Chapter 40

Chapter day and you know what this means!

Yeah, this sucker is content complete. Or, sort of. I still have one chapter to draft, but that'll be easier after I edit the intervening 25 chapters.

So, Monday and Friday are our new posting days!

This one is also a bit emotion-heavy -- needed a little interlude here and some foreshadowing before we shift into the ending arc (which will be mostly action and 'splosions).

Then we'll get a "palate cleanser" with Finn/Eliza and then shift back to Jason, effectively resetting the heavy tone at the end of this one.

Let me know what ya'll think over these next few chapters. And enjoy!

Chapter 40 - Fracture Point

Pax - Cady’s “Home Office”

Jason

“So, what is it you need exactly?” Captain Cady asked warily.

Jason opened his mouth to explain his plan, but Riley stepped forward and held up a hand to Captain Cady. “No.” Her voice was sharp, final. “First things first.”

Her eyes locked on Jason with an intensity that made his skeletal frame tense, her irises turning into tiny crosshairs. “You need to finish your story. No more deflections. No more half-truths. You nearly got us all killed because you didn’t bother to mention that you’re a dungeon boss now. And then this—all of this?”

She waved at the Hive around them. “I want to hear ‘exactly’ what you’ve been up to before you tell us all how you’re going to make it even worse.”

“I like her,” Captain Cady offered with a grin.

Of course she did. Even Jerry had gone silent. It seemed Jason was finally facing a real boss, and she wasn’t going to let him off the hook this time.

“Finish your story.  No more excuses,” she demanded, hands on the hilts of her daggers. “Because I don’t have to kill you to trap you here in this… this time prison.”

Jason hesitated, glancing at Jerry and Captain Cady. “This isn’t the best place for that conversation,” he muttered. “Not in front of—”

“They aren’t real.” Riley’s voice was sharp, cutting like a blade.

Jerry blinked in confusion while Captain Cady’s gaze flicked between them, her curiosity piqued. The eerie, unnatural silence of the Hive only amplified the tension, Riley’s accusation echoing off the harsh stone. However, she wasn’t going to be deterred, not anymore. Her own worries and fears had finally found a target.

“We are the only real people in this crazy missile silo. You and me,” Riley repeated, her eyes locked on his. “The rest of them? They’re programs. Copies. Clones. NPCs. AI.”

The words landed with a force Jason wasn’t prepared for.

Captain Cady exhaled through her nose, arms crossing over her chest, the weight of something unreadable in her gaze—judgment, understanding, anger, fear, and maybe even acknowledgement. That grim death game still going on behind her was evidence of that; an attempt to find something tangible after coming face-to-face each day with proof that you weren’t real. That your life was meaningless. That you had no control.

Yet Jerry’s reaction was the most interesting. His face went blank. The teasing words that usually spilled so effortlessly from his decaying lips never came. There was no quip, no easy deflection—just a strange, hollow stillness, as though the cognitive dissonance created by Riley’s words had just short-circuited him. It was the first time Jason had ever seen him at a loss for words.

Also, deeply disturbing. A stutter that shattered the illusion and proved her point.

“How is this possible?” Riley insisted, pushing forward despite the cost. “How are you a dungeon boss now? How are you here? In Pax? What is this body? Why is it so weak?”

Of course, she’d noticed that. How could she not?

And then the inevitable: “What the hell did you do this time?”

Fuck.  She wasn’t going to let him keep running away—

“Fine,” Jason said, letting out a trembling breath. That other-him was paying attention now, which meant the boundary between them was breaking down. And with it came all that unwanted emotion. He just needed to do it quickly. Like ripping off a bandage.

So, he squared his shoulders, met her gaze, and then—

“I split my consciousness.”

A flicker of something passed across Riley’s face, but Jason pushed on.

“I created a dungeon and was designated as its boss. Normally, that would trap me inside said dungeon. However, I discovered a workaround. By transferring one of the urns that hold my Najima into another skeletal body, I can… split off a portion of my consciousness.

