Burning Eden: A LitRPG Digital Thriller

By Olivia L. Strom

An FBI agent, lost in a world of digital fantasies - but the danger is very real…

FBI agent Maynard Haile believes in old-school policing.  He’s never touched the incredibly popular virtual reality world of Eden Online, and he’s got no intention of starting now…

…until his fellow agents assigned to the case start dying - killed by something inside the game itself.

Paired with Alyx Jirra, a half-reformed hacker who’s reluctantly chosen to help the authorities instead of accepting a jail sentence, Haile takes his first steps into the massively multiplayer world of Eden Online.  He’s on a deadline, trying to find the responsible parties while navigating this wild new world.  But there’s a conspiracy, deeper than anyone realizes, twisting and altering the world of Eden itself.  

Violence is about to spill out of the digital world and into reality.  Eden Online is no longer just a game; it’s life and death.

***

BURNING EDEN is a science fiction, cyberpunk novel in the style of literary role-playing games, or LitRPGs.  A full novel at more than 50,000 words, it promises a harrowing and action-filled look at a new world - where it’s a fight just to survive, but no limit to where your ambition can carry you...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia L. Strom
• Release date: Mar 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386828327

Book preview

Burning Eden: A LitRPG Digital Thriller

Chapter One

*

Tarot looked around at the high cliffs as he slowly advanced forward, watching his shadow grow deeper. He tried to hold his head high, tried to keep up his confidence, but he felt it slipping and fraying at the edges. For once, the area of the Dark Lord's Lair actually seemed, well, forbidding.

Pausing for a moment, he checked his defensive wards, ensuring that his spells were still in place. They were, of course; nothing had changed since he last checked, two minutes earlier. Still plenty of time on the shields, even without the perks that extended their durations before they'd need to be recast.

Tarot snorted to himself, a little of his natural swagger returning. Amateurs. No one who actually read up on the forums, researched the most advanced and effective builds, ever bothered with perks like that. The real players, the ones who thought about true strategy, made sure to put as many points as possible into offensive attacks as they leveled up their skill trees.

Twisting his right hand as he moved through the spell menu – a menu that Tarot knew better than the back of his own hand – he brought up a Level 8 Disintegrate spell, holding it at the ready. Reassured by the thrumming of its energy, vibrating against the insides of his fingers, he continued his advance into the Dark Lord's Lair.

The area had been scary when the Eden designers first revealed it, Tarot remembered. He hadn't been around back then, but it still intimidated him when he first grew strong enough to venture inside its boundary, to attack some of the monsters that dwelled within its region.

Now, of course, he didn't have anything to fear from the monsters of the zone. Thanks to weapon upgrades and spell modifiers, he could easily send anything here, short of a world boss, all the way to kingdom come with a single bolt of energy.

The natural monsters – the non-player characters, or NPCs, didn't give Tarot any pause. But he knew that, somewhere deep within these bleak and dreary crags, lurked monsters of a different sort.

If he put one foot out of place, they'd destroy him.

Tarot pulled up the logfile that he'd been given, that he'd worked on for hours to crack its cipher. The instructions hidden within had told him to come here, to enter into the Forgotten Maze area of the Dark Lord's Lair. Back when he cracked the cipher, Tarot remembered feeling a huge surge of excitement, of victory over the shifting algorithm that nearly stymied him.

Now, he struggled to hold onto some of that excitement, to feel anything but dread and a growing insistence that he needed to turn back. Think of the power, he told himself. Think of the prestige.

Think of how, after the Rebirth, you'll be more powerful in Eden than you ever could hope to attain on your own.

That thought, more than anything else, lent him strength. He advanced forward, entering into the Forgotten Maze. Four huge statues guarded the entrance, their shadows falling forward over him as he passed them and entered the narrow stone corridors of the maze proper.

Tarot paused for a moment, frowning. Four statues? He only remembered two-

He spun around, bringing up his right hand. The Disintegrate spell glowed brightly in his fingers as he spread them out, searching for a target. He stared into the dusk behind him, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his ears.

You were summoned. The voice, heavy and thunderous as an avalanche, rolled out of the darkness.

