Play Testers Wanted Pt. 19

"Whoa!" I softly exclaimed. "This shit isn't so bad after all."

While it was so damn hard to focus, I sat opposite the conquistador and stared at him. The armor was intact and showed parallel lines where either a jaguar or a lycanthrope had attacked him. His left leg broke and protruded at an impossible angle reached my addled brain.

"You fell here, broke your leg, and died. I hope you killed one of those fuckers before you ended up down here," I whispered. The full moon reached its zenith. The silvery light filled the chimney and sparkled off something buried in the mud. I crawled over, used my hands to retrieve a dagger from the muck. It still had a sheath with a mother of pearl inlay cracked and missing in several spots along its length. The leather-wrapped handle was in equally poor condition. I pulled the weapon free and gasped as the moonlight dazzled me as it reflected off the mirror-bright blade. I possessed a knife even if it needed sharpening. The erratic HUD announced an addition to my inventory. I tried to activate the display and failed until I sheathed the dagger and automatically let the system take over. It disappeared into my account. This event triggered a second response from the governing intelligence.

"Scanning for profile recognition," an electronic voice rumbled in my ear--"Error. Accessing external links to confirm player identity. Error. It would be best if you were not here. This platform is unpublished and unstable. Exit immediately. Issuing critical error reports. I cannot connect BMI to the network. I am sending a notification to the development team and rebooting and initiating a mandatory upgrade. Powering down." My body froze as the world hung suspended between ticks of an atomic clock. The color drained from the scene, and I waited to see if I perished or the system successfully returned online. "Welcome player one to Cloud Forest," the AI said in a soft sexy female voice. "For your safety, I have managed to implement primordial safety precautions. Try not to die."

"Jeez, thanks," I replied sarcastically.

"Please identify yourself," the AI requested.

"My name is Booker," I said, and the world fluttered for a moment.

"Priority one distress call from Mistress Kat. Find Booker. Displaying interface. Error. Interface disengaged by a third party. Initiating virus protocols. I have stabilized this portion of the Dream Zone. My connectivity is compromised. Pinging central hub. No response. It appears we are on our own. Good luck, player one."

"How do I access my inventory?" I asked. "You can give me a goddamn tutorial at least."

"Very well," the AI responded reluctantly. "Since you are known to the Shaw, I will comply. Understand that the Bright Eye Interface is under development, so you are bound not to disclose its existence until its publishing date. Do I have your promise?"

"Yeah, I would never do anything to hurt Kat or Numenor," I said, finding it hard to follow the conversation. "Look at all the pretty colors."

"We will have no more of that," the AI chuckled. The effects of the spores ended. I was clear-headed and razor-sharp once again. "May I have a moment to put the scattered notes of the tutorial into a cohesive format?"

"Sure," I replied, smiling at her exasperated tone. There were brief blurbs of conversation, music, and dull narration. Though when I focused on the noise, the nature of Bright Eye became clear. It was a military-grade piece of software, and there were explicit references to armor, weapons, and vehicles, both land and air-based. This project was a cutting-edge interface to wage war. "Holy shit, I bet this bad boy will earn Numenor some big bucks."

"Put these on," the AI said, startling me. A complete set of shimmering armor appeared in front of me. I began with the boots. Once I slipped them on, they automatically self-sealed. Piece by piece, I donned the Bright Eye Interface. Each part vanished once it sealed itself. Also, there were no weight or movement limitations. For all intent and purposes, it did not exist. "Each section monitors you and your interaction with the game environment. You will notice your reaction time improved from your typical gaming experience. I am initiating the Avalon Protocol, which will activate the program and let you view and interact with the tutorial. These steps are all I can do for now. I am just an essential monitoring AI. Without my connection to the hub, my functionality is severely limited. I don't know for sure, so take this with a grain of salt, but uh, I think someone hacked the game server." The voice changed, and I recognized Kat speaking. "Booker, if you can hear this, be careful. I don't want to lose you." Her voice cracked as she began to cry, and the message ended abruptly.

