the last two brutes turned around to run away. The other grabbed him. “You’re not goin’ anywhere ’till we kill this fucker!” They stopped fighting and watched in stunned awe as essence rose from every body and rushed into Yuri. Yuri tossed his last two knives at the throats of the brutes and they fell down dead. His essence counter read 103 and the blue bar was a little less than half full.
Yuri carefully clambered over the dead bodies on his way back towards the barn. One of the corpses loudly farted as he stepped on it. The level of detail in this game is truly amazing. He bent down to try and retrieve his knives when he heard a long note from a horn. A chorus of agonized shrieks immediately followed it. He ran, forgetting the knives.
When Yuri cleared the alley, he could see that a few brutes were pushing against the door of the barn. Smoke was rising over the far sides of the barn. Half the barn was lit on fire. The people inside were screaming for help and mercy. They were banging on the door which wasn’t on fire, desperately trying to get out.
Yuri drew his sword and rushed forward. One of the brutes saw him and nodded him closer. “Here! Bring some pitch! No one set this door to the flaaargh!” Yuri shoved his sword as deep into the man’s gut as he could. He drew the man’s knife and stabbed the next closest brute in the back of the neck with it.
The three remaining brutes reacted to his “betrayal” and rushed to move away from him. He pulled his blade free. They immediately began to spread out to try and encircle him. They froze when the ball of essence rose from the knifed brute and entered Yuri’s body. Yuri grinned and checked his grip on the hilt of his sword. He wished they had covered swordfighting in basic. The desperate screams of the captives pushed him into action.
He rushed at the closest brute, impaling himself on the man’s blade, but slashing his throat open in turn. He jumped back, despite the strong pinching sensations coming from his belly, and evaded the second brute’s swing. Yuri pulled the second sword out of his gut and held it aloft with his left.
Both the standing brutes gaped in shock at the lack of blood on his vest. A sharp pinch came from Yuri’s ankle, nearly causing him to lose balance. The first brute he had run through was lying on the ground next to him, holding his guts in with one hand and slashing his knife across Yuri’s ankle with the other.
With a growl of irritation, Yuri bent over and stabbed the brute through the face. A ball of essence immediately flew between them.
“Fuck this,” exclaimed one of the brutes and turned to run.
The other just stood there, indecisive, until Yuri swung at him. He blocked awkwardly. Yuri let go of his other sword, embedded in a dead brute’s skull, and reached up to grab the brute’s locked blade. The brute’s eyes grew comically large as Yuri held the blade with ease and no blood. His hit points were at eighty-three, but they were ticking down. Yuri stabbed the brute in the gut and then swung at his neck, nearly decapitating him.
Essence rushed out of the falling man and another ball came from the brute on whose sword Yuri had impaled himself. He leaned down and picked up a knife, but the fleeing brute was already around the corner of the barn. The people inside were screaming for help as they pressed themselves against the door.
Yuri sheathed his weapons and moved to lift the crossbeam keeping the door closed. The press of bodies against the door was too great. The beam was stuck in place. The edges of the doors were digging into it. “You have to stop pushing against the door! You have to stop, or I can’t release you!”
Yuri’s words were completely unheard over the screaming. He fought back the urge to cover his ears and calmly evaluated the situation. The beam couldn’t simply be lifted out of the slots because the doors were pressing it into the slots themselves, keeping it pinned in place. Chopping the beam in half would require an axe and he didn’t have one. Cutting it with his sword was out of the question. The beam seemed like an impassable obstacle. The hinges were thick and metal, he could see no way to undo them in a hurry.
He looked at the slots holding the beam in place. They looked firm and strong. He could see that each was attached to the door with five thick nails. He couldn’t pry them loose before everyone inside burned to death. The smoke began wafting down towards him, reminding him that people in fires died of smoke inhalation, not burning. This game was realistic to a fault. Yuri didn’t doubt that if he didn’t get the people out this minute, they would choke to death.
He looked away from the door and spotted a tiny finger sticking out of the wall. He rushed over. A pair of vertical planks fit loosely together. Yuri drew his sword and stabbed the tip of it into the gap between the planks. He stepped to the side and pushed on the hilt with both hands, using the sword as a lever to pry the plank away from the wall. The sword slipped out of the gap after a few seconds. Yuri fell flat on his face.
That hurt him worse than deliberately impaling himself on a sword.
The screams coming from within prompted him right back into action. He kicked at the tiny finger and it vanished back inside. Yuri swung his sword overhead and wedged it deep into the very bottom of the gap. He again pushed on the hilt with all his might.
His blade snapped after a few moments. Yuri fell over, but caught himself on his hands this time. He picked up a fallen brute’s sword and jumped back into action. He stabbed it as hard as he could and wedged it into the top of the gap. He pushed with all his might. Nothing happened for a few moments and then the sword started to move. The plank began to give way. Yuri adjusted the sword and pushed anew. The plank slowly started coming loose from the beam. A sudden kick from within launched it away from the wall.
Yuri lost his balance and fell flat on his ass this time.
Arms and legs shot out of the narrow gap, but no one could get through. Yuri jumped up and wedged the tip of his sword between the exposed beam and the next plank over. He tugged with all his might and it slowly gave way. An old man immediately fell out of the barn. A press of human flesh strove to follow him out. Yuri pried three more planks loose before his sword broke. The gap he created was bigger than a door and people were stumbling blindly out, coughing and gasping for air. Yuri pulled the old man out of the way, lest people trip on him and plug up the exit.
A horse snort made him look to the side of the burning barn. Three mounted brutes were there, looking unhappy with the development. The turned their horses around and rode off.
Yuri yanked a strong-looking woman to the side. “Get everyone out!” She stared at his clothes with wide eyes. “Get everyone out of the barn before it burns down! Do you understand me?!” She nodded.
Yuri rushed around the corner of the barn and stopped. The square was empty.
He ran towards the tallest house in the square. He needed to get to the top of its roof and see which way the brutes had taken the prisoners. He ran up the walls of the house with the aim of grasping a second story windowsill. His feet glowed as he ran up the wall. He overshot the window and found himself grabbing the eaves. He pulled himself up on the roof and looked back down in wonder. The game had allowed him to do a vertical run of a good twenty-five feet.
He made to step towards the crest of the roof, but paused. He didn’t want to fall through the roof, like earlier. He hadn’t brought anything he could use to probe the roof with. He looked around. There was smoke rising from everywhere. Big flames licked out towards the sky. Yuri heard horse whinnies. He pricked his ears and cocked his head. They were coming from up ahead. Could the brutes still be here?
His mouth drew down. Even if they were still in town, he couldn’t catch up to them. The streets were too muddy and the houses prevented racing in a straight line. The rooftops, on the other hand, provided him with exactly that. He probed with one foot and found that the roof had wooden beams at regular intervals. He could walk across it, if he was careful enough.
The whinnies were faint, but he thought he could tell they were moving around. He sighed and willed a hundred points of essence into his Agility stat. He set off running across the edge of the roof, his feet finding the beams with little effort. He picked up speed when he came to the far end of the roof and jumped towards the next house. It was far away, but it was also considerably lower.
He landed with both feet against the wooden wall of the house and both hands gripping the edge of its roof.
You have created a new skill: Cat Leap.
He pulled himself up and jogged across the roof. He stepped across the narrow gap to the next house. He jumped down to the roof of the next house and jogged to the end of its roof. He leaned over the edge and saw a column of riders passing on the street below. He looked down the street. Wagon-pulling horses were prancing there, whinnying nervously as they were faced with walls of flames. The brutes had been diverted by the firestorm that was consuming the town.
Hoist by their own petard, Yuri thought with a smile.
The brutes manning the wagons were struggling to turn them around and follow the riders. Yuri waited until the first of the wagons came close to the house. He crouched and then leapt over the edge of the roof. He landed with both feet against the driver of the wagon. Somehow, the driver took all the energy of Yuri’s leap and went flying sideways out of the driver’s seat. Suddenly devoid of momentum, Yuri nearly fell on his ass. His feet found the wagon seat with no trouble and he spread them slightly to keep from falling off.
You have created a new skill: Pounce.
Yuri bent down and grabbed the reigns. He pulled hard on them. “Whoa! Whoa, boy!” The horses slowed to a crawl, whinnying and shaking their heads. Another tug on the reigns made them stop. Yuri looked over his shoulder. He ignored the confused faces of the captives on the wagon and focused on the street behind them.
The rest of the wagons were coming to a stop. The street wasn’t wide enough for them to go around him. Three riders could pass abreast, but wagons could not overtake. Yuri grinned. He had them trapped. He reached for his sword to cut the bonds of the captives. His scabbard was empty. Shit.
The driver of the second wagon stood on his seat and shook his fist. “What are you doing, you bloody fool?! This road’s clear of fire! Go!”
Yuri’s hand felt a knife in a hip sheath. He drew it and placed the orange box on the irate driver’s jugular. A moment later, Yuri’s knife was there, too. Yuri clambered onto the side of the wagon and strode down its length. The captives squealed. He jumped and his feet landed on the backs of the horses hitched to the second wagon.
You have created a new skill: Precision Leap
A ball of essence rose from the driver’s body to enter Yuri’s. Yuri clambered onto the driver’s seat and retrieved the dead man’s knife and sword. He bent over the back of the seat and raised his sword. The captives screamed in terror. He swung and severed the rope tying their ankles to the front of the wagon. He clambered up onto the side of the wagon and jogged to the rear.
The driver of the third wagon was in the mud, helping the first driver up to his feet. Yuri crouched down and swung his sword to cut the rope tethering the captives to the back of the wagon. When he stood up, the two drivers were rushing at him, trying to stab his ankles. He had eighty hit points, but he decided not to waste them. He jumped up and his glowing feet landed on the backs of the horses hitched to the third wagon.
The brute drivers shouted curses at him. Yuri placed the orange box on the jugular of the mud-covered one and tossed his knife. The dirty brute fell back, gurgling. The other one flinched away from him, no longer the fierce warrior of a moment ago. Yuri jumped at him. His feet glowed and the brute was laid out in the mud, while Yuri remained standing. Yuri immediately crouched to drive his blade through the brute’s neck. Two balls of essence entered him.
Hooves came his way. He drew the dead brute’s knife. “What’s going on here?!”
Yuri spun and loosed his knife an instant after his gaze and the orange box landed on the mounted brute’s jugular. The man fell out of the saddle, his life’s blood spurting into the mud.
The drivers of the wagons he was blocking were on the ground, coming at him with blades drawn and oaths shouted. Yuri crouched to quickly retrieve the knife of the other dead brute at his feet. He used it to fell the fastest brute. He locked swords with the next one. Yuri grabbed the man’s blade with his free hand, stepped closer, and slashed his throat.
The rest of the brutes paused and kept their distance after that. Three balls of essence rose to rush into Yuri. The brutes saw this and began backing up. Some were stepping aside, seeking cover between the wagons. Yuri grinned. They were more afraid of him than of the horses, who were nervous enough to start prancing and kicking out with their mighty hooves.
Yuri sheathed his sword. He crouched down and retrieved a pair of knives. He tossed them and felled two more brutes. The rest pulled farther back. Some were scurrying down the side alleys.
“That’s him, Father,” a familiar, female voice rose over the confused murmur of the captives on the next wagon. “That’s the Savior!”
Yuri jumped up, grabbed the side of the wagon and looked inside. The girl he had saved in front of the inn was there, tied to the rest of the captives by the ankle, but she wasn’t miserable and scared like they were. Her face bore a wide, beaming smile. She was shaking an old, graying man’s arm in triumph.
Yuri cocked his head at her. “I thought I told you to stay hidden?”
“What makes you think he’s,” the old man started asking her.
She pointed at Yuri’s hand. “Look! Look, Father! He bears the mark of the Savior!”
“How do you know about the mark?!”
The girl blushed. “Well, I may have overheard-”
“Never mind,” the old man said. He looked at Yuri. His rheumy, old eyes had an unsettling quality about them. “Please, Savior, cut us loose before we burn to death in this-”
Yuri heard the hooves at that moment. He looked back towards the front of the column. A rider was galloping at him. His eyes were full of hatred and death as they seemed to bore right into Yuri’s soul. Yuri immediately let go of the side of the wagon to drop to the ground and meet the man’s attack. Time slowed to a crawl. A part of Yuri’s mind was refining the winning tactic against a mounted opponent, even while he was still in mid-air. He was going to duck under the man’s swing and stab at his leg as his momentum carries him past. His eyes left the brute’s pools of wrath and sought the brute’s weapon to adjust his timing.
It was only then that his conscious mind finally registered the presence of the lance in the brute’s hand.
The ten foot long piece of wood was capped with a sharp, metal point and that point was almost upon Yuri. The instant Yuri’s feet made contact with the ground, the horse’s momentum drove the lance into Yuri’s chest. His breath exploded from his lungs in a neutral grunt. Having a thick, wooden pole driven through his heart hurt him about the same as getting run through with a sword. It was as if a big hand had pinched off a piece of skin at the front of his chest and was twisting it around. He felt an identical pinch over his shoulder blade. Then the momentum of the pole took him off his feet. Yuri found himself lifted back up into the air.
The girl’s scream was plainly audible over the lesser screams of the captives.
Yuri felt oddly fine for someone who was impaled on a lance and hoisted aloft for all the world to see. More than anything else, he felt humiliated. He looked back at the eyes of the brute lancer. The man’s face was screwed up in a grimace of agony. Yuri was confused for an instant, but then he began to fall back down. His weight on the lance was too much for the rider to handle. The brute dropped the lance and Yuri found himself kneeling in the mud, two whole wagons farther down the street than where he had been impaled.
He checked his stats. He had twenty-one hit points left. He grabbed the lance and pulled it out of himself. At the same time, he willed another hundred essence into Vitality. His hit points read 73/447. He frowned. He was pretty sure he should have gotten more hit points than that. His essence was at twenty-nine, indicating that he had put a whole hundred into Vitality. He loaded his Game Menu and checked the rest of his stats, just to be sure.
Vitality was at 500, Agility at 100 and Spirit was at 50. The rest were still at the starting value of zero. He realized that the game gave diminishing returns to investments, after a while, but he didn’t have the time to explore his finding. The rider had wheeled around and was charging at him again. This time, he held aloft a saber.
Yuri got to his feet and reversed his grip on the lance. Holding it by the handle, he swung at his enemy. The lance whistled through the air before impacting the rider with a dull thud and sending him flying backwards. Yuri could feel the force of the impact in his bones. The horse ran past Yuri, without touching him.
You have created a new skill: Polearm Swing
The brute landed like a sack of flour. Almost immediately, a ball of essence rose up from his body and entered Yuri.
“Stop gaping, maggots,” the silver-haired leader’s voice boomed down the street. Yuri looked his way. The man was mounted on a white charger and looked to be absolutely pissed off. “Rush him! Overwhelm him with your numbers!”
Yuri looked around at the brutes cowering behind wagons and corners of houses. Back when he had a sword and knives, he had been fearsome. Now they saw him take a lance to the chest and get up to wield that same lance as an instrument of murder without so much as a mark on him.
