Double-Blind CH73

That’s the problem with loneliness, isn’t it?

It’s always miserable in the beginning. Then days stretch into weeks, into months, into years. You learn little tricks to cope. Stay busy. Distance yourself from anyone that might crack the surface. Dehumanize anyone who gets close, view them as nothing more than resources and avenues for potential gain. When you stop relying on others, you’ll eventually find that you’re forced to rely on yourself.

There is nothing else but you. And you are the master of your own universe.

After a while, you forget what it’s like. To be social. Denied the common source of dopamine and oxytocin, your brain starts to rewire itself. The tireless work that seemed so harrying before is no longer even fractionally enough. You take on more, and more, and more. The emptiness starts to fade. And sure, maybe there are nights when you still ache, and it’s all too much, and all you want to do is sit across from someone who knows your name and have a cup of coffee, and talk about the weather.

It’s not because you’re alone, of course.

You’re just overworked.

You’re just tired.

And once the night fades into twilight, you know the moment of weakness will fade as well. Day comes, with all its new developments and responsibilities, and you won’t have time to be “tired” anymore.

But it never lasts.

The ending is as inevitable as the beginning. There you are, plodding through life with all your routines, all your checks and balances, all your carefully concocted methodology to maximize efficiency and minimize downtime when someone—most often innocently, entirely by accident—breaks the routine.

It doesn’t really matter who they are. Someone on your commute that repeatedly ends up next to you on the bus. The girl at the coffee shop who spends a scant few minutes chatting with you about your day. A coworker who projects their discomfort with solitude onto you, and as a result, won’t leave you be.

Doubt forms.

The reason you isolated yourself all that time ago becomes opaque, difficult to pin down. And the doubt slowly metastasizes into denial. Maybe you can open yourself up a bit. Not entirely, as there are many benefits to this lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed to. Just a little. The possibility as insidious as it is tantalizing.

Maybe you don’t have to be “tired.”

Maybe you don’t have to be alone.

You know, I saw you, too.

So, you drop your guard for a chance to see the sun. It warms you, thaws you, softens the carefully cultivated hard edges until you almost resemble something human again. Given how long the initial adjustment takes, it’s astonishing how quickly those changes are undone.

And when the sun fades, as it always does, the night returning once more, the ache returns with it. Fully restored.

With no one to blame but yourself.

<0:47:23>

I watched the timer tick down, as swift as it was interminable. For perhaps the fourth time, I attempted to struggle to my feet, collapsing again with a grunt as my legs gave out. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew what this was. I was in shock. I’d been running on empty for nearly a week, tapping deep into my physical, emotional, and psychological reserves to just keep going, and I was finally paying for it.

There had always been a part of me that thrived on conflict. Enjoyed solving insurmountable problems. Applying eclectic knowledge to highly volatile situations.

I can tell you all about how Rousseau is just Hobbes in a brightened mirror. How to solve a multiple-choice question without even seeing the question itself. How to feed yourself on a budget of less than fifty dollars for a month. What makes a passable fake ID, and the giveaways that mark a bad one. I can quote the entirety of The Symposium from memory. I can consistently score a 1600 on the SAT, a 174 on the LSAT, and a 520 on the MCAT.

None of that came naturally. It was a product of single-mindedness, diligence, and willingness to put in the work. Once upon a time, I prided myself on the ability to have an answer for everything. To survive, no matter the circumstance.

Yet, I was entirely at a loss.

<0:42:01>

I banged the back of my head against the stone wall, the impacts echoing down the tunnel until my vision blurred. The pain brought focus. There would be time to process later. Every second I lost was a second I could never get back. I forced myself to focus on the ugly truth.

Jinny’s death, Nick’s capture, and Sae’s disappearance were the results of my mistakes.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the only one to make them. I didn’t call out the Escalade. I didn’t push Nick to abandon the Trial after I found the tracker on his car. I didn’t encourage Talia to disclose the truth: that her death would only be temporary.

Mistakes were always a luxury I couldn’t afford. That was more true now than ever before. I had to hold myself to a higher standard.

I had to be perfect.

<0:39:01>

I summoned Audrey first, shielding myself in the discomfort as part of me tore free. She popped into existence with an audible snap.

“Bleeding…” Audrey said. She tilted her head at me, a single vine rising to poke lightly at my neck. When I reached up to touch the back of my head, I found my hair damp, and my hand came away wet, bright red layered on top of dark blood that had already dried.

