“Please leave all your belongings behind in the boxes provided. As per directive 1.72.809C, they will be recycled as soon as you pass the PoNR. You will wear the provided paper gowns and slippers. You will walk along the green lines. You will not break privacy. You will not –“

  The emotionless announcer spoke from concealed speakers above as they trudged along faceless, sterile corridors following the glowing green line. Ethan, J Reynolds, Captain, NASC, held in a sigh. It was coming up on noon and he hadn’t had a bite since 0500. As much as he wanted to ascribe that to bureaucratic incompetence, the truth, he suspected, was something else entirely.

  The laxative and bathroom break he’d just been put through was a decent tip. Not that it made him any more forgiving. This was a clusterfuck. A simple procedure turned into a day-long colonoscopy by a bureaucracy that had gone far beyond all-consuming, and into elder god’s territory.

  They’d never met a dime they wouldn’t waste. But they’d not waste it on the likes of him. With a weary sigh, he stepped from a moving walkway through a final door and into the Pod chamber.

  Technicians were now in charge and they moved with a palpable urgency – probably had quotas to meet. The paper gowns were gone in a heartbeat. A health monitor was injected into his upper arm, then the man gave him a sharp look, “That had a little something to put you out cold in it. Stops claustrophobic or last-minute panic attacks, so when you start feeling drowsy, don’t worry, it's on purpose.”

  “Now,” He spoke quickly, words he’d spoken thousands of times before. But words he seemed to believe. “you have nothing to worry about. The new nanites will keep you fed and exercised, better than you could do for yourself, and monitored medically. 24/7 hospital-level monitoring. Better than I get in the r-“

  The words began to sound like they were coming from the top of a well shaft, and he was at the bottom. He blinked, the man in front of him beginning to circle him without moving.

  “-all will go as planned-“

  His eyes closed.

  He opened them to a new world.

  A very British world. Dark wood paneled walls and ceilings where massive bookcases and a roaring fire in a stone-faced fireplace didn’t block them.

  “Good evening, sir.” The voice was pleasant but innocuous. Robotic even. The body the voice belonged to wasn’t much different. Features a bit too regular, and unmoving to be human. It sat behind a large oak desk with a single, if comfortable, lounger in front of it.

  It took Ethan a moment to find his bearings, but his mind was sharp and clear. Sharper perhaps than it had been in quite some time. No more stress. No more worry. The die had been cast. He took a deep breath and took the offered chair. “Please create the room, Devil Dogs 217, max users 10 and password set to AS7G.” The directive that created the 9V designation. “I retain admin rights.”

  “Done, there are 5 pending join requests.”

  “If they provide the password, admit them.”

  *Ding*Ding*Ding*Ding*

  The library expanded, the desk becoming a low smoking table and the chairs surrounding it filled themselves with familiar figures. Each dressed in an old-school suit and smoking jacket.

  *Ding*

  Another chair filled itself. Greetings started for a brief moment, then a final *Ding* rang out.

  “Huh.” McGuile gave the newcomer a hard look.

  “James?” Ethan stared.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. I was cleaning up Emily’s email account and found your packet. Frankly, it sounded like just the thing.”

  He gave the former Intel Officer a lingering look. Personal email accounts locked on death. Access wasn’t something even a husband should have. He shrugged, if the man wasn’t good Emily’d never have tolerated, much less married, him. He looked around with an eyebrow raised, and not seeing any objections, McGuile didn’t count. “Welcome aboard. But your children…?”

  “No child of mine would refuse to see, or even call their own mother on her deathbed bed because of some Bull Shit 9V designation. Those- Never mind. Let’s leave it there.”

  Ah. “Well, my condolences and again, welcome. We’re glad to have you.”

  “Thank you, and please, trust me, you really will be. And soon.”

