Reality Heist - Geordi Riker (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

     Cold winds howl through the world, snaking between the towering poles in wild attempts to snatch the lone occupant from her solitary perch on the tallest. The drop to the distant ravine below is enough to make any normal human's head spin. Despite the winds acting against the tall thin poles, the poles stand rigid in their varying heights, as if they were solid ground. The pale blue sky and distant yellow sun fail to provide any real warmth, or even an illusion of such in this desolate world.
 

Dressed in black, with long flowing sleeves and loose pants, the pale figure stares absently out across the vast landscape. This cold, lonely, quiet world was her home, where she remained unless she was called upon. All about her, invisible particles swirl, ready for her to focus them into a physical object. They too waited. Without sentience, the particles were curious, spanning rifts, forming this world where a world should not exist. She was made of such particles, as was anything else, within this world or elsewhere.

A drop of water lands on her black boot. She glances down in mild surprise before glancing up. Rain begins to fall in earnest from the clear blue sky. She sits down and calls upon the particles as the rain begins to pour about her. Not a single drop touches her again as she forms a shield above her head from the particles, binding them together with her will. She leans her head into her cupped hand and sighs as the raindrops blot out the sun.

The wind had died down, as it always did when it rained. It was always either raining or windy, and there was none she could share this lonesome burden with. Time held no true meaning here. The sun never set, was never replaced by a night sky with other celestial bodies. This lonely little world existed all on it's own. There was no point in trying to find a different landscape, the same poles of varying lengths towering above a rocky ravine continued on for infinity in any direction. If this world were a planet, perhaps she might have crossed the same place once or twice.

But this was no planet. This was the Inner World of a being, her master's to be precise. She sometimes caught glimpses of that being's life, little indications within her own world which told her what was happening in her master's world. The wind meant that things were not critical. The rain meant that something tragic had just happened. A storm of lightning and thunder would mean that her master was in grave danger. But there was nothing that she could do. She could only leave this world if her master called her, and her master never did. She had called out to her master, but her master never seemed to hear her, or ignored her calls if they even reached out past this empty, fragile world.

Her shoulders stoop as the first bolt of lightning flashes in the sky, illuminating the world for a brief moment of eternity before fading back and being consumed by thunder. Her master was in danger, and she was unable to do anything. It was impossible for her to force herself out, to manifest herself in her master's world. Only her master's voice, calling out her name, could bring her out. Only then could she protect her master from the danger. She strains her hearing, in the hopes her master would even whisper her name. Her master is in danger. She needs to go and fight off the unknown evil, she needs to go protect her master.

The lightning flashes again, and thunder rumbles across the sky. The pole she sits on stands firm. She gazes down to the ravine far below. What has happened to her master now? Will her master live? The biting cold goes unnoticed as she tries to answer her own questions. When will her master finally hear her name?

She sighs again as the lightning fails to reappear. Slowly, the rain fades away. The event has passed, and she still exists. Her master has survived again, without her help. But how much longer could such a position continue? The invisible particles forming a shield above her head dissipate, returning to their natural state. Her slightly damp clothes cling to her skin as the wind picks back up, sending cold tremors that seem to dig right down into her bones. Slowly, she rises to her feet again and gazes out at the empty blue sky. She tries again to reach out to her master, shouting her name to the nothingness. Her master will be able to hear her soon. They could not continue existing like this, her master needed to know that she was here, that she was waiting. She speaks again, her voice clear and betraying none of the concern she feels for her master, “ Hear me. I am ...”

    “... The end of the world, falling asleep when they’re dropping the bomb… this is our dream… that’s what I’ll be singing...” The music blares out of my laptop, perched precariously on the edge of my bed, the only available space in the room besides the floor. I love this song and take a moment from my busy work to listen through the gloom lit only by the flashing lights cube my sister gave me, as well as the glow coming from my laptop on the bed and the green light coming from the Commodore ’64 that I’m sitting in front of. Yes, very gloomy indeed, just like the song.

