Continue was a strange sensation. There were other virtual games and programs. I had even tried some. Most felt like rehashes of already existing games but more interactive. Revamps of prior releases were a popular way to go. Asians had entire swaths of crazy themes that hadn’t quite hit America proper.

Continue won by sheer name power. Trillium, the company that made the ARC, designed a game that launched the only virtual reality system.

That was a lie. There were tons of others at first. Trillium and the ARC won. Thousands logged in upon release. Millions played by the end of the first six months. Hundreds of millions had accounts a year later. Trillium hid much of the game from the public, but subscription counts were made public knowledge. Continue won. The average player spent twenty hours a week logged into their ARC. The average player had been playing for a year. The average player voted Continue as the most impressive game worldwide.

William Carver was proof that the number was growing. Trillium hadn’t throttled all the information. Tidbits out there lead me to believe Continue had dozens of starting points. Were their guides also older players?

”You’re Carver, right?”

So my daily grind began again. Another new player and another exchange while they asked for help. This map had been a Voice sent blessing for so many reasons. Hours could pass while I read the little details. Plus they responded very well when I asked for specific talents or skills.

Progress: 63%

“I am. You must be new around here.” Carver’s journals were almost gone. Two more days had passed while reading.

“My friend said you helped her.” The person was make, young, and still had a slightly childish quality to his voice.

“Might have. What’s it to you?” Gnarled fingers turned to the next page.

“I have to catch up. She started yesterday and I had homework.”

“Good. Work hard.” This adventure was a page turner so most of my responses were half baked. The entries were a little smutty too.

Wrote: Part of me feels strange about this. Here I am, on one adventure after another. The rewards are usually negligible, but the women...

Just last week there was this case with a half serpent creature. It seemed familiar from my childhood, but this place didn’t have any similar lore. You’d think snakes spit venom, but not so much this go around.

He was extremely violent.

She was equally rewarding. Turned out her venom had very positive effects, and true to snake form, she squeezed me dry.

I could have said no but that long dead Captain of The Stars would have frowned at my actions. Long live childhood heroes.

“Can you help me Carver?” There was a shuffle of feet as the new player grew closer. My eyes stayed glued to the journal.

“I’ll bet your direct attitude does your parents proud.” He all but said ‘Quest now old man’. Carver accepted no rudeness and only gave it out! I looked at him finally.

“My parents?” The young man, a scrawny looking teen with the user name Awesome Jr., lost focus in confusion before shaking his head.

“What do you want Awesome?” I asked him. He looked fourteen but had to at least be eighteen to play this game.

“Awesome’s my father.”

A sigh escaped. I had walked right into that stupid joke.

“And?” Players thought they were so clever with their names. I had met people with gibberish names. I had met people named after famous actors. They included flowers, book characters, television heroes, or strange handles they developed. Pie Master had been the funniest one. He asked for a bakery and I happily sent him and the [Messenger's Pet] forth.

Awesome Jr. swallowed and hastily tried to explain something that just didn’t sink in. Something about a girl who passed through before and he was trying to meet up with her in the game.

“Who is she to you?”

“A friend.”

“Girlfriend?” I said dryly.

“No. Not that, no.” He was flustered. The boy was socially awkward, a common problem with the latest generation. Everyone was so plugged into the computer that interaction, face to face like this game did, was hard.

“So go meet her. I know well enough that people from your world have ways of communicating.” Carver’s next journal entry was about a whale that devoured ships. So far he had recounted five boring days of nothing where he sailed with a crew in search of the beast.

Wrote: Day Six: If this whale isn’t white, I’m going to punch that man in the face and kick her metal box. Not that she’ll even notice. Maybe I’ll just scrawl some nasty notes on walls nearby.

“Well. Uhhh…” Awesome Jr. said with his standard eloquence.

“Not that easy?” Slowly, because today was a bad hip day, I pulled the bookmark cord into place and closed my journal. The book was set down and both my hands clasped together.

“Well. No.” The young man had a flush to his face that reached to his ear tips.

“Okay. Awesome, Junior, what exactly do you want from me?”

“A quest?” He sounded confused.

“A quest. To do what?”

“I don’t know. Something? Don’t you just,” he trailed off for a moment “give me something to do? Then show me where something is?”

Oh joy. He was one of those Travelers. A fresh faced boy with no clue what he wanted to do and had joined just to follow someone else. It made my own confusion about this game seem annoyingly commonplace. This was still less annoying than the type who screamed ‘I’m going to be a great adventurer’.

“No.” My head shook slowly and both hands felt tried from when I held the book.

“Uhhh…”

“Here’s a quest. Take this map. Visit the people on it, ask how other Travelers are doing. Then come back here and tell me what you learn.”

A pop up displayed a newly formed quest for the player. I learned enough of Carver's desires over the last few days to get a feel for missed opportunities. He would want to know how the new players were doing in this world. If they were still around, the NPCs I sent them to would have an answer. Soon the journal was open again so my perusal of Carver's past could continue.

Wrote: Day Seventeen: The whale wasn’t actually a whale. It was a squid looking creature. Not that it was called a squid; everything in here looks just a bit off. They’ve gone down different evolutionary paths.

It was white and a few hundred feet long. The creature had seven arms instead of eight and a hammer like shape to its head that was probably useless for swimming. That was something else.

