Nords, the guild leader and commander of the Free Sheep guild, watched his men dive through the roaring flames.

He and his guild, The Free Sheep, had taken over this village nearly a month ago. It wasn’t the easiest place to be, or the best way to live, but in their case they didn’t have a choice. They were a contracted guild.

When they signed, they knew that it wouldn’t all be fun and games, but the job paid. It was just that the whole god-damn game was too god-damn realistic. At the beginning they’d been given the bare minimum by their employers, before being sent out here to herd Bullas. If he’d have known that it would be like this he would have asked for more. He shook his head. He’d already signed the contract.

Originally, the villagers had resisted against the player’s occupation, but their demeanour quickly changed after one of his men recklessly made an example of one of them – an elderly woman. Not the best way to solve things, but the villagers no longer protested openly. Well, most of them. He rubbed his wrist where one of the children had bitten him. It seemed that she’d been close to the deceased.

On the other hand, he’d improved the village. There were now more houses for living and a brand-new palisade ringing around the village. He’d even managed to organise things enough that he could send off a group on an expedition into the forest in search of resources. All in all, things had been going well, until a few days ago.

It had started when a rampaging bull set fire to part of the village. Then, one of his men came home looking like he’d been through a blender. A few nights later wolves had gotten into the holding pens and slaughtered half of the Bullas herd set for transportation. He pinched the bridge of his nose. And now this. Most of the guild was on the expedition into the forest and apparently something had a problem with that.

Hearing cries of confusion coming from his men Nords strode forward through the already diminishing flames. He expected to see his men standing over a cooling corpse. Instead, they were standing around the spot where the figure had been. The burnt footprints ending in the middle of the street.

Nords scanned the shadows of the main street before pointing to the side streets. “Search the village!”

***

Azrael slipped into a side alley, before ducking around a corner. Behind him the blazing wall of fire hid his escape. He heard cries of confusion, before a voice cut through them all.

“Search the village!”

He’d intended to walk in, leave a cryptic warning and then vanish into metaphorical smoke. What he hadn’t considered was the distance back to the gate. He’d had to slip into a side alley, or the men would have been on him before he even made it halfway to the gate.

Briefly he considered escaping over the village wall, but quickly discarded the idea. With how bright the moon was tonight, they’d probably spot him before he managed to get over. Footsteps rushed towards him and he vaulted through an open window to avoid them, landing silently within.

It was dark inside, the contrast between the moonlit streets and the shadowy interior forcing him to pause for a moment, until his eyes adjusted. It was a simple hut, made of wood. The interior was mostly empty, just a table, two chairs, a bed and a pair of eyes fearfully watching him from behind the quilt.

The door burst open as a guard kicked it open, searching for the intruder. But Azrael had already left, gone like a wraith, leaving only the guard and the fearful villager in their bed.

Slipping through the village Azrael hoped to make it out through the broken gate, but found it manned by two men. It meant less people searching for him, but also meant he was trapped within. It seemed he’d have to wait out the manhunt.

He smiled grimly. It was a game of cat and mouse.

Turning away from the gate Azrael ghosted through the village, avoiding the searching men. He stealthily moved from house to house, using windows as doors and roofs as walkways.

As he passed through the village, he was often forced to slip into houses, to avoid detection on the streets. Then, when they entered a house he was gone again – a phantom, a shadow. Most of the buildings were empty, their interiors tidy, but unoccupied. It was almost as if there were meant to be more people living here, but they’d all left.

In some of the houses he encountered the local villagers. From within the shadowed darkness of the building their eyes followed him warily, fearfully. Their gaunt fingers fearfully clutching blankets, makeshift weapons and oft times each other. The lack of light veiled their features, making them all look the same, generic bits of code.

He kept on moving and the night seemed to be filled with only three entities; The hunters, the shadow and the fearful masses.

Once, upon entering a building, he found himself face to face with a knife. The lad from a week ago pointed the quivering tip towards him. Behind him, his mother, a matronly woman held a small stool. He held up his arms in a placating gesture before leaving the way he came. There seemed to be little love between the villagers and the invading players, but it wouldn’t help if they raised the alarm.

He smiled as he left. That act of defiance had taken him by complete surprise. Most of the villagers had simply cowered. In a way it was refreshing, though probably the wrong time to appreciate it.

Slipping into an empty home, he stopped to catch his breath. Soon this farce would end. When the men failed to find him, it would make it seem as if he’d disappeared into thin smoke. A spirit appearing in flames and disappearing again like smoke on the breeze. A fireside story to keep them out of the forest.

Scanning the building his breath invariably caught, as he nearly jumped out of his skin. Two eyes glared at him from what he’d deemed as an otherwise empty building.

A young girl was sitting against the wall of the house. She was barely 13, her brown hair cut to shoulder length. Unconsciously he took a step back. Her eyes were filled with bright and burning unbridled hatred. Where the other villagers looked at him with fear, caution and hopelessness she glared at him, as if he would fall down dead if she did so.

For a minute neither of them moved, their gazes locked, before a shout from outside seemed to break the spell. Only now did he notice that her hands and feet were bound together. In the dim moonlight that filtered through a crack in the door he saw scratches and bruises. Evidence of a fight, and judging from the position she was in, one she’d obviously lost.

It rubbed him in all the wrong ways. For people, anybody, to do this was wrong. Even if they were strings of code in a game, the point still stood. It was wrong. From what he’d seen the villagers were living in fear. Terrified of the players.

And to the players the villagers were only code, free labour in a game.

Keeping an eye on the girl he peeked out the door. Unknowingly he’d rounded through the village ending up at the other end of the main street.

The street stood empty, only the occasional man with a torch crossing to the other side. Even the guards at the gate seemed to have been drawn into the ever-growing desperation to find him. It was a straight run to the exit.

He could escape.

Behind him he could feel the girl’s gaze bore into him; full of anger, defiance and hatred. Both at the men who did this to her and at herself for being too weak to change anything. He knew that weakness all too well. That helplessness of being outnumbered and overpowered. This girl here had tried to rebel and failed. Now she had to face the consequences. Sure, it rubbed him in all the wrong ways, but it was not his problem. He could just leave.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

Turning back, he found the sharpest item and slit through her bindings, wary as they unravelled. The girl let a flash of emotion pass across her face, before it became an unreadable mask. She rubbed her wrists, keeping her eyes on him and the object he’d used to free her.

Making sure that she wouldn’t attack him, he dropped the item and stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him, blocking out her gaze. He felt anger beginning to boil beneath his skin. Her eyes were the eyes he saw when he looked into the mirror. The eyes of someone utterly betrayed by the world.

Maybe he did it because he felt bad for the girl. Maybe he did it because it reminded him too much of himself but he strode out onto the street and fired a fireball straight into the sky.

A picture slowly began to form. A village living far from others, a simple village life. Then, invaders, men with iron blades and combat skill. Suppression, followed by oppression. To the players the NPCs were simply strings of code, AI. Free labour. The villagers had been used and abused, but were powerless to fight against the players. This girl here had tried to rebel, only to fail and face the consequences. It rubbed him in all the wrong ways. He sighed, it wasn’t his problem.