The dwarf looked at me in confusion as he queried my statement, but I didn’t have the strength to even begin explaining. So instead, I waved him off, burying my head in my status screen, like a child refusing to be pulled away from his fancy new toy.

Now that was interesting. Evidently, I could generate XP through my actions, leveling up my individual skills. Each of my shadow foal encounters had granted me ‘experience points’ chiefly in swordsmanship, armed combat, and (thanks to my uncanny knack for survival) luck. I had even received a boost to my resilience XP for coming back from death’s door, before my luck had (inevitably) run out. Not too shabby, and that wasn’t even the end of it. I’d gained a rep point and a huge boost to my primary skill when the party finally felled the boss, despite my being unconscious and in a completely different location by that point. I hadn’t quite reached the next level in swordsmanship by that stage, likely due to the -50% XP penalty I earned as a lowly ‘contractor’, but the free XP was more than welcome.

I kept going, wading through the more recent status messages, searching for the act responsible for leveling me up until…

-[ You have survived an encounter against superior odds. XP gained: Swordsmanship: 15. Armed combat: 15. Resilience: 60. Unarmed combat: 15. This action has gained you one extra resilience point. XP until next Swordsman level: 98. XP until next resilience level: 90. ]-

Bingo. Surviving a two-on-one beating at the hands of the rogue and the beastling had taken me to the next swordsman and resilience levels. Perhaps, I realized, the mauling I’d received had been worth it. Along with the base points I’d been able to allocate before entering, that brought my current resilience level to 4. And extra resilience could only come in handy if the various welcoming committees I’d encountered so far were to be of any indication. I was turning out to be a pretty tough bastard. Not that I currently felt like one.

“My paltry amount of offence in the latter skirmish pushed me past the finish line to become a level 2 swordsman,” I advised the dwarf, beaming from ear to ear. “In a way, the would-be muggers actually did me a favor.”

Hmmm. Why is he scowling at me, I wondered? The next message jogged my foggy memory.

-[ Quest failed: You have been unsuccessful in your attempts to protect Samusk the dwarf. Due to its ongoing nature, the quest shall continue. Warning: Continued failure may lead to reputation loss. ]-

“What happened after I lost consciousness,” I asked. “Those two had me at their mercy. Why didn’t they just finish me off?”

“My best guess? It was because the pair of ‘em are as new to this as we are,” replied the dwarf, with a shrug. “Probably too afraid to kill another prisoner, at least until they’ve worked out if the penalties for murder are too steep to come back from. Spoiler alert, they aren’t.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me that murdering other prisoners is acceptable in Atone Online?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. But yeh have to admit, offing you wouldn’t exactly have been the end of the world now, would it?”

“Oi!”

“Don’t be sensitive, lad. I’m bein’ serious. Killin’ a criminal with a minus twenty rep is hardly the worst act one of us could commit, is it? Hell, in most games, heroes kill bastards like us willy-nilly to increase their rep.”

Although I loathed to admit it, what the dwarf was saying did make sense. I was the bad guy, just like everyone else down here.

“They didn’t seem that concerned about rep penalties,” I pointed out, “if their first instinct was to rob the noob dwarf of his life savings, after kicking the living pixels out of his protector.” I prodded my tender face as I spoke to make a point.

“Ah, but you must have noticed what their avatars had in common, right? Underworld class, the pair of ‘em. Those boys are tryin’ to walk the fine line between ‘redeemable’ and ‘scumbag’.

“Seems to me that their instincts lean more to the ‘scum’ demographic.”

“Perhaps. They’re probably prepared to take whatever shortcuts they deem necessary to get ahead of the pack in the early stages, while at their weakest and most vulnerable. And that means taking the rep hit that goes with robbing other players. But they were savvy enough not to choose fallen class. They want to get outta here, eventually. Why would they risk that wasting the unconscious noob?”