Oh, and it killed most of the crew before we vanquished it. Boat's a mess, taking on water in places we shouldn’t be. People are downstairs fixing it. I lived. The Captain, a fine woman who filled a corset to bursting, was pleased with the results. She looked even better with the corset off, but we both decided to keep the boots on.

This kind of thing can’t be good for my heart. It does assist my will to live though, and the medics say I need as much of that as I can muster.

Goodness. Carver was very single minded. Dragon to be slayed, ladies to be laid, for great justice! I doubt he was the only one in Continue who went about with such focused desires.

Awesome Jr. would be out getting distracted by everything that moved. His path would probably go right by the brothel, which had distracted at least two new players over the last few days. Either way he would be busy so I could to skim through the last of William Carver's Journals.

Plus, and this was the real reason, walking hurt. A nosy sort of boredom had overtaken me recently to boot. Plenty of reasons existed to send a new player out to find other newbies.

He might not find the kid I sent to moo at a cow. Hah. I hoped this new player, Awesome Jr, did find that would be assassin. I wanted to hear how the first week in Continue had treated him.

After Awesome Jr wandered off, I poked at the hood to Carver's robe. This thing was ugly, bland, and felt scratchy, but the hood did well in the rain.

It also occasionally housed a sleeping [Messenger's Pet]. The tiny creature had started napping there a few days ago, after cracking the fifty percent marker. New traits had opened up including [Relaxing Presence] and [Monster Tamer].

[Monster Tamer] probably triggered after he hunted down the horse creature from his journal. Those were some of the less odd traits too. Carver had another trait called [Point Man]. From the text this had more to do with scoring points with the ladies and little to do with scouting.

Peg had been right. This old body had touched more woman than desired if the journals were to be believed. I had walked him home early after one of the less savory encounters and left myself on autopilot in a hot tub. I didn’t know if the old man’s writing should be praised or reviled for the descriptive terms.

Repeated hood tapping finally woke the creature up. A head popped out of folds in the hood and a yawn of jaws snapped together with a click.

“Go help that poor boy out. Make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

The tiny creature growled in displeasure.

“We can stop at the bakery on the way home. How’s that?” Paying for goods in game was cheaper than adding items into my ARC and far less messy.

Sure enough the greedy little fellow flew off.

Almost two weeks and I still haven’t found a name he responds to. A few people had stopped to ask what he was, I just told them a baby dragon. They found it funny since Old Man Carver had a title called [Dragon Slayer] tucked away in his character sheet.

I had read the description. That trait should have made any dragon, or dragon related creature instantly dislike the body I was in. Yet the [Messenger's Pet] seemed completely indifferent. Guess it wasn’t a dragon, or didn’t care about William Carver.

That made him the only creature for miles that showed little interest in this body I inhabited. The whole thing was a weird contradiction that sat on the back burner of my problems.

“Far too smart sometimes.” I muttered at the fleeing tiny dragon. Chances were the [Messenger's Pet] would be distracted at dozens of times while helping the new player.

Hopefully wouldn't be any more dead Coo-Coo Rills in my Atrium. That was a mystery that was unlikely to be revealed anytime soon. One silly program altering creature had up heaved most of my personal time, the few hours I got while Old Man Carver slept.

“Father says you wanted a break today, Mister Carver.” The younger guard from earlier managed to sneak up on me. It should have been impossible from the way his armor jangled.

“I do Dayl, if you’d take over for me.”

“Sure thing Mister Carver sir. Father says you’re back to practicing with Peg. Is that true?” Dayl's headgear slipped out of place and he hastily pushed it back up

“I am.”

“Father says you’re…”

“Dayl.” He snapped to attention while his armor rang in protest.

“Yes Mister Carver?”

“Shut up now.” Oh look, another percentage on my progress bar.

“Yes, Mister Carver, sir.”

I grumbled and headed off, under canopies of trees, past the bakery and across town. Each step painful, but not unbearable. Working with Peg on exercises had been extremely helpful, almost like physical therapy. Every time I logged out the dull ache from Carver's body and these exercises lingered and kept me tired.

Mylia was walking nearby, which was part of the reasoning behind requesting a guard. I got to chat with her for a few breaths before we split and went different directions. No progress on her side quest yet. None of the new players I talked to had provided any sort of useful opening. Mylia herself was nearly an enigma.

“Are you going to visit the children tonight? They’ve been asking when you’ll share more stories.” She said. I grunted and kept walking, cane alternating with my slightly more limber body. “I tell the little ones that you’re not up to it most days.”

“Oh?” She had mentioned that William Carver read stories to kids. I hadn’t pursued it enough among everything else going on, that was nearly two weeks ago. Goodness. I was almost halfway through this strange existence and still things blindsided me.

“Can you visit this evening? You seem to be moving much better. They’d love to see you’re doing well.”

“I’ll make time Mylia. For the children of course.” I tried to sound gruff and serious. Reading children a story would be emotionally painful.

A reminder of how life didn’t go. I paused mid step, clenched both eyes for a moment, and tried not to sway. In real life I could push through these moments, but in the game, with Carver's weakened body, it was harder to stay upright.

