Binary Systems [Complete, Slice-of-Life Sci-Fi Romance]

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Prentis_the_Builderman: The dev team appreciates your feedback, of course, but this is an adult game, for adults. Bloodshed, violence, and sex do not coexist without fear, intimidation, coercion, and lies. Or, if they can, the AI couldn't figure out how. If you don't like it, don't play.

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Saturday, November 9th, 2091, about 4:10 pm MST, Ghostlands, Kingdoms Server, Mournhollow Entrance

Harry's delve dungeon turned out to be an old silver mine nestled against a glacier—one that felt familiar. Too familiar. To Claire, anyway.

"Mournhollow. This was my adept-level dungeon," Claire murmured, her gaze fixed on the icy cavern entrance. The wizardress looked cold. Easy to do, when you don't have a cloak and it's snowing, and while saying so, she gave a full-body shiver.

The journey had been grueling. Gordon sat stiffly, his muscles still protesting the constant strain of riding Claire's Quetzalcoatl mount. The serpents were majestic to look at, but far from comfortable. Amazing, what a neural link could make you feel.

As they dismounted, he turned to her, hoping to clear the air a little. "Claire," he said, "I appreciate you. And I appreciate you being here, playing with us, and how much you're doing for Harry, just being a member of the stream. I just wanted to say—" he hesitated, a flicker of humor returning "—I'm glad you've got our backs. Please don't burn all the loot."

She blinked up at him, visibly torn between irritation and reluctant amusement. "I'm touched by your confidence."

He shook his head. He didn't feel like they were really talking to one another, hadn't since the fight the previous evening, but at least she seemed to be in a decent mood. Step-sister or not, they could feel like full siblings–on better days. He hoped it would be better days soon.

Focus. This is the opportunity to get Harry something awesome.

"Alright, all in?" Gordon extended a hand.

Karen rolled her eyes but joined him. "You're lucky we like you," she told him. "This makes me feel like I'm in grade school."

"Wouldn't know," Gordon said wryly.

Claire sighed, placing her hand in with the others. Harry's came last, his grip firm. "Seriously, though, don't burn up the loot," Harry added.

"Break!" Gordon yelled before anyone else could speak. Claire's head-dress and earrings jangled as she shook her head at his moral-building exercise, but Gordon was in a great mood and ignored her.

The group exchanged glances, a mix of nerves and determination hanging in the cold air. Beyond the mine's entrance, the icy winds howled in the dark like a grim promise. They were as ready as they'd ever be.

The dungeon entrance was a simple set of double doors, with windows but no glass, set into the side of the mountain. They opened easily at a touch from Harry, swinging open on their hinges as though they'd been installed at a bad angle and could only barely be kept shut. Through the door, a ladder's end protruding up out of a squared-off hole in the tunnel floor could be dimly made out in the distance.

Just outside, on a three-footed stool next to a tiny fire, shivering, was what could only be the quest giver, staring at them with untrusting eyes. Gordon had forgotten her name the instant she'd said it. The NPC had lost her family, though it was unclear how many they were meant to be rescuing.

"It's like I said," the quest giver said to Karen, "the fae lady did take my daughter. She's in the realm of Mournhollow now. The lady says she'll release her. . .if my mortal champion arrives to free her. She's got them all, now."

The dialogue was canned, repetitive, but the voice sounded sincere. Gordon always had trouble getting into this sort of thing–this part of the game, but it was atmospheric, anyway.

"Your husband and your other daughter?"

"They were going to save her. Gwennie said she had a stout heart. . .she would win through."

Claire, who must not have been close enough to hear the first time, gave a slow blink. "Of course she did."

"The lady said it would take someone brave!" the NPC continued, defensively.

"Or stupid," Karen commented. "Now it's one for each of us, and Harry can clear the path."

No reaction from Karen's insult. Of course not—the lights were on, but there was nobody at home, for this one. Minor characters were little more than state machines, at the end of the day. Choose your own adventure dialogue, writ in code.

"I'll just get the door, then," said the woman, scurrying to the doors and holding one ajar. Gordon snorted. "That's a strong start."

The devs hadn't even bothered to dress it up. He could almost see the quest text hovering midair: Objective: Go to the scary place. Why? Well, to save all the other people who went into the scary place.

But he'd never run HUD elements while on stream, for immersion, so there was no such message.

The party trudged through the cave mouth anyway. Behind them, icicles lengthened, flowing together in fast-forward, until there was a sheet of ice filling the cave mouth.

"No way back," Claire said, a moue twisting her mouth. The icy light through the sheet made her eyes look even paler, like a wolf's.

"No, this is not the end of the road for Harry," she said in a completely different tone of voice. Arguing with the chat. Gordon flicked the chat stream on:

> TatersforGremlins: Looks like the end of the road for our hero Harry the wanna-be knight.

