《Afterlife Online: Reboot》


 One: Road Rash

    My name is Tad Lonnerman and I''m a millennial.


    These days that sounds like an apology, but it''s not. I hate that word and all the baggage it brings. Problems are problems, and we all have them. A father we never knew. A mother who barely remembers her name. A debt well into five figures. I turn twenty-five years old today and share an apartment with my little brother Derek because he''s all I have left. So don''t talk to me about being a whiny, spoiled brat.


    About the only problem I don''t have is my job. I''m an associate programmer in the game industry. Kinda bucked the unemployment trend on that one, didn''t I? It''s a dream job and I''ve been treading water for two years, focusing on nothing but being good at what I do and supporting me and Derek.


    And it was working. Portlandia: the beautiful Pacific Northwest. This was where everything turned right for me, even with all the rain. A solid paycheck. A challenging career. I finally had it made.


    So why was everything so bland?


    Here I was, on my birthday, stuck in rush hour traffic in a snowstorm. Rain I could deal with. Portland''s a nice town but all the hills and highways run through endless bottlenecks. Snow shuts everything down. It gave me plenty of time to ponder being twenty-five.


    My conclusion? What a crappy milestone. Sixteen gets you behind the wheel. Eighteen makes you an adult. Twenty-one''s party time. What did I get now?


    A lower deductible for car insurance. Watch out, ladies.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Yup. Mid twenties. Might as well be thirty. Kill me now.


    It''s ironic how the harshest measures of life happen on birthdays. To be fair, it wasn''t just weather and existential angst. My small boutique game studio had been acquired by a soulless mega-conglomerate named Kablammy Games some time ago. They didn''t care about game mechanics or design, they cared about monetization and data mining. And making endless sequels and clones. And focus testing the crap out of good ideas until only the most sanitary leftovers remained.


    Kablammy had so many branches and divisions it was impossible to get anything done. Two years of plucky grit making a name for myself and I was suddenly lost in a sea of middle managers and request forms. And don''t get me started on the number of mandatory meetings. It was one such useless meeting I was late to already. Today we''d probably strategize methods of charging gamers extra money for regular game content. Sorry, the princess is in another castle; please pay $9.99 to access it.


    I huffed and flicked on my blinker. Eager to get out of traffic, I turned up an empty side street sloping up a hill. Don''t worry, my hatred of the snow left me anything but unprepared. I had proper chains on my tires to battle my nemesis. With the absolute weight of the world on my mind, my compact car steadily scaled the icy road.


    Dying isn''t like those Final Destination movies. Gory, yes. Inexplicable, sure. But it''s not fated. A series of events don''t collude to kill you.


    Death isn''t noble like all the stories shoveled out of Hollywood either. It''s not a meaningful sacrifice that forever changes the rest of the world for the better.


    Death is a fucking Pepsi tractor trailer driving down an icy road and swerving headlong into your Nissan Altima.


    That''s it. No meaning. No purpose.


    It''s random.


    I laid on my horn but the semi was out of control. Dumbass didn''t even have chains on his tires. I tried to pull off the narrow road but there simply wasn''t anywhere to go and the truck was determined to hog both lanes.


    As the Pepsi truck slid inevitably closer, all I could think about was if my insurance deductible would reflect my twenty-five-year-old discount.

 Two: Welcome

    I opened my eyes to extreme calm and nothingness. The world was white. I was in a great expanse of it. Drifting.


    The car accident.


    My gut reaction was I was in a hospital. Lying in a bed watching an empty ceiling. How long had I been here?


    A man behind me cleared his throat. "Tod Lonnerman, I presume?"


    I blinked and focused. Realized I was standing up. I spun around. In the complete absence of any background, the motion was disorienting. I was moving but I wasn''t. Then the man came into view. He settled in front of me as I stopped, standing casually with his weight on one leg, cradling a tablet in his arm, and looking like he could use a coffee.


    My demeanor wasn''t nearly as ordinary. I stooped in front of him with my arms splayed to either side, wary of falling.


    He looked me up and down and waited patiently. If he wanted something from me, he didn''t get it. I stayed hunched in place like a cat trying to blend in with a wood floor.


    The man was getting on in years. Thinning white hair and a matching wraparound beard. He wore a strange golden twig around his head like a crown. Come to think of it, everything about him was strange. He was dressed in a full toga, cream-colored except for a stripe of maroon along the edge.


    He frowned and marked something on his tablet with a stylus. At this point I noted it was an actual stone tablet.


    "You are Tod Lonnerman," he said. "Please confirm."


    "Tad. I''m Tad Lonnerman. Where am I?"


    He squinted at his tablet critically. "We''ll get to that." His stylus traced a checkmark.


    I was still a bag of nerves. He was the only thing in the room that wasn''t pure white so I found myself staring at his footwear. Straps ran over open feet and up half his shins. He had strangely buff calves for a man his age.


    "Nice sandals," I said.


    "You should see yourself," he returned without missing a beat.


    I was naked except for a tan loincloth of dubious convenience. I threw my hands around it to keep it from falling.


    "How do you feel?" asked the man while acting as if everything was wholly normal.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    The car accident.


    I looked myself over. My legs, arms. I twisted around to check my backside and felt at my head. Everything was where it was supposed to be. No blood, no wounds or stitches.


    "I feel... strange."


    His stylus paused over the tablet. "Strange?"


    "Well, it''s like¡ªI don''t feel bad, so that''s good, I guess. But at the same time, I don''t really feel good. You know what I mean?"


    He studied me blankly. "I see. That''s not altogether unexpected." He continued down his checklist. "And do you remember your accident, Tod?"


    "Tad."


    "What?"


    "My name''s Tad."


    The man checked the tablet for verification. "So it is. Do you remember the accident?"


