016573 vs Ethan

[Taskmienster]

They were getting close, and the feeling was making me nauseous. No matter where I logged, where I appeared, and who I was with, the systems administration was gaining ground. They were routing me, moving me by their wills. It was like a game of chess gone wrong; the pieces were aligned unevenly, and even with my abilities to change the pieces I was being cornered. If I let them get check mate my fate was sealed, and the company I worked for was in a deeper hole than I would be. It was time to let the pushing and prodding administration of Althanas have their way, while I tried to weasel my way out of their trap.

“Lars I presume?” The man’s voice caught me off guard and I turned quickly. The stubby little monk waiting for was an interesting looking character, probably an NPC in this virtual reality world of fantasy and mayhem. He was possibly an admin in disguise, but my abilities to discern between a real character, and a computer programmed character, were non-existent. In the man’s chubby little fingers was a scroll, a broken seal I had never seen before along the upper lip. Flowing scrawl covered it, but I didn’t take the time to read it. All I did see was my name, Ethan ‘Lars’ Calhoun, written multiple times. “Welcome back to the Dajas Pagoda. We were sent word that you would be joining us for a challenge. An opponent of appropriate level has been found and will be joining you shortly. You are going to be late if you do not hurry.”

“Listen,” I said as I flicked the still lit butt of the cigarette on the ground. Who had sent word? How did they know I was going to be here, of all places? The Pagoda was not my first choice in places to go to escape the creators of the world. They had somehow known though, maybe by my actions… or if they had gone into my file they could see that I had frequented the Citadel numerous times and the challenge of the Pagoda couldn’t be passed up for long. Instead of holding my anger I leashed it on the man. “I don’t know who the hell you are, or why you have something arranged. I just came for a stroll… check out what this whole thing’s about. You know? I’m not going to be accepting challenges by other people… my last battle wasn’t even completed before you assholes pulled me out of it.”

“Of course Mr. Calhoun, if you will just follow me this way I can help you with any questions you may have. We can talk as we get to the room.” The monk was pushy, and ignored my concerns about previous battles, but I just had to deal with it. Being a hacker in the virtual reality world was dangerous, and the official documents he presented were full of unknown variables. Who had written them about my coming? Was my opponent aware of what I was or an admin themselves?

~*~

The rooms worked the same way that the ones in the Citadel did. The monk opens a door and bam; you’re in some god forsaken place that is just an illusion created by their ‘magic’. The world on the other side of the door could be anywhere, from what I gathered, and was a mix of where you thought you wanted to fight and the monks own unique case of pure madness. The people that ran the illusions were like children with a magnifying glass, creating chaos as they burned the ants underneath. I could feel the pin point of heat drift in my direction when the setting changed and the room became my next tomb.

Clicks of gears shifting made my eyes drift lazily towards the sound. I could see cogs ranging from bigger than my body to ones as small as my hand moving meticulously. They were attached to a network of bars and rods that were strung like the web of a spider throughout the room. I let my hands free to hold onto the bars, push against them to test their strength. Everything that was not bolted down was welded as far as I could tell. As I followed bars and cogs I realized what the world around me was… the insides of a rather large clock tower.

“Damn you monks,” I murmured without a single hint of compassion behind my tone. I knew the ones who had pushed me to this place were watching somewhere, pulling that magnifying glass closer and closer. They wanted chaos; they wanted to watch as the world slowly burned the way they willed. I, for one, was no pawn in their silly game. The stage was set, the curtains were pulled aside already, and I was playing the lead role with no training or pre-set lines. My backdrop was a world of metal and methodical music, a dangerous close quarter’s arena that left me wondering. Would my daggers be as effective with so many obstacles? Would I be able to escape another painstakingly difficult battle with a victory? Or was the clockwork around me just a countdown to my eventual failure?

The questions caught me in a whirlwind of thought. I did not feel comfort as the giant hands moved in their careful and callous way, I did not feel calm or rational thoughts while waiting for my own death. I moved away from the levers and churning inner workings of precision. I could not see the other barriers that created my cage, only one stood out fully to me. The milky white glass of the clock face was my only means of escape should the inevitable happen, should I need to free myself from this prison. All I could see looking through it was the gentle fall of snow flakes and a drop that would be suicide to attempt. My hands pressed against the frigid glass. I rested my forehead against it, between my hands, and let the chill outside calm me. It felt good against the beads of sweat that were already budding on my brow. “Let’s just get this over with… I’m sure that my next foe is someone from the system and it’ll be over anyway should I die. They’ll be able to remove me from the server before I have my body renewed by the monk’s ‘magic’.”