“Can I help you, son?”

Ben was breathing hard, standing in front of the counter inside “Tech&More”, where Noah was working. A middle-aged man with receding hairline was standing behind the counter and frowning at him, going as far as to wrinkle his nose in displeasure.

Ben was sweating. And smelling. He knew that, but he didn’t give a ratkin’s ass what the man was thinking of him. “Noah,” he said between breaths. “I need to see him. Is he still here?”

The man’s frown deepened. “Mr. Englehand is closing shop for the day,” he said promptly. “Now if you please - “

“Ben? What are you doing here, man?”

Noah came out of the store’s storage room, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Like always, he seemed too tall for comfort, with long arms and legs that made Ben wonder - and not for the first time - how the man had managed to work in a store full of expensive tech stuff without clumsily breaking at least half of the products with those long limbs.

“Noah!” Ben said gratefully. He left his hood on when his friend approached, keeping his face shadowed. “I have to talk to you. Can we go outside?”

Noah looked at him strangely, trying to peer under the hood. Then he shrugged. “Sure, bro. Am I free to go, Mr. Brook?”

The man behind the counter nodded with a frown - or was it his usual expression? Ben wasn’t sure - and pressed his lips. “Are the boxes all set for tomorrow?”

Noah smiled. “Sure thing, boss. Neat and orderly and waiting for deliveries.”

Mr. Brook sniffed. It seemed as if he was making a real effort not to cover his nose with his hand. “Yes, yes. Well, go ahead then, don’t let your friend wait here more than he has to.”

Noah bid the store manager farewell and then he and Ben went out the front door and into the busy street. They stood there for a silent moment; obviously Noah was waiting for Ben to say something, but now that he was here, Ben found out he couldn’t find the courage to put down his hood. Truth be told, he didn’t know what was frightening him more - the possibility that Noah would confirm that Ben was a changed man or the scenario where his friend wouldn’t see anything different about him. No, that wasn’t true, he had to admit to himself. The second option was much more frightening.

Finally, Noah broke the silence. “You wanna grab something to eat?” He asked.

Ben nodded. The smell of a familiar delicacy from a nearby stand reached his nostrils and he realized he was famished. “Hotdogs?”

Noah nodded. “Hotdogs.”

A few minutes later, the two were sitting on a bench beneath a leafless maple tree in a small urban square not far from Mr. Brook’s store. Only paper wraps remained of their hotdogs and these were carried away with a gust of cold wind, forgotten, as their previous owners were busy staring at each other. Actually, only Noah was properly staring, slack-jawed and speechless. Ben was just looking back at him, intensely so. His hood was down, his muscles tense. His lips curled up ever so slightly as he examined his friend’s reaction to his face.

“Before you ask: it’s not steroids,” said Ben, remembering what Noah said the last time they met.

Noah closed his mouth, licked his lips. Suddenly he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me something only the two of us can know,” he said.

Ben’s smile grew. “Easy. The abandoned castle of the Black Riders. A daring rescue mission of a certain half-elf beauty named Bushmills going awfully wrong. We accidentally killed her and had to jump through that portal to chase the evil Claymoon the Sixth - “

Noah raised his hands to stop him. “Okay, okay! I’m convinced.” He smiled. “That was one hell of a quest, wasn’t it?”

Ben nodded. “Almost as good as the one I currently play,” he said quietly.

Noah grew serious again. “Yeah. A VD one, isn’t it?”

Ben’s eyebrow lifted and Noah blew air from his nostrils. “I never thought you took me for a fool, Bro. I realized what you were up to the moment I saw you with your head shaved. What I didn’t realize was why you weren’t telling me about it, and how the hell did you manage to put your hands on a VD console. I can work for twenty years for Mr. Brook and still wouldn’t have enough money to buy one of those.”

Ben took a deep breath. It was time to share some secrets. “I didn’t buy it,” he said simply.

Noah gave him a long look. He fixed his glasses on his nose and pressed his lips in suppressed anger. “Fuck, man. You told me you quit this shitty business.”

Ben forced himself to remain calm. “Yeah. I lied. Sorry. But that’s not the point, man. What do you see when you look at me?”

