Walking dazedly through the hospital parking lot, my heart and head feel quite a few pounds lighter. I pull out my car keys, fumble them, and snatch them an inch from hitting the asphalt. With a sigh, I press the key fob, hoping I am at least near my car . It is still one lane over and further down. Anyway, Mom says she'll be alright but I'm pretty sure that's just a typical mom response so their sons don't have to worry as much.

We've become aquainted with a lot of the nursing staff and even persuaded some of them to try ASL with us. They're learning the alphabet and simple words and phrases they would often use; "I'm in pain", "help me to the bathroom", and "when will the doctor arrive?'" Of course, a few of them had to learn some swearing, because if you don't learn those words first when starting out a new language then why are you learning it in the first place?

The following few days are a hazy mess until I find myself standing just inside the entrance of a recently constructed convention center building. Dozens of people pass me by to get in the security line. I watch them get their invitations scanned and their bags searched. A man is escorted away from the scanning area as he shouts at the suited guards, something about the invite being given to him by his friend who didn't want to attend. "I'm sorry, sir, but your name doesn't match the invite so it'll be against our regulations to let you in, " the tall security guard explains while ignoring the man's protests.

"Show me where in the letter it says that!" he demands, waving the paper tight in his fist.

"On the doors when you first came in," was the only reply. They practically shove him out the doors and block his way back in. I can still hear the muffled threats of lawyers and big pay days when I hand my invitation to the young scanner.

She is a little shorter than me, with blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She has cute pixie like features, black framed glasses atop her smiling eyes. "Ardacen Winters?" she queried as she looked at both my driver's license and invitation.

"Yes ma'am?" it spills out like a question wondering if it was a mistake for me to come here.

"They're letting you participate?"

I mumble a confused affirmative but couldn't look her in the eyes.

"I'm just messing with you, of course they are! If it wasn't for you, Arc the Game wouldn't be what it is today!"

My head snaps up and she gives me a wink.

"Follow the others to the main hall and you'll learn more. By the way, I still talk about your last Deadly Combat tournament win with my friends. Hard to believe the FIVR equipment at the time could barely keep up with you! Good luck in this one!"

I give her an embarrassed smile and thanks, wading my way into the stream of people.

That particular win was one of the last few times I competed before the Pangaea Fiasco. I don't have the martial prowess of a seasoned fighter but my instincts are sharp, often moving me before any rational thoughts or ideas can be formed. It's nothing supernatural, more like an enhanced flinching, a poor man's spider sense if you will. It wouldnt stop me from getting shot, but it helped me avoid multiple collisions at work behind the cramped bar and sometimes driving in my car. The main selling point of it back in the day was in game, where the FIVR pods picked up that reaction speed and I exploited it to the fullest.

Fighting games would sometimes glitch, making it look like I skip forward in time, dodging some attacks that a normal human had no way of doing. It's probably what helped me dodge hot dragon breath and kept me alive long enough to… No more of that. I find the main hall, full of chairs facing a stage, a podium, and a giant screen. I look around and notice at least a dozen cameras aimed at the stage. I sit on the first open aisle chair I could find, so I wouldn't get trapped in by bigger bodies in case I have to leave suddenly.

When we finally settle in, a man approaches the podium. He is sharply dressed, a nice grey two piece suit, but his hair is wild and unkempt and he's wearing what look to be running shoes. He has a very short beard that he had grown less out of style and more from lack of upkeep. He has a thin toothy grin as he sweeps his eyes across the room. I watch the grin grow into a genuine smile as his eyes lock on mine.

"Good morning everyone, my name is Gerard Quince. Thank you all for coming! There are over three hundred of you in the audience today, and another seventeen hundred watching in similar halls across the nation. All two thousand of you have been chosen out of a database of players to participate in a live streamed beta run of our newest FIVR RPG, Arc the Game!"

We can all feel a surge of excitement pulse though the room as a wave of cheers and applause crash upon the stage. Before it had a chance to fully recede, Gerard continues with his speech, "That's right! And not only is this a beta run of what's sure to be the greatest FIVR RPG of all time, it's also going to be a competition!" Another wave of noise rolls in, this one louder than the last.

"The current level cap is set at one hundred. So, the first to reach level ten, their first level beyond novice, will receive one thousand dollars! The first to to level twenty will receive five thousand dollars! Thirty gets ten thousand! Forty gets fifteen thousand! Fifty gets twenty five! Sixty, a cool fifty thousand. Seventy nets a whopping one hundred thousand! Eighty, two hundred thousand! Ninety, five hundred thousand! And, ladies and gentlemen… The coveted first level one hundred player will receive a unique in game feat and title… Their own fully upgraded FIVR capsule, designed for extended gameplay… And FIVE! MILLION! DOLLARS!"

At this point the crowd is deafening, a seemingly endless cacophony exploding forth and I am sure it caused the people in the next building over to look toward the direction of the noise in shock and worry. With an air of finality, he relinquishes the microphone stand to a woman who is more professionally dressed, her hair tied in a tight bun on top of her head. She goes over the basic terms and regulations of the upcoming competition, but I'm sure most people either couldn't hear anymore or didnt care.