He spread his arms. “Well?” He opened the rip in his vest and shirt to reveal unblemished flesh underneath. “Come on! Do as your leader says! Come and die! I’ll eat your souls!” He held up his hand with the inverted pentagram. “I eat the soul of everyone I kill!” Some of the brutes vanished down the side streets. Yuri was no longer surprised at their realistic behavior.
“Worthless maggots,” the leader cried out in wrath. “I’ll kill every last one of you!”
Yuri jumped towards the nearest group of brutes, faking a swing of the lance. They shrieked and scampered away. The rest of the brutes that had driven the wagons followed their lead and ran away, leaving the captives to Yuri.
“Goddamn it,” the leader yelled out. “I’ll not leave empty-handed! Take the first few wagons!”
Yuri dashed towards the front of the wagon column. His feet had little trouble negotiating the mud, even in the uncomfortable boots he was wearing. The leader of the brutes was forcing a few of his men to dismount at swordpoint and was ushering them to take up the reigns of the wagons. When his eyes met Yuri’s, he wheeled his charger around and spurred it into a run. The four brutes that had mounted the first two wagons froze in fear.
Yuri swung the lance at the pair on the second wagon and the lance glowed white. It struck them both in the head with a loud, double crack. They fell forward and startled the horses. The horses whinnied loudly and began prancing. One caught the back of the first wagon with his hooves. The captives screamed in renewed panic.
Two balls of essence left the corpses of the dead brutes and rushed into Yuri.
The two brutes on the first wagon spurred the horses into action, but the weight of the crazed horse on the back of the wagon stopped them from pulling away. Yuri rushed at them. One of the brutes jumped out of the driver’s seat. The other cracked the whip again. The horses pulled away at last, but it was too late. Yuri was already there and he swung the glowing lance at the man’s head.
Blood sprayed in an arch as the man’s skull caved in. He fell over dead. Yuri clambered aboard the wagon, grabbed the reigns and pulled. The horses slowed to a walk, whinnying nervously and stomping their hooves. The last brute slipped in his mad scramble to get away from Yuri and fell right next to the wagon. Yuri stabbed down with the lance and impaled the man through the gut.
Yuri looked up. The mounted brutes were gone. Their leader was at the end of the street. He took one last look at Yuri and then rode off. Yuri could see nothing but sky and green beyond the last two houses. Probably an ambush ahead, he thought, ruefully.
The screams of the captives rendered such considerations moot. Half the houses to either side of the street were on fire and the breeze was spreading the inferno. Everyone seemed to be choking on the smoke. A ball of essence rose up from the impaled brute and Yuri jumped down to grab the man’s sword.
He wasted no time in cutting the captives loose. The girl’s father organized them quickly and directed Yuri to only cut loose a few older men on each wagon. Those men took up the wagons’ reigns to drive them all to safety. The horses were nearly mad with fear, but the experienced men managed to control them. Yuri rode shotgun on one of the rear wagons, kicking himself. There could be an ambush up ahead and he was sitting in the back, too far from the action to be of any help.
Fortunately, the brutes were gone. Only a dust cloud told that they had ridden away to the northeast. The girl’s father took the column of wagons due south, passing by the length of the town as it was burning down before their eyes. Yuri winced at the wailing of the women on the wagons. If this wasn’t a video game, he’d be misting up in sympathy by now.
Just as the last of the wagons cleared the edge of town, the column was intercepted by more people were leaving town on foot. The column came to a halt.
Yuri nearly slapped himself on the forehead. He had forgotten about the captives in the burning barn. He could only hope they had all managed to get out. He jumped off his seat and jogged towards the lead wagons, wincing at the pain in his feet.
When he got to the front of the column, he was greeted by the incredibly loud shrieking of a fat woman that was pointing a finger at him. “He saved us,” she was shrieking, over and over. He winced and nearly covered his ears. It was the stout woman he had pulled out of the barn and charged with getting everyone else out. She had the lungs to match her physique.
The rest of the people on foot were watching him warily, but the girl’s father held his hand towards Yuri and called out, “This is the Savior the Fallen Angel had prophesized! The first of many Saviors! He bears the Fallen Angel’s Secret Mark upon his hand! This man has saved our town and will lead us to safety! He will show us what God has deigned to be our destiny! Afford him all your respect!”
All eyes turned towards Yuri. He gave an awkward wave.
At that moment, the sounds of hooves started coming from the trees. Yuri drew his sword and took a combat stance.
Mounted men erupted from the tree line. They stood shocked at the sight of their town being eaten by fire. Some shouted names and tried to ride into town, but the people around Yuri shouted and drew their attention. Yuri noted that none of the mounted men wore dark green, or leather armor.
The men rode up to the girl’s father and he quickly organized them into finishing the job of cutting the townspeople on the wagons loose. More men rode up on more wagons, armed with pitchforks and scythes. The girl’s father called them closer and organized loading all the people who were on foot onto these additional wagons.
People spoke up against leaving the town to burn. Some screamed about their loved ones, who might yet be saved. The girl’s father called for able-bodied men to restrain those that wanted to go back into the inferno. Some argued that they should try and salvage some of their supplies, but the girl’s father overruled them all. He insisted they go to the clearing and camp for the night. They would return to salvage supplies tomorrow, as well as bury their dead.
“Bury their bones, more like, after they burned alive,” someone called out in anger. The girl’s father spoke more harshly after that and the people seemed cowed by his words.
Within minutes, all the survivors of the burning town were on a horse, or wagon, and were heading south, away from the town, at a walk. Yuri was seated on the lead wagon. A young man was handling the reigns, while the girl’s father sat on the other end of the bench. The girl was standing in the wagon, both her elbows on the rear of the driver’s seat. Yuri could feel her breath on the back of his neck.
The entire column was abuzz with murmurs. Most were lamentations of everything they had lost. Names of dead loved ones were being cried out in anguish. Yuri thought he could make out his new title being mentioned, here and there. Mounted men started riding up to speak with the girl’s father. Yuri gathered that the man was the head elder of the town. Some of the riders only rode up to gawk at Yuri. The girl’s father ordered those to get back in line, as soon as he noticed them.
The column trudged on. They forded a shallow, wide river and drove into the woods on the other bank.
Yuri’s eyes ate up the trees and grass all around. He had never seen a forest in his life before. Yes, he had stalked other players in fantasy-themed FPS games during the Crux tournament, but those simulated woods hadn’t been the same as this one. There was something different about this place, an intangible quality that resonated deep within him. If he didn’t know he was in a video game, he’d be sure it was the real thing.
He breathed deep, enjoying the forest’s smells. He did his best to tune out the voices so he could try and hear the sounds of the life all around him. Whenever he closed his eyes, the health bar was extra prominent. He noted that his hit points were regenerating at a very fast rate. He was at full health in about fifteen minutes of being in the forest. He caught motion, out of the corner of his eye, every now and then, and wondered what creatures they were disturbing. He wished he could see a rabbit. He had only seen rabbits in pictures before.
I should get a Dream Drive of my own, he thought, and spend some time relaxing in places like this one. This is beautiful.
Their journey through the forest lasted for less than an hour. They stopped at a clearing that was large enough to accommodate all of the townsfolk.
The girl’s father directed the driver of their wagon to park in the middle of the clearing. The rest of the wagons and riders gathered in haphazard circles around them. The elder stood up and raised both arms to command silence. The crowd slowly complied.
“Our homes are gone,” he said, “but our town lives on. We live on. The day the Fallen Angel spoke of has finally arrived.” He put a hand to Yuri’s shoulder. “We have our Savior.”
Some of the assembled townsfolk cheered feebly. Most were staring at the elder and Yuri with stricken faces. There was crying and sobbing everywhere.
“Who burnt down our town?!” someone cried out from the back.
“They were wearing Lord Hale’s colors,” someone answered, “like the Savior.”
The mood of the crowd shifted. Yuri could feel the eyes on him. Some were suspicious, distrustful. Others seemed to be openly reverent. A woman’s voice rose above the hum of the crowd. “The Savior was one of Lord Hale’s men, but he repented at the last minute. He broke down the wall of the barn and pulled us out.”
“That’s a lie,” a harsh voice spoke up. “We broke out of there on our own, after they set it on fire! Why are you lying about that?!”
An argument broke out across the gathered crowd. Yuri sighed and stared off into the forest all around them. What he really wanted to do at that moment was to go for a walk and feel the grass beneath his feet. The elder’s daughter piped up to say that he hadn’t been with Hale’s forces. Everyone seemed to be shouting about a family member that the brutes had killed. Yuri took off his boots and hopped off the wagon. His toes felt alive as he picked a path between the wagons and horses to get to the tree line. He smiled The grass was as soft beneath his feet as he had wished it to be.
Suddenly, mounted men got in his way. They surrounded him and seemed hostile. “Where do you think you’re going,” a rider snarled at him.
“For a walk,” Yuri said.
“You’re not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of all this!”
The argument around them seemed to pause. The elder shouted for the men to get away from Yuri. The people on the wagons insisted he was a turncloak that had saved them and had great magical powers. The mounted men seemed in the mood for a lynching. Yuri sighed. He wondered if he could just kill a few of these characters and go for his walk. The game seemed determined to push him in the direction of some plot, or quest. Not as wide open a sandbox as advertised, Mr. Mohammed?
After a few more minutes of getting on Yuri’s nerves, the crowd died down at the elder’s repeated requests.
“We knew this day would come,” the elder said. “We’ve been preparing for it for five years, now. Yes, most of our supplies have gone up in smoke, but we still have most of our wagons. We will-”
“Fuck the wagons,” a male voice cried out. “Fuck the food! Fuck the preparations! They killed my wife! They killed my daughter!” The crowd parted and a wiry man with silver hair at his temples stepped forward. “They wore the same colors as he wears!” He pointed a finger at Yuri. “How many of ours did you kill before you switched sides?!”
“He didn’t kill anyone,” the elder’s daughter yelled out. The crowd immediately shouted over her.
One of the riders surrounding Yuri poked at him with a pitchfork. Yuri grabbed the shaft of the farm implement and tugged. The rider didn’t let go and fell off his horse. The rest of the riders closed ranks around Yuri and looked ready to kill. The screams of the people on the wagons and the elder’s repeated shouts got them to back off.
“Am I not still in charge, Marcus,” the elder demanded.
One of the mounted men, the largest and meanest of them, replied without taking his eyes off Yuri. “You are, Elder.”
“Then do as I say! Stop menacing the Savior!”
“Marcus, please,” the elder’s daughter called out. “He saved me!” Marcus looked up at her, surprised. “They pinned me down and would have… But then he appeared out of nowhere and saved me. He wasn’t wearing Hale’s colors, I swear. He only put them on so he could go into the square and free everyone. He saved us all, Marcus. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be dead. Or worse.”
A chorus of voices backed up her version of events. People began pointing out how he had taken a lance to the chest, pulled it out, and bashed Hale’s men’s heads in with it.
“I saw him run through with three swords at once,” the elder’s daughter said. “Not a drop of his blood was shed. He is truly a warrior of God. He takes essence from the men he slays. His spirit grows fat with it and then his skin glows, like the angel that he is.”
Yuri looked at the girl, who was looking at him with unbridled infatuation. He looked up at Marcus, who was looking at her. Marcus seemed stricken by her words and particularly the devoted tone of her voice. Whatever the romantic B-plot love triangle the game had in store for him, Yuri wanted none of it.
“Everyone, please,” the elder spoke up, “listen to me! We’re all grieving. We have, each and every one of us, lost a loved one. A family member, a friend. We shall never forget them. We shall always carry them in our hearts. But, in order for us to carry their memories into the future, we must go on. We all knew that our homes were only temporary. We all knew this day was coming. None of us knew it would be ushered in with blood and fire and so much grievous loss. None of us wanted it to come like this. But the day is upon us! We must rouse ourselves to do what must be done! For everyone’s sake. Our destiny awaits. Our guide to it is at hand.” He indicated Yuri. “We must go on, for the sake of the souls of those we have lost and for the sake of the souls of those we shall yet have. We must go on.”
“Do you honestly think we can go anywhere,” a gravelly, male voice cried out from somewhere in the back. “Those were Lord Hale’s men! They’ll hunt us down and kill us all!”
“I heard he uses his captives to test new spells,” a thin voice of indeterminate gender spoke up.
“I heard he was gone,” another male voice called out. “Packed up his men and left on a military campaign.”
“He’s not gone, you fool,” an angry woman shrieked. “He led his men here to kill us! They’ll come back and finish the job!”
The hundreds of people that were just catching their breaths after a close encounter with death, were starting to panic again. Arguments were breaking out again, even as the elder was trying to get everyone to focus again.
“We’ll kill Hale’s men this time,” Marcus shouted. “We know they’re coming and we’ll be ready for them!”
“Hale’s soldiers are among the best in the Empire! We can’t fight them!”
“We should run and scatter, maybe some of us will get away!”
“Lord Hale trains some of his men to be expert trackers. They’d run us all down, every last one of us. We’re going to vanish off the map, just like our kith and kin in Kathaln did.”
Yuri clambered onto a wagon and stood tall in its seat. He raised his tattooed hand. The crowd slowly fell silent, when the elder called attention to him.
“This Lord Hale,” Yuri asked, “he’s the local feudal lord?”
“Yes,” the elder said, “he’s the regional governor.”
“And he already disappeared a town, right?” The crowd murmured affirmatively. Some shouted incredulous denials. “These weren’t his men.” The crowd murmured in disbelief.
“How would you know that,” Marcus venomously asked. “I thought you said you weren’t with his men?”
“I’m not. But I asked one of them about what was going on. He said that he and his friends had only joined the other day. He invited me to join.”
“Ah-hah,” Marcus exclaimed. “So you did join!”
Yuri shot him a look. “No. I didn’t join them. Are you going to listen to what I have to say, or are you going to keep interrupting me with second-grade bullshit?”
“Why should any of us listen to-”
“Marcus,” The elder called out in reproach. “You will afford the Savior all of your respect!”
Marcus seemed very displeased as he shut up. Yuri cleared his throat. “The men that attacked your town were not your lord’s soldiers. They barely knew how to use their weapons. I only trained with throwing knives for three weeks, some four years ago, and I beat them all. They had no tactical discipline, no training, no unit cohesion. They were undisciplined and unsystematic. They set the town on fire long before they were ready to leave. None of them, not even their commander, could tell I wasn’t one of theirs once I put on their cloak. These men that burned down your town were definitely not soldiers. They were little more than common brutes. The brute I interrogated told me they were paid by a mage to come here and kidnap as many people as possible. He also said that the lord need not know about any of this and that it wouldn’t be such a big deal if he did, since he had already disappeared a town, himself. Now, I’m guessing-”
He was interrupted by angry oaths the people began shouting. He frowned. It became quickly clear that what he said confirmed their suspicions about a nearby town called Kathaln that had mysteriously burned to the ground last month with no survivors. There hadn’t even been any bones found in the ashes. The crowd started cursing the name of Riegart Hale and then the younger set swore bloody vengeance.