Sentimental moment over, I turn my attention back to the task at hand, namely hacking into the school system to find my grades and fix any 'misconceptions' before they went on my record forever next week. The key to changing grades so that the ones you make up are the ones recorded takes timing, patience, and a decent way to hack into the school. I have all three- namely buttering up to the Spanish teacher to obtain info, the ability to stare at a blade of grass for hours and not get bored, and my Commodore ’64, a computer so old that I doubt even the FBI is concerned about people hacking into their system with some piece of junk like it.

For a computer as old as the one I use, you have to type instructions into the computer, establishing a dialogue of instructions and responses. Now, if I were to disclose how I hack into any sort of system with this “clunker” I’d probably get sent to a delinquent centre, or even real-time in an adult prison, since I just turned seventeen a few weeks ago- the line always seems to blur once a person reaches that age. But really, I doubt non-tech people would understand a word I say, and the tech people all already know how to hack into some sort of computer system- the ones that know what they’re talking about at least. In short it involves basic knowledge of things electrical. I can't get in trouble for that sort of explanation, can I?

Ready. The computer reads.

I type in commands, getting past the second last firewall. The computer’s speed counters my deft movements; I take a sip of Monster as I wait for it to load. My nerves begin to relax, there’s no way the school’s gonna catch me. I’ve been doing this for a while, and don’t show any real computer skills at school, so I’m not even on the list of suspects. If they notice the grade changes, I can say that I am the innocent victim of someone’s prank, someone who’s out to get me.

The whisper of the door sends me spinning about in my chair, to come face to face with my mom, the most annoying she-beast on the planet. To her face, I call her Mom, but in my head I always think of her as Samantha. She flinches at the sight of my room, perfect chaos for me, and a hurricane for her. “Hey, Brandee, what are your plans for today?” she asks, looking over my shoulder to see what I’m doing.

“I’m just hacking my laptop to make sure that the speakers on the Commodore are up to date,” I lie easily. I’ve used ‘reprogramming the operating system’ too much lately. Besides, I think she knows that you can’t really do that while the computer is in operation. I doubt she knows that there aren’t any speakers on a Commodore.

“Oh good, so you can come with me and your sister shopping.”

I try to hide my look of horror at the idea before trying to set her straight, “Mom, most teenagers don’t go shopping with their parents, besides, I have an online summer course that I’m taking, and there’s a live internet session in,” I pretend to check my watch, “Half an hour or so.” Nope, but I could use this excuse to get out of a lot of things this summer. If I can pull it off.

Mom shakes her head, “I know you didn’t fail any classes, Brandee, and you didn’t use my credit card to pay for any sort of online class. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. And we’re going to an older section of town, I doubt any of your skater friends will be there. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” She turns and starts to leave the room, as if the discussion were ended.

“I’m not going,” I say, “It’s stupid and I don’t feel like it right now. Have fun.”

Something in my tone must have set her off. I can see her body go rigid right before she whirls to face me, “Brandee Elizabeth Taylor, don’t even start with me. I am not letting you waste your summer in your room fiddling about with computers and ruining your eyesight when you can spend time with your family.” On a scale of one to ten on how angry she is, I’d say around six. I can do better.

“If it were with family, then Dad would be coming with us.” I snap back, “I’m not going!”

“Either you go, or I will pour water over every single computer you have, including the one in the attic.” Samantha threatens. I had no idea she knew about that one, and don’t know how to respond. She takes the opportunity to storm out of the room. A perfect ten.

I hiss my frustration through clenched teeth before turning back to my computer. Hacking the school was going to have to be a rush job. I’m just about to type in the next command when a prickling feeling touches the back of my neck. Someone’s watching me from the doorway. It’s not my mom; she probably went to her room to calm down after my jibe about Dad. So that only leaves one alternative. I sigh, “Whadd’ya want, Will?”

Willow, my eleven year-old kid sister, steps into full view, crossing