He needed to respond. Yes, Tarot called out, hating how his voice cracked a little on that single word. I cracked the code, accepted the invitation. I was called here, and I've come to take what's mine!

It sounded like a good speech in his head. He heard nothing from the dusky gloom around him for a moment – and then his ears, on high alert, caught the thumping of approaching footsteps.

Two sets of footsteps – and they sounded heavy.

Like the Kraken rising from the depths of the ocean, two faces appeared out of the mist. Minotaurs, bull heads on top of huge, heavily muscled and hair-coated bodies. They wielded great-axes in their massive hands, the heads big enough to chop a small cottage in half. Their eyes glinted as they stared down at Tarot. He saw their noses flaring, beads of snot dripping down into their thick beards, and, distantly, found himself marveling at the level of detail that Eden designers put into all of their creations.

Tarot relaxed a little at the sight of the minotaurs. They looked intimidating, sure, but he'd seen them before. These were just recolored models from the Raid of the Hedges, with new weapon skins. He'd fought those monsters before, and guessed that the same tactics would apply with these versions.

You were summoned, Tarot, one of the minotaurs spoke, its voice deep as a chasm. You were given a location...

...and a password, its companion finished the sentence, tightening its grip on the massive great-axe in its hands.

Tarot paused, his anxiety creeping back up a notch. Minotaurs were just generic enemy NPCs, regarding everything not in their faction as hostile – and as far as he'd been able to tell, there wasn't any way to join their faction. They didn't normally speak. Had someone hacked these particular NPCs, given them custom script templates, coded them to recognize his player name?

Yes, I have the password, he said quickly, his eyes flicking towards those huge axes. If some rogue programmer had created these monsters, he might have also put a few nasty spell surprises on their weapons, something to catch the unwary attacker off guard.

Provide it, snarled one of the huge beasts.

Tarot didn't speak in response. Instead, with a cocky grin that he hoped seemed convincing, he pulled up the deciphered file, finding the right chunk of code that he'd decrypted out of the complex hash. He activated it in his free hand, not quite willing to let go of the Disintegrate spell just yet.

From his left hand emanated a single note, high and pure. After a second, the note seemed to split, transforming into a dozen chords, conflicting and yet perfectly in harmony with each other at the same time. A bright light glowed out from his hand, one that reflected back from the round orbs of the minotaurs' eyes and momentarily cut away the shadows that lurked in the Forgotten Maze.

The incredibly complex chord died slowly away, its tones faintly echoing back from the dozen pathways that branched ahead of him. The minotaurs remained impassive, still staring down at him, but they at least didn't appear to be moving forward to kill him.

That was a good sign, Tarot decided.

Finally, just as he got ready to open his mouth and ask what he needed to do next – the instructions didn't tell him what to do beyond providing the password to the guardians, at the proper location – the minotaurs shifted once again. Correct, boomed out the one nearest to Tarot, as they both strode forward.

For a second, Tarot shrank back, fearing that, despite providing the right password, they would still attack. Maybe he needed to defeat both of them in combat to demonstrate that he had the combat skills to join Rebirth?

Even as he once again raised his right hand, however, the minotaurs simply strode past him, one passing on each side of him. They advanced into the Forgotten Maze – and ahead of them, the Maze itself seemed to shimmer, twisting to reveal a new, straight path, leading deep into the heart of the twisted passages.

The minotaurs didn't speak, but Tarot followed after them. A glance behind him revealed that this new path vanished about fifty feet back. If he lost them, he'd be stuck in the Forgotten Maze – and he, in his excitement at solving the cipher, hadn't thought to bring his map of the region. He could log out and search for once, of course, but that would take days of in-game time, and he'd have to start over from square one for joining Rebirth...

Tarot broke off that thought, picking up his pace a little as he trotted after the twin minotaurs.

They walked for several minutes in oppressive silence. Tarot wished that he'd known there would be this much walking. It was in the game, of course, but his legs were still moving in reality, enough to activate the receptors in his synaptic suit. He'd paid a hefty price for the suit, drooling over its ability to translate his movements directly into in-game motion – no more need for keyboard controls! But he still wasn't totally used to just how much effort it took to move around Eden, to walk for the long distances that his character needed to cover. Thank goodness for mounts.