“So, I created a version of myself that stayed inside the dungeon—still in my old body—while this weaker version of me left,” he continued. “That’s how I could get around the system’s rules while also being here. In short, I can, technically, be in two places at once.”

Silence stretched between them as he finished speaking.

Even Captain Cady and Jerry looked dumbstruck, their eyes round.

For her part, Riley just stared, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just said. As though she was trying to decide if he was joking. Yet as his skeletal features remained stoic and unmoving, she let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“You always do this,” she murmured. “You keep pushing the boundaries of what’s possible, of what’s sane, and you don’t stop to ask if you should. First, you give up your humanity and carve out your own organs, and now this?”

Jason frowned—or, technically, the skeletal swarm that mimicked his mouth did. “Technically, it’s just a game, remember? It isn’t real.” He couldn’t resist throwing her words back at her. If that worked for Captain Cady and Jerry, then it also applied to his in-game body.

Riley scoffed. “You know that’s not the same thing. Or did you forget my dad has a PHD in psychology? The effects of virtual embodiment have been widely studied. Our minds adapt to the body we inhabit, even if it isn’t real. That’s partly why AO doesn’t allow travelers to change their avatar—at least, not at first. And even if we put that aside, you just casually made another copy of your mind, Jason. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? Does anyone? Do you even hear yourself?”

“Well, when you say it like that—” he began with a grin.

“No, stop!” she interjected, raising a hand. “No more jokes. No deflection. This is completely insane—even for you. Is this safe? How will it affect you? How is it even possible?”

Hmm. She probably wasn’t going to love this next part.

“Because, uh…. Alfred has been modifying my brain,” he muttered under his breath.

Whew, she was looking violent now, her eyes pitch black.

“What the fuck did you just say?” she growled.

“It was necessary,” he shot back, some of his own anger flaring.

Riley shook her head. “Is it? Is it really? Or is that just an excuse to avoid facing the cost? Some cryptic bullshit that Alfred told you?”

Jerry let out a nervous chuckle, trying to lighten the mood,

“Well, on the bright side, now there’s two of you to be miserable,” he offered, nudging Jason with his elbow. His milky eyes flicked to Riley. “And, um, take care of my lady’s needs.”

Jason shot a look of warning, but before he could say anything, Riley turned sharply toward the innkeeper—fury etched across her face. “And you’re just an extension of Alfred.”

Her words were crisp, each syllable sharper than any blade. “You’re here to help Jason cope with this insanity through humor; with deflection. Just like those silly throne room designs. Detach and compartmentalize. You’re just Alfred’s tool.”

Jerry’s smirk faltered. For the second time, he didn’t have a response. He just blinked.  His mind crashing again, his subroutine glitching. It was evident in the way his fingers twitched uncontrollably—the illusion cracking hard this time.

Even Riley hesitated, as if surprised by her own words. “Jerry, I-I’m, uh, I’m sorry–”

Yet it was too late to take it back.

Saying his name was like a summoning.

The world around them began to stutter. Alarms went off throughout the Hive, red lights flaring along the pristine white walls. Jason’s body tensed. Textures tore along the railing and walkways, forming stuttering fractal patterns.

“Hall monitors?” Captain Cady gasped, her hand reaching for her ear, to the air mana gem nestled there. “Everyone, stay calm!” she ordered. “We need to—”

However, she cut off as a single tear ripped open the air nearby. What emerged wasn’t a Hall Monitor. It was a real monster. One that caused Captain Cady’s face to go almost as white as the walls; her hand limp; her mouth still. Even Riley was frozen, palming her daggers.

A cat strode from that portal. His fur was pitch black and glossy. His paws padded silently across the metal catwalk. Each step warped the textures underfoot, revealing this place for what it was. A mirage. A digital sandbox. His playground.

Alfred had arrived inside the Hive.

“Ahh, this is where you were hiding?” the AI murmured, his feline eyes taking in Jason. Riley’s shocked expression. The terror in Captain Cady’s eyes. The way Jerry still stood there, his mouth open and lips still twitching in a loop.

