Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG Chapter 1

Ever heard sothing repeated so many tis it begins to lose aning?

It doesnt even take that many repetitions. The syllables begin to bleed, fricatives and sibilants blending together into a phonetic puddle that holds less aning than white noise. If the repetitions continue, you can watch soone repeating the word, observe the movents of their lips carefully, and still not be able to make it out, the original sound and form utterly lost to you. This phenonon has a na: semantic satiation.

And for , that word is sorry.

Ive heard it so many tis across my life that it has lost all significance beyond the enmity it invokes.

Whether its your situation, your mothers drinking problem, or one of lifes little tragedies, soone will find a way to be sorry for it.

And, there is no word in the English language as useless as Sorry.

Which was why, as my only friend blubbered in my arms and I tried in vain to avoid the tears and snot streaming from his face, I was determined not to apologize. Platitudes helped nothing. It was better to be useful.

Those assholes. They cant do this to . Im gonna sue them into the ground.

I held my tongue, biting off a sharp response before it was spoken aloud. I knew my first responses had a tendency of coming out harsh, sothing he wouldnt respond well to.

So, I opted for a simple denial. No you wont, Nick.

We were both students at Talmont high. Ironically, not too long ago I hated Nick. He used to be part of the upper social stratosphere. The chic, sophisticated, athletic, and techno-savvy group that looked down on everyone else, oozing with confidence and self-assured pedantry. Not to ntion he looked the part: wavy brown hair, near-colorless blue eyes, and outweighed by at least eighty pounds of pure muscle.

Which is why we likely made a bizarre sight. Him, bulging, oversized, yet clinging to in the abandoned computer lab as if the slightest breeze could blow him away.

It was a butchered horse collar tackle that did him in. Couldnt get his balance right after the hit. His leg snapped backwards, ending his career with a made-literal fall from grace. Now he walked with a tal reinforced brace and a single crutch.

He hadnt taken the adjustnt well, wasnt able to accept the end of his tenure at the apex of the schools hierarchy. He turned against the skid. Hit the gym just as hard and chased more girls than he ever had on the football team. Which led us to this unfortunate series of events.

Everyones seen it man. Everybody. Soone taped an elephant with a tiny trunk and googly eyes to my locker this morning. Soones gotta pay for that. Nick wiped at his eyes angrily.

I was about to comnt that I hadnt seen it, but stopped when I realized that wouldnt matter. At school I existed outside the hierarchy. There was no individual group or clique that I belonged to and, as such, I was effectively no one. And, to be honest, I liked it that way.

Look, I said, theres no positive outco going that route. At best, you win, get so mild to moderate revenge, and watch in horror as the civil case starring your junk goes viral. Basic Streisand effect. At worst, you fail and just co off as a loser. I was going to say impotent, but figured that was not the word he needed to hear right now.

There needs to be consequences for this shit. If it was so girl, heads would be rolling

I rolled my eyes as he ranted. It was blatantly untruethe number of girls at the school with leaked nudes was astronomical and rarely resulted in any significant fallout.

Let ask you sothing. Say you wanted to send sothing out and wanted to make sure it couldn't be traced back to you. How would you do that?

Snapchat.

Another eye roll. No, that can be traced back to you. You'd use Signal, or Echo, or Vigilant. Shit that's untraceable by design. Which I guarantee you is what those asshats are using. The ones at the top of the chain at least.

He clung to tighter. I felt a squish as his nose sared against my shoulder and fought the urge to push him away. Then what am I supposed to do, Matt? I can't be invisible like you. This is gonna follow .

I let the shot slide without taking it personally. He wasn't wrong, and he was upset. Being good looking and popular had its perks, sure, but the downside is you never really learn how to keep your head down.

Skip the pointless lawsuit and go on vacation, I said.

What? Just disappear?

Just a week. The school board won't stop you, and they'll probably be relieved that you're gone. Starve them out and the vultures will move on.

What if I co back and they haven't?

They will. I reiterated. Trust . I must have put too much emphasis on the last half because he looked up at , suspicious.

You know sothing.

I hesitated. The person I had in mind was Jinny Stiles. Id never spoken to her, but when you're socially persona-non-grata you're good at picking things up. She belonged to the sa social group Nick had. Popular. Pretty. Shed been head over heels for her college boyfriend, ducking parties to hang out with him every weekend. Her friends started making jokes about weight gain. Then she disappeared for a month and ca back with a dead-eyed smile and a flat stomach. No more ducked parties for the boyfriend. And if I'd noticed, there was no way the rest of them hadn't.

