Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Chapter 291

I watched, positioning myself to block the subdued man from view of the busy street not far away, warring with internal impatience as Buzzcut very intentionally used the breathing technique I'd taught him. Three short breaths in, one long breath out. As he relaxed, he lifted his foot pressing down on the researcher's neck ever so slightly, suddenly more cognizant of the pressure he applied. "Well, I was out, picking up groceries. Small goods merchant acquaintance was in the area, and since we're not supposed to use the online vendor unless it's an emergency, figured it was a good opportunity to stock back up before things go apeshit."

Somehow I resisted the urge to tell him to get to the foot on neck part. "Good so far, go on."

"Did my business, played it safe, and was in the middle of checking for tails before heading back when I uh..." He smiled apologetically. "Felt the pull. Realized you were nearby. And I know you've told the others, uh, that it's alright if they check up on you so long as they aren't seen and keep their distance—generally I'm better than that, not some needy child like some of the twits—"

"What have we said about judgment?" I asked him, keeping my tone soft and tranquil.

Displeasure reared its head for just a moment as Buzzcut grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. "To show kindness and understanding to my brothers and sisters, bearing in mind many of them come from more difficult circumstances than I do. It's a hard one for me, boss. But I'm uh... working on it."

"Thank you for acknowledging your shortcoming so frankly. Self-awareness is a necessary step to enlightenment. Continue."

"Sure, sure." He nodded emphatically, happy to move on. "Anyway, I felt the pull. Figured you were busy and didn't need me poking my nose in, but it was on my way, and I thought, 'what the hell, might as well swing by, make sure everything's on the up and up.'" He pressed down on the researcher's neck with his heel for emphasis, scowling. "Which was when I saw this dipstick skulking around like baby's first army ranger. Literally hiding in the bushes with a pair of binoculars."

"And you intervened," I finished, curbing a torrent of frustration.

"No sir. If looking was all he was doing, he never would have made my acquaintance. Got enough of a read on him to confirm he wasn't much of a threat, woulda just messaged you if you were on your own. But he started creeping up, real slow like, so I followed. And once I got close enough to make out the little one, bumped his threat level." Buzzcut scowled, lifting his foot to give the researcher a kick, pulling the blow at the last second. He replaced his heel on the man's back, suddenly anxious. "Did I overreach?"

For a moment, the earnestness of the question caught me off-guard. Buzzcut was more advanced than the others, and almost never directly asked for validation, to the point I sometimes forgot he needed it just as badly as they did.

The Nursery started innocently enough. In theory, it was part shelter, part rehabilitation. An imperfect solution to a growing problem. The day of my first foray into the tower, I had to handle someone. A mother with a troubled history. Someone who, in a perfect world, I would have spared. But, being a mage, her high intelligence build made her almost impossible to manipulate, narrowing my options to one.

I don't regret it, really. To this day, I still think it was the right call. It was the underlying implications that drove the sliver deep. Realistically, she wouldn't be the last person I wanted to leave alone and couldn't, simply because their continued existence could create future problems. And once you start killing people not because of what they've done, but because of what they might do? The slope was slippery enough that I needed something else.

It came to me in pieces.

The first piece was, surprisingly, Keith, another mage from The Order. Unlike the first, he hadn't done anything wrong, didn't pose a threat beyond the organization he hailed from. I'd subjugated him in a desperate attempt to keep Nick from doing something he'd regret, and once the crisis was averted, I figured that would be the end of it. Subjugation wasn't supposed to last long, and I'd... encouraged Keith to forget the interaction before it expired. As far as I could tell, he was more or less blissfully unaware that anything had even happened. Yet, he lingered. Always seemed to be nearby whenever I was at the Order's HQ, like a shadow I couldn't shake. Eventually, out of sheer annoyance more than anything else, I confronted him.

His explanation was as simple as it was vexing. "Just wanna be available if you need anything."

At first, I wrote it off as some odd attachment issue. Keith was a second child to absent parents and a more charismatic—I.E. Shitheel—brother. The inferiority complex was practically baked in, as was the subsequent tendency to latch onto practically anyone who treated him as more than an eyesore. As explanations went, it fit, and for a while, I almost believed it.

Until I caught him shadowing me maskless in my own damn region.