I gave thanks that they hadn’t taken the risk, timidly pulling myself up and onto my bunk, blocking out the pain that was induced by every tiny movement. It seemed reasonable to assume that the dwarf would prefer the bottom bunk, but right at this moment, so would I. Everything ached from the effort. Eventually reaching my meagre goal, I sat my avatar on the edge of the bed with my legs dangling over the side. The bed covers felt like sandpaper to the touch, but I’d endured much worse, so far. Then I called up my inventory. And that was when I recieved yet another shock.

“Aww crap!” I announced.

“What’s wrong now?” groaned the dwarf, no doubt tiring of his new cellmate’s various complaints.

“My bundle of healing herbs. It’s gone.”

“Heh, I gotta hand it to that rogue,” replied the dwarf. “The lad’s thievery skill must be levellin’ up nicely. Don’t worry fella, you’ll still heal. Just slowly, is all.”

I suddenly felt a cold panic wash over me, and hastily called up my weapons submenu. It was empty.

“Oh fuck no, my sword is gone too,” I moaned.

“As I say, the rogues a natural. Don’t worry lad, the thing was broken anyway…”

“But without a sword, how can I continue to level up my swordsmanship?” I considered my own question for a moment, then added: “I don’t suppose I could get a little advance on my salary and somehow buy one, could I? It would be in your best interest, given that I need a sword to defend you.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes, then said: “How many blows to the head did you take exactly, lad?”

I suddenly realized how stupid the question had been. “Shit! They got all of your gold too, didn’t they?”

“Yep, ‘fraid so, every last coin. Not that they needed a thievery skill to get into my inventory, mind. A few threats from the beastling was all it took. Alas, my bodyguard was too busy bleedin’ all over the place to intervene.”

“How inconsiderate of him. But you seem oddly chipper, considering.”

“Relax, lad. That 500 gold was just a drop in the ocean.”

“A drop in the ocean? I thought you said it was your life savings?”

“Don’t be so bloody naïve. I just spun them that life-savings bull-shit so that they wouldn’t come to think of me as a fuckin’ ATM they can just raid on a regular basis.”

“So you have more gold, then?”

“Not yet, no. But by midnight tonight, my commissary account’s daily limit will have reset. It can only accept one payment per day, but the next one will be for five times that amount.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“Yeah, that’s right. There’s plenty more where that cash came from. More than enough to make taking the odd beating on my behalf worthwhile for you, I’m sure you’ll agree?”

“Yeah, except what use am I to you now? I lost my damn sword, remember?”

Hint hint.

“Pffft. A minor setback. Stick with me kid. We’ll find you a new sword, and more besides.”

I wished I shared the dwarf’s confidence. Overwhelmed, I lay back and tried to process everything that had happened to me thus far. Try as I might, I couldn’t make it add up. So I decided to risk aggravating my new boss with another question.

“This is supposed to be a fucking jail. Why the hell do they even allow us to have weapons in the first place?”

“Because we have to earn our keep, that’s why.”

“Earn our keep? How?”

“Clearin’ out the monsters in the unexplored regions of the dungeon. The jail is constantly expandin’ due to the number of ah… morally challenged individuals arrivin’ here on a daily basis. That means there is a constant need to clear out more space to store the bastards in. The game map is theoretically infinite, but the dungeon’s previous tenants are quite fond of the taste of our meaty avatars, and are apparently reluctant to move on without a little push. The guards have enough to do keepin’ us in line, so it’s the prisoners who’ll be headin’ out to conquer the unexplored wings, all to make them fit for the next batch of noobs to move into.”

Well, that explained the raid party, then. I’d spawned right into the middle of an attempt to clear one such dungeon. Then I recalled the very first status message on my arrival by the spawning pyre. 12% chance of being attacked by monsters. It had been casually announced like a particularly inconsequential weather forecast. The boss had not been an anomaly like I’d first hoped. We were sharing the dungeons with more undesirables than I ever could have imagined. And these ones didn’t have to play by the rules. Wonderful.