They might tornt Nick. But they'd eviscerate Jinny. Tall poppy syndro beat punching down on a cripple any day. It wasn't really my style to air out soone else's dirty laundry, but it's not like it'd been told to in confidence.

I settled on a compromise: partial information. Stiles number is up. Could hit any day now. Better you're not here when it does.

Nicks eyes bulged. Jinny? Why? She's nice. She's the only one who still talks to .

I grimaced, ignoring the fact I was actively being left out of that statent. Just take the week, Nick.

Nick stared at . I could tell the direct command had rankled, bothered him. He was used to calling the shots. I was about to rephrase when he deflated, stepping away.

You creep out sotis, Nick said.

Thanks.

No, really. Where do you even get this shit? It's like you have a split-personality. You talk like you're so savvy socialite one minute, then start sweating when so flabby freshman with braces asks you for directions.

I shifted uncomfortably. You're leaving out the part where I'm usually right.

Yeah. I know. Nick grunted, limping towards where he'd left his crutch leaning against one of the many desks.

Hold it. I held out a hand. You have sothing to tide over while you're gone?

Who said I was going?

He did. With his body language. The way he pulled into himself, feet facing the door. Surrender, clear as if he had scread it. Of course, I didn't say any of this.

I pushed my hand towards him. Co on, cough it up.

Nick smiled and so of his usual cockiness ca back. Glad you rembered, because I caught a haul. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. There were underlined subheadings with nas and phone numbers. And, true to his word, many more than usual.

Five essays, three SATs, and there's a partridge in the pear tree my friend. He tapped the na at the bottom of the list.

I whistled. LSAT. Damn. Really making your ten percent. My fee for the law school admissions test was five tis what it was for the SAT. Largely because the test was hard, filled with fuck-you questions and a general pain in the ass. How'd you snag that?

Friend of a friend.

You talked to them about expectations?

He waved my concerns away. Yeah, they know about the code, the voice changer, and to expect a blocked caller.

Nick.

I promise. He sounded annoyed. But the last thing I wanted was another freak out.

Okay, just making sure. Enjoy your vacation.

Nick hobbled away from , then stopped. He cast a worried glance my way. Matt. This thing with Jinny.

I shook my head. It's gonna get out one way or another.

Sure. He bit his lip. But if it doesn't, promise you're not going to help it along?

I had no plans to. Talmont would almost assuredly do it for . But if it sohow didn't co out before the end of the week, well, then things got a little more complicated. What it boiled down to was that, despite his faults, I cared about Nick. That was rare for . And I didn't care about Jinny, or the fact that Nick cared about her.

Maybe you think that makes a horrible person. That's fine. I never claid otherwise.

I gave him a false smile. Won't raise a finger.

/////

Theres a certain art to walking around unnoticed. The first mistake most people make is literally keeping their head down. You dont want that. It sends the wrong signals: small, weak, vulnerable. In a naturally hostile environnthigh-school, for exampleyou might as well be carrying a flashing bother- sign for any given observer with elevated testosterone.

Instead, you want to keep your gaze focused downward at the floor at around a 45-degree angle. Keep to a wall, but dont walk too close. Wear clothes that suit the surroundings, nothing too bright or flashy. Most importantly, dont make eye-contact.

I wish I had a better excuse for what I am. Why I don't feel things the way other people do, why empathy is so hard for . So trite, tidy backstory would go a long way in explaining my shortcomings. That I was bullied rcilessly. That my village was set on fire and my parents slaughtered.

But none of that is true. I live in a city, not a village, and no one would bother to raze it. My family is poor, but we get by. My siblings are all alive and well. And God is just soone whose house we visit on holidays.

The reality was that I was bored. I wanted a break from the monotony. I wanted sothing to happen. Good or bad, it didnt matter.

I was such a fool.

My first mistake was not looking up on my walk ho from school. I had a lot on my mind, specifically which college to attend. It should have been a shoe in. I had a partial scholarship to Berkeley which made it almost affordable, and I was interested in engineering, so the choice seed clear.

