Edge of Reality (Phantom Server: Book #1)
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He is a cyber dweller. A gamer who's grown up in the web of virtual illusion woven from hundreds of phantom worlds. His biggest dream is to dump the real world for good.
His desperate hunger of new experiences forces him to take a risk and become one of the first proud owners of a neuronet implant. The new gadget becomes part of him - but soon it's not enough. If only he could finally burn all his bridges and make a step beyond the real world!
He soon gets this opportunity. A new universe, overflowing with mystery and unimaginable, mind-blowing authenticity, opens up before him.
This is Phantom Server. The game of the future where your pursuit of an adrenaline rush soon turns into a battle for survival. But the most terrifying mystery lies ahead when you gradually start to realize: this is a road of no return. Your every decision may become your last. Your every step leads you further along the abyss between life and death.
around. Nothing special, just a chaotic mess of misshaped equipment amid abundant traces of high temperatures and decompression. The room had a dome-like ceiling, with panoramic windows lining the wall below. I checked the thickness of the armor. Not bad. I had to anchor myself somehow without losing the ability to move freely. I noticed a few long severed cables and tried to pull one out. It budged enough. Now I had a safety tether of about fifteen feet long, supple enough to tie it around my
system indicator immediately shrank into the red zone. Still, I had no choice. I shoved the submachine gun into a quick access slot. Charon had my handgun. His fate was still unknown. I couldn't see his lanky figure anywhere. He'd disappeared into the darkness. Would he shaft me or not? We weren't yet clear on the subject of trust. I knew negligibly little about the xenomorphs. Their semantics were a mystery to me. How was I supposed to know what they meant by honesty? I wasn't even sure they
On the picture it looked like an enormous sullen moon taking up a good one-third of the sky. Add to this the station's two automatically activated orbital power elevators: two shafts of phantom energy sliding along the planet's surface, sucking in anyone who dared to enter its glow and beaming them up on board this enormous technogenic artifact. My throat rasped. I took another swig of water and went on reading. No wonder the Dargians had developed the cult of the Heavenly Guardian. While
later. I removed my helmet and handed it to Jurgen. "There're two devices left in the slots. Do you think you can reinstall them in this new suit?" He cast a quick glance at them. "Why on earth would you need this old tat?" "Sentimental value." He didn't argue. "If you say so." "How long will this exo stuff work?" "About twenty hours, I think. I've given you one hell of a dose." "And then what?" "Then you need to keep your metabolic implant in overdrive," he said. "We need your ribs to
around me, trying to inhale as little as possible. The game designers must have been away on holiday when this particular level had been introduced. The emosphere made your blood curdle. The far-off whimpering and wailing really worked on your nerves, and the cold drove you to frustration. There was also no stage setting worth mentioning. Occasionally the floor echoed with distinct vibrations, easily recognizable as someone's heavy gait. Never mind. I've seen worse than this. Guided by the