Who Remains -CH2-

Paul hadn’t heard from anyone.

Not a soul bothered him that was a player, technician, or otherwise.

All contact with the outside world had simply ceased completely. He was alone in the entirety of the world except for the constant and repetitive nattering of NPCs.

At times it was as if the entire world was a giant wasteland and other times it was overwhelming with how many NPCs would call out to him as he went by.

With so few players, every possible quest and interaction was available to him. There wasn’t anything being done by anyone in a world that was meant to hold hundreds of thousands.

By the eighth day Paul realized that it was exactly what he’d been told. They weren’t going to “pull the plug” and end his existence. They were going to keep it running until he died one way or another, or they got him out on their own.

By the fifteenth day he’d come to the slow and gradual realization that if that were the case, he’d have to end his own life to get what he wanted.

Either here in this world, or out there in the real world. It’d come down to him taking care of himself for his exit.

Those thoughts brought him back to the cliff he’d visited previously.

Repeatedly.

But no matter how much he wanted to jump from it’s edge he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was simply a built in resistance to kill himself.

Sighing Paul stared down from the cliff. He’d come up here once again, hoping to find a new answer.

Or an old one. It didn’t matter to him.

“Oh, hello there,” said the hermit from behind him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m standing here,” Paul muttered. “You going to offer me a quest?”

“I beg your pardon?” asked the hermit.

“You’re going to tell me about the stupid wolves, aren’t you?”

“Why yes! My house is currently-”

“Yeah, sure. You run along. I’ll catch up with you when they’re eating you. Last time you had some food in your house. That means I don’t have to bother going to the grocer later,” Paul mumbled. “And yes I’m sure.”

“If you’re sure then,” the Hermit said, turning away from Paul and starting to walk away.

Quest Accepted

“Yep. See you in a bit,” Paul said, not looking away from the cliff.

He’d watch the Hermit get torn apart a number of times now.

Watching NPCs get obliterated wasn’t anything new though. It was no different to him than slaughtering the endless number of animals required to level up skinning and leather-working.

Mindless, soulless, and without any sort of independence. Might as well be a doll.

Paul chewed at his lower lip.

“A doll?” he mused aloud. “Dolls have self autonomy when I give it to them.”

Calling up his inventory screen Paul began to cycle through the endless pages of dolls and golems he’s made.

Of everyone on the server, he’d been the highest level crafter of dolls and golems.

They’d called him the doll-mage.

Pulling out a life sized female doll in a basic shape Paul dropped it to the grass.

He’d made a number of “blanks” as he called them built into general shapes that he could work from. It made his work considerably simpler when people came in for commission work.

Next he retrieved his carving knife and looked down at the doll.

“Oh, we’ll have to wait till she dies, huh,” Paul mumbled. Sitting down next to the doll Paul waited. A few minutes ticked by which gave him time to pull out the various pigments and other tools he’d likely need for the work.

In the distance he finally heard a scream followed by a pained yelp as the hermit was torn apart.

Quest restarted.

“Finally,” Paul said. “She walks so damn slow. Damn wolves wouldn’t even have to run to catch her.”

Looking to the oversized oval that was the doll’s head Paul began to carve into it. Working out the basic shape and outline of the hermit’s face.

Turning his head one way then the other he tried to get the general shape of it down from memory. He didn’t want to over do it. He could always remove more later.

“Oh, hello there. What are you doing?” asked the freshly re-spawned Hermit.

“Waiting for you, actually,” Paul said, looking up at the NPC. “Could you be a doll and-ha… doll… be a doll and sit right there for me?”

“Why… I suppose I could. Though if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you for your help,” the Hermit said, taking a seat on the grass.

“Uh huh,” Paul said. Looking up at the Hermit he studied her face for several seconds. Then he took a screen shot of her and looked back to the doll. “Could you turn your head to the left, then the right, then look up, then down?”

“I… well I suppose so,” said the Hermit.

Each time the Hermit completed one of the listed tasks Paul took another screen shot of her. Once he’d had her from almost every angle he settled in to start in on the doll again. Using the photos as reference, and looking at the hermit on occasion he worked at carving her likeness into the wood directly.

“It’s me,” said the NPC.

By and large they were restricted to certain mental pathways, their programming really, but they were also considerably advanced virtual intelligences. The greatest the world had ever seen up to this point.

They were literally, virtually, restricted by the limits that were deliberately programmed into them.

“So it is,” Paul said finishing up on her face. Pulling the tip of his detailing chisel across the corner of the dolls mouth.

He knew he didn’t have to have it as perfect as he did, that the system would approximate for a lot of it on it’s own, but he wanted this one to be the hermit. To actually be her.

“Uh,” Paul said, looking at the doll’s chest. “What’s your bra size?”

“I beg your pardon?” asked the Hermit, her face coloring.

“How big are your boobs,” Paul said, then tapped the doll. “I kinda want them to be right but I don’t have any idea how big you are. Your clothing doesn’t look that thick but… you never know. You know?”

The Hermit stared at him.

He stared back at her.