> Norbertisastupidname: They'll be fine. DPS, Anti-Armor, Armor, and. . .her frosty highness.

> Randoon_the_Wizard: You are distracting me from how awesome they all are. Shhh

Harry turned, frowning. "Anyone else hearing that?"

"Yeah," Karen said softly. "And yet, we're still going in."

Theme music. The game was light-handed with musical elements, but it liked to give doom-y atmosphere when something was meant to evoke certain kinds of feeling. Like impending doom, for example.

The group went down the ladder in single file, landing in a cleared rocky area in what was clearly a natural cavern. Claire cast a light spell, a bobbing torch-flame which hovered ten feet over their heads, sending their shadows racing forward and backward as they picked their way down into the cavern, which quickly widened. Soon they were following a narrow trail, hoarfrost bearding every rock and surface. A light grew in the distance above their heads, and Gordon began to get the impression of being outdoors.

Her bare feet made no sound on the frost-glazed stone.

His own, clad in moccasins, held their grip, courtesy of their enchantment. The others weren't so lucky. Water dripped overhead, echoing weirdly.

Then the fog came.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

It rolled in with no warning—thick, white, unnatural. Cold slid down their throats like it was alive, sitting like blocks of ice in their lungs. Around them, the air shimmered. Frost sylphs darted within the frigid mist, just suggestions of wings and movement. Their hum built up in a chorus of static, like mosquitoes singing inside a refrigerator.

The buzzing crescendoed, then abruptly stopped altogether as they emerged into what seemed to be sunlight. The trail ended at the top of a tall glacial wall. Ledges seemed to lead further down. Dripping water was the loudest sound to be heard. Dripping water and ominous music.

For an instant, they could see the misty shape of a sparkling manor-house, with attendant buildings–dark rock, or perhaps enchanted ice, pinnions snapping in the brisk wind depicting an elaborate snowflake in crimson and black.

Then fog rolled past them, over the glacier like a waterfall, and the view was hidden from them.

That's when the voices began.

Children's, maybe. Or. . .something pretending to be. First laughter, high-pitched and scattered, then little songs. Hollow rhymes, drifting in from nowhere. Echoes, and commands: "Look here. No, me, I asked first!" or just the repetition of one word, over and over. "Fail, fail, fail, fail. . . ."

When Harry spoke—just a simple "Keep moving"—the voices repeated it back. Not quite right. A delay. Like something was memorizing his voice.

Then: "Keep moooooving," mocked a voice. "What if we don't want to?"

"Tell the cowboy to eat the snow!" one cackled. A deeply yellow snowball whizzed overhead, but Gordon deftly sidestepped, allowing it to splash Harry right in the gorget, slush sliding inexorably into his shirtfront. It smelled foul, and ammonia stung his nostrils and made his eyes water.

> x_TremeSnooze: That violates the bro code.

"Tell the girl to take her clothes off," another high-pitched voice insisted. Claire squeaked as invisible hands tugged at her outfit, swatting at nothing. She clenched her fists and focused on remaining calm, and, importantly, not moving an inch, lest she be unbalanced and fall. "They're fixated on me," she reported. "From last time."

"They're hunting weaknesses," Gordon said. "Ignore them."

Easy to say. An invisible foot tripped him on the next step he took. He caught himself, but tweaked his back to do it. "Be careful near the edge," he told the group.

"Ride her like a show pony," a new voice whispered, low and obscene. "Break her in, cowboy. She'd look fine in a saddle."

Harry snapped. He turned and swung his shield through the mist, striking the rock face with a metallic crash. "Enough!"

Something buzzed behind him, and he swung again.

The shield sliced through nothing. But the fog pulsed back like it had been struck, and the buzzing came again—angrier now. Vibration, building. Something not quite wind rustled through the mist. A storm was building, snowflakes flying in a sudden flurry as the wind grew louder.

Then Harry's boot found air.

He dropped with a cry, the ice beneath him shattering like crystal panes. Metal armor slammed against rock. He barely caught himself on the ledge, swinging off one-handed, shield spinning down into the cloudy abyss beneath them.

"Shit!" Claire scrambled forward. "Harry?"

"I've got it—" His fingers scrabbled at the stone.

Gordon was already at his side, pulling rope from his pack. "Tie in. Now. They're screwing with the terrain."

Harry's sword drove into the rock with a clang, the steel hissing where it touched the frost.

"Steel," Karen said, for Claire's sake. "They hate it."

Claire had better things to do than read lore books all day. She nodded her understanding. "THAT I knew," she reassured them. "I've been here before, remember."

The fog didn't recede, but it changed. Light shifted, bending oddly. Shadows fell the wrong way. They couldn't tell which way was down anymore.