    The car accident.


    "Of course I do." I studied the white space. "I must be on some really amazing pain meds right now. What happened? Where are we?"


    His eyes remained on the tablet but he answered. "Focus testing indicates it''s better to let residents ease into the realization rather than tell them right off the bat."


    "Tell them what?"


    "Would you mind doing a few calisthenic drills for me? Some jumps or sprints. Anything that comes to mind."


    "What?" I asked, getting annoyed. "Wait a minute. Where are we? I wanna know what''s going on."


    I stomped past the old man. The white background was so absolute that I couldn''t distinguish the floor from the wall, much less find any doors. I circled him quickly, making two full revolutions before I realized it was pointless. I spun angrily.


    "Yes, yes," he said. "That will be enough. Thank you."


    I smoldered, red as a beet. "Look, buddy¡ª"


    "You''re not on pain meds. You''re not dreaming or hallucinating or suffering a nervous breakdown. Simply put, you''re dead, Tod. You''re dead and your collective consciousness has been uploaded to a redundant server farm owned by Kablammy Games."


    I blinked quickly and fell backwards a step. "It''s Tad," I whispered.


    I looked around again, absorbing his words. The wide open space was suddenly claustrophobic. I found myself huddling closer to the old man, the only thing around me besides oblivion. As he scribbled on his tablet, I raised a cautious finger and pressed it into his forehead.


    He was solid. I felt him, in the flesh.


    "Yup, great pain meds," I concluded.


    He swatted my hand away with the stylus. "You''re not one of those close talkers, are you?"


    I took a meek step away. "Sorry." I kept my raised finger in the air.


    He sighed. "You don''t need to raise your hand if you have a question. Just ask."


    "Right. Are you saying I''m in a simulation right now? Like virtual reality?"


    "VR?" The old guy snickered. "All reality is perception. There''s nothing virtual about this. You''re experiencing a brand-new technology. State-of-the-art DR."


    "D¡ª" I strained trying to fill in the blanks.


    "This is pure digital reality, young man. Your new reality, I might add. Welcome to a brave new era. A second chance at life."


    Life. I''d kinda liked my first one. I remained silent a moment, then asked, "Are you...?"


    "Real? Yes. I''m not an AI, if that''s what you mean. But I''m not dead either. I''m a real, live human, interfacing in DR to personally welcome you. Focus testing indicates new residents prefer a human touch."


    "Focus testing," I repeated, having flashbacks from work. "You''re testing the afterlife?"


    "Beta testing to be exact. Kablammy has spent years perfecting this technology. Not only is the sum of your consciousness residing in a server farm, but you have access to the latest and greatest online role-playing game ever created."


    I stared, dumbfounded. "Heaven is an MMO?"

 Three: Fine Print

    "We prefer to call it Haven," said the old man, finally clipping the stylus to the stone tablet.


    "Seriously? The afterlife is an RPG?"


    He chuckled. "Sloth is sin, and all that. Focus testing indicates new residents need to apply themselves. Maintain goals. Keep busy, keep motivated. Otherwise they might fall into an irreversible depression loop. Let''s get started, shall we?"


    He motioned me to a stool that wasn''t there before. The plain white wood sat flush with a bare table. The man sat on a similar stool on the opposite side and placed his tablet on its edge. It sat at an angle facing him, suspended on nothing at all.


    In most circumstances I wouldn''t have sat so easily, but I was desperate to feel something solid. The stool and table gave me something to whiten my knuckles against.


    "Who are you?" I asked.


    The old man smiled and motioned upward. When I stared blankly, he said, "Look above my head."


    I frowned. "What, the motivational cat poster?"


    "The what?" He twisted around and grumbled. "No, no." He waved his hand and the poster disappeared before my eyes. "Everyone''s a practical joker these days. Whatever happened to being proud of a job well done?"


    I didn''t answer the rhetorical question and he shook off the malaise.


    "What I meant was look at the space above my head inquisitively."


    I was still shaken from seeing the poster disappear. If I couldn''t rely on the inspiring wisdom of kittens, what could I rely on? But I took a breath and focused on the empty area above his head.


    Gold letters faded in: [Saint Peter].


    "I know," he said. "It''s a bit dramatic, but fitting. Don''t worry, there''s no true judgment here."Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    My gaze sagged down to his face. I couldn''t really focus on his words anymore. As the gold name above his head faded away, I could only hang my jaw in shock.


    "Listen," said Saint Peter, "this is my job. I welcome new residents to Haven. Help them get started. Give them a shoulder to lean on." He scratched his white beard and waited until I was lucid. "My best advice to you is this: Don''t overthink things. Take your new world in slowly, one step at a time. Follow our instructions and keep an open, active mind about things. I''m sure you still believe this is all a bizarre dream. If so, don''t waste it moping. Be carefree and enjoy the experience."


    I nodded absently. Didn''t see the harm in that.


    "Now," he said, sitting up straight, "let me answer some of your questions. First off, this is a limited, closed beta application. This isn''t a public utility yet, so count yourself lucky. According to these records, your company was acquired by Kablammy, which makes you an employee. One of us. As such, your insurance plan has been upgraded."


    "I didn''t ask for that."


    "Standard procedure with HMOs. You take what they give. But you''re right, of course. We require your consent."


    I scoffed.


    "Haven is just an option. I mean that. If you refuse consent we can part ways and delete you right now."


    "And then what? I''ll be a vegetable in a hospital bed somewhere?"


    He pressed his lips solemnly together. "No, Tod. You''ll be dead."


    I didn''t correct him this time.


    "You''re not hooked into a VR unit. You''ve literally been uploaded. Your entire being¡ªyour memories, thoughts, and desires¡ªare a collection of ones and zeroes. Your reality is digital now. As a programmer, I''m sure you can understand that, even if you can''t wrap your head around it. But we still need your consent."


