Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

They called it The Summit.

Despite being lofty, the name fit. A meeting of the minds of opposing factions that Nick and I had been working towards uniting for nearly a month. Spreading rumors of the court, utilizing Nick’s charisma by having him go out of his way to aid the Adventurer’s Guild in their newly established interest in climbing the Gilded tower for resources while I vouched and fought alongside him as Matt, all-the-while whittling away at Sunny’s loyalists as Myrddin, poaching or otherwise eroding his confidants and trusted underlings until the power he held in the Order of Parcae was a shadow of its former self, all bark and little bite.

He still had holdouts, of course. Enough that we needed to take the threat he posed seriously. With his native gravitas and willingness to commit to decisive action, Sunny was a captivating leader, the sort people naturally flocked to. But he was too volatile, and as such, made more enemies than he could realistically track.

I’d effectively negotiated myself out of the room. Serving as a heel to Aaron, harassing, undercutting, and otherwise toxically edging him out until Tyler—who, according to , wasn’t planning on giving the other guild leader much of a chance to begin with—apologetically told me to take a walk.

As the kind of empathetic person who gave more of an ear to someone who was being shouted down, Tyler would be more open-minded towards whatever Aaron had to say now, while Aaron trumpeted the Order’s prime objective of instating the court and stopping the transposition while subtly pinning every underhanded action the order had ever taken on Sunny.

We’d played our cards perfectly, and an alliance was almost guaranteed.

It would be temporary and likely to fall out—the Order and the Adventurer’s Guild were simply too different because of the caution of the latter and the dubious morality of the former, but with me and Nick smoothing the edges on either side, we had a real shot at making progress now.

The month had flown by, every day a gaussian blur of negotiations, combat in the tower, and extracurriculars with my newly formed strike team. It was both more and less work than before. I was doing less of the nitty-gritty myself, taking a back seat and letting Nick take the spotlight. As he should. According to a recently uncovered prophecy, Nick, my oldest friend was the avatar of legend after all—strongly implied if not directly stated to be a manifestation of Arthur. The Arthur, namesake of Arthurian legend and lore.

If you’re rolling your eyes at the word prophecy, congratulations, you’re adequate on the uptake. This was all a sham, of course. With this system, nothing was free, nothing was accidental, and the only handouts given were bestowed with the expectation that something equal or greater in value would eventually be returned.

The interest always came due, eventually.

In our case, the primary cost of Nick’s sudden uptick in status was a simple one. With the so-called prophecy centering on the classic setup of retrieving a powerful sword from its upper reaches, the tower wanted to be climbed. There was undoubtedly something sinister or questionable driving that desire. But, at least in the short term, it gave us a greater goal that served as an excuse to shore up our forces and get organized.

Nick and I had pushed into the mid-thirties of the tower on our own at first, intending to limit the complexity of adding outside players, before we realized the unfortunate reality. The Gilded Tower simply wasn’t the Adaptive Dungeon. And while its early floors had been almost trivially easy, the population of Users plummeted past the twenties, while the number of monsters, hazards, and traps only grew.

The increasingly dangerous ventures culminated with the two of us walking out of the absolute death-trap that was floor thirty-four, covered in the blood and viscera of countless monsters, nursing multiple wounds and nearly overdosed on health potions before we’d accepted the grim reality of the situation. If the dungeon kept up this exponential ramp, it simply wasn’t something we could feasibly handle on our own. Even a large-scale organization like the Adventurer’s Guild or the Order would likely struggle, eventually.

Realistically, we needed two of them. Two competent, well-organized groups of Users capable of pushing through some of the most difficult scenarios and encounters the system had on offer outside of the transposition itself.

Which brought us here.

What’s taking them so long?

As I stared up at the distant building where the summit was still taking place on one of the upper floors, I could feel my confidence fraying at the edges. I’d coached both Aaron and Nick to the best of my ability on Tyler’s inconsistent truth-sight. But it was still possible he’d caught them out and things were getting heated. I’d left Azure in the room, and he’d alert me if things went terribly wrong.

But the time they were taking made me nervous, regardless.

“Maaaaaaatt.” Iris droned out from behind me. She’d put her hands on her hips and was glaring in my direction.

“Yeeeeees.” I drew out, mocking her.

Her knitted together brows grew tighter. “I thought you wanted to spend time with me.”

“I do.”

“And that there was nothing more you could do about the meeting.”

“There’s not.”

“Then stop dragging your feet and come on.”

My sister took my hand and led me through the orchard of gray blue trees with golden blossoms sprouting up from the asphalt. Ever since Iris had awakened to her system abilities, she’d been more assertive. In my opinion it was a well-earned improvement. She was a support role with a strong architectural focus, and she’d put her abilities to use almost without rest around the region, building everything from barricades to repairing buildings.

We passed through the section of my region where the trees that came with our bonus were heaviest, giving way to more mundane urbanity beyond.

