Gestation, John Gold [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

access to the project for one day. It was a culture shock. The game was atraditional—it was a fantasy RPG set in the Middle Ages, but it was the realism that left players stunned. The laws of physics, the sensations, the magic, the skills, the professions, everything made you feel like you’d just found yourself in another world.

Eliza was right to be worried. That day, the final week of beta testing was set to begin, and Anji Ganet, her ward, had received an invitation. He’d turned twelve the day before, which meant that he was entitled by law to a new game capsule. He would be taken to the block that housed his new home. He would meet his family.

∞ ∞ ∞

I am just a normal kid from the orphanage, and just like everyone else, I realized from a young age that you have to fight for your spot in the world. If you want a normal life, you have to stand up for yourself. But soon, I can start playing! It’s an old tradition: to make sure the kids aren’t traumatized, we all get one game and one family. And the invitation I got is a great opportunity—Project Chrysalis is promising, and soon there will be tons of players. Those of us who get started during the beta test will have an advantage over the new players.

The kids in all the games sell information, everybody knows that. They can’t level-up, though they can travel the world. Adult players can’t touch us without some serious penalties, after all. Your age is the same in the virtual world until you turn eighteen out here—then, you can decide how you want to look. Even if you’re a goblin child, your body will still grow slowly to reflect your actual age. You get a baby pacifier icon next to your name, too, to make sure nobody takes you for an adult.

My stretches are done and I’m ready to run if the balance of power in the upcoming battle for my place under the sun turns against me. Always control the situation. That’s my rule. The abuse you get teaches you one simple truth: hit whoever tries to stick you under their foot. Hit them until they leave you alone. Three older kids are on their way to my capsule. The oldest one looks to be about fifteen, a redhead with blue eyes who looks like he’s in charge.

“Hey, look, it’s the new kid.”

“Pissed yourself yet, tiny?”

“He’s mute—why even ask? Let’s just clean his mug and tell him what’s up. If he rocks the boat, we’ll be back. He won’t say anything.”

I despise you for your weakness and stupidity. That’s what I would say, but talking isn’t a good move. Mutes don’t attract attention, they’re harder to use in the kid gangs, and they can make plenty of money.

I put a finger to my ear and then point up at the ceiling, letting them know that the adults are out there ready to turn on the sound system they use to suppress the kind of thing they’re looking to get started.

“Don’t worry about that, tiny. We have our people up there, and they’ll give us three minutes.”

“Listen up, tiny. You owe us ten credits a week, and it’s up to you how you come up with them. Sell your body for all we care—that’s popular down at the lower levels. But if you turn us down, you’ll start feeling the pain, and feeling it all the time.”

He was only too happy to say that last bit. Okay, so that’s who’s most dangerous. There are plenty of kids like him in all the orphanages, and talking with them is pointless. I give him, the one in the center, a kick to the balls. My next kick is aimed at the knee of the one on the right. A quick duck, and I’m off running down the corridor.

“Gek, get him! Kill the bastard! That little… Kicking in the balls isn’t fair! I’m going to beat you to a pulp! You’ll never make it out of the lower levels!”

And three on one is fair?

Two hallways later, I jump into a third and grab a durasteel beam. It’s a light, long-lasting metal that doesn’t do that much damage.

When Gek flashes by, I bring the beam down on his neck before starting to kick away at him. The other kid shows up. Seeing his friend lying on the ground screaming, he steps away down the corridor and calls the third member of their posse over. The situation isn’t great—I’m kicking someone three years older than me, and he’s prostrate on the ground.

Just before the two of them jump me, the siren kicks in. We all fall to the floor, hands over our ears. Damn sound system!

Everything else plays out the way it always does. A chat with Vaalsie, the supervisor, a gray-templed character with an ugly personality. The tall, thin old man knows what’s going on in the orphanage, but he skirts the letter of the law and does nothing. Even if that makes things worse for him. The collectors give him a share of the “harvest,” and he gives them cover when they need it.

After we watch the recording, which shows me attacking the three older kids first, Vaalsie gives me the standard punishment: four extra hours of schooling. The three collectors get two each.

“You’re dead, tiny! We’ll have you pissing blood,” their leader says, covering his crotch reflexively.

A radiant smile is my only answer. A long time ago, I figured out that the unknown is scarier than a durasteel pipe. They’re hard to get into the orphanage, though, of course, I’m always happy to get my hands on a new one if I have to.

∞ ∞ ∞

Schooling is easy, so that was fine. Just like the last time, I could’ve passed the exams ahead of time and forgotten about the lessons, leaving me with extra free time to spend however I want. Those are the rules here in the orphanage. When