Insomniac Player

’Is this the man currently sitting at the top of Region 21’s political structure?’

The others were ministers. Defense. Player Affairs. Regional Security. Commerce and whatnot. Several departments Damien didn’t recognize.

Then his eyes reached the only military officer at the table. Middle-aged, broad shoulders, short greying hair, and several scars crossed his face.

Unlike the politicians, he didn’t look at Damien with suspicion.

[Name: Tyler Hayes]

[Alias: Iron Marshal]

[Level: 338]

[Class: Berserk Muscles (Epic)]

Damien’s eyes widened slightly. That was the strongest person he’d personally stood so close to.

The Iron Marshal noticed Damien examining him. A faint smile appeared beneath his greying mustache.

"Sit." The president spoke.

Damien took the empty chair opposite them. Noah remained standing behind him.

The doors closed. There was a small moment of silence, and then the interrogation began.

"State your name."

"Damien."

"Last name?"

"No last name."

"Player alias?"

"Sleepless."

"Level?"

"20."

Several ministers exchanged glances; one leaned forward.

"You claim to be the same Damien who participated in the First Generation Tutorial alongside Sir John Jones?"

"I don’t claim it. I am."

The minister’s expression hardened. "Answer yes or no."

Damien stared at him. "...Yes."

Another minister slid a photograph across the table. Damien looked down.

The minister tapped the photograph.

"This is Damien."

"Yes."

"And you expect this council to accept that you’re the same individual?"

Damien blinked, wondering if he’d heard that right. He looked at the photograph, then at them.

"I mean..." He pointed. "That’s literally my face."

Nobody laughed. Damien slowly lowered his hand. "Alright."

A minister on the left spoke. "Sir John Jones has spent years searching for this individual."

"Correct."

"You suddenly appear after two years."

"Well... two years of this world, if we’re being precise."

"Without reporting your return."

"Correct."

"You operate under a concealed identity."

"Also correct."

The man leaned forward. "And you expect us to believe this coincidence?"

Damien frowned. "What coincidence?"

"Your identity."

Damien stared. "...You have my photograph."

"Faces can be changed with surgeries."

"My system profile."

"System information can be manipulated through skills."

Damien paused. "My class?"

"Classes can be concealed."

Damien stared at the minister; the minister stared back. Damien slowly leaned into his chair.

"So..." He scratched his cheek. "What exactly could I show you that you would accept?"

Nobody answered. That told him everything. They hadn’t called him here to establish whether he was Damien. They had already decided what they wanted to believe. Or rather, what they didn’t want to believe.

Another legendary player had returned, someone personally connected to John Jones, someone who had just influenced the outcome of a legendary gatebreak despite being low level.

Damien’s eyes slowly moved around the table.

’Ah.’ He understood. It wasn’t disbelief. It was discomfort. These people didn’t want another powerful variable appearing inside their region.

The Iron Marshal finally spoke. "Enough." His voice wasn’t particularly loud.

The room immediately quieted. The general placed both hands on the table. "The boy offered identification. He offered his profile; his face matches historical records. Sir John’s tutorial stories confirm Damien existed, and his contribution to Tycho solidified his skills."

He looked around the table. "What exactly are we accomplishing by repeatedly calling him a liar?"

The Minister of Player Affairs frowned. "General, this is an investigation."

"Then investigate," the Iron Marshal replied. "Don’t insult him."

"He is potentially an unidentified security risk."

"He is potentially one of the most valuable players to return to Region 21 in years."

Damien raised an eyebrow. Valuable?

The general looked directly at him. "This young man helped identify the Hollow Giants’ mechanics today."

Noah nodded behind Damien. "I confirm that I was present."

Several ministers glanced toward him. Noah continued. "Sleepless identified predatory adaptation. He recognized the danger of giving each giant multiple adaptations; he proposed separating the giants by attack type. And after Collective Evolution was discovered, he developed the simultaneous-elimination strategy."

The Iron Marshal spread one hand. "Tycho would have suffered significantly greater casualties without him."

A minister scoffed. "He’s Level 20."

Noah’s expression hardened. "That doesn’t make what he did disappear."

"Or perhaps," another minister said, "a level 20 knowing so much about previously unidentified monsters should make us more suspicious."

Damien stared. That was impressive. Somehow helping had become evidence against him.

The Iron Marshal leaned back. "You people complain when players are stupid. Now you’re complaining because one thinks."

Nobody answered. Damien almost liked him.

◇◇◇

One hour became two; two became three. The questions never stopped.

Where had Damien been?

Why hadn’t he levelled up in two years?

What Gate had trapped him?

Why were records incomplete?

Why did he hide his face?

How did he obtain legendary equipment?

How did he know about the Hollow Giants?

Why did the Hollow Giants recognize Nightwalker?

That last question appeared repeatedly. Damien gave the same answer every time. "I don’t know."

The minister of regional security leaned forward. "Twelve creatures emerged from an Epic Gate and repeatedly addressed you."

"That is what we think they said."

"Using your class designation."

"Apparently."

"And you expect us to believe you have no idea why?"

"That’s exactly what I’m telling you."

"Convenient."

Damien sighed. "Do you think I invited them?"

The minister’s expression hardened. "I think we shouldn’t dismiss possibilities."

Damien glanced toward the Iron Marshal. The general looked increasingly irritated. Noah hadn’t moved from behind Damien for nearly four hours. Damien himself was exhausted; he hadn’t slept.

Of course, he never slept. But exhaustion still existed. His head hurt. His body hadn’t recovered from Tycho. And somehow these people felt more tiring than fighting Hollow Giants.

Finally, the Iron Marshal slammed his palm against the table.

BANG!

"Enough."

Everyone went silent.

"Four hours." He looked around. "You’ve questioned him for four hours. No evidence of hostile intent has been presented. No contradictory identification has been presented. No criminal action has been presented.

He fought in Tycho. He helped civilians. He assisted government players. He helped prevent a catastrophic gatebreak."

The general pointed toward Damien. "He is an asset of Region 21, and he should be treated like one."

Damien quietly watched the politicians; their expressions told him something. They didn’t like the general. Not necessarily personally. They didn’t like what he represented: power they couldn’t manufacture through votes.

The politicians possessed political classes. Administrative skills, authority, influence.

But the Iron Marshal was Level 338, a combat player. If a Hollow Giant entered this room, no one would expect the minister of commerce to engage it in a fight.

Damien suddenly understood why another potentially powerful combat player might not excite everyone here. Especially one connected to John Jones.

The president finally spoke. "General." The Iron Marshal looked toward him.

"You’ve made your position clear."

"My position is common sense."

"And this council has heard it."

The president’s voice remained calm. "But you will allow the investigation to proceed."

The Iron Marshal’s jaw tightened; he leaned back. The minister of regional security turned toward Damien. "One final issue that you failed to answer."

Damien sighed. "Finally."

The man ignored the comment. "You claim you returned from the tutorial recently."

"Yes."

"Yet you did not report your return."

"No."

"Why is that?"

Damien paused, then answered flatly. "Because I didn’t know I was legally required to. I’ve been back for two stupid years; the last time I was here, Orange hair was the president. I believe in freedom."