EndGame (Unfrozen Book #5): LitRPG Series Page 2

  Behind us the sound of frightened exclamations rose as the nightmare in the men’s bathroom was revealed.

  Now they’d have to actually clean the facilities, at least.

  “This is all crazy!” said Roberts, although more subdued now. “Prices shot up everywhere, and by the way, the clients also faced losses.”

  “Not the biggest ones,” I said. “Of course they had to throw somebody under the bus, because if they didn't, they’d look suspicious. The entire plan depended on the fact that nobody was safe with these elusive assassins on the loose. The authorities knew about the deadly holograms, but didn't want the public to know.”

  “Holograms?” frowned the doctor.

  “You are so behind on the news....I’ll fill you in later. Right now I want to know about your group. Anna talked about some ‘wild’ programmer that was assigned to you back then. Who was he?”

  “His name was Grisha,” the neurosurgeon said, thinking back. “His role was to assist Georgiy with adjusting the transplanted registration chip, but he wasn't allowed to know anything about the experimental subjects’ details. Once we knew that the personality substitution technology was fully functional, Grisha set about hacking into the game's security systems. He was already experienced in such work. I think he was somehow connected with the software developers for the capsules. He knew too much really. Right from the start, we ran his program on every little thing until the rest of the unfrozen got into the game. Then the plan was to get into the major clans.”

  “So Anna was placed with the noobs?”

  “She played her role perfectly. But George strictly forbade her to use her access for personal purposes. The idea was that nobody was supposed to suffer. Just the ones who were eliminating the competition. We were looking for any clues — communications, hits, strange search queries. Whatever we could find.”

  “Right, Bulat had a good laugh...”

  “I can’t believe it’s them,” the old man persisted.

  “And yet, you didn't want to avail yourself of their protection,” I noted.

  “True, I did have doubts about some individuals, but not about management as a whole. It's unthinkable!”

  “My impression is that they were always following the latest developments. So as to take advantage of them, of course. And your group was no exception.”

  “But what do we have to do with this?”

  “Think about it,” I said, pointing toward my head were the alien chip was located. “The Specters are a passing phenomenon, a one-time event, as it were. The Unfrozen project, though, was most likely planned for the long term. Goha might have principles, but he’s the exception.”

  “But if you're right, then how can we win against such a powerful organization?” asked the doctor.

  “Have you ever been stung by a wasp? You’d think you could just crush it with your finger, right? It’s such a little thing. But I know a guy who drove his car off a cliff when one stung him while he was behind the wheel. He took with him two more other men in the car. One wasp against three healthy men. Now, they’re dead and gone.”

  “But you’re only one man!”

  “Ask those goons in the toilet how their numerical advantage helped them.” I said to the doctor. What a defeatist. “Moreover, in the field, I’m not on my own. I have several assistants, and soon a skilled surgeon will be one of them. So welcome to the team!”

  “I don't suppose it matters to you that I’d rather not?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Like it or not, you’re the only one who can bring Ellie back. Whether you want to or not...”

  “What a question! She's kindred to me!”

  “Well, then, we agree,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “Now then, tell me. Do you have any warm clothes? A fur coat, perhaps?”

  Chapter 97

  (continued from Book 4)

  IF MY LAST NEIGHBORHOOD, which was now in the process of being demolished, was sketchy, my current residence was definitely a slum.

  Most of the apartment buildings were old communal apartments forgotten by God and the housing authorities, with a single communal kitchen per floor. Likewise with the bathroom situation. The tenants were all holed up in their respective tiny matchbox rooms, unable to relocate to better digs, slowly going crazy. It was like a human anthill, gradually sinking under the weight of the years, impervious to change and lost to time. As I strolled around the decrepit neighborhood, I kept coming across crumbling facades which nobody bothered to demolish. In some of the rubble, I could see flickering flames, indicating life inside. And smoke, too, as if this was a cave with cavemen inside.

  Yes, this region was long ago forgotten. In the distant past, an industrial zone abutted it, and that’s why this low-rent housing had been constructed to start with. Even now, some of the apartment buildings were inhabited primarily by hustlers and hard workers, ranging from alcoholics to hard laborers from near and far. As factory work became ever the more automated, they had to move on from the larger enterprises, but they still managed to eke out an existence thanks to small enterprises which were either above board or on the black market.

  The semi-lawless milieu here brought back pleasant memories of my own reckless youth, although I didn't spend it around here too much. These people had been hardened by the years of struggle and could easily hold their own against any threats. They could even be the threat themselves from time to time. Send these guys anywhere, and they’d find a way. After all, they could make it in this concrete jungle. Yep, these dudes endured it all, and had managed to survive. Even a meek-looking teacher type might have a switchblade stashed in her purse, or a more hardcore weapon. There was, in its way, a social structure of sorts that kept the gopniks in check.