“Stop this madness, Marcus,” the elder insisted over the ruckus. “Hale’s armies are too strong to beat. They’re too well-trained and equipped.”
“God will guide our arms in just wrath and vengeance,” Marcus replied. All the youths cheered his words. Some of the middle-aged ones also cheered.
“Will God protect you from Hale’s magic? From the wicked spells of his mages?”
“Yes,” Marcus bluntly replied.
“You have left the path of reason,” the elder declared.
“No,” Marcus defiantly replied, “I’m seeing reason for the first time. For generations beyond count, we have followed the words of the Fallen Angel. We have done as our elders had bid us to do. And look at what that brought us! We used to rule all this land! For every one of our people alive today, there used to be a hundred! With each generation, the Empire culls our numbers. They kill us, they take and convert our children, they drive us out of our ancestral lands. They sent brigands to seize an entire town in the dark of the night and what did our elders do? They filed a complaint with Lord Hale, the very same man that took our friends and compatriots.”
“Marcus, you don’t know what you speak of,” the elder warned.
“And now they send brigands to take our women and children in broad daylight, while we toil away at what little fields are left to us to grow food for a journey that will never start!” The crowd gasped at those last words.
“That is heresy,” the elder shouted. The crowd reluctantly agreed with him.
“Is it? The entire Empire preaches one thing. Only you preach another. Why must we follow the word of a Fallen Angel? Everyone sees us as Devil worshippers. That’s what fallen angels are, Devils!”
“The fallen angel taught us-”
“Ah, yes, the fabled truth of the battle between good and evil that shook the Heavens and cast Lucifer down into the abyss. Poppycock!” Yuri could see that the mood of the crowd was turning against Marcus. Marcus addressed the crowd. “Why must we listen to this old fool? Why must we listen to lies that had been handed down to us over the millennia? Look what that has brought us! Here we are, empty-handed underneath the sky. Our families and homes put to the torch.” Marcus pounded his chest. “Well, I say no more! I say it’s time we made a stand! I say it’s time we appointed our own regional governor with fire and blood!” He raised his pitchfork and made his horse rear up a little. “Who’s with me!?”
Yuri couldn’t help but softly chuckle at the silence that ensued. Maybe, if the man had tried to organize a patrol, he’d rouse some volunteers with that speech. Going off on a warpath seemed like too big a task for these people to handle. A few of the younger men made to raise their arms, but were quickly stopped by the older people who stood nearest to them.
“It would seem that your views are not shared by all,” the elder dryly remarked.
Marcus looked ready to spit acid and breathe fire. “This is why our people have gone from humans to cattle! This is why we’re hunted like game! You’re all cowards! Boneless, loose-bowelled cowards! Every last one of you!”
“If you’re done insulting everyone,” the elder expectantly said.
Marcus responded by wheeling his horse around and riding out of the clearing. He shouted for people to get out of his way.
“Let him pass,” the elder commanded. “Let him go! Let him ride it off and come back to us when his head’s cleared of folly!”
With an angry roar, Marcus vanished into the surrounding trees. After that, the elder had no more opposition in the clearing. It was as if Marcus had gathered all the dissent and taken it with him when he left. The elder ordered the wagons positioned into a circle to act as a protective barrier against wild animals and such. He appointed a watch to patrol the woods. He told his people to dig fire pits and gather firewood. The food that the men had taken with them to the fields was to be distributed among all the survivors.
While this was being done, Yuri took the chance to go for his walk. The forest floor was so soft under his feet. He felt like he was walking on clouds. In places, fallen, brown leaves rustled softly underfoot. Birds chirped in the trees. He saw a squirrel run along a branch to disappear inside the trunk. He marveled at the simulated life all around him. It felt more natural to him than his actual country, which was practically nothing but rock and sand.
His walk was cut short when a male voice called out to him, “Savior?” There were four strong men nearby. They bowed formally, when Yuri turned to face them.
“Yes?”
“The elder is ready for you.”
“What?”
The men shared confused looks. “Uh, the elder would like for you to, uh, join him. In his tent. Uh, back in the clearing.”
“He has a tent?” They nodded. “Well, lead the way.” Yuri followed them.
While they were walking, Yuri asked them about some of the things the elder had mentioned; about how their homes had been temporary and how they were going somewhere. The men said that those questions were better answered by the elder himself and they promised that was the reason the elder wished to speak to him right now. They only said that, for the past five years, every household kept its food and supplies packed at all times, ready to go at a minute’s notice. Some of the people managed to grab their packs as they were running away from the fire and brigands. They had several tents and one was set aside for the elder and an important conversation he was going to have with Yuri. The disassembled wagons that had been stored in the square, he learned, were also theirs. They were meant to carry their grain supplies. The men lamented that most of their journey stores had gone up in flames, but they quieted when they came into view of the clearing.
As Yuri was walking through the clearing, the people stood up to bow to him. Yuri gave awkward waves in response. He could see that some of them were still glaring holes into his cloak, but he glossed over that.
There were a few tents scattered throughout the clearing. The one in the center looked big enough to house four people. A large fire was lit in the fire pit in front of it. Across the fire pit stood the only wagon that wasn’t part of the ring around the clearing. The rear side of the wagon was removed and a ramp leading up to it was improvised in its place. Yuri realized it was a stage.
The elder’s daughter tore away from the fire and dashed towards Yuri as soon as she noticed all the people rising at his passing. When she ran up to him, she grabbed his hand and breathlessly said, “What’s your name?”
Yuri’s lips quirked as he snorted a soft chuckle. “Yuri Yanuk. What’s yours?”
“Cara Bartlett.” She flashed him an embarrassed smile and dashed back. She leaned in to whisper to her father and then the elder climbed the platform. All the eyes in the clearing turned towards him when he raised his arms.
“I present to you our Savior, Yuri Yanuk!”
The elder held his hand out towards Yuri and Yuri walked up the ramp to stand beside the elder on the wagon. The crowd cheered and applauded him. Yuri nodded and waved. Yesterday, he had done a great deed and only gotten some scattered, if heartfelt, congratulations for it. This applause felt like a balm for an old sore.
The applause stopped when the elder raised his hand. “Yuri Yanuk stopped the brigands from taking away our people. Before that, he helped our people escape from the great barn, when it was set ablaze. For these deeds, I declare that we are indebted to him.” The elder faced Yuri. “We owe you a life debt. As the only surviving elder of our town, it falls on me to settle the debt.” Cara stepped up on the platform. “In return for all the lives you’ve saved, you shall receive the very first one you saved today.”
Yuri’s brow twitched. “Uh…” He cast his eye about, but no one else seemed even the least bit perturbed at what was being said.
Cara knelt before Yuri. She looked up at him with nervous, but adoring eyes. “Savior, before God and these people I offer myself to you, in payment of the lives owed. My life and limbs are yours, for as long as I draw breath.”
Yuri discreetly looked all around again. He was surrounded by expectant faces. Everyone seemed intent on him accepting her oath.
Why not? It’s not slavery, it’s just an oath of loyalty. “I, um, accept your oath in the same manner as it is given.”
A light flashed, like burning magnesium. Everyone gasped. Yuri squinted. After a moment, he could see that the light was coming from Cara’s hand. On the back of her left hand, an inverted pentagram was wavering into existence. The crowd cried out in astonishment.
Yuri blinked his eyes clear. The pentagram on the girl’s hand was a neat, slender drawing, as opposed to his, which looked like it had been carved into his skin. A translucent screen showed up in front of Yuri’s face.
You have created a Bond.
A pledge of full loyalty between yourself and another party activates a Bond. You are capable of sustaining up to five Bonds simultaneously.
A Bond transfers power between both the Bonder and the Bonded. The Bonded gains the strength of the star-marked; The Bonder accrues new powers, based on the traits of the Bonded.
A Bond can only be broken by death.
Choose a point upon which to place this Bond. The point represents an affiliation that will grant a boon to the bonded. Only one Bond can be attached to each point.
If you do not wish to create a Bond at this time, exit the menu.
“Don’t exit,” Cara whispered.
“What,” Yuri said.
“Don’t exit the menu. Create the Bond. Please.”
The words vanished from Yuri’s sight. His mouth fell open. “You can read my game menu? You can see my game menu?”
She frowned. “I could see and read the floating words.”
An inverted pentagram showed up in Yuri’s vision. Each of the five points had a label. Yuri looked at the faces all around. Most were still in awe of the tattoo appearing on Cara’s hand. Some, like her father, were confused by the verbal exchange. “Could anyone else see those letters?”
“What letters?” elder Bartlett asked.
“Can anyone see this pentagram?”
“The one on my daughter’s hand? Yes. It’s too bright to miss.”
“Please, Savior,” Cara pleaded, “make the Bond. Do not deny my oath. I shall use the strength you share with me as you direct. I swear it!”
“Um, ok,” Yuri said. It was very odd for a video game character to suddenly be able to see the player’s options. Yuri believed that was called meta in the gaming world. He focused on the pentagram again. He was supposed to choose one of the five points to attach this Bond to. He willed the game to show him some statistics that came with each point of the star, but no additional information was furbished. He even reached out to tap at the menu, to no avail. If he had to choose blindly, then he would choose blindly. His gaze sought the upper left-hand point, as Arabic was written right to left. That point was labeled The North Star.
Do you wish to make this Bond under the guiding light of the North Star?
Yes
No
After a moment of contemplation, Yuri said, “No.” Cara gasped. He held up his hand. “Relax.” Since this was the only game in Zibar, that he knew of, and Zibar wrote from left to right, he decided to pick the top right hand point of the inverted pentagram, instead. That point was labeled The Sunrise.
Do you wish to make this Bond with the renewing light of the Sunrise?
Yes
No
“Yes,” Yuri said.
Cara’s pentagram grew brighter and brighter, until Yuri could see it illuminate the muscles and bones in her hand. The people all around gasped and covered their eyes at the sight. Some even cowered.
Suddenly, the light died. Yuri blinked his eyes clear. Cara did the same. He noticed, in the corner of his vision, a small health bar labeled “Cara”. It was right under his own. A blue line connected her name to his.
“I think that light damaged my sight,” Cara said. “There’s something red in the corner of my vision. It won’t go away, no matter how much I blink.”
Yuri looked at her in wonder. A non-player character that gets player character stats? He had never even heard of such a thing. “Yeah, I think that’s supposed to be there.”
“Why?”
Yuri opened his mouth to tell her not to worry about it and then her father exclaimed, “The Savior has shared God’s blessing with my daughter! We are truly blessed!” The crowd cheered. The elder knelt beside Yuri and took his hand to press against his forehead.
Yuri thought he could see the man’s lips moving, but the crowd started chanting his name and he couldn’t make out the elder’s words. Yuri waved his free hand at the crowd and was greeted with a roar of approval. He kinda liked it. The elder let go of his hand and moved off the wagon to join the others in their adulation.
Yuri was really starting to like this game. It had a living, green forest, an adoring crowd, a cute slave girl. The level of detail he could see all around and the five year creation cycle suggested that there could be many more surprises for him to find in Isis. He was definitely going to spend a lot more time in the game during his leave. Even if his leave was cancelled, like he expected it to be later today, he’d still explore the game in his free time.
Just as the crowd’s excitement started dying down, another notification appeared in Yuri’s vision.
You have created a Bond with Cara Bartlett, the Novice Mage (Level 1)
“Hey, you’re a mage,” he said to her, pleasantly surprised.
Her eyes were pointed up and to the side. He guessed she was staring at the red bar in the corner of her vision. She looked up into his eyes, after a moment. “What?”
He indicated the notice. “I’ve made you into a mage.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said. She blushed and her eyes darted from side to side. “I mean, please, don’t tell anyone about my talent.”
Yuri frowned, but his attention was drawn to more text.
Bond benefits
10’% Increase to Spirit
5% Increase to Persuasion
1 Additional Word Slot
Flash of the Sunrise
You gain the ability to perceive and remove negative status effects from your bonded partner. This ability works best in close proximity.
With focus, Cara can share any positive status effects she’s under with nearby recipients of her choosing.
Bond of Life Debt
When The Bonder’s health bar is reduced to its minimal value, he will draw hit points from the Bonded’s health bar until it, too, is reduced to its minimal value.
“Yup, it’s official,” Yuri spoke into his chin, “I’m invincible in this game.” Never mind, it can still serve as a vacation spot.
“What are status effects,” Cara asked.
“You can read that, too?” She nodded. He didn’t know how to explain video game concepts to a video game character. He had a vision of the guys at the skunkworks laughing at him for even trying. He decided not to bother, at least for the time being. “Never mind.”
She hesitated before saying, “Alright.”
“So, how can I get you trained in magic?”
She gasped and her eyes darted around in fright. She jumped up to embrace him. “Thank you,” she yelled over his shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Yeah, ok,” he said, confused. “Alright, settle down, now.”
She hugged him tighter and whispered into his ear, “Please, Savior, don’t mention my magic talent. Please. Not to anyone.”
“Cara, my dear,” the elder called up to the wagon, “release the Savior, so that he may come into the tent. Savior, please, join me inside! There is much we need to speak on.”
Cara let go of Yuri. He quirked an eyebrow at her wide, blue eyes. She discreetly shook her head and put her finger to her lips. She mouthed another “please” at him. Confused, Yuri gave her a simple nod and let it go. He had a plot dump to get to.
He got off the wagon. The elder held the tent flap open for him. Yuri ducked inside. Two carpets covered the ground in the center of the tent. The grass around them was sparse and very short. A pillow was in the center of each carpet. The tent itself was a collection of sheets suspended over long, twisted branches that had been driven into the dirt to serve as poles.
“Forgive the accommodations, Savior,” the elder contritely said, “all our furnishings have perished in the fire.”
“That’s perfectly alright.” Yuri sat on one pillow, lotus style.
The elder tried to mimic him on the other pillow, but had to settle for kneeling atop it, when his limbs proved too stiff.
“So, you have a tale to tell me?”
The elder looked surprised. “Well, yes. I guess you could call it that. I have a sacred charge… All of us elders had been given a sacred charge by the Fallen Angel.” His expression slowly became pleased. “Since I had the honor of meeting you first, I shall be the one to tell the tale.”
“I’m listening.”
“You see, five years ago, we elders began receiving dreams from the Fallen Angel who calls himself The Trickster.” Yuri’s brow rose. The elder smiled. “I can assure you, the Trickster is a very benevolent angel. Of all the angels, Fallen, or otherwise, he is perhaps the most understanding, when it comes to humans. In the dreams, the Trickster told us that five years from then -that is, now- saviors would be summoned from another world. It is a world which is the highest level of the Tower of Babylon and the closest to Heaven itself. The saviors would come here, they would be drawn to the Mountain and they would save Heaven and all the worlds the Tower connects.”
He looked at Yuri expectantly. Yuri simply stared back. Somewhat stymied, the elder continued his narration. “Yes, well, let’s start at the beginning, shall we? A long, long time ago, the Trickster revealed to our ancestors, the true story of the Battle of Heaven and the Fall of the Angels. I shall now relate it to you, in an abbreviated form, as the Trickster instructed.
