Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) Read online

  So, what did we have here?

  The virtual lands of Mirror World await you!

  Live out your most secret dreams in the realm of Sword and Sorcery!

  Become a Great Wizard or a Famous Warrior!

  Build your own castle! Tame a dragon! Conquer a kingdom!

  All those desperate, lonely and insecure—Mirror World offers you a chance!

  There you can start to-

  I didn't read any further. What a lot of bull. Strange that the bank was hung with these ridiculous offers. Strange? Wait a second...

  Normally, all such glamorous offers have strings attached. The said strings are usually denoted in a very fine inconspicuous print, like Times New Roman. Let's see...

  Ah, there it was:

  Industrial Mega Bank offers consumer loans to finance your work and account upgrade in the Mirror World virtual game.

  What did they mean by “loans to finance work?” Logically, the game probably needed programmers and web designers. Would they be interested in interpreters, I wonder? Actually... what was the point? So they might offer me work for a wage, then what? I needed an enormous amount of money and I needed it now. The money left from the sale of our apartment and country house was dwindling rapidly.

  Never mind. First things first. I had to talk to my brother, and then we'd see. I could use a well-paid job anyway. Asking for a loan was one thing, but then I'd have to pay it back somehow.

  If the truth were known, I'd be happy to sell myself into slavery for my daughter's sake. Then again, who would need a nerd slave like myself? I'd pop my clogs the very next day in hard labor.

  I walked out onto the street and took in a lungful of fresh air. Then I took out my cell and scrolled through my contacts for Brother.

  The phone was ringing. That was a good sign: the number was still in use.

  “Hi Oleg,” Dmitry's voice was as strong and confident as I remembered it.

  “Hi. How d'you know it's me?”

  “Easy,” he chuckled. “I've got your number listed as Brother.”

  “I suppose I should be happy to hear it,” I said with a bitter smile.

  “That's up to you.”

  “I've got you listed as Brother too.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you really?”

  “I watched you enter my number into your phone that day.”

  “I see.”

  I paused and took a deep breath before speaking.

  He beat me to it. “You have problems?”

  “You can say that.”

  “Are you in town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Got something to jot my address down on?”

  I got there in no time. In fact, I'd splurged on a taxi. My inner money counter was spinning, deducting minutes from my daughter's hospital stay.

  Finding my brother's workplace proved almost too easy, for me at least, despite my failing eyesight. You had to be blind not to notice the familiar medieval fonts.

  The sign on the front door read,

  Mirror World. Terminal #17

  The door was flanked by announcements identical to those in the bank, only these were the size of a movie poster.

  I stopped at the reception to explain my business to a security guard. He made a phone call, received a confirmation over an intercom and let me through with detailed directions.

  I took the elevator to the fifth floor and looked for #105. The total absence of any signs puzzled me. Only numbers. Then again, what did I care?

  Dmitry rose from his desk. We shook hands. His palm was dry and warm. And strong, just like Dad's. When I was little, neighbors still used to tell each other how he could bend nails with his bare hands just for the kicks of it. I was pretty sure Dmitry could do so too. Me, I took after Mom: both in physical and in mental build.

  “You don't look well,” he stared at me, his steely gray eyes unblinking. His face was big and rough. Broad shoulders. Not an ounce of fat anywhere.

  “Thanks,” I mechanically touched the bridge of my nose, readjusting the non-existent glasses. “You really took after Dad.”

  “I know,” he said, pointing at a soft chair. “Go ahead, spit it out.”

  He was never one to mince words.

  I began tactically. I told him about my conversation in the bank, mentioning the bank manager's knowledge of his financial situation and his suggestion to involve him as a guarantor. In doing so, I was steering him toward the only question he was bound to ask. Which he promptly did.

  “I'll look into it. What did you need the money for?”

  I'd rehearsed my spiel several times on my way there and until now, everything had gone as I’d planned. I gave him a brief run-down of Christina's situation: her heart, Germany, the Japanese, her life...

  When I stopped speaking, Dmitry sat thoughtful, staring out of the window. Finally, he seemed to have come to a decision. He turned to me. “I don't think I can be your guarantor.”

  It took all of my self-control not to crumble. Never mind. I'd have to find another way.

  “But,” he interrupted my train of thought, “I can get you a job.”

  I sighed. “Thanks. God knows I need one. But to be brutally honest, this advance payment is much more important-”

  “You don't understand,” he interrupted me. “I'll help you get a job here in Mirror World and I'll pay for your account.”

  “No, wait...”

  “You wait. Just listen. The moment Shantarsky finds out you work here in the Glasshouse—that's our insider slang for Mirror World—he'll give you the loan. Maybe not all of it but I'm sure he'll give you thirty thousand at least.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “You did say you still had something in the bank, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. “Seven thousand two hundred twenty-three dollars and thirty-four cents.”

  “Love it! Add to it the thirty thousand the bank will give you. I'll top it up. Plus I'll pay for your account which is another twenty grand.”