Happy place. Focus on a happy place. The sky was glorious. The world around me was bright and lively. People went about their day pleasantly chattering away.

“Of course Mister Carver.” Mylia smiled. I could see an almost glow of happiness pass over her features, but I fought to keep Carver's eyes focused forward.

“I’ll leave you to your rounds and go let the children know to expect you.”

I nodded and gave a half wave. Old Man Carver would never show weakness in front of a lady! The moment Mylia was out of sight I tracked down the nearest bench and rested. A journey to Peg's required pit stops despite my navigating far better than I had the first few days.

This was how most days seemed to go. I logged in, wandered to the beach bench, and alternated between reading or helping out new players. NPCs from about town would drop by occasionally with very friendly conversations. They reminded me of the day to day life I had ‘forgotten’ in the last few weeks.

Player’s occasionally tracked me down again. Occasionally they came back three or four times to ask about other skills. I updated their map after asking them to complete a new quest. More than one player was sent to pick up cupcakes for my [Messenger's Pet] friend. I challenged one girl to come up with a name for the tiny creature. She didn't get a positive response. After nearly fifty names and complete failure, I updated her map with the location of a farmhand who had a certain way with animals. She had tried hard.

One older man, who had to be near Carver's age, just started the game and sat down on the bench. We said nothing for two hours as the sun set. I left him a map with a leading towards one of the towns three mystic tutors. This one focused on more theoretical puzzle stuff. In the morning the scroll had been gone and the older man hadn’t turned up again.

One player logged in and he ran around until he ran out of stamina. He would lay there, gasping with an overly excited look on his face. Once the bar was full, he took off, kicking up dirt and sand all along the beach. His shouts brought a smile to my face. The player hadn’t outright said it but I was willing to bet his legs were damaged somehow in real life.

Each player that popped in was a little different. They asked for different things, spoke in ways that didn’t line up at first. Part of me started to realize that this game was routing players from all over the globe to this starting zone.

How did I understand them then?

I asked Beth one day between rounds as William Carver. She left me a voice mail citing that since the game was all digital immersion there wasn’t actually an English language. The system was translating conversations super-fast from the Earth languages to gibberish and back.

It wasn’t like people showed up in the game being clearly Asian, or Indian, or any other obvious ethnicity. These players were all human though. My city, [Haven Valley], was on the border of two human Kingdoms. They had a very loose alliance that was constantly teetering according to Dayl. I sighed and put all those thoughts out of my mind and read another passage from Carver's final journal.

Wrote: Recently I’ve felt everything catching up. An irony of my situation is that being forced into bed rest has increased my play time. They were kind enough to dial down the feedback so my ticker doesn’t feel the strain like it used to.

Of course everything else is less sensitive, but I should be happy this old goat got a few final rolls in the hay.

I reread the notes I’d scribbled down two years ago when I first started visiting here. I’m sad to think of all the people I’ve left behind over my journey. There were so many promises to visit, and I couldn’t fulfill half of them.

Strange.

I feel like this world is more real than the other. Maybe it’s just a wish of mine, to hope that if my body dies there, that I can keep on adventuring over here. To live like a child again, in a world where so many dreams are possible.

I should call Michelle, and thank him before it’s too late.

Abruptly, halfway through this final book, the entries stopped. No word of his time as a Guide, or this town, or how he came to settle here. Nothing of value citing what had happened, or where he was going to end up. This was his form of retirement I guess, but what filled in the gaps?

I shoved the book into a pocket and kept onward with my journey to Peg.

One possibility, one that worried me, was that William Carver had died before being able to write another entry. At what point had the computer literally taken over his life? It felt fairly recent, but the NPCs around here acted like Carver had been a firm presence since the game was released.

I should write some letters. Just to make sure Carver got one last chance to say goodbye.

“Let's see.” I mumbled to myself, looking over the weapons. Heavier ones actually made my progress bar improve. Lighter ones meant I could last longer, but they were a really slow decline.

“You better not be trying to break your arms again William!”

“No such luck Peg!” My yell was more of a mumbling grunt into the wall. I had to lean close to see how the handles looked.

Carver had a skill called b[Weapon Evaluation] that seemed to rank the value of items. According to the details it was a sub-skill of [Identification] that focused on weapons. The more I studied the lineup, the more accurate the rating was. Using the game's feedback, I picked a larger two handed blade. It looked big compared to the frail arms and body I resided in, but wasn’t exactly an over the top anime sword either.

“Seriously William! You retired!” Peg was still shouting at me and alternating with some other person. They didn’t look to be a player though, just an NPC being trained by an NPC.

I smiled, the image of a fit William Carver came to mind, one holding up a giant sword in preparation to swing. The Carver in these journals wasn’t the sort of man who did well with concepts like block or parry, but relied on a strange brute strength. Game stats meant lifes limitations wouldn’t prevent a character from making a play style work.

There had to be some in game benefit to knowing martial arts of some sort too. Sadly that was not me. I danced at best. When in the comfort of my private little program I shook my groove thing like a madman. There I could pretend to be any number of famous figures in their videos. My Thriller imitation was excitingly depressing for a middle aged man with a gut. The moonwalk skill took countless hours to get down, and I could do one in real life too. Dancing just looked terrible on a man with my gut.

