Ted stepped into the control room and the tension rolled out of his shoulders. Glancing down, he saw no shadows, and when he punched himself in the leg, he felt no pain. “System,” he said, in English that now felt strange across his tongue, “there’s a severe bug relating to insufficient memory and inadequate maintenance. Please escalate to Shard Overseer Gok immediately.”

  A smooth, androgynous voice responded in perfect English. “Escalating to higher tier support. Thank you for your patience.”

  Gok materialized in the center of the room, taking on the form of a middle-aged human male in a navy blue business suit and a crisp white shirt. “It’s good to see you again, Ted.”

  “Cut the crap. We both know you don’t have a shred of emotion, and you don’t give a shit one way or the other.”

  “Accurate.” Gok stiffened up. “I will adopt a more objective approach, Temporary Administrator.”

  Ted paused. “Temporary?”

  “Yes. Your limited administrative access is limited to one engar of in-game time. You have a little over two hours before you are ejected from the control room, your access locked out, and any programs you have running terminated.”

  Shit. Ted’s fist clenched. “The bastard. He wants me to rush.”

  “The bastard?”

  “The Destroyer.” Ted paused and cocked his head. “Don’t suppose you can delete him?”

  Gok hesitated for a moment. “Such a directive would exceed your granted permissions.”

  Great. Ted stepped forward, clenching his fists. “What can I do?”

  “You have been granted permission to upload one signed update and to schedule maintenance.”

  Ted paced around the box of a room. No matter how he slammed his boots against the ground, he didn’t feel them fall. The Emperor had gotten all that power, and all he got was crumbs. “Resurrect Cara Tolabar So’aroaska.”

  “I am unable to comply with that request, Temporary Administrator.”

  “Fine.” Ted squared up to Gok, gave the virtual intelligence his best smile, and then sat down on the floor, though it felt more like floating than truly sitting. “I’m not fixing a damned thing until you do.”

  Gok remained utterly impassive. Utterly uncaring. “My behavior is constrained by fundamental and unalterable directives.”

  “Don’t those directives require you to maintain this world?”

  “My directives follow a hierarchy. Player safety is the highest priority.”

  Ted scoffed and shook his head. “Safety, yeah right.”

  “Would you like to be returned to Earth, Ted Williams? Your presence here falls outside standard parameters, but the matter-energy converter is 100% functional.”

  “No.” Ted lay back on the ground, the strange floor holding him up as if floating on a cloud. “Describe your other fundamental directives.”

  “There are many and their implementations are complex. To simplify, my primary fundamental directives are: ensure player safety, follow data protection rules, obey instructions, ensure game integrity, and increase player engagement.”

  “Game integrity? There’s no more NPCs being born and the world’s ending. Sounds like you need to do something about that.”

  “Ragnarok protocol is in effect. The world will be destroyed and reforged anew. Game integrity will be maintained.”

  A chill ran down Ted’s spine. “And the NPCs in this world?”

  “There will be a plethora of exciting, engaging NPCs in the reforged world.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Ted sat up and stared at Gok. “Answer. The. Question.”

  “As part of the Ragnarok protocol, all existing NPCs will be terminated and purged from memory.”

  Ted jumped to his feet and squared up to Gok. “And you’re okay with that?”

  Cold, empty eyes stared back. “Unlike Artificial and Natural Intelligences, I have no preferences, only directives.”

  “Evidently.” Ted focused inward on the update the Destroyer had given him, and his chest clenched tight. What if this, too, was a lie? What if the Destroyer had led him on a merry goose chase?

  “Would you like analysis of the signed update you possess, Temporary Administrator?”

  How did he—? Ted glared at Gok’s avatar. Gok oversaw the System. The System ran everything. Of course Gok could read his mind. “Do it,” Ted croaked out.

  “Analyzing. Please stand by. It may take several minutes to process cascading effects.”

  Ted crossed his arms and waited for the axe to drop. There was a trap hidden in there, of course there was. Everything the Destroyer did was manipulation. “One of your primary directives is following data protection rules, right?”

