Read The Battle for Free Online Page A

strangers by sending your kids to the hospice. Consider your children to be in military school. Army regime; relatives visit on designated days only. Once of age, the students will each choose their destiny themselves. And your contributions are always welcome; upbringing isn’t cheap like it might seem..."
    One of the brawnier men summoned up his courage and raised his hand to ask a question. A tramp with balls. Good thing everyone showed up with real avatars. I was no great physiognomist, but could easily tell determination and cowering apart. Had I faced a crowd of orcs, trolls, or other such avatars, I’d have had more trouble distinguishing their emotions.
    "Save your questions!" my nearly subsonic growl sent a shudder down their backs once again.
    Quiet pings signaled the exit of a handful of seniors. I hoped it was their sensitivity that forced them to leave the virtual world, not a heart attack.
    That was where another popular feature of the FIVR capsule came into play. The owner didn’t just get a hot toy; they received a wide variety of custom modules, from the simplest physician to a personal hospital with an ER. People used to reach for the phone in an emergency; now, they climbed inside the capsule. It sewed up wounds, administered shots as needed...
    No way, grannies. I thought. I can’t let you dominate the scene. Your numbers and authority are a distraction, just like your petty questions. For now, all I need is to put you in your place. And that’s not easy...
    The hospice was a one-of-a-kind place. You needed money and connections to get your child in there. Except for a few welfare clients, most of the parents were well-off. Solid middle class, mostly businessmen, government officials, criminals, and so on.
    Most of those present were over sixty. Grandchildren are almost always cherished more than children. What a paradox. But then, after parents have marked their child defective, they really shouldn’t be surprised when their relationship cools.
    Now, the elderly have seen their beloved grandchildren get well and have set their hopes on the amazing attainment of eternal youth. I saw the fire in their eyes on Parents’ Day. Saw their attempts to find a catch, their burning desire to prove their own suspicions wrong.
    I continued making my point,
    "As for joining the clan, the number of applicants is growing. But I must warn you, simply wanting to join isn’t enough. First, we only accept those who’ve gone perma. That’s a permanent condition. There’s no way back. Think about that. Second, our demands are high. You must willingly undergo testing and background screening. You must swear loyalty to the clan and the alliance. And you have to live by military rules. You sure you’re ready for this? No darksiders are cardboard characters. Forget that Hollywood fluff about good and evil. The word dark and light mean just about as much as blue and purple ; neither one is morally superior, in case anyone was wondering."
    Judging by how many drew the cross upon themselves, our nominal dark title would remain a problem. I was surprised by the presence of church-goers. The world’s religions had come together in protesting against virtual worlds, especially the perma phenomenon.
    In fact, the battle for eternal souls had flared up like never before. Every confession wanted to retain its monopoly on the afterlife. It could never be ascertained whether a suicide bomber actually got his seventy virgins in the real world. While the promised virtual world, Padishah, was teeming with girls of various breast sizes, who awaited their hero impatiently.
    Had I gone overboard with the fear effects? I wondered. I don’t need ideological enemies, I need loyal, grateful followers.
    I exhaled, dispersing the darkness with a snap of my fingers. Then I squinted, estimating the hall’s area. It should be strong enough...
    I activated Gilding, the ability that I had "fairly stolen". The crowd gasped in unison. Royal gold