Roth had lunch ordered and brought to the room, a chicken burger for Rowan and a tuna salad for himself, plus tea for drinks. The delivery guard had come and gone without trouble. While Rowan had gorged, he had asked whatever question that’d popped into his mind while Roth prattled on about minor details. The enjoyment of conversation appeared to be part of Roth’s true personality either because he liked the sound of his voice or liked to blither streams of knowledge. Rowan could put up with the good doctor’s droning old voice, and he appreciated the information on his mission, truly.

The VR pods worked through a combination of nanobots injected into the bloodstream and a field manipulator based on quantum technology that Rowan didn’t understand—something about non-disruptive particle fields and bosons. A ring of needles injected packets of nanobots into various veins across the body and had to be repeated monthly before the bots biodegraded. Once in the bloodstream, half of the bots swam to the head and passed through the blood-brain barrier, guided by the pod’s local quantum processor. The other half would remain dispersed throughout the body, preventing significant atrophy. Each bot carried a small store of nutrients. The technology was impressive, Rowan granted, though it didn’t scratch his curiosity as much as Roth seemed to expect.

And the whole VR system would only be priced at a few thousand credits plus a hundred for six months of nanobot supply. Government black-budget had heavily subsidized this technology. Even those working minimum wage jobs alongside AI-controlled automatons could afford a pod after a bit of saving.

Roth had assured Rowan there’d be no compatibility problems regarding his damaged, implant-aided brain. The doctor was a genius through and through.

Rowan had cut Roth’s lecture short out of boredom and asked about the game when he had finally finished his chicken burger. He’d ordered the extra-large burger. The breakfasts weren’t as tasty here. Rowan typically skipped.

Aeon Chronicles had been designed as a typical medieval fantasy MMO. Towns, cities, castles, kings, elves, Dwarves, dragons, dungeons, magic—basically what you’d expect. The world was a globe twice the size of Earth, though a magical barrier limited the playing area to three continents, which were only connected by the northern ice shelf. One for each faction. Roth had left it at that, arguing that discovering the lore was part of the experience. Rowan didn’t care either way. He was more interested in the game mechanics.

All players started out as a classless adventurer, randomly spawned in one of many starter towns in a continent depending on the race and faction picked. The world’s AI controller dynamically generated and controlled quests, events, storylines, NPCs, and all other content. The limited world area was the only constraint the AI had to work within.

New classes and abilities could be generated at any moment, much to Rowan's interest—though Roth reported such an event was rare. Exceptional individuals who experienced interesting, uncommon lives, or put enough effort into the game, received personally-tailored quests and abilities. Most players ended up playing as an easy-to-unlock generic fantasy class. The masses always followed the path of least resistance.

The current endgame raids featured a bandit king and a pirate lord, whom none had defeated yet. World Bosses were permanently killed and replaced in due time by the AI controller. How original.

Roth then ranted on about the AI and how it was a technological marvel of weak AI on its own. It was not strong AI, but many academics and engineers working on the project had speculated it was close. It made little difference to Rowan.

“Alright,” Rowan cut off the doctor and slapped his hand on the table. “Where do I start? Didn’t you mention a special directive given to the controller?”

Roth’s eyes flicked to him. “Indeed. My lead engineer informs me that upon login, you will be given a premade character appearance, a special item, and two quests. On top of the free starter items you’ll pick up in town, of course.”

“That’s all?” Rowan’s nose wrinkled for a second. How would he become a final raid boss with just that? The challenge appealed to him but even he recognized a potentially impossible task. “What’s the item?”

Roth sipped his green tea and poured more from the steamer kettle. He shrugged. “Only the AI knows.”

He couldn’t be serious.

Rowan huffed. “I thought you said no external control mechanisms would just be a lie for the public.”

“Not for individual items. We only have limited admin control over players. Invisible hovering cameras, and a few other nonintrusive features. All items are held in a highly encrypted, compressed format that only the controller understands…” Roth drew a blocky diagram as he explained the infrastructure and limitations that the Synaptic Entertainment engineering team faced.