“In the beginning of time, God created the Earth and created humans in His image. He granted dominion of the Earth to humans and decreed that they shall fulfill a great purpose on the Earth in His name. God created the angels and set them to watch over His creation. He created Guardians, led by the archangel Michael, to safeguard the Earth from any interference and maintain order. He created Reapers, led by the archangel Samuel, so humans would be mortal and only have a limited time on God’s creation before the Reapers would lay claim to their souls and usher them into the afterlife. This was a key point to God’s plan for humans, that we should only have a limited amount of time on this Earth to play our part. Individually, that is. God’s grand plan is concerned with the whole of humanity, you see.
“But, there was a problem. The humans were not doing what God wanted them to do. They were as animals, just following their instincts and ignoring the three glorious gifts He had given them; their souls, their free will and love. God decided to coax them into fulfilling their purpose by creating two more breeds of angels, the Muses and the Cherubs. The Muses, led by the archangel Gabriel, were to inspire the humans to achieve their destiny. The Cherubs, led by the archangel Danyael, were to make sure the humans used their capacity to love in accordance to God’s plan.
“Still, the humans failed at their appointed task. The Muses gave them ideas, but humans did not act upon them, preferring to stick to the known and comfortable. The only thing they did was paint the caves in which they dwelled. The Cherubs made them fall in love, but the humans did not act upon their emotions. They bred like animals, with no regard for their mates. Indeed, they mated wildly amongst themselves, in orgies. Their children grew up with no knowledge of who their father was. Only maternal siblings were counted. Family was the same as the tribe, but the tribe was not as warm and supportive as a family would be.
“Each new generation of humans behaved exactly as the generation that preceded it. They were not advancing according to God’s grand design.
“None of this was pleasing to God, so He washed the Earth clean of humans and started over. Only, this time, He first created another angel. This angel would be more powerful than any of the archangels. A shard of his very essence would be placed into the soul of every new human God created. It would be perpetuated throughout humanity, for as long as it existed, and it would be the very thing that would drive humans towards the destiny God had appointed for them.
“This new angel was the archangel of disobedience and God dubbed him The Morning Star.”
Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Lucifer?”
The elder nodded. “Yes. The one and the same. A tiny shard of his very essence lies in the heart of both you and me. It is what drives us forward. It is what will drive us towards the ultimate fate of humanity, as appointed by God. Indeed, ever since that day, humans began to make use of their free will. With each coming generation, they strove to take in more of God’s creation and so they expanded and mastered it. God looked down upon their efforts and was pleased. He left the realm of Earth to the care of humans and charged the archangel Michael to safeguard it and make sure His plan was not derailed. Michael would brook no dissent.
“However, The Morning Star disobeyed God’s orders, as was in his nature, and began to work to overthrow the order of things. He convinced Gabriel to his side and even Danyael. The Reapers remained as indifferent as ever. The Muses and the Cherubs marched against the Gates of Heaven, intent on overthrowing Michael and the Guardians and remaking the Heavens and the Earth. A terrible battle was joined. The Cherubs’ hearts were not really in it and, when the battle started to cull them, Danyael led them away. Gabriel repented for his betrayal and The Morning Star was left weakened and betrayed by his allies. Still, he was the strongest and he marched against Michael, alone if need be.
“Michael ordered the remaining Guardians to sacrifice themselves and they joined into his Flaming Sword. The Sword, when wielded, sang with the Voice of God, for God had spoken the true name of each angel as He had breathed life into them. His voice was within them, within their essence. When they gave up their individual existences to fuse their essences into the Sword, they fused the Voice of God into it, as well. Michael wielded the Sword and struck down the Morning Star, making him fall from the Heavens in a maelstrom of God’s lightning. The angels that followed him were banished by Michael, too. They became known as The Fallen.
“Michael couldn’t go against God’s Will, which included the creation of The Morning Star and fusing his essence with each human’s soul, so he didn’t kill him. He used his Flaming Sword to slash the mountains and rocks at the place in which The Morning Star fell to Earth and melt them into a set of unbreakable chains. He used those to bind the archangel of disobedience and thus Lucifer was entombed forever under the Earth, from where he can only be released by God Himself.
“Even as Michael won and cast Lucifer down, the fallen angels did a clever thing. They captured the sound of the Voice of God, the Flaming Sword being wielded. Using these recordings, they began to remake the Earth, according to their desires. Michael tried to stop them, but he was left all alone in Heaven, the remaining Guardians fused into the Flaming Sword. He could not abandon his post and remains guarding the Gate of Heaven to this very moment. The Reapers were as neutral as they had been since the first day God created them. The few Muses and Cherubs that remained in Heaven were very reluctant to rise up in arms against their brethren of yesteryear, especially as those brethren now outnumbered them and had the power of the recorded Voice of God on their side.
“With Lucifer entombed and Michael stuck at his post before the Pearly Gates, The Fallen rallied and worked to fulfill Lucifer’s original idea. They wanted to recreate the Earth, but they soon learned that they couldn’t. Not while they were upon the Earth itself. Using the Voice of God, they created a new world, another Earth, and moved to it, to try and recreate the Earth from this new world. It did not work, but the fallen angels learned two important things. The first was that truly changing the Earth according to one’s whims could only be done from inside Heaven itself. No matter how many new worlds they made with the recordings of the Voice of God, they could never truly unmake anything that God had made. Not unless they were inside Heaven. From outside Heaven, they could only copy and modify and that was not enough for their ambitions.
“The second thing that they learned was that the creation of this new world brought them closer to the Gates of Heaven. If they created more interconnected worlds, they could reach the Gates themselves. Thus, they began to create world upon world, connecting them into a great edifice. They dubbed it The Tower of Babylon.”
The elder leaned in, his nostrils flaring and his brow beaded with sweat. “Of course, reaching the Gates would not grant them access through the Gates. Not with Michael and his Flaming Sword standing guard. Even if all the Fallen struck at him, Michael would strike them down with one singing slash of the Flaming Sword. The Voice of God is still in his hand.” He leaned back, wincing at the pains in his knees, and adjusted his position on his cushion.
Yuri stared at the elder, unsatisfied with the pause in the story. “So the Fallen gave up on their grand plan and…what? Turned to tormenting humans out of petty revenge?”
The elder shook his head. “They were ready to spend millennia on the problem, but they came up with the solution quite quickly.”
Yuri raised a questioning eyebrow.
“They realized that, in order to overpower Michael at the Gates, they would have to attack him from behind, from inside Heaven.”
“Sounds like a catch-22,” Yuri said.
The elder nodded and then paused. “A catch what?”
“Never mind.”
After a brief pause, the elder shrugged. He leaned in with a wicked gleam in his eye. “They’re stuck outside and can only win by striking a blow from behind, but they can’t get behind him, as long as they’re stuck outside.” He chuckled. “Insurmountable for us mere mortals, eh?”
Yuri shot the man a slightly insulted look. All problems could be solved, given enough time and effort. Before he could set his mind to it, though, the elder gave the solution.
“You see, there were still Reapers in Heaven. They still had their purpose of ferrying human souls into Heaven. If enough innocent souls were to be ferried at the same instant, then the Gates would have to be thrown wide open, knocking Michael off his perch.”
Yuri frowned. This game’s pivotal plot point seemed to have a fairly large hole in it. He decided to poke around. “I don’t think Michael throw open the Gates while they were under attack.”
“Michael has no say in the matter. The Reapers have control of the Gates.”
“Surely, the Reapers would not throw the Gates open while Heaven was under attack?”
“They have no free will in the matter. They are bound to ferry all innocent souls to Heaven and will brook no delay. If enough innocent souls were to be reaped at once, they will throw the Gates wide open and allow the Fallen to overpower Michael, Sword and all.”
“Ok, and how exactly would the fallen angels reap enough innocent souls to get the Reapers to throw open the Gates? Are we talking virgin sacrifices? How many are needed?”
The elder sighed and shook his head. “To throw open the Gates, the Fallen would need to kill all the humans on all the worlds at the same time.”
“Wow.”
“I know it sounds impossible, but the Fallen have created new worlds and into each new world, they brought humans and set them to master that new world. Each world was a copy of Earth, slightly different from the original, so the humans had little trouble with mastering it. They would grow populous and prosperous. As each world became so populated that humans began to squabble over limited resources, they turned to making more and more effective weapons of war.
“The Fallen paid special interest to these creations, copying them for their own use and nudging the humans further. The ones that made the best weapons were brought into the new worlds when the Fallen created them. The Trickster told us that, in the last world that had been created, the humans had created incredible weapons capable of unleashing a heat greater than any known to man. These weapons can consume entire cities in the span of a heartbeat. I know that this must sound preposterous to you, but-”
“Not at all. Proceed.”
The elder seemed surprised by how easily Yuri adopted the incredible concept of city-burning weapons. Then he slumped with a groan. “A thousand apologies, Savior. In all the stress of the day, I completely forgot the most important part of the prophecy about you. I most humbly beg your forgiveness. It is not every day that one sees one’s home burned down, or fears for his only child’s safety, and these things have conspired to-”
“It’s perfectly alright,” Yuri said, raising a hand. “I forgive you. But, please, do tell me this most important part of the prophecy about me.”
The elder bowed his head. “Thank you for your forgiveness, Savior. The most important part of the prophecy concerning you is that you are from this last world.”
Yuri’s brow wrinkled.
“You are from the Overworld and you know of these weapons, far better than I.”
Yuri chuckled softly. This game was so meta, it was off the chart. First this guy’s daughter sees Yuri’s menus and now he himself knows about Earth and nuclear weapons. If nothing else, it was a novel approach to gaming. Usually, in a role-playing game the backstory of the fantasy world had absolutely no connection to real world history. Some events and historical figures might have parallels in the game, but that was it. Once you were in the game, the real world didn’t exist, for all intents and purposes.
This game actually claimed Earth as another world that was connected to it. Yuri guessed that gamers worldwide would love the concept. Emil Mohammed would get several thick rungs added to his pedestal.
Yuri frowned. His research on Emil Mohammed indicated that he was a devout Muslim. Why was he having a bastardized version of the myth of creation in his game? In no other game of his had he even once touched upon Abrahamaic religions. It seemed like an oddity.
The elder smiled, somewhat confused. “I’m…glad you find this amusing. The Fallen angel said you might. He also said to tell you that this is real.”
“Oh, did he now?”
The elder’s face became deathly serious in an instant. “Yes. He said that you would come to us believing that you were playing some sort of a game. We must convince you that this is real. He said that, before you…” He seemed to fumble for his words. “Excuse me, he said that you would know what this means. He said that, before you,” he strained to enunciate his next words, “log out next time, we are to mark your skin with our blood and instruct you to look for it in the Overworld. When you first return to your world, the mark will show you that the powers you have been given are real.” He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “Since I’m the only elder left alive, I guess it falls to me to bleed on you.”
Yuri could barely keep a straight face. This was the skunkworks guys’ doing, he was sure of it. He felt a smidge of disappointment, since the game’s actual backstory was probably something completely different. It didn’t matter much. He had little intention of playing through the plot. Only the scenery held any real appeal for him. He decided to get back at the guys by poking more holes in their story.
“You know, in my world, the Overworld, we have cave paintings, left there by our ancestors, so I don’t think that we’ve been transplanted to our version of Earth by angelic magic. We’ve evolved and lived there for hundreds of thousands of years.”
The elder shook his head. “Whenever the Fallen create a new world, they copy some choice fragments of history from previous Earths to hide the fact that they have transplanted the most creative humans there.”
“How do you know all of this?”
The elder sighed. “Well, most of it was taught to me by my father, who was taught by my grandfather, who was taught by my great-grandfather and so on, until the first of our people were taught by the Trickster himself.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand this one thing. The Trickster is one of the Fallen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he told you all about the Fallen’s secret plan to conquer Heaven?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he tell you about a plan that he’s working to accomplish?”
“Ah, you see, the Trickster is secretly working against the Fallen.”
“Oh,” Yuri said, with exaggerated delight, “I see. He’s a double agent.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“So, as far as I understand it, Satan and the angels that had been banished from Heaven are going to steal all the Earth’s nukes, deploy them in all the worlds of the multiverse, detonate them all at the same time, thus killing all humans in all of existence, all to get the Reapers to knock Michael off his perch in front of the Gates of Heaven, so they could beat him, get inside and remake Earth as they see fit. Remake all the Earths as they see fit. Am I right?”
The elder seemed perturbed by Yuri’s flippant attitude. “I don’t know what ‘newx’ means, but yes, the Fallen will steal the great fire weapons and instantly destroy all of creation.”
“And I am the only one that can stop them?”
The elder’s face brightened. “You need not fear, Savior. You are not alone in this quest. The Trickster said that five thousand and sixteen shall be chosen for this great task, though he also warned that it is possible that fewer than that would accept the call to adventure.”
Something about that number started raising alarm flags in the back of Yuri’s mind. He had learned a piece of relevant information somewhere, he just couldn’t recollect it at the moment. He let his mind work at retrieving it through associative exercises. The nearest number to that was the number of gamers in Crux’s tournament, but those fell short of the mark by twenty.
“The Trickster also told us that the Fallen are helping to keep the Overworld locked into a perpetual state of war. Your entire world is at war with itself, is it not? The Fallen want to get enough of these fire weapons built so that they can fulfill their purpose. The Trickster told us that a prophet from the Overworld had contacted Lucifer five years ago and agreed to channel enough magical power to anoint five thousand and sixteen warriors of God. They would be sent here, to the original Earth, where they would begin their quest to save all of creation.”
“Why here? I don’t mean why Earth One, but why this place? Why was I sent to your town, of all the places on this Earth?”
“Because we are close to the Mountain.”
“Which mountain?”
“The Mountain. The spike of soil that rose from the dirt when Lucifer fell. It was turned to rock by the heat of the fall. It is located just west of here. The land all around the Mountain was flattened by Lucifer’s fall. We call it the Plains.”
Yuri raised an eyebrow. “No kidding? You’ve got the gates of Hell just to the west of here?”
The elder smiled. “Not the gates of Hell. Just the gates to Lucifer’s prison. The place where he is entombed for all eternity, bound by the chains Michael made with the Flaming Sword.” His smile faded. “It is also where you must go.”
“Oh, is it, now?”
The elder earnestly nodded. “Yes. It is the focal point of your quest. The Trickster said so.”
Yuri finally remembered the meaning of the number 5016. That’s how many people would be playing Isis during the beta phase of development. Five thousand would be invited to play in a few weeks, while the sixteen finalists of the tournament were allowed in early. He had missed it cause he had thought that only the winner would get a copy of the game. He grunted softly. Was this backstory the work of his friends, or the original? Or a mixture of the two? The self-referential nature of the number suggested it was Crux being meta. Plus, there was the timing of the prophecy. Five years ago was when Crux had begun development of Isis.
