“Rulin, you look like shit run over twice.”

  She wasn’t wrong. He did look like shit run over twice.

  His mind was beyond exhausted, stretched thin after more than twenty-four hours without rest. In the meantime, though, his body had been lying still, practically asleep for all intents and purposes. Every inch of him ached for motion. His muscles, stiff and restless from hours upon hours of stillness, begged to be stretched, to move, to do something.

  What he truly craved, though, was a long, quiet sleep. Cycling Essence nonstop, pushing himself through the burning pain through sheer force of will… That had taken its toll. He’d woken up drenched in cold sweat, the sheets on his bed soaked through. His stomach growled, and his mouth and throat were dry as sandpaper. A dull throb at his temples warned of an oncoming migraine, the kind he’d learned to dread. To top it off, he’d also found some caked blood in his nostrils, though not a lot.

  Thank god for small miracles.

  He’d taken a cool shower, pulled on a fresh set of clothes, and headed down to the cafeteria to raid the kitchen for anything edible. Fortunately, it was breakfast time.

  Carpenter had been there, seated at a corner table, an old paperback in her hands and a steaming cup of coffee by her side. She gave him the once-over, her expression somewhere between mild concern and barely concealed what-is-it-this-time exasperation.

  “And a very good morning to you, Penny.”

  “That’s Officer Carpenter to you. I’m on the clock.”

  Alex’s gaze dropped to the paperback in her hands.

  “Obviously. Well, don’t let me distract you.” He leaned a little closer, squinting at the worn cover of her book. “The Tall Stranger? Jesus Christ, Penny – what the hell are you reading?”

  “Fuck off, Rulin. It’s a classic.”

  Alex shook his head and headed for the kitchen. He came back less than a minute later with a big bowl of grits, four hard-boiled eggs, two pears, a glass of full-fat milk, and a cup of coffee. He plunked the tray onto Carpenter’s table without asking, then slid into the seat across from her and started digging in.

  Carpenter gave him a sidelong glance over the edge of her book.

  “Hungry much?”

  “Starving.”

  “Thank your lucky stars the food’s better than prison chow.”

  “Yeah,” he said between bites. “I’ll send Grimm a thank-you card.”

  She set her book down, using a paper towel as a bookmark, and gave him a long, appraising look.

  “How’s your reading going?”

  “My what?”

  “Your reading.” She looked like she was in the mood for banter. “Grimm’s sent you a small library’s worth of ebooks on historical combat and martial arts, right? Dry subject, that. Hadn’t pegged you for the scholarly type.”

  “Well, what can I say? I’m smarter than I look.”

  “Not too high a bar.”

  “Very funny, ha-ha.”

  Alex gulped down the last of the milk, then speared a pear with his fork.

  “You should peel that,” Carpenter said. “The skin’s full of pesticides.”

  “I washed it.”

  “Washing doesn’t get rid of the crap that soaks into the skin.”

  “I’ll live.”

  He bit into the pear, its juices spilling over and dripping down his chin. Carpenter set her coffee down with a sharp clink, slid a paper towel across the table, and fixed him with a pointed stare as he wiped himself clean.

  “You should learn to take better care of yourself,” she said. “And I’m not just talking about the food.”

  Alex, already exhausted beyond reason, felt his patience snap. He tossed the crumpled paper towel onto the tray and glared at Carpenter.

  “What the hell are you, my mother?” he shot back, his tone sharper than he intended. The words hung in the air, and for a moment she looked taken aback, hurt. He instantly felt a flicker of regret but was too drained to reel it in.

  “Fine.” She wasn’t Penny anymore. She’d slipped back into her cold Officer Carpenter persona. “Be like that, Rulin. See what it gets you.

  She picked up her book without another word, flipping it open to her marked page. Alex just sat there for a minute, staring at the remnants of his breakfast, the silence between them heavy and awkward.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m an ass. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Carpenter raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward with a mock frown of concentration.

  “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat it for the folks in the back?”

  Alex groaned, rubbing his temples. “You heard me.”

  “No, no, I insist. Say it again. Nice and clear this time.”

  He let out a long sigh.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  It’s just that… Look, I’m exhausted, okay?”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, leaning back with a smirk of dry satisfaction. “Just making sure.”

  “Look, I’m exhausted –”

  “Which is exactly why I told you what I told you,” Carpenter cut in. “If you’re too exhausted to know better than to give lip to someone who can pop a rubber bullet in your ass without breaking a sweat… Well, then maybe it’s time you learned to start taking better care of yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t try me. And peel that goddamn pear.”

  He did, if only to humor her. The skin came off in uneven strips, but it seemed to satisfy her.

  “By the way,” Carpenter said after a moment, “a little birdie told me that you had an interesting chat with Hank.”

  Alex paused mid-peel, glancing up.

  “What kind of chat?”

  “The kind that can get you into a ton of legal trouble. You know, the NDA-breaking kind.”

  Alex rolled his eyes.

  “Is that birdie marked by a notable lack of eyebrows?”