We're all required to sign something anyway. In the back they set up a bunch of tables filled with papers, contracts that went into excruciating detail. They even have privacy booths in case people want to go over and straighten out the mess of paper and words. As I turn in my signed forms, someone snatches my papers right out of my grasp, my hand pulling back reflexively. My eyebrows scrunch and mouth frown, but before I can make a fuss I notice who it is. Standing there, glancing at my signature at the bottom, was Gerard Quince himself. I'm rendered speechless and paralyzed.

"If it wasn't for you, Mr. Winters, we wouldn't have done what we did to make Arc. The game was finished four years ago, but, like Pangaea, it was missing something." The words weren't coming out and, with my hands in loose fists in front of my chest, I started to unconciously sign my gratitude.

His eyes shot open and I shoved my hands in my pockets to make them stop, "Sorry, I meant thanks, Mr. Quince."

"Interesting… You know…" his voice dropped to a conspiratorial low, "The key to this game is gonna be adaptability. We really tried to think outside the box on this one. In the end, though, we're really hoping for a few suprises. At least, the viewers should enjoy it. Good luck, Mr Winters. Let's see what you do with a dragon in Arc…" He hands my forms over to the person at the desk and walks away, avoiding several people trying to talk to him.

The next day, those of us who turned in a signed form all met in what they decribed to be an apartment building. Although I had recently become a full-fledged bartender, finally upgrading my job class you might say, I had to quit since I would be away for about a year. They were sad to see me go, growing ever dependant on my uncanny ability to create wonders from what little we were given to work with. I gave my mom a card and the rights to use my bank account. That way, if I were to win any of the milestone money she would be able to chip at the considerable debt acrued from her continuous hospital stay. Her insurance isn't the greatest and it doesn't cover everything, so I pay her co pays and anything her insurance doesn't take are of with what little remained from my tournaments and a portion of what I make at work.

As much as I used to make winning tournaments, farming and selling in game items and materials, and recently keeping a majority of my tips in the bank, my savings were dwindling rapidly. At the very least, we get the privilege of living off the beta run for a year, using what I had budgeted as my living expense allowance for the greedy beast of Mom's medical debt. Each of the players will be staying in long term FIVR capsules, observed and cared for for a whole year. Gerard is giving us a year to reach level one hundred. It can't possibly take that long, can it?

Anyway, if it did, that'd be a year of rent and utilities I dont have to pay. Where is all this money coming from anyway? How can a company that put out two decent games previously have all this funding to keep so many people long term? And all the cash prizes are ludicrous! Then, it hit me as I walked in the building toward the front desk.

Sponsors. Sponsors as far as the eye can see. There are posters advertising the upcoming new show that is going to be our beta run. I'm not sure how they are going to manage showing two thousand players doing their thing and it isn't really any of my business. I'm assuming everyone's goal is to power level as fast as one possibly can. The biggest problem, and so far I believe it's going to be everyone's problem, is no one knows anything about the game and it's mechanics.

The only pieces of information we were given were still fairly vague. We'll all be starting at exactly the same time and be released into a random major city in a world the size of Mars or about half the size of Earth. Personally, after doing some quick calculations, I am only going to need to be the first to hit levels 30-60 and I'll have enough to clear Mom's debt with a little extra. That way, I can use the first twenty or so levels to gauge the game and other players. Tonight, however, everyone will be given about three hours to create our characters.

The character designer will be a customizer's dream with a near limitless amount of combinations from the options we'll be given: races; sub-races; starting abilities, feats, equipment, spells, and skills. All that before we even set foot in the game. And, as we continue foward it'll only get more convoluted. My palms sweat just thinking about it, and I'm pretty sure I drooled a little at some point.

The front desk is friendly and upbeat, assigning me to room 752, seventh floor. Each of us was assigned a roommate at random and I'm anxious to meet mine as I join a group in the last elevator to close its doors. I brush up against a much taller gentleman and pull back on instict. Unfortunatley, this causes me to bump into the woman on my opposite side.

"Oh! Excuse me," I blurt out nervously.

She smiles back, "Its okay. Really. It'll take more than that to knock me over!"

"No fair taking people out before the start," a voice laughs out from the back. We all chuckle at that, the tension dissipates in an instant. The elevator stops on the fifth floor and almost everyone moves to get off, some wishing others luck. The tough lady, the joker, and I move to the side to let others pass. As the last of them get off there is a light, conversation starting cough.

"Say," joker queries, "Are you Ardacen Winters?"

"Yeah, that's me," I reply with a little embarrassment in my voice.

"Dude. The dragon fiasco."

I cringe at my legacy.

"Don't worry about it, man,” the guys says with a laugh, “I mean, what kind of a lame company let's it all come apart like that so easily?"

I brighten up and smile at him.

"Richter Pryce," he adds and we bump fists. The doors ding and the floor opens on six. "Good luck in there, dude!" he says walking backwards into the hallway, "I'm probably gonna use my real name if I can in case you find me in there! Try not to kite anything bigger than a horse at me though!"

The doors close and I sigh. Tough lady is giggling into her hand and I smile at her too. "That's some kind of reputation to preceed you, Ardacen," she says as she offers a slender hand to me. Tough, pretty, sense of humor, well mannered? Why haven't I asked her to marry me yet? Oh, I don't know her-

"Dawn Nobel. Its a pleasure to finally meet you."

I give her hand a firm, but light grip and a small shake. The door opens and I let her out first. We make light conversation as we both walk down the hallway.