Noah wasn’t finished, though. “You stole it? You stole a fucking VD set?” He grabbed his head with two hands, pressing his cheeks together and stretching back his skin - a clear signal that he was stressed. “You and Mike did it together, didn’t you? That’s why he met with Mistress R that day. Who did you steal it from? Maybe it’s not too late, Ben. Maybe you can take it back - “

Now Ben was starting to lose his calm. He reached out and grabbed Noah’s wrist. When he did so he noticed the blood on his coat - blood from the wound he had suffered from the street thug - but he ignored it. “I’m not taking back anything,” he said sternly. “But listen to me, Noah! Look at me! I think… I think that this is not an ordinary VD game. It’s… it’s changing me.”

Noah’s eyes were wide behind his spectacles as he looked at his friend. Then he looked down at Ben’s hand, which was still clasping his own wrist tightly. His look lingered on the blood on the coat’s torn sleeve and when he looked back into Ben’s eye, there was mistrust in his gaze. “Let go of me, Ben. You’re hurting me.”

Ben relaxed his hold on the other man’s wrist and retrieved his hand. He looked away, not wanting to face the look in Noah’s eyes. “I needed to tell somebody, to know I’m not imagining all of it, you know? To make sure I’m really here and not in that dungeon in Nolxar. That I’m not in the game anymore. Because I can do things now - you wouldn’t believe, Noah. Magic! Here, in the real world. Can you imagine? And I grew stronger! It’s like I have the skills of my VD scout character, though I don’t really have an interface like I do in the game, which kind of makes sense I guess - the interface is a system thing and the things that I can do are my own, you know? I guess there’s a difference - “

He stopped when Noah abruptly stood up, straightening to his full height - which was considerable. The other man looked at Ben as if he didn’t know him. “What’s that blood on your coat? It looks fresh.”

Ben frowned. “What? The blood? It’s mine. But it’s nothing. Nothing important anyway. Are you listening to what I’m telling you? Do you realize what I can do now?” He looked up - and up - and decided to stand as well to diminish the distance between their eyes. “It’s like we always dreamed, Noah.” He suddenly laughed. “My character has a Charisma score of 22 now. This is why I look like this. Can you imagine what Debby would say?” His laughter died when he saw that Noah’s face had gone white. This was not going as he had expected. “Come on, man, you of all people should understand how I feel. This is amazing - “

Noah shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Ben blinked. “You don’t what?”

“I don’t understand how you feel. And you know what? I don’t want to.” Noah licked his lips and looked around him as if afraid someone was watching them. When he looked back at Ben his lips were tight in determination. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, and I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation to why you look like you do - “

“That’s why I came to you, man. So we can figure this out together - “

“ - but honestly, man, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Ben, who was about to say something else, shut his mouth. He felt like he was slapped and was suddenly lost for words.

Noah took a deep breath. “I would have given almost anything to go into a virtual D&D adventure with you, Ben. You know that. But we both knew it was impossible for us, not for a long time anyway. So instead, you and Mike hooked up with the city’s worst thug and stole a VD set. And now you look like you look, with a scar on your face and fresh blood on your coat. Who were you running from when you came to see me?”

Ben opened his mouth, but Noah raised his hand to stop him. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He looked around again and took a step away from Ben. “I have my parents to think about. You know that I support them now. If the cops come to me and learn that I knew of your crime but didn’t report it…” He shook his head again. “I can’t take the risk, man. Sorry.”

Ben felt a dull ache inside his body. Is this how it feels when somebody is siphoning the life out of you? He watched, still wordless, as Noah took another step back. His friend looked at him almost pleadingly. “Return the console, Ben,” said Noah quietly. “Quit while you still can. And please, don’t come looking for me until you do.” He gave Ben one final, painful look, then turned around and walked from there, his long legs taking him rapidly away.

Ben was left standing alone in the square, watching his friend go, clenching and unclenching his fists. He felt wetness on his cheek and was surprised to realize he was shedding tears. I am crying? Why the hell should I cry for this? He angrily wiped the treacherous tear away with the sleeve of his coat - the sleeve that wasn’t bloodied. “Fuck you, Noah,” he whispered. “I thought we were friends.”