On a whim, Tarot tried to cast his mount spell, calling up his ebon steed. Unsurprisingly, however, a skeletal horse failed to materialize. Already, it was becoming clear to him that he was leaving the game's natural environment, going to somewhere... else.

An off zone.

Most people, of course, knew about the existence of off zones. The term simply referred to any part of Eden that was created by players, rather than by official game designers. As Eden swelled in popularity and swept around the globe, players clamored for more content than the developers could build – and some of the more enterprising players took matters into their own hands, putting their coding skills to use and creating new environments where they could relax or adventure.

Heck, Tarot even owned an off zone of his own. Most hackers owned at least one, usually several. It had become something of a rite of passage – and a way of proving his skills, trying to code deeply interactive and intricate environments.

This one, however, didn't seem particularly impressive. Sure, the creator had managed to hide its entrance in the middle of the Forgotten Maze, which was a feat in and of itself, but they hadn't bothered with any detail. Formless gray fog swirled around Tarot, obscuring any details. The ground beneath his feet was just a default sand texture, probably cloned and repeated every dozen feet or so.

Here, one of the minotaurs grunted out, as the pair ground to a halt.

Tarot looked around, not sure why his escorts had stopped. They just stood in the middle of nothing, with more gray sand underfoot and nothing but swirling mist in all directions. What was he supposed to be seeing?

He turned to the two minotaurs – and froze, the question dying on his lips.

Both of the guards stood in front of him, side by side. They'd brought the handles of their great-axes down to stab into the sand, the blades pointing up – and between those tall handles, each one nearly ten feet in height, energy crackled back and forth. First, just a couple of bolts leapt from one handle to the other, but more and more followed, until a near-solid wall of energy hung in the air between those two weapon handles.

What am I supposed to do? Tarot asked, staring, transfixed, at the wall of blindingly bright energy.

Enter, intoned one of the minotaurs in response.

For a moment, Tarot hesitated. That much energy spoke of a very powerful spell, indeed. Someone who could summon up that much power could be very dangerous to meddle with, and if the portal in front of him wasn't properly coded, it could dump him into just about anywhere – or worse, throw him out of Eden entirely...

Enter, the minotaur repeated, and Tarot took a deep breath. He'd come this far, he reminded himself. He couldn't turn around now.

Unlimited power, he repeated to himself. Rebirth. This is my chance to have all that I want, to make my dreams come true.

The minotaurs kept on staring down at him impassively, showing no sign that they even heard his words. Tarot glanced up at them one last time and then, with a sigh, let the Disintegrate spell fade from between the fingers of his right hand.

I've come this far, he said aloud, one more time.

He strode forward, into the gate of crackling, burning energy that stood between the twin weapons of the minotaurs, and vanished from the world.

Chapter Two

*

Crouching in the back of the van, Special Agent Maynard Haile resisted the urge to scratch. He knew from past experience that scratching the itch only made things worse. It never went away, no matter how he adjusted his position.

And besides, his treacherous mind added, the itching was just one of a dozen small bothers that plagued him. He'd been holding this crouched position for too long, and his knees were starting to grow more vocal with their complaints. The Kevlar vest was heavy and swelteringly hot, especially in the cramped and trapped air of the van.

How's it look? he murmured softly.

In front of him, the tech reached up and adjusted the knobs on a couple of the pieces of electronic equipment that filled almost half of the van's interior. We're getting good signal, he responded calmly. Haile tried not to feel envious of the man's lack of a heavy vest – but then again, he was just a tech, a computer geek. He wasn't going to be charging into the thick of things as soon as they received the signal. We just need to get oral confirmation that our target is inside.

Haile tried to stifle his irritation, and almost succeeded. It wasn't the tech's fault, after all. And he'd gladly trade a dozen hours of crouching uncomfortably in the back of the van for a single botched raid. They'd been planning this for months, stalking their prey like a spider weaving its web.

And now, finally, they were only seconds from nabbing the damn bastard, catching him in his own web of criminal enterprise, as soon as someone said his damn name.

Oh, hold on, the tech suddenly spoke up, reaching forward and adjusting one of the knobs, turning it to the right. We've got something.