    I swallowed, but my virtual mouth was dry. "It sounds like I''m at your mercy no matter what I do."


    "Not true," said Saint Peter. "Haven is what we call a free system. Without the ability for residents to log off, it''s imperative we give everyone autonomy. Once you accept, you''ll become a permanent part of the simulation. Not even we would have the ability to delete you. Your profile is encrypted and redundantly copied across multiple servers." He paused to give his next declaration weight. "Once you enter Haven, you have eternal life. The Bible got that part right, anyway."


    "Great," I said, deciding lucid dreams were more insane than fun. "I consent. Let''s get on with it."


    He nodded and spun the tablet around. Even though it was made of solid stone, the surface layer resembled an LCD screen. An empty line and checkbox awaited my entry. I took the stylus and filled them in.


    "Debit or credit," I joked.


    He smiled. "I know you weren''t asking, but beta access confers you 100% insurance coverage. You''re literally set for life. Now there''s just one more thing." He spun the tablet around, swiped a few times with his finger, and faced it at me again.


    I stared at the screen without humor. "Terms of service."

 Four: Character Creation

    I scrolled through page after page of legalese, giving my best effort to take the whole affair seriously.


    "Kablammy reserves the right to dictate terms of the beta."


    "All participants, heretofore referred to as RESIDENTS, agree to store all aspects of their personality on Kablammy servers."


    "Kablammy strongly believes in individual human rights and will never infringe on a RESIDENT''S privacy, security, and individuality."


    It went on and on like that. There were privacy clauses, data-sharing agreements, beta addendums. I''ll be honest here. I tapped out on page four. I swiped to the end, signed, and handed the stylus back to Saint Peter.


    "Great," he said. "Perfect. I hope you feel better already."


    I didn''t mask my sarcasm. "I feel like the possibilities are limitless."


    "They are, actually. Within reason. Now comes the fun part."


    Saint Peter leaned over the table and spun me on the stool by my shoulder. Apparently I was standing now because matching me eye to eye but several yards away was my exact fucking duplicate.


    A series of transparent two-dimensional panels hovered in the air beside the doppelganger. Images, slider bars, color pickers. A text heading above the screens read "Character Creation."


    Okay, this was starting to blow my mind a little bit. But I was a gamer. I knew what needed to be done here.


    The first choice was race, which was solidly set to human. There appeared to be other options but I was locked out of them. That was fine. I didn''t really do the elf thing. There was no selection for gender. I took that to mean we would just be us inside Haven, without the need to specify a definition. So far, so good.


    Next came the customization of physical traits. I could tweak stuff here and there, but I couldn''t just pick a new face. Imagine you hadn''t seen your cousin for five years before a family reunion. Had he gained weight and grown stocky? Had he become a gym rat and buffed up? Maybe college years of ramen had thinned his dimensions out, or he''d taken to the club scene and become a suave ladies man. All these possibilities would affect his appearance, but you wouldn''t expect a completely different face or body type. Just modified. The slider bars of real life.


    I toyed with my appearance just for funsies. Made myself stronger. Colored my hair blond, then blue. Even gave myself a nice tan. It was riveting seeing the different people I could be, but in the end I knew I wasn''t any of them. I clicked the default button and looked myself over.


    Straight black hair. Short. Thin frame. Healthy if on the pale side. I''d spent twenty-five years cultivating professional geek chic. It was who I was comfortable being.


    I marveled at the detail of the doppelganger, though. The small dog bite scar on my left hand. The eyes, not quite blue or silver, dotted with flecks of black. Even my skinny toes were matched perfectly to every nail. I looked down to my own feet and wiggled them.


    "Did you scan my entire body?" I asked, amazed.


    Saint Peter scoffed. "No. A scan would be imperfect, without the resolution to survive true DR. You''re seeing your brain''s representation of your body. Not just who you were, but who you believe you are. It''s even more perfect than your physical form, which varied from day to day. This is one hundred percent you, Tod."


    I rolled my eyes and turned back to the character creation dialog. I had to admit, I was starting to get into this.


    I scrolled to the next set of screens. A series of menu images representing categories. My starting clothing. I scrolled through to find something snazzy but quickly realized it wasn''t gonna happen. Icon after icon of drab peasant adornments were the only things on offer. As I cycled through the options, the doppelganger standing before me flicked into new outfits. I settled on a black tunic without sleeves that stopped at the knee and suddenly wished I had buff calves too.


    Still wearing just the loincloth myself, I turned to Saint Peter. "You think I can put this on now?"


    "Check your inventory."


    I arched an eyebrow, and then I willed my inventory into existence. A grid consisting of a single item: a black tunic. I selected it and removed it from my inventory. The folded rough cloth appeared in my hands. I awkwardly slipped it over my head. It hung loose on me but didn''t hamper my movement in the slightest.


    Saint Peter cleared his throat. "The simulation allows you to climb in and out of clothes, if you wish. We do, after all, aspire to realism. However, inventory management, like many aspects of the game, is optimized for digital. Go on, pick a belt and see."


    I scrolled through the available belts. They were a bunch of ropes and ribbons, nothing as sturdy as leather. I picked a tan length that was about my height, unsure what to do with it.


    "Wear it directly from your inventory," Peter instructed.


    I did that and the belt appeared around my waist. There was a knot at my side and the two loose ends hung down my calf. Easy peasy.


    Next was footwear. I''m not a sandals guy but that was all they had. I picked something simple that wrapped around my ankle and frowned at my perfectly skinny toes. A good pair of boots would be my first order of business.


    I couldn''t help grumbling. "I don''t really see the point in picking clothes if we''re gonna look like peasants."


