Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (2 page)

Dmitry was my brother in name alone. I'd been nine when Dad had left us. I’d only met his other son decades later. The meeting had been neither particularly warm nor cold—it had been bland. He was the one who'd found me. We'd met, seen each other and parted. Just before we left, he told me that Dad had died fifteen years ago. Before he died, he'd asked him to find and meet me. That was it, basically. I was curious though how they knew about him. Then again, why should that have surprised me?

“What a shame,” Shantarsky chanted. “According to our information, your brother is doing very well. He has an apartment in the center of Moscow and a large country house. With him as guarantor, your loan is as good as settled.”

Something clicked in my head. My first impulse was to grab the phone and call him. Thank God I still had his number! He'd given it to me just in case. The solution was so simple!

Then I felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. This just wasn't right. I smelled a rat there somewhere. Did they really take me for an idiot? Or did they think I was that desperate?

“I'm afraid it's not that simple,” I said. “I'm sorry. I do appreciate your concern.”

He gave me a look of disappointment. Oh well. Sorry to have rained on your parade, mister. But I still had to call my brother. He needed to know about this conversation.

Shantarsky sprang from his chair making it clear our meeting was over. We shook hands and I headed for the exit—again.

I needed money. I needed it now. We had very little left, barely enough to keep Christina in the clinic for two more weeks. That was all we had left in our bank account. Then we still had to find the fifty thousand dollars for the advance payment to the Japanese. And even more money to pay for the clinic.

I staggered. Was I shaking? It didn't look as if anyone in the bank had noticed. Good. Sympathy was the last thing I needed now.

Call my brother.
The thought filled my mind, drilling through it. That could be a way out. Surely he'd understand our situation. Of course he would. I wasn't asking him to gift it to us. I'd work to pay it back. All of it, interest included. I'd work my butt off for him.

As I stepped out, my eye fell on the same poster with its medieval costumes and happy smiles. I slowed down. I might as well check it out.

I reached into my pocket for my broken glasses. Only one glass had survived my fall even though it had cracked in the process. Had someone told me ten years ago that I wouldn't be able to afford a new pair of glasses! Having said that, of course I could. But I didn't want to. I could do without them. Every cent we spent was shrinking Christina's time in the clinic.

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 there, 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.”