Read the book: «Algoritm of oblivion», page 2

Okay, fast forward through this sideshow. The battle is over. Well, how is it over – one pile of pixels buried another, and now, in place of the battlefield, there is only stench and virtual blood. The Empire, what was it called, the Golden Griffin, won. Well, if you can call it a victory. Just the whites have fewer corpses than those in black. Although the losses on both sides are just huge. On the battlefield in front of the city and on the streets leading to the castle, there is nowhere to set foot, everything is littered with the bodies of the dark and light mixed together. Now you can’t even tell who is who.

But it doesn’t matter in the end, someone always wins, and someone falls, and all this is a farce, a game. When you turn off the VR, all this will disappear.

And so, the last scraps of defenders, like rats cornered, are hiding in this temple. I don’t know what they’re up to there. Probably think the gods will protect them, or some other heresy. They are covering the retreat of the rest who didn’t manage to become fertilizer, but where are they retreating to, into pixels?

And then he, the Emperor, descends from his griffin-steed. All clean, as if he hadn’t even fought, as if he just came out of a spa, although in reality he should have been covered in dirt, blood, and shit up to his ears a long time ago. But this is a “virtual world,” so no one cares.

And from the castle, like a devil out of a box, flies out some Grimnir. The master of the city. Looks like a clichéd lord of darkness written off from an old book about hobbits. Stooped, scarred, as if he had been bitten by all the local fauna. And in his eyes, you know, there is no hatred, but some kind of fatigue, like a taxi driver after a night shift.

And so, this damn dialogue begins.

“Grimnir,” this Alex drones on, like a broken record. “Surrender the Book of Fate, and I will spare your people.”

As if anyone had ever spared anyone in this virtual world.

And then… Role-playing and immersion are important in the game, you understand? And they start arguing like office plankton near the water cooler. They’re talking about company affairs, old grievances. Who didn’t share the shares, who squeezed the bonus… No, well, I understand that you are – people of the company, whose role is to bring players together in an epic battle of good and evil, arranging a global event. But work according to the scenario, read the text without deviations, you are not alone here, you are not playing for yourself.

Finally, Grimnir, with a rasp in his voice, waves him off, as if shooing away a pesky fly. “The Book of Fates will never leave this place.”

Well, of course, it won’t leave. It’s the plot, how would they change it?

“Then you have left me no choice,” says Alex, and his voice is like that of a robot. Zero emotions. – “Kill everyone in the temple! And take the book!”

And then Grimnir spouts some heresy about death in reality if you get killed in the game at some high level. I rewatched it a hundred times in the recording, but I never understood what he meant. That was clearly off-script too. And their levels, by the way, are off the charts, they have been in the game since day one.

But that other guy doesn’t care, because he is invincible, that definitely won’t affect him. The enemy is trapped, and he has a numerical advantage, yeah. And here it is, the most “heroic” decision! Kill everyone, so you can take the book. This isn’t raising money for cat food on crowdfunding, this is harsh virtual reality for you!

And you know what? All these “heroes” in armor, all this “empire” with its white flags, they all happily carry out the order. As if they were just waiting for it. They forgot, probably, that they wanted to “save the world,” not butcher people. Well, yeah, it’s just a game, so no one cares.

They storm into this temple, like hungry dogs on a bone. Cutting everyone down indiscriminately. Old men, women, children, who hadn’t managed to escape. And no morality, no meaning.

And all this just happens, you understand? Just like that, with a snap of the fingers. And we, watch it, and like we should feel something. But what is there to feel? Nausea from meaninglessness? Disgust for ourselves for allowing this to continue? I don’t know. But this is definitely not heroism. And it’s definitely not about glory. Just another piece of shit in this damned, virtual, and so similar to the real world.

But suddenly this world trembled, as if someone had kicked the server. And from the temple, like from hell, crawled out these… undead. Not some stylish zombies from Hollywood movies. No, this is complete trash. Rotten corpses, with falling limbs, with eyes full of hatred and some kind of stupid, animal malice. And the smell, was just terrible, as if it was not in the game.

