SKYE is the Limit

By Phenomenal Pen

THE ONLY WAY OUT IS AWAKE.

Eighteen-year-old Rafa Cruz has aged out of foster care and is living on the streets. He’s a busker and a petty thief. By a strange quirk of fate, a smartphone that he has stolen wins him a slot as one of the few beta-testers of a revolutionary technology called “SKYE”.     

OmniSys, the world’s largest technology company, has discovered a way to combine lucid dreaming with the experience of RPG. They select five young adults from across the globe to take part in the trial run of SKYE: a backpacker, a veterinary student, a fitness motivator, a brittle bone disease survivor and… Rafa, a pickpocket. The Astralblazers, as they’re fondly dubbed by the press, will journey through the highly unpredictable environment of their collective dream to meet a mystical character known as Atom the God of Creation.

The Astralblazers must learn to harness their imaginations and innate mana, which take the guise of guardian spirits called Anima. Along the way, they’ll encounter unicorns, dragons, Orcs, Goblins and a host of other fantastic beings. With each monster battle they face, they earn XP, stats and equipment, becoming powerful and hardened survivors.

The game designer, however, has been keeping secrets from the Astralblazers. One of their teammates, in the waking world, has suffered hemorrhaging in the limbic region of her brain. If her character dies inside SKYE, the other players will become trapped in the game.        

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phenomenal pen
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9791223033883

Book preview

THE ONLY WAY OUT IS AWAKE.

Eighteen-year-old Rafa Cruz has aged out of foster care and is living on the streets. He’s a busker and a petty thief. By a strange quirk of fate, a smartphone that he has stolen wins him a slot as one of the few beta-testers of a revolutionary technology called SKYE.     

OmniSys, the world’s largest technology company, has discovered a way to combine lucid dreaming with the experience of RPG. They select five young adults from across the globe to take part in the trial run of SKYE: a backpacker, a veterinary student, a fitness motivator, a brittle bone disease survivor and… Rafa, a pickpocket. The Astralblazers, as they’re fondly dubbed by the press, will journey through the highly unpredictable environment of their collective dream to meet a mystical character known as Atom the God of Creation.

The Astralblazers must learn to harness their imaginations and innate mana, which take the guise of guardian spirits called Anima. Along the way, they’ll encounter unicorns, dragons, Orcs, Goblins and a host of other fantastic beings. With each monster battle they face, they earn XP, stats and equipment, becoming powerful and hardened survivors.

The game designer, however, has been keeping secrets from the Astralblazers. One of their teammates, in the waking world, has suffered hemorrhaging in the limbic region of her brain. If her character dies inside SKYE, the other players will become trapped in the game.          

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SKYE is the Limit

Phenomenal Pen

Epigraph

There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds.

- Gilbert K. Chesterton

Prologue: The Island in the Sky

The mystical island of Lemnos levitated off the coast of Erebus’s northernmost tip. On it, a field of beautiful but deadly poppies stretched and beyond it stood a cave fitted with two chimneys; one made of polished ivory and the other made of buckhorn.

Inside the cave, the white wizard Somnos the Sandman sat in his workshop concocting dreams. He brewed them in a cauldron after trickling invisibly from jars labeled with the most curious names: Nest of Snakes, Unfaithful, Freefall, Pursuit, Tooth Fairy, The Emperor’s New Clothes, Icarus Wings, Back to School…

Somnos placed the best fusions on the topmost shelves where they softly projected their contents against the wall like brief and cyclical shadow plays. In the current iteration of Erebus, which had a very high frame rate per second and was more coherent, less surreal but more deceptive, Somnos had in fact become obsolete. Out of habit, the wizard carried on crafting the dream episodes all the same. 

Somnos watched over the entire dream-realm through his looking-glass ball, which gave him the power to see any part of Erebus at any given moment; from the excess-loving Centaurs in the east to the ethereal and amoral Sylphs in the west to the nomadic and artisanal tribes of Cyclopes in the mountain ranges. One thing he hadn’t anticipated though was the presence of the Faceless Horseman.     

The Faceless Horseman intermittently flickered into bundles of ones and zeroes and galloped in and out of the mapped zone. His mount was skeletal and trailed fire from its nostrils. The rider wore oversized, spiked pauldrons and a long tattered blood-red cape that appeared to defy gravity. He was unhelmed but gave the impression of someone wearing black stockings over his head.

Except that was his head.

