The stone city bustled with clones. Half-moon windows glowed with gold light. Drizzling rain and oppressive clouds left a perpetual haze over the world. Rowan walked evenly down the street, mixing in with the stream of clones, men and women he didn’t recognize and a few familiar faces. An Ikara and a Kaidu pushed past him, blank-faced, eyes gazing into the middle distance. He did his best to adopt the same lack of an expression, jaw slightly slack, looking at nothing in particular.

Kaidu should have an easy time of it, he thought, and almost smiled.

He glanced over the clones he didn’t recognize, searching for clues to the other players’ classes. Some stood out, obvious. A burly man in heavy metal armor clanked past, a large shield tucked over his shoulder. A heavy of some sort, likely a Soldier or a Warrior, or maybe a Tank. Thin as a whip, a woman with sharp eyes and delicate fingers stalked past. A Thief or an Assassin, for sure.

Others proved harder to guess. A girl barely older than him in a short dress and leggings carried book under one arm and a quarterstaff in the other. A Mage? But why the staff? Is she a Monk or Martial Artist? Short and stocky, a passing man wore handwraps, a shield, two swords, a spear, and an axe. Rowan gave him a side-eyed glance as his clone passed by, practically jingling from all the weapons. No way he uses all those. Did he dress up funny for the Clone Game to make it harder to guess his class?

A flash of blue flickered in the corner of his vision. Rowan turned, brows furrowing. Was that…

“…so long, it’s annoying,” a female voice complained.

Rowan stiffened, then forced himself to relax. He turned forward and walked along at the same pace as the other clones, careful to swing his arms just enough and keep a blank expression. Just keep walking. Play it cool. They have no reason to suspect you.

“Nothing we can do about it. It’s better than some of the other games, anyways,” a man replied.

A group of four rounded the corner. A redheaded woman in lightweight armor and a plasticky, clear hood propped her hands on her hips and shook her head at a man in a t-shirt and shorts, who obstinately ignored the rain even as it pasted his shirt to his chest. He strode along, poking at the cobblestones with the butt of his walking stick. Beside them, two identical men, one with a bow over his shoulder in a protective case and one with a whip peeking out from under his coat wandered by, both of them in long raincoats.

Rowan forced himself to breathe evenly as he approached and wrenched his eyes into the middle distance. Looks like a typical combat party. Long range support from the Archer, midrange from the guy with the whip—no idea what class he is, then the woman and the man… hard to say.

The woman whirled, summoned a sword, and slashed at the pair of passing clones ahead of Rowan—one of the burly man, and one of the Thief woman. Rowan barely stifled his recoil as the two toppled. The woman turned to him and drew her sword back again.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He tensed and, as his back hand swung out of her view behind his body, reached for his hand spade.

The man thrust his walking stick between the woman and Rowan. “Red, stop it. You’re just wasting your energy.”

“What? Haven’t you ever imagined you could just…” She thrust her sword.

The clone behind Rowan toppled to the ground, lifeless.

Rowan tried not to look too relieved as he walked away. Even strides. Even strides. Don’t move any faster.

“Red,” the man said firmly.

“Blue,” she taunted back.

“Listen. There is no point in killing clones unless they’re yours. Stop it.”

“What’s the problem? There’s no point not doing it,” Red complained.

Blue scowled at her. “What if one of them’s a player? Murder is still illegal.”

“Excess murder. I’d stop after I killed someone,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better, Rowan thought, barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes.

Blue frowned at her. “As far as I’m concerned, excess murder is one. We aren’t going to kill anyone. Not while it’s illegal, anyways.”

“Fine, fine,” Red complained. A second later, her eyes lit up. She whipped around and beheaded a clone.

“Red!”

“It was one of mine! One of mine. Look,” she said.

Rowan rounded the corner and relaxed a hair. Okay. Let’s call them the Colors Crew. Sounds like they don’t have a serious strategy, but they are a cohesive team with a well-rounded selection of members. If the man in a t-shirt is a Mage, or something like that, they’d be a classical party. When I can pull out my notebook, I’ll add them to the ‘maybe’ list.

He walked on. The road curved around and drew into a large open square. In the center of the square, rain pattered down into an ornate fountain. Sculpted stone in the shape of lilies bloomed at the gray sky. Water rushed up from the center of the lilies and cascaded down into the stone basin below. Clones milled about the square. Some sat in stone chairs beside stone tables. Others leaned against stone railings. As he watched, one pushed open a massive stone door to one of the buildings and stepped out into the rain.

Wait, isn’t that the thief clone that Red just killed? He squinted. Casually, he walked over to the building and found himself stymied. No door handles. He reached out and pushed. Nothing. The doors didn’t budge.

He stepped back and leaned against the railing, acting casual while he took in the doors. Is this the respawn point? Are all the buildings respawns? Interesting.

“Hello, friend,” a voice said from behind him. A middling tone, it was impossible to tell if the voice belonged to a man or woman.

Rowan jumped. He started to turn, but something cold and sharp pressed into the small of his back. He froze, staring at the door.

The voice chuckled. “Smart boy. That’s right. Eyes on the wall.”