It’s barely dawn, and the market is teeming with NPCs. This is the first chance I’ve had to stop and appreciate my surroundings. I kind of wish I hadn’t.

As threatened, Deirdre woke me shortly before the streetlamps dimmed. She hadn’t needed to. Sleep was elusive, thanks in no small part to the demons screaming beyond the city wall.

The noise was terrible; far worse than the alpha because here it was punctuated by screams of pain. Each time a demon hit the wall, a rumble like an earthquake shook the bones of the city. Rubbing the crusts from my eyes, I can vaguely recall the few, hallucinogenic dreams I’d had in rare moments of sleep. All involved the walls caving in, and nightmares flooding the city streets.

None of our fellow players stopped or joined us as we slipped from the barracks. Either Deirdre hadn’t invited them, or they weren’t interested in whatever she was planning. I didn’t bother asking until we’d passed through the unmanned gate, and into the city streets.

“I need someone to watch my back,” she said. She did not bother lowering her voice. While I didn’t see any guards around, there were other NPCs who cast us interested, curious looks. “I’m tired of taking charity, sitting around waiting for a solution. If we’re stuck in this game, we might as well have fun with it.”

“You don’t think this is a bit weird?”

She cut me a disbelieving look. “I’m not retarded. Yeah, it’s weird. It’s still just a game.”

I’m glad she’s so sure. I’m not.

Sometime during the foggy hours between finding a thin cot in the barracks room, and trudging through chilled morning streets with Deirdre, I’d jumped the shark straight from disbelief to pure acceptance. Whatever this is, we’re gonna be stuck for a while. Perhaps I should have resisted the idea more, but… nah. Nothing has been right from the second I logged in.

Sure, I’m not a software engineer. I flunked out. Granted, the course work had nothing to do with why I left school, but that’s beside the point which is: even with recent innovations in quantum computing this isn’t possible. I keep up to date on tech likely to impact the gaming market; enough to recognize the sheer horsepower needed to make this function. The wealth of models and individualized textures, and… everything I’ve seen so far defies the bounds of available tech, if not the imagination.

Which means something else is going on. But fuck me if I have any idea what that something could be.

“So you’re going to…”

“Watch,” Deirdre says. She holds up one finger. “The NPC patterns seem… long. Could even have full day cycles. I’m having trouble timing things out.”

Suddenly, I understand why no one else wanted to be a “team player.” In any other game petty larceny wouldn’t be a big deal; hell, that’s an ideal starting playstyle. But here, given our situation and the alpha’s old idiosyncrasies it’s a much less solid solution to our vagrancy.

“Dee—”

She groans. “It’ll be fine. If shit gets real, you won’t be involved. All I’m asking for is an extra pair of eyes and some warning if shit gets real. Right?”

I pull a face without meaning to, and promptly school my features back to careful neutrality. Will my involvement matter to the guards if she’s caught? Hard to say.

See, in the alpha the guards and “legal system” were omniscient. If you got caught, every NPC in the game marked you as a thief. If you got into their range, they’d hunt you down until they successfully killed you. Since they were also immortal, well, you can see how that’d be a problem.

Well, could be a problem. It really depends on what happens upon avatar death. Could be we respawn at the last place we slept, or we’re sent to a random respawn point. Or we could wake up, kicked from the game entirely.

There’s also a fourth option; one I truly don’t want to think about.

Watching her back is a small risk. If she dies over it, well, that ain’t my fault. It wasn’t my decision. Which is heartless, and a touch cowardly. It’s also smart. I just hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.

“Don’t expect me to save you,” I concede. Deirdre slaps my arm, grinning as though she’s won. Technically, I guess she has.

I set myself up at the head of an alley, keeping one eye on Deirdre as she lingers near a bakery storefront. Mostly, though, I’m focused on counting vendors as they set up for the day. Figured it’d be good to know what we’re working with.

I stopped trying when I hit the forties.

Over forty unique vendors are spread through the market square; some with shop fronts, others with carts and stalls. Several times as many customers swarm around them, jostling for position, haggling, and carrying packages. Children dart through holes in the crowd, beneath legs and through displays—much to the consternation of vendor and patron alike.

The sheer size of the crowd solidified my fear about this game being off-the-rails of incredulity. That’s ignoring the fact there are children in the game; children just as varied as the adults. All ages are present, from infants swaddled against their parents’ chests to acne-encrusted teenagers and everything in between.

