Chapter 37: Desperate Measures

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Planet Dimensional Gates Entertainment*

Ilkay and Allison sat in the futuristic lounge where screens constantly showed game snippets with commentators providing running analysis. The walls curved in impossible angles, made from materials that seemed to shift between metal and glass. Holographic displays floated in mid-air, showing battles from WarForge where armies clashed in spectacular explosions of light and steel. Allison started pacing like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor that reflected the swirling colors of distant nebulae visible through the transparent ceiling.

A commentator's voice boomed from hidden speakers: "Whoa! That kill shot was amazing! WarForge, where war games never end! It looks like they'll take the capital and there's no coming back from that devastation. One year of defense goes to garbage with that single strike!"

Ilkay, seated in a chair that molded itself to his body, watched his son with tired eyes. "Allison, stop pacing around and sit down. We waited four years to meet this buffoon and we can wait a couple more hours."

"It's been four years they've been stuck in that wretched game," Allison snapped, his voice cracking with barely contained fury. "We don't know if they're dead or alive. How can I just sit?"

Ilkay's voice hardened with the authority of someone who had led planets through crisis. "Allison, stop showing emotions. These will weaken your hand in every negotiation."

"This is not a negotiation," Allison snarled, his face flushed with rage. "I'll blast his head clean off if he can't give us any solutions."

Ilkay glanced around the empty lounge, noting the absence of security. "They didn't even bring the whole security party to the lounge. How are you going to blast his head off?"

Allison flashed a small, ancient weapon a relic from humanity's violent past. It had been thousands of years since anyone used silicate guns with actual bullets outside of war games. The silicate was worn smooth from age, but the weapon looked functional.

Ilkay sighed and held out his hand. "Give me that, idiot. You're going to get yourself killed." He took the small weapon and tucked it into his clothes, making sure he could reach it with one swift movement if needed.

A bald woman entered the lounge, her clothes woven from what appeared to be actual hair in intricate patterns that shifted and moved like living things. "How could they top each other in ridiculousness?" Ilkay thought, watching the bizarre fashion statement.

She began speaking, and hidden translators converted her words to their language: "Mr. Designer will see you now. Please follow me."

She walked through the empty giant lounge with fluid grace. They had reserved an entire planet just for Dimensional Gates Entertainment R&D - what a waste of a world, Ilkay thought. But with near-endless resources spanning three galaxies, humanity had grown accustomed to thinking themselves gods, messing with biology, psychology, and reality itself for over a thousand years.

He wasn't regretful about giving Demir and Aris, or any youth from their planet, the chance to explore and test reality beyond the safe haven community they'd tried to build. But when his people needed him, he had to be there. Today he was four years late to help his grandson and the kid he'd come to love like a grandson.

They reached an office with windows that could see almost the entire planet. No building in the vicinity was taller than this tower, and there he was the crazy immortal Game Designer. Not just a title he had legally changed his name to Game Designer. He wore nothing, but projectors around the room illuminated clothes onto his body. When he gestured, a wave of wasp-like small robots passed by, leaving him dressed in formal attire that looked perfectly real.

Like every rich person in the galaxy, Game Designer had augmented every part of himself to achieve immortality. Even though he was rumored to be more than 1200 years old, he looked forty the prime of human physical condition frozen in time.

"Gentlemen! Welcome to Dimensional Gates Entertainment!" Designer's voice was warm and practiced, the tone of someone accustomed to being the most important person in any room. "How can I help you? You must know pretty important people to schedule a meeting with me." He laughed, the sound echoing off the vast windows.

Allison's anger flared immediately. "It's been four years we've been trying to reach you! Have you forgotten about Realmforge? Millions are stuck there!" He pointed an accusing finger at Designer, his voice rising with each word.

Designer's demeanor shifted instantly, his smile vanishing. "Whoa, whoa, buddy. Don't make me call the guards. Be chill."

Ilkay gestured sharply for Allison to sit down. "Allison, if you act like a five-year-old, wait outside." His voice carried the authority of a planetary leader who had dealt with countless diplomatic crises.

