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Memory Shard 1.07 Hard Day's Work contains the first memory shard seventh piece of lore on Prisma Dimensions, Neo Arcadia and the Hyper Scape.
Location[]
N/A
Story[]
Adi set a kettle on the burner. He was out of tea but the ritual comforted him and besides, hot water with a drip of honey and some lemon was still pleasant to sip. In a few days, KridaPlay would transfer his pay and he could replenish his pantry. Until then, he’d make do with office supplies.
Adi sighed. Much as he would like to go home, there was nothing there. His apartment was 200 square feet if you counted the window sills, and his neighbors fought nightly at orchestral volumes. Better to stay and work. The hours were long, sticky with ethical landmines, a little monotonous, but once you had the rhythm down, they were… tolerable. Or at least they weren’t as bad as real life.
“He plays hard for his money,” Adi hummed, off-key, to himself as he resettled in his cubicle. “Oh, he plays hard for his money.”
Neo Arcadia bloomed in his vision, technicolor, better than life.
He had a system. Crown Rush first, while he was fresh. Then, in descending order, whichever games had time-limited events or profitable collectibles, before he knuckled down and sank his evening into required drudgery. Like old-school gold farming had been, proposition playing – or “prop gaming” – was more complicated than most people thought. Not that he could ever discuss it. The non-disclosure agreements were very clear.
Crown Rush had the most action, and he often daydreamed during his shift of playing for himself, as a self-made champion.
Adi exhaled noisily.
Break time.
He had one of two choices: leave HYPER SCAPE for the dreariness of the cubicle farm, or stay here in the virtual world where things were less dystopian than off-link life.
The answer seemed easy.
Besides, his favorite customization shop was running a members-only offer. Adi rolled his shoulders forward, one after another, luxuriating in the motion. Amazing how the B-link could communicate both muscle fatigue and the joy of a good stretch so realistically. He began walking, only to stop six feet from where he began. His jaw dropped open.
There was something in the air. A tuberous distortion, barely larger than an apple, and almost opalline for all of its transparency. It hung there, eye-level, and as Adi watched, the surrounding environment turned itself inside out, incandescent with negative colors, and poured into the anomaly.
It took Adi a moment to realize he too was being, incrementally and inexorably, dragged forward as well. Then, it took him another before he started running, all the while thinking to himself,
It was a man’s face.
A face I’ve seen before. A face that wanted to eat the world.
The image kept him awake all night. Adi paced the length of his tiny apartment, banging his head twice on the rim of his bunk bed, before stubbing a toe on the corner of the desk underneath it. He swore under his breath. Quietly, as the neighbors upstairs reported noise complaints at every opportunity.
He needed to tell someone about this.
But what if this involved something above his pay grade?
What if he got in the way of the people who mattered?
What if it cost him his job?
He ran his hands through his thick dark hair.
Someone higher than me in the food chain will figure it out, Adi decided. At least they can afford to be fired.
In Lab-X, Simon Romée rubbed his eyes and sat up. The terminal showed the process was nearly complete. Project: Tower had reached 64% completion. In the swirling data patterns, he could almost make out Eiffel’s face.
Almost done, Simon thought, just needs a little more.