EndGame (Unfrozen Book #5): LitRPG Series Read online

  EndGame

  a novel

  by Anton Tekshin

  Unfrozen

  Book#5

  Magic Dome Books

  Unfrozen

  Book #5: EndGame

  Copyright © Anton Tekshin 2022

  Cover Art © Vladimir Manyukhin 2022

  English translation copyright 2022© Jennifer E. Sunseri

  Published by Magic Dome Books, 2022

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-80-7619-588-2

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the shop and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

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  Table of Contents:

  Foreword

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Foreword

  AFTER FREEZING through a Russian winter, what could be better than basking in the tropical sunshine? That’s right — nothing. Unless you throw in a couple of cocktails in the shade of a thatched bungalow on the beach. You wouldn't find cattle in barns with thatched roofs, but out here, people live in them. Why not with a climate like this?

  Everything around me was strange, dreamlike, as if I was on another planet.

  The people were smaller, and always smiling, and the trees had broad, sheltering leaves, and even the sky here was somehow different. It wasn't gloomy, forbidding... No doubt had our great Russian writers lived under such sunny skies, they’d never have penned those heavyweight classics. There was no way to not feel lighthearted in a place like this, even if there was a tad bit of longing for the homeland within you.

  It was high time I treated myself to a real vacation. I needed to recharge, forget about blood and guts for awhile. After all, I’m not a robot...

  The food service here was great, too. Frivolous, fun, delectable. The closer to the beach I went, the less substantial were the walls around the eateries. Some were simply topped by canopies on poles, surrounded by palm trees. The only tribute to technological progress was the all-merciful electricity, which was used primarily on refrigeration. Nobody wanted a warm Mai Tai, especially under the hot sun. And who didn’t want to sip any icy cocktail on the beach?

  And then there were the facilities for relieving oneself, conveniently located near each cocktail lounge. No need to run too far. Fortunately, they catered to the needs of the tourists here, because they depended on them for their own bread and butter, and of course, not requiring them to dash behind the nearest tree was in everybody’s best interests. Everything here was so very civilized and nice. A far cry from the greasy spoons and dives back home.

  “Okay, you heathens, what is it you’ve got for me here?”

  I said this to myself whilst thoroughly washing my hands, after which I made my way to the bar. There stood a wizened bartender with leathery skin, and behind him rose a rack of shelves loaded with colorful bottles all the way up to the ceiling. Many of the bottles were enticingly new to me, but among the exotic offerings, I spied the beverage of my homeland, that being vodka. But then again, why fly across half the globe for the same old same old?

  “I’ll take two of your signature Bojitos, please,” I said to the bartender

  Naturally, we communicated in my native tongue here, which was understood better than in some of the outdoor markets in my nation’s capital city. The man flashed a wide smile, exposing all of his missing teeth, and then briskly set about mixing his “magic” potions. He even set fire to something, which heightened the effect. Surely he would’ve been burned at the stake during the Inquisition for such tricks.

  He graciously brushed away the banknote I held out to him with a practiced movement. And I, in turn, now held aloft two portions of a toxic green liquid that emitted the enticing aromas of mint, lemon, and something else I couldn’t identify.

  I then wended my way to a table across the space, where a bearded, older man in professorial glasses sat in thought. It was tropically warm, and so he was attired in loose shorts and a thin linen shirt. He already sported a tan, and thus, he looked like an intrepid archaeologist on a well-earned rest. He held an real, hard-copy book in this hands, which was most unusual these days, and was sipping a tiny cup of espresso that was black as tar.

  I even felt a little badly about interrupting his reveries.

  There were no other chairs at his table, which led me to the suspicion that he didn’t crave company on this fine morning. Most of the tables around him were empty, and the few rumpled tourists up at this hour preferred to sit nearer the beach, or at the bar itself.

  I set the glasses down on the table with a solid “clunk,” causing the old man engrossed in his book to start in surprise.

  “I beg your...” he began, raising his eyes, and then froze in mid-sentence.

  “Yes, that’s right Roberts, here we are,” I said, waving my hand as if greeting an old friend, and I pulled a wicker chair up and sat down.

  “C-Clem?”

  A strange question, that. I nodded affirmatively, and even managed to grin.

