Time Jacker, Aaron Crash [most important books of all time txt] 📗

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ROY BOSS, THE CEO OF VentureForge Industries, just woke up in a different galaxy. 

He’s lost his company and his body, and the man who murdered him might still be alive. The good news is he’s on Plymouth, an almost mythical world where monsters are designed and printed for Roy’s game worlds. First order of the day: print himself a superpowered body and get back what’s his.

But everything isn’t as it seems. The research lab he arrived in is deserted except for a few dead security guards, and the streets outside are filled with thousands of robot dogs programmed for one single purpose: kill Roy Boss.

Fortunately, Roy has an entire catalog of savior-class monster girls he can print up to help him clean house, each with their own powers, transformations, and fetishes. Hit Print for justice, for satisfaction, and for the love of the game.

From Aaron Crash, bestselling author of Barbarian Outcast and the American Dragon series, comes a brand-new world that will leave you turning pages late into the night.

Chapter One

FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE he was murdered, Roy Boss walked through the halls of VentureForge’s headquarters. Not only was he the CEO of VentureForge, but he’d also helped design the space station orbiting Paizo IV.

That afternoon, the afternoon of his second death, he was on the twentieth floor on his way to the executive conference room. The reinforced windows gave him a nice view of Paizo’s main continent, a brilliant green against the blue ocean. It was a good location for his HQ, the Paizins were nice, and the Paizo Stargate could take you anywhere in the Milky Way Galaxy.

Roy was dressed in slacks, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his good leather walking shoes. While he could’ve used the personnel movers on the space station, Roy preferred to walk. His pace was brisk, and he had a rundown of the latest stats from the new gaming world he was opening, Dungeon Core III, still in production, near the Gygax Stargate.

It was the first working day back from the holiday break, January 3, 3115. Though humans had spread out across the galaxy, they still tracked time using the Terran calendar and celebrated the Terran holidays.

Roy felt like a schoolboy playing hooky. His board of directors had fifteen other projects and reports they would rather he be working on. He was past arguing with them, and Ennis Tolliver in particular. They had their agenda, and it didn’t include dungeons.

As for Roy? Given his personal history, the games were everything. All he wanted was to make the monsters for his gaming worlds bigger and more spectacular. Joyce Halcyon, his main contact with the mysterious monster manufacturers of Plymouth, said her people were working on a new generation of creatures that could do literally anything, from breathing fire to casting energy spells.

“Just take my money already,” he’d told her.

Roy wasn’t worried about Tolliver, the chief financial officer, but he was concerned about Joyce. He hadn’t heard from her in almost two weeks. It wasn’t unusual for Plymouth to play things close to the chest, but they usually didn’t do it for so long. They were his most important supplier. They’d even saved his life.

Roy was no stranger to death. He’d died the night he opened his first gaming world, Dungeon Core I, on Arneson III, a planet near the Arneson Gate. He’d been at the launch party, a glass of Panacea champagne in hand, when his vision blurred, and the first pains started. He’d tried to walk it off. The Dungeon Core world had been an amazing achievement. The tourists spent hours going through his real-life dungeons with their swords and spells fueled by technology. Lots of scrapes and bruises—the tourists liked it if there was some true danger there—but no serious injuries and not fatalities.

He’d made it halfway back to his office before the heart attack dropped him. He’d been on the phone with Joyce, so no one saw. She was the one who called security.

After that heart attack, Roy had been given a new synthetic heart, a gift from Plymouth, matched to his DNA. Plymouth was the only reason Roy had a company. And they were the reason why he’d been so wildly successful. The artificial monsters they provided had turned his gaming worlds from good to great to life-changing.

The only problem? Plymouth had gone dark. No messages. No conference calls. Nothing but silence since Christmas Eve. If Roy missed a single deadline, there was a chance that Tolliver and his allies would have an excuse to kick Roy out of his own company. It had happened before, countless times, going back to Steve Jobs eleven hundred years ago.

Roy turned a corner on the space station. He was on his way to the board meeting, which wouldn’t start for another forty-five minutes. Roy always arrived early. His father said if you’re not five minutes early, you’re late. Roy had embraced the phrase.

Tolliver stood in the hallway, taking in the view of the spinning world below. “Roy, Roy, Roy.” He was a balding man in a suit with shining black shoes and a matching belt. He was lean and hungry looking, like a vampire vulture