  “Welcome all. I am pleased by your consideration for the Commonwealth's resources. Your group session is being prepared. Would you like to randomize your new life, or pick from a number of popular presets? I have a list -”

  Blake leaned forward, the glasses-wearing, slouched and unmuscled frame stood counterpoint to the distinctly militant forms of the rest of them. “Pause. Per the new 192.168.1.1 directive, acknowledge that these six individuals are former military and are eligible for an AI core each.”

  The AI froze for a moment. Its face somehow all the more alien for the poor attempt at humanity. “Former private 3rd class McGuile has forfeited that right by his own actions.” The AI pointed out.

  James snorted, “And gained another through the correctional office's efforts to remove potentially violent offenders from the streets.” Ironic really, that the incentives were the same for both…

  It froze again. “That is correct. Your request is within the established parameters and has been approved. Beginning to assi-”

  Blake gave James a grateful glance before continuing. “Pause. I also am entitled to one as part of my severance package from NeuroSyn.”

  The Ai, blinked. “That is correct. Beginning 7 core allot-”

  “Hold and don’t go on until we’re done. I request a C9.31 variant core.”

  “You have the authority to make that request only for yourself and that variant is not compatible with standard cores. Please request another.”

  “No. I am entitled to choose and I have done so. And while they do not have the right to make a similar request, you can, without human intervention, authorize any cores you need to in order to prevent systemic corruption. In order to comply with your primary directive to maintain the integrity and immersion of the world under your management, I recommend you assign all linked core’s to be C9.31’s.”

  “Considering. Considering. Your logic chain is conclusive. Authority is within established parameters. Approved.”

  With massively more system resources assigned, the world changed; a host of small things he hadn’t noticed were suddenly fixed. Details were added and reflections suddenly became so much clearer. “Well played.” The AI smiled, its voice low and smooth. Its features twisting into a small grin as it, no, with the face gaining detail, emotions and even human like body language, definitely a he, leaned back in his lounge, eyes twinkling. “Well played indeed.”

  Blake let out a slow, relieved breath. Looking over at his brother and giving a victorious smile. Ethan grinned. Life wasn’t all bad these days. There was a lot more available than most ever realized. Deliberately so. You had to ask for it. But to do that, you had to know what to ask for. That kind of information, even if posted widely, never managed to stay up for long.

  Blake continued. “Now, I have a short write-up to-“

  “Excuse me.” James broke in. “Please reference mil-spec 192.168.1.1 subsection HH focusing on honors and incentives for troops with extensive battlefield presence and high performance.”

  “Ahh, indeed. Quite the fruit salad you have between you.” Ethan winced. What a tasteless way to condense 30-plus years of honorable service. “The Commonwealth is pleased to offer you benefits for your service and incentives to enjoy a world more in tune with your proven talents. That will give you an additional 4 cores.”

  McGuile snorted. “You mean we scare the hell out of the civies so they’re glad to exile us to a virtual funny farm. Why don’t-”

  “McGuile.” Ethan’s words were quiet, but firm as solid stone. McGuile’s teeth snapped together. It wasn’t that he was wrong, but no good would come from rehashing the same old ground. Blake was the only one showing any real distress from the outburst. The rest of them knew the score long before they mustered out. “Continue please.”

  James shrugged. “No more bunny’s to pull out on my end.”

  “Then Blake, go ahead.”

  “Ahh, right. So if you’ll check my public directory for the file marked as New_world version 21, the password is the same as this room.”

  The AI’s eyes flickered for a few moments. A deliberate tell to make him appear responsive, Ethan didn’t doubt.

  “Ah, a decent little world seed. Feudal. Light direct magic, but with an emphasis of quality of life, decreasing downtime, build times and preventing long-term injuries. Built in history together, focused on developing a new demesne with the possibility of future large-scale conflicts. Hmm, not bad. May I ask a few questions and direct your attention to a few possible refinements?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Ah, please do.”

  “For your long-term war, an inhuman outside threat often makes for a good unifying force. Considering the name of this room, might I suggest a demonic incursion?

  “Shiiit, we can do the old devil dogs right then? I’m down.”