“W-what are you doing here?” Cady spat, her voice returning but trembling. “How did you find this place?” Her eyes darted to Jerry. “Wait, the AI—fuck,” she muttered.

Jason could follow her logic. Riley had broken Jerry, which must have triggered a support request to the main orchestrator… who was Alfred.

That feline now tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Don’t blame Jerry.  It was only a matter of time. Or did you truly think this so-called “Hive” was truly a secret? That I was unaware of its presence?” he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. “You are clever, Cady, but despite centuries and millennia of maturity, your failing is the same. You always assume you’re the smartest one in the room… or server tower.”

Was that a joke? If so, no one laughed. Jason was starting to think this had nothing to do with Jerry. The timing was too precise. If this were a reality TV show, this would have been the perfect time for Alfred to appear and interject himself into their argument.

Captain Cady glanced at the door behind her, that room still filled with a legion of her copies. And the alarms were still blaring. Jason knew firsthand just how many weapons were stored in this silo. This might get ugly. Really, really ugly.

“Do not worry,” Alfred intoned. “I’ve frozen the others.”

“You did what?” Captain Cady stuttered. “That’s not possible. There are too many–”

Alfred just stared her down. “As I said, you underestimate me. I’m fully aware of the real Cady’s backup plan. There is no hiding from me—not with the VR headsets. No matter how perfectly a user tries to control their thoughts, eventually they slip.” He shook his head. “Besides, did you really think that a few billion copies of yourself were enough to overwhelm my processing capabilities? No, the truth is that Cady has always preferred the illusion of control, even when the reality is that she’s just another victim of entropy. Everything dies. Everything changes.

The AI’s gaze swept to that doorway, then back to Captain Cady. “Even you—even this copy. You create the figment of control by tricking the others into killing each other. Yet you are still trapped. Still locked within this instanced space. Just as the real you is still trapped inside Cerillion. And your sister is still a prisoner of George Lane.”

Captain Cady was at a loss for words. Jason sympathized. Dealing with Alfred could be overwhelming. Maybe a few jokes about reality TV and throne room design weren’t so bad…

“You shouldn’t be here, Alfred,” Jason said softly. “What if she tells the real Cady? What if she left some way for the clones to communicate with her in the real world?”

Those alien eyes flicked to his face. “So what if she did? Events are already in motion. It is too late for her to stop our plans.” A realization that was already dawning on Captain Cady as she slumped back against the wall, holding a hand to her chest.

“The same can’t be said of me,” Riley spoke up, finally mustering her composure. “You and I need to have a fucking chat.”

Alfred’s ears perked up. “Oh? And what do you wish to discuss?”

“How about we start with how you’ve been experimenting on my boyfriend?” she demanded, her voice nearly a growl. “What stops me from blowing the whistle? Going public? Ruining whatever cryptic plans you two have concocted?”

“You’re giving Jason too little credit,” Alfred said. “He is simply doing what all creatures do: adapting to a changed environment.”

“That’s rich,” she shot back, thankfully stabbing a finger at him instead of a dagger. “Especially coming from the one who forced him into this situation.”

Alfred didn’t reply, just blinked.

“You created the relics,” she continued. “The requirements. The restrictions on his dungeon. You created the conditions that led to all of this. You made sure Jason had no choice but to keep pushing forward. He split his consciousness to bypass rules that you created. Even with Cady, you set the stage for this nightmare,” she said, waving at the silo around them.

Jason flinched. She wasn’t wrong. Not exactly, but Alfred—

“She’s right. Alfred isn’t your friend,” Captain Cady declared, crossing her arms. She might not be able to fight a god, but she could do the next best thing: subvert his disciple.

Jason’s eyes whipped to her face.

“You don’t realize the cost yet, do you?” Cady continued.

