Chương 13: The Convergence of the Twain

New Trial! The Convergence of the Twain Description: Hidden Trial Type: Closed Objective: Hidden Reward: Hidden >>George, we are going to have company soon so I'm gonna tell you something that'll help you not look like a noob out there. You don't have to talk to me out loud. Just think the words to me. I can't have you out there muttering to yourself like a crazy person. >>Honestly, I wish I had more time to get you in shape before we have to go out in public but try not to embarrass me.

"Wait. You can't read my thoughts, can you?" >>Try again. George focused on thinking the sentence clearly. >>You can't read my thoughts, can you? >>Nah. That's more complicated. Just think about thinking TO me and I'll understand you. A chime sounded and a door faded into view in the side of the cradle. There was no handle, and the door was exactly the same shade as the walls. As soon as it appeared, the porthole moved from its place on the far wall and slid to the center of the door, about head height.

There was now a screen on the wall beside the door showing a timer counting down from sixty seconds. George stood up and looked out the window. Before, it had only shown the Ink. Now, he could see a hallway leading to a wider room and another hallway beyond that. At the far end of the second hall, he could see an open doorway with another room beyond it. The timer on the door reached zero and the door opened with a faint chime. The air on the other side of the door was warmer and more humid.

It rolled into George's cradle along with the smell of… cigarettes? George noticed that the door on the far end of the hallway slid closed when his door had opened. The timer on the screen beside the door now said 09: 45 and continued counting down each second. 09: 43 09: 42"Hello?" George said, but there was no response. He walked across the threshold with small, tentative steps. When he came to the edge of his hallway, it opened onto a round room with a high domed ceiling.

It was all the same pale cream shade as the cradle. In the center of the room was a round table with two chairs. One of the chairs was empty, but a man sat in the other one. He was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the table and crossed at the ankles. He wore a button-up shirt, blue jeans, and leather boots. The man waved at George with a hand holding a lit cigarette. The rest of the pack sat on the table, with a plastic lighter on top.

George's Identify skill showed him tooltips when he looked at new things. <Wooden Table> <Wooden Chair> <Wooden Chair> <Name: Charlie Race: Human Level: 65 Profession: Shard Tech Trait: Glorified Maw Abilities: Beware the Beast Man, For He is The Devil's Pawn; A Liar's Best Friend House: Saar House Rank: Twelve Guild: Moa Metadata—Encyclopedia Esoterica: Blocked. >"I'm George."

"Hi, George. I am Charlie James." Charlie was all angles—thin frame, patchy beard, and a bald spot showing through his hair. His button-up shirt was rumpled and untucked, and his wire-rimmed glasses sat slightly askew.

"Good to meet you," George said. George held out his hand and Charlie looked at it for a second before reaching up and shaking it. He scratched at his neck before putting the hand back in his lap. George could see a rash there extending below his shirt collar.

"Is this yours?" George gestured at the room around them.

"Nope," Charlie said.

"Mine is down that hall. This is a common space created for the trial. My door opened a while ago, and I've been sitting here waiting for you. Looks like one door opens and the other closes. Ten minutes later, they switch. I wonder what that is all about." George looked down the hall and saw a clear door at the end of Charlie's hallway. It was closed, but George could see through it.

"You have a glass door? Mine just appeared in the wall."

"Glass? Not really. It's fabricated nano-something. Just like everything around here." George asked, "Do you know what is going on? You are the first person I've seen yet."

"I'm the first person you've seen? How long have you been in the game?" Charlie asked.

"A day or so, I guess. It is hard to tell." >>18 hours. 6 minutes. 23 seconds.

"How about yourself?" George asked. Charlie just shrugged.

"Do you know what we're supposed to do for this trial? The notification said the objective was hidden." >>This is just a public service announcement. You have 19 gold and continuous store access. Be ready to buy something when we figure out what's going on. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"You usually have to find something or do something. I'm sure we'll get some information about it in a few minutes," Charlie said.

"The more important question is, where did you get that outfit? You look like you just got out of a mental institution."

"I just woke up like this," George said. Charlie made a 'hmm' sound, took another drag from the cigarette, and blew the smoke sideways out of his mouth. George asked, "How did you get to level 65? I clicked that button as fast as I could and could only get to level 15." Charlie raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why do you think I'm 65?"

"It is a skill of mine. It identifies things," George said.

"What else does it say?" Charlie asked.

"Not much. Just your name," George said.

"Something about a house and a guild."

"But nothing about what this trial is?" Charlie asked.

"Nope. Not yet," George said.

"And what does it say about my guild?" Charlie asked.

"Just that it is called Moa," George said.

"What does it mean?"

"It's… like a team. The Moa make machines that help people get through trials. I'm a shard technician for them. One of the best. The Moa guild pays good money to keep me out of the trials, but everyone has to do them eventually. So, they make sure I get easy ones." He winked at George.

"Lucky you."

"What is a shard?" George said. Charlie ignored him and asked his own question.

"You mentioned a button?" >>Careful, George.

"You know. You click the button, and you get levels," George said, then he sent a thought at Nod. >>What? >>Play your cards a little closer to your chest, mate. You don't know this guy.

"That sounds," Charlie paused.

"Very boring."

"You don't have a button?" George asked.

"No, I've never heard of anyone with a button." Charlie blew out another breath of smoke and itched the rash at the base of his throat again.

"How did you enter the game, friend?" Charlie said. George hesitated.

"I can't remember."

"What do you mean you can't remember?"

"I can't remember much from before," George said.

"I just woke up in the room. And there was the button. Nothing before that."