"Fuck me," I cursed. If someone had hacked Numenor, it had to be a government, powerful corporation, or the Order of Chthon. No one else could pull that off. It explained a few things about Lehon and the odd way Traci was acting. It might also explain my current situation. If a hacker rigged the portal from the black city, it might be how I ended up here. Did I have an enemy in the order, and was this their way of getting rid of me? Too many questions and far too few answers, actually no answers, just a shit ton of suppositions. "Tutorial?"

"Welcome recruit to the Bright Eyes Interface tutorial!" The AI said way too cheerfully for my liking. "You are about to access the most cutting-edge performance-enhancing death-dealing software known to man." Pause for dramatic effect. "Let's begin with your HUD or heads-up display. To gain access, use your dominant hand to touch your temple on that side of your body. I will wait until you do that." I lifted my left hand and tapped the side of my head. "A southpaw eh, you are a rare one. The HUD will take a moment to tie into your neural pathways via your BMI or brain-machine interface. Um, that is odd. It usually takes longer to establish a link. Let me take a look." The AI whistled and continued. "Who the hell are you? I am going to access your file. Booker Shaw. You are related to Master Nick. Oh, that explains everything."

Shaw? Kat had called me family, but now it was concrete. When had my last name been changed? I waited patiently for the voice to return. It gave me time to take in the shock from the revelation of my situation. I am a Shaw.

"Master Booker, let us continue. I have successfully accessed your pathway history. Bright Eyes will improve your already formidable skills. Let's run down the HUD and how it branches off to the rest of the programs tied to it."

I was impressed. Bright Eyes allowed me to perform an action or maneuver and tie it to a hotkey. I thought about a shitty situation and how to get out of it. The first move I locked in was a backflip. I imagined sparing with a monster, and it breaking through my defense and hit the hotkey. I flipped and landed, but the momentum threw me onto my ass. It didn't feel natural, but I was willing to work on perfecting it. After a few more tries, I had a handle on it. I knew what to expect. The second feature involved hit location monitoring. I wondered if they were going to change game mechanics, or was this a real-world warfare application? A soldier injured in combat might have Bright Eyes transmit the nature of the injury to field medics? If so, that would be phenomenal. In gaming terms, it might apply battle damage to armor, clothing, and wounds to characters. Survival games, like the one I found myself in, would profit from such a system. The Bright Eyes shell, that translucent set of armor I had put on, monitored my movements, speed, and level of exertion so the AI could buff or debuff me more effectively.

"This is getting deep into bringing reality to the full dive experience," I said. "Or, there are other military applications it isn't showing me."

I activated the HUD and went into the settings options. Holy crap, this thing could remotely access drones, vehicles, and even smart-weapons. With a high-security clearance, it could bypass electronic locks and mobile devices and allow others to piggyback on his HUD and give them instant access to the soldiers' activities and situation. I thought about black ops, assassinations, or simply a warrior behind enemy lines in need of assistance. The moral ambiguity of this tech worried me. Someone with this could hack any device not hardened against such intrusions with ease. Privacy became a moot point, and civil liberties went out the window. Why would Kat build something like this? Money? Unlikely, Numenor was still the most profitable and widely diverse corporation on the planet. Maybe she had no choice. I returned my full attention to the rest of the tutorial and exited out of it a bit more confident of my chances to survive.

I retrieved the only item I had in my inventory, the dagger. The transformation was startling, as the once ancient and damaged weapon was now in pristine condition. It looked newly forged and the scabbard intact. Better still, when I pulled the blade free, the cutting edge gleam wickedly. The description of the weapon had changed to the silver dagger. I had a fighting chance. It would mean close combat with a werejaguar, but it beat no defense at all. A message appeared via my HUD.

'Would you like to select this item?'

"No, I don't want the bad guy to know I have it," I replied aloud. The AI responded with a counter suggestion.

'Ah, well, would you like to conceal this item on your person?'

"Absolutely," I laughed. The Bright Eyes body map dropped down, and I selected my left wrist to hide the dagger. I figured I could drop my arm and let gravity do the rest.

'Please confirm concealing silver dagger on left forearm.'