And so our clean-cut hero Alex, realized that he, damn it, had miscalculated badly. He jumped on his griffin, that same one, white and shiny, and tried to get the hell out of there. As if nothing had happened.

But those dead, swarmed over the griffin, tearing its feathers, gnawing at its flesh, at this virtual flesh, which probably doesn’t smell of anything, but the sight of it all is still nauseating.

The griffin, that white horse on which Alex rode, crashed like a shot bird. Scattered into pixels, and, our hero, simply disappeared. Vanished under hundreds of dark monsters. As if he had never been there.

And the city… the city was covered in gray fog. As if someone had turned off the lights on the stage, and everything became gray, dull, dead. Eternal twilight. Or it was just a server failure. I don’t know.

But the strangest thing is not that. The strange thing started later, in reality.

They both died. Shortly after those events. Just as Grimnir had predicted. I saw articles about it on the internet afterwards. The one who played the emperor died in a plane crash. And Grimnir’s body was never found after his car fell from a bridge.

And the company “Dream” does not comment on this in any way, at all. They even use the aura of mystery to promote the game. Hello, two people are missing! Don’t you care?

And after that, you know, I don’t play those games anymore.

III. THE PARTY WASN’T A SUCCESS

When Max entered the house with the VR box in his hands, his friends, invited for his birthday, were in the same poses he had left them in when he had left. Artem, the 15-year-old son of Aunt Olga, sat on the sofa in the living room with the projector remote in his hands, and his gaze was fixed on the broadcast on the wall, where footage from a documentary-entertainment show dedicated to retro-battles in virtual worlds was unfolding. “Legends of Online Battles” was one of those shows that constantly inserts analytics from VR experts and archival interviews with eyewitnesses. The red-haired girl next door named Daria sat here nearby in an armchair, staring at her phone, as if trying to find salvation from the boredom of the surrounding world in it. Today, she was the personification of the apathy that seemed to have infected the entire generation.

“What’s that? What did you get?” Artem, who had recently celebrated his fifteenth birthday, whom Aunt Olga and Max’s mother had repeatedly tried to befriend by bringing them together, jumped up from his chair, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity, seeing the gadget. He had dark hair and swarthy skin, inherited from his father, Aunt Olga’s husband, Vladislav.

“Is that VR? So you can join us in the raid on the ‘cursed lands’! Join us while it’s not too late, we need everyone. Of course, you won’t be of much use, but you’ll still get an achievement as a participant. Such global events rarely happen. So don’t miss your chance. This time, the light forces will definitely reach the castle and destroy the Twilight King!”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be playing this. I don’t want to be a zombie stuck online for days. I want, you know… to still be in reality,” Max put the box on the table.

“What are you talking about, it’s the best game of all time, okay, before you couldn’t play because of parental controls and age restrictions, but now what? Have you heard who leads the clan ‘Mercenaries from the North’ – Boris and Vic! Bullies from our school! Maybe we can start a acquaintance, we will raise our social rating at school. And such events are rare. Come on, they gathered all the adventurers, received help from the imperial bot-legion, and all the kingdoms of light sent their best warriors. What’s the point of living if not for such battles? Daria and I would first help you level up your skills, take you through dungeons, raise a couple of levels together. And into battle!” Artem seemed to be a little hooked on games. Even today, when he came to visit, he spent half the day in the game chat and on forums dedicated to the game. Like Daria. “The whole summer is ahead, what will you do if you don’t play?”

“I don’t know… Maybe I’ll sign up for the archaeological expedition with our historian Fedorov. It seems like he’s recruiting people again now,” Max replied.

Daria, who had been staring listlessly out the window, cast a fleeting, interested glance at Max. A spark flickered in her eyes, as if she had momentarily seen in him something different from the rest, something deeper and more real. But she immediately returned to her contemplation.

“To that old alcoholic? Hauling stones all summer? Give it up, there are only losers and nerds there.”

“The cake will be ready in 5 minutes!” Max’s mother’s voice came from the kitchen.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up, I’ll just take this upstairs.” Max pointed to the VR.

Max’s room was in such a state of disarray that even the most experienced chaos researchers would probably have given up upon seeing it. Things were scattered everywhere, each seemingly trying to tell its own story, but like Max himself, they weren’t too sure what exactly they wanted to convey.