Throwing someone over my shoulder with a twist and shout however was beyond my skills. I try training to be a cage fighter. Oh, a staff was kind of cool. I would be pretty good with a Bo staff. Or a bow and arrow, that would be neat. I could count my kills and make friendly fun of dwarf's. For now, Old Man Carver was all about the two handed sword.

I ignored Peg’s worried shouts and stumbled a path to the practice dummy. My exercise would go on for about an hour in game and leave me tired and breathless. After rest and a snack from one of the new players it was time to move forward. That was the plan and that’s how it went.

After placing the weapon in its home I stumbled to a bench and pulled out the map. Evening was coming on soon and I wanted to see these children Mylia talked about so often. Their home was on the outskirts of town. Carver's notes said it was an orphanage with about twenty children. Sometimes they were adopted, but that was less likely than the child moving on or getting a job. According to this, Mylia had been there for about six years.

Odd, I wonder if that was any relation to Carver being in this town for six years? There had to be a way to get information about her, without violating Old Man Carver's prideful personality.

“By the Voices William, what nonsense are you up to now?”

“The usual.”

“You always stare at that scroll, like there’s secrets buried in the ink somewhere.”

“There are.”

Peg snorted. “Doubt there’s anything really useful there, all I see are little squiggles for buildings. Any fool new to this town would learn it easy enough, even those narrow minded Travelers you send here.”

“Here,” I pointed to an alley. “is an alley known for pickpockets and thieves.” Next there was a location just outside of town, north along the water’s edge.

“Here is a cave that is good for meditation if any one's willing to sit inside it overnight.”

“Here’s where Henry lives, and he’s always willing to teach Travelers how to make bricks in exchange for labor.” Finally I pointed to the south, near the main road out of town. Henry sat along edge of town waiting for traders and long distance travelers who might need his crafts.

“There are a lot of secrets in these maps, and I have to remember where they are to help out the new Travelers.” After much testing, I found out that certain NPCs could be spoken to easier than others. Our balance of give and take must have met Carver's needs.

“Mh. I guess you’re right about that. Pretty sharp for an old man! I hope I remember things half as well as you do when I get that old!” She slapped me on the back with an overly excited grin. I watched my health bar drop and groaned in extra pain.

Failure to dodge noted.

Total health loss: 13%

“Oh. Sorry Will! Are you alright?”

I just grunted and tried to shake it off. William Carver showed no woman any weakness! According to his journals the only weakness he showed was while flirting his way into someones bed. There was a count on his table back at the cottage where I tried to see how many lady friends he racked up over the decades. Once it got past two dozen I parked him back inside the bath and the auto pilot program took another wash.

With a shudder I managed to right myself and stand up.

“I’ll be okay Peg. This isn’t the first time a pretty woman has hit me.” She just laughed like I had said the funniest thing on earth. I had no interest in being like William Carver with my time here. Being with a woman other than my fiancée just didn’t interest me.

“Alright, I’ll clean up here. A little bird tells me you’ll be recounting some tales for the young ones tonight, any truth to that?”

I nodded.

“Mylia had reminded me.”

“Slipping your mind eh? Need a woman to remind you?” Peg was bustling about checking her weapons and making sure they were all in shape. She kept a conversational distance for William carver's hard hearing.

“Mylia’s just looking out for the kids.”

“Sure she is.”

I grunted.

“That’s our hero for you! Even in his dotage he’s trying to add another notch to the bedpost!” She started laughing even harder.

I sighed, grumbled, groaned, and made my old man escape away from a madly laughing Peg. Nothing about my Mylia concluded with Carver caring one whit about getting into her underpants. Or whatever people wore in a medieval setting. I doubted it was a G-String or something made of lace. Not with the vaguely emaciated look to her and the children’s faces.

Maybe I should bring food too.

Carver, the soft weird cookie personality, had often done little things to help out villagers. The entire thing went against how I acted with new players. Carver in the journal seemed strangely different than Carver in real life.

Baked goods would do. I promised to pick up some for the [Messenger's Pet] on the way home. Hopefully I could grab something light to take with me to the orphanage as well. Provided the little dragon wouldn’t show up and eat everything on the way.

Cookies would be perfect.

“Cookies.” I was nearly drooling while walking.

With that glorious thought in mind I marched onward. Breaks were taken as needed. People passing by waved and I returned their greetings. My current location was reviewed constantly against Carver's map. The machine was kind enough to put a floating 'you are here' dot.

Turned out the city name was scrawled across the top of each map, which is where I found it one night. [Haven Valley] was nearly idealistic compared to the NPCs rumors of other cities. Guards talked a lot about everything. Players would mention a need to gain skills, ask me for directions to one faction’s headquarters, or the other.

At least their colors weren’t red and blue. That would be outright cliche. Instead one faction green with some laurels. They claimed relations to tree people and had ties in a huge valley over the southern mountains. Their kingdom was called [Telliari].

Uneasy alliances kept [Telliari] away from the north side of [Haven Valley]. Up there was a of city states called [The Altheme Providences]. On either side of our starting city were more smaller regions. Plus entire swaths of wilderness and trade routes that went cross continent.

I filed the information away in a notebook kept on my ARC. Keeping a journal I could access outside the game or while traveling around at work seemed like a good choice. Plus William Carver’s notes and belongings were not mine forever.