  I’d embarked on this trip under the guise of Kirill Demchenko, with no need for a disguise, since now the only way to verify one’s so-called identity was by scanning the chip. All I needed a passport for was the visa stamp, but it’s not like I looked like the photo much. Only now did I realize the full ramifications of the challenges faced by being unfrozen. Considering how essential computers were in every aspect of life nowadays, this vulnerability could be a real problem down the road.

  “Did you come looking for me?” the elderly surgeon asked in a hoarse voice.

  “I have a lot of questions,” I said. “And no one else to ask. So I decided to pay you a visit, and see how you’re doing in this tropical paradise. Sorry for not contacting you beforehand. Time was short. Very short”

  “I-I need to go…”

  “To the bathroom? I don’t recommend it....it’s dirty. I know. I was just there. Just hold on. Our conversation won't take long.”

  The old man massaged his chest in the region of his heart, and then he set down his book and espresso, grabbed the cocktail glass and pulled on the straw as if his life depended on it. After several deep swallows, he looked around rather helplessly, as if looking for a savior. The police and other security personn
el might be around when the place was full of tourists, but now was the slack period. The sun had only just emerged over the horizon of the deep blue sea, and the only ones up were the rise and shine types, or the die hards not done partying yet.

  “Okay, what is it you want to know?” said the doctor, looking up from his drink. “I thought we’d cleared everything up at our last meeting.”

  “Elvira,” I said, speaking with difficulty. “Who is she really?”

  “In terms of?” asked the old man warily.

  “In terms of this,” I said, laying the results of the DNA test in front of him, with the salient features highlighted.

  “Ah, yes, now I see...” said Dr. Roberts, looking briefly at the conclusion. But then he took a closer look, and his eye widened in shock.

  “What happened to her?!”

  “I failed her,” I said harshly. “Now she’s in cryostasis in critical condition. It was our only option at the time. She was on the brink of death.”

  “Details!” croaked the family doctor

  I proceeded to fill him in on the events, providing documents as needed. The old man carefully studied each item, after which he reproachfully said, “It’s all your fault, you bastard!”

  “Agreed, but you can still fix it, right?”

  “If she inherited your pathological luck with everything else,” he shook his gray-haired head, continuing to pore over the incomprehensible graphs and photographs.

  “But I need to know everything...” I said.

  “You already do, for the most part,” he responded, returning to his drink again. “Biologically, she is your daughter. I didn't tell you before, as I did not know how you’d react, but we left her a record of events that she was supposed to have access to once she was an adult. Sadly, she didn’t make it that far.”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Whatever you say,” he shrugged.

  “Again, I need to know everything.”

  “I understand. But that’s one episode in my life that I don’t like revisiting.”

  “I understand. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

  “It’s Sergei’s fault,” said Roberts, looking up from the documents. “He idolized you, or, rather, your legend. And as time went on, this only got worse. If at that time the technology had existed already, he definitely would’ve brought you back then. He paid for all of your new organs from a special fund he established not long before he left us.”

  “Yes, Georgiy already told me that I owed him ‘til my dying day for bringing me back to life.”

  “In a way, that’s true. If not for him, you’d have been stored until you expired, like the rest of the test subjects. Many of them shouldn’t have been revived.”

  “Like his girlfriend, Anna?”

  “Ah, so you’ve met?” said the old man, surprised.

  “Unfortunately, they got her,” I said. “But she and I had a little chat before then.”

  “She belongs in the grave,” said the doctor harshly. “She was always luring Georgiy into all sorts of reckless acts, and if not for her, they wouldn't have wiped out our group.”

  “But that’s neither here nor there,” I said, putting the conversation back on track. “So Rassokhin had a thing for me. Then what?”

  “Sergei went into politics. He joined a small radical party that promoted the return of the death penalty and other....extreme viewpoints. But that wasn’t enough for me. He wasn’t able to restore your body, so he decided to clone you.”

  “Clearly he was a sci-fi buff,” I said.

  “Back then, no one had ever attempted it, although it was theoretically possible. There were several technical roadblocks and other obstacles of a legal nature. Even now, most countries prohibit the procedure, although organs can be cultivated. But Sergei wasn't the kind to wait. He wanted it all and he wanted it right away.”

  “And?”

  “He insisted I use your genetic material for artificial insemination,” the doctor said in a rush.