  I whistled in amazement.

  “That's including my discount as a company worker,” he explained. “The standard Daily Grind package costs twenty-five grand.”

  “That's why all the banks are promoting it like crazy!” I said. “Question is, is it really worth it?”

  “What do you think? Why would your bank collect all that intel on me?”

  “So you're in it too?”

  He nodded.

  “How does it work?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Imagine a virtual world inhabited by a multitude of races, where every character is controlled by a living person. The immersion is so realistic you risk forgetting your real life. Imagine if you used to be a hen-pecked bookkeeper, and here in the Glasshouse you become the best swordsman in the whole kingdom. You choose your own build and appearance. Once a nerd and a loser, you're now handsome and rich, one of the best warriors, enjoying both property and the attentions of the opposite sex. The only problem is the cost of the account itself—but as you probably understand, some spoiled daddy’s boy has no problem with that. And as for a regular Tom, Dick or Harry whose thirty-day trial period is about to expire, where would he go? He'd go cap in hand to the bank. He's already an addict, see, dreading to lose what he's gained.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Not really. A money-making scheme, yes. We're talking billions here.”

  “I see. But what about a job?”

  “That's not a problem. The game developers have thought of everything. In the game, everything is just as complex as it is in real life. Imagine for a second that you're a spoilt rich kid buying yourself an account. For you it's peanuts. So you've created a super warrior char for yourself. You buy a castle for him and some land. Rich people keep investing in the game all the time, by the way. The developers even had to introduce a monthly payment limit in order to prevent inflation. So your character keeps growing but you can't level him up properly without, say, improving your reputations. Lots of them t
here, as you can imagine. In order to improve a reputation, you need to complete certain quests which in a hundred percent of cases suggest collecting some resources or crafting something. Besides, this is still a world, however virtual, so its streets need sweeping, its plants need watering, and so on and so forth. Because if your castle or town is dirty and unkempt, it'll begin losing its reputation and with it, a certain number of bonuses. Lots of bonuses there, by the way. It's enough to make your head go round. So do you really think that this spoilt rich kid would buy himself an account just to become a street sweeper or a stable hand? No, what he does he hires other players to do his dirty work for him and pays them in the in-game currency which can be exchanged for real-world money. At the moment, the exchange rate is 1:1. That is to say, one gold piece is worth one dollar. Every bank in the world will accept it.”

  I paused, digesting it all. “What other accounts are there?”

  “There're also Bronze, Silver and Gold ones.”

  “What's the difference, then?”

  “The price, the plan, the initial configuration, lots of things.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “All right, there's the Bronze plan. It costs fifty grand. The initial configuration includes a basic set of gear. Access to the game from public modules. In other words, you start as a pauper. Silver costs a hundred and fifty grand. They'll install your personal virtual class B module in your home. You'll have the right to choose your own seigneur. Then there's Gold. Half a million bucks for the rich and famous. It offers all sorts of bonuses and freebies, including your own plot of land. Its size can be upgraded for an extra charge.”

  “This is crazy,” I repeated, dumbfounded. “Very well, so what about this Daily Grind account?”

  “Daily Grind is a zero-level account. The player can't kill anyone but he can't die, either. He's technically immortal. This type of account is created for work alone. The plan includes the profession itself, some tools and a free access to public modules. Or rather, it's the char's employer who pays for all that, allowing his employee to work on his territory without a care in the world. If it's a mine or a corn field, then they should already be mopped up, free from any potential mobs. Oh, and another important thing. The char's level of skill keeps growing regardless of his level.”

  “How does that differ from Bronze?”

  “Like all other regular players, they have to wait till they make level 10 to choose a profession. They'll have to pay for their choice and for the toolkit, too. And their level of skill is directly linked to their own level.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, the game has a multitude of resources of every level, from zero to relic.”

  “I see. A level-10 player can't farm a relic resource.”

  “Exactly. I'll tell you more: even a level-200 player can't do so.”

  “And what's the top?”

  “At the moment, there's nobody in the game above level 300. The top player is level 285, I think. His name is Romulus from the Steel Shirts clan. They're known as SS to common players.”

  “Jesus.”

  “But you don't really need to know that. You just do your work and that's it.”

  “Deal.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Let's do it this way. I'll take you to my assistant now. She'll show you exactly how it works. It's her job, anyway. I mean, she can do it much better than I can. I'm afraid I'm a bit pressed for time. Agreed?”

  I nodded. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  For the first time, he gave me a warm smile. “It's all right. We're brothers, aren't we?”

  Chapter Two

  “Oleg, have you ever played computer games?”

  Dmitry's colleague Zoriana sat by her computer entering my data into the company's database. First name, family name, date of birth, social security number, that sort of thing.

  She had cropped hair and funny earrings shaped as iridescent butterflies. Intelligent eyes glistened behind glasses. Twenty years old max.

  “Do Tetris and tank simulators count?” I asked.