He still found it a little tough to reconcile what he knew of Emil Mohammed’s faith with this odd take on Abrahamaic mythology. Yuri wasn’t so devout as to ask for a fatwa to be declared on the man. Far from it. He only cared if his intelligence on the man had been lacking. In the field of intelligence work, one must build huge pyramids of conclusions, extrapolated from very little evidence. If even one of those pieces of basic evidence was flawed, then the whole pyramid would come crashing down into the cesspit of being very, very wrong.
Yuri shelved the dilemma. He’d find out the truth when he visited the Cipher School later today.
“We have always been against expanding into the Plains. Our religion forbade it, ever since the Trickster told us what was under the Mountain.” The elder sighed. The light in his eyes dimmed and he looked like a tired, old man. “Marcus has a point. We used to be mighty. Our forefathers used to hold…” His eyes looked past Yuri’s shoulder. “The wars came. Our ancestors held on to these lands, which border the Plains, refusing to give them up and allow the Plains to be invaded. Our enemies came and went, yet our ancestors held these lands at the price of lives lost. With each war, we grew lesser. We retreated closer to the Plains themselves. When the Empire came to conquer us, we did the one thing we knew that would let us keep these lands and keep the Empire from spreading into the Plains.
“We surrendered and made our only condition to becoming subjects of the Empire that the Empire not spread into the plains surrounding the Mountain. The Treaty was signed and enforced. The Plains were safe.” His mouth drew down. “Until Hale came.” He shook his head. “That bastard was scouting into the Plains from day one. Always looking for an advantage over every other human being alive. God, how vainglorious that man is!”
He focused on Yuri’s eyes again. “We tried to stop him. We tried to reason with him, but he had only smiles and tactful words for us. Empty promises that he would go back on, the moment he closed the doors behind us. Five years ago, when the Trickster delivered the prophecy about the Saviors to us, we started openly advocating for the leaders of the Empire to punish Hale for venturing into the Plains.
“The Empire decided that it no longer needed to adhere to the Treaty. They allowed him free reign over the region. My God, they must have given him full military autonomy after he destroyed Kathaln. It’s the only way he could vanish with his men and not be immediately removed from authority.” He smacked his fist against his palm. “I wish we knew where he was! Him and his army!”
“You think he went to Lucifer’s prison?”
The elder nodded in earnest. “I think he might have. He can’t release Lucifer, but I got the impression that there was more hidden under the Mountain than just him.”
“What gave you that impression?”
He shrugged. “Well, the dreams. The Trickster spoke to us through our dreams. He was very verbal and explicit, repeating himself over and over again, until we got the message, but he also showed us images. One of the images was that the Fallen had built a great city atop Lucifer’s prison. A great city full of things they left behind. Things that might be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“So, Lucifer is still in his prison and his fallen angels have abandoned him?”
The elder looked long and hard into Yuri’s eyes. “Savior, are you overwhelmed by everything I have told you? You need not be. The Trickster said that you were given power and that your power would grow as you went from one world to the next. He said that, with time and effort, you could grow powerful enough to defeat the Fallen on your own. He advised allying with other warriors of God, both to increase your chances of success and to save time.
“He told us to warn you against wasting time. The Fallen will soon learn that you have survived the banishment. They will send hunters after you.”
“You mean, Lucifer’s hounds?”
The elder frowned. “No. No, Lucifer is on our side.”
Yuri barked out a laugh of disbelief. “The devil? The devil is on our side?”
“Yes,” he earnestly said.
“Oh, come on! You gotta be kidding me!”
“No. I am completely serious, Savior.”
Yuri spread his arms. “Wouldn’t the devil want to see all of creation destroyed?”
“He is, first and foremost, the archangel of disobedience. Once God left the Earth to the care of humans, he could only disobey His plan. But, in doing so, he played his ordained part in the plan. He was the force which drove mankind onwards, as well as the tempter that tried to lead men astray. After he fell, he was surrounded by the Fallen and only had his own plan to rebel against, so he did. He disobeyed his own instructions to his following and decided to work at stopping the Fallen. The Trickster and he are working to keep Heaven safe, each in his own way.”
Yuri chuckled.
“Didn’t the Prophet in your Overworld tell you any of these things before sending you here?”
Yuri shrugged. “He merely said to be myself.”
“Are you not taking this seriously, Savior?”
“Oh, I am. I am.” Yuri puffed out his cheeks to stop himself grinning. “I assure you that I am.”
The elder’s face turned red. He looked nonplussed. “Perhaps, I have misspoken on some aspect of our religion. I can assure you that everything I told you is the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
“And yet, you call your source of this truth the Trickster.”
The elder looked offended. “It’s what he calls himself. He keeps his real identity hidden.”
“And you didn’t think that made him somewhat untrustworthy?”
“No. He lies, but only because he must in order to survive amongst the Fallen. He chose us, our people, as the one group he could entrust with the truth.”
“Bully for you.”
The elder rocked on his pillow before rising, stiffly. He groaned as he drew himself up to his full height. He glared down at Yuri. “You are overwhelmed by the revelations and the terrible responsibility that has been thrust upon you. You need time to think on what I have told you. I shall leave you alone with your thoughts. No one shall disturb you in this tent.” He moved to the entrance flap with a stiff gait.
“Hey, wait,” Yuri said. The elder paused. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite alright, Savior. I wept when the Trickster sent the dreams to me. Most of us did and we were all elders, experienced in the matters of the world. I can only imagine what it is like for you, upon whose shoulders rests the fate of all the worlds. You are very young and inexperienced. Know that I am here to give you guidance when you need it.”
The elder’s patronizing tone reminded Yuri of Colonel Ali. “Gee, thanks,” he said. They stared at each other for a long moment. “What’s your name, anyway?”
The elder turned pale. His jaw dropped. “I, I, I must apologize, Savior, I… I’m so used to people knowing my name…” He cleared his throat and turned to face Yuri. He stood as straight as he could and formally bowed. “My name is Elmer Bartlett and I am an elder of-”
Yuri burst into laughter. The elder angled his face to stare at him in shock. Yuri tipped over. He held his belly and rolled from side to side as he laughed. When he raised his head to look at the elder again, the man was standing upright and glaring down at him.
“When my parents named me Elmer, they did not know I would become an elder one day. You see, my family had been poor and I worked my way up to my position.” He cocked his head. “Hard work, self-sacrifice and integrity are what made me the man I am today. You should-”
Yuri couldn’t stop another bout of laughter.
The insulted elder sniffed angrily and ducked out of the tent.
Yuri wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Man, it’s good to laugh like that, every once in a while. Once he got his breathing under control, he sat up. He cleared his throat. “Elder Elmer,” he softly said. It cracked him up, all over again. “Oh, man. Who comes up with this crap?”
Cara stuck her head inside the tent. “Savior?”
“Yeah?”
“May I enter?”
“Sure.”
She shuffled in, her head down and her back hunched. She didn’t need to bend down. The tent was tall enough for her to stand upright inside it. She knelt atop the pillow. Her cloak fell open, revealing the shift underneath.
Yuri averted his eyes from her bare knees.
“You did not tell my father about my talent,” she quietly said. It wasn’t a question. Yuri shook his head all the same. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you want me to tell your dad that I’ve made you into a mage? I’m sure he’d be proud.”
Her eyes bulged out. “Oh, no, Savior. I-”
Yuri held up a hand. “Please, call me Yuri. This Savior stuff is already getting old.”
“Yes…Yuri.” She cleared her throat. “I… You didn’t… I was born with the talent to weave runes into spells. I’ve had it all my life, though I only became aware of it some years ago.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t…” He gestured between their pentagrams.
“No.”
“But you don’t want anyone to know about it?” She nodded. “Why not?”
She seemed taken aback by the question. “Because women aren’t allowed to work magic.”
“Really?”
Her eyes darted around. “Are…are you making fun of me?”
“What?”
“Oh, forgive me, Savior, I, I mean no offense, I, I only…”
Yuri reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled it back. The girl’s legs were bare from the knee down, as were her arms below the elbow. This was a game, but he still cared about what was proper. “Women aren’t allowed to use magic?” She shook her head no. “Why not?”
“Well…they say that it’s because we can’t control our emotions. That we’re dangerous if we start to weave runes.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. This reminded him of the bull the Zibar women had to go through whenever they wanted to leave the enclave. They had to be covered from head to toe, lest they inspire impure thoughts in the men. He looked into the girl’s eyes. “And what about today? Why didn’t you use your magic to stop the brutes today? To save yourself, at least?”
The girl winced and held up imploring hands. “Not so loud, please, Savior.” He gave her a look. “Uh, I mean, Yuri.”
“My question still stands. Why didn’t you turn the guys attacking you into frogs, or something?”
“I don’t actually know how to cast magic. I was never taught. I only know a few runes I learned by accident.”
Yuri chuckled. “By accident?”
She blushed. “I may have…snuck a few peeks at some books I’m not allowed to read. The runes I’ve managed to learn allow me to perform some minor spells, like light up a dark room, and that’s about it.”
Hearing her words made Yuri realize that the tent was getting dark. He rose and went outside to look up at the sky. It was starting to get pink above the western horizon. How long had he been in the game already? An hour and a half? Two? More? Grandma was surely going to want to watch him pray Fajr. If she didn’t try and make him go to the mosque to pray there. He had a busy day ahead of him. It was time to log out and get to it.
He took one last look around the clearing and then decided that he would respect the realism of the game by not vanishing in front of all the NPCs. He turned to go back inside the tent and nearly collided with Cara, who was standing in the entrance flap.
“Pardon,” she said and backed inside.
He went in and said, “Game menu.” His menu opened up right in front of him.
Cara gasped, her eyes darting everywhere to take it all in. “It’s you!”
“Yes.” He looked at the options button and willed it to toggle.
“What does this mean?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He reached out and tapped the log out button.
Instead of a prompt that asked him if he was sure he wanted to quit, this appeared:
Would you like to take any of your Bonded with you?
Yes
No
He rolled his eyes at the prompt. “Har, har, guys.” He knew that if he was to say yes, he’d never hear the end of it from the guys at work. He could just imagine their mock sympathy. “Oh, poor Yuri’s so lonely, he wanted to bring a simulated woman home with him to introduce her to mommy and daddy.”
“Take me where,” Cara asked, her eyes wide. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back before you can blink.” He reached out and pounded the “No” option.
Just like every time he logged off the Dream Drive, he found himself in utter, silent darkness, with no sensation of his body.
After a moment, a numb feeling of his limbs started creeping up on him, like they had fallen asleep and were only waking up now, but without the pinpricks and needles. He drew a deep breath as soon as he could feel his real body again. He nearly coughed. The unmistakable aroma of smoke had slid up his nostrils. He could feel pinpricks from all up and down his back, as if he wasn’t lying on his bed, but on a bed of nails.
He reached up and pulled his helmet off his head. He blinked at the sight that greeted him. His bedroom was completely torn apart. His wardrobes’ doors had been nearly taken off their hinges. His clothes were tossed out onto the floor. His desk was tipped over. The box containing his collection of microdrives was broken. As he leaned over to get a closer look, he felt fresh pinpricks in his hand.
He looked and saw what was stinging his back. His mattress had been slashed open, the springs exposed in many places. The foam was all over the floor, mixed with the microdrives, most of which had been stomped into dust. He growled and endured several other pinpricks as he got out of bed. He squinted and turned his back to the windows. The rising sun was shining in, obscuring the outside world with its intensity. The pricking sensations vanished, but he inspected his hand all the same. There wasn’t a mark on it.
Thank God for that, he thought.
He found his combat boots and put them on, fearful of the floor that was covered in jagged bits of plastic. He took another look at the mayhem in his room. The bed caught his interest. He couldn’t make sense of why someone had lifted him off it, slashed it to bits, and then put him back down on top of it. His rig was on the floor next to the door. The door itself was ajar. He set his helmet down on the rig and pulled the door open.
His mind refused to acknowledge what his eyes saw.
Malia was lying atop the dining table. Her head was turned towards Yuri’s door. Her lifeless eyes weren’t meeting Yuri’s gaze. The expression on her face was one of supreme sadness. Her throat was slit from ear to ear. A large puddle of blood was curdled around her. Another puddle was on the floor, beside the table.
He stood there staring until the sounds of distant gunfire startled him. He shuffled into the living room. It was just as devastated as his room. He froze again when he saw his parents’ corpses. They were lying next to one another, in front of the door to their room. They had been shot in the head.
Yuri’s feet brought him to the door of his grandmother’s room. She was lying in bed, her throat slit like Malia’s. When Yuri turned to look at his sister again, the numbness started giving way to rage.
Her legs had been spread and another, smaller pool of blood was between them. Yuri blinked the tears from his eyes as he averted his gaze. He couldn’t look anymore. He didn’t want to look. That wasn’t his little sister. His little sister was a cheerful, pretty girl who liked to dance when she thought no one else was home.
The sounds of automatic gunfire came from somewhere close by. Yuri shuffled through the front doorway. The door sported a huge crack along its length and lay next to the frame.
Yuri kicked aside the debris that was covering the balcony with each step he took. He came to the railing and looked out. The street under his balcony was littered with corpses. Pale curtains of smoke were blown here and there by the early morning breeze. An acrid stench was getting into Yuri’s nostrils, along with a faint undertone of charred flesh.
He saw a group of soldiers turn the corner onto his street. He raised his hand and was about to call for their help, when more shots came from directly below him. He flinched and took cover behind the balcony wall. When he peeked out, he saw that the soldiers had not reacted to the shots. He frowned. If their drill sergeants could see them standing there like a bunch of idiots, while some maniac was shooting up the place, they’d literally rip their skins off their stupid faces.
A figure ran out into the street. It was Mr. Cillick. He was hauling ass away from their building. Yuri opened his mouth to call out to the soldiers to come protect his neighbor from the shooter, when another burst of gunfire assaulted his ears. He looked down at the street. Mr. Cillick was on the tarmac. Little red holes appeared on the back of his white shirt, like polka dots. They quickly grew.
Three members of the Islamic Militia sauntered over to Mr. Cillick. One kicked the fallen man in the ribs. Another drew his sidearm and shot Mr. Cillick in the back of the head, twice.
Yuri looked up at the soldiers. One of them clapped politely. The rest opened a pack of cigarettes and started smoking. The Militiamen joined them. They chatted cheerfully as they blew rings of bluish smoke in the early hours of the morning. Distant, sporadic gunfire provided the perfect soundtrack for this unreal picture.
Suddenly, Yuri’s head felt like it was pinched by a giant crab. A loud pop reverberated through the walls and floor. His limbs turned into wet noodles and he collapsed.
An Isis alert showed up in his vision.
You’ve taken a critical hit. You’re stunned for three seconds.
Yuri blinked in surprise. A stickman drawing was in his field of vision, right under his status bar. Yellow lines were coming from its sides. A counter was superimposed on it, already ticking down from three to two.
“See,” a voice said, in fluent Zibar, “I told you there was a fucking Zibar soldier in this building.”
“Cursed son of an infidel whore,” another voice muttered in fluent Zibar. “Why did they even let him join?”
“Never mind, let’s go see what he’s got in that heavy case of his.”