There is something drastically wrong here, and I no longer believe finding a game master will fix it.

“If yer casing the joint, you best reconsider.”

I flinch, then curse myself for reacting. I’d forgotten about the guard posted not far from my position. It’s watching me—has been watching me—with a curious, suspicious scowl on its goblinoid face.

“Just trying to get acclimated,” I assure it, adopting my most winning smile. “It’s kind of overwhelming, being so far from home.”

The words are barely past my lips before their truth clogs my throat, preventing me from saying anything else. Maybe the guard senses that. Or maybe it just doesn’t care. It grunts and turns its attention back to the market. Somehow, I get the sense I wasn’t dismissed.

Speaking of senses, there’s a presence at my back. I shudder. That’s another part of the puzzle; I shouldn’t be able to feel someone standing behind me; their aura—for lack of a better term—niggling at the back of my mind like static electricity.

Tamping down the hair prickling on the back of my neck, I turn to face Deirdre who blindly shoves a steaming bread roll at me. Her eyes are only for the market, narrowed in her usual, paranoid suspicion.

“Learn anything?” she asks, once I’ve accepted her offering.

Nearby, the guard fidgets.

“There’s a lot of people,” I say, carefully. The guard’s warning lingers in mind, but it seems unwise to bring it up. Almost as ‘unwise’ as hinting that we’re gathering intelligence. “Seems like the Magistrate meant it when she said there isn’t room.”

Deirdre snorts derisively. I catch the smallest roll of her eyes as she joins me at alley entrance. Leaning against the brick corner, I set about eating my breakfast without fully taking my eyes off her or the NPC guard.

Deirdre isn’t a bad person, per se. We’re both streamers, but we met long before that, back when we were just playing BattleStar like everybody else. We were fairly close then; friends, even. But shit changes, and things got intense when the game went full on e-sport. Deirdre got tapped for a professional team. I didn’t.

We haven’t spoken regularly in years, though I’d been among the first to join her channel when she got benched. She’s a fantastic player, and a dangerous one. And perhaps that’s why I don’t like the way she’s watching the NPCs with that calculating stare of hers. They’re just A.I., sure, but I can’t help wondering when that stare will get turned on me.

“Guess it went well?” I ask, gesturing with my bread roll.

She grins. “Well enough for test one. Test two—”

Whatever she’s saying is interrupted by a scream from the front gates. The guard near us tenses, before scaling the brick wall using claw and architecture to get a better vantage point over the quieting crowd.

“What’s all that about?” Deirdre asks, standing on tiptoe. It’s pointless, though. There’s too many people; most of them far taller than either of us.

Someone shouts for a healer, and another for the magistrate.

Above us, the guard who’d been lurking gives a sharp whistle. When I glance up it takes one clawed hand from the wall, gesturing to the gate. “May want to circle ‘round to the temple. Seems more of your lot just made it, and they ain’t in the best of shape.”

##

That was an understatement.

Skirting through side streets, we made it back to the compound just ahead of the gaggle of Sisters and guards half-leading, half-carrying a pair of players through the city. Both looked dazed on top of being naked and covered in blood, mud and other detritus.

I’ll give Deirdre this: she’s quick on the draw. She takes one look at these players, mutters something about “getting Veri,” and took off like a shot into the temple. I stayed where I was until one guard forced me out of the way. With nothing to do, but feeling somehow obligated to help, I trailed inside behind them.

“What happened?” The Matron appears seemingly out of nowhere, hobbling like ritalin-fueled Yoda toward the group.

One guard steps forward; a scrawny, younger orc with an unfinished air about it that telegraphs “teenager.” There’s a plaintive whine to its voice as it wrings its hands. “Don’t exactly know, Mother! Promise we don’t. They came out the forest just past dawn, staggerin’ like. Nearly shot them as undead, we did, but they was too coordinated for that kind. Captain told us t’bring them right in to you lot.”

As it gives this speech, the other guards attempt to separate each player to a pew. It’s not going well. One, a boy, seems less perturbed—and less aware—than his female companion whose eyes dart wildly around the room. Now alert, she clings to her partner’s hand and swings wildly at the guards.

“Dear,” says the Matron, stepping forward. She’s rewarded with an alarmed shriek.

This breaks through the boy’s haze. He tugs against the arms holding him.

Sensing that things are about to go from bad to worse, I hold my hands up in an appeasing manner, stepping forward.