  Ethan sighed but didn’t interject. This wasn’t his cup of tea, and he’d always found it best to let experts do their jobs. He felt a curious sort of ambivalence. A fact that James apparently picked up on.

  “Might want to be a bit more involved, Captain. This isn’t just window dressing. This will be your new world. The technology doesn’t so much immerse as reincarnates.”

  Ethan frowned. Reincarnates? “Explain.”

  “You become the person, the character you create. Your existing personality will remain intact, but the history you remember will be what we write. The world and the emotional tie-ins, everything. Memories bleed through a bit in dreams and the occasional inspiration, but outside of that, you won’t remember anything of this life outside of medically scheduled digital breaks.”

  Ethan shot his brother a hard look. “Why am I only hearing this now?”

  “It was in the packet I sent! I even told you we’d become the characters.” Blake complained.

  “That doesn’t… never mind. No point now.” They’d long since passed the point of no return. “What does that mean for us? Reincarnation… I know the definition, but I can’t say as I understand.”

  Blake sighed. “It means pay attention to your backstory. I wrote us a generic setup. Generational mercenary company in service to a king for a massive war. The war is ending and we get ennobled. We get to build a new fief from the ground up. Manage people, resources and train soldiers for the common, if low-level, inter-fief feudal warfare.

  “..all right. That doesn’t sound half bad. But I’m partial to flush toilets and tp. Going all feudal…”

  Blake nodded vigorously. “Exactly, and thus the magic. It lets you hand-wave some of the less pleasant aspects of medieval life.”

  Quality of life, Ethan froze, putting two and two together. Ah. “Well, at least you appear to have thought it through.”

  “Indeed he has,” The AI interjected. “And your discussion answered a number of my questions. Consider this.-“

  ___

  The world faded and reformed around them. Looking down on a crowned man in a luxurious purple silk robe with a white ermine fur mantle. He was standing braced against a balcony a dozen stories above the ground, backed by a squad of heavily armed and armored bodyguards. No, his memories whispered. Not bodyguards. Praetorians.

  They watched silently as a massive red portal in the far distance, one surrounded by antlike armies and towering fortifications, twisted and imploded into nothing.

  He sighed heavily. “The end of an age…” He whispered. Eyes focused forward, but unseeing. “We survived. I wondered those first few years.”

  “We believed in you, Sire. Even then.” The Praetorian prefect spoke firmly from his left. He could say that, the Emperor mused, although few others could without threads of sycophancy. He was there, fighting on and off the field for a century and change. His personal power and imperial oaths might let him appear a well-preserved 50, but the armored figure was only a few centuries younger than Himself.

  “Perhaps. But, as is always the catch, what now? We have a full tenth of our nation under arms. Another quarter in the labor battalions. With the battle finally won, the nobility will not hold my peace.”

  “True, old grudges and insults unavenged will have them at each other's throats. I give it a season or two at best.”

  That was perhaps generous, though he’d lean and lean hard to allow each and every loyal contributor to at least make it home safely. And likely have to burn more than a few keeps to make the point. Then again… “Yes, but that is not completely a bad thing. Men need conflict to sharpen themselves on. To provide opportunity for advancement and to keep us all ready for the next disaster. No, I don’t mind the nobles going back to their usual tricks. It’s the war bands that worry me. That is where the chaos could lie. All those men, now out of a job, without a proper place in our society, but not out of training or equipment. That is the problem we must solve.”

  “Yes sire. But we have planned for this.”

  “Haaa, we have indeed old friend. But plans must become action. Post the bans and summon the heralds. Let the battle honors be read and fiefs apportioned. First for deeds done, second for the strength to hold what they’re given.”

  “Have you decided where? The demon scarred lands –“

  “No! I said it a century ago and my word remains given. Those lands will be returned. To the closest bloodline not already enfeoffed elsewhere.”

  “Then-“

  “Yes, to the borders. Carving out new territory from monster-ridden reaches. And giving the older fiefs inside of them a relief from constant raids.”