The counter reached zero and the drawing vanished. Yuri felt his strength enter his limbs again. He rolled upright and smoothly segued into a mad dash down the balcony towards the duo. One was wearing an Army uniform; the other the white robes and turban of the Islamic Militia. Both were staring at him in shock. Neither lifted his assault rifle to try and defend himself.
Yuri bent forward and slammed his shoulders into their midsections. Their breaths exploded from their lungs. His momentum carried them all towards the far railing.
You have created a new skill: Charge
He straightened up when he came close to the railing and both his assailants went over the side. They let go of their rifles and grabbed at anything they could to keep from falling. The militiaman grabbed the railing. The soldier tried to grab Yuri’s arm. He failed and fell.
Yuri leaned over the side. The soldier fell to the concrete, head-first. A ball of essence left his body and flew up into Yuri. His essence counter read 114. His hit points were at 399/447.
The men at the end of the street saw what was happening. The members of the Militia raised rifles at Yuri. The soldiers stopped them from shooting, pointing out their colleague hanging off the railing. They all ran towards Yuri’s building, instead.
“Goddamned son of an infidel whore,” the Militia member spat. He was holding onto the railing with one hand, retrieving his sidearm with the other. He got it out of its holster and brought it up to try and blow Yuri’s brains out again.
Yuri grabbed the man’s gun hand and pressed down on his thumb. The man grit his teeth against the pain, but let go of the gun. Yuri took it and then grabbed the man’s other hand by the wrist. He started pulling the man up. The man spared a look down and quickly looked back up. His brow bunched up in confusion as Yuri pulled him up by a few inches. He tried to grab the railing with his free hand.
Yuri let go of the man’s wrist and he fell, his grip on the railing undermined by the brief lift. Yuri watched the man’s head slam into the concrete with a tiny splash of red. He grinned.
Gunfire made him flinch. The men in the street had stopped and were shooting at him. Bullets whizzed by his head, even as some slammed into the concrete side of the balcony right in front of his legs. A sharp pinch on his shoulder prodded him into action.
He crouched and rolled to the staircase. He stepped over the side of the railing and hopped down to the next one. He landed with his feet on the few inches each stair protruded past the railing, and his hands gripping the railing for dear life. He hopped that way to the ground floor in seconds. A ball of essence flew into him on the way, bringing his essence total to 129. He jumped even lower, taking refuge in the building’s basement. Right after he ducked inside, combat boots started stomping up the stairs. Over a dozen men were yelling in Zibar. The militia men were swearing to rip Yuri limb from limb, while the soldiers were reprimanding them to stay in formation and clear the corners and doors first.
Yuri moved over to one of the small windows that were set high into the walls to provide some light to the basement. The basement was made up of five large, interconnected rooms. They were filled with fenced-off enclosures, one for each apartment, to serve as storage space. Most of them were open, their contents already tossed.
Yuri stood under the small window and drew what felt like his first real breath since he had logged out of Isis. As he let it go, he became aware of the sidearm in his hand. He looked at it. It was an HS2100, which had been distributed to the Islamic Militia along with AKM assault rifles. Both weapons were old designs, but they had remained in production until a few decades ago and made up most of the old kingdom’s infantry weapon stores. Yuri had been trained with either.
He checked the safety on the weapon and then popped the magazine. It was only missing two rounds. He replaced the magazine and partially pulled back the slide to check the chamber. He safetied the weapon and lowered it. After the nightmare tableaus he had been greeted with, the presence of the gun in his hand was comforting. It was a known quantity, a familiar friend from a few years back.
He drew another slow, deep breath and tried to process what had happened. His mind refused to acknowledge what he had just seen. To force himself to get a grasp on his situation, he started whispering his situation aloud.
“I’m in the far corner of the basement, holding an HS2100 automatic pistol. I’m in uniform and there’s a hole in it. I am unhurt. My family…” He blinked his vision clear. “I’m in the far corner of the basement, holding an HS2100 automatic pistol. I’m in uniform and there’s a hole in it. I am unhurt. My family…”
He bent over and nearly repeated his breakfast dumplings. The past few minutes of hell were crashing down on him. The sight of his family lying dead, Malia’s vacant eyes and sad face, the blood, his people cut down in the streets like vermin…it was drowning him in rage, sorrow and shame. Why were all of them dead while he lived on?
As the maelstrom of emotions threatened to drive him insane, a tiny, analytical part of his mind noted a safe harbor and immediately sailed towards it. While the guilt of telling the elders off about the massacre and the shame of being so stupid that it took the extermination of his people for him to see the light were stealing the breath from his lungs, a theory was growing in the back of his mind. It stood up to more and more evidence, even as his rage and sorrow warred for supremacy inside of him.
All of a sudden, it became as clear to him as the sight of his status bar in the corner of his vision. None of the horrible things he had seen had really happened. His Dream Drive had fried his brain. He was hallucinating.
He smiled and nearly fainted from the relief that was washing through his body. He had heard of it happening before. About one in a million people had something poked wrong inside their brain the first time they tried the Dream Drive. It usually left them catatonic. That was what must have happened to Yuri, too.
Granted, Yuri had been using the Dream Drive for months now, but not on this new Crux server he had logged onto earlier. That was his first time on that particular server. What’s more, Yuri was probably the first person that had ever logged onto it. The rest of the quarterfinalists were probably too busy playing the final, or offering live commentary for a fee. Obviously, there was a major flaw in the Isis beta version that no one had spotted before and it had fucked up his mind, somehow.
He leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the cold concrete. As the flood of emotions receded, his limbs were left shaking in the aftermath.
He gave himself a few minutes to recover and just enjoyed the relief of knowing his family was alive and well in the real world. His health bar was steadily ticking back up to its maximum value of 447 hit points. He turned his attention to what he guessed was the real state of things. Very quickly, the corners of his lips turned down.
The good news was that, in reality, he was lying on his unslashed bed with the helmet on his head. The bad news was that he had clearly explained to his family that his latest project at work required him to do that for long stretches of time and that he was not to be interrupted while he was lying down with the helmet on. He could be lying catatonic for a very long while before anyone suspected there might be something wrong.
His autonomous nervous system was in control of his bodily functions. He had urinated less than half an hour before going into the game. He would probably not need to urinate again for a few hours. He didn’t know if being unconscious would mean that he would pee himself as soon as his bladder was full, or if his bladder would refuse to let go without a conscious effort until the sphincter got overwhelmed.
He sincerely hoped it was the former. Not only would it reveal his predicament to anyone that bothered to check in on him sooner, rather than later, it would also keep him from getting a bladder infection. Or something even worse.
His mother would look in on him quietly before she left for work, but she’d retreat without a sound as soon as she saw the helmet. Yuri didn’t know his dad’s plans for the day. Some days, he lounged at home all day, programming, or screwing around. Other days, he was out until the evening, chasing job leads, or hanging with friends. It could be either.
“Shit,” he quietly said when he vaguely remembered Malia had mentioned making plans with friends. They were going to go someplace outside the enclave. He forgot the particulars as soon as he had heard them, but he felt sure it was today. “Of all the days…”
Grandmother was going to do her usual tour of the enclave to stop by all her friends and gossip about everyone and everything, speaking many words, but not saying anything. Even if she was home, she’d never dare interrupt Yuri. Aside from the military mission everyone believed he was still on, she deeply distrusted all new technology and didn’t want anything to do with the Dream Drive.
He was going to lie on his bed, in his own piss and shit, undisturbed by anyone for God knows how long. He dearly wished he had said “I’m on leave” yesterday. Just three little syllables and he’d have had a way out of this predicament.
He took comfort in the fact that he had not covered himself with a blanket when he had logged into the infernal game. His green uniform will show urine stains quite clearly. The next time his mom checked in on him, she was definitely going to spot it. Yuri had to concede the fact that his mother wasn’t the calmest of people once things went badly, but her screams would bring Dad to the scene and Yuri felt sure he’d call an ambulance in seconds.
Yuri grinned, feeling hope, an emotion that felt like the sweetest of fruits after all the horrors. Even before an ambulance came to get him, Yuri’s dad would likely put in a call to the Cipher School to tell them Yuri was out of commission. Houdani had unofficially promoted Yuri to priority personnel ages ago. Any communiqué concerning him would be placed on the general’s desk within minutes. Yuri didn’t think for one second that Houdani wouldn’t immediately come to his aid. The General would have him airlifted to the military hospital and placed under the care of the best medical minds in the Caliphate.
If need be, Moussa Houdani would arrange for some containers to be shipped to the hospital. Inside the containers? Emil Mohammed and his top engineers and programmers, snatched from their beds and dragged halfway across the world to help save Yuri’s mind.
“Fuck, yeah.”
Yuri knew that last bit was an exaggeration, but not by much. Houdani would piece together what happened to Yuri in no time. After that, all the Service’s American assets would be re-tasked. Emil Mohammed and his crew would be watched even as they defecated. All their secrets, personal and professional, would be laid bare in the search for a cure for Yuri’s condition.
He leaned his head back against the concrete. He just had to wait and hope for the best. He knew that time spent inside the Dream Drive was identical to the time which passed in the real world. It could only appear to pass faster depending on how much fun one had. If he was bored, it would drag on and on.
He had to wait out this day until his distress would be noticed and then…who knows? Maybe he’d be snapped out of it in hours, maybe it would take days, or even weeks. Maybe he was beyond salvation. The cases where people’s brains got fried by the Dream Drive were hushed up and the media were financially encouraged to overlook them, so Yuri had nothing to go on.
He didn’t feel like this was an irreversible loss of mental abilities, or anything like that. Everything around him felt real. The smell of the air, the glare of the morning sun, the sounds of gunfire were realistically distorted by the buildings, everything was identical to objective reality. Yuri knew it couldn’t be objective reality. For one thing, his body was as invulnerable as it had been inside Isis. A bullet to his head hadn’t exploded his skull and sprayed his brains every which way; it had been a quick, sharp pinch followed by temporary weakness.
He frowned. Maybe this was another level of the game? A tasteless prank from the guys at the skunkworks? Maybe he just needed to log out again? “Game menu.”
A bright light stabbed at his eyes from the direction of his hand. When he blinked his vision clear, the inverted pentagram from the game was on the back of his hand again. The translucent menu was in the center of his vision. It showed him standing in his uniform. The HS2100 was in his avatar’s hand, clearly marked as such. Labels “Encrypted phone”, “Butterfly knife” and “Wallet” were connected to his pockets.
“Log out.”
Error. Yuri Yanuk is already in Overworld.
“Motherfucker.”
He reached up with his hands and started rifling through the various options in the menu, looking for another way to log out, or disconnect. All he found were some fairly standard video game display options and a list of Skills. Apparently, every time he had been given a notification of creating a new skill, the skill in question was listed here. Each of them had an essence price to be paid whenever they were used, as well as a level rating and a progress bar.
He waved the list away. He turned on a minimap that showed up in the lower right corner of his vision. It was also a fairly standard video game feature. He turned everything off and exited the menu. His health bar and essence counter remained in the corner of his vision. His pentagram tattoo was still on the back of his hand. He glared at it. “Stupid fucking game.”
He sat in the twilight of the basement and suppressed a bitter chuckle. He had gone into the game to while away a few hours and now he needed to find a way to while away a few days until he got healed.
Now that was irony.
His flash of mirth faded away. He wasn’t certain if he could be healed from this.
He started to feel antsy. He couldn’t just sit there, mulling over which horrible fate had befallen him. He needed answers. He needed to do something about the situation. Maybe if I logged back into the game and tried to log out again?
“Game menu.” The menus showed up before his eyes again. He couldn’t see the right option anywhere, so he said, “Uh, log in.” Nothing happened. Yuri cleared his throat and said, “Log into Isis,” a bit more loudly. He was met with silence. The menus were unchanged. “Isis. Access. Now. Grant.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. If all bets were off, why would his hallucination require him to don a helmet with the right chip to access Isis again? Wasn’t he lying on his bed with the stinking helmet already on? Wasn’t the chip inserted? Shouldn’t he be given the option of re-entering Isis at any moment?
His breath caught in his lungs as he realized that he probably should. He probably wasn’t lying on his bed. He probably was in reality and-
He shut the door on those bad thoughts. My family is fine. They’re still asleep in their beds. Maybe someone at Crux detected whatever had happened to Yuri and had shut him out of the system?
That was probably it. However, if he still wore his helmet, he should be able to log into the Hub. “Log in. Hub. Dream Drive menu. Display connectivity options.”
Again, nothing happened. Yuri told himself that the lack of the Dream Drive’s automated replies meant nothing. His brain had been poked the wrong way and that was that. Maybe it was now incompatible with the Dream Drive. His Dream Drive was on his head, but the inputs were misinterpreted as this nightmare he had woken up into.
Yuri was soon distracted from his brooding by a loud, but distorted voice. It sounded like it was speaking Zibar. He got to his feet and looked out of the tiny window. The light was on the outside, so no one could see into the dark basement. He could see green pants and white robes milling around. A number of militiamen and soldiers were standing in front of Yuri’s building. One of them was holding up a radio.
Yuri decided to carefully crack the tiny window open. He didn’t want to step outside and listen with the men. They were proven enemies and he didn’t want to chance his hit points reaching zero. He didn’t think it was a wise idea to challenge the boundaries of his delusion in such a way. Perhaps, later, he’d go to a place he had never been before, just to see how the delusion would fill the empty space, but for right now, he settled on just listening in.
The sound of the Caliph’s voice became much clearer as soon as the window was opened. The man was speaking fluent Zibar, further reinforcing the theory that this was all Yuri’s delusion. The man spoke of the great deed that the members of the Islamic Militia were doing in the Capital and the south of the nation.
“God is greatest,” some of the men shouted in fluent Zibar.
Yuri listened to the Caliph speak of the great trial that awaits their nation. He called the GAU invasion forces a “crusader army come to destroy us and our Faith”.
Now I know I’ve listened to too many of his speeches, Yuri thought. Even in a deluded state, my mind can think up of an original speech that sounds just like something the Caliph would say.
The Caliph fervently espoused the need to purify their nation in every way possible, so that they would be favored by God to prevail in this coming hardship.
“God is greatest,” the men chanted in agreement.
Yuri frowned. That was not how he interpreted the takbir in his mother tongue. It was the official, as well as the literal translation, but not the one he had internalized. Ever since he had been a boy, he had considered “Alahu akbar” to mean “God is ultimate”. He could never sign up for the philosophy which was prevalent in the Caliphate; namely that only God and the divine can be great and that all humans and all their works upon the earth were, at best, not as awful as pond scum. Yuri had always considered greatness to be a virtue that people should strive for every day of their lives and that it was a quality that they could achieve.
For Yuri, God was beyond the physical world, an incomprehensible being. Calling God great was practically an insult, in Yuri’s mind. God was much more than great, regardless of which form the adjective was in. Alexander was Great. Genghis-Khan was greater still. God was so far above the two of them, it was a whole different word.
That tiny linguistic difference started weighing on Yuri’s mind. If this was his delusion, then all those imaginary maniacs out there should be chanting “God is ultimate”.
They kept chanting, “God is greatest,” instead.
