Dove entered with her mind, and lost her sight. As a paraplegic this meant she had very little left. Except, perhaps, to scream.

“Pull me out! Pull me out!”

“Stop! Trigger word!”

She took a sharp breath. Both to refuel her screams and to stop herself from crying. She sniffed. And smelled mold. Not a mild amount of it, either.

Still, it was a sensation from nothing, and it was right in front of her. Curiosity pulled her forward, right into a stack of mildewy wooden crates. She reached out and touched one. And Dove gasped. She moved this hand again, feeling the fuzzy green stuff sticking to her fingertips. Her legs! She stepped. Back and forward. Moved every single muscle and bone and joint, staring at herself under the dim light provided by a window somewhere above. There wasn’t any discomfort, no detachment. It all felt so wonderfully, beautifully natural. Like the past eighteen months of debilitation was finally revealed to be a bad dream.

In her flurry, she backed into one of the boxes, knocking it over. Dove looked around. More boxes. The place looked like a warehouse and smelt like a shipyard. “I’m here,” she said to herself. Maybe not just herself, as wasn’t her experience being recorded? She didn’t care. She let all her emotions surface in a tearful, spinal shiver and then, a jump of joy.

“Hello Bilgewater!”

Dove immediately set out to explore, touch and experience everything around her. What a rush it was! Dust and dirt and bacteria, she could inhale it all and not have to worry about the medical repercussions; what a perfect body! She imagined every ill-preserved item in this hoard giving her doctor a heart attack. But she could only give over to this ecstasy for so long before she wondered how she’d get out.

Perching on the mossiest stack of planks she could find, Dove juggled a small sack between her hands. Its insides jiggled. Perhaps some kind of spice, or could it simply be a weight of sand? The rope around it was too tight, no matter how she wiggled her fingers through it. “Pity there aren’t any blades around to cut this open. Would help, being a Battle Royale and all,” Dove joked.

“Bilgewater Battle Royale, huh?” She continued to play around with the sack. Dove wasn’t interested in the ‘Battle Royale’, as much as the ‘Bilgewater’ part. Now that she was here, all she wanted to do was explore. But looking around the sides of the warehouse, the only entrance seemed to be barred in from the outside. Thus, her experience of freedom quickly started to feel more like a prison. But then, she smelled something new. Something reminding her of fire, like ash, putting her on guard.

Dove looked down to see a trail of black powder down her fingers. It looked like the bag loosened a little. Holding it up to her nose with a grimace, she tried to rub it away before it stained. Her fingers came together in a snap, then a spark, and suddenly the whole powder trail blew. Dove flinched. But strangely, although there was a bang, and a force that pushed out against her, there was no pain. Yet, all around her the wood lay splintered, sawdust lingering in the air.

“Okay, interesting.” Ideas whirring, Dove turned the sack upside down. She tried shaking out more of the black gunpowder, but only a small stream sifted out.

A crowd hammered on the door of the warehouse. Voices blared. One word; thief.

Dove seized, spilling gunpowder all over her lap and across the floor. Was that mob for her? Was she the thief? She grabbed at her jerkin, looked over her new body in a panic. Rough spun tattered rags. Trousers frayed below her skinny knees. Obviously, this place wasn’t hers and…and…neither was it a woman’s body, evidently.

The angry mob subsided. Ominous, but it gave Dove a chance to grab at whatever was nearby, to come up with some explanation as to how she got here. She reached into a box the explosion had split open. Bread. Cheese in the next one. Flinging back a canvas were crates of wine.

“Now this definitely does not look good for me. How did I end up in the food section?”

Listening out for her pursuers, she heard the dregs of a complaint, an argument, then a swell of cheers. Dove yelped. There was more of them now, and they heaved, the whole warehouse creaking as something heavy began to be lifted.

“Oh no, they’re unbarring the door. I’m screwed.”

Bundle of food rolled up in a tarp in one arm, Dove still held the gunpowder sack. Desperate, she tore at its knot.

The sack stayed firmly drawn. The warehouse door lurched; some pre-emptive shoves from those who could hardly wait.

“Come on, come on,” Dove said, teeth straining. With a tender grip, she kept pulling, the taste of blood on her tongue.

As the barricade clanged like a bell against the ground outside, the sack’s rope unfurled, letting loose a waterfall of tiny dark beads. Dove sighed in relief and kneeled down, facing the entrance. The door burst open to waiting pitched hands and spears and torches. The mob of sailors all pointed to Dove and she saluted back. A one-handed gesture. The other hand snapping at the black mound between her feet. She jumped. She flew.

*

Being pursued in a place Dove hadn’t seen before -in a body she had only possessed for a few minutes- was stressful, but exhilarating. Thankfully, the gunpowder explosion both boosted her escape as well as deterred some of the mob. She landed in an exposed criss-cross of boardwalks in harsh morning light, where everyone was familiar to each other. But for her, the soot-heeled urchin. Feeling lost and vulnerable, Dove’s strategy was simply to get out of the light and salt and open air, towards the dark alleys.

She had thought of surrendering the goods. Maybe there was a way to explain her way out of this? Possessions, player characters, was that a feature understood by the denizens of this world? It might have been worth a shot. Running, unfortunately, burned all bridges. She wouldn’t be able to go back out and survey every inch of the beautiful bay without a really good disguise, but there was no way in hell that Dove was going to get kicked out of this body. Even worse, to be imprisoned for the reminder of her time here. That thought kept her at an unrelenting pace, and at some point, long after the yells and clapping leather boots became a distant echo, Dove pulled into a side street, feeling safe, and allowed her senses to come back to her.

Her breath hurt wonderfully! Blood pumped, every limb radiated, buzzed with adrenaline-spiked frenzy. No sensation could come close, nothing Dove could ever do in her hospital bed could let her feel this alive. She backed against a stone wall, sweat no doubt leaving a mark on it. Clutching her haul, she grinned up at the sky, so glad that her wish had been granted, that she was accepted to play in this VR tournament.

A tiny head poked out amongst the shadows. “Finn, is that you?”

With a jump, Dove readied herself to make a break for it, shaking out her gunpowder sack. “Empty? Damn!” Her body was still tight, tire. But she’d have to wear it out further. Hopefully she could rely on it.

The figure hopped out, waving grimy hands passively above their head. “Finn, relax, it’s me!”

Dove paused. Someone who recognized her. Rather, her body. Another urchin? Still wary, she decided to stay still and taut, and wait for him to come to tell her more.

The little guy hopped again, more visible, and she quickly realized why. A sight all too familiar.

“Where have you been, buddy?” they asked. “Don’t tell me you actually…No! You didn’t!” Catching sight of the food bundle, they spun with joy. “You’re a madman. A bloody madman! You got into the warehouse.” Then they stopped, and shimmied close. “But then, how did you get out?”

Dove couldn’t think of a lie. Too focused on the child’s twisted back, the one good leg. Dirt caked on scabs and bruises, but still happy. A vibrant, abandoned kid. She felt a tearless cry come on, she wanted to kneel down and hold and take them away from this place. But instead, forgetting about the wider world, her desire to explore and be free, Dove unwrapped her blanket and said, “Let’s eat.”