Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Coms were scrambled within thirty seconds of reaching the tower lobby.

If anything, the fact that Miles was still navigating along predictable lines made me feel better. The brief gap before the scramble meant whoever he'd posted up here probably didn't have a perfect vantage on the elevator. Paying close enough attention to register "Matt's" arrival, but not so close that they got a clear look at the person with him.

The split itself was easy. Textbook.

I waited in line for a hotdog, blending in with dozens of other users perusing the many vendors, angled enough to witness Azure stick his hands in the pockets of my hoodie and hurry out the front. He'd need to pass through the security checkpoint. It was a low volume day, so he'd be gone in two minutes along with any tail.

The safest time to leave would be shortly after.

Biding the time, I thought about next steps.

No matter how this played out he wouldn't catch me flat footed like last time. There were contingencies in place for this exact scenario. Hurricane Miles. Unfortunately, they took time to deploy. Numerous messages to deliver, people to speak with, and contracts to activate. I'd tried to be practical in planning. If I hauled ass, it was theoretically possible to get every plate spinning within a twenty-four-hour period.

I had less than twelve.

And not every measure was created equal.

Notifying Kinsley and the Strike-Team, and getting the nursery squared away for what was shaping up to be a long absence were non-negotiables. I also needed to make sure anyone in my circle who knew the truth—Nick, Sae—had their stories straight. No matter what happened I didn't want them or my family implicated in my bullshit. They all needed plausible deniability, and it was the least I could do to ensure they had it.

Beyond the basics there were other, unpleasant aspects. Any solid "Oh-shit" plan has an escalating staircase of safeguards that scale on severity of threat. The bottom step is the most fundamental and critical preparations, passive defenses, careful shoring up of resources and positioning, nothing that can't be walked back if the threat subsides. As the stairs ascend, subtlety—and any possibility of reversing what you've done—dwindles. The counter-measures grow more brutal and destructive, escalating until the final step.

In theory, you should never reach the top. Because being forced to fall back on the most brutish, heinous methods you can imagine is a good indicator you fucked up somewhere in the planning.

Problem was, Miles didn't seem interested in letting me climb that staircase organically. Probably by design. With my unwitting help, he'd created a scenario that let him isolate me from the outside world and cut off communications and resources, all without technically holding anyone against their will.

All of which meant I'd need to use the scant hours I had to guess.

Pick and choose, based on how bad things might get, take an educated shot in the dark all the while hoping I wasn't doing the strategic equivalent of dumping kerosene on a forest fire.

Three minutes passed.

I sent a dummy text to check, netting a degree of relief when it went through, confirming whoever was jamming coms had stopped. However, just because they'd stopped didn't mean they were gone. Lingering behind, trying to pick them out, was relatively pointless. A waste of precious time, especially when Miles wasn't lacking in manpower.

So I called Kinsley.

"What?" A curt, groggy voice answered.

"Hey, mom. Were you asleep?"

"Oh, shit." There was a rustle of fabric and movement before the voice returned, more focused than before. "How bad is it?"

"I'm alright. Oh, uh—remember what you said to me the night of the party? When the late guests showed up?"

There was a small moan. "That we were fucked, because we were all high as balls and the feds were there?"

"Yep. You were right. About the first and last part, anyway."

"Shit." More scrambling in the background, "Need to get my go bag."

"Don't worry about it," I blurted. It was better that I'd caught her napping rather than somewhere in public, though for this to work, I needed her not to freak out and tip our hand. "He was alright. Pleasant enough, but the whole place stank like cat piss."

"What—"

"Yeah, they had, like, three. Which doesn't seem like that many, but the little monsters were spazzing everywhere. Climbing furniture, tearing up cushions. Basically feral."

"Are you fucking serious—oh." Kinsley went quiet for a second. "Cats. Related to Miles. Category 3."

"Uhuh."

"You're compromised."

"Yep."

"But there's no danger to anyone else."

"For now, anyway. I'll text more details later."

"Why didn't you just text to begin with?" Kinsley groused.

It was a reasonable question. Even if they weren't using the unnecessary gestures, you could often pick out a person navigating any sort of system text in public by the phone-stare sans phone, the way they appeared to look directly in front of themselves instead of the more distant direction they were heading. I made a point to avoid that from the beginning; I was good at it, but Miles' people tended to be a cut above. Better to avoid the risk since I had seen no one leave the tower.

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I was in the middle of parsing how to communicate the sentiment in code when Kinsley apparently decided it wasn't important. "Never mind. Jesus. The adrenaline's hitting like a truck. What do you need me to do?"

"Just stick with what we talked about and everything will be fine."

"The Cat 3 Guidelines."

"Uhuh."

"That's it? Nothing else?" Kinsley sounded uncomfortable. Probably because of the non-action. There was still a lot for her to do, but most of it involved throwing her vocational weight around, making sure the right people got paid while she ran things in the background.

I teetered on the verge of a decision and finally took the plunge. "Right. What's happening with the Grays? They still coming over for dinner tonight?"

"The Gray Unit?" Kinsley clarified, a little worried.

"Yeah."

"There was a metric fuck-ton of washouts and knee-jerk butthurt because someone insisted on making the evaluation criteria pretty much impossible to pass. Few made it through. I think there's like, twenty right now, five to ten more if the current group passes the last round. But I thought we weren't going to activate them unless—"

I chuckled. "Well, since you're cooking, I'd say at least two."