  “Might be. Word travels fast when said birdie can’t keep his mouth shut. I told you before, Rulin. He’s not to be trusted. Anyway, since you’ve both been yapping and the cat is somewhat out of the bag, I might as well weigh in myself. What happens in that other place… you have to take it seriously. Very, very seriously.”

  That caught Alex off guard. Carpenter was practically obsessed with that NDA. It wasn’t like her to discuss anything Elderpyre-related, not even in passing.

  “I am. I do. Take it seriously, I mean.”

  “Good.”

  She leaned back again, cradling her coffee cup in both hands as if trying to warm them, though the coffee must have gone cold a while ago. Her gaze drifted to a distant point, unfocused. There was something troubled about her – a hint of vulnerability Alex hadn’t seen her show before. It clung to her like a shadow. He didn’t like it, he decided. It was so unlike her usual no-nonsense attitude that it left him unsettled.

  “Look, Rulin,” she began. “There might not be iron bars and manacles in the Happy Motel, but it is still a penitentiary. A penal facility. One way or another, you’ll walk out these doors a changed man. Just… keep that in mind, is all I’m saying. Make sure you’re changed for the better.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Alex asked, frowning.

  “Nowhere,” Carpenter said with a shrug. “As long as you’re here, you’re kind of my responsibility. That’s all. Go get some sleep. You look like a goddamn raccoon.”

  Alex decided to take her advice. He pocketed a couple more pears, made an overly theatrical show of crossing his heart and promising to peel them properly, and let her get back to her reading.

  Sleep didn’t come easy to him. He lay in his bed, eyes closed, but his mind refused to settle. Carpenter’s words lingered in his mind like a faint echo. circling back no matter how hard he tried to push them aside.

  There was something there, a pattern. Much as he’d like to try and ignore it, he couldn’t – not anymore, not for long.

  First, there was Grimm. His hard-on for verisimilitude and free will had always struck Alex as more than just a developer’s eccentricity. The old bastard had spelled it out for him in no uncertain terms that Elderpyre wasn’t just a game, but a simulation of something bigger, something important. And he was right; every detail of the game had felt almost too real, right from the get-go.

  Then there was Bob’s note, blunt and to the point: This is not a game. Bob had gone to great lengths to make sure Alex understood that. Granted, Bob was probably not the sharpest bulb in the sky. Still, the man knew a surprising amount of things related to Elderpyre. Alex tried to remind himself that he shouldn’t underestimate him.

  And he was afraid of Grimm. Alex didn’t know what, exactly, Grimm had done to earn that fear, but it added another knot to the growing tangle of mysteries. If Bob was scared, there had to be a damn good reason.

  Then there was Humbug Hank. Buggy, the Happy Motel’s resident weirdo. “Don’t rely on the System too much,” he’d said – a strange piece of advice, given the circumstances. Alex would normally be very reluctant to take it, but for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on it felt right.

  Now, Carpenter’s concern added another layer. It wasn’t like her to speak so openly, especially about anything that might come close to breaching that damn NDA she’d previously been so adamant about.

  Each of them – Grimm, Bob, Hank, Carpenter – was sending him the same message, just wrapped in different words. This is not just a game. There’s something else going on.

  Alex sighed, running a hand over his face as he stared at the ceiling. If he wanted to be honest with himself, there was one uncomfortable truth he had to admit: he’d been ignoring this. Every time something happened to threaten his suspension of disbelief, he found himself brushing it aside, convincing himself it wasn’t worth worrying about, that it didn’t matter.

  But it did.

  Deep down, he knew better.

  These weren’t just coincidences or quirks of design. Why was he so eager to sweep it all under the carpet so off-handedly?

  I’ve got two words for you, he caught himself thinking – in Packman’s voice, no less. Government PSYOPs. MK-fucking-Ultra. Better start believing in conspiracy theories, Alex, old pal. You’re in one.

  The idea felt ridiculous, yet the more he let it settle, the less absurd it seemed. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the VR visor sitting on his nightstand. He stared at it for a long moment, unease starting to prickle the back of his neck.

  It was sleek, light, unassuming. It had no external ports, needed no charging, had no controls beyond one single on/off button.

  It could just as well be a movie prop.

  Or not.

  What if it was doing something to his brain? Something subtle, something designed to make him ignore, dismiss, or forget – to stop him from looking too closely at whatever Elderpyre really was? If it could trick himself into believing he was in a whole different world, more real than real, how difficult could something like that be?

  Not difficult at all, he’d bet.

  He felt the start of another migraine clawing at the edges of his skull, a dull, insistent ache that promised to grow sharper. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself. He needed to get some sleep, not play dollar-store Agent Mulder.

  Whatever Elderpyre was, he was part of it now. He’d stay part of it, too, at least for a while. In for a penny, in for a pound. It wasn’t a bad way to spend the rest of his sentence .He let himself focus on that, imagining Yuma’s arrogant face twisted in frustration as he wiped the floor with him during sparring, Wroth watching in disbelief, Fawkes with smug satisfaction.

  A small, tired smirk crossed his lips at the thought.

  Yeah, that was something worth getting PSYOPS’d for.

  At least for a while longer.

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