  That being said, a stray loner such as myself might constantly had to prove himself to whomever, which is why I had to pay a courtesy call one the local “godfather”, and carefully explain to him why it would be bad for his health to distract a disabled retiree from his pressing business. He got the message. Sure, he was looking a little gray in the face after our heart-to-heart, but just the same, he was one lucky guy. He could still, say, drop by the church, light a candle. And I didn’t have to waste time on the locals anymore.

  And so I settled into the ‘hood pretty quickly. Of course, I didn’t opt to live in a dormitory or a studio apartment, but instead selected a small place where, say, engineers and other more genteel types used to live. My capsule barely fit inside the place, but since the entire building had long ago been hooked up to a major network nearby, I had great Internet access.

  But even this down and out place required money to rent, and there were other expenses I had to deal with that seemed to multiply. Thus far, my only source of income was in the game. I wasn’t counting the gold bling bling from the local gangsters I passed onto the pawnshop for some money...That would be pocket change.

  And what with the hassle of moving and the sudden trip to the tropics, I’d yet again checked out of clan life. At least this time it wasn't for too long, so I wasn't missing much.

  Our remaining ships had safely docked at Nail-4 and were now under the protection of the cosmic pirates. Bumtastic had cut a deal with the Pirate Council, but our situation was nonetheless precarious. The one good thing was that our competition was still busy with the relic and it seemed that everybody else was getting ready for the Tournament, which was slated to start next week.

  After we left, Swava, too, managed to win the chess match, and his score was far more resounding. Only the survivors got prizes, and so we only scored three artifacts, thanks to the sweet couple who’d later met their end, thanks to me. Lubomir didn't find anything he wanted, so he gave his prize to us — a universal engine for mid-sized starships. They were almost finished installing it on the Butthole. The techies told us that it should increase our flagship’s performance exponentially. And this was good, because even with the hi-tech equipment provided by the Red Star Killers, it still trudged from system to system l
ike an icebreaker moving through the Arctic.

  Traveling on a barge like that on a long-range raid was a sure way to die of old age in the game. Now, our destroyer could at least keep up with faster vessels. But there was no way we could set sail anytime soon. The region was flooded with Antarean spies, and we couldn't forget about our adversaries. The authorities had done nothing to punish those who’d attacked us, and they were openly sharpening their knives.

  Our far-sighted clan leader was right — our only recourse was to ally ourselves with the pirates. But the Council wasn’t about to award us a Letter of Marque for our good looks. What was required was either a substantial monetary contribution, or else excellent relations with all its members. Free synthcoins were one thing, but those heading groups that had suffered during the raid had no desire to cease hostilities.

  And so the sale of one of our last starships loomed on the horizon. This would most likely be the Rallecian frigate, which would bring in just enough to cover immediate expenses. But that would mean we didn’t even have a single squadron, and our players would be left without assignments. Already most of the ones without a “ride” were simply loitering around feeling useless. One couple had already lost everything they owned at a casino, and were now in danger of being excluded. The Slasherz needed every member, though. Currently our numbers had dropped down to a fifth of our former membership, as those who’d lost heart fled to other clans with sunnier skies.

  True, many who abandoned ship were noobs, or rote players, losers, but still, as a whole we were weaker now. We were facing an acute shortage of engineers and scientists, for example — these professions were key to generating a stable income. And yes, even some of our fighters where perusing other options. We lacked the funds to cover the next paycheck, and this was no secret.

  The clan’s cache contained some resources collected along the way, plus a couple of new artifacts. This included a cool sword in the Predecessor’s treasury, but it was worth much less than the other lots, which is why I grit my teeth and selected a ship’s cannon as my reward. It was so powerful that we couldn’t even used it on the destroyer because to fire a single shot from it, we’d have to de-energize all of the other systems. Unacceptable, even for self-propelled artillery.

  Criman selected a fancy rifle that he couldn’t even use anytime soon. It required astronomical skills, and so the best thing to do with it was sell it to a super high level player. Of course, why do that at the pirate station, where the shady local dealers would pay half off what it was worth? The best thing to do with it was sell it at the closest station of the Union of Anthropomorphs. And what with the free-for-all against the Slasherz, it wasn't likely we’d be able to offload the fancy gun anytime soon.

  In short, we were in dire straits, up a creek without a paddle, however you want to put it.

  Since the invasion of the Plerks, Nail-4 had rebounded, and now, it even had additional docks for larger starships, plus a reinforced outer shell.

  Bumtastic has established his quarters in one of the better local bars. Drunken brawls weren’t allowed in the place, and so it was patronized by small-time gang leaders who wanted to hold meetings away from prying eyes. Two giant reptilian cyborgs were the bouncers - their looming frames dwarfed the gateways at the entrance. If anybody even raised their voice inside, they’d immediately stomp toward him, causing all of the dishes to rattle. The food was typical bar fare, but tasty.