    "We all have to start somewhere," replied the old man. "Your first real decision comes next."


    Intrigued, I swiped ahead. A graphic of a crossbar dominated the selection area. It looked like a giant D-pad. Each cardinal direction was labeled.


    "The class cruciform," announced Saint Peter. "This concept is at the core of Haven''s game balance. These are the four base game disciplines everyone ascribes to."


    SOLDIER


    (Strength - Weaponry)


    ______[ ]______


    EXPLORER ______ ______ ARTISAN


    (Agility - Artifice)  [ ]  (Craft - Equipment)


    [ ]


    MYSTIC


    (Essence - Magic)


    I examined the graphic closely. I could apparently pick from four starting classes: soldier, artisan, mystic, or explorer. Each position on the class cruciform seemed to imply opposition.


    The currently selected topmost option was soldier. A separate window displayed its description.


    SOLDIERTaken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    A natural combatant, soldiers are trained in a multitude of weapons and fighting styles. They''re the hunters and knights, often relying on physical force to achieve their ends. An offensive class, soldiers shun the esoteric mystics.


    Primary Attribute: Strength.


    A fighter class. It was probably one of the more common choices. I swiped at the screen and the entire cruciform rotated, moving artisan to the top selection.


    ARTISAN


    (Craft - Equipment)


    ______[ ]______


    ______ ______


    ()  [ ]  ()


    [ ]


    ()


    This sounded like something most regular games didn''t offer, so I paid attention.


    ARTISAN


    A heavily equipped defender and craftsman, artisans provide invaluable reinforcement to groups. They''re the smiths and engineers, often relying on building strong communities for support. A defensive class, artisans strive against the subterfuge of explorers.


    Primary Attribute: Craft


    Interesting. Builders of some sort, although the class description was open-ended. I wondered how many possibilities there were. How many types of things could be built. Artisans were merchants, perhaps, but they had a stronger defensive role.


    That made me ponder just how expansive Haven was. Maybe soldiers had a lot more going on than I assumed. I flipped to the next class.


    Mystic


    (Essence - Magic)


    ______[ ]______


    ______ ______


    ()  [ ]  ()


    [ ]


    ()


    MYSTIC


    A powerful specialist, mystics cast a range of spells in any number of disciplines. They''re the magicians and healers, often relying on superiority through supernatural means. An offensive class, mystics abhor the banality of soldiers.


    Primary Attribute: Essence


    "Hmm," I said. "I would''ve expected a mage class to prioritize intelligence."


    "You''re thinking along the lines of old games," said Saint Peter. "Haven doesn''t have attributes like intelligence and wisdom. What are these things if not an applied collection of your experiences and knowledge? If you''re dumb enough to grasp a poisoned rose with an ungloved hand, what good would a numbered representation do you?"


    I thought I followed. "So the attributes represent..."


    "The non-mental portions of your digital reality. The things that don''t really exist. Strength is your physical prowess, which unfortunately has not made the transition with your brain. On the opposite side of the spectrum is your essence, your closeness with the magic of Haven. The supernatural world. The craft of artisans represents general handiness and ability, while agility determines your speed and quickness."


    I was beginning to see what Peter meant about the class cruciform being at the heart of Haven''s game balance. Four base classes, four base attributes. A set of opposites in the combat and support spectrums. As a game developer I appreciated the clean design.


    I swiped to the last class.


    Explorer


    (Agility - Artifice)


    ______[ ]______


    ______ ______


    ()  [ ]  ()


    [ ]


    ()


    EXPLORER


    A furtive wildcard, explorers use speed and smarts to achieve their goals behind the scenes. They''re the spies and adventurers, often nomadic and flexible. A support class, explorers work outside the order built by artisans.


    Primary Attribute: Agility


    So if artisans built strong communities and unions, explorers struck out into the unknown on their own. I liked the sound of that.


    There was something else. In games like this, I always pick the thief. Call it a fatal flaw, but rogues are my jam, even when they''re underpowered. Granted, the word "thief" was never mentioned, but this was the agility-based class.


    "Can explorers use weapons?" I asked.


    "They sure can. Weaponry is the domain of the soldier, but as consort classes artisans and explorers have ample weapon selection. They even have physical combat skills. Just don''t imagine you can trade blows toe to toe with a soldier."


    That was all I needed to hear. I selected explorer. On cue, I was offered a list of starting weapons. Swords, slings, clubs. This part wasn''t a foregone conclusion to me. I''d used all types of weapons in MMOs before. It just depended on the game and the current timing. Right now I knew I didn''t wanna be just another sword jockey, but that was about it.


    I considered what little I knew of the class. Explorers were loners with great mobility. As I cycled past a staff, I noted the imposing height of the thing in my double''s hands. It wasn''t a small dagger¡ªa thief''s weapon¡ªbut it had an opposite appeal. Definitely not sneaky, but a big stick sure as hell would keep enemies at a distance.


    I thought about agility. Rogue classes often focus on subterfuge and slinking around shadows¡ªhiding blades in sleeves¡ªbut there was nothing that explicitly said explorers needed to steal for a living in Haven. Maybe I could use my quickness for other pursuits. Sprinting, dodging, outmaneuvering.


    A big stick wasn''t a bad tool for creating space among enemies and using it.


    I cycled through some other choices. A bow and arrow. A mace. I''d used those weapons at times but, with my new train of thought, they didn''t appeal now. I wasn''t planning on hiding in trees or ambushing enemies from behind.


    When I scrolled to the spear, it immediately resonated with me. Here I had the reach of a staff but the added offense of a metal point. Sure, it probably limited some of the more acrobatic options, but it was a good balance between weapon and tool. I selected it.