With a sigh, Ben sat down on the bench. He put his hood up to shield his altered face from anyone who might know him and closed his eyes, sinking into troubled thoughts. Return the console. Quit while you still can. Noah’s words echoed in his mind, and he laughed bitterly, his eyes still closed. Noah, the ever-smart dungeon master who always had a solution for everything, was for once out of his depths. If Ben would even consider taking the console back - which he wouldn’t - he wouldn’t know how to do it. It was Mike who made the necessary arrangements - Mike was always their middleman when it came to finding jobs - so all Ben had to do was getting the job done.

The job… Ben bit his lower lip when he thought about that night, which was only a few days before but seemed like a lifetime ago. It was quite simple, really. Easy. No guards, no dogs, almost no alarms to take care of. It was easier than most other jobs he had done in the previous year - which, he remembered thinking after it was done, was quite surprising, especially considering the amazing reward he had gotten for his troubles. He remembered meeting Mike in their usual spot, handing him the loot he had gotten from their target, expecting a reasonable fee but nothing too significant. That’s why he nearly fell down from his perch on the fence he was sitting on when Mike had handed him a brand new VD console instead. “How?” was all that Ben had managed to ask. Mike had only smiled mysteriously and said something about how his connections had “levelled up”, and that Ben had better ask no questions. “Just like always, fuckface. I meet with the dirty people, you do the dirty work. Let’s leave it at that.”

Of course, Mike hadn’t told him that “levelling up” his connections to the city’s underworld arena had meant meeting with Mistress R herself. Ben wondered if it would make any difference if he knew. He had been so excited by the prospect of actually getting to play VD that he took Mike’s words at face value - especially when Mike added that the amount of cash he received for getting the job done was enough for them both to stop receiving any other jobs for at least a couple of months.

Even now, after everything that had happened, Ben didn’t think he would do anything otherwise. He was living the dream, literally so. He was getting powerful, both in-game and in real life. All he had to do was find out why he was “becoming one with the VD world,” as Raxlon had put it during their last meeting. Then there was the mystery of who had sent Mike into the virtual quest and why. Ben would have to get some answers, but it all paled when faced with the changes his body and mind were going through. Even now, sitting here on this bench, he could feel his growing power flowing in his veins. Some part of him wanted to run back to the alleys, to find more brutes and show them what he was capable of doing now. He would purge the neighborhood of thugs, he would use his powers to do good -

A movement behind him. Leaves crunching beneath a boot.

Ben opened his eyes and leapt away from the bench, as far from the approaching danger as he could. A boy - not older than ten or eleven - gasped in alarm and jumped back himself. He was a street urchin, much like Ben had been in his youth, with dirty face and hair that hadn't been washed for a long time. He looked at Ben with wide eyes, holding his hand out. There was a note crumpled in his fist. “You’re Ben?” He asked, apprehensive.

Ben relaxed a bit, but kept his guard - and his hood - up. “I might be. Who’s asking?”

The boy didn’t answer but opened his fist to further reveal the note inside. “A message for you.”

Ben didn’t move. “A message from whom?”

The boy shrugged. “Didn’t say. You’re taking it or what?”

Ben was still hesitant. “Who - “ he began, but the boy cursed - the kids these days had knowledge of swear words Ben hadn’t started using until he was seventeen - and let the note fall from his hand. “See ya around mister,” he said - and ran away.

Ben had to make a choice: either run after the insolent brat or chase down the note, which was flying away with a cold burst of wind. He cursed - being quite imaginative himself with his chosen words - and went after the airborne message.

***

Less than an hour later, Ben was sitting at a place called Carla’s Brewery, a respectable joint located on the other side of town. He managed to take a shower and change his sweaty clothes (the coat remained; it was his only one and Ben made sure to wash the blood away), and then took a bus to arrive at the rendezvous - per the request he received in the note.

The message in the crumpled piece of paper was simple enough: “Meet me at Carla’s Brewery. 6:30 pm. I don’t have much time. Be discreet.” It was signed, “DMR”, which could only mean one thing: Raxlon was true to his word, and was setting up the meeting he had promised. Finally, Ben was going to meet the famous DM in real life. Finally, he would get some answers.

The fabled Dungeon Master entered the Brewery two minutes after the appointed time, though at first Ben didn’t know that. He was expecting to see a tall, blond and broad-shouldered man - so when a bald, short and unassuming man in his fifties sat down next to Ben by the bar, Ben just looked at him awkwardly. There were plenty of other free chairs around; why did this man choose to sit next to him of all places?

