Peter stood at the writing desk and took a moment flicking through the upgrade and enhancements menus, but since he had a grand total of ten ‘souls’ in the bank and the cheapest increase was five per day for a better bed, he decided to leave it alone for now. At least he knew that boss souls were worth more than basic mobs. That will come in handy if I ever figure out how to get more.

Throwing himself on his couch with his head on one armrest and his feet on the other, Peter tried to decide what to do next. He had been going to make jam with the berries, but he needed sugar for that and was actually somewhat concerned that the stove would disappear while he was working. “Well, buddy, what do you think is going on here? Souls? What’s up with that?”

A snuffling informed him that his buddy had climbed up onto the couch with him. The rat ran across his stomach and began pulling gently at the laces of his bracer.

“What are you trying to do DB?” Peter unlaced the bracer and hung the strings for DB to play with. “Is this it? You’re bored?”

The rat climbed up one string and tried to pull the other through its first eyelet.

Peter got the message and pulled the bracer off. “Ok, where are you going with this?”

DB nosed at the Traveller’s Mark, tickling Peter’s wrist. Peter flinched, but put the Mark back where DB could reach. The rat pawed at the Mark but couldn’t make it move.

Realising his buddy might have something, Peter scrolled for him. “What is it? You know something I don’t?”

When Peter reached the Quests section, DB tapped the skin and ground his teeth. Peter pointed at each of the quests in his list, every one receiving a huff of air. Then he pointed at the geas and DB ground his teeth and boggled.

“The geas? You think this has something to do with the Avatar’s quest?” Peter asked, his mind awhirl. “Hey, how did you even know about this? You’re a rat.”

DB huffed and washed himself, paying special attention to his ears.

Peter raised his head off the armrest and gave DB a pointed glare. “Are you trying to tell me you can hear what’s going on outside when you’re in the inventory?”

DB huffed and returned the glare.

“Fine. Look, you’re never going back in there again. Any noise you hear, you’re going to be a part of making. You want to nap, you do it in the hood or I can leave you here. Ok?” Peter laid his head back on the armrest again. This is too much. Right, piece by piece. Passive aggressive rat, fine. Can deal with that. Need souls to power the house, that’s tied to the geas. What do I remember about that? It was Death’s house, he’s gone, nothing’s dying like it’s supposed to, gotta return the house to ‘former glory’, whatever that means. How the heck did I get the one soul I did have? That fight with the big-ass bird! That’s why the timer was filled with birdy memories. Right, now how to get more?

Smash!

“What the heck was that?” Peter rolled off the couch, already pulling his scythe out of his inventory.

In the kitchenette area DB was sitting in the middle of a corona of pottery shards holding the remains of a biscuit. At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“Dangit, DB. This is why we can’t have nice things.” Peter tried to sweep up the shards with his hands, but they dissolved into thin air as he did so. “Oh, right. Game world. This place is a little too real sometimes.” He looked around at the much reduced home that he had been gifted. “What say we find out how to get this place into working order before we start breaking it, buddy?”

Stuffing the remains of the biscuit into his cheeks, DB yawned and stretched in a very human-like gesture. Unfortunately, such things are incredibly infectious and Peter found himself stretching and yawning too. “Ok. What say we call it for the night? You can have the bed and I’ll take the couch. I’ve got school tomorrow and I’m already buggered.”

Trailing crumbs, DB scampered up onto the pillow and flopped onto his side for a moment, then rolled onto his back and squirmed into the soft surface.

“I see you’re in favour of the idea. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter sat on the couch an logged out. It felt good to log off in a safe and comfortable place. I could get used to that, he thought as reality returned.

Reality, however, is a harsh mistress. Oft times when you’re most comfortable is when she hits you with the ice bucket of realisation. In this case it took the form of a bed on the floor in his parents room.

Peter had just closed down all the apps in his vision, preparing to roll over and go to sleep when his father passed in front of his open doorway. Peter was about to speak up and wish him goodnight when his Dad opened the bedroom door and Peter could see in the soft lamp light the shape of a mattress on the floor with his Dad’s distinctively coloured favourite pillow at the visible end. Why the heck is Dad sleeping on the floor? Did he hurt his back again? Peter’s thoughts had turned to syrup, flowing sluggishly if at all.