But there was a wrinkle. I didn't have to listen to the late night raving and see the litany of empty bottles to tell you that the double initial organizations and group etings weren't doing anything for my mothers problems.

Yeah, I know. That shouldn't matter. It's my future, not hers. But I didn't like the idea of leaving my little sister and brother alone to deal with the fallout. Iris and Ellisonmy siblingswere still too young to understand the considerable level of upkeep my mother required.

So I had the option of choosing selfishly, and taking my almost-free ride to Berkeley. Or, I could stay local and see what financial aid I could scrounge up from the local dregs. Maybe sothing in the surrounding troplex, maybe sothing in Oklahoma where I could drive ho easily if sothing happened. Not that I had a car. Maybe I could save up for one, or find a way to tap into my ager savings for the down paynt. But that would an working like a slave for my last few sesters, trying to scrounge up tuition. The only other alternative was doubling down now.

But how?

I had two part-ti jobs already, not including my extralegal testing and responsibilities at ho. Taking another job would an reducing my already ager four or five hours of sleep a night to two or three.

The prospect alone made feel tired. That's the downside of being poor. There aren't any good options. It was too much to consider, too much to even comprehend. If I felt like rolling the dice I could look into investing my money, but the only option that would possibly yield enough to make it worth while in such a short period of ti would an going with her. Soone I knew from personal experience to be both flaky and unreliable.

Maybe that's why I missed the teor, hurtling downward. Perhaps my mind was so preoccupied with the possible tangles of my future that I couldn't even be bothered to notice the nascent horrors of my present.

Matt! A womans voice.

What? Id done nothing to draw attention to myself.

Still, Sai Park, a Korean student with long silky hair and nice figuredespite the obviously padded brastood staring at . Her phone was held limply in her hands. She was barely in uniform, plaid skirt rolled up just above her knee and her simple dress shirt adjusted to wring maximum style from the drab, conservative garb. A bright orange kerchief hung around her neck. Exactly the sort of person I didnt want to see . My heart jumped. My mouth dried at the prospect of even talking to her.

Mouth open, horrified, she pointed behind .

Soone scread. Then another person, then another. I spun around to look. The street was usually bustling with activity, but foot traffic was frozen. Everywhere I looked people were staring at the sky, frozen, hands over their mouths.

Finally, I looked up.

My first, stumbling thought was that the freak occurrence of nature that was going to end my life had a tail, which didn't make sense for sothing that close. But like all forces of nature, it didn't have to. To my left, I saw a man and woman cling to one another. A group of girls from my high school huddled against the walls of a nearby bank, trying to make themselves small, like prey cowering before a predator.

There was a deafening crash as an SUV slamd into a parked car, driver trying desperately to flee.

A million thoughts went through my mind before I landed on one: It was over. All of it. I knew, in that mont, what death looked like. It was inevitable. I could be on a jet right now, breaking the sound barrier, and still end up in the blast of that thing.

I turned around to look for Sai, but the space where she was standing was now empty, like shed never been there to begin with.

Mouth dry, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called ho. It took a couple tries before I got through.

My little brothers voice carried over the line. Hello? He sounded bewildered.

I watched the teor glow brighter and brighter blue, growing larger by the second. Hey Ellis. You and Iris okay?

Matt, I'm scared. His voice quivered. Mom won't let watch the news, but I can hear it from the kitchen. They're saying the worlds going to end.

Co on, pal. I forced a laugh that I could only hope sounded more authentic than it felt. It's the news. They're always saying that.

I guess.

Trust . It's all gonna be fine, I lied. I couldn't see any reason not to.

If you say so. He sounded less confident than I felt.

Love you, kiddo. Put mom on, will you?

Ok.

Wait, El?

Yes?

Tell Iris I love her too, please?

Fuck. It was the first ti I'd heard my brother swear.

Language! I said. But he was already gone.

Hello? My mother's voice slurred. I gritted my teeth. No reason to stick to sobriety when the world was ending, but I had to wonder if she'd started drinking before or after she'd picked the kids up.

Hey mom, I said.

Where are you, Mathias? Mom sounded more alert now, for all the good it did.

I'm surprised I got through. I swallowed. How long did we even have? Minutes? An hour? Did it look so large because it was close, or was it just that massive?

Where are you? She said again, voice panicked. As if it mattered.

