In an unmarked medical helicopter, choppy noise and erratic vibrations made Thane’s head swim despite the soundproofing of this tail compartment.

He wiped cold sweat off his forehead, glanced at passing suburbs of identical houses. Not a single civilian car was on the roads. Militarized police vehicles distributed supplies, and ambulances waited by blue tents at the park. One stationary ambulance started shining red, putting Thane on alert, but its lights turned off after a few seconds. Whether it was a driver making a mistake or an intended test didn’t matter; this was hell on Earth.

Although, this was tame compared to what was happening at city centers where Air Force drones kept watch over skyscraper apartments that were now called death towers. There had been a mass outbreak at Goldrock Hotel ten miles from here. Now martial law was in effect for the entire region. Dozens if not hundreds had been killed in riots, still nothing compared to the death toll—over a hundred million worldwide.

The suburbs abruptly ended. Thane’s brain sloshed into the back of his skull, the helicopter accelerating over bushy hills and power pylons along the interstate highway. Barrens suddenly became green as they flew over a thick, uniform forest for two miles, then hills flattened into and endless desert. The helicopter approached a landing pad among a collection of white oblong buildings. A beastly military truck exited the main gate.

The door buzzed open with a hiss. Two men in yellow hazmat suits calmly walked inside and lifted Thane’s air-tight chamber-seat by its handles. Skin around the younger man’s eyes paled at the sight of blood on the glass. They carried him toward a spacious warehouse segregated from the rest of the compound. His eyes searched for Cade, but he wasn’t inside. Neither was anyone else. The men placed Thane in a plastic quarantine box, then left, closing the door.

Surgical robotic arms were waiting.

He expected a hologram from Cade; instead, an arm with three fingers briskly unsealed Thane’s chamber-seat. Another tightly grasped his wrist. A third injected colorless liquid into his IV catheter.

Straight to the point, he mused. Just the way I like it—none of Cade’s nervous stalling for once.

Drowsiness weighed down his body. His eyes rolled upward.

The next thing he knew, he was disembodied inside a black expanse, exactly like logging into virtual reality, except a black expanse usually meant a bad Quantumnet connection, server issues, or a malfunctioning VR pod. The cog symbol at the bottom-right corner of his vision was missing. He couldn’t log out.

Virtual reality was now his reality, period.

Uppercase letters in a thin Arial font appeared.

UPLOAD COMPLETE

The procedure worked, painlessly. Just like that, his life on Earth was over. In an instant. He was now a digital copy of himself stored inside a top-secret, experimental computer. A touch of claustrophobia pushed inward on his mind. He suddenly wanted his biological body back. Any body. Even his drugged-up diseased body. His emotions were disturbingly magnified.

He took a deep breath, figuratively. He cleared his mind by imagining a brick wall.

Nothing happened for a minute. The letters remained, as though the system had glitched and needed a reboot. He stayed composed, reasoning they were ironing out last second technical kinks. His mind was intact. His memories were clear, from his earliest childhood recollections at daycare to his final moments with the robotic arms and their stubby silver fingers.

A second minute passed. The letters didn’t go away.

Then a third minute.

Loudly he thought, Hello? Anyone there? Can I get an update? Does someone need to hit a reset button? Cade, are you listening? Anyone? Hello? What’s happening out there? Fuck, what’s happening? Hell—

The letters vanished. Orchestral music echoed, starting with a flute blowing a long, mellow note. He had heard it before—Eventide’s theme. The flute was joined by steady, quiet drumming and violins that intensified into a cascading nature melody.

Mountains faded in before a flat valley and river. Rain drizzled. As the music reached a crescendo, lightning flashed, striking a dead tree in the far distance, blotting the scene with white light. In the tree’s place stood a lone figure.

The camera zoomed in. Labeled sliders appeared, but they were grayed out. Thane’s character appearance was pre-set: anemic skin, hollow cheeks, blood-red eyes, wild shoulder-length hair, and the usual fanged teeth. His name was unknown, open to interpretation. He was a Human Vampire but would absolutely stand out in a crowd as something different.

Something monstrous.

He mentally hit the accept button, and the sliders fell away.

The scene dimmed as a row of four symbols for base classes was presented: sword, shield, staff, and bow. Swordsman, Shieldbearer, Mage, and Ranger. The latter two were suited for a wilderness start, Ranger having slightly more advantages with its traps and general stealthiness. But he was going to build into Spellblade, so he selected the mangled staff and hit accept.

The scene faded to black.

Letters in a cursive script were written.

Your ancient stasis curse has been broken. You are an awoken Vampire from a lost time. You don’t know who you are, or who created you. You wander the lands in search for answers.

Fair enough. Plenty of room for interpretation.