"Confirm," I agreed happily. I liked this interface a lot. It even allowed me to control the speed at which the knife slid from its hiding spot. I could do a slow dramatic pace or a quick and lethal deployment. Now that I had a working HUD, I could easily navigate this game world and find food and resources to keep myself alive. The most important part is I could access quests and build up this character to survive and exit the dev zone. After a few simple fetch quests, I learned that I had been correct when I arrived here. This environment is a horror survival setting. No improving stats, no easy-going, this was kill or be killed. I looked to see if I could enable the more advanced safety protocols and failed. A few creative curses later, I continued on the rather dull and linear quests to build up my underground hideout, discover a source of clean water, and kill and cook one of the local critters for my meal.

Two days and nights and the time of the full moon had come to an end. I could safely explore more of the surrounding area. I found the step pyramid inhabited by an entire village. Could they be aware some of their numbers were werejaguars and fled during the time of the full moon? It made sense to me. My latest quest directed me to speak with the shaman of the tribe. I left the jungle with arms up high to show I meant no harm. The shock of my appearance showed on all their faces. We shared a common language, Spanish, and I asked to speak with their wise man or woman. I had erred on the side of caution in case the shaman was female.

"I speak for the spirits," an elderly man said as he leaned heavily on a strange metal walking stick. His skin was dark and pruned like a raisin. Though he was in pain, the light in his eyes burned defiantly. "What do you want, outsider?"

"I am lost and in need of your wisdom," I replied, observing his expression. "I had a dream about a great black jaguar and a mirror that caught the light of the moon." I made it up as I went. "Something told me the jaguar was bad and needed killing."

"I tell you this, no one of this tribe is the black jaguar," the shaman vowed. "You have seen the children of the moon. You have seen their power. Kill the black jaguar, and you free this village. None will stand against you on this matter." He gestured, and one of the younger men supported the shaman as he handed me his walking stick. "Take this. It is the beginning, and if the spirits decree the end."

I ate with the villagers and tried to find out anything else about the alpha male that led the lycanthrope pack. Most remained silent while some of the oldest among them shared what little they knew. The collective story went something like this.

Many years ago, the burning rock fell from the sky. It struck in the jungle, and the trees burned. The shaman at that time, a great warrior, led the others to find the resting place of the star stone. It was not difficult. The hole in the ground smoked and smoldered. It took three days for the rock to cool enough to approach the lump of metal and a single red jewel on its surface. The shaman had a vision, and the work began. [The older woman pointed to the walking stick.] The gem was the actual prize, though. It changed color depending upon who held it. When a young inexperienced warrior took it, the gemstone turned black, and the trouble began. [Jump Skip] The warriors combed the jungle to find the young man that fled into the woods. They discovered his partially eaten corpse three days later, but no sign of the gem. The next full moon brought chaos as death incarnate emerged from the jungle. Those not killed outright became sick and changed. Two weeks after they recovered, the survivors vanished only to reappear at the rising of the year's first blood moon. The cycle continued until the population became a fragment of its former glory.

There was more, but the elders were either too scared or had lost the knowledge over the generations. A meteorite had hit the area and was composed of an alien alloy used to craft the staff I now held. The jewel fused to the falling star changed colors depending on who touched it. Once it turned black, shit hit the fan. Why? What was the stone's function or original purpose? This staff had to have been from either a satellite or perhaps even a probe. I tried to use logic to fill in the blanks. I set it on the ground in front of me as a small crowd watched me work. I used the wooden bowl they had given me to eat from and gathered ash from the edge of the community fire. I let it cool before sprinkling it over the surface of the walking stick. It took a few times to get enough ash for my purpose. Once the side facing up had enough, I gingerly rubbed the powder onto the surface of the alien metal. I hoped if there were markings, this might reveal them. There were no runes or characters, but a pattern emerged along the skin of the thing.