Halfway. Off of Lincoln and Third. Funny that I rembered the street nas at a ti like this. A cop habit my father had ingrained in .

You need to get to shelter. Get inside.

How bad is it?

Silence. Theyre saying it'll be worse than a nuclear attack.

I cocked my head. I knew that voice. Was that understatent? She was actually playing it down.

They talking about it knocking the earth off its axis? It looks... really big. I dont know why I asked. Morbid curiosity, I guess.

Get inside, Matt.

I will. I didn't bother pointing out that our shabby two-bedroom apartnt wouldn't offer much protection. A bomb shelter would fare just as badly. There was no getting away from sothing like this.

I called to say... The words I love you, spoken so easily to my brother and sister, died in my throat. I cleared it, then shook my head. It doesn't matter.

Don't give up. There's always a chance. We could be the outliers. My mother once lived her life by asured statistics and numbers. But she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than .

When have we ever been the outliers?

I stifled a bitter laugh. Still, I needed to say sothing. ... Sorry for being so cold lately.

A short pause. I deserve it.

Maybe.

You dont have to agree with .

But looking back, I wish I hadn't been. Cold, I an.

Matt, I

Three short beeps followed by silence. I looked at my phone and saw the call had ended. I tried a few more tis and got a pre-recorded ssage saying the lines were busy and to reduce calls to ergency only.

Well, that was that.

The teor was imminent. Strangely, I didn't feel fear. I felt resignation and relief, that the struggle was over. I didnt have to go ho, ignore my siblings, study until my head hurt, pass out, then drag myself to Dunkins for the early bird shift. My worries had all been rendered moot. I studied it, watching it grow larger and larger, and realized with grim amusent that it seed to be headed straight towards .

As if in a hypnotic state, I began walking, trying to calculate the trajectory. It led to the little garden outside of Erson Square, where I took a seat on a park bench next to a tan-uniford blonde girl who looked to be in middle school. She held a bag stuffed with cookies and had begun to dig into them. I took a seat next to her.

Spare a few? I asked

She eyed for a mont before her gaze returned to the sky. Five dollars.

Thin Mints?

Yup.

Amused, I pulled out my wallet and counted out three dollar bills before I ca up dry.

What does three get ?

Savannah Smiles.

Oof. Still, I handed her the money, and she took it without looking, automatically handing a box.

Were gonna die, aren't we? The girl asked. She sounded small, resigned. A man sprinted by us carrying a gallon of water.

It was strange how calm she was. Maybe the reality hadn't sunk in yet. Yeah. Well have one hell of a view though.

The temperature grew from hot to sweltering. I tore open the packaging and tossed the oblong cookie into my mouth, nearly gagging as I chewed. Christ, it's like candied Lysol.

They're a bargain for three.

If you say so. Did you get through to your folks? I asked.

Don't have a phone.

Try mine. I handed it to her. She took the phone, glanced over at , as if unhappy with the unevenness of the exchange, then slid a box of Thin Mints.

Thanks. I tossed the box of lemon abominations in the nearby trash can. One hell of a shot, but of course everyone was a little too preoccupied to notice.

She dialed, held the phone to her ear, then handed it back.

Any luck?

No.

A swarthy woman tripped hard nearby, landing on the flats of her hands and her knees before rolling onto her back. She took one look at the sky and began shrieking and moaning with an almost biblical fervor.

We both looked at her in annoyance.

Noisy, the girl said.

Straight out of a Lifeti special, I comnted.

It was close now. All sound disappeared, like I was underwater. I could feel the heat. Wind began to roil around us as the pavent boiled, tossing my dark hair in my face, covering my glasses.

I stood and walked forward, leaving the Girl-Scout behind and forgotten. A handful of people joined in the square. An older woman in business casual stood on the fringes, phone out, recording the mont. A muscled man with salt-and-pepper hair was chuckling to himself, the sound low and an.

It would be seconds now. The glowing blue rock took up my entire vision, dwarfing the skyline. I held my arms outstretched.

Well, co on you bastard. Do what you ca here to do.

A nearby building toppled. A hundred yards above, the teor exploded into a massive wave of indigo ash that swallowed everything as the shockwave sent flying.

