Eternal Game of the 108 Chapter 6: A Future in the Present (Patreon)

“Wow,” I say, a little annoyed. 

Well, I’m annoyed on an intellectual level. It’s hard to feel truly angry when lacking hormone receptors. I feel my soul failing to latch on the other two, or at all really. This place really doesn’t exist.

“I think I was killed in a bomb blast,” I declare.

“Wine?” Chronos offers.

I nod. With the delicate touch of an expert sommelier, Morag prepares a glass of white wine. She waves at the decanter, presumably to oxygenate it or something. I haven't been treated this fancy since an old man from Kent invited the entire orchestra for dinner, about four years ago. 

The wine tastes okay. Morag frowns. Somehow, she grows a little larger.

“It’s just a little acidic for my taste,” I assure her. “Nothing to do with the setup.”

We leave her frowning over the bottle. I didn’t check the sticker so I have no idea where she fished the thing out. Instead, I return my attention to my patron. He waits there, impassive.

“This station of yours… It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Explosions everywhere?”

“The succession year invites inevitable chaos.”

“I can’t imagine the locals would be too happy with you,” I state.

Chronos shrugs, the gesture smoother than expected.

“You see gods as an earthling does: either quaint local spirits or that one abstract deity that is supposedly omnipotent and all-knowing. Here, we are neither of those. We are tangible, and powerful. Those enforcers you met are made strong because they embody Law, and it grants them might. The people of Enderlith are, for the most part, not angry with us. They are either grateful, or terrified.”

I note the ‘mostly’ in passing. Chronos doesn’t say this to terrify me either. He’s merely stating a fact. 

“I still think you could do with fewer explosions, mate. Not to pressure you or anything.”

“Then do something about it,” Chronos adds, amused.

He takes a sip of wine and winces. Morag disappears in a flash. Air moves strongly enough that my short hair sticks to my skull and I have to grab my glass before it topples.

I glare at Chronos who merely chuckles. They’re acting like two grown-ups playing dolls with their kid.

Anyway, I died again. Now I have to return to that damn room. At least, I know I can survive more than a day. Speaking of, I should make use of my notes. I move to the false desk and pull a notebook. Let’s see. What happened this time?

I successfully escaped the killer. I make a note of the exact method, so I can reproduce it later. I also met a strange woman in the dumpster. I write down the time and exact the location as well as I can remember. Speaking of, she was called a ‘mysterious being’ and I was awarded 3 qualia points for talking to her. 

I make note of the doorman being an asshole, and the description of the three muggers. 

“Maybe holding grudges isn’t the healthiest use of my time?” I muse aloud.

But to be fair they were dangerous to me and will stay that way in every loop so, it’s just self-preservation at this time. To finish, I write the names of the people I met in Mercy’s temple, and the exact date and time of the explosion. I do not believe that was done to take me down specifically, unless someone decided I was worth razing a city block for. The temple wasn’t destroyed, it was… 

Right.

“Time for some shopping,” I lie.

Chronos waves me away without a word. I move to the skill machine, but really, I just want a moment to myself. The knowledge that the gods can read my thoughts triggers a flash of annoyance. There is little I can do to solve that — it’s like being naked all the time without my consent.

I feel both ashamed and angry at the violation. 

“Can’t help it. Can’t help it,” I repeat like a mantra.

Alright.

I have two priorities and one immediate concern. The immediate concern is that I don’t want my fucking brain splattered over the counter two fucking minutes into a loop. The first priority is to finish learning ‘common’ and basically become familiar enough with the culture that I can function at a basic level. The more I learn about Enderlith, the more I realize it might be long and difficult. The station’s society is more stratified than an Angel cake and just about as disappointing. Of the three levels of language I identified, I barely speak the first. There are also local dialects. And that’s what I could find out from the shelter. It’s only to be expected when billions of souls share the air filters: things get complicated.

Now, that one is easy: I just need time, and to get time, I need to disappear far away, possibly out of range of that explosion. Enderlith is massive. I doubt the killer has a way to track me down through the entire galaxy though I may be wrong. I just don’t think I’m that important. 

