Pink Noise - Leonid Korogodski [26]
Fortunately, there was not a dearth of volunteers. Knights and wizards, dwarves and fairies, gnomes and elves of various persuasions—all were bent on purging evil from his dungeon. This ancient anti-hero game was Gilles’ favorite. Re discovered about a century ago by software archeologists, Dungeon Keeper had received a substantial facelift in e-World—from an archaic 3D emulation on a flat screen, it was turned into a full-immersion sim world with five senses, with an omnipresent Hand of Evil and distributed attention capabilities. The Dungeon Keeper World 3000. The nature of gameplay, however, stayed the same. The player had to build a virtual dungeon and maintain it, populating it with goblins, trolls, and other evil minions, laying traps.
Defending from intruders.
But if the other keepers played for dungeon-building and developing communities of minions, Gilles’ inclinations lay elsewhere. His current dungeon was a pre-constructed one. His in-game “Mentor” told him it was called the Dragon Nest. On his own, Gilles would never have designed a gem like this, with self-repairing walls, magic traps with limited intelligence, and a maze of tunnels snaking in all three dimensions. With Gilles’ tacit encouragement, his minions quickly formed broom-racing teams. That kept them busy—and improved emergency response.
What kept Gilles busy was another story. It only took so long for posthumans to get bored and move to something else. But Gilles had discovered the secret of replayability. For in his torture chamber, he was always having a unique experience.
He pulled on harpoon strings. Suspended and spread-eagled in the air, the delicate, pale body of a captive fairy jerked hard, obedient to his commands. Sharp pain from hooks embedded in her bone flared, receded, leaving deep despair as an aftertaste. He shared her fears, the disgust at being a marionette—dejected, impotent. And yet, he knew that he was in command.
It was too sweet.
Gilles always knew which of his visitors were real players, for non-player constructs were predictable. The posthumans, those daring enough to throw a backup away for the experience, made better sport. To them, it was a game of kicking evil’s butt—a dungeon romp, save and reload. Strangely, few of them came back for a repeat. Gilles wondered why; they couldn’t have remembered his touch. Not one of them had begged him for a save before the end, to keep the memories. He was that good.
But this one fairy…. There was something surprising, new about her, so unusual that it took awhile for him to recognize it. Innocence. So rare in the realm of the immortals. When did he lose his? Drowned in the gaps of memory that crept across his childhood. . ..
How does it feel?
Oh, ravishment of innocence!
He yearned to get beneath her skin. Perhaps, he should have flayed her? No. That would’ve been too easy, and too fast. Physical pain was boring. And for what—a lifeless trophy? Neh. With post-Singularity technology, he didn’t have to settle for a surrogate. He could experience her mental pain directly.
There were advantages in having an omnipresent Hand of Evil. Pressing it against the fairy’s beating heart, Gilles yanked on several strings at once.
A ripping sound of the wings torn out, drifting down, like a sharp file drawn across your heart, against the flow of time. Old memories. The smell of sweat, and blood, and fear. Screams. A ripping sound—shreds of nightshirts falling down, as you watch from hiding. An anguished scream of grief for something that’s forever lost.
A pure ecstasy.
Her heart—strong, flexile—squirming in his Hand. A yielding, weeping pulse.
A signal from his Mentor. “Jailbreak. Revenant is on the loose.”
Time, stop! No such luck. Gilles ordered a high alert.
The broken crypt was highlighted at one of the middle levels—blinking target. “Careful,” the Mentor said. “It’s dangerous. Bring it alive.”
A living revenant? The irony did not escape him. Nice.