Ilkay turned to Designer with practiced calm. "Sorry for the hostile start. I am Ilkay, leader of the recently expanded two-planet system called Keepers of the True Hand. We are mainly farmers - organic farmers."

Designer's interest perked up slightly. "I know you guys! You produce the best figs in three sectors. Am I right, Seasly?" He looked around for his assistant, but she had left after dropping them off.

Ilkay noted how they'd been left alone with one of the richest men in known space either supreme confidence or supreme stupidity.

"As my son mentioned, we are here about Realmforge. One of your gaming universes where our kids are stuck there with millions of others. Is there any news?"

Designer leaned back in his chair, which adjusted automatically to his posture. "Not just a gaming planet but a whole universe, tiny as it is. But I'm afraid there's no communication possible."

Allison jumped to his feet, rage overtaking caution. "How is that possible? It's been four years! You opened another gaming universe, but you can't reach your old one? Are you even trying?"

Designer's face hardened. "I can't deal with hostile environments. SECURITY!" he yelled.

Four robots emerged from the walls like they had been part of the architecture itself, their forms sleek and deadly.

Ilkay immediately raised his hands in surrender. "So sorry for my son's behavior. Allison, get out."

"Dad—"

Ilkay was at his limit. He had waited four years for answers, and he wouldn't let his son's emotions destroy their only chance. "ALI, GET THE FUCK OUTSIDE!" he yelled with a force that shook the windows.

Allison saw his father swear for the first time in his life and walked outside without another word, the weight of his father's desperation finally hitting him.

Game Designer waved his hand, and the robots reintegrated into the walls and disappeared as if they had never existed.

Ilkay started talking calmly, as if nothing had happened. He didn't know how much time Designer would give him, and he didn't intend to waste those precious minutes arguing.

"How is it possible to lose all communication?"

Designer settled back, apparently willing to explain now that the hostile element was removed. "It's because it exists outside of our universe. When they invented space folding to instantly jump impossible distances, they realized they were creating small pocket dimensions and traveling through them."

He continued, warming to his subject, "One crazy capitalist had an idea to capture those pockets, put land in them, and sell them as private planets. But it turns out no one wanted to maintain dimensional real estate."

"Except you," Ilkay observed.

"Except me and my gaming customers. I designed my first world, replaced the core with an almost infinite energy supplier. It is super expensive technology by the way. Filled the air with oxygen, nitrogen, and the gases needed for life, with a twist."

"Tiny machines to maintain the dimension," Ilkay said, showing he understood the technology.

"Correct, old man. Each gas molecule carried a molecule-sized robot."

Ilkay couldn't help himself. "I am probably more than a thousand years younger than you, but go on."

Designer chuckled. "Anyway, that technology allowed us to basically control reality there. You need a fireball? Boom! Our bots communicate directly with the power source to manifest it."

"I'm not even going to ask about the made-up races."

"It's DNA manipulation and replication you know early 101st century tech. We perfected that long ago. But if you ask why they cut us out, I don't know. But I know how."

Ilkay leaned forward. "Is there any chance it's reversible?"

"Not entirely. We are trying to find the actual location of the pocket dimension outside of our universe, which is..." Designer spread his hands helplessly.

"Almost impossible. So the kids - the players - need to seize control and open the portal themselves."

"Unfortunately, yes. But we learned from our mistakes, and now they can't do that in new worlds. Want to try our WarForge or the new Fantasy setting with zero video game design elements? RealmForge Vanilla?"

Ilkay stood up from his chair and, with swift motion, drew the gun and pressed it against Game Designer's mouth.

"I can blast your head off before your robots kill me. If you find any - and I mean ANY - tiny way to open communication there or send even a morse-coded message, you'll inform me. Or I will blast your head off, along with all your backup memories, clones, and virtual likenesses."

Game Designer was in shock, his immortal confidence shattered by the cold touch of an ancient weapon. "Okay," he whispered.

"Do not try to bury this because survivors returning would be bad press. Be human for one second. And if you think yourself a god, take responsibility for your people." Ilkay backed toward the door, keeping the weapon trained on Designer. "I'll be in touch."

He walked out, leaving behind a shaken immortal and the weight of desperate hope.