Rowan let most of the technical details wash over him. He took note of the fact that the only direct control they had over items was when a player posted something on the real money marketplace. Real money markets were a standard feature in the industry. Gamers had slowly acclimated to the idea.

By the time the void became fed up with Roth’s ramblings, Rowan had stood and stretched his cramped back. With a silk-smooth voice, he said, “I think that’s enough, doctor. Let’s begin.” He walked to the VR pod and brushed his fingers over the matte polymer surface.

Sighing a raspy breath, Roth also stood. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll figure it all out or eventually read about it through the in-game web-browser which—”

A whip of annoyance arced through Rowan’s airways. “Open the fucking pod, Roth.” It was time to end some pigs and wolves—painfully.

The frustrating doctor regarded Rowan for three seconds before heading over to the wall-computer. He typed on the Holo-Keyboard faster than his old hands should have allowed. The pod opened with a hiss.

Transparent blue gel padded the bed. Rowan counted the retracted needles with a sweep of his eye, estimating there were at least a hundred mounted on half-inch thick, tentacle-like metal arms. This thing could be a torture prop out of a horror movie. But Rowan wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t been afraid or felt the distant memory of fear in over a year—a real bonus to his unique condition.

Rowan took off his shoes, shirt, and pants for additional safety measures Roth instructed. He climbed in with little difficulty. The pod was already at body temperature. The lid didn’t close as it beeped to life.

“In ten seconds, Rowan,” Roth said, voice calm and uncaring.

Just get on with it.

Ten.

The pod whirred and sustained a mid-tone note, c-sharp Rowan recognized. He had listened to Tom’s violin for countless afternoons and developed an accurate pitch.

Five.

The needle-tentacles slithered to life.

An image of a hundred dead and bloody piggy-boys filled his imagination.

The pod beeped three times in rapid succession and pinpricks of pain sprouted across Rowan’s body, evenly distributed across his limbs, torso, and neck. An unfamiliar sensation swept through his skull, and then—

The change was so sudden he had to steady himself. He was floating upright in a thick, blue void that housed the occasional white star and streak. He slowly oscillated up and down like he was a buoy in calm waters.

A semi-transparent, glass dialog box appeared in front of him.

LOGIN SUCCESSFUL: ROWAN BLACK

Special conditions detected. Executing now.

The dialog faded from existence. A plain rectangular mirror expanded from a point followed by another glass interface that granted appearance customization options. The sliders and buttons and input fields were all grayed out. A young man dressed in worn leather wafted in the mirror, a tad more chiseled and regal than his real looks but easily recognizable as Rowan Black. Oh, apart from the dirty-blond hair, which framed his features. A thin, straight scar cut down the right side of his face, hairline to chin. Deep blue eddies swirled in his slightly larger-than-normal eyes.

Beneath the sliders, a block of text under the title Character Story (Special story) read as, ‘Born as a bastard child of a ruling-class family in the Draconis Kingdom, you were disowned and sent to live in the countryside. Your hard life has made you resilient and resentful of nobles who spit upon you. The townsfolk, whom you look down on and often mistreat for reasons only known to yourself, recently discovered your heritage and had grown resentful of the potential power in your blood.’

Below that, in bolder text stated WORLD BOSS TIER 0 (Special status hidden until tier 6)

Rowan smirked. More than acceptable. If the AI wanted him to play as some mistreated princeling, then so be it. He nodded, and the game seemingly read his mind. The interface and mirror dismissed themselves.

The blue expanse swished in a stream of what he assumed to be magical energy as everything faded to black.

A heartbeat later, the world faded in. The familiar upwards force of solid ground met Rowan's feet. He stood in a town center next to a fancy stone well. The sun shone overhead, few clouds in the aqua sky, a bird landing on a rooftop. Cobblestones paved the streets and courtyard; cracks and weeds ruined the masonry. Dark wooden buildings towered over him, some multiple stories and others fancier than usual. Chatting in English, a few men and women dressed in peasant linen outfits walked by. A man donned in steel armor power-walked down a street in the distance near a shop.

