Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Chapter 11:

Chapter 11:

Again, whoever was writing the item descriptions needed to be fired. The dungeon key was presumably just that. But it really needed a disclaimer. Something like, Warning, just because the dungeon key is pulling you in a particular direction doesnt mean youre anywhere near close. Have fun walking, chump.

I made it about three miles before I gave up and called her.

Mom, you sober?

Ill get my keys. She answered.

Notice she didnt say, Yes.

After a brief exchange, Mom confirmed shed be by shortly to pick me up. I scowled and checked my menu screen.

I had changed it shortly after leaving Dunkins, thinking it would be more useful. I watched the timer tick down suspiciously. It was centered in a round violet clock enclosed by small marks that disappeared with every centisecond. This gave the illusion that the time was elapsing quickly, but I was pretty sure the entire point of that was to mask the opposite reality. It was actually moving slower.

Keeping an eye on the depreciating timer, I pulled out my burner. Maybe if I could compare the two times

I sighed, placing the phone back in my pocket. This was the title at work. The last time Id used , there was no question it saved my ass. But it also caused a lot of problems. It made me question everything. The waitress at the diner, the unlikeliness of my situation, my own sanity. It probably contributed to my dissociation during the encounter with the SWAT officer, though I couldnt credit that to the title entirely.

After all, Id experienced dissociation before.

Still, with the uncanny ability to detect traps and ambushes, there was no better option for venturing into unknown territory. Slotting the title in early seemed like a good idea at the time. Expend most of the cooldown timer before things got dicey. Swap it immediately if it was too much of a hindrance. Simple.

That decision had made the last few hours miserable. had something to say about everything, from sold-out fruit vendors to the city at large. Being more aware that the title itself was affecting my thinking helped. But only just. And knowing that did nothing to help me cope with the smarmy, mocking sense of humor.

Yes, youre so independent. Off on your own to venture into the unknownOopsToo far, better call mommy for a ride.

There was no answer. Which was probably for the best. Things were questionable enough as they were. No need to start having conversations with myself to further muddy the water.

I reminded myself that the upsides outweighed the downsides. The title practically screamed every time someone passed within ten feet of me with a concealed weapon. Granted, we were in what scholars would likely refer to later as a time of great civil unrest. So, nearly everyone was packing something.

Left. Blonde with the Gucci clutch. Ruger LCR.

I subconsciously stepped back from the curb, giving her ample space to pass. Judging from the crows feet and worry lines obfuscated by makeup, she was somewhere between middle-age and ancient. I stole a glance at her clutch as she hurried by. It was large for a purse meant to be held in hand, and not overstuffed. There was no outline of a barrel or protruding lump of a cylinder.

So, how did the title know?

There was a sticky grind of rubber against the concrete curb as Mom arrived in our paint-chipped, navy colored minivan. To my horror, she rolled down the window and catcalled. Hey there, good lookin.

At least three people turned our way.

Changed my mind. Ill get a Lyft.

Thought you didnt like rideshare.

Oh no, my morality.

Get in Matthias. My mother rolled her eyes.

After taking a moment to mentally steel myself, I got in the van. Mom asked me for an address and didnt seem bothered when I didnt provide one. Instead, I directed her turn by turn, judging from the feel of the dungeon key how close we were.

So. Everythings a mess out here. Mom craned her neck to get a better view beyond the windshield.

Only going to get worse, I said. We already know how this goes. First, food gets low. Then toiletries. Then everything else.

Pharmaceuticals too. My mother commented.

I stiffened. Im good for now. Refilled last week.

I wasnt

I know. Turn right at the light.

We rode in silence for a few more minutes before Mom broke it. Good thing you managed to find a place to stock up when you did.

Shes baiting you.

Just worked out that way, I said.

Apparently abandoning the oblique approach, mom asked the obvious question. Do you know anything? About whats happening?

I hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of giving her a filtered version of what little information I had. If she was a normal person, it would make sense to convey a little warning. But she wasnt a normal person. There was no telling what would set her off. And as much as I was anxious for this temporary Moment of Clarity to phase back into what I rather uncharitably referred to as a Stupor of Apathy, I wasnt cold enough to hasten it. For Iris and Ellisons sake.

Its just a new job with alternative supply lines, mom. Not connected to this dumpster fire.

Oh. Some of her cheeriness faded. I appreciate you, Matthias.

The dungeon key was giving off an almost nauseating pull now. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything else. The internet issue is frustrating.

Its back up on the laptop.

I peered at her suspiciously. Wait, really?

Mom shrugged. For now. Theyre suppressing traffic outside.

Id suspected something similar, but had no way to confirm it. And you know this how?

A slew of technical jargon followed that I could barely understand. Words and abbreviations I understood, like IRC, back-end, proxy, thrown around in contexts I had no clue about. It wasnt surprising. That was her area. I only knew enough to stay anonymous and keep my more questionable ventures away from prying eyes.

basically, its possible to get to the external web, just very difficult.

I didnt have to guess what she found. Anything about whats happening here? The dome?