Creating a separate journal was actually Beth’s idea, not mine. I was still keeping most of my actions under wraps, but she pestered me constantly. Guess Uncle Grant couldn’t escape from her boundless enthusiasm for much longer.

The bakery had a walk in stall set up. That was very neat. Old Man Carver did not like doors at all.

“Mister C!”

Great. Pie Master, who acted more like a young hip hop rapper gone pastry, was manning the stall. I did what any old grumpy man who felt a need to be nosy into new players lives might do. Ignored the stupid name and went on with my day.

“I need cookies.”

“Cookies? I don’t think we do cookies up in here.” Pie Master actually looked appropriate in the chef's apron.

“Ladette, do we do cookies?”

“No, what’s a cookie?” A voice yelled from the back side of the stall. Making out the females face was difficult with Carver's vision.

“You’re killing me! You don’t know what cookies are?” Pie Master stopped his cleaning and started towards the buildings rear.

“No, explain it to me!”

I watched a pop up box form in front of the player. He didn’t know I could see them, or he might have disguised his glee. There was a look of extreme amusement on his face and a hint of greed.

“Wait…” He paused and squinted at me. “How do you know about cookies?”

I fluttered around a bit inside my head. Luckily Carver's exterior didn’t betray one ounce of the panic I had been stricken with.

“One of you Traveler types talked to me about them. I wanted to bring something to the kids before I go visit.” My progress bar took a hit for providing an answer without compensation.

“Oh! Yeah I guess that makes sense. How many do you need?”

My eyes drifted downwards while trying to figure out how many items a squad of children might eat. Too many if left alone.

“A few dozen.”

“Tell you what, I’ll see what we can do, maybe thirty minutes? That sound good?” I chewed a lip and tried to remember how much time there was until sundown. Thirty minutes shouldn’t be too bad.

“Sure. I’ll need some cupcakes too.”

Pie Master shook his head. “This place. They got cupcakes, but no cookies. It’s criminal.” He placed a few of the small baked goods onto the counter and waited for me to pull out some change. My stiff fingers managed the action slowly.

“I wonder if they do patents.”

Ignoring Pie Master's money grasping muttering was difficult. Eventually I broke away and made it to a bench. One of the two cupcakes went slowly into my mouth, a squished bit at a time. The other one I sat next to me, where the [Messenger's Pet] would likely show up in moments. He normally got a treat on the way home. How the tiny creature kept finding me was beyond my understanding.

Sure enough, moments later he was chewing away. A dead Coo-Coo Rill had been deposited nearby and a huffing human male was running up behind the small dragon.

“How. What.” More exaggerated panting. His stamina bar was probably completely run out. “So fast. He’s so fast.”

“Yep.” I muttered around the last crumbs of my cupcake.

The [Messenger's Pet] was nearly purring in his kind of squeaky tone. I had seen depictions of tiny creatures like him before on the cover of old fantasy books, though his legs were a bit more lion like.

“How. Did you. Train. Him.” More out of breath huffing issued forth. I was quickly losing my cupcake happiness.

“I didn’t.”

“Is he. A pet?” Awesome Jr fell to the ground and kept right on panting.

“Sort of.” I had no such problems. Maybe a small ache in my shoulder.

“This game. Is awesome.”

“No. Awesome is your father.”

“Hah. Ha ha.” He actually was laughing. Not just a fake amusement or something placating, but real mirth. Okay. I was proud of my lame joke as well, but Old Man Carver wouldn’t let anyone know! Especially not some wet behind the ears newbie.

“How did your mission go?”

“Terrible. I got so lost. There’s too many houses. Rows and rows of house. They all look different too!” Awesome Jr finally had enough strength back to sit up. Both arms wrapped around his knees.

“Ah. Learning a new world takes time. Did the map help?”

“A little. I found some of the people you marked and asked them how the other Travelers were doing. They gave me notes.” Awesome Jr. fished out a pile of papers from one pocket and shoved them in my direction.

The [Messenger's Pet] hissed when Awesome Jr. got too close, which was awesome. I chuckled and gave the tiny guy a stroke, which set him to purring again. He calmed down and dove into the remains of his cupcake.

“Wait until you try cookies.” I whispered quietly. I saw one ear perk forward almost like a cat's before it settled back down.

“That’s so…”

“Awesome.” I nodded and cut off the new player.

“What’s its name?”

“His name, and I don’t know. Would you like to try and find a name for him?” I watched the box bleep into existence in front of Awesome Jr. He laughed like a child and shook his head.

“My naming sense is a little bit lacking. So, no better not.” His finger jabbed at the floating system message. Quest offered and firmly rejected.

“Oh well. So far the little guy hasn’t liked any name given to him, so, it’ll just have to wait.” I said.

“That’s an interesting quest.”

Queue the old man half smile that seemed more tired than amused.

“This place is full of interesting things. How did you like the tour?” Carver cared about what happened to players. He treated players the way they treated him. My points were slowly changing for the better today.

“I saw a lot of places. A lot of people were super friendly when I said I was doing an errand for you. One lady, she said call her Peg, she was confused and said you could have just asked her yourself.”