“Hang on, if the monster territories are attached to this dungeon, Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course it’s bloody dangerous,” spat the dwarf, his patience with my questions wearing thin. “This wasn’t always a prison, yeh know. Atone Online was built on the carcass of one of the first fully immersive gamin’ systems. They picked it because of its heavy reliance on the ‘rep’ stat, but purgin’ all the old elements would have meant buildin’ a world from scratch, so they just tweaked a little code here an’ there, built the prison right on top of the dungeon. That has its perks fer us players, though. The monsters still drop items, just like they did back in the early days. And any artefacts or gold we find, we’re free to keep for ourselves.”

It occurred to me that I’d accepted the dwarf’s offer of employment without establishing the answer to one very important question.

“What use is the gold anyway? It’s not like it’s real.”

“It’s as real as you or I can claim to be, lad. Find some, and you can spend it in their prison armory, buy better weapons, level up until you’re fit for the front line where the bigger rewards lie. Sure, there are other uses for it... better food, prostitutes, you can even upgrade your accommodation if you grease the palm of the right NPC… but wise players invest it all in their future.

“Like buying their wonderful bodyguard a shiny new sword, perhaps?”

“Yer bein’ too subtle, I don’t think I got the hint,” he replied, gruffly, before adding: “Don’t worry, I’m investin’ in you, and I intend to get my money’s worth. I’ll pay for the sword. I can’t promise much, mind. The items they sell down here aren’t up to much. And if I overspend, I’ll draw the wrong kind of attention. If that happens, I’m back to playin’ the part of a small hairy cash machine while our fellow inmates use your impressive resistance as a training dummy to grind their XP on.”

“Your confidence in my bodyguard skills is much appreciated, thank-you.”

“You’re strong and resilient, I’ll give you that much. The amount of HP you took from that beastling with one punch was pretty impressive for a redemption class player. Shame it was the only punch you landed, eh?”

“Fuck you!” I replied, albeit with a smile. The dwarf was busting my balls, but I didn’t sense that he was seriously trying to offend me.

“Seriously though, that’s the only benefit you got from your shitty point distribution. I mean, zero charisma and zero perception? What the hell were you thinking.”

“I figured I was likeable and observant enough, already.”

“Hells bells lad, that’s not how it works. Perception is the ability to read another player stats at a glance. Even the beastling had two points, enough to let him see yer name and HP. I’m Samusk, by the way, since yeh can’t even see that much…”

“Don’t worry, I saw your name on your ‘quest.’ My name is Shade…”

“I know. I can bloody read it above your head, remember?”

“So you’re at least level 2, then. But you were reading our assailants stats, back in the fight. What level is that, exactly?”

“Information’s a commodity here, lad, same as anything else. Yeh want to know more about me, yeh have to earn my trust. For now, trust me when I say that you’ve royally screwed yourself.”

“Who are you to talk to me about bad choices?” I retaliated. “I mean, a dwarf? Seriously?”

“You can’t criticize a fella fer tryin’ to show a little individuality, surely? Yeh probably haven’t noticed yet, on account of bein’ unconscious fer the majority of yer stay, but dwarves are rare, here. If yeh saw the number of orc-holes, wand-wavers and sword-jockeys there are running around this joint already-”

“Whoa, hold on, didn’t you ever stop to consider that there’s probably a good reason why no one picks the dwarves?”

“Is the blind, uncharismatic noob going to enlighten me as to why that is, then?”

“This is a prison. The population is over ninety percent male. And with a shortage of female options, an inmate of your height could have certain… ah… uses.”

“Are we talking doing the laundry, here?” replied the dwarf. “Sorry, I’ve used all my points up on perception, so I have nothing left to allocate to the homemaker skill. Yer just goin’ to have to wash yer own drawers.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“Pffft. You’ve watched too many movies, lad.”

“Well when some sexually frustrated barbarian offers to help you develop your sword swallowing skill, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Yer concern is duly noted,” he replied, adding a mock bow to my wisdom.