    [Woodman''s Spear]


    "Interesting choice," remarked Saint Peter. "I see you''re going to have fun with this."


    "I''m either dead or dreaming," I agreed. "I''ve got nothing to lose."


    "Now that''s the spirit."

 Five: Mad Skills

    I swung the spear in the large empty room. I was standing on a leather mat now. The character creation menus had disappeared along with my double. It was just me and my weapon now.


    It felt unfamiliar in my hands, but not ungainly. I could spin it in my hand without dropping it about half the time, which was probably a fat lot better than I could pull off in real life.


    "Do I have some skill in spear handling now?"


    "You noticed that," said Saint Peter. "You do, but it''s just a base amount."


    I thrust the tip forward. I did it again and added a hop for effect. "Will I get better with practice?"


    "Only incrementally. This is an MMORPG after all. There are basic expertises that you become versed in through practice, things like building a campfire and pitching a tent. These are called proficiencies. They''re about competency rather than resources."


    I nodded. "And skills?"


    "True skills are varied and class dependent. Your weapon use is a skill, which means it mostly improves through the expenditure of skill points. It''s straightforward that way. You gain experience, you level, you receive new skills points and spend them. When you begin the tutorial, you''ll have the option of selecting two other starting skills. We don''t force you to pick them off the bat, in case you wanted to play around and learn about the environment first."


    "Makes sense, but... tutorial?"


    Saint Peter smiled patiently. "Of course."


    "You''re not gonna start me off in some lame RPG school that gets attacked by airships, are you?"


    Saint Peter didn''t answer.


    I sighed. "Will it involve combat?"


    "Of course."


    I stopped swinging the spear like a jackass. "Um... will it... hurt?"


    "What kind of Heaven would have pain?" Saint Peter leaned against the table and crossed his arms. "Listen, as far as sims go, pain is a real brain response. But when you''re talking about conducive online environments, focus testing indicates pain isn''t an asset. You can take damage, lose abilities and such, but you won''t feel intense pain. Instead you''ll get real-time notifications of your status as it changes. What is pain, after all, if not the body''s status system?"


    "So if I get stabbed?"


    "You''ll feel a watered-down representation of pain and take some damage. If there''s blood there won''t be a wound unless it''s a more critical blow. Most of it is in place to support the idea of damage, to represent it to others. It''s a game, of course, so you can always be fully healed."


    "Cool," I said. "That doesn''t sound too bad. I guess I''m ready to kick ass then."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Not just yet. You have one last detail to take care of." He gestured to the new screen that appeared before me.


    Name: _


    The blinking cursor waited for my input. I smiled. This was the easy part. I always picked the same name. Not Tad, not Lonnerman, but a combination of the first few letters of each name. I voiced my input.


    "Talon."


    The prompt flashed in confirmation and disappeared.


    Saint Peter nodded. "You''re lucky. We just had a universal wipe and reboot. Everyone''s level 1. You''ll come out of the gate on the same footing as everybody else."


    I paused. I kinda forgot there''d be other people to deal with. Even if they had their levels reset, they were familiar with the game. I''d still be the noob.


    "Don''t worry," he said, sensing my unease. "You''ll do fine. It''s a big world out there, but my job is to accustom you to it. Remember what I said. Take it in slowly. Over time. Haven''s not the type of game that comes with a rulebook. Focus testing indicates it''s better to keep the initial choices simple and let residents ease into the rest. You''ll learn about skills and enemies and all that good stuff organically. And, if you ever find yourself in absolute need of guidance, just press that giant green help button up there."


    I followed his signal and two large buttons appeared in the sky. One was green with a question mark and the other was red with a spider icon.


    "Help will summon me," said Peter. "Use it wisely because you won''t have access to me forever. The red button is how you file bugs."


    "Bugs?"


    "Don''t be daft. This is a beta test and you''re a developer. You''re expected to report any bugs you encounter in detail. Such is the price of admission."


    "Easy enough."


    The thought of being immersed in a buggy simulation could''ve been disquieting, but the knowledge had the opposite effect on me. Like he said, I was a programmer. This world wasn''t magic. It was a set of logical instructions to simulate an environment. The fact that bugs existed supported the idea that the system wasn''t all-powerful. It normalized the whole thing to view it as a game. As something familiar.


    "It should be easy, yes," said Saint Peter. He picked up his tablet and typed in some commands. "Our A/B tests indicate easing residents into the simulation results in a smoother transition rather than throwing them into the fire. Turns out that could be traumatic."


    A/B testing is developer jargon that means testing multiple alternatives at once and comparing the results. Does scenario A play out better than B or vice versa? It''s a great way to find superior processes quickly.


    "Why would you ever think it''s a good idea to throw someone into the fire after telling them they died?"


    Saint Peter shrugged. "There was a theory that the postmortem mind should be kept busy."


    I hefted my spear over my shoulder. "Yeah, well, sign me up for the smooth transition."


    "Oh." Saint Peter''s face darkened as he referred to his tablet. "Unfortunately, our A/B testing is still technically ongoing and open for trial, and despite the overwhelming evidence that says you''d be better off easing into your new home, we can''t slant our conclusions based on early evidence."


    I crinkled my brow. "What are saying, Pete?"


    "You''re in the B group."


    I blinked. "What? The traumatic inferno?"


    "Well said. Thanks for being a good sport about this."


    "Whoa, now. If it''s one thing I''m not, it''s a good sport."


    I tried protesting more, but all the whiteness in the world began to fade to black.


    "Oh, one more thing," said Peter. "During the opening tutorial, and for the purposes of gathering play-test data, that giant green help button will be disabled."


    "What?"


    "We need to gauge your ability to learn and adapt organically. We don''t want a clunky game, after all."