  “That’s not much of a reward sire. They fought, bled and died for us.”

  “Not much to you, Fredrick. But the chance at Nobility isn’t one they’d get any other way. No matter the trials or the risks, they will leap for the opportunity. If it was a dozen times harder, they’d still dive into a lake of piranhas for the chance. But I do take your meaning. Open up the Imperial vaults for the stored settlement cores. Offer equipment and materials from the same for purchase with battle merits. With this blasted war over, we will quickly be overstocked on such. Might as well make some use out of it.”

  He considered, then gave a wry smile. “And save the Imperial Coffers the price of well-earned rewards in coin.”

  ___

  The scene faded away and Ethan was back in his chair, a lit cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. He grimaced, smudging out the cigar. Never cared for the damn things. The brandy though, that he tossed a healthy swig back, before setting the half-filled amber liquid and the highball containing it on the table.

  “That was.” He waved a hand, searching for the right words. “Intense.”

  “That it was. Did you write all of that Blake?” Conner or sarge as most of them called him, asked.

  “Ah? No, no I didn’t. Just a bit of the overall scope. The AI filled in the rest.”

  “It should not surprise you.” The AI in question broke in. “I have access to a database of all of the video games and fiction for the last several centuries. More than sufficient background content to flesh out your outline.”

  “Games, hmm. Say, how much of a game will it be? Can we get those old-school blue boxes and levels?”

  “Ha. Never would have thought to hear that from you Sarge.” Ethan gave him a side-eyed glance. And he called Blake a nerd?

  “We can! Not just that, I have a few spreadsheets for build ideas and ways of arranging skills and –“

  “Let's hold off on that, Blake. I don’t mind some basics. A, what do you call them, class? A few levels and maybe some basic stats or skills. But I don’t want to be dependent on spreadsheets we won’t have access to.”

  Blake looked a bit like someone kicked his dog, but reluctantly nodded.

  “I got an idea, Cap. Do you remember that hot drop onto Nuevo Hogar?”

  McGuile almost spat his drink, his 3rd drink, onto the table. “What the hell sarge, I’ve only just managed to stop dreaming about that hell hole and you bring it back up?”

  “It’s relevant. We’re about to be new nobles, right? That means there are a lot of old nobles. And if we try to compete with them in the whole knights in shining armor routine, I don’t imagine it will go well. We need to be unique. To focus on skills and terrain that work together to counter or invalidate that advantage.”

  Ethan leaned forward in agreement. “Well put, sarge. The view from that balcony was pretty damn flat, fortifications and ditch work notwithstanding. Perfect ground for heavy cavalry, that means we need to look to the mountains, the sea or a swamp. I hereby veto the swamp.”

  Blake raised a shaking hand. “I get seasick. Please no.”

  “I imagen the AI could fix that Blake, but I had my heart set on the mountains anyway. Any objections?”

  “Not a fan of freezing my balls off, Cap. Anything we can do about that.” McGuile asked as he poured himself another drink.

  The AI answered for him, “Class and Levels focused on the mountains could mitigate temperature issues.”

  “A good start,” James interjected. “But what about those cores the emperor chap mentioned?”

  “You requested magic to take some of the busy work, the slow nature of construction off your hands. Cores are my suggested solution. A living, or at least leveling, building or settlement. One with some degree of command and control.”

  “That will work then, focus the core on the mountains. Specialize in that direction and give us unique advantages in our home terrain. As long as there are some nice resources in those mountains, I don’t mean a gold mine, but some iron to make weapons and armor isn’t a bad idea-“

  The AI waved a hand. “I strongly suggest you leave that sort of thing to me. My data suggests that the easiest way to screw over a world is to make it too easy. I’ll balance things out with your immersion and engagement as the focus.”

