In the Court of the Yellow King by Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris
Authors: Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris
Tags: Lovecraft, cthulhu mythos, Mark Rainey, Yellow Sign, Lucy Snyder, William Meikle, Brian Sammons, Tim Curran, Jeffrey Thomas, King in Yellow, Chambers, Robert Price, True Detective
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couldn’t find her again. He noticed that the hovering holographic sign reading Imperial Dynasty had vanished, and the room beyond the window was entirely swallowed in blackness, the people and even the tables he had seen previously now apparently all gone.
Yet one night as he was prowling in his search for the woman in the silk dress, as his stolen car crossed a high, elevated bridge he happened to look down at the street below and spotted the luminous yellow letters that spelled out Imperial Dynasty , hovering in front of another building with a large dark window out front. Was it a chain of restaurants, then, or the same business... hopping from one location to another around the city? As restless, perhaps, as he was.
He always entered Fukuda Bioforms through one of the Employees Only side doors, but today when he’d parked his brand new fluorescent pink Razer and walked to the entrance, he realized he didn’t have his company ID card on him. He asked the door scanner to read his face and voice, but it didn’t respond. Probably a glitch. Frustrated, he decided to try the building’s main entrance instead. It was a large structure, so as he turned away he was prepared for a bit of a walk, but he had only taken a few steps when a series of loud cracks caused him to flinch to a stop.
He looked toward the parking lot, and saw a figure walking between the vehicles, carrying a bulky assault engine – the kind of military weapon that could fire solid projectiles, beams, shotgun pellets, even mini rockets from its various muzzles. He knew this, because he often used one himself in GTH , usually when fighting forcers or street gangs. This person had set the gun to single-action fire, solid bullets, and was pumping rounds into the parked vehicles as he maneuvered between them. Windshields erupted into crystalline sprays, black holes popping open in the vehicles’ hoods and flanks. Giff realized the man was laughing wildly as he fired.
The man turned his head and noticed that Giff was rooted in place, staring in stunned disbelief. That was when Giff recognized it was Donny.
“Hey, Giff!” Donny called to him. “Have you found the Yellow Sign yet? It changes the whole game, man... it changes everything! ”
Giff held up his hands as Donny started walking toward him. He wanted to whirl away and make a run for it, but was afraid to set the younger man off. “Come on, Donny... easy, guy.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Giff.” Donny kept coming. “You understand! You’re addicted, too.” Grinning, he turned the big gun around in his hands. “Hey, watch this, man... the sign wants to get inside us... you got to let it in!”
He stopped about ten feet from Giff, raised the assault rifle so that one of its muzzles pressed against his own forehead, and pulled one of its multiple triggers.
Giff jolted to consciousness.
He was slumped back on the love seat that could be folded out into his bed. The stink of excrement greeted him, and he realized his pajama pants were soiled, and thoroughly soaked with urine. So was the cushion he was seated on. “Oh God,” he groaned, and in speaking discovered that his throat was as dry as a tube of cement. He stripped off his pajamas, dropped them into the trash zapper, and before stepping into the shower leaned over the sink to cup handfuls of water into his mouth. When at last he straightened, in the mirror he saw the ultranet interface disks stuck to his temples. He peeled them off.
No wonder he couldn’t get into Fukuda Bioforms, he thought. For security purposes, of course the company wouldn’t allow its interior to be mapped for Grand Thef t Hovercar . Or had that been reality, after all, and he was now immersed in the game? No... no... this reflected face was his, not Marcel Valentin’s. That was the only real way he could tell.
He showered, then emerged to stare at his love seat in disgust. Cleaning it would be a headache, but he couldn’t afford replacing it right
Yet one night as he was prowling in his search for the woman in the silk dress, as his stolen car crossed a high, elevated bridge he happened to look down at the street below and spotted the luminous yellow letters that spelled out Imperial Dynasty , hovering in front of another building with a large dark window out front. Was it a chain of restaurants, then, or the same business... hopping from one location to another around the city? As restless, perhaps, as he was.
He always entered Fukuda Bioforms through one of the Employees Only side doors, but today when he’d parked his brand new fluorescent pink Razer and walked to the entrance, he realized he didn’t have his company ID card on him. He asked the door scanner to read his face and voice, but it didn’t respond. Probably a glitch. Frustrated, he decided to try the building’s main entrance instead. It was a large structure, so as he turned away he was prepared for a bit of a walk, but he had only taken a few steps when a series of loud cracks caused him to flinch to a stop.
He looked toward the parking lot, and saw a figure walking between the vehicles, carrying a bulky assault engine – the kind of military weapon that could fire solid projectiles, beams, shotgun pellets, even mini rockets from its various muzzles. He knew this, because he often used one himself in GTH , usually when fighting forcers or street gangs. This person had set the gun to single-action fire, solid bullets, and was pumping rounds into the parked vehicles as he maneuvered between them. Windshields erupted into crystalline sprays, black holes popping open in the vehicles’ hoods and flanks. Giff realized the man was laughing wildly as he fired.
The man turned his head and noticed that Giff was rooted in place, staring in stunned disbelief. That was when Giff recognized it was Donny.
“Hey, Giff!” Donny called to him. “Have you found the Yellow Sign yet? It changes the whole game, man... it changes everything! ”
Giff held up his hands as Donny started walking toward him. He wanted to whirl away and make a run for it, but was afraid to set the younger man off. “Come on, Donny... easy, guy.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Giff.” Donny kept coming. “You understand! You’re addicted, too.” Grinning, he turned the big gun around in his hands. “Hey, watch this, man... the sign wants to get inside us... you got to let it in!”
He stopped about ten feet from Giff, raised the assault rifle so that one of its muzzles pressed against his own forehead, and pulled one of its multiple triggers.
Giff jolted to consciousness.
He was slumped back on the love seat that could be folded out into his bed. The stink of excrement greeted him, and he realized his pajama pants were soiled, and thoroughly soaked with urine. So was the cushion he was seated on. “Oh God,” he groaned, and in speaking discovered that his throat was as dry as a tube of cement. He stripped off his pajamas, dropped them into the trash zapper, and before stepping into the shower leaned over the sink to cup handfuls of water into his mouth. When at last he straightened, in the mirror he saw the ultranet interface disks stuck to his temples. He peeled them off.
No wonder he couldn’t get into Fukuda Bioforms, he thought. For security purposes, of course the company wouldn’t allow its interior to be mapped for Grand Thef t Hovercar . Or had that been reality, after all, and he was now immersed in the game? No... no... this reflected face was his, not Marcel Valentin’s. That was the only real way he could tell.
He showered, then emerged to stare at his love seat in disgust. Cleaning it would be a headache, but he couldn’t afford replacing it right
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