Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

… And when he finds out about the nursery? What will he think of me then?

A second of hesitation was all it took to rein myself in. The most concerning part of it all was that if the earlier slip hadn't happened, I might have seriously considered it. But thanks to the Talia mishap, I knew I wasn't all there. And Miles–intentionally or not–had created the perfect moment for me to confide in him. The over-share, the fact that he'd pulled back the veil on something not only personal, but deeply vulnerable and painful, made it feel wrong to hold back. But by the same token, it's exactly what I would do if I was trying to get information out of a neutral party and needed to use a light touch.

It bothered me that he was so hard to read. The fact that he was established as a great liar really worked against him, here. Because it all felt genuine. Even now, as he waited for me to answer, arms crossed casually over his legs, framed by the scattered lighting of various skyline buildings behind him, there was no tell, no restrained anticipation, zero anxiety, or dubious body language.

Maybe it was real. And the fact that I'd never know for sure legitimately annoyed me. I'd been so careful until now, and if I put that in jeopardy the one time in years I cut loose a little, I could never forgive myself.

The transposition was imminent. Nick and I were doing everything we could to stop it from happening, but even with Hastur's backing, our chances were about as good as a coin flip. I got the sense that Hastur had been on this "perfect future" kick for a while, and it'd never seemed to work out for him before. There was no reason to assume it would work now.

No matter what the details of the greater game they based it on were, the chaos of the first transposition had been so all-encompassing it'd been far easier for the spectating gods to skirt the rules and target me more directly. Realistically, the second would be more of the same: Filled with indirect (and not so indirect) attempts to get me killed and draw negative attention to my continually unwanted presence.

I was seemingly in Miles' good graces now, but that didn't mean it'd stay that way after the second transposition. There was no telling what I'd have to do, or how the greater powers would spin those actions in the worst possible light. If for some reason, that didn't happen, I'd revisit the topic then and only then.

But now I had a problem. Because sidestepping this or changing the subject would be the worst possible call. Almost worse than telling him directly. Miles wasn't stupid. He'd already called me out for acting strange, considering the circumstances. If I didn't give him something he'd draw his own conclusions, if he hadn't already. The better option was to pivot. It had to be something I felt genuine guilt over, so I couldn't just make something up on the fly, either. Especially in my state, he'd read anything fabricated as false. It had to come from the heart.

And I was terrible at from the heart.

I cleared my throat, then cleared it again. "My sister's deaf."

"I'd put that together," Miles said, his expression relaxing slightly. While clearly puzzled, he also almost looked relieved.

"It's never been a problem. Hell, learning sign language might've been the smartest thing we ever did."

"Being able to communicate silently at a moment's notice? I can see the benefits."

"Iris couldn't." I shook my head. "Spent years working with her, hammering self-acceptance, making damn sure she never felt like an inconvenience... but I always had the sense that she never fully bought in."

A shadow crossed Miles' face. "When you're a kid, everything that makes you different from others is seen as negative. It takes a lot of growing up before you're able to see those differences as advantages. Other kids really don't help."

"No, they don't. Little shits."

I rubbed my eyes, trying to force the jumble of feelings and memories into a coherent thought. "Point is, I've spent years trying to communicate to Iris that her disability isn't a problem. That it doesn't make her a lesser person, and that anyone who makes her feel like an outcast or unworthy because of it can go pound sand. It doesn't need to be fixed."

"This have something to do with that necromancer attack?" Miles asked, reading between the lines.

"In part. This is the other half. It fell into my lap a while ago, Kinsley's people just identified it." My hand went to my inventory, and I hesitated, before finally fishing out the radiant golden potion and passing it to him. Miles took it, studying the newly revealed description, his jaw slackening the more he read.

"Holy shit," Miles murmured. He peered up at me after a moment. "You've been keeping this under wraps, right? No way you haven't."

"Yeah."

"This is big enough that I'm gonna need specifics. Who knows, exactly?" He pushed, more insistent.

"Me and Kinsley. A few researchers on her science team, well-compensated to be discreet."