Was that a player?

Rowan squinted and focused on the man, attempting to discern his features. A kite-shield displaying a dragon logo hung on his back. A sheathed sword swayed at his hip.

A dialog appeared above the man’s head.

[Player] Cpt LightWind: Level ?

Health: ?

Mana: ?

Stamina: ?

Actions: Message

So a player indeed. And a higher level player at that. At least much higher than Rowan’s level. He’d need to do some training before unleashing a reign of chaos. A lot of training.

Another dialog popped into the center of his view.

New Active Skill: Examine

Your keen eye allows you to notice details, which others may miss.

Skill Level: 1, 2%

Skill Tier: 0

Effect: 1 maximum target. Focus on any entity to reveal additional information. (Skills gain experience when you use them)

Tier Effect: Minimal detail. Reveals detail of players up to 20 levels greater than your character level and other characters up to 100 levels greater. (Skill tiers increase upon special conditions being met that are unique and hidden for all skills)

Rowan nodded, dismissing the notification with the intention of his thought. Examine would be a useful skill for shaping strategies. Better train it whenever possible.

Then another dialog appeared—followed by a chorus of unintelligible, faint whispers emanating from all directions. Rowan sighed.

New Quest: Whispers From The Aether

Are you going mad? Are sinister forces attempting to possess your mind?

Difficulty: A

Length: ?

Recommended Level: ?

Failure conditions: ?

Success conditions: ?

Reward: ?

Before Rowan could contemplate the quest, yet another goddamn dialog appeared.

New Quest: The Frozen Calamity

For some inane reason, the dark gods have picked a weak, lowly mortal as their champion. Travel north and activate the three ancient seals to unleash frost and fury upon this world. Succeed, and you will be granted power beyond imagination. How many times will you die on this quest, adventurer?

Difficulty: SSS

Length: Extremely Long

Recommended Level: 200+

Failure conditions: ?

Success conditions: Activate the three ancient seals in the north, ?

Reward: ?

Well, at least this quest was more informative despite the haughty description.

As Rowan dismissed the window, a stab of mute pain cut into his right palm. He inhaled through his teeth and gripped his hand. His palm glowed in black, magical light, fading over half a minute and revealing an inky ebony mark that undulated on his skin. He shook his head. This game was already pissing him off, even if bodily pain was quite muted, which he vaguely remembered Roth mentioning.

But he was the dark chosen one as promised. Roth hadn’t messed that up at least.

He examined the mark for another thirty seconds and reasoned it was a tattooed quest item. And obviously, he couldn’t embark on that quest now; it was a bloody level 200+ quest, and Rowan didn’t even know what the maximum level was. Roth hadn’t even explained the power scaling, whether it was linear, exponential, or arbitrarily based on gated unlocks. Damn that bastard Roth for fixating on the server hardware. The cold void stirred in his back and wrapped around his belly and chest like a loving pet.

And he didn’t know where to even start for Whispers From the Aether.

This was not the way to introduce a quest to a chosen one without context or backstory or a guiding NPC. He was a newbie for god’s sake. Rowan vowed to wring the AI controller’s neck if it had a sentient avatar in-game.

But not now for he had work to do: playing an MMO.

Breathing warm, bakery scented air, Rowan walked to the line of shops and examined each building and dismissed each dialog as they appeared with flicks of his will. Bakery, General Store, Leather Attire, Heavy Armour, Basic Weaponry, Inn… The standard shops in a fantasy RPG were all present in some form or another. This was a typical starting town, which Rowan had seen a hundred times before. The lack of creativity by this AI controller almost irritated him.

He stopped at a small booth made of granite and onyx. Gold trimmings decorated the building. It looked far too out of place. In the booth, a heavy-bearded old Dwarf stood next to lidless wooden boxes and two sacks. This must be where new players received their starting items.

“Ah, an adventurer,” he said with an accent that of typical Dwarves found in other fantasy games. “I’ve been waiting for the likes of you.”

Rowan let out a breath, casting a quick Examine on the little guy.