In a place of honor stood a trophy with figurines of fighters, won at a martial arts tournament where Max, as usual, took not first but third place. It was a pretty impressive achievement, except that his persistence in training lasted only until he realized that martial arts lacked magic and dragons. The trophy seemed to know about his short-lived passion and looked at its owner with bitterness.

The computer, on which an unfinished program was open, reminded him that Max had once dreamed of becoming a great programmer like his father. However, as often happens with dreams, he soon lost interest in them, leaving the project in a state of “still in progress.” In this place, technology and inspiration met to exchange glances before parting forever.

A small green tree – a bonsai – stood in the corner, like a wise elder who, despite all the chaos around, remained calm. Max sometimes came to it to reflect on life, but in the end, he often just forgot to water it. The bonsai seemed to know that its fate was to witness the strange reflections of a young philosopher who didn’t always remember his responsibilities.

A poster from a NASCAR race that Max had once attended with his father hung on the wall, as a reminder of a happy day. It always smiled when he looked at it, as if trying to say: “Here, this was real fun, not all this…”.

An electric guitar, standing on a stand, waited like an unnoticed muse who knew that her time would come, but was in no hurry. Music was his passion, but, like everything else, it often remained in the shadows.

On the bookshelf, among textbooks on mathematics and astrophysics, a mythological encyclopedia and treatises by ancient military leaders peacefully coexisted. Max, as a true seeker of knowledge, believed that one day all these books would tell him something important, although for now they were just gathering dust, waiting for their time.

This whole room created an atmosphere of constant searching, where each passion became just a stop on the way to something more. Max knew that sooner or later he would find something that truly captivated him, and then his room would become a reflection of his true “self” – or, at least, would become a little more organized. But, as the classic said: “Everything comes in time for those who know how to wait.”

All this accumulation of objects left very little space for life, so the furniture in the room consisted only of a bed, a table, and a wardrobe.

Gifts, given personally and passed through mutual acquaintances, lay here in the corner of the room, unopened in factory packaging and bright ribbons:

– A new laptop from his mother.

– A book on psychology from Aunt Olga.

– A set of tools for soldering microcircuits from Uncle Vladislav. They had been friends with his father since school. And his father often said that if it weren’t for him and his talent for handling computer hardware, VR technology would have reached real implementation 10 years later, or maybe it wouldn’t have appeared at all, remaining at the level of an idea.

– Collectible figurines of characters from the game were brought by Artem.

Max never understood this fascination of almost adult and some completely adult people with collecting figurines of characters from films and games. But now he also became the owner of a figurine of the “Twilight King”, some witch in black flowing rags and a dragon.

– A watch was sent by the director and majority shareholder of the company DREAM Inc. – Alexander First. He owned the company, one of the founders of which was Max’s father.

The gift from Daria was unexpected. A package of condoms tied with a blue ribbon. “Condoms for a Condom” read the inscription in black marker on it. Next was a smiley face in the shape of a heart.

“Closer – further” – Daria was perfectly fluent in this game. All evening – icy silence, but then this gift…, the gift clearly hinted at a continuation. Or was it just a mockery? What did she mean by this?

He could have guessed about this for the rest of the evening, but now he was occupied by another mystery.

Max put the VR with the rest of the gifts. He took the augmented reality glasses from the floor and went to the news portal:

News Headlines 02/03/2050

– Globalization Isn’t What We Wanted for Breakfast! Antiglobalists gather for the largest rally of the decade. However, the protests promise to become not only an expression of discontent, but also the main cultural event of the year with performances by famous artists and an extensive entertainment program.

– Cinema: Virtual Reality Changes Perception of Films VR-technologies from the company “Dream” are changing the TV series industry – viewers do not just watch, but experience history. But how do you bring them back to the usual boring real world and send them to work in the office, after they have been heroes all weekend, saving the world from evil season after season?

– Breakthrough in Psychology: Scientists Developed a New Method of Treating Depression A new method of neurostimulation promises to relieve depression by reprogramming the brain. Will everyone finally be able to be happy just by pressing a button?