Haile and the others inside the van froze, not even breathing, as they listened to the scratchy and distorted voice playing through the van's interior speakers. ...and you're not going to botch this shipment by refusing to get a receipt, Bugsy, are ya? growled a hoarse voice.

Not a chance, piped up another voice, this one more high-pitched. Come on, Ozzy. You can trust me not to let you down. Er, again.

Ozzy, Haile hissed to the others inside the van, the thump of his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears. That's him. We have confirmation that he's inside.

Sure took long enough, didn't it? cracked one of the other SWAT team members, but Haile cut the laughter with a sharp jerk of his head.

Celebrate after the bastard's on the ground in cuffs, he barked. Now, just like we've done in practice. Jones, you've got the ram, and you're out of the way as soon as the hit connects. Driscoll, you flank left, Houston covers right. I go center and nail this wannabe kingpin before he knows what's happening. Got it?

The other men nodded, their smiles vanishing from their faces as they snapped to readiness. They all knew better than to even think of talking back to Agent Haile. Hands flicked over weapons, running last-second checks to make sure that shotguns were loaded, that pistol holster straps were open.

Haile drew his own pistol from his shoulder holster. Combined with the added bulk of the vest, it tended to bump against his arm when he ran – and besides, he wanted it close to hand in case they ran into trouble inside. Let's go, he ordered, reaching out and flinging open the back door of the van.

The fresh air of outdoors felt revitalizing against Haile's sweat-beaded skin, but the senior agent barely even noticed the breeze. Adrenaline pounded through his veins, and his attention remained completely focused on the other members of the SWAT team as they charged ahead, assuming their positions.

Just as they rehearsed, Haile had told them – and the team performed admirably. Jones came in with the battering ram, a three-foot-long, concrete filled steel tube with handles at each end. He swung the forty-pound mass into the front door of the abandoned warehouse across the street from the van, and the entire door fell off its hinges with a crunch of rotten wood giving way.

Even before the door hit the ground, well before the echoes of the collision died away, Driscoll and Houston were both through the entrance, MP5s up and ready to engage any hostiles they encountered. Down! Down on the ground! Houston shouted, as if the sudden invasion of a dozen SWAT agents wasn't enough to convince their opponents that they were thoroughly outgunned.

Haile bounded forward, advancing up the middle. Ahead of him, he saw a scene of order, now on the verge of spilling into chaos. He'd entered in that single breathless moment before the action begins, the moment of decision as to whether to fight or flee.

A huge metal table stood in the middle of the open area inside the warehouse, stacked high with kilogram-sized bundles of plastic-wrapped white powder. Several trucks had been driven inside of the warehouse and stood with their trunks oriented towards the table, presumably ready to receive the shipments after they'd been examined and processed. Half a dozen men stood around the table, their hands busy with the chemistry of weighing and testing the purity of the drugs – but Haile only had eyes for one.

Osbourne Ozzy Higgins, hillbilly turned drug kingpin. The target of Haile's web for the last few months, and an extremely difficult man to track down. For what felt like ages of fruitless work, he'd been nothing more than a ghost, a whispered name from the low-level drug pushers that Haile's team busted and interrogated.

But now, finally, Haile stood face to face with the man.

In person, Ozzy didn't look quite as intimidating as his reputation suggested – but Haile remained steadfast, his training keeping him on high alert. The man wore a stained wife-beater that stretched over a prodigious gut, while a pair of camo fatigues struggled to keep themselves anchored around his waist. He stood behind the table of drugs, his hands dangling loosely at his sides.

What the hell is this!? Ozzy erupted, glaring across the table at the SWAT team, watching a dozen automatic weapons swing up to point in his direction. His hands twitched at his sides, and Haile knew with a bone-chilling certainty that the man was packing heat.

Hey Ozzy, Haile answered the druglord casually, even as his eyes watched the other man's face for the slightest twitch to betray his actions. Remember down in Tulsa, when you shot those three police officers because they made the mistake of opening up the back of the semi trailer?

He saw the man's face pinch in recognition. So? he grunted.

You pushed the door open from the inside, after you fired the first shot, Haile said easily. Keep his voice calm, casual, deescalating the situation. You had to push it open, so you could shoot the second patrolman before he could think to run away. Remember?

So? Ozzy grunted again. His hands