Double Blind CH125

The void was all around me. Nothingness. No sensation, no sense of weight or distance.

Black.

It was strange to be here again. Back where it all started.

If I relaxed my mind, it was almost like everything that had come to pass was a fever dream, and I was reset to the frantic moments after the meteor. In reality, it wasn’t the same. The overload of panic and existential terror was entirely absent.

I’d gotten used to it. Accepting the unknown was almost automatic.

The text loomed in front of me, magnified several times larger than what I’d grown accustomed to on the system overlay.

<System Message: User. Are you there?>

When I went to select the only option, I was surprised to find the text field empty. Before, the options had all been selected for me. They’d all been answers I likely would have selected if I was being completely and totally honest with both the questions and myself, but generally things I never would have admitted to. Other Users had similar experiences.

Maybe that was meant to be a safeguard. There was no way I’d have taken it seriously enough to answer honestly the first time around.

Given the lack of mouth, I didn’t speak so much as focus my thoughts on the text. “Yes.”

<Welcome, User.>

I waited.

<Are Are Are Are Are Are Are Are Are AreAreAreAreAreAreAreAreArerarerareraerareareareareareararearearearaerearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearearea—>

The window snapped shut. Confusion formed the beginnings of alarm as it became clear something was wrong. This was either a malfunction or something worse.

“Hello?”

There was no response. The silence dragged out long enough for my alarm to turn to dread. If something went fundamentally wrong, did that mean I was stuck here? Forever catatonic in my bed.

Suddenly, the text reappeared.

<Are you having fun yet?>

“No.”

<Too bad. Good thing I am. When our mutual friend informed me how her boon might restrict your ability to consult a consecrator in the null, she seemed to find it nothing more than an amusement. No imagination, that one.>

A quiet anger swept over me. Apparently, the old saying held true. Three people could keep a secret if two of them were dead. Even in the realm of gods. And I was getting really fucking tired of deific interference.

More importantly, I needed to know if Nychta had intentionally set me up to fail.

“And what, if I may ask, would have happened without this intercession?”

<Hm. What to say? I could tell you that you’d be trapped in here forever. Turn you against her before she even manages to sink a single talon into you. But I suppose she and I are friends… of a sort. In answer to your question, the session would have timed out, and you’d be returned to your body, with no penalty or benefit.>

“If I’m filling in the gaps correctly, the gods use the null to grant classes to mortals?”

<Got it in one! Lesser gods, usually. Though, I’m sure you’ve realized. There’s always exceptions.>

He was including himself in that, of course. Letting me know he wasn’t a lesser god without saying it.

Something crucial occurred to me. When I’d spoken to the Allfather at the shrine of elevation, his message text had been capitalized. The same held true for my initial venture into this place, after the meteor, and when I’d awoken the Ordinator’s summoner variant. It was just a guess, but a grounded one. The Allfather had been my proctor the first time around, and continued to directly oversee anything to do with my advancement as an Ordinator.

“How do we proceed?” I asked.

<You’re not going to ask who I am? Plead for me to keep your secret?>

The vein above my brow would have popped out, if I had a forehead to speak of.

“First, I’m assuming if you wanted me to know who you were, you would have told me. Your associates—“

<Ew.>

I sighed. “The other gods haven’t been shy when it came to introductions. Figured that came with the territory. Secondly, I’m pretty sure you want something. Nychta emphasized that I’m marked. I’m assuming when she told you about me—even though I really wish she hadn’t—she did so with confidence you’d keep it to yourself. Not that I have any clue what any of you actually want. Or expect for this to be my last deific house-call.”

<Almost. But you’ve got something backward.>

:)

The symbol appeared on its own, floating towards me in the void before dissipating to nothing. Something flashed through my mind. An image in the hotel lobby of the same symbol emblazoned on a metal backplate behind the reception desk.

“Nychta didn’t tell you about me. You told her.”

<Sigh. I was going to give you something really nasty if you missed the connection. Pity. Oh well, on to business.>

“Business?”