– Superheroes on Minimum Wage: How eSportsmen Save the World From Boredom eSports has been recognized as an official profession, allowing you to count on a minimum wage from the state. Now, teenagers who have not finished school become not only opinion leaders and idols of youth, influencing the minds of an entire generation, but also respected members of society whose work is finally officially appreciated.

– Personality for Rent: Who Owns Our Data? Experts raise the alarm: personal information is the new and most valuable asset. How to protect yourself in the digital ocean.

Quickly swiping away news about antiglobalist protests, cinema, scientific achievements, he went to the archival section.

He typed in the search engine: “Mikhail Gromov Dream tunnel accident.”

He reopened the articles about his father’s death, those that still made it to the web, despite attempts by the company to “hush up” the matter. He had reread them a hundred times before and had already promised himself not to do it again, but today he returned to them again.

Several years before his father disappeared, he had a falling out with his wife, Max’s mother, withdrew from work at the company, and moved to some backwater. Tatiana accused him of domestic violence and drunkenness, although Max was ready to vouch that nothing of the sort had happened. Rather the opposite. He remembered one quarrel, but it happened because Tatiana was communicating too closely with her yoga instructor. Then there was a conversation in raised tones and he and his mother moved out after that. His father bought a new house. In the course of the divorce, the company severed relations with the developer who had gained a bad reputation, which could cast a shadow on them as well. In the end, he also disappeared from the information field, telling those media outlets that were still willing to listen to him that he was working on some new project in the field of artificial intelligence. After that, his communication with the outside world ceased for many years.

After a while, he and Tatiana seemed to have even improved their relationship, and his father was supposed to come to their house for Max’s 10th birthday. Was supposed to, but didn’t.

The car was found 3 days later at the bottom of the bay, but the body was never found. For several years he was considered missing, then declared dead. His fortune, which mainly consisted of a package of shares in the company “Dream”, passed to Tatiana. As far as he knew, the additional listing of shares annually reduced her share in the company, but they were still not poor.

The bracelet on his hand vibrated. An icon of an incoming call from the contact “Uncle Vlad” was reflected in the augmented reality glasses, obscuring the printed material and a photo of the crashed SUV.

“Hello, Uncle Vladislav. Why didn’t you come today?”

After his mother’s divorce from his father, Vladislav was a frequent guest in their house for a while, as was Olga, but then, for some reason, his mother stopped wanting to see him, and their relationship became very strained.

“Hello Max, sorry I couldn’t make it, there was a big commotion at the company and for once they called me back again. So I called as soon as I was free. And I congratulate you, you are now of age. You can work, sign contracts… an important milestone in your life…”

“And what could have happened in the company that they pulled you off of your well-deserved retirement?”

“I’m still the best specialist in hardware, if you remember…”

“Of course, my father always said the same thing, so what’s the commotion about?”

“Is Tatiana far away?”

“Well, she’s home, but… she’s not nearby and definitely can’t hear.”

“In short, just don’t tell her, but someone logged into the game under your father’s account. And was even online for a minute and forty seconds today. Can you imagine?”

Max froze, his heart beating faster.

“And why did this cause such a commotion in the company?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“This is the Twilight King, the main antagonist of the game right now. And he may have been controlled by some hacker for more than a minute… Everyone there just went crazy… Can you imagine what could have started? He could have ordered the army of the undead to move on the capital or millions of in-game gold could have been dumped on the market, launching hyperinflation, or the ‘dark ones’ could have acquired monstrous artifacts from his vault, completely breaking the balance of the game. You know, we basically don’t control the game worlds, thanks to your father’s ideas about a completely self-regulating system, we only provide access to the game and ensure order, in a small territory like the capital and the main cities of the empire, and even then only by game methods. And here is a full-scale catastrophe… and we still have the old advertising contract in force, according to which we are obliged to exchange in-game currency for real money! Can you imagine what a scandal it would be if we had to abruptly abandon this? And the massive ‘final’ deaths of players at the hands of the undead within the ‘safe’ cities in front of the NPCs and the loss of accounts would not contribute to the popularization of the game and positive reviews, we would simply be eaten alive, sued…”

“Wait, but could someone log in under his account? Is that technically possible?”