Present Dwarf: Level 5

Health: 150

Mana: 25

Stamina: 30

Just as he thought. It was the standard newbie gift-bearer with a cringe-worthy name. There were better designs such a feature.

“Greetings, Dwarf,” Rowan drawled, scowling. There was no point in being polite to the midget. He was probably hard-coded to hand over starter items no matter how rudely players treated him. And likely invulnerable too. Along with the whole damn booth, which would explain it’s extravagant appearance. It’d make no sense if something could kill the starter guide because that would cripple new players spawning here.

The Dwarf kept on smiling wider like it was his job to take insults from players. It chuckled in confusion. It didn’t look like the guy had a programmed response to a rude welcome, defaulting to a speechless, generic emotion. Pathetic.

And why not have some fun doing what he was being paid for: being a villain in this cartoonish game. It’d test the depth of the simulation as well. There’d probably be an invisible barrier preventing Rowan from reaching into the booth filled with starter items.

Rowan spoke in a low, threatening voice, “Hand over the items, and you may yet live.”

No invisible barrier stopped his hand as he grabbed its beard and tugged its face forward. He couldn’t help himself as he seized its neck and squeezed quarter of an inch, the pleasure of cruelty too intense to resist. The skin was elastic and warm. Every wrinkle, every scent, and every texture was indistinguishable from reality. The Dwarf’s panicked cry was perfect. Remarkable.

But did this mean he could kill the guide NPC? That would indeed cripple this starting zone for some time. Or permanently. Either this was a major flaw or an intended feature. Could players alter the gameworld to such an extent? Rowan didn't have time to contemplate further.

The Dwarf kept on struggling. It choked, then looked left then right, its eyes reddening in a craze. It banged on the booth counter and flailed in Rowan’s grip. “Help! Help!” it barely croaked out. “Guards! Help!”

“You there! Stop!” a male blasted from the left.

“Put him down, bandit!” a closer, deeper voice shouted from the right.

Oh, shit. It was definitely an intended feature. Better not worsen the situation by injuring the thing.

Rowan threw the Dwarf back into the booth and glanced left at the incoming guard, casting a split-second Examine. The dark-skinned man wielded a spear and wore bronze chainmail, a crude bronze helmet, and leather chaps.

Town Guard: Level 95

Health: 2430

Mana: 75

Stamina: 1400

Undoubtedly a fight he couldn’t win.

Rowan twisted on his heels as a woman rang a hand-bell and yelled, “Guards, Guards! Bandit in the town square! Bandit in the town square!”

Dammit. He couldn’t catch a single break.

Three more guards appeared around the end of the road which Rowan was about to run down. He was surrounded by AI bastards.

He silently chuckled and did the only possible action in this situation: surrender. Rowan slapped on his practiced shameful face and raised his hands as the guard from the left reached him. The smell of liquor wafted off his armor. “I surrender. Don’t hurt me,” Rowan said meekly, looking down.

“Ah, what a coward,” the guard moaned and grabbed Rowan by the arm. The grip made his humerus painfully creak, fueling his growing rage at tripe town—at himself for being so arrogant and stupid.

The guard from the left had arrived. “What? The level one, no-class noble kid?” He looked at the three approaching guards halfway down the road. “It’s alright! Just the trouble-making kid! Back to your posts!” His gaze snapped back to Rowan. “You’re going to the cells for a night, noble blood or not. Try something like that again, and it’ll be for a month, understand?!” Putrid spittle landed on Rowan’s cheek.

An image of Max skipped across his sight, his piggy mouth spraying similar spittle. He swallowed a ball of hate to prevent any outbursts.

Holding back an urge to punch the bald man, Rowan nodded, not letting his mask slip. “Yes sir, I understand,” he said in a weak, pathetic voice, and slipped in an Examine, granting the usual dialog.

Town Guard Captain: Level ?

Health: ?

Mana: ?

Stamina: ?

Followed by another.