"I can't—" Karen backed into Gordon. "The light. I don't know where we're standing."

"It's deliberate," Gordon said. "Disorientation. But I don't think they can actually move things."

Harry took a cautious step. The cliff edge wasn't visible anymore, the snow kicked up by the wind whirling too densely.

The storm watched him. It was waiting.

He slipped again—but the rope caught him. It went taut with a sharp jerk. He hung for a second, panting. The rope creaked, but held his massive form without snapping.

"Forget the path," he called. "I'm rappelling."

He lowered himself into the fog with periodic metallic sounds of impact as his boots struck the glacial wall. The voices hissed in disappointment.

"Poor sport," they murmured. "Cheater."

"That," said Karen, "is a GREAT idea." She shuffled up to the edge on hands and knees, feeling for the read edge and planning her route.

Claire looked down after Harry, teeth clenched. "They're pissed."

"They're cowards," Gordon said. "They'll talk big going in. The fight starts on the way out."

Another snowball arced out of the mist.

It slapped wetly against Harry's foot, splattering red-streaked slush across his boot.

Claire's scowl deepened. "Redcaps."

The laughter changed—darker, rougher. A squat figure stepped out of the mist, its cap stiff and glistening with old blood. It stood inches from Gordon, grinning up at him.

"We heard everything, you strutting jacka—"

Gordon booted it straight off the cliff.

A silence followed. Then came the buzzing again. This time it was louder.

Gordon dusted his hands. "Can't say I care for those guys."

Claire scowled. "They're not scary. Just annoying."

"Yeah?" Gordon said, an odd note of concern in his voice. "As long as they're not getting to you."

She blinked. "I'm not a child!"

Gordon smirked at her, then dropped off the ledge with a laugh, rappelling quickly. Claire's frustrated shout echoed after him.

Karen was already at the bottom, waiting by a half-frozen boulder.

"That was fast," he commented.

She shrugged and turned to display a mud-smeared derriere. A track of disturbed slush led up the near-vertical glacial slope, bracketed by twin, deep gauges. "Just making the most of my natural assets. The swords helped."

He flushed a little and turned away. She jogged up beside him.

"Hey, just wanted everybody to remember that I, too, am female. That, back there in the fog? Almost made me want to take it personally. Not one inappropriate comment about me. I'm clearly losing my touch." She glanced at Gordon with a wry smile. "Though I guess my dramatic entrance didn't exactly scream 'dignified warrior maiden.'"

> profit_of_disaster: I remembered.

> Randoon_the_Wizard: It's the lack of a beard that does it.

Claire shook her head, her voice flat. "It wouldn't have rattled you, so they didn't bother." She looked around the group for a moment. "They're not doing this at random, by the way. They're holding a grudge. Against me."

Karen was visibly unsurprised. "I was wondering about that. Why are they so obsessed with you?"

"Fae don't forget being slighted."

". . .I'm sensing a story?" asked Gordon.

"My delve trial was three days' servitude in Mournhollow.
They didn't like my username—Frostiana. Thought I was mocking their queen."

"And they made it hard for you?"

"I lasted two of the three days."

". . .Two?" asked Karen. She sounded as if the possibility of failure in the story had just occurred to her.

"They had me scrubbing floors in a faerie castle. Manor. Thing. In a French maid dress. I wish I were kidding."

Harry held up a hand to quiet them, then addressed the chat: "This was before the stream started, guys. Don't bother looking for it."

Gordon watched the chats scrolling by, many complaining, his face darkening. "Hey, everyone—normally we love keeping chat visible. Engagement metrics and all that. But this part? This is Harry's delve, and Claire deserves respect, so we're muting chat for now. Appreciate your understanding."

Karen was still focused. "Wait. No. They actually—?"

"JRPG logic. Very 'perform penance, pretty mortal'. They even gave me a loyalty counter, beads on my necklace. Day three got. . .a little too degrading."

Gordon shook his head. "This is a game. What were they thinking?"

"You probably wouldn't get that version unless you had AC mode on. So that was a mistake. Anyway, I burned down the lord's chambers. It was a lord, then. Looks like there's new management now."

Karen grinned. "Bet you didn't get the loot."

Claire hefted her staff meaningfully. "Ever wonder why this looks so manly?"

The mages' staff was in fact heavy silver-chased wood, headed with multifaceted white crystals, a bit of a tonal mismatch from her brass-on-leather volcano priestess vibe.

Karen nodded her approval. "Nice. You took his wood AND his rocks."

Gordon paused for a second for her to catch him up, then shoved her into a snowdrift. "You're as bad as the chat."

"My bad," laughed Karen as she picked herself up and brushed off, falling behind. Claire, smiling now, left her to it.