He could have ordered the army of the undead to move on the capital or millions of in-game gold could have been dumped on the market, launching hyperinflation, or the ‘dark ones’ could have acquired monstrous artifacts from his vault, completely breaking the balance of the game. You know, we basically don’t control the game worlds, thanks to your father’s ideas about a completely self-regulating system, we only provide access to the game and ensure order, in a small territory like the capital and the main cities of the empire, and even then only by game methods. And here is a full-scale catastrophe… and we still have the old advertising contract in force, according to which we are obliged to exchange in-game currency for real money! Can you imagine what a scandal it would be if we had to abruptly abandon this? And the massive ‘final’ deaths of players at the hands of the undead within the ‘safe’ cities in front of the NPCs and the loss of accounts would not contribute to the popularization of the game and positive reviews, we would simply be eaten alive, sued…”
“Wait, but could someone log in under his account? Is that technically possible?”
“That’s what I was invited to answer. Theoretically, no. It’s impossible to pass authorization with only a name and password now. There is a check based on the location points of the electronic chips in the body, which is impossible to repeat, they are scattered through the bloodstream and fixed randomly during initialization for each person individually. And not only that, there is a check based on ID, physical address, biometrics, and other factors that artificial intelligence analyzes when connecting. Maybe it was just a system failure, I don’t know. Or… but this is not a phone conversation.”
“What time did he log into the game?”
“3:32 PM.”
Max fell silent. That was the time when cameras recorded the car falling from the bridge – he had looked at the photo with the time recorded in the picture that hit the media a hundred times. And there could be no error in that. Another coincidence?
“I was given VR today,” Max finally said.
“Congratulations. A great gift for your fifteenth birthday. I’m even a little jealous. I remember my first immersion, it’s unforgettable. Another world in all its glory…”
“The sender signed as Grimnir.”
“Your father’s nick? Yes, that’s strange. Very strange.”
“Tell me, is this device for immersing in VR, can it be dangerous, for health or can it somehow harm me?”
“Theoretically, no. It only reads and transmits signals, and also broadcasts theta waves to keep you asleep. But the game server controls everything, you will be thrown into a normal sleep in any case after a 2-hour game session. It’s no more dangerous than wired headphones.”
“No more dangerous than what?”
“It’s such a device, it was used to listen to music before chips and augmented reality glasses appeared. Okay, never mind. In general, my answer is no, it can’t be dangerous. Today is your birthday, go for it…”
Two women, resembling each other like two peas in a pod, had been sitting in the kitchen for a couple of hours, drinking red wine from tall glasses, discussing everything in the world – men, children, everyday life, unfulfilled dreams – as if this evening were the last when they could talk about everything without fear of consequences.
“Does your Artem also study at St. Andrew’s School?” asked the blonde, and her voice became quieter, as if she wanted to share a secret that should not leave the confines of this kitchen.
“Yes,” answered the interlocutor, her eyes sparkled with curiosity, like a cat noticing that its owner had opened a bag of food.
“Let him keep an eye on mine for a while, it seems to me that someone is hurting him at school,” said the blonde. Her voice was full of helplessness and fear for her son. She felt that she could not protect him from this world and hoped for her sister’s help.
“Okay, I’ll tell him,” the dark-haired woman became interested, as if she had just learned that her favorite store was having a sale, but her next question sounded cautiously: “What happened?”
“Max has come home with bruises and abrasions several times,” said the blonde, and her voice became even quieter, as if she were afraid that someone from the neighbors would eavesdrop and decide that they had a real thriller here. “He’s becoming more and more withdrawn. I feel that something is wrong, but I can’t understand what exactly.”
“Maybe just transfer him to another school?” suggested the guest, but it was said as if she herself didn’t believe these words. Her proposal felt only like a formality, as if she just wanted to get rid of the problem.
“I don’t know,” sighed the blonde, “I’m tired of everything. Maybe we need to move somewhere further south, where the climate is milder and the people are kinder…” she bit her lip, as if this could stop the flow of her thoughts. Her words sounded a longing for a peaceful and happy life that she had never had.
The dark-haired woman put her glass on the table. Her gaze was directed into the distance and focused on something intangible, perhaps on memories of the past, when she herself dreamed of dropping everything and running away. She felt only envy and regret that her own dreams had never come true.
“Have you already talked to him about moving?” she asked.
The still beautiful, but already plumping woman of about forty in a pink dress, got up from the table and took the cake out of the oven, according to the timer that went off.
“No, I haven’t,” replied the hostess, her voice became even quieter, with a note of anxiety in it. “I think a change of scenery would be good for both of us. You know, everything has gone wrong since his father disappeared.”
“Tatiana, don’t start,” Olga stated categorically. Her voice became stern, as if she were reading a sentence. “His father was crazy. Everything turned out for the best. He would have ruined us all, and ‘Dream’ would have drowned in lawsuits.”
“I know,” said the blonde, but her gaze became sad, as if she had lost something important, “Still, it’s so… sad… because ‘Dream’ was his brainchild, his dream, and he never revealed the full potential of his world. He didn’t tell its story to people to the end.”
“It’s better to have a working project that generates profit than empty fantasies,” the dark-haired woman snapped, her voice sounding clear dislike.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” replied the blonde, lowering her shoulders.
Olga considered the conversation over and raised her voice:
“Children, let’s go have tea!”
When Max came down to the kitchen, the table, in addition to snacks, had a cake with the number 15 on it, decorated with simple cream roses, three cups of tea for the children, and two glasses of wine, half-emptied by the adults. On the wall, in large letters cut out of colored cardboard, was written: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
“Finally, you’re unhooked,” exclaimed Artem, apparently wanting to finish the “tea ceremony” as soon as possible and be at home next to his computer.
“Artem, watch your language! Sit down!” Aunt Olga immediately snapped at him, as if he were small, so much so that he almost spilled the tea on the table. It seemed that her son’s stupid behavior was ruining her perfect picture of arrogant superiority over her sister. She had specifically come today in the image of a “Business Woman”, took her husband’s SUV, and not the family car that she usually used for business, and repeatedly mentioned the firm’s affairs in passing, because, unlike her sister, she had kept her job there. But Artem had been acting stupidly all evening, unrestrained,