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And then I saw it. Halliday had once written in his journal: "The greatest enemy is the part of you that refuses to let go."

"The high ground's taken," Art3mis said, drawing her katana.

I placed it on the pedestal.

The tomb of horrors was a retro arcade. Halliday had hidden the First Key inside a perfect simulation of the Dungeons of Daggorath —a text-based maze from 1982. Thousands of gunters (egg hunters) had died there, torn apart by pixelated demons. ready-player-one

I didn't hesitate. "A cold."

The egg cracked open. Light poured out.

She laughed. "You're insane."

"I'm shutting down the Sixers' indentured program," I said. "And I'm making the OASIS a co-op. No ads. No paywalls. Just the game."

"No," I said, looking at the cracked screen of my window. "I'm just playing for the other side now."

"You don't understand," I said, bleeding pixels. "Halliday didn't want a warrior. He wanted a friend." And then I saw it

I reached the egg as the battle raged. Sorrento's avatar tackled me at the last second, his sword at my throat.

Inside wasn't money or power. It was a simple room: a poorly lit arcade, the smell of stale pizza. And there he was—James Halliday's digital ghost, sitting at a Tempest cabinet.