I’ll need to get to the bottom of this but it’s not a priority simply because I doubt I can get a killer off my back with a simple phone call at the beginning of the loop. Not without tremendous effort. Getting stronger is a safer, universally useful solution. For all of its charms and weirdness, Enderlith is closed to me, and it will remain so until I can get that killer off my case. Getting people not to call the local jackboots on my ass for the crime of looking weak would go a long way towards making my life tolerable. I have two avenues of progress.

The first is the mage tradition. Magic is cool. I also have enough points to buy one, if barely, but I need my soul awakening to progress before I can learn. Fortunately, this kind of happens by itself so I can just get on with my lives and wait for an opportunity.

The second is physical awakening. I know I can buy the first level for cheap provided I reach the third within a single loop. What I find interesting is that this isn’t one of those skills I can learn by myself with enough time, but a qualitative change to my nature at the beginning of the loop. 

Maybe they’re one and the same.

In any case, this will be my second priority. I need to learn how physical awakening works just so I can start every loop with an advantage. It’s also a little bit exciting. The thing with working out is, the good stuff goes away. It does come back faster afterward but it still goes away. I find the perspective of a physical benefit that just never leaves intoxicating.

Right. I have a plan. Chase the killer away, get my stuff, disappear, learn more, and start with physical awakening. 

Easy peasy. Right. Brilliant.

I don’t want to die again. But it will happen. 

I wish I could get my cello.

“There are printers. You only need to recreate it,” Chronos muses. 

“Yeah sure, let me just pull a perfect blueprint out of my memory,” I complain.

Chronos doesn’t react. He’s right. I only need to learn how to do it. I know the different parts, I just need to find out the right proportions. Maybe I can even ask for help. 

Later.

“Alright, I’m done. Send me back.”

 ***

I leave my cup on the table, then look for the control panel. It should be by the… ah there it is. I swipe on the detector and the wall opens like an iris, revealing a recess and the ugly box of the flat’s main controls. With shaky fingers, I navigate through the displays. Air warmth. Must be the AC, so no. Water. Security. Here we go. The screen offers a variety of options but oh miracle of miracle of efficient UIs, there is a ‘oh shit’ button near the top. I press it. 

“Please state the nature of your emergency,” an artificial voice said.

Even in the midst of a space wizard station, I still have to deal with answering robots? Fuck all of my lives. 

“Someone’s about to attack me. He’s outside the building.”

“Processing,” the voice almost cuts me off. “Camera malfunction detected.”

Shit.

“Irregularity detected. Enforcers dispatched.”

Yes! Suddenly, I jerk when a woman’s voice replaces the robot.

“Hello, please state your name and citizen ID.”

Her voice is so fast I can barely comprehend. My what? Oh. Wait, I think I have it on the table. 

“Are you the legal owner of this residence?” the voice said with some impatience. 

“Yes sorry I’m new. I have it there. Hold on.”

I rummage through the pack of stuff. Ah here, it is. A sort of card. I return to the box and recite the characters. There are 24 of them and luckily, they’re all simple and familiar.

“Steev Plentiss,” the voice confirms.

I do not complain at my name being mangled by people who’re supposed to be superhuman.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Identity confirmed. I recommend putting your domicile in lockdown until the crisis has resolved. Do I have your approval?”

Finally. I can already feel the assassin creeping into the corridor, his presence focused and muted. I don’t want the door to blow up in my bloody face.

“Yes, bloody hell. Yes!”

An alarm rings. Panels shut the window. Something descends upon the door. The light dies, then flickers back to life red and angry. Not ten seconds later, I hear heavy stomps cross the corridor from two bright souls. Then nothing.

Minutes pass. Eventually, the lockdown ends with a polite ring at the door, which takes me some time to answer since I’ve never used the interphone before. The same faceless jackboot who kicked me out of the damn tube talks to me in a low, gravelly voice. They confirmed they’ve chased the intruder away. Follow up questions come, as they always do.