“No? You don’t know? I mean… eh… actually how would you know. You’re a hermit who wears what looks like a potato sack,” Paul muttered.

“I beg your pardon!” the Hermit said, looking slightly insulted now. “I’ll have you know I made this with my own hands. It’s an excellent-”

“Potato sack. Boob size. Got one? Otherwise I’m just gonna guess at a D and that’s what you’ll be,” Paul said. He didn’t like talking to NPCs much.

Didn’t like talking to anyone really.

“I think that’s about enough out of you,” the Hermit said, getting to her feet and wandering off.

“Oh. Alright. See you in a few when you’re back from the dead again. Or actually… maybe I could get your corpse before the wolves savage you too bad. I could use it for measurements,” Paul mused aloud.

“You’ll help me with the wolves?” asked the Hermit.

“Huh? Uh, sure, you go do that. Maybe the next one will tell me how big her boobs are,” Paul said, working on the doll again.

An hour later, and six more Hermits, Paul stopped working on the doll. He’d done the best he could given the lack of willing information from the Hermit and what he could actually see of her.

Sighing he finished adding the faintest line of pink coloring for the doll’s lips.

“It’s me.”

Looking up Paul saw Hermit number seven hovering over the doll of her.

“So it is,” Paul repeated once again. “Wanna tell me your boob size by the way?”

“I beg your pardon?!” demanded the Hermit.

“Hm. Whatever. It is what it is,” Paul said and then stood up. The next part would be problematic but he at least had figured out a way to make it quick and instant.

Paul was no fighter.

But when certain souls weren’t available on the market he’d been forced to go collect them himself.

Plucking the dagger of soul devouring from his inventory Paul checked it.

There were several hundred more charges in it before he’d have to have another made.

Thankfully though this was something he’d been able to fashion through a customization process with the local magician’s guild. 

“Hey, I’m going to do something now and we’re going to find out what happens,” Paul said. “Could you just stand… right there?”

“Here?” asked the NPC, pointing at the ground she’d just stepped to.

“Yep. And I’ll help you with your wolves if you just stand right there.”

“You will? Are you sure?” asked the Hermit, giving him a beautiful smile.

“Uh huh,” Paul said.

Then slammed the dagger home into her chest, piercing her heart and activating the grossly over-priced spell.

An ear splitting whining noise was followed by a whump as the Hermit’s soul was ripped free of her body.

Flopping to the ground the corpse slid in the grass for a bit before it went still.

“That went far easier than I thought it would,” Paul said, looking at the dagger. Pulling the soul stone off the pommel of it he looked to it’s interior.

Sure enough, the Hermit’s soul was there.

Frozen and motionless.

“Probably because you’re like… level two or something,” Paul said. Reaching down he opened up the compartment he’d built into the center of the doll’s chest and shoved the soul stone into it.

Flipping the lid closed he slid the knife back into his inventory. Then he pulled out the “life goo” as he called it and began dumping it over her from head to toe.

Harvested from the corpses of animals, pureed into a mush, then infused with way too much magic bought with coin, it was a way the system forced people like Paul to spend money on materials.

If he was willing to part with the money, he didn’t have to do any of the labor and could buy it prepackaged and prepped.

Finishing up the jar Paul tossed it over his shoulder.

Holding his hand out over the Doll Paul activated his “give life” ability. The highest and last ability one got in his profession.

Spasming the Doll convulsed on the ground, it’s whole body shuddering under the goop he’d poured all over it.

“Really? You’re not a one shot? Ugh,” Paul grumbled then activated the ability again. “You’re going to be a garbage Doll aren’t you.”

Shivering uncontrollably the Doll became a ball of white light, obscuring itself completely.

Then it vanished and was once more visible.

Except now though it was the Hermit. A very naked, human looking, and alive Hermit.

“Hey there,” Paul said. Reaching over to the Hermit corpse not far he looted her of her clothes and then tossed them to the doll. “Here’s your clothes.”

“I… what… I… you killed me,” said the Hermit made Doll.

“I mean, kinda? You don’t seem very dead to me,” Paul said.

Looking at her he realized he’d probably made her boobs a bit bigger than a D and larger than the original Hermit’s.

But they weren’t too badly over-sized.

I’ll have to adjust my process later. Need it to be almost one for one.

“I’m alive? I’m alive,” the Hermit said, her hands holding the clothes to herself. “I… but… that’s me.”

Her head was turned to the side now, looking at her naked and very dead self.

“Was you. Now you’re you,” Paul said. “And if I don’t miss my guess your old dead self will respawn again. You can talk to her if you like. She’s a bit one dimensional but nice to look at.”

Getting to her feet the Hermit Doll got into her clothes. Her cheeks a deep dark red and looking mortified and confused at the same time.

“I’m dead but alive,” said the Hermit, adjusting her clothes. She kept pulling at her tunic. Apparently it didn’t fit her as well as she believed it should.

Which was accurate.

“No, you’re alive, she’s dead,” Paul said pointing at the corpse. “It’s like… uh… you wouldn’t get any transporter references. Whatever. I don’t care.

“Look. You’re alive, she’s dead, she was you, now you’re you. Get it?”

