Table of Contents

  Summary

  Black Forge Books Mailing List

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Books, Mailing List, and Reviews

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Patreon

  Books by Black Forge

  Books by Shadow Alley Press

  GameLit, Harem, and Cultivation on Facebook

  LitRPG on Facebook

  Even More LitRPG on Facebook

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Summary

  ROY BOSS, THE CEO OF VentureForge Industries, just woke up in a different galaxy.

  He’s lost his company and his body, and the man who murdered him might still be alive. The good news is he’s on Plymouth, an almost mythical world where monsters are designed and printed for Roy’s game worlds. First order of the day: print himself a superpowered body and get back what’s his.

  But everything isn’t as it seems. The research lab he arrived in is deserted except for a few dead security guards, and the streets outside are filled with thousands of robot dogs programmed for one single purpose: kill Roy Boss.

  Fortunately, Roy has an entire catalog of savior-class monster girls he can print up to help him clean house, each with their own powers, transformations, and fetishes. Hit Print for justice, for satisfaction, and for the love of the game.

  From Aaron Crash, bestselling author of Barbarian Outcast and the American Dragon series, comes a brand-new world that will leave you turning pages late into the night.

  Black Forge Books Mailing List

  WANT TO KEEP UP WITH all of our great books? Then visit Black Forge Books and subscribe to our mailing list!

  If you’d like to support Aaron Crash (and get early access to cover art and chapters from new books), visit his Patreon page.

  Chapter One

  FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE he was murdered, Roy Boss walked through the halls of VentureForge’s headquarters. Not only was he the CEO of VentureForge, but he’d also helped design the space station orbiting Paizo IV.

  That afternoon, the afternoon of his second death, he was on the twentieth floor on his way to the executive conference room. The reinforced windows gave him a nice view of Paizo’s main continent, a brilliant green against the blue ocean. It was a good location for his HQ, the Paizins were nice, and the Paizo Stargate could take you anywhere in the Milky Way Galaxy.

  Roy was dressed in slacks, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his good leather walking shoes. While he could’ve used the personnel movers on the space station, Roy preferred to walk. His pace was brisk, and he had a rundown of the latest stats from the new gaming world he was opening, Dungeon Core III, still in production, near the Gygax Stargate.

  It was the first working day back from the holiday break, January 3, 3115. Though humans had spread out across the galaxy, they still tracked time using the Terran calendar and celebrated the Terran holidays.

  Roy felt like a schoolboy playing hooky. His board of directors had fifteen other projects and reports they would rather he be working on. He was past arguing with them, and Ennis Tolliver in particular. They had their agenda, and it didn’t include dungeons.

  As for Roy? Given his personal history, the games were everything. All he wanted was to make the monsters for his gaming worlds bigger and more spectacular. Joyce Halcyon, his main contact with the mysterious monster manufacturers of Plymouth, said her people were working on a new generation of creatures that could do literally anything, from breathing fire to casting energy spells.

  “Just take my money already,” he’d told her.

  Roy wasn’t worried about Tolliver, the chief financial officer, but he was concerned about Joyce. He hadn’t heard from her in almost two weeks. It wasn’t unusual for Plymouth to play things close to the chest, but they usually didn’t do it for so long. They were his most important supplier. They’d even saved his life.

  Roy was no stranger to death. He’d died the night he opened his first gaming world, Dungeon Core I, on Arneson III, a planet near the Arneson Gate. He’d been at the launch party, a glass of Panacea champagne in hand, when his vision blurred, and the first pains started. He’d tried to walk it off. The Dungeon Core world had been an amazing achievement. The tourists spent hours going through his real-life dungeons with their swords and spells fueled by technology. Lots of scrapes and bruises—the tourists liked it if there was some true danger there—but no serious injuries and not fatalities.

  He’d made it halfway back to his office before the heart attack dropped him. He’d been on the phone with Joyce, so no one saw. She was the one who called security.

  After that heart attack, Roy had been given a new synthetic heart, a gift from Plymouth, matched to his DNA. Plymouth was the only reason Roy had a company. And they were the reason why he’d been so wildly successful. The artificial monsters they provided had turned his gaming worlds from good to great to life-changing.

  The only problem? Plymouth had gone dark. No messages. No conference calls. Nothing but silence since Christmas Eve. If Roy missed a single deadline, there was a chance that Tolliver and his allies would have an excuse to kick Roy out of his own company. It had happened before, countless times, going back to Steve Jobs eleven hundred years ago.

  Roy turned a corner on the space station. He was on his way to the board meeting, which wouldn’t start for another forty-five minutes. Roy always arrived early. His father said if you’re not five minutes early, you’re late. Roy had embraced the phrase.

  Tolliver stood in the hallway, taking in the view of the spinning world below. “Roy, Roy, Roy.” He was a balding man in a suit with shining black shoes and a matching belt. He was lean and hungry looking, like a vampire vulture during a famine. He had distractingly big, square teeth, almost too big for his mouth. His thin lips didn’t do much to hide them. All in all, he was pale and sickly—on his best day, Tolliver looked like he was already halfway dead.