"That's not how it—" Charlie stopped himself.

"You don't remember your life? Where you lived? Friends? Family? Nothing?"

"Not much." George thought of the boy. Charlie laughed.

"So you don't have a clue what is going on here."

"I just woke up, and then I was here," George said.

"What did you remember when you started?"

"Everything. Everyone does. You don't lose your memories when you start this game," Charlie said.

"I can buy memories. Through the store."

"You have to buy them back?" Charlie shook his head and made a sound like a cough and a laugh.

"So, which ones did you buy?"

"I just saw a few scenes. They are random," George said. The smell of the cigarette was strong in the small room, but George noticed another smell beneath it. It smelled like vinegar or ammonia, and it made George's nose sting.

"This just gets better and better!" Charlie said, then picked up the pack of cigarettes and lit another one.

"Want one?" He held the pack out, but George shook his head.

"How did you get those?" George asked.

"One of the first things I bought in the store. I had to quit before, but now we have better bodies." He tapped his chest with the fingers of one hand.

"New lungs. I like my little luxuries." >>You bought a memory with your gold. This guy bought cigarettes. >>What about it? >>It's just curious. Charlie said, "OK, since we're having this heart-to-heart, what did you do for skills? What did you get? When this trial starts, I need to know what you can do." >>Lie, George.

"Skills?" George stumbled over his answer.

"What do you mean? What are those?"

"And he doesn't even have skills. Brother, you're like… not even here. This almost isn't fair. Well, whatever." Charlie kicked his feet off the table and stubbed his cigarette. >>His pulse is rising. >>What are you talking about? >>I don't like this. We've got two and a half minutes until the door closes. Stall him. Then run your ass back home. We'll figure out what to do in the cradle. >>Really? He's weird, but I don't think this is a 'run away' situation. >>George. Figure it out.

He's got so much gold that he's buying cigarettes and blue jeans while you're still on food pellets and paper clothes. He knows more about this game than we do. He is part of a guild and they make sure he only gets easy trials… >>This is the trial. It has already started. >>We are Charlie's "easy trial."

"Can I show you one of my skills?" He put both hands on the table like he would stand up, but he remained seated.

"I had to make a bit of a deal with the devil to get this one, but it is worth it. Watch this." Charlie held up one hand like he had a question. There was a small snap, and his middle and ring fingers bent sideways at an angle. A small bump pushed its way up from the space between the fingers. The bump stretched the skin there, and then a sharp point broke through the skin, and a small trickle of blood ran down his palm. The ammonia smell got stronger.

The point poking up out of his hand grew longer until a gnarled spike sprouted between his fingers. It looked like a dirty fingernail but was shaped like a horn. It grew until it was about six inches long and stopped. >>Red alert. Get out of here. George jumped up from the chair so fast that he fell backward over it. Charlie slowly stood up and said, "I don't even think you're real. You're just like this whole place. Made up. No memories. Just popped into existence."

>>Your door is still open for another 1 minute and 23 seconds. Throw something at him. George stumbled to his feet and picked up the chair, waving it at Charlie.

"Easy, fella!" Charlie laughed and began unbuttoning his shirt. He held up one hand toward George as if to say, "Hang on a minute," and he used the toe of one boot to pull his foot out of the other.

"These boots weren't cheap. Don't want to ruin them." Then he undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and started to slide them down his legs. >>Well. This is unexpected. Charlie's skin was starting to become a dark red color. His face was changing, his brow becoming more prominent and his jaw was becoming longer—like a snout. George took a long step toward Charlie and flung the chair at him. He turned and ran back down the hallway. The chair hit Charlie, and he tripped over his jeans and fell over.

The door to the cradle was still open. The timer on the screen beside the door said there were still 45 seconds left. George tapped at the screen like an elevator button, urging the door to shut faster. He poked his head into the hallway and saw Charlie coming around the corner and rushing toward him, only now he was clambering on all fours like a dog. Charlie made a guttural noise that sounded like a bark.

His skin was covered in red scales now and his mouth sprouted large teeth that jutted from his jaw at odd angles. His body had become longer, like a crocodile. George backed against the far wall of the cradle and cast draw on the pieces of the tricycle. It came off the wall and clattered toward him just as the thing that Charlie was becoming came through the door. Charlie tumbled over the tricycle and bowled into George. They hit the ground, and Charlie rolled on top of him. George grabbed at Charlie's clawed hand.

The smell of ammonia was overwhelming and made George's eyes burn. Charlie hit George with his free hand in the face and then again in the side. >>38 seconds. George reached toward the door with the hand that wasn't fending off the claw and cast draw. He felt the cool weight of the button fly into his hand and he slammed it into the side of Charlie's head. Dazed, he rolled off of George, and George hit him again with it. George put his knee on Charlie's chest and kept hitting him.

Charlie's arms flopped onto the ground, but George kept hitting him. >>9 seconds. George pushed himself to his feet and let the button drop out of his hands. He backed up slowly until he was out of the cradle. The door slid shut in front of him. He could still see Charlie's form on the ground through the porthole in the door. He wasn't moving at all.

"Is it over?" George said. He was breathing hard even though the whole thing had only taken a few seconds. >>I don't think so—no trial notification. Besides, look. He's still breathing.

"Do you think I have to kill him?" >>I don't know. You have nine minutes and fifty-two seconds before that door opens to find out.

"What if he wakes up?" >>Find a weapon. If your door is closed, his is open. What do you bet this guy has more than a trike and a flight blanket in his house? >>Then you do what you have to do.