Ch.177Epilogue (3) – Where Is My Friend’s Home (3)

Patricia waited for the next words. Sagan fidgeted with his beer can. The taste of the discarded Camel cigarette still tickled the corner of his mouth.

“That friend, you know. They never judged me. Sure, they’d nag me to drink less or clean up after myself, but at least they never acted superior about what I was doing.”

“And then?”

“They rolled with me. That’s all there was to it. We were stuck in the same muck, together during the painful moments, and together during the best ones too. When I was with them… I felt so comfortable.”

“Comfortable, you say.”

“Because I didn’t need to explain who I was.”

His tongue seemed to be getting increasingly tangled. Mars appeared to be subtly distorting, even though the moon remained unchanged.

“I mean, I didn’t have to make any special effort with them. Does saying this make me sound crazy? Will they be disappointed if I phrase it like that?

Everyone pulls out a big calculator when dealing with relationships, don’t they? With that friend, I didn’t need one. I could show my raw self. Because… because…”

“Because?”

“They were just there beside me. That’s all. They stayed by my side silently. No matter how shitty things got, no matter how lovely things were. They just wordlessly watched those things with me. You have no idea how grateful I am for that.”

“Do I really not know?”

Patricia toyed with the withered flower near her ear. Somehow, that withered vine seemed to have grown a bit. When they first met, it hadn’t reached below her neck, he thought.

But he didn’t want to dwell on it. He was too tired, too sleepy.

“Do you miss your friend?”

Even Patricia’s voice sounded hazy. The vines seemed to rustle and grow.

“I do.”

“Is it that time you miss? Or the friend themselves? Or if neither, is it the version of yourself when you were with that friend?”

“All of it.”

Sagan nodded at his own words.

“All of it. Everything. How can you separate those things? I was there, and my friend was there then. We were there together at that time. That’s all there is to it.”

Somehow the red planet seemed to be swirling. His eyelids kept closing.

He felt something wrapping around his body. Like being tied with rope. Floating, his body rising.

It felt good.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes to the alarm. A somewhat special morning had arrived. Hangover, headache, stench. A swollen face and stiff neck. Rigid back.

The office cot wasn’t as comfortable as he’d thought.

“Ugh.”

Thud, thud. Loud noises echoed from his back. Patricia was gone. Only Sagan’s car remained in the parking lot. But on the rooftop, there was trash from both him and Patricia.

And dead flowers too.

“Well, well.”

The dead flowers were placed at regular intervals. Like the breadcrumbs from Hansel and Gretel. Sagan walked in the direction the dead flowers pointed. The trail ended in front of the server room.

He opened the door.

“Drrrr… kuh! Purrr…”

A loud noise came from the supply room next to the server room. He didn’t need to look to know who was snoring.

Because of that, Sagan noticed the laptop on the shelf a bit late. A USB cable was plugged into the laptop. It was connected to a familiar VR device.

‘Could it be.’

Sagan sat in front of the laptop. The previously black screen came to life. It loaded the most recent work file.

Strange codes were written there. The creation date was early this morning. The program comments even included a signature: V.

“Owww… where am I…”

The supply room door opened, and a disheveled Patricia appeared.

“Oh, Patricia?”

“Ow, my head. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

That’s what I want to ask. Sagan examined Patricia’s ear. There was no sign of withered flowers.

“And hey. Isn’t that my laptop? Why are you touching it?”

“Don’t you remember anything from last night?”

“Last night?” Patricia scratched her head. A dead vine fell with a rustling sound.

“Ugh. What’s this… Ah. Um… I remember checking the server connections here yesterday, but after that, it’s blank. All the servers went haywire at once. They suddenly made weird noises… Did I sleep here all this time?”

“You must have been very tired.”

“Network management is always like that. Well.” Patricia tapped her neck. “It hurts like hell. Anyway, who are you? Do you work here?”

“You don’t like squid, do you?”

“What kind of crazy question is that?”

Sagan just grinned. Patricia looked at him like he was some strange creature, but she answered,

“Ugh. No, I don’t.”

“Just curious. Let’s go get breakfast.”

“Just so you know, I won’t eat vegetables for breakfast.”

“You like meat, right?”

“Isn’t that obvious? It’s too precious to just look at.”

“I like it too. Medium rare.”

The two had more in common than expected.

On their way out for breakfast, Sagan looked up at the sky.

He could see Mars, now more distant.

Sagan took out his phone. He searched for “Vulthoom.”

“One of the Great Old Ones, first revealed in Clark Ashton Smith’s ‘Vulthoom.’ Also known as the Sleeper of Ravermos, described as an alien plant sleeping in the underground city of Ravermos on Mars… It emits a scent that causes hallucinations and enslaves those who fall under its spell.”