    "But what do I do to avoid the serious trauma?" I asked desperately.


    The world completely blackened as his disembodied voice answered.


    "Don''t worry about a thing. We''ve analyzed every detail of your background and employment history. You have a logical thought process. In a way, you could say this tutorial is perfectly tailored just to you, Tod."


    "It''s¡ª"


    And then the world was gone.

 Six: Tutorial

    My skin warmed. Mist tickled my face. A deafening roar crashed around me. I shut my eyes at the blinding light and gripped tight against the dizzying sway.


    I was... outside.


    I braced against a rope, hugging my spear to my body. What I''d initially perceived as a buffeting swell was only a breeze. The ground continued to rock back and forth beneath me, but it slowed to a gentle rhythm. The light and the noise, however, remained.


    Cautiously, I peeked my eyes open and adjusted to the sunlight.


    The sky was clear azure. Below, a canopy of trees rustled in the distance. As my eyes moved down to the yellow grass rippling in the wind, I fully comprehended my predicament.


    I was in the middle of a grand chasm, rushing water below, suspended on a rickety bridge made entirely of rope.


    I hugged the hand rail. The walkway was made of three burly intertwined lengths of hemp. The hand rails were thinner, one on each side raising out from the center rope in the shape of a V. My arm was hooked over one and the soles of my sandals scraped against the rough hemp. I risked a look down.


    A hundred feet to a raging current that would surely sweep me to my death.


    This wasn''t real, it was hyper real.


    The best way I could describe it is overload. It''s like, in real life your brain works to ignore common stimuli. There''s a world of inputs everywhere¡ªyou don''t really need to feel the air against every tiny hair on your arm.


    In the sim, I did. The shiver of the breeze, the baking of the sun, the trilling of the birds. Cold, hard, rough, loud... I was bombarded with sensation.


    And then, interestingly, my brain went to work. My digital brain, anyway. A filter of sorts kicked in. Sounds receded into the background. The light grew less blinding. Temperatures normalized.


    This was a tutorial, I reminded myself. My body was running diagnostics. Whatever I was now, whatever comprised my intelligence, it was learning all the inputs of Haven. Like being thrown into a pool of icy water, I''d frozen up at first but had now acclimated. Slowly but surely, everything began to feel normal.


    Normal. Imagine that. There was nothing normal about this. I should''ve been in the back of a speeding ambulance or something. Instead I was here, continuing this dream that was feeling less and less like one.


    Hyper real.


    As far as I could tell, I was alone. The rope bridge stretched in both directions to rocky ground. The canyon ledges were flush with tree growth. Further up and down the giant river, the chasm winded a few hundred yards and then out of sight.


    Traumatic. I bet Saint Peter thought he was funny.


    I checked the help menu. The green and red buttons loomed over my head, but they were grayed out. Disabled for the play test. That was expected, I guess.


    I switched over to my inventory. My bag contained a single whittling knife. An image of myself wearing the clothes and holding the spear conveyed my equipped items. Right enough, the spear was hooked under my arm with the hand rail.


    I stared blankly at my meager supplies for a moment before selecting the spear and examining it.


    [Woodman''s Spear]


    Oak and iron, a staple of the masses. This spear trades elegance for a sturdy frame.


    I frowned. That wasn''t really much help. I tried to look at my character sheet but realized I didn''t know how. Swiping the inventory just whisked it away, and any active thought to summon my stats wasn''t answered.


    It was just me and the terrifying bridge, then.


    I mentally kicked myself. I was supposed to be an explorer, pioneering the land, not my character menus. I imagined a team of engineers watching the most boring play test ever. This was an adventure, wasn''t it? I supposed, once my senses acclimated to the full DR experience, things weren''t so hard to handle. I grabbed the center of the spear in my hand and held it along the hand rail, using my other arm for support, and stepped carefully ahead.


    The bridge rocked under my shifting weight, taut bands groaning as if unaccustomed to passage. I advanced cautiously, trying not to visualize me tumbling into the killer current below.


    What was I even afraid of? This wasn''t real-real. It was a game. Besides that, pain wasn''t a thing. Right?


    Right?


    Between the steady din of the river and my complete focus on footwork, I crossed a quarter of the bridge before I saw the figure eyeing me from the chasm''s ledge.


    I froze.


    It was an ugly son of a bitch. Some cross between a hairless monkey and a Mordor orc. The creature was gray and misshapen but unnervingly humanoid. Thankfully it was only three feet tall.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I examined it as Saint Peter had taught me. The word [Imp] faded in above its head, colored orange.


    "My first NPC," I said. My words lacked enthusiasm.


    The creature regarded me with the frantic caution of an animal. Its shoulders jittered. A foot beat the ground. Some kind of threat display, maybe. Then its protruded snout opened and he bared his fangs. The growl was evident over the sound of the water.


    As the beast aggroed on me, an intro dialog flashed into my view.


    [Imp]


    30 Health


    I waited, as still as the rickety bridge would allow, for the imp to make the first move. He was just an animal. A freaky-as-shit animal, granted, but an animal.


    I was a grown man with a spear. And a whittling knife. I''d never been considered tall, but I was a giant compared to this twerp. I was counting on my superior size and human tools to win the day.


    Just about the point where my confidence peaked, the imp turned tail and faced the trees. I stood tall and smiled as he chittered into the brush.


    Five of his friends joined him on the ledge. My face blanched.


    The collected group of imps bayed and scraped at the ground and hopped up and down in aggravation. My response is best described as shitting a brick. Metaphorically, thankfully.


    "What kind of tutorial is this?" I complained. "Couldn''t they just start me off with slimes or giant rats or something?"