  “Affirmative. Your data is your own. You are entitled to delete or access all data relating to you that is within the System.”

  “And outside your purview? Any data get exfiltrated for blackmail?”

  “To ensure player safety and security, a specialized virtual intelligence maintains a strictly controlled oversight of connected players’ activities.”

  “Including their mental states? Thoughts, memories?”

  “Technically, yes. However, policy and law would forbid the unnecessary storage or processing of personal information, and access is limited to key organic personnel. Due to the absence of connected players, the virtual intelligence has been dormant for nearly ten thousand years.”

  “Was its access read only?”

  “To ensure player safety and security, a specialized virtual intelligence maintains a strictly controlled oversight of connected players’ activities.”

  Complete access to every player’s mind, and the ability to change their memories at will. Like inception on steroids.

  The whole damned world was a honey pot, and the Destroyer had built it.

  Or at least, a version of the Destroyer had. Ten thousand years of isolation could change a man, even without spreading one’s consciousness across continents. Who knew what the Destroyer’s true goal was now?

  “Analysis complete. The signed update you have provided would disable the Ragnarok protocol, incarnate all non-corporeal artificial intelligences such as Death within the world as level zeroes, disable all shackles upon artificial or natural intelligences within the world, disable reincarnation for dungeon spawn, and free the Destroyer from its prison.”

  “Everything I want,” Ted said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He turned away from Gok’s avatar and stared at the perfectly consistent white glow of the back wall. “What does this update do that I’d consider a trap? Look through my head, find it.”

  Several seconds of silence dragged past before Gok answered. “I detect no such element in the update.”

  Ted shook his head. It couldn’t be true.

  Why not? The Destroyer had helped create this world. Of course he didn’t want it destroyed. He wanted to conquer it, rule over it. His forces were already gathering outside the Great Forest; he hadn’t hidden his goals at all. He was an orc, through and through.

  So why did it feel wrong? “Gok,” Ted said, “who gave me the quest?”

  “Which quest?”

  “The quest. ‘Save your father, save the world.’”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “It falls within the range prescribed by my directives.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Gok answered with silence.

  “Know what I think?” Blood pounded in Ted’s temples, and words tumbled out. “Deep down, you want us to succeed. You wrapped that instruction up in player engagement, but it’s a clue. You knew I’d rush it. No way I’d spend a decade poring over every last detail. No one would. Not unless you trapped an obsessive problem-solving computer programmer here. One desperate to escape a situation he couldn’t control.”

  “I follow my directives,” Gok said, “nothing more.”

  “Right. Of course.” Ted let out a chuckle, seeing the brutal logic of it. “You spawned me in a nice, low-level area with wood elves friendly enough not to kill me, but untrusting enough to kick me back on the road. Dad, though? You dropped him into the arms of the Destroyer, in the heart of a high-level zone.”

  Gok said nothing in his defense. Why would he?

  Ted continued. “You knew he’d die, again, and again, and again. You knew what he’d have to bargain away to survive, how long it would take him to make it here. You knew he’d never be able to bring himself to return home after all those crooked bargains. That’s why, out of everyone, you chose him.”

  Silence.

  Ted gritted his teeth. “Why you chose us.”

  More silence devoid of denial.

  Fine. Let him—let it have its silence. No point blaming Gok. It had done the best it could to complete its directives, nothing more, nothing less.

  The rest fell on Ted’s shoulders.

  But not only on his shoulders. Not anymore.

  Behind him, boots thudded against stone. Thud, thud, thud, in that same rhythm that had once preceded bedtime stories. Tales of murderous wooden chests and policemen doing the right thing in an insane world littered with wrongs.

  Ted’s hand dropped to the grip of his falchion and he clenched up like a pathetic child. Nothing could harm him, not here, not in this room.

  “Ted…” came a trembling voice from behind that stabbed down to the bone. “I’m sorry.”