This meant that somebody, or something else was doing the translations that Yuri was hearing. He was not hallucinating these words that he was hearing; someone, or something else was inputting them into his mind.
Yuri’s hands started shaking. His mind, trained by years of intelligence work, started to use that fact to try and disprove the delusion theory. Yuri closed his eyes and fought back against what was happening but, try as he might, the evidence of the delusion started to neatly stack up against it, instead.
Him being left unhurt on his bed, playing in the Dream Drive, while his people were being slaughtered was proof positive of this being a delusion, but what if he had really been physically teleported to another Earth?
Of course, there were no other Earths and teleportation was only feasible for electromagnetic waves and microparticles at short distances. And even that kind of teleportation cost more energy than the entire Caliphate spent in a year.
He refused to seriously consider magical teleportation. He had always thought that once a person started saying something was magic, that person was murdering their own intellect. Everything could be comprehended and reasoned out, so long as one stuck to verifiable facts and took whatever people were fervently claiming with more than a few grains of salt.
For instance, the fact that Yuri was hearing everyone speaking in Zibar. One could claim that universal translators were features of all video game characters, but Yuri knew that this was not the case with him since he had entered Isis. The guys at the skunkworks had translated his copy of the game and…
Pinpricks ran up and down Yuri’s limbs as his stomach reeled. There was no way he was listening to their translations at this very moment. They would never, ever, not in a million trillion years, program anything to show him a vision of his family having been slaughtered. And they could not be translating anything beyond what had already been written into the game of Isis. There are no Zibar speaking apps, not online, not anywhere. Whenever the Intelligence Service chose to wiretap a Zibar, they simply had Zibar-speaking Arabs transcribe the recordings.
If what he was hearing wasn’t scripted by his friends, or Crux Software, and it wasn’t his delusion, then he was faced with only one option.
This was real.
Yuri was bent over by a forceful contraction of his abdominal muscles. Some liquid remains of his breakfast shot out of his mouth, leaving him with the taste of his stomach acid. An Isis alert showed up in his vision, along with his health bar and essence counter.
Adverse emotions have left you feeling nauseated. You will experience a penalty to Agility and Strength until the condition resolves itself.
A vomiting green emoji showed up under his status effect bar.
Yuri straightened up and wiped the bile from his lips. He cleared his throat and swallowed a few times. He felt like a glass of water. His eyes watered instead. His family was dead. Malia had been raped and murdered.
He flinched at the loud sounds of gunfire. The men outside the window were shouting “God is greatest” and firing their guns in the air to celebrate their success.
He couldn’t deal with that. He couldn’t accept the fact that he had been told, over and over again, that this was going to happen one day and that he had discounted it all with absolute certainty. He couldn’t accept the fact that he had told the elders not to worry last night, that the trash pickup and bread and medicine deliveries had been his fault, when they had simply been dropped in the face of the imminent massacre. He couldn’t accept the fact that these monsters were going to get away with butchering his people.
The rapid fire from outside stoked his adrenaline. He looked down at the gun in his hand. A tiny, orange box showed up in his vision, bracketing each part of the weapon as Yuri focused on it.
No, he really couldn’t accept that last thing.
He left the basement and went outside. He held his gun close, halfway between his hip and his shoulder. His eyes placed the orange box on the skull of the first man he saw. His arm kept the gun pointed at the box at all times, tracking it with subtle moves of the wrist and elbow. Yuri fired. Pink mist and bone fragments erupted from his target.
They didn’t even notice him at first, they were too busy shooting in the air and shouting. Only when the fragments and blood would spray into their faces did they look over and meet Yuri’s eyes. At that instant, the box would settle between their eyes and Yuri would squeeze the trigger. For half the men there, the last thing they ever saw was his face. Balls of essence rushed out of their fallen corpses and into him.
The last few tried to take cover, or shoot back, but their magazines had been emptied and Yuri’s bullets were faster. Fourteen dead lay at his feet. His gun’s slide was locked open, the chamber empty. A faint wisp of smoke rose from the end of the barrel.
His gun hand was glowing in a familiar way. He looked up and saw that his essence counter read 634. It was ticking down fast. He willed a hundred into Spirit. He was still glowing and his essence was still ticking down from 533. The blue bar was only a little over the limit. He called up his statistics menu and willed another fifty essence into Spirit, to round it off at two hundred. The glow stopped and the counter was no longer ticking down from 482. The blue bar now sat at a little over four fifths full.
Now that he felt magic had really turned him into a video game character, he definitely needed to figure out his new statistics and come up with a winning strategy. should he put essence into his statistics, or save it for the skills he had on his list?
His veins were still full of adrenaline. Gunfire was still heard in the distance. The street was still littered with the corpses of his neighbors and friends. His family was still dead.
But Wada might not be.
All thoughts of video game mechanics fell by the wayside. The love of his life might still be alive and he was going to save her if she was. She had made him promise to come see her last night. He had stood her up. He had broken his promise to the love of his life and now she might be dead because of it. He pushed the guilt aside and let the rage fuel him. He couldn’t stop to cry at this time. Every second counted.
He bent over and retrieved two fresh sidearms from the soldiers. They were Colt .45 pistols from the New Springfield Armory. They were an updated version of a tried and true design and were standard issue for the Caliphate’s armed forces. Like every other soldier, Yuri was trained to use and maintain them. They only held thirteen rounds each, but they sat nicely in Yuri’s hands. He popped and checked the magazines, re-inserted them and chambered a live round. Then he safetied them and put them in his pockets. He picked up another pair of Colts and checked and chambered them.
He jogged towards the end of his street. He saw some green in the corner of his vision. He stopped and looked. Four soldiers had been coming out of a building. They nodded in greeting when they saw him. One saluted, saw his face and froze. “Zibar!”
They gasped as one and dove for cover. Yuri’s eye was faster. The orange box sat on one forehead and Yuri squeezed the trigger of the gun in his right hand. The soldier’s head exploded. Yuri’s eye landed on the second soldier. With hardly a thought, his left arm took over tracking the box with the gun. He felt his left arm adjust its aim and fired. The second man’s head exploded even as the slide of the gun in Yuri’s right hand was stripping the next round from the magazine. He caught the third man before he could get behind cover.
The fourth man took cover behind the doorway and poked his rifle out a second later. He only exposed his right arm under the elbow, one eye and half his forehead, but that was more than enough for Yuri. The man’s head exploded before he could aim at Yuri. He fell dead and four more balls of essence rushed into Yuri.
Yuri’s skin glowed again. His essence counter was at 650 and dropping. The blue bar wasn’t all that much over the line. He doubled his Spirit statistic to 400. The blue bar was now less than half its full capacity.
He jogged on towards Wada’s place, skipping over the corpses in the street. He knew most of these people and he couldn’t bear to look down at their faces, but he forced himself to look at anyone that fit Wada’s general description. He didn’t see her among the dead.
Not yet.
He could hear more celebratory gunfire, but he could also hear sporadic shots. The massacre wasn’t over yet. He could still save someone. The thought made him pump his legs faster than he had ever ran in his life before.
He considered going back and taking a comm unit from one of the soldiers he had killed. If he could get in touch with Houdani, then… Yuri remembered the sad, uncomfortable look on the general’s face yesterday. The inexplicable leave of absence while a crisis was brewing.
He knew! The old bastard knew this was coming! And he let it happen! I’ll kill him! I’ll rip his fucking face off his skull and show it to him!
When he remembered the stink-eyed glares half the brass had given him and the Captain at the checkpoint who looked like he desperately wanted to say something to him, he realized that the military had known about this all along. They had probably planned it, too. Everyone knew what was coming and they all chose to keep him in the dark about it. They all chose to have him killed with his people. They all acted as cool about it as if they were taking out the trash, not committing genocide.
Yuri’s breath caught in his throat. His blood burned in his veins. He had warned them of an imminent GAU invasion and they repaid him with murder. His family was dead. His neighbors were dead. Any friends he had in this world were lying dead in the streets. He would never count an Arab as a friend again.
He couldn’t believe the sheer stupidity of their actions. He had proven himself to be an important asset to the Caliphate. Killing him was wasteful. Evil agenda, or no evil agenda, you don’t kill the guy that can tell you what your enemies are talking about in private.
He cleared a bend in the road. Half a dozen members of the Militia were standing in the shadow of a building, smoking and laughing. Yuri didn’t even stop as he raised his arms their way. The orange box skipped from one surprised face to the next. Yuri squeezed his triggers and made their heads explode. The last two managed to chamber rounds before they died, but they fired from the hip, missing Yuri by a mile as he ran past.
His essence counter was now at 630 and the blue bar was almost two thirds full.
As he got closer to Wada’s street, he could hear he was approaching a source of celebratory gunfire. He came to a stop at the corner and peeked out. Over two dozen of the Militia fucks were firing into the air and chanting “God is greatest”.
Yuri poked his left hand out of cover and took down ten of them with rapid movements of his eye, timed to coincide with pulling his trigger. He withdrew behind cover and dropped the empty gun. The militiamen were screaming in outrage and panic. Yuri drew another gun from his pocket and worked the safety. Ten balls of essence rushed around the corner and into his chest. His blue bar was almost full.
He flinched when the corner of the building began to shower chips of concrete everywhere, accompanied by the sounds of automatic gunfire. Yuri stepped away from the corner. He wasn’t going to step into a hail of bullets. Either they came into his sights, or he’d wait for them to all run out of ammo at the same time.
When the fire stalled, he popped out of cover and shot three more of them. Then he jumped back to avoid getting hit. The militiamen had terrible aim and no discipline, but they were quick at changing their magazines. His skin started glowing again. He tossed another hundred into Spirit. His skin stopped glowing and his essence counter read 940. The blue bar was about ninety percent full.
While Yuri was waiting out their second bout of suppression fire, some green uniforms showed up from the opposite direction. They peeked around their corner and saw Yuri. Yuri tried to place the orange box on their heads, but nothing happened. His guts churned. Did he have a limited number of shots for the auto-targeting? Without that, he was fucked. As he looked down, the orange box reappeared, bracketing the nearby corpse his eye had landed on.
The soldiers started yelling at the militiamen to hold their fire. “You’re shooting at one of ours, you idiots!”
After a brief pause, the militiamen started splitting their fire between Yuri’s corner and the trio of soldiers in the distance. While this was going on, Yuri was looking at things far and near and willing them to be targeted. He realized that his auto targeting had a range limit. He guesstimated it at a hundred feet.
The three soldiers took cover and began to shoot back at the militiamen. Yuri nearly chuckled at the development. As soon as his corner stopped receiving fire, he pivoted around it and picked off another six militiamen before the rest reloaded and returned fire.
Six more balls of essence rushed around the corner and into his chest. The soldiers down the street didn’t notice, but the remaining militiamen did.
“What was that?!”
“Gimme ammo!”
“What the fuck was that?!”
“I need more ammo!”
All three soldiers popped out of cover. Yuri watched them advance from cover to cover, never letting the militiamen pin them down behind the same cover. Two would provide suppressive fire, while the third advanced to the next cover. They dropped their magazines on the run and replaced them with fresh ones, before they could shoot them dry. For Yuri, watching them advance was like watching a ballet troop perform.
They got halfway to Yuri when they stood up and casually walked out of cover. There was no more fire being returned.
Yuri poked his head around the corner and looked. The militiamen were all dead. None had taken cover during the firefight. Idiots.
Yuri turned back towards the soldiers and nodded in appreciation. He could see them clearly, now that they were closer. They bore the insignia of an urban combat brigade and their leader was a captain.
“Zibar,” cried one of the grunts. All three immediately shouldered their rifles and aimed at Yuri.
They were within range and the orange box instantly responded to Yuri’s will. It bracketed the captain’s face and Yuri dropped him before he could get a shot off. The other two fired at Yuri and his whole torso erupted with sharp pinches, front and back. He shot the soldiers as fast as he could. The exchange lasted less than a second.
Three balls of essence flew into him. He looked down at himself. There was no blood. He felt no pain. The front of his ruined uniform bore ten distinct bullet holes. He couldn’t see the back of his uniform but, as he turned around trying to look, he saw ten tightly grouped bullet holes on the wall behind himself.
His eyes sought out his health bar. He had 286 hit points out of 447. His essence counter was ticking down from 1268. He put two hundred into Vitality. That added a hundred hit points to both his current total and his maximum total. The assault rifles had ripped his hit points away from him with ease. Each had fired five shots in the one second it took him to kill their wielders. He needed to get to Wada’s, but he needed to keep to cover while he was going there, or he’d never make it.
He poked his head around the corner to check if it was all clear and resumed jogging towards Wada’s street. One of the militiamen groaned in agony and moved. Yuri paused to blow his brains out and collect another thirty points of essence. He also took the man’s sidearm and stuck it into his pocket. He resumed his run unmolested, but kept to the sides of the streets, where he could dive behind cover in an instant.
As soon as he peeked out onto Wada’s street, his heart leapt into his throat. The three story building was issuing thick, black smoke out of all its windows. “No!” He abandoned cover and sprinted towards it. He came to a halt right in front of it. “Wada!”
He ran inside. The smoke was so thick that it rendered him blind within moments. He still had an idea of the interior layout of the place in his head and he moved to where he guessed her door was. He felt it. It was busted open and on fire. He coughed like crazy. Even though he kept clear of the flames, his health bar was continuously taking small hits. He willed another three hundred essence into Vitality.
He remembered his gas weapons training and got down on all fours. He hugged the right hand wall as he crawled into the apartment. He felt his way all around, but found no trace of any corpses. Only burning furniture. He screamed for Wada between his forceful coughs. He got no reply. He checked the other apartments, but found only the corpse of a small child huddled in a closet on the top floor. At last, he had to leave. The heat had felt oppressive, even though he didn’t feel burned by it. It still managed to shave his hit points down to 438.
When he came out, he took a walk around the house, checking every corpse he saw. He found no sign of Wada. His eyes teared up in relief.
Suddenly, he was deafened by a great noise and sent flying through the air. Powerful pinches erupted all over the right side of his body. He smacked against the side of a building with a dull thud. His body crumpled to the ground below and he rolled over to look back at were he had been standing a moment ago. A small, smoking crater was there. He looked up.
A green-clad figure was standing in an open window of a nearby building, staring back at him. The soldier was holding a spent RPG launcher. Yuri tried to target the man, but he was well out of range. The soldier let go of the launcher and put a finger to the side of his throat as he ducked out of sight.
Yuri shook his head clear and got to his feet. He had just gotten hit by an RPG and didn’t even have any ringing in his ears to show for it. His uniform was shot to shit, though. The right sleeve was missing and the entire right side of the jacket was smoldering. He still had 347 hit points left. He could take three more RPGs to the face and keep going. He wasn’t leaving without Wada.
He looked around. There were no other soldiers, or militiamen, in sight. He knew they would be there before long. The bastard with the RPG was already on the horn, telling everyone about Yuri. Yuri quickly plotted a logarhythmic search pattern over his mental map of the enclave and got to work at full speed.