“Have you committed any action that would lead to this attempt?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” I reply.

Something brushes against my soul, not intrusive and so subtle I wouldn’t notice if I did not awaken twice. It drifts by like a careful glance. 

“I see,” the guard says. 

Beyond the door, they shine strangely in my perception. I think I’m getting a stronger return from them than I am from the neighbor. They are strong but rigid and structured too stiffly, almost unnaturally. They are closer to statues than people. I have no idea what this means.

Then the gaze turns away, and my perception of them returns to a whisper. I’m just not good enough yet. 

“Incident filed. An instruction notice has been sent to your address. Please follow the procedure to guarantee your safety and tranquility. Have a good day, citizen,” the guard finishes with all the enthusiasm of an answering machine.

Right.

I’m not dead yet, and I still have the flat. Lovely. First things first… I rush to the wardrobe because I finally know why it’s empty. A panel opens on the left, revealing a touch screen and several options. I move through them as fast as possible. Default outfits, yes. By some miracle, I have a one month free subscription for basic services. After scrolling for a minute I find one I like well enough: beige trousers and a long vest with a close-fitting white shirt. It’s basic and understated enough that I could wear it on Earth without turning too many heads — maybe that’s why I like it. I confirm the selection. A scanner bathes me in blue light, then shortly after the door closes, the wardrobe rumbles, then it spits my new clothes. 

I should have ordered underwear too. I change quickly, feeling vulnerable. Okay. So now I won’t look like a weird bum. There’s just the matter of the physical awakening. Later. First, I need to get out of here. Satisfied with the clothes, I place an order for more then pack the electronics in a freshly made bag. There is a tablet I can use. It takes me some time to grow familiar with it but at least the UI wasn’t designed by a donkey so I get it online. I’m a citizen of Enderlith. Bless Chronos for at least setting this up, and the cash, or things would have gotten dire. Now, my status as a citizen grants me the right to purchase weapons. After a cursory check and linking my account, I peruse the options. And I immediately swear. Those are worth their weight in gold! I have… around 500 talents on the chip and another 20 000 in the bank, minus a small fee for printing the clothes. A basic gun is close to 2k. Thing is, I know from the Church of Mercy that each talent is worth a lot. Some of the shipments we sent out were worth eighty talents, and that was the collective work of dozens of people over hours. Talents were the, well, the king currency here. 

Ah well, fuck it. I don’t want to die if I don’t have to. I browse a bit and realize my best bet is a non-lethal, short-ranged option. My selection made, I pack the rest of the clothes as well as the datasheet… then the wall communicator beeps.

I freeze. It’s around half past midnight local time. No one should be contacting me.

I approach the console. The impatient female voice from earlier begins before I can even lift my finger.

“This is your security advisor. We would like to inform you that your personal records have been illegally accessed by Enderlith Standard Securities, a small company known to issue high-risk loans. This includes your financial records. Please note that we do not provide online security, and we take no responsibility for the breach. This is a courtesy.”

She sounds defensive. I would be pissed but, well, she works in customer relations and I’ve met the patricians so it’s whatever. But that means I’m being tracked by, what, loan sharks? But I haven’t even gone to any sort of bank yet! Also, they cantrack my spendings then. I can probably keep the chip, but the datasheet might be a no go. That’s fine. I’ll return to Mercy’s Church for the night, then move away. Last time, it took a little while for the assassin to track me down. Maybe I’ll get lucky.

“Alright. Thanks for letting me know.”

“... you’re welcome. Good luck.”

She hangs up. A moment later, someone rings on my door. I check the camera.

It’s a package.

“If someone booby trapped and it explodes in my face, I’ll be quite mad.”

***

That was the gun. I manage to sneak in the train the same way as before though I spot one of the assassin’s drones just as I go through the gates. Advertisements roll on local screens in the neon lights while I agonize over dying again, but nothing happens. I’m getting the impression that attacking someone on the train might be a bad idea. 

