## 2018:05:24:22:43 - Real Life: Dasomov's Apartment, Saratov, Russia

Dasomov yawned the kind that bears do when hibernation has begun, but no matter how great the temptation, he couldn't rest until the job was done. How long was it going to take? Like everyone else, he had things to do tomorrow. There had been many long evenings and sleepless nights working on the game until the wee hours of the morning, but he couldn't keep doing that. Forming his thumb and pointer finger in a V, he pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment. Staring at the monitor drained life out of his eyes with every second. I need to look away for a moment or I'm going to burn my retinas, he thought. Turning around to the farthest angle away from the screen, he faced his pilling sofa with a beer can tipped over in the middle.

"Whoops! Forgot to eat something."

He speed-walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer can. Raising it to his eyes and examining the label, he found himself contemplating on the absence of delight in its flavors. It was cheap beer in every respect, not merely inexpensive, but Dasomov never bothered experimenting with new foods. He would tell himself such picky-ness stole time from more important things and "you get what you pay for", but the truth he knew all too well: This was Russia, and he didn't live in the Kremlin. It's true he could have hopped a few blocks and grabbed a better, richer beer made by unlicensed professionals or a delectable and potentially deadly SCOBI from a sailor-turned-chef he knew, but there wasn't time.

Barrel-rolling the can in his fingers, he sighed and began reflecting on his situation. I don't spend my money on good food or invest in profitable ventures like I was taught, do I? "I deserve this, I guess," he said aloud. He turned to look at his computer and sighed again. I spend all my time on this game. Is my life really just this? A beer can and a computer? A crummy couch and an old refrigerator? He turned even more to glance at a picture on a wall of a Korean woman. His arm with the can fell to his side, the edges of his lips dipped gently downward to a degree barely measurable but clearly evident, and in his eyes there appeared a faraway look as though he were watching a boat float to heaven and he had missed it again. "How pathetic I am."

He shook his head, opened the beer, and took a big swig. This was no time for reflection, he told himself; he had a job to do, and time was ticking. Slipping back into his chair, he checked chat. Nothing yet on Noro301 nor the mysterious other gamer.

Doslad: "I double-checked the player count just to make sure the mysterious connection wasn't one of us. Sure enough, we're one over. No sign of him in the game yet, and I've wandered a number of existing root towns."

Zontna: "They could be anywhere."

Doslad: "No reports from anyone thus far, I see."

Zontna: "It's getting late, and sadly, I need to work tomorrow, so I'd like to wrap this up soon."

Kriegbrot: "Tomorrow you work? Now is early."

Doslad: "I've told Xil-Sta to bring in Noro301, but he hasn't responded."

Zontna: "He's still on delta server, right?"

Doslad: "I believe so."

Xil-Sta: "Sorry, I forgot to respond. I saw your message. We're reeling him in."

Doslad: "Find out what he wanted?"

Xil-Sta: "No, nothing unusual."

Doslad: "Did he ask about anything?"

Xil-Sta: "About where to find the most interesting stuff in the game."

Doslad: "What interesting stuff? Treasures? Tokens? Magic?"

Xil-Sta: "Monsters, actually. He wanted to fight the coolest monsters, particularly the ones with the best AI."

Whaaaaat? For a moment, Dasomov was confused. Could he really be just interested in gaming? Is there something special about monsters that he's interested in? Wait a second...

Doslad: "He's probably just trying to throw us off."

Xil-Sta: "Why? Couldn't he be just a fanatic gamer?"

Dasomov wasn't sure how to respond. It was true that the stalker seemed like an average gamer to the others, albeit he was awfully creepy. But Dasomov trusted his niece, and it was certain this mysterious individual behind Noro301 had either the power to stop a doctor from releasing a patient or was faking credentials or both. There was one sure way of finding out.

Doslad: " Zontna: Know anyone in the phone industry who needs a bonus outside his paycheck this month?"

Zontna: "No clue."

Doslad: "Oh, wait. I guess I'd know better than you."

Doslad: "My fault for asking."

Dasomov stood up and rushed over to his cell phone. The familiar artificial ring periodically buzzed his eardrums for a tense ten seconds. Come on! Pick up already!

"Dazzy!"

Dasomov smiled. He hated being called that, but at this particular moment, that greeting was anticipated with rare delight.

"Thanks for answering my call. I wasn't sure I could reach you this late at night."

"No problem. I'm awake for another hour usually. What's up?"

"Have a quiet place to listen in?"

"Sure, sure! Give me a minute."

The other man's voice went silent, but Dasomov could hear the muddled sound of footsteps on the other end.

"I'm back," said the man, his voice crackling a tad bit as he jiggled his phone and the connection was weakened. "Can you still hear me."

"Yes."

"Good. Ok, whatcha need? More work? 'Cause I got it for ya."

"That'd be great, but I have a favor to ask of you first. I'll ask about the work after I finish something up on my plate at the time."

"Special favor?"

"Special."

"Lay it on me."

"It's nice to know we can have a private conversation," said Dasomov, insinuating the opposite. He knew the other man would catch his drift.

"Tell me about it," confirmed the man in subtle sarcasm disguised as pleasant optimist. Speaking as they often did, it was possible for one to give the other a white-coated-frosting cake at a public party and hint to each other how it was mud - and not a chocolate sponge - inside without so much as tipping off the most talented of eavesdroppers. Their mutual understanding was a legendary talent, but Dasomov considered it a simple necessity in Russia.

"It's kind of blessing we share with the dogs. Except they think we can't understand them."

"Reminds me, I don't think I've ever asked you what kind of dogs you like. Let me know, and I'll give you one."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it. I usually like the ones I see in the pet store around the Saratov hospital. I nice one caught my eye a week and a half ago. It was an odd dog, not one you'd usually hear barking in that part of town. I guess that's what made it so interesting."

"Sounds like your type. I'll fetch him for ya."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Want me to look tomorrow?"

"Actually, you could probably check him out tonight. The internet has everything you need to find the dog you want."

There was a chuckle. "Indeed! Ok, I'll have a look or I'll ask a buddy of mine. What's this dog look like? Give me a good description."

Dasomov had a pause and dig into his memory. Exactly what did he know about the stalker? Anastasia hadn't given him a physical description - not that that would help. There was no clue about his actual voice or what he said. Dasomov had to take a guess and be a little more revealing than he wanted, but maybe, just maybe, he thought, the KGB listening in on his conversation wouldn't care about his phone call much less decipher the code of his conversation.

Dasomov took a deep breath. "Uuuummmm... He's a kind of German Shepherd in personality. He'd scare your doctor and keep him and his patients bottled up in a room all day if you ever set him loose."

"My doctor's a pretty tough guy," replied the other man, going along with the gag. "This must be some serious dog. You sure you want him at your apartment?"

"If I tame him, my little niece will be very impressed."

"Ah. Looking to please the little tykes, eh? What's your niece's name?"

"Anastasia."

"Got it. Cool, well I'll check out this beast and let you know if I find him. Give my regards to your niece."

"Thanks! Will do!"

The two men spat out some obligatory parting words and hung up. *click*

"Uuuugh... Well, I guess I don't mind him calling me 'Dazzy' tonight, for one night only," the serious software hacker admitted. Once in a while, I'll embrace that child within. Dasomov turned to look at his computer and suddenly recognized the magnificent irony in his own thought. A brief chuckle burped from his nostrils, and he shook his head with a smile. "Silly me. ... Whatever."