"Why do I suddenly feel insulted? Whatever. Two mercenaries, hot off the presses. Where do you want to meet them?"

"Mom. How many times do I have to tell you not to open the door for anyone who knocks? Probably trying to get us to sign with their guild. Basically sales people. Just, send them my details, I'll let them know we're not interested."

"Okay, I'll give them your contact. What... kind do you need?" There was a moment of silence. "Swear to god Matt, if you say wet-work, I'm about to get really concerned. Those guys freak me the hell out. Honestly, all of them do."

"Nothing like that. Bushed from the tower anyway. I'll probably see about fixing the TV first—"

"—so a tech guy—" Kinsley confirmed.

"—and then try to find someone willing to survey the house, assuming you still want to put it on the market."

There was a long silence. "... A recon guy?"

"Uhuh."

"Got it. Should reach out to you within the hour."

"Great."

"Anything else?" Kinsley asked.

There was.

Promises I needed to keep regardless of circumstance. Commitments I'd either made directly, or to myself. Ironically, my life was far fuller now than it had ever been before the dome. There were people I needed to account for. People who'd gone to bat for me over and over. Even when it hurt them. Only I could no longer assume there were months, or even weeks to pay them back.

The only day I was guaranteed was today.

On the long list of people I owed, Kinsley stood head and shoulders above the rest. It was easy to forget, in the chaos, how much I expected from her. How reliably she delivered. An adult twice her age would have struggled under the responsibility, crumpled from stress alone, and yet, she'd never faltered.

I'd sensed from the beginning that we were kindred spirits. Survivors. In a way that was wrong. Because Kinsley was more loyal than I'd ever been.

It wasn't how I pictured it happening in my mind. This was absolutely going to be rushed, probably a little messy. But if I didn't do it now I might never get a second chance.

"I'm thinking about going by the office and dragging Dad out. He's been working too hard—can't even remember the last time we all ate dinner together."

Another long silence. "Okay, I'm stumped. Your dad's dead and mine's involuntary live-in Necromancing for the Order."

"Uhuh. Might want to tidy up his office. After dinner he'll probably keep working, but at least he'll be home."

There was a muffled sound. Almost a whimper. "Is... is this for real? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just... uh... be prepared? You know how edgy he gets when he's alone too long."

Kinsley responded in a gush of words with barely any spaces in between. "Of course. I have a place for him that's secure and away from prying eyes, there's already a live-in therapist on payroll and I'm sure I can snap up a few orderlies from somewhere, I should—I should hire a chef to prepare his favorite foods! God there's so much I want to show him, but I'll be careful, of course. Maybe—I... I... I can't believe this is actually happening. You're actually making it happen."

"My one redeeming quality. Or so I've been told."

The rational, monstrous side of me whinged at the decision. It was the last piece of leverage I had over Kinsley. With her father back under her roof and care, she was entirely self-sufficient. If she decided tomorrow our working relationship was too much hassle, I had little recourse.

But it was better than leaving her high and dry if this went south and Miles put me in the ground. To that point, I knew Kinsley. She would have taken care of my family, regardless. Only this way, there would be no bitterness or regret.

Kinsley laughed, sniffled again, then stilled. "I've heard how you sound scared out of your mind before. This isn't that."

"I'm fine."

"Heard that before too. But what you're doing and what you're saying isn't lining up." Kinsley continued, suspicion punctuating her words.

"How do you figure?" During our exchange, I'd reached the parking lot. As far as I could tell, no one had followed me out of the tower. Azure had taken the far more recognizable Prius, so that meant it was finally time for the back-up car. I selected the system-clone Chevy Cavalier in my inventory and spawned it in the middle of three open spaces, turquoise wireframe manifesting as soon as the obstruction checks were passed.

Beneath the otherwise fresh coat of eggshell paint it looked like a beater. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Exactly what I needed.

"Because you've been so tired lately. And now you're doing the same thing Dad used to do, when his depression got out of hand. Putting things to rest." Her voice was small.

I muted myself and swore, resisting a sudden urge to pound the steering wheel with a fist. "It's okay, Kinsley, really."

"Yeah. He said that too."

Surrendering, I leaned my head back on the seat's blobby, uncomfortable cushion and gave her a short summary of what had happened, and how it all went down. "Honestly, I can't really say how bad it is. Miles isn't some random asshole. We have history, some good, some terrible. I can't read him consistently. The guy's got decades of experience and countless accolades under his belt, so while there's a possibility I'm overreacting and this all goes away after we establish a foundational rapport, there's a chance he's just letting me think that."

There was a barely audible sigh. "I'll help however I can. Of course I will. But you're not giving up? Not just going to accept whatever he decides, lay down and give up?"

If Miles did it right, I'd never see it coming.

"Quitting's never really been my thing," I assured her.

"Good. Text everything when you can. Any additional details you can think of."

"Will do."

"Don't waste this time, Matt. As thrilled as I am that Dad's coming home, do whatever you have to do to make it through this."

"Working on it. Promise."

"Okay."

I disconnected the line, quickly info-dumped the events of the tower into text form, and sent it off.

Then began a long, meandering drive towards Miles' address.

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