"Not good enough. Anyone in the dome with a functioning head on their shoulders would be frothing rabid to get their hands on this. Assume there's already a leak." Miles left the cigar in his mouth, puffing idly as he held the potion up to the light and rotated it. "Hell, if this were up for grabs I'd do a lot to lock it down, just for the insurance policy." He paused, peered at me. "You're clever enough to put together that you either need to bury this so deep that no one could possibly find it, or it needs to be used. Immediately. Too great a risk otherwise."

"Rationally, yes."

He held the potion out to me, wiggling it by the top. "Yet here it is. Why?"

When I spoke, it was difficult. Painful. "Iris almost died during the attack. The big fucker, the one that kept hounding us down, targeted her before I even realized anything was happening."

"That much I'm familiar with. We've been looking into it from our side, but it's a slow process. A lot of potential degenerates in the mix," Miles nodded along.

"There was this moment---she was on the playground, just, being a kid again for the first time in forever, and I saw the shadow, and there was just... nothing I could do. No surfaces that I could bang on that she'd feel the vibration from, no way to catch her attention and sign a warning. Nothing."

"It was that close?"

"A hair's width. Ever since, all I can think of is how if she could hear, I could have warned her so much earlier. It feels horrible to think along those lines, but I can't help it. The obvious answer is to give her the potion and be done with it. But..."

"You're worried about the message," Miles filled in. "That by 'fixing' the problem, you'd basically be confirming what she's always believed to be true."

"Exactly."

There was a rash of sirens below, a line of police cars and firetrucks traveling down the long city road that led to the interstate. We both watched them shrink into the distance and Miles pulled up his UI, skimming through his messages. He squinted. "Looks like my surprisingly relaxing evening is coming to an abrupt end."

"Necromancer?"

"I wish." Miles said, stubbing out his cigar and placing it on the ashtray. "Lots of people cracking because of the countdown. There's some pyro freak in the center regions, losing his shit, taking the bounty as a challenge."

"Need a hand?"

"Nah. Even if you were clear headed, me and the reformed DPD can handle one moron with a god complex. Small potatoes. Probably won't even wake Sara up for it. She's handled the last few." He stood and stretched, scowling at something in the contents of the message before he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at me. "As far as Iris goes? I wish I could tell you the right call, but I can't. No one can. All the history's on your end, and inevitably, I'd be speaking from ignorance. But I'll leave you with a question."

"Shoot."

"Are you the same person you were, when all this shit started?"

"No."

"Be precise."

I thought about it. "Because the world was changing, and I chose to change with it. Mentality first, system abilities and augmentations later. Anything that could give me an advantage."

"Body and mind, right?"

"Yeah."

"Why even do that in the first place? There was nothing wrong with you, before. As much as you might believe otherwise, you were a relatively normal kid, forced to grow up in less-than-ideal circumstances. Why were you so hellbent using the system to fix yourself?"

"It had nothing to do with fixing anything," I argued, annoyed by his wording. "It had everything to do with power and potential. I'd be stupid to just ignore an avenue of advancement, knowing that other people can and will. Refusing it outright out of paranoia or principle would have put me at a profound disadvantage---ah."

Miles nodded slowly, letting the meaning sink in. "It's one thing to make the best of a difficult situation. It's another entirely to continue to do so and ignore an obvious solution because there's something about it you find distasteful." He studied the concrete, scuffing at something with his dress shoe. "That's the thing about kids. Try too hard to insulate them from everything that could hurt them, they'll act out and sneak around. Try too little, and the result is the same. But even if you strike the perfect balance, you can't shelter them forever. From the world or their choices. A day will come when they bite off more than they can chew, talk to the wrong person, or hell, just happen to be in the right place at the wrong time. And when that day comes, you have to hope---and pray to god, or Allah, or the devil, whoever the hell you pray to---that you've done everything possible to prepare them for it. And if you haven't?"

For just a moment, the confident easy-going demeanor disappeared along with any trace of a smile. "Well, you get to live with that."

Seconds passed, whatever was left unsaid thick enough that I could almost feel it. I almost asked before Miles' mask slid back into place. "Uh. Anyway, whatever you do with that thing? Do it soon. And for chrissakes, kid, don't keep it on you. You're a heist waiting to happen."

"Got it." I waved goodbye as he left in a hurry, descending footsteps echoing down the stairway.

I knew what I wanted to do. My conversation with Miles had only reinforced it. The only variable that remained was whether Sae would see it that way.