Only there was a recent addition, recognizable not only from its sprawling shape and scale, but the simple blue-cross that crowned it beside oversized letters in a clear font.

Region 14 Hospital

“That… wasn’t there before.” I said slowly.

Iris shifted uncomfortably, a lock of curly hair falling in front of her face. “People are always getting hurt around here. And I know, the Adventurer’s Guild has their own infirmary, but we have more than a few doctors in the region with nowhere to work after the big one in thirteen went dark with the rest of the region… and I thought… it was a good idea.”

“Is it just the bones?” I asked, still staring at the building. I had spent little time in my own region lately, but it felt like Iris’s latest creation had gone up almost overnight.

“There’s some guts. Not completely filled out, but there’s a lot. It’s converted from some abandoned flats, so it’s still wired to the same endless source of electricity powering the rest of the dome with backup solar-powered generators, and there’s a bunch of medical equipment. We even have a top of the line MRI machine.”

I glanced at her and she flushed and looked away.

“No, I didn’t make it. Even if I had the materials, anything that complex is still a little too difficult for me. It was donated.” Iris said.

“Kinsley?” I asked.

Iris nodded. “She’s been very supportive of this venture. Other than reserving a basement addition for her people’s research and lab work. Probably because of… you know.”

I didn’t. But I could guess. I’d been gravely wounded on the tail of the first transposition event, and while both old and new allies had interceded and taken care of me, their intervention didn’t change the fact that they’d had nowhere to put me. The nearest hospital was in Region 13, a region that was now completely off the map and covered in dark clouds, which no one had wanted to venture into for obvious reasons. With her considerable resources, Kinsley had managed to throw together a last-minute home care set up in a mostly sterile environment. From the accounts I’d heard, given the severity of my condition, it was still a close thing.

It was obvious what happened here. Not only had Iris seen and considered that problem, she’d come up with a solution that solved it for everyone in our region, and potentially neighboring regions beyond.

That was just the sort of person she was.

Iris shifted uncomfortably from how long I’d been silent. “Sorry. I know you don’t like hospitals.”

“No. Just wrapping my mind around the fact that this was all you.” I smiled and mussed her hair. “From the looks of it, you did exceptionally well.”

She perked up at that. “Oh. Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you want a tour?”

To the far right of the more pedestrian grays and whites of the hospital, there was a splash of color outside what I guessed was the pediatrics wing. A sprawling Mecca of wood and multi-colored plastics. I pointed to it, and Iris flushed. “Let’s start there.”

After a short walk, we arrived. Fresh peat shifted under my shoes as I stepped within the wooden beams that encased it. One of the tall, considerable trees that were native to our region had been planted in the center, providing shade. The carefully crafted area was complete with climbing ropes, a tall swing-set, and railed wooden fort-like structures. The sprawling, maze-like fort led out to a mix of spiraling and straight tubes. It felt like the sort of playground that didn’t really exist anymore, blown up to a grand scale by the mind of a child.

Which was likely exactly what it was.

“Sensing the architect put a little extra attention here.” I signed, taking it all in.

“Started as a way of giving kids cooped up in hospital rooms with nothing communicable something to do.” Iris shifted from side to side, looking down shyly. “But it got away from me a little. Is it too wasteful?”

There was a pang of guilt when I realized her accomplishment embarrassed her. I could relate, slightly. I felt similarly every time I spent a large amount of selve on an expensive item at a crafter or the store. We’d come up with nothing, and though our prospects and resources had risen astronomically, the trauma of scraping by with almost nothing for over a decade had left its mark.

“Dunno.” I said blandly, walking to the base of one of the taller structures and grabbing a handful of rope before I looked back at her. “Gotta stress test it to be sure.”

Iris’s face brightened, and she chased after me, grabbing onto the rope net and taking the lead as we climbed to the summit. She took me through the wooden palisades not with the enthusiasm of a child, but the eye of a designer, pointing out how even though it looked like a winding maze, everything flowed easily to one outlet or another, demonstrating the stability of a rope bridge as we passed over it.

I finally lost patience when she sat on the base of a slide and began regaling the temperature resistance of this particular blend of plastic composite. While she talked, I reached down, grabbed her shoulders, and shoved her down it.

An affronted cry turned to muffled giggles echoing up through the plastic as my sister slid down her creation.

I waited long enough for her to clear it then followed suit. Despite being a little too tall, I slid down easily, the plunge smooth and frictionless.

She was waiting for me at the base, trying to look stern.

“That was rude.” Iris signed.

I smirked. “Considering all the thought you put into it, I just figured you should experience it for yourself.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for kids in the hospital and the region.” Iris insisted, staring at her knees.

“Why can’t it be both?”