Absent any response and perhaps sensing something was wrong, she clambered into my lap and plopped down, placing her head on my thigh. I reached down to stroke her absently, catching my breath from the summoning. When I made contact, I felt what I can only describe as a buzzing, an opportunity that wasn’t there before.

Slowly, Audrey collapsed on herself, body folding over and over until all that was left in my lap was a small length of fiber rope with a grappling hook attached.

”Can you still see?” I asked.

”Less. But it is much nicer… than the blackness.”

In a half walk, half stagger, I made my way to the decorative trial door. A notification popped, informing me that the trial had recently been cleared and would be unavailable for some time.

“Sae!” I yelled into the door.

No response.

“If you’re… still alive, and you can hear me, I have to go.”

Anyone can change.

“I’ll come back when it’s over. If you’re still in there, I’ll find you. Just stay alive.”

There was a notification for a new quest, but I didn’t look at it. I had to start building walls back up. Compartmentalize.

<0:36:17>

<Kinsley: What the fuck is going on? What’s with that mask? No, wait, whose core is that? Who died? Did you kill someone? Why do you never explain anything?>

<Kinsley: Are you dead?>

<Kinsley: Matt.>

<Kinsley: Omg. You’re dead.>

<Kinsley: You’re not dead, otherwise the none of this would be going through. Answer your damn messages fucker!>

I had to wait for a pause between messages to answer.

<Matt: If you’re still at my place you need to door out. Now. Everything is fucked. Estrada’s should still be safe for the moment.>

It was difficult to decide what to do with my family. My first instinct was to get them to the lobby of the adaptive dungeon with Kinsley’s help. If I could get them there, they’d probably be safe for the duration of what was coming. On second thought, that was high-risk even with a door. The suits didn’t know Kinsley was there. Otherwise, there’s no way they’d have left her at my apartment.

Think.

<Kinsley: I’ve been locked out of my abilities since the divider went up.>

My heart rate tripled.

<Matt: What the hell? What divider?>

<Kinsley: I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU.>

<Matt: KINSLEY>

<Kinsley: Iris went for a walk. When the timer hit two hours, she just popped into existence, standing on the kitchen table. And she wasn’t the only one. A bunch of your neighbors were just milling outside their apartments, confused and disoriented. People just started popping in like they were teleported.>

I tried desperately to process what I was reading. A terrible possibility began to dawn.

<Matt: All NPCs?>

<Kinsley: None of them looked like Users. No weird armor or anything else that stuck out.>

<Matt: Divider.>

<Kinsley: Ellison went out to look. There’s a barrier cutting off the neighborhood. Not sure how big it is. Cars keep running into it. People on the other side were trapped as well.>

Dread filled me, as I reached the conclusion long before Kinsley sent the message.

<Kinsley: Matt, I was able to get a hand through the barrier. Users aren’t restricted. I’m guessing this is happening everywhere inside the dome. The system moved all the NPCs to their home areas and trapped them inside. Whatever is happening, this seems… really bad.>

<0:33:18>

And restricted Kinsley’s access to her door ability, so there wasn’t a way to circumvent the restriction. She was right.

This was bad.

I was on my feet, sprinting down the tunnel before I knew what was happening, the aches and pains from the trial growing more pronounced with every step. I fought through the pain, my attention split as I attempted to summon Talia while navigating the store menu to buy back Jinny’s User core and the <Allfather’s Mask.> My inventory showed a surplus of fifty-thousand Selve, which surprised me, until I realized the source.

The suits hadn’t robbed me. Rather, they’d left me Jinny’s share of the trial reward. Like some half-cocked peace offering for leaving me stranded and without a group right before the event.

Soft footsteps trailed after me as I ran through the tunnel. I didn’t have time to bring Talia up to speed as I shopped, picking up bolts, a massive quantity of health potions, and one final purchase that cost me nearly thirty-thousand selve.

“They didn’t kill you.” Talia’s voice was a low growl, angry and raw, as she ran beside me.

“No.” I said.

“They will regret that decision.”

I shook my head. “Revenge is a distraction. Have to stay big picture. Survive the transposition event. Protect my family, find Sae, rescue Nick.”

It was a moment before Talia answered. “That is, perhaps, prudent. And if an opportunity presents itself to rain chaos down on their heads in the process?”

“We salt the fucking earth,” I snarled.

/////

<0:23:19>

I emerged from the entrance stairway to find what had to be nearly a hundred people milling around on the street. No one looked at me. They were all looking up, their eyes transfixed on the sky.