  It was just one more reason Roy didn’t like the man. At nearly fifty, Roy still kept in shape and kept the muscle on, and every morning began with a series of punishing exercises. When the Grim Reaper finally took Roy Boss for keeps, he wanted the muscle to punch that skeletal cocksucker right in his bony face.

  Tolliver looked off. Roy could feel the tension in the air, more than usual.

  “You didn’t answer my message,” the gaunt man said, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth.

  “Hey, Ennis,” Roy said, keeping his distance. It was just the two of them in the hall. “I get way too many messages from you. Which one are you referring to?”

  “Communication is key at a company like this!” Tolliver roared.

  Roy was right to stay back. His adversary was coming unhinged.

  “That’s what they say in all the business books.” Roy touched the watch on his wrist, which was tied directly to his synthetic heart. If it stopped beating, then...well...shit would happen. He’d made arrangements with Joyce on Plymouth. He’d never met Joyce in person, no, since the Plymouth Gate was a one-way trip. Plymouth wasn’t in the Milky Way Galaxy. It was...someplace else.

  Roy had friends who worked for Kriss Devlin Stargates. Even they couldn’t figure out the tech of the Plymouth Gate—it was exit only. That allowed Joyce to send him his monsters, but it didn’t permit him to go and visit her.

  Joyce was nice enough, but she offered few details about herself, her world, or her company. Or maybe the company was the world? That wasn’t clear either. And the way Roy paid his most important vendor was downright strange. Then again, the universe was a kooky fucking place.

  Roy grinned at the CFO. “I probably should’ve answered that message since you’re clearly upset. What did it say?”

  Tolliver was breathing hard, and his hands were balled into fists. “You need to take the Charter’s deal. You need to give them access to Plymouth.”

  The Charter—as close to a galactic government as existed—wanted to use Plymouth’s monsters as soldiers.

  Roy wasn’t against the idea...better to use monsters than people. However, the Charter’s Military Command wasn’t offering him enough money. They wanted him to be a patriot. Roy was a gamer first, businessman second, and not much of a patriot at all. He kept planets full of people busy with jobs they loved—that was enough patriotism for one man.

  “Yes, I read that message, Ennis. We’ve gone over this. The Charter isn’t offering enough money. Not nearly enough. And I’m not sure my friends on Plymouth are going to play ball.”

&nbs
p; Tolliver stomped forward, turned, and stomped back to where he’d been. Another turn. “So you’re cutting executive salaries instead of taking the deal? All of our salaries?”

  “Mine too.” Not that Roy ever really reached into the reserve. He’d been paying himself five dollars a year for a decade now, and he’d cut that down to a single greenback. Dungeon Core I had made him immediately, stupidly rich. Other parks followed—America Core, Caesar Core, Bushido Core, and Dungeon Core II. Dungeon Core III would be his sixth world, and the best. His critics kept expecting the monsters at the gaming worlds to snap and murder continents full of gaming tourists. Of course, that never happened. The A.I. came with an anti-sentience setting. Even though it had been over a thousand years, people still remembered the lessons of Westworld, both the movie and the TV show.

  “You’re spending too much on DC III!” Tolliver yelled. “My salary shouldn’t finance your delusions!”

  “My delusions made us all rich,” Roy countered, frowning. If it came to throwing punches, he could take Tolliver. Something else was going on, though. Something wasn’t right.

  Roy heard footsteps. With the acoustics, he wasn’t sure if they were behind him or coming from Tolliver’s end of the hallway behind the turn there. Somehow, that suddenly seemed very important.

  “Our latest gaming world,” Roy corrected. “VentureForge has a motto. Do you remember what it is?”

  “I know the fucking motto!” Tolliver sent spit flying.

  Yep, Roy took another step back. “Say it with me, Ennis. The games come first. Then the people. Then the profits.”

  Ennis pulled out a level-two electric pistol. It was designed to kill flesh and not blast through walls, which was handy on a space station.

  Roy wasn’t all that surprised. He reacted quickly. Charge a man with a gun. Run from a man with a knife. Or that was what Roy’s father said.

  Roy struck Tolliver with his shoulder and drove the man back against the wall. He grabbed the ePistol and twisted. That should’ve broken Tolliver’s finger. Instead, silver-blue energy leaked from underneath the old man’s skin. Tolliver had gotten an enhancement procedure done, clearly. It was expensive, dangerous, and slightly illegal, though the Charter didn’t care much about what any individual did as long as it didn’t affect entire planets.

  The old man threw Roy back. That was when the clattering footsteps appeared from behind him...two of Roy’s admins, Jack and Phyllis. Both loved their jobs—the games, the people, the profits, the whole deal—though Phyllis was set to retire in the next six months.

  The two admins were shocked to see the CFO armed and about to gun down the CEO of VentureForge right in the halls of their corporate office.

  Tolliver raised the pistol. “No witnesses.”

  He squeezed the trigger. Jack shrieked as the energy melted through his chest. He fell to his knees and slumped over.