    The commotion on the ledge ended as the group came to a consensus. The original imp (I think) fixed hard eyes on me and stepped onto the rope bridge. It walked on all fours, mostly, using not just the thick central strand of the base but the vertical supports running up to the hand rails.


    "Shit on a stick," I said.


    Every MMO I''d ever played started players out in a noob zone. Something easy, something tame. Something safe, above all. The idea was to get a handle on the combat system before facing real challenges.


    Everything about this imp told me he was not a practice enemy. Sure, he was small enough as far as mobs went, but he was straight-up rabid. A vicious, electric little beast. Quick and spry and lugging a chip on his shoulder. I didn''t want to face one imp, much less a pack of six.


    Still facing forward, I retreated from the advancing enemy. I didn''t give two shits if Saint Peter and the entire development staff were awaiting a heroic charge. I was more cautious than this. I''d show them glory was often overrated. That staying alive, even in a game, meant something to me.


    I had a larger gait but the backward movement hampered me. The imp began to close with light steps. At this point I was stuck in the middle of the bridge again, too far out to make it back at this clip. I threw caution to the wind, turned around, and sprinted to the far side.


    The imp screeched and picked up his pace. I ran. The bridge rocked and bounced. With its lighter weight, the imp had a harder time of it than I did. He struggled to keep rooted to the lurching rope.


    As I approached the ledge a wild idea struck me. I summoned my inventory menu and direct equipped the whittling knife. The spear disappeared in a blink. I should''ve done that a while ago. The knife didn''t get in my way nearly as much. It almost felt like I had an extra arm now. That was a lesson to apply to the future.


    The second my sandal clapped on solid rock, I spun around and brought the knife down on the rope hand rail. The dull blade mashed against the weathered hemp.


    The imp recognized what I was doing. For such a rabid little shit, he was far more intelligent than a monkey. He bounded toward me as I sawed at the bridge.


    Both gestures were completely unnecessary. My crappy little knife had barely managed to snap a few threads of the sturdy length. As the creature closed on me, I changed tack and threw the whittling knife at its head. The imp ducked. The knife bounced off a rope support and plummeted to the river below.


    "Noob knife," I muttered.


    A chattering laugh scraped my ears. The imp heaved up and down in mirth. Then it hissed and readied a lunge.


    Feet planted firmly in the rock, I equipped the spear and held it straight out over the bridge. The iron point hovered a foot away from the creature''s face.


    We paused, taking stock of each other. The rest of the imp pack watched from the safety of the other side.


    This was the strength of the spear. Positioning and reach. On the narrow platform, the imp could hardly skirt around my weapon. I had him at a supreme disadvantage. Any attempt it made to lunge could result in it being absolutely skewered or knocked into the deadly river. I held my spear firm, aware that I didn''t really know how to use it but hoping it didn''t matter too much.


    After a solid minute of deadlock, I recognized the catch. I was keeping the creature at bay like an ace, but the second I turned around and went along my merry way, the imp would sink teeth and claws into my back. I''d turned this contest into a stalemate, but what I needed was a victory.


    Once again, my confidence returned. I stepped forward, placing a steady sandal on the bridge and leaning my elbow against the hand rail. It was imperative I kept both hands on the spear if I was going to strike with it. It meant I was slow, and my balance was off, but I was ready to kill my enemy.


    The imp hissed with uncertainty. It backed away, but only enough to look for an opening. He clearly didn''t have retreat in mind.


    That made two of us.


    As its back foot hit a knot, I lunged. I kept the spear horizontal, sliding it forward as if on glass. The imp batted at the tip but I held strong and pressed my weight forward. The strike pitched to the side but the iron still found gray flesh. It punctured the side of the creature''s rib cage. The imp wailed in pain.


    I pulled the spear back to strike again but dragged the imp with it. It swiped a back leg and gashed my arm. My mind flashed red and a dull ache encompassed my forearm. Pain as a notification instead of a debilitating condition. I gritted my teeth and twisted the spear toward the beast''s heart. I pinned it against the rope wall and sunk the weapon deep. Bone snapped and the imp convulsed and went limp.


    A faint tickle scrolled past my head, much more subtle than the representation of pain. When I focused on it, I saw a stream of text notifications that I had missed in the heat of the moment.


    Impale!


    You dealt 14 damage to [Imp]


    6 damage


    Critical Hit!


    You dealt 34 damage to [Imp]


    [Imp] is defeated


    150 XP awarded


    Jeez, this really was an RPG. I wasn''t interested in the numbers just yet but it seemed both my attacks had achieved special statuses somehow. I''d been lucky to impale the creature with the first strike, and its inability to defend itself from that position, and my targeting of the heart, had likely resulted in the crit.


    "Fight smarter, not harder," I said smugly.


    A new notification popped up:


    You have killed a pagan. Doing so enrages all pagans.


    Pagan Reputation -10


    I hissed. I wasn''t just gaining experience, I was gaining faction notoriety. That was a crappy flipside to what was supposed to be a victory.


    If the pack of imps at the opposite cliff had been perturbed before, they were wildly agitated now. They hollered and batted limbs at each other. Five sets of teeth spun my way as the rest of the pack jumped onto the bridge and charged over the rope in a line. A couple of them even hopped on the hand rails and ran along them on all fours.


    This... this was not something I was prepared for.


    "Sometimes fighting smarter means running," I hastened. I turned tail and ran.

 Seven: Waterfall

    Instead of crashing into the dense forest and running into whatever packs of wild creatures lived on this side, I decided to run along the chasm edge. It was rockier ground and the narrow sloped path would give my spear an advantage. I could only imagine it getting tangled in the thick brush.


    The downside to my strategy was that I couldn''t readily vanish out in the open. I wasn''t sure what mechanics Haven had in place for hiding, but I had five imps aggroed on me. I doubted I could pull off a disappearing act.