His sense of balance rotated ninety degrees. Skin—his skin—chafed against coarse stone. He breathed through his nose, catching a moldy whiff off his torn cotton shirt and pants. He flexed his long fingers, curled his toes. He was alive, but his heart did not beat. His mouth was dry, his throat and stomach burning in thirst. The smooth, sweet taste of blood was suddenly very appealing.

Sweet?

That must be the special adjustments Cade had mentioned. it did make sense that blood was sweet to a Vampire. Good call.

His eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness… because he was in a stone coffin. His fingertips fit into a gap, and he pushed with all his strength. The breeze was warm. Stars twinkled through hazy clouds. One constellation under the full moon was the Northern Hook. A brighter star over the horizon was Apotar. He wasn’t too far north.

He stood and stepped onto soil, his muscles a bit sore. His night time vision was greatly enhanced. He was in a shallow dry riverbed in a mountainous wasteland. Rock formations were abundant, looking like bad abstract art. Shrubs were the only plant life. No trees. This was going to be hard.

He rubbed his neck, touched a tender spot by his Adam’s apple. Two tender spots. The skin was indented—teeth marks. Vampirism was indeed a disease. A smirk cracked his bottom lip. He didn’t bleed. And at the thought of blood, his thirst returned in full burning intensity.

He shook his head and checked his character sheet. The game system immediately responded to his mental command, drawing a glowing crimson box.

Unnamed NPC

Level: 1 (0/1000 EXP)

Elite Tier: 0

Class: Mage

Race: Vampire

Spawnpoints: Granite Coffin

Strength: 3

Dexterity: 4

Vitality: 2

Mysticism: 7

Health: 102/102

Stamina: 104/104

Mana: 0/107

Hunger: 100%

He whistled. No mana regeneration—for a Mage. That hadn’t been the case for his Orcish character. He focused on his race, and a separate box appeared.

Vampire: You are immortal Undead given new life with ancient blood magics. You are empowered in darkness, weakened in sunlight. Blood is both your food and mana source, but you do not need sustenance to survive, and nor do you require sleep. You may not wield fire or holy magics, for these are your greatest weaknesses.

He was gimped half the time and couldn’t use most Mage skills on an empty stomach. Nice. He was already feeling the power of this ancient race. Total shit. But knowing Synaptic Entertainment, all these weakness were well thought out and balanced; blood magic had to be verging on overpowered territory.

And he was a World Elite, albeit tier 0, which he had never seen before. He focused on that line, another box appearing.

The gods have deemed you worthy for a great destiny. Tread carefully, for there are many who shall wish to slay you.

Tier 0 bonus: None

What was the point of tier zero? This was what Cade had meant by ad hoc code. At least it wasn’t full of glitches.

Thane stretched his arms and legs, then summoned his staff from his inventory. After a second delay, in a wink of red light it appeared in his righthand grasp. It was little more than an old stick. The wood was soft, gave way against his untrimmed nails, and would snap in a fist fight. He glared at its bulbous head, ordering it to spit out its stats.

Oak Staff (two-handed)

Durability: 82/100

Quality: 19 (Abysmal)

Physical Damage: 2

Magic Damage: 11

+1 Mysticism

Honestly, it was better than the rusty, blunt, statless shortsword that he had started with on his Orcish character. +1 Mysticism could be the difference between life and death, especially during these early levels. He was happy with the roll. He equipped it.

And his equipment sheet appeared, confirming that he did.

Head: None

Necklace: None

Torso: Cotton Shirt

Hands: None

Belt: None

Legs: Wool Pants

Feet: None

Left-hand Ring: None

Right-hand Ring: None

Cloak: None

Main-hand Weapon: Oak Staff (+1 Myst)

Off-hand Weapon: Unavailable

He dismissed the list, then remembered to actually check his inventory. Not all races spawned with only a starter weapon—for balance and lore reasons, of course. His eyes were met with twenty glass squares, one of which held a leather-wrapped bottle with a small ruby on the side.

Enchanted Flask

Durability: 92/100

Quality: 53 (Poor)

Capacity: 10

Contents: 2 Unknown Animal Blood

Contents Quality: 131 (Normal)

Eternal Freshness: the contents of this flask never spoil

His throat burned in the urge to drink. And case in point, Synaptic knew how to properly balance a weakness; however, two units of liquid was about equal to two ounces. An incline told him the blood-to-mana conversion ratio wasn’t very high. Maybe he had a passive skill for it.

He pulled up his skill list and found one entry standard to all Mages.

Active Skill: Mana Bolt (Novice 0)

Throw a sharp bolt of pure, typeless mana. Deals 100% weapon damage with full Mysticism multipliers.

That was all. No more game interfaces to check. He was alone in the middle of nowhere with no source of wood and an exposed spawn point. Well, it could be shittier. He shrugged and got to work, starting off by camouflaging his coffin under soil and shrubs. And then what? He eyed the mountains, in the mood for a midnight hike. Spelunking too.