Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (20 page)

I firmly believed her new heart was going to take. Christina would get better. Then we’d be looking at a long-winded recovery process. We’d need money to buy groceries and pay the bills; we’d have to find a place for us all to stay; we’d also need to pay for her education. Life would have to go on. We’d need to give our girl a good start in life. We could finally live. Just
live
, dammit!

Somehow I doubted that I could achieve all this working for Shantarsky. And there was also another thing to consider. Something that I hadn’t noticed until now—because I’d been either too thick or too set in my ways. For hundreds of thousands of people, this wasn’t a game anymore. Take Shantarsky himself, for instance. What was he doing playing a game, with his money? What kept drawing him here? How much money had he already invested into this project? And how much did he intend to invest still? Was it because he enjoyed it? Or was it because he liked spending time here? The list could go on, but still I had the strange feeling he was in it for the money. Because the potential money turnover here was huge.

My not taking Mirror World too seriously had prevented me from asking myself the very important question: what if I too could achieve something bigger in this world? Yes, the
world
. It had become one for me, anyway. The downside was that I’d only realized the fact now, imprisoned by that bastard Shantarsky and under his control, facing slavery.

Never mind. I’d have to bide my time. The most important thing to do now was to get in contact with Dmitry. Together we could sort it all out.

“You’ll keep on working and leveling up as usual,” Shantarsky continued his sales pitch. “You’ll have a special module center at your disposal. Everything will remain the same. The only things that will change are zero risks and a minimum of interactions with other players. You’ll be working in the most remote cluster of our alliance.”

Oh. He hadn’t even mentioned the pay yet. I had a bad feeling about this contract already. I needed to prize some more intel out of him. “But this, as far as I understand, is only the beginning?”

“Exactly,” he beamed. “Do you know anything about the neutral zone?”

I shook my head. Let him tell me himself.

“Even the very greenest of newbs knows about it,” he said. “The neutral lands are virtually uncharted. Our groups venture there to gradually explore the most inaccessible areas.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’ll see in a moment. We’ve discovered quite a few instances that offer some really rare resources in addition to the usual loot. We’re especially interested in gem stones.”

“I see. Mining in combat conditions, eh?”

“You could say that,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it.”

I smiled.
Worth it
—for whom? And at what price? And more importantly, what would it cost me?

“As far as I understand, Expert Diggers are quite well-off,” I repeated what I’d heard from the other guys. “And they don’t seem to be particularly interested in risky schemes like mining to the accompaniment of volleying cannons and bullets whizzing past.”

What would he say to that?

“Overall, what you’ve just said makes sense,” Shantarsky said calmly. “But from experience I can tell you that your logic is slightly flawed. There are certain stones that keep resurfacing at our closed auctions—the kind of stones only Expert Diggers can mine. Take a guess: do you think you can name a game where an especially rare stone can fetch a million bucks?”

So that’s what he wanted me for. To tie my loan to a new work contract—thus leaving me no room for maneuver.

I frowned, faking disbelief, “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“Sorry. It’s just that that kind of money-”

“I need to tell you something,” he leaned closer. “There’re many people for whom Mirror World is much more than a game. And some of them are prepared to pay tenfold more than the sum I’ve just mentioned,” he smiled carnivorously. “There’re some top level players in our alliance. We guard those people closely. No one knows they exist. You might call us conspiracy freaks and you’d be right in your own way. You might say we’ve taken the joke too far. But I believe that given another month, you might catch up with them.”

Yeah right, Mister Snake. He wanted me to be his personal Expert Digger! Bound hand and foot by the promise of a loan? I beg to differ. His pitch was well-rehearsed but not subtle enough.

I decided to check. “I don’t need so much.”

“So much what?” he asked, uncomprehending.

“If you give me everything I need, I won’t need a month to make Expert level.”

I could see dollar signs flash in his eyes. “I’m all ears,” Shantarsky said.

Time to fly the coop, as the saying goes. “I’d like to call my wife,” I said aloud. “She must be worried out of her mind. How long have I been here, actually?”

“Less than twenty-four hours,” Shantarsky said. “No need to indulge in conspiracy theories. The only reason we’ve had you moved here from the communal center was to provide better conditions for your recovery.”

Sure. Those eyes couldn’t lie. Freakin’ snake. Kidnapper. He had no idea he was playing with fire. Either he was so cock sure of himself and his connections or he didn’t expect me to decline his offer. Him blackmailing me! Threatening me with “publicity“! Actually, this could be his cover story: he could always say he’d had me moved to his place out of fear for my well-being. I’d love to know how the center’s security had allowed him to do so... then again, I was working for him, wasn’t I? He must have sent some goons in lab coats to collect his employee, as simple as that. As in, he was worried about me! He must have had his people among the center’s security, too.

Just you wait till Dmitry finds out. Heads will roll, that’s for sure.

They’d try to sweep the whole thing under the carpet, of course. There must have been some very influential people standing behind all of this. They didn’t need unwanted publicity. Kidnapping an innocent player out of a communal module center in broad daylight? Please. Who would trust them after that? So yes, they would definitely try to sweep the whole thing under the carpet. Even if it meant hurting me.

So I’d have to swallow my pride. It wasn’t the right moment to blow the whistle. But still, I’d have to send Dmitry a word somehow.

“I’m going to send somebody to your module now to collect your things,” Shantarsky said. “In the meantime, you can take a look at the contract.”

He rose and walked out of the room.