As before, I take the path down the geographical and social ladder, first to the base of the Needles, then towards the Betweens, using the breathing room to read my brand new weapon’s instructions. The trains change from elegant glass tubes to larger metal cans that smell of piss and old age. The difference is that this time, I get most of the names and all of the instructions. My Enderlithian has progressed enough that I can follow the rare conversations between locals, all of their souls shivering in my perception. I hear fear now that the Year of Judgment finally started, and a vague hope that things will get better after it’s all done. It sounds like a coping mechanism to me but what do I know? I just died in a massive explosion.

Anyway.

Just like last time, the Church of Mercy’s outskirts are fast asleep by the time I emerge from the station into the pungent darkness. Will they let me in if I own a gun? Guess I’ll find out. My steps lead me down familiar streets and I palm the handle of the stubby handgun with sweaty fingers. 

It’s my first time touching one. The nearest thing I ever shot was a longbow, and only at stationary targets. Shit, maybe I should have looked for a dedicated drone gun… but they’re so much faster than me that it might not even make a difference. The Church is in front. This time, I follow a more circular path because if I go straight away, I’ll just run into the thugs again.

And so I’m really surprised when I feel three presences jogging through a side alley slightly ahead of me. I can taste the naked excitement oozing through their bared presence. They are pretty much broadcasting their intention. Sadly, that intention is me.

“The hell?”

On a hunch, I run parallel to them, back towards where they came from. My brand new shoes quietly beat the asphalte as I feel us cross paths, separated by one street. I lose them in my perception, but I do not slow down. I even backtrack a bit. And then I hear swear words behind me in a language I recognize. Turning down another alley, I come to a stop. There is a narrow passage in front of me that leads back towards the church. Lights of the main plazza lure me in with the siren song of safety but this is a lie. I am slow here, pathetically weak.

Got a gun though. I turn and draw.

The Defender is a strange beast, a silvery, compact weapon with two barrels, one over the other. It also has two triggers. I place my thumb at the base of the barrel, activating it. It’s surprisingly heavy. 

A whirr winds up the Defender until a firm ‘ding’ lets me know it’s done.

I can’t win in a straight fight against those fuckers. Good thing I don’t believe in straight fights. The first thug pretty much smashes against the wall from sheer speed. I point and press the first trigger, getting a beep of acknowledgment. His black eyes find me. His pure greed fades to surprise. He pushes himself away from the wall, only to slam into his friend. For a blessed instant, he doesn’t move.

I pull the second trigger. A sound like a really loud bass sends discarded wrappers and empty cans flying away along with the head idiot. The Defender whirrs again. It’s cycling.

I backpedal while the second guy stands back up, full of fury. That’s the white, blue-haired asshole with the vicious glare. Fear makes him hesitate, which saves me. Quick as a snake, he snatches a discarded can and throws it at me. It smashes painfully against my left forearm. The pain surprises me but I manage not to flinch. I can feel the third guy coming from my back, probably sent to cut me off. 

Ding.

I press the first trigger, and get the confirmation almost immediately; moments later, the second thug joins the first against the far wall. I turn on myself and block a heavy hand reaching for my shoulder. The second finds my throat. It chokes me. 

No air.

It takes all of my willpower not to drop the gun. Gun, I live. No gun, I die. The Neanderthal thug slams me against the wall as if I were a puppet. Hurts. He’s so bloody strong. But he’s scared. Why is he scared?

Ding.

He looks down. I don’t think he can feel the stubby barrel pressed against his sternum. I’m not strong enough for that.

He collapses against the opposite wall. His body bounces as I fall. It crashes on me. I crawl away on all fours, spitting, coughing. It stinks here, it’s a fucking abomination. I still gulp air like it’s free. My back and arm hurt, but I’m ok. Not broken, for sure. 

It sure beats punching chavs under a bus stop but definitely not by much. 

‘God,” I gasp, before amending. “Not a specific one.”

Feet paddle closer as I watch. They are naked, as black as the void, while strands of energy dance in its depths. I stand back up with difficulty while massaging my poor throat. Did Neanderthal have steel vises instead of bloody fingers? What the hell. I cough some more.