Skill level up (X1): Examine

Skill Level: 2, 4%

Skill Tier: 0

Effects unchanged

Rowan dismissed the prompt and let the two manhandle him down a different road. NPCs frowned and shook their heads when Rowan made eye contact. There were all life-like.

“Oh, it’s that Draco troublemaker again, finally getting what he deserves,” a woman whispered loudly, clearly on purpose. What a bitch.

“Hmph.” Her obese friend didn’t attempt to hide it. “Eighteen and not a single skill or profession gained. Piece of trash. Useless.”

Rowan breathed and reigned in a temper he was close to losing. He mentally scolded himself: this was stupidity on the level of piggy-boy, and he had acted precisely like another pig. He grumbled under his breath and did best to ignore the looks from the too life-like characters. They are just AI, he repeated over and over. They are just AI. They will see who’s trash and who’s not soon enough.

A chubby man dressed in maroon robes sneered at him by a three-story house made of white stone. “Not a day has passed, and the dumb cretin needs the guards to babysit his behavior.”

The memory of his first day back at Westwind floated to the forefront of his mind, Max’s first insult echoing. How uncanny—two rich snobs throwing similar jabs. And how dare the AI mock him with his past. How dare it violate his mind like that.

This town, this world, and that fucking AI controller was destined to know endless suffering upon his ascension to power.

The guards dragged Rowan around a corner and passed by a decent-looking young woman dressed in red robes. He nearly missed a small human-shaped icon sitting by her ear.

A player? Rowan shot an Examine at her.

[Player] Misty Wind: Level 18

Health: 255

Mana: 450

Stamina: 150

Too low to help.

She smirked. “Good job, men! Take the scallywag to the gallows.”

Bitch!

The guard captain nodded at her. “Just a night in the cells, ma’am. First serious offense.”

To think he would’ve offered her a place under his rule for some assistance—and sexual favors. Not anymore. Could players or NPCs have sex in-game? He filed away the query for later. Maybe he’d try with a pretty NPC sometime.

The other guard said, “You’ll be strung up in the gallows by the end of the month at this rate!” He bellowed a deep, alcoholic laugh and Rowan leaned away from the smell.

“Could happen, if you don’t clean up your act,” the captain agreed.

The cold void woke with a silent roar and seeped through his body like cancer. It mixed with his broiling veins and settled into a slow, burning rage. A tendril of ice connected with the dark mark on his palm. Rowan stared down at the cobble, relishing the feeling while their strong hands crushed his upper-arms. They’d pay dearly for this—with pain, with blood and death. Misty Wind included.

Rowan closed his eyes and let himself simmer until they stopped at a weed-ridden stone building next to a much larger stone building he couldn’t fully see. The guard captain shoved him inside and swung open a cell-door. He served him another, harder shove, letting go of Rowan’s bruised arm. He retrieved a key-ring from his pocket and locked the cell. “Don’t try anything, kid.” He departed after a final glare.

Rowan stared at his home for the night. Slimy moss grew on most of the rough, stone walls. Blood and other stains decorated the rougher floor in a spectrum of disgusting colors. Was that green blood? Rowan grimaced and sank into a clean corner, his anger coalescing into a puddle. Where did it all go wrong? He was supposed to be on his way to becoming this world’s most feared villain—not some level one kid in a jail cell.

Sticking his tongue into his cheek, Rowan focused on the little user interface icons at the bottom of his vision he had been ignoring. Might as well do this now.

As usual, it was a typical user interface. Character Information, Inventory, Social, Skills, Professions, and Other lined the bottom.

Inventory caught his attention. Wasn’t he given a special item? He focused on the little bag icon. A dialog blinked into view.

Inventory unavailable until the starter bag is obtained.

“Damn.” Rowan punched the wall—then regretted it two seconds later. He had scraped his knuckles on the rough stone. Pricks of blood appeared where the skin ripped. God damn.

This was all… someone’s fault.

Roth.

No, not Roth. He’d been nothing but helpful. He’d explained everything he knew about the game including the server architecture.

The Dwarf?

Rowan sighed. It was all his own fault—no one else’s. There was no denying it.

