The Rabbit Sanctuary.

Gathering the rest of the rabbits didn't take Henry long.

Since his fellow trainees would be hunting for another fifteen or twenty minutes, Henry searched for a secluded spot to check up on the progress of his helpers trying to solve the ongoing Earthfriend curse.

In one part of The Sanctuary was a cluster of linden trees with dense foliage. Jogging to the base of them, he checked that no one was around. With the coast clear, he jumped to grab the lowest hanging branch and pulled himself up. A few more jumps later, he'd reached a branch that was invisible from the outside.

With the dense leaf coverage dampening the battle-cries of the other trainees, the spot was peacefully quiet. One could hear the buzz of bees gathering nectar from a hive in the branches and birds chirruping love songs.

Henry activated his ID-spoofing ring to switch to the fake NPC identity and changed outfits in case a player happened upon him later.

He pulled out a thin, elliptical Communication Stone with which he'd been staying in contact with his minions. These items were used by NPCs to talk remotely with players. Players, amongst themselves, could communicate directly through a private messaging system; however, to prevent this cure being traced back to him, Henry was pretending not to be a player.

Humming to warm-up his old man voice, he squeezed the stone firmly into the flesh of his palm, and it vibrated, ready to transmit his response.

"Dhaka_Sniper_1351, are you there?" he asked.

"Hello?” the stone replied, transmitting a noisy background of several other voices, tinkling glasses, and objects being ground in pestles.

“Hello, young one. It’s me, Dr Iskander, I’ve just woken up. How are the interviews going?”

“Hiya! Doc, they were going well until...”

As Henry listened to the update, finding it all boring and irrelevant to his duelling tournament mission, he decided to practice his movement skills simultaneously.

He threw on random spots around the tree and placed the Communication Stone in a pocket, the helper's voice muffled but audible through the fabric.

There was a branch on roughly the same level as his current one. He tried to reach it using just the power of his legs, but he underestimated the distance. Falling slightly short, he was forced to grab the branch at the last second, the sudden motion scraping his palms.

Halfway through the pulling himself up, the branch digging into his stomach, he paused and reached into his pocket to give the Communication Stone a squeeze.

"So you haven’t found him? Hmm...that’s indeed a shame. I suppose there's nothing we can do but move on to the next person down the list...”

A quarter-hour of branch-hopping and cure-making later, he poked his head out of the leaves to check on the other trainees' progress.

What he saw made him sigh internally.

Another problem...

Three trainees in his same group were squabbling with a group of six others wielding machetes.

The machete-wielders had green bandanas tied around their lower faces and button-up shirts that were only fixed at the top button. Above their heads, their usernames were flashing salmon red, the paleness of the red indicating that the crime they'd committed had been a minor one.

A small crowd had gathered, hoping the argument would escalate into a fight.

One of Henry's fellow trainees seemed bent on that happening, stepping forward and raising his overly-handsome fist. “Bro, you better give his rabbit back!"

A machete-wielding trainee holding a dead rabbit responded in mock confusion. “Eh, this lil fluffy? Ese, donchu know? The second it stepped past that line there, it became property of The Village of Sureños.”

"Bro, I don't see your name..."

Listening to the dispute, Henry gathered that a fellow trainee had tagged a rabbit that the other guy was going for. Annoyed, the machete-wielder had taken the rabbit and refused to hand it over. Technically, this was illegal in the game rules. Practically, Villagers would ignore criminal penalties, since whatever law enforcement there was in the Slums was sparse and easy to bribe.

Also, though Henry was unsure about this, he was guessing the machete-wielders had a weird, secondary motive for stealing the rabbit.

He sighed disdainfully. "Roleplayer scum..."

But he didn't care about any of that. His concern was that his fellow trainees dying and prolonging this tutorial further.

Recalling the overly-handsome meathead’s username, he sent an anonymous message.

-Anonymous: Dan, back down. I can lure another rabbit in about fifteen seconds.

Down in the fields, Handsome Dan span around in confusion. “Big Bro, are you invisible?”

-Anonymous: Stop spinning. No, I’m sending you a message mentally. All players can do this with each other. Pretend you’re responding to me with your thoughts.

-Danontherightwing: Like this? Testing, 1, 2, 3.

-Anonymous: That's it.

-Danontherightwing: Sick.