I lounged on the base of the slide, reclining somewhat, as I considered what could be happening in my sister’s head. With the Ordinator clusterfuck, infiltrations, and the long string of disasters that followed the system’s appearance and subsequent dome that locked us all in, I hadn’t been able to spend much time with her. But this change in her—a sort of knee-jerk refusal to partake in leisure activities—had started before the dome itself.

At least part of that was my fault. After a breaking point, I’d been honest with both of my siblings about our previous financial situation, purely because I couldn’t handle it all myself. They’d both risen to the challenge in their own way, and as a result, our family had survived.

But the abridged childhood that resulted had taken a toll on both of them in different ways.

I spoke slowly, signing the words to ensure that she caught them. “You know, even though it might not seem like it, our situation is far better than it used to be.”

“How can you say that when there are monsters now?”

“There were always monsters. They looked and acted like humans, but they were there, lurking beneath the surface, sowing chaos.”

“And events where a bunch of people die.”

“Before, there were hurricanes, earthquakes, and natural disasters. Was it really that different?”

Iris squinted at me irritably. “Yes.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Okay. Fine. I’m being a little reductive—” I ignored Iris, as she signed ‘A little?’ “Just take a second and look at the good. We’re not an eviction notice away from disaster. Mom hasn’t had a drink in months. And for the first time we have real allies, people willing to go to bat for us. And sure, maybe the world we live in has changed, and there’s a lot that’s scary and new. But it’s not all on me, you, and Ellison anymore.”

“Even if that’s true, I have responsibilities now.” Iris signed, visibly grappling with what I was saying.

“Of course you do. And I’m not trying to diminish your accomplishments, or take those responsibilities away. Given what you’ve already managed, that would be both short-sighted and cruel.” I thought about everything she’d been through, the bullying, the close calls, and I pulled her to me, hugging her gently. When we parted, I annunciated carefully, making sure she could read the words. “What I’m saying is after a job well done, like this.” I pointed to the playground and the hospital beyond. “It’s okay to let yourself be a kid again. Even if it’s just for a moment. It’s okay to want things for yourself and enjoy life. You’re a selfless person, and I think at some point you connected that selflessness to depriving yourself of simple joys. You never ask for things, or do anything that might inconvenience others.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” Iris whispered.

“There’s a difference between being a burden and taking time to let yourself be happy.” I jerked a thumb towards the playground. “Now get back up there. You gotta make sure it’s safe, right?”

Iris opened her mouth, undoubtedly about to insist that her creation was in fact, safe, when she seemed to connect my advice with the suggestion. She smiled and scampered off. Not long after, I heard her laughter ring out again and again.

The relief it gave me was a fading balm. According to my brother, one of the few Users inside the dome with future knowledge, Iris was important. He’d been cagey on the details. Ellison generally was, even before he’d lived multiple iterations of the same timeline.

And in my experience, “important” was a double-edged sword.

If she was as important as he thought, I wanted Iris to have as many carefree days as she could before her life took a more difficult turn. Maybe my fears were in vain, and Hastur’s intended outcome of stopping the transposition altogether would succeed swimmingly.

But I had to do what I always did.

Prepare for the worst.

A violet notification light appeared in the corner of my vision. I focused in on it, expanding the semi-transparent messaging user interface.

It was a text code we used in the old days. The closest analogue our family had to a “Code Red.”

Fucked beyond reason.

My pulse, relatively calm moments before, picked up speed. I started to type out a longer message, asking him what was happening. Then I realized the significance of the acronym. Ellison had used code in a direct system message. Which meant one of two things. Either our communications were compromised, or he was in a situation where he needed to be as brief as possible.

I matched his brevity, starting with the most pressing question first.

The next message came in before I could respond, chilling me to the bone.

I didn’t even want to know what my brother considered nasty. It was also like him to understate his injuries. Ellison had lived through this timeline more than once, the loop starting from a few days before the dome came down, and as a byproduct he’d seen the worst the system had to offer. He wasn’t able to share much without risking the butterfly effect, but what he had shared had been chilling.

The chill slowly manifested into fear. Ellison had been waging a mostly solitary war, using his knowledge from prior loops to protect us from the larger threats and putting a stop to catastrophes before they came to bear. If this version of the present had somehow diverted from his prior experiences, he’d be hamstrung in his ability to act in that capacity.

One final message came in, distracting me. I’d been scanning the playground, trying to find Iris. She was still giggling and happy.

The feeling of impending peril grew stronger.

I banged on the side of the wood paneling lining the playground hard enough that Iris would feel the vibration and come down. The tube-slides were slightly transparent in the direct sunlight, and I watched a dark shape slide down the spiraling tube until Iris popped out head first, a half-smile on her face.

“What?” She said, hesitating when she saw my expression.

There was a creaking noise above her. It seemed to come from the playground itself, towards the top of the slide. A loud thud followed as another dark shape leapt into the tube Iris was still supine at the base of and descended directly towards her.

I ran.