  “So who was the donor on the mother’s side?” I almost whispered.

  “Julia.”

  “Sick bastard…” I spat out, barely keeping my emotions in check. “His own daughter..”

  “Her reproductive organs were too badly damaged, so I persuaded him to only use a single egg,” the doctor continued. “I know I’m still guilty as charged, but in the end, Elvira was born. Such as she was.”

  “She’s still alive, even if she’s not exactly with us,” I said hotly. “So who was the surrogate? Was it really Alexandra, his wife?”

  “It was,” croaked the doctor. “I wanted her to think it was a natural conception, but… Sergei couldn't keep it secret...he ended up telling her. Naturally, she was furious.”

  “Indeed, she was. She wanted to kill Ellie. I intervened.”

  “A fatal mistake…” the old man shook his head. “And on that fateful day, the little one managed to escape and lock herself in the office. It was a solid door, and the killers couldn't bust through it.”

  “So what ever happened to Rassokhin's body? No doubt it’s frozen for posterity, too?”

  “Yes, there were orders to this effect, but there wasn't much left of him. They not only dismembered the body, they poured acid all over it. It was so strong that it ate through the enamel. It’s true! I swear!”

  “That’s too bad,” I sighed. “It’s bad when they do your own work for you, but you can’t even improve on it.”

  Now I know why Ellie looked like her unfortunate father even while she had family traits that were distinctive. It was only over time that it started dawning on me how much she resembled me. Too much, really...

  “So now what?” Roberts asked, after a pause.”

  “I’d really like to pound you,” I said. “But I’m afraid that wouldn't help my daughter any. And so in the interests of bringing her back, you have to brush up on your old skills.”

  “No, I can't go back!” he shook his head. “They'd kill me!”

  “Trust me, it's much better to die in your homeland. And really, don't you long for Mother Russia?”

  “Not so much as to want to walk into the lion’s den!”

  “Those bastards aren't lions,” I grimaced. “They’re more like reptiles. Pitiless. And, by the way, thanks to me, they’re now an endangered species. Soon, they all be entered on the Red List.”

  Just then a woman’s scream interrupted our conversation, and a pretty oriental girl in a short dress jumped out of the men’s room, and, still screaming, she dashed off, sprinting like a track star.

  “So, what were you doing in the men's toilet, beautiful?” I asked myself looking after her.

  “What’s in there?” asked the doctor.

  “I told you, it’s a mess,” I said, getting up. “Two others Russian patriots wanted to have a chat with you, and we had a little argument about who would get first crack at it. I won the argument, which is why you’re still alive.”

  “Are they still here?!”

  “Purely technically, yes, although their souls have probably already made it to their final destination. Let’s get out of here before all hell breaks loose...”

  The bartender, alarmed by the screams, was headed to the bathroom to see what had so frightened the pretty girl, and so it was time for us to move on. Find a quieter place.

  “How did you all find me?” asked the doctor, trotting after me.

  There was a boardwalk here so patrons didn't have to slog through the sand. I opted to take the one leading away from the beach.

  “I don't know how you exposed yourself, but I had a personal source as to your whereabouts.”

  “Who?”

  “I myself don’t know. A mysterious somebody who appreciates what I do. Apparently he has a connection with Bulat, and he wanted someone else to do the dirty work. Me, for the most part.”

  “What do they have to do with this?” asked the doctor, slowing down.

  “Ah, you don’t know…” I slapped my forehea
d. “The elusive killers of the players you were supposedly looking for were, in fact, your own employers all along. Yes, that’s right. The Specters. And they eliminated your group when they realized the mess you left behind you. That’s what’s what...”

  “I don't understand...How does all this concern them?”

  “It’s all about the money, Doctor Roberts...Grandfather Marx was right about that, but he couldn't even imagine how vast the grasp would be in the future.”

  “How does anyone benefit from this?!” he exclaimed, truly bewildered.

  “Calm down,” I admonished him. “We already look rather suspicious. No need to draw attention. As for what they’re after, just compare last year’s rates with this year’s. The difference is astounding, and, moreover, now all of the established clans have to hire security. Although, actually, the number of victims is negligible given the gigantic audience. So now they’re swimming in money. A couple of subsidiaries have even sprung up for smaller game groups. The market has been growing by leaps and bounds.”