“Hey, there! Um—” I tilt my head and a pop-up appears above the girl. “—BLITZBEEQUEEN? That’s quite the handle you have. Can I call you ‘Blitz?’ Or would you prefer ‘Bee?’”

Everyone’s attention refocuses on me. That’s alright so long as it includes BLITZBEEQUEEN and... MIGHTYBOFAT’s attentions. Blitz whimpers. Her bottom lip quivers as tears pool in her eyes. However, it’s the boy who says in a voice like a cornhusk in the wind, “You’re human? For real?”

“For real,” I agree. “And these kind folks are just trying to help you. Okay?”

Blitz bursts into tears. Bofat pulls her into arms, holding her tight as the rest of us stand there, dumbfounded. I don’t think I’m imagining the half-embarrassed confusion written across several faces. No one’s sure what’s going on, or knows what to do. I sure as fuck don’t.

“Well,” the Matron begins when the back door bursts open. Veri hustles forward, with Deirdre following more sedately behind.

“Alright, let me see,” Veri says, marching straight to Blitz and Bofat. The latter draws back, fixing her with narrowed, affronted eyes. Veri’s tone is firm but compassionate as she sets her arms akimbo. “Don’t give me that look. I’m a nurse. Are either of you wounded?”

Blitz shakes her head. Bofat does the same, then hesitates. “Dunno,” he says after a minute. “Things got kinda… It’s hard to... ”

He swallows convulsively, turning his head away as his eyes brighten.

“You were in the woods all night?” The soft question comes from the teenage guard. Now that he’s stated it, the enormity of their appearance sinks in. All night alone. In the dark. With those... things.

The girl‘s quiet sobbing fills the room, amplified by the sanctuary‘s accoustics and our own silence. Finally, the Matron looks at Veri. “You know where the baths are.”

“You both come with me,” Veri says to the newcomers, holding out her hands. When neither moves, she gestures at the guards and Sisters still gathered around. “Do you need help? It’s OK if you need help.”

The reddening of Bofat’s cheeks says it isn’t OK at all, but he doesn’t object. Both tense, watching the NPCs who carried them this far. After the experience they’d had, this must be overwhelming.

“Here,” I say, drifting to Bofat’s side. “Why don’t you lean on me? Veri can help Blitz.”

That seems to break the apprehension, at least a little. Blitz untangles herself from Bofat, only to wrap around Veri like a human squid. I help Bofat hook his arm over my shoulder, noting the discomfort on his face when he tried to lift it on his own. Between the four of us, and with Deirdre holding doors open along the way, we limp our way deeper into the complex without further complications.

##

The “baths” prove singular; housed a long, stone room near the barracks that featured one large, inset pool. The water is piping hot and flows continuously in via a short waterfall along the north edge, and out a grate in the southern floor. Skylights in the roof illuminate frescoed walls that feel more roman than medieval Europe. It also seems extravagant, but as we help Bofat and Blitz clean up—and get clean myself—Deirdre explains that the system is normal, here.

“Turns out they take hygiene pretty seriously,” she says, dipping one foot in the swirling waters from her place lounging at the edge of the pool. “There’s all kinds of sewers and pipe systems beneath the city, supplemented by some kind of magic system we haven’t figured out yet.”

“There was magic in the alpha,” I say as I drop another dollop of shampoo into Bofat’s outstretched hand. His left arm remains at his side; Veri thinks he’s wrenched his shoulder and doesn’t want him using it more than he has to. Still, he’s refusing my help except when absolutely necessary. Can’t say I blame him.

We’re both keeping our eyes carefully turned toward the south end of the pool. Behind us, Veri is keeping Alice distracted from the twin facts that A) she’s sharing a bath with two naked men, and B) half the city has now seen every inch of her.

Neither is talking much, so we fill the space for them. It seems to help, though that could just be wishful thinking.

“Duh,” Deirdre drawls. “I know that, dumbass. I was better at it than you.”

“How would you know? We never played together.”

“I watched your channel.”

“Not all the time.”

“I watched enough. You never were a ‘swords and sorcery’ type, dude. That’s why I was shocked when you picked up this game.”

“Yeah, well,” I hedge. There’s a reason for that, but it isn’t a conversation I want to have in a bathtub full of strangers. Which is among the weirdest thoughts I’ve ever had. “So what’s the difference?”

“Not sure. I tried the standard starter spells—candle lighting, wind calling, blah-dee-blah—nothing works. Just like the bugged quick crafting. We’re totally locked out.”