Once confronted, the answer was the same: "Just wanna be available if you need anything."

This time, obviously, I didn't write it off. We took a long drive with an uncertain ending, while I grilled him on what his intentions were, Azure riding shotgun in the passenger seat of his mind. From what my summon could tell, his answers, while perplexing, were entirely forthright. Keith admitted, in a mix of embarrassment and excitement, that he'd come away from his experience in the tower more fulfilled than he'd ever been in his life. That it felt as if he'd been given a difficult task and instead of shrinking away or being paralyzed by inaction, he'd accomplished it perfectly. That was the reason he kept trailing me, hoping for another task, wanting to experience that feeling of accomplishment again.

When pressed on how he'd found me, after a ridiculous amount of apologizing, the mage claimed there was something almost analogous to a beacon in his head. It wasn't always on, but when it was, it was directional, and after he was close enough, it felt almost like a tangible pull.

It wasn't until I asked him if I had to worry about the possibility he might reveal my identity to others that his cheerful, forthright demeanor vanished. "I'd never do that. Never in my life. Not for any reason, even if whoever was asking was hurting me. I'd never do that to you." He repeated it over and over, regardless of how I phrased the question.

And after, Azure confirmed what I'd already begun to wonder. It was almost identical to a geas effect. The only fragment of true compulsion that remained after his primary directive had long since faded.

The second piece came in the form of testing. Because Keith's account, while jaw-dropping in scope if it turned out to be a fraction of what it hinted at, needed to be confirmed. Most of my days were filled with the mind-numbing process of climbing the tower with Nick, and my nights were spent testing extensively. And the results were curious.

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First thing I learned was that the sort of magnetism Keith exhibited varied greatly. If I told someone to do something as insignificant and universally advisable as looking both ways before they crossed the street, they would do as instructed without protest, seem briefly pleased with themselves, and forget me immediately. But if the task given was more difficult while still falling within the lines of something they would do, or rather, something they would do if they were an idealized, better version of themselves? They'd follow me around like an imprinted duckling, similar to Keith.

It took some tinkering to find a solution to the multiplying shadows. Initially, I tried asking the imprinted subjects to avoid me, which proved problematic. Not because they didn't listen—they did, a little too well, and the average person is neither as sly or subtle as they believe themselves to be. But giving them the assignment of carrying out their business as usual worked like a dream. It both fulfilled their expectations for another task, and had no definable endpoint, meaning they'd carry the "task" of living their usual lives out in perpetuity.

The next discovery was that the magnetism effect could be reversed. This took far more prep-work to test, because of the ethical issues of giving some poor schmuck the worst night of his life in the name of research. I needed a deserving subject. And a deserving subject I found. Ex-con, triple homicide, got off on a technicality because the cops got too eager. Mustache that deserved a cell of its own. No noteworthy connections.

I let myself into Chomo-stache's apartment and, after a brief interrogation and subjugation, directed him to prepare and eat grape leaves—the food he found so revolting even the smell made him gag—until his stomach ached.

Had a mission with Sae and the strike team that night, so I only stayed long enough to confirm he'd carried out the order and left, intending to follow up the next day.

It took three to find him again. When I finally did, another interrogation with Azure confirmed my suspicions. Like Keith, Chomo-stache also had a beacon in his head. Only when he'd sensed me drawing closer, his compulsion was to clear out and get as far away as possible. He didn't seem to understand what happened, even seemed to laugh at himself a little for overreacting. The only concrete conclusion he seemed to draw from it was, in his own words, "Ain't your fault. But if you get too close, get the feeling I might end up doing something unpleasant again." Approaching him without the mask triggered the same result, though he couldn't understand why or connect me to Myrddin.

All of this was troubling. Using before knowing any of it already felt questionable, and the idea of using it after felt far worse, brushing against something borderline mephistophelian. It was one thing to steal someone's agency in a crisis to ensure a better outcome, another entirely to do it knowing it had the potential to permanently alter their perspective and adhere them to me.

If nothing else happened, it might have ended as a cautionary experiment, the result underlining the importance of keeping the Ordinator power in my back pocket until absolutely necessary.

Enter Buzzcut.