The Faceless Horseman was a cipher, a dim entity, which in the Japanese language of the early game developers consisted of two kanjis (yū and rei) and also denoted a ghost.       

While Somnos the Sandman’s back was turned, the looking-glass ball locked and zoomed in on the Faceless Horseman. The Faceless Horseman halted abruptly as though becoming aware of the surveillance for the first time. The rider turned his head towards the looking-glass ball’s invisible sensor, his void face filling the sphere and blotting it out.

The Faceless Horseman was outside looking in.

PART 1: n00b

All children are born geniuses; 9,999 out of every 10,000 are swiftly,

inadvertently degeniusized by grownups.

- R. Buckminster Fuller

Chapter 1: The Daily Grind

In all his eighteen years in this world, nobody had ever paid their undivided attention to Raphael Rafa Cruz. 

Grownups liked to talk about how Earth’s running out of rainforests, ice caps or pandas. To a busker and petty thief like Rafa, the only resource that truly mattered was human attention. When he wasn’t using it to his advantage, he was usually competing for it. People nowadays were glued to their smartphone screens or lost in their own worlds between their wireless earphones. They played their own choice of music and frowned on the use of amplifiers in public spaces.

That was the first rule of busking and pickpocketing right there: respect other people’s turf. Don’t be the dipstick who got in people’s faces. As a thief or grifter especially, don’t go starting a turf war that you couldn’t finish, and be careful not to fleece the herd too much if you didn’t want your world to suddenly get smaller. You’d get too much heat from the po-po and then not even your protection money to the Red Domino could save you. 

The thing about picking pockets that had really grown on Rafa is, especially when he was with his crew and they were on a roll, it almost felt like a choreographed dance. First, Jamal, their fearless leader, was the shade. He constantly wore a pair of shades himself, not because he was posing as a blind beggar but because he was hiding his restless, roving eyes.

In the packed MRT car presently, Jamal stepped into a straphanger’s personal space and set off all kinds of alarm. This, at least to Rafa, was akin to a performer engaging the audience. It didn’t matter whether it was welcome or not. Jamal put the mark at ease by standing next to him and pretending to watch a YT vid of cats. The mark also stole a peek at Jamal’s smartphone.

People had their guard up against sleight-of-hand and misdirection but they never doubted their own perception; what was in their control, what was familiar and real. In this case, the sea of faces where one went to disappear and to dismiss.

Shielded by Jamal, Rafa lifted the mark’s wallet and passed it behind him to Eman. Discreetly inside his black gym bag, Eman fished the credit cards out of the bifold. He swiped them in a skimmer. That was what Eman was good at: card games, chess, PC games and hacking. Finally, Rafa returned everything to the mark’s back pocket without anyone being the wiser.

A practical distance from the three of them, stood their lookout: Krystal, both cute and sexy in dreadlocks, a crop top and a pair of Daisy Dukes. If she was alone, she’d very likely be attracting gropers and molesters beyond the usual head-turners. Right now she was scanning the crowd to make sure there was no guy who A. was alert to the goings-on in the MRT car and B. wanted to play hero or, worse, C. was a cop in plain clothes. Krystal was the only rose among the thorns of their crew and Rafa and Jamal were rivals for her attention. Or at least they liked to think of themselves as such while Krsytal was oblivious to both of them. 

At this point, the crew was playing with the spotlight and the blind spots around it. The mark’s awareness of reality. That was where Rafa, Jamal, Krsytal and Eman existed. They trod in the spaces where their fellow human beings seldom turned their gazes. The parks at night were their office, along with the pee-smelling overpasses and rat-infested underpasses.

Again, Rafa was reminded of dance, or at least busking. Because they weren’t professionals on a stage, they didn’t rob people using the power of institutions. They could choose to be in the shadows or the light. This was what really got him and why he thought being a pickpocket was the job destined for him. His family name Cruz was a fake one after all. It had been assigned to him by a social worker and a judge. It aptly meant cross because he had never known his biological parents and no Forever Family ever took enough interest in him, until he finally aged out of foster care. As for his first name, the old nuns at the boys’ home had named him after Saint Raphael the Archangel, who, according to the Bible stories that the nuns were so keen on, had the power to heal the blind. In a word, Rafa was supposed to have the power to bring light to the sightless or to keep them in darkness. 

When he was busking was when Rafa felt happiest. Jamal and Eman would laugh their butts off if he ever told them his dream but he thought he could be a professional dancer someday; maybe a backup dancer to some famous celebrity or something. Rafa couldn’t blame the other guys. Looking at where they were now, becoming a professional dancer sounded as realistic as riding a rocket to the moon.