  Tolliver shifted his aim.

  Roy wasn’t about to let Phyllis die. No, she didn’t have the kind of contingency plan that Roy had. That was one thing about Roy Boss—he had contingency plans for his contingency plans. You layered your strategies, and you didn’t cut corners doing it.

  However, his PLAN B—capital letters—hinged on those Plymouth engineers. And Joyce Halcyon.

  Roy shot to his feet and caught the blast. It seared most of his shoulder away, and it pissed him off. He rushed Tolliver, but this time he socked the old man in the face. Tolliver took two staggering steps backward. His nose gushed blood. The energy powering his synthetic tendons might make him stronger, but if the fucker couldn’t take a punch, being a cyborg wouldn’t matter much.

  Phyllis must not have been paying attention to her compliance training. She didn’t run. She should’ve.

  “Phyllis, get the fuck out of here!” Roy thundered.

  “Fuck you, Boss,” the old woman cursed. “I’m not leaving you alone with this glorified accountant.”

  Roy plucked the gun out of the CFO’s enhanced fingers.

  More footsteps. This time, two security guards appeared from behind Tolliver. Chuckles and Snide, Tolliver’s personal guards, raised ePistols of their own.

  Roy saw the look in their eyes—it was clear which side those two bastards were on.

  “Phyllis, get out of here, get your money, disappear. I’ll find you.” If he survived his contingency plan. It was fifty/fifty at best. Joyce actually said he had a 49 percent chance of dying. So he had that going for him. He was betting every fucking thing on that one percent.

  But before he cashed in his chips, he was going to kill Tolliver.

  He shot the CFO at the same time Chuckles and Snide blasted his flesh to bits.

  That wasn’t fair. Roy wanted more than one shot, but that was all he got. He hit Tolliver in the chest, but there was no way of knowing if he put the man down.

  Roy felt the barrage of blasts tear his body to bits. That pain felt distant. It must’ve stopped his heart, however, because Joyce Halcyon’s voice filled his head.

  _pending link connection

  _link connected

  _uploading

  Flesh sizzling, Roy Boss died for the second time. It felt easier than the heart attack twenty years ago. I guess you really do get better at everything...with a little practice.

  Chapter Two

  ROY’S THIRD LIFE STARTED strangely. He couldn’t think anymore—not in the way he’d grown accustomed to. It was too hard to explain, and there was too much going on for him to call it thinking.

  Processing was a better way to look at it. He didn’t have a brain anymore, but he did have a central processor unit. And he could read the log file that tracked his progress.

  _upload complete

  _pending compiling

  _compiling Roy Boss matrix

  _please wait

  Roy had the sense of waiting. He was processing information in milliseconds, and every second felt hours long. He found it was easier to loop his processing power while he waited. Six months passed, which is a whole spaghetti dinner of milliseconds, including the garlic bread and gelato for dessert.

  _Roy Boss matrix complete

  _pending completeness checks

  _please wait

  The completeness checks took an additional two months.

  _completeness checks complete

  _running Roy Boss

  Roy went online for his third life 216 days after he was shot in the halls of VentureForge’s headquarters.

  It was August 7, 3115 ESC, or Earth Solar Calendar.

  Roy was on Plymouth, or at least his consciousness was. Plymouth was in the Andromeda Galaxy, 2.5 million light years from Paizo IV. He was the first person to ever send his consciousness any-fucking-where, let alone to another galaxy.

  It was beyond technology. This was some spiritual shit.

  And it was all thanks to Joyce Halcyon and the brilliant minds of the neo-pilgrims on Plymouth. That was what people called them, back in the Milky Way. In five hundred years of space travel, no alien life had ever been found, though the neo-pilgrims were a pretty good substitute for an almost inhuman advanced intelligence.

  While Roy thought the term neo-pilgrim was cute, he preferred what the people on Plymouth called themselves: the Pelerine, an older word for pilgrim. Five hundred years before, in 2525, the Pelerine boarded the Mayflower Nexus and the Speedwell II, put themselves in deep stasis, and set out for another galaxy at faster-than-light speeds. They used folding-space technology, which could play hell on the human body, not to mention the human psyche. Some people snapped and went insane. Most, though, weathered the space-folding well.

  Even with the FTL, it took the Pelerine three hundred years to get to the Andromeda Galaxy and find an inhabitable planet.

  Oddly enough, once Kriss Devlin figured out stargates, the Pelerine created their own one-way gate. The neo-pilgrims kept to themselves, giving the Galactic Charter zero information on what they found or how they survived. The Pelerine were silent until they reached out to Roy when he was working on his first gaming world. That had been Roy’s buddy, Joyce Halcyon.

  Buddy wasn’t a strong enough word. VentureForge’s partnership with Plymouth had been the difference between success and failure. Full stop. Roy and Joyce had been in daily conversations for years on end. Very rarely did a day go by without them messaging each other. Until ten days ago. Well, 226 days, including his time crossing galaxies and being recompiled on a hard drive on Plymouth.