The man smiled, and something clicked. Ben’s eyes widened slightly. The all-knowing smile was familiar - as were those penetrating blue eyes, and the prominent nose that seemed to rival the eyes for attention. Other than these features, there was nothing unique about the man; he had a round face, a bald head and crow’s feet around his eyes that deepened when he smiled. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and sported a respectable beer-belly. And he was looking expectantly at Ben.

“Raxlon?” Ben whispered, bewildered.

The man nodded. “In the flesh,” he said, his voice pleasant and deep. “though let’s not use this name here, shall we? Very few people know how I look in this world, and I would like to keep it that way.”

Ben nodded slowly. It was the first time he was meeting with someone he had met only virtually before, and it served as a good reminder that people could look whichever way they wanted in VD; in fact, Ben was probably unique in the way he kept his RL appearances in-game.

Raxlon - or whatever his real name was - ordered a beer. When it arrived, the man took a long sip and sighed contentedly. “Ah. Best boutique beer around. Don’t you agree?”

Ben stared at him. “You live here?”

Raxlon shook his head. “No. But when I do come here, this is the place I go to.” He took another long sip and looked at Ben. “It was quite a drive for me, actually. But I had to see you, and the sooner the better. You weren’t followed, were you?”

Ben was a bit taken aback by the question and had to force himself from looking over his shoulder; that would only make him look unsure of himself. “I wasn’t,” he said and hoped he was right; after what had happened in the alley in his neighborhood, nothing was certain anymore.

The DM nodded. “Good. I don’t have enough time - I have to make some preparations before your next session - but I wanted to tell you what I know of the situation, so you can be better prepared for what might happen in the game. Are you going to lower your hood?”

Once again, Ben was taken aback by the man’s question - and a bit suspicious. “No,” he said shortly. “I like it where it is. Besides, it was you who wanted me to be discreet, wasn’t it?” In truth, Ben wasn’t ready to share with Raxlon the things that were happening to his body - not until he heard what Raxlon had to say first. If the DM saw Ben’s new scar, questions will be asked. Better to keep it hidden for now.

Raxlon shrugged. “Just thought it looks conspicuous in a place like this. But have it your way; your choices are your own.” His voice had a fatherly quality to it - pleasant enough, yet carrying with it enough authority to make you stop, listen, and most likely follow whatever was said. “I do have to ask you first,” Raxlon continued, “how you acquired your VD console. It is extremely important that you tell me the truth.”

For the third time, Ben had to struggle to find words. His suspicions rose again. He gulped, angry at himself for reacting as he did. “Why should I tell you?” He eventually managed to ask.

“Because,” said Raxlon without a pause, “I have a feeling that your set is very unique. A one of a kind prototype. So I ask again; how did you get it? May I assume you didn’t buy it?”

Ben licked lips that suddenly went dry. Before he could think it over, he forced himself to speak. “I got it in return for something. Something I...” he averted his gaze, unable to finish. Telling Noah was one thing. Telling this man that he stole the console with which he was playing the game he designed was quite another matter.

Raxlon’s face grew serious, but his answer was quick and brisk as always. “Yes. I thought it would be something along those lines. Worry not,” he added quickly, “Your secret is safe with me. But it does explain - or at least begins to - the changes you’re experiencing in the game. You see, it is my belief that your VD set was designed especially for you, Ben. Someone made sure you would get it.”

Ben blinked. His thoughts raced. “You mean… you mean the things I did - the job - “

Raxlon made a sharp gesture with his hand, stopping whatever Ben was about to say. “I don’t know anything about a job. I don’t care what you did to put your hands on this machine, but the bottom line is that you did. And now your mind is hooked to it.”

In the shadows of his hood, Ben’s eyebrows did their famous jig. “Hooked? What do you mean?”