The opportunity to say something passed as his Dad closed the door quietly but firmly. Peter lay back and let sleep claim him, content to ask about it in the morning.

For the first time in more than a week, Peter slept deeply and undisturbed. He woke refreshed and ready to face whatever may come at him that day. He was happy, healthy and full of energy. Two lies and a truth, my favorite classroom game, he thought to himself as he hustled out the door. Let’s try this again.

Peter slept so deeply that he missed two alarms and his mother’s first warning. He was unceremoniously tipped out of bed as a second warning, handed a pair of breakfast bars to stuff into his backpack and told to dress quick, smart and in a hurry. Grumbling about crazy grumpy mothers and stupid school, he grabbed fresh clothes, tossed yesterday’s ones in the wash basket and legged it out the door.

“See you tonight!” his mother called down the hall after him.

Peter risked life and limb and stuck his arm out of the elevator to wave goodbye, his mouth full of oaty goodness as the breakfast bar attempted to absorb all the moisture in his body. Twenty years of R&D and this is what you get? A desert of a dessert? Pfah!

The ride to school was spent trying to extract information from the Wiki. Trying. Clearly the makers of TAOS&S were intent on keeping the game mysterious, because virtually every bit of data was player generated. Other than the promotional content, that is.

Fully expecting the bus to play silly buggers given half a chance, Peter kept the opacity low and monitored the route as he trawled through the site for information on souls, soul collection, player housing and housing upkeep. Much of what was written seemed to be confusing and contradictory, with regards to the houses, or missing entirely, when looking up souls. Just as Peter was delving into a player’s account of levelling Woodworking to the point where he could build his own home on a plot of land he had purchased from the local lord, Peter felt the seat under him sway and then jolt as though the AI controller had swerved into a pothole. Peter gripped the seat in front to steady himself, unimpressed.

Rather than give the machine a second chance to surprise him, he bookmarked the page and closed the browser. He spent the rest of the trip considering what skills he really wanted to grind. Herbalism and Calligraphy were right up his alley, and pretty fun to mess with, but only one of them seemed to have a practical application at the moment. Polearm was a good idea to practice, since fights seem to be inevitable. Too bad ‘dying’ isn’t a skill, I’d have that one mastered by now.

For a change, Peter was the first one up out of his seat and was waiting by the door of the bus as it approached the kerb. Mindful of the tricksy machine he braced himself for a harsh stop, which just made him look foolish when the vehicle glided to a smooth halt. The students still in their seats gave him funny looks and whispered to each other. Peter ignored them and hurried to his homeroom to start the day.

The moment Peter had settled into his desk and pulled out his stylus to make some notes he received a text message from his mother. [What is this piece of paper in your pants? You’re supposed to empty your pockets before putting clothes in the wash.]

[It’s just a note for me. Please pop it on my desk. Thank you, and sorry.] He shot back as quickly as he could. Peter looked around the room for a solution that was never going to present itself. Crap! The co-ordinator’s going to be expecting that by the end of the day! What do I do?

The worry distracted him all through the morning session. In PE they had a double class on muscle groups instead of an actual exercise session, which Peter was thankful for, but it also mean that he spent the whole time freaking out instead of paying attention and taking notes. English class was spent plotting various methods of getting home and back to school during lunch without using his bus pass, since it was only good for one round trip a day. Maybe if I ‘accidentally’ reopen the cut on my arm the nurse will send me home again? he thought as he fiddled with the bio-suture. If it ‘trip’ and this gets pulled off… that should do it.

The bell rang before he had a chance to muster the courage to try anything. Peter stumbled along in a fog, making and discarding plans, paying no heed to his surroundings. So deep in the fog, in fact, that he didn’t hear someone approach him from behind. It wasn’t until the light tap on his ankle almost sent him sprawling that he was shocked alert.

“Oi, dumbass. I said, what happened to you?” Pham’s repeated irritably.

Peter whipped around in alarm before recognising who it was. “Dang it Pham, don’t sneak up on me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“How about you listen when someone’s talking to you then?” Pham crossed her arms. “You messaged me to say you were going to be online yesterday and then ghosted.”

