Tetsuko insisted we stay the night and, since we weren’t in a rush, we obliged. After that, she showed us to our respective rooms.
On an unrelated note, not only was the mansion entirely solar-powered, but it also had an emergency generator tucked away in the basement and gasoline reserves for days.
I liked to keep my phone off to save battery, but seeing as the likelihood of a complete power outage was virtually nonexistent, I switched it back on.
It might’ve been a relic of the past, but the phone still had its uses: namely, the GPS and the internet. I’d be able to use the latter as long as the servers had access to a constant feed of electricity, which an overwhelming majority did.
“It’s go time.” I got into bed and fired up Field Battle’s website, which I had set as my homepage.
Raven’s little caricature popped up in the corner as usual. I stared at the screen for a little while before finally opening my mouth.
“Raven, what—no. Who are you?” I manually activated the site’s built-in speech-to-text feature and cut right to the chase.
Balance suggestions, user reports—anything remotely related to the game’s well-being went through Raven via voice or text. Chatting capabilities, however, were beyond her programming.
“I’m Raven, G-Wood’s head of operations.” A series of letters shot across her speech bubble, forming one out of a handful of automated responses.
Raven was indeed part of a private military company, at least according to in-game canon. Her official duties included, but were not limited to, post-game announcements, legal matters, ammo restocking, and bounty notices.
“Don’t play games with me. I know you led me here,” I said as I watched my words spill onto the screen.
“I don’t know what that means.” Yet another automated response.
“You tipped Shino off too, didn’t you?”
We had rushed over to Shino’s place almost immediately after receiving the notification, yet she had known we’d be coming well in advance. It couldn’t have been anyone but Raven, the AI that had control over Field Battle’s various social features... or someone trying to pass themselves off as her. AI technology simply hadn’t reached the point where Raven could act autonomously, so it had to be a living, breathing human being orchestrating the entire thing. I just knew it.
“I don’t know what that—”
“The jig is up. Answer me, you impostor!” I growled, not that the speech-to-text feature could convey such minor nuances. The text on the screen felt mechanical, lifeless.
I already know you’re just gonna say, “I don’t know what that means” again, I thought bitterly.
“Would you like to reset?”
I blinked. Or not.
“You’re losing me.”
“In order to reset, you will have to clear the newly released campaign.”
Was the imposter threatening to wipe my toon for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong? Or maybe there was something else going on here?
“Clear it,” she said.
“I still don’t get it.”
I was sure Shino would let me get online, but between you and me, I really wasn’t feeling it for a multitude of reasons. For starters, I was exhausted both physically and mentally, seeing as life had shifted into hard mode one fateful night, not to mention—
“Wait...”
Assuming that the impostor really was observing our every move, surely they would’ve taken that into consideration. Then why...?
“Clear it,” she insisted.
A “reset” is basically a “do-over” in common parlance. Does “do-over” ring any bells?
“You’re losing it.”
What if I’m just some loony NEET who has lost the ability to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not, and I’m actually stuck in a perpetual VR game? It’s either that or—
“Gather your party, collect resources, fight side by side, and you too can be victorious! Always remember, teamwork makes the dream work!”
“Seriously, I don’t understa—”
“A prize awaits you at the end, so what’re you waiting for? In order to sign up, simply repeat after me!” Raven’s caricature turned to face me with a cute little animation sequence. “Survive, and humanity may flourish once again.”