Nothing.

Not good. I tapped my finger against my lip, thinking about Kinsley and her situation. I have a question. But I need you to answer it without thinking about the implications of it, and not take it as a personal attack on you.

Is it about the trial? Mom kept her hands at ten-and-two, but snuck a glance at me.

Sort of. The work you did for Sigma. How possible would it be for you to recreate it at a local level?

I was thrown forward as Mom slammed the breaks at a stop sign, a little too hard. She stared at me as if Id stabbed her in the hand with a fork.

So much for not upsetting her.

Not for the same market they were dipping into. Its complicated. I have a friend who needs to sell things. She cant exactly do business in-person for reasons. Like being a small child. But she carries good products that can help people. And its not like we can just order off Amazon anymore.

Are you just ignoring the weapons tab?

And a few things to help them defend themselves. I added belatedly. Maybe, if any of this was even possible, I could convince Kinsley to leave the weapons tab off the online market. But Mom was already thinking.

A friend with access to particularly good bacon? She smirked, staring off into the distance.

Perhaps.

Were heading towards the financial district, As she spoke quietly, residential housing and apartments gave way to skyscrapers. I watched her, concerned. She always got like this when there was a decision to make. All chatty and conversational until things got real. Then she turned quiet and introspective.

I waited.

Her eyes turned glassy. What I did hurt a lot of people, Matthias. A lot of people. You probably dont think any of this is real, but Im serious about turning over a new leaf.

It was always serious. I just didnt think she was capable of it. I know.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. The idea of working on something like that again is painful.

The car swerved slightly.

If you need to pull over, we can pull over. I gripped the handle on the side door.

Moms grip tightened on the wheel. But I think it might be cathartic. To use something that brought so much pain to help people.

We were quiet then, listening to the sound of the road. The landmarks become more and more familiar, the buildings ever higher.

You know, an average person would tell you that Bill Gates is a great man. The philanthropy, the work in Africa, the foundation Mom started. I recognized the key signs that I was in for a rant and settled in. But everyone seems to forget how badly he screwed over Paul Allen. If Sorkins script for The Social Network never crossed Finchers desk, wed probably never know how Zuckerberg betrayed Eduardo

A supposedly highly fictionalized account, I interjected.

The lawsuit wasnt.

Where are we going with this?

Moms voice picked up tempo. They always have excuses. Thin and transparent. Benedict Arnold said he was egged on by his wife. Brutus claimed, Not that I loved Caesar less, but I loved Rome more. Lies. In the end, its about money and power. Always.

I smiled to myself, amused with how quickly she had moved on from the so-called catharsis of benevolence. Still, somewhere in the depths of her rant, there was a nugget of wisdom.

We dont know how long any of this will last. The dome could come down tomorrow, and render this conversation pointless. Not likely, but I needed to calm her down.

And if it doesnt? Mom prompted.

In truth, I wasnt all that concerned about Kinsley. She seemed to have a solid grasp on the concept of fairness, even if it was a bit neutral for my taste. This game the System was putting us into, though? That was different. People would do anything to get ahead.

My eyes narrowed as I stared out into the street. Ill manage.

/////

The pull of the dungeon key was practically magnetic now. Realizing I must be close, I had Mom drop me off when the streets started getting congested. I could walk faster, not to mention I didnt need her asking more awkward questions about what I was doing. She said she would go and try and pick up some supplies for us while there was still anything left in the stores. I wondered how long it would take for those errands to stray to somewhere with an elevated ABV.

Traffic thinned out a few blocks away from the destroyed Bank of America building. The stink of char and asbestos still hung heavy in the air. Luckily, there were no cops around, just a single fire truck crew almost finished packing away all their gear. I waited for two firefighters to walk away from idling next to a long line of caution tape before I ducked under it, following the pull.

To my surprise, I didnt have to worry about blending in. There were many people behind the caution tape. I passed a group in prayer, and large gathering holding a vigil.

It led me to where the front entrance once stood. The building had fallen backwards, leaving a mess of twisted metal and annihilated concrete in its wake. Carefully, I made my way through the still smoldering wreckage, looking out to avoid any dangerous loose wires, glass shards, or rebar spikes. I made my way to a long supporting beam that was bent in a half circle, a muted violet energy extending down from it, forming the clear outline of a doorway. The dungeon key practically leaped from my hands towards it.

That was it. Had to be. I pulled my hood over my head and ducked down, narrowly avoiding the sightline of one of the firemen at the edge of the rubble thanks to prompting.

Yes. Let's prance into a dungeon, probably under leveled and definitely unprepared. Just pretend like you havent seen the first episode of Goblin Slayer.

Shut up or be useful. I muttered to myself. And, after double-checking to make sure no one was looking, I summoned my fancy new armor and crossbow, marveling again at how the system items just appeared out of nowhere and were instantly equipped, and stepped through the gate.

A notification filled my vision.

Well, that was a relief, at least. was wrong. I wasnt under-leveled.

Fuck.