Raxlon put the beer - nearly empty - on the bar and actually thought for a couple of moments before he replied. “I have long suspected that there are some consoles that make the connection to the VD world much more… intense. I never had any proof of my hypothesis, not until now at least. You see Ben, there was not the slightest chance for you to know anything about the Hero of Sonadin - not unless you spent valuable in-game time reading tedious lore books and asking the right questions. Which you didn’t. The only explanation is that your connection to my world was enhanced by your console, enabling you to make direct contact with the AI of the system. Or rather, the other way around - enabling the AI to make direct contact with you…”

Raxlon gulped the last sip of his beer, frowned at the empty mug and ordered another one. “Somehow, between this enhanced connection and the growing intelligence of the system’s AI, I lost - for the first time in my life - control of my quest. What happened to you after you claimed that Power Crystal was only part of my design. The other stuff that followed… well, some of it was new even to me.”

The beer arrived. Raxlon, seeing the look on Ben’s face, thought for a moment and then pushed the mug gently toward the younger man. “Here, drink something. It’s hard to see your face with that hood, but it does seem you’ve gone a bit pale.” Saying that, he signalled the bartender to bring another beer.

Ben took the mug gratefully and gulped down nearly half of it. Questions popped into his head like popcorn and when he laid down his mug he grabbed hold of the most urgent one - something that had been bugging him from his first VD moment. “Before you say anything else, I need to know something.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and fixed Raxlon with an intense glare. “Why did you invite me to your quest?

For the first time, Raxlon’s face darkened. He turned his eyes away from Ben’s, staring into his beer mug.

Ben waited. This was important. Mike said to trust no one, and as far as Ben knew, Raxlon was part of whatever scheme was going on. In fact, the more Ben thought about it, the more it made sense - he was given a special console, and then he was invited to join a specific quest. The only conclusion he could think of was that Raxlon was collaborating with whoever made sure that Ben had gotten the special VD set. And if it was true that Mike had met with Mistress R, then maybe Raxlon was actually working with her too. Ben felt anger swelling inside him. Was he being manipulated all along? For what purpose?

“Raxlon,” he repeated, not able - nor wanting - to stop the menace in his voice. “Why did you invite me?”

When Raxlon spoke he still wasn’t looking at Ben. His face was dark and brooding. “I told you of my fascination with the development of special consoles, yes? But you see, despite my best efforts, I never managed to gain access to any of the gaming labs where I just know these consoles are being assembled. So, when I was approached by the CEO of one of these labs with an offer to visit and learn their secrets… suffice it to say I was extremely tempted. And when he told me that all I had to do in return was to invite a certain player to my quest… I thought it was harmless.” He raised his head from his mug, looking at Ben regretfully. “I was a fool. I never suspected that the player I invited will already be using one of their special consoles.”

Ben tried to make some order of what he was hearing. “What’s the name of the company? Who’s the CEO?”

“They are called SH Gaming. A small company, rather new in the market. The man who approached me is Sullivan Vincent.”

Ben thought the name was familiar - he must have read about him somewhere - but other than recognizing it, it meant nothing to him. “And you don’t know who Mistress R is?”

Raxlon looked perplexed. “Who?”

Ben shook his head. “Never mind. So that’s all you had to do? Invite me into your quest? Nothing more?”

Raxlon shrugged. “Well, he did ask me to let some of his players inside the quest as well. Most of them play as NPCs, which is something a lot of people are trying these days. It's kind of a trend actually, a stupid one if you ask me - “ he stopped when he saw that his words had caused Ben to freeze, the mug halfway to his lips. “What? What is it?” He even looked behind him, thinking perhaps that Ben had seen something alarming.

Ben didn’t answer. He slowly put the mug of beer back on the bar, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He was back in the alley, fighting the street thugs. He threw that dagger to thwart off his attacker and then he turned and looked at the man - the homeless man who was staring at him with familiarity in his gaze. And with purpose.

Raxlon’s mention of NPCs brought back another memory, and now Ben knew where he had seen that homeless man before. He wasn’t homeless then; he was wearing the Sonadin’s militia uniforms, clean-shaven with dark and dangerous eyes. The last time Ben had seen this man was when he and Red were saving Shiraz and Milenna from two of the guards in the Sonadin’s prison cells. This was the man - the NPC - who had nearly killed Shiraz. The man who had escaped, leaving behind him a trail of blood. The man who had vanished in the Dungeon of Dwarven Despair, only to appear again as a dagger-bearing homeless thug who tried to kill Ben in real-life.

Jarod.