Dragon World Online: Inception: A LitRPG Adventure (Electric Shadows Book 1) Read online

  Dragon Web Online: Inception

  An Electric Shadows LitRPG Adventure

  S R Witt

  Pitchfork Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Introduction

  Get Your Free Guide to DWO!

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Also by S R Witt

  Parting Shots

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  DRAGON WORLD ONLINE: INCEPTION

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Pitchfork Press

  Copyright © 2016 by Sam Witt

  Cover art by Laercio Messias

  This e-book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  First Edition: September, 2016

  Get Your Free Guide to DWO!

  Thank you so much for picking up DWO: Inception! Get your free Guide to the World of Invernoth, free Dragon World Online stories, and background info on this exciting new LitRPG series!

  Get Your Free Guide to Invernoth!

  Dedication

  As always, this book wouldn’t exist without the steadfast support and unflinching feedback from my wife and daughters. Everything good about this book can be laid at their feet; anything that causes disgruntlement belongs at mine.

  Special thanks to my beta readers who went above and beyond with their feedback and assistance in catching goofy errors and general foolishness. Roxane, Jason, and Ed, I cannot thank you enough.

  Chapter One

  Being the man who destroyed the world has its perks.

  There are problems, like the execution I’m trying to avoid, but some pretty serious bennies get thrown your way when you’re infamous.

  This pizza, for example, is the best thing I've ever eaten. I don't know where they got it, or who's paying for it, and I don't care. It tastes like a little slice of heaven, and my only regret is I won’t have time to eat the rest of the pie before they get all these lights set up and they shove cameras my face.

  This suit? The vultures took my measurements from the Avatar Schematics Warehouse inside DWO and silk worm drones spun it out of seamless crystal matrix teflon. It fits like the most comfortable glove you can imagine, and it looks even better than it fits. It’s also bullet-resistant and guaranteed to stop a knife from puncturing any of my important bits so the corporate zombies aren’t cheated out of my righteous, televised murder.

  And look at those lovely ladies over there, held at bay by velvet ropes. They’re outside the security perimeter and will never, ever, not in a million years, get close enough to me for an autograph, but they don’t know that. They’re in love with me. Or at least the bad boy, rebel with a cause image of me that floods the airwaves these days.

  Not all of those on the other side of the ropes are my fans. There are quite a few out there that would love to get within choking range of me. I did some things, and those things hurt people. I didn’t mean for anyone to suffer, but that doesn’t change the fact that they did. And it certainly doesn’t keep the victims or surviving relatives from wanting to snuff me out like a poop-scented candle.

  Still, the perks are there. The pizza, the suit, all those fangirls out there—It's almost enough to make me forget why I'm here. I try and see the bright side of the little bit of life I have left.

  If I don't look past the lights they're setting up for the broadcast, I can almost forget about the corporate security goon they sent to babysit me.

  And the ugly gun he’s holding to Mercy's head.

  And what happened to my family.

  And what's going to happen to the rest of you once they’ve hung this around my neck and shoved me out of the picture.

  I can almost forget all of it.

  Almost.

  Xi Shao arrives in a flurry of minders and attendants and assistants, all looking twice as fabulous as me and only half as fabulous as her.

  Here I am, feeling good about how I’ll look on the broadcast, and she makes me look like the dumpy kid who always gets picked last for dodgeball.

  Ah, well. I'll always have the pizza. Two slices left.

  One, now. I grab a triangle of paradise before Xi reaches me. It’s rude, but I’m way past caring what people think about my demeanor. Screw ‘em, if they can’t appreciate the deliciousness of this pizza.

  Xi greets me with the trademark smile that's melted a million hearts and ruined just as many lives. She isn't pretty, she's stunning in a way that not even her billions could buy. She was born this way, as hard as that is to believe. Some freak accident of genetics gifted her an appearance that triggers deep-seated hero worship in the rest of us.

  When she takes my hand I want to drop the second-to-last slice of God’s own pizza and get down on one knee to sing her praises. The only thing keeping me on my feet is the iron bar between the manacles around my ankles. If I kneel down, I'll never be able to stand back up.

  Also, I might drop my pizza.

  Also, I really need to remember to hate this woman and everything she represents or I’m going to be easy prey.

  “Mr. Abraham,” she says, her megawatt smile somehow brighter and more perfect when she speaks. “I'm so glad we have this time together.”

  Not, “I'm so glad to see you.” Not even, “How are you doing?” Just, “So glad we have this time together.”

  That sentence packs a wallop. It tells me she doesn't like me any more than I like her, but she knows crucifying me on a live broadcast will skyrocket her already stratospheric ratings into orbit.

