Dylan stayed up way too late.

The “band” Nakala got back together included a few very good friends who were very rusty at the game, and so they’d taken their sweet time getting him the clear - and cutscene - he craved. But he didn’t sleep through his alarm. He took his time in the morning clearing the perishables out of his fridge, and went in to the Monsoon office just about on time.

He didn’t go up to his cubicle, though. Mae met him in the lobby with a clipboard and had him signing forms in the elevator on the way up, just as she’d proposed the night before when he called her.

“And initial here for your employment hold,” she said, flipping the pages around. “So how was your last night on Earth?”

“I’m hoping to be back here in five years, you know,” Dylan said, initialing where Mae pointed. “But it was nice. I finally finished the last boss of Vein of Talos.”

“Good timing,” Mae said, flipping through the pages. “And sign here to confirm your intent for us to maintain your current rental agreement, for as long as Monsoon finds it financially feasible.”

Dylan snorted. "So, until tomorrow?" He shook his head. "My friend got our retired raid team all back together, so it was the same old struggle. But it felt good.” He paused as he signed the document. He’d never been able to talk and sign his name at the same time. Typing? Fine. Writing? Fine. Just his signature somehow required the speech center of his brain to be quiet. “They were talking about making it a regular thing again for next reset, but… I don’t have to tell you that I’m not going to be able to make it.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t hold your raid spot for you.” Mae chuckled and flipped to the next signature line. “But this is for us to keep up on your other bills. It also gives us some amount of legal leeway to cancel services that you might not need anymore. If you’ve got one of those grocery subscription services, for example.”

“Right, right. Already canceled the unimportant stuff this morning.” Dylan signed on the line. “So how much more of this is there?”

“Um.” Mae hesitated, flipping to the next bit. “I’ll tell you when we get there. This is the medical waiver document. I need initials here and here for agreeing to give Monsoon permission to make medical decisions about your body. We can’t have you dying to appendicitis while you’re hooked up.”

“Already had my appendix out,” Dylan said, initialing where directed. “But my family has a history of lung cancer, so if you could keep an eye on that, that’d be great.”

“That’s actually…” Mae flipped the next page, revealing a checklist. “This page. Please check as many boxes as are true.” She pointed. “Family history of cancer is right there. Do you smoke?”

“Never once,” Dylan said as he started checking the boxes. “Losing grandparents to lung cancer before you’re 10 does that to you.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Mae said, falling silent as he filled out the checklist.

When the doors opened, he was taken through the office and back into the back rooms of Project Rundan, where Mae guided him to an office. It wasn’t the doctor’s office he’d been in before. It was a real office, complete with a desk and computer. It looked a little like Mark’s manager office. There was a man with a nose ring seated behind the desk, typing furiously.

“This is Sam, he’s going to take you through the rest of the paperwork.”

“The rest?” Dylan asked. “I thought it was just this?”

The man behind the desk patted a stack of papers. “We’ve only just begun.”

“I have to go make sure the prep is done on your station,” Mae said, handing Sam the clipboard. “But I’ll be back to take you to the suite to have you plugged in.”

Dylan sat down across from Sam, and the process of signing papers intensified. It seemed Mae had gone through all the heavy stuff, getting that out of the way quickly for Sam to do whatever furiously intense typing he was doing as he went over the signed documents and walked Dylan through what remained. Meanwhile, Dylan was signing at least three dozen forms relating to Monsoon’s new streaming service.

It was called The Tempest, and, unfortunately, Dylan had to sign over financial rights to his stream’s earnings. On the plus side, Sam assured him that his audience’s support would be translated to in-game rewards in order to entice him to produce an entertaining stream. He also gave up five years worth of his creative and merchandising rights for any stream content that might become popular or go viral. But he was entitled to a cut once he was out of the system.

He also signed several forms indicating that he had read and acknowledged certain behavior rules. He was discouraged from behaving in a way that broke the immersion and worldbuilding for others. He could do whatever he wanted when alone - even openly acknowledging and talking to his stream, if he wanted - but if he behaved that way in shared spaces, the NPCs might react unfavorably, and other PCs will be within their rights to report his actions.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have an OOC chat feature. We can’t get the system to process subvocation in a way that lets you speak without being heard by NPCs,” Sam explained. “But we are working on it.”

“So am I gonna have a stream chat pop-up in my field of vision all the time?” Dylan asked, signing the acknowledgement forms.

“No, actually. The only way to receive messages from the outside world is the in-game mail system. That’s how your donation and subscription rewards will be received,” Sam flipped the acknowledgement form over, and pointed to the line on the bottom of the other side. “But pretty much the only other real contact you’ll get will be emergency messages from Monsoon.”

Dylan continued to power through the forms, agreeing to the rules and regulations of conduct. They were pretty standard. Most of them could have all been summarized as “don’t be a dick” but he appreciated that they were broken down like this. If anyone started throwing around slurs, he felt a little more positive that they would face serious consequences.

It was nearly forty minutes before they got to the last form. This form was densely packed with text, and Dylan looked to Sam to clarify.

"Alright. Here's the final thing. A coup de grace, if you will. The legal shit and everything about the tech. In more detail than Mae went over with you, and in all the glory. Sign this, and your'e in. On the way to the boat. But if you don't sign it, you walk away."

Dylan stared at the document. He suddenly felt a surge of jealousy for the protagonist in his audiobook. She didn't have to make a decision like this. It was portal fantasy, so her agency was taken away.

Here in his hands was the answer to every question he could have had about the system and how it was going to affect his body and mind. And he didn't feel like reading it.

It had taken him less than an hour to sew up his entire life, cancelling game subs and taking out the trash. If things went wrong, what was actually holding him to this world? The only thing he could think of was his job. His job that he not-so-secretly hated himself for.

Was he an accountant? Or was he something more?

"Look," he said, after his momentary hesitation. "We both know I'm still going to sign this form... but could you humor me?" When Sam nodded, Dylan ran his fingers through his hair. "Why is Monsoon willing to take a risk on this game? If something goes tits up, it could be a really big liability. Like, lawsuits and company stock tanking kind of big."

For a long moment, Sam stared at him. Dylan wondered what about his question was so wrong, but before things could get too awkward, the man looked behind Dylan towards the open door and then slumped in his chair. "I can't... Love to, but can't." He straightened up and looked Dylan dead in the eye. "The technology is good," he said in a tone that made this sound like a recorded speech. "Monsoon has been working towards this public launch date for Tempest for a long time." Sam wiggled his fingers in the air. "Ultimately, we're legally covered. All the Ps and Qs. But, even still, we're certain about this. The risk-averse suits gave the thumbs up and everything." The man paused, and Dylan could tell he wanted to say more, but he shrugged instead. "But like, think about it this way. It's worth the tiny little risk, right? You get to be part of something that can be a jumping off point for you, as a gamer... and as a streamer."

As a streamer.

He signed the form. Done deal.

Sam smiled wide and slid the paper back to his side of the desk before tipping his head back. He pointed ominously at Dylan. “YOUR SOUL IS MINE!” It was a pretty passable Shang Tsung impression.

Dylan arched an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I only get to do that bit with gamers. The suits don’t take it very well.” Sam collected the paperwork and extended his hand across the table to shake. “Welcome to Project Rundan.”