“And why are you so calm? I don’t need a perception skill to know that’s a worker avatar, not a fighter. The rogue said you have zero combat skills and no weaponry of your own? Why is that?”

He tapped his forehead. “Like I said earlier, yeh have to earn my trust to hear my secrets. Fer now, let me just say that every choice I’ve made, I’ve made for a reason. I knew this day was comin’. Planned fer it. Most save the strategy for their arrival, but I’ve been preppin’ fer this eventuality fer years.”

“You really do know a lot about this place, don’t you?”

“As I said earlier, I like to plan ahead.”

Samusk was wise to this place. Too wise. And that made me nervous. No one from the outside world had any idea exactly what went on in the atonement server: it was run completely by AI, and near as I could tell, the company responsible was more than happy to turn a blind eye to our existence the moment we were uploaded. With that in mind, how the hell did he prepare for it? There was no one to ask for advice. No forum to check for tips. As a noob, he should be as in the dark as I am.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing about the dwarf that was making me feel uneasy. There was also the fact that his commissary account was being filled willy-nilly by parties unknown. Whoever he was in his old life, he must have had access to huge resources IRL. That made him a criminal with power, possibly a high-ranking member of an illegal organization. Not that I would dare ask him. I didn’t learn much about this place in advance, but bringing up another player’s past was a definite no-no. Especially now that those crimes were little more than a number. What, I wondered, was his. Was I working for a monster, a mass murderer with a -100 rep? It didn’t even bear thinking about.

My last concern was his meager avatar. To arrive as a worker was frankly, bizarre. That shitty role wasn’t even one of my options when I chose my skillset. Either he’d taken a diversion much like my own (and been leveled down to zero by some mob for his troubles) or he must have done something really bad IRL to be penalized by the judge so badly upon entry.

Again, I reminded myself that the rep stat was supposed to be all that mattered now, not the life that led to it. He was here to heal his soul and leave his old sins behind, just like I was. So, with that in mind, I asked the closest question to ‘so, what are you in for’ that I was permitted.

“What is your rep score, exactly?”

“None of your damn business,” he snapped back. “You’ll find out when you’ve levelled up enough to see it for yourself.”

I made a mental note to do just that.

Damn. He’s taking advantage of my shitty perception to keep me in the dark. I really don’t know if I can trust this guy.

The dwarf was growing more and more agitated by my barrage of questions, so I returned to my trail of unread status messages. One confirmed that my HP loss was indeed stemmed by the guards after the two-on-one assault I received, allowing me to slowly recover naturally from there. But then another anomaly caught my eye.

Hang on a minute. How the hell did I lose more HP after the fight had already ended?

I called up more detail. The next message confirmed that I’d been pushed down a flight of stairs by a dwarf.

The lying little bastard, I thought to myself. If my resilience stat hadn’t leveled up beforehand, I’d probably have died and hit level zero. All so that he could get out of having to carry me back. Now I really don’t trust him.

I glared at the bastard in question from atop my bunk. He winked back, oblivious to my discovery. I was just about to give him a piece of my mind, when I spotted an update about the piece of my mind that was missing. Apparently, the attempt to rebuild my lost memory files had now reached 20%. This cheered me right up. I couldn’t imagine that getting repeatedly punched in the face by the beastling did much to help that endeavor, but it was good to see that the system was at least attempting to regain my lost memories.

Relieved to learn that my mind was healing itself, and deciding that I needed the dwarf too much (at this stage) to start another argument, I leapt from my bunk to give my physical container a quick check over in the mirror. Standing there stripped to the waist, I looked more like the dungeon’s scrawniest barbarian than the generic noob swordsman I was supposed to be. My torso was covered in bloody scratches and bruises. My lip was split, my eye was bruised and swollen, and I had three parallel claw marks etched across my face.

Oh well, I still have all of my teeth, so at least I have an excuse to keep smiling.

Having thoroughly examined my banged-up exterior, I opened my updated stat sheet for a look at my interior attributes.