“I was online, DB and I went out to the fields to get berries and came back to my house to make jam,” Peter defended indignantly. “I got caught up in messing about with the interface and trying to figure out how to harvest souls to power it.”

Pham’s eyes went saucer-wide. “You have a house already? And it’s powered by souls? How the hell did that happen?”

“I dunno, Fjor didn’t give me any detaaaayyy wait a minute,” Peter backtracked. “Forget I said anything. Anyway, I looked all over Averton for you. What were you doing?”

“I knew it! It’s the geas isn’t it?” Pham punched him in the arm. It was a surprisingly forceful punch for such a petite girl. “Never mind what I was doing, spill. I want in.”

Peter rubbed his arm and shook his head. “It’s a long weird story and I don’t have time for it. I have to find a way to get the note the co-ordinator sent home back to school before the end of the day or I’m screwed.”

Sucking in a huge breath through her teeth, Pham hugged herself. “I got one of those once. I was so scared when I gave it to Gran to sign,” shiver ran through her at the memory, “with good reason too. She… Anyway, they’ll just call your folks, your folks will sign it and you get an extra day detention for not getting it signed. Maybe you get grounded for a week or something. I can’t imagine you, a white boy, getting in much real trouble.”

“The sucky part is that I actually got it signed by Dad last night. I just left it at home,” Peter huffed.

Pham punched him in the arm again. “Dumbass! Why didn’t you say so? Why not just print out another copy and sign it yourself? The dragon lady isn’t going to know it wasn’t your Dad that signed it, and your Dad won’t know that the copy he signed wasn’t the one that you turned in. It’s the perfect crime!”

Hope fluttered in Peter’s chest for the first time since homeroom. “Thaaaat might actually work,” he conceded. “I read and re-read the damn thing so many times yesterday that I know it off by heart. To the library!” Peter struck a pose, pointing dramatically into the air.

Pham grabbed his arm and pointed it in the correct direction. “Library’s that way. Ugh.”

Ten minute later the reconstructed letter spat out of the printer the library kept for the rare instances a student needed a hardcopy of a document. “I’ve always loved the smell of warm paper and ink,” Peter said, sniffing the paper. “Now all I need to do is forge my Dad’s signature.” He looked around conspiratorially, “does that sound as terrible out loud as it does in my head?”

“It’s definitely all in your head,” Pham smiled and produced a pen from a pocket. “And I have the perfect tool for the job. A fountain pen, nobody ever expects the fountain pen.”

Peter accepted the pen gratefully and began to write his Dad’s name in as exact a copy as he could recall. Years of calligraphy practice made it easier than it should have otherwise been. Three letters in he stopped and looked at the pen in his hand. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, waving the pen under Pham’s nose.

“Woah, easy there. What’s your problem?” Pham dodged and weaved away from the threatening nib.

“This is the same pen Dad used to sign my letter last night? How the heck do you have it?”

“Okay, crazy eyes, chill.” Pham raised her hands defensively. “Deep breaths. I’ve had that pen for ages. Look at it. Why would I have your Dad’s pen?”

Peter took a calming breath and examined the pen more closely. It was the same brilliant cobalt blue with gold lettering on the side, but was clearly more worn than the one he had seen yesterday. “From Steve, with love,” he read. “That’s weird. Yeah, ok, it’s an older pen. Who the heck is Steve?”

Pham shrugged. “My cousin’s ex, I think.” She leaned against the desk behind her, “I nicked the pen from Li’s bin in his room. From what I overheard, Steve gives all his boyfriends these expensive pens. It’s his thing. When Li found out Steve and he weren’t as exclusive as he’d thought and tossed both boyfriend and pen.” Pham shrugged expressively. “Drama. Just another reason I can’t be bothered with the whole scene.”

“Huh,” Peter grunted and leaned over the desk to finish the signature. “I still think it’s crazy close to Dad’s pen, but I have no idea why he’d have one like that. He said his was from a client at work. Maybe they’re just the same brand or something.”

“Maybe,” admitted Pham as the bell for the end of lunch rang. “So, I’ll see you in Dave’s tavern tonight? No flaking out this time. You gots some ‘splaining to do.”