  I'm starting to think this interview wasn’t a great idea. If it wasn't for Mercy and the bullet with her name on it, I'd cancel this whole mess and let them haul me back to my cell.

  Fortunately for Mercy, I can’t live with another death on my hands. Adding to the list that includes Bastion, Havolock, Cringer, and countless victims I never knew, is not on my agenda.

  I never wanted to be a bad guy
. Scout’s honor.

  I force a smile, which feels as uncomfortable and stiff as a pair of Band-Aids plastered to my cheeks, and give Xi Shao’s offered hand a gentle squeeze. “No, thank you for taking the time to be with me.”

  I try for sincerity, but fall somewhere just above open mockery and just below teenage mean girl sarcasm. At least I made an effort, right?

  Her hand slips from mine and Xi smooths the almost invisible seams of her skirt with the palms of her delicate hands, eager to wipe away whatever gross oils or sweat our contact left on her skin.

  Xi steps in a little closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. She's not quite five feet tall but she seems much larger. This close, she’s intimidating and impressive as hell. I can’t help but turn toward her and take the slightest step back.

  Someone shoves a camera in my face and the whirring shutter snaps off 50 or 60 shots in the blink of an eye. Xi uses gentle pressure to get me faced in a different direction, and leans in closer yet, like she’s showing me something interesting outside the window.

  Not that we can see anything other than the unbroken neon glow of cities as we orbit above them inside a secure satellite prison that I will never, ever leave.

  She smells like an exotic flower and there's a hint of cinnamon and vanilla in the air around her. This close, the faint, electric blue outline of the circuitry embedded in her contact lenses and the coppery shimmer of passive microphone cables threaded into her glossy black hair pop out at me like cartoon warning signs.

  It is true. She's wired 24 hours a day with a whole studio's worth of top shelf audio and video equipment cyberwelded into her diminutive frame. She whispers to me through a smile as artificial as the microphones wired into her skin as another group of photographers moves in to capture this historic moment.

  And here we see the Saint in his last public appearance before his execution.

  “Just relax,” her voice tickles my ear, “I promise this will be over before you know and I might let you have some have fun before it’s all over.”

  My smile feels less sincere by the second. I've always had trouble with that expression. My mom used to tell me not to smile in family portraits because it made me look like a serial killer. I’m obsessed with my smile, now. I can’t even hear Xi talking to me. I just have to wonder: How is this going to look to the billions of people who will see this interview?

  Will I look like a normal guy overwhelmed by the spotlight?

  Or will they see the psychopath who pulled the plug and wiped out the whole world?

  Here's the part that sucks: both of those versions of me are true.

  A tall Chinese man with a face that looks like an angry giant carved it from a solid piece of granite with a blunt hatchet whisks Xi Shao away. A trio of young women swoop in and surround me at the same moment, signaling the end of the photo op. They look like they were produced in a factory or grown from a geneprint to be almost, but not quite, exact duplicates of Xi Shao. Except shorter. And not as pretty. And one of them smells…odd.

  They murmur to me in Mandarin, a language I recognize but could never understand, and guide me with gentle pressure from their doll-like hands on my shoulders and the small of my back into an adjoining room. They aren’t trying to upset me, but the constant flow of words I don’t understand and their insistent guidance makes me want to scream.

  The walls are closing in around me, and the moment I've been dreading for the past two years is approaching like an out-of-control maglev train.

  I lick my lips and one of the young women dabs the moisture from them with a silk handkerchief before I can damage the subtle, but effective, makeup job the artbot slathered over my plain, ordinary features. She shakes a finger in my face and says something else I don't understand, but imagine must be on the order of, “Don't do that, you idiot, we spent a lot of time and money on that makeup so you won't look like a drooling chimp on television in front of the world. Do you have any idea how many people are going to watch this? Do you know how many important people will see you today? Go ahead, lick the color off your mouth. They'll think you're some kind of no-lipped sociopath. They’ll think you did kill all those people and that will be the end of you.”

  Maybe some of that is just me projecting.

  One of the staff is nomming on the last piece of pizza. I can smell it from where I'm sitting and I decide that is one person I wouldn’t mind murdering. Pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and just a hint of onion would be exactly what I need to settle my stomach right now and that bastard is eating the very last slice.

  I’ll never again have pizza that good.

  The imperfect clone women move in close to me and make imperceptible adjustments to my hair and clothing. The grooming ritual lasts for half a minute before they’re satisfied and whirl away from me like a pack of microdrones returning to base for a recharge.

  They part like the curtain at a magic show, and my nemesis is revealed in all her cobra-like glory.