<I’m your consecrator. This position is generally far below me, but I’m not completely irresponsible. I volunteered to get into this space. So it’s time to do the work.>

While the entity talked to itself, I spoke again. “Are you willing to tell me anything about the game? Or my brother’s class?”

The text paused. <Of course not. That would violate the consecrator’s vow.>

I sighed. “Figured—“

<It would be completely unprofessional if I told a supplicant, for example, that a person they asked me about has backing from an individual that scares the absolute hell out of me. And that’s saying something.>

A cold chill went through me. “And if you were being so unspeakably unprofessional, what would you advise the supplicant to do with this information?”

<Tread carefully. Honestly, they’d be better off disowning them and losing their contact card. You can always get another brother. Everyone’s doing it, these days.>

Behind the babbling text, I sensed a grain of truth. It was dubious. This entity wasn’t my friend, and had already admitted they weren’t above lying for their own amusement. But the already significant concern I felt for Ellison had grown exponentially.

<No. No. No. No—Miner? They were going to present Miner as one of your options. Blech.>

“I mean, I’m not opposed to a resource gathering class.”

<Well I am. God, so boring. No imagination there. What do they have in the restricted—Oh? This isn’t—OH. Heh. Hahaha. HAHAHAHAHA…>

A wall of laughter scrolled, long and excessive. If I had a body, there was no question I’d be in cold sweats right about now. When the text returned, it was all business.

<Let’s begin.>

<Are you a Raven or a Hawk?>

I hesitated. On the surface, it looked the same as the sheep and wolf question from the first go around. Only, it wasn’t. Hawks were generally fiercely solitary and territorial. By contrast, ravens weren’t nearly as passive as sheep. They weren’t necessarily birds of prey, but in addition to scavenging, they did hunt. Sometimes alone, sometimes cooperatively. And their cleverness was well documented.

“Raven.”

<Should judicial action aim for punishment or reformation?>

Good. A softball.

There was a common undercurrent of thought that more severe penalties worked as a deterrent for criminals. If I remembered correctly, this wasn’t the case. Surprisingly, it did almost nothing to reduce recidivism, either. It just made people more likely to commit additional crimes to cover it up. If the penalty for robbing someone is already horrific, you’re much better off just killing them after to reduce the chances of being caught.

“Reformation.”

<Far in the future, a man is in a terrible car accident. Along with several crushed organs, his arms and legs are pulverized beyond repair. After the initial surgeries, the doctors discover old fragments from the accident scattered throughout the man’s body have infected the surrounding muscles and skin. They replace the damaged limbs with cybernetics and grafted skin, and regrow the muscle with a mix of stem and animal cells. Now. Given the extent of his injuries and invasiveness of the replacements. Is this still the same man?>

I wanted to roll my eyes. “Really? We’re doing Theseus?”

<Invalid answer. Please try again.>

Another philosophical problem with a twist. The unaltered version didn’t refer to man at all, rather a whether a ship that had all its components replaced over time was the same ship. There wasn’t a correct answer to the paradox. This version was further complicated because the question made no reference to the man’s brain. No notable damage or otherwise. And with the brain being key to who we are, it was entirely valid to argue that he was the same.

I changed my answer at the last moment. “No. He’s not the same.”

<Why? Your answer is locked in, this just to satiate my curiosity.>

It was a struggle to put it into words. “My reasoning has nothing to do with the replacements from the surgery. And there’s no mention of brain damage. But his mind won’t be the same. Trauma and hardship always catalyze change. Good or bad. And after an accident of that severity, grieving over what he lost, and undergoing treatments and exhaustive physical therapy? I can’t imagine anyone would come out unaltered.”

<interesting. Well, this will be fun. Our time’s up, Ordinator. See you in the betting pool!>

Before I could respond, the darkness faded, and I jolted upright in bed.

<System Message: Congratulations. You have awakened the Aries Cluster.>

<Between the confluence of your answers in the maw and your titles, you have unlocked a secondary class.>

<System Notification: You have unlocked King’s Ranger as a secondary class. Do you wish to proceed?>