/////

I was plunged into a darkness deeper than the blackest night. Id expected my life to flash before my eyes. Now that it was happening, it felt more like a slow painful crawl. I saw Iris, signing to , trying to catch my attention earlier that morning while I ignored her so I wouldn't be late. I saw Danielle Espinosa, asking to the solstice danceand , focused so hard on perfecting my response, mulling over the problematic consonants to avoid a stutter, until she took my silence as rejection and stord off. Finally, I saw the day that cented in my mind that heroes were fools: my fathers police cruiser through dusty blinds, pulling up in front of the rundown house at the end of the street.

A neon violet square filled my vision. It was painful to look at, eye-searingly bright. There were three ascending notes that sounded almost like a phone jingle.

Text scrolled, almost too fast for to read:

The scroll stopped. There wasnt an option for no. Just a YES option in capital letters below the scroll of text. I was confused. There was no straightforward explanation for what I was experiencing. I didn't have hands, or eyes for that matter. But I focused on it.

The text began to scroll again.

No system ssage notification this ti. Just direct text.

It reminded of a question off one of those Freudian aly-mouth surveys therapists pour over to psychoanalyze you, where there's no correct choice. Only, again, my options were limited. hovered below the text, the only option.

If I had a mouth, I would have laughed. Again, there was only one answer highlighted.

I started as a wall of text filled the screen.

A feeling of unease washed over . The trolley problem was ethics 101. And frankly, it was highly hypothetical and stupid. But this version was wrong. There were supposed to be five people tied to the main track, one person tied to the sidetrack. This was a darker, more nihilistic version of the dilemma.

Anger started from sowhere deep within . It brought back to the original question: Why was there only one answer? Was the system just assuming I would make that choice? The core issue with the original trolley problem that was raised over and over was a simple one: Agency. If you did nothing, you were rely a tragic witness to the deaths of five people. The series of events that brought about their deaths were already put into motion, but that blood was ultimately not on your hands. You didnt cut the trolleys brake lines. You didnt tie those people to the tracks.

Things got complicated when you pulled the lever. By pulling the lever, you left the realm of passive observer and beca an active participant. No longer a mortal, but a self-appointed god. You weigh the worth of five lives and decide that they are worth killing one person for. And unlike the death of the five, you are directly responsible for that death.

The text disappeared then reappeared, the letters tripling in size, bright red.

It didnt matter. The most important aspect of test taking was to pick an answer and move on. Ti was the enemy, not the question. And it wasnt like I had a choice. I focused on the option, trying not to think about the implications of why I didnt have a choice, and it disappeared with no fanfare.

A panoramic picture ca into focus line by line, as if drawn by invisible brushes. It had a storybook quality. A pastoral town washed in oranges and reds by a rising sun peeking halfway over the horizon. It was a drawing of a fantasy world. There was a knight in silver armor cleaning a tarnished shield. A wizard, complete with a pointy hat and beard, was haggling with a fruit rchant in a smock. anwhile, an elven ranger with multiple golden rings piercing his pointed ears put arrows into a target at a practice range.

I didnt understand the question at first. When I realized it was asking which person in the picture I identified with the most, a manic, horrible thought clicked into place. Willing it, I scrolled back up to the original system notifications, reading them again.

This wasnt a test.

I wasnt being graded for my ethics.

This was a character creation.

What kind of half-assed dream had I stumbled into?

I scrolled back down to the most recent question, my mind racing. As the text flashed by, a million terrible scenarios popped into my head. Id read novels with similar premises. A protagonist dies, killed by a truck, or a mugger, or a god damned teor, and when they awaken, they are transported into another world.

That was how it worked in fiction. But discounting the much more likely scenario that this was all simply the manic work of a dying mind, I realized I didnt want to go to another world. I had a handle on this one, grim and hopeless as it was. And the devil you know is always better than the devil you dont.

It was a panicked thought. Dumb. Delusional. Even fanciful. Unlike .

The only answer was listed below the question, and looking at it sent a cold chill through .

I searched the image. The wizard, ranger, and knight were still going about their business. But there was sothing Id missed the first ti. In the deep shadows cast by the rising sun next to one of the buildings, a man reached out towards the cara as if to grab it from afar. He was almost invisible, and had no definable features, other than the hand. But he held it out towards the other figures, and for a reason I could not quite describe, I feared for them.

Reflexively, I focused on the option and the data screen disappeared.

And then I woke up in the worst place possible.