“Ha. What a mischievous trickster.”

He thought he could hear a giggling laugh.

* * * * *

He got along well with the new team members. He also kept in frequent contact with Patricia. At the end of their call last night, she said she had applied for a department transfer. She would join the studio after completing the handover.

“You should head home first.”

Sagan worked the latest. After his teammates left, he accessed the save files where his friend might be.

The gateway worked normally, and Sagan participated directly as a player. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost.

And those experiences were fully reflected in the improvements. There was a lot to do, and it was complicated, but it was rewarding. The game was getting better day by day.

He made it so beginners could achieve the goals given in the game, while intermediate or advanced players could set their own game objectives. It was difficult and demanding, but he reduced the unreasonable aspects.

Easy to start, difficult to master.

The deeper you dug, the more bizarre gameplay became possible. No matter how insane a concept you chose, smooth gameplay was possible. As positive feedback accumulated internally, team morale naturally improved.

But Sagan was gradually getting tired. He couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He had narrowed down a significant number of the 400 million save files, but his friend remained elusive.

It was around that time when a special request came from headquarters.

“An interview?”

The PR staff member who came directly to the office nodded.

“The live update is coming soon. While many of the 400 million customers are angry, there are still many waiting for the game to improve. They also want to know about the new manager’s vision.”

“I’m confident about that part. But an interview is a different matter. If it’s like BNN, who can’t even tell the difference between car modification and modding…”

The PR staff smiled.

“Well, it’s not BNN. Do you know ‘The Raven’? Mike Shrike, a game journalist. Famous for his ‘Games in Focus’ review series.”

“That’s unexpected.”

Sagan searched his memory. He had looked up many gameplay experiences and newspaper reviews of the Call series, but none from Shrike.

“Shrike actually played the game too. He also had a very unpleasant experience, so he’s really looking forward to seeing how it will change.”

* * * * *

The interview was conducted via internet messenger. Shrike, speaking through the speakers, seemed like a very gentle man. Thanks to the questions sent in advance, Sagan was able to prepare decent answers.

Short-term and mid-to-long-term goals. Presenting the vision. How well he understood the problems and what improvements he was preparing, and so on.

“Wow. I heard you haven’t even started working yet, but you already know most of the complaints. Even all the detailed parts.”

“If I came in as a firefighter, I should at least know where the fire is, right?”

Shrike laughed heartily, and Sagan gave a bitter smile. ‘Yes. This is enough.’

“Actually, I played this game too.”

“You didn’t write an article about it, I see.”

“I did write one, but it was cut at the editor-in-chief level. I can say this now, but your predecessor—no, since it’s a different studio, ‘predecessor’ isn’t the right word. That… person made quite a scene. Threatening to pull ads and whatnot… You should have seen how angry Editor Molly was.”

“Who did you say?”

Sagan leaned forward.

“Anne Molly. Our editor-in-chief. Come to think of it, my game character’s name was Anne Molly too. Ha. I still can’t believe what happened. I had set her up as a Miskatonic University female student, but I failed before reaching the final goal because the power suddenly went out.”

“Was it at the observatory?”

Shrike’s breathless gasp.

“You really do know this game precisely. Yes, the observatory or astronomical tower or whatever it was. I think the final boss was…”

“Vulthoom.”

Sagan’s heart raced.

“You’re really amazing! This game has so many patterns, and you knew it right away!”

Sagan swallowed dryly.

“It’s a pattern that appears more often than you’d think. Um, since you almost completed it… would it be possible for you to send me your save file? A skilled player’s approach could be helpful as reference.”

“What should I do? I deleted the game.”

A very apologetic voice. But Sagan wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, even if the game is deleted, the save folder is stored separately. If you haven’t completely formatted or changed your computer, it should still be there. A player of your skill would have many gameplay approaches worth referencing.”

“I’ll take a look.”

The interview ended.

Sagan stood by the window and looked up at the sky.

Tick. Tick. The clock was anxious.

Ding.

A message arrived from Shrike.

[ I wasn’t sure, but fortunately, it’s still here. ]

Sagan opened the file. He decoded the cleverly hidden codes and found coordinates hidden between the lines.

“Ha.”

It was time to meet his friend again.

* * * * *

Seasons flow and flow again.

What has been built up will collapse, what lives will die, and what was so green in summer will rot and crumble in winter.

Such is the life of a tree, rooting in the ground and rising against the sky.

Some cross-sections are so terrible that they leave knots that will never fade in a lifetime.

But the tree, the tree that silently accepts those harsh seasons,

Accepts all of it as rings named age.

Even as it repeats living and dying, it somehow grows thicker little by little.

It accepts even the deepest scars as part of itself.

Becoming itself through repeated living and dying,

That is the story.

Just that is the story.

– End –