Ready Player One X reader

chapter 4

The creature stood before us, chest heaving. Then its stomach started to move.

A blade emerged from within, cutting upward through the monster suit like it was made of paper. The disguise fell away in polygonal chunks, revealing—

"What the hell, Arty?" I shouted.

Art3mis stood there, her custom blade disappearing back into her inventory, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"That's... That's not funny," Parzival said, his avatar actually pale.

"Oh my God, don't you get it?" She pulled off her own face—not her real face, but another layer of disguise underneath the monster. "You're famous now. Everyone knows your avatars. You need disguises, alternate skins, proxy protocols. This isn't a game anymore."

She was right, of course. The comfort of anonymity was gone forever.

Twenty minutes and three different disguises later, we stood before the Curator—an NPC that managed Halliday's journal archives, designed to look like Halliday himself but aged another thirty years, with wild Einstein hair and clothes that belonged in five different decades simultaneously.

"December 2nd, 2025," the Curator announced, his voice carrying the worn quality of an old VHS tape. "Six days before the OASIS launch."

The hologram materialized around us—not just a video, but a full environmental recording. We were in Gregarious Games' original office, all exposed brick and salvaged furniture, the kind of startup aesthetic that said 'we spent all our money on servers.'

Young Halliday sat at a desk covered in energy drink cans and takeout containers. Ogden Morrow paced behind him, his avatar captured mid-gesture. And there, in the corner, trying to look invisible—

"Is that Sorrento?" Art3mis said, disgust coloring her voice.

"What was that idiot doing there?" I asked.

"Sorrento started as an intern," Parzival explained, his tone carrying the confidence of someone who'd researched every frame of this recording. "He claims he learned at the feet of the master. That's how he convinced IOI to create the Sixers for him—his supposed Halliday knowledge. But ask Ogden Morrow? He says the only thing Sorrento actually knew about Halliday was how he liked his coffee. Black, two sugars, in case you're wondering."

"Can you fast-forward to the stuff about Halliday's date?" Parzival asked the Curator.

"What? Halliday actually went on a date?" Art3mis's surprise seemed genuine. Even with all her research, this was new information.

The scene shifted, time scrubbing forward. Halliday and Morrow were arguing—or rather, Morrow was trying to have a conversation while Halliday deflected.

"—just doesn't understand me, Og," Halliday was saying. "We went to dinner, and she wanted to talk about reality. The weather. Her job. I tried to explain the quest system I'm designing, and her eyes just... glazed over."

"Maybe because it was a first date, Jim," Morrow replied with fond exasperation. "Normal people don't lead with MMO mechanics."

"Karen isn't normal people. Karen Underwood is... she's..."

My blood went cold. Art3mis grabbed my arm.

"No, no. Karen Underwood, as in Ogden Morrow's wife?" I said.

"Just watch," Parzival said quietly.

The scene continued. Halliday's younger self looked utterly dejected, his body language screaming of someone who'd realized they'd missed their chance.