Double-Blind CH12

The dungeon lobby was not what I expected. White marble flooring divided into squares paved a large open space penned in by glass. A receptionist’s desk, complete with a widescreen computer monitor and a rather geriatric looking qual-comm phone, stood near the front. There was a wide swathe of wall behind the desk where a corporate logo would typically stamped. But instead of a corporate logo, there was a simple symbol in oversized, iron-cast characters.

:)

Everything was almost disturbingly sterile. Not a single bit of dirt or detritus to indicate that a human had ever been through here, save the dusty marks I tracked in from the wreckage. To the right of the desk was a sizable security office, pinioned off by a series of brass stands connected by velvet ropes. The only entrance was a high-tech looking door. An oversized one-way mirror reflected my confused expression back at me.

They’re always watching.

The chill started in the small of my back and worked its way across my body. I clamped down on it, refusing to give into the fear. After a few-too-many near-death experiences, it was understandable to be jumpy. And Jaded Eye hadn’t warned me to leave, or evade the mirror as it had in the hospital.

It was just letting me know that my actions were being monitored. By what, or who, was only a guess. As something of an afterthought I checked my quest objectives.

<Quest: The Kinsley Accords>

Primary Objective — Gain loot and levels as you fulfill your contractual obligations.

Primary Objective Extended — Explore the dungeon, venturing at least to the fifth floor.

Personal Objective — Remain unidentified by other Users.

Threat Level: (S-L)

EXP GAIN (M)

Time Limit: One Week.

Reward: Increased relationship with Kinsley, Merchant.

Reward: Progression towards Vocation ???

There was no acknowledgement of my progress, so loitering in the lobby didn’t count as exploring the dungeon. I assumed that the Time Limit was elastic, dependent on whether Kinsley renewed my contract. But most importantly, my personal objective had not been failed. That meant whoever was watching me was likely not a user.

So quick to trust words on a screen.

It took effort, but I ignored the mental voice for the moment. Jaded Eye seemed to have two modes. Mocking and aloof, or dead serious. The previous comment was one of the former.

I gave the security office a wide berth and circled around to the elevators on the lefthand side. Like almost any modern office building, there was more than one. Three of them sat side by side, simple metal doors with a call button to the right of each.

Almost mindlessly, I reached out to touch one—and stopped, my finger a millimeter from the up button.

Why are they watching in the lobby?

Hypothetically, this isn’t the only dungeon. If something is watching it’s for one of two reasons. Business or pleasure. Directly monitoring a lobby seems inefficient. People might change their minds, especially when they discover the dungeon is adaptive. Plus, what do you even do in a lobby, other than make your way to the dungeon proper? Maybe it’s for logging and records of anyone who enters, but I doubt it. If it’s for entertainment, then that makes sense. Set the scene. Build up tension. Still, that’s shaky. It’s a slow start, and if there are other people actively engaging in other dungeons, why would you be watching me?

Feeling more than a little silly, I stepped back and studied the doors. And all doubt faded away. They would be identical to the untrained observer, probably identical to me less than a week ago, but something—likely a combination of my enhanced perception and Jaded Eye—told me they were not the same.

It took a minute to pick out the differences. The elevator on the left was easiest. It looked identical on the surface, but when I bent down to inspect the clear button, I found a tiny red spot. In any other scenario it could have been chalked up to simple accumulation of grime, but the building was pristine.

Mentally, I nixed the elevator on the left and moved on. The remaining two were far more difficult. Identical in almost every way. Same doors, same buttons, same frame. Something didn’t feel right about the elevator on the right, but what?

A germaphobe goes to the farthest elevator. An egocentric chooses the center. And the average person follows the most straightforward path. The elevator on the right is closest to the door. I almost chose it myself. That’s why it feels wrong.

I took a step back, breathing out. Maybe I was overthinking. But this was an adaptive dungeon. And my highest stat was my intelligence by a wide margin. I couldn’t take for granted that it only adapted to level.

This wasn’t a lobby. This was the dungeon. If I was right, I’d come within a hair’s breadth of danger simply by almost choosing the wrong elevator. Which begged a nagging question. Did I really want to do this? Put myself at the mercy of a system that had already screwed me over, and didn’t care if I lived or died?

Jaded Eye chuckled in the back of my mind.

Some elevators descend to ruin. Others rise all the way to the top. Is it really that different?