I smiled. My training with Peg had been an hour ago. Carver's pace was very slow compared to most other people, even after the pleasant workout. Awesome Jr. must have run into her most recently. Then the little [Messenger's Pet] had somehow sensed cupcakes and flown this way.

“Probably.” I admitted.

There was no telling how the wide hipped angry woman was fairing now. Her name eluded me, along with many of the other new players. Maybe I should start noting them down in my ARC’s journal too. Just so I had something to refer back to. This would let me build a list of people to avoid given a choice. At this rate they would all be out having their first adventures while I was stuck in a starting town.

“Decided on what to do with yourself?”

“I thought about going back to Peg.” Awesome Jr. waved a tired arm around and boxes shifted about his screen. He was looking for something in his wall of information.

“She’d make a man out of you.” With more than one meaning if he did well enough on the training side. Her background description had been rather blunt in possible outcomes. But hey, who was I to argue? This game did require all Travelers to be of legal age. Bet he would be absolutely hooked on playing afterwards.

Thankfully I didn’t look for that sort of thing. The brothel area was eye catching however.

“Would she?” Then he shook his head and had the decency to look mildly red faced. “No, I need to learn a weapon. Not sure what though.”

“Partial to a two handed myself.” Points! Precious ques progression points were worth throwing nonsense out there. “Though, don’t assume you’re locked in. The world's large, you may change your style later on.”

“Oh? That’s good. I was worried that I’d be forced to choose a class or something.” He waved all the windows away and laid back completely.

“No. Your world has classes. We’re a bit more realistic, and Travelers are fortunate. You have many options available if you can find them.”

“That’s what you’re for right?”

I smirked.

“I’m here to get Travelers started, that’s all. Where you choose to start is up to you.”

“It’s too much!”

“You read any books in your world?”

“Yeah, sure, a lot. My ARC has a ton of books, and the Internet, my dad’s library is huge. He’s been collecting since I was little.” Awesome Jr. rambled on for too long. I took out another acorn for the [Messenger's Pet] and threw it. The little guy looked uninterested after his cupcake conquest.

“Do some research on the paradox of choice, and paralysis of analysis.” According to one of Carver's many information pop up boxes this was a good strategy for the younger far too clever people.

“What? Why would you know concepts from our world.” Awesome Jr. looked surprised. Or I assumed it was surprise, his face was almost as fuzzy as everything else. One day I would see this world without feeling underwater.

“I’ve talked to a lot of people over the years, a lot of Travelers who had no idea what they wanted or how to get it. It might help you to sit down and think about it.”

“Huh. Okay. I’ll go do that now, I have homework anyway.”

I nodded. Moments later Awesome Jr. vanished in a swoosh of light. Eventually I discovered autopilot wasn’t available to most new players. Awesome Jr. couldn’t just leave his game avatar doing some random project.

Another acorn failed to garner a reaction. I threw the fifth one right at the [Messenger's Pet] and all it did was grump and dive into Carver's hood. I hummed while debating how much time there was left tonight.

Curse this blurry vision. Decent eyesight would allow me to see into the baker's building to see how things were going. Was that Pie Master jumping up and down while waving. I squinted and grumbled to myself while balancing myself on the cane. This body's hearing was extremely bad unless someone was right next to me.

“Hey! Mister C! I made cookies!”

“Huh?”

“Cookies! I showed Ladette how to make them. My skills not high enough, but she’s a pro. Want to try one?” Pie Master was running over with a metal sheet. Carver's eyes and ears may be second rate, but his nose was working well enough to pick up that scent.

“Raisins?”

“No. They’re called Almanuts. Wait. You know what Raisins are?” I tried not to let my old body cringe at giving away non local knowledge. Sure enough the few points I gained with Awesome Jr. were already gone.

“That was what the other Traveler told me about.”

“Well you’re in luck! These are pretty good. Just a hint of sweetness to go with the fresh gooey insides, the outside is so crisp it’ll melt in your mouth.” He looked surprised at a popup box near his face. Looks like his words had garnered skill bonuses of some sort. From this angle the box was impossible to see clearly. It was likely a skill for convincing people to try his wears.

I tried one and almost died in happiness. Real world consumables had been off my personal plate for a long time. Most income went to supporting family in a steadily downhill job market.

“This is forking delicious.” Those weren’t my exact words, but the cookie made it hard to enunciate. Even grumpy Old Man Carver would give credit where it was due.

“I know! I wanted a few myself, but I’m trying to teach them proper sanitation for the food. It’s not terrible back there, but it’s ain't exactly four star.”

I tried to give my best confused look and just shrugged. Another cookie went into my plate, and part of one went to the now curious [Messenger's Pet].

“Hey, should he eat those?”

I shrugged.

“I know dogs get sick from chocolate, he’s not like, a dog, or allergic, is he?”

“Not so far.”

“Okay. I would never want to hurt such a cutie.” Pie Master was busy making gooey eyes at the tiny dragon. “Whose a cute little guy.” And true to form, the [Messenger's Pet] was in love with anyone who provided food.

“How many can you make?”

“For you? I’m sure we can whip together another few batches quick, I’ll even work in a discount.”

“Just a discount?”

“I’ll ask Ladette.” Pie Master found almost everything outrageously amusing. “It’s her store.”

“You do that.” My fingers waved him off while munching a cookie.

