If any of you recall an old discontinued (and by now since a long time deleted) story of mine named DGM, this is what became of it. Cheers!
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– A-I –
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Pain.
It was inexplicable – as it should not be possible – yet agonisingly real, to him at any rate.
His heart – pounding like crazy – seemed strangely intent on trying to open up a hole to escape his ribcage, possibly mirroring his own feelings about the matter and possibly not.
In either case, it resonated clearly within him much quicker and flightier than he remembered.
In the end, it was only what remained of his steely self-control that prevented his breathing from adopting the same erratic patterns, as a case of hyperventilation was nothing that he needed on top of it all, as he was already getting lightheaded enough from the blood oozing from the deep cut in his left palm.
Next to the slowly growing pool of dark red liquid lay a discarded helmet and he found himself regarding them both with a strange kind of detachment before his mind switched back into a more practical mode, cold sweat still clinging to his skin.
The injury was hardly a life-threatening one – not at all actually – but he still swayed a bit when he rose up from his seated position on the floor next to the couch.
The blood flow had yet to subside even as he had managed to drag himself over to the small bathroom and into it, running water over the cut both to clean it up and to wash away additional blood in order to get a better look at the cut itself.
What he glimpsed there – through the jet of water – had him abruptly withdrawing his hand and stumbling backwards.
Over the sink, his own reflection regarded him just as he regarded it, wearing mirroring expressions of shock.
Then, shock was once again forced to give way to his sense of self-preservation, which in turn allowed his sense of practicality free reign to ignore all abnormalities and to focus solely on the more important matter at hand, namely putting a stop to the bleeding.
Having virtually been forced to mummify his own hand to accomplish the aforementioned task, he finally sunk down into the couch, cradling his left hand whilst once again staring down at the small pool of blood and at the discarded helmet right next to it.
Once he finally came to – six hours and sixteen minutes later – there was no blood, and – unwinding the bandages to confirm for himself – he found that there was no wound there; no mark, no nothing.
That was the first time that he came to wonder whether or not he was going crazy.
It wasn't the last either, as he – despite knowing better – continued to pursue his goals, even whilst knowing what he did about just what they could end up costing him.
From the very start, he had known that it was a bad idea.
He had known it was a bad idea, and he had known it well, but…
But…
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It had been a stupid idea; he had known that much from the very start.
Besides, though he had always had a bit of an affinity for playing games, gaming ‒ online or otherwise ‒ had never been his forte.
Though he had always been a bit of a thrill seeker, his primary objective had always been money, and most games online tended to either cost money or be a waste of time, which was practically the same thing as far as Allen himself was concerned.
After all, it wasn't as though he had the liberty to be wasteful, and considering his current predicament, he would do well to continue keeping a low profile in real life.
After all, by now, social services ought to have become aware of the full extent of his situation, and as such, they ought to be out looking for him still, even after the number of months that had passed since he had gone underground.
As far as Allen himself was concerned, they ‒ them being the social services ‒ had been the ones at fault to begin with; leaving him at the mercy of a person like Cross, what had they been thinking?
On the other hand, in hindsight, it was something that Allen had grown to appreciate.
After all, even though it had been a very trying experience, it had certainly expanded his resourcefulness, and the latter had definitely been to his benefit upon his return to the UK, in attaining a financial lifeline and in going underground whilst he was at it.
After all, despite only just having turned sixteen, Allen Walker was resourceful.
Having travelled a lot both in his youth and with Cross, he had known better than to be deterred by the thought of living like a vagrant; he had done so before, and he would likely do so again at some point in time, but with CCTV-surveillance and certain people likely to be on the lookout for him, now was hardly the time for such endeavours.
Before that, before he could go out on his next adventure, money was needed.
Whether it was a stupid idea or not, he had needed money along with an escape, and when he had been presented with an option that provided a chance of both he had taken it, ignoring the possible repercussions of this decision.
Life was not a game; he knew that for a fact, but life still bore an ironic resemblance to it. If life was indeed a game, then he had gotten a very bad hand this round and was thereby bound to lose.
In turn, this led to the second thing that he had learned about life, namely that cheating might be risky, but it usually paid off more in the end than honesty did and in his position, honesty was hardly affordable, and especially not when there was money – no, his very financial independence – at stake.
Admittedly, a part of his occasionally rather unconventional upbringing had conditioned him to activities such as gambling, and a thrill seeker or not, he was well aware of the risks. However, risks or not, the foster care system was a place that he would rather not return to if he could avoid it.