    And I''d thought hiding in shadows was lame.


    I raced around the curve of the ledge. The bridge disappeared from sight before the imps made it across, giving me some hope that I''d made the right choice. But scaling the treacherous cliff face proved more and more difficult. My thick sandals weren''t very malleable and easily lost traction against the loose rocks. I tripped and stumbled. Once I would''ve slipped off the cliff entirely if I hadn''t planted the spear into the ground for support.


    My path¡ªmy only option now¡ªactually sloped down into the chasm, running along the wall and closer to the white water. The edge of the cliff above me was bordered with boulders and trees, but several minutes into my retreat it opened into a nice solid platform.


    The only problem was it was ten feet above my head.


    The imps had to be pretty good climbers. I figured they could get up there if they needed to. However, if I could do so before they saw me, I was confident I''d lose them. I put my spear away and hopped against the sheer canyon wall.


    Agility Check...


    Fail!


    My fingers scraped against unforgiving rock, unable to find a grip.


    I tried again and slipped again. My weight lurching upward only meant it would come crashing down on the return trip. I attempted a gentler climb. A careful foothold. Two hands spread wide, clutching only flat rock. I kicked up slowly and actually found another foothold. When I got there, though, there was nowhere else to go. As I reached for a jutting rock above, I slipped and slid back down to the outcropping.


    The howls behind me grew closer. I was losing my lead. With a last-ditch effort, I pulled out my spear and planted the iron in the ground. I used it to climb up the wall partway. Only once I''d reached its length, I couldn''t make another move.


    Around the bend, two of the imps appeared. They were just as rabid as ever.


    I cursed and hopped down the cliff wall. This ledge wasn''t a bad place to face them, if I needed to, but I still had a path to retreat along. I ran farther as the ground sloped closer to the river.Stolen story; please report.


    The hollering of the imps grew louder but strangely distant. I realized the rushing of the water was drowning everything else out. I was close to it now. The splash of the waves hit my bare calves and made the path slippery.


    But the volume of the current was still much louder than it should''ve been. Were my senses out of control again?


    A hazy mist smothered me. I pressed forward as droplets dotted my skin. A sinking feeling grew in my belly. The ledge I was sprinting along abruptly ended and I almost plummeted down a sheer drop¡ªnot into the river but with the river¡ªhundreds of feet deeper still. The noise and the mist were the result of a gargantuan waterfall.


    I spun at a stray screech. The imps were closing on me, but I could see their hesitation. They didn''t like the water maybe. Or the sound.


    I looked down. There was another ledge, below, running along behind the waterfall. I smiled. If I knew video games, there''d be buried treasure back there. A small stepped ledge ran away from the waterfall and lowered to the next level down. Keeping my spear up in defense, I pressed my chest around the rock edge and lowered down.


    The five imps converged together now. Crawling on top of each other, shoving through. All eyes were on me and the tip of my spear. I concentrated on my footholds until I found the bottom. Nice and wide, actually.


    The imps stayed above, but they were between me and the waterfall now. The last thing I wanted was for them to rain down on my head as I passed beneath. I moved carefully, jabbing my weapon upward in warning. Three of the creatures were cowed, but two of them followed my path down the rocky steps. They joined me on the bottom and growled.


    I was past the others, though, and the fire had left the filthy creatures. If I had to guess, the ones up top had canceled their aggro on me entirely. The two on my level followed half-heartedly. The nearer I got to the waterfall, the more defeated they grew.


    The deluge of water jetted clear over the platform. A huge wall of white. It fogged the area and made the depths it reached entirely mysterious. But now that waterfall was my shield. The imps didn''t dare walk under it. And as I moved deeper, I found a dark opening in the rock face.


    I instinctively played the Zelda secret chime in my head.


    Threat averted, I calmly strolled into the cave, eager to claim my prize. Fighting smarter, not harder, huh? I was starting to like the sound of that.


    As I pierced the depths of the darkness, the deafening waterfall gave way to multiple voices murmuring in unison. I tightened my grip on the spear and crept forward. I neared a bend, hoping to get a peek at my hosts, but their disquieting chanting suddenly cut out.


    I took a breath and rounded the corner. In the darkness, it was hard to see anything, but I was pretty sure two figures were standing around a cauldron.


    "Who intrudes on the ritual?" asked one of them.


    Pagan Reputation -20


    Crap.


    "The civilized world will crumble," said a scratchy voice behind me.


    I spun around. Standing a little taller than me was an imposing creature. She was blacker than the imps. Less monkey, more ogre, with wild mats of long hair. She licked her lips and leaned a bony face close. I gasped as I noticed the hollow cavities of her eyes.


    [Crowlat - Boggart Witch]


    200 health


    "All pagan killers must suffer," she rasped.


    She may have been blind, but she slashed a claw so fast I couldn''t get my spear up in time. My gut exploded. Not pain, but full alert. The corners of my vision reddened and blurred out, and the boggart pulled a tangle of something that looked eerily close to my intestines to her teeth.


    Critical Hit!


    88 damage


    You are dead!

 More

    With the publishing of the full book on Amazon, I''ve had to remove all but the first 10% from Royal Road. I hope you understand the contractual obligation.


    But check out the final cover!


    amazon.com./dp/B071WF4414This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    For those of you who''ve read and loved the story, here are some reasons to buy the full version:


    1) Final Cover Art


    2) Full-Color Map of Stronghold


    3) Slick Game Notification and Character Sheet Formatting


    4) Final Edits


    5) All-New (and Fun) Video Game Chapter Names


    6) End-of-Book Character Sheets for Main Party


    7) Bonus Social Media Feed


    8) Free Book Offer


    So head on over to Amazon and show your support! Thanks for reading!!!