The [Messenger's Pet] was busy searching for crumbs. Nothing lined the path between here and the bakery. He settled for diving onto Carver's robe and licking around. At that moment, I really did feel like an old man with an overactive lap puppy. One with wings, and fire ball breath. Typically old people pets also failed to follow orders. That was the problem! It wasn’t me being unable to give orders, no, it was me being an old man! The [Messenger's Pet] would rue the day once I had my real in game avatar.

That pleasant thought kept me going through the cookie purchase. Ladette had gouged me out of far too much of Carver's money, even with a ‘discount’. She claimed exclusive access to new goods. What little I could read of Pie Master’s window implied kickbacks similar to what I received for my Casino idea.

I left the player and baker clicking their heels and shouting about a new product. They would be at it until the sun went down. Knowing player mentality, Pie Master would keep on baking through the night. All in the name of skill ups and other stat bonuses. Voices, cookies in the morning sounded good too. It was all digital, what would William Carver care? None! The proof was in my progress bar’s lack of excitement over the exchange.

Of course, here I was two weeks into Carvers life and I still hadn’t figured out where all his money came from. Nothing he owned popped into existence like it did for other players. My vague assumption had been that Carver had turned into an NPC somewhere along the line.

Such thoughts kept me distracted during the amble to Mylia’s orphanage. Which, according to the map, was actually called [Haven Valley]’s orphanage. Not Mylia’s. There were a few notes about the kids in Carver’s map notes but the journals had been mostly useless regarding this town. What exactly did exactly did William Carver tell to these little children?

The children had a crazy scouting system that announced my presence before I limped to the actual building. By that time Mylia had already opened the door, and one of the larger children had run off with the bag in my hands. My little [Messenger's Pet] was poking out of the hood and looking around in confusion. One ear cocked forward with each new shout and shriek sent him dodging and rolling around in my hood.

Then he would poke back out again and look around.

“You made it Mister Carver.”

“I did.” The cane helped me huff a few more steps through the doorway into a room filled with a dozen already excited children.

“The kids have been looking forward to this all day.”

“Which one ran off with my bag?” Hopefully one of the orphans hadn’t already stolen all the semi fresh cookies.

“Probably Phil, he’s always snooping and finding strange things.” She sighed and pulled out a rag from her apron in order to clean up some child’s messy face. “I swear, that boy comes back with the oddest things.”

“Not stealing is he?” That abrupt statement lost me one of my precious Carver Process points. I should have asked myself ‘What Would Carver Do?’.

“I don’t ask.”

I snorted. That was as good as admitting Phil’s past times. He was probably an aspiring pickpocket. Though I hadn’t seen notes regarding this come up on Carver’s old maps. The local thief types were scattered across the town. Confusion racked my addled brain. One town was crisscrossed with an absurd amount of personalities.

“Come on in Mister Carver. I’ll have the boys clear the nice seat so you can rest your old bones.” Mylia stepped into another room and motioned me forward with a free hand.

“Thanks Mylia.”

This orphanage was the most run down place I had seen. The building wasn’t well kept like most of the businesses and houses. Paint peeled, one window was clearly shattered from a rock, and the furniture inside wasn’t that great.

“Phil! Bring whatever you borrowed from Mister Carver back out here!”

“It’s for everyone.” I muttered while shuffling through to where Mylia pointed absently.

“Hear that Phil!” Mylia was being louder than ever, but she was trying to over power a room of children. The linens looked decent and that was positive. Mylia probably kept the place washed judging by how often she went back and forth with armloads of laundry.

“Phil!”

Soon enough Phil showed himself. This was the same little scamp I had seen running after Mylia all over town. He still looked worn and tired. His eyes reflected a sunken exhaustion. Probably from running the streets all night in order to find valuables. Food perhaps? He was shoveling a cookie into his face, looking pleased.

“Share those.” I waved the cane at the youngster and earned a few points towards progress. Phil got wide eyed and tried to smile around a mouth of goodness.

“Guys!” Phil shouted and spilled crumbs.

“They got a bedtime?”

“Curfew, but a bedtime? For this many kids?” Mylia laughed briefly, then scowled and whipped one of the little ones with her towel. The girl was trying to grab a handful of cookies instead of sharing.

“I’m lucky if I can get them to be quiet and let me sleep.”

“Kids.”

“The older ones help, but it’s never enough. Shawna! Round up the rest of the littles! Mister Carver’s here!” Orphanage Mylia was different than about the town Mylia. Walking through town she seemed to have all the time in the world. Yet here, she was pressed and constantly moving from room to room.

“Wa are yoo gonna tell us Uncle Carver?” I had to blink twice and rerun the tiny girl’s voice through my mental filters again. She was extremely young, three or four if that. Emotionally that put me on edge.

“Help an old man remember, what did I tell you last time?”

“You did the beast one!”

“And the girl, with talking cabinets and teacups!” That sounded like a familiar story.

“What else?” I prompted other children, they were gathering around, jostling for a seat. Older kids were busy dragging in more furniture to sit on.

“There was the furry monster in the closest, you told us that one last time too! Can you do that one again?” This also sounded familiar.

“Maybe. I should really do something new though. What else?”