USERNAME: SHADE

PRIMARY SKILL: SWORDSMAN – LEVEL 2

PERCENTAGE REMAINING UNTIL NEXT LEVEL IS UNLOCKED – 98%

Rep: -19/30

HP: 39/80

Mana: 0/40

Alliances: Bodyguard of Samusk (Dwarf, independent)

PHYSICAL STATS -

Strength: 3 (Cap 5)

Agility: 1 (Cap 4)

Speed: 3 (Cap 4)

Stamina: 3 (Cap 5)

Resilience: 4 (Cap 4)

Accuracy: 1 (Cap 5)

Defence: 1 (Cap 5)

Armed combat: 3 (Cap 6)

Unarmed combat: 0 (Cap 3)

Carrying capacity: 1 (Cap 2)

INTANGIBLE STATS -

Magical attack: 0 (Cap 1)

Perception: 0 (Cap 4)

Charisma: 0 (Cap 2)

Disguise: 0 (Cap 1)

Luck: 0 (Cap 2)

Healing: 0 (Cap 0)

Mana generation: 1 (Cap 3)

Leadership: 0 (Cap 2)

Homemaking: 0 (Cap 2)

OUTSTANDING QUESTS – Protect the dwarf (ongoing)

So, the cap on a few of my skills was raised by my level-up. And not a moment too soon, by the look of my resilience stat. But where did ‘mana generation’ come from? I clicked on it and promptly found the answer.

-[ Mana generation: the ability to wield the primordial lifeforce of Atone Online. Can be used to fuel special attacks, spells, and stamina. Automatically unlocked upon reaching level 2 in any primary discipline. ]-

Not bad for a noob, I told myself, trying my best to look on the bright side of my near-death experience. That small moment of calm was quickly interrupted, as a bell rang out through the dungeon. Just as suddenly, our cell door glitched, then vanished.

“What the hell is that?” I cried. “A breakout? Are monsters invading the dungeon?”

“Even better,” replied the dwarf with a beaming smile. “That’ll be lunch.”

“I’m not hungry, I replied, pulling myself back onto my bunk.

“And I don’t care,” replied Samusk, his voice growing sterner. “The canteen is one of the few places where all of the prisoners gather, regardless of gang affiliation. Well, with the exception of the fallen class, but that’s only because they’re more likely to eat the other players than the slop we’ll be havin’.”

I swallowed hard, remembering the demon guard’s less than subtle suggestion that we were all meat.

“Before we go, I’d recommend that ye bind yer avatar to yer bunk.”

“Bind my avatar?

“Yer respawn point, lad. Somethin’ you’ll be needin’ again soon enough, if yeh keep up yer current performance.”

“Why would I want to make this my bind point?” I protested. “That’ll just mean that if I die, I’ll respawn behind bars. Why would I choose that?”

“Think, lad. If yeh respawn, yer frozen for a good minute while your senses re-sync to your avatar. That means yer vulnerable. Inmates use that sort of thing to their advantage. They take note of other inmates respawn points and lie in wait to rob them, or to finish the job. Trust me, if you die, you don’t want to respawn in a public spot where yer enemies could be waitin’ for another go. Our cell is the closest thing we have to a safe zone, lad.”

And again, he reminded me that whether or not I trusted him, I probably needed him. For now, at least.

“Fine. How do I do it?”

“Just announce it. Yeh don’t have to write a bloody poem. The dungeon AI will take care of the rest.”

I placed my hand on the bed.

“Um, this is my respawn point?”

It was more of a question than a statement, but it seemed to work.

-[ System message. You have bound your avatar to cell 903746. This will be your respawn point until you choose to reset it. ]-

Well, that was easy. I basked in the small satisfaction of having finally done something right for a change.

“Time’s a-wastin’, lad. This is our perfect opportunity to make some important connections.”

“We’re going to… network?”

“Exactly. And the bastards I’m interested in talking to? Trust me, a bodyguard’s going to be essential.”