The same woman who saved me the first time is here. I still tower over her, and she is still naked in a way that feels dressed.

“Some things never change,” she says in perfect English.

I search my mind for her name. My brain is a little wobbly right now, yet somehow I remember it. 

“Good evening, Kaisari.”

“So we’ve already met,” she says without emotion. 

The woman sighs. I cannot feel her soul, I realize.

“Are you really there?” I find myself asking.

“Are you?” she jokes.

It doesn't sound nice. I remember the qualia point count calling her a ‘mysterious stranger’. I think I know what’s going on.

“You’re an avatar too, aren’t you?” I ask.

It’s a bit risky to reveal my nature but I need allies and something tells me she does as well.

“Yes,” she replies without hesitation. “But it does not matter. Not now.”

“May I ask why?” I reply.

Kaisari lifts her left hand. It takes a while before I realize something is wrong with it. A deep crack carves an unnatural path along the base of the thumb. Kaisari is wounded, or rather, she’s damaged. Like a crumbling statue. I look and realize there are more cracks running along her body. 

“You are too weak to help me, one way or another.”

She quietly sighs.

“Goodbye, traveler.”

And then she’s gone again. Disappeared.

I dust myself off. Luckily, none of what I landed in was liquid so I don’t have trash juice sticking to my trousers. Turning back to the thugs, I consider my options.

I really want to know how they keep finding me. I doubt someone shoved a gps beacon up my ass and I left the datasheet at home so there shouldn’t be a way to track me. The Defender knocks out people for an hour or so. I know it because it’s part of the price tag. The first barrel assesses the strength of the target to determine how much energy it should use while the second trigger unleashes the payload. That way I won’t kill anyone, not on purpose at least. Right now, they are disabled, but I don’t really have a way to question them, and I don’t want to wait on the outside for an hour. 

I don’t even know how to contact law enforcement here. Enderlith doesn’t have a general police. Each area manages order differently. Out of ideas, I search their pockets. I find small chips and one of them has something that looks like a phone. Or a remote. Shrugging, I pocket everything. Thus are robbed they who thought they’d do the robbing. 

Returning to the lights of the main plaza brings no succor. I’m still being pursued, and I still don’t know why. The temple’s guard watches me approach with a look of arrogant boredom. His blue eyes inspect me without subtlety.

“And you must be Adi. Your reputation precedes you,” I inform him.

The recognition takes him off guard. His fists tightened on his staff. 

“You’re just as fucking useless as I was told.”

***

I am asked to surrender the Defender before being allowed entry by the tight-lipped asshole. Just like last time, I am led to Nya of the many scars and green hair and just like last time, I rat Adi out for being a twat. I notice something strange though. While last time she tore into him immediately after I left the room, this time her tone is significantly more civil. I wonder what changed. She even feels cooler to me. 

Is it my appearance? Anyway, Torl comes to pick me up. He’s also more distant than before, making no effort to get closer. There is a barrier between us that didn’t exist when I was wearing Earth loungewear and couldn’t speak three words. The distance hurts me in a way I didn’t expect. I know it’s not his fault because to him, we never met, and yet… I feel scorned, I think. Ignored.

It’s strange. 

In any case, I use the evening time to consult one of the local computers. 

I’m going to need money to survive. The good thing is that I’m a citizen. The bad thing is that I have no network, no degree, no relevant experience, and no physical awakening. Well, it could be worse.

A part of me returns to my cello. It’s been a month since I last touched it, technically. I don’t think I’ve spent this long without playing in, well, pretty much since I started back when I was eight. It’s weird how I miss it, yet I don’t miss people that much. I had good friends, I just… take solace in the knowledge they’re safe, I guess. They’re away from this clown show, blithely repeating the year. 

Living my disappearance on repeat. Fuck. And the orchestra too. Well, one cellist won’t make a lot of difference. And my students… Ah, shit. 

With one last groan, I go job hunting. 

Not what I expected when I was selected as the avatar of time.