Rafa lassoed his wandering thoughts back to what they were doing. Needless to say, the game they were playing was very dangerous. One wrong move and they could end up in juvie. They were changing MRT cars at Cubao Station. Between the four of them, they had a dozen Beep cards, which translated to unlimited time mingling with the sheep and fleecing them.

The golden time was the panicky seconds of boarding and exiting the train. People were so focused on watching their steps and getting to where they were going that they forgot to pay attention to the constant pressure around their wrist, which was where the Boomers and Gen-Xers kept watches; a much more lucrative and sensible steal than an Omnifone ever since OmniSys came up with the Activation Lock. From what Eman had told them though, he might have found a way to circumvent the new security feature and allow the unauthorized transfer of an Omnifone to a different user. 

Rafa reminded himself: Get your head in the game. As soon as he thought this, ironically, his mind drifted off to Dungeon Blazers, the most popular RPG title by technology giant OmniSys. 

Grinding was the second rule of busking, or any other skill for that matter. Rafa was just as crazy about gaming as Eman. They could spend up to three consecutive days holed up in an Internet café binge-playing Dungeon Blazers. Rafa for sure could appreciate the logic of showing up day-in and day-out to earn XP and Gold. In games, you earned them by getting kills and slaying monster bosses but, in real life, you were supposed to go to school, do your homework, be a straight-laced, straight-A student and then graduate. Because he was an orphan, the chances of that happening for Rafa were shot.

Peso was the more important game resource for him now and the longer he played the game of life, the more he realized it wasn’t free-to-play; it was pay-to-win. His overall level felt very low too. He was just eighteen after all. Despite his street smarts and independence, he was practically a noob. He thought it was unfair that he couldn’t gain XP by living out here in the real world, growing important things like survival skills and street cred.

There were worlds within worlds, it turned out. If Rafa was dancing on a stage, people would come in automatically to watch him. Heck, they would’ve already bought the tickets in the first place. It followed that every move he’d be making within the four corners of the stage would be art. No one would dare think otherwise. 

The train platforms, overpasses, and underpasses of Metro Manila were more honest and brutal than any discerning critic or paying customer. They’d reward real-time set adjustments and audience interactions with big tips – some days amounting to as much as several hundred pesos – but they’d punish noobhood with Grinch tips, turned backs and sometimes even a dressing-down. They cheered at step-dancing, robot-dancing, expressionism, breakdancing; or at least moves in those styles that looked like they came from another planet or from the future, such as glitch, pantomime and even contortionist feats. They applauded the story or theme that you were telling through your body. You inspired them, you made them forget their troubles for a while, even though you had far bigger troubles of your own.

When the audience was really getting into his rhythm, the same effect was at work with Rafa. He drew power from dancing and the audience’s reaction. They fueled him just as he fueled them, and all the insecurities, anxieties and personal problems that were like a constant black cloud over his adolescent head quieted down. In those precious moments, he was at peace with himself.

It was just like those eternally looped seconds when Rafa stole Krystal’s first kiss. The whole world had slowed down while his heart raced. He was all about consent but… who could blame him? Krystal was the daughter of a former top-drawer escort who got addicted to heroin. The daughter had different-colored eyes. A doctor with the volunteer medical missions said it was a harmless medical condition called heto-something.

Rafa actually thought Krystal’s eyes looked cool but she was constantly embarrassed of them. She said they made her look like a freak. All Rafa knew was whenever she looked at him with those special eyes of hers – whoo! – the contrast of her blue and hazel eyes made him toss and turn all night long.  

Chapter 2: Cooldown

Rafa’s daydreaming was cut short by a simple gesture from Jamal. He discreetly flashed an upside-down peace sign, which stood for…12. A cop!

It was a good thing Jamal had much quicker (and sharper) eyes than Krystal, their supposed lookout. He had a good nose for trouble too. He could sense when a police decoy was trying to bait and trap them with a display of a pocketful of cash. Jamal once claimed that, regardless of the type of uniform cops wore, they always smelled of shoe and brass polish; whatever that meant.

With a great deal of reluctance, the crew tossed all their spoils, any and all incriminating evidence, to the tracks and ran like hell. The plainclothes officer gave chase, sweeping and elbowing aside commuters on the platform. Rafa and the rest of the crew were smaller so they could squeeze between startled grownups better.