Perhaps it was indeed so that he had just been exceptionally unlucky in regards to his placements, or perhaps higher powers merely despised cheaters such as him. Then again, having been disfavoured from the very start, he could either stay in the mud or rise from it using his own skills as opposed to luck, seeing that luck was far less reliable than skill.
Then again, that was not to say that luck was entirely useless…
Months prior, after secretly living on his own for more than a year, he had been summoned.
He had been summoned and he had accepted, dropping out of school and mostly off the face of the Earth whilst he was at it.
Admittedly, he had already made quite a name for himself in regards to truancy, so he had imagined that people had either already given up on him or ought to have been on the verge of doing so at that point.
Truthfully, this had suited him as he too had given up on his potential career as an academic when he had realised that he was probably screwed anyway, with or without decent GCSEs.
Even without having a slight record due to some minor instances of misdemeanour as they had put it, Allen had already known that in the eyes of mainstream society, he was – and had probably always been – a lost cause, which probably played a part in their decision not to remove him from his official guardian – Cross Marian – despite the man's obvious inability to act out the part.
Still, as had already been mentioned, in hindsight, this was something that Allen was thankful for. After all, whilst generally a lousy guardian and definitely a pathetic excuse for a human being as far as the lack of compassion was concerned, Cross had – upon dragging him all the way over to India and abandoning him there – ultimately made things easier for him. It had ultimately provided him with the leverage necessary to blackmail those responsible for putting him with Cross in the first place, keeping them from shoving him right back into the system when reports arose that Cross had been murdered – reports that were obviously bullshit, seeing that Cross was the type of person who would not die even if one very wittingly had a go at killing him.
Admittedly, there was also a slight chance that it was true and that the red-haired womanising drunkard was no more. All in all though, Allen was fairly convinced about that Cross had faked his own death in order to escape his escalating debts, and presumably also to cash in on some ridiculous life insurance through whoever was his current spouse.
In either case, Allen was content with the fact that he no longer had to deal with either, even if it did give rise to a problem in regards to who would stand in as his guardian until he reached his age of majority, as the chance of him becoming an emancipated minor was small, all things considered. Then again, he was hardly an expert on legalities now, was he?
As for the latter, he had rather come to wish that he had just a bit more knowledge in the matter when a job opportunity – which sounded more than just a tad too good to be true – had opted to present itself, leaving him in his current situation or predicament, depending on how one chose to view it.
Arkadia Online, developed by Ark Enterprises, was a VRMMORPG – a Virtual Reality Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game. In any case, both the acronym and the actual term were far too long for his taste, so he opted to use AO instead, which soon became the trend amongst most players.
Then again, compared to them ‒ to most of them, at any rate ‒ he was practically a veteran, having participated in the Beta Deal and everything.
Arkadia Online.
Despite its initial tediousness, the game eventually became kind of fun in itself as long as one had decent company – that is, none whatsoever – and kept it simple.
Hunt, sell, steal (subtly), sell, level up, rinse, repeat.
Complications were a bother; complications were unneeded.
Complications were…
He watched as a fair number of jellyfish bobbed up and down in the aquarium.
It had probably been a bad idea to come. Then again, he had a feeling that it would probably have been an equally bad idea not to come, all things considered.
Turning his head to the side, he surveyed his general surroundings, surveying the people moving about within them.
In real life, there were no tracking spells. And, seeing that they had not exchanged numbers or anything, making contact now was difficult, seeing that neither had informed the other of their actual name.
Gradually, he became more engrossed in crowd watching, up until the point that he visibly startled as a semi-familiar redhead stepped up right next to him, seemingly staring intently at the jellyfish out in the tank.
"Uwa… pretty."
That voice.
He shifted his posture slightly, turning his head a bit. "Lavi?"
The redhead shot him a sideways glance and a small grin. "Lavi Bookman."
He looked at the other, retaining his deadpan expression. "That's your real name."
The grin widened slightly. "It is."
"And you're really an American college student?"
"Yep."
He hesitated briefly. "Then what about…?"
"He's is my guardian ‒ well, used to be, I suppose. Bookman, that is," the other responded, turning towards him fully now. "Now, shall we get going, Red Rogue?"
He gave rise to an exasperated sigh. "As long as we're both being honest, I'm Allen."
An arched eyebrow met his response. "No last name?"
He snorted, averting his eyes. "Does it matter?"
"Heh." The other chuckled slightly turning on his heel. "I guess not."
Complications were a bother; complications were unneeded.
Complications were…
Despite supposedly knowing better, he followed.
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