The most important aspect of test taking was picking choice and moving on. And it was different. Because I had a choice this time.

I punched the up button on the center elevator.

A low thrum filled the lobby and a digital red number appeared on the overhead display, counting down from fifteen. I retreated a few steps, my crossbow in one hand, dagger held in the other, the top of my wrist supporting my firing arm.

The number reached five. I checked over my shoulder to make sure the Dungeon door was still open. It was.

The door pinged open, a gasp of air escaping as pressure equalized. It was empty. I cautiously stepped into it and there was a subtle whoosh as the the doors closed behind me.

A flurry of notifications popped into view.

<Adaptive Dungeon, First Floor has been cleared.>

<XP Reward: S>

<Congratulations! You are the first to clear this floor of the Adaptive Dungeon>

<You are currently ranked 1st on the Leaderboard!>

<System error. User name not found. Placeholder will be used.>

I watched with self-satisfied amusement, as an unfilled leaderboard populated my name at the top of an otherwise blank sheet as User: ???, Class: ???, LVL: ???.

<Bonus Reward: +2 to Intelligence>

“Wait—” I grit my teeth as an artillery shell detonated in my mind, a painful pulse that aligned with the thrumming of the elevator as the door closed. Somehow, I managed to keep a grip on my weapons as I slid down the back wall.

A panel of the elevator fell away, revealing nothing but void beyond. Then another. And another. Piece by piece, the elevator was replaced with an iron cage lifted by above and below by a link of dark chains thicker than my neck.

I heard a howl to my left and scrambled away from it, instinctually. There was a massive albino wolf crammed into a similar cage to mine, its body taking up the majority of the space twelve people could have crammed into easily. It snapped at me, and I pressed my back against the bars, taking in small, panicked breaths.

Then what I can only describe as a long tendril of shadow curled around my cheek and caressed my face. I retreated across the cage again, my pulse rising even higher as I saw what the other cage contained.

It was the silhouette of a woman made of shimmering black substance. Her eyes and gaping mouth glowed with the same unnerving orange light, as she emitted a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a wet moan. Her cage was also static, as the wolf’s had been, suspended in place as mine moved ever upward.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

Thank God I picked the right elevator.

My hand crossbow and its anemic bolts would have done next to nothing to the wolf, to say nothing of the knife. And how did you even fight something like the second monster?

The same way space fought the dinosaurs.

I spent much of the remaining ascent trying to talk myself off the ledge. Telling myself that my justifications up to this point had been perfectly valid. That what had happened to me was no different than jumping across a gap and discovering there were spikes lurking beneath. Reiterating that with so much of my world turned upside down, gaining power was worth the risk.

But the reassurance felt fraudulent.

Even the elevator’s ding became a dull tone as the doors opened. Sunlight blinded me. I stepped out from the elevator, disoriented from the clutches of the headache and bewildered. At first I thought the dungeon had simply ended. Spit me out at the impact site. But that impression faded as a never-ending onslaught of green came into focus in lieu of a wasteland of concrete.

“Wow.” The word escaped all on its own.

It was a pastoral meadow.

Back when things were better, my parents used to drive us up to Colorado Bend for vacation in the early spring. It was a three hour drive—an eternity to me back then—but it still felt worth it. There were all these hidden alcoves off the main road, places you’d drive right by without realizing they were there. Dad knew them all. He rotated through them, kept the trips interesting.

But the one place we always stopped was mile marker twenty-one. I remember a rush of excitement, every time I saw the emerald green sign came into focus. We’d leave the car at a nearby parking spot then forge off the road. It was a grueling trek through a nonstop canopy of brambles and low-hanging leaves. On the last push, you’d break through to a meadow of waist high grass, a vista of verdant land rolling out all the way to the horizon.

It might be the only place I’ve ever felt truly at peace.

And I felt a murmur of that peace now. Almost everything was the same. The base of a tree where we rolled out a blanket and picnicked. A small lake that glimmered in the distance. The only quantifiable difference was a small batch of tall flowers, swaying in the wind.

There is no wind.

Before the warning could sink in, something feathery touched my hand. I looked down expecting to to find a strand of grass. Instead I found a large leaf wrapped around my finger. It was attached to a sunflower around waist height.

“Uh.”

The sunflower’s face cracked open, revealing a jagged maw of razor sharp teeth. “Meeeeat,” It hissed.

Then before I could react, it bit down on my hand.