In the long interim between Cameron's imprisonment and our first meeting, he'd apparently listened to the edited version of the recording I left of Aaron greenlighting his death, replayed it countless times, growing increasingly despondent. Surprising, because for someone who acted like such a hardass, the betrayal cut him deeply. He wouldn't tell me, or couldn't, because of the geas, but I gathered enough context to fill in the blanks. Aaron had a certain way of engaging you on an individual level. He was so obviously brilliant and confident that when he carved out time for you specifically, or sought your opinion, it made you feel special. Important.

Making it all the more jarring when Aaron suddenly threw you away.

I probably don't need to spell out why I wanted to help Cameron. Commonalities in our history aside, his OCD grew worse, aggravated by his imprisonment, and his already dwindling supply of meds didn't seem to be doing a damn thing. I sat with him, talked, brought plenty of books and DVDs for the ancient portable player in his cell. Despite anything I tried, including calling in a favor from Hastur to remove Cameron's geas, he kept asking me to kill him.

Taking me right back to that shitty day in the tower.

The pieces came together, then. A potential long-term solution for all the problems I couldn't bring myself to solve permanently. I'd spent enough time with Azure riding along that I knew almost everything about Cameron. His past, history, traumas, motivations and desires and the psychology underpinning it all. It would take time and effort, but between Azure, my ordinator abilities, and the unexpected side effects of I could, in theory, fix him. Erode his traumas, suppress distressing memories, deaden impulses that made his everyday life difficult. Impart a renewed sense of fulfillment and purpose.

So just like I had with Talia, and Audrey before her, I gave Buzzcut a choice. He could take the easy way out if he wanted. Or he could roll the dice with me and potentially have the chance to stick it to Aaron.

It took a while to decide, but eventually, he chose the latter.

"Not at all," I smiled, addressing the question of whether he'd overstepped and clapped him on the back. "You evaluated the situation, escalated only when you had to, and kept my sister safe. Well done." I leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "If anything, you're ready for graduation."

Buzzcut's eyebrows shot up, mouth forming a slight frown. "I get the whole point of the place is to move on eventually. Hard to gather information and act on orders if we don't. But what if I screw up, or backslide and end up losing all the progress I've made?"

I gripped his shoulders gently, fighting a wave of nausea that struggled to surface as I realized I'd done something similar with my siblings, countless times. "You were the first, Cameron. The others all look up to you and respect your judgment. They're eager to see the example you set, watching for footsteps to follow. I'm taking a risk here, yes, but I wouldn't take it if I didn't have the utmost confidence in what you've achieved so far."

"You really think I'm ready?" He rubbed the gray sleeve of his sweatshirt across misty eyes.

Hard to say. Kind of in uncharted waters here. I'd prefer a few more months to make sure there are no wrinkles, but we're out of time.

"Of course you are." I encouraged him, shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie awkwardly as he reined himself in. "I'm heading to headquarters today. If you're good to go, I'll take you with me. But if you need more time to settle your affairs..."

"No." Cameron sniffed, stretching his arms out with a few idle swings and centering himself. "Ready to get back in the game. Just gonna go back and say my goodbyes."

"The nursery's your home. Your family. You know you can always come back, right?"

"Yeah..." He shook his head, glancing up seriously. "But if I'm gonna do this right, probably best to keep my distance for a while." With a heavy sigh, he stared down at the researcher. "So, we instancing this guy?"

I gave the unconscious researcher a long, displeased look, then crouched down to check his pulse again. Still steady. "Pretty sure I know who he works for, and why he's here. His vocation is pretty rare, and he shouldn't be a problem once he finds out what he's looking for is gone. Guessing he'll be out for another hour, at least. I'll call some mercs to pick him up."

"Once I do the rounds at the nursery I'll stay put, just shoot a line when you're headed to HQ." Cameron removed his boot from the researcher's back, wiping it on the ground as I walked away.

Grass crunched beneath my feet and I waved behind me as I walked away, smile sliding into an expression that was far more troubled. There was a part of me that still wanted to believe that what I was doing was ultimately good. That it was better to be alive—albeit deeply influenced—than dead. But if it was me in the cell, and someone made me choose between keeping my own agency or being enthralled by someone else?

There's no question what my answer would be.