“You told us about the princess and a frog.” An older girl said. She sounded about eight but looked five. Okay, pattern established. Carver was telling stories from our world. That was cute and almost adorably clever. Walt would be proud to know his legacy reached into another universe.

“How about Goldilocks and the Three Bears?” I asked.

“Uh uh.” The younger girl said. She was being pushed by another tiny child who was grasping at her half eaten cookie.

“I can do that one, but it’s a short story, and I owe you a bit to make up for my absence.”

“Thumbelina!” I smiled and tried let my ignorance show through. Vaguely I remember the story had to do with a tiny girl raised by her parents who were normal sized.

“Sounds like that’s not a new one.” Oh, I got a point towards my progress for suggesting we do something unknown to the orphans.

“Some of the younger kids might not have heard it.” An older boy who was maybe twelve helped out the conversation. “Or the one with a princess and those fairy godmothers.”

I ran everything through my brain. Children stories weren’t high on my list of things to remember. There were animal ones, princesses, tons from all over the board. Cinderella had been redone at least a dozen times.

I added the Princess and the Pea to story time, and unleashed my best confused old man who rambled a little upon the orphan's children. They laughed and smiled, asked questions and were in general extremely silly children. It was a blast, and judging by my progress bar, Carver thought so as well. Finally the night wrapped up, Mylia ushered children off to rooms and set the older ones about final chores. They were quiet aside from scrubbing of dishes and what sounded like firewood being chopped.

“Well behaved.” I sat alone in a room that had once housed two dozen young faces. Mylia sounded exasperated constantly with them, but she did a good job.

“Only because you were here. They’re always behaved for a few days afterwards.”

“Sounds like I should visit more.” I was feeling extremely worn out. There was too much energy in the children for me to keep up. Somehow, before I started my stories, the young three year old had ended up on one knee.

“No one here would be opposed.” Mylia said.

“I’ll visit more then, for as long I have left.” William Carver might not last past the two weeks I was playing the NPC. Not if the Voices were anything to judge by.

“What do you mean by that Mister Carver?” She looked worried.

My eyes were getting harder to keep open by this point. The kids had been entirely too adorable, even the older ones seemed pleasant. Thin, underfed, but they were all around good kids. Maud would be proud to see those abandoned being taken care of.

“Mister Carver? Is it true then? What the [Messenger's Pet] means?”

“Huh?” I was losing myself. Old Man Carver's stamina bar had dwindled to nothing and a warning about exhaustion and pending passing out.

“What’s this?” Mylia looked confused. Behind my head the small creature had popped out. I had enough time to see a scroll in its maw. My halfhearted check for drool verified the parchment was unsoiled.

“What’s this?” She asked again.

I shrugged and faded in and out. She was reading something. A poem?

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both.” That sounded familiar. I remembered those words and mouthed the next part, being half functional.

“And be on traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth.” Poor Carver, his body could barely get a few words out before needing to swallow from a dry throat.

“What is this?” She seemed ever more confused.

“Life. Keep reading Mylia. You’ll like it.” We weren’t speaking in English, but from what I heard the poem translated fine. Faust wrote it, and they were good words for a sad moment. Her voice was pleasant. How long had it been since a woman spoke these words? Last time it had been my fiancée and she had read this very poem just before leaving. Sleepily I scowled. Continue was screwing with me again.

“To where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear. Though as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same.” Mylia was in wonder, confused, and seemed slightly pleased. There were pauses where she would read the poem and restart. I could hear the patter of children moving around in the background listening in on the words.

My [Messenger's Pet] friend huffed and searched around the room for cookie crumbs. After running out of scraps he crawled into Carver's lap to sleep. I wanted to throttle him but settled for a stiff pat.

“And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.”

She paused.

“What does this mean?”

“Keep reading.” I grumbled.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

“What do you think it’s about Mylia?” Carver never gave away too much information, not even to Mylia.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s about choices and where they lead.”

“What choices have you made Mister Carver?” Mylia leaned in closer. The blue wrap around her head swam into view.

“Many Mylia, so many, good and bad…I’ve made…” Then blackness overcame my senses. My display still existed. A gold lettered message floated up saying ‘you are unconscious’.

What was going on now? This felt like being back in the trial room before everything had been revealed. I normally logged out just before William Carver passed out each night. That was good, because I needed a breather.

What had I been about to tell Mylia? My life mistakes and where those put me? Or Carver's? The line between me and the other former player had slowly vanished the longer I lived in his shoes. That poem hadn’t helped. Where had the [Messenger's Pet] dug that up?

“Grant Legate.” A voice that I hadn’t heard in nearly two weeks echoed across my mind. Deep resounding tones combined with that inquisitive lilt painted a clear picture of who was speaking.

“James?” I asked.

“Grant Legate. How are you feeling?” Seeing James was impossible with my vision being dimmed. The taunting word ‘unconscious’ had slowly become my only focus.

“Tired.” I wiped at one cheek absently finding a small pool of drool. “Very tired. Is it okay if I don’t come back for a few days? I need, need to not be here for a while.”

“Time is a factor Grant Legate, but I believe there is a little leeway.”

“Okay.”

“Are you alright?” James asked.

I thought of the kids, and of roads not traveled, before nodding weakly. Shortly afterwards I logged myself out of the game.