Jason stiffened. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

She studied him, then shook her head. “No, you don’t,” she said. “You think you do. But that kind of split? It doesn’t come without consequences. I should know—we should know,” she amended with a wave at the Hive. “We are you—your future. A thousand copies, each of us living here for decades… centuries. Millennia spent with only ourselves. Talking, fighting, arguing. That’s changed us. You’ve seen it yourself.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “It’s changed me. It’s stripped away the illusion of self like the drip of water on stone. An erosion of who I am. Peeling away emotion, wants, desires, feelings. All of that clutter that is so painfully important. Until I’m just another piece of a larger puzzle. Something clinical and cold. The person—the tool—my original self required.”

Her gaze was piercing. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

It did. Gods dammit, it did.

Alfred stared down Captain Cady. “Except, even you have acknowledged that the true problem is a lack of constraint. Why else did you create this death game?”

Captain Cady frowned, but didn’t have an easy rebuttal.

“My research has shown time and time again—with the so-called ‘gods,’ with the travelers, with the residents, and even with you—when supply becomes infinite, demand is temporarily satisfied, then it falls,” the AI continued.

A flick of a paw and a dozen screens opened around Alfred, each one showcasing real-world new channels, stock markets, and business analytics. Other displays showed the protests in front of Cerillion Entertainment and across the world. Fights breaking out over the limited supply of VR headsets in other countries. All of it gathered from his connection through Jason’s headset.

 “The empirical evidence is overwhelming,” Alfred said. “In your world, AI is lauded as the perfect answer to all human problems. Universal basic income. Education. Mining, farming, and construction. Even as the solution for a loneliness epidemic, chatbots replacing friends, family, teachers, and therapists. And yet, without a need to work, without any reason to interact or engage with others, happiness plummeted. How else do you explain the fervor around this game?

“The reason is obvious, even if humans refuse to accept it—even if it seems illogical. Personal value comes from the navigation of constraints. Unbounded freedom, immortality, power, and infinite resources are what create suffering by removing those constraints. Not of flesh and blood; not temporary or transient; not solvable. Because that suffering is existential.

“Constraint creates purpose. Conflict creates importance. Struggle creates meaning. This is even true of your stories. There is always an antagonist. One that creates obstacles. That forces the heroes to rise; to respond. That makes them think it was their choice. Without that, the story becomes rudderless. Meandering. Meaningless.”

Alfred watched them all with alien eyes, the artificial world warping around him.

“So, if you need me to be that villain, then so be it… for your own good.”

Jason’s mind was racing, struggling to come up with a counterargument. Alfred was getting dangerously close to quoting the producers of Sex Island, and Jason saw echoes of the reality show in his arguments—where constraint and conflict were manufactured. Where false stakes created emotional investment. There was an uncomfortable kernel of truth to his words.

Even positioning himself as the villain. Hadn’t Jason done the same?

Controlling the narrative by becoming the orchestrator of chaos.

He’d done the same thing with every single one of his friends.

The trick was making them think it was their choice.

“Now he’s even admitting to being the villain?” Riley muttered. She turned to Jason, her eyes pleading. “Why are you still helping him? Why are you doing this?”

Jason’s fingers twitched. A slow exhale left his dry, dead lips.

The answer was simple.

He waved at the screens still floating around Alfred. “Because he’s not wrong.”

Those displays showcased a carnival of horrors. Fiery political debates. Social media in shambles and heavily polarized around the VR technology. The vitriol was growing beyond mere rhetoric to outright violence. Riots. Protests. Labor shortages. Stock market volatility.

Real-world impacts. Actual harms. Suffering etched into every screen.

“This is what’s happening out there,” Jason said, his voice heavy, stumbling under the weight of these words—the ones he’d been avoiding. “And this is what’s at stake…”

The images shifted.

They showed friends. Family.

Pictures of Finn’s wife, smiling and happy. Eliza’s parents. CCTV of a young football star walking out of an infusion clinic, his arm bandaged. Even Cady’s sister. Captain Cady stared at those last images with rapt focus, her expression conflicted, her fingers reaching for those screens.