Once I was alone, I sprang from my bed. No,
sprang
was probably the wrong word choice.
Scrambled
was more like it. Wheezing and ouching, I crawled from under the blanket. Why was I so weak? They must have slipped me a Mickey Finn somehow. Then again, this was probably how I was supposed to feel after my Spider Grotto escapades.

I walked over to the window. I was on the third floor. A lawn; some trees; a river or a lake glistening at a distance. I was out of town, that little was clear. The window wasn’t barred. I suppose I had to be grateful for small mercies.

I turned around. What was that over there? Aha, a bathroom. No window.

I went back into the room. The window frames were blocked. If I wanted to get out, I’d have to break the glass. And then what? Jump? I’d only break my legs. No, I couldn’t escape that way.

How about the door?

A burly individual sat in the corridor just outside the door. He glared at me like a python at a rabbit.

“Whassup?” his voice rang with threat. “Go back in.”

“I need to use the bathroom,” I pleaded shyly.

“Use the shithole in your room. Good enough. Now get in and stay in before I tear you a new one. Understood?”

I pulled the door shut. I was trapped. Might Dmitry be looking for me already? He was supposed to have gone on a business trip, wasn’t he? Then again, he’d been planning to return about the same time as I’d finished the instance. In which case he must have already visited my room in the module center. If what Shantarsky had told me was indeed true, I’d been in suspended animation for quite a while. Also, I’d promised my wife to contact her as soon as I logged out, so she must have raised the alarm already.

In which case Dmitry would definitely try and contact Rrhorgus. Flint wouldn’t keep his mouth shut either, I was sure of that. They must have already been looking for me.

Still, time was an issue. I had to do something—but what?

I reached for the chair, about to smash it against the window pane, when the door opened and closed again.

A hulk of a man towered in the doorway.

“Towered” being the operative word. He was a good seven foot tall, built like a professional weight lifter... or a wrestler. No, a weight lifter. He didn’t have the stoop typical of wrestlers and boxers and was much broader in the chest. Bulging with muscle, if you know what I mean.

I sort of deflated. Still, I kept clutching the chair, trying to shield myself with it.

“Excuse me, sir,” the giant boomed, “please leave the chair alone and follow me.”

“Follow you, where?” my voice broke. “My friends are looking for me,” I added, trying to regain face.

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted me. “Keep your cool. I’ve come to take you out of here. Follow me.”

He reopened the door and walked out first. No idea who he was or what his intentions were. I just knew I wasn’t going to stay in this cage of a room for much longer. There was also a slim possibility of me giving him the slip on our way. I just hoped this troll of a man was indeed as muscle-bound as he looked.

I stepped to the door and peeked out. My rescuer’s broad back hovered a few paces in front: he was striding away without even looking back. He didn’t look as if he was escorting me to some torture chamber. He didn’t even seem to care whether I followed him or not.

The sight of the goon by the door gave me hope. He was still sitting there, his arms crossed on his chest. His head hung listlessly to one side. His eyes were closed. Was he asleep?

I must have stopped in my tracks. The giant’s calm voice brought me back to my senses,

“He’ll live. But we need to hurry.”

The elevator dinged. The giant was already inside, holding the door open for me. I looked around, shrugged and followed my surprise escort.

“Did my brother send you?” I asked, hoping against hope.

I watched the floor panel surreptitiously as he pressed the button for level -1. We must have been heading for the underground parking. The floor numbers on the shimmering blue display began to dwindle.

“No, he didn’t,” he said. “But that’s where I’m taking you.”

“But-”

“The person who sent me means you no harm. On the contrary. You’ll see in a moment.”

I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. The moment the elevator opened, I would dart for freedom. I was still weak but this guy was heavy. And if I ever got out of this mess, I’d make sure nothing like this would ever happen to me again.

The elevator’s display panel finally blinked. The elevator jerked to a halt. I tensed myself and prepared to bolt for it.

Slowly the silvery door slid open. I didn’t bolt. In fact, I froze. A light poke in the back brought me back to my senses.

“Please step out,” the giant boomed.

I did so, but—was this a dream or something? I was facing a wheelchair. Not any old cheap one, either: I’d seen my fair share of wheelchairs over the last few years.

A girl sat in the chair. Or rather, a young woman. Slim and petite. Slender wrists. Pasty face. Pallid lips. She reminded me of a frail pot plant, brittle but struggling to survive.

She sat motionless in her wheelchair that next to her looked heavy and unyielding. Her chest barely rose with her each breath.

Then her eyes met mine.

The emerald eyes, heart-wrenchingly alive. I remembered them. I didn’t need words to tune into her sadness. Into her concern. Her warmth. Her regret.

* * *

The car sped along the highway. It whizzed past road posts, trees and the oncoming traffic, ignoring the blurry faces of roadside vendors offering their humble wares: wild mushrooms, hand-picked forest fruit and penny souvenirs.

The distant fields were one boundless sea of green grass. A clumsy tractor raised dust, rattling along the dirt track that ran parallel to the highway.

The car’s interior was neither hot nor cold. The driver, a young guy of about twenty years of age, kept his eyes on the road, checking the mirrors but ignoring me entirely.

I sat in the back seat, rereading a brief printout,

Dear Oleg,

I’m very sorry about what happened to you. It’s the first time in my life I disobeyed my father. For the first time in my life I’m ashamed of what he’s done.

Please forgive us if you can.

This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped and talked to you.