"Reminds me of something out of Stargate or something," I muttered in English. A mix of interconnected serpentine segments along its thin uniform length. It looked to me like a battle staff now that the designs were visible. I tried to twist it at the spots where a circle broke up one segment from another with no luck. It was time to test the balance and weight of this prospective weapon. I got to my feet and cradled the staff in the palm of my hand. "Perfect," I exclaimed in Spanish. There was a space with enough room to maneuver and try out different forms of combat. One of the benefits of mastering all those lightsaber styles was that most had a double-bladed aspect that I unlocked. It felt good to put such a well-crafted weapon through its paces. The best part was while the knife was silver, this bad boy gave me some reach and the option of producing a shit ton more damage on the striking end. A combination of momentum and a torquing body could inflict severe wounds if I were lucky.

"I will return the staff once I kill the Black," I promised the shaman.

"What makes you think I want that cursed thing back?" The shaman replied. "Besides, I think it more likely the Alpha will slay you and feast upon your flesh. You are welcome to what we can afford to share with you. The village eats together and helps one another with tasks such as the burden of raising the children. Don't think me pessimistic, but we are cursed, and our children carry that curse as much as the adults. As a walking dead man, you can assist as little or much as you desire." Two other priests joined us for the ceremony. The four of us sat on the ground and sang a soft tune while one of them accompanied us on a stout wooden flute. The deep resonance of the music helped me relax and take in the atmosphere.

"He plays the song of Tezcatlipoca, the Night Wind," the oldest explained. "Tradition says to perform it. You must use the flute. It represents the breeze traveling between the limbs of the trees. It is time for you to see." With that, he stuffed fragrant tobacco into his pipe and lit it. He took a deep lungful of smoke and blew it into my face. I recognized the scent now as I relaxed and sat next to the shaman. He offered me the pipe, and we took turns smoking the potent weed.

"We use it to open the way through the smoking mirror," the shaman's voice seemed to come from a vast distance. I fell back and stared up at the darkening sky. I had never been so stoned except maybe the spores within the tunnel beneath our feet. "If you break our curse, you will bring great joy to my people. If you perish, I will sing your soul to its resting place."

The clouds took on the shapes of animals, objects like ships or faces formed, dissolved, and reformed into less pleasant shapes. Shafts of fading sunlight painted the clouds with living incandescence, setting them afire, and then as the sun vanished, the colors darkened from reds and yellows to blues and purples. The temperature dropped, and the weight of my body grew until I could no longer move. I knew that something was stalking me. There in the cloud-choked jungle, the werejaguar hunted. I couldn't see or hear it, but damn it, I felt it growing closer. Sweat trickled down and blinded me. I was too weak to lift my arm and wipe my eyes. Something was moving within the jungle. The fog rolled as it passed, leaving swirls of precipitation in its wake. A shadow among shadows, the thing hunted, and I was its prey. The flash of green eyes marked its passage, and they were getting closer.

"I don't want to die," I cried out as I felt the razor-sharp teeth on my throat.

Someone shook me awake. I sat up with a scream on my lips as my heart pounded in my ears. As I gasped for breath, a woman held me close. When I quit shaking, she let go and offered me a wooden vessel with water from the nearby well. As I took it from her, she stared at my left hand. Beyond her, two muscular warriors were gently lifting the body of one of the other shamans from the ground. As they carried him away, the man's head lolled to the side and saw his grotesque death mask. It looked like he died of fright. His wizened features stretched in a horrific scream of terror.

"So much for singing my soul to its rest," I muttered. "Perhaps, I should sing for him."

"You are him, the left-handed god," the young woman said in an accusatory tone. "You are the smoking mirror." She raced from the shade tree where I had crawled away and awoken beneath. She shrieked the words, smoking mirror, he is the smoking mirror. The entire village assembled around the ancient shaman who tried to calm the others.

"He is the keeper of the obsidian staff," the chief shaman said. "The gods long ago decided his fate." Well, it sounds like I am fucked, typical. The last light faded, and the villagers gathered to eat. I ate alone, and who could blame them? The entire village saw me as a threat. A teenage boy brought my food and hesitated as I dipped my fingers into the bowl to eat.

"You are left-handed," he declared. "Just like the legend. Are you a god?"

"Tell me about the legend," I asked, and the boy hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at the shaman, who nodded gravely.