“No,” the Hermit said, shaking her head. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Paul said and shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t care. This was all mostly a whim and a partial experiment. “So, you wanna go kill some wolves or something?”

“I… I shou-I want you to-I…” the Hermit’s voice trailed off and she slowly looked to the grass in front of her.

Every Doll he’d made up to this point, every single golem, he’d made with full autonomy and sense of self. He’d never engaged any of the controls over them in any way whatsoever.

He’d always believed that his creations needed to be able to have some life of their own.

Any customer who wanted something more like a sex-Doll had to go elsewhere. There were plenty of those flesh-peddlers around that Paul needn’t concern himself.

“No. There’s too many wolves for just us,” the Hermit said, looking up at him. “What do I do? I can’t go home.”

“I dunno, do what you want,” Paul said, nodding his head. He’d gotten his answer. Taking an NPCs soul, something he hadn’t tried before, and stuffing it into a Doll of themselves had apparently given it a high degree of life.

Not at all like those wolf souls I tried to put into the cat Dolls. Holy hells did that go bad fast.

He wanted to kill the Doll and rip it apart and get an idea of how it had gone, but that felt a bit wrong. She was his creation.

Taking the life he’d given her didn’t fit with his sensibilities.

The corpse of the Hermit poofed into nothing.

“See? She died, not you,” Paul said, indicating the now vacant space.

“I died,” countered the Hermit.

Rolling his eyes Paul gave up. He wasn’t going to argue with the Doll. He didn’t care. His curiosity was sated now and he was no longer interested.

“You just… live with your other self I guess or do whatever,” Paul said.

Turning he looked to the point where the NPC of the Hermit would probably wander out soon enough. He could pass the Doll off to her and let it do it’s thing.

“I don’t understand at all,” said the Hermit. “I… I don’t… what’s… what’s my name?”

“I dunno. Hermit,” Paul said. “Maybe Madeline or something? You never mentioned a name. You just got mad when I asked about your boobs and ran off.”

“Madeline? No… no. That’s not… no. My name… my name is Camile. But I don’t have a last name,” said the Hermit, who was apparently named Camile.

“Uh huh. Whatever. Camile, Madeline, Hermit, Mud, don’t care,” Paul said.

Frowning Paul glanced at the clock in his HUD.

More than enough time had passed for the new NPC to respawn and take his problem off his hands.

“I’m Camile,” Camile said. “I… live on this mountain. Alone. I’m a… I’m a Druid.”

“That’s really nice and all but I couldn’t care less. At all,” Paul said. “You’re not my wife, not my family, and not my friend so… whatever.”

“A druid. And I know spells,” Camile said. Holding her hands up they began to glow a deep green color. All around her grass, flowers, and small things started to grow right out of the ground. “I can make things grow, I can heal, and… I can cast lightning bolts?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, a Druid can use lightning. It gets stronger later but… I don’t know much more than that. I didn’t really do much of the combat. Where the fuck is she?” Paul asked.

A random thought struck Paul.

Uh… what… what if taking her soul like I did… broke the NPC respawn. I mean… technically she died.

But did she? She’d have to die for her to be able to respawn. Right?

If I broke it… that means she can’t respawn.

Didn’t she?

Huh…wait… no. This is a normal thing in the game. This is part of the game. They’d have worked around this and made it so that this wouldn’t cause an issue.

You’re over thinking it.

Paul nodded his head. He was definitely over thinking it. Soul creations were part of the game. It was a very normal and expected result and-

The spell isn’t in the game normally though.

We had to get that by having a warlock transcribe it through enchanting, pass it to a sorcerer, have a custom spell built, then get it pushed into an item at the magician’s guild by bugging the input.

I mean… who would have thought two-hundred beetles all shoved into a customization input would make the game accept anything but… yeah.

No.

I fucked up. Didn’t I?

Now that I think about it… I couldn’t find any more bandits at that bandit camp after a while, could I?

I made all those dolls for that guild and-

Yeah, I fucked up. The camp didn’t get patched out or vanish or anything like that. I just… screwed up the entire spawn system.

Shit.

So… that means.

“-bolt!” Camile said holding her hands out. A lightning bolt leapt out from her hands and smashed into a tree nearby. Splintering the whole then and cracking it in half from the base. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

“Uh… it’ll grow back in a day or two,” Paul said, scratching at his stomach, looking at the smoking tree. “Huh. Alright, well, don’t get eaten.”

Turning, Paul started back down the mountain. He didn’t like being out after dark. Admittedly he wasn’t in his elder years anymore and he didn’t really experience the same unaccountable need to sleep as the sun went down here in this world, but he still liked to go to bed just after sunset.

“Where are we going?” Camile asked from behind him.

“No idea. You go where you want to. I’m going home,” Paul grumped.

“But, my home has wolves at it. Will you help me with it?” Camile asked.

“Sure, whatever. Now run along and go get eaten. I don’t c-”

Quest Accepted.

Paul snorted at the message and kept going.

Like hell.

Going home, Paul wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself tomorrow.

But today was over.

And he’d spent another day amongst the living that he didn’t wish to.