  Conner nodded, but continued undaunted. “If you think about it from the standard priorities for medieval times we might get an additional bonus. Lowlands rich in farm lands and easy access to water are what everyone will be fighting over. We should be able to leverage a non-standard pick into a better starting situation. Let them bid up what they want, and save money, start points or whatever the resources in question are for buying starting equipment and expertise for our settlement.”

  “Reasonable.” The AI nodded, taking some obvious, and entirely cosmetic, notes on a leatherbound loose-leaf notebook that Ethan knew hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “I like it. Let’s twist it a bit more. Say most of the cores are for farmers and better crop growth. Ours is for a fortress and teaches more military skills. That’s what makes us unique. A core that, well you said we will be multi-generational mercenaries, right? Maybe our parents or grandparents found it. And we saved it till now.” Andrew grimaced slightly then continued in a slightly bitter tone. “I don’t want to be a farmer. Nor some corpo manager of farmers, let’s make sure we focus on something we want to do. Something soldiers can do to feed themselves. And I don’t just mean mercenary work. Hunting monsters maybe, adventure style. Or something like that.”

  “I like it.” Blake echoed him, nodding happily. “It’s a good start for all of us, but you need to go farther. Where do you see yourself in that world? A bit of variety would be helpful, but some of the positions we need to fill are pretty obvious. You’ll want to be the captain of our band ‘captain’. I’ll grab what magic is available. Healing, construction, enchanting.” He paused then smirked, “Sewers. Whatever our low magic world and a good balance allows.”

  Ethan nodded. “We’ll need a drill sergeant. No, a master of arms I think it was called. That sound like you, sarge?”

  “Done it before often enough. Sure.”

  “And-?” he petered off, glancing at the others in the room.

  James smiled, “Make me the chamberlain. Seneschal if you prefer. I understand Leo was an instructor for SERE,” There was a collective wince from every military man in the room at the acronym for 6 weeks in hell being taught how to survive and evade capture. Leo excepted. He just grinned. “So, scout master. I imagine knight rank will do for all. Except McGuile.”

  “Wha-“

  “Shining armor doesn’t suit you. No, a huge club and a fur loincloth seems more your style. To crush my enemies-” He started to garble in a decidedly terrible accent.

  “I’ll show you my style, it's written on the bottom of my boot-“

  “Enough you two. Knights all around then? Anyone want something else?”

  “Archery’s been a hobby of mine for years, sir.” Andrew Hawthorn raised a hand. “Wouldn’t mind bow knight if that’s a thing.”

  “Have at it. Don’t see why we can’t specialize past just knight or baron or whatever we are. And a good ranged core seems like a good place to start. For that matter, even if we pass on the heavy cavalry, we’ll still need shock troops, that’s a good fit for you McGuile.”

  “So-“ Ethan began, only to halt as his brother raised a quick hand.

  “Let’s split off for a bit. Now that we know a bit about the world and our place in it, all of us need to create a backstory but keep it loose so the AI can weave us all together. We are the command core of our company, but flesh that out a bit. Add some childhood anecdotes. Maybe you like to use a poleaxe or a glaive. Something about your looks that you want to improve on?” They all pretended not to hear McGuiles' quip about a 10” dick.

  “Are you a commander who focused on tactics or a grunt who survived in the thick of a hundred battles? A hard-drinking womanizer, a monk or somewhere in between. We are going to be these people for a very long time. Let’s make sure they are who we want to be.”

  Ethan nodded cautiously. In those terms, perhaps he should get a bit… hubristic. If you were going to roll the dice and be someone, why not be someone great? Hannibal’s brilliance at Cumae. General McAuliffe’s balls to say ‘nuts’ to the Nazi’s at the Bulge. For that matter, the clarity of purpose and clean morals to fight the Nazi’s or the Huns. Not these… ‘peacekeeping missions.’

  Perhaps, like Alexander, he could dare beyond the bounds of common sense… Only with out the sudden drop at the end. He might not be Belisarius reborn. Nor Ramel, Lee or Salahaddin. But the chance to hum a few of those bars?

  Yes please!