  She smiled without taking her eyes off the monitor. “Any bad habits?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  She typed away. “Good. Basically, that's it. All I need is your signature.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Not so fast,” she smiled. “I know you're serious about it. Dmitry told me. It's not that. First you need to familiarize yourself with the game's content. You need to choose a race and profession.”

  “Does it really matter?” I asked.

  “You see, Oleg,” Zoriana adjusted her glasses and smiled condescendingly, “computer games of today are a far cry from those like Tetris. They are millions of years apart, so to say.”

  Unwilling to argue, I raised my hands in the air. “I give up! Let's choose a race.”

  “Excellent. I like your attitude. I'm going to take you to a class A test module so you can see for yourself.”

  The test module looked like a cross between a dentist's chair and—I couldn't help laughing at the thought—one of those hairdresser's chairs from the 1970s with a huge bucket-shaped bowl over your head.

  Ignoring my merriment, she walked over to the machine and began keying in some information on the monitor built into the “bucket“. She must have probably heard her fair share of clumsy jokes about the machine's weird shape.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Oleg. The process will take much longer than you might think. I suggest you use the bathroom first.”

  I shook my head and climbed onto the hard seat.

  She finished adjusting the settings. “Relax,” she said, “and don't turn your head. It's not dangerous. Now close your eyes.”

  With a quiet beep, the “bucket” came down, covering my head all the way to the chin. I felt Zoriana take my hand and press my fingers against a hard surface.

  “You can open your eyes now. The sensor panel is next to your right hand. The panoramic screen is right in front of you. Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “It's the same principle. I'm uploading the content. That's it. I'm leaving you to study it. If you need me, there's an icon with a ring bell in the top right corner of the screen.”

  “I see. Thanks.”

  “See you later.”

  The program upload bar began to grow, changing its light from yellow to green as the percentage increased. It felt like sitting in a 3D theater. I even lifted my hand, hoping to touch the image.

  99%...

  100%...

  The speakers exploded with a fanfare riff. I hurried to put the sound down. Basically, the thing was quite easy to use—no more difficult than my phone. The interface pleased the eye. The font was clear, the graphics high quality. Apparently, people enjoyed playing games in these machines. If they spent so much money on it—actually investing in it—then they must have. Whatever. So far, I wasn't that impressed.

  Never mind. Let's do it.

  The world's history came first. But I had no interest in all those myths and chronicles. They must have been packed solid with useless information dear to the hearts of some die-hard fantasy fans. Me, I preferred facts. What's there?—Aha, Newbie Guide. Professions. Let's click it.

  Farming, crafting, services... So! Each category had hundreds of pages! Blacksmith, Street Sweeper, Stable Hand, Fisherman, Herbalist, Water Carrier, Sewage Collector, Farmer, Gardener...

  The mind boggles. Zoriana was right: I wasn't going to leave this place any time soon.

  I clicked on the filter: Most Popular.

  A hair stylist, a landscape designer, a manager... Okay...

  Filter: Best Paid.

  Number one on the Best Paying list was Mine Digger. I didn't look any further. Mine Digger it was.

  Now race. Which ones were the most popular for this particular profession?

  The huge bulk of racial choice #1 filled the screen. Muscles bulged under his gray hairless hide. His sinewy arms wo
und with veins hung to his knees. A walking shovel, like. What's your name, handsome? A Cave Horrud. Basic characteristics: Strength, Speed, Survivability, Defense, Agility. As for his additional abilities, I really needed to look into them.

  Additional Ability: Force of the Mountains

  Effect: +0.5% to Strength with every new skill level

  Additional Ability: Willpower

  Effect: +0.8% to Speed with every new skill level.

  This was more or less clear. The guy was strong but too slow. Next. A Rock Rhoggh. More of the same, only a tad smaller. Slightly less Strength, a bit more Speed.

  The next down the list was Dark Gnome. What about you, buddy?

  Additional Ability: Free Miner.

  Effect: +0.5% to chance to mine twice as many resources in one swing of the pick.

  Additional Ability: Dark Vision.

  Effect: +0.1% to chance to mine a higher-level resource in one swing of the pick.

  He was followed by a Dwarf with similar characteristics. Basically, the bulk of players seemed to prefer strong and slow guys. They apparently thought that speed had no use in underground mines. Others went for dwarves and gnomes whose additional abilities offered resource bonuses.

  I checked their contracts. They offered three types of payment: by the hour, by piecework and “extracted value“. Now what was that? Aha, I see. Same as the two above but it also took into consideration the resources' price. I might take piecework plus extracted value.

  So where was I? Oh yes. A dwarf or a gnome? I definitely wasn't going for the first two beefcakes. As far as I was concerned, too much muscle never solved a problem.

  I repeated my search, adding Strength and Speed to the search characteristics. Same story. Oh well. I'd have to go for Dwarf, then. Why not? His characteristics were not bad. Also, as far as I remembered, these were underground dwellers, a race of mine diggers—at least if the game developers stuck to the traditional mythology.