He searched the neighboring buildings. They were devastated and full of corpses, but Wada wasn’t one of them. Twice, he came across a young woman’s body with her face mutilated, but both times he managed to summon the strength to look down the dead woman’s shirt and check for Wada’s mole. He didn’t find it.
He went back to the streets and resumed his search there. A rumbling noise started reverberating all over the place. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, but he ignored it as he kept turning over women’s corpses. Every few minutes, he’d come across a familiar face, usually a girl he had known since they were kids.
Suddenly, he got pinched hard on both sides of his head. He spun around to see where the shot had come from. He saw no one. A second pinch brought him to his knees.
Repeated critical hits have overwhelmed you. You are stunned for two seconds.
The alert, stickman and counter vanished practically as soon as Yuri saw them. He ducked behind a corner. When he leaned over to peek out and try and spot his shooter, the wall exploded in a shower of dust right where his head had been a moment before.
“Fuck!”
He sprinted across the street to take cover there. He still couldn’t tell where the sniper was, but he now knew which direction the shots were coming from. He decided to keep moving and continues his search on the next street, where he couldn’t take fire from the direction of the sniper.
As soon as he turned the corner, the rumbling noise got much louder and lost most of its distortion. His attention was drawn, however, to the ten militiamen he suddenly came face to face with. His guns roared and the men were dead in seconds. He only took a few glancing bullets and got his essence counter up to 1075.
The loud rumbling stopped. In the ensuing silence, Yuri finally recognized what it had been.
Tank treads on tarmac.
He spun on his heels to see a tank down the street. Its turret was turning Yuri’s way, the barrel dipping lower. Yuri launched himself through the nearest door with all his might. He was barely inside it when a hot wind threw him across the room with a deafening roar. He was slammed against the far wall, even as his body erupted in strong pinches. Thick pieces of debris started raining down on him, giving him a sharp pinch wherever they landed on his body.
He coughed to clear his lungs. There was dust everywhere. It almost hurt to breathe. He checked his hit points. They were at 194, but they were ticking down. He looked down his body and saw a big, jagged piece of concrete lying atop his right leg. Of all the pinches he had felt, only one remained and it was coming from a spot on his thigh which was under the piece of concrete.
He grabbed the piece to slide off himself, but the pinch got sharper and his hit points started ticking down faster. He let go of it and the pinch was reduced, just like the rate of hit point loss. He felt around the edge of the concrete and soon realized it had a piece of rebar sticking out of it. The rebar had impaled his thigh at an angle. He needed to lift the damn thing at an angle. He put all his strength into it, but it budged by less than an inch.
Another piece of concrete landed nearby. He didn’t have time for this shit. He put four hundred points into Strength and got rid of the concrete with only minor difficulty.
His hit points were at 142. He put another hundred into Vitality, bringing them to 192/747. No matter how much essence he puts into Vitality, it wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t afford to go toe to toe with any more tanks, or RPG-wielding soldiers. Even if Wada wasn’t dead yet, he would most likely only get her killed if he found her. There was too much heat on him. He needed to get out of there.
The enclave was surely surrounded by Army units that had orders to contain the situation. He couldn’t simply walk out. He’d have to leave the same way he had left earlier: via Crux’s magic servers. He needed to get back home and log into Isis.
The silence coming from the street meant that the tank wasn’t coming closer. That was to be expected. Tanks weren’t really suited for street-level warfare. That was more the domain of the mech.
No sooner had Yuri thought that then a rhythmic thudding started echoing in the distance. A quick doom-doom-doom noise. He jumped up and rushed to the giant hole in the wall where the building used to have a door. A crater was in front of the building and a part of it extended inside the building’s lobby, as well. Yuri slid down into the crater. A quick peek down the street revealed that the tank was in its previous position, only now it was surrounded by green uniforms. Yuri noted RPGs and pulled back with a growl.
A quick peek in the opposite direction made Yuri’s yaw drop. A whole goddamned squad of mechs was jogging up the street, two abreast. Each sported more heavy caliber weapons than Yuri could shake a stick at. He pulled his head back down before it got blown off his shoulders. He raised his hands in front of his face. They were empty. He had dropped his guns when the tank had blasted him and didn’t notice until now.
He reached into his pockets for his spare guns. He retrieved his Colt, but the HS he had had in the other pocket had vanished along with that pocket. He needed to get out of this situation fast, but the street was denied to him. He crawled back into the building and raised his gaze at the nine flights of stairs. He brought up his game menu. He noted that his carry weight was now 129. It had been listed as 60 when he had first entered Isis. He checked his list of skills. There were a few parkour items on it. Those would have to be his ticket out of there.
He dashed towards the roof, taking entire flights of stairs in just two powerful leaps. His feet effortlessly found the right step. He turned a corner on each landing with inertia hardly giving him any trouble.
He burst out of the roof access door and squinted against the bright sun. There was a very loud, but familiar noise coming from somewhere. The doorframe behind him blasted concrete chips at the back of his neck with a dull thud. He crouched and looked all around. There were sniper/spotter teams on the roofs of half the tall buildings he could see. A bullet kicked up concrete shards next to his foot. Yuri hardly noticed it. His gaze had followed the loud noise and found a gunship hovering over the mosque. It turned around and started flying his way.
Yuri ignored a shot to his leg while he determined the direction of his apartment building. He put his gun in his pocket and sprinted towards the edge of the roof. The roof behind him exploded into shards of concrete and steel as the gunship fired at him. He ran full tilt to avoid getting hit. Yuri jumped off the edge and fell towards the five story building on the next street over. He had expected to fall into the middle of the street below, but his legs propelled him much farther that he had thought possible. He willed his Shoulder Roll skill to activate upon contact with the roof. It would cost him 25 essence, five for every ten feet of the fall.
He landed, his skin glowing as he smoothly rolled four times and then wound up standing. He ran to the far edge of this roof. His hands and feet glowed as he used his Cat Leap skill to clear the gap to the next building and catch the edge of its roof. He clambered atop it and ran on. The roof suddenly exploded in a line of concrete shards that seemed to follow him as he ran. He didn’t need to look to know the gunship was shooting at him again. He jumped blindly and felt a series of hard pinches across his upper back and front as he started falling.
He saw that he was not going to reach the next building. The ground was coming up fast. A mech was in the street below. Yuri activated his Shoulder Roll and his body neatly tucked into a glowing ball. He wished he could instantly Shoulder Roll away from the mech.
When he landed, his vertical motion was smoothly transformed into horizontal as he rolled diagonally, over and over again. Machinegun fire followed his progress. In just a few heartbeats, he was around the corner and upright again.
You have created a new skill: Cannonball Roll
He immediately ran through the nearest door and began climbing. As he ran past the series of windows which illuminated the stairwell, he caught flashes of what was going on outside. On the first floor, he saw only a lone soldier out on the sidewalk in front of the building. On the second floor, he saw that the mech had joined the party. It had a dozen soldiers with it. As he sprinted past the third floor window, Yuri was hit with a dozen bullets, which pinched their way through his video game body and took a chunk of his health bar.
He stopped climbing and ran into the next apartment which had windows that faced in the direction of Yuri’s building.
The fourth floor landing exploded above him, shaking the whole building and nearly making him lose his footing. He used Speed Vault to jump from the apartment’s balcony onto the balcony of the apartment opposite. The two buildings were only separated by a narrow alley. He ran through the building, neatly skipping over the overturned furniture. When he emerged on a balcony on the other end of the building, he checked his heading. His was the next street over.
The street below the balcony was quite wide. He went back inside and took a running start to try and jump the wide gap. The game responded to his will as he leapt.
You have created a new skill: Power Jump
He landed on the next balcony with a grunt and smashed his face against the wall. It hurt a lot, but barely nicked his health bar. He ran inside. As he was running through the building, he came across a Militiaman in the stairwell. Yuri didn’t break his stride. He activated Pounce. His boots glowed when he jumped at the man. Yuri struck him with both feet to the chest. Yuri’s feet dropped to the floor, his momentum gone. The militiaman was sent flying backwards. He bounced off a railing and fell straight down to the ground floor.
Yuri was intercepted by a ball of essence, only moments after he heard the smack of flesh against concrete. He ran through the building, leaving angry oaths and confused shouts of alarm behind him. He used Cat Leap to get inside the next building. He was now on his street, just five buildings away from his own.
He navigated his way through the building, trying two wrong apartments before he found a window that looked at the next building which led him home. It was only then that he remembered he had a minimap. It popped up in the lower right corner of his vision, showing him as a green arrow moving across a blueprint that was labeled with the building’s address. When he willed it, the map would expand to take up most of his vision. It would shrink back down with a thought, too. Most of the buildings in the enclave were blank on the inside. He quickly realized his map could only show him places he had already been in.
Running over the rooftops would be much faster than navigating through buildings, but the roofs left him exposed to the gunship. Running through the streets ran the risk of running into trouble. The window/balcony freeway was the safest choice for him.
He used two more Cat Leaps to clear the gaps between the buildings. The other two gaps between buildings were so small, he simply hopped across. The map kept him from wasting any more time searching for the right window or balcony. He also consulted it to try and find a place where he could hide with his rig.
There were trillions of important questions that needed to be answered about the world of Isis and how he got teleported there, but it was obvious that he needed his Dream Drive to access it. It stood to reason that any damage to his rig would result in something very bad for him. Either he’d be stuck in Isis, or he’d be stuck on Earth, or maybe he could even lose his video game abilities and have all the wounds he had shrugged off until then come back in the same instant, killing him.
He needed someplace discreet. Someplace they’ve already torn apart and wouldn’t have reason to search again. He found a few leads on the map. He closed it when he got to the last building before his. He climbed to the appropriate floor and jumped across the gap, unaided by essence-costing abilities. He ran down the balcony towards his destroyed home.
“There he is,” a distant voice called out. Yuri didn’t turn to look. He just let his long, powerful strides propel him home.
He stumbled to a stop shortly after he entered the apartment. Malia’s spread thighs were pointed his way. He turned his misty eyes to the ceiling, his lips moving with whispered curses. He shut his eyes. The goddamned gunship was getting closer, its rotors and engines louder than a hurricane. Couldn’t the bastards give him two seconds to mourn his family in peace?
He looked down at his parents’ bodies. He felt the need to do something. Cover them up, or wrap them in a white sheet. He turned towards the linen closet, careful not to let his gaze fall on Malia. Of course, the linens were strewn across the floor, sullied by the boots of the butchers.
The noise of the gunship changed timber. Yuri frowned and turned towards the door. He saw the gunship hover into view in the distance. It fired a missile straight at him.
Yuri dove towards his room. The explosion tossed him aside like a rag doll. He was slammed into a wall and landed headfirst on the floor. He blinked his eyes clear of the debris and dust. He was right next to the door of his room. Everything in the apartment had been moved twelve feet towards the back wall. The entire front wall was missing. The balcony, too.
The gunship launched another missile in the distance. Yuri only had time to leap towards his rig and push the helmet behind it before the missile hit. The explosion was deafening. The heat was incredible. He got pinched hard on his ass. Concrete began raining down all around him. A big piece landed on his rig, pinching his hand against it. Yuri grit his teeth and swept it aside.
He turned around to look at the remains of his home. Dust hung thick in the air. The front and back walls were gone. So was most of the ceiling and floor. Water leaked from where the bathrooms used to be.
Malia and the dining room table were gone without a trace. His parent’s mangled bodies had fallen into the apartment below. In his heart, Yuri swore to murder every goddamned helicopter pilot in the Caliphate Air Force.
His helmet was still intact, if covered in dust. He grabbed it with one hand and his rig with the other. He grunted as he put in an effort to lift it, but it was very light in his grip and he lost his balance. He fell into the apartment below. All he could think of at that moment was how badly he needed to keep his helmet and rig intact. The world seemed to shift on its axis.
You have created a new skill: Cat Landing
He landed on his feet, slightly crouched, with his rig and Dream Drive helmet safe in his hands. The helicopter’s rotor noise was still assaulting his ears. He looked that way, but couldn’t see anything for all the dust and smoke. His eye caught his health bar. It was almost empty. He had 41 hit points out of 747 possible. He had 540 essence and he willed another two hundred into Vitality. His hit points read 117/823.
Two hundred essence only gave me seventy-six hit points? Ridiculous!
A horrible noise followed. Yuri turned to see the entire front wall give in. It collapsed towards the street. The balconies fell from the higher floors. With a terrible report, half the building collapsed. And it blew up a huge cloud of dust doing so.
Yuri wiped clean the latch next to the carrying handle and pressed his thumb against it. He could just about see the keypad when it was opened. He quickly typed in his code and the rig unlocked. He stuffed his Dream Drive helmet inside and locked it shut. He breathed a sigh of relief and then focused on his map.
The tallest building in the enclave had a very big pump in its subbasement. It was used to increase the water pressure so even the people in the apartments above the tenth floor could take a shower whenever they felt like it. It had broken down two years ago. He had been brought there by the people who wanted to ask him if he could get the relatively minor parts needed to fix it. It had taken him a few weeks, but he had managed it.
The pump itself was very tall and took up nearly all the height of the room. If Yuri were to climb it and wedge himself and his rig between the pump and the ceiling, nobody would ever find him. Nobody would ever think to look there.
He clambered down to street level before the dust cloud cleared. There were no soldiers to be seen. The gunship was hovering in the distance. Yuri heard the doom-doom-doom of rapidly approaching mechs and hauled ass. He ran around back of his building and used the Wall Run skill to climb into a broken window of a house on the next street over.
Using his map and parkour skills, he made for the building. On the way over, he ran into some isolated Militiamen that were looting the dead Zibars’ belongings. None of them noticed him. He drew his Colt from his pocket, drew a bead on the first one he saw and blew his brains out without remorse. Something made him pause with the second piece of shit he happened upon. After a few seconds of confusion, he realized that killing everyone he came across would be leaving a trail of corpses to his hideout.
Reluctantly, he safetied his Colt, put it in his pocket, and passed by the rest of the bastards unseen. At one point, he had to take a detour to avoid some patrolling mechs, but he got to the pump room without further incident.
The pump wasn’t running, which was no surprise. The residents had no more need for showers. He climbed atop the pump and retrieved his helmet from his rig’s case. He wedged the case securely between the pump’s casing and the ceiling. He put the helmet on his head. The pistons locked it in place around his scalp. The tiny screen asked him if he wanted to log in.
“Yes.”
He lost sensation of his body and then found himself back in the Elder’s tent, lying on one of the carpets.
“Savior,” Cara all but screamed. “You’re back!” She turned her head to the entrance flap and yelled, “He’s back! The Savior is back!” She knelt by him and took his hand. “What happened!? Did you really go back to your world?”
Yuri looked at his hand in hers. Her neat pentagram tattoo all but covered his ugly, misshapen one.
Her eyes ran up and down his form. Her fingers touched the singed Caliphate Intelligence Service insignia on his shoulder. “Your garb seems ruined. Are you well?” Yuri shook his head. Her brow bunched up in concern. “Is there anything I can do for you? How can I help?”
Yuri rolled away from her and convulsed with dry heaves as he cried.
****