  The surprising sight of Xi Shao sitting across from me throws my brain into turmoil. I've seen her in exactly this pose so many times it's hard to believe I’m not watching a broadcast. This is exactly how she looks when she interviews basketball players or movie stars or hot-shot programmers who learned how to hack together the latest social network to their benefit.

  This can't be happening. There's no way this is real. I am not about to get interviewed by Xi Shao.

  I am not about to tell the world how I wiped out everything good in their lives. And then Xi Shao opens her mouth and the interview begins and it takes everything I have in me to keep from puking up the heavenly pizza.

  Xi isn't even looking at me. Her head is tilted up so the hovering robocam just above and behind my head can catch her good side. “Welcome to Awesome Profiles,” she says and gives the camera a smile so dazzling I'm afraid I’ll go blind if I look at it too long without proper protective gear. “Tonight, I'm speaking with Adam Abraham, the world's most famous gamer. Most of you are more familiar with his character’s name, Saint of Shadows.”

  I can't believe she used that name. It sounds so much lamer coming out of her mouth than it did a year ago when the Blood Scream burned it into the minds of everyone playing Dragon World Online.

  I suppress a grimace but can't quite bring myself to smile. Maybe it's better if I just keep my face neutral so I don’t look like a drooling idiot or a grinning murderer.

  “Adam, I'm sure there's only one question on the minds of my viewers. Why don't we just tackle that first?”

  Xi wasn't supposed to ask me The Hard Question. This was supposed to be a PR piece about how I was working with the companies to make sure their security was improved to prevent anyone else from doing what I’d done, ever again.

  But Xi Shao does not want to play by the rules. She wants blood.

  Her eyes narrow just enough to let me know she's coming in for the kill. She clicks the pen in her right hand once, twice, and the sudden, sharp sound is as alarming and mesmerizing as the buzz of a rattlesnake's tail. “Adam, why did you do it? Why did you destroy the world?”

  Well. She's not messing around, is she?

  I glance up at my corporate handler and his eyes are as blank and expressionless as a pair of ball bearings. I’m not sure how to answer this, so I hedge. “It's complicated.”

  The security guard shakes his head and grinds the pistol’s barrel into the side of Mercy’s head until she winces. Okay, so that’s not what they want. Let me feed her something else, get her off the scent. “I didn't even want to play the Game. It was my brother's idea.”

  I have to get her away from this line of conversation. Talking about what happened isn't going to help me, the company, or Mercy. I need to give Xi something else. Something that no one's ever heard before. Then it hits me.

  Xi opens her mouth to interrupt me and get the conversation flowing back toward the traps she’s prepared.

  Xi always gets her way. She’s the television personality of the moment. She’
s used to pushing around celebrities and politicians. She’s used to people who are afraid to offend her. She’s used to pushovers.

  Big whoop. I was a raid leader of the biggest guild in the world. When Xi was interviewing Amber Lo-Sang about her latest pop hit, I was leading a hundred gamers on a raid that netted a cool twenty million bucks. When she was peppering Smith Manichandra with barbed questions about Googlebook’s privacy policies, I was laying the ground work to destroy the world.

  We'll talk, but we’ll talk about what I want to talk about. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, steepling my fingers in front of me. “Like I said, this was my brother's idea. All of this goes right back to him. So,” I let the word hang in the air between us like an unexploded grenade. My eyes shift away from Xi Shao and toward the camera hovering above her left shoulder. They want a show? I’ll give them a show.

  “Why don't I tell you a story I've never told anyone?”

  “Let me tell you how I betrayed my brother.”

  Chapter Two

  Karl was a Top Ten gamer during the Interlock League era. He was only a few years older than me, but those were big years for him. While I was still fiddling around with basic off-line play, he'd become a first-tier member of the most respected and feared competitive shoot team in the world. My big brother was a legend when we were growing up, and even after things fell apart for him I still saw him as my hero.

  It was his idea to use the Game to earn money for mom. She was so sick she couldn’t work, and the ventilator’s rental went up every few months. Most weeks we had to decide if we were going to spend the government check on food or keeping mom’s machine running.

  It wasn’t much of a choice—that machine was the only thing between my mom and a pauper’s grave. We’d starve before we let her die like that.

  “All right,” Karl said after we’d wrapped the Control Interface Necklocks around our throats and transitioned into the VR equivalent of a waiting room. It was a big, beige cube with no features and we were glowing green stick figures. The Devs weren’t wasting processor cycles on anything that wasn’t in the Game. “I’ve prepaid for two hours of game time. If we stick together, that should be plenty of time.”