Jamal grabbed Krystal’s hand and ran while tugging her. He was probably reacting out of fear, nothing more. But Rafa glimpsed with jealousy that Krystal’s cheeks were burning red. She giggled; likely another byproduct of fear. Although all of their faces were pale and grim, Krystal couldn’t help but burst out in mad, carefree laughter. She was running on her own two feet but also letting Jamal pull her along, like that day they all tried roller-skating at the skate park.

They reached their favorite part of that particular station. Within seconds of each other, they slid on their backs down the stainless-steel panel between the parallel escalators, scandalizing even more people as they sped by on the handrails. The boys had grown more boisterous now, whooping and cackling. They didn’t need to look over their shoulders to confirm that their lone pursuer had given up. They had totally owned this chase.

Jamal and Krystal nimbly landed on street level and hit the ground running, still holding hands. Eman miscalculated his speed and – for a few precious seconds – looked like a sprinting anime ninja: his upper body tilted ahead of his legs and landing on the balls of his feet. In the end though, he pitched forward and sprawled on his stomach. Rafa came soon after and tripped on him.

Krystal, looking back, slowed down and brayed more hilarity at this. Her stomach and jaw hurt. In the back of her head, she worried just a bit about the local proverb: Laugh now, cry later.

****

Rafa and Eman were roaming the empty 2-a.m. streets; two hunched and brooding figures in hoodies, cargo pants and sneakers. Unconsciously, they had both their heads bowed for anonymity and in dejection.

Eman was still lugging around his black gym bag with his hacking paraphernalia inside. They had just been to the HQ of the Red Domino, the syndicate that had trained them to be pickpockets and now gave protection against the po-po. In return, Rafa and the rest of the crew surrendered everything they had stolen for the day – money, credit cards, watches, phones, jewelry etc – the Red Domino took all of them and then left them a pittance. It was absolutely forbidden to withhold anything from the syndicate.

Where do you think Jamal and Krystal went? Rafa asked, trying to hide the jealousy in his voice.

Oh, they’re probably shacked up in a Sogo motel by now, Eman replied densely. Frackin’ like rabbits.

A panicked look spread on Rafa’s face. 

Oh, you didn’t know? Eman said laughingly. They became an item last weekend. If you had high hopes of getting in those skimpy short shorts of hers, sorry to say, kid, but you were too slow.

Rafa supposed that he should’ve known. Jamal was taller than him and had the charisma of a natural-born leader. He might not be as gentlemanly or thoughtful as Rafa and Eman (both of them came from the boys’ home), but Jamal had the tough-guy image down pat. 

That’s the rule out here on the streets, Eman bluffed, in case you’ve forgotten. Think and act fast. Survival of the fittest. 

Rafa took in the dim lights and the muted sounds of the city that acted like a baby – little by little quieting down but still refusing to fall asleep. The stores were shuttered and their footsteps rang hollow on the sidewalk. The only people still awake were in it for the long haul: security guards and call center agents on night shift. The cars in these parts were mostly taxis, and getting fewer and farther in between. The sound of their tires gripping the asphalt crescendoed and then decrescendoed perfunctorily, their passengers eager to get home to a warm meal or a soft bed, neither of which he or Eman had.

They passed by a 24-hour diner that was empty except for a single customer. The overhead TV was broadcasting a talk show interview in the US. Eman grabbed Rafa’s arm in tightening excitement. They stopped to peer through the glass wall of the diner.

That’s Alex Chase! Eman squealed.

Alexander Chase was the world-famous general manager of OmniSys, which had produced OS Athena, Omni City, the Omnicar, the Omnifone and other gadgets, social media Interlinked, various wearables and productivity and entertainment softwares. For Rafa though, their single most defining legacy was Dungeon Blazers, the biggest MMORPG on the planet.

That can’t be live, can it? Rafa asked nonchalantly. He was still feeling down because of Krystal and Jamal.

It is! Eman said, showering the glass with spittle. It’s morning in California right now. Of course! It completely slipped my mind. Today’s the day OmniSys will announce the winners of the SKYE lottery.

The what lottery?

SKYE! Eman screamed in Rafa’s face. I’ve been telling you about it for days but you’ve been mooning so hard over Krystal. Then, turning back to the TV with a mystified, reverent expression, he mumbled: It’s been super hushed-up till now. No hacker could spoof a single one of their encryption keys.

They stepped into the diner while keeping it lowkey. It was a good thing the server was in the kitchen wearing two hats as short-order cook because the short-order cook was absent, probably doped out of his