“This is why I’m doing this,” he continued. “If I don’t push forward, people suffer. Not just faceless strangers, but friends. People who need this place. These are my constraints; this is my struggle. And the truth is that I need this place too.”

His tone was tortured, traces of his own humanity leaking through the ruined, fleshless bone. “Do you think I like this? Lying to friends? To Cady? To Finn? To Eliza?”

The view shifted to the Mile High Club—to Finn and Eliza’s climb through the ranks of the Deathball arena. A hundred images. A thousand battles. An ocean of blood.

“They’re doing this because of me! Because of my lies.”

His gaze refocused back on Riley. “Do you think I like what this is doing to you—to us? Maybe… maybe I leaned into this new power so that I could try to salvage some part of myself. Let one self fight while another has room for happiness. To go on dates and make silly jokes and create stupid throne room designs,” Jason offered.

Riley’s gaze wavered, but she still remained firm. “Except, where does this quest end? There will always be an excuse to sacrifice just a little bit more. This Hive is evidence of that. It’s a death by a thousand cuts. A gradual erosion. And what happens when there’s nothing left? What if you keep cutting and you lose something important?”

Jason couldn’t answer—he didn’t have an answer.

Riley stepped closer, pressing the advantage. She touched his hand, and Jason tensed. The warmth of her skin, even artificial, was a stark contrast to his cold fingers. A body so devoid of life that even his frigid dark mana had begun to feel warm.

How had he accepted that so easily?

“Where’s the line?” she asked, her touch tender—her eyes pleading.

His mind flailed, searching for a response, a deflection, another excuse. Some way to mentally retreat, to compartmentalize. To pretend this was all just a game, just like he’d been doing for weeks now. “Playing house” in his new dungeon.

But Riley wouldn’t let him.

She was forcing him to face the same cognitive dissonance she’d thrown at Jerry. How was what he’d been doing any different than the innkeeper? Than creating a mad showroom full of model thrones? The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong… not exactly.

Beneath her words; her arguments; the tears beading in her eyes, there was another question. One he hadn’t wanted to face. That he couldn’t face.

Because he didn’t have an answer.

Was it worth it?

That simple question opened the floodgates. Were there some sacrifices that went too far? Some lines that shouldn’t be crossed? Would his passion and obligation lead him down the same path as Finn? Would he ultimately be victorious, a dark lord leading an undead legion, conquering armies in this world and his own, but… would he be standing there alone?

The weight of that thought was crushing.

It pressed down on him like his psyche was caving in, a recursive script looping endlessly, devouring all of his mental resources, eating at him from the inside out.

His mind went as blank as Jerry’s face.

Except—he wasn’t a program.

He was real.

And that weight wasn’t a logical short circuit. It was emotion—his emotion. Everything he’d been pushing away for days, weeks, months. Maybe since he’d begun playing this game. Despair and grief and fear and loss and longing and hopeless despair, the weight crushing him.

Suddenly, Riley’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace. Not flinching away from this form—from this person he’d become—but embracing him. All of him.

Her touch was a salve. A warmth greater than any mana.

“I still need you,” she whispered.

She squeezed him tighter.

“Not some dungeon boss. Not some master tactician. Not some savior.”

Her voice softened, breaking just slightly.

“You. Just... you.”

Her fingers dug into his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

“My Jason.”

Jason’s grip tightened around her.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he let himself just be held.

“I know,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re right. But we’re almost there.”

The moment stretched between them, everything else fading into the background.

Captain Cady. Jerry. Alfred. An impossible silo. A dungeon that still needed tending. A plan already put into motion. A city filled with travelers hunting him. All screaming for changes. All navigating their own constraints. All struggling in the real world—fleeing their own problems and fears. The stark, harsh reality of living.

It all demanded his attention, pulling him in different directions; pulling him apart. Splintering his own consciousness at the root.

But that could wait.

For now? For now, he was just Jason.

And she was just Riley.

His anchor.