He needed to play far more intelligently from now on. Not like a pig, not like a rabid wolf, not like a simpleton. Absolutely not like a level one newbie. He’d underestimated the level of immersion the game offered and paid the price of it with no second chances, setting himself back by a day or more. He didn’t have the starter items, and his reputation with the town took a sizeable hit on top of his generated backstory. It was like playing on extra-hard despite his unique status as a future raid boss.

The wooden door slammed open. Rowan stood in an instant, neutral face equipped.

The old Dwarf again.

Rowan deflated. “What do you want?”

“Hmph, I outta…” The Dwarf shook his head and tossed a sack in front of the cell door. “Have your stuff. If it weren’t for the king’s binding decree, I would’ve burned it.” He spat on the sack and marched out of the jail before Rowan could make a retort.

“That little fucker.”

But a break was a break. The Dwarf’s death will have to wait.

Rowan dashed to the bars and reached through, his hands barely fitting through the spaces. The sack was made of neat woven straw. It crumpled and creased in his grasp. He sifted through the contents and found a small leather pouch with a strap, two paper parchments, and a glowing glass orb the size of an eye. Ten silver coins also rattled at the bottom.

Scanning the parchments, he ascertained they were simple newbie guides and tips on the game. They offered no real information apart from the ten-fold time compression. He tossed them back into the sack and eyed the orb, holding it in the palm of his hand. He examined.

Orb of storage (Basic)

Allows for the storage of up to five items. Crumbles upon item extraction. (Intonate “release items” and will it so)

“Release items,” Rowan said and willed it, similar to how he had cast examine.

The orb heated not uncomfortably and flashed white once. Three items popped into existence and clunked to the floor. The orb crumbled to dust.

Useful. He’d have to learn how to make these. The thing cut down on space and weight by many orders of magnitude.

A sheathed bronze sword, a flask of red liquid, and a rusty bronze buckler laid before him. Again, typical newbie starter items.

Rowan snatched up the pouch and examined.

[Soulbound] Starter Pouch

Contains twenty item spaces. Can hold stackable items and has one currency slot. (Desire an item to retrieve and reach into the pouch)

A smart design, Rowan admitted. He stuffed his silver coins, health potion, and beginner guides into the bag, then strapped the pouch to his waist. He eyed the sword and shield, unsure of how to get them into the pouch. A minute later, he discovered items shrank as they approached the opening.

Now, for that special item. It better be good.

Rowan focused on the inventory icon and willed it to open.

An interface appeared, twenty square spaces and a counter for gold and silver jiggling for a couple of seconds. One new item sat in the first square, an exclamation mark in the corner. Rowan prepared for the worst and examined.

[Soulbound] Strange Onyx Amulet

A silver amulet that holds a cracked onyx gem. Some say they hear a whisper if they listen carefully.

Rarity: Unique

Durability: Indestructible

Reduces the ambient temperature around the wearer

+2 Magical Power

???

An unidentified stat? That was new. Rowan hadn’t played a game with this kind of mechanic before. He stowed the thought and pulled the amulet out of the pouch. A wave of chill traveled up his arm and settled on his shoulders. He held the amulet to his ear. Many heartbeats passed before a faint female whisper licked his lobes. She spoke in an unknown language.

However… the whisper sounded similar to those he heard when he received that first enigmatic quest.

Quest Update: Whispers From The Aether

After finally receiving your starter pouch at great effort, you discovered it held a strange onyx amulet that whispers in a foreign language similar to those you heard before. Was this item meant for you or were you just a lucky kid who stumbled on a lost artifact?

Growling, Rowan slapped away the prompt and threaded his head through the silver chain. The necklace dangled at his heart, a thick, cold well at the center of his being. The feeling was exhilarating. It more than made up for the puny +2 Magical Power.

He flexed his hand, noticing his wound had healed. His health bar at the bottom left was back to 100%

Good. Things were looking better. If only he weren’t stuck in this jail cell for the rest of the day and night. The system time blinked at 4:23 PM game time.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled and decided to log out for a couple of hours. That time compression came in handy.