“That’s what I was invited to answer. Theoretically, no. It’s impossible to pass authorization with only a name and password now. There is a check based on the location points of the electronic chips in the body, which is impossible to repeat, they are scattered through the bloodstream and fixed randomly during initialization for each person individually. And not only that, there is a check based on ID, physical address, biometrics, and other factors that artificial intelligence analyzes when connecting. Maybe it was just a system failure, I don’t know. Or… but this is not a phone conversation.”

“What time did he log into the game?”

“3:32 PM.”

Max fell silent. That was the time when cameras recorded the car falling from the bridge – he had looked at the photo with the time recorded in the picture that hit the media a hundred times. And there could be no error in that. Another coincidence?

“I was given VR today,” Max finally said.

“Congratulations. A great gift for your fifteenth birthday. I’m even a little jealous. I remember my first immersion, it’s unforgettable. Another world in all its glory…”

“The sender signed as Grimnir.”

“Your father’s nick? Yes, that’s strange. Very strange.”

“Tell me, is this device for immersing in VR, can it be dangerous, for health or can it somehow harm me?”

“Theoretically, no. It only reads and transmits signals, and also broadcasts theta waves to keep you asleep. But the game server controls everything, you will be thrown into a normal sleep in any case after a 2-hour game session. It’s no more dangerous than wired headphones.”

“No more dangerous than what?”

“It’s such a device, it was used to listen to music before chips and augmented reality glasses appeared. Okay, never mind. In general, my answer is no, it can’t be dangerous. Today is your birthday, go for it…”

Two women, resembling each other like two peas in a pod, had been sitting in the kitchen for a couple of hours, drinking red wine from tall glasses, discussing everything in the world – men, children, everyday life, unfulfilled dreams – as if this evening were the last when they could talk about everything without fear of consequences.

“Does your Artem also study at St. Andrew’s School?” asked the blonde, and her voice became quieter, as if she wanted to share a secret that should not leave the confines of this kitchen.

“Yes,” answered the interlocutor, her eyes sparkled with curiosity, like a cat noticing that its owner had opened a bag of food.

“Let him keep an eye on mine for a while, it seems to me that someone is hurting him at school,” said the blonde. Her voice was full of helplessness and fear for her son. She felt that she could not protect him from this world and hoped for her sister’s help.

“Okay, I’ll tell him,” the dark-haired woman became interested, as if she had just learned that her favorite store was having a sale, but her next question sounded cautiously: “What happened?”

“Max has come home with bruises and abrasions several times,” said the blonde, and her voice became even quieter, as if she were afraid that someone from the neighbors would eavesdrop and decide that they had a real thriller here. “He’s becoming more and more withdrawn. I feel that something is wrong, but I can’t understand what exactly.”

“Maybe just transfer him to another school?” suggested the guest, but it was said as if she herself didn’t believe these words. Her proposal felt only like a formality, as if she just wanted to get rid of the problem.

“I don’t know,” sighed the blonde, “I’m tired of everything. Maybe we need to move somewhere further south, where the climate is milder and the people are kinder…” she bit her lip, as if this could stop the flow of her thoughts. Her words sounded a longing for a peaceful and happy life that she had never had.

The dark-haired woman put her glass on the table. Her gaze was directed into the distance and focused on something intangible, perhaps on memories of the past, when she herself dreamed of dropping everything and running away. She felt only envy and regret that her own dreams had never come true.

“Have you already talked to him about moving?” she asked.

The still beautiful, but already plumping woman of about forty in a pink dress, got up from the table and took the cake out of the oven, according to the timer that went off.

“No, I haven’t,” replied the hostess, her voice became even quieter, with a note of anxiety in it. “I think a change of scenery would be good for both of us. You know, everything has gone wrong since his father disappeared.”

“Tatiana, don’t start,” Olga stated categorically. Her voice became stern, as if she were reading a sentence. “His father was crazy. Everything turned out for the best. He would have ruined us all, and ‘Dream’ would have drowned in lawsuits.”