“What about the NPCs?”

“If they know, they aren’t talking. Even tried asking that Matron lady. Pretty sure she doesn’t like me.”

“You were planning to steal an idol,” Veri cuts in.

“A small one!” She casts me an expression which reads ‘can you blame me?’ “They have jewels in them. They’ve gotta be worth a small fortune.”

“And who’d you sell them to?” I try to sound teasing, but I’m honestly curious. “There can’t be a market demand for obviously stolen religious relics.”

Deirdre’s smile is sharp and her sing-song as she says, “You of all people should know there’s a buyer for anything, Justin.”

I raise a brow and Deirdre winks at me. More politely she adds, “I’ve been hearing rumors about a thieves' guild somewhere in the city.”

“Like a secret organization type?” The voice is new and startling. But Bofat looks present, now, if not particularly happy or aware of his surroundings. That’s an improvement, however small.

“That’s what I figure,” Deirdre says. She gently kicks a spray of water at him, causing the man to laugh and flinch away. “Nice to see you back with us. You wanna join me on the darkside?”

“I usually play rogues,” he says. “Thieves and assassins guilds come with the territory. Er, in other games I mean.”

“You play the alpha?” I say, after he’s ducked his head into the water to rinse his hair. Turns out, underneath all that filth he’s yet another blonde. At least his is a darker sort, with roots that are nearly brunette.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding and wiping the water from his face. Deirdre hands him a dry washcloth. “Not for long. The last three months? I got it so I’d get in… here.”

He swallows hard, stilling once again. After a long silence, he shakes his head; startling the thoughts away. “Uh, what about you guys? Are you all—”

There’s a pause as his gaze falls on Deirdre again. I see the moment his eyes unfocus above her, and widen. “You’re BaaBaa Collins?!”

His voice breaks on her name, like a kid in puberty.

Suddenly, I realize I never looked for an “age” adjustment in the character creator. I’m not sure if anyone else did, either. Everyone I’ve seen so far looks to be in their early twenties. That doesn’t mean we are. Hell, I know Deirdre and myself are a good decade older.

Fans come in all ages, I remind myself before the unease settles in. One fanboy moment does not a child make. Even if it did, I’ve known for years there are teenagers and literal children who play this game. I don’t make a habit of associating with them, but they’ve always been here. Somehow, though, having them around in this context seems… different.

“In the—well, not in the flesh,” Deirdre says with a cocky grin.

“Oh man,” Tyler says. This is enough to distract him from his malaise, it seems; hard to count that as a bad thing. “I-I used to follow your channel, and your whole BattleStar career! My dad was a super fan of yours.”

OK, that’s a bigger clue. I glance at Deirdre, who meets my gaze with a barely perceptible nod before giving her full attention back to Bofat.

“Nice to meet you, kid. Or are you gonna make me call you Bofat?”

“Tyler,” he says, then gestures behind him. “And that’s my girlfriend, Alice.”

“Don’t look!” Alice squeaks.

Tyler’s cheeks flush red. His back goes ramrod straight as he snaps his attention back to Deirdre. “I’m not looking! I promise.”

“No one’s looking,” Veri says behind us. “And the Sisters dropped off clothes for you both.”

Alice’s voice is soft as she says, “Okay.”

Voice low, Deirdre leans in to ask, “Did she play the Alpha?”

All the enthusiasm drains from Tyler’s face, leaving him hollow-eyed and exhausted once more. Silently, he shakes his head.

Resisting the urge to glance Alice’s way, I lever myself out of the pool to dry off and dress before helping Tyler out. I take the silence as an opportunity to reconsider our situation.

Deirdre wants a team. I try not to revel in the irony, there. She’s right to want one; I don’t think soloing would work in this game anymore, even if we could logout. Pain is too real, and the world too demanding. And hell, I never wanted to play alone, regardless.

Robert. Winston. Mikah. Lucy. Alex—Ms. All five are out there, somewhere. Hell, a few of the others coule be, too. Quiet, Babz, Taco… Are they alone? Did they make it to cities? There’s no way to know.

Fulnedebi is thirty-eight miles away. I’ll never make that on foot. Even if I could, there’s no guarantee Robert or Ms made it there, and I don’t have the slightest idea where to start looking for anyone else.

Guh. It’s pointless to focus on the impossible. Better to just accept what you have. The question is: what do we have, exactly?