  For an extra fee, a private chamber for meetings could be rented, but it was worth it, because it was free from leaks. Bumtastic, of course, practically lived in one of these secure spaces, as the spies around here were ubiquitous. He could be as verbose as he wanted here.

  “Okay, we need to score some loot ASAP!” he said gloomily as soon as I walked through the door. So much for a greeting.

  “Looks like you’ve morphed into a pirate already,” I observed, sitting down opposite him.

  “We’re not lowlife gopota. We’re Robin Hood types!” retorted Bumtastic, wrapping himself in his robe. “But we need money.”

  “I know. I've seen the reports. So the Council isn’t meeting us halfway?”

  “As far as they’re concerned, they did us a huge favor anyway by providing us temporary shelter. And they’ve got a point, actually...”

  “Do you think the Antareans might attack us here?” I asked. Better to know.

  “Not the ones that already crushed us. They’d be dismembered here, no questions asked. Also, the scorpions couldn't mount a surprise attack on this station, like they did with us. The pirates have a 24/7 sentry system that monitors the entire surrounding area. If they let up their guard even a bit, then lowlifes out to get us would be flocking here from near and far. But we can’t stay around here forever — it’s prohibitively expensive.”

  “So who do you propose we play Robin Hood with?”

  “Oh, there are lots of possibilities!” exclaimed Bumtastic, rubbing his hands. “Naturally, it’d be crazy to attack the Union’s forces, but we could set our sights on weaker targets.”

  “Why not just hunt the satellites?”

  “Right. First we’ve got to find them, and string them out,” grumbled Bumtastic. “What with recent encounters, we’ve already thinned out all of their weaker players, and the ones who remain have formed large packs. You came up against one of them on that captured frigate. Even the pirates do their best to avoid them, as do the less bolder adventurers. So we can’t expect to farm any replicas yet, unless you’re insanely lucky again. Haha!”

  “I hope to avoid them this time,” I said.

  “Just do your best,” sighed Bumtastic. “Your current goal is simple, but tempting. All you have to do is pursue and catch these guys.”

  “Who are you talking about, exactly?”

  “A Datorian scouting unit. Two search frigates and a support corvette. Clearly this should be child’s play for you. But we’re not the only ones who know about them. Yes, I paid for the info, but no way was I the seller’s exclusive client. But anyway, it’s our best option right now. Scouts come and go in this sector. As you know, they never linger.”

  “So what are we supposed to do if we find them?” I scratched my chin doubtfully as I looked at the galactic map.

  The sector we were looking at was chock full of stars. And also, it was a launching point to five neighboring clusters. Where the scouting party was headed was anybody’s guess.

  “Attack them, of course,” shrugged Bumtastic. “Just don’t wreak death and destruction on them! Ideally, they’ll surrender after the first salvo. Then, just board the ships, put the crews on the lifeboats, and wish them happy travels.”

  “Just like that, eh?” I mused. “But those are dangerous waters, as it were. It’s not likely they’d be rescued soon.”

  “Damn, you can be difficult! Just stick to your script, okay? Don't worry, they’ll be fine. They’ll make it to the border in a week, like intrepid little adventurers. No one looks twice at life boats. Not even the satellites.”

  “What about sentry bots? They attack everything they come across.”

  “Well that’s just too bad, then, right?” Bumtastic snorted. “We’re not their nannies, so forget about taking them under our wing! We’re in outer space, Cooldown! It’s the Wild West of the Cosmos! Shit happens. You’d be better off thinking about the ones who left us high and dry when all hell broke loose!”

  He was waving his arms so much he almost whapped the bulkhead. It wasn't a large chamber, so space was tight.

  “I wasn't there, but yes, I remember it as if I had been,” I said. “But I don't want us to morph into scumbags, like the Pro-SOS.”

  “We need those damned starships,” the clan leader continued, calmer now. “Right now we can’t mine resources, we can’t trade, we can’t do jack. We probably can’t even make it as far as our last system . We only have three units left. The rest of our fleet is gone. So everyone around wants to pluck our three beauties out of the sky and it’s only the good grac
es of the pirates that’s stopping them. And so we have to sell contraband, because otherwise we become freeloaders here. Nobody likes freeloaders. Or maybe you could fly to Talvro instead, and move the Predecessor’s artillery? Oh, that’s right. I forgot. They’re not going to wait for us!”

  Our clan leader was right about our situation. Without the Union’s protection, we couldn’t go near the system without our ships coming under attack. We were real outcasts now, so even characters that were adventurers might give a go at scoring our stuff, not to mention other players.

  “Okay. Time to gather the Merry Men together,” I said, capitulating. “Only let me have full control over the crew.”