“I know,” said the blonde, but her gaze became sad, as if she had lost something important, “Still, it’s so… sad… because ‘Dream’ was his brainchild, his dream, and he never revealed the full potential of his world. He didn’t tell its story to people to the end.”

“It’s better to have a working project that generates profit than empty fantasies,” the dark-haired woman snapped, her voice sounding clear dislike.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” replied the blonde, lowering her shoulders.

Olga considered the conversation over and raised her voice:

“Children, let’s go have tea!”

When Max came down to the kitchen, the table, in addition to snacks, had a cake with the number 15 on it, decorated with simple cream roses, three cups of tea for the children, and two glasses of wine, half-emptied by the adults. On the wall, in large letters cut out of colored cardboard, was written: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

“Finally, you’re unhooked,” exclaimed Artem, apparently wanting to finish the “tea ceremony” as soon as possible and be at home next to his computer.

“Artem, watch your language! Sit down!” Aunt Olga immediately snapped at him, as if he were small, so much so that he almost spilled the tea on the table. It seemed that her son’s stupid behavior was ruining her perfect picture of arrogant superiority over her sister. She had specifically come today in the image of a “Business Woman”, took her husband’s SUV, and not the family car that she usually used for business, and repeatedly mentioned the firm’s affairs in passing, because, unlike her sister, she had kept her job there. But Artem had been acting stupidly all evening, unrestrained, and spoiling the whole impression… “Just like his useless father,” flashed a thought in her head.

“Oh, Mom…”

“How many times have I asked you not to be rude at the table! If you don’t stop, we’ll go home immediately and you’ll be without VR for a whole week!” Olga looked sternly at her son.

“It’s not fair…” Artem fell silent, looking imploringly at his mother. He frowned resentfully, but didn’t protest any further.

An awkward pause hung in the air.

“In my youth, people communicated, met, went somewhere together,” Tatiana picked up the conversation, “now… Everyone sits at home and lives with imaginary problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Olga supported her.

“By the way, when VR technology first appeared, Dad used the nick Grimnir in the game, right?” Max asked Tatiana, trying to make it as casual as possible.

Olga sharply lowered her glass to the table. The light blush caused by the half-empty bottle of wine faded from her cheeks. Every mention of Max’s father seemed to cause her dislike, as if he were still dangerous to her.

“Yes, that’s what he was called, why are you asking about it?” Tatiana wondered.

“I received this today.” Max took out the note with the name that was attached to the box with the game and put it on the table.

“Wow. What a twist.” Artem immediately chimed in, unable to restrain himself from a new remark. His eyes lit up again with curiosity, “There are a lot of rumors on the internet now that game characters can learn on their own, adopt the habits of their players. They say some almost gain consciousness, start writing messages from the player’s name to his friends. But for letters… That’s something new.”

“This is probably fake and someone’s stupid joke,” Aunt Olga stated categorically. “Rumors spread by competitors.”

“What happened to my father’s game character? How did his story end? Maybe he’s still there, in the game, and has retained part of my father’s consciousness or memories?”

Tatiana shook her head, as if dismissing this thought: “I don’t think it’s possible…” Tatiana took the note from the table, read it, and gave it to Olga.

“Your father is dead,” Olga stated unequivocally, looking at Max with undisguised anger, “The car was pulled out of the bottom of the bay. And that’s enough about it.” She returned the card with the name to Tatiana as if it were a time bomb.

“But his body wasn’t found!” Max interrupted her, his voice trembling, “The last time he spoke… he said he would come. It would be by six.” Max glanced at the electronic clock, which showed 6:05 PM. “The delivery truck arrived exactly at 6:00 PM, and the note is signed with his name…” Max didn’t know what other arguments to give to preserve this thin thread of hope.

“And when was he supposed to come? Five years ago?” Olga’s eyes flashed with anger.

Tatiana, seeing that the situation was escalating, stood up, as if about to protect her son from her sister:

“Let’s all calm down a bit. It’s just someone’s stupid joke. Your father was quite a well-known person in the gaming industry, so someone set up a silly prank on the anniversary of his death.” She went to the window and drew the curtains, suspecting that a prankster from the street might be filming their reaction on camera.