-Anonymous: Anyway, give up already. If you're desperate for that particular rabbit, try offering them a small bribe and they might hand it over. I think those dudes are gangster roleplayers, so they're obliged by their dumb, caricatured understanding of real gang members to start petty conflicts.

Despite being dressed up and trying to speak like Latino gangsters from the ancient 2010s, the group had thick Swedish accents. Saana's player-base was wide and, as Suchi attested, not everyone chose to play it in the conventional or correct way. Many people here were morons - in fact, the majority.

-Danontherightwing: I can’t do that, Big Bro.

-Anonymous: Don't worry about the price. As long as they agree, I'll come out and pay. I'm filthy rich.

-Danontherightwing: That won't do!

-Anonymous: Why not? We're spreading the wealth, helping the economy.

-Danontherightwing: Big Bro, what about the principle?! You can't let people get away with stealing! That's illegal!

Henry, perched in his branch, grimaced in repugnance.

Principles...what about the principle of not wasting his time or energy?

-Anonymous: Dan, you seem to have gotten the wrong impression of me. I'm not a principled person. Most people would sort me into the villain category. Like, before, when I beat the crap out of you, that was for fun. Only dimwit LARPers and abused people unable to exorcise the demons of their past think gratuitous violence has a role in an effective teaching curriculum. Go on. Ask their price.

-Danontherightwing: Big Bro!

Henry, giving up on that, tried persuading the overly-handsome meathead to at least call up his meathead friends, but the turbonoob didn't even have their usernames, making mental communication with them impossible. Nevertheless, the kid insisted on fighting three to six.

That would definitely get him killed.

And that would definitely extend the length of this dragging tutorial.

-Anonymous: Sigh. Fine, I’ll fix the problem. All you need to do is pick up the rabbit when that guy drops it. Also, if you tell anyone it’s me...

Henry tried to think from the perspective of an idiot, to envision their demented priorities, warped values, and irrational fears.

-Anonymous: ...I won't be your pal anymore.

Down on the field, Dan became confused and a bit alarmed.

The Village thugs confronting him were also confused, wondering why the handsome lunk was staring into space - maybe his internet had disconnected.

One of the gangster roleplayers stepped back and crossed his arms like he was posing for an old school hip-hop album cover. "Yo, homes, is this puta loco?"

One gangster roleplayer, not knowing either, scratching his hair, kept helmetless to show his slick cholo cut, released a sudden scream as a sharp force hit the back of his skull.

Another, turning at his friend's cry, keeled over as an arrow punched into his stomach.

"Yo, it's a driveby!" Another gangster leapt behind a rabbit mound. "Find cover, homies! Find cover!"

Unlike his fellow roleplayers, the gang leader maintained his composure, sidestepping an arrow and discarding the rabbit in his hand, which Dan then promptly retrieved as instructed.

“Homies," the gang leader yelled, "track back the direction of the fool who thinks he can fuck with the Village of Sureños!”

In the moonlight, it was hard to find their assailant, but, eventually, they spotted him, an archer peeking out of a tree in a kabuki mask and yukata.

The leader raised his machete. “Yo, get that ninja fool!”

The gangster-roleplayers charged, dodging a hail of arrows, pretending they were bullets.

So distracted were the frontrunners that they didn't notice a homie in the back falling to the ground, never to get up again.

"I'm shot, homies," the wounded homie cried from the ground, lighting up a cigarette with a match, "get that fool for me!"

Taking a final puff, he roleplayed a death grunt.

RIP to OG Big Smoke The Toke-a-Loc.

As the others reached the base of the linden tree, they saw the kabuki-masked figure standing on a branch about 15 metres up.

“Truce?" The masked figure asked, his voice rising at the end nervously.

Seeing his fear, the gangster-roleplayers grinned at each other, right in time for an arrow to puncture the top of one of their heads, the point gouging into the meat of their motor cortex.

As the struck gangster fell, their limbs spasming out of control, another arrow penetrated their heart, putting their character out of commission.

RIP to Lil Bouncy Mac.

“Oskar, Magnus, we must run!” yelled one of the gangster-roleplayers, breaking character.

The leader, grabbing the fleeing homie by the collar, pulled him back. Maintaining his cool, he could see the kabuki guy struggling to lift himself up onto a higher branch.

Their prey was cornered.

"Only time Sureños back up is in a hearse, ese." The leader sneered. “Hjalmar—I mean, homes, take a chill pill and get climbing. We need to bag this ninja racoon fool!”